The Captured Crossdresser Chapter 1
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Chapter One – The Rules
Now
The room was a cell. It had a comfortable queen bed, an ensuite bathroom, a large antique armoire, a sofa with a coffee table and end tables with table lamps on them and a kitchenette.
But it was a cell.
The stark grey door was heavily reinforced and had hidden hinges. It was fitted with a viewing port at eye level, a ‘cat-flap’ at the bottom and unnervingly, at waist-height, what appeared to be a glory hole. The floor was newly carpeted and the walls were freshly painted cinderblock. There were no windows. There were no light switches for the ceiling fixtures and although the vanity and table lamps had switches and dimmers, power to them was controlled remotely.
At first it seemed like total silence but when he listened carefully Colin could hear the faint hum of running machinery and road noises. There was also the faint swish of the ceiling mounted ventilator for which there was no thermostat or other controls that Colin could find.
The room was spotlessly clean and everything in it appeared new.
Colin Divine had come out of his fugue naked and alone in the big bed. The remnants of last night’s gin and tonics burned in his stomach and at first he thought he’d had his usual Friday night binge, staggered home and fallen asleep but there was something else besides alcohol making him drowsy. He’d fallen asleep again and woke up feeling a little better.
The first thing he noticed was that he had gone to bed naked still wearing his makeup and then he noticed that he wasn’t in his own home.
He was in the cell.
He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the rainbow smears of blush, mascara and eyeshadow on the crisp white pillowcase and felt guilty. He saw a red and black, lace-trimmed, nightgown hanging over the bedhead and without anything else to wear he put it on and studied his surroundings.
Colin hammered on the door and called out at the top of his voice until eventually a disembodied voice came through a speaker fitted into the wall next to the door.
“Stop that!” the voice said.
“Fuck you! Let me out!” Colin screamed.
The lights went out leaving Colin in pitch black. Colin had been in dark places before but nothing like this. There was not a single light source and even after waiting fifteen minutes he still couldn’t see a thing. He managed to find his way to the small refrigerator in the kitchenette and he opened the door. There was no light. The bulb had been removed.
He tried the dimmer switches for the lamps and bathroom vanity mirror… nothing.
Colin had no way to measure time sitting alone in the dark but he guessed it was three hours before the lights came back on. During that time he had been able to feel his way to the toilet and take a piss and drink water from the tap.
“You fucker!” Colin screamed when the lights came back on and immediately regretted it.
The lights went out and this time it seemed like twice as long before they came back on.
This time when they did he remained silent.
“There are rules,” the disembodied voice said through the speaker.
“What rules?” Colin called out.
There was no talk-switch for him to toggle but whoever had Colin imprisoned in the room could obviously hear him. There must be a microphone or microphones secreted in the cell.
“They are on the wall next to the speaker,” the voice said emotionlessly.
“Fuck you! Where am I and why am I here?” Colin shouted.
The lights went out.
An eternity later the lights came back on.
“Read the rules,” the spectral voice said.
Colin found the rules etched onto a plasticised board mounted on the wall next to the speaker as he’d been told they were.
1. No unnecessary noise
2. Keep my room clean
3. Keep myself clean
4. Do everything my master tells me without question
5. I am to present as Crystal at all times and use my femme voice
“Ok. I read them. Will you please tell me where I am and why I am here?” Colin’s stomach lurched when he read the last rule.
How did his captor know about Crystal?
“Go to the bathroom door and read your daily duties,” the ghostly voice said with no emotion whatsoever.
1. Shave my body all over every second day
2. Shave my face in the morning and again in the afternoon
3. Douche after shaving, shower, brush my teeth and use mouthwash
4. Apply my makeup and perfume and put on my wig
5. Put on my lingerie
6. Dress as directed
7. I am never to present myself to my master unless dressed enfemme
“You're a fucking looney mate,” Colin screamed.
The lights went out.
Then
Colin Divine had been secretly crossdressing for nearly six months now. That wasn’t quite right! He’d been crossdressing since he was a teenager but only sporadically and not very well. He was what experienced femme transvestites called a ‘hairy panty-wearer’: a derogatory term for those who occasionally liked to slip into a pair of knickers, nylon stockings, possibly a satin slip and rarely, poorly-fitting high heels. What was a more accurate a statement was that Colin had been presenting as a convincing, unclockable transvestite for nearly six months now with the help of Mrs Maureen Cashmore.
Colin had been fascinated by lingerie and hosiery for as long as he could remember. Watching his aunt and cousins dressed in their short skirts, seamed nylon stockings and heavy makeup fascinated him. He let his cousins make him play dressup. Colin pretended to complain but he loved it when they made him wear frilly knickers, party dresses and put makeup on his face.
His father had caught him parading around dressed like that in front of his three older female cousins and despite his cries that he been forced to do it, his old man had beaten him senseless and told him that he didn’t raise a sissy for a son.
The beating had worked until Colin entered puberty. He supressed the urge to dress like a girl but once those hormones began to rage and his libido kicked in he couldn’t help himself. He kept a little collection of knickers, stockings, slips and even a little miniskirt and blouse which he dressed up in when no one was home. He was too sacred to wear makeup because he knew his mother would find out that he’d used her cosmetics and besides which he was no good at it.
He’d dress up and read his mother’s glamour magazines, looking at the lingerie models until he needed to relive himself then he’s stand in front of the mirror dressed in his finery with his feet squeezed into a pair of his mother’s high heels and masturbate. He made sure that only his body was reflected in the mirror he didn’t want to see his boy-face.
Colin fumbled his way through puberty into manhood. He liked looking at girls who dressed like girls; he had no time for girls who wore jeans or dressed like tomboys. In the mid 1970’s miniskirts and pantyhose were a fashion statement and women flocked to the stores to buy them. For the fashion-conscious woman looking to wear a skirt shorter than stockings were long, pantyhose were the perfect fit. He had a collection of pantyhose and stockings.
Colin was very confused about his sexuality. The girls he looked at excited him but he didn’t want to do anything to them sexually. If anything he was jealous and often imagined himself dressed as the girls he was looking at. He wondered what it would be like to be one of those pretty girls who could dress so sensuously and beautifully. To feel those clothes on your body every second of the day. To taste the makeup. To feel the fluttery caress of the hem of your skirt tickling your thigh as you strutted in your high heels. To know that all the boys were looking at you and desiring you.
He would daydream at work, watching the pretty office girls. Wondering what their life must be like. Listening to his colleagues complement the girls to their faces whilst discussing the things they would like to do them sexually behind their backs. In his dreams he was a pretty office girl, strutting around the office in her little black skirt and white blouse and high heels and silky tights knowing that the men wanted and desired her. One of the executives would come to visit the firm and become entranced with her and take her away somewhere exotic where he would pour on her the adoration she deserved.
In his dreams he was the heroine of a stereotypical Mills and Boon novel which his mother loved to read. The storylines were similar but his mother had a whole collection and Colin would read them at night before going to sleep. The heroine of the cheap novels was usually a passive virgin who is submissive to the hero in every way. There was no explicit sex in the bodice-rippers but it was implied that the female protagonist would surrender her virtue to the hero after some climatic event in which he rescued her.
This fantasy served Colin well because he couldn’t actually imagine having sexual congress with a man. In his imagination he was adored, caressed and kissed passionately and when the man holding Crystal in his arms progressed beyond innocent foreplay his mind would cloud over. He knew that Crystal was surrendering herself to the handsome hero but he didn’t want to think about how.
It wasn’t until he was in his early-twenties that Colin was finally financially secure enough to leave home and get his own flat. He felt emancipated. He was not only free from the shackles of his overbearing father and mousy mother, he was free to crossdress. He bought himself an extensive makeup collection and two good quality wigs.
Acquiring the makeup and lingerie had been easy enough. He told the shopgirls in Debenhams that the lingerie and nylons were presents for his girlfriend and the makeup was a gift for a niece. He spread his purchases around so as not to attract too much attention. Acquiring skirts, blouses, dresses and heels was not so easy for a man in those days. There was nothing like the internet and Colin had tried and been disappointed with his attempts to order directly from a catalogue and have his purchases delivered by the Royal Mail.
The garments seldom fitted, were poorly finished and rarely resembled the apparel modelled in the catalogues. The same went for shoes and of the several wigs he had ordered; only two were actually wearable. The problem was that Colin didn’t really know his size in female apparel or shoes and just like men’s clothing, the advertised size was not a true indication of the fit; one needed to try on the garments before purchasing them.
Mrs Maureen Cashmore came to his salvation.
Mrs Cashmore was the manager of the local Oxfam shop. The shop specialised in selling donated clothing and other items for charitable purposes. Because the racks of clothing were juxtaposed, Colin could browse the men’s clothing section whilst secretly eyeing off the women’s garments. When the small shop had no more than a few customers inside it, it was possible for Colin to browse the women’s aisles and check out the high heels on the shoe racks.
Colin was just too scared to actually purchase anything.
He thought that he could possibly just grab a few items that were probably his size. As the items were so cheap, whatever didn’t fit he would just donate back. It was good plan but he didn’t have the intestinal fortitude to go through with it.
Then one day when he thought no one was looking, Colin picked up a high heel off the rack and put the sole against the sole of his foot to approximate the size. The shoes were cherry-red patent leather with a four inch heel and he wanted them desperately. His current shoe collection consisted of two pairs of beat up low heels and a pair of sandals.
“I bet they would fit you perfectly,” Mrs Cashmore whispered over his shoulder making Colin jump out of his skin.
He dropped the shoe and ambled his way towards the door, his face burning brightly.
Somehow Mrs Cashmore had beaten him to the door and she stood guarding it with her arms crossed against her ample bosom.
He expected that she would call the police. What on earth for he couldn’t imagine: was being a crossdresser a crime? Would she call out to the other customers that he was playing with women’s shoes in the store? Would she phone his parents and tell them that their son was a deviate?
Colin knew that none of those things were likely or even rational but his mind was in turmoil and he just wanted to get out of the shop but Mrs Cashmore blocked his way.
She put out her hand, which was long-fingered with many rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists, her manicured fingernails were bright red. She gripped his wrist and led him aside, just inside the door and whispered in his ear.
“Come back at five o’clock when I’m closing and I’ll get you sorted,” her breath tickled the side of his face.
Her perfume smelled exotic and her grip, whilst quite firm, was reassuring. Her red hair tickled his face when she leaned into him and although Mrs Cashmore was at least as old as his mother, Colin felt an attraction to her.
“There’s a good lad,” she let go of his wrist and cheekily spanked his buttock as she propelled him towards the door.
*****
Now
Colin lay on the bed in the total darkness and tried to make sense of his predicament. The last thing he remembered was being in the Black Sheep, a gay and crossdresser friendly pub on Canal Street. Crystal had met up with Wendy and Brittany and they had allowed several men to buy them drinks and during the course of the evening they had become separated which was nothing new. Wendy and Brittany often went their separate ways when they met a man they fancied, leaving Crustal to find her own way home.
Colin’s femme name was Crystal… Crystal Divine was a great name for a transvestite or a drag queen Colin thought when he first came up with it.
Crystal was not inclined to go with men nor bring them home. There was no doubt that she felt sexy around men and adored it when men pursued her but she was too scared to do much more than kiss and cuddle. Crystal had fought off a few fumbled attempts at sex in the dark up against the wall down near the canal with men who had been persuasive enough to get her down there but they had been unsuccessful because as soon as they put their hands under her skirt or tried to put her hand inside their trousers she froze.
The only consummated encounter as such had been a boy who had pulled out his penis and rubbed it on her leg while they were kissing. She hadn't even noticed that he had it out until he came all over her best sheers. She’d slapped his face and ran all the way home.
Crystal had not noticed the man who had taken a keen interest her for some time. The man stalked her until he knew her day to day routine. Crystal presented as Colin during the working week and transformed into Crystal on Friday evening after work and remained presenting as Crystal until Monday morning.
On Friday night’s Crystal went out to The Black Sheep pub because it was a safe space for her kind. She had befriended Wendy and Brittany, two other passable and pretty crossdressers around the same age. The man had no interest in Wendy or Brittany. Despite or perhaps because of their feminine good looks and overt sexuality they attracted a certain kind of man who admired their type. It came as no surprise to the man to find out that these men were in fact referred to as ‘Admirers’.
What the man disliked about Wendy and Brittany was that they were promiscuous. The three ‘girls’ would gather at the pub and natter whilst gentlemen bought them drinks and asked them to dance, which all three of them did but as the evening drew to a close Wendy and Brittany always left with men and not always the same men. Saturday night was drag queen bingo and Crystal, Wendy and Brittany played and were entertained by the two sassy drag queen hostesses. After bingo it was a sing-along led by the drag queens and a gay guy playing piano. Crystal would go home alone while Wendy and Brittany were picked up by their regulars.
The man had followed Wendy and Brittany to see what they got up to. Wendy lived by herself and took the men back to her flat but Brittany was actually a married man with two children and she usually ended up down by the canal, shagged up against the wall or on an old mattress under a cut-out in the brick wall. One night to his disgust he saw Brittany take on a procession of men one after the other or two at time both anally and orally. He found her repellent.
Crystal was a different fish. She was just as attractive as Wendy and Brittany, probably more so, and had caught the attention of plenty of Admirers but other than a kiss and a cuddle she seemed unable or unwilling to consummate sexual congress. The man listened to the Admirers in The Black Sheep talk about the ‘trannies’ as they called them; comparing notes. Crystal was considered a ‘cock-teaser’ and there was a standing bet amongst the men that whoever finally got to shag Crystal would get free drinks for a week from the other Admirers.
Crystal was a perfect fit for what he had planned. The man was indeed an Admirer, but a special kind of Admirer. He wanted a ‘tranny’ he could keep for his very own; a special woman who he could train to behave just how he wanted her to behave and serve him and only him!
Yes… Crystal was prefect!
Then
Mrs Maureen Cashmore was what Colin’s mother referred to as: ‘mutton dressed as lamb’. She had to be at least forty-five but she was dressed in a light grey high-waisted A-line skirt which showed a lot of leg, a white rayon long-sleeved frill-necked blouse, patent leather black high heels and tan tights. The jacket that matched the skirt was draped across the back of chair behind the cash register.
Her highlighted tresses were permed in shoulder-length bouncy curls, framing a pretty face enhanced by cat eyeliner, heavy mascara, creamy bright eyeshadow, rouged cheeks and red lipstick. Her costume jewellery was large, sparkly and clunky.
Colin paid attention to all these things because they mattered to his alter-ego Crystal Divine. Crystal liked the suit, shoes and blouse and would dearly love to have the woman’s makeup skills. It was the kind of outfit she would like to wear around town on a Saturday afternoon before changing into something a little retro for an evening in the pub… if she ever got the nerve to do so.
Maureen met Colin at the door of the Oxfam at five o’clock as agreed. She ushered him inside and closed the door flipping the sign over to read ‘Closed’ before leading him over to her desk next to the register where a tea service had been laid out. All of the blinds had been closed and the overhead lighting switched off but enough light to see was projected by the standard lamps dotted around the small store.
The very same pair of cherry-red patent leather high heels with the four inch heels were laid out on the desk.
Colin blushed.
“What’s your name sweetheart?” Maureen asked.
“Colin. Err… Colin Divine,” Colin stuttered.
“Not that name silly. What is you femme name? What do you call yourself when you are dressed as a woman?” Mrs Cashmore put her hand over Colin’s to keep it from trembling.
His face went bright red and he looked away from Maureen Cashmore, unable to meet her gaze.
“Don’t be ashamed dear. There’s plenty do it and plenty come here to buy their clothes,” she patted his hand.
“How… how did you know?” Colin whispered.
“Well darling you have a few little tells; your nervousness around ladies footwear and apparel for starters. You also need to ensure you get all of the nailpolish from under your cuticles and remove the last skerricks of eyeliner from your eyelids. Most wouldn’t notice but a practiced observer like myself can see those little signals quite easily,” Mrs Cashmore began to pour tea.
Colin wondered how many Mondays he had gone to work with the vestiges of makeup still on him. Had any of the office girls noticed? Surely not! They would have said something. They would have teased him.
“Tell me all about it,” Maureen handed Colin a tea with milk and two sugars without asking him what he wanted.
There was something about the matronly but pretty woman that made Colin feel comfortable in her presence and he told her everything.
“So you’re just a beginner then. But you have the right stature and build to present quite convincingly,” Mrs Cashmore smiled at him and sipped her tea.
“So how do you know so much about men like me?” Colin asked.
“Well I guess over the years I’ve seen so many of your type in here and I started just being friendly and offering advice without being intrusive. Then a couple of crossdressers actually asked me direct questions about how to pass and I helped them out. I suppose I’m kind of like a stepmother to some around here,” Maureen dunked a McVitie's digestive biscuit in her tea and daintily nipped at it.
“I have two girls, Wendy and Brittany, who shop here regularly and take my advice. I might introduce you to them at some time but first I would need to get you sorted,” she dunked and swallowed the remainder of her biscuit.
Sitting talk to this woman, immersed in the cloud of her flowery perfume and listening to the slight Scottish lilt to her voice was comforting somehow and Colin instantly trusted her.
“Crystal… Crystal Divine,” Colin felt a little embarrassed saying his femme name out loud.
“What a delightful and appropriate name,” Maureen’s face lit up in a beatific smile.
She picked up the red high heels and dangled them in front of Colin’s face.
“Shall we see if they fit?” she smiled at him conspiratorially.
Colin nodded.
“But not like this. Not while you are wearing your male attire. Come back tomorrow at the same time and bring your best wig and makeup and you can take a few items off the racks and we’ll see what we have to start with,” She patted his hand again.
“Are you sure Mrs Cashmore? Do you really want to help me?” Colin was very pleased that she had offered.
“Of course you silly boy. Now finish your tea and get about your way. I need to get home and make Mister Cashmore his dinner,” she patted his hand a final time and made herself busy getting ready to close up the shop.
The next day Colin turned up at Oxfam at the appointed time both excited and nervous. Mrs Cashmore ushered him inside and closed and locked the door. Colin felt quite the conspirator.
Mrs Cashmore was wearing another suit similar to the one she had worn the day before but this time it was mauve. He also noticed that she was wearing seamed stockings which made him envious of her.
“Look Crystal. There’s really nothing to be nervous about. This is a safe space and you are safe with me. The best way to get started is for you to go into the dressing room there and transform for me and we’ll see what Crystal looks like. I’ve put a skirt and a blouse that should fit you and those red high heels you like in there,” she turned Colin towards one of the dressing rooms and patted him on the buttocks to send him on his way.
Colin felt a little silly and anxious at first as he emptied out the shopping bag he was carrying onto the little table Mrs Cashmore had put in the fitting room. A platinum blonde wig stuffed with newsprint so that it kept its shape and wrapped in a hair net fell out on the table along with a makeup case, a pair of pink nylon knickers and matching bra, a package of Pretty Polly tights.
He pulled the curtain closed and stripped feeling very vulnerable being naked and alone in the store. His nightmare was that Mrs Cashmore would rip open the curtain while he was halfway through transforming and all of his family and workmates would be standing there laughing at him.
That didn’t happen of course and as soon as Crystal began applying her makeup, her attention was diverted to being as careful as possible putting on her cosmetics so as to try and impress Mrs Cashmore. She put on her knickers and bra, stuffing the cups with old pairs of tights to fill them and then slipped into her tights, marvelling at the luxurious feel of the silky garment as it slid up her legs. If Crystal was a real woman she would wear sheer tights every day she thought. Next she stepped into the skirt and pulled on the blouse, still unfamiliar with it buttoning on the opposite side to her men’s shirts.
