The Best Of Both Worlds free porn video

THE BEST OF BOTH WORLDS A short story by Tamsyn A crossdresser wakes to find himself tied and gagged and at the mercy of a masked sadist. But is everything as it seems? The sound of laughter, the clink of glasses, soft music... Slowly I came to, consciousness returning to my befuddled brain. It was like trying to claw my way out from under a heavy tarpaulin or a rockfall. I opened my eyes. It was dark, pitch black, but the room still seemed to swim in front of me. Had I drunk that much last night? It hadn't seemed like it. I couldn't remember. Actually, I couldn't remember anything of last night. A brief instant of panic welled up in me at the absence of memory, and was then dispersed as another realisation hit home. My wrists were tied together. Worse, they were tied together above my head. I seemed to be in a standing position, my toes -just- able to touch the floor, my arms stretched upwards above my head. On top of that, I was wearing a ball gag, the strap tight round my head. The realisation chased the fog away from my brain with the same effect as having a bucket of cold water thrown over me. With it came a few fragments from last night, surfacing from my subconscious. I remember driving across from home... being greeted at the doorway (who by?) ... eating a meal... Nothing more. What else had happened? There was a tiny amount of light creeping in through somewhere behind me, perhaps from a door frame. My eyes were adjusting slowly to the darkness, and I could make out some vague shapes. I was in a fairly small area, it seemed. It smelt musty, of old clothes. A cellar, or maybe a garage? The floor under my feet was hard and solid, concrete I thought from the way my soles tapped on it. I turned my attention from my surroundings back to my own - uncomfortable- position. As I had already noted, my wrists were secured above my head, tied with some kind of plastic binding, probably a cable tie, to a metal ring or hoop. The ring was unyielding, so I guessed it was bolted or fixed in some other way to the ceiling. As I'd noted, it was at just the right height to keep me standing, my limbs at full stretch to enable my feet to touch the floor. Only just though, and that was only due to the heels of my shoes. I was suddenly thankful that I had elected to wear four-inch heels last night; anything shorter and it could have been more uncomfortable. As it was, I couldn't say that I was that comfortable; my arms ached from the hours they had been bearing my weight while I had been unconscious, and there was virtually no feeling in my fingers. I soon realised that my stretched position made it difficult to look around. Every time I tried to swivel my body to look behind me my feet threatened to lose their precarious grip on the floor. More discomfort was caused when they did, my legs flailing, my arms taking my full weight, making me cry out into the gag. I recovered my footing painfully. It was cold in the darkened space. I was wearing the same silk blouse and short miniskirt from last night, and a draft whispered over my nylon clad legs. With my arms over my head the blouse had been pulled upwards, leaving the same draft to play against the exposed skin above my waist. I felt thirsty, the pungent odour of the rubbery gag filling my mouth, and very nervous. I felt I had to have been drugged. Whoever I'd met last night must have spiked my drink with some kind of date rape drug and put me here. I wondered if they'd done anything else with me in the meantime. I put the thought to one side uncomfortably. After a while I heard the sound of a key turning in a lock coming from behind me. A sudden spike of fear sliced through me like a needle, and I tried to look behind me, twisting myself to meet the threat. Of course, my feet slipped, and I was left to flail once more, frantically trying to regain my footing. I was aware momentarily of an increase in the light as it spilled into the room from behind, and then a battery of bright light exploded into life in front of me, smashing across the back of my eyes painfully. I let out a cry around the ball gag, eyes clamping shut, stars swimming across the inside of my eyelids, losing my footing again. When the light seemed to subside into something more manageable, I carefully opened my eyes again. It came from a pair of photographic studio lights placed in front of me, shining directly at me. Between them stood a full-length mirror mounted on a wheeled frame. For the first time I was able to look upon myself; I looked as uncomfortable as I felt. The hair on my long brunette wig was untidy, being messily pushed upwards and forwards by my outstretched arms, and the deep scarlet of my blouse was washed out by the bright light. My stretched position allowed the tops of my black stockings to peek out from underneath my black leather miniskirt, while the ball gag forced my mouth into an unnatural shape. And yet, for all the fear and nervousness I felt a thrill of excitement at the sight, noticing the unnatural stretch of my legs as I reached to keep my feet, clad in the black patent leather court shoes, on the ground. It was enough to encourage my penis, which up to now had not made its presence known, to twitch into life. Really? I thought. Now? Before I could dwell any more on it there was a rustle of movement from behind me, and a black leather gloved hand snaked around the front of my neck. I froze as it gripped my throat, applying just enough pressure. "I am going to take your gag off," a male voice whispered in my ear. It was flat, devoid of expression, but what it lacked was more than made up for in the menace it hinted at. "If you try to scream or shout, I will break your neck. Understand?" I saw my mascara framed eyes widen in shock at the words, and nodded. His other hand fumbled at the back of my head, and the gag