Dildo Donald delight...

It's Dildo Donald, carrying his customary swag-bag and looking more than a little excited. He brushes off my observation that he is a day early and bundles me into the lounge.

Before you can say 'turbo-charged prosthetic', he has the bag unzipped and a whole row of dildoes lined up on the dining table, lovingly running his gloved mitts over the biggest, which looks suspiciously like a thermos flask.

"Cup of char Katie?", he unscrews the cap, grinning broadly at the relief on my face.

"Get your kinky kit on girl, I have work to do."

Donald's 'work' involves testing my pain threshold against an onslaught of increasingly large objects which he rams into my pussybotty with a manic passion.

I have to provide a range of ball-gags and duck tape - Donald's idea of being considerate to my neighbours' sensibilities.

I slip into my red leather mini-skirt and 'fuck-me' stiletto boots and start to ready myself with my patent mix of lube and Anusol - "don't ask!"

Back-strap, choker, cuffs and chains complete the picture, as my humiliation begins. "Owwwwwww, oooowwwwwhhhh, you fucking bastard, owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwhhhhooowwwwwwhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

I struggle helplessly as the ball-gag fills my mouth, the straps are fastened tightly and tape is added to achieve my total silence.

It might be hard to be a woman, but it is sheer hell being a totally trashy tranny trollop.

Need a compliant pvc-macked tarty slut to kerb-crawl and suck you off in your car?

You could always wash the car and clean out the rabbit hutch instead. Hard choice eh?

Oh well, c'est la vie