Michele, a closet Transvestite in her forties, likes to dress up whilst home alone; little does she know she is going to get paid an unxepected call by an uninvited visitor; The Predator; an evil break and enter man who has been terrorising women in the city.

MICHELE AND PREDATOR

By

Michele Nylons

The predator peered through the bedroom window and smiled; he couldn't
believe his luck. This woman was just to his taste; he felt himself begin
to stiffen as his eyes devoured her; he couldn't wait until he had his
hands on her. In his mind he played out the scenario that he envisaged
would soon take place. His thickening member began to engorge and throb.

The predator had been terrorising the city for months; always preying on
attractive, middle-aged women who lived alone. He would break into their
houses and spend the night ravishing his prey until he was sated; then
leave the women bound to the bed, covered with his issue; this was their
final indignity; to be found helpless, despoiled and degraded. Although,
by the time he was finished with them, his victims were usually beyond
caring how he left them; they just thanked god that he had left.

The predator had defiled five women so far, all sophisticated, attractive
and well dressed ladies in their forties or early fifties. He made a point
of that; that they be dressed attractively. He had been known to make his
victims get out of bed and apply makeup and dress in their finest lingerie
and eveningwear before he spent his time playing his sordid games with
them. Some victims reported that he made them parade before him wearing
differing ensembles until he was satisfied with how they looked before he
ravished them.

The predator had arrived at his current destination by sheer luck. He
usually followed his intended victim for a few days, and then planned his
attack when he was sure that the victim was alone in her home. Tonight he
was returning from a bar and decided to cruise a well-to-do neighbourhood
just to see if there was anything special that might be worth following up.
He was slightly drunk and stopped his car next to an alleyway separating
two townhouses so that he could relieve himself. He ducked into the
darkened alley to urinate when he noticed the shadow on blind. The
silhouette on the blind was unmistakeable to a predator of his kind; a
woman either dressing or undressing; her movements and mannerisms playing
out like a shadow-puppet on a movie screen. He couldn't help himself; he
had to see what might be on offer here. When he had splashed the last of
the hot stream of his urine against the wall he climbed up onto a garbage
bin hoping he would be able to see more through the window.

The predator was in luck and managed to secure a position where he could
see through a chink in the blind where it had not been fully extended. The
view provided by the chink took in half of a woman's bedroom. He could see
most of the bed, scattered with lingerie and women's clothing lying in a
heap, the coat-hangers still attached to the skirts, blouses and jackets.
There had to be at least six outfits lying on the bed surrounded by the
small piles of assorted lingerie. He could see a dressing table littered
with makeup, perfume bottles, jewellery boxes and the sundry items that
women seemed to be unable to do without in their endeavours to look
attractive. A wine glass, half full of red wine was set to one side. A
small shelf above the dressing table held three wig stands. A blonde bob
sat on one wig stand and a black long haired wig sat on the second; the
third wig stand was bare.

The predator was pleased to see that this woman had such good taste in
clothing and obviously looked after herself. The mountains of lingerie,
makeup, jewellery and the wigs bespoke of a woman who was most attentive to
her appearance - the sort of woman he fantasised about.

The predator allowed his eyes to consume the sight before him. The woman
presented herself sideways to him, sitting in front of the mirror at the
dressing table making final adjustments to her appearance. She looked to
be in her early forties, solid but not fat, and dressed just to his taste.
His eyes started with her face and worked their way down her body.
Straight brunette hair hung just to her shoulders, the fringe framing her
heavily made-up eyes; her cheeks were rouged, her lips full and painted
plum red. A glint of light betrayed the simple sparkling earrings that
undoubtedly matched the diamante necklace around her neck. She was wearing
a black nylon full-slip, the rise of her small breasts emphasised by the
tight bodice, the laced hem of the slip resting on her sleek nyloned thighs
just above her knees.

The predator liked the way her taupe stockings glistened in the lights from
the makeup mirror. Her hands slid down one leg, her fingernails painted a
matching plum red to her lipstick, and adjusted her stocking; pulling the
sleek nylon taught on her shapely leg and momentarily disappearing under
the hem of her slip as she adjusted the clip on a garter strap. The
predator shuddered. His eyes continued down her leg and lingered on the
black, patent leather, open toe high-heels and he caught a glimpse of her
painted toenails on display, encased in the gossamer of her sheer stocking,
as she waggled her foot back and forth back as the admiring her own pretty
foot. She stood, and then advanced towards the bed presenting herself
front-on to the predator.