She straightened the blouse and tucked it into her skirt which she zipped closed and adjusted so that the hem was level five inches above her knees. She put on her wig and brushed it out. It had a fringe that came just above her eyebrows and the nap fell to her shoulders. Putting on the high heels was quite a feat as she had never worn heels this high before but they fit perfectly and she was able to balance of them and check herself out in the full-length mirror.
Crystal was amazed at her transformation every time she did it. How she went from being a short skinny man to a svelte sophisticated woman never ceased to astonish Crystal.
She took a deep breath and pulled aside the curtain and stepped out of the booth, unsure of her footing like a new-born foal.
Mrs Cashmore suppressed the urge to laugh. Crystal might see herself as a beautiful sophisticated woman but the reality was that she was an awkward scrawny man in a skirt wearing costume makeup and a bus driver wig but she would never tell Crystal that and ruin their budding relationship and take away any confidence she had.
But Maureen Cashmore knew that she had her work cut out for her.
“You look beautiful Crystal. Come over here and let me look at you a little more closely,” Mrs Cashmore said.
Crystal staggered over towards Mrs Cashmore and was grateful when the woman reached out and grabbed her to stop her falling.
“I’m not used to wearing such high heels,” Crystal apologised as she clung to Mrs Cashmore.
“Nothing I can’t teach you. I can teach you quite a few things in fact,” Mrs Cashmore smiled at Crystal and she suddenly realised how beautiful Mrs Cashmore was.
Being held in her embrace, feeling her breasts pushing into her, smelling her perfume and looking into her cat-like green eyes Crystal suddenly found herself becoming concupiscent. Crystal was well endowed and her erection tented her skirt and she hoped like hell that Mrs Cashmore did not notice.
But Mrs Cashmore did.
“You don’t know how to tuck do you?” she pointed at the offending protrusion in Crystal's skirt.
Crystal was mortified. Mrs Cashmore had noticed that she was aroused. This was a constant problem for Crystal. Transforming was a ritual that was almost religious to her. As she progressively morphed from Colin to Crystal her psyche changed with her appearance; as her physical semblance changed, so did her mind-set. She actually became the woman she saw in the mirror. Nothing of Colin was left… there was only Crystal.
But there was also the fetishic aspect of the transformation: the delightful feeling of silky sleek nylons, knickers, and slips, the taste of lipstick, the scent of cosmetics and perfume, the luscious sensation of the hem of her skirt tickling her thighs. There was something downright sexual as well as psychological going on which usually resulted in Crystal becoming tumescent.
The most obvious way that Crystal dealt with this was to masturbate. This was part of the ritual anyway but usually occurred later, when she had been dressed for a while and could no longer resist the temptation to relive herself. On occasions when she didn’t want to be hindered by a pesky erection to spoil the lines of her clothes she simply masturbated before she transformed but she hadn't today and could hardly do so now.
“I’m sorry Mrs Cashmore. What do you mean by tuck?” Crystal hoped that by paying attention to the subject of tucking rather than her erection it would diffuse the issue.
But the two were intrinsically linked.
“There are several methods of tucking; it depends on what you are trying to achieve. If you want your pubis to resemble the female form then it will require the use of cosmetic or surgical tape. If you just want to keep your genitals from ruining the outward appearance of your clothing, usually the gusset of your tights and knickers will do the trick,” Mrs Cashmore explained.
“But I’m afraid either way you will have to be flaccid to achieve a tuck and once you are in the condition you find yourself in now Crystal, the only solution is to dissipate the tumescence,” Mrs Cashmore said a little sternly.
“I’m sorry Mrs Cashmore, what do you mean?” Crystal was still blushed with embarrassment.
“Oh for god sake young lady; you need to do this,” Mrs Cashmore stepped forward and slipped her hand under Crystal’s skirt.
It all happened so fast.
Maureen Cashmore was so close that Crystal could smell her perfume and feel her sweet breath on her cheek and her breasts pressing into her own. Mrs Cashmore took Crystal’s erection in her fingers through the slinky layers of nylon and softly caressed it.
The sensation was astounding. Crystal had frequently masturbated with panties and nylons wrapped around her cock but the feel of her organ being squeezed by this beautiful woman through her soft silky knickers and tights was like a thousand butterflies fluttering against her tender parts.
Mrs Cashmore held Crystal close and tenderly caressed her pulsing phallus through her knickers and tights. She was impressed with the length and girth of Crystal’s penis and she began to slowly stroke it, feeling the little globules of pre-ejaculate leak from Crystal’s glans and soak into her knickers. Mrs Cashmore used a steady rhythm, the swish of Crystal's knickers rubbing on her tights gusset the only sound in the room as Mrs Cashmore worked her fingers back and forth along Crystal’s throbbing cock.
“Ah…” Crystal sobbed quietly as she ejaculated into her knickers.
The feel of the gossamer garments caressing her turgid, tender parts and the unrelenting feathery pressure of Mrs Cashmore’s fingers was all too much. As she flooded her knickers with warm ejaculate Crystal's knees began to buckle and she held onto Mrs Cashmore to keep from falling.
Mrs Cashmore put her lips to Crystal’s and kissed her softly, slipping her tongue into Crystal’s mouth. Mrs Cashmore could feel her own knickers becoming damp but she would take care of that problem at home with the help of Mr Cashmore.
She softly kissed Crystal as she held her tight and expressed the last of her issue into her knickers and tights.
“Hold your skirt away from your crotch Crystal, we don’t want to get semen stains on it,” Mrs Cashmore said matter-of-factly, as if nothing particularly novel had just happened.
Crystal regained her composure as Mrs Cashmore disengaged and went to fetch some tissues. Not that Crystal had much in the way of composure, standing unsteadily on her high heels holding her skirt away from her semen-soaked knickers.
Mrs Cashmore returned with tissues, took a handful and dabbed at Crystal’s tights, soaking up the gobbets of ejaculate that had pooled in the front. Then she pulled them down around Crystal’s ankles and had her kick them off.
“Now take off the skirt and knickers and go and bring back a fresh pair of tights and knickers,” Mrs Cashmore said as casually as if she was asking Crystal to fetch a newspaper.
She handed Crystal a plastic bag in which to put her soiled underwear.
Crystal returned from the dressing room naked from the waist down holding her high heels, a fresh package of tights and clean pair of knickers.
“Ok Crystal; step into you tights and pull them up to your knees,” Mrs Cashmore instructed.
“But what about my knickers?” Crystal asked as she took the new tights out of their packaging.
“Ok darling. You might see a lot of women wearing their tights over their knickers but they are doing it wrong. The aesthetic is so much better when you can see the pretty panties properly. Why go to the trouble of buying nice knickers if you are going to spoil the appearance by putting the gusset of your tights over them?” Mrs Cashmore explained.
“Also for the crossdressing community putting your knickers over your tights helps hold your tuck in place as I’m about to demonstrate,” she continued and stepped up to Crystal who was standing with the new tights pulled up as far as her knees.
“Now, I’m going to touch your privates again Crystal but this time it is for very practical purposes,” Mrs Cashmore proceeded to show Crystal how to tuck.
She explained the procedure to Crystal as she did it.
“I’m going to push your testes back up inside of something called the inguinal canals. This is where they were before they dropped in puberty. With your index fingers, locate your testes and begin pushing them toward your backside. The next step takes practice: gently push them back and up, curling your fingers inward toward you as you do,” Crystal felt uncomfortable as Mrs Cashmore did this but it wasn’t really painful.
“Now pull up your tights a little and pull your penis and scrotum back between your legs and pull your tights all the way up and get them snug and put your knickers on and pull them up too. Your knickers and tights should now hold everything in place,” Mrs Cashmore helped Crystal do this.
“How does that feel?” Mrs Cashmore asked.
“It sort of feels awkward but I can see it looks fantastic,” Crystal beamed as Mrs Cashmore held a small mirror down low so Crustal could see the results.
“Looks just like a woman's pubis doesn’t it?” Mrs Cashmore grinned.
“That will work fine for around the house or just for a little while but if you're going out I strongly suggest you tape everything in place with cosmetic or surgical tape. Now untuck and do it again for me a couple of times so I can see you’ve got it right,” Mrs Cashmore instructed.
When Mrs Cashmore was happy that Crystal had tucking mastered she looked Crystal in the eyes and spoke forthrightly.
“You really are a beginner at this and you have amazing potential but you have so much to learn. You think that you look very feminine and beautiful after transforming yourself from Colin to Crystal but the reality is you would be clocked on the streets in thirty seconds. Let’s start all over shall we? First off makeup…” Mrs Cashmore spent the remainder of the evening having Crystal get her makeup right.
Over the next few weeks Mrs Cashmore taught Crystal all about makeup, styling wigs, how to speak with a feminine inflection, how to walk, how to naturally use feminine gestures.
Mrs Cashmore never touched Crystal intimately again but Crystal never forgot the delightful feeling of having Maureen caress her genitals and kiss her. It fuelled her masturbatory imagination for weeks.
Now
Colin was no more. There was only Crystal.
After two weeks of confinement Crystal had been conditioned to obey the rules. She had no other choice. What she eventually admitted to herself was that living full time as Crystal and abiding by the rules was quite comforting. She liked the routine of it, the regularity of it and hadn’t Colin often dreamt of living his life full time as Crystal?
She wondered what was going on in the outside world. After a week’s absence she would be missed. Colin worked in the offices of a stationery manufacturer. He didn’t have many friends there but there were work colleagues who would miss him and a client base whose accounts needed to be managed.
His family wouldn’t miss him until he missed a birthday or some other family occasion. His tyrannical father had no real love for his diminutive Nancy-boy son who would rather play dressup with his cousins than kick a football with his dad. Colin was useless at football and all sports anyway and had leaned into the arts which at first his mom had encouraged but had succumbed to her overbearing husband’s wishes and she then discouraged his participation in theatre and entertainment.
His mother and father were glad when Colin left home and they had undertaken a tacit agreement to meet only on special occasions. The only show of affection he had received before Colin left home was the gift of a pair of emerald earrings which his mother had given him, telling him that they were a family heirloom and that Colin should give them to his wife when he married.
“Fat chance of that Nancy ever marrying,” his father had growled as he closed the door on Colin with a thunderclap of finality.
The only people Crystal had regular contact with who cared about her were Wendy and Brittany but she knew little about them outside of their shared adoration and devotion to crossdressing.
The post would build up, Colin’s rent and other bills would remain unpaid, his clients would pester his boss. Someone would miss Colin Divine. But who? And when?
There was a comfortable predictability in her life such as it was. Crystal explored her cell, because that’s what it was, a gilded prison cell, and had found that she had everything she needed. The bathroom was a small practical space with toiletries still in the packaging. A good quality razor, toothbrushes, hair brushes, scissors, tweezers were provided along with toothpaste, razor blades, soap, shampoo, conditioner, mouthwash, and other beauty products.
There was a shower, no bath but that was unsurprising given the room was likely a converted basement or coal cellar. It was newly tiled and functional. Hanging near the shower was an enema bag fitted with a hose and under the sink was a squeezable bulb douche. Crystal knew what they were although she had never used them before. The rules mandated that she use them daily and she didn’t want to think about why.
Crystal was a connoisseur of antique furniture and was fascinated by the immense wooden repository which took up the whole wall of the main room. It was a magnificent piece.
It was an antique Italian neoclassical burl walnut armoire with bronze mounts. It had two full-height doors on each side which opened to reveal an immense hanging space. The two cabinet doors at the centre opened to reveal a cavernous storage area fitted with shelves and a vanity mirror with a light fitted above it. Below that were four exterior doors with a graceful bow-front shape that provided visual contour to the massive piece, inside of which four drawers and a shoe rack were concealed. The exterior was swathed in exquisite burl mahogany bordered with satinwood marquetry in an intricate floral pattern.
It was a fine piece of practical art.
The clothes that she had worn to The Black Sheep the night she had been kidnapped were hanging in the hanging space along with an assortment of skirts, dresses and blouses. Her high heels were neatly arranged on a rack on the floor of the armoire along with three other pairs in black, red and white.
Three wig stands were lined up on a shelf and her platinum blonde wig was fitted to one and the other two had brunette and black-haired wigs fitted to them. They were styled identically: shoulder-length tresses cut into fringed bobs.
What Crystal found a little disturbing at first was that all of the shoes and clothing fit her perfectly, as did the abundant array of lingerie she found neatly arranged in the drawers.
The man who was keeping her prisoner knew her sizes. What else did he know about her?
The centre section of the armoire was fitted with shelves filled with cosmetics, perfumes, and makeup sponges and brushes. Above the shelves was a vanity mirror fitted with good quality lights. There was a walnut stool on which she could sit to put on her makeup.
When she followed the rules and daily duties to the letter she was rewarded accordingly. If not, she spent the day in total darkness alone. She began to crave listening to the disembodied voice that came through the door and looking at the hand that came through the cat-flap to deliver her food and necessary items and to take away the trash and her laundry.
Twice a week she pushed the little laundry basket containing her soiled clothes and bedding through the flap and the next day it was returned freshly laundered and smelling wonderfully of fabric softener. Her meals were delivered twice a day: cereal in the morning with toast, a salad for her to put in the refrigerator for lunch and a hot meal in the evenings. There was wine in the fridge and milk which was replenished regularly every second day but not much else. She realised that her diet was being controlled but she never ate much anyway.
She made no unnecessary noise; she had soon realised the futility of shouting or crying for help. She kept her room clean using the cleaning requisites provided and kept herself meticulously clean as she always had. She exercised in the morning running on the spot and doing a retinue of pushups, sit-ups and jumping jacks. She had no sneakers to wear but she did have tights and a t-shirt to wear while she worked out.
And of course, as directed, she presented as Crystal at all times. Not that she really had any choice; it was that or present naked. The only exception was before she went to bed she removed her makeup and wig but she wore satin babydoll pyjamas to bed and in her head she was still Crystal. Using her femme voice came naturally. Colin had an effeminate lilt to his voice anyway and Mrs Cashmore had educated her in practicing a pleasing inflection which Crystal automatically adopted when she transformed.
The daily routine was easy enough to follow. She had very little body hair but she shaved away any rogue strands that might pop up on her body. Mrs Cashmore had showed her how to shape her eyebrows with tweezers and manicure scissors. Shaving the fluff from her face before applying makeup was a routine she was used to and as she had a ‘day face’ and ‘evening face’ she shaved before each makeup session.
She found the douching repulsive but she didn’t argue and soon learned how to use the douche in the shower. She was glad that her diet was restricted because what she evacuated was distasteful enough; she didn’t want to think what she might expel on a diet of curry or steak, liver and onions that her mother regarded as staple meals when she lived at home.
But she had to admit that knowing that she was totally clean inside and out was a somewhat pleasant feeling and made her feel confident.
Every morning the disembodied voice greeted her at the same time. The man obviously worked a fulltime job and Crystal wondered how that might work to her advantage in her bid to escape.
That voice was her only contact with the outside world. In the morning the man was usually brusque and in a hurry. His commands were sharp and short. On her breakfast tray would be a note telling her what to wear each day in the evenings and on weekends when the man was home from work. The man obviously knew the entire contents of the armoire because he was very specific, right down to what hosiery she was to wear.
Once she had settled down and behaved herself and began abiding by the rules, in the evenings the man would pull a chair up to the door and open the viewing ports and cat-flap and talk to her. At first it was disturbing how much he knew about her, but he must have planned her kidnapping meticulously so it wasn’t that surprising. What was surprising was the rich timbre of his voice and his obvious passion and desire for her. Without seeing his face she replaced it with the face she had imagined her Mills and Boon paramour wore.
He complimented her on her obedience and always spoke flatteringly of her clothes, hair and makeup but was not averse to making suggestions or offering little criticisms:
“You should have brushed out the blonde wig a little longer so that it sat better.”
“I liked the red leather skirt and white satin blouse with the red high heels but you need to make sure your hem is straight at all times.”
“I should have stipulated the tan tights with the burgundy pencil dress; not the black.”
“I liked that dusky hue to your voice this morning.”
Crystal soon figured out that the man was watching her somehow and then she discovered the camera lens mounted in the corner of her bedsit and another in her bathroom.
The man never overtly threatened her but he refused to be drawn into a conversation about why he held her captive, how long he was going to hold her and what was his purpose in keeping her hostage. He would discuss the outside world but steered the conversation towards the daily news, fashion and the social pages of the newspaper which he read to her. He also supplied her with Mills and Boons and other bodice-rippers for her entertainment as she had no TV or wireless.
Anything to do with Crystal’s family was off limits as was anything to do with the man’s life outside of the house in which he lived.
But for all of that, Crystal craved their social intercourse. He was someone to talk to and he was educated and well versed in a number of subjects that fascinated her.
She knew what was happening to her. The term Stockholm Syndrome had only recently become popular but Crystal knew what it was: a condition in which hostages develop a psychological bond with their captors during captivity resulting from a rather specific set of circumstances, namely the power imbalances contained in hostage-taking, and kidnapping. Emotional bonds were formed between captors and captives, during intimate time together, but these bonds were quite irrational in light of the danger or risk endured by the victims.
But that is what was happening in the basement of the house on Cooper Street. Even though Crystal didn’t know her captor’s name she developed an emotional bond with him despite the circumstances. He knew so much about her, more than her friends or family, he nurtured her and rewarded her when she was good and punished her when she was bad.
The demands for sex came during the third week of her capture.
She knew it was coming despite the man’s mostly pleasant demeanour. Why else would he hold her captive and have her presenting only as Crystal? There was no money for a ransom and Crystal held no state secrets.
The man’s emotions were torn apart. One part of him wanted to kick open the door, throw Crystal on the bed and ravage her. The other more genteel and rational part of him wanted him to take his time and seduce her; to have her acquiesce to his advances. At first she would be tentative, anxious and confused but like the heroine in her Mills and Boons she would submit willingly.
But watching the beautiful creature he held captive in his basement on the black and white screen was no substitute for actually touching her. When he spoke to her through the door he could smell her perfume, he could hear the delightful inflection in her voice when she was excited about something. He had seen her many times up close before he captured her although she had never noticed him and he watched her on his screen as she went about her day in his cellar.
He did not watch the camera fitted in the bathroom. He did not want to see the necessities that she carried out in order to transform for him. He liked to watch her select her clothes and lay them out after she had carefully applied her makeup and fitted her wig. Watching her stepping into her hose and lingerie always aroused him but she aroused him easily anyway.
The way she dangled a high heel from her foot when her legs were crossed, the way she absentmindedly straightened her skirt as she stood, the way she straightened the seams of her stockings, the way she preened in front of the mirror… every little thing she did was delightful.
Passion and lust finally overcame reason but the man would only go so far. His lustful self argued that the glory hole had been cut in the door for a specific purpose and his reasoned self argued that it was merely a peephole for him to spy on her while he was seated, talking to her through the door.
The man had not brought Crystal her dinner but she could hear him moving around upstairs so she knew he was home. Maybe he had visitors? But he never had visitors.
She eventually heard his footsteps on the stairs and she scurried to the door like Pavlov’s dog.
Instead of the cat-flat opening at the bottom of the door the glory hole opened and an engorged penis was pushed through the hole.
Crystal was shocked and stepped away from the door.
“You know what to do Crystal,” the man growled.
‘Had he been drinking?’ she thought.
He sounded different.
Crystal was repelled by the appendage. It was long, thick and veiny with a shiny pink glans and a tiny bubble of clear pre-ejaculate had formed at the eye.
It looked powerful and evil and she was repulsed by it.
Crystal was disappointed that the man had resorted to such a clumsy and callous form of seduction; if that’s what this was.
