A Certain Perception

by Cherysse St. Claire

© 2004

 

Part 2

After more than a month of no sex with Kyra, I was getting nervous that she might be having second thoughts about the direction our relationship had been taking. A few more days passed and I decided to bring up the subject.

"Baby, iz sumpin' wrong?" I asked.

"No, why? What's up?" she replied.

"Well, iz jes tha' we hasn' ... you know ... for awhile," I stammered out.

She got this coy look and feigned ignorance, "We haven't what, Baby?"

"We hasn' had sex fo' weeks and I wuz worried y'all might be turned off or sumpin' like that."

I was nervous about what her response might be. She gave me a long passionate kiss gently massaging my clitty the way she used to do.

"Now, WHATEVER would make you think a thing like THAT? I ADORE the way you have turned out - and intend to prove it to you. You remember what this Friday is, don't you?"

"Fo' sho'. Iz our annivers'ry. We been t'gether one ho' year. Iz my birfday, too. I'll be a twen'-two-year-old bouncin' bimbo babe."

"You are so funny. No wonder I love you so much. Now, I'm gonna keep you away from the boys for the rest of the week. I want you really horny for Friday because I have a surprise for you."

I was getting aroused as she groped my ass and ran her tongue up the side of my neck.

"Wha's th' s'prise?"

She whispered, "If I told you that, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it? Just know it's going to be the wildest, most exciting experience of your life. Now, no partying at the clubs, no sneaking out to visit one or another of your 'boyfriends' - and no masturbating. Promise?"

I nodded in agreement.

By the time Friday came, I was so horny I couldn't stand it. Kyra dodged my questions all day, building the tension and relishing my ever-increasing anguish. Around 5:30 PM, she hustled me out to the car without the slightest warning.

"Let's go, Sweetie. You have an appointment at the salon at Six."

"What's th' rush? Th' salon closes at Eight on Fridays!"

She grinned cattily.

"Not tonight. This is the first part of your birthday surprise. Gayle is closing the salon early. She and the girls will be giving you a private "evening of beauty" to get you ready for what I have planned next. I'm so excited, I could burst!"

"But I's not dressed or nuthin'. I don' even has my purse."

She gave me the once-over, noting my long-sleeved, deeply-plunging, four-way stretch purple spandex micro-dress and matching calfskin pumps and smiled.

"Don't worry about it, Sugar. Everything you need for tonight is already waiting for you at the salon. All you have to do is show up."

I had managed to take a hit of X before she hustled me out to the car. I was rolling by the time she let me out.

"Have a good time, Sweetie. The girls already know what to do. I'll see you later. I can't wait!"

She kissed me warmly, then shooed me out of the car and pulled out into the evening traffic.

Gayle was hustling the last of her regular patrons out the door as I entered. She locked the door behind me, then lowered and closed the mini-blinds on the door and windows. Gayle, Dita, Rachel, and Consuela all sang "Happy Birthday" to me, offered a champagne toast to their "favorite slut", then hustled me onto a stylist's couch. I lay back in detached amusement as they went to work on me.

Consuela and Rachel re-did my fingernails and toenails, respectively. Dita spent almost three hours making up my face. She began by completely re-doing my eyelash implants. As she worked, I could tell my lashes were going to be even furrier than before. In the months since I began my lash treatments, I had been plagued by shedding lashes, requiring me to come back for fills one or two times a week - not that I minded being 'high maintenance'. The attractive cosmetologist assured me, although I could continue to be as 'high-maintenance' as I desired, the shedding problem was now a thing of the past.

"I'm using a brand-new polymer bond, Gigi. These lashes are guaranteed to last for six months! They will look so good with the makeup job I am giving you tonight. Your eyeliner seems to have faded a bit. Let's touch that up first."

The "touch-up" with her tattooing equipment lasted over an hour. She followed that with a session with brushes, powders and paints that lasted nearly as long. I was not allowed to see it, nor the work the other girls were doing. They wanted me to wait until they were done, so I could see the entire effect at once. "It's just like Extreme Makeover on television, Honey," Dita cooed. "In fact, it doesn't get any more EXTREME than this."

Gayle applied some kind of gel to areas of my bare scalp. Then, a new wig was fitted in place. From what I could see at the corners of my eyes, it was a shimmering Platinum Blonde. I could tell by the heft it was long, but I couldn't tell how long. It was permed, too; I could tell THAT by the way it swished and rustled when I moved my head. After a while, she gave it a firm tug; my head jerked, but the hair didn't budge. Gayle beamed her approval.

"Wait until you see it. It's gorgeous, just like you. I had it custom-made for you. I've attached it with the same bonding agent Dita uses. It won't come off until I take it off. Do you see how completely natural the hairline looks? No, of course you can't; not yet, anyway. But you will, soon enough. Baby, this is your own hair now, just as if it had been growing from your head all your life. Aren't you thrilled?"

My hairdresser hovered over my glittering tresses for a long time with a brush and styling comb, lifting, fluffing, shaping. Then, she set the whole of it in place with lots of sweet-smelling spray.

By that time, the anticipation was killing me. My mouth was dry, too; Ecstasy always makes me thirsty. Dita stepped into the back room while Gayle was working the final touches on my hair. She reappeared with a wine glass in her hand, winked, and offered it to me.

"I'll bet you're really parched about now. This will help."

I was so grateful! It was fruit juice, not champagne, but it was just right.

"Baby, you got no idea how much I needs this right now."

Dita just smirked a little.

"Yes I do. I've been there."

The four estheticians helped me up from the chair and stripped me naked. They confided that part of my surprise was a new outfit Kyra had selected especially for my birthday. My four attendants had been awaiting this moment all week. They couldn't wait to dress me for my 'big night'. The first article of clothing was a black patent leather corset. Dita slipped it around my torso, fastened the front busk and buckled the five buckling straps. Next, she had me brace myself against the wall and told me to suck in as she cinched me up tightly. She stepped back and admired her handiwork

"Wow, this is your best shape yet. Kyra had it custom-made for you. She told me they promised it would give you a twenty-inch waist. They weren't exaggerating. I love how it flares out your hips and ass, too."

The corset had heavy steel boning and heavily-underwired shelf cups that lifted my big boobs high and put them on prominent display. The ornate, interwoven design of the cups created a kind of peek-a-boo effect with my nipples and areola, rather than concealing them entirely.

Next came sheer, jet-black stockings with back seams and French heels. I lowered myself gingerly to the edge of the chair, bunched up one stocking into a nylon doughnut, slipped my right toe into it, then slowly, carefully, rolled the stocking up my right leg. I had to be careful with my new, longer talons. They would take some getting used to, but the girls helped me that first time and instructed me how to handle myself with my new crimson claws. The process was repeated for my left leg. I stood, checked and adjusted the stockings so the seams were arrow-straight, then fastened the stocking tops to the corset's garters. A tiny black patent buckling thong completed my lingerie. My tiny clit tucked snugly away without a trace of a bulge.

