After Stevie's Dad

Based on true events post age of consent.

Many readers have asked for a second chapter of 'Stevie's Dad', but I have decided not to divulge any more of what were events that might have happened when I was still under the age of consent. My reason is that I have had requests to write more by men who have implied that they would like to find a boy similar to how I represented myself in the story, Stevie's Dad.

Whilst, in a complicated way, I enjoyed what happened to me then, I am personally horrified that I might have inadvertently encouraged other men to search for a boy like I was then, and to use them in the way that I was used by Stevie's Dad in the story.

The sexual abuse of a boy under the age of consent is a serious crime. Make no mistake.

So that section of my story is now closed.

Moving on...

A male who likes dressing up, will always be a male who likes dressing up - despite periods of abstinence and denial. It is just the way it is.

It might seem strange to some that there are many men out there who are outwardly heterosexual, perhaps married, who might have children but who also secretly like rampant sex with males like me who are turned on by dressing up as women. I have met many fuckable men such as I have described who have been the best sexual partners when I have been Françoise Briony... Believe me.

And I can spot them a mile off. It is like the secret club of males in the film 'Fight Club'. But we don't fight ; we fuck each other. We do our thing in secret but we, the fuckers and the fucked, are among you.

It is hard to believe how many heterosexual partners with addresses within a couple of miles of me, have made themselves known to me, when I advertised myself online, in order to fuck me.

Once when I was still young but past the age of consent, I was in a coffee bar in the adjacent town to where I lived. I was with some school friends. We would take the train there on a Saturday because there was a particular coffee shop which had a great juke box and it was an affordable hang-out. We had limited funds but the train fare was cheap.

We were all waiting to go to university. We liked what was called 'progressive rock' and we thought we were the coolest people.

A couple of my friends had girlfriends but I did not. I wanted one - but in secret, I also sometimes wanted to be one.

I love women. And most of the time, I like being male. As an adult, I love straightforward romantic affectionate sex with women. But I have also had within me a perfectly formed secret female - but with a cock.

Since Stevie's dad, I have mostly expressed this female side in private - but that does not mean on my own. Françoise Briony is an intensely sexual person. She does not just like dressing girly.

But I am getting ahead of myself.

As a boy, I looked like a boy. When I was older, I continued to look male and dressed male. Indeed, as a male, I have never been particularly girlish or effeminate but after my experiences with Stevie's dad, in private, I honed my skills. I learned to dress up and make-up with a high degree of expertise.

I had always imagined from an early age that I could be passable as a woman and I often imagined being a woman. But I never wanted to 'transition'. I imagined being spanked by a man when dressed as a girl. The thought that I might be gay seemed unlikely to me. To be fair, I did not know how sex between consenting men worked until Stevie's dad had his way with me.

In my late teens, memories of Stevie's dad abusing me had largely faded but I still woke up sometimes after a wet dream, disturbed by the homosexual images that had made me come. In a strange way, I compartmentalised dressing-up. It was a different and separate part of me. When I was looking and behaving as a heterosexual boy, nobody I knew could have guessed my secret.

Homosexual dreams disturbed me because I worried that somehow my dream-life might be seen by others. Also, after such a dream, I worried that I was inadvertently converting to being a homosexual despite not wanting to be one. No fear of that now : I still love fucking the women I love even after many years of dressing as a girl.

I started dressing up by adopting, robbing and storing my sister's cast-off clothes - as I described in Stevie's Dad - but later I became braver and learnt to shop for particular garments. Buying clothes and shoes as a 'birthday present for my girlfriend' was an easy ruse to use. Sometimes in charity shops, I would buy something and put it in my rucksac without using a cover story. Nobody ever asked or challenged me. You can get beautiful dresses in charity shops for very little money - and then it is easier to throw them away when you tire of them.

Buying girly clothes to wear later is often as exciting as wearing them. It is an integral part of the game.

