When Mike Harris stole two point seven million dollars in cash from his employer, he knew that his life had changed forever. It’s one thing to steal that amount of money from your bosses’ safe; it’s quiet another to steal it from a ruthless gangster who is heavily involved in narcotics, prostitution, gambling and murder.

Mike was Tony Leonardo’s bookkeeper, accountant and financial adviser. Far removed from the seedy side of Tony’s business, Mike laundered the money, hid it in offshore accounts and invested it in legitimate enterprises to hide it from taxman and law enforcement. Mike knew that on the fifteenth of each month a large bundle of untraceable cash was kept in Tony’s office safe overnight; he suspected it came from drug buys or skimmed from Tony’s illegal casinos and kept a secret from the other crime syndicate bosses so he didn’t have to give them a cut. The one thing he did know was that the cash that flowed through Tony’s safe on every fifteenth of the month was never recorded any of Tony’s books, either legitimate or counterfeit. It was untraceable.

When Mike made the decision to steal the money he realised that he had one slight advantage; Tony couldn’t report the theft of the money through legitimate channels. Not that it made much of a difference; Tony had enough clout with his connections on both sides of law enforcement so that within hours of the theft being discovered the search for the thief would become an ever widening blanket over city, then the state, and then the whole country.

The main problem with stealing the cash from Tony’s safe was that only Tony and Mike knew the combination, so it was not like Tony was going to have to perform any detective work to figure out who had stolen his money. Another problem was that Tony had connections everywhere. Not just in the underworld, but connections in business, law enforcement, the government; everywhere! All of the connections owed Tony favours for one reason or another; they were on the take, being blackmailed, business partners, or they just liked to rub up against a high profile semi-legitimate criminal.

So whoever stole Tony’s cash was going to have to go into hiding. Not just grow a beard and colour your hair in hiding; but completely disappear off the face of the world in hiding; your own mother wouldn’t recognise you if she saw you in hiding. The person would have to, for all intents and purposes disappear.

Mike had been planning on taking the cash for about a year now. He lived in a modest townhouse in a middleclass suburb, he had grown up an orphan and he had very few friends and very little social life. Mike had been snared in Tony’s web about five years ago when he was caught embezzling small amounts of cash every month from his employer, an Import and Export Company, which turned out to be one of Tony’s semi-legitimate fronts. The manager of the company was impressed with Mike’s ingenuity, he had been embezzling the company for over ten years without being caught, and he advised Tony accordingly.

Tony had made Mike an offer he couldn’t refuse; he either worked for Tony as his bookkeeper, accountant and financial adviser or he would be introduced to one of Tony’s associates who had a penchant for hot pokers, electric drills and pliers. The associate would ensure that Mike died screaming, damning his mother for ever giving birth to him. Mike accepted the offer.

Tony was smart at some things but dumb at others. He gave Mike just enough money to live a comfortable life, but not enough money to live the sort of life he wanted to. Tony had plenty of money and ordinarily a man in Mike’s position would be extremely well paid for his work, but Tony was petty. He believed that Mike owed him for the money he had embezzled from the Import and Export Company so he paid Mike a pittance of what he was actually worth. So as well as being threatened with his life, Mike was also only being paid a subsistence wage. Mike harboured his resentment and waited for his chance.

Over the past five years Tony had become complacent; at first he wouldn’t let Mike anywhere near the safe but Tony became lazy and eventually gave Mike the combination to his safe so that he had access to the books that were kept in there. Mike also played the toady to perfection. Tony was duped into thinking that Mike was happy with their business arrangement and his paltry wage. Mike was loyal, courteous and hard working; so why shouldn’t Tony trust him? Besides there was no way an inky fingered, shiny-pants, accountant would dare to rip off Tony Leonardo!

Tony was in for a big surprise!

Mike knew that stealing the money was the easy part; getting away with it was going to be near on impossible. Having no friends or family meant that there was no one for Tony to lean on, but it also meant there was no one to help him. Mike knew that he would not be able to use any of his personal documents such as his passport, credit cards or drivers license, because he would immediately pop up on the radar. Air travel was out of the question. Even domestic charter services wanted positive identification documents given the current state of heightened security. Any credit card transactions would immediately trigger a hit in cyberspace, immediately giving his whereabouts away. He also knew that he would need an excellent disguise; a disguise that was so good that no one would recognise him.

Mike had three vices that his acquaintances knew about. He liked to drink single malt scotch whiskey, he liked to smoke good quality cigarettes and he liked to gamble. The gambling had led to his downfall. He had gotten himself into so much debt because of his gambling that he had started embezzling money from the Import and Export Company to feed his addiction. Even if he knew that the company was one of Tony Leonardo’s fronts he probably would still have embezzled the money. The last five years had cured him of his gambling addiction but he still liked a glass of single malt and smoking cigarettes.

Mike had one other vice that no one knew about. He was a closet crossdresser. He had been dressing as a woman in the privacy of his own home for so long that he had perfected the wearing of female attire and the application of makeup, feminine mannerisms and had even developed a smoky feminine voice. Mike had been a crossdresser for as long as he remembered. In the few foster homes where he had stayed for short periods of time as a child he had worn his foster mother’s and sister’s clothing whenever he got the opportunity. From the earliest age he had been fascinated by the sheen of nylons on long legs, the swish of stockings rubbing together and the gentle rustle of satin slips, the flick of a hem against a thigh, the soft caress of a satin blouse, the click of high heels on a hard floor, and the taste, texture and smell of cosmetics.

Mike was not sexually aroused by women’s clothing; he just felt completely happy and secure when he dressed as a woman. He had researched the phenomenon and had discovered that the majority of crossdressers were heterosexual males. He put down his penchant for crossdressing as something to do with being an orphan and never having had a mother’s love. He didn’t try to analyse it too much, he just did it. Most nights of the week in the privacy of his own home Mike dressed as a woman and just enjoyed it for the satisfaction it gave him; he just felt right when he was dressed.

When he dressed as a woman he had a certain style that he liked. He did not like long pants, jeans, shorts, or pedal-pushers. He didn’t like house dresses, t-shirts or plain tops. He hated sensible shoes and he detested bare legs. Mike liked to dress in a style he had developed for himself over the years. A-line or pencil skirts with splits or kick-pleats, ladies business suits with tight skirts, silk or satin long sleeved blouses, nylon or satin slips, full cut or boy-leg nylon, satin or lace panties, heavy makeup and dark bobs or shoulder length wigs and high heeled courts, pumps or sandals. He always wore hosiery, either stockings or sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose.

As a boy in foster homes he had borrowed the underwear, hosiery and sometimes skirts and blouses illicitly borrowed from his foster mom or sister. He knew from an early age that this was a dangerous game and that he was likely to get caught, so he repressed the urge to crossdress until he finally left the orphanage and went to university to get his degree. His one transgression in his early teens was in the orphanage when he was found by a nurse hiding down in the basement when everyone else was out playing sport. He was dressed in a pair of snagged pantyhose and nylon panties he had found discarded in the female staff dressing room. He wore a sarong and a t-shirt with rolled up socks pushed under the t-shirt to imitate breasts. He’s combed out his shoulder length hair and painted his lips with red crayon and lined his eyes with a fine tipped black marking pen. The nurse had berated him but kept the incident a secret.

In university he shared a series of flats with other students and would dress up in his bedroom when no one was home; always with the door securely locked. He lost his virginity at eighteen to a female student and liked the sex enough to work his way though half a dozen girlfriends before he graduated. He never linked his crossdressing to sex and although he tried to influence his girlfriends to dress in a style similar to his own, they never really got into it. They were university students in the seventies and wore hippie clothes; peasant skirts, jeans, t-shirts and bare legs.

By the time Mike got the job at the Import and Export Company he knew enough about crossdressing to have put together an extensive female wardrobe, cosmetics, jewellery, wigs and accessories. He’d even purchased a pair of good quality breastforms from a sex shop. He had also developed a full blown gambling addiction. He spent his nights and weekends either at clubs, illegal casinos or the racetrack or at home dressed as a woman. By the time he was in his late thirties; both addictions had taken over his life and he had few friends or acquaintances. He gambled or he dressed.

The gambling had ceased when he went to go to work for Tony Leonardo but Mike’s obsession with transvestism had not. He still had all of his feminine paraphernalia and dressed as often as he could. He kept his body trim and completely hairless and his nails were kept a little longer than most men, but they were very well manicured. He could transform from his male persona into his female persona in about an hour.

When dressed he would sit around and read ladies fashion magazines or just watch television or a DVD and when it became available, he learned how to use the internet.

Mike still engaged in heterosexual sex of course, mainly with prostitutes, the thought of sex with either a woman or a man with him dressed as a woman never entered his head. When his web browser occasionally took him to sites where pictures of transvestites and crossdressers were having sex with men or other crossdressers he was quite repulsed.

He did visit online transgender support sites however and at one stage he even thought about joining the Seahorse Club, a heterosexual crossdressing group that met discretely to support one and other, but he decided against it. He didn’t really need that sort of support; he was comfortable with his own two divergent identities. His male identity was as Mike Harris, bookkeeper to the mob, and his female identity was Rachel Coulotte, closet transvestite.

Mike stole the two point seven million dollars in cash from Tony Leonardo’s safe on the evening of July 15th; a cold bleak Canberra evening. He was surprised at how easily that amount of money fitted into his briefcase. As he was about to close the safe door he saw the two sets books, and on an impulse, he took those as well. They might come in handy later should he need to bargain with Tony. He drove home to his small townhouse and parked his small Corolla sedan at the curb; he would never need it again.

Mike had saved his meagre wages for six months and had paid cash for a five year old Ford Falcon from a farmer who asked no questions and wasn’t interested in completing the registration transfer papers. Mike had driven around the suburbs of Canberra in his Corolla for a few weeks and had randomly stolen number plates from cars registered in different states. After he bought the Ford home it had not moved from the garage; he had even filled the tank from a jerry can. The car waited for him in the gloom of the garage. It was his instrument of escape, loaded with what were now his only worldly possessions.

Determined, but forcing himself not to hurry, Mike went to his bedroom, turned up the heat and shaved and showered. He had laid out a travel outfit on his bed and his makeup and accessories were arranged on the dresser. All of his remaining female clothing and paraphernalia had been packed into two suitcases and locked in the boot of the Ford. His male clothing and anything to do with his male persona would be staying behind.

Rachel worked quickly, applying her foundation and then liberally coated her face and neck with face powder one shade darker than her foundation. She applied her eyeliner, then a combination of pale blue and dark pink eye-shadow, and then lashings of black mascara on her eyelashes. Next she rouged her cheeks and completed the routine with a light coating of finishing powder. She applied her favourite plum red Maybelline two-coat long-lasting lipstick and took some time to line her lips just outside of her lip-line so that her lips seemed fuller. She poured herself a scotch, lit a cigarette and painstakingly painted her toenails and fingernails a deep plum red before attaching her breastforms with medical adhesive and slipped into a white satin brassiere to hold them in place while she dressed. She used another piece of the adhesive to hide her penis underneath her crotch.

She brushed out a shoulder-length brunette wig with subtle crimson highlights and positioned the wig on her head and adjusted it so that her fringe was straight and hung level with her eyebrows. She opened a packet of Kaiser, flesh-toned, ultra-sheer, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose and smoothed them up her legs and over her tummy and buttocks. She carefully manipulated the sheer toes around her painted toenails ensuring she didn't ladder them.

She stepped into a pair of white nylon full-cut panties and slid them up her thighs, savouring the rustling sound of the nylon panties rubbing on her pantyhose. She clipped silver earrings to her ears, placed a matching pendant around her neck and put on two silver bangles and rings on the two of the fingers of each hand. She chose a peach coloured nylon full-slip and pulled it over her head being careful not to spoil her makeup or hair. She smoothed the garment over her body, the tight bodice clung to her breasts and hips and the skirt flared around her thighs, occasionally clinging to her stockinged legs. She loved the feel of the lacy hem; like butterfly wings brushing on her thighs.

She slipped her feet into a pair of black high-heel pumps and then pulled on a slate grey pencil skirt with a kick pleat at the rear and buttoned herself into a mauve, long-sleeved satin blouse. She fastened the waist of the skirt and zipped up the side before pulling on the matching suit jacket. She adjusted the hem of her skirt and fiddled with her blouse and jacket. She gave her makeup a final touch up, brushed her hair and then sprayed herself liberally with Poison, her favourite perfume.

Rachel checked herself in the full-length mirror and admired her ample but well-proportioned bottom; the pencil skirt was a snug fit. She drained her scotch; she would only have the one drink; she did not want to be arrested for dunk driving. She tossed her cosmetics and other accessories into a white cosmetics case and looked around the bedroom for a final check. She picked up the packaging from the pantyhose and dropped it in the waste basket and picked up her cosmetics case off the dresser and the briefcase off the bed and then left her townhouse forever.

Tony Leonardo discovered he had been robbed by Mike Harris at ten o’clock the next day; by then Rachel was sleeping in a cheap motel a couple of hundred kilometres away.

