[13:20]
Hey
Looking cute mate
[13:50]
Hey!
Thanks
How are you doing?
[13:51]
No worries
I’m ok – horny at work
Hbu?
[14:15]
Haha
I’m horny too
Looking to meet?
[14:15]
Yeah
Come round mine later?
I’m in Canada Water
Are you into BDSM?
Lol
Stephan stood outside the building he’d been tracking down on Google Maps. It was a tall glass and steel new-build stretching up at least thirty storeys, designed in a cylindrical shape that looked like an enormous dick penetrating the London sky. Banners advertising shared ownership – own 25% of your home for only £160,000! – flapped in the wind. He looked down at his shoes, noting that his left trainer had a hole in the toe, and wondered if the concierge in the shining marble lobby would stop him if he tried to follow someone inside.
[20:24]
Hey
I’m outside
How do I get in?
He shivered – he had only worn a t-shirt and denim jacket in expectation that he would be spending the evening naked anyway, but the long tube journey and the waiting were always the part of hook ups he forgot about. Each time, the sex took primacy in his planning and the to-and-from, the lingering, the uncertainty, was quickly forgotten about in anticipation of the next fuck. He thought about what he’d be doing as soon as this guy – Michael, was it? – let him in and became aware of his cunt getting wet. They had agreed that Michael would tie Stephan up like a piece of meat, whip him with his belt and fuck all three of his holes.
[20:29]
Press the buzzer for flat 246
To the right of the glass doors
Then take the lift to the 24th floor
Stephan pressed the buzzer and was immediately let into the building. Michael must be standing by his flat’s entry phone, waiting for him to call up. He might even have a hard-on already, based on the sexting they’d been doing all afternoon while Michael had been sending photos of his hard dick from his work toilets with captions like “you’re distracting me – you’ll be punished for this later.”
As predicted, the concierge glanced down at his shoes then back up at his face as though ready to ask if he had come to the right building, if he was here to see someone, but Stephan walked towards the lifts without giving the concierge time to stop him.
Entering the lift, he checked his appearance in the mirrored wall. He looked good. His dirty-blonde hair sat in romantic curls and he had shaved his face earlier that day, giving him a smooth and cherubic look that he knew men like Michael liked. They liked cute, boyish, vulnerable. Stephan gave these cis men what they wanted – a carefully curated image that appeared entirely natural. The thrill was in making the performance look effortless, like he hadn’t spent an hour shaving his legs, armpits, pubes, and stomach and that he always existed out there, somewhere, as a perfect fuckable fantasy they could utilise as and when they felt like it. He loved playing this role, his role, and he loved doing it well.
The lift arrived at the twenty-fourth floor and Stephan snapped out of his thoughts, leaving the lift and walking down the silent corridor to Michael’s flat.
[20:33]
I’m outside your door
Let me in please
[20:33]
Why don’t you knock?
It’s polite
Be a good boy for me
Stephan’s face flushed. Be a good boy for me. He knocked, and Michael opened the door immediately, he had obviously been waiting. He was still wearing his work clothes – a crisp white shirt and black suit trousers, but no tie or jacket. He worked in something like property or advertising or consultancy, he had mentioned it to impress Stephan but Stephan hadn’t remembered the details, only the fact that Michael was obviously wealthy. He was broadly attractive, in his forties, bald with a closely-trimmed dark beard. Michael obviously and luxuriously looked Stephan up and down, like he was evaluating Stephan’s worth.
“Come in then. Go straight ahead and sit on the sofa. Wait for me,” Michael stood to the side, Stephan must have passed the evaluation. The thought travelled down Stephan’s spine and into his cunt, making his clit throb.
Stephan did as he was told. The flat was pristine, with an open-plan kitchen and living space and views towards the Thames. Canary Wharf, with its banks and offices, glittered across the water. Stephan sat down and began to touch himself through his jeans. He could feel a damp patch on his crotch where his cunt was getting wet, and imagined how he looked, alone and vulnerable in this expensive flat with a man who was about to use him like a toy.
Michael had been taking his time to join him, but was now emerging through the door holding leather handcuffs, ankle cuffs and a collar with leash attached. Stephan looked at Michael’s crotch and saw his suit trousers were pulled tight against an erection.
“Get undressed, and then I’m going to put these on you,” Michael held up the restraints, and glanced down at where Stephan was rubbing himself, “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself, you little whore. You’re going to get my belt on your ass for that.”
Stephan looked at him – Michael stood confidently in the doorway, shoulders back and head held up. Some men were all talk but then you got to their place and they were suddenly shy and embarrassed to even spank you, as though you’d judge them for it after you spent the day asking to be pissed and spat on and all number of things worse than a spanking. Michael didn’t have this air about him, but then Stephan thought about earlier, when it had been obvious Michael had been waiting by the entry phone for him like a dog, and felt a sliver of disgust creep up his throat. He swallowed it back down.
