The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher (Episode Five) free porn video

The Lesson Plan -- Part Two: Supply Teacher Friday: After-school Activities Chapter 22 I have a spring in my step and a bounce in my stride as I go into school the next morning. The soft curls of my long hair jump and twist around my face in rhythm with the wiggle of my hips and the increasingly familiar jiggles of my body. Today's dress swishes around my ankles, with a loose flare at the skirt and a tight-fitting top, long sleeves and a keyhole back fastening. It's light blue with a beautiful floral pattern that I think is both professional and chic. "Good morning Miss Bennett," a trio of girls chorus at my appearance, and that earns them a "good morning girls," in return as I bounce past, my left arm swinging, right arm bent at the elbow in a perfect facsimile of Ellen's walk. "Happy Friday!" I say, earning grins all round. If cartoon animals would rest on my shoulders, they would. Happily, today is a half day for extra-curricular activities, and I look forward to the time off. I have some things to do. My phone buzzes in my bag, and I fish it out as I walk, smiling at the boy who keeps the school door open for me. Is he in my class? I've seen so many kids this week. "Thinking of you. Can't stop thinking about last night." Shayna and I had fallen asleep in each other's arms, naked and warm, taking it in turns to spoon each other through the night. The memory of her skin against mine makes me tingle. We'd dressed together in the warm light of morning. "Good morning Miss Bennet," Miranda says as she falls in step with me down the school corridor. "You're glowing," she whispers conspiratorially. "Coffee and a smoke at recess? You can tell me all about him then!" I start to object, but she rolls her eyes and takes a left, climbing the stairs where I go right to my classroom. This week has gone so well, I can't believe it. My worries about impersonating my aunt have been put to rest, my relationship with Wayne has calmed down, teaching my students has been a lot less scary that I feared, and Shayna is amazing. "Me too. Most amazing night ever. Are you free later?" My fingers fly over the touchscreen as I look down and walk at the same time, easily typing despite the shaped and painted fake nails. Practice does make perfect. She had watched me get ready, reaching out to touch me as I passed her. She had giggled as I stood in my peach underwear, picking out today's dress. She had wrapped her arms around my bare middle as I applied my makeup at Ellen's vanity and kissed my neck. I can still feel her lips against my quivering gooseflesh. "Good morning Miss Bennet," Andrew says, leaning against the corridor outside my classroom. He looks very neatly put together in his uniform. Tie straight. I even thought I caught a whiff of masculine aftershave in the air. "Good morning Andrew," I say, looking up and dropping my phone back in my bag. "I didn't think I was going to be seeing you until before lunch," I add, looking round at him and unlocking the door to my classroom. "Is there anything I can help you with?" He looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on my obvious female attributes for an uncomfortably long time. His eyes finally flick upwards to meet my quizzical expression and his lips slowly curve into a knowing, predatory grin. "See you later, Miss Bennet," he says, and walks away without another word. "Okay," I say to myself as I let myself into my classroom, and set down my bag at my desk. I figure as long as I can continue to act as his teacher, and not reference last night's robe incident, hopefully we can both move on. I lean against my desk, padded posterior cushioning me against the hard wooden edge, and wait for the first bell. I feel completely calm and comfortable with the day to come, and relaxed and confident in the role I have to play. I'm Ellen Bennet. Forty Two. School teacher. Make the role yours. Mrs. Scheider's lesson came to mind in that instant -- a caution against the copying of other actors, other performances and productions that junior actors so easily do. It's a lesson that you have something fresh to give, something new. That your Hamlet should be yours. But I now had another perspective on that lesson. Instead of lots of Hamlets, all authentically different, why not one Hamlet -- the best Hamlet? Or Ophelia, for that matter. Make the role mine? I'd love to. Chapter 23 "Hello, Mr Chalmers? It's Kevin Daly, my aunt Ellen asked me to call you?" I sit cross-legged on a stool in Ellen's kitchen, the loose flowing skirts of my dress drape down around the chair legs. If Ellen's voice is getting easier, Kevin's is getting harder. I'm finding it easier if I look straight ahead and try not to inhabit this counterfeit body. I force my resonance into my chest, sounding like a parody of myself. "Kevin. Ah yes the nephew! Kevin, thanks for calling me." Wayne's voice clear as a bell down the phone is confident, in charge. I suppress the memory of his hand on my breasts, my lips against his. "Your aunt speaks very highly of you. It's a shame we couldn't have had you come in to cover her class, but I hope you understand." "Of course," I say. "I just have my english major and theatre minor. No teaching qualifications yet." Is this my voice? I feel like I've forgotten what I sound like. "Yet! I like the sound of that. More teachers are always welcome. Actually, that's what I was hoping to talk to you about. Did you and Miss Bennet... sorry! Ellen. Did you and Ellen have a chat about our little scheme?" "She said you were planning a drama club or something?" I feign ignorance. "That's right. We were thinking of having you on board as a teaching assistant. There's a little pay, just a few hours a week, but it would look great on your resume. Especially if you were thinking of getting your teaching qualification. How does that sound?" I remember his arms around me, that feeling of being admired. Lusted after. The way he looked at me. The bulge in his pants. "It sounds really interesting Mr Chalmers," I say. "Great! Look, why don't you come into school and we can have a chat. Nothing formal. It'd just be good to put a name to the face. And call me Wayne, please!" "That would be great. When's good for you?" I ask. "I'm actually free this afternoon if you are. Does that suit you?" I consider how long it will take me to get changed and back to school. "Not until late afternoon I'm afraid. Is that okay with you?" "That's fine Kevin," Wayne answers. "Shall we say four?" "That's perfect," I answer, uncrossing my legs and hopping off the bar stool. "See you then." I hang up and tidy up the living room, putting the leftover pizza in the trash and the boxes in the recycling. I pick up my shoes from where I'd abandoned them last night and take them upstairs to join the others in Ellen's collection. I make the bed, tidying the pillows, and putting any clothes lying around in the laundry basket. I really like this dress, I decide. I look good in it, and I can move easily in it, and it's comfortable. I feel oddly sad then to realise, as I step out my heels, that it's the first thing I've worn that didn't raise a compliment from anyone. I undo the button at the top of the keyhole at the back and tug down the hidden zip, swapping my grip as I tug it down to my backside. I slide my arms out the sleeves easily and step out of the dress, laying it neatly on the bed. With practised ease I unclip and take off my bra, laying it on the still-warm dress, and sit next to it on the bed to roll down my nude pantyhose. I straighten them out and lay them on the bed