Rachel’s escape did not go exactly as she had planned it. She was extremely nervous going out in the world for the first time dressed as a woman but she was in her car and it was dark and frosty winter night so there wouldn’t be many people on the roads any way. She was confident that she looked feminine enough that no one would clock her behind the wheel of her car; the big test would come later when she would have to interact with people face to face.

She made it out of Canberra without incident and was soon on the Federal highway. The road was dark and there was very little traffic. She had to concentrate on staying within the speed limit, her subconscious kept telling her to speed away from the scene of the crime. A couple of times she had to ease her foot off the accelerator and driving in high heels for the first time was a little difficult.

Rachel was feeling tired and the adrenaline rush and excitement of the robbery and the escape was wearing off; she was thinking about where she should stay the night when she saw blue and red flashing lights in her rear vision mirror. The police car gave a quick burst on the siren and flashed its high beam.

"Fuck!" Rachel cried, and pulled her car over into a darkened deserted rest area next to the dry lake.

The police car pulled into the rest area and parked behind her, the high beams illuminated the inside of Rachel’s Ford. Rachel’s hands were visibly shaking on the steering wheel. She didn’t know if she was more scared because it was her first encounter with another person as a transvestite or because Tony might have already discovered the robbery and the policeman might be working for Tony.

The door to the police vehicle opened and a police officer got out of the car and approached Rachel’s Ford shining a long black torch at her window as he approached. Rachel rolled down the window, her heart pounding.

“Driver’s licence please Miss?” the Federal policeman asked.

Rachel fumbled in her clutch purse, panicking because obviously her driver’s licence belonged to Mike Harris not Rachel Coulotte. She knew that the police officer would take a special interest in her because she was a man dressed as a woman and he had may even have been briefed to look out for Mike Harris. She knew she had to do something desperate to keep the policeman from looking at her licence.

“I could show you my driver’s licence officer,” Rachel whispered in the sultry enfemme voice that she had been practicing over the years.

“Or I could show you something more interesting?” she smiled salaciously up at the officer.

The policeman looked to be in his fifties and was a little overweight but he had a handsome face. He glanced down at his watch and then looked at Rachel, taking in her attractive face. He looked around at the deserted rest stop and then back at Rachel and smiled.

“Turn off your engine and kill you headlights,” he said and returned back to his police car.

The police car’s flashers and headlights went off and when Rachel turned off her own headlights the rest stop was almost pitch black. Rachel could just make out the fence line along the edge of Lake George faintly illuminated by the starlight. The rest stop was briefly illuminated by the interior light of the police car when the policeman opened the door and was then again pitch black when he exited the car and closed the door. The policeman crunched across the cold gravel and opened the passenger door to Rachel’s car and slid into the seat beside her and closed the door.

Rachel had no idea what she was going to do to distract the policeman from looking at her licence and had no idea what she meant when she had coyly asked him if he would like to see something more interesting, but she was pleased that the policeman taken the bait. She now had to live up to her promise and show the man something more interesting than her licence. She thought about attempting to bribe the police officer when he spoke.

“So what have you got to show me love?” he smiled and reached up and turned on the dome light.

He was looking down and staring brazenly at where her pencil skirt had ridden up her thighs. The thought of offering the policeman any form of sexual favour had been the furthest thing from Rachel’s mind but it was obvious what the policeman was expecting. She couldn’t show him her breasts because didn’t have any so Rachel improvised. She flashed him her biggest smile.

“If you promise to behave and keep your hands to yourself I’ll show you,” she teased, unbuckling her seatbelt.

The policeman lifted his gaze from her legs to her face and smiled back.

“I love girls who wear sheer nylons; women just don’t seem to wear hosiery anymore. Even in the fucking winter they only seem to wear those horrible ribbed tights,” he said.

It was now obvious to Rachel what the man sitting beside her in the car wanted to see. She slowly lifted the hem of her skirt a few centimetres and heard the policeman gasp as more of her silken thighs were exposed. She was not the slightest bit sexually aroused but it was obvious she was having a very stimulating effect on this middle aged policeman. She felt somewhat flattered that she was attractive enough to excite a man. She had never really considered that she may be sexually attractive to men. She only dressed like this at home as means of fulfilling some unidentified need and it gave her a sense of wellbeing.

Rachel decided that she had better get rid of this policeman as soon as and with as little indignity as possible. She raised the hem of her skirt another few centimetres so that her skirt was hiked up to the top of her thighs; her hosiery shimmered in the gloom.

“Oh, that’s fucking lovely love,” the policeman cooed.

“Show us yer knickers then!” he laughed.

Rachel decided that the policeman had seen enough but she remained polite and smiled.

“I think you’ve seen enough,” she giggled back and began to pull at the hem of her skirt.

The policeman reached out and gripped her hand and firmly pulled it away, he was not violent but he was insistent. He let go of her wrist and lifted her skirt further up her thighs until the white nylon V of her panties just peeked from below the hem of her skirt. He then let go of her skirt and smiled at Rachel.

“I think I’ll decide when I’ve seen enough. If you want me to behave and keep my hands to myself just leave your skirt where it is!”

Rachel baulked at what the policeman had just done to her. He was still acting pleasant enough but it was obvious that he was now in control of the situation. What she decided to do was to let him take the lead but she must not let him discover that she was a transvestite. She exhaled and sat back in the seat leaving her skirt hiked up and her panties exposed. The policeman smiled at her again.

“Can I touch your legs? I promise I won’t go any higher than your thighs,” he pleaded.

Rachel suddenly stiffened in her seat, scared that any control of the situation that she may have had was running away from her.

“Just my legs, and just for a couple of minutes I have to get back on the road,” she said firmly.

The policeman slid a hand across the front seat and gently rested it on her knee. His fingers were cold but they were soft, not a labourers fingers. He slowly circled his fingers on her knee delighting in the feel of her slippery nylons. Rachel didn’t find the man’s touch particularly unpleasant but neither was it sexually arousing. It felt sort of comforting knowing that this man desired her. She allowed him so stroke her legs and she could hear his breathing quicken.

The policeman’s hands had warmed up and they were madly stroking and squeezing the top of her legs. In the silence of the vacant rest area she could hear the swish of his fingers across her nylons and the policeman’s breathing became harder and louder until he was almost panting. She sat still and let him paw at her legs hoping he wouldn’t ladder her pantyhose; hoping he would finish soon so that she could get back on the road.

Then the policeman removed one hand from her legs and put it around her shoulder, pulling her towards him.

“What are you doing?” Rachel cried.

“Just give us a kiss and cuddle love and then you can go,” the policeman begged.

Rachel was revolted! The thought of kissing a man had never entered her mind. Did this man think she was a homosexual? Of course not silly, he thought she was a woman! She had a number of options open to her but none of them were ideal. She could let him kiss her and hope he went no further, she could tell him she was man and hope he didn’t beat her up or arrest her, she could try and fight him off, but she was hardly in a position to win the fight and it would likely turn out worse for her.

She decided to negotiate further with the policeman and hopefully bring the situation to an end.

“You just keep wanting more and more from me officer. I tell you what, I’ll kiss you for exactly five minutes and you can play with my legs but that’s where it stops ok?” Rachel said sternly.

“Ok love. You’ve got a deal. You’ll be back on the road in five minutes I promise,” the policeman replied and leaned into her and placed his lips on hers.

Rachel could smell his aftershave and felt his stubble lightly graze her face as his lips crushed hers. It was a strange sensation being kissed by this man. It was like kissing a friend or relative, she felt no passion and her response was minimal. She allowed the man to kiss her and fondle her legs as he huffed and puffed as he became even more aroused. When he pushed his tongue into her mouth her reflex action was to try to spit it out and break free of the kiss but the officer pushed her back into her seat and forced himself on her.

Rachel struggled to get free of the policeman but he had climbed completely out of his seat and straddled the centre console. He reached down with one hand and released the seat adjustment control and pushed the driver’s seat back as far as it would go and then lowered the backrest. He quickly jumped off the console and straddled her, his thighs either side of hers, his weight pressing down on her, holding her in place as her hands beat against his back as she struggled to break free.

Rachel could hardly breathe with the heavy policeman on top of her pushing her back into the seat as he slobbered at her mouth and pawed at her thighs. She tried to scream but his mouth covered hers and all she could produce was a muffled gargle. She was panicking, beating the policeman’s back with her fists and drumming her heels on the floor of the car. Then her panic changed to terror as she felt him fumble at his flies. She wriggled and writhed but she couldn’t get out from underneath the heavy police officer.

Then she started to scream into the policeman’s mouth as she felt his penis flop from his trousers and press against her thigh. It felt hot and hard through her pantyhose and she felt a dribble of pre-seminal fluid soak into the nylon.

Rachel tried to struggle harder but the policeman followed her movements and kept his lips locked on hers and his tongue in her mouth to keep her quiet. His cock began to throb as it slithered along Rachel’s nylon-sheathed thighs. He was extremely excited by the feel of this well built woman in the tight fitting business suit pressed against him, the smell of her perfume and the taste of her lipstick was tremendously arousing. The more she struggled, the more his penis pressed into the V of her soft warm nyloned thighs and slid and slithered against her sheer hose.

The policeman began to deliberately hump Rachel’s thighs and the more she fought back the better it was for him. He could feel his orgasm approaching as he passionately kissed the woman and humped at her silky-smooth thighs. Rachel was horrified at what was happening to her. She realised that she had allowed the policeman to go too far and now the situation was totally out of her control. She was terrified that he might put a hand under her skirt or inside her blouse and find out the truth; that she was a man.

She decided to let the policeman kiss her and take his pleasure against her legs rather than risk the situation getting any further out of hand. Rachel stopped struggling and relaxed and parted her lips to allow the man straddling her access to her mouth as he passionately French kissed her. She could feel his cock throbbing between her thighs and she clamped them shut around his penis so he could dry hump her pantyhosed legs.

The policeman sensed her compliance and fucked and humped at her legs, his penis locked in the diaphanous nylon tunnel created by her thighs clamped around his rigid member. He drove his tongue deep in her mouth and fluttered it as his orgasm exploded. Rachel was repulsed by the feel of hot sticky semen flooding between her legs and soaking into her pantyhose. As the policeman humped frantically at Rachel’s legs the tip of his penis poked out from the tunnel created by her locked thighs and shot gobbets of hot white semen and she felt the searing globs splatter over her legs.

As the policeman slowly came down from his orgasm his kisses and humping became less frantic. Rachel sat immobile like a rag doll as he emptied the last of his seed on her. When he had finished he lifted himself up off her and returned to the passenger seat, his erect penis bobbing up and down, sticking out of his flies. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his member clean and stuffed his slowly deflating penis inside his pants and zipped them up.

Rachel just lay back in the seat totally bewildered by what had just happened to her. She was speechless and felt totally violated and disgusted. The cop leaned over and kissed her cheek and dropped the discarded handkerchief in her lap. Rachel looked down to see that she had a huge wet stain on the inside of her thighs; the policeman’s ejaculate had saturated her pantyhose. Globs of lumpy white sperm on the tops of her legs contrasted with her flesh toned nylons in the dim light cast by the overhead dome.

“Clean yourself up love,” the policeman pointed to his crumpled hanky in her lap.

“You can keep it as a souvenir or throw it away for all I care. Now… no more speeding love or I’ll have to pull you over again and you might not get off so lightly next time,” the policeman laughed and opened the door and got out of Rachel’s car.

He crunched back across the gravel of the parking lot, his breath steaming in the cold and started up the patrol car and drove away. Rachel suddenly started to shake and sob. She had never been so humiliated in her life. The pig of a man had forced himself on her. After a while she settled down and pulled the car seat back into an upright position. She lit a cigarette and dabbed at her semen spattered thighs being careful to keep the sticky mess away from her skirt.

She tossed the revolting semen filled handkerchief out of the window and flicked the cigarette out after it. After she regained her composure she took stock of the situation. She was still safe. The policeman had not taken down any of her details or even asked her name. The car’s registration was still unlisted and the stolen number plates had not raised an alarm. She was still in pretty good shape considering.

She took off her heels, and keeping her skirt hiked up away from her semen stained thighs, she pulled down her panties and pantyhose. She wiped the drying semen off her thighs and tossed the semen-soaked pantyhose and tossed out of the window along with the handkerchief. She walked around to the boot of the car and opened a suitcase and took out a clean pair of pantyhose. It was bitterly cold but she pulled them on in the pitch black darkness of the rest stop and then she slid back into her heels and reached into the car for her panties which she pulled on and then straightened her skirt.

Rachel got back into the car, sighed, and lit another cigarette to calm her nerves. She finished the cigarette and started up the car, glad of the warmth of the heater, and drove out of the rest area.

Three hours later she was just over the Victorian border and fast asleep in a cheap motel room.

To be continued.

Author's Note: This is one of my very early stories that I wrote not long after I became a transvestite, prior to this I was really just dabbling in wearing ladies underwear. You can tell by the crude prose and fascination with the detail of clothes and makeup that I was still very enamored with the minutiae of wearing makeup and female attire. That said it's not a bad romp and one of the few stories that I have written that is set in my native Australia. Feel free to comment, I'd like to hear what you think.

