03-03-2026, 07:20 PM
(This post was last modified: 03-03-2026, 07:26 PM by Thunder85. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 10: The Pride Planning Meeting
On Wednesday afternoon, the marketing team gathered in the glass-walled conference room. The air buzzed with energy as Alexis pulled up slides on the screen: bold colors, inclusive slogans, and a draft campaign for Chic Horizons’ Pride Month event.
“This year,” Alexis said, her eyes shining, “we want to highlight stories of individuality and expression. Models who don’t just fit the mold, but redefine it. It’s about being unapologetically authentic.”
Around the table, heads nodded. Priya added, “And we’ll integrate the campaign into our community event—partnerships with local organizations, open workshops. It’s about visibility and solidarity.”
Daniel listened, impressed but uneasy. When Amelia invited him to share thoughts, he cleared his throat.
“It’s… bold,” he began carefully. “But maybe we should consider whether some clients might find it too much? A more neutral approach could appeal to a wider audience.”
The room stilled. Alexis blinked. Priya’s expression remained calm but unreadable.
Amelia’s gaze cut sharp across the table. “Neutral?” she repeated, her voice even but cool.
Daniel shifted in his seat, heat rushing to his face. “I just mean—perhaps moderation is safer. We don’t want to alienate anyone.”
Silence pressed heavy for a moment before Alexis spoke, her tone firm but kind. “Daniel, at Chic Horizons, we don’t tone down identity. We celebrate it. That’s the brand.”
Nods circled the table. Daniel felt the flush creep higher up his neck. He forced a smile and muttered, “Of course. I understand.”
But the moment lingered like a shadow.
Later That Day – Amelia’s Office
“Daniel,” Amelia said, gesturing him inside. Her tone was calm but carried weight. “Your hesitation in the meeting was noted. I understand it may come from habit, from your past industry. But here, inclusivity isn’t negotiable—it’s the core of who we are.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t mean to undermine—”
“I know,” Amelia cut in smoothly. “But perception matters. If you appear hesitant in a discussion as important as Pride, what message does that send to your colleagues? To our clients?”
Daniel lowered his gaze. “I see your point.”
Amelia leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. “Good. Then we’ll take steps to address it.”
He looked up, uncertain. “Steps?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Amelia replied smoothly, closing the folder in front of her. “Consider this a chance to demonstrate your commitment. I expect you ready tomorrow.”
Her tone left no room for questions.
Daniel nodded, though unease pooled in his chest. He rose, thanked her quietly, and left the office.
Only once he was back at his desk did the weight of her words settle in. Ready tomorrow. But ready for what?
Daniel went through the motions of the rest of the workday, but Amelia’s words clung to him like a weight. “Consider this a chance to demonstrate your commitment. I expect you ready tomorrow.”
At his desk, he typed reports with mechanical precision, barely absorbing the numbers on the screen. Every glance from a colleague felt sharper than usual, every nod loaded with meaning he couldn’t decipher.
By the time he left the office, the unease had coiled tightly in his chest.
The Long Night
In his apartment, he paced the narrow living room, loosening his tie and dropping into a chair, only to rise again moments later. He replayed the Pride planning meeting in his head, Alexis’s firm correction, Priya’s unreadable silence, Amelia’s cool gaze.
He had misstepped—he knew that much. But what “steps” would Amelia take now?
He opened his wardrobe, staring at the row of navy and grey suits that had once been his armor. They looked alien now, relics from a different life. His hand hovered over a jacket before dropping uselessly to his side.
He caught his reflection in the mirror. The clean shave still startled him; his face looked exposed, boyish. He imagined again the dbang of the cream blouse, the way it had softened his posture without effort.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Amelia’s expression, calm and firm, as she said, “I expect you ready tomorrow.”
By dawn, his body was heavy with exhaustion, his mind fogged with dread. He dressed in his usual suit, but the fabric felt stiffer than ever, like a shell that no longer belonged to him.
And as he left for the office, one question haunted him with every step:
What exactly was Amelia preparing to demand?
The Next Day
The next morning, Daniel stepped into Chic Horizons with leaden steps. His suit, once a symbol of professionalism, now felt like a uniform that no longer fit the place—or him.
