Black knickers for a change
Black knickers for a change
Pesquisar
Conheça novas pessoas, crie conexões e faça novos amigos
- 0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 879 Visualizações 4
- Well I did quite a bit of knicker and bra shopping today-I bought nice matching bra and knickers set, some purple knickers (favourite colour) from Next, then went to buy more knickers from M+S-came out with black and purple. I have only done a couple of photos but will do more. I returned the silky French knickers and body form knickers that my mother in law loaned me-she said that I can go in her knickers drawer anytime and borrow he panties-I said thanks and yes I willWell I did quite a bit of knicker and bra shopping today-I bought nice matching bra and knickers set, some purple knickers (favourite colour) from Next, then went to buy more knickers from M+S-came out with black and purple. I have only done a couple of photos but will do more. I returned the silky French knickers and body form knickers that my mother in law loaned me-she said that I can go in her knickers drawer anytime and borrow he panties-I said thanks and yes I will0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1194 Visualizações 3
- I love these black and white photosI love these black and white photos3 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1627 Visualizações 10
- Im doing the black hair thing tonight just wanted to share a few pics with you guys i hope everyone is doing well and keep being being awesome out thereIm doing the black hair thing tonight 🤘😈🤘 just wanted to share a few pics with you guys ☺️😚 i hope everyone is doing well and keep being being awesome out there 💋💋4 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2528 Visualizações 21
- Just been told - before we go out tomorrow morning I`m going to get a hard spanking with a hard black leather Tawse and I have to wear some of my new clothes (Panties, Bra, cage and plug) under my "every day cloths".......xxxJust been told - before we go out tomorrow morning I`m going to get a hard spanking with a hard black leather Tawse and I have to wear some of my new clothes (Panties, Bra, cage and plug) under my "every day cloths".......xxx1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1200 Visualizações 11
- I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, on that raw December afternoon in the mid-1970s, standing at the back of a small cemetery in southern Manchester. The light was thin and melancholy, the sort that turns everything slightly blue and makes shadows linger too long over the leaning stones. I barely knew the man we were burying, some Uncle twice removed, so the ache in the air never reached me. Grief felt like something that belonged to other people, grown-ups who understood loss. For me, the day was something else entirely, an accidental invitation into a world I hadn’t known I was hungry for.
They were everywhere, those women. Mature, composed, dressed in layers of black that seemed to absorb the weak winter sun and give back only a muted gleam. Silk dresses that clung and released with every breath, satin blouses catching stray glints of light, chiffon and voile drifting like smoke whenever the wind found them. Rayon, acetate, fabrics I didn’t even have names for then, but I felt them all the same, the way they moved, the soft sounds they made against one another. They stood in quiet clusters around the grave, gloved hands clasped, heads bowed beneath hats and veils. To them I must have looked like just another awkward boy in a borrowed tie, but inside I was burning with a fascination I couldn’t name and didn’t dare examine too closely.
And then there was her.
She stood slightly apart, as though even in mourning she needed space. An enormous black satin scarf, far too large, almost theatrical—draped over her shoulders and spilled down her back like spilled ink. Over her face, a sheer chiffon veil, so fine it trembled with every breath. I could smell her from where I stood, carried on the cold air, the sharp bite of Elnette hairspray holding her hair in perfect waves, and beneath it the heavy, amber warmth of Youth Dew. It was the scent of adulthood itself, complicated, slightly dangerous, utterly out of reach.
I watched her the entire time. I told myself it was curiosity, nothing more. But even then, in the thick of it, some quieter part of me knew better. There was something about the way these women carried their sorrow, elegant, controlled, yet undeniably physical that stirred a longing I didn’t understand. It wasn’t just desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper: a wish to be close to whatever it was they possessed experience, certainty, the weight of years lived fully. I felt small beside them, unformed, all sharp edges and unspoken questions. They seemed to know secrets I hadn’t even learned to ask about.
Later, at the wake, coats and scarves were abandoned in a side room as the women moved on to tea and murmured condolences. I lingered near the pile, heart thudding so hard I was sure someone would notice. No one did. My fingers closed around two pieces: the oversized satin mourning scarf, still holding the warmth of her body, and the delicate chiffon veil. Both carried that same intoxicating blend of Elnette, Youth Dew, and something earthier, the faint salt of skin after hours in the cold. I slipped them inside my coat and left before the guilt could catch up with me.
