Piece of Cake

Will asked if I'd be willing to show him my naked body after I put my wig and makeup on but before I got fully dressed. I said sure—my only other fem adornments being my cherry-red toenails and a matching bead anklet above my left foot. With all the security and body scans and what-not at airports these days, I hadn't even worn panties under my street clothes. All that lace?

Will was waiting outside his bathroom, beer in hand, when I emerged naked and smiling, my lipgloss matching the anklet and toenail polish. Will stared—his eyes traveling down the length of my slender body rather like a small boulder preceding a landslide. They rose to my genitals and stopped. Then rose again to my painted face. Will returned my smile. His cockeyed.

"You look hot, baby," he said.

Will set his can of beer down and came forward, eyes on my midbody again. He'd only ever seen me in email pics and, of course, on his computer screen when I performed several days a week on the livestream sex site Batermate. Now here I was in the flesh, standing just inside the carpeted livingroom of his doublewide in North Carolina. Will's tail-wagging rescue mutt Max came over as well and sniffed my leg, the one circled by the anklet. Will was more interested in my frightened little balls, which he fondled before giving my penis a tug. I wasn't hard. Yet.

Will came closer, gently shoving Max aside with a foot, and put his cold and damp beer-hand behind me and squeezed my ass—generously pinched it—as if to confirm it was really me and I was really there. He pecked my left cheek.

"I'm in love..."

On Batermate Will had often, both in and out of PM's (Private Messages), professed his love for me. He invited me to his home in North Carolina. I protested that Carolina was a long way from Northern California. He told me I was beautiful; said he was in love with me. I thanked him. Said he wanted to marry me. I merely laughed: "Ha ha ha [emoticon]." I got so tired of Will taking up my performance time on Batermate where, while crossdressed, I danced, masturbated, whipped myself or did myself with a dildo in front of an audience of both casual and regular admirers ("followers"), that I eventually, out of desperation, sent him my email address and suggested we correspond that way, leaving me theoretically free from then on to do my act. There's nooooo business like...

In his first email Will sent me a pic of himself standing in front of what looked like a lake. The slightly blurry image being that of a white man in late middle-age with a full head of hair and a thick body. He was fully clothed. Separately he sent me a dick pic: largish and greying hairy balls hanging below a thick but somewhat stubby circumcised penis. Will said he wanted to put his "big cock" in me and shoot his load. He said he wanted us to have a child together.

I laughed it off again (Was this guy insane?) and suggested that was, well, rather out of the question. He replied that, no, he meant we would adopt. After our marriage. He said his two kids were grown and gone now (along, presumably, with his ex) and that now he wanted to raise our child. Before it was too late. He didn't say for what.

I stopped replying, for awhile. Eventually making the excuse that I'd been very busy. "Between my job and Batermate...," I lied.

Will persisted. The emails piled up. He started pestering me again during my performances. I almost felt like I had a stalker on my hands. Almost? He offered to pay for my round trip flight out of SFO. Come visit him for a week, he offered. He would pay for everything. It wouldn't cost me a cent. I would dress for him; we'd have sex; we'd cook out and drink beer (or my beverage of choice). Finally, wearily, I informed Will that I'd used all my vacation time up. If I were to visit him I'd have to take an unpaid week off from work. Will asked me what I did for a living. I told him I worked for a winery. I was...the general manager. Will told me they had some good wineries in North Carolina. I could move out there (in with him, that is) and get a job at a local winery. Or I could just be a "housewife." He said he had plenty of money—savings, investments, his military pension, a 401k from the public utility that had employed him for nearly 25 years. Disability...

He asked me for the name of the winery I worked for in Sonoma County. I looked at the wall after rolling my eyes—looked at the shemale calendar hanging there. God I was envious! October, I replied. October Wines. It's a new winery, I told him. Brand new. "They don't even have a website yet," I claimed. "That's how new it is. We're just planting the vines. It's a start-up. Silicon Valley money..."

I was impressed. By my own lies.

Will asked if I would mind telling him how much money I made a week. I consulted the calendar again. The 15th. "Fifteen hundred dollars," I informed him. Miss October had a huge cock. (Assuming it wasn't Photoshopped in.) Will wanted to know if that was gross income or net. I told him gross. But that didn't include my incentive bonuses, I added.

I didn't hear from Will for two days. A record. I was overjoyed. Thought I'd finally shed myself of him. I'd even put my sex performances on hold. Gave it a break. Maybe he'd go away—for good. The cheap fuck. He'd never actually joined Batermate and therefore had never sent me a single solitary token, each of which was worth five cents.