Author's note Please heed the cautions as this tale has a vicious twist. Tell me what you think after you have read it...I'm a big girl and can take criticism

Tony Leonardo discovered that he had been robbed of two point seven million dollars by Mike Harris at ten o’clock on the 15th July and by then Mike Harris, in the guise of his alter ego, Rachel Coulotte, was sleeping in a cheap motel just over the Victorian border a few hundred kilometres away.

As soon as he discovered the money was missing from his safe Tony knew that Mike had stolen it. He didn’t know whether he was more pissed off with Mike for stealing the money or for stealing his books. He knew that he couldn’t involve any of his own crew or most of his legit contacts in the search for Mike Harris. His crew and the other hierarchy of his crime family were not aware that he was skimming from their casinos. He usually only skimmed a few thousand dollars each month and by the time the money was laundered the amount he actually pocketed was considerably diminished.

Two point seven million dollars! That cocksucker must have waited until Tony had enough money hidden in his safe to make it worthwhile stealing. Mike had to know that Tony would kick over every rock in the country to find him. And also the cunt had taken the books! What possible use could Mike have for them except as a bargaining tool to use if he was caught?

Tony was not surprised when he called Mike’s home and mobile phones and neither one was answered. He flicked through his rolodex until he found the name he was looking for: Steve Marshall.

Steve Marshall was a finder. If you wanted someone found anywhere in Australia Steve Marshall was your guy. Steve had connections in business, law enforcement, state and federal government and throughout the underworld. Steve would find anyone for a price.

There was the famous story about a guy who had ripped off his boss and then fled interstate. He’d changed his name, had plastic surgery and acquired new supposedly untraceable, identity documents. Steve had chased the guy across every state in the country and eventually found him working on a trawler out of Darwin. At the behest of his employer Steve had tortured the guy for two days until he gave up the location of the money he had stolen and the name of an accomplice who was still working for the crime boss. The guy was never seen again.

Tony called Steve Marshall and had him come to his office just before lunch. He gave him all of the information he had on Mike Harris but did not tell him why he wanted him found. Steve was briefed to find Mike at any cost and then to call Tony for further instructions. Steve spent an hour in Tony’s office using the phones and the internet getting Mike Harris’ description and personal details out to all of his contacts. Tony went out and returned with one hundred thousand dollars in cash and handed it to Steve.

“This is your only job until that fucker’s found ok?” Tony said as he handed the cash to Steve.

“That’s a lot of cash Tony,” Steve responded, putting the wad of money into his briefcase.

“And I want my fucking money’s worth. You find that cunt and you tell me where he is!” Tony said his voice as hard as cold steel.

Steve drove to Mike’s townhouse and knocked on the door not expecting an answer and neither did he get one. He looked around and saw Mike’s shitty Corolla parked at the kerb and knocked at the door again. Steve checked that the street was clear and jimmied the cheap lock on the front door and stepped inside closing the door behind him. The place even felt abandoned.

“Mike? Mike? Are you home?” he called as he walked through the small townhouse.

When he was sure that the house was vacant he began a systematic search. There was nothing of interest in the lounge or the kitchen. There was no personal mail; Mike had taken it with him or he didn’t get any. Steve knew from the information that he already had that Mike was an orphan and pretty much a loner. The small second bedroom was used as a study and contained all of Mike’s personal paperwork and a bunch of bills. He scanned through the documents but there was nothing there to help him; still, he put them in his briefcase for later review. He fired up the computer and the cursor flashed and then an alert came up on the screen that said ‘insert system disk’. The hard drive had been wiped clean or formatted.

He looked for a rolodex or an address book but couldn’t find one in the desk. He searched the bedroom and was surprised to find what appeared to be most of Mike’s clothes still hanging in the wardrobe and neatly folded in the drawers. This was very suspicious; Mike had left his car and all of his personal possessions at the house. Whatever Mike had done to Tony, it required that he run away as fast as he could.

Steve searched the rest of the bedroom and then something in the waste bin caught his eye. He picked up the crumpled cardboard and cellophane packaging from a pair of Kaiser, flesh-toned, ultra-sheer, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. Hmmm… maybe Mike had a girlfriend or a female accomplice? He checked around the bedroom carefully but found no other female clothing. He rechecked the dresser and noted that two of the drawers were empty. Had Mike taken some clothing from the drawers or had his girlfriend been using those drawers and cleaned them with the rest her belongings before she and Mike took off?

But why wouldn’t Mike take his belongings too? It was quite a puzzle but Steve knew from years of experience that when people went into hiding that they often did strange things. Maybe Mike thought he needed to ditch all of his clothes? He had probably taken just enough clothing with him to get far enough away so that he could replace his entire wardrobe. A smart move; a good means of disguise is to completely change your dress style.

As he closed the top drawer of the dresser something caught Steve’s eye. A fine layer of dust sparkled on the surface of the dresser. He wiped at it with a finger and looked at the fine, flesh toned dust on his fingertip. He bought it to his nose and smelt it and then cautiously dabbed it on the tip of tongue. Cosmetic face powder!

So Mike did have a woman here before he left! The question was, was she still with him?

Steve got on his cell and called a guy who specialised in rebuilding computers.

“Get your arse over to the address I’m about to text to you. I want everything you can get off the PC!” he said into the phone and then texted the address of Mike’s townhouse.

He left the townhouse by the front door and wandered down to Mike’s Corolla. There was nothing in it except the registration papers. As he closed the door to the car he saw a curtain move in the window of a house across the street. God, he loved nosey neighbours. He walked over to the house and knocked on the door. He produced a fake police ID and held it up when a little old lady answered the door.

“Hello; I’m Detective Constable Ward and I was wondering if you could answer a few questions for me?”

“Of course dear; come in,” the old lady said.

The old lady had to be in her seventies and the place smelled of boiled cabbage and cat piss. He sat down on an overstuffed sofa, declining the obligatory cup of tea and asked her a series of questions about Mike Harris. Mike was a loner who didn’t mingle with the neighbours she explained; she didn’t have much to do with him but she thought it strange that Mike had started to park his Corolla outside his house at the curb. Mike used to always drive his car into the attached garage and park the Corolla there overnight she said.

“But I suppose he had to let his new lady-friend park in his garage?” she said; a hint of cynicism in her tone.

“He had a lady friend there last night?” Steve asked.

“I’ve never seen her before and I didn’t see her go into the house; but she left last night about midnight.”

“You’ve never seen her before hey? Can you describe what she looked like?” Steve asked.

“Big girl, brown shoulder-length hair, wearing far too much makeup,” the old spinster said disapprovingly.

“I only got a glimpse of her as she drove past the streetlight,” she finished.

“And the car?” Steve asked.

“Big blue or black Ford; not new but it looked alright I suppose. Had Queensland plates.” She responded.

Steve asked her a few more questions about Mike but the old lady hadn’t seen him for a few days and he wasn’t in the car that the woman was driving last night as far as she could tell. The woman dribbled on about how good her eyesight was for her age and how she kept an eye on the neighbourhood because you never knew what might happen. Steve loved Nosey neighbours.

The old bag didn’t even ask why Steve was asking questions about Mike until he got up to leave.

“Oh he’s been reported missing; if you do see him again call this number,” Steve said, handing her a plain business card with nothing printed on it except a mobile phone number.

Steve sat in his own car and worked the phone for a while getting the information out about the woman and her car out to his contacts. He started up his car and headed home to pick up a suitcase that he kept packed at all times; he would be on the road for a while he thought.

So? What was the story with the woman? There was no evidence of Mike having a girlfriend but he pretty much kept to himself so who knew what the fuck he got up to? Had Mike left in the woman’s car, crouched down below the car windows, unseen by the neighbour? Had they split up and gone their separate ways? Was the woman an accomplice or an innocent girlfriend?

He called Tony and gave him the update; Tony had no idea who the woman might be but if she was with Mike last night then he wanted her found. Steve picked up his suitcase and loaded it into the boot of his car when his cell rang. A contact in the federal police told him about a cop who was going around bragging that he had fucked an attractive mature woman last night who was driving a blue Ford Falcon with Queensland plates. The cop hadn’t taken her name or the registration number because the woman had offered to shag him if he didn’t give her a speeding ticket. It sounded like bullshit, but Steve decided to investigate it.

Steve found the cop at a pub in Fyshwick and after introducing himself and sliding a fat envelope under the table the cop told him everything that had happened last night at the rest stop car park. The cop embellished the story a little, claiming to have fucked the woman, when in fact he had only fondled and kissed her for a while before coming over her legs. The cop didn’t think the embellishment mattered and he wanted everyone to think he was some kind of stud. Steve got a good description of the woman; well built brunette, heavy makeup, business suit, and a sensual smoky voice.

As Steve barrelled down the Federal highway he wondered if the cop was telling the truth. Cops bullshitted each other all the time, but he figured the cop was smart enough to realise that Steve would be back for more than just his money back if found out that the cop had lied. Steve pulled into the rest stop and parked close to the spot where the cop had described the incident with the woman had taken place.

He looked around the rest stop; a family of five was sitting at a wooden bench eating sandwiches and drinking soft drinks; they paid him no attention at all. Steve wandered around a bit and then he spotted something contrasting with the black tar of the car park surface. He looked back at the family and seeing they were taking no notice he walked over and picked up the scrap of material. It was a pair of pantyhose. He looked at the word ‘Kaiser’ embossed in the material at the top of the waist. ‘Kaiser, flesh-toned, ultra-sheer, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, could it be a coincidence?’ he thought.

A feint odour of perfume clung to the flimsy garment and he put it to his nose and inhaled. He smelt Rachel’s Poison perfume overlying another musty odour; it took him only a fraction of a second for his brain to recognise the musty odour of stale semen.

“Fuck!”

He threw the garment back on the blacktop and noticed the silvery trials of what had to be semen contrasting against the skin-toned nylon. The dirty bitch had used her pantyhose to clean out her cunt after the cop had fucked her! The cop was telling the truth. He spotted the scrunched up handkerchief a little further away; the cop had said he’s used it clean himself after fucking the woman and then thrown it out the window. The cop’s story rang true!

He looked around a little longer and found two lipstick stained cigarette butts. The cop had said her car smelt heavily of cigarette smoke.

He was about to leave when on a whim he took out his own handkerchief and gathered up the pantyhose, wrapped them in his hanky and stuffed them in his pocket.

He got back on the Federal highway and continued driving out of the city wondering where the woman was going. His phone rang a few minutes later and he took a message from one of his contacts who had rung around all of the hotels and motels within a few hundred kilometres of Canberra. An attractive well-built blonde woman driving a blue Ford Falcon had checked into a cheap motel just over the Victorian border. She was definitely a blonde the guy said; but women where known to wear wigs right? He did a U turn and stepped on the gas pulling up the coordinates of the Best Western Motel in Wodonga on his car’s GPS navigation system. Hopefully the girl would lead him to Mike.

Rachel’s sleep was deep but disturbed. Images of the policeman straddling her and humping her legs kept intruding into her dreams. When she woke up at noon she was well rested but troubled. She sported a painful erection that tented her satin panties and the front of her negligee. She rationalised that her erection was in response to needing to piss urgently and not a physical response to the dreams of being dry humped by the policeman. Before going to bed she had cleaned off her makeup and had worn only her panties and a satin negligee to bed.

Rachel got out of bed and removed her negligee and panties and as she was now naked and not wearing a wig or makeup, in her subconscious she snapped from being Rachel to Mike.

Mike got into the shower running it as hot as he could stand it, he shaved his face and ran the razor over any body hair he found and brushed his teeth. He recalled arriving at the Best Western Motel at Wodonga just after 4:00am, exhausted after covering the nearly 400 kilometres from Canberra in just over four hours.

At the motel reception desk Rachel had kept a vice-like grip on her briefcase, never letting it go, even when she filled in the registration form with fictitious personal details. The clerk offered to assist her and he was quickly rebuked.

“Here Ma’am; just let me move that briefcase out of the way for you,” he offered.

“No! Leave it! It’s ok! Rachel exclaimed.

The night clerk had blatantly stared at her, his eyes roaming over her body. Rachel was in no mood to take any shit after the long drive. The clerk tried to give her a hard time about not having a credit card but when she paid in cash for two night’s accommodation he shut up. She could feel his eyes staring at her legs and buttocks as she walked away from the reception desk. What she didn’t see as she left the reception area was the clerk picking up the phone and dialling a number.

“Yeah mate; got a good one! She’s hanging onto her briefcase like it’s full of gold or something dude!” the young night clerk whispered into the phone.

“Yeah. Same deal as last time, I get half of the take. She’s in her forties I reckon, nice arse and legs. I’ll let you know when she leaves the room and I’ll leave you a key at the usual place.”

“See ya dude,” the clerk replaced the receiver; an evil smirk on his face.

Mike unpacked his suitcases and laid out his cosmetics under the bathroom mirror. As he applied his makeup in his subconscious he reverted back to the persona of Rachel. Rachel applied her makeup with her usual care, applying lashings of eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara and lipstick and rouging her cheeks. She didn’t intend to leave the motel until the next day when she would head back north into New South Wales, taking a circuitous route to Sydney. She decided to dress a little more casual today but maintained her self-imposed dress code of not wearing pant-suits or house dresses, and always wearing hosiery.

