Crossdresser at the Trans Bar Party

The bass hit Gareth in the ribs before the door swung shut behind him. At twenty-eight, he had walked into plenty of rooms that turned his stomach, but none of them had looked like this. The black dress clung to his waist and the flare of his hips, the hem high on thighs wrapped in sheer stockings that caught every colored light. His heels found the floor and held. The party was packed with bodies in mesh, leather, and glitter, faces lit by the bar's red wash, and every person he could see was unmistakably grown, late twenties and older, the kind of crowd a strict door check builds. The sign had said twenty-one and up. He had read it twice with his heart in his mouth, then stepped through.

He smoothed the dress with damp palms. An hour of shaving, a careful line of liner, lipstick that tasted faintly of vanilla. Under the tight fabric his cock pressed against black silk panties, already thickening from the walk and the risk of being seen. A trans bar party. He had wanted a night like this for months, and now the want sat in his throat like a hot stone.

Then he saw them, and the stone dropped straight through him.

Beatrice stood just off the dance floor, thirty-two, tall enough that the silver crop top and the scrap of black skirt looked chosen rather than desperate. The skirt barely covered the curve of her ass. Dark lipstick, darker eyes, and those eyes were locked on him. Beside her, Rosa, thirty, wore a red mesh dress over skin and little else, gold hoops swinging as she turned. Both of them were looking. Not glancing past him toward the bar. Looking at the dress, the stockings, the nervous part of his mouth.

Beatrice leaned in. The track dipped, and Gareth caught the words clean. "Look at him. That dress. He looks so fucking fuckable I could eat him standing up."

Rosa's smile went slow and sharp. Her gaze dragged down his legs and back up to the faint bulge the dress could not quite hide. "Fuckable," she said, not bothering to lower her voice. "Look at those thighs. I want my hands on him before somebody else gets brave."

The comments landed in Gareth's stomach like a palm. Heat climbed his neck. Beatrice did not look away when she realized he had heard. She held his eyes and let the hunger show, open and electric, and Rosa did the same, one brow lifted like a dare she already expected him to take. The air between the three of them went tight, a live wire across the crowded room. His cock twitched hard against the silk. He took one step, then another, heels clicking, and the women watched him come the way people watched something they had already decided to claim. Nobody in the room looked away from their own night for long, but these two did not look away from him at all.

Beatrice met him at the edge of the floor and did not bother with a maybe. Her fingers closed around his wrist, warm and sure, and Rosa slid in on his other side with a palm at the small of his back. "Dance with us," Beatrice said, close enough that her breath stirred his hair. "Unless you came here just to be looked at."

"I came to be touched," Gareth heard himself say. The honesty burned his face hotter than the lights.

They pulled him into the press of bodies. Beatrice took the front. Rosa took the back. The beat was slow and filthy, and they used every inch of it. Beatrice's hips rolled into his, the short skirt doing nothing to hide the heavy shape of her cock nudging his stomach through the dress. Rosa fitted herself to his ass and ground in time, her breasts against his shoulder blades, her own cock a thick insistence along the cleft of him. Hands roamed without apology. Beatrice's palms slid down and gripped his thighs, squeezing the smooth, stocking-covered muscle.

"God, these legs," she said, pleased and loud enough for Rosa to grin against his neck. "Smooth as glass. You shaved all this for a room full of strangers, pretty boy?"

"I shaved for tonight," he managed. His voice shook.

Rosa's hand slipped under the hem and cupped the bulge, bold, squeezing once through the silk. Gareth jolted and pushed back into her without deciding to. "And this," Rosa murmured. "Hard already. Hiding a pretty cock under a pretty dress, walking in like you didn't know what we'd do with you."

Beatrice dragged her mouth along his jaw, not quite a kiss, all heat. "I know what I want. I want that mouth. I want you on your knees with my cock down your throat while she holds your hair and tells you how good you look choking. And I want your ass. I want to bend you over and fuck you until the only names you remember are ours."

