About six months ago I went to a transvestite bar and dance club in the centre of the city where I live. I was dressed in my sexiest all-leather shift minidress, sheer stockings and 4-inch stilettos, and my favourite blonde wig. I was fully made up with long false eyelashes and blue shadow, painted nails, and dark purple lipstick, and my most valuable gold necklace and large chunky earrings. Though I say it myself, I looked beautiful. I have a very good figure – I need to, in my line of work – and long shapely legs.
I knew as I walked across the dance floor that I was drawing admiring glances from all the men and from the other ‘girls’; but there was only one that I had eyes for. I had seen her on the way in, and she was absolutely gorgeous. She had on a skimpy tank-top made of some glittery material, that strained against her perfect tits, a very short and tight red miniskirt with a bare midriff showing her pierced navel. Her long legs were sheathed in beautiful seamed stockings, the tops of which were visible beneath the outrageously short skirt. She wore gold stiletto shoes of the ‘fuck-me’ variety, and walked in the most sexy and provocative way, showing off her finely shaped arse.
Her hair was long, curly and auburn tinted, and she was heavily made up, but in an incredibly convincing way. I swear you would not have known that she had a full eight inches of manhood in her crotch. I soon found out, mind you, because when I asked her to dance she accepted immediately, and we moved to the centre of the dance floor, holding each other closely. She kissed me long and deep, and let my tongue virtually disappear down her throat, while at the same time rubbing her beautiful body next to mine. I could feel her cock hard and throbbing against my thigh, while my own strained against my skimpy panties as she lightly stroked it and fondled my balls under my skirt. We continued like that for some time, swaying slowly in time to the music, oblivious of everything except eachother’s bodies. We virtually made love on the dance floor, and there is no doubt everyone knew what we were doing. When I looked towards the bar I could see several of the men surreptitiously wanking themselves off just at the sight of us.
Her name was Paola, and she was (you’ve guessed it) from Brazil. She was visiting England ‘on business’ (whatever that meant), and was staying at a nearby gay hotel. When she asked if I’d like to go back with her for some real sex, I didn’t hesitate. We left at once, but as we came out of the club and stood on the street corner waiting to cross the road, a large black Mercedes limousine drew up next to us. The window rolled down, to reveal two distinguished-looking men in business suits.
‘Hi girls,’ said the driver. ‘Are you looking for business?’ I hesitated. I hadn’t told Paola that I was used to this in my work as an e****t, and was worried what she might think if I told her that I was in fact a full-time prostitute. I needn’t have worried.
‘Maybe,’ she said, without even looking at me. She knew -- just as I knew at that moment that she too was on the game.
‘How much?’ asked the man.
‘What are you offering?’ said Paola.
‘Come back to our hotel and there’s two hundred quid for each of you,’ said the man.
‘Two hundred and fifty each and it’s a deal,’ she said, like a true professional.
So in we got, and sped off to their luxury five-star hotel, where they took us up to the millionaire penthouse suite. When we walked in we found the suite already occupied by four more men, all of middle-eastern appearance, and two of them wearing full Arab dress.
‘We picked up these two bitches, your Highness,’ said our guides, roughly pushing us towards the taller of the two sheikhs. ‘These are really experienced, high-class call-girls, the best you can get – not your average street whores. They’ll do anything, as long as it’s filthy. Our charge is four grand – that’s a thousand for each of you, and it’s cheap at the price.’ I gasped, and looked across at Paola, who was about to protest. ‘Shut up, whore, and do as you’re told,’ said the driver, and gave her a stinging slap across the face. ‘Now, you bitches, do what you do best, like on the dance floor in that sleazy club.’
It was difficult at first, in the tense and threatening atmosphere, but after a few moments of kissing and fondling eachother Paola and I forgot about the men watching us and were soon thinking only of our hot bodies as we played with one another’s tits and joined our lips in an unending passionate kiss. I had my right hand under Paola’s skirt and was slowly stroking her engorged cock under her silk thong, while she played with my arse and was beginning to finger-fuck my tight pussy. We were in a world of our own, a heaven of our own making.
Suddenly rough hands pulled us apart. We could now see that most of the men had removed their clothes and were all strongly aroused. Only the two sheikhs remained as they were, in a dignified but threatening pose, the only difference being the unmistakable bulge that was clearly visible beneath their flowing robes. Paola was thrown on to the bed on her back, and the last I saw of her she was being held down by two of the naked Arabs while a third f***ed his cock down her throat. I was f***ed on to my knees on the floor in front of one of the two sheikhs, who then opened his robes to reveal a huge and fully erect circumcised cock, the end already glistening with drops of pre-cum. It was obvious what was expected, and I was by now getting turned on again and knew what I wanted. I took his cock in my mouth and began to suck, and to play my tongue around its enlarged glans. Whether he was really a sheikh I neither knew nor cared, but as far as his cock was concerned he was the king of Arabia. It was massive, and filled my mouth; I nearly gagged when he started to thrust it deeper and deeper down my throat, saying as he did so, ‘Go on, take it, you filthy infidel bitch!’
