21 September 2007

David was feeding the baby when Marie came through the door; she was glowing from her morning run.

“Look, mommy is home,” he cooed to his daughter who was just shy of her first birthday.

Marie leaned back against the breakfast bar, stretching. Her Lycra tights and shirt clung to her body, emphasising the curves and crevices of her lithe frame. David leered at his wife’s groin and breasts, his eyes devoured her cleft and her nipples encased in the tight shimmery fabric. He was becoming turgid.

He put down the spoon and stood, approaching his wife. She was flicking through the morning mail delivery unaware of the effect that she was having on her husband until he pressed himself against her and began to kiss her. She dropped the mail on the counter and kissed him back, putting her arms around him.

“Morning David, glad to see you’ve dressed and have fed our little princess,” Marie smiled.

“Do I get a reward?” David slid a hand between their bodies and pressed it to her mound.

“Stop it David. I’m hot and sweaty and I need a shower,” she hissed in his ear.

“You know those tights make me horny,” he pushed a finger into her cleft.

He knew that she wore no panties under her Lycra sports tights and he loved how they clung to her mound, defining its shape. He had once joked that it turned her on knowing that men surreptitiously stared at her cunt straining at the sheer fabric. She had blushed and looked guiltily away from him and he realised there was some truth to his accusation.

“Just a quick one,” David panted in her ear and began to rub her sex through her tights.

He found her labia and pushed his finger deeper, searching for her clitoris.

“The baby!” Marie hissed.

“She’s too young to know what’s happening,” David moved Marie’s hand inside his bathrobe and guided it to his erect phallus.

“You’re incorrigible David,” Marie sighed.

She reluctantly gripped his cock and began to stroke it. They were both forty and already some of her girlfriends were complaining that their husbands had lost interest in them sexually so she was happy that David still found her alluring, but he got horny at some of the most inconvenient times and awkward places. At his insistence they had fucked in the car, outdoors in a park, in public toilets, once in an elevator; and once in the cinema. When they visited her mother he loved to fuck Marie in her mother’s bed.

David was fixated with stockings, tights, pantyhose, Lycra leggings, Spandex yoga-pants, knickers and panties, call them what you will, and he loved to play with her nylon-sheathed legs and her satin-clad vagina.

“Ok David. But I’m not taking off my tights; you can come on my legs and my pussy if you like,” she bit his ear, knowing he would love to exercise his fetish.

She wouldn’t orgasm but it would be nice feeling his cock rub on her vulva.

Marie guided David’s penis between her legs and clamped her thighs closed. His cock was trapped between her Lycra-clad thighs and her pubis. David gasped and pulled her close to him, opening his gown so he could feel her breasts press against his chest. She might pretend that she didn’t want sex but her hard nipples indicated otherwise.

“Make it quick David; the baby’s right there,” Marie hissed into his ear.

The heat of her breath in his ear made him all the more excited; he held her tight and began to thrust; pushing his erect penis up into her crotch; he could feel the outline of her vulva through the tight, slippery material of her tights.

“Oh!” Marie gasped and bit his shoulder as his glans pushed on her clitoris.

She admitted to herself that knowing that men stared at her breasts, legs, buttocks and pubic mound while she ran through the streets and the park turned her on a little; some of the men brazenly stared at her crotch as she ran past.

“Nice camel-toe luv!” a young tradesman on a building site had called out to her only that morning.

“Pig!” she had called back over her shoulder but she was flattered really, and a little excited.

She imagined it was the young, handsome, rough-cut, tradesman rutting against her now; not her husband. She didn’t feel guilty; they both fantasised during sex. David was thrusting harder now; she could feel the girth of his phallus rubbing and pushing into her shimmery-clad cunt. Now she wished she had let David fuck her properly so that she could imagine that the bricklayer was pushing her against the rough brickwork of the building; the muscled tradesman forcing himself on the petite housewife out for a run. She could smell a scintilla of her vaginal secretions faintly mingled with the aroma of her workout sweat.

Marie bit David’s neck as he held her tight and orgasmed against her; she felt his hot spend soak into her tights and the musty odour of semen assaulted her nose. Her cunt was tingling but nowhere near orgasm; she would take care of that in the shower as soon as David had finished.

David wiped his cock on Marie’s tights, knowing that she had to wash them regardless. Marie wiped herself with a tea towel conveniently left on the counter top and went back to perusing the mail while David put his cock back inside his underpants and closed his bathrobe.

“Coffee! Right now you randy goat!” she demanded; but she was smiling.

David poured Marie a cup and refilled his own.

“Here’s one for you honey, strange it has no stamp or address; it’s been hand delivered by the look of it,” Marie frowned as she turned the letter over and over in her hand.

David took the letter from his wife and inspected it. It was a regular letter-sized envelope, lavender coloured paper with David’s name scrawled in blue ballpoint ink. There was no return address and the flap was sealed.

“Maybe you have a secret admirer?” Marie teased him, grinning around her coffee cup.

David took a knife from the drawer and slid the blade into the envelope flap and neatly cut it open.

A single sheet of paper, followed by a photograph, fell onto the table as he shook the envelope. David picked up the photo and stared at it in awe, his facial expressions shifted from inquisitiveness, to recognition, to surprise, and then horror. His hand shook as he stared at picture. It was explicit. It was pornographic. It was a pretty young woman lying on a bed fully clothed but with her skirt hiked up and her stocking-clad legs locked around a young man who was vigorously fucking her. The woman’s face was contorted with passion and even though she was wearing heavy makeup if you knew what you were looking for and scrutinised the picture long enough and carefully you would eventually realise that the pretty young harlot was really David dressed as a woman.

David was shocked, speechless. He stood motionless like a statue staring at the photograph. He snapped out of his reverie and slammed the photograph facedown on the table, covering it with his hand. He swivelled his head expecting Marie to ask for an explanation but she had already left her coffee cup on the breakfast bar and was making her way up the stairs.

Ordinarily he would not be able to take his eyes off her buttocks, knowing that she was heading for the shower where she was likely going to finish what David had started; ‘rubbing one out’ as she called it. Usually if he could propagate another erection so quickly after his recent orgasm he would attempt to join her in the shower. But that was the last thing on his mind now.

He plucked his daughter out of her highchair and carried her upstairs to her room and put her down in her cot. As usual after her morning feed she wanted a nap and she snuggled up with her stuffed bunny and closed her eyes.

David went to the doorway of the pokey third bedroom that he used as his home office. David was a writer and author and made a comfortable living writing short stories, reviews, and had published three novels. Each of the novels had been a little more successful than the previous one and although he wasn’t yet a bestseller, with Marie’s income included they lived quite comfortably.

He listened carefully and heard his wife showering down the hall in the master bedroom’s ensuite bathroom; he closed the door to his office and sat at his desk, his hands shaking as he placed the lavender envelope down on the blotter. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the picture again so he shook it out and put it aside, facedown. The single piece of stationery was lavender identical to the envelope; it had been folded once to fit in the envelope and David smoothed out the crease so that it lay flat.

He began to read.

‘Hello David… or should I call you Petra?

Long time no see; in fact it is twenty years today since you last dressed as Petra; Happy Anniversary! You didn’t really just dress up as Petra though did you David? You transformed… no you BECAME Petra didn’t you? All for a dare… well at first of course it was. We all had to accomplish our dares didn’t we David? Too much to lose if we didn’t.

Well David; I’d like to play The Game again, sort of revive it if you get my drift. Of course there won’t be the six of us playing; just you and I. So we have to put something in the kitty to make it worthwhile; something precious, something cherished, not just a few quid like in the old days.

I know… let’s play for EVERYTHING David! Everything that you hold precious: your marriage, your daughter, your job, your friends, your family, your self-respect… like I said; everything!

I bet your mind is racing right now David. Who is this? Where did they get that picture? Why are they doing this? Well none of that is important right now; what is important is that you follow the rules of The Game exactly. Your first dare will be sent to you shortly at the address below where you are to go as soon as you are free from your fatherly duties.

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. Marie looks really sexy in that tight slinky workout gear doesn’t she David? I saw her leave for her run this morning.

Which reminds me… just let you know how serious I am you had better get to her knicker drawer before she does; you don’t want her finding what I’ve put there.

See you soon… so to speak,

The Quizmaster’

David glanced at the address at the bottom of the letter. It was familiar; very familiar, too familiar in fact. If what the author of the letter had written was true, and all of what was written in the letter appeared to be true so far, he knew that he had to get to the dresser in the master bedroom as soon as possible.

David pulled back the chair and shot out of it, he pulled the door open too fast and caught his knee but he didn’t slow down. He hobbled down the hallway to the master bedroom; the shower had stopped running and he had no idea how long ago Marie had finished her shower.

He yanked open her lingerie drawer open so hard that it nearly came off the runners but he caught it in time and pushed it back a little so that it was wide open. He rummaged through his wife’s intimates, breathing heavily and sweating profusely. He heard the exhaust fan shut down in the ensuite bathroom, which meant that Marie had turned out the light and was on her way out. His fingers found the lavender envelope and he snatched it from the drawer and shoved into the pocket of his bathrobe just as the bathroom door opened.

“Caught you!” Marie looked at him sternly.

David jumped; startled. He reddened and started to shake; a bead of sweat ran down the side of his face.

Marie started laughing.

“Don’t know why you’re looking so alarmed David; it’s not the first time I’ve found you rummaging in my knicker drawer,” she scolded him playfully.

David exhaled powerfully; a manifestation of both guilt and relief.

He picked out a pair of full-cut nylon leopard-skin panties and held them up.

“I was just thinking I’d like you to wear these,” David fabricated a feeble excuse for rummaging in Marie’s unmentionables.

“Not fucking likely David! I’m a lawyer not a hooker! I’ve got a business meeting today to which I’m wearing my navy business suit; I don’t want to be dressed like a nineteen-eighties prostitute underneath it,” she reproached him, snatching the knickers out of his hand.

“Hey… leopard-skin panties are timeless; not just nineteen-eighties,” David played along, trying to making light of the situation.

“Well you wear them then,” she said throwing them at him and laughing.

David caught them instinctively.

“I shouldn’t have said that should I? Knowing you, you are just as likely to do so. Now fuck off and let me get dressed for work,” she made a shooing motion.

David continued the masquerade and laughed, backing out of the bedroom and padding down the hallway.

“Hey stop right there! I’m on to you David!” Marie called out from around the bedroom door.

David froze. Fuck! Was this it? Was his marriage over? If Marie had seen what David suspected was in the envelope, more than likely it was. He turned around slowly; his face a picture of guilt.

“Give me back my knickers please,” Marie held out her hand.

David breathed another sigh of relief and bunched up and threw the flimsy garment, which Marie deftly caught. She closed the bedroom door and David fell through the door of his study trembling with dread. He closed and locked it behind him.

He fell down into the chair and placed the two envelopes side by side. The envelope from Marie’s lingerie drawer was blank; unaddressed. He opened the flap and tipped the contents out on the blotter.

Four more photographs; each as incriminating as the one addressed to him. David dressed as Petra, performing sex acts with the same man.

David sat there and stared at the pictures for a while and then he put all five pictures into the unmarked envelope. He rummaged through the detritus in a brass dish that was embossed with the words ‘Keys N Coins’ until he found a small key. He took the small key, opened a desk drawer and took out a blue-painted steel lock-box and unlocked it. He placed both envelopes inside the box and locked it; putting the key in his pocket. He put the box back and took out the pack of cigarettes hidden away at the back of the same drawer; he opened the window and sat back at the desk and lit a cigarette while he re-read the letter.

His consciousness drifted back to his youth.

September 1985

David, Rachael, Timothy, Sandra, William and Bethany were best friends who boozed, drugged and partied most of their way through their years at university; if tragedy hadn’t struck one of the group, they most likely would never have graduated.

They were a close group who did everything together. They would meet up at each other’s places for boozy weekends laughing, joking and fooling around, playing board games, or ‘twenty questions’, ‘would you rather’, ‘truth or dare’ and other such contrivances into the early houris of the morning. Then one of the group, they all took credit for it of course, came up with an improved perpetuation of the game truth or dare.

‘The Game’ as they called it was never given any other name than just that, ‘The Game’. It began as a series of student pranks that soon developed into a game of dare. Each week on a rotational basis one of the students was designated the competitor and the remaining five students each thought up a dare and put it in a sealed envelope. The competitor had to select an envelope blindly from a glass bowl and then carry out the dare inside.

The six students would each put twenty pounds, a lot of money in those days, into a kitty and the kitty grew as each competitor completed their dare. Failure to complete the dare resulted in the creator of the dare taking the kitty. As time wore on the dares became more brazen and difficult and usually downright humiliating for the contestant. It became a matter of pride to think up the most outrageous dare. The Game parties were drug and alcohol fuelled events and whoever's turn it was to be the contestant knew that plenty of ‘Dutch Courage’ would likely be required in order to complete their dare.

The dare had to commence at 7pm and be completed at midnight and at least one other member of the group, designated the ‘Quizmaster’, had to witness the dare through to completion. Some of the dares were quite elaborate and some just required patience and persistence. One example was that one of the male students had to spend the night covered in filth and dressed in rags begging on the high street pretending to be homeless. Another dare was to break into the local church and climb the belltower and ring the church bells precisely at midnight; that contestant was caught and spent the weekend in goal.

Another radical dare was initiated by one of the group who had a policeman friend and was able to borrow his warrant card. The contestant had to randomly accost people on the street and subject them to a 'stop and search'. This went well until one accosted person realised that the picture on the warrant card didn't match the contestant and gave him a black eye; but it was all part of The Game.

One of the girls had to dress as a strumpet and spend the night amongst the streetwalkers under the railway bridge. She was of course expected to decline all the punters who approached her but she had to be openly solicitous.

Sometimes all five of the group watched the competitor see the dare through to completion. But sometimes the dare became boring to watch after a while so the Quizmaster had to remain to watch the competitor complete the dare while the other four went to the pub or back to one of their flats to carry on partying.

David can remember that night twenty years ago like it was only yesterday.

He put his hand in the jar a little apprehensively and selected one of the five envelopes. The others watched expectantly as he tore it open. He read the printed script and smiled; an easy dare he thought. He read it aloud for the group to hear.

“You are to be fully feminised and dressed in a sexy outfit and spend the night at the X-rated movie theatre,” he read.

"Piss easy this one! Just throw on some drag and sit there all night watching porn," David gloated.

"Oh no David! The dare says you are to be fully feminised," Sandra, whose dare it obliviously was, corrected him.

Rachael and Bethany joined in.

“Yes! We’re going to turn you into a sexy little vixen so that those pervs in the theatre won’t be able to keep their hands off you,” Bethany cackled, drawing on a spliff.

“And I’ve got just the gear too; you’re about my size. Let’s go and girly this bloke up!” Bethany squealed.

All six of them piled into William’s beat up VW Combi and drove around to Bethany's cosy little flat.

David thought that being feminised would be quite the ordeal but it turned out to be quite the contrary. The girls insisted on shaving his face and, stripping him down to his underpants and shaving any visible body hair of which he had very little anyway.

“Fuck David you’ve got less hair on your legs than I have; and I shave twice a week!” Sandra whined drunkenly.

Bethany did his makeup: foundation, finishing powder, blush, eyeshadow, heavy eyeliner and mascara. They insisted on putting bright red lipstick on him. She brushed out his long hair, parted it in the middle and cut him a fringe. They even painted his nails bright red to match the lipstick.

“Really Bethany?” David whined.

“You forfeiting David?” Bethany grinned, knowing full well that the dare was pretty easy really.

David just shrugged.

She bought out a pile of her clothes and dropped them on the couch.

“Wait a minute. I don’t mind dressing up as a girl but I’m not dropping my briefs in front of all of you so you can take the piss,” David laughed, chugging on a can of lager.

“Don’t fuck your lipstick!” Bethany whined.

“Ok. Come with me!” she tucked the clothing under her arm and led David to her bedroom.

“Hey, hey, hey! No funny business in there!” William guffawed.

“As if? Dickhead.” Bethany slammed the door behind her and David.

It was an unwritten rule that the group remain platonic. They knew that if sexual relationships developed between any of the members it would only cause trouble and break up the group.

“Ok. I’ll turn my back while you put on my knickers, and garter belt,” Bethany sipped a glass of cheap whine.

“Is this really necessary Rache? I mean I’m happy to wear a skirt and high heels but the underwear? Really?” David held up the pair of lace-trimmed black satin panties that he was supposed to wear.

“Fully- feminised David. You know the rules,” Bethany admonished him.

David shrugged and dropped his underpants.

“Put the sussy belt on first David. Then when you need to go for a piss you can drop your knickers without having to unclasp your stockings,” Bethany called over her shoulder trying not very successfully to suppress a laugh.

David had been with enough girls to know how their underwear was worn. He held out the black lacy garterbelt; shaking it so that the six suspenders untangled and hung straight. He made an estimation of his waist size and adjusted the clips at the waist accordingly. Surprisingly his waist was smaller that Bethany’s and when he stepped into it, it fitted him quite well. The silver clasps on the garters tickled his thigh; it was quite unnerving but at the same time quite sensual.

Pulling the knickers up his freshly shaved legs evoked a delightfully pleasing sensation that intensified when he smoothed the satin material around his buttocks, penis and scrotum.

This was not really unexpected. David had never worn knickers or any ladies underwear before; but he loved the feel of the silky garments on the ladies he bedded. He liked to rub his penis on their panty-clad pubis and buttocks and even encouraged them to leave on their tights during sex. Most didn’t mind but some thought him a little weird.

David pushed his penis under his crotch to try to diminish the bulge at the front of his panties. He pulled the suspenders through the leg holes of his knickers; three either side, and adjusted the garterbelt and waistband of his panties so that they were comfortable.

“Ok Rache; over to you,” David reached for his can of lager but Bethany moved it out of his way.

“You can drink after I’ve finished with you,” she reproached him.

She had him sit on the bed and David felt the most awkward and uneasy that he had ever felt in the company of one of his friends. Bethany rolled up the first stocking and had David point his toe and slid the diaphanous garment up his leg. The voluptuous feeling of the silken garment sliding up his flesh was alarmingly erotic. When Bethany clipped the clasps to the dark welt and then began to smooth out the wrinkles and straighten the seam, David nearly fainted as feelings of lasciviousness coursed through his body.

David was visibly shaking when she slid on the second stocking.

