The Problem With Ian's Blow Jobs

The problem with giving Ian his blow jobs is that I don't like doing it, and he knows it. I've been forced to quite literally bow to his whims for over 30 years now; his whims and his will. Just because his family are big shots around here – 'hards', as we say – nobody including me dares defy them. So all this time, I've been dressing to please and sucking him off, and hating every second of it – a fact I cannot disguise, though I'd never dare admit it to his face...

Today, I was called just as I was making supper with a view to spending a quiet evening in front of the telly. I didn't bother to argue; just switched the oven down low, went upstairs and changed into a little black dress, satin bra with matching panties, and a pair of seamed hold-up stockings.

An extra thick layer of royal red lipstick completed a quick makeover, and then I donned his favourite long black wig before waltzing over the road to his house. Now as I've perhaps made clear, this is a hard area - a stray tranny who wandered these streets could find herself getting an awful kicking – but everyone here knows exactly who I am, and what my business is. They wouldn't dare touch me! So I'm perfectly free to slip on my favourite black, peep-toe wedges and amble across the street to Ian's place whenever I'm summoned.

The worst thing about servicing Ian is listening to him reminisce. His good times are when he used to make my young life hell – but he either doesn't realize, or doesn't care; probably the latter. "Do you remember..?" he starts, and then begins chuckling about how he outed me as a tranny at school. How he used information gleaned from his sister Kelly, who'd been my best friend and confidante (until she turned 12, discovered boys and changed completely) to make me a figure of ridicule...

Do I remember how I was forced to take off my trousers, revealing to the whole school that I was wearing tights underneath? How my trousers were then taken away and dunked in a filthy barrel of pigswill, while I was offered one of Kelly's old skirts as a replacement? How I ended up walking home dressed like that, with a helpful sign attached to the back of my blazer, which read 'fagot' (sic) just in case any passers-by mistook me for a genetic girl? Yes, Ian – I remember it! Only not with quite so much relish as you, it seems...

Still, I have my moments of satisfaction; such as right now. Standing before him in his wheelchair, we both know he's not going to live much longer. He's got nine kids by five different women, but he can't service a woman anymore. The cirrhosis he's got from drinking cider and taking God knows how many drugs since he was knee-high to a grasshopper have really done him in and now everyone, including his latest missus, just turns a blind eye to my visits, because I give him something nobody else can.

I was his first, and I'll be his last! "Don't just stand there, get it out!" he demands impatiently, and so I spread my legs either side of his wheelchair and lean towards him, rolling my silky black panties down at the same time. He grabs hold of my barely stirring link with maleness, and massages it inside his gnarled fist, all the while keeping a menacing glint fixed on my face.

I smile a falsetto, sweet smile at him. His cock doesn't work properly now because he's abused his body – a crime for which he'll soon pay the ultimate price, and leave us all be. But mine stopped working effectively a long time ago, following a nasty incident all of his making.

I'd forgiven Kelly her betrayal; or at least, I'd believed her explanation that she'd never meant to tell Ian my secret, and that he must have surreptitiously read her diary. We met up in the old corner house, before they knocked it down, and she lent me a most beautiful pink dress to try on...

I was truly relaxed and happy, so much so that I hardly noticed the commotion outside until it was far too late to escape. Suddenly, scrambling through a downstairs window, there was Ian along with the worst of his gang, including Kelly's latest boyfriend! I cursed myself for being such a total idiot not to see this one coming...

"You need to change Caz," Kelly told me, walking down the stairs with a sanctimonious air, as though she'd just done me some enormous favour that I'd thank her for one day. "It's just not right, being like you are at your age!"

I didn't even bother to resist as Ian and his gang grabbed me by a limb each, aligned me carefully with the solid metal banister post at the top of the stairs, and hurled me into it repeatedly, my legs stretched tautly apart. Singing, chanting and occasionally pausing to spit on me, they repeated this cruelty until the hollow numbness that the first blow inflicted upon my crotch had spread right throughout my entire torso. At no point did I cry out, and when their fun was complete, they simply dropped me and walked away. A few moments of fun for them had sealed my fate forever, rendering me capable only of taking, and never of giving...

But right now, I get my revenge! Ian can squeeze me all he wants, but nothing much will happen, except that, at some point, I will fill his hand with cream. I do so now, spunking joylessly yet rapidly so that my thin warm gruel runs rapidly through his fingers and down his legs. "Get that off me!" he orders, and I kneel down and begin to lick my sterile cum off his knees, lower legs and finally toes.

His missus is supposed to take care of all his hygiene needs but, licking cum from between his toes, I can't rate her very highly on that account! Still, I don't think hygiene was ever Ian's strong point. After his gang had left me to recover my senses in the old corner house, he sneaked back on his own. My heart pounded when I first saw him again; I truly feared he'd come back to kill me – but instead, he was surprisingly nice...

After helping me sit up and recover a bit, he explained what he wanted – what he called a 'practice girl'. Like most hard men, Ian is thick in many ways, but he is far from stupid! Even at a tender age, he understood his own nature perfectly. After school ended, he would be entering the family business (officially scrap metal) and would be expected to follow in his father's footsteps and philander - producing lots of offspring with different women. But he had other needs, and if I could help with them he'd be grateful...

If I agreed to meet him in the blue toilets (behind A Block) as and when required, then I would receive favours – the most important of which was that nobody from school would ever dare harm me again. Of course I said yes and, the very next day, in the blue toilets I sucked my first cock – Ian's cock. I knelt in a puddle overflowing from a cracked cistern (and no doubt full of badly-aimed urine as well) dressed in a laddered pair of Kelly's black school tights he'd brought for me to wear, and I gagged on Ian's salty cum in near silence, all the time shaking with worry as to what would happen if the caretakers turned up!

And do you know, he's never bummed me! Two, sometimes three times a week I met him in the blue toilets, right up until we both left school, and I sucked that cock so thoroughly that I swear, if you'd given me a pencil and paper at the end of term, I could have drawn it with my tongue! But that's all I ever did for him...

And now, it's too late! I don't know whether it's the medicine he's taking or a symptom of the disease, but he can't get a proper erection these days. Just like what he and his thugs inflicted upon me back in the old corner house all those years ago, he gets halfway hard and spunks okay - but that's it.

So I lean my face fully into his crotch, rubbing my knees against his legs and feet because I know he gets stimulated from feeling nylon, and I begin to blow and suck, as noisily as I can. "That's it Caz!" he says, trying to sound like the man he used to be.

As I start to taste his salty pre-cum, I think about all the reasons I have to hate Ian. After all, he completely changed my life; set the course whereby I ran off to London straight after school, and finished up under the influence of men who made him look like the Tooth Fairy!

Instead of sucking I think, I could bite right now! And in his condition, that would be it; he'd bleed to death! But then, why bother? He was my first, and I was his - and I'll be his last! So why cause all sorts of trouble, when I can just blow, suck and swallow a few more times? After all, he's loving it right now – I can tell from how he's groaning softly, and massaging my shoulders. I'm making a dying man happy!

And even if his missus won't want to know me once he's gone, his sister knows what I've meant to her brother over the years – so Kelly's sure to see me right for a couple of grand, if you know what I mean?