Author's note: I have changed the cover art after a complaint from one of my readers. This is however the same story.

Then

Mrs Cashmore played Professor Higgins to Crystal’s Eliza Doolittle as she educated the young, inexperienced crossdresser in the art of female impersonation.

After many lessons over two months Maureen Cashmore decided that Crystal Divine was just about ready to come out to the world.

“Tomorrow when you come to my shop, bring your jewellery and we will add the finishing touches to your transition and I have a gift for you and another surprise,” Mrs Cashmore said to Colin as she ushered him out the door of the Oxfam shop one Thursday night.

“You’ve been so gracious and supportive of me Mrs Cashmore. How can I ever repay you?” Colin gushed as he halted briefly in the doorway.

“My reward is seeing you as Crystal and knowing that I had some small part in helping you become her,” Mrs Cashmore closed the door on him.

The next evening Crystal dressed in a nice suit consisting of a tight pencil skirt with a kick-pleat in the back, the hem resting four inches above her knee. She had a matching long-sleeve jacket and wore a white satin blouse under it. The suit was dark red and was very corporate.

Under her clothes she was wearing sheer flesh-toned tights and had tucked with tape to keep it tight. Over her tights she was wearing white satin full-cut panties and she wore a matching bra inside of which was the present that Mrs Cashmore had promised her.

“They are called breastforms dear and they are made from good quality silicone and are as realistic as the real thing,” Mrs Cashmore said as she unwrapped Crystal's present.

Crystal was delighted with the prosthetic breasts which looked so realistic, even the nipples and areola looked natural. She had been using her old tights to pad her bras up until now and although they did the job they were not on a patch on the breastforms.

Mrs Cashmore showed Crystal how to fit them, carefully cleaning her chest area with an alcohol wipe and applying three-pieces of double-sided tape to the back of each breastform and then placing the forms gently against her chest and holding them in place for five to ten seconds to allow the adhesive to bond and then immediately putting them in the cups of her brassiere.

As with her shoes and clothes, Mrs Cashmore had an uncanny knack of getting Crystal's size just right and the breastforms were in perfect proportion to her body.

Crystal was wearing her platinum blonde wig and black patent leather four-inch high-heels.

“Now for the accessories. Let’s see what you have brought me,” Mrs Cashmore said enthusiastically.

Mrs Cashmore’s enthusiasm disappeared when she saw what Crystal had brought. It was a mismatched jumble of junk jewellery that Colin had purchased at the flea market.

“I'm sorry darling but everything except those gorgeous earrings are trash,” Mrs Cashmore poked her long manicured fingernail through the pile of junk jewellery rescuing the emerald earrings that Crystal’s mother had given her.

Crystal told Mrs Cashmore the story behind the earrings.

“Let’s put them on you and we’ll see what I have in the store to go with them shall we?” Mrs Cashmore smiled at Crystal, making her feel better.

In the early seventies hippies and bohemian types adopted the wearing of earrings and the once-taboo quickly turned into a fad, catching on in the celebrity community, with musicians, performers and athletes beginning to pierce their ears as well so when Colin went to the local beauty salon and got his ears pierced it wasn’t considered a big deal.

Crystal had tried wearing clip-on earrings but they didn’t sit right and drop earrings often fell off and there wasn't the range and selection as there was for earrings designed for pierced ears.

Crustal put on her earrings while Mrs Cashmore scoured the store’s costume jewellery collection for a matching necklace and bracelet. She found the items she was looking for: a train of small synthetic emeralds set in a silver-plated nickel chain and a matching bracelet donated by one of the local parishioners along with a ring of similar construction set with a large synthetic emerald donated by the same lady.

“Here let me help you put these on,” Mrs Cashmore stood behind Crystal and closed the clasp on her necklace and then did the same with the bracelet.

The ring was a little tight on Crystal’s ring finger when she tried to put it on but she managed to get it over her knuckle and then the fit was snug but tolerable.

Mrs Cashmore sprayed Crystal liberally with perfume and stood back to admire her.

“You look beautiful my dear. You have worked so hard that it is very unlikely that you would be clocked unless the person was sitting right beside you and even then it would be difficult,” Mrs Cashmore gushed and Crystal blushed.

“I have one more present for you my dear,” Mrs Cashmore produced a stylish black leather handbag from under the counter.

“This will go with almost every outfit in your wardrobe,” Mrs Cashmore dropped Crystal’s keys and wallet into the handbag.

“You’ll need to put in a little makeup, your perfume and lipstick my dear,” Mrs Cashmore held out the handbag to Crystal who looked confused.

“A girl can’t go out for a night on the town without her handbag can she?” Mrs Cashmore gushed.

Crystal was caught totally unaware and was appalled at the prospect.

Just then the little bell above the door rang and Mrs Cashmore rushed over to open the door while Crystal stood stock-still, shocked at the notion of going out into the world presenting herself enfemme.

Mrs Cashmore ushered two ladies obviously dressed for a night out on the town into the shop and closed the door behind them

“Crystal Divine meet Wendy Doesit and Brittany Swallows,” Maureen Cashmore gushed as she introduced the three femme crossdressers.

Brittany was tall and slim and her hair was a flaming-red styled updo worn with a fringe; very vintage. As was the navy-blue 1950s suit complete with a pencil skirt with a single-breasted jacket with buttons down the front and French-ruffle-fronted white satin blouse she wore under. The suit was cinched at the waist and fitted to the curves of her body. Her long legs were clad in black Cuban-heeled, fully-fashioned seamed stockings and her high-heels were open toed to show off the reinforced toes of her nylons.

Brittany's makeup was also vintage and her foundation matched her natural skin tone, red lipstick, elegant eyes defined by eyeliner and mascara. Her eyeshadow was grey with a hint of silver. Her cheeks were sparingly rouged, a mere hint to add a soft warmth to her face and her brows were arched and pencilled in to define her eyes.

Brittany was obviously very adept at putting on ‘a look’ and she exuded confidence. She looked like she had just walked off a photo-shoot for a 1950’s Pretty Polly nylon stockings advertisement.

“Pleased to meet you,” Brittany took Crystal’s hand and leaned in and air-kissed her so as not to smudge her lipstick as she surrounded Crystal with miasma of perfume.

Wendy Doesit was dressed totally the opposite to her girlfriend in full 1970s fashion. She was a ‘chubbette’ but she carried the weight well.

She wore a bright-yellow A-line miniskirt with a matching bolero jacket over a black satin blouse, tan nylons and white knee-high PVC boots. Her makeup was bright with pink lipstick and she wore a black bob with a fringe that nearly covered her eyes. Very chique.

Wendy hugged Crystal and gave her the obligatory air-kiss.

