Anklets

This is my story. I'm a genetic woman in my .. *late* 40's . I was introduced to the TG world when I was a teenager... back then I was, and in some ways still am, a "tomboy trapped in a woman's body". I thought *girl clothes* were so ridiculous for ME to wear, that I put them on boys just to piss off my mother and aunts.

I was married to a "tgirl" for decades, happily.. and now we're divorced. It's a very long, perhaps even a boring story, of how this story happened, but I came to be the live-in sexual slave to an attractive Domme for 2 years, 24/7/365 . She was/is a very unique Dominant as She is a Transgendered woman, passable and living as female yet with a fully functional well-endowed .. cock. For this autobiographical tale, I shall call Her Kathleen.

All in all it was a wonderful time. Once it started, it was even something my husband (read "hubby/girl" (now divorced) encouraged.

Some time has passed since that time and now I've begun to write this all down. This particular weekend happened just before I moved in with Her 24/7.

*Anklets*

Part 1 – The Greeting

Mistress Kathleen emailed me that morning with a checklist.. a laundry list of things I should bring and have for that evening: -3 full changes of clothes, head-to-toe, with very specific details about what every single item of the outfit should be, then each placed in a simple plastic suit bag. -a shoulder bag of Her sex toys, each cleaned and washed separately, that She had left me to clean on Her last visit.

Everything in Her message was detailed right down to the scent of perfume I should be wearing, even how I should bathe before I departed to see Her, but somehow only sketchy details on the address. I guess it was always part of Her air of mystery.

I knew what sort of night it would be.. and I clearly knew what might happen to me.. I just didn't know who... was going to happen to me.

It was a rather upscale neighborhood. I had trouble finding the address, the sort of area where the homes were too expensive to have numbers, nor the streets to have lights. To make things worse, I was late. When I reached the address, a young lady flagged me down. at the street before I could turn in the driveway. She was standing, sort of leaning against the mailbox, holding her purse. My first thought was that she was lost or something...