Michele and the Predator
Copyright© 2008 by Michele Nylons
BDSM Sex Story: Chapter 3 - Michele is a secret transvestite who like to dress up at home and have solo fun. What she doesn't know is that the vicious rapist known as the Predator is secretly watching her. What the Predator doesn't know is that Michele is a transvestite; he thinks she is a mature sexy lady. He breaks into Michele's house and the fun begins.
Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Ma NonConsensual Reluctant Rape Coercion Blackmail Drunk/Drugged TransGender CrossDressing Rough Humiliation Sadistic Gang Bang First Oral Sex Anal Sex Masturbation Petting Foot Fetish Leg Fetish Violent Transformation
The Predator was stunned; it dawned upon him what had happened; he had fucked and been fellated by a transvestite. A man dressed as a woman! He looked at the pathetic sight lying before him on the bed and laughed. He thought to himself that she was just as good as any 'real' woman he had fucked; and she sure wasn't going to be telling anybody about this evening, that's for sure; you could see the look of terror and disgust in her eyes. He might as well enjoy the rest of the evening. He started making plans to do just that.
Michele lay sprawled and cowered on the bed; she saw the look on the face of the Predator as he realised what he was dealing with and she watched his face change from surprise to cruel calculation. She lay there shivering as the Predator strolled around her bedroom and examined her secret things. Michele was reviled as the beast toyed with her makeup and wig collection; she heard him snigger to himself as he opened her wardrobe and rifled through the hangers inspecting her clothes. She was revolted when he opened her lingerie drawers and pulled out various items of intimate apparel; she gagged when he lifted a pair of her satin panties to his face and sniffed at them and then rubbed them sensuously on his cheek, the nylon rasping on his five o'clock shadow.
The Predator started to hatch his plan. How he loved to humiliate the upper class bitches he preyed upon; this would be even sweeter. This pansy transvestite couldn't do a thing to protect himself; he was obviously 'in the closet' (he sniggered to himself at the pun and was delighted when the transvestite bitch shivered at his evil laugh). The Predator had thought of the transvestite as a 'her' so far and decided he could deal with the situation better if he continued to think of 'him' as a 'her'. Yes he was going to have some fun with this bitch! He dragged her off the bed and into the bathroom. He spoke only enough to get his message through to the shocked whore; "Wash, makeup, dress! The clothes I want you to wear will be on the bed; wear the blond wig! You better look fucking good when you come out of this bedroom bitch or I'll handcuff you to the front fence still dressed as a woman so that all of your stuck up snooty neighbours can see what they have been living next to!" He slammed the bathroom door shut.
Michele pulled herself up off the cold bathroom tiles and looked at herself in the mirror. Her lipstick was smeared all around her mouth; her mascara, eyeliner and eyeshadow had blended together with the Predator's semen and was smeared around her eyes and had run down her cheeks in dark rivulets. Her brunette wig was dishevelled and clumps of her hair were matted, glued together by the hideous man's issue from when he had spent himself over her face. She tore off the wig and turned away from the mirror and turned on the shower; turning up the hot water until she could barely stand to hold her hand under it. She looked at the water cascading across her painted fingernails and began to sob uncontrollably; she hated herself. Why did she have this uncontrollable urge to dress like a woman!!!
She had got what she deserved she thought as she removed her jewellery; dressing up like some high class hooker had attracted this revolting vile man! Michele started tearing off her clothes; she pulled her semen and makeup stained white skirt down around her ankles and kicked it into the corner of the bathroom; her high-heels skidded on the tiled floor as she kicked and she slipped and landed heavily on her arse. Now she started to laugh uncontrollably; she realised that her sobbing and laughing were symptoms of shock due to what had happened to her; being violated in her own home. She tore off her blouse and it joined the wig and skirt in the corner. She propped her back against the hard wall and reached down and unbuckled her high-heels; they too joined the growing heap of womanly attire.
