This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are offended by fantasies involving sexually explicit material.

Comments welcome to bethjac@hotmail.com

A series of stories with TG themes, dedicated to women, and to men who like to be women (which includes me!)

 

D is for Delia - Vigilante Babe

by Bethany Jacques

 

It was after the third press article, the one about Samantha, that I felt compelled to act. Exactly how I wasn't at all sure. But that third attack had been so vicious, apparently, and more importantly I'd known the victim - vaguely. I'd spotted the name - Samantha Beresford, not a common name. And seeing her picture I realise it was the same little girl I'd lived next to a decade ago. She had been attacked. And raped. And killed. The 'Cumberland Street killer', the papers called him. Nasty bit of work, serial killer and rapist. And sweet little Samantha, she of the winning smile, such a lovely little girl. He'd raped her and killed her. Bastard!

I'd probably not have done anything about it except for the dates. That last article I'd seen had listed the dates of the three attacks. Now I don't want to knock the British police, they do a damn good job, but it surprised me that they seemed not to have made the link. A friend of mine who worked on the B. Post - a proper paper, that is, let me into some of the details, where and when and how and so on. All three attacks were in the same dark alley off the same street. All on Mondays. All at almost exactly 11.15 pm.

But it was the dates. OK, so I've a special interest here. I edited the local 'free-paper', you know the sort of thing, a minimum of editorial content and loads of cheap ads. And I noticed - well - it may have been a co-incidence, but I doubted it. The pub where the meeting took place was only about 100 yards from the end of Cumberland Street. And the meetings had taken place on all those Mondays. And - the clincher for me - the day one of the meetings had been cancelled, in the middle of that period, there hadn't been an attack.

But what to do? Ring up the cops and tell them? That was the obvious thing to do. Or maybe I should call 'Crime-tellers' - there was probably a reward, for information leading to ...I could make my name with this. Sure I could tell the cops and get in their good books. But would that really do me any good? Better to go for the money. Or the other possibility. Hell. Surely not. But at least that would be one way I'd be sure. The cops would be able to get their DNA sample, it would be easy for them. If I could do it, that is.

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"Are you sure about this, David?" Monica asked. "I mean, really, you do look great but it's a bit risky, isn't it? I mean, some of our clients wouldn't hesitate but you? I'd never have guessed."

"I'm sure."

And I was. I looked in the mirror for the final time, remembering what Monica had said to me the last time I'd been in the shop. OK, I'd only bought a pair of fishnets that time but we'd chatted for a while. When I'd been in the previous week for a 'Changeover' session she had said she thought I really could be convincing.

'But you'd have to go all the way, David, you know what I mean. The total tart look, heels and boobs and big hair and everything'

Which is what I'd done. It was necessary. From the inside out, all of me. The total hair-removal from my body, the stuck-on prosthetic pussy and big bulging boobs. And the rest, obscenely short and tight black p.v.c. mini-skirt with a skimpy see-through blouse and a wide white-gold belt, black seamed stockings of course and skyscraper stiletto heels. Made up to the eyeballs, a bit overdone maybe but I didn't care. What with the big bubbly platinum-blonde wig and the flashy over-the-top jewellery and two-inch long scarlet nails, I looked good. I looked fucking good. At least I hoped so.

"OK. Am I ready?"

"Ready? David, or rather Delia, you look ready for - well, you know what you look ready for. Tell, you what, you hang on ten minutes or so, I'd love to see my Bob's face when he sees you. And see the reaction in his trousers. Honestly David, sorry, Delia again, if you walk down Broad Street looking like that you'll have damn near every man in Brum cumming in his pants. Really. I'd say you're ready. But, come on, do tell me, what is all this in aid of? Or rather who?"

"Er - I'd rather not say. Not yet. I mean, Monica, thank you so much. You have done a really tremendous job. I do realise nearly every tranny would love to look like this, you've got me so close to my 'dream look. Anyway, Monica, you're closing in a few minutes. I'd better go."