too, and my peach panties quickly follow -- the clothes of an empty woman neatly arranged. I don't know where to start next. There's so much still to take off. I start with Ellen's tresses, crudely brushing them back and into a tight ponytail. Next, on to Ellen's face, removing her makeup quickly, and starting with the solvent around her pretty eyes. As before, the mask starts to come away a little at first, and more and more as I use cotton buds and solvent to dissolve the glue keeping my mask in place. Heaven help me if I ever need to do a quick change. It doesn't take as long as Wednesday night, but it's still two o'clock by the time my own face stares back at me. I slather it in moisturizer, and carefully take the mask through to my bathroom, leaving it to float in warm water. I get to work on my breasts next, applying solvent all around the edges of the prosthetics and gently prising them off my own skin. They both fall away surprisingly quickly, with an awful heavy thud and my chest feels dramatically lighter and freer. I heft one in my still-feminised hand and chuckle, and they too go into the warm water bath. Two thirty. The hip prosthetics and "pubic triangle" are next, and they too come away given enough solvent. I guess having had them on for a week they were ready to come off anyway. It's difficult, but not impossible to work the solvent into my ass prosthetics too, and once off they also find themselves floating in the bath. Hopefully the warm water will dissolve any adhesive still stuck to them and give them a bit of a clean on the inside. I'm a man again. I have a man's body, and a man's face. I walk around Ellen's bedroom trying to relearn how to move, focusing on my lack of breasts, hips and bum. I'm a man: Kevin Daly. It's three fifteen. I wash my face, moisturize again, and shave off the whiskers. I still have Ellen's teeth, but there's not much I can do about that. I go back to my bedroom, pulling on loose fitting boxers, socks and smart grey pants, with a well-fitting white shirt I bought for interviews. Everything feels strange -- too loose, ill fitting in all the wrong places. The cut of the pants feels uncomfortable, and the boxer shorts feel huge. "Come on Kevin, get it together," I say out loud, and sit down to tie my laces. It's then I notice my nails as still manicured, polished and painted. "Shit!" In my male drag I lope through to Ellen's room and root in a drawer for acetone. All I can do is sit and wait for the extensions to come free as the clock ticks on. By three thirty I have Kevin's face, body and hands and am back in Ellen's car, driving back to school. Chapter 24 "Nice to finally meet you," Wayne says, extending his hand in a formal handshake that I take and remember to grip firmly. "Come in, come in." Wayne's office is neat and tidy, with a large desk and laptop in the middle, clear of papers and clutter. His chair is a little worse for wear, and looks like it it's older than I am. There's a sofa and several chairs, as well as huge bookshelf, filled with books of various sizes and covers -- it reminds me more of a college professor's study than the headmaster's office. He sits not at the desk but on one of the chairs, and it's clear I'm to sit on the sofa opposite, like a wayward pupil, where he can look down at me. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee? Water?" He asks, sitting down. "No thank you," I reply, sitting on the surprisingly stiff sofa and resisting the urge to cross my legs at the thigh. I force my knees apart, manspreading despite myself. "It's good to meet you too. Ellen's told me a lot about you." "She has?" He asks, puffing up slightly. "All good I hope?" He laughs. "Your aunt and I go back a long way." "All good," I say with a chuckle. Apart from you throwing a fit because her best friend needed her and forcing her nephew to disguise himself as her in order to be in two places at once, even though you're obviously not that concerned about his lack of teaching experience if you're going to offer him the chance to do some drama coaching. Apart from that. "She seems to be really enjoying teaching here," I say instead. "I'm glad to hear that," he says. "As you can imagine, she's very popular with the other staff and the students here at Pinkerton." It's so strange having this conversation, pretending that I don't know this man. That we haven't talked dozens of times, haven't made each other laugh. That we haven't touched, or kissed. That I haven't felt his cock. It's incredible that he doesn't know; that he doesn't recognise me. "I can imagine that, yes," I say with a knowing smile. "My aunt is very giving. Of herself. You know?" I reach up to brush my hair behind my ear on reflex, forgetting that it's tied back. I stop halfway and give myself a little scratch behind my ear instead. "I'm sure she's a great teacher. She's taught me a lot," I add, giving another hopeful smile. I'm suddenly hit by the gentle scent of Dolce & Gabbana perfume, the ghost of Ellen emanating from my wrists. "Let's talk about you. Did your aunt tell you about our little scheme?" He leans forward, bridging his hands together. "I understand you've just graduated? From Derby, is that right?" "Well, I didn't exactly graduate," I admit, dropping my hand and hoping he can't smell my perfume. "I left after I got an offer in New York and to get some real experience on stage, but that didn't really.... I do lots of private tuition though." "Oh I see," he says, sitting back. "I see. Right." I can see the way this conversation is going, and it's not good. "I understood it was to be an after school thing..." I start, but Wayne puts up his hand to stop me. "Kevin, you seem like a nice young man. I'd really like to help, but I can't let you teach in any capacity unsupervised. Don't get me wrong," he adds before I can interrupt, "I think a drama coach would be great! I think some of these kids would really respond to it. But I've angry parents to think about too. The board. You understand me?" I do. I do understand him. I understand that I'm stuck. "I'm sorry. But maybe there's something you can do for me," he says after a moment, standing up to pace around his office. "And I can do something for you, in return." "What's that Mr. Chalmers?" I ask, looking up at him. "Is Ellen seeing anyone just now?" he asks, coming to a halt. "Um. No, no she isn't" I reply, confused. "I don't think so. Why do you ..." As if I don't know. "Kevin, can I be honest with you? Man to man?" He looks distracted, pained. As if this whole conversation is too difficult. He walks over to the couch and sits down next to me -- a perverse inversion of the other night. Of Ellen's last date. "I know we don't know each other, but I feel like we maybe understand each other? Kevin, I'm in love with your aunt. I've loved her since we were kids together." Oh Jesus. "Wow, okay Mr Chalmers," I say, feeling my heart hammering in my chest. I'm not Ellen. I'm not Ellen. "Have you... have you told her?" "It's complicated. I'm sure you realise. We dated before, before she left and I got married. And then, well, my marriage fell apart and Ellen came back. It feels like a second chance? At our age Kevin, you jump at all the second chances you get." I don't know what to say to this. I know what Ellen would say. I concentrate on not looking at him, and not doing or saying anything stupid. I hope he can't smell her perfume on me. "Kevin, I have a proposition for you. I think I did something stupid the other day with your aunt, and I need her to understand something. Can you soften her up for me? Tell her we talked? Feel her out? I've been trying to talk to her but