Jenn's Hunger 6: A Prequel To Hard Time Sex free porn video

This story is a prequel to an earlier story called Hard Time Sex and was begun soon after we finished our earlier collaboration. Unfortunately, it has been more than a year since I have been able to reach Jennifer to get an okay from her to publish this final version of the story. Since I have not heard back from her, I am sending it in for your enjoyment just as I finished it. I only hope that my interest in perversely exciting characters and situations has not gone too far for her to be happy with it. My primary wish is that our many fans will derive great pleasure over many readings. It is why I write trannie erotica in the first place: as a gift to you. I hope I speak for both of us when I say that we write our stories for your pleasure and we hope they bring you many moments of release and contentment. Feel free to share our story with any other story site but please attribute it to us. And finally, please write if you enjoyed it for I would love to hear from my fans. Thank you. Email me at: [email protected] Jenn's Hunger 6: A Prequel to Hard Time Sex Copyright by Marcia St. Denis and Jennifer Stewart. Chapter Six - The Perfect Masochists' Mistress Jenn couldn't get enough sex. Any thought of working a regular job for a living went out with his maleness. Now that he was a t-woman, he knew the power he held over men and their money. Getting enough cash to live on and to buy what he wanted and needed was almost too easy. Jean was right. Men were there to be used. He delighted in torturing them as they came under his spell. He loved the fact that with men, when the little head got hard, the big head went soft. It was so much fun to realize that he could get anything he wanted from them once he got them horny enough. What was even more fun was that they LOVED being manipulated by Jenn-the-bitch and giving him everything he asked for. He had become so popular that he had a scheduling problem and in order to get put higher up on the appointments list he had taught them that gifts of money, clothing, jewelry, trips or anything else of value would be most favorably looked upon. And he exploited to the max the simple biological fact of male stupidity in the face of their all-consuming lust. He was "earning" more than a $1000 per night. He bought a large condo with a view of the river and asked Jean to move in with him. She jumped at the chance to spend more time with her sexy little Jenn, whom she had grown to love and think of as her own creation. Within 6 months of Jenn's coming out, Jean had taken him to her plastic surgeon and Jenn had had his 34C implants put in and had begun his hormone shots. Not strong enough to take away his ability to get hard and cum his usual copious amounts of thick creamy white jiz but just enough to keep his doe-soft skin smooth and blemish free and keep his downy peach fuzz completely off his body. He was the most beautiful girlboy she had ever seen. In fact, it was all Jean could do to keep from touching him whenever she passed close to him. She knew she was infatuated like she had never been before. She knew that the power she normally lorded over her lovers was gone in the face of this young goddess. She got wet every time she caught even a glimpse of her lover. She couldn't get over his flawlessly smooth skin or his rich, luxuriant, naturally wavy tresses, now died a gorgeous strawberry red, and cascading down to the tips of his upturned nipples. When they took their bubble baths together she swooned every time Jenn asked her to wash his body. His perfect, high pointing, full and rounded 34C tits with their 2" wide, dark brown aureolas and 1/2" long, fat and juicy nipples begged to be suckled and bitten. His slim tapered waist that flared naturally out to his boyishly lean hips and tight round buttocks was impossible to stay away from. And his cock, which still hardened to its full 8", was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen or sucked or fucked. But best of all was that Jenn's transformation had brought out the bitch in him: A complete and total dominant bitchiness and disdain for men that only matched her own yet seemed entirely natural and thus all the more convincing to his needy masochistic clients. They were so perfectly matched that it was beyond her wildest dreams. She had despaired of ever finding another woman who took as much pleasure in using and abusing men as she did. And to find her perfect match with a gorgeous and always horny cock to stuff her pussy, ass and mouth was heaven on earth. Although Jean was Jenn's mentor in makeup, feminine deportment, sex and her mocking cruelty towards men, it was Jenn who took the lead in choosing their wardrobes and did all the shopping for clothing, shoes, accessories and jewelry. Jenn's taste was impeccable. He had an unerring sense of style that was both blatantly sexual and breathtakingly feminine. Jean had never known anyone who could see the possibilities of combining various elements of a wardrobe into something fresh and new the way Jenn could. And Jenn was a real clothes' horse. In fact, he put to shame any other shopaholic female that Jean had ever known. Their closets were overflowing. It was as if, once his ability to wear the