She selected a white rayon Carla Zampatti A-line skirt with side kick pleats and a blue silk blouse. Taupe pantyhose and white courts completed the ensemble. She selected a blonde bob and fitted it on her head and then fitted her breastforms and used the medical adhesive to hide her penis under her crotch. She pulled on a pink satin brassiere and matching full cut panties. The skirt had a liner so she did not need a slip. She buttoned the blouse and stepped into the skirt, zipping up the side seam. The hem of the skirt rested about six inches above her knees. She stepped into the white; three-inch heeled court shoes and checked herself in the mirror. Perfect! She reached for the phone and asked for room service.

Rachel peeked out of the drawn curtains into the winter gloom and suddenly she balked. She had parked the big blue Falcon right outside her room. She was so tired last night that she hadn’t thought too much about it but she decided that she must move the car and change the plates. It was unlikely that anyone had seen the car leave her house last night but she was taking no chances. She peeked outside, saw the coast was clear, walked to her car and drove it around to the car park at rear of the motel where it could not be seen from the road.

There was no one else in the car park so she quickly changed the plates with a set of stolen New South Wales number plates. The plates would be less noticeable here on the NSW border than the stolen Queensland plates that she had used to make her getaway. She looked around to make sure there was still no one around. The coast was still clear and then she noticed a rear entry door from the car park into the motel. There was a sign on the door: ‘Motel Guests Only - Door Closes at 10:00PM Sharp’. She opened the door and went back to her room and washed her hands, drying them just as room service arrived with her lunch.

The young night clerk was sitting in his car across the road from the motel eating a greasy hamburger and drinking a Coke. He was tired and was just about to give up his surveillance when an attractive well built blonde woman wearing a blue blouse and a nice white skirt that showed some leg left the hotel room that he had earlier assigned to the sexy brunette. He looked at her intently as she strode towards the blue Falcon and smiled to himself.

It was the same woman! She was wearing a blonde wig. Interesting! Why would a mature, well dressed woman check into a motel in the early hours of the morning and refuse to let go of her briefcase while she was checking in and then appear the next day in disguise? It had to be drugs! He bet she was here to do a drug deal and that the briefcase was full of cash or drugs! But she wasn’t carrying the briefcase now and she was getting into her car. Fuck!!!

He punched up a number in his mobile phone which was answered on the second ring.

“Dude?”

“We’re on dude; the bitch just left her room and drove away. She’s in number 113; don’t forget, just get the briefcase and get the fuck out, I don’t know how long she’ll be gone,” the clerk said into the phone.

“Duuuude,” his accomplice answered and the broke connection.

The night clerk waited fifteen minutes until he saw his accomplice walk around the corner and approach the motel. The accomplice stopped next to a rock wall near the entrance of motel and pretended to tie his shoelace. He removed a loose rock from the wall and took the duplicate key to room 113 which had been hidden there.

“Duuuude!!!” he smiled to himself.

After a light meal and a cigarette, Rachel remained in her motel room sitting in a comfortable lounge chair with the curtains and blinds pulled tightly shut and tried to watch TV. There would definitely be no media coverage of the robbery, but Tony might get his media contacts to do a missing persons story on the disappearance of Mike Harris. She found nothing on the news channels but that did nothing to allay her fears. She knew that Tony would have people out looking for Mike Harris. She turned off the TV and was dozing in the chair when she heard the rattle of the doorknob.

Fuck! She had forgotten to replace the security chain after the maid had delivered the room service! How could Tony have found out where she was so soon?

It was a question of who was the most surprised, the young thief or Rachel; as Rachel rose out of the chair still groggy from sleep and the burglar burst through the door and slammed it closed behind him. Astonishment was evident on both of their faces but the burglar reacted first. He pulled a knife from his waist and waved it at Rachel.

“Shut up bitch! Scream and you’re dead!” he hissed, his chest pounding.

The bitch was supposed to be gone! What the fuck was she still doing here?

Rachel looked at the young man dressed in dirty jeans and T-shirt, his lank greasy hair hung to his shoulders. He was hardly the sort criminal you would associate with Tony Leonardo. She thought rightly that he was just some opportunist burglar looking for easy money.

“What do you want?” Rachel asked, ensuring she maintained her feminine voice.

“What you got?” the burglar replied, his eyes were scanning the room looking for the briefcase.

Rachel saw his eyes lock on the briefcase where it sat on the nightstand beside the queen size bed. She thought briefly about all of the planning and sacrifices she had made to get away with Tony’s money and decided there was no way she was going to give it up without a fight. She leapt across the bed and her fingers reached out to grab the handle of the briefcase.

The thief saw her begin to lunge for the briefcase and he leapt at the same time. He landed on the bed beside her and they wrestled each other, Rachel’s fingers locked on the briefcase and the thief holding onto his knife. They tussled briefly but the thief eventually stopped trying to wrestle the briefcase from the woman’s grip and pushed himself up so that he was straddling the woman and placed the point of the knife under her chin.

“Stop it bitch or I’ll cut you!” he panted.

Rachel let go of the handle of the briefcase leaving it perched on the edge of the nightstand. The heavy bakelite motel telephone had fallen of the nightstand and onto the bed during the brief struggle, the dial tone emitting from the earpiece. They both looked at it and the burglar smiled and reached down and cut the line to the phone, leaving it silent and useless on the bedspread.

The thief straddled Rachel’s waist, his knees on the bed either side of her, his knife under her chin. As he wheezed and panted to regain his breath Rachel smelt his foul body odour and rancid breath. He smiled through rotten teeth.

“Now that’s better bitch; you going to behave?” he snarled.

Rachel nodded her compliance, the tip of the burglar’s knife pushing against her neck. The thief looked down at the heavily made up woman lying prone beneath him. She was attractive if you liked mature women. She was wearing a perfume that was familiar to him and her dress style reminded him of his Aunt who was a business professional in Melbourne. Her blouse was fully buttoned but during the struggle he had felt her large soft tits and they looked good pushing against the blue silk blouse.

Rachel’s head was spinning; she realised the gravity of the situation but there was no way she was going to let this punk steal two point seven million dollars in cash from her. She weighed up the circumstances in her mind. If she let the thief take the money, everything she had done so far was in vein and Tony would still be searching for her. If the thief found out that she was a man, there was the distinct probability that her disguise would be blown. She had to somehow keep the thief from finding out that she was a man and also prevent him from taking the briefcase. She needed to distract him long enough for her get the upper hand. She thought about what had happened in the darkened car park with the policeman last night.

“I’ll behave, just please don’t hurt me,” Rachel begged.

“Well you better!” the thief replied.

He was thinking about how he never got to have sex with nice women like this; all he ever got to fuck were the local skanks. This woman exuded a sophisticated sexuality that was very appealing to him. He decided he was going to have some fun with her before he robbed her.

Keeping the knife at Rachel’s throat he placed his free hand on her breasts and squeezed them through the material of her blouse and brassiere the silk and satin sliding against each other deliciously under his fingers. Rachel gasped and began to wriggle.

“Keep still bitch!” the thief threatened.

Rachel could not afford to let this youth put his hands inside her bra and discover that her breasts were actually silicone breastforms. She stopped struggling and looked up at the shoddy looking youth.

“Don’t you want to kiss me first?” she asked, hoping to take his mind away from fondling her breasts.

“You fucking try anything and I’ll cut your throat bitch,” he hissed and lowered his face to hers.

Rachel endured the youth’s fetid breath as he pressed his lips to hers and thrust his tongue into her mouth. Inwardly she grimaced but she responded to the kiss, entwining her tongue with his. The youth groaned and moved his knife hand down onto the bed next to her head and moved his other hand to the other side so that he could press his chest down on hers as the kiss intensified.

She felt the youth adjust his position on top of her as he lifted his knees from a straddling position and forced them between her legs. She was beginning to panic but kept control of herself and allowed the youth to lie on top of her kissing her passionately as she reluctantly responded. She could feel the youth’s penis harden and elongate against her body.

The youth kept his knife hand next to Rachel’s face and lifted his face from hers.

“Don’t fucking move bitch!” he said and slid his free hand under her skirt started pulling at her panties.

Rachel froze. ‘Oh my god; I can’t let him there!’ she thought.

She lifted her face up to his and initiated a long passionate kiss and slowly moved a hand between their bodies and stroked his thickening organ through the material of his filthy jeans.

“You dirty bitch! You like the young stuff don’t you?” the grubby youth mocked and then crushed his lips back against hers.

The fervour of the kiss intensified as their lips mashed together and their tongues entwined. Rachel forced herself not to gag from the stench of the youth’s breath. She ran her fingers around the thickening bulge in his jeans and her tactic seemed to be working. He’d stopped yanking at her panties and was content to stroke her pantyhosed thighs and occasionally run his finger across the front panel of her of her satin panties.

Rachel’s free hand snaked across the bed to where the phone lay but the youth had other plans. He suddenly broke off the kiss and got to his knees between Rachel’s spread legs. Her skirt had ridden up and her gossamer encased thighs and pink satin full cut panties were exposed. The boy ran the tip of the knife up one stockinged thigh and across the front panel of her panties and then placed it at her throat again.

“That looks nice bitch but you ought to wear thongs, not those granny panties,” he smirked and poked the point of the knife into Rachel’s throat.

“Take it out!” he hissed.

“What?” Rachel replied.

“Take out my cock!” he ordered and took Rachel’s hand and placed it back on his crotch.

Rachel had no choice; she fumbled with his zip and eventually pulled it down and then with the urging of the knife at her throat, her fingers disappeared inside his jeans. His cock was thick and warm and throbbed slowly. A reeking smell of piss, stale semen and body odour escaped his flies and assaulted her nostrils. She manipulated his hard penis with difficulty but eventually it sprang free of his underwear and popped out his jeans. The stench magnified and Rachel was forced to breath through her mouth so she wouldn’t gag.

For the second time in less that twenty four hours a man straddled Rachel and began to dry fuck her. The youth rubbed his cock all over her stockinged thighs and the front of her panties.

“Fuck that feels good bitch!” he moaned and then lay down on top of her humping at her like dog in heat.

He kept the knife against the side of her head and lowered his face back to hers and reinitiated their passionate kiss, driving his tongue deep into her mouth as he writhed on top of her. Rachel responded and allowed the youth to hump away at her, she could feel his hot snake-like penis prod and slither against her thighs and the front of her panty crotch. She let him grind against her as again she tried to sneak her hand over to where the telephone lay uselessly on the edge of the bed.

Then the youth suddenly moved his knife hand and Rachel felt the blade of the knife against her thigh. He slid it under the gusset of her panties and Rachel squealed and wriggled, trying to free herself from under the youth. The thief cut through the crotch of Rachel’s panties and Rachel felt the knife flicker against her pantyhose encased groin briefly before the youth quickly put the knife back to her throat and shifted back into a kneeling position. He straddled her and, holding her down with his body weight, he shucked his way up her body until his groin was next to her face.

“Na. I think I’m going to get you to blow me before I fuck you,” he sniggered.

Rachel realised that she was in terrible trouble. Unless she could stop this smelly disgusting youth soon she was going to end up fucked and robbed or beaten. She was not going to let this stupid dirty degenerate ruin her plans for the future. She would conceal her repugnance until she somehow got the upper hand.

The youth grabbed her head in both hands and pulled her face towards his cock. She felt his penis rubbing against her lips then he forced it into her mouth. Pulling her head forwards he pushed her face onto him, making her take the head his cock in her mouth. Rachel gagged, and fought not to throw up as the rancid member forced its way past her lipsticked lips and into her moist mouth.

"Suck my cock bitch." he ordered.

He held her head with his cock half in her mouth until Rachel complied and reluctantly started suckling him.

Rachel gagged again as his glans rubbed against her tongue and his shaft slid in and out of her lips. He tightened his fingers and forced Rachel’s mouth up and down on his cock. He moaned as she grudgingly sucked his putrid penis. Glancing down he could see how wide her heavily made up eyes were and watched her intently as she kept fighting against the urge to gag. The look of terror in her eyes aroused him further.

Rachel’s conscious mind receded into to a dark place as she tried to deal with the enormity of the assault taking place on her. She listened to the groans and grunts of the shabby youth and the slurping and slapping of her lips, mouth and tongue against his penis as he fucked her mouth. She was in a trance, subliminally allowing herself to be defiled and sucking and licking on the hot fleshy organ invading her mouth. At least she had now sucked most of the vile stench off the member assaulting her and she was no longer gagging.

She forced herself to come back to the here and now and deal with the situation, and as the youth straddled her body and face fucked her, she again reached out, trying to find the phone.

Rachel could now sense that the youth was close to climax as he groaned and cursed and held her head tight is his hands, the handle of the knife painfully crushed against her face as he thrust his invading manhood in and out of her mouth. She forced herself to open her eyes and watched transfixed as his groin pushed again and again against her face with quicker, shorter thrusts. His penis seemed about to burst in her mouth.

