Erotic fiction and short sex stories

Sex stories




Changes Ch. 05

Author's Notes:

(1) This chapter is fiction, in contrast to parts of the previous chapters;

(2) This is a story that has a beginning, and eventually an end. Starting a story at Chapter 5 does not permit story development. Please start there;

(3) There are parts of this that are erotic to many, and parts of it are erotic only to those that understand the cross dressing fetish as I do.


*****

That first day in the maid's dress and high heels was a long one, and there were times when I peeked outside through the pulled drapes and longed to be out there, wishing I could be, in any form, male or female. Suddenly I realized I hadn't left the house in weeks, and I hadn't really wanted to, because to do so I'd have to be dressed as a man. The ecstasy of wearing women's clothes full time had me confined to a life akin to that of a prisoner, a consenting prisoner. I was my own jailor. It was unbelievably wonderful to be accepted like this by Sarah, but I needed something else. I had to get out, get some fresh air, and be myself, whoever that was. I was confused then. I'm not now, but then I needed answers, some direction.

At the end of the day I waited as always at the door with a glass of wine for Sarah. When she entered with a grin and a kiss, I said, "Sarah, we need to talk about some things." I was still blushing and embarrassed about being dressed in the flouncy maid's dress and high heels. Also the inherent submission of being locked into them was sometimes making me cringe, but there was little else I could do if I wanted to be cross dressing with Sarah present and knowing. For different reasons however, I was not smiling at that moment.

"Uh oh, that's a loaded phrase," she said, casting a wary glance at me, "Let me get my coat off and we'll sit down with the wine right now." Her eyes flashed briefly with amusement that I was still locked into the dress and shoes and that the dress and shoes had not been tampered with.

Over the next half hour while supper was cooking, I explained my fears and my feelings of isolation.

Sarah listened with intensity, nodding her head when appropriate. "Do you want to go back to the way we were?" Sarah asked with concern and gentleness.

"You see, that's the thing; I don't. I just feel, I don't know, edgy. Maybe I need to go out to a movie or the theater or something. Would you mind...? I mean, you do seem to enjoy me dressed like this, but I'd have to be dressed in my old clothes, my male clothes, to go out of the house of course."

"Why?" Sarah asked innocently, glancing at a pot boiling a little too vigorously on the stove.

I said, "What do you mean "why?"? I can't go out dressed like a woman. Are you crazy?"

Sarah smiled and touched me gently on the shoulder. She took a sip of wine and initially it seemed like she had changed the subject when she said, "I see. The silicone padding wrap arrived. It's in the car. What if we got you dressed up with that padding underneath, and went to a bar, a nice upscale bar on 17th Avenue? You could pull it off you know, being a woman, that is."

My heart started racing. "Go out? As a woman? Jesus Sarah, I don't know..."

"Stephie, I'd be with you. You'd just have to do what I do. It'd be fun, don't you think? In fact, if you liked it, we could do it more and more so that eventually we could go shopping together, go on vacations together, all of it. Why not? You could even build the courage to go out into the world by yourself, as Stephanie. So what do you think? A good idea or what?"

I gulped. "Tonight? Outside? Dressed like this?"

Sarah laughed. "No, not in your maid's outfit! Jesus, nobody (male or female) would want to be caught dead in that! I have just the right outfit for you to wear, a dress that should accent your figure if the padding does what it's supposed to do. And I could lend you one of my purses and a coat. What do you say? Want to try it?"

I was shaking with nervousness and excitement and my voice even shook as I said, "Wow, gee...umm...I've dreamed of it, but to be out in public as the opposite sex, now that'd be weird. You'd stay with me, right? Promise?"

"Of course! But if you go to the bathroom, you're on your own, sorry. Seriously though, who's going to know? Stephanie is nothing like Steve. Now if you went out dressed up without makeup, that'd be different..." And she laughed.

Women's bathroom, I thought. How hot is that? Dressed like a woman, being a woman. Hair-raising and warped? For sure. Then I had a thought, "Wait. What if we get approached by men?"

"Easy. We're lesbians. Go away. That's all we need to say."

I took a deep breath. "Okay. All right. I'm in!" I said, and we clinked our wine glasses together.

