The Cottage Ch. 03

Michele cleaned herself up as best she could in the bedroom; she only had the small sink but the water was hot and she had some face cloths and towels. She checked the door again and was happy that the chair jammed against the door handle would hold. She shucked out of her skirt and blouse, and her come-stained knickers and hose. She removed her wig and washed off her makeup. She was Mike again; the lean rangy youth whose uncle sat in the next room drinking himself into oblivion.

Mike spent a restless night but managed to fall asleep in the early hours just before dawn. When he woke up it was nearly midday and the cottage was deathly silent. The bedroom was cold and there was only wan light through the frost-crusted window. Mike got out of bed wrapping himself in the doona to keep warm. The bedside lamp would not illuminate and then he noticed that the comforting hum of the generator had stopped. The silence was deafening.

Mike went over to the window and saw that the snow had drifted right up to the sill. He would not be leaving the cottage today. Fuck! What was he to do now?

He decided that he would keep up the ruse of being Michele. Steve hadn't figured out that he was a transvestite and, more importantly, that Michele was really his nephew; and Mike wanted that secret to not be revealed at all costs. He wasn't stupid; he knew Steve would probably keep demanding sex from him but if he could keep the sex confined to the dry humping and, if he had to, a little fellatio, then that was the price he would have to pay. He made the mental connection that transformed him from thinking like Mike into thinking like Michele.

Michele had given long hard thought to the events of yesterday. She was disgusted that her uncle had forced himself on her but she had to admit that deep down inside she was a little flattered that she could invoke lust and desire in a man. After all, what was the point in dressing like a woman if you couldn't behave like one?

That said; the sex was very unsettling. She had been forced to capitulate twice now and even though she felt totally feminie when dressed as Michele, she was very much aware she was a boy in a girl's clothing. She was a little surprised that she wasn't more repulsed by the sex, especially the fellatio. In drab, as she was now, the thought of sucking a man's cock was repulsive, but when she was dressed as Michele she had to admit that she was quite inquisitive about the experience. It was not as bad as she had thought it would be; it was a little empowering, having a man beg you to suck his cock, and it was not that hard a skill to master. Even the taste of semen was not too revolting.

It couldn't have been that bad; the evidence was in her panties! She had orgasmed at some stage whilst performing fellatio yesterday so she must have enjoyed it to some extent.

It was all too much, too fast! She loved dressing up as Michele and she had to admit that she found it exciting to some extent that a man lusted after her. She just wished the man wasn't her uncle and that he didn't force himself on her.

She cleared her mind and thought about what she would do today. She needed a shower and to transform. The problem was that most of her clothes were how would you say it? Licentious? Provocative? Sluttish? Yes; that was it: sluttish! Her wardrobe consisted of miniskirts, tight blouses, high-heels and sexy lingerie. The last thing she wanted was to be dressed like a trollop around Steve. Michele walked over the wardrobe and opened it, flicking through the skirts and blouses until she found the nice business suit skirt-jacket combination that she had bought at Oxfam. It was almost exactly like the suits her mother wore to work and was the closest thing she had to modest attire. He laid it out on the bed.

Snap! In her mind she was Mike once again.

Mike cautiously removed the stool from against the door and opened it just a crack. Steve was fast asleep on the couch surrounded by empty booze bottles. He was snoring and it was obvious he wouldn't be waking for quite a while. Mike briefly considered checking Steve's pockets for his car keys and stealing his car but he couldn't drive very well and even if he could the road was under three feet of snow.

He padded across the room still wrapped in the doona, his feet cold on the bare floor. The fires in the hearth and the combustion stove had burned down to embers but they still provided enough heat to keep the cottage tolerable and to keep the hot water warm. Mike shaved closely even though he wasn't very hirsute and his facial hair was only really fluff. He took a long hot shower and brushed his teeth. He checked the coast was clear and padded back to his bedroom.

Time to become Michele once more!

Snap!

