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It was a typical early morning.
I always check my messages first, from the porno-social site which I belong to, then check the friends invitations, look over the “news” from the site before perusing the fresh she-male videos as I start my day.
I take smoke breaks out-of doors to feel the wind seep through my sheer, lovely girl clothes and I had just returned from watching the dawn’s pink and red display in the east.
I was dressed in a sheer, lacy thong and a sheer leopard-print throw that I loved (whorishly cut up both sides of the upper thigh -high garment so that my ass would be exposed if I moved or the wind caught it) and was drinking coffee while attending to the messages when I opened up the latest message from a man I had befriended the day before.
‘Bri ~ There will be someone waiting to pick you up at the airport when you arrive ~ James.’
Weird. But it WAS a porn site and I AM a closeted cross-dresser from the middle of the Bible Belt -- so weird is sort of normal for me. I flippantly sent back a flirty answer and continued my morning régime, took a quick shower, shaved and insured that my pink lacy thong wouldn’t be exposed by my hated boy-clothes as I went to work.
I was drinking another cup of coffee and sorting photographs when my boss arrived and asked me to follow him into the office and close the door.
“Do you think that you could get away and go to San Francisco for the week?” he asked.
“What?” I said, thunderstruck.
He explained that he had received a call late last night from a prominent, national photography studio that was willing to pay the periodical where I worked a large stipend to “rent” my photography skills for the week, but that I had to leave today. He said the studio told him that they had been following my work on-line and I had just the skills the they needed for a major shoot.
“We can use the cash quite frankly,” my boss said. “And this could be a big break for your career.” Not only was the studio willing to pay my company, they were going to cover all the transportation and hospitality costs and we going to pay me for my time (at a considerably higher rate than I earn at the periodical).
How could I refuse? I rushed home, packed a bag, carefully packed my equipment and headed my car for the nearest large airport, never thinking about my early morning message.
Sixteen hours later, the red-eye flight touched down in SFO, I collected my baggage and stood on the West Coast for the second time in my life. I noticed a uniformed man holding a placard with my name and after identifying myself, he took my luggage and I followed him to the limousine.
I was rather shocked, but enjoying myself after the first-class flight and I rolled down the window to catch the cold salty air and see the sights of the City by the Bay at night. I shot a lot of pics, loving the motion and colors of the neon in the night.
We arrived at the Fairmont and by now, the shock of being in such luxurious surroundings was sort of sinking in and although I offered to tip the chauffeur, the concierge dismissed me and took care of it, telling me that everything had already been taken care of and that my suite was waiting. The concierge escorted me to my suite, showed me the nuances of the quarters including to my surprise, a bar stocked only with non-alcoholic spirits.
“After I leave, please feel free to examine the contents of the drawer in the bar,” he said. “We only ask that if you smoke, please use the balcony. We will wake you up at 8 a.m. Do you have a preference for breakfast?”
I ordered my fave -- croissant, real butter and coffee -- and he left. Opening the drawer, I found six tightly rolled pin joints and I laughed on my way to the balcony to light one up. The view was beautiful and after smoking ½ of the joint, I set up my tripod and started shooting. By 2 a.m. I was exhausted, so I went to bed.
I was just finishing my breakfast on the patio, enjoying the view when the phone rang and I was informed that Ms. Smith from the studio was on her way up. I packed up my gear and met her at the door and we returned to the street, entered the limousine and were whisked to company headquarters.
Ms. Smith was stunning and I tried not to stare as we chatted and she explained the sights on our trip to the studio’s corporate headquarters. We breezed through the studio lobby and an assistant showed us into a large office.
A tall man with short-cropped salt and pepper hair and a reddish beard with streaks of white in it strode around the desk and offered his hand. He had sharp blue eyes and a huge cigar in the corner of his well-formed mouth.
“Hello Bri,” he said with a smile.
I was stunned, the handshake stopping in mid-gesture.
“Yes, it’s me, Jim. Sorry that I really didn’t have time to explain things to you yesterday morning. I was moving pretty fast, I had a lot to do to get you here on time,” he said.
I found a chair and collapsed in it, my heart racing. Jim returned to his desk and opened his laptop.
