I had advertised as a slim blonde, upper middle class pre op transexual, for ugly men to visit, hurt and humiliate me. That happened with a vengeance last Monday. I took my time showering and perfuming my hairless body. Then came the make up with careful attention to my eyes and lipstick. I chose crimson nail varnish for my finger and toe nails. I chose black lingerie, with full length satin and lace slip, teddy, six strap suspender belt to keep my seams straight,very tight pantie girdle holding my little sex flat and my tiny testes up in the pockets in front of my pubic bone. To complete the posh picture I put on an expensive pink satin lined tailored skirt suit. It goes without saying that I wore high heels. The man had sounded very unpleasant on the phone when he arranged. He made it clear he was going to inflict pain, asking what toys I had. He was pleased to know that I used to ride and still had my riding crop. He told me he was going to keep his clothes on. I had given the man directions and sat down waiting. The French windows of the annex to my remote home led of the drive. I left them open. Without knocking the man just marched in and up to me. He was in his fifties, weather beaten, wiry and grey haired. Slapping my face, he said 'Stand up you fu—ing litlle slut.' I know I look for men like this one, but they always frighten me. Fear makes my sex tingle, vulnerability making me want to orgasm for bullies, as I did the very first time I was seen dressed. Naturally submissive to dominant men, I meekly stood up, looking very innocent and demure. Then came two more slaps to each of my rouged cheeks. I cried out. 'What's your problem whore, you deserve everything you're gonna get from me.' He was sneering and laughing at me. 'What a fu—ing sight you bitch.' I was ordered to undress while he took pictures. With trembling pampered hands, I unbuttoned my tight tailored jacket, exposing the top of my black satin and lace slip and burgeoning breasts. 'What we got 'ere then' he said, grabbing and pulling my big nipples through the heavy satin. I winced. 'Shut it whore. There's worse to come you slut.' As soon as my tight skirt fell to the floor, I was pushed up against the wall, a big rough hand going under my shimmering satin slip, the other hand going grabbing, pulling and punching each of my breasts, his vile insults demeaning me, hi manner urgent when he said: 'There must be a little cock in here somewhere. You want a sex change, I'll speed it up for you and rip the f—king thing off, but not before I've made you cum you slut.'.' Believe it or not, this is true. But I won't finish the story if loads of men write in telling me it is a fantasy or I shouldn't let men do this stuff to me. I know I shouldn't let them, but I can't help myself needing to be punished for being as I am. By the time this man had finished with me, I was a mess, beaten and humiliated, having had his cruel eyes force and watch my orgasm while he mocked and laughed at me.