"Go ahead, sweetheart." She spoke while slowly and rhythmicallytapping the convex part of the spoon against her open palm. "Goahead and struggle, but ...t will only make this worse." Withthat, I ceased to struggle, as it was futile and there was nosense in awakening her newly discovered volcanic temper. This,she had said, would be it. Perhaps, I hoped, this wholenightmare would end after this.She positioned herself in front of me, sliding the spoon andlifting my chin, as much as it could be. This for me is (and always has been) what dressing is all about. Not wanting to actually be a woman but the incredible sexual thrill that being dressed as a woman brings to me.Lust fuelled and in a sexual frenzy my hands caress my silk robe from my breasts down to my throbbing clitty that by now is dancing and straining with the incredible eroticism of my dressing game.It seems an interminable age before I finally let the ties of the robe become undone and the black satiny garment parts. More

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