“I think you know…what do you call him? Oh yes, Daddy0. Cute,” he said. “Well I am his ‘other half’ and if you are up for it, I brought you here for his birthday. This IS you isn’t it?”
He flipped the laptop around and there was my profile.
“I found his profile open and snooped around and saw that you had been flirting with my man. Then, I saw you claim to have a virgin pussy, is that true?”
I nodded numbly.
“Excellent. Well, are you willing to place your pussy where your mouth is?” he asked.
Again I nodded weakly. I mean, what could I do? Jim knew my real identity, my boss and probably by now, quite a bit about me. Being a closeted cross dresser can suck, and not in a good way.
But I was also excited. I cold feel my clitty begin to leak a bit in my hated boy-panties and I could feel my inner girl rise to the fore of my being.
“Sure,” I said in my best sultry, falsetto voice. “But I don’t have a thing to wear….I didn’t pack for Bri.”
“Not to worry,” he said. “Go with Ms. Smith here. She has been instructed to assist you. Take the camera and shoot what you think or want. I hope the living quarters are to your satisfaction? Good. I will see you tomorrow then.”
He took another long look at me and smiled as he addressed Ms. Smith.
“You have your work cut out for you,” he said and we left the office.
Ms. Smith, or Jean as she told me to call her, filled me in on our itinerary as the big black car rolled through the streets of San Francisco. A stop at the spa, then a salon, then some serious shopping would pretty much fill the day. In the morning, we would go to a girl-coach, who specialized in assisting cd’s with walking, moving as talking. We had to be ready for Daddy0’s party by 7 p.m.
After stopping by a shop to pick up some sweats, I was waxed, shaved, oiled, manicured, pedicured and measured. It was fun to be Bri in the open, as the shops we visited specialized in intersexed girls and I asked a lot of questions in the salon, about makeup, hair and wigs.
It appeared that Jim was sparing no expense for his lover’s birthday, as we visited the lingerie store where I was fitted with top-of-the-line breast forms and other devices to enhance my figure. The boobs jiggled and moved with me and I loved the feeling and the sight of seeing them bounce on my chest.
We picked out several nice lingerie items including garter belts and stockings and donning the sweats we went dress and shoe shopping. Jean gave me some tips about walking on high heels and seemed pleased that I had already had a some experience in my own heels at home.
I couldn’t believe the transformation when she finally allowed me to look in the mirror. Bri was no movie star, but she was beautiful and exuded sex. My inner girl was out.
I photographed, and Jean took some snaps, of a lot of the work that went into making Bri.
“What about the hotel?” I asked with a sudden panic attack as we drove back to the Fairmont. “How will I get in?”
Jean laughed
“Not to worry,” she said. “Everything has been arranged.”
“So nice to see you this evening Ms Bri,” said the concierge as we entered the hotel. “Please, allow me to escort you to your room.’
He was so kind and thoughtful and I really didn’t mind that he patted my ass as I entered the room. I shot him a flirty look from beneath my new long lashes, picked up a joint from the drawer and headed for the balcony.
Saturday was spent in training and again Jean escorted me to the studio where I walked and talked for hours. At about 6 p.m. we headed for back to the hotel, but this time, we were ushered into the ante room of the grand ballroom, which had been decorated in a Hawaiian theme.
Jim met us in the room and asked that I strip.
I slipped out of my long black cocktail dress but kept on my slutty, sheer leopard print bra and thong. He pointed to a long table-like structure that had poles running through the loops of the side of the table. I was told to lie upon the table face down, grabbing the edges with my hands and my legs spread wide.
I did so and the wait staff began to place shellfish, caviar mangos and other Polynesian food items all around me. I could hear the large ballroom begin to fill with revelers and Hawaiian music in the air.
Finally, the chef was satisfied with the arrangement of the food.
“And now,” said Jim, “The pièce de résistance.”
In his hand, he had a large cock-shaped candle, with the wick extruding from the blunt end. I could feel my thong being pulled aside as the lubed phallic entered my tight, virgin pussy. A cook shoved an apple in my mouth as I started to moan in pain and from a sudden sense of heat, I knew the candle had been lit.
