This is a unfeigned story…. Well, it's true that I made it up, sort of… you be the judge.

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

However, my story isn't about that, although it provides the booster vehicle.

It's about control… possession, losing ascendance, being controlled and everything out of control.

I hope you savor my manner …..

p.s. If my lowly contribution offends or annoys any reader, I sincerely apologize.

My intent was merely to render a abbreviated second of stimulating entertainment.

Comment and ask for the saga to extend, if you liked reading about my low gear `` adventure ''.

………………………………..

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

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

knowingly nod your drumhead when I say I was the but child of a single Mom. When I was 8, Mom was

48, and unfortunately a widow, which somehow made my home-life unlike 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 precious short jewel, and nearly of my instructor and many of my compeer seemed to

posting and treat me the same. In truth, I understood her spot and consciously quashed my

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

along with her little game, and played the part of being her meek and docile slight boy far longer and

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

maleness, I exited my adolescent years being what could be described as an self-examining,

Mommas-boy wimp.

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

virtually marvelous woman you could imagine. She isn't a immense breasted bimbo super-model. But she is

pretty, intelligent, articulate and truehearted, and has produced three fine female offspring who all display

the Saame traits. We are a happy family, and live a comfortable life in suburbia. What's not to make out ?

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

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

unchartered and life-threatening waters. I'd realised I wanted more than the expiation of

looking in the mirror and seeing a fair color of a cheap, comfortable jade looking back.

I began to marvel what would befall if other mass 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 hole-and-corner bar in my hottest dress and total war paint ?

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

What if his will and claiming insistence took our tryst to a dark quoin table ?

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

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

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

What if his ardour held reigning intention, with subversion to commence at my oral fissure ?

What if I opened with reckless abandon, and was held ‘ trough I tasted his seed ?

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

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

Would I obey and be his for the taking, and let him to be my first possessor ?

What if he then used his tot up advantage to take 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 dismission. And what if that just suited me fine ?

…… HOWEVER ……..

What if my abandon was captured on camera, and my"date"was a cruel, vicious pander ?

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

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

Then blatantly touted as spineless behaviour. The drag-fag of his sick, wriggle stable.

Another alliance sporting lady under his jurisdiction. A punk delicacy to be loaned out at will.

Sent out to serve with no set precondition."Anything goes"when operose cash buys you in.

…………………………………….

It was musing the circumstances of exposure and degrading mistreatment which had become my large

turn-on. And I just couldn't discontinue myself. sentence went by, and I remained inside my condom but ever

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

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

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

lose my sense of ground and recklessly dress up and go out and lure such a fate.

Besides, I was never handed gratis opportune, so my Muse was all that I had.

… until ….

A few month ago my wife and 3 daughter went up-state for a couple of weeks during the school

holidays. My married woman's babe was on the verge of giving nativity. Being married to a huge, macho ex-rugby

thespian, she has always been able to see right through me. Hence we have never been on good

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

indulge in my underground passion… yey !

It was only born 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 case. fountainhead, you know, for whatever…

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

A run for my heart. A dare for my boundaries. A sail for those unchartered amnionic fluid.

To prune up, then get a warm cruise around the suburbs at night. I knew I'd swore to myself I

must never go out to tempt the whimsy of lot, but it would be an unbelievably spine-tingling, nervus

jangling, erotic Rush, and result in some of the most vivid masturbation sessions ever…… Oh boy !

…..

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

of slutty dress and gaudy make-up from the astuteness of the service department and headed for the bathroom.

……….

Wow, did I wait good. Well, I suppose I would look good to someone who had $ 50 in their air hole

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

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

resist gravitating back to the full-length mirror in the bathroom. I really did look up to the sly while of

buttocks looking back. I did slow seductive twirls to take in the peck.

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

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

stocking tops. If I lifted the hem of my doll, I could bug a glimpse of my silky, frilly Orange panties.

My hands were trembling when in tandem they stroked up and down over the twin false hump at

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

overtly large sour nipple. I pouted my sass, which flaunted a polish cherry, and my palpebra

fluttered a sexy brightness blueness. I raised my fore-finger and seductively entwined it in the incline strands of

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

causing an unlawful stir. When my right hand lowered to the front of my silk orangeness panties and my

palm gave a few house rubs, my legs almost gave way. But despite all the care I was giving myself,

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

was only the upsurge from the thought of going out and putting myself at the risk of exposure and

exploitation which turned the key in that particular lock.

shadow muses started to march across my mind.

visual modality of sinister occurrence which may happen me if I went out for a drive.

My cock began swelling. I plucked out a large coil of fabric from my secret grip.

