A Portrait Of Amy free porn video

Synopsis: When John Kramer inherits his aunt's estate he finds paintings she had done of a mystery woman among the things. Intrigued he tracks her down and discovers that she is more than meets the eye. A Portrait of Amy By Belle Gordon A willowy young woman wearily pushed her bicycle up the hill. The sun blazed down on the quiet country lane and bees and flies droned around her. Wheeling the bike into the garden the large shopping bag suspended from the handle bars banged against the gatepost. She silently cursed. Entering the house she dumped the bag onto the kitchen table and kicked off her shoes. "Hi," she called. Her partner Johanna was painting at her easel which was set up on the patio. "How's it going Darling?" Amy looked at the picture Johanna was working on. It depicted two girls walking hand in hand toward a forbidding moated chateau in rural France. It was an illustration for the forthcoming book that the two women collaborated on and from which they made a comfortable living. This was to be for their latest work in the 'Honeybourne Sisters' series. A set of adventure books for children. They had both been surprised by the popularity of the books and had been commissioned to produce a further three volumes. "That's great," Amy said walking up behind Johanna. She turned her head and accepted a kiss at the same time Amy reached over her shoulders and gently squeezing her breasts. "Mmm," Johanna sighed, "I love it when you do that." "So do I," Amy replied, "you have lovely tits, the perfect size for my hands." The two women, both in their mid forties lived in Shepton Magna a village near Stow on the Wold in Gloucestershire. The hamlet was a community of some two score houses, a pub and a post office/general stores. The women were accepted by the villagers as two friends living together, and by the less tolerant as a couple of old dykes. Johanna and Amy had moved to the little Cotswolds village when they discovered their love for each other and wanted to share their life together. That had been 10 years ago and their love was still as deep as ever. "I'll make some tea," Amy said, "and I've got some of those Banbury cakes that you like." Johanna cleaned the brush and put it aside looking at the painting with a critical eye. She nodded in satisfaction. Johanna hugged her multi coloured satin robe around her when she felt a sudden chill. The wrap had belonged to her late Aunt Laura and the thought of her brought back a flood of memories of how it had all begun. ***** "...earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust..." The vicar's words were whipped away by a sudden gust of wind as the four gravediggers lowered the coffin into the ground. The few people gathered around the grave huddled into their coats seeking shelter from the bitter wind. As tears rolled down my cheeks I whispered a last goodbye to my aunt Laura. The coffin slipped below the surface where she joined her sister, my mother who had been buried many years before in the grave they now shared. At the end of the service I thanked the vicar for conducting the ceremony before he and his verger hurried away in unseemly haste to the warmth of the parsonage. I looked around at the few people who had attended the burial. The senior partner of the law firm I worked for was there to support me; three women whom I did not recognize but assumed were Laura's friends; a girl wearing dark glasses and with the hood of her jacket covering her head standing apart from the other mourners, and an elderly gentleman whom I vaguely recognize as a solicitor from a rival firm. As the mourners dispersed this man approached me and said "Terribly sorry for your loss Mr. Kramer. Perhaps you would kindly call at my office when it is convenient." he handed me a business card which I took without comment and slipped it into my pocket. "Thank you for coming," I said. I soon found myself alone. I had been 12 years old when my mother died. My aunt had taken me in, and I'd lived with her until I went to university. After qualifying as a lawyer I was apprenticed to the law practice I am now with. With secure employment and a salary I felt the need for independence so I acquired my own apartment and moved away from my aunts. Laura's death had come as a considerable shock and left me devastated. She was the only family I had. My birth was the result of a one night stand mother had had as a teenager so I was technically a bastard. She had never married. Aunt Laura had also never married, but her preference was for those of her own sex. Laura had been what used to be called bohemian; she wore eccentric clothing, was a portrait artist, a potter and craftswoman and had a fondness for marijuana. There was no question, I would miss her greatly. ***** In my flat later that evening I showered and exchanged my respectable suit and tie for more casual and comfortable gear, a satin full length nightgown and a matching negligee. I swopped my heavy brogues for fluffy mules. Hanging up my overcoat I remembered the card I'd been given at the graveside and fished it out of the pocket. The printing declared that the owner was Mr. Rupert Blake of Blake, Blake and Smithers, Solicitors and Commissioners of Oaths with an address in the High Street. As my firm had generously allowed me a couple of days compassionate leave I decided that the next morning I would go along to their offices and find out what they wanted. I dressed carefully in a pink satin and lace bra and panty set, dark hold-up stockings, a ladies blouse that could pass as unisex, loose fitting casual trousers and girls pink training shoes. Over this I wore a long hoodie that successfully hid everything, but did not inhibit the pleasure I derived from my feminine underwear. The building that accommodated the offices of Blake, Blake and Smithers had originally been a town house belonging to a wealthy family who had no doubt fallen on hard times and been forced to sell the property. It had subsequently been converted into offices. The receptionist directed me to an room at the back of the building after ascertaining that Rupert Blake would see me. He was a jovial man, very much over weight, with a shock of silver hair. He laid aside the pipe he been puffing away at and flapped his arms in a vain attempt to disperse the cloud of noxious smoke produced by it. "Good of you to drop by Mr. Kramer," he said rising from his huge chair and stretching out a hand across his vast desk for me to shake. "Sorry for your loss but these things happen and life must go on. What are you gonna do, hey?" The man was a philosopher I thought! After the usual pleasantries he said "Well now to business. You may or may not be aware that we have looked after Miss Kramer's legal matters for many years and she instructed us to draw up a new will only recently. Perhaps she had a premonition. Anyway, it's my duty to execute her wishes. As you are the only surviving member of your family you are her sole beneficiary. She bequeaths to you all her goods and chattels, in other words her house, its contents and any monies there may be. There is also a substantial life insurance policy that will also be yours. I was flabbergasted to hear this news. It had never occurred to me that I would benefit from