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Lost By Archibald Young Paul was lost, cold and wet. His phone was smashed after he had dropped it. The rain sheeted down in a grey wall, and he could barely see where he was going. How he wished he'd stayed in the car, and not asked to walk the last few miles across country to the holiday house where his step-mother and step-sisters were probably having tea, warm and snug! He came to a road, and began to walk along it, looking for a phone box. It was a deserted spot, the trees whipping in the wind, the gloom in their shade almost like night, even though it was only 3 or 4 in the afternoon. It seemed to go on forever, and no sign of a phone box. Eventually he came to some large, stone gateposts, green with moss, beside a newly gravelled drive. He decided to walk up to the house and ask to use their phone. The drive wound for almost half a mile or so through dripping, rustling bushes, before opening out into a larger space in front of an old, rambling house. There were no lights on, despite the darkness, and his heart sank. He went up some steps to a portico'd entrance, between two stone griffins. There was no bell; only a large, tarnished knocker. He banged on it, his heart now beating faster with a slight frisson of fear; who would live in such a mansion, so far from anywhere? No-one, it seemed, as there was no response. Sheltered from the worst of the rain, he waited, and then banged again. Nothing. He turned, but just then he heard a sound- the sound of steps inside, clicking on a hard floor. The door creaked, and opened. A man stood there, in a smoking jacket and old- fashioned cravat and green velvet trousers, booted. He was taller than Paul, slim, with long, silver flowing hair, and piercing blue eyes; aquiline and severe, unsmiling. He was smoking a cigar. "Yes?" he said, simply. "I'm sorry to bother you," said Paul, teeth chattering, "but I'm lost, and I wonder if I might use your phone to ring my step-mother?" The man glanced down at Paul's dripping clothes. "My dear young man," he said, "my phone is not working. But come inside and we'll sort something out." He held the door open. Paul hesitated. He was young, still quite slight, and only now it flashed across his mind that it was not sensible to go into a stranger's house like that. "Come on in," the man said, a slight smile playing on his lips, "you'll get ill if you spend another moment out in this." He seemed kind. So Paul went past the man into the house, and the man closed the door behind him. Paul found himself in a large, flagged, gloomy hallway, lit by a skylight high above. A staircase curved away and up to his left, carpeted thickly in dark red, and there were oriental rugs on the stone here and there. He caught a glimpse of large, modern paintings and several gilt mirrors. He was shivering, and feeling quite unwell. The man came up, transferring the cigar to his left hand. He held out his right hand. "My name is Victor." "I'm Paul." "How do you do, Paul," he said, shaking his hand briefly. His hand was warm. "Goodness, you're freezing!" He seemed genuine, and Paul relaxed a bit. "You have to get out of these clothes straight away. Tell you what, have a hot bath, I'll put your clothes in the tumble drier, and then I'll give you a lift down to the cross-roads where there's a phone. What do you say?" He released Paul's hand. Paul felt so tired and cold he just nodded. "Come on, then," said Victor and started up the stairs. Paul watched the man's velvet trousers and gleaming black boots in front of him, the smell of cigars and a faint whiff of eau-de-cologne trailing, as they went up onto a galleried landing over the hall. The man turned on a light as he went up, and a soft glow transformed the hallway into a warm, golden aura. The carpet was thick and soft. They walked along the landing past several double doors, all closed, and came to a smaller one. Victor opened it, turned on the wall- lights and walked in. Paul followed. It was a fairly large bedroom, warm, with a big white bath in one corner. There was a mirrored wardrobe one wall, and a dresser along the other. The bed was covered with a pink, frilly satin bedspread, with goatskin rugs around it. Victor started to run the bath, drew the heavy, brocade curtains over the window, pulled a large towel from a drawer in the dresser, and then turned to leave. "Dump your clothes outside, have a hot bath, and I'll bring your clothes back when they are done. I'll knock on the door when they are ready, OK?" "Thank you so much," began Paul, "I hate to put you to all this bother." He was well brought up. "No bother at all- we can't have you getting ill, can we?" Again that faint smile, and then he was gone, closing the door behind him. The bath was filling up, steam billowing from it. Paul emptied his pockets onto the dresser, pulled off his clothes, and dumped them all in the deserted hallway. He locked the door as he returned, and then got into the bath, sighed, and sank into the embrace of the steaming water. As the warmth returned to his body, he looked around him. The room was obviously a woman's- he noticed the dressing table with perfume bottles and paraphernalia, the little fur-covered pouffe in front of it, the silky dressing-gown on the door hook. There were some oil paintings of country scenes, anonymous, but no pictures to give a clue as to whose room this was. Paul creamed himself with the scented soap, and then washed his hair with some expensive-smelling shampoo. He was warm, now, feeling good. He pulled the plug, and stepped out onto the warm, soft carpet, and started to dry his hair in the large, soft towel. Soon he was ready. There was no way his clothes would be dry yet, but he wrapped the towel round himself, unlocked the door, and checked. They were gone. The hall was lit, but deserted. The rain drummed on a skylight, high above. He slipped back into the moist, warm, room and locked the door again. On the dressing-table was a hairdryer, plugged in. He switched it on, and dried his hair. As he finished, he caught his reflection in one of the large mirrors. His hair was blond and long, tumbling in soft curls onto his shoulders. His body was slim and smooth in the soft glow of the lights, and his high cheeks, flushed by the hot bath, looked as if it had been faintly rouged. The soft towel round his torso suggested the hidden swelling of breasts. He looked like a beautiful young woman! Paul thrilled instantly, and his young sexual flame blazed; the familiar yet forbidden desire rushed through his body. Two or three years ago he had discovered the delights of dressing in his step-mother's underwear, her slips and stockings, her high heels and suspenders, but most of all her satins, silks and furs, and pirouetting in front of mirrors, a sexual slave to all his own narcissistic desires, and now here he was in a frilly, scented, woman's room, alone, with at least twenty minutes more to wait for his clothes to be dry. It was a heaven-sent opportunity! He opened one of the wardrobes. A surge of excitement filled his throat; it was full of expensive and glamorous women's clothes. He pulled out a beautiful black silk slip, trimmed in frothy black lace, letting the towel slide down his body, languorously, to the floor, freeing his growing erection. He stepped into it, pulling the slithering, smooth cool fabric up his soft skin. Next, from a shelf, he took a black satin suspender-belt and clipped it round his waist under the clinging silk of the slip. From the same shelf he took some black silk stockings, sheer and seamed, and minced over to the bed with them, his heart singing. He carefully stepped onto the deep, thick fur of the bedside rugs, letting his toes curl in their silky caress, and then gently lowered himself onto the frilly pink satin. He watched himself in a heavy gilt mirror as he pulled the stockings up over his smooth, lithe legs, and clipped them onto the suspender-belt. He was a vision of luscious beauty, his penis waving out between the frothy lace of the slip and the stocking-tops, his hair falling over his face as he smoothed them down. He stood up on the goatskin, and turned in front of the mirror to see the result- perfect! He walked, hips swaying, over to the wardrobe and picked out some stiletto bootees, trimmed with black fur, and slipped his stockinged feet into them, zipping them up. Again he stood in front of the mirror, all long, stockinged legs and high heels, frothy black lace and waving, slender penis, fluffy blond hair tumbling onto smooth, soft shoulders, half-closed eyes and moist, pouting lips. He daren't touch his penis, for he was already nearly orgasmic just looking at himself. Instead he opened the other door of the wardrobe and leant against the gowns and dresses there, all rustling, perfumed softness, smelling them, moving against the taffetas and satins, silks and lace, here and there a fluffy fur caressing his cheek, shoulders and arms- paradise. He pulled out a black velvet dress, lined with silk, and stepped into it. It was tight and short, and he wiggled lusciously as he pulled it up over himself, and slipped his arms into the little rucked, puffed sleeves. With difficulty, he was able to zip it up, and then pulled it down over his penis and the tops of his thighs. It was a very short, raunchy little dress, which hugged his willowy body, with cross-your-heart bodice and off-the shoulder suggestiveness. When he turned he could see the neckline plunged towards his buttocks- he could almost see the tops of them. It was a tart's dress! He wiggled over to the dressing-table and found some diamante clip-on earrings, with matching bracelet and choker, with which he carefully adorned himself. Paul stood next to the bed, on the fur rugs, in front of the biggest mirror, smoothing the velvet of the dress over his pert buttocks, his erection bulging at the front. He pulled the dress up over his erection and started to stroke it. And then, as he swayed in front of the mirror, caressing his chest, belly and buttocks through the velvet, dressed to kill, jewellery shimmering in the soft light, his other hand suddenly found a slit in the back of the velvet, between the buttocks- it was not a tear but lined, deliberate, trimmed with black fur. His finger slipped through instinctively and shockingly landed right up against his anus. The thrill of feeling his finger on his hot anus as he writhed in swishing, scented loveliness in front of the gilt mirror was something he had never felt before, and his heart, already hammering with excitement, leapt even further. He did not know what it meant, but he was in transvestite heaven, and did not care. Instinctively he removed and licked his fingers, slipped them back in between his buttocks, gently rubbing the bud of his own anus with his spit. The thrill was greater than he had ever experienced in all those hours of dressing-up