Ellen von Unwerth'ss Revenge, Preface

From: Finn's Place

Ellen von Unwerth's Revenge, Chapter 1

From: Finn's Place

Day Dreaming

"David, this has been the most...wonderful day of my life," Aaron, the "bride" said, leaning backwards into the groom's embrace, sharing a quiet moment in the garden, "I wish it did not have to end, I feel a little like Cinderella."

"I'm so glad you could help me out," David said, hugging Aaron with gratitude. "I promised my grandmother that I'd get married before she officially passed title to the company over to me. I know it was stupid to have to lie to her, but what choice did I have, her dementia is getting worse and worse and someone had to step in."

"You could have just, you know, actually found a woman to marry," Aaron laughed, feeling a little dizzy in David's strong, embrace.

"I have not found the right girl, Aaron, and I don't want to be a divorced guy when I do, this was the best think I could think of that would make my grandmother happy, save the company, and save me from a bad marriage."

Aaron thought back to the night with David three months ago, sitting in David's loft apartment overlooking a fashionable downtown neighborhood.

********************

"What the fuck am I supposed to do, Aaron," David asked, sipping his scotch. "It isn't like I'm trying to take the company out from under her, but she hardly knows what is going on anymore, she's losing her mind, slowly, it's killing things."

"So, you're not allowed to take over till you get married," Aaron asked, twirling his glass of Pinot Gris in his hand.

"Nope."

"And you don't want to just find some girl to marry, even to fake it?"

"Hell no. And have her somehow claim that half the fucking company is hers?" David poured a second glass of scotch, sighed.

"I don't know then, buddy."

"Wait, wait, maybe that's it," David said. "I could fake it."

"But you're right, David, what woman would go along with that."

"Fake it, Aaron, that's the point. I wouldn't need a woman to go along with it if my bride wasn't a woman."

"I'm not following you," Aaron took a sip of his wine.

"I need someone I can trust. If I knew a girl like you, maybe I'd risk it, but that isn't happening, not in the time frame I need."

"So?"

"That's it, Aaron, I don't want a real marriage, that's too risky, financially, so I need to fake it."

"Okay..."

"What better way to fake it...what if the bride wasn't a woman?"

"Wait, wait," Aaron said, "you lost me."

"What if the bride wasn't a woman, but instead was a man. Same sex marriage isn't legal in this state, Aaron, if my 'bride' was not a real woman, we could get married, my grandmother would be satisfied, but there would be no legal risk to company ownership."

Aaron thought for a moment, tried to poke a logical hole in David's crazy plan, but could find but two. "Where are you going to find a guy that you could pass off as a woman and wouldn't you still have to trust that guy?"

David did not answer, instead poured Aaron another glass from the bottle, sat back, looked at his friend. "Where am I going to find a guy I can trust that also isn't the most masculine guy in the world?"

"Right," Aaron said, crossing his legs at the knee, reaching for the stem of the wine glass.

Aaron happened to look up at that instant, saw himself, his thin frame, David, more muscular, in the full mirror between the wall to ceiling windows behind the chair David was sitting in. He stared, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

In reaching for his glass, the way his legs were crossed, his dangling foot was pointed downward, toes almost to the floor. He had just touched the stem of the glass, his fingers gently pinching, his manicured nails the closest thing to David.

It struck him, really, for the first time, the contrast between the two college roommates. David, the athlete, strong, masculine, louder, somewhat brash, but not overly so, to Aaron, the dancer and actor in college, happiest on stage, soft, subtle, and almost...feminine.

"David," Aaron gasped, looking at his friend again, seeing the look in his eyes.

"You're the only one I can trust, Aaron," David looked down at his glass of scotch.

"But I," he started to object, on principle, but he had trouble formulating the right words, his mind instead reverting to the more easily explained practical. "There is no way I could pass as a woman."

"Do you know how much money I have, Aaron?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Money buys clothes. Money buys stylists. Money buys make up artists. Money buys all of that. What money doesn't buy is trust, loyalty, friendship. My money can make anyone look pretty, it can't make me trust anyone. I trust you."

It turned out David was right.

Aaron's feelings about the scheme came and went, but his undying loyalty to his friend was unshakable.

*******************

"You're really enjoying yourself, Aaron," David asked, making no effort to relax the hug he had on his 'bride.'

"Yes. Whoever says it, is right, a bride feels so special on her wedding day, she never does want it to end."

"It doesn't have to end, Cinderella," he said, his voice confident, leaning forward, towards Aaron's bare shoulder, until his nose was touching her skin, his lips gently resting on her shoulder, parting, then kissing.

"David," Aaron shuddered, meaning to scold him, but her rebuke sounding more like a gentle moan when she turned her face towards him.

"We have the honeymoon suite at the Ritz, Aaron."

