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January 21, 2008

Weekend Overtime

With today’s new competitiveness in business, more and more hard work is going into our work weeks. Often I find myself working weekends in order to satisfy the need for additional work efforts. Recently, however, I was delighted by a turn of events which made this weekend requirement easier to take. Our company, like most, has be undergoing constant reorganization in an attempt to become more effective and with this comes the inevitable procession of changes in upper management. In addition the general age of my bosses had been declining. A recent change found me working for a good-looking woman about five years older than myself. I wondered how this was going to work out, and as you will learn it not only worked out great but has provided me with some of the most interesting work experiences in my life.

It all started, as I said, with my new boss. Jane was a good-looking dark-haired lady with nice tits and a great figure. While she looked nice she wore very conservative suits around the office and I did not think of her in especially carnal ways. Jane had brought with her a number of women who formed her inner circle, and while some of my peers thought this was a sign that the guys were going to get the shit jobs, I waited to see how things developed. Soon after Jane took over I received a number of interesting and sensitive assignments which were due in short time-frames. I was assigned one of Jane’s people to work for me and we began to work the project. Sue, the woman assigned to me, was a pretty, slim woman about 23, and while she wasn’t Bo Derrick she seemed to always to give off a very sexual aura which attracted me to her from the first. We ended up spending many evenings working on our project and I got to know Sue quite well. Sue had small firm breasts which she almost never covered with a bra and while her dress was never overtly sexy I found myself drawn to her and wondering how she would be in bed.

When the project was nearing completion the work effort intensified, and in addition to working nights, Sue and I were getting together on the weekends to complete the work on the required schedule. Sue invited me over to her house so we could work on the project in some more comfortable surroundings and since she was single I thought it would be nice. I arrived about 8:30 Saturday morning, Sue greeted me at her door wearing a short t-shirt nighty and apologizing for over-sleeping. I told her it was ok and how sexy she looked in her short nighty. Sue’s small firm tits were clearly visible under the thin white cotton and her nipples poked out against the fabric, making my cock get stiff.

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November 2, 2007

One Dance

The night air was pleasant, cool and slightly moist against your skin, but it brought you no peace. As you leaned out over the balcony, surveying the reflecting pools and gardens of the estate stretching out into the moonlight, you tried to relax, enjoy the panorama, and ignore the sound of the music, laughter, and dancing in the ballroom down the hall from the study whose window you had flung open. Flung open at the end of a mad flight from the ball, trying to escape that which you most desired and, yet, by which you were most terrified.

The party had begun pleasantly enough. You had come unescorted, determined you have a good time regardless of who had or had not come with you. There were enough unattached men, or just outrageous flirts, to more than fill a casual night. Perhaps you would meet someone interesting, or particularly attractive, you had thought, but put the subject from your mind: no expectations except for diversion.

Then, two hours or so after the first dancing had begun, she had entered the room. It was between dances, and the crowd was busy with angling through the floor, looking for someone to ask for the next dance, or making themselves obvious to the person they wished would ask them. When the dark figured had filled the doorway, many had turned to look. Most had given a quick, appreciative glance, and then returned to their partners. You had not; although you were across the room, you stopped and stared as if turned to stone.

She was tall, at least six feet. She was dressed in black, in a perfect coachman’s uniform. She wore tight pants fit into calf-high boots, shiny and well-polished. Her vest, cut to give her a tight V-figure, was closed with a double row of bright silver buttons. Those, and her white cravat, were the only thing which were not black, black to the point of absorbing the light around her. Her hands and fingers were long and delicate as she casually tapped the palm of one hand with a riding crop. Her features were strong, aristocratic, not feminine except in their beauty. Her close-cropped hair was nearly completely concealed by a coachman’s top hat. But her eyes drew you most of all. Large, intense, as dark as her clothing, they held to the promise of lust, passion, power and even cruelty

The band struck up a waltz on a slightly off note, shocking you back to reality. You dimly were aware of your partner taking your hand and leading you onto the dance floor, and the movement gradually brought you to earth. Occasionally as the dance progressed, you would glimpse her dancing with women (and always leading). But after every dance, she was someplace else, asking someone else to dance; you could never seem to get near to her. Finally, the impression of her first appearance faded, and the evening continued.

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October 23, 2007

Here Comes the “Bride”

I am a cross-dresser who has for years enjoyed looking and acting like a woman. Lulu, my wife, started to enjoy this side of me once she discovered how easily she could dominate me. She likes to expose my transvestism to unsuspecting souls.

At first it was something simple like holding panties up to my waist while shopping for lingerie. But it has progressed to her telling me to buy specific items like a pink bra, a red garter belt or a black teddy. She also insists that I tell the sails clerk that the items are for me. I will be severely punished if I don’t comply, so when we go into the lingerie department and asked what we’re looking for, I will answer, “A pink bra. I wear a 36A.” It never fails to raise eyebrows. I love the embarrassment of it all.

My wife loves to embarrass me outdoors too. We will go to a public tennis court with me dressed in a white shirt and shorts with bright pink panties and a bra that will clearly show through underneath. It never fails to provoke stares. I have also gone to the tennis courts wearing a tennis dress with full makeup and a blonde wig. I’m quite convincing when dressed as a girl, so this doesn’t bother my game. But what does bother it is the fact that I’m also wearing tight nipple clamps and have a buttplug in place.

