1 comments/ 60899 views/ 4 favorites Michele By: justme007 I met Michelle where we worked a few years ago. We hit it off instantly. She was a tall gorgeous brunette with big dark eyes and olive skin. Her breasts were full and voluptuous. Every man in the place wanted her. Maybe even some of the girls. One day when we were having lunch, she asked me if my husband had ever asked me to be involved in a threesome. "So, has Tony ever asked you to be with another woman?" "Yeah, but it wasn't anything I seriously considered. I told him if he wanted me to be with another girl, he would have to be with another man first and I know that's not gonna happen," I said to her. "Yeah, I understand," Michelle said. "Why, did Kevin say something to you?" I asked. "He has brought the subject up every once in a while. I just don't know if I can bring myself to do it. I never thought about being with another girl before," she said. "HA! me either. I mean, if I did, I'd have to really give it some serious thought. It's not something I would go into blindly. I would be afraid that he might want to be with her more than he would want to be with me. I think that might bother me a little bit." I finished. "Yeah, I know what you mean," she said. We both sat there the rest of the day doing our work, every once in a while glancing at each other with giggles. It was a little weird to be discussing having a threesome at work. The next day Michelle came in looking just as good as the day before. She had a tank top on that really showed off her great breasts. I couldn't help but look at them whenever I got the chance. "So, I talked to Kevin last night", Michelle said all giggly. "Oh yeah, what did he say?". "Well," she said with a smile, "He said that he was really happy that I wanted to do this with him and then he wanted to know if I had anyone in mind." I could feel the color drain from my face and my heart started to race. "I would want to be with someone I thought I would have a good time with. Someone I like, someone who's the same size I am, maybe I little bigger. I certainly don't want to be with anyone who weighs 100 pounds," she laughed out loud. "I want to do this with someone I trust". Then she smiled at me. "What in the world are you smiling at me like that for?" I asked her. "Well we are really good friends. I trust you, I think you are really pretty and I think we could do this, together, me and you." Then she gave me this Cindy Brady look that made it hard to say no. "Please," She said. I said, "You're really serious, aren't you"? "I've never been more serious about anything in my life". So we sat there and talked about how we thought things would pan out. I would go over, we'd watch threesome porn to pick up some tips, have some drinks and just got for it. How hard could it be, right? The next day Michelle came into work and came right to me. She had this look in her eye that I knew would be trouble. "I can't do it," she said. "How come?" "I would get too nervous if I wasn't with you before we had the threesome" "Run that by me again," I said "Well, I was giving this a lot of thought last night, and I decided that we should be together first, then if things worked out, we could have the threesome with Kevin." I was in complete shock. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to tell her she was out of her mind, I've never been with a woman and that I thought she would never go thru with this. None of that came out of my mouth. "Well, I guess there is no harm in that. I mean, it can't hurt right. The both of us would be more comfortable." She reached up and hugged me. "So when do we do this?" She asked. "You pick a date and time and we'll do it". Just like that it happened. She followed me home the next weekend. She was wearing tight demin jeans, a tight tank top and black boots. Her hair was pulled back away from her neck and it looked sexy. I wanted to kiss her right there and then and give into my attraction for her, but I couldn't do it. Even though I knew this was a sure thing, I wasn't sure of myself. "So, should we have some drinks?" She asked. "Sure, there is some beer in the fridge, help yourself." I watched every curve of her womanly body move thru my house. She reached into the fridge and pulled a beer out. She cracked it open as she came walking towards me. I could see how hard her nipples were and wanted to start this "thing" we were doing as soon as I could. She took a large gulp of the cold beer and placed it down on the counter. She leaned in and kissed me full on my mouth. I was a little reluctant at first, but once the blood started to course thru my veins, all passion and want took over. She parted my lips slowly with her tongue. Once our mouths were open and our tongues were exploring each other there was no stopping us. I grabbed her by the hand and lead her to my room. The lighting was soft and romantic and made for a great mood setting. She crossed her arms at her waist and pulled her shirt up over her head. Her double d's filling the cup of her bra. Unzipping her jeans she walked over to me, never losing eye contact. She brushed my hair back from my shoulders and kissed my neck, leaving traces of her soft tongue everywhere. My head went back in pleasure as my hands started up her body. I slowly ran a finger over her nipple making it hard and ready for me to play with it. I could see it rise thru the silk of her bra. I slid down the cup over her nipple and pinched it lightly with my forefinger and thumb. I heard her gasp with excitement. I looked up into her dark eyes and she nodded to me, that it was ok for me to continue what I was doing. Still playing with her nipples, I started down from her neck, kissing every inch of it. I worked my way down her chest and lightly tongued her nipple. She put her hand on the back of my head and pushed me harder into her breast. I took the nipple into my mouth and sucked on it. She moaned a deep breathy moan and tossed her head back while holding me still on her breast. I reached around, unsnapped the bra, and let it fall to the floor. I reached around with my free hand and started to play with her other nipple. I could feel myself getting warm and moist and wanted to have her touch me also. She could tell by the way I was squirming that I wanted more from her. I wanted to feel her entire naked body on mine. I stepped back from sucking her tits and started to take off my shirt. She was already out of her jeans and laying on my bed, waiting for me to go to her. I got on the bed next to her and she started to pull me close. She whispered in my ear that she wanted me to do something for her. I stood up on the bed, completely over her face and started to lower myself onto her, like she asked me to. My legs were spread over her mouth and my wet pussy was now all hers and I was loving it. She spread my lips with her tongue and then let it tease my clit. I started to shake. I brought my hands up to my breasts and started to pinch my nipples. Michelle then reached up and started to play with my clit with her thumb while her tongue worked its magic along my lips. I leaned back, holding myself up on her legs and let her have at it. I told her that I wanted to eat her hot pussy and she asked me to keep my pussy on her face while I ate her out. I turned around and kissed her shaved mound. It was gorgeous, smooth and throbbing. I parted her lips with my fingers and slowly teased her clit by blowing on it. I could hear pleasure coming from her. Once her clit was exposed I took it into my mouth and sucked on it. She gasped. "Oooh.. yeah... that feels so good." I licked her clit until I made her cum. She got up and out of my bed. She walked over to her bag and pulled out a strap on. With a big smile on her face, she put it on and tapped the bed where she wanted me to be. I walked over to her and started to ravage her mouth with mine while I pinched her nipples. She reached around and grabbed at my ass and