As she sensed the youth’s climax approach; the swelling and the tautness of his penis was palpable. Rachel’s fingers finally found the end of the telephone cord and she began to reel it in. She couldn’t let the youth become aware of what she was doing so she reluctantly but vigorously caressed his penis with her tongue, milking the base of his shaft, accepting each urgent thrust.

Expectant now of the coming release she pulled harder at the phone cord, trying to get her hand around the telephone before he climaxed.

Rachel suddenly felt the youth’s penis spasm and spontaneously erupt. She was unprepared for the force with which his semen ejaculated into her mouth. She controlled her gag and swallowed each gobbet of semen as it erupted from the convulsing organ into her mouth. The semen tasted warm, bittersweet and musty. Her sacrifice and degradation were finally rewarded as her fingers closed around the hard bakelite telephone.

Now that she had been completely defiled she felt no shame as she made the pretence of compliant participation and moved her free hand up and cupped the youth’s scrotum, gently milking the last of his seed with her tongue as she suckled the base of his penis and stroked his scrotal sack.

Rachel simultaneously bit down hard on the base of the youth’s penis, crushed his testicles in her fingers and bought up the telephone and smashed it against his head. He screamed briefly and then fainted with the enormity of the pain.

Rachel pushed his comatose body off hers and shoved him onto the floor. She drove the heel of her shoe into the youth’s crotch and then suddenly she felt herself begin to gag uncontrollably and she ran into the bathroom and vomited. As she rinsed her mouth out with mouthwash she took stock of the situation.

She needed to get the hell out of here quickly but not draw any attention to herself. She quickly fixed her makeup and brushed her blonde wig. Her clothes were dishevelled but not too dirty. As much as she would like to wash off the stench of the youth and change her clothes she just didn’t have the time. She scooped all of her toiletries and makeup into her cosmetics case and threw it into a suitcase along with the clothes that she had unpacked earlier.

She took a quick look around the room; she had left nothing behind except her fingerprints and that didn’t matter because she had never been arrested and fingerprints and DNA were not on file anywhere. She pulled up the carry handles on the two suitcases and clipped the briefcase to one of them.

She bent down and checked on the unconscious thief. His breathing was shallow but regular and she was tempted to kick him again but she fought the urge. She opened the door and checked the corridor to make sure there was no one around and then she left by the rear entrance and quickly loaded her suitcases and the briefcase into her car and drove off.

The night clerk almost didn’t see the blue Ford Falcon zoom by because he was dozing and dreaming of money and drugs. He quickly reached for his cell phone and punched up his accomplice’s phone number. As he waited for an answer he saw that woman’s car drive out the entrance to the hotel and he breathed a sigh of relief. But when his friend’s phone didn’t answer he cautiously made his way to room 113.

He was immediately suspicious when he saw that the door to the room had been left slightly ajar. He knocked on the door and waited for a few seconds and then stepped inside. The room looked like someone had abandoned it in hurry and there were signs of a struggle; the bed has dishevelled, the phone cord had been torn from the wall and the telephone sat incongruously in the middle of the bed. The clerk cautiously walked around to other side of the bed where he found his accomplice comatose on the floor, bloodied and bruised and with his penis hanging out of his flies. He went into the bathroom and poured water into a glass and came back and threw it over his friends face.

The clerk shook his companion and he slowly gained consciousness.

“Duuuude!” he groaned groggily as he tried to stand up.

“Duuuude!” his friend replied, shaking his head.

About thirty minutes later Rachel figured it was safe enough to pull off the road to get some coffee and have a cigarette and think things over. She pulled into a full service roadside petrol station and filled the car, paying the attendant with cash. She pulled away from the petrol bowsers and parked in a parking lot behind the cafe so that car could not be seen from the highway. She rummaged around in one of her suitcases and found some clean underwear. She had to at least change out of the panties she was wearing because the crotch had been cut out of them by her assailant.

Inside the café she went straight to the ladies toilet and locked herself into a cubicle. She yanked down her pink satin panties, the saw that the crotch had been sliced clean through by the knife. She pulled a pair of pale-blue nylon boy-leg panties from her purse and exchanged them for the ruined pink satin briefs. She recalled the youth’s snide comment about wearing thongs. She hiked up her skirt and pulled up her fresh clean panties, the material rustling softly against her pantyhose.

She was adjusting the panties to fit snugly around her waist and crotch when she noticed that her penis had broke free of the surgical tape holding it in place. She pulled her panties halfway down her thighs and put a hand inside the gusset of her pantyhose to tuck her penis under her crotch when she felt a warm sticky mess. She pulled her hand out and looked at her fingers and then smelt them. It was semen!

The youth had dry humped her for quite some time before he made her fellate him. She could see the silvery trails left by his pre-seminal fluid sparkling on her pantyhosed thighs, but hadn’t come on her body before he climaxed a second time in her mouth surely?

Rachel fell back against the toilet cubicle wall and recalled the trance-like state she had entered when she had reluctantly fellated the youth. She recalled suppressed feelings of sexual arousal as she slavered at the youth’s penis. Had she climaxed? Surely not!

Rachel sat down on the toilet bowl and took a handful of toilet paper, pulled down her pantyhose and rubbed at her crotch, wiping away the incriminating sticky substance. The unmistakeable musky smell of semen floated up from her crotch. She stood up and pulled up her pantyhose and panties and straightened her skirt.

She left the cubicle and went over to the washbasins and washed her hands. Suddenly she began to gag again and she thought that she might throw up, but the spasm passed. Had she really climaxed while that disgusting youth was defiling her? She thought about what had happened to her over the last two days. She had been molested by a randy federal policeman who had taken advantage of her and she had just been molested and orally abused by a filthy young thief whose initial objective had been to rob her.

Both of these men had been convinced that she was a woman. Not just a woman but a sexually attractive woman. She had never thought about herself this way before because she had never associated her crossdressing with sex. But it was somehow empowering, and dare she think it, exciting, knowing that men found her desirable. Maybe her desirability was a weapon that she could add to her arsenal to aid in her escape.

She thought about this for a while and then she reached into her purse and took out her lipstick, mascara and face powder. She fixed her makeup and looked at herself intently in the mirror. She surprised herself completely when her lips slowly grew into a smile. She winked at herself, shrugged her shoulders, and walked confidently out of the restroom.

A few minutes later, the road clear of other traffic, she rummaged around in her purse and pulled out the tattered pink panties with the sliced out crotch and threw them out the window.

About an hour after Rachel’s pink satin panties fluttered in the breeze, eventually coming to rest on the side of the highway, Steve Marshall rolled into Wodonga and met with his contact at the Best Western Motel.

To be continued.

Author's Note Please heed the warnings and let me know what you think of my skanky old story. I resisted the temptation to edit it and left it in its raw form

Steve Marshall rolled into Wodonga and met with his contact; the manager of the Best Western Motel. The manager had spotted Rachel’s blue Ford and checked the guest register and discovered that the driver of the Ford, a ‘Ms Mary Smith’, was currently occupying room 113. The night clerk had described the woman to the manager; and then the manager had contacted Steve. By the time Steve Marshall arrived, things had taken an eventful turn.

“Tell mister Marshall what you saw,” the manger told the night clerk.

“Dude, that chick bolted out of town like her arse was on fire. And, oh yeah, she had like, changed her hair from brown to blonde. Freaky huh?” the night clerk said, withholding most of the truth.

Steve could see that the clerk was nervous and scared. He was also blatantly lying.

“Let me talk to this guy on my own for a while will you?” Steve said to the manager.

The manager left the office and Steve pulled his chair up close to the clerk.

“Let me tell you something son; I’m a pretty generous person and if you help me, I’ll help you.”

“But if you continue with this line of bullshit you’re going to get hurt,” he said menacingly.

“Ohhh dude,” the clerk was about to further embellish his lies when Steve took a small pistol out of his pocket and put it on the desk within easy reach.

“No; let me tell you something ‘dude’; and then reconsider the answer you’re about to give me. This pistol is only a twenty two and it won’t make much noise if I use it. Also, it’s not much of a gun if I really wanted to kill someone. But if I was to say, shoot you in the kneecap, it would really hurt,” Steve said.

The clerk paled, and realising that Steve was not a man to be fucked with; he told him of the scam he had running with his friend, robbing selected hotel guests. He explained that he had thought the woman was out of her room for the day so his friend had broken in to the room to rob her. But the woman must have returned to her room unseen and so his accomplice had entered the room to find her still there. He also told Steve about the briefcase that the woman refused to let go of.

“Call your mate and get him here right now!” Steve ordered.

A few minutes later the clerk’s accomplice sat beside him in the office, and having received the same threats, told Steve his own version of what had happened in the motel room and then looked expectantly at Steve.

“So you expect me to believe that a well dressed, mature, attractive woman in her forties offered to fuck a decrepit petty thief like you rather than hand over a briefcase?” Steve said in response the tissue of lies he had just heard.

“I told you dude, we wrestled, I got on top of her and cut away her panties, and when I fingered her cunt she got hot all hot for me man. She said she would fuck and suck me if I left her with the briefcase. So what’s a dude to do dude!” the young thief laughed.

Steve looked him squarely in the eyes; reached for the twenty two, and shot the clerk in the foot. The unkempt youth jumped and the clerk started to scream.

“Shut the fuck up!” Steve ordered.

“Now; you lie to me again and I’ll shoot out his kneecap next time.” Steve said to the thief.

“I can see you’re all banged up from a fight, so I believe that you struggled with her, but not that she let you fuck her. So, this time the truth please.”

“Ohhh dude; I had a knife and I did cut up her panties, but then I decided to get her to suck me off first. I made her do it; but she bit me on the dick and squeezed my balls. That chick is fucking vicious; she fucking kicked me while I was down dude,” the thief whined.

Steve laughed.

“So you two fuck-heads decide to steal a briefcase from a middle aged woman and then you decide to rape her and she kicks your arse and escapes with her money,” he chuckled.

Steve stood up and dropped an envelope on the desk.

“Hopefully this will cover your hospital bills,” he said and shot the thief in the foot.

Both of the youths were now grimacing in agony, holding on to their feet, and suppressing cries of pain.

“Don’t try and rape and rob any more women; you’re no good at it; ‘dude’,” Steve growled sarcastically and left the managers office.

He paid the manager enough money to cover the mess and to keep him quiet.

“Tell those two shit-heads to tell the police they shot themselves in the foot whilst climbing over a fence while they were out rabbit shooting,” Steve said, “they’re fucking stupid enough to have done it.”

He got back into his car and as he drove out of Wodonga he smiled to himself and thought, ‘I’m beginning to like this woman; I can see what Mike Harris sees in her.’

After leaving the service station and throwing her sliced up panties out of the car window as gesture of defiance, Rachel realised that she needed to ditch the car. She had left the young thief unconscious on the floor of her hotel room but if he had an accomplice he might have seen her leave. It wasn’t worth the risk. She turned her car around and skirting around the city of Wodonga, drove into the twin city of Albury and parked the Ford at the railway station in the long term parking area.

She collected a trolley and took her bags to the ticket office. The XPT train to Sydney left at 3:05pm and there was a double sleeper compartment available. Rachel paid for both of the berths in the double sleeper so that she had the compartment to herself. She took a change of clothes out of one of her suitcases and put them in a suit-carrier and she then she unpacked her cosmetics case. She checked the two suitcases at the luggage check.

She had just enough time to smoke a cigarette and buy some snacks and drinks before the train arrived. She had no intention of leaving her sleeper during the eleven hour train ride. She purchased today’s newspapers and a novel to keep her entertained and then she waited down at the far end of the platform away from the crowd waiting for the train to arrive.

Rachel boarded the train with some difficulty loaded with her briefcase, suit-carrier and her cosmetics case and the bags of drinks and snacks. A conductor in his late forties with a pleasant face and greying hair assisted Rachel with her belongings getting them into the small double sleeper. Rachel noticed him looking at her legs and buttocks as she reached up to put her cosmetics case onto an overhead storage rack. He noticed that she noticed and blushed slightly.

“Here; let me do that,” he said, guilty at being caught out.

Rachel allowed the conductor to pack the rest of her things onto the overhead shelf for the long train ride ahead. He looked at her ticket and smiled.

“I see you have the sleeper to yourself; nice and private. If I can do anything to assist you further during the journey let me know,” he smiled and winked cheekily at her.

It was cramped in the sleeping compartment and she felt him push his groin against her buttocks as he eased himself around her. She thought he really didn’t need to get quite as close as he did and that he was just taking the opportunity to get a quick feel.

When the guard left her compartment she locked the door, and taking a water glass from the tiny ensuite bathroom she poured herself a scotch. She sat down and again pondered the effect she had on some men. Yes she did dress attractively she thought, and she had a reasonably good figure for a well built woman. She liked to show a bit of leg and wear plenty of makeup, but none of this was done intentionally to attract the attention of men.

Despite having been a part time transvestite for most of her life, she had never been out of her house dressed as a woman until the day before yesterday. She was obviously a reasonably convincing woman and the years perfecting feminine mannerisms and speech were paying off, but the sexual attraction she was generating was totally unintentional. Although she did have to admit that it was becoming enjoyable and empowering, and, subconsciously at least, she was finding it sexually arousing.

