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Deliver Boy-Turned-Submissive-Maid

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The best thing about Sora’s dead-end job as a delivery boy is when he has to make a delivery to the high-end Grand Hotel Suzaku. One night, an everyday delivery becomes a rare opportunity when one of the hotel “maids” assigned to a rich, foreign businessman falls sick. Sora is chosen to fill in for her, but is he too hotheaded to act like the obedient servant the mysterious guest wants him to be? And just why does he feel so right when he slips into the skimpy outfit all of the maids have to wear? It might not take much after all for a firebrand like Sora to get on his knees for the very generous Mr. Reston.

This 5700 word, crossdressing, feminization, MM, billionaire, foot fetish, submission, interracial erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

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I arrived at the hotel at 4:45 pm, and Aki rolled her eyes when she saw me walk through the door.

“Of course you’re early,” she said.

“The early riser is paid more,” I said, without missing a beat.

She started to laugh. I was always the more impatient of the two of us.

“So where’s all this money coming from? If you dragged me all the way out here on my day off to give me that nonsense about becoming a maid again, I am never going to forgive you.”

Aki cleared her throat, and a serious shadow was cast over her face. “Yesterday, that was a joke. Today, it’s the reason you could bring home much more than 2500 yen.”

“What the hell?” I started to turn. “I’m getting out of here.”

“No, Sora, listen to me. One of our maids is out sick. And the reason I was laughing earlier… Well, this particular maid was assigned to none other than last night’s check-in. Mr. Reston. You know Suzaku policy. ‘In order to create the most luxurious experience, your maid will be devoted to you and only you during your stay.’ We have no one else to send him.” She sighed and lowered her voice. “I truly meant what I said the other night. Look at yourself! I would kill for a face like that. You would make a better woman than you do a man. By the way you were looking at him last night, I thought you might be interested.”

“I was not looking at him in any special way,” I huffed.

“Even if you say that, you can’t really deny it.”

“Don’t maids have to…” I threw my hands up in the air. “You’re not going to make me say it, are you?”

Aki smiled. “Yes, that’s the implication. But some of our guests don’t indulge. Some of them come here for the rooftop pool. Who knows? Maybe Mr. Reston has a wife waiting for him back in America.”

I turned the thought over in my head. Mr. Reston did seem to be on the charismatic and gentler side of the Suzaku’s usual clientele. Besides, if you were as tall and handsome as he was, you wouldn’t need to spend money on a maid, right?

“What do I have to do?” I asked.

And Aki beamed at me.

I understood why she told me to get to the Grand Hotel in the early evening. We spent the next few hours in the maids’ quarters, getting me ready. It turned out that I wasn’t the only male maid in the building. I had scrolled through photos of them all on the website, and I never would have been able to tell.

Aki was having the time of her life dressing me up in different wigs and outfits.

“I’m not your doll, you know,” I muttered at one point.

“No, you’re right. This is much more fun. Be careful after this, Sora, I might just ask you to be my girlfriend when this is all over.”

My reply was cut off as she tightened a corset around my waist.

“I always imagined them wearing French Maid outfits,” I told her as she placed wig number eight on my head.

“That’s boring and expected,” Aki said, “and the Grand Hotel Suzaku did not get five stars for being boring and expected.”

Eventually, she stood back, admired her work, and whistled.

“Well?” I asked.

I hadn’t felt nervous like that in a long time. I was usually so confident, but something about this made me antsy.

“I’m a genius,” Aki replied. She turned me around and pushed me out of the room. “No more time to waste, we’ve got to get you up to Mr. Reston’s!”

“Don’t I get to look in the mirror first? Hey, watch where your hands are going.”

“Get used to it, Sora. No, just trust me, you look fine.”

She hurried me over to the elevator and told me Mr. Reston’s room number.

“Remember,” she said as the doors started to close, “do what he tells you to do. None of your complaining. Good luck!”

And with that, my first night as a maid began.

 

The door opened, and I was surprised to see Mr. Reston standing there still decked out in a suit and tie. He gawked at me, and I wished that Aki had given me the chance to look in the mirror before sending me up. Then, as if he remembered something, he snapped his fingers and pointed at me.

That’s right,” he said, in English. “You’re the maid, right?”

I knew what he was saying. I even had an answer for him. But for some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to say yes. Mr. Reston’s eyes were green. It’s a shade that you didn’t see very much in Tokyo. Even if the trendy youth went with colored contact lenses, they would usually go for something like a blue. I think it made them look very alien. Compared to Mr. Reston’s green, anyway, which was quite inviting.

He tapped himself on the forehead when I failed to say anything at once.

“My apologies, miss,” he said, reverting to Japanese. “I just finished a video call with a colleague in Houston. Have you ever been there? Ah, what am I doing? I am always, er, putting the cart before the horse. If you know the expression. Please, come in. I do not know how much they told you, but my name is Sam Reston. You can call me Sam, if that pleases you.”

I blinked. I tried to suppress a smile. That was an American for you. Always moving at the speed of light.

I can understand,” I snapped. “My name is Sora. I will call you Mr. Reston. ‘Sam’ is toofamiliar?”

I think I might have said more harshly than I intended. Back then I didn’t have the best handle on the idiosyncrasies of English tone. Nonetheless, the look of shock on Mr. Reston’s face quickly turned into one of pleasant surprise. Still, he stuck to Japanese.

“Yes, familiar is the right word. Nice to meet you, Sora. A beautiful name for a beautiful maiden. I thought that since you were just a maid… Excuse me, I misspeak. I apologize for assuming.”

My next words were out of my mouth before I knew it.

“Well, you’re already apologizing every other sentence, so I see you don’t need any lessons in Japanese.”

I clamped my hand over my mouth. I thought for sure he was going to send me away after that quip. I would have never lived down the embarrassment of facing Aki mere minutes after climbing up to Mr. Reston’s room.

Surprising me, instead he laughed. “Well, if I was going to have a maid provided to me by the Suzaku, I’m glad they sent a fiery one. Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid that there isn’t anything to clean.”

I followed him to the kitchen island and took a seat on one of the stools. The rooms of the Grand Hotel Suzaku were definitely worth their price. The penthouse rooms each came with a massive living area, a fully-equipped kitchen, a bedroom with a walk-in closet, and a jacuzzi in the bathroom. The cherry on top? Each room was unique, designed by interior designers from all over the world. Mr. Reston’s room was one of the more drab ones, I thought. Muted brown walls, dim lighting, and minimal extra decorations. A single vase sat on the dining room table, stocked with a single drooping flower.

“Is that a joke?” I asked.

“About the cleaning?” He stopped digging in the cabinets for a moment and looked around the room. “I guess I could be doing more to make this place feel lived in. I can’t even offer you to make the bed.”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face.

“I like making the bed. Why did you ask if it was a joke?”

Mr. Reston finally found what he was looking for–a bottle of vodka and a jar of olives–and pulled his hair into a ponytail as he started to make drinks.

“Well, the Suzaku calls them maids, but everyone knows they aren’t hired to do housekeeping. They–er, we are service providers. For the body.”

“That’s an interesting way to phrase it. A ‘service provider for the body.’ Has anyone ever told you that you would be great in marketing?”