told me she wanted to fuck me. I turned around and bent over the foot of my bed. She teased my ass with the head of the dildo while she fingered my pussy to make me wet again. Slowly she inched it in, making me breathe like I never had before. She slid that strap on in and out of my ass like a pro. She started to spank my ass and fuck me harder. She grabbed onto my hips and rammed me while my face was buried in my pillow to keep me from screaming. Just when I thought she was done, she pulled out, turned me around, pushed me back and threw my legs over her shoulders. She reached in and started to play with my clit again. My pussy was soaked and throbbing for all that she gave to me. I came several times while she was inside me and I wanted to cum more. She brought my legs down around her waist and bent in to kiss my nipples. I started to fuck her from underneath, but she made me stop. She took off the strap on and handed it to me. I put it on and laid on top of her. I slowly slid the head of the dildo into her hot pussy and started to pump away at her. She threw her head back in ecstasy and started to scream. I leaned over and placed my mouth over hers and kissed her savagely. I've never wanted anyone so much in my life. I brought her to her orgasm and she started to pant heavily from the multiple orgasms she'd had. She reached up for the back of my head and started to kiss me deeply. She whispered "thank you" to me and asked if she could shower before we went for round two. Michele and Buster: A Tranny Tale This is the continuation of my True Stories series, where I tell my readers about my real life adventures as a part time transvestite. In this instalment I will tell you about Buster, an admirer with whom I have I met up with a number of occasions. I warn you now that the story contains graphic sex, use of alcohol, mild bondage, use of recreational drugs and adultery. If any of these themes offend you, then I suggest you close the story now; but please don't complain; you have been warned! In my previous true stories I have provided some insights into how I became a part-time transvestite and I have also expressed my views on my own particular type of transvestism; a sort of self-psychoanalysis if you will. I intend to discuss my own views on this subject further before I launch into the story, so if you're here for the sex, drugs and rock and roll you might want to skip the first few paragraphs. I know that there are all sorts of transgender affectations and all sorts of sexual and psychological reasons why guys want to dress as women or actually switch genders. I want to describe my own affectations here because I think they are relevant to my story, to me, and particularly relevant to Buster (although far be it from to me to say that I know anything about Buster's life, other than what he told me.......and as Dr Gregory House wound say: "everybody lies!"). I know that there are all types of 'gender-benders' out there, from 'hairy-legged panty wearers' to gorgeous transsexuals whom you wouldn't have even known had once been men. I find it simple for me to use the following labels (The labels are for ME ok; before I get a thousand e-mails about how unfair it is to 'label' people). The guys who are just panty-wearers or lingerie lovers or who like to dress in women's clothes but make no attempt to look feminine are obviously fetishes. Guys who sometimes wear full female attire, wigs and makeup, I call crossdressers (and I am constantly reminded that most of them are heterosexual (did I use another label?)). Those that go a step further and shave most or all of their body hair, effect female persona when dressed and can be classed as 'passable' (fuck, I just used yet another label) I call transvestites. After that, for me, it gets difficult because there are transvestites who just like to dress occasionally and look passable as a woman, those who just like to dress occasionally and look passable as a woman and have lots of sex (like me), and those who dress full time and who are on their way to becoming transsexuals. And then of course there are the transsexuals themselves who live their lives as women and are usually on HRT and have, or will undertake, surgery to correct nature's mistakes. There, now if I haven't pissed off most of the transgendered community I will be surprised; but as I said these labels work for ME. I tell you about this because during my life I have developed from a fetish to a transvestite. As long as I can remember I have had a fetish for nylons. Stockings, pantyhose or tights on a good pair of legs still turn me on whether I am in male or female mode and whether a genetic female or a transgender wears them. My earliest sexual memories are of touching nylon clad legs (and yes they were often mom's, aunties, cousins etc but I'm not going down that route - read some of my non-transgendered fiction if that subject turns you on) and when I reached adolescence and first discovered the joys of masturbation one of the first things I did was steal a stocking and enjoy the sensual feel of nylon on my manhood. Whenever I could, I would get my girlfriends to leave their nylons on during sex and most of them soon figured out my fetish even if I didn't tell them about it. Women whom I felt I could really trust, I would ask if they minded me also wearing pantyhose during sex. Of course it hadn't taken me long to try wearing hosiery, probably the day after my first wank, and I often wore nylons during solo sex. I also started to wear nylon and satin panties and sometimes slips, just to increase the lovely sensuous feel of nylon, satin and Lycra or other sexy materials against my body. I eventually married and am fortunate that my wife is tolerant of my nylon fetish and has come to enjoy it herself. Over the years we have had many wonderful sexual encounters with both of us wearing sheer pantyhose and sometimes with her wearing stockings. Of course I never told her that I wear nylons and lingerie during masturbation. I travelled overseas extensively and I admit to being promiscuous and trying all types of sexual peccadillos and as I tried all of the forms of sexual experimentation I became increasingly fascinated with transvestites. I have never considered myself gay or bisexual; I consider myself 'sexual'. There aren't many sexual perversions (a label?) that I haven't tried (paedophilia, scat and necrophilia are probably where I draw the line) but I have always been fascinated by sexy transvestites. Then there was this huge explosion in the world of sex. The Internet! There is probably more sex happening in cyber-space than in suburban bedrooms. Being a nylon fetish I was in heaven; there were all sorts of websites with pictures and stories of women in pantyhose or stockings. Women were having sex all over the web whilst dressed in sexy lingerie and nylons. I also found that I could enter chat rooms and talk to like-minded men and women (think some of those women might have been men pretending to be women?......nah......they had pictures in their profiles for god sake!) and I even got caught up in the web-cam craze. I spent many a lazy afternoon masturbating in front of my PC wearing nylons whilst looking at pictures of women and sometimes men wearing nylons; I also 'cammed' with men who had similar fetishes. Face shots were of course a no-no! My search engine often led me to transvestite sites and chat rooms and I got even more pleasure from the net. It was about this time that I went further and purchased my first women's clothes. Sure I had bought lingerie and hosiery before, but I bought a skirt, blouse and high heels and began to dress up as a woman whilst chatting and camming. I was shaving my legs and hands and painting my nails now, but as I never showed my face, I could have all sorts of fun on the net. My fascination with crossdressing grew and I eventually bought a wig and makeup and began to fully crossdress. I won't