Enough.
When she rose to her feet, Manny found herself trapped in Star’s arms as well as her robe. Until she stood with her thighs closed, she didn’t realize how wet she’d become. Who’d have thought giving head would be such a turn-on? Manny stepped back, but they were closer to the bed than she recalled. She fell back on the plush mattress. As she kicked the quilted coverlet to the floor, Star plucked a condom from the side table and tore the packet. Holding it wide open with long glittering nails, she asked, “Would you like to do the honors?”
Manny plunged her fingers inside and pulled out the slippery condom. Every time she squeezed the tip and slid the slick latex down the length of Star’s firm shaft, she thought of green bananas and Ms. Kensington’s health class. Little did that saucy teenager know she’d be using these things with her transsexual whore while her girlfriend worked extra hours at a retail franchise. Whore? Why did she always use that word, even inside her own mind? It was unbearably crass and it certainly didn’t do Star justice.
“What are you thinking?” the girl in the pink peignoir asked.
Danica liked that question too. Manny hated it. Inwardly, she refused to answer. Gripping the base of her rock-ready cock, Manny pulled on it until Star eased herself on to the bed. Straddling Manny’s half-naked body, Star took back ownership of her sheathed erection. She unbuttoned the bottom of Manny’s shirt, exposing her wet cunt to the sunny bedroom air. The mound was no longer fiction. Kneeling close, Star grasped the base of her shaft and smacked her with it. Manny leapt at the sensation of smooth latex flogging engorged pussy lips. Star smacked her again and again, aligning her cockhead with Manny’s clit. Manny’s whole body surged with adrenaline and desire. She needed a good fuck. God, did she ever need it.
Slipping her fingers between her thighs, Manny pressed Star’s slick cock down until the tip sat in waiting at the entrance to her slit. Everything seemed inconceivably wet. Manny couldn’t believe it was her body creating all that juice. Star must have slipped some lube up her cunt when she wasn’t looking.
“You want it?” Star teased, pushing just the tip of her cock inside Manny’s eager slit.
With so much juice, a cockhead was meager offerings. Manny thrust her hips hard to feel Star all the way inside her. “Aw, yeee-ah!” There was no other feeling like this one. She loved taking Star’s firm cock in her snatch. Some days she couldn’t do it. Some days she took it up the ass. Today she wanted the classics—penis-in-vagina sex. “Give me your tits,” Manny cried, anxious, like she wanted to do everything quick before she came…like a man…
One by one, Star lifted her tits out of her bra and tucked the lace off to the sides as much as she could. “Gimme!” Manny urged like a child. With Star, she was selfish.
Leaning forward, Star set her tits on either side of Manny’s face. When she shimmied left and right, they slapped Manny’s cheeks. This is where their height differential came in handy. While Star grasped Manny’s hips and fucked her from on top, Manny pressed her tits together and licked them from below. Sucking nipples in alternation, Manny pressed her feet flat against the bed and drove her cunt upward to meet Star’s raging erection. She sucked so hard Star squealed as she thrust. This was good. This was so good. It never felt like this with a strap-on. Cocks rock my socks. Manny laughed.
Star offered a breathy but distracted chuckle in return. “What?”
Manny shoved a tit in her mouth so she wouldn’t have to answer. Her mind said stupid things, at times. As Manny sucked like a banshee, Star yelped. She held tighter to Manny’s hips and pumped in double time, but she obviously couldn’t fuck fast enough kneeling. She flipped Manny on her stomach. As she grabbed the good lube from the side table, Manny eased her knees underneath her body and stuck her butt in the air.
Smearing a good lot of cold lube up and down Manny’s asscrack, Star shoved her cockhead in Manny’s hole and held tight. Manny looked back as Star ran her long fingernails down her asscheeks. She loved the contrast of Star’s tan thighs against her dark rear.
