Size Queen Sabrina’s Secret: A Findom Cuck Audio Story (Part 1 Preview)

I’ve added a few more stories to Patreon.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror in the upscale lingerie store’s dressing room, my heavily pregnant body reflected back at me. The dark green lace clings to my swollen curves, accentuating the roundness of my belly and the fullness of my breasts. I turn to the side, examining my butt, now softer and fuller than ever. Alex’s voice drifts in from the other side of the curtain. “Do you like it?” he asks, his tone timid, as always. I hesitate, running my hand over the fabric. “I’m not sure,” I reply, though it’s not the lingerie I’m unsure about. It’s everything else.

The secret weighs on me. Alex isn’t the father of this baby. That honor belongs to Brock, the stripper I’ve been seeing for the past year. Brock, with his (explicit deleted) the size of my forearm, who got me pregnant six months ago. I can still feel the heat of his body.

Alex works in finance or IT—I’m not entirely sure, and frankly, I don’t care. What matters is that his wallet is always open for me. I step out of the dressing room, holding up the dark green set and another in black, the latter adorned with a tiny heart on the bottom. “I love both of them,” I gush, turning to face him. “The green is so elegant, but the black… the black is just so sexy. Look at this little heart!” I pout, tilting my head. “I can’t decide… unless…”

Alex sighs, a sound I’ve grown accustomed to. “I’ll buy you both,” he says, reaching for his wallet. I beam, stepping forward to kiss his cheek. “Thank you, baby,” I whisper, knowing full well that while he may not satisfy me in bed, he more than makes up for it with his generosity.

On the main street, we pass a jewelry store, its windows glittering with diamonds and gold. I pause, my hand instinctively going to the necklace I’m not wearing. “Let’s go in,” I say, my tone brooking no argument. Alex rolls his eyes, but he follows me inside. I browse the displays, my fingers trailing over the necklaces until I find the perfect one—a delicate silver chain with a small diamond pendant. “This one,” I declare, turning to Alex. “Please.”

He hesitates, his gaze flicking to the price tag, but he nods. “Fine,” he mutters, handing his card to the salesperson. I smile, my heart racing. Another victory.

Later, in our lofty apartment, I model the lingerie and necklace for Alex, striking poses that show off my pregnant body to its best advantage. “Thank you,” I say, kissing him softly. “I love them both.” He smiles, a faint, tired smile, and I head to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. “I may be a while,” I call out, already stripping off the lingerie.

Gooner02 Goes Bankrupt- A Findom Story (Preview)

I’m sitting here, my leather catsuit clinging to my skin like a second layer of confidence. The chat is alive with the usual desperation, a symphony of pathetic pleas and meager tips. My fingers drum lightly on the armrest as I scan the usernames, my eyes landing on “gooner02.” There’s something about his one-token tips that piques my interest. It’s like he’s testing the waters, afraid to dive in but too curious to stay away. I lean forward, the leather creaking softly as my cleavage takes center stage. My voice purrs into the microphone, smooth and calculated. “Hey, gooner02, think it’s about time you start adding a little more to those, don’t you?”

The chat erupts in laughter, a chorus of mockery aimed at the poor soul. But hey, I’m not here to judge; I’m here to dominate. Gooner02 hesitates, his cursor probably hovering over the tip button like a nervous bird. Finally, he sends $10. A small victory, but I’ll take it. “Much better,” I say, my tone dripping with faux approval. I tilt my head, my long hair cascading over one shoulder as I address him directly. “Now, who are you? I don’t recognize your name.”

His response pops up in the chat: “I usually buy a lot of your femdom clips.” I read it aloud, my voice neutral, savoring the awkward silence that follows. The chat explodes with insults, calling him a simp, a loser, a pathetic fool. But I step in, my voice sweet and condescending. “Don’t listen to them, gooner. They’re just jealous because you’re the highest spender here. They’re cheap. Not you.”

I zip down my catsuit just a fraction, my breasts pushing against the tight leather. The chat goes wild, a frenzy of tips and desperate pleas. Gooner02 types, “Can you get naked in a private chat with me?”

I’m sitting here, my leather catsuit clinging to my skin like a second layer of confidence. The chat is alive with the usual desperation, a symphony of pathetic pleas and meager tips. My fingers drum lightly on the armrest as I scan the usernames, my eyes landing on “gooner02.” There’s something about his one-token tips that piques my interest. It’s like he’s testing the waters, afraid to dive in but too curious to stay away. I lean forward, the leather creaking softly as my cleavage takes center stage. My voice purrs into the microphone, smooth and calculated. “Hey, gooner02, think it’s about time you start adding a little more to those, don’t you?”

The chat erupts in laughter, a chorus of mockery aimed at the poor soul. But hey, I’m not here to judge; I’m here to dominate. Gooner02 hesitates, his cursor probably hovering over the tip button like a nervous bird. Finally, he sends $10. A small victory, but I’ll take it. “Much better,” I say, my tone dripping with faux approval. I tilt my head, my long hair cascading over one shoulder as I address him directly. “Now, who are you? I don’t recognize your name.”

His response pops up in the chat: “I usually buy a lot of your femdom clips.” I read it aloud, my voice neutral, savoring the awkward silence that follows. The chat explodes with insults, calling him a simp, a loser, a pathetic fool. But I step in, my voice sweet and condescending. “Don’t listen to them, gooner. They’re just jealous because you’re the highest spender here. They’re cheap. Not you.”

I zip down my catsuit just a fraction, my breasts pushing against the tight leather. The chat goes wild, a frenzy of tips and desperate pleas. Gooner02 types, “Can you get naked in a private chat with me?”

I lean closer to the camera, my lips curling into a teasing smile. “Maybe, if you’ve been a good boy. Keep tipping me, and we’ll see.”

He starts tipping again, $10 at a time, but it’s not enough. I want more. I always want more. “Gooner, I know you can do a lot better than that,” I purr, my voice low and seductive. “I want to see that dick of yours. Show me what you’ve got.”

His response is hesitant: “I’m not sure if I can.”

“Sure you can,” I insist, my tone firm but laced with encouragement. “Put it on your credit card. Act quick before I sign off.”

The tips start rolling in faster, $20 increments now, but I’m not satisfied. I need to push him harder. “Keep going,” I demand, my voice sharp yet alluring. “I know you can do more.”

Gooner02 hesitates again, typing, “I don’t have enough money.”

I roll my eyes, feigning disappointment. “Put it on your credit card, gooner, or your mom’s credit card. You know you want to.”