Kandi's Descent

by Pansy lovelace

 

Gary sat on the edge of his bed and absent-mindedly picked at the short hem of his red, silk kimono. "Decisions, decisions", he muttered to himself, crossing his right leg over his left and dropping his hands to his sides, instinctively turning them outwards as they rested on the quilt.

He pursed his lips and frowned as he looked at the two pairs of shoes on the polished wooden floor in front of him. Gary hated to make decisions. He was a natural prevaricator who liked to leave his options open until the very last moment, and inevitably regretted his final choice as soon as it was made. He was far more comfortable when somebody made them for him.

He tried to concentrate, and focused on the white pair of strappy sandals. He'd bought them from one of the cheap and nasty shoe shops in the Arndale market. They had a clear, Perspex wedge sole and a towering white stiletto heel. Made in shiny PVC, with a wide white strap across the bridge of the foot and a narrower one that wound around the heel to fasten in a broad cuff around his ankle, the heels didn't just say "fuck me". They said, "fuck me roughly over the bonnet of your Citroen Saxo, and invite your friends". Having spent a small fortune on sunbed sessions to get a golden tan on his slender legs, Gary had already made the decision to wear a skirt that did them justice. He'd laid out a tiny, pleated, a-line number in pale blue denim, with a fringe of flirty pink tulle peeping out from under the short hem like a petticoat. If he wore the white stilettos, he'd wear a cropped white top to show off his flat little tummy. He knew that he'd look the part, but self-doubt nagged him. "How long do you think it'll be before you go arse over tit?" he mused. His frown deepening, Gary crossed his legs again, and found himself distracted by the fresh, pink enamel on his toenails. "Foxy", he whispered, smiling to himself and giving his toes a playful wiggle. Reluctantly, he returned his attention to the shoe dilemma, tilting his head to one side as he appraised the other option. His favourite pink boots slouched next to the window. Gary had bought them when he'd been feeling flush on a trip down Neal Street in London. Soft pink suede to mid calf, with a slender, 3 and a ½ inch spike heel. They were trendy, sexy and with the extra support they provided his ankles, made him feel every inch the confident young honey. The young man visualised himself sashaying through the city centre in the boots and felt his little cock try to stir in its little restrainer under the kimono. Alluring as that vision was to him, he wondered whether it met the brief, which called for him to "look like the street-walking piece of faggot trash that you clearly are".

Ignoring the part of his brain that said "safety first", he picked up the pink boots and put them back in their box before stowing them in the bottom of the wardrobe. "In for a penny, in for a pound" he stated happily as he closed the cupboard door, turned and crouched to pick up the white "fuck me" sandals.

Gary had already enjoyed a long, hot bath scented with lavender perfumed oil. His legs and torso had been waxed and moisturised and he had thoroughly shaved his face and armpits and tended to his trim pubic bush. He removed the crimson robe and stood in front of the mirror appraising his slight, hairless body. He pinched the tiny "love handles" on his hips between long pink fingernails and frowned. Gary despaired of losing those last, stubborn, defacing bits of fat, although at least they were on his hips and ass rather than his stomach. He tried not to worry about them, rationalising that they gave him a more feminine figure, but he still hated them and moved from one diet and exercise programme to another in a forlorn effort to shed the final pound.

Glancing anxiously at the clock on the bedside table, Gary stirred himself and set about getting dressed. In line with the email he'd received from the man he was due to meet later that night, he'd chosen his most sleazy underwear: a pink PVC g-string and matching quarter cup bra. He stepped into the panties and pulled them up snugly before crouching to tuck away his small, restrained cock and balls. The testicles were the tricky bit. He gently pushed them up into his body and secured the loose skin with a tight bungee, preventing anything from falling back out. It wasn't particularly comfortable, but he found that it worked. Standing up, he fastened the plain, shiny bra before pushing in his "chicken fillets"; a pair of flesh coloured, C-cup breast forms. The bra would show through the tight white top that he planned to wear, but that would just add to the look he wanted to achieve.