So go I did. Out into the outside world. Me, for the very first time, being a woman. But not just that, a woman with a mission. I glimpsed my reflection in a the large shop window as I turned the corner to walk down the road towards my car. In a way I was sure so many TVs have admired themselves in shop windows in the past, I looked - in admiration really - at the long luscious legs, the big bouncing hair, the provocatively-clad figure. I felt wonderful.

I was careful walking along though, I had to be. Of course I'd worn high heels before, and tight short skirts. But always either at home or in the 'Changeover' shop, I'd never actually walked along the street dressed so sexily before. And never actually pretending to be a woman. I was a bit worried, I'd had to park almost 100 yards from the front of the shop. It seemed a very long walk, fortunately I never actually passed anyone on that occasion. I wondered if anyone noticed me from their front room, the houses are quite close to the path in that area. I had no doubt at all what they would think if they did. 'Tart. Slut. Prostitute. Hooker.' I looked like a woman of easy virtue as they say, a woman of the street. But that was necessary. I was a woman with a mission.

I had some time to kill, I had to be at the right place at just the right time. 11 o'clock, at the entrance to the long alley leading off Cumberland Street. But if I drove directly I'd be there in twenty minutes. I had over two hours to kill. I'd known that in advance of course, that I'd have to leave the shop just before eight. So I drove home.

I managed to get in quickly and carefully without any of the neighbours seeing. So I sat there in my darkening living room with a coffee and the crossword. I shook my shoes off, high heels are OK for a while but even I anticipated I'd have trouble if I tried to do everything in them for three hours or so. Strange, I'd managed the dressing, doing up all my tight buttons on my blouse, with no trouble despite my long scarlet fingernails. But I really couldn't hold my pen properly to fill in the clues. Not that I got many of them of course, my mind was elsewhere, on my mission like I said, on what I just had to achieve that night.

Just before ten-thirty I was ready. I put my high-heels on again, grabbed my handbag, and walked out to my car. And drove into town.

I parked on Cumberland Street, just opposite the alley. THE alley. Ten to eleven. I switched the radio on for a few minutes, trying to calm down. I knew what I was doing wasn't illegal. Ill-advised, certainly. Insane, probably. Some back-up in some way would be a good idea. But I just couldn't envisage anybody at all agreeing to what I was going to do, so I was on my own. I heard noises behind me and closed my car window quickly. I could see a dozen or so men coming out of the 'King's Arms'. I knew who they were, the group whose meeting I'd advertised in my paper most weeks for the past two months or so, they started just before the attacks began.

I dare say the 'Beatles Fan Club', or even a 'Stones Appreciation Society' might well have included a total nutter or so, but not many. Mostly boring old men, and maybe women too, not really dangerous. But the fans of that particular sixties rock group were a different kettle of fish. They'd always been very off-the-wall, not just kinky but strange with it. And I was sure any committed group of their fans mad enough to meet regularly to show their support of that particular foursome would include more than its fair share of total weirdoes.

They were even singing one of those damn songs as they walked along, I think it was 'Long and hard', full of gay or bi-sexual double-entendres. Some went past my car, some into the take-away about fifty yards in front of me. I waited until they'd all passed me, then got out of my car. I crossed the street quickly, trying not to become aroused by the sensual feeling caused by my nylons rubbing together as I walked. I stopped. I took a deep breath. And I began to walk down the alley.

I could see two or three men several yards in front of me. I could tell where they were from too, the out-of-tune rendering of 'Lady do it for me' were unmistakable. I slowed just a little. My heart was going nineteen to the dozen, maybe twenty, maybe more. I was nervous. I was scared. Then I saw someone in the shadows in front of me. That's why I was scared.

"Hello darling. Don't you look gorgeous, then?"

I stopped. 'What SHOULD I do?', I thought. I didn't mean to be safe, if I'd wanted to be safe I'd never have dressed like that or gone there in the first place. And I didn't mean to be convincing, I knew that Marion had done a great job on me, I'd even have passed pretty well in the daylight.

