Silken Detour

A few more weeks have gone since the incident of me falling asleep in class and completely messing up at the quiz. I wish I could say that things have been looking up since then, but it would sadly be a lie. The paper I turned in on female preference, well, I wrote about Hannah. Drawing from my experience with her I wrote about how she would enjoy me and my equipment in bed time activities. I got it back last week, graded. Putting it mildly, it didn't pass. It was quite frankly disastrous and I had apparently completely lost the mark on what we were supposed to highlight. One glaring word stood out in Miss Becker's comments; unrealistic. Other than that she hadn't written a lot of constructive criticism, only suggesting rather harshly that I educate myself on the matter, citing that there is a lot of information to be found both in the school library and the internet. She hoped I would be able to perform better on the coming assignments. Wishing that I succeed in the SISSIES program. That word; unrealistic. It has been eating at me ever since. Inserted with surgical precision to gnaw at insecurities already present.

It doesn't help that I haven't been invited over to Hannah's again since I declined her forwardness. We still text mind you, cute little messages and she keeps sending me photos of her in different outfits and make-up with links to where she got them. Though every time I suggest that we meet she deflects; too busy with mentor assignments, work, or some other completely valid reason. I have had a look at some of the things she sent and with the promotional code she had it wasn't that expensive. So I have actually bought some make-up in preparation of getting back at Kyle. I figured that the best way was to simply copy what was done to me. He was okay with the prank on me so he should be able to take it.

The delivery was fast, a package deal with brushes, a palette and some mascara, as well a complementary glossy lipstick arrived just a few days after the order. The packaging however was not subtle, at all. Laying outside our apartment door one day when I was coming home was a box with big letters' 'Bimbo Bitch' in stylish cursive. Even worse was that Jerome was already home when I took it inside, seeing me carry the box with me into my room. He probably thought it was a wrongful delivery when he saw it outside, so I had to stop and explain that it was for an orientation thing. A prank to be played on a classmate.

Other than that I have sort of fallen into a routine now, breakfast, class, either gym with Jerome or spending time with Kyle, whichever first depending on Jerome's schedule. Then home, make dinner, study, and do some light chores around the house. It's the least I can do with Jerome helping me with my injections, and coaching me. Speaking of which, my time at the gym is clearly paying off. My ass and legs ache constantly from training soreness and I can actually see a difference in their development. Even my chest feels sore, although not quite the same. But it is a smaller muscle so I don't give it that much thought. There are already lumps forming on it, a definite wide swell, undeniable protrusions. It has to mean something is happening, a first step towards Jerome's results and my excitement in seeing my chest grow is nothing less than exhilarating.

With access to proper produce that gets delivered to us each week I am able to cook healthy meals too. I'm not questioning the generosity of the university, why bite the hand that literally feeds when it has been doing wonders for my health. My hair even looks sheener and has been growing fast. I have been thinking about cutting it, but Hannah said that long hair is actually more suitable for my face after I sent her a picture. She said that not many guys can pull off long hair and she wished more would dare try it.

That being said, sadly the knot in my gut has been steadily tightening over the fact that I have failed not only one assignment, but two and I have not dared tell Jerome yet. At this point I don't even know if it's worse if he gets angry or disappointed. It is eating me up inside when I lay in bed in the morning, pondering if I should take the bull by its horns and just own up to it.

Jerome said he had a late class today, so he is probably still asleep. He hasn't come out of his room at least, so I did not have to fight him for the bathroom. Laying in bed already in uniform I stare at the ceiling, waiting to leave. There is no point in being too early. Going over different scenarios in my head over how Jerome will react when I tell him that I am not exactly failing per se, but not doing as well as I have let on when my phone buzzes at the nightstand. It's a message from Kyle.

Sissy Kyle: Heya sissy 🫶 I had this idea why don't you come to my place after and sleep over it'll be fun. I have never had a sleepover with a friend.

Kyle's message is nothing short of a blessing. A way out if Jerome's reaction is worse than what I have cooked up in my head. An opening I can't pass on. Shimmying out of bed and tittering up to Jerome's door I test the handle, unlocked. Cranking it open to peek through the crack I can see that he is indeed fast asleep still. The clicking of my heels against the floor does not wake him up, neither does drawing the duvet down a smudge. My hand place against his chest. Hard muscle, not like the softness of my swollen one. Rucking him gently while whispering. "Jerome, Jerome."

His eyes open, searching, trying to understand what woke him. A predator gaze scanning to fixate on me, eyes narrowing, pupils dilating and shrinking to find the proper setting.

The tension leaves his body to let calmness take hold when he recognizes me. An unthreatening disturbance. "Taylor?"

"I need to talk to you" I whisper, gut wrenching harder. I feel as though I want to puke. The truth clawing at my stomach, wanting out.

"Can't it wait?" he asks somewhat irritably. Understandable given the situation.