“These are the other girls I told you about. They shop here often and I put aside items that I think will interest them,” Mrs Cashmore said by way of introduction.

“Mrs Cashmore is our surrogate mom. She gave us tutorials when we were just starting out,” Wendy explained.

“And I can see she has done a fantastic job with you Crystal; you look stunning,” Brittany chimed in.

“You’ll be fine with us; you’ll have a wonderful night out. Where we are going is safe for special girls like us and in fact we are the centre of attention,” Wendy winked salaciously at Brittany.

Crystal was both flattered and alarmed. Mrs Cashmore had spoken to her briefly about Brittany and Wendy but she had for all intents and purposes ambushed Crystal who was not confident about going out on the town, not even in the company of these two other girls.

Also there was something a little tawdry about the girls besides their somewhat suggestive names. Wendy in particular seemed overeager and solicitous, almost desperate.

“You can leave your male clothes here and pick them up on Monday and then you can tell me all about your first night out on the town as Crystal,” Mrs Cashmore fussed about Crystal making sure she looked perfect.

Crystal was really alarmed now.

“But that means going home dressed as Crystal! What will the neighbours think?” Crystal gasped.

“Darling, the neighbours are hardly likely to be up at that time of night even if anyone saw you, all they are going to wonder about is who is the gorgeous young woman visiting Colin Divine at that hour?” Wendy sniggered.

“You're unclockable darling. No one is going to know Colin even exists under that slap, wig, nylons and heels,” Brittany supported her partner’s hypothesis.

“Ok you lot. Off you go. Mister Cashmore is taking me to the flicks tonight and if he’s lucky I’ll let him have a kiss and a cuddle and feel-up during intermission,” Mrs Cashmore winked at the girls and then shooed them out the door.

It was a ten minute walk from the Oxfam shop on Oldham Street to the Black Sheep pub via Piccadilly Gardens and although the area around Canal Street was popular with gays and transgender people, in 1976 they were still targeted by prejudice and hate.

In Britain in 1967 homosexuality was partially decriminalised and gay men could have sex as long as it was in private and was only between two men and both were over 21. It still didn’t feel safe to be openly homosexual and there were still laws that could be used against gay men.

Although Crystal did not consider herself gay she knew that being a man presenting as a woman in public would be inflammatory enough to ire the homophobes and there would be no protection from the police who would be more likely to arrest Crystal, Wendy and Brittany than to protect them.

Sir Cyril James Anderton was the chief constable of the Greater Manchester Police and had a policy of policing of the area heavily due to his prejudice towards the gay community. Anderton encouraged his officers to stalk the dank alleys and expose anyone of the same sex caught in a clinch or openly expressing affection.

He believed that sodomy between males was an abhorrent offence, condemned by the word of God, and ought to be against the criminal law and he publicly stated that ‘the gays of Manchester were swirling in a cesspit of their own making’.

These thoughts bounced around Crystal's head whilst Wendy and Brittany nattered like a couple of teenage girls out on the town.

“Don’t worry darling the coppers will leave us alone so long as we don’t stop for a shag or a blowie,” Wendy tittered.

Crystal was appalled.

“Don’t worry about her she’s just a crude doxie who can’t keep her knickers on. When she was younger she’d show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple,” Brittany giggled.

“Shut it you!” Wendy retorted.

“Seriously Crystal you’re safe as houses around here and once we get into the Black Sheep no one will bother us at all,” Wendy said in a solemn tone.

“Well you will be bothered, but only by people who admire you, not by people who dislike you. Remember, you’re doing nothing wrong. You’re just out having a good time; you’re not breaking any laws,” she patted Crystal's shoulder.

While all this was going on during the eternal ten minute walk, which ended up being fifteen minutes because whilst Crystal was adept at walking around carpeted and lino floors in high heels she was new to the pavement and cobbled streets of Manchester. Concentrating on walking kept Crystal from worrying too much about being battered by homophobes or thrown into the back of a black maria by the ‘wooden-tops’. The only incident that occurred was when they passed two men on their way to the boozer who gazed at the three girls appreciatively and wolf-whistled.

“Show us yer knickers luv!” one of the cheeky chaps called out and Wendy obliged which of course called for another wolf-whistle.

“Here we are; safely at the Black Sheep,” Brittany opened the door to a smoky, raucous, overcrowded pub.

Now

Masturbating her captor became part of Crystal’s daily duties; once in the morning before breakfast and once again in the evening before dinner. The man would open the glory hole and stick his engorged manhood through the hole and Crystal would be standing there like the dog in the ‘His Master’s Voice’ painting, faithfully waiting for her master.

She knew the consequences of refusal and once she had done it a few times it no longer repulsed her. She soon learned that semen had a way of finding its way onto her clothing no matter how careful she was so she performed her duties dressed in bra, panties, nylons and heels and sometimes a slip or petticoat. The man insisted she wear full makeup because he watched her through the viewing port, although he seldom spoke to her during the course of her duties.

The man would sigh or gasp or mew as Crystal stroked him to climax. After a while she made a game of it for herself, bringing the man close to extremis and then backing right off making the man become frustrated and then she would hold his cock tighter and stroke it faster and bring him close to climax again and back off yet again. She’d do this until the man begged her for release.

His issue would burst forth into her hand often spraying up her arm and sometimes onto her body and her face if she got too close. She had to admit a certain fascination with the man’s erect penis. It was a fine specimen of elegant manhood: elongated and broad with purple veins running under the sleek velvety flesh and a glistening pink glans.

Crystal would reach out and tentatively touch it and it would quiver, then she would wrap her fingers around the turgid organ and slowly and softly stroke it. She added a new technique to her repertoire after the first few encounters; she would reach through the glory hole and softly squeeze and stroke the man’s scrotum.

Working her fingers in symphony she could bring the man off quickly or if the mood took her she could torture him, making him wait for release, bringing him close to climax and then relinquishing her attention to his needs, she’d stop her ministrations until he begged her to finish him.

After the man had ejaculated he would withdraw his penis and clean himself up before opening the cat flap and pushing though Crystal's food and take away or deliver her laundry or remove the trash she had bagged for him, then they would begin their usual social intercourse.

While the man cleaned up, Crystal did the same. She would wash her hands and if the man had managed to get semen on her clothes then they would be removed and she would replace the soiled items and get fully dressed. She would return to the door and they would talk while she ate. He would read her the morning and evening newspapers and they would discuss current events but they never talked about her masturbatory duties.

One day Crystal was masturbating the man while the laundry basket sat on the floor ready to be pushed through the cat flap when she’d finished her duties and she noticed one of her stockings dangling over the side of the basket and it gave her idea. What if she put the stocking over the man’s penis to catch his issue?