Eight, Amazon-sized, dark-haired intersexed beauties, only wearing grass skirts, picked the table up with ease, their pierced nipples swinging as they walked towards the double doors of the ballroom. As Jim flung the doors open, a spotlight hit the table and crowd burst into a Hawaiian themed “Happy Birthday to you”.
I was carried towards the dais, where Daddy0 sat, his shaven head gleaming in the light and his muscled body sitting the throne like a Polynesian King. His sparkling blue eyes bulged as he espied his present and he jumped up and gave Jim a long, tender kiss.
“Happy birthday love,” Jim said.
Daddy0 blew out the candle as the crowd roared, and then I felt the phallus ripped from my pussy.
“Happy birthday to me!” he yelled and I felt his huge member at the mouth of my cunt. Slowly, he entered my virgin boi-pussy and I loved the feel of his manhood impaling me. I bit down on the apple moaning.
After getting balls deep inside of me, Daddy0 began to rock in and out and I answered with my hips. He began to pound into me increasing his tempo. I bit further into the apple as I moaned with pleasure.
Suddenly I felt a large strong hand grab my ankle and I was flipped on my back, still impaled by his thick long rod.
He began to buck uncontrollably into me and I could feel my little clitty harden with each manic thrust, his swollen balls hitting my ass and my boobs bouncing on my chest. He opened my bra and then, unbelievably, I felt him harden further and I bit through the apple as my clitty released it’s white load into the air and I squealed as he came inside of me, his hot seed filling my cunt and spilling down my thighs.
He lay on top of me as his sperm unloading into my willing cunt and after he popped out, he strode towards my head, where I began to suck on his dick, trying to coax any remaining jism into my throat.
I spent about 20 minutes worshiping his cock until he was hard and then Daddy0 had me ride him like a cowgirl until he came again.
After that, I was passed around like a slut to all the men and intersexed girls at the party.
It was wonderful.
I spent the week in the city, dressed as Bri and shooting a lot of cool stuff. Jim decided that I really DID have talent as a photographer and told me that I would be traveling to San Francisco often for work.
I always check my messages first, from the porno-social site which I belong to, then check the friends invitations, look over the “news” from the site before perusing the fresh she-male videos as I start my day.
I take smoke breaks out-of doors to feel the wind seep through my sheer, lovely girl clothes and I had just returned from watching the dawn’s pink and red display in the east.
I was dressed in a sheer, lacy thong and a sheer leopard-print throw that I loved (whorishly cut up both sides of the upper thigh -high garment so that my ass would be exposed if I moved or the wind caught it) and was drinking coffee while attending to the messages when I opened up the latest message from a man I had befriended the day before.
‘Bri ~ There will be someone waiting to pick you up at the airport when you arrive ~ James.’
Weird. But it WAS a porn site and I AM a closeted cross-dresser from the middle of the Bible Belt -- so weird is sort of normal for me. I flippantly sent back a flirty answer and continued my morning régime, took a quick shower, shaved and insured that my pink lacy thong wouldn’t be exposed by my hated boy-clothes as I went to work.
I was drinking another cup of coffee and sorting photographs when my boss arrived and asked me to follow him into the office and close the door.
“Do you think that you could get away and go to San Francisco for the week?” he asked.
“What?” I said, thunderstruck.
He explained that he had received a call late last night from a prominent, national photography studio that was willing to pay the periodical where I worked a large stipend to “rent” my photography skills for the week, but that I had to leave today. He said the studio told him that they had been following my work on-line and I had just the skills the they needed for a major shoot.
“We can use the cash quite frankly,” my boss said. “And this could be a big break for your career.” Not only was the studio willing to pay my company, they were going to cover all the transportation and hospitality costs and we going to pay me for my time (at a considerably higher rate than I earn at the periodical).
How could I refuse? I rushed home, packed a bag, carefully packed my equipment and headed my car for the nearest large airport, never thinking about my early morning message.
Sixteen hours later, the red-eye flight touched down in SFO, I collected my baggage and stood on the West Coast for the second time in my life. I noticed a uniformed man holding a placard with my name and after identifying myself, he took my luggage and I followed him to the limousine.
