The Kitten Club, Part Four free porn video

(Note: This probably has to be read from Part One; but at the end of Part Three, Frank had asked for a job as kitten, and had been put in a naughty schoolgirl outfit, complete with stockings and suspenders. She wants to be called Francesca, and has just walked out on to the floor of the club for the first time as a kitten.) Rod just stood there with his eyes sticking out. I imagined that wasn't the only thing sticking out. He took it all in. What had been barely visible only the night before, my pokies, were now on display. They certainly weren't very big, but the bra made the most of what I had. Nevertheless, they did actually seem to have grown in the previous 24 hours. "My name is Francesca," I said. "Of course it is, Francesca. Of course it is. Very pretty name." "Thank you, sir. Can I get you a drink?" When he made his order and I turned around to get it, I made sure he could see just how short my dress was. I could almost feel his eyes burning into my bum, especially the area where the stockings ended and a little flash of milky and hairless thigh was visible. "I think I'm going to come," he said. Only the day before that would have made me very embarrassed. I still was a little embarrassed by it, to tell the truth, but also excited. I was having the effect I was supposed to be having. I was going to be a success as a kitten. I could feel that. He held out the money to me. His drink was five pounds, but he held out a fifty pound note. As I put my hand out to take it, he withdrew it quickly. "Come and get it," he said. Fifty pounds. I certainly did want that. And I knew how to get all of it. I went around to the other side of the bar, making sure I was taking small steps. In fact, I didn't have to try. I was walking differently now and it all came very naturally. It wasn't that my dress was too tight; it just seemed that this was the way to walk. When I got close to him, I lifted my right leg onto the rungs of the barstool. Very carefully, he took the note and slotted it in the top of my stocking, right by the suspender belt. "There's a good girl," he said, twanging the strap. "Oh I'm not a good girl," I said as I sashayed back to other side of the bar. "I'm a naughty girl." He said something else, but I didn't hear it. I wasn't listening. I was off to collect some glasses from around the bar and Rod could do what he liked. It may sound odd, in that I had thrown my lot in with the so- called weaker sex, but I felt completely in control of this situation. I took the money out of my stocking. I felt I had power over Rod as I put the money... where? I felt for a pocket, but there wasn't one. I smiled. Another thing to learn about my new status. When you're wearing a dress, you don't necessarily have pockets. However, that was a minor worry. He'd given me fifty pounds. That money was mine now. He may think it was going to buy him something, but that was totally down to me. It was pretty much like that with all the other men. I know that before, when I was wearing my sports bra and the shorty shorts, I was turning them on. Now, that had grown a hundred fold. What a change from sad old Frank. I knew that I could wind men around my little finger now I was Francesca. If I asked for something, some man would provide it for me. It was a wonderful feeling. Colette and Charlotte had been right. This was so much more fun. Rod's eyes followed me around the club that night. Whenever I turned around, there he was, with that little smile on his face. He wasn't the only one. The club closed at about 3am. "Can I offer you a lift home?" he said. "I'm getting a taxi." Colette looked at me, silently imploring me not to go. "That'll be lovely," I said. I wasn't ready to face the world as a kitten, so one of the bouncers lent me his coat; a huge greatcoat that covered all of me. Nevertheless, you wouldn't have taken me for male. My stockinged legs were sticking out of the bottom of the coat and I had girl's shoes and lipstick on. I knew that anyone hearing me talk would hear a girl's voice. But with this coat on, at least I wouldn't attract attention in the street. As he opened the taxi door for me to climb in first it was obvious what the driver was thinking. That Rod had got lucky. That he was on a promise. I told the driver Colette's address and I couldn't help but notice that he thought it a bit unusual that the girl was giving the instructions. That amused me. Rod sat down very close to me, touching. I could tell he wanted to put his arm around me. He didn't though; perhaps he was a little nervous as well. We arrived at Colette's flat. I knew exactly what I was going to do. I gave him a very quick kiss in the cab, said "Thanks for the lift" and I was out of the door and on my way in before he could ask if he could come in for 'a coffee'. No question of me offering to pay for the taxi, of course. I don't have to do that sort of thing any more. The men can do that. I couldn't see his face in the cab, but I knew disappointment would be written all over it, if only for a minute or two. I kind of liked having that power over him. I knew he would soon get over his disappointment and resume the chase. I liked that too. This was fun. Colette fell about when I told her about it. She called me a "little tease". I had a shower, and when I dried off I found a delightful little babydoll nightie waiting for me. Tonight, I put it on enthusiastically and even stuck out my little pokies through the lacy material to make them look bigger. Colette was in a similar one. We