Crossdresser rape stories

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Introduction: Like most crossdressers, for most of my adult life I have had the urge to dress-up as a woman. I have been home from work for over an hour; I lift my head from the brief that I have been reading by the light of a desk-lamp. The room is full of shadows. I close the file on my desk and then close the curtains in the study. My house is a small two-bedroom cottage with a study, lounge and combined kitchen-dining room. My bedroom has an ensuite.

It is located in a quiet cul-de-sac in a quiet neighbourhood where everyone keeps to themselves. It is perfect for me. Perfect because I am single due to a messy divorce where she got everything except the debtsperfect because I work odd hours, and prefect because I like my privacy; oh, and also perfect because Crossdresser rape stories am a closet transvestite. Like most crossdressers, for most of my adult life I have had the urge to dress-up as a woman for short periods of time, and I often used to dress in my wife's underwear when she was away on business.

Since the divorce some two years ago, me, Michael, the respectable businessman, likes to transform into Michele, the sexy secretary or naughty nurse; or whatever takes my fancy at the time whenever it pleases me to do so. Living alone, and having the privacy to dress when it suits me, I have spent many hours developing the persona of Michele over the last two years.

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Of course I have to keep my secret life secret; and even though I have a strong desire to do so, I have never ventured out dressed as Michele. Lingerie is easy to buy, as it is never considered unusual for a man to buy nice underwear for his wife or lover. I have experimented with wearing my wife's makeup with various degrees of success and failure during the years of my marriage. After she left me I obtained all the makeup I needed easily by purchasing a couple of complete makeup kits "its for my niece's birthday; she's just turned thirteen" I told the shop assistant.

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No one ever questions me at the checkout; husbands just pick up whatever their wives have written down for them on the shopping list after all. It is easy to purchase women's jewellery of course, but my biggest problem was how to get my hands on some nice wigs. The problem was solved when I was sent by my firm interstate to Sydney on a business trip.

I love being Michele; I transform into her at every opportunity I get, and I spend most evenings and weekends dressed and fully made-up. I am terrified that my secret life will be exposed. When I am dressed I keep all of the doors locked, the shades closed and of course I never answer the door.

Although I have become adept at applying makeup and dressing en-femme, and I believe that I make quite an attractive mature woman, I would never dream of going out dressed as Michele. I read books and look at magazines and movies where transvestites have hot sexual encounters with each other and with male admirers. My favourite place to live out my fantasies is the Internet. I troll the chatrooms and cyber-space meeting places and I Crossdresser rape stories perform on webcam with other TVs and admires.

I have been thinking a lot lately of either placing a discreet ad in a sex shop or advertising my availability in a contact magazine. I check the time once more on the antique clock, and through the gloom I see that it is eight oh five. Now that I have finished working on my legal brief and the house has been made secure, I move towards my bedroom; my breathing quickening in anticipation. I strip off my clothes, shave my face closely and then take a long hot shower.

I run my hands all over my chest, arms, legs and buttocks and am pleased to find them stubble-free. I fully shaved my body only two days ly and I used a hair-removal cream to remove all of the hair from the crevice of my behind and my scrotal sac. I dry myself off and sit at the dresser. I take my time applying foundation; it closely matches my skin colour and covers up the few blemishes that mark my face. I liberally coat my face and neck with face powder, one shade darker than my foundation; I now have the blank canvas on which to apply the rest of my cosmetics.

I apply eyeliner next, from the inner corner of my eyes to the outer corners, gradually thickening the line as I go. When I have thick black line running along the edge of my eyelashes I reach for my eyeshadow. I select a pale blue which I apply to my eyelids and then blend it with a shade of dark pink which I brush onto the upper part of my eye sockets and right up to my eyebrows. Then I rouge my cheeks, defining my cheekbones. I like to use more eyeliner, rouge and eyeshadow than is the fashion nowadays.