Gayle held a skirt open for me to step into. It was real patent leather, identical to the corset; heavy, and as black and shiny as polished obsidian. The back- well, there was no back. Instead, there were three pairs of black patent leather straps which began just below my tush and buckled horizontally, holding the skirt in place. The thong had been cleverly designed to appear part of the intricate series of buckling straps. The skirt was TIGHT. Even with the scanty expanse of material, it hobbled me to short, mincing steps. That caused me to sway my hips and tush even more. When laced, buckled and snapped in place, the corset and skirt looked like a single, continuous fetish garment. My breasts were mostly exposed. My tush was fully exposed. I might as well have been wearing nothing at all! As tight as it was, the heavy patent leather creaked seductively as I moved.

Raising each of my feet in turn, Rachel slipped a black patent sandal on the foot, then buckled the ankle strap. My sculptured toenails and golden toe rings were plainly visible through the reinforced toes of my stockings. The sandals had the thinnest, spikiest seven-inch stiletto heels I had ever seen, mated with two-inch platform soles. These were classic "fuck me" shoes, the kind I now lived for. I was breathless in anticipation that when Kyra saw me, she would immediately take me home, lay me back on the bed and ravish me.

The girls were not to be rushed. Jewelry came next. There were several pair of gold earrings for my multiple-pierce ears; small loops down the edge of my ears, ending in huge golden hoops in my ear lobes. There was a cascade of golden neck chains, a ton of bangle bracelets, rings on each of my fingers, and a single slender golden chain double-wrapped around my left ankle. As a finishing touch, Dita sprayed me liberally with Obsession.

Then, my four companions helped me to my feet and escorted me to the salon's full-length, three-way mirror to see myself in all my newly-minted glory. I was stunned speechless. My hair was, indeed, Platinum Blonde; a thick, full, fluffy, blowsy layered mane of very-80's big, loose curls, draping over my shoulder and down my back, almost to my waist. My fingernails were transformed into exquisite blood-red talons, two inches long from cuticle to tip, square-cut with gently-rounded corners, an equally-gentle downward curve, and lots of flashy gold nail art; slut nails. My toenails and gold toe rings perfectly complimented my new talons. My eyes glittered from deep within overdone dark shadow, furry lashes, and dramatically broad swaths of permanent eyeliner above and below that tapered into narrow points extending well beyond the outer corners. The hollows of my cheekbones glowered in a deep rose blush. My plush, beestung lips glistened in the same wet-looking deep crimson of my talons. The layers of gold costume jewelry added the right tawdry touch to a girl who was begging to be seen, lusted for, fucked. No self-respecting woman of any color or culture would be caught dead affecting the kind of extreme, over-the-top look I now presented; it was the exclusive province of sluts like me. It all just seemed so much sexier on my Ecstacy high. I was getting REALLY horny! Dita was the first to speak.

"Wow, you are soooo sexy. Gigi, you look really HOT! I think I'm jealous of Kyra. I wonder what she has in store for you?"

So did I. I expected her to be here by now, but there was no sign of her. Gayle might as well have been reading my mind.

"Kyra told me to tell you go to the corner of Sixth and Main and wait.

You will receive the next part of your birthday surprise there."

"But thas' fo' blocks from heah! I has no money fo' a cab. How's I git theah?"

Dita smiled coyly.

"We would LOVE to drop you, Sweetie, but we're all going out to Temptations tonight, and that's in the opposite direction. I guess you'll just have to WALK THE STREETS, Sugar. But that shouldn't be anything new for a slut like you, should it?"

This was getting more exciting by the minute. Dita helped me into a snug-fitting, waist-length black patent motorcycle-style jacket to ward off the evening chill. It perfectly complimented my black patent outfit. There wasn't a prayer of getting it zipped up over my titties, but the effect looked even more spectacular unzipped. Consuela had already packed my new purse with lipstick, lip brush, blusher, perfume. Since Kyra had hustled me out the door so quickly, I had nothing else to put in it; cash, credit cards, or even my I.D. Of course, I never showed my I.D. anymore. Who would believe I was 'Michael'? I only carried it out of habit - and in case I absolutely, positively had to show SOME kind of identification. Well, Kyra was certain to have noticed my purse lying on the table by the door and bring it with her when she picked me up. I gathered up my new purse, blew everyone an air kiss, then was out the door.

It was already Eleven o'clock. I couldn't believe my 'evening of beauty' had taken FIVE HOURS! Baby, did I EVER stop traffic on my way to Sixth and Main. I was completely caught up in myself and the moment as I click-click-clicked down the sidewalk towards my rendezvous with - who knew what? My big titties jiggled sweetly with each step. My full, rounded hips and tush smoothly undulated to and fro as though they were mounted on rails. I felt so good, so right. I wasn't a Bad Girl; I was THE Bad Girl, the baddest, sexiest, sleaziest slut to ever 'work it' on the streets of this town.

The streets were far from empty. Cars whizzed by in dizzying succession as their occupants hurried on their way to enjoy their Friday evening revelries. Horns honked at me and men whistled out their windows as they drove by. More than a few slowed and pulled over, motioning me to step over to the curb and talked to them. I smiled at them coyly, but responded I already had a 'date'.

I arrived at the corner, expecting to see our silver Mercedes waiting there. It wasn't. I looked up and down the street in vain. The flashy little Benz was nowhere in sight. I waited, pacing up and down the sidewalk, watching for her. A huge black Lincoln Navigator pulled up to the curb right in front of me. The passenger window rolled down noiselessly.

"Yo, Gigi, how ya doin'?"

I was startled at the sound of my own name coming from this unknown vehicle. I just had to strut over to the big SUV and check it out. The driver was a tall, impressively-muscled Black man with a shaven head and single gold stud in one ear. He was a hunk!

I flashed my sexiest, come-hither smile and my big titties.

"Yo Baby, 'sup? How you know my name?"

He grinned, flashing an impressive expanse of perfect white teeth.

"Ain't nuthin'. I'm Darius. Kyra aksed me to come git you. She said you wuz real fly, but I never 'spected this. Now, git in. We gotta git uptown fo' yo' s'prise."

Lost in the moment, I agreed without protest. That devious little hussy! She had set this up, knowing how much I would adore the perverse thrill of being picked up on the street, dressed as I was, as if I was 'workin' it'. My heart was pounding as I climbed up into the plush, cushioned leather seat. I closed the door with a resounding thunk. Darius pulled out into the night traffic. He reached over, put his right arm around me, and pulled me closer to him. I was thrilled. I could almost hear Kyra whispering in my ear.

"Give him whatever he wants, Baby. You know you want to."

I yielded to him willingly, sliding over and snuggling up against this big Black hunk. I was enjoying being his slut. Curiosity got the better of me.

"Hey, Baby, how you know my girlfren'?"

Darius smiled broadly.

"Oh, she 'n I go way back. We keep in touch from time t' time. She been tellin' me all 'bout you, sayin' you wuz one hot little bitch 'n just my type. She wuz right."

Way back? She's only been here a year. What's up with that?

The bright lights and wide boulevards were soon left behind.