sat up the rest of the night talking about what had happened to me over the past couple of days, our hairless and shapely legs crossed at the thigh, our nighties almost floating on our bodies. We were having a girly chat. When I had taken those first fateful steps, asking the manager I wanted to be a kitten, or putting the bra and knickers on, I had assumed that I would be deflowered there and then, either by the manager, Rod, or someone else in the club. I had been looking forward to it. But Colette had been absolutely right. I could see that now. I had taken a huge step. There was no going back, I knew that. I talked about going back to Joanne's to get my stuff, but Colette asked what was the point; quite apart from the pain it would cause. I would need new 'stuff' now. There would be no medication to get rid of my chest development. No drugs to put my willy back where it was. I'd accepted a truth. I'd be wearing a bra for the rest of my time now. And knickers. Panties made for someone who didn't have anything downstairs. We talked about what would happen in that department, because of course I did have something downstairs. What a thought. Would I be like the others? Would I spend time as I dressed making sure it was taped down, that no one could see it, and putting up with the discomfort of wearing panties when, whatever I did, that particular item of clothing did not fit? And then, would I disappear for a week, and come back with the flattest of groins? Able to wear a G-string? Nothing whatsoever to make a bulge in my panties? I hated the thought of surgery. Of course, there'd be no more women. I knew that. That was a thing of the past. No more coarse comments about good-looking girls, getting drunk with my mates, forcing myself on to them. Not that I'd ever done that, but you know what I mean. No more Joanne, that was for sure. I might not have been ready to go all the way with a man just yet, but I knew I'd left behind the idea of having sex with a woman ever again. Colette stressed I'd have much more fun if I made the men wait. It would be much better for my state of mind as well. One step at a time. She explained that everything I had done, including putting on a dress, I had done for my benefit, not for Rod or any other man. They had to understand, and they would, that I was in control of my situation now. Colette pointed out that even though I felt happy in female clothes in the club and at home (she said we could share now, and I would live in her spare room), I hadn't wanted to walk down the street as a girl. That was perfectly normal, she said. Everything would happen its own good time, and I'd be a fool if I rushed it. I knew she was right. I slept wonderfully. And when I woke up in the morning, I was once again a little surprised, at first, to find myself in a nightie. But this time it was a very nice surprise. As I looked down at my chest, I hoped my little boobies were sticking out a little more than they had when I had last looked at them. I think they were. I settled into a routine for the next few weeks. At home, I'd sleep in a nightie but when I got dressed it was sexless T-shirts, sweatshirts, joggers, jeans, trainers. I might have bra and panties on underneath, but no one could see them. The clothes were baggy enough so that you wouldn't know I had breasts. I don't think anyone who saw me in the supermarket would have thought I was a male but generally they ignored me. And that suited me fine. When I was safely in the club I'd be Francesca in her lingerie, Francesca the kitten, the bunny, the magician's assistant, the burlesque dancer, or in the sequined bikini with strappy high heeled sandals. Francesca, who would put her thigh in a customer's face so he could stick money in her garter belt, Francesca who squealed with mock outrage when someone felt her up. But Francesca who would not go into the back room with the boys, no matter what. Francesca, the cock teaser. I loved it. And so did they. Rod kept on coming to the club, kept on looking at me, kept on saying that it was only a matter of time before I was another notch on his belt. There was a look on his face as he said it. He was going to "have" me. And he was prepared to wait. He said when the time came, I'd be the one begging him. I told him I wouldn't be begging for anything. He'd be the one doing the begging, like a little doggie. Like my own pet. I giggled when I told him that. He seemed to like it. Steve the bouncer kept on frisking me every evening when I had put my costume on. I got used to that as well. Let me tell you about one particular night at the club. There was a group of new guys sitting at a table in the corner. They all looked similar; fairly short but very strong looking with big muscles. Very short military-like haircuts but hairy arms and chests. I wondered if I was starting to appreciate the male form in a way I'd never done before. Up until now, it had all been about me: how it turned me on to be wearing panties. The fact that males found that attractive was just part of my own journey. Now that I was turning into the soft one, with curves and gentle bumps in the right places, I wondered if I was starting to appreciate the firmness of the male form. Was I starting to fancy men? I think I might have been. We were in sexy secretary costumes. For me, that was a grey pencil skirt, just above my knee, a white blouse, with puff sleeves, white stockings and high heeled black pumps. I was in high heels as often as the other girls by now. I hadn't taken to them quite as easily as I