was removed from my mouth. Still gripping my neck, he stepped around to the side, holding up a bottle of water. I suddenly realised how dry my mouth was, having been forced open for hours by the gag, and nodded again. The neck of the bottle was placed against my lips, and I started to drink in relief. The relief soon turned to panic, as he kept the bottle tilted upwards. His other hand maintained its grip on my neck, stopping me from pulling back, and the bottle continued to empty into my mouth. I had no choice but to keep drinking it, gulping it down desperately, unable to breath. Eventually I lost the battle, and as the last of the water drained out, I choked, my body shaking violently as I coughed and retched, spraying water out. I hung from the metal ring weakly, shoes scraping the floor, gasping for breath. My tormentor, still with his hand on my neck, stepped around in front of me. He was dressed entirely in black; combat trousers tucked into military-style boots, a tight-fitting hooded sweatshirt -the hood pulled up- and the leather gloves. Over his face he wore what I could only describe as a latex zombie clown mask. I'd always hated clowns, ever since I was a kid. Under the circumstances the effect was horrific and I shuddered, looking away. "Look at me," he commanded. I raised my head to look into the eyes staring at me from the dark sockets of the mask. His gaze was baleful, full of malice. "Why have you done-" I started, but got no further as he slapped me on the side of the head violently, hard enough to set my ears ringing. "Quiet," he said, his voice still expressionless. "You will not speak unless I tell you to." He paused for a moment as I regained my senses. "You are my toy now," he continued. "A thing for me to amuse myself with. For as long as I want." He let go of my neck and jammed the ball gag back in my mouth and secured it before leaving me, switching the light off and locking the door behind him. I was left in darkness once more. Only this time it seemed even darker. + + + I'm not sure how long it was until he came to visit me again. It seemed like hours, though it could have been days. Or even minutes. In the meantime, I thought furiously about what he was going to do with me. There were no pleasing answers. The only good thing I could take from it was that he didn't want me to see his face. Hopefully that meant he didn't want to kill me. Some further bursts of memory were leaking back from last night. I'd eaten fish, haddock wrapped in pancetta and baked in a rich sauce. We'd shared a bottle of wine I'd brought, but after that... Blank. My limbs were stiff from their prone position, though the temperature had risen slightly. My eyes had adjusted to the dark enough for me to make out that the walls were of breeze block construction. That and the warmth from behind me made me think that I was imprisoned in a garage or a similar outbuilding. Perhaps the sun was shining on the metal door and heating it a little. I could not see, of course, and every time I tried to turn around, I lost my footing. Eventually I gave up. I think I dozed a little; I'm not sure, but I do remember my head jerking as if from sleep a couple of times. There was certainly nothing else to do but ponder over what my abductor might want to do next. Eventually I heard the key in the lock once more. A jolt of adrenalin rushed into my veins, and I was instantly awake. Fearful, but with an odd anticipation, as if no matter how much I dreaded my tormentor's return, I looked forward to it as well. I closed my eyes in anticipation of the lights. They blasted on again and after a moment I opened them carefully, squinting against their painful glare. Again, the hand went to my throat as the ball gag was released. Another bottle of water appeared in front of me. This was bigger; whereas the last had been a quarter of a litre in size, this was half a litre. Before I could react, it was against my mouth, the opening being forced between my teeth. As before I swallowed frantically, eyes watching the level of the water as it churned inside the bottle, slowly -oh, so slowly!- lowering. My lungs screamed for air as I chugged it down, my captor's grip not allowing me to pull back. Water was dribbling out of the sides of my mouth and down my chin, but still I drank. This time I did not choke, and as he took the empty bottle away, I sucked air in greedily. He threw the bottle into the corner of the room and stood in front of me, still with that mask on. Loosening his grip on my throat he stroked my cheek gently, before moving his gloved hand back down, caressing my neck and brushing against the collar of my blouse. His other hand rose, and he gripped the collar with both hands before violently tearing it open. Buttons pinged into the darkness and I was left with the blouse fully open, my black lacy bra exposed. Again, his hands moved down, and I shivered at the touch of the leather. My penis was twitching into life once more as his fingers brushed against the bra. I was wearing silicone breast forms and he fondled them briefly before reaching into his pocket. I saw a metallic glint- Oh God. He had a knife! I squirmed against my bonds. Instantly his free hand was at my throat again, stilling me. The point of the knife rested against the centre of my throat. Slowly -erotically, even- it moved down towards my chest. I shivered at its touch as it descended down over my bra. Then he paused, and with a quick flick upwards sliced the blade through the centre of the bra. The fabric parted, allowing the breast forms to fall out and onto the floor and my real nipples to be exposed. The knife disappeared back into his pocket and he placed his hands against my real, manly breasts. The leather felt rapturous against my nipples and I could not help it as a low moan escape. "You like to be helpless," he said, rubbing his palms