A few minutes after supper we were reading the instructions as to how the silicone feminine padding was supposed to be placed on my skin. They went on as advertised, naturally adhering to my hairless skin, and after a few misplacements everything was in position and I pulled my girdle and pantyhose up to secure everything without risk of it falling off. Sarah had ordered the large size which balanced out my boy shoulders, and in fact made my hips slightly more broad than they were. I felt gourd-shaped. Sarah was giddy with the effect, and I had to agree; my shape was certainly female.

The dress was perfect, the classic little black dress with a hem at mid-thigh, but with a shape that made it flare outward starting just below the waist so that it draped beautifully over my new silicone hips and ass. It was long sleeved and had a scoop neckline just above my breasts. Its elasticity hugged my new figure snugly, like being nude but with a new skin, so that I felt exposed and feminine. Everything was accentuated, my hips, my bust, my ass, and tucked secretly underneath the tight layers of pantyhose and girdle was my penis, crushed to invisibility, a mystery never to be found by anyone, except Sarah of course. The pantyhose were night-time elegant hose which were very high in Lycra, creating a compressional fit and they had a shimmer to them, looking wet at times. Walking back and forth in front of the mirror, my legs rubbed together in that classic swish and whisper of satin and Lycra. My silicone breasts felt heavy, bouncing and jiggling, with the straps pulling on my shoulders as I walked. I stood facing the mirror and placed my hands on my new wide hips, excited and with butterflies in my girdled tummy.

"Jesus Sarah, what do you think? Sometimes I just can't understand myself. I'm almost breathless; I'm so excited! I actually "feel" like a woman right now...do I really look as female as I'm fantasizing right now?"

"No," she said quickly, "You still need a corset...you think you're breathless now, just wait. Sorry, but you really do need one. Your hips and ass are nice, but your waist is still too big. Don't get me wrong, you look great and you can easily pass as a woman, but if someone was to describe you, he'd be mentioning a boyish figure. Your makeup isn't right for clubbing either, but I can fix that."

Ouch! My feminine ego was put in its place. I sat at the vanity while Sarah showed me the intricacies of night-time makeup, the darker hues and bolder highlighting of the eyes, darker eyebrows and accented cheek bones. The transformation was stark in the bathroom light, but Sarah assured me that in nightclub or bar light it would be perfect. My eyelashes were so thick and long with mascara that they felt heavy, noticeable with every blink of my eyes. The bangles jingled on my wrist as I attached the long and heavy teardrop gold ear rings to my ear lobes. With every movement of my head I felt them swinging against that tender area below my ears.

Sarah stood back and looked at me with a puzzled frown and her hand to her chin. "What is it?" she said rhetorically, "Something. What's missing?" Then the confusion left her face and she reached into the drawer, pulling out some rose colored fingernail polish. Instinctively, I made a fist.

Sarah slapped my fist and said, "Stop that! Do you see many women these days without fingernail polish? Put your hands out flat."

I laid my hands out with great apprehension. Twenty minutes later I looked at them and was thrilled to see that the polish made my hands look smaller and my fingers longer.

I stood to observe myself and realized that for the first time I was completely feminine. There was nothing out of place, nothing to give me away, nothing to outwardly distinguish me as Steve. I WAS Stephanie and it was an empowering experience. That was the first time, like I was no longer a virgin.

I love everything about this.

Sarah placed all that I needed into a spare purse she had, a black, over-the-shoulder bag and gave me a coat to wear that was slightly tight, but adequate. I didn't have high boots, but I did have a four inch set of black pumps that seemed like flats compared to the lock-on ones I had been wearing all day. I sat on the edge of the bed brushing out my wig while Sarah got ready. The tightness of the dress kept my knees together without any effort from me. My body sang a sweet high strung cord of harmony with my mind at that moment. Those that understand, understand it well, that feeling.

She was fast, much more accustomed to this than I. Her choice of dress was similar to mine except that the color was pink (Yes, just pink. My color sense is NOT feminine) and it had a plunging neckline, revealing just a hint of the black lacy bra underneath. For the piece de resistance, she pulled on her black stiletto knee-high boots and zipped them up. The last pieces of jewelry, necklace, bracelet and earrings, all accented the dress to create an elegance I had never before seen in her. A touch here, a brush there, and her night-time makeup was done and we stared at each other.

