Maintenance Workout The New Yoga Dance Doll
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Maintenance Check free porn video
Maintenance Check
by Throne
I had been playing dress-up since my late teens. It started when I moved
into a small, private living space, just off the campus of my college.
At age 23 I found myself in a high-paying, computer consultant position,
living in a fancy apartment in a high-class high rise. My secret second
life, when I changed from Barton Joyner to Beta Joy, was restricted to my
bathroom, where I applied make-up, bedroom, where I dressed, living room,
for flouncing about and lounging and, when I wanted to make myself a
drink, the kitchen. I needed more. The possibility of being dressed in
public thrilled me. The risk of being found out was somehow exciting.
Yet, I couldn't risk exposure. I didn't expect my employer would want me
to be caught dragging where others could see me. How the management of
the apartment building would react, I preferred not to find out. Still,
when I went online, one of my fondest experiences was finding and reading
stories in which a crossdresser got to prance around where there was a
chance they might be seen.
Keep all that in mind when I tell you what happened next. I got myself
all gussied up. There were satiny pink panties, with a barely-there
front and a thong in back. Then came smoky stockings that flattered my
legs. Those were followed by a lacy bra in the same color as the
panties, with just enough padding to give me a modest bust. Over all
that went a sleeveless bodycon dress in dark green, with a high hem. I
made up my face conservatively. Beta Joy was never a cheap girl. Over
my pale-red lipstick went a coat of gloss. The finishing touch was a
short amber wig with blond highlights. I grabbed my clutch purse and
admired myself in the framed, full-length mirror I had leaning against
the bedroom wall.
Then I made myself a fruity tropical drink, in an oversize stemmed glass.
My colorful concoction was strong and there was a lot of it. I reread a
favorite story on my preferred site, Fanatical for Fiction. When I was
halfway through that potent potable, inspiration struck me. I could slip
out of the apartment and into the elevator, late at night when few
residents were likely to be using it. In the unlikely chance that
someone else wanted to get on, I would only have to pass as a genuine
female briefly. With nerves bolstered by my inebriated state, I felt
sure I could do that. I would go all the way to the basement and then
back up to my floor. Maximum adventure with minimum chances taken.
I waited until the hour seemed right. Opening my door, I peeked up the
corridor in either direction. Then I scampered to the elevator and
pressed the call button. The doors slid open and I was relieved to find
the car vacant. I stepped inside, with my heart racing and my mouth dry,
then hit the B button at the bottom. As I descended, naughty thoughts
raced through my mind. Reaching the last stop, I was ready to ascend
back to the safety of my apartment. But the doors parted and I found
myself confronted by Kurt, the building's head of maintenance. He had an
apartment in the basement, so he could be available at any hour for
emergencies. He is tall and broad-shouldered, with his blond hair cut
short. His rugged good looks were hard to miss, so that even I, a
straight guy, had noticed them. He wore a tank top, worn jeans, and had
thick wool socks on his large feet. I froze like a deer in the
headlights. The tall man eyed me up and down and then smiled.
"So," he said casually, "what do we have here, in the middle of the
night? I know you're not a resident." Guilt must have been written all
over my face. "And the way you're dressed tells me that you might be
making a secret booty call. Hmmm?" With a bit more authority, he asked,
"What's your name?"
"It's Bart..." I squeaked, and then amended that to, "Beta. My name is
Beta Joy."
His brow furrowed. Those intelligent blue eyes seemed to peer inside me.
He smiled, one side of his mouth rising more than the other. "Well, Bart
Beta, I need to decide if the police have to be called." His evaluating
gaze didn't waver. "Let's step into my apartment and discuss the
situation."
I swallowed uneasily. OMG, this was a nightmare. I couldn't afford to
be discovered. Maybe I could concoct some story to get myself out of
there. I tried to think of something but it was as if I was a mouse in a
maze, with someone making loud noises and flashing bright lights to see
if it slowed me down. Kurt stepped aside and gestured with his long
muscular arm for me to preceed him. After I passed by, all I could think
was that his attention was now on my ass, so well shown off by that
dress. The door to his living space was ajar and I went inside. As he
closed it behind me, I was seized by a sense of doomful finality. I
hugged my clutch purse to my fake boobs, wishing there was money inside
it, so I could try to bribe him with cash. He pointed to a couch and I
sat, remembering to keep my knees together. He dropped heavily onto the
other end, but the piece of furniture wasn't very big, so we were too
close together for my comfort. I wriggled nervously and licked my lips,
tasting the flavored gloss.
He said, "Let's have it, Bart Beta." Kurt picked up his phone off the
end table and held it up, to remind me of the alternative to speaking.
"I..." Taking a deep breath, I tried to brace myself. "I'm here to
visit a sick friend," I extemporized.
"Care to tell me who that is?"
When I tried to think of a name, none came to me. I'm not an overly
social person, and hadn't formed any bonds with my neighbors.