and gyrating at home. His excitement was rising and rising, sweeping up his body in tumultuous waves as he started to masturbate properly, his pre-cum lubricating the shaft of his penis as he now gripped it fully, pumping up and down. His gaze was fixed on the sinuous, feline image in the mirror; his own, sexy prostitute. His other fingers were instinctively pushing at the mouth of his anus, and the feel of them caressing its lips was miraculous. His lust was towering in his shuddering perfumed body, and he could feel the surging orgasm rising in him. His eyes closed for the final, gorgeous rush, and he arched forward in ecstasy as he felt it coming. And then there was a click, and Victor walked in. "I'm afraid your clothes aren't rea..." he began, then stopped short when he saw Paul. Paul was transfixed, in front of the mirror in a black velvet tart's dress pulled up over his thighs, his stocking'd legs stretched out to shiny, fur-trimmed stiletto bootees half buried in the goatskin rug, his glistening, erect penis in one hand and his other deep between his buttocks, looking up at the man through the shiny, scented hair that had fallen in front of his face, framed with sparkling jewels, his moist mouth agape in shock. For a moment there was absolute stillness and silence. Paul felt he was going to die with shame and fear. His heart, already pounding, was now choking him. Retrieving his hand from his buttocks, he pulled down the dress over his rapidly shrinking penis. Victor stood watching him, expressionless, terrifying. "I.. I.. er..I don't know what came over me.." began Paul, drooping visibly before the man, stammering, tears in his blue eyes. "I am so sorry.. I have abused your hospitality... I'll go immediately..." Victor suddenly smiled. "It's me who should apologise, Paul, for bursting in like that. Don't worry," he murmured, stepping close to Paul, "You're young. You're experimenting. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I used to do exactly the same thing when I was your age. How old are you?" "Eighteen," croaked Paul, choked with embarrassment. Victor reached out and touched Paul's hair, pushing it gently to one side, and stroked his cheek tenderly. Paul stared, though a haze of tears, into his cold, crystalline blue eyes. "Ah, eighteen," he murmured. Victor dropped his hand. "What I came in to say was that your clothes are taking longer than expected to dry. It's getting dark, and your step-mother will be getting worried. I suggest we go to the cross-roads now, and you can ring her and put her mind at rest. Then you can come back, collect your clothes, and she can pick you up. Would that be OK?" Paul nodded, unable to speak. "Fine. Come on, then." He turned and walked to the door. "But what shall I wear?" blurted out Paul, his voice still choked with shock. Victor turned. "Come as you are- it's dark; no-one will see." "I can't," Paul said, "I'm so ashamed- please, have you any jeans, or something?" "I'm sorry, I haven't," said Victor, "Don't worry, I'll find you a coat- I promise, no-one will see you." He was smiling, warm now. He stood to one side and waited for Paul to come. Paul was about to protest again, but then felt a shock of fear- he could not upset this man any more than he had already done. Without a word, he walked self-consciously towards the door. The bootee heels were high, and he tried hard to stop from wiggling his hips, but it was impossible not to sway slightly as he moved to the door, past the man. The rain was still drumming on the skylight in the hall. He walked in front of Victor along the landing, and down the winding staircase, his face crimson. He felt the presence of the man behind him, felt his eyes on the back of his dress, with its plunging neckline at the back, his bottom wiggling in the black velvet sheath of the dress, the fur-trimmed slit, the glint of the jewellery through his soft blond hair. He felt mortified. At the foot of the stairs his bootees clicked on the stone flagging. He half-turned as Victor came down. He felt unable to meet his eyes. "Let's get you a coat," said the man, opening a cupboard door. He pulled out a mackintosh, and walked over to Paul. He opened it for the boy. It was lined with fur! "I'm sorry, Paul, it's all I've got. It won't show, don't worry," said Victor. Paul hesitated, then turned away, defeated, and allowed the man to slip it over his bare arms and up over his exposed back. It was a little large for him, heavily scented, and the lining was richly soft; chinchilla. Victor pulled it round in front of him, and as he did so Paul felt the man's body push gently against his, through the soft fabrics in which he was now swathed, and the man's hot breath on his ear. His heart, already hammering with fear and humiliation, lurched as a new, strange faintness came over him for a second. Paul shook his head clear as Victor let go of the coat, and Paul tied the belt in front of him, hiding all traces of his provocative costume. Then Victor drew out his own coat, a heavy, black wool coat with a thick black lambswool collar. He put on some black leather gloves, pulled out a large umbrella, opened the front door, and stepped out. It was almost completely dark. Paul followed, and Victor held the umbrella up for him as they stood on the steps, sheltered by the portico. Victor closed the door behind them, and they walked down the steps onto the drive, and round the house to the side. Paul was warm and dry, enveloped in softness, caressed by the silky chinchilla on his neck, arms and back, the silk and velvet on his torso, buttocks and thighs, and his legs, sheathed in stockings, swished against the folds of the coat. They walked close together; Paul was still a little unsteady on the very high heels, and their bodies touched now and then as Victor kept the umbrella over them both. Paul's feeling of indignity was gradually subsiding, now that Victor was not looking at him, out in the dark. A new sensation was beginning to sharpen in the turmoil of impressions and emotions he was feeling, a sensation that was as familiar to him as hunger and tiredness, but which he was fighting down as hard as he could. He was in a maelstrom of fear, shame and, for the first time, heart- sinking curiosity. What was going to happen next? Around the side of the house stood a huge car, a Bentley, newish. It's lights flashed a welcome as Victor pressed the remote. Victor led him to the passenger door, opened it for him, and Paul got in, the mac sliding off his long silk-sheathed legs as he rotated into the red leather seat. He pulled the coat over him and Victor shut the door, and walked around to the driver's side, and got in. Paul found his nostrils flaring with pleasure at the smells- of leather, cigar, the man's Eau-de-colongne, and behind it all the subtle odour of the chinchilla. Victor started the car. They had not spoken since they had left the house. The heater started to work almost immediately, as they crunched over the gravel and down the long drive, headlights picking out the waving, dripping bushes that Paul had passed such a long, long time ago. As they turned out onto the road, Victor spoke. "I know you must be feeling very confused, Paul." His voice sounded kind, gentle. Paul, his head still bowed, glanced at him in the glow of the dashboard, peeking through his long hair; Victor's eyes were fixed on the road, driving smoothly and skilfully. "But remember what I said. What you do is perfectly normal; it happens to lots and lots of boys of your age, and you'll be fine. You have to learn to accept yourself; don't fight it." He turned, briefly, towards Paul. Paul looked away, sharply. "You're simply discovering the female side of yourself. That's really important, Paul, for your happiness in life. It doesn't mean you're perverted, or queer, or anything like that, so don't worry about it, OK?" He looked again at Paul, who was staring ahead, his head a little less bowed. Paul nodded, silently. He was beginning to feel safe again. "Look on what's happened this afternoon as a great opportunity to get to know yourself better." There was a pause. The warm car purred on down country lanes, through the driving rain, the wipers rhythmic. Then Victor slowed up, turned a corner, and there, in a clearing at a junction, was a phone box, lit up. Victor stopped the car on the opposite side of the road, and turned off the engine, but left on the side lights. Victor turned to face Paul. Paul felt able to look at him. "Listen, I've had an idea. I want to help you. You need to take advantage of this experience now. Why don't you stay the night at my house? There are plenty of lovely clothes for you to try on, and I'll leave you in peace. You can indulge yourself. Think about it. I'll give you a lift to your house in the morning. You can make some excuse for your step-mother- say you've met someone from school or something. Hmm?" The shock of his proposal ran through Paul like a blow. But Victor gave him no time to think at all. "I've got to make a call first- I'll come back for you." And he got out of the car, opened the umbrella, and went across the road, leaving Paul, his heart thumping, in the warm, darkened car. Paul watched the man walk across the dark to the phone-booth. Just then, along the road, came another car, its headlights picking out the man in his boots, heavy black coat and umbrella. Paul instinctively slid down into the seat, and the furs slid against his skin, the velvet rustling, the stockings swishing gently, releasing a cloud of fragrance. The sensations sent an electric shock through him. The lights flashed, the car passed; but Paul's hands were on his thighs, stroking his stocking'd legs under the delicate caress of the fur lining of the coat, coiling and uncoiling his body as the pleasure of the fabrics against his smooth skin washed over his lovely young body. All the time he was bathing in the expensive smells of the car, and the man. His eyes were just above the window line, and he was stroking himself as he watched Victor in the phone booth, talking. His penis was engorging slowly again in its silken, velvet nest, and as his hands swept up and down in a rising crescendo of pleasure, his feelings for Victor changed from terror and shame to curiosity and a strange feeling of being cared for he could not quite understand. But during those few minutes, as Paul's hands reached his penis and he started to gently masturbate himself, his mind was made up. He would not give this chance up for anything- a chance for unimaginable luxury and softness, a scented world of dressing pleasure; and as he felt the excitement rise through his writhing, swishing body, he saw Victor come out of the booth and walk towards him. What was that feeling that this man inspired? He stopped wanking, regretfully, straightened the velvet dress and wrapped the coat over his stiff penis. Victor opened the door and held out