Tuesday, 25 October 2016

Dressing Up, Walking Free

This is an old one. It was written as a farwell story of sorts, and neither the themes or fetishes there retain much interest for me now. But I felt somewhat nostalgic for this text now, and it fits this week's WickedWedensday prompt of slutfest. Then I realised it's much too long to feature as a WW entry, but as it's thus inspired, I am acknowledging it - and so here goes, almost as written all the years ago, but with a few hindsights thrown in. 

Amsterdam, 2010

I'm sitting at a dressing table in front of the mirror. Running my hands through my hair, no longer a silvery shoulder-length halo, but a short, jaggedy crop. Only the colour is the same, the blonde that even hairdressers question with ‘’is this real?”, now mercifully hiding any grey. The black-framed glasses are gone and the contacts already in, the pale blue of my eyes more obvious and more limpid.

I tilt my chin up, swear when the jawline refuses to even try to return to the firm contour of twenty years before. No matter, though, not tonight. I lean over the dressing table and pick from the make-up, painting my face in that methodical manner women have when their mind is on something else. Foundation, then pale, transparent powder. A tiny touch of bronzer along the cheekbone and the jawline. Dark eye-liner, making them just a little more catlike.

Then, the lips, a defiant fire-engine red. Slut Red.

I give myself another look. It will do.

I'm wearing square-heeled ankle boots; not-quite-skinny black moleskin trousers; a black, tatty leather jacket that has seen better years over a white linen shirt, several buttons undone, showing a glimpse of sheer black lace and burgundy satin. I smile at the contrast, turn around and go to check on the others.

He doesn't move when I enter, though I can sense him tense when he realizes who I am, when he sees my face for the first time. I would have been worried about his reaction, but don't care about the impression I make any more. It is not about me, after all.

Maybe it never was. I am not writing my story, but his, I am nothing but a medium through which he is exploring his desires, one who just happens to derive a strange satisfaction from pulling his walls down, from showing him how to be what he really wants to be, ignoring everything I learned about what I want to be. I think of the deleted chapters, ones I will eventually re-purpose in my own tale, then shrug.

He's sitting in a hairdresser's chair, wearing a dressing gown, the little Ana bouncing around him, almost through transforming his face. I sit in a chair to the side, watching Ana work, checking - though there is no need really - that she follows my instructions. The make up is stronger this time, closer to a stage version, and the artist is taking her time with the finishing touches.

By the time the honey brown mane of the wig goes on, the effect is staggering: the guy I'd left this morning sleeping, naked, with cum encrusted lips, is gone, replaced by a woman, sitting in that hairdresser's chair now.

This is what he wants. This is what he wants me to make him into.

The eyes are made up in opalescent, shimmering golds and browns, the face smooth and golden with foundation and powder, the cheekbones accentuated with bronzer and blusher, the eyebrows plucked and brushed into elegant arches, the lips puffed up, soft-looking, glossy, the mouth slightly ajar, pouting even.

I smile happily, nod to Ana who also appears satisfied with her work.

"Splendid. Really, you excelled yourself," I say.

She shrugs and moves towards the wall cupboard, opening it wide to show rows of hangers, pulling the items of clothing decisively out, chucking them onto the bed.

"I'll leave you to that," she says, nods and walks out of the room.

"OK. Dressing up time, m'dear," I say.

He gets up from the chair, slowly, a dazed look on his face, his eyes scanning the room in search of a mirror, but I have purposefully covered the only one.

"Later," I say and walk towards him, pull the tie of his dressing gown and let it drop   open; pushing it off his shoulders so he's standing there completely naked.

His body is hairless, waxed and lotioned; and the way he stands, slightly turned aside, makes his cock and balls disappear in the shadow of his sleek thigh. I can't resist running my hands along his arms, then gently turning him round and doing the same on his back, from the shoulder blades skimmed by the tumbling hair, along the spine and down to the curves of his smooth ass.

He stands there motionlessly, like a mannequin or a wax model, letting me turn him round, paw and prod, allowing my hands to roam on his skin, strangely cool, as if I was touching a statue, only a slight, occasional shiver an indication that there is a living human being inside the body.

I love that. I want him to stay like that, I want to pull the wig off his head, lie him on the floor and slap his face until rivulets of tears smear the makeup all over. I want to straddle him and have him beg me to hurt him, not with my words and taunts but with my nails and fingers, and I think that if I did that he'd probably let me do that, but I don't have the courage to destroy this story, to divert from the script by more than I've already done. I shrug again.

I've made my girl, now I must dress her.

