by Sally Laces
I nodded my head, then purred and shut my eyes. All he was doing was trailing his fingers up and down the exposed part of my neck, but FUCK did it feel good.
“How awful,” he said with that sarcastic American lilt I just absolutely hated and adored in equal measure. “We’ll have to do something about that.”
Harrow’s hand delicately shifted from my waist. I opened my mouth, wanting him to kiss me again.
He did lean in, but I hardly noticed. My first thought was of his hand, shifting to my waistband and slowly pulling my skirt’s zipper down.
I let him for a few seconds. Much too long.
What he found underneath would bring this whole wonderful night crashing down.
“Um, Um!” I flailed and tried to get my dopey mind back into order. My dumb fucking brain decided the best course of action was to grab Harrow’s tie and pull it as hard as I could. He didn’t make a sound. He just flexed his neck. I could have climbed him like an alpine peak.
“Christina?” He rasped. His hand hesitated at my sloping skirt.
“Oh, um… Are… Are you turned on too?”
He glanced down at his taut tie. “A little less than before, but yes. I think my blood flow is being constricted.”
I let go of his tie. “Sorry,” I murmured. I took a deep breath. “Why don’t I see just how horny you are.”
I placed my hands between Harrow’s knees. He watched me for a moment, then let me spread his legs. He planted his wingtips flat on the floor. I slid down onto the carpet, kneeling on my heels. My fingers weren’t as deft getting his zipper down as his were with my skirt, but eventually I exposed his boxers.
“Oooh, you’re really -” my first attempts at girlish dirty talk broke off when I saw the tent in his underwear. Reaching up like a cavewoman to an angel, I slowly brought down the hem of his boxers and got hit in the eye with his one-eyed monster.
“Shit,” I gasped, leaning back on my heels.
“Christina?”
“Your cock is the size of a Femnosi cream baguette!”
“What?”
“It’s huge!”
Harrow laughed, an action which, to my amazement, made his cock bob up and down.
“I hope you’ll keep it secret.”
“Oh. Definitely.”
No one was going to know about this. Not even Ella, who’d certainly have a ton of questions next time I saw her. No one could know.
Hell, I wasn’t even sure I knew what was going on.
All I knew was his cock was big.
And I wanted it in my mouth.
All that thick, meaty cock though… Did girls really suck these? I could see why. Having his dick in my hand, my own lithe fingers wrapped around the shaft, I felt like I was in control - not completely, of course. He still had his hand on the back of my head and my own much smaller cock tented my panties fruitlessly. Still, the clear pleasure on his tanned face, coupled with the twitch every time I squeezed or slowly jerked him, only enhanced my enjoyment.
Fuck it. I slipped the tip into my mouth and felt Harrow’s fingers graze over my ear. I moved further down, eyes wide, staring at inch after inch of shaft disappearing inside of my mouth. He hit my throat. I gagged, pulled his cock out, and began to use my hand.
“You’re fucking great at that.”
“I am?”
I jerked him a bit faster. Shit, I’d never really been good at anything before. Was cocksucking my talent?
I hoped so.
I really enjoyed it. So much that I was back on his rod immediately, slurping his dick right down to the point I could manage, teasing his balls and feeling them tighten. I decided to go a bit further, breathing in deeply to accept more of his cock, holding it in my throat, stifling a gag, then pulling away slowly to jerk him even more.
“Oooh, I know what to do,” I whispered to his dick. The rod only responded by twitching and dribbling precum from his slit. I twisted two hands around his shaft, jerking him with both. There was certainly enough room to make the motion in full, long pulls. I kept the tip of my tongue on his slit, lapping at him repeatedly like a thirsty animal. His succor was the semi-salty, semi-sweet precum that fell liberally from his huge cock tip.
The vibrations from the dance floor ran through my legs and teased my sissy cock. The idea in my head was that by pleasing him I could please myself. Every time I felt him twitch, moan, or rub my cheek with his careful palm, I felt a connected pang of pleasure. Not just in my panties - though there was that, the expensive silk teasing the underside of my shaft - but a different pleasure as well.
The pleasure of being a good girl.