She did it and it was an immediate success. The first time she slid the diaphanous sensuous garment along the man’s pulsing member he groaned and spent himself immediately, flooding the stocking with warm, glutinous semen. The man demanded that she do this often and even brought her packages of cheap nylon stockings to use for this very purpose so that her cache of expensive fashion hosiery wasn't ruined.

Crystal would never tell the man but she preferred it when she used her bare hand on him. It excited her feeling his penis swell and quiver at it discharged in her hand. She liked the feel of the warm secretions spattering on her skin, the musky smell of it, the creamy efflux running through her fingers. She considered it her reward for a job well done.

She kept the semen soaked stockings and items of lingerie and used them as masturbatory aids while the man was at work. She would put the semen-soaked nylon over her erect penis and bring the spunk-spattered slip to her nose and stroke herself to climax. She would never tell a soul about this of course. In her imagination she was the heroine in one of her Mills and Boon’s, surrendering her virtue to her saviour.

Soon followed the demand for oral sex.

Crystal held out for three days in complete darkness during which she wasn’t fed nor given any form of social interaction except for the one hour a day allotted for her ablutions.

She wasn’t naïve. Crystal knew that the man would escalate and that masturbation would not sate his desires for very long. She had forgotten how long she had been held captive but she knew that it was well over a month. She knew the days of the week because the man was home on the weekends during the day. The reality was she didn’t care. She had been driven into submission and was content to live by ‘the rules’ and anyway; hadn’t she dreamt of living her life full-time as Crystal?

She was dependent on the man for everything. He housed her, clothed her, fed her, conversed with her, and gave her books and magazines to read when he wasn’t there. She had nightmares that something might happen to him and she would slowly starve to death alone in this room.

Crystal consoled herself that it was unlikely that would happen because if something happened to the man, someone would come to his house for some necessity or another. But that also raised the question of what had happened to Colin Divine?

Were the police looking for him? Was he missed by his family, work colleagues and his few friends? Unlikely. What about Wendy and Brittany; would they be suspicious that they had not seen Crustal Divine for such a long a time? They were really just friends who had a corresponding interest in crossdressing, she had not been to Brittany’s house nor Brittany to hers and Wendy was a married man.

The reality was that after taking Brittany prisoner her captor had gone to Colin Devine's house and let himself in using Colin’s keys. Over a period of time he had donated all of Colin’s clothing to Oxfam, keeping the items of Crystal’s clothing and wigs that he liked and taking them back to his own home for her to use. Colin rented his house fully-furnished and the man had cleaned the place and returned the keys to the real estate agent in an envelope with a note to say that Colin had been called away overseas at short notice and that the real estate agent was to keep the bond money as payment for the inconvenience.

A similar letter was sent to Colin’s employer advising the company that Colin had been called away to deal with an urgent family matter regarding his brother who was living in Australia. He was deeply apologetic and instructed his employer to keep his outstanding holiday pay until he returned but to offer his position to someone else.

This was the 1970’s. There was no internet, no Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Few people on Colin’s income even had home phones. Colin was not missed by anyone. Crystal was missed by Wendy and Brittany but it was not unusual for crossdressers to suffer the onset of remorse and to purge themselves of their feminine requisites and to swear that they would never slip on a nylon stocking or a pair of knickers ever again.

Crystal and Wendy asked Maureen Cashmore if she had seen Crystal and she said she hadn't and agreed with them that Crystal was likely purging. Many of her crossdressing customers purged and when they once again began to crossdress, Oxfam reaped the rewards as they went about rebuilding their wardrobes. Mrs Cashmore explained to her protégés that many crossdressers might go through years or decades of binging and purging cycles. The purging was brought on by various feelings including fear and stress about the possibility of getting caught while crossdressed, shame and self-loathing, and wanting to please other people. The purging cycle only stopped when the male-to-female crossdresser was courageous enough to accept himself or herself for who they are. The crossdresser was then willing to accept that crossdressing was a part of his nature, whether he continued to view himself as a man, or now viewed herself as a woman.

Wendy had purged many times. Being a married man he lived in fear of being caught but the compulsion to crossdress would not be denied. The term gender dysphoria had not yet been coined but it was a label that suited the condition that many crossdressers suffered from at the time.

After the third day after the demand for oral sex had been issued Crystal submitted and was waiting at the door on her knees when the man poked his erect organ through the glory hole.

She had seen Wendy Doesit fellate men down by the canal and it didn’t seem to be much of a chore; she seemed to enjoy it. Crystal wasn’t so sure she would. Masturbating a man was one thing. It was something one did for oneself so it was not anathema. Crystal actually felt quite powerful when she performed the act; she was in control. But putting a penis in her mouth was something completely different. It was so corporeal and intimate; it was the ultimate act of submission. But what else could she do?

The man gasped as Crystal reached out and grasped his turgid member. She studied the appendage, feeling its girth, tracing the veins with a long red-lacquered fingernail. She traced the outline of his fraenulum and was rewarded when he shuddered with lust. She circled his glans with a finger and kneaded a globule of translucent pre-ejaculate which she brought to her mouth and tasted.

It was watery, odourless and tasteless but she knew that his semen wouldn’t be. It would be viscous and pungent. She shuddered at the thought of having it in her mouth but she resigned herself and leaned forward and opened wide.

She closed her lips over the man’s penis, taking about half of it in her mouth. There was no odour or vile taste as she might have expected; she knew the man kept himself scrupulously clean. She’d smelled his deodorant and aftershave through the door and smelled the bodywash on his penis, which is what she tasted as her tongue tentatively lapped at the organ.

The man resisted the urge to push his cock further into Crystal’s mouth. He didn’t want to frighten her or cause her discomfort. It was frustrating feeling her lips clamped around the shaft of his penis and her tongue licking his rod rather than his sensitive glans. But it was also exquisite watching this young virgin perform fellatio for the very first time. Her clumsy efforts were exciting as the man looked down at the top of her head through the viewing port and saw her suckling his cock, on her knees, subservient and passively compliant.

He bucked his hips a little to encourage her and Crystal comprehended the man’s needs and began to move her lips back and forth along the shaft and as a consequence her tongue lapped at his fraenulum and his glans.

When the man felt Crystal’s lips slide along his shaft and her tongue lash at the tender erogenous base of his glans he fought to hold back his release but failed. He held onto the doorframe to support his weight as his knees buckled with the intensity of his orgasm.

Crystal was not prepared for the flood of hot viscous fluid that filled her mouth. Her first instinct was to spit out the man’s penis and to expel his musky issue but she didn’t. Somewhere deep down in her psyche she felt dominant and remained collected. She could feel the man’s penis pulsing against her lips as he ejaculated his spend into her mouth.

