“Quick fuck. 30 minutes. How much?”
There was no greeting, no flirtation. Just urgency. That teenage impatience I recognized instantly—the kind that doesn’t know how to ask for what it wants, but knows it wants it badly.
I replied. He paid in advance. No small talk. That, I respect.
When I opened the door, I immediately saw it in his face. He was young—painfully young. Probably just eighteen, maybe a few months over. His skin was still tight and clean, his shoulders narrow, his eyes a little too honest. The kind of boy whose body still hasn’t learned how to lie.
He held his jacket in his hands, not knowing where to put it. He smelled fresh, like laundry just out of the package. And that smell of youth—of inexperience—has always made me wet.
“Come in,” I said softly.
He stepped in and looked around the room, as if unsure if he’d made the right decision.
“This is it?” he asked.
“What were you expecting?” I smiled. “Pink lights and soft jazz?”
He smirked with his mouth, but his eyes kept searching for something to hold onto. I let my robe fall slightly open, revealing bare skin beneath. I was already dressed for him—black thigh-high stockings with lace, high heels, loose robe barely hanging from my shoulders. Underneath, nothing but smooth, oiled skin. My hair was up, makeup just messy enough to be erotic.
“Take off your clothes,” I told him, “Wherever you want.”
He hesitated but obeyed. First the jacket, then the t-shirt. His chest was hairless, soft but tight. Not yet a man’s body—still forming. Then the jeans dropped. His cock was already hard.
Young cock. Honest. Straight. Alert.
I turned around and let the robe fall completely. I stood naked in front of him—full breasts, hard glans, my ass shining with a thin layer of lubricant. I knew the sight stunned him.
“First time with a trans?” I asked, my voice low and smooth.
He nodded.
“First time… with anyone.”
That made me pause. I walked closer, running my finger across his stomach, then slowly down his thigh. He shivered under my touch.
“Relax,” I whispered. “It’s just sex.”
He looked up at me. “With you… it doesn’t feel like just sex.”
That made me wet instantly. I handed him a condom, but his hands trembled. So I did it for him—unrolling it slowly over his eager cock, keeping eye contact the entire time.
I lay on my side and lifted my leg. He got into position behind me. No hesitation now. He entered me slowly, carefully, but with purpose.
“You okay?” he whispered.
“Better than okay. Move. I want you inside.”
His thrusts were unsteady at first, but sincere. No violence, no bravado. Just the raw, unsure desire of a boy experiencing the warmth of another body for the first time. His balls slapped softly against my skin with each motion. I could feel he wasn’t going to last long. I didn’t blame him. It was his first experience with a trans, and with sex in general.
“Can I…?” he panted.
“Of course,” I said, turning my head. “It’s your half hour. Come however you want.”
Just a few more thrusts and he froze, holding my hips tight. I felt his cock pulse inside the condom. His breathing deepened. It wasn’t violent—it was sacred, almost. He pulled out gently, still holding onto the condom like it was some kind of prize.
He was about to clean himself, but I stopped him with a look.
“Give me your cock,” I said. “Let me clean it.”
I knelt down in front of him and took it into my mouth. I didn’t suck—I licked, gently, slowly, tasting every trace of sweat and cum. It was warm. Fresh. Young. I always know the taste. His was light. Almost sweet. Like warm milk with adrenaline.
I looked up at him.
“You have the best-tasting cum I’ve ever had.”
He blushed. He didn’t answer. I sat back on the bed, still naked, still wet.
“There’s ten minutes left,” I said. “Want to go again?”
He hesitated. “But… I only paid for one.”
I smiled. “It’s a gift. Because you’re young. And because I liked you.”
He was already hard again. That’s how it is with boys like him—quick recovery, no guilt, just instinct.
I climbed on top of him, guided his cock back inside me. This time, I looked down at him as I rode. His hands gripped my waist. His eyes were locked on mine.
“You’re… incredible,” he whispered.
“I know.”
I moved slowly, grinding, rolling my hips in circles. His cock filled me with warmth again. I could feel his body trying to hold back, to make it last, but it was no use.
“Again?” I asked.
He nodded, biting his lip.
“Come for me,” I whispered.
He did. Harder this time. Louder. His legs shook, his arms wrapped tightly around me. He came deep inside the condom, and I felt every wave of it.
When I climbed off him, I removed the second condom and threw it away. I walked to the bathroom with his cum still inside me, warm and slick. My hole glistened under the soft light.
When I returned, he was already dressed, standing awkwardly near the door.
“Can I come back?” he asked.
“Of course,” I smiled, “But next time, it won’t be free.”
He smiled, shy but proud. At the door, he turned and said:
“I’ll think of you every time I jerk off.”
I didn’t reply. I just smiled, knowingly.
When he left, I slid a finger between my cheeks and found one last drop of him. I brought it to my lips.
Yes. Sweet.
It was worth it.
