Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth - Sex Stories

Whatever It Takes Pt. 02: Truth

... too late, she grinned, pressed the palm of her hand against the sodden lace and held it up to my face. I understood and lapped at her hungrily with my tongue.

'See,' she said, 'just like a sissy. And sissies wear panties. Always.'

I pulled my trousers up and over the thong, the sensation of lace causing my skin to crackle and my cock to pinch. I fastened my belt and checked myself out in the mirror. The presence of the cage was not visible through my trousers, but the thong straps cut up in vivid red against my hips.

'You're going to need to be careful about that,' Sarah said. 'Unless, of course, you want people to know.'

And although I wasn't expecting it, and although I couldn't explain, the thought of being seen, perhaps by Charlie from Accounts, caused my skin to prickle and thrill.

Charlie, head shaven clean. Charlie, stacked like a boxer. Charlie, sneering and mean. The Charlie who knows what he wants. The Charlie who takes what he needs. The Charlie who never apologises.

The thought of it, the thought of him, caused my dicklet to swell and pulse and ooze. Now shaved bare for the first time and I could feel my boy-hole twitch at the thought of him, the thought of Charlie.

And remembering, Samantha and Jill at the coffee machine and me, pretending not to hear, but listening to every word.

'He's the biggest I've ever had.'

'How big?' asked Jill.

And me, measuring the milk into my mug, but watching Samantha at the very edge of my peripheral ...

... vision gesture with her hands, widening and widening and widening, all to denote a size and scale that I could but only imagine.

'Oh god,' said Jill, 'I'm surprised you're still walking.'

Samantha and Jill giggling, only now, the constriction of the cage, the softness of the lace, those same giggles were now transformed into sniggers. Sniggers because Samantha and Jill had been able to guess how unlike Charlie I might be.

All because of my tiny cock. No, my dicklet. My boy-clit. My cute boy-cage tucked into red panties. My smooth boy-hole. This thing I was becoming. This thing perhaps I'd always been.

At the thought of it my dicklet twinged, my dicklet seeped, my dicklet pulsed, the crotch of the thong now a darker red. My dicklet pinched and my boy-hole blinked.

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck was happening to me?

And Sarah, Sarah watched, Sarah watched it all. Unreadable, immovable, serene.

I pulled on my shirt, my tie, my jacket, and leaned to kiss Sarah's cheek. She pulled away, and instead squeezed at the cage through my pants.

'Tonight you're taking me for dinner,' she said, 'And tonight we talk. I want to know everything. I want to know the truth.

'Whatever it takes,' is what I'd promised. And so I worried through the day. I worried about that night. I worried about what Sarah might ask. I worried about what I might say in return. And I worried whether the shape of the cage might be visible through my trousers, and I worried whether ...