Lingerie

She told me that if I wanted her ass, I’d have to earn it. What I didn’t expect was for her to show up at my door on New Year’s Eve, suitcase in hand and giving orders.

For four days the little paper with his number burned in my pocket. Every night I remembered that wetness dripping out, and I knew I was going to call.

I gave him thirty days to prove he was good for something. On the first night I wouldn’t let him touch himself: only light a candle, obey, and wait for my punishment.

I did my makeup, chose the tightest black dress, and went down to the restaurant knowing that night with the other couple wouldn’t end at the table.

I practiced in front of the mirror for weeks. The night I packed the dress into my backpack, I knew there was no turning back: this time it would be real.

I asked for just one thing for the last night: to dance. What happened after that, in the cabin at the end of the corridor, I told no one.

I walked into the suite expecting a frightened woman. I never imagined what was hiding under that long skirt, or how eagerly she meant to show me.

I’d given her permission to let them watch us. What I didn’t expect was for her to pull the curtain herself and move my hand aside to put hers there.

I booked the empty time slot and wore the tightest T-shirt I owned. What I didn’t expect was to find two men waiting for me on the tatami.

“I want to see something new,” He said from the chair. And I already knew exactly how I was going to surprise Him, even if it meant dragging Vera with me.

The air in the room had become unbreathable when He looked at us and said that night we had to prove how far we were willing to go for his pleasure.

It took only slipping the heel off my heel for him to stop looking me in the eyes. And I discovered how much power could fit on the tip of one foot.

For years his wife called me “the mistress.” But I never was. I was his sex worker, and this is the truth she never wanted to hear.

I bought black stockings with my heart in my throat, knowing that once I locked my apartment door I’d become the woman I’d been imagining all day.

I don’t know who you are or where you are, but as I write this I imagine you reading me, and that idea is exactly what’s soaking my thong.

After midnight I put on the red heels, opened the gate with the remote, and went out for a walk. I only wanted to feel seen. I didn’t expect someone to stop.

As soon as I heard her keys fighting the lock, I knew I’d have to play it cool. What I didn’t know was that she’d come home determined not to let me off the hook.

I’m a closet tranny. I’d spent months obeying his emails when he wrote that he’d be coming to my city, and I knew that afternoon he’d do with me everything he had ordered.

He called me as evening fell to warn me he’d be late. By then I’d already started getting ready: the wig, the makeup, the plug. Only him was missing.

That night I put on the red thong, the fishnets, and the wig in front of the hotel mirror, and for the first time I didn’t recognize the same old boy.