She looked up and met his eyes staring at her through the viewing port and she held his gaze as she moved her mouth up and down on the man’s turgid rod and sucked the last vestiges of the man’s issue from him. She could feel that her cock was hard, threatening to break free of the gusset of her tights and knickers. She could feel the wetness of her precum leaking into her knickers as she suckled on the man’s cock.

The man looked down into Crystal’s pretty face, her green eyes enhanced by mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner, her red lips moving up and down his shaft, leaving a trail of red lipstick. She was staring at him, making the man feel guilty while she felt simultaneously subservient but powerful but the intensity of his orgasm was such that any self-loathing the man felt was suppressed.

Crystal discovered that working her lips along the man’s shaft whilst her tongue slurped his glans produced the maximum pleasure for the man and was rewarded with a series of gasps and groans as the last of his issue flooded her mouth.

She swallowed it all and did not find it repugnant as she thought she might. It tasted of the man’s essence and taking it made her feel a little potent and more than a little concupiscent. If the man wasn’t able to see her, there was no doubt that she would free her own turgid penis from her tights and knickers and give it a tug.

As it was she didn’t need to. She felt a subtle warmth course through her body, slightly intensifying in her groin and she realised that she had filled her knickers with semen. She had climaxed almost without being aware of it because she was so centred on her mouth and the big cock that was inside it. The warm dreamy orgasm was not as intense as the earth-shattering explosive climaxes that she sometimes felt but it was very satisfying.

When Crystal had licked the man’s cock clean and he extracted it from the glory hole she fell back on her heels and pushed herself upright, holding her slip away from her body so as not to get her semen on it. She made her way to the bathroom where she cleaned herself, fixed her makeup and put on fresh knickers and tights and returned to the bedroom to dress.

She sat next to the door and ate breakfast with the man as he read her the daily news, neither of them commenting on the turn of events that had just occurred.

Before supper that evening the ritual was repeated but this time the man held out a little longer and Crystal was able to improve her technique. By the end of the week she was an accomplished fellatrix and had developed various tricks and techniques to prolong the man’s endurance or to make him erupt in her mouth almost instantaneously. That feeling of being a subjugated prisoner but with a subtle hold over captor continued to grow.

More and more often she dreamed of being rescued by her hero from some unfathomable and indescribable doom and surrendering herself to him. The actual mechanics and fundamentals of what that surrender entailed were hazy. All she could remember on awakening was that he held her in his arms and did something to her that caused her the most exquisite bliss. She often found that she experienced a nocturnal emission during these dreams and would have to get out of bed and change her knickers.

Then

The three attractive crossdressers made their way through the crowded main bar of the Black Sheep. Brittany led them out back to a larger lounge area. Faux tapestries of red velvet and gold adorned the walls, mock ivory columns adorned with plastic climbing ivy and gilt-framed mirrors reflected a feeling of exotic splendour. Crystal didn’t know what to make of it; she hadn't seen anything like it before. She stared at a full-size plaster statue of a nude male.

A flat-chested woman in a sequined flapper dress had just finished a number on the small stage and she bowed low, her arms extended gracefully, acknowledging the applause. The air was thick with smoke and heavy with perfume. There was an abundance of tall slender women, some in evening gowns but all dressed in finery, exquisitely made up with manes that cascaded to their shoulders, silver blonde, molten red, raven black. Their wardrobes were revealing; with lots of leg on show and some were showing obviously enhanced cleavage.

There were young men too, wearing tight jeans, white t-shirts and denim jackets, possibly a little eyeliner; their hair styled, their lips in a permanent pout. But the transvestites and rent boys were outnumbered by the onlookers: men with beady eyes and wet lips; some dressed in suits, others who looked like they had just finished work in the foundry. Not all them stared hungrily at the fetching transvestites and beguiling young men, most seemed happy just to be immersed in the atmosphere.

Upon closer inspection the pageantry was revealed to be tawdry, cheap and imperfect. The decorations were dusty and dilapidated, the women’s makeup was a little too heavy and often poorly applied, their clothes, which at first seemed resplendent, were often ill-fitting with seams coming apart, sequins missing, stockings laddered and wigs askew. Certainly a few were visions of perfection but most were imperfect but obviously happy and content to be somewhere where they could fulfil their fantasy.

Brittany led the trio to a small table near the wall close to the stage. To say that Crystal was terrified was an understatement but underneath the apprehension she was secretly thrilled. Besides the lewd comments, the groping hands and catcalls there was the fear that at any moment someone was going to call out: “Colin! What the fuck are you doing dressed like that!” but of course that never happened.

Once they were settled at their table a man came over and smiled at them.

“The usual Luv?” he asked Wendy.

“Yes please Bill,” Wendy smiled back at him.

“And you my pretty? I’ve not seen you in here before,” the man smiled at Crystal and she blushed.

“Gin and Britvic bitter lemon please,” Crystal whispered.

She needed the alcohol to give her Dutch courage.

“Right you are Luv,” the man winked at her and fought his way to the bar.

“We never pay for drinks and this table is always left vacant for us,” Brittany explained.

“The Admirers keep it for us. There’s Jackie and Vicky over there. Vicky is the one wearing the unfortunate blue eyeshadow,” she waved at a table across the crowded room where two other crossdressers were sitting.

One was tall and the other was dumpy but they were both dressed nicely and wore heavy makeup. They were not as polished as Crystal, Brittany and Wendy but they had attracted a couple of likely lads who were chatting them up.

“Talk about showing you her knickers for bite of your toffee apple, that Vicky can suck a tennis ball through a garden hose,” the two girls broke up in screeching laughter.

“I can see you’re nervous but try to relax. Here’s how it goes. Tonight we have a few drinks, a natter and a laff. The Admirers will buy us drinks and offer to take us home or to go with them down by the canal. Just remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. There are girls like us that come in here and never engage with the Admirers; it’s a safe space for us,” Brittany began to explain.

“What are these Admirers I hear you speak of,” Crystal asked.

Becoming engrossed in the conversation took Crystal's mind away from the trepidation she had been feeling.

“The term ‘Admirer’ in our special community refers to men who are honestly interested in socialising with crossdressers. Of course there is the risk that some Admirers may be sexual predators and to be honest a lot of them are after a quick shag or a blowjob from a tranny. Admirers are sometimes called tranny chasers,” Brittany pointed out.

Crystal turned up her nose at the utterance of the words shagging and blowjobs, and the other girls saw her.

“Just remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Brittany patted Crystal's shoulder reassuringly.

