Soft Femboy in Making

Thursday night Priya goes out in a tight black dress with a deep neckline. She tells you not to wait up. She tells you to wear the pink crop top and short shorts while she’s gone.
A little past one in the morning she comes home on slightly unsteady heels, cheeks flushed, the black dress wrinkled. She doesn’t look guilty. She looks satisfied.
In the bedroom she lets the dress fall. She is wearing only a dark lace bra and matching panties. As she reaches back to unhook the bra, she turns slightly toward the mirror — and you see them.
Several dark, reddish-purple marks on the soft upper curve of both breasts. Love bites. Some higher near her collarbone. Others lower, closer to the nipples.
She doesn’t try to cover them.
She takes the bra off completely and stands there for a moment, topless, the fresh marks clear under the bedroom light. Then she glances at you in the mirror and smiles, small and private.
“You’re staring.”
Your throat is tight. You can smell the unfamiliar cologne on her skin more strongly now. You can see exactly where someone else’s mouth was.
A real man would have asked.
A real man would have demanded to know who.
A real man would have been angry.
You say nothing.
Priya turns around slowly, still bare-chested, the love bites on full display. She walks toward you until she is close enough that you can see the slight sheen of saliva that still hasn’t completely dried on one of the darker marks.
“Something you want to say?” she asks softly.
You shake your head once. Your voice won’t come out.
She reaches out and rests both hands on your bare waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above the waistband of your tight shorts.
“You see them. You know what they are. You know someone had his mouth on my breasts tonight… sucked them, left marks… and you’re just standing there in your little crop top with your own soft boobs, looking at me and not asking a single question.”
Her eyes are dark with quiet triumph.
“That’s the difference I keep showing you. A husband would be furious. You’re just quiet… and hard. I can see it.”
She takes one of your hands and places it on her left breast, directly over a fresh love bite. The skin is warm and slightly tender under your palm.
“Feel that? Someone else was here. Someone else left that. And instead of getting angry, you’re wearing girly clothes and letting me put your hand on the proof.”
Your fingers tremble slightly against her skin. You still don’t ask.
Priya leans in and kisses the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate.
“Good,” she whispers. “Keep being quiet. Keep looking at the marks and saying nothing. Every time you choose silence instead of confrontation, these little boobs of yours get permission to grow a bit more. And I get to keep doing whatever I want… while my soft, pretty husband waits at home in crop tops and shorts, too shy to even ask who left the bites on his wife’s chest.”
She pulls your hand away from her breast and places it instead on your own, over the small, warm curve under the pink crop top.
“Now go sit on the bed. Keep the clothes on. I want to look at you while I get ready for sleep… and I want you to keep staring at these marks you don’t dare ask about.”
You obey.
Priya moves around the room topless, the love bites shifting with every movement, never once trying to hide them from you. She knows you are watching. She knows you will not speak.
And the silence in the room says everything she has been carefully proving.