Cross Dressing Erotica
"I Come Home from a Tiring Day" a sex story by corine michel
I came home from a tiring day of errands. It was early April and the weather was humid enough that I could feel beads of sweat running down the small of my back. I was in the daily habit of checking my apartment's mailbox, even though I received nothing save bills. I was reminded of those random, dejected characters in movies who soon become serial killers.
I had two letters: one envelope, stamped Air France with diagonal red and blue stripes around the border addressed to someone else, and a postcard. I tucked them into my back pocket and climbed the four flights of stairs with bags of heavy groceries and candles.
I was intending to clean that night. I turned on some music, filled the kitchen sink with cold water and vegetable solution, and dropped in five pounds of carrots to soak as I looked at the mail.
The postcard had interesting graphic designs of women in bondage; they were trashy and punk rock - not exactly Victoria's Secret. The postcard announced the fifth fetish party called 'Byte' at the Delancey Lounge, which was that night. I recalled my neighbor talking about it once when I bumped into him in the stairwell. He had on latex pants, red eyeliner, and big, black rubber shoes. He was tiny in his skintight pants. He asked me how he looked and I giggled. He did a turn-around so I could check him out and I wondered if his vaunted attempts where aimed at me.
"You should come out, you'll love it," he said.
"Yeah, maybe next time," I said, delicately pushing past him towards my door.
"Okay, I'll hold you to that," he said, and his robust laughter echoed throughout the hall as he descended.
I fanned the postcard in my hand, contemplating the invitation. I was leaning towards not going, but said, "Fuck it," out loud in my empty apartment. I knew I needed to get out even if it was a school night. I took off my dirty Levis, tank top and sweater in front of the mirror. I looked at my stomach and couldn't decide if I liked it.
My feet were black on the bottoms from walking in sandals all day. I splashed warm water on my face and attempted to brush my mangled hair that had been tied up for two days, but to no avail; I put it back up.
The postcard had a list of "what to wear" with corresponding cover charges for different outfits. If I wore latex, bondage, collars and spikes, the cover would be five dollars. If I wore all black, the cover would be ten; jeans and t-shirts meant a charge of twenty.
I decided on a short, black, mini dress that fell two inches below my ass with slits on the sides, fishnet socks, black stiletto heels with long silver anklets and an obsolete, see-through black dress that hit below the knee.
I applied the blackest of black eyeliner and two coats of mascara - this look always made my brown eyes larger and brighter - so bright I could see the specks in them. I said "hi" to my reflection and smiled, which reminded me to apply lip-gloss. The finishing touch was some bronzer to accentuate my cheeks and jaw line. I sprayed Jo Malone perfume on my neck and panties, and dabbed the residue behind my ears.
I could hear my neighbor upstairs with his girlfriends, shuffling around to get ready. He told me they had hired a make-up artist for the occasion. I thought it was a waste of money. I decided to go upstairs and introduce myself. I knocked on the door. He opened it wearing the same black latex pants that made him look like a strong child.
"Ah, you decided to come out tonight," he said and he looked me up and down.
"Yeah, why not," I said shyly, not feeling the way I looked.
While Mike was putting on his shoes, his friends told me they liked mine. Apparently, my shoes would be the big hit of the night.
The bar was only ten yards to the right from our door. I was charged five dollars and we made our way inside. At the bar Mike offered me a drink and I nodded my head. I looked around the room - there was a tightly rolled up run in the middle o the space. It looked strange there and completely obtrusive. Mike told me that was Ron.
"The rug has a name?" I asked him, "Why would a rug have a name?" He laughed at me and touched my arm and slid his hand down to my fingers. It seemed like Mike liked to find reasons to touch me.
"No, there's a man in there, he's here at every party. At the foot-fetish parties he likes to come in bondage. He wears a latex thong and lays on the floor and women step on him with their stiletto shoes. I think he's an accountant," he said, touching my arm again.
I bent down to look at the dirty rug next to my feet. About a foot away I saw dark sunglasses and something stirring around. A finger poked out waving hi. "Ah," I thought and smiled. I retrieved my drink from Mike; we toasted to school nights.
"I might have to step on him later," I said.
"You should."
"I will."
"Want to do it now?"
"No, I'll do it later."
After my third drink, I thought about Ron's hard-on tucked in the rug as I stepped on him. I knew he was looking up my dress. I put my left foot an inch away from his face with the heel next to his mouth. He opened his mouth, took my spiked heel and fervently sucked on it. I took it out and told him to clean the bottom of my sole. He kissed and licked it and from the bottom of my shoe I could feel the pressure of his tongue lapping in circles. I lifted my see-through dress up to my thighs and slid my left leg down until he was close enough to smell the perfume on my panties. I watched the rug stir and Ron stuck out his hand and gave me a thumb's up. I smiled and I straightened myself out from the spectacle, grabbed my drink and waved bye-bye.