over my nipples. "Don't you, plaything?" "Yes," I whispered as they stiffened and became erect at his handling. It was not the only thing stiffening. He continued to rub, causing me to twitch in pleasure. My breathing quickened. Suddenly he clamped each nipple between a thumb and forefinger and squeezed and twisted at the same time. I cried at the sudden pain, agony chasing ecstasy away so swiftly. He kept my nipples twisted outwards, squeezing harder and harder, and I vainly tried to pull back. My feet lost their grip again and I lurched backwards, causing him to lose his grip. He reached into his pocket again, my eyes following the movement as I fought to regain my footing. Was he going to bring out that knife again? He brought something else out, a small cylindrical instrument, about five or six inches long, a bit like a thick ballpoint pen. I couldn't make out what it was. At least, not until he pressed the metal tip to my ribs. A shock of electricity caused me to jerk violently, making me utter a yelp. It was some kind of electric wand device. He put the ball gag back on me again, and touched the tip of the wand to my chest. I jerked a second time, my shout muffled. "This has five settings," my captor told me in his calm voice. He zapped me again. "You are on the lowest setting." He kept touching the tip to my body, each time sending a crack of mild electricity running through me. I jerked and twitched like a puppet as I hung from the metal ring, muffled cries emanating at the wand's touch. But each one did not just give me a jolt of pain or terror; there was also a peculiar frisson of pleasure that coursed through me. Before long, my penis was sticking out like a ramrod, lifting up my skirt and stretching my panties into a tent. My captor noticed it and, as if determined to shock it away, flicked the settings on the wand up a couple of notches. If the earlier setting had been painful, this was even more so, the shocks leaving my skin numb where it touched. It had a bigger effect, and my captor noticed it. He lowered the wand after a few more shocks. "So much pleasure," he breathed, a hand reaching towards my crotch. He pulled my panties to one side and pushed my skirt back, allowing my engorged member freedom. It stuck out like a tentpole, and he took it gently in his hand. Slowly his hand began to move up and down my penis, and I moaned at the feeling of his leather clad fingers stroking me. It was heaven. I shivered, feeling a wave of excitement. I had not expected this; I should be cowering from this man, but in spite of what he had done to me I was actually enjoying it. His hand was a steady rhythm on my dick, working up and down like a machine, his touch light despite the gloves. And at that moment I would do anything for him, let him use that wand on full power, let him hit me again, whatever he wanted, so long as he kept doing what he was doing. The realisation flowing over me in a wave of mixed emotion, disgust competing against delight and lust, my head lolling back, eyes closed. My hands clenched as I felt the first tremble of the coming climax. As if sensing it he quickened his rhythm ever so slightly, forcing yet another moan. This was insane! But I didn't care. He was my world at that moment. He started to move quicker, to truly pump me now, my moans increasing in time with his movements. I would not last much longer, and my muscles spasmed as I reached the edge. "You are mine forever," he said, and at that I exploded, spurting thick white globs into his palm, jerking on the end of the metal ring, screaming hoarsely into the gag. I was only vaguely aware of it as a crushing wave of rapture broke over me, pummelling me into mercy. My body bucked as if in whiplash, my head thrown back, eyes wide and staring. My senses returned slowly, my body relaxing, and I let out a long, juddering sigh. Tears brimmed at the edge of my eyes, threatening to make my mascara run, and I tilted my head, looking at the man who had done this to me, a dreamy smile on my face. He stood with his cupped hand at the end of my penis and, in that moment, I could almost see the sneer under the mask. Saying nothing he brought the hand holding my semen to my face, smearing it over my features thoroughly. Then he left me, switching off the lights and locking the door behind him. + + + I was left alone again, my cum slowly drying on my face as the rapture of my orgasm faded. The tears came, of relief and of frustration, and of fear as well. Had I angered him? What would he do? I also felt shame, not unlike the many times after I had climaxed when masturbating myself while dressed. Time passed. As before I had no idea how long. But I could feel hunger beginning to grow in my stomach, and the start of what would threatened to become a very uncomfortable feeling in my bladder. I had the sensation of the day rolling on. The light showing in through the crack behind me crept slightly to one side as the sun tracked its way through the sky. I thought back to the way he had brought me to an orgasm. I didn't feel that saying 'jerked off' or even 'wanked' quite described it. I had rarely exploded like that, and it had been a long time since I had reached those dizzying heights whilst coming. All it needed was the right stimulus, evidently. It seemed that being tied up and hit with lots of minor electric shocks did it. As I stood there, I tried to divert my attention away from my bladder. For a while I managed but, inevitably, as the swelling in it grew, I found it more and more difficult. Still, it gave me something else to worry about. Assuming I had not had the chance to take a piss last night, I had at least half a bottle of wine as well as three quarters of a litre of water working its way through my system. Before long, it felt as if it was a gallon and the pain and discomfort was increasing with it. I dared not