clothes he adored so much as a young boy and fledgling designer was given sanction, he went crazy in the doing. If he didn't go shopping every day before his first customer Jean knew there was something wrong, took his temperature and put him to bed... without sex that day! His taste ran towards two separate but related themes: the extremely feminine but very whorish look and the delicate, flowing, super feminine look. The first and most often worn look was very similar to the wardrobes Julia Roberts wore in Pretty Woman or Erin Brockovich with lots of low cut, open bodice, tight blouses and stretch tops that showed off his new tits and their encompassing bras... and short, butt enhancing, dripping-with-sex, skirts... shortie halter tops or strapless bandeau topped dresses. And always there were the high heels: sandals, pumps, slip-ons, mules, ankle boots, thigh high boots, platforms, wedgies... Hundreds of pairs of heels overflowed their closets. The second and more private look had flowing slit-up-to-mid-thigh skirts and open necked gauzy blouses, elegant cocktail dresses from Versace or Escada with body enhancing cuts. Just for fun there were a few open-bottom, multi-gartered girdles and some hobble skirts. Jenn was as aware of fashion and what made a woman sexual and alluring just as a man is aware of breathing and needing to inseminate women. (One of his favorite outfits was a skin tight, red leather pant with tiny bolero-styled, single clasp, black satin jacket (worn with only a demi-cup bra to let everyone see the size and shape of his tits). He knew that if he wore this outfit, Jean would have him on his back and his cock in her mouth or pussy within minutes. And then there was lingerie, lingerie, lingerie and more lingerie. He kept his working wardrobe with its reliance on butter-smooth leather and glossy PVC, studded collars and wrist bracelets, opera length PVC gloves, latex stockings, ankle-locked stilettos and open crotched leather, PVC or rubber panties carefully arranged in his dungeon. Their lives were perfect. Languid mornings spent in bed fucking and sucking until they were spent and satiated; afternoons of gossip-filled shopping or primping at the beauty parlor getting facials, pedicures, manicures, hair colorings, (whose only purposes were to accentuate their total sexual essences) and nights going from one party to another or receiving one client after another. All this they did together except the actual sexual sessions they had with the men who paid for their services and although they were inseparable, each of them had their own special clientele with their own special needs Jean was more aggressively dominant and preferred inflicting verbal and physical humiliation and punishment. She wore only black with metal studs and chains everywhere with heavy dark makeup that made her look as dangerous to the men who craved her talents as she was. Her clients couldn't seem to get enough of her services and several of them had to be scheduled at long enough intervals so that their flayed skin had time to heal before going under her lash again. The sissy slaves who kissed her feet needed the sting of her whips and the thumping of her paddles and the cut of her canes to be able to get even the smallest little hard on. Ecstasy for them came after long sessions of unbelievable torture and humiliation. Jenn found it hard to imagine there were men who needed and wanted the kind of harshness in their lovers that she meted out but he had soon learned the high value men placed on these services. Jenn specialized in the men who needed their girls with that special extra little something between their legs and he had found, under Jean's tutelage, the special pleasure and the high pay of being a dominant ts bitch to men who craved abuse; usually extremely rich, successful men who knew their lives were a lie, that they weren't really the self-assured business, medical or legal titans the world saw them as. These men knew they were fooling their families and colleagues and that it was just a matter of time before they were found out. They craved the punishment and humiliation that Jenn would give them for the lies they lived on a daily basis. They needed him to remind them that they were just the same naughty, cheating, lying, unworthy little boys they were when they were young, except now their misdeeds had far more drastic consequences in ruined businesses and lives since they were grown up asset-strippers and robber barons and the games they played during the business day were real and harmed real people. These men begged him to spank them, slap them, call them filthy names and humiliate them both privately and publicly when possible. They desperately needed to be abused both mentally and physically and Jenn was just the sexy, horny girlieboy to do it. He started to think that men like this were the norm, not the exception. He particularly loved making them get on their hands and knees to crawl over to him in public places like gay bars or trannie nightclubs and lift his skirt and take his hard cock into their mouths and then publicly humiliate them by deflating and telling them how worthless they were at the top of his voice, not only as fake businessmen, but as potential sex partners since they