Lulu thinks I should experience womanly feelings and adventures as much as possible. So in bed I must be ready to accept her strap-on dildo and open my mouth so she can feed me my semen when I come. I also make regular visits to a beauty saloon for wig styling and facials.

A real surprise came a few weeks ago. Our tenth anniversary was fast approaching, and we had talked about exchanging vows again. We had arranged to hire a minister in a small chapel and have another couple, our best friends, stand up for us. This would be on a Wednesday night, and we would take off the rest of the week for a second honeymoon.

I should have known nothing is as expected when Lulu is involved.

She called me at work and told me to meet her at a bridal shop later on so we could get fitted. I thought she meant that I would be renting a tux. But when I arrived at the shop she was inside talking to the owner. They gave me a strange smile when I walked in. The owner looked at me and said, “Yes, I have something will fit him perfectly.”

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October 6, 2007

A Dancer’s Fantasy

My name is ‘Show Girl.’ I’m 23 years old, 5′5″ tall, 115 pounds, and my measurements are 36C-21-34. I’m a natural blonde, with blue eyes and I’m into sexy talking and sexy ideas.

Actually, MY fantasy is to be on a stage with a lot of people watching me dance naked. In my fantasy, the guys hoot and holler, making very lewd and suggestive remarks about what they’d like to do to me in bed. I dance alone for a while, shaking my tits in their faces, or bending over in front of them close enough for them to try to lick my pussy. They all chicken out at the last minute though, and this makes be bolder and hotter the longer I dance.

I have in mind one of those semi-round stages, with a short, straight runway straight out from the stage. I start out dressed in a skirt and blouse, and quickly lose my clothes to stand completely nude before everyone.

While I’m dancing, my pussy gets wetter and wetter, and I feel my pussy cream mixing with the sweat that covers me from dancing under the hot lights. Faces are blurred beyond the edge of the stage, but the men are all intent on checking out my body. As I dance, I get more and more suggestive about what I want. I’ll lay on my back with my legs spread and rock my hips as though I was being fucked hard and fast. Then I roll over and spread my legs and thrust back, showing everyone my wet pussy and sexy ass. This I do with a nice looking guy of about 27 sitting at the edge of the stage. I shove my ass and cunt almost in his face several times. When I get up and dance by him, I can see a thick bulge in his lap, and I know he’s hot for me.

Finally, I see a pretty woman about my age sitting at the edge of the runway with her boyfriend across the table from her. I dance down towards her and lay on my stomach, pressing my large breasts against the floor. I look her in the eye and run my tongue across my lips sensuously, then flick my tongue up and down, showing her I’d like to eat her pussy too. To my surprise, she gives me an air-kiss, and runs her tongue around her lips too.

Excited, I sit up and spread my legs wide, with my ass at the edge of the stage, gyrating my hips lewdly right in front of her. I’m daring her to show me. Then she leans forward, and I hear the crowd hush. Her tongue lightly licks my soaking pussy, and she runs it over my clit, taking me closer to a climax. She leans back and fingers my vagina, and then licks my cream from her fingers, smiling up at me.

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September 21, 2007

Adventures In Memory Adjustment

When I met Jon he was just past chubby, melted down into a lithe boy who was starting to show signs of man. He was a young man the way a colt is part gangly animal and part magical apparition. He wore his awkwardness like a beetle wears its shell, to cover up the soft inside.

He was my highschool friend. He sometimes flirted with me, just to practice. I watched him hesitating on the cusp of growing up. If he had been more self-assured I would have been smitten, and if I had been any more self-assured I’d have taken him — easy, the way his hormones were trembling and threatening to spill over, like water from a glass. But I was not the one he chose for his first affair.

Mr. White had just been hired to teach at the highschool. He was on a three-year contract, and that was all the longer he would stay, because teachers like him are never hired back. He must have interviewed in his one regular suit — he’d never have gotten the job dressed the way he usually did, in old, old clothes, antique three-piece suits and wire-rimmed glasses and a watch and chain. He was hired to teach drama, of course — that’s probably why they let him slip by — and English.

He looked English, actually, like a headmaster at a shabby third cousin of Eton. He had bright, lavishly-lashed eyes and a mustache that curled. No one in our remote little town had never seen anything like him. He was like a time traveler who had taken a very wrong stop. He could not have been expected to have anything in common with a bunch of ranchers’ sons and daughters. Nevertheless a few of us had determined that we were not going to be hicks. We were over him like flies on honey.

Jon was skittish around Mr. White from the start, manic even. For about a week he joined the other boys, raving about what a fruit and a faggot the new teacher was. But by the end of the second week of school he had arranged to join three extracurricular clubs — the Thespians, the school paper, and a modern novel study group — so he could be near him.

On any given day Jon could be found before class, after class, and often at lunch in Mr.White’s room. I knew that because I was in the habit of dropping by at those times myself. Of all the students who clustered around the new teacher, I was the closest to understanding just why he seemed so odd. He was so completely different from any other man I’d ever known, in his eccentricity so sweet and strange, that of course I began cruising him almost right away. I was just learning that having sex with a person could teach me things about them and about myself, and I was sure Mr. White was a wealth of things I wanted to know.

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