Taking afternoon tea at Daphne’s on Sundays had become a regular event.

Vincent wore a pretty pair of panties beneath his clothes, either at my direction or of his own choosing, and Daphne had him strip when we arrived. We had agreed Daphne could take charge of Vincent while we were in her home. I didn’t mind. I enjoyed watching him respond to her. He’d told me it was much more exciting for him, now that I was involved.

The first few weeks, she’d made Vincent perform some relevant service in his lacy underthings, like setting up the finger sandwiches and cakes on her tiered stand or making the tea or coffee.

Now that this visit had become a weekly ritual, his duties had expanded into other, more delectable, areas.

We took turns feeding Vincent small bites of cake or bread, giving him sips of tea from our cups and otherwise treating him as our amusing and beloved pet. He grew more and more aroused, and I caught him eyeing Daphne’s magnificent tits more than once. He said he didn’t like the clichés of femininity but, honestly, who didn’t appreciate a great pair of boobs?

As if on cue, a piece of the cake Daphne was eating fell into her cleavage, and she giggled. “Oh dear!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Vincent, did you see that?”

Daphne refrained from digging the morsel out of her blouse as her cheeks heated. The woman could set off a fake blush on cue. She winked at me with a grin.

“Yes, Sir,” Vincent said, gazing at me with wide eyes.

“Would you like a taste of that delicious cake?” I asked devilishly.

Vincent made a small sound and nodded, licking his lips.

“I thought so. Why don’t you snuffle that crumb out from between Daphne’s tits? If you can find it, you can have it.”

Daphne giggled, pulling her blouse down and leaning toward Vincent. Vincent blushed and looked at me to make sure I knew what I was asking.

I nodded. “Go ahead. It’s all right.” I gestured at Daphne’s generous offering. “I’ve been there too, y’know,” I whispered, as if it were a secret between me and him.

Something flashed in his eyes, and he smiled, then turned to Daphne.

“Mistress?” he asked.

His utter politeness sent a jolt of desire through me. He was so well-behaved, as if I had trained him to this, when, really, it came so very naturally.

“Go ahead, Vincent. Hands behind your back, please. You’ll probably need to use your tongue.”

My eyes widened as I watched my sexy twenty-four-year-old boyfriend lean forward slowly, hands behind him as requested, and gently push his face into the tantalizing crease between Daphne’s breasts.

She made a small noise and looked at me over Vincent’s head as his velvet tongue darted and licked to find the morsel of cake.

“Oh, goodness.” She stroked Vincent’s cropped ash-brown hair while he cleaned her up. “What a soft tongue you have, Vincent.” She gasped. “I’d forgotten, my dear, how adorable you are.”

Vincent made whimpering noises as he chased the crumbs and no doubt inhaled Daphne’s particular scent of jasmine and roses.

I glanced at the black lace boy-shorts he was wearing today and noticed he was hard, which was par for the course with Vincent. The boy was a priapic miracle. A savant perhaps? He got hard at the drop of a hat and came on command. What more could a Dom ask for?

Lots more, it turns out.

When Vincent finally located the piece of cake and swallowed it, pulling reluctantly away from Daphne’s warmth, I smiled at him, pleased.

“Good boy. I’m sure Daphne is very relieved that her little accident has been rectified.”

Daphne looked anything but relieved. She looked like she’d like to tie Vincent to a chair and ride him for a couple of hours. But she’d had her chance with Vincent, and now the boy was mine.

I watched him stand and start to tidy the dishes, while flashes of memory came through of using the single-tail the previous evening. I’d strapped Vincent to the spanking bench and lashed his buttocks and thighs lightly, just enough to push his arousal to the brink of tipping over. Then I’d released him and sucked his cock until he’d come, howling, down my throat. He’d wanted to touch me, but I’d forbidden it, and I wouldn’t forget the sight of his fingers clenching and unclenching while I worked him furiously to orgasm.

“Are you finished, Sir?” he asked, and it took me a moment to realize he was speaking about the cake and not asking if I was done reliving our encounter.

