Captain Janeway Captain s Slave
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Old Friend, New Relationship free porn video
Note: ——I am NOT the author!so plz Don't ask me about part two,am simply sharing
this lovely story with all of you because I have not seen it on here
I met Karen in my divorce support group while I was dealing with my second divorce
and she was trying to cope with her first. About the only thing that we had in common
was that both our spouses had cheated with good friends of ours. She was a couple
years older and very attractive. I remember that she always dressed so well for our
group meetings. We both attended regularly for almost a year, in which time several of
us formed a sort of loose union. Among those in our circle of friends was Jane,
another gal about our age who was trying to overcome abuse at the hands of her ex-
husband. She was pretty strong, though, and in short order was back in control so it
seemed to me.
But one by one, members dropped away as new people joined the group and created
their own synergy. I never lost track of Karen, though. We would get together for dinner
occasionally, exchange greeting cards, and just talk on the phone every once in a
while. I never asked her about her love life and she never inquired about mine. She
knew that I moved from one relationship to another while I never detected that she
even dated.
The whole time, unbeknownst to a girlfriend I had at the time, I was dabbling in my
hobby. I was a closet crossdresser, and without someone living with me fulltime, I had
ample closet space. But I always yearned for that relationship in which I could be open
about my desires and even indulge in my deepest fantasies of feminization. I was
willing to settle for just a taste of things, but I never thought that I could trust any of my
girlfriends.
I’m not sure when my desire to share my secret with someone started, but it never
went away. Over the years, it would come and go, always coming back stronger than
before. And increasingly, I thought that Karen was probably just the right person. She
didn’t know anyone that I knew and her integrity was beyond reproach. Every time I
called her and hung up without telling her, I felt like I’d let an opportunity slip by. I
rationalized my silence by convincing myself that the topic was something best
discussed in person. I needed to make another date with her, and I did.
I can’t remember ever being so nervous as I was that day. As soon as the date was
made, in honor of what I hoped to share, I decided I’d be all dressed up—at least
underneath. If I didn’t get up the nerve to tell her (a very distinct possibility), I would at
least have the pleasure of going out feeling all feminine underneath my male clothes. I
shaved. I lotioned. I painted my toenails. I selected a black, heavy garter belt, black
panties and a pair of stockings that I’d been saving for Lord knows what. Before I set
off, I opened a bottle of wine and had a large glass of the liquid courage.
After a pleasant dinner at a local Italian restaurant (and some more wine), we went
back to her house for a little more conversation and, of course, some more wine. You
might think that this is where the story takes a decidedly more interesting turn (as I’d
hoped), but I was made to wait. When things were just right, I dropped the bomb. Not
surprisingly, she handled the news well, saying basically that she respected whatever
people did in the privacy of their own homes and that she would expect anyone to do
the same for her. It was that latter comment that should have been a signal. Instead, I
said my goodbyes and drove home, wondering about what might have been.
A couple days later, she called me back and told me that she had been thinking a lot
about what I’d told her and that, the more she thought about it, the more it intrigued her.
She said that if I was interested, she would like to see me fully dressed sometime.
When she asked about what kind of outerwear I had, I told her that all I owned was a
black leather skirt and a black blouse. I was more than a little surprised when she
specified that my outfit had to be some combination of pink and white: shoes, hose,
skirt, blouse and underthings. I thought that this was a rather odd request from
someone new to my scene and secret, but I also felt like it was kind of an order that I
was more than happy to try to comply with. We made a date for the following Saturday
and I wasted no time in making an appointment with a local gal who specializes in
makeovers for guys like me and then set about accumulating the new things that I
would need. The short time frame meant that I couldn’t shop while hiding behind the
anonymity of the internet. I had to go out and find my outfit. With some considerable
discomfort, I ended up with a sheer white blouse, a pink miniskirt, and some pink,
patent pumps with five inch heels, naturally. And of course I had the foundation
garments. I opted for a very strict white corset with garters, white panties and white
back-seemed stockings.
