My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road Continued... (Part II) (To see the beginning, Part I, visit my page and scroll down):
The bra came next.
I hesitated for half a second—long enough for the moment to stretch—then let it slide off. Cool air kissed my skin. His breath caught audibly. He didn’t touch me yet. He didn’t need to.
Click.
Click.
I could feel my body responding to the attention, to the knowledge that this version of me was being captured, saved, proof that Chrissy existed. That I wasn’t just a thought or a secret ritual in front of a mirror.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and I believed him.
When the last of the fabric was gone, I stood there fully exposed under the red glow, arms crossed loosely at first, then letting them fall to my sides. Vulnerability pulsed through me—electric, frightening, intoxicating. I felt open, claimed by the moment, by the lens, by his gaze.
He stepped closer then. Close enough that I could feel his heat without being touched. One hand lifted my chin, not roughly, just enough to make me meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he said. “Not the camera.”
I did.
The photos continued, slower now, more deliberate. Less about documenting and more about possession. When he finally set the phone down, my skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve had been tuned too high.
When he guided me back onto the bunk, the vinyl was cold at first, then quickly warmed beneath me. I lay there open to him, knees drawn up, posture unmistakable, my body arranged in a way that made refusal impossible—but refusal wasn’t what I felt.
What I felt was permission being taken.
The cab groaned softly as he leaned over me, blocking out the low red light, blocking out the rest of the world. His hands settled at my hips and stayed there—anchoring me, claiming the space where my choices narrowed into a single direction. He didn’t hurry. He waited. Long enough that the waiting itself became its own kind of pressure.
My breath went shallow. My body answered before my mind could intervene.
When he finally moved, the sensation was overwhelming—not sharp, not violent, but consuming. The kind of closeness that demands you make room for it, that insists you soften or break. I felt myself give way in small increments, each one deliberate, each one erasing a little more distance between who I pretend to be and what I was becoming in that moment. He plowed my asspussy over and over....in and out...in and out...in..in...getting deeper each time.
He watched my face closely, as if he needed to see exactly where I disappeared. Every sound I made seemed to encourage him, draw him deeper into his own control. I clutched the bedding, holding on to something solid as my thoughts scattered, replaced by a single, relentless awareness of being used with purpose.
“Relax,” he said quietly, almost kindly. “I’ve got you.”
And I surrendered.
Not just my body—my resistance. I let the tension drain out of me and allowed the sensation to take over completely. There was a point where I stopped tracking time, stopped measuring what I was giving and what I was losing. My body responded on its own terms, breaking open in waves that left me shaking, emptied of pretense.
I heard him make a sound above me—rough, unfiltered—and knew I’d been brought exactly where he wanted me. I knew he came, he ejaculated, he sprayed his man juice, his sperm, his DNA deep inside me. I could feel it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my insides.
Afterward, when he pulled me up toward him again, there was no gentleness in the request—just expectation. I recognized it instantly. My knees braced against the seat, my hands guided into place, my mouth following where my thoughts no longer led. I focused on the task, on being useful, on doing it right. There was comfort in that narrow focus. Safety, even. More to cum....
#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
The bra came next.
I hesitated for half a second—long enough for the moment to stretch—then let it slide off. Cool air kissed my skin. His breath caught audibly. He didn’t touch me yet. He didn’t need to.
Click.
Click.
I could feel my body responding to the attention, to the knowledge that this version of me was being captured, saved, proof that Chrissy existed. That I wasn’t just a thought or a secret ritual in front of a mirror.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and I believed him.
When the last of the fabric was gone, I stood there fully exposed under the red glow, arms crossed loosely at first, then letting them fall to my sides. Vulnerability pulsed through me—electric, frightening, intoxicating. I felt open, claimed by the moment, by the lens, by his gaze.
He stepped closer then. Close enough that I could feel his heat without being touched. One hand lifted my chin, not roughly, just enough to make me meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he said. “Not the camera.”
I did.
The photos continued, slower now, more deliberate. Less about documenting and more about possession. When he finally set the phone down, my skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve had been tuned too high.
When he guided me back onto the bunk, the vinyl was cold at first, then quickly warmed beneath me. I lay there open to him, knees drawn up, posture unmistakable, my body arranged in a way that made refusal impossible—but refusal wasn’t what I felt.
What I felt was permission being taken.
The cab groaned softly as he leaned over me, blocking out the low red light, blocking out the rest of the world. His hands settled at my hips and stayed there—anchoring me, claiming the space where my choices narrowed into a single direction. He didn’t hurry. He waited. Long enough that the waiting itself became its own kind of pressure.
My breath went shallow. My body answered before my mind could intervene.
When he finally moved, the sensation was overwhelming—not sharp, not violent, but consuming. The kind of closeness that demands you make room for it, that insists you soften or break. I felt myself give way in small increments, each one deliberate, each one erasing a little more distance between who I pretend to be and what I was becoming in that moment. He plowed my asspussy over and over....in and out...in and out...in..in...getting deeper each time.