her death. But thinking about it there was no one else for her to leave it to, except maybe the dog's home or a charity. "It will take me a few days to probate the will and formalise matters," he was saying "but in the mean time I can give you the keys to the house should you want to go and see it. Can you come in again next week and I'll have documents for you to sign?" I walked from the building in a daze. Suddenly everything had changed. I no longer had any living relatives but I was now the owner of a substantial property. My aunt was only 47 years old and the last time I'd visited her she had been brimming with health and her usual bonhomie. The post mortem subsequently concluded that she had suffered a pulmonary aneurism and that her death had been almost instant. I'd lost the only person I truly loved. I decided I should check the house for any damage. Vacant properties were often broken into and the contents damaged or stolen. Word soon went around among the criminal fraternity that there were pickings to be had in an unoccupied house. Unlocking the front door I stepped into the familiar surroundings. There was a flight of stairs directly ahead of me and a passage to the right which led to the kitchen, the downstairs lavatory and a store room come larder. Doors led off either side of the hall; through one was the parlour, a seldom used room full of antique furniture and bric-a-brac. Opposite was the lounge/living room, a comfortable cosy room with an open fire that was Laura?s principle living area. Years ago she had knocked through from the lounge and built a large conservatory which she used as her studio. I loved this room. It was light and airy and held many memories for me. When I was growing up Laura would often have me pose as she sat at her easel and painted. Her paints and brushes were everywhere, stuffed into jam jars in coffee tins and on any flat surface. Scores of paint tubes were scattered around, some used others unopened. Her potter?s wheel and assorted tools were in one corner along with a variety of pots and vases, some complete others not. A pile of canvasses were stacked against the wall and on her easel was an unfinished work. It portrayed a young woman scantily clad lounging on a chaise. Looking closely I thought I recognized her as one of the women I had seen at the funeral. Up the stairs were four bedrooms; a spare room filled with junk, a guest room, the room I thought of as mine and Laura?s. I felt a little guilty entering her room uninvited. We?d always had a rule that one didn?t enter the others room without first knocking. The room was surprisingly tidy. There were no clothes lying about and the bed had been made. It was a very feminine room; a king size bed dominated the space, a four bay fitted wardrobe with mirror doors stood against one wall and a dressing table and chest of drawers filled another. The soft furnishings and wall- paper were done in pastel colours and the curtains were made of heavy crimson velvet. The walls were hung with paintings she had done over the years and one of them was of me. She had painted it when I was about 13 years old. She?d dressed me in a blue satin suit with an extravagant lace collar, white knee stockings and holding one of her wide brimmed floppy hats complete with an ostrich feather. On my feet I wore a pair of her shoes with satin bows on the instep. It was her homage to Thomas Gainsborough?s Blue Boy. I remember distinctly the thrill I?d felt when wearing such wonderful materials. I also remembered my embarrassment when my little cock became erect whenever I donned the clothes. If Aunt Laura noticed the bulge in the pantaloons she said nothing. In retrospect I now realize that this event was the origin of my subsequent crossdressing. Without discovering the exquisite feeling of soft silky feminine clothing I might never have developed into what I am today. I sat on her bed and stared out of the window thinking of the times I had posed for her. She would often put me in dresses and on one occasion I?d asked her why. "Because you look like girl," she said in her usual forthright manner. "Apart from the absence of tits you could easily pass as a girl." I was mortified to hear this but the more I thought about it the more I came to accept that what she said was true. It was another of those seminal moments that shape the future and lead one down paths one never considered. Sighing, I left her room, checked the rest of the house and made sure it was securely locked then walked to my apartment. ***** It took several weeks before all the legalities were sorted out and I officially became the owner of Laburnum House. I also discovered that I was now a wealthy man. It turns out that Aunt Laura had been an astute investor and made a lot of money trading in stocks and shares. Who knew? The life insurance policy she held also yielded a six figure sum. I thought long and hard about what to do with the house. I had three options; I could sell the house, I could let it for rent or I could live in it. I didn?t need the money I?d get by selling it and I didn?t need the hassle of letting it to someone who might not take proper care of it, so I decided I would give up my apartment and live there myself. So on a Saturday morning I struggled up the stairs with two heavy suitcases containing my clothing; one held my everyday work clothes and the other my secret alter ego?s wardrobe. At the top of the stairs I automatically turned left to the room I used to use, but then stopped and reversed my course. I was now the owner and therefore it was only natural I should have the master bedroom. Dumping the bags on the bed I slid the mirrored door of the wardrobe open and found it crammed full of Laura?s clothing. Dresses, suits, skirts and tops filled the space all carefully hung on hangers. At least a dozen pairs of shoes were piled on the floor. The en-suite bathroom also contained a huge assortment of lotions and creams, shampoos and soaps. I had no idea that she had as many things. I would have to remove them and take them to one of the many charity shops the town supported. I began taking armfuls of hangars down when I suddenly stopped. ?What am I doing?? I asked myself. For a cross dresser here was the mother lode, a complete closet filled with women?s attire. Not everything would suit or fit me but I needed to inspect each item before I discarded it. Laura and I had been roughly the same size as I had discovered whenever she persuaded me to wear one of her dresses for a painting she was doing. It took me a week of evenings to sort out what I wanted to keep and what to let go. Many of her dresses either didn?t fit or I simply didn?t like but at the end of the task I had a sizable collection of outfits that I really liked. The same applied to her shoes. When it came to her underwear I was initially reluctant to get rid of any of it, but on cold reflection I only kept the sexiest silk satin and lace lingerie and discarded the rest. This undertaking would have been completed much quicker had it not been for my frequent need to jerk off whenever I found something particularly provocative or racy. ***** At 1 o?clock my colleague Robbie Drinkwater tapped on my office door and asked if I was going to lunch. I shut down my PC and