Bra'd Mistake free porn video

Bra'd Mistake By Callie Messenger It sounds strange, I know, but I'd never been presented with the opportunity before. The wife and her mother had gone to spend the weekend near London leaving me in peace and quiet to study. It's just that when I got into the shower I saw one of mother-in-law's bras hanging on the dryer. I know that my wife's don't fit me - of course I've tried - but mother-in-law is a much larger woman. Her bra was a 40DD according to the label. So I slipped it on, even finding it too large for my chest so I clipped it as tight as possible. As soon as my thumbs left the claps I felt the shoulder straps tug down and yank me forward. I caught myself on the basin. I raised my eyes to the face mirror to see the reflection of a vast valley of cleavage, surrounded by huge mounds of flesh, topped by a mouth open wide in shock. I reached up behind me for the clasps and threw off the bra. A small jiggle on my chest was followed by nothing. I looked down to see my own flat, slightly hairy pecs in their proper place. So I put it on again. And took it off. And put it on again. When I put it on, a pair of tits grew instantly to fill the cup space of the bra, though my chest didn't grow, so there was actually a gap under the cups where the strap was pushed out from my bust. I adjusted the strap to clip at the last clasp and my tits grew to extend the gap. I extended the shoulder straps and my tits flopped down. I pulled them back up again until they were buoyant once again. Would anything else work? I pulled a pair of my wife's plainer knickers off the dryer and exchanged my boxers for them. I looked down to see a flat crotch. I ran into the bedroom to the full- length mirror to see my waist had shrunk relative to my hips and there was nothing in the front of my knickers. I was also hairless. I had the outline of a woman, with incongruent limbs and face. What next? Off came the bra, and the tits stayed on my chest, flopping down heavily toward my stomach with a constant tugging on the front of my chest. They weren't as comfortable as with the bra on. I took the knickers off and my cock didn't grow back. I put on my boxers and still no change. Aha! On went the bra and my boxers filled out. Off came the bra and I stood there as me with no additions or subtractions. I went right through my wife's wardrobe. Wearing the bra and a pair of knickers I followed with a pair of trousers. My wife is quite short but the trousers were long on her as I was hoping not to shrink. The trousers should have been quite tight around my waist, but of course my body adjusted to fit. My legs took on a slimness and smoothness that was quite wonderful when I slipped stockings over them. My feet suddenly fit my wife's shoes - I chose a pair of calf high boots with big heels. On top I had to find something to cover my chest, but mother-in-law's tent-like blouses would only give me a belly. I pulled down a red woollen roll-neck from the shelf holding my wife's winter collection, tucking it tight into the trousers. The curves it displayed were tighter than an alpine road's. My hands popped out of the sleeves slim and smooth. My face popped out of the neck, again smoother skinned, but still me. My hair was unchanged. How could I alter those? First I tried nail polish on my bitten down nails. I discovered that if I brushed out from the tip, the nail would grow slightly. A few brushstrokes and my nails were all an inch long. A couple of touches of the emery board and they were perfectly manicured. I realised that the same process could lengthen my hair, and began to brush it out. And it grew. I brushed it down to my shoulders, and then over, bringing it right down until I could see the ends and then further, covering and then hanging off my breasts. I brushed the fringe down over my face. It was all a little straight, so I wet it and played with an old set of rollers and a hairdryer until it was beautifully wavy. Still, it was dark brown and dull, but I didn't have anything that could deal with that. Finally I tested make-up. With the dramatic effects that I'd experienced with everything else I was very careful. I had used make-up in amateur dramatics so I knew the theory and some practice. The foundation seemed to disappear into my skin, leaving it beautifully smooth and soft looking. I used blush to raise and accentuate my cheekbones, and again the blush seemed to disappear. I looked more closely, and my cheekbones were actually higher and more pronounced, with just a tiny amount of blush over some natural reddened tones. The make-up was actually altering my face! I grabbed some stage make-up, and gradually thinned my nose, hollowed my cheeks slightly and narrowed my jawline. I was even able to very slowly shrink my ears. A black dot placed on a lobe became a piercing. With lipstick and pencil I was able to transform my lips to any shape I chose. You might think that having tits and no dick might throw you, but just try controlling a wider mouth. It's like recovering from dental anaesthetic! I slowly became beautiful, and the alterations became smaller and smaller until I couldn't make myself look any better. However, I wasn't an expert, and the idea of booking into a beautician began to take hold. First I had to find a better hair colour. Time to go shopping. Driving in heels was a pain, but not as uncomfortable as trying to wear a seatbelt over a huge chest. I was lower in the seat, though I thought I hadn't shrunk. Then I remembered that I had looked the same height, but was wearing four-inch heels! I had shrunk. All this combined made it harder to drive forward, and virtually impossible to reverse. Still I got the car parked on the third attempt, and entered the local supermarket. I hadn't really been prepared for the reaction. As it was a Saturday the place was busy, and while husbands and boyfriend would just sneak glances, young boys would just open their mouths and stare. I took a basket to the pharmacy and picked out a couple of washable dyes in two shades of blonde and one of auburn. I figured that the washable dyes would have just as strong an effect as the permanent ones. Deciding on getting a few things for the fridge I wandered into the main store, but was almost too embarrassed to shop with all the attention I appeared to be receiving. I got really self- conscious and almost ran from the store, only picking up a couple of pieces of fruit and heading straight for an old woman at the checkout. I squeaked my thanks and walked quickly to the car. On the way home I kicked myself. I was getting more attention in one day than I had received in a lifetime previous. I was going to enjoy this without embarrassment! The first trial of the ash blonde brought me out very coppery, so I reapplied it and it worked, but was too white. I dried off and tried the summer blonde, and the result was a beautiful, honey gold. My skin though, which had suited my dark hair, looked a little pale and pasty. Tan cream! My wife had loads of it left over from last summer that she had barely touched. I stripped down and began to practise, without the bra on. When I thought I had a pretty even, soft, coffee brown, I let it settle and dressed again. Clothed, in black and red, I still looked a bit pale, so I repeated the whole operation again as each application darkened the skin a little more. So I went for two. I let it settle and on went the bra again, and the knickers and I checked my complexion. White really makes a different comparison from red and black. In white knickers and bra I looked like I'd just come back from two weeks in Tenerife. My blonde hair and blue eyes really shone out against my tanned face and shoulders. I took off the bra and tried to wash a little off. Shit! Of course, this was my skin colour now! Well, I had Spanish skin, and Norwegian hair and eyes, all topping off an American porn star body. It was time to go out and get properly dressed, and without