I have always liked well-made fitted dresses, quality underwear, and the best tights and hold-up stockings. I like bright rich colours. I dress fashionably. I match my age, shape and dress in a plausible way. I generally think it a mistake to wear clothes that are too pink, too frilly, too 'sexy' or out of date. I am nobody's slut. I understate my inner girl rather than overstate it.

I also like my make-up to be understated and classy - rather than brash and cheap, but I do like rich red lipstick and good quality black mascara. I leave false eyelashes to 16-year old girls and drag-queens. I like flats rather than stilletoes, and my favourites have always been ballet pumps. We'll talk about hair, nails and jewellry another time, girlfriend.

Françoise has occasionally dressed in corset, jeweled dog collar, long gloves and stockings - but only when some lovely man has been explicit about wanting a sound caning. I would never want to disappoint. And I quite like being dominant on occasion. It has always made me laugh to see a man grovel before drinking my cum - or even on occasion, my piss.

In my late teens, I collected a good stash of stuff hidden in the loft for those special days when everybody was out. Cross-dressing is a cheap and rewarding hobby if you shop carefully.

I have never been caught in the act. I think now that my mum believed that I had been 'cured' by Stevie's dad. She never mentioned my habit; and I know now that she is never going to mention it to me directly. It was an unecessary anxiety. Mums and sons generally don't like to disturb each other's sleeping dogs.

So after Stevie's dad, I resumed my secret life at home - more carefully, but with the impressive powerful sexual determination of a young sexy male who wants his needs met. Nothing can stop such powerful sexual energy - as I am sure you can recall.

Sometimes I did dress up and not have an orgasm. On those comfort-dressing days, I would take special care and try and make myself as passable as possible. And then I might do a womanly thing. Like doing my mum's ironing, making a cake, or reading my mum's Woman's Own magazine... Later these self-comforting games included going out dressed - usually at night, which always felt more sexually exciting in practice than I expected. Though I didn't come, often the forbidden becomes darkly sexual just because it is forbidden.

More frequently, I wanted to ejaculate whilst looking and feeling like a woman. Usually, I came looking at myself wanking in a mirror - a pretty girl with a cock. I did not fantasise about being fucked until much later.

Anyhow one time, I was in this coffee bar with a gang of school friends. Just a boy of 17 or 18 hanging out with the other boys.

I had to go to the toilet at the back of the coffee shop but when I came out a while later my mates had disappeared. Unusual - but we often went up the road to look in at a local record store, so that is where I assumed they had gone. I still had coffee to drink so I went to sit down again. I thought my mates would come back for me when they realised I was not with them - but they didn't.

After a while, I'd finished my coffee. I was about to get up and leave when this man asked whether he could sit down at the table. The café was filling up and I said, 'Of course.'

I didn't look at him but he looked a little rough - not overweight but a proper manual-working man : T-shirt, old brown leather jacket, straight Levis and rigger boots. He sat down with a burger and a coffee.

I didn't want to start a conversation with the bloke. I was concentrating on making eyes at a pretty girl in a red angora jumper about my age sitting a few tables away with her friends. As I said, most of the time, I am very heterosexual and always have been. After a while, I decided to leave the café and find my friends and I squeezed out of the booth, rubbing past the man's thighs as he turned sideways to let me out.

The record shop was dimly lit - as usual. A few males dressed like me, hippy-style - long hair, scooped-neck top and 28inch-flaired loon pants - were thumbing through racks of LPs. This was de rigeur hippy behaviour in the seventies and eighties.

Clearly, my mates had already moved on up-town but I liked browsing in record shops so I was happy enough on my own.

After a while looking at kraut-rock Can albums, I noticed this bloke out of the corner of my eyes thumbing through D, F and E. I glanced sideways down at his rough short-nailed fingers to see what he was looking at - as you do. He had pulled out an album by the Dutch band Focus and was studying the sleeve. I realised it was the bloke from the café.

Now, a music conversation I could not resist. 'They were on the TV last night', I said, not looking up. 'Pardon ? ', he said, in good English but in an accent that I later learnt was Dutch. We started talking about music.