Bethany became aware of the effect that her slipping on the hosiery and straightening and adjusting the stockings were having on David.

She blushed.

“Err David. Would you mind readjusting yourself for me,” Bethany was kneeling on the floor, smoothing the dark reinforced footlets of the stockings around David’s toes.

She reddened further and turned her face away while David adjusted his semi-tumescent penis inside the gusset of his knickers.

“I’m sorry Rache; I don’t know what’s come over me,” David blushed too as he apologised.

“Never mind. Let’s get you into a skirt shall we? That should hide any unwanted bulges,” Bethany tried to make light of the situation.

She finished dressing David helping him put on a black satin and lace brasserie that matched his panties; she stuffed the cups with old tights to fill them. Then she assisted him to step into in a black leatherette miniskirt and don a see-through, leopard-skin patterned, blouse.

Getting David into a pair of her black high heels was nowhere near as difficult as they both thought it would be; they slipped straight on, a perfect fit.

“Ok girly; let’s get you accessorised. This is junk costume jewellery but please try not to lose any of it,” Bethany instructed him.

She put a faux gold necklace around his neck and matching bangles on both wrists. David had both of his ears pierced so it was easy to fit the gold, drop earrings to his lobes. She put rings on the ring finger of each of his hands. She spayed him liberally with perfume from her dresser.

David stood in front of Bethany’s full-length mirror and could not believe what he saw.

“Fuck David! You’re fucking stunning!” Bethany finished her wine in one gulp.

David had so many emotions running through him that he didn’t know where the high from the booze and marijuana stopped and the excitement and delectation of wearing the makeup, clothes and heels began. The clothing felt so sensuous and delightful against his skin, the smell and taste of the makeup and perfume were opulent and luxurious, but the way he looked! He looked gorgeous, attractive and sexy. But he loved it! He felt it; it was as if David had disappeared and this alluring slattern had taken his place.

Bethany had to help David back into the living room as he teetered on his high heels.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck me! Bloody hell! Who the fuck is that!” a litany of awe and disbelief came from Timothy, Sandra, and Rachael.

“Jesus David if I didn’t know it was you in there, I’d as likely come onto you,” Timothy taunted him.

William remained quiet and subdued; obviously overwhelmed.

“I’ve got a friend who does a drag act at the Palladium. I asked him how they make themselves look so feminine and he says simple: ‘pretty boy – pretty girl’. Guess you prove the rule David,” Sandra snickered.

“We need to give him a femme name; he can’t go out like that and just be David. And it can’t be something trite like Davina, Davetta or some such shite!” Sandra shouted drunkenly.

“I christen thee Petra the whore! If ever there was a Petra; you are her, you whore!” Timothy drawled drunkenly and spanked David on the buttocks; they all fell about laughing.

They loaded up on booze and crisps and crammed themselves into William’s VW and drove down to the high street.

The X-rated cinema, appropriately named The Head Office, was a dingy decrepit building that catered for an equally sordid clientele. It ran non-stop porno movies on the big screen, usually Scandinavian but more recently American films; not that the patrons cared whether or not there were subtitles. The theatre was pitch dark and stank of cigarette smoke, booze, disinfectant and the musty smell associated with stale semen. The patrons were almost exclusively men except for the odd prostitute who used the place for a quickie if the punter couldn’t afford a room.

Rachael, Timothy, Sandra, William and Bethany half fell out of the Combi having shared a spliff and drank more wine on the way to the theatre.

“Come on Petra; don’t be shy,” Timothy snickered helping David, now Petra, out of the van.

Petra had taken off her heels for the journey and she leaned against the van to put them back on, helped by Bethany who had a vested interest in seeing that her expensive shoes not get scuffed.

The half-stoned part-time university student who sat in the ticket booth hardly took any notice of them as he took their five bob and pressed the button to open the door to the screening room. He didn’t care that they were obviously already drunk and had copious amounts of alcohol in their possession. It was a porno theatre for god’s sake; all he needed to do was take money, issue tickets and mop the floor at the end of his shift.

The six students wrestled their way through the blackout curtains and stood at the back of the theatre and were greeted by a huge screen on which a lady dressed only in stockings and high heels was being rigorously taken doggy-style by a well endowed fellow. The actors were not particularly attractive nor did they seem to be particularly resolute in their lovemaking; in fact they looked a little bored. Not that you would know that by the obviously dubbed soundtrack of moans, groans, and slurping sounds booming from the speakers and the trite English subtitles indicating that the lady was encouraging the gentleman to vigorously roger her.

There were a dozen or so punters sitting in the theatre; only the backs of their heads could be seen from where the Gamers were standing. A few were sitting together as couples but most sat on their own; some were smoking but all were transfixed by the action on the screen. They were all men.

One of the men who appeared to be sitting by himself two rows from the back suddenly groaned and then a head popped up from out of his lap.

“Perfect!” Timothy hooted.

As had been agreed during the ride over, Rachael, Timothy, Sandra, William and Bethany took seats in the back row where they could watch Petra who had to sit in the middle row in the middle of the theatre. Timothy and William bookended the girls to discourage any of the creeps hitting on them.

Unfortunately for Petra that was not the case. Almost immediately a man sat down beside her and put his hand on her knee.

“Fuck off mate!” Petra growled and the punter quickly departed.

The five students laughed and jeered at Petra; this was a hoot! They are all high and continued to drink as they sat in the back row watching Petra fend off a succession of men wanting sex but the repetition soon became boring as did the string of inane pornographic movies being screened. Around ten o’clock Rachael, Sandra and Bethany were starting to nod off so the decision was made to leave the Quizmaster to see out the end of the dare while the rest of them went back to Rachael’s place to sleep a little and do more dope.

William’s went for a piss and came back and assumed his duties as the Quizmaster while the other four headed off. He sniggered a couple of times as men repeatedly approached Petra and were sent packing, but finally even he got bored and he lit a joint and made his way down to where Petra was sitting.

"Here smoke this; at least it will help kill the boredom," William passed Petra the joint and sat down beside her.

“Thank fuck Will. It was sort of funny shooing away those geezers but it got very tedious very quickly. Some of them kept on coming onto me even when I made it obvious that I was a bloke,” Petra sucked back smoke and handed the spliff back to William.

“Well you are kinda hot Petra,” William joked and punched Petra whimsically in the shoulder.

Petra would never admit that she was secretly enjoying being dressed as a woman. She repeatedly stroked her legs, straightened her skirt, played with her hair, smoothed her hands down her breasts and even dangled a high heel from her toe. She practiced the womanly mannerisms that David had witnessed in his girlfriends.

Petra was also amused and a little delighted that the punters in the theatre found her attractive. She had no intention of letting any of them do anything to her but one or two had actually sat next to her and got as far as placing their hands on her knee which she secretly admitted felt quite nice through the sheer stocking; but they were soon rebuffed.

Now that Petra had a man sitting beside her the punters stopped trying to hit on her. The two friends sat watching porn and smoking dope; they were high and very drowsy and happy to sit in the dark in each other’s company.

Neither of them was sure when it happened.

They were lethargically staring at the big screen watching a pretty young white woman dressed in a basque, stockings and high heels being savagely fucked by a black man with a huge penis. You could tell that she was totally enjoying the sex and that she wasn't acting by her facial expressions, her sensuous movements, and the groans of pleasure escaping her lips. She had her legs wrapped around the black stud's waist, encouraging him to fuck her and her red lipsticked lips sought his mouth. The mutual attraction that the screen lovers had for one and other was so much more engaging and stimulating than the previous movies where lifeless actors vapidly rutted against each other.

William began to become acutely aware of Petra's presence, the smell of her perfume, the sheen of her sheer stockings in the dull glow of the screen, her pretty face. He absentmindedly placed his hand on her knee and squeezed. Petra gasped and William instinctively snatched his hand away. Petra sighed. Then, keeping her eyes locked on the screen, she sought his hand and rested it back on her knee.

They both stared at the screen their minds racing; they were crossing so many boundaries and they both knew it. Speaking about it would break the truce that they seemed to have unconsciously compacted between themselves. Neither spoke; they sat in silence watching the lovers on the big screen; both acutely aware of William’s hand resting lightly on Petra’s knee.

Petra bit her lip as William’s hand slid slowly up her leg until it rested on her thigh, just under the hem of her skirt. She could feel her heart pounding and her breathing was shallow; but more disturbingly she was becoming shamefully tumescent. She tore her eyes from the screen and glanced down before returning her eyes back to the projected images of sexual gratification.

The brief glance allowed her to see William’s hand on her leg and his fingers under her skirt. She’d also seen the bulge in his jeans.

They sat like that for what seemed like an eternity; silent, motionless, staring, hardly breathing. They both knew that if they did nothing further there was no harm done. William had played a prank and David had played along. They could joke about it with the others. It was nothing to worry about. They would soon leave the theatre as friends and laugh about how they had pretended to be attracted each other.

Then Petra rested her head on William’s shoulder.

William put his left arm around Petra and pulled her close to him; his fingers slid further under her skirt and found the welt on her stocking. He fiddled with the garter clasps and smoothed his fingers along the gauzy nylon stocking.

Petra turned and faced William in the dark, their faces illuminated by the flickering screen.

"We tell no one. Ever! And after tonight we never speak of it," she looked searchingly into his eyes.

William nodded and leaned in and pressed his lips to hers.

Petra opened her lips and explored William’s mouth with her tongue. William groaned and reciprocated; his hand slid further up her thigh finding the creamy soft flesh above her stocking top. It continued into her lap and found her hard and hot in her panties. He squeezed Petra’s panty-clad cock and she moaned; her hand sought out his jeans and he lifted himself up in his seat to help her find and unzip his fly.

Petra’s hand snaked into William’s jeans and released his long hard cock. It felt so smooth and firm; she raked her fingers along it gently as she kissed him passionately. William lightly stroked Petra's cock through her flimsy panties, the front of which were now wet with pre-ejaculate.

Petra squeezed William’s cock and began to stroke it. He fell back in the chair moaning, lifting his groin as she worked her hand up and down his hard member.

When Petra dropped to her knees on the filthy floor William was astonished; his first instinct was to lift her back into her seat but when her hot wet mouth closed on his phallus he could only gasp and stroke her hair, encouraging Petra to suckle him.

Petra was in a trancelike state; she instinctively wanted to pleasure her man. She worked her lips up and down William’s sleek shaft while her tongue lapped at his glans.

Despite the booze and dope William couldn’t hold back his orgasm and he climaxed in Petra's mouth. He tried to lift her face out of his groin but she refused and sucked and slavered at his manhood, swallowing the slaty issue as it ejaculated in her mouth. Petra suckled William’s cock until she had drained every drop of semen then she lifted herself back into her seat and sat ramrod still, looking straight ahead.

They both remained silent, not touching, watching the screen but not seeing what was being projected; they were both confused and stupefied with what had just occurred.

William tucked himself away and zipped himself up. He knew what was wrong. Post coital regret. A lot of girls had it after they’d had sex while drunk or stoned and then realised what they had done. In this case the magnitude of the regret was likely immeasurable given who Petra was and what she had done.

Petra turned to confront William.

“Are you ok?” she asked stony-faced.

William just nodded soberly.

“Wanna come to my place?” she asked matter-of-factly.

William was dumbfounded but he nodded again.

Petra leaned into him and he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her tenderly.

“Let’s get out of this dump Petra,” William smiled and helped her out of her seat.

William put his arm around Petra and held her close and as they walked home Petra put her head on William’s shoulder.

21 September 2007

“David! David! Are you fucking smoking in there!” Marie hammered on the door.

David came out of his reverie and crushed out his cigarette on the windowsill and went to the door, waving his hands in a vain attempt to hide the smoke.

He poked his head out the door to see that Marie was dressed for work, trim and sexy as ever in her navy blue business suit.

“Sorry Marie,” David cowed his head.

“You promised to quit when Rachael was born!” Marie was livid.

They had named their daughter after David’s friend Rachael; well at least David had. Marie had no idea who his university friends were or what they had gotten up to.

“The nanny will be here in an hour and I’ll be home late; I have that conference today and then a working dinner afterwards,” Marie fussed at her jacket.

“Ok love; I’ll see you tonight,” David smiled and puckered for a farewell kiss.

“Fat chance dragon’s breath!” Marie berated him then clamoured purposely down the stairs, all swinging handbag and clacking high heels.

To be continued

21 September 2007

David had showered and dressed while his daughter Rachael lay sleeping and then waited impatiently for the nanny to arrive. He’d drank too much coffee and stole another two elicit cigarettes and was feeling a little high as well as anxious and preoccupied.

Who was the Quizmaster and why were they blackmailing him? Surely it had to be either Rachael, Timothy, Sandra, or Bethany; there were other students who knew about The Game but only the group of six had played it. But why wait twenty years? What did they want?

The nanny arrived promptly at ten; she was one of the many English speaking foreign students who paid to attend university in the UK, she supplemented her income nannying for Marie and David three days a week, making up any missed classes in the evening. David handed over custody of Rachael, snatched up his mobile phone and car keys and drove his Honda Civic to the address he had been directed to in the blackmail letter.

Parking was terrible in the small streets close to the university, without a resident’s permit on-street parking was not permitted anyway. This suited David; he didn’t want to park too close to his old digs. He didn’t know if the Quizmaster was watching him but more importantly he didn’t want to have to explain to Marie why he was there if some nosy-Parker told her that David had been seen near his old flat.

He found metered parking in a lot around the corner and used a shortcut through the back alleys to get to his old flat. When he arrived out from of the big Victorian house he was unsure what to do; the letter had instructed him to come to this address to find his dare but didn’t provide any further clarification. Then he saw the corner of a lavender envelope protruding from the mailbox slot for flat 12C, his old address. He looked around carefully and saw that the street around him was empty and he carefully extracted the envelope. David had trouble squeezing the envelope though the slot; it was bulky and heavy. Inside was a set of keys.

David opened the door to the bedsit that had been his home throughout his time at university. He entered the diminutive one-room bedsit comprising of a combined kitchen, lounge, and bedroom; fitted with a kitchen sink, gas burner cooktop and tiny refrigerator. A tiny ensuite bathroom had somehow been fabricated when the existing residence had been subdivided into boarding rooms; an even smaller closet-come-wardrobe beside it. It was like stepping into the past; the room was decorated exactly as it had been when David lived there. Or more correctly, when Petra lived there.

There was a small wooden dining table with two chairs set against the window, an overstuffed lounge chair and scarred, cigarette burned, coffee table in front of a TV and a CD player sitting on a small cabinet, a double bed with pink satin duvet and half a dozen throw pillows. An attempt had been made to cover the baby-shit coloured wall with iconic posters: The Bangles, Heart, Cindy Lauper, Madonna, Kate Bush, Michelle Pfeiffer, Molly Ringwald. When Petra was not ‘in residence’, the posters would be replaced by posters of Huey Lewis and the News, Prince, Tom Cruise, Sly Stallone, Arnold Schwarzennger, the Rolling Stones, and English football heroes. The duvet would be a plain black cotton coverlet; there would be no throw pillows.

For two years David had lived a double-life. To his university fellows, to his friends, to his family, to the outside world he was David: boozer, doper, struggling student, and Game player. Most evenings and on weekends, except when he was gaming, David transformed into Petra: an attractive, leggy, young woman with a penchant to dress immodestly at times.

Petra was also William’s secret lover.

The room smelled vaguely of Christian Dior’s Poison; Petra’s favourite perfume, undercut with cigarette smoke and marijuana.

David made his way over to the closet. It was filled with Petra’s clothing: some dresses, but mainly skirts and blouses and a couple of jackets. He squeezed the padded shoulders of a dark blue fitted jacket with gold buttons and smiled wanly. He opened the drawers and found an accumulation of lingerie and hosiery, the second drawer held costume jewellery and accessories, a small collection of high heels was laid out on the shoe rack. There was no male clothing. In the two years that Petra existed alongside David, David had kept his male clothing in the closet; Petra’s clothes had been secreted in two hanging clothes bags, the shoes, underwear and accessories locked in a suitcase under the bed.

He was not surprised to see Petra’s makeup laid out on the vanity in the bathroom. This too would be secreted away in the suitcase whenever David was in residence.

At first it was difficult living a double life but he soon got into a routine. Most of the time the flat looked exactly like a bachelor flat, everything unkempt, clothes tossed here and there, empty beer bottles, pizza boxes and Indian food containers piled next to the sink. When Petra was in residence the place was immaculate and feminine.

Being a loner, except for his group of game-playing friends, he didn’t have to worry about unexpected visitors. On the rare occasions that he hosted his friends or family the place looked very blokey. Most evenings Petra was in residence and the only visitor she had was William. Sweet William.

David closed the bathroom door and sat on the bed and put his head in hands.

Someone had recreated his life from twenty years ago and whoever it was seemed to know everything about his past. He suddenly felt very tired; almost exhausted. He kicked off his loafers and lay down on the bed.

He could smell Petra on the pillows; Poison perfume, her finishing powder, her shampoo. He stared at the cracked and stained ceiling and recalled what had happened when Petra and William had left The Head Office.

September 1985

Petra and William walked home like lovers; never really talking, just happy to be together. At one point William pulled Petra into an alley and kissed her passionately, holding her tight, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She had rubbed against him like a cat, lifting a leg and curling it around him. His hand found her leg and stroked her stockinged thigh.

They broke the kiss and continued home, Petra was so infatuated that she hadn’t even thought about what might happen if one of the neighbours saw her. It was unlikely anyway as it was after midnight and in any event no one would have recognised her as David.

“Well this is it. Are you sure?” Petra tuned to face William; her pretty eyes searched his.

William kissed her nose affectionately.

“Lets go up; it’s cold,” he smiled at her and then squeezed her buttock.

“Cheeky,” she smiled back at him.

Petra didn’t know what had come over her; she was behaving like a ditzy teenage girl rather than a twenty-year-old man. But David was gone; there was no David, only Petra.

She panicked a little when she realised that her keys were still at Bethany's flat but she knew that a spare key to the front door was hidden under a flowerpot. She opened the door to the terrace house and put a finger to her lips indicating for William to be quiet. He had to help her up the stairs, not so much because of the booze and the dope, but because she was still learning to walk in her high heels.

David often left the door to his flat unlocked; after all what was there to steal? He had done so tonight and Petra opened the door and stepped inside. As soon as William came inside she closed the door, spun the lock and pulled William to her. They kissed all the way to the bed in the dark.