What I wanted was to convince him. Because from that moment, from the first sound of his voice, even before I'd seen him properly, I was sure. This was him. So now all I had to do was to convince him I was a suitable victim. He moved out of the shadows, quickly towards me. He had a knife! Yes! This was definitely him.

He pushed me, firmly but not roughly, against the wall along the side of the alley. "OK babe, I think you'll do very nicely. So just be a good girl and do as you're told." By now my heart was going thirty to the dozen. I had to stay calm.

"Please. Please don't hurt me!" I muttered, in as good a squeaky frightened female-ish tone as I could.

"Shut it!" he said loudly, though not so loud that anyone passing by on the main street would hear. "Now do as you're told and there won't be a problem!"

I felt something - cold and sharp - pressed against my neck. "OK, no sudden moves or this is as likely to go in as not."

"Please. Don't hurt me!" I muttered again. "Take my money. All of it, there's not much, it's in my bag."

"Money? It's not money I want right now, baby, it's you. And my, aren't you the gorgeous one. Great tits baby!"

I could feel his other hand, even through the prostheses I was wearing, as it moved up and played with my breasts, as he tugged at my blouse to reveal my voluptuous bosoms almost spilling out of my black under-wired half-cut bra.

"Wow, those are good un's" he growled, continuing and intensifying his mammary massaging. "I bet you have fun playing with them in bed at night!"

Fun? Well, yes. I was 'having fun'. Which is to say, despite the nullifying effect of the large silicone filled cups stuck over my own natural male 'breasts', I could feel what he was doing. And there was some sort of tactile excitement as I felt his hands pulling and pushing. But I realised it was in my own best interests to intensify my own reactions. Deliberately I shortened my breathing, inhaling and exhaling more forcefully and more quickly. And I thought a moan would be a good idea.

"Oooooh! OOOOOOOOH!"

"I knew you'd like that baby. OK, don't make a move honey, let's see what else we got here."

I could still feel the sharp steel resting against my neck. The fear had gone. I was now in control. His concentration was elsewhere now, I knew I could escape whenever I wanted. But, of course, I didn't want. I'd come here for a reason. I wanted, I NEEDED, to be raped. I mean, like many trannies, I think of myself living 'on the edge'. OK so we're not always there, certainly I'm not, but just sometimes. It's the double thrill of actually being a woman, passing as one, being treated as one, not just called 'Delia' in the TV shop but doing ordinary things, walking along the street, shopping for shoes and sexy lingerie, that sort of thing. And of maybe, just maybe being 'read', spotted, having someone looking at you and just wondering if you really ARE the sexy female slut you seem to be.

Well right then I was in exactly that situation. I was actually BEING a woman, not just shopping for lingerie but having my bra and my boobs fondled by a man indeed, it was such an exciting and slightly dangerous feeling. Slightly! Yes, the knife didn't worry me any more. I was in control. I knew that 'in one mighty bound' as Super-man would say - or rather Super-girl - I could grab his arm and twist, he'd be on the floor screaming with my stiletto on his face and the knife spilled some distance away. OK, so I've only got a blue belt in Judo but that's enough.

But I needed to move things along. My assailant's hands were beginning to roam, I felt him slide one of them up the short distance from the hem of my tight micro-skirt, up my thigh and towards my knickers. Now was the time to make my move. Not to disarm him, that would never do, he had to feel he was running the show.

"Please, tell me what you want. If it's not money...?"

"It's not fucking money, you bitch. It's you I want. Open your legs, come on, COME ON!"

"Ooooh PLEASE!"

"Now get my fucking cock out. Come on you fucking bitch. DO IT!"

"Ooooh YES!"