Excited and horny and confused and turned on, all at the same time, I kept up my work, moving my hands up and down his shat, his heavy breathing and bucking hips mixing with the thrum of the music so close by, yet cut off completely by our secret room. Me, his secret sissy slavegirl, running my tongue-tip along his slit, eager for…
For what?
For cum?!
I tasted the first ropes before I saw them. My eyes were staring directly at his clenched eyes. My jaw slowly parted to accept his essence.
When it hit the back of my throat I had no inclination to spit any out. The taste was far better than I imagined. Salty, yes, but tangy, enticing, and warm. I let him fill my mouth up until he was spent, then swallowed down the entire load.
I finished it off with a cool sip of his sparkling water when I stood up.
“Jesus Christ,” he moaned.
“Was my performance satisfactory, Mr. Boss Man?” Harrow looked like he’d just had the life sucked out of him, but the image was temporary. With his pants still around his ankles, the boss leaned up and grabbed me by the wrist. I screeched a girlish little giggle and fell into his lap, kissing him fully on the lips but subtly positioning my ass so he couldn’t feel my cock pressing against his thigh.
“Christina, why don’t we…”
A knock sounded at the door.
Chapter 8
HARROW
We stared into each other’s eyes for a pregnant moment.
“You should get that,” she said with a sigh. “I must look a mess.”
She didn’t. Lipstick smeared, sure. Probably more on my cock than on her deliciously kissable lower lip. Her hair was as straight and fine as ever, and she hadn’t teared up during the blowjob, leaving her eyeliner and mascara perfectly placed.
I stood up, placing Christina on the sofa next to me. She smiled and ran her hand down my forearm, but once I moved away she was up too. The knocking sounded at the door again.
With my pants on and my shirt tucked in, I opened up the black leather door.
“We got a problem.”
The bouncer was talking to me like he worked for me. He didn’t. Not yet, at least. After getting sucked off in the VIP room I was more inclined to buy this property. I should probably look at the financial records first.
“What?”
“Your boy Marvin sprained his ankle out on the dance floor. Says he needs help.”
I sighed. “Martin. Alright, I’ll be down in a minute.”
I only realized I had only opened the door a crack when I shut it in the bouncer’s face. I turned around to face Christina, who stood with her clutch in front of her, her heels on, and her face placid.
“I should go.”
With a deep exhale, I nodded. “Down to the dance floor?”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, Harrow. I’m leaving.”
“Alright.”
We stood before each other, locked in our own silly power struggle. Which one of us would ask for the other’s number? Which one wanted to ask the other to meet again?
Neither of us. We both knew what had happened here. Chance and circumstance, oiled by a bit of well-mixed cocktails, had brought us to this point. Why Christina didn’t want to go all the way was her business. She seemed to enjoy sucking my cock and that was good enough for me. If she was satisfied too then there was no arguing.
“I had a wonderful night with you,” I said, taking her arms in mine.
“Likewise.” She glanced down at the floor. I could tell she had something to tell me. I waited.
She looked up, and for a moment those big, green, sparkling eyes made me want to pull her into my arms and carry her back to America with me.
“Carpe Noctem.” The mystery girl stood on tip-toes in her heels, kissed me on the cheek, and slid out the door.
I watched her leave. That ass in that skirt was enough to die over. Apparently the bouncer thought so too. He stared until I nodded at him, at which point he slunk away into the darkness.
This was my girl.
If only for the night.
Chapter 9
CHRISTINA
I woke to the sound of my butler knocking on my door, a sure sign that I had royally fucked up.
The only thing I had on were my nylons and my panties. My wig sat atilt on my nightstand while my skirt and blouse were puddled outside of my open closet. Most of the clothing inside was male; the female clothes were hidden in a drawer behind all the starchy shirts and tailored jackets.
“Phone for you, sir,” said Arden Hemingsworth, in his proper clipped Femnosi accent. “Shall I answer?” He pronounced answer like ‘an-seer.’
“No, Arden, just…” I cleared my throat and smacked my dry lips. Sure sign of a hangover.
I hadn’t been drunk when I left Harrow and the club behind. After I strode out the front door - there seemed to be a lot of commotion on the dance floor - I went straight home. Then I started drinking for real.