Michele slithered out of her slip and she couldn't suppress a flash of arousal as the slinky garment slid down her stockinged legs creating a little electric shock of pleasure. She suppressed the feeling and felt further disgust with herself for having such a feeling at a time like this. Michele was becoming enraged with herself now and she grabbed at her garterbelt and the waistband of her pantyhose and nylon panties and pulled them down around her ankles in one tangled bunch. She reached down to the stockings and pantyhose clinging to her ankles and pulled them over her pretty painted toes and scrunched them, along with her panties and garterbelt, into a perfumed silky ball of nylon and lace which she also kicked unceremoniously into the corner with the rest of her clothes. She did not want to touch her lingerie as it was stained not only with the Predator's semen, but her own spend; she felt even more loathing with herself for climaxing whilst the Predator had had his way with her. Lastly she shucked herself out of her brassiere, which then became the last garment to join the dishevelled heap of clothing in the corner of her bathroom. Michele pulled herself to her feet again and stepped naked under the shower, deliberately not looking in the mirror on the way past. She grabbed a washcloth and poured a liberal amount of moisturising cleanser into it and began to scrub at her face, removing her makeup as the scalding hot water cascaded over her body.
The Predator listened to the sobbing and then the laughing coming from the bathroom and finally the sounds of the bitch showering. He realised that the incoherent laughter and crying were the result of shock; more importantly he realised that this cunt was going to comply with his every order. The Predator continued to work on his rudimentary plan as he rummaged through the clothing in the wardrobe and dresser. He didn't want to see the transvestite when she emerged from the bathroom; seeing her as a man would ruin the fantasy; he wanted to see her only as a woman. He would select the outfit she was to wear and then wait in another room until she was dressed. The scattered clothing that the transvestite had left on the bed when she was dressing before he had invaded her house was swept onto the floor; he already knew what he wanted her to wear.
The Predator selected a black leather miniskirt and a longsleeved white nylon blouse from the wardrobe. The blouse had ruffles on the décolletage and cuffs and to him it looked both classy but also slutty. He threw them on the bed and then went back to the wardrobe and chose a pair of extremely high-heeled, red leather open-toe sandals; he played with the shiny red straps and silver buckles for a while and then tossed them onto the bed next to the skirt and blouse. From her dresser he took a lacy red brassiere and matching panties which he laid on the bed along with a black satin suspender-belt. He whistled to himself as his rummaging produced a pair of exquisite black stockings. He held them up to the light and stared at the diaphanous black nylons with their darker reinforced Cuban heels and stocking-tops; tiny diamantes decorated the satiny stocking-tops and Cuban heels; a black seam ran up the back of the stockings. He licked his lips and gently fingered the gossamer hose, being careful not to snag them. These he lay gently next to the rest of the lingerie on the bed.
The Predator felt himself stiffen and he turned his back to the bed and walked over to dressing table; he picked up a bright-red lipstick and wrote on the mirror in large letters: 'DON'T FORGET THE BLONDE WIG!!!' He checked that the window was locked, pulled the blinds and ripped the phone out of the wall socket. As he heard the shower stop in the bathroom he walked out of bedroom and went down the corridor into the kitchen. He was fully sober now and needed a drink. He found and opened a bottle of red wine; he guzzled the wine straight out of the bottle, thin streams of the dark red liquor ran from the corners of his mouth. The Predator pulled a kitchen chair into the corridor to where he could see the bedroom door and straddled the chair so that his elbows rested on the backrest. He occasionally gulped from the bottle as he finalised his plan, all the time his icy cold eyes stared at the bedroom door.
Michele emerged from the bathroom full of resolve and determination. She didn't know what the Predator had in store for her but she knew that she would not be able to overpower him unless she could catch him off guard; maybe acquire some form of weapon in the house, or make an escape whilst he was distracted. She had thought about her predicament whilst she stood under the shower washing away the residues of his attacks. She hurt a little down there, but it was only a weak throb caused from being invaded in a place that until tonight had been virginal. Michele knew that she had to pretend to comply with Predator's every wish until she had a chance to escape or incapacitate him.