Before long, we were driving uptown through a seedier neighborhood. There was still traffic on the street, but it was traveling much slower than downtown. The drivers were taking their time, checking out the sights, as a tourist would. There were people on the street, too, though they were definitely not tourists. Most of them were attractive, provocatively-dressed women - like me. They stood alone or in small groups, sauntered up and down the sidewalk, or leaned over the sill of a pulled-over car and chatted with the driver. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what they were about. For all my fantasizing, this was the first time in my life I had really, truly seen women like that with my own two eyes. Most of them appeared to recognize the big black Navigator and waived. A few spied me, smiled, and winked. My heart pounded. I turned to speak to my escort.

"Wher' we goin' Baby?"

Darius just smiled.

"Just sit back and enjoy the scenery, Baby Girl. We'll be there real quick."

I nodded. I didn't mind being patient a while longer. In truth, the 'scenery' could have been ripped from the pages of my fondest dream.

We arrived at a questionable looking hotel. He parked the truck in the lot next door and announced: "We's here, Sweet Thang. Let's go." We got out of the big Lincoln. Darius strode purposefully through the lobby, past the front desk, and directly to the elevator with me on his arm. We exited at the top floor and made our way down the corridor. He stopped before a door, produced a key and let us in. It was comfortable, I guess, but it wasn't exactly Disneyland. Then again, it was my 'Fantasyland'. There was a kitchen, dining area with table, separate living area with couch, coffee table, lamp and television. The carpet and draperies were nice enough and were at least freshly cleaned. There was a separate bedroom with large, functional-looking bed, dresser, closet and attached bath. On one side of the room, there was even a vanity table and jewelry armoire that closely resembled the ones in my bedroom at home. So much for exclusivity.... Even in my dreamy, drug-enhanced state, it looked to me like a slightly seedy residential hotel room.

My heart was pounding, actually causing my big titties to jiggle rhythmically. Scenes flashed through my head. The neighborhood. The girls on the street. Me, the way I was dressed and made up. Darius, that big, beautiful hunk of a man standing before me. Now, this cheap, sleazy hotel room. I happened to notice the only decoration on the coffee table was a large tube of K-Y jelly. This was just perfect, the fantasy that had inhabited the inner reaches of my mind for as long as I could remember. Kyra HAD to be here, somewhere. She couldn't possibly have gone to all the trouble of setting up this ultimate birthday surprise and not be there to share it with me. I imagined her hiding somewhere out of sight, perhaps in a closet or the other room. She would want to remove herself from the scene, of course, believing her presence would detract from the erotic tableau. Still, I could feel her presence, watching me, willing me to do what came naturally - at least, 'natural' for me now. Dressed as I was, feeling as randy as I did, I felt ready for anything. I let go completely, allowing all remaining thoughts of who I had been, where I had come to slip away. It was time to let the fantasy take over. This is going to be fun! Darius broke the ice - as if there was any 'ice' that needed breaking.

"You likes t' party, Sweetness? Girls like you always likes t' party."

"Yo, Baby, I luvs t' party. You all got any party favors?"

I had meant that huge bulge snaking its way down the inside of his pant leg. He took it to mean something else - at least, for now.

"You waits right here, Sugar. Makes yourself comf'table. I'll be right back."

Darius went into the kitchen for a moment. I removed my jacket and laid it over the living room chair. He glanced at me. I smiled, spread my feet slightly, placed one hand delicately on my hip, and flashed him a much better view of 'the goods'. I winked, flashing my best come-hither smile. He grinned back. He returned, carrying a smallish tray in both hands. As he approached, I settled delicately on the sofa, slowly crossing one leg over the other with the delicious, prolonged audible rasp of stocking-on-stocking.

Darius sat next to me and placed the tray on the table between us. It was a mirrored tray with a pile of white powder slightly to one side. He took a single-edged razor blade and began drawing out some of the powder into a series of parallel lines, four in all. I was amazed. I had seen this in the movies and on television. 'Michael' had never been tempted to try it. Now, in this place, under these circumstances.... After almost six hours, I was beginning to come down from the X. My stash was in my purse - my old purse, along with everything else. I wanted to keep the feeling going - and the temptation was right in front of me. I knew what Kyra would want her 'bad girl' to do. This one time wouldn't hurt anything, would it?

My companion rolled up a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. Mimicking the scenes I had viewed on the big and small screens, I accepted the improvised 'straw', leaned over, held it to one nostril, inhaled two lines, then switched and did the other two in my other nostril. For effect, I daintily tapped the edges of my nostrils with an elegantly manicured pinkie nail. My nose felt tingly, then a little numb. My head - oh, wow.... My 'caterer' gently pushed my legs apart. At the same time, his other hand began fondling my massive mammaries. I spread my legs wide and thrust out my chest, allowing his probing hands free access. At the same time, I began massaging the monstrous meat imprisoned inside his slacks. I could tell we were on the same wavelength and transmitted that fact to him with a low moan and knowing glance.

"Ya know, Baby Girl, bitches like you makes a lot of money just being nice to men the way I know you like to do. A guy like me has friends, contacts, men who's always lookin' for a good time."

He glanced at the tray on the table.

"There's perks, too. Lots and lots of perks."

It was almost as if the words had come from Kyra's lips, not his. I knew she had put Darius up to this. For this little stage play, he was to be my 'pimp' and... boyfriend? Wherever she was watching from, I knew she had to be enjoying every moment of it as much as I. Well, Darius had his role to play and so did I. I wuz gonna make this good!

"Baby, you know what a ho' like me wants. I wan' cock. I wan' be used. I wan' be FUCKED! I wan' take care of bus'ness. I wan' men t' pay me to suck their cocks and fuck 'em. I's gots what all the boys want. You think so, don't you, Mistah Darius?"

He nodded smugly.

"But what about you 'n Kyra?"

"Fuck Kyra! That bitch ain't even laid a hand on me in o'er a month. Can you believe dat? Besides, she ain't even here! I's here. I belongs here. Check out these goods. You want a piece o' dis, don' you Mistah Darius? Don' you think the other boys will, too? I's the ho' here, not Miss 'My Shit Don' Stink' Kyra. Thas all I wan'. Thas all I ever wan'. You down with dat, ain't choo, Mistah Darius? You wan' me t' be the ho' I wuz meant t' be, don' choo?"

He beamed.

"Whatever you say, Sweetness."

Just then there was a loud knock at the door. I heard him mutter under his breath.

"Oh yeah, right on time, Baby Girl. Here we go."

He went to the door and opened it. I heard voices but sat dazed, not even turning my head in my dreamy stupor. My head was spinning. I felt so high - and so horny! Darius reappeared in front of me. There were other men, too. My 'boyfriend' grinned broadly.

"Here she is, just like Kyra promised. Ain't she a sight? The bitch is well-trained, too. She says she WANTS it. Let's give it to her real good. Kyra says she likes that."

I was in a surreal dreamland, relaxed and very aroused. I felt hands all over my body. The tray was removed and I was bent over the table. Fingers probed my tits and ass. One slippery finger invaded my shemale pussy, once, twice, three times, getting it good and slick with generous globs of lube. I let out an involuntary moan like the eager slut I was. I heard someone say, "C'mon bust that white ass!" I felt pressure, then something big - really big - thrust into my ass. I arched my back and let out a whimper. A long, slow push forced every inch into me. I felt it bottom out and the tingle of pubic hair against my asscheeks. I clamped down hard on the large intruder with my rectal muscles and heard a man's voice.

