Story: Her Silent Mastery-1 -- 'Friday Night'

Archive-name: Changes/hsmastr1.txt
Archive-author: Matthew E. Harbowy
Archive-title: Her Silent Mastery-1 -- 'Friday Night'

        The new master's body was very gently handled as they moved hir 
from the van to the house. Sie was very silent in hir bondage, 
remembering the rules of hir transformation. Sie was no longer in 
possession of a name or of a gender: these things were to be reassigned 
by hir teacher. Sie was to remain silent until sie was given the proper 
words to speak. Sie was to remain naked except for the straps, belts, 
and garments sie would be given as appropriate to hir training.
        But, there were the memories, as well. Sie remembered hir current 
gender to be female, if only from the straps pressing tightly against 
hir cunt, feeling the moistness under the warm leather. Sie couldn't see 
anything but the broad shoulders of hir bearers, each holding a loop of 
metal attached
to hir secure binding, bearing hir into the house. Was this going to be 
too difficult? Sie knew that the masters would assign hir gender as it 
pleased them, not for hir ease, and that was the hardest part of the 
transformation process.
        Sie had loved being a woman, but what exquisite seduction! That 
sie would be one of the masters, so fluid in their gender. Sie 
remembered the time sie welcomed into hir dominance a man so eager to 
become hir slave, but later to reveal himself as one of the masters. Sie 
discovered this as sie stripped him down, as sie had him bound to the 
wall: the beautiful skin of his small breasts, the look of fear in his 
eyes as sie brought the knife to his neck, his hairless cunt. Sie 
remembered cutting him down, watching him go over to his bag and remove 
the soft flesh of his cock as he bore down upon it, pulling it up into 
himself. The prosthesis alone kept hir enthralled, such that sie 
demanded to learn more.
        And then to find hirself signing the rules, the contract, giving 
up possession of what was hir life, hir gender, for this weekend. A 
transformation, an experience, hir signature giving hir entry among 
them, and so completely, so suddenly. Sie left hir job that night and 
met the four masters, who brought hir to their van. Inside, sie was 
stripped, laid down among the pillows and rugs, on top of hir binding 
restraint which had been designed for hir. It was an abduction, sie was 
being removed from hir entire previous mode of thinking, they were 
stripping away what was unnecessary to hir.
        Sie has been a mistress to slaves before, and sie knew better than 
to be disobedient. Sie was 'a good bottom', too good to ever bottom 
properly. Sie knew what sie demanded when it was hir as mistress, 
topping the slave, sending the slave around in commands and trails which 
they understood only that they were pleasing their mistress. They would 
misstep because they would step outside of total obedience, their will 
would intrude upon their grasp of their command, and they would be 
punished. The sheer joy of the punishment, the bindings, the blows: as 
if to say, here: you are bound to your task and you shall never escape 
it until you are brought every drop of pleasure from it.
        Sie watched the dark sky change to white ceiling as sie entered 
the small house where sie would undergo hir transformation. The four 
masters laid hir upon a series of cushions, and began to unstrap hir. 
And then, they moved back from hir, leaving hir naked upon the bed of 
hir leather encasement and the cushions, and moved out by the foyer 
through which sie was brought into another part of the house.
        And, sie became aware of his stare: a young master, dressed very 
casually in a bright pink t-shirt and jeans, well shaven, with long 
brown hair strewn around his neck and chest. Sie felt his eyes watching 
hir every small motion, watch hir as sie nestled back upon the restraint 
and allowed him to absorb hir appearance. Sie remembered: be silent 
until you are given the words to speak. Sie stared back, reaching hir 
mind outward to him as if to welcome his stare, to let him explore hir 
and understand hir.
        "It is good," he began, "to see you so open to your 
transformation. I cannot sense any fear upon you. Some masters upon this 
first entrance fear the simplicity with which we open. But what you see 
around you here is little more than you should ever need to put a slave 
into bondage. So we shall begin your first lesson.
        "I believe in openness, so I would like to explain to you what you 
should be expecting. Tonight you will not be permitted to speak, but 
after listening to me and having time to meditate upon the story of how 
I've brought all of this together, and time to sleep for tomorrow, you 
should be very clear on the proper tones of speech and familiar with any 
language necessary to communicate the questions and statements you will 
need to finish this transformation.
        "Tomorrow, we will start with your choice of name, and allow you 
to give meaning to that name. Your story, as everything occurring this 
weekend, is recorded for our records.
        "There are then four questions which must be answered for your 
training. First, you need to know the source of your own power as a 
master, and how to keep yourself focused within such power. Second, you 
will be informed about how we effect gender flexibility in our masters. 
Third, we will discuss rules concerning slaves and other people in your 
possession, and how they should be taught to express themselves. 
Finally, we will discuss the nature of our politics, and other issues 
around representing our views and beliefs to the rest of the world.
        "Once we have answered these questions, you will be allowed to 
practice what you have learned. The remainder of the weekend will be 
devoted toward readjusting you to the changes in your situation and 
playing with the boundaries of your new power in a safe space. In many 
ways, what I am suggesting at this point is not so much a new set of 
abilities, but a new way of looking at your established and innate 
abilities."
        He rose from the couch, grabbed one of the cushions which were 
scattered around the strikingly bare room, and placed it next to hir. 
Slowly he removed his clothing, revealing his hairless, slightly muscled 
chest, his firm, well-shaven legs, and a beautiful cock. He tossed the 
clothing aside and nestled himself into the cushion. Sie stared at each 
motion, feeling the rhythm of his every move. Sie immediately realized 
he was presenting himself before hir, that he was allowing hir to become 
comfortable with every inch of his body.
        And sie immediately wondered how he could ever become female: his 
body bordered on androgynous, but it was so hard for hir to forget the 
sight of his cock, the way his skin sloped downward from his belly to 
the cock in a way which sie never experienced a woman's genitalia. 
        He looked into hir eyes, and knew hir thoughts: sie needed to be 
punished, brought under the spell of hir obedience. He reached out his 
hand and grazed hir cheek with a soft stroke of his finger. Sie watched 
the breathing of his chest, the slow rolling of his navel underneath his 
broad chest.
        "I want you to imagine how I was in those first days of my 
mastery", he said, leading into the description of his origin. "It was 
wondrous, those first few touches of bondage, the feel of being tied to 
my master's bed. He would whip me after I was bound and secured, marking 
long lashes across my back which would burn with the ecstasy of pain and 
release. He would mark me until I broke into sweat and tears, and then 
release my legs and come up behind me. I would feel the cold twinge of 
his condom as he pushed his cock into me, and he would lay upon my 
reddened back, the drops of sweat and the short puffs of his moans cool 
against my heat. What a tremendous release, to abandon myself inside my 
new found bisexuality, to revel in this contact with another man, to 
feel myself filled as only I had filled others previously.
        "We would have big parties in which he would have me sold to 
various groups of people. He would watch as I was ordered to fuck, to be 
fucked, by men, by women. The days spent in his care were blossoming my 
identity within me and before long, I found myself less and less 
attached to the image which I immediately associated upon meeting 
someone, that of their gender. It mattered less when I would mount 
myself upon someone, and I found myself grinding my ass against a 
