slinkymel's blog

7:20 Party Favour 1

Hi!

Last night I was booked as a Party Favour. To those of you not familiar with the BDSM world, a ‘Party Favour’ is someone who is passed around a group of people to be used and abused by them. In short, the original ‘good time that was had by all’! Now this may sound a bit degrading to some of you but it aint to me. This guy rented me for the evening and paid me in advance. I always insist in payment clearing into my account before the party, cos you’ll see in a moment why I don’t wanna risk not getting paid! Anyway, I had the money put into my dollar account and the payment of $10,000 cleared so I was good to go. The client didn’t say much in his instructions but it was more than enough to work on – Punk Rocker – Sweaty Feet!

Now that aint an easy request, especially as all hookers shower before meeting a client – I mean you gotta get dolled-up, an being clean is all part of it. However, that’s what the client wants so I painted my toenails first thing this morning and I’ve been wearing my black patent plats, with little mirror panels across the front and seven inch heels, all day. Come shower time its feet out of the plats, off with the fishnets and into plastic bags taped round my ankles, outta the shower, off with the bags and on with the fishnets and plats again – hey presto - clean tranny – mingin feet!!! (Yet another trick of the trade divulged to you lucky HSS readers!!!)

Anyway the client wants punk rocker so I put on a low cut black PVC mini dress with a cutaway panel at the front and paint my fingernails a really deep purple. Then it’s on with all my piercings, lip, nose, tongue, eyebrow and five rings in one ear, three in the other. Gothic black eye makeup and deep purple lipstick to form my mouth into a permanent snarl. Silver bangles and hip chain – oh and I got my little fingernails pierced with tiny silver rings – frickin classy or what? Finally I tease my hair into a mass of blonde curls and hold it in place with ‘extreme action’ hairspray until it looks like it’ll stop bullets at fifty paces!

I look pretty frickin scary, which is why I’m glad the hotel the client booked aint’ that fussy. The room is at the end of the corridor next to the fire exit and I settle down and watch TV. Bang on time, there’s a knock on the door and I accompany the driver out of the fire escape then settle into the leather upholstery in the back of a stretched limo. There is all sorts in the drinks cabinet including sundry pills and powders - but I settle for a double Bacardi as the car pulls away from the hotel. The windows are dark and I can’t see where we are going, which is the idea, as the people I’m going to meet value their anonymity.

An hour later the car pulls onto a long gravel drive and after what seems an age we stop and the driver passes me a velvet blindfold. I put it on and the car door opens and I slide out into the cold night, air conscious that under my black PVC jacket I’m wearing next to nothing. A hand takes mine and I am led up several stone steps towards the sound of a party already in full swing. At the top, two more sets of hands grope me and I feel fingers over my tits and up my ass before the blindfold is whisked away and I’m facing my client.

It’s immediately obvious that he and his son are from an English aristocratic family. Their similarity is stunning and only generations of inbreeding could produce such identical bulging eyes and receding chins! However, I ain’t paid to be choosy so I curtsey and introduce myself. The spiked hair and ripped jeans looks a bit incongruous but at least I know I’ve come to the right party, as I ain’t exactly dressed for dinner at the Ritz! They lead me through immense oak doors and into the sort of grand hall that you only see in movies.

A waiter in a white jacket offers me a tray of drinks and I take a glass of bubbly, down it in one and take another. Then I’m introduced to my client’s wife. She is sixty and plump and oozing out of a white leather dress that is three sizes too small. She bears a striking similarity to her husband and is probably a cousin – nothing like keeping it in the family! She looks me over avariciously, her pink tongue running suggestively over her lips, and I pout at her and thrust my hips forward. She nods appreciatively at her husband who takes me off to a corner where there is a huge armchair.

As I sit in the chair he takes one foot and starts to lick my platform sandal, running his tongue up and down my high heel. Another guy appears and sits astride me, cutting off my view of my client as he unbuckles my shoe to get at my far-from-fragrant foot! The guy on top of me starts to snog me while he gropes my tits and I unzip his trousers to free his cock, which immediately springs to attention! A third guy joins us and takes his shaft out and begins playing with himself. He is only semi-erect as he retrieves my sandal from the floor and places it over his face. Hey presto! Instant stiffie! My client is paying my toes some serious attention, poking his tongue through the holes in the fishnet to get at them then grabbing them gently between his teeth to draw them through the mesh. I take a cock in my mouth as yet another guy grabs my other foot and sucks noisily on my heel.

Not only have I been wearing those plats all day but I went shopping in them earlier and the streets of my town aint exactly the cleanest! Still, he doesn’t seem to care as he is soon licking the sole of my plat oblivious to whatever pavement detritus is adhering to it! Meanwhile, he holds my foot in one hand while he releases his cock with the other and starts to play with it. However, the smell of my feet seems to drive him wild and he almost rips my sandal off to get at my toes, which he shoves in his mouth then sucks on all five noisily. Just when I think there can’t possibly be any more guys interested in me, yet another arrives, takes my other shoe and puts it over his face while I take his cock into my free hand.

I am barely aware of the swelling crowd of onlookers, nearly all of them female, as I take swelling cocks in both hands while I deep throat a third. Two of the women, sisters I guess, both dressed in red PVC, join the party and the other two guys snog them but with my feet as a sort of third party. This is really freaking me out as four tongues compete for my minging feet and I squirm in the chair as the cock in my mouth swells to bursting point. It’s obviously going to be a spunk-fest and I had hoped to maintain a little decorum a little longer into the evening! However, I needn’t have worried that my trashy PVC dress was gonna get trashed because the girls suddenly take my feet and hold them together and, at the appearance of these black fishnet targets, the five guys take aim and shoot their loads.

Christ! There is frickin gallons of the stuff, soaking my feet and running between my toes. At each spurt the crowd cheers but I hardly notice as the two red sisters take turns to snog me! Then it is all over and two of the guys very considerately fasten my plats back on for me. They are obviously well-oiled because they first attempt to put them on the wrong feet. Then, the sisters hitch up my dress and each stuffs a fifty pound note down my knickers, followed by the five guys! Then, my client takes me off to introduce me to some of the guests. He takes my hand and I dutifully follow, acutely aware that my feet are squelching in jizz - which is oozing between my toes and dribbling down the side of my plats - leaving a shiny snail trail on the polished marble floor!

Well I tell you – it’s like Who’s frickin Who with figures from the arts, entertainment, sportsmen and a few politicians all dressed in punk rock gear and displaying varying degrees of comfort in their attire. The host is famous for his exclusive parties, catering for the discerning BDSM aficionado. Guests are vetted, security is tight, no cameras are aloud and all the guests pay a hefty entrance fee, which is all donated to charity. Let’s face it, anyone who lives in a house this big doesn’t do this for the m,oney! Anyway, there are five other T girls at the party. My friends Stas, Roxy, Mandy and Imogen and a much younger girl I haven’t seen before called Xanthe. She has long blonde hair down her waist and is wearing a red rubber dress and the obligatory tranny plats.

The air is thick with cannabis smoke and the pulsating beat of the music reverberates off the walls as two waiters wheel in a Pandora’s Box. Basically, it’s a clear Perspex container than can be adjusted in three dimensions. The idea is to squeeze inside and then the sides are moved to as small as possible. This one is, unsurprisingly, top-of-the-range and has a digital scale to show the volume of the box. Over the next half hour, the guests take it in turn to climb inside and a guy who I guess is the butler writes the scores down on a big board. There are prizes for the winners including the biggest bottle of Champagne I’ve ever seen and what looks like a Rolex watch. Quite a few people laugh when my client’s wife climbs in, especially when they have to enlarge the box to get the lid shut. I clap and cheer her on as they manage to squeeze the sides marginally more than for one of the guys who bore a passable resemblance to George Forman! Her hubby puts one hand on my butt and whispers: “Thank you Melanie – if you win this for me there’s a bonus for you!”

I always reckon it pays to be nice and as Xanthe takes her red plats off and lowers herself into the box I start some surreptitious stretching exercises. The skinny bitch looks well pleased with herself as she lowers the limit to 475,000 cubic centimetres. However I’m a skinny tranny who’s well bendy so I don’t even bother to take my sticky plats off as I fold myself inside the box and they shut the lid. The walls move and I fold my limbs together and the crowd chants as the scale lowers until they let out a big cheer. Then, I light a cigarette and blow smoke through the holes in the side and they cheer again. When they finally release me, the scale is set at 390,000. I could do much better but I just do enough to win.

My client wins the watch and I get an envelope with £500 cash in it – easiest money I ever made! As I have been booked as a Party Favour, Xanthe’s John also gets to have me as a consolation prize while she stalks off looking well pissed with me! So I am led to a sofa by this middle-aged guy, dressed in leather trousers and waistcoat. As soon as he lays me down his hands are all over me and another crowd of onlookers soon gather.

Over the other side of the room Stas and Roxy are entertaining four guys and Mandy is being unceremoniously humped by a guy dressed in a black bin liner and very little else. Once again my plats are removed so the guy can get at my spunk-soaked feet, which he clasps together. I obligingly arch my feet and he immediately starts to fuck my foot pussy. The word has obviously got about that I’m the only bi tranny there cos another two women join me. They are both stick thin and dripping in jewels that contrast with their cheap rubber dresses. They take my plats and we commence an orgy of French kissing, both each other and my shoes, sharing five loads of cum with each others’ DNA. All the while I’ve been slowly drawing my legs closer to my head and the cock between my feet (and the guy attached to it) are inexorably following! He never slackens his pace as he screws my feet, lubricated by copious amounts of other guys’ jizz. The girls make way as my feet reach their zenith, right in front of my face and his eyes widen as his cock pokes between my arched soles and I take him between my glossy purple lips!

His cock swells again then he groans as he shoots his first load into my mouth and the rest between my sticky feet. No sooner has he rolled off me than the two skinny bitches return for their share of his cum. As we are completing another spin-cycle of the spunk washing machine, two other women obligingly buckle on my clean plats over my even-more soaking feet. Another three fifty pound notes find their way inside my Agent Provocateur panties, before my host retrieves me and leads me across to meet yet more of the glitterati.

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx




7:18 Party Favour 2

Hi!

I barely have time to fix my makeup and smoke a quick Marlboro before the next game begins. This one is where us trannies really earn our money. Basically, we are tied to five benches placed in a circle, with our heads in the middle. The guests then take it in turn to cane our butts and bet on which one of us will drop out and when. It’s all in a good cause and the host announces that a local charity will benefit from our sore butts! Well that’s OK – I mean I wouldn’t wanna get my butt caned to a bloody pulp for nothing!

While the Master of Ceremonies takes the bets, us trannies eye each other up. Roxy might have an ass like the Blackwall Tunnel, but when it comes to pain she’s a wuss! Mandy talks a good beating but will wait until Roxy drops out, give it a few more strokes then retire gracefully. Stas will be a problem and I can see from the tiny residue of white powder on her top lip that she’s fortified herself in the loo and probably won’t feel the first fifty or so. However, it’s Xanthe that’s the unknown quantity and the skinny bitch she still looks pissed with me for showing her up with the Pandora’s box.

Although I’m expecting it, the first blow stings like a wasp and I let out an involuntary yelp - and the odds shorten against me. We all have a safety word to yell when we have had enough – mine is ‘Kismet’ which was my client’s choice. They are using long bendy bamboo canes, like headmasters used to have, and they frickin hurt. Fortunately some of the guests are not well versed in the finer points of inflicting pain on other human beings and their blows are ineffectual but still count towards our overall total. Unfortunately one woman has a lousy aim and she whacks the cane over the top of my leg and I nearly pass out with the pain.

I have reached sixteen when Roxy yells her safety word and, predictably enough, Mandy sticks it for another five when she too drops out, to a round of applause and a small bonus from her client. We each have a scoreboard, with a waiter flipping another number over each time one of the guests strikes us. I can’t see any of the tallies but I instinctively know that mine is on 65 when Stas starts to squirm on the bench. Her eyes, which were glazed when we started, are now wide with alarm as the effect of her high wears off. My client’s wife kneels next to me and I see up her dress up to the top of her plump thighs where her white panties wink at me. She mops my forehead like a boxer’s trainer and holds a cigarette while I smoke it and squeezes my shoulder in support when Stas finally yells her safety work. Now there are just two of us left.

Now the bad thing about the others dropping out is that there are only two little tranny butts left for all those rich folk to beat, so the blows rain down thick and fast. Someone passes me a stick of gum as I pass 80 and there is a huge cheer when we both pass 100. I know the skin is broken cos I can feel blood dripping down my thighs. I can see it too cos every time I’m hit it spatters across a grey-haired woman in a baby pink PVC dress. Each time she scoops the droplet up with a long painted fingernail and licks it off, her eyes shining with atavistic pleasure. Xanthe is no longer still and her ass is wiggling about as if she’s trying to dodge the blows. However, her emerald eyes are still staring at me defiantly and it’s time to take myself off to my special place. My mind drifts off to a family holiday with my twin sister when we were kids and the blows merge into one and no longer hurt as I run along the beach with the salt spray in my hair. 120 passes as we splash in the surf and 140 as we build sandcastles.

At 150 Xanthe croaks her safety word. I emerge from my trance in time to feel my winning blow and I nearly pass out with the pain. Xanthe is helped from the bench, with tears streaming down her cheeks, as willing hands untie my wrists and ankles. I stand unaided and take a glass of Champagne from the lady in the pink dress. She has missed a drop of my blood on her shoulder so I lick it off then snog her – it’s that kind of party! Then the winnings are paid out and the remaining money is counted. I’ve just raised forty six thousand pounds for some little kid who needs a bone marrow transplant! My client admits to having a flutter on both Xanthe and me then shamefacedly hands over a thousand pounds. I pocket half of it and add the rest to the fund for the kid – it’s the least I can do!

My butt is throbbing and there is no way I can sit down, so I circulate and end up talking to three guys, well known professional sportsmen. They are all curious about the ‘tranny experience’ and I reassure them that they aint gay if they go with me - so it’s no rest for the wicked and off we go to a corner where there are rugs and some cushions. I get myself comfortable and take off my plats. My stockings are still pretty messy so I peel them off and then start to lick my own feet clean. The three guys cannot take their eyes off as I poke my tongue between my own toes, cleaning stale jizz from them like’s it’s ambrosia itself. I can see some pretty impressive bulges growing inside three pairs of trousers and I’m dying to see if they are as fit as they look. One of them plucks up the courage and takes one of my feet and begins to lick my sole and I squirm at the delicious tingling sensation it sends up my leg. He hands over to his mate and soon all three are taking it in turns to use my left foot as a lollipop!

I reckon my feet are pretty clean now so I run them over one guy’s chest and start to undo his buttons with my toes. His eyes widen and the others cheer as I take his zip between my toes and pull it down. His hands instinctively move to protect himself, but I already have one foot inside his trousers, worming its way inside his silk boxers. He almost rips his shirt off and fumbles with his shoes in his haste to get his trousers off. WOW! He is fit with rippling muscles and a smooth, hard chest and I feel myself swelling with lust as I take his hard, throbbing cock in one hand and start to undress another stud with my feet.

By the time I have three naked footballers where I want them, there is a small knot of onlookers, including my client’s wife, who is looking at me - or to be more precise mentally undressing me! It’s quite an art keeping three guys happy at the same time, one with my hands, one with my feet and another with my mouth. The trick is to keep swapping them over every couple of minutes, that way they don’t cum too quickly and they all get a share of the whole experience. But like all guys, cum they must and like most guys, they want to cum over my face.

I mean it wouldn’t be my ideal choice but then I’m just the Party Favour and I’m being paid to do whatever people want. Sure enough the first guy shoots his first jet into my mouth and the second and subsequent spurts over my face and in my hair. I hardly notice as I coax the guy between my feet towards me – basically if you lead a guy by his dick he’s sure to follow! Meanwhile I’m leading the other guy towards my mouth while taking over from my feet with my other hand. The guys hardly notice they are being led around me like novices around the prima ballerina and, a few moments later, I get my second mouthful of spunk and the rest in my hair.

Both guys are now looking sheepish and wiping their cocks on their shirt tails as the third completes my protein shower. Most of it is in my hair but I doubt it’s noticeable amongst the wild tousled spikes of my hairdo and I can probably get away with leaving it there to dry. The cum that’s dribbling down my chin needs to go and, as spitting is not polite in company, I guess I’m going to have to swallow before I clean myself up. My three guys all seem to have ‘shagger’s remorse’ and are dressing, giggling nervously and avoiding looking at me. They probably think there is some tabloid journalist waiting in the shadows to expose them in next weekend’s papers - but that sort of thing doesn’t go on at these parties.

It seems chivalry is indeed dead as none of the three offer as much as a handkerchief as they slink away - then my client’s wife comes to my rescue. To be more precise she climbs on top of me and starts to lick jizz of my chin while her fingers grope their way under the hem of my dress and into my knickers. I guess the allure of a good mouthful of premier league footballers’ semen must be strong, because it’s not long before she is snogging me, greedily lapping up their cum and swallowing it before licking the residue from my forehead.

Now one thing any hooker soon learns is that she can’t be too choosy about the clients that buy her. I mean I wouldn’t usually go for plump middle-aged aristocrats with a penchant for sado-masochism, but you gotta be professional about it. So I keep telling myself I’m kissing a supermodel and manage to maintain the erection I still have from the high of being serviced by three hunks. She is clearly delighted that I really am a bi tranny and more so when I start to feel her tits through her dress. Then, just when things are getting interesting, the host arrives with two security men who look like they buy their clothes from ‘barn door at C & A’.

In all the excitement of being groped by a woman with the bank balance of a small South American country, I’ve forgotten that the footballers haven’t paid for their fun. Typical wide boys – it’s like a BDSM version of ‘doing a runner’ from the Indian restaurant. Except they have been clocked and, although I’ve already been paid by my client, there is an etiquette surrounding the payment for additional services. Under the watchful eye of 500 lbs of security men and the direction of the host, the three unsporting sportsmen hand over 200 notes each, which is way more than the going rate for a tranny blow-job.

Then, they are led away and ejected and I very much doubt if they will be gracing these particular parties again. You see money just can’t buy class! Talking of class, my cuddly admirer has slipped away, leaving me free to go and take a well-earned break to fix my makeup, put my stockings back on and generally tidy myself up. Xanthe and Stas are in the loos. Stas is about to partake of a little nose candy and Xanthe is telling her that it’s for losers. Maybe she ain’t so bad after all and at least we agree on something. However, as soon as she sees me, she stalks off to the other side of the room and ostentatiously fixes her hair. Stas asks how much I have made so far and when I tell her Xanthe really flips and flounces out, slamming the door behind her.

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx




5:20 Party Favour 3

Hi!

It’s now past midnight and several couples are unashamedly shagging on just about every available piece of furniture. There are numerous frames and trestles dotted around the great hall and dozens of folk are taking it in turns to beat or be beaten. However I know the grand finale is about to start and it is why I’ve been paid so much in advance for the evening. A section of the hall has been partitioned-off and now the waiters slide the curtains back to reveal an operating theatre. At least there is the semblance of a hospital - with two beds, a bank of machines with glowing displays, a couple of orderlies in white coats and a doctor. He really is a doctor, or, to be more precise, was. He’s almost certainly been struck-off for some misdemeanour or other - because no practising member of the medical profession would get involved in what we are about to do!

Then the host claps his hands and everyone is silent as he explains what is going to happen. The guests press forward, faces flushed with drink and eager for the spectacle, like Roman citizens at the Coliseum. My client leads me to one of the beds and the orderlies place straps over my wrists and ankles and fasten a wide soft leather collar around my neck. Then the ‘surgeon’ joins us. He is dressed from head to toe in surgical greens with a cap hiding his hair, a mask over his face and reflective goggles. I know that he is one of the guests but the idea is that he is just an anonymous figure to both me and the others. He has paid five thousand pounds to the charity of the host’s choice for the pleasure of doing what he is about to do to me. My fee is one tenth which seems a lot – but I can assure you it isn’t. Then, the doctor connects me to the monitors and my heartbeat, and other vital signs, are displayed on extra large screens that all the guests can see. Finally, the surgeon bends over me and all I can see is my own, apprehensive, reflection in his goggles.

There is a collective gasp as he places both gloved hands over my throat and squeezes. Instantly, my air supply is interrupted and the monitors register my distress. He presses harder and, though the leather collar prevents him from bruising me, it still enables him to effectively throttle me. My eyes bulge as I fight for air and the room dims even as I am aware of the guests pressing closer for a better look. The monitors shriek my peril - but nobody moves to help me - then all is black.

The light is bright but it is not the pearly gates beckoning me - or even the fiery conflagration of the other place. Instead it is the doctor shining a penlight into my eyes. I blink and he looks relieved as he checks the monitors, which are bleeping away normally. The crowd roars and I know I have ‘flatlined’. For a moment I have died and the monitor registered a flatline. The doctor ensures the player releases me as soon as I flatline and then he revives me. It usually only takes a few breaths of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation and I idly wonder if I still taste of spunk!

Meanwhile, the ‘surgeon’ has in effect killed another human being and paid handsomely for the thrill. The crowd has also paid for the privilege of witnessing a sport far more exclusive than any illegal animal contests. Me, well I’ve been paid well enough and, of course, there is another consequence of my near death experience. Death by manual strangulation can produce an interesting side effect - and my jizz-soaked panties are irrefutable proof of this phenomenon!

I have no time to enjoy the warm wet feeling as a new surgeon appears. He has already paid the host but it is part of the contract that everybody sees him pay me. With a flourish, he drops the notes into a stainless steel kidney dish, which goes rather well with the hospital theme of this little tableau. The host is an experienced party planner and knows how to get the best out of his little tranny ‘victim’. My throat has a few minutes to recover as I’m scheduled to be suffocated this time. On cue, the surgeon pulls a plastic bag over my head and gathers it around my neck. My breathing becomes laboured, as I quickly gasp up the oxygen in the bag, and the monitors howl in protest.

If any potential suicides are reading, I do not recommend this form of exit as it takes longer than you think and is frickin stressful. It’s especially stressful if the frickin surgeon does not release the bag after you’ve flatlined and the doctor has to use the defibrillator on you! If my hair wasn’t spiked enough before it certainly is now after a few hundred volts pass through me. I know I’ve got a heart like an ox but I’m still relieved to hear the monitors settle into their normal routine. I’m also another five hundred quid richer as the surgeon has been fined another five grand for going too far and I get my ten percent in cash. I’ve also got another little sticky surprise down below! The surgeon knows the rules, but is rich enough to pay for the extra thrill of seeing me dead for a few seconds longer. However, it’s always ‘one strike and you’re out’ and he won’t be allowed to play this game again with this particular host.

I play the game another three times and the fourth surgeon is a woman. She’s not just any woman and I know it’s my client’s wife. Although I can’t see her, I recognise her perfume as she places the bag over my head. I mentioned I’m a bendy tranny but I didn’t say that’s because I’m double-jointed. It doesn’t take much to slip my hand through the restraint and pop my dislocated thumb back into its socket! Then, as the bag starts to mist, I grope for the opening in her gown and find her silky white panties. She is already wet with desire and my fingers slip into her as she holds the bag over my throat. She gasps behind the mask and I frantically work on her, knowing I have to be quick because she will keep holding the bag until she climaxes - or I die – or both! She orgasms first and almost releases the bag, and my last thought is will I have to forfeit my fee if I don’t flatline? I open my eyes as I become aware of the cheering and remember to replace my hand in the restraint. I’m a professional and I want that intimate moment to just be between me and her.

I’m tired and my head aches but I reckon I’m good for one more when the crowd stirs and I look over to see Xanthe walking defiantly to the table. The orderlies strap her on and then I can see that she has never done this before and that she’s shit-scared. I don’t like the girl but she’s frickin brave and I respect her for that. With a grimace, I repeat the dislocation process with my other hand and reach across to her. Xanthe smiles a little wan grin and mouths ‘thank you’ as our five hundred notes are deposited in the dishes. Then two rich guys, who have each donated five grand for charity, do their best to kill us.

I’m an old pro at ‘edge play’ games like this so I writhe around and struggle like I’m trying to escape. I mean, if I really wanted to, I could get both arms free, sock the guy in the mouth, free my legs and be off the table and away while he was still spitting his teeth out. But that ain’t the game, so I behave like some heroine from a silent movie, as he uses both hands to throttle the life out of me. Although I can’t see his face I know he’s having the time of his life and the bulge in the front of his green gown tells me all I need to know about what turns him on. Xanthe has been watching me and as her guy starts to strangle her, she imitates my simulated peril and strains against her restraints.

The blood in my head pounds and my eyes dim and then I am out of it. For the seventh time, I am revived, and the thronging crowd cheers again as my monitors pick up the beat to show them I have recovered. Judging by the spreading wet patch on the front of my surgeon’s gown - he has just joined me in a little orgasmic activity! I’m feeling pretty high and very frickin rich and I wonder if I can beat my record of eight times in one night.

Then there are gasps and I see the doctor fumbling for the defib. Xanthe has flatlined and hasn’t responded to the resuscitation. The charger whines and the surgeon stands back as the electric shock sends her skinny little body arching right off the bed. She is arrested by the restraints and flops back into a crumpled heap. The surgeon looks remarkably unconcerned as the doctor shocks her again and again. On the third time her heart is bump-started and the monitor registers her feeble pulse.

However she is not breathing and will be brain dead in minutes if she is not revived. The doctor starts to give her mouth-to-mouth but nothing happens. Then I notice that her chest isn’t moving. Although it looks to the crowd like he’s doing the right stuff only I, and her surgeon, can see that he is not. He isn’t pinching her nose and his breath is going into her mouth and out her nostrils without ever reaching her lungs. In an instant I have both hands free and am fumbling with the straps across my ankles - while still trying to put my thumbs back into their joints. Then I’m off the bed and shoving the doctor out of the way. The surgeon grabs my shoulder and I rake one stiletto heel down his shin and he yelps and backs off.

I tilt Xanthe’s head back, pinch her cute little button nose and fill her lungs with one big breath once then twice, then I press on her chest, just under her gorgeous little titties – God this will be such a waste if she doesn’t come round. Then I’m breathing into her again and suddenly she splutters and her chest starts to rise and fall on its own. Her lovely green eyes open and she stares at me uncomprehending for a second then the spark of life re-ignites. I am still inches from her when she raises her head and kisses me and suddenly we are snogging passionately.

The crowd cheers wildly and I reluctantly leave Xanthe, as willing hands unfasten her and help her from the bed. I just know the doctor and Xanthe’s surgeon have done this deliberately. The doc is a washed-up old has-been and was probably bought for the price of a few bottles of vodka. The surgeon has bribed him to bungle the revival so he can have the thrill of snuffing out a life and getting away with it. He has reckoned I’m well known at these parties and, while I know I aint indispensable, there’s a few folk who would miss me. Xanthe on the other hand is a first-timer, probably desperate for the cash and probably a loner just starting on the game. Nobody will miss her and the bastard definitely thought he could get away with topping her. However, from the look of the faces in the crowd none of them realise what’s just gone on.

I’m about to just walk outta there, when I see that there is one guy who definitely knows what happened. The host has a face like thunder and I aint surprised, cos it’d be the end of his parties if somebody actually died. His heavies arrive and the surgeon limps off between them. Ten minutes later he’s back, unmasked so we can all see who he is. I know exactly who he is in real life too and I’ll make sure all my tranny friends know not to go near him. The host announces he has made a donation of twenty five grand to the charity with an extra five percent to Xanthe as compensation and another five to me! Result!!!

The host calls one of the guests forward and asks if he’ll stand in as the doctor. Despite the fact he is wearing leather shorts and a studded denim jacket, he looks like he came straight from the Central Casting department for ‘eminent consultants’. He just oozes safety and I am determined to break double figures so I climb onto the bed again and another ‘surgeon’ steps forward and places my fee in the dish. One of the guests has also volunteered, a skinny guy in his thirties. I know the type well – he’s looking for a thrill which he can’t safely get anywhere other than parties like this. It’s ironic that he’s paid for the privilege of being killed, because I just know that he wants to experience that place between life and death. He probably thinks there are lots of white lights and images of loved ones and angels and harp music and shite like that. I can tell him there ain’t and I’d do that for free….or maybe for a small fee! However, it is for charity so I just pout at him then lay back and let myself be suffocated again.