move for fear of making it worse, and for the first time it truly felt like torture. This was worse than anything else, even the shocks and definitely worse than being forced to drink- No! For fuck's sake don't think of that! Idiot. I started to pray for my tormentor to come back. Hopefully he would let me pee into something. My desperation blinkered my reasoning; if I'd thought about it logically, I would realise how unlikely that would be. But when at last the key turned in the lock, I felt a sudden feeling of gratitude that my prayer had been answered. Once more the light went on and I was caught by my appearance in the mirror. I looked an absolute mess. My wig was untidy, hair badly messed up, and it framed a face that was encrusted with dried semen, two trails of tear stained mascara tracking down my cheeks -of course I still had the ball gag in, which made it worse. My blouse hung open, showing my bare torso, the two halves of my cut bra dangling uselessly. Beneath that my skirt was still pushed up, my shrunken dick dejectedly poking out underneath. Somehow one of my sheer stockings had a run in it from thigh to shin, and I appeared to have lost one of my shoes; I hadn't even noticed. It was a far cry from the sophisticated, pleasing image I had cultivated yesterday evening. Though I was not of the right build to allow me to pass without effort, and would never be one of those 'a beautiful young woman looked back at me from the mirror' fantasies from online fiction, I prided myself on my ability with cosmetics, however, and always made a good effort on my female image. It did much to offset my natural male features, and enabled me -with feminine deportment and voice training- to be able to pass. What a difference a few hours made. As was the custom a gloved hand gripped my neck, the other removing the ball gag. A bottle of water was held up in front of me -Christ, a one litre bottle- and I frantically shook my head. "No!" I blurted. "No water!" "You are not thirsty?" he asked. "Yes," I said. "But I need to pee. Badly." "I'm not stopping you. Piss where you are." "I can't," I protested. "Not like-" I was cut off as he tipped the bottle over my head. Water cascaded over me, flooding down my body. As soon as it ran into my crotch, that was enough, and my aching, swollen bladder emptied itself involuntarily, my piss arcing out in a steaming stream onto the floor to join the water that was running off me. The bottle emptied long before I did, and I stood uncomfortably, my dick slowing and dribbling its last, soaked to the skin. My blouse was clinging to me now. He grabbed my jaw, forcing me to look at him. "Better now?" "Why are you doing this?" I whimpered. "What have I done?" "Why do you think you have to done something?" he asked. "You just happened to be there." The knife was back in his hand. He held it to my throat, and I could sense the leer behind the mask. Then, unexpectedly, he reached up and sawed through the plastic tie that kept my wrists tied together. I collapsed to the floor untidily, literally like a puppet with its strings cut. Sensation flowed back painfully into my arms and hands, becoming a mass of pins and needles. My tormentor stepped around so that my head was at his crotch. His hand unzipped his fly, reached in and pulled out his dick. It was large, swollen with lust, the veins prominent, and I looked at it muzzily. "Pleasure me," he ordered. Without protest I put the tip of his penis to my lips, licking the end, tasting his musky saltiness. I kissed it, then opened my mouth and embraced it in the warm cocoon within. My tongue slid over it, and I gripped the base of it and started to move it in and out, taking it deep. I had become practiced at this, and could easily resist the gag reflex as the head pressed against the back of my throat. I cupped his testicles with my other hand as I moved my head back and forth. There was no reaction from my captor, but I could tell from the stiffening of his body that it was having an effect on him. I concentrated on that big dick, intent on giving him the best oral sex I was capable of. I suppose that I should have bitten on it and run away while he was screaming in agony, but I could have no more done that than flown to the moon. A strange acceptance seemed to be settling over me. This man was truly dominating me. He was breathing heavily, but just as I thought I had brought him to his climax he pushed my head back, away from his dick. I looked up at him in surprise and disappointment as he put a hand under my jaw and forced me to stand. A kitchen table-type wooden chair stood to one side, and he pulled it closer before turning me so that I stood behind it. Roughly he pushed me forward, my hands on the seat. I was forced over it, my head down, my backside in the air, and I knew what was coming next. Yes, the next thing I felt was my panties being yanked down and my cheeks being spread apart. I felt his penis press against me, then it found the opening and he pushed it in. I was by no means an anal virgin, but this was rough, without any lubrication bar my saliva, and I squirmed as he pushed forward. His hand pushed my head down savagely until it was pressed against the seat, and I gave a whimper of pain as he entered me. Suddenly he was in and, after a pause, he began to fuck me, his dick pushing in and out. There was no tenderness, no empathy, just the fierce, rough movement of a dominant, uncaring partner. At first it was painful and I squirmed again, causing him to grab my earlobe and twist it savagely. It stilled me and he continued to push, my hips moving back and forth with the force of his lust. He was grunting as he continued his rape, his own pleasure all that mattered to him. But as he continued the pain lessened and it became almost pleasurable. Again, just as I thought he was about to climax he stopped and pulled