William shucked out of his clothes while Petra turned on the bedside lamp and threw a sheer red scarf over it. It gave the room a rosy intimate glow. She lay down on the bed and watched William take off the last of clothes; his penis was erect again and stood out proudly from his thin frame.

Petra had never been with a man before; how could she? She hadn’t existed until tonight. But David knew how his girlfriends behaved and what they did to please him and that knowledge now resided inside Petra.

She held out her arms and William lay on the bed on top of her. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him, relishing the feel of his hard manhood pressing against her lower belly.

Petra reached between their bodies; she wanted to feel the girth of William’s penis; it was hard and sleek in her grasp. She became tumescent herself, her own erection pushed against her skirt through her panties. She gasped when William touched her there, under her skirt.

They kissed and fondled each other languidly; in the safety of the flat there was no rush. Petra manoeuvred herself so that she was astride William; sitting on him as he lay prone. She kissed his lips, worked her way down his neck to his chest, his belly and found his penis with her mouth. She licked his turgid phallus, exploring the flesh with her tongue; the veiny shaft, the bulbous purple glans, she tickled his fraenulum knowing that it would drive him wild with desire, which it did. She took his member into her mouth and slowly sucked on it; relishing the little globules of pre-seminal fluid that she licked away and swallowed.

William moaned and held her face; gently guiding her tongue and her mouth to the sensitive places on his manhood and his scrotum. Petra took his testes in her mouth and suckled them until William lifted her face out of his groin.

“Stop or I’ll come,” he whispered.

“I want you to come darling,” Petra smiled up at him as she stroked his shaft.

William pulled her up beside him and kissed her.

“I want to come inside you,” he whispered in her ear.

Petra looked at him lovingly and nodded.

She knew what this would mean and although she had never done anything like it before, the fundamentals of the act that he wanted her to perform were obvious to her. In the dresser drawer was a tube of lubricant that David used sometimes when he bought women home. Petra took the tube of KY jelly and smeared a gobbet of it on William’s penis, working the cool viscous lubricant into his fleshy manhood with her fingers. He reached down to stop her.

“Careful of I’ll misfire,” he smiled.

Petra kissed him and while doing so she reached behind herself, inside her knickers, and placed a globule of the viscous lubricant between her buttocks on her sphincter.

Still kissing William she straddled him, her knees on the bed and her buttocks poised above his groin. William embraced her as his tongue searched her mouth. Petra hiked up her skirt and deftly reached behind herself to pull the gusset of her panties aside, exposing her sphincter.

She positioned William’s penis at the entrance to her anus and slowly, ever so slowly, lowered herself on his engorged organ until she was impaled on William’s hard cock.

Petra threw back her head and moaned like a harlot as she slowly began to ride him.

She was expecting some pain as she slid William's hard phallus inside her sphincter and pain she got; but she bit her lip and tried to relax. As more of him entered her the pain receded and metamorphosed to a feeling of fullness and then a delightful perception of tingling pleasure radiated from the tight ring of her sphincter. A deep pulsing delectable sensuality disseminated from her prostate and she positioned herself so as to guide William’s organ onto the sensitive gland.

William held her by the hips and helped guide her as she slowly started to ride him; lifting herself so that the tip of William’s penis was just inside her and then lowering herself and grinding her buttocks as she was fully impaled.

William smiled up her and she smiled down at him.

“Nice?” she asked as she rode him with slow deliberate thrusts.

He smiled up at her and nodded. She fell on him so that they could kiss while they fucked. William adjusted his hips so that she remained fully impaled on his cock as they kissed passionately.

Petra began to drive herself more vigorously up and down as the delightful feelings of rapture increased. She felt so feminine, so womanly, so wanton, and so downright lewd as she fucked her lover. She could feel the fullness of him inside her and it just felt so right, so perfect.

She wriggled her buttocks and bucked against him, driving his penis deep inside her, the deeper he probed the more wonderful it felt. They pawed at each other as they kissed and fucked; William raked her thighs, laddering her stockings with his enthusiasm and then returned his hands to her hips so that he could drive himself upward and deep inside her.

The front of Petra’s panties was soaked with pre-ejaculate; she was close to orgasm and sensed that William was too.

She broke the kiss and threw back her head; pushing down on William’s chest with her palms and rutted on top of him and then pressed her buttocks down hard into his groin as she ejaculated into her knickers. William squeezed her hips and pushed her down on him as he emptied himself deep in her anus; his cock pulsing as jets of hot semen filled her tight passage.

They both howled with pleasure and Petra fell forward smashing her lips against his as she writhed and wriggled astride him, impaled by his erupting manhood. They clung to each other and rode their orgasms to a precipice and then slowly came down together.

She lay on top of him panting, trying to regulate her breathing. William held her close as his penis slowly drained the last of his issue and deflated inside Petra. When she felt him fall out of her anus, Petra slid her panties back into place, feeling a little of him leak from her as she did.

They lay side by side, not speaking, just kissing and touching until William once again became engorged and this time she lay underneath him, just like a woman, as he made love to her, kissing and caressing her throughout. They climaxed together again and then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

When Petra awoke the next morning William was gone and she had to deal with the awful practicalities of the previous night. Her knickers were soaked with semen and other bodily fluids that made her look away and wrinkle her nose; she would soon come to realise the importance of douching. Her stockings were laddered beyond repair and the clothes she had borrowed from Bethany were rumpled, stained and smelled of sex.

She was hungover and morose; she couldn’t believe that she had given herself over to such wonton lasciviousness simply because she was dressed as girl. And with her best friend; who she no idea how she could ever face again.

She put all of the blame, guilt and regret on herself, laying no blame on William, as she stripped off her clothes, washed off her makeup and showered away all evidence of ever being Petra. But when David looked at himself in the mirror he could see the bite marks on his neck, the scratches on his hips and shoulders, and the imprints of Williams fingers on his thighs and buttocks.

He washed out the knickers in the sink and hung them to dry alongside the bra and suspender belt and then dressed in jeans and a shirt and stook the blouse and skirt to the dry cleaner on the corner, paying in advance for a same day service.

Later that afternoon he went around to Bethany’s hoping that she would be out and he could just leave the clothing on her door but she was home and insisted on hearing how the evening had panned out.

“More of the same really; guys kept coming onto me and I kept repelling them. It got boring and repetitive,” David lied.

“Well I have to say you looked absolutely gorgeous as Petra; so feminie and downright sexy. I’m a little jealous,” Bethany kidded him.

“Anyway thinks for bringing back my clothes and stuff, you didn’t have to do so straight away. Can I offer you a bevy?” Bethany made her way over to the sideboard where a few cans of lager a cask of wine sat.

David felt his gore rise at the prospect of drinking.

“No thanks Rache; I’ll just take my clothes and keys and fuck off,” David got up out of the armchair.

“Well at least let me fix that for you,” Bethany looked down at David’s hands.

He was so preoccupied and hungover that he didn’t realise that he was still wearing nailpolish. Bethany sat him back down and went to work with nailpolish remover while David tried not to gag on the acetone fumes.

21 September 2007

David’s phone beeped bringing him out of reverie. It was a text from Marie reminding him that she wouldn’t be home for dinner and that he would need to feed their baby Rachael prior to putting her down for the night. David texted a response and put his flip-phone down on the nightstand and was about to get up off the bed when he saw the envelope tucked under the pillow beside him.

He tore it open and read the typed black text on the lavender paper.

‘Petra,

I much prefer the conventions of our time at university, conversing by letter, but modern technology is wonderful and essential to your first dare.

However might I suggest you practice your makeup skills, you are undoubtedly rusty after such a long absence. Maybe slip into some of Petra’s clothes and practice that sexy Bonnie Tyler voice and walk around in high heels until you are comfortable in them again.

Anyway to business… In the corner are a few contrivances that our out of place in this memorial to your past life. One is the Toshiba laptop next to the TV and beside it a mobile phone. The computer is unlocked as is the phone. You will need them for this and future challenges.

Your dare begins at seven PM and finishes at midnight tonight as per the rules of The Game. I hope that is not too inconvenient for you Petra but I really don’t care if it is; you know the consequences if you don’t play or don’t see the dare through to completion. Your first challenge is simple and is designed to make you comfortable being back in your own persona and you have plenty of time to prepare.

I have arranged a date for you, an assignation really, on a dating site. You are to let the man into your apartment at 7PM and entertain him until midnight; you know what I mean by entertain right?

Failure to complete the dare means I win The Game and the kitty and as a consequence all of your friends, family and business associates will get to meet Petra and be entertained no doubt by the details of her sordid past.

Don’t be too shocked Petra; admit that you are a little intrigued and excited to be resurrected and put back to good use doing what you do best. You fucking whore!

The Quizmaster’

“What the Fuck!” David shouted to the empty room.

There was no way that he could undertake this dare. Who would look after the baby? What would he tell Marie? And who makes dates with strangers on hook-up sites?

David got up off the bed leaving the letter on the pink duvet and went over to TV stand where an eighties-vintage color TV sat and incongruently beside it a Toshiba laptop with a telephone jack inserted in the modem port at the rear. The telephone cable was long enough to reach the coffee table and David set it down there and sat in the lounge chair. He leaned forward and pressed the Windows login icon for ‘Petra Pantsdown’; the Quizmaster had a sense of humour.

As David was advised no password was required and the welcome screen opened to reveal that the dialup internet connection was functioning and the web browser was operating with a number of windows open. The first was a hotmail email inbox for Ms Petra Pantsdown, the second the profile page on the Adult Friend Finder dating site for a Ms Petra Pantsdown. Her profile was adequately populated with pictures of her, mostly demure but a few compromising pictures of her and William but William’s face had been obscured. To summarise the profile it was basically was a plea from a promiscuous transvestite looking for casual encounters with men.

David was stunned at the elaborateness and expense the Quizmaster had gone to. Renting his old flat, furnishing it almost exactly as it had been twenty years ago, putting in a telephone line, establishing an internet account and creating an email account and dating profile. Whoever was tormenting him had plenty of time and money.

And where had they got those photos? Who had taken them? William? David had no recollection of Petra allowing herself to be photographed and William certainly would not have consented to having pictures taken of him engaging in sex with a transvestite.

David opened the email account and found an email string between Petra and man identified as Mick Miller; his pseudonym on Adult Friend Finder was ‘Trans Admirer’. Apparently they had been conversing for a week exchanging email and finally setting a date for an assignation tonight at Petra’s flat. David studied Mick’s profile pictures, Petra had been given access to a private folder on the site which included face pics rather than the public body shots and ‘dick-pics’.

Mick Miller was a handsome man, reasonably fit by the looks of him and apparently regularly used a tanning booth.

In her final email to Mick, Petra had supplied him with a mobile phone number and her street address; she would give him the house and apartment numbers tonight when he texted her at 6.30 PM. At least Petra was canny; not giving away where she lived until she was sure the man was absolutely sure of his intent to commit to the rendezvous.

David had no choice but to complete the dare but the Quizmaster had overplayed his or her hand. There would be records of who was renting the flat, who was renting the phone line and had purchased the mobile phone plan; David could do some detective work of his own without having to track down and contact either Rachael, Timothy, Sandra, or Bethany.

But his immediate problem was what to do about tonight and that was when the mobile phone next to the TV buzzed with an incoming text alert. David checked the screen: ‘looking forward to tonight xxx Mick’.

What was this guy a teenager sending kisses to his date? He supposed that online dating was a bit like that; the excitement and expectation of meeting up for an assignation. Back in the past had not Petra been similarly excited as she awaited for William to come around to her flat or later in their relationship as they got bolder and Petra more accomplished at ‘passing’, meeting in a pub or restaurant.

David picked up the phone and typed ‘me 2, but busy right now xxx Petra’ hoping it would keep Mick happy but shut down any notions of ‘telephone-tag’ he might have.

Some practicalities had to be dealt with immediately. He called the nanny and offered her twice her rate if she could stay the additional a few hours until Marie came home from her business dinner. Then he texted Marie telling her that he had run into an old friend from university and they were meeting up for drinks tonight and not to wait up for him to come home. He received an angry reply wanting to know why it had to be the same night as her business dinner and he replied that his friend was in town for one night only. He received an angry emoticon.

David was becoming very adept at lying; just as he had been when he lived his dual existences back in the 1980s.

There appeared to be nothing else to do but to comply with the directions from the Quizmaster for now. He suspected, no he was certain that he was being watched.

David took the letter off the bed, folded it and put it inside in his shirt pocket; it would go in with the others in the blue-painted steel lock-box when he got home. It would be part of evidence trail for when he confronted his tormentor.

He shucked out of his clothing and hung it in the closet then he looked at himself in full-length mirror on the back of the closet door.

The years had been kind to him; he was still trim and his body was kept mostly hairless, shaving his chest, belly and legs was one of the routine he had kept since his university days, Marie liked his body this way too. He had kept up a regime of fitness, which was easy once he met Marie because she was a ‘health nut’ and ‘gym junkie’; they enjoyed each other’s bodies and felt responsible to keep themselves in good shape. David also liked to cycle and rode every weekend.

That said, he was still twenty years older than those pictures, his face had a few wrinkles and he was a little thicker in the waist. He had kept his hair long despite the changing styles over the years and it was now worn shoulder length and usually kept in a ponytail during the day. Marie teased him that he wanted to look ‘artsy-fartsy’ being an author and all. He let his hair out and struck a pose.

“We have something to work with I suppose,” David said to the empty room.

Now for the practicalities. The preparations that transvestites and transsexuals never spoke about in public but were essential prior to any form of penetrative sex; although David was hoping it wouldn’t go that far.

He used the toilet and looked under the vanity and sure enough there was his old douche. He squeezed the bulb to ensure that it was still functioning. He took care of the necessities and then placed a gobbet of Veet depilatory cream between his buttocks to remove the hair around his anus. He shaved his face carefully and removed a few rogue hairs from his body and the small of his back; he decided to shave his legs too. He showered; ensuring that the Veet was completely washed away and shampooed and conditioned his hair. He dried his hair and bushed it, parted it in the centre and teased it out, snipping at the fringe to ensure it was straight.

It was standing in front of the vanity looking at the makeup arranged precisely as Petra liked it, that David’s consciousness was replaced by Petra. This was how it always been; as soon the transformation started David disappeared and Petra took his place.

She hadn’t practiced her makeup skills for so long that it took her a little longer than usual to do her face but the final product was perfect. The makeup was a little dated, very eighties, but Petra was not enamoured by the current minimalist makeup trends anyway. She liked lots of coloured eyeshadow, plenty of rouge to define her cheekbones and of course lashings of eyeliner and mascara. She did like the modern two-coat long lasting lipstick.

And now for the part to the transformation she adored; slipping into stockings, panties and brassiere. The feel of the stockings sliding up her freshly shaved legs was exquisite and the satin knickers sliding over them a delight. As she pulled them tight she was well aware of her semi-tumescence. If she was going out she would tuck her testicles into her inguinal canals and gaff herself so that she presented with a smooth feminine mound but she was dressing only to please her suitor tonight so she deftly tucked her penis between her legs and pulled her panties tight.

If Petra was going out she would fit herself with breastforms, realistic silicon tits to the uninitiated, using surgical adhesive or tape but as she was staying at home and was really only dressing for sex, she didn’t bother.

Petra decided to go for the ‘smart-tart’ look so she slipped into a black leather skirt and mauve satin blouse. Very eighties but that was the wardrobe she had been provided with. She slid her feet into the black three-inch high heels and went for a test drive, walking around the flat.

Back in her university days Petra had become adept at wearing and walking in high heels and those skills had obviously remained dormant because she glided around the flat like Joan Collins on the set of Dynasty. She practiced her feminine voice, which had taken her quite some time to get right back when she was still developing Petra’s persona. The Quizmaster was right, her voice was dark and smoky like Bonnie Tyler, to her it sounded so much better than some gay falsetto that some of the drag queens used.

She mooched around in the jewellery drawer and found some nice accessories and then sprayed herself liberally with Poison. She stood in front of the mirror. Petra was back! A mature version of her but with all the charm and elegance mixed with a little sass and sexiness.

Now! How kind had The Quizmaster been?

Opening the small fridge she found two bottles of Pinot Noir and six bottles of lager. She poured herself a glass of the Pinot. Then she reached under the coffee table searching the magazine shelf and she grinned when her fingers found a packet of cigarettes in the same place where she used to keep them.

She went back to the computer and saw that ‘Trans Admirer’ had indicated that he was non-smoker on his profile.

“Tough titty said the kitty,” she grinned and lit up.

“I’m sure a little cigarette breath won’t stop you; you pervert,” she blew smoke at the ceiling.

She opened the tray of the little compact disc player and tossed in a Heart CD and hit play, adjusting the volume so it created a nice background ambience.

Petra began to think about the practicalities of dealing with Mick when he arrived. The Quizmaster obviously had the flat under surveillance, for all she knew he was watching it now, so she would have to keep this Mick fellow entertained until midnight. She doubted he’d be happy to just drink and chat for five hours; her correspondence with him had been quite explicit that she wanted sex.

Besides, there was nothing to stop the Quizmaster logging into Petra’s accounts and contacting Mick asking him how he enjoyed his evening.

Although Petra had enjoyed her tryst with William she had never considered having sex with anyone else; in fact Petra had vanished when her relationship with William ceased. She would just have to deal with the situation as it presented itself.

As it turned out she needn’t have worried; by the time 7pm came around and she received the confirmation text from Mick she was half in the tank having drunk nearly all of one bottle of the Pinot Noir. She texted her response, giving him the street number.

‘Then come up to flat 12C,’ texted him and set her resolve.

“Here we go I suppose,” Petra said to herself.

In anticipation of William’s arrival the last thing Petra used to do was lubricate herself in expectation of his needs; she reached into the bedside table and took out the tube of KY jelly and did so now; is was as much part of her transformation routine as applying lipstick.

There was a knock at the door and Petra opened it with trepidation. Mick was tall, handsome, tanned and he was smiling, he held forth a small punnet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

“Not too presumptuous I hope?” he held out the gifts beaming a smile that would melt any woman’s heart.

Petra was stunned, meeting the man face to face and knowing what was expected of her was overwhelming. Mick saw that Petra was perturbed; his smile turned to frown.

