This is a honest story…. Well, it's dead on target that I made it up, variety of… you be the judge.

If you have a fixed aversion to cross-dressing sissies, you may wish to go elsewhere.

However, my tarradiddle isn't about that, although it provides the protagonist vehicle.

It's about control… self-control, losing control, being controlled and everything out of control.

I hope you savor my style …..

p.s. If my humble donation offends or annoys any subscriber, I sincerely apologize.

My intention was merely to provide a abbreviated second of stimulating entertainment.

Comment and ask for the saga to continue, if you liked reading about my first `` adventure ''.

………………………………..

CROSSDRESSERS haste … I TAKE THE OLD CAR FOR A SPIN.

I don't know exactly where my captivation with cross-dressing came from, but I can see many of you

knowingly nod your head when I say I was the only tiddler of a single Mom. When I was 8, Mom was

48, and unfortunately a widow woman, which somehow made my home-life dissimilar from all my school-

friends. I was all she had, and she mollycoddled me. That's old fashioned speak for saying she

treated me like a cute little jewel, and most of my teachers and many of my match seemed to

notice and care for me the same. In truth, I understood her situation and consciously quashed my

masculine bravado and the itch for dare-devil antics so as not to give her suit for concern. I went

along with her short games, and played the theatrical role of being her meek and gentle little boy far longer and

more profoundly than I should. So, having consciously restrained my boisterous and boldface

masculinity, I exited my adolescent years being what could be described as an introspective,

Mommas-boy wimp.

But, as the old saying goes, there is someone for everyone, and a few years later I married the

nearly wonderful woman you could opine. She isn't a vast breasted bimbo super-model. But she is

pretty, well-informed, articulate and fast, and has produced three o.k. female offspring who all display

the same traits. We are a happy home, and live a well-to-do life in suburbia. What's not to eff ?

well, me. Or more precisely, my obsession. I secretly cross-dress.

Ever since I turned 40 a couple of class ago, my obsession has crept further and further into

unchartered and grave amniotic fluid. I'd realised I wanted more than the atonement of

looking in the mirror and seeing a fair illusion of a cheap, easy slut looking back.

I began to wonder what would materialise if other people saw me.

Would they assume I was what I'd dressed up to be ?

It grew into a disturbing and soul-searching muse ……..

What if I went to an underground bar in my hottest garb and full composition ?

What would I do if I piqued a man's interest, and he came over and started to flirt ?

What if his will and claiming press took our assignation to a dark recess board ?

What if he plied me with heady red wine, which secured me to guest his apartment ?

What if he said I'd aroused his desire, and came on strong with determining foreplay ?

What if I protest,"Oh no ! please no ! Oh, no, not that !"…. yet succumbed to the call of his bed ?

What if his fervidness held reigning intention, with subversion to commence at my mouth ?

What if I opened with unheeding unconstraint, and was held ‘ till I tasted his seeded player ?

What if I thrilled to his wedge imposition, sealing fate as I swallowed it down ?

To be surely then charged that I bend hand and knee, no longer being rated a man ?

Would I obey and be his for the taking, and permit him to be my number 1 owner ?

What if he then used his total advantage to engage all he would at his will ?

And what if he took, and dealt evermore taking, ‘ til I'd dance to his every demand ?

A slave to his will ‘ til I begged my release. And what if that just suited me fine ?

…… HOWEVER ……..

What if my abandon was captured on camera, and my"appointment"was a cruel, deplorable pimp ?

Were I then hooked on the sharp barbs of blackmail, and my pity held me skewered in place ?

To be randomly beaten for no reasoned occasion. A reminder of who's whip-hand held sway.

Then blatantly touted as spineless conduct. The drag-fag of his sick, twisted stable.

Another bond whore under his legal power. A cheap treat to be loaned out at will.

Sent out to help with no set precondition."Anything goes"when gruelling cash bargain you in.

…………………………………….

It was musing the fortunes of photo and degrading mistreatment which had become my biggest

turn-on. And I just couldn't blockade myself. time went by, and I remained inside my rubber but ever

increasingly unwholesome shadow Muse. Yet the to a greater extent sickening and masochistic they became, the

more intoxicating and hypnotic they were. I knew that going outside the house whilst harboring

such nighttime thoughts would be chancing a perilously slight flimsy limb. So I swore I must never, ever

lose my sensation of rationality and recklessly dress up and go out and invite such a lot.

Besides, I was never handed free opportune, so my muse was all that I had.

