We soon realized it was our forward thrusting momentum that kept the toy lodged in position, so I pushed deeper inside you so that the vibrator could stay in position.
The vibrating cock was pressing alongside the jelly dildo that was fucking both our pussies and for me, I could feel it sending vibrations all the way up the shaft and knew you must be feeling it too.
“Do you feel it, Lacy? Tell me you feel it too.”
“I feel it Luke, we’re fucking each other Luke, feel my cock deep inside your pussy Luke.”
The feeling of being like this with you, both of us dressed like sluts on the prowl, a double-ended dildo disappearing up both our pussies, our slick and smooth flesh pressing against one another in a concerted effort to feel good was spiritually invigorating.
“Oh god Lacy,” I could only repeat “yes” over and over as raw emotional bliss coursed through my veins.
I took your left leg and pulled it down through my open legs. You let me pull your nylon-encased, reinforced toe to my mouth. You pointed it directly at my painted mouth and kissed my pouting lips with the pad of your big toe.
“Kiss my cock, Luke.”
Those words coming, not from your lips, but seemingly from deep down inside you gave rise to my sexuality and wakened me. ‘Cock, cock, my cock, my cock, cock, cock,” echoed in my mind, and was like being hypnotized. I was compelled to say it aloud and I did. While I proclaimed my lust for penis, shaved, slick, pink, and clean penis, you seemed to purr. Softly moaning with a kind of approving lilt that reflected curiosity as much as arousal within you.
“It’s your cock, Lacy,” I said. I sensed your questions. “It begins with you Lacy, it goes through you, and it ends with you. Just hearing you say the words aloud, “suck my cock, Luke,” sets me free.”
“But you liked cock long before meeting me,” you countered. “You liked it, you sucked it, you’ve swallowed sperm and let a man spray sperm on your face. How can it begin with me? All that happened before I seduced and took ownership of you.”
This is actually something I’d thought a lot about, even before I’d ever met you.
When we met, I’d never been with a man. I’d only a small wardrobe, stockings, cheap stockings, I hadn’t refined my tastes. You were a big part of that. After we started our digital affair my tastes became sophisticated. I wanted to impress you. I did research into high-end lingerie. After our digital affair began, I only bought the finest lingerie, panties, and evening wear.
When we first met, I had about a half-dozen Vanity Fairs, full-cut, gossamer thin, and sexy as hell. Big and swishy, I bought size 8s every time. I could have fitted a 5, or 6 easily, and looked great, but I loved the swish. I had some chemises, spaghetti strap mostly. In pastel, except for one burgundy satin number that I wore when I wanted to be a big girl. And I had two open-bottom girdles, one six-strap, satin and lace that I’d made alterations to make it fit my relatively curveless figure and one tight-fitting full satin/nylon number that was more like Spanx. I love the way an open bottom pushes my ass and clitty all together down there.
When I first met you, I’d just moved to SW Florida from the NW and you were the first local to befriend me. We worked in a school that was being renovated from a hurricane and our classes were in a pod in and amongst a labyrinth of other pods. We met in the break room, which no one used because there was a better-equipped lounge two pods over with a cappuccino maker and double fridge. I would eat my packed lunch every day in our pod’s break room and on the third day you joined me. We made fast friends.
You were super easy to talk to. You laughed at just about everything I said. I was pretty judgy then. Coming from Seattle I thought Floridians were total hicks. Age and wisdom have revealed to me that there was a good reason I had so few friends when I first moved there.
You’d been there five years, married, two young boys, and that made you off-limits immediately. I put the possibility of sex with you out of my mind right from the beginning. I had slept with a married woman in my youth but I had come to realize that coveting your neighbor’s wife is one of the seven deadly sins for good reason.
But that also opened a relationship with you that was based solely on personality. We didn’t just become friends, we were like buddies. I could do things with you like shopping, meet for coffee or grab lunch with you, and even go to the theatre and symphonies. Things I loved to do, with a girlfriend or alone, if I was unattached, but never with a buddy.
We had a regular Sunday morning “date” at a coffee shop near your house and we’d plan, grade papers, talk shop, and everything else too.