He explained he was lodging in the town but was lodging there episodically as he worked on an oil rig - he was a drilling engineer. The oil rigs were a common occupation in that town. He was really pleasant to speak to but a proper grown-up working bloke. We spoke about Focus and other Dutch bands like Golden Earing.

After a while, I said I had to find my friends. He paid for his Focus album and left the shop at the same time as me. I retraced my steps to the coffee shop and he sort of tagged along beside me chatting. The coffee shop was only a few doors away. I couldn't shake him off without being rude.

My mates weren't there. The Dutch bloke asked whether I wanted to go back to his flat to listen to his new album. He said his name was Hans.

Now whilst I am not one to take risks, I have always been physically and socially confident. It seemed sort of cool to be befriended by this Dutch guy. He actually looked a bit like one of the guys in Focus.

So I said yes.

I guessed my mates had caught the train back - probably thinking I had gone back on my own. But actually I had all day if I wanted it. Mum didn't expect me back until late evening. So I went back with Hans.

Hans lived about a 5 minute walk away in a little bedsit with a kitchenette, a couch and a big bed. He also had a sophisticated Swedish stereo with huge floor-standing speakers. He was a proper 'muso' - a music fan. I was well-impressed.

Once inside, he sat on the side of his bed and I perched on his couch. He put the kettle on and rolled a spliff on a Frank Zappa LP cover - 'Hot Rats', I think. This man was seriously cool. I was thinking, 'I wish my mates could see me with my new friend, drinking coffee, smoking a spliff and listening to Focus loud on the best stereo I had ever seen or heard.

The spliff was strong. I closed my eyes and started to drift off with the visual animations on the back of my eyelids. I let my head fall back and my legs sprawl. The music sounded wonderful and clear.

After a while I came to. The sounds were continuing. I felt amazing. I was about to come. Hans was kneeling on the floor between my legs. He had my loon-pants flies open and my white silky knickers pushed down. My cock was stiff as steel in his mouth. He had one hand gripped arround the shaft between his mouth and my groin and he was using the other on the carpeted floor to keep himself sort of balanced.

I put my hand into his short sandy hair to try and push him off. But he was a big powerful man. I could feel his stubble grazing my thighs as he slid his hard lips up and down over the head and shaft of my cock. It grew harder and harder. He was good with his mouth.

I came loads - in stringy torrents straight down his throat. He swallowed. I stopped trying to push him off. I felt his short tough hair between the fingers of both hands now and I held his head down on to my cock as hard as I could as the last drops squirted out and my cock began to soften.

He let me hold him there, holding his breath and swallowing down the remainder of my come. Then he pulled his head up easily enough and laughed loudly, looking at me with sparkling manly blue eyes.

I was out of breath. My breathing was noisy. I looked at him horrified ; my fingers still wrapped in his hair. He grinned, pulled himself up between my legs, put his own hands on either side behind my neck, and looked me in the eyes deeply. 'You enjoyed that,' he grinned. Holding my head tightly, he kissed me on the lips.

That was the most erotically strange but powerful kiss I have ever had. His mouth felt like a proper man's - bristly, big and strong. He seemed to be consuming my mouth - which felt soft and small in his. He smelt and tasted of my come.

Holding my head, he pushed his thumbs into my cheeks on either side and my mouth opened despite my resistance. His tongue seemed huge and muscular. It forced its way in to my mouth and filled it. His mouth completely covered mine. The weight of his body and his kiss pushed me back hard against the back of the sofa. I tried to push him off with my hands now between us, palms flat on his chest, patting him hard like I was giving in. I could not breathe. But he was too big and powerful. His hard chest felt like it might have been the front of a steam engine. He drove his tongue in and out of my mouth like a wet piston. And I, still dazed and confused, surrendered.

He was pushing my loon-pants down and he eventually managed to tug them off with one hand whilst holding my neck tightly with the other. He continued to thrust his tongue in and out of my mouth. I started to enjoy his tongue. I put my arms round his head and I now held his head as tightly as he had held mine as I sucked on his tongue.

