6 comments/  18618 views/  2 favorites

Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 06

By: oberon_52



Mr. Drummond must have heard me. He was wearing what looked like an expensive suit, and his eyes got very wide when he saw Mr. Wallace's huge body covering me, my slender arms suspended by my wrists tied to the headboard. Whether it was the ordeal I had been through or the relief that I would be rescued or the shame I was feeling for Mr. Drummond seeing me like this, I couldn't stop crying.

"Help me," I sobbed. "Oh, Mr. Drummond, please ... help me."

Mr. Drummond tilted his head, trying to see Mr. Wallace's face.

"Ted?" he said. "Ted, are you OK?"

Meanwhile, I was getting hysterical, illogically pulling against the apron string holding my wrists above me.

"He's dead!" I screamed through my tears. "He's dead! He's dead! He's dead!"

Mr. Drummond hurried over, ignoring me and placing the index and middle fingers of his right hand on Mr. Wallace's throat for several seconds. Then he sighed, lowered his head and closed his eyes.

Mr. Wallace's cock was still inside of me, and I couldn't endure his putrid, greasy, fat corpse on me for one more second. My blonde hair in my face, I got even more hysterical.

"Get him off me! Get him off me!" I cried, dissolving into sobs. "Please .... please ... I ... I can't stand it."

Mr. Drummond's well-trimmed bearded face was calm as he walked back a few paces and took off his suit jacket and necktie and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt. Although I was crying and begging him to help me, I could see that he was thinking, planning his strategy.

Finally, he walked slowly to the bed while unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling his sleeves up his muscular forearms. He was Mr. Wallace's age, but in so much better shape. Still, I wondered if he would be strong enough to get Mr. Wallace's body off me. Mr. Drummond went to the far side of the middle of the bed, put his right hand on Mr. Wallace's left elbow and the left on the left knee and pulled him onto his side and off of me.

Mr. Wallace's fat cock finally slid out of me, and I felt a rush of cool air over my slender body. The apron was damp with Mr. Wallace's sweat and my perspiration and clung to me by the halter top. I was still sobbing.

"Untie me, Mr. Drummond," I begged. "Please, oh ... please?"

Mr. Drummond still seemed to be thinking, pondering the situation. He looked down at me. My arms were suspended helplessly above me. The apron revealed my puffy right breast, just barely covering my left breast and my penis as I moved my slender legs trying to restore some feeling in them. Miraculously, my high-heel shoes remained on my feet. As I looked into his serious eyes, I thought I detected just the barest hint of ... yes ... desire.

He shook his head almost imperceptively, then walked over and untied the apron string from the headboard. Still crying, my wrists still tied in front of me, I moved off the bed and stood on the carpet in that little apron, breathing hard, trying to regain my composure, without success. Mr. Drummond came over and tried to untie my wrists, but I was so worked up, moving my hands so erratically that finally he grasped my bare shoulders, holding me firmly. I looked up at his handsome face, and I thought for a moment that he was going to try to calm me down by kissing me.

But instead, he slapped me. I stopped crying and looked up at him quizzically.

"Billie," he said as if giving me an order, "You must get ahold of yourself. We don't have a lot of time. Now, I take it from your ... well ... situation when I came in that Ted forced himself on you. Is that what happened?

Seeing that I had calmed down, Mr. Drummond moved his hands from my shoulders -- I kind of missed them being there -- and began untying my wrists.

"Yes," I said. "Something like that."

"Now, Billie," he said. "This is very important. Did anyone else see you here today?"

My mind was still in a whirl.

"No," I said. "No, I don't think ... wait ... I ... yes ... yes. When I was wearing a dress, I went to take out the trash ... the mailman ... and this couple with a baby. Yes."

Mr. Drummond asked if I had spoken to them and whether I had told them my name.

"No," I said, trying to remember. "I don't think so ... maybe ... I might have told them my name is Billie."

Mr. Drummond sighed and glanced at Mr. Wallace's enormous corpse. I started to panic again.

"Mr. Drummond, what's going to happen now? If my parents were to find out .... my friends ... please ... what am I going to do?"

Mr. Drummond was silent for a few moments while I stood there looking up at him in that revealing little apron. His hands returned to my shoulders, this time in more of a caress. His voice was soft, but urgent.

"Listen, Billie," the older man said, his dark eyes locked on my hazel ones. "You must do exactly what I tell you to do. Do you understand?"

I nodded. His hands on my shoulders, his face confident. There was no question. I would obey him.

"We don't have much time. You're going to take a very quick shower," he said. "Then you're going to fix your makeup, make yourself pretty and wear the same dress you wore when those people saw you. Our story will be that you were cleaning the kitchen and living room and Ted went into the bedroom to lie down, then he got a heart attack and died. I discovered him when I got here to visit my old Marine buddy.

I nodded.

"Billie, you're going to have to be very brave," he said. "After I call 911, you're going to be hearing sirens and this place will be crawling with paramedics and cops and the coroner, and you're going to have to just sit here, be pretty and don't say anything until everybody's gone. If anyone asks you, you don't have any identification on you and your name is Billie .... ummm ... let's see ... Smith. You're Billie Smith. If anyone asks you anything else, you tell them that I'm your attorney and I told you to refer all questions to me. Do you understand, Billie?

I felt a glimmer of hope. I looked up at Mr. Drummond worshipfully and with his hands still on me, I told him I'd do exactly what he ordered. A kiss would have made me feel much better, but it wasn't to be. His hands guided me toward the bathroom adjourning the bedroom. He turned on the hot water in the shower and told me to wear the apron in it for a minute or two to wash it. He handed me the apron string and told me to rinse that, too.

"We'll toss those things into the washing machine so they'll look like they've been washed," he said.

I took off my shoes and eased my sore body under the steamy water as the apron clung to me before I peeled it off. The shower spray stung my raw nipples and breasts, but it felt almost good. Naked, without any female attire, I didn't feel the least bit masculine. I had been fucked like a woman by Mr. Wallace, then -- as the horrible thought overtook me -- I had sex with Mr. Wallace's corpse, even kissing him and passionately licking his unmoving tongue while I orgasmed.

I let the hot water cascade over my mouth and tongue, as if to cleanse it. Then I let the spray run over my torso and little penis before trying to let the water help me drain Mr. Wallace's cum from inside me. I gingerly fingered myself. I was a little sore down there. Mr. Wallace's cock had hurt me so much at the beginning, but it wasn't that long before I just felt so full. There was no denying that once he started kissing me that I had easily -- maybe too easily -- evolved into the feminine role. I had to admit to myself that in a way, it was disturbingly appropriate for me to have sucked his cock and surrender my girly body to a dominant male.My mind hearkened back to the very first time when I wore that blue house dress and Mr. Wallace kept kissing my neck. Could it be possible that it was only about a month ago? Now that Mr. Wallace is gone, will I be able to resume my male life? Will I want to?

I thought about the ordeal ahead of me and wondered if I would be able to carry it off. I shivered when I thought about what I would have done had Mr. Drummond not taken charge, and my little penis started to grow at the memory of his hands on me.

Remembering that Mr. Drummond had told me to hurry, I dismissed those thoughts, left the shower and wrapped a towel around me vertically so that it covered my breasts as well as my bottom. I quickly applied a small amount of foundation, makeup, eyeliner and lipstick, then brushed out my long, blonde hair. I was feeling tired, but a lot more fresh and yes, feminine.

Holding the apron and its string in front of my bare upper chest and shoulders, I emerged from the bathroom into the bedroom. Somehow, Mr. Drummond had gotten a shirt and pair of pants on Mr. Wallace's huge body, which was on its back on the bed with his bare feet flat on the floor. He told me to put the apron and string into the washing machine but not to start it, and then to put Mr. Wallace's socks and shoes on him. As I walked out of the bedroom toward the washing machine, I felt pretty sexy in the towel. I wondered if Mr. Drummond thought so, too. I peeked over my right shoulder to see if his eyes were following me.

They weren't.

I'm going to have to get over this crush I'm starting to have on Mr. Drummond. Today, I'm still a girl. Tomorrow, I'll be back being Bill, a boy.

As I knelt in front of Mr. Wallace's enormous legs, gathering two dingy white socks and a pair of brown shoes from where he had left them on the floor, Mr. Drummond carried the computer that had the stuff Mr. Wallace was using to blackmail me out to his car. When he returned, I asked if that was legal. He said he had Mr. Wallace's power of attorney, whatever that was, so it was OK. I shuddered as I put the socks on Mr. Wallace's cold, lifeless feet, then put his shoes on him and tied the shoelaces. Mr. Drummond then dragged Mr. Wallace's body higher on the bed and told me to get dressed.

I put the towel into the washer, hurried into the living room and oozed into that frilly, green dress that revealed so much of my back, legs, shoulders, arms and just a hint of my small cleavage. I found the rubber band that Mr. Wallace had ordered me to take out of my hair. I used it to fashion a pony tail, walked into the bedroom and slipped the high heels back on. Mr. Drummond was in the bathroom. He came out with his shirt rebuttoned and his necktie and suit jacket on. He looked so dignified and handsome.When he saw me in my dress, he looked a little stunned before recovering quickly. His voice was barely above a whisper and admiring as his eyes took me in.

"You're a very lovely young lady, Billie," he said, "very lovely."

He wanted me. Every molecule of my new femininity could see that. I walked slowly up to him, got up on my toes and girlishly straightened the knot in his necktie before crossing my arms around his neck. I tilted my face up at him in an unmistakeable sign that we should kiss. Mr. Drummond's hands went to my tight waist. I closed my eyes ... and he gently lifted me up and moved me away from him. I opened my eyes and stared at him, the surprise evident on my face.

"I'm a married man, Billie," he said a bit sadly. "You're very beautiful ... so very young and beautiful, but I have three adult children older than you, and ... I'm a married man."

That did it. I was in love. He wanted me. There was no doubt about that. No one would have known if he had kissed me, but he had too much decency and honor to give in to his desire. I looked at him, so tall, strong, dignified. He was everything a man should be. I felt like a young, pretty girl, so unworthy of such a man.

Mr. Drummond strode into the living room, picked up the telephone and called 911. I sat daintily on the couch, fluffed the frilly straps holding up my dress and crossed my legs as he urgently said on thephone that he needed paramedics, that he thinks his friend is dead.

I didn't have to wait long for all hell to break loose. Within minutes, sirens were wailing. The paramedics arrived first, rushing at Mr. Drummond's instruction into the bedroom. A lot of police came later. A couple of them smiled at me as I sat there, and one of them winked. After about 25 minutes, a handsome, young policeman with a notepad and pen came out of the bedroom and told me that Mr. Wallace was dead. He asked me my name and what had happened here. I told him I was Billie Smith, and that I had been instructed to refer all questions to Mr. Drummond, who was my attorney. His eyes quickly glanced at my small cleavage before returning to my face. He smiled at me, closed his notebook and put his pen away before walking back into the bedroom to join the other authorities.

There was a knock on the front door. I got up to open it and saw that neighbors had gathered on the sidewalk in front of the house. The man I had seen earlier with his wife smiled at me and gave me a little wave that I didn't return. At the front door carrying what looked like a medical bag was a thin, officious-looking man, about 5-8, maybe 50 or so years old, in an ill-fitting gray suit. He had a pencil-thin moustache and light gray hair on either side of his otherwise bald head, which had visible blotches. He had combed a few inadequate strands over his baldness, which looked ridiculous. He wore pince-nez glasses. His eyebrows rose and his eyes grew wide when he saw me.

"I'm Dr. Phillips," he said, offering his hand. "I'm the medical examiner."

"Medical examiner?" I asked. His hand felt moist and icky.

"The coroner," he said, frowning. "Where might I find ... the paramedics?"

I pointed toward the bedroom, which was still filled with police and paramedics, then sat back down on the couch and crossed my legs.

The coroner went to the room for a minute, then came over and sat next to me on the couch.

"They're not ready for me yet," he said, as if I expected an explanation. "It's still a crime scene."

"A crime scene?" I thought while trying to look calm. "What did that mean?"

Meanwhile, Dr. Phillips' eyes were all over me, and he was trying to be charming, but didn't come close to succeeding.

"I must say," he said, "as a medical examiner I rarely meet anyone as lovely as you."

Most of the people he met were dead. The horrid little man gave me the creeps. Besides, I was far too nervous for chit-chat. I gave him the briefest of smiles, then looked away.

"I didn't catch your name, Miss," he said, again offering his hand for me to shake. Reluctantly, I said my name was Billie Smith and offered my hand. He took it in his fishy right hand and I shuddered as he tried to be suave by covering it with his left. His eyes, which had been surveying my bare arms, shoulders, chest and legs, sharpened when looking at my slender wrist. He said it looked bruised and red.

