Home Maid

 

  Tuesday morning

Steve pushed the trolley up close to the display and stared at the trays of loose, fresh produce. He picked up and inspected a cucumber. In his peripheral vision, he saw a tall dark-haired woman to his left. She was watching him. Steve replaced the long, green item. Having selected a variety of other vegetables, he weighed them, attached the stickers and placed them into his trolley.

As he went through the large supermarket, he caught sight of the brunette several times. She was wearing her wavy hair down over her shoulders and as she turned her long ear-rings glittered. Around her neck, she wore a chiffon scarf, lightly knotted and draped over her chest.

When Steve reached the Beers, Wines and Spirits aisle, there were no other shoppers there. He lifted a bottle of white wine and was reading the label when once again his attention was caught by a nearby movement. The brunette was approaching and was only a few feet away.

Steve glanced at the smiling face. His gaze fell to her open coat, and the red dress which stopped a few inches above the knees. The shapely legs were encased in black nylon, and she wore black toeless stilettos. Steve’s eye was caught by the red-painted toenails peeking out of the shoes.

“It’s Steve, isn’t it?” The brunette extended a slender hand, with fingernails the same shade as the toenails.

“Yes,” Steve murmured as he gazed into her brown eyes—shaded by long black lashes. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He reached out and took her hand.

“Harriet. I live in the house at the end of the cul-de-sac—right across from your place.”

“I didn’t know anybody had moved in there, but I’ve seen you walk past a few times. How do you know my name?”

“I bumped into Pamela one day—that lovely wife of yours. She was kind enough to come over to my house and introduce herself when I moved in a few weeks ago.”

“Well, that’s two houses taken. It’ll be interesting to see when the others at our end are sold.”

“Indeed, it will be, but of more interest to me is why you’re looking at wine?”

Steve glanced at the bottle in his hand. “I don’t understand?”

“Isn’t Pamela away at the moment?”

“Yes, she’s away this week visiting a friend.” His brow furrowed. “Why shouldn’t I be looking at wine?”

The brunette stepped to within an arm’s reach and spoke in a husky whisper. “I thought you might be better going somewhere to look at shoes.”

“Shoes?”

“Yes—like mine.” She smiled as she observed his reaction.

“Now I’m confused.” Steve looked down briefly before he looked her in the eye again. “You’ve been watching me shopping in different sections of the supermarket. Why are you suggesting I should be looking at high-heels instead of wine. Pamela buys shoes herself.”

“Your face is turning a lovely shade of red.” Harriet ran the tip of her tongue along her glossy, ruby lips. “Would you like me to explain?”

Steve nodded slowly but wasn’t sure he wanted her to explain. He was acutely aware of his beaming face, which was why he didn’t walk away. Something wasn’t right. This strange woman held his gaze with confidence as her lips curled into a smile, displaying even, white teeth.

“First of all, Steve, sweetie, when you were at the produce I wondered if you’d buy that big cucumber, but you put it back. Personally, I liked the look of it—the length, the shape and … oh, enough. Anyway, I followed you around to see if I could catch your eye, and I did, so thank you for the long looks.”

“I—” A fingertip with a crimson nail reached out and briefly touched his lips. He stared into Harriet’s eyes.

“I came along here to have this little chat because I knew it would be quiet in this aisle.”

Steve nodded, and his lips parted, but he didn’t speak. Something was seriously wrong about this meeting and the way the woman was talking to him.

“What I’d like you to do, Steve is to buy a couple of bottles of that nice wine, and come over to my place this evening—let’s say, about seven.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, I—”

“You let me have the ideas, sweetie … oh, and don’t worry about the shoes. What are you, about a size eight, or nine?”

“I’m a size nine, but what does that matter?”

She leant in close to whisper. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll be able to squeeze into a pair of mine.”

“What?”

Harriet turned to go, but paused after two paces and looked over her shoulder. “Be there at seven, with wine. Oh, yes, Steve—bring along your favourite little black outfit—the one with the lace trim.”