Gary's sense of excitement and fear was building. His stomach was full of butterflies as he stepped into the tiny skirt and fastened it around his skinny waist. He next picked up the tiny, white scrap of lycra that was his top. It looked like it was designed for a child, it seemed so small, but once he had squeezed it carefully over his head and thin arms, it fit him like a very tight glove. The top had cap sleeves and a turtleneck to cover his small Adam's Apple and it made the very most of his slim, tanned upper body. Gary smiled at himself in the full-length mirror, appreciating the progress that he'd made over the months and years since he'd first started to experiment. He didn't look at all bad. His figure was the equal in shape and size to many girls of his age, his body was completely smooth, his hair was already long and cut in a spiky, asymmetric, "boy-band" style that was just about passable for an effeminate young man at work, but looked much better when it was teased out, tweaked and full of hairspray for his girly weekend look, as it was now. He'd even waxed the edges of his eyebrows down to a clean curve so that they didn't give him away. Gary was under no illusion that he looked completely convincing. He still had real life to live and he was conscious not to make a fool of himself at work. Not that he mattered a great deal; just a very small cog in a big wheel. But he didn't want to draw attention to himself and, tempting as it was on a Friday night to have his ears pierced, a couple of girly tattoos and the skinniest, waxed-out eyebrows, he didn't fancy the ridicule, piss-taking and basic aggravation that would create with his colleagues and boss in the call centre. It meant that Gary had to be careful when going out in his skirts and heels in the daytime, but he knew that he looked easily good enough to pass most inspections after dark and he was brimming with confidence as he minced into the bathroom to put on his make-up for tonight's assignment.

After wrapping a clear plastic cape around his shoulders and tucking it into the neck of his white top, he went quickly to work; his nimble fingers showing the economy of effort that came with many hours of practise. He had already cleansed, toned and moisturised and went about applying the minimum amount of foundation that he thought possible. Gary's skin was in good condition and foundation often seemed to make him feel like he was wearing an uncomfortable mask. He concentrated on his chin and the areas down the side of his nose. Gary considered his nose his worst feature. He had high, pronounced cheekbones, pouting lips and a soft jaw line, but his nose was a little on the thick side. He tried to resolve this with some strategically placed touché-eclat, which lightened the skin along the side of his nose and made it look narrower. This was his biggest make-up extravagance but combined with an effort to tense the muscles in his nostrils, it gave his face the shape and proportion that made him more confident, and Gary considered it well worth the expense.

He applied clear mascara in smooth strokes to his lashes, fretting as usual at the thinness of his lower lash. He next picked up an eyeliner pencil and gently used the tip along his lash line from the outside of the eye inward, before blending it in a little with a Q-tip. He dabbed some clear lip-gloss onto his fingertip and patted it onto the eyeliner to create the smoky eye look that he liked for nights out. He then took a deep purple shade of powder and softly applied it to his eyelids, concentrating the effort on the outer edges of the eye and then filled in the centre of the lid with a paler lavender shade. Gary knew that his cheekbones were a real strong point and he made sure to do a good job of blushing them, using a slightly darker shade than usual for the whorish look that his evening assignment called for. Gary had quite dark, full lips, and usually relied on gloss more than colour, but he knew that he needed to lay it on a little thick tonight, so he used a bold plum colour, concentrating on filling his smaller top lip to balance with the fuller bottom lip. He finished his lips with a liberal coating of gloss to create that glamorous, pouting ready-to-blow look that men seemed to love. Going over his face to touch up any loose ends he found himself chuckling at the slightly over the top look he'd created. "You look like Natasha fucking Karpinski, my boy", he said to himself, recalling the well-turned-out newsreader on BBC Breakfast that morning. Shielding his eyes, Gary sprayed hairspray over his spiky coiffure for a few seconds and teased a few of the strands into position. He looked in the mirror and, vanity satisfied, went back to the bedroom to complete his preparations.

