Date: Tue, 16 Jun 2020 20:51:59 +0100
From: Francoise Briony <mfrancoisebriony@zohomail.com>
Subject: Stevie's Dad (TG)

This is an entirely made-up fantasy. Any resemblance to any real people
or real events is entirely accidental. Nobody was harmed during the
creation of this story.

When I was 12, I started attending the big secondary school down the road
from my house. I had moved bedrooms to the  biggest bedroom - my sister's
old bedroom - after my sister went away to college. There was a built-in
wardrobe and quite a bit of my sister's old clothing was stored in there
- for example, an old bridesmaid's dress :  floor-length in tourquoise
satin material with a high waist. There were also a number of blouses,
skirts and undergarments, and a pink swimming costume with a built-in
juvenile bra type affair in a drawer in the wardrobe.

Since I was little, I had always had a good imagination. I used to
fantasise about changing myself into a pony. I don't know why. It just
felt like a very comfortable story. By the time I was twelve, my bedtime
fantasies had developed. I remember once asking my mum whether I had been
a girl when I was little - she told me not to be so silly. I also
remember my sister and her friend dressing me as a girl on a few
occasions when I was probably much younger - possibly about 5 years old.
I imagine that I liked it because if I hadn't, I would probably have
screamed the place down. I often went to sleep imagining I was a girl and
that my mum and dad loved me.

The reality was different - my mum was depressed and often took to her
bed for days on end after her beloved daughter left home to go to
college, and my dad was usually rather cold, uninterested and distant. He
also worked away a lot. They both believed in 'spare the rod and spoil
the child' and I was often spanked - sometimes with the hand and
sometimes with a wooden spatula.

When I was trying to go to sleep, I sometimes imagined myself being
forced to dress like a woman in a corset and bloomers that I had seen in
a cowboy movie, McLintock, and that just like in the movie, John Wayne
would put me over his knees and energetically spank my bottom through the
bloomers with a coal shovel. I did not recognise these images as sexual -
I did not have any idea what 'sexual' was. I just found these imaginary
vignettes to be warm and comforting as I dropped off to sleep.

Eventually, I became familiar with all of my sister's old clothes and I
would wear combinations of items when nobody else was home. My favourite
outfit was to wear the swimming costume over a pair of her tights, and
then put the bride-maid's dress on over the top. I did not understand why
this was so compelling an activity at that time but I really enjoyed
parading round the house pretending to be my sister.

I was very late coming to puberty so initially there was no obvious
sexual pleasure derived from my dressing up games ;  but when I did have
my first orgasm in my bedroom, it was when I was wearing those clothes.

At my new school I was not exactly bullied but I did not make any
friends, until about six weeks in to the first term when a boy called
Stevie invited me to stay-over at his house to play with his model
soldiers one weekend. I asked mum and she said yes but that we would have
to wait until dad was available to take me. Stevie and his family lived a
good thirty minutes drive away from us in a big house in a chic
prosperous village. I guessed that my dad would probably not have time to
take me but nonetheless, I excitedly told Stevie that my mum had said
yes. We both hoped that it would be soon when I could visit.

Better than that, the very next day in school, Stevie told me that his
dad was going to ring my mum and offer to drive over and pick me up the
next Friday. This sounded to me like great news. i begged mum to say yes.
Strangely she was in a particularly good mood and she did indeed say yes.

That Friday, I came home to find Stevie's dad already at my house waiting
to fetch me back to theirs. He was talking to mum in our little kitchen
drinking a cup of tea. Stevie's dad was the headteacher of a liitle
private preparatory school in their village where pupils stayed four
nights a week. Their school day ended early on a Friday. My mum and
Stevie's dad stopped talking immediately when I came in to the kitchen as
if they did not want me to know what they had been talking about. I
thought no more about as I collected some clothing for the weekend and my
ruck sac - I was so pleased and excited to be going away for the weekend
and pleased to be having time away from my mum

Stevie's dad had an expensive car. I think it was a Jaguar. The leather
upholstery made the car smell expensive. It was a dark autumn evening as
we drove to their village.

I did not think it very strange that Stevie's dad placed his hand on my
thigh after each gear change, occasionally giving my thigh a squeeze
before using his hand to change gears again. I assumed he was trying to
be reassuring in the darkness of the car's interior or something like
that.

We had a great weekend, Stevie and I. We played with his soldiers,
listened to jazz records and sat up talking in his bedroom until the
early hours. Stevie's mum cooked lovely food. They made me very welcome
and it was like I was a member of the family along with Stevie's parents
and his kid brother. It felt lovely. They seemed such a happy warm family
compared to mine. Stevie's dad drove me home on Sunday evening, again
squeezing my thigh between gear changes but with his hand higher up my
leg near my groin.

