Date: Fri, 06 Jun 2003 16:08:05 +0030
From: Rachelle Swallows <jewellasub@eudoramail.com>
Subject: Whore Story 3 (TG/control)

Hi,

here is the third and final episode of this chapter of my own orginal
story.

Part Three - in which a girl realises her destiny

Karl withdrew. Pulled his cock out of me just like that. I felt it bounce
against my ass a couple of times, and then it was gone. I heard him zip up
his pants, and then he left the room. I was still looking at Dr Helen's
face. She was still smiling slightly at me, but I have no idea what sort of
expression my own face held. I was, to put it mildly, somewhat shaken by my
first experience of being fucked. Dr Helen said,

Why don't you rearrange yourself, Rachelle dear, and then we can talk.

Rachelle dear? When had I ever been her Rachelle dear? I pushed myself up
onto my elbows and reached around with one hand to pull my skirt back over
my battered rump. Slowly I stood upright - wow did my hips ache - and
tugged the hem down as far as it would go. I ran my fingers through my hair
to get rid of most of the tangles - God knows what I looked like. Dr Helen
indicated a chair at the side of her desk, and I sat down very carefully. I
was going to cross my legs neatly, but when I lifted one leg my thigh
muscles hurt so much I thought better of it. Sitting on my freshly pounded
ass, with my knees demurely together, I looked at her, and she said,

Do you feel like a woman now Rachelle?

It wasn't a question I was expecting, because for some reason that hadn't
been uppermost in my mind. Which was interesting, or was it? In fact
nothing seemed to be uppermost in my mind right then, or lowermost for that
matter. I thought about the question did-I-feel-like-a-woman-now? Well I
certainly felt like I'd been fucked - if this is what it felt like, which
it must do, because I had been. I was dressed like a woman, I had hair like
a woman, I looked like a woman, and I'd been fucked by a man. But did I
feel like a woman? I was still trying to bring the answer into focus when
Dr Helen said,

Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think you are finding the experience
disappointing and dissatisfying. I'm right aren't I Rachelle. And yet
earlier you were telling me how much your experience last night made you
feel, like one-of-the-sisterhood I think you said.

Th-th-that was different, I stammered

Obviously it was different, retorted Dr Helen. How was it different?

I was by myself last night, and it was., and I paused

And it was what? persisted Dr Helen

Well last night I was alone, and I felt very vulnerable in my short skirt,
and it was quite exciting. But tonight, after your examination and
everything, well it seemed sort of, well, sort of clinical I suppose.

But the experience was no less physically real was it? In fact considerably
more so judging by some of the faces you pulled and the noises you made.

I blushed. It's the first time I've ever done that with Dr Helen, no matter
what we've talked about, I've never blushed before - never felt
ashamed. And I wasn't sure if I felt ashamed now. I was actually beginning
to get rather cross with my therapist. Which is something else I've never
done before.

Come on Rachelle. Dr Helen resumed her inquisition, what was different?

You were here, I snapped angrily.

Yes I was here. And Karl fucked right in front of me didn't he? But that's
not what made it different is it?

Yes it is, I sulked

Have it your own way Rachelle - you always have. She took some paperwork
from a drawer and began pointedly ignoring me.

I watched her without seeing her, and thought about what she had said.

Okay, I said, What was the difference?

I'll let you answer that for yourself in a moment.

She put the papers back in her desk drawer, and rested her chin on her
hands, fingers interlocked.

Rachelle, I have suspected for sometime that being a woman is not exactly
what you want. Don't interrupt. Yes, you want to be a woman, but you want
more than that - you want to be a woman and a prostitute.

No-I-want-to-be-my-mother. It came out so quickly that at first I didn't
believe I'd actually said it. I though the words had stayed deep in the
most secret part of my mind.

Dr Helen sighed. I know that you think you want to be your mother, but you
don't, you want to be your step-mother, the one who moved in on your father
after your real mother died. The step-mother you think was a cheap whore.

