It was probably 6 or seven months after the funeral when our relationship changed drastically. I had resumed my cross dressing habit. My weakness has ...lways been pantyhose. For as early as I can remember (three years old), I have been sneaking hose out of the laundry and wearing them.Diane had the perfect closet to borrow from. She was 5'9”, 170lbs, and ample D-cup breasts. She always wore suntan hose, even under jeans and sweats on the weekends. On my luckiest days, she would ask me for a foot. I mumbled OK. Her grin was wide as she straddled my stomach and kissed my mouth. Her tongue penetrating. It was like she was already getting ready for it. Getting into that mindframe.That night she let me fuck her. And I came far too quickly. I could see she was disappointed, but the conversation quickly moved on to the weekend. She said Saturday she was the day she would do me.The conversation was deeply uncomfortable for me. I could feel my face reddening as she talked about it. She seemed to. I joined his rhythm, and slowly started fucking him, but this wasn’t the best position for me. “Oh, this is amazing, fucking amazing”, he says, “fuck my tight hole, fuck it harder”, that was my queue, I sat up, pushing him over onto his back, and pushed a cushion under his arse, to lift him a little, and without even pulling out of him.I lent forward and started kissing him, whilst fucking him just a little faster, this still wasn’t a great position for me, I pulled out of him, “what the fuck. Finding his voice he said, "I'm speechless." You want us, together, don't you?" she asked seductively."Why hell yes," he replied immediately with a no-shit laugh."You have all the power," she told him, "Tell us to do something. Tell your wife to do something, anything, she'll do it."I put an idea in his head. He immediately said, "Pull your ass cheeks open and tell Darla to eat your ass."Immediately, Darla crawled behind her and Liz reached back, pulling her cheeks as wide apart as she could.
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