“I'm sorry; I’ll go. You obviously aren’t up for this, I just hope I didn’t disappoint you,” Mick thrust the small bouquet and the bottle of wine into Petra’s hands and turned to leave.

Petra was still stunned as she looked bewilderingly at the offerings in her hands. Then she realised the consequences of letting Mick leave.

She put the wine and flowers down on the floor and took a step outside the apartment. She reached out tapped Mick on the shoulder and he turned around, a look of surprise on his face.

Petra remained silent but she stepped into him and pressed her lips to his; putting her arms around his broad strong back in an embrace. Mick wrapped Petra in his arms and returned the kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

Petra’s transformation was complete; she was once again a whole woman in the embrace of man who adored her.

“Shall we go inside; the neighbours might complain,” Mick held her tight and his eyes lit up as he smiled at her cheekily.

“Fuck the neighbours,” Petra replied and kissed him again, wrapping a leg around his, clinging to him.

“No. I’d rather fuck you, gorgeous,” Mick gasped into her mouth.

He held her close as he backed her into the apartment, kicking the door shut with his heel as he marched Petra to the bed. She had placed the same sheer red scarf over the lamp so that the little flat was lit by a rosy glow.

Mick lowered Petra onto the bed and sat down beside her. Petra sensed his impetuousness and eagerness as he threw off his jacket, kicked off his shoes and began to tug impatiently at his belt.

“Here, let me,” Petra eased Mick down on the bed.

She straddled him and lowered her face to his and kissed him; his hands left her hips and found her legs, he stroked her stocking-sheathed thighs and it was Petra’s turn to become impatient. She broke the kiss and went to work unbuckling his belt and unzipping his flies; she eased herself off him as she tugged down his trousers while he shucked out of his shirt. Finally when he was dressed only in his underpants, Petra eased them down to his ankles and he kicked them away.

The glans of his magnificent rampant penis glistened with pre-ejaculate, which Petra leaned down and licked away.

Mick gasped.

She engulfed Mick’s penis and worked her mouth slowly up and down the shaft.

“Stop! I’m going to come!” Mick pleaded

“That’s idea lover,” Petra smiled up at him, her face level with his groin.

“Yes but not like this; not the first time anyway,” Mick said, his voice hoarse with lust.

Mick used his strength and pulled Petra to him and rolled her under him; crushing her with his weight.

“I’ve been dreaming of this,” he groaned as he lifted himself to a kneeling position and his arms behind Petra’s knees.

He pushed her legs up and opened them, her skirt rose up exposing her panties and stocking tops. Mick eased forward, sliding his penis inside the leg of Petra’s knickers, searching for her sphincter. When he found the puckered bud it was already lubricated in anticipation of the evenings events. He thrust forward slowly and slid his hard cock all the way inside her.

Petra gasped as Mick entered her; she had forgotten how delicious the mingled feelings of pain, pleasure and fullness were, as Mick filled her anus with his flesh.

“Are you ok?” Mick looked down at her with both adoration and concern.

Petra looked up at him and smiled. She locked her arms around his neck and pulled him to her so she could kiss him and raised her buttocks, encouraging Mick to fuck her.

Mick held her legs open and began to vigorously fuck Petra as she whimpered little encouragements in his ear between kisses; she writhed beneath him, enjoying the feeling of his thick shaft sliding in and out of her tight passage. He was obviously an accomplished lover of transvestites, as he knew to thrust his glans against her prostate to maximise her pleasure which was evident by Petra’s own erect penis bulging her panties and leaking pre-seminal fluid.

They didn’t last long; Mick grunted and moaned as he pulled Petra to him tightly and climaxed. Petra locked her legs around his waist and her hands around his neck and she lifted herself up off the bed to mould herself to Mick’s body as she too reached her pinnacle. Mick’s cock pulsed and plunged inside her, filling her with his hot seed. Petra pushed her panty-clad penis up against Mick’s tight, flat belly to stimulate it as she too ejaculated. Her panties became sodden with her creamy issue.

Mick dug his fingers into Petra’s buttocks and squeezed them as he spent himself inside her; kissing her passionately, moaning into her mouth; writhing his body against hers as he held her tight.

They clung to each other, kissing and nipping, moaning and writhing as they climaxed.

When they were sated, Mick eased himself off Petra’s body and lay beside her staring at her pretty face. He reached up and lovingly eased her fringe out of her eyes and caressed her cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

“No; I’m Petra,” she replied cheekily.

“Yes you are; and I’m Michael, but I prefer Mick. Rude of me not to properly introduce myself before I fucked you,” he grinned.

“I’ll forgive your impertinence if you do that again a little later,” Petra reciprocated and stroked his cheek.

“What about now?” his smile broadened.

“Now?” Petra’s brow wrinkled.

“Haven’t you heard of Viagra?” Mick beamed and rolled on top of her again.

Mick left the apartment just after midnight leaving Petra lying on the bed clad only in her stockings and high heels; she was exhausted, her anus was leaking the last of Mick’s issue. Her sphincter felt raw and her anus was bruised but it felt wonderful; she had never been so blissfully shagged and alternately tenderly made love to.

“I’ll keep in touch,” Mick smiled as closed the door behind himself.

Petra found her panties slipped them on and pulled the coverlet over herself and fell into a deep sleep, fully contented.

Neither of them had noticed the tiny lens of the camera set into an imperfection on the wall opposite the bed.

To be continued

22 September 2007

Petra awoke mid morning; she felt a little hungover and her anus was tender. Vignettes of the previous evening played across her mind as she lay in the bed under the pink satin comforter; she had a morning hardon tenting her panties which she lazily stroked as she recalled Mick ravishing her right here in this bed and she smiled.

David’s phone buzzed and reality came crashing down on her.

“Fuck!” she leapt out bed and stumbled across to the little bathroom.

She peed and then went about the arduous task of wiping her face clean of makeup using moisturised wipes. She shucked out of her stockings, which were laddered, and threw them in the bin and kicked her panties away. She took a long shower washing away the last of Petra. It was David who emerged from the bathroom followed by a cloud of steam.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” David opened the little closet and found his clothes.

He slipped into his underpants and sat on the bed and began to pull on his jeans; he opened the bedside table drawer and pulled out his phone.

Three missed calls and four text messages!

The messages from Marie started with ‘where are you?’ and got progressively more angry until the final one which read ‘fuck you! don’t bother coming home!’. It was timestamped 0213.

“Fucking, fucking, Jesus!” David pulled on the rest of his clothes, grabbed his phone and his keys and the keys to Petra’s apartment and bolted out the door.

He knew that calling Marie now would be a mistake; she would be livid and without a perfected alibi he would stumble and offer an explanation that was implausible. He’d told Marie that he was meeting an old friend from university for drinks so the logical excuse would be that they got drunk, went back to his friend’s hotel, drank more and he’d stayed the night. As for not contacting Marie as the evening wore on, he would say he left his phone in the car. Would she believe him? The devil was in the detail so he conjured up more supporting evidence, the name of his friend, the name of pub where they drank, the name of the hotel where they stayed.

If Marie tested his alibi by calling the pub or the hotel he was fucked; but Marie would be unlikely to suspect him of infidelity. He was forty and she thirty eight; they had been married for ten years and had been trying for a child all that time until finally Rachael came along a year ago. They loved each other and had a healthy sex life and catered for each other’s fetishes and foibles in the bedroom and there never been a hint of unfaithfulness. She was simply mad that he had stayed out all night.

When he got to the parking lot he was not surprised to find a lavender envelope under the windshield wiper of his Honda Civic. He snatched it away and opened the car and flung the envelope and the keys to 12C in the glovebox. He drove home stopping at a shop to buy flowers and chocolates for Marie.

He burst through the door of his house just before 11am and found the nanny playing with Rachael on the rug in the lounge room. He apologised profusely and gave her twenty pounds on top of what Marie had given her for standing in during David’s absence. He played with his daughter until she was tired and lay her down for a nap.

He raced outside and retrieved the envelope and the keys to 12C from his car and retreated to his home office. He tore open the envelope.

‘Petra,

Quite the performance last night I must say! Proves you can teach an old dog new tricks; especially when the bitch is you! Anyway you passed the first dare and I will have another one for you shortly; meantime you need to make it up to your wife because you are going to staying out past midnight quite often I’m afraid.

The Quizmaster’

David was rattled. What was the deal with statement ‘quite the performance’? If the Quizmaster was watching the apartment, which David was sure of, he or she knew that Mick had not left until after midnight as required by the Game but wouldn’t know what had happened inside the flat. Maybe the Quizmaster had seen David kissing Mick in the hallway outside the flat, but that was all they would have seen. Was Mick in on it with the Quizmaster? Had he reported Petra’s wantonness and willingness to fuck him? Anyway his head hurt and he needed a nap so he put the letters with the others in the blue-painted steel lock-box along with the keys to the flat.

He checked on Rachael who was now awake and cooing in her cot. He changed her, fed her and took her with him to the master bedroom and played with her on the bed until she was sleepy again and then father and daughter fell asleep; he cradling Rachael in his arms.

Marie came home early specifically to confront David. She found the flowers and chocolates on the breakfast bar with a card. She opened it.

‘Sorry, sorry, sorry,

I love you,

David’

For a man who made his living as a writer it was piss poor effort she thought.

With no sign of David downstairs she climbed the staircase, expecting to find him in his study but he wasn’t there. She walked into the master bedroom and found David fast asleep with Rachael cradled in his arms.

Her heart melted and her anger dissipated. The two people she loved most in the world asleep on the bed, David protecting their daughter and Rachael safe in the arms of her father.

She backed slowly out of the room so as not to awaken them. She made her way downstairs and put the flowers in water, ate a chocolate and poured herself a glass of wine.

She heard the staircase creak and turned around to see David standing behind her, his hair tousled and eyes puffy from sleep. He was dressed in just a t-shirt and underpants and was sporting a sleep induced erection.

“Dressed to meet the queen have you?” Marie said dryly.

“No I took off my jeans because our little bundle of joy peed on them,” David replied.

“Look Marie; I’m sorry. We got into it a bit and…” David began but Marie held out her hand to stop him.

“I don’t want to hear anymore; I can guess it involves a succession of pints of beer accompanied by old rugby stories and probably stories about old university girlfriends. Then you were too pissed to come home so you stayed with your friend; who was it again?” Marie eyed him over the rim of her wineglass.

“Tim err Timothy; he hates being called Tim, and he wasn’t much of a rugby man,” David replied.

“So you just swapped stories about old girlfriends then?” Marie wasn’t as angry as David thought she would be but she wasn’t about to let him off easy either.

“No! I mean probably… but you know what it’s like when old friends get together who haven’t seen each other for ages?” David took a wineglass down from top shelf and poured himself a glass.

“Thought you would have had enough of that last night. Anyway yes I do know and when my old girlfriends get together we always talk about our old boyfriends,” Marie was deliberately teasing him now.

“Really? And do you rank their performances?” David rose to the bait.

“No we usually rank them on the size of their dicks,” Marie smiled wickedly.

She reached out and squeezed his penis through his underpants.

“Yours could best be described as adequate,” she taunted him.

“You don’t seem to complain,” David smiled back at her and held her hand on him when she tried to remove it.

“It does the job,” Marie squeezed David’s cock and grinned.

“Adequately, apparently,” David put down his wineglass and stepped in close to Marie.

“You’ve got bed-breath and smell like baby pee so don’t even think about…” Marie started to say.

David slipped his hand under Marie’s skirt and squeezed her mound, he pressed his middle finger into her cleft and rubbed her labia through the layers of panty and pantyhose. He knew how to arouse his wife; pressing on her cunt while stroking her cunt lips always got her excited.

“David! Stop that…” Marie tried to reprimand him but he shut her down by pressing his lips to hers.

“You are shameless,” she said through muffled lips.

Marie put down her wineglass and put her arm around her husband and began to stroke him though his underpants. David put a hand down there and freed his erection so that Marie could stroke the sleek hard flesh. He pushed his hand inside the waistband of Marie’s pantyhose and knickers; his found her wet. He opened her labia like the petals of flower and pressed his thumb on her clitoris while pushing two fingers inside her.

Marie moaned and thrust herself forward, offering herself to David. He slipped his tongue into her mouth and she gripped his cock harder, stroking it purposely. David worked on Marie’s clitoris and her knees began to buckle. She surprised David by pushing him away from her.

“This is too awkward,” Marie gasped.

She took the hem of her skirt in her hands and pulled it up around her waist exposing herself. She pulled her knickers down so that they pooled around her ankles and bent over a kitchen stool.

“Here! fuck me, fuck me now!” Marie wriggled her buttocks invitingly.

David stared at his wife’s magnificent buttocks sheathed in the black control-top pantyhose that she wore for work and stroked himself to full tumescence. He pulled her pantyhose down her thighs exposing her creamy white globes and positioned his cock inside her outer lips; he could smell her.

He thrust forward and his cock slid all the way inside her until his groin pushed against her buttocks. He placed his hands on her waist and began to vigorously fuck her, easing his cock almost all of the way out of Marie’s sopping minge and then thrusting forward; impaling her. She writhed and wriggled as he fucked her and unashamedly used her own fingers on her clitoris.

“Jesus Marie I coming!” David slammed his cock in and out of his wife’s sodden cunt.

“Wait! Wait!… Now!” Marie screamed as she orgasmed.

David felt her cunt quiver and pulse around his engorged phallus and he ground himself against Marie’s soft, creamy buttocks and emptied himself inside her. He pushed hard, hoping his shaft was stimulating Marie and contributing to her pleasure as she fingered herself to climax.

When they had both peaked David eased out of Marie and lifted her off the stool and spun her around and kissed her. She kissed him back, holding him tight, her knickers and pantyhose still bunched around her knees and her skirt hiked up. They kissed each other for a while and then Marie eased herself from his embrace.

“Yes; best described as adequate,” she taunted him and began to pull up her pantyhose and panties.

“What about you?” David tried to taunt her back.

“What about me? I’m the best fuck you’re ever going to have David Cashmore and don’t think that little performance is getting you out of the doghouse either,” she smoothed down her skirt and patted his cheek.

“Now; I’m going up for a shower and to get changed. Put on some trousers and look after our daughter while I do so please,” Marie turned and walk over to the staircase.

David ogled her big beautiful arse in the tight dark business suit skirt and marvelled at her wonderful legs sheathed in the black nylon and shod in shiny black high heels.

As she turned at the landing a wave of guilt washed over him as he pictured Petra with her legs in the air and Mick between them on the bed in Petra’s flat.

“Jesus! This can’t go on!” he railed under his breath.

David heard nothing from the Quizmaster; he or she had gone silent it seemed. David tried to work on his current novel but was continually distracted; waiting for the next summons from the Quizmaster which hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles.

He did some detective work trying to find out who was leasing apartment 12C. He smoozed up to the attractive but rather large real estate agent who managed the property, telling her that he was conducting research for his book. He took her for coffee and she was a little starstruck; she had read all three of his novels. He tried very hard to flatter her and eventually she told him that the only information she could give him was that the flat was currently leased to a Ms Petra Cashmore who payed her rent monthly using online banking. David declined the offer of a drink and maybe ‘a little something else’ that evening when she had smiled and opened her legs invitingly during the proposition.

He went back to the flat and found it spotless clean; the wine bottles and other detritus of Petra’s last visit had been cleared away, the surfaces wiped, the floors mopped and vacuumed. Even the laddered stockings Petra had thrown in the bathroom bin were gone; her panties were washed, folded and put back in the drawer in the cupboard. Either the Quizmaster or a commercial cleaner hired by the Quizmaster had been in the property since David was there last.

He spent some time online trying to chase down the origins of the Petra Pantsdown email and Adult friend Finder accounts but came up with nothing. He tried the same ruse with the phone company that he had tried with the real estate agent but got nowhere; the best he could get was a listing for the landline and mobile phone numbers, which unsurprisingly, were registered to Ms Petra Cashmore.

He thought about this for awhile and arrived at the conclusion that someone was impersonating Petra and that person had to be a woman because at some stage she would have had to show up and present credentials at the real estate agency.

David tried to charm the pretty but chubby real estate agent again to see is she had actually seen Petra Cashmore and get a description of the leaser but David had burned his bridges when he declined her offer of ‘a little something else’. She told him in no uncertain terms that he was close violating privacy laws and that if he didn’t back off she would report him.

“Damn! Well it has to be either Sandra, Rachael or Bethany!” David was of a mind that he’d had a ‘Eureka’ moment.

Meanwhile his obsession with trying to expose the Quizmaster was taking its toll on his personal life. He was using the nanny more and more, paying her extra to work the additional hours. His writing was suffering and his publisher was pestering him for a progress report on the novel, and a short story he had promised was overdue.

Marie accused him of being continually distracted and of neglecting both her and the baby. The only thing that seemed to be stable was his sex life with Marie; if anything it was better than ever. David seemed insatiable whenever Marie was around; he couldn’t keep his hands off her, seldom allowing her to undress before he pounced on her.

“Fucking me in my business suit bent over the workbench in the garden shed while I’m supposed to be hanging out the washing is quite exciting; but it doesn’t replace you spending quality time with Rachael and I David!” Marie had chided him as she adjusted her underwear.

What Marie didn’t know was that increasingly during their lovemaking David imagined himself in Marie’s place, only he was Petra of course. He had even resorted to taking the incriminating pictures of William fucking Petra out of the lock-box and masturbating using Marie’s knickers. He was losing control.

David assumed that either Rachael, Sandra or Bethany were the most likely candidates to be that blackmailing bastard, the Quizmaster; but for the life of him he couldn’t think of a reason why any of them would.

Rachael was easy to eliminate; she had been living in Australia for the last ten years. She had married an Aussie and never returned to the UK and was still living in Melbourne.

It was Sandra’s dare that had led him to becoming Petra on that evening of in March 1986 so that made her a suspect but Bethany had facilitated his transformation. She had done his makeup and dressed him; Bethany had effectively created Petra. He would start with the girls.

The gamers had drifted apart early in their last year at university as they worked hard to make up for their lack of study due to their penchant for drink, drugs and gaming. They had all finally graduated and David’s degree in English with an emphasis on creative writing and a minor in journalism set him up well for his chosen career. Not all the others had fared so well.

He checked with the university alumni association and was able to find contact details for both Sandra and Bethany but Sandra’s details were somewhat dated. Some further investigation led him to finding a phone number listing for her and the address where she was living near Birmingham. He called her and asked if he could meet up with her for old time’s sake. To say that she was sceptical would be to put things mildly.

