My Secret as a Cross-Dresser Exposed in My Shop

What happened was inevitable. There’s a saying that if you look, you’ll find, and I had been looking nonstop for months. I took such risks with my adventures — with Sonia, with Andrés, with Tomás, whom I’ll tell you about another time — that Rodrigo, or more precisely, my ex Rodrigo, eventually found me. In my secret room. With Andrés inside me to the hilt.

Rodrigo always had a good nose for these things. I never understood how he got there that afternoon, if he was supposedly in a work meeting until seven. But he came. And he found me at the worst possible moment, which was also the best: with another man’s cock splitting me in two.

Andrés is the delivery driver for my shop. Quiet, punctual, discreet, with the kind of face that doesn’t draw attention but, up close, has something hypnotic about it. What nature gave him between the legs is the last thing you’d expect from someone so reserved: twenty-three well-measured centimeters of thick, veiny cock, with a broad head like a closed fist. The first time I saw it I thought he wouldn’t be able to get it into me. He could. With time and patience and plenty of lubricant, my pussy always found a way to swallow it whole.

Rodrigo is no slouch either. Let’s be clear: what hangs between his legs is no joke. But compared to Andrés, it’s the difference between a kitchen knife and a machete. Both cut. The slice isn’t the same. Rodrigo’s cock filled me; Andrés’s wrecked me.

My lingerie shop has a room nobody knows about. It’s behind my office bathroom, with access also from the service alley I share with the businesses in the arcade. I set it up years ago for exactly this: a space of my own, without prying eyes, without awkward questions. My employees spend eight hours a day in that place and none of them knows that room exists. It has a firm bed, good ventilation, and a lock that only opens with my key. It was perfect.

That afternoon I gave Andrés our usual signal when I passed close to him checking inventory: two soft knocks on the frame of the back door. He barely looked up, gave the tiniest nod. That was enough between us. Then I told Claudia, my manager, that I was going to rest in the office and that they were not to interrupt me under any circumstances.

When I opened the door to the room, Andrés was already there. Lying on the bed with his arms behind his head, completely naked, his cock standing hard against his stomach, throbbing, with a clear drop hanging from the tip. That enormous cock that still challenges me every time I see it, no matter how many times I’ve been with him, made me clench my thighs the second I closed the door. I took off my jacket, hung it on the hook behind the door, and walked over slowly, taking off my blouse, bra, skirt, and panties along the way.

I kissed him on the neck, the clavicle, the chest. I went down without haste, nibbling every inch of skin, because the favorite part of being with Andrés is exactly that: the road before you get there. I licked his nipples until they hardened, kept going down over his flat stomach, over that line of hair that led to the nest of black hair where his cock rose, waiting for me. I took it first with both hands — both, because one wasn’t enough to encompass it — appreciating the weight, the temperature, the firmness of that hot flesh pounding against my palm. I ran my tongue from the base to the tip, following a thick vein that ran underneath it. I gathered the drop of pre-cum with my tongue and tasted it slowly, looking him in the eyes.

—Suck it —he said softly, with that rasp that comes out when the blood is no longer reaching his head.

I opened my mouth as wide as I could and took it in. I could only fit the head and the first few centimeters, but that was enough to hear the guttural sound he makes deep in his throat when I’m doing it right. I heard it. I kept going. I sucked and licked and used both hands to work what my mouth couldn’t reach, going up and down with saliva dripping down my chin and falling onto his balls. I took one into my mouth, then the other, while I kept jerking him with my hand closed around the base. I went back to the tip, wrapped it with my lips, let him push to the back of my throat until I felt myself gag and my eyes filled with tears. I pulled back for a second, took a breath, went down again. I was drooling, my chin shining, and he looked down at me with a half-lost expression, jaw tight.

—Enough —he said—. Get up here before I come in your mouth.

I applied lubricant generously, more than any normal person would consider necessary, because with Andrés there’s never too much. I slicked my pussy with two fingers, feeling how wet I already was on my own, and then I ran a hand full of lubricant all over his cock until it shone. I got on top of him in a squat, my knees buried in the mattress on either side of his hips. I took his cock in one hand, rested it against the opening of my pussy, spread my lips with the fingers of the other hand, and started lowering myself centimeter by centimeter.

