Caramel And Devin

“Have a seat on the bed while I get you something to put on, ” I said, struggling to regain my composure.

Inside my closet, I found a pair of one of my most feminine, strappy high-heeled sandals from Via Spiga for Devin to try on. When he slid his feet into them, I fastened the delicate straps around his tiny ankles and had him stand up in them. The height of the heels strained his calves tautly, stretching his long firm thighs and elongating the symmetrical orbs of his plump, protuberant ass. Looking downward, he said, “I love the way they make me look, but I don’t know if Ill be able to walk in them.”

“It’ll take some practice, ” I admitted. “No one’s born knowing how to walk in high heels.”

I put on an equally tall pair of heels to guide him around the house until he learned how to move about with a sexy little sway. Then we spent the next hour or so changing in and out of various sexy outfits, doing each others hair and makeup and posing before the mirror together. At one point, I just couldn’t seem to stop staring at Devin and began to think of him as her.

She, Devin, was wearing an ensemble of mine of black lace, including a waist cinch that laced up the back with four ribbons to hold up the stockings and matching thong which barely encased her cock and balls. The underwire bra created the illusion of a sexy, feminine cleavage and her pretty pink nipples peeked through the lace. Her narrow, pedicured feet were arched upward in black patent leather mules with tapering five inch heels. All I had on was a lacy white LaPerla bra and panty set to show off my brown skin and a pair of five inch tall clear lucite platforms from Frederick’s of Hollywood. Devin had seen me in a variety of sexy outfits from my collection by now, but this one seemed to intrigue her more than anything else I’d worn. She became unusually quiet and somber and instead of looking at our reflections in the mirror, we found ourselves silently staring each other up and down.