I love black leatherskirt! Why not? Damn cute!

I sit here my leather couch! Simply beautiful!

Im my wife leather trousers

Wife at work. Time for slipping into leathers now

My red catsuite gets comments , but i love short leather skirts..x

I like black leather pants! Really good!

Miserable day. Should I wear my leathers today?

lace top, leather skirt, bare legs, some anklets and these killer high heels i feel so feminine, so naked and yet so powerful in these

Silly outfit ...

A silly style?
I asked myself
However bought and tried...
And now go to work...
And guess...
Nobody ever minds...
Just taller boots
And leather dress
With lilly jacket
To impress

But Time has change
My attitude
And to my great delight
This leather dress
Too short
But good
To show legs
And feel alright...
When in
My shyness
And sad mood...
Same silly
Sentence
I am fine....

Love looking at crossdressers in leathers and pvc so much

Sending back the long one, keeper the shorter one, but might get a nicer black catsuite in leather...thxts for the comments xxxxx

Nite out... unsure what to wear....this crop top and a leather skirt with my thigh boots??

red leather skirt, patterned tights and these boots are killer combo. (l was told by certain someone )

Charity shops are definitely my vendor of choice, and dear old mum forced the price of the bits i'd paid on Paypal into my hand, in shop i've never visited before this YEAR's Star Prize black leather mid-shin length Infinity trenchcoat - looks like it's never been worn!

What to wear under it though? I was chatting to the volunteer in the DEBRA shop, who thought just basque, stockings and heels would be a good look…

Random question. Has anyone here ever worn shoes or heels for that matter in mud? I know it might sound a bit random but let me explain. Ever since I can remember I've always loved playing in mud. Having had a semi country upbringing. I was always playing in mud. First it started with Rain Boots but then overtime I decided to try different shoes. I think I remember wearing my leather ankle boots in mud as well as my Converse Sneakers. Both an amazing experience. More recently I wore my Mary Jane Flats in mud and that was so much fun. Would be interested in hearing your thoughts and opinions on this anyway. :)

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Being in women's leather makes me feel confident. Love others with same interest as me x

I love crossdressers in leather

Leather look today

I never chose this life so much as it chose me, one silken whisper at a time, across sixty four slow turning years. It began in the hush of boyhood, fingers trembling as they brushed the cool satin of my Mother’s Sunday slip, the fabric sighing against my skin like a secret finally given voice. Midnight experiments followed stolen dresses in dim bedrooms, heartbeats loud against lace, the mirror a conspirator that never judged. Then came the decades of careful folding away marriage, children, the steady performance of an ordinary man while upstairs, behind false panels in the attic, a private gallery of satins and chiffons dreamed in silence. Now the children have flown, my Turkish wife of forty five winters slipped away on the softest November breath two months past, and the last tether has loosened. At sixty four I have stepped fully into the role I have always carried inside. No audience remains to disappoint. Only the mirrors, patient and kind. I have become Hanimefendi,(Turkish for Lady) the sissy Victorian housemistress of this quiet manor of memory and candlelight. I have worn Black Satin Widow's Weeds for the previous two months, now I am working through my own colour spectrum. I dallied with Pink and enjoyed the experience but as a Cityzen, Turquoise, Marine Blue and shades of Sky Blue, has always called to me as a long time supporter of Manchester City. The ritual begins at dusk. First, the high waisted, long leg panty girdle in deepest turquoise satin firm yet forgiving, a decadent embrace that smooths time’s gentle rounding into elegant lines. It clasps me with theatrical intimacy, promising glamour in every restrained breath. Then the gown descends: floor sweeping turquoise satin, reborn from widow’s weeds into defiant opulence. The bodice clings like liquid moonlight through the torso before cascading into extravagant gypsy ruffles that bloom at the hips. Sleeves impossibly long, sissy long billow from shoulder to deep, rose trimmed cuff, swaying with each gesture like languid waves. The fabric catches every flicker, its subtle sheen tracing molten highlights along every fold, turning motion into shimmering poetry. Over shoulders and throat drifts the sheer turquoise chiffon voile veil, gossamer as exhaled breath, floating a hand’s span from my face. It softens the lines age has etched without concealing them grief veiled, yet radiant. Last, the oversized turquoise satin hijab headscarf, wrapped and pinned with reverent precision. Its rich, glossy folds frame my features like a reliquary of lapis and sea glass, the colour chosen deliberately: mourning need not be monochrome. Sorrow, too, can blaze jewel bright. I move through the rooms by candlelight alone. Tall silver holders spill pools of gold, dramatic chiaroscuro carves deep satin shadows into ruffles and pleats while the satin itself ignites vibrant, unearthly turquoise glowing against the gloom like bioluminescent tide. Each step sends a soft hiss of fabric across oak boards, the veil drifts behind me like sea mist following a ship of ghosts. I dust phantom mantelpieces, rearrange crystal that asks nothing of me, murmur instructions to maids who exist only in the echo of my voice. Sometimes I pause before the tall pier glass in the upper hall and simply regard the figure there. In its depths I see the frightened boy who once quaked at satin’s rustle. I see the husband who learned to fold himself small. And I see her, me Hanimefendi sixty four, unapologetic, swathed in extravagant turquoise like a proclamation stitched in light. The world beyond these walls may still insist on its muted uniforms, but here, in these shadowed chambers, I have rewritten the grammar of grief. It is not devolved from mourning black to ash-grey. It is this fierce, swimming blue green that drinks candle flame and gives it back brighter. It is theatrical, shameless, mine. Tonight, as ever, I lower myself into the worn leather armchair beside the tall window. Ruffles settle around me like spilled ink, veils float, then still. The silence enfolds me, tender as old satin. No one watches. Except the mirror. And in my mind's eye it has always approved.