The predator took in the whole visage of the woman that he had now
determined was to be his next victim. Mature, attractive, heavily made-up,
tall and well built; she was just to his taste. If he had not spent the
evening in the bar and was in a sober frame of mind he might have been more
cautious, but the sight she unknowingly presented to the predator sealed
the woman's fate. The predator slid silently off the garbage bin on which
he had been standing and made his way back to his car. He scanned the
street and saw no one. Most of the lights in the adjoining townhouses were
out and the street was quiet. He checked his watch: 11:30pm, perfect he
thought, and reached into the back seat and took out his burglary tools.
Fuck the risk! He had to have her. Now!

Michele sat before the makeup mirror twirling the wine glass in her fingers
watching the light sparkle in the red Shiraz. The dark red wine matched
the colour of her fingernails and she briefly giggled to herself at the
complement. She was slightly drunk from the half-bottle of wine she had
already consumed and she set the wine glass down carefully and began to add
the final touches to her makeup.

Michele was actually Michael, a divorcee in his mid forties who lived alone
and had come to transvestism late in life after suppressing an urge to
crossdress for most of his adult years. Like most crossdressers he had
urges to dress-up and become a woman for short periods of time and often
dressed in his wife's underwear when she was away. After an amicable
divorce some five years earlier, Michael now transformed into Michele
whenever it pleased him to do so. Living alone and having the privacy to
dress when it suited him, he had developed the persona of Michele over a
period of years.

Michele's male alter ego had fought a battle with his weight for most of
his life and he had allowed himself to balloon out during the later part of
his marriage. When the opportunity to fully crossdress whenever he felt
like it presented itself, Michael decided he didn't want to look like a
middle-aged frump. He dieted and exercised until he could eventually fit
into a size 16 and some times even a 14; a great effort given his large
frame, and he now carried very little fat.

Michele had acquired an extensive wardrobe, first at opportunity shops and
later at larger specialty shops; insisting to the shopkeepers that he was
buying the clothes as presents for his wife. Lingerie was easy to buy as
it is never considered unusual for men to buy nice underwear for their
wives or lovers.

Michele bought his first pair of women's shoes from an opportunity shop and
once he knew his woman's shoe size he purchased many styles of high-heeled
pumps and sandals; again insisting to inquisitive shop assistants that they
were presents for his wife. He sometimes had the boxes gift-wrapped to
maintain the façade.

Michele had dabbled with his wife's makeup with various degrees of success
and failure during the years of his marriage and easily obtained all the
makeup he needed by purchasing a couple of complete makeup kits ("its for
my niece's birthday; she's just turned thirteen") and then simply added to
his makeup collection by throwing any item he desired in with the week's
groceries; no one ever questioned him at the checkout; husbands just picked
up whatever their wives had written on the shopping list after all.

Michele could purchase women's jewellery easily of course, but his biggest
problem was how to get his hands on some nice wigs. The problem was solved
when he was sent to a large city interstate on a business trip where he
visited the part of town frequented by the gay community. Here a
sympathetic old lady in a wig shop who was used to dealing with 'his kind'
helped him pick out and try on three different styles and hair colourings.
He purchased the wigs and then went into another 'specialty shop' where he
bought breastforms in two sizes.

Michele loved being Michele; Michael transformed into her at every
opportunity and spent most evenings and weekends dressed and fully made-up.
More and more often though he had been fantasising about taking his
transvestism a step further; whenever he was dressed as Michele he became
aroused, he always had, but for the last year or so he had fantasised about
being with a man. He did not consider himself gay; in fact when he wasn't
Michele his sexual fantasies revolved around women; but when he was Michele
he wanted to be with a man or to have a 'lesbian' encounter with another
transvestite.

Michele was terrified that her secret life would be exposed. When dressed
she kept the doors locked, the shades closed and never answered the door.
Although she had become adept at applying makeup and dressing en-femme, and
she believed that she made quite an attractive mature woman, she would
never dream of going out dressed as Michele. She contented himself with
reading books and looking at magazines and movies where transvestites had
hot sexual encounters with each other and with male admirers. Although
masturbation bought relief, Michele longed for 'the real thing.' She was
thinking a lot lately of either placing a discreet ad in some of the sex
shops she visited or advertising her availability in a contact magazine or
in some of the internet chat rooms she frequented.

