1. Trust


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

    drew a breath, waiting for her to laugh. To giggle. To smile maliciously, even. &#034Come on, I want to dance,&#034 she said, and drew me toward the bedroom. I have *never* been much of a dancer. Too self-conscious. Slow-dancing, though, was usually all right. I mean, all it amounts to is foreplay in public, with your clothes on. This turned out to be a little different, though. First, *she* led, signalling with pressure of her hands, or her hips, or her body. That inflamed me further, just as it made me even more uncomfortable. Something was slipping away, something was getting revealed, and I was beginning to feel extremely vulnerable. She danced me female, is what she did. She was wearing high heels, tall ones -- maybe the ones she had bought for the all-black costume. She'd told me once she didn't like them. Since I had taken off my shoes to change, and left them off, it meant that we were about the same height. So we danced through three songs, and then the CD ended. It ended, and I realized that I was dancing with my head on her shoulder, while she had her face in my hair, and that she had been stroking my bottom through skirt and panties. My hands were just around her waist. Passive. I started to flush, painfully, when the music stopped and she broke the clinch. I heard myself whimper. She held me back from her, her hands holding my arms to my sides, and looked at me. Then drew me closer, and kissed me. Taking the initiative, again, and this time demandingly. When ...
    I tried to kiss her back, her mouth and tongue turned punishing, demanding, until I simply submitted, and let myself *be* kissed. As the kiss ended, my skirt slithered down my legs to puddle on the floor, and she urged me to step forward, stepping out of it, as her hands caressed my bottom again. She was nibbling and licking my ear. Another of my weak spots, one that she had learned, long ago, sent me into trembling ecstacy. Then another shift of position, and she was pulling my blouse over my head. I'm a fraction short of six feet tall, but standing there in front of her, wearing nothing but makeup and a very silly pair of panties, I felt very small. She stepped back, unzipped her skirt and stepped out of it, then unbuttoned and discarded her blouse, keeping her eyes on me the whole time. Stepping toward me again, she unbuckled her bra, and let it slither off her shoulders and land with a snick of fasteners on the floor. She took my hand, and led me, unresisting, toward the bed. I was out of my depth. Every time I started to respond, she pulled back, gently laid my hands aside, and then started over. She pushed me to sit on the bed, then sat beside me and started kissing me. My lips, my nipples -- unfortunately, they aren't at all sensitive -- my ears -- they are -- and everywhere else. Her tongue traced a trail along my waistband. I used to do that to her. Eventually, she had me laying back on the bed, arms at my side, eyes closed. She'd somehow lost her high heels and ...
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