Michele looked around the bedroom and was glad to see that he had left the room; she didn't want him to see her as a man; somehow she could deal with the humiliation while she was dressed and feeling like a woman; but standing powerless, man to man, in front of him would be unbearable. She looked around the room at her scattered clothes that the Predator had swept from her bed and her eyes settled on where he had laid out what she was to wear. She sat down at her dresser and looked in the mirror. The predator's warning glared at her; 'DON'T FORGET THE BLONDE WIG!!!' in big red letters. She was tempted to wipe the lipsticked threat from the glass but she thought that should she get through this the writing may be evidence that could be useful to the authorities. Couldn't the police identify criminals from their handwriting? Who was she kidding? There was no way she was going to the police or anybody with her story. It was inconceivable that she would confess to being a transvestite and even more inconceivable that she would admit to what had been done to her by this monster. Besides the authorities would probably think she was a freak and got only what she deserved. Michele fetched the blond bob from its wig-stand and placed it on the dresser and arranged her makeup in order to begin her transformation.
The Predator had finalised his plan; he knew exactly how he was going to degrade this cunt! She couldn't tell anyone about what was happening to her because she was obviously living a double life; he doubted a soul knew she was transvestite. That would be the weapon he would use to control her over the coming hours; the fear of discovery of her fucked up double life. And what an interesting few hours it would be! Moving in the circles he did, the Predator knew a few close companions who would love to play this game with him. Of course none of them knew he was the infamous rapist known as "The Predator" who was carving a swathe of terror through the city; but they were intimate enough that they had shared their sadistic fantasies with each other. Oh yes; even though he would have to wake them in these early hours, he knew they would love to participate in his game. He reached into his shirt pocket and took out his cellular phone. As he punched up the phonebook he sniggered to himself.
Michele commenced her ritual; she stroked her face with her fingertips.
Her skin was still smooth from the close shave she had had two hours ago. God, had this nightmare only been happening for two hours? It seemed like forever! She applied a thick but even basecoat of foundation to her face and neck and then set it with a liberal dusting of matching face powder. She then went to work on her eyes. Michele forced her hand to remain steady whilst she applied eyeliner, as close to her lash-line as possible, to her upper and lower eyelids. She started in the very corner of her each eye and worked outwards applying two or three coats and touching up where necessary so that her eyes were framed by the black makeup. The concentration required to apply the eyeliner almost took her mind off the current situation. Next she carefully brushed dark pink eyeshadow onto her eyelids working from the inner corner of each eye to the centre above her pupils. She worked the powder upwards to her eyebrows and then applied a coat of aqua-blue out to the far corners of her eyes, lightening the shade as she worked it up to her brows. This colour effect had worked for her before with the blond wig; she was trying to archive that 'society-slut' look again. She stifled a laugh as she realised the efforts she was going to satisfy the monster waiting for her outside the door. Michele again realised that her mind was operating its own defence mechanism; if she didn't laugh she would scream.
Michele smoothed and blended the eyeshadow with a small brush and made final adjustments with her fingertip. She noticed the plum red nail polish on her fingernails; she must have done a good job applying it earlier because it didn't even need a touch-up. At least she wouldn't have to worry about what colour lipstick to wear; every girl knew that you should match your nail polish and lipstick if possible; she stared to giggle hysterically again and forced herself to stop. Next she applied lashings of mascara to her upper and lower eyelashes; her hand started shaking again and a few small clumps of mascara fell onto her cheek and she carefully lifted them off with her little fingernail. "Concentrate!" she whispered to herself; the last thing she needed to do was fuck up her makeup and have to start all over again! She cleaned the mascara brush and evened out any small clumps that clung to her lashes. She was always amazed at how her eye makeup highlighted the colour of her eyes and made them shine and sparkle; "Not bad for an old boiler," she giggled to herself again. She gripped the edge of the dresser and forced herself to stop before she became hysterical.
The Predator had made six phone calls and had been successful in getting through to four of his acquaintances (he wouldn't call them friends as such; just persons with a mutual attraction to sexual peccadillos that shall we say, strayed from the accepted norm). Two of those he spoke to had declined his offer, the hour being too late, but two of them leapt at the proposal he put to them; they were even now getting out of bed, dressing, and preparing to meet up with him. After all, how could men like these resist having sex with a stuck up society bitch who liked it rough and hard; if her fantasy was to pretend to be taken against her will by tough, hard men; then they were just what she was looking for. Of course the Predator hadn't told them the real story; he didn't want to spoil their surprise! He took another slug of wine from the bottle and smiled his lizard smile to himself.
