Switched places
A second story on the same theme:
***
In times long forgotten — in the wild 90s — there lived a couple: Lisa and Stepan.
Lisa called Stepan Tyapa or Tyapchik, and Stepan called Lisa simply Lisa. This name sounded so intimate that it was awkward to say it in public. In company, he usually called her "wife" or "spouse."
They were a perfectly ordinary couple. However, there was something extraordinary about them after all. First, they loved each other, and that, no matter how you slice it, is already extraordinary. Second, Lisa was a photo model. One meter seventy-nine, 90—62—87, the face of an Argentine beauty — such a gift set was a sin not to turn
into money. Lisa graduated from theater school and "for her soul" performed in the basement theater "The Golden Harlequin" — her salary was quite enough for city transport, and there was even some left over for beef to make cutlets for Stepan.From photoshoots, she earned hundreds, sometimes thousands a week. Such a career turn was not something extraordinary for theater school graduates — for the beautiful ones, of course, and the lucky ones, and Lisa was the most beautiful and lucky of them all.
It must be said that the word "photo model" is not always a synonym for the word "whore," as many think. Of course, Lisa had to get used to the fact that her body was her working tool, and clothing was merely a case in which it was sometimes packaged, nothing more. She constantly had to guard her marital honor, but Lisa was profitable, she was valued, and they tried not to bully her. Sometimes there were force majeure situations, but Lisa always somehow wriggled out. In earlier times, it's true, she had to go for a few career fucks, but that was before the wedding, and Lisa never spoke about it.
She portrayed a depraved, brutal bitch, but in life, strangely enough, she was tender and shy, and after sex, when Stepan looked at her, she sometimes covered herself with a sheet. She was 23 years old, had lived with Stepan for several years, never argued with him, and was, in general, happy.
Stepan was 21. He also studied at the theater school and was two years behind Lisa. He was drawn to music, and Stepan played in a rock band, which brought him a little more income than Lisa's "Golden Harlequin" did for her.
He was her opposite in everything, the pedigreed, dark-eyed Jewess: five centimeters shorter, fragile, slight, with a blond mane down to his shoulder blades (a rocker couldn't do without it). In childhood, he was teased as a "princess," and he compensated for the lack of masculinity with black T-shirts, platform shoes, chains, earrings, bracelets, etc., etc. Sometimes he even did light gothic makeup. Lisa jokingly called him "Black Step" or "Black Tyapa."
Her income was quite enough for both of them, and there was even some left for the bank. They had no children. Lisa planned pregnancy for age 25 ("a quarter of a century!"), to save enough dough and not work for a year or two. Stepan played and DJed in clubs, and these modest earnings were quite enough for him to satisfy his male pride. He was not jealous of his wife's work (or pretended not to be), went crazy from her caresses, considered himself independent, and was, in general, also quite happy.
***
One day Lisa said to him:
— Tyapchik, Tyapchinka, I have bad news for you.
— What?
— There's this shoot scheduled, in a couple of days, a creative one, and... well, I'll have to get a haircut.
This was a sore subject. Lisa had been cut before, and not just once, and Stepan always asked for it to be the last time. (What can you do — such is the fate of all models: their appearance, including hair, is a commodity, and it must look the way the buyer needs.) Currently, she had dyed black hair below her shoulders.
— Short?
— Yes, — Lisa confirmed guiltily. — Very short. Very, very.
— What, like really very?
— Uh-huh.
There was nothing to be done.
All these days Stepan played with her hair, buried his face in it, tickled himself and Lisa, and then, when she left for the shoot, he couldn't settle down.
When she rang the intercom, a big, wet frog sat in Stepan's chest. He hadn't been this nervous even during their first sex.
Opening the door a crack, he cautiously peeked out...
Before him stood an indescribable creature in trousers, a fitted jacket with sequins, a tie, bright, garish makeup, long earrings, and a gangster hat.
There was something off about it.
— Hello, baby, — it said to Stepan, gallantly removing its hat.
Stepan coughed: the creature was completely bald. The hallway lightbulb gleamed on the matte crown, as if on lacquered wood.
— What a delightful little thing, — the creature said in a bass voice, taking Stepan by the chin. It was the gesture of an experienced Don Juan. — What a kawaii girl. May I come in?