I told him, "I'd rather not."
He shook his head, giving me a regretful look. "I'm afraid I can't
accept that."
"Listen," I told him in desperation. "I don't have any money with me
now..."
Before I could finish the sentence by offering to send him some the next
day, he drew a false conclusion and said, "... but there's some other way
you'd like to thank me for not giving the fuzz a buzz."
Still not thinking clearly, I answered, "Right. Exactly." Then it
struck me what he meant.
Kurt slid across the cushions and put his big hand on my knee. "Now
we're getting somewhere, sweet-lips." He ran his other hand over my
cheek. Then his fingers went around the side of my neck and his thumb
rubbed my throat. "And I noticed something else about you."
Holy crud. He was stroking my Adam's apple. He knew I was a guy. My
heart sank. Kurt took my wrist and moved my hand to his lap. He set my
fingers against his crotch. I couldn't avoid feeling the enviable bulge
under his jeans. In my mind I compared it to the much less impressive
package inside my panties. He thought I was gay and would be willing to
go down on him. I needed to make him understand that I'm a straight
crossdresser.
"Listen, Kurt," I blurted out. "I'm Barton Joyner from the fifth floor.
This isn't what it looks like."
"What it looks like is that you're in full drag, complete with that cute
pixie-cut wig."
He raised his phone and took a picture. Then he gently removed my wig
and took another. Someone might be able to tell it was me, if they saw
both of those images together. He handed back my hair and I resettled it
where it had been, not wanting to be seen half-in and half-out of my Beta
identity.
"Okay," I said, finally finding enough composure to steady my voice.
Maybe if I sounded relaxed, he would ease off and let me go. "Listen, I
have to get back to my apartment now. So..." I shrugged, as if to
suggest that what had happened could simply be forgotten. "... that's
all there is."
"Sure," he said, answering in kind. "You can just go. If anybody sees
you and asks about it, I won't tell them who it was."
"Right. Thanks. So, I'll just head back up in the elevator and..."
He held up a postponing finger. "Just one thing." Kurt paused, his eyes
locked with mine. "You still owe me a blowjob for being so nice...
Mary."
"You don't understand." When I smiled, I could feel that my face wasn't
relaxed enough to send the right message. How could I project confidence
under those circumstances? "I like to dress up but I'm not gay."
"Oh. That's different. I can understand why you wouldn't want to suck
my cock."
"I'm glad you can see it that way. So, I'll just be going..."
"No problem. Except I have still have BJ coming to me."
"No, see, it's not like that. I'm straight and..."
"And that doesn't matter. You're going down on me or else the pictures I
took are going out to the front desk here, and the head office of the
company where you work."
"But... but..."
He raised the camera and captured one more image of me. I'm sure that
distress was written all over my face.
"Tilt your head back, Jane, so I can get a good shot of your Adam's
apple."
Afraid to defy him, I did as he said. Then he told me to stand. Kurt
had me back up, so he could get a full-length shot of me. Next, I had to
strike a few poses: hands on hips, arms out with wrists limp, embracing
myself and puckering my lips at the same time.
I tried once more. "You can't honestly expect me to... to..."
He pointed between his legs and made lip-smacking sounds. I heard myself
moan. My legs went weak. Though I pleaded with my eyes, he still wasn't
moved. What could I do? Face utter ruin? Or perform an act I found
utterly unnatural? I gagged as I sank to my knees. My trembling fingers
undid his fly, unbuckled his belt, and opened the single button on his
jeans. He stood long enough to shove his pants, along with his boxer
shorts, down past his knees. I was confronted with a hanging cock that
put my own to shame. His was so much longer and thicker. Where mine
tapered at the end, his swelled into a heavy knob. He had balls to
match, and a dense growth of thick, golden pubic hair. He sat back down
with a satisfied sigh. While his pants were around his ankles, I could
make a dash for the door. What good would that do, though, while he had
all those photos of me? It would take him no time to forward them. Most
likely he already knew who employed me, from the front desk using him to
bring envelopes to me that were sent by messenger, when I needed to see
contracts. Kurt motioned toward his feet. I bent over to remove his
jeans and shorts the rest of the way.
He said, "The socks, too, if you don't mind," as polite as he could be.
I peeled them off. There was foot odor but it wasn't overly offensive.
Kurt stretched his long legs to either side of me and made a sound of
satisfaction. He surprised me by crossing his ankles and bending his
knees, catching me from behind and drawing me in. Off balance, I toppled
forward, my face ending up against his still soft cock. He kept his feet
against my lower back, so I couldn't easily retreat. All I did was to
pull my head back enough that I no longer had my nose pressing on his
oversized tool. I stared at it, almost going crosseyed.
All he said was, "Touch it."