I was rather shocked, but enjoying myself after the first-class flight and I rolled down the window to catch the cold salty air and see the sights of the City by the Bay at night. I shot a lot of pics, loving the motion and colors of the neon in the night.
We arrived at the Fairmont and by now, the shock of being in such luxurious surroundings was sort of sinking in and although I offered to tip the chauffeur, the concierge dismissed me and took care of it, telling me that everything had already been taken care of and that my suite was waiting. The concierge escorted me to my suite, showed me the nuances of the quarters including to my surprise, a bar stocked only with non-alcoholic spirits.
“After I leave, please feel free to examine the contents of the drawer in the bar,” he said. “We only ask that if you smoke, please use the balcony. We will wake you up at 8 a.m. Do you have a preference for breakfast?”
I ordered my fave -- croissant, real butter and coffee -- and he left. Opening the drawer, I found six tightly rolled pin joints and I laughed on my way to the balcony to light one up. The view was beautiful and after smoking ½ of the joint, I set up my tripod and started shooting. By 2 a.m. I was exhausted, so I went to bed.
I was just finishing my breakfast on the patio, enjoying the view when the phone rang and I was informed that Ms. Smith from the studio was on her way up. I packed up my gear and met her at the door and we returned to the street, entered the limousine and were whisked to company headquarters.
Ms. Smith was stunning and I tried not to stare as we chatted and she explained the sights on our trip to the studio’s corporate headquarters. We breezed through the studio lobby and an assistant showed us into a large office.
A tall man with short-cropped salt and pepper hair and a reddish beard with streaks of white in it strode around the desk and offered his hand. He had sharp blue eyes and a huge cigar in the corner of his well-formed mouth.
“Hello Bri,” he said with a smile.
I was stunned, the handshake stopping in mid-gesture.
“Yes, it’s me, Jim. Sorry that I really didn’t have time to explain things to you yesterday morning. I was moving pretty fast, I had a lot to do to get you here on time,” he said.
I found a chair and collapsed in it, my heart racing. Jim returned to his desk and opened his laptop.
“I think you know…what do you call him? Oh yes, Daddy0. Cute,” he said. “Well I am his ‘other half’ and if you are up for it, I brought you here for his birthday. This IS you isn’t it?”
He flipped the laptop around and there was my profile.
“I found his profile open and snooped around and saw that you had been flirting with my man. Then, I saw you claim to have a virgin pussy, is that true?”
I nodded numbly.
“Excellent. Well, are you willing to place your pussy where your mouth is?” he asked.
Again I nodded weakly. I mean, what could I do? Jim knew my real identity, my boss and probably by now, quite a bit about me. Being a closeted cross dresser can suck, and not in a good way.
But I was also excited. I cold feel my clitty begin to leak a bit in my hated boy-panties and I could feel my inner girl rise to the fore of my being.
“Sure,” I said in my best sultry, falsetto voice. “But I don’t have a thing to wear….I didn’t pack for Bri.”
“Not to worry,” he said. “Go with Ms. Smith here. She has been instructed to assist you. Take the camera and shoot what you think or want. I hope the living quarters are to your satisfaction? Good. I will see you tomorrow then.”
He took another long look at me and smiled as he addressed Ms. Smith.
“You have your work cut out for you,” he said and we left the office.
Ms. Smith, or Jean as she told me to call her, filled me in on our itinerary as the big black car rolled through the streets of San Francisco. A stop at the spa, then a salon, then some serious shopping would pretty much fill the day. In the morning, we would go to a girl-coach, who specialized in assisting cd’s with walking, moving as talking. We had to be ready for Daddy0’s party by 7 p.m.
After stopping by a shop to pick up some sweats, I was waxed, shaved, oiled, manicured, pedicured and measured. It was fun to be Bri in the open, as the shops we visited specialized in intersexed girls and I asked a lot of questions in the salon, about makeup, hair and wigs.
It appeared that Jim was sparing no expense for his lover’s birthday, as we visited the lingerie store where I was fitted with top-of-the-line breast forms and other devices to enhance my figure. The boobs jiggled and moved with me and I loved the feeling and the sight of seeing them bounce on my chest.