had taken to wearing a bra. But heels weren't designed for comfort. They were probably designed by a man, for one thing. However, after a bit of practice I could walk in them. One thing I learned straight away is that when you are wearing heels, you better start walking like a woman, otherwise you will not only look ridiculous, you will probably fall over. Small steps, cross over the feet as you walk, which of course gives you a wiggle, and keep thinking how wonderful your ankles, legs and bum look when perched at that angle. And how unmasculine the sound of heels clicking on the ground was. With heels on, I knew a man wouldn't even have to see me to know who I was. He could tell just from the click of my heels. The discomfort was worth it. I was getting to understand guys much better now. In a group like this particular one, there's always one in charge, the alpha male. I realised that before, when I had been in a group of blokes, I had never been the alpha. I could see things so much more clearly now. This alpha had certainly taken a fancy to your little Francesca. I say little: I was. I had somehow lost a couple of inches in height. And a whole lot of weight. Not just fat and muscle, my whole torso was smaller and more delicate. My shoulders were getting slimmer every time I noticed them. You'd almost think my skeleton was changing. These guys, for all their macho muscles, weren't so tall themselves. In my heels, I was actually taller than even this alpha male. That made me laugh. Look at me: slim, weedy arms, girly, my legs nice and trim, with, I'm proud to say, very shapely ankles, and I was in a skirt. But I was still taller than anyone in this group of blokes, heels or not. Not that it mattered. I wasn't exactly going to beat any of them up. The alpha sat back and admired me as I served their drinks. I had the waitress act down to perfection now: I'd mince over there with the tray, bend at the hip, giving the guy behind me a good look at the bum, and the guys in front would try and look down my top. I'd make out they'd been very naughty when they did that. It helped with the tips. However, there was something unusual about these guys. I didn't know what it was, so I asked Charlotte. "You really a naive little thing, aren't you?" she said. "They're women. Females. Butch females, I grant you. On their way to being men. But they are women. Can't you tell?" I was absolutely stunned by that news. And, I admit, fascinated as well. If they were lesbians, I did wonder what they were doing in the place like the Kitten Club. However, I was no one to criticise. Whatever turns you on. If there was one thing I had learned over the last few months, it was to not feel ashamed at whatever your sexuality was. Just go with the flow. I was fascinated by these 'men' and made sure it was me who took their drinks over the whole evening. Even though I knew I had more in my panties than they did, I couldn't think of them as females, or refer to any of them as 'she' or 'her'. It was me who was in that role now. This alpha male, his name was Patrick, he looked really strong and manly. When he noticed me looking, he stood up and flexed his biceps for me. The others laughed. I played along and pressed a finger into his muscle, which was actually rock hard, with the veins sticking out. I acted suitably impressed by his manliness. I didn't have to act, actually. "What do you think of mine?" I said, flexing my own rather feeble biceps. "I think they look perfectly fine," he said. "Very pretty. On you. I mean, you wouldn't arms like Popeye, would you?" I certainly would not. Patrick asked me to sit down for a minute with them, and I did, making sure I crossed my legs as I did so. "You've got lovely skin," he said pointing at my arm. "Do you mind if I touch it?" "Be my guest," I said. He did so. Only he didn't touch my arm. He put his whole hand on my stockinged leg, and pushed it up my skirt. The other guys all whooped and cheered, even more so when they saw I wasn't pushing his hand away immediately. Their mate had scored, so they thought. He fingered my stocking top. Before, when I was... you know... a man, I would never have had the nerve to do anything like that. I would have been too embarrassed. And in front of people as well. I suppose that was one reason why I was now the one in the skirt. "You're a bit cheeky," I said. I could play this side of that particular game perfectly well. "Aren't I just," he said. He put his other arm around my shoulder, and it just happened to find its way down to my lace-encased breast. Honestly, some of these guys have arms like gorillas. They can get their hands anywhere. He played with my boob and pulled me towards him, as if he was going to kiss me. "God," he said. "I don't know how you can do that. Wear a bra. Look at you. Ironic, isn't it? I was brought up to wear a bra and from the first day to the last... I don't have to wear one any more... I hated it. I couldn't stand the way it felt on shoulders, my back. I just wanted to throw it off. And there's you. Wearing one by choice. Don't you find it uncomfortable?" "Not only do I find it comfy," I said, pushing his hand off my thigh and sticking my chest out, "I love it. I can't imagine not wearing a bra, to tell the truth." "And make-up. How can you put that muck on your face?" "You want me to look nice, don't you?" I said. His left hand was still around my shoulder, casually massaging my boob. If I was a guy, I mean, when I was a guy, I would never have just taken hold of the situation, take possession of a