Mark Shows His True Colours: Part 3 - Sex Stories

Mark Shows His True Colours: Part 3

Mark Shows His True Colours

Mark obeyed me, of course. I didn't have a doubt. I'd had my eye on him at the cafe for quite a while -- he was good looking, toned, confident, he obviously loved coffee -- but he also seemed slightly out of sorts with himself, and vulnerable. He looked like a bitch in hiding, a real bitch, the kind who would do anything for his proper mistress, the kind who would appreciate somebody like me.

When you work with the public you pick up vibes about people. There was something charming about him, easily responsive to women, easily seduced I reckoned. I'd seen him a few times with a pretty damned hot redhead who looked a lot like myself -- thin, nearly flat-chested, self-assured, demanding, long-legged. I imagined the two of them fucking, rough, hard, relentless, exciting.

But I had something she didn't have, and it kinda gave me the upper hand with a guy like this. So I decided to take the plunge, flirt, offer a freebie, have him come over to my pad -- and it all went nice and easy, almost too easy. The poor guy was hurting and he didn't even know I had the remedy for what ailed him.

I played it cool but, honestly, he turned me on. He had good muscles, the right kind, not too many, not too much bulk, and a cut figure, with very nice olive skin. Looked like a middle-distance runner, or a street basketball player. He walked with a loose rhythm, and he was a reader. Most every time at the cafe he had a book or two: I liked that in a man. And ...

... he had a good head of hair, thankfully not shaved down to the scalp like so many guys his age, which I figured to be nearing forty. He was in his prime but he needed to switch tracks. In a way he reminded me of myself and how and when I came to a fork in the road and decided to be who I wanted to be: a stunning feminine dominant transsexual. And by the way, I don't need nail polish or phoney nails to make a show of anything -- in fact, I hate the stuff.

Is that confusing, the feminine/shemale part? It shouldn't be. I like being sultry and seductive, an entrancing woman, but I like something more. I'll leave it at that.

My hunch was spot on, as Mark demonstrated once I had had him under my spell. He had been yearning to submit, to prove himself a cock-sucking ass-ready bitch -- not for a man, I was sure he wasn't gay, and certainly not for a woman, as his many discards showed. No, he wanted what I was, and I gave it to him. He came alive when I abused him, when I slapped and spit on his face and called him a bitch and a slut, when I pushed my cock deep as it could go in both his throat and his virgin ass. And he wanted more. I was just the right person to give it to him.

When he came in for an afternoon coffee in the middle of the week he was wearing his clogs, and he was wearing his eye make-up. He looked like a provocative metrosexual. The blue eye-shadow really brought the best out of him, made him look cuter and provocative.

I smiled and winked when I saw him ...