September 2007

So! Bethany was the Quizmaster! She had used the same lavender coloured paper and had obviously put the pantyhose in David’s pocket so that Marie would find them.

David called Bethany on her cell phone and she answered; it sounded like there was a raucous party going on in the background. She was obviously about to sail on her cruise.

He levelled his accusation at her and she laughed drunkenly into the phone.

“You really do have delusions of grandeur David; you were a mediocre fuck at best so I’d be far from likely to leave you a love note. Besides; remember what I said about discretion? Ian would probably throw me out if I got involved as co-respondent in a divorce case; especially one involving a little known, but still published author and his lawyer wife,” she hissed into the phone.

“Those tights; pantyhose, whatever the fuck you call them were gone when I woke up David. I just supposed you’d been up to your old tricks and stolen them. Not that I wanted them anyway I had worn them all night; you wouldn’t let me take them off while we were fucking.”

“Now why don’t you fuck off and play your sordid little mind games with someone else while I enjoy my cruise!” she hung up.

After Marie had confronted David with the incriminating note and Bethany's hosiery she had gone into the kitchen-diner and locked the door behind her. He could hear her crying and began to bang on the door but when the baby began to wail he backed off. He raced upstairs and showered and changed into clean clothing.

When he came downstairs the house was deserted and Marie had left him a note on the breakfast bar.

‘I’m taking Rachael and staying at my Mom’s tonight. You had best be gone before tomorrow afternoon. I can’t talk to you now so don’t call me, I’ll call you, when and if I’m ever ready to talk to you again.’

She hadn’t even bothered to sign it.

David had called Bethany and made his accusation right then. Despite her objections he was still convinced that Bethany was the Quizmaster.

David took two sleeping pills and had a fitful night’s sleep. He arose early and packed a couple of suitcases and cleared out his study taking all of his work product and the blue-painted steel lock-box and put it all in back of his Honda Civic. When he closed the hatchback he saw the lavender envelope under the windscreen wiper on the windscreen.

He tore it open and read it.

‘Petra, you naughty girl!

Let me quote my first letter to you… ‘Don’t do anything silly like trying to go to the authorities or contact any of the old players to try to find out who I am; all will be revealed in good time. I’m watching you David… I’m watching you very closely; you and your family’

You broke the rules so you’ve paid the penalty; I hope fucking Bethany was worth it!

That said; nothing has changed. The fact that you may or may not be an adulterer is an issue for yourself and Marie, I still want to keep playing The Game and you are still playing for EVERYTHING David! Everything that you hold precious: the love of your daughter, your job, your friends, your family, and your self-respect… If the world ever finds out about Petra… well let’s just take a breath and look on the bright side.

You will have to move into 12C full time for a little while at least. You could possibly even live full time as Petra while you are there, just like you used to. Anyway your next dare will be arriving today so be ready; I’ll give you the afternoon to settle into your new or should I say old your old digs,

The Quizmaster

PS. Nice surprise for you in the glovebox’

“Fuck!” David swore and slammed his fist down on the bonnet of his car.

This letter proved that Bethany was not the Quizmaster. So who the fuck was it? David drove off in a cloud of smoke and this time he parked right outside the big old Victorian house where flat 12C was one of four apartments. The nice surprise turned out to be a parking permit so it was pretty easy to unload his Civic and take everything up to the flat.

Settling himself back into his old apartment had a calming effect on David; he knew that trying to engage with his wife while she was highly agitated and distrustful of him would do more harm than good. He was also pragmatic enough to realise that living on his own gave him complete freedom to try to find out who the Quizmaster was and also to undertake the dares, noting the earliest they can be completed was midnight.

David also had to be honest with himself and admit that he found the prospect of living as Petra for extended periods of time quite appealing. In fact he took no time in shucking out of his male attire, taking a long shower, putting on makeup and transforming into Petra.

David had stopped at an Officeworks on the way to the flat and purchased a small flat-pack desk and fold out chair, which Petra assembled and set up into a little workspace in the corner of the flat. She moved the Toshiba laptop and mobile phone provided by the Quizmaster onto a pullout shelf under the desk to keep them separate from David's personal phone and computer.

She now had the apartment compartmentalised: David's clothes on one side of the closet; Petra’s on the other, David’s toiletries on the self in bathroom and Petra’s makeup on the vanity, David’s computer and phone on the top of the desk and Petra’s on the shelf underneath.

Just as David and Petra shared the same body, they also shared the same flat.