Michele was not aware that she was about to have her first encounter
tonight, nor that the Predator would be her first man. The Predator was
not aware that the woman he lusted after, as he spied on her through her
bedroom window, was in fact Michele; a transvestite.

Michele had opened a nice half-bottle of Shiraz earlier in the evening and
then poured herself a warm bath. She painted her toe and fingernails and
allowed them to dry and then poured herself a glass of wine and stepped
into the steaming, scented water. She spent a luxurious hour soaking,
during which she had shaven her legs and chest and closely shaven her face.
She had also drunk three glasses of wine.

Michele towelled herself off and carried a full glass of wine from the
ensuite bathroom into her bedroom where she sat at her dressing table and
looked at herself critically in the mirror. She was showing her age but
was still respectable and with the magic of makeup would soon be
transformed into a presentable, if slightly sluttish, middle-aged woman.
She giggled to herself and realised she was slightly drunk.

Michele went through the labour of applying her foundation; she had a
product from Max Factor which closely matched her skin colour but covered
up the few scars and blemishes that she had acquired during in her life.
Next she liberally coated her face and neck with face powder one shade
darker than her foundation; she now had the blank canvass she liked to
achieve prior to applying the rest of her makeup. She loved this next
part; the application of colours and shading which changed the whole look
of her face from bland maleness to feminine fox. She giggled again and
took a gulp of wine before continuing.

Michele applied her eyeliner next. All the books and magazines in which
she had read makeup tips said you should do this later but Michele had
learned that this was the hardest part of applying makeup and if she
screwed it up (which she often did, especially after drinking), she could
wipe the eyeliner away, apply more foundation and start again without
ruining her eye-shadow and mascara. The eyeliner was applied liberally to
her upper and lower eyelids, from the inner corner of her eyes to the outer
corners, gradually thickening the line as she went. Having achieved the
desired result she looked for a suitable palette of colours for her eye-
shadow.

Michele selected a pale blue which she applied to her eyelids and then
blended it into a shade of dark pink which she brushed onto the upper part
of her eye sockets and right up to her eyebrows. She wished she could
shape her brows but that would be too noticeable to her workmates, family
and friends so she just kept her brows neatly plucked. Next she rouged her
cheeks to define the lines of her cheekbones. She used more rouge and eye-
shadow than is the fashion nowadays but she preferred the more colourful
makeup styles of the eighties over the current subdued 'less is more' look.

Michele next applied a light coating of 'skin-glow' face powder all over
her face and neck to set the makeup she had already applied and to give her
face a subtle radiance. She carefully brushed lashings of mascara onto her
lower and upper eyelashes. She knew from painful experience that if she
put too much mascara on her lashes that it would congeal and look
unsightly; even worse it could end up ruining her eye-shadow or face makeup
if globs of the mascara came loose from her lashes. She did like to wear
lots of mascara though and found a Maybelline product that did not clot and
was easy to apply.

Michele took her time putting on her lipstick. Having completed the rest
of her face she didn't want to ruin the effect with a sloppy job. She took
time to line her thin lips just outside her lip-line so that her lips would
seem fuller; she also knew that the wine she had drunk was having its
effect and realised that caution here would save her tears of frustration
if she slipped and made a mess of her lipstick. The colour was a deep plum
red and matched the nail polish that she had painstakingly painted on her
toe and fingernails prior to her bath.

Michele reached up and studied the three wigs sitting on their stands.
'The brunette,' she thought to herself and lifted the wig from its stand.
She brushed the wig with the special brush that she been advised to
purchase by the nice old lady who had sold her her wigs. She started her
brush-stokes at the extremities of the hair and worked her way up to the
crown, admiring the sheen of the artificial hair. She positioned the wig
on her head and adjusted it so that her fringe was straight and hung level
with her eyebrows.

Michele looked in the mirror and admired her transformation. 'I look quite
attractive' she thought; 'I bet Michael would like to fuck me' (she giggled
to herself at the absurdity) and reached for her wine glass.