woman's pubic mound, as if to fuck hir penis. Occasionally I would have 
hir satisfy me by strapping on dildoes of all sizes.
        "But it was not completely fulfilling. At night I would dream of 
my cock slowly shrinking into my body, pulling upward until my testicles 
sucked right into my body. A female friend then came over to me and 
knelt in front of me, slowly licking my brand-new cunt, and I felt my 
legs moisten from my new hole, dripping in a patch below me. And the 
first sensation of blood, thinking that my skin had split inside of me, 
feeling my muscles cramp and then relax as sie stroked me, took care of 
me. But this was not my skin breaking, and I was not being damaged: 
there was only the slow drip of my blood from between my legs and the 
knowledge that this was my first period.
        "That dream tremendously shaped me. I woke up expecting to find my 
penis gone, but there was only the sight of my semi-hard cock withering 
away as the last vestiges of the dream left me. Like a power released in 
me, I felt the desire to take my master in my hands, to fuck him until 
he had come, and to continue fucking him until my own orgasm came 
shaking across my body.
        "He awoke, and saw the look in my eyes, and realized the period of 
his mastery of me was coming to an end. He slowly rolled himself onto 
his back and I threw my leg over him, and pressed myself into the warmth 
of his neck. I whispered in his ear about the dream, and I could feel 
his arousal growing underneath me. Grabbing a condom, I quickly 
maneuvered myself onto his cock, watching the release and acceptance 
flow over him as I let myself be transformed.
        "I was wrapped in the moment. He rested a finger under my soft 
cock and began to massage it, stroking from the base to brush the tip of 
my penis, which slowly began transforming under his touch. He reached up 
and cupped my breast, bending forward to circle my nipple. I rocked back 
and forth on his cock, feeling a surge of change, power and love 
radiating from me. I grabbed his arms and thrust them to the bed, 
clamping myself on top of him, thrusting harder and harder upon his 
body. I felt myself for the first time claim him as if a woman, not as a 
man: I was not his slave riding on top of him, pleasing my master, 
hoping and waiting for my cock to start shooting warm come all over his 
belly. My cock disappeared from my mind as I stared into his eyes, I 
felt as if it had shrunk, I could feel the stroke of his hair upon me as 
if to tease the lips of my cunt, to stroke my clitoris. I felt the 
transformation move out through my body, my sweat in beads across my 
erect nipples, my skin rippling in waves, my back arching.
        "That night, I became a master: I learned the control of my body, 
the control of my mind, more certainly than anyone had ever dominated my 
body or put commands into my mind. I knew for certain that I could not 
top anyone if I hadn't first the strength, the certainty, within myself, 
to know boundary and limit, and to break such boundary and limit with 
the strength of imagination."
        He rose, and kneeled between hir legs. "Close your eyes," he said, 
each word rolling out of his mouth. Sie was rapt in obedience. Sie let 
hir head roll backward, sie let hir body relax upon the pillows and the 
leather, sie closed hir eyes and opened hir mind, let hir thoughts 
clear.
        "Listen very carefully to me. I want you to concentrate on your 
image of me. Let your body slowly forget its own feelings." He rested 
his hand gently upon hir cunt: sie was warm beneath his hand. "Let your 
own body pass through my hand. First your stomach and your legs: I want 
you to imagine me slowly pulling you through my hand, let the energy you 
feel racing through each part of your body begin to flow into my hand." 
His hand cupped hir, slowly stroked outward, pulling slightly upon hir 
pubic mound. His thumb grazed hir lips, barely passed over hir clitoris. 
Sie began to let him have hir energy, sie passed into his pull, he felt 
herself wet and draining into the grasp of his hand.
        His hand pulled harder and harder upon hir. "Now, picture my body. 
I want you to remember every detail. Start with my feet: look at my 
toes, the long tendons that wrap my feet, blue veins raised from my 
light brown flesh, my legs, the slight bulge of my knees, the rough 
flesh of my kneecaps. Imagine the round bulge of my thighs, smooth and 
curved, as it folds up into the crack of my ass. Picture my cock, 
nestled gently to across my testicles, the thin hair which surrounds 
them. Look at the bones of my hips beneath my sides, my stomach 
descending from my chest, the slight dip of my pectoris."
        Sie felt as if hir whole cunt began to stretch upward into his 
hand. Sie couldn't be sure, his strokes seemed to wrap the whole area, 
he seemed to be lazily pulling on hir as though hir cock had sprung from 
hir waist. "Picture my chest, look as though into a mirror. Look at your 
tiny nipples, buds upon the bare swelling of your chest, your neck 
sinewed and stretched with strength, your lips small, teeth clenching 
and opening as you look into this new mouth. Your body transformed, 
fluid." He let hir skin go, sie felt hir cock fall down between hir 
legs.
        "Now, let yourself travel back down, let your body pull back into 
yourself." Sie felt tears of release begin to well up in hir eyes. Sie 
felt hunger, bare and angry, pulling at every corner of hir body.
        "Open your eyes, and look at me: look at my hand." Sie blinked and 
there was his hand, delicate fingers. Sie saw his intense eyes holding 
hir gaze, sie felt his legs shifting between hers, sie watched him rise 
and raise forward.
        "Show me, in your eyes, your release: and steady yourself." Sie 
felt all hir energy sucking upward from hir cock, back into hir body. 
Sie let it pour forth from hir, the heat burning the edges of hir eyes.
        And he brought his hand down, swiftly and certainly, directly on 
hir cunt. He let his hand slap between hir thighs. Sie began to rock, 
gasp, sie didn't know what sie was feeling between hir legs. Sie could 
feel a cock being struck back and forth, and yet feel a cunt pulse and 
shudder, under the weight of his blows. A scream barely parted hir lips 
as sie began to come, seeing the wet surging of hir upon his hand and 
arm, feel the piercing certainty of him throughout hir body. Hir vision 
became bright and certain: sie could know nothing with him, he was 
draining hir of everything. 
        And, as suddenly as the blows began, they stopped. Hir body laid 
still under his hand resting gently on hir cunt, the stinging quickly 
ebbing into the glow after hir orgasm. His smile seemed to fill his 
face, he stared into hir as if to let all hir tensions pass through hir 
eyes.
        The young master rose, and the four other masters had come back 
into the room. They had warm cloths, scented in jasmine and rose, and 
they carefully washed every inch of hir body, gently lifting and 
stroking ever inch of hir exhausted body. He flopped backward onto his 
chair, as if drained by the totality of hir energy, as if he had spent 
himself in taking hir through hir training. The four masters then 
carefully bound hir in hir leather casing, taking care to wrap hir very 
gently. They lifted hir and passed through the hall into a small lift, 
which then rose quietly and slowly to the second floor of the house.
        The four then brought hir down a hall into a room. There, they 
laid hir down in the bed, and unstrapped hir. Lifting hir gently out of 
the harness, they surrounded hir with cushions and pillows, caressing 
hir body, and then laying themselves around hir.
        The young master walked into the room. "These four are here to 
keep certain that you sleep well. If you need anything during the night, 
or if you feel any pain from the transformation, they are here to help 
you. Don't hesitate to discuss your feelings, or memories, if these 
should flood to you and hurt you." He looked at hir body, and the 
contented smile on hir face. "I'm sure you won't need them: your 
happiness and release is pouring off you."
        He leaned down next to hir ears. "Sleep well," he whispered, "and 
think about yourself. See yourself as whatever you wish. In the morning 
you will be making many choices, and there will be many questions. We 
will work hard tomorrow, and then you will be ready for everything we 
have to show you."
        The door closed, and sie rested.

