Stockroom Stud for Transsexuals

Arjun clocked in on a Tuesday morning with his shirt already sticking to his back and a name tag crooked on his chest. Twenty years old, new in the city, and newly hired as the stockroom assistant at Luxe Line, an upscale boutique that dressed trans women who wanted silk, structure, and no apologies. The sales floor smelled like cedar and perfume. The stockroom smelled like cardboard and heat.

Camila found him before he found the inventory clipboard. She was twenty-eight, sales manager, heels sharp enough to leave marks in the tile, lipstick a deep red that made her mouth look expensive. She looked him over the way she looked over a rack of new arrivals, slow and certain.

"You're the one they sent," she said. "Good. We needed someone who can lift and who doesn't flinch."

"I don't flinch," Arjun said, and meant it more than he should have.

Teresa stepped out from between the shoe towers a minute later. Thirty-one, stylist, hair pinned up, blouse open at the throat, a measuring tape looped around her wrist like jewelry. She smiled like she already knew how his afternoon was going to go.

"Stockroom's back there," she said, nodding past a curtain of garment bags. "Heels on the left, lingerie in the middle, couture on the right. If you drop a box, you buy it. If you stare, at least be honest about it."

He stared. Both of them had the kind of bodies the shop was built to celebrate: curves under tailored fabric, confidence that filled the aisle, and the unmistakable outline of cock resting heavy in their pants when they turned. Arjun's pulse jumped. He dragged a pallet of boxes toward the back and tried to think about inventory.

By noon he had failed.

Grant arrived just after lunch, thirty-five, a regular who treated the boutique like a second office. Tall, tailored, perfume clean and expensive, a gold watch catching the light when she signed for a private fitting. She was a trans woman who ran her own firm and dressed like the room should rearrange itself around her. Camila kissed her cheek. Teresa took her jacket. Grant's eyes landed on Arjun where he knelt among open cartons of stilettos, and they stayed there.

"New help," Grant said. Her voice was low. "He looks useful."

"He's learning," Camila said.

"I'm eager," Arjun said, before he could stop himself.

Grant's mouth curved. "We'll see."

The days after that did not cool down. They heated.

Camila brushed past him in the narrow lingerie aisle and let her hip drag across his ass while she reached for a silk chemise. "That bulge is getting disrespectful," she murmured, close enough that her breath hit his ear. "You walk around like you want somebody to do something about it."

"Maybe I do," he said.

Teresa was worse, or better. She made him hold a pair of patent heels while she adjusted a mannequin, then slid her hand down his forearm and let her knuckles graze the front of his pants. "Hard already," she said, pleased. "Good boy. Keep it that way. Clients like a staff that understands the product."

Grant started coming in during the slow hours, when the front door was locked for lunch and the city noise faded. She leaned in the stockroom doorway in a charcoal suit, watching Arjun stack boxes, and did not pretend she was there for clothes.

"You stare at their cocks," Grant said on Thursday, not unkind. "You stare at mine too. Say it."

Arjun set down a carton of garter belts. His face was hot. His dick was thicker than the denim wanted to allow. "I like looking at you. All three of you. You're beautiful. You're confident. It turns me on so much I can't think straight back here."

Camila's laugh was soft and filthy. Teresa's hand settled on the back of his neck. Grant stepped fully into the stockroom and shut the door.

"Then stop thinking," Grant said. "We want you. You've been walking around begging for it with your eyes. Say yes out loud."

"Yes," Arjun said. His voice cracked and he didn't care. "Yes. I want all of it. I want you to use me."

Camila kissed him first, mouth hot, tongue sure, one hand cupping his jaw while the other pressed his palm to the thick shape of her cock through her trousers. Teresa kissed the side of his throat and unbuttoned his shirt. Grant watched for a breath, then crossed the room, turned him, and bent him over a waist-high stack of designer boxes that smelled like new leather.

"Standing," Grant said. "Hands on the boxes. Ass out."

Arjun obeyed so fast the cardboard creaked. Teresa stepped in front of him, already opening her fly. Her cock sprang free, thick, flushed, heavy enough to tap his lower lip. She stroked it once, slow, and fed him the head.

"Suck," she said. "Deep. I want to feel your throat working while Grant opens you up."

