The Editor free porn video

The Editor By Rosie I glanced at the mirror and even though it really wasn't necessary, I touched up my lipstick. I glanced at my wristwatch - Corrine should be there any minute. I took a few steps away from the mirror and scanned my reflection, searching for anything that needed fixing in that last- minute panic. Of course any flaw in my appearance would have me going head over heels to fix it, but on the other hand, it would give me something to do, it would keep me occupied. Not having anything to do but wait took the hardest toll on my nerves. Unfortunately, if my appearance had never been immaculate, this was the closest I got. I was wearing my best dress, a pale silk creation with short, puffy sleeves that nipped me in at the waist, then flared out into a full, calf length skirt. Beneath it, I had my pink lingerie set, full cut panties, bra, a full slip and a matching, tightly laced corset with shiny white nylon stockings attached to its garter straps. On my feet, I was wearing a pair of white satin pumps with a four inch heel. I paced around my apartment nervously, feeling my skirts brush against my legs, absent mindedly listening to the click-clacking of my high heels. Again, I felt apprehensive about letting Corrine one more time in my apartment - my sanctuary, as I rightfully referred to it, even more nervous than about Corrine seeing me all dolled up like that. My apartment was a small one and I soon found myself in front of the mirror again, searching for flaws. But my hairdo was as perfect as I could get it done myself, with the night before spent in rollers and the better part of the hairspray can. I raised my skirts to glance at my legs, pulled on the neckline of the dress, but no fault, no stray hair could be found as I had spent the whole morning depilating, waxing, nairing off and shaving every hair on my body. I turned to the side, and found myself quite satisfied with the reflection. Thanks to the corset, my waist was satisfyingly narrow and while I regretted not buying that expensive set of breast forms I had considered, the silk scarves I had stuffed in my bra cups created a very adequate appearance of a bust line. Despite my frail, 140 pound and 5 foot 7 statue, despite my gentle facial features I couldn't quite feel like a woman just by looking at myself in the mirror. Though at the same time I knew that this was as close to looking like a woman as I have ever been. I had frequently dressed myself up to the nines like that, but this time was different. On prior occasions, as I knew that I wouldn't dare go outside and so no- one would see me, I did put in a lot of effort, but there was always room for error as well. This time, subject to Corrine's rigorous survey, there was none. I probably could have spent the rest of the day admiring myself if the doorbell hadn't woken me out of my daydreams. I almost jumped from the mirror to the front door, then just as I was to open the door I stopped and took a cautious look through the eye hole - only to be met with Corrine's strict glare that made me jump with fright again. "Expected someone else?" she said coldly as she brushed by me, entering my apartment. "No, it's just that..." I began, but she silenced me with a motion of her hand. "Never mind," she said. I closed my door with my hands shaking. Nervously, I checked if I had locked the door practically the same second I had finished locking it. I must have done so at least twice before I turned to face Corrine. Even on my high heels, I was still shorter than her. Which wasn't that strange as she was wearing high heeled shoes herself, even if only with a modest two inch heel. Her shoes where white, too, and she was wearing a light blue floral dress. Even though it was very informal, almost girlish, it failed to diminish the imposing nature of Corrine's appearance. I swallowed and took a breath - just as one would do before plunging into the water. "So, what do you think?" I asked with a smile across my face. "I must admit, you're very pretty, Janet," she said. "Why thank you," I said, not having to force a smile this time, "But I meant the stories." "All in due time," Corrine said, "Why don't we have a cup of tea first?" "Sure," I said. "I'll be in the living room," she said, already walking toward it. "Make sure you wear a pretty apron," she added. * * * I had met Corrine through my then current, now my ex girlfriend Amy. She had met Corrine at the place she worked, and before Corrine got a position as an editor at a publishing house, she had already found her place among the roster of Amy's best friends. By any rate, this happened well before I met her for the first time. By then I had already established an image of her, based on what Amy - and other girlfriends of her, who were equally smitten with Corrine - had to say about her. The image, however, turned out to be not as accurate. For one thing Corrine was nowhere as beautiful as the girls painted here. Of course she