KISS

by C Payne, C J Payne

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

A contemporary erotic novel with mixed themes including m/f, m/m, menage, cross-dressing, BDSM, fem dom and spanking/CP. When ambitious solicitor Kara Richardson defends Alex Mann in a shoplifting case she could hardly have expected it to lead to cross-dressing, spanking and sex with BDSM enthusiast Frankie, an ex-boxer and bar owner. Kara soon realises that she has a strong dominatrix streak and likes to be in control of Alex, as well as an arrogant work colleague, Mark - both of whom willingly submit to her authority: if only she could exert the same control over her emotions as she can over her men then perhaps she would not have found herself falling for the enigmatic Alex ...

Release date: April 11, 2013

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 208

Sample

Prologue

I’m sitting in my car outside the small block of flats watching. And waiting. Watching and waiting. Waiting for Alex. I know she will appear at any moment. I know her movements …

And there, seated about 200 yards from the flats, is the Roll Royce Silver Shadow which is waiting for Alex. It is deepest crimson, like Alex’s lipstick; it has personalised plates which spell out the word PUNCH (if you use your imagination with letters and numbers) and real leather, white seats. The doors are filled with lead to make them close softly. The owner told me that when we went away together – he knows how to show a lady a good time, and tonight, and every night, that lucky lady is Alex Mann.

I like coming here, parking up in a side street, and watching Alex walk along the pavement. The Roller is always parked away from the flats because the owner doesn’t “do flats” – he rings Alex’s phone three times and then he expects her to leave her apartment. And Alex will leave it as soon as she hears the signal and she’ll walk – she will stretch out her long, luxurious legs and stroll along the street like a pretty flamingo. And if she gets a wolf whistle or a toot from a passing motorist then that’s a bonus to the Roller driver – he likes Alex to get attention just as much as I do. Or did. For the rules have changed now and I’m only an observer.

I feel myself getting wet down below. I always feel turned on when I think of Alex; I shift uncomfortably on the leather seat of my Mercedes Cabriolet CLK 280. Alex will be out in a minute and I’ll get to glimpse her attire. I’ll watch her footsteps on the pavement in her too-high killer heels; I’ll watch her run her hand though her long, blonde hair – hair which was truly my invention; I’ll watch her smile confidently as she sashays down the street swinging her handbag, knowing for all the world that she is a beautiful, beautiful woman – the sort of woman who makes other women jealous and men fawn. And, when I have watched her, I will close my eyes and think back to that wondrous night at my house when I had tears of ecstasy rolling down my cheeks; when my pussy was so sore and excited it tingled for days after – the night that still remains a nirvana in sexual highs. A pinnacle. An Everest.

True to form, a figure appears at the glass door of the flats and, seconds later, Alex walks out onto the street. She is wearing strappy black heels – at least four inches high; a tight as tight black rubber dress which I recognise as one she borrowed from me and didn’t return, and a real fur coat, courtesy one would imagine, of the Roller owner. She walks along the pavement confidently. Her hands are pushed into the pockets of her mink – her black bag is slung carelessly over one shoulder; the skirt of her dress stretches over her long legs and moulds over her knees and thighs. Alex walks. Her gait is long but graceful. Model-esque. It is the stride of the most beautiful of creatures. Her long, blonde hair blows in the wind – some lads in a low-sprung, souped-up car drive past slowly and the passenger shouts something obscene at Alex and gestures. She ignores their juvenility. She saunters on. Towards the Roller. She walks.

I feel turned on; I tremble, I shiver, I quiver like a fired arrow that has hit the bullseye; my pussy is wet and aching for action. God, how I need a prick – God, I need satisfaction.

How has Alex driven me to this shivering wreck of womanhood? How has she made me feel like this? Every time I see her I feel the same way. How’s she done this to me? I can’t get her out of my mind. I’ve tried but I just can’t. I want to but I can’t.

Well, that is the story I’m going to tell here. The story of Alex and me; of our relationship; of how we both discovered unexpected things about ourselves, and how, in more or less a year, we both went from being sexual novices to experienced playmates and how our lives took different turns.

Alex opens the passenger door of the Roller and slides onto the seat. The driver says a few words. He slips the car into gear, indicates, and pulls off slowly. Momentarily the white of the headlights arc across the road and I see the driver and the passenger. The beast and the beauty.

Now the road is bathed in darkness – there are only the street lights and the lights from the communal flats, which Alex has just left, to lighten up the street. It is time for me to go too. I brush away a tear, take a deep breath, and prepare to meet my lover. My vanilla lover. My more conventional boyfriend. A boyfriend I can take home to meet my mother. Yes, I’m back on the straight and narrow after my sojourn with Alex. Still, that doesn’t mean I won’t occasionally decide to whip my lover or cane him or spank him or tie him up. Who knows? It just depends on how I feel and how he behaves. I smile, a tight-lipped smile – before I met Alex I would never have thought such kinky thoughts, but after Alex the sky’s the kinky limit.