Impulsively swooping down on Stepan, the creature pushed him into the apartment and shamelessly grabbed him by the hips. It was vulgar, brazen, and charming, like a macho man in bad TV series.
— What curls we have... and the smell... mmm... Your hair smells of love. Your hair smells of seeex. These curls want seeex... and you want seeex too, baby, — the creature recited, slipping slender fingers into Stepan's mane... and he suddenly moaned from the languor that seized him.
Whether Lisa was playing so talentedly or what, but Stepan genuinely felt himself to be a fragile, helpless girl, and her — an experienced macho, a fatal seducer from a series, into whose nets Stepan had fallen... or fallen into?
— What's your name, baby? Tell me, so I know the name of the rose of my love...
— Mashenka, — Stepan suddenly said, giving in to the game.
— Little darling Mashenka, my little girl... come to daddy, — the creature cooed, squeezing Stepan all over his body (just as he used to squeeze Lisa).
Goosebumps flooded him, overwhelmed him with a sparkling stream, and Stepan closed his eyes...
He was stripped naked, like a girl, and then they shamelessly kneaded his shoulders, back, and sides, tickled the inside of his thighs with a tongue, loudly spanked his ass, sucked his balls, ears, nipples, continuously showering him with tirades from vulgar series... Then he was mounted, they slid onto his cock and rode him like a mustang, and Stepan whimpered with closed eyes and imagined that he had a female body with big tits, and a brutal bald dude was fucking him with a huge pink cock, stretching out a vagina inside him, which Stepan physically felt...
— ... What was that? — he asked when he could speak.
Lisa was sitting on him. The jacket and shirtfront were on her, the rest lay on the floor. The huge cock stretched her open like a log, even though it had already spat out all its moisture.
— I fucked you... or did I fuck you? — Lisa replied.
— Exactly. Are we, like, a little bit... trans?
— No. Just... just it's a game like that. Was it bad? — Lisa asked, snuggling up to Stepan. She was a girl again.
— Are you kidding? What the fuck do you mean "bad"? It's awesome. It's the bomb, — Stepan said hoarsely, replaying in his mind what had happened.
— I was just really afraid you'd be angry with me for this, — Lisa touched her bald head, — and wanted to, well, take the situation into my own hands... Hey, what's with you?
Stepan suddenly erupted into her with a new fountain, which had no place left to come from.
— I know who you are, — he said to Lisa when he caught his breath.
— Who?
— The Mask. From the movie with Jim Carrey. Remember — bald, green?
It was a bullseye. Lisa gasped, jumped up, got a makeup box, ran to the mirror and, squealing with delight, painted herself bright lime green. Then she drew on scarlet lips, like the real Mask, turned to Stepan and struck a picturesque pose:
— Here I am, baby! Shall we have some fun?
— Holy shit, — he croaked.
The resemblance was complete, and the jacket, shirtfront, and tie came in very handy. The green-headed Mask with bare legs and a pussy, fucked raw to redness, drew desire from somewhere in the secret depths of his body, and his overworked cock was sticking out again like a cannon...
— Liz... I'm again... — Stepan said pleadingly, approaching her.
— Oh nooo, baby! First, we need to look decent. Look at you! Is that how proper girls walk around? — Lisa tugged on his cock and, giggling, ran to the closet. Stepan, drenched in cold sweat, watched her bare ass. — Here! Just right for my Mashenka. Come on! Come on, come on, come on! — she retrieved a long velvet dress from the closet and, ignoring Stepan's protests, flew over to him.
For some reason, it was unbearably shameful (even in front of Lisa), and Stepan, red as a tomato, resisted for a minute or more — but then resigned himself and obediently let Lisa play with him like a living doll. The velvet enveloped his bare skin in a gentle cocoon, tickling his dick, which stuck out under the dress. After packaging Stepan, Lisa got out her makeup bag.
— Nooo, not that, — Stepan wailed.
— Gotta put on some war paint?
Deft, gentle hands swirled, fussed over, squeezed Stepan, stuffed cotton under the dress to make a bust, painted his lips with sticky lipstick, smeared foundation on his face, lined his eyebrows... Sniffling diligently, Lisa gave him eyelashes, drew eyeliner on his lids, rubbed them with eyeshadow — and Stepan silently melted from the tenderness that enveloped him, like the velvet of the dress, like Lisa's gentle and merciless hands... Finally, she arranged an evening hairstyle for him, and Stepan whimpered from the goosebumps she gave him, rummaging in the roots of his hair.