looked more than good, and had a pair of boobs to make you forget about any flaws she might have, but when you looked closer, you could see that despite all, she wasn't supermodel material. Despite her tall figure, her shoulders, her neck, her wrists all seemed disproportionally broad and thick. Neither was she as well spoken or well read as I had been lead to believe, but that didn't stop her from being very successful at her job - a fact I would have found puzzling for an editor, but not for Corrine. From the first moment I saw her I could tell she was the leader of the group. There was something about her as she moved among the girls - all almost a full head shorter than her - that gave out the appearance that the sole purpose of the rest of the world is to make her happy. When she shook my hand with that firm grip of hers, so firm that made me look at that vice like hand and follow it extending into a body that gave out the impression it could easily snap me in half, I knew my place immediately. Maybe that was why Amy broke up with me - didn't want her boyfriend to be one of the girls, one of Corrine's girls, to be exact, but what could I do? Corrine had become a part of Amy's life so much that she had become a part of mine and naturally I had become a part of her group. Desperate for her approval, I even tried to impress her with my high school writing, something that Amy considered particularly embarrassing. Be that as it may, Corrine must have found my stories interesting. After Amy had broken up with me, I naturally didn't circulate in that group, but Corrine didn't end her contact with me. Not long after Amy had moved out of my apartment, Corrine called me over for coffee. I had no intention of going - I wanted as far as possible from anything or anyone reminding my of my ex girlfriend, but Corrine wouldn't take no for an answer. Now that I think of it, I was nothing but foolish as I tried to refuse her invitation - the only effect of my verbal acrobatics was that Corrine had me crying over the phone before I agreed to meet her downtown, half an hour later. The news she had for me were nothing short of thrilling - not only did she find my stories "interesting", but her boss agreed to print one of them in their upcoming catalogue. My royalty fee was hardly worth mentioning, but my head was spinning with joy just the same. I was a published author! Again, to be precise, only this time we weren't talking about a high school paper, but a serious catalogue, published by a serious publishing house. When I asked her how I could ever thank her, she simply told me to come up with some more. And I did. For the next few weeks I spent practically all of my free time behind the computer or writing in my notebook, spurting out one short story after another. Not all of them were good - some were utter crap, to be honest, but the important thing was that I was practicing, Corrine said, and there were obvious signs of improvement. I had published, or better said, she had published maybe five more of my stories before she asked me that fatal question. "How would you like to write a novel?" she said casually, as if she was asking me if I could pass the sugar over the restaurant table. "I'd love to," I said. The fact that I couldn't keep focused to a story longer than a couple of pages, that I had no idea about characters, that I even didn't know where to begin didn't matter the least when it was time to look good before Corrine. Anyway, I'd read some novels, I could write. How hard could it be? "Great," she said, "When can you have it done?" "I beg your pardon?" I asked, dumbfounded, "I mean, short stories are one thing, but I've never written a novel before. I honestly don't have the slightest idea how long it would take me." "Why don't you quit your job and write full time?" she said. "There's nothing I'd like more," I said, "But from what I've made so far, this isn't really an option for me." "Usually we pay a writer an advance," Corrine said, "So that they can focus on their writing." "Advance?" I asked, and she replied by mentioning a sum that to me seemed nothing short of ridiculously large. From that moment on, it didn't take Corrine long to convince me to quit my job and sign the contract. The next day the balance on my account was higher by that very same sum she had mentioned. It was, simply put, too much money for me. As I never had had any considerable amount of money at any point of my life that far, the advance I received from Corrine's publishing house seemed not only immense, but inexhaustible. However, I managed to prove the opposite not before long. Whereas I started out by investing sensibly, I soon found myself spending my money on all sorts of foolish things. At the same time, I hardly touched the novel. That didn't mean that I didn't keep myself busy - but with all the wrong things. Eventually Mrs. Nice Corrine, who stroked my ego by praising my writing and stating her confidence that I was up to the task, was