“Take it away! It’s disgusting!” Crystal cried.
The lights went out and she had no dinner.
That was Thursday night.
The lights came on Friday morning long enough for her to use the bathroom and dress and then the glory hole opened and the man thrust his appendage through it.
Crystal just sat on the bed refusing to move but unable to look away from the hard sleek flesh poking through the door.
The lights went out and she was not fed that day.
Nor the next, nor the next, nor the next.
Crystal knew that she couldn’t continue this way. She was hungry and living in total darkness except for the one hour of light the man granted her. Her days were torture.
She knew the man could easily come through the door and overpower her. She was slight and undernourished and half-blind and she could tell the man was powerful even though all she had seen was his thick, muscled forearm when he pushed things through the cat-flap at the bottom of the door.
The man wanted her to submit. To begrudgingly but willingly bend to his will. And eventually she did.
When the lights came on on the fifth day of her torture she carried out her ablutions, put on her makeup, perfume, knickers and nylons and dressed only in a satin full-slip and high heels she tentatively approached the door.
The man heard the click-clack of her high heels and he flung open the viewing port. She was coming towards the door. Even though she had rushed getting ready for the day she looked beautiful and alluring. Her green eyes embellished by her heavy eye makeup, her high cheekbones rouged, her lips all the more fuller coated in bright red lipstick. Her slim body contoured by the pink satin slip, her long legs encased in silky-sheer tan nylons.
He flipped open the cover on the glory hole and pushed his erect penis through it. His breathing was heavy and it became heavier as she approached the door. He breathed in her perfume and his eyes met hers and he could see the fear and trepidation in them. Part of him despised himself for causing that fear and he felt very sorry for Crystal but the dark half of him delighted in the consternation he had caused her and her eventual surrender to his demands.
Crystal looked away from the man’s icy-blue eyes staring at her through the viewing port and she looked down at his engorged manliness poking through the glory hole. For a fleeting second she thought of grabbing it and twisting it violently or raking it with her long painted nails but she knew she would do neither.
The phallus was fully erect and rampant: silky skin with steel beneath, blue veins below the translucent smooth flesh, the mushroom-shaped head smooth and shiny. Crystal had to admit to herself that it was indeed a magnificent specimen of manhood.
Crystal stopped short of the door and returned her gaze to the man’s eyes which seemed emotionless. She sensed that he condemned himself for what he was doing but somehow she understood his frustration. He had held her captive for over three weeks and had watched her, always dressed sophisticatedly or provocatively depending on how her captor demanded she dress. She could imagine the frustration she caused him, like a beautiful butterfly kept in a glass jar she was easily observed but if one was to reach in and touch her they would remove the pretty colours from her wings and if they touched her too often she would lose all of her colour and beauty.
Crystal was aware that she was partly blaming herself for her captor’s impatience and frustration which she knew was ridiculous but the two of them had developed a rapport, a relationship of sorts, during her captivity and she felt an emotional bond to the man.
She cautiously reached out and with one fingertip she gingerly touched the flesh which seemed to shudder at her touch.
The man gasped as he felt Crystal’s fingertip caress his engorged manhood. Finite sparks of delight rippled from the place where she touched him. Crystal saw his eyes gleam and heard his sharp intake of breath.
A second finger joined the first and she softly and hesitantly stroked the tender flesh and she heard the man gasp a second time.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Crystal could see the need in the man’s eyes; the yearning, the devotion to her. His desperation was palpable; it was almost like he was begging her.
She circled two fingers around the corona of the man’s glans which was so big that her fingertips barely met. A string of silvery pre-seminal fluid oozed from the eye of the man’s penis and Crystal became fascinated by it. She had caused this. She was responsible for the man’s responses.
The man sighed as Crystal’s fingers circled the head of his penis. Her touch was delightful and seductive; there was nothing seedy or repulsive about it. Waves of tingling delight ran down the shaft of his penis and he desperately wanted her to take his manhood in her hand and stroke it.
“Please,” he whispered and Crystal returned her gaze to the man’s eyes which were now full of needful respect.
Crystal unconsciously licked her upper lip with the tip of her tongue and the man’s penis shuddered in her grasp. He was begging her with his words and his gaze. For this single moment in time the power dynamic had been reversed. She could easily hurt him or just walk away and leave him frustrated.
Crustal took a step closer to the door so that her eyes were mere inches from the viewing port; the man’s engorged cock level with her thighs.
She stared directly into the man’s eyes and gripped his turgid weapon with all of the fingers of right hand and began to stroke it. The viscous rope of pre-ejaculate was gathered by her little finger and lubricated the steel-like shaft as she ran her fingers up and down it cautiously. She could feel the power in it, the heat, the masculinity and forcefulness in the sinews and flesh.
The man’s knees gave way and he clung onto the doorframe to stop himself from collapsing when Crystal began to stroke his organ. The closeness of her body through the door, her beautiful face framed in the viewing port, the musky scent of her perfume, the look of trepidation which concealed an undercurrent of quiet control in her emerald-green eyes, the feel of her silken grip on his manhood; it was overwhelming.
Waves of pleasure radiated from his throbbing manhood as Crystal slowly and featherlightly caressed it with her soft fingers.
The penis erupted in her hand but Crystal just stood her ground and glared at the man through the viewing port. She projected her shame and her disappointment in him with her gaze but the man cared not. He was enraptured by the orgasm that coursed through his body and his eyes portrayed only pleasure and lust.
She felt the scalding issue splash on her wrist and spatter on her thigh but she held onto the quivering spongy organ and stroked it harder, squeezing the semen from the erupting vessel until it was drained.
The man sighed and gasped and struggled to stay upright as the beautiful woman on the other side of the door gently but precociously milked him of his seed. He realised that for that moment in time she held the power; he would do anything for her to continue to stroke his quivering knot.
When the man began to recover from his orgasm Crystal let go of his organ. Her eyes slowly glazed over, her hands hung loosely at her sides, the fingers of her right hand dripped semen onto the floor, her slip soaked up the spend he had spattered on her thigh. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. The enormity of what had just happened; the change in dynamic hit her with the force of a comet.
The man regained his composure and extracted his cock from the glory hole. He wiped himself with the tissues he had brought just for that purpose. He had used them often enough when he masturbated looking at Crystal through the viewing port.
“Clean yourself up. Put on the burgundy pencil dress with the white satin blouse and tan nylons,” the man said coldly.
“I’ll be back with your breakfast,” he closed the viewing port and the glory hole.
Crystal went into the bathroom and removed her slip and dropped it in the washing basket. She washed her hands in the sink and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She hated the woman looking back at her. She had acquiesced far too easily; she should have stuck it out. The man would have seen reason or let her go eventually, now she had fuelled the fire.
What concerned the most was that her own penis was engorged, trapped inside her knickers and tights and she desperately wanted to relieve the stress of it but she knew the man had a camera in her bathroom. The man had confessed that he never watched her taking her ablutions because he found it distasteful and she deserved privacy while she did so.
Crystal guiltily eased her penis from along her perineum and freed it from her knickers and tights. She reached into the washing basket and took out the full-slip and held it to her nose as she masturbated into the sink, breathing in the heady scent of the man’s ejaculate. She wept briefly afterwards, disgusted with herself. Then she regained her composure and dressed as she had been ordered to.
After breakfast the man had her sit next to the door while he read her the morning newspaper and they both drank tea. Neither of them mentioned what had just happened, they chatted like it was any other day.
But things had changed and there was no going back.
To be continued
Author’s note: By way of explanation the word ‘pantyhose’ invokes an image of sheer hosiery which incorporates a fitted ‘panty’ sometimes made of the same sheer fabric as the legs and sometimes made of a heavier blend of lycra/nylon. The term pantyhose originated in the United States and in Britain these garments are called ‘sheer tights’. The term tights alone refers to all such garments regardless of whether they are sheer lingerie or sturdy outerwear. My hypothesis is that the Brits never adopted the word ‘pantyhose’ because they use the word ‘knickers’ rather than ‘panties’. I use both vernaculars in this story because it is set in the UK but hopefully it appeals worldwide audiences.
Oh… and don’t forget to leave me a comment or two.
The Captured Crossdresser Chapter 2
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Chapter Two – Ba Ba Black Sheep
Author's note: I have changed the cover art after a complaint from one of my readers. This is however the same story.
Then
Mrs Cashmore played Professor Higgins to Crystal’s Eliza Doolittle as she educated the young, inexperienced crossdresser in the art of female impersonation.
After many lessons over two months Maureen Cashmore decided that Crystal Divine was just about ready to come out to the world.
“Tomorrow when you come to my shop, bring your jewellery and we will add the finishing touches to your transition and I have a gift for you and another surprise,” Mrs Cashmore said to Colin as she ushered him out the door of the Oxfam shop one Thursday night.
“You’ve been so gracious and supportive of me Mrs Cashmore. How can I ever repay you?” Colin gushed as he halted briefly in the doorway.
“My reward is seeing you as Crystal and knowing that I had some small part in helping you become her,” Mrs Cashmore closed the door on him.
The next evening Crystal dressed in a nice suit consisting of a tight pencil skirt with a kick-pleat in the back, the hem resting four inches above her knee. She had a matching long-sleeve jacket and wore a white satin blouse under it. The suit was dark red and was very corporate.
Under her clothes she was wearing sheer flesh-toned tights and had tucked with tape to keep it tight. Over her tights she was wearing white satin full-cut panties and she wore a matching bra inside of which was the present that Mrs Cashmore had promised her.
“They are called breastforms dear and they are made from good quality silicone and are as realistic as the real thing,” Mrs Cashmore said as she unwrapped Crystal's present.
Crystal was delighted with the prosthetic breasts which looked so realistic, even the nipples and areola looked natural. She had been using her old tights to pad her bras up until now and although they did the job they were not on a patch on the breastforms.
Mrs Cashmore showed Crystal how to fit them, carefully cleaning her chest area with an alcohol wipe and applying three-pieces of double-sided tape to the back of each breastform and then placing the forms gently against her chest and holding them in place for five to ten seconds to allow the adhesive to bond and then immediately putting them in the cups of her brassiere.
As with her shoes and clothes, Mrs Cashmore had an uncanny knack of getting Crystal's size just right and the breastforms were in perfect proportion to her body.
Crystal was wearing her platinum blonde wig and black patent leather four-inch high-heels.
“Now for the accessories. Let’s see what you have brought me,” Mrs Cashmore said enthusiastically.
Mrs Cashmore’s enthusiasm disappeared when she saw what Crystal had brought. It was a mismatched jumble of junk jewellery that Colin had purchased at the flea market.
“I'm sorry darling but everything except those gorgeous earrings are trash,” Mrs Cashmore poked her long manicured fingernail through the pile of junk jewellery rescuing the emerald earrings that Crystal’s mother had given her.
Crystal told Mrs Cashmore the story behind the earrings.
“Let’s put them on you and we’ll see what I have in the store to go with them shall we?” Mrs Cashmore smiled at Crystal, making her feel better.
In the early seventies hippies and bohemian types adopted the wearing of earrings and the once-taboo quickly turned into a fad, catching on in the celebrity community, with musicians, performers and athletes beginning to pierce their ears as well so when Colin went to the local beauty salon and got his ears pierced it wasn’t considered a big deal.
Crystal had tried wearing clip-on earrings but they didn’t sit right and drop earrings often fell off and there wasn't the range and selection as there was for earrings designed for pierced ears.
Crustal put on her earrings while Mrs Cashmore scoured the store’s costume jewellery collection for a matching necklace and bracelet. She found the items she was looking for: a train of small synthetic emeralds set in a silver-plated nickel chain and a matching bracelet donated by one of the local parishioners along with a ring of similar construction set with a large synthetic emerald donated by the same lady.
“Here let me help you put these on,” Mrs Cashmore stood behind Crystal and closed the clasp on her necklace and then did the same with the bracelet.
The ring was a little tight on Crystal’s ring finger when she tried to put it on but she managed to get it over her knuckle and then the fit was snug but tolerable.
Mrs Cashmore sprayed Crystal liberally with perfume and stood back to admire her.
“You look beautiful my dear. You have worked so hard that it is very unlikely that you would be clocked unless the person was sitting right beside you and even then it would be difficult,” Mrs Cashmore gushed and Crystal blushed.
“I have one more present for you my dear,” Mrs Cashmore produced a stylish black leather handbag from under the counter.
“This will go with almost every outfit in your wardrobe,” Mrs Cashmore dropped Crystal’s keys and wallet into the handbag.
“You’ll need to put in a little makeup, your perfume and lipstick my dear,” Mrs Cashmore held out the handbag to Crystal who looked confused.
“A girl can’t go out for a night on the town without her handbag can she?” Mrs Cashmore gushed.
Crystal was caught totally unaware and was appalled at the prospect.
Just then the little bell above the door rang and Mrs Cashmore rushed over to open the door while Crystal stood stock-still, shocked at the notion of going out into the world presenting herself enfemme.
Mrs Cashmore ushered two ladies obviously dressed for a night out on the town into the shop and closed the door behind them
“Crystal Divine meet Wendy Doesit and Brittany Swallows,” Maureen Cashmore gushed as she introduced the three femme crossdressers.
Brittany was tall and slim and her hair was a flaming-red styled updo worn with a fringe; very vintage. As was the navy-blue 1950s suit complete with a pencil skirt with a single-breasted jacket with buttons down the front and French-ruffle-fronted white satin blouse she wore under. The suit was cinched at the waist and fitted to the curves of her body. Her long legs were clad in black Cuban-heeled, fully-fashioned seamed stockings and her high-heels were open toed to show off the reinforced toes of her nylons.
Brittany's makeup was also vintage and her foundation matched her natural skin tone, red lipstick, elegant eyes defined by eyeliner and mascara. Her eyeshadow was grey with a hint of silver. Her cheeks were sparingly rouged, a mere hint to add a soft warmth to her face and her brows were arched and pencilled in to define her eyes.
Brittany was obviously very adept at putting on ‘a look’ and she exuded confidence. She looked like she had just walked off a photo-shoot for a 1950’s Pretty Polly nylon stockings advertisement.
“Pleased to meet you,” Brittany took Crystal’s hand and leaned in and air-kissed her so as not to smudge her lipstick as she surrounded Crystal with miasma of perfume.
Wendy Doesit was dressed totally the opposite to her girlfriend in full 1970s fashion. She was a ‘chubbette’ but she carried the weight well.
She wore a bright-yellow A-line miniskirt with a matching bolero jacket over a black satin blouse, tan nylons and white knee-high PVC boots. Her makeup was bright with pink lipstick and she wore a black bob with a fringe that nearly covered her eyes. Very chique.
Wendy hugged Crystal and gave her the obligatory air-kiss.
“These are the other girls I told you about. They shop here often and I put aside items that I think will interest them,” Mrs Cashmore said by way of introduction.
“Mrs Cashmore is our surrogate mom. She gave us tutorials when we were just starting out,” Wendy explained.
“And I can see she has done a fantastic job with you Crystal; you look stunning,” Brittany chimed in.
“You’ll be fine with us; you’ll have a wonderful night out. Where we are going is safe for special girls like us and in fact we are the centre of attention,” Wendy winked salaciously at Brittany.
Crystal was both flattered and alarmed. Mrs Cashmore had spoken to her briefly about Brittany and Wendy but she had for all intents and purposes ambushed Crystal who was not confident about going out on the town, not even in the company of these two other girls.
Also there was something a little tawdry about the girls besides their somewhat suggestive names. Wendy in particular seemed overeager and solicitous, almost desperate.
“You can leave your male clothes here and pick them up on Monday and then you can tell me all about your first night out on the town as Crystal,” Mrs Cashmore fussed about Crystal making sure she looked perfect.
Crystal was really alarmed now.
“But that means going home dressed as Crystal! What will the neighbours think?” Crystal gasped.
“Darling, the neighbours are hardly likely to be up at that time of night even if anyone saw you, all they are going to wonder about is who is the gorgeous young woman visiting Colin Divine at that hour?” Wendy sniggered.
“You're unclockable darling. No one is going to know Colin even exists under that slap, wig, nylons and heels,” Brittany supported her partner’s hypothesis.
“Ok you lot. Off you go. Mister Cashmore is taking me to the flicks tonight and if he’s lucky I’ll let him have a kiss and a cuddle and feel-up during intermission,” Mrs Cashmore winked at the girls and then shooed them out the door.
It was a ten minute walk from the Oxfam shop on Oldham Street to the Black Sheep pub via Piccadilly Gardens and although the area around Canal Street was popular with gays and transgender people, in 1976 they were still targeted by prejudice and hate.
In Britain in 1967 homosexuality was partially decriminalised and gay men could have sex as long as it was in private and was only between two men and both were over 21. It still didn’t feel safe to be openly homosexual and there were still laws that could be used against gay men.
Although Crystal did not consider herself gay she knew that being a man presenting as a woman in public would be inflammatory enough to ire the homophobes and there would be no protection from the police who would be more likely to arrest Crystal, Wendy and Brittany than to protect them.
Sir Cyril James Anderton was the chief constable of the Greater Manchester Police and had a policy of policing of the area heavily due to his prejudice towards the gay community. Anderton encouraged his officers to stalk the dank alleys and expose anyone of the same sex caught in a clinch or openly expressing affection.
He believed that sodomy between males was an abhorrent offence, condemned by the word of God, and ought to be against the criminal law and he publicly stated that ‘the gays of Manchester were swirling in a cesspit of their own making’.
These thoughts bounced around Crystal's head whilst Wendy and Brittany nattered like a couple of teenage girls out on the town.
“Don’t worry darling the coppers will leave us alone so long as we don’t stop for a shag or a blowie,” Wendy tittered.
Crystal was appalled.
“Don’t worry about her she’s just a crude doxie who can’t keep her knickers on. When she was younger she’d show you her knickers for a bite of your toffee apple,” Brittany giggled.
“Shut it you!” Wendy retorted.
“Seriously Crystal you’re safe as houses around here and once we get into the Black Sheep no one will bother us at all,” Wendy said in a solemn tone.
“Well you will be bothered, but only by people who admire you, not by people who dislike you. Remember, you’re doing nothing wrong. You’re just out having a good time; you’re not breaking any laws,” she patted Crystal's shoulder.
While all this was going on during the eternal ten minute walk, which ended up being fifteen minutes because whilst Crystal was adept at walking around carpeted and lino floors in high heels she was new to the pavement and cobbled streets of Manchester. Concentrating on walking kept Crystal from worrying too much about being battered by homophobes or thrown into the back of a black maria by the ‘wooden-tops’. The only incident that occurred was when they passed two men on their way to the boozer who gazed at the three girls appreciatively and wolf-whistled.
“Show us yer knickers luv!” one of the cheeky chaps called out and Wendy obliged which of course called for another wolf-whistle.
“Here we are; safely at the Black Sheep,” Brittany opened the door to a smoky, raucous, overcrowded pub.
Now
Masturbating her captor became part of Crystal’s daily duties; once in the morning before breakfast and once again in the evening before dinner. The man would open the glory hole and stick his engorged manhood through the hole and Crystal would be standing there like the dog in the ‘His Master’s Voice’ painting, faithfully waiting for her master.
She knew the consequences of refusal and once she had done it a few times it no longer repulsed her. She soon learned that semen had a way of finding its way onto her clothing no matter how careful she was so she performed her duties dressed in bra, panties, nylons and heels and sometimes a slip or petticoat. The man insisted she wear full makeup because he watched her through the viewing port, although he seldom spoke to her during the course of her duties.