"Oh," I said, trying to take my hand away from him, but he held it fast. I hadn't noticed what the apron strings had done to my wrists while I had struggled. I tried to think of something fast.

"I ... I .. um ... I went horseback riding this morning," I said, not convincingly. "The rope ... the rope scraped me."

"That's very interesting, Miss Smith," he said with an unctuous smile that revealed uneven, gray teeth. "That rope must have scraped your other wrist, too."

I reflexively moved my other wrist behind my back, trying to hide it. All I could do was smile wanly and nod.

Dr. Phillips finally let go of my hand. He continued almost non-stop chatter about his job and what an important man he was while I tried to ignore him and his wandering eyes. While he was talking, he nonchalently placed a hand on my bare knee. I wanted to move my knee away, but I didn't. There was something about this mousey little man that made me feel like a witness under cross-examination. He kept staring at me. Then, he smiled triumphantly just as the young policeman summoned him. Dr. Phillips rose and looked down at me, smiling. I felt like he was undressing me with his eyes. I nervously adjusted my pony tail.

"I'll look forward to seeing you again, Miss Smith."

I gave a small, polite smile before looking away.

Dr. Phillips and the policeman walked into the bedroom. A series of policemen and paramedics went in and out while I sat nervously on the couch for another hour and 15 minutes. The house slowly emptied of people until there were only a few left when paramedics wheeled Mr.Wallace's body under a sheet out the front door to a waiting ambulance. I heard one of the paramedics tell another that "the dead guy was so big" that they couldn't fit him into a body bag. I shuddered to think that I was under that huge mass of flesh only scant hours before.

Finally, there was just Mr. Drummond, the handsome cop who had asked me those questions and Dr. Phillips left in the house. Mr. Drummond came out and said that he would have to officially identify the body at the morgue.

"Everything's fine. You did well," he said. "Pending the coroner's report, it's just a routine death by heart attack. By the way, all the unmarried cops were asking me about you, some of the married ones, too. Lock up the house when the coroner leaves. I'll call you tomorrow."

He left, and then the handsome cop came out and asked me if I needed a ride anywhere. He looked disappointed when I told him I had a car.

"Maybe another time then," he said and made for the front door. "Oh, by the way, Dr. Phillips said he needed you to answer a few questions."

With that, he was gone. The house seemed eerily silent as I walked haltingly into the bedroom to see Dr. Phillips standing by the nightstand, putting away his coroners equipment.

"Ah, Miss Smith," he said as if especially pleased to see me.

"You ... you wanted to see me, Mr. Phillips?" I said as I stood in the middle of the room in my pretty dress, one high heel shoe ahead of the other, pointing at him.

"That's DOCTOR Phillips," he said seriously as he walked slowly behind me and closed the bedroom door.

"I'm sorry, sir," I said, not turning to face him. "Dr. Phillips."

"A shame about Mr. Wallace, isn't it, Miss Smith?"

"Yes, sir," I say, looking down at the carpet, "I really didn't know him well."

"You know, it looks for all the world like the big fellow came in here all by himself and had a heart attack."

"Yes sir," I said timidly.

"Yes siree," he said, still behind me. "Fat man comes into his bedroom in the middle of the day to take a nap, then has a heart attack with all his clothes on. Clear as day."

I was getting a little anxious to leave and end this horrible day.

"The policeman said you needed to ask me a few questions, sir," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, yes," he said, his voice confident as he stood behind me. I could feel his eyes on my nearly backless dress. "The late Mr. Wallace's shoes were tied, but you know what was unusual? The knots on his laces were made as if they were tied by someone facing him, rather than away from him like he would have tied them himself."

Of course, I thought. I hadn't thought of that when I tied those shoelaces. I stood there, staring forward, my posture straight. What does the creepy little man know?

"Do you find that curious, Miss Smith?"

Dr. Phillips smelled like formaldehyde as he whispered in my ear and the back of his right hand slowly traced down my bare back, making me shiver.

"I ... ummm ... I don't ... I don't know, sir," I said as my heart sank. He wouldn't dare to touch me like that if he didn't know something.

"You sound a bit nervous, Miss Smith," he whispered. "Do I make you nervous?"

"No ... no sir," I say as he flips his hand over. I can feel his fingers trace their way up my spine.

"Because I would hate it if I made a lovely young lady like you nervous," he said. "Oh, and there's another thing."

I didn't say anything. I stood there breathing hard, my small, tender breasts heaving, my bare shoulders back.


Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 07



I wasn't sure how long I slept, but it couldn't have been very long. Dr. Phillips hovered slightly over me, his right arm around me, his hand caressing my sensitive shoulder. I was still feeling femininely sensual and I moaned in his embrace. His left hand was lovingly playing with my hair.

"You're so beautiful," he said softly. "Your skin is so vibrant and smooth. Seeing you for the first time in that wonderful dress when I came into the house, I wanted to touch your skin, to put my hands all over you so much. And your hair. I've never been with a real blonde before, and now ... now my sperm is inside the body of the most beautiful blonde I've ever seen."

He slowly lowered his face and tenderly kissed me, his right hand pulling my unresisting shoulder up toward him as the older man's tongue gently entered my welcoming mouth.

"Mmmmm," I moaned softly, my long hair under me, my body totally limp, except for my little penis, which hadn't reached orgasm during our lovemaking and was growing again.

After a very, very long, slow and -- yes -- loving kiss, Dr. Phillips lifted his narrow, homely face so slowly that our moist lips stretched and clung together until they finally parted. He got up on one elbow and admired me as I lay under him feeling wonderfully feminine. He was so adoring that I may have actually blushed No one had ever looked at me quite that way before. He was still so undeniably ugly, scrawny, old and even ridiculous-looking with those puny strands of hair over his bald head, but after all I had been through with awful men who wanted my body only to satisfy their immediate lust, Dr. Phillips wanted me to be his girl. My 18-year-old psyche was so confused. 

Would I live my life as a boy or a girl? A month ago, I had never had a gay or feminine thought, but Mr. Wallace must have seen something about me that made him want to see me in a dress. Forced to dress like a girl, why had I so readily assumed the submissive role, my neck and shoulders, in particular, so girlishly sensitive to men's hands and mouths? What was it about a grotesque man holding me, kissing me, his insistent tongue invading my mouth that made me forget all about being masculine? Why did old men's heavy breathing behind me turn me on so much? What was it about old, ugly men desiring me that made me feel so special? I had sucked two men's cocks, something unthinkable to me only weeks before. My wrists have been tied by three men. I had been used and fucked like a woman. I had gotten a man so excited while fucking me that he not only orgasmed, he died. There is no denying that an older man's hands exploring my tiny, curvy midriff while kissing me was highly likely to make me surrender to his desires ... and my own.

There was also no denying that I was developing a teenage crush on Mr. Drummond, who is more than 40 years older than me.

However, my real life is as a teenage boy. If my parents ever found out what I have been doing over the past few weeks, I'd just die. They'd never understand. Neither would my friends and everyone else who knows me.

But what was I to do? I've gone from being blackmailed by Mr. Wallace to now having the same thing done to me by Dr. Phillips. Should I tell Mr. Drummond about it? What would he think of me for having sex -- with such a nothing old man -- after he had instructed me not to talk to anyone? Dr. Phillips expected me to fulfill all his fantasies It was all so much to think about ... too much to think about, and I was soooo worn out. This day ... and night ... seemed like it would never end. I was naked on a bed with an aged medical examiner -- the coroner whose bony, too-moist hands usually were on corpses -- holding me, caressing me, kissing me after we had made such passionate love. My body was limp, my mind a blur, still feeling some of the effects of the chloroform. I needed someone else to do my thinking for me, and Dr. Phillips ... Leo ... was more than happy to oblige.

"It's getting late, Sweety pie," he said. "I don't want to miss our first shower together."

He actually called me "Sweety pie." It sounded so uncool and silly that despite my hazy mind, I smiled.

"Give me a minute in there first, OK?" Dr. Phillips said as he clumsily got up and half-ran into the bathroom.

I nodded and for some reason femininely moved the bed cover over my puffy little breasts. When the bathroom door closed, I absently glanced around the room. The clock that I had looked at so impatiently while trapped under Mr. Wallace read 11:14.

"Oh no!" I thought. "Mom and Dad have got to be wondering what I'm doing out so late."

I bounced off the bed, ran to the bedroom phone and called home. I had to make a conscious effort to use my boy voice instead of the lighter, girly one I had been speaking with since Mr. Wallace made me put the dress on so many hours ago. Dad answered the phone and said they had been worried about me and that I should have called earlier. I told him I was sorry, that I had lost track of the time with my friends and I'd be home in a little while. Dad said it was fine now that they knew I was OK but to be more considerate next time. I promised I would and told him I was sorry. He said he and Mom were going to sleep, then said goodbye. I hung up the phone and moved quickly back to the bed.

I heard the toilet flush, and then the bathroom door opened. Dr. Phillips started the shower, got in and motioned me to join him. I think the adrenalin of the quick phone call and talking to Dad kinda woke me up a little. I looked at the ridiculous-looking man under the shower spray and wished I could just run out of the house. But I knew I couldn't. I took off my high heels and walked naked slowly into the shower. Dr. Phillips' left hand moved behind my head, gripped my hair and pulled my face to his for an ardent open-mouthed kiss. His right arm moved around my waist and pulled me to him, causing my back to arch as I leaned back and he leaned forward. The hot water made our bodies rub together sensually. My arms flailed out. I started to feel helpless and vulnerable again. I didn't want to think anymore.

"If you're going to be my girlfriend, you'll do what I say from now on, right?" said Dr. Phillips, kissing me forcefully while keeping me from falling backwards.

"Yes, Leo," I said, obediently.

He smiled and manuevered me under the water. My hair got very wet. He placed his wet bony hands on my soft shoulders and squeezed. The water made my slender body glisten. My tender breasts were pressed against his hairy chest.as we kissed.

"Next Saturday night, I'm taking you out," he said.

"Yes, Leo," I said girlishly, accepting another kiss.

"One of the women in my office is getting married," he said. "I got invited only because she invited everyone else and it would have looked bad if she didn't include me. I wasn't going to go, but now that I'll have a great-looking date, I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Yes, dear," I said with a little smile, clasping my hands behind my back and cutely swaying my shoulders as he squeezed them. I was starting to enjoy being the subservient little girlfriend. "But I simply haven't a thing to wear."

The water cascaded over us as Dr. Phillips kissed me again. My mind nearly blank, I moaned as our tongues met.

"Look what you've done to me," he said, his eyes pointing downward. "I haven't been able to get hard twice like this since I was a teenager."

I looked down and saw that his slender cock was erect. Mine was not. I put my right hand pinkie between my lips like Mr. Wallace had demanded when I was wearing that off-the-shoulders blue dress.

"Oh, did I do that, darling?" I asked innocently.

"That does it," Leo said with a laugh. He began kissing my neck and chest, all while holding my shoulders tight. His lips, then his teeth, found my left nipple, then my right, biting much too hard as I squirmed, but I didn't think it was my place as his young girlfriend to protest. My already-sore nipples were going to hurt for a long time.

The water was starting to turn just a little cooler. Dr. Phillips smiled confidently, and his hands on my shoulders slowly pushed me down to my knees. With water splashing all around me, his thin cock loomed in front of me. I looked up at him.

"Come on now," he said, that pencil thin moustache moving up to show his gray teeth.."Do what a girlfriend does for her man. Hurry, put it into your mouth before the water gets too cold."

I didn't know what choice I had ... and the water was indeed getting cold. I moved my right shoulder forward sensually and put my right hand on his slender 5 inches and pumped his penis slowly with my slender fingers as the water from the shower made it particularly slick. I looked up at him adoringly to show him I would do as he wanted.

"Wait, wait, wait," he said quickly. "Your mouth, I want it in your mouth."

But it was too late. He closed his eyes and grabbed my hair as his cock exploded his milky cum onto my collar bone and breasts, which were almost immediately washed clean by the shower spray. Dr. Phillips' knees buckled as he groaned disappointedly.

I rose and put my toned arms around his scrawny neck and kissed the top of his head.

"I'm sorry, dear," I said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No," he said, catching his breath, "you did everything too damn right."

He turned off the water and ushered me out of the shower. I took a towel and femininely patted my man dry. He began to cough and wheeze, probably not used to all that physical activity.

"We'd better get dressed," he said, walking into the living room.

"Yes, Leo," I said as if in a daze. "Whatever you say."