inhibition. Clarins, first, as at their concession in one of the department stores in town they were doing free half-hour make-up consultations. The woman looked about forty, but she really knew what she was doing so I sat down and told her just to use as little as possible. I was still wearing the bra so I didn't really want any major alterations occurring in public. She perfected what I had begun, offering a great foundation for my skin colour and a new shade for my slightly fuller lips. The eyeshade appeared to have widened them slightly. I headed upstairs to Lingerie. The woman who measured me tutted harshly at the ill-fitting strap and fitted me into a new bra, a 38G minimiser. "How could you have been measured as 34" and 39" when you are so obviously 33" and 40"". I just shrugged. The shape under my sweater changed for a slightly rounder, flatter one. Planning for the night, I picked up a red lace-up basque with suspenders and matching red lace knickers. I found a red dress in Jaeger - thank god for having a signature of initials and no title on my credit card. Still the woman double checked my more flowery script. I didn't really want to pay for it, and I wanted to return it the next day. Finally, some opaque black stockings. Across the mall I picked up a pair of red high heels and a matching purse at the suggestion of the assistant. Heading back out of town I spotted the black leather coat that I had wanted to get for my wife for some time now. Well, now I could try it out first. At home I put it all on. I looked in the mirror and I was stunning! I grabbed some hoop earrings from the wife's jewellery box and put on a few costume rings. I took off the dress and paraded round in my new underwear. Girls in mags had nothing on me, and I was really turning myself on. Wasn't I? I looked again, and posed sexily. No, I felt proud of my looks. I wasn't really getting horny at all. I tried to think of all the women that turned me on, in various positions, but well, if I couldn't turn myself on, live, what were they going to do? Was this transformation affecting my mind? Because I had become a woman, were women not sexy to me anymore? I ran downstairs to grab the camera and took a few shots of myself in the mirror. Getting adventurous, I dragged out the tripod from the back of the cupboard and shot a few more of myself with the timer, stretched out on the bed in various poses. Next I plugged the camera into my laptop and uploaded all the frames. As I began to manipulate the photos in one of my publishing programmes I could still feel no attraction to the woman there, even though she was gorgeous, wanton, and I'd never seen her before today. I did feel rather proud at the way the shots had come out, though. Guys would be falling over themselves to see these! There it was! I was definitely thinking like a woman! Why else would I want guys to see me? I undressed quickly, washed my face and put the bra on. Finally I put on a pair of boxer shorts and took off the bra. I was relieved to see my own self in the mirror as though nothing had ever changed. Why hadn't I thought about it before? What if something had changed my male looks as a result of changing my female looks? But it hadn't. I looked on the computer at the pictures. It really was like looking at a porn mag. The girl in those pictures was horny and gave me an immediate hard-on. I couldn't believe that it could really be me! Anyway, my sex-drive was back the right way around, so the bra definitely affected my thoughts somehow. Was it the clothes, though, that determined what I thought like in the same general way that they determined what I looked like? Was I simply set to thinking like a gorgeous blonde would? If I dressed like a tart would I think like a tart? Did a tart think differently to anyone else anyway? Or could I somehow wear a life history? Maybe I could test it out with some id alterations like scanning my passport into the PC and changing the name and picture. I set it up, and then undressed and put on the bra. I changed straight back into the same woman. On attempting to recall my name, it was still Simon, so no change there. I picked up my passport, on the thought that it might change with me, but no joy. Then it came to me in a flash of inspiration. Internet Chat was where you wore a new identity, and could see immediate results. Perhaps I would become whom I described if I was wearing the bra. I logged into my favourite chat site with a neutral nick and began to plan my life. I had to be careful, because if this worked, there was no telling what might happen. At least I knew that if I got my male clothes back on again I would be back to me. I got a message from Nico, M21, and TDH. I decided that I wouldn't be able to change myself physically anyway, so might as well go with my own age, etc., so replied F26, SBB. "What does that mean?" He asked. "Short, blonde and beautiful." I replied. The cybersex that followed was mildly entertaining, but there was hardly any self-description going on. I just had to stick with the generally accepted cybersex criteria that I loved sucking cocks, had hypersensitive tits, and came on demand, and usually as soon as a guy entered me, if he was big enough. I had to actually chat to someone, so I needed to find a friendly woman. I logged into bigals, an area I'd never entered before, even when pretending to be a girl. There was a chorus of friendly hellos, and then Darcy, who was labelled as an operator, began to chat to me. She wanted to know everything about me, and I figured this might be some kind of test to see whether I really belonged here. So I replied F26, 38-25-37. Of course I was bisexual, and I preferred the company of women to men, though sex with either was wonderful. Yes, I was single, and yes I was looking, and yes I'd let her call me if she still didn't believe I belonged there. Before that, though, she asked if I liked blondes or brunettes. "Brunettes," I replied, "though I really don't mind." "Shame I'm a blonde," she signed off, "otherwise I'd call you myself." I quickly changed back to my male self just in case the next call wasn't for Summer, the name I'd given myself on-line. The phone rang as I reached the bottom of the stairs, and when I answered a voice I didn't recognise asked to speak with Summer. I told her I would go to get her. I raced back upstairs and threw on the bra, a pair of knickers and a robe and raced back down. "Hi, Summer, my name's Claire," began the woman at the other end of the line when I introduced myself. "We don't usually call people up on bigals, but Darcy is a friend of mine and she jumped when she found you were from Easton. She called me up straight away. I was going to sit at home tonight, but would you like to come out for a drink?" I was a bit taken aback, but I hadn't planned my night yet, apart from it being dressed in red. She must have taken my pause the wrong way, as she asked, "was that your boyfriend who answered the phone?" "Oh, no," I replied. "That's just someone I live with." "You did say you were single. Have you any objections to a kind of, well, blind date?" "I suppose not." "That's great! Seven thirty at Parker's. Actually, you'd probably rather me come and pick you up from home, as I know I'd rather head out with someone, wouldn't you?" "I suppose I would." "Where are you?" I gave her my address. She chattered on a bit about directions, then remembered she had an A-Z and promptly signed off. I looked back over the conversation and smiled at the way she had not only got me to agree to a date, but also finessed me into agreeing to her picking me up, and I knew nothing about her. She would be a wonderful woman to meet as my male self. Still, I couldn't think of any objections to a blind date, and couldn't see myself heading into town alone. Wait, was that because I really felt that way, or because I'd agreed that that was what I was like? I tried to think of my name. Summer, of course, Summer Jones. Why did I