bother tell the story about my progress from clumsy crossdresser to refined (in my opinion anyway) part-time transvestite as you can read all about in the previous "True Story" instalments. What I'm emphasising here is that I have developed from a nylon fetish (a fetish which I still have of course) to a "fully blown" (pardon the pun) transvestite. That is where I intend my transformation to stay. I have no wish to be a woman or even a full-time transvestite. When I am not dressed as a woman I sometimes daydream and 'become' Michele in my head, but I have no feminie feelings except when I am dressed as a woman; and then those feelings are sexual. When I'm dressed I like to be treated as a woman and behave like a woman for sexual gratification; that's all there is to it. The purist 'transgender police' will argue that there is more to it than that, and that I have a latent desire to become a woman. Well to them I say bollocks! I don't want to be a woman; I want to be a transvestite; god, I love to dress in sexy women's clothes and makeup and have sex! Sex, sex, sex, sex! That's what it's about for me, whether it's with a woman, man, a TV or CD. So............on with this true story. I advertise myself on a number of websites and I received a message from an admirer named Buster on my tvchix website (if you log in you can see my profile and Buster's there). His name was Buster and he was in a large city in Australia but travelled regularly and was a frequent visitor to the city where I had my bachelor pad. His profile on tvchix reads as follows: "Profile: Admirer Favourite Look: Classy / Stylish Hi, Just your average admirer. Used to dress a few years ago but just stopped looking good. The fortunate thing is I do really understand the reasons why we do dress up. Love buster You share the following interests with Buster: Fetish clothing, Watching porn, Other T-Girls, Sub, Dom, Daytime, Evenings, Weekends, BDSM / Bondage, Toys, Role Play, Uniforms Buster is also interested in: Boots, Can Travel, Trendy/Modern club wear, Experienced" So this guy looked just the type I might be interested in. You will note that Buster 'used to dress'; and that will become important as the story unfolds. We emailed back and forth and he said he liked the way I looked and also that he was a huge leg man and nylon fetish. Mmmmm a nylon fetish that used to crossdress; did that ring any bells with me? All I had to do was look in the mirror! (The difference being of course is that I still dress.) We finally arranged a meeting at my place one evening and I was very excited. When Buster arrived in town that afternoon he called me on my cell-phone and I gave him my address. Ever the gentleman, he asked me what I liked to drink and said he would stop on the way over and get some drinks. As we had conversed by email I had an idea of his tastes but I asked him what he would like me to wear for the meeting. He said he would like me to wear what I was wearing in my profile pic on Tvchix and also requested I wear pantyhose as well as stockings. As he had some business to finish, I had plenty of time to get myself prepared for the meeting. I painted my toenails with my favourite plum-red nailpolish. Doing my toenails is so much easier than doing my fingernails so it didn't take long to get two coats on and let them dry while I went to my wardrobe and took out the clothes I was going to wear and lay them on the bed. I took care of my hygiene (funny how no one mentions that unsavoury part of being a transvestite, anal hygiene) and then showered and shaved. I poured myself a glass of red wine and commenced my transformation. I love getting dressed up as Michele and I often describe it in my stories and I intend to do so again. The anticipation and sensuality of changing from a naked man to a sexy transvestite is a lovely experience. I stood at my vanity mirror in the bathroom determined to do really good job on my makeup. I applied a liberal amount of foundation and then coated my face and neck with finishing powder; the powder one shade darker than my foundation. I always do my eyeliner next. All of the makeup tips in books, magazines and online say you should do this later but I find, for me anyway, that this is the hardest part of applying my makeup and if I mess it up I can simply wipe it off, apply more foundation and start again without ruining my eye-shadow and mascara. I applied the eyeliner liberally to my upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of my eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line. I opened my eyeshadow and selected pale blue which I applied to my eyelids and then blended a shade of dark pink onto the upper part of my eye sockets and right up to my eyebrows. Next I rouged my cheeks to define the lines of my cheekbones. I always use more rouge and eye shadow than is the fashion nowadays but I like the 'heavy makeup' look and style of the eighties over the current subdued 'less is more' look. I carefully brushed lashings of mascara onto my lower and upper eyelashes. I like to wear lots of mascara, and I managed to get my lashes thoroughly coated without clotting it. I took my time to apply the 'Lasting Colour' lipstick to my lips. I applied it carefully just outside of my lip-line so that my lips would seem fuller; the 'Raging Ruby' lipstick set off my plum red nail polish nicely. I finished with another coat of face powder and retired to my bedroom to dress. At this stage of my transformation I often giggle to myself; I look kind of weird I suppose; a naked man with a fully made-up face and short hair prancing around his flat. That said I do get excited by the taste and feel of the cosmetics. I sat down on my bed and stepped into a pair of taupe sheer to the waist pantyhose and smoothed them up my legs and around my buttocks. If I am wearing pantyhose as a foundation garment and intend to wear stockings over them I usually use a cheap generic brand. Because Buster had indicated his nylons fetish to me and specifically requested I wear both pantyhose and stockings for his pleasure; this time I wore Kolotex Voodoo, an expensive Australian brand of ultra-sheer fashion pantyhose. I stood up and stepped into a black lace and lycra suspender belt and then unwrapped a pair of Kayser 15 denier sheer 'grey-mist' stockings, which I slid, up my legs over the taupe pantyhose and clipped them to the garters hanging from my suspender belt. My legs looked very sexy under the two layers of sheer nylon and my painted toes peeped through the gossamer hosiery. I stepped into a pair of sheer mauve full-cut panties with small white flowers embroidered on them and pulled them up my legs, taking care not to snag them on the clips of my garters; I smoothed them around my buttocks and tucked my penis under the gusset. I pulled on my black lace and lycra brasserie and stuffed my homemade breastforms into the cups. I adjusted the bra so that it sat properly on my frame and then prepared to finish dressing. I had poured myself a glass of red wine which I had drained and I took the time to go downstairs and refill my glass. I checked the blinds were closed and glanced at the clock; plenty of time! I went back upstairs to my bedroom and steeped into my navy blue skirt and pulled it up, zipped up the side and adjusted it at the waist so that it sat properly. The hem came to about six inches above my knees and it had nice little split at the back that showed off more of my legs. I pulled the satin lining from my legs where it had clung to my nylon stockings. I slid into my mauve satin long-sleeved blouse and buttoned it up and finished off the outfit with black patent-leather high-heeled sandals with ankle straps. I opened the wardrobe and took out the wig from its makeshift wigstand and brushed it out. My favourite wig is a dark brunette with scarlet highlights. I adjusted the brunette bob so that the fringe just covered my eyebrows and the hair was evenly