In fact, you may already know this because I think you might have caught a peek. One Sunday after we’d known each other a couple of years, I was hungover from drinking the night before. I used to play dress-up and cam online in one of those old Yahoo “adult” rooms. Back then you could just go into an adult room, open your cam and let the perverts roll in free of charge.
I’d had one of those nights. Drinking and smoking, masturbating for perverts, and I was really hungover and was going to blow off the weekly date thing but didn’t want to let you down, so I threw on a pair of old sweat-shorts over my pink VFs, a ragged T-shirt and flipflops.
My toe nails, as any woman will tell you, were obviously recently removed of paint and had that raw pinkness to them, I’m certain you noticed that. But also, at the coffee shop, you were already seated in the corner and I sat kind of halfway on the seat of the chair across from you just until my order was called. I went and got it, then stopped in the bathroom when I saw my t-shirt was tucked into the waistband of my shorts, and subsequently inside the waistband of my VFs, and a sliver of pink gossamer satin was visible to anyone who cared to look. I realize that was the side that was facing you on the patio out back.
I didn’t know if you’d seen it. Part of me thinks you must have, otherwise, things wouldn’t have turned out as they did.
It was either — you’d seen the waistband of my panties that day, or, later that spring before I left for Europe. I told you, under the influence of weed and drink, that I’d written a few erotic stories and had them published in a magazine called “Leg Show.” I also admitted to writing them for girlfriends and posting them online anonymously. I never told you about Literotica and the dozen or so stories I’d posted.
“I saw them,” you giggled. “Pink, my little sissy cock whore, is your color.” We burst out laughing.
“And Literotica, that anonymous opinion, ‘Thanks for the great read!’ was you?”
“When you told me about the stories you’d put online, you used the word “published,” and the only place I knew online to “publish” erotica is Literotica.” You smiled at me. “I’ve been a member since way before you sissy girl. I’ve read all your stories.”
That put some questionable pieces in the right spot in terms of how our relationship went from being good friends, to what it was now.
“Before I met you, I’d never sucked cock. It was during our newly forming and ever-blossoming friendship that I truly began to experiment. I was single and making good money compared to most of my life up to this point. I had a enormous condo all to myself.”
I told you about the camming in Yahoo adult rooms. Prior to moving to Florida, I had what most people would simply call a “fetish” for panties. In Florida, alone, left to my own devices. I began to nurture my feminine side. I would prop a pile of pillows against the headboard and angle the camera so I could lie against the pillows, legs spread wide with my head out of frame. I had a wireless keyboard and mouse. Sometimes I’d play for hours with my vibrator and watch the number of viewers eb and flow, the comments come and go. The comments were fascinating.
Most people were kind, in that they wanted to have a vehicle for them to masturbate to and I provided one. Others were viciously misogynistic and homophobic. I so enjoyed these types. Oh how I would tease them. I never gave them what I knew they wanted. It made me feel like the ultimate cock tease, like a woman.
We were good friends, but we were both busy people, you, especially with a family. We managed to keep most of our Sunday dates, probably 3 out of 4 each month, and about once a month we’d go shopping, to the mall, Goodwill, lunch at Panera. Usually, whenever we hung out, I wore panties under my clothes. It wasn’t because of you, not specifically, it was that I knew we’d be doing “girlfriend” stuff and it just seemed to fit me to be wearing panties.
One Saturday before school started in the fall, I went to the mall with you so you could do the before-school shopping for your kids, and you bought the cutest pair of bedazzled Florida flip-flops that made me jealous.
I told you how much I adored them. I guess you maybe thought I was flirting, but really, I was checking them out. After we parted in the parking lot that day, I went back in a bought them in a women’s 11. I didn’t care what the sales girl thought. By this time, I knew I was going to be leaving for Europe the next summer.
It was because of you that I bought my first pair of women’s shoes. You were somehow subliminally activating my femininity. At the time, it was a pursuit of mine already and I didn’t attribute my “growth” in this area of crossdressing and feminization to you. I was, at the time, also in a kind of “groove” dating-wise. I was dating 2-3 women that were “just for fun.” Zero emotional attachment and all sex and play.