"It has waited" I confess, backing away a little.

Jerome sits up against the bedrest, yawning "You look like you've seen a ghost".

His comment doesn't exactly help quench the nervousness that has been brewing for weeks that is now bubbling in my throat, but I relent. It would only serve to make things worse if I woke him up to say it was nothing.

"I... I have to tell you something. I failed a test and, well, a written assignment too." I confess meekly, feeling the tightness loosen as the words leave my mouth to make way for uncertainty of his response.

"What? When?" he shakes his head, casting off the remnants of sleep that tugs at his eyelids "I thought you were doing well."

My hands clasp in front of me, a demure posture. Shame hanging over me, my head tilted down from the weight of it "A few weeks ago. I fell asleep okay, it was an accident. The other one was. My argument was flawed."

"You said you were going to take this seriously Taylor."

"I am!"

"What are we going to do about this? You have put me in a pickle here." he says, pressing his hands into the mattress to lift himself up and heaves himself off the bed.

"I don't know," I say, giving him room to get up. Backing up to the doorway "are you mad?"

Jerome walks over to the edge of his bed and sits down. "I'm not mad Taylor." he says and reaches out with his hand "Come here." I step forward, taking it. He doesn't pull, simply ushering me closer. "You have put me in a difficult situation withholding that for so long. I'm going to have to work a lot harder to remedy that and I don't have a lot of time to prepare now. Thanks to you."

"I'm sorry," my thumb tracing his hand to comfort, my voice small. Begging. An unaware attempt at garnering sympathy.

"Sorry doesn't really cut it at this point," Jerome sighs. "I think something has to be done to make you understand this is a problem."

Jerome guides me to his side, gently leading me where he wants me. His hand holding mine with soft possessiveness. He pats his lap twice, "Lay down." My blank expression tells more than words. "I said, lay on my lap sissy," Jerome repeats. Dominantly, but not harshly so. No anger to his words, only weight. I sink slowly, bending at waist, then knees to catch the fall. Unsure of what's going to happen. Jerome's hands grab at my midriff, lifting and repositioning me so that my ass is right over his leg. With one swift motion he flicks my kilt up with one hand, the other grasping my throat. My breath hitches when my kilt is flipped up, baring the panties I have on. They're one of the black QOS brand ones. My favorites since I saw Hannah wearing the brand.

"Don't you think you need to be punished for this?" A leading question. Of course I do, my failure is not only bad for me, but for Jerome too. I probably should be punished for it somehow. I nod. A careful agreement. Whispering a demure "Yes."

Jerome's hand crashes down on my cheek. The smack is loud and stinging, sending the mass of my growing ass wobbling. I can just barely collect my bearings, registering what just happened before the next one comes. Same place, same force, same sting and same heat spreading from the impact, the same... Pleasure? I yelp at the third, my hips grinding into him without thinking. Anticipating another, leaning into the sensation of the aftershock. A fourth, fifth and sixth. All going through the same cycle of painful impact of his lashing hand, then stinging ebbing into slight burning. Simmering to register as more, a sensation of need within. Pleasant charges scurrying from the place of impact. I'm mewling under his hold, hand tightening on my throat. Firm. Inescapable. Seven, eight. The pleasantry of it dissipating, my smoldering cheek reignited with each stroke. Nine. Only a mere shadow of what was to enjoy from the first few remains. Ten. Only pain, leaving me wanting for the side effects that refuse to emerge, replaced by a prolonging of intense ache. Eleven. My jaw clenching fighting through it. Wishing to have something to sink my teeth into. At the twelfth spank he stops. His hand resting there. Feeling my ass radiate into his palm. It moves over to the one yet to be ruined. Taking a handful of its mass, kneading possessively. A quiet sob escapes me, my lips quivering when the burn refuses to die down.

"Shhhh," Jerome hushes "You know you deserved this." His hand releases its hold, fingers scraping my plump behind. Then something familiar. His fingers traversing across the fabric of my underwear. Circling where the brand on panties is placed before following it down into the crack. Sliding just over my butthole, poking, teasing, prodding ever so slightly. I squirm under the tingling it summons, I hear myself gasp. Lost in a trance that disconnects me from reality. A delirious sensation from it opening up ever so slightly to welcoming intrusion. Need. Wanting. Feeling the grasp around my throat tighten, silencing. Demanding I stay still. The intrusive mistakenly placed pressure releases. In its wake a sense of loss, its delightful pulses snatched from my grasp. There's a nothingness hanging in the air, a calm before the storm. I prepare myself mentally, waiting for it to start.

When it comes it is just like the first cheek, and I revel at the intensity of the humming that reverberates from the initial strike. My ass lifting to meet the next, beckoning for just a little more, only I know it will fade, not to be seen again as the strikes continue. Dulling the ecstatic afterglow with each stroke of Jerome's swift hand. I count them in my head. Finding the spot where pleasantry makes way for pain. Seven. Seven spankings of my rump is where the line is drawn. Where any wants for another ceases. Where anticipation turns to trembling. Yet it has to be so. Discomfort, I deserve nothing less. It's punishment and punishment demands it.

