u/Southern_R89

Can adjust characters

The dimly lit sports bar reeked of stale beer, greasy fries, and sweat. Flickering neon signs bled red and blue across sticky floors. TVs blared a forgotten game. The jukebox groaned while drunks hunched at the scarred oak bar.
You were Alex, 28, straight, with a lean athletic build — 6’1” and only 162 pounds of wiry muscle. Narrow shoulders, tight defined chest, slim waist, long toned arms and legs. Short dark brown hair, heavy stubble, bright blue eyes glassy from too many shots. Your lighter frame swayed unsteadily.
They moved in like predators.
Marcus: 6’3”, brutally muscular, warm olive skin stretched over thick corded muscle and a powerful chest. Short black hair, thick trimmed beard, dark hungry eyes. Tattoos snaked down veined forearms.
Tyler: 5’11”, wiry swimmer’s build, toned shoulders, flat stomach, freckled face, messy sandy-blond waves, sharp green eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
“You’re wasted, pretty boy,” Marcus rumbled, gripping your slim shoulder hard. They hauled your 162-pound frame out into the night and into their sleek apartment. The door slammed shut.
Marcus shoved you onto the oversized sectional couch. Your lean body landed helpless. Tyler locked the door with a click.
“Time to play, straight boy,” Marcus growled, pinning your thin wrists above your head while Tyler stripped you bare. Your weak, slurred protests were ignored. Tyler fetched women’s clothes from the bedroom: a tight pink crop top, tiny black pleated micro-skirt, and a skimpy black thong.
They dressed you like a doll. Marcus forced your arms up as Tyler slid the lacy thong up your long legs, the thin strip of fabric pulling tight between your cheeks and cupping your cock snugly. The crop top stretched across your tight chest, exposing your slim waist and midriff. The short skirt barely covered the curve of your ass.
Then they bound you.
Tyler produced soft black ropes from a drawer. They tied your wrists together tightly behind your back, then looped more rope around your thighs and ankles, forcing your lean legs into a bent, frog-tied position that left you exposed and immobile on the couch. The ropes dug into your toned limbs, emphasizing every slender muscle.
“Look at our little slut,” Tyler mocked, stepping back with a wicked grin. Marcus ran a rough hand up your thigh, under the skirt, snapping the thong strap against your skin.
“Good girl,” Marcus said darkly, towering over your bound, feminized body. “You’re not going anywhere tonight.”
Their hands explored freely — gripping your narrow hips, sliding under the skirt, tugging at the thong. Your face burned with humiliated shame as the alcohol kept you dizzy and helpless. The night had turned very dark, and they were only getting started.
(Word count: 478)