— There, what a beauty! Mmmm! — Lisa finally said, admiring her creation.
Stepan, swooning, approached the mirror.
From there, a real girl looked back at him, pretty, heavily made-up, with sensual lips and big, wide-open eyes. From behind her back, a green weirdo peeked out, grinning with a scarlet painted mouth.
— And what's this we have here? — he grabbed Stepan by the cock, which was straining the dress. Stepan howled. — Wow-wow-wow, what songs! Did the kitties start quacking, the duckies start croaking?
— I almost came... la, — he said plaintively.
— Almost doesn't count. Hey-ho! Look what a thingamajig I have! — the bald weirdo jumped on the bed, spread his bare legs and slapped himself on the pussy. The pussy made a loud smacking sound.
Stepan didn't need to be asked twice: like a tiger, he jumped on Lisa and thrust into her, almost tearing the dress.
He had never fucked her so fiercely before, never pounded his hips so wildly, driving his pubic bone into hers and loudly slapping his balls against the sticky flesh. The green weirdo grunted and drooled, coming underneath him, and Stepan had long since emptied a clip of cum into the fucked-raw maw, but he just couldn't stop and kept pounding it with his petrified cock, squeezing out the last drops of pleasure, bitter as rowan berries...
***
That evening, the spouses couldn't calm down for a long time. When they regained the gift of speech — it turned out they were sorry to part with their crazy masquerade, almost to the point of tears.
It was decided to extend the celebration as long as their strength lasted. They lit candles, uncorked some champagne — one bottle, then another — drank to love, to sex, to orgasm, to theater, to boys, to girls, to bald girls, to hairy boys...
Lisa portrayed the Mask, Stepan — the tender, shy Mashenka. Alcohol, candles, and wild conversation in character wound them up to the limit. When the second bottle was empty, it was decided to go out and have fun. It was half past eleven, but that didn't bother them. Drunk Lisa got into character and felt like the real Mask, and Stepan kept up. Scaring a taxi driver half to death, they climbed with songs into a battered Zhiguli, which passed for a Ferrari, and there they fought, made up, kissed passionately, smeared the driver with makeup, changed direction three times, until they stopped at the "Black Octopus" club and got out, dancing, right into a puddle, shoving a wad of bucks at the driver (which made him suddenly become very friendly).
Lisa got out her makeup bag, refreshed the makeup on herself and Stepan, and they went into the club.
— Let's shake up this joint, baby, — she said, rolling her eyes like the real Mask.
Ten minutes later, all activity in the club ceased: guys and girls surrounded the Mask and Mashenka, who were nimbly tap-dancing. "Wow, these transes are something else," people said in the crowd. Then the Mask started hitting on the girls, and Mashenka got jealous and slapped her, and the Mask begged for forgiveness on her knees. Jokes and wisecracks gushed from her like from a fire hose, and two hundred people watched, holding their breath, this amazing fountain of talent, audacity, and arousal.
They didn't remember how they got home. They woke up at half past twelve, as they were — in makeup, in costumes — and immediately, without even figuring out what was what, started fucking, howling with pleasure.
— You're an amazing actress. You're terribly talented, — Stepan said to Lisa over breakfast. (And so it seemed, judging by everything.) — You're the real Mask. I really felt like I was in a movie, like in a dream. All we needed were gangsters and some shooting.
— Don't jinx it, — Lisa laughed, wiping off the paint. Stepan helped her, feeling the bald head, unfamiliar, as if Lisa had moved into a new body.
"How is this," he thought, "after all, Lisa, after shaving, didn't become more beautiful. On the contrary — it's insanely sad about her hair... Why do I want her, bald, three times more than before? Just touch her, or even just look — and..."
After quickly giving him a blowjob, Lisa ran off to rehearsal.
— I'll come back with a surprise, — she promised.
Stepan spent the whole day guessing what the surprise was. When he opened the door for her in the evening, a handsome young man with neatly slicked black hair stood on the threshold.
— Ciao, — he said in a familiar voice.
— Liz?..
— Not Liz, but Lizav