Hi,
here is the third and final episode of this chapter of my own orginal story.
Part Three - in which a girl realises her destiny
Karl withdrew. Pulled his cock out of me just like that. I felt it bounce against my ass a couple of times, and then it was gone. I heard him zip up his pants, and then he left the room. I was still looking at Dr Helen's face. She was still smiling slightly at me, but I have no idea what sort of expression my own face held. I was, to put it mildly, somewhat shaken by my first experience of being fucked. Dr Helen said,
Why don't you rearrange yourself, Rachelle dear, and then we can talk.
Rachelle dear? When had I ever been her Rachelle dear? I pushed myself up onto my elbows and reached around with one hand to pull my skirt back over my battered rump. Slowly I stood upright - wow did my hips ache - and tugged the hem down as far as it would go. I ran my fingers through my hair to get rid of most of the tangles - God knows what I looked like. Dr Helen indicated a chair at the side of her desk, and I sat down very carefully. I was going to cross my legs neatly, but when I lifted one leg my thigh muscles hurt so much I thought better of it. Sitting on my freshly pounded ass, with my knees demurely together, I looked at her, and she said,
Do you feel like a woman now Rachelle?
It wasn't a question I was expecting, because for some reason that hadn't been uppermost in my mind. Which was interesting, or was it? In fact nothing seemed to be uppermost in my mind right then, or lowermost for that matter. I thought about the question did-I-feel-like-a-woman-now? Well I certainly felt like I'd been fucked - if this is what it felt like, which it must do, because I had been. I was dressed like a woman, I had hair like a woman, I looked like a woman, and I'd been fucked by a man. But did I feel like a woman? I was still trying to bring the answer into focus when Dr Helen said,
Unless I'm very much mistaken, I think you are finding the experience disappointing and dissatisfying. I'm right aren't I Rachelle. And yet earlier you were telling me how much your experience last night made you feel, like one-of-the-sisterhood I think you said.
Th-th-that was different, I stammered
Obviously it was different, retorted Dr Helen. How was it different?
I was by myself last night, and it was., and I paused
And it was what? persisted Dr Helen
Well last night I was alone, and I felt very vulnerable in my short skirt, and it was quite exciting. But tonight, after your examination and everything, well it seemed sort of, well, sort of clinical I suppose.
But the experience was no less physically real was it? In fact considerably more so judging by some of the faces you pulled and the noises you made.
I blushed. It's the first time I've ever done that with Dr Helen, no matter what we've talked about, I've never blushed before - never felt ashamed. And I wasn't sure if I felt ashamed now. I was actually beginning to get rather cross with my therapist. Which is something else I've never done before.
Come on Rachelle. Dr Helen resumed her inquisition, what was different?
You were here, I snapped angrily.
Yes I was here. And Karl fucked right in front of me didn't he? But that's not what made it different is it?
Yes it is, I sulked
Have it your own way Rachelle - you always have. She took some paperwork from a drawer and began pointedly ignoring me.
I watched her without seeing her, and thought about what she had said.
Okay, I said, What was the difference?
I'll let you answer that for yourself in a moment.
She put the papers back in her desk drawer, and rested her chin on her hands, fingers interlocked.
Rachelle, I have suspected for sometime that being a woman is not exactly what you want. Don't interrupt. Yes, you want to be a woman, but you want more than that - you want to be a woman and a prostitute.
No-I-want-to-be-my-mother. It came out so quickly that at first I didn't believe I'd actually said it. I though the words had stayed deep in the most secret part of my mind.
Dr Helen sighed. I know that you think you want to be your mother, but you don't, you want to be your step-mother, the one who moved in on your father after your real mother died. The step-mother you think was a cheap whore.
Her words hung in the air. While part of me was surrendering to the truth, the rest was still struggling to find excuses.
But that's just one of my fantasies, I protested.
No Rachelle. Dr Helen was relentless. Being a whore is not just one of your fantasies Rachelle - it is your one and only fantasy. Do you think I have spent the last two years not listening to a word you say every week. I listen very carefully, Rachelle, and I make notes. It has been quite clear to me for the last 18 months that your whole personality is utterly entwined with the idea of being a prostitute. Not a call girl, not a model who does escort work, not a rich man's mistress, nor a beach bunny, but a low-class, back-alley whore. If you could ever really listen to yourself, you would realise, as I have, that beneath all your elaborate fantasies in exotic locations, there is just one underlying narrative - a simple slut is paid to be used and abused.
Without any sound or sensation, something went click in my brain. I think my mouth fell open.
Your other problem Rachelle, is that you are not simple. It's going to be a lot harder work for you.
I started to cry. Within seconds my whole body was wracked with sobbing.
Dr Helen let me sob for while. When I had subsided a bit she handed me a box of tissues. I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.
So, she said as if nothing had happened, what was different about tonight Rachelle. Why do you not feel like a woman?
I hesitated, then spoke what I realised was the truth.
I didn't get paid for it.
Yes, she said. That is exactly as I see it. You had sex tonight - you were fucked - but not for money. There was action, but there was no transaction. And that is why the experience left you unfulfilled.