In no position to disobey, I gingerly put my fingers against the warm
tube of manliness, near the root. I ran them down its considerable
length, ending on the head. Rather than risk displeasing him, I kept
lightly stroking. It began to grow. I brought it fully to life. It
swelled even more than I anticipated, until it was like a portion of a
powerful jungle snake that had somehow become rigid. With a hand on
either side of it, I rubbed up and down. A bead of clear fluid formed on
the end.
He told me, "You better wipe that off before it runs."
I did. There I was, dressed en femme, on my knees, as if worshipping his
symbol of virility. My fingertip caught the drop of wetness. Kurt's
voice was level as he commanded me to lick it off my finger. Out came my
tongue. I brought the digit close enough to lap up the liquid. It
tasted like a rich broth. When I turned my eyes up toward him, he was
waiting expectantly. I decided it was better to get it over with then,
rather than waiting any longer to begin. Down went my head, mouth open
wide, and I engulfed the business end of his rod. It was so big. I
sealed my lips behind it and sucked hard. My tongue ran up and down the
underside.
Kurt admonished, "Not so fast, Charlene. We want this to last."
All I wanted was to get it over with. Still, I saw no alternative to
doing it his way. I ran my tongue around the ridge at the bottom of the
knob, taking my time. My head bobbed a few times, though I couldn't take
in much more. When I tried to swallow an additional few inches, my gag
reflex was triggered and I had to back off. So there I was, mouthing the
knob and fondling the shaft. I got one hand under his scrotum and
massaged his balls. That must have been something I'd read about online.
Not that I sought out the homoerotic elements of stories, but it was hard
to avoid them in stories about crossdressers. I figured that, as a
straight man in panties and feminine wear, I was in the minority. At
that moment, my own sexuality was not so clear to me as it had been
before.
My captor exhaled languidly and I took that to mean he was relaxing,
probably in anticipation of a long unhurried sucking. My mind skipped
ahead to the unavoidable ending. Somehow, using my mouth that way wasn't
as bad as having to swallow his load would be. It was like a turning
point, after which it would be so much more difficult to deny my part in
what was happening. Even as I was thinking that, however, my tongue was
doing a dance all over his wet knob. I remembered terms like 'knob-job'
and 'knob-gobbler'. I released him but only so I could lick up and down
the underside of his meat, feeling the thick seam against my tongue. I
got it slippery all over, so that when my hands were on it again, it
would feel even better to him. With one hand above the other, I curled
my fingers as far as they would reach around his thickness, and ran them
lightly up and down. I was sure I felt the thick veins that decorated
his pole.
Even though I didn't rush him, after what I estimated was about twenty
minutes, his chest began to rise and fall faster. His breathing got
louder. I would soon be gulping down his cream. Determined not to ruin
my performance and perhaps earn some punishment, I continued, picking up
the pace gradually. Several minutes later he cursed under his breath,
elevated his hips fractionally, and took my head between his hands. Kurt
spurted into the back of my throat. There was so much spunk that some
got on my tongue. It was thick and I didn't like the taste. As I gagged
it down, several more blasts erupted, followed by less forceful releases.
It puddled on the floor of my mouth. I forced myself to consume as much
as I could manage, with a few drops leaking out of the side of my mouth.
After I had his flood of semen under control, I stopped breathing
exclusively through my nose, and managed to draw some air in around the
mass of his cockhead. My tongue cleaned that same area, even getting
behind the wide corona. At last I was able to back off and free my mouth
completely.
"Not bad," he said lazily. "Of course, you'll get better with practice."
With his jizz coating my tongue, I stupidly repeated, "Practice?"
"Sure, Ladybird. You didn't think I would pass up the chance to make
this a regular event, along with all sorts of exciting variations? No
way I'm going to set you free now. You can expect to have all kinds of
adventures with me. In fact, I think we'll have some get-togethers
upstairs, in your swanky apartment."
"I..." Whatever resistance I thought I still had evaporated. I said,
"Yes, Sir."
"That's my good girl." He chuckled. "Now let's talk about what you're
going to wear for me on Friday night at eight. Date night. I'm thinking
of something slutty. If you don't already have them, get a belly shirt,
micro-miniskirt, fishnet stockings, and hooker heels. Don't worry if the
shoes are tricky to walk in. I'll keep you off your feet most of the
time. And how about another short wig, but in some garish color, like
bright yellow or better yet, pink. Plus, naturually, I'll expect whorish
make-up. We can make the fun last for hours with some roleplaying. You
as the trampy callgirl, and me as your demanding John. A girl like that
will do anything for money, not that you'll be getting any. And I'll let
you know what kind of booze to keep in stock from now on. You'll be my
own private party girl, Beta."
I was stunned. There was no way for me to break free of his clutches.
Kurt would have me as his sex slave whenever he wanted, for as long as he
wanted. Was there any consolation for me? Well, at least he had called
me Beta that last time. Maybe I could hold onto my established girly
identity, no matter how much I lost touch with my hetero male self. That
was probably the best I could hope for.
Jane
- 01.03.2023
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