Black Leather Skirt, Boots & Leopard

Orange Leather & tight Top

In this year of Our Lord 1885, I, a gentleman of four-and-sixty summers and considerable corpulence, find myself irrevocably committed to the most elaborate and humiliating semblance of a widow in deepest mourning, nay, a sissy crossdresser, every contour of my person exaggerated into an absurd excess of feminine propriety at the unyielding command of Madame. My unwieldy frame is confined within a voluminous gown of black bombazine, its lustrous silk bodice drawn so severely that my affixed bosom rises and falls in mock matronly dignity. Upon my head sits an immense crape bonnet, enveloped in multitudinous folds of black crepe veiling that descend softly over my countenance and shoulders like the very pall of perpetual bereavement, its diaphanous gauze quivering with each breath and rendering me a figure of spectral, enforced delicacy.
Beneath this sombre raiment, a prodigious crinoline encircles my ample waist, distending the skirt to such extravagant breadth that every halting step discloses the lace-fringed hems of my cambric under-drawers and the delicately trimmed tops of my black lisle stockings, secured by embroidered satin garters. At times madame requires silk hose of the sheerest texture, yet the mortification endures undiminished. My feet, protesting and swollen, are imprisoned within patent leather ankle boots of four inches’ Louis heel, their pointed toes permitting a glimpse of my varnished nails in pitiable vulnerability. Should indolence be suspected, Madame fastens the straps with black satin ribbons, forestalling any attempt at relief. My hands, bearing permanent false nails of gleaming pearl, are gloved in lace mittens, adorned with rings upon every finger, while a jet choker of frilled design encircles my thick neck as a badge of submission. The whole attire is so profoundly girlish, so burdened with widow’s frippery, that it would provoke scandal even among the most devout matrons of Her Majesty’s court.
I descend from our Brougham in the crowded precincts of Covent Garden, With utmost caution I arrange my skirts, the heels resounding sharply upon the cobblestones, and proceed with mincing steps, hips swaying perforce beneath the crinoline’s dominion and the boots’ perilous elevation. Soft laughter ripples along the stallholders. Smiles of polite astonishment. Complimentary remarks follow. “La, madam, what a most becoming habit of mourning!” one declares. “The veil is exceedingly elegant, and those boots quite the mode!” They suppose it a seasonal fancy. I colour deeply beneath the crepe, threading my way through the ordeal with measured tread, aware that I shall return in seven days, and seven again thereafter, clad precisely thus, bereft of any festal pretext merely a creature wholly subject to his lady’s will.
I procure the articles enumerated upon Madame's list, tea of finest quality, spices, and provisions discharge the account, and retire with mincing gait to the carriage, crinoline whispering, veil fluttering like a mourner’s sigh. Madame directs that I convey her thither beforehand, yet she commands me first to enter and obtain her broadsheet and sweetmeats. As I totter across the thoroughfare, heels clacking, a lady seated in an adjacent Hansom calls out: “Those boots are positively ravishing, madam!” I turn, the veil shifting with ethereal grace, and reply in a low, submissive tone, “I am most obliged to you, Madame is pleased to attire me in this manner at all times.” She laughs with genuine delight. “Would that I might prevail upon my own husband to exhibit such commendable obedience!” Having restored Madame to her residence, I repair to the wine merchant’s. The moment I enter, eyes fix upon me chuckles, prolonged gazes. The proprietress cannot forbear a smile at my boots, her glance ascending to my carefully plucked brows, arched with precision. “Heavens preserve us,” she exclaims, “this is no mere passing fancy of costume. You have worn it for a considerable period, have you not?” I venture a faint, veiled smile. “Indeed, madam… it is the garb prescribed for me upon every occasion of shopping. I endeavour, by degrees, to grow reconciled to it.” A youthful clerk conveys the case of port to the carriage. He chuckles softly. “You bear it with uncommon grace, sir.” Madame assures me that habituation shall ensue. “In due course, the sense of mortification will diminish,” she declares with quiet conviction. “You will become thoroughly accustomed to your station as my devoted maidservant.” She contemplates the future with satisfaction: I, attending to the household in full uniform, discharging her every errand, awaiting her return in patient seclusion. Upon her entrance, I must execute a profound curtsey and relieve her of mantle and parasol. At every ingress or egress from a chamber curtsey. All domestic duties devolve upon me, performed amid the perpetual rustle of bombazine and crinoline.

