Jet-lagged from years abroad, I drag my battered suitcase through neon-lit streets near the airport. No cash, evicted, straight to the curb. Nicolas’s building looms—tall, anonymous like a transit motel. Buzzer code forgotten. I slump on a bench, planes roaring overhead, corridor lights flickering in the lobby glass. Heart pounds with anonymity thrill. Tomorrow’s flight out, but tonight? Anything goes.
Hour ticks. He strides up, tall, gorgeous as ever. Smile cracks wide. ‘Joseph! What the fuck?’ Hugs tight. I spill: broke, homeless. ‘Mi casa es su casa,’ he grins. Elevator hums us up. Keycard beeps—his door swings. Apartment messy, city view twinkling runways. Beers flow, stories pour. His wife’s gone six months, divorce papers stacked. Two lonely dudes, arrosed, crashing happy.
The Layover: Chance Reunion in the Shadows
Days blur. I play housewife: scrub, cook, launder. His closet tempts. Mornings, he parades naked. Ass cheeks flex, cock swinging. Shower door wide open, water cascades. My dick hardens—first time for a guy. Jerk off in toilet to his image. Next day, same show. Tension crackles.
Alone, I raid her lingerie drawer. Pink lace panties hug my skin, electric. Bra fits perfect, no tits but who cares. Short dress clings, wig from old party stash. Mirror slut stares back—sexy Josephine born. Fantasize his cock splitting me. Change before he returns.
Weeks of secret dress-up. One morning, black lace set: string, triangle bra, thigh-highs under sheer dress. Makeup feminizes—lips plump, eyes smoky. Dance in living room, heart racing. Door clicks. He’s home early. Stares five meters away, eyes burning. I freeze.
He advances slow. Back to wall. Inches away, hand grips jaw, tongue invades mouth. Legs buckle. Grabs ass, grinds hard. Pushes down. Belt unbuckles, pants drop. Thick cock out, semi-hard. Head to lips. Mouth opens, he thrusts deep. Gags me, swells huge. Fucks face brutal, balls deep. Explodes hot jets down throat. Pulls out, zips up.
Crouches, hand under dress. ‘You loved it, perv.’ Fingers my rock-hard dick through lace. ‘New rules: no more man clothes. You’re my wife now. Stay in, please me only.’ Kisses loving, whispers, ‘Won’t regret.’ Leaves. Choice hits.
Tremble, but no urge to flee. No changing back. Mirror: messy slut, perfect. Freshen makeup, douche ass with his gift pear—warm water floods, cleans deep. Cook dinner, heels clicking on tile.
The Transit: From Tease to Total Submission
He returns, embraces. ‘Happy you’re here.’ Drags to table. ‘Papers first.’ Box for ID, cash; trash men’s clothes. Hesitate—he caresses cock, probes ass. Sign blindly: foreign script, post-its mark spots. ‘Trust me.’ Loves me, doubts melt.
Dumps trash, leaves. Gift: black douche bulb. ‘Be ready always.’ Fill, lube tip, slide in anus. Warm rush, expel clean. Repeat till pristine. Dinner ready. He storms kitchen, hungry eyes. Waist grab, kisses devour. Hands roam.
Bends me over table. Dress up, string aside. Tongue rims hole, sucks deep. Fingers invade—one, two, three—prostate zaps lightning. Begs. Cockhead presses, slams in raw. Pain flares, pleasure surges. Grips hips, pounds savage. Fills me cum-hot. Pulls out, couch flop.
‘Clean me.’ Head guided, lick cum-slick shaft. Sucks hard, revives him. Face-fucks again, second load swallowed. My blue balls ache. He edges cock slow, stops at brink. ‘Learn ass orgasms.’ Milks me finally—cum sprays dress, hand. Lick clean.
Bedtime: satin nightie, douche, crash in his bed. Wake entangled. Shower quick, douche ritual—love the full feeling. Nightie fresh, breakfast brews. He nude behind, strokes cock slow, neck bites. Edges to edge, denies. ‘Guests today. Serve them all.’ Whispers promise, gone.
Frustrated, dress nude: flesh lingerie, light dress. Mirror glows. Runway lights pulse outside. Day looms wild—transit peak. Tomorrow? Who knows. This stopover owns me.