tagTransgender & CrossdressersCatching Up with Susan

Catching Up with Susan


This story is the much-asked-for sequel to an earlier tale of mine, Swiping Right for Susan. It is not essential to read that tale before reading this one; however if you'd like to learn how Marcus met Susan, go on and check it out.


I saw her as soon as I entered the pub - I always do. Even if I hadn't been looking for her she would have been the first thing I'd seen.

She's an eye-magnet, my Susan. She's the kind of girl you look at whether you mean to or not. She's gorgeous. Five-ten in the heels she almost always wears, long shapely legs, sensational arse, fine feminine curves and a generous bust, topped off by a face of fine soft features framed by shoulder-length blond hair, all of it set off by the very definition of a winning smile. The kind of smile that draws you in, makes you want to know her, be near her. The very smile that won me over.

And she wasn't alone. I must not have been the only man in the room who thought her a stunner, as she was in conversation with a fairly genial-looking fellow. And he was clearly trying his best to chat her up.

I decided to hang back for a minute, taking a free space just beyond the doorway so I might observe their interaction across the crowded barroom. This was often the way of things; Susan and I liked to sometimes meet up at the very pub where we first met, and rare were the evenings when I'd find her being left alone. She attracted all types. And I don't mind - in fact it's quite a nice feeling, knowing that the most desirable woman in the room was awaiting my arrival.

I regarded Susan's would-be wooer for a short minute. He wasn't terribly scrappy; he looked a bit younger than me, and he was reasonably well-dressed, tending to a fit and trim sort of look and a face you wouldn't flee screaming. And he even seemed to be fairly pleasant of personality, his body language not overly aggressive nor cocky, not much of a leer on his dial, and over the course of a minute he probably only looked down the front of Susan's dress maybe four or five times.

But he wasn't getting anywhere with Susan, and it was clear that he never would. Susan had a very special quality to her, a loveliness in spirit to match her outward beauty: somehow, whilst still seeming polite and personable, friendly and agreeable, it still remained abundantly clear that the young lad hadn't a hope in a million years of scoring Susan's digits.

Having seen my fill, I closed the distance from the door to the bar. Susan saw me coming, and her face lit up in a show of genuine delight. "Darling!" she cried, and our hapless little mate watched with bemusement and dismay as Susan skipped over to me and enveloped me in a warm soft embrace.

"Marcus, meet my new friend Dylan," she said, introducing me to her crestfallen suitor. "He works at the mines, he's back in town on his rostered week off."

"Dylan," I greeted, with an entirely friendly nod. No show of aggression or displeasure was required; there wasn't a doubt in anyone's mind that our Susan had chosen her partner for the evening.

"Hey," Dylan returned, with something of a resigned sigh. "It was nice to meet you, Susan," he told her, and soon enough I had my lady to myself.

"Poor young Dylan looked a bit lovelorn," I commented, after greeting Susan properly with a deep and appreciative kiss.

"Mmm hmm," Susan murmured, grinning as we held each other tightly. "But do you think he would have stayed interested if he knew my little secret?"

"His loss if he didn't," said I, returning her wicked little grin with interest. "Top up your drink?"

"Mmm, yes please." And as I slipped Susan's wine glass out of her hand and fronted up to the bar, she wrapped me in her arms from behind, snuggling up close. Her breasts, warm and soft and fulsome, crushed up hard against my back - and down low, pressing hard and unmistakable into the cleft between my buttocks, I could feel the long, warm, hard rod that was Susan's cock.

And how it did make me smile.

Yes indeed, our Susan is transgendered, born a man but living life as a woman. She'd had her boobs done, and a fine work of art they were, large on her slender frame but nice and perky, adorned with small but pointy nipples upon which I loved to nibble. She had oftentimes considered going full-op, thinking long and hard about undergoing the gender reassignment surgery and kissing her male organs goodbye, so to speak. But I had argued against it; for me, her cock was a thing of beauty, it was a part of her and I loved it. Her possession of a cock took nothing away from her beauty, her sexiness - if anything, it enhanced those aspects, at no cost whatsoever to her womanhood, her gender identity. She was a truly unique creature, soft-skinned and curving, gorgeous and womanly in all aspects, simply with something a little different between her legs.