she's ignoring me. Can you get her to call me?" "I'm sure I can manage that, Mr Chalmers," I say, earnestly. "Wayne. Please. Thank you Kevin. If you do then I'll see what I can do about putting your case to the school board. Maybe an afternoon and a saturday a week for drama teaching? With that experience you could certainly go back to college for your teaching qualification. I know the kids would love it. Ellen would be so proud. You'd have my full support. I'm not asking for much am I?" "No, that's no problem at all. Thank you," I say, trying to remember what Kevin's smile looks like, hoping he doesn't recognise Ellen's pearly whites. "I really appreciate that." "You know there's something about you that reminds me of her. There's a strong family resemblance," he says, as we both stand up. "I appreciate you talking to her. You know how it is with women, I'm sure. You can't always be direct. It's good to have a man on the inside!" Chapter 25 The school is eerily quiet as I leave Principal Chalmer's office and walk down the wide corridor back to the carpark. My head is spinning, pouring over what just happened, and what I've inadvertently gotten myself into. That stupid kiss, on the first day, has rekindled everything and brought me to the point where I'm ready to commit Ellen into a relationship she doesn't know about. Where was this in the lesson plan? One week of living someone else's life and I've sent it cartwheeling into so many new directions. The last time I walked along this corridor it was in a dress and heels, gossiping with Miranda. That dress is really nice on me too, it fits me perfectly, and moves really well and is so comfortable. I must wear it again, maybe with bare legs in the spring. Maybe Shayna would like to see me in it. I'm almost at the main entrance when my phone -- Ellen's phone -- begins to ring in my pocket. I take it out and look at the screen. Vicki. "Hi sunshine," she says, when I answer, pausing in my walk to take the call. "How's the teaching going?" "Hi Vicki," I answer, still in Kevin's baritone. "It's a half day today. I'm taking some time off. How are you?" "Oh hi Kevin," she says with a slight note of surprise. "I wasn't expecting you. I'm good thanks, but a little stressed out which is why I'm calling. I was wondering if Ellen might be available tomorrow morning to help me out." "Of course Vicki. Whatever I can do, just name it," I reply, looking around the empty corridor, my voice echoing off the polished floor. "I've double booked myself for a wedding party tomorrow. I thought one was a morning and one was an afternoon but they're both mornings. I thought you and Shayna could take one? Since you're so adept! It's at the Delamar Hotel, and it's a bride and three bridesmaids. I'll take the other one since it's just a bride coming to Fancy Nancy's. I'll pay you of course. What do you say?" "Of course Vicki, I'd be really happy to. Do I need to take anything? Or come by the salon for materials? Or... anything?" I have no idea what I'm agreeing to. "No, Shayna will have everything. Just have Ellen meet her there at nine. Thank you so much, you're a lifesaver." I hang up and put the phone back in my trouser pocket, considering what I've just agreed to. I'm definitely following Shayna's advice about not squandering opportunities. I just hope my recently learned skills are enough to get me through the morning. For all I've been doing my own makeup, I've never worked on someone else. I spend the drive home considering Wayne's offer. Do I want to finish college? Do I want to be a teacher? This past week has been fun -- this morning's class was the perfect example of why people teach. But was I enjoying it because of the teaching, because of these kids, or because I was acting in the performance of my life? I have to admit to feeling a little flat as Kevin. After a good show, when the adrenaline is coursing through your veins, and your ears are still ringing from the applause, you feel amazing. A million dollars. All your fellow cast members are beautiful gods and goddesses. Life is in technicolor. But after the post-show congratulations, as you wind your way home on your own, to your own life, the grey starts to creep in. What was technicolor is now monotone. Worse, after such a high. And so you look forward to the next performance. Which is why the first thing I do when I get home is to call Wayne Chalmers. "Principal Chalmers," I say, my Ellen voice returning to my lips effortlessly. "Are you using my nephew as a messenger?" "It worked didn't it?" he says, that warm, rich and confident voice sounds so different when he's talking to Ellen. "It's nice to hear your voice. I thought you were ignoring me." "Is it bad that I was a little bit?" I confess, walking through into the kitchen, finding Ellen's swaying hips even without the padding. "After the other night I.." "I know. It was too much too soon. I'm sorry Ellen you just, you have that effect on me," Wayne interrupts, smoothly. "Can we talk about it? Really talk this time?" "Okay Wayne," I say, sitting down on the sofa, crossing my legs at the thigh, my wrist dangling limply on my knee. "Let's really talk." "What are you doing tonight? Now?" he asks, and I imagine him in his office, pacing. "I don't have any plans," I say, kicking off my dress shoes. "I was going to take a bath. Maybe do my hair." Through my socks I can see the red of my toenail polish. Ellen emerging. "I want to take you to dinner. Come to dinner with me." "Wayne..." I start to say, reaching up to free my hair from it's ponytail. "We'll go somewhere nice. My treat. To celebrate your first week back as a teacher. What do you say?" "Okay," I say, smiling -- hoping it comes across over the phone. "Okay Wayne. But I'm not..." I look down at my white shirt and grey pants. "Quite dressed for dinner right now." "Oh?" he says, flirtatiously. "What are you wearing?" "I said I was going for a bath didn't I?" I reply, almost purring. "We can skip dinner," he says quickly. "No way! Talk you said. I'm not falling for that again." "Hey, I was talking. You were the one kissing." I actually gasp down the phone, holding my other hand against my flat chest in a feminine gesture. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" He adds, laughing. "I'll book a late table somewhere, to give you time to get your face on." My blood runs cold. "Excuse me?" I ask in a small voice, uncrossing my legs and sitting forward. "What did you say?" "You know, get the warpaint on, that sort of thing? You used to say that to me, remember? I always had to give you time to get your face on." "Oh," I say, my voice a thousand pounds lighter. "Yes. Of course! Sorry!" Relief. Sweet relief. "Let me know where to be and when." "I will. Enjoy your bath," Wayne replies, hanging up as I jump to my feet. I have so much to do. Chapter 26 I take the stairs two at a time as I bound up towards Ellen's bedroom. Everything seems to be as I left it, with the dress and hose from earlier lying neatly on the bed. I unbutton my shirt, untucking it from my pants, and pull it over my head, throwing it towards Ellen's laundry basket. I really must do some laundry, I think, as I unzip my pants and take them off along with my socks and boxer shorts. I'm excited. Excited to have to do so much in a short period of time. Excited to be Ellen again. Even in the short time that's passed I've missed being her; missed being looked at the way everyone looks at her; missed feeling glamorous and sexy. I've missed being a woman. I decide to go face first, retrieving the mask from the bathtub and drying it off. I hold the semi-translucent mask in my hands, marvelling