I wasn't too concerned about who might have seen me because - after all - this was a fetish party. But then I looked at the bar and realized that the people standing there looked rather tame; they looked like any people at any bar.
Rather than head back to the bar, I veered towards the dance floor and danced by the fetish dancers on stage; I didn't mind I was the only one dancing. After about forty minutes I needed a cigarette and headed to the rooftop. I bummed a cigarette off a group of three smokers, sat down and took a long drag.
"Man, I saw you dancing down there; everyone was checking you out," a guy in a black bandana told me. I nodded to him with an inquisitive look on my face and a mouth full of smoke and said, "yeah?"
"Yeah babe, you like dancing sexy, huh?" he asked as he smiled over at his friends. The conversation was quickly turning in a superficial, uninteresting direction, so I hurried myself and thanked them for the cigarette. The rooftop reminded me why I didn't often frequent bars: bullshit conversations, wasting time with superfluous people and drinking for tomorrow's hangover.
Back downstairs I requested New Order, The Cure, Fisher Spooner and The Faints. Thankfully, the DJ played them all. The music reminded me of my dancing days, and I felt like Madonna in her "Get into the Groove" video when she struts out unto the dance floor. After the set, I ordered another Grey Goose and tonic; I squeeze my lime and throw it on the bar.
"I like the way you squeeze," a man in drag told me.
"WOW. ARE THOSE REAL?" I asked with inebriated gusto.
"You tell me." I grabbed them with my full hand and squeezed. The girl next to him was laughing. I squeezed one, then the other.
"They're rubbery but they're nice," I said, squeezing him a little bit lighter and softer, slightly unaware of my lingering fingers.
"Thank you."
"So, did you put on your own make-up?" He wore fake eyelashes, pink blush and red lipstick outlined with a darker shade of lip liner. I was impressed, since I still haven't learned the craft of lip liner.
"I had help," he said. "My name is Madame Lovely."
"I'm Chloe," I responded, going in for another fill of his rubbery boobs while I sipped my vodka from two short stirring straws. I looked at him more closely. He had the build of a soccer player, and he was wearing silver tight pants, a leopard tank top and open toed shoes. His toenail polish matched his lipstick. I figured it would be difficult for him to dance and wondered if the shank of his shoes would break under the weight.
"You wanna dance?" I asked him.
"No hon, I just stand around and look good."
"Are you straight?"
He smiled, paused, and said, "Yes."
"Really?" I was surprised. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"I just like to dress up like this. I'm a philosophy professor at Columbia."
I tried to picture him in an old, brown blazer with suede elbow patches. I almost grasped the image as I looked at his strong torso, but when I saw his face and the image popped like a delicate bubble.
I felt light, like I was floating in different directions above people's heads. A song from Private Lessons came on and I stepped backwards, fluidly, to the dance floor, dissipating myself from Madame Lovely's explanations on 'why drag.' I watched him from over my shoulder to see if he was watching me and he was.
I'd never tried to seduce a man in drag; the idea was laughable. I typically found men in drag preposterously dressed and ridiculous with their exaggeration of femininity, with their pancake make-up, fluffy hair and big boobs. However, I was feeling adventurous.
He asked me if I wanted a drink and I nodded. I was off to a good start. I suddenly decided I wanted to go home with him...I wanted to see him as a man. And, let's be honest, I hadn't been touched in months and I wanted to feel dick inside me.
I looked at him and gave him a sly smile. I bite my lip. "I like you," I said as he stood watching me. Nothing was said between us for a few minutes. He looked down then back up at me with a serious look. I wondered if he had begun his game with me. He touched my chin with his fingers while his thumb caressed it. He leaned over and kissed me. I looked across the bar in the mirror and saw that his lipstick left a mark on my cheek. The DJ started playing "Hardcore" by Pulp and I dragged him out to the dance floor.
"You don't have to move your feet," I whispered in his ear. Even in my heels I had to tiptoe to reach his ear.
He sang along:
"...Oh, here comes the hardcore life
Put your money where your mouth is tonight
Leave your make-up on
And I'll leave on the light
Come over here
And talk in the mike
Oh, yeah I hear now,
It's gonna be one hell of a night..."
I realized he was singing in his normal voice. I also realized that my panties were wet. I moved his hand from the small of my back to my ass. I pressed myself closer to him, putting my arms tightly around his neck. I felt his hard-on against my stomach and I my breath caught.
"I want to get out of here," I told him.