Resuming his seat on the edge of his bed, Gary slid his left foot into its sandal and began to fasten the ankle strap. His breathing became shorter and quicker and he started to feel light-headed with excitement. This was when it all came together and he slipped fully into persona of "Kandi", his eager to please, sluttish, female alter ego. Something about being strapped into a shoe like this, perched up on the ridiculously high, sharp heel with his pink-tipped toes peeking out made Gary feel vulnerable, exhibited, weak and submissive. As he strapped on the other shoe and stood, Gary felt his calves and buttocks tense and hips lift out and back. His imprisoned cock cried out for release, his eyes narrowed and his lips slightly parted. Gary looked at Kandi in the mirror and liked what he saw. She was a sexy looking piece of cheap meat, ready to be sold, used and abused. There was an ambiguity about the way that he looked, but no clear clues as to Kandi's real gender. From the fuck-me pumps to the frilly hem of his tiny skirt, just covering his pert ass, there stretched an eye-catching length of tanned, slender leg. Similarly well toned, bronzed skin extended from the waistband of the skirt, past his taut navel to show his bottom ribs before his white top, clinging to every feminine curve, covered the skin to his exquisitely painted face and trendy hair do.

"Nearly finished now", he told himself in a low, husky voice, before he corrected himself and repeated the words, smiling, in the high, girly voice that came so easily to him.

Kandi checked his white patent handbag for his "travel kit" and noted that it contained a pack of extra strength condoms and a small tube of KY, a pack of tissues and a small atomiser of perfume. He added his eye make-up, lip colour and lip-gloss, a house key and a little roll of cash.

Hearing a car horn outside the window, he peered through the curtains and saw that his taxi had arrived. He waved back cheerfully to the driver and hurried to get his stuff together. He squeezed his slender wrists into some white and pink resin bangles that he'd bought specifically from Jane's Accessories for the night. Looking in the mirror, he attached a pair of big, silvery clip-on hoops to his lobes. Kandi felt ready to fuck anything that moved or had a pulse. A thought crossed his mind. He stopped, pursed his lips in consideration, and crossed the room to a small chest, from which he removed a slender butt plug. It was not big enough to be really uncomfortable, but big enough for him to be conscious of it in every step he took, or second that he sat down. Kandi spread some lube on his fingers and, raising his skirt and pulling his g-string to one side, greased his little pussy. He spread more lube on the butt plug before crouching and easing the white plastic mushroom into his ass. Kandi stood and re-arranged himself before rubbing his thighs together a few times to get the plug comfortable. Ignoring the honk from the taxi horn outside, he dried his fingers on a towel and picked up his pink, faux fur, cropped bomber jacket. He dropped his all-important mobile phone into the inside pocket and sashayed confidently from the flat, pausing to lock the door and hiding the spare key under the carpet down the hall. Slipping the short coat over his shoulders, he paused on the doorstep, a wave of fear and uncertainty overtaking him. Kandi was well used to these moments of doubt and fear. They were such an important part of the thrill of his nocturnal lifestyle. He enjoyed the fear for a moment before stepping briskly to the taxi and climbing into the back seat behind the driver.

"Sorry about that love", he told the driver in his soft voice, "Sheffield Street please".

"Sheffield Street, sweetheart?" The driver croaked in a broad Mancunian accent.

"Yes please love. Sheffield Street, behind Piccadilly"?

"Yeah, I know where it is sweetheart", he said. "Working tonight are we"? He added in a cynical voice, turning his rear view mirror so that he could look at his passenger as he drove away from the kerb.

Kandi looked back at his flabby, stubbly face and their eyes met. "Something like that, love" he replied in a playful tone, with one eyebrow slightly raised.

