A CHRISTMAS CAROL: A Twisted Version of Beauty and the Beast

I know it's only June but after sifting through the archives, I just had to post this twisted piece of holiday wreckage I wrote about a stink mother fucking tranny ho named Aurelio Broccamontes, one of the most abusive assholes I ever (figuratively) bent over for to make a dime. What a fucking douchebag!

Once upon a time in not so old New York City, there lived a tranny madam - a huge-breasted, heavily-bearded, hair-plugged beast with lots of money in the bank - but a heart of stone. Everybody hated her. Her tranny ho’s hated her; her female ho’s hated her; her phone girls hated her. And most of all, the unfortunate people who prostituted themselves by taking her ad money to earn a living REALLY hated her. But none of this mattered. Just so she could torture her employees and count her money late at night, she was as happy as happy could be.

She lived in Hell’s Kitchen, surrounded by cabbies and the poverty-stricken. But as she walked her thousand dollar dogs through the litter-strewn streets of The Big City, she barely even noticed the destitution that surrounded her. All she could think of was the mansion she was building down in Mexico - the place she would eventually get away to when she’d had enough of dumb ho’s, vice cops, and stupid tricks.

Christmas Eve was especially cold that year - cold enough to freeze the proverbial witch’s tit! Regardless, The Beast trudged to the bank to deposit yet more money and exited the revolving door to return home to her slaves and dogs. Everybody in the house was festive. They all had the night off to go party. Only The Beast was unhappy. “Bah! Humbug” she shouted. “I guess you dumb bitches want the night off so you can go suck some cock for free,” she lamented. “And I sit around here making no money because you sluts don’t want to work on Christmas.”

But it was to no avail. The sluts ignored her. They knew she was just a small-dicked douche bag who would never be happy. And if the freak said one more thing, they could easily walk down the stroll and find another monster to flatback for.

Soon, all the girls had flitted out the door, switching their big, fake tranny asses and tits at the boss as they left - as if to say “Look what I have, baby. A big-dicked straight guy is gonna fuck the shit out of me tonight - and you’re gonna stay home ‘cause you’re a piece of shit mother fucker.”

The streets were strangely silent - as is always the case on Christmas Eve. Only the sounds of terrorist cabbies wishing each other well filled the air as they gassed up across the street from her home at The Hess Station. She decided to take a walk with the dogs it was such a peaceful night. Plus, the bitches were gone. No need to answer the phone. No self-respecting trick would wanna fuck her nasty ass. But it was all good. She was rich and her employees poor. That’s all that mattered!

Just as The Beast was totally immersed in her thoughts, a god walked up and began petting one of her dogs. “Merry Christmas, ma’am. Aren’t these the most beautiful dogs I’ve ever seen,” he baby-talked the canines as The Chosen One stooped to pet the little buggers. The Beast’s head swam with desire. “ I bet he’s got a real big cock,” the tranny fantasized to herself. “I wonder if he fucks tranny beasts. I hope so.” But little did she know that the stud had been commissioned by all the employees to swoon The Beast, go home with her - and of course, fuck the shit out of the monster.

And so, the beautiful one engaged our beast in conversation until that magic moment when she decided to take a chance. “It’s so cold out here. Why don’t you come over to my house. I live just around the corner and it’s real warm and cozy inside,” she waxed metaphorical.

Within minutes they had entered her little love cocoon on Tenth Avenue and it wasn’t long before the small talk commenced and her gaze centered on the bulge between his legs. Her mouth began to water, aching to open wide and let his presumed huge cock ravage the insides. Beauty knew what she was thinking (hey, trannies aren’t that complicated - nor are their dick-worshipping female counterparts) and arose from his seat to begin unbuckling his pants. “I must be getting fat,” he quipped. None of my pants seem to fit anymore.

She didn’t miss a beat. “Is it your waist that’s growing - or something else?” she led him on. With that, the stranger slowly dropped his pants to divulge not just a big, handsome dick - but the longest, thickest, throbbingest monster of a cock the world has ever known. She gasped in wonderment thinking “I like a big cock but where the hell am I gonna put that huge thing?” Indeed, it was so thick she feared her mouth simply would not stretch wide enough to house the hugeness of it all.

Suddenly, the theme from Jaws played on the radio. Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun-dun! A mad sneer came over the once friendly god’s face and a maniacal laugh came from his transformed spirit.

And then it happened! The god proclaimed “I am the ghost of Christmas past and I have come to avenge all your wrongs.” She wanted to calm down and just tell him “Fuck you! You’re just an asshole with a big dick” - but she just coudn’t. Something about this guy was otherworldly. He had rendered the bitch speechless and totally at his command in much the same way just hours before all her slaves were similarly submissive to HER demands!

