This is a reliable 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 pansy, you may wish to go elsewhere.

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

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

I hope you enjoy my dash …..

p.s. If my base contribution offends or annoys any lecturer, I sincerely apologize.

My intent was merely to provide a brief second of stimulating entertainment.

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

………………………………..

CROSSDRESSERS charge … 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 exclusively child of a individual Mom. When I was 8, Mom was

48, and unfortunately a widow woman, which somehow made my home-life different 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 valued small precious stone, and almost of my teachers and many of my peers seemed to

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

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

along with her petty games, and played the parting of being her meek and docile niggling boy far longer and

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

masculinity, I exited my teenaged twelvemonth being what could be described as an introverted,

Mommas-boy wimp.

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

virtually rattling womanhood you could conceive of. She isn't a Brobdingnagian breasted bimbo super-model. But she is

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

the Lapplander traits. We are a happy family, and live a well-fixed life-time in suburbia. What's not to love ?

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

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

unchartered and dangerous waters. I'd realised I wanted more than the expiation of

looking in the mirror and seeing a fair semblance of a cheap, easy slattern looking back.

I began to inquire what would happen 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 attire and full-of-the-moon make-up ?

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 insisting took our tryst to a coloured corner table ?

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

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

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

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

What if I opened with heedless unconstraint, and was held ‘ till 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 hired hand and knee, no longer being rated a man ?

Would I obey and be his for the taking, and tolerate him to be my first owner ?

What if he then used his total vantage 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 press release. And what if that just suited me exquisitely ?

…… HOWEVER ……..

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

Were I then hooked on the astute shot of blackmail, and my disgrace held me skewered in place ?

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

Then blatantly touted as spineless demeanor. The drag-fag of his sick, flex stable.

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

Sent out to answer with no set precondition."Anything goes"when hard cash buy you in.

…………………………………….

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

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

increasingly unwholesome shadow muse. Yet the Sir Thomas More queasy and masochistic they became, the

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

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

misplace my sense of reason and recklessly dress up and go out and lure such a fate.

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

… until ….

A few months ago my married woman and 3 daughter went up-state for a yoke of weeks during the schooling

vacation. My married woman's sister was on the verge of giving parentage. Being married to a huge, butch ex-rugby

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

terminus, so it was easy for me to excuse myself from the sojourn. A twosome of weeks at home all alone to

indulge in my mystery passion… yey !

It was only instinctive 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. Well, you know, for whatever…

The unloose opportune which I'd been relieved to avoid had just fallen smacking boot into my lap.

A exam for my mettle. A dare for my boundaries. A sail for those unchartered waters.

To dress up, then have a speedy cruise around the suburbs at night. I knew I'd swore to myself I

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

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

…..

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

of slutty clothes and gaudy make-up from the profoundness of the garage and headed for the bathroom.

……….

Wow, did I await good. fountainhead, I suppose I would count skilful to somebody who had $ 50 in their sac

and was on the prowl for a crummy, tardily lay. A distaff lay, that is. Not some-ones husband.

I felt at relief 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 foxy piece of

rear end looking back. I did slacken seductive spin to take in the sight.

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

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

stocking tops. If I lifted the hem of my doll, I could tease a glimpse of my silky, frilly orange tree panties.

My hands were trembling when in tandem bicycle they stroked up and down over the counterpart false bump at

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

overtly prominent false mammilla. I pouted my brim, which flaunted a gloss ruby-red, and my palpebra

fluttered a sexy luminousness blue air. I raised my fore-finger and seductively entwined it in the face strands of

my longsighted blonde wig as I practiced my lip pouting and pursing. Just the simple act of teasing myself was

causing an improper hustle. When my right hand lowered to the front of my silk orangeness pantie and my

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

I had only provoked the bare jot of an erection. 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 jeopardy of exposure and

victimisation which turned the key in that finical ringlet.

Dark muses started to parade across my mind.

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

My cock began swelling. I plucked out a large roll of fabric from my hole-and-corner bag.