picked up my coat and followed him out. "There?s a new restaurant just opened in town, want to give it a try?" he said. "Sure," I replied, "can?t be worse than our usual place." We found a table and settled in with the menu. After a while a girl came to take our order. She was dressed in the restaurants uniform of white blouse and black mini skirt with a tiny lace trimmed apron. As she approached our table I looked at her and thought for an instance that I recognized her. "Hello," she chirped, "My name is Amy and I?m your server. What can I get you?" We ordered a light lunch with mineral water, abjuring alcohol because of work later. When Amy served our drinks I said to her, "Do I know you? You look sort of familiar." "I don?t think so," she replied huffily, thinking it was the same old corny chat up line that she?d heard many times before. Later that day the conviction that I knew the girl came back, or that I?d seen the waitress somewhere before. Her elfin features were very memorable along with her bobbed hair cut. She was very slight with a small bust. Her hips were slim and her butt wasn?t anything to shout about. However her legs were long and straight with nice calves? accentuated by the heels she wore. But as a total package I found her very desirable; definitely the sort of woman I fancied. The next day I returned to The Red Herring alone as Robbie was attending court and managed to sit at the same table as before. "Hello, my name is Amy and I?m your server," she said as she arrived. "Yes I know," I said, "I was here yesterday with a colleague. You probably don?t remember me with all the other people you serve." "Ah yes, Cheese salad and mineral water." "That?s right. I?ll have the same again please. You know I?m certain I know you. Your face is very familiar. Are you sure we haven?t met." "No I?m afraid I don?t know you," she said giving me a shy smile and striding away to get my order. Her identity was like a word or a name that was hovering just below ones consciousness that one could almost grasp, it just needed a little nudge to get it. But the more I tried to recall it the more frustrated I became, It hung tantalizingly just out of reach. I left the office at the end of the working day still puzzling over who she was. Back in Laburnum House that evening I micro-waved a Marks and Spencer lasagne ready meal and opened a bottle of Cote de Rhone. My meagre repast over I went and showered. Noticing the emerging stubble of my legs I got my razor and shaved all over. I usually did this once a week to keep my skin soft and smooth. I was blessed with very little body hair so it didn?t take long. I then liberally applied Olay moisturising cream. I selected one of Aunt Laura?s pretty bras and panty sets to wear under a loose fitting shift dress and my favourite cork soled mules. I still needed to sort out Laura?s studio. I decided that I would get rid of all the pots and bowls and put the wheel on eBay; I was never going to use it. I then tackled the pile of canvases that were stacked against the wall. There were probably 25 to30 of them and I knew that not all of them would be worth keeping. She had painted still-life and landscapes but the majority were portraits, some imagined, some copied and some real people. There was several of me. One of my favourites had me wearing an Edwardian evening gown and posed as Lady Mary from the popular TV show Downton Abbey. I clearly remembered the occasion. Laura had convinced me to not only wear the dress but also to don the correct period underwear as well. I was secretly thrilled to put the stuff on although I did make a token protest. Laura styled my hair, fitted a headband, elbow length gloves and strappy high heels. I looked gorgeous. There were others she?d painted of me all wearing dresses from different periods of history. She had even attempted to depict me as the Mona Lisa; not very successfully though. One I didn?t know she had painted was a pastiche of Manet?s Olympia. I was portrayed lounging on a couch with my face on the body of a nude woman but where Olympia?s hand discreetly covered her genitals in this rendition a semi erect penis was clearly visible. Wow! I continued to sort through the canvases and suddenly gasped. Staring at me was the girl from the restaurant. But the painting didn?t depict a girl but a young man with the Amy?s face. The study was of a nude boy with wings on his back holding a bow and arrow ? a cupid. It was another of her homage?s to great painters of the past, this time Caravaggio. But the face was undeniably that of Amy from the restaurant. I was stunned to see the picture. Laura had portrayed Amy as a young man with a cheeky smile, tousled hair and muscular body devoid of hair. Where Caravaggio had given his model a small juvenile penis Laura had endowed her model with a large fat cock lying along his thigh. Gone also was the soft babyish flesh replaced with hard muscle with not an ounce of spare fat. I couldn?t believe that she had dreamt up the likeness or copied it from a random photograph, it was too exact. I sat and pondered what this could mean. Laura could have simply depicted Amy?s face on a young man?s body to conform to Caravaggio?s painting or it was an actual study of Amy, in which case... But where had I seen Amy before? I continued sorting through the stuff and came upon a second painting with Amy?s face. This time she was depicted as The Young Bacchus also by Caravaggio. Again the painting showed a young muscular man, with a shroud draped over one shoulder and a hairless naked chest. She had included the glass of wine the subject was holding and the bowl of fruit as well as the grapes and vine leaves on his head. For Laura to have painted Amy twice as a male seemed to be too much of a coincidence which meant that in fact Amy was indeed a man and the girl who had served me my lunch was a transvestite or a transsexual. I poured another glass of wine and contemplated the two pictures. Suddenly I remembered where I had seen her before. I had returned to the house late one evening and had glanced into the lounge as I walked to the stairs. There was a group of women closeted with Laura, talking and drinking wine. Seated in an armchair facing the door was Amy. She looked at me and smiled as I passed the open door and I gave her a perfunctory nod in return. Only when I saw her again in the restaurant did the memory resurface. She was obviously a friend of Laura?s who regularly sat for her portraits. I went to bed later wondering how I should proceed. ***** Due to the pressure of work I was obliged to eat sandwiches at my desk for the next few days, and it was the following week before I returned to the Red Herring. I was disappointed to see no sign of Amy so I asked the guy who served me where she was. "She?s left," he said. "Had a bit of a row with the boss and been fired." "Do you know where I can find her; do you have her phone number?" "Sorry I don?t, and anyway we?re not allowed to give out personal information on the staff. I only knew her briefly anyway; it?s her old job I?m doing. What can I get you?" Mmm, that was a problem. Now that I suspected she was a transvestite and an old friend of Aunt Laura?s I was becoming desperate to see her. That evening I had a flash of inspiration. I