The Other Hole

Boruma Publishing

Kay begged Cole to touch her “there.” But playing in that part of the woods has a price, he warned his new lover. “There’s a power shift. For the bottom, it’s humiliation, surrender, loss of control.” Though not sure she understood—and not caring—Kay eagerly submitted. When he took her, Cole commanded her to bark like a dog (and she did!). Then the tables turned: Cole agreed to let Kay take him, although it takes a trip to their local sex toy shop for the right gear. Cole thinks he knows about the power shift. But it’s different when a woman is in control.

~~~~~  Excerpt  ~~~~~

Following Kay up the walk to the house, I was captivated by her easy stride, her hips moving on their own, as she approached the door. Her sleeveless, red knit mini-dress was clingy, formfitting, a real show stopper. The fishnets were icing on a very hot cake. She’s a big woman—not big that way, just five-foot-eleven big, proportional, full breasts, a woman’s hips and curves.

Two hours into the party, Phil, one of the bassists in the orchestra, sidled up to me. “You’re a gorgeous couple. Cole and Kay. Kay and Cole. Gotta love the alliteration. And Cole and the ice princess, no less.”

What could I do but smile? A player of the lowly trombone, the descendent of the ancient sackbut, hitting it off with a cellist—instrumentalists not known for commingling with the hoi polloi. But not Kay. She had no pretensions of being a soloist. She was just another working stiff in a regional orchestra that almost paid a living salary.

“Can’t comment on her rep as being cool,” I replied. “Jesus, though, she’s hot tonight.”

We had been lovers for months, a known number in the orchestra for nearly that long, and we knew that soon it would be common knowledge that we were moving in together in the fall.

Throughout the evening, an obligatory late summer soiree hosted by the concertmaster, Kay stayed close to me. Her hand often found mine, whether we were together on the couch talking to one of the percussion players or standing in the kitchen with the hostess, admiring the new cabinets. When I glanced at Kay, she’d meet my eyes and show me the tip of her tongue and the hint of a smile.

Chatting with the conductor, wine glasses in hand, my arm went around her, hand resting lightly on her hip. Without missing a beat, her hand found mine and pushed it down to her butt.

Standing behind her as we said our goodbyes, Kay leaned back, her generous curves pressing into my crotch. I know that sounds sluttish, but she did it with discretion and aplomb, all the while complimenting the décor and the host’s hospitality as she induced my erection.

In the car, her face half-lighted by streetlamp, I leaned in to kiss her. As our lips touched, she guided my hand down her side, lifted a haunch and slid it under one of her round cheeks. Like a good writer, she had been showing, not telling: She wanted me to do her in the ass.

Kay was a cellist. Her pedigree included Pablo Casals, Jacqueline du Pré, Mstislav Rostropovich, and Yo-Yo Ma. Like those masters, she exuded class, style and refinement. Kay isn’t a goof like me who makes a living by buzzing his lips and blowing in a brass tube.

Breaking off the kiss, she moved her mouth along my cheek to my ear: “Cole, I want you to do me in the ass.”

Luckily, it was only a ten minute drive to my apartment.

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Additional Information

Publisher
Boruma Publishing
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Published on
Apr 5, 2016
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Pages
15
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ISBN
9781310146466
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Language
English
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Genres
Fiction / Erotica / BDSM
Fiction / Erotica / Lesbian
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Content Protection
This content is DRM protected.
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Available on Android devices
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K.C. Cave
Brian wants a change "down there." Bigger, right? Meditation works, sort of. Now he’s a girl down below! His roommate doesn't mind, and gives the new package a daily workout. Brian worries that he's feminizing by the day. He calls his old friend (no benefits) Stacey, who can't believe his story. Then SHE tries meditating and gets trans-sexed! And they become friends with benefits.

~~~~~ PG Excerpt ~~~~~

“Hold it, man. Just hold it,” Stacey said. “What you’re saying—no way. That kind of transformation—trust me on this, I know people who have done it—costs tens of thousands of dollars and takes many surgeries. Come on, Brian. Level with me.”

They had almost polished off a bottle of wine. It wasn’t until the second glass that Brian found the words and told her the reason he had to see her.

Sighing, he got up. “Okay if I slip into something more comfortable?”

Two minutes later, he was back. His flannel sleep shirt came mid-thigh.

“Shaving your legs? Really?”

Brian sat next to Stacey. “There’s no other way but to show you,” he said, and pulled the shirt up to his waist.

Stacey pushed his legs apart, her nose inches away from his genitals.

“This is just incredible,” she said under her breath. “I mean, uncanny.”

“I know. Bob asked me if I was taking hormones.”

“Not just that. I’ll have to show you.”

Stacey wiggled out of her jeans and pushed her thong down. Sliding away from Brian, she spread her legs.

“Look. Look at me.”

Brian had skinny dipped with Stacey a couple times. But, unlike in porn, he discovered that in real life women don’t lie around with their legs spread. Even with their one failed attempt at sex in his parent’s station wagon, he had no idea what Stacey looked like.

Stacey’s girl parts were the mirror image of Brian’s—a classic clamshell capped with a downy brown bush. Brian even had a mole on his left thigh just like hers.

“It’s real?” Stacey asked. “It works?”

“Stacey, I rub myself every day. Three, four times. It is insatiable. It’s a problem, but, jeez, not one that I’m in a big rush to fix. I had no idea chicks had it so good.”

“Did you show Bob?”

Brian blushed.

“No, please, no—tell me it isn’t so. He’s doing you?"

“Not strictly speaking. Bob’s not gay,” Brian said, blotting the shower incident out of his mind. “Hell, I’m not gay. It’s just, well…”

“How often?”

“At least twice a day.”

“What else? I mean, who else?”

“Hank, the new guy at the shop. He does me every night after we close.”

Stacey slapped her open palm on her forehead. “What if you get pregnant?” She was almost yelling.

“I guess if I get pregnant, I’ll get rich. Think about it. I’ll be on TV. I’d be the first man in history…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

She eyed him critically. “So, why are you here? Sounds like things are going just ducky. God knows, your sex life is better than mine.”

“God, Stacey, I’m still changing. You heard my voice on the phone. Look at my legs. I don’t shave them. Same with my underarms. My butt is round and tight. The more I use it, the more I feminize. And look at this.”

He unbuttoned the sleep shirt.

“Oh, baby,” Stacey cooed, her hands moving across his hairless chest. “Oh, they’re so cute! You’re ready for your first training bra!”
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