gone as the day when I should have produced some results passed by. Now Corrine had only one thing to say to me when we met - how much have you done so far? There was only one answer to that question, one sincere answer at least, but I always managed to skirt the issue by talking how I was working on this and that, that I had written myself into a corner and had to start over. With each meeting Corrine seemed less enthusiastic to hear my explanations, until she, fed up with my excuses, showed up at my door. For what it's worth in my defense, I had never invited Corrine to my place, she showed up on her own. She did have the good grace to call me fifteen minutes ahead. Probably more likely to see if I was home than to warn me, but I was glad she had called nonetheless. Without the usual pleasantries, she burst through my door and walked into my living room as if she owned the place. She took a second to scan the room with her icy glare, then sat down at my computer and turned it on. "Let's see just how much you've done," she said coldly. "But I..." I began, trying to sell her some fib how I've deleted the dead end versions of the novel, but a moment of facing her glare was enough to shut me up. Like a berated child, I stood by her as she clicked through my documents. It didn't take long before she found the novel. "Interesting, interesting," she said, "Last date of entry was two months ago. Working real hard, aren't you?" Instead of answering, I tried to enjoy the quiet moments as the file was loading. That could have lasted for hours, but it would still have seemed as a fraction of a second before Corrine exploded with rage. "Twenty pages, John? Twenty damned pages?" she yelled. "I told you I had to..." I began. "Jesus, John!" she yelled, "The script is due in one month. It should have been at least proof read by now." "I'm sorry," was all I managed to say. "Oh you will be sorry, don't worry about that," she said menacingly, "Is this what I gave you the advance for? For twenty measly pages?" "I'm sorry, Corrine," I repeated, though very quietly, as I didn't trust my voice not to break down in weeping. She closed the file, then opened it again, clicking angrily. "Jesus, John," she said after a while, "Have you been writing anything at all?" This is when I made my second mistake. "Actually, I have," I said. "Let's see," Corrine replied. "Don't bother, it's just stupid stuff," I said, realizing my mistake, but it was too late. "It's still something," Corrine said, clicking away. "Where is it?" she asked after some ten seconds of clicking. "Umm, actually, it's really nothing," I mumbled, but before I could think of anything, she had already found the folder with the most recent activity. Dozens and dozens of files popped up as she clicked on the icon. "Well, well," she said, "Looks like you have been doing something. Let's hope for your sake it's any good." The game was over, that much was clear to me, and I couldn't mince the truth any further. "Actually," I began warily, "Most of these things are already sold." "Excuse me?" Corrine said, scrolling through the contents of the folder. "These stories," I said, fighting tears, "I mean, they've already been published." "By whom?" Corrine said, demandingly. "Some internet-based publisher," I said weakly. "Who?" she repeated, loudly enough for me to give her the name, and the fee I was paid. "Never heard," she muttered. She scrolled some more, then turned to me. "What's the matter with you?" she calmly said, "I publish your stories, I give you an advance for your first novel that most authors don't get until they've published five books, and this is how you repay me? By writing for some obscure publisher? You've got over two hundred pages of material here, and only twenty in the novel." "I... I can explain," I said. "Oh, I'm dying to hear that," Corrine said, "I'd sure like to hear why you're publishing for a measly hundred bucks a book." "I needed the money," I said, my eyes on the floor. "Money?" she said, now genuinely confused, "What happened to the advance?" "Spent it," I shrugged. "You spent..." her voice trailed off, then after a second she continued, "Still, why the hell didn't you come to me with the stories? Why sell them so cheap?" "I was afraid you'd be angry," I said, "That I wasn't focusing on my novel." "Come on," she said, "Why didn't you really come to me?" I paused for a second. "I was embarrassed," I said finally. "Embarrassed?" Corrine repeated, "Why?" "They're... a certain kind of stories," I whispered. Without awaiting further explication, Corrine clicked on one of them. "Mummy's Boy? What the hell is this?" she said, then clicked on another one, "Maid for the Family?" "Please don't read this, I can explain everything," I begged her, but she had already scrolled down to the middle. "'Maureen held out the yellow maid's uniform for me and I obediently stepped into it. Strangely, it wasn't as humiliating as I had thought it would be. On the contrary, I was