Leaning way down low, Star grazed Manny’s clothed back with her erect nipples. Manny’s asshole pulsed like it was trying to suck her cock in deeper. When Star rose up and flipped long, dark hair behind her shoulders, Manny watched the pink feathers at the base of her sleeves shiver with delight. Star pressed her cock farther inside, pouting her full pink lips. Everything about Star shimmered. Even her skin glowed in the late afternoon sun filtering in through lace curtains. Manny eased her ass toward Star’s hips as they picked up speed. God, she loved a woman who could give it to her. She wished she could give it right back.
Star rammed her. She went in deep. She fucked Manny hard until her ass burned at the razor’s edge of pleasure. Manny reached below and smacked her clit. She slapped it with her fingers to fill in Star’s expressions of bliss with shouts of her own. Even after Star pulled out, filling the room with Manny’s characteristic stench, she continued spanking her cunt. Orgasms were weird for her these days. She never felt fully spent until she’d beaten herself up a bit.
They showered together while Manny’s shirt dried out. As predicted, the pits were soaked with sweat. It felt nice to be soaped up by Star, naked skin to skin. As Star ran suds down her asscrack, Manny mulled over her compounded lies. “I told Liesl Danica won’t look at me naked. I don’t know why.” She stared at the faint reflection of her dark skin in the white tile.
With a lilting giggle, Star rubbed the soap from Manny’s cheeks. “Classic case of shifting blame. You feel guilty for hiding your body from your girlfriend. You feel guilty for being here with me. If you pretend it’s Danica who won’t look at you, you have your perfect excuse.”
“But I know it’s not true.”
“It becomes true the second you tell Dr. Liesl. You believe everything you say to her. When you lie to her, you’re lying to yourself.”
As warm water coursed across her flesh, the sudden insight brought Manny to a new level of nudity. Star washed and dried her, bound her tits and helped her on with her clothes. After setting the kettle to boil, Star retreated to the bedroom to take care of her own binding issues. Manny opened the tea canister and threw two bags in the pot just as Star reemerged in black capris and a flowery sleeveless top. As they sipped from matching mugs in comfortable silence, Star nibbled on arrowroot cookies and dried apricots. Manny reflected on her desperate attachment to these three women in her life—wise Liesl, stalwart and silent Star, her glimmer of hope on the horizon, and Danica, simply her girlfriend. She saw their faces, Star’s across the table, Liesl and Danica’s in her mind’s eye. “I can’t keep juggling like this. I can’t keep lying to the people I care about.”
With a slow nod, Star snapped a baby cookie in half and dusted the crumbs from the table. Her eyes were diamonds as she explored Manny’s gaze. “Do you bind when you visit Liesl?”
The question brought bile to Manny’s throat. Rising from the table, she took her wallet from her back pocket and pulled out Star’s fee in cash.
Manny took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to leave like this, but things aren’t working out for us. In the beginning everything was good. You understood me then. To be honest, I’ve been lying to you a lot lately. I don’t know why. It could mean a lot of things, I guess. Anyway, there’s no sense in getting deep into it. I just wanted to say good-bye. I hope you don’t think I’m a total cunt.”
Liesl nodded slowly. “Do you think you’re a total cunt?”
SHOES ARE MEANT TO GET YOU SOMEWHERE
Dean Scarborough
Most people were surprised to hear that pointe shoes had not always been a feature of ballet and had only come into common use within the last century. Oscar had plenty of feminist education under his belt (which, he said, was the proper place for a man to keep his feminism) and knew that it was not a coincidence that such grueling footwear had historically been reserved only for women. Upon women were placed the most extreme requirements for grace, poise and ethereal beauty at the cost
of the physical body.
Oscar’s ballet shoes were not real ballet shoes, of course. No dancer could ever fly in patent leather and heels. But the ballet wasn’t what was important—what was important was the dance that played out when he wore them. One person led, the other followed—more like waltz than ballet, really.
Something he felt in the bones of his hips and the darkness behind his eyes told him that wearing this was right for him. He was not a woman, but who he was leaned close enough to it that he thought he could understand.