Kandi hoped that the taxi driver would leave him alone. "The last thing I need is some fucking lecture from this old prick" he thought to himself and, turning to watch the dark streets as the car moved towards the city centre, he resolved to say nothing and enjoy the feelings and sensations that coursed through his body. His cocky reply to the taxi driver was at odds with the anxiety and second thoughts that raced through his mind and contributed to the hollow feel in his stomach. "I hope you know what you're fucking doing, sunshine", he thought to himself. Kandi spent many evenings out and about and fantasised regularly about being used as a whore. He dressed like one, walked like one and had often behaved like one. On lucky nights, it could be a furtive rendezvous with an Internet contact in a shady lay bye or park, where Kandi would beg to be spanked or abused or forced down onto his knees to be rewarded with a hot cum facial. Other times he'd just dress to please and go for a walk, loving the feeling of nakedness that went with being picked out in a car's headlights, and the quiver of excitement as the car slowed down to check him out as he minced along the pavement in theatrical style. But tonight was different. He'd only been down Sheffield Street in his car and had enjoyed the voyeuristic pleasure of watching the street girls ply their trade. It was a mean and dangerous street and every rational impulse in his brain told him that it was not a good place for a middle class boy in a mini skirt to be in the early hours of Saturday morning. The fantasies of being fucked-over by a bunch of street scallies on a piece of waste ground currently seemed too realistic and likely. Kandi considered turning the taxi round, but he was drawn to the danger and potential for self-destruction like a moth to the flames. He needed this. Pushing the boundaries, testing himself, seeing how far and how low he was prepared to go was Gary's drug, and the fear that he felt was matched by the "high" building inside him.

Every sense seemed to be heightened and every nerve ending on edge. The shape that his feet were forced into by the showgirl's shoes, the smooth glide of one thigh over the other as he crossed his naked legs, the prickly feel of the cheap car seat covers on the back of his bare thigh, the butt plug a blunt, intrusive presence in his ass, the tickle of a stiff, sprayed lick of hair on his eyelid and the scratchy noise of his long, plastic finger nail as he brushed it away all served to remind him that here he was, dressed like a cheap young whore, going blindly into a meeting with a man about whom Kandi knew nothing, other than that the man liked to dominate, humiliate and sexually abuse transvestites. There was nothing to beat the giddy excitement and fear that he felt as he prepared to put his safety and freedom in the hands of somebody he had no reason to trust.

The old Vauxhall turned off Great Ancoats Street into Store Street, passing the shuttered fronts of clothing wholesalers in Manchester's rag trade area. Kandi's phone began to ring in his bag and he nervously fumbled at the clasp with his long nails, before pulling the phone out and checking the number. The young cross dresser paused and drew breath before answering. He had hoped not to have to talk to his man until he was out of the taxi.

"Hello?" He said, his voice slightly uncertain.

"Hello. Who's that?" replied a slightly aggressive male voice.

"Erm, it's Kandi," the boy said, noticing that the taxi driver had picked up on the tone of the exchange and was now taking an interest.

"Well next time you answer the fucking phone, why don't you say so, you silly bitch!" snapped the man.

"I'm, I'm sorry Sir. I'll make sure that it doesn't happen again", he stammered.

"It had better not, sweetheart" he heard, and then, in a lighter tone, "so where are you?"

"I'm in a taxi, just turning off Store Street into Sheffield Street".

"What, no "Sir" any more? I'm disappointed to hear that you're already showing me a lack of respect, Kandi. What's the matter, faggot? Embarrassed that the taxi driver's going to find out your little secret?"

"Erm, no Sir. Sorry, I", Kandi began, before the man cut him short.

"Tell the taxi driver to stop outside the NCP carpark behind the station. The multi storey", he instructed. "Tell him now".

Kandi lowered the phone and looked up. The driver was paying close attention to the conversation. Not half so cocky or confident now, and dropping his eyes from contact, Kandi asked "Could you stop outside the multi storey carpark behind the station, please?"

"Of course I can", replied the fat driver, before adding with a satisfied smirk "Kandi".