I carefully brush Crossdresser rape stories of mascara onto my lower and upper eyelashes. I like to wear lots of mascara and have acquired a Maybelline product that does not clot and is relatively easy to apply. I apply the base coat carefully just outside of my lip-line so that my lips appear fuller. I light a cigarette and concentrate while I paint plum red nail polish on my finger and toenails. Putting on two coats takes a few minutes but the effect is worth it.

I stub out my cigarette and consider getting a drink. No, I decide I want to finish dressing first. I study the three wigs sitting on their stands. I have a blonde shoulder-length, a black bob with cerulean highlights through it and my favourite brunette, with cerise highlights. I select the brunette and carefully lift it from the stand and brush it with my special wig brush.

I admire the sheen of the artificial hair as I position the wig on my head and adjust it so that the fringe is straight and level with my eyebrows. I open the bottom drawer in the dresser and there are my two pairs of breastforms. I affix them to my shaved chest with medical adhesive tape and cosmetic gum. I open another drawer in the dresser and select a packet of flesh-toned sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose.

I like to wear pantyhose as a foundation garment to help flatten my tummy, and to cover the small nicks and varicose veins on my forty-year-old thighs and ankles. I feel the first small tingle of excitement as I smooth the pantyhose up my Crossdresser rape stories and over my tummy and buttocks. I stand up and walk over to my armoire. The armoire is an extravagance that I bought the week after my wife moved out and it is now filled with all of my female attire.

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The built-in-robe that holds my boring business suits, shirts and dress shoes holds no interest for me tonight. Tonight I am totally absorbed with my armoire and the girly treasures contained inside its oak doors. First I select some lingerie from a deep wooden drawer; the lingerie has acquired the delicate fragrance of the camphorwood drawer and I bring it to face and feel the sensuous satin on my skin and inhale the feint perfume.

I place the lingerie I have selected to wear on my bed. My bed is a king-size four-poster with scarlet satin sheets and a black chintz comforter; another Crossdresser rape stories that I indulged in when the bitch left me. I sit down on the bed and my pantyhose hiss as they rub on the comforter; little electric sparks shoot through my legs and my penis begins to swell inside the nylon sheath of my pantyhose. I push it between my legs and allow it to deflate so that I can continue dressing without an unsightly lump in my crotch.

I step into a white lace suspender belt that is fitted with three garter straps on each leg and then put on a matching white lace brassiere, adjusting my breastforms so that they fill the cups. I sit back down on the bed and slip a pair of taupe nylon stockings up my legs and adjust the dark back-seams so they were straight.

I fix the dark welts of the stocking-tops to my suspender straps. My legs have a lovely sheen as they glisten in the lamplight; stockings worn over pantyhose give my legs a gossamer-like appearance Crossdresser rape stories my red painted toenails peek through the sandal-toe-reinforced stockings. I run my hands up and down my legs enjoying the sensuous feel of the nylon but have to stop myself when my penis begins to rouse again.

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I pull a pair of white satin full-cut panties up my legs and smooth them around my buttocks and over the suspender belt and then step into a peach coloured satin half-slip. The lace hem of the half-slip flutters against my stocking tops. The scintillating feel of the lingerie on my body arouses me further and I have to reach inside my panties and hose and adjust myself. I step into the skirt and admire the single pleat at the front and the split side. Of course he is used to the sort of clientele who make such requests. I button myself into a peach coloured, long-sleeved, satin blouse and tuck it into the waistband of my skirt and close the zipper.

I adjust the waistband of my skirt, and adjust the hem down over my slip. The skirt is tight around my buttocks and thighs and the hem sits high up on my legs. I strut over to the armoire and select a pair of black high-heeled sandals and sit down at the dresser and pull them on, fastening the ankle straps. Nylon encased painted toenails peek from the black patent leather straps. I open another drawer and mooch among my jewellery collection. I slip a gold Crossdresser rape stories on my right ankle and adjust it so that it falls below the strap and buckle of my high-heeled sandal.

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