************************************************************************
(c) April 11, 1993 Matthew E. Harbowy. All rights reserved. The text of 
this document may be freely transmitted and copied provided the 
information which it contains is credited to the author. Comments and 
inquiries should be directed to the author at ikf@lithium.tn.cornell.edu
************************************************************************

--

Story: The New Maid

By Emily Ross
emily_ross_98@yahoo.com

Part One - Vicky's Story

I hadn't seen my sister in three years while I had been working in Australia. 
Now here I was knocking on her front door. A maid answered. 'Miss 
Simmons? Come in. Let me take your suitcase. Would you like to go into the 
drawing room? I'll tell Mrs Hardy that you are here.'

'Thank you.' I went into the drawing room and sat down. A minute or so 
later my sister came in. I jumped up and gave her a hug. We kissed each 
other on the cheeks.

'It's been such a long time since I saw you, Vicky. I've got so much to tell 
you. How was the journey?' Liz asked.

'Fine.'

'And now you're coming back here to live. And getting married too. Oh 
we've got so much gossip to catch up on. Please sit down.'

We both sat down and there was a gentle tap on the door. It opened and the 
maid appeared. 'Excuse me, madam, would you like tea?'

'Yes please, Caroline.'

Caroline left and closed the door silently behind her.

'Is she new here?' I asked Liz.

'Caroline?'

'Yes.'

'Sort of new.' 

I looked puzzled. 'Uh?'

She smiled. 'That was Paul.'

'Paul? Your husband?'

Liz smiled. 'Yes, isn't he a doll?'

'But why?'

'I'll explain later. He'll be back in a minute with the tea. I don't want him to 
overhear us talking about him. Tell me about your fiance.'

'His name is Gavin Holden. He's twenty five and he's a journalist. He's 
been working for a big publishing house. Writes for lots of different 
magazines. I've known him for about three years but we only started seeing 
each other seriously last year. Two months ago he got this job here with the 
Enquirer as Assistant Editor. Then he popped the question. 

'Did he get down on bended knee?' 

I ignored her. 'He starts there next month. I've come here ahead of him to 
find us a flat - somewhere to live while we settle in. I've also got to find a 
new job.'

'Yes.' There was a gentle knock at the door and the maid re-appeared 
carrying a tray with teapot, jug, cups, saucers and a plate of biscuits. Was 
this really Liz's husband Paul? I was fascinated as he glided across the room 
and carefully bending his knees put the tray down on the coffee table.

'Shall I pour, madam?' he asked.

'Yes, please, Caroline.'

Caroline picked up the teapot and started to pour the tea. I watched 
transfixed, hoping Liz wouldn't think I was staring. 'Sugar, Miss 
Simmons?' Caroline asked.

'No, thank you.' I was concentrating so much on Caroline's appearance that 
I could hardly get the words out. His feminine, made-up face was quite pretty 
yet I could just recognise Paul's features. His dark hair was formed into a 
short bob. He wore a short black maid's dress with white lace trimmings 
over a white underskirt, that was slightly longer than the dress and flared out 
to give it shape. The maid's uniform was completed by a white apron and a 
lacy white cap. Black nylons covered his shapely long legs finishing in a pair 
of high heeled black shoes. A well manicured hand passed me a cup and 
saucer. If Liz hadn't told me, I would never have guessed that the pretty 
creature now handing her a cup of tea was a man.

'Anything else, madam?'

'No, thank you, Caroline.' The maid curtseyed and left the room. Liz burst 
out laughing.

'Wow,' I said, 'How did you turn your hulk of a husband into a sissy?'

'Six months ago, Paul got made redundant. I'm on a good wage from the 
computer consultancy firm but I told him that as we only had one wage 
coming in we wouldn't be able to afford to keep our old maid, Fiona. You 
remember her, don't you?' 

I nodded.

'Paul asked me who would keep the house tidy, make the bed, dust and 
Hoover. I said that he would have to do it until he got another job as he 
would be home all day. I told him that as I was the breadwinner I was in 
charge and he would have to be the new maid. He asked me if he would have 
to wear the maid's uniform. 

'An old colleague had told me some time ago how she had feminised her 
husband, making him act much more maturely and responsibly and how no 
man could be unfaithful wearing a skirt. So I said yes, he would have to 
dress the part.

'He didn't argue at all but went upstairs, found Fiona's uniform - it was her 
day off - and put it on. He's worn it practically every day since.'

'Does he always call you madam?'

'Oh yes, that's part of our agreement. Between eleven in the morning and 
seven at night he has to act as my maid. He must call me madam and curtsey 
or I will punish him.' I wondered what form this punishment took but didn't 
dare ask. 'When he is off duty, he can dress as he pleases and calls me Liz.''

'Does he dress as Paul or Caroline when off duty?' I asked curious.

'At first, after he'd finished his daily duties he used to dress as Paul, but now 
his hair and finger-nails are much longer, he is always Caroline. I think he 
likes it better that way. And I do too.' She smiled. 'Of course, he's stopped 
looking for a new job, I think he likes this one more.'

'Isn't it humiliating for him, dressing like that and being servile?'

'Nonsense. He loves it. Remember he first suggested it and I'm sure he likes 
dressing like that. He's never complained. Within a week of becoming 
Caroline, he'd taken up the hem on his uniform. It used to come down to 
Fiona's calves. Not on Caroline. He loves short skirts and dresses. This 
arrangement suits us both. He can dress to fulfil his fantasies and I get all the 
jobs done around the house.'

'Is he a good maid?'

'Excellent. Meticulous in what he does. But then he knows he'll be punished 
if his standards fall below the highest.' Again I was curious about the 
punishments but didn't dare ask.

'And what about sex?' I asked. 'He is still your husband. Do you still sleep 
together?'

