the same traits. We are a happy family, and live a comfortable life in suburbia. What’s not to love? Well, me. Or more precisely, my obsession. I secretly cross-dress. Ever since I turned 40 a couple of years ago, my obsession has crept further and further into unchartered and dangerous waters. I’d realised I wanted more than the satisfaction of looking in the mirror and seeing a fair semblance of a cheap, petite easy slut looking back. I began to wonder what would happen if other people saw me. Would they assume I was what I’d dressed up to be? It grew into a disturbing and soul-searching muse …….. What if I went to an underground bar in my hottest attire and full make-up? What would I do if I piqued a man’s interest, and he came over and started to flirt? What if his will and claiming insistence took our tryst to a dark corner table? What if he plied me with homemade heady red wine, which secured me to guest his apartment? What if he said I’d aroused his desire, and came on strong with determining foreplay? What if I protest, “Oh no! Please no! Oh, no, not that!”…. yet succumbed to the call of his bed? What if his ardor held reigning intention, with subversion to commence at my mouth? What if I opened with heedless abandon, and was held ‘till I tasted his seed? What if I thrilled to his forced imposition, sealing fate as I swallowed it deepthroat down? To be surely then charged that I bend hand and knee, no longer being rated a man? Would I obey and be his for the taking, and allow him to be my first owner? What if he then used his blowjob total advantage to take all he would at his will? And what if he took, and sucking dealt evermore taking, ‘til I’d dance to his every demand? A slave to his will ‘til I begged my release. And what if that just suited me fine? …… HOWEVER …….. What if my abandon was captured on camera, and my “date” was a cruel, vicious pimp? Were I then hooked on the sharp barbs of blackmail, and my shame held me skewered in place? He was expecting something, and she didn't know what. Everyone breaks into laughter, all except Missy. I asked her if she deepthroat wanted to go down town after practice and she said petite yes. We all get into a truck; however, I choose to ride with Jennifer. It was an average summers day in England in the year of our lord 1799. I had my proxy. I said don’t worry baby I am going no were till you throw me out. I rubbed at her pregnant belly, stroking her, fighting the urge to unleash my jizz. "Simple slut, I now own your ass, as well as your cunt, mouth, hands, body and brain. Ridding the evidence of his pervasiveness. I replied, "Why?" I then heard sounds that seemed like kissing. She put blowjob on the tiny piece of fabric. Her surprise turns into a smirk and she reached up and wrapped her hand around his dick. I was in my mothers garage! Her lips were full, soft and supple. “Oh Davey, when did you homemade get so sweet!” She exclaimed “Oh and you brought me wine, quite the gentleman.” She smiled She began wiggling away so I slapped her, hard, on the ass. I pulled back farther and he dribbled more cum down my chest. Dad was angry that I was hiding something, but mom was sucking sad.