I was kidding myself. When I started performing it never occurred to me that men would find me attractive. Sexy, yes. Hot. A man in women's underwear? A man caressing himself in women's panties or pulling them down and stroking his "clit?" But I had no premonition that some would declare me "beautiful," ask if we could meet somewhere, profess their love. In a sense it was exhilarating; rewarding. But in another less self-admiring way...

In this latest unwanted email Will offered, in addition to paying for my airfare and all expenses, to pay me $1,500 cash to spend a week with him. We would see, he said, being halfway practical for once, if we were compatible. If we were (and he was sure we would be, in his own deluded mind) I'd come back out a short time later, move in with him and we'd get married. In Las Vegas. A man marrying another man dressed in women's clothing being a somewhat problematic proposition in the state of North Carolina. Which bathroom at City Hall would I use, for instance?

That was the hook. Fifteen hundred? Cash? With no out-of-pocket? How bad could it be? North Carolina was supposed to be a beautiful state and...I'd never been there before. Two of the seven days would be consumed by travel, pretty much. That left five days of Will. And OK, so let's say he fucked me every one of those days. That works out to $300 a day. I was lucky to clear a hundred dancing at Rudy's three nights a week—unless I hit paydirt and a guy wanted a blowjob in his car after hours. As for Batermate? That was chump change. Barely worth my exertions, and all the requests I had to try and fulfill for my demanding "admirers" ("Put some kind of vegetable up your ass...").

Will asked for my phone number and, reluctantly, I emailed it to him. Being Will, he called immediately. He sounded drunk. He sounded drunk but passed himself off as a nice enough guy with an accent. Seven days. More like five. How bad could it be?

Now, weeks later, standing just inside his doublewide's livingroom (he didn't tell me he lived in a fucking doublewide!), Will pushed his tongue practically down my throat. While fondling my balls and stroking my swelling clit. Finally, he broke it off. Came up for air.

"Goddamn, baby! You're everything I...wished for! And more!"

I refreshed my smeary smile; adjusted my wig. I'd packed two: platinum-blonde and the brunette one. Both page-boy style with low-hanging, sultry bangs. This was the platinum one. Will, tongue at ready, came in for another round. But I evaded him saying, head turned:

"Want me to finish setting gressed, uh, darling?"

"Huh?"

"Dressed?"

"Oh. Yeah. Sure, sweetheart..."

"I'll be back in a jiff."

Will was holding my cock, however. "Goddamn, baby," he repeated. "Don't be long."

"I won't."

Will held on. "I figured we'd cook out tonight. To celebrate."

"Celebrate...?"

"You. Your arrival. Love of my life. My future wife."

Will finally let go. I was free. I was trapped. Max was sniffing my anklet. A drop of premature semen had filled the eye of my upcurving clit. I looked up. Will occupied hallway's narrow width. Trapped in a doublewide. Fuck. "Oh. Well..."

"Hope you like venison."

Will declared that we would have to share bloodwork at some point. You know, before the wedding. But that didn't deter him from cumming in me that first night in bed with him. And Jed. No really, his friend's name was Jed.

I was in the kitchen performing my wifely duties chopping vegetables ("Put one up your ass...") while Will was out back tending to the petroleum barrel grill. When a knock came at the trailer's flimsy front door. I froze. Panicked. I was standing there dressed in pink lace panties, black thigh-highs and a matching (empty) B-cup bra. In one of his voluminous emails Will had floated the idea of me getting a boob job. He'd pay for it, he said. My nervous reply indicating that could get a little awkward when, say, I did outdoor things like going to the beach. "You'd wear a bikini, honey," Will countered. "Besides, ain't no beaches in this part of NC." Thankfully, he never brought the subject up again.

Now I ran to the doublewide's equally flimsy back door, stuck my painted face in the opening, though not through it, wary of neighbors, and whisper-shouted: "Will! There's somebody at the door!"

Will smiled and put his giant, blood-icy BBQ fork down. "That'll be Jed," he said.

"Who?"

"Friend of mine. I invited him over."

"But...!"

"Jed's cool," Will said, giving my pantied ass a squeeze in passing. "He likes girly-men too. Knows all about you. Checks out your shows from time to time. He's the one who's always talking about the Bible. Satan and shit. When we get married Jed'll be my best man."

"But...!"

Jed proved to be a lanky, really scrawny guy with something of a curved back. Either that or he always walked—or stood—slightly bent over. As if about to lunge. Or fall over. He entered the trailer back-slapping with Will before turning his leaning attention to me, as I wiped my hands on a dish towel.