His head felt huge - his man's head. He started to wank my cock through my panties. I started to stiffen again... Yes, really - that quickly.

Then suddenly, before I came again, he let me go and pulled back. He knelt back on his haunches, his big hands resting on my bare knees.

He grinned at me again. 'You are really enjoying this. But why do you wear girl's knickers ? '

'They are better under loon pants. Rod Stewart does it. He wears his partner's.'

'Oh, does he ? ' It wasn't a real question and I knew it.

The record had finished. Dust motes floated in the sunbeams in the room. It was still and silent. I didn't feel stoned anymore.

'I don't understand what you meant by saying I'm really enjoying this...'But I did. I had given myself away.

'You were like a woman, a girl... When I kissed you... You gave in to me. You surrendered... Like a girl.'

He was still chuckling at me.

'Look.'

He leant forward, gathered my hair together and with an elastic friendship-band he had around one of his wrists, he tied my hair up in a loose pony tail on the top of my head.

'Now go and look at yourself in the bathroom mirror'.

I did as I was told. I went in to his ensuite and looked at myself under the pony tail on the top of my head that he had fashioned for me.

With my scooped-neck blue hippy top like Carly Simon's ; and my white silk girls' knickers and naked legs, I looked at best androgynous. Not distinctly a boy or a girl... But probably more like a girl.

Hans came up behind me and put his hands on my hips, standing behind me, pressing his groin gently against my bum, looking over my shoulder at the image in his mirror. He was taller than me. He was hansome. He grinned widely and attractively.

I twisted round. He let his hands slide round my waist. I now faced him with his hands still on my hips. I put my hands up slowly around his neck - slowly, because I was not sure how to proceed or whether my initiative was allowed.

'You're right. I did.'

'What ? '

'Enjoy it... And yes...'

'What ? '

'I felt... Feel like a girl... In comparison to you. It is weird. I don't feel I am a proper male right now. You feel like a proper one. Hard skinned... Proper... Tough.'

He bent his head forward and began to kiss me again... Once again his mouth felt stubbly, rough, hard ; but now he softened his lips and softly massaged mine with them with his saliva ; and he reintroduced his tongue into my mouth again but now in a coaxing teasing way. It was me now that wanted more.

I pulled him to me as I tried to turn him round, that big man, shuffling backwards in to the room where the bed was, pulling him gently after me as he kissed me. Now I sucked his tongue gently. We sort of tumbled and rolled without stopping the kiss onto the middle of his bed. I was on top. I tried to pull my scoop neck off over my head but he prevented me.

'Wait a minute.' He pushed me off him. I was now on my back on the bed, the duvet pushed down and away by our feet. I wondered whether he had changed his mind ; whether this situation was now going to go bad. He stood by the bed looking down at me. I put my hand up on his jeans zip.

'It's your turn now.'

'Godverdomme, I know.'

For the first time he looked embarassed.

'But I have to ask you something first...' He pushed my hand gently away from his zip.

'Go on.'

'We both need to know the rules.'

'Okay... What rules ? '

'This afternoon, you are going to be a girl... I only want you as a girl. My girl. The rules say you have to behave like my girl.'

'Okay. That suddenly doesn't seem too difficult...' I paused. I was wondering what was coming next.

'So you must wear my girlfriend's clothes...' He paused. 'By the way, she's dead.'

I could not help but look a little worried.

'No. Nothing bad done by me. She was run over by a lorry here a year ago. She was cycling. She was used to cycling in Amsterdam - but not here.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.' I waited what I thought was a decent and respectful time before asking, 'Where are her clothes ?' This sounded interesting. My cock was really stiff again.

'In the suitcase under the bed...'

'Show me.' I stood up.

He pulled the suitcase out, put it on the bed and opened it. He picked out a red floral fitted summer dress with an integral cotton petticoat, a light pink cardigan, some brown sheer hold-up stockings, some pink silk knickers and a little handbag. He replaced the suitcase under the bed.