The first contact is always the same: resistance, the thick head forcing its way in, a sharp stab of pain that shoots up my back when the ring gives way, and then the moment the body decides to accept it. I bit my lip until I drew blood. I closed my eyes. Kept lowering myself, feeling how each inch of that cock made its way inside me, forcing walls that already knew the route but rediscovered it every time. I let out a long moan when his pubic bone met mine and all of his cock lived inside me, reaching a place no other man had ever reached.

Once I had him fully inside, the pain dissolved into something completely different. I started moving slowly, rising almost to the tip and then lowering myself all the way down again, searching for the rhythm I know by heart. Andrés put his hands on my hips, guiding me without forcing, letting me set the pace. He grabbed my tits, pinched my nipples between thumb and forefinger until I cried out, and dug his nails into my ass while I impaled myself on him again and again. The sounds coming out of me were not fake. They never are with him. It was sloshing down there, my cunt soaked, shiny cock going in and out, the bed creaking every time I fell onto him. I was completely lost in it — the heat, the weight, the exact pressure in the exact place, with the head of that cock pounding the bottom of my womb on every descent — when I heard the click of the lock.

I froze.

The door opened slowly. And in the doorway, with the alley light behind him, was Rodrigo.

He stayed still for several seconds that felt like minutes. His eyes moved over the scene with almost clinical slowness: me on top of Andrés, speared to the base, with another man’s cock showing between my spread thighs every time I rose. No possible way to hide anything. I wanted to move, pull away, but Andrés’s body stayed where it was and mine kept responding, moving as if I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t. My inner muscles were tightening on their own around that cock and my hips kept searching for the angle. Andrés didn’t stop either. He gripped my ass with both hands and drove up into me, burying himself completely, tearing a groan from me that I couldn’t hold back even with my ex watching me.

Rodrigo came in. He closed the door behind him. He walked up to the bed and gave me an open-handed slap that made white flashes burst in front of my eyes. I tasted blood, metallic on my lip. He called me everything, a stream of insults — slut, fucking whore, pig, filthy bitch — and among them the one that weighed the most was the simplest: whore.

When I got my bearings back, I looked him in the eyes and said the only thing that came to mind at that moment:

—Do you charge him commission too, or only the clients you bring me?

Rodrigo didn’t answer with words. He unbuckled his belt, dropped his pants and underwear in one motion, pulled out his already-hard cock, took it in his hand, and brought it to my face. With his other hand he grabbed my hair, yanked my head back, and then forced me down onto his cock. I opened wide and he shoved it into my throat in one brutal thrust, nearly making me vomit.

—Suck —he said, voice taut—. Let your friend see how you work.

I started sucking him without saying anything else, tears sliding down my cheeks every time he rammed it all the way down my throat. Andrés kept moving under me with that unsettling calm he has for everything, giving me long, deep strokes that shook my whole body and made Rodrigo’s cock slide in and out of my mouth in the rhythm imposed from below. I was the axis between the two of them, impaled front and back, with both cocks at once, and I could do nothing but let both of them use me.

—Look at her —Rodrigo told Andrés over my head, with that disgusted voice he knows how to fake so well—. You see? She’s a professional. She swallows whatever they give her.

He grabbed my hair with both hands, held my head still, and started fucking my mouth himself, slamming into my face while Andrés’s cock fucked me from below. I was dripping saliva, my eyes were going blurry, my jaw stretched to its limit. I didn’t know then whether he was saying it to humiliate me or to convince himself of something. Maybe both at once. I didn’t care much. I had two men, two cocks inside me, and my body was responding to both without asking permission or giving explanations. There are moments when the body takes over completely and the mind can only record what’s happening. I was about to come with my ex’s cock in my mouth and my driver’s in my cunt, and the orgasm was rising up my legs, not caring one bit what my head thought.

Rodrigo finished first. He pulled his cock out of my mouth at the last second, jerked off twice quickly in front of my face, and came with a guttural sound, blasting thick streams of hot semen over my lips, my chin, my tits. One hit my cheek and slid down to my neck. He stepped back, silently adjusted his clothes with his cock still leaking, and looked down at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read. It wasn’t anger. It was something else, something colder than anger. I, with my face smeared with his cum and another man’s cock still buried to the base in my pussy, didn’t dare move.

—Goodbye —he said—. Enjoy.

And he left. No slamming door. No more words. No looking back. That was almost worse than the slap.