"Son-of-a-bitch! This cunt is milkin' my dick wit her ass muscles. You likes dat, don' choo, Bitch?"

I felt a hard slap on my ass and responded by wiggling my butt around.

The next memory I have was straddling a muscular black man. I think it was Darius, but things were a little fuzzy just then. I was bouncing up and down on his long cock. He pounded my ass hard. I had never had that much inside of me before - and it was real, too. Just then, another hard cock was rubbed across my lips. I opened wide and sucked it down greedily, like a kid with a lollipop. I couldn't have stopped even if I wanted to - and I sure didn't want to. The rest of the night was a kaleidoscopic whirl of surreal images: big Black men with big Black cocks, taking me again and again and again. There were images of me doing more lines of coke, too. I dozed off as the first rays of light peeked between the buildings outside the living room window....

I woke up alone, in bed, with a splitting headache body ache, and chills. My cell phone was on the bedside table. I hadn't remembered seeing it there the night before, but there wasn't much I DID remember. I staggered to the bathroom and perched myself gingerly on the toilet. After a long pee, I discovered a note taped to the mirror above the sink. It was from Kyra.

I hope last night was as good for you as it was for me. The best is yet to come. Your clothes are in the closet and your makeup is in your vanity. Get cleaned up, do your face and hair like the slut you are, get dressed, then give me a call when you are ready. Be sure to wear something HOT!

I KNEW she had been watching from somewhere! I remembered brief flashes of the night before. I clearly remembered surrendering myself to cock, cock, and more cock - and overwhelming pleasures of the flesh. I felt more submissive than I had ever felt before in my life - and a thirst for more. It looked like Kyra had 'more' in mind. This wasn't going to be a single-night birthday surprise, after all. After a night like THAT, I couldn't imagine what she would come up with next.

My head really hurt. I was thirsty, too. There wasn't any aspirin in the bathroom, so I went to the kitchen to find... something, anything. There was juice in the fridge. There was no aspirin, but Kyra had thoughtfully left my bottle of Demerol. I had never taken one for a headache, but pain was pain, ya know? I popped one, then chased it with a glass of juice. The juice was cold and tasted good.

It would take a while for the painkiller to kick in - if it was going to help at all. I needed something NOW. I glanced towards the living room and noticed the tray of cocaine was still there, though somewhat depleted from the night before. I wonder.... I drew out a couple of lines as I had seen Darius do, then snorted them. Oh, yeah, that did it! Feeling much better, I returned to the bathroom.

I followed Kyra's instructions explicitly. I douched to clean my shemale pussy out. Then I showered, brushed my teeth, and gargled with mouthwash. There was a second tube of K-Y and self-stick pantyliners in the cabinet under the sink. Actually, there were several jumbo-sized tubes of the slippery lubricant. Had she bought a case for my birthday? Just what DID she have in mind? I lubed my love nest thoroughly because it felt like the right thing to do. I tucked, then pressed a pantyliner in place to hold everything in. Then, I returned to the bedroom to begin the long, loving process of making myself beautiful.

Kyra hadn't been kidding when she said my clothes were in the closet. It appeared my entire wardrobe of slutwear was hanging there, awaiting me. All my lingerie, corsets, and stockings were neatly folded in the drawers of my dresser. My shoes were arranged in racks. My boots all hung neatly on hangers. The vanity table and jewelry armoire I had thought resembled mine WERE mine. Every bit of my makeup and all my jewelry were at my disposal. My wife had gone to an extraordinary amount of trouble to make my birthday memorable. 'Overkill' would be an understatement. I would have to change outfits over two dozen times to wear everything that was hanging there. Was this all to create the right atmosphere to make my fantasy seem all the more real? Would Darius and his friends be willing to help us move all of it home again?

I was still learning to deal with my new, longer talons. This time, I would have to paint and dress alone. It was awkward at first, but I was inspired and learned quickly. The permanent makeup helped a lot. I didn't need that much, but I took my time; I wanted to make it PERFECT. When the job was complete, my practiced eye decided I looked just as trampish as with Dita's handiwork, if not more so. The pain pill had long since kicked in on top of the cocaine. Everything was in soft-focus, kinda dreamy. I laced myself into a red satin corset with black lace insets and borders, reducing my torso to the wasp-wasted elegance that looked so good on my physique. I rolled sheer, jet-black stockings up my slender legs, adjusted them to make sure the back seams were arrow-straight, then fastened the tops to the corset's eight garters. I eased the ruffled red satin thong panty up my legs and positioned it over my hips, making certain everything was tucked in just so.

I slipped into a deep red satin minidress with long, off-the-shoulder sleeves and plunging neckline, front and back. This dress was really tight. It hobbled me to a twelve-inch gate and revealed more than it concealed. The matching red patent sandals had open toes, ankle straps, and six-inch stiletto heels. I donned gaudy, eye-catching red lacquered pendant earrings, matching beaded necklace and oversized wrist bangles to accessorize. I double-wrapped that same single slender gold chain around my dainty left ankle. I had some trouble manipulating the spring clasp with my talons, but it was something I had to learn. I got it eventually, and my outfit was complete. Some generous spritzes of Obsession, a final fluff of my hair, and I was DONE, Baby! If this was what my sweetheart wanted, I couldn't be happier. Still, I wondered how today could possibly match the thrill of the night before. I perched delicately on the edge of the bed and speed-dialed home from my cell phone.

"Good morning, Baby! Are you dressed and made up really slutty for me today?"

"Like I'm workin' it out on th' boulevard. You'd be proud o' me."

"Oh, I am proud of you, Baby! So, how are you this morning?"

"Wonderful. I had a headache 'n chills earlier, but I found sumpin' t' take care o' it."

"I'll bet you did. Now, tell me all about last night."

"But you was here, watchin', wasn't you?"

"Of course I was, Sweetie. I want to hear about it in your own words.

It seems so much more intimate that way."

I related everything I remembered about the night before. There was one question I had to ask.

"How many was there?"

"Baby, you took on five well-hung Black men last night. Not a single one of them was less than nine inches. I personally made certain of that. You know what they say: once you go Black, you can never go back. How do you feel now? Sore, or what?"

"No, not sore at all. I guess you done a good job o' breakin' me in. At th' time, it was a high I ain't never felt b'fo' - even wit' yo'. I 'member feelin' well-fucked when they wuz done wit' me. Now, I feel kinda dreamy - and horny again."

"Things go better with Coke, huh? It's OK, Baby; I know you are doing drugs with them. It's all part of the EXPERIENCE. In fact, why don't you do a couple more lines right now? Just take the phone with you and describe it to me step by step. It will be like we are doing it together - like we have done everything together since we met."

I kept talking to her as I sashayed into the living room. I relayed the process of drawing the coke into lines, describing the rush it had given me the night before.