searched Laura?s desk looking for a book of phone numbers. Before the advent of the mobile phone everybody had one with all their friends and important numbers written down. I found a well used alphabetically indexed book and began searching through it. I did not know Amy?s surname so I had to start at the beginning. Finally I found an entry for Amy Summers. This must be her but the number listed was for a land-line and I didn?t know if it was still in use or if Amy still lived there. I dialled it anyway and after several rings it was picked up. "Hello, I?d like to speak to Amy," I said, "does she live there?" "How wants to know?" The voice sounded old and phlegmy as though its owner was a lifelong smoker. "My name is John Kramer, I?m a lawyer and I?d like to talk to her." I added the lawyer bit hoping it would sound more important that it actually was. "Well there?s nobody here by that name. Goodbye" "Wait, wait," I said, before she could hang up. "She was a friend of Laura Kramer who was my aunt and it?s really important that I contact her." "I already told you there?s no one by that name here. Andrew used to live here but he moved out a while ago." "Can I you give me Andrew?s number then or where I can contact him?" "No, he told me not to tell anybody." "If I give you my phone number will you ask him to give me a call when you see him next?" "Alright." She begrudgingly said "Wait till I find a pencil." After giving her my number I hung up. I couldn?t think what else I could do. I wasn?t even sure that Andrew and Amy was the same person. I heard nothing for more than a week and was beginning to think I wouldn?t see Amy again when my phone gave its familiar warble. I answered noting the screen said unknown caller and heard a voice say "Is that John Kramer?" "Yes it is," I answered promptly. "Hi, this is Andrew Summers. My mother said you wanted to speak to me." That gave me pause. I had expected him to say he was Amy. Maybe I was totally wrong and they were different people. I took a chance and said, "Actually it was Amy I wanted to speak to." There was a long pause before, "Why do you want to speak to her?" "She was a great friend of my aunt, Laura Kramer," I continued sticking to the third person. "And I?d very much like to talk to her about their friendship. Also I met Amy when she worked in the Red Herring restaurant. Perhaps she could meet me somewhere for a drink?" There followed another longer delay. I could hear muffled talking, then finally, "Okay. Do you know the Masons Arms pub? It?s on Grove Street." "I can find it." "She?ll be in the snug bar at 8 o?clock this evening." The phone was disconnected before I could respond. ***** At 8 o?clock on the dot I pushed the door of the pub open and walked in. The snug was a small room off the main bar and I entered with a certain amount of nervousness. After all I had only seen Amy twice when she had served me meals and I had no right to demand a meeting. I hoped that her knowing my aunt would be sufficient reason for her to see me. There was a noisy group of people occupying a table in the middle of the room and a couple of others sitting at the bar. I spotted Amy sitting alone on a long bench in one corner. She wore a simple brown polka dot dress and a red bomber jacket draped over her shoulders. A broad velvet chocker encircled her neck. On her feet were suede ankle boots with a moderate heel and I thought she looked sensational. "Hello Amy," I said, "good of you to see me. May I sit down?" For answer she shifted her purse to her other side indicating I should sit next to her. "Do you remember me? I met you when you worked in the Red Herring. Can I get you a drink?" "Thanks, I?ll have a white wine spritzer please." After we each took a sip of our drinks she said "Yes I remember you alright. Andrew said you?re a lawyer and wanted to talk to me about your aunt." Or conversation was somewhat stilted at first but as the drinks went down we both relaxed I learnt that she had been a friend of Laura?s for a number of years and was deeply upset by her untimely death. "I don?t know what I would have done without her," she confessed "She was a great support to me when I was going through a period of doubt and confusion. She helped me to see where I was going." "Did you know that Laura had done a couple of paintings of you?" "Oh yes, I have them at home. She gave them to me when she?d finished them." "There are two more at the house. Did you know about them?" "No. I sat for the two I have so she must have done the others from memory." "Would you like to see them?" "Yes I would. Very much." "Okay, come to the house on Saturday afternoon and have some lunch and I?ll show them to you." ***** On Saturday morning I went to the supermarket and bought a freshly baked loaf of bread and a selection of cold meats, then suddenly thought that she might be vegetarian so I bought a variety of cheeses as well. From the drinks department I selected a nice bottle of chardonnay and a six pack of lager. I thought a lot about what to wear for Amy?s visit. She had only ever seen me in business suits and I wanted to hint that I too cross dressed but I didn?t want to be glaringly obvious by wearing a dress or a skirt. I needed to subtlety indicate that I was. So over Aunt Laura?s lace trimmed pink satin camisole and matching tap panties I wore a grey cashmere polo neck jumper and bottle green wide leg culottes with brown leather espadrilles. With my tousled curly hair and clothing I thought I looked sufficiently androgynous. I could have been a flat chested female or a feminine male but certainly not a macho man. Just after one o?clock the door bell rang. I opened the door and ushered Amy in. She was dressed in a white silk blouse and a flared floral skirt; her legs were bare and her feet were in cork soled sandals. She wore her red bomber jacket over it. She looked lovely. "Hello John," she said, "I brought you this." She handed me a brown paper bag. "It?s an apple pie." "Hi Amy, it?s lovely to see you. Go through to the lounge, you know the way. Would you like a glass of wine? I?ve got some chilling." I poured a glass for her and opened a can of lager for myself and carried them through to the lounge where Amy was sitting on the settee. She had removed her jacket and through the material of her sleeveless blouse I could see the shadow of a bra. I concluded that she must have false breasts in the cups as the paintings of her definitely depicted her without any bust. With the meal finished I led Amy into Laura?s studio. "Are you sure you haven?t seen these before?" I asked. She shook her head in the negative. "I hope you won?t be too shocked by them." I turned the Bacchus round for her to see. Her reaction was more curiosity than surprise. She studied it for several minutes and said "I rather like it. She has captured my likeness very well don?t you think?" I then revealed the Cupid and her reaction was totally different. She gasped and her hand went to the mouth. "Oh my God! How could she? She promised." I went to her and put my arms around her. She laid her head on my chest and I could hear her muffled sobs. "Come on," I said, "it?s not so bad. No one else has seen it and I?m sure Laura never meant for it to be seen in public. Your secret is safe with me." "Oh