Her words hung in the air. While part of me was surrendering to the truth,
the rest was still struggling to find excuses.

But that's just one of my fantasies, I protested.

No Rachelle. Dr Helen was relentless. Being a whore is not just one of your
fantasies Rachelle - it is your one and only fantasy. Do you think I have
spent the last two years not listening to a word you say every week. I
listen very carefully, Rachelle, and I make notes. It has been quite clear
to me for the last 18 months that your whole personality is utterly
entwined with the idea of being a prostitute. Not a call girl, not a model
who does escort work, not a rich man's mistress, nor a beach bunny, but a
low-class, back-alley whore. If you could ever really listen to yourself,
you would realise, as I have, that beneath all your elaborate fantasies in
exotic locations, there is just one underlying narrative - a simple slut is
paid to be used and abused.

Without any sound or sensation, something went click in my brain. I think
my mouth fell open.

Your other problem Rachelle, is that you are not simple. It's going to be a
lot harder work for you.

I started to cry. Within seconds my whole body was wracked with sobbing.

Dr Helen let me sob for while. When I had subsided a bit she handed me a
box of tissues. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

So, she said as if nothing had happened, what was different about tonight
Rachelle. Why do you not feel like a woman?

I hesitated, then spoke what I realised was the truth.

I didn't get paid for it.

Yes, she said. That is exactly as I see it. You had sex tonight - you were
fucked - but not for money. There was action, but there was no
transaction. And that is why the experience left you unfulfilled.

I nodded slowly as the truth seeped into every crevice of my brain. What I
wanted most, right at the very core of my being - what I needed - was to be
paid for sex.

It has been exhausting, said Dr Helen. I will drive you home, and perhaps
you will offer me a nightcap and we can talk some more.

That would be very kind of you, I said.  (Well, what would you have said?)

Her car was a late-model red Jaguar. I sank wearily into the bucket seat,
and she drove us deftly towards Hampstead through the late-evening
traffic. I closed my eyes and tried to think about nothing. When we
arrived, neither of us spoke. I got out of the car, walked up the front
steps and opened my front door. Dr Helen followed me into my apartment.

This is nice, Rachelle, she commented.

I smiled weakly. It always looks nice. I have good taste, and I'm very
tidy, even when hurried. I walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses
from an already open bottle of wine (some unused Dutch courage from the
previous night). I handed one glass to my therapist and we both took a sip.

You look shattered dear, she said. Why don't you go and take a shower. I'll
just sit here and drink this. I smiled at her.

Thank you, I said.

Knocking back a big slug of wine, I put my glass down on a table and went
to shower. God! It felt good. I stood beneath the streaming hot water for a
good while. Then I sat for a good while longer drying my hair. I was
feeling much better, in fact I was feeling a lot better than I had in
ages. I started to get up thinking - Come on Rache, time to - then I sat
down again. Rache? I looked around inside my head and realised that
sometime very recently, I wasn't sure exactly when because I hadn't noticed
at the time, I'd stopped being Ray. Ray the bone idle orphan with a small
inheritance and hormone induced breasts, who dressed up and called himself
Rachelle. Instead, I had now become Rachelle, and it felt rather good. I
put on a white towelling robe and went into the living room. Dr Helen was
sitting on a sofa holding an empty glass.

I'm sorry I took so long

No need, to apologise Rachelle. I've been having a look around. I hope you
don't mind. You have some very attractive garments in your closets.

Thank you for saying so.

I refilled her glass, and sat on the other sofa, pulling my legs up beneath
me. We both sipped our wine. I wanted to tell her about my new sense of
self, but Dr Helen had other ideas. She said,

You know what they say about riding a horse Rachelle.

I could think of several aspects of horse riding that might relate to this
evening's events, and decided to say nothing. I nodded.

When you fall off.

Oh! I said. You mean get straight back on again.

She smiled, and said, Exactly so. She looked at her wristwatch.

It's only ten o'clock, and I've only had one drink. Would you like to go
out. I'll drive you there and back.