Stevie's dad told my mum and dad that I had behaved well and that they
wouid like me to come and stay for more weekends - which I did. Indeed, I
stayed there more weekends than I stayed at home during the next few
months.

Each weekend, Stevie's dad would be at mine Friday evening ready to
collect me, and each car journey, he would rest his hand on my thigh, and
more often than not squeeze my thigh through my school trousers as if to
reassure me - though I could often feel the back of his hand through my
trousers against my testicles and penis. I convinced myself that this was
accidental but sometimes I could feel my penis stiffening.

After a few weekends like this, things suddenly changed. By this time I
had had my first orgasm wearing my sister's clothes and masturbating in
my bedroom. I cannot recall how I learnt to do this, but that first
orgasm was white-hot, intense, total and transformative. With that
orgasm, the world had changed - very much for the better as far as I was
concerned. I loved the fact that my body could now do an orgasm like
other boys of my age. It was comforting. I knew that wearing my sister's
clothes had to be a closely guarded secret but I neither felt shame nor
guilt. In relation to wearing girl's clothes, I never have - though
secrecy had continued to be a must for me - a 'normal" heterosexual man
with a wife and kids.

Back to the story :  one Friday, I came home from school to find that
both my mum and dad had gone out - apparently to a dancing class at my
dad's working men's club. I sort of remembered that they had warned me
that they would be doing this on Fridays. Stevie's dad was waiting in the
house for me, perched on the arm of one of our armchairs jiggling his car
keys impatiently. I was surprised. Mum must have given him a key to our
house.

Once we had exchanged greetings, he told me to collect my things for the
weekend. I did this quickly and returned downstairs with my packed
rucksac. I went towards the door but he told me to wait a moment. He
indicated that I should sit down on our sofa.

He sighed and then he told me.

He told me that my mum was worried that I liked to wear my sister's
clothes.

There was a dead silence. It seemed to last for days. A black chasm
opened up in front of me. i wanted to disappear into it.

I was so shocked. How on earth did my mum know and why had she told
Stevie's dad about it ?  I have guessed since it was because he was
headteacher and my mum thought he might know what to do. Maybe she had
been worried. I had never felt so embarassed. It was no longer my secret
life. I felt found-out, invaded and I felt dreadful.

Stevie's dad told me to go upstairs and show me the swimming costume I
liked to wear. How on earth did he know this ? I was in shock. I complied
but I was shaking. I felt I might soil or wee myself. I handed him the
wretched thing. As he held up the garment to examine it, I stared at the
floor. He handed it back to me. It smelt of my sperm.

"Put it away," he told me. "Your mother is going to throw all these
things away." I started towards the lounge door holding the wretched
thing like it was contaminated with the Black Death between my finger and
thumb in front of me. "Wait. " he said. I turned desolutely back towards
him.

"This is a bit of a problem for you, Frankie". He paused. "But I am going
to help you with it... But what I am going to do to help is just going to
be between you and me... Right ? You are going to have to trust me." i
nodded, even though I knew I could never trust him.

He reached in to his jacket pocket and produced a pair of girl's
creamy-white knickers. He held them out to me.

"The deal is this, Frankie. You do what I say and your problem stays
shared just between you and I. I will help you with the problem. If you
do what I say, the problem will go away.... Do you trust me ? " I nodded.
I really really didn't - but what could I say ? I took the knickers from
him. "They are brand new... Clean. Unlike your other stuff," he said.

He told me he wanted me to go upstairs and put the swimming costume.away.
My mum would deal with all the dirty stuff, he said. He said that I was
to take my own pants off, put them in my rucksac, and put the girl's
pants on under my trousers.

I knew there was no way out of this. I complied because I did not know
what else to do. Maybe I should have jumped out of the car and ran but my
brain was in melt-down.

I don't remember what wearing the knickers felt like. But I can remember
Stevie's dad telling me in the car how stupid I was and how stupid I must
have looked in the swimming costume. I said nothing. The night was cold
and it was pouring with rain. The only sounds in the car were the tyres
on rhe wet road,  the hum of the engine and the squeak of the windscreen
wipers. After a while, he pulled the car over into a deserted lay-by.

"You are being very quiet Frankie. Are you sure you are wearing the
knickers ? ", he asked. The motor idled and the wipers continued to
intermittently squeak on the windscreen. His face was dimly lit green by
the dashboard lights. He looked cross.

"Pull down your flies," he said. I hesitated. I looked down at my lap.
"Pull down your flies," he repeated. I unbuttoned my coat and pulled down
the zip on my school trousers to show him the panties. I felt tears
welling up in my eyes.

But he wanted more.

