If you read an enjoyed Nick's Spiritual Counselling this is more of how he discovers himself.
The two weeks that followed were a blur of silk, satin, and relentless sensation. Bob’s house became Nick’s entire world, a gilded cage where his only purpose was to please and be pleased. His hands, once clumsy with zippers and clasps, now moved with a practiced grace. He could apply his makeup—a full face of foundation, shadow, and lipstick—in the dim light of dawn, his reflection in the vanity mirror becoming less a stranger and more a familiar, yet still thrilling, accomplice.
And Bob… Bob was an insatiable tutor. Their days were punctuated by lessons in dress, in posture, in the art of seduction that always, always ended with Nick bent over a piece of furniture, his skirt or dress pushed up around his waist, or on his knees, his lips stretched around Bob’s thick length. They had sex in the study, in the lavish bedroom, once against the cool glass of the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the garden, the thrill of possible discovery sending violent shivers through Nick that Bob ruthlessly exploited.
Nick’s body had learned its new role. The initial twinges of pain had melted into a deep, humming ache of anticipation. He craved the feeling of being filled, the stretch and the friction that built into a blinding white heat. He came, over and over, from Bob’s fingers, his mouth, his cock, each climax seeming to sink him deeper into the plush, decadent identity of Nicole.
Tonight, however, was different. The air in his room felt charged with a strange nostalgia.
Mark his best friend and Derek’s son was leaving for Uni the following weekend so he was having a night out to say goodbye as they would not see each other for 3 months. Nick could not help but wonder if Derek would be there,
Now, standing in his jeans and a cotton shirt the rough denim and cotton felt alien and abrasive against his skin. His skin.
Bob had insisted. “A little secret for you to keep, Nicole. Something to remind you of who you truly are under all that boyish camouflage.”
Beneath the jeans, a pair of delicate lace panties hugged his hips. The whisper-soft nylon of stockings sheathed his legs, held up by a slim suspender belt he’d fastened with proficient ease. The contrast was electric, a constant, thrilling friction with every step he took. He was a secret wrapped in a disguise.
He packed a small bag, and nestled between his folded jeans and t-shirts was the softest, most illicit item of all: a pale pink babydoll nightie, sheer and short, with a satin ribbon between the breasts.
The evening with Mark and his other friends was a bizarre out-of-body experience. They laughed and drank , the loud, brash music in the pubs of their small town a stark contrast to the quiet, classical music that always filled Bob’s house. Nick drank beer but wishing it was the white wine or champagne her had been drinking. He tried to focus on their conversation about football, and girls all the while hyper-aware of the lace grazing his cock with every shift of his weight and the subtle grip of the nylons on his thighs.
He was playing a part.
Mark got pretty d*unk, and Nick had to help him home. Mark was saying what a good mate he was and that he loved him. Nick laughed off his d*unken chat.
He helped Mark upstairs and laid him on his bed and left him a glass of water. As he left Marks hand drifted to Nicks bum and stroked it. It thrilled Nick but he assumed and accident. He seemed out of it, so Nick left him sleeping.
He wasn’t tired so he went to make a coffee. Mark had told him Derek was visiting his lady friend tonight, so it was just them in the house. Nick had felt a pang of regret and jealousy he would not see Derek his cock was what he dreamed about at night.
He took his coffee and went upstairs. He quietly entered Derek’s room and found his laundry basket and took out a jock. He inhaled the musky aroma feeling his cock twitch.
He went to the spare room he always slept in and undressed. He left on the stockings and slipped into the pink baby doll and got under the covers. He placed the jock over his face. An act that felt bad in this familiar safe space, but he had to smell Derek’s strong masculine scent.
He ran his hands down the smooth material, his fingers tracing the outline of the lace panties beneath, and a soft sigh escaped him. This. This was right.
He was floating in a cloud of silk and secret desire, his body already humming with the memory of Derek’s touch, aching for it. Thrilled by the innocent touch from Mark. His own hand slid under the silky hem, his fingers finding the waistband of his panties, then dipping beneath. He traced a familiar path, his breath catching as he imagined it was Bob’s hand, or Derek’s, their praises in his ear. Unbidden Mark’s face a body ( so often spied in the showers) came into his head.
The creak of the floorboard outside his door was unmistakable.
He froze, his hand still between his legs, heart hammering against his ribs. The doorknob turned with a slow, deliberate quietness. He pulled the jock of his face The door swung open, silhouetting a broad, familiar frame in the hallway light.
Mark.
He was holding a glass of water, his expression more sober than Nick would have guessed
“Hey, Nick I thanks for getting me home.”
Nick told him that was fine. Mark was standing in tight briefs a large bulge straining the cotton lycra. Nick realised he was staring and so did Mark.
Mark cleared his throat.
“ Do you remember when we sometimes shared a bed when you stayed over? How we woke up spooning.”
Nick laughed.
Mark looked at Nick and said how about doing that tonight for old time’s sake.
Nick went to say no but too late Mark pulled back the duvet.
“ Wow!! “
Marks eyes widened as they took in the slender legs, the unmistakable sheen of nylon, the delicate strap of the garter belt against a pale thigh. His gaze swept upward, over the revealing swell of the babydoll nightie, the hint of lace at the neckline, the soft curve where the silk gathered.
The glass of water shook in his hand, a few drops splashing onto the floor. He didn’t seem to notice. His mouth was slightly agape, his breathing noticeably shallow. He wasn’t disgusted. He was… aroused. Nick could see the bulge getting bigger and straining against the fabric.
