PAN GRANDE PELICULAS: February 2011

I found her waiting for me in a bar at the airport. Her flight had arrived a bit early (stunner) and I had trouble finding parking, so she'd been there for about fifteen minutes and was enjoying a glass of wine.

"Sara," she said when I walked in, calling me by my feminine name though I was not entirely feminine at the time, not in a skirt and heels, as she was. I was feminine enough, though, enough that she knew it immediately. My outfit looked androgynous, but it was feminine indeed, women's clothes on a boy, a soft, feminine boy, a mix, her love. I had worn a lilac blouse and women's black trousers.

My hair is not this long, but with nail gel and very faint makeup, I was certainly not going to be mistaken for a masculine guy. You'll ask, so, yes, women's shoes, too, though again, not overtly so:

Under? I decided to forgo a bra; I tried and it was too obvious. But panties were a must, control type, to hide and keep the blasted cage in place, as were sheer black trouser socks, knee highs really, (saving a more appropriate outfit for when we got home.)

So that was me. Emily? She traveled in a skirt suit, similar to the one the model is wearing above.

Enough about fashion?

Emily, fuck, Emily. She looked so hot, so pretty, so amazing, so wonderful (and a little tired) after not seeing her for three weeks.

We embraced, the embrace of friends and lovers, of lost souls.

"I missed you so much, Emily."

"I missed you, too, Sara," she whispered back in my ear.

"I...you didn't answer last night," I could not help myself, could not help.

"It was late, love, and I texted." True, she did.

"What...what happened," I blurted out, already swelling in the stupid cage.

"Sara, Sara," she put her hand up, silencing me. "This isn't the time or place, love."

I bit my lip; she was right, of course she was right.

"You look very nice," she said, motioning me to sit while she finished her drink, implicitly approving the clothing I'd worn.

"Thank you, I...I wanted to wear something, um, cute." I leaned forward so as to whisper, "I wanted to be feminine and I didn't want to wear any boy clothes."

She reached across the table, touched my hand. "You felt more feminine while I was gone, I appreciate the effort thought, sweetie, I dressed up for you, too.

"You look amazing, Emily, I mean, wow."

"I feel like I gained ten pounds."

"Well, you must have checked that piece of luggage because you look amazing."

"I don't know, but I'm going on a crash diet."

"Tomorrow, I hope, I'm planning dinner."

"Are you?"

"Yes, I thought I'd make, I've been planning, a five course meal, small dishes, so you could unpack and unwind as I cooked."

"I think that's a great idea."

And so, to speed ahead a bit, I cooked, she unpacked, we ate in between. I stayed locked, and her lips stayed sealed about Dallas.

I have to mention, of course, that Sara cooked. Not androgynous Sara, but real Sara. Skirt replaced trousers, stockings replaced socks, heels replaced low shoes.

As we sat down to the last course, Emily sat across from me and I asked once again.

"So, last night?"

"After dinner, Sara, after dinner."

*****

After dinner.

After dinner, Emily said she wanted to freshen up from traveling, from unpacking. "Why don't you put on something pretty, lover, light some candles, pour some wine, while I take a shower and do the same."

It was becoming difficult to go on, the swelling, the anticipation, the need to know, but I did.

And so I dressed in pretty lingerie for my lover, feminine, soft, the opposite of him, of Todd, of the once she was flirting and touching and who was...

Had to stop thinking, had to stop swelling.

And then Emily walked out of the bathroom and all the thoughts and anticipation came crashing down on me the second I saw what she was wearing.

It wasn't the robe, the silver satin with lace lining. It was pretty, but that wasn't it, that wasn't what drove me to the edge of sanity.

It was what was underneath, the sheer bra and panty set, the sheer bra and panty set she said she was wearing the other day when she was with Todd, the sheer bra and panty set he saw her in, touched her in, the sheer lingerie that were the only thing between her body and his cock, that she got wet in, that she touched him with, that she teased him with, that she made him cum on, that sheer bra and panty set.

