Derek washed his feet and ankles in the shower. They were covered with dirt and mud. And underneath that were the scars, some of them still bleeding. He'd staggered through brush, off the trail, some of it waist-high, some of it low, in search of the smoke. The woodsy smell. Led by the other man, his savior. His thighs and waist were scarred too, though not as bad.
He'd been instructed by his rescuer not to run the hot water too long. The heater was small, half-sized. So after the dirt was gone and the rest of his shaved body washed off, he turned the shower water off and stepped out. A folded towel had been laid out for him on the adjacent sink, and now he--gently--patted his sore body dry. In the small mirror he looked over his shoulder at the wounds on his ass. Both once-pale butt-cheeks. They were red, crisscrossing pink and red. It would take upwards to two weeks for them to heal. His goddamned Dom. What a fucking...wanker, as the Brits liked to say.
After toweling off Derek ventured into the adjacent bedroom. His host, his rescuer had told him he'd lay out some clothes for him. But on the bed was an array of women's underwear. Old-fashioned underwear. A pale pastel (silk?) granny panty. A C-cup bra. Black stockings. A garter belt. A short-cut honey-blonde wig...
"There's lipstick on her dresser," his host advised, having just entered the bedroom doorway.
Derek was still shaking his head. WTF??
"Every house should have a woman in it. And tonight at least, you're my woman. These are my wife's things. She died two years ago from cancer. I miss her terribly. Dress up like her or I'll toss you back out of my cabin, into the freezing cold.
Derek protested, mildly, "But I..."
"You told me you were tied to a tree, and your Dom was whipping you...What kind of man does that if he's not submissive? Effeminate? Dress up for me," the man commanded. "Do it." He left the doorway.
Derek examined the underwear on the bed, fingering it, giving it a feel. He would've been lying if he said it didn't turn him on a little. Being rescued by this man had already given him something of a hard-on. But now dressing up in his dead wife's underwear? It aroused him even more.
It would not be, in truth, the first time he'd dressed in women's underwear. He used to perform, crossdressed, on a livestream sex site. He played music in the background, he danced. As more and more viewers entered his "room", and gave their directions, he'd end up naked, or nearly so, a jelly dildo up his ass, which was now turned to his computer camera. He enjoyed showing off his slender, "dressed" body to other men, including his Dom. But his Dom had heard distant gunshots--shotgun blasts--had freaked out and run, leaving Derek tied to a tree. It was this man here, tonight, in this cabin, 12-gauge leaning by the door, who'd rescued him. Given him shelter and safety. Dressing for him was, well, the least he could do. Right?
He pulled on the pale pastel granny panties, the waistline of which came up nearly to his navel. Once fully dressed, including the wig, and after he'd applied bright-red lipgloss to his lips, Derek ventured into the cabin's livingroom. To his right a stone fireplace blazed. It was like--the heat--entering hell. But it was better than being tied to a tree, out in the open. The ever-increasing cold. The kitchen was at the opposite end and the host, standing there turned and smiled.
"My wife, reborn." He went on: "You're younger than her, a lot more slender, sexier, but...You're still my Helen."
Helen?
The older man came forward, gave Derek a feel in the empty bra cup. "No tits, though," he observed. "Too bad. You can't have everything. But you do have these," fondling Derek's little balls in panty's crotch. He ran his hand up and gave Derek's partial erection a caress. Then he reached around and squeezed his ass.
"Flatter than Helen's, but that's OK." He retreated to the kitchen. "I put a beef stew on before I went hunting. It'll be ready soon. You hungry?"
"Starving," Derek replied.
"You can set the table. Believe it or not I have a fairly decent red in the cabinet there. You can open it and fill our glasses. I want to get drunk tonight. I haven't fucked a woman in over two years. I want to fuck you tonight."
The host turned back to his stew, while Derek, dressed as his wife, stood amazed, shocked. Fucked? Was the man serious? He was in his sixties. Could he still get it up? Derek passed a shiver. This was all too much for him. First marching naked through the woods, up the trail then off of it, to a small clearing with a tree at the back. Being tied to it, tightly. Then whipped and caned by his Dom.
And now showered and dressed in women's underwear in a cabin in the nearby woods, his savior and protector, his rescuer, talking about fucking him later. Derek shook his head. This was unreal...