That night, and for many nights through that long winter, I'd ascend up the narrow stairs to my attic bedroom. I’d lock the door, my one small claim to privacy in my parent’s house, draw the curtains and unfold the satin across my pillow. Sometimes I’d press the veil to my face and breathe slowly, letting the scent settle over me like fog.
In those quiet hours I began to understand what I’d really taken that day. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a fragment of a life I could only observe from the outside, a life of composure and ritual, of perfumes chosen deliberately and clothes worn with intention. Holding those scarves, I could pretend, for a moment, that some of that poise might rub off on me. That the confusion and restlessness I carried everywhere might quiet, just a little.
I never felt truly ashamed of stealing them. In my mind they were abandoned, after all, no longer needed once the performance of grief was over. But more than that, they had become mine in a way they could never have been hers again, totems of a feeling I was only beginning to name. Desire, yes. But also envy. And something closer to reverence.
Years later I can still close my eyes and smell it: hairspray, perfume, the faint trace of a woman’s skin on black satin. It takes me straight back to that cemetery, to the boy I was, watching, wanting, trying to understand what it meant to grow into someone capable of wearing mourning like it was made for them.
I’m not sure I ever fully did. But those scarves kept me company while I tried.I was sixteen, maybe seventeen, on that raw December afternoon in the mid-1970s, standing at the back of a small cemetery in southern Manchester. The light was thin and melancholy, the sort that turns everything slightly blue and makes shadows linger too long over the leaning stones. I barely knew the man we were burying, some Uncle twice removed, so the ache in the air never reached me. Grief felt like something that belonged to other people, grown-ups who understood loss. For me, the day was something else entirely, an accidental invitation into a world I hadn’t known I was hungry for. They were everywhere, those women. Mature, composed, dressed in layers of black that seemed to absorb the weak winter sun and give back only a muted gleam. Silk dresses that clung and released with every breath, satin blouses catching stray glints of light, chiffon and voile drifting like smoke whenever the wind found them. Rayon, acetate, fabrics I didn’t even have names for then, but I felt them all the same, the way they moved, the soft sounds they made against one another. They stood in quiet clusters around the grave, gloved hands clasped, heads bowed beneath hats and veils. To them I must have looked like just another awkward boy in a borrowed tie, but inside I was burning with a fascination I couldn’t name and didn’t dare examine too closely. And then there was her. She stood slightly apart, as though even in mourning she needed space. An enormous black satin scarf, far too large, almost theatrical—draped over her shoulders and spilled down her back like spilled ink. Over her face, a sheer chiffon veil, so fine it trembled with every breath. I could smell her from where I stood, carried on the cold air, the sharp bite of Elnette hairspray holding her hair in perfect waves, and beneath it the heavy, amber warmth of Youth Dew. It was the scent of adulthood itself, complicated, slightly dangerous, utterly out of reach. I watched her the entire time. I told myself it was curiosity, nothing more. But even then, in the thick of it, some quieter part of me knew better. There was something about the way these women carried their sorrow, elegant, controlled, yet undeniably physical that stirred a longing I didn’t understand. It wasn’t just desire, though that was certainly part of it. It was deeper: a wish to be close to whatever it was they possessed experience, certainty, the weight of years lived fully. I felt small beside them, unformed, all sharp edges and unspoken questions. They seemed to know secrets I hadn’t even learned to ask about. Later, at the wake, coats and scarves were abandoned in a side room as the women moved on to tea and murmured condolences. I lingered near the pile, heart thudding so hard I was sure someone would notice. No one did. My fingers closed around two pieces: the oversized satin mourning scarf, still holding the warmth of her body, and the delicate chiffon veil. Both carried that same intoxicating blend of Elnette, Youth Dew, and something earthier, the faint salt of skin after hours in the cold. I slipped them inside my coat and left before the guilt could catch up with me. That night, and for many nights through that long winter, I'd ascend up the narrow stairs to my attic bedroom. I’d lock the door, my one small claim to privacy in my parent’s house, draw the curtains and unfold the satin across my pillow. Sometimes I’d press the veil to my face and breathe slowly, letting the scent settle over me like fog. In those quiet hours I began to understand what I’d really taken that day. It wasn’t just fabric. It was a fragment of a life I could only observe from the outside, a life of composure and ritual, of perfumes chosen deliberately and clothes worn with intention. Holding those scarves, I could pretend, for a moment, that some of that poise might rub off on me. That the confusion and restlessness I carried everywhere might quiet, just a little. I never felt truly ashamed of stealing them. In my mind they were abandoned, after all, no longer needed once the performance of grief was over. But more than that, they had become mine in a way they could never have been hers again, totems of a feeling I was only beginning to name. Desire, yes. But also envy. And something closer to reverence. Years later I can still close my eyes and smell it: hairspray, perfume, the faint trace of a woman’s skin on black satin. It takes me straight back to that cemetery, to the boy I was, watching, wanting, trying to understand what it meant to grow into someone capable of wearing mourning like it was made for them. I’m not sure I ever fully did. But those scarves kept me company while I tried.