Michele went to the closet located on the right-hand side of the bedroom;
Michele's closet. The closet on the left was Michael's closet and contained
his suits, shirts, ties and boring male underwear, socks and shoes.
Michele's closet contained the soft, luxurious, feminine attire that so
excited her. She rummaged through the lingerie draws and threw a pile on
the bed; next she took down half a dozen ensembles and threw them in the
centre of the bed amid the strewn underwear. It looked like a messy,
awkward way to select an outfit but it worked for her. She would often get
nearly fully dressed and then change her mind and she had found over the
years the best method for her was to take a selection of clothing and throw
it on the bed and then once she had finished dressing, put away whatever
clothing she had decided not to wear.

The predator at this time was just leaving the bar having been unsuccessful
in locating a suitable woman as his prospective next victim. He had drunk
more than usual, and frustrated at not finding his next target, stumbled to
his car and took off towards the better part of town to prowl for a fitting
quarry to stalk.

Michele tore open a packet of cheap flesh-toned sheer to the waist
pantyhose. She wore pantyhose as a foundation garment to help flatten her
tummy, hold her male genitalia out of the way between her legs, and to help
cover the small nicks and varicose veins on her forty-year-old thighs and
ankles. She felt a small tingle of excitement as she smoothed the
pantyhose up her legs and over her tummy and buttocks. She carefully
manipulated the sheer toes around her painted nails ensuring she didn't
ladder the cheap hose.

Michele selected a pair of red nylon full-cut panties from the midden of
lingerie on her bed. She stepped into them and slid them up her nyloned
thighs, savouring the rustling sound of nylon on nylon. She adjusted the
waistband on her hips so that the cute little lace bow was centrally
located below her belly button. Michele could not understand the modern
woman's obsession with thong panties; they were uncomfortable and
unflattering on women of her solid build. Besides she liked the way the
tight nylon panties caressed her buttocks.

Michele next chose a black satin garter belt; her mother had called them
'suspenders' she remembered. She clipped the garment together and stepped
into it carefully pulling it up her hosed legs and over her panties so that
it sat snugly around the bottom of her waist. She carefully adjusted the
garter straps ensuring they did not snag her pantyhose.

Michele decided on a matching black satin bra, again clipping the
fastenings at the back of the bra together before donning the garment. She
giggled yet again when she thought about all the troubles she had had as a
young adolescent Michael attempting to undo his girlfriend's bra so that he
could caress her budding teenage breasts. She took another sip of wine and
pulled the garment over her head, adjusting it on her chest in the mirror
and straightening the straps on her shoulders. She had breastforms if she
wanted to use them but this bra was slightly padded and with her 'man
boobs' gave her a pleasing if subtle cleavage without being overly busty
(although sometimes, when she was in the mood, she liked to stuff her bra
with the largest set of breastforms she had and parade around like Mae
West).

Michele dithered over which stockings to wear; it would depend greatly on
which ensemble she finally decided upon. Should she wear black, grey,
taupe, flesh-toned; fully fashioned, Cuban heeled or sheer toe? She had so
many pairs! She settled on a pair of high sheen taupe lace tops. She loved
the way they emphasised her shapely legs, and with the flesh toned
pantyhose underneath the stockings, her legs would look magnificent.
Michele thought her legs were the best part of her body. She slid the
stockings on and connected the clips on the garter straps to the lacy
stocking tops. She reached for her jewellery box and selected faux diamond
earrings and a matching pendant necklace. As she clipped the earrings to
her ears she lamented the dearth of good quality clip-on earrings. She
dare not pierce both her earlobes as it would be too noticeable to others.

Michele went back to her closet and selected a pair of black, patent
leather, open toe high-heels and placed them beside the chair next to her
dresser. She chose a black nylon full-slip from the mess of lingerie on
the bed and pulled it over her head being careful not to ruin her makeup or
hair. She smoothed the garment to her body, the tight bodice clinging to
her breasts and hips and the skirt flaring around her thighs, occasionally
sticking to her stockinged legs because of the static electricity. She
loved the feel of the lacy hem; like butterfly wings brushing on her
thighs.