The man would sigh or gasp or mew as Crystal stroked him to climax. After a while she made a game of it for herself, bringing the man close to extremis and then backing right off making the man become frustrated and then she would hold his cock tighter and stroke it faster and bring him close to climax again and back off yet again. She’d do this until the man begged her for release.
His issue would burst forth into her hand often spraying up her arm and sometimes onto her body and her face if she got too close. She had to admit a certain fascination with the man’s erect penis. It was a fine specimen of elegant manhood: elongated and broad with purple veins running under the sleek velvety flesh and a glistening pink glans.
Crystal would reach out and tentatively touch it and it would quiver, then she would wrap her fingers around the turgid organ and slowly and softly stroke it. She added a new technique to her repertoire after the first few encounters; she would reach through the glory hole and softly squeeze and stroke the man’s scrotum.
Working her fingers in symphony she could bring the man off quickly or if the mood took her she could torture him, making him wait for release, bringing him close to climax and then relinquishing her attention to his needs, she’d stop her ministrations until he begged her to finish him.
After the man had ejaculated he would withdraw his penis and clean himself up before opening the cat flap and pushing though Crystal's food and take away or deliver her laundry or remove the trash she had bagged for him, then they would begin their usual social intercourse.
While the man cleaned up, Crystal did the same. She would wash her hands and if the man had managed to get semen on her clothes then they would be removed and she would replace the soiled items and get fully dressed. She would return to the door and they would talk while she ate. He would read her the morning and evening newspapers and they would discuss current events but they never talked about her masturbatory duties.
One day Crystal was masturbating the man while the laundry basket sat on the floor ready to be pushed through the cat flap when she’d finished her duties and she noticed one of her stockings dangling over the side of the basket and it gave her idea. What if she put the stocking over the man’s penis to catch his issue?
She did it and it was an immediate success. The first time she slid the diaphanous sensuous garment along the man’s pulsing member he groaned and spent himself immediately, flooding the stocking with warm, glutinous semen. The man demanded that she do this often and even brought her packages of cheap nylon stockings to use for this very purpose so that her cache of expensive fashion hosiery wasn't ruined.
Crystal would never tell the man but she preferred it when she used her bare hand on him. It excited her feeling his penis swell and quiver at it discharged in her hand. She liked the feel of the warm secretions spattering on her skin, the musky smell of it, the creamy efflux running through her fingers. She considered it her reward for a job well done.
She kept the semen soaked stockings and items of lingerie and used them as masturbatory aids while the man was at work. She would put the semen-soaked nylon over her erect penis and bring the spunk-spattered slip to her nose and stroke herself to climax. She would never tell a soul about this of course. In her imagination she was the heroine in one of her Mills and Boon’s, surrendering her virtue to her saviour.
Soon followed the demand for oral sex.
Crystal held out for three days in complete darkness during which she wasn’t fed nor given any form of social interaction except for the one hour a day allotted for her ablutions.
She wasn’t naïve. Crystal knew that the man would escalate and that masturbation would not sate his desires for very long. She had forgotten how long she had been held captive but she knew that it was well over a month. She knew the days of the week because the man was home on the weekends during the day. The reality was she didn’t care. She had been driven into submission and was content to live by ‘the rules’ and anyway; hadn’t she dreamt of living her life full-time as Crystal?
She was dependent on the man for everything. He housed her, clothed her, fed her, conversed with her, and gave her books and magazines to read when he wasn’t there. She had nightmares that something might happen to him and she would slowly starve to death alone in this room.
Crystal consoled herself that it was unlikely that would happen because if something happened to the man, someone would come to his house for some necessity or another. But that also raised the question of what had happened to Colin Divine?
Were the police looking for him? Was he missed by his family, work colleagues and his few friends? Unlikely. What about Wendy and Brittany; would they be suspicious that they had not seen Crustal Divine for such a long a time? They were really just friends who had a corresponding interest in crossdressing, she had not been to Brittany’s house nor Brittany to hers and Wendy was a married man.
The reality was that after taking Brittany prisoner her captor had gone to Colin Devine's house and let himself in using Colin’s keys. Over a period of time he had donated all of Colin’s clothing to Oxfam, keeping the items of Crystal’s clothing and wigs that he liked and taking them back to his own home for her to use. Colin rented his house fully-furnished and the man had cleaned the place and returned the keys to the real estate agent in an envelope with a note to say that Colin had been called away overseas at short notice and that the real estate agent was to keep the bond money as payment for the inconvenience.
A similar letter was sent to Colin’s employer advising the company that Colin had been called away to deal with an urgent family matter regarding his brother who was living in Australia. He was deeply apologetic and instructed his employer to keep his outstanding holiday pay until he returned but to offer his position to someone else.
This was the 1970’s. There was no internet, no Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. Few people on Colin’s income even had home phones. Colin was not missed by anyone. Crystal was missed by Wendy and Brittany but it was not unusual for crossdressers to suffer the onset of remorse and to purge themselves of their feminine requisites and to swear that they would never slip on a nylon stocking or a pair of knickers ever again.
Crystal and Wendy asked Maureen Cashmore if she had seen Crystal and she said she hadn't and agreed with them that Crystal was likely purging. Many of her crossdressing customers purged and when they once again began to crossdress, Oxfam reaped the rewards as they went about rebuilding their wardrobes. Mrs Cashmore explained to her protégés that many crossdressers might go through years or decades of binging and purging cycles. The purging was brought on by various feelings including fear and stress about the possibility of getting caught while crossdressed, shame and self-loathing, and wanting to please other people. The purging cycle only stopped when the male-to-female crossdresser was courageous enough to accept himself or herself for who they are. The crossdresser was then willing to accept that crossdressing was a part of his nature, whether he continued to view himself as a man, or now viewed herself as a woman.
Wendy had purged many times. Being a married man he lived in fear of being caught but the compulsion to crossdress would not be denied. The term gender dysphoria had not yet been coined but it was a label that suited the condition that many crossdressers suffered from at the time.
After the third day after the demand for oral sex had been issued Crystal submitted and was waiting at the door on her knees when the man poked his erect organ through the glory hole.
She had seen Wendy Doesit fellate men down by the canal and it didn’t seem to be much of a chore; she seemed to enjoy it. Crystal wasn’t so sure she would. Masturbating a man was one thing. It was something one did for oneself so it was not anathema. Crystal actually felt quite powerful when she performed the act; she was in control. But putting a penis in her mouth was something completely different. It was so corporeal and intimate; it was the ultimate act of submission. But what else could she do?
The man gasped as Crystal reached out and grasped his turgid member. She studied the appendage, feeling its girth, tracing the veins with a long red-lacquered fingernail. She traced the outline of his fraenulum and was rewarded when he shuddered with lust. She circled his glans with a finger and kneaded a globule of translucent pre-ejaculate which she brought to her mouth and tasted.
It was watery, odourless and tasteless but she knew that his semen wouldn’t be. It would be viscous and pungent. She shuddered at the thought of having it in her mouth but she resigned herself and leaned forward and opened wide.
She closed her lips over the man’s penis, taking about half of it in her mouth. There was no odour or vile taste as she might have expected; she knew the man kept himself scrupulously clean. She’d smelled his deodorant and aftershave through the door and smelled the bodywash on his penis, which is what she tasted as her tongue tentatively lapped at the organ.
The man resisted the urge to push his cock further into Crystal’s mouth. He didn’t want to frighten her or cause her discomfort. It was frustrating feeling her lips clamped around the shaft of his penis and her tongue licking his rod rather than his sensitive glans. But it was also exquisite watching this young virgin perform fellatio for the very first time. Her clumsy efforts were exciting as the man looked down at the top of her head through the viewing port and saw her suckling his cock, on her knees, subservient and passively compliant.
He bucked his hips a little to encourage her and Crystal comprehended the man’s needs and began to move her lips back and forth along the shaft and as a consequence her tongue lapped at his fraenulum and his glans.
When the man felt Crystal’s lips slide along his shaft and her tongue lash at the tender erogenous base of his glans he fought to hold back his release but failed. He held onto the doorframe to support his weight as his knees buckled with the intensity of his orgasm.
Crystal was not prepared for the flood of hot viscous fluid that filled her mouth. Her first instinct was to spit out the man’s penis and to expel his musky issue but she didn’t. Somewhere deep down in her psyche she felt dominant and remained collected. She could feel the man’s penis pulsing against her lips as he ejaculated his spend into her mouth.
She looked up and met his eyes staring at her through the viewing port and she held his gaze as she moved her mouth up and down on the man’s turgid rod and sucked the last vestiges of the man’s issue from him. She could feel that her cock was hard, threatening to break free of the gusset of her tights and knickers. She could feel the wetness of her precum leaking into her knickers as she suckled on the man’s cock.
The man looked down into Crystal’s pretty face, her green eyes enhanced by mascara, eyeshadow and eyeliner, her red lips moving up and down his shaft, leaving a trail of red lipstick. She was staring at him, making the man feel guilty while she felt simultaneously subservient but powerful but the intensity of his orgasm was such that any self-loathing the man felt was suppressed.
Crystal discovered that working her lips along the man’s shaft whilst her tongue slurped his glans produced the maximum pleasure for the man and was rewarded with a series of gasps and groans as the last of his issue flooded her mouth.
She swallowed it all and did not find it repugnant as she thought she might. It tasted of the man’s essence and taking it made her feel a little potent and more than a little concupiscent. If the man wasn’t able to see her, there was no doubt that she would free her own turgid penis from her tights and knickers and give it a tug.
As it was she didn’t need to. She felt a subtle warmth course through her body, slightly intensifying in her groin and she realised that she had filled her knickers with semen. She had climaxed almost without being aware of it because she was so centred on her mouth and the big cock that was inside it. The warm dreamy orgasm was not as intense as the earth-shattering explosive climaxes that she sometimes felt but it was very satisfying.
When Crystal had licked the man’s cock clean and he extracted it from the glory hole she fell back on her heels and pushed herself upright, holding her slip away from her body so as not to get her semen on it. She made her way to the bathroom where she cleaned herself, fixed her makeup and put on fresh knickers and tights and returned to the bedroom to dress.
She sat next to the door and ate breakfast with the man as he read her the daily news, neither of them commenting on the turn of events that had just occurred.
Before supper that evening the ritual was repeated but this time the man held out a little longer and Crystal was able to improve her technique. By the end of the week she was an accomplished fellatrix and had developed various tricks and techniques to prolong the man’s endurance or to make him erupt in her mouth almost instantaneously. That feeling of being a subjugated prisoner but with a subtle hold over captor continued to grow.
More and more often she dreamed of being rescued by her hero from some unfathomable and indescribable doom and surrendering herself to him. The actual mechanics and fundamentals of what that surrender entailed were hazy. All she could remember on awakening was that he held her in his arms and did something to her that caused her the most exquisite bliss. She often found that she experienced a nocturnal emission during these dreams and would have to get out of bed and change her knickers.
Then
The three attractive crossdressers made their way through the crowded main bar of the Black Sheep. Brittany led them out back to a larger lounge area. Faux tapestries of red velvet and gold adorned the walls, mock ivory columns adorned with plastic climbing ivy and gilt-framed mirrors reflected a feeling of exotic splendour. Crystal didn’t know what to make of it; she hadn't seen anything like it before. She stared at a full-size plaster statue of a nude male.
A flat-chested woman in a sequined flapper dress had just finished a number on the small stage and she bowed low, her arms extended gracefully, acknowledging the applause. The air was thick with smoke and heavy with perfume. There was an abundance of tall slender women, some in evening gowns but all dressed in finery, exquisitely made up with manes that cascaded to their shoulders, silver blonde, molten red, raven black. Their wardrobes were revealing; with lots of leg on show and some were showing obviously enhanced cleavage.
There were young men too, wearing tight jeans, white t-shirts and denim jackets, possibly a little eyeliner; their hair styled, their lips in a permanent pout. But the transvestites and rent boys were outnumbered by the onlookers: men with beady eyes and wet lips; some dressed in suits, others who looked like they had just finished work in the foundry. Not all them stared hungrily at the fetching transvestites and beguiling young men, most seemed happy just to be immersed in the atmosphere.
Upon closer inspection the pageantry was revealed to be tawdry, cheap and imperfect. The decorations were dusty and dilapidated, the women’s makeup was a little too heavy and often poorly applied, their clothes, which at first seemed resplendent, were often ill-fitting with seams coming apart, sequins missing, stockings laddered and wigs askew. Certainly a few were visions of perfection but most were imperfect but obviously happy and content to be somewhere where they could fulfil their fantasy.
Brittany led the trio to a small table near the wall close to the stage. To say that Crystal was terrified was an understatement but underneath the apprehension she was secretly thrilled. Besides the lewd comments, the groping hands and catcalls there was the fear that at any moment someone was going to call out: “Colin! What the fuck are you doing dressed like that!” but of course that never happened.
Once they were settled at their table a man came over and smiled at them.
“The usual Luv?” he asked Wendy.
“Yes please Bill,” Wendy smiled back at him.
“And you my pretty? I’ve not seen you in here before,” the man smiled at Crystal and she blushed.
“Gin and Britvic bitter lemon please,” Crystal whispered.
She needed the alcohol to give her Dutch courage.
“Right you are Luv,” the man winked at her and fought his way to the bar.
“We never pay for drinks and this table is always left vacant for us,” Brittany explained.
“The Admirers keep it for us. There’s Jackie and Vicky over there. Vicky is the one wearing the unfortunate blue eyeshadow,” she waved at a table across the crowded room where two other crossdressers were sitting.
One was tall and the other was dumpy but they were both dressed nicely and wore heavy makeup. They were not as polished as Crystal, Brittany and Wendy but they had attracted a couple of likely lads who were chatting them up.
“Talk about showing you her knickers for bite of your toffee apple, that Vicky can suck a tennis ball through a garden hose,” the two girls broke up in screeching laughter.
“I can see you’re nervous but try to relax. Here’s how it goes. Tonight we have a few drinks, a natter and a laff. The Admirers will buy us drinks and offer to take us home or to go with them down by the canal. Just remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. There are girls like us that come in here and never engage with the Admirers; it’s a safe space for us,” Brittany began to explain.
“What are these Admirers I hear you speak of,” Crystal asked.
Becoming engrossed in the conversation took Crystal's mind away from the trepidation she had been feeling.
“The term ‘Admirer’ in our special community refers to men who are honestly interested in socialising with crossdressers. Of course there is the risk that some Admirers may be sexual predators and to be honest a lot of them are after a quick shag or a blowjob from a tranny. Admirers are sometimes called tranny chasers,” Brittany pointed out.
Crystal turned up her nose at the utterance of the words shagging and blowjobs, and the other girls saw her.
“Just remember you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Brittany patted Crystal's shoulder reassuringly.
At that moment the Admirer came back with their drinks and set them down on the table. He’d bought himself a pint.
“Mind if I sit here for a bit?” he pointed to a spare chair and Brittany nodded.
Wendy was already deep in conversation with a man in a suit sitting at another table close by.
“Crystal, this is Bill,” Brittany made the introductions and Bill took Crystal’s hand and kissed the back of it.
Crystal flinched a little at the gesture.
“Bill is one of the nice guys Crystal. He likes our company but he’s not a tranny chaser,” Brittany said, kissing Bill on the cheek.
She affectionately rubbed away the lipstick she’d left on his cheek with her thumb and Bill blushed.
“I’m sixty years old Luv and if I’m lucky the missus lets me hop on top of her once a week and if I'm really lucky she’s wearing her sheers and heels because she knows I like them but I’ve neither the energy nor the inclination to go chasing transvestites. I just like looking at them and talking to them. My missus says it doesn’t matter where I get my appetite so long as I only eat at home,” Bill raised his pint and they all laughed and clinked glasses.
Bill joined in Wendy’s conversation with the besuited Admirer leaving Crystal and Brittany to talk privately.
“Look we all have our stories. Usually they are very similar but seldom exactly the same. Take Wendy for instance. Her male name if William and he’s married with two kids. Like all of us she started wearing her mother and sister’s knickers and nylons at an early age and progressed to playing dressup. Wendy has purged so many times that she’s lost count but she can’t kick the compulsion to dress,” Brittany took a sip of her drink.
“William has been caught crossdressed a number of times, firstly by his mum and dad and later by his wife after he got married. He promised his wife he’d stop but he just can’t. None of us can. Most of us have tried,” Wendy took cigarettes and a lighter from her purse.
“His wife kept finding evidence that he was still dressing and finally gave him an ultimatum for the sake of their marriage and the kids. William could go out as Wendy twice a week but she didn’t want to know where or what he got up to. He was never to bring any of his female accoutrements home and never to talk to her about it. If he got caught by anyone who knew them or arrested by the police their marriage was over so he had better be discreet about it, was what was finally agreed upon,” Brittany explained.
“William lied to his wife and told her that crossdressing just made him feel comfortable and appealed to his feminine psyche. He told her that it was nothing sexual and he has no compunction to engage sexually with men or other crossdressers. He leaves his stash of clothing at my place in the shed out back and he dresses there and we go out every Friday night and he comes back to my place to change in the shed before he goes home,” Brittany lit two cigarettes and gave Crystal one.
“Wendy obviously does have sex… well she certainly implies it,” Crystal took the preferred cigarette and took a drag.
Colin seldom smoked at home but liked a cigarette when he was down the pub having a drink.
“She fucks like a bunny. I’m not taking her inventory dear, I like sex too, but I won’t let her bring men back to mine while she’s being dishonest to her wife. That might be strange morality for a queer closet crossdresser but it keeps my conscience clean. What Wendy does down by the canal is her business,” Brittany smiled a knowing smile.
“You called yourself a queer closet crossdresser; what does that mean?” Crystal was genuinely interested.
“Oh you want to hear my story do you? Well hang onto yer knickers while I tell you, but first smile and wave at that burly looking bloke in the Manchester United football jumper,” Brittany pointed to the man leaning on the bar leering at them.
Crystal was horrified but she was in safe space apparently so she did as she was told and smiled and waggled her red nailpolished fingers at the brute of a man who turned out to be a charmer and bought the ladies another round of drinks. When he delivered them he whispered something in Brittany’s ear.
“Yes darling of course you can. Meet me at my place half hour after closing time,” Brittany kissed the man on the lips.
It was the first outward show of affection Crystal had witnessed at the pub but as the night wore on and the drinks flowed there was slap and tickle aplenty. The two slappers Jacky and Vicky ended up sitting in the laps of two middle-aged men, one of whom clearly had his hand up Vicky’s skirt.
“Roger is one of my regulars. Unlike some, I have a small following of Admirers who I allow to grace my door,” Brittany side-eyed Wendy when she said ‘unlike some’.
“So… What is there to know about Brittany Swallows?” Brittany lit another cigarette and began her tale.
Brendan Small knew that he was different early in his formative years. He lived with his divorced mother in a very nice house. His mother received a very nice stipend from an errant husband to ease his guilt about running away with his secretary which his mother referred to as ‘so cliché as to be hackneyed’. His mother fawned on Brendan and all but smothered him.
Brendan grew up tall and slender and was effete from the start and his mother did nothing to discourage this, allowing him to play with dolls and play with girls who took delight in dressing him up and putting makeup on him.
Brendan was too tall and athletic for the other boys to tease and one or two bullies who tried it on with him ended up with black eyes. He didn’t hide his predilection for the arts and sang in the school choir and acted in school plays but the thing he enjoyed most was ballet.
Encouraged by his mother Brendan took ballet lessons three times a week. He became an avid crossdresser with an impressive collection of tights, lingerie, skirts blouses and even a pair of high heels. He spent hours alone in his room dressed as Brittany, perfecting his makeup skills and feminine mannerisms.