The transvestite put the phone back to his ear and began to speak, when he was interrupted again.

"Very good, slut. You're getting the hang of this. I tell you what to do, and you do as you're fucking told, OK?" the man told him, menacingly.

"Yes Sir", replied the young man, squirming nervously in the seat as he saw the carpark come in to view.

"Keep that in mind, and you'll do just fine", the man stated, ominously. "Right, tell me what you're wearing tonight, my little fairy, so that I'll recognise you when you get out of the taxi".

Kandi couldn't understand why he was so uncomfortable speaking in front of the taxi driver, but he always felt nervous around men who weren't in the scene, in a way that he didn't about women. He shut his eyes, took a deep breath and began to speak.

"I'm wearing a pink jacket, a white top, a denim mini skirt and white shoes, Sir", he said, quietly, with his purple lips very close to the phone.

"What kind of shoes, slut?" the man asked.

"Strappy sandals, with stiletto heels Sir", Kandi murmured, wincing as the taxi driver chuckled as he pulled the car over to the kerb.

The driver's laughter seemed to trigger something in Kandi's head. At first he was angry and ashamed, but as he wondered why he was getting pissed, he began to feel more comfortable. "This is the whole fucking point of the exercise, isn't it?" he thought to himself, deciding that having a fat old twat of a taxi driver laugh at him was just the kind of humiliation he'd come looking for.

"Very cute", came the voice in his ear. "Any stockings?"

Suddenly feeling turned on by his telephone humiliation rather than nervous, Kandi spoke more confidently into the phone.

"No Sir, no stockings" he purred, making sure he caught the driver's eye in the rear view mirror. "I thought that they'd only get laddered when I kneel down to suck your cock, Sir".

The taxi driver's eyes went wide and his face turned to one of disgust rather than scorn. Kandi smiled as he heard the voice in his ear say, "We're going to get along just fine, faggot. Now get out of the car and start walking down the pavement, away from the station".

"Yes Sir, Thank you Sir" Kandi replied in his gentle voice. He looked at the meter and saw that it read £4.70. He took out a fiver from his purse and handed it to the driver over his shoulder.

"Keep the change, sweetheart" he told the driver cheerfully as he opened the car door. Kandi locked his knees and ankles together and swivelled round on his bum until his feet touched the pavement. He paused to savour the cool air blowing around his thighs and up his skirt, looked each way along the pavement to see if it was safe to exit, and lifted himself out of the taxi to stand facing the entrance to the carpark. Kandi swung the door shut behind him and turned to start walking, oblivious of the taxi driving away as he focused his attention on ensuring a sexy sashay in the killer heels. "Heel to toe. Heel to toe", he repeated to himself in his head as he set off slowly, in no hurry to get anywhere or twist his ankle. Now into the rhythm, Kandi relaxed his hips to get his butt moving in an enticing, circular motion. After a few more steps, he felt more confident and began to look around, allowing his feet to look after themselves. His breathing became slower and deeper and he began to chill out. "This is Manchester, not Baghdad, sweetheart", he told himself. The fact that he hadn't yet been mugged, arrested or accosted by a pimp came as a surprise and a relief. The fact that the thought had occurred to him made the young man feel absurd.

Kandi hadn't noticed in the cab, but there were already a couple of girls taking their stations under the lampposts. He could only make out one girl clearly, with her greasy hair and pale spotty face, milk bottle, stick legs and shoes that looked two sizes too big for her. The girl looked old, but probably wasn't, as she stood in her baggy leggings and shell suit top, smoking hard on a long cigarette.

"What a fucking mess", Kandi mouthed to himself under his breath, feeling nothing but contempt for the girl. "Fucking smack-head loser".

Kandi continued to walk. He came closer to the girl, although he was on the other side of the road. He looked over, unable to keep the distaste from his face.

"What the fuck you lookin' at, slag?" the girl asked, angrily.