I took the last towel in the bathroom. It was an older one and felt rough on my smooth skin. Dr. Phillips was sitting on the bed, mumbling while puttng on his socks. I walked over and turned my back to him as I girlishly held the towel to cover my breasts and looked at him coquetishly over my left shoulder.

"Would you be a dear and dry my back, darling?" I said, looking back into his eyes.

Dr. Phillips took his own towel and patted my back dry, then he slapped my bottom and smiled as I skipped away, giggling.

I found my cute panties, put them on, then oozed into my nearly backless frilly dress. I went into the bathroom, first drying with my towel and then brushing my long, blonde hair. My puffy breasts filled out the dress more than they had before, and my nipples rubbed erotically against the light fabric. I looked fresh again, but I felt so tired. 

"Leo," I said, "would you be a dear and please bring me my shoes?"

He stopped buttoning his shirt and searched for a moment before finding my high heels and bringing them to me. I liked the idea that I could induce an older man to drop what he was doing and cater to me.

"You are so sexy in this dress," Dr. Phillips said through clenched teeth as his hands went around my tiny waist from behind me and his mouth began nibbling on my neck. I still hadn't cum, and I started to moan needingly. I reached behind me and felt for his penis through his pants, but it wasn't hard at all. I femininely moved my hand up to his face, turned my head and gave him a gentle kiss.

"Next time," I whispered.

The older man turned me around to face him and kept his hands around my waist as I leaned back and placed my slender hands gently on his chest. 

""Next time will be next Saturday," he said confidently. "That wedding is going to be great. Where shall I pick you up?"

I certainly couldn't have him picking me up at my parents' house.

"I ... I'll meet you, Leo, wherever you want to meet. I'm so looking forward to it."

We agreed to meet at 6 p.m. in front of the local church where the wedding would be held. Leo would drive me to the reception after the ceremony. He told me not to even think about standing him up. All of a sudden, he seemed to change. He said that as medical examiner, he had the authority to hire detectives who would track me down if I didn't show up. He said I could still be charged with contributing to Mr. Wallace's death. His old man face was dead serious, and I again saw him for what he really is -- an ugly, insecure, horny, little gnome.

I was frightened, my mind in a whirl. If I do show up for our "date," I still have no idea what I could possibly wear, but I didn't care at the moment. His hands held my waist tight. My hands were femininely flat on his chest. I told him he should go home, that I wanted to pick the place up a bit before I left because I wouldn't be returning here anymore with Mr. Wallace gone. Dr. Phillips grabbed me to him, his hands now caressing my bare back, gave me one more passionate kiss that I didn't return, then got his bag and left.

Trying to overcome a rising nausea, I called out, "goodbye" to him as he walked toward his car. He gave a little wave, and he drove away.

After the door closed, I was in that trailer all alone. I began absently cleaning up the living room. Mr. Wallace's pizza crusts were on the carpet along with the pizza box. I don't know why I didn't immediately take my high heels off as I picked things up. They were pretty tight on my feet, and it had already been such a long day and night. They just seemed to go so well with my dress and my calves looked so sleek in them. In the eerie silence, I walked into the bedroom. Almost without thinking, I made the bed on which I lost my virginity and looked in the bureau drawers. In there, I found two other pairs of panties and the blue dress I wore the first two Saturdays with Mr. Wallace. I set them aside to take with me when I left. I already had the schoolgirl outfit hidden in my room at home. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I was undeniably young, blonde and pretty and the dress was incredibly sexy on me. Heaven help me, I hadn't cum since I was under Mr. Wallace after he died, and I was yearning for release.

That's when I lost what little composure I had remaining. My lower lip began to quiver ... and I started to cry. Not timid, little sobs, but long, loud, mournful wails. I sank to my knees on the carpet, my head in my hands. Through my tears as I looked down, I saw my puffy cleavage straining against my dress. I told myself that I was only pretending when I acted like Dr. Phillips' little girlfriend, that I only did what I had to do to keep him from revealing what he knew about me and Mr. Wallace. But I also knew that I had abandoned what was left of my virtue much too easily with this pitiful man who couldn't get laid in a women's prison with a fistful of pardons. I was sure I was going to throw up. My eyes blurred with tears, I half-ran, half-stumbled into the bathroom and went to my knees in front of the toilet. My stomach and throat made retching movements, but like my first time with Mr. Wallace, I had the dry heaves. I hadn't eaten in more than 20 hours, and there was nothing to throw up.

I wanted to just lay my head down on the toilet and go to sleep, but I knew I couldn't stay in this house. I rose shakily, took a drink of water from the faucet, looked in the mirror absently and ran the brush through my long blonde hair without any real thoughts going through my mind. I picked up the panties and blue dress and walked like a zombie to the front door. Through my exhausted mental fog I planned to fetch my boy clothes from my mom's car and return to the house to change back into a boy -- change back into Bill -- and leave Billie behind ... forever.

Would Dr. Phillips be able to track me down when I'm a boy? If he did, what could I possibly tell my parents? Would I go to jail? When he called me tomorrow, would I tell Mr. Drummond anything about the fix I am in ... about what I'd done with Dr. Phillips since Mr. Drummond left the house? I didn't want to think about any of that. I didn't want to think about anything. My mind, my body, were on automatic pilot as I opened the door and walked out into the chilly, moonless, pitch-black night.

Goosebumps appeared on my bare arms, shoulders and legs. I couldn't see two feet in front of me. Then, in what must have been the street in front of the trailer, I saw what looked like an ember. As I stared at it, my eyes adjusting to the rural darkness, I could tell that it was the lighted end of a cigarette. I shivered and called out nervously, my voice shaking.

"Who's ... who's there?

A confident masculine voice answered.

"Don't worry," the voice said. "It's me, Stan. We met earlier when I was with my wife and baby. You were taking out the trash."

My mind a blur, I forced myself to think. Yes, yes, he was the married man in his 30s who had been talking to the mailman. Yes, I remember. Now, I wanted him to go away so I could get my boy clothes and have this horrible day finally come to an end.

"Yes," I said vacantly, "I remember you. How are you?"

It was a stupid question, but I was in no condition to be smart about anything. Now, he was coming over to talk to me. He was clean-shaven, about six feet tall, with a light, zippered jacket over his medium build.

"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was just out for a walk, sneaking a midnight smoke. Since the baby came, I haven't been able to light up in the house." He gave me a silly smile while looking down at me and crushing out his cigarette on the bumper of my mother's car. "Actually, there's a lot I haven't been able to do since the baby came."

"Uh huh," I said, not knowing what he meant and caring even less. I was exhausted, getting colder, and I wanted him to leave so I could get on with getting my boy clothes.

"Look at you, you're shivering," he said as he quickly moved his large hands to my bare arms and began to rub them up and down.

"Please, mister, that's not necessary," I said, shimmying, trying to free myself from him, but he held onto me. My tortured mind didn't want to admit that his hands felt good on my sensitive arms. This can't be happening to me. Not now ... not again.

"Stan," he said, caressing my arms and pulling me to him. "My name is Stan."

"Stan," I said in a pleading way, searching for something, anything to get out of this situation, "please let me go. I'll come clean your house sometime, but right now, I'm ... I've had such a long day ... and I ... I'm having my period. I've got to go." 

His insistent hands went to my bare back as he held my body to his, my forearms trapped against his chest..

"You know, Billie," he said, "you did say your name was Billie this afternoon, right? My wife cut me off from sex three months into her pregnancy. Now, the kid's almost five months old, and we still haven't done it. Not even once. You'd think even if her cunt's not up to it that she would let me fuck her ass. But no, and she used to like that, too."

Holding me close, my arms trapped against him, he moved the frilly strap off my right shoulder with his teeth and started kissing my neck and the soft top of my smooth chest near my shoulder. I was too mentally and physically spent to offer much resistance.

"Have you ever been with an older man, Billie?" he said.

I couldn't help it. Exhausted, I started to laugh, a shrill, hideous giggle. This older man who asked me that question was far younger than all the other men who had held me in their arms. Stan took my laugh as cause for encouragement. His fervent lips met my unresisting, listless, unencouraging ones as his arms manuevered my malleable body against his larger, stronger one. In seconds, there was another eager tongue in my mouth that wasn't mine.

"I saw the way you smiled at me when I was talking to the mailman," he said confidently. "You wanted me. I could tell."

He was right about one thing. I did flirt with him and the even-older mailman with the moustache. But I didn't want them. In my girly dress and cute apron, at the time I was just enjoying the effect I was having on older men that I could sense wanted me.




Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 08-10



Part 8:

It was almost 4 p.m. when I finally dragged my weary, naked body out of bed, grabbed my white terricloth robe and walked tentatively to the bathroom. The house was quiet. Mom and Dad must have gone out. I needed a shower, and my eyes half open, I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. The weight I had lost off my slim frame in the last month was evident in the deep concave from my ribcage to my waist and hips. I could see right away that my breasts were all puffy and my nipples, raw, sore and extended. My arms at my sides, I turned my body -- a bit too femininely for my liking, with my slender right shoulder moving forward toward the mirror -- and saw that Stan's bite mark on that shoulder hadn't totally disappeared. More distressing was looking down and seeing Stan's dry, crusty sperm on my lower back and tight bottom.

The horrible events of the previous day washed over me along with the hot spray of the shower. In a span of 16 hours, Mr. Wallace, Dr. Phillips and Stan had all used me for their pleasure. Those three men had their tongues in my mouth, their penises inside me, and I had for one reason or another ultimately surrendered to each of them like a helpless girl. Something within me felt almost flattered that I had been considered so desirable, that each man had been so turned on by me, that they had all acted so lustfully and cum inside me or on me. But I hadn't wanted to have sex with any of them, I mean .... not really ... not at first ... not uintil they started putting their hands on me, caressing my shoulders, kissing my neck and back ... and my mouth. 

I made the water almost scalding hot and let it run over my slender, aching body. I gingerly fingered and let the water clean out my poor, battered rectum. When I closed my eyes, I saw Mr. Wallace's unseeing eyes, his mouth open and drooling as his corpse held me captive. I was so ashamed of myself for what I had done with his inert body. An array of faces flashed in my mind: Mr. Wallace, Mr. Maddox, Gary, the store clerk, the moustachioed mailman, Mr. Blanchard, the absurd Dr. Phillips, Stan ... and finally Mr. Drummond. What was it about Mr. Drummond that made me feel just a little bit better when I thought of him?

I had determined last night that I was through being humiliated by men, that I wanted only to go back to being Bill, the 18-year-old horny teenage boy I was before Mr. Wallace caught me jerking off at work. Now, it was time to do just that. I got out of the shower, dried my body with a towel -- not too tenderly, despite how sore my nipples were -- and put on my bathrobe. Looking at myself in the mirror as the mist cleared away, I thought about moving the robe one more time just off my slim shoulders ... but no! No more! From now on, I'm a man, and a man I'll remain forever.

When I got back to my room, I noticed that last night I had been so exhausted -- mentally and physically -- that I had merely dumped the bag of feminine clothing and shoes from Mr. Wallace's house onto the floor near my bed. Still in my robe, I put the bag behind a box in my closet, right next to the bag containing the schoolgirl outfit I had worn the previous week. I figured I'd find the right time to get rid of all the girlie stuff in the next few days.

I got dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, then raided the refrigerator. I was ravenous. I didn't remember the last time I had eaten. I spent the rest of the day and evening taking it easy, resting my weary, sore body, playing video games and catching up on Facebook with my high school buddies in their first year of college. Mom and Dad had gone out to dinner and a movie. When they came back, Dad told me again to call them next time I would be staying out later than usual. I told them I would. I went to sleep early, and felt much better when I woke up Monday morning. My breasts weren't so puffy, and while my sore nipples still reminded me of what they had been through, they were healing rapidly. I tried not to think about Dr. Phillips and whether he would be able to track me down after I stand him up on Saturday.

Following Mr. Drummond's instructions, I called in sick to work and told them I didn't think I'd be in until Wednesday, at the earliest. The woman at the security guard company said that would leave them shorthanded because my supervisor wouldn't be in. For some reason, she didn't say "Mr. Wallace" or inform me that he was deceased. I told her that I was sorry they were shorthanded, but I can't help being sick. She got huffy, said to call her when I felt better, then hung up on me.

I hadn't done much swimming since graduating from high school, but I went to the YMCA and gave myself a good workout. It felt great to use those muscles again. My body, even more slender now than when I was competing, cut through the water with ease. It was also great to look at some of the pretty girls in the pool and feel like a horny teenager again. Each hour that passed that day, I felt more and more like Bill. Billie was fast becoming a distant memory. That night, I went out with my parents for Chinese food. It was great to just be their son and talk about plans to go away to college less than a year from now.