a gloved hand to help Paul out of the car. It was a simple gesture, but immensely thrilling- he was a man treating Paul as a woman. Instinctively, swathed as he was in femininity, jewelled, fur-enveloped, his perfumed body in slinky silks and velvets, Paul took the hand that the older man proffered, and stepped out under the umbrella like a film starlet arriving at a premiere. Without thinking, Paul slipped his arm under Victor's as they started over to the phone box, so that their bodies were now touching almost all the way. Paul now knew what the feeling was that had been trying to break out from the commotion of his heart ever since his discovery- it was young, wild, sexual desire. And Victor's suggestion had lit a flickering flame in his heart; his fantasy come true- a night in a palace of sexy clothes! They reached the phone booth. It smelt of urine, so Victor held the door open while Paul dialled, the umbrella protecting them from the drizzle. Victor was looking calmly at Paul as the phone rang at the other end. "Mum? Mum, it's me. Yes, I'm fine. I got lost, and ended up in a pub. Listen, a very strange thing happened. Ford was there, with his dad. You know, Ford from school? Anyway, they brought me round to their holiday house to dry off, and they've invited me to a party tonight. Is that OK? Mr Ford's here," Paul looked Victor full in the face now "He wants to have a word with you. He says he'll bring me back tomorrow. Oh please, mum? Hmm... Yes? Great. Here's Mr Ford." And Paul handed Victor the phone, smiling mischievously into his eyes. "My surname is Wilberforce," he whispered to Victor, a hand over the mouthpiece. "Mrs Wilberforce? This is Mr Ford.. yes... no, no trouble- it'll be great for my son to have him.. yes.. about 10 o'clock tomorrow.. my number?" And he gave a number. After a few pleasantries, he hung up. He looked at Paul, amused, for a second, and then stepped back into the rain. The deed was done, the contract sealed. Paul was in a phone booth in the middle of nowhere, dressed like a beautiful Mayfair prostitute, taking the arm of an older man who was going to drive him to his mansion where Paul would spend the rest of the night cross-dressing in fabulous gowns in lavishly-furnished rooms. He felt heady with lust. A few seconds later, they were off. They crunched up his drive in no time at all; this time Victor parked at the front. Again, he opened the door for Paul; again, Paul gave him his hand, but this time with a smile of anticipation. But there was no change in Victor's politeness. They went into the warm, spacious hall. He helped Paul off with the coat- Paul watched it as he put it away. He noticed, for he said, "Don't worry, there are lots of others." He smiled, briefly. "Please come upstairs." And he beckoned Paul forward in front of him. Once again, Paul was walking along the flagstones with the click of sharp stiletto heels, the rustle of scented silk and velvet, but this time he was undulating, partly conscious of his half-erect penis under the soft fabrics. At the top, Paul turned slightly. "Which way?" "Ah, follow me, please, Paul," he almost whispered, and then he passed Paul. and now Paul was following Victor with growing excitement they walked down the long, softly-lit, thickly carpeted corridor. They stopped at a door, and Victor opened it. "There you are, Paul." He bowed Paul into the room in front of him. Paul passed into the warm, slightly fragrant room. It was huge, vaulted, hung with tapestries. A log fire was glowing in a vast grate. A vast blue Persian carpet covered the main part of the room, and there were several huge, antique dressers and wardrobes. There was a plinth at one end, raised, covered with an amazing fur that looked like polar bearskin, and on it was a bed, itself covered with a cream satin sheet, on which were a pile of matching satin-covered pillows, but no cover. On every wall were huge gilt mirrors, and because of the angles of the room and the walls, Paul could see himself, all long black-stocking'd legs and velvet, in several at once, from different view-points, as he walked into the room. Paul looked up- there were gilt mirrors on the ceiling! It was a narcissistic transvestite's dream room, made for dressing up and sex! Paul turned, amazed. Victor was still at the door, smiling at his joyous astonishment. "Quite a room, isn't it, Paul?" he asked. Paul nodded, speechless. "I'm going to leave you here, Paul. The night is yours. Are you hungry?" Paul was now trembling with shock and excitement. "No." "Well, if you want something to eat or drink, just come downstairs- there'll be some laid out in the dining room. OK?" Paul nodded, his mouth too dry to speak. "Enjoy yourself- let yourself go. There's champagne in the fridge through there." He pointed at a curtained alcove. "The bathroom's over there. I'll see you in the morning". Before Paul could say anything, he closed the door and left Paul in that room. Paul went over to the dais, and knelt on the shaggy white fur. It was so soft! Paul sprawled into it, savouring the animal feel, rolling in its softness. Paul looked up- there he was again in the mirror; a beautiful she-male enveloped in silky white fur, shoulders bare, legs, long and slim, a glimpse of white thigh above the stockings and below the velvet dress. Paul stroked his prick under the dress. Paul start to writhe about in the fur, pulling it half over him, then revealing himself to the mirrors, each time pulling his dress and silky slip higher and higher. At last his penis was exposed, and Paul arched up to the ceiling, and grasped it with his free hand. He was giggling with pleasure, and wanked it once, twice, and then had to stop, as he was so close to orgasm. Paul wanted to savour all there was in the fabulous room. Paul got up, and slipped the dress over his shoulders, throwing it down on the satin sheets. Paul stepped out of the slip, so that all he was wearing were jewellery, suspenders, stockings and stilettos bootees. He strutted over to the dressing-table, and sat on a furry pouffe. A vast range of cosmetics were laid out- expensive names; Givenchy, Dior. He carefully applied makeup- lipstick, mascara, eye- liner, just as he was used to doing when his step-mother was out. Then he wandered around the room, his prick waving, to explore the cupboards and wardrobes for treasure. In the first wardrobe were jumpers- all soft, lambswool or angora, in all sorts of colours and shapes. Paul tried some on- a creamy, fluffy soft pullover with a front and back wrap-around that produced a fabulous cleavage, but came down to the top of his buttocks and nestled against his erect penis at the front. Paul twirled in front of a huge, gilt mirror. Paul tried an angora jump suit in deep red, with a slit for his penis! Paul also noticed a slit at the back- again, it thrilled him, and with his finger he caressed his anus as he pirouetted in front of the mirrors. Paul slipped it off and tried another top, with a huge, roll-neck collar that hung away from his front and back, leaving his shoulders almost bare. It was soft, lined, fleecy. All the clothes smelled clean, though perfumed. Half naked, he swayed over to the curtained alcove and found the fridge and champagne. He opened a bottle and poured a glass, swigged it, and then poured another, which he kept, leaving the open bottle in the fridge. Paul sauntered across to the next wardrobe, his reflection following him. It was like an immense wet dream! Paul put down the champagne and opened it- here were evening gowns of fabulous cost. Taffeta, silks, chiffons, lace, satin, and some trimmed, or even lined with fur. Fur!! At last! Paul pulled out a tight gown and stepped into it. It was pure shot silk, purple, with a tight bodice and sweetheart neckline, and ruffled sleeves. But it was lined with a short white fur, and trimmed with pure ermine- a Royal gown for sex! There was a slit again, at the front this time lined with ermine, so his prick eased out from the soft, furry grasp of the dress, and as Paul twisted in front of a huge mirror, amazed at the luxury of the dress, he found another slit at his buttocks, trimmed with the same fur. Paul slid his hand into the slit, and touched his buttocks, sliding a finger down between. He was looking in a mirror at himself in a fur-lined, ermine trimmed gown, with his hand down the cleft between his buttocks. Paul heard his own breathing, panting with excitement, his heart thudding, the gentle rustling of the silk; Paul felt the fur sliding over every part of his naked body, one hand on his erect penis, the other in the cleft of his buttocks; Paul smelt a heady perfume from the dress and the room, and the furs around the bed, and Paul saw himself, voluptuous, cross-dressed, eye-shadowed, mascara'd, lips red and wet with lipstick, and almost fainted with pleasure. Paul stopped touching himself just in time to allow the waves of orgasm washing over him to recede. He picked up the glass and sipped the champagne as he watched his reflection, mesmerised by the transformation. But there was more to come, he thought, with glee! Finishing the drink, he unzipped the gown, letting it fall to his feet with a wiggle to free his penis from the furry embrace, and that wiggle of his body as the furs slid off his nakedness almost made Paul come itself! Paul couldn't go on teasing himself like this for much longer! But he wanted to take every thrill he could from this room! Paul suddenly felt hungry, really hungry, and he remembered Victor's invitation. He had no idea what time it was- his watch was still in the first room. He decided to put something on and go down to supper. He rummaged around in drawers, and found a gorgeous light pink silk camisole, trimmed with coney. He slipped it on, and the fur stroked his penis and the top of his buttocks. Posing in front of the mirrors, he pushed out his buttocks against the fur, and felt a new, mysterious thrill fill his body. He put on some black, silk gloves. He found more jewellery in the drawer of the dressing-table. He clipped on heavy diamond pendant earrings, and a huge, heavy gold necklace. He put diamond rings on his fingers, and gold and diamond bracelets on his wrist. He clipped a golden chain around one ankle, and then twisted in front of a mirror to view the effect- stunning; pink silk, white fur, gold, diamonds, erect penis, black, seamed legs and... buttocks. His anus now attracted his fingers like magnets, and he spent a fabulous moment close to orgasm again caressing his bud and posturing in front of mirror after mirror, seeing himself in all his transvestite gorgeousness from every angle reflected and in the mirrors that silently acknowledged his undoubted beauty. Then he remembered his hunger, and he pulled off his bootees, and pulled on a pair of thigh-length white leather boots with even higher heels. The heels were trimmed with gold, and the tops in thick white