Crossdress Stories

“Whose are these, Mr Benson? You naughty man!” Hannah, my nineteen-year-old cleaner, was standing in the doorway of my lounge. She had a wry smile across her face, and her right forearm was pointing upwards, as was the index finger of her right hand. And dangling from the end of that finger was a pair of pale-yellow panties. “They were under the bed,” she explained, “showing I do clean under there, despite what you might...