Michele sat down in front of the dressing table and slipped her feet into
her high-heels; although a size eleven her feet were not grotesque because
they matched the proportions of her body. After all she was a small size
eight in men's shoes and her feet were considered quite small for a man.
She turned her chair sideways to the dresser so that she could adjust her
stockings; she pulled the sleek nylon taught on her shapely leg and her
hand disappeared under the hem of her slip as she adjusted the clip on a
garter strap. She waggled her right foot from side to side, admiring her
own pretty feet in the high-heels and appreciating the gleam of the lights
on her high sheen stockings. Little did she know that she was not the only
one admiring her legs and feet!

Michele stood and advanced towards the bed to select an ensemble for the
evening. She finally decided on a white 'Carla Zampatti' A-line skirt and
a mauve satin long-sleeved blouse she had purchased from Supré. She
always wore long sleeved blouses or jackets because although she kept her
fingers and the backs of her hands free of hair, she could only lightly
shave her arms with a beard trimmer. Her tanned arms had only a light
sprinkling of fair hair but she felt that fully shaving them would be too
noticeable when she wore T-shirts and Polo's when she was Michael.

Michele donned the blouse, fumbling with the buttons; she was still not
used to them being on the opposite side to men's shirts. Then she stepped
into the skirt and pulled it up around her waist, tucking the blouse into
the skirt and closing the zipper at her waist. She went back to her
dresser and mooched through the jewellery box and decided upon two matching
silver bracelets for her left wrist and a silver amulet set with a large
black opal for the right. She slipped a matching opal ring set in silver
on the ring finger of her right hand and a diamante ring set in white gold
on her left ring finger.

Michele pushed her hands out before her and admired the effect of the
jewellery against her slim wrists and her plum-red painted fingernails; she
had taste she thought, but she still projected that slightly sluttish style
she favoured. She looked at herself in the mirror and was pleased with the
result. She twirled around and admired her ample but well-proportioned
bottom; the A-line skirt was a snug fit. She drained her wine glass and
tottered on her high-heels as she started from the bedroom to the kitchen
to open another bottle of wine. She was drinking a lot lately; but what
did she care? As long as she kept her weight in check; it's not as if she
had a boyfriend to keep sober for. She sauntered down the hallway towards
the kitchen, her heels clicking on the slate tiles as she did her best vamp
imitation, swinging her buxom sexy bottom from side to side and giggled to
herself again.

The predator had let himself in easily through the kitchen window whilst
Michele was making the final adjustments to her clothing in the bedroom.
The kitchen window looked out over a small garden, dark at night, and well
hidden from the main road; the lock was cheap and easily defeated. The
predator was silent as he climbed through the window and dropped
soundlessly to the tiled floor; he'd had plenty of practice after all. He
heard the clatter of high heels on the tiles and a little giggle from the
hallway. 'Oh this bitch would not be giggling for long!' he thought, as he
hid behind the opened door that led into the kitchen from the hallway.

The predator quietly lowered the bag containing his burglary kit to the
floor and reached inside it to take out a gag and a pair of handcuffs. He
didn't like using the gag on his victims because it ruined their lipstick
and distended their faces. He liked to look into their pretty faces while
he did things to them, and once they learned resistance was futile (and
they all learned that lesson pretty quickly) he liked to kiss them. The
woman who had excited him enough to risk what he was about to do had
affected him strongly; he wanted to take her as soon as possible, his
member was so hard that it was uncomfortable in his pants. He would take
her quickly in the kitchen and then they could retire to her bedroom for
the rest of the evening's entertainment. he thought to himself.

The predator heard her high-heels getting louder now as she approached the
kitchen door and his drunken mind reflected on his last glimpse of her
before he had jumped down off the perch outside her bedroom window. Her
heavy makeup, the black nylon slip in contrast to her sheer taupe stockings
(he preferred women who wore stockings instead of pantyhose), and those
shiny black open-toe high heels. He would take her fully clothed, right
here in the kitchen; he would take her in such a way that she would know he
was in charge and that resistance was futile. He would take her in a way
that a woman of her breeding had probably never experienced before.

Michele walked into the darkened kitchen and headed straight for the wine
rack above the breakfast bar. She didn't bother turning on the light as
the light spilling in from the hallway was ample for the task; besides she
hadn't closed the curtains in here and even though her kitchen window was
not in open sight of the road she was still paranoid about anyone seeing
her dressed en-femme. She was thinking of whether to open a bottle of
Shiraz or merlot when she felt herself being pushed heavily from behind and
she collided heavily with the kitchen table.

