back save

Nifty - Transgender - Control - In Leather And Out Of It

Date: Thu, 11 May 2006 14:33:01 +0200
From: Julian Obedient <>
Subject: In Leather and Out Of It

Russ was furious when he found out that Brenda was a male in drag.

The simpering little bitch, he said. I should have known. She was
too good to be true. Now I see it.

He took another swallow of beer.

Buddy nodded and smiled.

What'd you do?


Buddy smiled again.

Russ was almost skinny, of average height, not short, not tall,
good-looking, charismatic -- actually, bursting with energy -- unable
to be still, an electric twitch always driving him. If you saw him,
you'd probably say he was more beautiful than handsome. His features
were finely chiseled. His eyes were Mediterranean blue. His hair was
almost black and full of loose curls in disarrayed but buoyant glory.
He was cocky, he demanded to be worshipped, and, generally, he was.

How far'd you go?

Farther than I wish, knowing now what I know. Funny thing is, she was
a beautiful girl.

Did you like it?

You trying to be funny?

* * *

Heavy-duty black motorcycle boots with straps and buckles, tight faded
jeans, leather black motorcycle jacket, unzipped -- exposing a
wifebeater on a slim but well muscled chest. Dark and wavy hair with
blond ends. He's trying to scowl and look tough, but he's so damn

I go over to him.

There's something so fucking innocent about you, I said.

Huh? He looked at me unable to process it.

No, that's not it. There's something soft about you.

Not right now. You want to feel?

I did not refuse.

I looked directly into his eyes. Now I've got you by the balls.

I held them tighter. Do you like it? I said and kissed him before he
could answer and only stopped when he was trembling, dizzy and out of

Touche! he said.

I caught him as he fell backward and whispered something in his ear,
which I do not choose to repeat here. But its effect was as I
intended and he was mine to do with as I pleased.

* * *

It was snowing when we left the bar. I zipped up my jacket and took
out a pack of cigarettes. I still smoked then. I offered him one,
but he declined. I lit one and filled my lungs and suddenly became
very dizzy. Hardly able to stand. I must have blacked out. When my
senses returned, I was in his arms. He was talking to me almost
inaudibly, and I couldn't answer him.

His eyes were of a smoky green; his hair, chestnut. He was throwing
me off balance but I wasn't down. Not yet, and if I did fall, he
would come tumbling after me, right on top of me.

If he doesn't think I can manage that, there's a thing or two he
doesn't know, hot as he is.

* * *

I am listening to his voice and responding to it. It is both a
beautiful and a powerful voice, and I have no trouble desiring to obey
it, listening to it, basking in its electric sensuality, letting it
engulf me and become my own consciousness. Nothing could be sweeter,
especially since my master - as he has just told me I want to call him
- is fixated on my nipples which like pebbles are pinching the tight
fabric of my wifebeater.

I hear my voice weaving in over his.

Master, I say, I hear you.

I obey you.

Now I wish you

to relax

and feel

the power of my voice

as it floods

your consciousness

with the desire to hear me

speak to you,

to fill you,

to be the breath of life

pulsing in you.

I speak slowly, almost singing. Our breaths are coming in the same rhythm

He is mine.

* * *

Russ was really upset.

He couldn't get Brenda out of his mind.

They'd spent many nights in the shadows, looking at the river, staring
into each other's eyes, caressing, kissing, scorching themselves in
the mutual blaze of their passion.

She'd cast a spell over him and hoped it would be strong enough to
keep him in her power when she revealed herself.

And it nearly was. Even now when he thought of her kneeling before
him, worshipful, her lips around his cock and the bliss in her eyes as
she swallowed it, the blood rushed and his ignorant cock bounded up
with desire like a dog loyal to whichever master has broken it.

How'd you find out? Buddy ventured between swallows of a hot dog and a beer.

I want to ask you to come up to my place, she said, very seductively,
but with a tinge of sadness or regret. Just enough to make me bite.
Of course I wanted to. That's the crazy thing. I was excited out of
my mind.

I want to, I said.

But I'm reluctant, she responded.

Damn if she wasn't teasing me, I thought. First, she comes on. Then
she's coy and draws back.

Why? I said. I want to be with you.

I want to be with you, too, but I'm afraid if you found out something
about me you didn't like...

I can't imagine not liking anything about you, I interrupted, touching
her cheek.

I'm a guy, she said.

What? I said, dropping my hand.

I'm a guy. I didn't want to shock you. I like to dress this way
sometimes. It's a role I like to play.

She went on about continuing to play the role for me, about how much
she desired me. I was stunned. But once she said it, I could see it.
Then I felt empty. Then I got a sick feeling. It hit me. Had I known
all along, and was I just hiding it from myself? To keep from having
to face that I was attracted where I shouldn't be?

Good night, I said, turning my back and walking away.