couldn't even keep their own lovers' cocks hard. And then there were the men who needed such physical manifestations of the lowness of their lives by having her take out her cock and pee on them, letting the warm yellow liquid run down their faces to ruin their $2000 Armani suits and $400 Gucci shoes before he would stroke himself back to an erection, start slapping their faces with his cock and then forcing them onto their hands and knees and entering them from behind and fucking them until they were mindless, blubbering, sex-crazed, submissively masochistic idiots. But he was still young and impressionable and his senses reeled at the overwhelming passion and force of desire that coursed through these men. Their needs seemed so powerful and the rawness of their desperate sexuality took him from the peak of one mind-numbing thrill to next. It would have been impossible for anyone so new to the world of sexuality, let alone the steamy eroticism of forbidden sexuality, to remain unmoved or uninfluenced by what he saw and heard and did and experienced. Yes, the power of his control over these men and their needs was a powerful aphrodisiac and he often found himself getting erections and spurting copious amounts of cum without a single stroke to his cock just from the raw sexuality of whipping a man's cock and balls until they would soil themselves with their own cum. So it was inevitable that such a young and impressionable girlieboy would be influenced by what he was doing. And before long it became clear to him that he was enjoying inflicting pain to a degree that wasn't healthy but was too sensually fulfilling to stop. He had to admit that through all of this he had developed his own little needs; needs he never told Jean about and would never tell her about. He soon learned that he some of his biggest thrills came when his clients turned the tables on him. When after a long, hot, fuck, suck and cum-filled session with the most servile masochists, he would let them take out all of their own pent-up rage, deeply seated frustrations and perverted, masochistic needs and desires on his available and exposed body. He secretly reveled in their overwhelming need to spank him, slap him, spit on him, pee on him, whip him and fuck him raw after he had done the same things to them. He had to admit that he had developed a taste for masochistic behavior and he was at the highest peak of ecstasy when his clients would spew their slimy goo up his ass and into his heavily painted mouth after they had told him what a filthy, worthless, disgusting, foul, good-for-nothing-but-walking-the-street gutter whore he was while whipping his ass and cock and balls to the point where the pleasure overwhelmed the pain. He felt complete and fulfilled during these perverted sex sessions in a way he could never feel with Jean. These sessions of raw lust and power and need and hunger took him to the edge of human sensation, to the point where anything less left him unsatisfied. He loved cumming up their rectums, imagining that he was impregnating them with his seed, and the thought of sending them home with his cum leaking out of their butts onto their shorts to raise questions in their wives' minds about what they did and with whom they did it on those nights when they "worked late" sent electric jolts of pleasure up his spine. And the prices he charged were astronomical. Ridiculous actually, since he would have done it for free. For Jenn craved and needed men and their adoration and the validity they gave him with the lustful reality of their hard cocks and the stinking, slippery, sticky, gooey, spunky jiz they deposited inside him and on him just as much as these special men needed him. Judge Bill Stone was one of Jenn's favorite clients. Three to four times a week the Judge would call Jenn's work number and beg for an appointment. Jenn loved creating as much risk and tension in his male admirers as possible and he knew that Judge Stone had a wife and three daughters waiting at home. In order to test his power over the Judge he often made appointments for as late in the evening as he felt like. Tonight they were scheduled to meet at 11 PM, which meant that they wouldn't be done until at least 1AM, well past the hour any decent husband would have returned home. Jenn giggled at the thought of his little Billy-boy going home to momma with cum dripping out of his rectum and staining his shorts, his wrists and ankles rubbed raw from the shackles that he favored, his hands, arms, back and chest striped with the welts from his riding crop. But what he loved thinking of most was Bill returning to his wife smelling of that odd mixture of the expensive French perfume Jenn preferred wearing and of his cum highlighted by the fecal remains from Bill's rectum. What in the world did these men tell their wives, he wondered. And how in heaven's name did they believe the stories they were being fed? 52 year old Bill Stone parked his car carefully in the private parking stall Jenn kept reserved in his condo for his clients. Bill's heart had begun to race the moment he entered the familiar, dark cavern of the garage and he had to sit in his car to quiet his nerves before venturing for the third time in less than a week into this private world of