Chapter 1: The Arabian Handover
Scott stepped off the private jet into the blistering heat of the Arab state, his lithe 19-year-old frame already slick with sweat under the thin robe his new master had provided. "This is it, boy," Master Karim growled, gripping his arm. "Loaned out for the night to men who crave a white sissy like you. Twenty-eight outfits, all tight latex cosplay—Harry Potter, Marvel, DC, Resident Evil, Tomb Raider. They change you after every use. Makeup slave handles the rest while you pop poppers and pop Viagra. Ready to be their toy?"
Scott smirked, voice dripping with sass. "Loan me like a library book? How original. Hope these big shots know a femboy sissy doesn't break easy."
They entered a lavish villa where a dozen men lounged, eyes hungry. "Look at this pale prize," one chuckled. "Our Harry Potter starter—tight latex robes hugging that ass." Another added, "Witty little thing. Bet that mouth talks back during a blowjob."
Scott fired back, "Talk back? Only if your cocks can't shut me up. Let's see the goods, boys."
The first outfit clung like a second skin, latex gleaming. Poppers hit his nose; Viagra surged through him, making his cock hard and throbbing. The men circled, hands roaming his ass, fingers tracing the outline of his dripping arousal. "Horny already?" one taunted. Scott panted, "Dripping for the main event? Prove it."
Witty banter flew as they stripped him: "Marvel next? Or do you DC fans want to see this sissy come first?" The group laughed, pressing close, their own cocks hard and ready. The makeup slave—a silent figure—waited in the wings as the first wave began, sweat-slick bodies grinding, Scott's ass presented, the room filling with panting moans and the promise of cum-soaked latex changes ahead. The explosive heat built, bodies entwining in a frenzy of use, Scott's sharp tongue never fully silenced even as pleasure overtook him.
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