That's what I saw as she tied her robe closed and walked slowly to the bed.

"Hon, before we talk about Dallas, we need to talk about the cage."

"What about the cage?"

"I want you to wear it for one more day."

"EMILY! I have not seen you for THREE WEEKS, I want to..."

"Now hear me out, Sara," she said. "I know, I know, I want to make love, too, believe me, I do. You've been so feminine these three weeks and I've missed that and, well, I want to make love to you, to that part of you, to Sara."

"But Em, I...I want to," I looked down, ashamed, "I want to cum."

"As Sara."

"Please, Emily." Oddly, for the first time, I was not swollen, I mean, I should be, but I wasn't."

She reached out, touched my leg though the stockings I had on. "Don't let the boy part of you out tonight, Sara, tonight I need a woman."

I wanted out, I wanted out, I wanted out!!!!

She scooted up on the bed and her robe came partially open, exposing her panties and my eyes were drawn to them, to the sheerness, and naughty things quickly ran through my mind.

"You've always liked these panties, haven't you?"

"Yes," I whispered.

"He liked them, too."

I sucked in a breath, rapid, unconscious, sucked it in as the swelling began again, immediate, powerful, trapped.

"Yes, Sara, these are the ones I wore on my date last week."

"Last night, did you...did you..."

"He came over last night, Sara, he came over and we had a nice quite dinner and some wine."

My eyes remained on her panties, staring not at her womanhood beneath, but the panties themselves. "What did you do," I managed to ask.

"Sara?"

"Huh," I asked, eyes fixated on the sheer cloth covering her.

"I missed your mouth, lover."

"Hgh."

"Nobody ever worships my body like you do."

"What...what did you do last night," I asked again, still looking down.

"Not much, we ate and talked about the training and sat on the couch...messed around a little..."

The sharp intake or breath. Crap, that was from me. And I still would not look up at her, I was still focused on the panties.

"Did you miss licking me, Sara."

"Ohhhh," I gasped yet again, just melting, just putty.

"Did you miss your tongue teasing me through my panties?"

"Yes." A squeak, a mouse, hardly audible. "Messed...messed around?"

"Like a man and a woman Sara."

"Did you...did you..."

She interrupted me. "I want your tongue, Sara, fuck, even when he was touching me, I thought of your tongue."

"Did you..."

"Stop staring, Sara, lick me, lick me."

I was shaking, did she fuck him, that's what I wanted to ask, did she?

"Emily," I moaned, on my hands and knees, crawling towards her, up her legs, towards her panties. She was right, she always was, I not only liked licking her, I loved licking her, I loved licking her panties, nothing made me hotter than tasting her through silk or satin or nylon.

I was closer; I could smell her, the wetness now. Not always before I touched her or played with her, but not, obvious, the musk, the wetness, the excitement.

"Sara, look at me."

I paused, mouth only inches from her, the pain in my groin overwhelmed by my lust for her, looked up in her eyes. "What," I asked, hardly able to resist moving the last few inches.

"I did not wash them."

Our eyes locked. She stared at me, saw the understanding in my face, the silent communication. She did not wash them since last week, since her date, since she was on top of Todd, since she teased him, since he made her cum, since she returned the favor.

She did not wash them.

The musk wasn't just her, it was him, too, his scent, his body, his fluids.

His cum.

She did not wash them and by asking me, by telling me, she wanted me to lick her though her panties, was telling me to lick him, too.

"You...you don't have to..."

I pushed myself forward, could not help, could not resist, had to, needed to, wanted to, tongue out, mouth open, desperate.

Didn't have to? Of course I didn't have to, but the thing was I could not resist. After three weeks, night after night of thinking about her, day after day of chastity, feminized almost constantly, I wanted her.

And the dirty little secret?

I wanted him, too.

Cum.

