slinkymel's blog / Party Favour 2

Back To Members Blog Posts  |  Back To All Blog Posts


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




No comments received yet


You have got to be logged in to post a comment!