As the train pulled out of the station she re-lived the events that had happened in her car with the policeman and then the events that had taken place in her hotel room in Wodonga. As she slipped into her reverie she realised that her penis was slowly becoming erect and was throbbing uncomfortably trapped between her legs. She smiled to herself and slid a hand under her skirt and inside her panties and pantyhose and released the throbbing organ. She adjusted it and slowly stroked it with her fingertips through the front panel of her panties and the gusset of her pantyhose; and as it tented her skirt, she ruminated about her recent sexual misadventures.

Steve drove out of Wodonga but he had no idea in which direction the woman had gone after she left town, he mentally tossed a coin, and pulled on to the highway heading north. A few kilometres out of town he came to a full service petrol station and pulled in to fill the tank. On a whim he asked the attendant about the attractive mature woman driving the blue Ford and was quite surprised when he got lucky and the attendant remembered a woman matching the description. He said she’d filled up, used the rest room in the restaurant and then continued her journey. He noticed her because she was well built and attractive but there was something not quite right about her.

Steve asked if there was video surveillance at the service station and sure enough there was. He showed his fake police ID and got one of the attendants to run through the security video. There were a couple of minutes of footage of a woman sitting behind the wheel of a blue Ford parked at a petrol pump. That had to be her! It was hard to get a good look at the woman because she was obscured by the attendant moving past the driver’s window and reflections from the car’s windscreen.

They played with some of the other footage and then they got her! The footage showed her coming out of the restaurant wearing a white A-line skirt with kick pleats and a blue silk blouse, her sleek pantyhosed legs ended in white high heels. She had blonde hair and was wearing heavy makeup. She was a big girl but well proportioned with a nice arse and good legs. As she got into her car her legs parted and the camera showed a brief up-skirt flash of her panties and the tops of her silken thighs.

Steve downloaded the video onto a memory stick and flipped the suspicious attendant a fifty dollar note.

“No need to tell anyone I was here,” Steve said gravely and walked back to his car.

Figuring that the woman was about three hours ahead of him now, and could be heading anywhere, he decided it was time to refine his plan. He drove on until he found a reasonable motel with in-room high-speed internet access and pulled over and took a room. He fired up his laptop and started making calls on his mobile. There was still no word about Mike Harris from any of his contacts; it was like he had disappeared off the planet. He hadn’t used a credit card, accessed his bank account or made any calls on his cell.

He updated his contacts with the latest information he had, including a better description of the woman and her car. The car would have to show up somewhere he thought. He wondered if the woman was leading him on a wild goose chase, acting as a decoy for Mike, or even if they had arranged a rendezvous. Maybe she was just some dumb cunt Mike had paid to lead him further away from him.

Nah! The woman was too smart; he was beginning to like her tenacity. Rather than get a ticket and get caught so early on in her escape she had let the copper fuck her and she’d blown the stupid young thief before biting his cock and kicking the shit out him. She might not have morals but she had determination, he smiled to himself.

He opened his email and found a message in the inbox from his geek. The geek had rebuilt the hard drive on Mike Harris’s computer but had found nothing in his emails or computer files that were not work related. He had found something interesting in Mike’s web browser though and he wanted Steve to call him. Steve called him and listened with interest to what his geek had to tell him.

Apparently Mike Harris had visited a number of transgender sites, not porno, the geek explained, but transgender resource and support sites. He hadn’t visited them frequently but he’d visited them consistently since purchasing the computer. Steve considered this information for a while as he smoked a cigarette and drank a beer from the minibar.

Was Mike some king of weirdo who liked crossdressers? But his geek said there was no porn on the computer. This could just be a dead end or it might lead somewhere; he would need to think about it. He thought about it for a while and drank another beer. He took out a pad and pen and started drawing boxes and bubbles with arrows and lines connecting them all. He liked to visualise his thoughts.

He started writing on the pad: Mike Harris had not been seen since the day before he cleaned out Tony Leonardo’s safe – Did not take his clothes with him – Pantyhose wrapper and cosmetics residue found in bedroom – Well built woman seen driving away from Mike’s house on evening of robbery – Attractive, mature, well built woman uses sexual guile to persuade policeman and delude a thief – Intent on keeping briefcase at all costs – Changes hair colour overnight - Cop claims to have fucked woman and thief claims to have fingered her; could they both be lying?

Steve looked at the diagram he had drawn; his detective work lay out before him in a series of boxes, joined by lines and arrows. He opened his briefcase and pulled the out the papers he had taken from Mike Harris’s study. He found what he was looking for; a faded document with the address and phone numbers of St Joseph’s Orphanage on the letterhead. He reached for his phone and made a couple of calls to officials in the state government who cleared the way for him to call the orphanage and so that he could ask his questions.

He picked up the house phone and ordered a steak and a good bottle of red wine from room service while he waited to be finally connected to a nurse who remembered Mike Harris from when he had been in the orphanage. After some time spent explaining that Mike had gone missing and that he was the detective charged with finding him she finally loosened up and started answering his questions.

“Yes, Mike had always been a loner and a little different to the other boys. Unusual occurrences? Yes Mike had never remained long in foster care and some of the foster mothers had complained that he had ‘interfered’ with their clothes while they were out of the house.” She said.

“And of course there was the time she found him dressed in a pair of snagged pantyhose and nylon panties that he had found discarded in the female staff dressing room. He wore a sarong and a t-shirt with rolled up socks pushed under the t-shirt to imitate breasts. He’d combed out his shoulder length hair and painted his lips with red crayon and lined his eyes with a fine tipped black marking pen.” She told Steve.

Bingo!!!

Steve thanked her and hung up. Now there were just a couple of anomalies that he needed to resolve and the theory that was gnawing away inside of him would hold water. He contacted his connection at the ACT police who gave him the cell phone number for the cop who claimed to have fucked the woman at the rest stop. Steve punched in into his cell.

“You didn’t fuck her did you?” he growled.

“Well we did have sex,” the policeman answered indignantly.

“Ok; simple question; if you lie to me, you will regret it for as long as you live.”

“Did you put your penis inside the woman’s vagina; yes of no?” he snarled.

The policeman hesitated; his breathing heavy through the phone.

“No,” he answered.

“You didn’t even see or touch her cunt did you?”

“No but……….”

Steve hung up and called the Best Western in Wodonga.

Thirty minutes later he had the answer to his next question; the young thief hadn’t seen or touched the woman’s vagina either. Neither of them had; fucking men always had to lie about their sexual prowess!

And he thought he had a pretty good idea why neither of them could ever have seen or touched the woman’s vagina. She didn’t have one!

This woman wasn’t some bimbo accomplice assisting Mike’s escape. The woman WAS Mike Harris! Mike Harris was dressed as a woman fleeing the clutches of Tony Leonardo with two point seven million dollars of his money! You almost had to admire the audacity of it.

Steve’s dinner arrived and as he savoured his steak and the wine he ruminated what he should do next. He decided that Tony Leonardo didn’t need this little gem of information just yet; besides he could be wrong. He’d keep looking for the woman, telling Tony that she would eventually lead him to Mike Harris; which she would, whether his theory was right or wrong.

He chuckled to himself and then started to laugh out loud as he poured himself another glass of wine. Then he thought about how the woman had looked in the service station surveillance video and imagined the cop humping at her and the youth getting some head; he began to stiffen. My; what a strange reaction, he thought.

On a whim he opened his laptop, inserted the memory stick and bought up the video of Rachel getting into her car, flashing her panties and legs. He zoomed in so that he could see her body, heavily made up face and blonde hair and the flash of panty and thigh. He set his Windows Media Player on ‘Repeat’ so he could view the video in a continuous loop and opened his flies. His long thick cock sprang free and he stroked it as he watched Rachel climbing into her car over and over.

Suddenly he remembered; he had her pantyhose in his jacket pocket; he had picked them up after she had discarded them after the incident with the policeman at the rest stop just outside of Canberra. He walked over to where his jacket was arranged on the back a chair, his rampant penis proudly at attention, and took the pantyhose out of the pocket. He kicked off his pants and lay down on the bed and looked intently at the computer screen.

He didn’t think of the woman on the screen as Mike Harris; he thought of her as a sexy woman with a great arse and lovely legs, unintentionally flashing her assets as she got into her car. He stroked his cock and bought the pantyhose gusset to his face. The fragrance of her perfume clung to the diaphanous garment and there was also an underlying odour of semen. His cock throbbed, now fully erect; almost painful.

He lowered the flimsy garment to his groin and slid one on the legs of the pantyhose over his straining member. He groaned and slowly slid the gossamer hosiery up and down his cock. He tried to hold back but he couldn’t; his cock convulsed and he wrapped the pantyhose tightly around his shaft and squeezed the bulbous glans of his penis as he flooded the gauzy material with his semen, darkening the flesh-toned nylon. As he shook in the throes of his orgasm he watched Rachel flashing her legs and panties as her skirt rode up as she continually got into her car.

At 6am the next day he was hungover and testy when his cell phone rang. He soon got over the hangover when he was advised that the blue Falcon had been found at Wodonga railway station in the long term parking lot. He shaved and showered and drove back to Wodonga. He checked the time stamp on the parking pass displayed on the dash of the Falcon and went to look at the train timetable. She’d taken the XPT to Sydney; he’d bet his life on it! He looked at his watch; she’d arrived in Sydney four hours ago.

Rachel was wakened out of her reverie by a sudden knock at the door. She quickly pulled her hand from beneath her skirt and realised that her erection was tenting the front of her white A-line skirt.

“Yes?” she called hoping she wouldn’t have to go to the door.

“Conductor ma’am; I just need she your ticket please,” she recognised the voice of the conductor who had helped her to her sleeping compartment.

She pushed her slowly deflating penis one side of her crotch, holding it there with the tight gusset of her pantyhose so that the bulge was not so obvious and stood up and opened the door.

The conductor smiled his cheeky smile.

“I just need to punch your ticket,” he grinned at the double entendre.

Rachel smiled back and then turned her back to the conductor and rummaged in the side pocket of her briefcase. Again she felt the conductor’s eyes sliding over her legs and arse. This time she found the attention arousing and forced herself to stop fantasising so that her slowly deflating erection would not harden again.

She turned around quickly and caught the conductor looking wantonly at her body as she thrust the tickets out to him. He quickly snapped his eyes back to hers but then glanced down quickly to the front of her skirt. He smiled again and when he took the tickets from her he slid one of his fingers along hers. He was openly flirting with her now.

He checked her ticket against some papers on his clipboard and eventually gave them back to her. He looked at the recently opened bottle of scotch on the small table.

“Having a party hey?” he grinned.

“Party for one,” Rachel replied abruptly; she realised that flirting with this man was the last thing she needed to do.

“Well if you need anything at all just press the service button,” he smiled again and his eyes flicked down to her groin and then back to her eyes.

“Just think of me as the man who will service you should you need it.”

He was being blatantly sexually suggestive now and Rachel frowned at him and then slammed the door shut and locked it. She leaned back against it and sighed. Then she looked down and saw the faint outline of her penis though the material of her tight skirt. Had the conductor seen it? If he had, why had still continued to flirt with her?

She sat down and poured herself another scotch and wished that smoking was still permitted in railway carriages.

By ten o’clock that night she had drunk half a bottle of the scotch and had finished reading the newspapers. She was too far under the influence to concentrate on reading the novel she had bought. She sat on the bench seat with her feet curled under her having kicked off her heels hours ago, smoking an illicit cigarette. She had smoked a half a dozen so far; puffing the smoke out of an air vent as the compartment window would not open. She was considering taking a shower and going to bed when she heard a light tapping on the door to her compartment. She got up and walked to the door in her stockinged feet.

“Who is it?” she whispered; the train was darkened and her sleeper was only illuminated by a reading lamp.

“It’s me,” hissed the conductor on the other side of the door.

“What do you want?” she asked tersely.

“I know you’re smoking in there. It’s against completely against company policy,” he hissed.

“So?” Rachel hissed back defiantly.

“So let me in and we can talk about it; otherwise I will have to call my supervisor!” he hissed back insistently.

“Shit!!!” Rachel whispered and opened the door.

The conductor slid past the door and closed it behind him, locking it.

“It’s ok luv; I’m not going to turn you in. I’m on a break and I smelt the smoke walking down the passageway and I thought you might give me one, and maybe a glass of that scotch,” he smiled that cheeky smile again.

“Cheek,” Rachel answered, but offered him her packet of cigarettes and poured him a drink.

“Mind if I sit; I’ve got two hours off until I have to go to work again?” he asked, but plonked himself down on the seat without waiting for a reply.

Rachel turned her back to the conductor to pick up her drink when she suddenly felt him slap her on the buttocks. She was stunned and turned quickly to face him, an angry look on her face.

“Don’t worry love; your secret’s safe with me,” he smirked.

“What secret!” Rachel hissed.

How could this man know anything about the money she had stolen?

“Well; the secret that you keep locked away in you tight pretty panties,” the conductor glared openly at the front of her skirt.