glad that I could finally cover my lingerie. Even though it meant putting on a dress, it was still better than standing half naked before the eyes of the two female predators. Maureen zipped up my dress at the back, then turned to Sylvia. "I think yellow suits your son-in-law very well," she said to her.'" "Jesus, John, what the hell?" Corrine said. As she was reading, I came up with at least three possible explanations in my head, but I was too tired to keep lying to Corrine, too tired to hide anymore. "This is... this is my erotic fiction," I began, then broke into tears. Through my sobs, I explained to her that I was a transvestite, that wearing women's clothes turned me on. That ever since Amy left me, I toyed with the idea of finally buying some women's clothes, and when I got the advance for the novel, I couldn't resist the temptation. Gradually, I blew it all on clothes, cosmetics and subscriptions to porn sites that catered to transvestites. Feeling she wasn't quite convinced, I showed her my bedroom. She stared in disbelief at women's clothes filling out every possible corner of the room. I told her that I started to write short transvestite fiction stories because it turned me on, sometimes even more than the material at the pay sites. Eventually, I got in contact with a publisher who turned my fantasies into money. Initially having my erotic stories published was more of a curiosity than anything serious, but lately I'd been writing just to keep ends meet. "Tell me something," Corrine said, now kindly, after I had finished my tearful explanation, "Do you have a female name?" "Janet," I said quietly. "Do you ever go outside as Janet?" she asked. I silently shook my head. "Why not?" she asked. "Too embarrassed, I guess," I shrugged. She shook her head in disbelief. "All those clothes, and you never wear them out..." she muttered. For a couple of seconds, she stared into some distant space, then suddenly snapped back into the room. "Right, this is what we'll do," she said, taking an usb drive from her purse and copying all of my, until now secret stories on it, "I'll give these a look over. Do you have any hard copies, by the way?" I went to my bedroom and brought her fifteen paperback pressings. "I'll read these and see if we can make anything out of it," she said. "They're already published," I said, but she cut me off. "Some are, some aren't," she said impatiently, "We'll talk about it next time I come." "Okay," I said. "Now, for that next time," she said, "I want you to wear something really pretty." "What do you mean?" I asked. "I mean something from your vast wardrobe," she said, "A nice dress, for instance." "But I... I can't possibly..." I stammered. "You can and you will," she said matter-of-factly, "And if I need to carry this discussion any further, the next meeting won't be at your place but at that caf? we sat the last time." Not wanting to utter another word, I nodded in agreement. "So make yourself pretty," she said, "Put on a nice dress, fix your hair a little, wear some makeup. Have fun." I had to smile at the last words. "Though don't think you're off the hook, mister," she said sternly, "The next time I'm here I want to see a storyline, done from the beginning to the end. I don't care if you think it sucks, I want something I can work with. Also, give me detailed, one page descriptions of the main characters. Understood?" I nodded again. * * * I thought that waiting for the water to boil would be awkward - yet another stretch of time to do nothing but wait. However, I gave myself so much work preparing the tea tray that the 'ding' of the electric kettle caught me a bit unprepared. Eventually though I had the tea ready and I couldn't, any more, hesitate to face Corrine again. I put the tray down at the coffee table in the center of my living room, then sat down on the sofa beside her, as she indicated, smoothing my skirts under my thighs as I did so. Corrine poured us each a cup and we chatted for a while. For the first time in I don't know when the topic of our conversation wasn't how little work I've done on the novel, but rather pleasant things, such as what sort of dresses I liked best, what types of lingerie, how I did my hair and makeup and why was I so shy about showing Janet to the rest of the world. The tea was soon gone and the cookies lay mostly untouched on the plates. "Well, why don't you take the tray back, and we'll talk business," Corrine said, but without a trace of a threat in her voice. "You can take off your apron," she added. I took the tray back to the kitchen and hung my apron by the kitchen door. I made my way back to the living room. As I was smoothing out my skirts again to sit down, Corrine suddenly grabbed me and toppled me over her knees. "What are you doing?" I squealed, though I already had a pretty good idea. "Just like in your stories," Corrine replied and started pulling up my skirts, tantalizingly slowly, layer by layer. By the time her hand started caressing