Later that year, during Christmas break, I got on Craig’s list and found the perfect date. Not for lack of trying, I’d certainly dabbled at trying to set something up, but always chickened out. That holiday break I spent the first 5 days putting up ads, having email exchanges, setting up dates, and never following through. Until one day, I popped a Vicodin and was horsing around on cam drinking whiskey and smoking. I popped another and took a long bath, shaved my clit and pussy. I usually kept myself shaved there, I shaved everything that could easily be cloaked by wearing a pair of boxers or swim trunks. And then got into my favorite outfit; a pink, spaghetti strap chemise, pink VFs, and my new bedazzled Florida flip-flops and posted an ad.
[I want to suck my first cock. I’m a sub and I like wearing panties; be kind please]
I started getting emails almost immediately.
I was high and super buzzed on the Vic’s, smoke, and drink and before I knew what I’d done, I’d set a date.
I lived in a condo complex. Most of the condos were for snowbirds who usually go back up north for holidays unless they’re retired and old, which most of the condo owners were of either of these varieties, so the complex pool was never used. I was going every night since break started and no one was ever there.
I sent an email to a promising subject that said, Come to the pool. It has a pool house, you’ll need to go through the lanai and then through another door and onto the pool deck. I’ll be swimming.
I was safe though. He didn’t have my condo number. Enough people were still around that it would be impossible to know whose condo I was in, plus I turned off all the lights in the place and went to a back room without outside facing windows and read and re-read our exchange.
I’d told him I’d be at the pool in 30 minutes. He said he’d need 45. I had another drink, rolled a joint, and popped another Vic. Fuck it. You got this. He seems nice. His face is gentle looking. I stripped, put on a powder blue pair of tight-fitting VFs, wrapped a giant beach towel around me, grabbed my joint and drink, and walked to the pool.
“I kept telling myself, just do it already. You are plenty high right now, just get to the poolhouse, slip into the pool like you’ve been doing all week, and sip on your drink until he gets there. He probably won’t even show up.” Telling you the story of my first cock has me so turned on.
You glide the pad of your big toe along my lips, point your toes, “Open”, and push your big toe slowly into my mouth. “Suck my cock, cock sucker.”
“God Lacy,” I say while looking at you directly in your eyes. “This is why it begins with you.” And you spoke sweetly to me, tenderly encouraging me to suck your cock. “I didn’t know it then, but over the years, I think our friendship empowered me to go through with it that first time. A voice, not belonging to me was encouraging me and letting me know there is nothing to be ashamed of.”
I was lying back floating in the pool when I heard the door to the Lanai open, and I forced myself to stay lying back, my panties poking up out of the warm water as I watched him come through the door and walk onto the deck. He was short, young, early 20s, I was late 30s, and he was in good shape, like me.
He told me he liked my panties and I handed him the joint to fire and we smoked, him sitting on the foot of a deck chair looking down at me, and me looking up at him leaning my elbows on the edge of the pool deck.
We didn’t say much, he did, I just laughed and agreed. I felt like a real woman, just thinking about what his cock would look like. The whole time I had a voice inside me urging me onward. It kept saying things like, ‘This is your dream, you can do this, just let it happen,’ like an encouraging person that wasn’t me. When I think about us, sometimes I think you are the physical manifestation of that voice inside that led me to my first cock.
We walked into my condo, I closed the door, got on my knees, and unzipped his pants. The voice inside me seemed to caress my face, cheeks, neck, and hair. It was telling me to relax, this is your moment.
I was in a trance. I opened my mouth and took his soft cock into my mouth. I was an instant pro. His cock, soft, reached my gag reflex and innately, instinctively, practice with dildos, divine inspiration, I don’t know, but I closed the back of my throat and started breathing through my nostrils because as long as it took his soft cock to hit my gag reflex was as long as it took to grow twice it’s length and circumference.
I didn’t gag once. His cock was divine. I was enacting every fantasy I’d ever had at that moment. I watched and felt his cock grow to its glorious limit and it filled my mouth and throat so fully as I forced myself down further and further to his pubis, my eyes began leaking water. Like his cock was displacing so much internally that it came out of my eyes involuntarily. And I stayed in this position, using my tongue and reaching every firm, warm surface of his underside.
Truth of the matter is, it ended very quickly. I felt his cock flexing and the telltale sign of ejaculation was coming and I freaked out. I kept my position deathly afraid. Ironically, absurdly, crazily, I asked myself, ‘Does this make me gay?’
