His/her hands are all over my stockings, teasing then caressing the bare flesh above my stocking tops, her hard cock pressing the silky barrier betwee... it and my buttocks, hot lips at the nape of my neck, nibbling on my ear lobes, long blood red painted fingers tweaking and pulling at my nipples before a gasp as of horror and excitement as her hands find my not very girly clitty between my legs.In my early years of dressing it was always a strict aunt or sexy neighbour who in my fantasies. I faced her down.“I will not let any critic dilute my art!” I hissed. “I won't let your opinion, your will, sully it. I don't care what you do.” I whirled around. “You do not get to dictate my art to me, Rithi! My soul is my own! No one owns it!”I marched to my brother. He stood there, Zanyia clinging to him. His back straightened. He nodded his head. The respect in his face, in the set of his jaw, touched me. A strange joy rippled through me despite the righteous fury whipping me onward. His. More

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