Reunion Flame: Her Stocking Cock Awakens My Sissy Desire
At his reunion, a married guy gets seduced by his trans high-school friend into becoming her eager sissy.
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The hotel lounge hummed with the leftover buzz of the reunion—clinking glasses, forced laughter from people who’d peaked at seventeen. Alex nursed his second whiskey, the wedding band on his finger catching the low light every time he lifted the glass. Ten years. Same gym decorations, same faces thickened by jobs and kids. He’d told his wife it was just networking. Truth was he’d almost skipped it until he saw her name on the RSVP list.
Mia.
She walked in like she owned the carpet. Curves poured into a tight black dress that stopped mid-thigh, dark hair tumbling over one shoulder, lips painted the color of wet cherries. The girl who’d once shared his lab notes and stolen cigarettes behind the bleachers had become something else entirely—tall, soft in all the right places, hips swaying with the confidence of someone who’d fought for every inch of herself and won. When her eyes found him, the smile was pure trouble.
“Alex fucking Carter.” Her voice had dropped half an octave, smoky and warm. She slid into the booth across from him, close enough that her knee brushed his. “Still married to that nice girl who never knew what a freak you were?”
He laughed, heat already crawling up his neck. “Mia. Jesus. You look…”
“Say it.” She crossed one long leg over the other. The motion was deliberate. Sheer black thigh-highs whispered against each other, a dark seam running up the back of each calf like a secret invitation. The lace tops bit into soft pale flesh just above the knee. Alex’s mouth went dry. His cock twitched traitorously against his slacks, and something deeper—something he’d locked away since senior year—stirred hard between his legs and higher, in the place that used to throb when he buried his face in her stolen panties.
She noticed. Of course she fucking noticed. Her tongue touched her upper lip.
“You always did stare at my legs,” she murmured, voice low enough that the table next to them couldn’t hear. “Even before. Back when I was still stuffing socks in a bra and praying nobody looked too hard. You used to get this hungry little look. Same look you’ve got right now.”
Alex swallowed. “I didn’t… I mean—”
“You stole my panties. Sophomore year. The pink cotton ones with the little bow. I found them under your mattress when I came over to study. You turned so red I thought you’d stroke out.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, slower this time, giving him the full filthy flash of stocking seam and the shadow higher up. “I never told anyone. Kept wondering if you ever put them on. Wrapped that pretty cock of yours in my scent and jerked off like a dirty little sissy.”
His face burned. The whiskey suddenly tasted like nothing. Under the table his free hand clenched on his thigh because if he didn’t he was going to reach out and touch that stocking.
“I did,” he heard himself say, voice rough. “More than once. Used to wear them under my jeans to school sometimes. Felt like I was going to come every time I sat down.”
Mia’s eyes went dark and pleased. She leaned in, cleavage pressing together, the scent of her perfume—something expensive and dirty, vanilla and skin—washing over him. “Still married. Still got that ring on. But your dick’s hard for my stockings and the idea of being my pretty little thing again. Isn’t it?”
He couldn’t deny it. The proof was tenting his pants, obvious even in the dim light. She glanced down, smiled like a cat, and drained her drink.
“Room 412,” she said, standing. The dress rode up just enough to flash the full length of those sheer black legs. “Five minutes. Or I start without you and you go home to the wife with a stiff dick and a head full of regret.”