Sissy Blane and the Hydraulic Inevitable
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Sissy Blane And The Trove Of Vintage Porn free porn video
It must have been a week or so after Cindy’s big announcement when I got a phone call from Madam H’s assistant. She would like to see me at my earliest convenience. I thought it must be more pressure to bring up my arrears. I would have thought that Cindy had already taken care of that debt for me, but no matter I would be glad to tell her in person that she no longer had leverage to twist my arm. I brusquely told the woman that I’d be there in an hour and hung up.
To go with my insouciant mood I dressed in a very casual drag - lipstick, but no foundation, a hint of blush and eye shadow but no mascara under an ash blonde wig. I even left my earrings in the jewelry case. I slipped into a pair of very tight and very loud houndstooth jeggings and a charcoal cashmere short-sleeved sweater worn over a lightly padded bra. I climbed into the Ghia, put on my shades and drove to the Clinic. I parked in a visitor spot and strode up to Madam’s office and rapped on the door. Her assistant opened it.
“Betty,” she said, “I tried to tell you before you hung up in my ear, Madam won’t be in for about an hour.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Gail. Can I wait?” I asked meekly.
“Of course.”
She opened the door to Madam’s anteroom, we entered and she indicated an electric kettle on a small end table next to the couch. “Make some tea if you want...” I flopped onto the worn leather. After a while, as I was flipping through the tea packets, I noticed a large, old, and unsealed cardboard box next to the table. I investigated and found it was full of backdated magazines, mostly transvestite pornography - some ancient Female Mimic mags, publications which no longer interested me, but also a great many copies of TV EPOCH which did.
The mag was a sheet put out on newsprint. They were a forum for personals posted by the transgender community, most of these were seeking hookups and at the time the mags were published they were the only way the lonely and desperately frustrated t-girls could connect, pre-internet. TV Epoch always covered one big event with lots of pictures, it had a health column but it featured short fiction that was often really first-rate erotica and that fact prompted me to sort through the moldy-smelling box and pull out a few mid-eighties dated issues. I soon found what I was looking for.
AUNTIE PEN'S PRINCESS By Penelope Palmer
That spring it was quite warm and there were scads of people walking down the Ferry Road to the bathing beach a few streets south of my home; they were mostly town people so I didn’t mind as they passed, some calling out, ‘hallo, Pen!’ My washerwoman had been in that morning and the clothesline in the back garden was full and I was just putting a few additional odds and ends out to dry on the umbrella in the side yard when Em’s unmistakable soprano cried out to me and I dropped my clothespins and ran over to the hedge and we embraced across it.
“Oh my god, it's been two years at least, Em!”
"Pen, it’s been five.”
I saw now she had a young man with her. “This isn’t Brian, surely?”
“It bloody is,” Em asserted, “Give your Auntie Pen a kiss, Brian.”
He did and I held him at arm's length and looked him over as he grinned shyly. He was ten or eleven the last time I had babysat him and now he was six inches taller than me with an adult’s voice, but still a soft, sweet tone. He’d been a lovely little boy, never gave trouble, I remembered. Em was wearing a straw hat and Brian was dressed for a dip in a singlet and those black trunks the boys all wear (trapeze trunks I always called them), brown sandals and he had his towel draped over his neck. I shook my head,
“I can’t believe I once changed your nappies! How old are you now?”
“He’ll be nineteen in a month,” Em said proudly. Brian grinned. “He’s in the army you know,” Em went on, “has been for six months. We’re lucky though, his camp’s just up the road in Kingsbridge, so I see him most weekends.”
"Oh, that’s nice for you both!”
Em and I exchanged telephone numbers and otherwise got reacquainted, nattering happily when I noticed Brian’s expression had changed. He blinked in disbelief or fascination, staring over my right shoulder. In an instant I knew what he was looking at; drying on my washing umbrella among the dishtowels and hankies were a brassiere and knickers. A very special matching set in pale lavender gingham and delicate white lace. In a kind of shock, we both looked at each other and it seemed to me our pupils dilated synchronously. It happened in less time than it takes to tell it.
With a dry mouth, I coughed, “Well, Em, I don’t want to keep a soldier from his swim and I’ve got to bring in the washing, but you have my number now so let’s have tea. It was wonderful to see you too, Brian.”
"You too, Auntie Em,” he was just as hoarse! They went off to the river and I saw Brian was holding his towel protectively draped over his forearms dangling in front of his lap. I tore the lingerie off the umbrella and took them through the front door. I couldn’t believe I had been so indiscreet. In the lavatory I erected my wooden drying rack in the bathtub and draped the far too pretty and far too suggestive items over the slats. That poor boy, still an adolescent and I exposed him to something he might glimpse in a leg-show magazine sold under the counter at a news agent's. He must be suffering a mortifying erection AND in a bathing suit!