back, his dick sliding out of my ass altogether. A hand at the back of my neck pulled me up, then I was turned to face him once more and forced to my knees. His dick hovered in front of my face and thrust towards my mouth. For the second time I took it, and once again started to suck on it. All at once his body stiffened, and with a drawn-out groan he came, spurting his load into my mouth. With his hand on the back of my head I could do no other but to swallow the thick, salty semen, gulping it down my throat as he pumped remorselessly into my mouth. When at last there was no more, he pulled his shrinking dick from my mouth and forced my head down so that I was grovelling at his feet, my cheek pressed against the toecap of his boot. "Now, my plaything," he said. "Do I need to convince you further that you are mine?" He had broken me, and more tears leaked from my eyes. I did my best to shake my head. He nudged me in the ribs with his other boot. "Tell me." "No," I murmured. "I am yours." "Say it," he said. "Master," I whispered. "You are my master." + + + There was a pause, then Boyd said, in his normal voice, our safe word. "Overstrand." I looked up at him as he pulled off the mask, grinning down at me. "You shit," I said. "You ruined one of my favourite bras." He laughed as he reached down to give me a hand up. "You should have seen the look on your face when I pulled that knife out." He broke off, a look of concern crossing his face. "You alright, Gretchen? You're crying." "You surprised?" I said. "That was intense." "Was, wasn't it?" he said. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." I retrieved my other shoe and the breast forms and followed him out of the garage and up the garden path. Boyd lived in a large, spacious bungalows with tall fencing either side of the garden so I had no worries about being overlooked. "And where did you get that mask?" I asked as I followed him into his kitchen. "It's horrific." "eBay, of course. I remember you telling me how you hated clowns. Thought it would make a good touch. If you want to head off to the shower, I'll get the pizzas ordered." I went to the bathroom and, grimacing at my appearance, removed my wig and earrings and cleaned off the make-up. So much for waterproof mascara, I thought ruefully. Stripping off my sodden clothing I enjoyed a good, long shower, towelling off and changing into my usual boxer shorts, polo shirt and chinos. After sorting out my discarded clothing, ruefully chucking the laddered stockings and sliced bra into the bin and folding the rest up, I spent some time sorting out the wig, combing it out and tidying it, and cleaned the varnish off my fingernails. When I rejoined Boyd in the kitchen he looked up at me from checking his texts. He had changed out of his black clothing into jeans and t- shirt. "Pizzas shouldn't be too long," he told me. "There's fresh coffee brewing, and I gave your heels a good polish and shine." "You didn't have to do that," I protested, pouring some coffee into a cup. "Well, it was my fault they ended up like that." "Fair point," I mused, adding milk and sugar. "Tell me, how did you get me there?" "You don't remember?" he asked. I shook my head. "Not in the slightest." "Wow. That zolpidem is good stuff." "I thought it would be." "I'm still impressed that you were willing to take it." "Yes, well, just let's not use it too often." "I gave it to you in your dessert," he explained. "Crushed it and scattered it over your ice cream. It didn't take too long to have an effect. You spent most of the night crashed out in the spare bedroom. I woke you about eight, which took some doing, walked you out to the garage and tied you up and put your shoes back on you. You were pretty much out of it." "So when was the first time you visited me?" "About midday. Gave me plenty of time to catch up with the housework." "Mm," I remarked, looking around me. "I thought it was looking tidier." "I kept an eye on you with a video camera. It was switched over to infra-red, but I put it onto normal every time before coming out to you. Something for us to watch back later." I pricked my ears up. I liked the sound of that. The doorbell chimed. "Grab the beers," Boyd said. "I'll pay the man." We were soon sat on the sofa in the front room, feet up, munching on pizza and with the England versus Germany football match on the television. That's soccer to those of you who play a strange type of rugby with crash helmets and padding and call it football. As we watched we went over the day's events in the garage, conducting what we liked to call a debrief. We were both agreed it was our best one yet. It was peculiar how life was often a series of coincidences. I had known Boyd in school; we had been good friends but had lost touch when, after we had finished secondary school, his parents had moved all the way to Hampshire where he had gone to college to study for his A-levels. I was sent to the local Sixth Form to do mine. Back then there was no such thing as social media and not many people even had email. Though I gained my A-levels I never went to university. In fact, I never moved out, and working locally in relatively low paid jobs. I'd had one or two relationships, but had never become that serious. My parents both died when I was in my late twenties; Mum had terminal cancer and Dad had a series of strokes that, after a couple of years of me providing full time care, had put him in a nursing home for the last year of his life until the big one carried him off. I'd gone back into employment, working firstly as a van driver, then at a car rental firm before settling down as part of the team at a busy high street optician. As a child I had always been interested in crossdressing; it was the usual story of trying on my mother's clothes when my parents were out. I was an only child, not very outgoing, and never had an