He handed me a drink. I noticed that my hand was shaking. I clinked my glass against his, which is something I learned you don’t really do with such gusto for martinis, and downed the entire drink in one gulp.

“Are you going to fuck me or not?” I blurted out.

To this, Mr. Reston was speechless. He decided to follow my example and make quick work of his martini.

“You’re very… forward,” he finally said. “I will level with you, Sora. I’ve never hired a… service provider before.”

“What? Someone as rich as you? If I were you, I’d be paying someone every day to–” I cut myself off. Maybe the vodka was stronger than I thought. “Do you find me attractive?”

He sat on the stool next to me, and stroked my face with the side of his hand.

“Yes. I do. Do you find me attractive?”

I smirked. “You are alright for an older man.”

This earned another smile from him. I was getting pretty good at this maid thing.

“It’s decided then,” I said, getting up and taking his hand in mine. “Let’s do this. Which way is the bedroom?”

 

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Detective-Turned-Stripper

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Shawn doesn’t usually take infidelity cases, but this time the private eye has been hired by his own twin sister. She wants to know if her boyfriend, Drake, is cheating on her. When Shawn follows the tattooed, musclebound man to a strip club, Drake disappears into a private booth. How can Shawn find his proof without being thrown out by one of the bouncers? Well, his sister can think of one way, and it involves going undercover and getting up close and personal with Drake himself. But is Shawn willing to do this in the name of the job, or is the thought of slipping into sheer lingerie and being admired by a bad boy like Drake driving him forward? Either way, the detective is going to get his man.

This 5700 word, crossdressing, feminization, MM, first time, spanking erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

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I had his vehicle pegged the second it rolled up in front of the apartment building.

Of course Drake rode around on a motorcycle.

Just not any motorcycle, either. This one looked like a cross between a machine gun and a fighter jet–industrial lines and chrome pipes. Its name probably sounded like something straight out of science fiction, along with a price tag to match. I could imagine him riding home from work on that thing, zipping in and out of lanes on the highway. Fast, dangerous, and made to break the rules. Now, was I talking about the motorcycle or its owner?

Even sitting on the ride, he struck an imposing figure. I thought about how I’m much closer to my sister’s figure than the average cop. Where I was lean and muscular, Drake was thick and bulky. If I played my cards right, there wouldn’t be any need to get physical. I would have stood no chance.

He zoomed past the building’s valet, and disappeared into the parking garage. His leather jacket and dark jeans get-up was a far cry from the suits I had seen enter the building up until that point. This wasn’t a property with starter apartments. Tiffany mentioned that her soon-to-be ex-boyfriend received a paycheck from a car shop, and I knew they didn’t pay him this much. Drake either inherited money, lived wildly beyond his means, or had a source of supplemental income. If it was the latter, something told me he wasn’t touting affiliate links on a cooking blog.

I didn’t have to wait long until I caught his ride leave the parking garage again. 10 pm, Friday night, just like Tiffany said.

I tailed him. I kept a safe distance, but thinking back, I don’t think it would have mattered if I did. That was how much confidence Drake had. He didn’t see threats. He saw easily overtaken obstacles. He didn’t even meander on his route. I followed him straight to a little strip club named El Dorado, named after the mythical city of gold. The joint was as high-class as you could get with this kind of establishment.

I hoped that the cover charge wouldn’t make me regret doing this job for free.

Drake made a beeline for the back of the club, walking past the sleek raised stages dotting the main floor. The music was very subdued, sensual even, but it had a sexual aggression driving it. This wasn’t dance music. It called to something primal. Writhing women, bending into enticing shapes, enjoyed the rainfall of dollar bills as the music played. The audience was a grateful one tonight, but I wasn’t here for pleasure. I took a seat at the bar, cocktail in hand, pretending to watch the show.

My target hadn’t wasted any time. Drake sat back as an attractive redhead bounced her ass on him. I watched him lean into her ear, whispering something not another living soul could have heard. The two of them got up, still attached to each other at the waist, and disappeared behind a set of double doors. The bouncer barely gave them any notice as they passed.

I reached the door just as soon as they stopped swinging. The bouncer held his hand up.

“Sorry,” I said, leaning in close and trying my best to be heard over the music. “I’m just looking for the bathroom.”

“Across the hall from the front door.”

I nodded to the door he stood in front of. “No bathrooms back there?”

The bouncer introduced a new edge to his voice. “Unless you’re a dancer or a paying customer, little man, I said across the hall from the front door.”

“What happens back there?”

“Why don’t you grab a girl,” he said, turning me around, “and find out.”

He shoved me, not enough to call attention to us, but definitely enough to send the warning home.

Even with a dancer, I doubt she would have let me snoop around back there. Not that my funds would have allowed it, anyway.

Whatever, I thought. It’s not proof but a private dance should be enough for you anyway, Tiff.

 

“What do you mean it’s not enough?”

I sighed. It’s not something I do naturally, but since my twin sister wasn’t in my car, I had to get across the point that the scope of this job was getting too much for me. I’m usually not cowed by whoever my clients send me after, but Drake… intimidated me. He looked like someone who could lift me off the ground with one hand and send me hurtling across the room. It had been a full day, and I was still thinking about him.

“Sure, a private dance with a stripper can be a little skeevy,” Tiffany said, her voice blaring over the speakerphone, “but that’s not… undeniable. I know I’m not making very much sense right now, but–”

“No, hey, I didn’t mean it like that.” I shook my head. The light refused to turn green. “We’re stuck behind a wall here. Unless he brings one of these girls home, I don’t know how I’m going to get you what you need, Tiff.”

“We just need to find the door. Let’s put our head together for this. The bouncer told you that you weren’t allowed in the back rooms unless you were a dancer or a paying customer, right?”

“Right. And I’m not about to buy a dance. This kind of stuff is why I have an operations fee, sis. I’m not saying I’m about to charge you, but–”

“Shawn, shut up for a second, I wasn’t done.”

My fingers drummed on the steering wheel. At this point, the light must have been broken. I died, and I got sent to purgatory.

There wasn’t even very many cars on the road.

“Okay,” I said, “sorry. Continue.”

“What if you didn’t have to be a paying customer?”

I sat in silence until I puzzled together what she meant by that.

“Wait. So what you’re implying is you want me to go undercover. As a dancer.”

“Bingo.”

The light turned green.

 

Tiffany threw lingerie set after lingerie set on her bed.

“I know I said this before, but I take that back. This is officially crazy.”

“What’s so crazy about it?” my twin sister asked, holding a sheer, blue number with lace frills up in front of me like she was trying to see me in it. “Stop being so negative and think about it for a second. First of all, we’re twins. Obviously. But that means more than just being as pretty as a woman. That means you can also pass as a woman. A little make-up, a wig, and you’re going to be causing traffic accidents. Oh God, I never thought I’d say this, but I am so glad I’m as flat as a board. If you look better than me in any of these, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

I caught a glance of my face in the mirror. It was true. It didn’t do me any favors in the force, but back in my college days, I had more than my fair share of misunderstandings. One of my favorite stories to tell was that one time an idiot tried to grope my crotch at a party, only to end up with a handful of sausage. He was so shocked, he backed up into the drink table.

Causing traffic accidents would have been a step up.

I threw my hands up. Whatever was going to speed us to the end of this nonsense. And soon.