The next afternoon, I got dressed in my one and only suit and went to the office building address that was on Mr. Drummond's business card. The law office was a large suite in a big office building. After I told the pretty receptionist that I had an appointment with Mr. Drummond, she told me I could go right in. Mr. Drummond was standing by his desk hurriedly putting some papers into a briefcase. When I walked into his office, he looked at me for a second or two, seemingly wondering who I might be, then he smiled.

"Billie?" he said. "I didn't recognize you there for a second. My goodness, you look so different."

I'm pretty sure my face turned red. For a fleeting moment, I flashed back momentarily to how attracted I had been to Mr. Drummond and how he has come to my aid on Saturday, but in my blue suit, I was feeling masculine and quickly dismissed such thoughts.

"It's 'Bill,' Mr. Drummond," I said. "Not Billie. Not anymore, OK?"

"Sure ... Bill," he said, and resumed putting papers into his briefcase. "Look, I haven't heard anything from the coroner's office, so it looks like we pulled off our little deception the other night. It appears we're in the clear as far as Ted's death is concerned. After the funeral Thursday at St. Mary's, we can put all this behind us."

All I did was nod. I knew the reason Mr. Drummond hadn't heard anything from the coroner's office. But I had determined that I wasn't going to tell him anything about what happened with Dr. Phillips. I probably should have, but I didn't want Mr. Drummond, who had been so kind and classy with me, to know how I had debased myself with the horrid medical examiner.

"Bill," he said. "I owe you an apology. There are a few details we still have to discuss, but there's an emergency and I've got to catch a plane to Chicago. That's where our main offices are located. I'll be back tomorrow. Could you meet me here about 3 p.m. tomorrow? 

I was a little unnerved, but smiled and said that as long as he didn't mind seeing me in the same suit, I supposed I could come back tomorrow.

"I'm really sorry," he said. "But you're not the only person I'm disappointing. My goddaughter is visiting on a break from college, and I'm supposed to take her out to dinner tonight."

Mr. Drummond's bearded face lit up.

"Wait a minute," he said enthusiastically. "Billie ... I'm sorry ... Bill ... would you do me a huge favor?"

After all Mr. Drummond had done for me, there was no way I could say "no."

"Tina, my goddaughter, doesn't know anyone in this town," he said. "Would you do me a huge favor and take her out to dinner tonight?"

I shrugged and said, "I guess so," and Mr. Drummond picked up his cell phone and pressed a couple of buttons.

"Tina?" he said into the phone. "It's Uncle Nathan, honey. Look, I know I just got off the phone with you a few minutes ago, but I feel rotten about leaving you all alone for dinner."

He paused a few seconds to listen, then spoke again.

"No, sweetie, it's not all right. A friend of mine, Bill ..."

Mr. Drummond covered the phone with his chest and asked me my last name. I told him, "Donahue."

"Donahue," he said with a smile. "Bill Donahue, he's a good friend of mine. He'll take you out to dinner tonight. You'll like him."

He paused again to listen.

"Yes, Tina, I know this isn't the first time, and you didn't have fun the last time I was called away," He looked at me and smiled. "But I think you'll like Bill. Look, just have dinner. You've got to eat, don't you? OK. Good. I've made reservations at La Marseillaise. Dress nice or I'll tell your parents on you."

Mr. Drummond winked at me and smiled, hearing his goddaughter giggle at his empty threat.

"I'll see you tomorrow when I get back from Chicago," he said. "What's that? Yes, OK. Now that I stood you up again I owe you a new dress, you little con artist. I've got to catch a plane. Be a good girl. OK. Me, too. Bye."

Mr. Drummond put his cell phone away and reached into his pocket for his billfold. He peeled off three $100 bills and handed them to me, telling me that the French restaurant where he had made reservations was expensive.

"Bill," he said, "I really appreciate this. Any money left from this evening, you keep."

Mr. Drummond gave me Tina's room number in the best hotel in town, then thought a moment and peeled off another two $100 bills and thrust them into my hands.

"Tina's very special to me, Bill," he said. "Her father's my best friend. I drove her mom and dad to the hospital when she was born, and I've watched her grow up. It makes me feel better that she won't be alone for dinner tonight."

I said I would try to be good company for her, and Mr. Drummond smiled.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Bill," he said as he led me out his office door. "Thanks again for doing this."

Driving to the hotel, I wondered what Tina would look like. She's in college, Mr. Drummond said, so she's going to be older than me. I just hope she's not too creepy. I chafed in my suit and hoped I wouldn't make a fool of myself by eating with the wrong fork or something in that fancy French restaurant.

My mom's car was probably the oldest one the valet parking attendants saw all day. I told them I'd be right out, and they moved it off to the side instead of taking it to the parking lot. Tina's suite was a long ride up the elevator to the penthouse. I figured a college student couldn't afford a room like that, and that Mr. Drummond was footing the bill. I made sure my necktie was straight, adjusted my blonde pony tail and knocked on the door, a little nervous about what to expect.

The door opened, and all my breath left my body. Tina was stunning. An inch or two shorter tham me. Long, straight black hair, slender, curvy body, the top of her perky breasts peeking out of a low-cut, expensive-looking, blue, sleeveless V-neck dress. Her slender, stockinged legs in the short dress went on forever down to her black 4-inch heels. She looked at me and broke into a wide smile.

"YOU'RE Bill Donahue?" she asked incredulously.

I nodded, probably looking young and dumb.

Tina took my right hand in both her hands and drew me into the room..

"I am SO happy to see you," she said with a big smile. "Uncle Nathan didn't say you were a young, cool guy. Look at your hair. It's so beautiful. I'm so jealous!"

This gorgeous woman didn't have to be jealous of anyone for anything. She laughed and gave me a quick hug.

"You should see the old guys Uncle Nathan has pawned me off on for dinners over the years when he was too busy to see me," she said. "Icky old guys, and I'd have to sit through a boring dinner at that fancy French restaurant Uncle Nathan likes so much."

"You don't like that restaurant?" I asked, surprised that I was able to speak.

"Would you mind terribly if we didn't go there tonight?" she asked, again taking my right hand in both of hers. "I'm just dying for a burrito, and maybe a movie. Would that be OK?"

She smelled like lilacs, and she wasn't only beautiful, she was nice. Tina made me feel like a co-conspirator in a plot to thwart Mr. Drummond's plans for her this evening. I stammered that anything she wanted was fine with me.

"Oh, you're a doll," she said, smiling. "Give me a minute to change. I feel like a freaking debutante in this outfit."

I stood there stunned as she disappeared into the bedroom portion of the suite. Here was this amazing college girl, at least three years older than me, and she didn't seem disturbed that she'd be going out with a kid just out of high school.. She actually seemed happy to be with someone younger.

About 10 minutes later, she emerged wearing a sleeveless, fuzzy, beige high-neck halter sweater with a hint of a bare midriff over a short jean skirt, bare legs and calf-high felt boots.. I had never seen anything so sexy and beautiful.

"Do I look OK?" she asked.

What came out of my mouth was more of a tortured gurgle than anything intelligible. My face felt flushed, and I was nodding vigorously.

"You know, Bill" she said, "If I'm going informal, you should, too. That tie has got to go."

Tina sidled up close to me and slowly unwound the knot in my necktie as her playful hazel eyes locked on my confused ones. I could smell her light perfume. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I wanted to put them on her bare skin so much, but I figured that would be the end of our date. Finally, she teasingly slid the tie off my neck, folded it neatly and femininely and put it into my jacket pocket. She looked at me, then smiled and unbuttoned the top two buttons of my white shirt..

"There," she said. "I'll have the coolest date in town tonight."

She went to the closet and put on a gray trenchcoat, tying it snugly around her waist. I never knew a trenchcoat could be so sexy. It clung to her tight curves, leaving her knees and calves bare so that if you didn't know better, you'd think she was nude underneath it. Her long black hair trailed behind her as she grabbed her small purse, took my elbow and led me out of the room.

I was pretty sure my feet never hit the ground as we made our way to the elevator where two men in business suits and a middle-aged woman were inside when we went in. The men's eyes explored Tina from head to toe. As far as they were concerned, I was invisible. I had a fleeting thought, wondering if the men would have been so disinterested in me if I had been wearing makeup and the schoolgirl outfit I had on a couple of weeks ago. The same thing happened when we walked through the crowded hotel lobby. I may as well not to have been there at all. Every set of eyes -- male and female -- seemed to follow her every step as we walked to the revolving doors. If Tina noticed, she gave no indication, chatting with me as we made our way to my mom's car. I started to apologize for how old the car was, but she shushed me, put a slender finger to my lips, smiled and said it was fine.

I opened her door for her, stole a quick look at her legs as she sat down and quickly went around the car, gave the attendant two dollars, sat down in the driver's seat, put on my seat belt, and we were off. Tina crossed her legs and I tried really hard not to look at them as I drove toward my family's favorite Mexican restaurant a few miles away.

"So," I said, trying to make conversation, "you call Mr. Drummond, 'Uncle Nathan.' He didn't tell me you were his niece."

Tina giggled.

"Oh, he's not really my uncle," she said. "I've just called him that ever since I was a little girl because he and my parents were so close and he was around the house all the time. I had the biggest crush on him when I was 13 or 14, can you believe that?"

"Yes," I said, my mind wandering for a moment back to when I wanted so much for Mr. Drummond to kiss me, and he wouldn't. "I can believe that."

We got to the little, out of the way Mexican restaurant, and when Tina oozed out of her trench coat and sat down, I couldn't believe I was with such a pretty woman. All through dinner, Tina seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say, making me feel important. I rattled on about high school and my friends and my uncertainty about where to go to college, and she didn't act bored at all. I finally realized that I was talking too much and asked her if she minded very much Mr. Drummond being called away tonight.

"Absolutely not," she said, touching my sleeve. "You're incredibly good company. So much better than Uncle Nathan's older friends. Would you believe that when I was 15, one of them grabbed my bare knee under the table at that French restaurant?"

"Really?" I said. "When you were 15? How old was this guy? What did you do?"

"Oh, he was in the service with Uncle Nathan," Tina said. "Probably he was about the same age, except because he was fat, he looked even older. I'll never forget, it was the first time anyone ever came on to me that way. His name was Mr. Blanchard. I think his first name was Dennis."

I started to cough as my enchillada got caught in my throat. Mr. Blanchard? The same Mr. Blanchard who had copped a feel on me that Saturday? It had to be. There couldn't be two Mr. Blanchards who were Mr. Drummond's war buddies.

"You'll wouldn't believe," Tina said, "what pigs older men can be."

"Oh," I said, still recovering from swallowing my enchalada the wrong way and remembering the events of the last few weeks, "I wouldn't find that hard to believe at all."

"I was so surprised at this fat, sweaty, old man's hand on my knee that I didn't know what to do," Tina said. "I just sat there and let him keep his hand there, and then he moved it up onto my thigh.... and I spilled my Coke all over his suit."

Tina giggled at the memory.

"I told him that I was sorry, that it was an accident, but I don't think he believed me. I told him I had a headache and that if it was all right with him that I wanted to leave. On the drive to the hotel, he casually moved his right hand over and played with my skirt. My body was pressed against the opposite door. He said he wanted to stop off at his house on the way so he could change his shirt. I was only 15, so I didn't know that was an excuse to get me alone. But I was smart enough to stay in the car when we got to his house instead of going inside. He tried to talk me into coming in, and he wasn't happy when I said I was fine in the car. He didn't say anything to me the whole way back to the hotel."

Tina moved her right hand over my left across the table, giving it a gentle rub.

"It's so nice," she said, "to be with a gentleman tonight."

After dinner, we went to see a movie. After taking off her trenchcoat, she started out holding my hand in the dark theater, and I thought things couldn't possibly get better. Then, she took my right hand, moved it around her bare shoulders and cuddled up against me, her head resting on my shoulder. Her soft arm felt so good as I timidly squeezed it every now and then. After several minutes, as her body rested against mine, her long fingernails absently scratched against the top of my right thigh. I didn't know if she could tell, but my small penis was rock hard. It wasn't much of a movie, but I was really sorry when it ended and we got up to leave.

The ride back to the hotel was much too short. When we arrived, I was uncertain whether to have the valets park my mom's car or if she wanted me to walk her to her suite.

"Have them park it for you, Bill," Tina said. "If you don't mind, I could use some company."

Mind? I wouldn't mind keeping this incredible woman company for the rest of my life. The lobby wasn't as crowded as when we left, and when we got to the elevator, it was empty. When the doors closed behind us, Tina pulled my jacket lapels toward her and kissed me tenderly. It was an amazing kiss. I was so surprised that I could barely return it.




Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 08-10



"Mmmmm," she murmured. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

After we reached the penthouse floor, Tina took my hand as we walked to her door. As soon as we were inside, she took off her trenchcoat, let it fall to the floor and crossed her slender, bare arms around my neck. My hands went to her bare midriff and I experienced the softest, most tender kiss anyone could imagine as she opened her mouth and ran her tongue over my upper lip. I couldn't believe this was happening. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do, but as we kissed, Tina pressed her body against mine and started to moan softly, so I thought I must be doing OK.

After about a minute, Tina broke our kiss, put my right hand on her covered left breast and kissed me again. It was the first female breast I had ever touched, and it felt amazing.

"I'm going to change my clothes," she said. "Why don't you call your parents and tell them you won't be coming home tonight."

I nodded dumbly as she turned and disappeared into the bedroom. I found a phone in the suite and called home, telling Mom that I would be spending the night with one of my friends. She said that was OK and thanked me for calling.

A few minutes later, Tina stood in the bedroom doorway wearing only a tiny white teddie.

"I hope you don't think I do this with every man I meet," she said. "You're just such a nice guy, and I haven't met too many nice guys lately."

Tina slowly backed into the bedroom, motioning me to follow. She hopped up on the bed playfully and watched with a gentle smile as I rushed to remove my shoes, jacket, shirt and pants. I stood there in my black socks and white jockey shorts, my small penis straining inside.

"I'm not ... you know ... very big ... you know ... down there," I said to her, more than a little defensively. 

"That doesn't matter," she said, giggling. "You've got an incredible body. It's so sleek. There's not an ounce of fat on it. I wish I had your skin tone, and I think your waist is even thinner than mine. Come here, silly."

I pulled my underpants off, moved my body atop hers, and we began kissing again, my hands clumsily exploring her body under her teddie. My mind was a blur, but I realized one thing: "I'm going to get laid."

Tina moved her teddie slowly over her head and off her body, and there were her firm breasts right in front of me. My mouth went to them, teasing with my tongue and teeth. This is what I had feverishly dreamed of all through my teenage years. I hoped I was doing it right. She opened her legs and I got between them. I pressed my lips against hers, and soon our tongues were playing. She was there under me, ready to be taken.

There was just one thing wrong. My penis had gone soft.

Here I was with the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen ... and I couldn't get it up.

I moved off of her and started to apologize. She shushed me.

"It's OK," she said. "You just might need a little help."

Tina gently got me onto my back, moved so sexily onto her knees between my legs and gently grasped my soft four inches while planting tender, wet kisses on my hairless chest. It felt so good, but my damned penis got no harder. With the kindest smile I've ever seen, Tina bent over and took me into her lovely mouth, her hair falling over her face. It felt so wonderful.

But still, I couldn't get hard. It didn't help to remember that the first time I was at Mr. Wallace's house, I got hard the instant he put his lips on my penis.What was wrong with me?

Tina kept up her amazing sucking for a very long time, but finally gave up.

It was so terribly embarrassing. I apologized over and over again.

Tina put her arms around me and gave me a tender kiss.

"It's OK," she said. "I'm told it happens to all men sometimes. Besides, there are other ways to please a woman."

With that, Tina lay back and spread her legs. I noticed for the first time that she had shaved her pubic hair. She gently grabbed my pony tail and moved my face to the first pussy I'd seen since I was born. It smelled kinda strange, and when I licked it, it tasted terrible. I began licking rapidly and moving my tongue inside like I had read about in all those porn magazines and websites. Somewhere, I had heard that if you draw the alphabet with your tongue, it drives women crazy.

Tina seemed to be enjoying it, breathing hard and moaning, but it smelled awful and tasted worse. I kept it up as long as I could, but I wasn't the least bit horny while doing it, and finally stopped.

"I'm sorry," I said as I plunked down next to her on the bed. I was so ashamed of my poor performance, I almost started to cry.

"It's fine," Tina said, grazing my smooth chest with her fingernails. "You're probably just a little tired. It's all right. Bill, I'm just curous, though. Is this your first time with a woman?"

I thought I was going to cry. I nodded, "yes."

Tina smiled kindly. "I understand," she said, giving me a quick kiss on the lips. "We can try it again in the morning."

Tina put her teddie back on. I got under the covers naked. Still ashamed of myself, I turned my back to Tina and tried to sleep.Why had I gotten so turned on by those old, ugly men, but I couldn't keep an erection with the most beautiful, sexiest woman I have ever seen. A few moments later, Tina snuggled against me. I could feel her firm breasts against my back, her hands moving on my sides, her sweet breath at my neck.

"You're so smooth," she whispered. "I just love your hair, and you have such a wonderful body. It's so nice, almost like being with another girl."

Like another girl? I didn't know how to feel about that. She kissed my back, then turned over and went to sleep. 

I hoped the morning would bring my virility back. When I woke up, I felt something wonderful down below. Tina's mouth was on my tiny penis, sucking slowly and tenderly. My organ responded, getting hard before I even had a chance to think. Her gentle hands were playing with my scrotum, and she was taking my whole four inches into her mouth. Finally pulling me atop her, Tina spread her legs under her teddie and kissed my neck, guiding my penis to her pussy. It was by far the nicest thing anybody had ever done for me. Here was this stunning, sensitive, fantasic girl doing everything she could ... and before I could enter her, my damned cock went soft again.

I rolled off her and covered my face with my hands. It was the most humiliating moment of my life.

Tina couldn't have been nicer, telling me that it was probably her, and not me, that I probably wasn't all that attracted to her. I told her that was ridiculous, that she was everything a man could want. I couldn't get dressed and out of there faster. Standing there looking like an angel in her teddie, Tina helped me on with my suit jacket and gave me a tender kiss on my cheek. She had a confident look in her eye.

"Don't worry," she said as I left the suite, "everything will be fine."

End of Part 8 (To be continued)

Part 9:

It was still only 6:30 in the morning when I went to reclaim my mom's car from valet parking. My necktie was still in my jacket pocket, where Tina had put it so seductively last night. The attendant, seeing me in my blue suit, gave me a knowing wink and asked me if I had a good time last night. He had assumed by the fact that I had checked the car last night and was leaving so early that I had spent the night having sex with someone. I nodded and gave him a fake little grin. Let him think what he likes. Why should everyone know that I couldn't get it up?

I went home and tried to reconcile what had happened. I had a really good time being with Tina, but what kind of man was I? Why could I reach orgasm dressed like a girl with aggressive old men, but not as a man with a woman any guy would give his left testicle to sleep with? Did it bother me just a little bit when we were together that everybody ogled Tina and I was ignored? I told myself "no, of course not," but ... 

Would Tina say anything to Mr. Drummond about our date? What would I tell Mr. Drummond this afternoon when he asked me if I had a good time last night, as he most surely would? 

Mom was surprised that I was home so early. I got to eat breakfast with her and Dad, mostly listening as they talked about Dad's work. Knowing I had to be at Mr. Drummond's office at 3 o'clock, I told Mom I had to work an early shift this afternoon because my supervisor wasn't going to be there. Mom said she didn't need her car, so it would be all right.

After breakfast, I went upstairs to my room to see if I had a fresh shirt to wear. Emptying my pockets, I noticed that I still had almost 450 dollars left from what Mr. Drummond had given me. Tina was not only beautiful, she was anything but an expensive date. 

I showed up on time at Mr. Drummond's office, and the pretty receptionist told me to go right in, that "they are expecting you."

"They?" I thought. 

Mr. Drummond, wearing an expensive-looking suit, met me at the door and closed it behind me. Sitting in one of the two chairs opposite his desk was an attractive, 40ish, slender woman with glasses and her brown hair in a bun atop her head. She sat there with her legs crossed in a fashionable turquoise skirt, a crisp, white blouse unbuttoned enough to show a hint of cleavage, and a form-fitting turquoise jacket.. Mr. Drummond introduced her to me as Miss Hendricks. She didn't get up as I shook her dainty hand and said hello before I sat down in the chair next to her.

Mr. Drummond sat in a big chair behind his desk, picked up some papers and read them for a few moments. 

"Bill," he said, his face serious, "We've got something to talk about."

I worried for a moment that Mr. Drummond had found out from his goddaughter Tina that I had slept with her.

"Bill," he said, "I've got an interesting proposition for you. I want you to think about it seriously before you say yes or no, OK?"

Curious, I told him I would.

"Listen, Bill," he said, "The main office for my firm is in Chicago. That's where I do most of my business, and Chicago is where my most important client lives. This client has some -- well, he has some unique perspectives when it comes to his companions. I think that from what I've learned about you, Bill, I'd like you to come to work for me for a year in Chicago."

I was totally confused. 

"Unique perspectives?" I asked. "What does that have to do with me working for you in Chicago? Mr. Drummond, I don't understand. What kind of work would I be doing?"

"Bill," he said, "you're a young person at a crossroads in life. Seeing you at Ted's house the last two weekends, I saw one of the most beautiful girls I have ever seen ... except you're a boy. Before making you this offer, I had to be certain that you were better suited to be in a female role than a male one."

I was still confused. 

"Mr. Drummond, if this is about your goddaughter ..."

Miss Hendricks and Mr. Drummond exchanged a knowing glance.

"Bill," Mr. Drummond said, "I have a bit of a confession to make. Tina isn't my goddaughter."

My eyes got really big. I gripped the arms of the chair.

"What do you mean? You told me you were there when she was born. She told me all about you when she was growing up. I don't understand."

Mr. Drummond's eyes were kind, but his voice was firm, like the lawyer that he is.

"Tina is not my goddaughter," he said. "I never met her before Monday, when I hired her."

"Hired her?" I said.

"Bill," he said steadily, "Tina is a five thousand dollars-a-night escort. She's got a bachelor's degree in theater, and on Monday, we went over a script she could use involving growing up with me as a friend of her family. She's absolutely top of the line when it comes to this sort of work, and escorting is how she's financing getting her master's degree."

The room started to swim around me as Mr. Drummond continued, glancing down at the notes on his desk..

"I like you, Bill. I wanted to be sure that I was doing the right thing. Tina -- by the way, that's not her real name -- Tina has given me a full written report on your evening. It would appear that you ... well ... you had difficulty performing with this desirable, beautiful woman."

This was a nightmare. Mr. Drummond knew ... everything?

"Listen, Bill, if it makes you feel any better, Tina liked you. She reported that you're a -- he looked down at the paper in front of him -- a very sweet boy."

My eyes started to tear up. Miss Hendricks just sat there impassively with her impressive legs crossed. With a halting voice, I asked Mr. Drummond why he had gone to all that expense and trouble to embarrass me. Then I couldn't help it. I started to cry.

Mr. Drummond sighed and walked slowly around his desk, bent down and put a fatherly arm around me. It felt good.

"Listen," he said, "some people are just not meant for a traditional role. It would appear you are one of those people. As Bill, you're really not all that impressive, but as Billie ... my goodness, you're so incredibly special."

I sat there, Mr. Drummond's comforting arm around me as I tried to regain my composure.

"What is it you want from me, Mr. Drummond?" I asked as I wiped tears from my eyes. "What is this about a job in Chicago?"

Mr. Drummond's arm left my shoulder. He stood up and leaned back against at the edge of his desk, facing me.

"I want Billie, not Bill, to move to Chicago," he said. "My firm will pay all your expenses, your apartment, your meals, your transportation, your dresses, nightgowns, your makeup, training ... everything.

My dresses, nightgowns, makeup? My training?

"Billie," he said, "I've seen the effect you have on men. With the right clothes, beauty advice and training, you could be a great benefit to my law firm. I have a client -- a very special client -- who has an affinity for beautiful young women who have ... well ... a little extra. Eventually, I'd want you to meet him."

"You want me to sleep with some guy?" I said, angrily rising from the chair. "That's what this is all about?"

Mr. Drummond's face turned stern. His eyes bore into mine, immediately intimidating me and calming me down.

"I'm a lawyer, Billie, not a pimp," he said sharply. "No one expects you to sleep with anyone. All you will be required to do is to make yourself as feminine and attractive as possible and to attend the opera and some social gatherings where you might meet my client. Whatever might happen after that would be entirely up to you."

I sat back down, my mind in a whirl. Turning into a full-time girl? Wearing dresses, meeting men? Do I really want to do that?

"How can I move to Chicago?" I asked blankly. "What would I tell my parents?"

Mr. Drummond's face softened.

"Here's how it would work, Billie," he said. (I noticed that now he was calling me by the feminine Billie, instead of Bill.) "We'll tell your parents that because my old friend from Vietnam thought so much of you, I've decided in his memory to offer you the annual internship at my firm in Chicago. Next week, we will fly you and your parents to Chicago, put all of you up in a nice hotel and give them a tour of our facility. We'll tell them that while they won't see much of you except for a Christmas visit next month, if you finish the 12-month internship, you will receive a $50,000 college scholarship in addition to some excellent experience at a major firm.