The predator pounced on her when she was halfway across the room. He used
his weight and strength to propel her towards the kitchen table. She was a
big woman and he was taking no chances; as she crashed into the table he
pushed her shoulders down and pulled her hands up behind her back and
clamped the handcuffs on her wrists. He lifted his knee and slammed it
into her well proportioned behind to hold her against the table and pulled
up on her cuffed wrists. As expected, she pushed her upper body upwards
and back in an effort to escape, but this only assisted him. As she rose
up and gasped, a prelude to either to a scream or cry for help, he pulled
the ball bag over head and into her mouth, securing the straps tightly
around her neck. He now had her where he wanted her.

The predator pushed down on her shoulders so that she was bent over the
kitchen table. In the dim light he could now see her mauve satin blouse
and the white A-line skirt; subconsciously he approved of her style, he
loved it when they dressed nicely for him. He wasted no time. The
predator kicked her heels apart so that her legs were spread as far as the
tight skirt would allow and released one of his hands from her cuffed
wrists and undid his flies and released his erect organ.

The predator was extremely aroused and he could smell the stale alcohol on
his own breath as he panted in excitement. He reached under the woman's
skirt with his free hand and grasped the waistband of her panties and
yanked them down. He was puzzled when her panties came to an abrupt halt
at the top of her thighs and then he realised that she was wearing her
garter belt over her panties and because of this her panties could be
lowered no further without releasing the clips on the garter straps
attached to her stocking tops. It didn't matter, her panties were down far
enough for him to carry out his intentions.

The predator stepped in close between her splayed high-heeled feet; his
crotch close to her buttocks, one hand gripping her handcuffed wrists and
pushing her body down hard on the kitchen table, the other hand under her
skirt pulling her panties down so that they bunched around her thighs. He
bought his free hand out from under her skirt and spat in the palm of it;
then he spread the glistening spit over his tumescent penis, ensuring his
glans was completely lubricated.

The predator lifted the woman's skirt up and thrust forward. His cock came
up against a membrane of sheer nylon, and for a moment he couldn't figure
out what had happened. Was the silly bitch wearing two pairs of panties?
Then he figured out what was preventing him from reaching the object of his
desire; it was the gusset of the woman's pantyhose. The dumb cunt was
wearing pantyhose under her stockings! Why the fuck would she do that?

The predator took no time to try to answer these questions, he was now so
stimulated that he was close to climax. He pushed forward with his hips
and felt his member force the nylon membrane of the pantyhose into the
crease between the woman's buttocks. He pushed harder still and felt his
glans nestle into the woman's anal bud, her silken hose wrapped around the
sensitive head of his penis stimulating it into bringing forth a trickle of
pre-seminal fluid; the clear liquid combining with his spittle to further
lubricate his member. He grunted and pushed forward with all his
bodyweight and actually felt the heavy table move an inch or two as he
thrusted.

The predator felt his iron hard cock tear through the gossamer thin
pantyhose gusset and then slam against the woman's tight sphincter. His
cock paused briefly at her resisting puckered entrance, then his weight and
the lubricant did their job and his shaft slid slowly and steadily inside
the woman's tight back passage. The Predator's crotch slammed hard against
the woman's soft round buttocks and his scrotum rested in the silken purse
of her bunched panties stimulating him to extremis. He ground his crotch
in a circular motion against the woman's lovely soft arse and pulled her
back hard against him and unloaded stream after stream of hot semen into
her tight channel.

The predator howled and shuddered as his orgasm shook through his body; he
ground his hips harder against her and stimulated his scrotal sac by
rubbing it against the silken gusset of her pantyhose. His climax over, he
pushed the woman forward and pulled back from her. He watched in awe as a
trickle of semen seeped out of her and ran down her thighs, staining her
stocking tops and pooling in the crotch of her panties. He had only just
started with this bitch; he was going to have some fun tonight!

