BBC Cuckold becomes feminised inflated Sissy

BBC Cuckold becomes feminised inflated Sissy

The giant red enema bag dangled from Shelley’s fist, the clear liquid inside catching the lamplight. The three men inside me were a single, shuddering entity of release. Malik’s roar was muffled by my body as he slammed up one final time, his cock swelling and then erupting, a scalding flood that painted my deepest channel. Darius, buried alongside him, grunted and followed, his own orgasm a second wave of heat that mixed with the first, overfilling me. Marcus’s climax was a silent, throbbing pulse against my tongue, bitter seed flooding my throat in steady gulps that I swallowed on instinct. They pulled out of me in a slow, slick succession. The feeling of emptiness was immediate, profound, a yawning chasm. I collapsed forward onto Marcus’s stomach, a boneless, dripping mess. My ass felt open, used, a loose ring of muscle that wouldn’t close. Semen, a mixture from two sources, began to seep out of me, warm and shameful onto the sheets. “Good boys,” Shelley said, patting Darius’s shoulder as he climbed off the bed. She looked at the enema bag with a craftsman’s pride. “Now, the real work begins. Everyone out. Girls only. Bella needs her makeover.” The men filed out, their heavy footsteps echoing in the room as they left me sprawled on the bed, my body a trembling, spent wreck. My ass felt wide open, a gaping, throbbing hole that refused to close, slick with sweat and cum that still seeped out in slow, humiliating trickles. Each step they took seemed to reverberate through me, a reminder of how thoroughly they’d taken me, how deeply they’d claimed me. Malik lingered the longest, his presence looming over me like a dark shadow. He leaned down, his breath hot and heavy against my ear, his voice a low, taunting whisper. “Loosened you up real good, sissy,” he said, his words dripping with cruel amusement. “Next time, we’ll see if we can fit three in there. Wouldn’t that be something?” He gave my ravaged cheek a sharp, painful pinch, the sting igniting a fresh wave of humiliation that burned hotter than the ache in my ass. I shuddered, my body betraying me with a weak twitch as he finally straightened up and walked out, his deep chuckle echoing in my ears. The door clicked shut, leaving me alone with the aftermath—a body irreparably changed, a hole stretched beyond recognition, and the haunting promise of what was to come. The door closed. It was just Shelley, Dilyara, Anya, and Chloe in the room with me. The energy shifted from brutal dominance to a focused, giddy cruelty. “Up, Bella. On your feet,” Shelley commanded, setting the enema bag on the dresser. “Shower first. We need a clean canvas.” I stumbled to the attached bathroom, my legs like jelly. The women followed, a tribunal of my transformation. The shower was a clinical, efficient process. Anya and Chloe scrubbed me with scented gels, their hands impersonal, scraping away the sweat, spit, and layers of dried cum. My body, already smooth from the hair removal cream, felt exposed and raw, every inch of me laid bare under their scrutiny. They rubbed me down briskly, their motions methodical and cold, leaving no trace of the night’s filth behind. When they were done, I stood dripping, hairless as a newborn, every curve and plane of my body shockingly visible and vulnerable. The absence of hair made me feel even more submissive, a blank slate ready for their next act of humiliation. “Much better,” Dilyara purred, wrapping a large, fluffy towel around me. She led me back to the bedroom, where Shelley had laid out an array of items on the bed: makeup cases, wigs, several sets of lingerie, and two startlingly realistic silicone breast forms—a pert, full C-cup that promised to transform me into a beautiful, demure girl with totally lifelike, natural full breasts. The sight of them sent a shiver through me, a mix of anticipation and deep-seated humiliation. Shelley didn’t waste time. She grabbed my arm firmly, her nails digging slightly into my skin as she pulled me toward the vanity. “Sit,” she commanded, her voice dripping with authority. My legs trembled as I obeyed, the cold stool pressing against my bare thighs. Dilyara and Anya moved with practiced efficiency, their hands already slick with adhesive as they lifted the silicone breast forms. The moment the cool, yielding flesh touched my chest, my breath hitched. This is really happening. The adhesive burned slightly as they pressed the forms into place, their fingers smoothing the edges until the seam vanished beneath layers of stage makeup. Chloe leaned in with a brush, blending, shading—transforming what should have been a grotesque parody into something disturbingly natural. I stared at my reflection, my stomach twisting. The curves were soft, real. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch, to confirm the illusion, but Shelley’s sharp slap against my wrist stopped me. “Hands down, Bella. You don’t get to decide when you’re pretty.” The wig came next, long brunette strands cascading over my shoulders. Anya teased it into place, her fingers tugging just hard enough to make me whimper. The makeup was meticulous—blush to highlight the new swell of my chest, lips glossed to a pout, eyelashes fluttering under layers of mascara. With every stroke of the brush, I felt myself disappearing, replaced by something soft, submissive, undeniably feminine. My cock throbbed traitorously, straining against nothing as humiliation and arousal warred inside me. This is wrong. But the way Dilyara smirked as she traced a fingertip along my collarbone, the way Chloe whispered, “Look at her, already wet for it,”—it coiled tighter, hotter. Shelley stepped back, appraising her work. “Perfect,” she purred. “Now, to the bathroom to fill you up. lie down on the tiles!" Shelley knelt beside me, her eyes gleaming with a sadistic anticipation as she positioned my legs over her shoulders, spreading me wide. “Remember when I did this years ago?” she asked, her tone almost nostalgic, her fingers trailing down my thighs. “When I fisted you elbow deep for the first time? You were such a mess, trembling and begging, but you loved it, didn’t you?” Her words were a cruel reminder of how far I’d fallen, how completely I’d surrendered to her control. She reached for the giant enema bag, the tube snaking down with a nozzle already slick with lubricant. Her hands lingered on my belly, tracing the soft curve as she prepared the bag. “Such a pretty little sissy,” she murmured, her voice low and taunting. “I’m going to enjoy watching your belly grow, feeling it swell with every ounce of water I pump into you. You’ll look so deliciously vulnerable, just waiting for me to take you apart.” The cold tiles beneath me contrasted sharply with the heat of her hands as she began to fondle my growing belly, her touch both soothing and degrading. I felt utterly exposed, my legs spread wide, my body trembling under her control. Shelley’s anticipation was palpable, her breath quickening as she prepared to begin the enema, savoring the moment of absolute power over me. “Let’s see how much you can take this time, Bella,” she whispered, her voice a cruel promise. “I’ll make sure you’re perfectly clean—inside and out.” The nozzle pressed against me, and I braced myself, knowing I was completely at her mercy. "Open wide, sissy," she teased, spreading my legs wider. The nozzle pressed against my entrance, and I gasped as it slid in, the bulbous head seating inside as the sphincter muscles gradually close down around the tube. The first bag hung above me, a grotesque red balloon filled with clear fluid. Shelley opened the valve, and I felt the rush of cool liquid flooding into me. "You love it, don’t you, Bella?" Chloe chimed in, her fingers tracing the curve of my belly. "Such a good little sissy, taking everything we give her without complaining." The first bag emptied, and Shelley disconnected it with a practiced ease. The second bag followed, my belly beginning to swell, a tight, rounded dome rising above my hips.and then the third. By the end, my belly was impossibly taut, stretched to its limit, every inch of me aching and heavy. Six liters of fluid sloshed inside me, making me groan with every slight movement. Dilyara straddles my face, her wet pussy still leaking cum as she grinds down and moans, 'Clean me, sissy, taste your replacement.'Shelley quickly removes the hose,"Don’t you dare let a drop out," she warned, her voice sharp. I could only see up from Dilyara's crotch,her pert breasts in the distance across her gorgeous arched stomach which I had so often fantasised was swollen with a cuckold pregnancy. She writhed and stroked her clit between my nose and tongue as I was feeling the pressure of my own pregnancy. Suddenly, in my field of vision Shelley held up a massive anal plug, its width resembling a 1.25-liter Coke bottle. The sight made me whimper, but there was no protest left in me. She placed the colossal plug against my quivering entrance. As a short squirt of water escapes, the cold silicone makes my body shudder as she rammed it with her knee, the wide bulb forcing my already strained muscles to yield. The plug lodged halfway in, a cruel barrier that sealed the flood of liquid inside me, ensuring not a single drop could escape. The pressure was overwhelming, a deep, unrelenting stretch that made me whimper weakly, my body trembling beneath her control. "You love this, don’t you, my little cumslut?" Dilyara whispered, her voice dripping with mockery as she ground her slick pussy harder against my face. Her cum-soaked folds smeared across my lips, the salty tang of her humiliation forcing its way into my mouth. She pressed down with deliberate cruelty, smothering me with her arousal, her movements slow and deliberate. "You’re