She felt him squeeze her just the slightest bit more, just enough that his waist, heretofore several inches away from her, now pressed against her back, one of his strong thighs resting against the back of her leg, right where the garter strap from her corset attached to her white silk stocking.

He kissed her shoulder again, at the same time, his right hand moved from hers to the front of her gown. He touched the satin at her waist, let his fingers gently trail downward, over her hip, her thigh.

"David," she sighed, wanting to pull away, instead, letting her body fall backwards, closer to him, the tingling sensation of his lips on her skin too much to break. "David, I'm not a woman," she tried to reason.

"I know exactly what you are, Erin," he told her gently in her ear, somehow using is voice to make her name sound feminine, no longer masculine.

Erin saw a couple of guests pause at the edge of the garden, watch from a respectful distance, letting the bride and groom share their moment.

"But David..."

"Do you know why I've never found the right woman, Erin? Because I was blind to the fact that she was right there before me."

"David," Erin melted slightly, just slightly, scared at her own desires.

"I love you, Erin," David kissed her neck.

Erin almost collapsed, but he felt it, held her, helped her turn. "I love you, too," she said, turning, letting her lips press forward, finding his, kissing him, surrendering, giving up.

Surrender

"Is this your first time, with a man" he asked.

"Yes," she answered staring at the ground.

"You're nervous," he asked, gently lifting her chin so she had to look him in the eye.

"I...I'm sorry," she whispered, wishing she had more confidence at this very moment.

"Sorry? For being nervous?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I know that must upset you."

"Upset me? Darling, that makes you all that more desirable to me."

"I don't know what to do," she said.

"No, pet, you know exactly what to do. Don't pretend you have not dreamed about, fantasized about this moment for years."

"I..." She felt her face flush, his words touching her, honest, knowing. "Maybe."

He lifted her chin again, gazed at her. "You've been imagining this moment from the first time you realized you were different."

"Yes," she admitted, thinking quickly now, compressed, thoughts she had for years.

"Sissy?"

"Yes," she swallowed, that one word cutting like a knife, through all her defenses, all her fears, all her hesitations.

"You know exactly what to do." He was unbuttoning his pants, carefully, not letting them fall, but loosening them so he was free.

She stared at it, the thing she fantasized about for years, as he said. Hard. Powerful. Masculine. Involuntarily, she reached for it, let her manicured fingers touch it, grip it, wrap around it. She held it, felt it throbbing, gently, but thickening, the strength. It was all that a man was, everything, there, before her eyes.

Looking at it, she never felt more feminine in her entire life. Never felt her own maleness feel so small, such a little part of her. Looking at it, she realized that though born a boy, she was nothing like him, nothing like a man, never thought that way, never identified herself as so.

He waited, patiently. He knew the thoughts running through her head. It took only a matter of seconds, but he knew that the beautiful creature before him, whatever her genetics, was in that instant, a woman. He knew that she knew.

He watched as she opened her mouth at the same time her eyes fluttered, closed.

He watched as she leaned forward, drawn to it, accepted, wanted, desired.

He gasped as her soft lips touched him, shuddered, his own masculinity as powerful and overwhelming to him as her femininity was to her.

Both born males, he knew as he felt her wet lips touching him, now, forever, he was a man, she was a woman.

Man.

Sissy.

He knew.

She knew, too.

Accepted.

Desired.

Wanted.

Needed.

She surrendered to her lifeblood, her calling, to herself.

He made her what she was. What she wanted.

"There, there," he pet her hair, holding back, knowing enough to let her pace, trying not to let himself pull her mouth over him.

She surrendered. Worshipped. Woman. Man.

Image from Sharply Dressed Man

The Interview

“Well, Ms. Upham, everything seems to be in order on your resume,” he said, focusing as closely as he could on the paper between him and the interviewee, almost using it as a shield to keep himself from staring at her nylon covered legs. “Degree from Fordham, an internship with Continental, and then three years with the Canton Group in Sales Analysis. You seem to be exactly what we’re looking for.”

“Thank you, Mr. Harris, that’s such a relief to hear; since the market turmoil and Canton’s problems, it has been so hard to get an interview, let alone a job.” Nikki was nervous, desperate for a job. In the last years Nikki had not a single second interview, let alone an offer. Of course, that was spent as Nick, looking for a job as a boy, as she had been born. Maybe it was true, sex appeal did help, it sure seemed to be here, if she could only stay calm, try to forget that she was a boy dressed as a girl, a sexy one at that.

“Yes, well…” His voice trailed off, he glanced quickly at the woman in front of him, eyes quickly darting from her breasts to her legs, then back to the resume. No, no, it could not be, he thought to himself, it made no sense.

“Yes, Mr. Harris,” Nikki asked nervously.