"Oh, and one more thing, Billie, as executor of Ted Wallace's estate, I'll see to it that in addition to the scholarship money, at the end of a year, you will be the beneficiary of his $75,000 life insurance policy."

I thought for a moment. Mom and particularly Dad would jump at an opportunity like that for me.

Mr. Drummond went on.

"While you're in Chicago, you'll get a new name, a new identity, and once your female persona is settled, we'll give you a temporary job at the law firm to keep you from getting too bored."

My mind was racing. A new name? A new identity? That would help solve the problem of hiding from Dr. Phillips. But do I want a new sexual identity, too?

"Would I have to ... you know ... get implants or anything?" I asked.

Mr. Drummond smiled.

"No, Billie," he said. "We would put you on a regimen of doctor-prescribed hormones and exercise. Miss Hendricks here will be in charge of all that and of teaching you all about fashion and makeup and how to walk, talk and purport yourself as a young lady."

I looked at Miss Hendricks, who stood and with perfect posture slowly walked around me in my chair. Even though she wasn't a young woman, she oozed sensuality. Her breasts were still firm, her posture regal and her perfume subtle but attention-getting.

"She's even prettier than the pictures you showed me of her, Nathan," she said.

I realized to my shame that Mr. Drummond and Miss Hendricks must have seen the photos of me on Mr. Wallace's computer, and Miss Hendricks was referring to me as "she." 

"She's so fresh and vulnerable, and that blonde hair is to die for. I can do a lot with her, Nathan. Give me two months -- 10 weeks tops -- and no man will be able to resist her."

I looked at Mr. Drummond.

"I don't mean any disrespect," I said, "but wouldn't it be better if ... well ... if a man who also dresses taught me?"

Mr. Drummond and Miss Hendricks exchanged knowing looks.

"Billie," he said, "Miss Hendricks is a crossdresser. She's a man."

I didn't believe it. I stared at Miss Hendricks, making a point to look for what tipped off Dr. Phillips about me.

"She can't be a man," I said. "She doesn't have an adam's apple."

Miss Hendricks turned to me.

"I've had what's known as a tracheal shave, Sweetie," she said softly. "It's a minor operation where a doctor shaves the cartilage that makes up the adam's apple. You can see what the operation looks like on YouTube. The operation is really no big deal. I had a sore throat for a couple of weeks, that's all. You can get the procedure done in Chicago if you like, isn't that right, Nathan?"

Mr. Drummond nodded.

Miss Hendricks stood next to me, took my left hand and placed it on her groin for a moment. There was no doubt that this person wasn't born a female. She gently stroked my hair, then sat back down in her feminine way, crossing her legs.

"As I said, Billie," said Mr. Drummond, "I don't expect you to make a decision right now. Go home and think about it. I'll be attending Ted's funeral at St. Mary's tomorrow and then leaving town to fly to Chicago on Friday, so I'll need your decision by then, OK?

I said, "OK," my mind a blur as I got up to leave. Mr. Drummond walked me to the door, his reassuring hand on my back. I paused and asked if Tina had said anything other than writing that I was a sweet boy.

Mr. Drummond walked to his desk and fetched the report Tina had written. He showed me the last paragraph she had typed.

"Bill is very likable, a gentleman," she wrote. "It's too bad he doesn't know that he's so much better-suited to please a man than a woman."

I couldn't believe that I had been manipulated so effectively by Mr. Drummond and Tina, or whatever her name is. My mind was swimming as I left the office building. I got into Mom's car and just drove off aimlessly. What was I going to do? Who ever had a choice like the one facing me? On the one hand, there was the scholarship, the cash, and being far away from Dr. Phillips when he searched for me. On the other hand, I'm a boy, not a girl.

I just kept driving, my brain spinning. An hour or so later, I came upon a shopping mall I had never been to before. With Mr. Drummond's $450 in my pocket, I decided to see if there were any video games there that I didn't already own. Inside, on my way to finding the video store, there was a big department store. I decided to go in.

End of Part 9. (To be continued)





Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 08-10



Part 10:

The next afternoon, about 20 people gathered in St. Mary's Catholic Church for Mr. Wallace's funeral. Five rows from the front pew, Mr. Drummond and Mr. Blanchard stood chatting before the start of the service when into the church walked a stunning young woman wearing black high heels, a dark blue hat and a form-fitting beige trenchcoat that clung to her slender curves like a second skin.

It was me.

I slowly walked to where Mr. Drummond was standing while Mr. Blanchard gawked at me.

"I guess you have my answer now, Mr. Drummond," I said softly. "Hello, Mr. Blanchard. How are you?"

Mr. Blanchard had a stupid smile on his face and didn't say a thing. He hadn't seen me since I had fled from Mr. Maddox. I was glad to see that Mr. Maddox wasn't in the church. He must still be in Idaho. Meanwhile, Mr. Drummond looked at me with kindness in his eyes.

"Are you certain, Billie?" he asked.

In response, I slowly undid the belt of my trenchcoat, unbuttoned the buttons and turned my back to Mr. Drummond.

"Would you please help me off with this, Mr. Drummond?"

Mr. Drummond moved the trenchcoat from my shoulders and it slid off my curvy body, revealing my tight little black dress accenting my tiny waist and hips. It had a V-neck, long, transparent lace sleeves that gathered at my wrists, and the skirt revealed a good bit of my bare thighs. My makeup, eyeliner and lipstick were understated, my perfume subtle. 

"Holy shit," said Mr. Blanchard.

"Dennis!" reproached Mr. Drummond. "We're in a church."

I giggled.

"You know, Mr. Drummond," I said, trying to make conversation, "I was baptised as a baby in this church by Father Kincaid, and I was an altar boy here when I was little. My mother still attends Mass here every Sunday."

The people in the church started taking their seats. I looked up, and was surprised to see Father Kincaid instead of one of the other priests approach the lecturn. When I was an altar boy, Father Kincaid looked about 8 feet tall, but he was actually about 6-foot-4, now not as lean as he was but still imposing in what must be his early 70s. His face was craggy and evidence of the street brawler he was in his youth before taking up the priesthood. He had always seemed to be angry, maybe because one of his seminary classmates had become an archbishop, and he was stuck in this small church. All of us altar boys might misbehave with some of the nuns or younger priests watching us, but we were always on our best behavior when the intimidatating Father Kincaid was around.

We sat down in the pews, with Mr. Drummond on my right and Mr. Blanchard on my left. I crossed my legs and folded the trenchcoat over my lap as Father Kincaid began the funeral service. The minutes passed as Father Kincaid droned on in Latin and English. Then, I was startled to feel a hand on my left thigh, which I had crossed over my right. Mr. Blanchard had sneaked his rough right hand under my trenchcoat. I looked at him. His eyes stared straight ahead, his face betraying nothing as his busy hand squeezed and caressed the underside of my slender, bare thigh. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to make a disturbance in the church, so I just squirmed.

Mr. Blanchard, leaned over and whispered in my ear.

"I don't care if you aren't a woman," he hissed. "I want to fuck you."

A chill went through me. Mr. Blanchard's fingers moved up and lightly scraped against my panties. He leaned in again, his tongue moistening my ear.

"I'm GOING to fuck you," he whispered, "right after you suck my fat cock."

I started to breathe harder, my little penis beginning to stir in my panties. Mr. Blanchard wasn't going to stop unless ... unless ... I moved my coat off my lap.

As soon as I did, Mr. Blanchard quickly moved his hand away before anyone in the church could see what he had been doing. I whispered in Mr. Drummond's ear that I was having trouble seeing, and would he mind trading seats with me. He stood for a moment and I slid into his seat while he moved into mine. Father Kincaid was now saying nice things about Mr. Wallace, how he served his country and was an asset to the community. It was obvious that he didn't know Mr. Wallace at all. I doubted that Mr. Wallace was much of a churchgoer.

Finally, it was over, and people were filing out of the church. Mr. Drummond said that he would be going to the cemetery, but first he wanted to thank the priest for doing such a nice service. He took my elbow and with Mr. Blanchard walked up to Father Kincaid, who shook his hand, then looked down at me a bit curiously.

"Father," said Mr. Drummond, "this is my friend Dennis Blanchard, who served with Ted Wallace and me in Vietnam." Mr. Blanchard shook the old priest's hand with the same one that had just been on my thigh and under my dress. Then, Mr. Drummond motioned to me.

"And this," he said, "is a more-recent co-worker and friend of Ted's ... Billie Donahue."

It was so weird seeing Father Kincaid dressed as I was. I moved my transparent lace-covered right arm up to shake the hand of this priest who had intimidated me so much for all those years. 

"Nice to meet you, Father," I said shyly.

Father Kincaid took my hand in his big, gnarled one ... and held it.

"Billie Donahue?" he said, staring at me. "Billie Donahue?"

I started to get a little nervous. Over his tight priest's collar, Father Kincaid's eyes were studying my face intently, moving down over my little dress, then back up to my face.

"Billie Donahue?" he mumbled. "Billie Donahue?"

Then it seemed as if a light went on in his craggy face.

"Billy Donahue!" he exclaimed. "Of course, Little Billy Donahue."

I looked over at Mr. Drummond, who looked a little confused and asked Father Kincaid whether he would be performing the graveyard service. The priest finally let go of my hand. He said that one of the other priests would be accompanying the casket to the cemetery.

"I'm getting a bit too old to be outside for long periods in this cold weather," said Father Kincaid, still staring at me while talking to Mr. Drummond. "You'll all be in very good hands with Father Ryan."

Father Kincaid motioned to a young priest, who came by immediately and was introduced to the three of us. He and Mr. Drummond spoke about the grave location in the cemetery, and while they did that, Father Kincaid spoke to me.

"Billy," he said, his eyes intensely on mine. "I believe I know your mother."

"Oh no!" I thought.

Father Kincaid looked angry.

"You have a lot to explain, Billy. I will see you in my office in 15 minutes," he said in a way that would brook no argument. He turned and walked away. I felt like I was a little kid again, being sent to the priest for some infraction or other. I didn't even think about not showing up at his office in the back of the church.

Mr. Drummond hadn't heard Father Kincaid talking to me. He asked if I would be going to the cemetery. Mr. Blanchard eagerly offered to drive me. I told them I wasn't up to going to the cemetery. Mr. Drummond said he understood and was glad I was accepting the Chicago offer. He asked if I could see him with one or both of my parents at his office tomorrow before he caught his plane. I told him I'd try to at least get Mom to meet him tomorrow. We made a tentative appointment for 10 o'clock in the morning. He shook my hand and picked up his coat from a pew. When I turned around, there was chubby Mr. Blanchard, who immediately took me into his arms to give me a goodbye hug and held me tight.

"You feel so good. Remember what I said," he whispered in my ear. "I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to fuck you raw."

He let me go, and I took a step back.

"Don't even think about it," I said, summoning up my courage. "If you ever touch me again, Mr. Blanchard, I'll ... I'll ... I don't know what I'll do."

Mr. Blanchard's fat face broke into a wide smile at my pitiful attempt at threatening him. 

"We'll see about that," he said before joining the rest of the stragglers leaving the church.

I found myself all alone in the quiet church. I looked up at the stained glass windows and felt very small. I wondered what Father Kincaid would say to me. He'll probably tell me I'm going to hell, and who knows, maybe I am. With my trenchcoat over one arm, and the clicking from my high heels echoing in the church, I made my way to the door that I remembered from my altar boy days leading to a hallway and Father Kincaid's office. Nervously, I knocked timidly on the door.

"Come in," ordered Father Kincaid. Somehow, my little black dress seemed even more little as I opened the door and walked in. The office was exactly the same as I remembered from when I was a little boy. The same oaken desk, the same framed seminary degree, the same thick, gray carpet (at least my heels didn't make noise as I walked in) and the same portrait of the Virgin Mary, 

"Hello, Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I was suddenly feeling embarrassed for being dressed as I was in front of this holy man who had baptised me.

Father Kincaid rose rapidly from the chair behind his desk, his eyes flashing. Little had changed since I was a boy. He still looked about 8-feet tall. His voice resounded like a cannon shot.

"What is this, Billy?" he bellowed, approaching me. "Is this some kind of twisted joke?"

"Please, Father," I said, placing my trenchcoat down on a chair. "Please don't be angry with me. I've been through so much."

The old priest towered over me in his priestly cassock and crossed his thick forearms across his chest.

"Well?" he said, his tone harsh. "Tell me."