girl, and do it as if it was the most natural thing in the world. I suppose that is what masculinity is about, partly. And from my point of view, femininity as well. I was ready for him to take charge of me. Well no, that's not quite it. I was in charge, but in the female way. "Let me tell you," I said, "I don't feel properly clothed unless I've got lipstick on." "So," he said, getting even closer and looking at my reddened lips, "if I were to take all your clothes off, right now, and as long as you had your lippy on, you'd be fine." All his mates laughed at that one. I thought he was about to kiss me. And if he did, I somehow knew he'd stick his tongue straight in there. But that wasn't going to happen. Not right here, anyway. I was a kitten, I was working. I knew how to handle this situation: make him squirm. "What size were you, anyway?" I put my finger on his nipple, through his shirt, and teased it. "I expect you were quite a big girl. What were you, D-cup?" "You can do that all you like, honey. There's nothing there," he laughed. "You're the one with the coconuts." Patrick and his mates all laughed at that one. I was indeed the one with the coconuts. He had his hands all over one of them. "Get her baps out," said one of the other blokes. I wanted to do one thing. His hair was so short. I ran my fingers through his hair, feeling, and being quite turned on by, the bristle. My hair wasn't like that any more. "I bet you'd have nice hair, if you let it grow," I said. "Who wants that? Long hair is for girls." I was actually getting very turned on here. I don't think you need to be a psychologist to work out why. Patrick was a man, only not quite. I was a female... well certainly more female than male. We were both on the same journey, but in different directions. Our paths had crossed. And if we got together, you know, really got together, there'd be me, born a man, in lingerie, make-up, waiting to be taken. And there'd be him, born a woman, fumbling around for a condom, wondering whether he could perform. I suddenly pictured a scene. There he was on top of me. Pinning down. I'd be struggling a bit, but only playfully, and knowing I had absolutely no chance of escape. I don't know what he had between his legs, but I imagined that whatever was left of my male parts would be the thing we'd use. I'd be in him, but we would both be fantasising about it being his willy inside me. And we'd both come. Twenty minutes later, it'd be time to do it again, only this time my tiny little willy wouldn't be up to the job. I wouldn't be able to get it up. I'd start crying. He'd comfort me, I'd be sitting on his lap, and he would produce a dildo... "Me and my mates, we were having a bet," he said, interrupting my thoughts. "On what?" "On what colour knickers you are wearing." Suddenly he held me so firmly I couldn't move. One arm held me in place, while the other was going up my skirt. Right up. He was strong, and it was difficult for me to move. I could feel myself being pulled back, and my skirt going right up to expose me. The group whooped and cheered. "Red!" he shouted. "She's got red knickers on!" I could feel his hand on my intimate place. I felt so feeble as I tried to fight him off, but was no good. My legs were in the air, my dignity disappearing. This wasn't the way I wanted it. I could feel my knickers being pulled off. "Stop it!" I squealed. But it was no good. I could feel my knickers being pulled down. Suddenly, I was aware of someone else present. "Get your hands off her," ordered the voice. It was Steve, the bouncer. Patrick did take his hands off me. He did as he told. Steve was much bigger and stronger. But I was the one who had been humiliated, not Patrick. Not only had I been completely overpowered, it was a woman who had done it to me. I got up and smoothed my skirt down as I walked off, wobbling a little on my heels, but that made the group whoop and laugh even louder. He had laddered my stockings as well. Their guffaws echoed in my ears as I walked back to the bar. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me. There was me, born a boy, being treated as a piece of meat by a group of people who had been born female. Any one of them was much stronger than me. Any one of them could have held me down and ripped my panties right off, and there wouldn't have been anything I could have done about it. Did they give a single thought for me? No. This female thing, it has its disadvantages. Steve said that if I wanted, he'd have the whole group thrown out. The customers were not, he said, allowed to touch the merchandise. But I didn't want them thrown out; I knew it was part of the game. I was dressed to titillate, and I had done so. Yes, Patrick had gone too far, but I had led him on. He would learn. Men have to. A touch-up to my make-up and I was fine. The laddered stockings I had to put up with, but the customers seemed to like that even more. Later in the evening, Patrick and the others apologised if they had upset me. I graciously accepted. I was learning about this. Learning that even though when I felt the tug of my bra straps on my shoulders, the world seemed to be in alignment for me, it was only the start. I was still me, and even though the problems and issues I had to deal with were different, they were still there. And, whatever I looked like when I was in the club, I never forgot I had a little secret in my panties. I think that's partly why I was reluctant to... you know. There were plenty of people to remind me, not least the man himself, that I had come within in