Steve gulped. He left his trolley to go after her. “I … I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sweetie, if you didn’t know what I was talking about, your lovely face wouldn’t be crimson. Now, do as I ask. Turn up at my house as I’ve suggested.”

“I still don’t—”

Harriet leant close again. “You’ll do it, darling, or, instead of showing you my photo collection, I’ll show the lovely, Pamela, when she returns.” She winked. “Remember, bring the black outfit.”

Steve stared at the black, seamed stockings and the heels as the long legs strode away from him. His face was burning up, and he swallowed hard once again, but there was nobody to notice. When the brunette turned into the next aisle, Steve was in a strange place mentally. He wasn’t sure which emotion was the strongest. The shock had disappeared to be replaced by embarrassment and fear. It was a few seconds later when he realised he was aroused.

*

Tuesday evening

“Come in, Steve, sweetie.” Harriet let him inside before she glanced out around the empty cul-de-sac and smiled. She turned to find her guest standing in her hallway holding a plastic carrier bag. “I’m so happy this is a quiet little corner, and I’m pleased you didn’t try to call my bluff.”

“What do you want from me?” Steve stood there in his T-shirt and jeans, staring at this woman with the generous figure, in her chiffon scarf, short black dress and once again, high heels; although she was indoors. She wore gold earrings with black onyx stones. As it had been at the supermarket, her makeup was applied perfectly.

Harriet leant forward and peered into the bag. She smiled. “Very good. Well, if you give me the wine, you can go and change in my room, upstairs on the left.”

“Change?” Steve gasped. “I’ve done what you asked, so you can have this stuff, and I’ll go.”

“Dear, sweet, Steve, you confirmed the outfit by bringing it with you, and I don’t need it—you do. The only place you’re going right now is upstairs to my room to change. You’ll be wearing the items in that bag when you come downstairs.”

“I’m not doing this—”

“Oh, but you are, Steve. You don’t have many choices.”

“I could just leave again. I don’t know what your game is, and maybe I don’t want to play.”

“If you didn’t want to play, sweetie, you wouldn’t have come this far, and you wouldn’t have brought the things in that bag.”

“Okay, so I turned up with the items and the wine, but what if I’ve changed my mind?”

“That’s easy, darling.” Harriet opened the door and stepped away. “Instead of showing you my nice pictures, I’ll do as I said this morning—and show them to Pamela.”

“What are these pictures anyway?” Steve swallowed. “You could be bluffing.”

“So far, you’re not acting like a man who thinks I’m bluffing. You’re acting like a person with a dark secret. Would you like to leave, or shall I close the door?”

Steve closed his eyes briefly and murmured. “Close the door.”

Harriet closed the door and turned. “If it will cut down on your embarrassment, I’ve left you a nice wig and a pair of red stilettos in the room.”

Steve stared at her in disbelief, his mouth dry and his eyes wide.

“Go along now, and please stop pretending not to be excited. When you come down, I’ll help with your makeup. If you behave, I’ll let you see my photo album—of the other you.”

Steve closed his eyes, turned and started to go up the stairs slowly. “What have I bloody done?”

Harriet called after him in her husky tones. “There’s a razor up there for you too—shave everything from the chest downwards.”

*

“Well, now look at you.” Harriet stepped back. “I’ve wanted to do your makeup since the first time I saw you all dressed up with nowhere to go.”

Steve sat in silence when the blonde wig was removed, and his face was treated to a makeover. He was hoping the makeup was concealing his blushes, but now that he was sitting in black lingerie, stockings, and high-heels, he wasn’t sure what he was feeling. He hadn’t said a word since he came downstairs. He wanted to but wasn’t sure where to start.

Harriet carefully fitted the blonde wig on Steve’s head and adjusted it slightly, teasing the ends over his bare shoulders with a hairbrush.

Steve quietly cleared his throat. “Harriet—”

“Oh my, she speaks.”

“I’m not a she—”

“Yes, you are, darling. Would you like me to fetch a mirror?” Harriet tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Do you have a name for when you dress up?”

“No, I—God, this is so embarrassing.”