at the thinness, the lightness. It achieves so much transformation with such subtlety -- only extra millimeters here and there to change my face so drastically: fuller cheekbones, plumper lips, a clever pointing of the chin to give me her heart-shaped face. I run a finger tenderly over the surface, feeling the softness of the skin, the detail of the laughter lines perfectly recreating the face of a woman in her forties. I start applying the glue to my face where Vicki taught me, careful not to paint on too much with the little brush. I have to get this right or the mask won't move with me when I talk. I paint on a deliberate T shape on my nose and brows and lift the mask up, lining up the bridge of the nose with my own. It's a quick and dirty trick to get it in the right place, and after that I work downward, painting glue and checking position and fit as I go. I'm getting faster. In only thirty minutes, Ellen's face replaces my own. A much easier canvas to work with. I squeeze out a few drops of primer, and give my fake face a base coat. I turn my attention to my eyebrows, plucking a couple of errant hairs that have strayed from the shape Vicki tortured them into. With a pencil I fill them in, not too thick, slightly out of fashion -- coloring-in for adult women. I turn my head this way and that, checking that they're even, before opening the trays of eyeshadow. I know what outfit I'm wearing tonight, and pick my colors accordingly. A dark brown on my lids, with gold highlight, and a brown -- not black -- liquid eyeliner. I wonder what tomorrow will be like, trying to do this on someone else's face? Months of theatrical practice have helped me pick up the techniques quickly, and Ellen's lesson plan helped me figure out her color schemes. But on strangers? I guess I'll find out. Lashes are next, and I break out a new pair for tonight, tearing into the plastic and finding Ellen's scissors. I trim the falsies down to size and apply the glue, grip them with tweezers, count to one hundred and then hope for the best -- lining them up with my own lashes and hoping they stick first time by pressing down gently with my fingers. This is easier without my fake nails, I realise, as they go on without too much fiddle. A brush or two of mascara helps blend them with my own lashes, and I repeat the process on the other eye, feeling the weight reassuring as I blink. I check my eyes -- sexy and smoky, with a gold sparkle. What time is it? I glance around and see the clock. Shit. Things are easier from here, with a quick coat of foundation, a triangle of concealer under each eye, and a little contouring with bronzer and blusher along my forehead and along my fake cheekbones. I line my lips outside the line of the mask, making them look even bigger, and then pick the brightest, reddest color of lipstick to fill them in. I close my eyes and give myself a spritz of setting spray then open them to look at the results, checking for flaws. This is Ellen in night mode; in date mode. Weapons-grade. It's almost too heavy, too theatrical. But then, tonight is all about the performance. At the moment I'm a man in drag. I have a man's body, although not much of a man -- small and painfully skinny. Time to change that. A different glue this time, I start with my hips, liberally covering myself with the caramel coloured adhesive. I line up the odd-shaped pads, making sure the fullest part of the padding is in line with my crotch, and press down, working them into place with my fingers. My buttocks prove challenging but not impossible, thanks to the abundance of mirrors in my aunt's bathroom. My phone rings as I'm finishing off my right ass-cheek, and I gingerly walk back through to the bedroom to answer it, in case I dislodge or wrinkle something. "How was the bath?" Wayne asks as soon as I pick up. "Warm and wet," I reply, still holding my fake buttock in place. It feels like it's holding. "Just what I needed. I've got my hands full just now Wayne," I add. "Are you ready to go?" he asks, with a chuckle. He knows the answer. "Are you kidding. I'm not even dressed. Where are we going?" I release my buttock, and happily it holds in place. "I have some outfit choices that depend on your answer." "Of course you do. I thought Carbone? I've booked a table there in an hour. Is that enough time?" I catch sight of myself in Ellen's dressing room mirror -- a chimera of fake hips and full face, frizzy hair and flat chest. Not to mention the cock limp between Ellen's rounded thighs. "Sure," I reply, running my hand over my newly enhanced derriere -- softer, rounder with a little bit of a bounce. "Let me go so I have any chance of making that." "I'm looking forward to seeing the results," he says, in a low growl. "I'm looking forward to being seen," I reply, hanging up. The breast forms are easy in comparison -- simple to apply and line up thanks to a helpful dimple on the inside where my nipple should go. I'm surprised that the adhesive holds their weight as I tentatively let go, but as before, they sit proud and perky on my chest. One more detail: The pubic triangle. The little mound that hides my secret sex. It fits snugly, my cock tight in its prison. I think back to Shayna last night, and her reaction. "Wow" she had said. I'd been naked in front of her, and she'd bought it. I'm Ellen Bennet again. I already know what lingerie to wear: it's a set I spied when Ellen was training me. A set I pretended not to notice, and she had laughed at me. "Special occasions," she had said by way of an excuse. Tonight was going to be special. I pull the panties up my legs -- sheer, black, high waisted -- and feel them snug against my curvy lower half. The matching demi cup bra, almost transparent through the smokey nylon, pushes my boobs up and together. I sit down to roll the thin nude stockings up my legs, tacky silicone on the inside of the brown lacy tops securing them firmly on my thigh. The dress is gold. The sequins that cover it sparkle in the lamplight. I unzip it gently, hearing it rustle as the black lining is exposed. I step inside and slide my arms through the small sleeves, reaching behind to zip it up, tight against my full, fake curves. The neckline plunges dangerously low, showing my underwired bust in an almost scandalous way. The hemline is just above my knee, with little stretch. Walking in the matching gold pumps I have to modify my gait, taking shorter steps. It's funny how the way a woman moves is so dictated by her dress. The length, the fit, can change so much about how she walks. How she holds herself. If she can sit comfortably. I find I have to shimmy the skirt of the dress up my thigh a little to be able to sit and I'm grateful for the trial run. At Ellen's vanity, finishing touches are applied. My nails, for one, are glued into place. A gold chain is fastened around my neck, with matching earrings to dangle freely and catch the light. A touch of Dolce & Gabbana between my bosom and on my neck. And finally, my hair is brushed into silky, tumbling tresses of loose snaking curls. I'm ready to go, and I will be late. "I'm worth waiting for," I say as I turn out the bedroom light. Chapter 27 You sit in your room, the only light coming from your laptop as you look at the photos. The photos of Miss Bennet and her friend you took last night. You've poured over every detail, zoomed in so that you can almost make out the pores on her skin. A photo of your sexy English teacher, naked and smiling. A photo of your sexy English teacher's young lesbian lover, giggling in her polka dot underwear. Ordinarily this would be gold. This would be something you'd want to share. You could