Entrapment

"Yes, by all means. I'd enjoy the company. I'm in Duck alone this weekend."

I sat. "Would you like to buy me a drink?" I was putting the rush on him, making him commit to an interest in me. "I haven't brought a wallet. I hadn't planned to stop at the bar, but I saw you sitting here and found you very attractive."

"Yes, sure, why not?" he said. I told him what I wanted to drink and he went to the bar and came back with two of them, one for each of us.

"Do you come here often--to Duck?" I asked.

"A couple of times a summer," he answered. "I come here to get my head back on straight. I have a demanding job. I often get too close to a lot of issues and they get jumbled up. I come here to get them untangled."

"You don't come here to seek entanglement too?" I asked.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"I saw you this morning--on the terrace of that bungalow on the beach. You were watching me being fucked. You knew what I have to offer and still you remained there, watching."

"Ah." There was a pause while he seemed to be deciding whether or not to go with it. He did. "And did you enjoy it--the fuck?"

"Yes, very much. You are attracted to people... like me?"

"Yes." His interest in trans was out in the open. This was the key element in why it was me--why I was the one here, doing this. "Was he someone you know?" the man continued.

"No. A complete stranger."

"From the way he went to you and just took you forcibly, I thought that he might be sexually assaulting you."

"And yet you just stood there and watched," I said.

"Yes. It was just so... so--"

"I found him attractive... and he fucked very well. Not all men could keep it up, knowing they were fucking a trans. That part of the beach is for casual encounters." This established that I'd let complete strangers screw me if I found them attractive--and I'd just told him I stopped at the bar because I found him attractive. "But presumably you can, since you stayed around and beat off to me being fucked." I gave him a pointed look.

"Yes, I can... with a trans."

"And that's another reason you leave your usual life and come to Duck alone?"

"Yes."

I was putting the rush on him. Don't give them time to think up why they won't do what they clearly want to do. Hook them fast. It had worked for me in the past. I reached across the table and touched his right nipple through the material of his T-shirt. He responded with a jerk and a discernible tremble.

"Do you want to fuck me?" I asked. "We can drink up and go back to your place. I know where you are staying, of course. Do you want to fuck me?"

"Yes, I want to fuck you."

Victory.

"You want to put it in my pussy."

"Yes."

"And you want to fuck me in the ass too."

"Yes."

"You want to do everything to me that the hunk who came up from the sea did to me?"

"Yes." His voice was thick with lust.

* * * *

I didn't just let him fuck me at the bungalow; I let him master and ravish me in both holes. He surprised me in just how experienced and serious a player he was. He knew what to do with a trans. Of course, I'd known he would.

"It really turned me on to see you taken so forcibly," he said when we got to the bungalow.

"It turns me on too," I answered, and then to anticipate where he obviously wanted to go--where I'd been briefed he liked to go--I said, "Do it. Take what you want. Do what you want."

He put me on my back on a lounger by the small pool on the terrace and he had touched and fondled me everywhere with his hands and tongue and, holding my legs raised and spread, had eaten me out. He started by worshiping my body like I was a goddess, until I was begging for the shaft before he crouched over me, between my thighs, captured my lips with his, slid his tongue into my mouth and his cock into my pussy and fucked the shit out of me. Then he turned me and did the same in my other channel, all the time working my man clit with his fingers.

He showed me that he could prepare a trans to melt for him and plead for the cock; and he showed that he could be a lover, melding with me, the two of us working together for the pleasure of each other.

Going into the climax, however, he slapped me around, thrust up hard and violently inside me again and again, and showed me that he was cruel and a power top, treating me like the whore I was and totally wiping me out. I struggled against him, as I knew he wanted me to do, and tried to roll out from underneath him. But he punched me in the face and I fell back on the lounger, sprawled and spent. In the end I was just lying there, collapsed, completely docile, while he took his pleasure of me. I'd been told he would become that way with a trans, but he didn't seem to be the type that would--until he did.

At the last, he didn't want us to be working together. He wanted me exhausted and docile--vanquished--just lying there, open and vulnerable, while he ripped his pleasure out of me. I went with so many men that I found this fulfilling.