fur, so his penis and buttocks were caressed from above by fur from the camisole trim, and from below by the fur from the long, sheer boots. But he couldn't go out into the house exposed, however much he felt like it. So Paul approached another, tall wardrobe, and looked in there for something flowing to cover his scandalously provocative outfit. And he found it, for the wardrobe was packed with furs. There were coats, capes, cloaks, mantles, muffs, pelisses, stoles, shrugs and wraps of blue fox, chinchilla, coney, ermine, softest fake-fur, leather, leopard, mink, musquash, ocelot, panther, rabbit, and red fox. Paul pulled out a full-length silver-fox coat, and whimpered with pleasure as the scented folds of fur fell against his body in a cool, silky rush of expensive perfume. It was lined with dark, soft baby sealskin, and had a huge collar. He slipped his black-gloved arms into the silky fur of the lined sleeves, and then pulled the coat round his aching, silk-sheathed body, pulling up the collar so it caressed the back of his head, his cheeks, framing his flushed, excited face. He turned to the mirrors, and was delighted by how it enveloped him, how it fell perfectly to just above the gilt heels of the sheer boots, how the earrings glistened against the glossy fox fur, and his eyes closed sensually as he let the sensation of its scented weight encircled him. He opened his eyes dreamily, and let his hands pull the fur open slightly, to show a flash of diamante at his neck, the pink camisole and white fur set against the dark brown fur lining around his erect, red cock, with the fur from the boots caressing the root, and two folds of shimmering, silver fur falling either side, gently framing it. Paul was in such a transport of delicious, unholy delight that this slight movement in the furs brought on the beginnings of a massive orgasm, spreading up, through and over his body like hot wax. He was transfixed by the image in the gilt mirror; the image of a eighteen- year old boy with long soft, blond hair, painted face, glistening lips, adorned with shimmering jewels, swaying in front of a mirror naked under a sensuous, feminine pale pink silk, and massively surrounded and caressed by silver and brown furs, his penis erect; wanton, beautiful, lush and abandoned; willing to do anything with anyone for sex... Not yet! He stood, eyes tight shut, and waited for the rushing bubbling orgasm to subside. The moment passed, after an aeon of tremulous expectation. He could not possibly stand wearing this lovely coat for a second longer! Keeping his eyes shut, he slipped out of the coat as quickly as he could, taking care not to let it slide down his body; that would have been fatal! Once free of its embrace, he turned back to the wardrobe, his eyes tight shut still, and felt into it for another, fresh, scandalously sumptuous experience. His hands roamed amongst the swishing, silky folds of furs- long, short, shaggy or velvety, the leathers, suede, alligator & snakeskin sliding through his fingers as well. Then he came to something thinner, yet soft and giving, and he opened his eyes. It was a simple, black velvet hooded coat, lined with shocking pink satin, and trimmed all around with ermine; a royal gown to wrap himself in before going out of this cocoon of carnality. He slipped it on, the satin sliding coolly over his naked shoulders. He was ready. He moved towards the door, his reflection in several mirrors following him. But the upsurge of sexual feeling was too much! The slightest movement in the scented softness threw his body into a voluptuous spasm, and orgasmic climax began! He had to stop, frozen, and tried to let his thoughts dwell on something boring. So he gazed at the light switch, his body shaking with the effort of suppressing his lust. How could he get out without spurting his hot young semen all over the clothes and the lavish rugs? He pulled open the velvet gown so that the ermine was away from his hard, yearning, red cock. Then he thought of what was outside the door. What if he should meet someone else? Maybe Victor was going to murder him? His penis subsided a little as the thought washed through him. But the fear did not abolish the lust- the two feelings occupied him together, balancing each other. But now he could close the velvet gown over his rampant nakedness without the touch of the shockingly slippery satin on his penis bringing instant climax. He walked to the door, took the handle in his jewelled, gloved hand, and opened it. He stepped out into the hallway again. The hall was empty, and he looked over the balustrade. Silence, save for the ticking of a clock, and the cracking of a distant fire. Paul walked along the landing, and down the stairs, past a mirror, the heels of his white boots clicking, the velvet gown swishing, the satin sliding over the exposed nakedness of his soft young skin, the fur trim of the hood, which he had pulled up, ticking his rouged cheek. There was a door ajar in the corner, and he could see a white table-cloth. He walked over, and pushed the creaky old door open. It was a dining-room, and laid out on the table was some cold roast meat, a carafe of red wine and a glass, a salad, and a plate. There was a fire burning in the grate Paul walked over, and helped himself to the food, and sat at the only chair drawn up to the table, eating and drinking, and looking round. It was a wood-panelled, old-fashioned room, dimly-lit, with dusty pictures of ancients in the gloom. A large dark blue velvet sofa was close to the fire, with a few matching satin cushions. On the polished floor in front of the fire was a large, cream goatskin rug. Otherwise there was no hint of the sumptuous sensuality of the rooms upstairs. Paul was now a little tipsy, and his hunger had subsided as he finished the tender meat and simple, delicious salad. The call of the room upstairs was strong again. He rose, stretched, and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. It was only eight o'clock! He had hours and hours of pleasure ahead.. Before leaving, he explored the room a bit. The feel of the wine in his blood, the rich fabrics and fur on his skin, the sensation of his undulating body as he moved, his almost painful erection in the folds of ermine, the feeling of total, sexual joy made him braver. He deliberately minced over to the bookcase behind the sofa. He was disappointed, though- the books were all old, Latin or Greek. Idly, he opened a drawer, and found inside a magazine, face down with a cigarette advert showing, glossy and bright where the books were dull, and also a longish, blue velvet case, held by a golden clasp. He opened it, and took out a long, black plastic thing, pointed at one end. At the other end was a little switch. He tuned it on, and the whole thing started a pulsating, throbbing motion, with a low, whirring sound. In the silence of the house it seemed deafening, so he quickly turned it off. What was it? What was it for? He put it back in the case, and pulled out the magazine. The front was completely covered by glossy, scarlet colour with the words "Dildo Dreams" in gold across the top. Wondering who Dildo was, and what his dreams were, Paul opened the magazine in the middle, and he nearly fainted with shock at what he saw. Two pictures faced each other. On the left was a beautiful young boy, dark, with long, glossy black hair, fully made up as a gorgeous woman, with glossy red lips, parted, his tongue extended, his eyes shadowed in dark blue and with his long lashes thick with mascara, pendant earrings exactly the same as Paul was wearing. He was lying back on a large bed covered in black satin in a sumptuous room, and was dressed in a long, black satin-look dressing-gown that was open to show his suspenders and black stockings. His penis was erect, and he was masturbating with one hand, while the other held the very same machine from the box up to his lips, as he licked the shaft glistening with his saliva. But he had breasts! Small, beautifully formed breasts! They seemed real! It was quite the most thrillingly erotic picture Paul had ever seen. But the other picture was even more stupendous to Paul. For here was another view of the same boy from the foot of the bed, his long legs drawn up to slightly lift himself off the bed to expose his shaven balls, his eyes shut in rapture, his head turned slightly, half hidden by his lustrous dark hair, one earring glistening as he still masturbated his erect, gleaming penis, while with his other hand he had the machine inserted into his anus! Paul felt himself reeling with pleasure and shock at the sight of another like him- a young boy who dressed as a sexy woman for sex, and the added impact of the machine on his wet lips or deep in his body! Paul tottered over to the sofa and sat down. He felt his penis straining with lust. Slowly, he turned the pages of the magazine, to be confronted with image after image of the boy in all sorts of positions on the bed, in ecstasy with the machine on his lips, in his mouth, against his penis, against his balls, against his sweet breasts, and at, and in his anus. The penultimate picture showed the boy spurting all over the bed and his breasts and the silky gown with the machine buried up to the hilt in his back passage, his head thrown back and his lips parted in a what looked lie a shout of pleasure. And the final picture was too much for Paul. He felt his orgasm rise and overwhelm him as he looked at the vision before him. The boy was laughing, looking straight at the camera, and had pulled the machine out of his body and was holding it up to his lips again. It was glistening with semen, and the boy was sucking the sperm from it. And the huge, overpowering feeling of pure, evil joy sang in Paul's body as he realised what the boy was doing, and how much the boy loved what he was doing, and he realised that he wanted to do the same, and how the machine was an artificial penis, and how he wanted an artificial penis in his own lipstick'd mouth, and in his own anus, and that he wanted that more than anything more in the whole world. And Paul moved slightly in the folds of satin and his own sperm poured out in spurting, hot glory into the clothing as he gazed at the fantastic boy before him, his own hand involuntarily grasping his erection through the velvet in a savage, wonderful pumping motion that brought wave upon wave of orgasmic delight coursing through him, as he closed his eyes in rapture. After a few seconds of dizziness, Paul's vision cleared, and he opened his eyes again. He could feel the hot stickiness of his semen on his belly and in the satin folds of the gown. His heart was thumping and his mind racing. The house was still quiet. He rose carefully, pulling the gown to his still erect penis to make sure no semen dripped onto the rug, and put the magazine back in the drawer. He was trembling with excitement and shock at what he was