My Forbidden Hitchhiker Tranny Fuck: Unlocking My Private Locker Secret
I unlock my private locker, heart pounding. This secret’s been locked away too long. Time to spill it raw. I’m Marika, 1.75m tall, tanned everywhere, including my 85C tits. Green eyes, short curly hair brushing my neck. Always almost smiling. That day, short white skirt, sky-blue camisole, no bra—rare for me. Panties? Of course. Driving my husband’s car back from a grim Bordeaux funeral. Mother-in-law hated me. Hubby’s staying to sort stuff, taking the TGV later.
Exiting the highway, starving. No restaurants in these villages. Grab a sandwich at a dive bar. Back on the nationale, avoiding the autoroute. Spot her: tall woman in a big white dress, thumb out. ‘The bride escaped!’ I laugh, pull over. ‘Going to Paris!’ Her voice: gravelly, chain-smoker vibe. ‘Can take you to Rambouillet.’ ‘Perfect!’ Now I’m stuck with her. ‘Non-smoking car!’ ‘No problem, I barely smoke.’ Bullshit.
Opening the Floodgates
She’s huge, slim, small tits, long curly red hair, massive nose—charming. Cute enough to stir my demons. Something off. Chat: Lacanau vacation for her, my funeral trip. Then click—faint beard shadow, raspy voice. Trans? Glance at her crotch: robe hides it. More glances. ‘Looking for something?’ ‘Yeah, but won’t say.’ ‘Wondering if I’m a tranny? Yes, I am. Drop me if it bugs you.’ ‘Doesn’t. Could’ve said.’ ‘Signboard? “Caution: Tranny”?’ Oops. ‘Sorry.’ ‘You’re charming. Flirt?’ ‘Why not? With permission.’
Fascinated by trannies forever. ‘Mind questions?’ ‘Fire away.’ Yawns. ‘Gilda.’ ‘Marika. Tutoyer.’ ‘Nap first?’ ‘Go.’ Snores instantly. Wake her near Paris. ‘Indiscreet?’ ‘Shoot.’ ‘Boys or girls?’ ‘Both. Bi. With another tranny? Peak.’ ‘Home for dinner? Chat more?’ ‘Yes!’ ‘Sleepover ok?’ ‘Ready for anything.’
Park at my suburban pavillon, 8pm. Shower or eat? Chinese delivery. Garden wait. Her makeup smudged, beard peeking—still hot. ‘Festive: wine, candles, glam up.’ She redoes makeup. Nems, lacquered duck, Bordeaux. I drip wet staring. Her nailed fingers: made for stroking. She massages my shoulders. I turn, tongues clash. Passionate kiss. Slips strap, pinches nipple. I grope her tits through fabric. Clothes off: tits out. Hers small, perky, nipples harden under my tongue. She moans.
Sealing the Secret
Down goes my skirt. She licks my heavy tits, big brown areolas. Kisses, noses bump Eskimo-style. Hand on her panties: hard cock. Panties drop. I’m naked; she’s stockings, garters, stiff pink-headed dick. Kneel, lick tip. Hardens more. Suck, deep as possible. Pre-cum flows. Full blowjob.
Bedroom. She lies, I pipe. So wet. 69: she eats me, I cum hard, collapse. Jerk her. Grab strap-on from drawer. ‘Fuck your ass?’ ‘Yes.’ Lube, harness. She impales slow, side-straddle, rides. I stroke her cock. Then doggy: I pound, she spreads cheeks. ‘Fuck my ass! Cumming!’ We crash.
‘Like anal?’ ‘Everything. I’m a slut. Fuck me.’ Revive her dick, cowgirl anal. I ride, finger clit, eyes shut, explode. She thrusts up, shoots deep inside. Exhausted bliss. ‘Come when hubby’s here someday.’ ‘Deal.’
I snap the locker shut. Lighter now. Secret shared, thrill faded. Adrenaline rush over. Pure satisfaction. That wild night? Mine alone again.
