Date: Sat, 9 Mar 2013 19:56:10 -0500
From: oberon ofavalon <oberon_52@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 4) (TG)

By Robin O.

Part 4

I sat there on the edge of the bed, my lipstick smeared, my blouse torn,
soaked with Mr. Wallace's perspiration, clinging to me from just off my
slender shoulders, my eyes vacant and staring straight ahead, my nipples
puffy and so sore as I listened to the shower finally cease.

It was several minutes later when Mr. Wallace emerged from the bathroom,
huge, naked, what was left of his gray hair wet, water droplets all over
his huge, pasty, hairy body as he applied a yellow towel to it. His immense
belly seemed to be in three segments, the bottom of it hanging over his
gray, bushy pubic hair, his thick uncut dick flaccid and disgusting. The
idea that just minutes before it had been in my mouth, with me sucking it
until it filled my mouth with its vile cum filled me with a deep,
permeating shame. There was something about Mr. Wallace's height, girth and
arrogant manner as he looked at me now that made me feel subservient, girly
and weak.

"Damn," he said, looking down at me and placing a fat hand on my face as I
sat there impassively, my hands on the bed on either side of me. "You're a
mess, but you're still so fuckin' sexy. If I could get it up again, I'd
fuck that sweet little ass of yours."

I shuddered as wordlessly Mr. Wallace took his thumb and pressed it against
my lips until I opened my mouth. He slowly moved his thumb in and out of my
mouth. I didn't suck it. I just passively allowed it to move in and out of
my mouth as a single tear made its way down my cheek.

"You like that, don't you, cocksucker?" he said, wiggling the thumb
leisurely but forcefully in my mouth. "Such a pretty little mouth. What did
you like better in that mouth, Bill, my cock or my tongue?"

I was startled. He called me "Bill," not Billy or Bill-eee. The bastard, he
was trying to remind me that I was a boy in girls' clothing, trying to make
me feel more ashamed than I already was. I didn't answer him. The fat man
laughed arrogantly and finally took his thumb out of my mouth. He found a
pair of pants. I couldn't believe how wide they were, like a big tent, but
they were still snug on his massive belly and thighs when he put them
on. Next came a loud, colorful button-up shirt that he wore outside his
pants, his hairy belly protruding from the bottom.

"I'll bet it was my tongue," he said, laughing to himself. "You loved
it. The way you clung to me when we kissed ... when we kissed all-l-l-l-l
that time, Bill ... the way you moaned ... ha, ha, ha... yeah ... probably
the tongue, although you really show potential as a cocksucker."

With that, he was out of the bedroom, leaving me sitting there, feeling
small, very young, used and defiled. I stood and let the torn blouse fall
off my shoulders. The knot in my blouse slid down my glistening, slender
body to the floor. I pushed my skirt and panties to the floor, then
femininely moved my shoes and socks off my feet while still
standing. Vacantly, I walked naked into the bathroom and looked at myself
in the mirror. Mr. Wallace was right. I was a mess, my lipstick smeared, my
face flushed, my raw nipples red and extended from my puffy breasts. A
mess, to be sure, but undeniably sexy with my slim arms, tiny waist and
little-girl pigtails.

I turned on the shower, adjusting it to the hottest temperature I could
stand, and then stepped in. I stood there, letting the steamy water cascade
over me. My breasts were so sore, but the water felt so good. I slowly
began to feel fresh and clean, but Mr. Wallace was right. I would always
remember what he had done to me ... with me. I couldn't get out of my mind
the horrible memory of how I had surrendered to Mr. Wallace, of his hands
feeling me up, how I was so docile in his arms, how helpless I felt under
his massive weight with his penis iin my mouth. Then I heard his
authoritative voice from outside the bathroom.

"C'mon, cocksucker, don't you be jerking off in there. Hurry up and get
dressed. You have a lot to do before company gets here."

Feeling so ashamed, so used and dominated, jerking off was the last thing I
wanted to do. I emerged from the shower and tenderly patted my body dry,
particularly my puffy, sore breasts. When I was through, I wrapped the
towel around me. I didn't notice until I walked out into the bedroom that I
had wrapped it vertically over my breasts, like Shirley had told me a girl
should do. I sat in front of the mirror and applied lipstick and makeup
like Shirley had shown me. Despite Mr. Wallace having pulled on them, my
pigtails were fine.

