Tranny Babysitter: The Conclusion

"Be back soon, baby," Courtney muttered, then raced from the room.

Mercifully, the rope was cut, and I could take the weight off my hands and ease the pressure on my stomach muscles.

"Go back to Harry," I said to Courtney. "We cannot afford for him to realise how badly fucked we both are."

"He's sleeping," Courtney told me. "I only came twice, and he's already had enough. Arsehole came in me four times, though."

"So wake him up and make him service you properly," I told her. "If some slut that I've been fucking thinks that now she's cum I'll stop. I quickly let her know she still has my needs to take care of."

"How soon can I get rid of him, John?" Courtney asked. "I want my husband back."

"You'll have to fuck him again tonight, so you can get what you need..."

Courtney interrupted me, "Can't you take care of me instead?"

"Like this?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"He's barely twenty, babe. He will wake up as soon as you walk in the door and want to screw. Get the key, tell him you want to make sure the front door is locked, release me, and then enjoy fucking him for the rest of the night."

"You don't mind me fucking him, fucking Josh?"

"If I'm being honest, watching you fuck others is the biggest turn-on, like, ever," I confessed.

"Do you want to submit to me willingly, John?" She asked. "To me, not Hannah, Jonas, Roger, Bryce, Samuel, me?"

"Yes, my love," I told her. "You are my world."

"And if I decide to take other lovers?"

"I meant what I said Saturday night, Courtney. I surrender. My life is yours, body, mind, heart, and soul."

"Well, fuck me," was all she said.

Courtney left. Only a few short moments later, I was released from my binds.

With an appreciative moan, I collapsed onto the mattress and passed out.

I didn't notice Courtney leaving for our bedroom.

The Rest of the Second Week.

I woke up Monday morning. This week heralded the return of our compulsory training sessions. They were only for the first, second, and third-year players, but I always attended.

I opened the door to Courtney's bedroom to find her riding Harry's cock.

Harry looked at me as I opened the door, "Hurry up and cum in that slut," I told him as if Courtney was some slag he had picked up for an overnight tension reliever. "We have practice."

Harry groaned, then shot his load into Courtney.

We made it to practice with plenty of time to spare.

I worked with Harry on his left-hand hand pass. He was giving me mumbled responses and looked almost angry.

"What the fuck is up with you?" I asked.

"The welts and bruises on Courtney's ass and back, did you do that?"

I shook my head.

"Then who?"

"Courtney and Hannah like to play rough," I told him. "Well, Hannah does. And Courtney wants to go along with it, so ... you know?"

"If anyone was doing that to my wife, I'd smash them off the planet," Harry answered.

"I wanted to, you know? But when the wife tells you 'no', what do you do?"

"You two are fucked up, man. Your wife is as sexy as fuck, and she sure goes off in the sack, but it's all a bit weird ..."

He petered to a stop.

"Fuck! Me and my big mouth."

"What?"

"You're not bothered that I spent the night fucking your wife?"

"You fucked Courtney Cox so I could fuck Jennifer Lawrence, remember? Why would I be angry at you?"

"I wouldn't mind fucking Jennifer Lawrence," Harry mumbled.

I handed him one of Hannah's cards, "Be careful what you wish for, mate," I told him. "It might not be as much fun as you think."

The rest of the first to three-year players arrived.

I didn't know where the skills and assistant coaches were, but 15 guys were hanging around doing fuck all except kicking for goal, so I decided to run a learning drill.

"Over here," I demanded. "Look, guys, kicking for goal is relatively easy," I said as they gathered around me.

I slotted one from where I stood, about 40 metres out directly in front, to prove my point.

"Kicking to the advantage of a teammate in a marking contest is much harder."

I set up what I wanted to show them. I selected one of the guys who had been recruited as a possible forward to act as my 'full-forward'. Then instructed the defenders to try and spoil his ability to catch the ball.

Running through the drill, I spun from the contest about 50 metres (55 yards) away and hit the 'full forward' on the chest, two steps ahead of his direct opponent.

"The full forward will lead toward where he wants you to kick the ball," I told them. "Your job is to get it into him as quickly and accurately as possible to give him the best chance of marking it."

Watching the new boys work through this drill, I realised their kicking skills weren't up to it.

I was the best kick in the club. Even the has-beens on TV acknowledged it.

I broke down how to make solid contact with the ball every time.

