But that’s not what he saw. When he looked in the mirror again, his heart fizzled down into his stomach. Now he really looked good in that dress. When he blocked out the sight of his face, he was looking at a woman (with a slight bulge). He was suddenly regretting indulging in his sudden curiosity—and it didn’t help that his buzz was wearing off. Now he was a sober man with shaved legs and a shaved crotch, standing in a woman’s dress. But even sober, he thought he looked pretty good.
He took the dress off quickly and brought it over to the steamer. He wasn’t giggling anymore. Now he just wanted to be finished so he could go to bed and forget all about his silly shenanigans. But he still had a fair amount of work left: two skirts, the bodysuit, and a few lacy bedroom pieces. And it wasn’t long before those urges came back. Terry was walking that tight black bodysuit over to his steamer when he started to wonder how it would look on him, paired with one of the skirts. He tried to fight the urge to try the little outfit on. He knew that once he had the items cleaned, the urges would be gone—he wouldn’t waste his hard work by wearing cleaned clothes. But right now they weren’t clean—they still needed cleaned, so in a way, Terry could do whatever he wanted. He knew it wasn’t a proper justification, but it was enough to make him a little bit crazy.
So he got naked and he slipped into the bodysuit. He used a couple of socks to create the illusion of a bust, and then he slipped a pink skirt up his legs. The skirt extended almost to his knees, and the combination was actually quite cute. It made him look more petite and strangely firm. He found himself bouncing up and down with his butt facing the mirror, watching his bum bounce the way a curvy model’s might. He covered his face and made a few little poses. He even took out his phone and took a few mirror selfies, making sure not to get his face in any shots. Looking at the pictures, he was sure that anyone would have thought they were looking at an actual chick and not a twenty-nine year old man. And that thought brought a strange smile to Terry’s face.
He took the outfit off and got it steamed and sprayed and hung up. Then there was just one skirt and some lingerie left to clean. And Terry knew, before he even got to the sac of clothes, that he wasn’t going to be able to resist the urge to try on the lingerie.
CHAPTER IV
The lingerie fit surprisingly well—even better than the dress and the skirt and the bodysuit. The first piece of lingerie was a whitish pink one-piece with lace arms. Every bit of that lacy number hugged Terry’s skin, and even though it was tight, it felt amazingly comfortable. Once again, for the third time that night, Terry found himself in front of the mirror, ogling his own ass, trying to figure out how he’d never noticed his own rear-end before.
Then he had another wacky idea. In his kitchen he had a set of washable children’s markers that his little nephew had left there a few weeks before. He grabbed the black one and slipped into the bathroom. He carefully drew the marker on like eyeliner, and the effect wasn’t bad. He went to wipe a small mistake and ended up smudging the whole thing, so his faux-eyeliner turned into faux-eye-shadow. He rubbed it all around until it actually looked like eye-shadow, and then he went and tried again for the eyeliner, and this time the result wasn’t half-bad.
He rubbed a bit of red onto his cheeks, which looked too clown-like, so he went and tried to wash it off. The mostly-washed-off version actually looked like blush, so he kept it.
Next he dug an old Halloween wig out from his closet. It was a blonde Viking wig, which looked a bit silly until he got a trucker cap on top of it—then it was passable. And he actually looked pretty cute with a long blonde braid.
He was having fun, and he’d completely lost track of time. He got the one piece steamed and sprayed and hung up, and then he pulled out the final outfit: a black lacy two-piece, with a matching black lacy pair of cat ears. The outfit seemed silly at first, and then he got it on and realized it was actually hot. There was even a choker at the bottom of the bag, which he figured went with the ensemble, so he put it on. He took some more photos, this time getting his face in the shots. And then he admired the photos and after ten minutes of admiring the photos, he realized his cock was rock solid. He went to his bedroom and looked in his full-length mirror. He had a good laugh at his erection, which ruined the feminine illusion.