“I, maybe it’s nothing Ms. Upham, but Scooter Porter and I play handball together at the same club, I remember him mentioning that he had a sharp young associate from Fordham working for him.” He knew it could not be, but something was not right.

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s just, I remember, I think, pretty clearly.” He could not believe he was about to voice his thoughts. “Scooter telling me his new wiz kid was named Nick. Nick Upham, as I recall.”

“I…” Oh fuck, Nikki thought, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I could be wrong, but…I know he told me it was Nick, not Nikki. It just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Are you sure, Mr. Harris, maybe you didn’t hear him correctly.” Stay calm, stay cool, this would be okay.

“No, no, Ms. Upham, he was pretty explicit. His new associate was named Nick. I remember him telling me we should see if Nick plays handball and he could join us at the club. See, the thing is, we belong a male only club, so it had to be a guy.” There was no way. Right. He was being foolish, there was no way that this beautiful woman, with those breasts, those legs, there was no way.

“Um, did you see on my resume, Mr. Harris, I put together an analysis program for regression in emerging markets.” Distract him. That’s what she had to do, distract him. Forget sex appeal for the moment. Fuck, why did I wear such a short skirt. Fuck, why did I wear a skirt at all. What the hell am I doing trying to be a woman. This is crazy. Nikki didn’t care how much she actually liked dressing as a woman, how strangely erotic it was.

“Yes, yes, Ms. Upham, as I said, you’re exactly what I’m looking for,” he responded, wondering how the hell he said that. Just what he was looking for? What the hell. “Anway, Ms. Upham, well, I can’t help but thinking you’re hiding something from me.” He had to ask, there was no way he could let this go, no way.

“Well, I…I’m not really sure how to say this, Mr. Harris, it’s rather embarrassing.”

“Ms. Upham, if there are core values here that we put above everything else, they are honesty and intergrity.”

“Well, Mr. Harris, I…I guess…you see, I…I’m not exactly a, what’s the best term to use, a genetic girl,” Nikki burst out, hardly believing that she could have such bad luck. Nikki knew she passed as a woman, but he had to know Scooter? Fuck!

“What…what the hell does that mean? Not a genetic girl? I…I’ve never heard that term before, Mr. Upham,” Mr. Harris said as it slowly dawned on him what was going on, no matter how badly his brain did not want to actually admit that this beautiful woman might not be a woman at all.

“Er, Mr. Porter was right, the…his new associate was named Nick,” Nikki said, her face reddening.

“That’s what I thought! So you didn’t work for Scooter. What, did you make all this up, is this all a lie?” It had to be something else, it had to be. There was no way this woman wasn’t a woman, there was no way he was actually attracted to wasn’t actually…no way.

“No, Mr. Harris, I did work for Mr. Porter,” Nikki said softly, trying to figure out what to do, how to get out of this.

“I don’t understand. His associate was a guy named Nick. Yet you’re telling me that you worked for him and that…no…no…that doesn’t make any sense. You’re…” No way, there was no way!

“Yes, Sir, I was born a boy. I guess I still am, in some way, anyway, a genetic boy, though I…I don’t go by Nick anymore. I go by Nikki, now.” There, she admitted it, both to Mr. Harris and to herself. This wasn’t just a ploy to get a job, this was more, this was Nick somehow admitting more, admitting, however strangely, admitting to himself or herself, that he just might be something more than to him or her, something feminine, something…a woman, a woman inside himself.

“You’re not a woman? No…no…that isn’t possible. You’re…I’m not sure how to phrase this with sexual harassment laws and all, but…you’re beautiful. How can you be a boy,” he asked, unable to use the word ‘man’ to describe her, not with those breasts, those legs, not when he found her so fucking attractive.

“I am, Mr. Harris,” Nikki, face flush again, unable to explain that while she might be a genetic boy, for the first time in her life, right there, in that office, she wasn’t anymore, she wasn’t a boy, she was a girl.

“You…you have…boy parts,” he said, half statement, half asking.

“Yes, Sir.” Suddenly Nikki was as ashamed about her small penis as she had ever been in her life.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, Ms. Upham, but, fuck it, I don’t believe you.”

“I…I can show you, Mr. Harris,” Nikki heard herself say as if it was someone else saying it.

“Oh, fuck, you…you…you have a…a…” What? What word was he searching for? Cock? That wasn’t right. That would be his natural word. Cock. But how could that be right? Fuck, look at her.

“A penis, Mr. Harris,” Nikki said softly, the word sounding strange on her lips. “Yes, Mr. Harris, I suppose I do.”

“But you have,” he looked at her chest.

“Breasts, Mr. Harris.”

“Breasts. But…you look…you’re…you’re beautiful.”

“You’re going to make me blush, Mr. Harris,” Nikki whispered. Beautiful? Did he really find her beautiful. My goodness, how feminine this made her feel, how pretty, how womanly, how wonderful.

