House-Sitting Heat: His First Time Taking Her Cock

I never planned on any of this. My name is Warrick. I’m twenty-four, freshly out of college with a useless degree and even less direction, crashing at my mom’s place while I pretended to job-hunt. When her best friend Petra needed someone to watch her sleek modern house for a long weekend, I jumped at the chance. Petra was thirty-eight, a successful commercial architect who carried herself like the world had already signed off on her beauty. Tall, smooth-skinned, with shoulder-length auburn hair that always looked deliberately tousled, full breasts, and hips that swayed with unapologetic confidence. She was trans, and the way she owned every inch of her femininity made my stomach tighten every time she walked into a room. I had wanted her for years in ways I didn’t dare name.

She left me the keycode, a fridge full of food, and the casual instruction to “make yourself at home, darling.” That last word had lodged in my brain like a hook. The first two days I behaved. I swam in her pool, watched movies on her massive television, and tried not to think about the walk-in closet attached to her bedroom. But on the third afternoon the pull became unbearable. I told myself I would only look. Just a peek at the silk and lace that always teased at the edge of her outfits.

Her bedroom smelled like her—jasmine, warm skin, and something darker underneath. The closet doors slid open without a sound. Rows of lingerie greeted me like a confession: delicate chemises, garter belts, stockings in every shade, lace panties cut high on the hip. My hands shook as I chose. First the black stockings, sheer enough to see the faint blue veins beneath my own skin. I sat on the edge of her bed and rolled them up my calves, over my knees, up my thighs. The silk whispered against the fine hairs and made my cock twitch hard against my boxers. I stripped those off too.

The lace panties were next—midnight blue, high-cut, with a tiny satin bow at the back. They cupped my balls and held my erection trapped against my belly, the lace rasping deliciously with every breath. Finally I slipped into her favorite silk robe, emerald green, the one that always slid off one shoulder when she laughed. It whispered over my nipples and fell open just enough to frame the stockings and panties. I stood in front of her full-length mirror and stared.

I looked… wanted. The stockings made my legs look longer, smoother. The robe clung to my narrow waist. My face was flushed, lips parted. For the first time I let myself think the word: pretty. I turned, letting the robe flare, watching the way the lace framed my ass. My cock throbbed visibly against the fabric. I was so lost in the sensation that I didn’t hear the front door.

“Warrick.”

Petra’s voice—low, smoky, surprised but not angry—cut through the silence like warm honey. I spun around. She stood in the bedroom doorway still holding her overnight bag, wearing a crisp white blouse unbuttoned just enough to show the lace edge of her bra and tailored black slacks that did nothing to hide the subtle but unmistakable bulge at her crotch. Her eyes moved slowly over me: stockings, panties, the open robe, my obvious erection. A slow smile curved her full lips.

“I came back a day early. Flight got canceled.” She set the bag down without looking away from me. “And here you are… wearing my favorite panties.”

I tried to speak. Nothing came out. My face burned, but beneath the shame there was something hotter—relief. She wasn’t disgusted. Her gaze lingered on my legs, then lifted to my eyes with open hunger.

“I’ve always noticed the way you look at me,” she said softly, stepping closer. The scent of her perfume wrapped around me. “The way your eyes follow my legs when I wear stockings. The way you glance at my chest, my throat, my mouth. I thought maybe I was imagining it. But this…” She reached out and brushed one fingertip along the silk robe where it draped over my hip. “This is better than anything I imagined.”

I swallowed hard. “You’re not… mad?”

“Mad?” Petra laughed, a rich, throaty sound that went straight to my balls. “Sweet boy, I’m so wet I can feel it in my panties. I’ve wanted to see you like this for a long time. Your little sissy side is incredibly hot to me. The way you tremble in my lingerie, how hard you are just from feeling pretty… it makes me ache.”

Her words slid over my skin like another layer of silk. She moved behind me so we both faced the mirror. Her hands settled lightly on my waist, thumbs stroking the bare skin above the stockings. I could feel the heat of her body, the soft press of her breasts against my back, and lower down the firm shape of her cock beginning to swell against my lace-covered ass.

“You’re beautiful, Warrick,” she whispered against my ear. “Look at yourself. Those legs were made for stockings. That sweet cock looks so pretty trapped in my lace. I want to make you even prettier. Will you let me?”

I nodded before I could think. “Yes. Please.”

Petra’s smile in the mirror was pure desire. She turned me gently, untied the robe, and let it puddle at my feet. Then she dressed me with deliberate care, like unwrapping and rewrapping the best gift she’d ever received. First she brought out a matching garter belt, black satin and lace. She knelt in front of me, rolling the stockings down just enough to clip them to the straps. Her fingers grazed the sensitive skin of my inner thighs; each touch sent sparks up my spine. When she fastened the last clip she pressed a soft kiss just above my knee.

“Perfect,” she murmured. “So elegant. So mine.”