I cleared my throat. “Yes, thank you, Vincent.”

He took my plate and I leaned back in my chair, checking the time on my phone. It was only four-thirty, but we needed to get home and have a light supper. We had a gallery show to attend this evening. My friend Juno was exhibiting their artwork for the first time, and I’d promised them Vincent and I would drop by.

* * * *

“Seriously? Full dress?”

“Yes, Vincent. It’s a gallery exhibition. It’s de rigeur.” I gestured down the hall. “I laid out your things in the guest room.”

“Oh, good, because I don’t really have anything appropriate for something like that.”

I smiled. “It’s taken care of.”

“Thanks, Nic.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m looking forward to seeing you dressed in what I selected.”

I grinned to myself as he walked down the hall and into the guest room. I’d arranged some things on the bed that weren’t exactly regular dress items for a man-about-town.

As I’d expected, he was back at the bedroom door after a few moments.

“It’s not a suit. I was expecting a suit,” he said, wringing his hands.

“You can wear a suit if you want,” I said.

Vincent frowned. “But I don’t own a very nice one.”

“That navy blue one in the closet looks good on you.”

His forehead creased. “I don’t know.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You don’t want to wear what I laid out?”

He regarded me like I was ever-so-slightly insane. “But it’s— I’ve never worn stuff like that…in public…before.”

“I know…which is why I wanted to challenge you this evening.” I moved in close and put my hands on his shoulders. “It’s entirely your choice. Look… I’ll help you pick out a shirt that will go with the blue suit. And I can dress you in those other things another time—just for us.”

He seemed conflicted. He glanced down the hallway, then looked back at me. “They’re very nice,” he said, lifting a finger to his mouth and chewing on the nail.

“Yes. Do you know what inspired those purchases, Vincent?” I asked.

He shook his head, eyebrows raised.

I moved to the dresser and picked up my laptop. I flipped the top, opened Chrome and googled ‘Tom Holland Lip Sync Battle’, then angled it toward Vincent and hit play.

“Oh God. Really? You got me that outfit?” he said, turning toward the hall.

Tom Holland dancing in his gender-bending ensemble in the notorious episode of Lip Sync Battle that featured prominently in my fantasies. Even more prominently in those fantasies, however, was the idea of Vincent wearing something similar.

“Not the exact outfit, but pretty close,” I said, smiling. I cupped his throat with my hand and drew it down his chest until it rested flat there. “I’d love to see you in it.”

He stared at me, then looked back at the video and sighed. “Fine. I’ll try it out. But I’m not promising to wear it to the gallery.”

I nodded graciously and waved him down the hall. “I’ll wait here. I’d like to see you all kitted up because, if I have to help you put those things on, we’ll never leave this house.”

“Promises, promises.” He disappeared down the hall.

I concentrated on getting myself dressed. I had a tuxedo I saved for these occasions, in midnight blue, that showed off my trim masculinity to its best advantage. With a crisp white shirt underneath and a midnight blue bowtie, I fancied myself a classic movie star. I’d blown my hair dry and slicked it back with mousse. I contemplated putting on eyeliner but decided against it. I wanted to present as male as possible tonight, not anything in between. That was Juno’s gig, and they did it better than I ever could.

When Vincent called to me from the guest room, I made sure my hair was in place and my bowtie was straight before making my way to him.

We stopped in our tracks when we saw each other.

“Oh, Nic. My God. That suit is so hot on you,” Vincent said, gaping at me as I tried to make some kind of comment on a vision that would have brought me to my knees if I wasn’t worried about wrinkling my dress pants.

“Me? You’re the one who looks entirely edible. Jesus, Vincent.” I looked him up and down. “Have you seen yourself?”

He blushed. “No. I didn’t want to look before I got your opinion. And there isn’t a full-length mirror in there.” He smoothed his hands down the shiny PVC short-shorts with the hot-pink ruffles at the edges. “The material feels amazing, though.”

I stepped into the room and took his hand, then led him down the hall to our bedroom, guiding him to the mirror.