… until ….

A few months ago my wife and 3 daughter went up-state for a couple of week during the school day

holidays. My wife's sister was on the threshold of giving nascency. Being married to a immense, butch ex-rugby

participant, she has always been able-bodied to see right through me. Hence we have never been on adept

terms, so it was easy for me to excuse myself from the visit. A span of workweek at abode all alone to

indulge in my secret passion… yey !

It was only natural my wife took our fairly new SUV. We have another car. An old tin box we virtually

never use, but I kept it road legal just in typeface. well, you know, for whatever…

The free opportune which I'd been relieved to annul had just fallen bolt bang into my lap.

A test for my mettle. A dare for my edge. A sheet for those unchartered water system.

To dress up, then give a nimble sail around the suburbs at night. I knew I'd swore to myself I

must never go out to lure the whims of destiny, but it would be an improbably spine-tingling, nerve

jangling, erotic rush, and result in some of the most intense masturbation session ever…… Oh boy !

…..

So the day after they left, and having confirmed their safe up-state arrival, I unearthed my suitcase

of slutty clothes and gaudy make-up from the profundity of the service department and headed for the bathroom.

……….

Wow, did I look proficient. Well, I suppose I would wait effective to mortal who had $ 50 in their pocket

and was on the prowl for a cheap, easily lay. A female lay, that is. Not some-ones husband.

I felt at ease and comfortable in my outfit. I paraded and strutted around the house, but I couldn't

resist gravitating back to the full-length mirror in the lav. I really did admire the foxy small-arm of

tail looking back. I did slow seductive spin to take in the sight.

I could just about see my rosy red toe-nails through my shiny Negroid silk stockings. If I twirled

quickly, my undimmed red pleated mini-skirt would flick out just far enough to reveal my lace-patterned

stocking tops. If I lifted the hem of my skirt, I could loosen a coup d'oeil of my silky, frilly orangish panties.

My hands were trembling when in bicycle-built-for-two they stroked up and down over the Twin faux humps at

the front of my rose-patterned, blood-red red top, which was doing a lousy job of hiding my

overtly big false nipples. I pouted my lips, which flaunted a gloss ruby-red, and my eyelids

fluttered a sexy light blue devil. I raised my fore-finger and seductively entwined it in the English strands of

my long blond wig as I practiced my lip pouting and pursing. Just the mere act of teasing myself was

causing an wrong bustle. When my rightfield hired man lowered to the front line of my silk orangeness panty and my

palm gave a few business firm wipe, my wooden leg almost gave way. But despite all the care I was giving myself,

I had only provoked the mere wind of an hard-on. I'd gone so far down the road of cross-dressing, it

was only the rush from the thought of going out and putting myself at the danger of exposure and

using which turned the key in that particular lock.

nighttime genus Mus started to parade across my judgement.

visual sense of sinister happenings which may betide me if I went out for a drive.

My shaft began swelling. I plucked out a vauntingly pealing of fabric from my secret bag.

I unwrapped the foresightful, hard, truncheon-like contents and flicked its switch to test the batteries.

"Oh no ! ”, I begged as I headed for the bedroom…."Please don't do this to yourself….."

Afterwards, I fell asleep.

……….

It was full-on darkness now. A fond, summer Sabbatum late evening. I freshen my make-up, reset my curly blonde wig and

gird my neck with a foresightful, orange silk scarf. I put on a pair of flat sandals, and without thinking due

intellect, picked up the pair of black high-heels which had been on the kitchen table all afternoon.

In the garage, I almost keeled over I was feeling so empty-headed, and had to place my free deal on the car

roof above the driver'door as I took a few bass breaths.

"Do you really want to do this ? Stray outside of your rubber, batten zone ? Into the large unknown ?

This could all go horribly wrong."

As random dark thoughts again flickered before my last-minute hesitation, I felt a stir in my loins.

"Yes, you do want to do this, don't you ? … you unsporting, dirty slut."

Another unwholesome stir. I got in the car and fired her up.

"But remember .. you promised you should never to do this. Please don't energy it too far."

…………

The first two miles were a very irksome meander through my topical anaesthetic suburban streets. It was just as well I

was navigating intimate vacuous route. centering was in curt supply. Every now and then I'd reaching over

to bear on the high-heels which were riding shot-gun. I couldn't stop over thinking about the rushing it

would be to go somewhere secluded, put them on and have a warm walkway around outside the car.

I dry swallowed.

