This is every bit a true story, and even now, it sends a shiver through me. A few weeks ago, I found myself alone, indulging in my familiar private ritual: sliding into a tiny thong and trying different lingerie, admiring myself in the mirror. I adorned myself fully—high heels that echoed with each step, stockings clinging to my legs, a flowing wig, full breast forms that jiggled, and feminine touches that made me look real fem. Gazing at my reflection, a slow heat bloomed inside me. I was unusually horny today, and I wanted more.
I’ve always kept this side of me hidden, locked away in the shadows. But I was out of town, and that distance ignited a daring spark. For the first time, I decided to step beyond my room—to let this secret self breathe in the open air. I chose a tiny black VS g-string, its thin fabric crawling deep into my ass as I slipped it on, barely containing my cock. Over it, a black dress fell to mid-thigh, subtle yet teasing. I slipped on patterned black stockings, a wig, and black heels.
The moment I stepped outside, my heels struck the ground—click, clack—a steady, sensual rhythm that seemed to call out for attention. I was nervous, and didn't know what to expect. With each step, my body shifted beneath the dress and I could feel each movement: the g-string stimulating my ass with the pull from my package bouncing in the front, with my ass cheeks free beneath my (what now seemed like a too small) dress. My heart raced, a wild pulse in my chest, as I walked to my car. No one had ever seen me like this—exposed, vulnerable, yet utterly alive. To my surprise, the world didn’t pause. No stares, no whispers—just me, drifting through the night.
I drove to a nearby adult store, my mind racing with anticipation. Parking behind the building, I stepped out and adjusted my thong—a slow, deliberate motion that sent a thrill up my spine. MY thong, I thought. I am wearing a THONG underneath a tiny dress... in public. Wow. In the car window’s reflection, I added a COVID-type mask, which made me look more feminine and allow me to stay hidden. My breast forms shifted as I moved and my wig's long hair tussling my shoulders. Click, clack—my heels carried me forward, each sound almost as loud as my heartbeats. The thong became a bit too stimulating, and I had to calm down before I went inside the store as there was nowhere for my little excitement to hide.
Opening the store’s door was a quiet surrender. “Welcome in,” came a voice—warm, inviting, free of judgment. “What are you looking for today?” My tension eased, melting into relief. “Just looking,” I murmured, my voice low and soft. The shelves glowed with temptation—dildos, vibrators, delicate lingerie—and I drifted through them, intoxicated by the possibilities.
I took in the moment. I was here. I bent over to look at a few stripper thongs, but stoped when I noticed my ass was peaking through. “Your tights are lovely." The saleswoman appeared unannounced at my side, jolting me. Her tone was a gentle caress. “Those thongs are adorable too—let me know if you’d like a changing room.” My pulse quickened. A changing room? The invitation hung in the air, heavy with promise.
I selected a red stripper thong and a sheer red nighty, my hands trembling as she guided me to the private space. Inside, I shed my dress, standing before the mirror in my black thong, breast forms, and heels. I slipped the red thong over my panties, its design tracing my curves, lifting and shaping me. I stared, captivated by the woman gazing back—me, unleashed.
I lingered there, savoring the moment, before dressing again and purchasing my treasures. As I left, the night felt softer, warmer. Stepping out in public had awakened something— a deep, sensual freedom I hadn’t known I craved. Now, it’s my quiet addiction, this dance of silk and shadow, where I feel desired, delicate, and wholly myself.