His stockings were held in place by six garters, which were held in place by the corset, which was laced tight. The shoes were strapped on tight, as was the collar, to which was attached the bar, and the cuffs were attached to that. The lacy underwear Oscar also wore had not been designed for someone with balls, and his genitals were pressed close to his body in a small high lump. His inner thighs brushed together as he moved, the freshly shaven skin plumping out over the tops of his stockings.
He did not feel very ethereal. Supporting his weight in the shoes for more than five minutes at a stretch was painful and made him feel anything but weightless and airy. Hayden was watching him carefully, Oscar knew, though he couldn’t see the other man. The only thing assuring Oscar of his presence were the gentle tugs on the reins attached to his wrists.
Oscar knew he looked stunning. The corset and lace and shoes and blindfold rendered him into a sex object. Every part of this outfit reinforced the fact that his comfort did not matter and his pleasure was meant to come from how much he provided to others. He did not even get the privilege of looking at himself.
It felt perfect.
The shoes were the last item to be put on. Oscar had been sitting on the floor, tailbone aching, waiting for orders, when fingers had grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head forward. Something cool and smooth had pressed against his mouth.
“Lick,” he had been commanded, and Oscar immediately extended his tongue. What it touched tasted like plastic and smelled like leather, and Oscar knew it was one of his ballet heels. The phallic shape of it as he slid his lips down it made him think—a shoe designed for women that was shaped like a cock and yet hobbled its wearer was a brilliantly cruel joke. He had smiled, still obediently licking.
“You like that?”
“Yes, Sir.”
The spike of the heel pressed against his lips and he obediently took it in his mouth, sucking the tip before he dragged his tongue up the eight inches of smooth black plastic. He could feel the other man’s eyes on him.
“You like sucking that?” Hayden asked in a low, throaty murmur.
“I wish it was your cock, Sir,” Oscar replied immediately, and his face burned. It had taken months of training to get him to respond to such questions quickly and directly, but he wasn’t sure any amount of training could make him stop blushing. Then he corrected himself—I wish it were your cock. His embarrassment deepened, even though he was sure Hayden didn’t care if his grammar was correct, especially not right now.
“That could be arranged.”
Oscar swallowed as the heel was used to push his chin up.
“Your…your real cock, Sir.”
The silence that greeted this just made Oscar’s face even hotter. What if that had been the wrong thing to say? What if Hayden was turned off by the idea of letting anyone near him like that? What if the strap-on was what he considered his real cock?
A hand wrapped around Oscar’s chin, forcing his face up even higher, and when Hayden spoke again, his face was so close that Oscar could feel the other man’s breath on his lips.
“You don’t know how.” He didn’t sound upset. He sounded smoking hot; suggestive.
“I know,” Oscar whispered. “I want you to teach me. I w—wuh—wuh—” Here came the stutter. He switched words, trying to avoid it. “I imagine you coming in my mouth. I’d…like that very much, Sir.”
Oscar didn’t know the mechanics of this. He had heard that some men like Hayden ejaculated and some didn’t. He knew that even if Hayden did come like that, it wouldn’t be like the semen Oscar was used to. But that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that it was Hayden, and whatever his body did, Oscar wanted it.
The hand disappeared from his neck, as did the warm breath, and for a moment Oscar truly feared that it had been the wrong thing to say. He worried that Hayden was offended, or worse, disgusted.
Oscar startled when something touched his foot and then recognized the feeling of one of his heels being slipped on. Quick fingers laced it into place and then did the same to his other foot. Oscar bore it in anxious silence, heart pounding in his chest.
“Stand up.”
A hand grasped each of his upper arms to support him as he rose in increments, getting his legs underneath him first, then planting one toe and pushing all his weight on that and the hands to rise till he could plant the other foot on the floor. The bones of his toes protested, but Oscar didn’t care. If Hayden wanted him up, then he wanted to be up. Whatever it took to please him.
“I’m putting the reins on.”
Oscar nodded obediently, and tried not to wobble as the leads were latched into the rings on each of his wrist-cuffs. Then Hayden backed away, his boots audible on the hardwood floor, and Oscar felt the gentlest of tugs on the bar, urging him forward.