Next came the bra—black lace, lightly padded. She helped me slide my arms through, fastened it behind my back, then adjusted the straps. Her palms cupped my chest through the lace, thumbs circling my nipples until they peaked. “These are going to look so lovely when I put you in a corset next time,” she said. “But for now, just feel how it holds you. How it shapes you for me.”

I was breathing faster. My cock leaked steadily into the panties, creating a wet spot that darkened the lace. Petra noticed and ran one fingertip over it, spreading the slickness. “Look how excited you are, baby. Good girl.”

The praise made my knees weak. She guided me to her vanity stool and began the makeup. Foundation first, then subtle contouring that sharpened my cheekbones. She lined my eyes with smoky shadow, coated my lashes until they looked long and dramatic. The lipstick was deep rose, and she applied it with her own finger, letting me suck the tip between my lips when I opened for her. Every stroke came with whispered affirmations.

“You’re stunning. So soft. So wanted. I’ve dreamed about sliding my cock between these painted lips. About bending you over in these stockings while you moan like the beautiful sissy you are. You’re safe here. You’re desired exactly like this.”

When she finished she stepped back. I barely recognized myself—elegant, feminine, flushed with need. Petra had changed too; her own nipples were hard points beneath her blouse and the bulge in her slacks had grown obvious, thick and insistent.

She pulled me up and into her arms. Our mouths met in a kiss that started gentle and quickly turned ravenous. Her tongue swept inside, claiming me, tasting the lipstick she had just applied. I moaned into her mouth, hands clutching her shoulders. I could feel her cock now, fully hard, pressing against my lace-covered erection. The friction through fabric was maddening.

Petra broke the kiss just enough to speak against my lips, voice husky. “I want to fuck you, Warrick. I’ve wanted it for years. I want to bend you over my bed in all this pretty lingerie, pull those panties aside, and slide every inch of my cock inside you while you beg for more. I want to feel you come while I’m buried in that sweet sissy ass. Tell me you want it too.”

“I do,” I gasped, voice shaking. “God, Petra, I want it so bad. I want your cock. I want you to take me.”

Her eyes darkened with raw lust. She kissed me again, deeper, one hand sliding down to grip my ass possessively, fingers tracing the lace between my cheeks. I could feel how close we were to the edge, how easily she could push me onto the bed right now and—

But she pulled back just enough to leave us both panting, foreheads pressed together, bodies trembling with unreleased hunger. Her fingers kept stroking slowly between my legs, teasing the soaked lace over my hole, promising everything still to come.

Petra’s fingers stilled against the soaked lace, pressing firmly over my hole one last time as if sealing a promise. My breath came in shallow pants, the emerald robe long forgotten on the floor, the black lace bra cupping my chest and the garter straps biting deliciously into my thighs. Every inch of me felt alive, remade by her hands, her voice, her hunger. She stepped back just far enough to reach into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a sturdy leather harness and a thick, veined silicone cock the color of warm flesh. My eyes widened. She had planned for this—wanted this.

“Watch me,” she murmured, voice husky. At thirty-eight, Petra moved with the confident grace of a woman who had long ago stopped apologizing for her desires. She stepped into the harness, buckling it snug around her hips, the dildo jutting out obscenely from her body. The sight made my trapped cock throb harder against the midnight-blue panties. She stroked the shaft slowly, eyes locked on mine. “This is going to feel so good inside you, Warrick. I’ve imagined it so many times—sliding every inch into that pretty ass while you’re dressed exactly like this.”

I nodded, throat tight with need. “I want it. I want you to fuck me, Petra. Please.”

She guided me to the edge of the bed, turning me so my hips pressed against the high mattress. The comforter was cool against my stomach as I bent forward, elbows braced, ass pushed out. The stockings whispered against the edge of the bed; the garter belt pulled tight. Petra’s hands roamed over me, smoothing up the backs of my thighs, tracing the lace edges of the panties before hooking a finger beneath them and sliding the fabric aside. Cool air kissed my exposed hole. Then came the slick sound of lube, generous and wet, as she coated the dildo and pressed two fingers against me first, circling, dipping inside.

“You’re opening so beautifully already,” she whispered, leaning over my back so her breasts brushed my shoulder blades. “Such a good girl. So eager to be taken.”

The stretch of her fingers gave way to the blunt head of the strap-on. She pushed forward with aching slowness, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to stroke my cock through the lace. The first inch breached me and I gasped, the burn blooming into a deep, full pressure that made my toes curl in the stockings. Inch by inch she fed it to me until her hips met my ass, the harness leather warm against my skin. I felt impossibly full, claimed, pretty. My mind spun with the confession of it: I had wanted to feel this feminine, this desired, for so long.

Petra began to move—slow, luxurious strokes that dragged the thick shaft over every sensitive place inside me. Her hand never stopped stroking me through the panties, the lace rasping wetly over my leaking cock. “Feel that?” she breathed, voice low and reverent. “That’s me inside you. You look so perfect bent over my bed like this—stockings tight, panties pulled aside, taking every inch. I could watch you for hours.”