'Of course, why not? He may wear lacy lingerie in bed but underneath he is a 
hundred per cent man. In fact our sex life is better than ever. Caroline has his 
own bedroom where she keeps his clothes but he nearly always sleeps in my 
bed.'

There was a polite knock at the door again and Caroline came in to collect the 
tea cups. Once more he curtsied and then bent down carefully to remain 
decent as he picked up the tray.

'I can't get over how feminine he is,' I remarked when he had gone. 'And 
pretty.'

'I know, but we had to work hard to get the right effect. I had to teach him 
about deportment, how to sit, do make-up, wear heels, everything about 
being a woman.'

'Well. It's certainly paid off. He's beautiful.'

'Why, thank you,' said my sister modestly. 'And soon you'll find out what a 
good cook he is.'

He was a good cook too, preparing a lovely meal ready on the dot of six 
o'clock and acting as waitress for Liz and me. Liz explained that she always 
ate at six to give Caroline time to clear away and wash up before going off 
duty.

'Caroline,' Liz said, during the meal, 'I've got to go out this evening to visit 
a client at seven o'clock. I don't know when I'll be back but while I'm out, I 
want you to look after Miss Simmons and tend to her every need.'

Caroline curtsied. 'Yes, madam.' 

After the meal Liz got changed and slipped out about ten to seven. I was in 
the living room reading a magazine and I heard Caroline's high heels clicking 
up the stairs about seven. I found the magazine very interesting and soon 
completely forgot about Caroline, who must have been upstairs nearly an 
hour. Then the door opened and he came in.

I caught my breath as in the doorway I glimpsed the most beautiful woman 
I'd ever seen - my brother-in-law. Gone was the servile attitude of no eye-
contact and no smile. Here was a confident, attractive, out-going young 
woman, who walked over towards me. His eyes sparkled, his hair shone. 
Liz was right - he did enjoy it and no wonder.

He wore a black stretchy mini-skirt that barely covered his bottom and a short 
top that just reached his waist, revealing a flash of flesh as he walked and the 
twinkle of a pierced belly button. Dangling from his wrists were several 
bracelets and around his neck a beautiful necklace. His make-up was less 
subdued and more accentuated than before but classy. There was a whiff of 
expensive perfume. 

On his legs he wore flesh coloured tights - they couldn't have been stockings 
with that skirt, an ankle bracelet and some very high heels on his feet. Had 
there been any man present (other than my brother-in-law, of course) they 
could not have been anything other than strongly attracted to this vision. 
Everything about him, his appearance, his mannerisms, his movements and 
his voice were feminine.

He was stunning. I've always thought of myself as totally heterosexual but 
here was the exception that proved the rule. I was aroused by Caroline's 
beauty and found him very attractive, particularly when I thought about what 
was hidden underneath that tiny skirt.

'How do I look?' he asked as he sat down next to me on the sofa.

'Fine,' I said. I felt distinctly in his shadow. He was better than fine. He was 
perfect.

'I know what you're thinking,' Caroline said. 'How can I put up with the 
humiliation; dressing as a maid, doing the cleaning and ironing, calling my 
wife madam, curtseying to her and answering to her every whim?'

'I had wondered,' I said.

'It is humiliating, but it's part of the fun,' he went on, 'I don't know why I 
like it but the repression of being a maid makes the freedom of dressing like 
this all the more enjoyable. Look at me now. Tell me, do you find me 
attractive?'

I confessed that I did.

'As a man or a woman.'

'I don't know. I only know that I want to kiss you,' I said. Our mouths met 
in a lingering kiss. I put my hand automatically on his uncovered nyloned 
thigh. He lifted the hem of my knee length skirt and started stroking my 
thighs, quickly progressing to the bare flesh above my stockings. I had 
started wearing suspenders and stockings at Gavin's insistence recently - 
something I might regret with the return to the English climate - and I hoped 
that Caroline did not think that I was too much of a slut. 

But I was past caring. Caroline was feeling me between my legs and I had 
lifted his skirt - not that I had to lift it much. I felt down his tights and had 
found the tapes that held his penis in place between his legs. I loosened the 
tapes and his manhood burst free, erect and hard. I had to have him inside my 
body.

The kiss ended and we stared into each other's eyes. He was so pretty. I 
moved so that I was kneeling across him on the sofa. I pulled my loose silk 
panties to one side and forced his penis into me. We started kissing again. 

Now I enjoyed sex with Gavin, but the pleasure now was like the pleasure 
with Gavin to the power eight. He was so hard, so big. 

What was I doing? I was fucking my sister's husband. She might come back 
at any minute and find us. Only an hour or so ago she told me no man could 
be unfaithful wearing a skirt and here was her husband being unfaithful with 
me in the shortest skirt I'd ever seen. 

The fear of being caught made it all the more exciting. It did occur to me that 
perhaps Liz had deliberately left me here alone with Caroline so that I could 
learn the benefits of a sissy-husband. And what benefits? I was in ecstasy 
and suddenly I was coming and so was Caroline writhing deep inside me, 
coming, coming, coming. 

This was the best orgasm I had ever had. I knew then that I had to turn my 
future husband into a sissy-maid, too.

'That was fantastic,' I said, 'I can see now why Liz likes you dressed up like 
that. Do you think my fiance would like to dress like that too?' I asked him 
when we had got our breath back.

'Of course, most men are sissies at heart. I bet your fiance is the same. The 
hard part is to get them into women's clothes in the first place. Then they find 
out how good it is.'

'Could you help me do it to Gavin?'

'I'll try. Now we had better get ourselves tidied up before Liz gets home.'

I stood up and adjusted my stockings. Caroline pulled up his panties and 
tights and taking a mirror and lipstick from his handbag soon had his make-
up as good as new. I checked mine was OK. "Not a word about this to your 
mistress."

"No."

We talked about how I should go about finding somewhere to live. Of 
course, Liz didn't get back till quite late. If she had meant to give us the 
opportunity she was giving us plenty of time.

The next morning, the maid woke me with a cup of tea and a curtsey around 
nine o'clock. Funny, I thought, Liz said she didn't start work till eleven.

'Mrs Hardy said I should wake you up at nine. She's left for work an hour 
ago, but she said I had to get you up so you could go flat-hunting.' She 
handed me the tea.. 'Mrs Hardy said I was to give you any help you needed.'

'Thank you,' I said. 'You can be my flat-hunting guide.' He looked so 
pretty. I couldn't resist. 'Caroline, I love a man in uniform, would you like to 
get into bed with me?'

'Oh no, madam,' he replied. 'I've got to clear up the breakfast, make the 
beds and do all the cleaning, before we go out. There won't be time.'

'Nonsense, we can make time,' I replied and then as an experiment I said, 
'Caroline, I order you to get into bed with me.'