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1619 Visualizações - Lovely day in the office, munching mince pies!
#BlackSatinMeshBlouse
#CrossdresserUK
#OfficeSecretary
Lovely day in the office, munching mince pies! #BlackSatinMeshBlouse #CrossdresserUK #OfficeSecretary
9 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3315 Visualizações 24
- Ma Eternal Murnin' at Christmas in the Gorbals Tenement
I've aye felt a queer pull tae this place—number 142 Balgrayhill Road, a weary auld sandstone tenement up in the Gorbals, wi' its shared stairheid an' that cauld tiled close that smells o' damp washin' an' yesterday's chip fat. The blizzard's ragin' the nicht, Christmas 2025, December 25th turnin' intae Boxin' Day proper—snaw drivin' sideways doon the wynd, howlin' roon the lum pots like a banshee, an' the whole estate blanketed in white, streetlights glowin' fuzzy orange through the flurry.
For years, in the quiet o' ma sissy crossdressin' dreams—blethered in late-night internet chats an' hidden fantasies, I've yearned tae cast aff the ordinary an' embrace a wummanly self that's lush, commandin', an' pure voluptuous. The nicht, in this freezin' Scottish winter storm, wi' the wind greetin' doon the close an' snaw pilin' up against the door, that yearnin' finally becomes ma truth.
I staun afore the cracked mirror in the back room, the wind rattlin' the single-glazin' windae, transformin' intae Evelina McTavish, the eternal widow o' the tenement. Ma body—mature, morbidly obese, overflowin' wi' soft curves an' generous fullness—is nae langer somethin' tae hide unner baggy joabies; it's tae be celebrated in this private ritual o' surrender, the cauld air bitin' at ma skin as I dress.
The goon is aw I dreamed: a strikin' black Victorian murnin' A-line, ordered online an' altered masel', made frae shiny satin that catches the dim bulb light like wet tar. Multiple tiers cascade tae ma ankles, brushin' the lino; lang puffed sleeves hug ma airms, an' the high collar frames ma face wi' stern elegance. Ma satin opera gloves slide up smooth tae ma elbows, matchin' the satin heidscarf that covers ma hair in modest severity. Ower it aw drapes a delicate chiffon veil, flutterin' in the draught frae the ill-fittin' door, soaftenin' ma features intae a haze o' melancholy.
As I smooth the folds, feelin' the heavy satin cling tae every abundant inch—the tiers flarin' ower ma wide hips, the bodice cradlin' ma ample bosom, the fabric cauld at first but warmin' frae ma body heat—a wave o' liberation washes ower me, mixin' wi' the smell o' coal smoke frae some neighbour's fire. Nae langer the secret sissy; I'm Evelina, a gothic matron o' sorrow an' quiet power, murnin' loves lost, yet revelin' in ma femininity.
Wi' slow steps the goon rustlin' like whispers doon the narrow close stair I descend the creakin' concrete steps, cauld unner ma feet even through slippers, the snaw driftin' in unner the outer door.