Dancing gave him the opportunity to not only flex his body but to wear tights and a little makeup in public which thrilled him as much as the dancing did. He soon discovered that there were other boys who practiced ballet who had similar predilections and not long after he turned eighteen Brendan discovered the carnal joys of frottage. Rubbing his engorged penis trapped in his ballet tights against another boy’s penis similarly cloaked in spandex was quite thrilling and often produced an orgasm.
These trysts, which would have horrified their ballet mistress if she knew about them, took place under the stage, in the changing room or wherever the boys could meet with secrecy. Their ballet master, an equally effete man in his forties was very much aware what his charges were getting up to but said nothing. He was a man who liked to watch.
Brendan let a boy named Maurice De Witt into his secret one day when he invited him home. Maurice was keen to see what Brendan looked like dressed as a girl and as his mother was away for the weekend at a Shakespeare festival in Stratford, Brendan was happy to oblige.
Brittany came down the stairs dressed in a tight black vinyl miniskirt, a red satin blouse, black high heels and sheer tan nylon tights. Her makeup was heavy but perfect and she’d teased and styled her long boyish mullet into a long feathered do with big flicked sides. As Maurice watched her tread carefully but gracefully down the stairs he thought she looked gorgeous and sexy and would never have recognised Brendan under the makeup, hair and clothes.
Brendan had never done anything homo before. Frottage was considered not much more than mutual masturbation which most teenage boys experimented with. Even the rugby footballers at college played ‘soggy biscuit’ after school in the dressing sheds after they had been drinking.
When Maurice De Witt took Brittany in his arms and kissed her she felt ‘right and proper’ for the first time in her life. She felt comfortable in her own skin. She felt like she was normal.
They made their way to the couch saying little, Maurice leading the way. Maurice was two years older than Brittany at twenty years of age and was attending university. Unlike Brittany he was no virgin and was accomplished sexually with both men and women.
He took his time seducing Brittany knowing she would be skittish and scared as it was not only her first time coming out as a young woman but also her first intimate encounter, other than a little cock-rubbing in ballet tights.
He kissed her; softly at first and Brittany sighed. She felt wanted, appreciated and desired. He kissed her a little harder and Maurice put his tongue in her mouth and Brittany liked it. She liked being held by this strong young man, she liked the way he held her and caressed her, she liked the way she could feel every article of clothing on her body: her satin knickers caressing her privates, her silky tights encasing her long legs, the hem of her skirt tickling her thighs, her satin blouse cosseting her tender flesh, the taste of her makeup, the smell of her perfume.
She finally felt like a woman.
When Maurice took Brittany’s hand in his and guided it to his groin she didn’t resist. There was the awkward fumbling that so often occurs when couples are kissing and trying to undress at the same time but eventually she freed his manhood and took it in her hand. It felt warm and sleek and alive and Maurice gasped into her mouth as she softly stroked it.
Brittany quivered with anticipation when Maurice put his hand on her thigh and stroked her nylon-shrouded flesh. He brushed her nylons with the tips of fingers enjoying the feel of her slinky tights. His hand slid under her skirt and Brittany whimpered and shuddered when Maurice fluttered his fingers along her engorged cock through the layers of satin panties and nylon tights. The front panel of her knickers became wet with her secretions and Brittany could feel Maurice smile as he kissed her.
Maurice broke the kiss and leaned back into the sofa and pressed gently on Brittany’s head. At first she was confused but then she realised what he wanted and she mustered her resolve and lowered her face into his lap. She took his appendage into her mouth and sucked it like a baby sucks a dummy and Maurice mewed with delight. Brittany's own cock was pressing against her knickers, tenting her skirt and Maurice pushed her skirt up out of the way and stroked her engorged penis through her panties.
Brittany experimented a little and began to move her mouth up and down on Maurice’s cock while her tongue flittered on his glans. This caused him to groan and push his groin upward to encourage her so she knew that what she was doing was enjoyable.
She settled into a steady rhythm, suckling Maurice’s organ while he stroked her through her saturated knickers. She could taste the precum dribbling from Maurice’s trembling organ and assumed that he was about to come; she was close to flooding her knickers too.
Maurice surprised her when he pulled her face out of his groin and quickly stood up. She sat on the couch looking up at him with his long thick cock poking out before him as he quickly stripped. She was becoming a little apprehensive, especially when she saw him take a tube of KY Jelly out of the pocket of his jeans. This was all going a little too fast and she began to protest when Maurice flipped her on her back and jumped on her, lying on top of her with her legs spread wide.
He kissed her passionately and she felt his cock pressing on hers through her knickers and tights. This was familiar territory, frottage, and she wrapped her legs around him and returned his kisses. She would rather have liked to have tasted his semen in her mouth but if Maurice wanted to frot to orgasm she was more than willing. Having this young man on top of her kissing her while he ground his cock against her knickers was very arousing and she felt very feminine, lying on her back with a naked man mounting her.
Maurice was doing something down there and she wasn’t sure what. He appeared to be struggling with the KY Jelly. Suddenly she felt him tear open her tights and ease aside the gusset of her knickers and she felt the flesh of his manhood between her buttocks. She could feel that it was slathered with the slippery salve but she had little time to comprehend this because Maurice found her sphincter and pushed his cock inside her.
Maurice covered her mouth with his to stifle her scream.
“Shh darling. It always hurts the first time, just relax,” he mumbled into her mouth.
Tears of pain ran down her cheeks as she felt her anus speared by Maurice’s cock. It burned and she felt like she had been split open.
“Just relax sweetheart,” Maurice tried to comfort her, kissing her softly, stroking her cheeks.
He had about half of his cock inside her tight passage and was trying desperately not to climax, her anus felt like a velvet glove squeezing his phallus and her nyloned legs were scissoring against his bare skin.
Brittany breathed deeply and concentrated on relaxing her sphincter and suddenly something wonderful happened. Little sparkles of delight began to tingle from her tight puckered ring and radiated up her anus where the pressure of Maurice’s cock was causing some vague but pleasant sensations that she had never felt before.
All of the pain was gone, replaced by pleasure. She had never felt more womanly, lying on her back with a strong young man on top of her, her legs wrapped around him, her high heels pointing at the ceiling.
Maurice could sense the change in Brittany and was rewarded when she dug her heels in his flanks and encouraged him to fuck her. She gasped when he slid the remainder of his phallus inside her tight anus but it was a sigh of delight, not displeasure. She wrapped her arms around Maurice and held him close as her silky legs caressed his tender flesh.
Maurice fucked Brittany; but not for long. Four long slow strokes were all it took to cause him to ejaculate deep inside her, flooding her anus with his hot seed. Brittany felt his cock quiver inside her and she knew what was happening, then she felt his semen dribbling from her anus as he continued to thrust his cock in and out of her, lighting up the pleasure centres in her sphincter and her prostate.
Brittany soaked her knickers as the most tremendous orgasm washed over her. She clung to Maurice and rose up off the couch driving her buttocks upward, impaling herself on his manhood as it skewered her bowels. She raked her nails on his back and her high heels chafed his flanks as she encouraged him to fuck her.
She held him close as they both rode their orgasms to the zenith and descended into contented bliss.
Later that afternoon they took drinks up to Brittany’s bedroom and did it again; this time with Brittany dressed in a basque and seamed nylon stockings. Maurice pushed her down on her bed on her hands and knees and rode her from behind and Brittany loved it but not as much as when he lay on top of her, kissing her.
Having found out that she rather liked being buggered, Brittany started bringing home a select few boys who treated her like a lady should… well a lady of loose morals anyway, while her mother was out.
It all came crashing down when her mother came home unexpectedly one day and found Brittany bent over the living room sofa wearing a tutu, leotard, ballet tights, high heels and wearing full makeup being rogered by her ballet master.
Brendan’s ballet career had never taken off but he liked hanging around fit handsome young men who wore tights and had a persuasion for their own gender. After today that door was closed for ever.
“Oh dear. I think we will have to find you your own digs Brendan,” his mother sighed as she put her handbag on the table and went to the liquor cabinet.
She used some of her husbands ‘guilt money’ to buy Brendan a little house in Spring Gardens where Brendan became Brittany whenever the fancy took her. Her two-up two-down wasn’t far from the Oxfam shop and she became a frequent customer there and befriended by Mrs Cashmore.
“And that’s the story of Brittany,” Brittany stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and nodded to an attentive Admirer who wanted to buy a round of drinks.
Crystal told Brittany her story, similar in its own way: the compunction to dress femme at an early age, the fascination with feminine things, the need to present as passable as possible but in Crystal’s case there was no sexual element yet other than masturbation.
They sat at the table all night drinking and talking, watching the transvestites perform their numbers on stage every so often. A number of Admirers approached them and Crystal was nervous with them all. She sensed that some of them had genuine affection for the attractive crossdressers and some of them made it obvious they were only interested in sex. That first night Crystal didn’t dance but Wendy and Brittany did. Wendy seemed to have no problem when the men she danced with felt her up and was openly salacious.
Besides the transvestites there were plenty of gay men sitting in small groups or as couples; some of them openly displaying affection for each other. The gays showed little interest in the transvestites but there seemed to be an alliance between them. This was their turf. This was their safe space. The label ‘LGBT’ and the other half of the alphabet appropriated by the queer community had not yet been coined.
Crystal learned a lot that night in the Black Sheep pub. At closing time Wendy walked away down towards the canal with two men but Brittany walked Crystal home.
“I have my gentleman friend coming to my place in half an hour. He’s staying the night. You’ll need to harden up girl because if you're going to keep your virginity, you’ll be walking home alone from now on,” Brittany leaned in and kissed Crystal on the cheek.
Neither of the women saw the man hiding in the shadows watching them. He had been seated near one of the faux marble columns in the back corner of the lounge at the Black Sheep studiously observing them. Well actually he had been studiously watching Crystal.
Crystal contemplated the evening as she lay in bed sans makeup but still wearing her tights and knickers and a satin chemise. She liked Brittany and despite her bawdy ways Wendy was nice too. She had liked being out in public, she’d liked drinking and listening to the music and would have liked to have got up the courage to dance. She had to admit that she liked the attention of the Admirers as they reaffirmed her femininity and beauty but was put off by some of their lewd behaviour.
She had a standing offer to join Brittany and Wendy at the Black Sheep on Fridays and Saturdays and even if they weren't there she knew that the Black Sheep was a safe space in which she could socialise.
Crystal slept well while the man who had followed her home worked all night in his cellar putting the finishing touches on what was soon to be her cell.
Now
To say the situation was absurd was an enormous understatement. The situation was insane! Crystal Divine had resigned herself to living in a tiny underground two-room apartment where she had a strict regimen that controlled her day. Wake up, exercise, ablutions, put on wig, makeup and lingerie, perform fellatio at the glory hole, dress as directed, have breakfast while her captor read her the newspapers and discussed current affairs, spend the day languishing reading magazines and romance novels, strip, exercise again, ablutions again, don lingerie and makeup, fellate her captor, have dinner sitting at the table near the door talking to her captor well into the evening until it was bedtime.
To say it was bizarre was laughable.
What was bizarre was that Crystal had grown to like it. She thought long and hard about Stockholm Syndrome and the effect of her being held prisoner for so long and the way her captor manipulated her by allowing her to do all the things she enjoyed except for granting her freedom. Crystal had even gown to like the sex. It was the single thing that gave her power over her captor.
When he begged her for release, when he mewled and groaned his appreciation for the pleasure she gave him it empowered her. When he released his seed into her mouth or onto her hand she felt rewarded and she remunerated herself by secretly masturbating afterward or in some cases actually achieving climax along with her captor; flooding her knickers as he flooded her mouth.
Crystal knew it was insane but it had become her version of reality. She often wondered what her captor looked like. She knew he had deep blue eyes and sandy hair and that his arms were muscular and that his voice was deep and rich. Was he so disfigured that she could never see him? Was he keeping his identity secret so that when he released her she would never be able to identify him? Was he an ogre, a beast or monster or was he a prince; her saviour, her champion and protector?
Crystal knew that their relationship was unhealthy and more than likely that she was suffering some form of insanity but she didn’t care. Other than refusing her food and light when she had denied him sexual favours or disobeyed the rules he hadn't harmed her. It would be easy enough for him to burst through the door and beat her, to subjugate her, brutalise her or to rape her but he hadn't. He could spike her food and ravage her while she lay unconscious; she knew he had the wherewithal because he had drugged her to take her captive.
Time held no meaning for Crystal. There were only weekdays when her captor worked and weekends when he spent most of his time talking to her through the door and she had to admit she liked his company. She missed Wendy and Brittany and Mrs Cashmore but she had few other friends in the world to pine for, certainly not her parents or her work colleagues. She had bonded with her captor and though she knew it was insane to feel so, she was content.
Her captor told Crystal what he done when she asked about her former life. He told her how he had stopped the rent on her flat, stopped her subscriptions and newspaper and milk deliveries and told both Colin’s realtor and employer that he had been called away urgently to Australia to help his brother.
Crystal thought of Colin as another person; he was no longer part of her. He was some far off entity that she had once cared about but was no longer relevant.
“But Colin doesn’t have a brother,” Crystal said through the door when her captor told her what he had done.
Her captor noticed that Crystal talked about Colin in the third person. He smiled. His psychological manipulation was working.
“Of course he doesn’t but they don’t know that. Brittany and Wendy were worried about you though,” the man taunted her a little.
“They were?” Crystal felt grateful that her friends cared about her disappearance.
“They’ve accepted the fact that you’ve purged. Crystal will either reappear in all her magnificence or she will never be seen again. Isn’t that what your kind do?” he couldn’t help but mock her a little.
Crystal knew all about purging. She had considered it herself on a number of occasions but had never gone through with it. The compulsion to crossdress was too strong. She did note the slightly wicked tone in his voice that he used now and then to reminder that she was his captive.
“Who would have told them that?” Crystal asked.
The man slammed the viewing port shut and didn’t return until the next morning.
After his morning blowjob the man put Crystal’s breakfast through the cat flap on which was a piece of paper telling her how she was to dress for him after work. This was not an unusual request as the man often wanted her to dress differently in the evening. On some weekends he would ask her to change numerous times, watching her through the viewing port or on his video screen. Sometimes she would tease him. Knowing that he was watching she would perform a slow striptease and take an overly long time putting on her lingerie.
Keeping her back to the door and the camera she would slip into her sexy knickers and then face the screen as she fastened a suspender belt around her waist and pulled the garters through her knickers and ever so slowly slid her stockings up her long legs, smoothing out the wrinkles, straightening the seams; all of her movements exaggerated, her overly made-up face staring at the viewing port or the camera, her red-lipsticked mouth pursed in a sexy pout. She would slip on her heels and parade around the room pretending that she had lost something, an earring perhaps? Bending over often to show her pert creamy buttocks swathed in her nearly transparent knickers to the door or the camera.
If she overexcited her captor he would come to the door and demand sex, throwing open the cover of the glory hole and thrusting his trembling cock through it and Crystal was always happy to oblige him as performing for her captor also excited her and inevitably she’d climax when she fellated him.
As time passed Crystal began to realise that the routines and rituals, the conventions and procedures, the formalities and etiquette that ruled Crystal's life, ruled her captor’s life too. The time and effort it must take for him to care for her and to abide by the schedule he had set for her; the determination and discipline that must take was extraordinary. She may be devoted to him but he was equally devoted to her.
Crystal read the man’s directive on the sheet of paper once again. She had become used to his handwriting which was an elegant cursive script which fitted her vision of what the man looked like. That evening she was to wear the green satin basque, black fully-fashioned, fifteen denier stockings, black satin panties, black patent leather high heels and the flaming red wig. Over her ensemble she was to wear the transparent black satin and lace negligee.
Very sexy.
When the mood took her, Crystal liked to put on a little show for the man, waiting for him to get home from work before she changed so that he could watch her dress. She would tease him until he became fanatically aroused and ached for her to relieve him. She might provoke him a little when he put his cock through the glory hole. Maybe use some prolonged masturbation techniques until he begged her to use her mouth on him. Then she would tease him with her tongue and lips, using featherlight flickers of the tip of her tongue on his fraenulum and glans while her lips danced loosely along the flesh of his shaft.
She would use her feminine guile to titillate and beguile him until he was fully rampant and ready to surrender his seed, begging for her to bring him to climax. Then she would earnestly suck at his engorged phallus, milking every drop of his semen into her mouth. She would likely climax with him, her cock untouched, her orgasm triggered by her captor’s own ultimate bliss.
She was hard inside her knickers at the thought of it and she smiled.
When she heard his footsteps upstairs she retired to her bathroom and prepared herself. She shaved the almost non-existent stubble from her face; her second shave of the day. She brushed her teeth and used mouthwash. She sat on the toilet and evacuated what little she had inside her and then used the bulb douche until the water ran clean. She didn’t understand why the man insisted she perform this task but she had long given up questioning him about ‘the rules’.
The shower was invigorating and when she soaped her privates she accidentally induced an erection which she banished using cold water. Her scrotum and pubis had been freshly shaved that morning as had her legs and the few wisps of hair on her chest. She’d also shaped her brows.
She put on her black satin dressing gown, knowing that he was likely watching her. Her hair, which was already stylishly long when she was captured, had grown out but without any form of hairdressing acumen it remained unsuitable for her to present coiffed enfemme so she selected the flaming-red shoulder-length bob as she had been directed. She put her own hair up and took the skullcap which she had fashioned from the panty area of a pair of tights and pulled it on her crown, pushing any stray locks under it.
Crystal took a seat on the walnut stool before the vanity mirror in the centre section of her armoire, turned on the lights surrounding the mirror and studied the shelves filled with cosmetics, perfumes, makeup-sponges and brushes. She went to work applying her makeup, highlighting her sharp, high cheekbones with rouge, accenting her eyes with black eyeliner and mascara applied thickly, mauve and teal eyeshadow to accentuate her emerald green eyes, and applied ruby red lipstick to her soft shapely lips. Her fingernails and toenails had been touched up with matching ruby red nailpolish that very afternoon.
She positioned the wig over her head and pulled it on, adjusting it so that it fitted snuggly. She brushed it out and looked at herself in the mirror and as always was amazed at the transformation and how beautiful she looked. At that moment she heard the viewing port open and Crystal turned her back to the door and stepped into her knickers. She had tucked and taped in the bathroom and the black satin and lace full-cut knickers fitted her snuggly, the front of them a perfectly smooth V-shape.
Her breastforms lay ready on the table, the double-sided tape already affixed to the inside, ready to be glued to her chest.
“No breastforms today please Crystal,” the man barked dryly.
“Of course. As you wish,” Crystal replied and put them away in the armoire.
Crystal turned to face the door and took off her dressing gown to expose her trim alabaster body and picked up the green satin basque and stepped into it, shimmying the garment up her trim body. She fitted it around her cinched waist and pushed the garters through her kickers. The silver clasps tickled her thighs as they hung there while she sat on the stool and opened a package of black fifteen denier vintage stockings. She carefully rolled each stocking, inserted her toe and slid the it along her leg, straightening the seams and smoothing out the wrinkles before she fixed the four garter snaps to each smoky-black gauzy welt.
She heard the man sigh as he watched her perform this ritual.
Crystal stepped into her favourite black patent leather high heels and alighted from the stool and took a turn around the room, as much to tease her captor as to walk herself into the shoes. She went back to the armoire and checked her makeup in the mirror a final time and liberally applied perfume and accessorised herself. Crustal put on the necklace that Mrs Cashmore had given her: a train of small synthetic emeralds set in a silver-plated nickel chain and then the matching bracelet and the ring of similar construction set with a large synthetic emerald. The ring was no longer tight on her finger. She put on matching earrings that her captor had purchased for her at her request.