She giggled and I laughed nervously. We hugged and both she and I ran our hands over our bodies like they were new and unexplored. It seemed so strange and wonderful to feel our dresses slip over each other's and feel my breasts pushing against hers and I still get a thrill from that to this day.

Sarah called a cab and we waited, finishing the last of supper's wine. When the cab arrived, Sarah said, "Are you ready for this?"

I took a deep breath and said, "Absolutely not. Let's go."

I remember that exquisite feeling vividly. The thrill was on, stepping outside that door for the first time dressed as a woman, and for the first time as either gender for many weeks. It seemed cold, but it was only the spring wind as it swirled under my coat and dress over my pantyhose and danced around my pubic area which felt exposed and vulnerable. Under the streetlight I instinctively hunched to hide my identity, my femininity. It was silly actually, as there was a chasm of a sexual divide between being Steve and being Stephanie, the person I was at that moment.

As we walked to the cab, Sarah said, "I do the talking. You just smile and nod. Stand up straight and be proud of yourself. You look great. Enjoy this; I know I will."

I was in a dream. My lips felt numb from hyperventilating, I was shaking and my knees were barely able to steady my gait to the waiting cab where the cabbie stood holding the door open for us. I smiled and nodded as I slid onto the cold leather seat, making sure to hold my skirt down to avoid showing my panties. So restrictive and coy, this women's wear, one false move and male eyes would be upon you, as his were now, not on my face, but on my thighs. He glanced back at my eyes and smiled.

I am not gay, but that was the strangest exchange of a look, to have a man want you with his eyes. My heart fluttered with the intimacy of it and I blushed under my makeup. As I slithered across the seat to allow Sarah room, I almost had an orgasm and my lips parted briefly as I gasped. This was too surreal, with the tightness and the caress of the pantyhose, girdle and the dress all conspiring to make me explode with passion. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said to myself, "Oh my God, what are you doing? Control yourself. Control yourself!"

The cab drove away toward the bright downtown lights and I pretended to look at my smart phone to calm myself. I was so close, so very close to orgasm, and it remained there, just there, so near, waiting for me to say yes, to let it go. Chocolate cake. Weeding the garden. Mowing the lawn. Think of anything except the pressure on my penis, this situation, anything.

"Are you okay?" Sarah said, a voice out of the fog.

I couldn't answer. I did come a little bit, a teasing, broken and ruined orgasm, shuddering slightly as my hips involuntarily jerked forward. I just looked at her, smiled and nodded while taking one deep breath after another. My ears were ringing and I thought maybe I might faint, or have a nervous breakdown. Slowly the feeling went away and my breathing became normal again. I reached over and squeezed Sarah's hand as the real world came into my consciousness once again, first with her touch and next with the sounds of the street and taxi.

"You'll be fine," she cooed, "It'll all be okay. I'm really excited too. I'm hoping this is a start for, let's just say, new things."

She glanced at me with a grin. I remember that grin distinctly. It had a promise of something. I didn't recognize the full extent of it at the time, but I do now. Despite that however, I knew this was not going to be merely a night out for drinks. The whole thing smacked of changes, permanent changes, and an explosion of possibilities.

The bar was in the Swain Hotel, a local boutique establishment which was sculpted out of an old building in the timeworn warehouse district. As we pulled up to the front of the building, a greeter opened the door as Sarah paid the cabbie. Cold air rushed in and I had to stifle the urge to giggle about nothing, I was so nervous. Again, my private regions felt the cold air and I shivered with both the cold and the excitement. The Lycra and satin seemed like a perfect conduit for external stimuli, and for me, it was a reminder of my vulnerability and my insatiable sexual appetite for this cross dressing experience. I will never forget it. I still get that feeling when I'm a woman, when I'm dressed in that "just right" outfit.

We walked arm-in-arm through the door and across a small check-in area where two Japanese visitors were looking at their hotel arrangements with the shaky understanding of one not knowing the language. They were puzzled and argued about something. Our heels clicked on the large marble tiles and I struggled to keep up, concentrating on not slipping on the smooth floor. The room felt like a stage, I the actress.

