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Michele And The Predator

Shemale
2005-12-01

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.

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   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.

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   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.

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   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 18 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.

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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.

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  ’ 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.

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   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.

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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.

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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.

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   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.

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   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.

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       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.

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    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.

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       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.

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       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.

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       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.

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