The Preparation of Helena VoutrakisChapter 7 HMS Minotaur
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Inside Out, Not A Pretty Tale free porn video
Inside Out, Not A Pretty Tale ? by: r.gold
My Introduction - This story is written as part of my therapy. It's not
really meant for publication, but I'm only following my therapist's
directions. I've been told that if I write it all out it will help me
move along and feel better about myself.
It contains my personally graphic language, my offensive attitudes, and
my sexual descriptions that should offend anyone in their right mind.
If you are bothered by this kind of thing, hang it up now. I don't need
anymore do gooders worrying about me. I can take care of myself and
don't need anyone's pity or sympathy. Hey, no Hallmark cards with
puppies or kitties for me. signed, Kelly Anne Ryan
Part One - It's All About Me - MY LIFE
Going to try to be honest and if my version of the truth offends you,
stop reading ANY TIME.
I spend a lot of my life pleasing other people. But, I'm not a Mother
Teresa. Far from it.
During the day I work with computers. I sit on my ever-growing backside
and talk to people about the trouble they're having with our company's
software.
I have a huge Macintosh computer that emulates all the pc's and mac
software our company produces. When you have a problem, I dial up your
computer on my machine and see what works.
It pays well and each day is different. I like working by myself and
not relying on anyone else. I'm not a great committee type person.
Can't keep my mouth shut and am very opinionated.
I've been doing this kind of work since I was eighteen. I'm twenty-
three now. I worked here full time while I got a degree in computer
programming and they paid for school. When I graduated I already had a
job.
Back when I was in Iowa, I couldn't wait to move away from home. My
parents and I didn't see eye to eye and it was a mutually understood
that I was gone after high school.
I moved to SanFranCal when I was eighteen. I lived on the bucks I'd
saved and some my mom slipped me. My goal was to get established with a
company that would provide benefits and a good career. I think that I'm
very lucky to have my needs fulfilled so soon. I started working for
Denton Systems after three months of interviews.
I have my own place now. I rented it for a while and bought it from the
owner. He took back the mortgage after we had become really 'good'
friends.
I guess I should tell you about my friends. They're all men and they
all come to me to fulfill needs that can't get elsewhere.
See, I'm a computer software trouble shooter by day and a transsexual
prostitute by evening.
I have a regular client list and don't take on anyone new unless they
come recommended by certain business friends of mine.
I provide a secure, safe service that guarantees anonymity. My clients
would not want it getting out that they were being serviced by a
transsexual. Most of them live in the uptight straight world and the
knowledge that they are fucking someone with a dick would bode them
poorly.
At work, I've always been a woman. I came to the company with nothing
that wouldn't indicate I wasn't female. I had all that stuff done when
I turned sixteen and got my driver's license. Even my high school
transcripts say female on them. It paid to have friends in high places.
That was one reason my parents wished me gone. When their little boy
started playing with dolls and wearing dresses, they both hurriedly
rushed me all over the place to get me cured. Not only didn't I get
cured, but I got lots of intelligent people encouraging me to act out
my desires 100%.
So all the doctors agreed that I would be more happy living as a
feminized male. I think they were right. I am much more comfortable in
my skin than I ever was. You might even say I'm happy and smugly
pleased.
But, this probably wasn't a really good thing to do to someone who
enjoys sex as a recreational sport. Even when I was 'sexteen', I took
on as many partners as willing. I didn't discriminate. If the front
line of the football team wanted blow jobs, I was there. If some of the
cute cheerleaders wanted to experiment with sexual fantasies, I was
always available.
It made me a really good lover, sensitive to everyone's needs and
spoiled me for life.
I have to be in control of every sexual encounter now. It's not good
for me, but its always good for my client. My friends all are fully
satisfied when we are done and always anxious to pay me well. I bank a
lot of dollars a month and eventually it will pay for my retirement.
I don't plan on fucking my ass off forever. My goal is to use my
investments to stop at thirty. If I was to meet someone special, maybe
sooner.
But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
My therapist said that this exercise was to put everything down on
paper without a lot of editing. She felt that if I wrote everything
down, it might help me with my occasional bouts of depression and
anxiety.
Cause I'm unable to have a satisfying orgasm any more.
