Broken

Be open minded. This story is about alpha domination  of another alpha who uses light lingerie crossdressing for humiliation reasons. 

I told him he wasn’t worth my time if he didn’t want to play by my rules. He doesn’t like that I call the fucking shots, but he always gives in. He struts into my place in his ball cap, tight jeans and t-shirt that shows off his fucking phenomenal tattooed body and his worn out cowboy boots; the straight guy costume, like he’s going to take control, not give in this time to his deep seeded reality. He’s the one who pursued me. He was such a pathetic closet case. He’s the one who lied to his girlfriend, canceling plans with her whenever I beckoned. He’s the one who broke down and told me how much he worshipped me, trembled when in my presence, had to soak in my masculine supremacy. He said he wasn’t gay. He said he wasn’t a bitch. He said he needed to have my cock in his ass. He needed my DNA inside him.

I gave him what he wanted, what he needed. Who am I to deny a stud like him of the gift of myself coursing through his jacked body? He needed it. I gave it. But there came a time when he started to revert to his former self, trying to reassert his alpha dominance, take his control back, take his truth back. So, I cut him off. No more 2 AM booty calls from his drunk ass. No more quickies before he leaves to pick up his girl. No more sucking my cock in his car. No more breeding his perfect ass whenever I text. I cut that bitch off and it drove him insane.

Eventually, he crawled back, begging me to take him back. I would but I had to break him. He needed to learn his place before I gave him the privilege of receiving my gift. He said he was willing to do anything. I told him he would have to in order to win back my cock and my trust. He said he would do anything. I said, good.

This was the test and if he passed, he would receive the hardest fucks, the deepest fucks, the most violent I had to offer, the domination and loss of control he desired. These were the fucks he loved most.

So, I bought him a present online. I told him to wear them the next time I called for him. His face turned white. His square jaw dropped. He was speechless. He threw the panties back into the bag and shook his head. He was pissed and adamant about not wearing them. They were demeaning to him and he couldn’t handle being anything but an equal, a real man. Only, when he was with me, I was the real man. He turned into a sniveling little cunt. I fucking loved to see his temporary transformation every time he walked through my door. Such a big, imposing, rugged stud before he walks into my place. But then, instantly, the bill of his hat goes down, his shoulders slump and his dick becomes hard. He’s in bitch-mode.

I told him if he didn’t want to comply that it was fine as I closed the bag neatly and placed it on the table as I walked him to the door. Shocked, he looked at me with pleading eyes. I told him to get the fuck out of my sight. He sulked quietly, pouting like a little schoolgirl as he remained in the doorway like a whipped pussy hoping I would change my mind. I did not. He left.

He came back. Five minutes later. Knocked on my door. I opened it. He walked in, took the bag and left. He did not look at me. His gaze was down at the floor. He shut the door with a slam.

I made him wait a day. I texted him at 8pm on a night I knew he had a date. Sure enough, as always, he showed up at my door. His eyes told me he was angry and at the same time on an adrenaline rush in anticipation of feeling me burrow down into his hole.

I asked him in, he followed me to the master bedroom. I told him to strip. He swallowed hard. His eyes were wet, humiliation causing them to tear up as he pushed his tight jeans down to reveal his worst fears and ultimate submission. And it was beautiful.

He looked down at the floor in defeat. I told him to turn around for me. The silky, shiny, pink panties molded to his smooth muscular form. The seams were stretched as they tried to contain his round muscular ass. His cock was soft, a vast difference from its usual state of erect arousal whenever he was naked in front of me. The fact that his dick wasn’t hard told me he felt no joy in this display of obedience. He hated it. He was out of his element, his comfort zone. In the beginning, it took all the strength he had to even ask me to fuck him. Now this. His masculinity was now in question more than it was the first time I broke through his virgin vice-like hole. Man, he whined like a bitch.

I smiled. I told him to look at me. I had to ask twice. He warned me to never tell anyone, but I stopped him mid-sentence. I told him to shut the fuck up. He did. I told him if he was going to act like a little bitch than he needed to dress like one. He didn’t deserve the dignity of retaining his status of a real man until he learned his place and that he was here for my pleasure and not his. His pleasure is achieved by knowing I have been pleasured. He nodded his head.

I told him he looked good. His big muscular body contrasted with the tiny, pink, lacey panties. I told him he looked pretty. That pissed him off. I told him pink was his color. I told him he belonged in panties since he constantly let me treat his hole like a cunt. Cunts wore panties. He was a cunt.

That made his dick hard.

I continued degrading him. His stunning ripped body, tan and smooth, the tight tiny panties straining against the growth of his impressive, thick cock. A cock of a real man but unfortunately for him, he had the pussy of a whore. Fuck he was a specimen. I was almost jealous of his intimidating stature even though; I knew I was just as intimidating. I was just as handsome, but he had a little more allure. It must have been the long, thick eyelashes or the green eyes.

I made him leave the panties on while I fucked him. I pulled the fabric to the side as I fucked him in front of a full-length mirror, pulling his head back by his hair, forcing him to watch his muscled body straining to hold himself steady as I hammered my cock into his smooth, upturned pussy. He watched his masculine body being controlled by another man; the pink panties he wore drew his attention to them. He saw a man, a masculine man wearing women’s panties while being pounded by a better man. He watched himself get fucked. He clenched his white teeth with each thrust. He came on the mirror. I came in his ass. I pressed the silk panties into his cummy hole with my finger. He moaned.

After, I handed him another bag; a pink feminine shopping bag. He looked inside, reached in and pulled out several pairs of silky, lacy panties. His eyes looked up at me and then back down. He dropped them back into the bag. He looked back up to me with another pleading expression accompanied by a slight shake of his head. He said no words. I told him to be wearing a pair every time we hooked up. He was to wear them under his clothes at all times. He was to wear them under his workout gear at all times. He released a heavy sigh. He dressed, still wearing the wet panties under his jeans. Bag in hand, he left.

Over the past month, he has shown up always wearing a pair of panties. He even started shaving his legs and hole. He does not complain. He likes the way he looks while wearing them and has asked for more pairs. He says he feels protected and safe with me when he wears them.

I’ve broken him.

He’s defeated.

I’ve won.

I should let him return to his sexy tight boxer briefs, but I see how much he enjoys the feel of the soft silk on his skin. I see how happy he looks when I smile as he reveals the choice of panty for the day. He’s content.

I’m satisfied.

And turned on as fuck.