'Her shoes won't fit you. But you can be just in stockings. She often went barefoot.'

He asked me to strip and put the fresh pink knickers and dress on. They fitted well. My clothes, he gathered and put them in his wash basket. He told me I could have them back but that he wanted the place neat after my transformation

I wondered whether he wanted me to have bigger breasts - I suggested putting something in the dress to give the impression but he said no, that I looked great. He said that she did not have very large breasts.

Indeed, the dress was very well-made and was fitted in a way that made me look as though I had something up there. There was even the hint of cleavage in the scooped neck. It looked fine.

Hans asked me whether I knew how to put on stockings. Of course I did. I put them on with the skill of many secret practices at home.

He turned me round to face away from him, pulled the dress zip up and then did up the hook and eye with his big fumbly fingers. I turned back to face him and I stepped backwards to let him look at me.

'I suppose I look ridiculous,' I asked. He hushed me with a finger to his own lips.

'She wore earings.'

'I have pierced ears.'

He opened the little leather hand bag and took out little sleepers with diamonds resting at the bottoms in the hoops. I told him that I would put them on. I did not want my ears torn by his big fingers. I clipped them in place easily. Lots of practice again.

Hans then produced a beautiful delicate gold ladies watch, a gold filligree bracelet for the other wrist and a two-string necklace of large real pearls. This last adornment, I let him put on me himself with my back turned to him. He took an age to manage this but manage he did with his big fingers. I turned to face him.

He held out what was obviously his girlfriend's hand bag and a little make-up bag he'd produced from it.

'Can you do that yourself ? You put that lipstick on in two coats, and it dries and then doesn't smear.'

I took the cardigan, make-up and handbag into the bathroom. I locked the door behind me.

It took me a while. But I did it. I did it all. Eyeliner. Mascara. Eye shade - browns with creamy-silver highlights. Eyebrow pencil. Blusher - not too much. Lippy - dark red, fixer and gloss. It wasn't so hard. I had practised.

I also washed myself intimately and pushed a load of hand-cream up there. I was pretty sure I knew what I wanted from this man. I wiped away the excess and flushed it away.

Oh yes... You're a slick little girl, I hummed.

I looked fine. Pretty even. But nobody else had seen me looking anything like this before. I was really anxious as I unlocked the ensuite door. Would he just laugh at me and tell me that it had been a big joke ? I hung the cardigan around my shoulders and walked back in to his room with a swish of petticoat and dress and my borrowed clutch-bag clutched in my right hand.

Hans was lying on the bed on his back snoring gently.

I laughed - I had been a long time. Hans sprang awake and jumped to his feet ; and then he froze, looking at me - his mouth slightly open.

Oh god, he was disgusted... No, he was going to laugh. No, he was going to shout at me.

And indeed, he marched across the room shouting at me - I was a stupid, stupid bitch. He grabbed my hair hard in his left hand and pulled my head down towards his chest, gathering my hair with his fingers as he pulled me until he had got all my hair together in the one hand ; and he pulled me in so I was twisted uncomfortably, looking upwards towards his face. Both my hands reached up involuntarily to try and release his from my hair but he just shook me by my hair like I was a rag doll.

He held me like that, my hands holding tightly on to his so that my scalp did not hurt as much. Then he hit me hard with a slap from his right hand to my cheek, and glared. It stang.

'You stupid bitch. What did you think you were doing... Getting yourself killed like that ! '

He slapped me a second time ; harder - full force ; round-house. My ears rang. I was knocked sideways but his hand in my hair stopped me falling. He jerked me towards him as he lurched backwards to sit on the edge of the bed, and he pushed my head down, his fingers still wrapped tight in my hair. I was now across his lap face down.

He held me like that by my hair in a bunch, bum upwards, over his lap. He pushed the skirt and petticoat of my dress up to reveal my bum in those pretty knickers. The force of the first flat handed spank was outrageous and the noise rang metallically around the room. I tried to pull my head up to get free but the downward grip of his fingers on my hair was like steel.

