Two in one?

This story happened to me not long after I had gradually started meeting as a trans hooker to pay for my cross-dressing hobbies. The best part is that it didn't happen during a meeting with one of my clients, but completely by chance.

It all started with me wanting to go to a gay club during the winter holidays. There was no such thing in my hometown, but the capital where I was studying offered a sufficient number of such establishments. Naturally, I only wanted to go there in character. So after checking the event announcements on the websites of the three coolest gay clubs,

a choice was made and preparations began. A sense of curiosity and novelty fueled my imagination; I wanted to stand out. But I understood perfectly well that we weren't in San Francisco. I didn't particularly want to go looking like a cheap, painted-up hooker, but sex appeal was still required—it was a night club, after all. In the end, a Solomonic decision was made: a strict black dress under which all the wantonness would be hidden.

On the day, or rather the evening of the event, after bathing and shaving all the excess hair from my body, I locked myself in the bathroom and began my transformation. To contrast with the black dress, a white and black striped corset with an open chest was chosen from my by now considerably replenished supplies. The black thong with white stripes that came as a set with the corset was, after some hesitation, rejected and replaced with lace-trimmed panty shorts in the same black-and-white color scheme. After looking at myself in the mirror and trying on several wigs, I settled on a blonde one, which suits me every other time—depending on the outfit and makeup. Specifically lining my lips with bright, long-lasting lipstick, applying gloss and light blue eyeshadow, I was convinced that this time it looked very good indeed. The final touch: a little of the same color lipstick on the pert nipples poking out of the open corset and lightly powdering my chest with hygienic powder. I never particularly try in my character to create the impression of having big tits; at most, only what my push-up bra, size 75B, gives me, which was put on once the look was complete. A drop of verbena-scented perfume was dabbed on my neck and wrists. As an experiment, I pulled a black stocking on one leg and a white one with the same pattern on the other—choosing the second, although even the contrasting option looked very sexy too, but I wasn't going to a carnival.

Then it was time for the black dress made of thick, warm fabric, a white gauze scarf around the neck, a purse, white boots with a low heel, and a down jacket with a fur trim. In this guise, throwing the hood over my head, I crept along the wall and exited through the gate as quickly as possible. Outside, there was light snow and it had long been dark, so after calmly walking through the private housing area, I reached the noisy avenue and approached a taxi parked at a stop. I knocked on the window, and when it rolled down slightly, I handed over a pre-printed piece of paper with an address located a block away from the club. The driver named the price, I nodded, and he opened the back door. The whole way, I sat there, taking a notebook out of my purse and pretending to write something. The taxi driver, after an unsuccessful attempt to start a conversation, lost interest in me for the rest of the ride, perking up only when we arrived and I handed him a bill without asking for change and got out of the car. First, I walked past the club at a leisurely pace, then turned back and entered, looking around the lobby with interest. There were quite a few people, even a small queue of about five people in front of the coat check.

— Hi, are you a new trans girl?

— Hi. Yes, it's my first time here.

— I'm Eleanor, I hang out here often and know all the 'girls'. Did you come here for clients or just to have fun?

— Well, it's my first time in a place like this, I just wanted to have some fun. You can call me Lena.

— That's good, because some of the girls were already getting worked up, like 'who's this newbie, huh?' Can I reassure them?

— Sure, I'm not planning to specifically take anyone away, unless someone takes me away.

— That's good then, — she turns to the hall and, raising her hand, bends her fingers a few times.

— That's me like, 'put your claws away, kitties, everything's fine' — she explains to me. Can we chat a little?

— If it's even possible to talk here, then I don't mind. But it's quieter on a runway than here.

— Let's go, we'll walk to the lobby, we can chat there, — she leads me away.

In the lobby, we took small poufs in a corner and soon were chatting quite well. She enlightened me about the local customs, praised my look, and gave advice. Eleanor is, of course, a pseudonym; her actual passport name is simpler, but considering she's a dominatrix providing BDSM services in her own apartment a ten-minute walk from the center for rich daddies—she has to keep up appearances. For my part, I told her about myself—in short, within an hour we were quite good friends and had a daiquiri to celebrate our acquaintance.