maybe become popular with some of the guys. It would be easy to post this on Facebook and watch the likes roll in. Ordinarily. You're hard, of course, stroking yourself underneath your sweat pants as you flick back and forth between the pictures, thinking of the two women touching, and kissing and touching some more. It's only when the image of Miss Bennet's cock -- huge in your memory, proud and purple -- pops into your mind that you grunt and cum, filling your hand with sticky, warm spunk. Fuck. You wipe your hand and ball up the tissue, leaving it on your desk next to the others. Ordinarily this would be gold, except you want this all to yourself. You want her all to yourself. Him. Whatever. You go back to the laptop and switch between the photos again. Chapter 28 The restaurant is busy, but not packed when I arrive. The lighting is low, with a warm hubbub of intimate conversation filling the room. I see Wayne almost at once as he raises his hand to catch my attention in an adorably schoolboy gesture. I smile back at him and move towards him, navigating the tables and waiting staff as I go. I feel glamorous and sexy, feminine and powerful. Everything feels right, from the sway of my walk to the click of my heels, from the swish of my dress to the bounce of my chest. I think back to the last bar entrance I made, almost a week ago, where I was a bundle of nerves in a tight dress. I'm not nervous tonight, I'm confident. I'm in control. I'm Ellen from my stocking feet to my glossy hair. All the signifiers and reminders of my character have melted away to be normal -- the tug of my hold-up stockings as I extend my leg, the constraint on my walk from the skirt of my dress, the tightness of my bra strap around my chest, the bounce and dangle of my earrings. All of these things that used to cry for my attention, and remind me to stay in character feel normal now. "Hello," I say coolly as I arrive at the table, smiling as Wayne stands. He's not subtle in looking me up and down, taking in the sparkling dress, my long legs and styled hair -- so much so that when he finally meets my gaze I can't stop myself from asking: "See anything you like?" He grins, leaning in to kiss me on both cheeks, his hands lightly touching my waist through the sequins before moving away and pulling out my chair. What a gentleman! "Why thank you," I gush, making sure to take my time sitting down, and watching as he rounds the table and joins me, sitting next to me, rather than across from me, so that our knees are inches from touching. Inches that will, I'm sure, evaporate as the night goes on. "You look very handsome," I say, almost purring. He's changed his suit from earlier to a lighter charcoal, and paired it with a simple, but tasteful white tailored open-necked shirt. "Ellen, you are simply stunning, as always," he replies, sneaking another look at my voluptuous breasts. "That's quite the dress." "You can borrow it if you like," I say, with a wink. The joy of being Ellen again has infected me. I'm in full playful mode -- a far cry from our earlier meeting today. "Although I should tell you it's trickier to walk in than you might think." "I'll keep that in mind," he says, pouring me a glass of water. "Does that mean you won't be running away as quickly tonight?" "Ouch!," I reply, my hand covering my chest with splayed fingers. "That hurts me Wayne. That hurts me deep. No running tonight, I promise." We order drinks, and wine, and food, and the whole restaurant melts away in the background as we talk, and flirt. Our knees are touching by the amuse-bouche, his fingers grazing against mine by the starter. We're holding hands under the table as we wait for the main course, and I feel his thumb stroking my knee through my stockings as the next bottle of wine arrives. Wayne makes the conversation flow, and I let him talk, often holding my head in the palm of my hand and gazing into his eyes as he talks about his week, the school, how happy he is to see me again. For my part I talk about what I know -- teaching, the kids, being back at school. It's all small talk, but no worse for it. There's something about the physicality of Wayne, I realise, that makes me enjoy his company. He is broad, and deep and masculine, and so-help-me he makes it easy to play Ellen as small and light and feminine. Is this my aunt? I wonder, half listening to a story about a recent biking holiday. When I think of Ellen the words small and light don't feature. She's always forged her own path, been her own woman. Is my Ellen a man's idea of a woman like her? Is that why Wayne's love is rekindled? "Do you remember? When we used to go there?" Wayne asks, pulling me back into the conversation and the room, as he set down his cutlery. "Where?" I ask, blinking and smiling. "Sorry, I was miles away." "You were!" he says, not unkindly. "Am I that boring?" "No! Not at all. I was just thinking how I am, with you," I say truthfully. "Do you think I've changed?" I ask, tilting my head. A dangerous question I'd never have asked even a few days ago. "Changed?" he says, a smile playing on his lips. "Yes. Yes I think so. So have I. It was twenty years ago Ellen. We've all changed." Risk failure to make truthful discoveries. Mrs. Scheider's lesson was that every time you step on stage, something might go wrong. Something might change. Fail, and fail right. "I feel like I'm not myself with you. This week," I say truthfully, taking a drink of wine. Taking a risk. "You haven't noticed?" Wayne raises an eyebrow, and I feel his hand reaching for mine under the table again, strong fingers snaking between mine. "I feel like I'm not myself with you either," he says softly, gazing into my eyes. "You make me nervous and childish, where something simple like holding your hand is ... thrilling." "So, we're both just a couple of crazy kids around each other?" I ask, with an amused smile, squeezing his warm hand. He hasn't answered my question. "I am sorry for running away the other night," I say. "Speaking of crazy. And I know you said we shouldn't have, but... I'm guessing you think we should have, since you sent my nephew to persuade me." "Worked, didn't it?" he says, leaning into me and lowering his voice just a fraction. "I was worried you didn't want to talk about it. You seemed very... abrupt the other morning. I want to give you space Ellen. I do. But I won't lie, I'm crazy about you. I'm literally crazy thinking about you. Just sitting here, talking, holding hands... pinch me. It's wonderful. You're wonderful." The last dinner date I had went on was five months and three days ago, and it was in an Olive Garden -- with Angie. We'd sat opposite each other, talking about her graduation that I'd missed. She was in a graduate programme, and her conversation was peppered with in jokes and corporate speak that I didn't get. She'd broken up with me over olives, and I'd sat there with her until the end like a chump. We'd gone dutch. If I'd wanted her, really wanted her, I'd have said what Wayne just said to me. I'd have fought. I'd have taken down all my defenses and insecurities and laid my heart on the table. I've never been on a dinner date like this before. Certainly never a restaurant this expensive. But the restaurant wasn't the novel thing. The novel thing was this was probably the first, actual, genuine date where I'd gotten it. I understood. Dinner with Angie had been quick eat and dash affairs, and once when we'd tried to go somewhere fancy for Valentine's day it had felt strange and forced. Like we were wearing our parents' oversized clothes. Whereas this felt special, intimate, comfortable. We'd reserved time for each