I came over to Benny's to chill out, and then I ran into you.

* * *

Just because Brenda wasn't surprised when Russ walked away didn't mean
she wasn't hurt. But she was familiar with disappointment, and it
only lent poignancy to her persona.

Strange to say, she was also glad that - if it had to turn out this
way - that it did, and that she hadn't used her powers to their full
extent to hold him. She wanted to snare her lovers in traps of their
own desiring, otherwise, the game wasn't worth the candle.

She went home, stripped, sat in a hot and scented bath tub with the
room illuminated only by candles and aromatized by a slowly burning
incense in a small bronze basin intricately wrought with carvings of
Penelope weaving and unraveling her tapestry. It dispersed a subtle
perfume throughout. The unimaginable beauty of Bach's Musical Offering
came filtered through a speaker in the ceiling.

She shampooed her hair, shaved -- really turned on by the smooth body
-- dried off, got into a jock, black tights, a black leotard and a
green sweatshirt. He had fitted out an extra bedroom as a weight
room, stuck a disc of Art Tatum solos in the CD player, smoked a joint
and passed over an hour lost in a vigorous workout. He finished
reading "Rappaccini's Daughter" before going to bed, and slept
straight through till morning.

He showered, shaved, splashed on Eau Sauvage, got into a pair of great
fitting old jeans, a wife beater, pushed his feet into motorcycle
boots, got his biker jacket and went to the studio.

The shoot lasted until nine with a lunch break at four-thirty.

When they got out that night Donny asked him if he wanted to go to
Crazy Benny's for a drink.

Sure, he said, and the beautiful boys took a cab down to Chelsea.
Donny met Mike there, and the three hung out for a while until Donny
and Mike left and Brandon hung around for another beer.

* * *

It had been a warm night for November when I picked him up, but the
morning had turned considerably colder, and snow had begun to fall all
over the city.

I made a pot of tea and toasted some wheat bread. The garden behind
the kitchen was dusted white and showed through the many-paned back
door like a Currier and Ives print.

I have to go to Vermont for a few days. Come with me. We'll fly to
Burlington and then rent a car and drive to Glover.

Ok, he said, but... -- pointing to himself and indicating that he
needed to get other clothes besides the boots, jeans, wifebeater and
leather jacket he had gone out cruising in last night.

You don't need to go home, I said. We're near enough the same size,
and there's plenty for you to wear. On top o' that, the place we're
going to has trunks full of costumes.

Cool, he said. My next shoot is a week from Tuesday.

Don't you want to know where we're going?

Where are we going? he said, but started to kiss me before I could answer.

How can I answer if you're kissing me?

Don't answer, he said. Let it be a mystery. Lead and I will follow.

We packed a suitcase. For now I gave him a navy blue seaman's sweater
with the buttons on the shoulder to wear under his leather jacket, and
we called a cab to take us to JFK.

* * *

It was a no food flight with little televisions on the back of each
seat, but it went quickly. We weren't paying attention to much but
each other. Later we wound along small Vermont highways through
beautiful landscape made hauntingly melancholy by the grayness of the
day. We arrived at a great old house of sparkling white clapboard, set
in an undulating meadow full of little rills and hills, rolling slopes
and valleys. Tall maples asserted nature's celestial grandeur, the
contorting apple trees, its tangled earthiness.

The house had three floors, an attic and a stone basement. It was
barely furnished but furnished enough and mostly with wood: benches,
chairs, tables, cabinets, shelves and chests. All of the rooms had
fireplaces, and the one in the living room was twice as large as any
of the others and accommodated rather massive logs, which burned with
a thick orange glow.

We sat there in each other's arms lost in the patterns of the fire.

He began stroking my forehead over the eyes and I found myself giving
myself over to him as I heard his breath humming in my ear.

Submission felt so good.

I'd like to see you in a tight skirt, he said.

I did a double take.

What are you pulling your head back for?

You astound me.

Shut up and strip.

I felt fire in my muscles I hadn't before. I began.

I rolled back my left shoulder, and then my right, shimmying just
enough to bare my chest, and I tossed the undershirt with a quick
underhand gesture and a throwaway look. I arched my back and rubbed
my belly proud of its flatness and the definition of my abs. My
nipples stiffened and stood.

I undid my belt and undid the button on my jeans, but only half
unzipped them. I squatted to remove my boots and socks.

Standing barefoot in my jeans I finished pulling down the zipper, let
the jeans fall and stepped out of them.

Jason took hold of my balls through my black briefs and dragged me to him.

Tell me how much you want to be my cunt and my cocksucker, my special
boy slut.

I want to be your cunt and your cocksucker and your special boy slut,
entirely, Sir.

I fell to my knees. Bowing I brought my lip to within a few inches of
his toes.

May I kiss your feet, Master?