No, it's not physical. I still wake up in the middle of the night with
strong erections. Even after more than five years of hormones and such;
even after surgical procedures on my face, throat, voice box, and
breasts; I still have a decent sized penis. Naturally, my testicles are
marbles these days. And I have lost a few inches off of a rather lovely
prick, I don't have a physical problem. I just can't relax and have an
orgasm.
Part One - It's All About Me - MY RANT
I envy those lying transsexual girls that tell you that they don't need
to be orgasmic and ejaculate. The ones who talk about anal orgasms or
having a womanly orgasm deep inside that is sooooo different. To me,
it's bullshit. Sure, castrate yourself and turn yourself into a capon
if you like. Loose your sex in a wash of estrogen. Fine with me if you
want to turn your dick inside out and live with masses of numb scar
tissue. If it's for you, so be it, but not for me!
Let's be real honest. I'm gay and live full time as a woman. I enjoy
wearing women's clothing, being treated like a woman, living like a
woman and all the benefits. I love the compliments, the attention, the
fawning. I like being the center of attention. The mirror is my best
friend. Sure, I feel like I was born the wrong sex, but lets be honest
here. I was born male and rather than delude myself with some psych
dilemma, I try to be honest with myself.
A few years back, I got to know this one beautiful pre-op real well.
This beautifully computer graphically enhanced fantasy person deluded
themselves and lived like in a total unreal world. All the stories got
so twisted and phoney and boom, meltdown.
sHe CLAIMED sHe was working in a college and getting a doctorate, Uh
Huh.
sHe CLAIMED sHe was living with a law student who was working for a
court justice, Uh Huh.
sHe CLAIMED sHe was just too modest to tell many details and lived in
stealth.
sHe CLAIMED No one knew in her real world sHe was a MAN.
sHe CLAIMED the boyfriend didn't know about the internet sight and the
pics and the whole transsexual link, site thing. Uh Huh.
But a little truth...Like this person was sooo addicted to the chat
room and all the compliments, until sHe got kicked out for being a
phoney!!!
sHe CLAIMED sHe was getting married a few years ago. Uh Huh, sure.
sHe CLAIMED sHe was in love with a wonderful guy who was gay and was in
the closet and in denial
sHe CLAIMED sHe satisfied his needs and was a perfect foil for his
incredibly rich parents.
sHe CLAIMED He loved sucking off and getting head.
sHe CLAIMED He's gay but sHe isn't.
sHe CLAIMED sHe wasn't gay, sHe's just born in the wrong body. Uh Huh.
sHe CLAIMED Rather than a big wedding, they were going to slip off and
elope. Uh Huh. This guy's a lawyer and daddy has a big law firm and uh,
check out the NY State law about same sex weddings. Kinda enjoyed
living the fairy tale....fairy, get it?
But, let the truth ring from the hilltops. sHe was in the worst denial
of all. sHe's not gay, but a lover is? Shit. sHe complains how men that
aren't interested in post-ops are gay men in denial. Almost as if sHe
has contempt for gay men...duh, look in the mirror. Talk about denial.
Where is sHe now? Posing for nude shots, showing off a dick and balls
on the internet and in the worst shoes! Really, such a disappointment,
it's depressing when you see someone lie to themselves and others just
to justify what they like to do. I think that doing what you please is
fine, but let's be honest with ourselves and others
Part One - It's All About Me - MY CAREER
Well, I am not sanctimonious. I'm a whore, a prostitute. I am what I am
and it's not so much what others say. No, I don't need to pose on the
internet. And no, I don't need creeps jerking off to my pics and
writing me lust letters.
I have a life, a sorta fucked up life. So my therapist says that I
should freely express myself about how I feel and how I live.
She tells me to write it all down and sort it out later. Here goes.
I'll tell you about each of my clients, one at a time.
Part Two - My Boys - ROBBIE
William Robert Stewart is my Monday night football. He tells his wife
that he's staying in the city to watch the game with the boys. The
company pays for the suite and he certainly can afford it. Nice looking
guy, a tad overweight; starting to gray and thin out, and maybe could
use a little firming up of the mind where alcohol has burned out some
brain cells.
So I sometimes meet him downtown for dinner. I dress professionally in
a wool suit, heels, stockings. I try to have my hair done on Saturday,
so it always looks nice for him. This week I was trying a little more
high light and a new cut; a few more spikes and rough edges.