“Why David? Why after all these years? You cunts wanted nothing to do with me after we graduated. I watched you become a successful writer while I tried to eke out a living as a journalist. Do you know what I do for a living now?” Sandra sounded bitter and a little drunk or stoned.

“Fuck it David. Don’t answer that! Come and see for yourself if you want to, you twat!” she slammed down the phone.

David’s suspicions were aroused. Sandra was aggrieved and obviously jealous of his success and that made her an excellent candidate as far as he was concerned. His attitude changed however when he went to see her.

Sandra was living in a council flat on a housing estate west of Birmingham. Most of the flats were abandoned and the tower block was scheduled for demolition once alternate accommodation had been found for the last of the tenants. The lift didn’t work and David was out of breath after he’d climbed the twelve flights of stairs to take him up to the sixth floor. He made his way past the usual detritus one expected to find in a building of this type: prams and pushchairs left outside doors, abandoned shopping trolleys, discarded furniture. The walls were graffitied, tagged by various youth gangs and the stairwell smelled like stale piss; David had had to step over a coil of human shit during his ascent.

He knocked at the entrance of Sandra's flat; layers of old paint were flaking from the water damaged wooden door.

Sandra came to the door and David hardly recognised her. She was wearing a cheap black vinyl miniskirt, a stained nylon leopard-skin blouse open to the third button, and scuffed black high heels. Her hair was teased out and her makeup garish; the tops of her laddered stocking were just visible, her large bosom cupped in a black lace brassiere was exposed, and she reeked of cheap perfume, cigarette smoke, and gin. She had a cigarette hanging from her red-lipsticked lips.

David was shocked and it obviously showed on his face.

“Go on say it! I look like a brass! Come in if you want to or piss off if you don’t; I couldn’t give a fuck either way,” Sandra turned and tottered on her heels into the kitchen.

David followed her and entered the dingy flat and closed the door behind him. The flat reflected the dilapidated state of the rest of the building; peeling wallpaper, filthy floors, clothes strewn around the place, overflowing ashtrays and rubbish bins. It smelled putrid.

“Did well didn’t I?” Sandra sat at kitchen table making no effort to pull down her skirt, which had ridden up to the roll of fat at her belly.

“Go on! Tell me I look like a brass, a prossie, a hooker! Well I do because I am one,” she stubbed out her cigarette and immediately lit another.

David took a seat opposite her after brushing away something that resembled dried gravy.

“I’m sorry to see you like this Sandra; what happened to you?” David asked sincerely.

“I never made it as a journalist and ended up with a deadbeat husband, three ungrateful kids and no financial support. I have a useless degree, no marketable job skills after my husband and kids pissed off, so I work part time in the chippie down the road and make up the rest doing this,” she replied around a cloud of cigarette smoke.

She looked at her cheap watch.

“I’m dressed for work so to speak; I’ve got a punter coming in half hour so be quick about your business. Unless you’d like a quick one for forty quid,” she nodded towards a pullout bed in the lounge room made up with tacky stained satin sheets.

David blushed.

“No thanks Sandra; I was just looking up the old gang; you know for old times sake,” David lied.

“Well you tell those other three cunts to go and get fucked if you see them; none of you ever bothered to look me up or offered to help. I suppose I can’t blame William; he’s at the bottom of the sea somewhere but I never heard from the rest of you fuckers once we graduated,” Sandra let her venom loose on David.

“Now we’re all caught up with each other. No need for you to tell me about yourself, I can read a dust jacket. So if you’re not paying me for a shag, you can fuck off as well,” she nodded at the door.

David opened his wallet and put two fifty-pound notes on the table; it was a pitiful gesture but it was at least something. He left without saying goodbye.

Bethany was in a totally different situation. David tracked her down to a small estate in Surrey; his research indicated she had done very well for herself.

She met David at the door wearing a white sleeveless sundress with red roses embossed on it, strappy white high heel sandals, perfect makeup and hair that had obviously been professionally coiffured. She still had a tiny waist and was still gorgeous; blonde haired, tanned and her breasts had been enhanced to perfection. She looked like a Stepford Wife.

“Please come in David, I'm so pleased to see you after all these years and not a peep,” she teased him.

David gave her his biggest smile.

“I’m looking up the old gang; the Gamers; I’m thinking of writing an article about us and our little dares,” he lied.

Bethany invited David through the huge elaborately and expensively furnished house and out back to the garden. David noticed four packed suitcases under the staircase in the entrance foyer.

It was sunny day but not particularly warm; best described as pleasant so David left his jacket on. Bethany led them to a tiled patio with a white lattice pergola where there was an outdoor setting. She invited David to sit and smoothed her dress under her as she sat in the white wicker chair opposite him. She poured them both a glass of sangria.

“To old times then,” Bethany offered her glass and gave him a big red-lipstick and bleached-white-teeth smile.

The ice clinked in their glasses as they tapped the rims together to seal the toast.

“So! A visit from the famous author after all these years,” she crossed her legs and swung her foot, either unconsciously or deliberately, but either way it got David’s full attention.

David thought Bethany was barelegged but then he noticed that she was wearing the sheerest hosiery that David had ever seen; gossamer thin, translucent. The only way he could tell she was wearing nylons was when she turned her leg a certain way and the sun made the hosiery shimmer. He couldn’t help but stare.

Bethany noticed him staring and blurted out a little nervous laugh; covering her mouth.

“So you still have a fixation for tights and knickers; or pantyhose and panties as you call them in your books,” she smiled at him beguilingly.

David blushed a deep crimson; how did she know about his fetish?

“I write for an international audience. The word tights is very English and to me evokes images of those horrible opaque things women wear in winter and knickers is also such a British word,” he explained; but he was still embarrassed that she knew about his fixation.

“How did you know about…” David was about to ask but Bethany put down her glass and waved a hand at him to stop.

“All of us girls knew David. You used to masturbate with our tights and knickers taken from our laundry baskets when you visited our flats; didn’t you think we would notice the stains? You were so pissed or high most of the time you probably forgot to clean up your mess,” Bethany continued to smile.

She took a sip of her drink and continued.

“One night, one of the girls, I think it was Rachael, raised her suspicions. Then Sandra said she thought so too and I told them I had also found evidence that you’d wanked in my sheers. In fact I think you stole some of my underwear. Were you a knicker nicker David?” she tormented him.

David was now extremely embarrassed and he looked down at the ground guiltily.

“How do you know it wasn’t Timothy or William?” he mumbled.

“Come on David really! You know all three of us fancied the pants off you back then but we had that stupid rule about no fucking other Gamers.

“I missed my chance to seduce you that time I had you in my bedroom when I feminised you. Do you remember? I’d done your makeup and unsurprisingly you got a hardon when you put on my knickers and stockings. I was kneeling on the floor right in front of you, straightening the seams of your stockings and you tenting my panties but I was too naïve to make a move,” she chuckled.

Bethany had inadvertently taken the conversation exactly where David wanted it. He wasn’t particularly comfortable discussing his penchant for ladies underwear but they were at least talking about The Game and in particular, the dare where he was feminised.

“I didn’t miss my chance with Timothy though,” Bethany drained her glass and refilled it while she continued to talk.

David realised that Bethany was more than a little tipsy which probably explained her chattiness and frankness.

“You know I got that dare to dressup as a brass and hang out under the railway bridge with the other prostitutes? I just shooed away any potential ‘punters’ is what I think they called them. You all fucked off to watch a band leaving Timothy behind to keep me safe and make sure that I kept the dare going until midnight. You all drove away in that awful Combi that William owned leaving Timothy behind to watch me from afar. Well he came over after a while.”

“He said he was worried about me with all these strange men hanging around but I could see he wanted me; me being dressed like a trollop must have turned him on. I took him into a cutout under the bridge and let him fuck me up against the wall. I came like a train. Pardon the pun, but it was so naughty. We both pledged to keep it a secret.”

“I think there were a lot of secrets between the six of us back then,” she stared knowingly at him.

‘Did she know about Petra and William? Was she the Quizmaster?’ David pondered.

“Anyway; I’ve read all your books and almost everything else you’ve written. I know that you are married to a wonderful lady named Marie who is a lawyer and that you have a little girl called Rachael. Is that a coincidence or did you fancy Rachael? Did you two ever…” Bethany's eyes shone as she sipped her drink and regarded him capriciously.

“How do you know all that? The dust jackets of course! A little potted history of the author’s life. So much wank; but my publisher insists,” David answered his own question and filled his glass and topped off Bethany's.

“And my life is so boring by comparison,” Bethany smiled wanly.

“I got my degree in computer sciences, which back them was a fledgling industry. I was studying for my doctorate while I worked at one of the emerging tech giants and that’s where I met Ian. He was ten years older and so much smarter than me. I fell for his mind as much as anything else.”

“I gave up my studies and worked under Ian while he rose up the corporate ladder until I just didn’t need to work any more. I became a lady who lunches. I play tennis twice a week, I go to tanning and nail salons, I have a gym membership; bet you’d like to see me in my gym tights?” she winked at him.

“Anyway we were married for five years and I never guessed that Ian was gay until one day he just came out and told me. He did such a good job of hiding it. We now have what’s known as a ‘marriage of convenience’. He hunts down hot-bodied young gay men and I’m allowed to play the field; all we demand from each other is discretion,” Bethany looked at the bottom of her glass.

“I think the young men refer to me as a MILF, or a cougar, or some such rubbish. I don’t care; I just like to travel the world fucking handsome young men with hot bodies,” she looked up and drained the last of the sangria into her glass.

David was stunned that Bethany was so candid with him. Throughout her story Bethany had dangled her sandal from her foot and rotated it in little circles; David was mesmerised by her gossamer-clad toes.

“Are you discreet David? Would you like to explore my legs a little more, see how far under this dress they go? I bet you would. I can see the bulge in your trousers from here,” she reached out and patted his knee.

David was speechless as she rose out of her chair and sat in his lap, sitting astride his thighs facing him. She tousled his hair and lowered those full red lips down to his. She tasted like sangria and cigarettes; she was wearing Poison, his favourite perfume. Had she worn it for him? He didn’t care.

He slipped his hands under Bethany's sundress and stroked her thighs. They felt so smooth and silky, encased in the sheerest of nylons.

“Come on David! No time for foreplay; I want you to fuck me! You can take me to bed and have all the foreplay you want later,” Bethany gasped into his mouth.

Her breathing was ragged; her breath hot and spicy, her need so manifest.

She half stood on her heels, still straddling him and clawed at his jeans, impatiently working on his belt and ripping down his fly. David half rose so he could pull his jeans and his underpants down to the top of his thighs allowing his erection to spring free.

Bethany pushed him back down in the chair and hiked up her dress; she clawed at the gusset of her sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose ripping out the crotch; she was not wearing knickers.

She impaled herself on David’s rampant penis and took his face in her hands and kissed him arduously, driving her tongue into his mouth. David put his hands on her waist and held on as she rode him, driving her pubis down into his crotch and grinding it; extracting every scintilla of pleasure that she could from him.

She was using him. She was fucking him. David was just her sex toy.

Bethany's cunt was sopping wet; warm and odorous. David could smell her sex as she rode up and down, fucking him hard, grunting and gasping into his mouth. Her cunt clung to his hard phallus, almost milking him as she gyrated and ground into him.

“Fuck! Fuck! Yes! Yes!” she screamed, her head flung back in wantonness as she orgasmed.

She pounded herself up and down on David’s cock, holding onto his shoulders, writhing with delight as she came. She kissed him, bit him and raked her nails on his neck as she climaxed.

It all happened so fast that David didn’t come.

When Bethany was finally satisfied she collapsed in his lap; her head resting on his shoulder as she panted, trying to catch her breath.

She could feel him still hard inside her.

“You didn’t come did you?” she looked questioningly into his eyes.

“No,” David smiled at her.

A wicked grin crossed her lips.

“Good! Let’s go upstairs and you can do me properly,” Bethany stood; the sinister grin still on her face.

Not even bothering to pull down her dress she yanked David out of his chair and half-dragged him up to her bedroom; he wasn’t even able to pull up his jeans.

She was insatiable.

When she had fucked David to the extent that he could no longer gain an erection she pushed his face into her crotch and made him perform cunnilingus on her; orgasming almost continually. When David’s jaw got tired she threw him down on the bed and suckled him until he became erect again and rode him until they were both exhausted.

David fell asleep some time after three in the morning and awoke to Bethany poking him with a finger.

She was dressed in her travelling clothes; a two piece suit. Her hair and makeup were perfect and her eyes sparkled. David once more thought of the Stepford Wife analogy.

“I have a car waiting. I’m off on a two-month cruise around the Caribbean; thanks for a wonderful day yesterday. You can put it in one of your books if you like, just don’t use my name. You can’t stay here sweetie so get up and get going,” Bethany bent down and kissed his cheek and then rubbed her lipstick off his skin.

David was stunned but that explained the suitcases in the foyer. Bethany was undoubtedly some sort of nymphomaniacal lunatic cougar but he doubted that she was the Quizmaster, especially now that she was leaving the country for two months.

He heard the clatter of her high heels on the marble staircase and her shrill voice giving orders to her driver and then he rolled out of bed and dressed hurriedly.

David felt uncommonly guilty when he returned home. He’d told Marie that he was taking a road trip to do some research for the book he was writing and that he’d been gone two days. He still needed to locate Timothy as he was now convinced that none of the girl Gamers was the Quizmaster, which meant that Timothy was now his prime suspect.

David wished he’d had time to shower before he left Bethany's but Bethany was running so late that she had just about thrown him out the door. He thought that he could still smell her on him; her perfume was cloying and her bedroom had reeked of sex when he’d awakened. He convinced himself that it was his imagination but he felt so guilty about fucking Bethany. When Petra had sex it didn’t count as adultery because she was Petra not David; but this time David actually felt like he had been unfaithful to his wife.

He had hoped that Marie would still be at work but she was home and came into the hallway when he came through the front door. He threw his jacket on a coathook and kissed her cheek and raced upstairs hoping to shower.

He ripped off his clothes and was about to go into the ensuite when Marie called up to him.

“David can you come down here. Can you come down here now please!”

He dressed in his bathrobe and padded barefoot downstairs. He was thinking of an excuse that he could use so as to not have sex with Marie; he doubted he could get it up after Bethany had drained him.

He needn’t have bothered.

Marie was standing at the bottom of staircase holding his jacket in one hand and something else in the other.

She tossed the something at him; she was seething and her eyes were red and filled with tears.

He caught the something. It was Bethany's discarded pantyhose with the crotch ripped out. Pinned to the pantyhose was a note written on lavender notepaper.

‘Enjoy these lover! I have some great memories of you until I return, B’

The ‘B’ was enlarged; the writing stylised, handwritten with a fountain pen. Bethany had placed a big red-lipsticked kiss on the bottom of the note.

“I can explain,” David lied.

“Explain! Explain those scratches and bitemarks on your neck? You reek of her David!” Marie screamed at him.

Marie regained her composure.

“Pack your bags,” she said calmly.

To be continued

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

21 September 1987

Petra met William at the door to her flat dressed in a black see-through negligee, red satin suspender belt and matching panty and bra set, fully-fashioned black stockings and red high heels. Her makeup was heavy but perfect and she had accessorised with silver costume jewellery and she reeked of Poison, their favourite perfume.

She hadn’t gaffed and was already semi-tumescent, this was to be a short but sweet interlude.

“So you’ve come around for your farewell fuck,” Petra invited him inside and closed the door.

“If you keep being cheeky you might just go to bed frustrated,” William jested.

Petra and William had been lovers for two years, even though after their first night together they had vowed to keep what they did a secret and never speak of it again.

But David found himself addicted to his alter ego Petra. He put together a wardrobe, at first from Op shops but once he was comfortable with what size women’s clothing and shoes fitted him he began to purchase clothing and shoes from high street stores. At first it was daunting, being a man shopping for women’s clothing, makeup and accessories but he soon overcame his nervousness. David worked hard at developing Petra’s persona and after about a year he was confident enough to go out dressed as Petra; although that is not quite the right expression because he actually became Petra when he was transformed.

William found that he couldn’t get Petra out of his mind either; he thought about her constantly.

David and William met at the campus coffee shop not long after their tryst at the Head Office and David confessed that he was obsessed with crossdressing and was spending almost all of his spare time dressed as Petra, perfecting her female persona. William confessed that he was preoccupied with thoughts of the night he had spent with Petra.

They made a pact then and there. William and Petra would become lovers; Petra would contact William and advise him when she was available. David and William would never speak of Petra’s existence, they would remain friends while Petra and William were lovers and of course Petra and William would never speak of David. Eventually Petra and William settled into a routine, they met for dates four nights every week and when Petra had perfected her ability to pass as a woman they even started going out together, but never anywhere where they might run into the other Gamers. They even went away for weekends together now and then.

So when Petra met William at the door to her flat they bantered with each other almost like a married couple.

“I’m sorry I have to go away darling but I’ll think of you every day,” William pulled Petra into his arms and gazed into her pretty eyes.

“Bollocks; you’ll be chasing pretty Maltese girls around the island,” Petra pouted.

“There won’t be any girls there near as pretty as you,” William kissed her nose sweetly.

“Do you have to go?” Petra moued.

“I promised my parents I’d spend the long weekend with them at the house; you’ve known about this for ages now. We’ve had most of summer together,” William sounded exasperated.

William’s family had owned a house on the island of Malta since the nineteen fifties and holidayed there twice a year, leasing the house out when they were not in residence.

“We start the autumn term when you come back, it’ll be back to the grind,” Petra sulked.

“Hey mommy and daddy pay my rent and provide me with my allowance which in turn means I get to buy my girlfriend lots of nice lingerie, perfume and jewellery,” William teased.

“Well ok then; maybe you do deserve a farewell shag,” Petra grinned.

Petra poured them both wine, she had been drinking heavily before William arrived because she was angry that he was going away. She had placed the usual sheer red scarf over the lamp so that the little flat was lit by a rosy glow.

She lay back on the bed and watched William undress; he was tumescent in anticipation of their lovemaking. He stared at her long legs clad in the gossamer nylons; he had a real fetish for her stockings and Petra was always willing to oblige him as she too loved wearing the silky sheer garments.