I manage eleven near-death experiences and my head is splitting as I stuff the contents of the dish into my handbag. I know I’m probably a few thousand more brain cells lighter but I weren’t that clever to start with so it aint gonna make that much difference! Xanthe joins me and we share a cigarette. She is no longer the feral, gobby little tranny she was a few hours ago and looks smaller, younger and more frightened. In fact she looks like she needs a big sister - but I don’t need any more complications in my life right now. Then she takes one of my hands and puts it up her dress and between her legs. She is damp and sticky from the final moments of her appointment with the surgeon and as our lips meet I decide I maybe wouldn’t mind a little sister after all! However, it’s not to be and my client arrives to collect what is owing to him.

Five minutes later I am occupying one of the hospital beds and my client’s son is occupying my ass! Meanwhile I’m occupying Mrs client’s ass and Mr client’s cock is occupying Mrs client’s mouth. Those guys really seem to like my plats because their faces are buried inside my sandals and they both look like they are trying to lick the toe prints from the silver inner soles. My fishnet stockings are looped around Mrs client’s neck and I’m pulling them tight with one hand. It’s not proper throttling like she did to me earlier - more sort of ‘vanilla strangulation’ – which is more than enough to get her juices flowing and have her writhing in ecstasy. I know they are flowing cos guess where my other hand is?

Eventually, junior fills my ass and a few minutes later I fill his Mum’s ass. She immediately pulls away from her hubby and goes down on my cock - moaning as she tastes herself on me. Then hubby uses the opportunity to shoot his load over me. I don’t need to clean myself, cos Mrs client is on hand to lick me clean! Then they all kiss me goodbye and as I retrieve my plats and pad away, the three are already reforming into another combination that I really don’t wanna study too closely! My stockings are being put to good use again and I decide that the bulging wad of notes that I’ve got stuffed in my bag is a fair trade! So I leave my sponsors to continue re-enacting their Oedipus scenario.

The party is dispersing and it looks like I’m the last T girl left. The host calls me over and thanks me and asks if I’ll do another party in a few months. Yeah it’s risky but the wages of sin are great and it’s better regulated than most ‘breath games’ I’ve taken part in. I agree and he kisses me and we are joined by one of his staff, who has my jacket. He also has a white cloth and I’m too tired to struggle as I catch the unmistakeable whiff of chloroform and my world turns dark again.

I’m dreaming that I’m being screwed by one of the plump ladies from the party and it’s so realistic that I wake up in a panic. I am back in my hotel room with a hangover that would kill a guy and I am indeed being screwed. However, it’s a lissom little green-eyed tranny looking down at me and, relieved that it isn’t a bad dream, I lay back and think of England!

I don’t know how Xanthe and I came to be in the same bed but I’ll wager the host had something to do with it. Maybe he saw the chemistry between us and wanted to bring us together. Maybe he saw the potential in her and thought I am the best one to teach her all my tricks. Either way I ain’t complaining! I am, however, a bit concerned that she’s been through my bag and placed my wad of notes on the table.
“I got paid eighteen hundred quid last night but you earned nearly nine thousand!”

I don’t mention my original fee that was probably three times hers, but cross to the table and stuff the cash into the inside pocket of my leather jacket. Business is business and I’ll fight her for my money if I have to. However she’s not after my cash and we sit and talk and I agree to teach her how to be a proper Party Favour. I’ll have to do something about her London accent as, talking like a street urchin, she’ll never fit into the sort of parties I get invited to. As I thought, she’s no family and no ties and I’m already feeling protective towards her and relishing the challenge of working on this tranny Pygmalion. I’ve already got a dog from the rescue centre and a crow with a broken wing that lives in my roof garden. It looks like I’ve just collected another waif and stray!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx





17:24 Double Trouble!

Hi!

I am red girl tonight – red low-cut backless mini dress with a cutaway panel at the front showing off my gold belly bar, and red strappy platform sandals with a seven inch heel. My lingerie is black with little red hearts and my stockings are champagne coloured with a red contrast seam. It’s frickin freezing and my nipples are the size of Kojak’s lollipops as I hunker down into my sable jacket and sashay along the seafront towards the hotel. The place has an underground carpark but I don’t want to go through the rigmarole of explaining why I want to park - when it’s obvious what profession I’m in by the way I’m dressed. This posh and very exclusive hotel has a strict ‘no hookers’ policy - but one of the doormen hasn’t heard of that. He meets me at the service entrance and we light cigarettes as I hand over his cut. However, he is still blocking the doorway and, like everyone else in my profession, he’s got greedy. He knows I need to get to my client and recoup the forty notes I’ve just handed over and I know I aint got no choice. Thing is, I gotta dress like a hooker cos the John expects that – I mean if I turned up looking like Miss Jean frickin Brodie he’d throw me out on my ear! But cos I’m dressed like a hooker the doormen can spot me a mile away – Catch 22!!!

Anyway, two minutes later I’ve got seven inches of not-very-clean cock in my mouth and I’m wondering why I bothered to clean my teeth before I came out. His dick swells and I have a dilemma. Release him and he cums over me – and I meet my client with jizz in my hair, over my face, down my dress or a combination of all three – or I keep it all in! Of course I opt for the spunk mouthwash, hoping to spit it out when I get inside. However, he’s a nasty bastard and he pulls me up by my chin and tells me to swallow – which I do – cos I aint got no choice – just like I did last time – and the time before. However, this time he has a little surprise for me and a friend joins him. This guy must be the trainee or something cos he’s about 17 and shaking with like a frickin aspen leaf. I look at my watch and I’ve less than ten minutes before I’m meeting the punter and I make it a rule to never, ever, be late. So I shrug my shoulders and squat and take five inches of very clean cock into my mouth and bring him to a climax in less than a minute. I don’t even consider any other options and just swallow the sticky jizz while I wonder if there is an entry for ‘fastest blow job’ in the Guinness Book of Records! Finally, the older doorman lets me go with a gratuitous slap on the arse and I’m inside the welcoming warmth of the hotel. I take the service elevator to the 4th floor, chewing madly on a fresh stick of gum, fix my lippy at the nearest mirror and flick a stray pubic hair off my shoulder. Then, looking like the virginal first date my client would like me to be, I knock on the door of his room.

My John is in his early fifties and slightly built and is sitting in the chair with his back to me. He’s barefoot and wearing red opaque leggings under a red mini skirt and a red blouse that looks like it’s stuffed with two giant watermelons. In fact they are footballs enclosed within an enormous red bra which could have doubled-up as a medieval trebuchet. All in all he is a typical guy making a typical comedy impression to look like a girl! Of course I don’t say that but instead say how lovely his clothes are and how much they match my own. I don’t mention that my dress is a Vivienne Westwood original and I wouldn’t be seen dead in clothes from a high street discount store! He looks me over and a bulge starts to appear in the front of his skirt, showing that he isn’t a practitioner of the ‘tranny tuck’, which is an essential measure to stop embarrassing bulge moments from ruining the cut of a slinky outfit! I sit him back down and spend the next twenty minutes making him up with the cosmetics I’ve brought with me. He’s a regular and I’ve bought makeup especially for him – I mean you didn’t expect me to use my own Clinique on a punter did you? I even keep it separate from makeup I use on another client with similar tastes, cos I don’t want them getting no diseases – shame guys aint so considerate about me!

Finally I place his blond wig on his head and he looks as passable as he can with a wig that’s been bought from a fancy dress shop. I’ve avoided the pantomime dame look and gone for subtle shades to accentuate the bright red lipstick, which matches my own. He studies himself in the mirror and the bulge in the front of his skirt grows and distorts his hemline. I nibble his ears before gently clipping on gold hoop earrings then sit him back in the chair. Next I kneel in front of him and paint his toenails the same pillar box red as my own, while he runs his fingers through my hair. When I’ve finished, I pick up his camera and take pictures of him. Finally, I unbuckle my plats and place them on his feet. He’s half a size bigger than me, but with sandals that’s not so crucial - and then I take a whole load of close-ups of his feet. After a bit, he stands up, grasping the chair for support, before taking a few hesitant steps across the room.
“You look lovely Melanie!” I tell him – which is kinda weird cos I’m Melanie. However, he who pays the piper calls the tune so, for as long as he wants, he’s Melanie and I’m – well just some nameless hooker who facilitates his fantasy.

After five minutes, he’s found his balance and totters a few circuits around the room while I photograph him from every angle. The bulge in his skirt has not diminished and is now like a pointer leading him across the room - and I try to avoid spoiling the femininity by keeping it out of the pics. After a few minutes, ersatz Melanie goes to the bed and sits cross-legged with her back to the headboard. I join her and sit facing her as I use my feet to remove her cock from her red satin panties. It’s pretty easy really as the thin material is stretched to bursting point and her meaty cock needs little persuasion to spring to full attention. Then I work on her erection with my stockinged feet, stroking and teasing it between my soles while she takes dozens of photographs of the action. Her cock is not far off the total length of the two doormen and there is plenty of thick-veined shaft for my feet to work on. Her glans swells and drips shiny clear precum and now comes the skilful bit as I have to ensure that all her load is deposited over her/my shoes. ‘Melanie’ squeals in delight and wiggles her toes as the hot jets gush over her feet and the gooey spunk trickles under her soles. While my mirror image is photographing her sticky toes, I change position and kneel facing her.

The next few minutes are unique for me as ‘Melanie’ photographs me as I toss myself off over her feet. It’s rare for me to get an orgasm when I’m on the job as I’m there to give the guy a good time an my pleasure don’t really come into it. Believe me it aint easy performing with a camera stuck on the end of your cock and I always worry I won’t be able to manage it. However, once again, I succeed and with that practiced look of feigned ecstasy that all hookers have, I shoot my load over my shoes while the flash picks out my glistening goo as he takes dozens of pics. Doppelgänger Melanie stands and I quickly tuck my cock back into its customary position, knowing I won’t be betraying my true persuasion by the unsightly bulge. Then I take up the camera and film her procession around the room with the video function, knowing I’m capturing the squelching sound the sandals make at each soggy step. Just as spunk starts to ooze out of the red sandals and dribble down the platform, she returns to the bed and presents me with her shoes to clean.

It takes me about half an hour to complete a task that I’d rather not do at all - but if I had to – it would take me two minutes! Starting with the fronts I lick spunk from between her red-painted toes ensuring I suck each individual toe clean of our combined juices. Next I worm my tongue under her insteps and suck warm jizz from under her soles before moving to her heels and pushing my tongue under each one to clean the cum from under her feet. Finally I clean the outsides where the cum is cold and already starting to congeal. I have to swallow the lot and all the while the flash bounces around the room as surrogate Melanie films her foot-cleaner in action. Finally my alter ego is happy with the cleanliness of her shoes, although I know I missed a load of spunk in the middle where my tongue couldn’t quite reach. However, I don’t let on and my twin reluctantly removes my plats and hands them over. I just buckle em straight on – no point being squeamish about a bit of cum on my plats with what’s been down my throat so far this evening! Then, after the usual diary check to fix the next assignation, I take my money, calculating that I’ve recouped my entry fee 25 times over. Finally, I leave my cross-dressing simulacra to clean up, or whatever it is he does after I’ve gone.

Job done, I just want to get home as quickly as possible so I catch the elevator to the lobby and stroll nonchalantly towards the big swing doors. Seconds from freedom, another doorman, the size of a tank, blocks my way:
“Excuse me miss! Come along with me please!”
Shit! What the fcuk does he want? However, 30 seconds later it’s perfectly frickin clear what he wants as I’m led into a small sitting room behind reception.
“Hand over the money you fcuking whore!” He demands with a smile revealing enough gold to pay off the national debt of the average West African state. The door opens and another guy enters the room. Just my luck for the shift to change while I’m entertaining my client - and now these two clowns want their cut as well. Reluctantly I open my bag and hand over a wedge of notes. I’m expecting to lose the lot, but they cream off half and give me the rest, which is still the easiest money they’ve ever earned. I make to leave, but the one nearest the door isn’t moving and is staring at my plats, with his tongue flicking over his lips. I’m tired and I want to get home and put my feet up, so when he gestures to the sofa I just spread myself over it and lie back and think of England.

Unfortunately passive mode isn’t an option, as gold tooth has a cock that matches the rest of him and I need all my wits about me to avoid choking on his ten inches of prime beef. While I’m deep-throating the head concierge, his partner is sucking on my toes through my stockings and licking my sandals as he tosses himself off. I dare not giggle but the delicious irony of him slurping up two loads of spunk is not lost on me as I take his partners load into my mouth. No sooner has his cock stopped pumping than he climbs off me and his mate replaces him. He’s removed one shoe now and has it over his face, inhaling my scent and licking the bits of the innersole I couldn’t reach earlier, cleaning my sandal of two lots of Melanie jizz. With a grunt he thrusts his cock at me and shoots the first jet into my mouth then deliberately pulls away and squirts the rest over the front of my dress. The bastard! Then he drops my shoe in my lap, zips up his trousers, and leaves the room. I fasten my shoe and stand - but man-mountain won’t let me past. With a grin he takes out fifty pounds of my money and stuffs it down my cleavage before he lets me go. As I hurry through the swing doors I remember that it isn’t actually my money - as he put that in his jacket pocket - however he paid me with cash from his wallet.

That’s an unexpected bonus, because I’ve paid him with 500 pounds of counterfeit money a cop friend of mine gave me ‘for services rendered’. My fee from the punter is safely stuffed into a pocket hidden in the lining of my sable jacket. So in fact I’m ten pound in the black after my encounter with the hotel’s finest front-of-house staff. OK – I did have to swallow more than my fair share of bodily fluid - but at least it’s only my outfit that’s in the red. As I said, everyone’s getting greedy in my profession and I resolve to cross this hotel off my list of assignations. I tell you - these posh hotels are pricing themselves out of the market in more ways than one!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx





4:25 Full Throttle!

Hi!

It’s nine at night and I’ve just been dropped off at the back of the hotel, the best in the genteel seaside town where I’m meeting my client. I’m wearing a black ciré mini dress with little spaghetti straps, sheer black fully-fashioned stockings, a heavy garter belt with ten suspenders and black peephole bra. I’m traversing the puddles, trying not to get my black patent platform sandals wet, although the 7 inch heels are keeping me above the worst of the mess. As a concession to the shitty weather, I’ve got my long black PVC coat buttoned to keep out the rain. I stub my cigarette out in the road and climb the sweeping steps to the entrance, where the uniformed doorman bars my way. He knows exactly why I’m here, but a 50 pound note gains me entry into the cocooned world of the Grand Hotel. Inside, I shrug out of my coat and shake my hair like a wet puppy, showering a lady with an armour-plated blue rinse hairdo! “Really – the standards of this place are slipping!” she mutters in a cut-glass accent, while I delve deep into my repertoire of witty ripostes…….before telling her to “fuck off!” Then I am heading for the elevators, my heels click clacking on the marble floor, trailing the scent of Amouage Gold in my wake.

The client is on the sixth floor and I check myself in a mirror, tease a lock of hair over one eye like Veronica Lake, lift the hem of my dress an inch, push my boobs up and pull my neckline down a bit - then knock on the door. The John is in his early sixties, perma-tanned and with the smug, self-satisfied look of the very rich. He could have anything he wants and of course he is doing just that. Tonight, his money is buying him a worldly-wise tranny hooker with a good line in footjobs and edge play. He has not used me before, but another client recommended him. That’s how it goes in my line of work. No advertising and no audit trail for discerning clients who’d rather their wife didn’t know they spend their spare time bedding chicks with dicks!

The John smells of expensive cologne as he comes close and kisses one bare shoulder. Then he takes my coat and fixes me a drink that I can enjoy because my girlfriend has dropped me off and will collect me when the punter has had his money’s worth. We sit on the edge of the bed and make small talk about the weather while we sip our drinks and I surreptitiously let my hem ride up to expose a stocking top, stretched tight by the battery of suspenders. That does it all right and he puts his glass down and draws me into his arms. He’s rough, like most punters, cos he’s doing stuff to me he can’t get away with at home. His teeth bruise my lips and his tongue thrusts into my mouth while his hands pull my dress over my thighs to expose the suspender straps, stretched over my tanned thighs. Then he runs his tongue down my chest, leaving a glistening trail of saliva, until he reaches my stocking tops. Over the next half hour he licks every inch of both my stockings, paying intimate attention to the soft flesh at the back of my knees before he finally reaches my sandals.

I unbutton his shirt then unzip his trousers and his cock is thick and meaty and I decide there and then that I do not want it within a mile of my tight little ass! I take it into my mouth while he nibbles my glossy white-painted toenails through my sheer stockings. Then his tongue slips under my toes and he makes slurping noises as he sucks loudly and messily on them. I arch my feet to present my foot pussy and his tongue leaves my toes and finds this new playground, wetting my instep and filling my shoe with sticky saliva. The guy pulls away and I reluctantly let his cock go, as he tries to coax me into the kneeling position. I don’t move quick enough so he slaps me hard on the butt and I squeal and adopt the position. Next he grabs one leg and sucks on my heel, all seven inches disappearing into his mouth as he pushes my lacy black panties to one side. Unfortunately the John’s dictionary don’t include the word ‘foreplay’ because he pokes one finger unceremoniously up my ass, followed by another, then another, as he slobbers noisily and takes both heels into his mouth. I’m wriggling about and trying not to squeal too loudly, as he finger fucks my ass. My squirming is obviously spoiling his enjoyment cos, next thing, he slaps me again, really hard. I stay still so he can get the maximum enjoyment out of deep throating my heels while he attempts to get all five fingers up my bum!

I have my teeth gritted and I’m thinking of the fat pay check when he’s finished with me so I don’t notice him removing my sandals. I certainly frickin notice when he pulls his fingers out and instantly replaces them with one of my heels. I squeal really load and he slaps me again and threatens to gag me - so I shut up! He has my other shoe over his face sniffing noisily before he starts to lick the inner sole. Jeez – he must be a true devotee cos I’ve had these plats for ages and the inner sole has been stained by several of my previous clients. I don’t let on that he’s licking up about twenty guy’s DNA as I’m trying to remain still as seven inches of stiletto heel disappears up my ass! Then, suddenly he’s on top of me and I’m kneeling, pinned to the bed by his weight as his cock slides into the shoe sticking out my butt and he starts to fuck it. My other plat appears in front of my face with a command “lick it clean – bitch!” I’m not so frickin smug now as I dutifully clean his spit from my shoe then help myself to the remaining DNA. In a surreal moment of clarity I calculate it’s nearer forty guys than twenty……then wish I hadn’t bothered!

My hopes that he might cum in my shoe and end what is turning into a very long and painful session are dashed as he pulls away from me. My shoe follows then roughly rolls me onto my back. “Lick it clean!” He orders as he pushes the heel between my baby pink lips. I’ve had worse – at least it’s only been up my ass! He fumbles with my suspender clips and I feel the tension go from my stockings before he carefully rolls them off. I dare not stop sucking on my own heel and my vision is blocked by the shoe as he does something with one stocking. Then he pulls my shoe from my mouth and I see that he has tied a slipknot in each end of one stocking. He pulls me towards him, hands me my other shoe and presents his hairy butt to me. Fcuk! That was unexpected! As gently as I can, I insert my heel into his ass. He could learn a bit of consideration from me cos I lubricate it with my spit so I don’t hurt him. I don’t give a stuff about his ass – I just want my money and I won’t get that if he ends up in A & E! Anyway, my heel slides in all the way and by the way he is hopping about, he ain’t used to this! Then he holds the shoe in place and turns over so he is sitting facing me, with the shoe trapped under him, still up his ass.

His cock is still stiff and swollen and he tells me to sit on it with my legs round his waist. I hesitate, cos it’s frickin huge, and I know it’s gonna hurt, but he grabs my hair and pulls me towards him - so I do as he says. I squeal again and get slapped again as he enters me and I almost faint as he slides his full length into me until I am impaled on him, clinging to his waist for support. I’m resigned to the fact I’m gonna get a good seeing-to so I start to move up and down on his shaft. His pole swells to stretch me further, but I’m past caring now. The next surprise is when he takes one stocking and pokes the toe up one of his nostrils and the heel up the other, getting about as close and personal to my hosiery as possible! He stuffs the spare nylon into his mouth and sucks and sniffs while he slips each end of the other stocking over our necks. I should have seen where this was leading -he asked for a tranny who will go to the very edge. Self-preservation makes me stay close to him to keep the noose slack but he’s having none of it. With a muffled gasp he flings his head back and both slipknots tighten. I try to go with him but he holds me at arms length and thrusts up into me and suddenly I want what he wants.

With a moan I arch my back and bend away from him, tightening the loops and stretching the stocking. The blood pounds in my head and I have difficulty swallowing as we lean further and further from each other. My own cock is tucked right between my legs and has swollen to the point where it threatens to burst out of its silky nest. The John’s shaft brushes my glans every time it thrusts into me and pretty soon I feel my own climax approaching. It’s rare for me to cum when I’m on the job. Most punters don’t give a stuff about my pleasure and why should they cos they is paying for their own pleasure. Every so often I manage to get an ‘unintended’ climax and the prospect of that made me lose all reason. Impossibly, his cock swells even more and I ride him, guttural grunts of pleasure escaping from my constricted throat as he fucks my shoe with his own ass as we fall into a rhythm. The stocking is stretched like a bow string and I can no longer swallow. My vision is dimming and my head swimming as I sense his glans engorge deep inside me before he cums explosively. I barely feel his orgasm sending jet after jet of hot cum into me as he rams his ass onto my heel one last time and spits the stocking from his mouth with a gasp. His eyes are bulging, as I know mine must be, then my eyes glaze over.

I come-to with a splitting headache and surprisingly gentle hands removing the stocking from my throat. “Thanks Babes” I croak before this act of tenderness is spoiled by him pushing one of my heels into my mouth. I’m past caring and I dutifully clean it while he uses my stockings to wipe his cock. I’m just glad I’ve survived and I thank my lucky stars he didn’t pass out too - or we’d be both making the Sunday tabloids and the obituary column of the local rag! Having wiped sundry bodily fluids onto my stockings he tosses them at me and stands and wraps a towel over his hairy paunch. I sense he’s not one for romantic reflection, so while he reaches for his wallet, I start to dress. After a brief contemplation I decide my stockings are just too gross to wear so I buckle my plats over bare feet, straighten my panties and smooth the hem of my dress. He hands over a bundle of notes - which I don’t insult him by counting. I can tell by the thickness there’s about two thousand quid there – double my usual rate and adequate compensation for a sore ass and a near-death experience. He obviously thinks the transaction is satisfactory because he books me for another date in a couple of months. I hesitate for a moment as I remember how close to checking-out I’d been only a few minutes previous. However show me a hooker who’s not a greedy hooker and I’ll show you a liar – so I make a note in my diary and leave the room.

Standing at the same mirror, I fix my lippy and straighten my hair. The livid red weal around my neck stands out like a greyhound’s balls so I take a white silk scarf from my bag and tie it loosely, then head for the elevator. The blue-rinsed harridan and her friend are at reception haranguing the staff about something and the silly cow has left her bag on the seat. There is nobody else around and the doorman is looking the other way so I open the bag, stuff my stockings inside and stroll nonchalantly into the night air!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx





8:15 Connoisseur!!!

Hi!

Last night I met a regular client who’s a bit different from the norm. This guy just loves stiletto heel pumps with really pointy toes, they have to be black and they have to be really well worn! He is one of the few clients who I entertain on a ‘home match’ – usually I apply the ‘don’t crap on your own doorstep’ principle and insist on meeting the John at a neutral venue. However, this guy has a specific need and he pays well enough for me to break my ‘unwritten rule’.

So I’m walking up King’s Road with salt spray from the sea threatening to ruin my hairdo, dodging the showers, wearing next to nothing with only a fur jacket to keep me warm. I slow as I approach the hotel and check my watch – I am five minutes early so I stop under a streetlight and light a cigarette. Of course because I am a hooker, I’m dressed like a frickin hooker so I have to turn three guys down, before I finish my Marlboro Light. Finally it’s time and I continue my journey to the hotel.

The client appears from nowhere once I am close to the hotel. He touches my shoulder, kisses me on the cheek, then falls in beside me, watching my feet as I click-clack towards our destination. He is close enough to put an arm around me but he does not, as his eyes are transfixed by my feet.

We reach the hotel and I know I have passed the first test as he takes my arm and escorts me up the steps. We pass into a lobby where I lower the average age of the folk by about ten years and I shrug out of my jacket and sling it over one shoulder. I am ‘cleavage girl’ – my black dress has slightly less material than the average handkerchief and my boobs are spilling out of the front. The back is non-existent and exposes my floral ‘tramp stamp’ tattoo as well as about an inch of butt cleavage. Finally, and most important, my black pointy stilettos have such cutaway vamps that I am showing the five raised tendons of my toes as I walk and, more importantly, four little toe cleavages per foot!

There is a murmur as we pass and I catch a blue-rinsed harridan say: “brazen hussy” then we are in the lift and my guy has me up against the corner with his hands under my butt and his tongue in my mouth! We reach his room and I throw my jacket and bag over the chair and we collapse onto the bed. He kisses me passionately but he can barely contain himself and his hands skim over my body, over my legs, clad in slinky tan hold up stockings until he reaches my shoes.

I can feel his hands tremble and hear his breath catch in his throat as he runs his fingers over my shoes. His little fingers trace my toe cleavages, gently probing each one before moving onto the next. I squirm in ecstasy as he pays my feet the most intimate and detailed inspection.

Then he slips one shoe off and immediately places it over his face uttering a long, low, almost primeval moan. His requirement is most specific – ‘tranny hooker, well-worn pointy stilettos’. That seems quite simple except that he pays me a huge sum of money – but in return – he wants to keep my shoes! The first two times it was OK – I had old pairs of shoes that I wore and he was happy. The third, I just didn’t have the sort of shoes he wanted – so I thought I’d be really clever! Moments after he took off my shoe and smelled it, he started slapping me about and calling me a ‘fcuking whore’.

I’d bought a pair of old shoes from a charity shop and worn them a couple of times - but he frickin knew! I mean what sorta guy can smell the difference between one pair of well-worn pumps and the next? Only a frickin connoisseur is the answer – so after my black eye went down I decided to be straight with him. Now, he gives me a months notice and I make sure I wear the shoes lots and lots, just like he wants!

Anyway, he has the pump I’ve been wearing for the last month over his face as I remove his clothes. Then, when he is naked he then takes my other shoe off. I kneel in front of him and lay right back until my head is on the pillow. My stockinged feet are splayed to the side and he stuffs the spare shoe between my legs with the long pointy toe right between em and the stiletto heel stabbing into the duvet, holding it into place. His cock appears and it is rigid and looking for a target - as he thrusts it into my shoe.

He is so strong that his cock penetrates deep inside the pointed toe and the shoe is forced further between my legs. Then he starts to fuck my shoe while inhaling the scent of my feet in the other shoe! The John thrusts in and out of my pump as I wriggle and writhe to position myself. He is so absorbed that he doesn’t notice as I shimmy around underneath him until suddenly I have him where I want him!

My little cock is tucked right between my legs – outta sight – a la tranny – but I’ve managed to get the toe of my shoe resting against it. So now, as this great hairy stud screws my shoe – he doesn’t realise that he’s screwing me too! The smooth pointy toe rubbing on my cock through my black satin panties is just amazing and I start to cry out in ecstasy. He takes this as ‘hooker faking it’ but responds nevertheless and he pumps his fat cock into my shoe while he smells the other one and holds his other hand over my throat just to remind me who’s boss.

We cum simultaneously – him with his cock thrust right into the narrow toe of my shoe and me with the same shoe rubbing against my own sex, trapped in its satin nest. This is his show so I stifle my pleasure and manage to limit myself to a few squeaks and stifled squeals. My punter doesn’t even notice as he ‘play strangles’ me as he shoots his load into my shoe. My head pounds and my eyes bulge as jet after jet of cum fill my shoe, before he releases my throat and lays across me.

My own cum is soaking through my panties as he lays there, pinning me to the bed with his still erect cock pumping the squishy, cum-filled toe of my shoe. I am bent over backwards with him pinning me to the bed when he finally pulls my shoe from between my legs. I know what’s coming next but I can’t move because he’s still on top of me. Slowly, and with infinite glee, he lets his cum ooze out of my shoe into my mouth and I drink it up, watching his cock swell again!

Eventually, he lets me go - but he keeps my shoes as a trophy! I am well organized and have a pair of little ballet flats in my bag so I can walk home. He’s really well organised too and books the next meeting with me for a few weeks hence. I know I’ve gotta get a new pair of shoes trashed for then - so best I get started now!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx




0:26 Perpetual Motion!

Hi!

Tonite I entertained one of my more ‘potent’ clients!

