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The Flat free porn video
The Flat
By Rhonda Wagram
English version by riottgrrl
Marianne was in the best of moods. She was in her car,
driving home along the Autobahn; her day was going pretty well.
She had breakfasted and paid her bill at one of those anonymous
high-rise hotels while still dressed as Herbert. Then she had
gone back up to her room, packed Herbert away and changed
herself into Marianne. Guests were able to ride from the upper
floors straight to the parking garage below, so she simply
stepped into her car as Marianne, started driving, and left her
room key with the attendant at the gate.
She had discovered a radio station that brought her a whole
hour of Beatles songs; as she drove she was delighted by "Penny
Lane" and "Yesterday" and other old favorites of the Beatles.
The weather was pleasant; the sun shone down upon a forest that
glowed in beautiful autumnal tones. There were no reported
traffic delays. The world seemed perfect and Marianne felt
really good. She thought about stopping at a town somewhere
along the way and taking a stroll through the pedestrian zone.
Actually, she did need one more pair of stockings for the outfit
she was wearing. It was in a rather relaxed, earthy tweed,
really more red than brown, and she thought how well red
stockings would look with it. It would look just ideal with a
pair of reddish shoes just verging on brown. Her skirt was so
short that one could see a lot of her pretty, slender legs, so
she had to think carefully about what to wear with it.
At the next exit sign she looked how far it would be to the
next suitable town: 33 miles. In about a half hour she would be
there. She could even go for a snack then. It was great fun for
her to wander around a strange town as Marianne, to shop and to
go to restaurants. She had long overcome her fear of being read
on such occasions because of the sound of her voice. Her weak
point was really just her voice. To be sure, she had attempted
to reach a feminine timbre by dint of long training; but all too
often the discrepancy between her visual and acoustic
presentation failed to escape the notice of perceptive
observers. Nevertheless, such mishaps simply didn't matter to
her. "I'm never going to see these people again, anyhow, so if
they don't like it they can lump it," she thought to herself. Up
to now nobody had raised Cain about her, although, to be sure,
she had caught doubtful or suspicious glances often enough.
She had just decided to take a break from her trip, and was
full of anticipation when she felt something wrong with the
steering. The car wouldn't ride straight any more. Within
seconds the feeling grew stronger. She took her foot off the gas
immediately. "Parking in 200 yards," said the blue sign. What
luck! She pulled into the parking area and got out. The problem
was very clear: a flat up front on the right. That would hardly
be a problem for Herbert, but Marianne felt at a loss. With her
high heels, her tight skirt and her long red fingernails,
changing a tire would surely prove hard on something, whether it
be her shoes, her stockings or her nails.
It can't be helped, it must be done, even if it means I
have to go and change in town again, she thought as she rummaged
around for the jack and the spare tire. The hubcap came off
relatively easily. But try as she might, she could not succeed
in loosening the wheel bolts. The guys in the garage with their
compressed air wrenches hadn't held themselves back and the toy
that the automaker had provided as a tool was simply not up to
the challenge. She thought about how she could extend the lever
arm of her wrench--after all, Herbert was an engineer and she
knew exactly as much as he did. She rummaged around in the trunk
around and found nothing. All she could think of was a bit of
Shakespeare: "Mischief, you are on the march! Take what course
you will."
A car stopped behind her, a man got out, stretched a bit
and looked her over. She tried to avoid any eye contact. Men
always felt that an invitation. Well yes, she did look
attractive, she had been told that often enough. She would not
be opposed to being given a flirtatious look or two under
different circumstances, for example stopped at a traffic light
where she could be sure to be able to move on. After all, she
was always happy when men found her attractive, but now she
found such interest quite unwelcome: she had other problems to
solve and she did not want to face the chance of having to
answer stupid questions here at this isolated parking place.
These circumstances seemed quite different from the anonymous
atmosphere of a department store, where one is a valued
customer, after all.
