You really ought to try going to a tranny bar with a whip. You meet
the nicest people.

'Karl’ for example. He had a Kieth Richards quality mound of coke and a
willingness to share. I didn’t fuck him and was never going to, but he
didnt know. He maybe didnt even care, I think just the possibility
that I would beat him into a bloody pulp at some point in the evening
was enough.

It was certainly enough to keep him cutting lines and buying drinks.

When you’re a tranny you get a lot of ‘tire kickers’ and time wasters,
the simplest way to establish whether they will deliver anything of
value is to start making demands for drinks.

Karl looked quite pathetic, but in a nice way, you know what I mean.
You could tell he was needy, but he kept it buried beneath this
confident suave act. He came on all 'confident man of the world',
polite, well dressed, full of witticism and innuendo, but underneath
you could tell he was just a mummy’s boy craving approval, or in his
case a flogging.

My kind of guy.

Anyway, so I demanded drinks, and to be sure he was not some useless
time waster, you know, full of talk but no action, I demanded
something ridiculous and expensive. I started by demanding a banana
daiquiri with a Jaeger chaser. I didn’t even want one, I only asked
because it sounded ridiculous. A banana fucking daiquiri, for
chrissakes, what a joke. I only demanded the chaser because it made
the drinks even more expensive. And he delivered.

Karl was no amateur, he wanted a tranny and he’d prepared. That’s why
he had the coke. Men who routinely trawl the tranny bars with coke
know that what their looks and charm won’t get them, the coke will.

And it did, or at least for a while.

By the time I’d hit Karel up for my 4th drink, a Manhattan, which I
only ordered because Bart Simpson made them for Fat Tony in an episode
of the Simpsons, and it seemed like a funny thing to order, Danni had
arrived.

Danni and I share many mutual interests, hormones, lingerie, casual
sex, coke, that kind of thing. Danni had news ‘my tits have grown’ and
was eager to share their progress with me.

Within in minutes we in the ladies and she was showing me her tits.

If you’ve read any of my blog ‘Filthy Tranny Whore’ you’ll know it
that I’ve spent a lot of time feeling the growing breasts of other
transsexuals. It’s an area of interest and I like to think I have
some expertise in these things. So it was only a matter of time before
my hands were all over Danni’s tits.

I thought this would be a great photo opportunity so I handed Crystal
my iPhone and she snapped the photos you see here.

You really ought to try going to a tranny bar with a whip. You meet
the nicest people.

‘Karl’ for example. He had coke and a
willingness to serve. I didn’t fuck him and was never going to, but he
didn’t know. He maybe didn’t even care, I think just the possibility
that he would end up on his knees with welts on his back and a cock in his mouth was enough.

There are rules to this game. Coke is exchanged for company, or at
least my company. Play by the rules and maybe, if you’re a very lucky
boy, I’ll whip you till you bleed.

There are other rules, this whole pretending to be a dominatrix thing
is new to me, so I’m figuring them out.

Here’s what I’ve learnt so far, ‘no’ means ‘more’, ‘I’ve been so bad’
means ‘more’, when I think about it, most of what they say means
‘more’.

I’d like to think I was a helpful girl.

It's funny, I've realised that I can photograph nearly anything if I
ask. Can I take photographs of me playing with your new breasts? Sure.
Why not. Go figure.

I also reckon I should be photographng more, it’s the only way people
are going to belive I actually do all this stuff I say I do.

Seriously, you’d be surprised by the number of people who don’t belive
it when I say things like ‘oh that guy, I chained him to the toilet
last weekend and pissed in his mouth’. Why would I lie about a thing
like that?

My plan is to photograph my next 3 or 4 way. Stay tuned.

X

Lavinia

‘I’ve been a very naughty boy’. I could tell by looking at him that
this was true.

I knew that he wanted punishing and he knew I was the woman (or
transsexual) for the job. I was at the Taxi Club, wearing lingerie
and carrying a riding crop. It doesn’t take a genius to join the dots.

It was fun. He was naughty. I did punish him and it was everything I’d
hoped for.

I could be good at this. I could probably charge for this.

There’s a back story to this.

The last few weekends have been tragic. I’ve not had much in the way
of action and the action I’ve had has been pathetic.

I was beginning to doubt my allure. There was a high point about 6
weeks ago when Brittany and I had this 4-way in that Hotel on Flinders
Street, and it’s all been down hill from there.

After that there was one tryst with a Turkish insurance agent in the
back seat of a Fiat Punto.

The Fiat Punto was designed by Italians. By good Catholic car
designers. These people know about sin. They know about trannies like
me and there was no way they were going to design a car that let
people like me do the devil’s work in the back seat.

It was a debacle.

The week before that, some random guy offered me coke in exchange for
‘touching’ me ‘down there’ in the toilets at Arq. After the coke he
chickened out and said he was ‘not ready’. Not ready for me? Not ready
for a tranny? Not ready for sex in a nightclub toilet? It struck me as
strange to score coke, then proposition a tranny, then get in to a
cubicle with a tranny only to freak out at the last minute? Go figure.

There’s more. Or less actually. It’s not that I didn’t get attention;
it’s just that I’ve been attracting the wrong kind of men. With the
wrong kind of cars. It’s was three weeks of fumbling, muttering,
groping and apologies. Three weeks of crap sex and disappointment.

So on Saturday night I decided to accessorise with a riding crop. Just
for the hell of it.

If I’d known how effective it was going to be I would have joined the
‘horsey set’ a long time ago.

I’m not a dominant person, nor am I submissive. I’m the kind of girl
that goes with the flow. Sure I’ve whipped people before, beaten
people, ground my stilettos into peoples backs, made them lick my
shoes, made them wear nappies and all the usual stuff, but I’ve also
been bound and gagged and humiliated and other things myself, you know
what I mean... anyway, the point is I’m not really into domination.

I figured the whip would just be fun, a conversation piece, you know,
like a gaudy bracelet or something. If I’d only known.

Information like this could change a girl’s life.

I was propositioned four times before 2 am. Four.

It seems that people who like to have the crap whipped out of them by
transsexuals wearing lingerie and carrying a riding crop are quite
forward – they’re happy to be very up-front about their interests.
They will seek you out and make their introductions – ‘I’ve been a
very naughty boy’.

I’m going to do this more often. Maybe once every few weeks. I’d do it
even more often, but it’s not as much fun as you think – I mean
there’s not much in it for me. It just doesn’t do it for me to see
people in pain cowering at my feet telling me how bad they are.

Having said that I’m up for anything, if the mood takes me. I also
love an excuse to dress up. So this is ok every now and again, but I’d
much prefer to be taken to a dinner at a nice restaurant, have a nice
meal, some champagne, maybe a dessert wine, a few lines, maybe a pill
and then have my brains fucked out in a hotel room. Call me old
fashioned, but it’s just the kind of girl I am.

I told Brittany all of this and she laughed her little head off, the
plan is for the both of us to go out next weekend looking like
dominatrixes (is that a word?).

We’ll be at the Taxi Club after about 11.30 then probably hit Arq
after 3am. You’ll recognise us; I’ll be the girl with the copy of
Horse and Hound.

X

Lavinia