I make the few steps to the bed, picking up pieces of clothing. Bikini-cut silk panties first; he moves at last, perches on the edge of the bed and pulls them on, almost all the way up.

"Lie back, sweetie," I instruct and as he does, I lean down and gently push his balls inside the body, then tuck his cock, which starts to harden a little under my hands, but remains pliable, between his legs, pulling the panties up to finish the task. They sit tight on his ass and keep everything in place.

As he sits up, I pass him a pair of hold ups, topped with a wide band of black lace but otherwise nude, sheer, with a black seam. The silicone sticks well to his smooth skin and they stay up with no problems.

The dress took a while to select, but I'm happy with my choice, a simple straight-cut thing of heavy, flamboyantly patterned silk with a Chinese collar and a long side slit that goes almost up to the thigh, exposing the edge of the stocking top. The shoes are medium heeled, wide-strappy suede, not stilettos, but go well with the dress.

He walks around the room experimentally, teetering a just little but mostly surprisingly steady, the heels and the confines of the dress adding a sway to the movement, the silk rustling slightly with each step.

He seems somehow more alive now, more real than even a few minutes before, as if the makeup and clothes - just meaningless trinkets really, less than skin deep all - conferred some primal transformational power.

What I see in front of me goes beyond fetishism of a man in knickers and stockings. Like a shaman that paints the body and puts on an animal mask somehow becomes the animal, so donning the clich├ęd female adornments seems to create a path for some forlorn, abandoned part of his person to emerge.

He turns around, almost a pirouette, a hand on the hip, looks at me sideways, smiles, pouts a little. The effect is undeniably feminine, sexy, sultry.

Pretty. Fucking pretty. I spit this word out at him. No. I don’t. I imagine doing it, do it in my head, then smile.

"Perfect. Now this and we are good to go," I say, getting the last item out if the wardrobe, a satin lined swing coat; a silky, almost black mink.

He gasps when I shake it and hold in my hands for him, then walks slowly towards me, turns round and slides his arms into it, wraps it around his body, crosses his arms hugging himself into the luxurious softness.  I walk towards the large standing mirror, until now covered up, pull the sheet off.

"Say hi to Nell," I say, taking my place in his tale again.

He steps closer, his face suddenly serious, tense, keeping his eyes slightly averted, but when eventually he looks it seems he can't stop gazing, his sight totally fixed on his own reflection, then turns away from the mirror, a look of awe on his - her - face.

"An aging dyke and a classy escort, at a pinch anyway, what a fabulous pair we make," I laugh and extend my hand, get hold of hers, soft and manicured, the long, red acrylic nails only done this morning, pull her behind me.

She follows me out of the room, out of the house, into the darkness that's fallen quite a while ago over the late November streets.


We walk along the pavement hand in hand, the house is between the red light district and the prettiest canal-side parts of the Grachtengordel, there is little traffic, but many people wandering around, some drunk and stoned; some punters, but mostly tourists gaping at the working girls in their windows.

We get a few of drinks in the bar round the corner; drop a couple of E's, then walk out again, stare some too. Just as we stand looking at the ads for a skin show of one kind or another, a group of four guys staggers past; English accents, hoots, loud voices indicating advanced stage drunkenness. It's most obviously a reminder of a stag party, all around thirty, the drunkest of them clearly the future groom, in a Game Over t-shirt and with an L-plate hanging skewedly on his chest.

"You girls looking for some fun?" he staggers into us, steadies himself on my shoulder, his forehead landing on the plate glass of the window behind which a Thai-looking girl advertises her wares. She smiles to him encouragingly, but doesn't get up from her stool, recognising perhaps that she won't get much business of this customer tonight.

"Leave her mate, it's a fucken dyke," another of the guys butts in, tries to pull his friend away. The other two stand a few feet apart, one trying to light a cigarette, swaying slightly in a wide stance, the other a little further, a sharper glint in his eyes, looking almost sober.

"No, no, look at her fuckin' tits, can't be a dyke with tits like that..." slurs the guy with the unshakeable logic of a pisshead, his hand sliding down my jacket towards my breast.

I get hold of his wrist, move it away from my body, step closer to him, still holding it, twisting a bit; my face almost level with his though he's a bit taller.

I can sense Nell's presence behind me, she's facing slightly away, I can feel a tension  there, almost palpable conflict as if she's been trying to decide whether to just let me deal with this or step in, flip back to the man's mode of functioning. She stays where she is, though, her face almost hidden in the collar of the coat, the hair spilling like dark gold on the dark silkiness of the fur.