We eat dinner. I have to remind myself that most of the evening, I'll
be pushing the cardio and sweating like a hog over my task of the
evening. Cause you see, Robbie likes to scream and get hit and feel his
ass turn red.
One of the reasons he doesn't go straight home is sometimes he has
trouble walking or sitting down when I'm done.
I only weight 120 pounds. I'm 5'8". I've lost all the manly muscle mass
I would have acquired because I was taking birth control pills back in
junior high school; which definitely affected my adolescence and any
masculine features I would have gotten without them.
So we end up at the Plaza. The bellhop carries up our luggage. Two
large cases are mine and the satchel is his. I'll leave at halftime.
Yeppers, we watch the game. If wifey asks, he can recall a lot of the
details and fudge the rest claiming too much beer.
We start with Robbie watching me get undressed and then dressed. I
strip down to naked, carefully folding then hanging everything up.
While I am doing that, he strips and plays with himself lying on the
bed.
My dominatrix outfit is the one that he's chosen. Stilettos, mesh
stockings, garters, no panties (so he can lick my dick and balls), a
bustier, and a leather collar. My outfit is black and most of it is
patent leather. Naturally, Robbie's company has paid for all of this
hand made custom work.
Patent leather is a must because a lot of my work is cleaned up with a
sponge afterwards or Robbie's tongue.
I strut around, criticizing him about how useless he is, questioning
his manhood, slapping an oak paddle against the palm of my hand. He
lays on the bed and watches me. I give him a great view of my ass and
my genitals. Occasionally, I'll stop and let him suck my dick or lick
my asshole. I eventually get erect and allow him to deep throat me.
Sometimes he chokes which only means I push myself further into his
mouth until he gags.
I bind his hands to the bed with manacles I've brought. Everything I
use is real, no props. But, then again, I'm a professional.
I smack him with assorted paddles, whips, and prods. I have a long
handled cock that I lube up and plow deep into his ass. I take great
pleasure in jamming it deep in his throat. I use assorted ball gags,
butt plugs, leg stretchers, cuffs, and collars. I don't tell Robbie
what I've planned for him. For him to find real satisfaction, there
must be some mystery, some unknown fear, some real pain.
After running through my act, I allow him to cum. Generally, he enjoys
being on his back, hands cuffed to the bedposts, legs manacled and with
a stretcher pulling him apart, ass high in the air, with something
large pushed up his ass. As he's struggling to find his breath, moaning
through a ball gag, I'm pounding him on the face and head with small
pillow, whipping it back and forth, striking him hard. My other hand is
on his cock and balls. I'm not gentle.
When he comes with a scream, I continue to pump him dry. Long after he
asks me to stop, I continue draining every drop out of him. He
complains that his prostate hurts for days afterward, but that means
he's satisfied.
Sometimes, we'll even shower together and I treat him with the love and
tenderness that a wife would give him. Sometimes, I snarl and insist
that he lick the cum off my shoes and bustier as I continue to whip
him.
Either way, I have my suitcases delivered back to my apartment in the
morning. Luggage draws attention when you walk out at night.
But no one looks twice at a woman in a business suit leaving a hotel
room at 10:30 pm. They figure she was just getting laid.
I earn my money. I have to create, plan, and produce. My sweat labor
alone is worth a lot more than I am paid. While I charge Robbie a large
one a week, I insist on a monthly present from Tiffany's or Gucci. And
at fashion week in NYC, I expect at least a few knock-offs to arrive at
my door within a week of the shows. Naturally, Robbie's firm pays the
tab.
Last year, I netted big bucks from Robbie. He knows he's at the top of
my list. He knows that I'd give up a weekend, or fly to places
unmentioned to help him relax.
But, Robbie doesn't offer me to clients or friends. Robbie doesn't like
the idea of sharing me with anyone. I've often joked that if he brought
his wife I'd give her lessons so he wouldn't need me anymore.
He laughs.
Part Two - My Boys - NORMIE
My next one is named Norman. Norman Sikorsky is a sweet, gentle man. He
is thirty-eight, balding, thin and quiet.
At work, Norman is an accountant. No one knows that Norman likes to get
dressed up in a diaper and poop himself.
Right. This is a rubber glove operation for me. All I have to do is
dress Norman, powder him, coo all over, and fondle him.