Snakelike I uncoiled and slowly tongued my way up his marble thighs
until I had his scrotum in my mouth tracing the textures around his
balls. Then I placed my mouth on his cock, his wonderful, masterful
cock. I wanted it all the way inside me. I took it to the bottom of
my throat and milked it, cradling the shaft in the manger of my
tongue. He furiously jerked against me because I would not let him
withdraw his cock. He screams in ecstasy and his cock is round and
hard and sharp as a dagger and I am lost in it until he shoots his
hot, white cum down my throat, grabbing my head and grinding it into

* * *

Just a hint that the dark was going to start fading into the
brightening morning became visible through the grand skylights above
our star-covered bed. I slipped out of his arms and out of the bed and
silently closed the bedroom door.

I bathed and shaved my entire body, tucked my cock inside a black jock
thong, threw on a long burgundy velvet robe, slipped into furry
slipper boots, scurried to the kitchen and sought out something to
prepare for our breakfast. All I found was herbal tea, although I did
find an exquisite porcelain tea service. So I'd make do with that.

It had brightened outside. The tea was made, the tray prepared.

I took off the robe, passed my sleek body in the mirror, and
momentarily was filled with myself. My anal sphincter throbbed and
fluttered, but my cock did not rise from its cocoon of sleep.

I fastened black fishnets to a silky black garter belt, got into a
tight black sleeveless mini-dress with spaghetti straps on the
shoulders I got from the same trunk I'd found the garter belt in. I
fit perfectly into a pair of shiny black spike-heeled shoes with cross
straps at the ankle. In front of the mirror again I applied black eye
liner, light gold dust on my eyelids and a nearly brown burgundy lip

* * *

You're not exactly dressed for chores, Jason roared when he saw me.

It depends what sort of chores you have in mind, Master, I said
demurely, casting my eyes back and forth between him and the floor.

Come over here," he commanded with a signal.

I did and he slipped his hand between my legs and up my skirt. He
began tickling my cock and balls as if they were a cunt, and then his
finger was squirming around my ass-hole and I was writhing.

Who do you belong to? he said.

You, I answered.

Whose girl are you?


He kissed me and pushed himself higher up inside me.

I lay naked on the bed. He was above me, and above him was a lowering
November sky glazing our windows with sheets of rain.

My cock pointed at our heads, an unshakable monument to my devotion.
His whole body was like a sharp stone above me. He had pierced me and
I tautly quivered surrendering to ecstasy and submission.

* * *

At Crazy Benny's I felt the delight of being in that cave with beaten
wood floors, old oak bars and dim light while a cold December whistled
through the snow-dirty streets of Eighth Avenue!

I stopped in to see what was tricking. I wasn't in drag. Just boots,
jeans, leather jacket and gloves, a black and gray checked cashmere
scarf I'd picked up on the Champs Elysee, and an old slouchy gray

* * *

Hey man, Brandon.

Alan stretched over the bar and hugged me and let me go by giving me a
big smack on the lips.

I dug your last spread. What can I get you? On the house!

No need, Alan.

Don't argue.

Dark beer.

Comin' up.

The bar was jammed and once he'd given me the beer and a wink, he had
to keep going.

I leaned against the bar holding my stein and listening to Billie
Holliday sing "I'll Be Seeing You" on the juke box.

* * *

Keep your hands offa me.

The outraged and drunken cry cut through the mellow noise filling the bar.

Brandon saw the whole thing. Damned if it wasn't Russ.

The poor closeted bastard, Brandon thought.

* * *

I got him back to my place with no trouble. He was so shaken by the
event and its consequences, and grateful to me to help him out of
there without too much embarrassment that he didn't exactly know what
he was doing. I said I'd give him a cup of coffee and some cookies
and he could collect himself. Besides, the cold air wasn't good for
someone at his level of intoxication. Even if he hadn't been drunk he
would not have recognized me. As it was he certainly didn't. He only
knew me as Brenda.

It wasn't a moment too soon that we got back to my place. He passed
out, falling face down onto the leather couch when I'd gotten his
bomber jacket off. I left him to sleep it off.

>From bed I took my cell and called Jason. It was 8 a.m. in Barcelona.


He was awake and bright.

Good morning, master.



Where are you?

At home, sir. You'll never guess who I ran into at Benny's tonight. Russ.

What happened?

Nothing much. He's passed out on my couch right now.

What did you do to him?

Nothing yet, honest.

But you will.

I'll try.

You'll succeed. The director's on the set. I gotta go. Give me a kiss.

On my knees, master. Feel it harden.

You too.

In old parlance we hung up, and I was hard, too.

I turned my thumb round the crown of my cock and then encircled my
whole cock in a loose fist.

Russ was going to have one hell of a headache in the morning, and I
knew just what I'd give him for it.


[When you write, please type the story name in the subect slot. Thanks.]
back save

Nifty - Transgender - Control - In Leather And Out Of It