“Fine.”

The next hour was probably the most fun Tiffany had had in a while. She chose the black set of lingerie for me, and couldn’t stop giggling when she was applying make-up on my face. She usually doesn’t smile like that unless it’s Christmas. It was good to be spending time with her again. I realized how isolating my job was.

The next time I got to look in the mirror, I forgot all about that. I was pretty sure I stopped breathing.

“Ta-dah,” Tiffany said. “I’ve got to say, I’m pretty good at this.”

She had a point. Even though we’re identical twins, I looked nothing like her. I wore a long, blonde wig, the hair cascading down my shoulders like a I had just come from the salon. I could just barely see the hint of my nipples beneath the bra, which wrapped around my shoulders and met at a point in my back like angel’s wings. I turned, surprised at just how well the panties accentuated my ass. A matching garter belt framed the panties, and created a tantalizing array of lines that suggested what lay between them.

I almost forgot I was looking at me. I was mesmerized.

“Are you alright, Shawn?”

I blinked away from the vision in the mirror.

“Yeah. Um. I think this’ll do for next Friday.”

 

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Soldier-Turned-Girlfriend

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Grant Donner is everything a military man should be. Strong, honest, and willing to lend a hand to less capable soldiers. Soldiers like Aaron Wimbly, who is out of his element in the mountains of Colorado, where the two of them have been assigned to test new military technology. Grant has been able to help Aaron at every turn with ease. There has to be a way for Aaron to return the favor, right?

It turns out that Grant has a soft spot in the form of a girlfriend who’s waiting for him back home. Aaron might not be able to bring her to their station, but he might have the next best thing. Even if it does mean awakening a part of himself that Aaron has always tried to hide.

This 5800 word, crossdressing, feminization, MM, first time erotica featuring men in uniform is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

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It’s another two weeks until the package finally arrives.

A brown, inconspicuous box bundled up with our food delivery without anything on it but my name. I hurry to bury it somewhere in my quarters, but not before Donner spots it in my arms.

“Hope you brought enough to share with the class,” he says, nodding at it.

I try to shrug it off, but I’ve never been the best liar in the best of times. “Just a couple of coding books. I figure, hey, we’ve got time while we’re out here. And I’ve kind of always wanted to learn. Besides, you know how late I sleep. Continuing education and all that.”

There’s a list of every tell you want to hide in Liar University, and I think I just blew all of them.

He raises an eyebrow, seemingly unconvinced, but thank my lucky stars he leaves it at that and goes back to bringing the crates of government-approved freeze-dried meals into our research cabin.

He’s taken to doing it himself the last three times we’ve had a food delivery. He calls it the next best thing to not being able to lift weights at his usual haunt. Usually, I feel guilty about it, but not today.

I lock my door behind me.

I rip open the box with my utility knife, and spread its contents out on my bed. One tube of lipstick. One wig, with long silky black hair. One mini-dress, as dark as the wig and as short as a car commercial. One red ribbon, to tie around my neck. One pair of heels, tall enough to lift me six inches off the ground.

And, alright, I admit, an introductory book about coding. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a liar.

I catch a sight of my face in the mirror. My face is clean-shaven, as usual, but I took the time this morning to shave my chest, my legs, and my private areas. It wasn’t my first time doing that, but with one shower in the cabin, I really had to hustle.

I shimmy out of my uniform and into the Mona clothes, only just now noticing that I forgot to pick up a pair of underwear, too. After I squeeze into the heels, I walk in front of the mirror and behold myself.

I feel… pretty.

If I ever meet Mona, I’ll have to thank for not being much endowed in the chest or rear departments. I’m almost an exact facsimile. I turn a few times, admiring how the dress hugs around the shape of my body. I wrap my arms around myself and twirl, feeling my long hair tickle my cheeks, and the uncertain wobble that comes with wearing heels.

The last time I was wearing women’s clothes, it was in the privacy of my parents’ place in Arcata. I had picked up a few articles of clothing from a thrift store. I remember. It was a skirt, a sweater, and some leg warmers. Very John Hughes, I know. I used to dress up in the middle of the night, and it wasn’t even a sexual thing. I’d just feel so comfortable, and sexy, and confident, and…

That little practice continued until my mother decided to clean the room. I don’t know what happened to my clothes. She never mentioned it again.

I hear a knock at my door.

“Wimbly?” Donner’s gruff voice. “You alright? Dinner’s all ready, my man.”

I channel Mona and I feel my knees buckle. This man is my partner out here, but he is also Mona’s lover. I wonder if we both admire the same things about him. His strength. His honesty. And I wonder how she prefers to show her appreciation. But not yet. Not now.

“Yeah, Donner, all good.” I remove the wig and place it on my pillow. “I’ll be out in a sec. Just started to read, and I guess I fell asleep.”

I hear him walk away, and I give another look at the wig. Maybe not now. But definitely tonight.

 

Imagine all the noise and bustle of living in the city. The incessant car honking, the torrent of conversations, ever-present jackhammers, and the blinding light of the sun reflected off of towering buildings of steel and glass.

Now put it all on mute. Turn down the brightness. Shrink everything down, put all of the extraneous things away, and keep only what is needed.

That’s what being out here, so far away from civilization feels like. It’s just you and nature. Plus a lot of time to think.

That’s what I do, as I apply the lipstick and become a stunning replica of Mona again.

“What the hell am I doing?” I ask myself.

I make sure my hair falls just the right way over my shoulders as I enter into a cycle of adjusting and readjusting in the mirror.

“Worst comes to worst, the rest of this testing detail is going to be a very awkward and very quiet month.” I take a few more test steps in the heels. “Best case scenario… what? He thanks you for your dedication to the team? He writes a stellar operation-in-review back at base? He touches you?”

I have never been with a man before. But I think it’s the last one that I want.

I stare in the mirror, and Mona stares back. I feel like a creep. I’ve been checking out her social media profiles. I can’t say that I have a Mona impression, but I do know how she stands with confidence. The confidence of knowing she has a man like Donner. The confidence that dressing up in clothes like this gives me. The confidence that I want him to feel again, after being so far from his beloved for so long.

I breathe out in one long, slow draw. No time better than the present.

I leave my room and walk towards his in the darkness, nothing but the light of my phone to guide me. Not that I really need it. I could walk the halls of this cabin in my sleep, if I wanted. I still take the long way around, though.

Finally, I’m at Donner’s door. No. Grant. Tonight, he’s Grant.

I twist the doorknob, and enter. I kill the glaring light of my phone and click on his bedside lamp. It’s a soft light. I like to think it’s the kind of lighting they use in dreams. That’s what I want this to be for him. A dream come true.

He sleeps with one arm slung behind his pillow. His powerful legs are splayed out on the mattress. I run my hand up his calf, across his thigh. Grant stirs.

His eyes blink open, and in a tired yet surprised voice, Grant says her name.

I put my fingers to his lips to shush him. He looks me up and down. And then I see the understanding come to the light. He knows who’s here, wearing this dress, this wig. Who else could it be? I brace myself.

But there is no anger. No shouting. He drinks in the sight of me, and I feel even more attractive than putting on the clothes did.

I sit down on the mattress next to him.

“Is this okay?” My voice is a whisper.

He nods.