inch of taking Rod's willy in mouth that time. Not that I had forgotten. Now I seemed to have taken a step back from that. It was something I couldn't see myself doing. One night, Charlotte came up with an explanation. "The difference between men and women, or one of them, is that men have much higher sex drives," she said. With some people anyway. When you nearly sucked off Rod, you had the sex drive of the male. You may have had some very female thoughts in your mind, but you were still in essence, male. Since then, since the female in you has taken over, you've now got more of a female sex drive. You don't need sex all the time. You're prepared to wait. It's a totally girl thing. I wouldn't worry about it, Francesca. It just proves you are even more one of us than you thought. It'll happen. Just give it time." That made a certain amount of sense. "What's it like?" I said. "What's what like?" "Well you... you had the operation didn't you? What was it like?" She smiled. "It was heavenly. You lie in bed. A nurse looks at you, smiling. The two of you think, yes, we're the same, but you're not really. You're partly the same, but not entirely. Then you get an injection, and when you wake up again, that nurse is smiling at you again, and this time you are the same. It's lovely. You are sisters. You get put on the women's ward." "I'd find that very frightening." "It is frightening. But it's like jumping into a swimming pool. You think the water is going to be cold, horrible, but once you're in you forget about all that, and wonder why you didn't have it done before." "I'm not sure I could have it done." "Do you think you'll have to? From what I've seen, I'm not sure you will. Come on, let me have a look. I'll soon tell you." The small part of me that was still male objected to that. One thing men don't do is start showing each other their willies. I dare say even gay men don't do that, unless they are planning to do a lot more than show. I didn't imagine girls did it either. "Come on," she said. It was 1970s night at the club and we were both wearing hotpants, or 'Daisy Dukes' as we called them, and platform boots. I undid the shorts, pulled them down and Charlotte had a look inside my panties. "Aaah, there he is," she said. "I can just about see him. And look at those tiny little balls. They're so cute. They look like marbles. Small ones." "All right," I said, pulling my knickers up and tucking what was there out of the way. "Enough of that." "I don't think you're going to have too much trouble," she said. "Can you, you know, get it up?" "Not really," I said, a little bit ashamed, I don't know why. "When did you last get one? An erection." "Don't remember." "And you can't go to the toilet standing up, right?" "Right." It was about the time of the incident with the butch women that I had last tried to have a pee standing up. That had ended up in a mess and since then I had sat down. "It doesn't matter, you know, Francesca," she said, picking up on my embarrassment. "In fact it's good. From the look of it, you won't even need surgery. It's happening all on its own. You're one of the lucky ones." "But it's uncomfortable," I said. "It's smaller, but it's still there. My... thingy, that is. Obviously, I don't wear men's pants, you know, boxers or Y-fronts... " She laughed. At the thought of me in Y-fronts. "But the hole, where you... you know... at the end of it, that's getting bigger. What do you think about that?" "What do you think about it?" "It feels weird." "It's turning into a pussy," she said. "Of course it's going to feel weird. Is it very sensitive?" "Yes." "You are so lucky. Me, I had the surgery, and the surgeon was fantastic, and they can do brilliant things these days, but it's still surgery. They are making the best of it. Yours... do you touch it?" "I can get the tip of my finger in." "My God!" she screamed. "How does it feel?" "Very strange. But nice as well. But it's still a willy. I'm halfway between one and the other. That's what's so weird." "Do you wonder what it would be like to have a cock in there?" "Yes I do," I admitted. "Occasionally." "And what conclusion did you come to?" "I don't come to a conclusion. I'm freaked out by the thought. I mean, not freaked out. But this is doing strange things to my mind, right? There I was, not so long ago, feeling the urge to... lick... a man... and now I don't want to." "But you don't feel the urge to stick it in a woman, right?" "No! Of course not. How could I?" We both laughed. "Imagine that," she said. "You, grabbing hold of a girl, undoing your Daisy Dukes, ignoring the fact that you have breasts, pulling 'it' out, and trying to stick that little thing into her. Not really. Not now. Your lipsticks would probably mix together, making some cool third colour you'd both be wearing." "Perhaps she'd be the one trying to stick something in me." We both laughed again. You might think there might be a bit of male pride left in me, but there wasn't, there really wasn't. Me, nailing a girl? It wasn't going to happen. "I think you're waiting," she said. "I think the thought of a man... going in the back door... frightens you. I think you're going to wait until he can go in the front." "I think you may be right." "Don't tell them, though." We both giggled. One night, Steve the bouncer and I were talking and we found we were both interested in seeing the same film. We agreed to go together. Now I'm not stupid. I know what you're thinking. We both knew what happened when he frisked me, but that was just a bit of fun. The fact was I had