Michele applied blush to her cheeks and smoothed it into her foundation and face powder and then dusted her whole face and neck with coating of sheer-glow finishing powder, being careful not to smudge her mascara and eyeliner. Finally she applied two coats of plum coloured lipstick, biting down on tissue after each coat to set the lipstick. She adjusted the blond bob wig on her head and checked out the result in her mirror. The transformation never failed to astound her; from a plain, smooth-faced man she had become a heavily made-up middle-aged woman. Her blonde fringe framed her exotic eyes and her bangs caressed her rouged cheeks and highlighted her luscious red mouth. Now she needed to complete the transformation.
Michele sat on the edge of the bed and inspected the clothes that had been laid out for her. She rose once more went to her dresser and opened a drawer, she extracted a package of sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose; size large, colour taupe-sand, the packaging said. She sat on the bed again and eased the pantyhose from the slim packet and slipped the hosiery over her pretty painted toes and slid the sheer nylon up her feet one foot at a time. She carefully eased the pantyhose up her legs keeping the nylon taught; smoothing out the wrinkles as she went. She stood up and pulled the waistband of the pantyhose up over her crotch and smoothed the nylon gusset around her midriff to just below her bellybutton. Michele adjusted her sex so that the bulge it created was minimal. She took the black satin suspender-belt and adjusted it around her waist so that the top of garment covered the waistband of the pantyhose.
Michele sat back down on the bed and drew the diaphanous black nylon stockings up her legs one at a time; the stockings sighed their nylon on nylon whisper as they glided over her pantyhosed legs. She adjusted the Cuban heels and carefully adjusted the back-seams so they lay straight and centred along the back of her legs and then clipped the garters hanging from the suspender-belt to the reinforced stocking tops. As she smoothed the nylons along her legs she suppressed the shiver of excitement she always felt when she stroked her hosed legs. Michele stepped into the red panties; they were full-cut with a lace panel at the front, the gusset and seat were shiny red satin; there was no cotton panel in the gusset; none of Michele's panties or knickers had cotton gussets, she loved the feel of nylon and satin on her body not cotton.
She hooked the brassiere together and eased it over her head, adjusting the straps on her shoulders and settling the cups in the right position; she walked over to a drawer and took out several pairs of old pantyhose which she stuffed into the cups of the bra to fill them. Next she stepped into the black leather mini and pulled the skirt up her legs and adjusted it around her waist; she left it unzipped until she had donned the white nylon blouse. Again she struggled with the buttons being on the opposite side to which she was used to; she tucked the blouse into her skirt and zipped it up. She arranged the ruffles on her décolletage and lifted up her skirt to pull the bottom of the blouse so it hung straight and tight against her body; she noticed the light glimmer off the tiny diamantes that decorated her black reinforced stocking tops as she smoothed down the mini and straightened the hem at mid-thigh.
Michele moved over to the dresser and inspected herself in the mirror; with her blond hair, leather mini and her red brassiere showing through the gauzy white blouse she looked like a middle-aged, well to do, hooker. She decided to contrast all the red she was wearing by clipping silver mounted emerald drops to her ears and placing a silver and emerald necklace around her neck and matching bracelets on both wrists. She put on four large silver rings, two on the fingers of each hand; the rings were set with emeralds and rubies. It was all costume jewellery of course. She sat back on the bed and slid her feet into the red leather high-heeled sandals; buckling the thin red straps just below her ankles.
These were her highest heels and she always had problems walking in them; she wondered how she would fare trying to run away in them. Michele fastened a silver anklet below her left ankle; another fake emerald glittered as it hung from the thin silver chain fastened to the anklet. Finally she stood up and tottered over to the dresser and sprayed a liberal amount of 'Poison' cologne on her neck and décolletage; she reached down under her skirt and sprayed her thighs as well; she giggled again and had to compose herself once more so that she would not break down. She had to convince this revolting man that she was his compliant plaything until she could make her move and escape. Michele took a deep breath and opened the bedroom door; she was ready!