At that moment the Admirer came back with their drinks and set them down on the table. He’d bought himself a pint.

“Mind if I sit here for a bit?” he pointed to a spare chair and Brittany nodded.

Wendy was already deep in conversation with a man in a suit sitting at another table close by.

“Crystal, this is Bill,” Brittany made the introductions and Bill took Crystal’s hand and kissed the back of it.

Crystal flinched a little at the gesture.

“Bill is one of the nice guys Crystal. He likes our company but he’s not a tranny chaser,” Brittany said, kissing Bill on the cheek.

She affectionately rubbed away the lipstick she’d left on his cheek with her thumb and Bill blushed.

“I’m sixty years old Luv and if I’m lucky the missus lets me hop on top of her once a week and if I'm really lucky she’s wearing her sheers and heels because she knows I like them but I’ve neither the energy nor the inclination to go chasing transvestites. I just like looking at them and talking to them. My missus says it doesn’t matter where I get my appetite so long as I only eat at home,” Bill raised his pint and they all laughed and clinked glasses.

Bill joined in Wendy’s conversation with the besuited Admirer leaving Crystal and Brittany to talk privately.

“Look we all have our stories. Usually they are very similar but seldom exactly the same. Take Wendy for instance. Her male name if William and he’s married with two kids. Like all of us she started wearing her mother and sister’s knickers and nylons at an early age and progressed to playing dressup. Wendy has purged so many times that she’s lost count but she can’t kick the compulsion to dress,” Brittany took a sip of her drink.

“William has been caught crossdressed a number of times, firstly by his mum and dad and later by his wife after he got married. He promised his wife he’d stop but he just can’t. None of us can. Most of us have tried,” Wendy took cigarettes and a lighter from her purse.

“His wife kept finding evidence that he was still dressing and finally gave him an ultimatum for the sake of their marriage and the kids. William could go out as Wendy twice a week but she didn’t want to know where or what he got up to. He was never to bring any of his female accoutrements home and never to talk to her about it. If he got caught by anyone who knew them or arrested by the police their marriage was over so he had better be discreet about it, was what was finally agreed upon,” Brittany explained.

“William lied to his wife and told her that crossdressing just made him feel comfortable and appealed to his feminine psyche. He told her that it was nothing sexual and he has no compunction to engage sexually with men or other crossdressers. He leaves his stash of clothing at my place in the shed out back and he dresses there and we go out every Friday night and he comes back to my place to change in the shed before he goes home,” Brittany lit two cigarettes and gave Crystal one.

“Wendy obviously does have sex… well she certainly implies it,” Crystal took the preferred cigarette and took a drag.

Colin seldom smoked at home but liked a cigarette when he was down the pub having a drink.

“She fucks like a bunny. I’m not taking her inventory dear, I like sex too, but I won’t let her bring men back to mine while she’s being dishonest to her wife. That might be strange morality for a queer closet crossdresser but it keeps my conscience clean. What Wendy does down by the canal is her business,” Brittany smiled a knowing smile.

“You called yourself a queer closet crossdresser; what does that mean?” Crystal was genuinely interested.

“Oh you want to hear my story do you? Well hang onto yer knickers while I tell you, but first smile and wave at that burly looking bloke in the Manchester United football jumper,” Brittany pointed to the man leaning on the bar leering at them.

Crystal was horrified but she was in safe space apparently so she did as she was told and smiled and waggled her red nailpolished fingers at the brute of a man who turned out to be a charmer and bought the ladies another round of drinks. When he delivered them he whispered something in Brittany’s ear.

“Yes darling of course you can. Meet me at my place half hour after closing time,” Brittany kissed the man on the lips.

It was the first outward show of affection Crystal had witnessed at the pub but as the night wore on and the drinks flowed there was slap and tickle aplenty. The two slappers Jacky and Vicky ended up sitting in the laps of two middle-aged men, one of whom clearly had his hand up Vicky’s skirt.

“Roger is one of my regulars. Unlike some, I have a small following of Admirers who I allow to grace my door,” Brittany side-eyed Wendy when she said ‘unlike some’.

“So… What is there to know about Brittany Swallows?” Brittany lit another cigarette and began her tale.

Brendan Small knew that he was different early in his formative years. He lived with his divorced mother in a very nice house. His mother received a very nice stipend from an errant husband to ease his guilt about running away with his secretary which his mother referred to as ‘so cliché as to be hackneyed’. His mother fawned on Brendan and all but smothered him.

Brendan grew up tall and slender and was effete from the start and his mother did nothing to discourage this, allowing him to play with dolls and play with girls who took delight in dressing him up and putting makeup on him.

Brendan was too tall and athletic for the other boys to tease and one or two bullies who tried it on with him ended up with black eyes. He didn’t hide his predilection for the arts and sang in the school choir and acted in school plays but the thing he enjoyed most was ballet.

Encouraged by his mother Brendan took ballet lessons three times a week. He became an avid crossdresser with an impressive collection of tights, lingerie, skirts blouses and even a pair of high heels. He spent hours alone in his room dressed as Brittany, perfecting his makeup skills and feminine mannerisms.

Dancing gave him the opportunity to not only flex his body but to wear tights and a little makeup in public which thrilled him as much as the dancing did. He soon discovered that there were other boys who practiced ballet who had similar predilections and not long after he turned eighteen Brendan discovered the carnal joys of frottage. Rubbing his engorged penis trapped in his ballet tights against another boy’s penis similarly cloaked in spandex was quite thrilling and often produced an orgasm.

These trysts, which would have horrified their ballet mistress if she knew about them, took place under the stage, in the changing room or wherever the boys could meet with secrecy. Their ballet master, an equally effete man in his forties was very much aware what his charges were getting up to but said nothing. He was a man who liked to watch.

Brendan let a boy named Maurice De Witt into his secret one day when he invited him home. Maurice was keen to see what Brendan looked like dressed as a girl and as his mother was away for the weekend at a Shakespeare festival in Stratford, Brendan was happy to oblige.

Brittany came down the stairs dressed in a tight black vinyl miniskirt, a red satin blouse, black high heels and sheer tan nylon tights. Her makeup was heavy but perfect and she’d teased and styled her long boyish mullet into a long feathered do with big flicked sides. As Maurice watched her tread carefully but gracefully down the stairs he thought she looked gorgeous and sexy and would never have recognised Brendan under the makeup, hair and clothes.

Brendan had never done anything homo before. Frottage was considered not much more than mutual masturbation which most teenage boys experimented with. Even the rugby footballers at college played ‘soggy biscuit’ after school in the dressing sheds after they had been drinking.

When Maurice De Witt took Brittany in his arms and kissed her she felt ‘right and proper’ for the first time in her life. She felt comfortable in her own skin. She felt like she was normal.