I think I must have needed some kind of absolution because I stood there in that little dress and told him what had happened to me over the last month. I confessed that while initially I had been blackmailed by Mr. Wallace, I think maybe something inside me must enjoy being thought beautiful and being taken sexually by men.

Father Kincaid's bushy eyebrows narrowed and his craggy face turned red. He seemed like he was ready to explode.

"You have sex!" he roared. "You have sex ... with men!"

He was so close to me now that I could smell his musty odor that I remembered from my childhood. He was shouting, so imposing that I was now as scared as I was as a child.

"You defy the laws of this church and dress like a harlot to entice men to do evil!"

Father Kincaid then gripped my shoulders with his rough, gnarled hands. His right hand violently ripped down the transparent lace, baring my left arm all the way down to my wrist. I tried to squirm away, but he held me fast.

"You're a man, damn you!" he shouted, now using his right hand to tear off my hat and throw it aside, revealing my long blonde hair held atop my head with bobby pins. His right hand now gripping my hair, his left still on my right shoulder, he twisted my body backwards. Ungainly on my high heels, I quickly was forced onto my back on the carpet, my tiny dress riding up on my slender thighs.

"Whore!" he roared as he sat on my slender stomach, his knees on either side of my torso. I tried to fend him off with my arms, my left one now bare. His clerical collar askew on his thick throat, his eyes ablaze, he shouted at me to stop struggling.

"Put your arms down!" he ordered.

Confused, intimidated, shocked at the ferocity of his assault, I slowly, haltingly put my arms on either side of my head, palms facing up in surrender. Drooling and cursing like a madman, Father Kincaid put his hands inside the V-neck of my dress and powerfully tore it apart, revealing the small cleavage in my black push-up bra. It was the first bra I have ever worn, and it seemed to make him even angrier.

"Man shall not lay with man!" he spat out. I remember how he would quote Leviticus to us altar boys all the time. I wondered if this madman was going to beat me to death.right there on his carpet. Instead, to my surprise, he yanked down my bra and began biting my right nipple ... hard.

"Father ... Father Kincaid," I panted, my arms still helplessly on either side of my head. "Please ... Father, what are you doing?"

"Shame on you, temptress!" he mumbled as he continued his assault on my nipple, his right hand on my bare left shoulder, holding me down. "Dressing like a blasted beautiful female to seduce an honest man."

I didn't know what to think. Was he punishing me or lusting for me? No, it wasn't possible. This is Father Kincaid. I had never particularly liked him, but there was no one I ever respected more. Yet, the teeth torturing my nipple were his. I lay back and closed my eyes. Now-familiar feelings of surrender mixed in with the electric shocks emanating from my breast down my body. Father Kincaid's hands moved rapidly up and down my torso. There was a hunger in them, a lust for my body that scared me. How long has this old man been celebate?

Abruptly, Father Kincaid roughly turned me over onto my knees, pulled my blue, frilly panties down my legs and pushed my head down.

"Dammit, Billy, you've got an ass that would tempt the angels in heaven," he said.

He forcefully spread my butt cheeks, and moments later, I felt the first tongue ever to enter my rectum. I had never felt anything like this before. It was so different, so much more comfortable than the penises that had assaulted me down there. Then it struck me.

Father Michael Kincaid, the most respected priest in the history of the St. Mary's parish, the man who had baptised me when I was a baby, had his tongue up my ass!

And it felt so good. The holy man's tongue wetly wriggled inside me. My hopelessly torn little black dress clung sexily to me by one sleeve, and my panties were hung up on my high heels. His arthritically twisted fingers gripped my butt cheeks as I writhed and began to moan at the unfamiliar, delicious sensations.

The old man was really into tonguing me, continuing for so many minutes, relaxing my sphincter. I was making satisfied litle girlie noises as my body undulated. It felt so good.

"You like this, don't you, harlot?" he said cruelly when he finally came up for air. "You like dressing up like a sissy and making men want to use your tawdry body, don't you?" 

His wet mouth returned to my rectum, soon to be replaced by his middle finger, which he pushed into me slowly at first, then very rapidly. I moved my head up from the carpet, tossing my hair and writhing.under this new assault. Soon, Father Kincaid's middle finger was joined by his forefinger, ramming into me as the old priest's teeth nibbled on my ass cheeks. Finally, his fingers left me. His old, spotted hands pulled my slender body to him from behind, the remnants of my dress clinging to me, my bra now pushed down around my waist. I heard his pants drop to the carpet and him mutter, "Forgive me, Jesus!" 

Seconds later, Father Kincaid's long cock was thrust inside me. The old man's tongue and fingers had done such an efficient job of opening me up that his cock didn't hurt me much. His body in his priestly cassock was soon on my back. His left arm moved around the front of my chest and grasped my right shoulder, playing with the transparent lace. His other hand was in my hair, strongly pulling it back, sending bobby pins flying and making me arch my slender back. I heard him mutter "Hail Mary, full of grace" over and over again as he slammed into my subservient body again and again.

I heard the old man's heavy breathing and felt it on the back of my neck.

"Holy Christ," I thought, "I'm getting laid by Father Kincaid!"

I'm not sure whether it was the sex itself or the erotic aspect of distinguished Father Kincaid fucking me, but I realized my little penis was rock hard. Momentarily, I thought how I had made the right choice. I couldn't keep a hard-on with beautiful Tina, but this horrible, old priest was going to make me cum any minute.

Each of his thrusts was bringing me closer to orgasm. I squeezed my butt cheeks, now a full participant in sex with the craggy-faced priest. He began kissing and licking my back, neck and shoulders while his left hand grasped my small penis. I was getting so turned on, and I could sense he was getting close to shooting off inside me.

Then I heard his voice, no longer angry, as he turned my face by my hair.

"Come on, lass," he said, "give us a kiss."

I turned my head, and as soon as our lips met, my little penis erupted. In the throes of my orgasm, his tongue entered my mouth. His mouth was easily as needy and lustful for me as his hands were when he first attacked me. My sensual body was rocking, and soon I could feel him thrust harder inside me and let out a gutteral wail as his 70-something-year old prick gushed its cum inside me. 

"Hail Mary, full of grace," he shouted, "Our Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

The old man's body convulsed over and over again, and then he collapsed atop me, his breathing becoming more even as I purred femininely under him as the long minutes went by. His penis finally plopped out of me, and only then -- with our lust dissipated -- did the scope of what happened truly occur to me, and I think, to him. My blonde hair now messily over my neck and shoulders, I sat up and gently put my right hand fingertips on his craggy cheek.

After the intimacy we shared -- after the kiss he requested and received -- I was surprised at Father Kincaid's reaction.

Violently slapping my hand away, he struggled to his feet and pulled up his pants under his cassock. Staring down, he shook his finger at me as I leaned back on my elbows, my slim shoulders forward, what was left of my dress not coming close to covering my breasts and slender torso.

"Shame on you!" he bellowed, bending so his face was inches from mine. "Shame! A man, dressing like a slutty female to tempt unsuspecting men. You're going to roast in hell if you don't change your ways, Billy Donahue!"

I couldn't believe after what he had done to me, the intimacy that we felt at the end, that the dignified priest was saying this to me. I felt used and violated ... and I wanted to cry.

"Does your wonderful mother know that you debase yourself this way?" he asked in his demanding way.

I shook my head "no" as I rose and slowly pulled the rag that used to be my fashionable, sexy little black dress off my body and adjusted my pushup bra back under my breasts.

"Well," said Father Kincaid in his superior manner, I've a good mind to tell her. I want your pledge that you're going to forsake Satan and give up this life of sin."

I reached for my trenchcoat and, my eyes never leaving Father Kincaid's, put it on. I buttoned it from the bottom up, my legs bare from about three inches above my knees. I tied the belt snugly around my tiny waist and fluffed out my flowing blonde hair behind me. With the thin trenchcoat clinging and conforming to my curvy body, I walked up close to the old priest, who was fully 10 inches taller than me.

"No," I said quietly as I unbuttoned the top button of the trenchcoat, "you won't be telling my mother, you old hypocrite. If you tell her about me, I'll tell everyone in the diocese what you just did to me."

Taken aback, Father Kincaid knew I meant it.

"Surely," he said, not nearly as blustery as he was before, "that won't be necessary."

I unbuttoned the second button and put my hands flat on his chest. He looked nonplussed. My voice was soft and seductive.

"You say I live a life of sin, Michael?" I said, purposely calling him by his first name, "when your cum is still inside my body?"

I unbuttoned the third button, and looking up at his craggy face, moved the top of the trenchcoat just off my slightly shimmying shoulders, creating a wide triangle of bare skin on my shoulders and chest leading down to the top of my pushed-up breasts. Father Kincaid swallowed hard and his face began to perspire. He yearned to touch me again. I was enough of a woman to know that.




Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 11-12



By Robin O.

Mr. Wallace and Me

Part 11:

Dad couldn't get off from work on Friday, but Mom and I went to Mr. Drummond's office in the morning. Mom wore a purple sleeveless, pleated, A-line polyester dress with a very modest scoop neck under her overcoat. I couldn't help but imagine what the dress would look like on me, but I was back wearing my blue men's suit. Mom doesn't get out very much, which in a way is a shame, because when she dresses up, she's still slim and very pretty. She was only 20 when she had me, and she's the reason my hair is blonde, because Dad's hair -- what's left of it -- is dark brown..

Mr. Drummond couldn't have been nicer. He gave Mom a tour of the office suite and told her how fond Mr. Wallace had been of me, and how much their time in Vietnam had meant to him. He described the law firm's internship program (that he had apparently made up for this occasion), told her about the scholarship money, and said the firm would not accept me without my parents' permission. When he described an all-expense-paid trip to Chicago for Mom, Dad and me beginning Wednesday, Mom was extremely impressed. 

When we got up to leave, I thought I noticed Mom trembling just a bit when Mr. Drummond helped her into her coat from behind and told her he hoped things could work out for me, that I seemed to be a fine young man. When we got back into the car, Mom settled into the passenger seat and sighed.

"Mr. Drummond is quite attractive, isn't he?" Mom said, before hurriedly adding: "I mean ... for an older man, that is."

"Oh?" I replied, "I hadn't noticed."

It may have been the biggest lie I've ever told in my life.

Mom said she was pretty sure she and Dad could take a couple of days off for the trip if spending a year in Chicago was what I wanted. I told her that it sounded exciting to me, and that the scholarship money would keep us from having to take out a loan for college. I didn't tell her about Mr. Drummond's promise to give me the $75,000 from Mr. Wallace's insurance if I lasted out the year.

Mom said she needed some clothes for her trip and asked if I wouldn't mind stopping at the nearby mall on the way back. 

"I know how much you hate shopping," she said with a mother's smile. "But would you mind ... for me?"

"Sure, Mom," I said, knowing I would be having a wonderful time checking out dresses, tops and skirts that I could come back and buy some other time. " I'll do it ... for you."

Mom spent hours going through six different stores, but in the end wound up with two blouses, three skirts, stockings and some of her favorite Chantelle panties. I made mental notes about coming back for maybe 80 things that I couldn't possibly afford. I had spent almost all of the money that Mr. Drummond had given me on my own shopping spree a few days earlier, but I smiled to myself, thinking I had spent wisely.

The next morning was Saturday, but Dad went in to his office so he could get work done that he would have been doing later in the week, clearing the way for our trip. Mom and her sewing group volunteered once a month at a food bank, and she got a ride there from one of the other members. That meant her car was available to me.

"You won't mind terribly much spending the day by yourself, will you, Billy?" Mom asked. She really is sweet.

"No," I said. "I'm fine, Mom. I'll think of something to do. I'll probably be going out with my friends before you get back. Don't worry if I'm home late."

As it turns out, I knew precisely what I was going to do. Well, maybe not precisely, but I had a pretty good idea. Before I would leave for Chicago, I had some things to do.

It was about an hour and a half later when I drove my Mom's car slowly past Mr. Wallace's trailer. I looked at it wistfully. It contained so many memories, most of them awful. It had been the place where I had lost my virginity ...and my masculinity. But it was also the place where I had discovered my femininity ... and I was feeling empowered in a way I had never known before. It wasn't just kicking Father Kincaid in the balls -- although that was incredibly empowering -- it was the effect I had on grown men ... older, mature men who wanted to touch me, to kiss me, to have sex with me. And now this 18-year-old had some things she -- yes, she -- wanted to do.

I continued slowly down the road, stopping in front of a small stucco house with "15" on the mailbox. Two cars were in the driveway. I checked my makeup in the rearview mirror, opened my car door and slid both my legs out at the same time. I stood up and wriggled, adjusting the puffy-sleeved blue house dress that Mr. Wallace had made me wear those first two Saturdays. It was actually just a little loose on me. I had lost almost 10 pounds.