distributed around my shoulders. I went back to the bathroom and applied another coat of lipstick and a final dusting of face powder. I collected my nailpolish, jewellery, perfume and my glass of wine and headed downstairs to the lounge. I turned off the overhead lights and turned on the table-lamp and dimmed it so that the room had nice cosy glow. I refilled my glass and lit a cigarette and set about the difficult task of putting on my bangles and bracelets. The bangles slipped on easily enough but I had to lay my wrists flat on the table to close the snap-clips on my bracelets. After much swearing and whinging I managed to complete the task. I bent down and clipped a gold anklet around my left ankle and then stood in front of the wall-mirror and clipped a string of 'choker-chain' pearls around my neck followed by a ruby pendant necklace. I clipped matching ruby earrings to my ears and flicked my hair back into place. I sprayed my favourite Poison perfume liberally on my décolletage and also gave a quick spray under my skirt. I sat back down and painstakingly painted my fingernails with the plum coloured nailpolish. I let it dry while I sipped my wine and watched an x-rated DVD which I had qued up earlier. I was ready for the meet and glanced anxiously at my mobile phone where it sat on the coffee table. I was now very anxious; would I meet Buster's expectations? Would he look as good as the picture he had emailed to me? (not that I am concerned with looks really). I gulped my wine and lit another cigarette. My cell-phone vibrated and buzzed; the window on the phone displayed "incoming call", "Buster." I snatched it up and answered the call. "Hi Michele, I'm in a taxi and have just left the bottle-shop and have the drinks. I'll be about five minutes is that ok?" he asked. "Perfect," I answered. "See you soon sexy," he relied and wrung off. I felt sexy and feminine; he was so polite and obviously as anxious to meet as I was. A few minutes later the headlights of a car flashed across my lounge room blinds; it could only be one person. I stood up and smoothed and straightened my skirt and went over to window and peeked out. A man had alighted from the taxi and was making his away along the path to my door. I unlocked the door and opened it an inch and stood back, posing to make a good first impression on Buster. Buster came through the door, carrying a large package. He smiled at me and went over to the table to put down the package as I closed and locked the door behind him. He looked me up and down and I felt myself becoming aroused as he brazenly examined my face, body and legs. "Well?" I asked. He strode over to where I stood and looked into my eyes. "Perfect," he said and he took me into his arms and kissed me deeply. Our lips crushed and his tongue explored my mouth. I felt him stiffen in his pants and he pulled me hard against him so that I could feel his erection against my body. He wasted no time as his hand slid down to my buttocks, squeezing them and caressing them through my skirt before sliding up under my skirt and stroking my thighs. Buster's fingers explored my stocking tops and then followed my garter straps up to my panties. "You remembered," he smiled, "Stockings over pantyhose; you naughty girl." I smiled back and led him to the lounge where we sat down and smooched for a minute or two. "Let's get us a drink," Buster said and took the package over to the kitchen counter. He took out cans of UDL vodka and tonic and poured us both large drinks over ice. He put the rest of the drinks in the fridge and then went back to the package where he rummaged around and produced another parcel. The parcel was inside a bag bearing the logo of David Jones; a quality department store. "Presents for later," he smiled and came back to the lounge and sat down next to me. We both sipped our drinks and Buster lit cigarettes for both of us. "So what do you like?" he asked stroking his hand along my nylon-encased thighs. "Well I like that," I giggled. "I like anything really, top, bottom or whatever. I prefer to bottom though and I like to keep most of my clothes on during sex." I went on, "it makes me feel feminine if I'm dressed." "A girl after my own heart," he smiled, "Do you like role play? Bondage? Watersports?" he asked. "Sure; I love role play and am willing to try watersports if we can do it the bathroom," I answered. Buster kissed me again and pushed me down into the sofa and climbed on top of me. His hands were everywhere under my skirt stroking my thighs and buttocks. He freed my stiffening member from my panty crotch and stroked it though the panty material. I gasped and reciprocated, stroking his thickening member through his jeans. I extricated myself from under him whilst still kissing and fondling him. "Let me see it," I gasped and dropped to my knees between his legs. He leaned back on the couch and looked down at me smiling. "You are a dirty girl, aren't you," he grinned. My painted nails raked his thickening member through his trousers and then I undid his fly and freed his engorged phallus. Buster's cock is not exceptionally long but it is very thick and I reached out and stroked the smooth skin of his shaft and slid my fingers over his glans, coating it with the dewy drop of pre-seminal fluid that had formed on the eye. Buster gasped and leaned forward gently easing my head down into his lap. Michele and Buster: A Tranny Tale I eagerly swallowed Busters cock. I slathered at it; licking, sucking and kissing the hard meaty member, enjoying the feeling of once again fellating a man. "Oh you are a slut!" Buster moaned and stroked my hair as my head bobbed up and down in his lap. After a minute or so he eased my face away from groin; his cock making an audible plop as it left my mouth. "Ok, slow down Michele, I don't want to come yet," he said and eased me back onto the sofa beside him. We kissed again for quite some time and occasionally I would let my hand drift down into his crotch and gently stroke his cock. "Let's have another drink and then you can unwrap the presents I bought for you," Buster said. I got up and poured fresh drinks and lit us both cigarettes. I sat back down and we talked for a while sipping our drinks and smoking. We would occasionally cease our conversation so that we could kiss and cuddle and the whole time Buster was playing with my nylon swathed legs. He told me of his intense nylon fetish and about how he used to be a crossdresser himself but is now an admirer who likes to wear nylons occasionally. I told him my story, and as it was very similar to his, it was evident that we were going to hit it off. Buster got up and collected the David Jones bag and bought it back to the lounge. "Let's see what I bought you," he smiled and began to take items out of the bag. The first item he took out was black leather anklet with a silver buckle and pendant; this was followed by packets of fashion pantyhose and stockings, and finally a pair of expensive black satin panties. "I want you to play dress-up for me," Buster said, grinning mischievously. "Of course," I relied, "what do you want me to wear?" "Something slutty. I like the secretary look you that have there but I want you dressed like a whore so that we can role play," he said. "Ok, I might have something like that," I grinned and sauntered off up the stairs to my bedroom. I took off my blouse and navy blue skirt and rummaged around in the wardrobe. I pulled on a peach coloured camisole with lace trim, and over it I wore a red long-sleeved nylon blouse, which I left unbuttoned. I closed the wardrobe door and took a deep breath in anticipation of the evening ahead. I couldn't help but give my penis a quick stroke before stepping into my red leather miniskirt, giving myself another liberal spray of perfume and then heading back downstairs. Buster was sitting on the sofa watching the x-rated DVD. He had freshened our drinks and was busy rolling a joint. He turned