"I can't see properly. Undo your trouser belt." I did as I was told. He
had brown leather driver gloves on I remember. His gloved hand pushed
into my flies and took hold of my cock and balls through the material of
the knickers. He squeezed hard. It was uncomfortable. He wanted to be
rough and show me that he could hurt me. I squirmed in the seat. "Good,"
he said and he took his hand away.

He put the car into gear and we pulled away back into the stream of
traffic going into the village. I went to close my flies and zip myself
up. "No ! " he said sharply and pushed my hand down to my side. "Leave it
open." I could feel cool air and the smooth material of the panties
against my privates.

He placed his hand back inside my trousers and started slowly massaging
my penis through the knickers with his leather-gloved hand as he drove.

His voice softened. "That feels nice, doesn't it ?" he asked. I nodded
'yes' because I felt I had to, not because I wanted to ;  and my penis
was stiff - but not because it had to be, not because I wanted it to be
stiff.

Stevie's dad told me that he had to swing by his school because he had to
pick up a couple of things. When we had parked, he told me that there was
no point waiting in the car for him and that I should go in with him. He
said that it was a lovely old building and that I would probably find it
interesting. He let me do up my flies to walk in with him.

There was nobody else there in the building and it was in darkness.
Stevie's dad put lights on as we went. We went down what seemed like a
very long corridor. We came to an office. Once inside, I could see there
was another door to another office. Stevie's dad turned off the corridor
lights behind us so that the corridor was pitch black again. I guessed
that this first room was his secretary's office and that his own office -
his inner sanctum - was where the door in front of us led. In the
secretary's office was a clothing rail full of what looked like brand new
boys' and girls' school uniforms in polythene bags on hangers. The school
colours were white shirts with green jackets for the boys ;  or white
blouses with green pinafores for the girls.

Stevie's dad picked one of the uniforms from the rail and pulling me
towards him, measured its length against me. It was a girl's uniform.

"Here Frankie," he said, "this'll fit you. It is for a year six girl. I
want you to try it on." I was really scared now. Before I could offer any
resistance, Stevie's dad had pulled up and off over my head my jumper and
- without unbuttoning it - my shirt.

"There we go." He offered me the brand new white blouse.

"That's a girl's blouse," I said.

Stevie's dad did not respond but undid each of the buttons. He re-offered
me the blouse. "Put it on," he said. I did as I was told, slowly
buttoning the blouse up. It had short puffed sleeves and a rounded
collar.

"Now take your trousers off." I hesitated. "Do you want me to do it for
you ? " he asked pointedly. I took my trousers off and put them over the
back of a chair.

I felt stupid - standing there in girl's knickers and a girl's blouse. It
was cold :  tears were running down my cheeks and I was shivering a
little. Stevie's dad softened his tone a little and said that he realised
I was a little cold. He handed me some long whie socks. I sat down on the
chair and pulled them on. He indicated for me to step into the green
pinafore which he had undone. He pulled it up ovrr my shoulders and
zipped up the back. It felt tight around my waist and chest.

He rummaged in an old cardboard box and put a pair of black-patent T-bar
sandals in front of me. I stepped into them one at a time. "Perfect ! "
he said, "your mum said you were a 6." He crouched and tapped one foot
and then the other, to signal me to put them in turn on his thigh so that
he could fasten them.

Finally, from the end of the clothing rail Stevie's dad unhooked a girl's
coat from a hanger - soft grey wool with 3 big grey buttons. "One of our
little misses left this behind to give to a less well-off little girl...
Somenody like you, Frankie," he laughed. It was shorter than the skirt of
the pinafore and it flared out at the hem.'. I put it on but i left it
undone.

"Come in to my office, Frankie." I followed him in. He turned and sat
backwards onto the edge of his desk. He beckoned me towards him. His legs
were apart and his feet were off the ground a liitle. He was taller than
me but not by much. He caught me by my arms and pulled me towards him so
I was standing facing him between his legs. He tugged me further in
towards him so that my crotch was pressed against his through the layers
of our clothing. He embraced me just above the small of my back and
pulled me even closer in to him. I could feel his hot breath on my
cheeks. He slid his hands up my back and took my head lacing his fingers
through my hair which was quite long - shoulder length hair on boys in
the late 70s was fashionable and common. He said with some sarcasm, "You
have lovely hair," and he laughed as he combed it with his fingers,
holding it out on either side before letting it fall back onto my
shoulders. He then picked up a green school beret up from the desk and
fitted it on my head.

He leaned back a little and looked at his handy-work. "Actually, you do
look quite pretty... Attractive even." He cocked his head to one side.
"There's still something missing." He reached in to his pocket and pulled
out a lipstick. "My wife's," he said.