Michele lost all thoughts of red wine as she was propelled forward and
slammed hard against the heavy wooden kitchen table. She was confused as
to what was happening; her thought processes slow and fuzzy because of the
wine she had drunk. She realised a stranger was in her house and that she
was being pushed down across her own kitchen table but couldn't figure out
why. For one second she stupidly panicked at the thought that someone had
found her dressed as a woman; and then a split second later she realised
that she had a lot more to worry about than the exposure of her
transvestism. She realised she was in serious trouble when she felt the
handcuffs clamp on her wrists.

Michele's fighting instinct took over and she used all her strength to lift
her body up off the table so that she could yell a protest to the man who
was assaulting her. She understood now that the perpetrator believed he
was dealing with a woman; if she could just let him know that he had
handcuffed a man, not a woman, maybe the intruder would let her go, or at
least think twice about what he was about to do. Maybe she could negotiate
with the trespasser; offer him money, her car, anything to get him out of
her house without any further indignity.

Michele never got a chance to say a word; as soon as she opened her mouth
the rubber ball gag was pushed into it. She started to hyperventilate,
being forced to breathe in and out through her nose; then her chest was
slammed downwards on top of the kitchen table and she couldn't move. She
stumbled as her heels were kicked apart and her legs spread to the full
extremity allowed by her tight skirt. The home invader held her tightly
against the table so that she wouldn't fall, and then terror struck her she
felt his hand reach under her skirt.

Michele was horrified at the prospect of what was about to happen to her.
A glimmer of hope surfaced; he would realise she was not a woman and let
her go, surely! Then she felt him yank her panties down and was actually
relieved when her panties entangled in her garter straps and would go no
further. As soon as the pervert reached under her to touch what he thought
would be female genitalia he would be in for a terrible shock. He would be
shocked by what he found there and would stop what he was doing. He would
be disgusted to find out that she was a transvestite and may even beat her,
but at least he would stop this perverted attack.

Michele's glimmer of hope faded when she heard his flies unzip and the
sound of him spitting into his hand. She was about to attempt one last
struggle when her attacker's full weight pressed against her backside
pinning her to the table. She screamed to herself in her head as she felt
her skirt being raised and the gusset of her pantyhose stretch as her
attacker's penis nestled in the bud of the entrance to her back passage.
The fool didn't realise she wasn't a woman! He thought she was the lady of
the house and he intended to defile her in this despicable manner to
gratify his primal urges! Then she felt her attacker's hard hot member tear
through her pantyhose and begin to invade her.

Michele screamed into the gag at the intense pain as the hot cock forced
its way inside her. No sound would issue forth around the gag but that
silent scream would live in her memory for a long time. The man's member
slid slowly but inevitably deeper and deeper inside her; surprisingly after
the initial shock and intense pain she felt as he had entered her, the feel
of the invader's lubricated penis became less painful; it just felt
uncomfortable and filling.

Michele felt the intruder's crotch press hard against her soft buttocks and
realised with some relief that he was now fully inside her. She felt him
pull her soft bum back hard against him and the gyrations of his hips as he
worked his turgid member around inside her tight passage. Then she felt
the hot gush of his semen as he spent himself deep inside her; she heard
his groan and could smell the stale alcohol on his breath as he bayed and
howled with his climax.

Michele was absolutely astonished at what happened next. As her defiler's
glans pulsated and throbbed against her sensitive prostrate, washing it
with his hot seed, she felt a stab of exquisite sexual pleasure pulse
through her lower regions and she simultaneously stiffened and ejaculated
into the crotch of her pantyhose. She couldn't suppress the pleasure she
felt even though she felt utterly debased. She collapsed against the
kitchen table as her orgasm subsided and she felt her attacker pull himself
slowly out of her and was surprised that it did not hurt but in fact was
mildly pleasurable.

Michele could feel that the tight bud of her back passage was left slightly
open after the ravaging it had taken and she felt her attacker's warm sperm
run out of her and down her thighs where it pooled in her panties and
stained her stocking tops. The front gusset of her pantyhose was soaked
with her own spend whilst her attacker's semen ran down her thighs into her
bunched up panties. Her head was spinning with the realisation of what had
just happened to her; then she began to wonder what would happen next.

To be continued............

Hi; I am Michele Nylons a fortysomething 'part time' transvestite from Australia. I write semi-autobiographical stories and have been published at Crystals, Fictionmania, Literortica etc. I would love to be an author on this site.
xxx
Michele