"We might be looking for some fun, boys. That depends on whether you behave… and what you can handle..." I say slowly, huskily, licking my lips in an exaggerated manner, trying to stop myself from laughing, trying to gauge if the situation is in danger of turning from farce to ugly.

The future groom straightens up a little, so I let go of his hand; he's now standing in front of me rocking on his heels, his mate just behind him. I wink to him, and then look at the other two. The most sober one is not looking at me or his mates, but at Nell, scanning what's visible of her figure, the line of the hip, the stockinged leg, the shoes. He spends a split second longer on the shoes, the moves his eyes to my face, a slight smile on his lips. I arch my eyebrows questioningly and he shrugs, then smiles wider, nodding. I wonder if he knows.

"C'mon then, where are you staying?" I say, and find out they have rented a flat in a block down near the canal, and that it's actually their second night celebrating the end of their mate's carefree years.

They introduce themselves, the hapless groom is called Jason, or Jase for short; the best friend is Luke, the black one is Ben and the tall, most sober one is David.

We walk with them, it doesn't take long despite the staggering, there is some small talk on the way but not much else as if everybody was waiting for later. We find out the guys are from North London, Jase and Luke work together at some insurance company, Ben is a software designer and David a dancer. I look again at him when I hear it, notice how straight his back is, see the graceful strength of his steps, the coiled energy of the muscles transparent even after two days' worth of a stag weekend.

We soon walk through the lobby of a modernist block and are in the lift to their pad. It's a bit of a squash with six people inside the smallish cabin and I end up between Ben and Luke, one of them pawing my ass, the other trying to stick his hand into my shirt. Jason is trying to kiss Nell on the neck, reaching to unbutton the mink coat, though he's not getting very far, perhaps luckily. David is behind her, I glance down among the bodies and see his hands are on her hips, feeling and stroking the curves through the silk of the dress, then reaching up under the coat, getting closer, moving his hand to her neck, playing with her hair, sliding his fingers through it.

It's only the fourth floor and we spill out of the lift soon enough, Jason struggling to find the key, Luke eventually locating it and opening the door. There is a large, open plan living area with a balcony and two bedrooms accessed from it, beer bottles, ashtrays, dirty glasses and torn condom packets all around.

I end up on the large, leather sofa, the lovely Ben on one side of me, paying special attention to my tits again, Luke on the other.

I let them do what they are doing, they are young and fun after all, and my body is reacting, my nipples hardening as Ben's fingers caress them through the fabric of the shirt and the bra, my skin starting to tingle all over, my pussy dampening slightly; I am just about aware that Luke's hands are undoing my belt, pulling my zip open, I can feel fingers moving in, pressing my trimmed mound, one of them sliding between my labia towards my hardening clit.

But all throughout my eyes are on the others and I am not quite sure if I am getting more turned on by the basic pleasures afforded by those eager, young hands and mouths working directly on my skin or by what's unfolding before my eyes, my own creation coming to life.

Jase has slid on the rug to the side of the sofa, he's almost laying on the floor, his head lolling sideways, but his fingers busy with his belt and zip.

"C'mon, suck my cock, this is the last time I can get my cock sucked by a sexy bitch like you..." he slurs, his jeans now open, a semi-erect dick visible above his boxers.

David is behind Nell, his hand on her shoulder, the mink coat still on.

"Oh she's suck your cock all right, mate, I'm sure 't'll be a blowjob to remember," he laughs, a husky, almost menacing laugh, at the same time he's pulling her down, onto her knees on the floor, then pushes her head closer to Jason's groin. "Won't it?" he asks directly, but there is no answer, her hands already in Jason's boxers, her head down towards the cock which soon disappears in her mouth.

The guys on both sides of me notice what's happening, they are casting glances down but keep their hands busy on my body, my leather jacket is now off my shoulders and my shirt completely unbuttoned, my trousers half way down my ass and Luke's fingering me, the palm of his hand pressing my clit as he slides two fingers inside my sopping cunt, his other hand touching and squeezing the bulge in his jeans.

"I knew you couldn't be a dyke with such tits," says Ben, diving down to lick my nipples which are responding generously, I am not sure if to the view on the floor or to his touch. Nell's sucking Jason's cock in earnest now, I can hardly see from behind the curtain of the honey brown hair, but the groans coming from the groom-to-be seem to indicate that things are going well.

David's completely stripped below the waist now, and is kneeling behind Nell, his cock - long and with a rounded, bulbous head - bobbing in the air. He pulls the dress up, exposing the stocking tops, the silk panties, his hands stroking and kneading.