hardly been out of either the club or the flat in months. I did need to go somewhere else anywhere, and going with Steve made me feel much more comfortable. Not that anyone would notice me in my drab day clothes, but it was good to know he was there if they did. And, I did want to see this film. I was wearing my usual T-shirt, sweatshirt, jeans, trainers. Bra and panties. He paid. I tried to pay my half at least but he wouldn't hear anything of it. I almost said that I would pay for the coffee afterwards, but that meant we would be going for coffee afterwards, and that might mean something else altogether. We went in, with him holding the door open for me, sat down and watched the film. I won't go into names, but there were some pretty big stars in the movie, both male and female. A year ago I would have been keen to see the film just to ogle at the women. Maybe masturbate later, thinking about what I would do to them. I did look at the female lead. I did find her attractive. But now I was thinking what that slinky dress she was wearing would look like on me. Whether my hair would look good cut in that way. Whether I could wear those shoes. And there was something else. For the first time, I couldn't stop looking at the male lead. He's a big star. I tried to watch the film but the fact was I couldn't take my eyes off him. He was a complete hunk. And while I was used to the thoughts of what it would be like to be in the woman's clothes, now I was thinking what it would be like to have this hunk on top of me. To have him rip my clothes off and just have me. Ravish me. Make love to me. I couldn't concentrate on the film whenever he was on the screen. My nipples were showing their appreciation. I could tell that. I may have even been a little damp between the legs. Sitting there, I started to think, probably for the first time, that Steve was actually quite hunky. I actually used that word in my mind. Hunky. Up until now, I hadn't looked at it in that way. He was a man, for God's sake. Yes, I knew he was quite looking and had a good body. He'd been good to me. He was always nice, and it was him who'd saved me from those butch women, and him who was always there to help. The frisking was a laugh. We both enjoyed it. Now, I was aware of his massive presence next to me in the cinema. I know I was smaller, but he did seem bigger. I was starting to think about whether I actually fancied him. I think I did. There was something about him... almost a smell. It wasn't the smell of not having washed. He was clean enough. It was the smell of... a man. I liked that smell. The film finished, and we went for that coffee. Not only would be not hear about me paying for anything, but he was completely in charge. He suggested the cafe and pointed to where we should sit. I was quite happy for him to be control. It felt right. The waitress spoke only to him. I was fine with that as well, I really was. I'm not saying women shouldn't be in charge. Obviously, I am all for equal rights. But with my own peculiar circumstances, I was quite happy for him to wear the trousers. Slip of the keyboard there. I was wearing trousers as well, but in terms of me being with Steve, he was calling the shots. "And what can I get you, miss?" said the waitress. I was quite used to people thinking I was female but this was probably the first time a member of the public had assumed I was female. But there was something about the way she said it. My newly acquired female intuition came into play. It was clear she fancied Steve, and was jealous of me. That really did make me giggle. If only she knew. "Ooh I don't know," I simpered, for her benefit. "Shall I have the same as you?" Steve said I would have the same as him, so I did. I only did it for the waitress's benefit. To show her that he was my man. Did I just say that? He was my man? He did look nice sitting there. I hadn't realised how strong he looked. I suppose it must have been in comparison to me, because these days I am about as strong as a piece of wet paper. But that doesn't bother me any more. He talked about the film, in that mannish way about the director and his previous films, which I have to say rather bored me. I was miles away, thinking about that hunk in the film, and how the waitress had not chosen her clothing all that wisely tonight. Sorry to be bitchy, but she had a fat bum. There was no getting away from it. Girls with fat bums should not wear miniskirts. Then it happened. As I look back now, I can identify that particular moment in the cafe with Steve as the actual time. There was nothing to see; nobody noticed the change that had happened in me. There wasn't anything to see. But if definitely happened. Just like that, in a flash. I said I had to go to the lavatory. I asked the waitress. "Where's the... err... " For a second I hadn't known what to say. "The ladies'?" she said. "Right over there." Once inside, I was able to confirm the feeling that had come over me as I sat there with Steve. I went back to the table and told Steve there was something I needed to do and asked him if he would mind waiting for me. I said I might be about half an hour but I'd be very appreciative if he would wait. Like the little puppies they are, he waited. He could read a newspaper or something. In fact, it took three-quarters of an hour. But we're allowed to do that sort of thing. And when I returned he didn't complain. In fact his eyes were popping out of his head. I'd gone for a lovely tartan, or plaid as the Americans would say, miniskirt. It had a box pleat frill to