It was hopeless. She opened as wide as she possible could as he jammed his tree trunk down her throat but it was like shoving an elephant dick in a rabbit. The tranny troll gurgled and guzzled in a futile attempt to house his titanic. And was the god gentle? Hell no! Why should he be? The Beast had always treated her employees like shit. Why should he treat her any differently? And so he pounded and pounded away at her face, literally stretching her mouth, palate and tonsils beyond repair. The beast thought there was no such thing as too big. But now she knew differently as every cell above her neck ached and screamed in pain!

Still it wasn’t over. Just as she was about to pass out from asphyxiation, he pulled out and turned her over in a flash. Ripping her pants off her body to reveal the gnarly, hairy ass, The Beast hated to show anybody, he spread her cheeks and busted her stink ass right there. It was almost a sorrowful sight - except considering the bitch who was getting manhandled - it wasn’t. Whatever, he pounded that whore’s ass as she helplessly screamed louder and louder with each deep and wide thrust of his humongous saber.

The Beast decided she‘d rather be dead. If only she had a gun with which to kill herself quickly - rather than the slow death the stud was inflicting upon her. But it was all no use. He grabbed her by the hair plugs to gain leverage and continued pounding her even deeper. She screamed in the night but nobody could hear. Or so she thought!

Suddenly, all the girls burst into the apartment screaming and laughing their she male asses off. “Fuck that bitch. Tear that pussy up!” they screamed at the stud. They could in no way shape or form control their glee at the vision of their slave driver boss getting ravaged by the stud. “Pound her, faggot. Kill that bitch,” they implored him over and over again. And over and over again he jammed his giant dick all the way up her ass as the crowd ooed and ahhhed with every single thrust!

After about five minutes of utter voyeuristic bliss, the girls relented for a moment. “OK! Now turn her over and come on her fucking face and we’ll pay you and you can go.” And there was her epiphanous moment! The Beast suddenly realized that this guy had been hired to fuck her...to humiliate her in much the same way she had her employees. What a relief. He wasn’t going to kill her. He was simply a whore for hire!

And so...he turned her over, whipped up his biggest, hardest erection and blew a huge load all over The Beast’s face as the peanut gallery screamed their approval. “Drown that fucking bitch, maricon. Now stuff it in her face.”

Moments later, the beast sat up and with cum dripping down her beard, eyes, nose and everything else she smiled at her employees and applauded “Good joke, girls. Merry Christmas.” But it wasn’t like that at all. The bitches meant business.

“Merry Christmas my ass! Fuck you bitch.” And with that, they all pelted her with snow and ice balls they’d gathered from across the street. And they weren't just pure white snowballs. They were those nasty kind of New York City soot-filled, blackened and gritty/grimy/salty snow balls. And the beast spat and screamed as the trannies pummeled her with delight.

After they’d exhausted themselves fully and were out of ammunition, all together and seemingly in harmony exclaimed “Fuck you. We quit.” And with that they paid the stud for a job well done and walked out of the apartment, slamming the door as they left.

The Beast lay there in a heap for hours, curled up in the fetal position. Not even the dogs would go near her they were so repulsed by the specter of their horrible mistress lying there buck naked sporting a face full of cum. For a mere second, she contemplated the meaning of what had just happened. And just for a moment, The Beast considered mending her ways. But nah! This isn’t merry old England. This is The Big Apple where nobody changes and there ARE no warm and happy endings.

By the next morning, she was on the phone, demanding of her battle ax of an ad rep that she find her new girls and compose help wanted ads to replace the old mutineer bitches. She could barely get around her ass was so sore from the pounding. And her throat was beat up and sore from the previous night’s attack. But she was no worse for the wear and soon enough, she would have new and improved people she could enslave. She would make more money and add a wing to her mansion. Fuck those bitches. Let them work somewhere else and find out what it’s like to work for a REAL douche bag.

And so our warm and fuzzy story ends - a Christmas Carol of sorts - but one more befitting the nasty underbelly of the sex for sale she male subculture of 21st century NYC - than its traditional18th century counterpart in merry old England. If I had my druthers, I think I’d rather go back in time and live old style. And just for a moment, as I wrote this twisted piece of prose, I got all warm and gushy and felt like I really WAS dining with Bob Kratchit and Tiny Tim back in the day. That’s what writing does for writers. It’s kind of like what a big dicked ass fucking does for a hot tranny ho.