That Saturday I could barely contain my nerves as I set about preparing. After another
close shave and application of false toenails (French tips), I set off to Judy’s place
toting my outfit, false eyelashes & nails, brunette wig, jewelry, and purse along with
anything that I thought I might need. At Karen’s request, I threw in a nightie. I hardly
remember Judy’s makeover, but by the time I left trailing a lovely feminine scent
courtesy of my makeup artist, I felt truly transformed for the first time.
I arrived at Karen’s exactly when she told me to and rang her doorbell. I guess I thought
I’d be invited in and we would sit and sip wine while I told her about my history with
women’s clothing. The best I could hope for was to show a curious Karen how I was
dressed at which point she might be turned on and end up playing with me like a new
toy. So I was surprised when she answered the door almost immediately. I couldn’t tell
what she was wearing underneath her long leather coat, but there was something
subtly different about her. She had a more imperial demeanor and, unless I missed my
guess, she was more heavily made up than for our recent dinner. She brushed past
me and indicated that I should join her in her car. When I asked where we were going,
expressing that I didn’t think I was ready for a public appearance, she dismissed my
objections with a wave of her hand toward the passenger’s side of the car. I obediently
and nervously climbed in beside her. Once we got going, she said that she thought it
was time I took my hobby to the next level and then she remained silent for the rest of
the half hour trip.
Our first stop was a small jewelry store in a strip mall near her house. Against her
objections, I dutifully followed her into the store. When the young man working the
counter asked how he might help us, she told him that we were there for an ear-
piercing. He invited her to sit at a counter towards the back of the store set up for just
such a procedure, and she, of course, indicated to him that I was the one who'd be
getting his ears pierced. Once atop the stool, the now nervous young man (since he'd
discerned my rue gender) brought out a series of stud-style earrings that would be my
first. "Those just won't do", said Karen. "We'd like some large hoops for our girl here".
He tried to explain that saftey policy dictates use of studs for a "break-in" period, but
the wave of a $20 bill by Karen made him forget all about "procedure". In no time, and
with scant little pain, I was walking out of the store sporting a large set of hoops above
which there was an additional set of studs "just for good measure" according to Karen.
We resumed our drive and soon pulled up in front of a modest house in a nearby town.
As we walked up the front sidewalk, the front door opened even before we reached
the door. Clearly we were expected. We were greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered,
heavily made-up woman wearing a skimpy maids’ outfit comprised of a pink satin
dress, pink seemed stockings, white high heeled pumps, and topped by a frilly lace
cap perched atop long, cascading red hair. Despite the fact that her breasts were
undoubtedly hers, it seemed apparent that she had not been born with them. I knew at
once that my hostess had spent at least part of her life as a man. I was instantly
excited.
We were shown into the back of the house where I was surprised to be reunited with
Jane, she of the old divorce support group days. Her face was about all that I
recognized. The rest was made more difficult by the fact that her now more statuesque
figure had been poured into a red latex dress that ended far enough above her knees
to show off the lace tops of her black stockings. Normally I would have remarked on
how much taller she was than I remember but five inch heels will do that for a
woman—or a man for that matter. She greeted me with a European kiss-kiss and said
that I looked great. I thanked her for the compliment at about the same time that the
maid returned with three cosmopolitans which she deftly served in spite of her own
towering heels.
Jane asked, more like demanded, that I sit oppositee her on the couch and catch her
up on how I came to be sitting in her living room so dressed. Over the next two hours I
gave her the unabridged version starting with my compulsion to set my hair in my
mother’s rollers when I was home alone in high school and proceeding up through my
decision to come clean with Karen who sat transfixed throughout the story. At the
completion, Jane said that she understood my desires perhaps better than I did myself
and that I’d finally found a home. If I was interested, she believed that, with the help of
Karen and Ricki their maid, I might find fulfillment. I was encouraged to consider it and,
if I was game, we could start that night. Without thinking too much, I managed to
squeak out that I was very interested. With that, Jane got up and said that I needed to
see more of the house.