I unwrapped the long, firmly, truncheon-like contents and flicked its electrical switch to test the barrage.

"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 dark now. A strong, summertime Saturday late evening. I freshen my make-up, reset my curly blonde wig and

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

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

In the garage, I almost keeled over I was feeling so giddy, and had to place my liberate script on the car

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

"Do you really want to do this ? Stray outside of your secure, secure zone ? Into the great unknown ?

This could all go horribly wrong."

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

"Yes, you do need to do this, don't you ? … you dirty, 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 push it too far."

…………

The number 1 two miles were a very slow meander through my topical anaesthetic suburban streets. It was just as well I

was navigating fellow evacuate roads. Focus was in scant supply. Every now and then I'd reach over

to tinge the high-heels which were riding shot-gun. I couldn't block up thinking about the haste it

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

I dry swallowed.

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

But my intellection kept weighing up the various assortment of apart, obscure office near-by. Those

of solitary transit and cloistered privateness where my foremost venture would go undisturbed.

"Canrich Weir ”, I blurted. Being the first words I'd spoken out tawdry for several hours, I startled

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

head."Pres Young couples used to go there to make out. But I've heard it's now the hangout of drug trader

and criminals and all sorting 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 steering wheel, as my fundament remained glued to the gas pedal.

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

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

…………

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

there. I exhaled a deep sigh of relief. I sat motionless for a full phase of the moon five arcminute until my pulse-rate

settled down, and my inwardness wasn't trying to burst out of my breast. I dry swallowed again and bent

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

right wing. I wriggled around and finally had my black high-pitched heels in place. I sat there for another two

hour. Mainly to indite myself, but also to satisfy my frazzled nervous system there was

definitely no-one around.

I opened the car door into the Night'darkness seclusion, and was immediately almost blinded by the

hopeful courtesy visible light, which seemed to wrench the car interior 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 clap.

Talk about keeping a low profile ! I didn't want that to materialise again, so in a commonwealth of unnerved

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



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

short, nervous, light breathing time as I stepped out into the moon-lit haven of the parking lot. I cautiously

stood upright on the odd raggedness of its fossil oil construction. My high hound felt precarious. I

slowly walked a wide-cut circle around the car, with one hand tracing the reassuring constancy of its steel

shell. Having practiced, I tottered and cautiously ventured further, through the shadows of the

moon-lit trees, towards the small path which leads to the weir itself. I could hear the gentle swish of

water cascading over the weir top. I felt calm. I felt safe. I was a cleaning woman alone in the nighttime, and

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

I felt a gumption of release. I felt staring.

I started down the dim moon-lit path, drawn by the mesmeric tinkle of flowing water.

…………..

Halfway down the path, I was shaken from my quiet by the flicker of headlamp through the

spindly Tree trunks. They were heading this way. I turned and did a frantic shambling run, and flung

myself into the drivers'seat and slammed the door shut in the nick of time. I was positive they

hadn't seen me. Positive.

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

with my chest heaving to grab my breathing place and my heart pounding like a sea bass barrel.

I wasn't calm now. I felt sick, to be honest. My clothes were in a mess and I was in a terror. I had

to get out of there. My trembling finger's breadth found the key in the ignition, gave it a twist, and….. nothing.

No elan lights, no clicking, and certainly no engine cranking.

Oh, crap, double crap, crap, shite. This definitely wasn't percentage of the plan.

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

I tried to weigh up my very limited choice, occasionally twisting the key to no avail. Eventually I

stopped trying.

After several mo of blankly staring out through the windshield into the shadow, my despair

and stupor were broken by activity at the early car. Its ass room access had opened, and what was

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

"Sorry to inconvenience you, bro,"he assumed at my stick in black sanctuary."Have you got a twosome of

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

"Sorry, bud,"I replied in the best macho voice I could muster."I don't need to use them."

But he took a step finisher, and the bright arc of a powerful flash-light shone in my aspect. My man face,

with its constitution and long blond wig. The light then panned down my body to highlight what was

still my dishevelled country, with my red mini-skirt almost around my waistline, and my stocking tops and

orange panty on display. The torchlight investigated my empty buttocks, and thankfully then went out.

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

I twisted the key in the ignition a couple more times, but .. nothing.

Then the front and back doors of the other car opened and a couple of masculine figures strode over

to my doorway, lit me up with a woolly mullein, and knocked on the windowpane, which I had no design of opening.

"Listen up, fella,"a rather gruff and assertive interpreter started,"we've had a talk of the town, and we reckon that

you of all people 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 electrify

-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 fuck us about, fag ”, he snapped."Open the fucking door, or else we're coming in bleeding

from glassful, yeah ?"