“Turn around, Ms. Upham,” he heard someone say, he heard his own voice say, staring at her legs, at her breasts, needing to see for himself, not sure why.

“Mr. Harris, I…” Was he really asking? Did he want to see what she thought he wanted.

“Fuck, look at that ass. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so crude, but, fuck, you’ve got better legs, a better ass, than any woman here.” The words flowed again, he knew he had to see more, no matter what happened, he had to see, he just had to.

“I do?”

“I guess you do have a penis, Ms. Upham,” he said touching her gently, rubbing, stunned at the swelling going on in his own pants, feeling his cock while touching her soft penis. “But fuck if you don’t have the smoothest, most fucking feminine…”

“Mr. Harris, please, you shouldn’t,” Nikki said softly, as soft as her feminine penis, as soft as her legs, as soft as her breasts. She said it with no conviction, no feeling. She might just as easily told him to do more, to touch her more, to rub, to feel, to…

“Do you want me to stop, Nikki,” he asked hoping, mentally begging, she said no.

“Oh, fuck, Mr. Harris, oh fuck, oh fuck, that…that feels…”

“Do you want me to stop, Nikki?”

“No,” she said so quietly he could not have heard her.

“What?”

“No, please, no, no, no, please, don’t stop, don’t,” Nikki moaned as his hand rubbed her crotch, as his had touched her, teased her, excited her.

“Do you want to take off your skirt, Ms. Upham? Or would you prefer I stop and we can get back to discussing the job opening,” he toyed with her, thinking of one opening he never imagined thinking about.

“No, no, please…please don’t stop, Mr. Harris.” God, why was he torturing her like this, teasing her. Why couldn’t he just be a man, why couldn’t he just take her, like a man would, should.

“Are you sure, Ms. Upham? I don’t want this taken the wrong way, but I love a woman in nylons,” he said, running his hand over her legs, the nylon touching him as it always did. Her legs were as sexy, hot, smooth, beautiful. God he wanted her.

“That feels so good,” Nikki moaned, shuddering at the feel of a man’s touch.

“I just love running my hands over a woman’s legs, over her pantyhose, teasing her, toying with her.”

“Mr. Harris. I…I’m not sure about this,” Nikki belatedly said, suddenly on edge, realizing she was about to hit the point of no return.

“You’ve never had a man touch you, have you, Ms. Upham?”

“No…no, Sir,” she admitted softly, wondering why she had ever waited for this.

“You’ve fantasized about it though.”

“Yes,” she said quickly, never dreaming she would ever tell someone something like that.

“Turn around, Ms. Upham. I can’t say that I’ve ever been attracted to a man, but let me tell you, you’re no man.”

“No, Sir.”

“Look. Look Ms. Upham. Look at those breasts. Look at those legs. Look at that smoothness, the soft, the feminine, the beautiful lines of your pantyhose.”

“Oh god, oh god.”

“You’re swelling, Ms. Upham,” he laughed, stroking her, using his fingertips, just like he would to a woman, any woman.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harris, I can’t help it.”

“No, Ms. Upham, no woman can help it when she gets excited, when her clit starts tingling.” She was a woman to him.

“Mr. Harris, I don’t know if we should.”

“Why don’t you have a seat, Ms. Upham,” he said, commanded, pulling her, spinning her onto his lap, onto his erect cock.

“Mr. Harris,” Nikki yelped, feeling his erection, his throbbing, suddenly losing herself.

“Yes, Ms. Upham?”

“You’re…you’ve got an…you’re…” She could not speak the word, so confused was she by her reaction to feeling him press against her, by her grinding, her deep, sudden need.

“Yes, Ms. Upham, I am.”

“I…I never…”

“Do you want to stand up, Ms. Upahm?”

“I…no…no…I want to…ohhhh god, that feels so good on my…my…”

“Pussy?”

“Yes,” she groaned, “yes, yes.”

“Ms. Upham,” he said, “stand up, take off your dress, I want to see your breasts,” he said, pushing on them as she sat on the edge of the desk.

Nikki stood, shaking, both from desire for him, for his cock, the throbbing she was feeling a second ago, now not, and from nervousness.

“Turn around,” Ms. Upham,” he ordered her.

“What…what are you doing,” she asked, almost shaking at the sounds, at his belt unbuckling, at his pants dropping, at his shirt coming off.

“I’m getting naked, Ms. Upham,” he chuckled, pushing her forward slightly, pushing her so her hands went to the desk in front of her, involuntarily, as she bent over.

“Mr. Harris,” she squealed. She felt his hands on her ass, grabbing her pantyhose, ripping, just enough. Just enough to expose her pussy ass, but not enough to allow her own small penis free from the nylon trapping it against her.

“Hold still,” he growled, spitting.

