I never should have worn the butt plug--if “worn” is the right word--in the first place, especially not to work, but I couldn’t help myself.
Okay, I guess I could have helped myself; nobody forced me to insert a plug up my ass. It’s just that, ever since Hermie left me for (of all things) a genetic girl, I’ve felt lonely--and horny. I guess my self-esteem was at an ebb, too--I mean, losing a guy to a genetic girl does nothing for a shemale’s ego. I thought a cock up my ass, even a fake one, might take my mind off my distress. After all, what girl doesn’t feel better when she’s “full.” It’s reassuring. It’s comforting. It’s like sucking one’s thumb, only much better.
I’d lubricated my anus and my rectum liberally with K-Y, crouched over the toilet, willed my sphincter to relax, and slowly, but resolutely, eased the butt plug into my ass until it was fully inserted. Immediately upon experiencing the familiar sensation of having my impaled...
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