"Are you insane ?"I said to my-self."That, my dim, slutty booster, would be a bridge deck too far."

But my thought kept weighing up the respective assortment of isolated, dark spot near-by. Those

of unfrequented passage and cloistered privateness where my number one venture would go undisturbed.

"Canrich Weir ”, I blurted. Being the first language I'd spoken out loud for several time of day, I startled

myself."No, no, no…far too dangerous,"I continued to mutter at the windscreen as I shook my

head word."Young couples used to go there to make out. But I've heard it's now the repair of drug dealers

and malefactor and all sorts of low life scum. Don't even think about it, you self-destructive moron.

Just keep away."

My car started heading towards Canrich Weir.

I white-knuckle gripped hard on the roulette wheel, as my substructure remained glued to the throttle.

"Please don't take me there, please, no ! I'm begging. Please don't,"I whimpered.

The car turned down the iniquity, tree-lined lane-way marked `` Canrich Weir - no through route ''.

…………

I pulled into the small car-park at the end of the retentive, bumpy, pot-holed track. There was no-one

there. I exhaled a inscrutable sigh of ministration. I sat motionless for a replete five moment until my pulse-rate

settled down, and my spirit wasn't trying to bust out of my chest. I dry swallowed again and knack

forwards and started removing my flat heeled sandals. If I was going to do this, I was going to do it

right hand. I wriggled around and finally had my black high heels in office. I sat there for another two

minutes. Mainly to pen myself, but also to fulfil my frazzled nervous system there was

definitely no-one around.

I opened the car threshold into the nighttime'dark privacy, and was immediately almost blinded by the

bright good manners brightness level, which seemed to move around the car Interior Department and most of the car-park into day.

"Oh, crap !"as I immediately slumped back into my seat and jabbed the door shut with a loud bam.

Talk about keeping a low visibility ! I didn't want that to fall out again, so in a state of unnerved

paranoia, I located the fuse-box under the dah and ripped out 3 or 4 fuses.



I opened the doorway again, more slowly this time, and remained in reassuring darkness. I was taking

unretentive, flighty, light breaths as I stepped out into the moon-lit oasis of the parking lot. I cautiously

stood erect on the odd rough water of its crude construction. My high heels felt precarious. I

slowly walked a full circle around the car, with one hand tracing the reassuring stability of its sword

carapace. Having practiced, I tottered and cautiously ventured further, through the darkness of the

moon-lit Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, towards the little path which leads to the weir itself. I could hear the placate swish of

weewee cascading over the weir top. I felt calm. I felt dependable. I was a womanhood alone in the night, and

there was no-one around to threaten or harm me.

I felt a sense of freeing. I felt complete.

I started down the dim moon-lit way of life, drawn by the mesmeric ting of flowing water.

…………..

Halfway down the path, I was shaken from my serenity by the waver of headlight through the

spindly tree bole. They were heading this way. I turned and did a frantic shuffling run, and flung

myself into the drivers'keister and slammed the door shut in the nick of prison term. I was overconfident they

hadn't seen me. Positive.

The other car parked at the far side of the small lot, thankfully about 100 foot away. I crouched in my seat

with my breast heaving to catch my breath and my heart pounding like a bass drum.

I wasn't calm now. I felt be sick, to be honest. My dress were in a wad and I was in a affright. I had

to get out of there. My trembling finger found the key in the inflammation, gave it a bend, and….. zippo.

No elan sparkle, no clicking, and certainly no locomotive cranking.

Oh, shite, double shite, horseshit, horseshit. This definitely wasn't portion of the plan.

I sat there with my brainpower in such meltdown it didn't occur to me how this could have happened.

I tried to press up my very limited option, occasionally twisting the key to no service. Eventually I

stopped trying.

After respective hour of blankly staring out through the windscreen into the darkness, my despair

and stupefaction were broken by body process at the other car. Its stern door had opened, and what was

obviously a manly figure stood to water the Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, then strode across in my direction.

"Sorry to bother you, bro,"he assumed at my enclosed lightlessness refuge."Have you got a couple of

spare condoms I could beg off you ? You know how it is."

"Sorry, bud,"I replied in the best macho vocalism I could come up."I don't need to use them."

But he took a step closer, and the hopeful arc of a hefty flash-light shone in my face. My man face,

with its war paint and long blonde wig. The light then panned down my body to highlight what was

still my dishevelled state, with my red mini-skirt almost around my shank, and my stocking crest and

Orange step-in on show. The torchlight investigated my empty tail end, and thankfully then went out.

