This story contains several different themes and fetishes: sissification, gay sex, cuckold, domination, breeding, group sex, pregnancy, interracial, tattoos and more. If none of those are your thing, probably a good idea not to read it.
***
I have a theory about people: You can never really know them. There's a lot you can learn about someone in 5 minutes, you can learn most of the things about someone in one month, and know almost everything after one year. But, no matter how long you know someone, how long you dig beneath their surface, there's one more level that you don't know about.
When I met my wife in college, we connected quickly. On first glance, I knew she was smart, witty and kind. Her smile warmed a person's heart, her laugh the whole room. Her blue eyes and blonde hair matched her incredibly pale skin, blemished only by freckles across her cheeks and--as winter turned to summer--sun burns. She never tanned, staying a beautiful milk white. We connected immediately on our shared passion for travel, exercise and reading. By the end of our first month of dating, I felt in love. She did, too. We thought we knew everything about each other. Perhaps, if we knew how untrue that was, we may have ended our relationship then. Perhaps not.
Because, you see, I had a secret. When I wasn't with her, I spent the nights online, pouring over stories of men submitting to other men. I watched hypnosis videos about sucking cock. I played with my asshole, stretching it until I couldn't anymore. Over years, my initial obsession with anal self-pleasure morphed into an unconquerable urge to suck cock and submit to men.
My eventual wife, I learned, had her own secret. Actually, she had quite a few. I wouldn't begin learning what they were until she caught me in a truck stop bathroom naked on my knees, dick in my mouth and moaning for Daddy to treat me like a complete slut.
It turned out she knew my secret identity, and had for quite a while. Her and my then-Daddy had organized the meet as a sting, and in fact had been controlling my sexual escapades together for months. It was her idea to have my dick locked in a chastity cage while out on business trips. Her idea for him to start calling me by what would eventually be my primary name: Alicia. Her idea to make me dress in thongs and thigh highs on my late-night escapes to be railed by Daddy.
It took a while for me to figure all that out, though. And first she acted surprised, watching as I cried, thinking my marriage was going to end. Watching as Daddy turned me over in front of the bathroom sink so I could see myself--lace bra and thigh highs--be fucked in the ass. So I could watch as Daddy sneered at the pain in my face, unable or unwilling to stop him from fucking me even as I saw my wife in that mirror, too. Even as her beautiful blue eyes took in the sight of her husband acting like a common whore.
I couldn't stop myself from moaning, despite the tears running down my cheeks. When Daddy told me to tell my wife what I was thinking, all I could respond with was, "I love Daddy's cock and I need it, I need it, I need it."
I watched her in the mirror get closer, then trail a hand on my back from my ass until it reached my neck. She turned me to look into her face and I didn't see a hint of a smirk in her eyes. Or a smile on her lip. Her face was cold, calculating.
"Is this who you really are?" She asked.
I simply nodded.
"So, you like being bent over and fucked in the ass?"
I moaned in the affirmative, lost in the slow, rhythmic pounding coming from Daddy.
"I've never seen your face like this, not even the times we got drunk and you tried to put me in this same position. And I bet if your cock could get hard right now, it would say the same thing. I like the pink on you, it suits who you are."
She reached down and played with my caged cock with one hand, then pushed my face into her should with the other. I rested my face there, letting the last bit of tears leave me as I found comfort in her the way I've done for years. After a few seconds, she pulled my head off her by my hair and looked at my face for a moment and spit in it.
"I'll let you be a little bitch, but you're going to be MY little bitch. You're going to do what I tell you and only what I tell you. And you're going to watch me do what I want to do." At this, she spit in my face again, then turned and brought Daddy's face to hers before passionately kissing him. For some reason, the spit in my face had no effect but turn me on. Neither did the declaration of control. But watching her passionately make out with Daddy, with a man who's glorious cock was buried in my ass, did unimaginable things to me.
I broke on the inside, then. My wife put me back together--after finishing her kiss with Daddy.
"Come here and clean his cock with your mouth, then you're going to watch him fuck me the way you never could." With those words, my purpose became clear. Daddy pulled out of my gaping ass and I got back on my knees, instantly stuffing his dirty, smelly cock back in my mouth. I licked the shaft up and down, making sure it was clean enough (for a non-whore) to eat off of. Then my wife pulled my face off Daddy's cock and slapped my face. "My turn."
Daddy, the big man he is, easily lifted my now-nude wife into the air. She wrapped her legs around his waist, looking tiny compared to Daddy. He lowered her onto his dick and I heard a moan like none I've ever heard from my wife before.
That day, in the truck stop bathroom, I watched a man use my wife in a way I never could. I watched my wife be happier than I'd ever seen her, and I became happier than I've ever been. My deepest darkest desire was beginning to come true. Even if I couldn't come myself.
***
The next few weeks turned into bliss. There were new rules in our house: I must wear my chastity cage at all times. My ass must be plugged while I sleep and 4 hours while I'm awake. I had to listen to sissy hypnosis on the way to and from work. I could only wear women's underwear, and an embarrassing shopping trip made sure I had enough.
At work, I wore nylons or a garter belt under my suit. I started wearing small amounts of makeup--the women (and only the women) noticed, giving me weird looks. They eventually got used to it. When it was just the two of us, I called my wife Mistress or Madame. She called me Alicia or whore.
Some days, Daddy would come visit and take turns fucking us. He would tie me in a chair, then fuck my wife as I watched. We went on "dates" together, where the pair of them sat next to each other, flirting and laughing while I watched. I could see them getting handsy together. They'd sneak off to the bathroom if they had too much to drink and leave me alone at the table. Funny enough, the idea of my wife getting fucked by Daddy wasn't what troubled me the most, but the fact that my wife was taking Daddy's attention away from me. Rarely, it would be him who took me into the bathroom for a cock sucking session. But not nearly as often as it was my wife.