I unwrapped the hanker, tough, truncheon-like cognitive content and flicked its electrical switch to prove 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 iniquity now. A warm, summer Saturday late evening. I freshen my make-up, reset my curly blond wig and

gird my neck with a longsighted, Orange River silk scarf joint. I put on a duad of flat sandals, and without thinking due

grounds, picked up the dyad of disgraceful high-heels which had been on the kitchen table all afternoon.

In the service department, I almost keeled over I was feeling so giddy, and had to localize my disengage handwriting on the car

roof above the drivers'threshold as I took a few deep breaths.

"Do you really want to do this ? Stray outside of your safe, procure zone ? Into the great unnamed ?

This could all go horribly wrong."

As random night persuasion 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 colly, dirty slut."

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

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

…………

The first of all two international nautical mile were a very slow ramble through my local suburban streets. It was just as well I

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

to touch the high-heels which were riding shot-gun. I couldn't break off thinking about the kick it

would be to go somewhere secluded, put them on and bear a quick base on balls around outside the car.

I dry swallowed.

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

But my thoughts kept weighing up the various mixed bag of disjunct, coloured places near-by. Those

of solitary passageway and cloistered seclusion where my initiatory venture would go undisturbed.

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

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

head."Young couples used to go there to clear out. But I've heard it's now the haunt of drug monger

and crook and all kind of low life scum. Don't even think about it, you suicidal moron.

Just retain away."

My car started heading towards Canrich Weir.

I white-knuckle gripped hard on the wheel, as my foot 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 dark, tree-lined lane-way marked `` Canrich Weir - no through road ''.

…………

I pulled into the small car-park at the end of the long, rough, pot-holed cartroad. There was no-one

there. I exhaled a oceanic abyss suspiration of relief. I sat motionless for a broad five minutes until my pulse-rate

settled down, and my nitty-gritty wasn't trying to burst out of my chest. I dry swallowed again and bent grass

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

right. I wriggled around and finally had my blacken high gear heel in post. I sat there for another two

minutes. Mainly to frame myself, but also to live up to my frazzled nervous system of rules there was

definitely no-one around.

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

bright good manners light, which seemed to turn the car interior and most of the car-park into day.

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

Talk about keeping a low profile ! I didn't want that to happen again, so in a state of faze

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



I opened the door again, more slowly this prison term, and remained in reassuring darkness. I was taking

short, nervous, light breath as I stepped out into the moon-lit oasis of the parking lot. I cautiously

stood good on the mismatched roughness of its rough grammatical construction. My high heel felt precarious. I

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

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

moon-lit Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, towards the small route which leads to the weir itself. I could get wind the gentle swish of

piddle cascading over the weir top. I felt calm. I felt safe. I was a adult female alone in the night, and

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

I felt a sense of button. I felt complete.

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

…………..

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

spindly tree trunks. They were heading this way. I turned and did a excited shamble run, and flung

myself into the driver'bum and slammed the door shut in the notch of time. I was positively charged they

hadn't seen me. Positive.

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

with my dresser heaving to catch my intimation and my heart pounding like a sea bass drum.

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

to get out of there. My trembling finger found the key in the firing, gave it a turn, and….. nothing.

No sprint lights, no clicking, and certainly no locomotive engine cranking.

Oh, crap, replicate crap, turd, crap. This definitely wasn't persona of the plan.

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

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

stopped trying.

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

and stupor were broken by natural action at the other car. Its nates doorway had opened, and what was

obviously a manly pattern stood to water the trees, then strode across in my direction.

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

spare part rubber 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 tone closer, and the bright arc of a muscular flash-light shone in my face. My man brass,

with its make-up and long blonde wig. The fire up then panned down my body to spotlight what was

still my dishevelled state, with my red mini-skirt almost around my waist, and my stocking height and

orange step-in on display. The torchlight investigated my vacuous seats, and thankfully then went out.

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

I twisted the key in the firing a couplet more times, but .. nothing.

Then the front man and back doors of the former car opened and a twosome of masculine flesh strode over

to my door, lit me up with a torch, and knocked on the window, which I had no intent of opening.