"Can we invite someone," he asked.
"What? Why?"
"Well, I'm with a friend of mine," he said pointing over at the end of the bar. It was a young guy; he was tall and lean with very strong shoulders. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
"I thought you said you were straight," I asked.
"I am."
"Then who is he?"
"He's a student of mine. He's fairly new to the scene and I was showing him around."
"In drag? Wait...I can't have this conversation when I don't even know your name."
"It's John."
"Okay," I paused. I looked at the student who was languidly leaning against the edge of the bar.
"John, I like that name," I said. "Hold on."
I left John on the dance floor and approached the student. I told him I was taking John home.
"I've never done anything like this before," I said.
The student cocked his head. "What do you mean?"
"Well... two things: I've never taken a man in drag home and I've never invited a second guy to join."
He smiled and held his glass up to me. I raised my glass to his and we said "Cheers." I downed my double Grey Goose through three stirring straws.
We walked outside and the smokers on the street looked at us. I imaged that we looked like the odd triplets of Belleville - each person's oddity accentuated by the other's.
We went the short distance to my apartment and were all giggly watching John stumble up the stairs in his strapless heels. At my door, I turned around and kissed John, wrapping one of my legs around him, pressing my crotch against his. Once inside, I poured red wine. I went into the bathroom, changed into my red silk kimono and turned on the hot water.
I came out with the kimono loosely tied around my waist so that when I leaned over they could see the under slope of my breasts. I sat across from them on my kitchen stool. I separated my legs comfortably on the footrest so from where they were sitting below on my futon they could see the white cotton boy-shorts I wore.
"John, I want you to take a shower because I find it pointless that you stay in drag. And before you ask, no, I don't want to fuck you this way. I'd feel I was being raped by a clown at an amusement park."
John took a swig of his wine and, without a word, took off his wig. His real hair was salt and pepper, short and scruffy. He disappeared into the bathroom and in a moment I heard him calling my name.
The bathroom was already steaming with four large candles burning. He asked for a towel. I handed him a soft, white one, knowing he'd appreciate the quality.
"I like you," he said.
I smiled and left the bathroom.
I straddled the student. I didn't know his name and thought it'd be interesting if I could manage fucking him without that information. His fingers played with my collarbone, he dipped his forefinger into the hallow at my neck and then pinched the bone. With both hands he slipped the kimono off of my shoulders.
He slid the back of his hands up and down my arms. "You have beautiful shoulders," he said. He pulled me in and kissed them. Then, he let go of me as my weight fell on top of him and as he held me up with his mouth, I spread my legs to sit snug on his cock. He smelled of smoke and red wine.
Our tongues played around each other as he arched his back. I moaned. I hadn't touched myself in months and I thought that having an orgasm now would short-change my two guests, but I was throbbing. I pulled away to sit up straight. My top half was completely bare and my bottom half was covered and aching.
The student dipped his second finger in his glass of wine and circled my left nipple with it. He watched the wine drip in waves from the slope of my breast, rippling down my ribs, falling straight down to my stomach. I caught it with my hand before it could stain my kimono and wiped it towards my other nipple.
"Do it again," I said, and we played this game four or five times until John came out wearing nothing but the white towel around his waist. He ran his fingers through his hair, and not knowing what else to do at that moment, he smiled. His chest was hairless and defined. His eyes looked grey by candlelight. His lips were smeared rouge. I stood and brought his glass of wine to him. He took it from me and I touched the beads of water that had settled on his chest. John took the rubber band out of my hair without yanking and he brushed it with his fingers, placing pieces of it around my breasts and the rest down my back.
A sudden apparition came to me. I pictured John at home talking on the phone, "No worries, I'll do this." He was listening to the Rolling Stones. His house was uncluttered and immaculate. His wardrobe was in order by slacks, jackets, suits and collared shirts. His neighbor was an ex-model who wanted to sleep with him, but they remained friends since she moved in. He knocked on her door wearing loose blue jeans and a long sleeve cotton shirt.
"Hey Heidi, how are you?"
Happy to see him she leaned against the door, "I'm good, what can I do for you?"
"Yeah, it's a strange request but I'm going to a fetish party tonight. Anyhow, the Rockets were playing the Phoenix Suns the other night and my team lost. To make an arid, long story short, I have to dress up in drag."
"Oh, so no pussy tonight, eh, unless you need help taking it off later," she said.
She opened her door to invite him in; he played with the back of his neck, feeling slightly uncomfortable. After applying the make-up, Heidi rummaged through her closet in search of tacky clothes.
Back in his apartment, John looked at himself in the mirror. Good at not taking himself seriously, he laughed, walking out of his apartment thinking of a name that starts with Madame.