my panty-clad buttocks, my penis had already swollen considerably. As I had tucked it behind my legs, I could feel it pushing backward in my tight panties. I was beginning to wonder if Corrine could see it when the first slap landed over my ass. I squealed again and, quite unintentionally, kicked my legs and waved my arms. Corrine giggled and kept gently paddling my ass with the palm of her hand. Eventually she stopped. "Looks like you're quite enjoying this, Janet," she said, tickling the tip of my now fully erect penis that was protruding towards my asshole, "But you know, spanking should be a serious business." Without leaving me time to ponder the significance of her words, she proceeded to lay a dozen of her best over my buttocks. I was yelping, kicking and waving, but to no avail. I couldn't escape her grip and by the time she was finished, I was weeping openly, laying powerlessly across her knees. "There, there, little Janet," she cooed in my ear as she turned me around on her lap. She waited until my weeping had subsided a little, then wiped my tear stained face with a paper tissue. "I'm glad we got the unpleasant part out of the way, we can get on with the nice things," she said, then kissed me, full on the lips. Before I knew what was going on, her tongue burst in my mouth and instinctively, I started to suckle on it. I closed my eyes, sucked on her tongue and wrapped my arms around her neck as if holding for dear life. She took hold of my left arm, pried it loose from my right one and placed it on her full, firm breasts. I felt her nipple stiffen under the light fabric of her dress. We were like this for some time, then her hand found her way between my legs and started massaging my backward bent penis through the layers of my clothes. "Look how I'm stroking you," she whispered in my ear, "Just like I would a girl." I didn't need to look to know that the picture I presented was far from masculine. Wearing a dress and high heels, I was being fondled to ecstasy by this strong woman. Not only was she rubbing my groin as if it was a woman's mound, but I was jerking my pelvis to grind against it. "This is just how I stroke Amy," she whispered. I opened my eyes in bewilderment, even broke our kiss, but I couldn't stop grinding against her hand. Eventually, the inevitable came. I whimpered - partly out of humiliation, partly out of pure helplessness, but partly also out of pleasure and lust - and kept grinding and grinding all the time I spurted my hot semen into my buttcrack. I don't know how long I had laid on her lap - though this time sideways - but when I regained my consciousness, I quickly gathered my skirts and sped to the bathroom, where I quickly took off my dress. I had long since come to terms with my crossdressing and accepted myself for who I was, but despite that there was always that feeling of guilt and shame when I ended a dressing session with an orgasm. This time however, none of those feelings were present. Maybe I was too tired to feel guilty and ashamed, but changing into my men's clothes was the farthest thing from my mind at that time. I could see that my panties, my slip and my dress had been soaked with my semen, but the rest of my clothes were fine. I quickly cleaned myself, then went to my bedroom. I put on a fresh pair of panties, a white silk sleeveless blouse and a beige pencil skirt. I considered putting on the matching jacket, but I decided I was hot enough already, so I rejoined Corrine. "Feeling okay?" she asked me as I sat down - on the sofa this time. "Yeah," I nodded, "I didn't get any on you, did I?" "A little on the leg, but I took care of it," she said, pointing to a crumpled tissue on the coffee table. "Oh, jeez," I blushed. "Don't worry about it," she said, "Now, let's get to business. I've been reading these stories of yours. I don't know what to say, really. On one hand, it shows that you can write. The language is really good, and some of the scenes you describe, well, it got even my juices flowing." This time it was her turn to blush, though she didn't let that bother her and continued. "On the other hand," she went on, "It's clear that this writing is fueled by your sexual fantasies. I mean, in most of the longer stories I can tell the point when you've jerked off, because they kind of lose the edge after that. Just like with your normal work, you lack focus. You do wonderful sketches of situations and acts, but it doesn't go any further than that. None of the characters progress and as for the women, sometimes I get the impression that the only point of their earthly existence is to put your guy in a dress. You've got to work about these parts more. Understand what I'm saying?" "I guess," I nodded. "Anyhow, I've been talking to our boss," she said, "There's a good chance we'll start our own line of erotic literature. Not under our parent publishing house, of course, but we'll make it a spin off project. If you can work a bit wider focus of erotica into your stories, I