“Stand up for me.”

When Steve stood slowly, he looked down as Harriet reached forward with one hand.

Harriet closed her fingers around the firm bulge at the front under Steve’s short black negligee. “Personally, I think that is embarrassing. Girls don’t have big lumps like that throbbing in their underwear.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes you can—don’t be so negative. This time, I’ll show you how to deal with it, and in future, I expect you to take care of it yourself. Now, lift your hem for me.”

“In the future—” Steve turned away, but reached down and lifted the hem of the diaphanous nightie. “Ouch.” He’d felt a sharp stinging in his hard-on, and he looked down.

“Now we can move that lump and those little balls in the package underneath. We’ll push it all down and back between your thighs, and pull your panties up tight to hold it there.”

Steve watched as the natural bulge of his cock disappeared, and the junction of his thighs was now a barely noticeable mound. “Oh, my God.”

“Now, I’ve no doubt you’re going to get all turned-on again, but if you do and it gets uncomfortable, I’ll expect you to deal with it right in front of me—understood?”

Steve stared wide-eyed, and his lips parted. “Yes,” he murmured and let the nightie fall again.

“Come over and look at yourself in this full-length mirror.” Harriet stood back. “Isn’t that better?”

“Yes,” Steve whispered and nodded slowly. “I suppose it doesn’t look as strange.”

“You’ve got nice legs, and fortunately, you’ve got a decent bone structure.” Harriet nodded to the armchair. “You sit there, and I’ll fetch us a drink. We need to have a chat.”

Steve sat in the big armchair and studied Harriet as she strode across the room carrying two glasses of wine. “You’re very elegant, Harriet.” He complimented her because it was true.

“Thank you, and suddenly it seems we’re getting somewhere.” She handed him a glass. “We have to sort out your alternative name.”

“My alternative name?”

“Whenever you’re dressed in girlie clothes, you must think of yourself with a girl’s name.”

“I’ve only done it a couple of times, Harriet, it’s not a regular—”

“Oh, let’s not start going backwards after making progress. I’ve only lived over here for a few weeks, and I’ve been taking pictures of you since the second week.”

“Oh, God.”

“No, sweetie, I don’t think God is a girlie name. We don’t want to use that old favourite of amending your regular name to Steph, or anything. How about, Deborah?”

The cross-dressed man slumped in the armchair and nodded. “Deborah.”

“Good girl, and while you’re dressed like this, we will refer to you as she. If you do as I ask and don’t argue then things will be much easier. Okay?”

“Yes, okay.” Deborah sipped her wine. “Now that I’m sitting here, like this, I feel stupid asking—”

“You want to know how I know about you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, let’s say, that I could see your wife goes out to work daily, but you work from home three days every week. You didn’t know I was living here for the first couple of weeks.” She reached out and pressed a few keys of the laptop on the coffee table, and then turned it to face her guest. “Have a look at these, Deborah, sweetie.” She smiled.

“Oh, my God.” The newly-born Deborah stared at the screen, wide-eyed in disbelief. “How did you—”

“Certain factors played into my hands. First of all, I’m a professional photographer, so I tend to get a good picture at any distance and in most conditions. Secondly, I’ve worked from home for some time, but I wanted to have a nice house in a quiet area, and ended up here a few weeks ago.”

Deborah whispered. “No, no—”

“The third point is most important to you, darling. One morning, I happened to look across at your bedroom from my bedroom upstairs. I’d seen Pamela leave for the day and wondered who was playing dress-up in your bedroom.”

Deborah pressed the arrow keys and occasionally gasped at the sight of herself in various outfits of Pamela’s underwear. There were no shoes or wigs, and the makeup wasn’t right. It was a series of pictures of a man in woman’s clothing, and to make matters worse, in many of them, the man was masturbating. The person was without a doubt; Steve, aka Deborah.

“Do you think they’re clear enough?” Harriet smiled.

“Yes. What happens now?” Deborah murmured. “I’ve done what you asked. Will you destroy these?”