Soon our casual conversation was interrupted by a call to her mobile. After listening and answering with typical 'Yes', 'I'm at the club', 'Okay', 'there's an option, I'll ask now'. Eleanor, covering the phone, briefly outlined the prospects for the evening to me:

— Listen, an old acquaintance is calling, he wants to spend the evening with me, but he's with a friend and asked me to find a partner for this friend. By the way, the friend wants something exotic, how about keeping him company?

— If he's okay with spending time with a 'girl' like me and behaves decently, why not.

— That's good. Don't worry, he's not into sadomasochism, as Arthur told me—the boy just craves something exotic. And a trans girl should suit him just fine, I think.

And chirping:

— Everything will be fine, agreed, come on over — she hung up.

Half an hour later, I was being introduced to Arthur and his companion, whose name was Valera. Valera was explained who I was, and after looking me up and down, he smiled and agreed that he wouldn't be ashamed to sit with me not only in this specialized club but in any regular club. He hadn't had any experience communicating with girls like me before, but he was glad that the first instance brought him... and so on and so forth.

His appearance was quite pleasant; we were about the same age, and he behaved quite correctly, even a bit awkwardly, so I soon settled into the role of his date for the evening. By half past midnight, our company of four had polished off five bottles of champagne. Mainly Arthur and Elia drank; Valera and I just tried to keep up the general pace. But even what we drank was clearly too much for me; my head was buzzing, and the noise and enclosed space of the club didn't help. By two o'clock, after dancing enough and the end of the show program (Valera very sweetly held me by the waist and periodically his hands slid a bit lower, lightly squeezing my buttocks, which clearly indicated he had settled in and none of his initial wariness remained), we decided to leave. I remember very vaguely how I ended up in Valera's car and where we were going. I think we were kissing. And when the alcohol wore off a bit in the fresh air, it turned out we were already entering the entrance of his building.

After taking the elevator up, when the apartment door closed behind us—the last point of no return had been passed, and I decided to go with the flow. I barely had time to hang up my purse and unbutton my jacket when his hands (he had already taken off his coat) wrapped around my waist and pressed me against the wall. His tongue greedily penetrated deep into my mouth and began a game, intertwining and untwining with mine. From time to time, I take the initiative, lightly sucking on his tongue, but then he fiercely breaks free again and penetrates deeper, then caresses only with the very tip, while his hands stroke and lightly squeeze my body, and mine roam over his back and neck. Soon, I feel the hem of my dress creeping up my thighs until it's hitched up, so the cooler air begins to caress the space of my panties under which my heated member is pulsating. His hand runs over the raised bulge and I hear:

— Oh, the girl is already wet, how cute.

He presses on my shoulders, and I involuntarily sink to my knees, while his hands impatiently unzip his trousers and extract his ready-for-action cock. I close my mouth around the tip, having licked it first, and now a dozen centimeters of unyielding flesh are enveloped by my lips and plunged into my desire-moistened mouth. His cock isn't big, but it's a beautiful shape and quite suits me. Holding it in this position for a bit and running my tongue around the circumference, which made Valera breathe heavily, he took my head in his hands from the sides, not letting my hair fall into my face. Meanwhile, I begin to move my head evenly back and forth along its entire length, until suddenly I bump my nose against his pubic bone, completely swallowing his cock to the hilt. The phallus fills my mouth all the way to my throat, and it involuntarily tightens and relaxes, giving the man standing before me additional pleasure from such stimulation. That's essentially the trick of deep oral sex. After five to ten seconds, my head reflexively jerks back, and after gulping air, while the tip of my tongue draws patterns, caressing the frenulum of his cock, I impale myself again all the way to my throat, trying to hold it longer. After a few times, on the next breath, my lips are showered with a stream of bitter semen, which I try to catch on my tongue with my mouth wide open and swallow so as not to ruin my makeup. It's unpleasant, you know, when that sticky substance gets smeared along with mascara and eyeshadow, which then have to be wiped off. Luckily, not too much of the product was released; apparently, the boy, after the slow dances before we left the club, had jerked off a bit, though, as had I.

— Listen, what next, he asks, I'm honestly a newbie at this, I mean with guys, although you look very feminine.

I put on a surprised look:

— You didn't object when I pleased you with my mouth in the hallway.

— Well, it was dark there. And you're just great, not every woman can do that.

— Look, I can leave if you're uncomfortable. We're both free people.