Michele sat down at the dresser and applied foundation and finishing powder, then eyeliner and then eyeshadow, blush and lipstick. A final coat of finishing powder and she was nearly done. She spent a few minutes painstakingly applying mascara to her eyelashes and after a few touches she was happy with the results. She would have liked to become a blonde today but the sudden change in hair style and colour would definitely raise Steve's suspicions so she brushed out the shoulder-length brunette bob she had worn yesterday, fitted it to her head and adjusted it so the fringe sat straight.

Her toenails and fingernails were still coated with the plum red nailpolish she had applied yesterday and they didn't require any touching up.

Once again Michele was amazed at the transformation; she looked very attractive and feminine. She had laid out some underwear on the bed next to the suit and now came the most exciting part of the transformation. Putting on her lingerie. She put on a mauve satin brassiere and filled the cups with her homemade breastforms. She stepped into the matching full-cut panties, having first carefully gaffed her penis out of the way. She decided that today she would wear stockings instead of pantyhose. As much as liked the feel of the sleek pantyhose gusset caressing her parts; there was something sensual and exotic about wearing stockings.

She fitted a black lace suspender belt around her waist and led the garters through the waistband of her panties and out the leg-holes. She had found out to her chagrin that if she put the garters over her panties; she couldn't pull her panties down very far to attend to nature's calls.

She opened a packet of Mayfair fifteen-denier fully-fashioned stockings. They were flesh-toned but the back-seam, welts and reinforced Cuban-heels and toes were black. She sat on the bed and carefully rolled them up her lean, coltish legs and pulled them taught and smoothed out the wrinkles. She clipped them to the silver clasps on the suspenders and walked over to the vanity mirror. They looked extravagant and sensuous and they emphasised her long, toned legs. She pulled on a black rayon half-slip and a mauve satin long sleeved blouse. She buttoned the blouse and stepped into the navy-blue skirt. It was tight around her buttocks but at least the hem came down to just above her knees so she would have some modesty whilst she was around Steve. She stepped into a pair of black high-heeled court shoes, what the Americans pumps, and pulled on the suit jacket. It too was tight so she left it unbuttoned.

She checked herself out in the mirror and made a few adjustments, she turned side-on and straightened the seams of her stockings and then she walked over to the dresser and clipped on earrings, slipped rings on her fingers and bracelets on her wrists and a nice silver necklace around her neck. She sprayed herself liberally with Poison and then she was ready.

She was once again Michele Nylons, transvestite vixen!

Michele cautiously opened the bedroom door and peeked into the lounge. Steve was still asleep, she was aware that her high-heels were click-clacking on the hard floor and despite the cold she kicked off her pumps and carried them with her into the kitchen so as not to wake her uncle. She stoked the fire in the combustion stove and considered going out to refill the generator fuel tank but she was hardly dressed for it and although the soft light coming through the windows was not very bright, it illuminated the cottage sufficiently and once she got the combustion stove rekindled and lounge room hearth fire burning the place would soon warm up.

She made herself tea and toast and then went back to her room to collect the underwear and blouse she had worn the previous day. She washed them in warm water, rinsed them, and hung them up to dry on the shower rail in bathroom. Just like her mother and sister did at home. She hung up the skirt she had worn yesterday in the wardrobe and made the bed. Doing all these ordinary things took her mind off the obvious question: what was going to happen when Steve woke up?

Michele went back into the lounge and saw that the fire was nearly out; the room was getting cold despite the heat coming from the combustion stove in the kitchen. Michele squatted down next to hearth and began to rebuild the fire.

Steve opened one eye first and then the other. His head ached and his mouth tasted like shit. Then he smiled as he gazed at the sight presented before him. The girl was squatting next to the fire; her luscious arse clad in a tight skirt, her legs encased in taupe stockings with black back-seams and reinforced heels and toes. Her jacket was tight around her waist. She had her back to him and her hair was sleek and shiny. He could smell her perfume from here. His cock flinched but as soon as he tried to get up a bolt of pain shot though his forehead.

Michele heard his movements and she looked back over her shoulder, she looked vulnerable and he could see fear in her eyes. She was safe for now though; Steve was in no shape to do much at all. He reeled to his feet and staggered over to his bedroom.

"Good night," he mumbled, and collapsed on the bed.