Almost immediately, he noticed something was different. Alexis and Priya glanced up as he passed their desks, sharing a look he couldn’t quite read. Not unfriendly, but knowing.
In the break room, Clara greeted him warmly but with a certain brightness in her eyes, as though she were in on a secret. “Morning, Daniel. Sleep well?”
“Not really,” he admitted, pouring himself coffee.
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Today will be important. Just keep an open mind.” Then she left before he could ask what she meant.
Back at his desk, Daniel tried to focus on the report in front of him, but the numbers blurred. His colleagues’ conversations seemed to carry an edge of anticipation, as though something was quietly building beneath the surface.
At ten o’clock sharp, his phone buzzed with a message from Clara: Amelia would like to see you. Conference room 2.
Daniel’s throat tightened. He straightened his tie, palms damp, and made the slow walk down the corridor.
When he pushed open the door, Amelia was waiting, her folder open, Alexis and Priya seated at her side. All three turned toward him with expressions calm, composed—and expectant.
“Daniel,” Amelia said smoothly, gesturing to the empty chair across the table. “We’re ready to begin.”
The Reveal
Amelia’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “From this point forward, you will no longer limit alignment to workshops or private sessions. Tomorrow, you will embody it for one full workday. Attire, grooming, posture, voice—consistent from morning until evening. Consider it your Wardrobe Continuity Assignment.”
Daniel froze. “You mean… in front of everyone?” His voice cracked before he could stop it.
“Exactly,” Amelia replied. “Not in the safety of a closed room, not for thirty minutes, but here, in the flow of a normal day. Your colleagues, our clients, everyone will see you aligned.”
Heat rushed to Daniel’s face. His fingers dug into the chair’s arms. “This… this goes too far. I’ve done everything you’ve asked—”
“And that’s why you’re ready,” Amelia cut in smoothly. “Continuity isn’t punishment, Daniel. It’s proof. If you can carry alignment under the ordinary gaze of others, it ceases to be an act. It becomes you.”
Alexis leaned in, voice softer but no less insistent. “We’ll all be watching, supporting. But yes—everyone will see.”
The room seemed to close in on him. A hundred objections crowded his throat—humiliation, shame, the risk of laughter. But Amelia’s eyes held his, cool and commanding, and he felt the last of his protests wither.
His shoulders sagged. “I… understand.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper.
Amelia’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Good. Then tomorrow, Daniel, you will show us who you can be.”
Daniel stood on unsteady legs. As he left the room, a single thought thundered through his mind: Tomorrow, there would be no hiding.
That afternoon, Clara escorted Daniel back to the styling suite. Inside, Sofia stood waiting beside a rack of clothes—three carefully chosen outfits, each hanging with precise order.
“Tomorrow,” Sofia said briskly, “you’ll spend the full day in alignment. These are your options.”
Daniel’s breath caught the moment his eyes fell on the rack. He had expected something like the slim trousers and neutral blouses Sofia had once tested on him. But these—these were different.
The fabrics gleamed faintly under the lights: silk, chiffon, soft crepes that belonged more to a boutique than a men’s department. Blouses with delicate seams and flowing sleeves, pastel shades edged in sheen. Jackets cut to nip at the waist, their lines softer, almost sculpted. Even the trousers—if they could be called that—were narrow, hugging the leg more closely than anything Daniel had ever worn.
The effect was unmistakable. These weren’t genderless compromises. They were women’s clothes, professional but openly feminine, arranged with clinical precision for him.
His stomach dropped. The navy armor of his old life—stiff suits, heavy fabrics, boxy shoulders—felt galaxies away. Here, every thread pulled him in the opposite direction, toward polish and softness, toward ambiguity that tilted dangerously toward feminine.
Trying-On
One by one, Sofia handed him the outfits.
The ivory blouse came first. Its fabric clung with a softness that felt foreign against his skin. The slim gray trousers hugged closer than any suit pants he’d ever owned, the cropped jacket narrowing his frame at the waist. When Sofia tugged the sleeves into place, Daniel caught sight of himself in the mirror and flinched. The cut was professional, yes, but professional in a way that diminished him, pulling his shoulders in, smoothing him down.
“Simple. Polished,” Sofia said briskly.
Priya’s cool voice followed: “A safe beginning.”
