1. Trust


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

    when we were done, and came out to the living room, where I was sitting and staring at the window, trying to decide what I was going to do. &#034Lee,&#034 she said, softly, kneeling in front of me and taking my hand. &#034You need some time alone. So I'm leaving.&#034 I started to protest, half-heartedly, but secretly relieved, when she laid a finger on my lips. &#034I'm not going to demand anything of you that you can't do, and that includes demanding that you try to hide your feelings when you're feeling particularly raw and vulnerable. However,&#034 she added, and her voice became very firm, &#034you *are* going to have to make a decision. You'll have to decide if you want to be my sissy or not.&#034 I flushed and again started to protest, but she shushed me again. &#034It isn't that hard a decision,&#034 she said, with a smile, &#034since one way or another, you're going to be a sissy. The question is whether you'll be *my* little sissy, and let me make the decisions and take the responsibilities. No, don't answer! I don't want to hear it, and I don't think you're ready, or able, to make a decision in the state you're in. So I'll give you time. Friday I'll come by to pick you up, and treat you to dinner and a show. If you've decided you can trust me, you'll be wearing panties. And perfume -- that's easier to see.&#034 Well, smell, I corrected, but not aloud. &#034That gives you a week to torture yourself with it. Agreed?&#034 There was something in her eyes again, and I ...
    had to work it out before I answered. Anxiety? Yes, it seemed to me, she was anxious. And considering things, I realized that whatever decision I made when I was depressed nearly to the point of suicide was probably going to be the same one. &#034All right,&#034 I agreed. &#034Good!&#034 she said, and sealed the bargain with a kiss. A promising kiss, a tender one. I had to blink the tears back when I was done. I was going to give this up? But any other decision seemed just impossible. She stood, found her coat and her purse, and started for the door. But she hesitated, halfway out, and turned back to look at me consideringly. &#034Lee,&#034 she said, in an amused voice, &#034lose the mustache, too, okay?&#034 She was gone before I could answer. Part 2: Fiery Pride I was pacing nervously, glancing out the windows from time to time. Seven-thirty was approaching. Friday. As I paced, my hand occasionally stole to my newly shaven upper lip. It was hard to regret the loss of the mustache itself -- it had never been much of a mustache -- but it had always been there, to prevent me from doing something outrageous. Now it was gone. I'd gotten a note in my mailbox at school in the middle of the week. I kept telling myself that she'd put it there herself, so it wouldn't have to go through normal mail, but the intrusion of that carefully sequestered portion of my life into my day-to-day routine made me jumpy. Jumpy, hell, it had thrown me into a tailspin. &#034Lee, sweetie, I told you I ...
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