When he is finished I lay still. Hiked over his lap, ass pulsating. Raw. Broken. A reflection of my dignity. Spanked into docile paralysis. Not out of cruelty, but desperation from one that carries the burden to tame. I flinch as Jerome's hand touches my lower back, the other releasing its grip on my neck. He helps me ease myself off his lap, down on solid ground. Standing tall, but not proud. My shame comes flooding, I can barely look at him after what I have made him succumb to doing.

"Do you understand why I had to do that?" Jerome grumbles, the disappointed tang still there. Tainting his otherwise cheerful demeanor.

"Because I failed," I snivel with eyes cast down.

"No Taylor, of course not," Jerome stands up, placing two fingers under my chin forcing me to look at him directly. "Because you didn't tell me."

"Sorry," I say, fighting against my eyes wanting to divert.

"I don't want to have to do this again, Taylor. But I will," Jerome states. Looking deep into my soul. Burying the fact that he will spank me again if I make him. I nod rapidly, understanding that he had to do it settling in. Watching as Jerome lights up. His hands placing at my hips. A gentle touch following the harsh disciplining, "We good, Tay?" he asks. Again I nod. Jerome's fingertips brushing my punished cheeks tenderly almost has me wincing. "Is there coffee?" his simple question breaking the spell of the moment.

My response is quick. Gladdened over the immediate return to status quo, "Yes! I'll get you a cup," I answer. Hurrying out into the kitchen to pour the black gold. Smoke snirkling its way high from it as I hand it over to Jerome, "Careful."

"Life saver." he takes a sip and lets out an appreciative groan, "Ohh, that's good."

"Um," I start, catching Jerome's glint of worry right away. "No, nothing like that. I was just gonna say that I'm staying over at Kyle's tonight."

Jerome takes another gulp. "Sure, I'll order in. You sissies have fun."

I grin. I will, some long overdue fun. "I- I better get going." excusing myself "I didn't know when you would wake up. There's bread in the cupboard." Stopping in my room to collect my bag, adding the newly acquired make-up. I halt for a moment, eyeing my mirror and lift my kilt to check my behind. My otherwise fair skin has turned red, blending into rose pink the further it gets from the center of Jerome's strikes. Clear markings of my disciplining. Phone in hand I send a quick message to Kyle.

Me: Looove it! See you soon🫶🏻

The air outside lay heavy, a thick darkening blanket hanging low in the sky, moisture filling the air. Lifting the grassy scent to new heights. Puddles dotting the path to class. It has been raining, the shallow assembly of water spluttering against the toe of my heels. The mere brushing of my kilt against my ass, moving with each step triggering echoes of the punishment it endured. Its length, or rather lack there of, no longer bothers me. If anything, my mind is wrestling with how the very shortest one Hannah showed would feel. Seeking that dangerous spark again. Not even my panties scratch that itch any more. Reduced from enticing secret to a mere necessity. A must to feel normal, leaving me constantly hungry for what it used to provide.

As me and Kyle pack up our things when the lecture ends, watching the tiny droplets coalesce on the windows to streak downwards in lazy rivulets. My butt has settled into a soft humm. A noticeable soreness. Not intrusive, but an ever present reminder of the morning's spanking. A light drizzle greets us as we step outside, prompting us to heighten our pace. Sharp uniform click-clacks of our heels drowning out the sound of misty downpour that strikes us, shards biting my face. Giggling amongst each other, retelling anecdotes from the day's lecture we carry on onwards. Halfway there the sky opens. I feel the first drop hit my shoulder, different from the stinging tapping. "Did you feel that?" I ask, looking up to feel a drop hit the center of my forehead.

"Mhmm," Kyle answers, already with a spring in his step. Ready to fly. We run as best we can in heels, an awkward mincing gait. Clothes quickly wettening, shilling. Our white shirts turning transparent under the relentless rain. Dampened hair slicking to our backs. Flinging my arms out when acceptance settles that any hope of reaching Kyle's home somewhat dry is a loss. Basking in mother nature's spectacle. Spinning. Dancing in the rain to Kyle's delighted laughter.

Reaching his apartment we are both soaked completely, white shirts fully see through now unable to hide my wide pink areolas. Cold sleeping into my bones. My nipples hardened to diamond points. Swollen and sensitive. Clear budding points poking obscenely through my shirt. Kyle lets out a sigh of relief as we stumble inside, followed by a gasp to catch his breath after running.