Kandi didn't reply. He didn't want to get involved in a conversation or worse a slanging match with some Salford tramp. He continued walking, enjoying the "clip clop" of his heels and the feeling of being a piece of street meat, on public display for passing drivers.

"Fuckin' tranny!" the girl shouted after him across the road. "Try it on with any of my punters and I'll have Karl fuckin' cut yer!"

Kandi was shocked, not at the prospect of the local pimp paying him a visit, but that the whore had so easily picked him out. "Where the fuck is he?" he wondered, quickening his pace slightly. His phone rang and he slowed to answer it.

"Hello Kandi speaking", he said in his most accommodating voice.

"Hello darling", came the voice. "Trained eye some of these slags have got, you know. I'll bet that pissed you off though, princess, after all the effort you've gone to". The man laughed a cold laugh.

Kandi realised that the man must be able to see and hear what was happening. "You must be close, Sir. Are you nearby?" he asked.

"Never you mind, princess. I'll be with you when I'm ready, so just carry on doing as you're told, alright?" Again there was a note of menace in the man's voice that Kandi responded to.

"Yes Sir. Sorry Sir" he said, and almost felt like curtseying, as he had so often in their recent chat room encounters.

"Now then. When you get to the next lamppost, turn around and walk back the way you've come. Keep your eyes open for me. I'll be there soon, and that's when your troubles really begin".

Kandi's phone went dead. He dropped it back into his coat pocket and continued walking as he had been instructed. Within moments a car appeared from a side street and came towards him from ahead. "Could this be him?" he wondered. Kandi dropped into his role and lifted his pretty face up to meet the headlights and began to swing his hips more provocatively as the car approached. It started to slow down and Kandi became slightly tense. Playing was one thing, but this was for real and there was every likelihood that a kerb crawler, or worse still the police, would pull up along side him. With trepidation he looked over and saw the driver appraising him through the closed window. "Here we go then", he thought, preparing himself for the worst. But the car passed by. Looking over his shoulder, he saw that the car was fairly old and had seen better days. It had pulled over next to the skinny whore who was leaning in through the passenger side window. "You must have looked too pricey for him, Kandi" he said to himself quietly, and calm descended over him again.

In moments he had reached the lamppost. He stopped, paused, turned and began to re-trace his steps, watching the old car drive away with the skinny whore inside. Kandi was surprised to find that he'd walked no more than 60 metres in what had seemed like an eternity. The walk back towards the carpark looked like passing without major incident. A car passed by without slowing down. He saw nobody nearby, and he began to regret wearing such a ridiculous pair of shoes. He began to feel impatient with the hidden man and worried that his time was being wasted, as so often before, when a car approached from behind. Kandi didn't turn round immediately, but he could sense that the car had slowed right down and that he was being watched. He felt his heart rate surge again and turned to look over his shoulder as the Volkswagen Passat drew alongside. Kandi stopped, turned to face the car and dropped his right hip, placing his hand on it for support and extending his left leg slightly towards the car door. Kandi leaned down towards the driver's window as it began to open with an electric hum. He tried to smile but probably managed only a grimace. Time stood still and everything seemed to move away into the distance other than the driver's window, which now revealed a perspiring, middle aged man who's eyes kept flicking nervously to his rear view mirror. Kandi realised immediately that something was wrong, but he waited a moment until the old man began to speak in a halting, Cheshire accent.

"I, I've never done this before, but…"

Kandi felt a massive sense of anticlimax as the old fool stumbled over a few more words and then wilted under the transvestite's disgusted glare. He looked in his mirror again, apologised again and drove away quickly, leaving Kandi fuming and embarrassed. "Right, that's it. I'm not going to spend the whole fucking night having the piss taken out of me", he snapped, scanning the empty street for an unlikely taxi. He began walking, more quickly, less languidly than before, when his phone rang. Taking a deep breath to calm his annoyance, Kandi pushed the green button and held the handset to his cheek saying, in a slightly peevish tone "Kandi speaking". The sound of laughter filled his ears. This time the laughter was warm and genuine rather than the cold sneering type that he'd heard before. Kandi found the sound infectious and couldn't help starting to smile.