Back in the moment, I felt something press against my back. The student pushed my hair to one side of my neck and bent down to smell it. I felt his hard-on. Motionless, I suddenly felt trapped in my own home...but I knew it was just a feeling, and I could shatter it like delicate glass.
"John, I'm not sure about this..." but before the rest of the words could come out, I decided not to second-guess myself. "...I'm not sure about this wine; it's a bit dry," I said.
I pulled away and opened another bottle from the good stash. John and the student stood next to each other at a comfortable distance apart - the distance only straight boys do so well, their arms down by their sides. I grabbed the bottle and walk into the bedroom. They followed.
I sat the student on the edge of my bed as John leaned against the wall. I drank wine from the bottle and then did a striptease dance. I rubbed my breast against the student's mouth, then grabbed his hair and climbed the bed until my crotch met his mouth, but only for a moment. I then slid down until my mouth met his.
I bit his bottom lip and drew a small amount of blood. I laid him down and unzipped his pants with my right hand, reaching down. I pulled out his penis - it was slim and hard. The feel of his soft skin in my palm made me want to smell him.
I moved up again to spread my legs above his mouth and pulled my panties to one side. I could smell my perfume drifting around me. He licked my inner labia and I controlled his touch by moving my body closer or further away from his outstretched tongue. He grabbed my thighs, which were flexed from the position, and took me in entirely. I touched my breasts, letting my fingers play around my chest and shoulders down to my stomach. I pushed my ass hard on his face and circled my hips so I could feel his motioning lips against mine.
I threw my right leg over and flipped around so that my back was pressed against his stomach. His fingers immediately went to my clitoris.
John knelt between my legs and wiped my juices on my inner thighs. He lifted my ass and his mouth took the place of the student's fingers. He stuck his tongue between my labia, separating them from one another. He smelled me and then he kissed me as if we were lovers that had been separated for too long.
The student was stroking himself from under my raised ass and I could feel the tip of his penis pressing against me. John raised me higher as I held myself with my arms, and then lowered me unto the student's stiff dick. He did it effortlessly and my ass was willing. I was beside myself, horny, relaxed and wanting to swallow everything - the bottle of red wine, this experience, the music, I even wanted the sounds that came out of their mouths to belong to me.
Instantly, I felt that everything around me was made of soft dough. Everything could fall from underneath me, like a universe losing its gravity. The clothes that hung in my closet were just props for a photograph; in fact, my entire apartment wasn't even real. It was a set made of dough and each day I came home to mold it into a "fine little formidable place" for myself, living in the pretend, poor and delicate, fighting against the harsh life of the city with my breakable, bendable, cook-able shield. At this moment nothing seemed sure. But I was not afraid; my empty life, this make-believe moment, they all seemed sweet like a thin sheet of caramel.
When I had the student entirely inside me, John leaned me back until I was completely flat on the student. Now his face was above mine, his arms holding up the only space between us. He said, "You taste good." The student paced himself accordingly to the Cure that was playing in the background. He had become my favorite sex toy - but John - he was flesh.
My hands began to tremble and John asked me if I was cold. I shook my head. He kissed me deep and strong. He leaned to the left, pulled my right leg over his shoulder and pushed into me. He fucked me like that, and I could hear my wetness gliding on his penis. I could hear him moaning as if doing this to me was hurting him. He fucked softly but deeply, exploring every crevice and leaving nothing unscathed.
"John, I can't wait anymore. Fuck, you feel so good," I moaned. The student mumbled something to the same effect. John kissed me on the mouth and pushed himself deeper inside me; each of his movements precise, each of his thrusts followed in tempo with my heavy breathing. I kissed his ear and smiled into it. "Kiss me," I said and when he kissed me my pulse quickened and he jerked himself faster inside me. He grabbed the bottom of my lip with his mouth as my eyes shut tightly and everything around me went white while everything inside me was covered in their warmth. I only felt movement - it was all around me - then I heard grunting and my own screaming as my flesh was pulled and squeezed, my hips jolted selfishly from underneath and above me. I felt so pressed-in and pressed-unto that I came again, digging my nails into John's arm while the student continued to fuck my ass. Then everything was still and quiet; I felt too many heartbeats and tried to focus on just mine.
John slipped out of me, pulled me up and the student got up and zipped his pants. He still had his shirt and jacket on. John nodded at him and the student slapped my ass, which I found appropriate. He silently escorted himself out. John and I held each other with my head on his chest. He started to talk about his week, what he was teaching his students and his fondness for contemporary books. I saw a grey cascade of light coming in through the window, and I fell asleep.
Originally published October 2006 - "Supernatural"