"Ah, I see ”, said this terra incognita interloper. He then turned and sauntered back from whence he came.

I twisted the key in the inflammation a match more fourth dimension, but .. nothing.

Then the front and hind doors of the other car opened and a yoke of masculine figure of speech strode over

to my threshold, lit me up with a flashlight, and knocked on the window, which I had no purpose of opening.

"Listen up, fella,"a rather gruff and self-asserting spokesperson started,"we've had a talk, and we reckon that

you of all citizenry would be packing ‘ doms, hear what I'm saying ?"

"I'm sorry, but honestly, I'm not."

"Well it's like this, see,"he persisted through my rolled-up window,"We've got a couple of pumped up

-up chicks over there raring to go, but they'll only dance on rubber, know what I'm saying ?"

"I sympathize with your plight, I tru…"

"Don't hump us about, fag ”, he snapped."open up the fucking door, or else we're coming in bleeding

from glass, yeah ?"

This was not looking good. I made one last stab at the ignition system key, but when they saw my sly action mechanism,

the blowlamp started a watch beat on my window. So with my heart in my boots, I reluctantly

wound down my glass draw-bridge.

A hired hand reached rhythm and flipped the lock to the rear, and before I knew it, there was one at my

side and one sat behind. Mr. front end rifled through my boxing glove box, and Mr. spine gripped his hands on

my shoulders.

"We can do this the well-situated way, or the hard way,"says the one in front, having drawn a lacuna in the

glove compartment."Where are they ?"

"I don't have any prophylactic. I'm not that sorting of, you know… I don't do that."

"All fags have condoms, for when they take it up the ass. Or do you like it bare-back, you fag queer ?"

"flavor, lad. I'm not a fag. I'm not a faggot and I don't have any condoms, all right ?"

I sigh as a female articulation then enters the fray.

"What's going on, Pell ?"

"We've found a fag fairy spying on us and he won't give us any money or condoms."

"What ? Spying on us ! establish him a slap, Pell, the dirty perv."

I don't know which one is"Pell ”, but the one rear uses the scarf around my neck to pull me back

hard into my seat, half strangling me, and causing my hands to upraise up to try salvage some

pressure.

"twine him up, that's what we should do. Take him in the forest and string him up."

And with that, the female owner of this teaching reaches in and unexpectedly delivers a quite gruelling

and a sure bruise-making karate chop shot to the top of my thigh, causing my loud blurt,"Ow, fuck !"

"Would be a waste of honorable circle,"a unlike female part chimes in."Stick a log of wood up his ass

and chuck him in the river, that's what I say. I wouldn't take care his clothes before you do, though,"as,

with common mullein luminosity flashing, she reached in and tugged at the scrunched-up hem of my skirt.

"Oh my god,"she yelled."I think he's got a heavy on."

With that, I was summarily dragged out of the car, given a few slaps, and with my arms hoisted back

over my head word, I was pulled backwards over the hood in such a way my pantied loin were thrust out

for all to see. The blowlamp flashed and highlighted my plight. I was indeed sporting a half bloated

cock inside my panties. I felt two custody rip sharply at the waist-band and loop it under my Lucille Ball,

show-casing my shaft's semi-hardness.

"He obviously likes it rough,"a male voice taunted."I wonder how rough. Wan na see, girls ?"

"sin, yeah,"said the voice who'd delivered a sure contusion to my leg."Go find a big chunk of wood

and stick it up his ass, Pell. Make the fag scream."her tone in a horrifyingly genuine request.

"It's all dressed up like a bawd,"remarked a manlike voice,"maybe we should screw it first."

"You fuck it,"pass the former male person."You're the one who'll fuck anything that moves. Go on, I dare

ya."

"I'm not into that gay faggot shit. But this matter, it's dressed up like a woman of the street. It's just begging."

"Whadya say girls ?"the former male person voice throws down the challenge.

"Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it…"I hear two female vocalisation start to chant in tandem, with a frighteningly

frenzied mother wit of purpose.

"Yeah, just look at it. It deserves my rooster up its ass. OK, I'll do it. Come on then. Flip it over and obligate

it down. My dick is gunna go in."

His Scripture were effected bravado to strike the two girls, but his obscure fervour hadn't fooled me.

He'd implied he was repulsed by"that queer shit ”, but had jumped at the chance to go at me. The

pretext that I was due some sort of infraction was bullshit. He'd been presented with what he

perceived to be a slut whore and, a penis in my scanty or no, he was hell bent on fucking my ass.