“Mr. Harris,” she protested, loudly, “you can’t…OHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” Nikki felt his fingers on her, touch her, probing, pushing, something no one, man or woman had ever done to her before.

“Mr. Harris, please,” she gasped, groaned. “I…I don’t know…I don’t know…I don’t know…” She kept chanting, never finishing, not saying no, just chanting.

“Nikki,” he laughed softly.

“What, what, what?”

He moved his soaking wet fingers around her rim, teasing, toying, tormenting. “Your pussy is soaking wet and I’m going to fuck it.” He pushed one, then two wet fingers into her pussy ass, trying with all his might not to shove his whole fist inside this gorgeous boy-girl.

“Oh fuck,” Nikki yelped as his fingers, one, then two pushed into her. “Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Then they were gone, replaced quickly by something larger, thicker, harder. Nikki knew what it was, of course, knew that his cock was now poised against her, waiting, knew that a man’s cock was on the verge, was touching her.

“Mr. Harris, please, please,” she begged, unsure if she was begging him to stop or begging him to finish.

And then, in the blink of an eye, in an instant, he made the decision for her and she closed her eyes and surrendered as she felt it quickly, confidently, fill her.

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” she moaned as his cock filled her and she first thought, then said what he wanted to hear more than anything in the world. “Fuck me, Mr. Harris, FUCK ME!”

He did, and excited as he was to feel the inside of a special girl, it did not take him long until he was thrusting hard and deep and panting and fucking and with a grunt, a growl, a yell, he pushed into her with a final, violent, needy thrust and had the most powerful orgasm in his life.

“Oh fuck,” he said pushing his pelvis hard against her, holding, his cum deep in her, “oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

That’s all it took for Nikki, for she knew exactly what he was doing, holding in her, knew, somehow, despite never having felt it before, the instant he shot inside her, the instant his cum began to fill her.

Feeling him, feeling a man, feeling Mr. Harris explode inside her sent her over the edge for she too felt an orgasm, a powerful, rumbling orgasm of her own start deep inside her, felt it the instant he came, felt it despite her own penis, her own clit, never being touched.

She felt it, the orgasm, the femininity; she felt it, no longer boy, now only woman.

She felt it as the orgasm washed over her, longer, all over, everything, dizzy, felt it a minute, two, as he held his cock inside her, felt herself become a woman, never, ever, to be a boy again.

*********

Images are from Pantyhose Addict. Obviously Izzy (who owns/runs/poses the site) is NOT transgendered. She's an amazingly beautiful woman who has run an amazing site for a number of years. I only wish I was half as pretty as she is. I HIGHLY suggest joining and seeing all the thousands of pictures she has posted over the years (she has a great blog, too.)

Summer Employment

"Hold still, for goodness sake, let me see," my mother chastised me. "Well, not bad at all," she grinned, looking up and down my body with a critical eye. "What do you think?"


"I...I don't know about this, Mother, I mean...this isn't really what I thought you had in mind when you told me you found a summer job for me," I said, trying to smile enough to seem like I was not challenging her.


"I don't understand what the problem is," she crossed her arms. "You'll be making good money with tips."

"Well, Mother, I...most of the guys I know from the University are doing...um...other kinds of jobs. Landscaping, painting, construction..."


"Well of course, dear, those are the kind of things young men do when they are home from college for the summer."

"I...I guess that's what I thought I'd be doing," I said carefully, knowing that the irritation was showing on my face.


"Construction. You thought I'd find you a job in construction? Or landscaping? Sweetie, I really don't mean this to sound cruel, but those jobs are really difficult...lifting heavy things, moving things around...employers are looking for strong young men to do those jobs, not...not...I know you don't like the word...not sissies."

I backed up, caught the arm of the couch, sat, wounded.


"Oh, honey, I don't know why you get so upset when I call you that. I'm not name calling, I'm not even judging you. It's just a simple fact, sweetie, you've always been mummy's special little boy, mummy loves her sweet sissy boy."

"I just wish I was like the other guys sometimes," I pouted.

"What...hairy and smelly and gross? Darling, you're the sweetest, softest, prettiest, most delicate son a mother could want."


"Oh, mother," I smiled, blushing.

"I mean that darling. I know all your friends from college will be doing different things this summer, but please trust mummy, this is the perfect job for you...you should be careful with your customers, you'll find lots of creeps who just want to touch your pretty body, but who knows, you may just find some nice young man..."


"Mother!"

"I know, I know, you don't think you're ready to date yet, I'm just asking you to keep an open mind, sweetie. If you find a girl you like, I'm okay with that, I'm just saying you should not discount the possibility of a finding a man you like, that's all. There's nothing wrong with a pretty sissy dating a man in today's day and age."

"Fine, mother," I agreed, wishing to end this uncomfortable discussion, still afraid to admit that she was right, that I did find some men attractive.