John, I?m feel so embarrassed," she whispered so quietly that I could hardly hear what she said. "Come on let?s have another glass of wine and talk about it." I led her back to the lounge and seated her on the sofa. She dried her tears and sipped from the glass. "If I had not seen the paintings I would never have known you were a guy. You?re very convincing and very beautiful. How long have you been masquerading as a girl?" "For about three years. I was living in Leeds with my dad at the time and he got into a lot of trouble with a gang of drug dealers. They were from Afghanistan or Syria or somewhere in the Middle East and they were quite ruthless and very frightening. I suspect they were linked to Al Qaeda. They threatened to abduct me and sell me into slavery if Dad didn?t do as they said. So Dad made me dress in girl?s clothes and pretend to be his daughter. Eventually when things got too hot he sent me here to live with my mother and my brother Andrew. I realized I preferred living as a girl so I changed my name from Michael to Amy." "What happened to your father?" I asked. "I don?t know. No one has heard from him since. I think he may have been murdered. The police have searched for him without any luck and no body has ever been found. I lived with my mother for a while before I found myself a flat. Only my bother Andrew and now you know that I?m not a girl. Mother has Alzheimer?s and thinks I?m Andrew?s girl friend. It?s very sad really that she doesn?t recognize me." "That?s a terrible thing to have happened to you." "It?s okay. I?m over it now. And I?m happy living as a girl." "Well I promise not to reveal your true gender to anyone without your say-so," I said. Amy looked at me and nodded in acceptance. I moved to sit beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. After a long pause I said, "It?s not such a terrible thing. There are lots of us who like to wear women?s clothes." Amy leaned back and looked at me. "What do you mean lots of us? Are you a transvestite?" I suddenly felt the need to confess to her now that I knew her secret. "No I?m not a transvestite I just love to cross-dress. I adore wearing women?s clothes, but I can?t afford to live as a girl. I only dress up at home and I?ve never been out fully dressed in public. I often wear lingerie under my suits though." She was silent for a very long time pondering what I had said. She sighed and said, "Thanks for telling me." She turned and faced me, leant forward and kissed me gently on the cheek. "I have to go now." We stood up together and I held the bomber jacket for her to put her arms into the sleeves. At the front door I held her hands and said, "Thank you for coming Amy; I really enjoy your company. There is one thing I?d like to ask you before you go." "What?s that?" "Can I kiss you?" She made no reply but stood on her toes and touched her lips to mine. I took her in my arms and kissed her passionately, grinding our mouths together. When we parted I felt light headed. At no other time had a kiss felt so good. Amy ducked out of the door before I could recover my senses. What had just happened? I had kissed another man who was dressed as a woman and it was wonderful. My cock was very hard and demanding release. I quickly pushed down my culottes and panties, seized my erection with both hands and furiously masturbated to a climax. The memory of her luscious lips was still fresh in my mind as my abundant spunk sprayed the door. ***** Only later did I realize that I had no address or phone number for Amy and had no way of contacting her. This knowledge (or absence of) plunged me into despair. I tried phoning the number I?d used before but got no answer and after the umpteenth time I gave up. Then a week later I received a letter. It was hand written, addressed to me and marked personal. A little spark of joy lit up my heart hoping it might be from Amy. I tore the envelope in my haste to open it. ?Dear John? it read. ?Thank you for the lunch and showing me the paintings; to say I was surprised is understating it. Now that you know who and what I am I don?t suppose you will want to see me again. If that?s the case I shall quite understand but if you do want to I?ll be in the pub again on Friday evening. Yours, Amy.? I was overjoyed. I re-read the letter and noticed that she had not included an address. It was dated yesterday and today was Thursday, I couldn?t wait. I arrived in the pub early and was on my second pint before Amy appeared. I had started to think that she had changed her mind and wasn?t coming. "Hi," I said making room for her on the banquette besides me. "I got you a spritzer. It?s lovely to see you again." Amy slipped off her red bomber jacket revealing a brown belted midi knit dress with choker collar which left her arms bare. "Thanks, I nearly didn?t come." "Why ever not?" "Because of what happened before I left your house." "Do you mean because I kissed you?" she nodded her head. "Didn?t you like me kissing you?" "Oh yes I did. It?s just that I thought you would regret it later." "Amy kissing you was the greatest thing that?s happened to me for ages. If we were not sitting in a crowded pub I?d do it again." "What?s stopping you then, this lot won?t notice," she said indicating the other imbibers. I scanned the room and decided that most of the clientele were either too drunk or too preoccupied with their own conversations to be bothered with what a young couple sitting in a corner were doing. I slewed around and placed my hand behind her head, leant forward and kissed her lips; softly at first then with more ardour. Amy responded by slowly opening her mouth to allow my probing tongue to enter. An eternity later we parted. "Amy, come home with me," I breathed. My hand shook with nervous anticipation as I attempted to insert the key into the lock of my front door. We discarded our top coats and I took Amy?s hand and led her up the stairs to my bed room. Once inside we fell into each other?s arms kissing fiercely. "Help me with my zip please," Amy breathed as we parted. I moved behind her and slid the zip down the back of her dress. It dropped to the floor and she stepped out of it kicking off her heels at the same time. My mouth fell open as I stared at the vision of loveliness before me. Amy wore the sexiest bra panty and garter belt combination made from pure white lace. Her stockings were skin tone with dark welts embroidered with roses. She took my breath away. She stood with her arms akimbo and allowed me time to contemplate her beauty then stepped forward, grasped the bottom of my tee-shirt and pulled it over my head. I quickly dropped my trousers and lost my sandals. "Nice," she said admiring Aunt Laura?s silk cami and the French knickers I wore. My erection tented the front of my panties making an obscene bulge and I couldn?t help noticing that Amy was in the same condition. I held out my hand to her then led her to the bed. We lay together facing each other and kissed. I ground my cock against the erection stretching her panties. Amy separated her lips from mine and slithered down the duvet. I lay on my back and she pulled my knickers down releasing my painfully hard cock. I groaned in ecstasy as her hands gripped my shaft squeezing and rubbed it up and down. I felt her hair tickling