I slip my Mercedes Cabriolet into gear and accelerate off to meet my lover in Frankie’s Bar where I know he’ll be patiently waiting for me …

Chapter One

I sat. I waited. I flicked my well-manicured nails against my thumb. A habit of mine, and something Alex had already commented on. I felt nervous. Agitated. I twisted the wine glass stem between my fingers – well, I had to order something while I waited and waited and waited …

Usually it’s the woman’s prerogative to be late. But I was early. Alex was late. But then Alex had to get ready and my elegant trouser suit was less demanding than Alex’s attire – of that I was sure. I could not complain. I knew that was how it would be. But why had I agreed to meet Alex in a restaurant? Why had I let Alex’s calm, happy-go-lucky, “nothing matters” persona convince me that meeting in a restaurant was a good idea?

At least the restaurant was not close to my home. It was close to Alex’s, though, so all Alex had to do was walk. From a city centre flat. I took a deep breath. The Thai waitress kept glancing over at me – it had been more than half an hour and I was still waiting …

As a defence solicitor you get used to waiting: waiting for clients; waiting for magistrates; waiting for video links from the court room to the prison cells … Waiting was part of the job. It was annoying when the client didn’t turn up at all – that happened more times than one would have imagined. You were there to get them off a charge – you had seen them in the police station and you had got them police bail and then made an appointment for them to come to your offices for an interview – and then they didn’t turn up. Alex did. Alex turned up.

I took my iPhone out of my handbag and looked for messages. I knew Alex wouldn’t have texted – Alex found it difficult – and I’d not heard the phone ring or bleep. Alex did not like using a mobile phone and lived such a chaotic and disorganised life it was often lost – something that was going to have serious ramifications on more than one occasion, but I get ahead of myself. I surfed the internet, checked on the weather in Malibu – not that I was likely to go there any time soon. Just getting a meal was all I wanted. I’d been at work and I was famished. It was my turn to do the Saturday shift and I hadn’t got off till 3 p.m. Another dopy defendant involved in a minor infringement with the law. Not like Alex. Alex was different.

That’s what made me so interested – Alex was not my normal fare. Alex was something new. For a start, it was a first offence yet he was completely unfazed by it all – the police procedure, the cell, the interview under caution. Secondly, Alex never tried to deny anything, blame anyone else or make excuses. That made it so much easier. Thirdly, well, Alex was “alternative”.

The waitress was wearing a tight Thai robe which was silky and had coloured vines and birds depicted on it – I was sure Alex would have liked it …

‘Kara,’ Alex had said outside the magistrates’ court after I had played the “good character” card and the “alternative” card to get him off with a small fine and costs. ‘I would like to take you out for a meal to thank you for all you have done for me.’

It was my fault in a way. I had taken too much interest. Chatted personally as well as professionally and asked Alex about his lifestyle – I had kidded myself that it was all part of the research I was doing into his background to enable me to put together a suitable defence but in reality I was interested. Very interested.

I had hesitated – you weren’t supposed to fraternise with clients (not that you would want to), but the case was over and there was no possibility of a conflict of interest so I said it would “be nice”, hoping Alex would forget the idea. No such hope. A few days later he had rung my office and told me The Thai Rack was booked for 8 p.m. that Saturday. That was Alex all over – presumptions.

‘What if I don’t like Thai? What if I’m busy on Saturday?’ I had argued.

‘You’re not busy because you told me you were on call on Saturday morning and you were going to kick your shoes off and unwind with a glass of wine when you got home. A home which you share with Misty the cat – you’ve never mentioned a boyfriend, so I guess it is just you and Misty who live there. And if you don’t like Thai I’ll find somewhere else.’

I found myself making mouth shapes at the phone and then agreeing. Well, why not? I hadn’t been in any kind of relationship since I had split up with John six months earlier. Not that I had any intention of having a relationship with Alex – no, that would be strictly off limits. He intrigued me, that was all … And I wanted to see what Alex was like socially. Now, that really did intrigue me!

I must have been looking down at the phone because when I looked up a woman was walking towards me – purposefully. One of the waitresses had clocked “her” and was smiling to a colleague, but the rest of the restaurant was oblivious. I shuddered involuntarily, feeling a sudden wetness in my knickers. Alex smiled broadly. A long-mouthed, silky, red smile. I looked my dinner companion up and down – took in the black patent, low-heeled boots; the patterned tights; the grey pencil skirt, and the red silky blouse which I could glimpse as Alex unbuttoned a black flounced coat. I knew then I was in the company of a professional.