Which was something of an invitation on my part. The first indication I'd given that he might actually be giving me some pleasure. OK so I was never much of an actor, but as an actress I was determined to do my part, and to get what I wanted out of this. Which, initially at least, was exactly what he wanted. I wanted his cock. I made my move. I managed to get both my hands down to my sides and to slide one round his bum, giving in a squeeze and pulling him towards my own crotch. And with the other hand I grabbed the top of his zipper and pulled it down, very quickly slipping my hand into his pants and finding his erect member. He groaned In delight as I tugged it out and fondled it, the very first time I'd felt another man's penis. And not just any penis, I knew this cock had done the very worst thing possible. It had committed rape. More than once. I wanted to squeeze it, hard, to cause him pain, in fact to rip his cock off. But - I also wanted pleasure from it, before doing anything else.

"Oh BABY! Yes, that is SO good. I bet you fuck really well, I bet you get the guys screaming for more, streuth, that really does feel great." I kept on stroking it, feeling the heat, feeling it grow in my hand.

I spoke quietly, in a trembling little voice.

"Please, don't hurt me."

"Shut up, bitch. Stop snivelling."

He had to release his grip a little to manoeuvre himself into the right position, with his erect penis right up against the top of my legs. I was ready to grab and twist if the need arose, I was desperately hoping nobody would come down the alley and interrupt us. I knew damn well if that happened he'd just stab and run and I might not have time to take preventative action. I really was breathing heavily by then, the adrenalin was coursing through my blood-stream, I was so close to realising my dream.

I could feel his knob right next to my prosthetic pussy, I just hoped it was good enough to do its job. He was aroused, excited, a little drunk, not really able to feel what was really happening. I just hoped he wouldn't realise exactly where his cock was about to go.

"OK bitch. Now, talk dirty to me. VERY dirty. Beg for it, beg for my cock, beg for sex, come on, tell me what you want and you'd better be good. Tell me EXACTLY what you want."

"Please, don't hurt me."

"Stop it! Stop moaning you fucking cunt, come on, you know what I need. So DO IT!"

I paused, briefly. This was going to work. He was going to rape me. All I had to do now was make it the very best fuck he'd ever had in all his disgusting perverted life. I whimpered a little more, then moved my lips closer to his.

"You want to fuck me, baby?"

"Yes!"

My voice became just a little stronger, a little more confident, a little more sexy.

"You want to shove your cock in me, baby?"

"Yes!"

"You want your gorgeous big cock deep in my pussy?"

"Oh yes! YES!"

"You want to shove it hard up my cunt, baby, you want to shoot your cum deep up my cunt?"

"Oh yes! YES! YES!"

I put in an extra whimper, then reached down and took hold of his cock. And at the same time I leaned forward to gently, well, as gently and erotically as I could in that situation, slide my smooth red lips slowly across his, at the same time pushing my tongue between his lips. We kissed. I opened my lips more and began to tease his tongue with mine. I felt his erection stiffen and grow as our embrace became more amorous.

"Oh baby, you are good, you really are the tops."

I had to hurry now, I didn't want him to cum early, I sensed he was becoming so aroused that he might ejaculate prematurely.

"You want to shove it up my cunt now, darling?"

I was still trying to sound uncertain, to sound scared, it was becoming increasingly more difficult as we moved nearer to actually achieving my fantasy.

"Yes baby, come on, you need fucking!"

I felt the head of his cock moving round between my legs, I shifted a little as he pushed, and then - yes. Yes! YES! He was in me! His cock smoothly slid into the inviting hole. I'd done it! I'd got a real throbbing erect cock in my 'pussy'! Yes!

"Oh baby, come on, keep going, talk dirty some more, talk disgusting to me."

He was beginning to slide in and out, pushing me against the wall behind me, really getting into a rhythm, shoving and groaning as he went deeper up inside my arse. And me? Well I was having the time of my life. I was in heaven, waves of delight sweeping through my entire body from the tips of my red toenails to the very ends of my long blonde locks. I was shaking. I was trembling. I was trying to cope with the paroxysms of delight pulsing through every fibre of my body. I needed a pause so I just locked our lips again, French-kissing him long and hard, and digging my long red nails into his buttocks as he pumped into me.