I was surprised, but the idea was very, very appealing.

Oh yes please, but where...?

She put up a hand, silencing me, and said,

I thought you might find my suggestion agreeable. I took the liberty of
putting out some clothes for you in the bedroom. And don't worry about
where I'm taking you. Trust me, I'm a doctor.

And she winked. At least I think she winked, but I might have imagined
it. I got up from the sofa and went into my bedroom. On the bedspread was
one of my super-tight thongs in white, and a faded blue-denim hipster
mini-skirt with a fringed hem. Beside them was a tatty old fake leopardskin
coat that I'd bought in a charity shop. The coat was even shorter than the
skirt. At the foot of the bed were my white plastic stiletto-heels. And
that was all. Clearly Dr Helen had something interesting in mind. First I
sat down and made my face - for the first time with no sense of irony - I
just wanted to look pretty. When I was happy with the result, I combed my
hair and got dressed - which took all of four seconds. I looked in the
mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Holding the coat closed around me I went
back into the living room. I was pleased that years of practise meant I
could walk quite easily in the 4-inch heels.

Oh bravo Rachelle, bravo. This is going to work.

What's going to work? I asked.

You are my dear. You are. Now come over here.

I approached her and she held up a small canister.

This throat spray works on the vocal cords, it with raise and soften your
voice for a few hours. After I apply it, you must not speak for 20 minutes
while it takes effect.

I started to speak.

No more questions Rachelle. You know why you are dressed like that, and for
now that's enough. Anticipation is all fine and dandy, but too much can be
the thief of spontaneity. Now, if you'll excuse the expression, please open
wide.

She didn't just smile, she positively smirked as she sprayed the back of my
throat.

Okay. Let's go, she said,

We got back into her car and she drove through Hampstead and then
northwards. We crossed the North Circular Road and she turned left into an
industrial landscape dominated by huge Superstores and warehouses. She made
a few more turns and came to a halt just before an intersection with a main
road.

Across there, she said, is the main lorry park where trucks wait over
before driving into London tomorrow.

I peered out of the windshield and saw a huge open space behind tall
wire-mesh fencing. Illuminated by a few arc-lamps on tall posts, I could
see that it was about one-quarter full of parked trucks.

I turned to her, and she put her forefinger to her lips.

Sshh. Still a few minutes to go before the spray takes its full effect. It
will be a surprise for you. Now, I am going to drop you at the entrance to
the lorry park approach road. Walk down it until you are out of sight from
the main road, and wait and see what you can make happen Rachelle. I will
drive past every ten or twenty minutes, and if I see you I will stop and
pick you up.

She started the Jaguar, drove up to the intersection, turned left and came
to halt after few hundred yards.

Off you go Rachelle. Quickly, I'm not supposed to stop here.

I got out of the car. Traffic was whizzing by, cars and trucks. Even as Dr
Helen was pulling away, a truck turned and down the approach road. I
followed it for a hundred yards or so, then stopped where the road curved
round to the left. I could see the whole of the lorry park and also the
entrance to the approach road. Another truck turned down the road and I
stood there facing it as its headlights washed over me. It drove straight
past. So did the next, and the next, and the two after than, then another
one. Some 15 or 20 minutes must have passed before one truck slowed right
down as it approached me. I held my coat open, displaying my tits, and the
lights flashed on and off twice before the truck continued into the parking
area. I watched it drive into the far corner, away from the lights. I set
off after it.

Walking down the road was not too bad, but the surface of the parking area
was very uneven, with potholes filled with rubble, and patches of loose
gravel where my heels would sink in unexpectedly. I weaved and wobbled my
way over to the truck. The driver was waiting on the far side by the cab. I
walked up to him with as much dignity as I could muster. He was a bit
shorter than me, with a lot heavier build, wearing dark red overalls and
cap.

How much love? he asked

I wanted to swallow, but my mouth was too dry, and I said in a voice that
was sweet, and husky, and sounded unquestionably female even to my ears,

Twenty five for a blowjob

Yeah! How much for a fuck

I can't, not tonight, you know, red sails and all.