"Come on." he says, wiping off the brunt of rain from his face with the back of his hand. Taking my wrist gently he leads me straight to his room. Same as mine. The bigger bedroom of the apartment. He doesn't bother closing the door, simply starting to take off the wet shirt. I watch him for a brief moment before following his initiative. Peeling off the wet clothes. Bare chested, just like my friend. Watching him I spot a development on Kyle's chest, protrusions, though not quite like mine. Mine has a wide swell to them, his more like tiny cones. Pushing his nipples outward. Kyle catches me watching, smiling. Not pausing before stepping out of his kilt.

My eyes widen in shock. Clinging to his hips they lay, smooth against his crotch, covering most of his butt from what little I can tell. Panties. White panties with a pink bow in the front. Their design much more modest than mine. Innocent. Cute. Not sexy that used to get my own heart racing. "Kyle you, um?" I start.

"I know, aren't they cute." Kyle chippers, not the slightest faint of embarrassment. Playfully turning sideways to show them off in full, hips swaying just a little, displaying every angle. Kyle's ease over showing his panties cradling me into a sense of calm. That this is a place of safety. I pull my kilt down, revealing the black thong that carries a whole other undertone than his. "You're also wearing-" Kyle begins before I turn, showing him the full effect. The strap of my thong digging deep in my crack, framing my cheeks, making them look fuller. "-wow!" Kyle gasps "QOS!"

"It's my little secret." I confess quietly, looking down at the almost flat surface at the front of my panties, then back over my shoulder at the protruding behind. "Don't tell anyone. Please."

Kyle just smiles wider, bending to collect the wet clothes we'd let puddle on the floor. "Your secret's safe here, Taylor. Let's hang these up to dry so they don't ruin anything."

We drape the shirts and kilts over the backs of chairs and the shower rod in his bathroom, the fabric still dripping softly. When we retreat to the living room Kyle tilts his head, eyes sparkling with sudden inspiration.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked, standing there confidently, still in nothing but his panties.

"No, wait-" he interrupts himself before I can get a word in. "I have an idea." Rushing to the TV stand, turning on a box beneath that whirres to life with a soft humming of a fan and opening a drawer beneath to take something out. He turns, holding two wireless microphones. His eyes gleaming with glee, gesturing at the TV screen which now display a colorful karaoke menu full of song titles.

"I have never done karaoke." I admit, a shy laugh escaping me as I stand there in the dental floss undergarment, arms loosely crossed over my bare chest. Trying to ignore the intrusiveness of my hardened nipples.

Kyle's eyes light up even more, a wild excitement like embers in them. "Perfect! That makes it even better. No pressure, just fun. We can pick easy ones first. Or silly ones. Whatever you want." He hands me, or more like shoves, one of the microphones into my hand. "Come on, Taylor. We're already half-naked, let's just let the vibe flow. What do you say? Duet? Or are you brave enough to go solo first?" "Um, a duet is fine." Kyle starts scrolling through the song list, humming thoughtfully. "We've got everything, pop, oldies, some girly anthems. Ooh, look; 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun'..." He stops, thumb hovering over the select button. "Or maybe something slower if you're feeling shy." Kyle bumps his hip gently against me, the soft fabric of his innocent panties brushing me. "I'll even let you pick first. Fair warning though, I get really into it. Lots of dramatic hand gestures and terrible high notes." "That's okay."
"That's the spirit." His finger held pointedly. "There's only one rule in this house, whatever song you do, you own it. All of it."

I couldn't help but smile, the uncertainty of my questionable vocal prowess fading under his playful energy. The rain continued to patter softly against the window, but inside, the warm apartment feels safe, secret and strangely exciting. Freeing even, being able to stand there in nothing but our panties without worry. Unspoken understanding between two friends. Microphones in hand, feeling like the beginning of something new, more, something we could only share with each other.

"So... what's it gonna be, sissy?" Kyle teases lightly, using our student denotation with affectionate mischief. "Ready to sing your heart out?"

Biting my lip, feeling a fresh flutter in my stomach over trying something new. My fingers tightening around the microphone as I leaned in closer to the TV, scrolling slowly through the options with him. The warmth of his bare shoulder pressed against mine felt comforting, reassuring.

"But first I need some wine." Kyle says hurrying off, energy spitting out his ears. "You want?"

I nod, murmuring "Some wine sounds nice." He hands me a glass, a sweet riesling. Fruity. I down the rest in one gulp, reaching it out for a refill. Alcohol hitting just right on an empty stomach.

"Okay... maybe we start with something fun and easy," I suggest, voice still a little shy but growing steadier. "How about... this one?" I highlight an upbeat pop track we both knew from our playlists. Kyle's face split into a delighted grin.

"Yes! I love this one. You take the first verse, I'll jump in on the chorus with you?"

"Deal," I whisper, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. Performance anxiety.

As the intro music start playing, filling the room with bright, catchy beats, Kyle bumps me again playfully and whispers, "Just remember, own it."