Not for the first time she wished she had the emerald earrings her mother had given her. They were missing from the collection of jewellery that her captor had taken from Colin’s house and given to her and he steadfastly refused to discuss their whereabouts.
Crystal lifted the transparent black satin and lace negligee from the clothes hanger in the armoire and put it on. She turned to face the door.
“Magnificent my lovely, let me reward you,” the cat flap opened and he pushed through a glass of sparkling wine in a champagne flute.
Crystal bent down and took the proffered glass and stood up and held it up to the light. The wine was icy-cold and moisture beaded on the glass.
“Crystal for my Crystal,” she could see the man’s blue eyes sparkle at the jest as she took a sip.
She took a second sip and then a third and suddenly felt extremely tired. She knew the man had drugged her. These were the same symptoms she had felt when he had kidnapped her. She made it to the bed before she fell asleep.
Crystal had no idea how long she had been asleep but she knew it wasn't long. The sedative was swift acting but the effects were short lived and temporary.
When she awoke Crystal looked over at the door and was amazed to see that it was wide open. The man had wheeled in a trolley and set up a dinner service on a small folding table covered with a pristine white tablecloth. The service was silver and a bottle of wine cooled in an ice bucket set in a stand beside the table. The food in the chaffing dish was still hot. Steam rose from what looked like a sumptuous meal and Crystal's mouth watered when the aroma wafted her way.
The man was standing across from the table facing her. He was smiling at her. He indicated that she should join him.
To be continued
The Captured Crossdresser Chapter 3
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Chapter Three – The Emerald Earrings
Then
Crystal lived for the weekends. When Colin finished work each day and took the number ten bus home he would begin transforming in his mind. By the time he arrived home he was already Crystal and he would shuck out of his cheap suit and transform into her, trying different makeup techniques and toying with her wig collection to see which wig complimented her growing wardrobe.
Crystal had stopped buying anything that she thought fitted her on a whim, only to be disappointed when she got the garment home and tried it on and found it was tatty, ill-fitting or did not suit her. Under the tutelage of Mrs Cashmore she selected only those garments that fitted her properly and were befitting.
Crystal was becoming more confident. She was more than happy to walk to and from the Black Sheep public house on Friday and Saturday nights. At first she would only walk in the company of Wendy or Brittany whom she would meet on the corner of her street but after a while she acquired the intestinal fortitude to make the walk on her own.
On Wednesdays after work she would dress hastily at home and make the ten minute walk to the Oxfam Emporium on Oldham Street where she would meet Mrs Cashmore who always had a fresh pot tea ready and sometimes a garment or two to sell to Crystal. Sometimes there was nothing suitable in the store and they would just natter and drink tea.
Mrs Cashmore was very interested in Crystal's progress. Crystal had perfected her walk, her speech and mannerisms and was virtually unclockable. Although Crystal had not yet developed an interest in men sexually, like most of her kind she did like to be admired and appreciated. Mrs Cashmore imparted on her little secrets, such as to always to pay attention to the man talking to her even if he was boring. If she found a man she particularly liked she could use discrete gestures to attract him: lean forward when talking, ‘accidentally’ touch his knee or elbow, blink a little, play with her hair, subtly lick her lips; all tricks of the trade, as Maureen Cashmore described them.
Crystal would practice the tricks at home and then try them out at the pub on the Admirers that pursued her and Wendy and Brittany.
The three girls made a game of it, seeing who could attract the most men in one night or they’d pick out a handsome man and see who could win him over. If the man chose Brittany or Wendy he would most likely be rewarded carnally. Brittany would probably take him home for the evening and Wendy would take him down the canal. If the man chose Crystal he would be disappointed. He might get to feel her up a little on the dance floor and maybe even get in a kiss or two but Crystal was unresponsive to sexual advances, hence the standing bet amongst the Admirers to see who would be the first to get into her knickers.
The men who were disappointed when Crystal eschewed their carnal advances easily found a willing substitute amongst the gaggle of transvestites who colonised the Black Sheep and other tranny-friendly venues near Canal Street so Crystal didn’t really think of herself as being a prick teaser; she made it very clear that she had no interest in sexual congress.
All of this was witnessed by the handsome mid-thirties man who sat brooding on a stool in a corner of the lounge bar at the Black Sheep well away from the other patrons where he could observe the passing parade and the interactions of the boisterous masses. On Fridays he sat sullenly and observed the Admirers fawn over the pretty and not-so-pretty transvestites. He abhorred the way the Admirers grovelled and toadied up to the crossdressers. Buying them drinks, pawing at them, fumbling at their legs under the table, squeezing their arses on the dance floor.
On Saturdays when it was drag queen bingo he would purchase a single bingo card and leave it unmarked. The bingo numbers were called out by three overly feminised and sexualised drag queens. The game merged bingo into a live drag cabaret performance with the drag queens treating the punters to a risqué comedy show whilst involving them in the bingo game.
The man did not participate at all and sat sullenly at the bar during the bingo and the sing-along that followed.
The man had collar-length sandy hair which he continually flicked out of his deep blue eyes. He was tall and his body was trim and muscular. Unlike most Mancunians he was tanned. He exercised daily and ran along the canal and visited a tanning salon once a week to keep himself bronzed and went to Spain twice a year to lie on the beach.
He was handsome and he knew it but he had little interest in the type of women that were attracted to him. All his attention was focused on one particular woman… only she wasn’t really a woman. Her name was Crystal Divine.
The man owned a successful antiques store on the high street, dealing in high-end merchandise but he also sold good quality second-hand furniture to keep the profit ticking over. He was a picker and would frequent rummage sales searching for suitable castoffs and he also scoured the many charity shops scattered throughout Manchester.
It was there that he found the materials and furnishings to renovate his cellar. At first the idea of keeping a specially selected girl captive in such a place was just a fancy; a daydream, a fantasy but when he saw Crystal he began to plan his cunning scheme.
The man had always been an Admirer of feminine transvestites; the more passable the more he found them attractive. There was something about the way they paid attention to every detail of their countenance. Their hair and makeup was perfect, their clothing stylish and often alluring, they always wore nylons, often stockings sometimes tights, and high heels were de rigueur. He was not a fan of boots or platforms; he was a stiletto heel aficionado.
Some of the crossdressers who inhabited the Black Sheep met his high standards but most of them let him down with their loose morals. His fantasy was fuelled by thoughts of having one of those beautiful special ladies for his very own; to kiss him, to snuggle up to him, to gratify him sexually, to be devoted to him and to love him. He would love her in return.
It was a preposterous idea and he knew it but he could dream. The girls down on Canal Street who fuelled his fantasy had a particular weakness he found abhorrent: they had loose morals. He saw how they behaved in the pubs and clubs and he saw what they got up to in parked cars, doss houses and up against the wall down by the canal. No wonder the coppers were hell-bent on locking them up, they were whores being passed from man to man.
But all that changed when the man saw Crystal and he began to stalk her. She was young, beautiful, alluring, a bit of tease yes but she was chaste. He saw the look of disdain on her face when men groped her and her contempt for the crossdressers whose morals were loose. She tolerated Wendy and Brittany licentiousness because they were her friends.
The man knew where Crystal lived, the route she walked to and from the Black Sheep, her weekly visits to the Oxfam Emporium. He knew about Colin, where he worked, how little he socialised how he spent all of his spare time as Crystal, adopting her persona every chance he got.
One night after the Black Sheep closed and the throng was dispersing the man was watching Crystal more intently than he ever had before. She had drunk more than she usually did and was behaving a little gregariously. A handsome young man named Dennis Hadley had sat at Crystal’s table, wedging himself in beside her, chatting to her and buying her drinks. Brittany and Wendy had hooked a couple of their regular Admirers and were encouraging Crystal to let her hair down.
Dennis was more a boy than a man, probably in his early twenties but he was handsome and confident and was an accomplished conversationalist. He’d even talked Crystal into getting up for a dance, holding her close during the slow numbers, taking his time but eventually putting a hand on her arse and gently squeezing it. Dennis nuzzled her neck, then her cheek and finally stole a kiss.
The man was fuming. He wanted to rip Crystal out of the Dennis’s embrace and thrash the young upstart and then punish Crystal for her lewdness.
Crystal knew that she had drunk too many Gin and Britvic bitter lemons but the boy was handsome, he had the gift of the gab and he showed her admiration and respect. When Dennis had taken a few liberties on the dance floor she hadn't minded too much. She had allowed Dennis to kiss her and she quite liked it. She liked his attentiveness. Besides she would send him home disappointed just like she had all the other men who had shown an interest in her that way.
But she had drunk even more and at closing time found herself on the street with Wendy and her beau. Brittany had let her gentleman friend walk her home. Dennis had his arm around Crystal’s waist as much to keep her on her feet as to cuddle her.
“Come on down the canal Crystal; you’re too pissed to walk home and you won’t get a cab at this time of night,” Wendy squawked.
Crystal knew that Wendy was right, she couldn’t walk home in this condition and there was no way she was letting this boy walk her home; he would know where she lived if she did. She reluctantly acquiesced to go down to the canal and she could sense the perception of victory and eagerness in the young lad who was keeping her on her feet.
The man followed them, staying in the shadows, his heart in his mouth. He knew where they were going and what was likely to happen. If Crystal surrendered her virtue he would be bitterly disappointed and would have to begin his search all over again. He had only just finished remodelling the basement, mounting the specially constructed the door, putting in the security camera. His adoration for Crystal was being severely tested.
Crystal allowed herself to be led along Chorlton Street and down the slippery stone steps to the towpath that ran alongside the canal. She and Dennis stopped frequently to kiss and cuddle which Crystal endured because she could hardly stand on her own two feet. Wendy and her chap, a besuited man in his forties, also stopped to canoodle, the man squeezing her buttocks and slipping a hand under her skirt which Wendy didn’t seem to mind at all.
The man treaded carefully down the steps behind them, waiting for the foursome to dawdle along the towpath before he crept along behind them hugging the wall.
They passed men ensconced in passionate embraces hiding in the gloom and young rent boys on their knees servicing punters who had parked in the nearby Bloom Street car park. In a cut-out cloister in the brick wall running along the towpath a tranny was bent over a crate, her skirt hitched up and her knickers around her ankles as a fat man wearing work clothes and a flatcap buggered her.
Wendy and her chap laughed raucously and Crystal tittered nervously; she found the spectacle distasteful. Dennis nuzzled her neck and nipped her ear which, although not unpleasant, didn’t seem an appropriate response for where they were and what they had just witnessed.
The man was trailing behind the foursome, sidled up to wall so as not to be obvious. When he passed the cloister the tranny was sitting on the crate pulling up her knickers, her suitor had passed the man, heading furtively but quickly back to the Bloom Street car park.
The tranny paused, her knickers not quite hitched up all the way.
“You wanna go luv? Tenner for a shag and a fiver for a blowie,” she grinned at him, her lipstick smeared around her mouth and her wig slightly askew.
The man shivered with revulsion and moved on.
“Here’s my spot,” Wendy pulled her chap into a deep cloister.
The bricked archway was gloomy but a streetlight across the canal cast enough yellow light into the cut-out to see well enough.
There was an old mattress on the ground in the corner with a threadbare comforter on top. Crystal did not want to think of what kind of vermin might have called the cloister home nor what bodily fluids had been absorbed by the mattress and comforter over the time it had been here.
There were empty beer cans and pop bottles, cigarette butts and decaying condoms scattered on the damp cobbled floor.
Crystal was starting to sober up and regretted her decision to follow Wendy and her chap down to the canal and to allow this young man to accompany her.
“Come on luv,” Wendy giggled and pulled her chap down onto the mattress.
Dennis pressed Crystal against the wall and tried to kiss her. She resisted his advances at first, moving her face away from his and wriggling her body, trying to break free of his embrace. The young man was becoming angry and she could understand why. Hadn't she come willingly to this den of debauchery? What did she expect would happen?
Crystal stopped struggling. She’d let Dennis have a kiss and a cuddle and then she would get him to accompany her back to civilisation and they would part ways and she would walk home.
Dennis realised that his anger was upsetting Crystal so he stopped being aggressive and held her gently in his arms. He pressed his lips to hers and she let him kiss her.
He was pretty good. His lips firm but not crushing, his body pressed against her but not overly frenetic, his arms were around her and he stroked her tenderly. Despite the surroundings, Crystal actually felt quite womanly and appreciated.
The man had stopped at the archway and pressed his back against the brickwork facing the canal.
“Fucking bitch!” he hissed quietly.
He turned to face the wall and peeked into the cloister and saw Wendy on the filthy mattress with her chap on top of her kissing her. He’d hiked up her red velvet miniskirt and was in the process of trying to pull down her knickers and tights as Wendy wriggled and giggled underneath him, encouraging him.
Crystal was pinned against the wall by the young man who held her in his arms and was kissing her. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be enjoying being kissed, although her hands rested chastely on the boy’s shoulders; there was no real carnality unlike Wendy who had her legs wrapped around her beau and was helping him steer his erect penis between her pale plump buttocks.
Dennis slipped his had under Crystal’s black leather skirt and stroked her thighs. She clamped them shut and tried to remove his hand. The boy was hot and she could feel that he was tumescent. He pushed his groin into her and she could feel the protuberance through his jeans rubbing on her body.
“Ok Dennis that’s enough. Take me back to Piccadilly Gardens and I’ll walk home from there,” Crystal tried to break the embrace.
“Your friend knows what it’s all about. What about it love?” the boy’s nature had changed.
He was no longer an attentive suitor, he was becoming quiet aggressive.
Dennis forced his lips on Crystal's mouth and pawed at her thighs and she began to struggle.
“Don’t be like that. Isn’t this what your type want? Some nice bloke to tell you how pretty you are before he bends you over and shags you up the arse,” Dennis hissed as he struggled with the pretty transvestite.
He could already see himself coming into the Black Sheep the next night victorious, telling everyone that he had shagged the prick-tease transvestite, drinking free beer all night having won the bet. Besides which Crystal was very attractive and had a pretty face, great legs and a nice arse and he fancied putting it to her.
Dennis went back to work forcing his kisses on her, stroking her thighs.
Crystal no longer enjoyed being kissed by Dennis. He might be handsome and athletic but he was being unduly rough with her. He thrust his tongue into her mouth, pinning her against the brickwork, his hand under her skirt pulling at her tights and knickers.
“Stop it!” Crystal tried to push the boy away but he was too strong.
Dennis was fumbling around between her legs and Crystal was getting quite frustrated with the young man’s insistence.
The man who had followed Crystal peeked into the cut-out and saw Crystal pinned against the wall by the handsome young man. Jealousy coursed through him and he became enraged but then he realised that Crystal was trying to fight the young lad off. He considered leaping into the cloister and rescuing Crystal and giving the young man a thrashing but he would give himself away. But he couldn’t just stand here and watch the young ruffian defile the object of his desire against her will.
Then he saw a light down the end of the towpath. It was very bright and was being shone against the brick wall and into the cut-outs and underpasses illuminating men in the throes of carnal exploits. When the light exposed them the men ran away down the towpath and up the first flight of steps they came to. The man looked up the slick, mossy brickwork and saw a flicker of blue light reflected off the nearby buildings. He ran up the steps and saw a police panda car and a black maria with its doors open near the top of the steps. The wooden-tops were herding the men into the paddy wagon as they emerged from the towpath.
Crystal had just about given up fighting Dennis. He was kissing her passionately and she let him. It wasn’t really that unpleasant but she just wished she wasn’t in this filthy viaduct underpass. Dennis had stopped pawing at her and was content to press his body against hers and Crystal let him. She wished Wendy would hurry up and finish with her friend so they could leave. She glanced over and saw Wendy lying on her back on the filthy mattress, the man on top of her with his trousers down, rutting away at her plump arse, her nyloned legs wrapped around him. They were both grunting and groaning.
She tore her eyes away from the carnality and suddenly became aware of something hot and hard was pressing on her leg. Dennis was humping her thighs. He kissed her harder, pressing her against the brick wall so hard that she couldn’t move. She felt a scalding wetness erupt on her right thigh and realised that the boy had climaxed on her leg, rubbing his hard cock on her best sheers.
Dennis shuddered and moaned as he orgasmed and Crystal was able to push him off her and she slapped his face but Dennis just laughed.
“Don’t come on like that you slag; you wanted it, otherwise why would you have come down the canal with me,” Dennis snarled as he put away his shrinking hardon and zipped up his jeans.
It was then that a bobby on a bike stopped at the entrance to the cut-out and shined a torch into it, illuminating the tableaux of Wendy being shagged on the mattress by the man in the suit and Crystal with her skirt up wiping semen off her nylons.
“You’re all nicked!” the copper yelled out.
Dennis bolted out the cut-out and ran for the stairs. The besuited suitor climbed off Wendy and ran after him, trying to button his trousers as he stumbled after the boy. Wendy sprang off the mattress and pulled up her knickers and tights with a speed that was surprising given her chubby physique.
Crystal was still dumbfounded but then she realised what was happening. The bobby had cycled on down the towpath but it was obvious that he had colleagues close by; Crystal could hear the clatter above her as the miscreants were rounded up.
She bolted out of the cut-out as best she could on her high heels and was about to follow Wendy up the steps when a hand reached out and grabbed her upper arm.
“Not that way! Go back down the towpath the way you came and take the steps that lead up to Chorlton Street. Go straight home and don’t look back,” the man whispered harshly in her ear and pushed her down the towpath back the way she had come.
The man was right, whoever he was; she never really saw his face in the dark and the confusion. It was the longer way back to the streets of Manchester but there were no coppers that way. Crystal looked around to see if she could see the man who had saved her from an embarrassing incarceration but he was gone.
The man stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked off the other way, ignored by the coppers who were busy rounding up the rent boys, their punters and the odd tranny or two.
When Crystal got home she locked the door behind her and collapsed on the couch and realised how lucky and how stupid she had been. She could have suffered the humiliation of being locked up in the watch house still dressed in drag. When she had regained her composure she staggered off to the bedroom, no longer drunk but suffering from shock. Then she remembered that Dennis had splooged on her best sheers and she lifted her skirt and looked at the large silvery stain on her right thigh. She shucked out of her skirt and rolled down her nylons and tossed them aside.
Too exhausted to do much more she pulled off her wig and fell onto the bed.
Later that night she awoke and felt around the bed until she found the nylons she had been wearing.
She fingered the wet patch and put it to her nose and sniffed the musky scent of Dennis’s semen. She wrapped the other leg of the nylon around her turgid member and stroked herself to climax, inhaling the heady scent of Dennis’s cum. She felt ashamed for doing so but not for long. She soon fell asleep and dreamt of her Prince Charming rescuing her from some villainous cretin.
The next evening at the Black Sheep the talk was all about the roundup down at the canal. Crystal had to endure a lecture from Brittany about how stupid she had been to go down there with the young man. Wendy wasn’t there because she had spent the night in the watchhouse and had been bailed by Brittany on Saturday morning and was currently trying to justify to his wife why he hadn't come home.
There was no sign of Dennis and Crystal was glad. She blushed when she remembered what she done with her semen-soaked nylons alone her bed the night before.
“Two fat ladies eighty-eight,” the drag queen on the stage called out, starting the first bingo game.
“Two little ducks, twenty two,” her partner called out and the audience dutifully replied ‘quack, quack’.
Crystal was saved from further lecturing by Brittany and she marked her bingo card. She wondered who the stranger was who had come to her rescue and guided her on the right path away from the police roundup.
The man sat in his usual corner watching her. He had finished the room in his cellar. It was time to make Crystal his captive before she did anything more stupid than she had last night.