I brought in the washing that was dry from the back garden. There was a lot of it and it distracted me for a while... But I found myself picturing Brian at the beach. It is a new riverside park built up with tons of dredged sand from downstream where our river meets the sea. It’s very popular on warm days. I imagined Brian in the cool water up to his hips and I saw myself in a slinky bathing costume lying there propped on my elbows looking down the length of my body at him out there staring back at me.
I had a lewd smile on my lips as I moved my legs lasciviously, enjoying the thought that he was cooling his arousal in the gently flowing gray stream. And then I snapped to. What in God’s name made me place myself in that perverse, imaginary diorama? But he wasn’t a boy but a young man, a soldier who had been taught to thrust with a bayonet and to shoot his gun. And he wasn’t my nephew. Em and I had grown up and gone to school together - born days apart we looked superficially similar and as schoolgirls dressed our hair the same. I was an inch taller and some mistook me for Em’s older sister. She’d tell Brian, “Here’s your AuntIe Pen,” when I’d come to her house.
Mulling all this as I folded laundry I heard a tentative rapping at the door, when I opened it there stood Brian, much as he was in my imagings.
He said: “May I come in?” He did so and continued: “They’re working on the public loo. Mom thought you wouldn’t mind if…”
“No, no, of course,” I ushered him to my bathroom and had no sooner closed the door than I remembered the accursed twin set displayed on the drying rack in there and I almost went in to explain or pull him out. But I was being ridiculous. I paced and rubbed my palms together in great distress.
“Auntie Pen,” Brian cried out plaintively and without hesitation I threw open the door and was almost relieved to see his damp circus trunks around his ankles and his cock becoming erect before my eyes. It was intoxicating.“Oh, Auntie, I didn’t need your loo! I’m sorry I…”
"No, no, no,” I assured him and knelt beside him and grasped his erection in my right hand while my left pushed against his bare bottom which was as cold, wet, and clammy as the river. I was tender with his cock and it seemed to be warming itself wonderfully.
“Oh, Auntie,” he murmured.
"Darling, my baby, oh yes,” I whispered back and kissed the damp flesh of his pelvis which still bore the impression left by his swim trunks’ cord. II let my stroking hand slip down his rigid shaft so my palm caressed his scrotum as my wanking continued.
"Oh, Auntie Pen, oh, God, that’s lovely!”
Brian was trembling now, his legs starting to shudder with the unbearable pleasure he was taking from my attentions. I obeyed nature’s prompt to facilitate Brian’s climax by shifting the action; my right hand moved to the swollen corona near the end of his shaft while my left advanced from his buttocks and between the smooth columns of his quivering thighs and took up his balls, rolling them in my fingers tenderly. Brian started to grind his hips rhythmically.
"Yes, Brian,” I said, “show me.”
“Oh, Auntie!” It was his last coherent utterance before his breath was reduced to gasps and pants. The first spasm of his orgasm shot past the sink and I never found its target, the next three arching comets landed in or on the sink leaving champagne-colored tails across the alpine white porcelain. His cock continued, with coaxing, to pump the remainder of his burthen in a thick dribble that mortared the space between by fingers and the web of my thumb. When the final drops had been dotted onto the terrazzo floor, I wet a flannel under the warm tap and silently cleaned us both.
I asked him if he’d like to come by again, “There’s a dance at the Palais tonight, lots of young people, tell your mum you want to go, she’ll like that. “
“I’d love to, Auntie, if you really want to see me so soon.”
“Of course I do, Silly! And I want to hear about the army,” I replied.
And I did; I had some important questions about camp life. I tucked Brian back into his damp swim trunks and sent him back to his mum with a light smack on the bum. Then I made myself a cup of tea. And so it was arranged. I could expect Brian to return shortly after nine o’clock. I returned to the bathroom with cleaning cloths and expunged the evidence; the bra and panties that caused it all, were mute witness to it all, were bone dry and I put them away. All the while my mind was whirling.
My preoccupation was not the Private’s private life but his professional one. I was seeing someone at that camp, a major, and he had left my breakfast table not six hours before Brian and Em strolled innocently back into my life. Still, a camp the size of Kingsbridge would have several majors, surely. I put these thoughts aside as I started preparing for Brian’s visit later. I expected him just after 9 that evening. I had met him both times today in the casual, if not dowdy attire of a woman going about her domestic chores, in a loose patterned house dress of brown and cream, with little makeup and my hair done up hastily with pins, now I would make some changes.
Clover
- 19.03.2021
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