1. Trust


    Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    myself. Don't sound so desperate! Why not? I wondered. I *am* desperate. There was another slight pause, and then she chuckled throatily. &#034I could tell you that you agreed to anything, you know.&#034 I grabbed my nerve with both hands. &#034Yes. Anything. I'll do it.&#034 There was another moment of silence. &#034It's worth it,&#034 I added. &#034You are.&#034 &#034Anything?&#034 she asked archly. A hint of a laugh? Ka-thump, ka-thump, ka-wham. Hearts, I decided, are a bother. If I could get rid of mine, I wouldn't be in this position. Time for the magic words. &#034I trust you,&#034 I said. But my voice sounded strangled. This time the silence lasted forever. I started to panic, when I realized that she was speaking. Her voice was very soft, and it sounded as if she might be crying. &#034...on the first bench in the park, at 7:30. All right?&#034 &#034Yes!&#034 It came out harsh. More obstructions in my throat. &#034Pink ones,&#034 she said, obscurely. &#034I love you.&#034 &#034I love you, too,&#034 I choked. Before I could ask, 'pink what?' the line had gone dead. Well, but it was obvious, right? Panties. I have a weakness, I guess you could call it, for panties. And for pink. And for nylon, and ruffles. My all-time biggest button pusher is pink nylon panties, with ruffles. Little-girl panties. Little Bo-Peep panties. I found out that the previous night's impotence had been only temporary; just thinking about showing up for a meeting with her, wearing pink panties, ...
    was enough to make walking uncomfortable. I debated stopping by some store, and getting new, but decided that I had only a limited amount of courage, and needed it all to show up so dressed in the park. At 7:20, I settled myself on the bench where we'd met, almost a year before. On Valentine's Day. I'd bought a bouquet of flowers -- for myself, to be honest, but when I'd seen a beautiful woman sitting there all alone, I'd impulsively handed them to her. It had taken a while to convince her that I wasn't some odd masher or r****t. I was warmed by the memory, and dwelled on it, since it distracted me from the fact that every time I shifted position, the nylon caressed my cock and my bottom, and the elastic gave me tender little nips around my legs and my waist. She showed up late, of course. Woman's prerogative. Her face brightened when she caught sight of me, and my heart swelled. She ran the last couple of steps, and shyly handed me a bouquet of roses. Pink ones. I accepted them, blushing. It occurred to me that I had missed a very important bit of conversation. I stood and walked with her, uncomfortably aware at every step that I had made an utter ass of myself. She noticed, finally. &#034What's wrong?&#034 she asked. &#034Have you changed your mind?&#034 She looked a little hurt. &#034Umm, no. I just...&#034 I looked around, desperately. Not too many people in the park, not in mid-January. I gulped, looked down at the flowers I was clutching -- crushing -- in my hands. &#034I ...
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