"Did you like it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"How many lines did you do last night?"

"Fo' at fust. I thin' I did mo' later, but I cain' be sho'."

"Then do four now."

"Now?"

"Yes, Baby. I want you to share the experience with me again, just the way you experienced it last night. Tell me when you are ready."

I drew out the additional lines.

"Ready."

"OK, do them."

I inhaled deeply, doing two lines in each nostril, then tapping each with my pinkie to make sure I got every crystal, just as the night before.

"Verry nice, Sugar. Isn't that sensation EXQUISITE? All us working girls know that feeling. It's kind of a 'rite of passage' for us. There is only one more little step to go to make your fantasy complete."

"Wha's tha'?"

"Why, you have to go out and DATE of course!"

"Date? Yo' mean, turn tricks - fo' money? Like a pros'tute?"

"That's EXACTLY what I mean. That is what all of this has been about, right? This is Saturday morning - oops, well, afternoon now. The room is paid up until check-out time Monday morning. For the rest of the weekend, you ARE a prostitute, just like you have always fantasized about. Just think of me as your 'Madam'. Now, I want you to sashay that gorgeous ass of yours out on the street and turn tricks for me. You will charge fifty dollars for a blowjob and one... no, TWO hundred dollars for a fuck. A girl who looks as good as you can get that easy. When I see you Monday morning, you will pay me twenty-five hundred dollars for the privilege of workin' it for me. After all, I went through a lot of effort setting you up as a hooker. If you don't have the money for me when I arrive, I may just have to keep you out there until you do. Of course, that would mean renting the room for another day - or more - and that much more expense for YOU."

I gulped.

"I'm a... hooker? Can I do tha'?"

"Sugar, you are GOING to do that. You know you want to. You have always wanted to. Every moment of your life, everything you have struggled for and endured in the past year, has been leading to this moment. You are in EXACTLY the right place, too. Look out your window."

I did. In broad daylight, there were at least a half-dozen brazenly-dressed girls strutting their stuff on the street - just as they had been the night before when I had first arrived. As overdressed as I felt for daytime, I would still fit right in with that group. I watched as one chatted with a man in a car, then got in. They drove away right before my eyes.

"Oh, my God!"

"That's right, Sugar. That neighborhood is notorious as THE place to go in this city to pick up a working girl. Even with all that competition, a gorgeous blue-eyed blonde with big tits and ass can pretty much write her own ticket - unless someone else is writing it for her. Face it; you are located smack dab in the middle of Hooker Central - exactly where a slut like you BELONGS. Now, no more talk. Hustle your sweet ass down on that street and make me some money!"

I remembered that girl, that... hooker getting into the car and driving away - to have sex with a complete stranger for money. The image in my head blurred a bit, then refocused. Suddenly, it was ME in that car, me accepting his money, me going down on him in some deserted alley - or bending over, exposing my sweet shemale cunt to his throbbing fuck pipe. I shivered - in pure, wanton lust.

Riding down in that elevator, strutting across the foyer, stepping out onto that street, head held high, stiletto-clad feet tapping "click-click-click" down the sidewalk, was the most profound thrill in a seemingly endless string of thrills that had punctuated this latest, best year of my life. I didn't care what other people would think when they saw me. I KNEW I looked DAMN GOOD. I KNEW no man would be able to resist me. I KNEW, at long last, I had ARRIVED! There were no words to describe the overwhelming gratitude I felt for my beautiful wife, who had made my dream come true!

The other bitches were wary of me at first, protective of their 'turf'. It was just like my experiences in the dance clubs. I knew how to approach them, what to say, how to say it, how to blend in. As Kyra had predicted, my easy familiarity with their language was disarming. My connection with Darius was the key that flung the door wide open. In no time, it was like we had been ho'in' together all our lives. I hadn't realized how many of those gorgeous girls I had seen the night before were T-Girls like me. More to the point, they were all DARIUS's girls. He and his crew ran all the action in this part of town. The girls each paid him a percentage of 'the take' for the privilege of workin' the 'hood, unmolested by cops or other thugs.

The next two days were a nonstop orgy of cock and coke. I hardly ate. I slept but a few hours Sunday morning, after Dawn, when the dates had returned to their homes to sleep it off. Dating was one long, sustained thrill ride. As I expected, the men couldn't keep their eyes - or hands - off me. Between Midnight Saturday and Three AM Sunday, I was spending more time in cars than struttin' my stuff on the sidewalk. I raised my prices to discourage the 'tourists' and give myself a breather. They paid it. I raised my prices again. They were willing to pay THAT. Darius checked up on me every couple of hours. He filled me up with his huge cock, taking his pleasure - and mine. I think he wanted me to know that no matter how many men I dated, he would always be the biggest and best. There was no danger of me ever losing sight of THAT. His mammoth manhood felt so good, so right, buried to the hilt inside my love nest. He kept me well-supplied with Blow, too. Darius made sure I stayed on a nice, sustained high all weekend. He gave be a beautiful present; an ornate silver vial with screw-on lid. The lid had a small, long-stemmed silver spoon built into it. That way, I could carry my Blow with me in my purse, instead of having to rush back to my room between dates for my next hit.

When he showed up Sunday evening, Kyra was with him. I was more surprised than upset.

"I - I wasn't 'spectin' you 'til t'morra. I don' has all th' money yet."

"Give me what you have, Sugar."

My girlfriend collected the money I had made. I was about $500 short. I knew I could make THAT Sunday night, easy. Kyra just smirked at me, tsk-tsking and shaking her head with distain. Instead of putting the money in her purse, she turned and handed it to Darius.

"A promise made is a promise kept. You were good to me, good for me.

Thank you - for EVERYTHING."

I thought she was thanking him for helping her set up my perfect fantasy weekend. Considering the amount I had just handed her, it seemed like a pretty outrageous 'tip' for two days. Whatever.... I was really enjoying all of this. We sat down on the couch - them on either side, me in the middle. Kyra winked and smiled approvingly as I did more lines of coke, then snuggled up with my muscular boyfriend. Then we watched two videos.

The first was a compilation of candid footage chronicling my entire transformation, starting with my earliest attempts at dressing up and makeup, through my surgeries, trips to the salon and tattoo parlor, everything up to and including my exit from the beauty salon Friday evening. There was nothing left to the imagination, no doubt whatsoever who "Gigi" had begun life as. The only thing missing - carefully edited out - was Kyra's guiding hand in my metamorphosis. Instead, reaction shots of her were craftily edited in. She appeared unsure, upset, but putting on a brave face. The overall impression was, this wasn't something she had wanted to do; she had done it to please me. She really was a good actress. If I hadn't been there, I would have believed her.

The second tape included my arrival at the hotel, my 'deflowering' at the hands of Darius and his crew, plus footage of me all day Saturday and Sunday. There had to have been video cameras hidden in every room of the apartment. There I was, popping pills, doing endless lines of coke and being fucked by the amazingly-endowed Darius. There were also scenes of me in my hotel bedroom, sucking and fucking men, accompanied by every whine, moan, and shriek. I was most astonished to see the outdoor footage. They - whoever "they" were, had taped me clandestinely as I stood on the corner, conversing with the other working girls and soliciting my dates. There was even a soundtrack, with me asking the tricks if they were dating, and offering them a "real good time" for the price I had judged them to be good for. I dimly remembered the two phrases "zoom lens" and "parabolic microphone".