They made their way to the couch saying little, Maurice leading the way. Maurice was two years older than Brittany at twenty years of age and was attending university. Unlike Brittany he was no virgin and was accomplished sexually with both men and women.

He took his time seducing Brittany knowing she would be skittish and scared as it was not only her first time coming out as a young woman but also her first intimate encounter, other than a little cock-rubbing in ballet tights.

He kissed her; softly at first and Brittany sighed. She felt wanted, appreciated and desired. He kissed her a little harder and Maurice put his tongue in her mouth and Brittany liked it. She liked being held by this strong young man, she liked the way he held her and caressed her, she liked the way she could feel every article of clothing on her body: her satin knickers caressing her privates, her silky tights encasing her long legs, the hem of her skirt tickling her thighs, her satin blouse cosseting her tender flesh, the taste of her makeup, the smell of her perfume.

She finally felt like a woman.

When Maurice took Brittany’s hand in his and guided it to his groin she didn’t resist. There was the awkward fumbling that so often occurs when couples are kissing and trying to undress at the same time but eventually she freed his manhood and took it in her hand. It felt warm and sleek and alive and Maurice gasped into her mouth as she softly stroked it.

Brittany quivered with anticipation when Maurice put his hand on her thigh and stroked her nylon-shrouded flesh. He brushed her nylons with the tips of fingers enjoying the feel of her slinky tights. His hand slid under her skirt and Brittany whimpered and shuddered when Maurice fluttered his fingers along her engorged cock through the layers of satin panties and nylon tights. The front panel of her knickers became wet with her secretions and Brittany could feel Maurice smile as he kissed her.

Maurice broke the kiss and leaned back into the sofa and pressed gently on Brittany’s head. At first she was confused but then she realised what he wanted and she mustered her resolve and lowered her face into his lap. She took his appendage into her mouth and sucked it like a baby sucks a dummy and Maurice mewed with delight. Brittany's own cock was pressing against her knickers, tenting her skirt and Maurice pushed her skirt up out of the way and stroked her engorged penis through her panties.

Brittany experimented a little and began to move her mouth up and down on Maurice’s cock while her tongue flittered on his glans. This caused him to groan and push his groin upward to encourage her so she knew that what she was doing was enjoyable.

She settled into a steady rhythm, suckling Maurice’s organ while he stroked her through her saturated knickers. She could taste the precum dribbling from Maurice’s trembling organ and assumed that he was about to come; she was close to flooding her knickers too.

Maurice surprised her when he pulled her face out of his groin and quickly stood up. She sat on the couch looking up at him with his long thick cock poking out before him as he quickly stripped. She was becoming a little apprehensive, especially when she saw him take a tube of KY Jelly out of the pocket of his jeans. This was all going a little too fast and she began to protest when Maurice flipped her on her back and jumped on her, lying on top of her with her legs spread wide.

He kissed her passionately and she felt his cock pressing on hers through her knickers and tights. This was familiar territory, frottage, and she wrapped her legs around him and returned his kisses. She would rather have liked to have tasted his semen in her mouth but if Maurice wanted to frot to orgasm she was more than willing. Having this young man on top of her kissing her while he ground his cock against her knickers was very arousing and she felt very feminine, lying on her back with a naked man mounting her.

Maurice was doing something down there and she wasn’t sure what. He appeared to be struggling with the KY Jelly. Suddenly she felt him tear open her tights and ease aside the gusset of her knickers and she felt the flesh of his manhood between her buttocks. She could feel that it was slathered with the slippery salve but she had little time to comprehend this because Maurice found her sphincter and pushed his cock inside her.

Maurice covered her mouth with his to stifle her scream.

“Shh darling. It always hurts the first time, just relax,” he mumbled into her mouth.

Tears of pain ran down her cheeks as she felt her anus speared by Maurice’s cock. It burned and she felt like she had been split open.

“Just relax sweetheart,” Maurice tried to comfort her, kissing her softly, stroking her cheeks.

He had about half of his cock inside her tight passage and was trying desperately not to climax, her anus felt like a velvet glove squeezing his phallus and her nyloned legs were scissoring against his bare skin.

Brittany breathed deeply and concentrated on relaxing her sphincter and suddenly something wonderful happened. Little sparkles of delight began to tingle from her tight puckered ring and radiated up her anus where the pressure of Maurice’s cock was causing some vague but pleasant sensations that she had never felt before.

All of the pain was gone, replaced by pleasure. She had never felt more womanly, lying on her back with a strong young man on top of her, her legs wrapped around him, her high heels pointing at the ceiling.

Maurice could sense the change in Brittany and was rewarded when she dug her heels in his flanks and encouraged him to fuck her. She gasped when he slid the remainder of his phallus inside her tight anus but it was a sigh of delight, not displeasure. She wrapped her arms around Maurice and held him close as her silky legs caressed his tender flesh.

Maurice fucked Brittany; but not for long. Four long slow strokes were all it took to cause him to ejaculate deep inside her, flooding her anus with his hot seed. Brittany felt his cock quiver inside her and she knew what was happening, then she felt his semen dribbling from her anus as he continued to thrust his cock in and out of her, lighting up the pleasure centres in her sphincter and her prostate.

Brittany soaked her knickers as the most tremendous orgasm washed over her. She clung to Maurice and rose up off the couch driving her buttocks upward, impaling herself on his manhood as it skewered her bowels. She raked her nails on his back and her high heels chafed his flanks as she encouraged him to fuck her.

She held him close as they both rode their orgasms to the zenith and descended into contented bliss.

Later that afternoon they took drinks up to Brittany’s bedroom and did it again; this time with Brittany dressed in a basque and seamed nylon stockings. Maurice pushed her down on her bed on her hands and knees and rode her from behind and Brittany loved it but not as much as when he lay on top of her, kissing her.

Having found out that she rather liked being buggered, Brittany started bringing home a select few boys who treated her like a lady should… well a lady of loose morals anyway, while her mother was out.

It all came crashing down when her mother came home unexpectedly one day and found Brittany bent over the living room sofa wearing a tutu, leotard, ballet tights, high heels and wearing full makeup being rogered by her ballet master.

Brendan’s ballet career had never taken off but he liked hanging around fit handsome young men who wore tights and had a persuasion for their own gender. After today that door was closed for ever.

“Oh dear. I think we will have to find you your own digs Brendan,” his mother sighed as she put her handbag on the table and went to the liquor cabinet.

She used some of her husbands ‘guilt money’ to buy Brendan a little house in Spring Gardens where Brendan became Brittany whenever the fancy took her. Her two-up two-down wasn’t far from the Oxfam shop and she became a frequent customer there and befriended by Mrs Cashmore.