Safe, Daniel thought bitterly, though his ears burned. Safe only if you didn’t see the man he used to be.
The second outfit was worse. The lavender satin blouse gleamed under the lights, the sheen exaggerating every movement. Tucked into beige trousers, the thin belt cinched his waist until it felt fragile, wrong. Sofia added a delicate chain bracelet without asking, fastening it around his wrist with a soft click.
Alexis’s smile was warm, almost teasing. “That softens you beautifully. This one photographs well.”
Daniel stood frozen as the others nodded. In the mirror, the bracelet glittered faintly. His hands looked slenderer than he remembered. The reflection wasn’t a man disguised—it was someone caught halfway, a figure leaning visibly into femininity. His pulse raced, shame prickling under his collar.
By the third outfit, resistance had drained into dread. The powder-blue blouse’s high neckline pulled his posture taut, the tailored trousers sleek and unforgiving. Sofia dbangd the patterned silk scarf carefully around his neck, arranging it so it framed his face.
“There,” Priya murmured with quiet approval. “For presentations, it will hold every eye.”
Daniel’s gaze locked on the mirror. The scarf redirected focus upward—his lips, faintly glossy, his eyes lined in subtle shadow. His old navy armor felt like a ghost. The man in the reflection looked polished, composed… and unmistakably feminine.
Heat surged through him, mortification and disbelief tangled together. His colleagues studied him calmly, critically, as though this were just another design choice, another campaign decision. No one laughed. No one treated it as absurd.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
The mirror didn’t show a costume. It showed someone being built, piece by piece, until the old Daniel was nearly unrecognizable. And tomorrow, he realized with a sick twist in his gut, he’d have to wear one of these all day—in front of everyone.
The Choice
When Sofia asked him to decide, Daniel’s throat tightened. He glanced at the rack again: the lavender blouse gleaming under the lights, the powder-blue scarf angled to frame his face. His stomach turned.
“The first one,” he muttered at last, nodding toward the ivory blouse and gray trousers.
Sofia’s brows arched faintly, but she said nothing as she helped him back into it. Alexis, less restrained, let out a quiet sigh. “Safe. Predictable. I suppose it will do for now.”
Priya exchanged a look with her and added in her calm, measured tone, “No matter. There will be other opportunities. Sooner than you think.”
The words sank like stones.
As Sofia adjusted the cuffs one final time, Daniel felt both relief and shame. He had avoided the worst—but not escaped. Even the “safest” outfit left him slimmer, softer, blurred in ways he couldn’t deny. And the knowledge that the others had wanted more from him—that they would, in time, demand it—burned hotter than the fabric against his skin.
The Workday
Back at his desk, Daniel tried to lose himself in spreadsheets and marketing drafts, but concentration slipped like water through his fingers. Each time he glanced at his sleeves, the ivory blouse mocked him. The fabric caught the light differently than his old shirts, smooth and faintly luminous. When he reached for his keyboard, the cuff brushed against his wrist, a constant reminder that he wasn’t dressed as himself.
He caught two colleagues glancing his way—nothing overt, just fleeting looks—but paranoia flared. Did they notice? Did they see the blouse for what it was? His ears burned at the thought.
At lunch, he sat stiffly at the table, barely tasting the food. His colleagues chatted easily, their laughter ringing in his ears, but Daniel’s mind was elsewhere: tomorrow. Tomorrow, this wouldn’t be confined to the styling suite. Tomorrow, he’d have to walk in dressed like this from morning until evening, with no refuge, no reprieve.
By mid-afternoon, every reflection tormented him. Glass doors, computer screens, the sheen of the conference room window—all showed the same figure: a man who no longer looked like a man, not really. Shoulders narrowed, colors softer, presence reshaped.
The day crawled toward evening, each hour stretching under the weight of his dread. When he finally left the office, the city air felt too sharp, his steps too loud. He tugged at his jacket as if it could shield him, but the truth clung beneath: tomorrow, there would be no hiding, no compromise.
Tomorrow, everyone would see.
On Wednesday afternoon, the marketing team gathered in the glass-walled conference room. The air buzzed with energy as Alexis pulled up slides on the screen: bold colors, inclusive slogans, and a draft campaign for Chic Horizons’ Pride Month event.