my thighs and her hot breath on my member. I almost exploded when she took the knob of my cock into her mouth. I breathed deeply and mentally began counting backwards from one hundred in an effort to delay the threatening climax which I was barely able to withhold. This was the first time in my life that anyone had sucked my cock and the experience was like no other I had ever been subjected to. "Ahhh Amy. I?m going to cum. I can?t stop myself. Ahhh. Ahhh. Yes, oh yesssss, yesssssss." My essence exploded into her mouth as Amy sucked and swallowed frantically as my load poured down her throat. I must have momentarily passed out because I wasn?t aware of her moving; now she lay at my side. I opened my eyes and looked into the beautiful blue eyes of my lover. I kissed her and she opened her mouth to allow my tongue access. I realized that the taste on her tongue was the residue of my cum. "Thank you, darling," I whispered as we separated "That was wonderful. No one has ever done that to me before." "Really? Have you ever done it to anyone?" "Good Lord no." "Then it?s time you tried it." Amy suddenly jumped up and sat on my chest with her knees either side of my head. She slapped my face with her hard prick. I mentally shrugged, accepting that for the first time I was about to fellate a male penis. Opening my mouth I allowed Amy to push her rigid shaft in. I gripped it around the base to prevent her from choking me. With the bell end on my tongue I began to suck. Surprisingly I was overcome with pleasure at the feeling of a hot living organ inside my mouth. I was not in the least revolted by the invasion as I had always believed I would be, on the contrary I loved it. I loved the feeling of soft skin covering the hard interior. I loved the heat and the pulsing life of it. And I sucked it as though my life depended on it. I pumped and squeezed the cock and at the same time slathered my tongue around the swollen head. I heard Amy cry out and my mouth was suddenly filled with a slimy substance that I knew was her discharge. Instinctively I swallowed, eagerly taking all of her orgasm down my throat. After several minutes as we lay side by side I turned my head and looked at Amy. Spontaneously we broke into giggles of joy. We both knew non-verbally that what we had done to each other was something special and something to be grateful for. At that moment I knew I was in love. ***** Sometimes a person will make a decision that they later regret or in some cases they almost immediately regret. One such decision was one I made on that Tuesday evening when instead of ignoring it I answered the doorbell. After eating a light supper I showered and dressed in panties, suspender belt and bra. I settled my budding breasts into the cups of my bra. I loved the softness and weight of them and the sensitivity of my nipples. For some months I had been massaging my breasts with natural Pueraria Mirifica cream twice a day and taking fenugreek capsules (a natural source of phytoestrogen) and my growing breasts now nicely filled a B cup. This regime encouraged breast growth without resorting to hormones. I had just finished painting my toe nails and was fixing the tops of my nylons to the garter tabs when my door bell rang. I jumped up and quickly slipped my arms into Aunt Laura?s satin dressing gown. I considered not answering it but whoever was there would see that the lights were on and hear the television. I hoped it was a delivery and whoever it was wouldn?t want to enter the house. I thought I could hide behind the door when I opened it and not reveal what I wore. Squinting through the spy-hole I saw a woman standing on the doorstep holding a large leather handbag. My heart sank as I recognized her as one of the women who had attended Laura?s burial and it would be rude not to invite her in. I didn?t know her name. She was a very striking woman being at least six feet tall and powerfully built with no spare fat. Her Payne?s grey hair was pulled back into a severe bun and held in place with wicked looking pins. Her eyes were heavily made up and her lips were painted a shade of purple. I had omitted to put the chain on the door so that when I undid the latch, it was immediately pushed open and the woman barged in. "Hello,," she said. "You must be John. I?m Frida York. I was a great friend of Laura?s. We?ve never met but I saw you at the funeral. Pleased to meet you." She marched into the lounge and sat down on the couch. Her arrogant attitude brooked no argument. "Hi," I said following the woman into the room. There was no way I could hide what I was wearing. Frida looked around and saw the bottle of nail polish sitting on the coffee table, picked it up and read the label. "Hot Pink hey? Nice colour but I prefer something more dramatic." She waggled her fingers in my direction so that I could see her neon purple nails. She turned and looked at me, examining me from my tousled head to my fluffy mules. I was relieved that I hadn?t applied any make-up. "Mmm, you look very nice," she said. "I recognize Laura?s wrap; it looks good on you." I was scarlet with embarrassment. I clutched the front of the robe to my throat and prayed that she couldn?t? see my underwear. I was completely overwhelmed by her presence. To be caught by a stranger wearing something so undeniably feminine was the subject of my worst nightmares. "Open it up and let me see what you have underneath," she said. "What?" "Come on; let?s see what you?re wearing underneath your dressing gown." I seemed to be in a sort of hypnotic trance. I pulled at the ends of the sash and allowed the robe to fall open exposing the shockingly delicate lingerie beneath. I cannot explain what possessed me to reveal my guilty secret to this woman; a total stranger. She seemed to wield some power over me that I was unable to resist. Without being told I let the wrap slip from my shoulders and fall to the floor, and then I slowly pirouetted displaying my delicious ensemble. I was mortified and tears of shame streaked my cheeks. I couldn?t look at her. Adding to my humiliation I now sported a massive erection the head of which protruded from the waistband of my panties. "So it seems that Jonny boy likes to wear pretty ladies undies," she said eyeing my unruly hardon. "How wonderful. I must say you don?t look bad. You?ve a good figure and fine looking legs. Nice little tits too; are they your own?" I dumbly nodded that they were. "Well don?t be embarrassed about it. I think it is a good thing for men to express their feminine side. Now pour me a gin and tonic then we can have a chat." I docilely went to the cocktail cabinet and poured the drinks. "Laura talked a lot about you," she began taking a slurp and nodding appreciatively, "how you were always eager to wear dresses whenever she wanted to paint you and how she taught you to use make-up. She said that you loved to sit at her dressing table putting on mascara and lipstick. She encouraged you to express your femininity." She paused in her denunciation to sip her drink, and then went on, "She also told me that she had to occasionally punish you if you were naughty." I exploded into my drink when she said this spraying a fine mist out of my mouth. "What!?" I sputtered "I don?t believe you. Aunt Laura would never say such