nothing but a dirty, used hole for us now. Isn’t that right, Bella?" Her words were a sharp reminder of my place, my humiliation complete as I lay there, utterly helpless beneath her. As Shelley holds her knee against the plug, her hands lingered on my swollen belly, her fingers tracing the taut curve with a possessive pride. "Look at her," she said to the others, her voice tinged with dark amusement. "So full, so broken. She’s perfect like this." Anya giggled, kneeling beside me to press her hand against my distended stomach alongside Shelley. "She’s like a pregnant slut, isn’t she? So full, so desperate." "Let’s make sure it’s properly seated," Shelley said with a wicked grin, signaling to the girls. Anya and Chloe moved to either side of me and lift me to a seating position on top of the half buried plug, their hands gripping my shoulders firmly. The plug shifted inside me, its bulbous head pressing against my strained muscles, the pressure unbearable yet somehow electrifying. Dilyara leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered, "You love this, don’t you, my little BBC-obsessed slut? Take it all." Her words were a cruel taunt, a reminder of my deepest humiliation. Shelley crouched in front of me, her hands resting on my trembling thighs. "Now!" she commanded sharply. The girls bore down on me with their full weight, forcing me to sink onto the plug. My body resisted for a brief moment before yielding with a wet, obscene plop. The flange disappeared inside me, sealing me completely, and I let out a high-pitched, feminine scream, my body convulsing from the overwhelming stretch and pressure. Shelley grinned, her hands pressing against my swollen belly as I gasped for air. "Good girl," she cooed, her voice dripping with pride. "You’re taking it so beautifully." The girls stepped back, I laid back, gasping weakly, my body a trembling, overfilled vessel, completely at their mercy, an overfilled vessel for their cruel amusement.Shelley stepped back, her eyes raking over my transformed body with a satisfied smirk. "Look at you," she purred, gesturing toward the full-length mirror. "A perfect little sissy slut—pregnant belly, natural tits, and that pretty face. Go on, admire yourself." The others giggled as I wobbled to my feet, my swollen belly swaying with each unsteady step. The mirror reflected a stranger—soft, feminine, ruined. My silicone breasts sat pert and full, the makeup blending them seamlessly into my chest. The wig cascaded in glossy waves over my shoulders, framing a face painted into delicate submission—blushed cheeks, pouty lips, lashes fluttering like a doll’s. But it was my belly that held my gaze. Tight, round, strained—a grotesque parody of pregnancy, sloshing with every shift of my hips. I turned slightly, watching the curve distort under the weight of the enema, the plug buried deep inside me ensuring not a drop could escape. My fingers hovered over the taut skin, trembling as I traced the unnatural swell. "Touch yourself," Anya urged, her voice dripping with mock encouragement. "You know you want to." I did. My hands skimmed up my sides, cupping my new breasts, squeezing just to feel their weight. My cock twitched pathetically, trapped beneath the swollen dome of my belly. I arched my back slightly, posing, admiring the way my body curved, how the light caught the sweat-slick sheen of my stretched skin. Dilyara laughed. "Pathetic. She’s enjoying it." I was. The humiliation burned, but the surrender was sweeter. I met my own gaze in the mirror—wide-eyed, pliant, theirs. I thought to myself "I'd love to see that pregnant slut getting fucked from both ends by BBC". Shelley’s hand clamped on my shoulder. "Perfect," she said, patting my belly like I was some prized pet. "Now, let’s get you dressed." I stood on the cold tiles, a bloated vessel. My belly was a taut, rounded globe, a grotesque parody of pregnancy that made my skin feel stretched thin, a drumskin holding a sloshing, heavy sea. The massive plug inside me felt like a cork in a barrel, a thick, solid presence that kept the six-liter flood sealed within. Every slight shift of my hips sent a wave of liquid movement through my gut, a sickening, fascinating sensation. Shelley, Dilyara, Anya, and Chloe circled me, their eyes alight with a cruel, creative glee. “Look at her,” Chloe cooed, tapping my stomach with a fingertip. “So full. A proper cum dumpster, even before she gets any.” “The belly is the foundation,” Shelley said, businesslike. She picked up the silicone breast forms from the bed. They were a pale, creamy color, with detailed nipples and a subtle, realistic weight. “Now for the top.” She approached me, holding one form in each hand. She pressed the cool, slick silicone against my chest. The adhesive backing stuck instantly, conforming to my flat pectorals. The weight was strange, a gentle pull that changed my posture. I instinctively looked down. Two