Rosa bit lightly at his ear, hips still working. "I want the same hole. I don't care if I'm first or second. I care how you sound when you're full. I want to fuck that tight ass while you take her in your throat and thank us for using you."

They did not stop touching him. Beatrice palmed his chest through the dress, found a nipple, and pinched until he gasped. Rosa stroked the bulge in slow pulls that made his knees threaten to fold. They ground against him from both sides until he was panting, lipstick smudged, the three of them one hot knot on the floor. The rest of the party blurred. Beatrice's cock pressed harder against his belly. Rosa's pressed harder against his ass. The promises got filthier: how they would stretch him open, how they would ride his tongue, how they would make him beg and then give him every inch.

Gareth's head tipped back onto Rosa's shoulder. Want had burned past flirting, past nerves, past any version of the night where he went home alone. His voice came out wrecked and sure.

"I want it," he said. "Both of you. I want you to take me. My mouth, my ass, whatever you want. Please. Take me."

Beatrice's eyes went bright and hungry. Rosa's hand tightened on him through the silk, a squeeze that made his cock jump. "Back room," Beatrice said. "Now. Say it again on the way so I know that pretty mouth means it."

"I mean it," Gareth breathed, already moving when they moved. "I want you both to take me."

The back room was dim and close, a couch against one wall, a lock Beatrice turned with a hard click. Music thudded through the wall. Their breathing was louder. Rosa's bag hit a chair. She pulled out lube and a harness with a thick cock seated in the ring, and she smiled when Gareth's eyes went wide.

"Still want it?" Beatrice asked, shoving her skirt aside. Her cock sprang free, heavy and flushed, the head shining. She stroked once, slow, and let him look. "Say it where I can watch your mouth."

"I want it," Gareth said, hands already at his hem. "I want both of you. I want you to fuck me."

"Good boy," Rosa said, her own cock hard under the red mesh. "Dress up. Panties down. Bend over that couch and show us the ass you walked in here to give away."

He obeyed, shaking and eager. The black dress bunched at his waist. The silk panties slid to his knees over the stockings. He bent over the arm of the couch, chest down, ass up, heels braced, and the cool air on his bare skin pulled a whimper out of him. Beatrice spread him. Lube followed, cool and generous, her fingers working him open. One finger, then two, twisting, stroking the spot that made his cock drip onto the cushion.

"Listen to him," Beatrice said. "Already moaning, and I've barely started. You're going to take every inch. Hold still and get fucked."

"Yes. Please. Fuck me."

She lined up and pushed. The stretch burned sweet and huge, her cock sinking in a long dominant stroke that did not stop until her hips met his ass. Gareth cried out, clawing the cushion, and she held deep, letting him feel how full he was before she drew back and drove in again. Deep strokes. Steady. Claiming. Each one knocked a broken sound out of him. She owned the rhythm, and he could only take it.

"That's it," she praised. "Look at this ass swallowing me. Tight little hole in stockings and heels, made for this. You walked in wearing that dress so somebody would fuck you like a toy, and now somebody is."

Rosa climbed onto the couch, mesh hiked, cock heavy in her fist. She straddled his face and settled until his mouth was where she wanted it. "Tongue out. Lick me while she ruins you. Eager. Don't get shy now."

He gave her his tongue, desperate and willing. Rosa rode it, grinding her cock and the soft weight of her balls over him, smearing precome across his lips. Forward, and he sucked the head. Back, and he licked the underside, sloppy and devoted. She used his face like a seat, a fist in his hair, hips rolling.

"Fuck, his tongue," Rosa groaned. "Hungry little thing. Get me wet. You're so good like this, stuffed and still trying to please."

Beatrice fucked him harder, deep dominant strokes that slapped skin to skin, hands locked on his hips. Every thrust pushed his face up into Rosa. Every grind made him moan into her, shameless. They praised him and controlled all of it, how deep, how fast, when he breathed through the mess of spit.