It’s hilarious I know. I shut all those thoughts down and kind of blacked out, put it all out of my mind. I held my position as his hips shoved himself deeper down my throat and I held on like a champion. He dumped spurt after spurt of hot sperm down my throat, past my gag reflex, past my taste buds, and straight into my stomach. I held him down inside me until he stopped flexing and jerking and he tried to pull out. I grabbed his ass and held him in place until he began to buck and still I held. It wasn’t a challenge or a statement of my power, I just didn’t want to taste his sperm. I like my sperm. I love my sperm, but another man, I do not trust. Women have told me all about how terrible sperm can be and I didn’t trust his to be good.
He left right away and I guzzled the remainder of my ginger ale and whisky and finished my joint in just my panties outside on my lanai.
What I realized then was that, while I was insanely aroused at what I’d just done, I loved sucking cock and getting a man to orgasm in such quick fashion, but I was completely limp. It wasn’t until I watched the film of myself doing it that I got turned on.
“Yes, I film them every time if I can,” I told you.
Even as I sat on my lanai, wearing just my panties and sipping a drink and smoking, the thought of what I’d done aroused me. I pinched the tip of my penis through my panties and slapped my smooth balls thinking of that huge cock that made my eyes water.
“Do you still have the film?” you asked.
“All on a hard drive. We can watch them if you want.”
This made you almost giggle.
I realized that the whole time, every time, not just that time, that I suck cock, I’m not hard. I’m aroused, and I’ve had men suck my cock while I’m sucking theirs, and it feels good, but that I don’t get hard. It feels like I’m really a woman when this happens. Like I’ve had women tell me that even though they didn’t have an orgasm, they still feel really good. I’m starting to get that now. It’s a feeling filled with contrasts.
So, in a way, you are responsible for my first and probably every subsequent cock sucking of my life. If not for those bedazzled Florida flip-flops I might not have been inspired.
Then when I got that email from you my first Christmas in Berlin, it was like all of my dreams had come true.
“Honestly, when I went off to Berlin, I knew we’d stay in touch, via email, WhatsApp, FBM, but never expected any of this. I considered you a purely platonic, albeit really good, friend. Remember that last “date”?”
We went to the theatre, then to the rooftop place overlooking the Harbor. You had on these heels, and I kept staring at them in the elevator and you even commented.
“Oh,” I stumbled out in reply. “Yes, yeah, those are great shoes.”
Over the years I’d thought of that night often. Inserting new and imagined scenarios over what really happened and I can no longer distinguish what was real and what was all in my mind.
“No, Luke,” you interjected. “I wanted you, you were so oblivious.” You laughed warmly and fucked my throat with your toes. “Suck my cock cock whore.”
That phrase, “cock whore,” was a trigger for me, it recalled in me the first time you’d used the word in the story we were writing.
“When you emailed me when I was in Berlin that first time, to ask me to read a story you were writing, how did you know I wouldn’t reject you? That was a very risky move.
“I didn’t know for sure,” you said. “I’d read all your stories on Literotica. I’d seen, at least I thought I’d seen your panties under your shorts that one day at the coffee shop. I knew my story was tame by comparison to what I’d read of your stuff, but I was terrified.” You were smiling warmly thinking about it.
“Did you mind that I offered to collaborate? I mean, I kind of forced you into it. You were in a vulnerable position, sharing with me something so intimate. Maybe you felt obligated? To ensure I wouldn’t “tell” anyone about it, you had to comply?”
“No, I was hoping you’d offer. I didn’t expect you to take control of its direction so quickly.”
“I know, I thought I was being slick,” I laughed. “In hindsight, nothing I introduced to the story was a surprise to you though.” You shook your head in recognition, a sort of pride spread across your face. You were proud of your manipulation. It’s what I loved about you. You were a step ahead of me the whole time.
“I have always wondered,” I asked. “Why didn’t my stories turn you off?”
You fucked my mouth with your foot and I gave you a foot rub while slowly sucking your cock, licking between your toes, rubbing your arches and your Achilles tendon.
“I was shocked at first. But your voice had an intimacy I’d never heard come from a man. I knew you pretty well, and when I read your stories, I saw you, and heard you speaking, you were in those stories, but also, you were revealing a side of yourself I know you’ve only shown a handful of people.