Michele closed the door behind him, grateful that he was well away from her. She slipped on her high-heels and commenced cleaning the house. She found the chores strangely satisfying. She like being dressed as a woman flitting around the house doing the day to day tasks that most women found boring. She liked washing her clothes, making her bed, sweeping the room, washing the dishes and clearing away the clutter. It made her feel more like a woman somehow.

She made herself another cup of tea and sat down and stole one of Steve's cigarettes and smoked it while she thought long and hard about where she was, what she had become, and what had happened to her. Her fascination with her mother and sister's panties and hosiery as a young boy had developed into a full blown fetish as she entered puberty. It had evolved into crossdressing in her early teens and had matured to the stage where she was now a full-on transvestite. She even though like a woman when she was dressed as Michele. Well she thought she thought like a woman anyway.

She whiled away the afternoon drinking tea, reading magazines and tending to the fire. She did anything that took her mind away from her dilemma. What to do about Steve?

She considered the obvious; just changing back into Mike but how would he explain what happened to Michele? He could sit his uncle down and talk to him man to man and explain that he was a transvestite; but the consequences were not worth considering. She could remain dressed in drag and explain to Steve that she was really Mike, his nephew, but once again the consequences were unfathomable. She decided the best thing to do was remain in character as Michele and bluff her way through the next few days and try to keep Steve at bay as much as possible.

It was nearly dark when she heard Steve stumbling about in his bedroom. A cold chill ran down her spine.

Steve half staggered out of the bedroom wearing only his jeans; his hair dishevelled and his eyes bloodshot.

"Jesus; what fucking time is it?" he mumbled.

"Late," Michele replied.

She decided to lead the conversation away from yesterday's events and away from anything to with sex.

"Would you like some dinner? I can make us soup and sandwiches?" she asked.

"Sure. Anything you want love," Steve replied absentmindedly, intent on getting to the bathroom.

He left the door open and Michele could hear him pissing into the toilet bowl. It was somehow vaguely erotic imagining him siphoning his long thick cock; and Michele shook her head to clear the image from her mind and concentrated on making their dinner. She heard the bathroom door slam and the shower begin to run and she wondered if Steve had left the door open on purpose when he peed just to annoy her.

He came out of the bathroom about half an hour later, a cloud of steam bellowing from the door. He looked a lot better. He'd shaved, showered and washed his hair. He wore it a little long for a man in his forties. He had a towel around his waist and Michele couldn't help but look. He'd once been very well built but now sported a little pot; he had very little body hair and Michele thought he wasn't too bad for a man his age. He was certainly handsome; handsome enough for her mother to have an affair with at least.

He smiled at her as he walked past the kitchen on the way to his bedroom.

"Smells good," he smiled again.

Michele smiled back despite her loathing for him. She was confused by her feelings. She despised him for what he had done to her; whilst at the same time she found herself vexingly attracted to him. She stirred the soup and then laid the table. She made sandwiches and poured the soup into bowls and bought them to the table. She quite liked playing the role of a housewife whilst being dressed like this. She imagined she was a character in one of the many novels she read; the pretty young housewife who needs to be rescued perhaps? She smiled to herself and once again shook her head.

"Silly cow!" she whispered to herself.

Steve came out of his bedroom wearing a dressing gown and slippers. He smelt of soap and aftershave; very masculine.

"This looks great," he beamed as he sat down at the table.

Michele sat down opposite him and they both ate in awkward silence. Steve got up from the table and went to the kitchen; he opened the fridge and took out a bottle of wine.

"Want one?" he showed the bottle to Michele.

She nodded and Steve bought the wine and glasses to the table and poured them both a drink.

"Here's hoping the snow clears soon," he held out his glass and Michele clinked hers to his.

"Jesus, I hope it does. Looks like there's still some more to come though," he nodded to the window; sheets of snow whipped against the glass.

"Yes I hope so too," Michele said soberly.

The awkward silence continued until eventually Steve couldn't take it any more.

"Look about yesterday............I'm sorry............I was pissed and I'd just left my wife and I was angry and stupid. I'm so sorry," the words stumbled out.

"You raped me," Michele's head was bowed; she couldn't look him in the eye.