I start to lean in, but I quickly find out I don’t even have to do that.

Grant holds the back of my neck and pulls me in. Our lips touch. My hands reach for him and touch him all over. The muscles under his t-shirt are like stone.

Our lips grind against each other in a desperation stemming from somewhere deep within the both of us. His tongue plays with mine, and the more passionate his kisses become, the closer my hand gets to his manhood.

He sucks on my neck. I moan, and I see it in the corner of my eye. His cock, poking through the hold in his boxers like a beast unleashed. It’s as stiff as the rest of him, and, as I soon find out after wrapping my hands around its girth, just as hot. I kick my heels off and join him in earnest in his bed. It’s only for a second that I find myself wishing I bought nail polish, too.

Grant’s kisses cover my chest, as he manhandles my legs, groping at my flesh, while I jack him off. My hand moves in a constant, slow rhythm, and I watch the dripping tip of his cock disappear in and out of my palm. My too-soft palms. Finally good for something.

I can feel myself aching against the dress. My hips writhe, but no, this night is about Grant. This is for him.

I spit in my hand and redouble my efforts on his cock. He groans, a tiger growl that excites me to my very core. His hands leave my skin, and he lays back. He’s close.

He never takes his eyes off of me as gently kiss his neck, planting desire even as I pump him faster and faster. I raise his shirt–we wouldn’t want to ruin that, would we? I watch as he bites his lip and closes his eyes, his consciousness disappearing into the recesses of sexuality where orgasms are made.

His cock throbs in my hand to the beat of primal drums. Grant says her name again. I kiss him. And he cums.

I feel every ounce of pleasure escape him in jubilant ribbons, flying through the air and painting his sculpted belly in white.

I tease every drop out of him with my eager fingers, and I slow down as his breathing does.

We lay there, not speaking, for the rest of the night. I don’t know if I fall asleep, the sound of his breathing like wind lifting me to a state of bliss. But I do know that when I wake up, I am alone in his bed.

 

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In the Hands of My Futa Nurse

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Malcolm is a star athlete who has taken one too many risks and has landed himself into a hospital bed. Thankfully, he is being cared for by a loving nurse—who also happens to be his attractive stepsister, Gina.

Their relationship goes from strictly medical to dangerously forbidden when Gina enters his room one night and takes the concept of tender, love, and care one step too far. But when Malcolm tries to return the favor and give his nurse some attention, he will find more than he bargained for under her scrubs.

What’s going to be discovered first: their true feelings about each other or their naughty healing sessions?

This 6600 word, futa-on-male, first time, oral, nurse, workplace, taboo erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

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As the doctor leaves the room, my stepsister takes his spot on the edge of my bed.

She’s a really pretty woman, for someone who is now legally a part of my and dad’s family. She doesn’t have any of his genes, that’s for sure. We don’t go to the same college, but I see her every time I visit home. Despite Dad and Lauren’s efforts for her and I to develop some semblance of a relationship, we never got too close. I wonder if they had anything to do with her being my nurse.

“It’s good to see you, Mal.” She smiles, and it’s a genuine smile, crinkling the edges of her eyes. Gina has these expressive, round eyes that make it easy for anyone to tell how she feels.

“You too, Gina. Sorry if I don’t hug you or anything, because uh…”

I attempt more limb movement, and I’m rewarding with a sad little flail. But it makes her laugh, so it isn’t too bad.

“It’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time.”

We both laugh, and when she doesn’t say anything else I go ahead and ask what’s on my mind.

“So how much are out parents paying you to watch over me?”

Her eyebrows raise in surprise.

“No, I asked to be reassigned to you. I’m doing this for free.” She shrugs. “Well, free plus my salary. I don’t see you unless it’s a national holiday, and maybe I just wanted to see what you were like when you aren’t stuffing yourself full of Christmas ham.”

This is a surprise to me. Why the sudden interest?

“Hey, your mom makes a mean Christmas ham.” I nod at the wheelchair. “I take it you’re not just here to take my blood. I think I saw this in a movie once. You’re going to take me on a walk around the hospital, right? I’ve been dying to get out of this stuffy room.”

She glances furtively away from me. “Not exactly. Come on, I’ll help you on.”

She easily gets me into the wheelchair, which isn’t too much of a physical feat. I’ve always been on the slight end as far as athletes go. Not that I’m complaining. It helps with my choice of sport.

My stepsister wheels me down the halls, with a brisk pace that makes me feel giddy as she zooms past gurneys, corners, and other patients. I watch the sky pass by outside the windows. Eventually, we end up in front of a set of double doors on the other side of the hospital.

“Wanna guess where we are?”

I don’t see a sign or anything that would convey the room’s purpose. I shrug.

“The morgue? If I am going to die, this is the worst way to tell me. I hope you know that.”

Gina laughs and swings the doors wide open.

Boring, white tiling line the floors and the walls of the room. There are several contraptions that look like reclining barber chairs sitting near the walls, next to shower faucets with what seem to be detachable heads. There are straps on the armrests of the chairs, which I assume are to keep patients from slipping off. But why did my stepsister wheel me here?

“Um, Gina,” I say as she pushes me into the room, “Doc Fleming didn’t mention anything him giving me a bath.”

“Mal, don’t be silly.”

She stops the wheelchair in front of one of the chairs and pats the chair on its blue padding.

“I said I wanted to help you through your injuries and we’re going to start here.” She laughs at what is surely a look of confusion on my face. “I volunteered to bathe you. Now let’s get you out of that hospital gown.”

 

“Gina, I’m naked under this thing,” I whisper.

“Yeah, and you’re usually supposed to be naked during a bath,” she whispers back. “Unless you’re one of those never-nudes.”

“One of those what?”

“Mal, you don’t have to whisper in here.” She speaks at a normal volume. “You’re making this weirder than it has to be.”

“Weirder? I’m not going to get naked in front of my stepsister.”

“This is my job. You’re getting naked in front of your nurse. Trust me, you’re not going to be the first naked man I see in my life. I seen plenty of dicks in my line of work. You’re not going to be the smallest, and you’re not going to be the biggest so stop being so stubborn.”

I don’t have a comeback for that. Besides, I guess she’s just trying to be nice to me. She did volunteer for this, after all.

That doesn’t stop the fact that as soon as the gown is off and my ass is sitting in the chair, I feel the most exposed I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

I look wistfully at the wheelchair, now in the corner of the room with my hospital gown draped over it. My dick has flopped onto my stomach, and I wish that my arms would recover at this exact moment so I can cover myself up.

“Water’s finally warming up,” Gina says in a voice she calls the ‘patient tone.’ She says it works a lot like the ‘customer service tone’ and the ‘barista tone’ except sometimes you have to yell it because you get a whole lot more old people with hearing problems. “How are you feeling?”

“A little cold.” I try moving my legs again, to no avail. “A little restless.”

She appears at the chair’s side, a concerned look on her face.

“Well that second one you’ll have to make do with for a little while longer.” She slips on a pair of latex gloves and rubs my arm. “I heard the news about your accident, and… Well, I found myself thinking about that time I knocked over Mom’s vase, the one she got ‘from the old country’? She was sad about it for a while but she bought a new one because vases are replaceable. If you want a new son, you have to wait at least nine months.”