And I truly would not have her any other way.

"So, my dear," said I, leaning back to murmur in her ear as the barlady fetched our drinks. "Are you hard and happy to see me - or was it young Dylan who got you going?"

Watching her in the mirrored wall behind the bar, I saw Susan's smile crank upwards a notch or two. "Well," she purred. "Maybe a little from Column A..." and she paused shortly, to gently rub and grind her ever-growing cock against my rear, "...and a little from Column B."

"Oh really?" said I, trying to sound affronted but unable to keep from catching Susan's ever-infectious grin. "That boy got your fire started, did he? Good thing I didn't hang back and watch you any longer than I did!"

Susan grinned even more hugely at that - she knew I sometimes liked to hang back and watch her with other guys, safe in the knowledge she only had eyes for me. Or at least, so I had thought!

I was about to press her further on the issue, but it came time to pay for and collect our drinks, and we walked arm-in-arm back to an open table, Susan holding me close and squishing my arm into her boob as we travelled. I let my eyes run up and down her form: she wore a loose, billowy-but-short dress in the warmth of the summer evening, proving a fortunate choice considering that the bulge of her arousal would otherwise be plain and evident in a tighter dress. I did not always like these looser garments on our Susan as they tended to drape freely from her bustline to conceal her fine curves, soft tummy and gorgeous hips, but she had explained to me that a looser dress meant she didn't have to wear the tight boy-legged undergarments that allowed her to (somewhat uncomfortably) tuck her package down her inner leg, and thus maintain a bulge-free appearance. Which was fair enough.

"So do tell, Susan," I quizzed, once we had taken up station at the table with her wine and my beer. "How did little Dylan get your ardour waxing? Maybe he's got a tip or two for me, to help me keep you keen, hmm?"

Susan laughed at my gentle ribbing, ever-appreciative of a spot of teasing. "Honestly, babe," she began. "He did nothing at all. It was all in my head."

"Fantasies of hot young bodies rubbing in the night, then?" I prodded, with what was probably a terribly dirty wagging of my brows.

"Something like that," Susan allowed, with what may even have been a blush in the general dimness of the pub light. "But don't get me wrong though," she hastily added, sensing my slight crestfallenness at the thought of her lusting after another. "I adore you, Marcus, I would never stray. It's just... I've always had this fantasy."

She had paused, knowing her mention of a fantasy would immediately pique my interest. "Well go on then," I urged. "Don't stop there, tell me more!"

"Well," she began, slightly hesitant but smiling, thrilling perhaps at finally airing some long-held desire. "I've always had this dream of chatting up some young, innocent, unsuspecting hetero lad, and, well... surprising him," she added, patting herself discretely about her own lower pelvis to indicate where the surprise would lie. "And, well, I suppose: converting him. Seducing him. Taking him. Fucking him in the arse, and teaching him that he likes it," she finished off, somewhat bashfully.

I boggled somewhat, teetering between astonishment and an aroused delight. "Really?"

"Well yeah," she said, laughing a little nervously at herself. "I mean: most days I feel womanly, and I want to live, and love, as a woman. I want to be held, and be taken myself - to be the 'bottom', essentially. But some days, I dunno..."

"Some days you want to take charge," I interjected, with a smile.

"That's right," Susan nodded. "It's... well, it's not very womanly, wanting to take my cock and fuck a boy in his tight little virgin arse. But some days, I dunno: the old 'manly Susan' wants to play."

"I don't know if it's all that 'manly'," said I, after a thoughtful slurp at my beer. "I mean: there's more than a few ladies out there who just love a good strap-on cock."

"That's true," said Susan, nodding along with my reasoning.

"And there's plenty of porn out there with ladies 'strapping on' and fucking their men good, long and hard," I went on. "I mean: sure, it's a very traditionally male role to take charge, to do the fucking, as it were. But does it have to be a male thing? Does the fact of a woman wanting to penetrate her partner make her any less feminine, any less beautiful and lovely? I don't think so."

Susan's smile was growing wider and wider, to the point that she was positively beaming with appreciation at my understanding of her conflict, her self-perceived clash between a desire to live life as a woman and yet still, on occasion, to do the fucking.