“Yes sir,” Stephan said.
He got up and took his jacket off, then his t-shirt over his head. He felt Michael’s eyes on him and anticipated the moment he’d see his top surgery scars in two graceful arcs below his pecs. There was an imperceptible shift in men’s eyes when they saw the scars and remembered that Stephan had once been a woman – somehow a bigger reminder than him having a cunt. Stephan had always wondered if the scars betrayed the work of transition when he was trying to sell them on the fantasy of transition, the fantasy being that he had been born as a boy with a cunt to be fucked.
He took off his trousers and turned around so Michael could see his ass in the jockstrap. Michael, still stood in the doorway, let out something between a growl and a moan. Stephan smiled to himself in satisfaction. Slowly, he bent over and pulled the jockstrap down his thighs, calves, and onto the floor, before standing up again with his back deliberately arched. The jock strap was wet from Stephan rubbing himself and he knew Michael could see his cunt dripping with arousal.
Michael walked behind him, smart work shoes clicking across the floor, and put one hand firmly on Stephan’s ass and the other around his stomach, drawing him backwards against Michael’s body. Stephan gasped at the sudden intimacy – Michael’s body was warm and strong with his beard brushed against Stephan’s neck. He smelt of sweat and cologne and his dick was pressing through his trousers against Stephan’s ass, tantalisingly close to rubbing against his cunt. Stephan arched his back further, enjoying showing his own desperation and trying to press himself into Michael’s dick.
“You’re a desperate little whore, aren’t you?” Michael said into his ear, “You love this. You love being a dirty little boy for men like me.”
“Yes daddy,” Stephan gasped as Michael’s hand slid down his stomach, he loved being held like this, being small and fragile in a man’s hands, just as he was meant to be, “Do you like what you see?”
“You’re my fucking fantasy. Fucking nasty little boy all worked up for my cock, arching your back for me like a slut.”
Michael’s hand was reaching down Stephan’s freshly-shaved crotch, making Stephan moan and press himself harder against Michael’s dick. He could feel his clit throbbing – he was a fucking nasty little boy all worked up for Michael’s cock, he was whatever Michael, sir, daddy, wanted him to be. He could become any man’s fucking fantasy, shed his skin like a snake and reform himself for ready the next one-night stand. Living permanently in their memories as their one perfect fuck with the perfect trans boy who was perfectly submissive and pliant for them. The thought alone nearly brought Stephan to orgasm.
Michael stroked his fingers over Stephan’s cunt, causing Stephan to moan and writhe under him. Stephan bucked his hips against Michael’s hand, feeling his rough fingers brushing against his hard clit and throwing his head back onto Michael’s shoulder. Michael placed his palm firmly over Stephan’s cunt and let him rub against it while he kissed Stephan’s neck, biting Stephan like he owned him and could use him how he wanted. He pressed a finger almost into Stephan’s cunt, making him moan louder, before pulling his hand away.
“I said I was going to punish you, you can’t have too much fun just yet,” Michael picked up the handcuffs – Stephan could hear the clink of chains behind him – and grabbed Stephan by the hair, pushing him over the arm of the sofa. Stephan felt him grip one of his wrists and slide a leather cuff on.
While Michael was tightening the cuff, Stephan raised his head to look at his reflection in the window. He saw himself bent over the sofa with his curly hair attractively dishevelled, with his slender shoulders pulled back and his ass in the air. Michael stood behind him, still dressed but now, Stephan noticed, with his hard cock pulled out of his flies – Stephan could see the pale flesh reflected in the darkness of the window. The London skyline layered over their reflections and it looked as though Stephan was bent over not the sofa, but over the city itself. Michael loomed over the skyline, impossibly large and powerful. He was the image of a commanding Dom standing fully dressed and in control over his naked, vulnerable sub, giving orders and doling out punishments. Everything was as it should be and they were both in their roles.
Except it wasn’t – Michael seemed to be struggling to get the second handcuff fastened around Stephan’s wrist.
“I think the buckle is broken or something,” Michael fidgeted with it, tightening and untightening the strap, “Sorry, hang on, give me a second.”
There was silence as Michael continued to adjust the handcuff. Stephan looked at him in the window’s reflection and now saw Michael hunched over, face brought up close against the uncooperative restraint in concentration. He could feel Michael’s breath on his back. The previous feeling of disgust began to creep up Stephan’s throat and into his mouth again, peeling into a sneer as Michael continued to fidget. He suddenly looked revolting to Stephan like this – out of control and nervous, apologising to him. It was all wrong.
“Sorry, I think it’s broken. I don’t know what to do,” Michael said, standing up with his hands on his hips. His dick was now flaccid. This was too much for Stephan to bear.
