Here is another "weentsy" story involving cuckolding, forced cocksucking, and the background on how a wimpy boy turns into an adult cocksucking sissy.he says it is a true story, based on his life.

A girl once told me that cocksuckers aren’t made; they’re born. I’m living proof of
that.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a wimp. Where other boys were adventurous, I
was cautious and afraid to try anything that I feared was dangerous. When I played
baseball, I could never hit the ball because I would close my eyes when it got near
me; I was afraid that it would hit me in the eye. So, I always struck out, much to
the dismay and eventually the ridicule of the other boys. Even the coach couldn’t
hide his contempt for this big boy who was proving to be quite a sissy.

When I was nine, my parents sent me to summer camp, and it was there that my true
nature began to emerge. Living with other boys for the first time, it became clear
pretty quickly that I was, well…different. Simply put, my dick and balls were much
smaller than those of the other boys. And I actually had tits beginning to sprout.
This caused me a great deal of trouble very quickly; the others quickly noticed my
shortcomings and wasted no time in teasing the shit out of me, nicknaming me
Princess Little Pecker and regularly taking turns holding me down and tweaking my
nipples, which caused me great pain and made me cry, which only made them laugh
harder.

That summer, something else happened that foreshadowed what my adult life would hold
in store for me. One day, after we had been swimming in the pool, we were all herded
into the communal shower to rinse off the chlorine before returning to our cabins. I
had been fighting the urge to pee since just after we went into the pool, and since
I was scared of swimming the desire to pee only became stronger as I fretted by the
wall in the shallow end of the pool. Now in the shower, I just couldn’t hold it any
longer and I let it go. Still wearing my swim suit, I remember feeling the warm pee
fill my trunks and run down my legs as the warm water washed over me. Of course, the
counselors saw the yellow color of the water on the shower room floor and freaked
out, ordering us all out of the room and out into the yard, where they lined us up
and demanded to know who had done it. I was terrified and said nothing; but the
counselors weren’t going to settle for that and pressed us for a confession
from the guilty boy. Of course, none was forthcoming, as I was responsible and
wasn’t going to admit to it, for fear of the paddling that would surely follow.
After several minutes, the counselors grabbed a small boy named Bobby, who was two
years younger than my group and who they assumed must have done it, because he was
younger. Bobby protested, proclaiming his innocence, and my ears burned with shame
as he was pulled aside, his trunks lowered and his butt paddled. To his credit, he
never made a sound, even as the hard paddle striking his wet butt began to raise
welts on both cheeks. He just gritted his teeth and took the pain. Bobby was one
tough little boy, something I would find out firsthand the next summer when, having
somehow learned that I was the coward who had let him take the paddling, he called
me out and proceeded to beat the crap out of me; even though he was still much
smaller than me, he was more than a little tougher, and as he pummeled me, I threw
my arms around
his thighs, still on my knees, and through my tears I begged him not to hit me any
more. The other boys were laughing hysterically as the little boy looked down at
me, smiled at the other boys, then reached down and opened his fly and doused me
with a hard stream of warm pee, all over my head and face. The others went wild,
falling down laughing at my humiliation. I went home the next week, never to
return.

By high school, things had gone from bad to worse. For one, my dick and balls had
barely grown since I was ten, although my tits certainly had; I was now forced to
shower with teenage boys, and to make matters worse, there were girls to contend
with. The boys in gym class tormented me mercilessly; my name was officially “Tits”
now. Even the gym coaches were in on it. Whenever we went outside to play team
sports – basketball, football, volleyball – we would be split into two teams: shirts
and skins. Skins meant shirts off. Without fail, the coaches always put me on the
“skins” team, which meant that I had to run around in front of the girls who were
also out there with their gym class, my tits flopping around and the girls doubled
over in laughter. Even they started calling me Tits; one day, a couple of pretty
blondes called me over. My face turned red as a beet when one of the girls reached
behind her and pulled a brassiere from the waistband of her gym shorts. “Here Titty
– I think
you need this,” she cooed, and everyone burst out laughing, including the coaches.

Later that day, in one of my classes, a couple of girls were whispering about it and
started taunting me. “Shut up!” I snapped at them, whereupon one girl’s face turned
stony and she said, “You’re in trouble now, faggot. I’m going to tell Kenny what you
just said.” I was petrified, as Kenny was a tough boy who played on the football
team. I had seen him naked in gym class, and he was all man; broad shoulders, sinewy
arms with vices for hands, a rock-hard, six-pack stomach and hung like a horse. I
was scared shitless. After school, I walked cautiously out into the parking lot,
where I was immediately intercepted by a group of boys and girls that included Kenny
and the girl who I’d insulted earlier. He didn’t speak, but as I began to babble,
already pleading like a pussy that he not hit me, I felt his strong hand on the back
of my neck. “What’d you say, Tits?” he asked menacingly. As I tried to speak, his
hand forced my face against the crotch of his jeans. I could feel his cock
through them, and as the group looked on, he ground my face against his dick and
balls. The girl then stepped up and leaned over in front of me and said, “You still
want me to shut up, Tits, or can I say what I want now?” “Mmmumph thorry!” I tried
to apologize, which had them all in stitches again. Finally, he let me go and gave
me a quick punch in the stomach, which made me cry out and left me moaning on the
ground. As they broke up, she took a shot at me, too, which made me cry out again.
“Pussy,” she said in disgust.