Petra poured a drink and lit a cigarette and continued her online research regarding Timothy. The Quizmaster had already ruined his relationship with his wife by exposing David’s infidelity with Bethany and if the Quizmaster was sincere that he wanted to keep playing The Game, David had nothing to lose now by chasing down Timothy so long as Petra completed her dares.

When Petra rose to refill her drink she saw the lavender envelope on the floor near the front door; the Quizmaster must have pushed it under.

‘Hello Petra,

Remember the railway underpass challenge that Bethany had to complete all those years ago? Did she tell you that she and Timothy had been very naughty that night?

Well anyway it’s your turn tonight. You are to dress like a slattern and hang around at the the railway underpass pretending that you’re a streetwalker. The difference is, where Bethany was expected to turn away the punters, you are to accept every offer. Every offer Petra! Don’t accept any rides though; I need you to stay where I can keep my eye on you.

Your dare commences at 7pm and finishes at midnight as per the rules of The Game. I’ll be watching you intently, if you leave early you have failed, if you turn back any offers from any of the punters you have failed!

Be careful of the brasses there Petra; they can be vicious when it comes to protecting their turf!

The Quizmaster’

Later that evening

Petra’s mouth tasted of stale semen; she rinsed her mouth out from the water bottle she had bought with her and spat it into the gutter; she took the mouthwash out of her bag, rinsed and repeated. So far she had given four blowjobs in the cutout under the railway underpass and it was still only 10 o’clock.

As per the Quizmasters instructions she had dressed like a tart, putting on heavy makeup, teasing her hair and slipping into black seamed stockings, silky black French knickers and black lacy bra, a red leather miniskirt and tight white satin blouse. She hadn’t bothered filling the cups of her bra but she had gaffed because her skirt was so short and the French knickers offered no support. She’d packed a big purse with bottled water, mouthwash, lubricant and condoms hoping that the latter items would not be required.

She took her London Fog coat off the coathook and put it on, as the night was chilly. She carried her purse and her black patent leather high heels; she would be driving so she wouldn’t put on her heels until she got to her destination.

Petra parked one street over from the railway underpass, she took off her coat and threw it in the back seat. It was cold but she needed to display her wares to comply with the terms of her dare. She had thought about leaving it on but the Quizmaster would be watching and would consider wearing a big coat over her slutty clothes cheating. She put on her high heels, threw her bag over her shoulder and walked under the railway bridge. She was surprised that her competence to walk the cobbled streets in high-heeled shoes had returned so quickly; she guessed it was like riding a bike, once learned never forgotten.

Prostitutes had used the underpass ever since the bridge was built back in the days of gas lamps. The street was in a commercial area so there were no residents to complain, it was off the main thoroughfare so there was no real passing traffic except for commercial vehicles and the punters, there was also little foot traffic except for the prostitutes and the punters. The brasses came out around dusk, as few as two or as many six, depending on the night. The underpass itself had only a weak yellow overhead light and had several cutouts, which were effectively recesses in the brickwork about six feet deep and six feet wide. Years ago the cutouts had been used by barrowmen lugging coal or selling their wares; they now provided a convenient place for the prostitutes to perform quickies for punters on foot.

The streetwalkers did exactly that; they strolled up and down the road adjacent to the underpass, showing off their wares. Most traffic arrived by car and transactions were made through the car window. The prossies climbed into the car and went with the punter to somewhere discreet to perform their services However some punters parked a few streets away and approached the prostitutes by foot and some punters just didn’t own cars. Being on foot allowed the punters to get a better look at the girl and they would then retire to the underpass to conduct their business in one of the cutouts. The Old Bill considered what happened in the underpass victimless crime so they left the girls alone. Prostitution was bottom of the ladder; there were far more important crimes on which the police could expend their meagre resources.

Occasionally one of the girls would get ripped off or get slapped around; but that was just considered a consequence of their employment; the girls only reported assaults that required a trip to the emergency room and this was a rare occurrence.

Petra was approached and railed at by one of the prostitutes as soon as she arrived.

“Hey doll this is our patch! Fuck off and find your own!” a middle-aged tart with big blonde hair wearing black suede hotpants, tight leopard-skin top, fishnet tights and black ‘fuck-me’ heels screeched at her.

Petra said nothing; she stood her ground away from the other three working girls and lit a cigarette. The woman came storming over and confronted Petra. She stood inches away from Petra and opened her mouth; undoubtedly to bellow some obscenity but it snapped shut.

“Oh you’re one of them,” the prostitute said, looking Petra up and down.

“One of what?” Petra asked defiantly.