I realized Kyra had bankrolled a really first-class professional surveillance to record my entire debauchment for posterity. They caught a good shot of me climbing into a convertible, accepting money from a date, then going down on him and making him come in my mouth. The camera had zoomed in to capture my face clearly, leaving no doubt it was me. There were several 'money shots'; cum shooting all over my face, oozing out around a fat cock stuffed in my ass - and me obviously loving every second of it. There were other 'money shots', too - of me accepting the money up front, like the good little whore I had become. I certainly enjoyed watching all our 'home movies', reliving the highlights of the most eventful year of my life. I was greatful Kyra had gone to the trouble and expense of recording it all. When the time came for 'Michael' to return, it would be wonderful to have this souvenir to remember the most exciting time of my life.

I was flying high and very giggly as we watched. Darius had his hands all over me - and I was encouraging his advances. He was really turned on by the whole scene; the videos, me sitting right up in his business, and Kyra watching it all. Finally, he just pushed up my skirt, ripped away my panties, lifted me bodily off my tush, onto his lap and impaled my cunt on his raging fuckpole. I rode that man-meat like a bitch in heat, wimpering, moaning, and crying out with reckless abandon, oblivious to everything but his pleasure and my own. When he flooded me with his cum, my orgasm went off like a Roman candle, engulfing me with explosion after explosion. Kyra snickered impolitely.

" And you asked: 'Can I do that?' That looks like a pretty good imitation of a whore to me. Are you lovin' it as much as I am, Baby? This is all a real turn-on for me."

How could I argue otherwise? This was way beyond anything in my fantasy, yet it was better than anything I could have dreamed. I searched in vain for the words to express my gratitude to her. She spoke first, startling me with her words.

"Baby, I've been thinking. You are obviously having the time of your life. I'm really happy about that. In fact, this has all worked out so well, I think we will just continue this little... arrangement. Yes, I really like the idea of that."

"Y'all mean, 'til I's can make up th' other money? I's can do that t'nite!"

Kyra pursed her lips, smiled, and slowly shook her head.

"No Sugar. I meant PERMANENTLY. You won't mind if I just... GIVE you to Darius, will you? It wouldn't take any effort to get you moved in; all your clothes, makeup, jewelry and furniture essentials are already HERE. It's not as though you don't 'fit in'. I mean, you are the perfect little ghetto ho' now. Just look at you. You are so plastic-looking from all your surgery. Then, there is the makeup and hair, the scandalous outfits you wear, not to mention all the tattoos and piercings. Your mind and mouth are in the gutter. You are thoroughly, shamelessly hooked on drugs and sex. You are exactly his type of woman now - and he is exactly your type of man. Don't try to deny it; I have just seen the look of ecstasy on your face while he is fucking you. Actually, I have known all along....

Sweetie, I have a little confession to make. You see, I'm not really from out of town. I have lived here all of my life, just like you. Of course, I never enjoyed the kind of wealth and status you were born into. When I met you online, I lived right here, in this room. It kind of makes me nostalgic to see the old place again. I have known Darius since I began hooking seven years ago. Yes, I was one of his girls, just like you are now. He was, has always been, really good to me. I REALLY owe him. But I could never give him what he really likes. Darius needs to POSESS his girls totally. I have always been my own person and won't submit to any man that way. Without meaning any disrespect to him, I have always wanted, DESERVED more from Life than all this. Finally, he came to respect me for that. Then, you came along and made 'more' possible. You dropped tantalizing little hints in the chat room. It wasn't so much what you said as the way you said it that led me to believe you came from Money. When you finally told me your name, I went down to the library and looked you up in Forbes. Was I ever thrilled to find out you were loaded - and single! I made up my mind, right then and there; the only slut that was going to get her hooks into you was ME!

When the time came, Darius was really nice about letting me go - and helping me snare you. He had originally hooked me up with a computer and Internet access. When the time came, he helped me pack, then drove me to the airport - so I could be there, waiting for you when you arrived. In return, all he made me do was promise to find a girl to take my place - HIS type of girl. I didn't know how I was going to make that happen, but I knew, somehow, I would. You know me; I ALWAYS keep my promises. I was even entertaining random thoughts about you being that girl. You see, Darius LOVES T-girls; the sleazier, more outrageously-proportioned the slut, the better. When I first saw your picture, I said to myself: 'You know Kyra, I can just see dear, sweet Michael with boobs and buns, made up like a little whore, poured into some super-sexy next-to-nothing little slip of a dress, getting fucked six ways to Sunday - and loving it. It was just an idle thought, but....

I thought I had died and gone to Heaven when I experienced your world for the first time. Every day was a new experience in what Life is supposed to be all about. I felt I had come Home - to the home I SHOULD have been born into. AND you were incredibly kinky. AND you knew how to eat me to one mind-blowing orgasm after another, all night long. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. I really DID love you, you know.

Then you dropped YOUR little bombshell about always having dreamed of experiencing the very life I had just escaped. I know this sounds really petty of me, but I lost respect for you at that moment. How could anyone possibly consider giving up all of THAT to be a slut? At the same time, I felt I had just been handed the answer to my prayers. Thank you, God! So, I promised to help you. I have to admit, I felt REALLY GUILTY at first. You had been so good to me, so good FOR me. All the while, I knew I was preparing you, getting you ready to be whored out to Darius to fulfill my promise to him. I kept telling myself it was what you really wanted. I told you the honest truth about one thing, though; the farther we went, the more pronounced the changes became in you, the more I really WAS getting into the whole idea of you as a wanton little whore and Darius's personal fucktoy. You were just SO PERFECT.

I recognized right away that you were very weak-willed, susceptible to suggestion. That is exactly the kind of dependent personality that is ripe to become the kind of submissive slut Darius craves. You see, he has this darling little way of keeping his bitches in line. He likes to get them hooked on cocaine and that great big cock of his, so they can't even DREAM of leaving him. I don't do drugs myself, - that was another reason I was not the right girl for Darius - but I always thought it was so amusing to see that glazed look of utter surrender in the other girls' eyes; surrender to the drugs and Darius' man-meat.

I can't believe how willingly you allowed me to slip you into a life of chemical and psychological dependency. You couldn't wait to undergo the hypnotherapy, could you? After Sheila Crane implanted your 'triggers', it was child's play to digitally sample her induction lead-in and record new disks even SHE didn't know about - disks that did a whole lot more than just teach you 'Street Speak'. I changed the WAY you think, Baby. I broke down twenty-one years of high-class education and social conditioning, reducing you to the intellectual level of those drop-out bimbos you admired so much.