And then he had another strange urge: to jerk himself off while staring at his own reflection. He bit his bottom lip as his fingers curled around his hard, throbbing meat. He let a grin slip as he pulled his foreskin back. He couldn’t remember the last time his cock was this hard. It was already drooling a warm drop of pre-cum. He took a deep breath—he knew he wasn’t going to last long. And he was right. After just a single minute of slow rubbing, he came all over his mirror. He squirmed and groaned and then he realized he’d just jerked off while wearing a female client’s lingerie.
His eyes were wide and his lips were parted. Reality suddenly slapped him in the face. He got out of that little outfit as quickly as possible. He got it cleaned and hung up and then he threw himself into his bed and buried his face into his pillow. Before falling asleep he managed to convince himself that he was just acting crazy because he hadn’t slept in nearly forty hours. It was just an exhaustion-induced psychosis—nothing to worry about. Right?
The little blonde came in around noon that Wednesday to pick up her clothes. She didn’t bother inspecting her haul before leaving—it was rare that girls did inspect their clothes before leaving when they had lingerie. But while she was paying for the order (which Terry discounted), Terry couldn’t help but imagine her wearing that black lacy two-piece with the cat ears. It was hard to imagine her in anything but a sweater and a pair of jeans. She seemed way too innocent to be wearing anything lacy or tight or even a little bit sheer.
His cheeks were warm as he handed her the receipt. Once she was gone, he went to the bathroom and splashed some cold water on his face. He had thoughts in his mind that weren’t welcomed, and they refused to go away.
Though he managed to make them go away for a couple of hours—until a beautiful woman walked into the shop with a wardrobe bag full of skimpy dresses. “I need them all cleaned by Friday,” she said with her big sunglasses still on. “And be gentle with the panties—they’re all for a photo shoot I’m doing this weekend.” As she walked out the door, Terry found himself sizing the woman up, trying to figure out if her clothes would fit him.
And once the store was empty, he found himself perusing through her wardrobe bag, feeling the soft satin of her dresses, admiring the curves and tapering of each item. At the bottom of the bag were the panties: a pair of white crochet panties, a pair of black lace panties, and a pair of red satin panties. There was a white lace bra and a black lace bra, and a note that read, “If any of these come back faded, I’ll be expecting a full refund.” She even left the original receipts in the bag.
Terry squirmed. He was jittery with excitement—he couldn’t wait to get home and try the outfits on. But he didn’t want to try them on. He didn’t want to be excited about putting on women’s clothing. It was weird—not just because the clothes didn’t belong to him, but also because they were for women. Terry wasn’t a woman. He wasn’t gay and he wasn’t a cross-dresser. He liked girls and he liked being normal. And now, after a full night’s sleep, he was still having these strange, unwelcomed urges. Why wouldn’t they go away? What did he have to do to make the urges stop?
He had the time to process the woman’s clothes at the shop that day, but he chose not to. He chose to take the haul home and run it through his home system, just so that he would have the option to fool around a little bit if he wanted to. But he wasn’t giving himself the option by taking the clothes home—he had already made up his mind, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise. He didn’t even have the steamer fired up before he started getting undressed, with the blinds closed and the front door locked.
He told himself that it would be a waste not to get dolled up in the woman’s clothes. It was his chance to try on some
expensive designer dresses while his body hair was still non-existent. He’d already told himself that he wasn’t going to shave again. He would let his beard and his body hair grow back out, so in a week or two, any piece of women’s clothing he tried on would look silly. But until then, why not have a bit of fun? He did go through the trouble of shaving his whole body, after all.
