You sit in the chair and watch me stalk the rails, index finger brushing through fine lace and satin lingerie. Every now and then I pause and lift a bra or pair of knickers from the rail to examine more closely. I glance back at you each time. You’re wondering what I am thinking and which items I will choose.
Lunch had been fun, getting to know each other over sushi and sparkling water – you were eager to learn more about me, in particular, my career and life outside of fetish and kink. You were not presumptuous in asking for information, but were grateful when it came your way. I liked that about you. It pleased me.
But now we had some serious business to attend to. The shop assistant wanders over and offers you a coffee or juice. They take care of their customers in this London boutique, even those they assume to be a bored husband.
You decline. You are fixated on me and what I am doing. Your eyes rise up and down my shapely legs, they follow the curve of my big round bottom and flit over to my large natural breasts. My outline is perfect in my tight, fitted dress. Your erection is starting to grow in your trousers.
I settle on a bright red ensemble – French knickers, a suspender belt and padded bra. I pick out some nude stockings with a red seam, red tops and a cuban heel. It’s all so beautiful, exceptionally well made and it will fit like a dream – I just know it. The shop assistant’s eyes light up when she spots that I have picked one of the more expensive outfits in the shop. Then her brow furrows when I tell her I don’t need to try it on.
It’s not for me to wear after all, but I don’t tell her that.
You hail a cab outside and we make our way back through the narrow streets to the Soho Hotel. My venue of choice on this occasion, and one of my favourite places to sleep over in London.
Back in our suite I instruct you to shower and prepare yourself for me. In the bathroom, and away from my eyes, you stare at yourself naked in the mirror. You’d wondered for years what made you like this, why you took so much joy in wearing women’s clothes and in particular their underwear. You remember it exciting you as far back as your childhood, when you’d loved going through your mother and sister’s drawers when no one was home.
Now, in your 50s and happily married, you were finally ready to explore this hidden side of you. Your wife would never understand, and you’d found me by chance and were grateful we’d gotten on so well when we chatted on the phone. I made you feel safe. You trusted me.
Emerging from the bathroom, you find me standing in the middle of the suite. My look has changed. Gone is the colourful dress, and on has come a black fitted bodysuit with long rubber boots and nylons underneath. My lips are coated in bright red lipstick, and black rubber gloves stretch all the way up my arms past my elbow.
I instruct you to put on the red lingerie I have laid out on the bed, along with the pair of patent red high heels and a long blonde wig.
Your excitement builds and you slowly, carefully put the lingerie on. Your hands are shaking, you try as best you can to steady them as you pull the lace knickers up your legs to your waist. The softness of the feminine fabric against your skin delights you and your cock throbs.
The suspender belt pulled tight around your waist adds a slight but beautiful curve to your usually masculine frame, and the suspender straps hanging down your thighs arouse you in ways you would find hard to articulate.
The bra tightened around your chest, though empty, feels perfect. You pick up the silicone implants I have left on the bed and tuck them into the cups, adding not only shape to the lingerie but also to your form. The masculine is shifting into the feminine.
Next it’s the stockings, and gently pulling this delicate and almost fluid-like fabric up your legs is heaven on Earth. The soft texture, the sensation of the nylon gliding along your skin, the action of attaching the suspender clips to the stocking tops. You’d watched your mother do this on many an occasion, and now you are doing it, it feels as divine as you’d always imagined.
I approach you as you perch on the edge of the bed. Leaning forward, my big breasts almost bursting from my brassiere, I go to work on your face. I apply eye shadow and eye liner, I pencil your eyebrows and I attach fake lashes. Gloopy foundation covers your face and gets carefully sponged in, then a big, silky-soft brush applies the pink blusher. Finally I apply the same red lipstick I have on my own lips, then I stand back and admire my work.
You slip the long blonde wig on your head, and push your feet into the high heeled shoes. You stand and walk across the suite to the mirror, equal parts incredulous and equal parts aroused by what you see and feel.
Your first task is to worship my thigh high boots. You get down on the floor and get to work eagerly, kissing and caressing every inch including the heel. You slowly, methodically and carefully work your way up each leg – savouring each second that goes by, the taste, the feel and the smell.
I look down at you – a powerful business man – now all blonde hair and red lace. I watch you on the floor, grovelling at my feet. It feels good to me, it feels even better for you.
Without notice I stand and remove my body suit, naked now except for nylons, boots and gloves. My massive tits bob freely on my chest. You lie on your back on the bed as instructed, and, facing away from you, I lower my arse onto your face. Keeping your arms down by your sides, you get to work on my arsehole, flicking your tongue all around it and inside. Sporadically I lift up slightly to give you a breather, before lowering my big round bum back down again, engulfing your face between the cheeks.
I have my vibrating wand against my clitoris gently edging myself into a frenzy as you rim me in reverse-cowgirl. Every time I feel your tongue start to tire and slow down, I take the wand and push it down on your shaft through your red knickers; the sensation jolts you from the tips of your toes to the tip of your nose! I have high standards when it comes to being rimmed, as you can tell with each vibrating jab.
Eventually I climax and climb off your face. I stand, and you kneel before me. You pull your cock over the top of your red knickers, and, with my legs firmly together, begin to fuck the gap in between my rubber boots. Back and forth back and forth – your cock slides against the rubber. You grip the backs of my thighs, but not too firmly as to irritate me. You are conscious that it is a treat, being allowed to fuck Mistress’s boots.
The sensations are too much – the rubber, the lace, your hands on my firm legs, the taste of my arsehole on your tongue. Your orgasm is intense. Your balls fire cum all over my boots, and your whole body quivers in relief and release.
I lift my right foot up as your semen drips down the heel, and you open up wide to receive it in your mouth. You’ve pleased your Mistress today, I tell you. You should be proud.