I was panting and moaning, my arm thrown across my eyes when he rolled off me, sat on the side of the lounger, stripped the condom off his cock, and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the patio table next to the bed. When he'd lit up, he moved the heel of his free hand to press in under my cunt, his thumb in my pussy and a finger snaked its way into my hole. I raised my tail and rocked on the digits, possessed both ways at once.

"Did that do it for you?" he asked.

"Oh, yes," I murmured. "It's still doing it for me." I was rocking on his fingers and thumb. He laughed.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" he asked. "I like to know something about the T-girl I'm taking to my bed tonight."

"I'm sleeping with you tonight? Here?" I asked. It certainly was what I had been aiming for.

"Yes, unless you have someplace else you need to be. I haven't finished with you yet."

"I feel like you finished me," I said.

"You are a great lay. So flexible, so responsive and at the end, just lying there and taking it. Do you dance a pole in a club here? You're a prostitute, aren't you? No one can go with a fuck like that who isn't a pro."

"You ask a lot of questions."

"Not many. Just enough to know whether I will risk fucking you again. The first time I just couldn't resist. I take my pleasures like this at great risk. That's why I come to places like Duck to indulge them."

I needed to continue this, to stay the night, to perform in the bed as well as here. "Not a pole dancer," I said. "A ballet dancer--in Washington, D.C. I'm here for the weekend to have fun away from prying eyes." I'd said that because I knew he'd understand--it was pretty obvious that was why he was here too. He was a master with T-girls, but he was letting me know that that was on the sly and on the side--that he had another, more public life he got away from from time to time. "No, I'm not a prostitute, at least not full time. I go with men who turn me on. You turn me on."

"A name?" he asked.

"Kyle," I answered. I could have given him a fake name, but I didn't. I didn't ask him for a name then, and he didn't provide one then. I didn't want to push it. We needed to make it in the sack a few more times here at the bungalow.

"Well, Kyle, are you going to stay the weekend? I'll pay you $1,000 for full privileges. I came to Duck to unwind. No ties. Casual. You're a great fuck."

"I don't have any of my clothes here. I'd have to--"

"No, nothing away from here. No calls to anyone. No time on the Internet. No watching the TV. You won't have much need for clothes, but we'll go out. You're close enough to my size. You can wear some of my clothes. You can go naked."

"Are you a gangster? On the lam, in hiding or something?" I asked.

"Do you care? Will it make a difference in you sleeping with me, letting me have my way with you, using you as I like? Fucking you in cunt and ass?"

"No."

"Do you play tennis?" he asked, obviously satisfied with my answer and moving on.

"Yes," I said. His deflection was so that I wouldn't ask why he was so secretive. It reminded me that I recognized him from somewhere. I was being paid to screw him--here in the bungalow. They had made quite clear that the fucking was to be done right here. I knew who was paying me--a Chinese lobbyist and a big-time conservative senator--and I presumed this guy was being rewarded for something. I wouldn't ask, but after the weekend was over, I certainly would research. And the interest wasn't political. I wanted to know if there could be something more regular with him. The man was a fucking fuck god. I wanted more of him--beyond this weekend. "Yes, I play tennis."

"Well, we'll play tennis tomorrow. For now, go shower, look in my closet for something to wear to a steakhouse. Tonight be a young man. And then it's back here to find if you are as good in any position as a woman other than the missionary in the cunt and a doggie in the ass."

We were quite good together in other positions after dinner and into the night, with a doggie on the dining room table, and a side split and a cowboy on the bed.

As he was nodding off to sleep, he murmured, "I can believe that you're a ballet dancer."

I'm much more than that, I thought. And I wondered just who he was other than a master dominator.

The next morning, Sunday, we fucked and then had breakfast. Then we fucked and went to a beach and tennis club that went with The Beachcomber resort and played a vigorous tennis match. He played skins, and watching him across the net, Mr. Built Movie star, revved me up and we vigorously fucked by and in the pool when we went back to the bungalow. We went to a seafood restaurant, and I went as a woman this time, we having gone to where I was staying and picking up my things. He seemed to like that he would be seen not just with a man or a woman, but with both.

"If anyone's watching me, that will confuse them," he said.

I said nothing, knowing someone, indeed, was keeping track of us.

We returned to the bungalow and fucked on the sofa with porn films on the TV, using the athletic positions from the films as a guide for our own coupling. We bathed together in the jacuzzi and fucked in the water.