“And that’s the story of Brittany,” Brittany stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and nodded to an attentive Admirer who wanted to buy a round of drinks.

Crystal told Brittany her story, similar in its own way: the compunction to dress femme at an early age, the fascination with feminine things, the need to present as passable as possible but in Crystal’s case there was no sexual element yet other than masturbation.

They sat at the table all night drinking and talking, watching the transvestites perform their numbers on stage every so often. A number of Admirers approached them and Crystal was nervous with them all. She sensed that some of them had genuine affection for the attractive crossdressers and some of them made it obvious they were only interested in sex. That first night Crystal didn’t dance but Wendy and Brittany did. Wendy seemed to have no problem when the men she danced with felt her up and was openly salacious.

Besides the transvestites there were plenty of gay men sitting in small groups or as couples; some of them openly displaying affection for each other. The gays showed little interest in the transvestites but there seemed to be an alliance between them. This was their turf. This was their safe space. The label ‘LGBT’ and the other half of the alphabet appropriated by the queer community had not yet been coined.

Crystal learned a lot that night in the Black Sheep pub. At closing time Wendy walked away down towards the canal with two men but Brittany walked Crystal home.

“I have my gentleman friend coming to my place in half an hour. He’s staying the night. You’ll need to harden up girl because if you're going to keep your virginity, you’ll be walking home alone from now on,” Brittany leaned in and kissed Crystal on the cheek.

Neither of the women saw the man hiding in the shadows watching them. He had been seated near one of the faux marble columns in the back corner of the lounge at the Black Sheep studiously observing them. Well actually he had been studiously watching Crystal.

Crystal contemplated the evening as she lay in bed sans makeup but still wearing her tights and knickers and a satin chemise. She liked Brittany and despite her bawdy ways Wendy was nice too. She had liked being out in public, she’d liked drinking and listening to the music and would have liked to have got up the courage to dance. She had to admit that she liked the attention of the Admirers as they reaffirmed her femininity and beauty but was put off by some of their lewd behaviour.

She had a standing offer to join Brittany and Wendy at the Black Sheep on Fridays and Saturdays and even if they weren't there she knew that the Black Sheep was a safe space in which she could socialise.

Crystal slept well while the man who had followed her home worked all night in his cellar putting the finishing touches on what was soon to be her cell.

Now

To say the situation was absurd was an enormous understatement. The situation was insane! Crystal Divine had resigned herself to living in a tiny underground two-room apartment where she had a strict regimen that controlled her day. Wake up, exercise, ablutions, put on wig, makeup and lingerie, perform fellatio at the glory hole, dress as directed, have breakfast while her captor read her the newspapers and discussed current affairs, spend the day languishing reading magazines and romance novels, strip, exercise again, ablutions again, don lingerie and makeup, fellate her captor, have dinner sitting at the table near the door talking to her captor well into the evening until it was bedtime.

To say it was bizarre was laughable.

What was bizarre was that Crystal had grown to like it. She thought long and hard about Stockholm Syndrome and the effect of her being held prisoner for so long and the way her captor manipulated her by allowing her to do all the things she enjoyed except for granting her freedom. Crystal had even gown to like the sex. It was the single thing that gave her power over her captor.

When he begged her for release, when he mewled and groaned his appreciation for the pleasure she gave him it empowered her. When he released his seed into her mouth or onto her hand she felt rewarded and she remunerated herself by secretly masturbating afterward or in some cases actually achieving climax along with her captor; flooding her knickers as he flooded her mouth.

Crystal knew it was insane but it had become her version of reality. She often wondered what her captor looked like. She knew he had deep blue eyes and sandy hair and that his arms were muscular and that his voice was deep and rich. Was he so disfigured that she could never see him? Was he keeping his identity secret so that when he released her she would never be able to identify him? Was he an ogre, a beast or monster or was he a prince; her saviour, her champion and protector?

Crystal knew that their relationship was unhealthy and more than likely that she was suffering some form of insanity but she didn’t care. Other than refusing her food and light when she had denied him sexual favours or disobeyed the rules he hadn't harmed her. It would be easy enough for him to burst through the door and beat her, to subjugate her, brutalise her or to rape her but he hadn't. He could spike her food and ravage her while she lay unconscious; she knew he had the wherewithal because he had drugged her to take her captive.

Time held no meaning for Crystal. There were only weekdays when her captor worked and weekends when he spent most of his time talking to her through the door and she had to admit she liked his company. She missed Wendy and Brittany and Mrs Cashmore but she had few other friends in the world to pine for, certainly not her parents or her work colleagues. She had bonded with her captor and though she knew it was insane to feel so, she was content.

Her captor told Crystal what he done when she asked about her former life. He told her how he had stopped the rent on her flat, stopped her subscriptions and newspaper and milk deliveries and told both Colin’s realtor and employer that he had been called away urgently to Australia to help his brother.

Crystal thought of Colin as another person; he was no longer part of her. He was some far off entity that she had once cared about but was no longer relevant.

“But Colin doesn’t have a brother,” Crystal said through the door when her captor told her what he had done.

Her captor noticed that Crystal talked about Colin in the third person. He smiled. His psychological manipulation was working.

“Of course he doesn’t but they don’t know that. Brittany and Wendy were worried about you though,” the man taunted her a little.

“They were?” Crystal felt grateful that her friends cared about her disappearance.

“They’ve accepted the fact that you’ve purged. Crystal will either reappear in all her magnificence or she will never be seen again. Isn’t that what your kind do?” he couldn’t help but mock her a little.

Crystal knew all about purging. She had considered it herself on a number of occasions but had never gone through with it. The compulsion to crossdress was too strong. She did note the slightly wicked tone in his voice that he used now and then to reminder that she was his captive.

“Who would have told them that?” Crystal asked.

The man slammed the viewing port shut and didn’t return until the next morning.

After his morning blowjob the man put Crystal’s breakfast through the cat flap on which was a piece of paper telling her how she was to dress for him after work. This was not an unusual request as the man often wanted her to dress differently in the evening. On some weekends he would ask her to change numerous times, watching her through the viewing port or on his video screen. Sometimes she would tease him. Knowing that he was watching she would perform a slow striptease and take an overly long time putting on her lingerie.

Keeping her back to the door and the camera she would slip into her sexy knickers and then face the screen as she fastened a suspender belt around her waist and pulled the garters through her knickers and ever so slowly slid her stockings up her long legs, smoothing out the wrinkles, straightening the seams; all of her movements exaggerated, her overly made-up face staring at the viewing port or the camera, her red-lipsticked mouth pursed in a sexy pout. She would slip on her heels and parade around the room pretending that she had lost something, an earring perhaps? Bending over often to show her pert creamy buttocks swathed in her nearly transparent knickers to the door or the camera.

