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By *ordlad OP Man
2 weeks ago
Wrexham |
I stood in front of the mirror in my small apartment, the cheap fluorescent light doing nothing to soften the reality of my body. Broad shoulders, a soft round belly that spilled over the top of the lace panties, thick thighs that rubbed together when I walked. My head was freshly shaven—smooth, bare scalp catching the light. I was a very unconvincing TS, and I knew it. Under the lace sat the other truth I never liked thinking about: a very small penis that hardly ever worked. Soft most of the time, barely the length of my thumb even when it tried. No good to anyone. But the lingerie still made my pulse race.
The black lace set stretched tight across my soft chest and dug into the rolls at my sides. The cups lifted what little I had into rounded shapes, the fabric straining. The matching garter belt sat low under the curve of my stomach, and the sheer stockings clung to my heavy legs. The thong disappeared between my full ass cheeks, the front pouch barely filled by the soft little cock nestled inside. I looked ridiculous and beautiful at the same time. I loved it. I always had.
Over the top of it all I pulled on a plain grey tracksuit—baggy top and bottoms that hid everything. Soft, ordinary, nothing special. No one looking at me on the street would guess what I was wearing underneath. That secret made my soft cock twitch weakly against the lace as I locked the door and headed out.
My phone buzzed on the way.
Her: Door’s unlocked. Come straight up. I’ve been thinking about you all day.
I walked to her place with the soft fabric of the tracksuit whispering over the lace and stockings with every step. The thong rode up between my cheeks. By the time I reached her building my mouth was dry and my little cock was trying—and mostly failing—to get hard inside the pouch.
I climbed the stairs and pushed her door open.
She was waiting in the soft gold light of a single lamp, wearing that black dress and the same deep red lipstick. And she was… fucking beautiful. Soft dark hair falling past her shoulders, full lips, a body with real curves—hips, ass, the gentle swell of breasts that weren’t just padding. Her makeup was perfect, but when she smiled at me I could still see the faint shadow of a jaw that had once been sharper. She was a transvestite too. Just better at it than me. Or maybe just luckier.
Her eyes dragged over the grey tracksuit, then she stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something sweet and dirty at the same time.
“Hi,” she said, voice low and warm. Her hands went straight to the zipper of my tracksuit top. “Let’s see what you’ve got under there for me.”
She pulled the zipper down slowly. The soft fabric parted. Black lace appeared—cups stretched over my soft chest, the curve of my belly pushing against the fabric below. She pushed the tracksuit top off my shoulders and let it fall. Then her fingers hooked into the waistband of the bottoms and tugged them down over my hips and thick thighs until they pooled at my ankles. I stepped out of them.
Standing there in just the lingerie, stockings, and the soft weight of my body, I felt exposed and electric at the same time.
“God,” she whispered. Her hands slid over the lace, cupping my soft chest, then lower to squeeze the warm flesh of my belly. “You look so fucking sexy like this.”
I felt my face heat. “I don’t pass… and the rest of me doesn’t work either.”
She paused, then looked up at me. “Show me.”
I hesitated, then carefully peeled the front of the thong down. My small, soft cock slipped free—barely more than a stub of flesh, nestled against the soft curve of my lower belly. It twitched once, half-heartedly, then stayed soft. No good to anyone.
She didn’t laugh. She didn’t look disappointed. She just reached out and cupped it gently in her palm, thumb stroking the soft skin.
“It’s cute,” she said quietly. “And it’s yours. That’s enough.”
She took a step back and slowly peeled the black dress up over her head. Underneath she was wearing a matching set of her own—sheer black lace bra that barely contained her soft padded chest, and a tiny thong that was already tented at the front. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed it down. Her cock sprang free—thicker than mine, half-hard already, flushed and curving slightly upward. She was a transvestite too. Just like me.
She stepped back in close, took my face in both hands, and kissed me. Slow at first. Then deeper. Her tongue slid against mine and I tasted lipstick and something sweeter. My hands found her hips, then her ass, squeezing the soft flesh. She pressed against me so that her half-hard cock rubbed against my soft little one and the soft swell of my belly. The friction made both of us moan into the kiss.
“I don’t need yours to work,” she whispered. “I just need you.”
She pushed me gently backward until the backs of my knees hit the edge of her bed. I sat, the mattress dipping under my weight. She climbed into my lap, straddling me, the soft weight of her body pressing her cock against mine. She took both of us in one hand—my soft little cock and her thicker one—and stroked them together, spreading the wetness from her tip over both of us.
“Look at us,” she whispered. “Two girls. You came over in a tracksuit with all this pretty lace underneath… and now we’re like this.”
I looked down. My lace bra was still half-on, my stockings still in place, her lace bra still on. Our cocks sliding together in her hand—mine soft and small, hers growing harder against it—the soft rolls of my belly shifting under the pressure. The sight of it made something inside me break open.
I grabbed her hips harder and helped her grind. She gasped, then laughed breathlessly and started moving faster, stroking us together while her other hand stroked over my bare scalp and the soft flesh of my chest. Her cock was fully hard now, leaking against my soft little one.
“Fuck—yes—just like that—” Her voice cracked. She was getting close; I could feel her cock twitching in her fist against mine.
I reached between us and wrapped my fingers around both of us with her, stroking faster, while she kept grinding against my soft belly. She cried out, hips jerking, and then she came hard, thick ropes of cum spilling over my soft cock, my belly, and the lace of my thong still around my thick thighs.
She kept stroking us both through it, soft and messy, until the last pulses faded. Then she collapsed against me, breathing hard, her still-hard cock resting against my soft little one, both of us sticky and shiny. The discarded tracksuit lay in a heap on the floor.
She reached down and gently stroked my soft little cock once through the mess of her cum, then brought her wet fingers to her mouth and tasted them.
“Next time,” she said, voice low and satisfied, “I want you to show up in that tracksuit again. I want you on your knees in the lingerie underneath while I fuck your mouth. And then I want you to make me come again with your hands and your mouth until neither of us can think straight.”
I turned my head and looked at her—beautiful, flushed, lipstick smeared, still wearing the lace bra, her cock still half-hard and glistening against my soft belly.
“Okay,” I whispered.
And I meant it. |