I found my panties on the floor, but they were damp all over from my
perspiration when Mr. Wallace had been atop me, and even more damp in the
front from what was obviously my pre-cum. My tiny penis was so hard when
Mr. Wallace was kissing me, and I guess ... well ... I had been excited. I
pulled the skirt up onto my slender hips with no panties underneath and put
on the remaining white top, tying a neat knot under my sensitive breasts
and spreading the blouse wide enough to show the middle of my chest and the
inside of both breasts.

I looked at myself in the mirror, so much bare, slender torso revealed, my
puffy, sore breasts more prominent in the blouse than before. I once again
looked fresh and pure -- for all appearances an innocent, sexy, young
schoolgirl. Trying to push the memory of my submission to my horrid, fat
boss to the back of my mind, I put on my socks and shoes, then glided into
the living room and began straightening up the room while Mr. Wallace
opened both new decks of cards and helped himself to a beer.

"Damn, Billie," he said, "you could give a statue a hard-on. Now, these
guys coming here are my buddies from the Marines. We were fighting Viet
Cong long before you were born. When they want a beer, you fetch it right
quick or those pictures I have of you won't be a secret anymore. You got
that?"

I told him I understood.

"Oh, and one more thing," he said threateningly, "As far as my buddies are
concerned, I never touched you. I never kissed you, and I never let you
suck my dick. You got that?"

I said a gentle, meek yes and went about cleaning the room. About 15
minutes passed, and then the doorbell rang. Mr. Wallace motioned me to
answer it. I hesitated a moment, then kind of nervously walked over and
answered the door. A chubby man in his 60s wearing a polo shirt and
baseball cap was there when I opened the door. His eyes got big when he saw
me and he smiled.

"Now, whose little girl are you?" he said with a laugh. "Old Ted said he
would have a maid for the poker game, but I wasn't expecting anything like
you. Where is that fat son of a bitch?"

I motioned for him to follow me, and as I led him to the living room, he
put a hand on the back of my bare waist for a few steps before letting go.

"I don't believe it," I thought. "This old guy just copped a feel ... on
me!"

"Dennis!" Mr. Wallace bellowed. "You old bastard. Great to see you."

They hugged in a manly way, then Mr.Wallace pointed to me.

"Dennis, this is Billie. Billie, this is Mr. Blanchard."

Mr. Blanchard's eyes were all over me as I blushed.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Blanchard," I said softly.

Mr. Wallace told his friend that I would be serving "you boys" during the
poker game, then Mr. Blanchard joked something about the big winner of the
game would be "the one little Billie here goes home with."

I blushed a little more and brought him a beer just as the doorbell rang
again. His hand reached teasingly for my plaid skirt, held it for a moment
but came away as I went to answer the door.

This time, at the door was a tall, dignified-looking gentleman in a
cashmere sweater, open-collar shirt and expensive slacks. He had a closely
cropped brown and gray beard and moustache. He smiled when he saw me, but
unlike Mr. Blanchard, did not look at me lustfully. When he spoke, his
voice was cultured and precise.

"Hello young lady," he said. "I'm Nathan Drummond. I'm here to see
Mr. Wallace."

"Of course, Mr. Drummond," I found myself saying, "I'm Billie. Mr. Wallace
is expecting you, sir."

Unlike Mr. Blanchard, this gentleman did not touch me as I led him to the
living room and into short, hearty embraces with Mr. Wallace and
Mr. Blanchard.

The three men laughed loudly and asked about each others' families and what
they were up to while I continued to move here and there, tidying
up. Mr. Blanchard kept stealing glances at me. Then Mr. Wallace called me
over. I stood shyly next to Mr. Wallace while his friends sat on the couch.

"Look," said Mr. Wallace. "I need to tell you guys something before Mad Dog
gets here. I still owe him for that practical joke he played on me in
Saigon. What was that, about 45 years ago? Well, anyway, I've been planning
this for weeks."