I enter the hotel room, wearing a black stretchy mini dress, black stockings and black plats. My guy is on the bed and he comes across to greet me. He’s an old regular and conversation aint his style so after a quick ‘hello’ he starts to kiss me, thrusting his tongue into my mouth at the same time as his hands disappear up my dress. Then he puts them under my butt and lifts me up as I wrap my legs around his back and my arms around his neck. I’m only about 130 pounds so he aint exactly taxed!

Without breaking our kissing, he carries me to the bed! Still participating in the trials for the 2012 tonsil Olympics, I undress him before he releases me and I start to give him a BJ. While I’m taking his cock into my mouth, he’s licking my feet inside my sandals, sticking his tongue under the soles of my feet and nibbling my toe rings through my stockings. Then, when his cock is good and lubricated I sit in his lap, facing him, and take him inside me, working on him with my ass muscles. Then I lean right back, between his spread legs and bring my own legs up until he can grab both my shoes and suck on my heels while I ride him!

He is licking my black patent plats and making my stockings wet as he runs his tongue all over my feet. Then he has first one, then both heels in his mouth and then he’s licking the soles of my shoes. I’ve just walked across the car park in those plats, in the dark, but he doesn’t seem to mind!

He is making little snuffling noises as he both licks and smells my feet at the same time. Then I feel him swell inside me and I know he’s gonna cum soon, so I climb off him and kneel between his legs with my back to him. He takes his cock and rams it under one of my heels and fucks the inside of my plat for a minute until he comes right under my sole, right inside my shoe. It seems to go on for ever, jet after jet of hot cum, invading the inside of my shoe, soaking into my sheer black stockings and I curl my toes to stop it from oozing straight out of the front!

Then, once he is finished I climb off him and walk around the room, posing for him while he takes some snaps on his camera. I know he can hear his cum squelching in my shoe because the camera shakes every time I arch my foot! I see his cock stir again and I join him on the bed and raise my sticky foot to his face and wiggle my toes. My wet foot makes a squishing sound and his cock inflates again before I lie back next to him and bring my foot right over my face.

Gooey cum starts to dribble out of my shoe into my mouth and I lap it up greedily, while stroking his rock hard erection with one hand. Then I lick my own foot, poking my tongue under my sole to gather more of his cum and suck on my own heel before I change position and lubricate his cock again with a mixture of my saliva and his own spunk!

Soon, he is inside me again and I ride his pole as he calls me ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ and licks my other foot, the relatively dry one, sucking on the heel and throwing insults at me as I bring him to his second climax. I don’t mind him calling me ‘whore’ – after all – it’s what I am, and it’s a pretty honourable profession I reckon. If he was calling me ‘politician’ or ‘investment banker’ I’d have been well insulted!

Again – just as he’s about to orgasm - I climb off and he fucks my other shoe, shooting his load inside my sandal and slapping my bum and calling me ‘whore’ and ‘tart’ while he does it. Then I walk around the room again and my feet are really squelching now! I lie on the other side of him so he can get a close up of my other foot as I wiggle my toes to start his jizz flowing, then drink it up as it dribbles out from my shoe.

Unbelievably, his cock flickers and, when he joins me, and my foot, and starts to lick it as well, taking his own cum and passing it from his tongue to mine, it swells again! He is like some human perpetual motion machine and is ready for me again, so climb aboard him again and give him two very gooey feet to play with! He is some serious stud and he’s hard as iron all the time he’s inside me – then I feel him swell and I slip off him and lay with one foot right over my face again.

He climbs on top of me and I feel his cock poking at my shoe and I arch my foot. Suddenly, aided by the sticky mess inside my sandal, his cock fills the gap between my foot and the shoe and his shiny purple helmet bursts through and pokes me in the eye! He grunts and calls me ‘bitch’ as he fucks my foot pussy hard and there is so much thrusting that there is no telling where it will go.

I see his tip swell and I open my mouth in expectation but the next thrust moves it off target and it goes first up my nose then into my hair. I flatten my foot and pin him there and, at last, manage to squeeze the last few drops into my mouth before he rolls off, finally spent!

I’ve now got two sticky feet and spunk up my nose and he’s thinking about getting home to his wife. So I take his shaft in my mouth and clean him real well. He’s a straight guy and he don’t need no reminders he’s just has his cock up a tranny’s ass – not once but three times!

Then I pull my knickers back in place and run a hand through my hair, spreading jizz through it like some protein-rich hair gel, while he gets out my money. I get my diary and we fix a date for the next time and he hands over the cash. I’ve been in his room a little over an hour, didn’t take none of my clothes off, and had three loads of cum shot over me!

All in a night’s work!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx





23:35 Community Service!

Hi!

Tonite was a fairly routine job – Me and Zahra ended up in a hotel, me dressed in a black and white polka dot mini dress, black stockings and black patent plats and Zahra with a long white coat to hide the fact she’s wearing a white blouse and grey schoolgirl outfit! Of course we is meetin different clients, so we go to the respective rooms – fortunately on the same corridor and I knock on my door and enter.

The John is in his forties, glasses and beard – he looks like a teacher. I could have worn jeans and flatties but I have made an effort because first impressions matter. I walk across and he stands up and looks nervous, like he always does. I kiss him and feel the bulge at the front of his trousers and think, like I always do, that he would probably rather have me this way instead of our usual ritual. However, he pays the piper so he calls the tune and I go to the bathroom and lock the door.

Hanging up is a red cocktail dress, slightly above the knee, expensive and the sort of dress a classy lady in her late forties would wear. The bra and panties are faded like they have been washed a thousand times. The tan tights have recently been worn and not washed. The garments point to a lady who wants people to think she is glamorous but takes her partner for granted as underneath that lovely dress she wears cheap, functional underwear.

I take off my own clothes and slip into the underwear and shudder as it has obviously just been lifted from the laundry basket. I never, ever, wear tights but I dutifully pull them, on taking care not to ladder them, and roll them over the off-white panties. Then I slip on the dress, which smells of dry-cleaning, and buckle the thin black patent belt around my waist.

The shoes are fcuk-me black patent peeptoe courts with a four inch heel. They are half a size too small but I squeeze into them. Next, I take wedding and engagement rings from my bag and slip them on and take the red Alice Band he has left for me. It has a blonde hair caught on it – the same colour as my hair but with a split end – which shows she’s probably stressed - and I scrape my hair back severely and anchor it in position. Then I unlock the door and join him in the bedroom.

The next minute happens in a blur. He turns and his eyes widen. “Tracy!” he says as he takes two steps towards me. “You fcuking whore!” Then he slaps me across the face and pushes me roughly towards the bed. I could fight him – he’s even skinnier than me - but I go with the flow and land face down on the bed. His fingers fumble as he unfastens my belt and slides it free before roughly grabbing my arms and pulling them behind my back. Then he wraps the belt around my wrists and fastens it before rolling me onto my back with my arms pinned underneath me. This guy must really hate his wife cos I know I’m wearing all her clothes and every time he hits me - he’s really hitting her.

Next he removes my shoes – all the while calling me “Bitch”, “Slapper”. “Tart”, “Whore” and a dozen other words. He slaps my thighs hard before pulling down my tights. At any time I could kick him and break his nose but I lay there squealing ineffectually and wriggling as he slaps my legs some more. Then he takes one of my shoes and rams it into my mouth before using the tights to tie it in place as a crude gag. I hate the next bit, cos he shoves both the toes of the tights up my nostrils and all I can smell is Tracy’s feet.

Next, he slaps me hard across the face and I see stars. Then, by the time I can focus again, he’s got his trousers off and his cock is inside my other shoe! He clambers on top of me an stuffs the shoe between my boobs and fucks it, holding it in place while he pokes his cock in and out of the peep toe while all the while calling Tracy a slut and a whore. I can see it’s hurting him as the peep toe is small and the delicate skin of his glans stretches every time he forces it through the hole. His bell end is red raw by the time he suddenly crabs up my body, pushes the tights to one side and rams his cock into the shoe that’s stuffed in my mouth!

Cursing Tracy, he thrusts himself into the shoe, pinning me to the bed and forcing the toe right into my mouth. Then with a final cry of “Whore!” he cums explosively down my throat. I don’t taste his spunk or anything - as he just shoots it through the peep toe and straight into me. He rolls off panting with the exertion and kneels between my legs. Then he pisses over me – the final humiliation – except it’s over the dress not really me. There are tears streaming down his cheeks as I lay there while he soaks me then he rolls off and sits on the bed, looking away from me and sobbing. I free my hands, remove the shoe from my mouth, go to the bathroom, lock the door and shower then change.

It’s obvious the guy hates his wife but hasn’t the guts to do anything about it. He’s basically a wimp, so he pays me to act out the fantasies he won’t ever dare do in real life. Better he slaps me about, than the classy lady who is his missus – I guess I’m performing a community service of sorts! I leave the bathroom and he’s gone. My money is on the bedside table and there’s a hefty bonus cos he’s slapped me about more than usual. He’ll return after I’ve left and take the clothes back home. He gets the dress dry-cleaned ready for the next time - cos I guess even the most uncaring wife might notice the piss stains!!!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx




0:59 Mister Burns!

Hi!

Tonite I was with my bestest favourite client Mister Burns. I mean that aint his real name but I call him that cos he looks a bit like the character from The Simsons!

Mr Burns is dead rich an he’s pretty old as well - but there’s life in the old dog yet! Oh yeah – an he’s in a wheelchair too. When I meet him it’s a bit different. Usually I meet the client when he’s already in the hotel room but this time I go to reception, get the key and make myself comfortable. I’m wearing a black mini dress and black patent peep toe pumps with a five inch heel.

Mr Burns’s aide arrives first and checks the room. He sweeps the place for bugs an searches me an my handbag. I know the form, so I’ve only got an old mobile that aint got a camera in it – Mr Burns likes his privacy! Finally, when everything has been checked, the aide wheels Mr Burns in, gently lifts him onto the bed, and leaves us.

The thing with a man like Mr Burns is that he’s used to getting what he wants - when he wants it. I guess most folk try an please him as soon as possible in just about everything he does. So I take my time with him. However, I gotta do some serious preparation for quite a few days before. I lay next to him on the bed and first off he starts to talk about what’s going on in the world.

Asking what I think about the new Israeli settlements in East Jerusalem aint everyone’s idea of typical hooker chat but I’ve done my homework an I start to give my views on the recent US objections. All the while I’m sliding up the bed until my feet are next to his head. He takes one foot in his hand and caresses my dark cherry toenails and changes the subject to piracy off the coast of Somalia. By the time he switches to the delay in the closure of Guantanamo Bay, he has both my shoes off and his head propped up on my feet. As he listens to my answers to his questions he alternates between licking the soles of my feet and poking his tongue into the peep toe of one shoe!

I’ve acquitted myself pretty well so far but, as usual, he has saved the best until last - and asks what I think about the arrest of Rwandan Hutu rebel leaders in Germany. This is his test for me because that hasn’t exactly been headline news. He changes to sucking on my big toes and nibbling my toe rings as I give him five minutes of everything Melanie knows about the Rwandan Hutu rebels living in the Congo. As he sucks on the heel of one shoe I even manage to remember the name of one of the arrested men – although I doubt if I pronounce the leader of the rebels, Ignace Muwanashyaka, correctly! Mr Burns smiles at me with real affection. I guess he knows I don’t avidly read the foreign section of all the newspapers every day, but he appreciates the efforts I make to provide him with stimulating conversation as he enjoys playing with my feet and shoes.

I’m about to move my feet when he suddenly grabs them, he’s surprisingly strong for a man is his seventies, and places them over his face, licking both of my soles and poking his tongue between my toes. He stops long enough to ask whether I think the supply of high-grade Congolese Coltan will be interrupted.

As his tongue worms its way between my toes, well on the way to giving me the cleanest feet in the Western Hemisphere, I rack my brains to think of an answer. Mr Burns stops his ‘How Clean Is Your Foot?’ routine long enough to spread them apart and look at me through the gap. Shit! This is his biggest test yet! Somehow I remember that Coltan is short for Columbite-Tantalite which is what the capacitors in mobile phones are made from. The stuff is found all over Eastern Congo and is a major source of illegal income for the rebels.

I purse my lips quizzically and a tiny veil of disappointment shadows his face. Then I pop my chewing gum and tell him that it probably won’t make much difference as, if the Hutu rebels don’t smuggle the Coltan, there are plenty of other groups who will. I move one foot to the side and fold one toe as I cross off each option, Congolese Mai Mai Militia, Congolese Army troops, Rwandan Army troops crossing the border, Rwandan proxy Congolese militia drawn from the Tutsi Banyamulenge group and finally rogue UN peacekeepers. I’m glad I can’t think of a sixth option as all my spare toes have miraculously disappeared inside his mouth!

Finally, he releases my very wet and sticky foot and beams at me - and I know I’ve passed his test and my payment and bonus is secure. However, I never take it for granted and, anyway, I enjoy his company. I leave him conducting an in-depth examination of the inside of one shoe and seemingly attempting to lick my toe prints from the white innersole! I know he can’t move his legs - so I carefully spread them apart, shift position and undo his shoelaces with my toes.

After I’ve removed both of his highly-polished brogues I commence to undo his belt. I went to remove his socks one time and he just said “No!” Which I guess was pretty emphatic! A lotta older guys don’t like other folk seein their feet I suppose. Once his belt is undone, I unfasten his button and slowly unzip his trousers. He has abandoned my shoes now and watches, transfixed, as I grip the zip between my toes and draw it all the way down. Then I shimmy down the bed and grip his trouser bottoms. He pushes himself up on his elbows and I whip them from under his butt! Finally, I return to his silk boxers and tease him through the material, feeling him swell, then gently remove them too!

Over the next hour or so I gently massage his cock between the soles of my feet, every-so-often stroking the tip and gently squeezing his balls with my toes. Once I take one of my shoes and place it over his cock and slowly draw him through the peep toe as he swells and fills it. Then I lick and suck his shiny purple glans while I caress his balls with my long fingernails. All the time he talks to me about, of all things, cricket. He loves the game from the 1950s and 60s which was way before I was born so, again, I have to spend some time researching stuff before we meet. I even bought a load of old cricket books, cost me over a thousand pounds, but it was worth it, as you’ll see in a minute!

Mr Burns never stops talking as I work my magic on him. It’s pretty hard to make meaningful comments when I’ve got his cock and the whole of the front of my shoe in my mouth - working on his bell end by my throat muscles alone. Well lubricated by my saliva he slides even further through the peep toe until the back of my shoe is right between his legs, under his ass. Finally I take him back between my feet and slowly slide them up and down his shaft, which is sticky with saliva and precum.

I know he is about to cum because the veins on his cock stand out and his shiny tip twitches – oh and he finally stops talking! Mr Burns does not shoot his load – I guess he’s a bit long in the tooth for that – rather it oozes out – like a fizzy drink overflowing the glass. I milk his gooey cum, not letting a drop spill or, more importantly, dribble over my favourite peep toes. I gather it between my toes and spread it over one foot then do the same with the other. Finally, when it is all collected, I come up the bed and sit right next to him and prop myself up against the headboard.

Then I bring both feet up to my face and lick them clean – making sure I remove all his spunk from my feet while he watches in rapt fascination. He swells once more and, if he were younger, I could probably bring him off again. But hell – the guy's a pensioner and I don’t want him dying on the job! So, very gently, I remove my shoe from his limp cock and dress him, making sure I tuck in his shirt, fasten his belt in the correct hole and double knot his shoes like they were before. I think it’s important to both of us that his aide has no idea of the intimacy between us.

When Mr Burns if fully dressed, he nods towards his wheelchair and I go and retrieve the big, gift-wrapped box. I sit next to him and I am genuinely excited, cos I never know what’s in the box. He likes the way I wiggle on the bed like a happy puppy as I tear the bow, then the paper, from the box. This time it's a fantastic pair of white patent platform sandals with 7 inch silver heels. I squeal because they are genuinely stunning and ignore the other two items in the box. Of course they are my size and I buckle them on. Now I wouldn’t usually choose to wear brand new shoes over cum-soaked feet but needs must! They don’t really go with my dress either but what the hell? I do a few circuits of the room so he can see me wearing them and he nods approvingly.

Finally, he nods to the box again and I retrieve the smaller gift-wrapped packet. It’s always a piece of bling. The first time we went together, he bought me a gold bracelet that probably cost four hundred pounds. As he’s become more comfortable with me, the quality has improved exponentially. Last time it was a diamond solitaire ring with a five carat stone. I made him laugh by immediately wearing it as a toe ring. Today the little box holds an exquisitely detailed gold torc bracelet. It’s clearly ancient and heavy – there is a card in the box but it would be tacky to read it – (it is ancient Celtic from the 2nd Century BC!). I hesitate then gently stretch the torc open and slip it over one ankle. It doesn’t match the gold chain with little teddy bears dangling from it on my other ankle but Mr Burns is so busy giggling that he doesn’t seem to notice.

Finally he follows his usual routine of asking me to move in with him and I follow my usual routine of refusing. Then I gently lift him from the bed and sit him in his chair. He’s tiny, and even I can lift him easily! If his aide doesn’t return for some reason, at least he can move to the door to open it. Then I grab my black courts and leave. One time I actually got to the door and had genuinely forgotten the envelope of money, which is the third item in the box, and I think that impressed him the most. Now I always make a show of leaving - before he calls me back to collect my fee! It’ll be another three months before I see Mr Burns again – my bestest favourite client!

Lotsa love

Melanie

xxxx




9:10 Happy Slapping!

Hi everyone!

Last night was almost a frickin disaster but, me and Zahra managed to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat!

Zahra had arranged to meet a punter over the phone. I wasn’t happy but she assured me the guy was OK. Normally Lou vets all our Johns personally which means actually meeting them face-to-face and we know that she won’t let any of the dodgy-looking ones near us. But Zahra doesn’t want to pay Lou’s commission - and a greedy hooker is a careless hooker. Anyway, I agree to drive her to the hotel and sit in the bar until she’s done so at least she has a bit of moral support close by.

We arrive in good time – it’s a dead nice hotel. Zahra looks real lovely in her usual ‘uniform’ of white mini dress and peep toe 5 inch heel pumps. I’m wearing a jade green mini dress with a black belt, black 7 inch heel plats and black beads and bangles. I walk her up to the room where, dead on time, she knocks and the guy answers. I stay at the door for ten minutes or so and it’s all OK so I go to the bar.

Now sitting at the bar drinking frickin tonic water aint exactly thrilling, but along come these two guys – late thirties and dead fit looking. They buy me a drink and sit down and we start chatting. To me it’s obvious they are military and, by the sense of humour, not officers but senior rankers. They ask what I’m doing and I think about bluffing. But in my experience, squaddies are the most frickin tolerant folk – they gets a bad reputation but they sees so much shit in the world that they is pretty easy going about most things. So I just come out and say: “I’m a transsexual hooker and I’m flying top cover for my mate who’s entertaining a client upstairs!” Well – you could’ve heard em laughing a frickin mile away!

Ray and Al are frickin well lush and my lustometer is way off the scale! Anyway I know I gotta stay focussed so we just chat about stuff and they buy me lots of tonics. They are well nosey and ask me lotsa stuff about the job and I just tell it how it is, and we have a good laugh. Then, about 9.30, my phone rings and it’s Zahra in tears. The John’s only gone and slapped her about, ripped her dress and done a runner! About half a minute later the obvious guy - fifty, bald and fat - comes puffing through the bar, tucking his shirt in and heading for the exit. I say “excuse me” and go after him.

Well I catch up with the guy in the car park and he hears my heels an turns. He looks me over like some frickin reptile and I know for certain it’s him. I just walk across to him and the next thing I got his frickin arm right up his back – just bout to break the frickin thing! He hesitates so I push some more and his arm starts to make crackin noises! Then he gets out his wallet and I release the pressure a bit while he counts out the 400 notes he owes Zahra. Then I push him away and he fcuks off to his car……………Half a minute later he’s back with a frickin knife!

I carry stuff that aint strictly legal here - well I got both Mace and Pepper spray in my bag so I reach for em. Pepper’s got a range of 15 feet and’ll put pig-face down for 30 minutes ……………….FCUK! Who left her bag hanging over the back of her barstool? I’m frickin scared - an running in plats aint an option so I face him - but I can see in his eyes he’s gonna frickin cut me! Then this real deep voice goes: “You forgot your handbag Melanie!” an Ray an Al are standing off to one side.

I take my bag from Ray, and the punter looks at me then he points the blade at the guys. I feel that seeing as I got ‘em into this mess I gotta explain, so I tell em he’s done a runner on my mate without paying her. Al says: “Well we can’t have that, can we?” Well – it’s frickin brill – in about ten seconds they have the knife off him and are twisting his other arm this time and he’s squealing like a stuck pig! While the boys are givin him a good slappin (just that – not fists and stuff – just real humiliating slapping about!) I pick up the knife and go to his car.

It’s a big flashy Lexus thing – and it don’t take me more than a minute to carve ‘I’VE JUST BEEN WITH A WHORE!’ in the paintwork on the boot before I toss the blade in the bushes. He’s married – they always are – and he’ll have some explaining to do about that! Anyway, the fat pig runs to his car, gets in, and roars away and Ray takes my arm and leads me back to the bar. We sit down an Al gives me about 500 notes and explains that they didn’t know what the going rate was but they thought my mate deserved whatever he had on him!

Next minute, Zahra comes into the bar looking like frickin Liz Hurley with her dress held together with safety pins (we all carry em in our bags cos quite a few punters think its OK to rip, our stuff.) She’s gotta fat lip and a frickin hand print across one shoulder. Well Al’s eyes are on stalks when he sees Zahra’s tits and I subtly push the hem of my dress up a bit and Ray can’t take his eyes off my bare thighs! I hand Zahra the 500 notes and I sorta say that we know the guys are straight but if they are up for it we’d like to say thank you!

Five minutes later we are up in the John’s room with two gorgeous guys giving our feet some serious frickin attention! Al has his cock poked through the peeptoe of Zahra’s shoe while the other shoe is over his face and Ray has his cock wedged inside my sandal and his tongue probing inside my other shoe. Fifteen minutes later we have two straight guys laying side-by-side on the bed with me an Zahra astride them, giving them some serious tranny loving!

Well me an Zahra really have a good time. I keep my dress on, cos my boobs aint much special, but there was some serious interest from the guys when she undoes a couple of safety pins and her perfect titties bounce up an down in time to her rhythm! Then we lean across and snog each other and then we play with each others’ cocks and then the boys are tossing us off as we ride them!

All those frickin chick lit books I read talk bout the two lovers having ‘simultaneous orgasms’! Well real life aint like that. With us it was a sorta ripple effect over a minute or so as we came one after the other. Anyway – me and Zahra swap partners an each suck a cock clean, and lick each other’s spunk of the guy’s chests! It’s real important with straight guys to leave em feelin clean, and like they aint done nothing dirty or unnatural. Me and Zahra kiss, just to leave em with a nice memory, then we sorta say our thanks again and the guys disappear. What a pair of frickin stars and we certainly owe em a lot!

Before we leave the hotel I remember the fat pig-faced tosser had booked the room for the night. So I empty the mini bar into our bags – which’ll cost him a hundred notes or so when they process his card. I also use the phone to call the speaking clock in Washington DC (it’s one of the numbers I keep in my little notebook!) before putting the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door. My bet is the chambermaids leave his room until last, and the phone will still be connected next lunchtime!!!

Lots of Love

Melanie

xxxx





14:59 Melanie Felony!

Hi

Lou has a new money-making scam. Not content with her drag act and ‘escort’ agency she’s branched into ‘tranny dinner parties’. The premise is that she cons a hotel into providing a function room and catering and invites a number of the guys on her books together with a similar number of T girls. She charges the guys an exorbitant fee for what is, nevertheless, a pretty good meal. Furthermore, the champagne is way over-priced and she gets a cut for every room in the hotel that’s rented for the night. It all sounds pretty sordid and I don’t know why I agree to take part but, as usual, her enthusiasm sweeps me along. That is why I’m standing in the foyer wearing my Anna Sui black cocktail dress, black fully-fashioned stockings and black patent platform sandals with a 7 ½ inch stiletto heel and double ankle straps. My gold Albert necklace is nestling in my cleavage and the matching bracelet is over my long black evening gloves. Because I’m Melanie and nobody expects complete decorum, I’m wearing a matching ankle chain and my toenails are painted a lovely brilliant shade of white! I’m standing with Zahra who looks stunning. We shopped for a new outfit for her this afternoon and she’s got a simple white shift dress with white high heeled court shoes and long white gloves. The contrast between her black bobbed hair, flawless amber skin and the dress is striking. I’ve lent her some of my gold jewellery and she looks a million dollars. Lou is there together with Stas as well as Mandy, Sharleen, Gina, Tania, Tara and Lorraine. Ten hot trannies waiting for ten guys with Lou already spending the profit in her avaricious little mind!

The guys arrive en mass, they’ve obviously been in a local pub. All in tuxedos and looking rich (as well they might given Lou’s prices!). The girls dutifully circulate – all secretly eying who we want to end up with. However, Lou is no fool and some of the guys already have their ‘regulars’ so she has prepared for this. Dinner is announced and the guys cluster around the seating plan before seeking out their partners for the dinner. One guy comes over, he’s about the same age as me and asks: “Are you Melanie?” I nod and he kisses one gloved hand, introduces himself as Jim and takes my arm and leads me through to the dining room. I’m please that Zahra is also with us, together with her guy, Karl, who obviously knows my partner. The food is good and the company sparkling. They are both ‘something in oil’ and even laugh when I say – ‘what like sardines?’ The waitress who’s looking after us is a blonde babe and keeps eyeing me up, so I know that if I don’t score with Jim I’m probably not sleeping alone tonight! The evening winds down and two couples have already disappeared up to rooms – much to Lou’s delight. She looks expectantly at us but I aint gonna play her game. The guys are not stupid either and whisper to us. Zahra looks nonplussed and turns to me. She uses her Arabic pet name for me:
“Arnab – what is dogging?”

I whisper to her in Arabic and she grins then giggles. I place one gloved hand on Jim’s thigh and say: “Get your coat big boy you’ve pulled!” Lou casts daggers at us as we leave the hotel and walk arm-in-arm to a car park where a brand new BMW is parked. Jim climbs behind the wheel and we sweep out of town for a few miles until we get to a rural beauty spot I recognise. There is a car park and we cruise past a couple of vehicles with steamed-up windows until we find a secluded spot. We are all well up for a bit of in-car entertainment as an aperitif before we head to one of their places for the main course! Way better than an overpriced hotel room! So Zahra and me lie back on the plush leather upholstery and place our feet on the front seats either side of the headrests. Both guys don’t need asking twice and they swivel in their seats, kneel and start to pay our shoes and feet some serious attention. Jim’s tongue is examining my sandals, probing the tight slit between the sole of my foot and the inner sole of my shoe. He is all over my toes, pushing his tongue between them, his teeth teasing my gold toe rings through the silky embrace of my stockings. Karl leans across and takes my ankle and crosses it over Zahra’s and now we both have a different guy playing with one foot. Suddenly, a face appears at the window, followed by another on the opposite side. Zahra and I are snogging, while our feet receive the most exquisite attention, as the two guys standing outside take out their cocks and watch us through the windows as they toss themselves off. I abandon Zahra for a moment and press the window button and the glass slides down to reveal a guy in his fifties standing by the car, both hands on his erect cock. I beckon him and he stands closer and I take his cock in my mouth. Zahra catches on fast and soon her window is open and the other guy is between her luscious lips. Jim and Karl are well up for this and continue to lick and suck on our toes as we bring two complete strangers to their orgasm inside our mouths.

Both guys cum within moments of each other and Zahra and I dismissively flick the window buttons, shutting them out of our lives as we snog again, mixing the cum, our tongues like mating snakes, until we have swallowed all their jizz. Our guys are now red hot for us so we change position and kneel on the seat with our heads on the parcel shelf. The boys shift the front seats fully forward, then join us in the back. My ass receives a momentary, cursory, lubrication from Jim’s tongue before he enters me and Zahra’s muffled cry tells me that Karl is taking his pleasure too. I twist my head towards hers and we kiss passionately as our guys hump us like rutting stags. There is another knock on the window and I grope for the button again. The window descends, filling the car with cold air and I shimmy around and manage to stick a leg out into the night air wiggling my ankle and toes suggestively. I am expecting another tongue, or even a cock inside my sandal but instead a woman’s voice says:
“I am arresting you for lewd behaviour in a public place. Step out of the car now!”