The sadness in her eyes breaks my heart.

I’m an athlete. Pushing my body to the limit is what I do, right?

“Gina, do you mind holding my hand and squeezing? I can’t do it myself, and if I don’t do it, my next sentence is going to lose some effect.”

She laughs and does it, and we look into each other’s eyes.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to old country vase myself.”

She waits, and shakes her head after I don’t say anything else. “Is that it?”

“Jesus, Gina, come on, it’s a one liner.”

She sprays water on me, catching me by surprise. I yelp, which makes her laugh.

My bath finally starts. At first, it’s as awkward as you can imagine for someone your age to be washing you. As I get soaped down and everything, though, it actually starts to become a little more relaxing. Almost… sensual? I guess that’s something you can’t avoid when one person is giving the other a sponge bath. I imagine this is the kind of treatment celebrities and millionaires must get. It helps that talking to my stepsister is actually pretty nice.

She tells me a few stories about past patients and in return, I tell her about the last few tournaments I was in.

“It’s a good thing you’re still alive,” she says, “because you don’t want to let all of this hard work go to waste.”

She pokes me in the abs.

“Hey,” I laugh. “You gotta be light if you wanna fly.”

“Um, what are airplanes, Alex?”

I shake my head. “You know what I mean.”

I look down at her. She’s taking her sweet time on my abs, now that I’m thinking about it. I clear my throat.

“What, don’t tell me I’m your first patient with a six-pack?”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s more like a four-pack, Mal. But it is a nice change from flabby.”

“Well, back when I was a fat kid, I would have taken a two-pack.”

I lay back and close my eyes as Gina runs the showerhead up and down my body. I get lost in the warmth. It feels like what a jungle rain would feel like, silent and hot and powerful.

Maybe too lost.

I hear Gina start to giggle.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. Just learned which part of your body still works.”

“What do you–”

My voice gets stuck in my throat when I look down. I’m as hard as a brick, and standing as tall as a flagpole.

“Oh. Shit. Gina, I’m really sorry, I–”

She silences me with a wave of her hand.

“It’s okay. This isn’t the first time this has happened, either. It’s actually easier to wash them this way.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Come on. Attractive young nurse, steamy shower, latex gloves? I’d be offended if it didn’t happen all the time. Besides, it’s the body’s natural reaction. I understand more than you think. Here, just look at me.”

I do so, focusing on her soft smile. I try to ignore how she gingerly holds me in her gloved fingers. I try to ignore how good the sponge feels on my cock as she glides it over me. The soapy suds running down my length.

My breath quickens, and so does hers. Her smile disappears. We don’t talk as the sponge, guided by her hand, strokes my full and throbbing manhood.

And just as quickly as she began, she stops. We break eye contact.

She dries me up, gets me back in my gown, and wheels me back to my room in silence.

 

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Working Out with My Futa Trainer

Pushed to the limit…

Griffin’s gym membership has been collecting dust since January. That’s all going to change today—but it might be harder than he thinks to lift all that weight over his head. But then he runs into the stunning Helena, a personal trainer who’s hungry for clients like him, and she might help him find all the motivation he needs.

Helena is going to grind him under her heel in front of the whole gym, and he might just get a special surprise in the showers if he performs to her liking. Is Griffin always going to be the laughingstock of the gym? Or will he be able to handle Helena’s demanding regimen?

This 6100 word, futa-on-male, public, MILF, feminine man, older woman younger man, humiliation, foot fetish, first time, workplace erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

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She lifts the bar up and back onto the rack without breaking a sweat.

I realize that I’m gasping for air.

“Jeez,” I sputter out like a car on its last legs, “thank you. I was getting really worried for a second there.”

My gratitude lands on deaf ears.

“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demands in a voice that’s loud enough to attract the attention of the group of guys at the free weights rack.

“I… I was just trying to uh, bench.” I can’t even look her in the eye, but it doesn’t matter.

“You really could have hurt yourself,” she continues. “Do you know what could have happened if no one was here to cover your fuck-up?”

I try to find an answer, but my ears are filled with the sneers of the guys watching us. I know my face is turning a deep scarlet, but I can’t do anything to stop it.

There was a bowl of Halloween candy on the counter in my apartment, and it was begging me not to go. Maybe I should have listened.

“I’m really sorry,” I say, my voice barely making it to her ears. “I guess I underestimated how heavy it would be. The videos made it look so easy. It’s my, uh, first time here. I didn’t wanna bother anyone by asking for help.”

She doesn’t say anything for a minute. I glance at the free weights guys but they have already lost interest in me at this point. When I look up at her, she’s shaking her head. As embarrassed as I feel, I can’t help but feel very attracted to this woman. And it’s not because she’s pretty. Even though she is. It’s her figure. She’s built like someone who could climb a mountain and still have the energy for a sex romp–why did I get that image?–at the top. Is it possible to be muscular and curvy at the same time? Like a soccer mom who never lost her figure. If I have to listen to anyone today, it would be her.

“You’re kind of pathetic, aren’t you?” she asks.

She doesn’t wait for me to answer. Which is good, because I don’t know if I agreed.

“You don’t look like you’d know a chin-up from a pull-up.” She offers her hand. “Helena. I’m a personal trainer here. And by the looks of things, you could use someone like me.”

I shake her hand and laugh the little laugh that I can muster.

“Griffin. And yeah, I guess so.”

Helena pulls me up from the handshake. She looks me up and down. I feel more self-conscious than I did walking into this place, but I can’t read her face. I wonder if it’s all just pity for me.

“I’d do more than guess if I were you. Today’s your lucky day, though. Every gym member gets one free session, and we’re all competent so I know you’ve never had your freebie.”

I hesitate to find the words. It’s bad enough that she had to save me from an inanimate bar of metal, but I’m hopeless around women I find attractive.

“Thanks,” I say, “but it’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to be a hassle, and I was hoping I’d figure it out myself, and uh, maybe I’ll just hop on the treadmill.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not going to put on any muscle flopping around on the treadmill.”

“I know, but…”

“Do you? Look, it’s obvious you don’t know what you’re doing,” she says, “but you just collapsed under 85 pounds of weight. Why don’t you be a man and give me a try? What do you have to lose, anyway?”

I sigh. She’s right.

“Okay.” I tense up what little muscle I have. “I guess it won’t hurt.”

 

“It hurts, very much.”

My arms shake as I struggle to do push-ups, something I haven’t had to force myself through since I was in grade school P.E. class. I’m in the limbo between straight arms and bent arms and my body won’t let me go either way. I can’t do it. All the air in my lungs is pushed out of me as I crash down to the floor again.

“If you spent more time focusing on your breathing than complaining, maybe you wouldn’t fall down so much.”

Helena rolls me over with her sneaker and plants her foot on my chest. Where her yoga pants end and her socks begin, there is the slightest hint of her ankle peeking out into the world. It’s a slender thing, and I find myself wondering what the rest of her foot looks like.

It’s not really something I like to think about, how I have a thing for feet, but right now I’m taking any escape I can get from floundering on an old mat on the gym floor.

“Hey, eyes up here, Griffin.”

I blink up at her in surprise.

“What’s wrong, why are you being all weird?”

She prods me with her shoe again, and I just shake my head, sneaking another glance at her ankle.