I didn't know what to do with my hands. Finally, I put them behind my back
and fidgeted nervously.while Mr. Wallace asked his friends what they
thought of me.

Mr. Blanchard wasn't the least shy about answering.

"If little Billie here is a schoolgirl," he said, his eyes all over me, "I
got plenty I could teach her. I'd keep her after class every day, that's
for sure."

Mr. Drummond merely said that I was a very sweet, attractive young lady. I
liked hearing that. He seemed to be very classy, so different from
Mr. Wallace and Mr. Blanchard.

"Well," said Mr. Wallace, obviously enjoying himself, "wait'll you hear
this."

He then went on to tell them all about how he had caught a young co-worker
jerking off and had blackmailed him into cleaning his house for the last
three weeks. I stood there, breathing hard, fidgeting, biting my lower lip
nervously.

Mr. Blanchard asked what that had to do with Billie.

Mr. Wallace grinned triumphantly, then ever-so-slowly reached down and
pulled up the front of my short skirt, revealing to the two men my tiny
penis and scrotum.

"Meet," he said, "the little jerk-off."

"I don't fuckin' believe it!" exclaimed Mr. Blanchard. "She ... he .... is
fuckin' incredible!"

Mr. Drummond's right eyebrow raised just a bit in surprise, but the look on
his face was -- if anything -- sympathetic. Mr. Blanchard, meanwhile, was
still astounded.

"Jesus Christ, Ted," he said. "I'd still probably fuck that thing ... but
(he started laughing) it would have to be up the ass, wouldn't it?"

By now, I could feel my face turning crimson. My shoulders back, my hands
at my sides opening and closing again and again, I stood there, mortified
and trying not to cry.

"Now, look" said Mr. Wallace, "when Mad Dog gets here, nobody tips him off,
understand? We'll just play poker and if what I think will happen, happens,
I'll finally get even for Saigon."

Mr. Wallace finally let go of my skirt, and I knew I was going to burst out
crying, so I ran to the bedroom, where -- after all I had been through
already -- my slim body was wracked with uncontrollable sobs. After a
couple of minutes, I heard a soft tapping on the door, and then
Mr. Drummond let himself in. He walked over to me and courteously handed me
his hankerchief.

"Look, Billie," he said softly, "I'm sorry for what just happened. It was
inexcusable behavior."

I wiped my tears with the hankerchief and offered it back to him, but he
told me to keep it.

"Listen," he said, "these guys are lowlifes. Don't let them get to you."

"But," I said, slowly regaining my composure, "you're friends with
them. You came here to play poker."

"They're not my friends," he said disdainfully. "We were in the same unit
in 'Nam, and the Marine Corps has a motto: 'Semper Fi -- Always Faithful.'
I handled Ted's divorce for him and have his power of attorney. I come here
to play poker twice a year out of respect for the Marines, not for these
three clowns."

He reached into his pocket and got out a business card and a pen. He wrote
something on the back of the card and handed it to me. The front of the
card said he was an attorney at law. The back had the phone number he had
just written on it.

"Look, Billie," he said, putting the pen back into his pocket, "I think I
can help you out of this blackmailing mess Ted has you in. Call me during
the week, and we'll see what we can do."

He began to walk out.

"Wait!" I called to him. "Why would you do that for me?"

He turned and smiled. It was nice.

"Perhaps," he said, "I just have a weakness for a damsel in distress."

With that, he went out the door and closed it behind him. I put the card
and hankerchief into the plastic bag that I had put my boy clothes into,
then went to the mirror in the bathroom and fixed up my makeup. With that
accomplished, I went back to the living room, brought beers to the three
men and tidied up the kitchen.

Soon, the bell rang again and I went to answer it. I opened the door to see
a short man, maybe an inch shorter than me, even more with my two-inch
heels, with a walrus mustache and a totally bald head. His thick, hairy
torso filled out his wife-beater shirt, and his arms were unusually
muscular for someone his age. He looked startled to see me, then got a big
grin on his face.

"Hiya babe," he said, looking me up and down. "I'm Stan Maddox. Where's the
fat man?"

"He's in the living room, Mr. Maddox," I replied. "The other guests have
already arrived, sir."

