1. Trust


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

    back a little. She chuckled. Oops. &#034Maybe I'll find you something,&#034 she said, whimsically. &#034Do you need help getting dressed?&#034 I shook my head, working up my courage. &#034W-will you help me with m-my m-makeup?&#034 Blushing again. She nodded. It wasn't hard to slip into an outfit that had left me a quivering heap of terror only days before. It still leeched all my courage, so that by the time I was dressed, looking mournfully at my bare, male face in the mirror, I felt very small, and quite silly. &#034Sooner or later,&#034 the Pessimist whispered, &#034she's going to get tired of a man that isn't much of one. Enjoy it while it lasts.&#034 The Committee held a quick meeting, decided that the Pessimist was right, and gave me orders to be a little better prepared for the breakup, this time. I agreed to watch for the signals. So I was once again prim and proper when she put on my makeup, though this time she demanded that I watch, and learn. I did so, with a rather heavy heart. When she had finished, and had put my hair up (and given me a kiss when she discovered that I was wearing the butterflies; I'd put them on in the car), she hugged me strongly, and said, &#034Umm, is it the dress that makes you so adorably submissive?&#034 I blushed instead of answering. &#034Lee, go wait in the living room. I need to change,&#034 she said, stepping back. I glanced at her. Literally starting where we had left off, apparently. Stood, and marched out. Well, maybe not ...
    marched. It's hard to march in pink shoes with white satin bows. It just doesn't come off. I stopped to marvel at myself in the mirror -- it was the same odd mixture, of girl-face and boy-body, in girl-clothes -- and then glanced guiltily at the bedroom door and hurried to the living room. There wasn't anything there, to speak of. I mean, just the usual stuff. So I flopped down, and remembered that one doesn't flop in a dress, and sat properly. And waited. And waited. She was taking a hell of a long time, I realized anxiously. I was getting more and more tense. I could *probably* pull this off. Was she taking so long so that it would be dark when we went out to the car? It occurred to me, then, that I wasn't really obligated to go *anywhere* in a dress. I mean, she had said, 'When you cross the threshold,' or something very similar. I had worked myself into a minor panic, and the Committee had convened a meeting to discuss the legalities involved, based on the rules she had given me, when she finally appeared in the living room. She was completely stunning. She's a sort of dirty blonde, who usually dresses down, and doesn't attract much notice. She'd attract a *lot* of notice in a tight red dress. It *screamed* notice. Black fishnet stockings. Black high heels. She didn't usually wear much makeup, but she had on lipstick and nail polish that exactly matched the shade of her dress. And somehow, in piling her hair up on top of her head, she'd made it look much blonder, more golden. ...
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