“No, sweet, Deborah, we can’t do that—at least not yet.”

“When will you destroy them?”

“Well, first, I’d like to get some nice pictures of you as you are now, looking pretty, in your sexy black underwear, stilettos and wig. We must preserve the look without the ugly big bulge, or worse, having the thing in your hand, spurting.”

“Wait—what do you mean, preserve the look?”

“I’d like you to pose for me, sweetie. Don’t worry, I have a proper little studio set up next door to my bedroom upstairs.”

“You seriously want me to pose for pictures—dressed like this?”

“If you don’t mind me saying so, Deborah, the only people who know who is really under that sexy outfit are you and me.”

“I don’t know if I can go on with this.” Deborah sipped the wine.

“Darling, you can and you will, because you know who’ll be looking at those pictures next if you don’t do as I ask. Oh, and before you go all crazy on me with threats—I have copies elsewhere.”

“When do you want me to do this posing?” Deborah gulped more wine.

“I think we’ll have a photo shoot tomorrow evening. For the next short while this evening, I’d like us to sit and chat, like a couple of girlfriends. While we chat, I can look at you and think about having sex with you, and you can look at me and … well, would you like to have sex with me?”

“I … I,” Deborah stared at the long legs, clad in black nylon and the thighs which looked inviting. “I think I would.”

“That’s not as complimentary as I’d have liked, but good enough for now. Maybe tomorrow or the next evening we’ll talk about what we’d like to do with each other, eh?”

“You want me to come back tomorrow evening?”

Harriet nodded and smiled sweetly. “For your photo-shoot.”

The pair chatted and drank wine, and after an hour the visit was over. Deborah went upstairs and changed back to Steve before leaving. He walked the short distance to his house, carrying the plastic carrier bag of clothing.

Harriet poured herself another glass of wine. She sipped her drink before crossing the room to switch off the mobile phone—still recording video from the stand on the nearby shelf unit. She went upstairs to the room where Steve had changed into Deborah.

It was a more discreet lens, but it should have worked okay. Harriet switched off the ornamental sailor with the telescope to his eye. She next went to the bathroom, reached up and pressed a tiny button on the fake hairspray can which stood among the other toiletries.

“Deborah, my darling,” Harriet said aloud. “It will take me about an hour to download this evening’s footage, so I hope you’ve given me something worthwhile.” She returned to her laptop.

*

Wednesday evening

“Hello, Steve, thank you for being so prompt.” Harriet glanced down the empty street as she’d done on the previous evening, and then she closed the door. “What did you bring this evening for the delectable Deborah.”

Steve’s face was crimson. “I brought along the red items you suggested—the ones with the black trim.”

“Good, and there are red, or black shoes upstairs that your alter-ego can choose from.”

Steve started up the stairs, a bit more eagerly than the evening before.

“Oh, Steve, sweetie, there is one other thing this evening.”

“Yes.” Steve stopped halfway up the stairs and turned.

“You’ll find a personal enema kit in the room, and I’d like you to use it before you change. I know you’ve used one before, so let’s not have any nonsense about not knowing, etcetera.”

“Why do I have to—”

“Because I’ve asked you to—now go and change, and be a good girl. Come down for your makeup lesson, and I’ll do it for you again tonight.” Harriet smiled as she walked into the living room and poured herself a glass of wine. “If I play this right, I’ll soon be training my first Sissy.”

*

Thursday afternoon; late

Steve returned home via the local supermarket after a morning at work. A car was parked in the driveway—his wife’s car. Steve’s face and neck got warm rapidly. Had he left any evidence of his activities in the bedroom? He went inside, hoping his wife hadn’t been upstairs yet.

“Hello, Pamela, love, I didn’t think you were back until the weekend.” He walked across the room and kissed her briefly before taking the shopping into the kitchen.

“My friend was much better after seeing a couple of us. One of the other girls said she’d stay because I wanted to get back for your birthday.” Pamela walked across the room. “I don’t suppose there have been any more people moving into our quiet little cul-de-sac?”