opportunity to take things any further. My interest returned after I found myself living alone, and I started to build up a decent collection of clothing as well as two or three decent wigs. I turned one of the spare rooms into a proper dressing room, and there I learned all about cosmetics and how to use them correctly, and became more practiced in perfecting my appearance. I learned how to act feminine, to walk in heels and work on my deportment. I went through the usual feelings of guilt, of course, and came close to purging my wardrobe on more than one occasion. I was never brave enough to go out dressed, apart from one or two late night walks around the estate where I lived. My interest in photography enabled me to take some good photographs in the mini-studio I set up in the corner of what I called Gretchen's room. That was the name I chose for my female persona. One day I noticed a very nice pair of thigh boots on eBay, being sold nearly new at a very good price. I won the bid, and noted that the seller lived only twelve miles away. After messaging him to suggest I pick them up in person, he gave me his address and I drove over to collect them. I'm not sure which of us was more stunned when Boyd opened the door. We recognised each other immediately, of course, and he invited me in. Over coffee we caught up. He had moved back to Somerset and married, but was now divorced and living alone. He mostly worked from home as an IT consultant, which had enabled him to buy a large, sprawling and very modern bungalow. Amazingly he too had had an interest in crossdressing since he was a child, and like me had suppressed it in his adult life. His divorce, he said, had not been a result of it; rather his wife had barely been able to stop chasing other men and, in the end, he had had enough of it. Since finding himself living alone he too had resumed his interest in crossdressing. He was a bit braver than me, however, and had gone out while dressed. He was selling the boots as they were just too small. I tried them on and found that, while a little tight, they fitted okay. Boyd asked me if I wanted to come over one evening to share a meal; after seeing some photos of me while dressed on my mobile he asked if I would be able to give him some advice. I readily agreed and, the following Saturday, I visited him again. While the lasagne was in the oven, we both changed for the evening. He had a strawberry blonde wig in a shoulder length bob with bangs, and wore a thigh length gold dress with a matching jacket and medium height courts. I wore a Chinese style satin dress in black with a floral pattern, black stockings and shoes, with a deep red russet wig that cascaded curls over my shoulder. "Wow! You look amazing, Gretchen!" Awkwardly we kissed on the cheeks. "You're not so bad yourself, Ellie," I replied, admiring her slim frame and using Boyd's chosen femme name. "I don't see how you need any advice from me." Over dinner we chatted, and it was odd how, in our female personae, our conversation was so different. Out went topics such as sport or aviation (something that we had both been interested in as kids) and we were happier to talk about relationships, clothing and our 'journeys'. I guess, as we sat on the sofa with wine and soft music playing later, it was inevitable that we became physical. We had been flirting with each other all evening. I'm not sure which of us made the first move but we soon had our lips locked together, making out like a pair of lovestruck teens. We both surprised ourselves, we admitted afterwards, for neither of us had any gay tendencies, but by the end of the evening we had both given and received oral and anal sex for the first time. And that set the pattern. As Boyd and Danny, we were good mates, sharing interests such as sport, astronomy, photography and aviation. We enjoyed a beer together, going to air displays and photographic events, taking off late to somewhere in the country to watch a rare astronomical event, shouting at the referee from our armchairs when he got a decision wrong, and so on. And as Ellie and Gretchen we were very good, intimate friends, enjoying evenings together, trying out new looks, shopping -for I was persuaded to go out dressed, and once I did, I never looked back- and visiting friends we made online. We did studio photoshoots for each other, supported the Gay Pride parade, and equally enjoyed this new facet of our relationship. We also combined the best of both worlds. I had accompanied Boyd as Gretchen to a couple of formal events associated with his work where he needed to have a 'plus one'. Invariably these were in London, requiring hotel stays which allowed me to indulge a little. Then there were the days such as I have described. Once every few weeks we would act out a scenario devised by one or the other. We had very early on discovered that we both enjoyed a fetishist streak in our crossdressing, and that was something neither of us were going to ignore. It was a friendship that worked well for both of us (or the four of us if you prefer). Neither of us had any intention of living fulltime as a woman, or of moving in together as a couple. We were not in love. We just enjoyed each other's company, whether as male or female, and shared our interests. On one occasion Boyd texted me on a Friday afternoon at work. In the guise of a school teacher, Mrs. Sherriff -I smiled, for that was the name of a particularly poorly tempered teacher from our primary school- the message informed me that my daughter's behaviour had been particularly bad at school that day. It was strongly suggested that I punish her accordingly when I arrive home from work that day. For the rest of the day I found it difficult to concentrate, as the hours ticked around slowly. Eventually 5.30 came and I drove home, wondering what I would find when I got there. Boyd's car