"Wow-there girly! I wouldn't call it rape? It was just a little slap and tickle," he tried to make light of it.

"Forcing your penis into my mouth is slap and tickle is it?" Michele responded.

"Oh come on love; don't be like that. I thought you liked it. Never mind; I promise I won't do anything like that again," he said apologetically.

"Thank you," Michele replied cynically.

"Unless you want too," Steve added cheekily.

Michele glowered at him from across the table and Steve held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"Ok, ok, ok, just joking," he beamed and went back to his sandwich.

Despite him being a complete arsehole there was something about his cheeky manner that was hard to dislike. Michele smiled to herself and sipped her soup.

After they had eaten and drank two glasses of wine Michele stood up and began to clear the table. She took her dishes into the kitchen and returned for Steve's. As she removed his tableware she was very aware of her close proximity to him. She could smell his aftershave and maleness; almost a musky smell; it was quite sentient. Steve was also aware of Michele's presence; her perfume and makeup, the swish of her nylons as she walked. His cock began to become tumescent.

When she turned to walk away he playfully slapped her arse.

Michele spun on her heels and glared at him but he just gave her a whimsical grin and held up his hands apologetically. She couldn't help but smile back.

"Behave," she said sternly; but she was smiling when she said it.

She turned back to the kitchen and be damned if she didn't swing her lovely arse from side to side; sashaying her buttocks as she walked back to the sink. Steve stared at her ample backside in the tight skirt; his gaze traced the dark back-seams of her stockings from knees to heels. God she was a sexy young thing!

Michele was as surprised as Steve was when she strutted into the kitchen. She had practiced walking around the cottage seductively many times when she had been here alone but this was the first time she had done so in the presence of another person. She knew Steve would be checking out her legs and her behind and she couldn't help but tease him just a little.

"Can I have another sandwich then?" Steve asked.

"Make it yourself! I'm not your maid!" Michele replied.

"Mmmmmm! I like to see you dressed like a maid," he chuckled.

"Like I said; behave!" she smiled back.

Steve took a couple of slices of bread and the butter dish over to the lounge and ate slices of bread and butter as he drank his wine. He got up to get another bottle of wine and went back to his seat; his eyes straying to Michele's firm buttocks.

He came for her again about ten o'clock that evening.

Steve had been amiable enough for most of the evening but then he started drinking heavily again. Michele had a few glasses of wine with him and they got along for a while but after a while he started making lewd comments.

"Good you look good in that suit; I'd like to kiss your toes and then follow the seams of your stockings with my tongue," he said to Michele who was now sitting across from him on the couch.

"Behave Steve; you promised you would," she chided him.

"But you're just so sexy; I want to do things to you," he leered.

Fingers of fear once again stroked Michele's psyche. She knew he would soon want more that to just talk about sex; he would want her body. She weighed her options but there weren't many. She could run to her bedroom and hope that the stool against the lock would hold the door shut, which was unlikely. She could wipe away her makeup and pull off her wig and expose herself as Steve's nephew but the consequences were unthinkable. She could try to fight him off; but even half-drunk he was stronger than she was.

Or she could capitulate. She could encourage him and let him hump her legs and arse as he liked to do; worst case scenario she could even fellate him. It had turned out giving her uncle a little head wasn't as bad as she'd imagined; after all she had orgasmed when she did it last. This seemed the safest option. Play along; but at all costs prevent him from finding out that she was a boy.

"What sort of things?" she looked over the rim of her wine glass.

The room was dark; lit only by the firelight and two kerosene lamps now that the generator had failed.

Steve looked at her intently; was the little vixen playing along? She sat on the couch with her legs curled under her; the navy-blue suit clung to her body. The jacket was unbuttoned and the mauve satin blouse was tight around her small breasts. Her skirt had ridden up a little; he could see she was wearing a black slip; the lace edging peeped from under the hem of her skirt. Her long legs, clad in the taupe nylons, seemed to shimmer in the lamplight and he was sure he could just make out the dark bands of her welts. She was wearing stockings! It made sense now, and explained the dark back-seams and the reinforced fully-fashioned Cuban-heels on her nylons. She seductively dangled one of her black high-heels from the toes of her right foot.