“Look at yourself, sweetheart. And try not to get hard. It’s too fucking late for me, though,” I said, grinning and waggling my eyebrows.

He laughed and gazed at his reflection in the mirror. “Oh!”

“Yeah,” I said, watching as he examined himself from multiple angles. “With your purple Docs, a bit of hair gel and some eyeliner… Vincent, you will be stunning.”

He seemed entranced with the image in the mirror. The black pinstripe suit-vest-slash-halter-top with pearl buttons up the center showed off his trim build and sexy arms and shoulders. The PVC shorts hugged all the delicate curves of his ass and hips. His legs were shapely and divine in the fishnet stockings. The elastic pink ruffles on his wrists that matched the hot-pink trim on his shorts completed the effect.

Except for the color of his hair, Vincent in this outfit would remind anyone who had seen the infamous video of Tom Holland of that performance. He had a matching grace of movement, a similar body type and the same aura of youthful beauty.

“Okay,” he smiled, gazing excitedly at his reflection.

“Okay? Meaning?”

He nodded and turned to me. “Okay, I’ll wear this.”

“To the gallery?”

“Yes.”

I smiled so wide that I thought my face might split open. “Vincent, you will be the finest piece of art in that room, I guarantee it. But I won’t say that to Juno.”

“I wonder what they’re going to wear?” Vincent said, cocking his head.

I laughed. “If I know Juno—and I do—it will be something eye-catching and unusual. They are known for that.”

Vincent frowned. “You don’t think they’ll feel like I’m trying to upstage them at their own show?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I mean, Vincent, you look absolutely stunning and very unique. But Juno will make sure they are the center of attention. Don’t worry. I think they’ll appreciate this outfit on you more than anyone else, except me.”

By the time we’d applied thick liner around Vincent’s baby blue eyes, waved out his short hair with gel and laced him into his Doc Martens, he looked even more ethereal and gorgeous. I started to worry he might upstage Juno, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I had to trust that Juno would pull out all the stops for this occasion and wear something that would eclipse even this heavenly image of androgyny.

I handed him the black trench coat I’d bought for him to wear over top of the outfit, and he smiled at me with relief. “Oh, thank God. I wasn’t sure how my leather jacket would look with this ensemble.”

“I’ve got you covered, sweetheart,” I said, holding the trench for him to slide his long arms into. “This exhibition will be the safest place for you to wear such an outfit. The gallery will be filled with people leaning so far to the left they’ll fall over—artists, activists, poets and dreamers, baby. That’s our crowd.”

Vincent laughed and I couldn’t help kissing his sweet, smoothly shaved cheek.

I grabbed a black umbrella from the stand and handed it to him. “Look at that. Your outfit is complete, except for the hat.”

“Is it even raining?”

“Who cares?” I laughed. “Let’s go.”

It took fifteen minutes to get to Sandy Hill, where the exhibit was being held on the first floor of an old Victorian townhome. Despite my urging to bring it along, Vincent left his umbrella in the car. I could tell he was nervous and that he might have regretted letting me persuade him to wear the revealing outfit to the gala. But there was no turning back now unless he safeworded, and I didn’t think he was uncomfortable enough to do that.

As we approached the front door, I turned and grabbed the lapels of his coat, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You are spectacular. You look divine. People will love it.”

He tipped his chin and took a deep breath, apparently shoring up his courage, and nodded. I released him and turned, stepping inside with Vincent at my heels.

“Nic Walker! And Vincent! How lovely!” A familiar voice greeted us as Carlos and his boyfriend approached. They were wearing matching purple suits and looked swanky and hip in a very urban style.

“Hi, Carlos, Leslie. You look great!” I said.

“Nic, you look awesome! Love that tux on you. Haven’t seen you in it for ages!”

“Well, I broke it out for Juno. You know, gotta be at least a little fancy for their first exhibit.”

I turned to Vincent and helped him slip out of his trench coat.

“Oh. My. God,” Leslie exclaimed, putting a hand to his lips and clutching his partner’s sleeve. “Carlos, look! Oh my God. Vincent, you look so hot!”