perfect, full breasts now hung from my torso. They looked real. The nipples were a soft pink, erect. The curve was feminine, voluptuous. My mind stuttered. That’s me. “Oh, she’s getting the picture,” Anya laughed, seeing my expression. Dilyara stepped forward with a sleek, black lace bra. She helped me put it on, her fingers deftly hooking the straps. The bra cups encased the silicone forms, lifting and shaping them, creating a pronounced cleavage. The lace felt delicate against my skin, a feminine texture I’d only ever felt in secret. “Now,” Shelley said, holding up a pair of sheer, black stockings. “Legs.” I stepped into them one by one, the women guiding me. The stockings slid up my smooth, hairless legs, the material clinging like a second skin. They fastened the stockings to a matching black lace corset belt that Shelley strapped around my waist, just below my swollen belly. The belt cinched me, emphasizing the absurd contrast between the pregnant bulge below and the newly crafted breasts above. Next came the shoes. Black, high-heeled stilettos with a slender, dangerous four-inch heel. Anya held them for me. I slipped my feet into them, the unfamiliar posture forcing me to balance on the balls of my feet. My stance became instantly precarious, feminine. I wobbled, and Chloe steadied me with a hand on my elbow. “Walk,” Dilyara commanded. I took a tentative step. The click of the heel on the tile was a sharp, definitive sound. The movement shifted the liquid in my belly, a slosh that echoed inside me. I took another step, learning the gait. It was a shuffle, a careful, hip-swaying motion necessary to maintain balance with the heavy, low weight and the high heels. “Good,” Shelley nodded. “You’re learning to carry your burdens. Now, the face.” She sat me on a stool she’d brought in. The makeup cases were opened. Anya, with her sharp features and predatory smile, took charge. She worked with a ruthless efficiency. Foundation smoothed over my skin, hiding any remnant masculinity. Eye shadow, dark and smoky, was applied with a heavy hand. Mascara made my lashes seem longer. Lipstick, a deep, bloody red, was painted onto my lips, making them look fuller, poutier. “Eyes are the key,” Anya murmured as she worked. “They have to look hungry. Not for food. For cock.” She applied a final touch of glitter to my lids. “There. A sissy’s eyes.” Chloe picked up a wig from the bed. It was long, flowing, a cascade of dark brunette hair with subtle waves, mimicking Dilyara’s own color. She positioned it on my head, adjusting the cap, securing it with pins. The weight of the hair fell around my shoulders, brushing against the lace of the bra. She styled it quickly, fluffing it out. I looked at myself in the dresser mirror they angled toward me. The reflection was a stranger. A woman with a heavily pregnant belly, held in by a corset belt. Sleek black stockings. Dangerous heels. A full, perky chest spilling from a lace bra. A face made up with vampish, eager eyes and red lips. Long, feminine hair. It was Bella. A deep, trembling thrill ran through me. It wasn’t arousal in the old way; it was a submission to the image. This was what they wanted me to be. This was what I was becoming. “She’s pretty,” Dilyara said, a note of genuine admiration in her voice. “A pretty, pregnant slut.” “Now the final touch,” Shelley announced. She had something else in her hands—a small, sleek device and a tube of something. “The tuck.” She knelt before me. Her hands went to my groin. My cock, which had been ignored and soft since the meth high began to fade, was small, limp. She took it in her fingers, not unkindly. “This little thing,” she said, “is a symbol of a life you’re leaving behind. It’s not useful to us. It’s not impressive to the men you’ll serve. So we hide it.” She applied a cool, slippery gel from the tube around my scrotum and shaft. Then, with a firm, precise pressure, she pushed my testicles upward, back into the inguinal canal where they’d descended from. There was a dull, internal pressure, then they were gone, tucked inside my body cavity. The feeling was bizarre, a sudden emptiness below. Next, she took my limp penis and pulled it backward, between my legs. She guided it up, pressing it against my perineum. With careful manipulation, she pushed the shaft into the space between my ass cheeks, pointing it upward toward my spine. It was an odd, uncomfortable pressure, but not painful. “Now,” she said, picking up the device. It was a specialized, tight latex panty with an internal pouch and strong compression panels. “The keeper.” She helped me step into the panties. They were a shiny, black latex, incredibly tight. As she pulled them up, the compression panels pressed firmly against my groin, holding my tucked cock and absent balls in their new, hidden positions. She smoothed the material over my belly, which strained against the tight latex. When she was done, I