“N-nothing. I’m all good. I can try again.”

She narrows her eyes. She slides her sneaker down the front of my shirt. I can feel the ball of her foot pressing down on me. She reaches my bellybutton but she doesn’t stop. I realize that Helena isn’t looking at my face anymore. She’s looking at my shorts.

I do my damnedest to fight against my body, but I don’t think I can stop what’s coming.

“Um, I think I’m ready to try again,” I stammer.

Her sneaker pauses on my hip. If she brought her heel down flat, she would be standing on the body part I’m trying to keep from reacting.

And just like the bench press and the push-ups, I fail.

My cock twitches in my shorts.

I get ready to apologize, but she quickly steps off of me and turns me over again.

“Get into starting position again,” she says. “This time, we’re going to try something different.”

I plant my hands on either side of my body and push up to my newest, most-hated enemy: the plank.

“Stop letting your torso dip down. You look like a reverse camel. Engage your core like you mean it, Griffin.”

Okay, so after raising my back, now I’m in a plank position.

Already, my abs are fighting to be let go from this prison.

But then Helena stands just in front of my head. I’m looking down at her sneakers, clean and white yet decorated with lines of neon color.

“This time, every time you go down, I want you to get as close as you can to my shoes.” She bends down–damn, she’s flexible–and adds, “Close enough that you can kiss them.”

“What–?”

“Don’t look up, you’re going to ruin your form. You heard me correctly. I never misspeak. Now be a good boy and do what you’re told, because I can always start yelling at you.”

I can only hesitate for so long before my arms completely give.

I bend down at the elbows, keeping my eye on the–prize?–goal.

“Keep your elbows tucked in,” Helena says above me. “We’re trying to work on your chest, not rip apart your elbow joints. Come on, how did you reach this age without someone teaching you how to do it right?”

I don’t have a comeback for her because I’m too busy straining. On one hand, I can’t believe how weak my arms are. On the other hand, she just asked me to kiss her shoes. Maybe that’s what I deserve for being so weak.

I close my eyes as my arms start to shake again, going lower, lower, until my mouth connects with something dry and fuzzy.

I open my eyes. Her laces. Holy shit. I give her sneakers another kiss and grunt in effort as I push myself up.

“Holy shit,” I say in disbelief. “I actually did it.”

“You did one, Griffin. No cause to throw a party just yet. Give me seven more.”

“Seven?!”

My knees drop onto the mat, and my shoulders droop.

I say, “I don’t think I can do that many.”

When I look up at her again, she’s started to take off her shoes. My eyes widen. She takes off her sneakers and her socks, and I find myself staring at her bare, wrinkled soles. She stands in front of me again.

“There. Is this going to push you to try harder?” she asks.

Her toes are painted an electric blue, like a line of candies waiting to be eaten.

Without words, I get back into plank and do my first push-up.

I almost don’t feel the struggle as I get my first taste of her toes. I breathe in deep, and I am awarded with a sweet and spicy smell of Helena’s sweat.

I push, with a renewed vigor in my arms.

“One,” she says, with a tone of impatience.

I’m trying, Helena. I’m trying really hard.

Number two. Another kiss of her pretty feet.

“Two.”

Three. I want to lick her, but she didn’t tell me I could do that.

“Three.”

Four–

“What’s wrong? Go all the way down. Full range of motion, Griffin.”

I hear laughing again, coming from behind me a ways. I think it’s the same group of guys, but I can’t be too sure because when I look under me in between my legs, I can only see the little tent I’m pitching in my shorts.

“I can’t.”

“What do you mean you can’t? You’ve done three already, you were doing so well. Are you just going to let them laugh at you like this? Do you like being made fun of?”

“No, it’s not that. I…”

I am finding it exceedingly difficult to say, ‘I’ve got a hard-on.’

It turns out I don’t need to.

Helena kicks me over again, and suddenly I’m on my back with my flagpole displayed for all to see. I hear them burst into laughter, and it would be enough to make all of me shrink down into nothing, but Helena steps on me.

No, not me. My cock. She lays my hard-on down flat on my belly with her foot. My tip is pinched between her first two toes. My entire length is under her sole. If there wasn’t a layer of clothing separating the two of us, I don’t know if I’d be able to take it.

 

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Mrs. Johnson’s Sissy Harem

This is not your everyday hazing ritual…

A secret society on campus? Exclusive orgies at a secret location? It’s the story of the year, and Bobby’s going to be the one who pens the article. Infiltrating the candle-lit initiation ceremony was only the first step, but in order to continue going undercover, Bobby has to strip down and change into something more comfortable. Hair and make-up and all.

The leader of this secret society might have an entire stable of sissy men vying for her attention, but she has her eye on the would-be journalist. She’s not going to make it easy for him, though. Bobby is going to have to become a hungry, little submissive and beg for it. It’s going to be a long night for Bobby, and once he takes his first wild ride, there might be no going back.

This 6000 word, futa-on-male, reverse harem, feminization, crossdressing, first time, oral, MILF, college, older woman younger men, femdom chastity, humiliation erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another one of my sexy stories!

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Sailor’s car takes us to a house. An ordinary house, with ordinary windows, and a striking red door. It’s on fraternity row, except there aren’t any Greek letters on the face of the building. It was always one of the few unlit lawns on this street. But it’s not that way tonight. Tonight, the lights on the second floor are on.

As I follow the others up the steps and into the red door, I am fully aware of the chastity device locked around my cock. Every bump in the road made me brush against its confining plastic walls, and the sensation was equal parts exciting and maddening. I couldn’t even poke a finger through to touch myself. It’s like it was made with my exact size in mind.

There is scant furniture on the first floor. As if I needed any more convincing that this place was where all of those rumored sex parties were going on. I bet the bedroom’s dressed to the nines.

They know my real name. They must know that I write for the campus paper. So once I do write about it, the Sisterhood is going to know it was me, all me. But I’m taking that chance. I might not have any pictures of this, but this crazy dream is a memory that the waking morning won’t be taking away.

Besides Schoolgirl, Sailor, and Librarian, there’s also Nurse, Cheerleader, and… ’80s Fitness Instructor? He has a leotard, leg warmers, and a headband on. I’m going with ’80s Fitness Instructor. They had me practice changing my voice on the ride over. Apparently, their leader really likes it when you throw yourself into being a woman instead of just wearing the outfit.

I have to get into her good graces if I’m going to be reporting on everything.

They lead me to the bedroom. Sailor opens the door and we find the leader, still in her robe, scrolling through her phone. At the sound of us coming in, she looks up. I still can’t see her face, even in the soft light of the bedroom, but I get a better look at her.

She’s a curvy woman, and tall. She has red nail polish on her toes and fingers, matching the nails of the men who brought me here. Her legs are bare, the robe thrown onto the bed like a cape, and I can see her cock poking out from under the edge. Her breasts are heavy with weight. The thought of sucking on her nipples… My cock strains against its little prison.

“It took you all long enough,” she says. That damn voice. The leader aims her cowled head in my direction. “You did well, though. I think it’s time to reward you.”

“Oh, mistress please,” Cheerleader says. “We would love that.”

“I know you would,” is the boss’s reply. “Don’t speak unless I tell you it’s okay. For that, you’re kissing my foot tonight.”