learning in this man's house! He saw the machine- the dildo- in its case, and picked it up again, this time tentatively. He closed the drawer and walked carefully out of the room with it, clutching at the gown all the while. He was going to try this himself! He quietly went back up the stairs and into the room. He closed the door carefully behind himself, and locked it- this time testing it. He made his way over to the bathroom and went in. It was a large, oval room completely lined in pink onyx, but with large, sheepskin rugs on the marble floor. The bath was sunken, with ornate, golden taps shaped like swans, and a shower. He put the dildo down beside the sunken sink, and carefully opened up his gown. The satin of the gown was stuck to his belly with the shimmering semen that was still oozing from his engorged rod, and the pink camisole clung to him, the fur matted with slime. He caught sight of himself in the huge, gilded mirror. A tousled, blond, made-up prostitute with a penis, semen covered abdomen and groin, booted, velevet-swathed, post coital, flushed, excited. His penis, which had not really gone down at all, leapt up again as he realised how excited he still was by what he had seen, and what had happened. He let the gown fall open, and ran his gloved hand over the semen on his naked belly under the matted fur, and then in his groin, and lifted it to his lips and deliberately parted them as he had seen the boy do in the pictures. And he licked his semen off his silk-covered fingers. He had never tasted it before. It was pungent and salty, and thrilling! Still staring at his gorgeous reflection in the mirror, he reached with his other hand for the dildo, and brought this, too, to his belly and groin above the suspenders, and then turned it on. It throbbed loudly at the root of his penis, slimy with silvery cum. The feeling was unreal, electric. His penis was again straining upwards, automatically excited by the pulsating, thrumming black shaft that he held to its root. He felt the waves of lust, not yet fully subsided after his orgasm in the dining-room, rise through his body again already. He watched himself swaying in the sumptuous room as he brought the vibrating pleasure stick up along the shaft of his penis, and as he licked the last drops of sperm off his fingers, the velvet and fur gown half fell off one shoulder. Paul knew he was ravishingly beautiful then, and with the sudden memory of the fur- trimmed slit at the back of the dress he had first worn, and in the other's he'd tried, his hand left his mouth and shot to his own buttocks under the velvet. And then he brought the gleaming thing up to his mouth and felt its throbbing stickiness against his lips, semen-salty, as his semen-covered finger slid easily into his anus. And he opened his mouth more to take more of the black thing in, until he was almost gagging with pleasure at its fullness in his mouth. And he now had two, now three fingers in his anus, pushing deeper and deeper into his own body as he writhed with sensual bliss at the sensations sweeping through his perfumed body from his mouth and throat, and from his hole. He had never felt anything like the voluptuousness that seemed to exude from the fingers in his rectum into his whole being and body. Suddenly he caught sight of himself in another mirror on the opposite side of the marble room. He could see the figure of a blond-haired, velvet and fur-gowned figure with a hand moving under the fabric at his buttocks. And all of a sudden he found himself leaning forward over the marble shelf, withdrawing the dildo from his mouth and his fingers from his rectum, and pulling the satin and velvet and fur off his buttocks into a soft, sticky mass in front of him, and taking the dildo, black and gleaming with saliva and semen, and with his left hand he pushed it up against his anus as his right hand, holding the soft fabrics forward and away from his buttocks, started gently rubbing his groin. He could see both fabulous pictures almost at once- the tall white boots trimmed with fur framing his parted buttocks while his black silk-sheathed hand held a glistening black shaft against his pouting anus, and, in front, the wanton tart, eyes half-closed in rapture, as the other hand swept over his burning groin under the velvet. The thrill of the wet tip of the dildo on his anus flooded through him, and he moaned quietly, captivated by the image of soft disorder he saw in the mirror-his blond hair falling over his face, his semen-smeared lips, parted and panting with the sensations he was experiencing, his naked shoulder next to the white fur trimming of the camisole, the necklace and earrings shimmering in the light, the sweet confusion of satin, velvet and fur sweeping down in front of him, held to his groin by his black silk- covered caressing hand. His mouth opened even more as he eased the throbbing black plastic into his anus, now watching in the mirror behind as his smooth buttocks parted to let the black monster into him, and a wonderful feeling of surging rapture overflowed in his being as the thick pulsating plastic shaft entered his body. He was obsessed with pleasure- he pushed it deeper and deeper up his rectum. His other hand on his groin was rubbing the satin against his urgent erection and he could feel the throbbing dildo touch his penis, as it were, from the inside, at the very base of his pleasure- at the source of his wild young feminine lust. And he watched himself arch back with astonished joy at the feeling of penetration, of filling up, of throbbing, expanding possession by the instrument. He found himself pumping the dildo in and out of his body in a crescendo of rushing, feverish craving, slight stabbing pains in his rectum mingling with the unholy pleasure that wracked him. And then he felt the climax coming again, and his eyes closed in awe at the magnificence of the orgasm that jerked through his wanton young body for the second time in that luscious night of self-discovery. It was if the vast, oceanic thrill came not only from his penis, but also from the very core of his being- a totally new experience in all his sweet young life of masturbation. And it seemed to go on and on, as he held the thrilling, trembling rod deep inside him, his other hand milking his hot penis into the satin, velvet and fur of the gown that swathed him. As the shuddering climax subsided, he came to, the throbbing plastic in his rectum now painful, and he carefully pulled it out of his body, turned it off and put it into the marble sink. It was brown with his shit, and glistening with traces of fresh blood as well as his semen and saliva still. He washed it carefully until it was clean. He felt washed out with the sex, the wine, and the ache in his rectum and in his sticky groin. He peeled off the gown, letting it fall in a sticky heap to the floor, and clicked over to the toilet and got some thick, scented toilet paper, with which he wiped the semen from his penis and body, and the blood and shit from his anus. He needed a lovely hot bath! He turned on the taps and peeled off the bracelet, gloves and the sticky camisole. He sat on a lambskin-covered pouffe and removed the boots, unhitched the stockings and peeled them off his long legs. He was naked again apart from his makeup and jewellery. He went over the marble floor to the mirror, and took off his earrings and choker. As the steam rose from the bath behind him he paused to stare at his reflection- now naked but made up as a woman, in the mirror, his penis flaccid, but his hair soft and long. On an impulse he leaned forward and kissed his reflection in the mirror, letting his tongue roam over the cold glass under his lips. He was still in love with himself, and still wanted more of this- more of this luxury and depraved pleasure. He tipped some scented oil into the bath and got in and sank down into the hot water, his body relaxing, the pain in his anus and rectum gradually subsiding. He leant back against a velvet cushion and closed his eyes. He let the sensations and experiences of the last few hours of his life wash over him. He had made some startling discoveries about pleasure and what pleased him, and needed time to think about them, to re-live them, to savour them, and to let his mind wander about them. He thought of what it meant to dress up as a woman, and what it meant to love sensuous fabrics, velvets, satins, furs. He thought of how much he used to lust after women- the pictures of unattainably beautiful models in their furs on the catwalk, and the cheap whores in their blue fox coats and long boots shivering in the cold. Paul had often wanked over these images, but now, for the first time, lying in the perfumed, sunken bath in Victor's house, the room next door full of gorgeous, sexy clothes for him to wear, he realised that it was not lust for the women that drove him- it was lust to be a woman than moved him! And the shock of this discovery had come when he saw the pictures of the beautiful, made up boy with the dildo, and confirmed with the fantastic experience he had had with the dido in his own body. As he moved in the soft embrace of the oily water, his eyes shut, his rectum now throbbing slightly, he knew. He knew that he was made for this life- the life of money, of dressing up in fabulous clothes, of perfume, of jewellery, being pampered, of furs and sex, and that, most of all, he wanted to be loved by a man, to be kissed by a man, to feel a man's embrace, and, most thrilling of all, to have a man's penis up his bum! This dawning idea seemed to first take root in his groin, and spread gradually over him like a tingling, trembling cloud, and as he allowed the thought into his young mind he found him hands moving instinctively down his body in the warm, soft water. He was gay after all! He was a young queer, a pansy, a pouf, a queen! And he realised that he loved the idea! He loved the idea of older men; rich, older men like Victor who would pamper him and let him dress endlessly in silks, satins, velvets, furs, bit who would also have their way with his firm young body. As images of men's penises filled his mind, he started caressing his own in the soft, scented water, while with the other hand he gently fondled his nipple. He knew that he would love to have a man's penis, erect, in his anus! And then, like a thunderbolt, he realised that it was Victor he wanted most now, not just some fantasy man. Victor, who had treated him like a lady ever since he had arrived on the doorstep, Victor who had let him have the run of that fabulous dressing-room next door. He wanted to have sex with Victor- to let Victor put his erect penis into his anus and orgasm inside him! Something in Paul knew that Victor wanted him- the moment earlier when Victor had stroked his cheek came rushing back to him. Paul's eyes opened wide as the full impact of his own desire hit him. His penis was stiff, his