the hem. Apologies to any men reading this who don't understand the terms. It came to mid-thigh. Black tights and these cute little lace-up ankle boots. I was wearing a T- shirt but a very different one to the T-shirt I had thrown in the bin along with my jeans and sweatshirt in the shop. This T-shirt was tailored to make the most of my rapidly shrinking waist, and was cut low enough to show just a touch of cleavage. It wasn't the sort of outfit I would wear at the Kitten Club. It was sexy, I thought, but it wasn't the fantasy outfits we would wear there. It was the sort of thing a perfectly normal young woman would wear. I sat down and crossed my legs as tightly as I could at the thigh. That was pretty tight. Very easy for me now. I'd brushed my hair out in the ladies' at the shop. It was long enough to rest on my shoulders now and I flicked it out of my face. I'd put a touch of make-up on. I looked at him. You'd think that he might be quite pleased. But do you know what? I looked at his face and I saw that he hadn't even noticed. I'm not being conceited here, but I'd left that table looking like some sweaty troll from the sports club and I'd come back... different. And I'd done it for his benefit. Partly, anyway. And he hadn't even noticed. I despaired of men, I really did. To think, that once I had been one. We sat there for a couple of minutes. "Have you changed your clothes?" he said suddenly. My God. I was getting a lesson now. This was what it was really like on the other side of the sexual divide. "Do you think?" I said. He finally started to get the message. And what he should do. "You look different... lovely," he said. "Thanks," I said. "I mean it... not just pretty, not just attractive, but lovely. You're beautiful." They catch on in the end. "Do you like my hair?" I said. "Indeed I do." He sat there, almost dumbfounded, staring at me. "Can I ask you a question?" he said. "A personal one? You, Francesca, you've never... the other girls, they've all... " "Spit it out," I said. "Rod. In the club. They've all... you know. Except you." "That's right," I said. "You noticed." "Of course," he said. "But why?" "Perhaps I don't want to be a notch on his belt." "Right." "Perhaps I want to be a notch on someone else's belt." He started to say something. I actually think he was going to ask me whose belt I wanted to be a notch on. I actually think he was that stupid. "Nice dress," he finally managed to say, rather thickly. He had caught on. "It's a skirt, idiot," I said. "Pretty, isn't it?" He nodded thickly in agreement. It was clear he was having trouble speaking. I liked that. "Shall we go?" I said. He leapt up from his seat. They might be a bit slow, these men, but they do catch on in the end. He paid the bill. I didn't try to make a donation himself. I smoothed my skirt down and walked to the door, my heels clicking on the hard floor. It's hard to describe how I felt. It wasn't the first time I had worn a skirt, of course. It wasn't the first time I had given a man an erection and been quite happy at the thought. But it was the first time I had done so when I didn't have to. Yes, I know I didn't have to work at the club, and I hadn't done anything I wasn't entirely comfortable with, but this was the first time that I'd actually felt that wearing men's clothes was actually wrong for me. I loved the way the tights felt on my legs, and I also loved the fact that they were tights rather than stockings. Don't get me wrong, I knew I'd be wearing stockings again before long but tights... well, women wear tights, don't they? The waitress did look at me on the way out. She was surprised, yes, but not shocked. Almost as though what I'd done was unusual but not something that couldn't have happened. Not that I could read her mind, but I guess she was thinking that I'd met my guy after doing some gardening or something and I'd changed into my normal clothes as soon as I could, it just so happened to be in her cafe. And that was the way it felt: that these were my normal clothes. If I put on a suit and tie, then I really would be cross-dressing. We got in a taxi. Steve opened the door for me and I climbed in, knowing that his eyes were on my bum. I smoothed my skirt as I sat down and crossed my legs. When he sat down next to me, I made sure our legs rubbed together, his in his male worsted trousers, mine in my black female tights. He put his arm around me and I snuggled up to him. He told the driver to get a move on. The driver looked in his rear-view mirror to see the situation. He probably thought he'd seen the same scene many times before ? a bloke sticking his hand up his girlfriend's skirt as he kisses her on the back seat. Her only objection being that they should wait until they got home. I'd been in that position myself. Except previously it was me in the trousers and me sticking my hand up the skirt, rather than the other way around. We arrived at his place and he paid the driver. I was thinking about the cold air on my legs and even though it wasn't comfortable, it felt right. I'd rather have my legs look nice in tights than have them hidden away in jogging bottoms or anything like that. He patted my bum as he opened the door for me and I sort of skipped in. In these clothes I felt much lighter on my feet. He was ready to rip my clothes off there and then. "Stop," I said. "Let's do it properly." I'd been thinking about this. I turned around to face the wall and put my arms in the air. He chuckled gently. He knew what I wanted him to do. I wanted him to frisk me. One last time. And