around to watch me come down the stairs, my high-heels clicking on the wooden runners. He beamed a radiant smile my way. "Perfect; just what I had in mind," he said in appreciation of my ensemble. "Do you mind?" he pointed at the makings of the joint that lay before him on my coffee table. "No. I don't often imbibe but tonight I think I will," I replied and cosied up to him on the lounge. We snuggled and kissed some more and eventually Buster lit up the joint. We shared the acrid smoke back and forth until we had smoked it down to the roach. On top of the wine I had drunk before Buster arrived and the vodka tonics since, the joint mellowed me right out and made me feel very tranquil. Buster continued to play with my stockinged legs and to kiss and fondle me as we had another drink and a cigarette. "So; let's finished getting you dressed for your part," he said reaching for a package of black fishnet stockings. I'm normally not a fan of fishnets; I prefer sheers, but I could see how they fit into my role as a whore. Besides I would leave my sheer to the waist pantyhose on underneath. I lay back on the lounge and put my legs in Busters lap. He lifted my high-heeled foot and kissed my toes through the stocking. He unbuckled my high-heels and gently eased them from my feet. He undid my gold chain anklet and placed it on the table then he kissed my calf and worked up to my thigh, kissing and caressing my gossamer nylons. When he got to my garter straps he unclipped my stocking tops and carefully eased my stockings down my legs and off my feet. He ran his hands up and down my legs removing any wrinkles from my pantyhose. Next he opened the package of fishnet stockings and rolling them up one at a time so that he could ease them up my legs. The fishnets slid easily over my pantyhosed legs and Buster clipped the stocking tops to the garter straps hanging from my suspender belt. There is something so sensuous about having a man put your stockings on for you. I was feeling feminine and sexy as Buster fussed about me. He had me stand and then slipped his hands under my miniskirt and pulled down my sheer mauve panties and I daintily stepped out of them. Buster held out a pair of black satin full cut panties, which he had me step into. He pulled them up my legs and settled them around my crotch and buttocks; playfully pinching my bum when he'd finished. "There, don't you know hookers always wear black panties?" Buster laughed. "Now come and sit down again," he patted the sofa beside him and I sat. He spun me around on the sofa and put my feet back in his lap and then eased my feet back into my high-heel sandals. He buckled my shoes and then put my gold chain anklet back around my left ankle and fitted the leather anklet with the silver pendant that he had bought for me onto my right ankle. He sat me up and kissed me again; I responded and slid my tongue into his mouth and reached for his cock. Buster brushed my hand away and sat up straight taking a gulp of his drink. "Ok here is the story," he began. "You are a prostitute who has just invited a punter into her house." I nodded and encouraged him to go on. "Little do you know that the punter is an undercover vice cop. You can guess where it goes from there," he grinned. "Sounds like fun," I said, "let's do it!" Buster got up from the sofa and went into the utility room off the kitchen. He knocked on the kitchen door pretending he had just arrived. "Come in honey," I went into my role and splayed myself seductively on the lounge. Buster came in and sat down on the lounge looking like a shy puppy. "I've never been with a pro before," he whimpered. "Don't worry about it honey; just relax and treat me like I'm your girlfriend," I smiled and snuggled up to him. Buster put his arm around me and pulled me to him, tentatively kissing me close mouthed. I responded by sliding my tongue into his mouth and returned the kiss. He kissed me back passionately and stroked my legs with his free hand. "Let me make you more comfortable," I insisted and pushed him back and pulled him to his feet. I pulled down his jeans and took off his shoes so that he could shuck himself out his jeans leaving him dressed only in black nylon briefs and shirt. I pulled him back down on the lounge and kissed him passionately, rubbing my stockinged leg along his thigh. "Would you like something special?" I whispered into his ear and playfully bit his earlobe. "Sure; will it cost more?" he asked, staying in character. "Of course if will; but it's worth it," I teased. "Ok," he whispered, and kissed me again. I pushed him back into the overstuffed sofa and dropped to one knee between his legs. I ran my painted red fingernails around the outline of his cock where it strained at his underwear. "Nice undies," I commented, "they could almost be women's knickers." "They're expensive men's briefs. All the 'Metrosexuals' are wearing them; but if you ask me it's just an excuse for men to wear feminine underwear." He replied. I stroked his manhood some more through the sleek material and then freed it from its nylon prison. Buster was fully erect, his thick stubby cock slick with pre-come. I stroked it a few times and then I bent down and licked the shaft and ran my tongue up and down the tumescent shank, finally engulfing the member in my hot wet mouth. I moved my head up and down on Buster's cock, my ruby-red lips locked around the shaft as my tongue fluttered on his glans. Buster put a hand out and pressed my head into his crotch and began to fuck my mouth. Buster put both his hands on my head and pushed my face into his groin and I guessed he was about to climax. I put my hands under his buttocks and pulled his groin hard against my face and swallowed as much of his cock that I could and sucked at the base of it and slavered my tongue over the glans encouraging him to orgasm. Buster pushed me away, gasping and groaning and I fell back on my heels. "Nice try whore!" he said menacingly, "You know that if I complete the act I can't bust you!" "What the fuck are you talking about?" I feigned innocence. "I'm a vice cop and you're knicked!" he spat at me. "Oh my god no! Please don't bust me; this will be third time I've been knicked and I'll have to do hard time, imagine what will happen to me in prison," I begged. (Smiling at the thinly disguised reference to my 'Lady In The House' series of stories that are available for you to read here on this website.) "And then there is the matter of this," Buster indicated the bag of marijuana on the table, "that's prostitution and possession!" "No! Please! Please! I'll do anything you want. Anything!" I begged. "Hmmm........Anything eh?" Buster grinned evilly. "Stand up bitch," he demanded. I complied and stood up. "Get over there and take off your stockings!" Buster demanded pointing to a padded cane chair near the dining table. I sat in the chair and laboriously removed my two anklets, my high-heels and then unclipped and rolled down my stockings. "Take off your panties and those pantyhose too," he ordered. I did as I was told, and was now naked beneath my miniskirt. But not for long.............Buster sauntered over to the table and selected a packet of Wolford fully-fashioned black pantyhose. They had reinforced Cuban heels and back-seams. He threw the package at me. "Get those on. Now!" he commanded. I slid the glossy pantyhose up my legs, enjoying the feel of the cool sleek nylons as they encased my legs. I stood up and pulled the panty over my buttocks and adjusted the hosiery as best I could. "Get back over here and bring your panties, shoes and anklets!" Buster growled. I complied and sat down next to him. He put my feet in his lap and then eased my feet back into my high-heel sandals. He buckled my shoes and then put my gold chain anklet back around my left ankle and fitted the leather anklet with the silver pendant that he had bought for me onto my right, just as he had done before. "Stand up and put on