Sarah was smiling, and without even changing her look, or even looking at me, she mumbled, "Head up, shoulders back, breasts out."

It was a piano bar, and when we walked in, heads turned. A man never gets looked at the way a woman does. This was my second experience of that, the first being the cabbie. Being a woman was like living in a fish bowl, men undressing you with their eyes, and I started to hyperventilate with nervous tension at the same time that the orgasm approached me again. What was going on with me, I wondered?

"We have to sit down quick," I said with panic, and then I whispered in Sarah's ear, "I think I'm about to come."

Sarah burst out laughing. "Hold on baby; we'll take this table. Then maybe I can help you, okay?"

The swishing of the fabric of my pantyhose and dress, and the tightness of all of the clothing continued to stimulate me even as I sat down, trying to concentrate on the playoff hockey game on the big screen behind the bar. Time stood still. I was sitting in a bar dressed as a woman with my wife, and I absolutely shook with blasts from my nerve endings sparking and arcing. Sarah held my hand under the table as the server approached.

"Ladies," he said, "What would you like to drink this evening?"

"We'd like a bottle of Rosemount Shiraz please."

He left and I was beginning to settle down. "Jesus Christ!" I whispered, "I was almost about to double over with an orgasm there. What the fuck is wrong with me?" My hands were shaking and I was breathing quickly.

Sarah made me feel at home as always by saying, "Nothing's wrong with you baby that isn't wrong with me too. As long as our "wrongness" has company, then we'll be okay. Now relax. Here comes the wine." She laid her hand on my thigh under the table and slid it slowly toward my crotch until I closed my legs on it, preventing any further advance. My eyes were closed as I struggled to appear normal, with my hands on the table palms down in front of me. I opened them briefly and saw my polished nails and I felt a rush inside me, as every part of me that I looked at or felt was feminine. It was odd that it surprised me. It shouldn't have, but it did.

As the wine was uncorked and poured, the piano man started. He was good at times, but mostly just adequate as he played softly and mindlessly to the men in the room. Yes, they were all men except us.

"Now what?" I asked, releasing Sarah's hand to do as it wished. She pulled it away. I wanted it back.

"Now we enjoy the evening and drink and talk I guess." Sarah sipped on the wine and glanced about the room.

"Oh shit!" she said unexpectedly, and she tried to hide her face. It was too late.

"Sarah?" a voice said, a male voice. A tall, casually, but well-dressed man had stood from two tables away and was walking toward us and behind me. When he arrived at our table he leaned over slightly to see Sarah's face which she had partially obscured with her purse. "Sarah, it is you. I thought so! What a coincidence you being here tonight! I'm here with Roger. We just finished up some late night work and decided to have a drink before we headed home."

"Oh...Gord. Ha, weird seeing you here," Sarah said, flustered.

Then there was silence as he checked me out. "And?" he asked, prodding.

I smiled and nodded, just like Sarah had told me to.

"Umm, this is Stephanie. Stephanie, meet Gord, my counterpart at Zemo Inc. We have a joint venture with them."

I remained seated, extended my hand in as feminine a way as I thought possible, and nodded once again, but said nothing. I was terrified. How bad was this going to get, I wondered?

"So," Gord said, "Are you here to celebrate something?" He stared at my breasts.

Sarah looked at him with a puzzled expression.

He nodded toward the bottle on our table and said, "The wine. Is it for something special?" He glanced at my breasts again.

Sarah had started to regain her composure and was thinking fast. She said, "No, we're just out having a good time."

Gord looked at her strangely and said, "Your husband isn't with you? When we had coffee the other day, you mentioned you were married."

Suddenly Sarah's eyes sparkled and her mind decided to play. She said, "Well, that is true; I am married. Look, umm...this is my wife Stephanie."

"Really? Wow, oh, jeez Sarah, I see," he said, surprised, and with a distinct emphasis on "see". Then he caught himself and said, "I'm sorry; I'm being very rude. Hello Stephanie. Very pleased to meet you. You're as beautiful as your ...umm... your..." He drifted off, not knowing what to call Sarah now.

Sarah laughed, fully in control now. "That's okay. I might as well explain. You're going to be even more confused in a second. I'm not exactly a lesbian, you know. This is my husband. Stephanie is my husband. She's transgendered and sort of new to being a woman in public."