William climbed onto the bed and Petra worked her stocking foot on the underside of his shaft, just below William’s glans and was rewarded with a filament of pre-ejaculate oozing from the tip of his penis. William ran his hands up and down Petra’s stocking-sheathed leg from the tips of her toes to the tops of her hose. He moaned with pleasure as Petra massaged his phallus with her silken foot.

“I’d love to play our usual games Petra but you know I’m in rush to make my flight,” William lamented.

“So you just want to fuck me and leave,” Petra sulked.

“Come on honey I told you when I phoned you that I was in a hurry but you begged me to come around,” William found Petra quite petulant when she didn’t get her way.

“Ok lover; come to me,” she opened her arms and William lay on top of her.

They kissed and Petra opened her legs and lifted her buttocks to allow William access to her behind.

William pulled the gusset of Petra's panties aside and slid his cock into the crease of her soft creamy buttocks and his glans probed her sphincter. Petra wriggled to encourage him; as usual she was pre-lubricated and William’s penis slid inside her anus. His glans had found her prostate and Petra moaned with lust as waves of intense pleasure surged through her body.

When William lowered his mouth to hers she kissed him back, deeply, passionately. She drove her tongue into his mouth and lifted her buttocks up off the bed and pushed herself up against him; she moved her legs so they were around his waist and locked her ankles together and held him against her. She felt totally feminine lying here underneath this man; wantonly giving herself to him.

They fucked quickly and passionately knowing that William was time poor but intent on enjoying this last lovemaking session before he had to leave for overseas. William jackhammered his penis in and out Petra’s anus with long quick thrusts and she raised herself up to meet him. They moaned and grunted into each other’s mouths; the fucking accompanied by one long passionate kiss.

"Fuck me darling!" Petra moaned, writhing under William as he slid his engorged phallus in and out of her tight passage.

Petra's cock was fully erect in her panties and William’s reached down and squeezed her through her panties.

"Oh lovely baby!" Petra moaned.

William fucked Petra and she fucked him back; both of them moaning and groaning with the intensity of their passion. He squeezed and stroked Petra's hard penis and the stimulation she felt from having her cock massaged through her satin panties amplified the rings of pleasure that radiated from her anus. She was going to orgasm quickly.

William ejaculted deep inside her; his cock pulsing and juddering as his scrotum contracted, ejecting steams of hot semen. Petra felt her back passage flood with William’s sperm and this triggered her own orgasm.

Petra felt him orgasm; his cock was fully embedded in her, his scrotum tickling her buttocks when he shuddered and wriggled his member inside her as it pulsed and throbbed. He kissed her passionately, their tongues entwined, lips mashed, their teeth occasionally cracking against each other with the intensity of the kiss.

Petra moaned as her own orgasm shook her body and she felt her penis begin to pulse and expel her issue; William milked her as she ejaculated; hot semen soaked her panties.

Petra slid her stocking-sheathed legs up and down William's torso and pulled him harder against her; her fingernails raked his back as their lips crushed together and their tongues intertwined as she drummed her heels against William's hard buttocks.

William lay on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows as they both slowly came down from their orgasms. He placed little soft kisses on her lips and kissed her on the eyelids and stroked her hair. Petra felt fully sated and loved. She felt like she knew what it was like to be a woman who had just been made love to by the man who totally loved her.

Neither William nor Petra had ever mentioned the word love in their nearly two years together but both of them felt it for each other.

Petra continued to sulk as she lay on the bed in post-coital bliss smoking a cigarette but William was having nothing of it. He hurriedly dressed and kissed her just once as she tried vainly to get him to linger and then broke out of her embrace.

When William left her apartment neither of them realised it would be the last time they would see each other.

David was awakened that evening by a call from Timothy telling him the tragic news that William’s plane had gone down over the Mediterranean Sea. There were no survivors.

It was actually Petra who took the call and she broke down and was inconsolable. Making matters impossibly worse was the fact that there was no one she could share her grief with. She had no choice but to transform back into David and meet up with the rest of the Gamers to mourn and console each other. William’s body was never found.

David packed up all of Petra’s possessions and accoutrements and locked them away. Petra would not emerge again until the 21st September 2007, exactly twenty years to the date of William’s disappearance.

November 2007

David had finally received some good news. It was a month after he was forced out of his home and made to live alone at 12C. His publisher called him and told him that Warner Brothers had bought the film option to his third novel ‘Lady In The House’.

“Warner will definitely not be offering you a screen writer’s gig but the money is still good. They will need to cut and tame some of the sex scenes too but the cash they are offering will overcome any artistic concerns you may have,” his publisher explained.

Lady In The House was David’s most popular novel so far and was just shy of making the best seller list. It was the story of a transsexual who commits a felony and has to serve her time in a male prison because she isn’t legally recognised as transgender. She is forced into prostitution behind bars by the prison kingpin but eventually overcomes her tormentor and becomes a prison tsarina herself.

David was now living as Petra almost full time; the exception being when he was allowed supervised visits to his daughter Rachael, who was still a baby and did not understand why her father wasn’t living at home. Marie allowed him to visit supervised by the nanny; she still refused to see him or talk to him, except by email or over the phone.

Petra thought of David as a totally separate person to herself; they just happened to share the same body.

Petra was seeing Gary and Mick a couple of times a week so she had a busy sex life; she had not heard from the Quizmaster for over a week. The royalty from Warner Brothers she withheld from Marie and used to update her wardrobe and buy herself some luxuries. She had completed and sold a number of short stories, which she released under the pen name Petra Pantalon-Baissē, which she thought, was hilarious because it was a non-de-plume for Petra Pantsdown. She had also nearly completed her next novel.

It had taken a while but Petra had finally tracked down Timothy who was living in Edinburgh Scotland. She felt confident enough to drive up there and stay the weekend and drive back as Petra. During the drive north she thought she saw the black Mondeo come and go in her rear vision mirror but she couldn’t be certain. It made her nervous but she kept her resolve; she needed to confront Timothy. Besides, if it was Timothy tailing her in Mondeo she would soon find out.

David had contacted Timothy by email and arranged to meet for old time’s sake in a local pub.

“Jesus fucking Christ if it isn’t Petra the whore!” Timothy didn’t recognise his old friend from university at first.

“Take a seat and I’ll get them in; gin and tonic for the lady?” Timothy joked.

“I haven't been Petra the whore for twenty years now Tim but I will take a G and T,” David sat down at the small table that Timothy had managed to snag in the corner of the crowded pub.

Timothy worked his way through the crowd and came back with drinks and they both took out cigarettes, Timothy held out his lighter for David.

David got straight to the point.

“Are you the Quizmaster Timothy,” he asked.

“Are you crazy Petra? We haven’t played The Game for twenty years and I’ve been living up here in Scotland since I left uni,” Timothy continued to look at David with astonishment.

“Don’t call me Petra!” David snapped back.

“Well what name are you using? And how long have you been trans?” Timothy stared across the table.

“Trans?” David was confused.

“Transsexual? Transvestite? I don’t know what the correct term is and I don’t want to offend you,” Timothy said politely.

David looked down and noticed that his fingernails were painted with red fingernail polish. He looked at his reflection in the window and it wasn’t David staring back at him it was Petra.

Petra had come to the meeting not David. For few seconds David was confused but Petra soon took over.

“Sorry Timothy; I’m just not feeling myself this morning, of course you can call me Petra,” she sipped her drink and then smiled.

“And I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have called you a whore but I was so shocked to see that you had transitioned. Nobody told me, and you certainly didn’t tell me when you emailed me. When you signed off the email as Petra Pantalon-Baissē I thought you were taking the piss,” Timothy apologised.

Petra’s memory was cloudy; had she really sent the email to Timothy from her account and not David’s. But more importantly why had she come to the meeting as Petra not David? Was Petra taking over David’s psyche? Was she becoming the dominant personality? This was no time or place for her to be having a psychotic event; she got back to the matter at hand.

“I’m being blackmailed Timothy,” Petra began.

She told Timothy about the Quizmaster and how the Quizmaster was threatening to reveal David’s alter ego to the world and ruin his life unless he completed a series of dares, just like when they played The Game. She did not go into detail about the sex; she left that part out of it, nor did she tell him about the black Mondeo, she wanted to surprise him with that.

“But aren’t you living full-time as a woman now? My god you certainly look and act like one; I certainly wouldn’t think you were a man,” Timothy was confused.

“I’m living part time as a woman and you are the only one who knows my secret,” she replied thinking quickly on her feet.

“But why reveal yourself to me?” Timothy was no wiser.

Petra had to improvise; she had no idea why she had come out today instead of David.

“Because I have deduced that you are the Quizmaster. It isn’t Bethany, Sandra or Rachael so it must be you; only the six of us know about The Game,” she stated her accusation.

“Is that your Mondeo parked across the street?” she pointed to the black Ford that had been parked there when she arrived.

“You are a fucking loony! How the fuck do you think I delivered those lavender envelopes to you down in London while I live up here in Scotland? And Bethany’s pantyhose; how did I plant those?” Timothy was angry.

“And I don’t own a Ford Mondeo you dozy bint!” Timothy banged the table.

The throng of patrons in the pub turned their way and the bartender gave Timothy a menacing look.

“How do I know you aren’t in cahoots with someone? Maybe you have someone down in London working on your behalf,” Petra eyed him suspiciously.

“You are a loony; a paranoid loony. It’s as likely I’m the Quizmaster as it is that William returned from the dead and is the Quizmaster,” Timothy guffawed.

“Don’t speak about William like that!” Petra snapped.

“I always thought there was more to you and William. After that dare where you dressed as a woman you didn’t hang around with us Gamers as much as you used to. You were both very secretive. And look at you now! Were you and he getting it on back then?” Timothy put the question to Petra.

Petra blushed at first with embarrassment and then with guilt.

“I knew it! Look; more power to you both and I respect your right to live your life as a woman but I am not this Quizmaster that you speak of. I’d look closer to home if I were you. I wish you the best Petra, I really do, but I’m not sitting here listening to these accusations any longer. I think you need help,” Timothy stood and dropped some money on the table and got up to leave.

Petra stood.

“One last favour then, please Timothy,” she called after him.

Timothy turned and glared at her.

“What?”

“A few months ago; September 21st to be exact. If Marie calls, can you please just tell her, I’m begging for old time’s sake, tell her that you came to down to London and we spent the night on the piss together,” Petra pleased.

“Too late mate. She called already and I didn’t have a fucking clue what she was going on about; told her I haven’t seen you for twenty years,” Timothy spun on his heels and left.

Petra was seething, she was very angry with Timothy but what he said made sense; he was almost certainly not the Quizmaster so it had to someone closer to where she lived. She was hoping that Timothy would confess to either coming down south himself or engaging a co-conspirator to torment her. She was still stymied about motive; why was the Quizmaster blackmailing and tormenting David?

“May I join you?” Petra looked up to see a big Scottish fellow holding a pint and gin and tonic in his huge fists.

He was handsome in a rugged way with his ruddy complexion and flaming red hair; a real Scot.

“I’m not sure I’m the best company right now,” Petra sighed.

“Then maybe I can cheer you up then; even if you are a wee Sassenach lassie,” the man chuckled and sat down uninvited.

“I’m really not in the mood for company,” Petra said a little more sternly.

“Look. I saw you and your chavie get into a wee rammy but if you were my lassie there is no way I’d be leaving you alone in this pub. Good looking, unaccompanied, mature ladies in this howf are generally limmers or hoors. You appear to be neither so if I sit with you it will keep the ill-willies away,” the man replied.

Petra realised that she had let her prejudices get in the way and although this bloke presented himself as some sort of Scottish Hagrid he was actually quite articulate despite the Gaelic slang.

“Forgive me for being so rude; please sit and yes please join me and if that gin and tonic is for me I’d be very grateful,” Petra smiled at the man.

“I’m Billy Wallace,” the man introduced himself.

He took her hand and kissed the back of it like a true gentleman.

Petra guffawed and nearly choked on her drink.

“You’re William Wallace?” she laughed.

“Not ‘The’ William Wallace of course, nor am I related, but it’s a bonnie name to have for a Scotsman don’t you think,” his eyes twinkled and his smile lit his face.

Petra drank her drink quickly and listened to Billy done on about Edinburgh, he was obviously a fanatic about his home city and the conversation took her mind off her problems. It was quite pleasant being out and about as Petra whilst enjoying the company of a man who simply wanted her company and didn’t appear to be determined to get into her knickers.

Two of Billy’s friends came over and joined them and as the afternoon turned into evening Petra drank a lot as did her new Scottish friends. They talked about the rivalry between England and Scotland of course but in a jovial way, then they asked her about herself and Petra manufactured a story. Being a novelist, story telling came easy to her. She did not tell them that she was a transvestite but she noticed the occasional inquisitive stare at her and the odd knowing look between the three men.

Petra had had her hair professionally cut and styled with subtle highlights since she left home. When she went out as David she pulled it back into a bun or a ponytail so that the tinting was not so obvious. Today her shoulder length hair was brushed and styled and her makeup, heavy around the eyes as usual, was perfect although she had forgone her usual bright red lipstick and settled for a subtler ruby-red. She was wearing one of her new outfits; a navy blue suit with a short skirt and kick pleat that showed a lot of leg. Because of this she had not worn her usual stockings but Pretty Polly fifteen denier, sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose. The gusset helped her keep her gaff in place too.

Firm b-cup-sized breasts in the form of expensive and realistic breastforms held in place by a white satin and lace bra swelled the bosom of her cream silk blouse; she wore matching panties.

She had no recollection of dressing this way or slipping into the black three-inch high heels before she left her hotel; she had always intended to go out dressed as David. But the more alcohol she imbibed, the less she cared that she might be losing control of her psyche.

When the other two gentlemen went to the men’s room Billy scooted his chair closer to hers. She had taken off her jacket and hung it over the back of her chair and the more she drank the more dishevelled her appearance became, despite the fact that during her frequent trips to the ladies to urinate she had tried to repair her makeup and straighten her clothes.

Billy leaned in and whispered in her ear.

“I don’t want to offend you in any way; you’re a bonnie lass, very attractive and a lot of fun, but my friends and I were wondering if you might be a troon?”

“Well I might be if I knew what one was,” Petra giggled drunkenly.

Billy put his huge hand on her knee and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Are you a transsexual? I don’t mind by the way; it’s none of my business really but I find you quite fascinating but every now and then certain mannerisms and things you say lead me to that suspicion,” Billy softly stroked Petra’s thigh.

Petra politely but firmly removed Billy’s hand from her leg.

“So what if I am? Is it illegal in Scotland to be a troon or is it that you and your friends find me offensive?” Petra sobered a little.

She didn’t like where this conversation was going.

“Like I said; I don’t mind. In fact I’m very attracted to you if I may be so bold,” Billy put his hand back on Petra’s knee and squeezed a little firmer this time.

“Look Billy, I’m flattered but I’m not looking for that kind of company,” Petra patted his hand but he refused to remove it.

“Me and the boys fancy you; you know what I said about mature ladies who come to this pub unaccompanied. You’ve made no effort to leave since yer chavie left and that was quite a while ago. We naturally assumed that you stayed on enjoying our company in hope that one of us might take you home,” Billy stroked her thigh.

“Look I’m very flattered but I’ve no interest in that sort of dalliance. I came to Edinburgh on business and it didn’t go the way I wanted it to and my friend left in a huff. I should have left too but drinking with you and your friends took my mind off my troubles,” Petra was unable to remove Billy’s hand from her thigh.

“Ok dear, no offence given and none taken,” Billy lifted his hand from her thigh and put it back onto the table.

He scooted his chair away from Petra as his friends fought their way through the crowd and back to table. One was tall and skinny and the other short and fat; they were both jovial but Petra saw them in a different light now that she knew that they were only talking to her in hopes of a shag. She wished she hadn’t drunk so much.

Petra got unsteadily to her feet and tried to fumble her way into her jacket; Billy stood and held it open for her and then helped her straighten it.

“These Sassenachs cant hold their liquor Billy; especially the lassies,” short and fat remarked and tall and thin laughed along with him.

“Look thanks for the drinks gentlemen but it’s time for me to go,” Petra was anxious to leave.

“Bollocks to that! Let us at least walk you home, the streets of Edinburgh can be dangerous this time of night, especially around here,” tall and thin remarked.

“Never mind that; let me call you a taxi,” Billy pulled out his phone.

“You won’t need a taxi, we’ll walk you,” tall and thin said a little more forcibly.

Petra had no interest in getting involved in a squabble with these lads. Her hotel was only three streets away and she held her purse close to her body and fought her way through the crowd to the door of the pub suffering the indignity of a few pats on the rump and a stray hand slipping under her skirt.

Once out in the cold fresh night air she started to feel a little better; she leaned against the wall and took a few deep breaths. There was no sign of the Mondeo but the pub was so crowded that quite a few drinkers were huddled on the footpath and some of them were looking her way.

She put her head down and walked determinedly away from the pub towards her hotel. Once away from the hustle and bustle of the high street bars and restaurants the streets became almost deserted, dark and quiet. She had only gotten halfway to her hotel when tall and thin sprang out of an ally in front of her.

“Well if it isn’t the Sassenach troon who thinks she’s too good for us Scottish barbarians?” he grinned at her evilly.

Petra tuned abruptly only to find short and fat behind her; he must have followed her while tall and thin took a shortcut to the alley.

“Please gentlemen; I’d be pleased if you let me pass, I’m not feeling well, it’s nothing personal,” Petra begged.

“We’ll see how personal it is when I stick my cock up yer tranny arse!” tall and thin grabbed Petra by the shoulders and dragged her backwards into the alley.

Short and fat followed, stopping to pick up one of Petra’s high heels, which had came off during the scuffle.

“Maybe a mouthful of dick will make you feel better,” short and fat paw started to paw at Petra while tall and thin tried to hold her still, which was difficult because he had to keep one hand over her mouth to stop her screaming.

Petra wriggled and flailed out at the two men. Tall and thin managed to push her against the wall with short and fat’s assistance. Short and fat tried to pull down her skirt but Petra resisted.

“What the fuck is going on here then boyos?” a deep voice growled from the dark.

“You’ve come for a piece of the troon as well then Billy?” tall and thin laughed viciously.

“You two are not behaving like gentlemen at all; you’re giving my home town a bad name. Now I’m giving you the opportunity to fuck off right now or I’m going to take your blocks off!” Billy barked at the two assailants.