"That was so fucking funny!" the man stated. "Your pretty little face was priceless, sweetheart. You look cute when you've got a gob-on you know?"

"I'm glad that you're enjoying yourself so much at my expense, Sir" Kandi replied coquettishly.

"I am that, darling. I am that", came the reply "but now it's show time".

Kandi was immediately on edge again and his breath quickened with the excitement.

"Go into the carpark. The nearest staircase to you. Up to the first floor and out into the carpark. You'll find a carrier bag tucked in behind the pay station machine on your right. Take it out and have a look inside. The kind of girl that I'm looking for will know what she's expected to do, and she'll act accordingly. You're doing well so far, Kandi. Don't let yourself down now".

The phone went dead and Kandi was left with a range of emotions. His vanity was puffed-up by the flirtatious words, compliments and mention of his "pretty face". On the other hand, his anxiety was fanned by more cryptic clues and mystery. However, Kandi felt the thrill of the chase. He was already completely ready to submit to the man on the other end of the phone, who had proved himself to be thorough, imaginative and confident. Knowing that he was probably being watched right now, Kandi made sure to swing his hips provocatively, turn out his hands and take short, mincing steps until he reached the pedestrian entrance to the carpark. He moved quickly now, resolved to his course of action and determined to handle anything that was thrown at him. His heels clicked loudly on the concrete steps of the enclosed stairwell as he ascended and as he stepped out onto the first floor, Kandi was ready to submit to any degradation or abuse in order to please his prospective Master and satisfy his own twisted fantasies.

There were very few cars parked on the floor and nobody was in sight. Kandi stepped quickly towards the pay station, as if any hesitation would cause his confidence to crumble. He found the bag easily and, looking furtively around, unravelled it and looked inside.

"Oh honey, yes!" Kandi exclaimed. Caution had been well and truly thrown to the wind and the transvestite's rational caution was overwhelmed by an intense sexual desire to submit and be controlled.

Kandi first removed the ball gag from the bag. It featured a 2-inch diameter, red, rubber ball attached to a single white leather bridle, which adjusted with buckles on either side. Kandi had no hesitation in opening his mouth as wide as he could and pushing the ball between his teeth. He quickly fastened the buckle and tightened it so that it was snug and secure, without biting into his skin. Kandi's little cock pulsed angrily in the leather restrainer and his breathing was short and hard as his excitement built. He looked back into the bag and picked out the white leather wrist cuffs. He realised that the best way to complete the assignment would be to fasten the cuffs to each wrist independently and he quickly had the enjoyable feeling of cold, hard leather tight against his skin. Kandi didn't fasten the cuffs to each other with the combination lock supplied because he needed to put on the blindfold first. Again it was in white leather and it fastened with adjustable buckles. He wondered for a moment why the man hadn't used a bondage hood, and vain to the last, hoped that it was because the man liked Kandi's hair and didn't want to spoil it. Taking a deep breath, Kandi fitted and tightened the leather mask. The inside of the carpark would be the last thing that he would see for some time. Before he had any time for second thoughts, the young submissive brought his wrists together. Just as he was about to fasten them, he had the idea to fasten the cuffs behind his back instead of in front of his body. It felt right. As soon as the lock clicked shut, Kandi began to regret his haste. His normal preference for talking to himself out loud was not an option and he was left with a feeling of dread. He wondered what would happen next, and every passing second made him feel increasingly disorientated and frantic. Kandi tried to take a step backward, towards the privacy of the stairwell, but his heel caught a rut in the concrete and he nearly fell. Panic rose in his throat and he found himself swaying as sweat began to seep from every pore. "Don't panic. Don't panic!" he told himself, as the thought entered his head that the man might just leave him here, and that it was all a cruel and twisted joke. "How could you have been so fucking stupid!" he cursed silently.