Anthony, the kicking skills coach, had arrived. He watched me working the 'new fish' through the kicking drills I had set up for them.

He took out his phone.

A little while later, as I was explaining 'the drop' to a recent recruit, Anthony approached me, "The boss wants to see you in his office," he said.

Like your school days, visiting the 'boss's' office was never good.

Reluctantly, I made my way to the coach's office, knocked on the door and walked in.

"Hey John," Coach said. "Take a seat.

'Definitely not good,' I thought as he closed the door behind me.

"We're going to look for a trade for you at the end of the season, John. We'll probably cut you from the roster if we can't get a decent trade."

"Oh. Why?"

I had a contract for the next two seasons, even if they cut me, I'd still get most of that money, but I didn't want the money. I wanted to play.

"You're taking up a lot salary cap to play reggies (reserve grade) and occasionally fill in for the seniors. We think that money would be better spent on a younger player that can play firsts full time."

"What do I have to do to be allowed to stay?"

"Show me that the light has finally dropped. Show me the penny has been turned on."

Coach can mangle a metaphor better than anyone I know.

"That the penny has dropped and the light turned on?"

"That's what I said,"

"I don't understand," I told him.

There's a big-screen TV on the wall above Coach's desk connected to his computer. It sprang into life.

I could see he was bringing some files up.

"You're just not cutting it, John," he brutally told me.

"Mate, you're 193 cm (6ft. 4) and have the best vertical leap in the club. Why aren't you playing ruck for us?"

"You said ruck was a 'waste of my kicking skills' and moved me to the wing," I answered.

"Because you kept peeling out of the ruck and going forward looking to kick goals."

I blushed, "You told me I needed to get forward and provide another target."

"But not at the expense of your main role."

"You've got great hands. You're both an excellent overhead and chest mark and amongst the fastest in the club. Why aren't you our full forward kicking 50 - 60 goals yearly?"

"My goal kicking sucks," I truthfully answered.

In the 12 out of a possible 26 that I had played last season, I had kicked 9 - 17 (9 goals, 17 behinds from 26 shots). There were another ten shots that I'd missed everything with.

"Does it, John?"

Coach brought up a graphic of an AFL field on the screen. There was a whole heap of white dots on it.

"These are where you took your shots from last season," he told me.

Some numbers appeared beside them. Every dot had a black number and another number either in green or red. There was only one red number.

"The black numbers represent the AFL average from that spot. The green and red ones are your averages. Green means you're on, or above, the AFL average, and the red that you're below.

Where's your only red?"

"Directly in front 40 out," I answered.

I can get a little jittery on set shots directly in front. As long as I remembered to smash the ball through the goals, I usually wasn't too bad.

"Most of your shots and the AFL averages, what are they?"

"Low."

"So you're not a bad kick for goal. You just take shots you should be looking to pass off to others in a better position, wouldn't you say?"

I had to agree, "I take the shot because I get so few chances that I feel I have to try and impress you."

"Stop trying to fucking impress the coaching staff and me. Start trying to impress your fucking teammates!" Coach yelled at me. "You're the best pass kick in the whole fucking club, possibly even the best in the fucking league. Kick the fucking ball to the advantage of a teammate for a fucking change."

I'd seen coach angry like this before, but never at me.

"Your teammates rarely kick the ball to you when you're playing forward. Why?"

"I don't know. I thought it was because I sucked in front of goal."

"Because they know you won't pass it back!"

This carried on for another 30 minutes, maybe more. By the time he had finished, I felt like a sheet that had been squeezed through the mangle.

"We're done, John," Coach said. "Show us that you can play the team game, or you're gone at season's end. You'll have to work hard to regain the trust of your teammates, but if you start doing the 1 percenters regularly, it will soon come back.

I was impressed that you were working on the new boy's skills. You've never done that before."

"I attend every session, coach, even those I don't have to be here for. I've been with the new guys plenty of times."

"Working on your skills, not helping with theirs. But why do you think you've lasted six years at this club without cracking a full-time gig? Your willingness to work and train so hard has kept us hoping you'd finally pick up that penny, and that is why we kept offering you another 12 - 24 month deal."

I went back to training, even though it felt like my whole world was shattering around me. The kicking coach assigned me some of the worst kicks to work with on a three-by-three rotation. By the end of the session, most were able to hit a target regularly.