a thing. And anyway who are you to come into my house and say things like that." The gin was giving me new degree of bravado. "I think you had better leave." "Now don?t get your panties in a twist, Jonny boy, it doesn?t suit you," she snapped. "Jonny doesn?t sound right, maybe I should call you by your girly name? What is it?" Again she?d achieved the upper hand, humiliating me further by demanding to know my en-femme name. With my face on fire I whispered "Johanna", uttering the named I privately used and that I had never told anyone before. "What a lovely name, Johanna. It suits you." She waved her empty glass at me and I obediently refilled it. As I poured the drink I wondered why this woman held so much power over me. I was twenty four years old, a junior solicitor employed by a respectable law firm, self possessed and confident in my work. Yet in her presence I was no braver than a small feeble child who was afraid to say boo to a goose. "I think you should go Madam," I said, mustering the last of my courage. "Please leave." "Now don?t get uppity, Johanna or I will have to punish you." She stretched back on the couch thrusting her prominent bust forward without the slightest intention of leaving. "And in future you will address me as Miss Frida, do you understand?" "Yes Miss Frida," I mumbled. One part of my mind demanded to know why I was such a grovelling coward and another part screaming at me to throw her out. "Speak up!" she shouted. She opened her voluminous bag and withdrew a short leather whip. With a flick of her wrist she cut me across the back of my thighs with it. I yelped, partly with the sudden pain and partly in surprise. I rubbed the bare flesh atop my stockings where she had struck. My cock that had begun to deflate now suddenly reared up again filling my panties. What the hell was happening to me? "Now you know I?m serious." "What do you want?" I pleaded still massaging my stinging flesh. She stared at me waiting. "Miss Frida." I added. "I want you to be a good girl and do as you?re told. Laura said that you liked to be scolded and paddled and to get a little chastisement now and again. And I can see she was right." She flicked the sjambok accurately nipping the head of my erection. Although only a light hit the pain was excruciating. I doubled over clutching my abused member. "Because of your surly attitude and rudely ordering me to leave I want you to come here and stretch yourself across my knees." I stared at her in disbelief. Was she serious? For hesitating she again flashed the whip at me catching me just below my navel. I obeyed and laid my body over her thighs. "Good girl," she said. She lowered my panties below my buttocks exposing the smooth flesh of my cheeks. Her hand dipped into her bag and this time brought out a flat leather slapper. She held it by the short stubby handle and waved it before my eyes letting me get a good look at what I was about to receive. It was a flat strip of leather about four inches wide split down the centre. Oh God, what was happening to me? She couldn?t seriously mean to beat me with a tawse could she? My mental inquiry was answered by a stinging slap across my right cheek quickly followed by a second to the left. I writhed on her lap agonized with pain grinding my erection onto her thighs. I tried to cover my bum with my hands. "Move your hands or it?ll be worse for you," she snapped. I did as she ordered and then received two more stinging slaps. Then the pain was replaced by soothing relief. Frida massaged lavender oil onto the red wheals that were swelling on my abused flesh. "There, there, because you?re such a good girl I shall give you a special reward." I had no idea what form this reward would take, the only reward I wanted was for this whole episode to end. I soon discovered. More oil was poured into my bum crack and I felt her fingers rubbing my anal hole. I instinctively clenched my buttock only to receive another slap. "Relax," she said and continued inserting her fingers into me. "Very good Johanna, now let?s try something a bit bigger." Next I felt my sphincter being stretched and something hard being pushed into my anus. The pressure was unrelenting as the foreign object was inserted into my back passage. When I thought I would surely be torn apart the pressure suddenly eased and I felt the object slide into my rectum and my sphincter close around a flange at the end. "There you go. That wasn?t so bad was it? Now the pleasure begins." I couldn?t imagine what pleasure could be derived from such torture but I was wrong. Slowly I began to feel a gentle vibration coming from the thing inside me. Gradually the sensation increased until my whole body quivered with bliss. Frida pulled my panties back up covering my bruised cheeks and told me to stand up. I did and was intensely conscious to the waves of joy emanating from deep within me. My rampant cock pulsed within my panties. "Now what to you say sweet Johanna?" I didn?t understand what she meant and I just looked blankly at her. "Thank me for the pleasure I?ve given you." "Thank you Miss Frida for giving me such pleasure," I murmured. "I?ll be off now," said Frida, standing up and gathering her equipment into her bag. "But I?ll be back in a day or two. I?ll leave you to enjoy being fucked in the arse. Good bye Johanna." She marched out of my house slamming the door behind her. Alone I lay on the couch my mind in an emotional turmoil. What was wrong with me? Why had I reacted the way I did? First the shame I had felt when Frida had coerced me into exhibiting what I was wearing. Then the humiliation of being placed across her lap and suffering a spanking as though I was a young boy. Finally the indignity of my rear end being invaded by a huge butt plug that was even now exciting me with unexpected waves of pleasure. But perhaps the greatest degradation was the enormous orgasm that overcame me, filling my panties with a copious quantity of jism. ***** Amy had acquired a new waitressing job which meant she was busy five nights a week and so made it difficult for me to see her as when she was free I was at work and vice versa. So the times we were able to meet were most precious. Luckily she was not working the day after my encounter with Frida York and came to my house in the evening. I made a special effort to dress nicely for her and was extra careful with my make-up. I wore a black rayon mini skirt and a royal blue satin blouse over a frilly bra and panty set. Amy now accepted my cross- dressing and encouraged me to do so openly. As soon as she arrived I embraced her tightly and kissed her passionately even before she had removed her jacket. I was so glad to see her. After I had poured each of us a drink we sat together on the couch. My bottom was still sore both from the beating and the invasion so I sat down gingerly. "I had a visit yesterday from a woman named Frida York," I began, "do you know her?" "Yes. I met her several times here with your aunt. A charming woman I thought." "Not the word I would use to describe her." "Why what did she do?" I described how she had invaded my house and the abuse she had subjected me to. Recounting the ordeal brought me to tears; tears of shame at the indignity I?d been put through. "Oh my poor darling, how awful." Amy?s