He walked very close to me into the living room, where all four men got
very loud amid back slapping and manly hugs.

"Ted," said Mr. Maddox, "if you get any fatter, they'll have to bury you in
a piano crate. By the way," he said, pointing toward me, "who's the cunt?"

Mr. Drummond winced, but Mr. Wallace laughed and told Mr. Maddox that I was
Billie, a co-worker who owed him a favor and would be serving them snacks
and beer while they played poker.

"Well, damn," said Mr. Maddox, "the bitch looks like a fucking
supermodel. What a fucking body."

"Knock it off, Mad Dog," said Mr. Drummond. "Billie is a very nice young
lady. Let's play poker."

"They sat down to play. Mr. Wallace and Mr. Maddox lit up cigars, and
Mr. Blanchard smoked cigarettes, giving the room a smoky air. Every so
often I would bring one of them a beer, and Mr. Maddox's eyes rarely left
me. I felt self-conscious, knowing he was the only one who wasn't aware
that I'm not a girl. From their talk during the game, I gathered that
Mr. Drummond was a prominent lawyer who had made a lot of money, primarily
through working for the mob, although he gave half-hearted denials of that
when the others kidded him about it.

The men had a good time reminiscing about Vietnam while they played
poker. They said that the Viet Cong would often hide in narrow tunnels, and
the only way to reach one was for a small Marine armed with only a knife to
enter the tunnel and fight to the death. Mr. Maddox, who was apparently
much more wiry back then but really strong, was always eager to do that. He
was a very tough Marine. That's how he got the name "Mad Dog Maddox." They
said he must have gone into those tunnels at least 20 times. He was always
the one who emerged alive.

He wasn't having much luck in the poker game, and he was getting ticked
off. He said he couldn't concentrate. It was little wonder, because he kept
looking at me in that cute schoolgirl outfit. When our eyes would meet, I
didn't know how to react. I would just smile shyly at him, then look away
girlishly. Whenever I would go to the table with beers or to empty the
ashtrays, he would "accidently" touch my arm or my waist or my thigh for a
moment. Mr. Wallace and Mr. Blanchard exchanged knowing glances and little
smirks. Mr. Drummond just played his cards.

Along with Mr. Maddox's poker losses, the empty beer cans were piling up. I
had a full garbage bag of them and went to take them outside to the back of
the trailer to be recycled. Mr. Maddox told me to wait, that he would help
me. I told him it wasn't necessary, but he insisted, got up, smiled
confidently and told the others to deal him out of a couple of
hands. Mr. Blanchard grinned, and Mr.Wallace said, "Sure, Mad Dog."

I went out the door, and Mr. Maddox caught up to me and took the plastic
bag in his left hand. His other hand gripped my tiny bare waist as we
walked around to the back of the doublewide trailer. He looked furtively to
his left and right and saw no one. He dropped the bag, and both his hands
were roughly on my bare torso as he slammed my back against the
trailer. His face was beet red and contorted into a frightening combination
of lust and anger.

"You little prick-teaser," he said, his face so close to mine that I could
smell the beer on his breath and feel his bushy moustache. "You like
getting men all horny for you, don't you, Cunt?"

"No," I squeaked. "Please, Mr. Maddox ... I didn't do anything."

"Bullshit!" he said. "I bet you tease all the little high school boys, but
you're gonna find it's different with a man ... a real man."

Then his mouth was on mine. I struggled, but he was unbelievably strong for
such a short man. His hands were moving hungrily up and down my slender,
bare torso as his body pressed mine against the house. I tried to push him
away, but he put my wrists in an iron-like grip over my head, then held
them in his left hand while his right one slowly moved down my bare torso
and gripped my tight bottom. I felt his big moustache on my smooth face,
then his tongue entered my mouth, conquering it. Resistance was useless,
and with all I had been through that day, I was mentally exhausted. I
stopped struggling, my body went limp, and I accepted and even gently
returned his rough kiss, my tongue pliant as he ravished me.

"I knew it," he said triumphantly. "You prick-teasing little cunt. You like
this! You fucking LOVE this, don't you? I'm going to show you what happens
when you prick-tease the wrong guy. You ever been fucked standing up,
Cunt?"