Petticoat Monthly

Here is the first page of my new newsletter. The full version of the five page newsletter can be found at this link.

UPDATE: Thanks Anon, link should be fixed...please try now, let me know if there are problems.

Inspection

"You wanted to see me Mr. Simpson?"

"Um, yes, er, John, we...we need to talk about your work attire."

"My work attire, Mr. Simpson? I...I don't understand."

"Well, John, this is kind of awkward for me, but, well...you've been wearing skirts to the office."

"Yes, I have Mr. Simpson."

"John, it...it is against company policy!"

"Against company policy? Put Mr. Simpson, I checked the personnel book very closely, especially the dress code part...I have it right here. I don't see any prohibition."

"You did? You do?"

"I did, Mr. Simpson. Look, right here, on page 85, it states, 'Employee Attire. The Company is a professional organization and as such expects all executives to be professionally attired at all times.' And then here, on page 88. 'Professional attire shall mean matching trousers and coats (suits), matching skirts and coats (skirt suits), or skirts and blouses.' I've been wearing a skirt suit or skirt and blouses all week, Mr. Simpson."

"But...but..."

"And here, Mr. Simpson, page 90. 'If wearing a skirt, the visible portion of the employee's leg shall be covered in hosiery at all times.' I...I've been wearing hosiery, Mr. Simpson, pantyhose on Monday, and a garter belt or girdle and stockings the rest of the week."

"But, John, you...you're...I mean...you're not a female."

"Mr. Simpson?"

"The policy about skirts only refers to women, John, you...you're..."

"But...Mr. Simpson, it...it doesn't refer only to women, Mr. Simpson, just an employee, a generic employee. It is gender neutral."

"But men are not supposed to wear skirts, John!"

"I...I'm not really a man, Mr. Simpson. I mean, I'm a genetic male, but I'm really, a...well, a sissy."

"John, don't you see, it is very distracting for men...er...a...a sissy...to dress like that at the office."

"Distracting? I don't understand. How is it distracting?"

"John, don't...don't you see? A man sees a woman wearing stockings, dangling a heel...men are visual, they get...er, um...they get...distracted."

"Distracted? Really?"

"Yes, John."

"But Mr. Simpson, you mean...you mean to tell that men at the office get distracted by me slipping my heel on and off...like this?"

"Mr. Simpson?"

"Yes, yes, for crying out loud, yes."

"But why Mr. Simpson? You don't think the men here find me attractive?"

"John."

"I mean, I'd hate to distract anyone, Mr. Simpson, especially any of the men. Wait, Mr. Simpson?"

"Yes, John?"

"I'm not distracting you, am I? Sitting outside your office? Right there, at my desk? I know it's just a table, no real sides, but...does it distract you when I uncross and recross my legs?"

"John, you..."

"You know, Mr. Simpson, I was also reading the personnel manual about relationships...um, relationships amongst employees. They are not forbidden, you know."

"I...I know, John, I helped write the manual."

"There is a notice requirement though, for certain relationships. I think the employees need to send HR a letter within 72 hours."

"That requirement is only for sexual relationships, John."

" I don't remember, I did not read that part too closely, I was so busy studying the part about the dress code...to see if a garter belt was okay, I love wearing garter belts."

"You...you do...I mean...John...anyway, employees only need give a 72 hour notice after a sexual relationship."

"72 hours? So, Mr. Simpson, if I had a sexual relationship with a fellow employee, I only need to give HR notice after?"

"Yes, within 72 hours."

"So, if someone, oh, if some fellow employee came back to my house to, um, more closely inspect my attire to see if it complied with company policy, I would not have to report it if we did not have a sexual relationship?"

"Um, yes."

"Hmmm. So, hypothetically, if a supervisor wanted to see the rest of my lingerie, my garter belt, my silver satin camisole and tap panty set, you know, just to make sure my lingerie complied with the dress code, he...he could do that?"

"Yes, yes, John, a supervisor could."

"And what if, I don't know, what if a supervisor wanted to, I don't know, um, get closer, you know, really look carefully at an employees's lingerie, maybe even feel it, how soft, how pretty it is. That's okay, right?"

"I...I suppose a supervisor could do that, without notifying HR."

"Just to ensure compliance, of course."

"Of course, John."

"Well the manual said that no undergarments should be visible, so what if, I don't know, what if a supervisor wanted to check, you know, closely, really, really closely, how an employees pretty, soft, satin panties fit? Could he do that?"

"Oh god."

"Mr. Simpson?"

"Yes, John, yes."

"Without notifying HR?"

"Yes, yes."

"Sometimes the best way to tell if undergarments will be visible is to feel the curve of the garment against the skin, you know, he might have to run his hands over my...I mean, the employee's panties. That's not a sexual relationship, so I...the employee...would not need to tell HR, right?"

