This is my fantasy. A boys’ night. Just poker, drinks, banter. Except one of them doesn’t quite belong. One of them is mine. A pathetic little sissy slut stuffed into lace under his jeans, trying to pass as normal. Trying. He thinks he’s subtle, but I know better. I trained him to be weak for this. To crave exposure. To hope he gets caught. And tonight? He does. He starts losing. Fast. And the guys? They don’t go easy on him. They cheer, they jeer, they strip him down until the secret’s out - my sweet little toy trembling in nothing but lingerie while the room goes quiet. Staring. Smirking. Hard. And that’s when it really begins. One of them tells him to go upstairs and put on something sluttier. And like the obedient fuckdoll he is, he obeys. No questions. No hesitation. He wants to impress me, even though I’m not there. He wants to make me proud. He comes back down in full display - heels, mesh, cock barely contained. He strips, dances, offers himself to the room like a party favor they’ve earned. And when they finally use him, he looks up at them with tears in his eyes and one thought in his empty little brain: Would Goddess like this? And I do. God, I do.