Caroline was always obedient and today was no exception. He kicked off his 
high heeled shoes and slipped in next to me under the duvet. 'Yes, madam,' 
he said demurely.

We were soon hugging. He was putting his hands up my nightie and I was 
feeling up his dress. He was wearing stockings and no panties. Was he 
expecting this? Once more the sex was better than ever and the orgasm 
wonderful.

'Oh, Caroline,' I said as we cuddled and recovered our breath. 'Promise me 
that you'll help me turn my fiancee into a sissy maid.'

'Yes, madam.'

We found a lovely flat about a mile away from my sister's house and I paid a 
deposit on the spot. I couldn't wait to move in with Gavin. That evening 
when Caroline was clearing away the dinner I said to my sister, 'Liz, I've 
been so impressed by Caroline, that I'd like to turn my Gavin into a sissy. 
Will you help me?'  I couldn't tell her the real reason, of course, although I 
still wonder if she suspected or even knew.

Liz gave me a hug. 'Yes, yes, yes. I hoped you'd feel like this. I just never 
guessed it would happen so quickly. Now let's draw up a plan.'

Part Two - Gavin's Story

About a month after I had started working for the Enquirer, Vicky's sister Liz 
invited us to her place for Sunday lunch.  Vicky had started work with the 
same computer consultancy firm as her sister, who had evidently put in a 
good word for her.

Although I had met Vicky before, this was the first time I had been to her 
house. I was impressed by its size. We parked on the drive and a maid 
answered the door. They must earn a lot of money,  I thought to myself. 
Either Liz is on a big salary or her husband, Paul, is rolling in it.

There was no sign of Paul. We had lunch, cooked and served by the maid 
who was very attractive in a short black uniform dress and high heels. The 
three of us were just enjoying a cup of coffee when the phone rang. The maid 
answered it and handed the phone to Liz who spoke for a few minutes.

'Shit,' she said when she put the phone down, 'the system has crashed at 
Helium Metals.'

I had heard a bit about this system from Vicky. It was a huge contract that she 
had had a small involvement in.

'What have you got to do?' asked my fiancee.

'I've got to go and try to get it started again.'

'Now?'

'Yes. It's got to be working for tomorrow morning.'

'Could I help?' Vicky offered.

'Well, thank you, Vicky,' Liz replied, 'it would be good to have some moral 
support and someone I could discuss recovery strategies with. Are you sure 
you won't mind? What about Gavin?'

'Oh, I don't mind,' I said, 'I'm sure I could find a few things to do here until 
you get back.' I already had one idea.

So Liz and Vicky said goodbye, leaving in my car. Liz and I had both 
consumed a lot of wine over lunch so Liz had to drive. As she left Liz told 
her maid, Caroline, to do anything to please me as they would be some time. 
That idea was beginning to develop.

I settled down in the living room watching a video. After half an hour 
Caroline who had by now cleared away and washed up the lunch came in. 

'Can I get you anything, Mr Holden?' she asked.

'Why not come and sit next to me on the sofa?'

Sitting obediently next to me, Caroline's dress rode up revealing a bewitching 
stocking top and suspender. This is my lucky day, I thought to myself.

'Hold my hand,' I said. Caroline took one of my hands in beautifully 
manicured fingers. I put my other arm around the maid's shoulders.

'Kiss me,' I said and our lips and tongues met in a delicious long French 
kiss. I was in heaven. My penis was fully aroused and I felt Caroline's firm 
breasts through the material of the maid's dress.

Caroline undid my flies and was feeling my manhood. I reciprocated by 
putting my hand up Caroline's little dress, feeling stocking tops, suspenders, 
bare thighs and between the maid's legs was...

'Oh my god,' I jumped up from the sofa. 'You're a man.'

'Yes,' said Caroline calmly, 'I thought you knew.'

'How could I know? You're so ... so ..."

'Feminine?'

'Yes and attractive.'

'Well don't get upset,' Caroline urged.

'But I've been kissing and feeling a man.'

'Sit down,' said Caroline, 'calm down and I'll tell you what we're going to 
do next.'

I sat down and took a few deep breaths. 'You've been very naughty, Mr 
Holden,' he said, 'so I've got to punish you. You've been kissing a man. 
The punishment is to dress as a maid for one hour.'

'What like you?'

'Exactly like me,' he said.

'But I don't want to.'

'But you've got to. You wouldn't want me to tell your fiancee that you've 
been kissing me and feeling up my dress. That her beloved was being 
unfaithful with a sissy. She'd call the wedding off. Don't worry it will soon 
be over.'

'What if Liz and Vicky come back.'

'They won't. The system's crashed. They'll be gone for hours.'

There was nothing for it. Caroline told me to have a shower and shave my 
face and body. When I came out of the shower, he was waiting for me with 
panties, a corset, a bra and black stockings. He helped me put them on and 
stuff some padding down my bra. I could hardly breathe in the corset. He sat 
me down in his bedroom and painted my face. It seemed to take hours but it 
was probably only ten minutes. Then he put a shoulder length black wig on 
my head.

He undid his apron and put it on the bed. Then he took off his maid's dress 
and handed it to me. I put it on followed by the apron, the cap and his high 
heels which he passed to me. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked quite 
feminine. I was slightly ashamed to discover that the sight of myself in a 
dress had made my penis go hard again. Fortunately I don't think Caroline 
noticed this as the dress flared out so much.

'I shall call you Sophie, OK?'

'Yes, Caroline.'

'You must call me Miss Hardy, if you please. You are my servant for the 
next hour and you must help me get dressed. Caroline was standing in his 
underwear. I found him a clean pair of tights, a tiny black mini-skirt and a 
crop top, in which he looked very glamorous. His belly button was pierced. I 
had to spend five minutes just brushing his hair. He was very pretty. I 
wondered if I could ever be as pretty.

We went downstairs. I would be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy the swish 
of the dress as I walked, although walking in those shoes was not easy.

I was watching the clock like a hawk. Half hoping the hour would soon be 
up in case Liz and Vicky came back and saw me in the maid's costume, half 
hoping the time would pass slowly as I was beginning to enjoy the sensation 
of wearing a dress.

The hour was nearly up when my worst nightmare came true. A car drew up 
on the drive and there was a ring at the bell.

'Oh my God,' I exclaimed. 'I'd better go and change.' I started to move 
towards the stairs.

'No,' said Caroline. 'You're the maid, Sophie, maids answer the door. I 
can't answer the door dressed like this. It's beneath my station. So very 
slowly, humiliated, I made my way to the front door and opened it.

'Good afternoon, Miss Simmons, good afternoon Mrs Hardy,' I said, 'come 
in. Let me take your coats.' I was the maid after all.

Caroline appeared in the hall. 'Let me introduce Sophie, the new maid,' he 
said. 'Sophie liked what I was wearing so much, that he badgered me into 
letting him try it on. In the end I gave in and said that he could for an hour. 
The hour's nearly up but isn't he pretty?'