You are reading this and thinking this is not believable. Why didn't this
little fool Frankie start shouting or try to run away ?  Why did he put
up with this abusive treatment ?

Well, you know why.

Being a cross-dresser yourself, you know how intoxicating being caught
like this might be. You can imagine the trembling sexual excitement of it
whilst at the same time feeling the intense self-loathing, disgust and
shame - a powerful cock-tail indeed.

So I let him... I let him paint my mouth with that bright red lipstick.
He did it with care, practice and skill. He looked at what he was doing
with an intense concentration... And I felt the hardest erection that I
had ever experienced up to that point. My cock was throbbing. And he knew
it.

He put the top on the lipstick and looked at his handy-work again - one
hand steadying himself on the desk, and the other resuming its position
on the small of my back pulling me forward, my crotch against his crotch.

"Now you are irresistible," he said. I knew he was going to kiss me, this
man with his shaved rough face, who was the same age as my dad. I felt
myself starting to pant, my breathing growing shallow and fast. He now
put his hands back on either sides of my head and held me there tightly.
His head came towards me, his eyes probing mine. His lips parted - his
dry, thick, fleshy, man-lips - as he pressed them upon mine. He turned
his head slightly and opened his mouth a little bit and his wet oily
tongue slipped in to my mouth like a fat snake, searching for treasure in
the wetness. My lips and my tongue met this stranger's tongue. He pulled
away. He told me to put my hands up like his had been but round his neck.
I watched my hands do as they were told. He put his arms around me and
pulled me in to him. He put his lips back on mine and slid his thick wet
tongue back in to my open mouth. My groin - my hard cock - was pressed in
to his groin

I felt myself shudder like I had been shot in the head, and I spurted
into my panties, my cock shuddering squirt after squirt of thick cum,
trembling like a girl, but sucking greedily on his tongue like it was a
lollipop.

After I had come, I hung on to him with my arms round his neck for what
seemed a long time. My knees and my legs had given way and were shaking
uncontrollably. "My legs don't work any more," I said.

He looked amused. He slid out from under me, and bent me forward to lie
face-down flat on his desk to rest, with my feet on the floor. I was
panting. I was spent.

I suppose what happened next was inevitable.

I heard him undo his belt and pull down his trouser zip. As I lay forward
on my arms on his desk, he lifted my skirt, pushed the gusset of my
panties to one side, and pressed the end of his cock against my
arsehole.

His whole weight was resting on my back as he tried to push his cock in -
but it wouldn't go.

I could hear him grunting like a big hunting dog working hard. He reached
over above my head and opened his desk drawer. He found the small glass
tub of Brylcreem he was looking for and with one hand unscrewed the lid
of the jar.

I think I might have whispered, "Please don't," but I am not sure that
the words came out.

He got a glob of the hair gel and worked it into and around my arsehole -
like he was greasing a machine-part. And then he pushed hard again with
the end of his cock.

It didn't really hurt. It was a little uncomfortable at first as my
sphincter resisted. But then, quite suddenly, my hole relaxed - and
because he was pushing - and because there was loads of hair gel up
there, he suddenly slid all the way in and stopped - with his groin
against my bum. I could feel him panting on my neck, holding me down with
the hand cupped around it, seemingly needing to pause. We both lay there
still, his dead weight on my back making it difficult for me to breath.

I guess you might want me to tell you that that first forced entry was
horrible, and that it hurt like mad but it didn't. I'm sorry but it just
didn't.

After a minute, he lifted himself up, took my waist in his hands and
fucked me with long slow strokes, sliding his cock into me with an
intense certainty until he suddenly stopped - deep in me - and came like
a steam train. He released every bit of hissing spunk pressure within him
in spurt after spurt. I felt like he pumped at least a pint of it into me
- and I never wanted him to stop coming. It felt lovely and hot and
complete.

He pulled out and wobbled round the desk to his office chair and sat down
with a big sigh. I stayed with my head down on the desk, his juice
dribbling out of my arse and down my thighs. He ruffled my hair with his
fingers. It might have been affection. Then he got up, took my hand and
pulled me up from the desk, and put his around me to steady me. With the
other hand he rearranged my knickers and my pinafore. I could feel the
cold wetness of his juice in the gusset of the panties against my
testicles. He buttoned the coat.

He said, "You are coming home with me." I tried to object but my words
were all mumbled. He said, "It's okay... My wife has taken the boys away
for the weekend to her mum's. It will just be you and me until Sunday
evening..." I tried to say something about my mum but it came out as more
mumbling. He put a finger to my lips to shush me. "They're not expecting
you until Sunday either." Clearly, he had planned all of this. My heart
sank. I was to be his prisoner for the whole weekend.

I can tell you Part 2 if you would like me to...

Françoise Briony xx