Audible, guttural, throat-vibrating, moans. Anal sex … you dirty, dirty slut.”
Another unwholesome stir. I tried to weigh up my very limited options, occasionally twisting the key to no avail. Talk about keeping a low profile! But my hateful, sick demons hadn’t left it to chance when they consigned me to front Canrich Weir. If you have a fixed aversion to cross-dressing sissies, you may wish to go elsewhere. As I helplessly envisioned these sickening scenes, I remained in blatant arousal. What’s not to love? There was no-one
there. So, having consciously restrained my boisterous and bold
masculinity, I exited my adolescent years being what could be described as an introverted,
Mommas-boy wimp. I felt safe. In the garage, I almost keeled over I was feeling so giddy, and had to place my free hand on the car
roof above the drivers’ door as I took a few deep breaths. Oh, crap, double crap, crap, crap. “Anything goes” when hard cash buys you in. I freshen my make-up, reset my curly blonde wig and
gird my neck with a long, orange silk scarf. I plucked out a large roll of fabric