Then I introduced you to OXY to relieve the pain in your feet. You found out right away it was also a really nice 'mood-enhancer'. You began taking more and more of it because your nightly 'training sessions' taught you to love the high. After your surgery, I made sure you were pumped full of Demerol; dose after dose, day after day. I kept you right on the edge, Sugar, just like sex; just enough to keep you in Dreamland without pushing you off - for that long, long fall. I was saving THAT for later. And all that time, I was in your ear, in your HEAD, via the conditioning disks. I was in your PUSSY, too. Every moment of every day, I was right there, comforting you, encouraging you, convincing you it was all right to LIVE FOR being fucked and being high.

Those aches, chills, and tremors you felt later were the first little symptoms of withdrawl. You COULD have kicked it, gotten clean, but I offered you a chance to stay high and like a good little junkie, you took it. By this weekend, I had you ready for your 'coming-out party'. You graduated to a full-fledged COKE WHORE as naturally as you please, without so much as a whimper. All I had to do was TELL YOU to do it."

She gently cupped my chin and gazed intently into my vacant, glazed-over eyes, a satisfied expression on her face.

"Oh, yes, I think we have broken down your higher intellectual processes quite nicely. You have The Look now, Sweetie. Darius OWNS you, body and soul - and after only two days. That must be some kind of record. With your oh-so-willing cooperation, I have now fulfilled my promises to BOTH of you. Darius adores my little 'gift' and says my debt to him is paid in full. He will take good care of you - as long as you are nice to him and give him what he wants."

"But I thou' we wuz gonna go home 'n fuck ourseves stupid?"

She smiled at me coyly.

"Oh, I think you are fucking yourself stupid RIGHT HERE, Baby Girl. Why ruin a good thing? Besides, it would be... awkward to have you dating out of our home."

"But I wudn'...."

"Yes, you WOULD. You will do EXACTLY that from now on. I insist. If you refuse, I will just have to send copies of these videos to your parents, our neighbors, all your old friends, maybe even post it on the Internet. Imagine yourself as the next Pamela Anderson or Paris Hilton. Of course, those girls would curl up and DIE if anyone saw them doing the kinds of things you do every day. It's an election year; maybe some do-gooder in City Government might decide to make an example of you - to further his chances for re-election. No, Gigi; one way or another, you are now the whore you have always dreamed of being. I have put in too much time, effort, and money turning you into the ultimate fucktoy to let you go back to your old life now. I wouldn't want to break my promise to Darius - or you. Besides, it's too late for you to go back, even if you wanted to. You would never be able to pass as a man again. You wouldn't even remember HOW. You certainly don't know how to do anything but suck and fuck anymore. Besides THAT..."

She grinned evilly.

"...you don't have the BALLS for it. Literally."

She glanced around the room.

"You wanted me to help you get inside a slut's head, experience her world, her thoughts, her desires, didn't you? Well, here you are, Sugar - living her life. Now, it is YOUR life. This is YOUR world now. This is what you are; a cumslut, coke whore, fucktoy. You look, sound, and act like you BELONG here, much more than I ever did. I am so happy for you. I'm happy for me, too. For the first time in my life, I have a comfortable home, money, friends, a real man who adores me, and can live my life as I see fit - and I owe it all to you."

"A real man?"

"Oh, did I forget to tell you? It's Bruce - Doctor Jensen. Did you REALLY believe all this time I spent all those nights in school? Bruce and I have been having an affair since we first met."

"My plas'ic surgeon?"

"That's right, Sweetie, but he is MY plastic surgeon, too. Now, he is MINE, period. Of course, I won't ever tell him about my past. As far as he is concerned, I'm just a beautiful, sexy socialite who got in over her head in a really bad relationship. I convinced him you were a real 'head case'. When I told him about your kinky desires and that you had given us a way he and I could finally be together, he jumped at the chance to help. That's why I can't have you around anymore. It's not that he doesn't like the way you turned out, or feels threatened by you; far from it. I mean, he is a MAN, isn't he? How could he not be attracted to a slut like you? I just don't want the... competition until I have that ring on my finger. After that, who knows? Maybe I will have you over for a threesome. It will be my wedding present to him."

"But thas MY house!"

Her smile was pure saccharine.

"Not anymore. Remember all those consent forms you signed before your surgery? There sure were a lot of them, weren't there? About half of them were our divorce papers. You very generously left me the estate, the bank accounts, the car, the trust fund, EVERYTHING. It's all in my name now."

"But I din't know wha' I wuz signin'. Th' courts wudn' never let it stand."

"Of course they will. Your signature is there for all to see - and I have witnesses to attest to your signing without duress. You have made all of this SO EASY for me. I told you in the beginning not to tell anyone what we were planning to do. Like a good little puppy, you didn't. Now, you can't. Everyone in town who has seen you in the past nine months PERCEIVES you to be a whore. You enthusiastically HELPED me reinforce that perception wherever we went. Better than that, YOU perceive YOURSELF to be that whore. It just doesn't get any more 'real' than that. Enjoy it, Sugar. Please don't make trouble over this. You would lose - and I would HATE for your family, friends, everyone to see these tapes. I really, really would.

As it is, I don't see how I can avoid showing them to your parents. After all, they haven't seen you in a long time. They are going to want to know what happened to you. I already have the script down cold. There I will be, tearfully describing to them how you had 'weirded out', begun cross-dressing, transforming your appearance, body, and psyche, sinking deeper and deeper into the depths of depravity, until - well, they will see for themselves. I will avow you made me record it all, and... 'well, I just couldn't keep the secret any longer.' You know how much they adore me - and how convincing I can be. Who do you think they will believe?"

She pointed at the images on the television screen. Her grin was not to be denied. I might have put up a fight - if I hadn't been zoned out on a two-day cocaine binge. I didn't care. Why should I? None of that mattered to a slut like me. Kyra read all of that in my dull, glazed eyes. She smiled and gently stroked my cheek.

"It really DOESN'T mean anything to you anymore, does it, Gigi? See? It's all for the best. We each got what we really wanted in life. Don't even TRY to tell me you aren't thrilled with all this. I know you too well."

I couldn't, and she knew it. She kissed me tenderly and stood.

"I have to go, Baby. Bruce is waiting for me at home - OUR home. He helped me move your things here Friday night, while you were at the salon getting ready for Darius and his crew. I taped that note to the mirror in the bathroom while I was here, figuring you would be too busy all night to notice it. When Bruce and I were done here, we moved HIS things into your closet and dressers. You can't imagine how turned on I was, fucking Bruce all weekend and knowing you were getting fucked by Darius, his crew, and all those dates. Bruce was INSIDE ME when you called Saturday morning. I could barely keep the emotion out of my voice. He was thrusting all ten inches of his cock into me while I was talking to you.

It was all I could do to tear myself away from him to come here tonight, but I wanted to say good-bye in person. I felt I owed you that much. You can never be a MAN again; I've seen to that. But if you will be cool about all this and don't make trouble, I will take your fantasy all the way. Then, you will be able to fuck men the way a slut like you is supposed to fuck. Oh, by the way, feel free to stop in the salon as often as you like. I will be keeping an open account for you. Consider that one final 'perk' for being such a good little slut. The girls at the salon have already expressed their desire to keep you looking your sluttish best - and hearing all about your 'dates'. They have really gotten into the whole thing, too. Bye-bye, Sweetie. Have fun!"