Todd's cum was on her panties.

A week old to be sure, barely visible, but there.

In texture, the slight crust. In smell, the musk.

I dove it.

And she rewarded me with an immediate shake, an immediate spasm, immediate pleasure.

I dove in an licked.

She was right, generally, day to day, I LOVED licking her through her panties. I started, often, love making with kisses and touching and massaging, but when I finally got there, when foreplay got serious, I would gently, lightly, then passionately, lick her, through her panties.

This was no different.

Except I started there.

Except her panties were soiled with him.

"We messed around," she whispered.

"Oh, Emily," I moaned, licking more vigorously. Licking her. Licking him.

Yes, I was ashamed of what I was doing.

But that only made it more erotic, more compelling.

She talked, I licked.

"We messed around, but it isn't the same as with you, Sara."

"I know," I licked, I looked up.

"He touched me and all I could think about was you."

She talked, I licked, she shuddered.

"It was just like last Friday, my soft, sweet, lover, we were on my couch drinking wine."

Painting a mental picture.

"I wanted to...to...I told him I'd be right back, went to go get us each another glass of wine. But I stopped by my bedroom first, put on that cranberry babydoll you bought for me, brought the wine back wearing just that.

I was shaking, too, imagining her easily in the lingerie. The lingerie I'd bought for her.

"I think his tongue fell out of his mouth, lover."

Of course it would, she was beautiful. I'd seen her in that very lingerie and she was beautiful.

"Fuck, Emily, he said. I giggled. Fuck, indeed. His eyes were burning into me and, and, having a man stare at me was so, god, felt so good, you understand, Sara? You're the love of my life, but sometimes I, sometimes a man..."

"Emily," I shook, licking her stomach, her panties, her thighs.

"You're safe and soft and sweet and perfect, but not a man."

"Emily," I shook again. "Please, did you...did you..."

"He wasn't like you at all. He was rough and awkward, different. Men are so...so different."

"Did you?"

"You use your mouth, he used his hands. He knew that. How to...how to make me," she bit her lip. "Cum."

"Ohhhhhhhh." I could not help it, I licked her again, through the panties. Again. Wet now, from her, from my mouth, wet, her, wet, him.

"Off, Sara, off, tongue."

I obliged, slipped the panties off her. If I wasn't locked up, I don't know that I could have used my mouth again, that boy part of me, that little part that was a boy, just may have taken over.

But I was locked up. So I licked her again, bare now, my tongue directly on her, making her orgasm in seconds.

"Did you," I asked again.

"I was on top of him, he had wasted no time undressing this time. On top of him, his cock, fuck, his cock, Sara, his cock. Sliding over me, cock, thinking of you, feeling his cock. He wanted me so badly, Sara, he wanted to fuck me."

"Emily," I was dizzy, the room spinning.

"The cabinet in the garage, under the plastic bin on the top on the left."

"What," I asked. "What?"

"The key, Sara."

"What?"

"He made me cum again. I just rubbed on his cock and he made me cum again."

I was panting, hardly able to breath, panting, licking, confined. "Emily, did he..."

"The key, under the bin."

"Key?"

"To the cage, Sara. That's where I hid it."

The key. That key.

"Get it, Sara, get it. Get it now."

I was torn. I wanted to shout, did you fuck him, but the key, she was offering me the key, now. She said I had to wait, but here it was, I could grasp it, here it was, release, orgasm, everything.

"I..." The garage. I was only in lingerie. Stockings. The garage. The cold garage.

"Are...are you sure."

"Get the key. Now. Please, now."

I needed no more. I quickly got up, to put on slippers to go the garage. While getting slippers, I saw her reach for the top drawer of her night stand, open it, pull out a vibrator. I paused in the doorway, watched her move it between her legs, heard it start. Fuck, oh fuck, fuck.

Watched her touch herself.

"Key, Sara," she hissed.

Fuck.