Ma faithful companion, a big black corbie I cry Poe (he's been comin' tae the back court for scraps for donkeys), flaps in through the open windae an' perches on ma gloved shoulder, his feathers iced an' cauld against ma neck.
I step oot intae the estate's street, the blizzard whippin' snaw intae ma veil, stingin' ma cheeks, the ground crunchin' unnerfoot, distant bagpipes wailin' frae some hoose party, mixin' wi' the wind's roar. The abandoned swing park's chains creak in the gale; fairy lights frae a few windaes blink through the snaw. Here, unner the howlin' storm, I walk slow atween the bins an' parked motors, ma veil dancin' wild. Poe lifts aff, circlin' like a dark guardian afore settlin' back. In this cauld, sacred nicht—ma ain vigil—I whisper vows tae masel', hummin' a bit o' "Missletoe n' whine" unner ma breath, promisin' nae mair hidin'.
Deeper intae the estate I drift, past identical closes an' satellite dishes buried in snaw, the satin shimmerin' faint unner streetlights, tiers heavy wi' meltin' flakes. I feel powerful, sensual, complete—ma morbidly obese form a throne o' gothic beauty in this freezin' Scottish nicht.
As the bells approach midnight, faint through the storm, I return tae the tenement. Poe caws saft, like a private toast. Evelina McTavish'll bide here forever, in the heart o' this blizzard an' hidden desire. An' deep in ma soul, the sissy dreams'll whisper on, eternal as the corbie's cry.
Never mair wull I hide, hen. No' even in this ragin' winter. Happy Christmas tae me.Ma Eternal Murnin' at Christmas in the Gorbals Tenement I've aye felt a queer pull tae this place—number 142 Balgrayhill Road, a weary auld sandstone tenement up in the Gorbals, wi' its shared stairheid an' that cauld tiled close that smells o' damp washin' an' yesterday's chip fat. The blizzard's ragin' the nicht, Christmas 2025, December 25th turnin' intae Boxin' Day proper—snaw drivin' sideways doon the wynd, howlin' roon the lum pots like a banshee, an' the whole estate blanketed in white, streetlights glowin' fuzzy orange through the flurry. For years, in the quiet o' ma sissy crossdressin' dreams—blethered in late-night internet chats an' hidden fantasies, I've yearned tae cast aff the ordinary an' embrace a wummanly self that's lush, commandin', an' pure voluptuous. The nicht, in this freezin' Scottish winter storm, wi' the wind greetin' doon the close an' snaw pilin' up against the door, that yearnin' finally becomes ma truth. I staun afore the cracked mirror in the back room, the wind rattlin' the single-glazin' windae, transformin' intae Evelina McTavish, the eternal widow o' the tenement. Ma body—mature, morbidly obese, overflowin' wi' soft curves an' generous fullness—is nae langer somethin' tae hide unner baggy joabies; it's tae be celebrated in this private ritual o' surrender, the cauld air bitin' at ma skin as I dress. The goon is aw I dreamed: a strikin' black Victorian murnin' A-line, ordered online an' altered masel', made frae shiny satin that catches the dim bulb light like wet tar. Multiple tiers cascade tae ma ankles, brushin' the lino; lang puffed sleeves hug ma airms, an' the high collar frames ma face wi' stern elegance. Ma satin opera gloves slide up smooth tae ma elbows, matchin' the satin heidscarf that covers ma hair in modest severity. Ower it aw drapes a delicate chiffon veil, flutterin' in the draught frae the ill-fittin' door, soaftenin' ma features intae a haze o' melancholy. As I smooth the folds, feelin' the heavy satin cling tae every abundant inch—the tiers flarin' ower ma wide hips, the bodice cradlin' ma ample bosom, the fabric cauld at first but warmin' frae ma body heat—a wave o' liberation washes ower me, mixin' wi' the smell o' coal smoke frae some neighbour's fire. Nae langer the secret sissy; I'm Evelina, a gothic matron o' sorrow an' quiet power, murnin' loves lost, yet revelin' in ma femininity. Wi' slow steps the goon rustlin' like whispers doon the narrow close stair I descend the creakin' concrete steps, cauld unner ma feet even through slippers, the snaw driftin' in unner the outer door. Ma faithful companion, a big black corbie I cry Poe (he's been comin' tae the back court for scraps for donkeys), flaps in through the open windae an' perches on ma gloved shoulder, his feathers iced an' cauld against ma neck. I step oot intae the estate's street, the blizzard whippin' snaw intae ma veil, stingin' ma cheeks, the ground crunchin' unnerfoot, distant bagpipes wailin' frae some hoose party, mixin' wi' the wind's roar. The abandoned swing park's chains creak in the gale; fairy lights frae a few windaes blink through the snaw. Here, unner the howlin' storm, I walk slow atween the bins an' parked motors, ma veil dancin' wild. Poe lifts aff, circlin' like