The man disappeared into the forest. "Thank God, he's
gone." Marianne took another try at the wheel bolts, again in
vain. The man came back, looked at her for a moment and went
back to his car. Apparently he was no Samaritan. Marianne felt
rather thankful for it. She took another poke at the bolts.
"Misfortune has taught me to help the unlucky." He was
suddenly standing behind her.
"First I think of Shakespeare and now he comes at me with
Vergil; what's up with this literary type?" she thought as she
turned to face him. He didn't look unlikable, though he was a
few years older than she was. He had a big cross wrench in his
hands. She smiled at him.
"Allow me. After all, this is nothing for a tender lady's
hands."
She stepped back gladly. In less than five minutes he
changed the tire. She had still not spoken a single word. She
reached into her handbag and gave him a cleansing towlette and
a small pack of Kleenex. "Here please," were her first words.
Did he notice anything?
"Thank you very much. This will remove the worst of the
dirt, I think." He looked at her a moment, then devoted the rest
of the time to cleaning his hands without visible reaction to
her two words.
Had he noticed anything? Marianne was a little flustered.
He tossed the dirty paper into the trash can and brought his
attention again to her. "Lady, it was a pleasure to be allowed
to assist you. Could I do something else for you?"
Now she was on the spot, she simply had to answer. "No,
not really, really not, you have already done so much for me,
thank you so very much. But could I do something for you?" she
attempted to say as quietly as she could, as if she had caught
cold and wished not to sound encouraging.
"You could. You could go for coffee with me," he said, his
eyes anchored solidly on hers. "You don't have to worry about a
thing. I think it's no big deal if the phenotype doesn't agree
with the genotype, especially when the phenotype is as pretty as
you."
Boom, direct hit! He had read her. But nobody had ever
read her beads to her before so mildly, without a double-take,
without so much as batting an eyelash. Nor had she ever heard
this line of talk before, but still, he was reading her to her
face. Her jaw dropped almost to her chest. "I see an attractive
woman before me, and I would gladly go for coffee with an
attractive woman. So, do you accept my invitation? Actually, you
owe me one in any event. By the way, my name is Roland
Waechter." He bowed slightly as he said that.
He does have charm, Marianne thought to herself, and if he
knows already, there's no more need to play games, so why not?
"Very pleased, Marianne Boeckler" she responded, giving her
femme name, "it would be very nice to go for coffee, but only if
I invite you. I only wanted to get off the Autobahn at the next
exit to do a little shopping over in the next town and get a
thing or two. Would you drive there behind me?"
Once in town, they parked their cars quite close to the
center. He came up to her and offered her his arm. She couldn't
do otherwise, she had to take it. "Do you know this town? What
did you want to get here?"
"Oh, actually I just wanted to take a walk, do some window
shopping, and perhaps pick up a pair of stockings."
"Then do trust my lead once more." He had taken the
initiative quite naturally. He knew his way around and she
gladly let herself be lead. It gave her pleasure to wander
through town on the arm of a good-looking man. Not only was he
patient, when she stood lingering near a boutique he even could
make informed comments about the items on display. Together,
they bought stockings, and also went to a shoe store but found
nothing that was really right. At last they both discovered that
they were rather hungry and he led her to a restaurant.
Marianne habitually built up an emotional wall against men
around her. The longer they stayed together the more this
defensive wall crumbled. He had spoken no more about her dual
nature. For the whole time he had treated according to her
phenotype. He was gallant and courteous, and treated her every
bit a lady. Marianne was enjoying that more and more. He
understood, was interesting to chat with, was funny, and all
around, made an agreeable companion. Marianne felt like, no:
simply was a lady on his arm. At their meal together, they
toasted each other with mineral water. As they touched glasses
he asked that although they would both be back in their cars and
underway soon, he wondered if he might call her by her first
name. She agreed, but both continued to address each other by
the formal "you."