“Vincent. Jesus Christ. I think I just came in my pants,” Carlos mumbled. “Nic, did you do this?” he asked, waving his hand at Vincent.

Other people were coming over now and commenting.

“He looks like Tom Holland! Oh my God!”

“Vincent, you’re killing me. Fucking epic.”

I raised my hands in the air. “Folks, folks, keep your hands off the merchandise. And remember, we are here for Juno and their art.” I turned to Carlos. “I may have organized the outfit, yes. Does it work for him?”

“It works for me. I can tell you that much,” Carlos commented, his gaze going over Vincent in a way that would worry me if I didn’t know him well.

Vincent hadn’t said a word, but his cheeks were flushed from all the praise and being the center of attention. He stood a little stiffly at my side, but I figured he’d relax once we got into the crowd and everyone backed off a little.

Leslie moved in close beside Vincent and whispered something in his ear, making him smile and nod. Then he bumped him gently with his hip and Vincent laughed and said, “You’re incorrigible. I’m going to tell Nic you said that.”

“Wonderful. Maybe he can set something up?” Leslie said, waggling his eyebrows and giving me an innocent little wave.

“Leslie, stop giving Vincent naughty ideas,” I said. “Has anyone seen the artist?”

“Oh, my goodness, yes. They’re in the next room circulating and impressing everyone,” Carlos replied, gesturing ahead of us.

“Come on, darling,” I said, taking Vincent’s hand and tossing his coat onto one of the racks by the door. He gazed at it wistfully, but I wasn’t letting him cover himself, because that would be a crime against everyone. I led him past the gawkers and into the next room.

It didn’t take us long to find Juno. They took up most of the space in the room, with the incredibly intricate train of the ballgown they were wearing.

“Oh, wow,” Vincent said, his eyes going wide.

“Amen. See? I told you Juno would be hard to upstage.”

They were wearing the most luscious gown made of silk and brocade. The silver basque scooped low over Juno’s flat chest, pushing up their pectorals so their rouged nipples thrust forward like tasty berries. The delicately embroidered burgundy silk skirt flounced wide and generously to the floor, making it impossible for anyone to get within a foot of them from any side. Nevertheless, they were surrounded by adoring fans. In their white-gloved hand perched an old-fashioned cigarette-holder with an unlit cigarette in the clasp.

We heard a sudden inhale of breath as Juno’s gaze found Vincent. Their eyes narrowed and the hand not holding the cigarette circled their waist and opened the overskirt, flaring it out and away to reveal a fitted skirt underneath, just as elaborately adorned as the outer fabric.

“Vincent Blake, you are a vision!” Juno said, spreading the skirt like a cape and herding people out of the way as they walked toward us.

I stepped forward and stopped, opening my arms as if to call attention to my own fabulous outfit, and looked down at myself, then up at Juno.

They smiled haughtily and dismissed me with a wave of their cigarette. “Oh, Nic, you always look handsome and commanding,” they said. “But this one.”

Juno circled Vincent like a lioness sizing up its prey.

Vincent met Juno’s assessing gaze with the modesty of a virgin presented at court. It was amusing to see the look on his face and the color in his cheeks as Juno took in his alluring outfit from every angle.

Finally, they stopped and held out a well-manicured hand to Vincent.

“Come.”

Vincent glanced at me, then took Juno’s offered hand and allowed himself to be pulled close and embraced. Juno enveloped Vincent in the vast swathes of material of their overskirt as they whispered something that was likely scurrilous in his ear.

Vincent’s cheeks darkened and he sidelined a glance at me, then whispered something to Juno. Juno threw their head back and laughed loud and long while keeping Vincent in the cradle of their arm.

“Juno, can I have my boyfriend back?”

“No,” they said without apology. “You think you can dress him so deliciously and hog him all night? Amateur.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Get him something to eat, will you? I’ll be checking out the paintings.”

Juno would ensure Vincent enjoyed himself. And they would get bored of him soon and bring him back to me so they could dazzle everyone else with their talent and graciousness.

I wasn’t worried about him at all.