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Trust
Date: 7/17/2015, Categories: BDSM, Shemales, Author: klammer, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster
her breath. "G-go." I went, confused. Stopped at the mirror in the hall, and was so aroused from the spanking that I couldn't even find the strength to condemn myself. "L-lee! Come here!" Like a shot! I clattered back into the bedroom, heels loud on the floor, and stopped as if shot. She was standing a couple feet from the foot of the bed, between it and the door -- right in front of me! -- wearing nothing but a black g-string, a garter belt and fishnet stockings, high heels -- and a confident smile. She stood, posed like that, just long enough for the image to etch itself indelibly in my brain, and then she was kissing me. Pushing me onto the bed, and I writhed at the pressure against my sensitized ass. Taking the lead, pinning my arms, pushing my skirt out of the way, and then nylon-over- cock brushed nylon-over-bush. Once. Twice. Three times and... explosion! Her mouth fastened to mine, her body trembling as the shock waves went through it, and me moaning into her throat and bucking like a bronco. Passing into the golden afterglow. We lay there, entangled in... well, in my dress, okay? The guilt woke up, at that, and pounced, and I groaned with the shame of what I had just done. She sat up, still straddling me, and keeping my hands captured in hers. "Little sissy," she said, deliberately, and waited until I turned my eyes back to face her again. "Little sissy," she repeated, reprovingly, "I didn't give you permission to come. And you've ... made a mess of your dress. You need a spanking." Impossible! I flushed, opened my mouth to plead with her, and stopped. She'd moved, and drawn my attention to something. I looked down at where our laps were separated by two layers of nylon and about a centimeter of air, refusing to believe it. Throb. Could I deserve a spanking for wanting one? My eyes flashed back to hers. She was waiting for that, and lowered herself, slowly, to kiss me voluptuously. "Are you going to waste time denying it?" she whispered then. "Or hating yourself for it? Or shall we... investigate the possibilities?" I shuddered, half in pleasure, half in fear at the vistas that were opening. Swallowed, and whispered back, "I'm a researcher." It still wasn't easy to wake up in a frillier negligee than my girlfriend, the next morning. But when she asked, "Are you going to stay the weekend?" it wasn't at all difficult to decide. Trust Part 4: Tables Turning That winter remains in my memory as cold, miserable, and gray, although it was probably little different, physically, from any other winter. But as spring bloomed into freshness and beauty, so -- at least in the emotional sense -- did I. There was always a lurking fear, though. "Sooner or later," the Pessimist would whisper, and the joy would go out of whatever it was we were doing. We ended up doing a *lot* together. Nancy set the tone, a light-hearted one. Take the weekend after what we started to refer to as ...