He spanked me six times - six of the best - full travel. My whole body juddered each time with indignity and excruciating pain. Finally, he finished. He released my hair. I stood. I thought of getting away. A silent minute passed. Then I sat back down on the bed before flopping back to lie next to where he still sat. I wasn't leaving just yet.

He flopped backwards to lie beside me - both pairs of legs on the floor, mine stockinged ; his in work jeans and dirty rigger boots.

We lay like that for a while.

Eventually he spoke

'Sorry about that,' he said to the ceiling. He looked a bit teary.

'Mm... A little bit unexpected,' I replied to the ceiling.

My bum felt stinging and red hot but I felt strangely calm - like after a good run. My cheek also hurt where he'd slapped me. But he hadn't injured me. It was weird. I felt okay. Hans knew what I needed - what I could cope with. My hot stinging bum started to feel good.

I also knew that he really didn't want to seriously hurt me. He was so powerfully built that he could have easily broken me into bits, had he wanted to.

'Now what ? ' I asked.

'Now I fuck you. Move up the bed - in the middle. Put two pillows under your arse. And I'll fuck you. Face up - face to face.'

'Can I see it first ? I haven't done this for a very long time.'

He kneeled up on the bed beside me, undid his trouser belt and unzipped his flies. I thought he was going to ask me to suck it. But then he appeared to change his mind. He stood, removed his trousers, his socks and his underpants. His pants were wet at the front. I think he must have partially come when he was spanking me. Also his cock was now at half mast.

He put his pants and socks in the laundry basket and calmly folded his trousers to hang them neatly over one end of the couch. He pulled his tee shirt off over his head and put that in the laundry basket.

My man was now entirely naked. It was an impressive site. Heavy but muscled. He returned to the bed.

Mercifully his cock did not look particularly long but it had a nice pointed shape - like a long triangle with a round pointed tip. He came and lay on the bed beside me on one side, his head raised and supported by one hand and arm. He looked at me quizzically.

'You didn't mind then ? '

'What makes you think I didn't mind ?'

'You're still here.'

'Stating the obvious... But you are right. I didn't mind... I don't mind. Too much.'

He bent over and kissed me tenderly - a brief check-in with his tongue. He resumed his previous posture.

'You don't try and talk like a girl... In a high voice.'

'Of course not. I would sound ridiculous.'

I knew I had a soft voice. Both men and women have told me it is attractive and seductive.

I summarised for Hans, 'I am male but I like to dress up. I have a cock. I like my cock.'

'It's a lovely cock. It's not tiny either...'

'I know...' I reached across and placed my hand gently around his cock. It twitched and began to firm up. 'Yours seems okay too.'

He smiled. 'I have had no complaints.'

Hans' cock continued to grow in my hand. I slid his thick skin sheath up and down over the head of his cock a few times. He murmured appreciatively, 'That feels good.'

I knew not to ask whether I did it as well as his dead girlfriend.

'But you are heterosexual... You like women,' I asked.

'Of course.'

'We're both a bit weird then.'

'I guess so. In Holland, there are lots of us. Whole networks. You would have a ball there. You would go down a storm.' He smiled and murmured some more.

Hans had grown really hard now. He was stroking me again with his free hand wandering over my dress and knickers. I was growing hard again.

I could hear his breath thickening and deepening. He slid his hand under the hem of my dress and up over my stocking tops, the little skin blemishes, tags and rough bits of his hands caught on the filaments of my stockings, but I could feel he was aware of the need to avoid laddering them by his gentleness. Then his hand was pressing on my stiff cock again, warming it through the fresh silky knickers he had given me.

Now it was my turn to comment, 'Good god... How big have you become ? '

'Not massive.'

I begged to disagree. I am average at between five and six inches. He must have been eight inches at least - and he was really stiff... And it arched upwards towards his stomach.

'That is really long ! '

He had a big generous sack as well.

He was kind. 'Well your girlfriends won't be disappointed with yours either. You are lovely and thick.