sympathy slightly mollified me and she dabbed at my wet cheeks with a tissue. "But the worst thing of all," I said in between the sobs "was that I didn?t dislike it. I don?t know what is wrong with me; I shouldn?t get excited and have an orgasm when someone does these things to me. I actually enjoyed having that butt plug vibrating up my arse. Do you think I?m some sort of pervert? Am I a masochist?" "There?s nothing wrong with enjoying a little pain now and then." Amy said. "And as for the butt plug it?s not unusual to derived pleasure from anal stimulation, although it is much better with the real thing." "What? Do you mean with a penis?" "Of course, haven?t you ever done it?" I shook my head and looked at her with new admiration. In my naivety I hadn?t considered that she would have had sex with another man. Even thought we had sucked each other off many times and I was well aware that under all her feminine clothing was a man I didn?t think of myself as gay. I thought of her as a woman with a cock; a woman that I loved. "Finish your drink and come with me." Amy took my hand and led me up the stairs and into my bedroom. By an unspoken command we each undressed to our underwear letting the clothes fall on the floor. Seeing my love in her dainty bra and panties brought my cock to immediate attention, and I could plainly see I had the same affect on her. Amy gently slid my panties to my ankles before doing the same with her own. We held each other, kissed and rubbed our hard cocks together creating a wonderful friction. Amy gripped our two rods in her small hands and masturbated them bringing me to the edge. "Lie down on your side," Amy said, "and pull your knees up to your chest." She lay behind me spooning and I felt a gentle prodding as her cock head probed my hole. Remembering Frida?s directive I relaxed my sphincter and allowed her to enter me. After the session with the butt plug my anus was already stretched and posed no real hindrance to her entry. Slowly she began to ease her cock in and out and the pleasure immediately began to build. Suddenly I was transported to another plane. "Stop a minute, please," I said after several minutes of pumping. "I want to turn over and look at you whilst you fuck me." Amy withdrew her weapon and I quickly turned onto my back. I raised my legs into the air presenting my open rose bud to her eager prick. She thrust her cock back into my willing hole and proceeded to ravish me. I later learned that it was the stimulation of her cock head on my prostate gland that created the superb feelings in my rectum and was the reason I spontaneously ejaculated spewing spunk onto my belly. Before long Amy?s strokes became more rapid as she fiercely ploughed my depths. Her thrusts seem to almost reach my throat and I didn?t want this feeling to end. But end it inevitably did. Amy groaned loudly and I felt my insides fill with liquid. She collapsed onto my body gasping for breath. Slowly her rod deflated and slipped from my arse. We lay together recovering, kissing and sliding on my cum soaked tummy. ***** I continued to see Amy at every opportunity. She was becoming an obsession and I loathed the times we were apart. I couldn?t get enough of her. The more I saw of her the more devoted I became and the more deeply I loved her. One evening as we lay in each other?s arms, sated from a bout of vigorous love making I asked Amy "What would you say if I asked you to come away with me and we lived together?" Not only did I desire to be with Amy all the time but I would also escape the unwanted attentions of Frida York. The woman continued to visit me unannounced and force me to undergo more humiliations. As well as spanking and beating me she had begun to use a strap-on dildo on me and I was compelled to perform cunnilingus on her, lapping at her cunt for hours. The worst thing was that although I dreaded her visits I enjoyed the pain and degradation and inevitably achieved a powerful orgasm. I was afraid I might become addicted to her torture. Amy paused for a long while considering the proposition, and then she said "I?d say yes. But what would we do? How would we make a living? And where would we go?" "I own a cottage in the Cotswolds which I bought when I inherited Aunt Laura?s estate. It?s very secluded in a beautiful little village where no one would know us. You could write your stories and I could illustrate them. You?ve already sold one and you said that your publisher was eager for more. I don?t need to work anyway; I?ve got pots of money more than enough to support us." "There is one other condition though," Amy said. "What?s that?" I asked. "We would have to live as two women. You would have to dress and live full time as a woman and get rid of all your men?s stuff. There?d be no going back." I was non plussed for a second or two by this proposal. I had assumed that we would live as husband and wife and I would occasionally cross dress. I had not considered living full time as a woman. But the more I thought about it the more the idea appealed to me. After all I spent as much time as I could en femme; I adored wearing soft feminine clothing and resented the time I had to wear a suit and tie for work. "It?s a deal," I said. "We can pretend to be two lesbians." I took her in my arms and kissed her ardently. "One other thing. Do not tell anyone of our plans, least of all Frida York." Before committing to abandoning her current life Amy insisted on seeing the place. So on the following Saturday I hired a car and we drove to Shepton Magna. She was enchanted with the little cottage and the surrounding countryside as I knew she would be. That evening we ate a meal of fish and chips in The Kings Arms public house in the village. We were naturally the source of a great deal of interest to the locals; two strange women arriving out of the blue and dinning together. I was slightly uneasy being the subject of whispered conversations thinking they could see through my disguise, but Amy was not a bit concerned. I was still not totally comfortable being dressed as a woman in public. When the landlord came to clear our plates away he asked if we were passing through or visiting, obviously curious to know who we were. Amy confidently told him that her friend here, indicating me had bought Rose Cottage and we were planning to come and live here. "Well that?s great news," the landlord said, "I?ve been wondering what was going to happen to that place. Let me be the first to welcome you to the village." I knew that it wouldn?t take long for the news to spread around; soon everyone would know. Over the next month I made arrangements to move house. I put Laburnum House on the market and tendered my resignation to the Law firm I worked for. I purchased a car which I decided we would need living in a remote location and Amy used her savings to buy a bicycle. She quit her job at the restaurant and helped with the packing and sorting. Finally on the first day of summer the movers arrived and collected the stuff we wanted to keep, the rest had gone to charity. Amy and I excitedly loaded up the car and set off to begin a new life together. I couldn?t have been happier. The end I hope you enjoyed this little tale. Please leave any comments at [email protected]. Thank you for reading.