"Oh fuck, I'm cumming, fuck take it slut..." moans Jason, Nell's head jerking up and down as he shoots his load into her mouth. Soon after he rolls on his side and seemingly passes out right there in the middle of the living room floor.

Nell straightens up, the dazed look again there in her eyes. I can tell she's slipping into the fuzzy space of confusion, she's there and yet not quite there at all; I can only wonder about how it must feel, all the fences, walls and barriers crumbling down, all the parts of self free, dancing together in the mind, floating, tumbling in the golden shimmer of euphoric dissociation.

On the outside, she still looks presentable, the lip gloss slightly smeared but most of the make up still in place. David reaches from behind, takes the coat off her shoulders, lies it down on the floor, at what looks like carefully judged safe distance from Jason. The dress falls back down, he doesn't seem to mind as directs her hand to his turgid cock.

"Like that, don't you?" he asks. She nods, with almost a breathless moan, starts stroking him, the hand moving slowly up and down, the nails grazing the underside.

"Soon," he promises and pushes her, still on her knees, towards the sofa on which Ben's now kneeling above me, his brown cock rock hard, leaking precum, rubbing on my exposed nipples, the cups of my bra pulled partially down. Luke's stopped fingering me and is undoing his jeans, his cock struggling to get free, and when Nell reaches to help him, he raises his hips and lets her extract his dick.

David is standing up, looking at the debauchery from above, the smile still there, in fact he's almost laughing and when my eyes meet his I can't help almost laughing either, but a wave of arousal that shots through my body as Ben's hand replaces Luke's between my legs helps to dampen that.

I want to stretch on the sofa, get him to fuck me for a while so I shove Luke towards the end of the couch. Nell's now kneeling between Luke's legs, his fingers in her hair, his hands on her head, directing, pulling her in, his hips bucking, his cock shoved into the greedy mouth with increasingly powerful thrusts, I can hear the slurping, squishy noises and an occasional moan as he face-fucks her. I know he'll be finishing soon so I pull Ben towards me, my head pushed against Luke's hip, I can see Nell's mouth wrapped in a tight O around Luke's cock, and hear the sucking noises, her eyes are closed, her fingers on his balls.

Ben's hands are glued to my breasts, one of my legs wrapped around his hips, the other on the floor to steady myself and prevent from falling off. He feels great inside, or maybe my pussy just needs filling with something warm and alive at that moment, but I can't help moaning as he rams his cock deep into me, the rivulets of desire coming together into bigger streams, the waves of delight raising higher inside me, his hungry mouth on my nipples connecting them to the core of lust in my cunt, I let this tide carry me higher, my skin crawling with fireworks of pleasure.

As Ben fucks me on the sofa, Luke's exploding into Nell's mouth, not just in her mouth but onto her lips and chin, the shiny lines of jism dripping down her face as she opens her eyes, looks at my face distorted by my own sensations, her eyes glazed, her being seemingly sinking even deeper into that dark pool of carnal confusion.

By now Luke raises, gathering his trousers up, glances at all of us still at it, walks to the kitchen, I can hear him slam the fridge door, root around possibly looking for a drink.

I push Ben off and out - it's not an easy thing to do, considering that it means a stop to the cascading bursts of micro-orgasms created in my pussy by his swelling cock, but I want her to taste me on his meat, and when it slides out, covered in a slick layer of my juices, I make him half-sit up; wriggle out from under him and grab Nell's head, pulling it down towards Ben's throbbing cock.

She licks up, more slowly now, as if she wanted to savour the mixture of my arousal and his precum, then I lean down and join her, we are sharing this gorgeous brown cock between us, its owner hardly able to contain himself, I can feel him twitch and rock his hips even though neither of us is even sucking him, just two tongues dancing around the throbbing meat. I can taste the other guys as our tongues meet when we kiss over the swollen top of Ben's cock, he salty, sticky, astringent mixture of semen, saliva and my own juices, my cunt tensing  as I take his cock deep inside my mouth, then pull it out and let her suck him.

David is there now, behind Nell, "Climb up, bitch" I snap, and she obediently moves onto the sofa, hardly stopping her caressing of Ben's cock; his eyes are now closed, one of his hands on Nell's head, pulling the hair and the left ear, the other trying to direct my head down, but I move it away, so he just strokes my shoulders under my shirt.