need to know that? Because I used to be Simon Jones. It worked! Happily I trotted back up to the computer, to while away an hour before I had to get ready. The door knock surprised me. I ran through the list of people it might be but they all had keys. I was opening the door before I realised that anyone there would be expecting Simon, and I was still in my underwear and robe. However, the woman there wasn't looking for Simon. "Hi, Summer!" She said brightly, looking past me into the house. I moved aside for her to look and she slid through the gap. "Aren't you ready yet?" She called as she headed into the lounge. "Go put on a coffee for me and I'll wait for you. By the way, I'm Claire." She held out her hand as she looked back from the lounge door. I took it. "Pleased to meet you, honey," she said quietly, leaning toward me. Then she let go and turned with force. "I always take mine black with no sugar." I found my hand pointed toward the kitchen and headed in. I returned to find Claire just getting up from the stereo. She took her coffee in one hand and my hand in her other and pulled me down to the settee with her. My Bizet CD began to play quietly. "I just had to come over." She began excitedly. "Your description was intriguing. Your voice on the phone was enticing, and when I saw you, well." "Well what?" I gasped eagerly, as she sipped at her coffee. I had completely forgotten about my state of undress. She put down her cup. "Oh, do you have a coaster or something?" I jumped up to fetch one from the dining table. "Thank you." She smiled. From then the time seemed to fly as she asked me about myself, interspersed with sweet compliments that left me eager for more. Sometimes she would make comments that appeared to have sexual undertones, continuing on leaving me excited by the imagery that they invoked. On occasion she would pause to bring my attention to a phrase of the music, describing how it should affect me as I listened. She explored my life, which I based on truth, but where I was unsure she could bring me to a conclusion. I hadn't realised that I was vain, but she didn't call it that, and extolled the virtues of looking one's best, especially with beauty like mine. My quickly improvised past history of secretarial work was a reflection on my accommodating nature and desire to please, and my present change of course to studying business was merely fad-following as a result of my following of fashion and bowing to peer pressure. Every motion she made was appealing in some way, and I found myself using the same gestures as we became more animated. Claire would grab my hand when making a point, drawing it in to her over some confidentiality. I moved nearer to her. She drew agreement out of me and squeezed my hands with a squeal of delight if I imparted something difficult. It took every reserve of my imagination to keep my fictional life together, but it was so easy to fill out with Claire's empathic understanding. I was already getting heated from her accidental innuendo when she moved onto sex and sexuality. I couldn't help but agree that yes, I had expressed a preference for women and therefore my remaining desire for sex with men, my penis-worship, was probably due to a combination of my desire for a decisive, powerful partner, and society's attribution of those qualities to the masculine. I felt myself being brought into heat as Claire talked about sex. I did take the feminine role (after all, I was female). "Sex has to be open and trusting, doesn't it?" Asked Claire, with her hands around mine. "Well." I paused, thinking of a couple of one-nighters. "I mean," she interjected, "good sex, in a good relationship, is open and trusting." "Yes." "And," she continued, with a smile, "even outside a relationship, getting right into it, without holding back, really opening up is what makes great sex." "Yes," I smiled, "it is." "I'll bet sex is always great for you, isn't it?" She said, with a gentle nodding of her head. "Yes," I agreed. "You let yourself go," I nodded with her, "you be yourself completely." Of course, I concurred. "And you are feminine, responsive, pleasing." She continued and I nodded as I sank into her eyes, the back of my hand pulled against her chest. I wasn't really listening, just enjoying the music, her voice, and her touch. "And you've always desired someone who'll guide you, haven't you?" I nodded abruptly, trying to regain the thread of the conversation. "You see," she continued, "the side you show when you make love is the real you, don't you agree? In your normal life you want to be that same, simple living creature but sometimes life gets in the way and causes conflict, doesn't it? "Yes." I managed to stammer. "Life forces us to be who we aren't, and this spills over into our love lives." She sighed. I felt like stroking her hair to make it better and agreed with her wholeheartedly. "You look for strong partners to reinforce your femininity when you have to take control, make decisions, in your outside life. Say I'm right." "You are." My agreement was intended to please her, and her smile was my reward. "Tell me about your last relationship." I thought for a moment. I made the immediate mistake of choosing a man's name, Nico, short for Nicholas, as that was the guy I had chatted to on the net. Claire looked disapproving, so I explained that I had always felt that there was something wrong in the relationship, but fell into it. He was my boss, I was his secretary, and it seemed natural to continue our relationship outside work. Claire smiled and whispered confidentially. Did I admire his authority? Well, yes, I realise that was it. He wined me, dined me and seduced me into bed. Yes, I fell for his dominance. Was the sex incredible? I thought back and could remember the way he touched me turning me on, how I would blow him on demand, and how, when his large penis entered me, I would orgasm almost continuously. Yes, sex was incredible, like always. Of course I was turned on by his dominance, and it did make sense, when Claire suggested it, that I was forcing myself to overcome my own lesbianism through my desire to submit to the mores of society. Through my whole life I had needed to follow, to be told what to do, and sex was the strongest arena for display of my natural personality. I was so horny that contact with Claire was electric. I was so wet I was squirming in my seat. She stood up and walked me towards the stairs and I was creaming myself in anticipation of what we were about to do. She paused, towering above me in her heels. "Go get ready, honey, and look your best. I want to show you off tonight!" Once again I was walking in the direction she sent me before I realised that she had gone, this time disappearing into the kitchen with her cup. I stepped through the bedroom seeing my outfit on the bed and realised how incredible I was going to look in it once again. I slipped off my robe and stepped into the bathroom. I threw my underwear over the dryer and began a warm shower. To look perfect I had to check my body over. I didn't need to shave my legs, which might have been fun. I washed and conditioned my hair, which was a bit of a chore and something not to do too often, but I couldn't bear to cut this hair. I used Simon's wife's moisturising soap and followed with a moisturiser. All the time my skin was buzzing as I thought of Claire waiting for me. I was going to look so good she wouldn't be able to resist me. It wouldn't be too hard, I felt, but I did need to look perfect. As I towelled off I thought of our conversation, and how I still knew nothing about her. How had she done that. I had told her everything about my life, making it up on the fly, and I had been wearing the bra! I had altered to take on the characteristics of my on line persona, like my name, and, now I thought about it, my description of sex. Everything I had talked about with Claire had taken on her slant on life, as I found myself rarely able to disagree with