Scarlet men share their hottest fantasies, here brickie, Kristian learns what it feels like for a girl.
I’m a manual labourer and when I’m on a building site I often see plenty of fitties sexily saunter by. I fucking love women. In fact, I often fantasise about appreciating them more by putting myself in their shoes. Literally.
It happens like this: a suited-up office chick sashays by the building site, so me and the lads start crowing. She stops, looks at me in my dirty work gear, pulls out her card, strides over and puts it in my hand. Silently, she walks away. The lads slap me on the back, trying to snatch the card but I pocket it, all smug, and tell them exactly what I’ll do to a piece of arse like that.
Later, I call her and arrange a drink straight after work. The afternoon passes and I hurry to the pub, buy a pint for Dutch courage and wait. When she arrives conversation is friendly and flows easily. She keeps buying shots, but whereas her chaser is coke, I have beer and get quite drunk.
We end up at hers. There’s a fumble of mouths and keys at the door. We tumble inside. She offers me the use of her shower. I agree, remembering the stale male sweat of the day. The tip of my cock twitches with each splash of the water, and I drunkenly pump it larger with my hand. I wrap the nearest towel, a fluffy pink thing, around my wet body and follow the sound of her voice calling me from the next room – the bedroom. It’s dimly lit by a small lamp and I see her silhouetted against the bed.
“Pink suits you”, she purrs.
I falter; a nervous chuckle escapes me. Is she testing my manhood? ‘I’ll show her my manhood’, I think determinedly, and drop the towel, exposing my hardness.
“That’s a pretty dolly!” she exclaims.
‘What?’ I think, stooping for the towel to cover myself, but I feel a twinge of pleasure-come-confusion. I wonder what her game is as she pats the bed and I go to her, entranced. As she begins kissing me, she slyly fixes my hands to the bedhead with ribbons. Her shadowed outline rises to all fours and she kisses down my leg, tightly tying my feet to the bottom of the bed. I wriggle as she stands up and I can see what she’s wearing − fuck-me black heels and a PVC basque with stockings and little panties. She slowly paces round the bed, then wolf-whistles.
“Alright darling,” she jeers. “Cor, look at the arse on that.”
I squirm uncomfortably as I realise her intentions. Then she flicks the light on. Hanging on the wall behind her I see a pink top and petticoat ensemble, and large pink patent shoes. Not her size.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson to remember, and you’re going to like it!” she exclaims, as she reveals a make-up bag, seemingly from nowhere.
I half-heartedly struggle as she pounces on me and begins painting my face with glosses and powders. Horrified, I realise my knob is bouncing with the pleasure of it all. She notices too.
“See,” she smiles, “I said you’d enjoy it.” She produces another silky ribbon and ties it tightly round the base of my cock and balls. “Now even your cock is girly!”
My powder-blushed face flushes with embarrassment. Then she says, “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll let you go if you dress yourself.” Her outstretched finger points to the outfit hanging up, her face deadpan. Bewilderment and alcohol urges me to oblige. I nod, suddenly <wanting> to feel the frilly material against my thighs; wanting to know what it feels like to teeter round on stilettos.
She releases me and, as I clumsily dress, she coos reassuring words of how pretty and girly I am. I melt away in a haze of femininity, feeling soft, vulnerable and small as my dominator controls me.
“Now the shoes,” she orders.
The petticoat swishes freely on my manly thighs as I bend over, struggling with the unfamiliar shoes. When they’re on, I stand, tentatively, trying hard to not topple. I wait for her next command, the embarrassment as obvious on my face as the arousal in my groin.
“Wank,” she barks. “Wank because you like to be a girl and feel feminised and free. Show me how much you love it.”
I jerk furiously at my feminised cock. I feel humiliated, stripped bare by being trussed up, yet liberated of macho-ness and all of its connotations. She leans back on the bed, her eyes locking mine, then pulls her knickers to one side and rubs her finger up and down, spreading the juices from her pussy hole to her clit, sliding faster and smoother each time.
“You won’t be feeling so macho next time you want to degrade a girl just for looking nice and walking past your workplace now, will you, girly?” she taunts.
“No,” I whimper, tears of humiliation tracing a line down my powered cheek “I’m sorry. I’ve learnt my lesson”
She smiles, throws her head back and begins to contort with pleasure, trapping her hand between her spasming thighs as she comes. She relaxes, lets out a sigh then says, “You’re allowed to come now. I’m done with you.”
I tug harder, my legs bow as I climax and she laughs as I collapse in a heap, gasping and groaning, spilling sperm on myself and my new dress. I whimper and curl in a ball, overcome by the experience, and she stands above me and pats my head.
“There, there, pretty thing, you’ll get used to it,” she soothes.
“Thank you,” I pant. “Thank you.”