A torch shines into the car and Jim deflates and slips out of me, as I try to pull my dress back over my butt. Outside the car is a ring of cops and we have been well and truly nicked! How we didn’t notice two great big frickin’ white vans arrive I’ll never know, but the cops separate us and march Zahra and me to one and the boys to another. The back door opens and the female cop tells us to get into the van. The door slams and we are left sitting in a frickin’ cage that smells of piss and vomit. The woman is obviously the leader cos they call her ‘Sarge’. She tells one cop to stay with us and another with the boys while the rest go off in search of other ‘perverts’! Zahra and I sit in the stinking van and she begins to cry. I try to comfort her, telling her I will get us out of this as the front door opens and a cop clambers in. Jeez! He cannot be more than nineteen, pimple-faced and sweating under his stab-vest. He looks at us through the mesh screen separating us and tries to look tough. I continue comforting Zahra, switching to Arabic to re-assure her. The cop tries to throw his weight around: “Hey what are you saying? What language is that?” I ignore him and he shouts: “Stop talking – you are not allowed to talk!” I shoot him a withering look: “Since when has talking been a criminal offence?” He splutters a bit and blushes. “OK – sorry – I’m just out or training and I’m new to this”.

I whisper some more to Zahra and she dries her eyes and nods. Then I slide up the bench to the front of the van and start to chat him up. He cannot make up his mind whether to look down my dress - or up it - and I make sure that I am showing him the maximum amount of thigh as possible – without, of course, breaching any more obscenity laws! The mesh grill is battered but firmly secured and covers the whole width of the van with a gap of about six inches at the top and bottom. There a hole slightly bigger than the rest of the mesh, about mid way-up. I stretch my legs and plonk my plats on the opposite bench and flex my toes, separating each one then wagging my big toes at him as if to say ‘come and get it!’ My head is at his groin level and I can’t fail to notice the bulge that is appearing at the front of his black uniform trousers! I ask him if he likes my shoes and he leans closer for a closer look as I flirt with him some more. It’s crunch time, I can just squeeze my hand through the hole and, without him noticing at first, I run my fingers up his zip. He acts like he’s just had a thousand volts passed through him and his whole body stiffens – and I mean his whole body! He does not attempt to back away so I undo his zip, all the time looking into his eyes through the grill. His cock is bursting out of his shorts and springs free into my gloved hand. Gently, very gently, I draw him towards the hole.

He panics as he realises the consequences of what might happen, so I release his cock from my hand but still trace little circles on his shiny tip with one finger, maintaining contact but not threatening him. “Sarge will be back any moment he protests!” “This won’t take long!” I purr. “You interrupted our fun so it’s the least you can do before you nick us!” The cop nods, we aren’t going anywhere and the bright beams of the searching torches are right across the other side of the car park. His cock has strayed within range and I withdraw my hand and thrust my tongue through the mesh and succeed in just reaching him enough to lick a glistening drop of precum from him. I look up at him and flutter my eyelashes, licking my lips to spread his juice over them like lip gloss. His eyes widen and, on impulse, he pokes his meaty cock through the hole. I’m on him in an instant, taking him deep into my mouth, sucking him towards his rapidly approaching crescendo. Then I gently close my teeth over the root of his shaft and clamp him tight. He tries to pull away in panic then cries out at the pain from his trapped penis. Zahra bounds up the van and demands: “Handcuffs – Now!”

The cop struggles some more and cries out some more. He unwisely pokes a finger through the mesh towards one of my eyes and I turn away and grab it with a free hand. I can’t grip him between my gloved fingers but I twist it hard enough to discourage any further digit forays! I bite harder and he yelps. Zahra stands astride the two seats, her face inches from his, with me on the floor under her pert little butt. “Handcuffs and key now! Shout again and she will eat your cock!” Bless her! Her English still isn’t perfect! I think ‘bite’ might have been more appropriate! I personally would have added something about his only chance of future employment being head eunuch in a Turkish Sheikh’s harem - however I can’t assist – my Mum always told me not to talk with my mouth full! The cop reluctantly reaches for the handcuffs on his belt. “Key first!” Zahra barks. That’s my little Iranian minx – get the key off him first! He delves into a pocket and drops the key over the mesh into Zahra’s outstretched palm. Next come the handcuffs and she deftly slips one end over his wrist and the other over the supporting stanchion. With a little cry of ‘Yes!’ - she tells him to open the cage door. I nip him and he stifles a cry. I know that if he kicks the door back on her it will hurt her and I might panic and release him. But she has remembered our whispered conversation: Open the door now! If you touch door again - my friend will turn you into girl!” Ouch! Well said babes!!!!

The poor cop has tears running down his cheeks, a mixture of pain and humiliation I imagine, as he opens the door. Lithe as a little street urchin, Zahra slides through and out of his range. She shuts the cage again, opens the side door and slips into the night air. A moment later the back door swings open and she cries: “We are free!” Yes we are free but we are still in deep shit – in fact probably in even more shit after imprisoning a cop with his own handcuffs – and anyway, we are only free from the van. My brain is working overtime, trying to figure the best way out for us when I realise that his cock is still fully erect and pulsing in my mouth. Still gripping him between my teeth, I start to work my throat muscles on his bulging glans, using them like I am trying to swallow him, kneading his tip inside my throat. My tongue slithers around his smooth shaft and I hear him gasp.

“Arnab – laazim nirooh – il heen!” Zahra cries at me in Arabic and I know ‘we must go now!’ – but I just need another moment or two. Zahra swears at me in Arabic – ‘Camel’s testicle’ isn’t a nice thing to call your best friend! Then the copper grunts and his tip swells to bursting point, choking me as he fills my throat. I involuntarily open my jaw but, even though he is free from my teeth, he doesn’t withdraw until he has emptied his balls inside my mouth! I finally let him go, and hawk jizz from my throat into my mouth in a most unladylike manner. Then I climb onto the seat and spit a jet of sticky spunk onto the driver’s seat. It hangs there in a gooey puddle and I take careful aim and drop the little key into the mess. With that I am gone.

I know I’ve taken a huge risk. However, neither of us have left any prints and I don’t think it’s likely the rookie will let his dick, or the puddle of his own spunk be used as DNA evidence. I suspect he’ll be so busy cleaning jizz from the seat after he’s released himself that he will spend the rest of the time concocting some story about how the back doors were faulty and we got out while he was taking a piss. Zahra and I both carry a pair of flimsy flat shoes in our bags. (you’d be surprised how many guys think its frickin’ funny to steal a tranny’s shoes after they’ve shagged her). I don’t go the obvious way, back onto the road, but lead her into the woods, parallel to the searching torches. I make a quick call on my mobile as we jog along the sandy path, with our high heels in our hands, and soon we leave the cops far behind. I used to play in these woods when I was a kid so I know the vans can’t follow us, even if the cops know which way we have gone. Forty-five minutes later we leave the wood and come onto a country road. We are four miles away from the cops as the crow flies but well over thirty by road. Simon – our saviour – is waiting and he hustles us into the boot of his big car and pulls away.

I think I’ll take the option of a hotel room next time!

Lots of love

Melanie

xxxx







7:34 One Size Fits All!

Hi

Last night I went clubbing with my friends. I’ve been working for Lou quite a bit recently and it was nice to have an evening to myself. I wore a white sequinned crop top with a very (and I mean very) short lilac PVC mini skirt and my white patent platforms with 7 ½ inch heels. My bangles, nails and lipstick were lilac and, as a concession to the weather, I had my lilac leather jacket slung across my shoulders. I met up with the other girls and we sat in a group for a bit before, as usual, we went our separate ways. I went to the bar and ordered a Harvey Wallbanger and flirted with Carlos the barman and made sure that I was showing as much thigh as possible to all the hunks who drifted by. I had turned to get another drink when I became aware that the stool next to me was occupied. I recognised the guy. Darren used to date Alexis until she decided to move to Manchester, so I know he’s into the tranny scene and therefore a safe bet.

I flutter my eyelashes and flash him a generous expanse of holiday-tanned thigh and he buys the drink I’ve just ordered and starts to chat me up. He’s fit, in a skinny kind of way, between the two of us I doubt if we tip the scales at more than 280 pounds. He has an open, honest face and gorgeous soulful brown eyes with lashes a gal would die for! He is open about stuff and tells me he really misses Alexis but knows he has to move on. That sets my ‘flirtometer’ to overload and cross my legs to let him get a good look at my shoe and my line of shiny, silver-painted toenails. He catches Carlos’s eye for more drinks and Lou drifts across. “Be careful with that one!” She murmurs and sashays away. What the hell does that mean? I look across at Darren but he’s only interested in my foot. I wiggle my toes and the silver toe rings catch the light. He looks anything but threatening. Lou’s warnings are usually spot-on but this seems to smack of nothing but jealousy. I rub the outside of my foot against his leg and put one hand on his and he smiles at me and runs his fingers across the top of my toes. Stas appears and whispers in my ear: “Please be careful darling. He once put Alexis in hospital!” Darren asks what Stas has just said and I say something about arranging a date for next Wednesday. All the evidence says to cut and run but my instincts say to stay.

Darren goes off the Gents and Zahra takes his place. Her brow is furrowed with concern, “Arnab – you must not go with him – he will hurt you!” She totters away as he returns. He sits closer to me and his hands slide up my skirt. I can’t resist and my legs part and I draw him towards me and kiss him. But I have never known my friends to be wrong. I pull back and look him in the eye: “Look at me and tell me you are not going to knock me about.” He looks hurt, and I mean genuinely aggrieved, and slips off the stool. I notice the other three have not pulled this evening and know they are all just jealous. I grab Darren’s arm and tell him we are leaving. I have no idea where we are going but I do know I am in no threat from this guy. He’d be lucky to knock his way out of a wet paper bag let alone match it with a streetwise tranny. He tells me he lives close by and I agree to go to his flat so we walk, arm-in-arm down the dark streets until we reach his place. Fuck me! It’s only a couple of blocks from where I live! Buoyant and confident that I am safe, I climb the steps to his door.

Darren’s place is spotless and not like the grotty bachelor pad I was expecting. In fact it is minimalist with chrome furniture and bare, laminate flooring. He fixes us drinks and I check my makeup and hair in the bathroom. On the way back I peek in his bedroom – not a rope, chain or whip in sight so I return, sling my jacket over a chair and adopt the ‘come and get me’ pose on the sofa. Darren needs no encouragement and kneels on the floor and is all over my feet. His tongue licks between my toes and he nibbles at my toe rings while his fingers explore under my arches. Then he lifts my feet and starts to lick under my feet where they overhang the narrow spines of my plats. I am rock hard and dripping precum as he slides his tongue under my heels and lets a dribble of saliva into each shoe and I writhe in ecstasy as it trickles under my sole. I manage to get at his shirt buttons and rip one off in my haste. I finally fling his shirt across the room and he fumbles with my skirt. This isn’t going as fast as I want and I say: “Last one naked makes breakfast”. With that I pull my top and bra off as one and wriggle out of my panties. They catch on the buckle of my sandals and I hop around on one leg trying to free them, giggling manically as he falls over trying to remove his trousers. I finally free the errant panties and stand there, naked but for my plats (shoes don’t count in a ‘get naked’ contest!). I kick my underwear in the general direction of the rest of my clothes and stand there triumphantly as he pulls down his shorts. “I’ll have a full fry, eggs sunny side up, grilled……..! My triumphal gloat tails away as I spot his monstrous cock!

It has to be a joke. It is not just big - but frickin’ enormous! Not so much the length but the girth. I stare open-mouthed and croak: “Did you borrow that from a donkey?” I step forward, acutely aware that it must be three times bigger than my own cock which seems to be wilting under the gaze of the competition. I run my fingers up it and the anaconda stirs. It is definitely connected to him and I now see what the girls were trying to warn me about! OK – they could have just come out and warned me straight but I’d have probably thought it couldn’t possibly be that big and had a go anyway. So they tried to appeal to my sense of self-preservation but oh no – Melanie knew best! I can’t see how this is gonna end without yet another trip to A & E and I put my arms over his shoulders. He looks so frickin’ doleful and says: “Don’t worry – I’m used to this. That’s why I miss Alexis so much.” I think ‘Hell! Respect gal! She must have an ass like the channel tunnel!’ He reaches for his shirt but I stop him. The Melanie red mist comes down and I hear myself saying: “We’ll find a way!”

Five minutes later he is sitting on the shiny wood floor with me standing over him. I have removed my plats and he has one over his face, conducting a minute olfactory examination of the inside, while his pole is swelling to epic proportions. I kneel in front of him and carefully slide his cock into my shoe. His glans totally fills my sandal and, with difficulty, I coax it through the toe and then carefully slide more and more of my shoe over his shaft. Eventually it is so far onto his cock the remainder of my shoe is virtually under his ass and I rub him with the back of my shoe and he starts to leak glistening precum. For several minutes I lick and caress his knob while rubbing his ass with the rest of my shoe and I think he might cum there and then and save the doc the bother of stitching my ass together! But no – he don’t want that and slides his cock free from my shoe and uses it to gently slap me around the mouth with it. I take the non-very-subtle hint and place my lips over it and take him into my mouth. I have to stretch myself, like a snake swallowing an egg, and slowly draw him into my throat. However, there is no way he will fit and all I succeed in doing is cutting off my air supply and nearly fainting. I try to take him from my mouth but his glans catches on my teeth and he sticks there. In the end I virtually dislocate my jaw to free him and spend the next few minutes stroking him and lubricating the whole purple veined shaft. I wiggle my rump at him and he leaves my shoe long enough to spend a few minutes on my ass. He’s no stranger to this and does what he has to give me some chance of satisfying him. Finally, its crunch time and I stand over him as he sits with his hands on the floor at his sides. I stand with one bare foot by his left hand and the other by his right knee. This is last chance saloon – I’ve never done this before and it’s either glory time…or A & E time!

Slowly, very slowly I begin to slide my legs apart. My arms are outstretched like a tight rope walker as my legs spread further and further. He is so considerate and puts his left hand over my right foot to stop it slipping too quickly on the smooth floor as I inch lower and lower. I can already feel my ass stretching as I do the splits and the tendons on my inner thighs tremble with the effort. I squeak like a startled mouse as his tip touches me and he uses his free hand to guide me onto him. I hold my position, trembling with the effort and slowly and inexorably, he slides into me. He gasps ‘Yes!’ and uses both hands to support under my butt as I inch my legs further apart dropping onto him by the same amount. After ten or fifteen minutes (and a minimum of pain I might add) my legs reach their zenith and I drop the last couple of inches and I am totally impaled astride him. There then follows the most exquisite sensation I have ever experienced.

It is surreal as we can hardly move. He can’t thrust into me because my weight has pinned him to the floor, and my fingertips aren’t strong enough to lift myself off him even an inch. So I lean towards him and we start to kiss passionately. He strokes my foot with one hand and my cock with the other while I work my ass muscles on his enormous knob. After ten minutes we are still snogging and I am getting dangerously close to my own climax. However, another couple of minutes later his glans swells inside me and he gasps. I assault him with my tongue and ass with renewed vigour and he cries out, a primal shriek, as he orgasms. It is not a gushing spray - but a tumultuous volcano of spunk that seems to flow from him in endless rippling motions. I climax moments later in hot spurts over his tummy and he bites my lip involuntarily– the only time he has hurt me. We slump, with our heads on each others shoulders, chests heaving from the exertion, sweat running down our backs in rivulets. After a few minutes we stir and are faced with a new problem. I am so tight and he is so swollen that the blood in his engorged shaft has no means of escape. I try to lift myself and try to open my ass a tiny bit more but I am exhausted and my tightly strung legs are numb. Like two dogs tied together after sex, we remain, giggling nervously at out predicament. Finally, after what seems an age I feel him wilt and I summons the strength and flop sideways and we separate and lay there feeling the blood flow into our aching limbs.

I wake next to Darren as the dawn chorus begins. He is fast asleep and looks so sweet in the grey light, and I slide away from his warmth. He stirs as I run my fingers down his chest and lower still. My hand has confirmed my worst fears and his monstrous schlong is coming alive again. He is going to expect breakfast to lead to something longer term. He’s a nice guy and I’d be flattered – but there is the slight matter of his pet python! I slip into my clothes, gather up my plats, scribble a note on his mirror with my lipstick, and creep out of the flat. Barefoot, I join the newspaper delivery boys and the occasional jogger as I pad along the semi-deserted streets towards my apartment. I fish out my mobile and text Lou, Stas and Zahra: ‘Had a great evening! Don’t know what all the fuss was about! How could such a tiny guy hurt anyone?’ I hope Darren appreciated my ‘Dear John’ message: ‘Thanx for a lovely one-night stand! You REALLY need to get back with Alexis!’

Lots of love

Melanie

xxxx





2:38 Busman's Holiday!

Hi!

I just got back from my hols which is why I haven’t blogged for a while. Me, Simon, Lou, Stas and Zahra went to Israel for our hols! We got three weeks in a swanky hotel for next to nothing cos of the attack on a gay meeting place a few weeks ago. Seems like we were the only people interested in gay tours, so we got the package for next to nothing. Of course lightning doesn’t strike twice so we had a great and safe time soaking up the Mediterranean sun! Come the end of the hols, Zahra and me decided to explore the Middle East for another ten days but we didn’t have the cash – so we decided to earn a little extra on the side!

Now going on the game in someone else’s country ain’t exactly easy, but we managed! We found the right street in Neve Sha’anan, round the corner from the old central bus station, and then me an Zahra are standing on opposite corners in our best latex dresses looking like we belong there! Some of the regulars weren’t that pleased, cos we lowered the average age of tranny hookers on the street by about ten years! I had to push some old queen off her patch with a few choice words until we had the best spots to ourselves! Anyway - several cars cruise past but fcuk me – the first vehicle to stop is an army jeep with three guys in it. Shit! Just our luck to get arrested on our first night! Zahra tries to shrink into the background, but it aint easy in a white dress, and they beckon us both over and say something in Hebrew. I look dumb, then say we’re Australians, at which point he starts talking English. Sorry to all my friends down under, but everyone seems to like Aussies so it seemed a safe bet! Then the guy asks ‘how much’ and I figure we aint gonna get arrested!

However Zahra is obviously an Arab and they look like her like she’s just crawled out from under a stone, so she shrinks away and I climb in alone. It aint easy in seven inch heels, but we head off to some waste ground near the beach where they park up. I’m pretty scared by this time cos I’m in a strange country, miles from anywhere with three guys with guns! However, there are several other cars so this is obviously a popular dogging spot so I feel a bit better and start to enjoy myself. Now regular readers of my blog will know I’ve gotta thing for soldiers, and brave IDF guys are no exception. It’s not long before I’m sucking on the muzzle of one of their rifles - leaving shocking pink lipstick all over it – which they seem to think is good fun. Then they help me climb out and pretty soon I’m spread all over the bonnet like some tranny human shield!

Two of the guys, Ron and Arik, grab my ankles and pull my legs right over the side, as far as they will stretch. The third guy, Ben, climbs up with me and gets his cock out and I dutifully take it between my lips. Fcuk me! These guys have been on duty for the last week and it is the dirtiest cock I have ever tasted! However I lie back and think of England – well my extended holiday actually – and set to work on him. I hardly notice at first, but there’s a lotta tugging at my ankles and my legs are spread taut. Then I feel a tongue on my arch and suddenly they are all over my feet, two tongues probing under my sole, sucking on my heel and licking between my toes. Well if I gotta suck a dirty cock – these guys got the raw deal! I’d had those plats on for hours and standing in the Mediterranean heat meant my feet were not exactly fragrant! However, they were well up for it and soon I had the cleanest feet and heels in the Tel Aviv! Both guys were nibbling my toes and I was thrashing about on the front of the jeep as I took Ben’s cock deep inside my throat, sucking him closer and closer to his orgasm. Then I realised that they were pulling on my toes and suddenly two of my toe rings were pulled away! I was frickin upset as I only wear the real McCoy and two 18 carat rings disappeared as if by magic. However, with a giggle, the two guys swapped places and replaced my rings on the opposite foot! In all my years on the game I have never had that done before and I felt my own cock swelling inside my silky panties!

Ben was sitting astride me as he rammed his hard cock into my mouth, right down my throat, when I felt the first cock penetrate my shoe. My legs were stretched so tight that my feet were either side of the front wheel and both guys took the opportunity to poke their hard cocks under the sole of my feet. I arched my feet to open my foot pussies and Ron and Arik both moaned in unison. Then they fucked my feet hard – grunting in Hebrew – although I have to say some of the words sounded remarkably like ‘slut’ and ‘whore’! It didn’t take long for the guys to cum in my shoes and I felt hot sticky jizz flowing along my soles until it collected between my toes! I had more control over Ben and brought him to the brink three times before I finally retrieved my legs and let him cum over my sticky wet shoes! The three guys congregated at the front and offered me a ciggy as they jabbered something I couldn’t understand. Ron said: “Would you walk round the block in your shoes before we leave?”

These guys must be used to the most stupid hookers, cos I wasn’t falling for that one! ‘Of course’ I replied before leaning into the jeep, taking the keys, and tottering off into the night! They thought it was funny too because when I returned, twenty minutes later, they were all smiles! If they thought they were doing a runner on me they were very much mistaken! “Would you lick your shoes clean before we pay you?” Well they clearly expected me to take my shoes off but I resumed my position on the front of the jeep – put my back to the windscreen – bent my legs – and started to clean a mixture of their own spunk and the detritus of the street off my shoes with my tongue! The guys gathered closer and watched, enthralled as I licked away every last drop, my tongue flitting between my toes like a little pink snake. Three cocks were serviced for a second time that night as I cleaned my own shoes for them! I offered to kiss them but they all declined! As we clabbered back into the jeep, I swapped their $150 for the keys. Less than an hour after leaving, I was back at the bus station and my brave soldiers rode into the night! Somewhere in Israel – three squaddies think they had the best Australian tranny shag of their lives!

Zahra proudly showed me the $80 she had earned for two blow jobs and I realised we were already well on the way to the next phase of our hols! However there was no time to relax as a BMW drew to a halt and I embarked on the second of what would be eight tricks that night! It’s a hell of as way to earn a living - but the holiday was frickin awesome!!!

Lots of love

Melanie

xxxx




0:13 A Close Shave for Melanie!

Hi

After Lou’s so-called ‘infallible’ vetting procedure I’m more than a bit pissed off that Zahra and me were offered out to eight sex-starved soldiers. Yeah! I know we ended up having a great time but it could have been very different. So I’m gonna confront Lou with this and also explain why I gave away £1000 of her money. She has gone upmarket, so she now has an office with a secretary. OK – it’s actually a room above the pub with two desks - Lou behind one, smoking a cigarette in a long tortoiseshell holder, and Stas behind the other filing her nails. I’m ready for a confrontation as I fling open the door – but Lou is already around her wobbly desk, clutching a sheet of paper, kissing me insincerely on each cheek. “Melanie Darling! I’m so glad you came…I’ve just received an unusual request…I know it’s really short notice…but I don’t know who else to turn to…a client wants an escort…blonde hair…educated…and must be a fluent French speaker! I stop in my track – the ‘educated’ bit is intriguing – usually requests have descriptions like ‘slutty’ or ‘good foot jobber’ or ‘must have worn shoes all day’ but this is very different. Still – I am here for a confrontation until Lou says: “Because it’s such short notice it’s only fair I waive my commission!” I hesitate – for ‘commission’ read ‘pimping fee’ but I am already thinking how I can compensate Zahra so I grab the computer printout and flounce out.

So now I am walking along a hotel corridor with the familiar dread of pitching myself into the unknown. The guy said educated so I’m trying not to look like a two-bit tranny hooker. I must have littered my bed with at least a dozen outfits before plumping for a simple white blouse with a black silk pencil skirt and black patent high heel peep toe pumps. Zahra came round earlier and she managed to tease my blonde curls into something perched on top of my head, held in place by what seems like a dozen clips and a couple of knitting needles. I’m wearing a gold Albert chain around my neck with a matching bracelet and my lipstick and nails are a subtle strawberry colour. Standing outside the room I give myself a quick spray of Amouage Gold and knock on the door.

The client is in his sixties, long grey curly hair, open neck white shirt outside faded jeans and bare feet. He looks rather Bohemian and not at all threatening and I begin to relax. He is sitting in a hotel tub chair with his feet on another. He removes them and gestures to the empty chair. I sit down and cross my bare legs demurely. There is a round table next to him with an old book bound in red leather and an old-fashioned black leather doctor’s bag. He passes the book to me – ‘A season in Hell’ by Arthur Rimbaud – this tortured soul was the ‘enfant terrible’ of 19th Century French literature and his best works were completed in his teens. They are laden with doom and reflect his tortured affair with Paul Verlaine. This is going to be tortuous for me too as I know the prose is technically difficult. I open the thin volume, look at the text for a moment and hope my French is up to this, before I begin to read aloud: ‘Jadis, si me souviens bien… - Once, if my memory serves me well, my life was a banquet where every heart revealed itself, where every wine flowed.’ I am so concentrating on the difficult prose that I hardly notice that he has lifted my legs onto his lap. His fingers gently trace along the lines where shoe meets foot as I continue…’One evening I took beauty in my arms – and I thought her bitter – and I insulted her.’

His fingers probe inside the peep toes, under my own toes and I try to lose myself in this anguished poem. ‘I have a horror of all trades and crafts. Bosses and workers, all of them peasants, and common.’ He slips first one shoe off then the other and lays them reverently on the carpet as I continue: ‘Seek death with all your desires, and all selfishness, and all the seven deadly sins.’ He has one of my soles to his face, his breathing shallow and measured as he skims his nose over every inch of my foot. His breath seems to caress my flesh as he inhales my scent and, with a struggle, I concentrate on the poetry. ‘But orgies and the companionship of women were impossible for me.’ My other foot is in his lap so I start to seek him with my toes. I can feel the bulge beneath his trousers and run my foot up its length. He misses a beat and then continues with my foot, going over the same examination again but this time flicking his tongue in and out like a snake as he inhales. I have only recently added a new trick to my ‘foot job’ repertoire to I grasp his zip fastener between two toes and gently pull it towards me. I have to really multi-task as I figure the poetry is a big thing for him and I’m trying to read the lines and grip the tiny tag of the zip, finding it by touch alone. ‘The power of the poison twists my arms and legs, cripples me…’ I honestly don’t think he notices, so absorbed is he with my foot, when I finally succeed in opening his zip. He most definitely does when I slip my toes inside his shorts and he looks up from my other foot. Even I am not dextrous enough to take his cock out with one foot so I gently bend my knee and he releases my other foot. I keep reading, quite enjoying the prose, as I swiftly release his throbbing, hard cock. ‘A man who wants to mutilate himself is certainly damned…’

As soon as he has sprung from his shorts, he retrieves my foot and commences to lick it all over, sucking on each of my toes, sliding the painted nails between his lips and gently nibbling my heels. My foot is sticky and wet as he releases it and immediately replaces it with the other. My wet foot slides easily over his cock and it swells, as I gently stroke it. ‘I ought to have a special hell for my anger, a hell for my pride, a hell for sex, a whole symphony of hells.’ Eventually I have the two cleanest feet in the Northern Hemisphere and he releases my other foot. I immediately bend my legs and place both my soles over his shaft and slide my wet feet up and down, I knead his shiny purple tip with my prehensile toes, taking the shiny clear precum from him and transferring it to my arches where it is rubbed into the rest of his cock as I stroke him ever faster. He opens the black bag as I read on. I only watch with half an eye as he takes a bottle of water, a white container and a small brush from the bag and lays them on the table. However, my heart misses a beat as he unfolds a gleaming steel cutthroat razor and sharpens it on a leather strop. My voice falters as he finishes and tests the edge on the hairs on his hand. This is my worst nightmare, alone in a hotel room with some demented Hell-inspired slasher. I try to pull my feet free but he holds one ankle and nods first at the book then at his cock. Petrified I continue in a quavering voice. ‘I am the slave of the Infernal Bridegroom, the one who seduced the foolish virgins.’