After that, in the bedroom, I lay, naked, on the bed and watched him pack.

"I have to go back tonight," he said. He didn't tell me where "back" was. "You can stay the night. The bungalow is paid for until 11:00 in the morning."

I, of course, assumed the Chinese lobbyist was paying for the bungalow. There I was wrong, as I eventually found out.

"That's it? No more after this?"

"God, I wish," he said, giving me a look that told me more than I think he wanted to show. I did believe he wished. He'd managed to go this entire time, though, without revealing anything about himself. It just made me think that there was a lot to reveal. Earlier I'd almost brought an identity for him into mind. It was just about there. There was something screwy about this whole setup.

"Look, I'll give you my cell number," I said, reaching over to the nightstand, where there was a small pad of notepaper and a ballpoint pin. I scribbled the number down--my real number--and extended it toward him. "You can use it or not. This is a private number. I don't give it out to very many." I wanted to say that this gesture was far out of the limits I had been given, but I didn't. "We don't have to talk money anymore."

"I don't think that's a good idea," he said, his voice full of genuine regret. But he took the number anyway and slipped it into his wallet.

When he was standing at the door to the bedroom with suitcase in hand, I started to get out of the bed to go to him for a kiss good-bye, but he said "I don't think that's a good idea either," and he left me.

It was while I was driving back to Washington that it hit me who he was.

* * * *

"I want to see you again, Kyle."

"Whatever you want," I answered into the cellphone. I was surprised and yet I wasn't, not really. It had been a week. I hadn't forgotten Richard Blake, the liberal congressman from California, who lived in the exclusive Kalomara section of D.C., with a wife, two children, dog, and cat. I finally had remembered who he was from TV coverage of the U.S. House Committee on Foreign Affairs on recent hearings on U.S. China policy, where he was making waves as a progressive voice. I, of course, didn't tell him I now knew who he was in this telephone call.

"You checked out. You really are a ballet dancer--with the Washington Ballet. Your photo is on their Web site. And your name really is Kyle."

"Yes, that's right," I answered, tamping down the urge to flare up at him for checking me out. I'd checked him out too. "I wouldn't lie to you," I said, fully realizing that that wasn't the same as not telling him the whole truth.

"Any chance of tomorrow at three, meeting in the food court of the Roslyn Metro station?"

"Every chance," I said.

"Do you think you can find that OK?"

"Sure, no problem." And it wouldn't be a problem. I lived not more than four blocks from there, on Colonial Terrace, in an old studio apartment I shared with another Georgetown University student. It was just across the Key Bridge from Georgetown. I biked to classes. I hadn't told Blake I was a political science student at Georgetown in addition to dancing in the ballet.

When we met, he handed me a small, cheap-looking cellphone. "Here, can you use this to call me on? It's a burner phone. I don't want phone calls to be--"

"Sure, no problem," I said again. "Anything you want. I told you back in Duck that you could have anything you wanted from me. I meant it." This wasn't on the books. This was for me. I'd already struggled with who he was and that he had a family. I decided I didn't give a shit. He did me too well. Any guilt in that realm could be his to bear. I wouldn't be charging him either.

We chatted for a few minutes in the food court, although he kept looking around to see if anyone was paying attention to us. I had dressed as an unassuming male university student. He needn't have worried about being seen with me. Some of the talk was political. He seemed happy that I was a progressive and fell in with his public stances. I still didn't tell him I knew who he was, though.

"I have a room here. In the Rosslyn Hyatt Centric Arlington. I hope I'm not assuming--"

"Anything you want," I said.

He wanted it all and I let him have it. At the finish I was on my belly on the bed, one hand grasping some inlaid work in the headboard to hold myself in place and elevating my pelvis enough with my knees dug into the mattress to be able to get my hand under my belly to rub myself off, while he straddled my hips, pressed the palms of his hands into my shoulder blades, and rode me hard in the ass in long, deep thrusts.

That, in the heat of the passion of coming together, is when I slipped and made the mistake. I cried out, "Shit, yes, I'm coming. Ride me, Richard, ride me hard!" which he did and I came.

When we had turned from each other and come down next to each other on our backs and were panting, working on cooling down, he said, "You called me Richard. I haven't told you my name."

"You're Richard Blake, the congressman," I said.

"How the hell did you--?"