Cheerleader’s eyes are cast down to the floor. “Of course. I’m sorry I spoke out of turn.”

He gets on her hands and knees and crawls to the woman on the bed. My thought is out before I can contain it: his butt looks great in that striped skirt. Cheerleader takes his leader’s foot in his hands and starts worshiping it. He kisses her sole, sucks on her heel, licks her toes.

The leader points to Fitness Instructor and then to her other foot. Without another word, Fitness Instructor follows Cheerleader’s lead. As they worship at the leader’s feet, I can see them both get hard under their panties.

Next, Nurse is ordered to suck on her nipples. He are gentle with the leader’s body. He even makes little appreciative noises as he suckles on her breasts. Manhandling is definitely not a word I can use for what I’m watching.

But it is getting hot in here. And I don’t think I can blame it on the costume I’m wearing, either.

Nurse takes off the leader’s robe, allowing the rest of us to look at her naked body. But not her face. She’s got a half-mask on that covers her nose and eyes. She smirks at me like she knows how disappointed I am. But I can see enough to know that she’s a blond with hair that deserves to be in a shampoo commercial. I think back on all of the blondes that work at the school. But I still can’t figure out who this woman is.

She throws her head back in obvious pleasure as she is being worshiped by three different men, all of whom are doing their best to make her experience as sensual as possible. It’s interesting to watch. It’s like they’re competing with each other.

I’m getting so hard. Or at least I’m trying to. The chastity device amplifies my frustration a hundredfold.

“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo…” The leader’s finger lazily points from Librarian to Sailor. The Sailor is chosen, and he doesn’t even need to receive orders. He knows where he’s going.

Sailor’s mouth closes over the leader’s cock, which grows from its half-hard form to a fully erect one inside Sailor’s mouth.

“Thank you for choosing me to suck your cock,” Sailor says in between hungry slurping noises.

“You’re such a cock-hungry slut, aren’t you?” the leader asks, as she strokes Sailor’s wig. “You take that dick like the little bitch that you are.”

“God, yes, I’m your slut, Mrs. Johnson.” Sailor slaps the cock against his face. “Yours and yours alone.”

My eyes widen. Mrs. Johnson? The English professor? My English professor? I can’t believe it.

I knew that voice sounded familiar, but… I still need to see her face. I need to know for sure.

“What do you want me to do?” I ask, adding, “Mistress?”

She smirks again. “You don’t learn as quickly as I thought you would. What did I say about no talking?”

“I’m sorry, I was just–”

“What did I say?” She doesn’t even raise her voice.

“Not to speak out of turn.”

“So don’t.” She nods at Librarian. “Help him watch.”

I question what that means exactly before I find out: Librarian’s lubed finger invades my asshole. It feels weird at first but then it’s like Librarian finds the secret button in all men no one can touch. It feels better than jacking off. I’m desperate to touch myself, but my boner is contained by the chastity device. I watch these men, dressed as women, please this perfect model of a woman, and I can’t do anything about it.

But squirm from Librarian’s touch.

“Please,” I whisper. “Stop that. I can’t… It’s too good.”

Librarian doesn’t stop. I’m not in charge here. Mrs. Johnson is. My knees start to shake.

“Tell me that you want to be a good little whore.” Mrs. Johnson’s eyes bore holes into me. The sound of Sailor sucking her off is all I can hear.

I don’t say anything. I am afraid. Afraid of what’s going to come out of my mouth.

“Say it,” she orders.

“I…” My erection is rock-hard and it has nowhere to go. “I want to be your good little whore. Please.”

“You’re mine, and mine alone. You’re my bitch, and no one else can fuck you except me. Say that.”

“I’m yours. Yours alone.” I use the voice we practiced in the car. “I’m your bitch, mistress, and you’re the only one who can fuck me.”

“Why?”

“I’m your bitch. Oh, God.”

Librarian’s finger is all the way up my ass.

And then he stops.

They all stop.

“Come here,” Mrs. Johnson says. Her finger beckons me closer.

I can breathe again.

 

I like to think of myself as a confident guy. I can hang with the guys, I can stare someone down, and I can take a punch.

I know that last one because I’m too stubborn to dodge.

But all of that bluster, all of that machismo–it disappears in front of this woman. What I can see of her face is emotionless. There is no reality that exists where I am a threat to her. Whatever I have, she has more a hundred times over. The curves of a woman, the low-hanging cock of a prize bull. The affection of her men and the authority over them. I can feel the man in me start to shrink away, and be replaced by a girl who wants to please her master.

And I haven’t even seen her face.

She snaps her fingers, and Librarian places my phone in her hands. I watch, helpless, as she punches in the number code to unlock the screen.

She swipes through my pictures, many of them just black voids with the occasional torch light or a blurry figure in a robe. The leader shakes her head.

“Oh, Bobby,” she says. Not disappointed, or angry. But amused. “These pictures aren’t going to do at all for your little article, are they?”

My heart stops. “How did you know about that?”

“Mike told me.”

My mind starts running at a breakneck speed. I was never undercover to begin with. Mike knew what was going to happen to me.

“Why?” I ask. “Why would he do that? Why would you agree to this? Why me?”

“Normally, I like dangling the carrot in front of my pets, but I like how that pretty face of yours looks whenever I drop bombs on it. Let me do another one.”

Sailor resumes his cock-sucking duties, and Librarian joins him. I’m entranced by the way both of their tongues work on the leader’s cock. I feel an utter need to join them. To take part. She continues.

“Once upon a time, there was a little party going on in your dorm. It was the first time you met your friend, Mike. While you were drunk off of your ass, you bumped into your dresser and knocked it over. Ever the peacocking man, you tried to get it upright again, but the top drawer fell off. Well, what was inside but a great number of women’s panties.”

I couldn’t look her in the face anymore.

“Of course, you explained it off at the time as… what was the word you used? Conquests? Such a boyish thing to say. But Mike, my beautiful Mikayla, spotted tags on one pair. Meaning unless you lifted it from a girl’s bag before she even got a chance to wear it, you had to have bought it. Now, what would a man like you need a pair of panties for? Mike was puzzled. And saw an opportunity to gain points with me. He spied on you, Bobby. Until one night he hit pay dirt and found you wearing them. Posing in the mirror. And then you lived happily ever after. Until now.”

I hear a clicking sound. The sound my phone makes when it takes a picture.

My head shoots up, and she is showing me the picture she’s taken of me in my maid outfit, the chastity device peeking out from under the skirt.

“I think your name is Bridget now,” she says with a smile. She throws my phone onto a nearby pillow and pulls a key out of the nearby end table. She unlocks the device keeping my cock trapped, and it falls to the floor with a hollow clunk. All at once, my hardness shoots forward, nearly hitting her face.

She looks up at me.

“I bet you want me to put that into my mouth,” she says, the hot exhale of every word hitting me. She licks her lips, and if I was an eighth of an inch closer to her face, her tongue would have lapped up the pre-cum dripping off of me.

“Yes, mistress.” My voice is a whisper now.

 

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New Release: Bent Over by My Futa Boss

The new hire gets a special training session with his talented boss…

Isaac hopes his new receptionist gig will be a stepping stone to a career as a salesman, but there’s one problem: he doesn’t know the ABCs of selling. Fortunately for him, his new boss Ngozi, a fierce black Amazon of a woman, would be more than happy to give him a few pointers about turning his cold pitch into a hot sale. And Isaac is more than willing to learn.