"And honestly," I went on, lowering my voice a little; no one was near enough to overhear us in the noisy environs of the pub, but by speaking softly I knew I'd have her leaning in, leaning close, allowing me to thrill in her nearness, and also maybe to peer down her dress a little myself. Hey, I never said I was a saint! "Honestly," I went on, "oftentimes when I'm by myself and feeling a little randy, I play out a little fantasy of my own in my mind."

"Ooh," Susan cooed, scooching right up into my personal space, throwing her arms around my neck. "Sharing fantasies! Lay it on me, lover."

"Well now," I began. "Sometimes when I'm feeling antsy and needing release, I visualise a session with my lady lover. I imagine her naked, hard up against my bare back, caressing me from behind, her breasts pressing against my shoulder blades... and her long hard cock buried deep in my arse, breaking me in and making me hers."

"Oh baby..." said Susan; she barely had time to say it before we were intertwined in a long, hot and lusty embrace, tongues wrestling, hands flying over the other's body, our cocks pinned against each other through her loose billowy dress and the confines of my jeans.

"Can we do it right now?" she whispered in my ear as my kisses ventured down her neck.

"Wanna go quick and dirty in the bathroom?" I grinned.

"Oh baby yes, please yes!"

And we were off, drinks and table abandoned as I towed her by the hand through the crowded pub towards the restrooms.

There was a line of women waiting for the lady's room, so we piled past the queue and bundled most unsubtly into the gent's; a few whoops and whistles of encouragement followed us through the closing door, making us both giggle as we slipped into a stall and locked the door.

"Oh baby," Susan cooed as we embraced anew, hands everywhere: mine across her breasts, sides, hips and legs, hers through my hair and down my back, grabbing and clutching my buttocks hungrily, aggressively, proprietarily. "Oh Marcus, I can't believe we're going to do this..."

"Neither can I," I confessed between long lusty kisses. "I'm so up for it, but I hadn't imagined you were interested in going 'top'..."

"MmmMMM!" Susan growled into my mouth, confirming her interest well and truly.

Our clothes were flung off in a goodly hurry: my T-shirt over my head and gone, Susan's dress similarly flung over-head and away. Susan needed no bra and wore no bra, her breasts perfectly perky and unadorned, and I sucked reverently on her nipples even as I stroked along the shaft of her cock through her sheer silken black panties, her overwhelming excitement seeing the end of her cock escaping out the top of the undergarment, allowing me to tease it and work the dripping line of clear pre-cum into the purple roughness of her knob.

Susan made quick work of my jeans and jocks, unbuttoned and thrust rudely down my legs; before she could ask I about-faced before her, hands braced high on the sides of the toilet stall as she crowded close behind me, pressing her excitement into the small of my back.

"Are you ready for me baby?" she murmured into my ear, nibbling and biting on my ear lobe as she reached around me, grasping my own long twitching cock and pulling on it roughly, wonderfully.

"Mmm yes, baby yes..." I sighed as she played with me, as she stroked my cock from behind and teased me with hers, letting it trace a sticky line of pre-cum along the centreline of my back and down between my buttocks.

"I'm gonna take you, boy," she told me, whispering into my ear as she played out her fantasy. "I'm gonna take you, I'm gonna break you in."

"Mmm, Susan yes..."

"I'm gonna take my long, hard cock," she whispered hotly against my ear, "I'm gonna take my cock and I'm gonna slide it on up into you. I am going to fuck you, boy. Do you want me?"

"Oh baby girl, yes," I moaned, as she dribbled some spit out of her mouth and down onto her cock for lube, most delicately and lady-like. "I want you, Susan. I want your cock inside me."

"Say it!" she ordered, as she lined me up, placing her bulbous head hard against my hole.

"Fuck me Susan," I begged of her. "Fuck me... fuck me..."

And slowly, gently, wonderfully, she did as I begged. She pressed her cock inwards, and I surprised myself by offering no resistance. I wasn't scared or hesitant in the slightest. I wanted this. I wanted my woman's cock inside me. I wanted my girl to fuck me, I was loose and I was ready, and I took her in as she slipped in further, and further, popping through my O-ring and on, driving on.