pleasure that was so exquisite he could barely come down off the high it gave him before he felt the need to return. As he pressed the button to Jenn's condo he imagined the sight and smells that would greet him and his entire body began to shake. He had to laugh at himself with a bitterness that rose to his throat. He knew he was every bit as addicted to the incredibly sordid, perverted world of S&M sex that he had discovered at the feet of this teenaged shemale bitch queen as any of the hundreds of drug addicts who sat in his court shaking from not getting their fix. Here he was, making his third trip up Jenn's elevator in less than a week, with his heart racing, a light sweat shining off his face and his entire body shaking from need and want. Every time he tried to stop seeing Jenn and renounce this sick need, he would last at most three days before he would break down with a sob, admit his addiction, pick up the phone and make another appointment. How had this happened to him? How had a well-respected Judge become so physically and mentally addicted to this hot little sheboy minx that filled his thoughts 24 hours a day? He now knew more than anyone what inner needs drove the crack and heroin addicts he saw in his courtroom; addicts who committed crime upon crime to satisfy the demons within themselves. Would he end up the same way? Would he be reduced to spending all of his waking hours attempting to fill this aching need regardless of all consequences? What was it about the high he felt whenever he was in the presence of his bitch mistress that he would risk his entire career, his reputation, his family just for another hit of Jenn's love-juice. All of these thoughts flooded through him again as he rode the elevator up to the familiar pleasure den he dreamed of night and day. His penis was slowly filling with surging blood and stiffened in his pants. It had started to tent out his right pant leg and as he reached down to lift it up so that it could lay flat against his stomach, he let out an audible groan and had to steady himself against the back of the elevator to keep himself from staggering as his desires overtook his entire being. He knew he could never give up the pleasure he got from his shemale mistress. He could never go back to being satisfied with the boring, vanilla flavored, in-and-out, missionary sex his wife expected from him and that he was increasingly unable and unwilling to deliver. Not after feeling the surge of endomorphines that filled his body the moment he caught a glimpse of the PVC outfits clinging to Jenn's feminine form; not after feeling the release from all the cares of the world, and all of the pressures he had to face daily, once he experienced the first sting of the crop or heard the first verbal humiliation that escaped his lover's soft, moist, perfectly painted lips; not after feeling the serenity that came with being stripped, shackled and abused by his goddess Jenn. As the elevator doors opened, he had assumed the position he knew was his place; that of being on his knees with his hands behind his back and his head bowed. It was the smell as much as anything else that hit him and sent him into his world of pleasure the moment the doors to the condo opened. It was an odd, sweet mixture of exotic incense, expensive perfume, feminine cosmetics, soft, worked leather, vanilla scented candles and something he wasn't told about until much, much too late for him to fight or resist: opium smoke. Jenn had learned this trick from Jean who had used it for years to enslave her clients and keep them coming back for more without them ever being aware of it. Jenn, on the other hand, loved to make sure the humiliation of his clients was total by telling them that they were not only addicted to the pleasure his big-cocked, feminine charms could bring them but to the opium their bodies began to crave after the third or fourth visit. He would laugh at their consternation, especially when they announced their indignation at being so ill treated, that came from knowing they were drug-addicted, sex-addicted weak sniveling males. Jenn loved knowing that the combination of smells that greeted his clients sent them into a stupor from which they could not escape and to which they would always return. Jenn and Jean cleverly avoided addiction themselves by making sure all of the opium smoke was vented into the reception hall. All of their sex pets were made to kneel in the carpeted private elevator whose doors were left open to the reception area. The 20 minutes they were made to remain kneeling while breathing in the perfumed, heavily addictive and highly intoxicating air served the twin purposes of clearing out the residue of opium smoke and of making sure there was enough time to let the opium weave its magic on the dreams of their victims. They wanted to be certain their men had slipped into that semi-conscious state where they could do nothing but dream about the pain and the pleasures that would be theirs in a few moments. As the minutes passed the sexual tension built while the narcotic took hold of their reason and altered their judgment and allowed them to lose themselves completely in the dream-like pleasures that were to come. Bill's self-loathing and self-contempt at this weakness