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Mr. Tunny was very well endowed and I thoroughly enjoyed working toward my advancement. There was a diner on the first floor of the building that housed Tunny and Company and it was there that I met my future bride, a certain lady named Helen Wilson. Helen was a stenographer with a company in the same building. While she was not drop dead gorgeous, there was a sensuality about her that got my attention. A sensuality that made both my tongue and cock hard. I screwed up the courage to introduce. The feeling ofhelplessness and vulnerability enhanced the feeling of femininity. Inlater life, I also often pondered whether it was also a means ofreconciling my "perversions" with my "normal" life - that creating thefantasy of being forced to dress like a sexy woman took the choice outof it and made it "acceptable".Nevertheless, I went through this process of regular association ofeuphoric sexual arousal with the wearing of womens' clothes, withvulnerability and with intense shame and. I was awestruck when she came out from the washroom. She wore a nice transparent top and a loose mini skirt. She started teasing me.I could not control much, I kissed her on her lips. She kissed me back. This went on for quite some time and I started smooching, she reciprocated well. We were too horny to stop smooching. We were literally playing with our tongues.In between, I held her on her hips and slowly tried to lift the t shirt off. She caught my hand. I smooched harder and however managed. Taking it, she then noosed my cock, just beneath the helmet and drew the slipknot tight!“Jesus Christ!” I yelped.“Don’t be a baby Brad!”Then forcing the shaft down between my thighs, she strapped the shaft to my left thigh!“Fuck Rach! That’s painful!”“There! Now that’s safely stowed, we can get on Brad! Now, lay back and get comfy, and we’ll begin.”I laid back while she slipped out of the smart dress, then in her bra and panties she came and straddled me!“Now some of this story is true and some.
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