With some difficulty, I made it down the stairs to the basement behind Jane and Karen,
with Ricki dutifully bringing up the rear. We went down a short hallway that led to a door
that necessitated two keys to unlock. Prior to entering, Jane explained that there were
certain rules that applied to this room, the first being that anyone who owned or had
ever owned a penis was required to wear a posture collar. The second, and most
imporatnt rule according to Jane, was that everything that happened inside the room
was of a voluntary nature--nothing would be forced upon anyone. It was made clear to
me that my participation in whatever happened in this room would be within my
personal bounds. I quickly agreed to the terms, the excitment mounting in my stomach
and my little pussy. After having established a safe word that would put an immediate
stop to any of the proceedings that I deemed too much, Ricki reappeared at once with
a rather severe pink leather posture collar. Karen held up my hair all around as Jane
fitted the collar around my neck and buckled it into place.
I smoothed my skirt to dissipate my nervous energy, an act that elicited chuckles from
the other three. "I think he's going to be right at home here, Karen", mused Jane as I
was led into a virtual feminization playground. The first thing I noticed was a
gynecological exam table. Surrounding equipment made me think that real live
gynecology had been performed there and later that year, I would find out how true that
supposition was. All sorts of equipment that I’d previously only seen in trade
publications soon came into view. But the thing that got my fullest attention was a
beauty salon station complete with a make-up counter, shampoo bowl and hood dryer,
and manicure and pedicure stations all arrayed around a majestic fuchsia-colored
chair. Beyond that, mostly out of my comprehending, the walls were covered with a
variety of feminine accroutrement including high heels, wigs, dresses, purses, hats
and even a small collection of wedding dresses. It was a massive room tastefullt
decorated yet crammed full of the essence of feminity. Of all of it, that beauty salon
chair held my gaze the most. As it turned out, ever since that first glimce, I have spent
many wonderful hours in that chair under the ministrations of Jane, its owner and very
skilled operator.
At Jane’s suggestions, I removed my skirt and top, leaving me rather fully exposed to
my hostess and her party. Jane recognized my discomfort and suggested that I have a
seat at the vanity. In short order, I was seated at the delicate swivel chair. Considering
my definite lack of need for a makeover at present, Jane and Karen thought it best to
go right to Step 2 in my journey into feminization. I wasn't exactly sure what Step 2
was, but I didn't have to wait long. Given the choice, I opted to be blindfolded. After
securing said blindfold, someone swiveled me around so that I was facing out away
from the vanity table. It was time, they said, for me to get my first taste of a man's
penis. I was told not to worry—that they would start me off with a realistic dildo.
Tentatively at first, I opened my mouth. It's true that I'd sucked on realistic dildos during
my closet sessions in my house, this was a completely different story. Soon, I felt the
tip of a VERY realsitic penis eased into my awaiting mouth. Whomever was
manipulating it worked with me, never giving me more of the thing than I could handle.
It had become clear by now that this was no dildo--it must have been something that
Ricki had been hiding in her panties. She gently palced her hands on the top and back
of my head and skillfully guided me through my first (the first of many) blowjob. It was
an exquisite experience, notable for several details that I hadn't anticipated. The
texture of Ricki's penis was almost indescribably smooth. The smell that was a
combination of her perfume and precum made my head spin. The gentle bumping on
my neck of the hoop earrings resulting from the back-and-forth motion of my head
during the blowjob was a wonderful reminder of how much further down the road
toward feminization I'd come in just the time since I'd pulled into Karen's driveway. I
loved how Ricki's penis seemd to engorge an extra measure, further tightening the
skin on his penis, making it larger and smoother as he neared climax. And of course,
the taste of Ricki's juice, when it finally exploded into my mouth was wonderful. It all
was unforgettable.
That night was the start of a whole new life for me--one that I had long dreamed about.