And indeed, that is true - I am.

So face up now, my bum was raised high on two pillows. He decided to get rid of one pillow. He pulled it out and threw it on the floor.

'I think we will only need one.' He slid one knee over between mine and then the other. He lay between my legs and eased his chest down on to mine. He put his elbows either side of my head and looked down into my eyes.

'Missionary position ? '

'It 's best to start with. I can then see how painful it is and go at your pace.'

'What about my lovely knickers ? '

'Keep them on.' He pushed the gusset to one side. 'Knickers keep any mess contained.' Not very romantic but practical.

'I have properly cleaned myself,' I reproached him.

'I was hoping... But you can never be quite sure. I am long.'

He had put a tub of hand cream by the bedside. He dipped his fingers in and though I couldn't see, I could tell he was smearing it all over his cock. He tried to push the hem of my dress up enough so it would not be smeared. I helped him. He had so much cream on his hand that it was a little tricky for him.

I then put my hands under his armpits, my fingers loosely touching round his shoulder blades. He looked like he was concentrating on a difficult maths problem. When he had finished creaming himself, he wiped his hand on the sheet and kissed me. The front of the dress was bunched up at the front around my waist showing my knickers. My stockinged legs were spread-eagled out. His groin and cock was naked against the front of my knickers and my hard cock underneath.

He kissed me - more forcefully - like his first kisses. I felt his cock jump and squirm on mine through my knickers like he was asking to come in. As he kissed, he was staring intently into my eyes, his own blue eyes wide open. He was chewing my mouth off again. It was gorgeous. My mouth, cheeks and chin were wet with his saliva.

He reached down between our thighs for his cock. He withdrew his tongue and mouth and looked at me closely.

'You need to raise your knees more. Put the soles of your feet flat on the bed... That's it.'

He pushed each of my legs out further using each of his legs in turn until they were as wide as they would go. It worked. I felt him thread his cock-end up beside the gusset of my knickers. He touched my sphincter with a slippery finger tip - to feel where it was. He pushed his finger in. It felt nice. My cock grew harder. He slid his finger out, took hold of his cock and positioned its tip up against my sphincter.

Hans continued to look into my eyes intently. I stared into his - holding on to his shoulders - waiting for the pain I was expecting. I knew my mouth was open. I was panting a little anxiously. Was this going to work ?

He was in the right place - his hard cock-nose just in the centre of the sphincter and I nodded, 'yes'. He pushed.

I knew his cock was triangular and that the first bit would be easier. He pushed. I felt it. I pushed out as I had read to do.

'Don't push me out too hard, sweetie,' he whispered, 'you'll push me right out again.'

'How far are you in ? ' I asked, my eyes wider still.

'About four inches. You are easy. You're sure you haven't done this before ? ' He pushed again.

I yelped. 'Not for a very long time... But keep going.'

It was burning. It felt like I should push him out. But I wanted him all the way in. He stopped and rested on his elbows looking down at me.

'You know you are very beautiful. Just rest like this... Relax.'

He kissed me lightly on the lips. I kissed him back. I felt my sphincter relax. He pushed hard and suddenly.

I yelled again, 'Oh god, you are splitting me apart ! How far have you got to go now ?' I was panting again.

Hans grinned down at me. It was a very attractive smile - his best smile. He suddenly looked like the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He stopped pushing. I hung on his shoulders, pulled myself up to him, and kissed him, sliding my soft tongue as far in as I could as I hung on him.

He pushed me gently back down. 'I am all the way in... Stop. Rest still a moment... Stop moving. Can you believe that ? All the way in... I have never been all the way in with anybody.'

I looked at him horrified, 'What do you mean ? You've never been all the way in... What about your girlfriend ? '

He shook his head, no.

'I am your first full insertion.. ? First in your life ? '

He nodded. I felt a delicious feeling. I had given this beautiful man something he had never had before - a two way gift, because this realisation gave me a sudden spine-tingling phantasm that looped up and down my body. I felt myself grow hot all over - and then it was like an hot explosion in every part of my body. Then it happened again. And again. But it wasn't my cock coming...