I continue to read as he wets the brush then lathers up in the white ceramic container. Then he dabs the white foam on the sole of my foot and I almost cum in my panties there and then. It is the most exquisite sensual feeling as he covers my foot with foam, the soft bristles finding their way into every tiny crack and crevice. I can barely concentrate on the Gothic verses of Rimbaud’s epic. ‘I envied the bliss of animals – moles, the slumber of virginity.’ Then I catch the flash of overhead light on the steel blade and I hold my breath. It is all I can do to keep caressing his cock with my free foot as I expect the searing pain at any time. Instead he proceeds to slowly and carefully shave every inch of my foot with the cutthroat. The feel of the blade on my sole as it scrapes the foam away is unbelievable and my own cock is slippery with copious amounts of leaking precum. I know there is nothing to shave but the feeling of the razor is simply orgasmic and I stroke him with renewed vigour as I squirm in my seat, stimulating my own cock. ‘I am an automaton now – reading without seeing...’

He finishes one foot and starts on the other. My shaved foot is tingling, every single nerve ending stimulated. He has even shaved between my toes without so much as a tiny nick on the soft flesh. My foot caresses his cock which is engorged with blood, the blue veins standing proud as he nears his climax. Even above my own voice I can hear the soft scrape of the razor as he removes the soap from my heel in intricate little movements. I steal a glance at him and he is totally absorbed in the task. I try to bring the prose to its crescendo in time with his tumescent cock. ‘Oh! Poor dear soul, eternity then might not be lost!’ He is shaving the soft flesh on the inside of my foot and it is all I can do not to move as the sensation is so overpowering. It is taking all my self-control to keep my foot still in his hand, countering the stroking of its twin and my butt wriggling in the chair, bringing on my own orgasm. ‘Through what crime, by what fault did I deserve my present weakness?’

At last he slides the razor under my arch one last time and I curve my foot reflexively like I’m wearing a high heel shoe. He releases my foot, it is pink and glowing like it has been freshly scrubbed. Both feet unite and they cup his cock between their soles and stroke him, squeezing his hard shaft between the tingling flesh. I climax first – he is the client and I am supposed to pleasure him - so a tiny squeal is the only indication of my ecstasy - as my writhing slows and I savour the hot wetness between my legs. His own climax follows immediately as I reach the last verse of the poem. His penis swells and he grunts as he thrusts his pelvis towards me and the first jet of cum shoots straight up my skirt onto the front of my panties, to join the spreading wetness of my own orgasm. With another gasp, the second joins it then a third before the subsequent jets lose their power and come to rest over the inside of my thighs. I am still grasping his pumping cock as I utter the final sentence. ‘I went through women’s hell over there; - and I will be able now to possess the truth within one body and one soul.’

Without a word he kisses each foot, replaces my shoes and I return the book. I straighten my skirt, aware of the jizz that is slowly making its way down the inside of my thighs in gooey rivulets. I stand expectantly in front of him still eyeing the razor nervously. I’m going to stand my ground because this is business – but I need not have worried. Out of the black bag he draws a fold of notes, places them in the book and hands it to me. I take it and his thumb momentarily presses mine to the book. It is the only intimate gesture of the evening and is as close to speaking to me as he is going to get. It must mean something but I’m not sure, so I curtsey, bid him ‘au revoir’ and leave the room. I get to the lift before I check my earnings. No wonder Lou was happy to waive her ‘placement fee’. I can see from the thin wedge of notes that I will have earned far less than I normally get out of bed for – let alone into bed! The guy obviously wanted me to have the book so I flick through the pages expecting some hidden stash of money. There is nothing and I idly turn to the frontspiece - and my eyes widen. The book is dated 1873. It is a first edition of Rimbaud’s work. I think I read somewhere that there were only 500 of the books printed. If I am right, this is worth a small fortune. If I give it to Lou she will only use it to stop her desk wobbling – best that Melanie keeps it!

Love

Melanie

xxxx




13:15 For Queen and Country!

Hi

Zahra and me are in the back of a taxi and we are not happy. We are on one of Lou’s ‘escort’ jobs which is bread and butter for Zahra. Me – I don’t need the cash and I’m only here to be with Zahra. We are both dressed in white. Zahra is wearing a PVC mini skirt and crop top that contrast with her smooth amber skin and white peep toe court shoes with a five inch heel. I’m in a very skimpy mini dress with a keyhole cut away showing off the diamond stud in my belly button and pink platform sandals with a 7/12 inch heel. Zahras nails and lipstick are scarlet and mine are baby pink. Lou told us very little about the job other than we were meeting a guy called Stan. We are pissed of cos we have been travelling for over an hour and we are way out of town and way out of our comfort zone. I try to call her but her mobile goes straight onto ‘answer’ and I contemplate telling the driver to take us back to town. But he tells us we are five minutes away from our destination so we turn all professional, check our makeup, pop a stick of chewing gum, and squeeze each others hands for support.

The taxi stops at a crossroads in the middle of nowhere. In the long evenings, the sun is still shining and the scene looks very peaceful. A small van is parked at the side of the road and the driver opens the door and gets out. I slip my Coco Chanel sunglasses on, tell Zahra to stay in the taxi, and I cross the road to meet him. The guy is tall, tanned and very fit looking. He has short blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He looks me up and down and nods approvingly. “You Stan?” I ask – a little too aggressively. “No – I’m Rick – but I’m going to take you to Stan.” I look into his eyes and he looks back at me – my heart flips over – he is fucking lush – but the main thing is he looks honest – hard as fuck – but honest. I beckon Zahra and we climb into the van. We drive for a few more miles then he turns to me and asks if we mind getting into the back and covering ourselves over. This is it! Time to get out! He puts one hand on my bare knee and says:
“Please trust me Melanie!”
Why am I such a sucker? I hustle Zahra into the back and we find a couple of duvets. They are spotlessly clean – unlike the back of some vans I’ve been shagged in! So we cover ourselves and a couple of minutes later the van slows, Rick chats to some other bloke then we drive on for a bit more until he reverses up over a kerb and stops. “Here we are ladies!” He calls cheerfully.

He climbs out of the van and opens the back door and takes our hands. “Got to hurry a bit ladies – I’m afraid.” With that he leads us along a concrete path, and through an open fire escape. I cast a glance around, recognise where we are and start to struggle, but he is so strong and we are quickly indoors and the door slams behind us. “Right – that’s the difficult part he says – come and meet the lads – or should I say your clients!” I am very afraid – the neat rows of identical buildings, everything painted in the same colours, doors, kerb stones, signboards – we are inside a fucking Army camp! This has all gone horribly wrong and we are about to be gang raped by a bunch of tranny-hating squaddies. If I ever get outta this I’m gonna stick a cheese grater up Lou’s ass!

Zahra doesn’t see the danger, she is so innocent and so needs the money, so she follows Rick like a little puppy as I lag behind as far as I can with my hand encased in his beefy grip. We reach the top floor and stop at a door marked ‘3 Section’. Rick raps the door in some sort of coded knock and it opens to reveal yet another tanned, fit-looking hunk. He too looks us over approvingly and then leads us along a short corridor with eight doors, each with a nameplate on it, past a kitchen and into a large room. There are several sofas pushed against two walls and a couple of beds against the others. The other wall has what looks like a home-built bar running along it. All I can think is this is where my life is going to end and I stand there like a rabbit caught in car headlights.

There are now eight guys in the room – of varying heights and hair colours but all incredibly lean and deeply tanned. Rick lets us go but it doesn’t matter as the door has closed behind us. He claps his hands and the room falls silent.
“Guys – this is Melanie and Zahra!”
The other seven erupt into a chorus of cheers and wolf whistles and then, to a man give us a thumbs-up and chant “Commendable!” Christ! It reminds me of some American Frat movie. The guys close in and line up – it is surreal because they are like in order with the tallest at one end and the shortest at the other. Rick is enjoying his role and he introduces them: “OK ladies, this is Stretch, Sniffer, Scanner, Smeggy, Scarecrow, Shoppy and Shrew and you can call me Shark. We are the boys from Three Section and we are just back from Afghanistan – or the STAN!”

I am not sure whether to be relieved that at least I know who, or what, ‘Stan’ is - or overwhelmed to be in the presence of so much prime beef.

Rick – or Shark – takes me to the bar and sits me on a stool. He is unnerved by my mirror sunglasses and reaches for them. I shake my head but he gently removes them and frowns when he sees my eye, which is still half-shut from where some bastard guy hit me earlier in the week. “Who did this Melanie?” He asks with surprising tenderness. I replace my shades and laugh harshly. “Occupational hazard!” He touches my knee and says – “There’ll be no rough stuff tonight – I promise.” I look into his cobalt blue eyes and my heart flips again – he really means it and I know we’ll be OK. Then I notice another seven pairs of eyes watching so I cross my legs and waggle one pink platform at them and they all look very interested! Shark sits next to me and asks if I want a drink. “Sure!” I reply. “Jim Beam!” He shouts and a bottle appears as if from nowhere. He pours me a shot and then Zahra. She shakes her head and in the silence that follows I whisper – “She doesn’t drink!” I might have been better saying ‘she’s a child molester’ because it all goes a bit frosty. However, Shoppy who is an Asian lad, comes to her rescue and produces a can of Coke that looks like it was behind the bar before the boys went to ‘Stan’ and they retire to one of the sofas. The others give them a thumbs-down with a cry of “Despicable!” and I am left at the bar with seven squaddies vying for my attention. Shark explains that his section has been together through tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. They talk to each other in a curious language of which I only understand every other word. Their lexicon is peppered with a mixture of acronyms, abbreviations, names of bits of military equipment and place names – all melded together into what may-as-well-be a foreign language. Statements like ‘Smudger copped a blighty one when his Gimpy jammed and he had to bale out of his Snatch near Lashkar Gah!’ are bandied about and I sip my drink and tried to look both interested and comprehending.

Suddenly Shark announces a toast “To the nine members of 3 Section!” They all down their drinks and I dutifully follow suit, wondering who the ninth member is. Shark refills my glass and puts me out of my misery. He places a small rubber snake, about six inches long, on the bar. “Meet Sid – he’s our mascot!” This is getting freakier by the second. I look across to Zahra for support but she is doing tongue gymnastics with Shoppy. A photo album appears and the guys crowd around. Every shot features Sid – perched on top of a gun, on a bar in some pub, somewhere in the desert next to a real snake, on top of a tank, on a ski slope, tucked down the G String of a pole dancer, on the face of a dead Taliban fighter with his tail up the guy’s nose! – Sid is the talisman of this remarkable group wherever they go. The snake is placed on my shoulder and half a dozen cameras appear, blinding me with the flashes and I know I’ll appear in their trophy book! Shark tells me they have been back for three days and are confined to camp for a week. It’s called ‘decompression’ before they can go home to their families – I guess after they climb down off the adrenalin high following their time fighting in Afghanistan. Women are banned from camp which was why Shark hit on the idea of bringing two trannies into the barracks sort of sticking two fingers up at the establishment while not technically breaking the rules! Explanations completed Shark shouts “Naked Bar!” and all eight guys strip in an instant. I might still be gang-raped but at least it is going to be by eight of the fittest guys on the planet!

Having stripped, Shoppy (apparently, because his father runs a corner shop) continues snogging Zahra and I am left staring at seven cocks. These guys are so fucking fit. Christ! Scanner has even been wounded and has a bandage on one arm. There is not an ounce of fat on any, and their lean muscles stand proud - I feel my own cock swelling. Their cocks range from small but perfectly formed - through big - to Stretch’s which is in the ‘Oh my God that will never fit in me!’ category. Shark yells “Down in one!” and we all drain our drinks – which are instantly refilled. This happens three times before Shark realises that as they had been off the booze for six months they are all getting pissed and I am the ‘sober’ one. “Johnnys on!” He shouts and all seven produce a condom and roll it onto cocks with a varying degree of hardness. I stand and slip out of my dress and all condoms suddenly fit! The only way to get this over is to play along so I ask – “Who’s first?”

Shrew is the smallest and cannot be more than eighteen. He is definitely the ‘small but perfectly formed’ - he is also a virgin as the others gleefully tell me. I lead him to the bed and the others crowd round – hands on cocks - as we lay together. The poor kid is wilting fast so I slip out of my panties and my own cock springs from between my legs - to a chorus of cheers - and another ‘Commendable!’ I slide my knickers over Shrew’s face and his eyes widen in shock. Then he inhales, the satin clinging to the contours of his face, and, as soon as his cock stiffens, I straddle him. To a chorus of whistles, lewd catcalls and camera flashes I ride this timid little kid, raking his smooth chest with my nails until he cries out in ecstasy. I release him, slide his condom off and suck it dry, earning yet another ‘Commendable!’ Shrew is about to slide off the bed but I grab him and snog him – giving him back his own spunk. His eyes widen but he responds, and we tongue for a while before I let him go. Shrew stands and raises his arms in triumph to yet another chorus of praise. I lie on the bed – high with the excitement, ‘slut gene’ totally in control, and cry – ‘Who’s next!’

Shark joins me on the bed and whispers “RHIP” I looked bemused and he translates ‘Rank Has Its Privileges’. I kneel on the bed and pretty soon his condom-clad cock is inside me. Now the great advantage of being the most sober person there (apart from Zahra and Shoppy) is that I can transform myself from the fuckee to the fucker. So I beckon to Stretch and huskily croak ‘Spit Roast?’ and he grins and waves his gigantic cock in front of my face. “There’s no need for this!” I gasp as I slide off the condom and take him between my pink lips. There is no way I am going to let his cock anywhere near my ass, so I give him the blow job of his life, flinging my head back with reckless abandon and taking him straight down my throat. He literally chokes me and I gasp for air as I take him so deep I am weak and breathless as he fucks my mouth. Stretch is aseptically clean as had Shrew been before him. These are straight guys in the prime of life without a germ between them. I reach behind and slide Shark out of me, remove the condom and re-insert him - and I don’t think he even notices! The others shout encouragement with Shrew – now a non-virgin - the loudest - as Shark approaches his orgasm and climaxes inside me with a yell of triumph. At the same moment Stretch shoots his load into my mouth and I pull him down and kiss him hard. Shark gets an attack of decorum and declines the offer of sharing Stretches spunk, slides off me and joins his troops at the foot of the bed. I shrug and yell “Next!”

Scanner is next, a bit the worse for wear for the whisky so I sit him with his back to the headboard, spread his legs and sit between them. His cock is still limp until I place an ankle on each of his shoulders, my pink patent heels flicking his ears. As soon as he smells the musky scent of my feet he swells and I mount him. Scanner grabs my feet and slides his tongue under my arches then takes control and starts to lick, kiss then suck my toes. This is just starting to get so good, as he is a skilled foot-jobber, when he, too, climaxes inside me. Smeggy appears next and wants the same thing. He is obviously a ‘toe man’ as he sucks and licks my toes before grabbing both my heels and taking them into his mouth, much to the delight of the others. He is the quickest – mind you – he has been the one paying most attention to his cock while the others were having their go!!! He climaxes, raises his arms in triumph and moves aside for the next guy. I unbuckle my sandals and give them to Sniffer as he joins me on the bed. He lives up to his nickname and catches on straightaway. As he rams my pink platform into his face, his cock swells and I draw my legs up and hook them behind my head. There is a collective gasp and then a moments silence – followed by “Commendable!” Sniffer thrusts into me, never letting go of my shoe. He is the first to take an interest in me as a person and holds the shoe in one hand as he strokes my cock with the other - to another chorus of praise and flashes from the assembled cameras. He comes explosively the first time - then withdraws from me - sending hot jets of spunk across my tummy – the mob jeer “Despicable!” and Scarecrow takes his place.

Scarecrow does not have the regulation crew cut but has floppy locks that bely his profession. He looks hard, tough and the most psychotic of them all and I’m terrified he’ll hurt me. However, he leans close and whispers: “I’m scared I won’t be able to perform Melanie – can you help me?” My heart flips over again at these brave, yet child-like, warriors and I murmur my support. For him, I kneel on the bed and cup my bare feet under my butt. Pressing my feet together I arch my soles and a slit appears between them leading directly to my ass. Scarecrow needs no further assistance as his cock slips into my foot pussy out the other side and into my ass. He grabs my shoes and we both inhale my scent as he fucks me until he comes inside me. Like the others it takes less than five minutes. Animal cries of ecstasy capture everyone’s attention and we turn to see Zahra with her legs on Shoppy’s shoulders as he expends himself inside her. After a moment she joins me and we hold hands – she knows she’s got off lightly. There are more camera flashes then Shark announces that it’s Sid’s turn. I know what’s coming next so I kneel beside Zahra and thrust my ass at them. I hardly feel the snake inserted into me but the sudden eruption of camera flashes and cheers tell me we are making the scrapbook!

Shark appears next to me and says: “There’s one more tradition when we bring a girl back to the room! – Youngest guy gets to lick her out after we’ve all been through!” With that, Shrew appears at my butt and starts to probe with his tongue. He is going really well until I flex my ass muscles and spunk dribbles into his mouth – he retches and earns a chorus of catcalls from his mates. Shark, naked and rampant next to me is the man of the moment. “We all appreciate there are two people here who still need to be satisfied!” I take the hint straightaway and Zahra and I kneel before each other and kiss passionately as we stroke each others cocks. As we approach our climaxes I am aware of the ring of cocks around us. Four of the guys have faces buried inside our shoes and Shrew has Zahra’s knickers on his head! I take Shoppy’s mocca-coloured cock into my mouth as I want Zahra’s taste for myself. Clinging onto his bony butt I hold him firm as he cums again in my mouth just before Zahra and me cum over each other. All the while, we are showered in sperm from the ring of cocks around us.

Zahra and I are covered in spunk from head to toe. In fact at least two of the guys have aimed for our toes and we lie and lick each others feet clean, before proceeding to lap the rest up like it is vintage champagne. I think that if I die this evening I have so much DNA inside me that I will keep the forensic science laboratory busy for a month! Shark kneels beside the bed and says – “The boys want you to know that they’re not gay - but it was kinda OK with you girls!” I know exactly what he means – but it is nice of him to say it. We retrieve our clothes but our knickers have mysteriously disappeared. Shark opens a tall cupboard and pinned to the inside of the door are at least sixty pairs of panties! We don’t want to spoil their trophy collection so Zahra and I fish spare underwear from our bags to a final chorus of ‘Commendable!’ We kiss each of the guys then Zahra and I squat and each give Shrew a love bite on his stomach to remember us by! Shark leads us into the corridor with Shoppy, who is to drive us back to meet another taxi. He hands over a bulging envelope. “There’s five hundred pounds from each of us and another thousand from Sid! Don’t worry – we all saved loads of cash and this is how we wanted to spend some of it.”

I draw Zahra aside and whisper to her. I can’t take my cut and I am going to return Lou’s thousand to them as well – I’ll sort it out with her tomorrow. I know Zahra desperately needs the money for her college fees and I am not going to spoil it for her. I don’t know much about the war in Afghanistan, but I do know it’s a shitty place and these guys deserve every penny they earn. Zahra makes no attempt to sort out her money but thrusts the whole envelope back to Shark. She talks slowly and forms the words very deliberately:
“I am from Iran and I would be stoned to death for what I have just done. The Taliban would do the same to me. In Britain I am free to be who I am. You fight to give me the freedom to be who I am…so I cannot take your money.”
She looks fiercely determined, her little pointy chin jutting, as she hands the money over. Shark is obviously undecided so I chip in: “I can’t believe I just let eight guys shag me for nothing – take your frickin’ money before I change my mind!” Shark laughs and quips: “I thought the ‘tart with a heart’ didn’t exist!” Then I have a thought – I dig into my handbag and produce a garage servicing receipt with the address of the guy who smacked me around earlier in the week and give it to him. I remove my sunglasses and finger my eye. “Don’t suppose you could pay him a visit?” Shark nods and pockets the paper and I know he’ll do that for me – together with the other seven! Then Zahra holds up a hand and pauses. Here we go I think – another frickin’ joke Lou has put into her pretty little head.

“What is the difference between Melanie and the Sahara Pipeline?”
Shark and Shoppy dutifully shake their heads.

“The pipeline was only laid by one thousand men!”

They both shout ‘Commendable!’ as I make a mental note to buy the biggest cheese grater I can find!

Love

Melanie

xxxx




14:53 A lesson learned the hard way!

Hi

I never bring guys back to my apartment – well last night I broke my own rule!

It all started because I was on the rebound, having been dumped by a guy I really cared a lot about. Anyway, I’ve been sorta dating this other guy for a few weeks – on and off – the odd midweek evening – and we’ve got to a bit of snogging and he’s put his hand up my dress but that’s about it. I know he fancies the arse off me cos his cock is rock hard when he kisses me and he writes me the most sordidly explicit emails I’ve ever read!!! So as you do when you are on the rebound, I got to thinking that maybe he might be the guy to settle down with. So when we met up in the club last night I wasn’t gonna take no for an answer.

I spend ages getting ready and wear a white mini dress, low cut with a cutaway panel at the front, white platform shoes, with my nails painted glossy white too. Chunky pink plastic bangles and necklace and glossy pink lipstick completed the ensemble. I’d arranged to meet him in a different club where not many people know me, cos I feel safe with him. But, even so, Simon, my gay friend, chaperones me inside until I meet up with my guy. He looks even better than I remember, well over six foot tall with thick curly hair and brown eyes to die for. I had already done the wedding finger check and either he doesn’t wear a ring or he’s single. Anyway, I’d asked him and he said something like “would I be here with you if I was married?” I thought…’well yes actually’ then decided not to credit him with the low moral standards of most of my lovers!

We dance and sit in a quiet corner and chat, and dance some more and pretty soon two empty bottles of champagne sit forlornly on the table. He is so considerate and wants to know all about me – I want to know more about him too but – like most trannies – I’m just happy to prattle away about my inconsequential life. We kiss, and the space between us fizzes with barely suppressed lust and I make up my mind… “Shall we go back to my place?”

We catch a taxi and he actually holds the door open for me! Sitting on the back seat, I tease his cock as the driver watches us in the mirror with a sly grin on his face. We enter my apartment and Hoover, my little dog, bounds up to greet us, skids to a halt and stops, baring his teeth at my guy. “I hate dogs!” The guy says – drawing me closer and kissing my neck. He nibbles my ear and I lose all reason – (note to self: take dog to local animal rescue centre in morning.) I lead him, still connected to my ear, to the bedroom where he takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of a chair. Then we collapse across my big bed in a tangle of limbs. His kissing is so deep and tender and his caresses so light as he runs his fingers over my bare tummy then follows with his tongue, nibbling my belly button bar and working his way ever lower. I hitch up my dress to make things easy for him but he bypasses my white skimpy panties and traces a glistening line down one bronzed thigh to my knee. He bends my legs and suddenly he is licking and nibbling the soft flesh behind my knees. Good job I’m laying down cos my legs would have buckled as my heart turns somersaults and my cock swells, straining against the white satin.

His tongue resumes its journey south and my ankles receive the same treatment. He pays attention to every single one of the little teddy bears dangling from my ankle chain and squeezes his probing tongue beneath the straps of my sandals. I undo his shirt, then his trousers and coax his cock from his shorts. It is every bit as big as I knew it would be and I flush with desire for him. We pause for a moment while he shucks out of his clothes then he resumes his minute examination of my feet. I lay there as he kneels over me and takes first one foot to his mouth then the other. Each toe is thoroughly worked over by his tongue, he attends to my nails, the gaps between my toes, under my toes and all over the front of my shoes. He must have the lung capacity of a South Sea pearl diver ‘cos he doesn’t come up for air for at least twenty minutes! When he does, it’s only to change position and start on my bare heels until he has finished with them and he takes each long white stiletto heel into his mouth, sucking on them like the phallic symbols they are. Next he takes both heels, pushes them together and takes them into his mouth. I’m very much the spectator but deeply turned on by the attention I’m getting, he is so tender and as my heart flips again I know I’m soaking my panties with my desire for him.

“Turn over darling!” He whispers and I’m still quivering as I gently roll over, kneel and wave my ass in his face…He actually called me ‘darling’!!! I barely notice as he removes my left shoe and I feel the heel at my little puckered ass. Then it is inside me and I gasp – as much with pain as surprise as there is no foreplay – and it frickin’ hurts. I grin and bear it as he thrusts my eight inch heel into me – this is our first time and I’d forgive him anything. I grit my teeth as he rams my heel into me, stretching me painfully as the heel widens towards the top. My nails dig into the sheets as I try not to cry out - then he is finished. He flips me over onto my back and I am in seventh heaven as he gently bends my right leg and lays the outside of my shoe, with my foot inside it, across the front of my knickers. Then he takes my other shoe and lays it next to my head. I can see my grubby toe prints on the white lining and think he was bloody brave to stick his tongue in there earlier! He holds my leg close against me as he licks the inside of my foot before positioning his throbbing cock over me. I arch my foot and he slides into the gap, squeezing my foot against the restraint of my sandal straps. He leans forward, pinning my leg in position with his weight and places my shoe over my face with the heel inside my mouth. I taste my own juices before he comes down on the shoe hard, forcing his face into it, inhaling my scent as he rams the heel into my throat. I let out a muffled cry of ecstasy as his long, hard cock emerges from the gap between foot and shoe and spears the front of my panties. He is so strong as he powerfully fucks my shoe, each jab on my pubic bone sending me ever closer to my own climax. I hook my other leg across his knees to pin him there, never wanting this glorious sensation to end, as he increases his pace.

Then, without warning he pulls away, throwing my leg off his back like a straw, and drags me towards him by a combination of neck and hair. My right leg is numb and still thinks he’s pinning it to me and I can’t uncurl it as he drags me up the bed. He is rough, but it’s all part of the game, and I follow my hair before it’s pulled out by the roots. My leg is now pinned against his thighs as he thrusts his cock into my mouth. I’m so off balance that I clutch around his waist for support as he pushes his cock straight down my throat, forcing my head back as I struggle to take his full length. I gag and my throat expands and he is inside me up to the hilt with his balls slapping against my chin and my nose embedded in his thick curls. He hasn’t showered today but that’s the least of my worries as I fight for air as he pulls me tighter against him. He has obviously timed this to perfection as with a couple of tiny thrusts, his cock swells and I panic as my throat is totally filled and I begin to choke. I am breathless and light-headed as the first jet of cum shoots into me then another and another. I could not pull away if I wanted to as he has two handfuls of my hair and is pulling my head against him. I do not taste his cum as it shoots directly down my throat and all I am aware of is the feeling of drowning as it flows towards my stomach. I gag again and he withdraws from me in one swift movement. He sits back and my trapped leg slowly drops to the bed. My voice is gravely, not surprising as I’ve just gargled in spunk! I try not to sound like I’m about to cough up a mouthful of jizz as I shimmy closer, flutter my eyelashes and ask:

“Would you like to stay the night? Maybe there might be some other parts of me that you haven’t fucked yet!” I know there are because he’s written to me in great detail what he’s going to do when he gets chance. He doesn’t respond so I say:
“I make a real good breakfast too!”

My dream lover reaches for his shirt and sneers:

“You must be joking! There’s no way I’m staying the night with you - let alone sticking my dick in you! If I fuck you - I’m fucking every guy who’s ever had you! How many is that then – a hundred – a thousand?” He stands and I grab his arm – there are tears in my eyes. I plead…
“Please babes! I just…”
I never finish the sentence as he slaps me across the face…
“Don’t touch me you whore!”

Then everything happens at once. Hoover charges across the room to protect me, snapping and snarling and the bastard guy kicks out at him sending him skittering across the room where he crashes into the dressing table with a yelp. I fly at the guy, tearing at him with my long nails and raise a line of bloody scratches down one cheek. “Bitch!” He yells and throws a punch at me, aimed at my mouth. At this point the fact that I’m only wearing one shoe catches up with me and the slight issue of having one leg eight inches longer than the other comes into play. I try to stand on thin air and collapse under the punch, which catches me square in the eye. I see stars and reel across the room, sending the chair flying, before ending in a snotty heap - sitting in my laundry basket. I am on the verge of consciousness as he scoops up his fallen jacket and aims a kick at my ribs.

However, the blow never comes. Instead the bastard lets out an ear-piercing yell as Hoover sinks his teeth into his leg. He grabs his clothes and runs for the door with Hoover worrying his calf muscle. Finally, he kicks my dog out of the way and slams the door shut. I fall out of the basket and Hoover runs to me, his white muzzle covered in blood and I hug my brave little soldier as our attacker fumbles with his clothes and then runs out of the front door. I phone Simon and my eye has already closed tight by the time he arrives. Simon makes a call and a guy comes to change the locks within half an hour. I’m OK and I just want to be alone with Hoover so I pad around the apartment in a daze, erasing every trace of that bastard, cleaning blood from the carpet and changing the sheets. As I’m righting the chair I notice something under the corner of the dressing table. It’s a wallet – his wallet. I open it and the perfect little family smiles out at me from the plastic window. Perfect little mousey-haired wife, perfect little boy with train-track braces and perfect little girl with ribbons in her hair. Bastard! I think all sorts of thoughts of revenge – should I call her? – send the wallet back to her with a note? – or even call the police? In the end I take his money. It’s only four hundred pounds but more than enough to buy something nice for Hoover. There is also a bill from a garage where he’s had his car serviced. It has his name, address and car registration number on it. I keep that too as a sort of insurance policy. Then I put the wallet in a plastic bag and hang it from the outside door handle. I shut the curtains and phone in sick the next morning. By midday, the wallet is gone and I know I’ll never see him again.