He just stared, his gaze a physical heat tracing the lines of the suspender straps, the delicate lace of the panties peeking from beneath the rumpled satin hem.
Nick’s heart was a frantic drum against his ribs. He should cover up. He should deny it. He should… he should do what felt natural. He let the duvet fall away completely, baring himself to Mark’s stunned appraisal. A shuddering breath escaped him, a silent admission.
Mark took another step closer, his eyes dark with a hunger Nick had never seen in him before. “All this time,” Mark breathed, his voice low and thick. “I wondered. I really wondered.”
Nick found his voice, a fragile thread of sound. “Wondered what?”
“If you were… like me. Or something else. ”
Mark finally set the glass down on the nightstand with a shaky clink. He ran a hand through his sleep-tousled hair. “I saw it once, weeks ago. A flash of something beige under your jeans when you bent over. I thought it was my imagination. I thought I was going crazy, wanting to see something like that. But tonight… when you came in… I was sure. I could see the line of the nylon seam running down the back of your leg through your jeans.”
A wave of heat, equal parts terror and exhilaration, washed over Nick. Mark had seen. He had known.
“You… pretended to be d*unk?” Nick asked, his mind reeling.
“I had to know for sure,” Mark admitted, his eyes dropping to the sheer fabric stretched taut over Nick’s growing arousal. “I couldn’t just ask. Not something like that. But this… this is so much better than anything I imagined.” He took the final step to the edge of the bed, the lycra of his pants doing little to hide his own rigid excitement. “Can I…?” His hand hovered over Nick’s nylon-clad calf.
Nick’s throat was dry. He gave a small, jerky nod. Yes. Please.
Mark’s touch was electric. His fingers, warm and slightly rough, skimmed up Nick’s leg, following the path of the seam he’d been staring at all evening. The sensation was incredible—the slight friction of his calloused skin against the slick nylon, the firm pressure of his grip. Nick’s head fell back against the pillow with a soft groan.
“So soft,” Mark murmured, more to himself than to Nick. His hand slid higher, over the knee, along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, his thumb stroking the delicate lace of the garter. “God, Nick. You have no idea what this does to me.”
His other hand joined the first, both palms smoothing up Nick’s hips, pushing the flimsy babydoll nightie up and out of the way. Nick lay exposed before him, panting, his body arching of its own volition. Mark’s eyes drank in the sight of the lace-trimmed panties, the revealed flesh.
“Is this what you want?” Mark asked, his voice husky with desire. “Is this who you are?”
Nick could only moan in response, his hips lifting, seeking contact. The words Bob had coaxed from him weeks ago came flooding back, and they spilled from his lips now, raw and honest. “Yes. This is me.”
That was all the permission Mark needed. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of the satin panties and drew them down, slowly, revealing Nick inch by excruciating inch. The cool air hit Nick’s damp skin, making him shiver. Mark tossed the delicate garment aside and looked his fill, his arousal now a blatant, undeniable ridge straining against his boxers.
He leaned down, his body blanketing Nick’s, and captured his mouth in a deep, searing kiss. It was nothing like Bob’s calculated dominance or Derek’s aggressive taking. This was hungry, eager, and shockingly mutual. Nick kissed him back, his hands tangling in Mark’s hair, pulling him closer.
Mark broke the kiss, his breath hot against Nick’s neck. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he panted, his hips grinding down, the rough fabric of his pants a delicious contrast against Nick’s nakedness. The pressure was maddening, perfect. Nick cried out, his back bowing off the bed.
With a growl, Mark shoved his pants down just enough to free himself. He was thick and hard, his cock brushing against Nick’s with a jolt of pure sensation that made them both gasp. Mark reached between them, his large hand wrapping around both of their lengths, squeezing them together.
Oh god. The feeling was overwhelming. The slick slide of skin on skin, the heat, the tight pressure of Mark’s fist. Nick’s world narrowed to that single point of contact. He was panting, his fingers digging into Mark’s broad shoulders, his nails against the tight muscle there.
“You feel that?” Mark grunted, his rhythm steady and demanding. “That’s us. That’s real.”
Nick could only nod frantically, his eyes squeezed shut, lost in the building tension coiling deep in his gut. The scent of Mark’s sweat, the feel of his powerful body, the whispered, filthy praises in his ear—it was all too much. He was hurtling toward the edge, his breath catching in his throat.
Mark’s pace quickened, his own breathing becoming ragged. “Look at me, Nick. Look at me.”
Nick forced his eyes open, meeting Mark’s intense, darkened gaze. The connection was jarring, intimate in a way he’d never experienced.
“I’m gonna make you come,” Mark promised, his voice a raw whisper. “I’m gonna feel you lose it for me.”
The words were the final trigger. A violent, stunning wave of pleasure crashed over Nick. He cried out, a broken, wordless sound as his release pulsed between them, hot and wet against Mark’s stomach and his own. His body convulsed, held tight in Mark’s unyielding embrace.
Mark watched him, captivated, his own movements growing frantic and uneven. Seeing Nick unravel sent him over the brink just seconds later. He shuddered, a low groan tearing from his chest as he found his own release, adding to the mess between them.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing in the dim room. Mark’s weight was a heavy, comforting pressure. He slowly loosened his grip, his hand stroking Nick’s hip soothingly.
He looked down at Nick, a slow, awed smile spreading across his face. “All those times I wondered…” he began, his thumb tracing the satin ribbon on the nightie.
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