By now I was loving every moment, and I didn’t expect what happened next. The other sheikh had been standing behind me watching the action, but now his hands lifted up my skirt and I felt the end of an enormous cock pressing against my puckered arsehole. With one sudden thrust he f***ed it all the way in, right up to the hilt. I screamed in agony. I had lubed myself before going out (thank goodness) and I was used to taking big cocks, but this was one of the biggest ever, and I was not prepared for it. He acted without consideration, and his brutal action was a sign of his contempt for me as a slave-whore. This was ****, no doubt about it. When I screamed one of the naked guards gave me a stinging slap across the face, said ‘Enough, bitch,’ and f***ed my head down on the first sheikh’s cock once again. Meanwhile the bastard behind me continued to **** me, thrusting his cock in and out with fast, brutal strokes which still hurt like hell. In spite of this I found to my surprise that I was getting more aroused than ever, perhaps partly because one of the naked guards had slipped under me and had taken my prick in his mouth, and was sucking and caressing it lovingly. The contrast between this seeming act of kindness, and the brutality of the fucking I was taking at the same time, took me to new heights of pleasure. As I found myself reaching a climax the cock in my mouth suddenly released a huge stream of hot salty cum, which I swallowed as best I could, but large gobs of it dribbled down my chin and began to drip on the carpet. At the same time the thrusts in my bruised arse became faster and deeper, and with a groan of pleasure the crown prince’s cock squirted its load inside me, just as I came myself into the mouth and all over the face of my comforter, who gently licked my cock and began to kiss my stomach with loving wet lips.
The cock in my arse was at last withdrawn, but as I began slowly to get up I was f***ed down again and another massive prick took its place. This was a gang-**** and no mistake, but by now the pain had eased and I was beginning to enjoy it; within moments I was begging my tormentors to fuck me – again and again, and as hard as they could. Two of the men stood in front of me watching, and I grabbed their cocks and took them both in my mouth at once. This was indeed heaven on earth.
All this time I had heard sounds of distress from the direction of the bed, where Paola had been crying. I looked across and could see that she was being held down on her back with her legs in the air. Huge red welts were visible on her buttocks, caused by a whip being wielded by one of the men who was wearing a rubber mask and a leather harness across his body which ended in a steel ring around his cock and balls. It made his member stand out like a huge tent-pole. One of the two sheikhs was standing behind Paola and pushing his hairy fist into her rectum. In a brutal gesture he pushed it in almost up to the elbow. Her cries were pitiful, and my heart went out to her; but I was being held down and ****d myself. As time passed, however, the sobs and cries from the bed changed to sighs and murmurs, at first of contentment and then of extreme pleasure. She was loving it just as much as I was.
At some stage I noticed a movement out of the corner of my eye, and turned to see two guys filming us with sophisticated video cameras. It turned out that they had been at it all the time, but were at first concealed behind screens. But as the action got hotter they moved out into the room to get the best shots, including close-ups, of all that was going on. In the end they shot hours of film, and have made a lot of money by selling separate videos in porn shops around the world. So next time you’re in Amsterdam or Paris and looking at all the transexual videos (I know you do it guys, don’t try and deny it), look out for some of the titles: ‘My night with Saddam’, ‘Arsehole Arabs’, ‘The Desert Thong’, ‘I came on my Camel’, ‘Osama Bin Laid’, and ‘Farooq Fists Feisty Fiona’. That’s Paola and me you can see being given a good going over. We are the stars, but we never got a penny.
It went on all night. We were by turns gang-****d, whipped, fisted, tortured and abused, and every one of those guys shot several loads into every hole we possess. Of course there was no question of condoms. Who cares about safe sex when they’ve paid for sex slaves?
Dawn was breaking when Paola and I were eventually taken down to the back door of the hotel and thrown out, battered and bruised, into the street. We looked at each other. Eventually one of us smiled, and then we both burst into joyous laughter. We had been systematically ****d and humiliated, and of course we had not been paid any of the money due to us. But we agreed: it was without doubt the best night of our lives, and we wouldn’t have missed any of it for anything. Arm in arm we made our painful way back to Paola’s hotel, where we collapsed on the bed, and started tenderly kissing and touching eachother’s bodies in a loving way that contrasted so sharply with the brutality we had been receiving all night. We fell asl**p in eachother’s arms, dreaming of what we had been through and what we were going to do to one another in the morning. But that’s another story ...
From that day to this Paola and I have been inseparable. We share a big flat from which we now jointly carry out our business. It has lots of space for our clothes, toys and equipment, and has a huge bedroom with mirrors on the ceiling and all the walls and a king-sized bed where we sl**p together and where we entertain our many clients. We cater to all sexual tastes, but don’t need to advertise; we already have enough regulars, who occasionally recommend us to their friends. Within a year or two we shall be millionnaires; but we have no intention of giving up the profession we love so much or the wonderful partnership that all began on that unforgettable night six months ago.