I nodded slowly as the truth seeped into every crevice of my brain. What I wanted most, right at the very core of my being - what I needed - was to be paid for sex.
It has been exhausting, said Dr Helen. I will drive you home, and perhaps you will offer me a nightcap and we can talk some more.
That would be very kind of you, I said. (Well, what would you have said?)
Her car was a late-model red Jaguar. I sank wearily into the bucket seat, and she drove us deftly towards Hampstead through the late-evening traffic. I closed my eyes and tried to think about nothing. When we arrived, neither of us spoke. I got out of the car, walked up the front steps and opened my front door. Dr Helen followed me into my apartment.
This is nice, Rachelle, she commented.
I smiled weakly. It always looks nice. I have good taste, and I'm very tidy, even when hurried. I walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses from an already open bottle of wine (some unused Dutch courage from the previous night). I handed one glass to my therapist and we both took a sip.
You look shattered dear, she said. Why don't you go and take a shower. I'll just sit here and drink this. I smiled at her.
Thank you, I said.
Knocking back a big slug of wine, I put my glass down on a table and went to shower. God! It felt good. I stood beneath the streaming hot water for a good while. Then I sat for a good while longer drying my hair. I was feeling much better, in fact I was feeling a lot better than I had in ages. I started to get up thinking - Come on Rache, time to - then I sat down again. Rache? I looked around inside my head and realised that sometime very recently, I wasn't sure exactly when because I hadn't noticed at the time, I'd stopped being Ray. Ray the bone idle orphan with a small inheritance and hormone induced breasts, who dressed up and called himself Rachelle. Instead, I had now become Rachelle, and it felt rather good. I put on a white towelling robe and went into the living room. Dr Helen was sitting on a sofa holding an empty glass.
I'm sorry I took so long
No need, to apologise Rachelle. I've been having a look around. I hope you don't mind. You have some very attractive garments in your closets.
Thank you for saying so.
I refilled her glass, and sat on the other sofa, pulling my legs up beneath me. We both sipped our wine. I wanted to tell her about my new sense of self, but Dr Helen had other ideas. She said,
You know what they say about riding a horse Rachelle.
I could think of several aspects of horse riding that might relate to this evening's events, and decided to say nothing. I nodded.
When you fall off.
Oh! I said. You mean get straight back on again.
She smiled, and said, Exactly so. She looked at her wristwatch.
It's only ten o'clock, and I've only had one drink. Would you like to go out. I'll drive you there and back.
I was surprised, but the idea was very, very appealing.
Oh yes please, but where...?
She put up a hand, silencing me, and said,
I thought you might find my suggestion agreeable. I took the liberty of putting out some clothes for you in the bedroom. And don't worry about where I'm taking you. Trust me, I'm a doctor.
And she winked. At least I think she winked, but I might have imagined it. I got up from the sofa and went into my bedroom. On the bedspread was one of my super-tight thongs in white, and a faded blue-denim hipster mini-skirt with a fringed hem. Beside them was a tatty old fake leopardskin coat that I'd bought in a charity shop. The coat was even shorter than the skirt. At the foot of the bed were my white plastic stiletto-heels. And that was all. Clearly Dr Helen had something interesting in mind. First I sat down and made my face - for the first time with no sense of irony - I just wanted to look pretty. When I was happy with the result, I combed my hair and got dressed - which took all of four seconds. I looked in the mirror. Not bad, not bad at all. Holding the coat closed around me I went back into the living room. I was pleased that years of practise meant I could walk quite easily in the 4-inch heels.
Oh bravo Rachelle, bravo. This is going to work.
What's going to work? I asked.
You are my dear. You are. Now come over here.
I approached her and she held up a small canister.
This throat spray works on the vocal cords, it with raise and soften your voice for a few hours. After I apply it, you must not speak for 20 minutes while it takes effect.
I started to speak.
No more questions Rachelle. You know why you are dressed like that, and for now that's enough. Anticipation is all fine and dandy, but too much can be the thief of spontaneity. Now, if you'll excuse the expression, please open wide.
She didn't just smile, she positively smirked as she sprayed the back of my throat.
Okay. Let's go, she said,
We got back into her car and she drove through Hampstead and then northwards. We crossed the North Circular Road and she turned left into an industrial landscape dominated by huge Superstores and warehouses. She made a few more turns and came to a halt just before an intersection with a main road.
Across there, she said, is the main lorry park where trucks wait over before driving into London tomorrow.
I peered out of the windshield and saw a huge open space behind tall wire-mesh fencing. Illuminated by a few arc-lamps on tall posts, I could see that it was about one-quarter full of parked trucks.
I turned to her, and she put her forefinger to her lips.
Sshh. Still a few minutes to go before the spray takes its full effect. It will be a surprise for you. Now, I am going to drop you at the entrance to the lorry park approach road. Walk down it until you are out of sight from the main road, and wait and see what you can make happen Rachelle. I will drive past every ten or twenty minutes, and if I see you I will stop and pick you up.