Love

Melanie

xxxx




17:35 Goodbye Sam - Hello Samantha!

Hi

Sam’s wife is away visiting her parents so he’s used the opportunity to become Samantha for the weekend. It is Saturday afternoon and Samantha spent the morning dressed as a French maid while she worked her way through the list of chores Sam’s wife left. Now she has changed out of her work clothes and is getting ready for school. She wears a white frilly blouse, tied tight under her boobs and a very short grey pleated skirt. Her white ankle socks have frilly tops but her shoes are definitely not regulation. They are shiny red patent pointy-toe pumps with a five inch heel and double ankle straps. It matches her red lipstick and nail polish - which will get her spanked if the head master sees her. Samantha’s brown hair is tied in bunches and cascades across the pillow as she pushes her red satin panties to one side and slides a finger into her ass. She moans as she replaces it with a slim plastic vibrator and pulls at her striped tie to semi-throttle herself, as she slides the vibe in and out of her. This is how I find her after I enter the bungalow through the kitchen door and creep into the bedroom.

Samantha doesn’t notice me at first and continues tugging at the tie, her eyes bulging, as she pushes the vibe further in, and frees her hard, erect cock. She moans and thrashes around on the white duvet and only then does she notice me. Her eyes widen as she spots a figure wearing a black leather halter-neck mini dress and black patent platform shoes with seven inch heels. I am wearing a studded leather choker and wrist bands, my nails and lipstick are a glossy deep purple. I tease one hand through my wild mane of blonde hair and walk towards the bed. Dropping my bag on the chair, I sit next to her, noticing that she is blushing puce and that her erection has rapidly deflated. She stammers: “Who are you? How did you get in?” I smile, bend down and kiss her limp cock. “I’m Melanie...we talk on HSS...remember?...The other night you invited me over for the weekend...You said your wife was away and we could have some fun.” Samantha looks confused so I add: “You were a bit drunk...but you gave me your address...and told me where to find the spare key...I thought you were serious...which is why I've come!” She tries to recall whether I am one of the many trannies she chats to on HSS. Am I one of the trannies she shares her darkest fantasies with? She is silent and the only sound is the whirring of the vibrator still inside her ass.

I continue: “You told me you wanted me to tie you up...as punishment for being such a slut!...I’ve walked miles to get here...we talked about this moment...it is what you want isn’t it?” Meekly Samantha nods her head and I lean across to my bag and take out four black stockings. I nuzzle her ear and whisper: “You do want to be tied-up don’t you?” Her cock has come back to life and I take that as a ‘yes’! Gently, I take her wrists and spread them, tying each one to the brass bedstead. She is helpless and her face betrays her anxiety. I am loving the sense of power - for it is usually me on the wrong end of the bonds. Next, I hook each of her legs over my shoulders then shimmy up the bed on top of her, pushing her legs higher and higher until her feet touch the headboard. I spread each leg wide and tie her ankles next to her wrists. Then I reach for my bag and place it under her butt where she can’t see it. The first thing out is a ring gag which I strap over her face, spreading her red lips and locking her mouth open in a startled expression. The vibrator is still humming away inside her as I push her white panties aside and withdraw it. I turn it off and then slowly slide it through the gag and into her mouth. I tell her: “Keep it in there – If you don’t - Mistress is not gonna be happy!”

Samantha is not gonna be happy either in about a minute’s time! From my bag I take a large black pump-up dildo and lubricate it. Then I show it to her and she strains against the bonds and her butt wiggles from side to side. It is about three times fatter than the little slim vibrator sticking out of her mouth and her wide eyes show that she is terrified of it! It is a very tight fit but I persevere and eventually manage to insert it all the way. I have to slap her butt, hard, a few times before she submits and takes it in. When I have finished, I place her panties over it to secure it and untie one leg at a time, lower it, then re-fix it to the foot of the bed so she is spread-eagled and helpless. The little white vibrator is still in her mouth and I remove it – it is spotlessly clean now!

Next I remove my black panties – then my sandals. I’ve had them on all day - the weather is hot - and I had to walk nearly two miles to the house. I can smell my scent as soon as I remove my shoes and I know that, close up, they must be pretty strong! Samantha’s cock is only semi-stiff as I straddle her and place my bare feet over her face. She tries to shrink away but she is securely restrained. She shakes her head so I push one heel over the ring gag and my sole over her nose, cutting off the air. The naughty schoolgirl struggles but the stockings hold her tight and finally, faced with suffocation or acquiescence, she submits. Her cock betrays her and stiffens and I shift position and sit on her, feeling her slide deep inside me. She gasps and I slide one big toe through the gag and feel her wetness on it as she cleans it. Inside me her cock has swollen further. I must show girly solidarity with her so I reach behind me and give the dildo inflation bulb a couple of squeezes. - She moans and wriggles some more at it swells inside her. Samantha is given my other big toe to clean as I ride her, every once in a while inflating the dildo just a little bit more. Next I spread the toes of one foot and stick two of the middle toes up her nostrils. My sole is covering her mouth and all she can smell is my foot as she gasps for air.

I squeeze the pump a few more times and the dildo has completely filled her ass - stretching it wide - before I turn on the vibrator. The motor is powerful and I can feel the pulses vibrating through her cock and into me, as I ride slutty little schoolgirl toward her climax. With muffled moans - she cums inside me - filling me with her hot semen - writhing beneath me - as she loses all inhibitions and thrusts up from the bed at me as she empties her load. I let her slip out of me and quickly reverse position so my back is to the headboard and my butt is right over her face. Then I flex my ass muscles and her ample load dribbles through the ring and into her mouth. After a few moments she starts to thrash wildly under me, straining at the restraints and I’m forced to sit right on her face to hold her still. Samantha has finally realised that there is just way too much cum to have been hers alone - and she desperately tries to escape - as not one but five loads of jizz - is deposited into her mouth. She can’t spit and she can’t keep it there for ever. Pretty soon she’s swallowed the lot!

You HSS readers are an unsympathetic lot. You didn’t seriously think I fucked four guys earlier? What sort of girl do you think I am? Earlier my three trannie friends and Simon trooped into my apartment with their ‘samples’. After I decanted them all into a turkey basting syringe the rest was easy. Samantha doesn’t need to know does she?! I slide off her face and she gasps for air. Naughty schoolgirl Samantha is looking about as humiliated as she can be, with five sets of cum down her throat and a gigantic dildo still humming in her ass. However, it’s not over yet for her as I gather up my things, buckle on my plats, straighten my dress and walk to the door.

Samantha’s wife enters the room. She is wearing an identical dress and heels. Well not exactly identical as she’s about four dress sizes bigger than me. By the way Samantha – we had great fun shopping for them on your credit card!!! She hands over the money. I stuff it down my cleavage, cos I figure that’s what she would expect a hooker to do, and I leave them alone.

Outside I have an attack of conscience and tiptoe to the bedroom window. If she’s gonna cut Samantha’s dick off with a rusty carving knife I really should intervene! But no, the wife takes off her plats and imitates me by sitting astride Samantha. Her feet find Samantha’s face and I glimpse a swelling, tumescent cock before wifey slides onto it. She’s obviously just not quite as well practised as me and it’s a toss up whether Samantha will be suffocated or squashed to death - but I reckon she’ll die happy either way! I also reckon that their marriage is just about to get a whole lot more interesting!

As I make my way down the drive, I grin and wonder how many other wives know exactly what their hubbies get up to on computer sites like HSS. More than most guys think I imagine…but I bet there are not many who deal with it in this particular way!!!

Love

Melanie




7:23 Bashing the Bishop

Hi

Zahra and me just got a few hours in a nice hotel room together – paid for by someone else! She stirs in my arms, her black hair cascading across the pillow, mocca flesh contrasting with the white sheets. I whisper:

“Ahibbik!” Now Arabic is a rich, sensual language, so I’ve just said ‘I love you’ but in the feminine way. If she was a guy I’d have said; ‘ahibbak’.

“Ahibbik kamaan!” She murmurs – ‘I love you too.’

“Ahibbik Thalaata!” She opens her eyes: “Aysh?” What? Then her rosebud lips spread into a grin exposing tiny white teeth. I’ve said ‘I love you three’ which is sorta romantic in English but so totally doesn’t translate into Arabic. I’m pleased she gets the joke as it shows she is switching easily between languages. It wasn’t always like that, when she first came to our town she was a frightened, timid waif struggling to come to terms with her own sexuality and her parents’ rejection. She hardly spoke any English so I helped her, and she taught me Arabic. I call her “Hiloo” – which means ‘sweet’ – she calls me “Arnab” – which the astronomers amongst you will know - is the brightest star in the constellation Lepus…it’s also Arabic for ‘rabbit’!!!

She sits up and grins at me: “I think we have good time last night – yes?” Oh yes indeed! It all started, as do quite a few of my evenings, with Lou and her ‘Escort Agency’. Lou has a pretty mean drag act - but it doesn’t bring in enough to pay the bills - so she runs a very exclusive tranny escort agency – the sort that’s only advertised by word of mouth. Stas works for her - when the lazy cow can be bothered to get out of bed - Zahra does some work to help pay for her schooling – and I just do it for a laugh!

Well there’s one guy who always insists on Zahra and I, and so we go to the hotel to meet him. This isn’t our usual fleapit but a nice hotel – with clean sheets and towels in the bathroom! We go up to the room, take off our long coats, and knock respectfully on the door. At this point I should point out that we are wearing white blouses tied under our boobs and short grey pleated skirts, white frilly ankle socks and black platform shoes. Our hair is tied up in bunches and I have freckles drawn across my cheeks. We hear the word “Enter!” and open the door.

The Bishop is standing by the bed in long black robes, purple silk shirt and white dog collar. He has a Bible in one hand and fingers the silver cross around his neck with the other. He is in his early sixties with grey hair, glasses and a kindly face. He really is a Bishop ‘cos I looked him on some ecclesiastical website. He greets us:

“Come in my children – don’t be afraid!”

We go in and stand coyly in front of him. I turn one leg in and stand looking as if I’m nervous, while Zahra sucks on a lollipop and stands a little behind me. He puts the Bible on a table and holds out his hands. “Come here my children.” We go to him and he looks at us: “How old are you both?” Zahra whispers: ”Sixteen, sir!” Then I say: “Seventeen sir!”……..Now Zahra’s 28 and could easily pass for sixteen but I’m twice seventeen and a bit more and have been around the block a few times – but the irony seems lost on him. He moves to the bed and tells us to sit with him. We sit, one on each knee, and he asks: “Have you been good girls?” We shake our heads…” How?”

Zahra and I lean across and kiss each other lightly on the lips – our lip gloss binds us together for a fleeting moment and it’s like a charge fizzes between us. She is so hot! I look into her huge brown eyes and my heart flips and I kiss her again. This isn’t in the usual script but I can’t help myself. However, the sight of us tonguing each other, inches from his face seems to take the Bishop’s mind off the spanking we usually receive and he just sits there with his glasses slowly fogging. It’s a merciful relief as my ass is so sore from the beating I got from the last freak a few days ago. In fact, I think I’d have probably passed out if it was the usual routine. Anyway, our tongues are wrestling and our hands grope each other’s boobs before caressing our bare tummies. Then they move still lower and four hands disappear up two little grey skirts. He must surely be able to feel two cocks hardening against his thighs as we squirm against him, never breaking contact from that glorious lingering kiss. Finally I break the spell as I remember this is supposed to be a contract and I don’t want to piss Lou off. Much to Zahra’s annoyance I release her and we gently help the Bishop onto his back. We lay on either side of him with our shoes by the sides of his head and I roll his robe up and unbutton his trousers.

The Bishop’s undoubted pure thoughts have been betrayed by one part of his body as his erect cock comes tumbling out like a pink Cyclops looking for its prey. However, its reign of terror is short-lived as Zahra places her dark plum lips over it and smothers it. We take it in turns , sucking on his hard cock and taking his balls right into our mouths. We snog each other, our lips seeming to bend around his tip until our mouths and his cock meld together. All the time he is chanting softly in Latin, Deus meus, ex toto corde poenitet me omnium meorum peccatorum …his eyes flicking between our shoes and the action around his groin. Eventually, I leave Zahra to keep him occupied as I hitch up my skirt and carefully push my panties to one side. Then she removes her lips and I lower myself onto his well-lubricated cock in one fluid movement. This is new to the scenario and his eyes widen - yet he does not move to resist - only to grip the silver crucifix and chant, with renewed vigour.

Zahra can read me so well – she kneels behind me with her hands over the front of my knickers, stroking me through the silky material – hiding the telltale bulge of my own arousal - as I bring the Bishop closer to his climax. His head swells inside me and I release him and flop to the side as Zahra takes his throbbing cock. Deftly, she strokes his shaft, well lubricated by my juices, and brings him to a climax. Hot cum jets over our faces and into our open mouths as Zahra holds him like a hose as he squirts his load over us. There is so much that I have absolutely no doubt that he has not had an orgasm since the last time we did this to him…and that was nearly a year ago! We don’t want to mess him up so we dutifully lick the cum from each other before Zahra cleans his purple tip and tucks his deflating cock back into his trousers. We sit close together and look coy as he slides off the bed. He looks down at us and says:

“You poor girls…I will pray for you!”

With that he leaves the room. He has not touched us with his hands at any point. Zahra waits for a few moments then collapse into fits of giggles. ‘Pray for us?’ I know we are both going to…” She searches for the word and gives up – she knows I’ll understand…”Jarhannum” ‘Hell’, she says. “It’s him who need help from above! We laugh and wonder whether he realises we are trannies or not ‘cos we know he has never caught a glimpse of cock. Does he even care for that matter? I check the Bible on the table. As usual, it has £600 inside it. As usual the page has a section lightly ringed in pencil. As usual I’m expecting Deuteronomy 22:5 Neither shall a man put on a woman’s garment: For all that do so are an abomination unto the Lord their God. However, this time it is Jeremiah 4:30:

Although you dress in scarlet, Although you decorate yourself with ornaments of gold, Although you enlarge your eyes with paint, In vain you make yourself beautiful. Your lovers despise you; They seek your life.

Fuck! Wish I hadn’t read that!

Zahra and I have talked about this a lot, it doesn’t seem right to take his money. Lou takes her £200 cut – sorry ‘placement fee’ leaving the rest for us. Zahra really needs the cash but, like me, she can’t bring herself to keep it. First thing this morning, after we leave the hotel, we take it and drop it off in the collection boxes of the nearest church…and the mosque. As for the Bible – it’s not something I read much – but it don’t seem right to just leave it in the room. I take it home – to join the other five I already have! I chuckle to myself at what happened just before we left the room. Zahra glances across at the Bible and then to me. She forms the words carefully:

“Arnab! I believe that you have been laid in more hotel rooms than the Gideon Bible!”

She looks pleased with herself and I wonder whether she really gets the joke. I think Lou put her up to it, as usual…but it’s no less funny for that!





10:0 Dangerous Game

Hi

Last night I did one of the most dangerous things I’ve ever done - plumbing new depths of stupidity – even for me! However, regular readers of my blog might be surprised (and maybe disappointed) to hear that, for once, it doesn’t involve being tied up, throttled or spanked.

It started a few months ago when the five of us were sitting at a table in a club drinking cocktails and having a good time. I notice this guy staring at me and I splutter and almost snort strawberry daiquiri down my dress. He is my boss from work and he has obviously ‘read’ me. He’s not actually my direct boss – but several layers above – and he’s a right nasty shit. His favourite line is: “You’re fired – do not return to your desk – security will escort you from the building.” I shared a lift with him once and he turned to me and thrust his briefcase into my arms. “Hold that” he says as he straightens his tie. No ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ – just the effortless presumption of the powerful. Now he has recognised me and I will be escorted from the building on Monday morning.

But he’s not actually looking at me – well not in the eye anyway – he’s staring at my shoes. I cross and recross my legs and fiddle with my ankle chain and see that he only has eyes for my feet. He moves closer and I wiggle my toes so the gold rings catch the light and his tongue flicks across his lips. However Lou misses nothing and takes my arm – “we need to powder our noses”. I think she is going to slap me when I tell her who he is, but she calms down and launches one of her rescue missions. Within a minute Zvonko has opened the fire-escape and Lou and Simon lead me away while Zahra and Stas distract him by performing a little girl-on-girl right in front of him. I met him in the lift a few days later: “Did you have a nice weekend?” I ask. “Yes – my wife was away so I went up to London to watch the rugby.”

Tonight, he is ‘watching the rugby’ again but this time Lou and Stas are singing on stage and I’m sitting with Zahra. I’m wearing a black mini dress with a pink cinch belt and pink platform shoes and it is these that have caught his attention. Just to make sure I wiggle my toes and he takes a few steps closer. I walk to the ladies and he actually follows me – waiting outside in case I do a runner again! However all I’m doing is making sure my makeup is perfect and slipping in a pair of green contact lenses. I walk back into the club and look surprised to see him – I ask if he wants to join us and he agrees. I take his left hand and notice the tell-tale white mark where he’s taken off his wedding ring.

“You have a stunning figure.” He says and I look all ‘butter-wouldn’t-melt’. “You have beautiful eyes” he says and I flutter my eyelashes. “You look familiar. Do I know you?” My heart misses a beat and I manage to croak “I think you’re mistaking me for Kylie Minogue!” I need to distract him so I bring the pink platforms into view, wiggle my toes with their shiny black nail polish at him and he loses interest in my identity. He goes to get drinks and I whisper to Zahra and she takes herself off. He returns and pretty soon we are snogging. He has his hands up my skirt and I’m feeling the front of his trousers and thinking that he wants to get to know me a whole lot better. I suggest we somewhere else and he agrees.

It’s the same old hotel with the same old furtive guests but this is a first – I actually have to pay for the room myself, as his hands remain well-and-truly away from his wallet. We go upstairs and into the room, mercifully the bed has clean sheets – and he draws me into his arms. He looks at me carefully – this is crunch time. “I can’t help feeling I’ve seen you somewhere before.” He says as he looks me up and down. I have a distinctive face with a dimple in my chin and a small scar where some bastard guy broke my cheekbone a few years back. But it’s all a matter of diversion and he’s too interested in my green eyes to see the scar and too interested in the diamond stud in my nose and glossy cerise pink lips to see my chin. Yet still he stares at me – his eyes flickering as if he is searching thousands of personnel files. I play my ace. “Were you at the club a few weeks ago – I was wearing a blue dress?” He doesn’t think that’s where he knows me from but the seeds of doubt have been sown. I unbutton his shirt and he loses interest in his cerebral HR files as we fall across the bed.

I know I have to be quick in case he recognises me, but the frisson of danger is like an aphrodisiac and I am hot for him. His cock is not large – No! let’s call a spade a frickin’ spade – it’s frickin’ tiny. It is fully erect and he clearly has a complex about it. I murmur – “It’s beautiful, just perfect for me!” and slide my silky lips around it. But I’m dying to say “It looks like a cock………only smaller!” I shift position until my own cock is over his face - but he clearly has no intention of letting it anywhere near his mouth - so I concertina my body and present my heels to him - together with a close-up view of my little puckered ass! He grabs an ankle and his tongue is all over my foot – licking my bare arches - poking it between my toes and finally sliding my heels into his mouth. That really annoys me – I had a frickin’ shower not four hours ago yet he acts as if my cock is radioactive – but we’ve just walked through streets littered with unspeakable animal and human detritus yet he thinks nothing of putting my heels in his mouth. My age-old gripe again – why do guys never say: “What would you like me to do for you Melanie?”

Within about five minutes I’ve got the cleanest heels in Britain but small-dick is about to shoot his load into my mouth. I roll off him – much to his disappointment – and lead him over to the dressing table stool where I sit him down and stand over him with my cock hovering in front of his eyes. He looks absolutely terrified that I’m going to touch him with it, but instead I lower myself onto his stiff little dick. He clearly hadn’t anticipated that his little extra-marital activity would go this far but he’s trapped between a chair and a tranny and he slides into me a moment before my weight pins him to the seat. I fight the urge to say: “Is it in yet?” and whisper “You are sooo big - that feels sooo good” even though I’ve had bigger fingers in my ass! I have to be fast because he’s gonna be a quick shooter so I grip his neck and kiss him as I wrap my legs around his back. He grabs handfuls of my hair and bites on my lip, hard and painfully – bastard! - and I taste my own blood before he moans “Julia”. Then he climaxes inside me and, at the same instant I rake my heels down his back from shoulder to waist. He hardly notices in the throes of his orgasm and I hold him while he slobbers over my shoulder and calls me his wife’s name, over and over.

I can sense that he just wants out of the room. He’s fucked a tranny, been thrilled by the encounter and is now in the grips of ‘shagger’s remorse’. I suggest we shower and he reluctantly agrees, probably figuring it will remove my perfume from his body so it doesn’t taint his clothes. I finger my swollen lip as I rub soap into his back and he winces. Fuck me! – those scratches will be there for weeks!!! In the meantime I know that Zahra has emerged from the wardrobe and is doing her bit. On the pavement he kisses me perfunctorily on the cheek and, without so much as a “thank you” strides away with more of his effortless presumption. Zahra joins me and gives me the wedding ring, business card and credit card she has lifted from his clothes. She looks at me and I can see the wheels turning inside her pretty little head. As usual Lou has put her up to it. She smiles coyly at me and announces:

“You go with so many men that when you die they bury you in Y-shaped coffin!”

Zahra looks pleased with herself so I laugh and make a mental note to pay Lou back – whatever the cost!

I return to the hotel straightaway and chat to the receptionist. I put so much business his way that he’s only too happy to refund my money and charge the ‘bridal suite’ to the credit card. Within an hour of returning home I’m out again to the post box around the corner to send his wedding ring to Julia, together with the cards – it’s surprisingly easy to find out where someone lives!!! I contemplate giving her a blow-by-blow account but decide to remain anonymous. I’ve nothing against her – but I wish I could be a fly on the wall when he tries to explain the mysterious package, the hotel bill on his card – and, of course, the scratches on his back!

Love

Melanie

xxxx




7:26 Three-on-a-desk!!!

Hi

I think I said that Lou runs an escort agency introducing guys to trannies for a ludicrous fee. I’m not on her books but I will lend a hand sometimes if she’s desperate – after all she’s helped me out on so many occasions that it seems churlish not to. Yesterday evening she called me and asked me if I would go on a date up in London – the guy apparently wanted a blonde and a redhead – and was paying top bucks for the privilege. Now Stas is the duty redhead and I know Lou has other blondes but she says: “Mandy’s just had a boob job and Sharleen’s shacked up with some guy so I’m desperate!” She sounds almost plaintiff – which is not an adjective I would usually use in the same sentence as Lou – and she’s probably promised something she now can’t deliver. Reluctantly I agree.

‘Dress like a lady’ are the instructions so I fish out my new Guia la Bruna lingerie and slip into it before sliding into my blue Anna Sui cocktail dress which is very short, with a slit up the front. I agonise over shoes before plumping for a simple pair of black patent peep-toe courts with a 5 inch heel. Pearls or gold – I ponder the options before going for a gold collarette and matching bracelet – for once I leave off my ankle chain. It’s a little chilly outside so I decide to be daring and wear my mink bolero jacket. I wouldn’t usually wear it out on the town – but I figure we are not likely to meet any animal rights loonies where we are going!

The car arrives at 8pm – fuck me it’s a frickin’ Rolls Royce! Stas is already lounging on the back seat in red dress and heels and looks like Lady frickin’ Muck with her pearls and snooty attitude!!! We set off and the hunky chauffeur in his grey suit slides back the partition and says:
“Make yourselves at home….ladies!”
With that a little walnut panel opens to reveal a cabinet stocked with drinks and all sorts of other stuff. While I fix myself a Jack Daniels, Stas selects a twist of white powder and I look away – been there – done that - got over it. The journey to London takes a while and I’ve cleaned the bar out of whisky by the time we arrive at an underground car park. Ricky the chauffeur leads us to a lift and we go up to the twenty-third floor.

The door opens into a cavernous office that is as big as my whole apartment. Sitting behind the desk is our ‘client’ a business man in his late fifties who just oozes power. He barely notices us and nods towards a sofa where we sit demurely as he clinches some deal on the line to the USA. Finally, after ages, he hangs up, flicks his intercom and says – ‘Sharon - no more callers for half an hour’. He is a big man, almost completely bald and very powerfully built. I notice his highly polished shoes, Hermés tie and gold cuff links as he walks across to us. “Good evening ladies.” He says with a slight smirk as he leads us over to a desk, the size of a dining table. We stand next to it and he grabs me and kisses me – hard – no preliminary – just hard – tongue straight in – crushing my lips against my teeth. His hands reach behind me and are suddenly up my dress and under my butt cheeks. I wince at the pain but he doesn’t notice as he hoists me waist high and I wrap my legs around him while he continues to ram his tongue down my throat. Stas kneels in front of him, her ginger locks right under my ass, and unzips his trousers and takes his cock out. He gasps as she takes him between her lips and mashes my lips some more, his stubbly chin rasping against my face. A moment later the intercom crackles:

“Sir – you wife is here – she insists on seeing you right now!”

Without warning he pulls away from my mouth, releases his hands and I drop on top of Stas, before we collapse in a jumble of limbs on the plush Axminster carpet. As he’s doing up his trousers he jabs us both under the desk with the toe of his shiny brogue and we scuttle into the recess to escape his none-too-gentle kicks. A moment later the door opens.

“Working late again dear!” The tone is hostile the word ‘dear’ said without warmth. He mutters something and she continues: “I’m going to the opera and you’ve left me short – I want some money!” Again the strident hostility. Her words are slightly slurred and I swear I can smell stale alcohol. I nearly jump out of my skin as something prods me on the thigh and I edge away and peer down. The pointy toe of what looks like a Christian Laboutin shoe pokes under the desk and is joined by another as she is obviously standing right in front of him. I crane my neck and, sure enough they have the distinctive red sole of these classic shoes. Then I get a reality check - if she comes around the side we are up shit creek without a paddle as she doesn’t seem the type to take kindly to two trannies hiding under hubby’s desk! However, Stas is still high as a kite and her hands probe up my thighs under my dress and her lips find mine and pretty soon I don’t care if Mrs Businessman finds us! I vaguely hear the rustle of notes and hope this isn’t our fee disappearing into her purse. Then she announces:
“What’s that smell? – Some cheap scent – It’s not that silly little airhead Sharon’s so who’s is it?”

Stas removes her tongue from my mouth for a moment and points at me accusingly. I shrug at first them realise that it must be my perfume. Amouage Gold is not a common fragrance and it’s certainly not cheap. However, he rides to the rescue…
“Must be Monica from accounts – she was in here earlier.”
The shoes thrust right under the desk and both Stas and I instinctively cling onto each other. It’s obvious his wife is leaning right across the desk probably prodding him in the chest.
“If I thought for one minute you were unfaithful to me - I’d divorce you and make Ivana Trump’s settlement look like petty cash!”
With that the Laboutin’s swivel and, a moment later, the door slams. Stas and I poke our heads out from beneath the desk like timid gophers and he smiles at us – the first time he’s been actually human. He fixes us a drink from a bar set into the wall and tells us to sit on the desk.
“Which one of you is Melanie?”
I raise one hand like a naughty schoolgirl and he continues:
“I hear you can do things with your feet!”

So that’s it! Lou’s plea of ‘You’re the only blonde girl available’ is bullshit – I’ve been hand-picked for this job! I slide onto the desk and slip of my shoes, making sure the labels are visible. I’m glad I wore a pair of my Jimmy Choos tonight – I don’t want him to think I’m some cheap tart – somehow it matters that I wear shoes every bit as good as his wife’s. My dress has ridden up to my waist exposing a long expanse of tanned thigh but he only has eyes for my feet. I ask him:
“Can I borrow a pen?”
I’m a bit daunted when he produces a Mont Blanc fountain pen, the size of a Cuban cigar, but I take it, noticing the inscription – ‘with all my love Rachel’. However I sense I’ve gotta perform so I stick my hands behind my back, place the pen between the toes of my left foot and write ‘Melanie’ on his blotter – followed by a smiley face. Then I transfer the pen to my right and write ‘Einalem’ in the same writing and a frownie face. Finally I lift the pen up and place it between my shiny pink lips and look at him like an appealing puppy. He laughs and takes the pen though I can’t help noticing that he obviously takes his wife’s threats seriously because he wipes my lipstick off the pen before he replaces it in his pocket. Stas asks if he has a roll of Sellotape and he looks bemused, but fishes one out of the desk anyway.