At the end of the training, I got thanks from the whole squad and a nod of approval from the coach.

That felt pretty good.

I went home and dragged my sorry ass up to my room. I felt wiped out. All I had ever wanted to do was play. I'd have played for a quarter of what they were paying if it meant I could play. Fuck, I'd probably have played for free or match payments. Now it seemed it was gone.

'I've lost Courtney. When she kicks me out, I'll lose the boys and the new bub,' I thought to myself, nearly in tears. 'What the fuck have I done?'

Courtney was sitting on my bed.

"Come down to the bedroom, John, please."

Tears began to leak from my eyes, "I can't handle any more degradation today, Courts," I told her, calling her by a pet name I hadn't used since high school. "Nor can I handle any more 'forced gay' or 'forced feminisation'. You'll have to find another victim for yourself and Hannah."

Courtney looked at me, then sighed, "What the fuck happened to us, John? We were so happy back at the farm."

"Hannah happened to us, Courts," I told her bitterly.

"You were a willing participant in everything me and Hannah did to you, babe. Oh, you tried to deny it, but you fucking loved every single fucking moment of it!" She answered heatedly. "No, I meant before Hannah, before you started sticking your dick in every piece of tail you came within sniffing distance of."

"I think I kind of got hooked up in the lifestyle, babe," I answered honestly. "All the guys seemed to be doing it, and I just went along with it. Besides, you never once complained or even mentioned that you knew I was fucking around on you."

"Why do you think I didn't?" Courtney asked me. It was her turn to be bitter.

"Cos you're an idiot who's in love with a fucking loser, that's why!"

"Jaysus, John! Where did that come from? Have a look around you. Does this look like the house of a loser?"

"They're going to either trade or cut me at season's end, Courtney," I said in tears. "They say I'm never going to reach my full potential, and it's time they went in another direction.

I have a contract, so I'll get about 80% of it, but that's probably the last paycheck I'll get from footy."

Courtney got up and stood in front of me.

"Look at me, John."

I couldn't.

"I didn't ask you to look at me, John; I told you to. Now, look at me."

Unwillingly, I lifted my eyes to meet hers.

"Samuel's right," I heard her mutter.

"So, what are you going to do about it, John?" Courtney asked. "Roll over like the bitch you've become and let them take your career away?"

"No!" I averred. "I'll do whatever it takes to make them keep me on."

"Even if it means letting your teammates take the spotlight, take the glory, take the shot?"

"Even if it means sucking every one of them off in the fucking showers after the game!" I answered

"Or getting me to do it for you?"

"Only if you're willing, my love," I told her. "I don't make your choices for you."

"Why do you think I let you fuck all those sluts, John?" Courtney said, suddenly switching directions. "Why do you think I so eagerly sucked their cunt juice off your cock? And don't tell me because I'm an idiot in love with a loser. I'm not, you aren't, and you didn't think you were when you were doing it."

"I don't know. I didn't think you knew," I said.

"You take 90 minutes to get back from a 10-minute drive, and you think I'm so dumb I don't know what you're doing?"

"You have a couple of drinks, then sleep all night. I thought you weren't aware I'd been gone so long."

"I was lying in bed masturbating to the thought of you fucking those women, John, wishing you'd finally realise that I wanted to fuck them with you!"

"Wh_, What?"

"That night you fucked Stephanie on the couch. I was sitting at the top of the stairs with three fingers in my pussy, hoping you'd notice me and want me to join in."

"I ... well ... I ... umm ... fuck," Was all I could say. "Why didn't you say something about it to me?"

"Tell your husband, the father of your two kids and the baby you've got growing in your womb, that you're fantasising about having sex with women and that you're scared you might be a lesbian?"

"Are you?"

"Are you gay?"

"I don't think so," I replied. "Dressing up and taking cock is fun, I'll admit that. But fucking a man, as a man, just isn't for me."

"I'm not lesbian, but I like the taste, smell and feel of pussy. I want to try some more. If you'd like to do it with me?"

"Where's Hannah? Waiting in the bedroom? I'd better drag myself up there."

"She's taken my car to pick up Rachel. She's bringing her back to deflower. I think she has something planned for you, which is why you are to come to my room."

"Who's Rachel?"

"The Maccas girl you were made to show your cum covered face to."

"Oh."