her perceptive views, so was I now that persona as she had defined me? I grabbed the bra off the rail and headed back into the bedroom to pick up a pair of boxer shorts. As I stepped in I stopped short. Claire was sitting at the bottom of the bed. She looked at me with my towel around my waist and her eyes widened. My hands shot up to cover my naked chest. "You won't be needing that old thing with this outfit," she said, looking at the bra I held. "Chuck it back and let me help you get this laced up." I couldn't transform in front of her, I thought, as I threw it back into the bathroom. "I'll turn my back until you're ready for me," she offered, standing and moving to face the door. I couldn't get to Simon's underwear if I tried, so I slipped on the basque, and pulled the red lace knickers up over the suspender straps. I told her I was ready and turned around as she did. She took hold of the laces and asked me to hold my hair up. I put my hands under my hair and lifted off my neck, and felt a tug backwards and the basque constrict around me. It was quickly tied and then a finger ran down the back of my neck. It felt so good that shivers ran through me and I stayed with my hair held up for more. "You left your computer on," she stated as the finger travelled back up. "Do you mind if I use it while you get ready?" I shook my head. The finger travelled down once more and then she stepped past me to my desk. She smiled at me as she sat down. "Don't put too many clothes on top of that!" I dressed and moved past Claire into the bathroom again where I spent a while on my make- up. Imperfections were an irritation, but it was difficult to do anything wrong with my face. I blew myself kisses and made sure my pout was perfectly outlined. The bra caught my eye in the mirror, but so did my cleavage, and my nipples began to get hard at the thought of what Claire might do when she got me back down to my underwear. Anyway, I considered, I could hardly try putting on men's clothes with Claire sitting there, and a quick tug over my shoulder told me that I wouldn't be getting out of the basque without help. I looked quietly through the bathroom door at her sitting at the computer. I hadn't noticed her before. No, that was wrong, I hadn't done anything but notice her, the problem was that I hadn't looked at her. She was tall, slim, slightly built but with fit looking limbs. She was wearing a dark grey suit, black stockings and shoes. Her dark brown hair fell to her shoulders, but was beautifully cut and waved to frame her long, slim face. She was wearing glasses for the computer, which served to make her seem both intellectual and more beautiful. They were resting on a straight nose with a slight bump. Her lips weren't large but her mouth was full, and her chin was incredibly smooth and perfectly proportioned. Her eyes were green, dark and full, and they turned to rest on me. "I was telling Darcy all about you. I'll let you know later. Come on, let's go get your shoes on and get out." I followed her down to the hall. Putting on my coat, she mentioned that it didn't suit my outfit, and anyway I wouldn't need it. Then my handbag didn't suit and I was left with my purse, containing a little cash, my credit card and a selection of makeup. Sitting in the car she reached across as I strapped in. "Are those real?" She asked as she stroked the top of my cleavage. I jumped slightly. "They're sensitive," she noted, "so they must be. Wow! I almost can't wait." I smiled at the compliment, buzzed at the touch, and dreamed about the near future. She parked her car, a Lexus, in an overnight car park near the centre of town. Just next door was an office complex with a bar in a courtyard in the middle. We headed straight in. It was quiet on an early Saturday night without the office workers, but still gearing up for a heavy session. My arms were folded against the cold; Claire directed me towards a table and then strode to the bar. She hadn't asked me what I wanted, but soon brought over two glasses of white wine. She pulled out a mobile phone. "I'm just going to call over to Bernie's, to see if they have a table." Bernie's was swanky, even by Easton's reasonably high standards. I hoped she was paying, though my card would cover it. "No problem." She said, putting down the phone. "We have an hour to ourselves and then we'll wander across town." She lit a cigarette. I didn't really like smoking and she must have seen my distaste expressed. "It's a habit I can't get into, but I like to indulge once in a while." She leaned back into the seat, one arm crossed, the cigarette poised. "So, I've been asking you all about yourself, and not giving you a chance to get a question in. Here, what would you like to know about me?" "Well," I began, seizing my chance to gain in stronger footing with this woman. "You know," she interrupted, "you have a beautifully soft voice. Do you sing?" I was trapped mid-thought, uncertain how to respond to the compliment and how to continue. She continued for me. "I'm sorry, you were just about to ask me something about myself. Why don't we start with my job? Ask me what I do." "What do you do?" As she began I sensed that the rug had been pulled out from under me again. Even my conversation was coming from her mouth. As I realised it, it made me both excited and aroused to be in the hands of a woman who could control even my expressed thoughts, manipulating me with no more than a phrase. I listened intently as she explained her position as a purchasing director for a major fashion retail chain. She was thirty-three years old. She could have been my head-girl as I entered school. Already she was a director and within four years she would be on the board as the youngest executive director in the company's history. She was completely sure that she was the best deal negotiator in the industry. The clients she dealt with were usually women, and she knew everything about women. Because of that, and her voracious hunger for techniques such as negotiating tactics, group and interpersonal management, and NLP, she could always get an amenable woman to turn her way. She reckoned amenable was about 30% for, 70% against, and she could swing them round every time. With men it was different. Usually easier. She could get men to eat out of her hand for suggested favours, or she would feign eating from theirs. Sometimes she had to sleep with them. That almost always got them. But she never slept her way upwards, as that implied giving something up which you could almost be sure that men wouldn't return. Her way up was brains, looks, management and control. She was already wealthy. She went straight into work from school and had doubled her salary every two years since then. She remembered her first pay slip telling her that she'd earned two pounds and eighty pence for every working hour of that month. This year she figured that, including stock options and bonuses, it'd be her first million earning year. The figures were stunning me. She smiled at my surprise. "Some of us can do it." She leaned across the table that I was leant on. "Some of us aren't meant to - earn it, that is. But all of us can share in it." "Do you want to know what I told Darcy about you?" I nodded. "I've been telling Darcy for ages how I need someone to take all the minutiae out of my life. You know, the distractions. Someone to take care of me. Someone to whom I could return everything they would ever need." She lowered her voice. "Darcy and I met for a couple of dates. It didn't work out. She's a strong woman. I respect her. Anyway, I was telling her I finally needed a girlfriend. She didn't think I could ever find one. She knew that I needed an impossible combination of traits, not least beauty and intelligence. Here, I'll get you another drink." She strode to the bar leaving me hanging. What did she tell Darcy? Another glass of white wine appeared. "A little naivete, innocence, whatever too. Darcy began to report back to me