Steve went to the living room window and smiled. “No. I think there’s only the woman who moved into the house across the way.”

“I’ve met her a couple of times. Her name is Harriet, and I think she’s really nice.”

“I didn’t realise you two knew each other.”

“We met at the supermarket one day, and then we’ve got together for a coffee a couple of times.”

“You’ve met her a couple of times, Pamela—you never said.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want me to report every time I speak to a neighbour.”

“Does she have a family—children?”

“No, Steve. She’s a completely free agent, and she wanted a quiet place to work from home. Actually, she’ll probably see more of you than she does of me.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You work from home so often, don’t you darling?”

“Well, I’ll say hello if I see her, but I don’t suppose we’ll be meeting for coffee.”

“Talking of which, Steve. I have a coffee. I’ll fix one for you while you’re getting changed.”

“I could do with a shower.” Steve needed a reason to go to the bedroom. He had to make sure he hadn’t left Pamela’s wardrobe and chest of drawers as they should be.

“Oh, before you go up, darling. Here’s your card, and happy birthday.” Pamela walked up to him and handed over a large white envelope containing a birthday card. “You can have this now, but your gifts are in the bedroom.” She pecked him on the lips.

“Are you coming upstairs in a few minutes? I thought my gift might be you wrapped in sexy lingerie?”

“I know how much you like sexy lingerie,” she whispered. “You can have a good fucking in sexy lingerie later.” She kissed him and reached down to cup his groin in her right hand. “That’s what you always tell me, isn’t it—I want you always prepared for a good fucking?”

“It is, but you make it sound sexy. The visit to your friend has awakened something in you.”

“You take a shower and get changed. I’ll fix a coffee for when you come down.”

Steve went upstairs, mystified by Pamela’s high spirits and sexy banter. He went into the bedroom and found three parcels on the bed.

“Thank you, Pamela,” he murmured as he looked at the assortment of articles on the bed. A large oblong box, a smaller package like a shoebox and an envelope were before him, all numbered.

Steve untied the big black bow and lifted the lid from Box 1.

“A new, navy-coloured suit would be nice.” Steve unfolded the tissue inside the box, and his heart missed a beat. He lifted the dark garment out and held it up by the shoulders to see that it was a short, black French maid outfit with white lace trim and a tiny white apron. He dropped the black minidress onto the bed and continued to go through the contents of the box. Black silk hold-ups, a lace bra, matching panties, a black velvet choker, and a tiny white frilly hat were set neatly in front of his disbelieving eyes.

“Oh, my fucking God, Pamela,” he murmured. “How often have I asked you to dress like this for me?” Steve’s fingers were trembling when he reached for Box 2. His arousal was rapid.

Inside the second box were a pair of black high heels and a note. ‘Sexier than court shoes.’

“Yes, they are. I’ll be coming all over the front of this outfit before we get to the bedroom.”

Steve was excited, thinking of his lovely wife dressed as a French maid in high heels. Pamela had been a strong character when they met, but he’d gradually softened her in the few years the pair had been married. Now it looked like she was finally succumbing to one of Steve’s constant requests—role play and dressed accordingly.

As he lifted the small envelope from the bed, Steve could feel his cheeks burning. Perspiration was building under his arms and his breathing becoming heavy. He opened the envelope with trembling hands and lifted out the scented notepaper.

His lips parted as he read:

‘Hello Deborah. I hope this has all been a nice surprise for you. More than anything I really hope you like the outfit—because you’ll be spending a lot of time wearing it, darling.

If you look at the pretty pictures enclosed, you’ll see that I know you have makeup and a lovely wig, but before you get all dressed up for me, please locate that other secret item you have, and use it first.

Which secret item? Oh, don’t be coy—your personal enema kit. Yes, you’ll need to use it, because I want you to always be prepared for a good fucking—my girl.’

Steve stared at the note shaking in his grasp and through trembling lips said a silent prayer that he was having a nightmare. He reread the note, which made him feel worse before he realised there was a second sheet attached. Before reading the second note, Steve lifted the three photographs. The first was a blonde in black lingerie and black high heels, and the second was the same blonde but in a red and black lingerie outfit with red high heels.