“A tranny, love. I have to say I would never have guessed. I still wasn’t totally sure until you spoke to me but you’re still the most convincing one I’ve seen outside of a drag show,” the woman touched Petra on the upper arm.

“Not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Petra smiled back at her.

“It’s a compliment. I’m Rita,” the prostitute offered her hand.

“Petra,” Petra shook it.

“Look; we don’t like other girls working our patch. It takes money from our pockets, besides your kind work down on Clifton Road,” Rita rummaged in her handbag for cigarettes.

“Here,” Petra offered her one hers.

“Look I’m only here for one night and I won’t be back I promise. It’s too complicated to explain,” Petra ignited her bic and Rita leaned it to light her cigarette.

“Alright. Because you’re a tranny you’re really not that much competition. Some blokes will go with either but most of the car trade want a fuck and no offence intended luv; they don’t want to have to move a big set of balls away from the hole,” Rita cackled and coughed around her smoke.

“I’ll let the other girls know and they’ll lay off you. Look; it’s pretty safe here but be make sure you know what you’re doing if you get into a car. Some of the girls only do blowies and knee-tremblers in the cutouts but the cash is in the cars I say,” Rita blew smoke towards the stars.

“I’m not doing cars,” Petra felt no reason to explain why.

“Well good for you love; see that cutout over there closest to the road, use that and stay safe,” Rita smiled at Petra and walked away.

And so the evening began, Petra had been approached by nearly a dozen punters but except for the four who had taken her to the cutout for fellatio, the rest had scarpered as soon as they realised she was a transvestite.

Petra was very convincing and could pass as a woman if she tried but she had deliberately not used her feminine voice when she spoke and not using breastforms made her appear flat chested. She hoped the Quizmaster didn’t know that she had done these things on purpose to make herself less attractive to the punters.

After the fourth punter had finished with her Petra returned to her spot on the street. Her knees ached a little from kneeling on the cobbled ground while she had been sucking cock; her knees were dirty and one of her stockings was laddered. She noticed that a few of the cutouts had old pillows in them and when she saw one of girls kneeling on a pillow while servicing a customer she realised where they come from and for what purpose.

She was lighting a cigarette when she saw the black Ford Mondeo parked across the street. It dawned on her that it had been there now for some time and there was someone occupying the driver’s seat. Initially she thought it might be a punter checking out the talent but he had been there far too long for that and to her it looked like he had a camera pointing in her direction.

She threw the cigarette in the gutter and began to walk as quickly as her high heels allowed toward the vehicle. The Mondeo started up and drove away accompanied by the sound of squealing tyres. The numberplate light was extinguished, obviously deliberately, so she couldn’t get the registration number.

“Fuck!” she seethed standing in the middle of the cold street.

“Oi! Get out of the fucking road and stop scaring away the punters you dopey bitch!” one of the prostitutes called out to her.

She took up her stance in her designated cruising spot and lit a cigarette. Like the other girls she walked up and down the street a little, as much to keep warm as to show off her wares.

A man came out from underpass and looked around obviously checking out the talent. He come over Petra’s way and stopped in front of her. He was tall and a little younger than her, probably in his thirties she thought as he got close enough to see. He wasn’t particularly handsome but he looked fit enough in his jeans and hooded top.

The man looked her up and down a little without saying a word; his eyes lingered on her legs and then on her face.

“I like them a little older and you are quite beautiful; love your legs and you have a tight body,” he said brazenly.

“You know what I am?” Petra made no attempt to disguise her voice.

The man’s smile widened.

“I do now and I have to admit I’ve always wanted to try one,” he grinned.

He took her hand and started to lead her to the underpass; Petra stumbled on her heels trying to keep up; he led her towards one of the cutouts.

“No! Not that one! The girls each have their own, come over here,” Petra squeezed his hand and directed him to the cutout that Rita had assigned her.

When they got to the cutout Petra started to kneel but the men held onto her and lifted her to her feet, he spun her around and pushed her against the brick wall and pressed his body to hers. He leaned into her and placed his lips on hers and kissed her.

“Mmm nice,” he smiled at her in the gloom.

“The girls don’t allow the punters to kiss them,” Petra said a little breathless.

“But you do?” his smile became a grin and lit up his face.

“It’s complicated but yes you can kiss me,” Petra replied a little nervously.

“Look I’m not some weirdo. I just, you know, I’m not good with girls so I have to pay for it and to be honest you are beautiful and I really fancy you,” the man stammered.

“It’s ok; it’s not like I’m an expert at this either,” Petra held his hand to soothe him.

“My name’s Gary, I really like you, can I kiss you again?” Gary asked.