Grant's hands were already on his belt. His pants and briefs went down to his ankles. Cool air hit his ass, then warm palms spreading him. Camila passed Grant a bottle of lube from a drawer they clearly kept for more than sticky tags. The first slick finger pressed in, patient and firm. Arjun moaned around Teresa's cock and pushed back.

"Eager little stock boy," Grant murmured. A second finger. A third. She worked him open until he was rocking, dripping spit down Teresa's shaft, cock hanging hard and untouched between his thighs. Then the fingers left and the blunt head of Grant's cock replaced them.

She entered him in one long, steady push.

Arjun's eyes watered. The stretch burned sweet and huge, Grant's cock filling him inch by inch until her hips met his ass and she was buried to the root. She held there, letting him feel the throb, then started to fuck him in a standing doggy, deep strokes that shoved him forward onto Teresa's cock.

"That's it," Teresa groaned. "Take her. Take me. God, your mouth is filthy."

He sucked harder, cheeks hollow, throat opening on every thrust Grant gave him. Spit ran down his chin. Grant's hands clamped his hips and she pounded him, the sound of skin on skin loud in the stockroom, boxes shifting under his palms. Camila stood to the side at first, stroking herself through her open trousers, watching with bright, hungry eyes.

"Look at him," Camila said. "Twenty and already hooked. He's going to come just from getting fucked."

"Not yet," Grant said, voice tight. She slammed in and held, grinding, then pulled out with a wet sound that made Arjun whine around Teresa's cock. "Switch. I want to watch him wreck you."

They moved him like they had planned it. Camila climbed onto the pile of boxes, pants gone, blouse open, ass presented, cock hanging thick between her thighs. She looked back over her shoulder, lipstick smeared, smiling.

"Pound me," she said. "Don't be gentle. I've been thinking about this cock since you walked in."

Arjun lined up, slick from the lube still coating him and from how hard he was leaking. He pushed into Camila's ass and the heat of her clenched around him so tight he swore. She moaned, low and pleased, and reached sideways to wrap her fist around Teresa's wet cock, stroking her in time with Arjun's thrusts.

"Harder," Camila demanded. "Use that young dick. Fill me up."

He fucked her like the boxes might break, hips snapping, balls slapping her, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her waist. Teresa leaned in and kissed Camila's mouth while Camila jerked her. Grant stepped behind Arjun again, cock still hard and shining, and slid two fingers alongside his own rhythm, teasing his hole.

"You bottom so pretty," Grant said. "Don't forget who opened you."

The rotation got messier and better. Teresa pulled Arjun off Camila long enough to bend him over the same boxes and sink into his ass herself, slower than Grant, thicker in a different way, cursing softly every time he clenched. Camila fed him her cock while Teresa fucked him, and he deep-throated her until his nose pressed her stomach and tears ran hot down his face. He wanted it. He asked for more with his hips and his mouth and the broken sounds he made when Teresa bottomed out.

"Good boy," Teresa panted. "Such a good little hole. I'm going to come in you."

"Do it," he gasped, pulling off Camila just long enough to say it. "Cream me. I want it."

Teresa drove in deep and came with a shudder, pulsing hot inside him, filling his ass until it leaked around her shaft. She stayed buried while she finished, then pulled out slow so he could feel every inch leave. Cum slicked his thighs. Camila laughed, breathless, and turned him around.

"My turn to fuck that used hole," she said.

She did. Standing, one of his legs hooked up, her cock sliding into the mess Teresa had left, fucking it deeper. Arjun clung to her shoulders and moaned into her neck while Grant stepped in front of him and offered her cock again. He sucked Grant clean of lube and his own taste, sloppy and grateful, until Grant's thighs shook.

"On your back," Grant ordered, when Camila finally pulled out, still hard, cock gleaming. "I want that mouth and I want you in me."

They cleared a wider space on the floor between the couture racks. Grant straddled his face first, let him lick her, then turned and sank down onto his cock in one smooth drop that punched the air out of both of them. Arjun topped her from below, thrusting up into the tight heat of her ass while she rode him and stroked herself. Camila knelt by his head and pushed her cock back into his mouth. Teresa knelt on his other side, recovering, then hard again, and reached down to play with his hole, two fingers fucking the creampie still inside him while Grant bounced on his dick.

Dirty talk filled the stockroom until the walls felt thin.