He watched my face closely, as if he needed to see exactly where I disappeared. Every sound I made seemed to encourage him, draw him deeper into his own control. I clutched the bedding, holding on to something solid as my thoughts scattered, replaced by a single, relentless awareness of being used with purpose.
“Relax,” he said quietly, almost kindly. “I’ve got you.”
And I surrendered.
Not just my body—my resistance. I let the tension drain out of me and allowed the sensation to take over completely. There was a point where I stopped tracking time, stopped measuring what I was giving and what I was losing. My body responded on its own terms, breaking open in waves that left me shaking, emptied of pretense.
I heard him make a sound above me—rough, unfiltered—and knew I’d been brought exactly where he wanted me. I knew he came, he ejaculated, he sprayed his man juice, his sperm, his DNA deep inside me. I could feel it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my insides.
Afterward, when he pulled me up toward him again, there was no gentleness in the request—just expectation. I recognized it instantly. My knees braced against the seat, my hands guided into place, my mouth following where my thoughts no longer led. I focused on the task, on being useful, on doing it right. There was comfort in that narrow focus. Safety, even. More to cum....
#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
My First Experience as a Truck Stop Wh-re or Chrissy — A Night on the Road Continued... (Part II) (To see the beginning, Part I, visit my page and scroll down):
The bra came next.
I hesitated for half a second—long enough for the moment to stretch—then let it slide off. Cool air kissed my skin. His breath caught audibly. He didn’t touch me yet. He didn’t need to.
Click.
Click.
I could feel my body responding to the attention, to the knowledge that this version of me was being captured, saved, proof that Chrissy existed. That I wasn’t just a thought or a secret ritual in front of a mirror.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, and I believed him.
When the last of the fabric was gone, I stood there fully exposed under the red glow, arms crossed loosely at first, then letting them fall to my sides. Vulnerability pulsed through me—electric, frightening, intoxicating. I felt open, claimed by the moment, by the lens, by his gaze.
He stepped closer then. Close enough that I could feel his heat without being touched. One hand lifted my chin, not roughly, just enough to make me meet his eyes.
“Look at me,” he said. “Not the camera.”
I did.
The photos continued, slower now, more deliberate. Less about documenting and more about possession. When he finally set the phone down, my skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve had been tuned too high.
When he guided me back onto the bunk, the vinyl was cold at first, then quickly warmed beneath me. I lay there open to him, knees drawn up, posture unmistakable, my body arranged in a way that made refusal impossible—but refusal wasn’t what I felt.
What I felt was permission being taken.
The cab groaned softly as he leaned over me, blocking out the low red light, blocking out the rest of the world. His hands settled at my hips and stayed there—anchoring me, claiming the space where my choices narrowed into a single direction. He didn’t hurry. He waited. Long enough that the waiting itself became its own kind of pressure.
My breath went shallow. My body answered before my mind could intervene.
When he finally moved, the sensation was overwhelming—not sharp, not violent, but consuming. The kind of closeness that demands you make room for it, that insists you soften or break. I felt myself give way in small increments, each one deliberate, each one erasing a little more distance between who I pretend to be and what I was becoming in that moment. He plowed my asspussy over and over....in and out...in and out...in..in...getting deeper each time.
He watched my face closely, as if he needed to see exactly where I disappeared. Every sound I made seemed to encourage him, draw him deeper into his own control. I clutched the bedding, holding on to something solid as my thoughts scattered, replaced by a single, relentless awareness of being used with purpose.
“Relax,” he said quietly, almost kindly. “I’ve got you.”
And I surrendered.
Not just my body—my resistance. I let the tension drain out of me and allowed the sensation to take over completely. There was a point where I stopped tracking time, stopped measuring what I was giving and what I was losing. My body responded on its own terms, breaking open in waves that left me shaking, emptied of pretense.
I heard him make a sound above me—rough, unfiltered—and knew I’d been brought exactly where he wanted me. I knew he came, he ejaculated, he sprayed his man juice, his sperm, his DNA deep inside me. I could feel it, the warm, sticky liquid clinging to my insides.
Afterward, when he pulled me up toward him again, there was no gentleness in the request—just expectation. I recognized it instantly. My knees braced against the seat, my hands guided into place, my mouth following where my thoughts no longer led. I focused on the task, on being useful, on doing it right. There was comfort in that narrow focus. Safety, even. More to cum....
#crossdresser #sissy #sissyboy #crossdressers #sissies #shemale #ladyboy #femboy #femman #femboys #crossdressing #gurl #trans #transgirl #transwoman #transgender #tgirl #gay #lgbtq #nsfw #adultsonly #adultcontent #sissy #crossdresser #crossdressing #femboy #sissyboy #sissygirl #trans #transgender #shemale #transgirl #transwoman #transfemale #tgirl #model #modeling #gay #bi #lgbtq #queer #genderfluid #pantymodel #panty #panties #meninpanties #ladyboy More: http://chrissyinsd.hotviber.com/
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