‘Hello Kara,’ Alex said in a soft, feminine but hurried, breathy voice. ‘Sorry I’m late. You know how it is for us women.’

I grinned at the conceit but I could not take my eyes off the remarkable woman who was now standing in front of me. I stared. I was astounded. Alex looked so good, so dammed good. So convincing. A male waiter came over to us and placed menus on the table.

‘Can I take your coat, madam?’

Alex gave the waiter a deep crimson lipstick smile. The waiter did not know what a compliment he had just paid Alex the transvestite by calling him “madam”.

‘Of course,’ he said in his light as a wafer voice. He slipped off the coat – not as a man might do, but by keeping his arms down and drawing it over one arm at a time. Slowly. Carefully. Deliberately. The waiter stood and waited, then took the black coat. Alex smoothed his skirt down, pulled out the heavy ornate chair with one hand, and sat down opposite me. I suddenly realised I did not know the name of this impressive creature. He leant across the table. I gasped as I took in a lungful of expensive perfume mixed with deodorant and lip gloss – it was a heady cocktail of pleasant aromas.

‘Anyone watching me?’ he said in a slightly lower, almost whispered tone.

I was suddenly taken aback by his lack of confidence.

‘No, no not at all – I think you’ve passed.’

‘That’s a shame. I like heads to turn and men to drink in my beauty when I make an entrance.’ Alex winked and unfolded his serviette, which he placed carefully on his lap.

I laughed. ‘I think they’ll do that. You look bloody good – I’m impressed.’

The waitress who had “clocked” my tranny friend, and who had been hovering while I had waited for an eternity for Alex’s arrival, neared our table.

‘Drinks?’ she asked.

‘Just a juice for me. What flavours do you have?’ Alex asked in that light, female voice of his.

As the waitress listed them I was surprised at how composed he was at mimicking a female voice – he had certainly made a study of being a woman.

‘I’ll have the same again,’ I said when Alex had finished. The waitress scurried off.

‘What do you call yourself when you are dressed like this?’ I made an all-encompassing gesture with my hands.

‘Alex,’ he said.

‘Nice name.’ I laughed. ‘I suppose you’re lucky to have a unisex first name. I’ve never met a transvestite before – you’re not what I imagined.’

‘And what did you imagine?’

I took in the carefully applied mascara on Alex’s eyelashes, the dark and light shades of eye shadow he had used to compliment his outfit, the light foundation on his cheeks, the false nails. Yes, he was heavily made up but not excessively so. The jewellery he wore was light and tasteful – certainly not bling. To most people he would pass as a woman. I suppose I was expecting a drag queen.

‘I don’t know … Not someone quite as – convincing,’ I said.

‘I told you I was good,’ he replied.

It was almost like something he might say to a partner after sex – in fact, it was definitely the sort of thing Alex would say after sex. “I told you I was good”. Not cocky or arrogant but matter-of-fact – a statement of, well, fact.

‘You’re not over the top. You’re tastefully dressed and made-up; you easily pass as a woman.’

‘I follow the KISS principle,’ he said.

‘The kiss principle? What’s that?’ I asked.

‘Keep It Simple, Stupid.’

I laughed. ‘Well, it works! How often do you dress like this?’

‘As often as I can. Now I’m single again I can dress most evenings. I like to practise – the voice, the make-up, that sort of thing. I like to get the image right. When I finish at the betting shop I come home and dress. Because I work shifts it works out quite well as I can go out in the day dressed. Weekends I go to a club called Cross Stitch.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly made a good stab at it tonight,’ I said. I still could not quite believe that I was talking to a man. As time went on, I got to understand the cross-dressing vernacular – that “dressing” meant in the clothes of the opposite sex; that going out “dressed” meant going out in women’s clothes; that ‘in the male’ meant male clothes whereas en femme meant wearing female clothing, and “passing” was what happened if you were as convincing as Alex and managed to make it out in public places without being “read” – but that was later.

When the drinks arrived the waitress placed them on the table with a knowing, discreet smile that didn’t faze Alex. We placed our meal order.

‘You can’t pass all the time in front of everyone,’ he said. ‘Waitresses stand around, they observe customers, like shop assistants. They see something – God knows what, but they realise you’re a guy. There’s nothing you can do about it – it’s always the women that read you.’

‘More observant, you see.’

‘Definitely so,’ Alex said, sipping his drink.

When the meal was served I asked him how long he had been dressing and whether he was gay and if his previous girlfriends had known about his strange habit. He answered my questions candidly.

‘I love being a transvestite. Every man should try it.’