"Ohhhh..." we both moaned together, in perfect synchrony as she took me, as she broke in my virginal arse. Before we knew it she was in me to the hilt, my girl was in me, her cock was long and warm and hard and it felt incredible as she took me, she penetrated me, broke me and made me hers.

"Yes, Susan," I murmured as she drew back and forth, back and forth, fucking me in my begging arse. "Yes Susan, fuck me Susan, fuck me with your beautiful cock..."

And she did, hitting my spot ever so sweetly every time, reaching around and wanking me while she fucked me just as I had done to her many a time before. I revelled in this wholly new feeling, this sensation of acquiescence, of submission - trusting myself and giving myself to her, letting her take me and have her way with me even as she deigned to please me, to serve my pleasure by kneading and pulling and wanking on my ever-growing long hard rod.

It was beautiful. It was incredible. It was just so fucking hot: my woman's soft bosom and sharp little nipples digging into my back, the sweet scent of wine on her breath, the softness and smoothness of the skin of her hips slapping against my buttocks; she was so close, so near, so beautiful and so very womanly as she fed her long hard cock in and out of my tight little asshole, fucking me good and hard and yet sweetly and tenderly, giving and caring as she took her pleasure from me.

We were in sync, in tune; I could feel my orgasm building and growing in time with hers, as our moans and groans grew louder and more urgent. There were others in the men's room with us, and there were a few chuckles and a short word or two of encouragement, but we were otherwise left alone and to each other as my girl fucked me, and fucked me, and fucked me with her ever-growing long hard cock, and she reached around and worked at my own cock, and our groans grew to cries as I reached back around and pressed her ever-closer into me, as our excitements mounted and peaked and overflowed as I felt her drive on home and pump and spurt her hot white load into me as she screamed out for joy, and that feeling of her cock pumping and surging deep within me pushed me over the edge and I came too, my own cock shot forth its hot white essence all over the door to the stall and we came, and we came, and we came, even as she kept on plunging in and out, in and out, still fucking my tight little arse as she came and I came and we came together, we came as one.

We wound down, and I leaned back and kissed her, long and lusty and loving; eventually my tunnel-vision abated and my senses returned, and I became aware of something in my peripheral vision. It was the top half of a head, somebody peeking over the partition between our stall and his to watch us, his eyes fixed on my woman's beautiful hard rod disappearing up into my tight little arse.

Susan must have noticed him at the same time; just as I'd begun to think the interloping eyes looked somewhat familiar, Susan spoke, cool and calm and with perhaps a hint of humour:

"Hello again, Dylan."

Her words made him jump, and the half-a-head-of-Dylan disappeared with the sound of someone scurrying past our stall, accompanied by the unmistakable jangle of an undone belt buckle and the rustle of trousers being pulled back into place.

I looked back at Susan, and she looked at me, and we both burst into a fit of giggles. She let her twitching shrinking cock slip out of my ever-grateful hole and we cleaned up and regathered ourselves. On slipping out of our stall, I pushed open the door of the newly-vacated stall beside us, and sure enough: there was more than a little smattering of sticky white love-nectar freshly shot all over the wall adjoining ours.

"Well well," I observed. "Looks like our Dylan really wouldn't have minded if he'd discovered your secret!"

Susan burst into a new fit of giggles at that, before rounding on me warmly and pressing hard against my front, descending upon me for yet another series of steamy kisses. "He can want whatever he wants," she murmured between kisses. "He's gonna have to find himself some other pretty little lady-boy."

"Good luck finding one as hot as mine!" I crowed, earning a delighted grin and some more kisses from my lover.

"Now then," she said upon finally coming up for air, leading me by the hand out of the slightly seedy surrounds of the pub's men's room. "What say we head back to yours, and I go back to being the good little girl on the bottom?"

"Sounds good to me," I grinned. "But girl: anytime you feel like climbing back on top, you won't even have to ask."

"You're too good to me," Susan told me as we left the noisy confines of the pub for the cooler air of the outside evening.

"Only as good as my lady deserves," I replied, before hailing us a taxi.

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