“I’ve been around enough trannies to know one when I see one luv; and that telltale bulge you had in your skirt when I checked your ticket only confirmed my initial thoughts.”

Rachel was astounded and confused. What was she going to do now? What did this man want? There was only one way to find out.

“Well what do you want?” Rachel asked tentatively.

“Just a little company, a couple of drinks and a smoke; that ain’t asking too much is it?” the conductor gave her his cheekiest smile yet.

Rachel thought it over. The man knew she was a transvestite but he seemed friendly enough and it wouldn’t hurt to have a little company for a while. She was less likely to be accosted by one of Tony’s henchmen, as unlikely as that might seem, if she had another person she could trust in the sleeper with her.

“Ok; you can share my booze and smokes but there are a few conditions,” she said.

“Sure,” he answered

“No questions about who I am, where I’m going to, or where I’m from!”

“Sure,” the conductor smirked again.

“And you keep your hands to yourself,” she finished.

“Definitely,” the conductor answered.

They chatted for about half an hour and Rachel admitted that she has been a part time transvestite for most of her life but this was the first time she had undertaken a journey whilst in drag. She did not reveal anything else of significance to the conductor. The conductor, it turned out, had been a long time transvestite admirer from Sydney. He had clocked Rachel as a transvestite as soon as he saw her trying to get on the train with all of her baggage. He was a nice enough guy and they whiled away some time drinking, smoking and laughing.

Rachel was now quite drunk and was sitting with her back to the darkened window, lounging sideways on the seat with her feet resting in the conductor’s lap as he slowly massaged her nylon encased toes.

“Oh; that feels good,” she muttered, now almost half asleep.

The effects of the alcohol and the excitement of the last two days were taking their toll.

“You really are quite passable you know? And if you don’t mind me saying; quite attractive,” the conductor smiled.

“I bet that’s what you say to all the trannies,” Rachel giggled.

The conductor was now stroking Rachel’s legs, letting his fingers softly massage them from the tips of her toes to just above her knees. Rachel frowned and pulled down the hem of her skirt.

“I thought I told you to keep your hands to yourself,” she said sternly; but then giggled again.

“I’ve had enough of men taking liberties with me over the last couple of days,” she hiccupped.

The conductor made no effort to stop what he was doing and now moved his hands over Rachel’s knees, still softly stroking and massaging her nylon encased legs. Rachel made a half-hearted effort to shoo his hands away but she was now so drowsy that she was almost asleep.

“Don’t be naughty,” Rachel whispered and drifted off into a heavy doze.

Rachel woke up about ten minutes later and through her drunken fugue realised that something was dreadfully wrong. She was lying down on the bench seat on her back with her arms stretched out above her head, her wrists tied to the armrest. Her buttocks were propped up off the seat, lifted up by pillows that had been stuffed underneath her. The conductor was holding her legs up in the air, her thighs parted and her pantyhose and panties had been pulled down.

The conductor was kneeling on the seat holding her legs up, ankles together, with one hand, whilst with the other he was trying to guide his penis into Rachel’s anus.

Rachel screamed.

“No!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Sssshhh! Rachel; do you want someone to come to the door?” the conductor grinned, his face visible to her between her upraised legs.

“What are you going to do? You’re a trannie travelling undercover for some reason; do you want to have to deal with the railway police or the state police?”

“I think you’ve wanted this for a long time but you just never knew it!” he hissed.

Rachel was not going to let this man abuse her; she had been sexually abused twice in the last two days and this time enough was enough! She was going to fight! She was just about to scream again and was struggling against her bonds when the head of the conductor’s penis pierced her sphincter.

The conductor was wearing a lubricated condom which eased his entry but the pain was incredible. Rachel moaned and bucked in agony as the conductor rode with her, not trying to push himself any further inside her but not letting her eject his cock.

“Ohhh!!! Hurts! Hurts! Hurts! Hurts! Hurts! Hurts!” Rachel whimpered now fully awake but in shock.

“Shhh Honey; relax and it will be ok,” the conductor whispered, trying to sooth her.

“No! No! No! No! No! No! Take it out!!!” Rachel moaned.

Rachel was feeling a constant deep burning sensation combined with spasmodic twinges of intense pain that shooting from her sphincter. She whimpered and wriggled trying to expel the intruder from her back passage but the conductor held on matching her movements.

“Rachel!!!” he hissed; and she stopped struggling and listened to him.

“Look honey, the worst is over I promise, if you lie still and let me; I can make this experience special for you. Or you can keep struggling and I’m going to fuck you anyway but it’s going to hurt.”

Rachel realised that once again she had been beaten and she would do anything to stop the excruciating pain that was coming from her sphincter. She sighed and lay still; her wrists tied to the armrest, legs pushed up in the air; her anus pierced by the conductor’s penis. She was miserably uncomfortable and she was only just bearing the pain of the penetration. But she was smart enough to know that fighting was only going to make the pain worse. She tried to relax her sphincter but her instinct was to try to push against the object invading her anus; not to accept it.

“That’s it honey,” said the conductor as he felt Rachel’s sphincter spasm as she tried to relax it.

“It will be ok I promise.”

Rachel was quietly sobbing but at the same time she forced her inner muscles to relax. Amazingly the twinges of intense pain began to subside; she still felt the burning sensation around the entrance to her anus but that was tolerable.

“Ok honey; keep relax, I really don’t was to hurt you,” the conductor soothed.

Millimetre by millimetre the conductor slowly pushed himself inside Rachel; he took his time and whenever Rachel flinched he stopped and soothed her. He had a tube of KY jelly which he liberally smeared on his shaft as it slowly disappeared inside Rachel’s rectum. Rachel felt full and intensely uncomfortable, the urge to expel the conductor’s penis was immense and she had to physically and mentally prevent her internal muscles from contracting.

After ten minutes the conductor had about half of his girth buried inside Rachel’s anus and he had lowered her legs so that they now rested over his shoulders. He looked down at her tear stained face and smiled.

“It’s ok Rachel; you’re doing fine.”

Rachel’s only response was a another silent tear. She had stopped sobbing and now and only mewed softly when she felt a twinge of pain, but now that she had learned to relax her sphincter she really didn’t feel any pain. Even the burning sensation had subsided; she just felt full.

The conductor continued to press slowly forward cooing and encouraging Rachel to stay calm and relax her anal constrictor muscles. Then, when he had about three quarters of his shaft inside Rachel, he sensed her internal muscles respond and she gasped. He knew what it was; it was not pain. His glans had found her prostate gland. Her reaction was pleasure not pain.

The conductor knew better than to rush; he took his time pushing the remaining few centimetres of his shaft inside Rachel until eventually he was buried inside her with his scrotum resting snugly against her. He lowered his upper body down and as he slowly wriggled his penis inside her to stimulate her prostate he kissed her. She began to respond and kissed him back.

After the burning sensation ceased Rachel just felt full; she wanted to evacuate the object that was invading her back passage but she forced herself to relax. The invading member slowly forced its way deeper inside her but because the conductor was using copious amounts of lubricant there was very little pain. The conductor was cooing and encouraging her and because of this, combined with the effects of the alcohol she had drunk, she began to relax.

She felt the conductor’s glans rub against an area inside her that suddenly caused waves of intense pleasure to course through her body. As his penis stimulated her prostate, rings of pleasure ran up and down her insides; her sphincter responded and loosened and began to emit its own tingling ripples of pleasure. Rachel gasped.

When the conductor lowered his mouth to hers she kissed him back, deeply, passionately. She drove her tongue into his mouth and lifted her buttocks up off the seat and pushed herself up against him; her legs moved around his waist; she locked her ankles together and held him against her. She felt totally feminine lying here underneath this man; wantonly giving herself to him.

They fucked slowly but passionately taking their time; the conductor easing his penis in and out Rachel’s anus with long slow thrusts as she raised herself up to meet him. There was no fervent thrashing or pounding; just firm, slow deep thrusts provided the maximum stimulation for both of them. They said little to each other, the fucking was accompanied by one long passionate kiss.

Rachel felt him orgasm; his cock was fully embedded in her, his scrotum tickling her buttocks when he shuddered and wriggled his member inside her as it pulsed and throbbed. She couldn’t feel his ejaculation of course because he wore a condom, but she could feel the jets of sperm pulsing from his penis into the condom. He was kissing her wildly now, their tongues entwined, lips mashed, their teeth occasionally cracking against each other with the passion of the kiss.

Rachel moaned as her own orgasm shook her body and she felt her semi erect penis begin to pulse and expel her issue. The conductor slid a hand between their bodies and milked her as she ejaculated, splashing her skirt and blouse with her hot semen.

The conductor lay on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows as they both slowly came down from their orgasms. He placed little soft kisses on her lips and kissed her on the eyelids and stroked her hair. Rachel felt feminine and fully sated. She felt like she knew what it would be like to be woman who had just been made love to, and her lover, in no hurry to leave, was content to remain in her arms and express his affection.

After a while, they separated and faced the awkward situation that often accompanies a spontaneous sexual encounter with a stranger. The conductor removed the semen filled condom, flushed it and cleaned himself while Rachel dabbed at the semen stains on her skirt and blouse, often getting each others way in the confines of the cramped sleeper.

The conductor handed Rachel a business card.

“If you’re staying around Sydney give me a call,” he flashed his best smile at Rachel.

“We’ll see,” Rachel replied.

“Gotta go back to work; bye Rachel.”

Rachel leaned forward and they exchanged a long lingering kiss before parting. As the conductor turned to open the compartment door Rachel tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Oh; Gary. It’s on the business card.” He replied.

Rachel unexpectedly lashed out her hand and slapped him across the cheek.

“Next time Gary; ask before you take,” Rachel said harshly.

Then she smiled up at him and his shocked expression broke into that winning smile. Rachel leaned into him and kissed him quickly on the lips and patted him on the buttocks.

“Go to work,” she chided, and pushed him out the door.

Rachel checked her watch and seeing that it was close to midnight she quickly showered and climbed into her sleeping berth. She was awoken about four hours later; the train was approaching Central Station and she had just enough time to change into clean clothes and fix her makeup. Hungover and tired she collected her suitcases, and pushed her trolley our into the cool early morning air. She caught a taxi to Kings Cross and booked into the Crest hotel in Darlinghurst Road. She stripped off her clothes and fell into bed dressed only in pantyhose and panties without even removing her makeup.

At first Rachel had disturbing dreams of being pursued, interspersed with dreams of feminine erotic encounters. Her sleep was fitful and confusing but by the time the sun was rising she was in a deep dreamless slumber.

Steve had caught the first available plane to Sydney and picked up a hire car at the airport. By the time Rachel was waking from her deep sleep late in the afternoon, Steve had checked into his hotel and was at Central Station making enquiries about the well built, mature, attractive woman who had arrived on the XPT earlier that day.

To be continued

Rachel blinked as the flash went off in her eyes.

“Ok; one more photo, and this time keep your eyes open for me luv ok?” the man behind the camera said.

Mike had done some research before he had ripped off Tony Leonardo and he had located a man named Harold Brown who could produce good quality counterfeit identity documents. Harold had agreed to provide Rachel with a passport and a driver’s licence in the name of ‘Rachel Coulotte’ using a fake address. Rachel was having her picture taken so that the documents could be prepared and be ready in about five days as promised by Harold. Rachel wanted to get out of the country as fast as she could.

“One hundred thousand now; the rest on delivery ok?” Rachel said to Harold, handing him a thick envelope.

“No worries luv; see ya in few days,” he winked at Rachel.

Rachel left Harold with the number of a pre-paid cell phone she had purchased the day before and let herself out and made her way out onto the streets of Kings Cross. She had been in Sydney for two days and was anxious to leave. Although she had no trouble fitting in with the eclectic and often bizarre inhabitants of Sydney’s most disparate suburb, she had the feeling that Tony was hot on her trail.

She had spent most of the last two days in her hotel room, only venturing out at night to get something to eat and drink. Last night she had ventured into one of the many gaming parlours and dropped nearly a thousand dollars on the poker machines. Of course she could afford the money, but she was concerned that her gambling addiction was returning. She had rationalised playing the slot machines as a form of amusement that did not involve interacting with others; but she was smart enough to know a rationalisation from the truth.

She stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of scotch and two packets of cigarettes and then headed back to the Crest hotel vowing that tonight she would only go out for a meal and would stay clear of the gaming rooms.

Steve had lost Rachel’s trail at Central Station and by the time he got there, the XPT had been at the platform for over four hours and Rachel was long gone. A porter told him that he had seen a woman matching Rachel’s description get into a taxi. Steve had been unable to locate the taxi driver but he had one of his contacts working through all of the taxi companies’ computer systems looking for taxis leaving Central Station around that time. The problem was there were hundreds of them.

He had prowled the streets for a while, but Sydney was a huge city and it was hard to know where to start; besides she might have moved on already, but there was still no signs of activity on Mike Harris’s credit cards and if his passport or other identity documents had been used to hire a car or purchase a plane ticket he would have known about it immediately.