David's pulled Nell's dress up again, and in an instant the panties come down too, almost ripped off her ass, his crotch now pressed firmly to her curves, his hands again stroking and kneading. He's naked now, the perfect, sleek, toned, muscular body completely in command, even his erect cock seems like a purposefully used tool, not something that just takes his being over in moments of lust.

He wets his fingers with spit, spreads her ass cheeks wider, works his fingers between them, then places his cock there, pushes in slowly. She flinches, moans in pain, but he's relentless if measured, and soon he's in, staying immobile for a few seconds, then starting to move, to fuck her with long, slow, almost languid thrusts, then speeding up, rocking his hips sideways, rotating them, hammering that tight hole, holding her hips and pulling her even deeper into him at each thrust.

Ben's come now and gets up from the couch, joining Luke in the kitchen, not finding any booze and I am vaguely aware of them both announcing that they are going to pop out to get some more, though I can't say I am paying much attention; and it's only us three left there. I stroke Nell's cheek as David fucks her, she finds my fingers with her mouth and sucks on them.

"Mmmm... what a fucking sexy slut you have got yourself here, such a tight cunt, ooooh, yess," David groans and I can see from the way his hips move and his ass tenses that he's about to come, ramming his cock into her, when he does it's with a deep growl. He slips out soon after that and pulls the dress down to cover Nell's ass, gets up, walks to the chair where his clothes were dumped, even the few steps he makes showing the effortless grace of his body. He moves like a big cat, the long muscles flexing under his skin, almost completely hairless apart from a trimmed bush around his pubis and a narrowing trail leading up to his waist.

Nell's still on her front on the sofa, more curled up, motionless like a discarded rag doll, her head near my knees but not quite on them, the dress barely covering her ass, the slow dribble of cum leaking out visible on the stocking top.

I reach out, cup her chin up, make her look at me, the make-up now more streaky, the hair mussed up, eyes barely open, a dizzy half smile still there on the cum encrusted lips.

I am suddenly overwhelmed with a mixture of desire and pity, pride and lust, and something akin to ghostly love, a melancholy memory of a story that has never happened and never would have happen because neither of the people involved existed but for the mind of the other, not even in their own. I know the questions I wanted to ask would remain unanswered, but I don't care about them, not now and maybe not ever any more.

I pull her up towards me into a kiss, the cocktail of cum that's filled her mouth still detectable, swirling between us. I can feel her hand moving between my legs and I find myself responding with a powerful jolt of desire and although I didn't plan this to go like that at all, I am writing this story after all, so I look at David who's smoking, still naked in a large leather chair.

"OK to use one of your bedrooms?" He nods, waves his hand towards one of the doors, I jump up, grab the mink coat off the floor and we disappear behind the door.

I throw the coat onto the one of the single beds, and fall onto it myself, my legs wide open, but my shirt still on, my bra still half-down, my pussy dripping wet, hot, throbbing and I pull her onto me, not knowing any more what and who I am and who she is.

And then we fuck and suck and lick each other and it feels at times like we are two women with hot wet cunts all soft curves and breathy moans, then two men with rampant cocks, urgent and dirty.

For a moment I don't know when her body ends and mine starts; and I am fucking her with a hard cock brimming with spunk, desperate for release, and then she's fucking me with a strangely fleshy strap-on, and when somebody cries out I am not sure who it is, and when I pull her face down and into my pussy to lick out the jizz it feels like she's sucking my cock; when I finally come, taken up by the crashing waves of pleasure, I explode down her tongue and onto her lips, my mind reeling.


We are at Schiphol now. He goes to stand at the end of his long and slow-moving check-in queue, and I stand there with him, my boarding pass printed already, all my stuff in the cabin bag. He's not been saying much, and neither have I. After so many words - I counted them once, enough for a fucking novel - saying more seems spurious now. My flight is called, and I need to go through security soon.

"That's about it, isn't it? We are done, Toy," I say. He looks directly at me, suddenly, straight into my eyes. Nods.

"You don't need to worry about - you know - evidence. There isn't really anything... and the other people, they either don't give a fuck or are professional, or both. Maybe when you become rich and famous... but then it won't matter, eh?"

"In the meantime, go and fuck something pretty for me. Or get fucked yourself. Get fucked at last. You are free, Toy. Mr Hanson. Nell. It was fun writing your story. You write your own now and I will write mine."

He nods again. I reach out, put my fingers briefly on his lips, he smiles and I smile too, my smile turning into a small laugh.

I shrug, then give his backside a light slap and quickly turn away, my eyes firmly fixed on the signs for the security checkpoints.

They are calling my flight again.

--- end 

Read the whole story as it was originally written:

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