Occasionally, he will piss lying on his back straight up at me. I have
learned to place a second cloth diaper on his dick to keep him from
doing this. The first time he pissed on me, I hit him so hard that I
thought I broke my hand.
He does pay well.
So Norman lays on his back in the hotel bed, he's naked, shaved clean
of any body hair. I turn him over and fondle his ass and put scented
powder on it. I rub him down with baby lotion and put a cloth diaper on
him.
I turn him over and quickly add the second diaper on his erection. I
smile, powder and lotion him up, and finish the front of the diaper.
Then I slide a pair of rubber pants on top of his diaper.
He goo's, he coo's, he pisses, he craps.
We lay a plastic sheet on the bed first.
Norman rolls around and plays with himself for a while.
I get tons of money for this. And some people have scruples about how
they earn their money.
Well, I am not cheating anyone or hurting anyone or robbing widows.
Part Two - My Boys - HANK
Henry Chissom is my closet queen. He adores dressing up and is sexually
aroused by the feel of silk and satin.
We meet in a suite and entertain ourselves. Just us two girls having
drinks and 'whatever'.
I buy Henry a wardrobe each session. Long ago, I had him fitted for
silicon forms to flesh out his skinny body. Now, when dressed, he has
lovely legs, hips, butt and breasts.
Henry invested in a real hair wig with a natural scalp top. It applies
to his shaved head nicely.
Long ago, we pierced his ears and he does look lovely with danglers.
So, my sweet Henry comes in a showers and shaves and lotions and then I
help him with his foundation garments and his makeup. We are quite the
team after all these times.
Then, I produce three or four new outfits for my Henrietta. I always
pick something elegant, something trendy, something naughty, and
something extremely sexy.
sHe tries them all on and we have a wonderful time sipping champagne
and gossiping.
Then she picks the one that fits her mood and we go down to the bar. We
sit and listen to the piano and eventually guys find their way to our
table and Henrietta gets to flip and fool around.
We finish the evening when we go back upstairs and I fuck Henrietta in
the ass and let him blow me. I can fill his mouth with fluid, but the
orgasm is always a disappointment for me.
I do fake it for the money!
I take all the clothes with me. We donate most of them or give them to
resale shops.
Henrietta is fine for another week.
Part Two - My Boys - ARNIE
Arnold Brillstein is a lawyer. Sharp tongue, brilliant mind, witty and
extremely closeted with his taste for cock.
I am the perfect date. He reserves my weekends, some Saturdays, some
Fridays and the occasional Sunday brunch.
When I show up, all the guys look my way. I try to wear tasteful
clothes that are a bit more suggestive than the typical princess that
Arnie's friends choose.
When he introduces me to someone new, I enjoy the x-ray examination I
am given. Arnie knows that with me on his arm, his stature rises a few
points. From all outward appearances, I am the sophisticated uptown
girl enjoying fun slumming it. Anyone who had an inkling of Arnie being
queer immediately forgets that when they see how we carry on. Arnold
does have a thing for me and I encourage it.
Tonight I'm wearing a Vera Wang knockoff. It's a cornflower blue little
thing made of gathered silk. It's translucent, very short, and lacks a
back, the perfect summertime nothing. Other than the dress, a thong,
and stilettos, I am naked.
Naturally, I am the last to join this group since they came straight
from work. I bend my working schedule around my clients, so I had gone
home, showered, changed, then caught a cab.
It's about 7 pm and they are all pretty liquored up. I order club soda
with a twist. I don't drink or do drugs. I find it interferes with my
mind and body too much. I am already addicted to sex and money, I don't
need anymore bad habits.
I slide into the booth and give Arnie a kiss and a squeeze. He squeezes
me back. He's had too much to drink and is a little loud. I am sure
that he would like nothing better to do than suck my cock right now. So
I start whispering sweet pornography in his ear.
His friends are watching us out of the side of their eyes. I am
practically crawling into Arnie's lap, hands rubbing his chest inside
his shirt, pinching his nipples. Since my dress is translucent, you can
see my body beneath it. You might be able to make out my breasts and
the occasional glance might reveal a nipple. Nothing ventured, nothing
gained.
But, after a couple of drinks, Arnie is lustfully dragging me out of
our booth and into the back of the club towards the bathrooms and
phone.