body awake, and urgent lust humming in his body. He knew that Victor wanted him to come to him, somewhere in the house, dressed up and ready for homosexual sex with him. It was time to get busy! Heart thumping with terror and exitement, Paul quickly washed his body with creamy, white soap, being careful not to wet his hair again, and carefully washed his own penis and anus. Then he was out of the bath, drying himself in a huge, soft towel. And then he picked up the dildo and went into the bedroom, went over to the pouffe, and sat down to fix his make-up. It took only a short time to freshen up his exquisite face, and then he was up, naked, his penis waving, and slipped on a pair of high-heeled patent court shoes, and minced back to the dressing-table, his heart singing with joy at finally knowing what he wanted most of all for the rest of his life. He wanted to be lying in furs and silks impaled on a man's erect penis, loved by a man, kissed by a man. And the man on his mind was Victor, who was somewhere in the house, waiting for him to come to him. And Paul was going to go to Victor. Paul found some jet earrings, a jet necklace and bracelet. He brushed his blond hair out, so that it fell in a soft tumble on one side of his face. Finally he got some cold cream and smeared it over his anus, then, a finger at a time, he pushed dollops of the cold, slimy cream into his anus, caressing it, fingering himself as he stretched his hole; stretching it for Victor, stretching it so that Victor could push his penis into him! When the cream was oozing out almost as quickly as he was pushing it in he stood up, and wiped the excess cream from between his buttocks. And he knew what he would wear to go to Victor in. He walked over to where the full-length silver-fox coat lay on the floor where he had dropped it earlier. Once again, he pulled it's sumptuous volume up against his skin, heightening his pleasure even further. He drew it to his body for a second or two, his face in the soft, silky, perfumed fur. Then he slipped his arms into the wickedly sealskin-lined sleeves. Paul turned in front of the mirror, holding the coat open to reveal his slim, naked body and his waving erection. Here was a vision! A beautiful, blond boy, made up, a red, slightly glistening penis rampant, all set off against the soft brown skins of murdered baby seals, and a sea of silver fox fur that tumbled to the top of his gleaming patent stilettos. Paul smiled as he saw what Victor would see, and knew that Victor would ravish him as soon as he found him! And two orgasms later, he could pull the coat over his half-nakedness without instant orgasm. Paul picked up the dildo and, once again, he headed for the door, his heart pounding with renewed excitement. In the hall he listened for signs of Victor. He could hear nothing. It was still early- he was not wouldn't have gone to bed. Paul walked down the corridor and clicked down the stairs, his body a swaying, mincing, perfumed receptacle of lust under the rich, soft furs. Paul crossed the hall and looked into the dining-room. It was empty, but someone had replenished the fire since Paul was last there. Paul went over to the bookshelf and opened the drawer. There was the gorgeous magazine. He could not resist another look- the dark, lovely boy's enjoyment of the penis-shaped plastic now spoke to Paul with a new voice- the voice of raging homosexual lust, and Paul trembled with pleasure as he recognised a kindred spirit. But now he wanted more than plastic, more than to masturbate over the beautiful young boy's image- he wanted a man, and he wanted Victor! He replaced the dildo on the drawer, closed it, and went back out into the hall. There were several doors leading off the hall, and two corridors. Paul decided to try one of these, and set off. It was dimly lit, and carpeted, so his heels made no noise as he moved, his semi-nakedness revelling in the feel of the silky sealskin lining to the fur coat. He stopped at the end, unsure whether to go right or left, and listened. He could hear the low murmur of music to the right. His heart thudding with terror and lust, he walked up to a door. The music was coming from inside. There was a whiff of cigar-smoke in the air. Victor! And now he hesitated. He was standing, naked under the huge fur, the collar up, and instinctively holding the coat closed. Then, summoning his courage, he knocked at the door, just loud enough to be heard over the music coming from inside. The music syopped, and Paul heard footsteps padding over to the door. It opened, and there was Victor, in a quilted silk dressing gown and leather slippers, holding a cigar. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but would you have the time to let me talk to you about.. about what's happened to me tonight?" Paul had prepared this little speech with the cunning of a courtesan. "Why of course Paul," Victor said, his eyes roaming over the vision that stood before him in the corridor, "come in, come in!" Victor held the door open and stood aside. But when Paul saw the room beyond, his heart leapt with shock, and he hesitated. It was a softly-lit, large, modern bedroom, with smoked glass mirrored wardrobes, dark blue and gold striped wallpaper, a matching, thick dark blue carpet, and a huge bed, covered in black satin sheets and satin and red fox-fur covered pillows. On the bed was a vast, sumptuous red fox-fur bedspread, pulled aside- Victor must have been lying in the bed, propped up on large, fur-covered pillows. A huge TV on a bracket over the bed was switched on, but Paul could not see what was on the screen from the doorway. There were several gilt- framed pictures on the walls, but Paul did not have time to study them. A large leather settee, over which was thrown a rich, sable rug, was next to a fire that roared in a modern grate, in front of which was a huge polar bearskin rug on the floor. It was a room made for one, and only one thing- sex! He knew that if he went into that room with Victor, there would be no turning back- he would be essentially giving his body up to the older man for his pleasure! Victor saw this instantly, and was swift. Before Paul could move, he stepped out into the corridor, took Paul's fur-covered arm, and guided him into the room in front of him, and closed the door behind them. Paul was facing into the fabulous room, and Victor was standing right behind him, and had gently placed a hand on each shoulder in the thick fur. In a full-sized mirror opposite the door was the stunning image of Paul, a beautiful, blonde in a huge silver fox coat and high-heels, jewels gleaming in the soft light, painted lips parted, eyes darkened with mascara and eyeshadow, hair tumbling erotically down one side so that a perfect, jewelled ear was visible against the upturned, thick fur collar, being held by a grey-haired, older man behind him. He saw Victor bring his mouth to Paul's jewelled ear. He felt the man's hot breath on his cheek. "Do you like my room, Paul?" Victor whispered into his ear. Paul was standing, drinking in the reflection of himself and Victor, and the room and its unmistakable message- and now he also saw the pictures properly- they were of paintings of beautiful boys with winsome eyes from all countries of the world, but dressed in flimsy, flowing fabrics that half-hid, and half revealed slender limbs, shoulders, torsos and thighs- they were made up and jewelled, in high heeled boots and shoes, and there were suggestive bulges in the fabrics that tantalisingly flowed over their loins. He nodded, silent, dizzy with the thrill of what he was seeing, and what this meant for him.. and the middle-aged man standing so close behind him. Victor kept his hands on Paul's shoulders and spoke softly into his ear as Paul looked at each of the lovely images in turn, and his word were like honey oozing into every corner of Paul's luscious young being. "I understand, Paul. Don't be afraid of yourself, your true self. You must free your.. desires.. whatever they may be. Look at those boys, Paul, look how happy they are. There are lots of boys like that, Paul, boys who want to be dressed in soft, perfumed clothes and be pampered, boys who want to be looked after, boys who want someone strong to take care of them.. and they want something more, Paul, they want to be loved, Paul, and not by women, but by men- older men, who can afford to buy them all the luxury that they desire, to buy them furs, like this one, Paul, that you're wearing.." The man's hands began to gently rub Paul's shoulders through the soft fox and sealskin furs. "And you are one of those, aren't you, Paul? You want to dress in wonderful gowns and wear expensive jewels, and lipstick, and mascara, and live in luxury, don't you, Paul? You want to be like those boys there, and to be dressed in furs and loved by wicked, rich, older men like me, don't you?" The words were like a sensuous drug, weakening Paul's trembling legs under the folds of scented furs as Victor's hands were now caressing him from his elbows to the collar of the coat, and with a gentle sigh, Paul's eyes closed, and he let Victor pull him back into his firm chest, and his head fell back on Victor's shoulder, so that Victor's hands could move forwards so that they gently rubbed the furs over Paul's naked chest, especially his breasts and nipples, which had turned into hard buttons that tingled with electric pleasure at the touch of the man's fingers through the fur. Paul's own hands were now on top of Victor's, urging on his caresses. "And you can, my beautiful Paul, you can. I will love you, Paul, and I am rich, and you know that I'm wicked, too, don't you? And I love young boys, Paul, and I love young boys like you, Paul, with your beautiful body, and your soft, long hair, and your lovely young breasts, and most of all I love young boys who dress up for me like you have, Paul. You have dressed up for me, haven't you, my gorgeous thing?" Paul was kicking his lips, nodding, completely swept away by lust. "When I first saw you I knew, Paul, I knew that this is what you wanted, what you needed. You are made for this. You are so beautiful, and when you were in that velvet dress I fell for you, Paul, I fell in love with you. I want you, my darling boy, and you want me too, don't you?" "Mmmm," moaned Paul, as Victor's hands slipped inside the sealskin lining of the coat, and roamed over his naked breasts, the coat now fallen open, and Paul's own hands instinctively reached back to touch the man's firm thighs under the silk dressing gown, and he began to caress the man's legs, at the same time pushing back his buttocks so he could feel the hardness in the man's groin pushed urgently against him. It was really happening! Victor's erect penis was pushing against his bum, only separated from him by the soft furs! "What do you want me to do, Paul? Can you say it? Can you speak the words? Go on," he hissed in