I sighed, "I guess there's nothing you can do to stop it?"

"Not yet, no. I meant it when I said that you had completed all the tasks that I wanted you to do. From now on, it's all voluntary stuff from me."

"Why did you do it, Courts? Why did you decide to try and make me gay and turn me into a tranny?"

"To start with, it was just plain old-fashioned revenge. I wanted to hurt and humiliate you as you have hurt and humiliated me so many times and for so many years.

I wanted you to experience being fucked around on. I wanted you to feel how worthless it made you feel. How inadequate it makes me feel.

Then it became a bit of a game. You liked this, could I make you like that? You would do this. Can I push you further and make you do that? I thought you'd hate and refuse to do this, but you liked it. Could I make you go even deeper into your sexual degradation?

Then I got in over my head and couldn't find a way out. I kept hoping you would find a way out for both of us, but you just accepted more and more."

"Because you wanted me to, Courts. Yes, I'll admit I've loved most of what has happened to me, what has been done to me, and what I've done, but if you weren't there egging me on every step of the way, I'd never have done any of it."

There was the low meaty growl of our Avant in our driveway.

Stricken, Courtney looked at me, "There's a lot more to be discussed, John. But you must go and perform for our Mistress.

You are to strip naked, take the stool out of the closet and place it at the foot of the bed. You'll then lube the dildo up and sit on it, facing the door.

Hannah will tell you what happens next."

"Won't you be there?"

"No. This is not something I want to see you do. Not something to pay me back for the years of infidelity you inflicted on me.

Hannah usually likes to take her new pets out to show them off after she's done them. I'm going to plead being unwell and beg off.

Have fun in there. You may as well. You're going to be made to do it, anyway."

Dropping my clothes to the floor and racing up the hall, I assumed the required position just in time for Hannah to usher Rachel into the room.

There hadn't been time to lube the dildo properly, so it was initially a little uncomfortable in my ass. But it was pretty nice once I had wriggled my hips and got it against my P-spot.

Hannah favoured me with a tight smile.

"Rachel, you remember cum-face here, don't you?"

"That's the woman you had with you?" Rachel asked in disbelief. "But he's a bloke!"

"Amazing what the right makeup, clothes, and training can do, isn't it?" Hannah confirmed.

Hannah turned to face me directly, "Lift your ass, fagboy. Show Rachel what you have in your boy-cunt."

My conversation with Courtney had given me some hope that there might be an end to my degradation, but it seemed it would go on forever.

Struggling not to weep in despair, I raised far enough for the shaft of the dildo to appear.

"Fark me!" Rachel said.

I wasn't sure if she was aroused, shocked, or disgusted. A little bit of all three, I think.

A voice came from outside the room, "What's 'fark me'? Let me in. I want to see."

A young male, about the same age as Rachel, entered the room.

"Fuck! That's John Murray!" The voice exclaimed.

Weirdly, he held out his hand. It was as if he was so starstruck that he hadn't noticed that I was naked and sitting in a strange position in the middle of the room.

"Evan Baxter, Mr Murray," he said

What could I do?

I took his hand and shook it.

"Pleased to meet you, Evan."

"Evan is Rachel's friend. He knows he's gay and thinks he might be trans. You're going to help Evan explore his sexuality," Hannah informed me.

"But I'm going to give you a choice, John. You can take Rachel down to your room, seduce and then deflower her, something you've done many times with many young girls, and I'll take care of Evan.

Or, you can take young Evan here and begin his journey of self-exploration and discovery. They are both 18 years of age and virgins. Rachel has admitted to a little bit of fooling around with girls, but Evan says he's never even had a sexual kiss from anyone, boy or girl.

What will it be?"

This 'choice' was fucking with my mind. I hadn't had a choice since Hannah had forced me on this journey. I didn't know what to do.

My conscious mind went, 'Hmm, pussy, haven't had pussy for a while. Take that girl and rock her world.'

But my deeper conscious went, 'I never want to cheat on Courtney with women again. Besides, that poor boy is terrified! You need to look after him.'

I tried to conjure images of fucking Rachel. She was just the type of footy slut I liked to bang. Pretty enough to get the juices flowing, but not so pretty that she was up herself.

The kind of woman that loves someone semi-famous hitting on her because they feel validated. They feel sexy and desirable. They even think that maybe they're a little more beautiful than their mirror says they are.