'Yes, I am sure that with training he could be as good a maid as Caroline,' 
my fiancee said, 'but he must learn to curtsey.'

I smiled an embarrassed smile and curtsied. I took the coats and put them 
away in the cupboard, while Caroline, Liz and Vicky went into the living 
room. When I went in to join them the hour was up. I was about to say that I 
would go back upstairs and change when Liz said, 'Sophie, I've persuaded 
Caroline to let you wear his dress for the rest of the day. Now go and make 
us a cup of tea. We're exhausted.'

I gasped but secretly I was glad that I didn't have to change. That evening it 
wasn't Gavin who went home with Vicky, but her new maid, Sophie. It was 
the start of a beautiful relationship - Caroline has trained Sophie in all aspects 
of service. 

Every day after work at the newspaper, I go home and change into the maid's 
costume and become Sophie. Vicky says that soon I'll be a good enough 
maid to have my belly button pierced. She thinks our sex life has improved 
100 per cent since I became her maid and I can't disagree. I reckon most men 
would be happy with that. 

Sophie loves to go shopping at weekends with Vicky. Sometimes Liz and 
Caroline come along to make up a foursome. Now we're planning our 
wedding. We still can't decide whether I should walk down the aisle in 
white. 

 - end -

Story: Looking Back Through Old Photos

Looking back through old photos. We’ve all done it - you’re searching in the attic for something, or clearing out a wardrobe when you’re moving - and you find a box. Sometimes it’s marked PERSONAL!, in big letters. For some it’s a mystery as to the contents, you don’t really remember what’s in it, you haven’t looked inside it for years. Of course, your curiosity gets the better of you, and you have to open up the box, and then spend the next few hours adrift looking at faces you’d not seen in years. Laughing, remembering, sometimes nearly crying. Short-lived hairstyles come back to haunt you; clothes modeled on bands now long split up; best friends you haven’t seen since school; first loves who may now be into their 2nd marriage.

A simple task turns into a whole afternoon living in yesteryear. When you could wear the tightest of jeans, go to clubs dressed in next to nothing, and you didn’t have a care in the world.

That’s what Diane was doing, and she came across a photo of Paul. Doing his best Mick Jagger pose, hat pushed back on his head, shades on. Oh yes, Paul thought he was every inch the coolest dude in school. Diane held the picture close for a long time, breaking into a big, big smile. He was in the year beneath her in the photo, just moved into town; and back then she was in her last year before going to university. Because of that, their paths didn’t cross very often.

One weekend another pupil’s parents made the mistake of going away for a break, and leaving their teenage son and daughter in charge of the family home. Yep - party.

50, maybe 60 dressed up, made up and slightly boozed up kids descended on the house. The music got louder, and changed after each track, as the boys hogging the stereo each wanted to play their favourite tune of the moment. The odd ornament got knocked over and broken, the kitchen turned into a sea of empty cans and smuggled bottles, and half empty glasses started to get used as ashtrays. It was all pretty good-natured though, and when the neighbours came round to ask for the volume to be turned down, it duly was. On each of the 3 occasions they had to come and ask.

During one of the rowdier moments, Diane went upstairs to find the toilet. Most of the doors were shut, with dubious muffled noises coming from within. Thankfully there was only 1 other girl queuing. Afterwards, Diane came back down the corridor and past a slightly open door, with the sound of a guitar being gently strummed coming out. She recognized the song, and put her head inside. The light was off, but she could see Paul sat on a chair by the window, concentrating on the frets in just the streetlight glow.

‘Hello - all on your own?’ she asked.

‘Yeah, it was getting a bit heavy down there, thought I’d take a breather. Found this.’ he said, motioning down at the guitar. ‘I still can’t get the last key change right.’

‘Sounds pretty good to me,’ Diane offered. ‘Just don’t break it, it’s their Dad’s!’

Paul frowned at her. ‘No way, this is a Gibson, it’s vintage. This baby deserves respect, y’know? I wouldn’t put a scratch on this, swear on my life.’

Diane had heard some of her friends talk about the ‘cute’ kid that had started in the year below. The girl’s conversation had turned ever more x rated as they described what they’d each like to do to him, ending in peals of shrieking, dirty laughter. She’d seen Paul a few times, swaggering around, each day a different outfit that brought disapproving looks from the teachers. She’d written him off as a bit cocky, and a bit young. On his own though, here in the bedroom, he was different. He started to talk about guitars, and bands. He was very passionate, and knew his stuff. It turned out they liked the same music, except he owned all the records and she didn’t. He was open and friendly, not flash - and he didn’t come across as a kid. He didn’t lecture her about music, he seemed genuinely interested in what she thought.

They must have sat there in the half gloom for over an hour talking away, laughing, Paul trying to show her the basic chords. Then at about 1.30, he looked at his watch. ‘Oooh, better go, I’m past my curfew’ he said. He sounded a little sad. Diane didn’t want this to stop either. As he was putting the guitar back in it’s case, she remembered something. ‘I’m baby sitting for my Mum’s friend next Friday….you wanna come round?’

Paul stopped. ‘Where?’

‘Regent Avenue.’

He whistled. ’Posh part of town. What time?’

‘I usually get the twins to bed about 8.30…..so, say 9?’

‘Sure’, he said, adding ‘Can I bring some sounds?’

‘Yeah, but not too loud. We’ll have to be in the kitchen, because it’s miles away from the kid’s bedroom. See you then, right?’

‘OK, see you then Diane.’

It was only then that she realized he knew her name. He smiled, tapped his watch, and made a ‘sorry’ face. Then he was gone.

She sat there for a while, listening to the party winding down. What had she just done? Mum’s friends were really nice, but they probably weren’t banking on her and a boy being alone in their house. Ah well, she’d invited him now - she’d just have to get him out before they came back. The week dragged, and Diane was still a little on edge about inviting Paul. Eventually the days clicked by, and she found herself going through all her clothes early Friday night. Short skirt? Skimpy vest top? ‘Come on girl, you’re not going to a club!’ she hissed to herself. ‘It’s just 2 people sitting around, talking about music.’ Anyway, Mum’s friends would know something was up if she turned up dressed to the nines - so, jeans and a band t shirt it was. The tightest jeans she had though….

After the adults had left, and everything gradually died down in the house, and she’d read their favourite story 5 times - the kids were silent at last.

Eventually Diane heard a faint knock on the door. It was a slightly quirky ‘architect designed’ house, and the front door was down a short flight of stairs. Diane opened it, to see Paul grinning sheepishly, clutching a bag full of records to his chest. ‘Hiya, come on in, but be quiet till we get to the kitchen,’ she half whispered. He stepped in, and silently pulled the big door shut behind him. Diane turned and walked up the stairs. Paul stood, rooted to the spot, staring up. He couldn’t help the thought that zapped through his mind, ‘Wow, that is one fantastic butt.’ ‘Oi…..come on up’ Diane gestured. Paul trailed after her, eyes glued to the swaying motion in front of him.