other, to sit and listen and flirt and tentatively touch. My first real date. It's a pity that I had to wear a dress and heels to figure it out. I kiss him. I close my eyes, push my soft lips against his and squeeze his hand. He tastes of wine and smells of leathery cologne. The kiss is slow and gentle, just like the other night -- nothing like the heat and urgency of Shayna. This is a grown-up kiss. This kiss has insurance and a pension plan and a glass of water before bed time. I like it, it feels warm and loving and comfortable. It feels like the sort of kiss Ellen would like. When our lips part, we're both smiling. Wayne is also wearing some of my lipstick, which has transferred onto his lips at a squint angle, and I burst out laughing. "Sorry about that," I say with an embarrassed giggle, biting my lip as my face transforms into a bright grin at the confusion written over Wayne's face. "My lipstick," I explain. "I guess I should have blotted it some more." I take my napkin and dip it in my water glass, using it against Wayne's red-stained lips, which he lets me do uncomplainingly. It's only after I've done this I think how easy this comes to me as Ellen, and how unthinkable it would be as Kevin. "That's better," I say, reaching down into my purse for my compact to check my own face. "It's not really your shade." He laughs, eyes sparkling, and he seems so happy in this moment, in this place. With me. With Ellen, beside him. "Do you want to get out of here?" he asks, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "We could go for a drink somewhere else? Or a walk?" "Okay," I reply, deploying an easy Ellen smile. "You choose. I just need to freshen up." I push my chair back and stand, straightening my dress on impulse and taking my compact and my purse with me to the ladies room, adding a little extra sway in my step as I go, knowing that Wayne will be watching the show. The ladies room is all wood and black slate, and dominated by a huge mirror surrounded by a golden picture frame. It also appears to be empty, which releases a little part of the tension in my stomach. This isn't my first ladies room, but it does still feel like a foreign country, and the fewer natives in it the less worried I feel. I close and bolt the stall door behind me, wriggle up my dress and slip down my panties, and sit, letting go and trusting to science. Peeing as a woman is still something of a novelty. I also take the opportunity to fish my phone out of my purse. "I guess you can't come out to play tonight. But I hear we're going to be working together tomorrow!" A message from Shayna. Crap. I forgot to let her know what was happening. I text her back right away, just as the bathroom door opens, and I hear the click-click of heels on the tiled floor, someone entering the stall next to mine, followed by the rustling of clothing. "Sorry! Something came up. Really looking forward to seeing you tomorrow x" I reply, dropping my phone back in my purse and wadding some toilet paper and attending to my fake lady parts. I stand, pulling my panties into place once more and wriggling my dress back down, running a hand carefully over the sequins. Amazing. I flush, and step out into the ladies room proper, setting my purse down next to the sink and washing my hands, checking my face and outfit for any problems. I'm joined not long after by the occupant of the cubicle next to mine: a tall, slender, blonde woman in her early twenties, wearing a sage green backless halterneck gown and matching shoes. She is luminous. A goddess. The sort of woman I'd have been intimidated to have even been near as Kevin. In the mirror, I watch Ellen reach into her purse and find her lipstick, and set about slowly reapplying it. Out of the corner of my eye I see the woman looking at me, her eyes looking down at my outfit. "How's your date going?" she asks with a weary sigh, reaching into her clutch bag for a tiny bottle of perfume. "Good," I say, smiling at her. "Surprisingly good. You?" "He's an ass who doesn't stop talking about himself. Or his ex. Are you on Tinder?" she asks, spraying the perfume on her wrists and rubbing them together. "My advice. Don't be. I've never had a good Tinder date. And I bet you this guy is short too. He hasn't stood up all the time I've been here. They all lie about that." "I'm not," I say, not sure if that's true or not. I suspect Ellen might be. "I'm sorry. You look so beautiful in that dress. You deserve a great date," I say, dropping my lipstick back in my purse. It is a gorgeous dress, but there's no way I could wear it -- I'd never be able to go braless, and sage is definitely not a good color on me. The woman smiles, her elegant cheekbones flushing and she turns to face me. "Aw, thank you! That is so nice of you. I love yours too, my mom would kill to wear that as good as you." "I hope your night gets better," I say, picking up my purse and leaving her behind, returning into the tasteful gloom of the restaurant, and Wayne waiting patiently at the table, watching me gliding towards him. Her mom indeed. She should be so lucky to look as good as I do in this dress! Skinny bitch. "Shall we go?" I ask Wayne as I reach the table. "Did you get the bill?" "My treat," he says, standing up. Looking down on the table I see he's already paid. "Wayne," I start to say, ready to call him out. Ellen is not the sort of woman to let men pay for her, I figure. Before I can complain, he steps towards me and lays his hand on my waist, leaning in to kiss me with a gentle, almost chaste kiss. "Thank you," I say softly as he pulls away. "I said it was my treat," he says, taking me by the hand and leading me out of the restaurant, past the woman in the sage dress as she makes her way to her own table, and her own date -- a young man in a striped shirt, looking at his phone, who is clearly too short for her, in heels or not. I give her a little wave on our way out and she flashes me a smile. It's a warm night, and the restaurant is in a busy part of town. The streets are choked with couples and groups of drunken men and giggling women, bar hopping and heading somewhere exciting. Amongst the bustle, Wayne and I stroll along at a slower tempo, hand in hand, enjoying the evening. Every so often I feel his thumb grazing against my fingers, giving me a tender stroke. That was the moment I decided Ellen and Wayne are perfect for each other. He adores her, is successful, considerate and thoughtful, and above all is interested in me. This has been the best date ever, and I owe it to Ellen to keep this going. I think she'll thank me later. "I guess I have my nephew to thank for tonight," I say, as we walk, heels clicking on the sidewalk. "That was pretty low, though: Bribing him with a job offer to play Cupid." I decide to push my luck. "I'm glad you did," I add, with a smile. Wayne slows us to a stop, slipping his arm around my waist, pressing into my hips and gives me a squeeze. "I'm glad I did too," he says, kissing me lightly on the cheek. "He's a good kid, your nephew," Wayne says. "Will he be home tonight?" I smile, lowering my eyelashes for full aunt Ellen effect. I could stop this now, if I wanted to. Instead, I say "He's not home right now, no." Chapter 29 We kiss in the backseat of the taxi as it speeds across town, the orange light of the outside word striping by as we ignore it in our canoodling. There is nothing but our lips, our eyes and the excitement of the moment. I sigh happily as Wayne kisses my neck, tilting my face away to allow him in, and feeling his hand on my nylon-covered legs sneaking up under the hem of my dress. Unlike last time, I have no concerns, and part my