The first lines leave my lips, shaky at first, but Kyle's enthusiastic backup and silly dance moves quickly pulls me in. Soon we were both laughing between lyrics, shimmying in our panties, dancing, spinning, the storm outside completely forgotten as the little apartment fills with our imperfect, joyful voices. By the second song, I'm already picking bolder tracks, feeling braver with every shared glance and giggle, drinking between songs. Like we were both discovering new sides of ourselves together, letting the tracks pave the way. I notice Kyle stealing glances at my thong, but never in a mean way, just curiosity, appreciation and a smudge of envy hidden behind the mask of glee.

After a particularly silly high-note fail that left us both doubled over laughing, Kyle flops onto the couch, patting the spot beside him.

"Break time? Or should we keep going? I've got snacks in the pantry if you're hungry... and maybe later we can talk more about... well, you know." His eyes flicking meaningfully to my black thong, then back up to my face with gentle curiosity. "Only if you want to. No pressure."

I nod, carefully. Feeling that I can trust Kyle with the truth. How my panties bring out something in me, a quiet confidence of sorts. A strength I had always lacked before.

He winks, still holding his microphone like a trophy, waiting for my answer as the next song in the menu glowed invitingly on the screen.

"Wait, before we start this one, I want to show you something." Kyle says, bouncing up, waving frantically at me to follow him to his room. The door to his walk-in closet flung open, and out of it Kyle comes, holding a pair of sky-high stiletto heels with pointed toes. They are in glossy black patent leather, easily six inches tall with a wickedly thin heel. The shoes oozed confidence, maybe even a touch of danger. Kyle holds them up proudly, turning them so the light catches the shine.

"I've been practicing with these," he confesses, cheeks flushing just a little. "When no one's home. They make my legs look insane. Want to see?"

My eyes widen as I stare at the dramatic shoes. "Wow... those are really high. But, why?"

"I'm a Beta." Kyle laughs softly, stepping into the first heel with practiced ease, buckling the delicate ankle strap and stands up straight, immediately shifting his posture. His hips tilted, his back arched slightly, and his calves tightened into a smooth, feminine line. He takes a few careful steps across the room, each click of the heel sharp and deliberate. A more defined sound than from the ones I've grown accustomed to hearing.

"Is it hard? Like, walking in them?" I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

"It was at first." he admits, turning gracefully on the ball of his foot. "I wobbled like crazy the first couple of times. But once you get the balance... it feels powerful. Like you're strutting down a runway." He does a little spin for emphasis, the innocent white panties with the pink bow contrasting deliciously with the bossyness of the height. "Wanna try?"

Before I could overthink it, Kyle was already back inside the closet. Returning with another pair of black stiletto pumps, thick platform at the front, and more rounded toe. Thin welded heel. The design screamed stripper, absolute slut.

"Here, try these." Practically shoving them into my bosom. "They might be a bit big on you, but I have small feet so it shouldn't be by much, they should still work. Come on, Taylor. Don't leave me hanging here."

I sit down on the edge of the bed, inhibitions lightened by a warm buzz, and slip my feet into the pumps. The fit is surprisingly decent, maybe a touch loose, perhaps half a size too big, but nothing that makes me feel like I'd slip out. The moment I stand up though the world shifts. My center of gravity changed completely. My ass pushes out, my chest thrusts forward, and every tiny movement makes my hips sway whether I want them to or not. More profoundly than what I have gotten used to.

"Whoa..." I breathe, taking a tentative step, wobbling slightly before finding my balance. The heels click loudly from heightened pressure, sending a strange little thrill up my spine. And the height, I'm almost the same as Kyle without shoes.

Kyle claps his hands together once "Yes! Look at you. Already better than I was my first try." He takes my hand, and we titter our way out into the living room again. Trying my best to not rely on Kyle for support.

Kyle quickly hands me a microphone, and immediately hits play, "Strut bitch!" a wicked grin plastered on his face. The beat drops, sassy, bouncy and demanding in its lyrics.

We begin pacing back and forth across the open space, heels clicking in rhythm with the music. Kyle leading the way, hips swaying dramatically from side to side in wide, exaggerated arcs. Each step was deliberate; toe first, then heel, shoulders back, chin up. His tiny conical formations bounces slightly with the motion, and the innocent pink bow on his white panties bobbing playfully.

I follow, trying to match his energy. The too-tall heels force my steps to shorten into that mincing, hyper-feminine gait that demands my legs to cross. My bare chest feel even more exposed as my posture straightens. My own mounds bouncing, a light tugging of what I believe to be resting muscle. I let my hips roll exaggeratedly, copying Kyle's model walk, left, right, left, right, popping my ass with each beat.

"All the pretty girls walk like this, this, this..." we sing together, strutting back and forth, owning it, our voices blending. As we pass each other we point, hyping each other up.