in his soul and of his flesh, which had reduced him to a state of addictive need, overwhelmed him. As he knelt and the opiates took a hold of his brain and his cock engorged to its full, thickly throbbing length, he couldn't help but giggle at his predicament. "Ohhhhhh God, yessssssssssssssssssssssss... Oh fuck... I love this feeling... I've never felt anything so gooooooood... So right... So unbelievably sexual... Every time I come here it gets BETTER... I hope he comes soon... I wonder what he'll be wearing... I need his touch. I need his love... I need his tits and cock and piss and cum... I hope he is in a rage tonight... I hope he humiliates me and degrades me that way I deserve to be... I need to be abused and humiliated and fucked hard and forced to suck his cum or take it up my sissy ass... My ass-pussy is so empty... So lonely... So unhappy when it isn't stretched by his girliecock... Giggle... I wonder what my colleagues or the voters would say if they saw me like this?" Bill laughed out loud and brought his right hand around to caress his enormous prick through his pants. He desperately wanted to unzip them and snake his hand into the opening to bring his fat 7" out so he could stroke it unfettered by the material of his pants. He did it and had no sooner begun to masturbate himself over its entire length starting at the spongy, soft head and slipping past his hyper-sensitive glans to feel the strange soft-hardness of his desire-steeped and drug-crazed shaft when Jenn walked into the reception area, strode over to his kneeling form and viciously cut the back of his hand with a well-aimed flick of his riding crop. "Did I give you permission to touch yourself, you filthy, horny, disgusting little boy?" Bill was paralyzed with fear and shock at the sting of both his words and his crop. "No, mistress. I apologize, mistress. It will not happen again, mistress." "Then see that it doesn't you piece of worthless scum and put your hands where they belong... NOW, you pig." Bill returned his hand to behind his back as he felt the cuffs slip around his wrists and had to bite his lip to keep himself from crying out in pain as the riding crop whipped across the throbbing hardness of his penis and barely flick against his tightened ballsack. But the odd thing about a true masochist is that at the same time that he is feeling the unbearable pain of the crop, he is also feeling an incredible rush of pleasure. His brain registers the "rightness" of being punished for being the filthy, lewd, drug-addicted, penis-whore that he was just milliseconds after registering the pain. Bill felt the surging pleasure boil through his system and add to the incredible hardness of his throbbing cock. He had needed to be here for days and only now did he feel "at home" and content with who and what he had become. He drank in the sight of his cock-mistress and although having day dreamed of Jenn and anticipating the pleasure he and the opium would bring him, Bill was unprepared for the incredible eroticism of the creature standing in front of him waiting to be worshipped. Jenn had gone all out tonight to make sure that Bill would never forget how lucky he was to be allowed to grovel at his feet. He had bathed just as carefully as always and had rubbed his hormone-softened skin with his favorite perfume scented skin cream: Givenchy's "Indecence". He then talcum powdered his tiny little pubic patch, his smooth underarms and the vee of his silken thighs. He was in a very pink mood tonight and so, after draping his shoulders with a see through pink chiffon peignoir, he sat at his vanity and did his makeup, emphasizing his eyes by applying his violet Lancome eyeliner to the inner edge of his lower lid as well as taking long, thin lines out past the ends of his eyes on both the top and the bottom lids. He then applied three coats of thick violet mascara onto his long lashes and finished his lids with progressive shades of plum to pink; a quick dab of black pencil to the mole in the middle of his right cheek; some plum blush; and then he carefully outlined his lips well past his lip line with a dark, almost black, plum liner to make them as full as they could possibly be before finishing off with a rich, lustrous, frosted, plum-red lipstick and topping his luscious lips with a deep, lustrous gloss coat. He brushed out his now breast-length strawberry blonde hair and pinched his nipples hard to make them burn with pink color and stand erect. He pulled lightly at the large gold hoops that had been pushed through the nipples and felt the immediate alarm of pleasure rush to his cock. He rose and sauntered over to his walk-in closet and slowly picked out his uniform for the evening. He slipped on a pink satin, heavily boned corset that started just above his pubic hair and ended just below his fat nipples. He attached the drawstrings at the back to his cinching hooks and pulled away until he felt his waist constrict to less than 24". He reached back and tied the strings off then slipped on a wispy, see through pink thong, gently enfolding his large cock and hairless balls into its front vee. He never bothered "tucking" as so many other tgirls did because he understood that the reason his clients came to see him was the very fact he