My arms still pinned above me, I started to sob and shook my head slowly.

"Please, Mr. Maddox," I pleaded. "Please don't do this."

I had about as much chance as those Viet Cong in the tunnels against
Mr. Maddox. With my body pressed against the wall, he let go of my wrists
and fumbled with his belt and pants. His pants and undershorts were soon
around his ankles. His cock was like his fingers, not real long, but very
thick and hard. Mr. Maddox's hands were on my sensitive torso as he kissed
me over and over, leaving no doubt who was in charge.

Then, his hand went under my skirt.

 "Holy Christ," I thought, my mind so confused. "He's really going to try
to have sex with me standing up!"

We were still kissing when his hand under my skirt reached my erect little
penis and balls.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" he shouted. "You're a fucking faggot!"

I never saw the punch coming. His open right hand landed on the left side
of my head, knocking me down. Through fuzzy eyes, I saw him clumsily
pulling up his pants as he kept screaming obscenities while making his way
to the front door. As I shakily got to my feet, I heard raucous laughter
from Mr. Wallace and Mr. Blanchard ... and screaming curses from
Mr. Maddox. "I fucking kissed a fucking faggot!" he yelled angrily. I
couldn't make out much of what he was saying, but there was more than one
use of the word, "faggot."

I slowly made my way to the front door and, one hand femininely on the door
as I hid behind it,, I peered in cautiously.at those strong, older
men. Mr. Maddox was still yelling. He had turned over the poker
table. Poker chips, cards and beer cans were all over the
floor. Mr. Wallace and Mr. Blanchard were laughing so hard that they were
having a hard time holding onto Mr. Maddox, his pants at his knees,
roaring, trying to break free.

"Gimme a knife," cried Mr.Maddox. "I just kissed a man! I'm going to
fucking kill that faggoty, little cunt!"

I stood there, petrified with fear. Next thing I knew, Mr. Drummond was in
front of me, handing me the plastic bag filled with my boy clothes.

"You'd better get out of here, Billie," he said urgently, looking back at
Mr. Maddox shouting and struggling to free himself. "I don''t know how much
longer we can keep Mad Dog from killing you."

Terrified, I hurriedly grabbed the bag, reached into it and found my mom's
car keys.

"Call me during the week," said Mr. Drummond as I raced for the car, got
in, locked the door and with trembling hands, started the engine. I drove
away just as Mr. Maddox emerged from the house with a kitchen knife.He ran
after the car for a while, then gave up.

My mind was in a heavy daze as my mom's car's headlights shined into the
dark. There I was, driving a little eratically because of my two-inch
heels, trembling, trying to catch my breath as I moved my skirt down to
cover more of my thighs. My thoughts raced back to what the day had wrought
for this 18-year-old boy: My feminizing by Shirley, putting on this sexy
schoolgirl outfit, the lecherous clerk at the convenience store, my
surrender to Mr. Wallace, kissing him, feeling his hands on me, his immense
body atop me in bed, sucking his fat cock, accepting his putrid cum into my
mouth, being humiliated in front of his Marine buddies, Mr. Drummond's
kindness, and finally ... being attacked by Mr. Maddox.

I was a sex object, a girly, vulnerable fantasy for strong, older men.

Those men wanted me. They thought I was beautiful. They lusted for me, and
it was undeniable that while I was only a nondescript boy, I was a sexy,
desirable young woman.

I had been pawed and held and kissed and dominated, made to suck my first
cock, and yet I hadn't cum all day. My little dick was hard under my
schoolgirl skirt. I needed to cum ... so bad. My mind kind of blanked
out. I drove mechanically, not really thinking. Then I passed the same
convenience store I had visited with Shirley hours earlier.

Seemingly with a mind of its own, the car turned around and parked in the
store parking lot. There was only one other car there, and the store was
only dimly lighted and looked closed. I left the keys in the plastic bag
with my boy clothes, and walked to the store's glass door. It was locked. I
peered in and tapped gently on the glass.

Several seconds passed, then from inside, the same swarthy clerk as before
looked out at me, a look of surprise on his face. He came to the door,
unlocked it and opened it just a little.