a dark guardian afore settlin' back. In this cauld, sacred nicht—ma ain vigil—I whisper vows tae masel', hummin' a bit o' "Missletoe n' whine" unner ma breath, promisin' nae mair hidin'. Deeper intae the estate I drift, past identical closes an' satellite dishes buried in snaw, the satin shimmerin' faint unner streetlights, tiers heavy wi' meltin' flakes. I feel powerful, sensual, complete—ma morbidly obese form a throne o' gothic beauty in this freezin' Scottish nicht. As the bells approach midnight, faint through the storm, I return tae the tenement. Poe caws saft, like a private toast. Evelina McTavish'll bide here forever, in the heart o' this blizzard an' hidden desire. An' deep in ma soul, the sissy dreams'll whisper on, eternal as the corbie's cry. Never mair wull I hide, hen. No' even in this ragin' winter. Happy Christmas tae me.
0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3139 Visualizações 3 - Black and White Christmas
My Christmas dress
I dream
Just white
To merry Bon Noel....
I hope
He'll propose straight
Without silly wait...
I will be very pretty
Wife
And cold
to help his
Work...
I think it would be very right
Spent Christmas with black top...Black and White Christmas My Christmas dress I dream Just white To merry Bon Noel.... I hope He'll propose straight Without silly wait... I will be very pretty Wife And cold to help his Work... I think it would be very right Spent Christmas with black top...
5 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2413 Visualizações 13 - Happy Hump Day.....! #BlackSatinBlouse0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 1692 Visualizações 8
- Just trying this little number on, got it in purple and black too, but was mixing the boots, love the #corsets #party wearJust trying this little number on, got it in purple and black too, but was mixing the boots, love the #corsets #party wear0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3973 Visualizações 9
- And #OutfitForTheDay #PVC Leggings #AnkleBoots Purple #SatinCorset then a black sleeved top, very likely to be replaced with jumper very soon thoughAnd #OutfitForTheDay #PVC Leggings #AnkleBoots Purple #SatinCorset then a black sleeved top, very likely to be replaced with jumper very soon though 😂
5 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3474 Visualizações 10 - A kinky day in the office today......!
Melanie in her #BlackSatinBlouseA kinky day in the office today......! Melanie in her #BlackSatinBlouse0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2586 Visualizações 11 -
- Todays outfit of the day Velvet dress with lace sleeves and my gorgeous suede black boots, not a flattering look, but comfortableTodays outfit of the day Velvet dress with lace sleeves and my gorgeous suede black boots, not a flattering look, but comfortable 😅
3 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2730 Visualizações 12 - I felt more cinnamon than vanilla today so I put on my new 6 strap and paired it with pinks and blacks... Which one do you prefer?I felt more cinnamon than vanilla today so I put on my new 6 strap and paired it with pinks and blacks... Which one do you prefer?9 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 4228 Visualizações 44
- Last but not least~ black & pink so happy finally being able to try out all my new bikinis this week tq for the wonderful love & support everyoneLast but not least~ black & pink ❤️❤️ so happy finally being able to try out all my new bikinis this week 🥰 tq for the wonderful love & support everyone 💋💋1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3014 Visualizações10
- Who loves #BlackSatin .......?Who loves #BlackSatin .......?0 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2444 Visualizações 25
- Another past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my areaAnother past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my area
2 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3652 Visualizações 8 - My new black strap heels , just recieved them today.My new black strap heels , just recieved them today.1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3897 Visualizações15
- Relaxing day, just sitting out the back, wearing a short black skirt, fake tits, and a see thru top, oh and crotchless panties, love the breeze lifting my skirt.Relaxing day, just sitting out the back, wearing a short black skirt, fake tits, and a see thru top, oh and crotchless panties, love the breeze lifting my skirt.1 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 3082 Visualizações 3
- (For those that can Read)
No Time To Waste
A CD that I've been chatting with for some time got in touch and asked if I had time to pop over for a very quick visit, he only had a 40 minutes window of opportunity.
