Exploring Desires at the Trap Brothel

So there I was, cross dressed up in a short mini skirt, low-cut top, pantyhose stockings and sexy high heels. I was dressed like few other girls roaming around the brothel.

The brothel's neon sign buzzed overhead as I tottered on unfamiliar heels toward the entrance. My heart pounded against the pink bra hugging my chest. The door was heavy, ornate—nothing like the sleazy establishment I'd imagined.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing," purred the receptionist, a statuesque redhead with lips painted blood-red. Her eyes traveled slowly down my trembling form. "First timer? Mistress Fsunade loves fresh meat."

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