I got married to a girl I met my senior year in college. I had my first homosexual
experience my freshman year with my roommate, a gorgeous stud named Steve with a
horsecock and a sexy girlfriend named Robin, who talked me into sucking him off.
tricked me, actually, but I forgave her pretty quickly. But in Susan I thought I had
a girl who would look past my 3 ½” dick and see me for the warm person I knew I was
inside. Well, she did look past my little cock – to a few nice, long thick ones
attached to some other guys!

I couldn’t get it up on our wedding night; I was afraid that she might in fact be
disappointed by my performance, which with other girls had usually consisted of 20
seconds of terrified thrusting and pumping, followed by uncontrolled ejaculation and
subsequent tearful apologies. After one or two of those pitiful displays, girls were
suddenly unable to come to the phone when I called. Susan was more than a little
disappointed on our wedding night, but more than that, she seemed genuinely shocked
by the tiny meat I was packing. She wasted no time showing me how to eat her pussy
so that she could at least get a couple of orgasms now and then. But one night, we
attended the wedding of one of her girlfriends, and I lost sight of her for a while
during the night. Her friend told me that Susan was helping with some of the
bridesmaids’ outfits for the photographer. Well, when we got home I got ready to
tongue her to her nightly orgasm (no more of my shrimpy dick for her), and when I
went
down and into her pussy, I was shocked to taste something I hadn’t tasted since
college – the salty taste of a man’s cum. I looked up at her, stunned, and she just
raised her palms upward and said, “Well, what did you expect? I’m a woman, and I
need to fuck. I WANT to fuck, ok? I need a real man for that., and you aren’t him.
I’m going to be doing this on a regular basis now, so deal with it, or I’m out of
here.”

The funny thing was, I really wasn’t surprised. In fact, I had been expecting it.
Women DO need to fuck – I knew that – and some stud out there needed it, too. They
deserved to be with each other, and it was selfish of me to prevent it. Turns out,
it was one of the ushers at the wedding, and her friend had set them up and covered
for them while he hammered her in the coat check room.

True to her word, Susan began seeing men just about every night. I would hear them
fucking in the bedroom while I sat in the living room, my ears burning at the sound
of her leg banging against the wall while one of her new men filled her up with
cock. My job was confined to washing the sheets and the man’s underwear the next
morning, so he’d have something clean to wear. One day, she brought home a big,
muscular black man named Calvin. She called me into the bedroom, and when I walked
in I was immediately impressed with his mighty physique; the strong shoulders and
arms, the powerful thighs, muscled waist and round, rock hard buttocks. And, of
course, the enormous cock and balls. In fact, Calvin had the biggest balls I’d ever
seen – like big brown eggs, swinging freely below his big dick. “Calvin would love
for you to lick his balls, Michael. Wouldn’t you, Cal?”

“Yeah…lick my balls, boy!” Calvin laughed. With that, I was on my knees, arms around
his thighs, his big nuts on my tongue. He moaned as I tongued them, his dick poking
me in the eye at one point, which made Susan laugh. “Suck him a little,” she
commanded, “but first, put some lipstick on,” and I did, much to their amusement. He
was huge, and it wasn’t easy, but I was able to get my mouth around him and
swallowed a good portion of that black beauty. Then he fucked her, and I plopped
myself down on the floor beneath them and licked his shaft and balls as he slid in
and out of Susan’s wet pussy. Finally, he was ready to cum, and did so with a shout,
drenching my face with his huge load.

Eventually, Susan tired of Calvin. He was not faithful to her; I told her so, as I
had tasted pussy on his cock several times when he came to fuck Susan. When she met
Kelly, a bartender at the club Susan would frequent regularly in search of Mr.
Right, she demanded that he move in with us before she would fuck him steadily.
Kelly was tall, blond like Susan and magnificently hung, with a thick vein running
along the top of his dick. He had an insatiable sex drive, though, and Susan knew
that if he left the house during the day, he would be 10” deep in prime pussy within
minutes. So, she instructed me to be ready to give him a blowjob whenever she felt
that it was necessary, even if it meant leaving work and running home. And I did so
many times. Kelly loved to sit in the shower with the warm water running over his
shoulders and body while I knelt at his feet, sucking his cock. He would cum like a
geyser from the sensation, usually talking dirty with Susan on the phone while I
sucked
the cum from his big meathose. It was heaven for both of us.

One day, I came home and they were gone, along with all my furniture. She had filed
for divorce, leaving me with alimony payments and without a wife or a steady cock to
suck.