Femme Fatale

A month later, in his office at Femme Fatale, Derek, eyeing the monitor by which he maintained secret surveillance of the women's dressing room, watched one after another fabulously beautiful transsexual undress as she tried on an evening gown, pantsuit, dress, or other stylish garment. He grinned. It looked as though he wouldn't be giving his notice after all. Being a security guard for Femme Fatale had suddenly become a whole lot more exciting than it had been for the past month, now that Daphne's article had appeared in Transsexual Express and Femme Fatale was crowded wall-to-wall with beautiful shemales wanting to try on bras and panties, skirts and blouses, and jeans and bikinis. He watched the shemale he'd spied on in the dressing room walk out of the store, her tight ass swaying provocatively in her taut low-riders. He recalled the sight of her delightful derriere in the orange pink thong bottom, with the single, thin strap running upward, through her cleavage, to unite with the band around her waist, and his balls ached worse. His jutting cock had made the front of his pants a tent. He couldn't wait to see Daphne naked again, especially since the beautiful shemale was hot to suck and fuck.

Cindy smiled at his erection. "I have a break coming," she told him, "and I like cream in my coffee. Interested?"

"Lead the way," he said, grinning. Yes, sir, Derek told himself as he watched Cindy's ass swivel in her tight skirt, he was going to enjoy working here. He might not be promoted, but he was certain to get a raise every day!