the boy's ear," say it!" Paul's eyes opened and met Victor's gaze in the mirror. The coat was half-off one shoulder and his nakedness was now exposed, his penis jutting up at the top of his long, smooth legs. Victor's hands were pinching his nipples, and Paul's fur-covered arms were twisted round behind him, so he could sliding his own hands up towards Victor's groin under the silk of his half-open dressing-gown. And Paul opened his glossy lips and spoke, clear as a bell, the thought that had filled his mind not only since the revelation in the perfumed bath only a few minutes before, but now, he knew, since the very first time he had slipped into one of his step-mother's fur coats, dressed as a woman. "Oh, Victor, I want you to fuck me! Fuck me, please!" And Victor laughed wickedly, and in a smooth, practiced movement, swept the thick, soft fur coat off the boy's body and let it drop to the floor so Paul was stark naked except for his patent high-heeled shoes and his jewellery and make-up. And he twisted the naked boy round and picked him off the carpet by the waist as if he was a feather, and carried him to the leather sofa, gently placing him facing away from him, on the sumptuous sable fur. Paul, in a daze, let Victor arrange him up against the back of the sofa, so Paul could see Victor behind him reflected in a mirror as the man spread the boy's legs apart. Victor was watching Paul's face as he opened up his dressing-gown enough to let his erection point forward between the folds of silk, and as he approached the sofa, Paul pushed out his buttocks to spread them even further, and leant his naked body forward into the musky softness of the sable, his head over the back of the sofa, his arms stretched out and hands spreading in the silky fur, his own erection now buried in softness as he felt Victor climb onto the sofa behind him. Then one of Victor's hands was on his waist, and Paul watched him in the mirror as he was looking down to pull his hard, thick member up so that it's tip rested on Paul's anus. Paul's eyes closed involuntarily as he felt it touch him- the first time he had ever felt a penis touch him, and it was touching him there, at the very centre of his yearning, wanton being. "Yes, yes, yes!" Paul found himself whispering, and he wiggled his buttocks urgently, spreading himself even more, willing the penis to come into his body. "Oh, Paul, you're all slimy and ready for me, my darling. You really want me, don't you?" murmured Victor, now holding Paul in the fur by the waist with both hands, the tip of his erect penis resting just inside the lips of Paul's anus. "God, Victor, Yes!" Paul cried out, opening his eyes to look deep into Victor's in the mirror. The older man was smiling wickedly at him. "All right, my luscious boy, here it is, what you want, my darling, a lovely hot cock jammed up your bum.." hissed the man, his eyes narrowing with pleasure as he carefully thrust his hips forward behind Paul, and the long, thick rod slid into the naked boy's creamed anus as he sprawled on the sable-covered sofa. Paul cried out with a shock of pain as he felt its hot hugeness slimily but steadily filling him, until Victor's groin pressed hard against his buttocks, and he knew that it could go no further. "Wait a bit, Paul, my darling" whispered Victor. He had stopped pushing, but was somehow pulsating his cock deep inside Paul. Victor had leant his body over Paul, and his head was now pressing down on Paul's shoulder, and his hands had slipped down into the fur towards Paul's throbbing, aching penis. He pulled folds of sable up and started to masturbate the young, naked boy. For the first time in his young, life Paul had a man's hands on his cock! The two sensations- pain in his rectum and thrilling pleasure from his penis- mingled in a confusing whirl; it seemed to Paul as if the pain was somehow inflaming the thrill! But as the pain gradually became just discomfort, and even that gradually receded, a new sensation was rising; a deep sexual feeling from within his rectum, the same as when Paul had used the dildo, but coming in waves. As the pain subsided, Paul relaxed a bit and, sensing this, Victor started to move his erection very slightly in and out of Paul. It was a fantastic feeling- so much stronger than with the dildo, and Paul began to experience such thrilling sexual pleasure that he could barely keep his eyes open. And then Victor began to fuck Paul, thrusting his penis in and out of the virgin, creamed anus, as at the same time masturbating him vigorously. And their eyes were locked together in the mirror, Paul's wide with astonishment- he could not believe the strength of the pleasure that the man's penis was bringing his young body- and Victor's narrowed with lust for the smooth young flesh that had so sweetly opened up for him, all lubricated and moist. In a pulsing, thrusting rush, with Victor grunting and Paul whimpering with the crescendo of excitement, Victor climaxed deep in Paul's rectum. As Paul saw Victor's eyes close and his face twist in a grimace of pure lust as the orgasm swept over him, and then he felt the jerking spasms within him, his own penis erupted into Victor's hands, and he drowned in a vast ocean of sexual pleasure at the realisation of the fabulous power he held over older men. *********** Almost immediately the thrilling waves of pleasure receded, Paul, panting, exhausted but wildly happy, kicked off his patent shoes, slid down in the scented furs to lie nestled in Victor's hot embrace over his back, resting his head on one of the fur-covered pillows as he felt the hardness deep inside him begin to soften. Victor did not withdraw, but, also panting, from behind the sofa produced a remote control that dimmed the lights, and deftly pulled the huge fur throw over their bodies. He then managed to lay down behind Paul without his cock leaving the boy's anus, cupping the boy's nakedness with his, his hands sliding under the furs and gently caressing Paul's soft, perfumed skin, now and then kissing his back and the nape of his neck. They remained silent. Paul was wide awake, though, now and then deliciously wriggling his body to nestle even further into the man's firm, naked body, and to feel with every movement the soft caress of the exorbitantly rich fur. He was in heaven. There was no shred of remorse or shame about what had happened in the few hours since he had arrived at this wonderful house- at having succumbed to the delicious temptations offered by the clothes in the first room, at the blatant lying to his step-mother so as to accept the stranger's invitation to a night of transvestite self-indulgence, and then at the amazing discoveries in the library and deep in his own, burgeoning sexuality. And least of all was there any doubt about the last, fantastic event- coming to Victor, a boy-virgin dressed for sex, and being so comprehensively and gloriously ravished anally in the older man's wicked, pervertedly fascinating bedroom. Victor's hands moved gently over his body, and one started idly playing with one of his still-sensitive nipples. Victor was the first to speak, his voice gravelly, slightly hoarse. "Any regrets, my darling boy?" "No," whispered Paul, and squeezed his buttocks around the man's almost completely flaccid penis, still in his rectum. The few seconds of wild, pumping, pounding buggery by the older man had changed Paul forever- from a shy, gentle teenage boy with a shameful secret to ravenous, insatiable intuitive and instinctive she-male! Victor groaned, and hugged him close and hot, his breath strong in Paul's ear. "You're fantastic, Paul, do you know? You're fabulous. You're a natural...natural lover, my sweet Paul. You were made for this, weren't you? Hmmm?" "Mmmm," Paul murmured, his eyes closing with pleasure at the syrupy words from the sodomist, and also at feeling the man's hand in his sticky groin under the fur. He lifted his body slightly so Victor could gently stroke his balls, slimy with semen. He was gently writhing, washed in a sea of sensations- the man's hot body over his back, the penis in his anus, the hand on his balls, the hand on his nipple, and all surrounded by the musky caress of sable. The two bodies moved gently together for a while, and then a glorious drowsiness washed over them both, and they slipped into sleep, in the flickering firelight and the glow of the TV over Victor's bed. ****** Later in the night Paul awoke slowly, and found himself in the huge satin-sheeted bed, his naked body now half-covered with soft fox-fur. The fire had almost gone out, but the room was warm. The TV was above the bed, and was still on, though there was only snow on the screen. Victor was propped up on fur cushions beside him, the bedspread pulled up to his belly, looking down at him and gently stroking his hair. The sensuous cool sheets and the soft furs eased him back from a deep sleep into a half-awake, feline languor, and as he slowly regained consciousness, the wicked memories of the night returned, and a slow, lazy smile covered his face before he even fully opened his eyes. "Mmmm, Victor, why did you leave me?" Paul purred, pouting and smiling at the same time into the older man's aquiline face, and, with a little giggle, the shameless boy slid over the satin under the furs and pushed his soft, slim body against the full length of the man, at the same time reaching out with his right hand towards Victor's groin. And then Paul's hand found it, long and rubbery, lying across Victor's thigh, and Paul's hand closed gently round a man's prick for the very first time in his young life. Paul was looking up at Victor, eyes widened with the strange feeling of a man's cock in his hand. It was warm and dry- Victor must have washed it before coming to bed with Paul. Victor's smile in the flickering light from the TV grew lascivious as he felt the boy's fingers gently explore his penis under the soft furs. Paul's blue eyes held the man's narrowing gaze as he wrapped his untutored but deft, gentle hand around the middle of the penis and started gently tugging it in short, slow strokes. Paul had started to masturbate Victor in his satin and fur bed Victor extended his arm to pull Paul even closer into his hard, muscular body as the boy continued to rhythmically pump his penis. It grew rapidly larger, and firmer, and the change made Paul smile, lusciously wanton now, a she-male prostitute pleasuring a rich, old man. This lasciviousness in Paul excited Victor immensely, and the scented boy's tousled soft blonde hair half over his face, his jewelled ear-lobes, and most of all his parted, crimson lips, his tongue just visible, ignited Victor's lust almost as much as Paul's wonderfully willing masturbation of the man's fully-erect penis hidden under the fur bedspread. Victor slid down into the bed and moved his face across the furry pillow towards Paul, and Paul kept on pumping. "Kiss me, Paul." hissed