"No, I...I suppose not."

"What if the panties were visible? I only ask because I thought my panty line might be visible through my skirt."

"Well, that...that would be a violation of company policy."

"A violation?"

"Yes."

"We...we get punished for violating policy, don't we?"

"Yes, of course, write ups, violation interviews, even..."

"Spankings?"

"WHAT?"

"There is nothing in the manual that prohibits corporal punishment, is there?

"Spankings, I...don't think..."

"I'm just asking if a supervisor could do that, spank an employee."

"I think...there must be something that prohibits, that..."

"That's not a sexual relationship?"

"No, no."

"So no notice to HR and nothing in a personnel file?"

"No."

"I'm only asking because, well, if a supervisor wanted to take a pretty young employee across his lap after looking closely at the employee's lingerie, stockings, garter belt, panties, that...that would be allowed?"

"I...I can't think of...of anything..."

"And if the supervisor, I don't know...maybe liked it...just a little...spanking a panty covered behind, that's not sex either, right?"

"John!"

"I'm only asking, Mr. Simpson, if while spanking the employee, the supervisor got, um, an erection, and accidentally rubbed...you know... while spanking, rubbed against the employee, that...that's allowed?"

"I...I suppose, but..."

"No notice to HR?"

"No, but..."

"You know, Mr. Simpson, in days gone by, after a spanking, the person who got spanked often had to thank the person administering the punishment."

"Thank him?"

"Yes. I know how I'd want to thank a strong man for a hard spanking."

"You...you do?"

"Yes, Mr. Simpson. If I felt his erection pressing into me, I'd want to do something for him, to properly thank him."

"I don't think..."

"It's hard work spanking a pretty employee, I think a supervisor that does that deserves something relaxing, deserves release for all the tension that must get built up."

"But John..."

"Would that be a sexual relationship?"

"What?"

"I'm just asking, I guess, just to be clear, if after you spanked me...I mean, after a supervisor spanked an employee, if the employee, you know, maybe got down on hands and knees and properly thanked the supervisor for the spanking, and helped him get some release, would HR have to be notified?"

"I...I don't know, John, I..."

"Just a little licking, Mr. Simpson, that's not sex, right? Licking and kissing and touching a supervisor's...um..."

"John, please..."

"And if it slipped into the employee's mouth...you know...by accident, that's not really sex, right, it's just, thanking him for the spanking."

"John!"

"Mr. Simpson."

"I...go home, John, now, just go home, this isn't..."

"Will you be administering any punishment tonight, Mr. Simpson."

"That depends on your lingerie, John, that depends on my inspection.

Memorial Day

Emily were in bed Friday evening; we had a "date night," well, "date day" I suppose, since it really started at lunch time when we both blew off our office jobs for the weekend. We golfed that afternoon (I won, as usual), had a few beers and a hot dog on the course, then cooked dinner on the grill and enjoyed the spring evening.

As I said, we were in bed, having showered, freshened up, pretty.

I was wearing a pink satin camisole and tap panty set, white lace top thigh high stockings, and a white bra holding my breastforms.

Emily was also dressed in lingerie, a black babydoll, sheer panties, black lace top thigh high stockings.

We had a bottle of wine in the bedroom (our second), some candles, yes, one of those evenings.

Emily was sitting up, leaning on an arm, with the other, reached up, touched my face. Her soft, stocking covered leg, was touching one of mine, gently, slowly, moving back and forth, caressing.

-You're so pretty.

I blushed, her words, her recognition of my femininity, her excitement, her reaction to it,

always brought me a rush.

-I love you.

I leaned in to kiss her, my lips barely brushed the bare skin of her neck, my favorite place to start, to smell, to savor, the scent of her, the feel of her.

She jumped, as did I, the sound startled us both. Her ringing cell phone, on the night stand. Beethoven's Ninth.

-Sorry. Let me just see who that is, turn that off.

-I...

I started to tell her to ignore it, to hold her in place with another kiss, but she was quick, with feline grace, had grabbed her iPhone.

-Oh, she said, swiping her finger across the screen, answering, not ignoring, the call.

-Hey!

Her voice, excited.

-No, no, don't be silly, how have you been?

I took a deep breath in, exhaled. Why did one of her friends have to call now? From her tone, it had to be one of her college girls. Fuck. Yea, fuck, when I wanted to fuck. Fuck.

-I know, it's been like forever!

I stared at her foot, her ankle, her calve. Perfect, made more so, encased in a stocking. I could not resist, not then, not ever. I scooted slowly towards the corner of the bed, here leg and foot rested, watching her out of the corner of my eye. Fine, if she wanted to interrupt my seduction, I'd just continue elsewhere, interrupt the interruption.

I was on my hands and knees, she was looking towards the window.