He paid for the meal. She had intended to pay, but he
wouldn't hear of it and as a matter of course the waiter took
his money. "I won't invite you to coffee now, so we will have to
get together again later."
"So, so, he's already talking of meeting again before
we've even come to our good-bye's," she thought. On the way to
their cars he asked how far she still had to go. It turned out
his destination that day was not far from hers.
"If that is so and if you have nothing better to do
tonight, I would gladly spend the evening with you. Let's go
somewhere together for a drink." Now he had gone over fully onto
the offensive. Marianne noticed that clearly. Normally she would
give anything like this a brusque refusal. But he had been so
pleasant all this while and he was so subtle about it that she
was inclined to permit herself the adventure, but naturally not
without first showing an appropriate degree of reluctance and
need for persuasion. The rules of social convention had to be
observed; after all, she was a lady.
She agreed to a date. He should pick up at 8 o'clock at her
place. "Make yourself pretty. I love well-dressed women," were
his parting words as he got into his car.
As soon as he was gone, Marianne felt torn this way and
that about the date. On the one hand she looked forward to it,
on the other hand she felt great misgivings that she might have
been too daring--she worried that the affair might turn
dangerous on her. Under no circumstances should she have
permitted him to pick her up. Now he knew her address, so she no
longer had the option to put him off and bail out. On the other
hand she didn't want to put him off at all. On the contrary, she
felt a pleasurable anticipation that made her quite high-strung.
But it annoyed her that she had no longer had a choice. Inside,
she was very much the woman: she wanted to put off all decisions
until the last moment, and still not lose the possibility of
choice.
She took her time getting ready. She examined her whole
body for unsightly little hairs and plucked all the offending
ones she found. She wrapped her waist with a tight girdle. In
fact, the girdle didn't take many inches off, but it did make
her waistline rounder, so she looked more slender from the
front. She padded her bra cups out to appropriately compensate
for her natural shortcomings. Then she rolled on black
gossamer-thin stockings that lay like a shadow against her skin.
She chose her hose with care, very feminine, pure silk. She
loved the feeling of the silk on her skin. She put on a dress
with a strapless velvet top that had a beautifully elaborated
bust. The skirt didn't start until just above her hips and
consisted of several layers of sheer taffeta, each with a little
flounce, that reached almost to her knees and made the skirt
flare out widely. She completed her outfit with a bolero--it
left her waist free and its long arms had puff sleeves at the
shoulder. The bolero and the taffeta dress with its many layers
made her waist look very narrow.
A look in the mirror: Marianne was pleased with herself.
She took the bolero off and started to make herself up
carefully. Now she could put on somewhat more than she had in
the morning. Carefully, she blended one eye shadow above and at
the corners of her eyes, then patted a bit of rouge onto her
cheekbones and blended it until it looked natural. She gave her
eyelids lidliner above and below that extended a little way
beyond their outside ends and gave her eyelashes an extra
portion of a mascara with tiny fibers that added volume and
length to her eyelashes. She considered putting on nail
extensions but decided that it would be too much work for only
one evening and simply repaired her nail polish. Finally she
came to her mouth. First she outlined her mouth with a pencil
that was a tone darker than her lipstick. She extended the arc
of her upper lip a trace beyond the edge. Her lips appeared full
and sensual. As she the carefully brushed her lipstick and
finished off with gentle dabs and a bit of powder, she found her
work to be very successful. Finally, a gentle hint of powder
over her face and she was ready.
Jewelry: she clipped long, colorful dangle earrings to her
ear lobes and selected a matching necklace of vividly colored
beads of varying size and color. That took the severity from her
black dress. To accent her look with still more color, she put
on a pair of glossy red pumps with five-inch heels that she had
bought for herself in America.
As she put them on she wished to herself that she not have
to walk very far that evening. Actually, she should never have
bought these pumps in the first place. Every time she wore them
her feet hurt. Nevertheless she wore them again and again--they
made her legs look stunning. Immediately, she tried to take a
few steps in front of the wall mirror in her bedroom. She
decided that today was a good shoe day.
