Date: Sun, 01 Jun 2003 16:20:33 +0030
From: Rachelle Swallows <jewellasub@eudoramail.com>
Subject: Whore Story (2) TG-control

Here is the second episode of my original mix of autobiography and fiction:

Whore Story 2

Part Two - in which a girl is pronounced fit for work

The next morning I slept late and then lay in bed going over and over the
events of the previous night. I couldn't believe that I'd actually done
it. I had a fulfilling memory of a stranger's erect penis in my mouth and
of hot, salty spunk splashing onto my face, but it didn't seem real. There
was convincing evidence on my see-thru pink top, which had dried with stiff
and opaque patches all over the front. I sniffed them, but there was only a
faint whiff of Passionate, and none of my first customer's musty odour.

My customer! I really had done it, hadn't I? On my bedside table there was
a crumpled $10 - my first paycheck. I wanted to have it framed, and I
couldn't wait to tell my therapist that I had really walked the walk. While
the rest of London was having lunch, I got up, showered, and
dressed. Wearing my usual attire of jeans, trainers and baggy blue shirt, I
set off for my Wednesday afternoon appointment with Dr Helen. I felt sure
that I would engage her full attention this week. She would be impressed by
my courage and determination, and I hoped that my revelations might perhaps
lead to us comparing experiences on a woman-to-woman basis. Girl! was I
wrong.

As I sat in her waiting room, all eagerness to reveal my daring exploit, I
rehearsed several different opening lines, but when I finally sat down in
in front of her, I just grinned like an idiot and said,

Well I did it,

and proceeded to tell her every glorious detail about my night as a
whore. But she didn't seem very impressed, or even that interested. She
didn't actually yawn (she never does) just looked mostly down at her pad,
making a few short notes. When I had finished my blow-by-blow account, and
was about to start telling her about how deliciously vulnerable I'd felt,
walking the streets in high heels and a mini-skirt; and how while getting
paid for sex, down on my knees sucking a man's cock, I'd started to feel
that I was truly a member of the sisterhood. Dr Helen rather rudely
interrupted me, and cut short my enthusiasm. She asked me a question.

She didn't ask

Rachelle, has this experienced challenged any of your assumptions about the
realities of being a woman?

nor did she ask,

Does the violent rejection you received from the hands of a complete
stranger provoke the same emotions that you experienced when your father
violently rejected your attempt to seduce him, while wearing your mother's
clothes and lipstick, just before he and your stepmother were killed in the
tragic sailboat accident, that you alone survived?

Instead, she asked

How did he know you were a transvestite?

I didn't know the answer to that one. I tried to think of an appropriate
piece of mild self-depreciation, but I wasn't given the chance. Dr Helen
looked pointedly at her wristwatch and said,

Rachelle, I'm closing your session now, there's someone I want to call
before my next client arrives. I'm very concerned about this course of
action you're following. I want you to come back later, let's say at 7:30
this evening. And Rachelle, I want you to wear female clothing.

I started to stutter a reply, but she dismissed me with a curt,

We'll talk further this evening.

I just nodded, got up and left her consulting rooms. Despite my surprise at
her request - Dr Helen had never previously shown any interest in my female
attire - I was already thinking about what I should wear. Nothing too tarty
for sure, she always saved her most bored expression for when I described
the latest additions to my extensive collection of lingerie; and certainly
nothing cop-out like a pants-suit or pedal pushers. I resisted the impulse
to go shopping, although I did sort of glance in a few windows with the
result that I got caught up in the rush hour, and by the time I got home I
only just had time to shave, change clothes and do a decent job on my
make-up before leaving again for my 7:30 appointment.

I knew that I'd never get a taxi, and would have to take the Underground,
but I wasn't too worried. Nobody paid any close attention to anyone else on
the Underground, especially when it was packed with commuters. Although I'd
been identified as a tranny last night, I'd convinced myself (after Dr
Helen asked her question) that despite my over-the-top appearance it was my
voice that had given me away. I could use ticket machines for the
Underground, so I should pass unnoticed. I checked my appearance again in a
full length-mirror before leaving my apartment.

I'd decided upon a light-grey, business style two-piece. Dr Helen used to
wear one rather like it, but mine was more close-fitting, with a jacket
that flared below a tight waist, and a narrow skirt with a long slit at the
back, that tapered to just above the knee. Under the jacket I wore a black
silk blouse, buttoned to the neck. My underclothes were plain black, a soft
bra cupping my pert little boobies and one of my undersized thongs. I wore
a brand new pair of Dior barely-black hold-ups, and my use of cosmetics was
suitably restrained - lightly-pencilled brows and just a touch too much
mascara. My hair, which hangs down to my shoulder blades, was parted on the
left side and held back from my eyes by a clip with a small velvet bow
attached. I looked just like any other corporate secretary on her way
home. Except for the shoes. I don't have any sensible shoes. The best I
could manage was a pair of lace-up Victorian style ankle boots with
one-inch kitten heels. So, another secr etary with a shoe fetish.