I moaned into the mattress, pushing back to meet her. The slow pace gave way to something deeper, hungrier. Her thrusts grew longer, more insistent, the head of the dildo kissing that spot inside me on every stroke until my legs shook. The lace of the panties stretched obscenely around my cock as she pumped me in time with her hips. Pleasure coiled tight in my belly, sharp and overwhelming. “Petra… oh fuck, it’s so deep,” I whimpered, voice cracking. Interiorly I marveled at how right it felt—no shame, only the hot rush of being wanted exactly as I was: painted lips parted, eyes smoky with her makeup, body wrapped in her most intimate things.

She leaned over me fully now, breasts pressing against my back, one hand braced beside my head while the other worked my cock with firm, slick strokes. “That’s it, baby. Let me hear those pretty sounds. You’re clenching so sweetly around my cock. I’m going to fuck you like this every day we’re here if you’ll let me.” Her pace turned punishingly perfect, hips snapping forward so the harness slapped rhythmically against my ass. The pressure built until I was babbling, begging, lost in the sensation of being opened and stroked at once.

But she knew my body already, sensed the edge. With a soft laugh she eased out, leaving me empty and aching. “Not yet. I want to watch you ride me in the mirror.”

She climbed onto the bed, settling back against the pillows, the strap-on glistening and upright. I turned, legs shaky in the stockings, and straddled her backward—reverse cowgirl—so we both faced the full-length mirror across the room. The reflection stole my breath: a flushed, feminized figure in black lace bra and garter belt, deep rose lips parted, auburn-haired Petra beneath me guiding the thick cock back to my hole. I sank down slowly, moaning as it filled me again from this new angle. The stretch was even more intense, the visual overwhelming.

Petra’s hands gripped my hips, thumbs stroking the straps of the garter belt. “Look at yourself,” she ordered gently, voice thick with lust. “See how perfect you look taking my cock? Those long legs in my stockings, the way your ass swallows every inch… you were made for this, Warrick. My beautiful sissy. So wanted. So desired.”

I began to move, rising and falling, the wet sounds of lube and flesh loud in the quiet bedroom. My cock bounced against the lace with every descent, leaving dark wet spots. In the mirror I watched my own face—eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure, lipstick slightly smudged, cheeks flushed. Petra guided my rhythm, strong hands pulling me down harder, faster, then slowing me to a grind that made the dildo press relentlessly against my prostate. “That’s my good girl. Ride it just like that. Look how your cock strains in those panties. You love being pretty for me, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I gasped, the word breaking into a long moan. “I love it. I love how you look at me… how you make me feel.” The confession poured out between thrusts. Being seen like this—dressed, opened, praised—unlocked something deep inside me. No humiliation, only acceptance and raw, mutual heat. Her breasts rose and fell behind me; her eyes never left the mirror, drinking in the sight of us.

We stayed like that until sweat slicked my skin beneath the bra and the stockings clung damply to my thighs. Then Petra tugged me forward, urging me to turn. I lifted off her with a whimper at the loss, spun, and straddled her facing her this time. Our eyes met. She lay on her back, harness straps dark against her smooth hips, the dildo slick and waiting. I lowered myself onto it again, taking her to the hilt in one smooth motion. This position was intimate, chest to chest, her full breasts brushing the lace of my bra as I rode her.

Petra’s hand wrapped around my cock again, stroking me through the ruined panties while her other hand gripped my ass, helping me bounce. Our faces were inches apart. I could smell her perfume, taste the faint rose of my own lipstick when she pulled me into a brief, fierce kiss. “Come for me, baby,” she whispered against my mouth. “I want to feel you spill while I’m buried inside you. Let me see how pretty you look when you lose control.”

The pace turned frantic. I rode her hard, the dildo plunging deep with every roll of my hips. Her strokes on my cock matched the rhythm, slick lace sliding over sensitive skin. Pressure coiled tighter, hotter, until it snapped. I cried out, thighs quivering, as thick ropes of cum pulsed into her waiting hand and soaked the front of the panties. The spasms milked the strap-on inside me, and Petra groaned, hips bucking up as her own orgasm crested—she had a vibrator tucked against her beneath the harness, I realized dimly. Her body shuddered beneath mine as she came, pressing the dildo as deep as it would go, holding me there while I kept spilling over her fingers.

We stayed locked together, panting, my forehead against hers. Slowly she eased me off the cock, the harness still buckled securely around her hips. She pulled me down into a tender kiss—soft, lingering, full of promise rather than frenzy. Her cum-slick hand stroked my back as our lips moved together.

“This is just the beginning of your feminization if you want it,” she whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. “Stockings every morning. Makeup lessons. Corsets. Whatever you crave, I’ll give you. We have days ahead of us in this house, just the two of us.”

I nodded, too blissed-out and happy to speak, my body humming with aftershocks and new possibility. She drew the covers over us without removing the strap-on harness, the leather and silicone a constant, thrilling reminder against my thigh. We fell asleep like that—tangled, sticky, smiling—both of us already excited for tomorrow.