If she overexcited her captor he would come to the door and demand sex, throwing open the cover of the glory hole and thrusting his trembling cock through it and Crystal was always happy to oblige him as performing for her captor also excited her and inevitably she’d climax when she fellated him.

As time passed Crystal began to realise that the routines and rituals, the conventions and procedures, the formalities and etiquette that ruled Crystal's life, ruled her captor’s life too. The time and effort it must take for him to care for her and to abide by the schedule he had set for her; the determination and discipline that must take was extraordinary. She may be devoted to him but he was equally devoted to her.

Crystal read the man’s directive on the sheet of paper once again. She had become used to his handwriting which was an elegant cursive script which fitted her vision of what the man looked like. That evening she was to wear the green satin basque, black fully-fashioned, fifteen denier stockings, black satin panties, black patent leather high heels and the flaming red wig. Over her ensemble she was to wear the transparent black satin and lace negligee.

Very sexy.

When the mood took her, Crystal liked to put on a little show for the man, waiting for him to get home from work before she changed so that he could watch her dress. She would tease him until he became fanatically aroused and ached for her to relieve him. She might provoke him a little when he put his cock through the glory hole. Maybe use some prolonged masturbation techniques until he begged her to use her mouth on him. Then she would tease him with her tongue and lips, using featherlight flickers of the tip of her tongue on his fraenulum and glans while her lips danced loosely along the flesh of his shaft.

She would use her feminine guile to titillate and beguile him until he was fully rampant and ready to surrender his seed, begging for her to bring him to climax. Then she would earnestly suck at his engorged phallus, milking every drop of his semen into her mouth. She would likely climax with him, her cock untouched, her orgasm triggered by her captor’s own ultimate bliss.

She was hard inside her knickers at the thought of it and she smiled.

When she heard his footsteps upstairs she retired to her bathroom and prepared herself. She shaved the almost non-existent stubble from her face; her second shave of the day. She brushed her teeth and used mouthwash. She sat on the toilet and evacuated what little she had inside her and then used the bulb douche until the water ran clean. She didn’t understand why the man insisted she perform this task but she had long given up questioning him about ‘the rules’.

The shower was invigorating and when she soaped her privates she accidentally induced an erection which she banished using cold water. Her scrotum and pubis had been freshly shaved that morning as had her legs and the few wisps of hair on her chest. She’d also shaped her brows.

She put on her black satin dressing gown, knowing that he was likely watching her. Her hair, which was already stylishly long when she was captured, had grown out but without any form of hairdressing acumen it remained unsuitable for her to present coiffed enfemme so she selected the flaming-red shoulder-length bob as she had been directed. She put her own hair up and took the skullcap which she had fashioned from the panty area of a pair of tights and pulled it on her crown, pushing any stray locks under it.

Crystal took a seat on the walnut stool before the vanity mirror in the centre section of her armoire, turned on the lights surrounding the mirror and studied the shelves filled with cosmetics, perfumes, makeup-sponges and brushes. She went to work applying her makeup, highlighting her sharp, high cheekbones with rouge, accenting her eyes with black eyeliner and mascara applied thickly, mauve and teal eyeshadow to accentuate her emerald green eyes, and applied ruby red lipstick to her soft shapely lips. Her fingernails and toenails had been touched up with matching ruby red nailpolish that very afternoon.

She positioned the wig over her head and pulled it on, adjusting it so that it fitted snuggly. She brushed it out and looked at herself in the mirror and as always was amazed at the transformation and how beautiful she looked. At that moment she heard the viewing port open and Crystal turned her back to the door and stepped into her knickers. She had tucked and taped in the bathroom and the black satin and lace full-cut knickers fitted her snuggly, the front of them a perfectly smooth V-shape.

Her breastforms lay ready on the table, the double-sided tape already affixed to the inside, ready to be glued to her chest.

“No breastforms today please Crystal,” the man barked dryly.

“Of course. As you wish,” Crystal replied and put them away in the armoire.

Crystal turned to face the door and took off her dressing gown to expose her trim alabaster body and picked up the green satin basque and stepped into it, shimmying the garment up her trim body. She fitted it around her cinched waist and pushed the garters through her kickers. The silver clasps tickled her thighs as they hung there while she sat on the stool and opened a package of black fifteen denier vintage stockings. She carefully rolled each stocking, inserted her toe and slid the it along her leg, straightening the seams and smoothing out the wrinkles before she fixed the four garter snaps to each smoky-black gauzy welt.

She heard the man sigh as he watched her perform this ritual.

Crystal stepped into her favourite black patent leather high heels and alighted from the stool and took a turn around the room, as much to tease her captor as to walk herself into the shoes. She went back to the armoire and checked her makeup in the mirror a final time and liberally applied perfume and accessorised herself. Crustal put on the necklace that Mrs Cashmore had given her: a train of small synthetic emeralds set in a silver-plated nickel chain and then the matching bracelet and the ring of similar construction set with a large synthetic emerald. The ring was no longer tight on her finger. She put on matching earrings that her captor had purchased for her at her request.

Not for the first time she wished she had the emerald earrings her mother had given her. They were missing from the collection of jewellery that her captor had taken from Colin’s house and given to her and he steadfastly refused to discuss their whereabouts.

Crystal lifted the transparent black satin and lace negligee from the clothes hanger in the armoire and put it on. She turned to face the door.

“Magnificent my lovely, let me reward you,” the cat flap opened and he pushed through a glass of sparkling wine in a champagne flute.

Crystal bent down and took the proffered glass and stood up and held it up to the light. The wine was icy-cold and moisture beaded on the glass.

“Crystal for my Crystal,” she could see the man’s blue eyes sparkle at the jest as she took a sip.

She took a second sip and then a third and suddenly felt extremely tired. She knew the man had drugged her. These were the same symptoms she had felt when he had kidnapped her. She made it to the bed before she fell asleep.

Crystal had no idea how long she had been asleep but she knew it wasn't long. The sedative was swift acting but the effects were short lived and temporary.

When she awoke Crystal looked over at the door and was amazed to see that it was wide open. The man had wheeled in a trolley and set up a dinner service on a small folding table covered with a pristine white tablecloth. The service was silver and a bottle of wine cooled in an ice bucket set in a stand beside the table. The food in the chaffing dish was still hot. Steam rose from what looked like a sumptuous meal and Crystal's mouth watered when the aroma wafted her way.

The man was standing across from the table facing her. He was smiling at her. He indicated that she should join him.

To be continued