Steve was thinking of denying it was him in the photos—until he saw the third one. It was him, without a wig or the makeup—in his wife’s lingerie.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he read the second sheet of notepaper—condemned.

‘It will be embarrassing if you miss this part of the message because I’d have to send you back. Please, don’t insult me by coming downstairs in denial. You may come down when you’ve showered, changed and done your makeup. Remember to use slutty red nail polish on fingernails and toenails.

I want you to be a good, obedient girl.

P.S. If you look good enough, you can still have a coffee. If you come down in anything but the outfit I’ve left for you, pick up your car keys and leave the house—permanently.

Pamela  xx’

*

It was Deborah who came downstairs half an hour later, and apart from her mind in turmoil, she looked pretty in her outfit. She’d given herself a second close shave and shaved her legs and other areas. Deborah paused at the living room door, which for a change was closed. She pushed.

“Knock.” Pamela’s tone was sharp.

Deborah swallowed so hard, it could have been heard in the living room. That one word was said in a voice unheard for a long time. Deborah knocked.

“Come in.” Pamela’s tone was sweet.

Deborah pushed the door, a little gingerly at first, and then walked in and stood with her hands clasped over her tiny apron.

“Look at me, Deborah.” Pamela was fiddling with her mobile phone before looking up to stare straight at the person in the costume. “When you address me, you’ll call me, Mistress, understood?” There was an ominous silence. “Well?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Deborah barely held the gaze of the woman who had over time been made to feel the weaker person in the household.

“Come here, girl.” A slight nod and a smirk accompanied a long-dormant strength.

Deborah advanced across the room, carefully placing her feet one in front of the other to maintain the correct posture as she walked in short steps. She stopped a short distance from Pamela.

“Lift the front of your dress, Deborah.” Pamela stared into the rapidly blinking dark eyes of her new maid. “I like the long lashes.” She reached forward and caressed the area at the junction of Deborah’s thighs. “Oh, good girl. I’m impressed by that smooth front.”

“Thank you, Mistress.” Deborah was working to gain favour.

“Now, turn around and lift the back for me.”

Deborah obeyed, quaking as she waited for the next command. A slender hand was placed on the bulge held up tightly between her thighs by her tight underwear.

“Bend forward, you dirty girl,” Pamela chirped. “Whatever is in your panties is getting a bit stiff.” She placed her hands on the lace-covered buttocks and slipped a finger under the flimsy underwear. Pamela used a fingertip to tease the head of the semi-erect cock which was straining, but facing back towards her.

Deborah gasped.

Pamela held the tip of the cock between forefinger and thumb and squeezed gently.

Deborah gasped louder and whimpered.

“What goes in there, I wonder?” Pamela moved a fingertip up between Deborah’s buttocks. “It feels like a tight little pussy, which gives me a few ideas.” Pamela probed Deborah’s anus before she took her hands away. “Okay, you can straighten your dress. Stand up, turn around and step back to let me look at you.”

Deborah moved back a few paces and resumed the pose with her hands to her front.

“When you stand like that, I’d like to see your fingernails. I like the flash of red.” Pamela nodded when she was obeyed. “Yes—much better.”

“May I ask how you found out about me … Mistress?”

“You may, Deborah since you were obedient enough not to offer any resistance. I received several photographs from an anonymous person. I left those three photos upstairs to help build the excitement for you. I was surprised I didn’t hear you crying—I cried when I first saw them. In case you’re wondering, I have more, and the others are truly embarrassing.”

“Thank you, Mistress.”

Pamela lifted her phone, which she’d prepared in camera mode. She took a picture. “Now, your coffee will be cold, so you may fix yourself a fresh one before we receive my guest in a short while.” She paused. “Stay over at the breakfast bar where I can look at you.”

“Yes—thank you, Mistress.” Deborah turned to walk to the kitchen and stopped. “You have a guest coming … Mistress?”

