Special thanks to Belphe, a generous volunteer in Literotica.com's Volunteer Editors program, for editing this piece. All remaining errors and questionable stylistic choices are the sole responsibility of the author.
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My name is Riley Madison. I'm just about twenty years old, and I'm a proud citizen of the Coastal Alliance.
I'm also a happily caged, plugged, feminized whiteboi. I'm engaged to a gorgeous queen of spades, and I'm giddy with excitement for the future we're going to share together.
This is the story of how we met -- or rather, how our meeting was expertly arranged by one of the Coastal Alliance's amazing agency-clinics.
There's not much to say about my life before I turned eighteen. I've always kind of known what I wanted to look like, sound like, and act like, even if I didn't fully know what I wanted from future partners. I know it's hard for folks from other countries to believe, but The Coastal Alliance actually does a great job of helping parents or guardians raise their kids. I had a good childhood. My folks were cool. My extended family and neighbors were cool. Heck, school was cool -- certainly cool enough that I decided to set my sights on a top-level university program.
All of those people and things are still cool, by the way - save for the occasional post-cen relative or neighbor who died - but they were, too.
In our country, the age of eighteen is unofficially known as 'hands-off year'. For that one year, you still can't go to a clinic and start changing anything and everything about yourself, but you're allowed to explore the wonderfully diverse worlds of identity, sex, and even kink. Anything you can buy in a store without a prescription -- including lots of sex toys -- is fair game.
I did exactly that, and I learned a lot. I lost the body hair, accentuated my femininity, tweaked my wardrobe, and went on a bit of a sex toy shopping spree. I also dyed the hair on my head multiple colors, because college kids still do stupid shit like that even when they don't have the talent or experience to do it right. I did it myself, and I did not do it right.
You're probably more interested in the sex toys. I don't blame you.
The spree was an unqualified success. I quickly learned that my smooth, white little penis belonged in a cage. I also learned that I really liked having a plug in my ass. As you might have guessed, it always felt better and more natural when it was black. Panties or other feminine underwear became a must unless I was going commando. They just felt right.
One of my girlfriends that year -- a tall white girl on the basketball team - sat on my face, rode my tongue to orgasm, and had me lick her asshole. All the while, she told me how cute my hairless caged little penis was, and how great it was that I knew it was useless for pleasing a woman. When I saw her out partying with a pair of black guys from the upper-division team, I felt butterflies in my stomach and tingles in my plugged ass. I was just about to go over and introduce myself, but a few moments of hesitation and distraction pulled them out of reach.
One of my boyfriends that year, meanwhile -- a really ripped Asian guy who was looking to major in romance languages - took me over his knee, slid down my panties, and lightly spanked my perky little femboy butt. Then, after sliding my black plug out, he gave me my first prostate massage -- well, you know, the first one I hadn't given myself. It was way, way better, and being so vulnerable to him was a huge turn-on too.
What meant the most to me, though, was that he always called me pretty. When I submitted to his touch and served his penis with my hands or mouth, he made sure I knew that he valued me as a sex partner. I was almost ready to let him take my ass, but he went away for winter break and then our schedules fell completely out of sync.
Even though I missed him, I still knew that that relationship wasn't exactly what I needed. Meanwhile, the near-misses kept piling up. It was tragedy and comedy. Despite there being no shortage of black people on campus or in town -- along with every other color, shape, and freak-flag you can think of -- somehow I just never ended up hooking up with one. My friends were sympathetic at first, but after the sixth blown opportunity, it became a running joke.
They were a good group, but it was difficult not to be envious. Two of them had discovered a mutual love of furry suits; from all the noises I heard in the dorm and even at parties, they were fucking like rabbits for half the year while dressed as a fox and a hound. They seemed so happy and so fulfilled. I wanted that -- well, you know, I wanted my version of that.
Those suits really are comfortable, though. Science is making everything better, even the stuff you're not into.
Suffice it to say, I could not wait for my nineteenth birthday. A few taps on my university-issued holopad took me to the hub of exactly the kind of agency-clinic I knew I wanted to visit. Miraculously, I secured an appointment for just five days after my 'hands off year' officially ended.
What followed was one of the most intense and intimate experiences of my young life.
I walked through the auto door and was greeted by a real-live person at an old-timey front desk, both of which announced money and class. In a world of miniaturized supercomputers and holotech, the personal touch still elevates some places above the rest.