Petra put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her and kissed him, this time sliding her tongue into his mouth. This was so different to the way the other four punters had treated her and Gary seemed like a nice enough person. She pressed her body against his and was rewarded with a bulge pressing into her belly. Gary was so tall that his erection pressed on Petra’s abdomen.

They kissed and rubbed against each other and Petra felt herself becoming tumescent. Her erection was uncomfortable confined by her gaff but she was enjoying kissing this man; she felt so feminine in his arms, the feel of his slight stubble on her cheek, the scent of his aftershave, his strong arms around her and the need that she sensed in him.

Petra wormed a hand between their bodies and found his girth through his trousers, the resonance of his fly being unzipped sounded almost ominous in the dark quiet cutout. She found his flesh and he gasped in her mouth.

“Careful honey; I’m close,” he sighed.

This would normally be a godsend to most of the working girls; they would quickly fetch him off and take his money but Petra saw no need to rush. She quite liked Gary, he was treating her with respect and had an obvious affection for her. Anyway, if she got him off and finished with him quickly all that meant was more time on her knees as more punters rolled out of the pubs looking for a quickie on the way home. Besides… she had to admit that she was enjoying herself.

Petra used featherlight strokes to tease Gary’s penis to full tumescence while she kissed him passionately. Gary growled deep down in his throat. They kissed and fondled each other for a while, she slowly and gently stroked him and he explored her thighs with his hands. He grazed a hand across the front of her French knickers and was obviously surprised not to find a bulge.

“I thought you were a…?” he stammered.

“I am a… silly. She’s just tucked away, but if you want, we can let her out to play,” Petra smiled mischievously.

Gary nodded; a little embarrassed.

Petra eased her fingers inside her knickers and ripped off the surgical tape holding her penis between her legs and lifted herself onto her tippytoes and pushed down with her diaphragm so that her testes descended from her inguinal canals into her scrotum.

“There. All done,” she nipped at Gary’s ear and kissed him again.

Gary continued to stroke her thighs and after a minute or so he tentatively slid his fingers across her knickers; this time he was rewarded with the feel of a semi-hard cock and smooth scrotal sac encased in the satin fabric.

“I’ve never done this before,” he whispered in her ear.

“Only do what you want to do Gary; I’m here for your pleasure, not mine,” Petra whispered and kissed him softly.

Their kissing became steamy as Petra stroked Gary’s distended penis and he squeezed her hardening phallus through her silky soft panties.

Petra dropped to her knees and looked up Gary as she held his member close to her red-lipsticked lips. He stared down into her pretty eyes.

“Carefully honey,” he warned her.

Petra took her time playing with Gary’s erection, kissing the shaft, darting her tongue out and licking the glans quickly and retracting her tongue. Gary closed his eyes and willed himself not to come and when Petra engulfed his whole manhood and began to suck on it he eased her face away from his groin.

“That is beautiful sweetheart but I’m gonna come too quickly if you keep that up,” he smiled down at her.

“That’s ok,” she looked up at him affectionately.

Gary reached down and helped Petra to her feet.

“No it’s not ok. Two reasons. One; I want to fuck you and two; I want you to come too,” he pulled her into his arms kissed her.

“Mmm that sounds wonderful; just let me take care of the practicalities,” Petra bent down and foraged in her bag and found the tube of lubricant.

She squeezed a gobbet onto her fingers and reached inside her knickers to lubricate herself and applied the remainder to Gary’s truculent penis, being careful not to overexcite him. She pulled down her knickers and turned to face the wall and lifted up her skirt. Gary moved in behind her and she reached around and took his distended member in her hand and guided it to her sphincter.

“Push slowly lover; take your time,” Petra whispered over shoulder.

She felt Gary stab at the entrance to her back passage until his glans found her puckered bud. He pressed forward very slowly and Petra gasped with excitement as he slowly began to fill her anus with cock.

“Am I hurting you?” Gary nuzzled her neck.

“God no! That was me expressing pleasure,” she reassured him.

When Gary was fully embedded inside Petra he began to fuck her with very short very slow strokes; he was on a hair trigger. Petra purred with pleasure and Gary reached around and tentatively grasped her engorged penis. She shivered with lust as Gary began to stroke her, using her pre-ejaculate to lubricate her shaft.

Petra pushed back against Gary; encouraging Gary to fuck her harder and he complied with her wish. He fucked her with long, hard strokes, gradually increasing the pace as Petra encouraged him to do so, wriggling her buttocks and moaning with delight. Gary stroked her faster, keeping time with his plunging cock as he fucked her. Standing as she was, she perfectly positioned for Gary’s glans to push directly on her prostate and Petra felt herself about to climax.

