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“So fucking beautiful like this,” he said, leaning down to place a kiss against Keith’s silk-covered dick. Keith rose up the contact, letting out a shuddering breath. “Love it, love you.”
“They’ve been driving me crazy all day, too,” Keith said, grunting as David mouthed his erection through the panties. “Rubbing against me, cradling me. Thought I was going to come in my pants like some teenager.”
“But you didn’t,” David said. “And now I get to see you fall apart under me. Best present ever.”
Kat Watson writes in her story “Deborah”:
I’d done as instructed—I was waxed completely bare, my legs and underarms were shaved.
Once I’d powdered the latex, I slipped the short dress over my head and prayed. To whom, I wasn’t sure; I just needed someone to get me through this. Someone to help me find my strength to finally go through with what I’d fantasized about for years. Decades.
The snapping sound of the rubber contrasted with the smooth feel of it against my skin, and I sighed with mounting pleasure. The way it felt, the way it smelled, everything about it sang to me. The same way he sang to me.
When I was certain I’d tucked enough and at just the right angle, nothing tentatively falling out of the snug rubber briefs I had on, I put on the heels, grateful he’d chosen a modest height. I was unfamiliar with walking in them, and pushing six-foot-three anyway. No way he’d want me to tower over him.
“Are you ready to be shown off, Deborah?”
Hearing my name—my for-the-night name—from him sent tingles up my spine and made my dick snap further to attention.
“Yes, Sir.”
Giselle Renarde understands how sexy cross-dressing can be, even solo, as she shows in this story called “Max Alone in See-Through Panties”:
Not all Max’s panties were pink, but most were. Various shades—hot pink, baby pink, some rosy, almost red. These ones were blush, like wine. They were mesh, a fine almost glossy fabric, and sheer enough that if you caught them at the right angle you could see straight through.
Max didn’t always spend this much time staring in the mirror. He wore women’s panties every day now. His little treat. He deserved to feel good, so why not? It was rare that he used the urinal at work—he’d never been a fan. He preferred to pee in private.
Besides, he didn’t need everyone getting in his business. Secrets were secret for a reason. It’s not that he felt ashamed. Well, okay, maybe he felt a little ashamed, but not as much as he used to. Panties were part of life now. Sure they were his favorite part of any outfit, but they were still just clothing. It’s not like they were sex.
Which is not to say that panties didn’t make him think about sex. Every time he slipped into a fresh pair and felt that sheer lightweight fabric against the sensitive flesh of his balls, a hot shudder ran through him. When he pulled on a pair of panties and the elastic material snapped against his dick, it always hardened just a bit. And sometimes more than a bit.
And sometimes a lot more.
“Packing Heat,” by K. Lynn, shows that it doesn’t take much effort to make a change that will transform your sex life:
After five years together, Sandy didn’t think there was anything her girlfriend could do that would surprise her, but she should learn to stop making assumptions.
“Having fun?” Rebecca asked as she walked up. She didn’t try to change her voice, or appear to be trying to pass completely. Here she stood in a white men’s dress shirt and black pants, her short hair slicked back like one of those 1930s movie gangsters they were so fond of watching.
“What’s all this?”
“Costume party, right? Figured I’d try out the other side for a night.”
“As long as you’re not trying it out with anyone but me,” Sandy said, closing the distance between them. She ran her hands along her girlfriend’s chest, feeling the binding underneath the shirt. “Damn, how much wrapping did you have to do to get those things to stay down?”
“Lots. Can’t hardly breathe,” Rebecca said, placing her hands on each side of Sandy’s cheeks and diving in for a kiss. “But you look nice in your fairy costume.”
“Grant you a wish?”
“Actually, I was thinking I might provide that,” Rebecca said, pushing her crotch against Sandy’s.
When she did, Sandy felt a bulge that definitely did not belong. Her eyes widened at the contact, her body pressing against the hardness. “You’re packing?”
“Figured we might have a little fun later,” Rebecca said, kissing her girlfriend again.
“Or now,” Sandy said, arching up into her. “I vote now.”
I vote now, too. Because whether you’re a boy dressing as a girl, a girl as a boy—or something in between—playing with a brand-new-to-you wardrobe can be an enlightening, exotic experience.