Kyle strikes a pose at one end of the room; hand on hip, leg popped, heel tilted just so. Then spin and struts back toward me. I try the same, feeling ridiculous and exhilarated at the same time. The heels made my legs look longer, my ass rounder, and every sway sending little jolts of strange excitement through me.

By the chorus we were fully in it, strutting in sync, microphones held like we were pop stars on stage. The rain continued tapping against the window, but inside it was all clicking heels, swaying hips, breathless laughter and attitude.

As the song wounds down Kyle strikes one final dramatic pose right in front of me; chest out, one hand dramatically tossed through his damp hair. He was breathing hard, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with mischief.

"See? Told you it feels powerful." he pants, still balanced perfectly in his stilettos. He glances down at my black pumps, then back up to my face, voice dropping into something softer, more curious. "You know, you look really good in those Taylor. Like... really fucking good. How do they feel?"

I stand there in the pole dance stilettos, heart racing from the impromptu show. The thin straps of my thong digging deliciously into my skin. The exaggerated sway of my hips still lingered in my muscles even after the music has faded. "They feel... dangerous." I admit with a shy smile, shifting my weight from one heel to the other. The motion making my ass pop again without meaning to. "But kind of amazing, like I'm a force." It's not a lie. Just like the panties they feel forbidden to wear and therefore so deliciously exciting.

Kyle's grin turned wickedly delighted. "You definitely are. More?"

"More!" I agree, instantly.

He lean in closer to me, the scent of rain still clinging to both of us and whisper conspiratorially "Then show me what you got bitch."

Kyle hits play on the next track, the opening beats already pulsing with attitude. Then he steps back, giving me the floor first, eyes locked on me with open encouragement and something warmer flickering behind them.

The heels click as I take my first bold step forward, hips rolling, microphone raised, ready to dive back into the performance with my new partner in crime. The weather outside turning rougher, but in here the only storm was the one we deliver.

The next song was pulsing through the speakers, something with a heavy, sassy beat that begged for even more attitude. Kyle and I are fully in it now, strutting back and forth across the living room in our heels like we owned a runway. Hooking my thumbs in the thin straps, pulling at them, swaying, seductive rolling of my hips, dropping lower. Kyle matches me in attitude in his performance walking behind me, his hands running over my squatting body. Ruffling my hair.

Singing loudly into our microphones, laughing between lines, chests bare, bodies glistening slightly from moving around. I'm mid chorus, with head flung back to let my voice flow free the front door of the apartment suddenly clicks open.

Heavy footsteps sounding in the hallway. Deep and confident with an unmistakable masculine weight to them as they approach.

I'm too into it to fully notice Kyle freezing for half a second, his whole posture shifting. The bossyness energy drained away in an instant, replaced by something softer and more submissive. He straightens his back, tilt his head slightly downward and smoothens his hands over his white panties as if making sure they look presentable.

"Marcus!" Kyle calls out, his voice bright but carrying a clear note of deference. He takes a few careful steps toward the foyer in his towering heels, hips still swaying from habit but now in a more controlled, casual feminine sway. "Heeey... you're home early." a sweet drawl.

A deep, smooth voice answering him. "Recording went better than we hoped."

Marcus appears in the walkway, filling much of the space. He's tall, taller than Jerome even, with broad shoulders, dark skin and the kind of effortless powerful build of an alpha black male. Not sculpted from weight training or as lean as Jerome. Lacking the hard worked definition of my sponsor.

His eyes sweep the room, taking in the scene; two feminine boys in nothing but panties and slutty footwear, microphones still in hand and the TV paused on the karaoke screen.

Kyle steps forward submissively, lowering his gaze just a touch more while still offering a friendly smile. "We got caught in the storm after class. Decided to do some karaoke to warm up. This is Taylor, my friend from the program. Taylor, this is Marcus, my sponsor."

Marcus's gaze lands on me, lingering for a moment on the brand of my panties. A quick chuckle rumbles. Eyes continue to travel over my feminine arch. "Nice to meet you Taylor." his attention moves back to Kyle.

Kyle's fingers fidget with the hem of his panties, pulling them up tighter, trying to smoothen the front to hide the small bump, stealing quick glances up at Marcus with eagerness to please. I can sense the clear power dynamic between them. Alpha and Beta.

"Want us to turn the music down?" Kyle asks softly, almost sweetly, his voice taking on that submissive lilt. "Or... I can get you something to drink if you're thirsty. We were just having fun."

"Don't mind me, you sissies continue. But if you could get me a beer that'd be nice."

Kyle's cheeks flush deeper at the casual use of "sissies". He nods quickly, almost eagerly. "Yes, of course."

There was that nervousness again, clear in the way Kyle's breath hitched slightly, the way he held himself smaller despite the towering heels. It was the same anxiousness that shows up when I'm around Hannah. Like he was looking for approval.

Marcus's eyes flicks back to me once more, taking in my bare chest with its wide, swollen, lumps, nipples pointing straight out, before he slumps down onto the couch. Kyle comes tittering back, handing him his drink.

