Her

“Three inches of rain,” I said, holding out the updated forecast. “Starting tonight.

Nobody looked particularly concerned. Mark didn’t even glance at the printout. “We’ll be fine, Evan. It’s just rain.”

I shifted my weight and adjusted the lace thong cutting into me beneath my work pants, the thigh-high stockings already riding wrong under the denim. The small plug sat deeper than that, a quiet pressure I had been carrying since morning, nothing I could fuss with out here.

“The excavation is still open, and the soil piles aren’t covered,” I said. “If the drainage controls fail, runoff will carry sediment straight toward the creek.”

Mark finally looked at me. Not at the forecast, just at me. “Then write up your little report, Evan. I don’t have time for this. ”

He turned back toward the site, already done with the conversation.

I worked for my family’s construction company because it was easier than disappointing my father. My grandfather had started the business, and Dad had taken over long before I graduated college. A few months after graduation, he reeled me in to handle environmental compliance, keeping the company out of trouble with local municipalities and regulators. I had wanted to become an environmental lawyer, but Dad made it sound like this was the next best thing, a chance to use what I knew while helping the family business.

It was supposed to be a way to help Dad. Instead, it became a job I had never been happy doing, surrounded by people who treated compliance like an obstacle and treated me like I was one too.

I had never felt like I fit in here. Most days, I wasn’t sure I fit in anywhere.

Except, maybe, in the things I wore beneath my work clothes. The lingerie was a private indulgence, nothing more. I could put it on, use it with the toys, enjoy the kink, and hide it all away before anyone knew.

I headed back toward my car, parked at the far edge of the site. The other men had arrived in enormous trucks with lifted suspensions and tires meant for crawling over rocks. Mine was a gray sedan with good gas mileage, which mattered when my job kept me driving between sites all day.

Dad never let me forget how unsuitable it looked. He was always telling me to buy something more practical, more capable, more like a man’s vehicle.

I didn’t mind sports. I could talk football with the guys on-site and follow a game well enough. It was the other stuff I never understood: engines, tools, the satisfaction of fixing something just because it was broken. I could do the work, read the regulations, catch the violations, and keep the company from getting fined. But none of that made me feel like I belonged among the men who built things with their hands.

Most of the time, I wondered if Dad saw me as a son he was trying to shape or an employee he was trying to fix.

I shut the car door and sat there a second, feeling the lace thong and thigh-high stockings under the work pants like they had been waiting all day. They had. Leah was out of town for the weekend, and I had known that before I left the house. She was my best friend and my roommate, which meant the empty apartment was not a surprise. It was the plan.

The lingerie under my clothes had been the first half of it. As soon as the day was done, I was going home to let loose into girl mode. Tonight was the night. I’d get it out of my system, like I always did, then change back before morning and return to my normal life.

On the highway, the thong stopped feeling like a mistake I had to hide and started feeling like a countdown. The stockings clung when I shifted in the seat. Every red light made me all too aware of the plug as well, and I stopped trying not to be.

Leah’s last text was still on my phone. Landed, hotel was fine, don’t wait up, she’d be back Monday. Ordinary. Enough to know the house would stay empty.

I ran through it the way I always did. Shower. Clothes. Makeup if my hands were steady. My hair was long enough to pass when I let it down, though not as long as I wanted. I’d wear it loose tonight, another small change that might help me look less like Evan in the mirror. Music. Then the cheap toy I already knew how to use. The empty weekend meant I wouldn’t have to rush tonight, not that I planned to spend it in girl mode.

I pulled into the driveway and sat with the engine off, looking at the dark windows. Nobody home. That was the point.

Inside, I dropped my keys on the counter and went straight to the bedroom. I stripped off my work clothes, leaving them in a heap beside the hamper, then stood in front of the mirror.

For a moment, I just looked at myself. The lace disappeared beneath the waistband of my pants, and the pantyhose softened the shape of my legs. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me smile. Somewhere between the mirror and the smile, Evan began to feel less solid.

I peeled everything off and carried it into the bathroom. In the shower I washed away the sweat and dust from the job site, then reached back and eased the plug out. It left me empty in a way that felt unfinished, which was the point. After drying off, I painted my toenails a dark red. By the time I returned to the bedroom, the workday felt further away than it should have, and Evan along with it.

