Punishment for stealing her clothing. Punishment for being a tranny. Punishment, and this was the meat of it, thought Nat, watching her tormentor rais... her hand again, for being such a fucking cliche."You want to be a girl?" asked Jen, a cruel smile crossing her face as she let the hand fall back to her side. Nat had never seen the other woman like this before. She could be a bitch at times, that much she expected. This level of cruelty, of joy in someone else's pain, though, was something new.. And I could not resist.Some long licks and bites and I could sense she was dripping. Her panty was soaked in with her juices and I removed it before it could get wetter. She was feeling shy and started closing her legs. I went up to her and slowly kissed her. My dick was rubbing near her pussy region.My one hand was busy playing with her breast. This made her comfortable and now she started opening her legs. It wasn’t the link type but a mature pussy which tempts many. I started rubbing her. It was 1960 and I left High School at age sixteen, a young man who had done well at sport but little else. The best opportunity open to me in the City was as a filing clerk at a small Dutch bank located in the financial district of London, a stone's throw from the Bank of England.The bank was sandwiched between a large financial institution on one side and a post office on the other. It had four floors and no lift. The Labour Exchange arranged the interview as a filing clerk for my knowledge of. There came a time - I can't tell you precisely - when I began to see her as more, as a woman, a sexual being. What I do remember is this: we were in the library. It might have been after the required "Saturday Night Bath". I was in my standard-issue flannel pajamas and we were curled up together on the sofa. There must have been a less-than-interesting program on the flickering, grey screen of our new television because I was concentrating on her breasts: a supple, rolling landscape barely.