A moan caught out

Sara moaned. Deep and honestly. Not the half-**** noises a younger girl might make in hopes that such was the correct encouragement her beau wanted to hear, but the unfiltered sound of tensions finally released. Of a woman whose life offered far too little time or opportunity to find pleasure in her own flesh.

You liked to think you'd learned a thing or two about serving the feminine form, over your years of loving and then appearing as one. Yet, in all honesty… you didn’t think it would've taken much to tip this poor, pent-up creature over the edge. Sex was such an endless, ongoing focus of your life, that you sometimes forgot there were those who went months or even years without feeling the touch of another.

Your long, slender fingers were warm within the tight confines of her simple, cotton panties. A small patch of curling fur greeting you there and tickling between your working digits. The centre two you had slipped inside the soft, wet entrance you had found, earning a coating of lubricating encouragement. Her inner self was squishy and welcoming, the surrounding muscles grabbing hold and drawing you in with eager clenches. Meanwhile, up above… you put mouth to breast as any small mammal would. Running your tongue around each areola and sucking upon each nipple. Sometimes you’d nibble one, just a little. Adding sharp twinges of excitement to the nerves you were preying on... or praying at. For, to you: this was worship. This was the purest, sacred showing of the only faith and religion you’d ever needed. Anyone could be your God or Goddess… all they had to do was ask. Your place was on your knees, begging to be allowed to throw yourself upon their altar. There was nothing you held holier than that.

"Do you ever use that, as well?" Asked the taller, older woman. Reaching out to cup and grasp the swelling lump straining against your red-laced underwear.

To your feminised shame… you were actually quite well endowed in that department. A fact that was nothing if not a source of endless frustration for you. Tucking things in and trapping them away to try and hide any hint of telltale bulges was a battle against your own body's excited reactions to tight clothing and skimpy outfits. You wanted to feel like a sexy, little whore-boy… dressed specifically to invite any wandering eye. But you also bloomed red and glowing at the very thought of those passing glances spotting the swelling lump their gazes might cause in you. Ah… it was so complicated wanting to be both visible and invisible at the same time. Schrödinger's slut. The embarrassed exhibitionist.

“Sometimes…” You admitted, shy of even suggesting you could take a position more top than your ever-comforting bottom. It wasn’t as if you were entirely against using that particular tool to provide and receive erogenous attention. It was just that everything that it seemed to stand for ran counter to who you were.

The female form held a different sort of fascination for you, than your relatively straight and simple gluttony for cock. Every hole you had was simply a receptacle waiting to be filled, but your adoration for those born to be softer and curvaceous was more an idolising aesthetic devotion. You’d agonised whether you were transexual for the longest time. Perhaps were still agonising about it now, somewhere within… But your body had never really seemed not your own. Nor the presence between your legs, something you were willing to give up. You wanted to be soft and smooth and cute in every way you could… yet were not convinced that having a penis was incompatible with that dream. Couldn’t it just be a cute one? Was a consideration that your relationship with Ben had slowly given you the courage to imagine.

Ms Sara Pryce was entirely sure of what she needed from you, however… and rolled you over to ride on top. She towered above you, on that couch. As your panties were pulled to one side and bra straps dug into your back. You felt your erection be taken hold of, lined up with the hole that so required its attendance. No time for questions of protection was given, you simply felt yourself be claimed by the gushing, grasping warmth of the woman’s internal hunger. You squeaked a little, at the sudden intensity of it all. The turn this afternoon had taken. But there was no slowing or stopping it now, as your new neighbour began bouncing her hips off your own.

She grabbed at the waistband of your skirt, and used it as leverage to pull your little body up against her. The pulled-aside lace of your panties dug into the back of your smoothly shaven testicles. Yet staring up at her magnificent breasts, flowing free above you with every engulfing descent she made… was a wonder worth any discomfort. This was certainly the way a dildo like you could always be used, by any woman who wanted to impale herself upon you. If they wanted your cock, it was theirs for the taking… just like any other pound of flesh you owned. You were so happy Sara had recognised that. So happy your new life here was starting off right.

A clatter from the kitchen went largely unnoticed by either of you. The pace of Ms Pryce's bouncing having now reached a steady gallop towards a goal. What you did both hear, however, was the young voice announcing its presence… as it walked straight through the open passage between.

"Are you in here Sam? You left the french window half open…"

The look of guilty horror that came over Sara’s face, as she recognised her own son's voice. Was an image you were unlikely to forget, in any giggling recollection years and years to come… Once the ice-pick embarrassment of the actual moment had finally faded enough to make any of it seem funny.