Kidnapping Crystal had turned out to be remarkably easier than he thought it would be.
On the night he had set aside to kidnap her he was sitting at the crowed bar at the Black Sheep when they called last drinks and one of the Admirers sitting with Crystal, Brittany and Wendy came to the bar and ordered a final round. The barman searched underneath the bar for a tray for the Admirer to put the drinks on and the Admirer spotted a tray on a recently vacated table and went to get it leaving the drinks unattended for the few seconds the man needed to put the toxin in the only Gin and Britvic bitter lemon on the bar.
Wendy had not learned her lesson and went with an Admirer down towards the canal and Brittany had one of her regulars walk her home. Crystal parted company with Brittany and her beau at Piccadilly Gardens and by then she was feeling the effects of the potion the man had slipped in her drink. At first Crystal just thought she had drunk too many gins and the fresh air was taking its toll on her but soon she felt disoriented and very confused.
The man swept in and helped Crystal who by this time was finding it difficult to stay on her feet and had no idea what was happening. He helped her all the way to his house on Cooper Street. Anybody watching them at this late hour would think that the man was helping his inebriated girlfriend home.
Once he had her safely inside the house he took Crystal down to the cellar and put her to bed in her cell.
Now
That had all taken place so long ago that she couldn't recall exactly how long ago it was. She had been incarcerated for so long that time didn't really matter to her any longer. Crystal could only lie on the bed and look at the open door. How long had she been held captive? She didn’t know, but this was the first time she had ever seen the door to her cell open. It mesmerised her.
Then Crystal turned her attention to the man standing behind the nicely set table. He was vaguely familiar. Had she seen him in the Black Sheep?
The first thing she noticed was that the man was handsome she had to admit begrudgingly. He was older than her but not much; early thirties? He was tanned and fit. She could confirm this because the man was wearing a mulberry silk bathrobe which showed off his bronze muscular chest and well-developed legs. His feet were shod in expensive leather sandals.
“You drugged me again,” Crystal said churlishly, making no effort to get off her bed.
She pulled her black satin and lace negligee tightly around her in a vain display of modesty.
The man smiled appreciatively.
“Only a little bit, just to make you sleepy. I wanted this to a surprise,” the man indicated the dinner service.
“I’ve seen you before haven’t I? At the Black Sheep?” Crystal tried to recall where she had seen the man before.
The man flicked his sandy hair out of his eyes and studied her; his deep blue eyes sparkled with amusement.
“The Black Sheep yes… and on the canal towpath,” the man was incredibly handsome when he smiled.
“It was you! You saved me… when the coppers were raiding the cut-out arches under the towpath wall: Cyril’s wooden-tops on bicycles scaring the poofters out of the cloisters and the coppers at the top of the stairs arresting them and putting them in the paddy wagon. You sent me the other way so I wasn’t rounded up,” Crystal realised who the man was now.
“Your fat friend wasn’t so lucky,” the man chuckled.
Crystal bristled. She didn’t like his tone.
“Wendy is pleasantly plump, not fat, and it isn’t funny that she got locked up,” Crystal barked at him.
“Ok. Keep yer knickers on. I didn’t mean to insult your friend. The other one, Brittany, now she’s a sort,” the man took a pristine white napkin and flicked it open.
Crystal could not believe that she was feeling jealous of Brittany.
“If you fancied her so much, why didn’t you kidnap her instead of me?” Crystal hissed at the man.
“Because she has no virtue. She takes men home to her place. Lots of men,” the man held the napkin out to Crystal who reluctantly arose from the bed.
“You know a lot about us,” Crystal approached the table wearily.
“I know a lot about you,” the man pulled out a chair for her.
Crystal sat down and the man laid the napkin in her lap.
The man wanted to grab Crystal. To kiss her and to hold her close to him. To throw her on the bed and lie on top of her and do things to her. Do all the things he had dreamed of doing to her but that would spoil the months of hard work that he put in. He cleared his mind of the fantasy and began to serve.
“You say Brittany has no virtue. This from the man who pokes his cock through a glory hole twice a day and demands that I suck it!” Crystal barked.
“You didn’t like it at first but you got used to it and now you like it,” the man smiled cheekily at her as he spooned greens onto her plate.
Crystal blushed deep crimson.
“You said it yourself Crystal, I know a lot about you. I know everything about you,” the man used tongs to place a warm bread roll on Crystal’s side plate and then he plated his own dinner.
The aroma of the food was making Crystal salivate but she didn’t want to appear overly eager.
“It’s coq au vin with roasted new potatoes, green beans and asparagus,” the man waved at her plate.
Sitting across from her captor with a dinner service between them and good food and wine on the table was the most bizarre thing that had happened to Crystal since she had been captured… but why didn’t it seem that way? Because the man was insane? She didn’t think so. He wasn’t insane. He was infatuated with her, besotted with her, bewitched by her, possessed by her and now he possessed her.
Crystal couldn’t help but stare at the open door only a few feet away. She was intrigued by it.
“You can go out through the door if you want to,” the man poured them both wine.
“Is this drugged too,” Crystal said snarkily and pointed to her glass.
“No my sweet and I promise I will never drug you again,” the man smiled at her.
“Now I think it’s time I properly introduced myself. I’m Alex Prince,” the man hung out his glass like he was offering a toast.
"Of course you are," Crystal nearly choked at the irony.
Crystal picked up her own glass and let him clink the glasses together.
“Alex Prince. Now I have a name to give the police when I get out of here,” Crystal said mockingly.
“Really Crystal? And do you think they will believe you? That you were held prisoner in my cellar conversion which I am currently advertising as available for rent? That I force upon you a regime whereby you live full time as the beautiful woman that you are but which I’m sure the Manchester constabulary will find abhorrent? That you give me sexual favours through a specially made portal which will have been replaced by a normal wooden door by the time the plods get here,” Alex buttered his roll while he was talking.
“As for Colin Divine, he told his employers and his landlord that he was going to visit a non-existent brother in Australia. When you turn up at the Manchester police station dressed in your finery I’m sure they will be very accommodating and find your story very believable,” Alex smiled wanly at her, mocking her.
Crystal picked up her own roll and began to butter it.
“You called my bluff. Of course I can’t go to the coppers and anyway it’s not them I’m worried about. It’s the papers. The British tabloids would have a field day with my story and they’d never leave me alone. I’ll have to think of some other way to wreak my revenge,” Crystal daintily popped a piece of buttered bread into her mouth and smiled at Alex.
“Shall we dine?” Alex raised his glass and Crystal clinked the lip of her glass against his and took a sip of the very good burgundy.
“So now that you have shown yourself to me; why don’t you tell me about yourself?” Crystal said as she cut into the tender chicken.
“It’s not a nice story I'm afraid,” Alex said; his voice a half-whisper.
Alex Prince told Crystal his life story.
Then
Alex Prince wasn’t sure at what age he realised that his mother was a tom; he supposed he’d always known. Knocked up young by a soldier who told her loved her and then abandoned her when he found out she was pregnant, thrown out onto the streets by her parents, what chance did his mother have?
All Silvia Prince had were her looks and her body. Despite the advice from Child Services and almost everyone she knew Silvia decided to keep her baby. It wasn’t much of a life for Alex being dragged around from doss house to doss house, brothel to brothel, bedsit to bedsit. Silvia insisted that Alex go to school and she did her best to keep him away from the seedy part of her life and the men she brought home or came to visit.
For Alex, a handsome, intelligent boy, school was rough. The other students knew that his mother was a prostitute and they teased him relentlessly until he became big enough to fend for himself and took up sports including boxing. After beating the school bully nearly unconscious he was left alone by the others.
He grew up lonely and angry; his only real friends were his mother’s fellow prostitutes. Street walkers, brothel queens, callgirls and escorts where his surrogate family. Some of them looked after him while his mother worked or had to go to hospital for reasons he was never told. He tolerated them but he found no real love there, except for Miriam Tuttle.
Miriam was different from the other women but Alex didn’t know why. She was always dressed nice, a little racy of course because she had to advertise her profession; she was always dressed in short skirts, blouses, nylon stockings, heels and full makeup; Alex could never recall seeing Miriam sitting around in a tattered housedress or nightie like the other women.
Miriam’s voice was deep, dark and exotic and she showed Alex genuine affection; nothing sexual, she was just kind, considerate and loving towards him and bought him little presents and looked after Alex as his mother’s health declined and her dependence on drugs and alcohol began to spiral out of control.
Alex was taken away from his mother by Child Services and went to live with his aunt who reared him into adulthood. His aunt was an antique aficionado and Alex was good with his hands. He was taking woodwork classes at school and showed an interest in furniture restoration and carpentry. His aunt fostered his interests and introduced him into the world of fine furniture. When he left school she found him a job working part time for an antique merchant while he undertook an apprenticeship in carpentry.
His aunt was a flamboyant buxom woman who was always well-dressed and accessorised. She was like the antiques she sold from the little shed out back of her house: garish and gaudy and a little patched up, except in her case it was makeup and tight-fitting skirts, rather than wood-filler and varnish.
It came as no surprise to Alex when his mother finally succumbed to her vices and the now strapping eighteen year old young man attended her funeral alone; his aunt refused to attend.
It was a small affair and afterwards a few of his mother’s acquaintances went down to the pub to drink to her memory. Miriam Tuttle was there dressed nicely in a dark skirt-suit, sheer black nylon stockings and very high heels. Her makeup was heavy but flawless and her blonde hair was coiffed in a fringed bouffant.
Alex drank too much and Miriam took him back to her bedsit. She went to the little stove to make coffee when Alex came up behind her and pressed himself to her.
“Alex, you are just grieving for your mother, you shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her back to him, the heat of his erection pressing into her buttocks.
“You were always there for me Miriam. You always cared for me but I’ve always fancied you I think,” Alex sniffed her hair; she smelled divine.
“Don’t be silly Alex,” Miriam tried to make light of the situation as she spooned instant coffee into two cups.
“You were different from the others; you really cared for me,” Alex nuzzled Miriam’s cheek.
“I’m too old for you Alex and I’m not your type. You should be chasing young go-go dancers or some nice girl you met in Technical College,” Miriam said.
Alex was strong and he spun Miriam around so that she was facing him. He looked into her pretty face which was beginning to age and showing the signs of years working as a prostitute. He wanted to kiss those plump lipsticked lips as he gazed into her hazel eyes, enhanced by too much mascara, eyeliner and eyeshadow.
“Alex you know we shouldn’t. You know I’m not like the other girls,” Miriam whispered as Alex pressed his mouth to her hers.
He held her close and guided her across the small room to the rickety bed where he eased her down on the rumpled bedclothes. On the little nightstand beside her cigarettes and ashtray were the tools of her trade: condoms, lubricants, stimulants and a vibrator. He ignored them and lay on top of Miriam and kissed her passionately, pressing his cock into her belly.
She lay underneath him, mostly passive; letting him have his way with her. Anything to console him.
He shucked out of his suit and shirt and kicked off his shoes, leaving on his socks and underpants like so many of her punters. He mounted her again and hiked up her skirt and rubbed his cock on her stockings. She could feel the warmth and sturdiness of his throbbing appendage and she reached down and softly stroked it. He gasped in her mouth around his fervent kisses.
Alex put his hands inside Miriam’s jacket and squeezed her breasts through her blouse. They felt different, not quite right and he abandoned his assault on her bosom and put his hands between her legs. Her knickers were silky and lacy and he moved his cock from her thighs and rubbed it on the front of her knickers, enjoying the feel of the slippery satin on his engorged member.
Alex had only had sex on two previous occasions, up against the wall in the alley next to his local pub with girls of dubious morals but he had a rudimentary idea of what he was supposed to do.
He slipped his cock into the leg-hole of Miriam’s knickers intending to spear her cunt with his hard cock. It puzzled him that he couldn’t find the entrance. Where was her fleshy labia like the other girls he had shagged?
“Silly boy,” Miriam sniggered.
She reached out for the lubricant on the nightstand and smeared a dollop on his rampant member. In his drunken haze he figured that Miriam must be dry down there from all the fucking she did. It felt wonderful when she took his glistening organ and guided it to her opening. She had put two pillows under her back and lifted her buttocks for him. She still had her knickers on; in fact she was still fully-clothed, which Alex didn’t mind at all. He liked the feel of her clothing on his body especially her stocking and knickers.
He slipped inside of her and she was tight. Miriam wrapped her legs around his waist and encouraged Alex to fuck her, kissing him passionately with her arms around his neck. Alex knew that something wasn’t quite right but right now it didn’t matter, he was in heavenly bliss fucking this beautiful but jaded older woman, feeling her nyloned legs scissoring on his tender flesh, her lips pressed to his and her tongue in his mouth.
Miriam reached down into her knickers and did something and it was only then that Alex realised that she had just freed her cock and balls from between her legs. Now he knew what was so different about Miriam Tuttle but right now he didn’t care, he was about to come and he thrust his cock deep inside her anus and spent himself, kissing her roughly, hammering his cock into her. He felt a warm stickiness on his belly and realised that Miriam had come in her knickers, the stench of musky semen filled the room.
Alex wanted to climb off this impostor and punch her whilst at the same time he felt a deep loving affection for her and the opposing sentiments were causing him grave anguish but did not prevent him from enjoying the orgasm that washed over him as Miriam held him tight and kissed him deeply, locking her legs around his waist.
When he had finished with her, Alex climbed off Miriam unable to look at her. He’d seen the tip of her penis poking above the waistband of her knickers and the wet patch on the front panel of her knickers where she had ejaculated. Some of her issue was on his belly and he frantically wiped it off with a tea towel and threw it at her.
“You’re an impostor. All these years I thought you were a woman and you were… were… were a freak!” Alex spat at her.
Miriam was curled up on the bed crying, her back turned to him.
“I thought you knew! I was sure Silvia had told you… had explained it to you,” Miriam spoke softly to the wall.
Alex hurriedly dressed.
“Tranny cunt!” he hissed at her as he slammed the door and ran down the stairs.
Alex completed his apprenticeship and went on to open his own antique shop and restoration service helped out by a loan from his aunt who kept an eye out for bargains for him to purchase and restore. He retained his interest in sports and fitness and kept himself healthy and tanned, taking holidays to sunny destinations when he could afford it.
The anguish and torment that he felt about the incident with Miriam Tuttle affected him deeply. He developed a love-hate relationship with transvestites. He found himself unable to perform with cisgender women but fascinated by transvestites but only those who were passable and attractive. He loathed them and he craved for them. He hated their promiscuousness but loved their femininity.
He tried going with transvestite prostitutes but he felt self-loathing every time afterwards. He chatted transvestites up in the bars around Canal Street, attracted to them by their feminine attractiveness but repelled by them when they became licentious. He was unable to resist their charms but afterwards he felt pity for them because they needed strangers to use them sexually to validate their femininity and after he had fucked them he felt disgusted with himself because he was unable to resist their charms. He wanted his own special woman; someone unsullied and unspoiled. It became his passion, his obsession, a compulsion.
He scoured the streets of Manchester looking for his perfect partner. Years of his life spent trying to find that special girl without success. He searched high and low looking for his own special girl to love him and worship him but she had to be unsullied. He needed to find a transvestite who was new to the life. If he found her we would keep her all to himself and cherish her and worship her and she would worship him.
He confessed his predicament to his aunt who took pity on her nephew. Raised by prostitutes, abandoned by his father, orphaned by his mother, deceived by the woman he had unknowingly fallen in love with. His aunt had no problems with the transvestites and crossdressers who gathered in the Canal Street gay village; in fact she was supportive of them and was sympathetic. She just wished that Alex could find some sort of solace and contentment. If only she could help him.
Then Alex finally found Crystal.
Now
Throughout the story Crystal couldn’t help but stare at the open door. She listened intently to what Alex was saying but the door was a distraction. It had been closed and locked for so long that seeing it wide open like this was perturbing.
As he told his story she pitied Alex, raised by toms, his mother addicted to alcohol and drugs, taken away by Child Services and placed with a relative, but when he told her about Miriam Tuttle she bristled. Yes, Alex was naïve enough to think that Miriam was a real woman, she must have been very convincing, but that didn’t excuse his actions.
Crystal had seen fervent Admirers at the Black Sheep, the ones who were obsessed with her kind. Licking their wet fleshy lips, their eyes darting here and there, glaring at the pretty transvestites, nostrils flaring at a glimpse of thigh of a flash of knicker, Brittany had warned Crystal about them. They were fanatical and sometimes dangerous but also pathetic.
But Alex Prince was something else. A man dedicated to finding his perfect lover: a beautiful transvestite woman who was still morally chaste and had held onto her virtue. Crystal couldn’t help but admire his resolve but at the same time wasn’t it a form of madness?
He was handsome, fit and well-spoken and he adored her but he was also a kidnapper who kept her locked up in this gilded cage and demanded sexual favours from her. She wasn’t stupid. His demand for her to dress how she was, his insistence on her toilet routine which included douching, his presence in her room; he was about to compel her to make the ultimate sacrifice, to surrender her virtue… he was going to fuck her!
When dinner was nearly over she considered her choices. She could bolt for the door and if she succeeded she could lock Alex in the cell but then what? She was dressed in lingerie and could hardly go out on the streets like that. She could remove her makeup and put on some of Alex’s clothes but the thought of dressing like a man after all this time was anathema.
Even if she succeeded, where would she go? She no longer had a flat. She could go to Brittany’s and tell her what? Who would believe her story and if they did what would they do? The police would likely not believe her and in any event would not be sympathetic; there had been no physical violence towards her. She certainly couldn’t go to her parents; they would have no sympathy and her father would tell her she got what she deserved.
All this was moot. She wasn’t going to run for the door. Did she want her freedom… yes! But she wanted a different type of freedom. Crystal wanted freedom on her own terms.
Alex Prince was both the villain and the hero in Crystal’s own bodice-ripper story. He was the wicked man that she hated, who had captured her and held her hostage, but he was also the handsome hero and who had come to rescue her.
With dinner completed Crystal drank another glass of wine sitting on the little sofa while Alex pushed the trolley outside. He dimmed the lights and sat down beside her, drink in hand.
“Do you know how long I have wanted for us to be like this? To sit together and hold an intelligent conversation, to be able to look at you without the door between us, to see how wonderful and beautiful you really are?” Alex whispered.
“As opposed to sticking your cock through a hole in the door and demanding I suck it?” Crystal hissed and scooched away from him as much as the sofa would allow.
“Initially yes and I’m sorry but you must admit that once you overcame your revulsion, you liked it,” he smiled at her, radiating his handsomeness at her.
He put his hand on her leg and Crystal froze. This was the moment of truth for her.
He circled his fingers, caressing her knee, his finger slipping underneath her leg and smoothing the little wrinkles in her stocking at the back of her knees. It felt surreal and frightening but also comforting: the feel of another human being touching her after being alone for so long in the cell.
He scooched over and she had nowhere to go; she was pinned between his body and the armrest. Alex slipped his arm along the back of the sofa and rested his hand lightly on her shoulder, stroking her softly.
It was terrifying and comforting at the same time as Alex circled his fingers on her knee whilst his other hand caressed her shoulder. His gown was slightly open and she could see his tanned muscular chest, his flat belly and also the protuberance in his lap.
She knew what it was. She’d stroked it often enough, she’d suckled it, she’d milked very drop of the nectar that flowed from the purple head.
But this was different. There was no door between them.
Alex stood up abruptly and put his arms under her knees and the small of her back and carried her to bed. She felt so tiny, petite and helpless but she found the warmth of his body comforting during the short journey.
He laid her on the bed and kicked off his sandals and lay down beside her.