We were both on the no mess side of fun in both ways, we knew it was all about pleasure and I made sure it was also about Feeding.
With a short 40 minutes window I knew I would have to be ready when I arrived at his place, my lingerie was on under my Joggers, I made is as simple as possible, Stocking Tights, Sheer Thong, Tight Black matching lace Crop top under my Hoodie, that just left my Stilettos in my bag of guddies.
I arrived at his at the exact time, 9:30am and he let me in, I could see he was also dressed ready under his robe, oddly enough he went for a Bodystocking with Thong and Stilettos also in black, while removing our normal clothing we chatted more and agreed to just get on with it.
We stood in the living room and I bent over and pulled his Thong down and off, like me if he is cold or nervous his co ck starts off very small, I love this bit, because just for a little moment I can get all his Sacks and Co ck in my mouth in one, rolling them round giving them a good sucking and gentle stretch, this only lasted a couple of minutes before he started to get hard, at this point he got me up and removed my Thong and pushed me onto the sofa, grabbed my knees in each hand, spread me wide and sucked me in exactly the same way, a few minutes later I was solid, he then got me up and took me into the bedroom where he got on the bed, lay down lifted his legs back and spread ready, I climbed on top and placed my arms in front of each leg holding them back, sliding down ready to work my Feeding Stick in front of me, he had reached round to my legs which I spread either side of his head (69) our favourite feeding position, he pulled my legs apart a little more until I was already in his mouth, he wasted no time at all in starting his extraction, me also, dropping down onto his valve, working it best I could, I loved being on top as you always seem to get more co ck to suck, but when Feeding I prefer to be underneath so I get every drop.
He was really going for it on my Feeding Stick, he knew my weekness, putting his lips just behind my head, sucking 2 or 3 inches back and forth up and down my shaft, tight as he could, I knew his weakness was his sensitive Co ck Head, so I sucked extra on his head between shaft slides, then back to his head again, I could tell he was doing better than me as only about 15 minutes had gone when I was getting close, he knew it too, sucking faster and tighter, in my excitement I got faster too, I shot my little load into his mouth which went down instantly, he kept sucking till he had every drop, I quickly said swap, and we rolled over, so his Feeding Stick was now in my mouth, I carried on from underneath sucking on his head and shaft, a few minutes later he started to moan, I knew my gift was on its way, my gift of food for my hard work, I was so thankful when his shaft started to pulsate and pump, he filled my mouth twice, I felt quite bad that I could not give him as much... After I extracted every drop and thanked him for his generous deposit, he got ready for work and I left for home, ready for my next feed....(For those that can Read) No Time To Waste A CD that I've been chatting with for some time got in touch and asked if I had time to pop over for a very quick visit, he only had a 40 minutes window of opportunity. We were both on the no mess side of fun in both ways, we knew it was all about pleasure and I made sure it was also about Feeding. With a short 40 minutes window I knew I would have to be ready when I arrived at his place, my lingerie was on under my Joggers, I made is as simple as possible, Stocking Tights, Sheer Thong, Tight Black matching lace Crop top under my Hoodie, that just left my Stilettos in my bag of guddies. I arrived at his at the exact time, 9:30am and he let me in, I could see he was also dressed ready under his robe, oddly enough he went for a Bodystocking with Thong and Stilettos also in black, while removing our normal clothing we chatted more and agreed to just get on with it. We stood in the living room and I bent over and pulled his Thong down and off, like me if he is cold or nervous his co ck starts off very small, I love this bit, because just for a little moment I can get all his Sacks and Co ck in my mouth in one, rolling them round giving them a good sucking and gentle stretch, this only lasted a couple of minutes before he started to get hard, at this point he got me up and removed my Thong and pushed me onto the sofa, grabbed my knees in each hand, spread me wide and sucked