"Goddamn, Will. She's here!"

"Told you."

"She's even hotter in person, Will!"

"In the flesh."

I thought Jed, coming forward, was offering a hand in shake but instead it dipped to roughly fondle my balls in panty's crotch. "You're hot, baby!" he again declared, this time acknowledging I was in fact in the room. "And tall!"

Jed looked back at Will as if our host was the official Keeper of Measurements. "How tall is she, Will?"

"How tall are you, honey?"

Jed was still playing with my balls. In a borderline painful way. "Um...six-two."

"Goddamn, Will! Six-foot-two. No shit." Jed looked at me. Up at me. "Nice clit, baby," he added, hand's attention having shifted upward over microfiber's bulge. "She suck cock, Will?"

"Course she sucks cock. Don't you, hon?"

"She sucked yours yet?"

"Jed, she just got here."

"She didn't suck you in your truck?" Jed laughed: "Long drive from the airport to here."

"She wasn't dressed yet, Jed."

"Oh. But she's dressed now."

Jed retracted his hand. Now he had nine fingers (he was missing one) with which to unbuckle his jeans. Yanking down his yellow-stained white Jockeys Jed's lengthy cock sprang up fully formed, fully erect. "Suck it, baby," he said.

"Jed, I thought we was gonna eat first..."

"Eat this, baby," he said to me, lifting his cock even higher. Toward a trailer ceiling that reminded me of a cum-stained mattress. I looked at Will, open-mouthed. Will looked back at me; shrugged. None of this had been in any of his emails. Will, by way of conceding me to his friend, sighed and said:

"I'll leave you two alone. I got deer meat on the grill."

"I got meat, too," Jed grinned. "Suck it, baby."

Reluctantly, in a state approaching disbelief, I pushed a platinum curl back from the red corner of my lips while watching my host, my last hope, descend through the back door. Goddamn, indeed. I looked at Jed, who was still grinning. Expectantly. I tucked the curl again as I too descended, to my stockinged knees. I was nothing if not compliant, eager to please. Just ask any of my livestream followers. The sadistic ones at any rate.

Now, hours later, on the springy bed, I was deep-throating Jed's resilient cock again. I had no choice if I was to take in the whole of its length, his glans plugging my throat opening as my lips slid all the way down his uniform shaft, his pale brown pubic hair tickling my nose. Will, meanwhile, smelling of charcoal smoke, had just finished barebacking me and pulled his glossy cock out. I was crosswise on a bottom corner of Will's king-sized bed, my stockinged feet hanging over the edge. Will had fucked me while standing and Jed was standing at the side of the bed while I sucked him.

He had stopped repeating, over and over, as if his mantra, "You do that so well, baby..." and had now gone strangely silent. His nine fingers, loosely holding my wigged head on each side, now gripped it like a vise. Said, "My turn..." as he pulled his cock from my mouth and claimed Will's recent foot-of-the-bed position. Just as he hadn't wasted time demanding his blowjob hours earlier upon unexpected arrival, he now wasted no time penetrating my hole, entering me in one continuous thrust that went in so deep it felt like his cock was in my throat again—only this time from the inside.

Feeling a twinge of pain seven inches' deep, my sore-jawed, open mouth emitted something like an "Uh!" One lone syllable. The pump was primed and Jed came quickly, adding his deep load to Will's, and to the earlier load he'd shot down my throat. In a Biblical sense (this being North Carolina and all) I now knew Jed very, very well indeed.

He pulled out and said, I kid you not, "Shee-zam! You got yourself quite a wife here, Will. Damn! Thanks for sharin' the bitch..."

"My pleasure, buddy."

"You ARE my buddy!" one naked gloss-cocked man slapping the other on the back. "What a friend I got!"

Still on my hands and knees—well, elbows—I looked around as Jed, wasting little time, started to pull his jeans on.

"You ain't gonna wipe your pecker off 'fore you go home to Lou-ann?" Will asked.

"Oh."

"Honey?" my presumptive husband said to me. "Pull your panties back on, babe, and get a towel from the bathroom and wipe us both off. Then bring Jed and me a cold beer."

"No, I gotta roll, Will."

"One beer? For the road?"

Jed shrugged. What the hell.

After wiping the lube and sperm from their dangling cocks, one thick and short, the other long and slender, I returned from the kitchen with the beers. "And one for yourself, darlin'. You deserve it."