Walking the streets in daylight, and travelling on the Underground was
exhilarating. Nobody paid me any attention, and I just stared at my toes
like everyone else - mine were definitely the shiniest and pointiest toes
in my carriage. When I emerged from Earl's Court station and turned the
corner into Niven Square, it had become dusk and the street lamps were
on. I smiled as the recent memory of walking by streetlight came back to
me. I was apprehensive about this unprecedented evening appointment, but I
was not feeling nearly so nervous and vulnerable as I had last night, and I
was able to enjoy the pleasant sensation of the skirt lining sliding over
my bare buttocks and swishing against my nylon-clad legs.

Dr Helen's front door was unchanged from a few hours previously, but I was
completely transformed - from shapeless slacker to shapely young lady. My
therapist was now going to see (as opposed to hear about) my feminine
side. I rang the bell, then gave myself a fright when I suddenly thought
that she might recognise the inspiration for my suit - I certainly didn't
want to be pressed about the role she played in my sexual fantasies. I
haven't yet revealed my lesbian love for her, or my pathetic dreams of
being marooned with her on a tropical island where we could spend the days
rubbing coconut oil onto each others' lithe and tanned bodies.

Dr Helen herself opened the door. Usually it buzzed open immediately and I
walked in. This evening, I hadn't noticed the delay because I was lost in
my tropical paradise. Her appearance brought me straight back to earth. She
was wearing a white doctor's coat I'd never seen before, with a stethoscope
hanging from her neck. Her face showed no expression, not even recognition,
she just nodded and turned. I followed her through the waiting room and in
to her consulting room. I closed the door, took a deep breath, and sat in
my usual chair. She remained on her feet, looking down at me sternly.

I observed your approach from an upstairs window Rachelle, and I saw
nothing to distinguish you from any other young woman.

I thought that might have been a compliment, and was framing a witty reply,
but I wasn't given the opportunity to utter it. Dr Helen, began pacing
slowly around her desk.

You put me in a very difficult position Rachelle. Because I can see that
you are as good as your word, I can imagine that if you were more scantily
attired, men would find you superficially very attractive.

She paced, I puzzled

And therein lies my difficulty. As your therapist I am to some degree
responsible for your safety when you are not in these rooms. I am a trained
physician as well as a therapist, and I have a duty of care to ensure that
you have sufficient mental and physical resources to deal with the stresses
and strains of everyday life.

She paced, I puzzled some more.

Being thus fully aware of my responsibilities to you, and also taking into
consideration my duty to comply with current legislation and other relevant
protocols and regulations, I must ask you to let me examine you. Yes?

I nodded, she stopped pacing.

Good. Please go over to the cubicle, remove your outer clothing, and lie on
the couch.

I'd wondered about the screened-off area at the back of the room, now I
discovered its mundane medical purpose. I did as instructed, removed my
jacket and skirt and lack on my back, knees up and legs apart. I heard Dr
Helen putting on a pair of latex gloves. She said,

Lie on your left side.

I heard her walk into the cubicle.

This will feel a bit cold.

And she slid a KY covered finger into my ass and began prodding and
probing. She removed her finger, and then put it back along with one or two
others. I couldn't tell how many, but they certainly made me squirm.

Stop that.

She pushed her fingers in and out a few times and then rotated her hand, I
breathed in sharply. The fingers disappeared from my ass, which was given a
perfunctory wipe with a piece of paper tissue. I heard latex gloves being
removed.

Put your clothes back on and come and sit down.

My ass crack still felt wet and I wanted to wipe it more, but I couldn't
find any paper. I put on my clothes, buttoned up my jacket and returned to
my chair. Dr Helen said,

I have completed my physical examination. I now propose to test you
mentally. I have another client, a middle-aged man with a very strong
sex-drive. His name is Karl, and he used to be troubled by erections that
lasted for days. I have managed to relieve that condition to some degree,
but he still has powerful urges and enjoys a wide range of pleasures. In a
moment,

she looked at her wristwatch,

he will arrive here. I will go to the door to admit him and will talk to
him for one minute, then I will show him into this room. You have two
choices. You can go and hide behind the screens and he will leave. Or you
can let him fuck you. If you lean over my desk, you will not see his face
and he will not see yours. He is well-endowed, but not unusually so, and I
can find no physical reason not to proceed.

The buzzer sounded. Dr Helen smiled at me for the first time that evening,
a thin unreadable smile. She said,

Don't worry about disease Rachelle, I will ensure that he wears a condom.

and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Her desk, the surface of which was clear, apart from a telephone and a
leather blotter, stood directly opposite the door. I walked over to the
desk and touched the glossy, French-polished wood with my finger tips. It
felt like cool glass, and the room was very quiet - just the muffled sounds
of conversation from the waiting room. I wondered how many seconds had
passed since Dr Helen left the room, and I knew that I had no choice. In my
fantasies, with a vibrator buzzing inside me, I'd been fucked many times,
but never for real - until the night before, I'd never even seen or touched
another's erect penis.

