1. Trust


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

    she paused, and added, sarcastically, &#034Amy?&#034 I blinked, letting the pain wash over me, and turned to face her. Gods, she was crying! &#034I, uh, can explain,&#034 I began, nervously, but let it trail off. What was there to explain? She'd asked to use my computer that day, to do some project involving graphics for her company. My computer wasn't ideally suited for graphics, but it was better than hers was. However, the graphics programs all ran under Windows. Windows is a bitch for security. Judging from the stack of paper, she'd printed out the contents of the \data\personal\stories\porn subdirectory. Which would explain the dress, alas. The stories weren't really porn, but most of them *did* feature a boy or a man wearing an outfit like the one laying in front of me. I glanced back at the couch. Yup. The other packages were panties and stockings. Probably pink nylon with ruffles and white lace, respectively. That tableau held for perhaps three minutes, her crying softly, me staring alternately at her, the couch, and the printout of the first page of one of my stories. She broke it finally. &#034Well?&#034 she prompted. My mind raced briefly, testing and discarding dozens of explanations. But... really, what was the point of denying it? I shrugged, letting the old emotional armor settle into place. I smiled, sardonically. &#034I guess there *isn't* an explanation,&#034 I said. Silence. &#034You don't trust me,&#034 she accused. &#034Of course I...!&#034 Pause. ...
    &#034Umm. No, I guess not.&#034 Pause again, and an olive branch: &#034*I* hate it. I mean, I hate *me* when I do it. How could you not? So, uhh, I tried to stop, and... umm, write it out.&#034 &#034Cross-dress, you mean,&#034 she elaborated. A bit unnecessarily, to my mind. That was what we were talking about already, right? &#034You like to dress up and look like a girl.&#034 She was taking this too calmly. I was a little worried. Sensitive position, as a professor, you understand, and junior faculty is not notoriously immune to being fired on moral grounds. They'd dress it up, of course, call it something else. I shrugged again, looking away from her. &#034You want somebody to dress you up and treat you like a little girl,&#034 she continued, remorselessly. &#034No!&#034 I protested, genuinely shocked. My traitorous glands did their trick, though, and my heart raced, my mouth dried, my palms got moist, and my belly took the down elevator without warning. I had to explain this one. &#034No, really! I don't, uhh, know *why*, and I've tried to stop -- honest!&#034 I emphasized as she rolled her eyes. &#034But it isn't, uhh, because I want to be a, a girl!&#034 My face felt hot. It got hotter when I realized that I was blushing. She looked disgusted. Well, wouldn't you have been? I would have, if I had been a girl and... oh, never mind. &#034Lee,&#034 she said, still much too calmly, &#034I read those stories.&#034 I glanced at them. Not possible. Hundreds of pages. Skimmed, maybe. ...
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