That was...let's see, about a year ago. I'm still at the hotel. I mean, where else would I want to be? Kyra is really happy with her home, boyfriend, and life of leisure. It is all so far removed from the streets where she hustled - where I now do. We haven't kept in touch; she doesn't want to. In fact, she changed their phone number. Bruce hasn't asked her to marry him yet. I wonder if she's worried? I don't really dwell on it anymore. I kept my pledge not to make trouble for her. In return, she granted me my final fantasy; an all-expense-paid trip to Bangkok for my SRS. I now have a tight, juicy pussy with which I fuck my tricks the way a slut should.

The 'mones filled me out even more. Corseted, I now measure 44-20-38. I'm staying 'Gigi', though; 'Aich-Aich' sounds like something they would name a Panda at the zoo. Of course, corseting is a must with my heavy titties - unless I want to wear something REALLY revealing when I date. I take Kyra up on her OTHER offer, too. I go to the beauty salon almost every day. I adore being a high-maintenance whore. The girls at the salon are always glad to see me. There are certain things we agree not to talk about; Kyra, Bruce, and how I came to be what I am. We talk instead about the men I have dated, the bizarre, kinky places and ways I have had sex, and what is going on in their own lives. They are extra-special nice to me.

Dita is a little slut in her own right, though I haven't convinced her yet to come out and 'work it' with me sometime. I will. She's weakening - and I can be VERY pursuasive. That's something else I have learned on the streets. We agreed upon a look that is right for me all the time. Baby, it is DRAMA, personified. She has filled it in with her tattoing needle. Now, I just need to touch up a little every morning with a mascara wand and lip gloss and I am good to go. My hair, makeup and two-inch talons are always PERFECT. That leaves me that much more time to do the things I REALLY enjoy.

Darius is now my 'husband'. He got me a really good fake I.D. - as Gigi - to replace Michael's. I kept the old one in my vanity drawer as a souvenir. Just the other day, I noticed it had expired - never to be renewed. I shed no tears over the severance of that one last, tiny tie to my old life. I date most nights, get all the cock I crave - with my husband's blessing. It really turns him on to brag his wife is "the sexiest, sluttiest damn ho' in the city." He loves to take me out and show me off - and makes good money pimping my ass to the many men who are attracted to me. Most of the time, I do the ho' stroll with his other bitches. They have been my girlfriends since I first came out. We party together regularly, as well as socialize on the street in between dates. They are so jealous of me for having my pretty titties, tush, and pussy. They should be. Eat your hearts out, Bitches!

Do I miss it all, my former life? Not really. After getting over the initial shock, I have adapted quite well to my new lifestyle. Kyra was right; this WAS my fantasy in the first place. That she stripped me of my REALITY and replaced it with this one does not diminish the power it now has over me. I have everything I have ever really desired. And if I ever need a 'nip and tuck', Bruce has promised he will be at my disposal.

How do I know - and that he hasn't asked her to marry him yet? He told me. I never said I hadn't kept in contact - close, personal contact - with HIM. Kyra doesn't want to tell him about her past? That was HER mistake. You see, dear, sweet Brucie has a KINKY SIDE. He picked me up one Thursday night. It was my first night back on the street after my SRS. I was still REALLY TIGHT then - and REALLY HORNY from weeks of no sex. I knew Darius had been getting it on with one of his other girls while I was recovering. That had me steaming.

Bruce was out cruisin' the 'hood for a date - a very SPECIAL date

and recognized me right away. It turns out the poor boy has had a major Jones for me for a while. At first, his involvement was just as Kyra had told me. She confided her plan to him; she was playing on my fantasy and transforming me into a REAL whore to get me out of the way so the two of them could be together - and would he help? Just for her?

 

Brucie had fantasies of his own. I remember sitting in his office and him telling me he was "fascinated" with my case. He told me the rest that first night he picked me up, sitting in his car with my hand gently caressing his naked, angry Jones. What he hadn't been able to tell me then was his attraction to hookers - the nastier, the better. He hadn't really considered a T-GIRL hooker before, but after all my surgeries, and seeing the way I had turned out, and seeing me in action on Kyra's videos....

He would have followed up on his "fascination" much sooner - if Kyra had not been watching him like a hawk. Of course, she wouldn't even DREAM of telling him how to get in touch with me. True, he knew where the hotel was and figured I would still be there, but he didn't dare contact Darius. He knew I 'dated'; Kyra couldn't stop gloating over how she had turned me out as a common ghetto ho', good only for sucking and fucking. She didn't know how much she was turning him on - to ME. Finally, he realized the only way he was going to 'scratch his itch' was to come find me - and date me. "There is just something SO EROTIC about girls like you," he told me that night.

'Girls like me'? Whatever. Honey, you don't have to tell me twice. I came on to him SO NICE, got him SO hot and bothered. He felt SO GOOD in my tight, wet, cunt. Did he EVER cream my pussy! Brucie told me it was the best $300 he had ever spent. There is something deliciously depraved about fucking a cheating 'husband' with a pussy his cheating 'wife' has just paid for! He has been a 'regular'ever since. As Kyra said, he's just a man - and men have NEEDS. I satisfy HIS very nicely - the ones he won't admit to his girlfriend. He fears she would never understand his desire to be with a 'a girl like me', as he put it, and that she would find some insidious way to take it out on him. Of course, I confirmed his fears. After all, just look what she did to ME (snicker!). I promised him this would just be "our little secret".

We've talked. You know; REALLY talked. I don't do that with dates; after all, they're just dates. But this one.... I hate to say this, but Bruce really is a nice guy. It turns out he was not COMPLETELY on board with Miss Kyra's Master Plan. He was glad I had gotten clean while recovering from my SRS. It's mostly true. I still do a little Blow with the girls or to keep up appearances with Darius, but nowhere near what I was doing before. I AM completely off pain-killers. That was the part of Kyra's scheme he genuinely despised. He hadn't proposed to her because of it. If she was capable of THAT, what else was she capable of?

Now, hearing the rest of the story from my side, he is having second thoughts about their entire relationship. He doesn't NEED her money. With his practice, he can write his own ticket anytime he chooses. The damndest thing is, he is causing ME to have second thoughts, too; not about what I am, but who I am with. Let's face it;

Darius is just a thug with a big dick. There are other crews out there who are always looking for ways to take over his turf. Ours is a high-risk lifestyle - and shit happens. Besides, he hasn't been faithful to me; why should I be faithful to him? Bruce and I aren't making any immediate plans to get a place together, but being his 'kept woman' might not be so bad. He can afford it. Who knows? If he is as kinky as I think, he MAY want me to keep on dating - just to have me tell him every juicy detail while he is pumping that great, big cock of his in and out of me. I have been dropping hints, teasing him; if he ever gets tired of his scheming, two-faced, rich-bitch society pussy.... He's weakening - and I can be VERY pursuasive.

Darius and the streets are still my reality, but I'm keeping my options open with Kyra's 'real man' every Tuesday and Thursday night. I wonder if he tells her he is taking a night class?

  

  

  

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