Andrés waited a few seconds and grabbed my hips. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, turned me over, and put me on all fours on the bed. He positioned himself behind me and shoved back into me in one thrust, ripping a howl out of me. He started fucking me hard, punishing my pussy with that enormous cock that reached places that hurt and felt good at the same time. He grabbed my hair, arched my back, slapped my ass with an open hand until it turned red. With the other hand he squeezed one tit from behind, twisting my nipple. My face was buried in the mattress, Rodrigo’s cum drying on my skin and the semen of the man fucking me now collecting inside me, ready to fill me.

We kept going for half an hour more, changing positions twice, with Andrés splitting me open first on my back against the mattress with my legs spread and propped on his shoulders, and then standing, braced against the wall with him behind me. When he finally came, he did it inside me, with those hoarse moans that come from deep in his chest, gripping my hips so hard I was left with bruises afterward. I was left with something unresolved in my body, that familiar feeling of having almost, but not quite, arrived, with my pussy throbbing around the emptiness his cock left behind when it came out and semen running down my thighs. I asked him to leave. I needed to be alone with what had just happened.

***

I stayed sitting on the edge of the bed. That bed that knew all my sounds and all my positions, that had witnessed so much good, was now witness to an ending. I could feel it in my stomach, with that certainty that needs no confirmation or words.

Six years with Rodrigo. They weren’t peaceful, never were. We had been through episodes I don’t tell anyone about, situations that left a mark on me: some sweet, most of them bitter. Always him setting the rules, always him deciding, always him having the last word. But I loved him, in that complicated way you love someone who sometimes hurts you and sometimes takes care of you, and you never quite manage to separate one thing from the other.

Would he forgive me this time? I doubted it from the very second the door closed. Rodrigo was not the forgiving type. He was the type to keep score, to wait and collect at the least expected moment. I had seen him do that to other people, to minor enemies, to people who had failed him in ways much smaller than this.

And yet, while I sat there alone with the filtered light of the room, I found myself thinking about practical things that really weren’t practical at all: who would call me on a Tuesday for no reason? Who would put up with my mood swings without making comments? Who would show up with something to eat on the nights when I didn’t feel like cooking or going out?

Useless questions. I knew that even while I was thinking them.

I lay back on the bed and closed my eyes. The body always finds a way to escape when the mind can’t handle what’s in front of it. And I went somewhere else.

I was a queen, but not the fairy-tale kind. The real kind: inaccessible, surrounded by naked men who brought offerings and lowered their eyes in my presence, with their cocks standing at attention pointed at me like tributes. I was stretched out on cold silk, with the body I had always wanted, and they all came to me one by one to sink between my open legs. Young, old, tall, dark, from every possible place. And I took them all without choosing any of them, letting each one come inside me and the next one climb on top of the previous man’s semen.

What I wanted wasn’t any of them in particular. It was something impossible to describe exactly: the feeling of being completely full, with no empty space inside, no corner that didn’t feel heat. A cock that would never end. A load that would never leave.

They kept coming and coming and none of them was enough. I felt like a hole at the center of the universe, something that swallowed everything and was never quite filled. And the strange thing was that it didn’t scare me. It seemed to me exactly what it was: what I am.

I opened my eyes. The room was still the same. The same dim light, the same familiar smell of the bed mixed with the smell of sex and semen, the same silence from the alley outside.

It wasn’t a dream I wanted to interpret as a sign of anything. There was in it no question about decisions I hadn’t made or wasn’t thinking of making at that moment. It was simply what the mind makes when it can’t process what’s in front of it: it invents another place, perfectly useless and perfectly necessary.

What I had in front of me was simple and heavy at the same time: Rodrigo was gone. This time my gut told me he wasn’t coming back. And six years have a specific weight that I was feeling right then, sitting on that bed, alone, with my body still remembering everything that had happened in the last two hours and with the semen of two men marking my skin.

I got up. I cleaned myself as best I could with a towel I had in the closet, feeling Andrés’s cum dribble between my thighs every time I moved. I straightened my clothes as best I could. I went through the office bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror: my lip was still a little swollen, but nothing that couldn’t be hidden with a bit of composure. I splashed cold water on my face, dried myself carefully, and went out.

Claudia gave me a sidelong look when I appeared, but she didn’t ask anything. That’s one of the reasons I hired her.

There was a customer waiting who wanted to see black lace sets. I smiled, helped her, recommended the one that fit her best according to her figure and her budget. She left happy with a pale pink bag and a smile on her face.

The afternoon went on. The phone rang twice. I closed the register. Sent the girls home. Turned off the display lights one by one.

That’s what I do. I keep going.