your panties bitch," he commanded. I stood up and pulled the panties up my legs, snugging them around the pantyhose gusset. "Over against the wall now cunt! It's time to frisk you!" I tottered over to the brick wall, glad that the blinds were drawn tight so that no one could see inside my flat. "Spread em' and get your hands on the wall whore!" Buster ordered, relishing his role as the rouge cop. I complied, putting my palms against the rough brick wall and spreading my high-heeled feet wide. Buster came up behind me and pretended to frisk me whilst taking time to fondle and stroke me wherever he wanted to. He pulled down my skirt and I kicked it aside. Then he pulled down my panties but left them around my ankles. "Time to straighten those seams," he giggled and spent a luxurious five minutes on his knees painstakingly adjusting the back-seams on my nylons so that were straight. "Ok bitch, put your skirt back on," he ordered when he had finally had enough of fondling my legs. I stepped back into my miniskirt and adjusted it at the waist. "Don't worry too much about getting your skirt right cunt; I've got other plans for you," he snarled. "Take off your panties and get those fucking fishnets you just took off and get another pair of nylons and bring them over here!" he demanded. I did what he said and went back over to where the padded cane dining-chair was situated. "Sit bitch!" he ordered, and I did. Buster tied my hands to the arms of the chair and my ankles to the chair legs. He tied bows with long loops so that I could easily reach them should I need to untie myself in an emergency he explained. He took off his shirt and threw it on the sofa. "What now?" I begged. "This now; cunt!" he screeched and hiked up my skirt and pulled down the gusset of my pantyhose exposing my sex organs. "How do you feel now bitch; you still want to charge me for something special," he ridiculed. "Please don't hurt me," I begged, staying in character. "Oh shut up bitch," he countered. "No I've got a better idea about how to shut you up," he sniggered and walked over and pushed his groin into my face. I really had no choice, I had to suck the cock invading my lipstick painted mouth, and so I went to work with my tongue wrapping it around his spongy glans and up and down his silky-smooth shaft. I worked my hot wet mouth so that my lips slid along Buster's shaft whilst my tongue slavered at his glans. Buster slammed himself in and out of my mouth, his hips bucking, pushing his buttocks back and forth as his thrusting weapon slid deeper into my mouth. He pushed his cock further into my mouth and grabbed my head and forced my face into his crotch. My tongue slavered around his throbbing glans and my lips sucked on his member, encouraging him to expel his creamy emission. He groaned and then started yelling; I was glad that the flat beside me was vacant! "Yes! Oh! Oh! OH!!! YESSS!!!!!" Buster bucked and danced on the balls of his feet as his cock started to pulse and shoot stream after stream of hot semen into my mouth. I swallowed his offerings in between my own moans of pleasure and feigned humiliation. After a long while Buster's cock ceased spasming and erupting creamy semen and his breathing started to abate. He eased his cock out of my mouth and then bent down and kissed me passionately. "Oh fuck that was good Michele; we are going to have such a good night tonight," he said and reached down to untie me. Needless to say we did have a fantastic night that night and on many other nights. I might tell you about them in a later instalment of my True Stories. The story above is true; the only parts that I left out of course is when Buster set up the camera to take the pictures; it would have spoilt the continuity of the story I think. xxx Michele Nylons 2008 Michele And The Predator The predator peered through the bedroom window and smiled; he couldn't believe his luck. This woman was just to his taste; he felt himself begin to stiffen as his eyes devoured her; he couldn't wait until he had his hands on her. In his mind he played out the scenario that he envisaged would soon take place. His thickening member began to engorge and throb. The predator had been terrorising the city for months; always preying on attractive, middle-aged women who lived alone. He would break into their houses and spend the night ravishing his prey until he was sated; then leave the women bound to the bed, covered with his issue; this was their final indignity; to be found helpless, despoiled and degraded. Although, by the time he was finished with them, his victims were usually beyond caring how he left them; they just thanked god that he had left. The predator had defiled five women so far, all sophisticated, attractive and well dressed ladies in their forties or early fifties. He made a point of that; that they be dressed attractively. He had been known to make his victims get out of bed and apply makeup and dress in their finest lingerie and eveningwear before he spent his time playing his sordid games with them. Some victims reported that he made them parade before him wearing differing ensembles until he was satisfied with how they looked before he ravished them. The predator had arrived at his current destination by sheer luck. He usually followed his intended victim for a few days, and then planned his attack when he was sure that the victim was alone in her home. Tonight he was returning from a bar and decided to cruise a well-to-do neighbourhood just to see if there was anything special that might be worth following up. He was slightly drunk and stopped his car next to an alleyway separating two townhouses so that he could relieve himself. He ducked into the darkened alley to urinate when he noticed the shadow on blind. The silhouette on the blind was unmistakeable to a predator of his kind; a woman either dressing or undressing; her movements and mannerisms playing out like a shadow-puppet on a movie screen. He couldn't help himself; he had to see what might be on offer here. When he had splashed the last of the hot stream of his urine against the wall he climbed up onto a garbage bin hoping he would be able to see more through the window. The predator was in luck and managed to secure a position where he could see through a chink in the blind where it had not been fully extended. The view provided by the chink took in half of a woman's bedroom. He could see most of the bed, scattered with lingerie and women's clothing lying in a heap, the coat-hangers still attached to the skirts, blouses and jackets. There had to be at least six outfits lying on the bed surrounded by the small piles of assorted lingerie. He could see a dressing table littered with makeup, perfume bottles, jewellery boxes and the sundry items that women seemed to be unable to do without in their endeavours to look attractive. A wine glass, half full of red wine was set to one side. A small shelf above the dressing table held three wig stands. A blonde bob sat on one wig stand and a black long haired wig sat on the second; the third wig stand was bare. The predator was pleased to see that this woman had such good taste in clothing and obviously looked after herself. The mountains of lingerie, makeup, jewellery and the wigs bespoke of a woman who was most attentive to her appearance – the sort of woman he fantasised about. The predator allowed his eyes to consume the sight before him. The woman presented herself sideways to him, sitting in front of the mirror at the dressing table making final adjustments to her appearance. She looked to be in her early forties, solid but not fat, and dressed just to his taste. His eyes started with her face and worked their way down her body. Straight brunette hair hung just to her shoulders, the fringe framing her heavily made-up eyes; her cheeks were rouged, her lips full and painted plum red. A glint of light betrayed the simple sparkling earrings that undoubtedly matched