“Oh god Gary I’m gonna come,” she moaned.

Gary thrust his cock deep inside her anus and ground himself against her soft buttocks and ejaculated. Petra felt his penis pulse and she too climaxed and Gary milked her of her seed. His cock pressing on her prostate magnified the intensity of her orgasm and she squirmed against him as he held her tight and filled her with his hot semen.

They writhed and groaned as they both came to a pinnacle of delight and then slowly descended; Petra leaned against the wall and Gary held on to her. When Gary’s penis finally contracted such that it fell from Petra’s anus he spun her around and kissed her fervently. Their kisses became softer, more tender as they embraced in the afterglow of their lovemaking.

Finally they separated and cleaned themselves with tissues that Petra provided from her bag, and after adjusting their clothing, they started to kiss again but eventually they knew that they couldn’t stay in the cutout all night. They both had commitments they needed to keep.

“Can I see you again?” Gary asked a little sheepishly.

“Not like this,” Petra answered.

She saw the look of dismay on Gary’s face and quickly took his hands in hers.

“I mean not here and not as a prostitute; next time we meet it will under far better circumstances,” she grinned at him.

Gary reached for his wallet and rifled through the bills but Petra stayed his hand.

“Don’t you dare!” her eyes bored into his.

“But? What about payment” he remonstrated.

Petra put a finger to his lips.

“Wait,” she leaned down and dug a pen and a small pad from her handbag.

She wrote down her ‘Petra’ mobile number and ‘Petra Pantsdown’ email address and shoved it into his hand.

“Next time we meet it will be a lot nicer,” she kissed him softly on lips and eased him away from her.

Gary looked at the piece of paper and then stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie.

“You bet it will be; but tonight was wonderful,” he smiled at her and turned away.

When Petra returned the pen and paper to her handbag she realised that she had not used the condoms she had bought along.

“Oh well; I hope he’s clean. Guess I’ll just have to live with a squishy bum,” she giggled, feeling more of Gary’s spend dribble from her bottom.

If this was a fairytale, it would have ended here on a high; but that wasn’t the case. Petra still had an hour left on the street to complete her dare.

Two would-be Yardies turned out of a nearby pub came down the street looking for a quickie on their way to a restaurant. As the other girls were all busy with punters they took Petra into the cutout for a blowjob. She got down on her knees, alternately sucking each of the young men’s cocks, masturbating the one she wasn’t sucking hoping to get them off quickly. This was not helped by the amount of lager that the lads had consumed.

“Come on. Hurry up ya fucking old whore; I need to get a curry inside me to soak up all the beer,” one of the lads bonked her on the head as she was sucking him.

The other young lad was stroking his penis watching his mate being sucked by the attractive mature prostitute.

“It’s ok I’ve taken care of myself,” he groaned.

He ejaculated; splashing his semen over Petra’s hair and face. This elicited his friend’s orgasm and he held Petra’s head tightly and filled her mouth with his spend. When he had finished he brushed her away and pushed a twenty-pound note into her hand.

“That’s for both of us you old slag; me oppo had to fetch himself off so he ain’t paying!”

Both lads laughed vindictively and sauntered away drunkenly while Petra tried to clean their semen off her face and from her hair.

When she recovered her composure and made her way back to her appointed place on the street she noticed the black Ford Mondeo was back. She was about to walk across the street and confront the driver when a heavy goods vehicle parked on the street with a squeal and a hiss of brakes. The driver leapt out of the cab and made a beeline for Petra.

“I just think you should know…” Petra never got to complete her sentence.

“No need to explain I know what you are; someone who knows I like trannies called me and told be you were here. I need to be quick because I’m illegally parked,” he trucker half walked, half dragged her to the cutout.

He made her face the wall, and without any preliminaries he hiked up her skirt, pulled her knickers aside and buried himself inside her. Petra hung onto the wall while the trucker viciously shagged her; coming deep inside her after only a few thrusts. She was glad that she was still well lubricated from her encounter with Gary.

The trucker threw fifty quid on the ground and rushed back to his truck. Petra took tissues from her purse and cleaned herself, adjusting her knickers. She bent down and picked up the fifty-pound note.

It was ten after midnight and Petra was glad that the evening was over; she made her way back to her car as quickly as possible and drove around the block at high speed and returned to the street where she had been streetwalking but the Mondeo was gone. She was not surprised.

She needed to know if the driver was the Quizmaster if so, was it Timothy as she suspected?

To be continued