Towards the end of the evening he got up and went to the toilet. As I watched him saunter across the restaurant, I was surprised at how easily he became a woman – how effortlessly he merged into the background with the other diners taking little or no notice. He did not seem at all out of place. Occasionally, a male head would turn, “drinking in his beauty”, as Alex put it – looking at the stylish, young female who was probably a secretary or a clerk or a nurse by day, but never a man. When he returned, I paid the bill and Alex got his coat. The waiter helped him on with it, which pleased Alex. We left the restaurant and he followed me to my car.

‘Do you want to come back to mine for a coffee?’ he asked.

I said I would, he got into the car, and I drove off following his directions. A few minutes later we pulled up outside a small, smart block of low level flats – he found his key in his handbag and, with a sense of self-assurance that was quite extraordinary, got out of the car, and walked to the flats without any hesitation. He entered the communal front door and I followed him in and upstairs to his second floor flat. I was surprised by how untidy it was. Somehow I had expected Alex’s neat, well-presented female persona to have kept an orderly abode. It was clean but cluttered.

‘You own it?’ I asked.

‘Rent. I can’t afford to buy on my wages.’

The front room was spacious and jumbled with clothes and make-up and had old-fashioned décor. The flat had two bedrooms and I could see through the open door that the second bedroom was Alex’s female room as clothes were strewn around the room and make-up pots stood on the dressing table.

He took his mac off and walked to the kitchen. Seconds later, I heard the kettle being filled. I watched him get down jars of coffee and sugar from the cupboards above the sink; he spooned coffee into mugs. It was an incongruous sight – a man dressed as a woman making me a cup of coffee, unfazed by what he was wearing even though he had reverted back to his “male mode” voice rather than the soft, feminine one he had used in the restaurant.

He passed me my mug of milky coffee and ushered me through to the front room, where he pointed to a frayed sofa. I moved some of his female clothing off the settee and sat down.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ he said. ‘I would have cleared up if I had known you were coming back, but when I go out dressed I always like to try on a lot of outfits first – especially on a night like this.’

In the corner of the room a heavy SLR camera sat on top of a tripod – I guessed Alex liked to photograph himself in his female garb.

‘Have you always lived here alone?’ I asked.

‘No, I used to live here with my girlfriend and her kid. This is a Housing Association property.’

‘Why did she move out?’ I asked.

Alex chuckled. ‘I cheated on her,’ he said matter-of-factly.

‘What was she called?’ I asked.

‘Sophie,’ he said.

‘No, the woman you cheated with?’ I don’t know why I felt a desire to know.

‘Mandy,’ he said nonchalantly.

I assumed the Housing Association didn’t know about the fact his girlfriend had left him and taken her child – she had apparently moved in with another guy.

Alex sat down next to me on the sofa and, as he moved, his tights touched my knee: I felt a shudder of static run through me which triggered a fresh surge of wetness in my pussy – what was it about a man dressed as a woman? I had never fantasied about having sex with a cross-dresser before, never thought about dating one – but then I had never believed that one could look as good as Alex. I placed my hand on his tight, grey skirt. He took my hand and put it to his lips and kissed my fingers – it was a romantic and sensual gesture.

‘It’s great being out dressed as a woman with a real woman; perhaps we can do it again sometime?’ he asked.

‘Perhaps.’

‘Nicking that wig wasn’t such a bad thing after all,’ he continued. ‘I got to meet you.’

‘It was a ham-fisted attempt at shoplifting. Stealing a wig off a mannequin in a busy department store wasn’t your finest hour.’

Not for the first time I wondered how much of his clothing he had appropriated by dishonest means. Maybe the urban myth about cross-dressers stealing knickers from clotheslines was true – especially with Alex around.

‘No, it probably wasn’t,’ Alex agreed. He sipped his drink and then placed it on the carpet. His movements were delicate, careful.

‘But you’re certainly interesting, Alex,’ I said. ‘You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.’

I put my cup down on the coffee table and let my hand rub across his smooth, silky back. Alex’s head dropped forward onto my mouth and we embraced. We kissed passionately. That first kiss: I could taste the lipstick on my lips, the gloss – if I closed my eyes I could imagine I was kissing a real woman. I could smell the delicate scent of his fresh body – his perfume. I ran my hands over his bra and felt the softness of his inserts: I squeezed, kneaded, and fondled them, momentarily forgetting that Alex could not feel me. We kissed on the sofa for some time and then Alex led me to his bedroom. I took my trousers off and he took off his skirt and unzipped his boots. I took off my cotton panties and he took off his silky blouse. I pulled off my white camisole top and he undid his bra. He stood in front of me wearing tights and knickers while I was naked. Finally, he pushed down his tights and panties and then he was on top of me – still made up and wigged. We kissed and pawed at each other’s skin. His thin, erect member prodded and probed at my sex, supported by an errant finger that seemed determined to find my G-spot.. . .