"I should say!" Jed exclaimed. "What a piece of ass!" He was dressed now, while Will's thick body remained naked. I refreshed my lipstick before joining the "boys" out in the livingroom, all three of us standing, milling around, not much further to say, beers in hand. Jed crushed the can after downing his and headed for the front door. And, eventually, Lou-ann I presumed. Who would not be getting any tonight, if she ever did anymore, that's for sure. Jed thanked Will again before turning to look back at me. Halfway out the door, his grin:

"And thank YOU for tonight, honey. Nightly-night you two lovebirds."

I forced a smile in return. And waved.

The door less slammed than clattered shut. Then Jed—Will I mean—locked it. I had a bad feeling about this. All those inside cocks. Locks, I mean.

My host, in a rather strict, I'm-the-husband-tone, said, "Follow me." I set my beer can down and followed him to a narrow closet door just outside the bedroom, its shelves stacked with countless folded towels and bedsheet sets. Will lifted out one of the latter and plopped it down on my hastily raised, receiving arms.

"Change the sheets, hon. You'll find out I don't like sleeping on dirty sheets. And you'll find out...," scratching a reddened neck, the ungroomed grey hairs on it, "I expect you to do the wifey things around the house. I'm all for women's lib and all that crap but...your jobs around here, after we're married, will be the housework, the cleaning, some of the cooking. Mostly we'll be cooking out—my job—but..." Will suppressed a belch: "Any objections? Hon?"

"Well, I've been meaning to ask you—"

"By the way...," Will said, touching my arm. Then my empty right bra cup. "Thanks for taking such good care of Jed. He's a great friend."

"That was...unexpected," I replied.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have sprung that on you. It's just..." Will seemed to consult, as if an astrologer, the cum-stains, the ceiling tiles. Thank god it wasn't raining at the moment. "But you know what? This is OK for now. But after we're man and wife? I don't intend to share you much with Jed. That cheapskate. He owes me money. Over a thousand dollars. You see that piece of shit F150 he drove up in?"

"Uh, no. But speaking of—"

"Prick! Then he says to me... 'Can I come over and meet your new wife?' What can I say? No? Lou-ann's my youngest sister! Now be a good wife and make the bed. I'm kinda tired, how do you feel?"

I shrugged, slanting bra-strap and all. "Yeah."

"I bet! After that long flight and all?"

Will gave my pantied ass a pat as he headed for the kitchen for another cheap brew. Moments later, bed made, I emerged with an armful, arms full, of dirty sheets. Not that they were dirty. Both men's sperm still lodged deep up my ass. Which was tight again. It wasn't like I had a leaky hole or anything. It wasn't like I was a girl with a vagina...

"Thanks, darling," directing me to the rusted washer, the Walmart-brand soap, the generic bleach, the sheets white. Well, sort of. Filthy kids, male and female, were playing in the dusk-light outside. Ring around the rosie? I smelled charcoal smoke as I loaded the washer, burned meat.

"Hey, Jed?" I shook my head: "I mean Will?"

The man who considered himself my future husband looked up from apparently contemplated his recently opened can of beer. He looked, sounded drunk: "Dear?" as if I were something he'd just tossed frozen on the grill.

"I'm just wondering...," preparing to broach a, shall we say, problematic subject.

"Did I tell you you look even blebber ib poison?"

"Thank you," I said. "But...I'm just wondering. The fifteen hundred? When do I...?"

"Oh!" stabbing the air like Socrates in whatever, whoever painted that famous Greek bisexual's last moments, a grail of poison held as aloft as his index finger. Yet one last didactic, interminable point to be made. Oh fuck...

Will hurried over to a ceramic cookie jar on his slightly downhill slanting kitchen counter. The state, I would gradually learn, was home to many craftspeople. Potters. Potters? Will extracted a white envelope which, in his hand as he staggered forward, drooped over not unlike his cock's current spent state. Said:

"Well. Wanted to make sure...you wouldn't freak out and run out the door, y'know?"

"That would be hard."

"True," Will agreed, glancing at his door and its many keyed locks. "You're kind of my sissy captive—for the week. Here..."

I reached. He yanked the envelope back.

"I was worried a little, but...you seem to've blessed the task."

Huh?

"And I'm not just talking about the sex, either. It's a..."

"Is that my money?"

"It's the combined...deal. Housewife. I give you an allowance..." Will belched again. He was tired. A kind way of putting it: "I give you...What was I saying?"

Will staggered forward, envelope still withheld, and slid his free hand down the back of my panty. Down my crack, into my hole his wormy middle finger. Piece of cake.