The next thing I know we're up the back stairs of the club and into a
janitor's closet. We've been here before. I pull down my thong and gaff
and lean back against the wall. Arnie drops his knees. He's licking my
cock and balls before I can get all straightened out. He lays on the
floor between my legs and I sit down on his face.
I rub myself over his tongue. I let him spend time licking the rim of
my ass and it does feel good. As he continues to pleasure me, my dick
starts to grow hard. I slip it in his mouth and begin to pump. Arnie
has no interest in my breasts or any feminine parts of me. I think my
small frame and boyish body turn him on more.
If Arnie's friends were more understanding, I think this man would be
dating eighteen year old boys.
I spin around and face his crotch. I unzip him and lean over and wet
him, then start giving him a handjob. One thing that a queen can do
better than a woman is get a guy to come.
As he's about to blow his wad, I take him in my mouth. I enjoy
swallowing and get a little shiver each time I suck it all down.
All my clients have regular blood tests and checkups. The results are
sent directly to my mailbox in center city. No tests, no exchange of
fluids.
When it's over, I'm up and straightening myself out. Arnie lies on the
floor in blissful pleasure.
Eventually, we return. We tell them we were dancing in the back and
with the heated look on my face, they know that we have been doing more
than dancing. Arnie rises one status level in their eyes and that's all
he cares about. It's all show and not much more.
By the end of the evening, I am helping him to a cab. He reminds me
that I am having dinner with his parents tomorrow night. They love the
idea of Arnie dating such a nice girl. Actually, any girl would do. His
mom once confided in me about their dread of him being gay.
Now they don't know that Arnie is much more interested in my cock than
any other part of me. But, hey, I pick up two grand for a weekend with
Arnie and everyone is happy. Such a big hetro guy, mucho macho!
I love being with this whole group of hetro snobs who think that
everything is all about possessions and one upsmenship. I feel like a
spy watching them. I feel superior that I am not confused by the bright
lights or the toys or bucks they are making.
I find a little contempt from the women. They treat me like a disease.
I did not school with them and they don't know me. So I'm a threat. I'm
an unknown quantity.
I had to laugh. About eighteen months ago, I was in the ladies room
fixing my makeup and one of Arnie's guys had brought this chick with
him. She was from old money, schooled back east in Boston, and knew
just about everyone.
So Joyce comes into the bathroom and starts talking to me while I'm
putting on my face. When the room empties out, she turns to me and asks
me how I feel about groups.
"Group sex?" I ask.
"Uh huh. I mean, I really am attracted to you and if Arnie was
interested, I could talk Billy into it and the four of us could go back
to his place. I'd really like to put on a show with you."
And she leans over and gives me a soft, wet kiss and a little bit of
tongue.
Hey, I think to myself, this ain't about to happen. What happens when
the four of us find out that there are three dicks and one muffin?
I beg off and tell her maybe another time, cause I'm having my monthly.
Back in school, I'd use that line to get a guy to fuck my ass or let me
blow him. I bearded a lot of guys who never knew that the best sex they
ever had was with a fag.
Well, she didn't last with Billy. Eventually, Billy realised that she
was much more interested in eating fur than cock. It's a shame I never
got her number. I have enjoyed some real understanding lesbians in my
time. I find that I still relate sexually to the idea of a soft body
with lovely moist orifices.
Well, I mentioned that I thought Arnie had a thing for me. I really
wonder sometimes if Arnie has a thing or just needs me as a convenient
cock to suck and help him to pass. I know that once his parents stop
worrying about this interest in young men, the money will flow.
I guess when Arnie outlives his mom and dad he will settle in with a
guy named Bruce and raise toy poodles. I will be long gone.
Part Three - My Cure
Well, here I am, pages later, hundreds of dollars and hour later and no
change. Regardless of how I try, my orgasms elude me.
The shrink says that I will probably have to give up prostitution and
distance myself from my anger and contempt.
She says that I have built a wall protecting myself and my inner child.
Until I stop servicing clients, I will continue to have trouble with
sexual pleasure.
Quite the quandary! Give up a five figure income that is not taxed to
experience sexual pleasure and gratification or continue beating,
flaunting, blowing, and fucking guys that pay me money to be a nasty
me.
Well. I am taking a few weeks off to while away some time in the
islands. Hopefully, some distance from all of this will help me to
change my mind.
Lynne
- 21.02.2020
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