I pulled myself up to get closer to his face.

'Fuck me hard. Fuck me. Fuck me,' I hissed at him.

He began to pull himself in and out of me at a slowly accelerating rate. Each time he pushed his gorgeous cock in, he pushed harder at the end of the stroke when it was fully in, pressing hard down on my cock through my knickers with his pubic bone. He kept pounding me and the sweat from his forehead and his saliva was dripping in to my mouth.

I slid my hands down to his lovely bottom and helped him fuck me by pulling him into me again and again.

'Don't come yet ! ' I hissed. My legs in their tight silvery stockings were raised as high as I could go against his sides clamping him to me.

'Keep going... Keep going.' I wanted him to discover that I was the best fuck he would ever have in his life.

And he kept going.

'Do anything in your head that you want to do to me... Go on... Hit me. Anything. But keep fucking me... Like a piston on an oil rig. Fuck me. Fuck me.'

He slapped me hard across the face. First one side. Then the other.

'Harder. Harder. Harder ! '

He kept slapping me - still pumping his hard beautiful long cock into me with its full length.

And then finally his hands came slowly up to my neck, to my pretty pearls, to stop my breath - his fingertips under my ears and my pretty earings - and he squeezed my neck as I wanted him to do with both his huge hands harder and harder. At first, his head was back like a wolf howling at the moon, not looking at me as he squeezed my neck. The he brought his head down, and his eyes back to mine as he pushed his cock more slowly in - one slow final powerful long long push up to the hilt.

And he kissed me. And he came. And he came. And he came. And I saw him come... It was in his face as if he was dying... As he covered my lipsticked mouth with his mouth and chewed and sucked on my tongue hungrily, like he was starving whilst he continued to strangle me and starve me of breath.And I came over and over again... Inside and outside... Drenched and drowning in come, whilst he filled me up my pretty arse with his huge spunk hose.We fell asleep as if dead - like Romeo and Juliet.

His cock subsided and slipped out clean from my pretty knickers.

I pushed him off me, went to the ensuite, washed and fixed myself up, as he lay snoring, face down on the bed. I let him sleep awhile. Then I made him tea. I shook him gently.

'Hans sweetie - wake up please ?'

He woke. He smiled at me broadly. I told him, I'd made tea. He smiled at me and let me kiss him and drank his tea. I used wet-wipes on his cock to clean him. Then I finished cleaning him off with my lipsticked lips.

But implausibly, he began to grow again.

'Are you never satisfied ? ' I asked.

'Not really.' He pushed my head down and my red lips touched the skin of his groin. I gagged at first but could feel that with practice, I would probably be able to get the full length down my throat. Françoise Briony was a very sexually determined young woman.

I back-combed my hair in the ensuite. I looked flushed and gorgeous. I kissed Hans on the mouth and I left his flat with his business card in my clutchbag. Yes, I was the best fuck he had ever had - and we both knew it. He wanted me to come back.

Yes. I left Hans dressed as a woman called Françoise Briony, in a pretty floral summer dress and light pink cardigan, pearls, earings and full make-up. The white pumps I borrowed from Hans looked ok. Not perfect - but ok. I caught the train as a woman called Françoise Briony. Nobody batted an eyelid in the smoking compartment. I smoked a cigarette in a lady-like way. Nobody could see my stiff cock through the dress.

I'm not sure what I would have done, had I met anyone who knew me well-enough to challenge me, but by the time I was walking up my street to my front door, it was dark.

I knew mum wouldn't be home for another hour. There was plenty of time to stash Françoise Briony's pretty new clothes and have a proper bath to re-emerge as mum's favourite son.

Was that last bit too risky - making my way home dressed-up? Of course it was, but also it was really exciting. I loved the risk. It was the first time I went out in public and on public transport. I was sexually excited the whole time. And best of all, I was free.

Please write? I enjoy pen-friends too.