She picked up her room, taking special care to make sure
every hint of Herbert was made to disappear in case Roland came
in when he picked her up. She didn't want to allow him to see
the slightest trace of Herbert.
He rang her doorbell promptly at eight. He had a beautiful
bouquet of autumn flowers in his left hand. He took her right
hand in his and breathed a hand kiss on it. Marianne almost
melted; she gave him her loveliest smile. Men with such manners
were very hard for her to resist. After he gave her the flowers,
he complimented her about her looks in a way that even sounded
like he really meant what he said. She twirled about and showed
herself from all sides when he asked her to. She drank up his
appreciation gladly.
The flowers were looked after and then she presented
herself ready for her date in a short, but wide, open cape.
First he took her to a Weinstube--a wine bar--where they ate a
little supper. Mindful of her tight girdle, Marianne limited
herself to a little treat and a glass of white wine. Then they
moved on to a piano bar.
In the Weinstube his conversation had been just a
continuation of the conversation from lunch. Nice, chatty, but
a bit impersonal. In the bar the topics changed, became
personal, more familiar. Little by little, Marianne revealed
more and more of her innermost thoughts and feelings. Maybe it
was the cocktail that loosened her tongue, but maybe Roland's
manner also tempted her to be more and more forthcoming. Roland
was a good listener. He seldom interrupted her, he encouraged
her only to speak more when she faltered. She was happy to be
able to speak about herself with someone who listened like he
did.
In time she felt the need to be held and quite without
thinking, she took his hand. He caressed her hands softly and
gave her a kiss on both hands, and not only a hint of a kiss
this time. They sat across from each other at a tiny cocktail
table. His eyes dwelt on her lips. All at once she felt his
knees close around her knee and softly start to squeeze.
Whenever something like this had happened to her before, she
always reacted with a slap in the face or something equally
forceful. Now, to her own amazement, his touch set loose a
pleasant sensation that seemed to spread from her head down her
back and into her belly. Without consciously grasping what she
what she was doing, she squeezed his knee with her other knee.
Actually that is wrong. She didn't squeeze, it squeezed, an "It"
that somehow started to take command over her.
He kissed her hands again. "Come on, let's get out of
here." "Your place or mine?" she heard herself say, without
really grasping the meaning of her words. She had allowed
herself to be carried away from her surroundings; she had
completely fallen into a realm of uncontrolled, uncontrollable
emotion.
On the way to the car he put his arm around her shoulders
and held her tight. In the parking lot, as soon as they got to
the car he took her into his arms and kissed her, first on her
forehead, then her neck, then her mouth. His tongue drove deep
into her mouth and played with her tongue. Marianne held him
tighter and kissed back. The tongue play lasted several minutes
before they broke it off and got into the car. On the way back
to her place it seemed to her that she was floating.
When they got back, she was glad she had left no hint of
the existence of Herbert. She was now completely and entirely
woman, only woman, and had left everything else behind. Roland
was a considerate, gentler, but also intense lover who forced
his will upon her, which is what she herself ever so gladly
allowed him to impose. She submitted to him totally, she was his
woman only all through the night. She didn't count the climaxes
they experienced together until at last they both fell asleep,
lying close to each other, completely spent.
After she woke just before four o'clock, she awakened him
gently. "Your must go now--please. I don't want you to still be
around when Herbert has to get up." He understood. His parting
kiss started to rekindle the passions of the evening past, but
she fought them back. "Take your longing home with you. I will
save mine for you, too." She threw on a beautiful black
nightdress and led him to the door. One more long kiss at the
door: "See you soon, lover."
She knew would see him again shortly, even though they
lived 350 miles from each other. She went to back sleep feeling
totally fulfilled by an indescribable happiness.
(c) 1991 by Rhonda Wagram, English Version (c) 2003 by
Lexie
Bree
- 15.07.2022
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