knees a little to help his wandering hand, allowing myself a smile as his fingers touch the bare flesh above the band of my stockings and linger there. Is he thinking of the other morning, of catching me fixing my stockings? The sight of my skirts hiked up and that creamy flesh exposed for all the world to see? God I hope so. He stops suckling my neck and moves his lips to my ear. "Stockings? I knew it! You are the perfect woman," he whispers, his fingers tickling me as they dance between my skin and the lacy stocking tops. I smile, shivering at his touch, pleased at the compliment. Excited at the deception. Eager to commit to my performance. "Kiss me," I command, my hand slipping inside his suit jacket, finding the tight muscled warmth of his torso through his thin white shirt. His lips press against mine tenderly, but urgently. Echos of the other night -- goodness, is it only a few days ago? It feels like a lifetime -- are in his strength, the maleness of his kiss to my studied feminine. I know what's coming soon -- the crush, the dominance. "That's twenty dollars," the taxi driver speaks, and I realise we are here, and are idling outside Ellen's house. Wayne pays him -- handing him a ten and letting him keep the change -- and opens his door, practically running around to open mine and help me out with a gentlemanly hand. I straighten my dress as the taxi pulls away, tugging it down where it has ridden up and we walk to the door holding hands. Civil. Chaste. Ready to explode. Wayne's hands are on me the moment we step inside, embracing me before I can even turn on the light, or drop my purse, or take off my shoes. He holds me, almost squeezing me, pressing me against him, his wonderful hands exploring my sequins and eventually finding my ass, cupping my false derriere firmly as he kisses me again. "You are so beautiful," he whispers, eyes shining in the darkness, his face barely illuminated from the street light outside. "You know how to make a girl feel special," I reply, tilting my chin down and looking up at him through thick fake lashes. "I've barely started making you feel special," he says, holding me close and kissing me again, before sweeping me off my feet and making me shriek with unrehearsed delight. He takes steps forward towards the couch, and I laugh, wiggling my toes and causing my shoes to drop with a heavy thump onto the floor. "Wow, you're lighter than I thought you would be," he jokes. "Put me down!" I exclaim, my Ellen voice never faltering. "And hey, that's mean," I add with a mock pout. "Anyway, you're going the wrong way. The stairs are over there," I dart my eyes towards the staircase and raise my eyebrows. "You're ridiculous, put me down," I say again as he turns and carries me to the stairs. "Okay, okay, but only because I can't see!" He laughs, letting me down gently at the bottom step. "Well if you'd let me put the..." I'm interrupted by his lips finding mine, kissing me again. "Lights on!" I finish, looking up at him. What a difference the three inches of my heels make: I feel even smaller as I slip my hand in his, and lead him up the stairs in the low light, up towards my bedroom. I let go his hand and walk to the bedside lamp, turning it on with a satisfying click and spreading a low, intimate light through the room. I look down and see my dress, hose, bra and panties on the bed from earlier. On the floor, Kevin's dress pants and boxer shorts. With a deft kick, I stash Kevin's clothes under the bed as I bend down to bundle up Ellen's clothes from earlier. "Sorry!" I say with a carefree laugh, turning to face Wayne and hoping he didn't see Kevin's clothes. "I wasn't expecting guests," I add, hoping he buys my embarrassment. "So I see," he says with a laugh, walking towards me and taking the soft silky clothes from my hands and dropping them on the carpet. "You have changed. The Ellen I knew was never this messy." He steps towards me and wraps his arms around me, pressing our bodies together again as he kisses me. I hear the sound of my zipper being slowly drawn down, and my pulse starts to quicken. "You're working fast," I tease, staring up into his big brown eyes. I raise my hands to his chest and unfasten the next button down on his white shirt, and then the next I press my palm flat against his solid chest, feeling so much heat against his bare skin. I feel him reach the bottom of the zip track and snake his hand inside the now-open back of my dress, his strong hand finding the curve of my waist, warm on bare skin. "I'm worried you'll change your mind," he replies, his voice soft in the lamplight. "You don't have to do anything, Ellen," he says, holding me. "If you don't want to." How many times in my life will I get this chance? Who can say they can experience this? Of course I want to. God help me, I want to. I answer him by reaching up to his mouth and kissing him, with soft warm lips, my hand leaving the inside of his shirt, and pushing back his suit jacket over his shoulders. It falls to the floor with a soft thump, and I run my hands over his shirt, down his back as I deepen the kiss. "Take off your dress," he commands me, eyes flickering down. My lips twitch and I release him, taking a step back and slipping my arms out of the straps of the dress and wiggling it down with an exaggerated shimmy over my hips, letting it drop to the floor. As it falls I change my stance, bringing my legs together at the thigh and raising one foot a little on the balls of my stocking feet, forcing a curvy hip to look even more rounded. I look past Wayne, into the mirror facing me in the dressing room, at my aunt, standing in black sheer underwear and stockings, chestnut hair and bright red lips, lamplight bathing her pale smooth soft skin. My gaze shifts to Wayne, who's staring at me, all of me. He's looking at me so intently I worry for a split second that something has gone wrong. That I am exposed. But it's not that look. It's the look I've been waiting for. The look he gave me the other night. He wants Ellen. And Ellen wants to be wanted. "Take off your shirt," Ellen says, her voice as low as I dare. Ellen watches as Wayne wordlessly, slowly, unfastens the remaining buttons on his shirt and untucks it from his suit pants, exposing his chest. With a roll of his shoulders, his gaze never leaving her, the shirt comes off and is dropped to the floor with his jacket. Now it's Ellen's turn to stare: at the broadness of his torso, the muscles of his shoulders and biceps and the trail of hair that dusts his skin that she knows her fingers will be toying with in seconds. Ellen licks her lips. "C'mere," Wayne says, stepping backwards and sitting on the bed. He kicks off his shoes, and swings his legs onto the bed. Ellen's bed. She flashes a smile and steps out of the heap of her dress, round the bottom of the bed and go to the other side, lying on her side to face him. "Okay now what?" she asks, eyes sparkling. She reaches up and strokes the hairs on his arm, her fingers limp and lazy. He moves his arm, his hand, towards her hip, resting his hand on the fullest swell of her. He starts to stroke her, finding the seam of her panties, his fingers moving all the way down to the bare flesh of her thigh. "The other day," he begins, moving his hand back, over her hip towards her waist. "I walked in on you fixing this. Fixing your stockings. Like some.. " his fingers move up her skin towards the bottom of her brassiere, stopping at the thick band. "Like some fantasy." His hand moves to her shoulder, sliding the thin bra strap off and down her arm. "And I wondered, was it for me?" Ellen moves her hand towards his leg, resting it on the tight