Steve was sitting in the hotel lobby drinking a cup of coffee when a brainstorm hit him. How could he be so stupid? Mike couldn’t use any of his identity documents without triggering off any number of alerts so he would need to get new ones. But now that Mike was getting around as a transvestite would he get male or female identity documents; or would he perhaps get a set of each?

It didn’t matter; Steve now had a lead. He went back to his hotel room and started working the phones and fired off a string of emails. By late afternoon he had list of forgers and counterfeiters who worked out of Sydney. Working methodically through the list, it took him three days before he knocked on the apartment door of Mr Harold Brown. Steve introduced himself at the door and explained that he was working for Tony Leonardo.

Harold let Steve into his apartment with trepidation; he’d never met Steve Marshall before, but he knew his reputation. He offered him a drink and they both sat down and lit cigarettes and sipped at their beers.

“So how’s business?” Steve smiled at Harold; the sort of smile a crocodile gives a wallaby.

“Well you know; so-so,” Harold replied.

“What can I do for you?”

Steve had enlarged the best frame out of the video stream that had been taken of Rachel getting into her car at the service station outside of Wodonga by the surveillance camera and had printed off a few copies. He slid one across the coffee table to Harold and watched his face intently for any expression of recognition.

Harold had been in the game too long to give away any facial expressions and he kept a poker face as he picked up the print and looked at it intently. He recognised Rachel immediately and although he had not asked Rachel anything about who she really was or why a transvestite would want counterfeit identity documents; he knew that if Steve Marshall was after her she was in serious trouble.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Steve stared at Harold for about thirty seconds, holding him in a steely gaze before taking a sip of his beer and answering.

“Doesn’t matter mate; have you seen her?”

“Nah; nice looking woman though. Bit heavy on the makeup if you ask me; but if you like that sort of thing?” Harold left the question hanging.

“What sort of thing?” Steve inquired.

“Never mind; sorry I can’t be of assistance,” Harold said.

“What about this guy?” Steve asked, sliding a picture of Mike Harris across the table.

Harold picked up the picture and looked at it briefly.

“Nah; ain’t seen him either.”

Steve stood up and stretched but made no indication that he was leaving.

“Can I use your shit-house?” he asked.

“Sure down the hall; second door on the right,” Harold said, smiling.

When Steve went into the toilet Harold began frantically searching for the telephone number that Rachel had left with him. Steve ducked out of the toilet and went into Harold’s studio and began searching through the documents Harold had left out on a desk. Meanwhile Harold had found the card with Rachel’s phone number on it and was punching the number into his mobile phone when Steve returned, pointing an evil looking small calibre pistol at him and holding up Rachel’s passport and driver’s licence with his other hand. Harold turned off the phone and put it down on the table and raised his hands.

“She’s a tranny; nice sort. A bit big; but she carries it off; you know,” Harold said matter of factly.

“Her mobile number’s on that card there; don’t know where she’s staying though.”

Steve held up the passport and drivers licence for Rachel Coulotte.

“You made these for her?”

“Yeah; I just have to rough em up a bit; you know, make them look used, not new.”

“I was going to call her tomorrow to tell her to pick them up.” Harold saw no point in lying now that his life depended on his answers.

“We can do this two ways Harold; you help me and I let you go; or you can fuck me around and I kill you.” Steve pointed the pistol at Harold’s head.

Harold nodded his compliance.

“Ok; you get the fuck out of town, take a holiday in Bali; go get a t-shirt or whatever. I don’t care; but you get the fuck out of town tonight and you stay away for a week. If you try to contact or warn her I’ll find you and cut yer nuts off and feed them to you! Deal?”

“Well Mister Marshall you seem to be under the misunderstanding that I give a fuck about this tranny; please get out of my way; I need to pack for a plane flight I’m taking tonight,” Harold smiled.

“I like a man who knows what’s best for him; have a nice trip Harold.” Steve smiled back and put away the pistol.

He picked up the card with Rachel’s phone number written on it, put the passport and driver’s licence in his jacket pocket and let himself out.

Steve sat in his hotel room looking at Rachel’s passport and driver’s licence. He glanced over at the bedside table where Rachel’s pantyhose lay in a tangled heap. They were now a sperm encrusted mess; he had been unable to control himself and had been masturbating into them for days and smelling the perfume she had left on them whilst he watched the video stream of her flashing her legs and panties. He wouldn’t wash them because he wanted to keep her fragrance on the pantyhose.

He started to harden as a plan formulated in his mind; he smiled to himself and then flipped up the screen on his laptop and reached for the nylons again as he opened his flies.

Rachel’s mobile phone rang.

“I have your passport and driver’s licence,” a voice said when she answered.

“Who is this?” Rachel answered immediately suspicious.

“I’m a friend of Harold’s; he had to get out of town in a hurry and he gave me your passport and driver’s licence and your phone number,” Steve said, not really lying.

“How do I know you’re not setting me up?” she answered.

“Easy luv; here’s how we do this, you decide where and when we meet and I will be there. You can control the meeting; all I want is the money that you owe Harold.”

Rachel thought about it for a few seconds and then she responded.

“Crest hotel; ten o’clock tonight; call me when you’re in the lobby and I’ll give you my room number.”

At precisely ten o’clock that night Rachel’s phone rang and she gave her room number to Steve Marshall and waited nervously for him to come up to her room.

She had hatched a plan earlier in the afternoon and had then gone out shopping. She was now dressed in the clothes that she had purchased during the afternoon. She dressed in a bright-red leather miniskirt, a white satin blouse and four-inch, bright-red, open toe, high heels. Underneath she wore a black satin and lace Basque with attached suspender straps and see-through white nylon panties. She wore lashings of makeup, jewellery and perfume and a black bob wig; she completed the ensemble with black, fifteen-denier, fully-fashioned seamed stockings.

She felt positively slutty dressed this way, the hem of her skirt didn’t even cover the welts of her stockings and the dark reinforced bands, fastened with silver clips to her suspenders, were quite visible. Her red painted toenails showed opaquely through the reinforced toes of her stockings and peeped out through her open-toe high heels.

Her plan was to seduce whoever came through the door; get her hands on the forged identity documents and then to dispose of the man professing to be Harold’s friend by either paying him off or alternatively by using the pistol she had secreted under the mattress. The pistol had set her back five hundred dollars but it was guaranteed untraceable. She had no qualms about using seduction as a weapon; her experiences over the last few days had converted her from a prude to a slut. She enjoyed the power she had over men.

Steve opened the door and walked into Rachel’s hotel room and was immediately aroused by the sight before him. The tall, well built, transvestite with long legs and pretty face was spectacular. He couldn’t take his eyes off her legs; her stocking tops were actually visible below the hem of her skirt. His cock began to thicken immediately.

They each made no pretence of making formal introductions.

“You must be Rachel,” Steve said and walked over and took Rachel in his arms and kissed her passionately, rubbing his body against her.

Rachel slavered her tongue around in Steve’s mouth and felt his erection rub against her through her clothing. She manoeuvred a hand between their bodies and squeezed Steve’s penis through the material of his jeans. Steve groaned and pushed her back onto the bed and fell down on top of her, never breaking their kiss.

He humped away at her, his need for release overwhelming. Rachel reached between their bodies and opened his flies and freed Steve’s cock from the prison of his trousers; it felt long, thick, and meaty. She reached out and scrambled her fingers around the bedside table until she eventually found a condom packet which she opened one-handed and then slid the condom over Steve’s throbbing phallus. Then she reached out for the KY jelly and slathered his latex-clad phallus with the lubricant. She had lubricated herself internally in anticipation of Steve’s arrival.

Steve didn’t even remove her panties; he simply slid the gusset to one side and then slowly slid his entire length inside Rachel until his scrotum rested against her buttocks. Rachel grunted as Steve’s cock filled her, but she liked the feeling of the hard member crammed inside her and especially liked the tingling feeling emanating from her prostate whenever Steve’s glans rubbed against it.

Their fucking was almost savage; Steve pounded away at Rachel as she rose her buttocks up off the bed to meet his thrusts. They never broke their kiss and they gasped and groaned into each others mouths as their tongues entwined and teeth occasionally cracked together with the ferocity of the sex. Steve had managed to shuck off his shirt and when Rachel bought up her legs and wrapped them around him he savoured the feel of Rachel’s stockings rubbing against his skin.

The fucking became a frenzy, Steve jack-hammered his cock in and out Rachel’s tight anus and Rachel, impaled on Steve’s hard throbbing cock, clung to him and wriggled and shook her arse. She thrust her hips upward to match his strokes ensuring his full length penetrated her slick anal sheath and crossed her ankles behind Steve’s back, her stockings hissing as they rubbed together and against Steve’s sensitive skin.

Rachel felt her orgasm approaching as Steve howled and moaned with the rush of his own climax. Rachel felt Steve’s cock convulse deep inside her as he filled the condom with his hot seed. Rachel’s cock was erect and rubbing against Steve’s stomach through the flimsy material of her panties as Steve savagely fucked her. The pressure and friction induced Rachel’s own climax and she groaned in ecstasy as she flooded her panties with hot semen. Steve’s cock pounding in and out of her anus further stimulating her and she was wracked by the most intense orgasm that she had ever experienced.

Steve’s thrusting slowed down as his orgasm subsided and eventually he lay still on top of Rachel with his slowly deflating penis buried in her anus. He was still kissing Rachel and he could tell that her orgasm was still raging through her body, he felt her penis convulsing in her panties and her hot seed flooding through the panty material and soaking his belly.

Rachel’s climax began to subside and as she came down from the sexual high she rummaged around under the mattress trying to find the gun; it was time to talk seriously to this guy. She scrambled her fingers around but couldn’t find the gun and she started to panic. Steve finally broke the kiss and smiled down at her.

“Looking for this?” he said.

“Fuck!!!” Rachel knew that she was now deep trouble.

“Not for a while luv; just had one,” Steve smiled down at her.

Steve eased his cock out of Rachel’s anus and knelt on the bed between her spread legs. He took off the condom and flicked it in the general direction of the bin and wiped his cock and belly with the bed sheet. Then he stood up and put his cock back into his pants and zipped his flies; the small pistol he had pointed at Rachel hardly wavered. He kept the gun on her as he backed towards the bathroom and reached for a towel. He threw the towel at Rachel.

“Here honey, clean yourself up,” he said.

Rachel wiped at her semen soaked panties and looked up at Steve. He was a well built handsome guy in his forties. She thought that she could become quite attached to a man like him. Too bad he was probably going to kill and take her money. She pulled down her skirt and sat on the bed.

“I suppose I should introduce myself; I’m Steve Marshall,” he smiled down at her.

Rachel paled; she knew who Steve Marshall was and, what he did for Tony Leonardo. She resigned herself to the fact that he was either going to kill her, or more than likely, call Tony and hold her for him to deal with; either way she was screwed.

“I can tell by the look on your face that you know who I am,” he said.

“I’ve been following you for quite a while now Rachel and I must say that you have impressed me with your tenacity and ingenuity.”

“So what do we do now?” Steve asked.

“What do you mean? You have me; and you have Tony’s money and the books,” she answered.

“I’ll let you in on little secret Rachel: I don’t really like Tony Leonardo but I fancy the pants off you.” Steve said, grinning.

Rachel was quite surprised by Steve’s response.

“So I’ve been thinking thing over the last few days and I have a proposition for you,” Steve went on.

“What about if we share the money together and you share my bed; sort of a boyfriend and girlfriend thing?”

Rachel was now flabbergasted, but what could she do?

“Well we’ve only just met,” Rachel answered coyly.

“I don’t really know you and you don’t know me.”

“Well that’s the beauty of the arrangement; I don’t want to know about your past, I just want to know you now; as Rachel Coulotte,” Steve replied.

“We take the money and get on a plane to somewhere nice; where our type of relationship wouldn’t be so unusual. We give it a try and if works, it works; if it doesn’t we split the money and go our separate ways.”

“But; what about Tony?” Rachel asked.

“We have his books; we tell him that if anything ever happens to us his books get delivered to the cops.” Steve chuckled and lowered the pistol.

“You are one sneaky fucker Steve Marshall,” Rachel smiled back at him.

“Anyway; what makes you think I would want to share my bed with you?” she teased.

Steve dropped the gun on the bed and knelt down and kissed Rachel passionately; the kiss seemed to go forever and Rachel responded enthusiastically. Steve finally broke the kiss.

“Yeah; you wanna!” he smiled and began to kiss her again.

Tony Leonardo received an email from Steve Marshall a week later explaining that he would never again see the money stolen from him by Mike Harris. It also went on to explain that if Tony made any attempt to find or harm either Steve Marshall or Mike Harris the books containing the financial breakdown of Tony’s criminal enterprises would be handed to the police.

The email made no mention that Mike Harris was now living full time as a woman named Rachel Coulotte.

When Steve hit the send button to transmit the email from the bedroom of their San Francisco apartment Rachel had been on her knees leaving traces of her plum-red lipstick along Steve’s hardening phallus.

Steve closed down his laptop and lifted Rachel to her feet.

“Get over to the bed you hussy; I’ll teach you to interrupt me whilst I’m trying to work,” he laughed and slapped her on the arse.

The End