“Yes, I have a special guest coming this evening.” She smiled. “You’ll see her off and on through her visit because you’ll be cooking and serving dinner and drinks for us.”

“But, Mistress—”

“Don’t dare interrupt me, girl. Now, go and make a coffee before I change my mind.”

Deborah stood at the breakfast bar and poured a coffee from the percolator. She took a sideways glance to find Pamela smiling and appraising her.

“Would you like to know who my guest is, Deborah?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Her name is Harriet—the tall, attractive woman who moved in, across the cul-de-sac. Before she gets here, there are a couple of things you might like to know about her.” Pamela smiled.

Deborah swallowed hard and stared wide-eyed—her glossy red lips parted.

“Don’t look so shocked, Deborah. I got back this morning shortly after you’d gone to work. I went upstairs to shower and came down to find an envelope containing the photographs. It had just been delivered without postage, but it was addressed to me.”

“Who would have—”

A slender forefinger was raised to demand silence. “I had to talk to somebody, and you were at work, which was probably best in the circumstances. I was crying of course, and phoning somebody would have been no good. I’d just spent a couple of days with my best friends, who all think my marriage is blissful. Anyway, I walked across and told Harriet I was feeling distressed.”

Deborah stood, wide-eyed, slowly shaking her head side to side.

Pamela smiled. “Harriet was very understanding. She calmed me down and asked me what was wrong. I told her I felt inadequate and humiliated. I showed her the photographs, and explained that I’d just found out about my husband’s secret.”

“What did she—”

“Please, be quiet while I’m talking, Deborah, or we might find ourselves going into new territory very quickly.” Pamela held up an open palm and tapped it against her buttock. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, I’m really s—” A raised brow from Pamela gained silence.

“As I was saying, Harriet was very understanding. I was over there until lunchtime. I was amazed at how much she knew about such a strange affliction. We went to a shop she knows in town so I could buy a special birthday outfit, and while we were out, I found out a lot about our new neighbour.”

Deborah sipped her coffee merely to occupy her trembling lips.

“Anyway,” Pamela said, now in her stride. “It turns out that Harriet is a pre-op transgender person and still has a big cock tucked away in her pretty girlie clothes.”

Deborah gasped involuntarily, but a look from Pamela prevented a question.

“The important thing for you to know, Deborah, is that Harriet is my guest, and she’s visiting to have a drink with me this evening. While I was with her, she asked about the sex in my marriage. I told her that my darling husband liked me to have a good fucking.”

“What did she say?” Deborah swallowed and held her breath.

“She says if I wanted to experiment a little I should let her know, and she’d do it for me.”

“Harriet would do what—”

“Harriet said she’d be happy to fuck me—and you could watch because obviously, my husband wouldn’t be around.” She laughed.

“Would you let her fuck you … in front … in front of me?”

“I’ve thought about it, and I’m getting a bit turned on by the idea, being fucked by a woman with breasts—and a cock. Your reaction is turning me on even more. I think I’ll have to let her do it, and I’ll be able to suck her cock too. That would be a new experience for me—I’ve only ever had one cock inside me or in my mouth.”

“Harriet’s cock might be huge and—”

“I hope it is, and there’s even better news, Deborah. I was able to open up to her, and told her about my other half always going on about anal sex.”

“What did she say about that?”

“Harriet convinced me that as long as it’s done gently at first, you know, like an introduction—anal sex is okay.” Pamela smiled. “I agreed to let her try, and I would have a chance to watch.”

“What do you mean?” Deborah’s brow creased, and she squinted.

“Harriet said if I asked her to fuck me when she’d recovered enough, she’d be happy to do anal with you.”

“Really?” Deborah brightened up for the first time since coming downstairs. “Anal?”

Pamela nodded. “Yes. I think it will be such a turn-on to watch somebody having anal sex. Harriet, my new transgender friend, fucking my new maid. Imagine it, Deborah. A big hard cock stretching your tight pink hole.” She smiled. “And don’t argue—I know you’ll want me to watch.”

***

A tale from Quiet Night Inn: and other erotic stories

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