had a huge cock that still got hard and still pumped copious amounts of cream out when he orgasmed. He slipped into a pair of white, seamed stockings which he attached to the 6 frilly garters hanging off the bottom of the corset after he'd slipped them under the thong and then put on his thigh-high pink PVC boots with their 6"white heels and 2" white platforms. He loved these boots because of the way they laced up the entire front with white satin ribbons. His tits were forced up and out from the pressure of the corset top and he loved the way the golden hoops hung down over the top edge of the restrictive satin garment. He turned to work through the 20 feet of outfits hanging in his closet and lifted his pink PVC nurse's uniform off its hanger, slipped it onto his frame and buttoned up the front of it, leaving the bottom two buttons undone so it opened to expose his wispy panty covered cock as his thighs moved when he walked. Its bodice was scooped low enough so the tops of his nipples could be seen. He lifted his white PVC nurses cap onto blonde trussed head, pinned it in place and put on his white PVC shoulder length gloves. After a quick check in the mirror, he picked up his nurses bag and strode out to greet little Billy. As soon as he had established dominance over his client by hitting his hands with the crop and cuffing them behind his back, Jenn had put the collar and leash onto his neck and pulled him into the "hospital" room. Locking the leash to a wall hook, he uncuffed the Judge and told him to strip naked. Jenn loved this part of their sessions and always got his first enormous erection from the slow exposure of Bill's fabulously sexy body. Hard from working out, with a soft, thick "T" of hair rising from his pubes to his chest, Jenn gasped anew at the broadness of his muscled shoulders and chest, the flatness of his stomach and the sheer enormity of his blood-engorged tool. It had to be 9" of cut, pink, meat, satisfyingly thick so that it would make him feel "full" when he was being fucked up his rectum but not so huge that it would cause discomfort. Jenn started to get excited and raised his crop again so that it landed with a slap on his buttocks. "You perverted scum... What drives you to degrade yourself this way, you horny, sick, trannie chasing cock-hound? Can't get enough of sexy little Jennie's tits can you? You dream of running your fingers through my hair don't you? You probably think about me every time you help brush out your daughters' hair too, you sick, cock-hungry, "upright" citizen. But what you really need is this, isn't loverboy?" And once again he thrilled at the sight of a grown man standing nude in front of him, shaking with need, sweat breaking out all over his brow, cock fully erect and pumping up and down to the rhythm of his heart beat, groaning out his hunger and need as Jenn spread the two sides of his dress to fully expose his panty covered girlcock. Bill Stone couldn't stop shaking. He looked up into his Mistresses eyes and begged her to punish him for his sick desires and his overwhelming needs. Two hours and a huge enema followed by a long, sensuous butt-fuck later, after many sessions of spanking and whipping, binding and cuffing, humiliation and torment, after the Judge had shot one huge load of cum all over his chest and stomach which had crusted over while drying where it had been left, and Jenn had deposited his first enormous load of the evening up his colon, Jenn was still looking unruffled and immaculate in her PVC nurse's uniform. She was lying on a chaise lounge with her legs spread and in the air while Judge Stone was on his knees with his ankles tied together and his wrists bound behind his back, moving his salivating mouth from Jenn's 8" cock to his pink little asshole, alternating between blowing him and rimming him. All the while, Jenn was using his short cat to whip his back hard enough to sting but lightly enough not to break his skin. The sound alone of his groans and grunts of pain from the whipping he was receiving was taking Jenn almost over the edge so he pushed Judge Stone away and got to his feet. He didn't want to cum this way. He much preferred to be the object of his clients' frustrations and anger when he finally freed them after hours of sexually tormenting them. Jen could feel the tension and need to release rising in this little pain-slave. He was also feeling the incredible need that grew in him over the course of these sessions to be abused himself and shown how much pleasure can be derived from pain. He kept repeating in his low sexy voice the kinds of humiliations he knew Judge Stone needed to be driven to the height of sexual anger. "Cock hungry cum boy! Queer bait... Yeah huney, you love my cum dripping out of your ass, don't you big baby? Gonna take it all home to Momma so she can suck it out of you and feed it back to your hungry mouth?... She'd like that wouldn't she?... Cuz she's just a hot little cum whore... Or didn't you know?... Oh... Silly me... Did I spill something?... Wasn't I supposed to tell you about her afternoons whoring her hot little body on the streets for her crack money?... Didn't you know that Billybouy's wife is a crack whore?... Oh yeah, she loves sucking cock... She loves buying her rocks... She