Final Night

This book is strictly for adults only due to the very graphic content, and contains themes that some may find offensive, including crossdressing, feminization, male-male erotica including anal and oral sex. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Text copyright© 2015 T K Hansen

All Rights reserved

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This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. This eBook remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be produced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial purpose without direct permission from the author.

This eBook is a work of fiction and the characters are purely productions of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All characters in this work are 18 years of age or older.

FINAL NIGHT

T K Hansen

A transgender crime story.

Sandra Kirk is trying to come to terms with a violent sexual assault. She is part way along the difficult road to gender reassignment, still in the merry-go-round of psychological assessment.

Fortunately, she has supportive friends, although they are troubled that she must resort to selling herself for sex in order to raise the necessary capital to complete the gender transformation in Thailand. But for Sandra there is no choice. The end––as she is fond of saying, perhaps to convince herself––justifies the means.

Then her boyfriend takes her on a business trip to the Isle of Wight where, to her horror, she encounters the two people who assaulted and raped her.

From the depths of her anguish she evolves a plan to pay them back for the pain and humiliation they have caused her ...

Prologue

The music was loud.

Strangely, that’s what I remember most. We had been sitting at a rickety picnic bench among the stretch of trees at one end of the campsite. The music festival was several fields away, but a marquee doesn’t do much to reduce the noise level. I had been over there most of the day enjoying the bands and the sunshine, but now, into the evening, I could do with getting the ringing out of my ears.

I had met the couple on the way back. They seemed a nice pair––late forties, maybe early fifties, I’m a bad judge. The campsite was still deserted, few came away from the music early, and we settled on the picnic bench because he had a carry-out from the local pub. It was good stuff, single malt and a good-sized bottle of ginger ale.

We had been having a good time, getting quietly merry on the booze when I felt his hand on my leg. The Cornish evening was cooling, I was bared-legged under my sundress and his hand was pleasantly warm. Perhaps if I had slapped him away it never would have happened. But we were all slightly drunk and maybe that made the difference, made me slow on the uptake.

When I felt the hand go higher I finally moved, but it was too late.

Fuckin’ hell! he yelped.

What? His wife was startled. I presumed she hadn’t seen the wandering hand, but I was wrong about that too.

"She’s––it’s a fuckin’ man!" He sounded more affronted than anything else.

"You what?" She stared across the wooden table at me, took in the shoulder-length blond hair, pert little nose, no adam’s apple and a nice swell of tit. All of it good quality work and not cheap I can tell you. I was still saving for the final trip to Thailand, but that was a ways off yet.

He grabbed my wrist and dragged me across the table on my back, hauled up my dress and literally ripped my panties off. Like I say, it had been a warm day and I hadn’t bothered getting all tucked up in a tight gaff when it wasn’t necessary. Well all right, it would have been a good idea now.

The bitch grabbed my balls and I squealed. "Christ, I wouldn’t have believed it! she said. She reached round and felt my left breast. These are real, he’s not just a crossdressing queer, he’s a tranny!"

It’s what? He was running his hand up and down my thigh. I tried to wriggle free, not a chance.

Transsexual. He’s changing his sex. She sounded quite put out, maybe I had bigger tits than her.

Likes it up the arse, does he? I couldn’t see him because of the way I was lying, but I could hear the grin in his voice.

Oh yes, she said, I’m sure he does. Get in there and shag the arse off him!

No! I shouted and got a hand slapped across my mouth.

Shut up! he snapped. Give me your scarf, he said to his wife, holding me tightly in place.

She had been wearing a light blue chiffon scarf and now it was flipped over my head into my mouth as a gag and tied firmly behind my head. I was struggling hard now because this was looking really bad. I tried to shout, scream, anything, but it came out as a gurgle––and the place was empty anyway, nobody to hear, nobody to help.

Listen, I know some of us like it a bit rough, my friend Julie says her boyfriend comes close to rape on occasions, and she loves it. But that’s not real rape.

This was real rape.

Come on! she urged him. Hurry up, get it in there!

He pushed me round face down on the picnic table, she held my wrists, arms outstretched in front of me while behind me I heard a zip go down and a shuffle as he dropped his pants. I was threshing around, trying desperately to get free and the bitch grabbed my hair and bounced my head off the table.

Dazed, I was only dimly aware of him hawking some saliva into his mouth and felt the wetness as he spat it onto my backside. He worked it in with a finger,