However, his confusion soon turns to interest as Stas undoes his trousers for the second time and I settle into the lotus position and place the soles of my bare feet together. His cock is fat and meaty and surrounded with a mass of dark curls and it swells as Stas wraps the tape around my toes and heels, binding my feet together, sole-to-sole. Stas joins me on the desk and sits behind me with her legs either side and I lean back into her lap. Then, as she supports my weight I raise my feet upwards until they are half-way to my head. He is transfixed by the sight - but when I arch both my feet and a slit appears between my soles, he sighs and his cock springs to attention. He clambers onto the desk – not exactly gracefully I might add – and drops his trousers – within moments he is ravishing my feet, his tongue probing between my soles and I play hard-to-get by jamming them together and closing the gap on his tongue. He winces and slaps me on the thigh – not very playfully at all – and I decide that it’s probably better for Stas and me if we just give him what he wants. I arch my feet again and in an instant his cock is between my well-lubricated soles, fucking the gap, his shiny purple end emerging from between them, only to disappear back between the silky skin of my arches.

He has no idea what I’m doing as I slowly draw my feet higher and higher and he barely notices he is scrambling up the blotter to keep his cock in contact with my feet. Now they are right in front of my face and Stas grasps my ankles, anchoring them in position. The next time his engorged glans emerges from between my soles I take him between my lips and into my mouth, sucking the precum from him. He moans in pleasure and I think for a moment that he is going to cum - but it is not to be and he crushes me against Stas as he leans forward and thrusts his mouth against hers, giving her the same rough kissing he did to me earlier. I show solidarity with her by gripping her heels to both keep me in position and show her that I’m right with her on this.

He is not a considerate man and he does not make love to my feet – rather he ruts with them. His grunts become ever more animal as he pounds my feet, probing further into my mouth with each thrust. Out of the corner of my eye I glimpse a line of silver-framed photographs. Two kids with their university degrees and Rachel, looking sleek and lovely. Did his behaviour turn her into a bitter old drunkard or did her alcoholism drive him to the likes of Stas and me? My surrealist musings are brought to an end as his grunts reach a crescendo and he shoots a hot stream of cum into my mouth. He withdraws his cock and the next jet cascades into my hair, before he perfects his aim and expends himself over Stas. Finally, he flops on top of me and I am pinned beneath his weight as he snuffles and sniffs like a pig looking for truffles. After what seems like an eon, he rolls off and I am able to unfold my numb limbs. Stas and I kiss - licking his spunk from each other like a pair of grooming orang-utans - but he is not interested in girl-on-girl and is already wiping himself with a Kleenex. We separate and Stas slits the Sellotape with a silver letter opener and I massage my aching feet before retrieving my shoes and sliding off the desk.

Stas and me straighten our dresses and retrieve our jackets, even as he pushes a button under the desk and a bookcase swings aside to reveal the lift door. It slides open and Ricky is waiting for us. As we step inside, our businessman is already on the intercom:
“Sharon – get me the Montreal office!”
We clamber back into the Rolls and pull out of the garage into the street. It isn’t even dark yet, so brief has our encounter been. We briefly discuss going onto a club but Stas has already opened the bulging envelope that Ricky gave her and we figure it’s pretty dumb to annoy our benefactor. She counts out Lou’s ‘administrative costs’ - then her own cut - and hands the rest to me. I don’t bother to count it but I know it will be more than enough to pay for several pairs of Christian Laboutins – just like Rachel’s! I open the bar and am amazed to find it has been re-stocked – with everything. I open two miniatures of Jack Daniels while Stas opens her handbag to prepare. My eyes open wide – how does the lazy cow get a platinum credit card? Then I think – two thousand pounds for thirty minutes work - which in her case involved a ninety second blow job and a sperm shower – I’m surprised she doesn’t have a diamond card!

Love

Melanie

xxxx








13:20 Appointment With The Butcher

As I park my car outside my apartment I am really looking forward to a quiet night out with my friends – I love the bitchy banter and the wicked things we have to say about our bosses. I am in such a good mood as I enter the hall and Hoover runs to greet me, jumping up at me as I retrieve the mail and sift through the usual depressing pile of bills. Then I spot the envelope…I recognise it at once…the heavy gauge paper and the single word written in Gothic script in faded brown letters…Melanie. Trembling, I slit the envelope but it is empty – I have all the information I need. How the fuck did I get myself into this mess?

It started three years ago and it’s all Stas’s fault ‘cos she went with him the first time – she only did it once and when she said she wanted out – he said he’d kill her unless she gave him another name. I don’t blame her – I’d do the same if I could - but he learned from that mistake. Now he summonses me every six months – which he must calculate gives me enough time to recover. The third time I thought I was really clever and went to Spain for a week. When I returned, there was paint stripper all over my car…but it wasn’t outside my apartment… it was in the frickin’ airport car park…how scary is that! The letter arrived the next day – and so I went to him. He knows where I live – and I don’t know diddly squat about him – so I guess I’m trapped.

I’m trembling as I do my makeup but I know I have to look perfect. My basque and panties must be black under a short black cocktail dress. My stockings must be fully-fashioned and black and my platforms must be black patent. No bracelets or ankle chain, no handbag, no ‘phone. I don’t need to consult his original instructions ‘cos the details are burned on my mind. I’m ready and I swallow a stiff drink and take the letter from my desk and place it in the hall where my friends will find it. It lists everything I know about him – a single sheet of paper with some scraps of black cloth in a plastic bag stapled to it.

The taxi stops and I go to the door of the hotel – the best in town. I slip the doorman twenty pounds and, by the time I’ve walked round the back, the emergency exit is open. I take the staff lift to the sixth floor and walk the deserted corridor to the room. The door is ajar and I push it open. The room is in darkness but I must not turn on the lights. I close the door and wait.

He comes from nowhere – there is a rush of air and I am propelled across the room. I hit the bed and my knees buckle and I collapse onto the covers. He grabs my wrists and I feel cold steel as he handcuffs them behind my back. The first time he did this I kicked him in the groin…he yelled...then he broke one of my fingers. So I lay there as he fastens the ball gag over my mouth - and straps my ankles into the leg spreader – and sits me up and places the blindfold over my eyes.

He turns the lights on and frog-marches me to the bathroom. As I shuffle, restricted by the bar between my legs, I screw up my face and make a little gap under the blindfold – I can’t see much but over the years I have built up the picture. He is tall, around 6 foot one and weighs about 200 pounds. He wears a black rubber long-sleeved top and surgical gloves. His penis protrudes from his rubber pants and he wears black rubber stockings. On his feet he has royal blue patent stilettos, size 10 or 11. His face is covered by a leather hood with slits for the eyes, nose and mouth. His voice is cultured, as far as I can tell – because he only ever says four words to me. Over the top he wears a blue and white striped rubber apron – which is why I call him ‘The Butcher’. The bathroom is sanitized by clear plastic sheets taped to the walls, ceilings and floor. One sheet is not fixed and he slides it aside for us to enter. Then he places the shoe over my face and secures it tightly in place with two ribbons. It is a royal blue patent stiletto – size four or five. It has been recently worn – and there is semen inside it. He loops a slipknot around my neck…bends me over the wash basin unit…hitches up my dress…pulls my panties into the crevice of my butt…and begins to beat me.

He uses a flat plastic strip, maybe a long ruler, with nine steel pins fixed onto it which I think might be map pins. Each pin is two centimetres long – I know because he once left one imbedded in my butt. He thrashes me in groups of four strokes, always the same number of times on each cheek – four to the left – four to the right – ten times. Groups of forty…until he gets to a thousand. Each time he hits me he says:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

He begins and I try to scream but the gag is too tight, his blows rain down and I try to wriggle away – so he pulls the slipknot and I choke. I hyperventilate but I cannot get enough air and all I receive is the musky smell from the shoe. It is too small for him to wear although I’m sure it is his semen – is this some kind of twisted revenge on his cheating wife? The camera has started – it is on a tripod with silver legs and black feet. It takes a picture every fifteen seconds yet I still jump with each flash. He pauses after one hundred and twenty and his breathing is heavy. My butt cheeks are burning like they’ve been branded and I can hear drops of my own blood falling onto the plastic between my feet. He unscrews the top of the bottle - soaks the cotton wool – and fixes it inside the shoe with a piece of tape. I smell the Poppers and try not to inhale - but I need air and soon the Amyl Nitrate is scrambling my brain.

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

He starts again and gives me another forty strokes – then he pushes my panties aside. The butt plug is large, and already lubricated with Vaseline. It hurts when he first inserts it but the Poppers relax the muscles of my ass and it slides in. He places my knickers back to hold it in place, and starts again.

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

I think he does this to widen my ass so that when he fucks me he doesn’t hurt himself. I doubt if it’s to stretch me so that he doesn’t hurt me when he fucks me. He is meticulous rather than compassionate. My cock is tucked right back between my legs, inside my panties but in full view of him. His blows rain down, sometimes millimetres from the soft vulnerable tissue, but he never hits me, and never causes me serious injury. He once hit the top of my thigh and I almost fainted – it was a solitary blow on otherwise unmarked flesh – which is why I know there are nine spikes. My head thumps from the Poppers and all I can hear is my racing heart and those same four words:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

I lose all sense of time as he continues thrashing me. Once the ruler snapped and the beating stopped – for a second – until he selected a new one. The blows merge into one and I cannot feel the pain anymore. I cannot see it but I know the floor around my feet is swimming in my congealing blood. I’ve lost count but I know he stops at eight hundred. He refreshes the Poppers and I hardly notice as he withdraws the butt plug and immediately replaces it with his cock. He is big – and long – nine to ten inches - and he stretches me painfully - but the Poppers dull the pain - and suppress my inhibitions. My own cock swells and I sob with self-loathing. He starts again:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

The blows are not as strong - as he cannot take a full swing – but my cheeks are so raw that the spikes still penetrate deeply. I once tried to squeeze the life out of him with my ass muscles – I actually hurt him enough to make him stop – but he just tightened the knot until I blacked out – then continued fucking me. I know roughly how long his cock is because his tip reaches my colon. Every twenty strokes he slowly pushes his tip through the collar of muscles sending a spasm through my lower body that makes my knees buckle. He is like a metronome and I know he will climax on nine hundred and sixty. I try to fight my own body but it always betrays me. The deep penetration and the Poppers inhibit - then sedate my revulsion - and I shoot my load into my panties in the low nine hundreds. His only reaction is raise his voice a tone:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

He orgasms – always at the furthest extent of his reach - and shoots his load deep inside me – where no one else has been. The stream seems endless and nestles around my stomach with a glow that warms me from within. He withdraws – then he wipes himself clean on the hem of my dress. He does not touch my panties again – for they are soaking. He takes another ruler – the spikes are longer – three centimetres – One eventually worked its way from me a month after the fourth beating. These are the worst and I clench my teeth and try to relax my butt cheeks to make my raw flesh pliant. I know there are only forty to go but the first blow always takes me by surprise:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

The agony is so intense, each blow sending pain shooting down my legs as he brackets my sciatic nerves. My knees buckle and he hauls me back up by the rope. The last few strokes is where he plays his ‘breath games’ throttling me so I pass out – letting me recover – and then repeating the process. In all likelihood this is when he will - one day - kill me. At the fortieth stroke I know the worst is over. My senses are so heightened I swear I can actually feel the blood trickling from me. Something scrapes across my butt – I don’t know - but I think he’s collecting my blood to use as ink for the next time he writes to me. He drops in one last dose of Poppers and I lose all sense of perspective again as I drift into that euphoric ‘never never land’. He knows I am subdued again - but he still holds the rope tight - as he starts to dismantle his tableau. He uses a large black grip and in goes the camera and tripod and the other tools of his trade. He pulls the plastic sheets away and stuffs them into a bin liner until he can reach no more. Then he drags me to my feet, removes the shoe from my face and drops it into the bag. He shoves me to my knees and pushes my head into the lavatory without ever letting go of the noose. I kneel there – breathing a combination of stale piss and bleach - while he clears the rest of the plastic. Last of all is the sheet from the floor and his apron – before he removes the leg spreader, gag and blindfold. I blink at the blinding light but all I can see is the water in the bowl right in front of my nose, as he removes the handcuffs and zips the bag shut. His grip on the rope never slackens and I know it is futile to resist. He leans close to me - speaks one last time - and flushes the lavatory:

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

The rope is no longer around my neck and the light has been extinguished and I kneel there with the roaring of the cistern in my ears and water dripping from my face. I hear the faint rustle of paper and the click of the door – and then he is gone. I stagger to my feet yet, despite my injuries, my first reaction is to towel my hair and try to look presentable. My head is still swimming as I wipe the worst of the blood from my butt with a towel. I dare not look at the damage but I know I’ll be calling in sick on Monday and that I won’t be able to sit for a week. I try to think through the options – should I leave the bloodied towel in the room – should I call the police and have them burst in on him next time - but it all returns to the same thing – the letter he made me write saying I was a willing participant in ‘our’ games. So I do what I always do and clean myself up and wrap the towels in a bundle. I walk to the door and there, as always, is a roll of notes on the table. I don’t even bother to count as I know it’s a thousand pounds. I stuff the money down the front of my panties in case I’m stopped by security and leave the room. I know he’s here somewhere – possibly even in the next room - as he can hardly walk down the street in those blue heels – but I’m scared and I head for the emergency exit – let myself out – drop the towels in a bin – and stagger home.

I know I will recover. The bruises and marks fade surprisingly quickly. The HSS pic of me fucking one of my heels was taken only ten days after he did it to me the last time. My shame at filling my panties will take longer to fade – but it always does - eventually. I cut a section off the hem of my dress that I know is impregnated with his DNA, add it to the others and throw the whole outfit away. When he eventually kills me, these scraps will help convict him – if he finds the letter on the table – there are two other letters and samples in safe-keeping! Ultimately he pays me to abuse me in this way – I’ve been to him six times and heard those words twelve thousand and six times– and still I take his money – what does that make me I ask myself – which of these words best describes me?

“Bitch…Tart…Slut…Whore!”

But a thousand pounds does buy a lot of shoes!!!!!!!!





8:45 Three-in-a-bed!!!

Hi again!

My life is certainly looking up as I had a great time this evening! We went clubbing – as usual – and ended up in the hottest tranny venue in town. It’s packed full of gay guys and a whole load of straight guys wanting to sample the tranny experience. I was leopard girl - with matching bra and panties under a skimpy top and a mini skirt that was just way too short. I wore the leopard print platforms I bought the other week and had even painted my toenails light brown with little black dots! In fact, I guess I looked like a character from an X-rated version of The Flintstones!!!

One of the problems with a quartet is it can be a little intimidating, so we split into pairs. Zahra and I sit at a little table like two funnel-web spiders waiting for our prey to come along. Sure enough, we were only on the second drink when this guy comes and asks if he can join us. I joke that the entry fee for our exclusive party is two drinks and he saunters off and comes back with a bottle of champagne! He must be loaded if he can afford a magnum of Moët at club mark-up! He sits between us and I study him as he chats to Zahra. Late-thirties, chinos with a Gucci belt and matching loafers, Lacoste polo shirt with Oakley sunglasses hooked over the neck. Nice stuff but hardly cruising clothes – more like night-out-with-the-lads clothes. I lean across to pick up my glass and, sure enough, there’s a little white line where he’s removed his wedding ring. Now I don’t have a problem with married guys and I certainly never ask: “Can you confirm that you do in fact realise that we are not actually people of the female persuasion?” No guy walks into a tranny club and doesn’t realise where he is after a few seconds – unless he’s really drunk – and that’s happened to me a few times – but I digress! So I don’t moralise - if he wants to cheat on his missus with a tranny that’s OK with me. Often it’s just the thrill of sampling the forbidden fruit - or sometimes it’s cos of the clothes we wear – or both.

Steve – (the characters in this motion picture are entirely fictional and bear no relation to any person, living or otherwise etc etc etc) turned out to be a ‘both’. I knew it was at least one of the two when I cross my legs and one platform shoe filled his peripheral vision. He loses interest in Zahra and gains interest in my shoe and pretty soon my foot is propped on the table while he kisses my toes and nibbles at my gold toe rings. He leans across and whispers: “You look very classy!” I almost laugh out loud – ‘slutty’ maybe but certainly not ‘classy’! Zahra puts one red patent stiletto on the other side of his head as if to say “Hey look – I got sexy heels too!” We both swing our legs across his lap to give him a choice of four shoes and he alternates between gently rubbing my insteps and caressing Zahra’s bare heels. He tells us he has a good sex-life with his wife but she has a thing about her feet and hates him touching them. Now I should really have said: “You should be more understanding of her phobias - and shagging two trannies won’t ease your pain!” – but I’d seen the size of the cock that was bursting to escape from his trousers – so much so that his precum had leaked through the chinos leaving a small dark, sticky patch!

I very, very, very rarely take people back to my place - but I know somewhere marginally more respectable than a park bench - so we whisper in his ear and he blushes and reluctantly releases our legs. The hotel is not exactly five-star - in fact it’s only just one up from pay-by-the-hour - but it is discreet and safe. The receptionist knows us and if he disapproves, he’s too professional to show. We pay and head up to the third floor. The bed has been made but the sheets are not clean and I make a show of fluffing up the pillow to make it more homely - while replacing it upside down and hiding the semen stain. I don’t think there can be an Iranian word for ‘foreplay’ because Zahra just slips out of her dress - her white bra and panties dazzling against her mocca skin – and unzips his trousers. I take off my skirt and top and I can see he’s intrigued as to where we put our cocks – so I take Steve’s hand and let him feel – as much to assure him he hasn’t picked up two gay girls as to arouse him! We lie on the bed and I’m glad he’s on his back – ‘cos there is a spunk stain that looks like a map of Australia on the sheet. Zahra and I remove his clothes and kiss him, me starting at his feet and her at his head, working our way towards the middle until he has two mouths vying for his cock.

I get there first - and I can honestly say it is a prime specimen of manhood – I’ll leave you to judge whether I have much experience of cocks to base my opinion on! I kneel between his legs and lick the shiny precum from his silky tip as he swells and the veins bulge. Zahra is behind me, licking my ass with her pointed pink tongue and stroking both my cock and her own. Then, I sit astride him and swiftly lower my well-lubricated ass straight onto his shaft. Steve’s eyes widen as he probably expected a blow job would be the limit of his infidelity. I guess he hadn’t bargained for this! He tries to pull away but I’ve already got his glans inside me and I grip him, refusing to release my catch! He gasps as I tighten my hold – Lou once said I could probably crack walnuts with my ass muscles! – then realises the futility of competing with the Hulk Hogan of the sphincter world – and relaxes as I take the rest of him into me. Then, I grip him again as an extra anchor as I swivel my legs and place one foot each side of his head and start to ride him. His tongue flicks over the soft flesh at the side of my feet - and he inhales my musky foot perfume - and thrusts up from the bed into me in response.

Zahra gets into the action by squatting astride his chest with her cock over his mouth. He hesitates then makes up his mind to go all the way and takes it between his lips. Zahra closes her cute lips over my cock - and we go at it like participants at a Bacchanalian orgy until I felt him swell inside me. At the last possible moment, I release him and slide away as Zahra slips the other side and takes her red stilettos off, placing one over his cock and the other over his face. He gasps and needs no prompting as he grips the shoe over his nose and mouth and inhales deeply. Zahra and I stroked his well-oiled cock as we push it into her shoe - right into the pointed toe. Once, twice – then he shoots his load explosively into Zahra’s shoe. His body bucks and writhes but he never releases his hold on her other shoe. Zahra anchors the heel of her cum-filled shoe next to his sac and we stroke each other’s cocks and finger each other’s asses until we both climax, me first, then her, into the shoe, filling the toe completely with gooey cum. All the while, his eyes never leave us and he never stops inhaling Zahra’s perfume.

If he thought that was the end he’s mistaken and I lie next to him and show him my party piece. Grasping my ankle I draw my right leg up until it’s above my head and I can suck on my own heel. He gasps and drops Zahra’s shoe and kneels for a better look. I flex my leg a little more - and position my shoe vertically above my mouth - and he looks on in wonder at this feat of bedroom gymnastics - his cock already stiffening again. Then Zahra places her jizz-filled shoe over the front of my platform and - with infinite care - like she’s decanting vintage claret - starts to pour the cum into the gap between my toes and the inner sole. I wiggle my toes to help the sticky flow on its way and shiver with pleasure as it slides under my instep towards my heel. Finally, I arche my foot - raising my heel a fraction - and the cum starts to dribble into my waiting mouth. Steve pulls and tugs on his cock as the fluid completes its convoluted journey from my toes to between my cerise pink lips where I store it for its next adventure!

I release my ankle and Zahra and I kneel in front of each other and kiss passionately, mingling the combined cum of three lovers as our tongues entwine like mating cobras. Each time a little of the exotic mixture escapes our lips, a tongue detaches itself from the serpentine courtship and retrieves the errant droplets back into the whirlpool. Steve could not get enough and stands over us to get the best view of our frenetic snogging. We have mixed our cum into an inextricable meld of DNA when he climaxes again and shoots a fresh load of hot cum over our faces. We are startled by the unexpected shower and swallow instinctively - and the precious concoction disappears down our throats.

We dress and catch the lift to the lobby. Zahra and I squelch in turn in our cum-soaked shoes – her left and my right! If Steve has his wedding ring with him he doesn’t replace it and I respect him for that. I drop the keys on the desk and suggest that they really oughtta get those sheets changed!!!





7:24 Cuckold's Revenge!

Hi again

Well – tonight was a very different night that came from absolutely nowhere. On Wednesday nights the five of us always go to a quiet pub for a few drinks and a chat. Simon always organises the taxi and it does a circuit of the town picking us up, getting to me last as I’m nearest the centre. We have a pact that we dress down on Wednesdays as we are not on the pull and are just there to catch up on each others gossip. If anyone is too dressy they get sent back to change by Simon! It’s a system that seems to work well!

Last night I wore skin tight jeans, a white crop top, white stilettos and my white leather jacket. We went to a quiet pub which is run by the most lovely gay couple. They’ve been together for 27 years and look after us like the princesses we are. Seriously, it’s not a traditional tranny pub but we know we are welcome and will be left alone by the rest of the guys. Anyway, we are sitting at the bar gossiping away when this guy suddenly appears at my side. As I said, we have an agreement that Wednesdays nights are ‘non pulling’ nights so I ignore him. But he puts a hand on my shoulder and says:

“Are you Melanie?”
“Maybe.”

At this point I expect Lou to weigh in. She’s the oldest and most experienced of us and, having spent years on the stage, has a great line in put-downs. However, Lou and the others are concentrating on their drinks like their lives depend on it and it seems like I’m on my own. The guy whispers:

“What size shoe do you take?”

Fuck! That was from way out on the left field. I’ve heard some crap chat-up lines but that’s gotta be the worst!

“7 UK – why?”

I’m pissed-off now that I seem to be dealing with this guy on my own when this is supposed to be an ‘all for one – one for all’ night. Even Simon has taken himself off to the loo instead of bringing his six foot three body to my rescue. The guy leans closer and his lips brush my hair - actually he’s not that bad looking:

“I have a proposition for you!”

With that he whispers earnestly for a good five minutes while the others pretend not to be trying to hear - and my smile grows wider by the minute. It all makes sense now. Zahra takes a size 6 shoe, I take a 7, Stas an 8 and Lou a 9 – that’s why we never share shoes. He takes my hand like we are on a first date – which I suppose we are – and I glance across at the others – who all wink at me. Why do I get the impression I’ve been set up?

My guy is in his mid-40s and sort of sexy in a nice dependable way and he does nice things like open the door of his car for me. His home is a few miles outside the town, a nice big bungalow in its own grounds with an automatic gate – how cool – I’m not very good with technology so it doesn’t take much to impress me! We park and he leads me into his home and pours me a glass of wine. Then he takes me into this vast bedroom and opens up a huge walk-in closet. Over the next couple of minutes he carries an assortment of items to the bed and lays them out.

“I bought all these things for my wife to try to rekindle our marriage - but she won’t wear them for me. Will you do me the honour?”

Fuck – that was like something out of a 1930s movie. Anyway, he leaves me to it and I strip down to the bare buff and examine the stuff on the bed. My mouth opens in awe as I see the label on the lingerie – even I have never been able to justify buying Guia la Bruna and I pull it on grinning like the cat that’s got the cream! The dress is the most classic LBD and I wonder whether it will fit me – but it does! Fuck me – the closest I’ve ever been to a Maria Grachvogel dress is looking in a shop window. Trembling with excitement I pick up the shoes – Roger Vivier peep-toe stilettos in size 7 – and they fit me like a glove. There is pearl jewellery on the bed and I pull off my cheap white plastic bangles and drape myself in a necklace, bracelet and ring before I fix my makeup in the en-suite bathroom. Finally I look at the perfume - Hermés – new and very expensive – I tried it once in a shop - it smells of cat piss – but what the hell!

I join him in the sitting room and he stands and ogles me. Without a word, he takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom. He takes his clothes off and kneels beside me as he tells me how his wife ignores him, is frigid and is having an affair with some other guy. I pretend to listen but I’m thinking ‘how can any woman not like these beautiful clothes’. He kisses my shoes and his cock stiffens – he has a nice body and a big, meaty cock, and I think his wife must be dating some frickin’ hunk if she’s ignoring him. Then he takes off one shoe and kisses my toes, running his tongue between them, licking them and nibbling my pink toenails. Then he slips something over my second toe. “I bought this ring for her on our fifteenth anniversary as a token of my love – but she never wore it - and I’d like you to have it!” Fuck! He must really hate her if he’s giving his wife’s eternity ring to a tranny he met an hour ago! This was getting freakier than I wanted so I slid my foot back into the shoe and took his cock in my mouth.

“I’ve always wanted you to do that to me Sylvia!”

Frickin’ Sylvia – what’s wrong with Melanie? Anyway, I play with him and his eyes never leave me as if he’s savouring every moment of his betrayal. Then I take one shoe off and slide it over his cock until his smooth, purple tip pokes through the peep-toe. He moans as I close my pink lips over it and suck and tease his magnificent cock. It swells, filling the peep-toe and pinning the shoe along his throbbing shaft. Without my eyes leaving his, I slowly draw his glistening tip into my mouth followed by the toe of the shoe with his cock impaled inside it. He moaned and jerked and I was sure he would cum in my mouth. However, he seemed to change in an instant and pulled himself free, replaced my shoe and told me to kneel on the bed.

Within seconds he had pulled my bare heel from one shoe and I felt his cock take its place. Gripping me tightly around my waist he thrust his cock into my shoe, fucking the sole of my foot then, just as suddenly, switched to my other foot. For the next few minutes he fucked one foot after the other – his cock probing deeper into my shoes - almost emerging from the peep-toes. Finally, with a primal cry, he came into one shoe, once, twice and pulled his cock free. The next jet shot up the back of my panties before he found my other shoe and expended his load beneath my foot. He mustn’t have had it for years because I swear there was a pint of it swishing around in my shoes! I looked at his face and there was an expression of pure joy – like he had just had the ultimate revenge.

We lay together and I whispered – ‘you know trannies have needs too!’ - as I took one hand and placed it on my cock, which was straining to escape from a pair of $600 knickers. He hesitated then I saw his eyes melt and he moved to kiss me…but the crunch of tyres on gravel made us freeze, his lips on mine.

“Fuck! She’s home early! Get in the closet!”

Fumbling for his clothes he pushed me into the darkness and slid the door shut as I heard the cry of:

“Hey – I’m home put the kettle on will you?”

“Coming Darling!” – Then I am on my own in the dark.

A minute later she comes into the room and dials on her mobile:

“Hi darling– it’s Sylvia…I know…we are so hot together – what a great evening…I can’t get enough of you…almost caught him out…I think he’s been wearing my stuff…I can smell that awful perfume he bought me…just let me check the closet…yeah…as I thought…that slutty dress he bought me has gone…and the fuck-me shoes…Christ – I wouldn’t be seen dead in them…he’s hidden them somewhere… but I’ll find them...”