was parked outside (we had given each other spare house keys) and I pulled up on the driveway. "Ellie!" I called sharply as I shut the front door behind me. The sound of K-pop music could be heard coming down the stairs. "I need to speak to you." I straightened my tie and hurried upstairs to the spare bedroom, from where the music was coming. Pushing open the door I looked in, hiding a delighted smile behind my grim expression. Ellie lay on the bed on her front, facing the door, her legs bent at the knee, feet in the air, one heel crossed over the other. Her long platinum hair was tied into two long braids that started above her ears, dangled and then looped back up, where they were secured with bright red ribbon bows. Her face was delicately made up as she looked up at me questioningly, her lips bright glossy red. She wore a crisp white blouse, with enough buttons undone to be indecent, a blue and yellow school tie loosely tied around her neck, and a navy bib top- style pinafore dress with a rather short pleated skirt. She wore over the knee white socks and a pair of black patent Mary Jane shoes with a short heel. On the bed a teenage girls' magazine lay open and she was just opening her mouth to lick on a small lollipop. "Yes, Daddy?" she asked innocently, and licked the lollipop in the most erotic manner. The little minx! "Switch the music off," I ordered. She did so, jabbing her mobile, which lay next to the magazine. "I've had a message from Mrs. Sherriff," I said sternly. "Mrs. Sherriff?" she asked. "What about?" "I think you know what about, Ellie." "But I don't, Daddy. What did she say?" "Don't act the innocent. You've been very badly behaved today." She wrinkled her nose. "Oh, don't believe everything Mrs. Sherriff says, Daddy. She drinks a lot, and Mandy Thompson told me she tried to grope her in the changing room after P.E. one time." I folded my arms, looking down at her. "Never mind Mandy Thompson. What did you do?" "Nothing, Daddy. It was just a bit of fun." "So, what happened?" She sighed theatrically. "It wasn't my fault, not really." "Ellie..." "It was Billy Rollins' fault. He made me do it." "Do what?" "Well, at morning break he asked me to go with him behind the greenhouses. I said okay, and when we got there he asked to have a feel of my titties. So I did, and after that he wanted to have a feel... you know... down there. Well, I wasn't going to, but he says ALL the girls let him, so I lifted my skirt and he stroked my leg. Then he put his inside my pantie." She broke off teasingly, and I could feel myself hardening. "Yes?" "Well, he said that I shouldn't have a thingy cos I'm a girl, and girls don't have thingies." "And what happened then?" "Well, he had a feel anyway, but afterwards he was telling everybody that I had a thingy there. I got mad, and I hit him." "You hit him?" "Yes, Daddy. With a hockey stick. Several times. He was taken away in an ambulance. To hospital. He wasn't moving much after I hit him. I did say sorry to his mummy and daddy, cos they were crying a lot. He must have been hurt bad 'cos the hockey stick broke in half." I shook my head. "Mrs. Sherriff was right. You have behaved badly, Ellie." She looked downcast. "I'm sorry, Daddy." "Sit up," I ordered her. Ellie did as I asked, moving around to sit on the edge of the bed, giving me a delicious glimpse of her white cotton knickers. I sat down beside her. "I'm very disappointed, Ellie," I said, placing a hand on her bare thigh between skirt and sock. "You know that you're not to let boys touch you, don't you?" "Yes, Daddy." "Why's that?" I asked, stroking her skin. "Cos only you're allowed to, Daddy." "That's right. Only I'm allowed to." I moved my hand up underneath her skirt. "And definitely only I'm allowed to touch your little thingy." "But what did Billy Rollins mean?" she asked. "Only boys have them?" "Normally they do," I continued, my hand sliding underneath her knickers. "But you're a very, very special little girl. Daddy's special little girl." She sighed as my fingers stroked her not so little thingy. Then I took my hand away. "But you have been very bad, Ellie. And that means you need to be punished." Her eyes widened. "No, Daddy. Please!" I slapped her, not too hard, across the cheek. "Quiet, Ellie! I'm your Daddy, and what I say goes. Stay there." I left her briefly, fetching something from Gretchen's room. When I came back her eyes widened in fright. "No, Daddy! Please don't!" I had a short black leather paddle in my hand, and a grim expression on my face. "It gives me no pleasure, Ellie, and it will hurt me a lot more. Now, stand up." She did so, and I turned her around, pushing her forward. She bent over at the waist, hands resting on the bed, and I pulled her skirt up. After a few seconds' anticipation, I landed the first blow on her behind. There was a satisfying 'WHAP!' and she squealed. "That was for going around the back of the greenhouses." WHAP! "That was for letting Billy Rollins touch your titties." WHAP! "That was for letting him feel your thingy." WHAP! "That was for hitting him afterwards." WHAP! "And that, young lady, was for lying about it." Ellie had tears in her eyes, and doubtless red marks on her behind under the knickers. "Straighten up and turn around," I said. She did so, and I drew her to me in a hug. "Now I don't like to do that," I said. "Not to my special girl. What shall we do to make it better? Hmm?" I reached down and lifted her skirt again. I could feel her little thingy standing fully erect, pushing her knickers out, and stroked it. "Oh, Daddy," she whispered in my ear. I sat her back down on the bed, laying her back so her head rested on the pillow, and sat down next to her. With her skirt pushed up I released her thingy from its cotton cage. It stood proud and tall, and I caressed it. "You didn't tell Billy that I touch you, did you?" I asked, a sharp