In the kitchen, Diane relaxed. ‘Phew, right - the kids won’t hear us now. You want a drink? We can’t touch any of the alcohol though.’

‘That’s fine, got any Coke?’

‘Oh yeah, one cold Coke coming up.’ She went to the fridge, poured out 2 tall glasses, and sat down at the table. ‘So, watcha got in the bag?’

‘New stuff, old stuff too…..want me to put something on?’

The kitchen opened out onto the lounge, where the big snazzy hi fi was. ‘Tell you what,’ said Diane getting up, ‘Let me take a lucky dip for the first one.’ She closed her eyes, reached into the bag and slid out an LP.

‘Good choice’ said Paul, and she walked into the lounge to put it on.

An hour later, and they hadn’t stopped talking. Rumours of famous bands on the point of splitting up, new tours, who was gonna be the next big thing. As Paul was telling the tale of how his mum was once down to the last 2 to be the backing singer for a very big act, Diane stopped really listening. She was taking in the movement of his soft looking lips. The way his nose crinkled a little when he got more animated. The way his hair fell about his face. She suddenly had a real need to touch that face.

She stood up and walked right in front of him, positioning herself between his feet. Paul stopped talking, and stared up at her. She bent down, and cupped his jaw with both hands. Slowly she inched her mouth down to his.

‘Diane, what are you doing?’ he blurted.

She wasn’t expecting to have to explain herself. Taken aback a little, she stumbled out the words ‘Erm, I dunno. It’s just……I just really wanted to kiss you. But, if you don’t want…..’

‘I didn’t think you liked me like that….I didn’t imagine…..look, you’re totally gorgeous Diane….I’m sorry, I was just a bit surprised.’

Diane smiled down at him. So, for all the ‘cool dude’ act, he really was a bit of a young one. ‘And, he thinks I’m gorgeous’ she mused to herself.

‘Christ, I’m really sorry Diane, I feel a right idiot….it’s just that…..’

Diane placed a finger on his lips. ‘Shhh……..so, do you want me to kiss you?’

He said nothing for a moment, then just about got out the words ‘Yeah……yeah, course.’

She leaned her lips onto his, and for a second their heads stumbled to find the right angles. Then it all fell into place, and she explored the softness of his mouth, tongues then searching each other. Paul grew more confident, and kissed her back just as eagerly. He lifted his hands to her head, and nestled his fingers into her hair.

Diane trailed a finger down his jaw, then his neck, stroking up and down. He held her head a little tighter, and pulled her lips onto his. She slowly stroked her fingers zig zagging across his chest, crossing down until she felt his stomach, then the belt and top of his jeans. Paul broke off for a second, breathing in sharply. Diane’s hand paused, resting against his tummy, then he came back to her lips and kissed her hard again. In one move she slid her hand down full onto his crotch. She couldn’t help herself - she let out a giggle.

‘What’s funny?’ he said, sounding confused and not a little hurt.

‘Well, I didn’t expect you’d be so…….ready.’ She could feel his cock growing down the top of his thigh under her hand. She softly rubbed her palm up and down it, encouraging it even more. Paul closed his eyes, and groaned in the back of his throat. Diane could feel the heat of him through the denim, and kept gliding her hand back and forth. Then she squeezed his cock, put her mouth to his ear and said, ‘I think this needs some fresh air, don’t you? Shall I get it out for you?’

Paul could only stare into her eyes, and mumble ‘Okay.’

Diane knelt down between his legs, in front of the chair. She held the buckle up with one hand, and drew the belt through with the other. She popped the button, then teased him a little more by dragging a finger up and down the zip a few times. Diane looked up; his eyes were closed, head tilted back. She smiled, and went back to her work.

She eased the zip down, and pulled his jeans as open as she could. She reached up, and slid her hand down inside his clothing from his belly. She felt his soft curls of hair, then flesh. Warm flesh. She kept pushing down until her fingers traced down his shaft. By now Paul was rock hard, his cock wedged down the leg of his skinny jeans - this wasn’t going to be easy. She gripped his cock and started to drag it backwards and out. Suddenly he sprang free, and Paul moaned. Rocking side to side in front of Diane’s face was Paul’s shining, solid, fresh cock. She stared at it, taking it all in. The thick vein underneath stood out proud, the head of it was so full that all it’s protective skin had rolled back completely. It twitched at her, begging for relief.

Diane leant forward, and just with the very tip of her tongue, licked the slit at the end. Paul groaned, and sighed ‘Ohh fuck.’

Diane laid gentle kisses on the head of Paul’s dick. Then, she formed her lips into an O, and slid the tip into her mouth. She didn’t move for a moment, she was enjoying his heat, his taste. She pursed her lips down on the ridge at the base of the head, and began slowly bobbing up and down, gliding the top of his cock through her lips. Paul was gone now, slumped back and not seeing or hearing anything - just aware of the sensations sparking off in his dick.

Diane kept on softly wanking his tip with her lips, and then brought her tongue forward to start tracing circles on it in her mouth. She explored every bit of it, and pressed her tongue up harder onto it, cradling it from underneath. She brought her hand up to join in, and lightly brushed her finger and thumb up and down his shaft, feeling the veins pulse, the soft soft skin stretched so tight. Diane curled her fingers around it, and gripped it tight at the base. She drew her hand up and down, matching the rhythm of her mouth. Paul was getting double the pleasure now, and she could feel him start to pulse. She drew her lips back off his cock, but kept on rolling his skin back and forth in her hand. She saw a trace of fluid seep from the slit, and slowed right down, while relaxing her grip to a faint touch. Diane was loving the sight; Paul was breathing shallow, and she was only just keeping him on the edge of climax.

Then she brought her lips back to his cock, and opened her mouth wider. She took in the throbbing head, and then pushed on further, as more of his shaft filled her. Eventually, she felt the wisps of his hair on her nose, and began rocking her head slowly. Paul couldn’t take this, almost shouting ‘Jesus Diane, you’re gonna make me cum!’ She slowly slid her head backwards off his dick, until it was in front of her face again. Glistening, it was twitching at her.

‘Sorry Paul, but not yet you don’t,’ she whispered up to him. Her hand let go of his cock, and rested on his thigh. ‘Have you ever licked a girl?’

He was wide eyed, trying to take in what was happening. He shook his head. ‘Well I think it’s about time you had your first lesson,’ she said, grinning up at him. ‘But we don’t need so much clothing anymore.’ She pulled off his boots, and reached up to grab his jeans at the hips. Paul got the message, and shifted on the chair to let her tug them down his legs, finally throwing them on top of his discarded boots.