— Hey, it's the middle of the night, how can I kick you out, and no one said I was uncomfortable.

— Let's do this. If you want to try, make up your mind, I'll try to do everything so you won't be embarrassed. First, turn on the floor lamp, and I'll turn off the ceiling light.

— Do you agree?

— Yes, — he answers quietly.

— Then trust me.

I bring my hands behind my neck and undo the dress clasp; now it's only held up by the shoulders.

— Help me take it off.

His hands slowly pull the fabric down, and now the dress slides down to my feet under its own weight. Valery swallows but doesn't try to pull away or remove his hands.

— You see, I'll stay in all this, we won't take off the lingerie, and it will be much easier for you to perceive me as a girl.

— Yes, please, it suits you very well.

— And now, so you're not afraid of what I have between my legs, we'll do something.

— Damn, I never would have thought you could experience something like this without fucking, — Valera states.

— It's just new to you, although I haven't practiced this in a while either.

— Where did you learn such a thing?

— You won't believe it, in an ancient Chinese treatise; they have books no worse than the Indian Kama Sutra.

— Listen, I'll go out for a smoke, I need to pull myself together, — he said to me, wrapping his robe.

Shrugging, I see him off with a nod and, tucking my member into my panties, lie down on the bed, as I don't smoke and can't stand cigarette smoke. The room is lit only by a nightlight on the table. Three minutes later, the door opened slightly to let the returning Valera in. Leaning over me, he stroked me, threw off his robe, and unambiguously placed his cock against my face. Wow, again, and I thought he'd need half an hour to recover. Lazily taking the protruding cock in my hand and stroking it with two fingers, I reached my lips to his scrotum and, taking it in my mouth, began to roll these wonderful nuts from cheek to cheek. But apparently, Valera wasn't interested in that; he abruptly grabbed my head and shoved his cock into my mouth, simply wanting to repeat what happened in the hallway. Taken aback by such a sharp change in mood from the recently shy guy, I helplessly allowed him to fuck my throat. His cock moved rhythmically, his balls slapping against my chin in time; at first, I only tried to ensure maximum comfort for myself. But soon the process completely captivated me, and now I was trying to suck in the invading organ as much as possible, tightly squeezing it with my lips. Valera behaved somewhat roughly, but to some extent, I liked it; it's not always me who takes the initiative. And how do you like it, you slut, when you're fucked in your depraved little mouth? More than when you're jerked off with hands? — here, he pulls out his dick and starts slapping it against my cheeks and tongue. At the same time, he says:

— Dressed up in a whorish corset, these stockings, to make it easier to fuck you? — his dick dives back into my mouth, and I only moan incoherently while his piston moves behind my cheek.

Still, despite everything, Valera is behaving strangely. The change is too sharp and scares me. Maybe he smoked weed cigarettes? I look carefully into his eyes; no, his pupils are normal, quite ordinary eyes, with a haze of pleasure. And he doesn't smell of that sweetish marijuana odor. Stop, smell. He doesn't smell of tobacco at all. If he smoked, then the same robe should now be strongly saturated with the smell of tobacco, and I absolutely remember that when he leaned over me, there was no smell of tobacco. (Specifically for .org — ) So, interesting, what's going on, maybe he popped a pill or snorted something, damn rich kids? He was a sane person, but now it's like he's been replaced, although he's cursing, he's not hitting—usually such types immediately like to get handsy.

My reflections led to me losing the rhythm, and Valera curses:

— Slacking off, bitch! Tired already?

Taking advantage of the pause, I try to catch my breath and look at him more closely. I don't see much: face, erect cock, thighs, knees. Oops, what's this? There's no scar on his thigh, but I distinctly remember there should be one.

— You're not Valera, — I croak on the exhale.

He, taken aback, freezes for a moment. Then he bursts out laughing and, turning to the door, shouts: — Valerka, she's figured it out!!!

And now it's my turn to be surprised; in the doorway, with a guilty look, appears another Valera, in exactly the same robe that is now lying at the foot of the bed.

— What's going on here, maybe you can explain it to me? — I address him in a suppressed whisper, overcoming my initial confusion.

— Well, this is my twin brother Taras, — he doesn't look up, — we had a bet, whether you could tell us apart or would accept the change in behavior as normal. Taras isn't like that at all; he was