I stayed naked, no lingerie this time. I wanted nothing between my body and the reflection staring back at me.

The toy came out of the drawer with the bottle of lube. It was smaller than it wanted to look, maybe six inches of cheap silicone that never quite passed for real, the kind of thing that had still gotten the job done more nights than I wanted to count. I squeezed a line of lube down the shaft and worked it on with my hand, slow strokes that felt wrong at first, like I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing to a cock that wasn’t mine. Then it felt right, and the wrongness only made it hotter.

I set it on the floor at the foot of the bed and lowered myself into the pose I had imagined all day, crouched toward the glass with my knees wide and my hands braced on the mattress behind me. I rose onto the balls of my feet, letting my heels lift and my arches curve, and the change made my legs look longer and more delicate than they ever did standing normally.

The dark red nails drew my eyes first, followed by the smooth sweep of my shaved legs and the way they opened in the mirror. I looked feminine there, not because of a dress or a pair of heels, but because of the shape my body made when I posed it this way. I reached for the toy, lined it up, and watched the reflection as I began to work it inside me.

The first push burned a little, but I kept going, watching the mirror as my body slowly accepted the toy. I could see my own cock standing fully erect in the glass, and I noticed it, but it mattered less than the rest of the picture.

I kept sinking, inch by inch, until my ass met the floor and the toy was seated all the way to the base. I had never taken it that far before. The fullness was startling, almost too much, and I stayed there for a moment just to feel how completely it occupied me. Then I rose off it and came back down, and after a few of those slow drops I was riding it, watching every thrust in the mirror.

Moving on it like that felt feminine in a way the pose alone hadn’t, hips rolling, taking it instead of using it, the girl in the glass getting fucked rather than a man getting himself off.

A sound slipped out of me before I could swallow it. Soft at first, almost nothing, the kind of noise I had always bitten down on because Leah might have been in the next room or just down the hall. The house was empty. Nobody was coming. I let the next one come louder, then louder still, until I was moaning with every drop of my hips and the sound of it filled the bedroom.

I started pounding myself on the toy, not careful anymore, taking it to the base on every downstroke. Something rose inside me that I had never felt before, a pressure that wasn’t in my cock at all, deep and spreading, like the toy had found a place I didn’t know I had. Each thrust shoved that feeling higher, and I chased it, watching my own body take it in the mirror while I got louder without meaning to.

The pressure kept building until I was right on the edge of coming from the toy alone, hips slamming down, that deep place lighting up on every stroke. I almost let it happen that way. Then my hand found my cock without thinking, not pumping, just a few slow strokes, and that was enough. I came hard, spurting across my stomach and onto the floor, still seated on the toy, still watching myself in the glass.

It didn’t stop all at once. My hips kept twitching through it, small helpless rolls, and each one milked another pulse out of me until I was shaking. I let my legs slide out from under me and sat down hard on the floor, the toy still buried to the base, my calves stretched out in front of the mirror and those dark red nails pointing at the glass.

I stayed there, breathing, watching the mess on my stomach and the girl looking back at me. The usual thing didn’t happen. Every other time, the second I came I would scramble up, pull the toy out, wipe everything down, shove it all back into the drawer, and get dressed before the embarrassment could catch me standing there. The crash always came with it, and it never failed. That sick drop of what am I doing, I’m a man I can’t behave like this.

But, it didn’t come.

I sat on the floor with the toy still inside me and felt calm instead, a quiet that had no panic in it. I didn’t want to hide anything. I didn’t want to throw on the basketball shorts and t-shirt. I didn’t want to go back to Evan. Not yet. At least not for tonight.

It was only beginning to get dark outside, and I had already crossed the line I usually spent hours pretending I wouldn’t. The toy was still inside me. My body was still humming. I still had the entire night ahead of me, and for once, the thought of getting dressed as Evan made my stomach tighten.

I looked at the guy in the mirror, still naked, still full, and smiled.

No.

Not a guy.

The girl in the mirror.

“What do you want to do now?”