Kandi's panic was interrupted by the sound of a car door opening and closing, and the car engine being started. He couldn't decide whether to be more or less confident until the sound of the car's slow approach calmed his nerves. "This must be it", he hoped.

The car stopped and the door opened and closed. With his site masked, Kandi's other senses were more sensitive than usual. He could tell that the car door was heavy, and that the man's shoes had leather soles. He squirmed in anticipation as he felt the man close to him and could smell his aftershave. He felt the man move behind him and then jumped with shock as he felt a finger tip touch the back of his smooth thigh and begin to trace a line up over his pert buttock, lifting the short, a-line, hem of his denim skirt. The man moved closer and Kandi let out an involuntary moan that was half muffled by the rubber gag. He pushed out his ass slightly and was rewarded by feeling the full, dry palm of the man's hand, cupping his left buttock. Kandi felt the man's breath hot on his ear as the hand traversed his left buttock before moving upwards again along the pink PVC of his panties until it alighted on the handle of the butt plug. The man paused to wiggle the plug playfully and the cross dresser responded by moaning again and rolling his buttocks to enhance the motion of the plug. The hand moved up further, dropping the hem of the skirt and tickling the hollow base of Kandi's back. Kandi found himself stretching up on tiptoes and his back arching towards the man's body, seeking more contact and reassurance, but his captor quickly stepped around in from of the transvestite and began a similar investigation, gently exploring the front of Kandi's thighs, empty panties, flat stomach and silicone breasts. Kandi was ready to explode with emotion, but stood utterly helpless, trying in vain to grind his pelvis into the man's hand, or prolong the contact with his breast.

His reverie was broken when he heard the reassuringly cold, Mancunian voice that he recognised from the phone.

"You're a very obedient little girl aren't you, Kandi. But a very stupid one too. Stood here, dressed in your cheap rags in the middle of the night, trussed up like a chicken; unable to see or shout for help". The man paused for some seconds before continuing.

"You haven't a clue who I am. You've sent me photos of yourself to a yahoo address. You've called me from your home number on this pay-as-you-go phone, and now you've delivered yourself into my care and supervision, and you've got no idea who I am, or what I might do to you! I've met some air-headed slags in my time, girl, but you just about take the biscuit".

The facts began to sink in and Kandi started to be afraid again. He'd never even seen this guy, knew nothing about him and couldn't hope to identify or implicate him if anything went shitty tonight.

"But I like that", continued the mystery man. "You're evidently very submissive, very keen and a hell of a lot more attractive and attentive to detail than the hairy trannies I'm used to picking up. I'm going to have fun at your expense, faggot, and I couldn't give a fuck whether you like it or not".

Kandi felt a collar being fastened around his slender neck. He felt a gentle but clear tug on the collar and tentatively walked forward. After a few paces he was stopped and felt a hand on each shoulder, pushing him into a seated position. Kandi complied; unable to contemplate doing anything that might annoy his captor. As he was pushed back into what felt like the boot space of an estate car, he realised that he was in deeper than he'd ever been before. This was no 5-minute caning over a car bonnet, or amateur bondage session in a cheap hotel room. Kandi was way out of his junior league and his fear was only partly tempered by pleasure and excitement. He felt his legs being lifted and a belt being fastened around his ankles. The man rolled Kandi onto his stomach, and then lifted up his captive's feet, bending the legs to attach his heels to his wrists via a short length of chain. Kandi felt a heavy blanket dropped on top of him before the boot of the car was pulled shut. Seconds later, the driver's door opened, the man climbed inside and the car pulled quietly away. Kandi tried to wriggle into a more comfortable position, but quickly realised that moving would have the opposite effect. With few options open to him, Kandi regressed to his submissive, compliant and trusting nature and drifted into a shallow sleep.

  

  

  

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