the new girls arriving on the chat. She gave them the once over for me. I called one or two. Suspicious, perhaps too butch, one that I saw was just ugly. Then you." She let it hang again, toying with her wineglass. "When I spoke to you you sounded so uncertain of yourself. And such a sweet voice. Childlike. When I saw you, I had to have you. As I spoke to you, I made sure you were exactly what I was looking for. I don't think you knew you were, but I made certain of it. You were still looking for yourself. You don't have to now. I've found you, and I'm going to keep you. "Don't worry, it's not going to hurt. At least, not unless you want it to." There was some kind of suggestion in her eyes with those words. "Come on, drink up. We'd better start walking." As we left the bar I asked her about our conversation. "I don't need to constantly fight a dominant partner trying to make the switch, though it can be fun to win. I'm looking for someone to complement me. Dominance shows itself but submission needs to be drawn out. I merely made you accept your nature. "How did I do it? Body language is an opening to your thoughts. If I mimic your body language, you unconsciously assume I think like you. It engenders trust, and then liking. Being agreeable is something that is hard to stop, unless something completely disagreeable arises. So I allow people to agree with small steps on the way to a conclusion that might have been disagreeable if arrived at too soon. Also, a questionable item followed by an agreeable item produces agreement, which implies acceptance of the questionable item. Don't you prefer blondes," she suddenly asked quite directly, "because you are a natural blonde yourself, aren't you?" "I am a natural blonde, and no, I prefer brunettes." She laughed. "Even though you're blonde, you don't fit the stereotype. Well spotted." I smiled. "The background of the conversation or negotiation is incredibly important too. I try to keep people off balance, so that they will fall where I want them to, and relaxed, so that they won't resist it. Hence music, soft light, compliments, changes in tone, delivery, pace and subject. If someone is not relaxed they may still go where you want them to, but they resent it, and eventually bounce back. That's what broke Darcy and I up. I tried to place her in a submissive role, which caused upset and irritation. Eventually she had enough. I'm amazed that she is still my friend, but she is strong, and understanding. Not many others were." She looked a little reflective, perhaps morose. I took her hand in mine. "You are very different." She said, squeezing my hand. "Everything I asked you to become, was you anyway. It was so strange, as though you really thought you were someone else, and never even thought about the real you until I took you to look at yourself. There was no tenseness, just an acceptance of being what I desired, of being you." She stopped walking and took my other hand, turning me to face her. "I'm telling you all this because I want you to know everything about me. I didn't believe in love at first sight, but I'm falling for you so hard I'm beginning to think there must be something in it. You are the person I've been looking for. But the loss of control over my feelings and emotions terrifies me, and the logical side of my brain is telling me to get out. If I stay in, I will take out that loss of control on you. You're the cause, so I will need to dominate your every waking moment. If you can't accept that, then tell me now and I'll take you home." With that ultimatum hanging in the air she leaned in and kissed me. This beautiful, wealthy, powerful woman was kissing me, and perhaps by some property of her lips, or mine, or both, it was the softest, most inviting kiss that I had ever had. I opened my mouth slightly, and invited in her tongue, oblivious to the street around us. She gently explored my lips, hooking her tongue inside them to stroke and drag them closer. Then her tongue advanced, and I explored it with my own, feeling it come in deeper and deeper into my mouth, erotically long and hard. Her hand went to the back of my head and pulled my face in tight to hers, her tongue pressing mine aside to freely explore my mouth. Then suddenly my mouth was empty, and she let me fall back. I was now too eager for more to let this opportunity slip. I could remember drunken nights of following girls home and leaving them the next day, when my lust was satiated. I couldn't help but see where this went tonight. We sat on a balcony table at Bernie's, able to watch the crowds growing in the street below us. Claire restricted us to small talk over the starters. She ordered me a fine seafood salad, and we were starting another bottle of white wine. As the main course arrived - she ordered the salmon souffl, for both of us - she got more serious. "You were a secretary. How fast do you type?" After four years sitting at a PC programming I could type very well, thank you. "About ninety words a minute, I think." Odd that I could remember the programming work, but I distinctly remember my position was secretary. "And shorthand?" I struggled through three years at university trying to learn Pitman to speed up my note-taking. I guess I was pretty good for an amateur. "It's been a long while since I've had to use it," I offered. "That's okay, I'm just going through the motions." She smiled brightly. I wanted those lips again. "I've read your CV, Miss Jones, and as a result of the interview I'd like to offer you a position as my Personal Assistant. Salary to be arranged, but I'm certain around three times your old salary. You would begin on Monday so you would have to give up your business studies. We will compensate you for your expenses so far. Will you accept?" I laughed nervously. "Are you messing me about again, Claire?" "Of course not!" I stood rebuked. She softened immediately. "I want you with me all day." "It's a bit soon." "Of course." Our plates were removed half full. I felt like I'd eaten too much anyway. She didn't order dessert but ordered two coffees. We finished the wine. "It's okay," she said, finally, "you haven't upset me or anything. Come on, let's go fill men with desire." She paid the bill without even letting me see it and took me by the hand out of the restaurant. We walked together into a nightclub across the street. I was feeling very happy from the alcohol. Claire passed some comments with the bouncer and we walked straight past a queue of smartly dressed young men and women. She left her jacket at the cloakroom and we walked upstairs to the club. It was still early, and the dancefloor was empty. At the bar she ordered two vodka-oranges. I still hadn't opened my purse. Almost immediately as we entered the eyes of the guys already there began to follow us. Claire ignored the surroundings and leaned on the bar. We chatted again about inconsequential things, but the rising volume of both the music and the club's patrons made it difficult to talk. We began to shout into each other's ears. I felt Claire brush my face in pleasant ways as she did, so I tried to keep her close. "We talked about our conversation earlier." She shouted to me. "I said it was strange, but there are some other odd things about you." "What're they?" I asked, puzzled. "You talk oddly. I don't think it's an accent. You don't seem to carry yourself comfortably either. I know you're big up front but that's not it, unless you're embarrassed by them, or perhaps you were when you were younger. You don't walk like you should. And you've been a little guarded tonight about some things." "What things?" "Well, you're uncomfortable with me paying for everything, even though you must be completely used to it. You were comfortable with Bernie's, but secretaries can't afford to eat there, and Bernie had never seen you there before with anyone else. He remembers people's dates for some reason. You also seem very guarded over some parts of your life, as though