me in exactly the same way, a few minutes later I was solid, he then got me up and took me into the bedroom where he got on the bed, lay down lifted his legs back and spread ready, I climbed on top and placed my arms in front of each leg holding them back, sliding down ready to work my Feeding Stick in front of me, he had reached round to my legs which I spread either side of his head (69) our favourite feeding position, he pulled my legs apart a little more until I was already in his mouth, he wasted no time at all in starting his extraction, me also, dropping down onto his valve, working it best I could, I loved being on top as you always seem to get more co ck to suck, but when Feeding I prefer to be underneath so I get every drop. He was really going for it on my Feeding Stick, he knew my weekness, putting his lips just behind my head, sucking 2 or 3 inches back and forth up and down my shaft, tight as he could, I knew his weakness was his sensitive Co ck Head, so I sucked extra on his head between shaft slides, then back to his head again, I could tell he was doing better than me as only about 15 minutes had gone when I was getting close, he knew it too, sucking faster and tighter, in my excitement I got faster too, I shot my little load into his mouth which went down instantly, he kept sucking till he had every drop, I quickly said swap, and we rolled over, so his Feeding Stick was now in my mouth, I carried on from underneath sucking on his head and shaft, a few minutes later he started to moan, I knew my gift was on its way, my gift of food for my hard work, I was so thankful when his shaft started to pulsate and pump, he filled my mouth twice, I felt quite bad that I could not give him as much... After I extracted every drop and thanked him for his generous deposit, he got ready for work and I left for home, ready for my next feed....4 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 6276 Visualizações 6 - Choices choices choices I’m thinking black but open to comments!Choices choices choices I’m thinking black but open to comments!6 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 2139 Visualizações 14
- I had a really busy week, so today - FRIDAY I needed relax and went shopping. I wanted to buy gym leggings, to show GemSta how a nice ass really looks like . Haven’t found anything nice and black, but spotted nice, black and regular jeans. Of course, I was wearing g-string as usually. I went to the changing room with several cabinets with curtains. It was just jeans, I was listening music on my headphones (Måneskin - "I Wanna Be Your *****. Live – it is so much better that studio version, and the bass guitar girl….OMG) not paying any attention to what is happening and did not close the curtains entirely. I took off my old jeans, bent over and then glimpsed with the corner of my eye that some people stares at me….. . Mother and father waiting for their kid. As you may have guested correctly It turned me on, obviously (life is not easy), but I can swear, I saw it in their eyes ….. they will go wild tonight! The obvious morale of the story is……. Not every superhero wears a cape! (So I took mine off, as you may see on the attached picture). Enjoy the weekend!I had a really busy week, so today - FRIDAY I needed relax and went shopping. I wanted to buy gym leggings, to show GemSta how a nice ass really looks like 😊. Haven’t found anything nice and black, but spotted nice, black and regular jeans. Of course, I was wearing g-string as usually. I went to the changing room with several cabinets with curtains. It was just jeans, I was listening music on my headphones (Måneskin - "I Wanna Be Your Slave. Live – it is so much better that studio version, and the bass guitar girl….OMG) not paying any attention to what is happening and did not close the curtains entirely. I took off my old jeans, bent over and then glimpsed with the corner of my eye that some people stares at me….. . Mother and father waiting for their kid. As you may have guested correctly It turned me on, obviously (life is not easy), but I can swear, I saw it in their eyes ….. they will go wild tonight! The obvious morale of the story is……. Not every superhero wears a cape! (So I took mine off, as you may see on the attached picture😊). Enjoy the weekend!
12 Comentários 0 Compartilhamentos 5512 Visualizações 44
© 2025 Crossdressing Social Network 
Portuguese (Brazil)
Portuguese (Brazil) 
English
Arabic
French
Spanish
Portuguese
Deutsch
Turkish
Dutch
Italiano
Russian
Romaian
Greek