-Good, great, really, you?

My mouth was an inch from her foot, she was still paying me no attention. I inhaled again, long, deep, the perfume of her, her scent started in my nose, but worked its way, magically, into me, into my mind, my body.

I stared at her toes through the dark nylon, was almost shaking, the sight always setting my heart to racing.

I don't know if I wanted to, intended to, but I was overcome, helpless, really. My tongue darted out, licked, feline just as she was, graceful.

Emily jumped.

-Oh!

She looked over at me, crossed her eyes slightly, but did not move her foot.

-What? No, no, nothing.

I licked again, the back of her ankle, her calve.

-Memorial Day Weekend? No, that's charming. I don't think I have plans, just a sec, let me check.

She rolled onto her back, lifted her phone up to look at the screen. Intentionally or not, more likely so, the foot I had licked was on my chest, between my breasts, toes pointed directly towards my mouth, the other, with the same unaffected thought, came to rest directly against the front of my satin tap panties, unseen to me, but felt, erotically, through the fabric.

-I don't have anything on my calendar. What do you have in mind?

She was excited, by me or her free schedule for a get together with college friends, I did not know, but her toes moved forward, to my lips, presented themselves for adoration.

I opened my mouth, tongue extended, tasted, the nylon, her, encouraged by her other foot, softly, slowly, seductively, moving, massaging.

-That sounds. She paused, toes licked. -Wonderful. I'd love to come out there.

She can orgasm just from me licking her toes, something I was trying to create while she was on the phone.

-Well, email me, we can talk details later, but I'll block out the weekend. Yea, me, too. Talk to you later.

She hung up, dropped the phone on the table next to the bed.

-Who was that, I asked, looking up at her.

-Oh, fuck, don't stop, she hissed, pushing her toes back into my mouth, silencing me, rubbing me with her other foot, encouraging me, making me forget, for the moment, anything but her stocking covered legs.

Minutes later, I had worked my way up to her thighs, gently, teasingly, licking, kissing, the nylon, her bare skin just above. I enjoyed the teasing, brushing the tip of my nose over the sheer panties covering her, breathing, letting her know I was going to lick her, just not until she begged for it.

But Emily was not in the mood to beg for my oral attention, quite the opposite, rather. She lifted her hips, one, the other, her weight, force, flipping us, opposite, so I was on my back, she atop me, instead of my mouth hovering over her, she was hovering over me.

Instinctively, hungrily, I stuck my tongue out seeking the sheer fabric of her panties, the dampness already evident underneath. I was almost there, my tongue may have grazed the sheer nylon, when she lifted her hips up slightly.

-Now who is going to make who beg, sissy, she chuckled

-Emily!

She lowered her hips, again my tongue almost reached her when she stopped.

-It's ironic, most women have to beg their boyfriends to lick them.

-Please Emily. I asked softly, not even bothering to deny that she was right, not bothering to do anything but beg.

-You'll do anything I want, won't you my pretty lover?

-Yes. I whimpered, shaking with sexual excitement, spurred by her body, her lingerie, mine, her scent, anticipating the taste.

She lowered her hips yet again, this time allowing her panty covered mound to rest on my tongue for a second or two.

-I know how turned on you get licking me through my panties, she teased, imagining I've just come home from a date.

I gasped, the image immediately flashing into my mind, Emily now hovering over me, wet not just from her but...

She lowered herself onto me. -Taste it, lover, taste, open, taste.

I did, eyes closed, mouth open. It took less than a minute for her to orgasm, the wave starting, shaking, all over her, the wave that when I licked her, could go on and on and on, minute, after minute, ten, fifteen, more.

-Sara, she whispered. I opened my eyes as she lifted off my tongue, just an inch. I looked at her, but my eye went to her panties, her fingers moving them aside, touching herself, spreading herself, rubbing, shaking.

-Sara, she said again. My eyes went to hers, but right back to her fingers, now wet, rubbing.

-Saraaa, she was starting to shake, starting cum again.

-Sara, look at me.

I looked up, mouth open, tongue out. She bounced on it, once, twice, three times, touching her clit to the tip.

-The phone call, Sara, she managed to say, struggling to talk through her breathing, through the orgasm she was having from her fingers, the quick touches of my tongue.

-That was Evan.

I sucked in a deep breath, his name a shot through my skull.

Evan.

She was going to see Evan.

He invited her for the weekend, Memorial Day weekend, as he did last year.

Evan.

She was over my mouth, her orgasm powerful from my tongue, of its own volition, swarming all over her, sucking, kissing, licking, drinking.

She was going to spend the weekend with Evan again.

She did not ask, like last year, announced.

Evan.

I thought his name as I licked her.

Evan.

I imagined him inside her.

Evan.

I imagined tasting him.

Evan.

Evan.