We picked out several nice lingerie items including garter belts and stockings and donning the sweats we went dress and shoe shopping. Jean gave me some tips about walking on high heels and seemed pleased that I had already had a some experience in my own heels at home.
I couldn’t believe the transformation when she finally allowed me to look in the mirror. Bri was no movie star, but she was beautiful and exuded sex. My inner girl was out.
I photographed, and Jean took some snaps, of a lot of the work that went into making Bri.
“What about the hotel?” I asked with a sudden panic attack as we drove back to the Fairmont. “How will I get in?”
Jean laughed
“Not to worry,” she said. “Everything has been arranged.”
“So nice to see you this evening Ms Bri,” said the concierge as we entered the hotel. “Please, allow me to escort you to your room.’
He was so kind and thoughtful and I really didn’t mind that he patted my ass as I entered the room. I shot him a flirty look from beneath my new long lashes, picked up a joint from the drawer and headed for the balcony.
Saturday was spent in training and again Jean escorted me to the studio where I walked and talked for hours. At about 6 p.m. we headed for back to the hotel, but this time, we were ushered into the ante room of the grand ballroom, which had been decorated in a Hawaiian theme.
Jim met us in the room and asked that I strip.
I slipped out of my long black cocktail dress but kept on my slutty, sheer leopard print bra and thong. He pointed to a long table-like structure that had poles running through the loops of the side of the table. I was told to lie upon the table face down, grabbing the edges with my hands and my legs spread wide.
I did so and the wait staff began to place shellfish, caviar mangos and other Polynesian food items all around me. I could hear the large ballroom begin to fill with revelers and Hawaiian music in the air.
Finally, the chef was satisfied with the arrangement of the food.
“And now,” said Jim, “The pièce de résistance.”
In his hand, he had a large cock-shaped candle, with the wick extruding from the blunt end. I could feel my thong being pulled aside as the lubed phallic entered my tight, virgin pussy. A cook shoved an apple in my mouth as I started to moan in pain and from a sudden sense of heat, I knew the candle had been lit.
Eight, Amazon-sized, dark-haired intersexed beauties, only wearing grass skirts, picked the table up with ease, their pierced nipples swinging as they walked towards the double doors of the ballroom. As Jim flung the doors open, a spotlight hit the table and crowd burst into a Hawaiian themed “Happy Birthday to you”.
I was carried towards the dais, where Daddy0 sat, his shaven head gleaming in the light and his muscled body sitting the throne like a Polynesian King. His sparkling blue eyes bulged as he espied his present and he jumped up and gave Jim a long, tender kiss.
“Happy birthday love,” Jim said.
Daddy0 blew out the candle as the crowd roared, and then I felt the phallus ripped from my pussy.
“Happy birthday to me!” he yelled and I felt his huge member at the mouth of my cunt. Slowly, he entered my virgin boi-pussy and I loved the feel of his manhood impaling me. I bit down on the apple moaning.
After getting balls deep inside of me, Daddy0 began to rock in and out and I answered with my hips. He began to pound into me increasing his tempo. I bit further into the apple as I moaned with pleasure.
Suddenly I felt a large strong hand grab my ankle and I was flipped on my back, still impaled by his thick long rod.
He began to buck uncontrollably into me and I could feel my little clitty harden with each manic thrust, his swollen balls hitting my ass and my boobs bouncing on my chest. He opened my bra and then, unbelievably, I felt him harden further and I bit through the apple as my clitty released it’s white load into the air and I squealed as he came inside of me, his hot seed filling my cunt and spilling down my thighs.
He lay on top of me as his sperm unloading into my willing cunt and after he popped out, he strode towards my head, where I began to suck on his dick, trying to coax any remaining jism into my throat.
I spent about 20 minutes worshiping his cock until he was hard and then Daddy0 had me ride him like a cowgirl until he came again.
After that, I was passed around like a slut to all the men and intersexed girls at the party.
It was wonderful.
I spent the week in the city, dressed as Bri and shooting a lot of cool stuff. Jim decided that I really DID have talent as a photographer and told me that I would be traveling to San Francisco often for work.
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