All Yours
Mandy and I met at a startup mixer in Mountain View … she was the one holding court by the drinks, gold on her wrists, telling a room full of engineers exactly why their roadmap was wrong. I was the white guy in the corner who couldn’t stop looking at her. She clocked it, walked over, and said, “You’re staring.” Five years married now, a house in Silicon Valley, and she’s still the sharpest person in any room she walks into. She’s Desi Indian, born in Pune, and she’s a non-op trans woman — the whole package, exactly as she is, and exactly what I want.
People assume I’m the straight one who “coped” with the rest. Truth is we both actively enjoy it. She’s feminine as hell from the neck up and feral between the legs, and the contrast between her soft pretty face and the thick uncut cock hanging between her thighs is the thing that gets me hardest, every single time. We’re in love, sure. But mostly, we like to fuck.
She’s still got the dress on when I get her against the bedroom wall, and I don’t bother with the zipper. I get a hand up her thigh, push the hem to her waist, and she spreads for me like she’s been waiting all night for it.
“Don’t tease,” she says. “I’ve been half-hard since the car.”
“Half?” I press my palm flat against the front of her underwear, feel the shape of it, the damp cotton. “Feels like more than half to me.”
“That’s your fault. You kept looking at me across the table.”
“You kept crossing your legs so I would.”
She laughs, low. “Strategic.”
I hook my thumb in her waistband and drag her underwear down and her cock swings out … thick, heavy, uncut, the foreskin pulled back off the head so it’s shining in the lamplight, her balls hanging low and full beneath it. Above all that, her face: those big dark Desi eyes, that soft jaw, the warm brown of her skin flushed along her neck and chest, her hair falling out of its clip in loose black waves. Feminine as hell from the neck up, gold still on her wrists. Feral between the legs. The contrast gets me every single time, five years in and it still hits like the first night.
“Look at that,” I say. “All that and a fat cock too.”
“All yours.” She tips her hips forward, rubbing the head against my palm. “Go on. Put your mouth on it.”
I drop to my knees and take her in without preamble. She grunts and grips my hair.
“Fuck … okay. Okay, that’s it.”
I work her deep, one hand cupping her balls, rolling them, feeling them tighten as she swells against my tongue. She’s thick enough that my jaw aches and I don’t care. She fucks my mouth in short rolls of her hips, watching me do it, and I look up at her while she does … her lips parted, her chest heaving under the dress, the brown of her thighs pressed either side of my face.
“God, look at you,” she breathes. “Big man on his knees with his mouth full. You love it.”
I hum around her and she shudders.
“Say it,” she says. “Tell me what you love.”
I pull off just long enough. “I love my wife’s cock in my mouth.”
“Fuck.” Her hips jerk. “Again.”
“Later. Let me work.”
I pull the foreskin back with my lips, get my tongue right under the ridge where she’s most sensitive, and her knees go soft. She’s close fast … she always is when it’s my mouth … and her balls draw up tight in my palm.
“Don’t stop,” she says. “I’m right there … “
And then she’s cumming, hot and bitter across my tongue, her hips stuttering, her hand clenched hard in my hair. I swallow all of it and keep going until she pushes my head away, oversensitive, laughing breathless.
“Bastard,” she says. “You don’t let up.”
“Never do.”
She drags me up by the collar, shoving my shirt off my shoulders, and gets her mouth on my chest, biting along the muscle, dragging her nails down my stomach. My jeans are already straining and she palms me through them, squeezes.
“Look how hard you are,” she says. “From that. From my cock in your mouth.”
“I can’t help it….I love sucking your cock baby.”
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She unbuttons me, gets her hand inside, and strokes me slow and mean while she kisses my neck.
“You going to fuck me or stand there?”
“Get on the bed.”
I kick out of my jeans and she climbs on and lies back, legs spread, cock still slick and half-hard against her belly. She reaches down and strokes herself lazily, watching me.
“Come on then,” she says. “Show me what all that chest is for.”
I get over her and she takes my cock in her hand and she pulls me into her, wraps her legs around my waist and rocks up, and I push the rest of the way in and she goes tight around me and groans.
“Fuck, that’s thick,” she says. “Don’t move, just … give me a second.”
I hold still, buried, and she breathes through it and then rolls her hips. “Okay. Go.”
I start slow and deep and she takes it, hands on my shoulders, nails digging in. Then she shoves at my chest.
“Swap. I want to ride you.”
I pull out and roll onto my back and she climbs over me and takes my cock and sinks down, and this time she doesn’t wait … just starts riding me, hands braced on my chest, her cock bouncing stiff and slick against my stomach with every roll of her hips.
“There it is,” she says. “Better. I like being on top of you.”
“You like the view.”
“I like that you can’t do anything but take it.” She grinds down hard. “Big man pinned under his wife.”
I get my hands on her ass and pull her down harder. She grinds, finds her angle, and her mouth falls open.
“Fuck, you feel good,” she says. “Fill me up, come on. You close?”
“Getting there.”
“Don’t you dare come before me again.”
She leans down and kisses me, deep and messy, and I grab her hips and drive up into her while she meets me, both of us sweating, her hair sticking to her cheek. She gets a hand between them and works her cock fast and rough while she rides.
“Come on,” I say against her mouth. “Give it to me, let me feel it.”
“Shut up … “ and then she’s coming again, spilling over her knuckles and my stomach, her whole body locking up, her cunt clamping down on me so hard my eyes roll.
Her forehead comes down on mine and we stay like that, pressed together, breathing each other’s air, eyes open, watching each other come apart.
“I’m close,” I get out.
“Inside. Do it inside, fill your wife up.”
Two more thrusts and I’m gone, bucking up into her, coming with a groan against her mouth while she clenches down and milks it out of me. She rocks through it slow until I’m twitching and spent, then collapses onto my chest, both of us slick and heaving.
She lifts her head after a minute, hair a mess, that soft pretty face flushed pink across the brown.
“Still got the dress on,” she says.
“Leave it. I’ll take it off you later.”
“Promises.” She settles her cheek on my chest. “Round two in twenty minutes. I want to see how loud you get when I’m the one on top the whole time.”
