#2 in boyxboy (Out of 300k)
#2 in crossdressing (out of 16k)
Vijay unemployed and heartbroken sitting on his couch wondering how he would pay the rent that has been due for 5 months.
Ramesh his landlord, a recent widower in his 50s Knocked on his do...
Once Ramesh had left the bathroom, the silence was deafening. Vijay stepped inside, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the warmth of the bedroom.
He unwrapped the sari from his body, letting the fabric fall to the floor in a pool of color. The torn blouse followed, revealing the bruises that dotted his shoulders and chest like a dark constellation.
He took a deep breath and reached behind to unhook his bra. His breasts spilled out, heavy and sensitive.
The sight of his nipples, reddened from Ramesh's attentions, sent a shiver down his spine.
He touched them gently, feeling the pain flare and morph into something more primal. His hand trailed lower, his fingers dancing over the bruises that lined his ribs, the marks of Ramesh's desperation.
He stepped closer to the mirror, his eyes locking onto the white liquid that Ramesh had left on the shower wall. His cock twitched at the sight, a silent testament to his own desire.
He wanted to feel that again-the raw power of being needed, the heady rush of being used.
With trembling hands, he reached down and touched himself, his cock already leaking precum. He stroked it gently at first, watching his reflection in the steamy glass.
The sight of his bruised body, the way his hips rocked into his own hand, was like watching someone else-someone who knew what they wanted and wasn't afraid to take it.
He picked up the pace, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. His eyes drifted closed, and he imagined it was Ramesh's hand on him,
Ramesh's mouth whispering sweet nothings into his ear. He could almost feel the man's weight pressing down on him, his cock filling him up until he couldn't breathe.
The pain in his ass was a constant reminder of the night before, a pain that he reveled in. It made him feel alive, made him feel like he mattered.
And as he came, his eyes snapped open to stare at the mirror, his hand a blur, his orgasm painting the glass with his own essence.
His cum met Ramesh's cum on the same tile, a silent declaration of his intentions. Vijay dropped to his knees, his eyes never leaving the mirror.
He leaned forward and licked the tile clean, the taste of the two men mingling on his tongue. Ramesh's was thicker, saltier-it was a flavor that he craved more than he ever thought possible.
With a newfound sense of purpose, Vijay stood up and stepped into the shower. He scrubbed his body clean, the hot water washing away the evidence of their lovemaking.
He had tasted himself before, out of curiosity and loneliness. But this was different.
This was a declaration of war-a war for Ramesh's heart, a war to claim his place as the man's wife.As he stepped out of the shower, wrapping himself in a soft towel, Vijay's mind raced with ideas. He had to make this work.
He had to be the woman the man needed.
He picked out a simple nightdress, one that Ramesh had bought for Lakshmi. It clung to his curves, the fabric whispering against his skin.
He sat down at the dressing table, his heart racing as he picked up the makeup brush.He applied the foundation with a gentle touch, smoothing it over his skin until it looked flawless.
He took his time with the eyeshadow, blending shades of gold and brown to create a soft, sultry look that he hoped would drive Ramesh wild.
He lined his eyes with a thick kohl pencil, making them look bigger, more doe-like. The mascara was next, coating his lashes until they looked thick and luscious.
Vijay's hands trembled slightly as he picked up the vermilion. He dotted it onto the part in his hair, just like Lakshmi used to wear it.
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He then took the mangalsutra, the symbol of a wife's love and devotion, and placed it around his neck.
It was a heavier burden than he had ever imagined, but he felt a strange sense of satisfaction as the black beads rested on the swell of his cleavage.
He took a deep breath, inhaling the faint scent of sandalwood that clung to the necklace. It was a scent that brought back memories of his own mother, and he hoped it would comfort Ramesh.
He turned to the mirror, his eyes lingering on the reflection of the woman staring back at him.
He had become adept at applying makeup over the past few weeks, learning the subtle art of highlighting his features to appear more feminine.
The kohl liner made his eyes pop, and the glossy lipstick made his lips look plump and inviting. The bindi between his eyebrows, a red dot that signified the third eye of wisdom, only served to make him look more exotic, more alluring.