do it properly. I remembered back to the first time he had done this. When I was in the sports bra and tight shorts, and how uncomfortable I had felt. And how that discomfort gradually disappeared until I had started to enjoy it. Now I was going to enjoy it like never before. I was going to give in to it. His hands worked their way over me, feeling my breasts. His put his hands up my top and massaged by breasts as if he owned them. He worked up my skirt, baring my pantied bum. I knew what I wanted to do. Oh yes. I leaned back until my bum was touching him. And there it was. His erection. I ground myself into him. He liked that, I can tell me. "You are a naughty girl, aren't you," he said as I turned my face around. He kissed me. His hands were all over me now. And whereas once it had felt so odd, I knew I wanted him to touch me all over. He did so. "You know, Francesca," he said, "I noticed you right from the start at the club. You always looked so sad. Now look at you. You never stop smiling. Never stop laughing." I craned my head around to kiss him. That smell of the male... I was intoxicated on it. I wanted it to be closer. Within a few seconds his hands were at my panties. A couple of seconds more, and his fingers were creeping inside. Go on, go on, I said to myself. He did so. His hand was inside my panties. Suddenly, he stopped. He had found what I had discovered in the ladies. He worked it with his finger. "What's all this then?" he said. "You are full of surprises, aren't you?" His fingers were all over it now. And in it. "What's this then?" he whispered. "What does it feel like?" I said. "It feels like a pussy." "That's what I was thinking," I said. "It looks like one, too." "You had a look, did you?" "Oh yes." "Do you mind if I take a look?" "Not at all." I turned around to face him and he picked me up. God knows how he did it, but somehow within seconds my tights were around my feet and my knickers were around my ankles. I discovered something all girls know. Even though men prefer us in stockings, we prefer tights. They feel nice around our pussies. Except when we're about to be with our man. There's nothing particularly ladylike about trying to get a pair of tights off when you are in the throes of passion. Still, Steve managed to do it for me. They got ripped, as if I cared. I reached down to check he was still hard, which he was. It was like being attacked by a bear. His hands were everywhere. My top came off and his great hairy arms were around my back trying to get my bra off. He was kissing me all over and the straps were hanging off my slender shoulders as he ravaged me. We know what happened next, don't we? He was about as good at taking a bra off as that bear. I tutted. I'm sure I'd never been that bad in getting a bra off a woman. I pushed him away a little as I put my hands behind my back to take the bra off. I undid it, but I didn't let the bra drop. I wanted him to take it off. I held it over my boobies. He gently took my hands and the bra fell to the floor. They gently wobbled for him. "Oh my God," he said. "They're beautiful." He kissed them, and it was an explosion going off on my chest. I couldn't have stopped now, even if I wanted to. Again, he somehow managed to manipulate me into the position he wanted without me even knowing it had happened. I was on my back on the floor, my knickers and tights hanging from one foot, my bra on the floor. My skirt was up over my tummy and he was all over me. This was it. It was finally going to happen. After all I had been through, after all the play-acting in the club, all the resistance, I was flat on my back and about to given the fucking of my life. I reached down to his manhood to make sure it was stiff enough... no problem there... and was going in the right place. "There's no going back from this," he said. I said: "I don't want to go... AAH!" He was in. I smiled. I felt like laughing. I felt like screaming with joy. And then it got even better. Slowly, he started to move up and down. I was being fucked. To tell the truth, I can't remember much about the next few minutes. I felt a tremendous surge inside me, and then almost a white light. I couldn't see anything, I could feel this wonderful sensation in my groin, my breasts, and that was it. I was unconscious, but also only too conscious. I wriggled about beneath him. Not trying to get away, trying to get him further inside me, trying to increase his pleasure and mine as well. I wanted to be a good lay, of course I did. The white light stayed for ages. I knew what was happening: I was having an orgasm. A female orgasm. The best thing any human being can ever experience, believe me, and I've seen it from both sides. He started pumping harder. I rocked with him, getting into the rhythm he was setting, making it better for both of us. He started to moan and then I could feel it. An explosion inside me. The best feeling I had ever had. I'd been nailed. Poked. Fucked. Screwed. I was a notch on Steve's belt. END OF PART FOUR (Note from Karen: Guess what? I lied: this isn't the end. It was going to be, but the final section was getting rather long so I split it further. There's one more section to come, although that will be quite short. Thanks once again for all the comments, and feel free to rip into it. I can't say I disagree with any of the critical comments people have made, although I haven't necessarily taken them into account. I don't think you can. But it helps enormously to have gut reactions, not tempered by the thought I might be upset. I won't be.)