“Walk for me.”
He walked, and in the near-silence and the darkness, he thought. His motions were slowed to a crawl by the heels, the corset, the bar. Every movement had to be carefully considered, and he was painfully aware of his whole body, as every motion put him in danger of falling. There was no way he could walk a mile in these shoes, but with every inch he thought he could begin to understand.
He wondered if Hayden had ever worn heels before he’d been Hayden. Oscar wondered if this was what Hayden’s whole life had felt like, before—so careful, so measured, so constricted that breathing or moving or even thinking of anything other than what everyone wanted him to be became impossible. His body and mind narrowed down to hard points that told him You do not belong to yourself, and you do not get the luxury of choice. Who you are and what you do is for others to decide.
Oscar had chosen this willingly, eagerly—had lifted his arms with a smile so Hayden could wrap the corset around him like a safety blanket; had nearly cried with relief when the blindfold went on, the cares of the week falling away—the fight he’d had with his mother, his boss’s endless complaints and catty emails, his worries about paying the phone bill because he’d run over his allotted minutes. Here, all that fell away. They weren’t his worries anymore, because Hayden was taking care of him. Someone else was in control.
And these heels: these ballet heels he loved, that had taken him so long to find in his size and even longer to save the money to buy. This was his freedom. He wanted nothing so much as to belong to someone and to give up, for a little while, the burden of choosing for himself.
“Good boy, you’re walking so well,” Hayden reassured him, voice warm and solid in the dark behind the blindfold. Oscar bit his lip in relief, unbearably glad that he had earned approval. But then he wobbled—and a hand was instantly on his shoulder, steadying him. He smiled nervously.
“Thank you, Sir.”
What’s the difference between you and a woman anymore? his mother had once asked him, when he had told her he would be performing in a drag show. You sleep with so many men, you wear women’s clothing and you let people do the most revolting things to you, I’m sure. For God’s sake, you’re not a tranny too, are you? What happened to the little boy I raised? I don’t even know you anymore, and I’m not sure I want to.
Oscar struggled for breath and balance.
“Do your feet hurt too much to keep going like this?”
“I think so. May I rest, Sir?”
“Yes, you may rest. Get down on your knees.” A hand grasped each of Oscar’s arms, supporting him as he eased himself down. The shoes prevented him from moving in anything like
a normal way, and it was only the other man’s help that kept him from crashing down instead of kneeling.
He panted in the tight corset, head spinning. A calloused thumb stroked over his mouth.
“You’re such a good boy, and so beautiful. Do you believe me?”
“I think I do, Sir.”
“You think you do? I already told you what to believe. Yes or no, do you believe me?”
“Yes, Sir. I believe you. I trust you.”
“You really do want to make me happy, don’t you.”
It wasn’t a question, and it wasn’t delivered in a voice of command.
“Yes, Sir,” Oscar replied. The hand left his face, and he waited to find out what this meant. Rustling noises told him something was happening in front of him, but he didn’t know what. Rope? Hayden donning a bigger cock?
A hand slipped around the back of Oscar’s head, cradling his skull gently.
“You really want to suck me?” Now his voice was rough, predatory.
Oscar’s mind went blank with desire.
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
The hand curled into his hair, gripped and urged him forward. Oscar’s nose contacted warm, hairy skin. His face was turned so his cheek lay flat against it; the hair was coarse. Hayden’s stomach? He hoped so. The man had a treasure trail that made Oscar’s mouth water.
Then Oscar caught the scent: musky. It smelled like sex, both familiar and not quite what Oscar was used to when he went down on men. He could feel his pulse in his chest, his neck, his wrists, his knees and his tightly bound feet as the anticipation rose inside him.
I’ve never made him come before. Please, let me do this for him, just once.
He panted, trying to get enough air and knowing that his breath must be warm on the other man. When he moved downward, just a little, asking for permission, Hayden let him.
Take Me There Page 5