"Moan for us," Beatrice said, buried to the hilt. "Take my cock in that pretty ass."

"He's drooling," Rosa said, riding his tongue in short filthy rocks. "Good. Get sloppy. You look perfect ruined."

Gareth pushed back and licked like he had waited all night to be used exactly like this. His cock swung beneath him, hard and leaking, and he did not touch it. They had not said he could.

Beatrice drove in deep, held, then pulled out slow. "Switch. I want that mouth. Rosa, peg him. Hard. He's open and begging."

Rosa stepped into the harness fast and slicked the strap. Gareth stayed bent, lipstick wrecked, chin wet, ass shining. She set a hand on his lower back. "Doggy. Arch it. I am not going to be gentle, and you are going to thank me."

"Thank you. Please peg me."

She pushed in and did not tease. The strap sank deep, and her hips snapped into a hard pace, pegging him in long punishing strokes that rocked the couch. Beatrice caught his hair and lifted his face. "Open. Throat. You said you wanted us to take you. So take me."

He opened. She slid over his tongue toward his throat, and he swallowed her the way pure want makes easy. Beatrice throat-fucked him in controlled strokes, one hand in his hair, giving him air when she chose and the sweet choke when she did not. Rosa pegged him hard from behind, harness slapping his ass, her own cock grinding stiff against the base with every thrust. They talked over him like he belonged to them, and he moaned his pleasure around Beatrice's cock each time Rosa slammed home.

The couch creaked under the three of them. Spit ran down Gareth's chin and onto the cushion. His stockings pulled at his thighs every time Rosa's hips met him, a small sharp reminder of the dress still bunched at his waist, of the heels still on his feet, of exactly what he had come here to be. Beatrice's thumb stroked his cheek even as she used his throat, a mean little kindness, and Rosa's free hand reached under to cup his balls and squeeze just enough to make him sob around the cock in his mouth.

"There," Rosa said. "That's the sound. Give us that every time I bottom out."

"Look at him," Rosa said, not slowing. "Ass up, mouth full, moaning like he was built for this. Squeeze me. Just like that, good boy."

"Good throat," Beatrice murmured, fucking his mouth deeper, utterly in charge. "Relax and swallow. You wanted both of us. Hold your come until we say."

He nodded, eyes wet with effort, and they kept the pace cruel and perfect, Rosa hammering when Beatrice let him breathe, Beatrice sinking deep when Rosa ground in and stayed. Filthy praise spilled between them, how tight he was, how pretty he looked used, how fuckable he had been from across the room. Gareth took all of it, shameless and loud, pleasure bright behind his eyes, and did not come.

Beatrice pulled free of his throat, and Rosa dragged the strap out in one slow slide. "Back," Beatrice said, stripping the harness off so both cocks were bare. Gareth rolled and stroked himself the second they nodded. They stood over him, fists working, close and intent. "Face and chest," Rosa said. "Come with us."

Beatrice broke first, groaning, striping his cheek and lips and the tongue he offered. Rosa followed, painting his chest and throat in thick heat. He came shaking, spilling over his fist while they milked the last onto his skin and called him pretty.

Then the rush softened. Beatrice found towels. Rosa wiped his face and chest, careful now, and Beatrice cleaned his thighs and straightened a slipped stocking. They put their numbers in his phone while he steadied, Rosa's thumb lingering, Beatrice kissing his temple.

"Next private party," Beatrice said. "Our place. Round two. You're coming."

"I'll be there," he said.

His pulse had not settled, and already he was planning the next time. He would text them tomorrow and tell them to clear a whole night. Red panties, the heels again, and he would ask Rosa to peg him first while Beatrice held his hair and made him wait. He would bring a plug so he arrived ready. He would get on his knees at their door and not stand up until they had used his mouth and his ass and covered him all over again. The thought made his spent cock twitch, and he smiled into the towel, already scheming the night he was going to beg them for.