But when Ngozi’s first lesson reveals she has a whole lot more going on under the hood, will Isaac be ready to step up to the plate and take her on toe-to-toe? Or will he forever destined to be at the bottom?

This 5400 word, futa-on-male, workplace, interracial, hot wife, MILF, feminine man, workplace erotica is for mature readers only. It also comes with a free excerpt from another sexy tale!

fwork-bent-over-boss-cover


“Well, aren’t you a sweet little thing?” my new boss says after I introduce myself. “Glad to finally meet you. Linda told me all about you. You’re going to fit right in. Go ahead, come in, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

She shakes my hand, quite firmly, and I notice the huge wedding ring on her finger. It looks like it’s housing a diamond bathed in pink light. She catches me staring at it, and she pretends to fan her face with her ringed hand.

“Yeah, you can tell he really loves me, huh?”

Ngozi Day is easily two heads taller than me–although I’ve always been a little on the short side for a guy–and is built like a runway model. She also looks like she’s one of those women who have a social media account where they just post pictures of themselves doing yoga and every man with an internet connection comments about how much they want to fuck her. By which I mean to say, she is very, very fit.

Her dark skin shines even in the drab light of the office, and the way her wild hair bounces around her hoop earrings makes my heart skip a beat. She brushes a bunch of hair behind her ear with a pedicured hand. The dark red nail polish is as inviting as her smile is. She points to cubicles in succession as we walk alongside each other down the hall.

“That one’s Jerry’s office. You don’t want to direct anyone who isn’t a previous client before 11 am. His prime time is after he’s stuffed himself with lunch. Oh, and this desk belongs to Zara. You’ll like her. Sweet as can be, but god damn, she knows how to close.”

I try to take in all of the information that she’s giving me, but I can’t help but be distracted by my new boss. My hormones are throwing a party inside of me. Ngozi is dressed like someone who knows they’re sexy and isn’t afraid of looking like it. Even at work. Her dress hugs the lines of her body, from the top of her mane of hair to the bottom of her high heels. And those legs. God shaped those legs.

Whenever she thinks I’m looking at the cubicle she’s pointing at, I’m really ogling her cleavage. I try to shake myself out of it, because the last thing you need to do on your first day is undress your boss with your eyes.

“…but besides that, what do you think?”

My mouth hangs open. It’s hard having this woman give all of her attention to you.

“Well, I uh…” I pretend to do an understanding nod as I look back at all the cubicles. “I probably should have written all that down. I brought my notebook, and…”

“Oh, you were going to take notes today? Oh my God, that’s so cute.”

She places a hand on my side, giving me a little squeeze. I find it a little personal, but I’m not complaining. I’m surprised I don’t prematurely ejaculate right then.

“Anyway, this is our last stop. The break room. No one else is due to come in for another hour. Why don’t we talk a little more?”

She shows me in, and I start taking deep breaths because I’m not going to be able to take a cold shower anytime soon.

 

“So what do you want to get out of this job? I assume you don’t want to be a receptionist forever, unless this is one of those ‘side hustles’ that you young people are always going on about.”

Ngozi looks at me over the rim of her mug as the steam wafts up and over our heads. We are on opposite sides of a table that is much too wide. I much preferred being right next to her, but at the same time, I can barely look her in the eye as it is.

“Yeah,” I say, taking another sip. The mug is almost shaking in my hand. “I don’t know if Linda told you, but I told her that I wanted to eventually promote up to be a salesman someday.”

“‘Someday?’ You’re not going to get anywhere if you don’t put a number on it, honey.”

A nervous chuckle betrays my lips.

“I was thinking, like, a year.”

Ngozi leans over the table. Her breasts spill out over the firmness of her arms, but what keeps my attention are her dusky eyes.

“That’s more like it. Young man like you, that’s ambitious.” She licks her lips. “So tell me, what’s your sales experience?”

“I don’t really…”

“Call centers? University alumni donations? Selling weed to your dorm mates? I’m flexible.”

A sudden image of my boss doing the splits flashes in my mind. I’ve been called wimpy before, but I definitely know that I’m a man.

“None,” I manage to sputter out. “I mean, no sales experience.”

“I see.” She leans back in her chair again, crossing her leg over the other one. The hem of her dress has ridden up a little bit and I can see a bit more of her chocolate thigh. I can tell that I’ve deflated her a little bit, though.

“But I’m really willing to learn!” I add.

She seems to consider this as she eyes me. I fight to maintain eye contact with her.

Until, finally, she smiles at me.

“I believe that.” She puts her coffee to the side and crosses her arms. “You know what, you seem like a smart young man. This receptionist gig is kid’s work. You don’t need training for that, do you?”

“S-sure,” I say. Another sip of coffee to fill the gap in the conversation. “I’d like to get started as soon as possible, if I can.”

“Oh, we definitely can.” She throws her halo of hair behind her head and tips her head in thought. “It’s decided, then. Forget the receptionist training. I’m going to start putting you through salesman training myself. How does that sound?”

My mouth freezes in a smile. It’s only my first day and I’ve already secured alone time with my super hot boss. Well, that and professional development time.

“That sounds great!” I take out my notebook and pop the cap off my pen. “Where do we start?”

She laughs. “You can start by putting the notebook away. You need to come across to the client as confident and knowledgeable. The second you hesitate, or stammer, or go ‘um’ then you’ve lost the sale. It’s a lot like dating. Are you seeing anyone right now?”

I look into my coffee and see my reflection. “Not right now, no. But I mean, I want to focus on my career and–”

“See, just like that? Don’t give me an explanation unless I ask for it. It makes you look weak, and honey, you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

I nod, knowing how right she is, and I try to withdraw as deep as I can into my shoulders.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, honey. This is where I come in.” She takes the chair next to me and leans in close. I can feel the tip of her heel resting against my shin. “You just have to really want it. Pretend you’re trying to get me to date you. Sell yourself to me.”

“I…” Is she for real? “Like, a list? Of making myself look good?”

“You don’t need to worry about looking good,” she teases. “Except for that tie, it’s a little wrinkled. But it adds to your charm. Looks only get you so far. You have to make me believe that I’ll like being with you.”

“Okay, well… I uh, I’m a good cook so I can cook for you if you don’t feel like going out. And, uh…”

“That’s a good start, keep going.”

“And I like trying new things, as long as that thing isn’t sky-diving, and I like reading and meaningful conversations and hiking.”

She looks into my eyes. I look back into hers, and I suddenly notice how dry my mouth is.

“Do you have a big cock, though?”

I can’t believe my ears.

“It’s okay. Go ahead. Whatever you say, just say it confidently.”

“I think it’s a good size.”

She sees through my lie. “It’s okay, honey. At least you have a cute butt.”

I must be blushing hard, because she puts her arm around my back and gives my shoulder a squeeze.

“You’re doing really good. Sometimes you have to push past being uncomfortable. Let’s introduce a complication to our little scenario.”

She stands up, and without warning, Ngozi lifts up her dress.

I stare at a thick, black cock, hanging between her legs.

 

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