"Full House On Your Birthday"
Mistress, May I Have Another?
Chapter 1
My name is, or possibly we better promote to that was, Andy Moore. Until in recent times my personal identification was in the name of Jamie Jo Moore and everyone I knew called me Sissy.
My parents died in an sports car accident when I was twenty-four days old leaving me an estate of around $3,000,000.00 and an eighteen percent interest in an cover company in Nashville, TN. I bought an elegant untaken home in the Belle Meade region and accepted a do nothing job with the indemnity company.
My masculinity life was sorry. At six-feet tall and 168 pounds on a meager frame I was no Adonis. I had long blond hair, organic eyes and a pale tone. I ran with a set of guys that liked to thirst-quencher and party, but none of them were genuine lady-killers either.
My ally Luke and I were at the Tennessee Slab late one sundown when a undersized blond beauty came wandering in. She was with two other gals, also knockouts.
An hour or so after they inwards the blond walked over to where I was seated. She wore a sheer pale indigo blouse leaving her flotilla blue camisole unmistakably visible. Her nipples were prominent. Her breasts shimmied as she walked.”
“No, Ma’am.” I stammered out. Her look was thin, Scandinavian. Her eyes were as desolate as a summer sky. She wore barely makeup, but her full lips were a delicious wet cherry.
She leaned over and believed in my ear. “Do I gaze old enough to be your mommy? “I intend I don’t dance to this breed of music.”
She smiled and leaned over to rumor in my ear again. “Do you fuck?”
I curved bright red and looked down. A navy blue, knee-length skirt corralled two fluid orbs. Her legs were full, charming and bare. She had a classic, voluptuous bulk and a swing to her hips that would bar traffic in Era Square. My supporter Luke asked me what she held. I tried to knock it off, but he kept back on and on so I in the end told him.
“Damn, youngster. If I were you I’d take another look at that dame, get over there and discriminate her yes.
I watched as my wonderful blond poured two glasses. Her scalpel heals assaulted the dance stump as she walked over to where I was meeting and offered me one of the glasses. Although she strut in a normal tone, it seemed to me she used a bullhorn. “Here’s to fucking. I might have been flawed for a effigy.
A broad smirk revealed beautiful teeth. She waved her furnish in front of my look and said.”
She sat her tumbler on the debar and extended her furnish. “I’m Sheila. Sheila Taylor. I’m Andy Moore. Pleased to kind you, I median meet you.” I’d almost gotten a broad sentence out without building an ass out of for my part.
She flashed another lovely grin and said. “Andy, that’s some outline.”
I laughed, still in the grip of her delicate offer. “Let me acquisition your dinner and I’ll potential to come up with something surpass.” I understood.” She held and handed me a card.”
Her card said she was the leader of Cumberland Hoard.
Our courtship lasted only ninety being. She and her parents didn’t talk and mine were inert so we weren’t prone to have any in-law evils. She was adamant that she wanted no children, but she was a sexual machine with a avid appetite. I, on the other employee, had limited sexual experience. My first period was with a locality girl when I was fourteen. She was seventeen. What a joy. My second happening was with a gay supporter in college. We returned family and settled into a comfortable customary. An outside observer might have called it natural and but, for those occasions when I dressed up in women’s clothes, it might have been.
I’ve been “dressing-up” since childhood and I never told Sheila. Like most transvestites, sneaking around to dress very soon added to the excitement. I shopped the Internet for hours before selecting the perfect items and had them shipped to my skeleton in the cupboard post office package. There was a tiny hidden room off the garage I had converted into a closet and dressing space.
This normal go was to trade completely one daylight about ten months after we married. I at home home after opus, threw my keys on a table in the foyer and walked into the cave. It was a wonderful; richly appointed scope with dark paneling, honey oak floor covering and Turkish rugs. Sheila was untruthfulness naked on the deck. I recognized the woman next to her to be her former academy roommate Jenny Renee Wilson. After a few moments, Jenny looked up and understood, “Get the fuck out of here.” Then she returned to piece on Sheila cunt.
To this second I’m not certainly why I didn’t jerk her up and kick her skinny little ass. It wasn’t truly about Jenny. A newfound subservience guided my steps as I bowed and left the dwelling. An hour or so later it dawned on me it was the first of April, April fool’s time. I called family and Sheila answered the touchtone phone.
“April fools, exact?” I believed.
As I traveled home, my April fool idea gave way to a feeling of impending doom.
Chapter 2
The spectacle as I entered our burrow was almost as shocking this time as it had been a few hours earlier. Her soft shoulders and ample 36C breasts chop gracefully to a 22” waist and 38” hips. She was dressed in a fair on white brocade corset. It was a straight-line design without cups, so it firmed her breasts against her chest and caused them billowed over its top. Smooth and fat it protruded from her pubic bone resembling a flesh-colored peach. She wore white single-banded sandals with 4” spike heels. Her nails flashed cherry. She wore a black leather waist cincher. Her bare B-cup breasts sat securely on her persuasive chest. Each protracted, thick nipple sported a silver barbell. Black leather garters supported her black fishnet wash. Her polished black, high-heel boots were laced up to solely below her knees.
Haltingly, I bunged and faced them.
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