"Fuck my ass, stock boy."

"Swallow it. Don't you dare spit."

"You love trans cock. Say it with your mouth full."

He said it as well as he could, garbled and desperate, and meant every broken syllable. Grant came first in that round, striping his chest and stomach, clenching so hard around him that he followed, flooding her ass with a thick creampie while he groaned around Camila's cock. Camila didn't let him finish swallowing air. She fucked his throat until she came, hips jerking, spilling down his tongue. He swallowed what he could and wore the rest on his lips.

They were not done.

Teresa wanted his cock next. She bent over a rolling rack, ass out, and he stood and pounded her until the hangers rattled, Grant's creampie still leaking down his own thighs, Camila behind him again with her fingers and then her cock, fucking him while he fucked Teresa. He came a second time buried in Teresa, shaking, pumping her full while Camila groaned and added another load to his ass. Grant stroked herself through it, then pushed Arjun to his knees and came across his tongue when he opened for her, filthy and smiling.

By the time they slowed, the stockroom smelled like sex and expensive fabric. Cum shone on his stomach, his chin, the inside of his thighs, and the swollen lips of three well-fucked asses. Everyone was flushed, laughing, still half-hard, still touching.

"Numbers," Camila said, pulling her phone from a blazer on a hook. "Now. You're not a one-shift fuck."

Arjun, wrecked and grinning, traded contacts with all three of them before he even found his underwear. Grant kissed the corner of his messy mouth. Teresa slapped his ass on the way out to reopen the floor. Camila told him to clock out early and go get cleaned up, then texted him an address before he reached the sidewalk.

That night the club two blocks from his apartment was loud and warm and full of women who looked at him like Camila had looked at him that first morning. He was barely through the door, showered, in a clean black shirt, when a woman in a gold dress caught his wrist.

"Camila said the new stock boy was hungry," she said. She was twenty-six, named Nadia, voice smoke and honey. "I'm off in an hour. So are my friends."

Simone was twenty-nine, tall, in leather pants that did nothing to hide her cock, a bartender who poured him water and told him she liked boys who said please. Rochelle was thirty-two, a makeup artist with sharp eyeliner and a softer mouth, who slid onto the stool beside him and rested her hand high on his thigh like she had already decided where the night was going.

"All of us," Rochelle said. "Your place. You sure?"

"Yes," Arjun said. "I want you. All three. Come home with me."

They did.

His apartment was small and the bed was smaller, and none of them cared. Nadia stripped him at the door and dropped to her knees, sucking his cock until he was dripping, then stood and bent over the couch so he could eat her ass while Simone jerked herself and watched. Rochelle kissed him between licks, tasting Nadia on his tongue, then guided his cock into Nadia and told him to fuck her like he had something to prove.

He did. He fucked Nadia over the couch until she came on her own fist and he creamed her ass, pulled out shining, and let Simone push him onto the bed and ride his face while Rochelle sank onto his cock and used him. They rotated without ceremony. Simone wanted him on his back so she could sit on his dick and grind until she painted his chest. Rochelle wanted him standing in the shower afterward, her leg up, his cock driving into her while water ran over both of them and Nadia knelt to lick where they joined. He came in Rochelle with a broken shout. She laughed and told him he wasn't finished.

Back on the bed, Nadia fucked his ass while he sucked Simone and Rochelle stroked his spent cock back to life. He begged for it, open and greedy, and they gave it to him until the sheets were ruined and the sky outside the window had gone from black to gray. Nadia creamed him. Simone came down his throat. Rochelle made him fuck her a second time, slow and deep, then flipped him and took his ass herself until he was shaking and hard again and spilling across his own stomach while she stayed buried in him.

By morning his phone was full of new numbers and his body was sore in every good place. Nadia kissed his shoulder on her way to the bathroom. Simone stole his hoodie. Rochelle lingered in the doorway, already texting Camila that the stock boy delivered.

Arjun lay in the wrecked sheets, cum drying on his stomach, hole still leaking, cock twitching at the thought of the boutique doors opening in a few hours and three more women who already had his number waiting to bend him over the boxes again.

"Text me when you're hard," Rochelle said, and shut the door.

He was already hard, fist closing around his messy cock, thumb smearing the last of their cum down his shaft while he pictured Grant's load leaking out of him onto Camila's tongue.