you can't quite believe they were you, or something. You're not lying, I can see that, but something is stopping you from telling the whole truth. Are you holding things back from me?" I forced a smile. "I can't tell you everything about me on our first date?" "Okay then." She seemed satisfied. "Let's go!" "Where?" "Home." "Aren't we even finishing our drinks?" "No." I dropped my glass onto the bar and followed Claire's rapidly departing back down the stairs. I waited for her to pick up her jacket and then followed her out. She strode down the street at a rate that was quite hard for me to keep up with, on occasion forcing me to run, if you could call it that, for a few steps. It was cold out, and my arms began to chill. I didn't dare ask Claire to slow down, though nor did I dare to go ahead slightly. She would decide whether or not to explain to me what was going on. Couldn't I just go to get a taxi? I thought about it as we passed a rank. But I wanted Claire, and if she was upset I wanted to fix it. And she wanted me, so I had to stay with her. I was so confused over her actions that I couldn't get my thoughts straight enough to form a different plan of action. I followed her right to her car and sat in, breathless and frustrated. I didn't get any attention as Claire drove, but she didn't drive me home. Eventually I could see we were headed out of town. "Claire?" "Yes?" "Where are we going?" "I told you. Home." "Your home?" "Of course." "What about me?" "If you hadn't already noticed, honey, you're coming too." "Why?" "Because I want you to. Now, be quiet and let me drive. I don't want the police pulling me over to find out how much I've drunk this evening." We finally pulled into a drive and the door lifted on a double garage. Claire parked the Lexus next to a Porsche Carrera. "911 SC Targa Sport Cabriolet." She stated. "I had it tweaked recently by Pro-Drive. Turbo and gearbox changes, tweaked suspension, custom tyres. Other minor engine alterations that cost more than the car did originally." "What's the performance improvement? I presume torque rather than top end?" She finally looked a little taken aback. "You know something about cars?" "I. I had a boyfriend who did?" "Why torque?" "Because you have a performance body already tolerant of a set maximum speed, beyond which it's a cabriolet, with less reinforcement in the frame. Plus the standard 3 litre engine is pretty much refined as far as it can go." "Amazing. Do you know football too?" "I prefer rugby." "Honey, you're already more than I ever dreamed of, and I'm just standing here creaming my pants looking at you. How about you follow me into the house." Inside was like the contents of the garage. It all screamed of simple wealth, but under the bonnet it was so much better than anyone else's. Two satellite dishes fed the receiver for both the 40" flat screen and the home cinema. The bar hid a tiny dugout underneath, which was Claire's wine cellar, and contained piping for two barrels of draught beer. Every liquor that I could think of was up on the shelves. The kitchen had two Agas. Two? For one person? The dining room table wasn't just oak, but 16th century antique oak. It could seat twenty. But the dining room wasn't big enough for that. Upstairs there were three bedrooms. There had been five, but the one above the garage had been converted into a gym, and the next had been converted into the ensuites for the gym and the master bedroom beyond, connected. The other two bedrooms were being used as a storeroom and an office. The attic was in the process of conversion into the new office. The whole house was simply the largest bachelor pad I'd ever been in. Spinster pad, I mean, if there is such a thing. We ended in the gym. Whilst there was gym equipment in it, items such as the wall-bars, and an intricate array of ropes and pulleys across the ceiling were outside my experience of modern gyms. I tried not to imagine their use too graphically as Claire left me for a moment. When she returned she held a cloth in her hand. "Turn around," she said, "and close your eyes." "Why?" I asked, a little nervous. "Just do it. I'm going to blindfold you." I did as I was told for two reasons. I was being told, and I felt very turned on by the idea of being blindfolded. When the cloth was on I could only see black. I felt Claire's hands on my backside sliding up, and suddenly my dress was being lifted over my head. As it slipped off my hands she told me to keep my hands up in the air. There were a few squeaks and clicks, and then something tightened around each of my wrists. When I felt her fingers run back down my arms I couldn't drop them back down again. "Claire?" I ventured, as some silent seconds passed. "Don't worry, honey, I'm just admiring the view." More silence, and I wasn't worrying, but anticipating. I was bound, and blindfold, unable to see what was coming let alone do anything about it. Yet I was more excited than I could ever remember. I wanted to be here, and anything that happened next, even if it was nothing, could only pleasure me. It wasn't nothing. The first touch I felt was at the back of my neck and then my basque began to loosen. The suspenders were unclipped and pulled up through my knickers and then the whole lot was slipped down my body, allowing the full weight of my breasts to hang down. The hands returned up my body stroking the insides of my thighs and rising up my almost ticklish sides before turning in to take the weight off my chest. The warm hands cupping them allowed a finger to stroke my aureolae, causing my nipples to stand erect. Finger and thumb began to rub and pinch them, and I let out a moan as the sensation sheered away from pain into a massage-like pleasure. Combined with kisses on the back of my neck and shoulders, my hair nuzzled aside, I began to relax into the sensation. I strained my manacles as I tried to get comfortable. The hands and mouth moved, and I felt them at my feet, as the straps on my shoes were undone. I helped as my feet were slipped off the heels, and suddenly found myself forced to stand on tiptoe or support my body on my weak arms. As the hands rose up again to my thighs I wanted to open my legs and let them in, but I could barely get my feet apart. My knickers and stockings were slowly drawn down my legs. I discovered that I could raise one leg and support the foot with the other knee to open my crotch, unfortunately only for a few seconds before I lost my balance. The whole operation was too exhausting, but my body was moving in reflex to Claire's ministrations. "Summer?" "Ye..es?" "Do you feel good?" "Oh, yes!" "I've just picked up a paddle. It could really sting on a soft, sweet backside like yours. You don't want me to spank you, do you?" What, I thought. Trussed up and blind, now she was going to hurt me. "No! Please, Claire?" "I don't want to hurt you, but you have to do as I say." Of course I was going to do as she said! I wanted to, and I didn't want her to hurt me. "Yes." "Okay. First, when you address me, call me Mistress, or Miss Claire." "Yes, Mistress." "Good." She kissed my lips. "What's your name?" "Summer." I squealed in pain as a sharp smack sounded on my backside. As the pain receded I realised that I had made the simple error of not giving Claire her title. I didn't enjoy the pain, but it reminded me of my position, and was a simple statement of the power she had over me right now, which erotic thoughts almost made me moan out loud in pleasure. "Summer, Mistress." "That's better," she said, as she kissed me again. "Now, who was that boy you live with?" "Simon, Mistress." The questioning carried on for a while, and I was forced to lie often which made me feel bad, but what was worse was that somehow Claire knew. She would return to my lies until eventually I was forced to beg not to have to answer certain questions. I wanted to tell all, I was almost forced to, but eventually Claire relented and allowed me to keep some secrets for the