I was starting to enjoy my new voice

You take it up the arse love?

Sure, but for fifty.

Forty or fuck off, he said

Okay, I stepped up to him and held out my hand.

He reached into his pocket and handed me (I looked very carefully) two
$20 notes. As I was folding them, he put his hands on my shoulders and
pushed me down onto my knees. The gravel hurt like hell. He wrapped one
hand into my hair and undid his overall with the other. His half-erect cock
flopped out in front of my face. He clenched the hand holding my hair.

Suck it bitch!

I pulled my lips back over my teeth and took him into my mouth. He did not
taste good, and he smelled of stale piss, so I guess that's what he tasted
of. His cock was a bit soft to start with, but I sucked, and moved my head
around, and rubbed the head with my tongue, and he got hard, and I tried to
get a rhythm going, but he kept spoiling it by thrusting into my mouth at
the wrong moment, and after a while I stopped trying to do anything. I just
pressed my mouth around his cock as he fucked my mouth. Fortunately his
smelly cock wasn't that big and didn't quite reach my throat when his balls
were against my chin and my nose was jammed against his belly. Even so, was
starting to feel a bit bruised and panicky when he pulled out of my mouth
and stepped behind me.

He released my hair and pushed me hard between the shoulders. I fell
forwards, and only stopped my face from hitting the gravel at the expense
of the palm of one hand and the knuckles of the hand clutching the money
he'd paid me. I was sprawled on my hands and knees. My coat and skirt were
push up and I felt hands on my ass, spreading me. The thong string was
pulled to one side, and I both heard and felt him spit onto my
asshole. Then he just shoved his cock into me - I think he must have been
squatting behind me - and started banging me. It hurt, and it felt good,
very good. He reached round, groped my breasts and pinched my nipples
hard. That really hurt and I squealed. He picked up speed and I started to
feel really, really good, I was making a sort of non-stop high-pitched
mewling sound when I felt him come with a few prolonged, shuddering
thrusts. He slowly slid his cock in and out of my asshole a few times then
got to his feet. He reached down, grabbed my hair and pulled me back up
onto my knees. He used both hands to wipe his dick clean on my hair,
buttoned up his overall and turned his back on me.

Nice and tight bitch, he called back softly as he walked away.

I got to my feet, brushed the gravel from my knees, adjusted my thong and
pulled my skirt and coat back down over my ass. My hands were scratched and
bleeding slightly, the toes of my shoes were badly scuffed, my anus still
throbbed from the fucking it had received, and I felt just fine. I started
to walk back across the uneven surface, and I hadn't gone far before I
became aware of the truck driver's cum. I didn't notice as it oozed out of
my asshole, but I sure did when it slithered down my crack and onto my
inner thighs. Let me tell you girls, there's no feeling in the world that a
guy's cold cum on your leg. As I stumbled and staggered across the parking
lot, the cum slowly trickled further down my legs. By the time I reached
the access road it had run all the way to my ankles. As I walked up the
road, a truck turned in and rolled towards me. As it approached it
slowed. I smiled up into the headlights, but I shook my head, emphasised
the gesture with my hand, and kept on wa lking. Not tonight. A whole new
world and a new way of life had opened up for me, and I was in no hurry.

At the top of the road I stopped and waited. The traffic was a bit lighter
now. More trucks turned in, but I didn't look to see if they paid me any
attention - I wasn't working right then. The red Jaguar pulled in alongside
me, and Dr Helen opened the passenger door. I held up the $20 notes, one
in each hand, and grinned at he. She winked at me (I swear it, this time
she actually winked) and said,

Some kinds of love, Rachelle, are better than others. Lets go spend it on
margaritas.

And that was how it began. So much has happened since that it's hard to
believe it was less than a year ago. If you would like to read more about
harlotry and debauchery here in foggy London town, please let me know,

jewellasub@eudora.com