So he started with a black cocktail dress. It was soft on his skin and the straps were incredibly thin and dainty. It looked a bit weird without a bust, so he put on one of the woman’s bras, stuffing it with socks to create the right illusion. Then he did a few poses in the mirror, but was distracted by his bulge. The dress was so thin and light that it showed off every little bump and curve, including the bump of a mosquito bite on his thigh. He solved the issue of his cock’s bulge by slipping on the pair of red satin panties that were at the bottom of the bag. They were tight and snug, but incredibly comfortable. It was only a minute before he started feeling them tighten, stretching around his growing cock. He was becoming erect once again at the sight of himself. He tried biting his tongue and pinching his arm to make the erection go away, but he was aroused and there was nothing he could do about it—nothing except for deal with it.
He remembered the night before, how sanity returned to him as soon as he came. So he just needed to come again. He hiked up his dress and slipped his cock out from the red panties. Then he started stroking, watching himself in the mirror.
And that’s when he got a new idea—another unwelcomed idea that pushed his newfound fetish to a new extreme. There was a black handle sitting on the dresser next to his bed—the old handle from his steamer, which he’d recently replaced. The handle just happened to be about eight inches long and almost an inch thick—not too much different from the dimensions of his own cock. And it was smooth and rounded at the end. Terry picked it up reached it down slowly, rubbing it between his legs, teasing the tip against his butthole.
He’d never been penetrated before and he was proud of that fact. But that didn’t make the sight of him rubbing the phallic object along his anus any less arousing. He pushed it up and down and up and down and then he slipped it under his panties and rubbed it directly against his now-puckering hole. His jaw and hands were trembling and his cock was throbbing harder than ever before, oozing warm pre-cum onto the red satin panties, which were probably worth four hundred bucks.
He knew he had a little bottle of spermicidal lube in his nightstand. With enough lube, he knew it wouldn’t hurt. It would probably feel weird and uncomfortable, but it would look hot in the mirror—and that’s exactly what he wanted. So he grabbed the lube and squirted a healthy dab onto the tip of the steamer handle. And then he pushed the handle back under his panties and started twisting it against his puckering asshole. His heart stuttered and leapt. He took a deep breath.
“What are you doing?” he whispered to himself. His cheeks were dark red. He couldn’t stop himself. An intense sexual energy had taken over his body and now he was stuck watching like a prisoner trapped in his own skin.
He closed his eyes and continued to mash that dildo-shaped object into his hole. It only took a little push to make it penetrate. He gasped and then bit down on his tongue. It felt weird inside of his butt, but it didn’t hurt. After letting a slow breath out, he opened his eyes and stared at himself in the mirror. He was sitting on his bed with his knees up. His erection was throbbing on his stomach and that handle was pushed one inch into his butt. He wanted to see it go further, so he pushed a little bit more and watched it slowly disappear.
And that’s when he noticed the grin on his face. He was enjoying himself, enjoying watching as he became emasculated, enjoying his own humiliating feminization. Where did this fetish come from? Was it always there, lying dormant, waiting for the right moment to come out? He had to let go of his cock, worried another stroke would make him come. He didn’t want to come yet. He wanted to enjoy the moment a little bit longer.
He pushed the handle in deep and then he pulled it out. He liked the sight of his asshole hugging the handle, pulling up with suction. And he loved watching that handle disappear again, back down that hole. Why did it look so hot?
And why was it starting to feel so good? Terry let a little groan slip. He pulled his knees up further and bit down hard on his bottom lip. “Oh God,” he moaned. And he couldn’t look away from his body. He didn’t want the moment to end and he didn’t even want to blink to miss a millisecond of the action. “Take it, baby. C’mon—just like that. Take it.” It took a moment before he realized he was talking in a feminine voice—one that he’d never practised before in his life. His cheeks were suddenly a shade of red, without the help of any washable children’s markers.
He reached up and cupped one of his fake tits. He squeezed it hard as he rammed his DIY dildo into his ass. He was squirming, in a state of pure bliss. And then suddenly, his cock erupted and sprayed his body with warm goo. He hadn’t even touched it in minutes, but apparently some anal stimulation was enough.