“This year,” Alexis said, her eyes shining, “we want to highlight stories of individuality and expression. Models who don’t just fit the mold, but redefine it. It’s about being unapologetically authentic.”
Around the table, heads nodded. Priya added, “And we’ll integrate the campaign into our community event—partnerships with local organizations, open workshops. It’s about visibility and solidarity.”
Daniel listened, impressed but uneasy. When Amelia invited him to share thoughts, he cleared his throat.
“It’s… bold,” he began carefully. “But maybe we should consider whether some clients might find it too much? A more neutral approach could appeal to a wider audience.”
The room stilled. Alexis blinked. Priya’s expression remained calm but unreadable.
Amelia’s gaze cut sharp across the table. “Neutral?” she repeated, her voice even but cool.
Daniel shifted in his seat, heat rushing to his face. “I just mean—perhaps moderation is safer. We don’t want to alienate anyone.”
Silence pressed heavy for a moment before Alexis spoke, her tone firm but kind. “Daniel, at Chic Horizons, we don’t tone down identity. We celebrate it. That’s the brand.”
Nods circled the table. Daniel felt the flush creep higher up his neck. He forced a smile and muttered, “Of course. I understand.”
But the moment lingered like a shadow.
Later That Day – Amelia’s Office
“Daniel,” Amelia said, gesturing him inside. Her tone was calm but carried weight. “Your hesitation in the meeting was noted. I understand it may come from habit, from your past industry. But here, inclusivity isn’t negotiable—it’s the core of who we are.”
He swallowed. “I didn’t mean to undermine—”
“I know,” Amelia cut in smoothly. “But perception matters. If you appear hesitant in a discussion as important as Pride, what message does that send to your colleagues? To our clients?”
Daniel lowered his gaze. “I see your point.”
Amelia leaned back slightly, her expression unreadable. “Good. Then we’ll take steps to address it.”
He looked up, uncertain. “Steps?”
“You’ll find out soon enough,” Amelia replied smoothly, closing the folder in front of her. “Consider this a chance to demonstrate your commitment. I expect you ready tomorrow.”
Her tone left no room for questions.
Daniel nodded, though unease pooled in his chest. He rose, thanked her quietly, and left the office.
Only once he was back at his desk did the weight of her words settle in. Ready tomorrow. But ready for what?
Daniel went through the motions of the rest of the workday, but Amelia’s words clung to him like a weight. “Consider this a chance to demonstrate your commitment. I expect you ready tomorrow.”
At his desk, he typed reports with mechanical precision, barely absorbing the numbers on the screen. Every glance from a colleague felt sharper than usual, every nod loaded with meaning he couldn’t decipher.
By the time he left the office, the unease had coiled tightly in his chest.
The Long Night
In his apartment, he paced the narrow living room, loosening his tie and dropping into a chair, only to rise again moments later. He replayed the Pride planning meeting in his head, Alexis’s firm correction, Priya’s unreadable silence, Amelia’s cool gaze.
He had misstepped—he knew that much. But what “steps” would Amelia take now?
He opened his wardrobe, staring at the row of navy and grey suits that had once been his armor. They looked alien now, relics from a different life. His hand hovered over a jacket before dropping uselessly to his side.
He caught his reflection in the mirror. The clean shave still startled him; his face looked exposed, boyish. He imagined again the dbang of the cream blouse, the way it had softened his posture without effort.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw Amelia’s expression, calm and firm, as she said, “I expect you ready tomorrow.”
By dawn, his body was heavy with exhaustion, his mind fogged with dread. He dressed in his usual suit, but the fabric felt stiffer than ever, like a shell that no longer belonged to him.
And as he left for the office, one question haunted him with every step:
What exactly was Amelia preparing to demand?
The Next Day
The next morning, Daniel stepped into Chic Horizons with leaden steps. His suit, once a symbol of professionalism, now felt like a uniform that no longer fit the place—or him.
Almost immediately, he noticed something was different. Alexis and Priya glanced up as he passed their desks, sharing a look he couldn’t quite read. Not unfriendly, but knowing.
In the break room, Clara greeted him warmly but with a certain brightness in her eyes, as though she were in on a secret. “Morning, Daniel. Sleep well?”
“Not really,” he admitted, pouring himself coffee.