“Are you fucking joking?” Stephan snapped, turning his head back towards Michael, “You’re apologising to me? Are you kidding me?”
“What are you talking abou-”
“No, you understand that we both have roles to play here. We both know this, we both signed up to this,” Stephan brought his hands forward and pushed himself up from the sofa, “Do you see me? Look at me, look at the work I’ve put in for you – I’m your fucking fantasy and this is how you’re repaying me?”
Michael took a step back, suddenly feeling quite small in front of Stephan, who was now facing him with a look of revulsion on his face.
“It’s just a handcuff, it’s fine, we can use a tie or something if you want,” Michael said sheepishly, “I’m sorry, can we try again?”
In response to this second apology, this second display of unforgiveable weakness, Stephan took a step forward and placed his hands around Michael’s neck. He did not squeeze – yet – but he needed to show Michael that what he was doing was wrong and needed correction. He must play his role as the Dom top with the same effort and commitment that Stephan played the sub bottom, and if he would not do that, it was only right that he was disciplined until he did. It was not the first time Stephan had had to correct a Dom in this way, and indeed in his experience, most Doms could find their way into playing their roles again with some gentle correction.
“You are fucking up, a Dom never apologises to the sub,” Stephan said. Michael was afraid of him, it was obvious, and Stephan felt a thrill rush through him as he realised this gave him more scope to correct Michael’s behaviour. Stephan began to squeeze his neck, feeling the heat of Michael’s skin and the quick thud of his pulse under his hands. Michael did not fight back. His eyes, locked with Stephan’s, began to glaze over as he ran out of oxygen and he slowly sank to his knees.
Michael’s face was flushed and almost pretty by the time Stephan loosened his grip. He watched Michael cough and gasp for breath and his feet, and noticed that his dick was erect again, perhaps even harder than it had been previously. Another wave of disgust flooded up from Stephan’s throat as the lesson would not work if Michael was enjoying himself.
“You’re revolting. You make a promise that you can’t keep and play at something you’re not, and then you get hard when you’re called out on it.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Michael looked up at him – his eyes were watery, whether from lack of oxygen or shame, Stephan wasn’t sure.
Stephan was, however, sure that Michael needed to be choked again as he had not learned his lesson about apologising. He wrapped his hands around Michael’s neck and began to squeeze, at first gently, almost tenderly, and Michael’s eyes rolled back in pleasure. This was nauseating to Stephan, so he squeezed harder until Michael couldn’t breathe at all.
“You aren’t listening to me. You need to dominate me – we both need you to dominate me, because that’s the way it has to be. You’re cis and I’m trans, you’re the dick and I’m the cunt. That’s the way it is. You need to be a man, and you need to be cruel to me, because I’m not a man in the same way as you, and men have to dominate anything that isn’t like them. Do you understand me?”
Michael couldn’t respond as he couldn’t breathe. He did, however, jerk his hips forward a couple of times, as though thrusting into an invisible hole. Stephan squeezed his neck tighter and felt his airway compress tighter under his hands. Michael’s head rolled backward and his eyes closed – he looked both completely helpless and on the verge of ecstasy. His cock twitched as his hips jerked forward, dripping precum onto Stephan’s foot.
All of Stephan’s focus and sensitivity had now travelled from his cunt and into his hands, which were acting as sensual organs in their own right. Michael’s skin felt rough against his fingertips and his beard brushed the top of his thumbs, sending waves of heat and arousal up through his arms and into his chest. It was up to Stephan when Michael would come up for air, if Stephan allowed him to ever come up for air again. He loosened his grip for a second and Michael gasped, reminding Stephan of an animal saved from drowning. Stephan spat in Michael’s face as punishment for this and in response, Michael moaned and jerked his hips again, fucking an imaginary hole as he came all over Stephan’s legs.
Stephan let go of his neck and let him fall to the floor, dick hanging out of his flies and eyes rolled back in his head. He wiped Michael’s cum off his legs with his hands, then wiped his hands on Michael’s pristine sofa. He was done here. He removed the single cuff from his wrist and picked his clothes off the floor while Michael regained consciousness, slowly pushing his head off the floor until he sat, dazed, staring up at Stephan.
“You fucking cis men are all the same, you know,” Stephan didn’t look at him as he pulled his bag over his shoulder, “You like to play at being what you should be, but you never quite get there. You never quite are, you dance around the edges of it, but you never get in it You’re scared to commit to your whole self to something. That’s why you all like trans guys, I think: We’ve committed to something.”
Michael didn’t reply to this, but he looked away from Stephan and leant his head against the wall. Stephan stepped around him and walked out of the flat, into the mirrored, silent lift, and down the lobby. As he was leaving, the concierge called out to him – “Excuse me, sir, do you belong here?” – but Stephan did not give him a response. He was already gone.
***
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