"Yeah?" he said, his face moving to the opening in the door. I thought his
eyes might pop out of his head as they devoured my slender body. His tongue
slowly moved side-to-side over his lips.

"Excuse me, sir," I said in my sweetest, most-innocent little girl voice
while moving my face toward his where he had opened the door a crack. I
gently swayed my shoulders. "You said you might have the good playing cards
... you know ... in the back?"

He ran a hand over the stubble on his face, smiled, and opened the door
wide.

"Yeah," he said as I entered. "I remember."

I heard his key turn in the door as he locked it behind me. He put one arm
around my bare waist, making me tingle, as he led me through the dimly
lighted store toward the back room.

"Yeah, sweet cheeks," he said. "I got just what you need."

I smiled up at him sweetly and said that I hoped so. But I was bluffing. I
was getting nervous with this older man and already regretting coming into
the store.

His right hand caressing my bare torso, making me squirm a little, he
opened the door to the back room with his left.

"What's your name, honey," he asked.

I told him, then asked what his name was. He told me it was Gary.

"So, how old are you, Billie?" he asked as we entered the back room. "I'm
guessing 15 or 16, am I right?"

I thought quickly. Maybe I shouldn't tell him I'm 18 and of legal age, so I
looked back at him over my shoulder and whispered, "16."

The dimly lighted back room held a few cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly
against one wall, a desk and a pile of soiled uniforms. I could hear his
breathing getting louder. Why is it that an older man's heavy breathing in
my ear is such a turn-on? He gripped my torso tighter.

"Ummm, where are the cards?" I asked innocently.

"I got your cards right here, Baby," he said.

The next thing I knew, I was thrown roughly face-first against the wall. My
arms were quickly moved behind my back and it took Gary only seconds to
wrap duct tape three times tightly around my slender wrists.

"Wha .... What?" I stuttered.

Gary turned me around by my shoulders to face him. I was breathing hard, my
sore, puffy breasts straining against my blouse. My arms helplessly behind
me, my long, slender torso bare, my small, slender penis growing hard under
my cute, short skirt. Gary put his hands on my bare waist and pulled me to
him.

""You really are a fantasy come true," he said before kissing me. I didn't
resist. His hands were needy as they moved over my body, but his kiss was
more like a lover than a rapist, not like Mr. Maddox at all. I had no will
to resist. I kissed him back, my body melting into his, my arms behind my
back, the feeling of utter helplessness turning me on, making me feel all
girly.

He let me go and walked across the small room, opened a desk drawer and
took out a small plastic bottle.

"Cialis," he said matter-of-factly and then put a pill into his mouth. "It
helps, even though I shouldn't need it with you. You're so beautiful, so
young I really want to fuck you. But since you're only 16, well, maybe I
shouldn't do that. Then again, I'll probably never get another chance with
anyone who looks as good as you."

He quickly unbuttoned shirt and took it off. He had a hairy, sinewy body
with a bit of a pot belly, although not anything like Mr. Wallace's. His
arms and torso had various tattoos and a few nasty-looking scars. His
shoes, pants and undershorts came off next. Hair covered his legs and his
longish, soft, slender penis hung down from his bushy black pubic hair. He
looked so incongruous when he lit a cigarette.and stood there naked looking
at me. I wasn't struggling terribly hard to free my wrists, which was
surprising, because Gary was kind of grotesque. I was feeling pretty and so
vulnerable.

"The Cialis usually takes about a half hour to take effect," he said. "So,
we have some time to chat."

He put down the cigarette, took a few steps toward me, pulled on my left
pigtail and began to gently suck on the right side of my neck. A chill went
all through me as he alternated talking to me in a low voice and gnawing on
that sensitive spot where my neck and shoulder meet. I could feel my little
penis grow against my skirt.

"You know," he said as his rough hands caressed my bare skin, "I used to be
a high school teacher. Twelve years.. Good record. Then this 15-year-old
girl ... I mean she was cute, but not anywhere nearly as beautiful as you."

He nuzzled my neck, then kissed my lips. He rubbed his hairy body against
my smooth, revealed skin. I closed my eyes as my body shimmied with my arms
tied behind me ... and i moaned softly.