the diamante necklace around her neck. She was wearing a black nylon full-slip, the rise of her small breasts emphasised by the tight bodice, the laced hem of the slip resting on her sleek nyloned thighs just above her knees. The predator liked the way her taupe stockings glistened in the lights from the makeup mirror. Her hands slid down one leg, her fingernails painted a matching plum red to her lipstick, and adjusted her stocking; pulling the sleek nylon taught on her shapely leg and momentarily disappearing under the hem of her slip as she adjusted the clip on a garter strap. The predator shuddered. His eyes continued down her leg and lingered on the black, patent leather, open toe high-heels and he caught a glimpse of her painted toenails on display, encased in the gossamer of her sheer stocking, as she waggled her foot back and forth back as the admiring her own pretty foot. She stood, and then advanced towards the bed presenting herself front-on to the predator. The predator took in the whole visage of the woman that he had now determined was to be his next victim. Mature, attractive, heavily made-up, tall and well built; she was just to his taste. If he had not spent the evening in the bar and was in a sober frame of mind he might have been more cautious, but the sight she unknowingly presented to the predator sealed the woman's fate. The predator slid silently off the garbage bin on which he had been standing and made his way back to his car. He scanned the street and saw no one. Most of the lights in the adjoining townhouses were out and the street was quiet. He checked his watch: 11:30pm, perfect he thought, and reached into the back seat and took out his burglary tools. Fuck the risk! He had to have her. Now! Michele sat before the makeup mirror twirling the wine glass in her fingers watching the light sparkle in the red Shiraz. The dark red wine matched the colour of her fingernails and she briefly giggled to herself at the complement. She was slightly drunk from the half-bottle of wine she had already consumed and she set the wine glass down carefully and began to add the final touches to her makeup. Michele was actually Michael, a divorcee in his mid forties who lived alone and had come to transvestism late in life after suppressing an urge to crossdress for most of his adult years. Like most crossdressers he had urges to dress-up and become a woman for short periods of time and often dressed in his wife's underwear when she was away. After an amicable divorce some five years earlier, Michael now transformed into Michele whenever it pleased him to do so. Living alone and having the privacy to dress when it suited him, he had developed the persona of Michele over a period of years. Michele's male alter ego had fought a battle with his weight for most of his life and he had allowed himself to balloon out during the later part of his marriage. When the opportunity to fully crossdress whenever he felt like it presented itself, Michael decided he didn't want to look like a middle-aged frump. He dieted and exercised until he could eventually fit into a size 16 and some times even a 14; a great effort given his large frame, and he now carried very little fat. Michele had acquired an extensive wardrobe, first at opportunity shops and later at larger specialty shops; insisting to the shopkeepers that he was buying the clothes as presents for his wife. Lingerie was easy to buy as it is never considered unusual for men to buy nice underwear for their wives or lovers. Michele bought his first pair of women's shoes from an opportunity shop and once he knew his woman's shoe size he purchased many styles of high-heeled pumps and sandals; again insisting to inquisitive shop assistants that they were presents for his wife. He sometimes had the boxes gift-wrapped to maintain the façade. Michele had dabbled with his wife's makeup with various degrees of success and failure during the years of his marriage and easily obtained all the makeup he needed by purchasing a couple of complete makeup kits ("its for my niece's birthday; she's just turned thirteen") and then simply added to his makeup collection by throwing any item he desired in with the week's groceries; no one ever questioned him at the checkout; husbands just picked up whatever their wives had written on the shopping list after all. Michele could purchase women's jewellery easily of course, but his biggest problem was how to get his hands on some nice wigs. The problem was solved when he was sent to a large city interstate on a business trip where he visited the part of town frequented by the gay community. Here a sympathetic old lady in a wig shop who was used to dealing with ‘his kind' helped him pick out and try on three different styles and hair colourings. He purchased the wigs and then went into another ‘specialty shop' where he bought breastforms in two sizes. Michele loved being Michele; Michael transformed into her at every opportunity and spent most evenings and weekends dressed and fully made-up. More and more often though he had been fantasising about taking his transvestism a step further; whenever he was dressed as Michele he became aroused, he always had, but for the last year or so he had fantasised about being with a man. He did not consider himself gay; in fact when he wasn't Michele his sexual fantasies revolved around women; but when he was Michele he wanted to be with a man or to have a ‘lesbian' encounter with another transvestite. Michele was terrified that her secret life would be exposed. When dressed she kept the doors locked, the shades closed and never answered the door. Although she had become adept at applying makeup and dressing en-femme, and she believed that she made quite an attractive mature woman, she would never dream of going out dressed as Michele. She contented himself with reading books and looking at magazines and movies where transvestites had hot sexual encounters with each other and with male admirers. Although masturbation bought relief, Michele longed for ‘the real thing.' She was thinking a lot lately of either placing a discreet ad in some of the sex shops she visited or advertising her availability in a contact magazine or in some of the internet chat rooms she frequented. Michele was not aware that she was about to have her first encounter tonight, nor that the Predator would be her first man. The Predator was not aware that the woman he lusted after, as he spied on her through her bedroom window, was in fact Michele; a transvestite. Michele had opened a nice half-bottle of Shiraz earlier in the evening and then poured herself a warm bath. She painted her toe and fingernails and allowed them to dry and then poured herself a glass of wine and stepped into the steaming, scented water. She spent a luxurious hour soaking, during which she had shaven her legs and chest and closely shaven her face. She had also drunk three glasses of wine. Michele towelled herself off and carried a full glass of wine from the ensuite bathroom into her bedroom where she sat at her dressing table and looked at herself critically in the mirror. She was showing her age but was still respectable and with the magic of makeup would soon be transformed into a presentable, if slightly sluttish, middle-aged woman. She giggled to herself and realised she was slightly drunk. Michele went through the labour of applying her foundation; she had a product from Max Factor which closely matched her skin colour but covered up the few scars and blemishes that she had acquired during in her life. Next she liberally coated her face and neck with face powder one shade darker than her foundation; she now had the blank canvass she liked to achieve prior to applying the rest of her makeup. She loved this next part; the application of colours and shading which changed the whole look of her face from bland maleness to feminine fox. She giggled again and took a gulp of wine before