Denver Shoemaker wants to take big dick balls deep
Denver Shoemaker was having an ordinary day—or so he thought. He had been trying to keep a low profile ever since the embarrassing incidents of the past few weeks. His social media feeds had become a minefield, and he was always one misstep away from uncovering another humiliating post or video about himself. But curiosity got the better of him, and against his better judgment, he decided to search his name online.
As he scrolled through the search results, his stomach twisted into knots. There were the usual cruel memes and edited videos, but then something new caught his eye—a strikingly explicit image with his name attached to it, hosted on a site called Freakden. His heart pounded as he clicked the link, dreading what he might find.
The image that loaded made his blood run cold. It was a split photo of him, or at least a version of him that he barely recognized. On the left side, he was posed provocatively in a pair of skimpy leopard-print panties and a matching bra, his body on full display. He had a look of faux confidence on his face, his hand teasingly tugging at his blonde wig. On the right, the same figure was shown from behind, his rear end prominent, with the panties barely covering his exposed cheeks.
But it was the caption that made Denver’s breath catch in his throat:
“I’M A SISSY GIRL THAT DESPERATELY WANTS A REAL MAN TO THRUST INTO ME BALLS DEEP AND MAKE A WOMAN OUT OF ME.XOXODENVER SHOEMAKER.”
He stared at the words, unable to look away, his mind racing with disbelief. “How could someone do this?” he thought, “This isn’t real—it can’t be real!” But no matter how many times he blinked, the image remained, mocking him.
In a panic, Denver tried to close the browser, but his computer froze. The screen flickered, the image distorting for a moment, and then something even stranger happened. The image began to glow, a soft pink light radiating from the screen, growing brighter and brighter until it filled the entire room. Denver shielded his eyes, but the light only intensified, and before he could react, he felt a strange pull—a force drawing him toward the screen.
His body tingled all over, a sensation like static electricity buzzing through him. He tried to move, to fight against the pull, but it was too strong. The next thing he knew, he was being sucked into the glowing screen, his vision filled with pink light. He felt his body twist and turn as though he was being stretched and compressed all at once, and then everything went black.
When Denver opened his eyes, he found himself standing in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by a soft, warm light. The first thing he noticed was his reflection in a large mirror directly in front of him. His heart sank as he realized with horror that the reflection was identical to the image he had just seen on his computer.
He was wearing the same leopard-print panties and matching bra, the tight fabric clinging to his skin in all the wrong ways. His legs were smooth and bare, and his feet were strapped into a pair of high heels that forced him to stand awkwardly. He reached up and felt the blonde wig on his head, the synthetic hair cascading down his back.
“No… this isn’t happening,” Denver whispered, his voice trembling as he stared at his feminized reflection. But the mirror didn’t lie. This was real.
He tried to rip the wig off, but it was as if it were glued to his scalp, part of him now. He tugged at the bra and panties, but they wouldn’t budge. The harder he pulled, the tighter they seemed to cling to his body, as though they were an extension of his own skin. Panic set in as he realized he was trapped in this humiliating outfit with no way out.
Suddenly, the room’s door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside. Denver’s heart pounded as he turned to see a tall, muscular man standing in the doorway. The man’s eyes raked over Denver’s body with a hungry, predatory look, and a smirk spread across his face.
“You must be the sissy girl I’ve been waiting for,” the man said, his voice deep and commanding.
“No! This isn’t real! This can’t be happening!” Denver cried out, backing away, but the man took a step closer, his eyes never leaving Denver’s trembling form.
“Oh, it’s very real,” the man replied, his smirk widening. “And it’s about time you learned your place, sissy.”
Denver’s back hit the wall, and he realized there was nowhere to run. The room was small, the bed behind him neatly made with pink satin sheets—the same sheets from the image. It was as if he had stepped right into the scenario depicted in the photo, with no way out.
The man advanced, his presence dominating the room. Denver tried to protest, to push him away, but his body refused to obey. Instead, his hands moved on their own, reaching out to touch the man’s chest, his fingers tracing the hard lines of muscle beneath the fabric of the man’s shirt. A shiver ran down Denver’s spine, and he gasped as he felt a surge of unfamiliar desire welling up inside him.
“What’s happening to me?” Denver whispered, tears welling in his eyes as his body betrayed him.
“You’re becoming exactly what you wanted, aren’t you?” the man said, leaning in close, his breath hot against Denver’s ear. “You’re going to take me balls deep, just like you said.”
“No… please…” Denver whimpered, but it was too late. The words from the image played over and over in his mind, seeping into his thoughts, his desires. He felt his body respond, a growing need deep within him that he couldn’t control, couldn’t deny.
The man’s hands roamed over Denver’s body, caressing him, teasing him, and Denver found himself powerless to resist. His mind screamed in protest, but his body ached with longing, each touch sending shivers of pleasure through him. The man’s hands slipped down to Denver’s panties, pulling them aside, and Denver gasped as he felt the man’s hardness press against him.
“No, no, no…” Denver whispered, tears streaming down his face, but his body betrayed him again. His hips moved on their own, pressing against the man, welcoming him. The man’s hands gripped Denver’s waist, lifting him onto the bed, positioning him so that he was lying on his back, legs spread wide.
As the man thrust into him, Denver cried out—not in pain, but in a twisted, humiliating pleasure that overwhelmed his senses. The man’s every movement sent waves of ecstasy through Denver’s body, and no matter how much he tried to resist, he found himself surrendering to the sensation, to the words that had cursed him.
“I’m a sissy girl… I want this… I need this…” Denver moaned, his voice barely recognizable to himself.
The man’s thrusts grew more intense, and Denver’s moans turned into desperate cries of pleasure. He felt his body tremble, his mind overwhelmed by the sheer force of his humiliation. The bed creaked beneath them, the satin sheets cool against Denver’s flushed skin, and all he could do was cling to the man, lost in the storm of sensation.
Finally, with a deep groan, the man climaxed, and Denver felt a rush of warmth inside him, the final degradation that sealed his fate. He collapsed against the bed, his body spent, his mind shattered by the realization of what had just happened.
As the man withdrew, leaving Denver panting and broken on the bed, he leaned down and whispered in Denver’s ear, “You’re exactly what you said you were—a sissy girl who needed to be made into a woman. Now, you’ll never be anything else.”
Denver lay there, staring up at the ceiling, tears streaming down his face as the man walked out of the room, leaving him alone in his shame. The image from the computer, the words he had been forced to say, had become his reality. There was no escaping it now—he was trapped in a nightmare of his own making, one that he could never wake up from.
As the door closed behind the man, the room grew silent, save for Denver’s quiet sobs. The words from the image echoed in his mind, a cruel reminder of what he had become:
“I’M A SISSY GIRL THAT DESPERATELY WANTS A REAL MAN TO THRUST INTO ME BALLS DEEP AND MAKE A WOMAN OUT OF ME.”
And deep down, Denver knew that there was no going back. This was his life now—his humiliating, inescapable reality.