Alex kissed his captive for the first time and it was wonderful. She lay passively chaste and unresponsive but the sensation of her soft lips against his, the smell of her, the taste of her was sublime. Her lips were soft and supple, her breath sweet, her perfume alluring, his cock was so hard that it was painful.
Crystal let him kiss her. The touch of a warm body was a palliative for the loneliness she had felt during her confinement. Alex was wearing cologne and it was manly and musky, his body seemed to radiate heat, his breath was masculine and he tasted of garlic, spices and red wine. It was not unpleasant but she refused to respond. She would not be the fey damsel who melted in his arms and clung to him adoringly.
Alex stroked her upper arm as he gently kissed her. Crystal half expected him to throw her on her back or bend her over and ravage her but he did no such thing. He was soft, kind and gentle, murmuring to Crystal how beautiful and feminine she was. His platitudes bounced off her armour. He was buttering her up before he violated her. How long before he either forced himself on her or turned out the lights and starved her like he did before when she refused to provide him with sexual favours?
Alex persevered and continued to kiss Crystal chastely, pressing his lips softly against hers, not in any way forceful; he also caressed her gently but chastely, stroking her arms, her shoulders, her cheek. He pressed his body against her but not hard or lewdly, as much as he wanted to, he ensured that his erection did not come into contact with Crystal’s body.
This was how a paramour in her Mills and Boon would behave. There would be no written narrative of rutting passionate sex, just a description of soft caresses and kissing which slowly burned into unbridled passion but there would be no grubby vulgar portrayal of penetrative sex; that was all implied, the reader allowed to invent their own tableaux of the lovers copulating.
Alex put his hand on Crystal's trim waist and softly caressed her. The feel of the delicate fabric of her négligée on her flesh felt delightful, like soft kisses from a stranger. She supressed a gasp but couldn’t repress a sigh. Alex heard it and kissed her a little harder, not much, not insistently. Crystal’s lips opened just a little and Alex resisted the temptation to thrust his tongue into her mouth. He just continued kiss her softly and stroke her seductively.
Crystal was feeling confused. Alex was so handsome and since he had come through the door he had behaved like a gentleman. He bombarded her with compliments and held her chastely but adoringly, his kisses were soft and sweet and she yearned for human contact but it wasn’t just that. She thought again of what she had read about Stockholm Syndrome. Was she simply experiencing an emotional response towards her abuser and captor?
Whatever it was it gnawed away at her. Part of her wanted to push him away and run to the door and part of her wanted to curl up in his arms.
The tip of his tongue slipped past her lips and she could have easily bitten it but she didn’t. He didn’t thrust his tongue roughly into her and forage in her mouth like the few men she had kissed before him had done. His tongue crept under her lips and tickled her palate. Nobody had ever done that before and it felt surprisingly erotic.
But Crystal refused to offer any response. She lay still while Alex kissed her softly and lovingly, while his fingers caressed her flesh through the gauzy négligée, while he whispered endearments into her ear, his lips tickling her earlobes.
She had to admit that she had never felt so feminine, so adored, so cherished. It was as if the roles had had been reversed and she held power over him, which she knew in a way she did. Crystal imagined that at this moment in time this man would do anything for her.
Alex was maddeningly frustrated. As much as he loved kissing and canoodling his cherished prize she was not responding to his advances. He would have preferred that she fought him, bit him, scratched him, yelled obscenities at him rather than just lie there passively.
She had won. Crystal had beaten him. He had no interest or intent on forcing himself on her; that would spoil things forever. He surrendered.
Crystal felt Alex take his hand from her waist and his lips stopped kissing her and caressing her ear. The whispered terms of endearment ceased and she felt him shift on the bed. He rolled away from her and she could feel him pivot and his weight shifted as he prepared to alight from the bed.
He said one word.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
Crystal felt abandoned and forsaken. She missed the shape of his body pressing against her, the light touch of his fingers on her waist, the softness of his lips pressing gently on hers, the taste of his tongue, the scent of his flesh. She had defeated her enemy but she had also rebuffed her saviour.
Crystal reached out and crooked her little finger in his. Alex stopped moving and lay on the bed with his back to her, the space between them felt like an ocean but they were connected by the fragile link of their intertwined pinkie fingers. He lay still and cherished the ephemeral connection between them. He imagined he could feel the beating of her heart through her finger. She curled her pinkie and stroked his palm and Alex sighed.
Crystal scooted across the gap between them and pressed her body against his. She put her arm around him and this time he was certain that he could feel her beating heart.
“Kiss me again,” Crystal whispered.
Alex rolled over and looked deeply into Crystal’s green eyes and searched them. He saw fear and confusion but also affection.
He kissed her softly and stroked her cheek, his other hand gently stroking the arch of her back. Alex was aware that Crystal was returning his kiss, pressing her lips against his, her mouth open slightly. He sensed her longing as she snuggled up to him, the soft caress of her negligee against the bare skin of his chest, the suppleness of her trembling lips, the delicate kneading of her fingers on his upper arm.
Crystal slipped the tip of her tongue into Alex’s mouth. She wanted to taste him, to draw his breath into her lungs and savour the essence of him. She pressed her soft body against his and put her leg over his and his hand went instinctively to the long limb and stroked the silky soft stocking. She couldn’t help but smile and he felt it.
He kissed her a little firmer; his tongue found hers and tickled it. She pressed herself harder against him, feeling the manliness of him, feeling the hard bulge against her belly but she didn’t feel repulsed by it.
They kissed for an eternity and Alex stroked her leg, starting at her ankle and then softly caressing her silken-hosed limb, slowly working his way upward; pausing at her knee to caress the tender flesh behind it and feeling her gasp into his mouth when he tickled her there. Then his hand continued its journey to the top of her thigh, exploring dark gauzy welt at the top her stocking, fingering the crease where her leg joined her torso but proceeding no further.
“A girl only ever has one first time. Make it special. Don’t hurt me,” Crystal whispered in his ear and Alex’s cock uncoiled and distended in anticipation.
“Of course my precious. I love you,” the words fell from his lips as softly and as easily as the tears that fell from Crystal’s eyes when she heard them.
She thought him foolish but at the same time she adored him for saying it.
Crystal slipped her hand inside Alex’s jacket and ran her fingers across his hard chest, her nails catching wisps of his chest hair. She undid the cincture and opened the robe and Alex lifted his arms so she could take it off him. He was naked expect for his underpants. Crystal cuddled up to him wanting to feel his warmth and the firmness of his body; he cradled her tiny form in his arms and kissed the top of her head.
The sheathlike gossamer négligée she was wearing felt sensually provocative against his flesh, her stocking-clad thigh a sensuous satiny graze on his leg. He was uncomfortably tumescent, his penis trapped in his underwear aching for freedom.
Crystal kissed him deeply and lovingly for the first time and his head swam as she pressed her lips against his and her tongue slithered around in his mouth. He felt her fingertips graze his manhood and then she surprised him and freed his organ from the confines of his briefs.
Alex gasped as Crystal took his steely organ in her fingers and softly stroked it.
Crystal felt demure and petite, nestled against Alex's body but she felt powerful and dominant when Alex mewled as she squeezed the spongy veiny mass and felt it throb in her fingers. Alex broke the kiss and lowered his head to her tiny breasts and lapped at the nipples poking out above the top of her bustier. She wished that she had real breasts for him to suckle but when he used his lips, his tongue and his teeth on her sensitive nubbins, it mattered not; it felt divine.
Crystal was tumescent and her testes had involuntary lowered into her scrotal sac and her penis was uncomfortably trapped against her perineum. She winced and Alex guessed why. He kissed her again and his hand slid along the bodice of her bustier and down between her legs and stroked the front of her satin panties. Crystal shot her hand down there and gripped Alex's wrist; she wasn’t sure she was ready for this but he was persistent and he snaked his hand inside her knickers and tore away the tape keeping her tucked. He gripped her penis as his tongue wriggled in her mouth and she returned the gesture and squeezed his hard cock.
It was the first time Alex had ever touched a transvestite’s penis and he wasn’t sure that he was even going to do it but it was instinctive. He didn’t find it repulsive, her penis was a part of her body, a sensitive organ that gave her pleasure and he didn’t feel bad about stroking it. He delighted in giving her pleasure.
Crystal stroked Alex’s erect penis and returned his kisses and rubbed her leg on his thigh and felt his organ throb and judder, she sensed that he was aching for release.
Alex gently rolled Crystal onto her back and he straddled her, her tiny body underneath his muscled physique. She looked up at him with both fear and adoration knowing what was soon to come. He looked down at her; his gaze expressing his devotion and need for her. He lowered his face to hers and she opened her mouth when he kissed her, she reached up and took his manhood in her hand and squeezed it. She rubbed the shank of it on her thighs, letting him feel the supple slinkiness of her nylon stockings on his aching flesh.
He lay on top of her and pressed his cock against her knickers, her cock trapped inside the silky garment, their cocks rubbing together with only the slippery satin of her knickers between them.
She felt him reach for something on the nightstand and do something to himself between her legs and then she felt his slippery appendage sneak inside her knickers, his finger following, finding her puckered sphincter, massaging cool slippery gel into the wrinkled gland.
Crystal froze. This was it. She was to be deflowered and she was scared.
It was nothing like she imagined and was it everything like she imagined. She yelped when Alex pushed his glans into the spongy furrow of her sphincter. It hurt a little as her tight bud opened to allow Alex's engorged phallus to enter her. She clung to him, her face screwed up in pain, gasping and mewing.
“Shh my darling, the worst is over; relax,” Alex soothed her.
He kissed the tip of her nose and her fluttering eyelashes. She guided his mouth to hers; she wanted to feel his lips, she wanted to feel his tongue and to taste him. She put her arms around his neck and locked her legs around his, clinging to him, impaled on his cock, just the tip of it inside her, burning her like a red hot poker.
They lay like that until the pain slowly became something else, a deep sensuous pleasurable sensation that Crystal could hardly describe but knew that she liked. Her sphincter relaxed and suddenly she wanted more of Alex inside her. She surprised him when Crystal raised her buttocks off the bed and slid more of his cock inside her.
She winced as his bloated manhood stretched her sphincter and distended her anus but the pain soon dissipated and that lovely deep delightful feeling returned and intensified.
Alex kissed her passionately and Crystal returned his kisses. Her cock was tenting her knickers and Alex could feel it pressing on his belly. He slowly pushed the rest of his engorged member inside Crystal until his scrotum rested against her knickered buttocks. Crystal squirmed beneath him and he realised that she was acclimatising herself to his cock.
She lifted her legs higher, clamping them around his waist and pressed her cock against his hard belly and began to fuck him. Crystal had never felt anything so decadent and delightful as Alex’s big bloated penis filling her anus, stretching her sphincter and making it tingle, pressing on her prostate and wrenching delightful rings of pure pleasure from the sensitive gland. Her cock was dribbling pre-ejaculate, saturating the front of her knickers and Alex could feel it on his belly.
He could no longer control himself and Alex pinned Crystal to the bed and began to ravage her. He fucked her hard with brutal strokes and she raised her buttocks off the bed to meet him. She bit his lip and tasted his blood as she felt her anus being battered by Alex’s truncheon-like appendage. The pain merged with the pleasure, intensifying and magnifying the delight that came from deep inside her and radiated up into her throbbing penis.
Alex moaned and kissed Crystal so hard that she could hardly breathe but she didn’t need to. She took all the succour she needed from Alex. He was breathing for them both; the heart hammering in his chest was beating for them both. She was part of him and he was part of her.
He gave Crystal his seed. She felt his penis resonate and quiver as he drove it all the way inside her and ground his pubis against her soft buttocks, she sighed as she surrendered her virtue to the man who, once her captor, had become her lover. Her whole body shook as she climaxed, she flooded her knickers, her scalding semen saturating the satin delicates.
Alex felt Crystal orgasm under him and he kissed her and pinned her beneath him as he drove his cock all the way inside her tight rectum. He felt her anus undulate, milking his spend from his juddering manhood as her cock quivered in her knickers, pressed against his hard belly. He deliberately pushed his belly against her shuddering organ to intensify her pleasure.
Crystal felt utterly feminine and effete lying under the hard-muscled man who was ravaging her with his steely cock but she also felt empowered, knowing that Alex was surrendering himself to her as much as she was giving herself to him.
She whimpered and mewed as her climax slowly diffused but the pleasant feeling of fullness in her anus and the tingling in her sphincter was not extinguished. Alex left his cock inside her as the last of his spend dribbled from it. His frenetic kisses become softer, tender and he stroked her cheek and whispered endearments. He made no move to climb off her and she didn’t want him to.
Crystal lay on her back with her legs loosely draped around Alex’s body, her hands locked behind his neck as she smiled up at him, a lock of his sandy hair partly veiling his blue eyes.
“Did I hurt you?” Alex whispered; genuine concern in his voice.
Their lovemaking was supposed be have been slow, tender and sensitive the first time. He had promised himself that but Crystal was as culpable as he. To his surprise she had turned from a meek kitten into a lioness, expressing her wantonness and her need, causing him to respond commensurately. What was supposed to be kind, affectionate lovemaking had become a desperate fuck.
“No you didn’t. It was wonderful,” Crystal replied, feeling a little guilty about how easily she had turned from a virgin to a vixen.
Now
Alex Prince woke up in Crystal’s bed, the door to her cell was still wide open and Crystal was not in the bed with him nor was she in the bathroom. It was mid-morning and after an evening of passionate lovemaking he had overslept and slept soundly.
He panicked. The love of his life had escaped.
He bounded out of bed, snatching up his mulberry silk bathrobe and put it on has he pounded barefoot up the cellar stairs.
Just as Alex burst through the cellar door at the top of the stairs into the hallway his front door opened and Crystal came inside unbuttoning his London Fog raincoat that she had taken from the hallstand.
“It’s bitterly cold out there, I had to borrow your coat,” she put down her shopping bag and took off the coat and hung it on the hallstand.
Under the coat she was wearing her dark red skirt-suit with the tight pencil skirt with the kick-pleat in back, the hem resting four inches above her knee, matching long-sleeve jacket and white satin blouse under it. The suit was complemented by flesh-toned sheer tights and black high heels.
“I’ve brought coffee and bacon butties. I don’t know about you but I’m starving,” she held out the shopping bag to Alex who looked absolutely flummoxed.
“I’ve made an appointment at the hairdressers to get my hair styled and coloured. I like my wigs but I want to wear my own hair once it’s been coiffed. I’ll keep the wigs for special occasions she said brushing past him.
She stopped briefly and kissed him quickly and then kept going into the kitchen.
Alex followed her into the kitchen and took out the two takeaway coffees and the bacon butties wrapped in greaseproof paper from her shopping bag.
“You came back?” Alex said incredulously.
“Of course. Where else would I go? I came home,” Crystal gave him a wry smile and Alex inhaled her perfume when she kissed him quickly on the cheek.
“But you said home?” Alex was puzzled.
“Well, while you were snoring away last night I thought long and hard about my predicament,” she took off her blazer and walked over to the kitchen table looking at the coffee and sandwiches.
“I don’t want my old life back but I’m not going to live in your cellar to be kept as a plaything,” Crystal snapped the covers off the styrofoam cups being careful with her long nails and handed a coffee to Alex.
She took her own cup, took a sip and unwrapped her bacon butty and took a bite.
“So you have a decision to make,” she said around bread and bacon.
“I live can here with you and work in your antique shop. I can work front of house as a saleswoman and keep your books; I bet they're a mess. I’m not going to be a kept woman,” she finished chewing and took another bite.
“I’m a good salesperson and I’m good at bookwork. Your job will be teaching me about antiques,” she washed down a bite of sandwich with more coffee.
“Are you serious?” Alex was incredibly surprised by Crystal’s proposal.
“You planned everything meticulously darling, except for what would happen if I ever willingly succumbed to your charms. I’m not staying down there in the cellar to be kept like a pet and I’m done with Colin so my proposal seems the most practical solution,” Crystal picked up the other half of her sandwich.
“Unless of course you're ashamed of me and don’t want to be seen with me and just want to keep me as a fuck-puppet which is unacceptable to me,” Crystal drank more coffee.
Alex’s mind was churning over, processing what Crystal had just said and trying to make sense of it. Trying to think if there was any reason it wouldn’t work.
“Your family that will not accept you as you are and all I have is my aunt. I have my own business and my own home. We could make this work,” Alex smiled.
“Well let’s at least give it a try,” Crystal smiled at him and bit into the second half of her sandwich.
“I took the liberty of exploring the house while you slept. I think the armoire will easily fit into our bedroom,” Crystal eyed him over her coffee cup.
“Our bedroom?” Alex raised a brow.
Crystal put down her coffee and the uneaten half of her sandwich took his hand.
“Come upstairs and I’ll show you. After we’ve tried out the bed we can start moving my things,” she smiled at him coquettishly.
Alex followed Crystal upstairs his eyes glued to her buttocks in the tight skirt.
“You keep eating bacon butties you’ll get fat,” he smacked her playfully on the bottom.
“I saw your very well appointed gym down there next to my cell. That will keep me fit. Then of course there other ways of exercising too,” she looked back at him and winked.
One Week Later
It was Friday night and Crystal got dolled up ready for her first night out with Alex. They were going to the Black Sheep to meet Brittany and Wendy. Crystal wanted to surprise her girlfriends and surprised they would be to learn that Crystal was going to live full-time as a woman and had found herself a chap.
But first they were going to the flicks to see a movie and to meet Alex’s aunt and uncle who Alex had told Crystal would not be at all troubled by their relationship. Crystal was nervous. Not nervous about being out in public with Alex, she had been out and about for well over a week now both with and without Alex. She had begun working in his shop and he was teaching her the business while she took care of the front of house. Bargaining with customers was a good way to overcome her inherent shyness.
She was unclockable to most people and those that clocked her mostly treated her respectfully and those who didn’t she ignored. She was nervous about meeting Alex’s only family. She had told Alex that as she fully expected her own mother and father had disowned her when she had told them that she was going to live full time as a woman.
Alex had consoled Crystal but the reality was that she didn’t care. Cutting ties with her family left Crystal free to live her life as she saw fit; unencumbered by anyone except for the man she knew loved and adored her.
They jostled their way through the crowd in the cinema foyer The Spy Who Loved Me had just been released and was popular with the masses. They had driven to The Odeon in Alex’s burnt orange Ford Cortina XLE with the black vinyl roof that Crystal adored. She’d dressed nicely in the same dark red suit she’d worn their first morning together as a couple; the difference being she was wearing her own hair professionally coiffed and coloured.
“Crystal Divine this in my Aunt Maureen,” Alex had a smug smirk on his face as he introduced Crystal to Maureen Cashmore.
Crystal was gobsmacked and stood stock still while the reality of the situation washed over her.
Maureen gave Crystal a wry smile. She spoke in a pleasant Scottish lilt.
“Lovely to see you again my dear and lovely to see you in such good company,” she winked at Crystal and leaned in and kissed her cheek.
“You're wearing my earrings,” was all Crystal could whisper in response.
Maureen Cashmore was in fact wearing the emerald earrings that Crystal's mother had given her.
“I’ll give them back to you after the show dear. I wore them for luck but it’s obvious that Alex no longer needs luck. He has you,” she stepped into Crystal and hugged her.
“Welcome to our little family,” she whispered in Crystal’s ear.
The End
Author's Note: It was a joy to return to my crossdressing roots after writing so many stories about transgender women. I'm glad that Crystal found happiness and I wish her and Alex all the best. Please leave me a comment as I appreciate your candour and it encourages me to write more. I always respond if you send feedback via email and of course I will include candid pictures of myself if requested: Michele's email