loves smoking them in darkened tenements and letting animal after animal take her in her ass and cunt and mouth... And oh lover-boy... You should see her fuck that great dane... Yeah... on her hands and knees... Legs spread... his 10 inch prick thrusting in and out of her pussy... and then after cumming the need for her to stay coupled so her pussy isn't ripped open by his knot..." "Or is my little baby gonna go into his daughter's rooms so he can watch them play with themselves for him while he jacks off? Huh, baby?... Is that what you like? Or maybe you need me to come to your chambers to relieve your needs every day... Oooooo, how much fun!!!!!! I could come out with you into the courtroom with your cum dripping off of my face and announce to them how relaxed you are and ready to hear their cases... And lift up my skirt to show them what you'll be thinking of while they're pleading for their lives... Yeah, babydoll... Wouldn't that be fun?... You fucking little pig... You are such a filthy worm, aren't you? A scum eating little worm. You no good, lousy, opium addict... You are such a sick, cock-hungry, cum slut... Hmm? Maybe we need to take a little drive and go down to the meat district so you can walk the streets to beg the gayboys to let you suck the thick, hot cum out of their cocks?... Doesn't that sound like fun? And I can be there to open their pants and jack them to full erection and stuff their tools into your mouth and whip your little pansy ass while you take them to heaven..." Jenn knew just when to reach down and undo his ankle and wrist binds so that he would stand up and slap him hard across the face and then pinch his nipples and pull his nipple rings till he was standing. Jenn loved it when the Judge got angry. He loved being taken over his knee and having his dress lifted up over his ass and feeling the hot, hard, bruising whacks of his hand coming down onto his up-turned ass. He loved having his asscheeks spread and feeling the long, hard thrusts of his client's fingers pushing in past his sphincter and opening up his ass in readiness of the huge, throbbing, cum-filled prick that would be following soon. He thrilled at being thrown down onto the floor and having the large bolster from the chaise tossed under his pelvis so his ass was thrusting up into the air. His cock would rise to its full height inside his thong as he felt the spit and lube being massaged into his asspussy and then he would nearly faint from the feel of his thong material being pulled aside and his lover's weight pushing down onto him until the pulpy, thick head of his cock had pushed in past his ring of muscle. He would thrill to the sound of his lover telling him what a dirty, filthy, cuntless, queer boygirl he was... That he was the lowest scum on earth, good only to be a receptacle of all the cum that men could give him... That he should be working the streets and fucking openly in the back alleys of Manhattan... That he should be a crack-smoking, heroin-shooting, drugged out, gutter girl... Doing porno movies in exchange for the drugs he obviously needed and wanted... "Here it comes, bitch whore... Daddy is shooting his stuff... Oh yeah, Jenn-the-jiz-queen... Billy has what you need... Oh baby... Come and get what Daddy has saved for his slut bitches asscunt..." The fucking never lasted long enough. The hard, ball-slapping thrusts of his client's lusting, hammering fucks would barely begin it seemed and the hard, stinging slaps of his hands brutalizing his upturned asscheeks would barely start to register in his sex-clouded brain before he would feel his love-pussy expand as the Judge's cock grew to its bursting point and then pulse with each hot gob of man-jiz pumping into his stretched rectal canal. He would lie there in his stupor as he felt the cock soften and pull out past his sphincter and the wetness of the head leave a trail on the inside of his asscrack. He would be paralyzed with satiated lust and sexual need and could do nothing other than lie there and listen as the Judge would get up, gather his things, get dressed and walk back out to the elevator to go home to his loving and unsuspecting wife. And while every time he left, Bill Stone hated himself for having come at all, let alone allowed this disgusting half woman, half man to say the vile and filthy things he had said or perform the vile and mind-numbingly filthy acts he had performed, he knew deep in his soul that within a day or two his insatiable desire, his unquenchable need would drive him right back. And Jenn would stay where he had left him on the floor, feeling his lover's cum slowly leak out of his ass and dry into a cold, crusty mess on his thighs and balls and pelvis until he would roll over and slip one of his stockings down and off his leg. He would then bunch it up and slide it down over his rock-hard cock until the spongy cockhead hit the toe. He would then slowly jack his girlcock through the silky softness of the stocking all the while reliving the physical and verbal abuse he had just suffered until he had to spew every last bit of sweet cum-custard out to be caught in the folds of his stocking and his mind would go over the edge into the void of oblivion that the evening's session and his cumming would induce in him.