Diane stood up in front of him. ‘Seeing as you’re half naked, I s’pose it’d only be fair if I was too?’ She kicked off her shoes, and with her crotch at around Paul’s eye level, started to pop the buttons of her jeans. Shimmying the waistband down her hips, she let Paul stare at the lacy panties underneath, watching his mesmerised face throughout. Then she turned around, and slid the denims down her legs. Bent over, Diane’s ass was inches from his face. The jeans were thrown on top of his, and still with her back to him, she stood up and hooked her thumbs into the straps. Very slowly, and very deliberately, she slid them down to the floor too. She paused there, and turned her head round to him. ‘Like what you see Paul?’ His mouth just hung open, he couldn’t even blink.

Eventually he was able to half say ‘Fuck yes.’

She stood up straight, turned to face him again, and sat herself up on the kitchen table. Diane edged backwards a little on the cool surface, then lowered her back down til she rested on her elbows. She brought her knees up and placed her toes on the table edge, then spread open her legs. Staring down into Paul’s face she said ‘Come on then, pull up your chair.’ Suddenly less dumb-struck, he almost jumped forward, and settled into position with his face inches above her sex. His eyes traced in on every detail, every curve. From her belly button down to her cropped hair…..over her thighs to the start of her ass cheeks…..to the folds of her lips, and the slick shiny pinkness of her. At this, he stopped and fixed his stare. After a moment Diane had to laugh and said ‘OK Paul, I think that’s enough of your private show…..lick me. Be gentle, but not too gentle.’ He lowered his face, and starting at the base of her slit, put just the very tip of his tongue on her. Slowly he moved up, hardly touching at all, until he brushed over the bead of her clit. Diane shuddered a little, letting out a sigh. He started back down, feeling the warmth of the delicate flesh, and as he reached the bottom of her lips again he tasted the tang of her. Diane’s wetness seeped onto his tongue, and he pushed in more to gather it all up. His face nuzzled against her, and her juices coated his mouth.

He began licking her up and down with more purpose now, opening out her lips, and lingering longer every time he trailed over her clit. At the bottom of each stroke his tongue hunted a little deeper inside. Diane looked down at his explorations, and smiled. She brought a hand to her chest, and started to roll her nipple between finger and thumb.

Paul was a good learner; every roll of his tongue over Diane’s clit brought out a tiny sound of pleasure from her. So, he stayed there, lapping gently on it. He pushed down with a little more pressure, while still rolling the bulb with the tip of his tongue. Diane’s soft moans told him to keep going. He lifted his fingers to her inner thighs, and brushed down them until he felt the curve of her ass cheeks. He stroked her lips, smearing juice over his fingers, and slid the top of his index inside her. Drawing tiny circles inside her flesh, Paul pushed his finger deeper, tracing the front wall within. It came to rest in a hollow ridge at the top. Diane’s hips started to circle along with his motion inside. He slowly withdrew his index, and replaced it with his first 2 fingers. His tongue flicking over her clit quicker, and his fingertips building a rhythm in her hot wetness, Diane’s moans grew louder. She lifted her feet and placed them over his shoulders and down his back, pulling him onto her. Paul could feel her bucking, all her muscles were tight. His tongue pressed harder, the tip licking faster and faster over her clit. Diane’s moans had turned into words - ‘Yes, that’s it, that’s it’ she kept saying, getting higher in pitch each time. Then she shuddered, and shook, her hips pulsing up into Paul’s face; and cried out ‘Yes, oh fuck yes!’

Eventually her spasms ebbed, to just the occasional pulse inside. Paul looked up into her face, but she murmured, ‘Don’t stop, just go back to how you started.’ So, again he trailed his tongue up and down her clit, with just a feathery touch. He stayed slow and light, as if to soothe the swollen bud, and let Diane’s sensations build. Which they did - the soft moans began again, each time he traced over her clit. He didn’t press, didn’t get faster. He just kept coaxing the pleasure to rise. Soon he felt Diane’s muscles inside gripping his fingers again, and her words replaced the sighs. Her legs tightened on his back, and now he felt her hands run through his hair, then pulling his head down. He licked her just a little quicker, and with another cry she bucked forward again. His face was smeared with her juice, as she rode the wave and grinded into him.

Slowly, she relaxed from her high. She breathed deeply, and let her legs go limp. Not a word was said, and she played softly with Paul’s hair in her fingertips. He rested his head on her thigh. Later, her breathing normal now, she tapped his head and said ‘How’s your cock Paul?’ ‘Just about to burst’ he replied, and Diane let out a snigger.

‘Right, well I can help with that’ she said with a devilish smile. She lifted her legs off, and swivelled so she was lying flat along the table edge in front of him, her head propped up with one arm. ‘Stand up then’ she said, so Paul did. His cock was level with her face. The head was a dark purple, and just as rock hard as when it had left her mouth earlier. The shaft was pointing up, almost towards his belly, and every vein under the delicate skin was pulsing. ‘Ooh, you do look ready to blow Paul, poor thing’ she cooed. Diane raised one finger, and traced up a line from the back of his balls, up to the base of his dick, and then slowly over the vessels and ridges to the tip of his head. It was Paul’s turn to moan.

Still just with one finger, she began drawing her nail back and forth on the underside of his cock. It twitched and jumped, longing for something more final, but loving every agonising second. ‘Are you going to cum for me Paul?’ she said looking up into his eyes. Not waiting for an answer, she gripped her fingers around his shaft, and started to wank it with purpose. She squeezed her fingers as she rolled again and again over the base of his cockhead, his hot flesh burning into her palm. Her hand moved faster, and she felt the tell-tail jerking at the start of his orgasm. Paul arched his back, and with an almighty grunt a thick line of cum jetted out, flying above and right over the top of Diane’s head. She kept up her work, knowing there was more. Every few seconds another wave hit his cock, and his hot juice oozed out and trickled over her fingers. Diane still gripped his shaft tight, and kept up her rhythm, until she could finally feel him relax. It took a while, and cum was still seeping from him, but Paul was eventually spent. His cock slowly softened in her hand, until she was just stroking it with 2 fingers. Diane turned her head to look behind her. At the far side of the table was a pool of his seed. ‘Damn nice shot Paul,’ she said, and they both fell into laughter.

She stood up and kissed him, and said ‘Right, they’ll be back soon, so we better clean this place up.’ Then, with a cheeky grin added ‘Well done in your first lesson by the way.’

A sound was tugging at Diane’s ears. A man’s voice calling up the stairs to the attic, getting closer, bringing her back to reality. Her mind cleared, and suddenly his words swam into focus.

‘Babe, what are you doing? You’ve been up there for hours - come on, the gig starts soon and you didn’t wanna be late for the support band. The babysitter’s just arrived.’

Diane put her hand to her mouth, and started to giggle. She shouted back ‘I’ll be down now Paul.’

‘What have you been doing anyway?’ he called up again, at the base of the stairs.

‘Oh, you know….just looking through old photos.’