Crossdressing Confessions – Part II

I resolve against saying yes, but my tongue conspires against me with the technical compliance of a divorce lawyer. “I would love to.”

“Great. I live just down the street, and I was hoping I wouldn’t have to walk home alone.” Her head tilts toward me as she speaks, as though she’s admitting something deeply private. Again I feel the whole room focusing into me when her eyes lock onto me. They dart back and forth for a brief moment, scanning over my expression for any clues into my desires. My lungs tense with each breath under her scrutiny.

“Sure, just let me actually water the plants and we can head over.”

Her house is just a few blocks and an uneventful walk away. She wraps an arm around mine as we walked. I give her an affectionate look and she gives my bicep a squeeze. I learn her name. Florence, or Flora for short. A single corner of the apartment is illuminated with yellow light, revealing a frosty plastic container and the sharp glint of a handful of metallic pins. Most prominent, however, is the glossy sheen of a glass case, whose contents are obscured by the sharpness of the light’s reflection.

“What’s that?” I ask, gesturing at the case as she flips on the main light.

“Just some hobby stuff,” she explains, “I collect insects – butterflies actually.” Something resembling disinterest weighs down her voice. Not apathy, but the disinterest of an impartial judge.

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead.” The impartiality drops, replaced with a measured hint of pride.

I examine each petrified pair of wings before halting on a black and yellow figure. Something in that fragile symmetry triggers a familiar feeling of longing. The feeling of a subject longing to become the object.

“What’s this one called?” I ask, pointing to the object of my fixation.

“That’s an eastern yellow swallowtail,” she says with the inclining cadence of rote training, “They’re pretty common around here. I got that one pretty recently actually.”

I point to a few more, and she rattles off their names with the same practiced ease. My gaze never leaves the swallowtail as my finger wanders just above the glass. She seems just short of embarrassed at first, but her confidence audibly grows as I ask her more questions.

Eventually the talk of butterflies dies down and I find myself on her couch, watching a movie that I didn’t catch the name of. Neither of us are paying attention anyway. Before the title credits have a chance to get so much as halfway through their run, she takes my hand and moves it under the edge of her dress. My fingers press into her inner thigh. She nods when I give her an indecent look. I slowly march my fingers up the skirt of her dress and into her underwear. They tease shyly at her nether lips, forcing a breathy, anticipating whimper out of her.

My mind becomes fixed on the thin, embroidered texture of her panties. My skin floods with dull radiance at the dual pleasures of her flesh and fabric. My thoughts wander to color before blurring and dissolving in a haze of feeling as Florence’s lips press forcefully into mine and mine into hers.
Her hands dig under my shirt in a similar frenzy. My own hands find themselves clutched to the tapered bend of her torso, igniting in reaction to the soft warmth of her body.

My heart lurches dramatically every time her nails inch closer to my waist. I’m certain she is about to discover me, but every brush of lips and tongues binds me to her more tightly. I can’t bring myself to back away. Every sensation races and pulses too quickly for me to think properly.
I hardly realize what’s happening when she reaches into my pants to return the earlier favor. Her hand wraps loosely around my member before she pauses. I don’t permit my heart a single twitch. She works her hand up and down my shaft for a moment or two before she stops. She’s certain now. Her hand withdraws.

“What are you,” she pauses to consider how to deliver the blow, “Are you wearing panties?”

I give a trembling nod. Her expression becomes something sinister.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/gbzvjd/crossdressing_confessions_part_ii