The Bottles

Fred shivered in the cold winter air. With his head down and feeling very self-conscious, he trotted out of Birmingham New-Street station in the strappy high-heels and headed down the road as he had been instructed. He couldn’t believe he was doing this. It wasn’t that it was the first time he’d stepped outside his door dressed as a girl, or even that he had arranged to meet a complete stranger without a photograph or even a name, it was the manner of the meeting. He felt his cock strain and bulge slightly at the thought, imperceptibly lifting his short dress. He pulled his coat tighter around him and pressed on.

He found the alley easily. The car had been backed down it and the boot was open. A small metal brazier stood burning some three feet behind. The car’s windows were tinted and opaque. Shaking and unsure, he removed his coat and put it into the brazier where it burned away in seconds. The dress followed. Then his bag: wallet, train-ticket, everything. No turning back now.

He stood there wearing nothing but the tight thong-leotard that had been sent to him, some dark lacy hold-ups and his patent heels. Reaching into the boot, he slipped on the blindfold, strapped in the ball-gag and climbed into the boot. banging twice, he heard the door open and someone quickly cuffed his wrists behind his back and strapped each ankle to thigh. The boot was closed and seconds later away they went.

After an hour’s drive, he was taken from the boot, his legs released and un-blindfolded. A plump, pretty brunette in a black jersey dress and sunglasses led him silently in the side-door of a large house using a collar and lead that she attached to him.

-

Fred was taken to a bedroom and seated on the edge of a large bed. His handcuffs and ballgag were removed, as were his shoes. The brunette sat next to him. She must have been in her mid forties, buxom and very pretty. “You may call me Lady Clara.” She told him. “Do you like ladies as well as men?” she enquired.