She lay naked on the cold concrete basement floor, covered in angry red welts, her hands by her head, cuffed by the wrists to the thick leather collar...around her neck. The cruel clamps around her nipples had become unbearable an hour ago, only a few minutes after Master had placed them there. Her modest breasts were especially bruised - Master liked the knowledge that Jeannie's breasts would be sore every time she wore a bra for days after these little sessions. The sharp kiss of Master's. " "Yes Raymond, I have had warm feelings for you and then Wednesday I began to wonder why I didn't consider you might have a friend already." "So you saw a woman here, right? Wearing a skirt and blouse, white wig, pumps?" "Yes Raymond, who is she, a sister, a lady friend?" As much as I miss my wife, I felt like a horse's ass for dressing up in her clothes where I could be seen. Crap. I really like Lois and she might not want to take lessons from a man who dresses like a woman for any. My eyes really are brown, and the jewellery and accessories are realenough, but my looks are a fake. My hair is a wig, a very real lookingone, but a wig. My breasts are pads inside a bra, and my body has beenpadded expertly inside these clothes that I wear to make me appearfemale. And I dread what my *mother* will want done to my body in thelong term. I wonder what my friends would think if they knew thateverything I say and every move I make is all an act? That I hatetalking about boys and. I had never been in jail before and I was scared and it showed. I was young, slightly built, and timid as hell.The cellblock I was housed in was on the 4th floor. There were two sides - east and westsides. They had one correctional officer to supervise both sides. He sat out in a hallway and was supposed to make rounds every 15 minutes, but those lazy fucks never did. They only came in for lock downs. The noise level was hellish, and all kinds of shit went on in those cells that the guards.
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