My mouth flew open in astonishment. "Sarah!" I said.

Gord lurched back, recovered himself, and said, "Oh, I see. Incredible. I mean, you look, umm... Now I'm really off-balance. I'm so sorry; I'm not handling this well at all. Stephanie you look very beautiful. You really look like a...I mean, you needn't worry about your femininity; I'm truly in awe."
I spoke for the first time and said, "Thanks, I appreciate that. It's hard."

Sarah burst into gales of laughter.

Gord didn't get the connotation and looked at her strangely. I sipped on my wine, wishing this would all go away, a stranger in a strange land.

"Umm, can Roger and I join you for a drink?"

I instantly said no, but at exactly the same time that Sarah said, "Sure. Why not?" She was devilish that night, and her eyes danced with delight at my exposure and embarrassment.

So, here I was sitting in a bar playing the part of a transgender woman with my wife and talking to two strange men. I consoled myself by drinking more wine, and lots of it.

Thirty minutes later I was just as animated as anyone else, laughing and chatting and telling stories. Then I felt the hand on my knee. I glanced with alarm at Gord, and he gave me a level stare, a glassy-eyed look either due to lust or alcohol, probably both. And he smiled.

"Sarah, let's go to the washroom, okay?" I said hastily as I brushed his hand away.

I'll never forget that first conscious decision to enter a ladies room. That was a place of mystery and now I was going in there dressed as a lady. There were no other options dressed as I was, and my heart raced as we headed in. Once inside I didn't get a chance to speak first. Sarah giggled and said, "Into the handicapped cubicle baby!" And she both pushed and pulled me in, explaining, "There are no women here but us, so let's have some fun."

I interrupted her and said, "Sarah, Gord put his hand on my knee! We have to get out of here!"

"Really? I always thought that guy was a snake, but I guess this just proves it. We'll go back and ditch them," she said, almost in a hurry as if she had done that a hundred times. "Right now I have something for you."

Out of her purse, she pulled a small stainless steel butt plug and a tube of lubricant. "Down with your pantyhose and girdle baby; in she goes."

"Sarah," I whispered, "No way that's going inside me!"

But she had pulled my girdle and hose down already and was massaging my throbbing penis. "Oh baby, what's a woman if she doesn't want to be fucked, huh? To be filled up? You want it, don't you? Say you want it baby, say you want it!"

I was leaning against the wall and gasping, and my mind was on autopilot as I said, "Jesus Sarah! Oh God, yes, okay, I want it, yes, yes..."

I writhed in fake agony as she told me to bend over, never letting go of my penis. These days my anal plug is much larger, but back then this first introductory one slipped in surprisingly easy, and I gasped with shock as it settled into the comfort spot next to my prostate. I'm sure my eyes were as wide as saucers, especially when Sarah said, "Okay, now you're a woman. Do me like a lesbian."

"What? Now? Here? Jesus Sarah! What's got into you?"

My beautiful conservative wife of six years pulled down her panties and sat on the edge of the toilet with her legs spread wide apart and she looked at me with glazed eyes, saying, "Get on your knees and do me! Hurry!"

I was overcome with the adventure and passion of this, the possibility of being caught, all those things, as I put my knees on the hard tile floor and parted her lips. It was awkward, and even after only one or two minutes, my neck hurt, but fortunately that's all it took as she squealed slightly and then moaned, with her legs pressing against my head so I couldn't hear anything, nor could I move away. She shuddered several times and I tasted a liquid come out of her that I had never tasted before. I've learned since it's a fluid that she squirts when the intensity of her orgasm is unusually robust.

Someone did come in. I heard even through Sarah's thighs pressed against my ears, the distinct click, click of high heels on the floor. Our movements froze in time as we waited, Sarah holding me at her vagina tightly where I breathed her in. The next cubicle's door opened and shut, and after some vague rustling of clothing, I heard a thunder of urine, after which there was nothing for several minutes. Sarah released my head so that I could look up at her while she made the "shh" motion with her finger. The woman next to us was texting someone. Obviously she sent it and then a response came. This went on for perhaps five minutes.