And when the two young lady would surely chant egg him on, ,, well, ,, I could see it would give him more

grounds to try bang my brains out. I knew that when he got in there and set things right, he'd let rip

like a run-away jack-hammer.

All through their substitution my stopcock had remained semi-engorged, despite the ominous ribbon of

their Christian Bible. I was still being held with my sleeve back over my psyche, my back on the toughie, my

exposed lumbus poking outwards, and my heels barely touching the basis.

I was rasping with spotty low moan. Audible, guttural, throat-vibrating, moans.

Like a desperate man on the trap-door of gallows, who'd been stitched up by a kangaroo court.

I'd been cornered and conquered, charged and convicted, and sentenced to exorbitant abuse.

I realised any protest to these scumbags would vocalize ridiculous and hapless from my bone-dry

sassing and ungainly posture, and most likely back-fire in a very raise up and unhealthy way.

It was bad enough it appeared I was about to be broken-in and ridden by a disturbed, venge-crazed

mad-man who seemed to be half my age.

And as I mentally scrolled through what was probably going to be a humiliating, degenerate, possibly

protracted and an almost certainly very painful chain of event, my scarf masked my dry swig, the

dark hid my flush, and I fought my angst-riddled tremors.

But I couldn't cover my rooster and its lewd pulsing dance as it savored my impending ordeal.

Conditioned by dark Muse it flagged its blurb, and was bursting with forgetful acceptance.

To my deep shame it was oozing with greed as it stood high-pitched in majestic erection.

"Just look at that … ”, I heard a voice say."I told you he'd semen here hoping to find a cock for his ass"

"Nooo !"I groaned, in a weak, pathetic moan.

"Oh, yes, yes"I heard a phonation hiss, as a hand slapped my face so concentrated I saw blinding white stars……

Several hands then seemed to be grabbing and twisting me all at the Saame time. I didn't know

whether to trounce out, resist, try throw myself to the ground or what to do. They really were like a

frenzied lynch-mob. At that moment, if one of them had said"I'll go get the rope for after ”,

I think I would stimulate fainted.

Then a male voice called out,"feel !"and by inborn reflex they all turned to the direction of his fixed gaze.

A vehicle was coming, or at least headlamp were. It was like time stood still, and everyone froze in

mid wrench, or button or whatever they were doing. I looked across too, stunned and open-mouthed.

Oh, poop ! What now ? I was already up to my cervix in seriously late quicksand.

Would I be saved from these feral, sick scumbags, or would my plight guide a turn for the defective ?

If these new hands were malicious and vindictive…. I was a sitting duck for any barbaric sport they

may make up one's mind to serve out.

Would I be"carry"to star in some form of humiliating and degrading spectacle ?

Would I become a bent-over prisoner for sordid entertainment, as some took turns at my ass ?

Would they jeer and mock as it became more sloughy and gaped with each painful and slimed

injection ?

Would I be spit-roasted like a pig on a stick, and be forced to quaff down vile cum ?

Would they leave me hog-tied and dressed like a whore for more torment by others who found me ?

And what if these too started using my ass ? It would end up like a big sloppy sink.

As I helplessly envisioned these sickening scenes, I remained in blazing arousal.

My hard-on was mocking any claim to having self-respect as it broadcast the usurious truth.

I'd dressed myself up like a cheap easy slut and gone out with no earpiece and no backup.

I'd deliberately strayed onto infamous sward, and paraded my ass in the open.

I'd become overtly aroused when found out and captured, even more so when roughly manhandled.

My straining backbreaking turncock, now weeping with lust, knew exactly what I dressed and gone out for.

: : --

To featherbed in the kick of deep moral risk, flaunting my impulses outside the edge of safety device.

But my hateful, sick ogre hadn't left it to chance when they consigned me to face Canrich Weir.

This seedy wickedness quarter was now a magnet of badness, A hell-hole with a unforgiving repute.

This once minatory cesspit was now the heartland of wickedness. So wide-open, now a no-go for cops.

Oh, my demons chose well when they appointed my luck, and knew exactly what I'd be in for.

"Go to Canrich Weir,"my sick demon had told me, fully knowing what response I'd find there.

My long due appointment. My most hellish of nightmares. The hosts of my abject defilement.

Sadistic cruel thugs who would treat me like shit. evilness scumbags who would stick me and rape me .