There was so much to think about, standing at the counter in my penthouse suite. Arden lived in a one-room flat on the floor below. I had an expansive kitchen all to myself; thankfully I stocked the freezer with booze. It took three vodka tonics to put me to bed that night. Over two hours of drinking and pouring in silent, near-darkness, I thought about what had happened.
I met a guy. I flirted with him. And I blew him. All under the illusion that I was a girl.
The night I spent with Harrow in VIP was the happiest and most ludicrous of my entire life. There was no doubt in my mind that I loved every moment with that arrogant ass, no matter how much I pretended otherwise.
But what did it all mean? Why did I act like I hated him from time to time? Who was he, even?
I knew only one thing for sure: I wouldn’t see him again. Maybe he taught me some things about myself. Maybe I enjoyed being submissive. I certainly enjoyed being a kneeling cock-worshipping sissy girl. He would never know any of that.
Our encounter was over. Time to go back to being Christopher.
“Shall I tell them you’ve given up your heir-ship, your heirship?”
I groaned in bed, rubbing my nyloned thighs against each other.
“No, Arden,” I grumbled. “Tell them I’ll call them back.”
Arden Hemingsworth was technically Arden the 5th. His great-great-grandfather was my ancestor’s butler, and our families had been interconnected since the earliest days. The Hemingsworths were, as my father and grandfather had insisted, the only people an Inverness could trust with our deepest secrets. And yes, Arden knew everything about me, including my predilection for sissification. He found it about as interesting as my preference for jalapeños in my omelet.
“I’m afraid it can’t wait, Sir.”
I rose out of bed and went to the door in my nylons and panties. Arden didn’t blink at my state of dress. I stood bare-chested but for my sissified lower half and took the wireless phone from his silver tray.
‘
“I’ll just call them back.”
“Wonderful, Sir. Although I believe ‘them’ is a he.”
“Oh?” I held the phone tight to my ear.
“Christopher? Where the hell are you?”
My uncle’s voice carried clear and angry from the phone’s speaker. I hunched my body a bit, though there was no reason to do so. Arden just stared straight ahead in his immaculate bow-tied suit, like a butler should.
“I’m at home.”
“And why is that?”
“Because it’s a holiday?”
Uncle Arthur just laughed. “A holiday! So you’re a street cleaner then?”
This was the highest insult you could pay a Femnosi. After meeting Harrow and indulging in his cleaning fetish, I had a different feeling toward the working class.
“They do a worthwhile service to our country.”
“Oh-ho! Still drunk I see. Listen, boy. The Yankee delegates are going to be here in an hour. If you’re not, kiss your trust fund goodbye, plain and simple.”
Uncle Arthur had no power to take away my fortune, though he could make a recommendation to the board of directors. If that happened, there’d be a tribunal, a council, a vote, and a hearing regarding my inheritance. The point is: I was in no danger of losing my millions.
I still didn’t like his tone.
“I’ll be there,” I said, stifling a burp. “I was always going to be there.”
“We’ll see about that. One hour, Chris. See you soon.”
The phone clicked off. I handed it back to Arden.
“I need clothes.”
“Certainly Sir. Would you like them in the feminine variety?”
Arden Hemingsworth, the butler, was the only person who knew the full truth about my sissy dalliances. His contract swore him to secrecy and I used that privilege to its fullest extent, knowing that my ancestors had asked for far worse than sexy skirts and expensive makeup.
That didn’t stop Arden from teasing me about my hobby in his dry wit whenever he got the chance.
“I’m going to a business meeting, Arden.”
“A pantsuit, then.”
I flopped down on the bed, the headache and Arden’s comments hitting me at once.
“I’ll take that as a no, Sir. Would a two-piece suit suffice?”
“Nothing too fancy, Arden. I’m just there for appearances.”
As always. My Uncle was interim President. The Board ran the company. Every man was 30 years older and 20 kilos fatter than me. I only came to these meetings to prove some continuity in the company. The only Inverness in Inverness Ltd. Look at me! Gawk at the boy! See how stable we are!
I hated this shit, but I had no choice. My company was run by a near relative and controlled by a council of nobodies.The least I could do was show up.
In men’s clothes.
“Your shit will be ready in five minutes, Sir. Shall I prepare your expedited breakfast?”
I smiled into my pillow. “You mean my granola bar with instant coffee?”