I lie under the bed with my own clothes in my arms. I knew the closet was a bad place to hide but now, under the bed doesn’t seem a good alternative. Now she’s in here with me I am sure to be discovered. Soft footfalls approach and a pair of Birkenstocks appear in front of me. A line of dirty toenails confront me as I shrink further under the bed. GOD! I hate Birkenstocks – and I wouldn’t be seen dead with dirty toenails! She flops on the bed and the springs sag dangerously close to my head.

“Yeah! He’s a just a worm…couldn’t cum to save his life…frickin’ impotent if you ask me…hey look…I’m gonna find where he’s hidden the clothes…can’t wait to tell you how he tries to explain it!...OK…see you tomorrow…I love you too Cheryl…bye!”

Cheryl! – frickin Cheryl! I barely suppress a giggle as her cracked heels disappear and she shuffles out of the bedroom. She yells:

“Where’s my fucking coffee!”…as I open the bedroom window, slip out, and squelch my way down the drive with cum slithering around inside my new shoes.

Two hours after leaving the pub, I’m back, carrying my own clothes in a little bundle and wearing £5,000 worth of Sylvias’s stuff. The girls stand and applaud me and I sit next to Simon and swing my legs across his. Giggling, I shuck off my shoe and wiggle my new diamond-studded toe ring in front of his eyes. Simon’s nose wrinkles and Lou quips:

“WOW! That’s taken cross-dressing to a new dimension!”





7:57 Bound to Please!

Hi

Today is the 4th of July, so me and the girls decided to go out dressed in red white and blue to celebrate. I wore white bra and panties with a blue crop top. Next was my white PVC mini skirt and red platform sandals with a 71/2 inch heel (the ones I’m wearing in pic 32). The weather is bloody marvellous in the UK at the moment which is just an excuse to wear as little as possible – and it doesn’t get dark until nearly 11pm. Just to add that little Melanie touch, I painted my toenails red white and blue and fixed a little stars and stripes stud in my belly button.

We arrived at the club and it was quite quiet. There were lots of guys but they seemed more interested in texting their stockbrokers or whatever and the dance floor was empty. Lou had a word with the DJ and he put on some great dance stuff. However, the sight of four half-naked trannies must’ve put the fear of God into the guys because we remained the only people dancing. After 20 minutes I got bored and went outside for a fag (Note to self: Must use ‘cigarette’ instead of ‘fag’ to avoid confusion from American readers). Zvonko the doorman has the hots for me and always lets me use the fire exit. He props the door open with a chair and lets me sit on his knee while I smoke. He is 6 foot 8 inches of pure Croatian hunk and is said to have a cock like a baseball bat. He always likes to run his fingers inside my panties and I wonder what he would be like in the sack. Jeez – he’d probably split me in half!!! Anyway, when I returned, the place was suddenly packed - and my mates were dancing with three guys who looked they had just stepped out of the ‘beefcake’ department of Central Casting.

So there I am sitting at the bar drinking a cocktail with a frickin’ umbrella stuck in it - watching Zahra and Stas using their tongues to clean their partner’s tonsils - when this guy sidles up and asks if I want a drink. Fcuk me! Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back? Now this guy is no hunk - but after five tequila slammers I’m not really seeing the sticking-out ears and the buck teeth. So when he asks me if I’d like to go for a drive I take another jealous look at the tonsil Olympics, and grab my handbag.

Outside, we walk arm-in-arm until he takes out his keys. I look around and wonder if it’s the BMW, or the Mercedes over the road. But no! It’s a frickin’ Ford Transit van! I laugh with the irony and he looks quizzical; “Ford Transit – popularly known as a ‘Tranny’” I giggle. The bulb finally illuminates; “Oh I get it – Tranny in a Tranny!” Jeez – talk about slow! So in we get and drive outta town – in fact way outta town - until he pulls into a carpark in some woodland. We get out, and as he opens the back door, I’m thinking; ‘Sex in the back of a van– another classy encounter for Melanie!’

There is a mattress on the floor but what the hell! I’ve come this far! So I crawl in – knowing I’m giving him a glimpse of my cock inside my white panties – and wiggle my rump at him coquettishly. He gives me a playful tap on my butt and I squeal in mock anguish. The door shuts and it’s suddenly very dark. I know he’s there because I can smell his man odour and I’m suddenly scared. I’ve been throwing drink down my neck all evening and he’s been on the Coca Cola and I feel very vulnerable. He touches my hand and I give a little squeak but then he kisses it, and his tongue runs across my fingers, teasing my rings with his teeth. Hey – this is all right!!! He has both hands on my wrist as his tongue traces a line along my palm and I’m enjoying the sensation of total darkness – as he slides my fingers in and out of his mouth like a line of little pink cocks. Then, with a metallic click, I feel the cold embrace of steel around my wrist.

He is so quick – and I can’t see a frickin’ thing – as he drags my arm and fastens the handcuff to something. I lash out – miss him completely - and hit the side of the van - and yelp as I skin my knuckles. Then he is astride me and has the other wrist, and suddenly it’s also clamped to the wall This is it, I’m going to yell – and I open my mouth – there were other cars in the park – someone will hear me – but he stuffs something into it and I gag and splutter. Then he wraps something around my head, it feels like a rope, and pulls it tight over my mouth. It happened so fast. Fifteen seconds from sucking my fingers to trussing me up like a Christmas turkey. Game set and match to big-ears!

He shifts his position and something slides around my ankles – he pulls it tight and I am totally restrained. My saliva soaks the cloth and I can taste something familiar – it’s someone else’s cum - and I retch. My eyes water as I fight the urge, cos I know that if I vomit I’ll drown in the stuff and save him the job of killing me. Suddenly, I’m bathed in blinding light and I blink like an owl. The inside of the van is painted white and I’m lying on a mattress that might have been white once but is now grubby and covered in stains. Will another stain be my final earthly contribution?

He doesn’t look at me as he takes the end of a white rope and secures it above my knees. Then he wraps it tightly, very tightly, taking infinite care to lay the loops close together, across my bronzed bare legs. For some reason he leaves a gap just below my knees and then he removes the belt that was originally restraining my ankles. He continues to bind me, the unbending trusses pressing my legs together, almost making them as one. Humming softly, he wraps the rope around my feet, clamping my platforms together. However, he is careless and leaves another gap, before finishing the last few loops. This sloppiness gives me hope that the ropes might, it time, loosen. Finally, he ties a knot and fashions the spare end into a noose. I struggle feebly as it passes under my body, between my butt cheeks, and up my back. Unexpectedly he slaps me hard on the stomach. I instinctively draw my knees up to protect myself and he deftly drops the noose over my head.

I try to kick him with my high heels as he returns to the doors but only succeed in almost throttling myself and realise I must keep my legs tucked just to breathe. Mewing through the gag, I wriggle to ease the pressure until my back is against the wall of the driver’s compartment, where I sag against the handcuffs, totally helpless. My captor produces a camera and takes shot after shot of me from every angle. The flash blinding, even under the powerful light. He is a 21st Century Harvey Glatman, complete with big ears and goofy teeth - and once he has taken his pictures - he’ll take me into the woods - tighten the rope around my neck - and watch me die. He takes off his trousers and releases his cock, which is hard and purple-veined, its tip glistening with precum. I press against the wall and try to cry out, but my mumbles will not be heard outside the van. He has KY jelly on his fingers and rubs it over the small exposed area of flesh under my knees and then he is on me – his face inches from mine - his cock probing the tight slit between my calf muscles. He uses one hand to guide himself and he gasps and pushes harder. At first nothing happens and I feel his hardness against me. The rope is unbending but finally, my living flesh seems to melt before this onslaught and his cock slides into the tiny orifice.

Despite myself, I am aroused and my own cock fills my panties, desperate for release from its silken embrace. I am leaking precum too and my shameful desire must be adding to the collection of bodily fluids on the mattress. Faster and faster he fucks my legs, withdrawing almost to his bulging glans - letting my taught muscles fill the void – before thrusting them apart again. Then suddenly he changes position and I throttle myself again as he slaps lubrication between my feet. This is so much tighter as my unyielding platform soles are clamped together. He grunts and thrusts and probes - and the tumescence of my own cock silently urges him to enter me. At first he is unable to penetrate the tight slit but, again, encouraged by his constant probing, the elasticity of my flesh betrays me and first his purple tip then more and more of his shaft disappears into the tiny fissure between my feet. Faster and faster he fucks my feet as he pulls them towards him, tightening the ligature and slowly squeezing the life out of me. I writhe on the mattress, some deep, innermost part of me wanting to achieve one final orgasm before my life is extinguished.

We climax together, him with great grunts as he shoots his load of cum between my feet, one, two, three, four, five spasms. I lose count as the hot cum seems to pump forever. My own cock swells and I find myself deliberately straining against the rope as I willingly throttle myself in search of one last thrill. Then I fill my panties with wave after wave of cum…and fall into oblivion.

My first sensation is of light, pricking at the corners of my eyes, then the pain in my throat as I try to swallow. My senses return and I realise he has taken the rope from my neck. I can feel his cum, still warm from constant contact with my feet, slithering its way under my soles, flowing like a living thing. I glance down and there is a dark stain underneath me - gradually spreading - as my cum soaks into the mattress. But I have no time to rejoice in the fact that I am still alive, as he places a pad over my nose – I recognise the sickly smell of chloroform and try not to breathe. However the heady exertion of my own climax makes me crave for air and I inhale once…twice…then nothing.

I come-to sometime later and flail one arm, taking the skin from my other knuckles with a metallic clunk. I am still in the van and at least I’m not dead ! But my arm is fee, and so is the other and what I took for the van light is a street light above me. My head pounds from the anaesthetic so I slowly glance around. Bastard! - He’s only gone and dumped me in a rubbish skip (sorry; dumpster in the USA). As my reeling senses return, I see my legs are still tied with the white rope but, apart from the gag, I seem to be OK. I untie the rope behind my head with fumbling fingers and pull the cloth out. It’s a pair of knickers, black satin and once soaked with the cum that’s long since disappeared down my throat. I toss them away in disgust and work on the rope around my legs. After an age I slide the last loop away and try to stretch my numb legs. However my feet won’t move, presumably cos he’s super-glued them as a sick joke. I must get outta here so I move them gently and watch as the soft, elastic, skin on the insides of my feet stretches yet does not separate. Then, they part and with a chuckle - I realise my feet were stuck together….with dried cum!

My butt is wet and sticky and I carefully touch my puckered little ass with a finger. It comes away red and gooey and I know the bastard has stuck something up me and injured me. Looks like I will be off to A & E – not for the first time either. I shimmy around, trying to get a better look at my injury, which is strangely painless….and find I’m sitting in the remains of someone’s MacDonald’s meal. I lick my finger and, sure enough, it’s tomato ketchup! I empty the box and sit on it as it has to be cleaner than whatever lies beneath. Bastard took my panties and no doubt will stick them in his next victim’s mouth! My skirt is so short that it exposes my butt when I bend over - so I can’t go bare-cheeked! Reluctantly I fish about and retrieve the knickers from where they nestle, next to a half-eaten kebab. I look at the label - frickin’ hell! Some lucky tranny’s getting my £60 Janet Reger panties stuck in her gob and all I get is a £3 pair of Primark skimpies!!!

It’s nearly four in the morning and will be soon be dawn. Cautiously peering over the rim of the skip, I see that I am near the carpark on Church Street and it’s less than a mile from my apartment. I can call a friendly taxi firm and still be home just before daylight. That’s if he hasn’t robbed me. My handbag is slung over one shoulder and I unzip it. To my relief my keys and mobile are there, together with my cash…and £200 that wasn’t there before. I shrug – I guess that makes us about even.

Balanced on ther rim of the skip, I lower myself to the floor – landing between the outstretched legs of a sleeping tramp. He wakes to find a pair of red platform shoes in front of his nose as I brush bits of God-knows-what from my skirt. I give him one of the £50 notes –the least I could do for disturbing him!

Love

|Melanie

xxxx





19:5 New shoes!!!

Hi!

The weekend is here – thank goodness!! I celebrated by going shopping after work to a little place that sells great alternative shoes. Bought myself a fabulous pair of leopard print platform shoes with 7 inch heels which are just soooo cool and I can’t wait to go out in them. I’ve posted some pics and I hope you like ‘em. That makes me up to 154 pairs again cos I can't see me wearing my red suede stilettos again after what that bastard did to them!

Having a quiet night in and hope to chat to some of my new friends on HSS – some of the play has been just amazing - keep it coming!!!

Tomorrow night we are celebrating American Independence Day with a 4th of July girls night out – I’m sure I’m gonna have a great time!

Love

Melanie

xxx





21:28 DNA collection

Hi again

Having a quiet evening at home, doing relaxing stuff like painting my toenails (cerise if anyone is interested) and saving my strength for the weekend. Collected my purple dress from the dry cleaners – glad to see the stains came out – and handed in my red dress. The guy looked like I’d just handed him a bag of puke as he put the piss-stained dress on a wire hanger, taking care to only handle it by the straps. Then he hung it up and studied it carefully before remarking:

“I see you have a different kind of stains today.”

I have just so gotta stop guys leaving their DNA over my dresses – or at least find another dry cleaner!

Love

Melanie




2:29 Glory Hole!!!

Hi

Well what a night I had at the film premiere!!! I’d never heard of John Dillinger before so I Googled him and swotted-up. Going as ‘the lady in red’ was a no-brainer really! Unfortunately all my red dresses are so short even a gangster’s moll wouldn’t be seen out in ‘em so I skived off work and trawled the charity shops until I managed to find a red cocktail dress for the princely sum of £5.

At least I could wear some of my favourite red underwear so on went a lacy basque and panties before I slid on sheer black nylon stockings with a red seam up the back. The dress was knee length but did have a split up the side and showed rather a lot of thigh when I sat down to put on my red suede court shoes. They have pointy toes and the thinnest of stiletto heels (there’s a pic of me sitting on the loo wearing them – sorry about the loo!).

So we went to a pub first and then onto the cinema and the film was flippin’ amazing – Christian Bale is just sooooo hot!!! When we came out, it was only 11pm so we headed to one of the livelier pubs with a group of guys who’d been at the movie. My target detection system was working full swing and I soon homed in on my guy. Big, blond and hunky, wearing a pin stripe suit and a snap-brim trilby! We sat at a quiet corner of the bar and he made some comment about my ankle chain - so I hoisted my legs over his knees so he could get a good look. There was a bit of ‘hemline accident’ as I showed him my skimpy panties and my cock – which was starting to follow my ‘hunk radar’. When I finally got my thighs covered, he was lifting the little gold hearts and teddy bears dangling from my chain and watching the light sparkle off them with a look of awe on his face. I arched one foot and saw the front of his trousers stir, then I slid me heel out from my shoe and the material bulged. When I finally dangled my red stiletto from my toes - there was a positive commotion going on in his trousers!!!

He didn’t say much, but he must have liked me ‘cos he took his hat off and put in on my head at a jaunty angle, as he ran his fingers under my arch, probing until he was groping the underside of my toes. Boy! Was I squirming with pleasure! Zahra took the hat from her guy and pretty soon all four of us had matching trilbys. My guy and I had matching hard-ons as well and I removed my legs from his knees, much to his disappointment, but we were at the bar and Lou was looking disapprovingly at me. Instead I bent forward to kiss him, which covered the fact I was running one scarlet fingernail up and down his zip – feeling the material bulge and push against the restraint. Suddenly one of his hands shot up my dress and did its best to release my cock from its little red satin nest. It was getting way too heavy for a public bar so I whispered in his ear and he nodded and slid off the stool. I did the same and noticed I’d left a snail-trail of precum on the black leather - but had to leave it as a little surprise for the next occupant - as blond hunk led me off to the toilets. We entered the Gents (It’s a tranny advantage that you can take your pick of ladies or gents!!!) as Stas and her guy were leaving, with him fastening his trousers and her smoothing her skirt down. The end two cubicles were vacant, as I guessed they would be, and we took one each and closed the doors.

The Glory Hole had a rim of fresh cum, which was oozing languidly down the wall, evidence that Stas and her guy had enjoyed themselves. As usual there was no bloody toilet paper so I wiped off the jizz with the hem of my dress. (You seriously didn’t think I was going to lick it off did you?) A second later a cock, that looked as if it had been carved from solid marble, slid through the hole and I forgot about getting spunk on a second dress in four days! I squatted down, wedging myself against the toilet as I ran my tongue along his throbbing shaft. I was off balance but the loo was filthy and I wasn’t going to put my hands on it - so I wriggled about until I was holding onto the empty loo roll holder – never letting go of his magnificent hard-on. Then the impossible happened and his thick purple glans swelled inside my throat and I almost choked.

“Your shoes are beautiful”

His voice was husky with desire and I looked down to see that the toes of my red shoes were poking under the partition wall into his cubicle and sight had made him swell to bursting point. I slid my feet as far as they would go and he groaned and his cock twitched in my mouth. I arched my feet, sliding my heels from my shoes and he gasped and pushed harder against the wall which, was by now creaking and threatening to collapse on top of me at any time.

“I want to see the whole of your shoes.”

I hesitated, and his stiffness began to fade.

“Please!!!”

Now I’m a softy for a polite guy - so I took his cock in one hand – I wasn’t letting go of this hunk of beef I can tell you – and sat down in an undignified huddle on a piss-stained floor with my dress rucked up to the top of my thighs. Then I slid both legs right under the wall until they jammed under the wood half way up my thighs. (Note to self: More work in gym required to remove excess adipose tissue from upper leg area).

His cock immediately stiffened again and I lunged for it – but it was on a level with the top of my head and I couldn’t reach. Frustrated, I jammed my arms under my butt and hoisted myself up the extra inches and closed my red glossy lips around his magnificent erection. Now I could do what I do best! I hoped he wouldn’t last too long as my arms started to tremble and the wall began to cut off the circulation, making my legs numb. My prayers were soon answered as I felt his cock jerk and twitch in my mouth and the smooth tip swelled and I prepared to take his cum right into my throat. I closed my eyes – then suddenly I was sucking on thin air – my tongue slid around the hole looking for him – I wanted him so bad I didn’t care how many other guy’s DNA I was lapping up.

Then I felt his hands push my feet together, then force the heels inwards towards each other. I watched him through the hole as he concentrated on preparing his target. As his fingers pulled my shoes away from my arches he grunted in ecstasy and shot his hot load inside first one shoe then the other, filling them with jet after jet of glorious cum! It flowed under my insteps and, mewing in pleasure, I wiggled my toes to help it on its way. That was the most fantastic shoe job and I knew I’d have the stickiest toes in the whole, wide world! Peeking through the Glory Hole, I saw my hunky lover was standing, his cock slowly deflating. I watched him as he started to fasten his zip – then he hesitated and I thought: ‘Typical guy! – cums over a gals shoes then needs a piss!’

But, as my eyes widened with realisation, he turned away from the toilet and, before I could move, directed a stream of hot pee over my legs. I squealed – little caring that the cubicle behind me was by now occupied, and flopped onto my butt. However my legs were so numb that they wouldn’t move and I was forced to sit there while he soaked my stockings and shoes, squirting more of it along the tiled floor so it shot up my dress and soaked my panties. Only when I heard him fasten his zip did I drag each trembling leg back under the wall and sprawl on the floor in a soggy, quivering, heap. His door opened and he walked past my cubicle without even a ‘thank you Ma’am!’

I was not even going to contemplate going back into the bar as I smelled like the floor of a monkey’s cage. However, the only way out was through the crowd, so I straightened my hair in the mirror, put on a fresh coat of lippy, glared at a guy who tutted at me for invading this male bastion, and squelched my way into the bar. Nobody noticed the girl in the red dress as she weaved her way to the door – although a few noses wrinkled in my wake! I had finally reached the threshold and felt the warm night air on my wet legs when Lou’s voice cut through the hubbub:

“Been on the piss again Melanie?”

I didn’t dare catch a taxi home as I’d surely be arrested for vagrancy. So I tottered my way through the dark streets with, cum squishing between my toes and my wet stockings clinging to my legs. When I got home, Hoover took one sniff of my feet and turned away. I smelled so bad even the frickin’ dog wouldn’t come near me! As I squelched past the hall mirror on my way to the shower I caught a glimpse of myself.

At least I got to keep the hat!!!

Postscript: I think that guy ruined my frickin’ shoes as the piss and cum soaked right through the suede. I’ve posted a pic of ‘em. If anyone knows how I can get them clean I’d be glad to hear.





18:16 Spare me the blushes!

Hi

Took my blue dress to the dry cleaner this afternoon. The guy behind the counter held it up and looked at the stains from Saturday night. I stammered something about spilling cream soda down it and might have got away with it if I hadn’t blushed so much my sunglasses steamed up.

Tomorrow night the five of us are going to a movie premiere of Public Enemies. Everyone is going as gangsters or their molls – difficult choice – sharp suit and trilby…………or strappy dress, pearls and high heels.

I’ll tell you what I decided tomorrow!!!





20:26 Toe job on a Saturday Night!!!

Hi

I’m a tranny (so please leave now if you don't approve) in my mid-thirties from the South of England. I’ve been dressing for years and have a great social life with my girlfriends Tallulah (or Lou – she’s the sensible one and looks after us), Anastasia (or Stas – she’s the classy one and looks great in pearls) and Zahra (she’s the youngest, and prettiest – bitch!!!). Our friend Simon chaperones us wherever we go and tries to keep us on the straight and narrow, unless his boyfriend is home from the oil rigs - when we get to run riot! Me – I’m Melanie, the scatty blonde who’s always in the wrong place at the wrong time and the others suggested that I write a blog about some of the (usually undignified) things that happen to me.

I live with Hoover the dog and about 150 pairs of shoes which take up the whole of one room. As you can see from my pics I prefer big, bold platforms but have lots of other styles as well. Shoes are a great turn on for me (why else would I be on HSS?!) as well as all the all the other things that go with great looking feet, such as nail polish, toe rings and ankle chains.

Last Saturday we were going clubbing as usual and I decided to go Goth with dark eye shadow and deep purple lipstick. Once I was satisfied, I selected three gold toe rings for each foot and opened a new pair of champagne sheer stockings with purple contrast toe, heel and seam. Jonathan Aston makes hosiery to die for!!! Then on went lacy black bra and suspender belt.

Shoes are always a tricky choice and having so many pairs makes it harder not easier. In the end I did what I usually do and laid two pairs out next to the bed and flipped a coin to decide!! (I did say I was scatty!) My choice was black patent strappy platforms by Pleaser with a 7½ inch heel. (They are the ones in my pics on the red carpet) At this stage of the getting ready process I have to go and get a drink to distract myself - until my hard-on has subsided enough for me to persuade it to hide inside my filmy panties! Finally, I chose my brand new purple Lolita Lempicka mini dress with a cutaway that shows off my pierced belly button. The bell rang and I grabbed my leopard fur bolero jacket, gave Hoover a dog treat, and climbed into the taxi to the usual chorus of catcalls from the others.

After a couple of drinks in a quiet pub we went to this great club where the floor was thronged with hunky guys and I was like a kid in a sweetshop until Lou put one scarlet-painted nail under my chin and told me to close my mouth. There was one guy caught my eye and I could see him glancing at me and staring at my legs and shoes. He was clean cut and respectable looking – the sort of guy who’d treat me right. I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass so I flirted like mad, crossing and uncrossing my legs with a swish of nylon-on-nylon, making sure he saw up my dress, and showing him my platforms from every angle.

Eventually (I guess I’d better not write his name) he came over and sat down. ‘What lovely shoes – and I just adore your toe rings’. What a great chat-up line and I came all of a flutter and had to squirm as there was some serious swelling going on in my Agent Provocateur knickers!!! We had a few drinks and he was great company. Stas came over and asked if I was OK but I was in ‘I want you and I want you now’ mode and ignored her. I could tell he was married ‘cos there was a white band on his tanned finger where he had taken off his wedding ring. But hey – most guys are only a few beers away from gay - so what the hell! Anyway, his smooth patter continued; progressing from ‘shall we get some fresh air’ to ‘can I put my arm around you?’ to ‘will you squat on this park bench so I can see your shoes more closely?’

So here I am, 1045 in the evening and it’s only just got dark and I’m squatting on a frickin’ wooden bench with my dress hitched up and lover-boy giving me the best toe job I’ve ever had! All the while I’m trying to enjoy it while thinking that if a cop happened by I would be on my way to the slammer – again – with Simon coming to bail me out after a night in a cell that smelled of vomit and piss! After five minutes my toes were soaking like I’d stepped in a gooey puddle and the bulge in the front of his jeans was threatening to pop the buttons and turn me into a character from Coraline! Self preservation took over and I eased his throbbing cock out and started to work on him.

However, he was having none of it, and pushed my hands away, grabbed me behind the knees and yanked my legs away from the seat. With a squeal I landed on my butt with my dress round my waist and my feet on either side of his head. I was helpless to do anything as he kissed and licked my feet, smelling my scent, twitching his nose like Hannibal Lecter, and sliding one heel in and out of his mouth like a long black dildo. All the while he was wanking himself into a frenzy and I was sure his groans of pleasure would bring the cops running. He twisted one foot hard, and I gasped in pain, as he sought out my instep, sliding his tongue under my sole, probing further and further into my shoe. It wasn’t hard to guess that he was about to cum, as his pace quickened until his hand was a blur and his purple tip thickened and bulged. Of course I had a ringside seat to this wankfest as his cock was less than a foot in front of my face and I prepared for my protein facial!

With a great grunt he reached a shattering climax and a spray of scalding cum shot onto my face, up my nose, into one eye and over my hair. I opened my mouth to take the next spurt as he spasmed again but there was nothing except a solitary dribble that ran outta my nose and over my top lip. Instead, the bastard lowered his cock and hosed the rest of his load over the front of my dress! Well that was fcuking unexpected! Mind you – he had an aim better than a Beirut sniper – ‘cos the last jets splashed straight into the cutaway, splashing my bare tummy and oozing into my belly button. I still can’t believe that he used an $800 frock like the page of a skin mag!! Men!!! Anyway, that was surely the end of my clubbing as I couldn’t go back in looking like I’d just won first prize in a spunk-chucking contest. So I put on my best husky voice and whispered:

“Shall we go back to my place and finish what we’ve started?”

It was an offer he couldn’t refuse and this hunk was going to hump me until the birds started their dawn chorus. Instead he looked down his nose at me and said:

“No – I have to get back to my wife!”

Well I was well pissed off but not in any great position to do much, with my legs still in the air and the sperm-sniper still nibbling at my toes. Then Lou’s immortal words came to me – ‘don’t get mad – get even!’ At that moment he lost interest in my heels and dropped my legs and the unexpected movement pulled me from the back of the bench and I instinctively grabbed him round the waist. His cock was inches from my face, glistening under the streetlight, and I purred:

“Can I clean you up before you leave me?”
“Yeah! Suck it all up – slut!”

Such a smooth talker! Well for the next five minutes I cleaned him of every last drop of cum – so much so that he started to harden again and I thought he might change his mind. However the lure of the marital bed was too strong and he actually fished his wedding ring out and put it back on while I was sitting on a park bench, giving him oral! Finally I carefully buttoned him up, making sure that I left him a ring of bright purple lipstick around his cock to take home to wifey - not to mention the love bite (I think that’s a hicky in the USA) on the top of his thigh!!!! My knight in shining armour’s parting shot was:

“Thanks for nothing you fcuking whore!”

I should have gone straight home but the night was still young so the self-destruct mechanism kicked in and I wiped myself down with a tissue and headed back to the club. Holding my jacket over the worst of the stains and hoping the jizz in my blonde tresses looked like hair gel, I strolled nonchalantly past the doormen. The place had thinned out drastically and it was obvious the other three had bagged-off. I tried to muscle in on Lou’s guy but she just looked me up and down, curled a ruby lip, and muttered:

“Splash out on a new dress did we?”

So blushing furiously, off I went to the bar and a date with mister Tequila - until Simon carried me home at I don’t know when. I woke up fully-clothed on the bed with a hangover that would kill a docker and Hoover licking dry cum off my tummy. As I peered blearily at my blurred reflection in the mirror I thought – ‘Melanie – you really are a class act!’

Oh – and ‘how am I going to explain the stains to the Dry Cleaning lady!’

Well that’s a blow-by-blow account of my Saturday night. If anyone actually reads these blogs please let me know and I’ll keep writing about the ups (and mostly downs) of my life. If not – please forgive the ramblings of a silly blonde klutz and I won’t bother again.