They looked at each other briefly but even at the odds of two to one they knew they were no match for Billy Wallace. They let go of Petra and ran away down the alley as fast as they could.

Petra fell against the wall, hanging onto it, sobbing with despair.

Billy picked up her discarded high heel and held it out to her.

“There, there, missy; they won’t be back and I’ll be seeing them later if you know what I mean,” Billy said consolingly.

“I’ve just been so stupid!” Petra cried.

“I accused a man who used to my best friend of something he couldn’t have possibly done, I got drunk in the roughest pub in Edinburgh, I was rude to you and I stupidly tried to walk home,” Petra sniffled.

“Here. Take your shoe. And I’ll have you know the King’s Head is far from the roughest pub in Edinburgh and you weren’t rude; you were just abrupt. You were stupid trying to walk home though,” Billy smiled.

Petra took her shoe and smiled back.

She put her hand on Billy’s shoulder to support herself while she slipped on her high heel.

To Billy’s surprise Petra then pressed herself against him and kissed him.

“Thank you so much Billy,” she sighed.

“You’re welcome lassie; now let me walk you home please,” Billy still held her steady.

Petra looked up into his pale blue eyes almost lost in the shadows of his bushy brows.

“I can’t invite you up to my room Billy; it’s not that kind of hotel,” she whispered.

“I wasn’t even thinking of such a thing,” he tenderly brushed a stray bang out of her eyes.

“But I should reward you for saving me,” Petra moulded her body to Billy’s.

She kissed him and her hand found him hard and needy inside his baggy pants. Billy gasped into her mouth when she squeezed him.

“Let me take you to my place,” Billy murmured.

He had Petra pressed against the wall, kissing her, his hand searching for the hem of her skirt. Petra rubbed against him inviting his advances.

“No time for that and I don’t want the humiliation of leaving your place later tonight or tomorrow morning feeling any form of regret,” Petra guided his hand to her thighs.

“Do me here while I feel like I do now. Do me up against the wall; I want it quick, I want it dirty and I want it rough,” she begged him.

Petra struggled to break free of Billy’s grasp but when he let her go she turned and faced the wall. She hiked up her skirt, opened her legs slightly and pushed out her bottom invitingly.

“Come of Billy; fuck me!” she wriggled her bottom.

The sight of those long legs encased in gossamer hose, that firm derriere clad in white satin panties that seemed to shimmer in the gloom, her pretty face pouting at him over her shoulder begging him to fuck her stirred his loins.

Billy unzipped his fly and released the biggest cock that Petra had ever seen. The girth of it! The magnificent bulbous head glistening with precum!

“Put it in me Billy,” she bent her knees slightly offering her behind to him.

Billy closed in behind her, pulled her panties aside and stabbed at her buttocks with his rock hard cock; Petra sensed his frustration at not being able to penetrate the gusset of her pantyhose.

“Here, let me,” Petra whispered.

She reached behind herself and took Billy’s shaft in her hand and guided it to her sphincter. She snagged the sheer gusset of her pantyhose with her fingernail and steered the glans to her puckered bud.

“Billy just be careful now; I’m not lubricated,” she said just as Billy thrust forward.

Billy’s cock ripped into Petra, sliding past her sphincter and filling her anus.

Petra screamed into her arm to muffle her cries; it felt like a giant red-hot poker had invaded her anus.

“I’m sorry gilly; I haven’t done this before,” Billy sighed into her ear.

“Hold me tight and let me do it,” Petra said through clenched teeth.

Billy held Petra against him and nuzzled her neck, whispering endearments in her ear. Petra was not prepared for sex today and the only lubrication was provided by Billy’s pre-ejaculate. But she wanted it raw; she wanted to feel some pain as well as pleasure. She slowly gyrated her buttocks coaxing more precum from Billy’s throbbing cock.

“You keep doing that and I’m going to come,” Billy sniggered.

“Well then why don’t you fuck me?” Petra broke loose of his grasp and placed her palms against the wall.

She bent over; presenting herself to huge Scotsman.

Billy gripped her hips and began to fuck her.

“Come on baby fuck me hard! Use me! Fuck me like a whore! Give me your cock!” Petra didn’t know where this blasphemy had come from but she didn’t care.

Her anus was on fire; the pain from Billy’s huge cock pounding her tight passage was almost unbearable but beneath the pain she felt a delectable tingling. A scintilla of pleasure began to build and then quickly overcame the pain. The pain did not recede; it combined with the passion and pleasure.

As Billy fucked her harder and faster Petra pushed back against him to encourage him. She could feel his cock buried into her up to the hilt; his pelvis pressed on her buttocks.

“Come on you big Scot’s bastard fill me with yer spunk!” Petra ground her soft white buttocks against him.

Billy held her hips so tight that Petra thought he would break her pelvic bone; she would find massive bruises on her hips the next day.

He drove himself inside her anus as deep as he could and Petra screamed with the pain and pleasure; the wonderful pleasure.

She ejaculated into her panties.

Billy spent himself inside her and as he started to ejaculate he fucked her again; hard and fast, the semen lubricating his passage. Petra writhed in his grasp, pushing back and squirming her buttocks to milk him of the remainder of his issue.

Billy held onto Petra, gasping as his orgasm began to subside; he sensed that if he let her go she would collapse. Petra was panting, her knees shaking, her heels sliding on the cobbled ground as she tried to stay on her feet.

Billy pulled her upright and his penis slid out of her; Petra felt his spend seeping from her, running down her legs.

He spun her around and kissed her; holding her tightly against him.

“Hold me up Billy or I’ll fall down,” Petra sighed.

“I don’t think it’s the drink; I think it’s you that has caused my legs to suddenly turn to jelly,” she giggled.

“I’d like to think it was me,” Billy grinned down at her and kissed her cheek.

“And I’d like to take you home and study your legs a little more in the comfort of my bedroom. I’d like to study a lot of your appendages in my bedroom,” Billy grinned.

“Fuck it! Take me home! I’m too shagged and too pissed to argue with you, just promise me you won’t wake me before ten o’clock and if you get post coital regret because you shagged a tranny in your bed you won’t blame me,” Petra chuckled.

“You say the sweetest things you Sassenach troon,” Billy laughed along with her.

They rearranged their clothing and Petra leaned on Billy when he put his hand around her waist and steadied her while he walked her out of the alley to his car.

“Your come is running out of me and soaking into my knickers and sheers,” Petra sniggered drunkenly.

“You say the most romantic things,” Billy laughed and helped her into the passenger seat.

Across the road the man in black Mondeo put away his camera and lit a cigarette.

To be continued

March 2008

A well known online resource defines ‘dogging’ as: the British English slang term for engaging in sexual acts in a public or semi-public place or watching others doing so. There may be more than two participants; both group sex and gang banging can be included. As observation is encouraged, voyeurism and exhibitionism are closely associated with dogging.

David had not heard from the Quizmaster for over three months and, except for the few days over Christmas that David was allowed to see his daughter Rachael, had spent all that time as Petra. David was really almost a non-entity, bought out only on the rare occasion that his presence was required.

And then the Lavender envelope turned up like a bad penny; slipped under the door in the dead of night.

‘Happy New Year David, or should I say Petra,

You seem to be enjoying your banishment; playing dressups almost every day, bending over or lying on your back, letting those two gentlemen you call boyfriends poke you in the pooper. But let’s not get too crude too quickly; you have another dare my lovely.

Do you know what ‘dogging’ is Petra? Google it and find out. You are going find out all about it tonight regardless. Check your Petra Pantsdown email and don’t forget the consequences if you do not play The Game by the rules.

‘The Quizmaster’

It was barely ten o’clock in the morning, Mick had not left until 4am and Petra was still dressed in laddered stockings, squishy panties and bra with empty cups. Her makeup and hair were a mess. She was sore and her breath reeked of stale alcohol, cigarettes and semen. She rinsed out her mouth with a half glass of warm Chardonnay that had been left on the coffee table overnight and refilled the glass with cold Chardy from the fridge. She pulled on a black nylon dressing gown, and sat down at the desk. She pulled out the retractable shelf and fired up her ‘Petra laptop’.

She took a big draught of wine and lit a cigarette; her eyes squinting from the smoke as she opened a link that the Quizmaster had sent to her which took her to a Craigslist posting in the Personals section under the NSA category.

‘Hot Tranny for NSA Dogging Session

Hot, mature, feminine and passable 40s transvestite will take on all comers or just stick around and watch. Duke’s Meadow carpark Chiswick from 7pm to midnight tonight. See my pics to see what’s on offer.

Your dogging slut,
Petra Pantsdown’

A number of provocative pictures of Petra were attached to the post. The advertisement linked to her Petra Pantsdown email address and, using a simple alphanumeric, the Quizmaster had embedded her mobile phone number in the posting. Providing phone numbers in Craigslist personal ads was not allowed but was easily accomplished substituting short phonic phrases for numbers.

She typed ‘dogging’ into Wikipedia which provided her with an answer that she had half guessed and then she checked her email inbox and although the ad had only been online for an hour or so it was filled with responses. When she turned on her mobile phone it lit up with new text message alerts but she didn’t bother opening either emails or the texts; there was no need. The messages would be from sad little sods asking for more pictures or vowing to be at Duke’s Meadow carpark Chiswick tonight to take advantage of her. Either way the messages were moot; she was obliged to satisfy whoever turned up or fail the dare.

What riled Petra was that she didn’t actually think of herself as promiscuous and definitely not a slut; she had really only had three boyfriends. Gray and Mick she saw regularly, except for the one or two nights a week she kept free for herself, and of course there had been William. Billy Wallace in Edinburgh didn’t count; he was a one-night stand. The other men she had been with had been with sexually were all the result of the dares she had had to complete as mandated by the Quizmaster, she was forced to have sex with them.

“Oh well; nothing I can do but comply with the Quizmaster’s mandate I suppose. How long is this going to keep going on? Just when I thought I was out, he pulls me back in! I’ve half a mind to come out to everyone; if it wasn’t for Mom and Dad and Marie and Rachael I would!” Petra crushed out her cigarette.

But Petra knew there was more than just her family at stake; so was David’s career. David’s novels were working their way up the Best Seller list and Warner Brothers had optioned Lady In The House. Publishing short stories under the non-de-plume Petra Pantalon-Baissē had been a hoot; David was not the first author release works under a pen name of the opposite gender. But David wanted to be a successful and respected novelist and if pictures of him dressed as a woman sucking cock and being fucked got out, it would likely ruin any chance he had.

She finished her wine, tightly closed the curtains, turned out the light and went back to bed; it was going to be a long night.

Waking late in the afternoon Petra felt a lot better. She checked her email account and her phone messages; they were both full to capacity. If even one tenth of the men contacting her turned up tonight she was going to be a busy girl.

Just like the railway bridge challenge, dressing dowdy for tonight’s dare would be considered cheating, she guessed that the Quizmaster would be watching. Hell! He could be one of the doggers for all she knew.

She douched, shaved her legs, showered and slipped back into her black nylon dressing gown. She hardly needed to shave; she had never been hirsute but her body was now totally bereft of hair, her legs needed a light shave once a week but facial hair was almost a thing of the past. She had decided to experiment with female hormones bought online and after nearly four months of treatment the effects were becoming noticeable. She was experiencing the first signs of breast development and nipple and areolar enlargement.

She poured a drink and smoked a cigarette clearing her email cache, message bank and text inbox without bothering to read a single message. Of course she checked for email or texts from the Quizmaster first in the vein hope that he might cancel or change the dare but no such luck.

Time to get ready.

She brushed out her hair which was now nearly shoulder length and recently styled and highlighted and started on her makeup. Petra no longer needed the heavy concealer, just a few dabs on the odd blemish; an application of liquid foundation that matched her skin tone and a dusting of finishing powder made her face the perfect palette for what was to follow. She needed heavy makeup tonight, almost slatternish given that she would be outside in the dark and had been advertised as a slut.

She applied thick, jet-black eyeliner above and below her eyelash-line, tapering a wing in the corner of each eye. She opened a palette of shimmer eyeshadow that she did not often use. She applied metallic blue to her eyelids with a medium, flat shadow bush, purple to the crease and outer corner of her eyes, then mauve along the brow bone to finish the look. Happy with the result she touched up the eyeliner as necessary and applied several coats of mascara.

She rouged her cheeks and applied several coats of Maybelline SuperStay 24 Hour Lipcolor lipstick; she doubted she was going to get time to touch up her lipgloss during the evening. She gave her face another fine dusting of finishing powder; sprayed herself liberally with Poison perfume and took a step back to check her handy work.

Yep! She did look like a slut! She accessorised with earrings, a necklace, bracelets and rings; cheap costume jewellery as she fully expected that some would get lost during the frenzy she was expecting.

She walked over to the small closet-come-wardrobe. David’s collection of clothing had diminished and was relegated to a couple of clothes hangers in one corner whilst Petra’s wardrobe had grown exponentially and took up nearly all of the hanging space and all of drawers and floorspace. David's meagre collection of underwear and two pairs of shoes were assigned to a small cardboard box in the corner. Petra selected a satin leopard-skin bra and panty set and a black satin and lace suspender belt.

“Slutty enough,” she held the items against her body to check the effect.

She opened a packet of black, fully-fashioned fifteen denier stockings, which she fully expected to be ruined early on in the evening. She selected a white leatherette miniskirt and red satin longsleeved blouse. It would be cold out there so she also took down a short black leather jacket. She topped the ensemble with black patent leather ‘fuck-me’ heels that she could hardly walk in but she figured she wouldn’t be doing much walking tonight.

Petra didn’t bother gaffing, she slipped on the suspender belt and pushed her testes into her inguinal canals, then pushed her scrotal sac and penis between her legs and pulled up the full-cut panties to hold them in place. She straightened the garter straps smoothing them out from the leg-holes of her panties. She sat down and as always luxuriated in the sensuous feeling of the stockings sliding up her freshly shaved legs, clipping the welts to the silver clasps on the garters. She stood up and straightened her seams.

She forwent breastforms and filled the A-sized cups of her bra with her budding breasts. She donned and buttoned the blouse stepped into the skirt, tucking in the blouse and zipping it closed. She straightened her clothing and looked at herself in the mirror. She carried her heels; she would drive in stocking-feet and put on her shoes at the car park.

“Perfect. You whore!” she looked at her handiwork in the mirror.

She sprayed herself with more perfume, and gathered some essentials: bottled water, mouthwash, condoms, lube, tissues, handwash, and a couple of blankets. She threw them in a big bag and grabbed her purse and as an afterthought grabbed a bottle of Shiraz and threw that in the bag with a plastic glass. She picked up her heels and her keys and headed out.

During the drive to Duke’s Meadow Chiswick once again the spectre of the Quizmaster haunted Petra. She had all but eliminated the rest of The Gamers but there was an outside possibility it could still be either Timothy or Bethany using a trusted agent on their behalf but once again the question had to be asked, why?

She had been thinking recently about something Timothy had said: ‘It’s as likely I’m the Quizmaster as it is that William returned from the dead and is the Quizmaster’.

William could not of course return from the dead; but… was he ever dead? His body had never been recovered from the crash site and the surviving family members refused to belief that he was dead. But very few bodies were recovered from the sea.

Was it possible that William had never boarded that plane? If so; why had he been hiding all these years and why blackmail David and torment Petra?

All thoughts of William disappeared as Petra drove into the carpark. Her first instinct was to look for a black Mondeo but it wasn’t there. There were a few cars parked in the marked bays, most had men sitting in the driver’s seat. Petra swallowed; it was going to be a busy night. She could think of no valid reason why these men would be sitting in their cars in a carpark next to a public preserve at this time of night. A few heads turned when she drove past.

She parked her blue Honda Civic away from the other cars in an area that was served by the glow of a streetlight but not directly underneath. She popped the hatch and got out of the car. By the time she had taken off her jacket and made her way to the back of the car a few of the car doors had opened. She lifted the hatch and arranged a blanket over the rear deck sill and put another folded blanket on the ground next to the car; three men were purposely walking her way.

The first of the men said nothing; without any compunction he stopped in front of her, unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock. Petra took the semi-erect phallus in her hand and began to stroke it. A second man approached, he already had his cock out and Petra stroked that one too. She felt quite absurd standing in a public car park wanking off two strangers. A third man approached but he stood removed from the others, content to masturbate while he watched.

A car pulled up right beside hers and a small rotund man got out.

“Hey, hey, hey! Looks like I’m just in time for the party!” the man called out jovially as he approached.

The other men looked daggers at him and he blushed and gave them an apologetic little smile to indicate that he was sorry.

Petra had no idea of the etiquette of dogging but obviously being loud and boisterous was not acceptable.

The man eased himself between the two men that Petra was masturbating; their cocks hard and throbbing in her hands.

“Can I have a bit of a suck love? I haven’t got long and I have to get home to the missus,” he had the cheek to ask while unbuckling his pants and unzipping his flies.

Petra knew the rules; she must take on all comers.

She got down on her knees on the blanket without releasing the penises she was stroking. She was glad that she had remembered that the brasses at the railway underpass had old pillows that they used when they had to get on their knees to give fellatio. The rotund man stepped forward and guided his stubby cock into Petra’s mouth. She suckled on the member whilst she caressed the phalluses in her hand. She used her tongue on the fat man’s fraenulum and he held her face still and ejaculated, moaning as he filled her mouth with bitter semen.

This triggered the man in her right hand to discharge his load, she felt his cock throb and worked her fingers over his glans. His hot spend shot along her arm soaking into the red satin blouse; her fingers were sticky. The fat moved away from her and she had only just finished swallowing his load when the man she was still wanking ripped his penis from grasp and poked it at her face.

She gripped it tightly and sucked; but not for long before it swelled to full tumescence and released its load. It tasted better than the fat man’s come and she eagerly swallowed it. All three men stepped away from her and put their penises away; the fat man got into his car and drove away and the others walked off to their cars leaving Petra and the man wanking himself left alone.

Petra stood up and opened her handbag and foraged around removing tissues, handwash, and water. She dabbed at the semen on her blouse and rinsed out her mouth. She washed her hands and was giving serious thought to opening the wine when she heard a noise behind her.

“Ahem,” she turned around to see a rather handsome young man who had a rather appealing appendage poking from his pants.

As she got down on her knees she noticed a couple more cars pull into the carpark.