think we could use them quite nicely." I looked at her in disbelief. "You want to publish my transvestite fiction?" I asked. "I wouldn't call it exactly transvestite fiction, but to answer your question - yes," she said, "You'll get to write about how mean ladies make you wear pretty dresses and make decent money out of it for a change." "Wow, I don't know what to say," I replied, then remembered something. "What about the novel," I asked, full of hope. "Glad you mentioned that," Corrine said, "Don't kid yourself, mister, I'm not letting that one go. I put up my word for you in the office and you'll deliver that novel one way or the other. Starting tomorrow, I want you to work for hours a day on the thing. I'll get back to you regarding the storyline in a couple of days, but in the mean time, I want you to start working on locations. Make notes, descriptions of places. Got it?" "Yeah," I nodded. I was a little disappointed, as I had hoped I would be freed from that obligation. At the same time, I was glad that she had taken the reins of the project in her hands. "But why only for hours? What do I do with the rest of my day?" I asked. "Work on your transvestite stories. Play dress up with your pretty clothes. Learn to cook, I don't care," she shrugged, "You'll find that it'll take you a lot more than for hours to put in for hours' work, though. In the beginning, at least." "Okay," I nodded. "One more thing," she said, "From now on I don't want you masturbating any more. I'm taking charge of that area for a while." "I beg your pardon?" I said, not really believing what I had just heard. "No more touching in the naughty places for little miss Janet," she said mockingly, "How hard can that be to understand?" I could only stare silently at her. "Moreover, I want you to keep a diary," she said, "Keep track of how much you work on the novel. Every day I want you to describe in a few words what you've accomplished. But most importantly, every time you dress up, I want it well documented. If you put on a dress and watch TV, write it down. What you're wearing, how it makes you feel. If you dress up to cook your lunch, I want to read about it. Got that?" "Yes," I nodded. "Good," she said, "If you do a decent job with the novel, we'll do what we did today next time I'm here," she winked at me. I smiled shyly, already thinking about her hand between my legs. Then it struck me. "Hey, didn't you say you were going away for two months now?" I asked, worriedly. "Yeah, why?" she said. "Well, how will you... I mean..." I stammered. "How will I get back to you about the storyline?" She said, "Well I guess I'll just have to email my comments to you." "That's not what I meant," I said shyly. "Oh?" she said, feigning disappointment, "For a moment there I actually thought you'd be more worried about your job than jerking off." "I'm sorry, Corrine," I said, "But two months!" "So? Are you saying you can't go on for even two months without jacking off?" "I don't know what will happen," I sheepishly said. "Oh, I'll tell you what will happen," Corrine replied mischievously, "First your little sack will fill with your happy juice, then it'll spill over and flood your head. And then, then you'll start doing all sorts of crazy things, because you won't be able to think straight." "What if I get a girlfriend?" I asked. "Well, if you get a girlfriend, Janet," she said, stressing my female name meaningfully, "Then I guess I can't complain." I stared at her in silence, again. I could feel my heart racing. "Anyway, don't think you can fool me," she said, "If you do jerk off, I will find out about it, one way or the other. And let me tell you, when I do, you won't like it. You may think that the spanking I gave you today was bad, but it will be nothing compared to what I'll do if you jerk off." "What... What will you do?" I fearfully asked. "Oh, I don't know yet," she replied playfully, "But you can bet your pantied ass that it will include you, a dress and the great outdoors." I shuddered at the thought of Corrine forcing me to go outside dressed up, though at the same time a small part of me could hardly wait. "I just remembered how you told me that you mother complains you never visit her anymore," Corrine said as she was getting up, "I think maybe we could kill two birds with one stone." It took me a while before I could compose myself. As I listened to Corrine's footsteps clicking towards my door, and then reverberating down the hallway I thought that my heart would do what my lungs failed to with each shallow breath and break the seams of my corset. When I got up to lock up after Corrine, I pressed my ear against the door to catch the last of the clicking sounds of her heels. Only when the sound grew inaudible did I realize that my right hand was pressing against my groin. The tight skirt I was wearing prevented me from touching my penis. I was safe, for the time being. After all, I could only go so long before I'd put on a full skirt again. The End.