edge to my voice. "Oh no, Daddy," she cried. "I never would. You always tell me that's our secret." "Good girl," I said. "It's our special, special secret. If anybody found out they'd come and take you away, and that would be very bad. They'd put you in a home." I started to move my hands up and down her thingy gently. "They wouldn't understand, Ellie. But you do, don't you?" "Yes, Daddy," she breathed heavily. "That's very good, Ellie. Much better behaved. And for that you deserve a treat." I leaned forward to kiss the tip of her thingy lovingly, and then enveloped it in my mouth, taking its full length. Slowly I began to work my lips up and down its length, caressing it with my tongue. She moaned, shuddering in delight at the feeling, the press of her thingy's head against the top of my mouth. I savoured the taste of her hardness, its salty flavour assailing my senses. Her breathing quickened as I moved up and down her shaft, the lubrication of my saliva increasing the sensation. Her moans began to grow quicker as she approached her orgasm, turning into cries of ecstasy as the edge of the precipice came closer and closer. My hand closed around the base of her thingy, joining my mouth in her pleasure. Her back arched beneath me, and I knew the time had come. Suddenly she screamed and came into my mouth, pumping out thick, sticky semen against the back of my throat. As the flow subsided, I raised my head from her crotch and leaned over to kiss her on those red lips. Our tongues danced together as her cum oozed into her mouth, and I could feel her smile, a dribble of white leaking onto her cheek. "Oh, Daddy," she said, her voice brimming with pleasure. I stood up, reaching down to allow my dick to emerge, stiff and hard. "Take your knickers off, Ellie," I ordered. A look of delight crossing her face, she did as she was told, pushing forward enthusiastically so that she was at the edge of the bed. I undid my trousers, letting them fall around my ankles, my boxers quickly following, kicking them all off. A tube of KY Jelly sat on the bedside cabinet and I squeezed some into my palm, rubbing it up and down my engorged dick. Pleasure washed over me at the thought of what was to come. Ellie's legs dangled over the side of the bed, and I lifted them up, shuffling in between them, and rested them on my shoulders. Placing my hands on her ass cheeks I parted them, and she shivered in anticipation, smiling up at me. Leaning my hips forward, I could feel the head of my cock at her crack, and I brought it to the opening. I paused slightly, savouring the moment, then pushed in slowly. She moaned at the penetration, eyes closing, hands clenching the duvet cover. I paused again, and she looked up at me, her eyes begging me. I smiled, and did as she pleaded, letting out my own sigh of exultation as my penis slid into her tight ring. "Yes," she breathed. "Please, Daddy." "What do you want, Ellie?" "I want you to fuck me, Daddy." I allowed a look of cruelty to creep across my face. "Oh, I'll fuck you, alright," I told her. "Just like the slutty bitch you are." I started to move in and out slowly. "Billy Rollins didn't ask you behind the greenhouse, did he? You asked him. Isn't that right?" "No, Daddy," she protested, her voice shrill with pleasure. "Don't lie, you cow," I snapped, pushing faster. "You took him there and teased him. I know what you're like, you fucking little whore." Her reply was lost among her cries of pleasure. She had grabbed her thingy, and was beating it into life again. My heartrate was pounding, sweat on my brow, and I glared down at her furiously, shouting obscenities at her as I pumped in an out of her. I called her every name I could think of, from slut to tramp to cunt. And all through it she writhed with ecstasy, head whipping from side to side, her cries getting louder and louder. I could feel my climax building up inside me as our combined emotions threatened to overwhelm us. And then suddenly it was there, and I let out what felt like a roar of triumph, flooding her anus with thick white semen. She screamed too, her back arching as she too orgasmed. I staggered, overcome with the sensations, and fell forward on top of her, her legs falling away limply. Supported by my arms, I looked down at her as she took in deep breaths, eyelids fluttering, as sweaty as I was. She opened her eyes, and we looked at each other, regaining our senses. "Ellie," I murmured. "You truly are a special girl." She giggled. "And all yours, Daddy." I slid my arms around her, lowering myself onto her, feeling her hot body beneath me. She burrowed her head into my shoulder. "Was I a good girl, Daddy?" she asked me, her voice muffled. "Oh, Ellie," I replied, still feeling the warm pleasure from my climax. "You were exceptionally good for your Daddy." We stayed like that for a while, our passion slowly settling, and after a while I rolled myself over and sat up. Ellie raised herself on her elbows and looked up at me. "Overstrand," she said, the school girl persona gone. "That was quite something." "You're not wrong there. Your little scenarios are getting very good." "Me? What about you? I'm going to have to look most of those names you called me up in the dictionary." "Hey, we went to the same school." She looked at her mobile. "So," she said. "We have a choice. Either Boyd and you can go down to the local and catch the football on the big screen, or Gretchen and me can hit the town." I considered the options. "I'm not so sure that Gretchen wants to go out this evening," I said. "In fact, I think I'm sure she told me that she was going to ask Ellie for some help with her homework." A seductive smile crept across Ellie's face. "Well, we did order two of these school uniforms for a reason. Do you think Gretchen can play for a while after the homework?" I smiled back as we both contemplated the evening ahead.