She gave a sympathetic smile. “Today will be important. Just keep an open mind.” Then she left before he could ask what she meant.
Back at his desk, Daniel tried to focus on the report in front of him, but the numbers blurred. His colleagues’ conversations seemed to carry an edge of anticipation, as though something was quietly building beneath the surface.
At ten o’clock sharp, his phone buzzed with a message from Clara: Amelia would like to see you. Conference room 2.
Daniel’s throat tightened. He straightened his tie, palms damp, and made the slow walk down the corridor.
When he pushed open the door, Amelia was waiting, her folder open, Alexis and Priya seated at her side. All three turned toward him with expressions calm, composed—and expectant.
“Daniel,” Amelia said smoothly, gesturing to the empty chair across the table. “We’re ready to begin.”
The Reveal
Amelia’s gaze was steady, unyielding. “From this point forward, you will no longer limit alignment to workshops or private sessions. Tomorrow, you will embody it for one full workday. Attire, grooming, posture, voice—consistent from morning until evening. Consider it your Wardrobe Continuity Assignment.”
Daniel froze. “You mean… in front of everyone?” His voice cracked before he could stop it.
“Exactly,” Amelia replied. “Not in the safety of a closed room, not for thirty minutes, but here, in the flow of a normal day. Your colleagues, our clients, everyone will see you aligned.”
Heat rushed to Daniel’s face. His fingers dug into the chair’s arms. “This… this goes too far. I’ve done everything you’ve asked—”
“And that’s why you’re ready,” Amelia cut in smoothly. “Continuity isn’t punishment, Daniel. It’s proof. If you can carry alignment under the ordinary gaze of others, it ceases to be an act. It becomes you.”
Alexis leaned in, voice softer but no less insistent. “We’ll all be watching, supporting. But yes—everyone will see.”
The room seemed to close in on him. A hundred objections crowded his throat—humiliation, shame, the risk of laughter. But Amelia’s eyes held his, cool and commanding, and he felt the last of his protests wither.
His shoulders sagged. “I… understand.” The words came out barely louder than a whisper.
Amelia’s lips curved in the faintest smile. “Good. Then tomorrow, Daniel, you will show us who you can be.”
Daniel stood on unsteady legs. As he left the room, a single thought thundered through his mind: Tomorrow, there would be no hiding.
That afternoon, Clara escorted Daniel back to the styling suite. Inside, Sofia stood waiting beside a rack of clothes—three carefully chosen outfits, each hanging with precise order.
“Tomorrow,” Sofia said briskly, “you’ll spend the full day in alignment. These are your options.”
Daniel’s breath caught the moment his eyes fell on the rack. He had expected something like the slim trousers and neutral blouses Sofia had once tested on him. But these—these were different.
The fabrics gleamed faintly under the lights: silk, chiffon, soft crepes that belonged more to a boutique than a men’s department. Blouses with delicate seams and flowing sleeves, pastel shades edged in sheen. Jackets cut to nip at the waist, their lines softer, almost sculpted. Even the trousers—if they could be called that—were narrow, hugging the leg more closely than anything Daniel had ever worn.
The effect was unmistakable. These weren’t genderless compromises. They were women’s clothes, professional but openly feminine, arranged with clinical precision for him.
His stomach dropped. The navy armor of his old life—stiff suits, heavy fabrics, boxy shoulders—felt galaxies away. Here, every thread pulled him in the opposite direction, toward polish and softness, toward ambiguity that tilted dangerously toward feminine.
Trying-On
One by one, Sofia handed him the outfits.
The ivory blouse came first. Its fabric clung with a softness that felt foreign against his skin. The slim gray trousers hugged closer than any suit pants he’d ever owned, the cropped jacket narrowing his frame at the waist. When Sofia tugged the sleeves into place, Daniel caught sight of himself in the mirror and flinched. The cut was professional, yes, but professional in a way that diminished him, pulling his shoulders in, smoothing him down.
“Simple. Polished,” Sofia said briskly.
Priya’s cool voice followed: “A safe beginning.”
Safe, Daniel thought bitterly, though his ears burned. Safe only if you didn’t see the man he used to be.