COMMENTS AS USUAL WELCOME, GOOD OR BAD, ANY IDEAS FOR A
CONTINUATION?
this lovely story with all of you because I have not seen it on here
I met Karen in my divorce support group while I was dealing with my second divorce
and she was trying to cope with her first. About the only thing that we had in common
was that both our spouses had cheated with good friends of ours. She was a couple
years older and very attractive. I remember that she always dressed so well for our
group meetings. We both attended regularly for almost a year, in which time several of
us formed a sort of loose union. Among those in our circle of friends was Jane,
another gal about our age who was trying to overcome abuse at the hands of her ex-
husband. She was pretty strong, though, and in short order was back in control so it
seemed to me.
But one by one, members dropped away as new people joined the group and created
their own synergy. I never lost track of Karen, though. We would get together for dinner
occasionally, exchange greeting cards, and just talk on the phone every once in a
while. I never asked her about her love life and she never inquired about mine. She
knew that I moved from one relationship to another while I never detected that she
even dated.
The whole time, unbeknownst to a girlfriend I had at the time, I was dabbling in my
hobby. I was a closet crossdresser, and without someone living with me fulltime, I had
ample closet space. But I always yearned for that relationship in which I could be open
about my desires and even indulge in my deepest fantasies of feminization. I was
willing to settle for just a taste of things, but I never thought that I could trust any of my
girlfriends.
I’m not sure when my desire to share my secret with someone started, but it never
went away. Over the years, it would come and go, always coming back stronger than
before. And increasingly, I thought that Karen was probably just the right person. She
didn’t know anyone that I knew and her integrity was beyond reproach. Every time I
called her and hung up without telling her, I felt like I’d let an opportunity slip by. I
rationalized my silence by convincing myself that the topic was something best
discussed in person. I needed to make another date with her, and I did.
I can’t remember ever being so nervous as I was that day. As soon as the date was
made, in honor of what I hoped to share, I decided I’d be all dressed up—at least
underneath. If I didn’t get up the nerve to tell her (a very distinct possibility), I would at
least have the pleasure of going out feeling all feminine underneath my male clothes. I
shaved. I lotioned. I painted my toenails. I selected a black, heavy garter belt, black
panties and a pair of stockings that I’d been saving for Lord knows what. Before I set
off, I opened a bottle of wine and had a large glass of the liquid courage.
After a pleasant dinner at a local Italian restaurant (and some more wine), we went
back to her house for a little more conversation and, of course, some more wine. You
might think that this is where the story takes a decidedly more interesting turn (as I’d
hoped), but I was made to wait. When things were just right, I dropped the bomb. Not
surprisingly, she handled the news well, saying basically that she respected whatever
people did in the privacy of their own homes and that she would expect anyone to do
the same for her. It was that latter comment that should have been a signal. Instead, I
said my goodbyes and drove home, wondering about what might have been.
A couple days later, she called me back and told me that she had been thinking a lot
about what I’d told her and that, the more she thought about it, the more it intrigued her.
She said that if I was interested, she would like to see me fully dressed sometime.
When she asked about what kind of outerwear I had, I told her that all I owned was a
black leather skirt and a black blouse. I was more than a little surprised when she
specified that my outfit had to be some combination of pink and white: shoes, hose,
skirt, blouse and underthings. I thought that this was a rather odd request from
someone new to my scene and secret, but I also felt like it was kind of an order that I
was more than happy to try to comply with. We made a date for the following Saturday
and I wasted no time in making an appointment with a local gal who specializes in
makeovers for guys like me and then set about accumulating the new things that I
would need. The short time frame meant that I couldn’t shop while hiding behind the
anonymity of the internet. I had to go out and find my outfit. With some considerable
discomfort, I ended up with a sheer white blouse, a pink miniskirt, and some pink,
patent pumps with five inch heels, naturally. And of course I had the foundation
garments. I opted for a very strict white corset with garters, white panties and white
back-seemed stockings.