The Erebus Veil has always been more mausoleum than starship, but tonight she feels like a confessional. I press my forehead to the viewport again, the cold glass a thin barrier between me and the churning nebulae that swirl like spilled ink and blood. My breath fogs it in ragged bursts each one a small rebellion against the vacuum waiting outside. Sixty four years, I rasp to the empty deck, voice thick with the kind of ache that settles in bones and doesn't leave. Sixty four years of rewriting myself sentence by sentence, and the universe still hasn't bothered to notice. Or maybe it has. Maybe that's why it left me here to watch the stars burn without apology. My gloved fingers curl against the pane, kid leather creaking. The gown of satin so dark it drinks light, chiffon whispering like secrets I used to be afraid to keep shifts with the faint tremor of the hull. The high-waist satin panty girdle beneath bites just enough to ground me, to say: You are here. You chose this shape. You paid in blood and time and nights spent crying into star charts. I laugh once, sharp and wet. It echoes off the pitted bulkheads. You know what the cruelest part is? I ask the ship, or the nebulae, or the ghost of the girl I used to bury every morning. I finally like the sound of my name in my own mouth. Hanımefendi. It used to taste like ash. Now it tastes like victory and no one’s left to hear me say it. A distant fusion coil whines in sympathy, or maybe that's just my pulse in my ears. I dreamed of this, you know. Not the derelict part. The space part. Vast and indifferent and beautiful. I thought if I could just get out here away from gravity wells and small minded gravity bound people I’d finally breathe easy. Instead I learned the void doesn’t care who you are. It doesn’t applaud your courage. It just… waits. My reflection stares back: sharp jaw softened by decades of estrogen and stubborn hope, eyes lined in kohl that’s run from earlier tears, raven cameo pinned like a medal over my heart. The chiaroscuro light paints me half angel, half wraith crowned in bruise purple nebulae fire. I swallow hard. But I’m still here, I whisper, fierce enough that it hurts my throat. Still standing in this ridiculous, glorious dress I sewed myself on a ship that’s falling apart. Still breathing air you recycled for me when no one else would. Still choosing every damn day to be this trans, tired, terrified, and incandescently alive. The flare comes again brighter this time, gold and merciless. It floods the deck, turns every jet bead to molten starlight, every fold of chiffon into rippling shadow and flame. My silhouette burns against the glass like a brand. I don’t flinch. Look at me, I snarl at the cosmos, at the empty chairs where crew once sat, at the woman in the reflection who finally stopped flinching. Look at what survives when everything else leaves. A trans woman in a Gothic mourning gown, orbiting a nebula that doesn’t give a damn. And I’m not done yet. Tears cut fresh tracks through the kohl. I let them fall. I loved once, I confess, softer now, the words cracking open like overripe fruit. Her name was Mara. She called me ‘starlight’ when no one else dared call me anything at all. We used to stand right here, hands linked, watching these same nebulae. She said we’d outlive the stars. I believed her. My voice breaks completely. She’s gone. Everyone’s gone. But I’m still wearing the earrings she gave me the ones shaped like tiny crescent moons. I’m still carrying her in every stitch of this gown, every bead I sewed while crying over star maps. And if that’s all the legacy I get a solitary trans woman adrift in opera-scale darkness, dressed for the funeral of a life I refused to let kill me then let it be enough. I straighten. Shoulders back. Chin up. The girdle holds me like armor. So keep turning, you beautiful, heartless nebulae, I say, voice steady at last. Keep your silence. I’ve got enough words for both of us. I’ve got enough me for whatever comes next. The light fades. Shadow returns, satin soft. But this time, when I meet my own eyes in the glass, they’re blazing. No more apologies. No more smallness. Just Hanımefendi trans woman, space wanderer, survivor in satin and lace standing defiant against the dark opera of the stars. And for the first time in years, the silence doesn’t swallow me. It listens.

