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Wendy smoothed the fabric of her emerald-green bikini top, her eyes gleaming with a malicious sort of delight as she watched Brian—no, Brenda—shuffle toward the mini-bar. The floral sundress swished around his thighs, the lacy pink panties visible underneath the hem with every hesitant step. He moved like a man walking to the gallows, his face burning a shade of red that clashed horribly with the pastel pattern of the dress.
“Actually, put those down,” Wendy commanded, her voice cutting through the humid air of the bungalow. She crooked a finger, a sharp, decisive gesture. “We’re going out. I need a real drink, and I think it’s time everyone met the new you.”
Brian froze, his hand hovering over a bottle of gin. He looked toward Bill, hoping for a reprieve, but the younger man merely smirked, adjusting the waistband of his low-riding swim trunks. The outline of the bully’s cock was clearly visible against the bronze skin, a potent reminder of what had just transpired.
“You heard her, Brenda,” Bill said, drawing out the name with sneering emphasis. “Get moving. We’re not waiting all night.”
The walk to the resort bar felt like a march of shame. The evening air was warm and thick, carrying the scent of hibiscus and chlorine. Wendy led the way, her hips swaying with a confident, rhythmic grace that demanded attention. Bill fell into step beside her, his large hand engulfing hers easily. They looked like a power couple on vacation—tanned, fit, and radiating sexual energy.
Brenda trailed three steps behind them. The sandals Wendy had forced him to wear clicked awkwardly on the paved path. He kept his head lowered, praying the darkness would shield him from recognition, but the resort was brightly lit, the laughter of other guests echoing around the pool area. Every brush of the dress against his skin felt like a tactile reminder of his emasculation, the tight panties digging into his hips, a constant, chafing presence.
As they approached the open-air tiki bar, the noise level rose. A crowd had gathered around the high-top tables, the clink of ice and the low thrum of bass-heavy music creating a wall of sound. Wendy scanned the room, her eyes locking onto a group of twenty-somethings near the front. A predatory smile curled her lips.
“Perfect,” she murmured.
She pulled Bill toward the bar, forcing Brenda to weave through the crowd to keep up. Eyes turned toward them. Men glanced appreciatively at Wendy’s curves; women looked at Bill with interest. Then their gazes drifted to the figure trailing behind them—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a floral sundress and pink sandals. The confusion in their eyes was instant, followed quickly by dawning amusement and whispers.
Wendy leaned against the bar, arching her back to accentuate her chest, and signaled the bartender. “Three shots of tequila. And a beer for my husband.”
She turned to the group next to them, a cluster of guys and girls in swimwear holding colorful cocktails. “Hi there,” she said, her voice bright and sociable. “I’m Wendy, this is Bill.” She gestured to the man standing possessively at her side. Then she pointed a manicured finger backward, directly at Brenda’s burning face. “And this is my sissy husband, Brenda.”
A hush fell over the immediate vicinity. Brenda stopped dead, his hands clutching the hem of his dress. He wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
“He’s just learning his place,” Wendy continued loudly, ensuring everyone within earshot could hear. “Aren’t you, Brenda?”
Bill chuckled, a dark, rich sound. He turned to look at Brenda, his expression one of amused cruelty. “Yeah, she’s much prettier when she knows who’s in charge.” He took a step toward the feminized man, his presence imposing and physical. “Aren’t you, bitch?”
Brenda nodded frantically, tears of humiliation pricking his eyes. “Yes,” he whispered, his voice cracking.
“Speak up,” Bill barked, lashing out with a sudden, sharp kick.
His foot connected solidly with Brenda’s testicles, still trapped tight within the lacy panties. The pain was blinding, a sickening thud that radiated up into his stomach. Brenda gasped, his knees buckling, and he doubled over, clutching his groin through the floral fabric.
“Yes, sir!” Brenda squeaked, the air driven from his lungs.
The group at the next table burst into laughter. Someone cheered. The degradation was absolute, public, and inescapable. Bill grabbed Wendy’s hand again, pulling her close for a deep, possessive kiss right in front of the groaning sissy. Wendy melted into him, her hand resting on his chest, completely ignoring her husband’s agony.
“Another round for my friends here,” Bill told the bartender, flashing a cocky grin. “On the sissy’s tab.”
They moved away from the bar toward a high-top table, forcing Brenda to follow. The walk was agonizing, his balls aching with every step. Bill kept a possessive arm around Wendy’s waist, but every few steps, he would pause and deliver a sharp, backhanded swat to Brenda’s ass or a quick, jabbing kick to the inside of his thigh, keeping him off balance and in pain.
“Keep up, princess,” Bill mocked. “Don’t embarrass Wendy.”
They reached a table near the edge of the deck, overlooking the darkened pool. Wendy hopped up onto a stool, crossing her legs. Bill stood between her thighs, leaning in to whisper in her ear, though his eyes never left Brenda, who stood awkwardly beside them, unsure if he was allowed to sit.
“You know,” Wendy said, pulling back to look at Bill, her eyes dark with a sudden, intense heat. She ran a hand down his chest, over his abs, stopping right at the waistband of his trunks. “This changes things.”
Bill raised an eyebrow. “What does?”
Wendy bit her lip, a mischievous yet serious glint in her eyes. She looked past Bill, staring directly into Brenda’s terrified eyes.
“I just realized,” she said, her voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that made the air feel heavy. “I’m ovulating.”
The silence between the three of them was electric. The background noise of the bar faded into a dull roar.
Bill’s grin widened, turning predatory. He looked down at Wendy’s stomach, then back up to her face. “For real?”
“Right now,” Wendy confirmed, her hand sliding lower to cup the bulge in Bill’s trunks, squeezing him firmly. “Fertile as can be.”
She turned her gaze back to Brenda, watching the realization crash over him. The humiliation of the dress, the public exposure—it was all just foreplay. This was the real game.
“Looks like we need to make sure that load I dumped in you earlier took,” Bill growled, gripping Wendy’s thigh. “And maybe add a few more for good measure.”
Brenda stood trembling, the floral sundress feeling like a shroud, the pain in his balls nothing compared to the hollow pit opening in his stomach. He watched his wife fondle the bull who had just kicked him, knowing exactly what was going to happen next, and utterly powerless to stop it.