the man, his face inches from the boy's. Paul's own erection leapt at the word, and his whole being reacted instantly. Sliding his free hand under the man's chest, but keeping up the rhythmic movement on his erection with the other, Paul's mouth opened and he moved his beautiful face up to Victor's. For a moment the man and the boy hesitated, their faces hung there, in space, just apart, each savouring the prospect of the touch of lips, both gently shaking with the motion of Paul's hand on the Victor's tool. Paul was the first to yield, in a sighing, soft attack on the Victor's hard lips, and Paul's tongue was into Victor's mouth in a wanton, writhing motion before Victor realised what was happening. Paul's eyes closed with rapture at the sensation of mouth meeting mouth, of tongue wetly meeting tongue, of their bodies- the lean, muscular man and the slender soft youth- cleaving together, and their breaths mingled as their tongues explored each other's mouths, both now moaning softly as their bodies urgently pressed together. Paul gloried in what was happening to him in the sinful luxury of satin and fur- as the long, long kiss of the middle-aged seducer enticed him, now a willing teenage lady-boy, further and further down the one-way street of homosexual lust. Paul was rubbing his own erection against Victor's naked leg as the kiss went on and on, and Paul drew up one slender leg over the man's hairy thigh to intensify the feeling burning in his groin. Paul was on fire with love- in his groin, in his hand on the lovely hard prick, and in his mouth, now nibbling and sucking Victor's lips and tongue, now intensely kissing the man and thrusting into the man's mouth, now letting Victor's tongue enter his wet mouth and playing with it with his own tongue. Ah, Paul was thinking, to lie naked in satin sheets, caressed by furs, and be kissed by a naked man whose huge tool you are masturbating gloriously, all the while rubbing yourself to orgasm against his firm thigh, this was rapture that could only be surpassed by full, rampant sodomy! Paul could feel the man's excitement rising along with his as they kissed and writhed and wanked, the satin sheets rustling as their bodies moved urgently together, their breathing getting faster and faster. He could feel his orgasm beginning, deep down in his body, and a change in Victor's panting and kissing seemed to herald the man's as well. But just as Paul felt that their climaxes was inevitable, Victor astonishingly lifted his lips from Paul's. Paul moved forward, reluctant to end the fabulous kiss, but Victor moved his head back. "Wait, wait!" whispered Victor in the blue-grey light from the TV screen, to Paul's urgent, questioning gaze, their faces so close. Victor pulled back the furs down over his hairy, firm belly, and gradually revealed his erection in Paul's hand. Paul stopped masturbating him. He left the bedspread, a hazy froth of softness, just at its root. "Look, Paul, look at what you do to me!" Paul looked down, through a mass of gleaming hair, at Victor's penis, rising out of the fur in his white hand. It was circumcised, hard and thick, dark from the rubbing. A small ooze of pre-cum was glistening on its tip in the gloom. As Paul saw that gleaming fluid oozing from the hole in its tip, something happened to his lips and tongue- a strange, tingling sensation spread over them, and at the same instant a black, filthy thought exploded in his mind. He imagined himself kissing Victor's penis. And the very next second he remembered the taste of semen from the black dildo, and he knew, in the very core of his being, that he wanted to drink Victor's spunk straight from his prick! The shock was so great, that he started slightly. Victor felt it, and, evil seducer of luscious young boys, knew exactly what had passed through Paul's she-consciousness. "Go on, Paul, kiss it. You want to, don't you, Paul?" he whispered in the young teenager's ear, there, in the flickering gloom of his bedroom of perverted delights. And Paul needed no encouragement now- he wanted to do this disgusting, shameful thing more than anything- more even than to be sodomously ravished again. He wanted to feel the penis on his lips. He wanted to lick the gleaming fluid from it's tip. He wanted to take in the whole, monstrous organ into his painted mouth and suck it, and most of all he wanted to feel man's sperm on his lips, to taste it with his tongue, swallow it, swim in it.. It was a very short journey for his painted mouth from Victor's lips to the tip of the penis that he held there in the furs, and in a second of sliding over the satin the unbelievable was happening. He was now at right- angles to Victor's body, his own left hand holding his penis in a fold of softest fox-fur, and his lips were poised over the top of the huge erect penis that he held captive in his right. And he closed his eyes as he brought the tip up to his lips, and relished the sensation that the hot flesh and slimy fluid produced on the tip of his tongue, with which he gently and delicately tasted the pre-cum. It was slimy and salty, just like his own. He put out his tongue again, and gently licked around the prepuce and cap, rapt in attention to his sumptuously wicked task. It tasted and smelt clean, slightly of perfumed soap. This wet caress produced another globule of slime, which Paul also delicately sucked up, licking his lips. He looked up at Victor. The older man had lain back, and was facing upwards, his eyes closed, obviously enjoying every second of the attention his penis was receiving from the lips and mouth of the beautiful young boy stretched out on the satin beside him. His right hand was gently moving over the soft, perfumed skin of Paul's upper back and shoulder. Paul resumed his lovely, thrilling task. Licking his lips, he parted them slightly, and kissed the tip of the penis waving before his face. Then he continued the kiss, and experimented by inserting the tip of his tongue very gently into the hole. His hand felt Victor's stiffening response, and Paul smiled in the dark, his mouth over the man's penis, relishing every dreamy second of the wet encounter between his lips and the man's organ. Carefully he opened his mouth further, and slid his face over the top of the penis, taking more and more into his mouth. It felt fabulous! Hot and hard in his mouth, and pushing firmly towards the back of his throat. At the same time he resumed his gentle squeezing masturbation with his hand buried at the root of Victor's penis in the soft fox-fur bedspread. And, with his new-found lust-driven she-male skills, he knew what to do precisely, though he had never even dreamt of doing this, let alone had been taught. He began to alternate long, sucking, sliding movements with his mouth, culminating in a hot, kissing suck to the tip, and a swift swirl of his tongue in the hole, with a few short bursts of pumping masturbation. In his excitement he forgot his own penis, forgot where he was, who he was with, what had happened to him, even forgot his name- his whole, rampant, sexual being was concentrated on that long, hot rod in his mouth. And with each cycle of sucking and kissing and licking and pumping the penis got bigger and bigger and bigger, so that Paul could hardly contain even the head of it in his mouth, let alone take much in of the shaft, now glistening with a mixture of the boy's saliva and the man's pre- orgasmic emissions. Soon Victor could bear the excitement no longer, and started pushing up his thighs in synchrony with Paul's sucking and pumping, grunting and moaning with pleasure. Finally, when Paul thought the man's penis would burst, he felt Victor's hand grab the hair of his head, hard! The sudden pain only heightened his excitement and urgent sucking. He heard Victor shout out "Yes! Yes!", and he forced his mouth down over the pulsating shaft of the throbbing monster. At the same time Victor thrust up his hips off the bed, and Paul, gloriously half-choked with hot, hard cock, finally got his reward for all his luscious, sensuous attention to the older man's pleasure; the sudden, spurting fountain of semen into the back of Paul's sucking, wet mouth, most of which he had to gulp down his throat so as not to drown. Paul, his head held by Victor, kept up his milking masturbation of the man as the penis spurted and spurted, his whole depraved, and now debauched being centred on the hot hard tube of joy in his mouth. Paul drank and drank the slimy, salty fluid until the spurting seemed do diminish, and as Victor's grip on his hair relaxed, he pulled his mouth up so that it now only covered the prepuce while he milked the erection into his mouth. He could now taste the salty, slippery sperm better, now that he didn't have to swallow it- it felt, smelt and tasted every bit as wonderful as he'd wanted. As he lay there, on the huge bed with the man he had met only a few hours before, holding the man's penis with his lips encircling its top, semen and saliva dribbling from the corners of his mouth, sucking the last few drops of slime that oozed from its tip, Paul realised that he could never leave this life. He wanted to stay with Victor forever. In a rush of sexual adoration, he gently removed his mouth from the man's penis, kissed it, and then slipped up to lie on top of Victor so that his own penis, turgid and unrelieved was against Victor's hot and slimy. Victor looked up at the laughing eyes of the boy he had so easily seduced into his scented bed. And Paul brought his mouth down on Victor's, and kissed him, and as his lips parted to let his tongue slide, once again, into his ravisher's mouth, he released a mouthful of Victor's semen into their mouths, in which their tongues and lips writhed in a slimy orgy of lustful sensation as their bodies came together once more. And with that second kiss, semen drenched, with the rich older man in his bed, came Paul's explosive climax into Victor's groin and hairy, firm belly. Paul was laughing with pleasure as he lifted his face finally from Victor's, glistening slime stretched between their lips. Victor was smiling wickedly at the success of his careful seduction of this wonderful, beautiful, blond teenage boy- a sex-child who loved luxury and was obviously made for pleasure. Paul licked his lips suggestively, then lay his head on the man's shoulder, and once again Victor pulled a fur over their panting, sweating naked bodies. Paul snuggled down in Victor's arms, their penises shrinking rapidly but still touching stickily and deliciously together, and this time sleep overtook them both again almost instantly. ******* We leave the couple now in their fur-swathed luxurious bed of fellatio and sodomy. In the future I will tell you how Victor managed to spirit Paul away from his family to the life he now so deeply desired, and how, under his expert tutelage, Paul's depravity and enjoyment of sex spiralled into new realms of evil.