And it wouldn’t stop. He just kept coming, coating that expensive dress in white cum. He groaned and squirmed and tilted his head back and pushed that dildo in just a little bit harder so that it was pressing perfectly against that sweet spot. Then that reality he was looking for finally found him.
He looked down and saw the cum stain on that nice dress, not to mention the oily lube stain on the red panties, or the little snag on the right breast cup when he’d been squeezing and digging in his nails.
He took it all off quickly and rushed it to his cleaning station. It was going to be a lot of work, but he could fix it. He could make it look as good as new, as if he’d never put it on and jerked off on it. His face was dark red as he carefully scrubbed away the jizz. He was beginning to lose himself to his new fetish, and he had a feeling it was only going to get worse.
CHAPTER V
Terry struggled to smile as the woman came to pick up her clothes. She placed the wardrobe bag down on the counter and took each item out individually. She looked at Terry for a moment with an unimpressed look and then she looked back down at the very dress Terry wore and came on. Terry’s heart stuttered. “Is everything okay?” he asked.
It took him over an hour to get that stain out, and miraculously he managed to do it without discolouring anything, at least as far as he could tell in his dimly lit apartment.
The woman kept staring at the dress. “It looks fine,” she said. And then she left the store, finally allowing Terry’s heart to beat again. He took a deep breath, and then one of his usual clients walked into the store: Sheila, a prostitute who worked around the block at a ‘massage parlour’, which was actually just a brothel.
Sheila went straight to her usual machine and shoved her whole sac of lingerie inside. Then she went across the street to grab a coffee while the cycle ran out. And Terry sat mesmerized by the spinning red and pink and purple lingerie inside of the machine. Every time the machine stopped for a brief moment, he could see a glimpse of what she wore the night before while getting rammed by God knows how many men. There was a purple one-piece that especially caught his eye: cut in a V-shape from the shoulders to the crotch. It looked like the perfect outfit for Sheila and her small, perky tits—and the perfect outfit for Terry and his non-existent tits.
When Sheila came back, Terry snapped out from his daze. He looked down at his newspaper and pretended like he’d never looked away. He didn’t look up again until he heard Sheila mutter, “Damnit. I think it’s just ruined.” She was holding up that purple outfit, looking at a small dark stain on the stomach.
“What’s wrong?” Terry asked.
She looked over and smiled. “Candle wax,” she said. “Should I just throw it out?”
Terry got up and walked over. He took the outfit from her and looked at it. “I can get this out with a bit of work.”
She laughed. “No offense, T, but I ain’t got the money for that.”
Terry smiled. “I’ll do it for free. It
’s a slow day anyway. When do you need it by?”
Sheila had a hesitant smile on her face. After a moment she shrugged her shoulders and said, “Okay, sure. Thanks. I’ll swing by tomorrow and grab it, if that’s okay. You sure you don’t mind fixing it for free?”
“Not at all,” Terry said with a big, red-cheeked smile. Sheila didn’t know that she was paying him, just not with money. She was feeding into his new fetish, his new addiction.
But the shop really was slow that afternoon—so slow that Terry decided to close down an hour early. He had nothing to take home with him except for that purple piece of lingerie, which he kept in a plastic bag. He was halfway home when he noticed the makeup store he walked by every day was still open. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen it open; usually, they didn’t open until after Terry and they always closed before he was finished work. In the window was a sign: ‘Half off old stock, today only.’ Terry’s heart stuttered. A bit of makeup would really bring his new addiction to the next level…
So he found himself in the store, wandering awkwardly down the isles of items that were completely alien to him. He bit his tongue when he came upon a section of makeup kits. Most of them were for teenagers who owned nothing, and some of them even came with instruction manuals for the different items: exactly what Terry needed.
One of the store clerks nearly made Terry jump into the air when she tapped on his shoulder. “Can I help you with anything?” she asked. Terry spun around, his heart pounding. He forced a smile.
Big Hard Girls Page 2
