Cross Dress Stories Novels & Stories

The bathroom had heated floors. Heated fucking floors. Who the hell needed heated floors? Rich people. That's who. I unpacked my box in three minutes. My sad collection of mismatched underwear and two pairs of jeans looked like a joke in the massive walk-in closet. There was a note on the bed when I turned around. "Wear the dress in the closet. No underwear. -D" I crumpled the note. No underwear? Was he serious? I opened the closet again and found a black gown hanging front and center. It was simple and elegant.

I asked upon sighting a crop top that was capable of exposing not just my belly but my cleavage. "Here, look at this." Madam Cross said, showing me a see-through gown. "oh my gosh!" I exclaimed. "Don't be shocked. Look around us. What do you find girls putting on?" She asked and I turned around only to see that she was right. Their dress wasn't just modern; it was stunning and made them shine. "I'm going to have to wear something hot inside if I'm going to use this see-through gown, right?" I asked her and she busted out laughing.

Her hands were a little shaky, but she started typing. Subject: A Fashion Proposal for the Upcoming Business Gala Dear Ms. Holland, My name is Sylvania Scarlet, and I’m the founder of a new underground fashion brand called Scarlet Fashions. I know this might be unusual, but I’ve always admired your strength, your work, and the way you empower women through your businesses. I would be honored if you would consider wearing one of my original designs at the upcoming Business Gala. I believe fashion should reflect who we truly are; beautiful, fearless, and full of purpose, and I’d love to create something just for you.

Arms crossed at all times—unless dragging someone out or blocking a door. Content Warning: This story contains themes and depictions of sxual assult, r*pe, non-consensual acts, gr*oming, sx traffcking, and dr*g use. Reader discretion is strongly advised. These topics are part of the narrative and may be distressing or triggering for some individuals. Please take care while reading.

The book club ladies were in fine form this afternoon. Margaret Thompson sat primly on the floral couch in a rented out space close to the library, a half-empty teacup balanced on her knee, her Bible study notes open on the coffee table. The conversation had started with the latest Christian fiction novel — something about redemption and resisting temptation — but it had drifted, as it always did, into more personal territory. Gossip dressed up as prayer requests. “Speaking of temptation,” one of the women said, lowering her voice with dramatic concern, “have you heard what’s going around about that poor Thompson boy?”

“Do you have your luggage ready?” I groan, loud enough for no one but myself, and then I yell back, “Yes mother, I’m on it!” At this point, it’s second nature to lie to my mother. I am in no way ready for school. My lanky figure is strewn across my bed doing absolutely nothing. The thought of moving from one prison to another makes a shiver travel down my spine. My luggage is a hot mess, with clothes travelling the length of my room. I pick up my phone and dial Xaden and just like always, the first ring is all I need.

He then stored the mokeskin pouch in an inside pocket of his robes. ------------- a/n: sorry for dropping this set new I was choked up with many things please my followers please bear with me.

“Oh sweetie, it’s all just one big fucked up mess to you, right? Don’t worry, I’m not trapped anywhere. It’s just ‘Fake Drug’ used to be some serious gender-benders themselves. Have you heard their lyrics? And the front man used to perform in dresses sometimes when they were younger, and he was smoking h-o-t in them. Rest assured, I won’t be the only cross-dresser in the crowd.” I hum thoughtfully. “Not your typical hard rock band.” “Exactly, and I love that about them.” “Where did you get this dress?” He shrugs. “I bought it.” “It looks expensive.” “I have savings.” He rolls his eyes. “Oh, come on, don’t ruin the experience. I also bought the shoes.” He puts one foot on the seat, and I catc

"Trying to fit into spaces that weren't designed for me. After my divorce, I had to decide who I was going to be. I chose honest." I paused, my chest tight with anxiety, but the article seemed fair so far, accurate to what I'd actually said. I kept reading. *That honesty translates directly into her designs. Each piece in her collection tells a story, structured blazers that command attention, dresses with clean lines that refuse to fade into the background, tailoring that celebrates strength rather than diminishing it.* *"These designs are personal," Cross says. "They're my vision, my voice. Using my name felt like owning that."*

Worst of all, Elijah seemed unaffected by all this. “We’re heading to town tonight. How do we look?” Elijah asked, twirling to give Croix a 360. “He bought me the dress.” I added, slightly embarrassed that Croix didn’t like it. It was strapless and form fitting, showing off the curves I’d developed in the past few weeks of stuffing my face. “Fuck no, Elijah.” Croix stared at Elijah who smiled yet at him. “You’re going to get back into the fucking house before I put a fucking bullet through your skull. That’s what you’re going to fucking do.”