It only took a moment for me to realize that the receptionist was an ultra-feminized sissy. She would've passed as a girl, but her penis cage was fully exposed by her hyper-feminine lingerie set. Multiple black spade tattoos on her perfectly pale skin immediately drew my eyes. Her work collar was thick and pink, with a black spade pattern all around it. Even the large, shiny ownership tag dangling from the collar's center was fashioned into that same symbol. Out in public it would have seemed overkill, unless perhaps she was being led around on a leash by some cartoonishly imposing black master or mistress. Branding is branding though. The white sissy's getup sure told me I was in the right place.
She confirmed my name, birthday, and appointment slot, and had me give my bio-print to half a dozen forms. I'll admit I didn't really read them. The sissy -- whose name was pronounced 'Nadia,' and I'll spare you the idiotic spelling on the tag -- certainly didn't press the issue. After I'd signed away who-knows-what to God-knows-who, she then stood up to daintily shake my hand. She looked me in dead the eye and gave me an over-the-top wink.
"You're going to love it here," she said.
I have to admit, I got a little nervous. It was how she spelled her name. Seriously. That's what made me start to sweat. I wasn't looking to be a cartoon.
Two medical staff walked out through sliding doors. They were wearing crisp, formal uniforms. One was a man, and the other was a woman. They were both black, and they both looked like they could lift me off my feet and sweep me away.
They didn't do that literally, but they may as well have. Before I even knew it, I was in a full-suite medical office, being subjected to an extraordinarily thorough physical exam. Their gloved hands were everywhere, removing every article of clothing from my body, including my thin public collar -- the collar that lets everyone know exactly what's allowed with your body while you're out and about, and also what you might be looking for more seriously. I prefer the thin ones, because, well, I really like getting kissed on the neck.
One of the nurses found my key in my shorts pocket and removed my cage. The plug was next. I was bent over the exam table, told to spread my legs, and then given a soothing back rub as the big, strong male nurse expertly eased it out.
"Mmm, good choice," he said in his deep voice, and I knew he meant the color.
I stood back up, and the female nurse saw my little white erection. She smiled and giggled at it, which gave me butterflies in my stomach. She then put on the fakest professional demeanor I'd ever seen and ordered me to lay flat on the table and spread my legs. I blushed, which she seemed to like too. Then I hopped up and assumed the new position.
The nurse leaned over and started near the top, at my nipples. I gasped when she touched them. She gave an approving noise, and I heard the male nurse tap something into his wrist-holo behind and above me. The female nurse's gloved fingers drifted down, checking -- or pretending to check -- my various organs. Clearly, the next important stop was my pulsing little stiffy. My breathing changed when she touched it, and my mouth parted a bit when she reached my smooth balls. When she got to my asshole, I let out a feminine coo, and she smiled again. She made sure to inspect that part of me for another few seconds.
I heard her snap off the gloves and put on another pair. Then she was beside me, placing an authoritative hand on my chest.
"Riley, you seem a bit agitated," she said. "Would it be okay if we gave you something to relax?"
I turned and looked deeply into her eyes. I knew she wanted me to say yes, and I knew I wanted to please her.
"Yes, please," I said. I felt the male nurse approach me from the other side.
"Okay, honey, we're just going to get you over on your side then," she said.
The male nurse helped me into the position effortlessly.
"Have you ever had an enema before, Riley?" the nurse asked.
My penis and asshole both twitched. The memory that prompted those twitches is... not available for discussion.
"Yes, ma'am," I said. My voice quavered.
She smiled and walked away. Moments later she returned with a long black nozzle, sporting two inflatable seals. She showed it off for me. My eyes followed it everywhere.
"Now, this is our smallest one," she said. "Do you think you could take anything bigger?"
I gulped, and shook my head 'no.'
Surprisingly, both she and the male nurse behind me seemed to like my answer.
"That's just fine, honey," she said, and she moved behind me to get to work.
I could've sworn she whispered "plenty of time" as she passed by my head.
I felt very vulnerable not being able to see either of them. They somehow managed to chat with each other without me being able to understand anything. I couldn't tell you if that was another minor scientific miracle, or just me getting too anxious to focus properly. The next thing I felt was two reassuring hands - one on my shoulder and one reaching around to the center of my chest, right above my soft, flat tummy.
I felt someone's lips close to my ear. My whole face flushed.
"John's going to give you some more lube, now, Riley," the female nurse whispered to me. "We've got you. Relax and hold still. He's very gentle."