Sarah started to silently shake with giggles. Then she got up and pushed me against the wall and got on her knees, instantly taking me in her mouth. There was no common sense to this. I was lost in fantasy with the butt plug expanding my anus while she massaged my penis with her mouth and tongue. I made a feeble attempt to push her away but it was too late. The fantasy of being dressed as a woman in a woman's washroom, with an anal plug massaging my prostate while Sarah massaged my penis was too much. The last thing I heard before I screamed out was the birdie sound of a returned text to the lady in the next cubicle. I couldn't help it; I moaned and groaned and thrust my hips with the most unbelievable orgasm I had ever experienced. I think I squealed like a girl. I hope I did, as it certainly would have been more appropriate.

The next thing we heard was the rapid opening of the next stall door, and the woman fleeing from the scene. She didn't even wash her hands. Sarah would have laughed out loud except her mouth was full and her cheeks bulged. She stood up and while I was still breathing heavily she locked my mouth with hers and flushed all of my ejaculate into my mouth. The saltiness was immediately evident, and I looked at her with revulsion and astonishment. Who was this woman?

"Swallow it," she whispered, "Swallow it like a woman would, like you'd expect a woman to. Come on baby, swallow it!"

I swallowed in stunned silence as she pulled my girdle and pantyhose up over my now limp penis.

"Good girl," she said, "You make a good bitch, you know?" She had a strange glassy look to her eyes that I had never seen before, but I have seen it often since. It was one of dominance and triumph. But at that time I took it for drunkenness.

I answered, playing the part for my drunken wife, "Okay, I'm your bitch, but jeez Sarah! This was, this is crazy! My God Sarah! My God!" With the orgasm, all my fantasies had disappeared, and now I was just a man, wearing a dress, in high heels, makeup, and a wig in a women's washroom in a public bar miles from home. I was terrified.

Sarah smiled and left the cubicle to fix her makeup. I quickly realized that there was no choice for me other than to do the same. I felt so alone and vulnerable. The sexual fantasy bubble having burst, the clothing was now uncomfortable, so tight and restrictive, and the high heels were painful to wear. How could this have been my fantasy, I wondered? I followed Sarah and fixed my lipstick. Strangely, by the time I reached our table again, the massage and slip of the satin and Lycra had brought me back. I was stunned and shaky. The wine at the table never tasted so good, eliminating the salty flavor.

Gord's hand went to my knee again. This was not okay. I looked him squarely in the eye and said, "Stop it right now." Then I resorted to male anger as I said, "Get your fucking hand off my leg! Now! I want you to go back to your table please."

His hand slipped away and he said, startled, "But I thought, umm, I thought maybe the four of us, you know, trannie, woman, the two of us..." His head swayed on his neck like he was on a sailing ship in high seas.

"No," I said, "We're husband and wife, no matter what we look like, and you have no right to think anything else. Now fuck off!"

Then it got a little ugly. He said, "Well, well, well. You fucking bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are anyway? A fucking little trannie..." And he stood up, continuing his drunken tirade. Roger tried to pull him away, but it wasn't until the bartender came over and told him to leave that he finally relented, staggering to the door.

This left Sarah and me sitting staring at each other in shock, until she started laughing. "He called you a bitch!" she said in hysterics, "Sound familiar?"

I thought the situation was over and settled in to drink some more wine. Then the bartender approached us and said, "Ladies, I've called a cab for you. You're causing some trouble here tonight and I'd like you to leave. There was a complaint from a lady that went to the washroom. Please pay your tab."

When we arrived home, we both crashed, falling asleep in each other's arms. Sarah was nude, but she told me to just take my dress and shoes off for bed so she could feel my female body. She was hammered, and just before she went to sleep her voice trailed off in an unfinished phrase, "I think I must be a..."

Over the next few weeks, I went out with Sarah on many other occasions to movies, bars, theaters, and even to one daytime festival event. We never saw Roger and Gord again, although I got accustomed to being approached by many men. We handled it differently from then on, politely pushing them away before there were any misunderstandings. Every time we went out together, Sarah always did the same thing to me in the washroom. I think I understand why now, other than the pure lust; she wanted me to experience the non-sexual aspect of being in public dressed as a woman, the vulnerability of it, and sometimes the fear, always that feeling of being lusted after.

changes  

Jul 14, 2018 in femdom

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