"My darling!" I moaned into his ear as we briefly broke the clinch. "Come on, my lover, fuck me. Shove your cock deeper, oh, that is so good, you've got such a beautiful cock. Come on baby, fuck me. FUCK ME!"

I managed to get my hands up above his waist, I pulled and ripped his shirt, I scraped my nails over his hairy chest, this was even better than I'd ever imagined. Streuth, if this was what being shagged meant to a woman, bring it on, it was - literally - an orgasmic sensation.

"Come on my lover, harder, HARDER. Oh yes my lover, that feels so good, your big thick rod SO deep up my pussy, I love it, I LOVE IT! More baby, more."

And inevitably, he climaxed. My attacker, my rapist, my lover, climaxed. He began pumping his cum deep inside my arse. And I began on the roller-coaster of the most sensational orgasm I'd ever experienced in my entire life.

It started explosively, as the first jets of my lover's semen hit hard deep inside me. Inevitably I reacted, thrusting my crotch harder towards his invading cock. He just shoved me more violently, spurting his semen harder and deeper into me. It has never occurred to me just how hot it would be, I could feel the pressure as it pulsed deep up my arse but I could also feel the heat of his thrusting seeds. I gasped for breath, this was beyond my wildest dreams.

"Yes baby, shag me, harder, shove your cock deeper up my cunt. Yes, yes, fuck your sexy slut, fuck me, oh baby, fuck me."

He reacted violently. His rock-hard erect member slid finally oh-so deep up me, and I felt phase two - his crotch had been sensuously rubbing against my latex vagina, and it had excited my own hidden organ. Suddenly I reacted myself, jerking hard and strongly as his own prick kept on shooting his spunk up me.

"I'm cumming for you baby, oh that is so gorgeous, fuck me more baby, shoot your hot spunk so deep inside me. Oh Yes baby, yes!"

For maybe half a minute, it seemed so long, we were both in the throes of violent orgasms. Moaning, shouting, groaning as we each reached new heights of sexual nirvana. We must each have shot cum in a dozen or more strong pulses, each grabbing onto whatever bits of exposed flesh we could as our crotches meshed, as we each satisfied the other.

The knife was gone. As we wilted, shattered by the experiences, I knew that danger was no more. This guy was in no state to stab anybody, he hadn't the strength. He looked me in the eyes, his were glazing over. "That was the greatest fuck I've ever had in my life! Jeez baby, you are fucking sensational!"

I kissed him. I hugged him hard. That was his reward - for taking my cherry. He responded but not very forcefully, I really do think it had been too much for him. I took his hand and led him across the alley towards a pile of bags left there, and sat him down, he collapsed onto a heap. I was ready for the next phase.

Quickly I did up my buttons and adjusted my thong and my skirt. I took a deep breath to steady myself, I was rather shaken too. Not surprisingly. I began to walk quite rapidly back up the alley, kicking the knife back in his direction as I passed it. He didn't stir. He was out of it. Sated. And shagged.

Back on the main street I crossed over towards my car, then walked past it the ten yards to the phone box there. I dialled - 999.

"Hello - police....... Listen, the Cumberland Street rapist, he's in the alley next to the library, just down from the King's Arms. ... Yes .... Got that? ...... OK"

I put the phone down and skipped quickly back to my car. I waited - about half a minute. I saw in my rear-view mirror, a police car roared up and two coppers rushed out and ran down the alley. I couldn't hear clearly- obviously - but I could hear something was going on. Just a minute or so later, as two other police cars rolled up, I could see the two policemen who'd gone down the alley emerge pushing and pulling and shoving someone into the back of their car. When all the cops got together I knew it was time to make myself scarce. They had a job to do. I'd done mine. As I drove home, revelling in the warmish feeling deep inside me as my assailant's cum swirled round, I smiled.

Victim? Me? No way. I'd got exactly what I wanted, in every sense of the word. Vengeance was mine.

  

  

  

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