moment. Before she set me free she gently rubbed some numbing ointment into my sore, stinging behind. She didn't remove the blindfold, but led me straight to a bed where she laid me down and proceeded to pleasure me with her fingers, lips and tongue. Her ministrations brought my skin to a level of sensitivity that I had never before experienced, and her expertise kept me just on the pleasurable side of ticklishness, nervous in anticipation of her going too far but revelling in her touch. She enjoyed the reaction her hands on my breasts produced as I groaned in pleasure and held her hands on them. She slipped her hands from under mine and left me playing with my nipples, which grew to painful hardness as I felt her breath between my legs. It took her tongue moments to find my engorged clitoris, hidden under the folds, and the slippery, soft stroke forced my whole body to tense up. She forced my legs apart and lapped at my love-button, barely allowing me to breathe and finally inducing a state of almost hallucinogenic pleasure. After hours of preparing myself for the lick that would take me into the orgasm I craved, she stopped. "I want to fuck you like a dog." She stated, breathlessly, rolling me onto my front and making me present my backside to the sky. I heard a couple of shuffled sounds, a click or two and the sound of clothes dropping to the floor. Then I felt her weight at the bottom of the bed and a cool, hard, smooth object began to rub against my vagina, opening my lips and stroking my clit once more. I've never been fucked. I loved to fuck my wife doggy-style because I found it so incredibly erotic to enter her from behind. I couldn't find it appealing now, but my position, head against the bed, stimulating my own tits, arse to the sky waiting to be entered felt perfect. As Claire rubbed against me, my quim begged to be filled. "Good little doggies wear collars," she said, lifting my head from the pillow. I felt a strap against my throat. "Are you good? Will you wear a collar for me?" "Oh, God, Yes!" I uttered, feeling the hard head begin to press into my waiting wet opening. "Good girl!" She whispered, as the strap was tightened into place. There was a click and before I could wonder what it was she moaned and the hard plastic dildo slid firmly into the depths of my body. No sooner had I felt the monster prise me apart than I was engulfed in a flood of tensing waves, my body wrapping itself around the forceful invader. I cried out and the release was as purely orgasmic as the best I could remember. I screamed for an age, the bloodrush to my head obscuring any thought or feeling. I came back round to the smooth, slow, sensitive motions in my vagina, massaging me into a state of raw passion. I bucked and bounced onto Claire's crotch, bringing myself back up to a blistering climax that was as brief as the first had been long, but left me spent. I was soaked in sweat and short of breath. Claire slowly withdrew from me and lay down behind me with her arms around me. I drifted off with a satisfied smile. I woke to the sun streaming through the window. Claire was still behind me. I had a slight headache, probably as a result of the drinks. I turned around to her. Something tugged at my neck. I reached up and felt the collar. Claire's eyes opened as my arms found the padlock that was preventing me from undoing the collar. I looked up to see a leash stretching to the iron headboard. "Morning, puppy." Yawned Claire. "Good morning. Could you let me out of this, please?" She rolled over and stood up out of the bed, stretching in her turquoise silk nightie. She turned to face me as her arms came down. "It's 'good morning, mistress' if you'd forgotten, and in all the excitement last night, I forgot to come, so you stay tied up until you've given me an orgasm." She picked up a robe and put it on. "How would you like me to do that? Mistress?" "I'm sure you'll think of something." She closed the door behind her and walked down the stairs. I pulled the leash and almost pulled a shoulder out of its socket. What the heck was I going to do? It was must have been an hour before Claire came back up the stairs. I had found that I couldn't reach anything, get anywhere or get loose. I was getting desperate to pee but my repeated calls to mistress, Miss Claire or just plain Claire went unheeded. Finally I just lay back and relaxed in silence. That brought me to thinking about the night before, and suddenly the collar was less of a hindrance than a turn on. I guess I subconsciously came to the conclusion that Claire was boss; she would turn up when she wanted and definitely not when I called; and I had better be exactly what she wanted when she arrived. So when she opened the door I was waiting for her on all fours, arse in the air to do with as she pleased. I wasn't expecting her pleasure to be simply in releasing me, but she did, and then she asked if I would go down on her, but first massage her with my tits. As she lay on her back I dragged my massive mammaries over her whole body, from head to toe and back again, feeling myself the pleasure of the smooth strokes through my nipples and into my light head. My hair curtained my face. I lifted it over my head with my hand but my other arm couldn't control my motions alone. Fortunately Claire opened her legs and gently pushed my head down into her crotch. Using my tongue on a woman's clitoris was something that I was well practised at. Simon's wife was putty in my hands when I went down on her. Something nagged at me with that thought and I tried to concentrate, but Claire's guiding hands on my head kept me reminded of my position and duty, and the act of pleasing her was beginning to turn me on. I speeded up slightly, and Claire suddenly came with an explosion of sound and hips. As she recovered she pushed me away. I floated back up to her face, dragging my tits over her body and squeezing them down on top of hers. "Wow," she sighed, "you've done that before!" I smiled and kissed her deeply. As I returned from the toilet Claire was getting out of bed. She brought me a towel from a cupboard and pulled me back into the bathroom. "The great thing about having a changing room in your house is the changing room showers." She pulled off her nightie and pulled me into a small tiled room with four showers pointing down into it. The first blast of water was screamingly cold then it warmed to a steaming heat. I watched as she shampooed and conditioned, then she reached for the liquid soap and began to stroke it to lather on my body. I did the same for her and we began a gentle, open-eyed exploration of each other's bodies. She was much slimmer than I, but not waif-like, rather hard and well defined. Her breasts were small but firm, with small pink aureolae and nipples. Her pubes were blacker than her hair, and her legs were very long and slim. Her hands repeatedly lathering my breasts cut off my vision. "They're amazing." She explained. "I could play with them for hours." I stepped in close to her, and began to rub myself against her body, leaning my head back to allow her to watch my breasts soaping hers. I used my hands to push them up and down, and to keep them squeezed in tight. I watched her eyes grow large and felt her hands pulling my butt in to her. I turned, pushed my butt into her crotch, and drew her hands up to my tits, rubbing them round in the soft flesh. She pushed me so that I had to support myself against the wall with my hands. As I fell she slid a finger into my cunt-lips and pulled me into her hard. She began to rub my clit with her finger and her crotch against the hard base of my spine. I could feel the heat begin to rise and her sighs and moans began to excite me. I couldn't move or I would fall. Her one arm was supporting my breasts and I the only motion I could make was to push myself back harder into her slippery cunt. Her soapy finger slid over my clit with a fury, the lightness of touch slowly but constantly building up a