The hazy buzz from the bottles of wine tingling, drowning my would be embarrassment of being seen like this in its cradling fog. Vulnerable. A piece of me that I have let stay hidden, kept away, now let free from its chains to roam.

"Let's give our audience a show shall we?" Kyle suggests. Before I am able to answer Kyle scrolls quickly through the karaoke list and picks a track. The opening beats hit hard, a filthy, bouncy pop song full of attitude, the kind that have to be adjusted for radio. Kyle hits play, turning the volume up to a sounding boom, and grabs his microphone again. The lyrics are shameless, all about a "bitch's ass" and how it should clap, drop, and shake for attention. How the pussy is good, wet, and wanting. Needing that n-dick.

Kyle doesn't even wait for the first verse. The moment the chorus drops he plants his feet wide, and starts shaking his hips. He drops low, ass pushed out, trying his best to twerk right there in the middle of the room, directly in the line of sight from Marcus casually sipping on his beer.

The problem is, Kyle doesn't have much to shake. His small tight ass wobbling, innocent girly white panties riding up between his cheeks as he bounces it. Still, he gives it everything, rolling his hips in exaggerated circles, dropping into a squat and popping back up, the thin fabric stretching over his modest curves. His tiny conical protrusions jiggling from the effort, his face a mix of concentration, and exaggerated lust, like he was performing just as much for Marcus as for the song.

I look over at Kyle, at all the fun he's having, not a care in the world weighing him. My feet begin to move, feeling the music in my bones, heart hammering, heels clicking as I plant my feet, hips gyrating, joining Kyle in this show. Thoughts searching for a reference point, inspiration. Finally finding it in latin music videos. My knees bending, hips tilting back and fourth, shaking what I have back there. My black thong leaves far less to the imagination, unlike Kyle's princess panties. In contrast to Kyle I actually have something to work with, something that actually moves, rounder, fuller cheeks that jiggled noticeably with every pop and drop.

My movements aren't quite as graceful as Kyle's practiced strut, a little clumsier, but the extra bounce makes up for it in spades. Ironically given the black spade tag that jingles as I move. Each time I drop low to twerked, attempting the clapping of cheeks the song references, the irritation stirs that I can't get it to. But with the development I'm making it's surely only a matter of time.

We sing along breathlessly, voices overlapping on the filthy lyrics. Kyle glanced over his shoulder at me and grinning, sweat already starting to bead on his skin from the effort. He dropps even lower, hands on his knees, legs splayyed wide, ass bouncing as best as his slim frame allows, clearly putting on a hell of a show.

Marcus cracks open another beer with a hiss. The low, appreciative growl that rumbling from his chest was deep and masculine, mostly drowned out by the loud music, mostly that is. I could sort of sense it in a way. Catching the tail end of it, a hungry, vibration that sent a strange shiver up my spine. Marcus lounged back on the couch, one arm draped over the back, beer bottle resting on his thigh as he watched us openly. His eyes locked on the display of us sissies working the songs dips, and highs.

Kyle keeps going, strutting, dropping low again, and again, heels wobbling slightly under the influence but never giving up. He even reached back with one hand to pull the waistband of his panties higher, making the cute panties dig deeper while he tried to make his small ass clap for the audience we both knew was watching.

I try matching his energy as best I can, lost in a sort of trance, my own ass jiggling more obviously with every practised shake. The stilettos forcing my posture into that permanent arch, pushing everything out and making the movements feel even more obscene. Every time I dropped and popped back up, I felt the cool air on my exposed skin, and the weight of Marcus's gaze.

The song was soon winding down, but neither of us stopped moving, waiting to see what would happen next now that Marcus had a front-row seat to our little private show.

Clap, clap, clap. A slow thundering of hands applauding. "You sissies can move, damn."

We burst out laughing, my hands flinging up to cover my sudden embarrassness. Kyle wobbles towards Marcus, falling into his lap. "Your turn." Handing Marcus the microphone, his face moving closer to his ear. Mouthing something I can't hear; 'Daddy', before he slips off to the side.

I need a rest too, walking on stilts to sit down on the corner. Dancing is a lot more exhausting than I imagined it would be and the world has started to spin a bit. I may have drunk a tad bit too much. Sinking down onto the couch, my legs feeling like jelly in the yet unfamiliar footwear. The room is still spinning just a little from the wine, but in a warm, floaty way that makes everything feel softer around the edges. My bare chest is heaving, nipples tight from the air conditioning and the adrenaline coursing through me, and I can feel a light sheen of sweat making my skin glisten under the living room lights. Kyle is practically draped across Marcus's side now, one hand resting lightly on the big man's thigh, looking up at him with an expectant glow.

Marcus' massive hand practically swallows the microphone. He leans back deeper into the couch, one arm still casually slung along the backrest behind Kyle, and eyes us both for a second like he's deciding exactly how much to show off.

