Transgender Fiction Stories Novels & Stories

He reached for a toilet paper on his desk and gently wiped his chest and abdomen. The thought made my nipples, still exposed in the cool air, tighten again. I hadn’t had dirty thoughts about a man other than Nathan. I certainly hadn’t ever had phone sex with anyone besides him. I felt both aroused and ashamed.

I rolled over and grabbed my journal from the floor. I told myself I was going to write about what happened today. About how Lane saw through me. About how it made me feel exposed, vulnerable, disgusting. But that’s not what came out. Instead, I wrote a story. A scene. A fantasy. I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I was already halfway through describing how he stood up from his chair in his office , walked right straight to me, and pinned me to the wall. His mouth found mine like he couldn’t hold back anymore. His hands undressed me with a quiet kind of urgency, as he plunges his dick into my pussy.

But no one knows about the other side of me. At night, when the house is quiet, I hide under my covers with my phone and read the kind of stories that would make my mother faint. Dark. Filthy. Full of dominant men who take what they want. Girls who beg for it. Degradation that makes my thighs press together and my heart race. I touch myself to those stories, whispering things I would never say out loud, and then feel crushing guilt the next morning. I’m supposed to be pure. Innocent. The perfect daughter.