1. Trust


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

    you wish to spend the night with me, at my house, but don't have the courage to ask, you may send me a signal by bringing your nightclothes with you. &#034If, for some reason, you wish to leave before I give you permission to go, there will always be an option. I have purchased a pair of men's jeans and a shirt in your size. There will always be a set of unremarkable clothes on the table by the door, and you are free to change into them and leave.&#034 I didn't catch how cleverly that was worded until a couple months later. It *looks* like more of a promise than it is. &#034However, you won't be welcome in my house until you volunteer to do whatever it is that caused you to leave in the first place.&#034 &#034I love you. Nancy.&#034 Puzzle *that* one out, the Cynic sneered. Oh, don't be a damnfool! the Codger grumped. She just wants to make sure you're not sneaking around doing things behind her back. She wants you to prove you're *not* a sissy, is what. So prove it. Is that what she was doing on Saturday? the Doubter asked. The rest of the Committee snarled at him to *shut up* about Saturday. It was almost seven-thirty, and I was pacing. I'd spent the week thinking, too. If you can call these debates between personality fragments 'thinking.' My powerful repugnance at being reduced to something unmanly warred with the memory of astonishing sex. I'd passed out, ferchrissakes! But if I read that letter properly, it wasn't going to happen again in my house. It might in hers, ...
    but I wouldn't be able to get up in the morning and do myself up 'boy.' She was going to arrive in minutes, and I still hadn't made up my mind whether I was even going to go *out* on her terms. Oh, it may have looked as if I'd made up my mind, seeing that I was wearing 'white ones,' perfume, and my face was smooth-shaven. In fact, there was a flight bag by the door, with a nighty in it. And my makeup, just in case. But the shaving had only taken place at seven o'clock. The perfume was barely noticeable, if you leaned in close. And the panties -- they were a sort of symbolic protest. I'd gone and bought a pair, which always made my teeth sweat, facing one of those clear-faced female cashiers, but I'd done it. They were cotton. Calvin Klein for her. About as mannish as panties got, until you got to panties-for-men (I had a couple pairs of silk men's underwear, that were basically flyless bikinis, differing from panties only in that they were solid, subdued sorts of colors, had wide waistbands, lacked decoration altogether... and cost roughly three times what panties cost. Got 'em from Vicky's Secret. They didn't give me the same thrill that panties did, though.). I saw her car pull up in front of the house, and almost went to hide under the bed. My brain went into overdrive, and I used up my adrenaline allowance for at least the next six months. I was not breathing very well. I was leaning on the door of my house. Outside. Unsure how I had gotten there. No, I was leaning against ...
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