There's something about these leather pants that really intrigues me... that feeling of tightness against my legs is something wonderful.

I hope I'm not the only one who feels that. Let me know.

Just been told - before we go out tomorrow morning I`m going to get a hard spanking with a hard black leather Tawse and I have to wear some of my new clothes (Panties, Bra, cage and plug) under my "every day cloths".......xxx

I'm still trying to find my own style I really like this leather and blonde look💃🏼

Took my wife to Manchester airport overnight. Rain and fog was extreme to say the least around ladybower. All i could think about was doing something I've never done before on the way back . Got to near glossop, almost zero visibility so pulled over and got undressed. Just put these thermal tightson, these low heels that i love and my leather jacket. Got in the car and drove a few miles further and got the urge to pull over and walk for a few minutes. I felt liberated for the first time ever and wasn't cold at all?do thumbe up to these tights haha.

All Green today (almost) #outfitfortheday satin crossover blouse with faux leather skirt and suede boots

Felt super cute today wearing these full zip knee high leather boots

Outfit for the day is Faux Leather Midi Dress, Crimson stockings, Block suede Knee high boots with block heels, fur lined hooded cloak to keep the chill off the shoestring strapped shoulders

Good morning ladies, outfit for the day, a little leather and satin, but also trying these new fleece lined tights that everyone is raving about these days, and wow, just wow!

#Fauxleather and a Tassled #Suede jacket for #Outfitoftheday

Okay, went to change bedding, and realised, oh, not trtied that on yet, new #corset, so changed the outfit for the day with short #PVCskaterskirt and #fauxleather shirt

Another past outfit of the day, Duede boots with tassle fringe, Burgundy faux leather skirt and red with black lace detail top with shoestring straps, the fut is from a faux fur waste coat too, needed this time oif year, especially in my area

A previous outfit of the day, again, boots, faux leather skirt and top with checked sleeved shirt for contrast

Outfit of the day Faux leather dress with bodysuit and suede knee boots (got them in blue and burgundy as well)

Love these patterned tights, wifey got them in town today so just had to put them on. Goes well with leather skirt and heels. Xx

Like that with jeans or with the leather skirt ???

I present, androgynously, my materially comfortable and very elegantly draped Dewewan accordion pleated faux leather midi skirt. It is complemented by a polo/turtle neck pullover, a gold Lupai Wristwatch/Bracelet and Vancy open toe Kitten heeled ankle shoes:

Pumpkin pie 'n' Black Leather

I've met a Prince
Prince by the Sea
Young
Moderate
With Sword
He wanted more
Than just eye shot
I did not say a word
He left
He understood my Yes
As No for a man...
I could not ever to confess
My path, my past, my stem...

I still remember pretty eyes
And honor with no words
I d love to cry
"You're now mine..."
But girls are often wrong...

Morning girls, nice relaxing morning and then gonna get into some Leather. Excited!! X

Black #leather dress with red #boots I should add, I believe I own more boots than my ex ever did

The Monday morning leather look, with sheer hold ups to match.

More way home from work Asda toilet leather skirt and black tights action…..