The second outfit was worse. The lavender satin blouse gleamed under the lights, the sheen exaggerating every movement. Tucked into beige trousers, the thin belt cinched his waist until it felt fragile, wrong. Sofia added a delicate chain bracelet without asking, fastening it around his wrist with a soft click.
Alexis’s smile was warm, almost teasing. “That softens you beautifully. This one photographs well.”
Daniel stood frozen as the others nodded. In the mirror, the bracelet glittered faintly. His hands looked slenderer than he remembered. The reflection wasn’t a man disguised—it was someone caught halfway, a figure leaning visibly into femininity. His pulse raced, shame prickling under his collar.
By the third outfit, resistance had drained into dread. The powder-blue blouse’s high neckline pulled his posture taut, the tailored trousers sleek and unforgiving. Sofia dbangd the patterned silk scarf carefully around his neck, arranging it so it framed his face.
“There,” Priya murmured with quiet approval. “For presentations, it will hold every eye.”
Daniel’s gaze locked on the mirror. The scarf redirected focus upward—his lips, faintly glossy, his eyes lined in subtle shadow. His old navy armor felt like a ghost. The man in the reflection looked polished, composed… and unmistakably feminine.
Heat surged through him, mortification and disbelief tangled together. His colleagues studied him calmly, critically, as though this were just another design choice, another campaign decision. No one laughed. No one treated it as absurd.
That, more than anything, unsettled him.
The mirror didn’t show a costume. It showed someone being built, piece by piece, until the old Daniel was nearly unrecognizable. And tomorrow, he realized with a sick twist in his gut, he’d have to wear one of these all day—in front of everyone.
The Choice
When Sofia asked him to decide, Daniel’s throat tightened. He glanced at the rack again: the lavender blouse gleaming under the lights, the powder-blue scarf angled to frame his face. His stomach turned.
“The first one,” he muttered at last, nodding toward the ivory blouse and gray trousers.
Sofia’s brows arched faintly, but she said nothing as she helped him back into it. Alexis, less restrained, let out a quiet sigh. “Safe. Predictable. I suppose it will do for now.”
Priya exchanged a look with her and added in her calm, measured tone, “No matter. There will be other opportunities. Sooner than you think.”
The words sank like stones.
As Sofia adjusted the cuffs one final time, Daniel felt both relief and shame. He had avoided the worst—but not escaped. Even the “safest” outfit left him slimmer, softer, blurred in ways he couldn’t deny. And the knowledge that the others had wanted more from him—that they would, in time, demand it—burned hotter than the fabric against his skin.
The Workday
Back at his desk, Daniel tried to lose himself in spreadsheets and marketing drafts, but concentration slipped like water through his fingers. Each time he glanced at his sleeves, the ivory blouse mocked him. The fabric caught the light differently than his old shirts, smooth and faintly luminous. When he reached for his keyboard, the cuff brushed against his wrist, a constant reminder that he wasn’t dressed as himself.
He caught two colleagues glancing his way—nothing overt, just fleeting looks—but paranoia flared. Did they notice? Did they see the blouse for what it was? His ears burned at the thought.
At lunch, he sat stiffly at the table, barely tasting the food. His colleagues chatted easily, their laughter ringing in his ears, but Daniel’s mind was elsewhere: tomorrow. Tomorrow, this wouldn’t be confined to the styling suite. Tomorrow, he’d have to walk in dressed like this from morning until evening, with no refuge, no reprieve.
By mid-afternoon, every reflection tormented him. Glass doors, computer screens, the sheen of the conference room window—all showed the same figure: a man who no longer looked like a man, not really. Shoulders narrowed, colors softer, presence reshaped.
The day crawled toward evening, each hour stretching under the weight of his dread. When he finally left the office, the city air felt too sharp, his steps too loud. He tugged at his jacket as if it could shield him, but the truth clung beneath: tomorrow, there would be no hiding, no compromise.
Tomorrow, everyone would see.
Experienced Bull.Techie by Profession and Bull by Passion.BDSM is my Obsession.Enjoying being a DOM
Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
For any personalized discussion ping me in Hangout-apply2dreams
Ass Lover|Doggy Style|Taller Women| Biting the hell out
Interested in discussions related to BDSM, Cuckoldry,Polygamy, Forced Sex
For any personalized discussion ping me in Hangout-apply2dreams
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