"Aight, sissies," he says, that deep, smooth baritone rumbling through the room even without the mic. "Watch, and learn."

Kyle shifts in his seat towards me, leaning against Marcus. "You're gonna love this." He assures.

Marcus scrolls through the karaoke list with surprising ease for someone his size, thick fingers tapping the remote. The TV screen flickers, and then the opening piano notes of a classic soul track fill the apartment, something rich and emotional, like an old-school Marvin Gaye or Teddy Pendergrass vibe, but with a modern R&B smoothness. The beat is slow, sensual, heavy with longing.

The moment Marcus starts singing, the first few lines rolling out of him, my jaw literally drops. His voice is... God, it's nothing like what I expected. It's deep, velvet-rich. Smooth like fine aged whiskey slipping down your throat. He hits the low notes with effortless power, the kind that vibrates in your chest, then glides up without effort, an aching falsetto that sends actual chills racing down my spine. There's no strain to it like our unpracticed voices, no cracking, just raw talent.
I can't help but stare. My mouth is open, eyes glacing Marcus' vibrating throat, completely caught off guard. Kyle has his eyes closed, but with this proud, adoring little smile, like he's heard it before, and still can't get enough. His body moving with the music's gentle sway. Marcus doesn't even look like he's trying hard. He's lounging there, eyes half-lidded as he pours every ounce of soul into the lyrics about love, desire, and possession. The words wrap around us, thick, warm, talking about taking care of what's his, about bodies moving together, about making someone feel owned in the best way.

Every time he slides into a higher register, holding a note so perfectly it feels like it could shatter glass if he wanted, my stomach does this weird flip. His voice is so masculine, deep, yet so beautifully controlled.

When the song ends Marcus sets the mic down on the coffee table with a satisfied smirk, his gaze landing squarely on me. He takes a slow sip of his beer, eyes tracing over my swollen chest. "Impressed, Taylor?" he asks, voice still carrying that rich afterglow from the song.

I swallow hard, trying to find my voice. My throat feels tight, words coming out softer and breathier than I intend. "That... that was incredible. I mean... wow."

He chuckles again, low and warm, and the sound does something, stirring something. Kyle is beaming, clearly loving every second of this. Marcus shifts slightly on the couch, his broad frame making the cushions dip. One of his big hands comes to rest on Kyle's hip possessively, fingers splaying over the white panties. His eyes don't leave mine.

"I know." He says simply. "Now, you two gonna keep up the entertainment, or you want me to pick the next song?" The way he says it calm, confident, like the decision is already made sends another one of those strange shivers through me. A similar definity to it as when Jerome talks. I glance at Kyle, who's looking back at me with sparkling eyes. There is an untold hunger in them.

My heart is racing, wanting to prove myself, the wine making everything feel bold and blurry at the same time. I don't know what's coming next, how we're supposed to compete with that. But sitting here in nothing but a thong and heels, still buzzing from his half command, coaxes something dangerous from within. "Lean back, and enjoy." I say with a sly grin that is met by pure mischief from Kyle.

Late at night the apartment has grown quiet, the rain outside reduced to a soft, steady patter against the window. Kyle and I lie on our sides facing each other under the covers, the bedside lamp casting a warm, low glow. We are both a little tipsy still with the brunt of alcohol having left us, just pleasantly loose sensation. The alcohol has softened the edges of everything; our laughter, our secrets, the playful energy that has been humming between us all evening.

"Taylor..." Kyle whispers, voice soft and slightly slurry. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

He bites his glossy lower lip, the cherry-red shine catching the lamp light. "What's it like... to really kiss someone? You've done it, so you know."

I nod slowly, the memory of Hannah's mouth still fresh. "Yeah... I have."

Kyle inches even closer under the sheets, his bare leg brushing mine. The alcohol makes him bolder, but the nervousness is still there in the way his fingers twist the edge of the blanket. "I've never kissed anyone. Not once. I keep wondering how it feels. Like... does it just happen? Or do you have to know exactly what to do?" his voice drops, almost embarrassed. "I'm scared I'll be bad at it. That I'll be a total disappointment if I ever get the chance. Like... what if I mess it up and the other person pulls away?"

I reach out and brush a strand of hair from his forehead, the alcohol making my touch feel warmer and slower. "It's easier than you think, Kyle. You don't have to be perfect. You just purse your lips a little when you touch... and the rest kind of flows. The first time is always a bit awkward. No one's judging."

He searches my eyes for a long moment, cheeks flushed from both the wine and the confession. Long eyelashes fluttering. "Can you... show me?

Staring at him, the air between us thickens. Studying the fine lines of his face, the small nose and big eyes. With only seeing so little of my friend he looks much more like a girl than a man. My mind is hazy, quickly assessing how much Kyle means to me. I nod, my hair falling into my face which I brush away.