lake of pleasure in my groin. I began to gasp for breath. The finger slowed but it's pressure increased to bring me more slowly to fulfilment. The warm water stopped hitting my back and then I could feel Claire lying over me, her motions slowing and her moaning increasing. I wanted to press down on her finger to come, but had to push up against her weight. Suddenly my breasts were hanging free, the finger dropped from my quim and two hands were pressing down on the small of my back. Claire bucked and screamed, and I kept the pressure on her while she orgasmed. When she went still I turned to her and saw the daze of pleasure on her face. She was so beautiful I felt like crying, and wrapped my arms tightly round her, my head tucked under her cheek. We finished our showers in the silence of mutual adoration. We exited and dried each other off. I asked where my clothes were and Claire told me that she'd left them out for the maid in the morning. They'd be back by about four. She ummed and ahhed over whether she had anything that might fit. Knickers were not a problem for size, though the thongs she threw me fit irritatingly between my cheeks. Stockings and suspender belts she had plenty of. She didn't think that she had anything that would fit me up top - even her sports bra didn't stand a chance. She had some corsets that would be too uncomfortable for daywear, finally she threw me out a red Lycra top that supported me somewhat but was plunge-necked and high-cut. It showed off my stomach and cleavage to great effect. Her size eight jeans could barely slip over my backside and when I let out my breath after doing them up they looked like they were painted on. A black woollen cardigan matched the black denim, but like a baby-doll it did up only over my chest, hardly covering the Lycra. Claire decided that I should have my navel pierced. I borrowed a brush for my hair, and tried out a hair-dryer. The effects were wonderful though I didn't think that the Farrah Fawcett look really suited me. I chewed on some toothpaste to clear out my mouth. I found my shoes near the end of the bed with my purse. I decided to forgo wearing them as what was a reasonable outfit in black and red gave the wrong kind of impression with red high heels and a red patent leather purse. "Do you cook well?" Asked Claire as I joined her in the kitchen. I cooked most of the time at home so I wasn't bad. "Pretty good for an amateur." Claire directed me around the kitchen and through the fridges, and soon I was presiding over roast and boiled vegetables with a small chicken in the oven. It had been quite hard to find all her cutlery. I laid the table with a heavy cotton cloth, silverware and crystal glasses. Claire was just finishing up her second wine and we were chatting lightly. "I have to change your voice!" She suddenly said out of the blue. "We're going to have to work on sexy. And the way you carry yourself - it's like you're trying to be butch! I can't have you like that round my office or home!" "What do you mean?" "You have a beautiful voice. I bet you'd love to sing?" "I don't know. Perhaps." "I'll get you voice coaching. And I'll work on your speech, and your walk in the gym. Oh, and I have a kickboxing instructor in three evenings a week. You can join us! I love your body but you could lose a couple of pounds off your hips. Would you like cookery lessons?" "I don't mind." "Great! I can't stand eating out all the time. I could really do with some good meals at home." She refilled her glass. "Claire, aren't you getting a little carried away." "What do you mean?" "I loved last night, all of it. And this morning. But we aren't. you know." She looked at me softly. "I gave you your choice last night. You didn't tell me you didn't want to be with me. In fact, your actions answered otherwise. Now you're mine, and I'm going to keep you, teach you, train you and perfect you. I get what I want and I want you to be mine forever. There is no choice anymore." I don't know if she could hear my heavier breathing, or my heart racing. Something in her words, in the way she said them, spoke straight to my body and mind. I couldn't believe how turned on she made me feel. My clouded memories couldn't recall a similar situation, and my unclouded logic told me that though I felt I wanted this, it couldn't be. I was a girl, and somehow felt that I had a whole, but incomplete life as a girl. But I had been a guy, and I couldn't stay here because I was married. Suddenly I remembered that my wife was coming home that evening with her mother-in-law. I had to be back before her! "I need to go home, Claire." "You don't need anything from there." She waved her hand dismissively. "I'll get you everything. We'll shop after dinner at the mall." "I need to go home." "You don't want to tell me why?" She left a space for me to fill with my answer. "Uh-huh. Well, it doesn't matter." She drained her glass. "I can stop you, you know." The way I felt around her, she only had to tell me not to go home and I don't think I could resist. But this had to be done. I waited silently for her to mull it over. "Okay," she stated, "I'll take you after dinner. Do you need your clothes?" I needed to get the money back on them, but if she felt that I was leaving her she might try to stop me so I should leave them to make her feel that I would come back for them. Unfortunately the Jaeger dress was a month's salary, and impossible to either write off or explain to the wife. The risk of waiting until four should had to be weighed up, but the dress was worth too much. "I only need the dress. I borrowed it." Three glasses of wine might have dulled her edge, but Claire appeared to buy the lie. "We'll go when the maid gets here then." Dinner was a silent affair. Claire offered me wine, but I refused, which perhaps I shouldn't have done as she ended up drinking the whole bottle. She complimented me on my cooking. A simple roast dinner really wasn't that hard, but she was delighted. Fortunately the preparation and the consumption absorbed a good amount of time and Claire was in a much better mood by the time I cleared away. As I began to wash up she put her arms around me from behind and began to kiss me, but I wasn't allowed to kiss her back or do anything but the dishes. Once she started stroking my tits it began to get difficult, but she insisted I concentrate on my duties. I was almost finished when her hands undid the jeans I was wearing and her fingers slipped in to stroke my bush. But if I stopped scrubbing she stopped stroking, and the state she'd got me into by then I didn't want her to stop. I finished off the dishes just as I felt the orgasm reach breaking point, and then she let me just sink back through my pleasure in a light daze. "I do have a dishwasher somewhere, you know? But anytime you want to do my dishes I'll be here for you." She laughed. "Still want to go?" "I must." "I think I heard the maid drop off the stuff in the garage. I only let her come in on weekdays." We headed out to the garage and I brought the laundry bag in. I pulled out my stuff and put Claire's back in. "The maid will put it away tomorrow," she told me. I changed, leaving Claire's stuff in the laundry basket. The basque made an incredible difference to me just by lifting my breasts a little. Claire caught me admiring myself in the bathroom mirror. "I love them too, you know. If we get you to lose any weight in our exercise, I'll make sure that they don't suffer. Hey," she said with a sudden flash of inspiration, "I wonder what it would be like to suck milk out of them." I gaped in shock. "Come on, let's get driving!" We took the Porsche. I wasn't sure of Claire's capabilities after so much wine but she handled it with the confidence of a pro. We had the top down in the sun even though it was freezing cold. The looks we got were invigorating. She still promised to let me drive it, though even when we reached my house I had no idea how I was going to break the news to h