I moved right up to the desk. I reached down and lifted the hem of my
skirt. I stood there a moment, feeling the cool, hard edge of the desk
against the front of my thighs. I hitched my shirt up over my hips and
bunched it beneath my jacket. I pulled up my stockings as high as they
would go - presentation, Rachelle, presentation - and stood with my feet
about 20 inches apart. Leaning forward, I put my palms on the desk and
lowered my torso across it. I settled with my right cheek pressed firmly
against the leather blotter. With my left hand I swept my hair across my
face, concealing my profile from view. I knew what Karl would see when he
walked in. My bare ass was sticking up and pointing straight at the door,
the crack between my buttocks was damp with a mixture of sweat and medical
jelly. I heard the door handle turn. Reaching behind me with my right hand,
I pulled the thong-string away from my crack and over one ass cheek. Then I
stretched forwards with both hands, gripped the opposite edge of the desk,
took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I heard the door open.

You see Karl, it is just as I told you, and the whore is already well
lubricated. Use this.

The door closed and footsteps approached. A pair of hands grabbed my ass
and began squeezing and kneading my buttocks. One hand was removed. I heard
a zipper being pulled down and trousers fell to the floor. They brushed
against my nylon-clad legs on the way down, and I shivered and made a small
sound in my throat. The other hand was removed and nothing happened for a
few seconds, and then what felt like a warm tennis ball wrapped in
clingfilm began rubbing up and down my ass crack. It came to a stop
pressing gently against my anus. The pressure against my asshole increased
and I puckered up in reflex, which was certainly not what I wanted. I tried
to relax my muscles, as I'd practised with my vibrator.

Karl was forcing his penis into my ass, and I was stretching and clenching
at the same time. The pressure against my rosebud was impossibly intense,
and the edge of the desk was cutting into my thighs. Tears formed in my
eyes through a combination of pain and frustration. Suddenly, my asshole
yielded, his knob-end was inside me and I grunted loudly. My hole felt like
I was stretched to the limit. The pressure relented for a moment, then
resumed as Karl pushed himself deeper into my ass. I grit my teeth as his
cock slid into me inch by inch.

I was whimpering and gasping for breath, with sweat breaking out over my
face beneath my smothering tresses, when I felt his belly pressing against
my ass cheeks and his pubic hair tickling my crack. That was it. All of his
cock was, very firmly, inside me. I felt my muscles start to relax as I
realised that I had stretched enough to accommodate him. Grasping me by the
hips, he slowly withdrew his penis a few inches then slid back into me. I
relaxed some more and he slid slowly in and out a few times. Karl was
fucking me. I couldn't believe it. I was being fucked by a man, and I was
beginning to enjoy it. I felt his cock twitch as he thrust into me and I
tried to give an answering squeeze with my ring.

Very good. You may start to fuck the bitch now.

Dr Helen's voice came from straight in front of me. She had been sitting
silently behind her desk all this time. I was shocked and my lower body
body spasmed as it tried to expel Karl's penis. But he was ready, and held
me tightly against him. As soon as he felt me relax, he began slamming his
cock into me. I had been mistaken before, that was foreplay, this was being
fucked. With each stroke his belly slapped against my ass and I felt his
hairy balls swinging against my thighs. The breath was literally knocked
out of my by the force of his thrusts.

Look at me Rachelle.

I stayed as I was. Cheek pressed against the blotter, eyes tight shut.

Rachelle. It is important that you are able to distance your mind from
this. A working girl cannot afford to immerse herself in every sexual
encounter. You must remain alert. Karl will keep fucking you until you look
at me and talk to me and, believe me, he can keep this up for hours.

In truth, I was only half aware of what Karl was doing. I could feel the
thud of each thrust as he pistoned in and out of me, but I no longer felt
tight around him, not much sensation at all, just a sort of strained
numbness. I lifted my cheek from the blotter, turned my head, and wiped my
hair out of my eyes. Using my arms as springs so my chin didn't keep
getting banged against the desk, I looked across at Dr Helen, knowing that
my face was streaked by sweat and tears. She was smiling openly.

Well done Rachelle. Now let me test your mental faculties. If three men
each pay you $20 for a blowjob, and another three pay $25 to fuck
your arse, how much money will you have.

I thought about it.

$135, I said.

Still smiling, Dr Helen reached out and slapped me hard across the face.

No Rachelle. You will have $45 - $5 for a suck and $10 for a fuck,
because you will give the rest to me.

Another slap. Karl kept on fucking my ass.

Do you understand you whore Rachelle.

I said,

Yes Dr Helen, I understand.

Do you want to come now Karl?

I can wait thank you.

Very well.

And Karl stopped fucking me.

please let me know what you think of my story so far

jewellasub@eudoramail.com