She addressed the cock in front of her, working her lips along the shaft and using her tongue on the glans. The man who was wanking himself stepped in closer to get a better look. The man she was sucking loosened his trousers and dropped them to his knees along with his briefs. He reached down and eased Petra to her feet. Petra heard the crunch of gravel as more men approached as the young man turned her around and pushed her towards the hatchback.

“Ok luv?” he asked?

Petra nodded; she knew what he wanted.

She bent over the hatch and reached in her bag for the condoms and lube but before she could find them the man had lifted her skirt, pulled down her knickers and was probing at the puckered winkle between her cheeks. Petra had prelubricated as part of her toilette and the man was able to slide inside her with ease.

“Oh jeez!” Petra gasped in surprise.

“Is this ok luv?” the man asked, but he had already started to fuck her.

Once again Petra nodded and held onto the side of the hatchback while the man soundly fucked her tight cleft. She was going to complain that he hadn’t put on a condom but she was starting to enjoy the fucking. She wriggled her bottom invitingly and adjusted her stance so that the man was pressing on her prostate and the man understood what she wanted and gripped her hips and began to fuck her with steady strokes.

Petra heard the gravel scuff behind her and the sound of subdued voices, she turned her head and saw that a small crowd had gathered. Most had their cocks out and were improving their erections as they watched her being fucked.

The man behind her dug his fingers into her hips and gripped her tightly as he pressed himself against her and emptied his scrotal nectar deep inside her. Petra squirmed her buttocks to extract all of his semen; she was semi-tumescent and her testes had descended back into her scrotum.

The man turned her head and kissed her quickly on the lips than he pushed himself off her.

“Thanks luv; that was great,” he said as he buckled his pants.

“Out the way mate, let a bloke take his turn,” Petra heard a gruff voice behind her and then another penis poked her buttocks.

“Come on mate; turn her around and let’s all get at her,” another man said brusquely.

Two men turned Petra around and lifted her bodily into the hatch so that she was half in and half out; her buttocks resting on the blanket she had put over the sill. Petra saw that there had to be at least five men and possibly more gathered around the back of her car. She was definitely no longer in control of the situation. A big man with an equally big erection opened her legs; before he obscured her view she was sure that she saw a black Mondeo parked across the way.

Petra grunted as the man pushed himself inside her.

“Oh yeah, that’s good!” he began to fuck her.

Two other strangers stepped forward and guided her hands to their erections; she had no choice but to masturbate them. Another man tried to climb into the hatch and put his cock in her mouth but he couldn’t maintain his balance. She was reminded of a wildlife program she had seen about wild dogs where a bitch in heat was surrounded by a mating group of six or seven males, all trying to copulate with a bitch at the same time.

The man with the big cock held her by her thighs, lifting her legs and opening them wide so that he could fuck her like a woman. Even with the blanket under the small of her back it was uncomfortable. She was glad when she heard him grunt and felt him grind against her, ejaculating deep in her anus.

The man who had tried to force his cock in her mouth had become impatient and had resorted to masturbating himself while watching her being fucked and wanking off the two strangers.

“Take that you tranny slut!” he hissed and spent himself over her face.

His semen was scalding as it splashed across her face and into her hair. Some of it seeped into her eye and it stung, almost blinding her temporarily. She felt more hot semen soak her blouse; one of the men she was wanking had come over her too.

She was really just a sex toy; to be used as the crowd of men saw fit.

While she was still half blinded the other man she was masturbating took his cock from her hand.

“Give me hand mate,” he growled to one of the onlookers.

They lifted her out of the car and put her down on her hands and knees on the blanket. Petra wiped the scalding semen from her eyes just as she felt another penis invade her anus. The man was in no hurry and fucked her with long hard strokes while another knelt in front of her and waggled his penis in front of her face. Now that she was relatively comfortable, she had to admit that the man fucking her knew what he was doing; he was working his penis so that it stimulated her sphincter and pressed on her prostate.

She was erect in her knickers and she began to rock back and forth on her knees in time with the thrusting cock. She opened her mouth and swallowed the cock in front of her face and went to work sucking on it; working her tongue expertly on the throbbing organ. The man pulled his cock from her mouth and ejaculated on her; spraying his seed over her back and in her hair.

These doggers obviously had thing for bukkake, she felt another splattering of come on her buttocks and legs but it wasn’t the man fucking her; he still held her by the hips and was working his cock expertly in and out of her anus.

“This bitch knows what she’s doing,” one stranger commented.

“She fucking loves it, the slut,” another interjected.

A big black penis pushed itself into her mouth; she looked up to see a line of men wanking themselves and waiting their turn. The one positive thing about all these men masturbating themselves while they watched was that they were close to orgasm when they took their turn. Most didn’t last long.

Petra used her talent on the big black cock in her mouth and was rewarded with a mouthful of creamy semen; that cock was quickly replaced by another; another stranger stepped forward and came all over face while she was fellating this stranger. Somewhere in her primeval self, a seed of gratification and ascendancy grew. Yes she was the one being used; but all these men wanted her, she was really the one in charge. She had the power to pleasure or disappoint these men.

The man fucking her had developed a nice steady rhythm; drawing his cock out so that it stimulated her sphincter and then easing it all the way inside her and pressing his glans on her prostate. She wished that all the men who fucked her were so well accomplished; they thought that jackhammering their cocks in and out of her anus gave her enjoyment, which it did, a little, but nothing beat a long slow sensuous fuck!

The man ripped open her blouse and put his hands inside her bra and massaged her breasts and tweaked her hardening nipples.

“Oh god!” Petra moaned like a slattern.

She was fully tumescent and dripping pre-ejaculate when the man she was sucking orgasmed and filled her mouth with come; simultaneously some stranger blew his load over her buttocks. This triggered Petra’s own orgasm.

“Look! The tranny’s coming!” some lout guffawed.

Someone reached under her and wrapped her cock in her satin knickers and milked her like a cow, draining her into her panties.

The man behind her gripped her tightly by the hips and ejaculated as he continued to fuck her with those lovely long slow thrusts. He fell on top of her and she collapsed under his weight. The man ground against her, pushing her into the blanket as the last of his ejaculate flooded her anus.

After a beat he climbed off her and Petra heard the ominous sound of someone behind her unbuckling his pants.

“No! That’s enough for a little while fellas; let her take a break,” The stranger who had just fucked her helped her to her feet.

“You ok luv?” he seemed genuinely concerned.

Petra just nodded and turned her back on the small crowd of men and found her big bag in the back of her car.

“Is the party over luv?” a man asked; obviously disappointed.

“Just give me five minutes ok,” Petra called over shoulder.

There was a murmur amongst the small crowd but no one left. Petra wiped her face with a face wipe and fixed her makeup; she figured brushing her hair or trying to fix her clothes would be a waste of time. She opened the bottle of water, rinsed and spat and then lit a cigarette. She opened the bottle of wine and didn’t even bother with the glass, she chug-a-lugged one third of the bottle. She put the wine back in her bag and turned around.

Under the wan glow of street light she could see there were five or six men gathered around and two more cars were pulling up.

She flicked her cigarette into the dark, pulled off her knickers and threw them in the hatch and got down onto her knees on the blanket.

“You blokes gonna keep wanking yourselves all night or is one of you going to fuck me?” she raised her derriere, presenting herself for the next punter.

The man in the black Mondeo had seen enough; he dropped his camera on the passenger seat and started his engine.

June 2008

There was a knock at the door; more of an insistent banging than a knock really.

Petra was sitting at her desk writing a short story for a magazine.

“Who is it?” Petra called, annoyed at being disturbed.

“David it’s Marie; let me in please,” came a muffled voice from beyond the door.

“David isn’t here,” Petra called back, hardly taking her eyes off the screen.

Marie hammered on the door, harder this time.

“David please let me in; we have to talk!” Marie demanded.

Petra got up, stormed across the room and wrenched open the door.

A startled Marie stood there with a brawny man in his early fifties standing just behind her. He was carrying a large briefcase.

“I fucking told you David isn’t here!” Petra growled.

Petra looked Marie up and down petulantly. Marie was wearing black Lycra leggings and matching sports top that clung to every curve and crevice of her body and with her full makeup her appearance was an obviously a brazen attempt to get David’s attention.

Marie was stunned. She had seen pictures of David dressed as Petra but Marie was not prepared for the visage that was presented before her. Petra was wearing her navy blue business suit, silk cream blouse, flesh-toned sheer pantyhose and black high heels. Her makeup was more subdued than usual, but perfect, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail because she was working. She looked stunning; so feminine, nothing at all like David.

“I need to talk to David,” Marie tempered the tone of her voice.

Marie figured that arguing with Petra was not going to help.

“I told you he isn’t here, but you and your goon might as well come in if only to keep my nosy neighbours from being entertained,” Petra turned her back on her visitors and walked back into her apartment.

“So you’re Petra. I’ve heard about you. And now I’ve finally met you,” Marie decided the best course of action was to deal with Petra as if she was a real person; separate to David.

Marie had had a long to talk to a psychiatrist friend of hers who had advised Marie not to confront David but to try coax and encourage him to seek professional help from a mental health specialist. Her friend had advised against Marie talking to David whilst he was in the guise of Petra; but that was now impossible. David had disappeared.

“So. The Quizmaster told you about me,” Petra proclaimed.

She pointed to the two chairs set against the window, and Marie and her associate took a seat; he put the briefcase on the floor. Petra remained standing but she reached for her cigarettes and lit one and paced up and down the small room. She offered the pack to her guests but they both declined.

“There is no Quizmaster David,” Marie said defiantly.

“If you call me David one more time I’ll throw you out!” Petra snapped.

“Ok Petra; let me deal with you then,” Marie tried her best to sound calm and in control.

“Don’t you understand Petra? You invented the Quizmaster, you're delusional, you're psychotic,” Marie tried to explain..

“I’ve spoken to a psychiatrist who says that you are in a dissociative state. Because of your schizophrenia you are suffering from limitations of free will. Any control you think you have over your actions is a meaningless illusion. Your fate is dictated by your dissociative identity disorder during your psychotic breaks.”

“I am not delusional! It’s the Quizmaster! He is blackmailing me! Forcing me to do things against my will!” Petra screamed.

“No he isn’t Petra. It’s you! You have taken my husband captive; slowly but surely you are eroding his existence and replacing it with your own,” Marie construed.

“You say that you’re not delusional; let’s go through it then shall we?” Marie tried to reason with Petra.

“First let me introduce you to Daniel Arnott. He’s a private investigator with my law firm but I hired him to work for me confidentially after David and I separated and I became concerned for David’s wellbeing. I’ve had him investigating everything about you Petra,” Marie explained.

“This all began on the twenty first of September last year; exactly twenty years after William died but you were already dissociative by then; you just had your psychosis under control. You never gave up the lease on this apartment; you continued to pay the rent on this flat and kept it decorated just like it was back in 1987, you never changed a thing. David never told me about it and I doubt you knew yourself except in your subconscious. Can’t you see; this place is a shrine to Petra and William,” Marie said.

“The flat is in my name, not David’s” Petra retorted.

“David put it in Petra’s name around the time she, that is you, reappeared in September last year,” Marie countered.

“Almost everything that was once in David’s name is now in Petra’s, that was easy to do. You fast tracked a deed poll changing your name to from David to Petra so that all of your identity documents are now in Petra’s name. You even submitted a renewed passport application,” Marie went on.

“Non of this disproves that the Quizmaster exists,” Petra barked, deflecting the conversation.

“You needed the Quizmaster to exist so that you could get rid of David. David cannot exist if it is becomes known that he is a crossdressing sexual deviate; the humiliation would kill him. But it’s ok for Petra to be a promiscuous transsexual; you can live with that can’t you Petra?” Marie retaliated.

“What about the pictures? The pictures the Quizmaster sent to me; and to you! Some of those pictures go back to the nineteen eighties, how could they be faked?” Petra insisted.

“They aren’t faked; you took them Petra. You took pictures of yourself and William and you kept them all these years and twenty years on you started to use them to blackmail yourself. Mister Arnott please,” Marie waved her hand towards the small closet-come-wardrobe.

Daniel lifted his considerable bulk out of the chair with a little difficulty and strode over to closet. He opened it up and reached up to the very top shelf and pulled down a camera case and tripod.

“Cannon EOS; best camera available back in the 1980s; auto focus SLR fitted with a self timer capable of repeated exposures. By studying the angles on the pictures of you on that bed with William I’d say you had it set up right here in the closet, secretly taking pictures. You’d only need the door open a crack,” he put the camera case down and strode over to the desk.

“These used to be hidden up there on the shelf as well I’d guess but now you keep them here,” Daniel opened the bottom drawer of the little Officeworks desk.

“Hey get out of there!” Petra tried valiantly to stop him but she was no match for the large men.

He opened an envelope and waved the incriminating pictures of Petra and William circa 1986 and 1987 in the air as Petra vainly attempted to snatch them for his grasp. He dropped the pictures on the desk and reached into the drawer again and pulled out a ream of lavender writing paper and matching envelopes.

“You! You’ve been here before! You broke into my flat!” Petra shrieked at Daniel.

“Of course I broke into your flat; your security is shite! I hacked your computer and your phone too. David bought them in your name the very day you received the first letter from the Quizmaster; I have a copy of the receipts. The Petra Pantsdown email account and Craigslist advertisements are also your doing; no one else’s. You are obviously writing the letters from the Quizmaster to yourself on that paper,” Daniel nodded at the lavender paper.

Petra was about to respond when Daniel held up his hand.

“You see that lens set into that imperfection in the wall there across from the bed. You’ve been filming yourself with your lovers; the video is on the hard drive of your computer, doubtless to blackmail yourself in the future or maybe to blackmail the men who come here to see you. You’re so crazy; god knows what you’re capable of,” Daniel declared.

Petra appeared to have run out of excuses to respond to the allegations against her.

“But, but, but,” she stuttered.

“But nothing Petra; the evidence speaks for itself,” Marie interjected.

“You’ve seen the pictures Marie? The video?” Petra looked shocked.

“Yes and more. Show her please Mister Arnott,” Marie sounded disheartened.

Daniel Arnott reached into his brief case and bought out a series of stills. He threw them on the table one by one: Petra with her boyfriends Gary and Mick, Petra the prostitute at the railway underpass, Petra in Edinburgh with Timothy and later with Billy Wallace, Petra dogging in the carpark. There were also some pictures of Petra walking down the street, shopping, eating in restaurants, and just doing normal everyday things.

“The black Mondeo! You!” Petra turned pale.

“Me! There is no Quizmaster; you’re blackmailing yourself,” Daniel looked disgusted.

He sat back down and took out his own cigarettes and lit one up.

“Do you have to?” Marie looked annoyed.

“Yes I have to; dealing with this shit. I need a drink too,” Daniel said, the disgust evident in his voice.

“But The Game? The dares? Why?” Petra’s voice was shaky.

“Simply to humiliate you and by association David. I know the vile things you’ve done pretending that they were dares imposed on you by the so-called Quizmaster; the depravity you engaged in to imprison my husband!” Marie sounded disgusted.

“Don’t you see there aren’t two personalities inhabiting your body; there’s effectively three. David, Petra, and when necessary, the Quizmaster,” Marie tried to explain.

“Really. You really expect me to believe that I’m blackmailing David so that he has no choice but to spend the rest of his life as me!” Petra screamed, her face turning from pale white to vivid red.

“There’s even more sorry,” Marie nodded at Daniel.

He put his cigarette down in the ashtray and took out a file containing a small number of documents and photocopies and a small plastic canister.

“With the deed poll that you used to change your name from David to Petra you obtained a passport in the name of Petra Cashmore. You couldn’t change your gender without a transgender recognition certificate so you are still legally male in the passport. But the picture in the passport is you Petra, looking just like you do now. You can travel as a transgender even though you’re identified as male in your passport. David Cashmore no longer has a passport,” Daniel pointed to the file.

“We also know about the royalties from Warner Brothers for the film option on your book; you’ve been putting the money to good use haven’t you?”

Daniel put an empty vial on the table.

“You’re taking female hormones. You are actually altering David’s body,” David pointed accusingly at the little bottle.

“I was experimenting; that’s all!” Petra was still in denial.

“Really? What about these?” he pointed at the documents.

“You booked yourself into a hospital in Bangkok for breast augmentation surgery next month; the Thai’s don’t care about British legalities regarding sex reassignment surgery. I also have copies of your first class airline tickets and your booking at the Bangkok Hilton, three weeks of luxury while you recover from your getting your new tits fitted,” Daniel dropped the file on the table disgustedly.

Petra stared down at the file speechless. She suddenly became dead still; almost trancelike; her eyes glazed over and she stared out into nowhere.

“That will be all for now Daniel; I’d like to speak to my husband alone please,” Marie said.

“Are you sure that’s wise Misses Cashmore? I think this woman is totally mad and possibly dangerous” Daniel shook his big head.

“That woman has my husband locked away somewhere inside her and I want him back,” Marie countered.

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” Daniel packed up his briefcase and left.

“Petra? David? Are you there? Petra? David?” Marie shook Petra gently.

Petra slowly came out of her trance and a wry smile crossed her face. She walked into the kitchenette and poured herself a drink and lit a cigarette, ignoring Marie.

“Oh. You’re still here,” Petra said offhandedly to Marie.

“I can get you help David. I know you’re in there! I can get you to a doctor, a psychiatrist if necessary; we can work through this,” Marie pleaded.

“I keep telling you David isn’t here!” Petra replied angrily.

“I think it’s time for you to go,” Petra pointed to the door.

Marie fell to her knees and took Petra’s hands in hers.

“Please David! Please!” she begged.

Petra looked balefully at the woman on her knees beseeching her. She entwined her fingers into the shoulder-straps of Marie’s Lycra sports top and dragged Marie to her feet so that their faces were only an inch apart.

“If you don’t leave now I’ll bring your husband back from Bangkok with a cunt!” Petra hissed malevolently.

Petra violently pushed Marie towards the door.

Marie was sobbing when she left the apartment.

With Marie gone Petra once again entered into a dissociative state. Still in the trance she went back to her little desk and loaded a sheet of lavender paper into the printer and then bought up Microsoft Word on the computer. She began typing.

‘Hello Petra,

Well wasn’t that quite the scene this afternoon with Marie? But let’s not get distracted from the task at hand; I have one more dare for you to complete before you leave for Bangkok….’

The End