continuing. Michele applied her eyeliner next. All the books and magazines in which she had read makeup tips said you should do this later but Michele had learned that this was the hardest part of applying makeup and if she screwed it up (which she often did, especially after drinking), she could wipe the eyeliner away, apply more foundation and start again without ruining her eye-shadow and mascara. The eyeliner was applied liberally to her upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of her eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line as she went. Having achieved the desired result she looked for a suitable palette of colours for her eye-shadow. Michele selected a pale blue which she applied to her eyelids and then blended it into a shade of dark pink which she brushed onto the upper part of her eye sockets and right up to her eyebrows. She wished she could shape her brows but that would be too noticeable to her workmates, family and friends so she just kept her brows neatly plucked. Next she rouged her cheeks to define the lines of her cheekbones. She used more rouge and eye-shadow than is the fashion nowadays but she preferred the more colourful makeup styles of the eighties over the current subdued ‘less is more' look. Michele next applied a light coating of ‘skin-glow' face powder all over her face and neck to set the makeup she had already applied and to give her face a subtle radiance. She carefully brushed lashings of mascara onto her lower and upper eyelashes. She knew from painful experience that if she put too much mascara on her lashes that it would congeal and look unsightly; even worse it could end up ruining her eye-shadow or face makeup if globs of the mascara came loose from her lashes. She did like to wear lots of mascara though and found a Maybelline product that did not clot and was easy to apply. Michele took her time putting on her lipstick. Having completed the rest of her face she didn't want to ruin the effect with a sloppy job. She took time to line her thin lips just outside her lip-line so that her lips would seem fuller; she also knew that the wine she had drunk was having its effect and realised that caution here would save her tears of frustration if she slipped and made a mess of her lipstick. The colour was a deep plum red and matched the nail polish that she had painstakingly painted on her toe and fingernails prior to her bath. Michele reached up and studied the three wigs sitting on their stands. ‘The brunette,' she thought to herself and lifted the wig from its stand. She brushed the wig with the special brush that she been advised to purchase by the nice old lady who had sold her her wigs. She started her brush-stokes at the extremities of the hair and worked her way up to the crown, admiring the sheen of the artificial hair. She positioned the wig on her head and adjusted it so that her fringe was straight and hung level with her eyebrows. Michele looked in the mirror and admired her transformation. ‘I look quite attractive' she thought; ‘I bet Michael would like to fuck me' (she giggled to herself at the absurdity) and reached for her wine glass. Michele went to the closet located on the right-hand side of the bedroom; Michele's closet. The closet on the left was Michael's closet and contained his suits, shirts, ties and boring male underwear, socks and shoes. Michele's closet contained the soft, luxurious, feminine attire that so excited her. She rummaged through the lingerie draws and threw a pile on the bed; next she took down half a dozen ensembles and threw them in the centre of the bed amid the strewn underwear. It looked like a messy, awkward way to select an outfit but it worked for her. She would often get nearly fully dressed and then change her mind and she had found over the years the best method for her was to take a selection of clothing and throw it on the bed and then once she had finished dressing, put away whatever clothing she had decided not to wear. The predator at this time was just leaving the bar having been unsuccessful in locating a suitable woman as his prospective next victim. He had drunk more than usual, and frustrated at not finding his next target, stumbled to his car and took off towards the better part of town to prowl for a fitting quarry to stalk. Michele tore open a packet of cheap flesh-toned sheer to the waist pantyhose. She wore pantyhose as a foundation garment to help flatten her tummy, hold her male genitalia out of the way between her legs, and to help cover the small nicks and varicose veins on her forty-year-old thighs and ankles. She felt a small tingle of excitement as she smoothed the pantyhose up her legs and over her tummy and buttocks. She carefully manipulated the sheer toes around her painted nails ensuring she didn't ladder the cheap hose. Michele selected a pair of red nylon full-cut panties from the midden of lingerie on her bed. She stepped into them and slid them up her nyloned thighs, savouring the rustling sound of nylon on nylon. She adjusted the waistband on her hips so that the cute little lace bow was centrally located below her belly button. Michele could not understand the modern woman's obsession with thong panties; they were uncomfortable and unflattering on women of her solid build. Besides she liked the way the tight nylon panties caressed her buttocks. Michele next chose a black satin garter belt; her mother had called them ‘suspenders' she remembered. She clipped the garment together and stepped into it carefully pulling it up her hosed legs and over her panties so that it sat snugly around the bottom of her waist. She carefully adjusted the garter straps ensuring they did not snag her pantyhose. Michele decided on a matching black satin bra, again clipping the fastenings at the back of the bra together before donning the garment. She giggled yet again when she thought about all the troubles she had had as a young adolescent Michael attempting to undo his girlfriend's bra so that he could caress her budding teenage breasts. She took another sip of wine and pulled the garment over her head, adjusting it on her chest in the mirror and straightening the straps on her shoulders. She had breastforms if she wanted to use them but this bra was slightly padded and with her ‘man boobs' gave her a pleasing if subtle cleavage without being overly busty (although sometimes, when she was in the mood, she liked to stuff her bra with the largest set of breastforms she had and parade around like Mae West). Michele dithered over which stockings to wear; it would depend greatly on which ensemble she finally decided upon. Should she wear black, grey, taupe, flesh-toned; fully fashioned, Cuban heeled or sheer toe? She had so many pairs! She settled on a pair of high sheen taupe lace tops. She loved the way they emphasised her shapely legs, and with the flesh toned pantyhose underneath the stockings, her legs would look magnificent. Michele thought her legs were the best part of her body. She slid the stockings on and connected the clips on the garter straps to the lacy stocking tops. She reached for her jewellery box and selected faux diamond earrings and a matching pendant necklace. As she clipped the earrings to her ears she lamented the dearth of good quality clip-on earrings. She dare not pierce both her earlobes as it would be too noticeable to others. Michele went back to her closet and selected a pair of black, patent leather, open toe high-heels and placed them beside the chair next to her dresser. She chose a black nylon full-slip from the mess of lingerie on the bed and pulled it over her head being careful not to ruin her makeup or hair. She smoothed the garment to her body, the tight bodice clinging to her breasts and hips and the skirt flaring around her thighs, occasionally sticking to her stockinged legs because of the static electricity. She loved the feel of the lacy hem; like butterfly wings brushing on her thighs.