She started the Jaguar, drove up to the intersection, turned left and came to halt after few hundred yards.
Off you go Rachelle. Quickly, I'm not supposed to stop here.
I got out of the car. Traffic was whizzing by, cars and trucks. Even as Dr Helen was pulling away, a truck turned and down the approach road. I followed it for a hundred yards or so, then stopped where the road curved round to the left. I could see the whole of the lorry park and also the entrance to the approach road. Another truck turned down the road and I stood there facing it as its headlights washed over me. It drove straight past. So did the next, and the next, and the two after than, then another one. Some 15 or 20 minutes must have passed before one truck slowed right down as it approached me. I held my coat open, displaying my tits, and the lights flashed on and off twice before the truck continued into the parking area. I watched it drive into the far corner, away from the lights. I set off after it.
Walking down the road was not too bad, but the surface of the parking area was very uneven, with potholes filled with rubble, and patches of loose gravel where my heels would sink in unexpectedly. I weaved and wobbled my way over to the truck. The driver was waiting on the far side by the cab. I walked up to him with as much dignity as I could muster. He was a bit shorter than me, with a lot heavier build, wearing dark red overalls and cap.
How much love? he asked
I wanted to swallow, but my mouth was too dry, and I said in a voice that was sweet, and husky, and sounded unquestionably female even to my ears,
Twenty five for a blowjob
Yeah! How much for a fuck
I can't, not tonight, you know, red sails and all.
I was starting to enjoy my new voice
You take it up the arse love?
Sure, but for fifty.
Forty or fuck off, he said
Okay, I stepped up to him and held out my hand.
He reached into his pocket and handed me (I looked very carefully) two $20 notes. As I was folding them, he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed me down onto my knees. The gravel hurt like hell. He wrapped one hand into my hair and undid his overall with the other. His half-erect cock flopped out in front of my face. He clenched the hand holding my hair.
Suck it bitch!
I pulled my lips back over my teeth and took him into my mouth. He did not taste good, and he smelled of stale piss, so I guess that's what he tasted of. His cock was a bit soft to start with, but I sucked, and moved my head around, and rubbed the head with my tongue, and he got hard, and I tried to get a rhythm going, but he kept spoiling it by thrusting into my mouth at the wrong moment, and after a while I stopped trying to do anything. I just pressed my mouth around his cock as he fucked my mouth. Fortunately his smelly cock wasn't that big and didn't quite reach my throat when his balls were against my chin and my nose was jammed against his belly. Even so, was starting to feel a bit bruised and panicky when he pulled out of my mouth and stepped behind me.
He released my hair and pushed me hard between the shoulders. I fell forwards, and only stopped my face from hitting the gravel at the expense of the palm of one hand and the knuckles of the hand clutching the money he'd paid me. I was sprawled on my hands and knees. My coat and skirt were push up and I felt hands on my ass, spreading me. The thong string was pulled to one side, and I both heard and felt him spit onto my asshole. Then he just shoved his cock into me - I think he must have been squatting behind me - and started banging me. It hurt, and it felt good, very good. He reached round, groped my breasts and pinched my nipples hard. That really hurt and I squealed. He picked up speed and I started to feel really, really good, I was making a sort of non-stop high-pitched mewling sound when I felt him come with a few prolonged, shuddering thrusts. He slowly slid his cock in and out of my asshole a few times then got to his feet. He reached down, grabbed my hair and pulled me back up onto my knees. He used both hands to wipe his dick clean on my hair, buttoned up his overall and turned his back on me.
Nice and tight bitch, he called back softly as he walked away.
I got to my feet, brushed the gravel from my knees, adjusted my thong and pulled my skirt and coat back down over my ass. My hands were scratched and bleeding slightly, the toes of my shoes were badly scuffed, my anus still throbbed from the fucking it had received, and I felt just fine. I started to walk back across the uneven surface, and I hadn't gone far before I became aware of the truck driver's cum. I didn't notice as it oozed out of my asshole, but I sure did when it slithered down my crack and onto my inner thighs. Let me tell you girls, there's no feeling in the world that a guy's cold cum on your leg. As I stumbled and staggered across the parking lot, the cum slowly trickled further down my legs. By the time I reached the access road it had run all the way to my ankles. As I walked up the road, a truck turned in and rolled towards me. As it approached it slowed. I smiled up into the headlights, but I shook my head, emphasised the gesture with my hand, and kept on wa lking. Not tonight. A whole new world and a new way of life had opened up for me, and I was in no hurry.
At the top of the road I stopped and waited. The traffic was a bit lighter now. More trucks turned in, but I didn't look to see if they paid me any attention - I wasn't working right then. The red Jaguar pulled in alongside me, and Dr Helen opened the passenger door. I held up the $20 notes, one in each hand, and grinned at he. She winked at me (I swear it, this time she actually winked) and said,
Some kinds of love, Rachelle, are better than others. Lets go spend it on margaritas.
And that was how it began. So much has happened since that it's hard to believe it was less than a year ago. If you would like to read more about harlotry and debauchery here in foggy London town, please let me know,
jewellasub@eudora.com