Her garage, as always, was fucking freezing. I went to the cabinet, opened it, rummaged around. Key, where was the key? Which bin? Yes, top. Top shelf, left.

There, there it was, fuck, there it was. Oh fuck, three weeks, there it was.

I took it, looked down. Irony, for the first time since I saw here, I was not swollen. The cold garage, the focus on finding the key, I was small, now, shrunken. I suppose I should have brought the key back to her, but I was afraid I'd swell again the second I saw her. In fact, I thought of her, the vibrator, and felt it already.

I hesitated no more and unlocked the lock and took off the horrid cage.

The response was immediate, the flow of blood, the freedom.

The swelling was immediate.

And urges irresistible.

I touched myself.

STOP!

My brain screamed.

STOP!

Yes, yes, stop.

I just put it all in the cabinet. The key, the lock, the cage, the other parts to it. All of it.

I put it back and practically ran back into the house, ran back to her.

She was fucking herself with the vibrator. She heard me, continued.

"I wanted to him to fuck me," she said when she sensed me in the doorway.

"Did he, Emily, did he?"

She did not answer, could not, she was too close, fucking herself, too close to orgasm. The spasms, the shaking, the moaning.

Too close.

I was on the bed, watching, vibrator as substitute for cock. In and out. Seeing the vibrator thinking of his cock.

I licked.

I licked her as she fucked herself.

And when she took it out of herself and touched her clit with it, I licked again. The vibrator this time.

I licked it and opened my mouth and took it in like a woman would a cock.

The vibrator covered with her, tasting of her.

Sucked it.

Like a cock.

She saw, she watched, she shook.

She watched her lover, her sissy, eagerly suck the vibrator like a woman would a cock.

"Do you really want to know, Sara?"

I looked up, vibrator/cock in my mouth.

"Do you really want to know if he fucked me?"

I tasted her. Imagined him. Tasted her, imagined his cock in my mouth, wet with her, imagined licking her cum off his cock as I was now licking her cum off the vibrator.

"What if he didn't? What if he did?"

Did I want to know? She fucked Evan, I'm sure, right? But did she really? Did she fuck Todd, too? Did I want to know, for sure? Would I rather imagine it every day? Wouldn't the fantasy be more powerful?

What if she didn't? Would that make it better or worse? Would I beg her to do it? Did she want to?

This all ran through my mind in an instant. Fantasy or reality? What was the reality?

I was torn. Did I want to know?

A second instant passed.

Cock still in my mouth, tasting her, looking at her.

"I want you inside me."

I think by hesitating I answered her question. I don't think I did want to know. Fuck, I think I liked the tease more than anything else. And she knew. She knew all along.

I don't know if she fucked him or not. I know she messed around with him.

Messed around quite a bit.

But did she fuck him?

Did she feel his cock inside her?

I wanted her to, or at least, I thought I wanted her to.

Yes, I wanted to say yes, to have her say yes, that yes, she fucked him.

Didn't I?

But I hesitated and now she said she wanted to feel me inside her.

Three weeks in chastity.

Three weeks of torment.

Three weeks without control of my own orgasm.

And now she wanted me inside her.

Suddenly I was.

In a fluid movement, I was on top of her, kissing her, inside her, the wet, warmth, familiar feeling of the love of my life.

It took mere seconds. I knew it would, wished it were different.

But I made her cum over and over not by being inside her like a man, but by making love to her like a woman.

I did not want to be her man, I could not be her man.

Maybe he did fuck her, I assume he did, but I did not know.

Seconds, mere seconds.

And explosion.

No hope of holding back.

"I love you so much, Sara," she whispered in my ear as the waves crashed around me, her whisper making them more powerful and more erotic and full of love and emotion.

I don't know, the question was not answered.

I don't know.

I think, but I don't know.

I think he fucked her, but I don't know.

He may not have, but I don't know.

"I love you, Emily. I love you."