This was not looking goodness. I made one last stab at the inflammation key, but when they saw my sly action,

the torch started a determined meter on my window. So with my philia in my kicking, I reluctantly

wound down my glass draw-bridge.

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

incline and one sat behind. Mr. Front rifled through my glove box, and Mr. vertebral column gripped his hands on

my shoulders.

"We can do this the easy way, or the heavily way,"says the one in front, having drawn a blank in the

glove compartment."Where are they ?"

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

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

"expression, blighter. I'm not a fag. I'm not a queen and I don't have any safety, all right ?"

I sigh as a female person vox then enters the fray.

"What's going on, Pell ?"

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

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

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

hard into my place, half strangling me, and causing my hands to stir up to try relieve some

pressure.

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

And with that, the female owner of this educational activity reaches in and unexpectedly delivers a quite hard

and a certain bruise-making karate chop to the top of my second joint, causing my loud blurt,"Ow, piece of ass !"

"Would be a waste material of beneficial rope,"a unlike female person vox gong in."Stick a log of wood up his ass

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

with blowtorch lights 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 hard on."

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

over my read/write head, I was pulled backwards over the hoodlum in such a way my pantied loins were thrust out

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

cock inside my panties. I felt two hands get out sharply at the waist-band and coil it under my balls,

show-casing my cock's semi-hardness.

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

"Hell, yeah,"said the voice who'd delivered a for sure bruise to my leg."Go find a big chunk of woodwind instrument

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

"It's all dressed up like a whore,"remarked a manful vox,"maybe we should have it away it first."

"You fuck it,"offers the other male."You're the one who'll piece of ass anything that moves. Go on, I dare

ya."

"I'm not into that gay queer shit. But this thing, it's dressed up like a bawd. It's just begging."

"Whadya say girls ?"the other virile vocalisation throws down the challenge.

"piece of tail it, fuck it, fuck it…"I hear two distaff voices start to chant in bicycle-built-for-two, with a frighteningly

frenzied sensation of purpose.

"Yeah, just looking at at it. It deserves my hammer up its ass. OK, I'll do it. Come on then. riff it over and hold

it down. My cock is gunna go in."

His words were effected bravado to shanghai the two miss, but his veiled fervour hadn't fooled me.

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

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

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

And when the two fille would surely tone egg him on, ,, well, ,, I could see it would give him more

reasonableness to try bang my brain 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 central my cock had remained semi-engorged, despite the ominous thread of

their speech. I was still being held with my weapons system back over my heading, my back on the hood, my

exposed lumbus thrust outwards, and my heels barely touching the flat coat.

I was rasping with scratchy low groan. 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 outrageous misuse.

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

mouth and awkward posture, and nearly likely back-fire in a very disturbing and unhealthful way.

It was bad enough it appeared I was about to be broken-in and ridden by a demented, 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 events, my scarf joint masked my dry gulps, the

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

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

Conditioned by dark muse it flagged its endorsement, and was bursting with mindless acceptance.

To my trench shame it was oozing with greed as it stood mellow in olympian erection.

"Just aspect at that … ”, I heard a vocalization say."I told you he'd come here hoping to see a shaft for his ass"

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

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

Several hands then seemed to be grabbing and twisting me all at the same fourth dimension. I didn't know

whether to lash out, resist, try confound 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 Mexican valium for after ”,

I think I would feature fainted.

Then a Male representative called out,"flavor !"and by reflex they all turned to the focus of his touch on gaze.

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

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

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

Would I be saved from these savage, sick scumbags, or would my pledge take a spell for the defective ?

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

may decide to dish out.

Would I be"persuaded"to asterisk in some kind of humiliating and degrading spectacle ?

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

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

injection ?

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

Would they leave me hog-tied and dressed like a fancy woman for more anguish by others who found me ?

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

As I helplessly envisioned these sickening aspect, I remained in blatant foreplay.

My erection was mocking any claim to having self-worth as it broadcast the conscienceless truth.

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

I'd deliberately strayed onto notorious turf, 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 firmly peter, now weeping with lust, knew exactly what I dressed and gone out for.

: : --

To featherbed in the rush of rich lesson danger, flaunting my urge outside the boundary of safety.

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

This seedy dark fourth part was now a magnet of severity, A hell-hole with a grim reputation.

This once sinister cesspit was now the heartland of evil. So outlaw, now a no-go for cops.

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

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

My long due appointment. My most hellish of nightmares. The hosts of my low-down defilement.

Sadistic cruel thugs who would address me like bastard. evilness scumbags who would drum me and rape me .