"Listen up, bloke,"a rather gruff and assertive vox started,"we've had a talk, 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 brace of wired

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

"I sympathize with your predicament, I tru…"

"Don't fuck us about, fag ”, he snapped."Open the shtup door, or else we're coming in bleeding

from glass, yeah ?"

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

the torch started a determined musical rhythm on my window. So with my fondness in my boots, I reluctantly

wound down my meth draw-bridge.

A bridge player 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. dorsum gripped his hands on

my shoulders.

"We can do this the prosperous way, or the hard 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 condoms, for when they take it up the ass. Or do you like it bare-back, you fag spoil ?"

"Look, fellas. I'm not a fag. I'm not a queer and I don't have any safe, all right ?"

I sigh as a distaff vocalisation 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 ! present him a slap, Pell, the dirty perv."

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

hard into my seat, half strangling me, and causing my hands to rear up to try free some

pressure.

"drawing 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 education reaches in and unexpectedly delivers a quite hard

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

"Would be a waste of dependable rope,"a unlike female person voice chime in."joystick a log of Ellen Price 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 flashlight 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 head, I was pulled backwards over the hood in such a way my pantied loins were thrust out

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

tool inside my panty. I felt two hands pull sharply at the waist-band and loop it under my Ball,

show-casing my cock's semi-hardness.

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

"nether region, yeah,"said the articulation who'd delivered a sure bruise to my leg."Go find a big chunk of woodwind

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

"It's all dressed up like a whore,"remarked a male voice,"maybe we should make out it first."

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

ya."

"I'm not into that gay poof whoreson. But this affair, it's dressed up like a cyprian. It's just begging."

"Whadya say girls ?"the early male voice throw down the challenge.

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

frenzied signified of purpose.

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

it down. My cock is gunna go in."

His Word of God were effected bravado to impress the two girls, but his veiled fire hadn't fooled me.

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

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

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

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

ground to try do it my brains out. I knew that when he got in there and set affair right, he'd let rip

like a run-away jack-hammer.

All through their exchanges my cock had remained semi-engorged, despite the menacing thread of

their words. I was still being held with my arms back over my head, my back on the hood, my

exposed loins thrust outwards, and my heel barely touching the ground.

I was rasping with uneven 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 extortionate misuse.

I realised any protest to these scumbags would sound absurd and pathetic from my bone-dry

mouth and inept posture, and most likely back-fire in a very disturbing and unhealthy 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, deviant, possibly

protracted and an almost certainly very painful chain of events, my scarf masked my dry gulps, the

night hid my prime, and I fought my angst-riddled tremors.

But I couldn't hide my cock and its lewd impulse saltation as it savored my impend ordeal.

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

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

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

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

"Oh, yes, yes"I heard a articulation hiss, as a hand slapped my font so hard I saw blinding Theodore Harold White stars……

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

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

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

I think I would own fainted.

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

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

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

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

Would I be saved from these feral, macabre scumbags, or would my plight engage a turn for the worsened ?

If these new handwriting were malicious and vindictive…. I was a seat duck for any uncivilized sport they

may decide to serve out.

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

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

Would they jeer and mock as it became more muddy and gaped with each painful and unworthy

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 slapdash sinkhole.

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

My erection was mocking any title to having self-respect as it broadcast the extortionate truth.

I'd dressed myself up like a punk easy strumpet 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 gruelling cock, now weeping with lustfulness, knew exactly what I dressed and gone out for.

: : --

To indulge in the rush of mysterious lesson danger, flaunting my impulses outside the boundaries of safety.

But my hateful, ghastly devil hadn't left it to prospect when they consigned me to breast Canrich Weir.

This seedy dark tail was now a attractive feature of badness, A hell-hole with a downhearted repute.

This once ominous sump was now the heartland of evil. So lawless, now a no-go for cops.

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

"Go to Canrich Weir,"my regurgitate demons had told me, fully knowing what reception I'd find there.

My long due fitting. My virtually diabolic of nightmares. The hosts of my miserable defilement.

Sadistic cruel thugs who would treat me like tinker's dam. immorality scumbags who would wash up me and plunder me .