"This is Washington. Your face is all over the TV news."

"You knew. You knew who I was back in Duck."

"No, I didn't. It only dawned on me when I was driving back."

"You checked me out."

"You checked me out too--you checked to make sure I was in the ballet." I had him there, and he knew it.

"So, you know I'm married... have kids."

"I don't care if you don't. Let's not talk about that. Let's just--"

"Yes, let's just," he said, rolling over on top of me, parting my legs, putting me in the missionary position. He surprised me by backhanding me across the face and then back the other way, making me go limp and, moaning, collapse back onto the bed. He mounted and thrust up inside my pussy, and fucking the hell out of me. I lay there, vulnerable and completely open to him and let him have his way with me--in any hole he wanted in the moment.

* * * *

"You little shit."

"Excuse me, Richard." My grip on the burner phone I held to my ear tightened.

"You fucking bastard. You sold me out. It's entrapment, that's what it is, you little whore."

"I don't understand what you mean. Entrapment?" My blood went cold, though. I wasn't stupid. I'd been thinking for some time that something was wrong.

"Photos. They showed me photos. Photos of you and me, at the place in Duck. Having sex, all over that house I rented. You a naked trans; me fucking you in both the cunt and the ass, making love to your tits. They've got me by the balls."

"Duck? Lu and Crawford are blackmailing you? With photos of us?"

He nearly exploded down the line. "Yes, you fucking little shit. They've given me an ultimatum to vote their way on China legislation or they'll expose me. They'll... you little bitch. You are working with Crawford and Lu. How do you know those assholes?"

"Crawford's a U.S. senator and Lu is a China lobbyist," I answered. "I know them because I'm studying political science at Georgetown University."

"You told me you were a ballet dancer."

"I am."

"And you're T-girl whore too. You helped set me up."

"OK, I work for an escort agency. It isn't all sex. But some of it is, yes."

"But you immediately knew this was about Crawford and Lu and setting me to make me vote their way on the foreign policy bills."

"Not all of that, no, Richard. At the time I didn't even know who the hell you were. It's not like you told me. Listen to me, Richard. I now understand what happened. But I didn't know they were setting you up. I thought they were rewarding you for something. They hired me--or rather Robert Lu did. I only saw Crawford there incidentally." I didn't tell him that I'd auditioned for Crawford as a crossdressing maid before they hired me. "I didn't know what they were doing, though. They had that bungalow right before you took it. They must have set hidden cameras up. Have you rented it before?"

"I rent it every time I go to duck."

"Every time you go there to fuck a trans for the weekend? Every time you leave your wife and family and come to the beach to fuck a young T-girl like me?"

"That was the first time I landed a T-girl. It was never that intense before."

"It's not my fault you have a trans fetish, Richard."

There was nothing being said on the other end of the line.

"Listen, Richard, they are blackmailing you because they can--because of choices you made. I was just someone they hired through an escort agency to let you do what you have set a pattern doing. Everything that came after that weekend in Duck was because I wanted to be with you and had nothing to do with Lu or Crawford--or the escort agency."

"I'm fucked," he said, his voice sounding defeated. "There's no telling what will get passed in the House now."

I was a progressive. I agreed with the stands he'd taken. I also had fallen for the guy--not head over heels, but I had a ball being balled by him.

"Hold on, Richard. I should have thought this one out better and maybe avoided it. Don't do anything yet. Don't do anything until you hear from me. Don't give them what they want but play along with them like you will. There must be something we can do--something I can do--to make this go away."

"You think?"

"If this goes public, and there's always the threat it will, that's me in those photos too, Richard. They know what I am at the ballet, but not at the university. Trust me, I'll try to do something to make this go away."

And then, after we clicked off, I began to plan.

* * * *

The Washington Ballet was scheduled to put on a performance in one of the theaters at the MGM National Harbor Hotel and Casino venues anyway and the Nijinsky production of Afternoon of the Faun, choreographed to the music of Claude Debussy, was in the ballet's repertoire anyway. I was in the understudy cast in the role of Faun, but it was just a periodic local gig in Washington, so I didn't have any trouble getting cast in the part for the MGM Hotel performances. The director of the ballet had been eyeing me for some time. He was intrigued with how it could be with a trans--how it felt to put it there. I let him find out. A night of sex with him got me in the production.