I guess he heard my car door shut, because Stan, the man who had attacked me and humiliated me in the pitch-black night a week ago, who had told me I should come back today to clean his house and be taken by him again, hurried out of the front door and across the street, a concerned look on his face. I smiled and shook my head, my ponytail bouncing on my exposed upper back and neck.

"I wasn't sure you were going to show up," he said, keeping his voice low. "I guess you liked what I gave you last week, didn't you, you little whore?"

I hated his arrogant smile and attitude. But I smiled shyly at him and adjusted the sleeves off my shoulders, baring them and more of my chest.

"I just couldn't stay away," I said as I looked up at him adoringly.

Stan looked furtively back into his house, and apparently not seeing his wife, grabbed my soft, bare shoulders and kissed me roughly. As my body and lips submitted to him, I felt a familiar chill of desire.

"We'll see if you're as good a lay with your cunt as with your ass," he said, kissing me again before letting me go and looking back again at his house. "But you're early. My wife hasn't left for her mother's place yet. Come back in about two hours."

I put my right hand on his left shoulder and teasingly breathed into his right ear before whispering:

"I don't think so, Stan," I said. "With Mr. Wallace gone, I'll need the money from cleaning your house. I should talk about that with your wife." 

I began walking toward his house, smiling back at him over my bare shoulder.

"Wait!" he said urgently, catching up to me and clumsily moving my sleeves back over my shoulders. "Just tell her you'll work cheap, and I'll make sure you get paid extra ... OK?"

"Mmmmmm," I said seductively, making a little kissing motion with my lips, "I think I'm going to like working here."

We walked into his home, and I was met by Stan's wife, Valerie, whom I had met briefly a week ago outside Mr. Wallace's trailer. She said hello after having just gotten through changing their baby's diaper. We sat down in their living room, with the baby on her lap on the couch next to Stan. I sat on an easy chair opposite them with my legs crossed, baring a little of my thighs as I fluffed out my puffy sleeves briefly with both my hands.

"You're a very pretty girl," she said, making it seem as if it were more of a criticism than a compliment.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said innocently.

"It was a shame about Mr. Wallace," Valerie said without sounding terribly sympathetic. "I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but Stan and I went to his house about a year ago trying to raise money for the United Way, and the place was a complete pig sty. How could you work for someone like that?"

"Oh," I said, "it wasn't that bad. But yes, Mr. Wallace could get pretty sloppy."

"How long did you work for Mr. Wallace?" she asked.

I told her that it was only for about two months.

Valerie didn't seem convinced that I had enough experience. Her voice got demanding as she talked down to me.

"Well then, do you have any other references?"

"References?" I said brightly. "Well, yes. I have another reference. Your husband, Stan."

Valerie looked surprised. Stan looked confused.

"Stan?" she said. "What do you mean?"

"Stan raped me last Saturday night," I said sweetly. "Does that count as a reference?"

Stan's face turned white. Valerie almost dropped the baby.

"What??!!!" Valerie blurted in a high-pitched voice.

"Last Saturday night," I said matter-of-factly, "do you remember Stan going out around midnight for a smoke?"

Valerie's mouth dropped open. I continued:

"Well, that's when he saw me leaving Mr. Wallace's house ... and he attacked me. Do you want the full description with the kissing and thrusting and everything?"

Stan started to shout and order me out of the house, but I just sat there calmly, my legs crossed. I took my right puffy sleeve off my shoulder and moved it forward toward Valerie.

"There was a bite mark on my shoulder from just before he orgasmed, but maybe it's faded by now," I said, moving my left sleeve off that shoulder, too, just for fun. "He was very rough. I told him it was my period, but he took me ... you know ... anally." 

Valerie looked like she was about to cry. She looked suspiciously at her husband, who stammered that he didn't know what I was talking about. Then she turned to me.

"Why should I believe you?" she said, her voice cracking.

"Well, let's see," I said, the fingertips of my right hand femininely grazing my bare right shoulder. "Before raping me, Stan said you hadn't had sex since the third month of your pregnancy."

Valerie looked horrified at her husband, who was shaking his head "no" vigorously.

"Oh," I said, "and he also said you wouldn't let him have anal sex with you."

Valerie's eyes got very big as I continued.

"And he said you used to like that before you got pregnant."

Valerie's face got very red, and she started shrieking at Stan. She was holding the baby with one hand and hitting her husband with the other. She was screaming about wanting a divorce, he was covering up and yelling, and the baby started crying. I smiled, got up daintily, walked to the door and glanced back over my bare shoulder at the frenzied scene, then walked across the street to the car and drove off.

"One down," I said to myself, smiling, "two to go."

End of Part 11. (To be continued.)

Part 12:

It was hours later, and I was home from the beauty parlor where my makeup was done and my long, blonde hair was styled regally above my head with a sexy swirl over my forehead. If the women doing my hair and makeup knew I was a boy, they didn't say anything. They mostly just gossiped with each other. At home, as I stood in front of the full-length mirror, my light makeup, eyeliner, eye shadow and lipstick were impeccable. Long, jingly, silver clip-on earrings dangled from my lobes halfway to my collar bone, and my mom's subtle Yves Saint Laurent "Cinema" perfume I had dabbed onto my neck and breast added to my femininity.

My ankle-length, slinky, chiffon halter gown revealed most of my upper chest, as well as my shoulders, neck and my entire slender back down almost to my tight, little backside clad in one of my mother's Chantelle frilly panties. The skirt was slit from just above my bare right knee. The slender halter chiffon material was firm on both sides of my collarbone leading down to the scantest hint of my small cleavage. The tight dress gave my braless breasts a nice, little lift. White elbow-length gloves contributed to my classy elegance, and an inch-wide, silver-colored cloth choker that matched my earrings covered what there was of my adam's apple. On my small feet were the same black high heels I had worn to Mr. Wallace's funeral, but dressed as I was, I didn't think anyone would be paying a lot of attention to my shoes.

Looking in the mirror, my shoulders back, my posture perfect, swaying gently to reveal my bare back, I was getting aroused. I wanted to be especially sensual tonight. I looked older than my 18 years, maybe 22 or 23, and I knew I was beautiful. I have come such a long way from when Mr. Wallace made me put on that blue dress for the first time. I wished Mr. Drummond could see me in this classy, sexy dress. But it was going to have to be enough, first to show myself to horny, hypocritical Father Kincaid where he couldn't get at me with all those people in the church for the wedding, then to see about what I could do to postpone Dr. Phillips' search for me without having to have sex with him.

Over my slender, bare shoulders I wrapped a nearly transparent white lace shawl that would provide me just a little modesty in the church if not a lot of warmth when I was outside. I picked up my small, metallic-silver purse, then walked outside to the cold November dusk and my mom's car. My boy clothes were in a gym bag in the trunk. I tingled as I wondered what might transpire before I would put them on to come home

So much was going through my mind as I drove to St. Mary's. I had to concentrate on my driving because of my long gloves and those high heels, but I couldn't help but wonder if I wasn't tempting fate tonight instead of staying home and hoping Dr. Phillips couldn't track me down before I moved out of town. My mind wandered to what my life would be like in Chicago, how much of Mr. Drummond I might be seeing, what changes hormones would make to my body, and who was this mysterious client of Mr. Drummond's that he wanted me to meet.

I was stopped at a traffic light a half block away from St. Mary's when I saw Dr. Phillips in front of the church in a tuxedo. He was ignoring the cold temperature, pacing up and down, every few seconds looking at his watch. I smiled to myself, really tempted to just drive off and let my blackmailer suffer and wait for someone who would never show up, but instead I drove past him and into the church parking lot without him seeing me. After checking my lipstick and hair in the rearview mirror, I picked up my purse, slid my legs out of the car and clutching my transparent shawl to me, walked to the front of the church.

Dr. Phillips' back was to me as I took small, feminine steps toward him. I tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hi Leo," I said softly. "Waiting for someone?"

Dr. Phillips turned sharply, his eyes bulging as he stared at me. He swallowed hard.

"B-Billie," he said. "I didn't ... I mean ... You're here ... Oh my word ... You look amazing."

I thanked him and even though he still appeared loathsome with his few remaining strands of hair combed over his bald head, I told him how handsome he looked in his tuxedo. Then he clumsily leaned forward to kiss my cheek, causing my right earring to tinkle. He babbled on some more about how beautiful I was, how much I was going to enjoy the wedding, and how we don't have to spend a lot of time at the reception because he didn't think he could wait to get me alone.

I sensually rubbed one of my gloved hands over his forearm and suggested that we should get into the church because it was cold and we didn't want to miss the wedding.

"Of course," he said. "I'm sorry. Yes, let's go in. By all means, yes."

I shuddered as I felt his right hand on my back over my shawl as he guided me into the church. It was the same hand that dealt with so many corpses in his job as medical examiner. We sat fairly close to the front, where I could be confident that Father Kincaid would see me. Dr. Phillips took my left hand tightly in his right one. Remembering how slimy his hands were, I was grateful that I had chosen to wear those elegant elbow-length white gloves. As we waited for the ceremony to begin, Dr. Phillips sat there staring at me, going over every feature like the medical examiner he is, making me feel more than a little self-conscious with so much bare skin showing.

"Is something wrong, Leo?" I whispered, breathing into his ear. "Do I look all right? I so want you to be proud to have me as your girl."

"All right?" he marveled. "You're so .. you're the most ... you're stunning."

I smiled, and just then, Father Kincaid took the pulpit in his imposing black cassock and reverse priest's collar. Around his neck was a prominent gold cross he liked to show off because his former classmate, the archbishop, had given it to him years ago. As the murmurings in the church ceased, he theatrically surveyed the pews like a king peering down at his subjects ... until his eyes met mine and his face fell. I smiled and winked at him and then pursed my lips in a naughty kissing motion while almost imperceptively shimmying my shoulders. The huge old man's eyes widened momentarily, then he quickly turned his gaze away from me, and the wedding procession began. 

The bride was very sweet-looking and pretty in her white, strapless wedding dress. I wondered how long it might be before those hormones I will be taking might make my breasts big enough to allow me to wear something strapless. I had already determined that I don't ever want massive breasts, just rather small, firm ones proportionate to my slender figure.

After the ceremony, Father Kincaid looked over at me while going down the aisle to have his picture taken with the bride and groom in another room. He seemed angry, as usual. I was hoping he was still sore where I had kicked him.

Before we left for the reception, Dr. Phillips insisted on introducing me as his girlfriend to his co-workers, possessively putting his hand around my tiny bare-in-the-back waist like an immature teenager. I got some strange looks from his colleagues. They were trying to be nice but were surely wondering why a young, beautiful girl was with this homely older man they obviously didn't care for very much. I smiled politely, melded my supple body against Dr. Phillips, whose arm never left my waist,.and I told everyone how wonderful he is.

I shuddered as Dr. Phillips pulled me to him for a little kiss in front of his co-workers before telling me we should be getting on to the reception. I almost panicked. It was the first time I had ever been kissed by a man in public.Those watching saw an older man and a pretty girl exchange a kiss, but within me was an 18-year-old boy being kissed by a man in front of other people. 

I smiled nervously. It was ghastly to be kissed by this repulsive man. I wondered what I had been thinking a week ago when we had made such passionate love after he chloroformed me. Had I been so worn down by all the previous events of that day that I couldn't think straight? Was I so threatened by what he said he would do to Mr. Drummond ... and me? Or had I just needed to cum so much that I fooled myself into thinking that being this horrible older man's girlfriend was what I desired?

When we got into his car, Dr. Phillips pulled me to him and kissed me again, this time longer, with his snaky tongue sliding into my mouth. I moaned needingly and gently stroked his face with my gloved left hand.as our lips parted. He had no idea how disgusted and repulsed I really was. I moved away alluringly, telling him that another kiss like that and we'll never make it to the reception. I put on my seat belt and let my gloved left hand rest femininely on his right thigh as he started up the car. I didn't touch it, but it was obvious that under his pants his small penis was erect. Thankfully, the ride to the hotel where the reception was taking place was short. Dr. Phillips pulled the car into the valet parking area, and one of the young attendants opened the door for me, his eyes all over me as I smiled shyly and thanked him. I saw another attendant give Dr. Phillips the parking slip, which he put into his pants pocket. 

Soon, Dr. Phillips' arm was possessively around my back, his face beaming as we made our way past the concierge desk and into the reception ballroom. Trying to make conversation, I mentioned what a lovely hotel it was. He responded by pulling me closer and whispering that he had reserved a room in the hotel for the night. I told him that I was lucky to be the girlfriend of such a good planner.