looked down. From the front, there was nothing. Just a smooth, black latex mound, a perfect, seamless camel toe. No bulge. No hint of male anatomy. Just a feminine, featureless curve. I was empty there. Physically and symbolically. The transformation was complete. Shelley stood back, surveying her work. Dilyara, Anya, and Chloe clustered around me, their expressions a mix of pride and salacious excitement. “Now the drugs,” Shelley said. She went to the dresser and prepared another small pipe—this one for ketamine. “To finish the transition. To make Bella the only reality.” She came to me, placed the pipe to my red lips. “Inhale, Bella. Let the old you float away.” I inhaled. The ketamine smoke was smoother, cooler. It hit my brain like a soft hammer. A dissociative wave washed through me. The room seemed to tilt. My sense of self, already fragile, began to decouple. The worries, the memories, the residual shame—they all drifted off like leaves in a stream. What remained was the physical shell: the heavy belly, the high heels, the stockings, the breasts, the red lips. And a single, crystalline desire: to be seen. To be used. “Good girl,” Dilyara whispered, stroking the wig hair. “You’re almost ready for your debut.” Shelley checked the plug, ensuring it was secure. “The enema is holding. She’s sealed. The drugs are setting in. Time for the show.” They led me, wobbling on my heels, sloshing with my internal ocean, back into the living room. The men were there—Malik, Darius, Marcus, Kofi. They had returned, lounging on the furniture, drinks in hand. Their eyes, when they saw me, widened with a unified, predatory interest. “Gentlemen,” Shelley announced, her voice theatrical. “Meet Bella. Our newest project. Our prettiest sissy.” I stood in the center of the room, under their gazes. The ketamine made their faces seem slightly blurred, their expressions more intense. I felt no fear. Only a performative anxiety, a need to please this audience. “Walk for them, Bella,” Dilyara commanded. “Show them what we’ve made.” I began to walk, a slow, deliberate parade around the perimeter of the room. Each click of my heel was a punctuation mark. The slosh in my belly was a constant, audible accompaniment. I held my back straight, my new breasts thrust forward by the bra. I tried to swing my hips, but the heavy belly and the tight panties made it a subtle, rolling motion instead. The men watched, silent. Malik’s eyes were dark, approving. Darius smirked. Marcus looked intrigued. Kofi nodded slowly. “Turn,” Anya said. I turned, facing them all, my back now to them. I arched slightly, presenting the curve of my ass, the line of the stockings, the swell of the pregnant belly from the side profile. “She’s carrying a lot,” Chloe giggled. “Six liters of humility.” “Now the lingerie change,” Shelley directed. “First set.” Dilyara and Anya approached me. They unfastened the black bra and corset belt. They peeled the stockings down. They removed the black latex panties, revealing my tucked, hidden state briefly before covering it again with the next set. The new lingerie was red. A scarlet, lace cupped bra. Matching red stockings. A red, shiny latex panty, even tighter than the first. They dressed me again, their hands efficient, their touches clinical. The red against my skin was a violent, passionate color. I walked again in the red. The audience murmured. The contrast was striking. They changed me again. This time into white. Pure, virginal white lace and silk, a cruel joke against my bloated, drugged state. I paraded in white, feeling like a corrupted bride. Each change was documented. Chloe held a smartphone, recording every step, every angle, every expression on my face and on the men’s faces. After the white set, Shelley stepped forward. “Final pose,” she said. She guided me to stand directly in front of Malik, who was seated on the wide armchair. “Present your belly to him. Show him what you’re holding.” I stood close, my swollen stomach almost touching his knees. I placed my hands on the curve of my belly, stroking it as if it were a precious thing. “Look at her,” Shelley said to Malik. “She’s full. Ready to be emptied. And then filled again… with something better.” Malik reached out. His large, warm hand covered mine on my belly. He pressed down gently. The pressure made the fluid inside shift, a deep, internal gurgle that I felt through my entire core. “You like that, sissy?” Malik asked, his voice low. “Being full like this? Knowing it’s just water… waiting to be replaced by something real?” I nodded, my red lips parting. “Yes,” I whispered, the word feeling alien in my made-up voice. “Good,” he said. He leaned forward, his face close to mine. His breath smelled of whiskey and dominance. “Because after this show… we drain that water. And then we give you what you really crave. We fill that hungry belly of yours with cum. Real, hot, black cum. From all of