The Mature Transvestite at the Hotel Where Anything Goes

My name is Sabrina, though almost no one knows it. From Monday to Saturday I’m an upstanding man, office worker and tie, who pays his bills on time and greets his neighbors by name. But there’s a side of me that lives hidden at the back of the closet, behind the ironed shirts, and every once in a while it demands to come out and breathe.

That Sunday morning I woke up with my body on fire. It happens to me often, I won’t deny it, but that time it was different: it was an ancient hunger, the kind that can’t be calmed with your hands.

My usual lovers are married men. Sundays belong to their families, to barbecues and Mass, never to me. So I was alone, bored, and wet, a dangerous combination.

To keep myself entertained I started browsing some forums, the kind where people like me share addresses and warnings. That was where I read about a place they simply called the “L” hotel. I won’t give the full name, just in case. The post promised something that made my breath catch: in that hotel, a person could leave their room door ajar and let in whoever they wanted.

That can’t be true, I thought. But the mere idea had already soaked my panties.

Anyone who knows me knows what I like most: being the only “girl” surrounded by several men, the absolute center of attention. And that was exactly what the ad promised.

I showered slowly, shaved every inch carefully, and put on perfume. Under my men’s clothes I wore what I had saved for an occasion like this: white fishnet stockings, a sheer lace thong, and a matching bra that let my dark nipples show through. In my bag I packed my heels, high and open, with a single strap crossing the top of my foot.

***

The hotel was on a downtown street, deserted on a Sunday in mid-afternoon. The entrance was a narrow door, no sign, nothing to reveal what was going on inside. For a second I got scared and almost turned back. But the heat between my legs outweighed caution, and I went in.

A bored man behind a desk took my money without looking me in the eye. I asked for the third floor, because the forum said that’s where the most interesting things happened. He pointed to the stairs with an annoyed gesture, as if he’d already seen a thousand like me pass by.

I climbed the steps with my heart pounding in my throat. Before I reached the landing I could already hear the murmur. And when I peeked into the hallway, I understood the ad hadn’t exaggerated a thing.

Several men wandered back and forth, peering into the ajar doors of the rooms. They had that look I adore, the wolf’s look at Little Red Riding Hood, the look of hunger that can’t be hidden. Through the cracks came moans, muffled cries, and that unmistakable sound of a cock driving in and out of a willing body with force.

I’ve arrived in paradise, I told myself, and I almost laughed with happiness.

I walked past them unhurriedly, feeling their eyes on me. I found an empty room and went in to change. I took off my men’s clothes, folded them, and put them in the bag. In front of the stained mirror there was just me, the real me: the stockings hugging my legs, the thong already wet, the bra in place.

I’m mature; my body isn’t in its twenties anymore, but I take care of myself and I like what I see. I slipped on my heels, took a deep breath, and went back to being Sabrina, the one who exists only in places like this.

***

I walked to the door and left it ajar. I didn’t have to do anything else: the heel on the carpetless floor did all the work. That dry clicking sound worked like bait. In seconds I felt footsteps approaching, shadows moving on the other side of the crack.

I pretended not to notice. I went back to the bed slowly, moving my hips, letting the lace nightie rise slightly with each step. I lay on my back, spread my legs toward the door, and started touching myself, putting on a show for them. I let out soft moans, loud enough to reach the hallway.

I didn’t have to wait long. A rough voice asked from the doorway:

—Can I come in?

He was a medium-height man with a soft belly and a blue shirt, already with his cock out of his pants. He wasn’t any sort of handsome man, but that never mattered to me. I love men for what they are: their smell, their weight, their strength.

—Come in, sweetheart —I said in my sweetest voice.

He got to the bed almost running and stroked my legs over the stockings.

—You’re delicious —he murmured, his breathing ragged.

Others came in behind him. I didn’t count them. When I opened my eyes again, there were many, too many, all focused on me. Seeing that I wasn’t resisting, that I was rather enjoying it, they came closer in silence and began touching me everywhere. Some pulled out their cocks and masturbated while looking at me, as if I were an altar.

The first one knelt at the foot of the bed, spread my legs as far as he could, and plunged his tongue between my ass cheeks. He did it with a patience I hadn’t expected, licking, pressing, opening me. I answered by squeezing my muscle against his tongue, and that drove him crazy.

The others didn’t stay still. Two of them offered me their cocks one after the other in my mouth, and I went from one to the other while with my hands I tended to the ones I could reach. Others took care of my feet, rubbing their cocks against my heels, between my toes, over the top of my foot crossed by the strap. It was a symphony of hands and mouths, and I was at the center.

—Now I’m really going to fuck you —said the one in the blue shirt, straightening up.

I lifted my hips and arched my back, offering myself.

—All the way in, daddy —I begged, almost shouting.

He didn’t make me wait. We didn’t use lubricant; I never need it, his tongue had left me open and dripping. I felt the head press and knew it was going to hurt: it was thick, very thick. He pushed in all at once. A cry rose from my chest, but it was swallowed by the cock filling my mouth at that very moment.

I wanted to pull away from the pain, by instinct, but the one who had me by the head held me steady and drove in until it made me gag. I had no choice but to endure it. Tears filled my eyes, and that, far from stopping them, drove them all even crazier.

—That’s what you wanted, right? —one of them said to me.

—Hang on, there’s still all of us left —another laughed.

The crying was the spark. The first climaxes began. The ones fucking my mouth came almost at the same time, flooding my tongue, filling my throat. The ones masturbating in front of me painted my cheeks, wiped themselves against my hair, tangled their cocks in my curls.

And I was fascinated. I felt like the absolute center of the world, the most desired, the most used.

—Fuck me hard, don’t stop! —I shouted, lost in desire.

The one behind me came with a grunt and filled me from within. I moved my hips on my own, by pure instinct, like an in-heat female who can’t think anymore.

***

After the first came others, one after another, taking their turn with the same hunger. I lost track of time and men. There were only hands, mouths, and heat.

When the last one left, I was sprawled on the bed, alone, marked with semen on my face, my hair, my feet, my legs. I was trembling, but it was the delicious trembling of someone who has just lived out an entire fantasy.

I dragged myself to the shower. The warm water slowly brought me back to my body. I was so absorbed that I forgot to close the bathroom door. By the time I noticed, three men were already watching me. One had my stockings in his hand and was stroking himself with them; another held my heels against his face.

I didn’t kick them out. I knelt in front of them, still wet, and took them one by one in my mouth until they finished. I swallowed every drop, slowly, looking them in the eyes.

They saw that I was still hot, that I hadn’t had enough, and then they did something I’d never tried: they started pissing on me, right there in the shower, between laughs and gasps. I confess it surprised me, but more than that I confess I liked it. The water washed it all away at once, and I stayed there on my knees, feeling like the freest woman on the planet.

They left without saying much. I closed the door, finished showering, and dressed again as the upstanding man the world knows. I put the heels back in my bag, along with the secret.

I went down the stairs of the “L” hotel with my legs still weak and a smile I couldn’t hide. I swear I’m going back. Because there, even mature, even hidden away the rest of the week, I can be Sabrina, the usual Sabrina, the one who isn’t afraid of her desire.