fabric of his pants. She know what's inside, what's waiting for her. "I've been thinking about you," Ellen says, truthfully. "About this," she smiles, moving her hand down, around his pants to the bulge. Oh my God. Through his pants she feels him, hardening, swelling, and desperate to be freed. All for her. Just for her. "Oh my," she gasps, feeling him twitch under her hand. He kisses me, resting his hand lightly on my middle as I work at his belt, undoing it and getting to work on the zipper. It sticks, and I tugs it, peeling back the leaves of his pants and untucking the squashed fullness of his hardening cock, springing free to kiss the snug smooth front of her panties. His hand moves down to between her thighs, pushing between them and upwards. She closes her eyes and parts her legs a little, feeling him touching the puffy, fake lips through her panties. He hesitates, and she freezes for a moment, fearing the worst. But he doesn't pull away. She lets out a feminine gasp, a fraction of a second too late, but he doesn't seem to notice, as Ellen kisses him again, and he joins the kiss hungrily, his hand still between her legs massaging her sex. "Ellen," Wayne gasps as our lips part. "You're incredible." Oh my god. I'm getting away with it. Also what I am is dry. Very very dry. Which I didn't think about until this moment. Shit. "You haven't seen anything yet," Ellen replies, propping herself up on her elbow. "Take off your pants," she says, pulling away from Wayne and standing up. "I ...um... just have to get a condom, okay?" I find a well-squeezed tube of KY jelly in the bathroom, in a drawer, next to a roll of condoms. It's best not to think about this too much, I decide, squeezing some onto my finger and liberally applying some inside the lips of my fake pussy. I go for another squeeze, reaching further inside, and brushing against my well-hidden cock in the process through the thin silicone. Can I get away with this? I straighten my panties, smoothing them over the middle-aged woman bump that hides my manhood. It's only then I notice, I'm missing a nail. Nine perfect, glossy red nails and one stubby, unvarnished one. Where the hell is it? I pull down my panties and root around inside, but can't find anything. Did it come off earlier? In the restaurant? The taxi? Probably when I was undoing Wayne's pants. Shit. "Ellen, are you okay?" Wayne calls from the bedroom. I have to go back to him. I can't go through with this. I open the door and go back into the bedroom to find Wayne Chalmers, naked, on my bed, his cock at stiff attention. I stare at it, thick and veiny and tall and trembling. I've never seen another man's cock like this before, in the flesh, and it's for me. I take a deep breath and force myself back into character before the full horror of what I'm about to do takes hold. I'm Ellen Bennet. I'm Ellen Bennet. I'm Ellen Bennet. What's my motivation? I crawl up onto the bed, climbing on top of him, my knees either side of his legs, and move up his body until I'm at his thighs. I bend forward, my hair hanging down as I kiss him, my bra-covered breasts pressing against his bare chest. His hands take my waist, sliding up my bare back until they reach the thick strap, which he unclasps roughly. I straighten up, slipping my arm out of one strap, then hold the brassiere against my breasts as I feed my arm out of the other. With a smile and a flourish, I whip the underwear away: my bare bouncing tits exposed to him in the dim lamplight. He lets go of my waist almost instantly, moving his hand up to cup the soft yielding fullness of my swaying breast, a thumb teasing the ever- puffy nipple and I moan, just like Shayna taught me. Can he tell? Do they feel fake? Does he remember what Ellen feels like? I bend again, moving down to kiss him and letting my swaying boobs touch his skin, feeling them pressed against him as I kiss him again, distracting him from feeling too closely. Looking too closely. He wraps his arms around me again, sliding back down to my slender waist, toying with the tight lacy band of my panties. "You're so beautiful," Wayne says as our lips part again, and I feel his searching fingers pushing inside my panties, grabbing at the round fullness of my buttocks. I lean back and reach for his cock, smiling as I watch my feminised hands slide down the huge thickness of his urgent shaft. "You lost a nail," he says, watching me, his hands resting on my ass. I try to think how a woman would do this -- someone not intimately familiar with how it feels to be touched like this. Of course this isn't Ellen's first cock either, so I can't be too unfamiliar. I'm gentle and slow, deliberate and elegant. "I did," I say, stroking the length of his cock with my remaining false nails. "I was hoping you wouldn't notice." "I noticed. But it doesn't matter," he says, looking at me. "I want you. Fake parts and all." He moves his around my hips, deforming my panties, and I can't feel him but I gasp anyway. I move my hands over his chest, almost scratching at his flesh, and I feel him twitching in my grasp. He reaches up to me, and kisses me between my breasts, and I move down with him, letting him suckle my nipple and faking another gasp, another moan, and his hand is between my legs, massaging the bare puffy petals of my pussy. I panic, I can't help it. "No, Wayne, wait, don't," I insist, grabbing his hand and pulling it away. I know the disguise is good, but I'm sure it can't be that good. I'm sure that he'll know it's not real and then... well, I don't know what happens next, but it's probably not good. He looks at me with surprise, but not anger, confusion but not determination. "Okay," he says, stroking my arm. "But... I'm gonna need some help with this," he looks down at the quivering rod between his legs. "When was the last time you had a good blow job?" I hear myself asking, almost disgusted with myself in making Ellen's breathless voice say those words. Wayne looks up at me with an expression of childish delight. I feel his hand withdraw from my pussy and watch as he lies back. I reach out to his cock and grasp it lightly, sliding myself down his body, leaning over him. "Tell me I'm beautiful," I say, focusing my gaze on his eyes, staring past his cock. "Tell me I'm a beautiful woman," I repeat, reaching up to cup my boobs with my hands, performing as much for myself as for this man in front of me. "Ellen Bennet. You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever known," he says. I take a deep breath, lean over him, close my eyes and open my lips, tasting him as I take the head of his cock in my mouth. It tastes salty and strange, and I quickly move my tongue out of the way as my lips close around his shaft. In my mouth it feels even larger than before, and I'm sure there's no way I can take much more than this. I wrap my hand around his shaft and start stroking him faster, with a little more grip, and I proceed to give my first blow job. I've only ever received two blow jobs. All I know is from porn, and all i know about that is that those ladies are professionals and I am definitely not. Receiving a blow job feels pretty nice, but not mind blowing, in my experience. Giving one, I can confirm, is mainly pretty boring. Once you get over the taste, it's simply a case of sliding your lips up and as far down you can go, and letting your hands do the rest. I feel his cock twitch a fraction of a second before he cums with a loan groan, shooting a small amount of jizz into my mouth which I swallow out of shock more than anything else. His member starts to wilt almost instantly. "Oh Ellen," he sighs happily. "You are the perfect woman."