That Saturday I could barely contain my nerves as I set about preparing. After another
close shave and application of false toenails (French tips), I set off to Judy’s place
toting my outfit, false eyelashes & nails, brunette wig, jewelry, and purse along with
anything that I thought I might need. At Karen’s request, I threw in a nightie. I hardly
remember Judy’s makeover, but by the time I left trailing a lovely feminine scent
courtesy of my makeup artist, I felt truly transformed for the first time.
I arrived at Karen’s exactly when she told me to and rang her doorbell. I guess I thought
I’d be invited in and we would sit and sip wine while I told her about my history with
women’s clothing. The best I could hope for was to show a curious Karen how I was
dressed at which point she might be turned on and end up playing with me like a new
toy. So I was surprised when she answered the door almost immediately. I couldn’t tell
what she was wearing underneath her long leather coat, but there was something
subtly different about her. She had a more imperial demeanor and, unless I missed my
guess, she was more heavily made up than for our recent dinner. She brushed past
me and indicated that I should join her in her car. When I asked where we were going,
expressing that I didn’t think I was ready for a public appearance, she dismissed my
objections with a wave of her hand toward the passenger’s side of the car. I obediently
and nervously climbed in beside her. Once we got going, she said that she thought it
was time I took my hobby to the next level and then she remained silent for the rest of
the half hour trip.
Our first stop was a small jewelry store in a strip mall near her house. Against her
objections, I dutifully followed her into the store. When the young man working the
counter asked how he might help us, she told him that we were there for an ear-
piercing. He invited her to sit at a counter towards the back of the store set up for just
such a procedure, and she, of course, indicated to him that I was the one who'd be
getting his ears pierced. Once atop the stool, the now nervous young man (since he'd
discerned my rue gender) brought out a series of stud-style earrings that would be my
first. "Those just won't do", said Karen. "We'd like some large hoops for our girl here".
He tried to explain that saftey policy dictates use of studs for a "break-in" period, but
the wave of a $20 bill by Karen made him forget all about "procedure". In no time, and
with scant little pain, I was walking out of the store sporting a large set of hoops above
which there was an additional set of studs "just for good measure" according to Karen.
We resumed our drive and soon pulled up in front of a modest house in a nearby town.
As we walked up the front sidewalk, the front door opened even before we reached
the door. Clearly we were expected. We were greeted by a tall, broad-shouldered,
heavily made-up woman wearing a skimpy maids’ outfit comprised of a pink satin
dress, pink seemed stockings, white high heeled pumps, and topped by a frilly lace
cap perched atop long, cascading red hair. Despite the fact that her breasts were
undoubtedly hers, it seemed apparent that she had not been born with them. I knew at
once that my hostess had spent at least part of her life as a man. I was instantly
excited.
We were shown into the back of the house where I was surprised to be reunited with
Jane, she of the old divorce support group days. Her face was about all that I
recognized. The rest was made more difficult by the fact that her now more statuesque
figure had been poured into a red latex dress that ended far enough above her knees
to show off the lace tops of her black stockings. Normally I would have remarked on
how much taller she was than I remember but five inch heels will do that for a
woman—or a man for that matter. She greeted me with a European kiss-kiss and said
that I looked great. I thanked her for the compliment at about the same time that the
maid returned with three cosmopolitans which she deftly served in spite of her own
towering heels.
Jane asked, more like demanded, that I sit oppositee her on the couch and catch her
up on how I came to be sitting in her living room so dressed. Over the next two hours I
gave her the unabridged version starting with my compulsion to set my hair in my
mother’s rollers when I was home alone in high school and proceeding up through my
decision to come clean with Karen who sat transfixed throughout the story. At the
completion, Jane said that she understood my desires perhaps better than I did myself
and that I’d finally found a home. If I was interested, she believed that, with the help of
Karen and Ricki their maid, I might find fulfillment. I was encouraged to consider it and,
if I was game, we could start that night. Without thinking too much, I managed to
squeak out that I was very interested. With that, Jane got up and said that I needed to
see more of the house.