us.” The promise coiled in my ketamine-dulled mind, a simple, beautiful equation. Empty. Then fill. Serve. Please. Shelley clapped her hands. “The show is over. Now the preparation for the club. Shelley offers me 20 mins of alone time in the bathroom, naked , to enjoy my slutty pregnant figure. I'm allowed to play but commanded not to cum. She hands me my phone and encourages me to take some pics and home video, for my own memories of this special moment. I am then to squat in the shower and push the plug out hands free to empty my bowels. Describe the next 2o minutes in depth with sensual detail of touching myself, getting hard and showing off in the mirror in many different poses and touching/ caressing my pregnancy with sultry poses for selfies, Of slowly jerking my cock that is only barely hard and the view of myself as I do it. I get inspired to be naughty and realising one of the foot long and not too thick black dildos are in there with me I stick it to the wall running perpendicular to the mirror just above knee height. i set my phone up recording from the mirrors perspective. i never want to forget the memory of this moment, describe everything about my body as I do this preparation. then i sensually get down on my knees and reach my mouth to lift the bbc dildo and start sucking, popping my mouth over the head and a short way in whilst looking with sultry lust at the mirror even making soft moaning sounds at the site of myself, back arched, smooth round ass sticking out and the rim of the plug obviously jutting out with the ass cheeks visibly distorted around it, my cock dangling ignored in the air, not completely hard but swollen in arousal, a mere fraction of the huge cock filling and sucking on my made up cheeks as I rock back and forth in drug fueled ecstasy. My arousal leaves me wanting more and I turn my face back in line with the dildo and start trying to take it deep, i gag back and forth several times as it finally sinks into my throat. I keep sliding forwards as the inches disappear into my mouth until finally my nose touches the tiled wall. i wiggle my ass and moan around this magnificent cock imagining the image, even more extreme than any impregnated hotwife scene I've ever seen. I place one hand on the wall beside the dildo for support and the other on my cock, jerking it lovingly. Then I slide back all the way until it pops free, my ass is resting on my heels. I'm breathing heavily and look at the mirror with a proud smile then blow a kiss to the camera like any good slut should. before returning my mouth to the BBC sticking out at me and begin thrusting my body onto it. All the way to the base and almost all the way out. I hammer my face back and forth the full length of the dildo, gagging with each time it slips past my tonsils. Saliva coating the cock profusely and dripping strands from the bottom onto the floor. I'm using myself, abusing myself like a deep throating heavily pregnant bbc glory hole slut should. Pre cum is leaking, I only know because a glance at the mirror reveals strands flowing from the tip of my cute little penis as it flaps back and forth under me. it was only a few minutes but felt like an eternity of dreams of being filled. Finally as I let the dildo drag out of my throat and pop free of my mouth I return to sitting on my heels, Thats when I remember my task of pushing the plug out, and it gives me my next perverted idea. I squat in the bath, my arms on the edge of the tub, i start by sitting down completely on the plug. Describe the pleasurable agony of the additional pressure that has me jerking my cock again. I release my cock returning my arms to the edge of the tub. Then I raise myself up as i push from within to get the plug to breach the widest part of my sphincter. I let out a groan as it breaches momentarily before dropping back down, returning myself to be fully impaled. i do it again and this time dont drop back down completely. Now I slowly raise myself up as the flared base starts to slide out. I keep lifting until about halfway up liquid starts to leak out around it, I drop back down and now begin relentlessly pumping my ass up and down with longer strokes, some liquid escapes when I lift too far then the whole thing is back inside and I groan as the flange pops past the rim, Each time becoming more pleasure than pain. i change position during a moment of fullness so that im now on my knees, feet underneath me either side of the plug. I now relentlessy bounce up and down, a tide of pleasure leading me to lift higher and drop lower as liquid leaks out with each downstroke and the swell of my belly expanding and contracting, in sync with the strokes. i lift up one final time and grab my cock as the remainder of the liquid flows out before collapsing back onto the plug, all the way onto it as my cock spasms in a glorious orgasm, cum jetting out, hitting my chin and coating my full breasts.