another important facet of forcemasc to me is that regardless of how cisgender my partner is; I do want him to be gender nonconfirming. I want him to understand what has to be done in order to let go or give up, to reinvent yourself. I want us to go out on dates where he's presenting femininely and I want us to occasionally get mistaken for a straight couple because of it.
I want him to invite me out to a nice dinner, or evening with colleagues. Something upscale and public. He decides this is the perfect opportunity to wear a lovely keyhole or backless dress, something that shows off his shoulders too. He's absolutely beautiful, something I won't stop mentioning as he drives us there in his car. While he's a fan of compliments something about this night has him particularly worked up, he can get a bit snappy when he's like this.
We get there and sit with barely an inch between us, a common sight. People assume we're doing some sort of PDA under the table, usually something tame like holding hands. But tonight I can't keep my hand off his knee, or higher. I begin to dip my fingers beneath the hem of his dress, stroke his inner thigh, move upwards under I'm grazing his cock. He's wearing panties, something I didn't know until just then. He's clearly getting frustrated, he smiles with his teeth when he's annoyed. He's shooting me these brief glares, he cannot believe I am touching him like this, in public too. When the waiter comes by to take our orders I think the fun is over, but as I go to move my hand, my gorgeous partner squeezes it between his thighs, not letting me move it without it being painfully obvious what's been happening.
The rest of dinner is tense for us both. My hand is still between his thighs, rubbing, stroking, flicking at whatever and wherever. He's much better at staying composed than I am. Even watching him swallow around his food makes my own cock hard, I can feel myself becoming wet when he cuts into his steak or sips his wine. I tell his friends or our server how lucky of a man I am, to have such a wonderful wife. I don't even remember what I ordered, all my attention has been on my partner.
When we get back to his car, he flips the skirt of his dress up, pulls his panties down enough to let his cock out, and tells me to suck him off if I am going to be such a pestering bitch the whole night. While he tends to be a gentle lover, he is rough and mean now. He keeps my head down, throat around his erect length, muttering about how annoying I have been. When I am allowed to come up for air, all I can do is tell him he is so gorgeous. I love him.
He shoves me into the backseat of his car and climbs on top of me, removing the panties he's wearing and dropping them right on my face. I clutch them to my nose and inhale, saying how they smell like him. His cock is swollen between his legs, and he is not very nice to the expensive suit pants he bought me for this outing, tearing them off my body along with my briefs. His mouth waters as he looks between my legs and I giggle when he licks his lips. But he wants to be selfish tonight, after how much of a nuisance I've been. It probably kills him more than me to not shove his tongue between my legs.
He slams into me, hand clutching my lower abdomen, calling me a naughty boy, a perverted man, how awful of a husband I am to embarrass him in public like that. I concur, a fancy lady like him deserves better. The way he shivers and his hips stutter as he comes deep inside me proves how much he likes when I talk about him like this. When I acknowledge the innate femininity within him, give him a chance to explore labels outside of just "gentleman", and he still gets to put me in my place afterwards.