With some difficulty, I made it down the stairs to the basement behind Jane and Karen,
with Ricki dutifully bringing up the rear. We went down a short hallway that led to a door
that necessitated two keys to unlock. Prior to entering, Jane explained that there were
certain rules that applied to this room, the first being that anyone who owned or had
ever owned a penis was required to wear a posture collar. The second, and most
imporatnt rule according to Jane, was that everything that happened inside the room
was of a voluntary nature--nothing would be forced upon anyone. It was made clear to
me that my participation in whatever happened in this room would be within my
personal bounds. I quickly agreed to the terms, the excitment mounting in my stomach
and my little pussy. After having established a safe word that would put an immediate
stop to any of the proceedings that I deemed too much, Ricki reappeared at once with
a rather severe pink leather posture collar. Karen held up my hair all around as Jane
fitted the collar around my neck and buckled it into place.
I smoothed my skirt to dissipate my nervous energy, an act that elicited chuckles from
the other three. "I think he's going to be right at home here, Karen", mused Jane as I
was led into a virtual feminization playground. The first thing I noticed was a
gynecological exam table. Surrounding equipment made me think that real live
gynecology had been performed there and later that year, I would find out how true that
supposition was. All sorts of equipment that I’d previously only seen in trade
publications soon came into view. But the thing that got my fullest attention was a
beauty salon station complete with a make-up counter, shampoo bowl and hood dryer,
and manicure and pedicure stations all arrayed around a majestic fuchsia-colored
chair. Beyond that, mostly out of my comprehending, the walls were covered with a
variety of feminine accroutrement including high heels, wigs, dresses, purses, hats
and even a small collection of wedding dresses. It was a massive room tastefullt
decorated yet crammed full of the essence of feminity. Of all of it, that beauty salon
chair held my gaze the most. As it turned out, ever since that first glimce, I have spent
many wonderful hours in that chair under the ministrations of Jane, its owner and very
skilled operator.
At Jane’s suggestions, I removed my skirt and top, leaving me rather fully exposed to
my hostess and her party. Jane recognized my discomfort and suggested that I have a
seat at the vanity. In short order, I was seated at the delicate swivel chair. Considering
my definite lack of need for a makeover at present, Jane and Karen thought it best to
go right to Step 2 in my journey into feminization. I wasn't exactly sure what Step 2
was, but I didn't have to wait long. Given the choice, I opted to be blindfolded. After
securing said blindfold, someone swiveled me around so that I was facing out away
from the vanity table. It was time, they said, for me to get my first taste of a man's
penis. I was told not to worry—that they would start me off with a realistic dildo.
Tentatively at first, I opened my mouth. It's true that I'd sucked on realistic dildos during
my closet sessions in my house, this was a completely different story. Soon, I felt the
tip of a VERY realsitic penis eased into my awaiting mouth. Whomever was
manipulating it worked with me, never giving me more of the thing than I could handle.
It had become clear by now that this was no dildo--it must have been something that
Ricki had been hiding in her panties. She gently palced her hands on the top and back
of my head and skillfully guided me through my first (the first of many) blowjob. It was
an exquisite experience, notable for several details that I hadn't anticipated. The
texture of Ricki's penis was almost indescribably smooth. The smell that was a
combination of her perfume and precum made my head spin. The gentle bumping on
my neck of the hoop earrings resulting from the back-and-forth motion of my head
during the blowjob was a wonderful reminder of how much further down the road
toward feminization I'd come in just the time since I'd pulled into Karen's driveway. I
loved how Ricki's penis seemd to engorge an extra measure, further tightening the
skin on his penis, making it larger and smoother as he neared climax. And of course,
the taste of Ricki's juice, when it finally exploded into my mouth was wonderful. It all
was unforgettable.
That night was the start of a whole new life for me--one that I had long dreamed about.
COMMENTS AS USUAL WELCOME, GOOD OR BAD, ANY IDEAS FOR A
CONTINUATION?
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