"She was so young and fresh, and she made me feel like I was handsome,
wise, the man of her dreams," he said as his hands stretched the top of my
blouse wider to accommodate his mouth planting wet, tiny kisses on my
collarbone. "At first, I ignored her, then resisted her. Finally, one late
afternoon she came to my office while I was grading papers. She was a
cheerleader, did I tell you that? She comes in wearing that little skirt,
like the one you have on now, and a top that revealed just a hint of her
waist."

At the memory of that, he kissed me hard, his tongue slowly wrapping around
mine over and over, his hands moving over my curves. My arms behind me, my
tiny penis felt like it was going to go off at any moment.

"She walked over to where I was sitting, sat on my lap, crossed her arms
around my neck and wiggled her little ass. She could feel that I was hard
under her. She smiled and kissed me. She told me she wanted me to be her
first."

Gary let me go, and went to take a drag on his cigarette.

"I'm only human," he said with a sheepish grin. "Of course, I fucked her,
and it was fantastic. I popped her cherry that first day and never looked
back. I fucked her every school day for two weeks. Then her mother found
out, and the next thing you know, I'm in court, and the judge gives me
three years in prison with five years probation. I got out two years
ago. They'll never allow me to teach again, of course. This shit heel job
is the only one I could find ... and now you come in here, all incredibly
young and sexy and innocent."

He crushed out his cigarette, took me into his arms, one hand caressing my
bare thigh, and kissed me hungrily, longingly. I kissed him back, making
little girly noises. The Cialis must have taken effect, because his slender
cock was erect against my skirt.

"You're liking this, aren't you, Billie?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Here," he said. "I'll take the tape off your wrists."

"NO!" I said quickly, without even thinking. I smiled shyly and shimmied
girlishly, my voice now soft. "Please ... don't! I like ... I like it this
way."

Gary smiled and kissed me tenderly. I moaned softly and gently kissed his
naked chest with my lips and tongue four or five times then looked up into
his eyes.

"You know," he said as he slowly untied the knot in my blouse under my
breasts. "I went through a lot in prison. I'm not proud of a lot of what I
did in there, but I learned a lot of things."

He kissed me again, his tongue playing with mine. His hand on my right
thigh moved slowly under my skirt.

"One thing I learned, Billie," he said, "was a lot about the male anatomy."

His hand moved up my thigh and caressed my balls and erect, little
penis. After my experience with Mr. Maddox, I felt a pang of fear.

"Don't worry," Gary said. "I've known since I first felt your thigh. You're
still the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen."

He kissed me, and I responded gratefully, kissing him passionately and
pressing my body against his while his hand grasped my penis and began to
pump its four inches. My blouse slid off my slender shoulders and became
trapped against my taped wrists.

"You're perfect," he said, "down to your tiny little clit. I'd love to fuck
you, but I can't risk going back to prison. There won't be any sperm for
the cops to find on you. You're going to suck my cock, Billie, and you're
going to swallow. You're going to swallow it all."

He grasped my shoulders and gently forced me down to my knees on the
linoleum floor. His cock wasn't thick, but it was already long and stiff
when he put it into my mouth. I was so aroused by what had occured to me
all day that I would have done anything the man wanted me to do. He grabbed
my face and then my pigtails as he fucked my mouth violently. His cock
tasted musky, not quite clean. My arms behind me, I was shimmying and
gagging. I felt utterly helpless ... and I loved it. I knelt there for what
must have been 20 minutes while Gary's cock rammed into me again and again.

"Ohhhhhhhh .... Baby," he moaned. "I can't believe this. I almost came this
afternoon when you came into the store ,,, uhhhhhh ... just from looking at
you."

Finally, his body shook and his penis erupted in my mouth. His cum was
thick and sour and filled my entire mouth.

"That's it, Baby," he said. "Suck that dick. Swallow every drop"

I did just that, sucking hard on his slender cock, milking every drop. I
finally licked the tip, then rose and felt Gary's mouth on mine, his tongue
seeming to check my mouth for sperm. Once satisfied, he let me go and
reached for his shirt.

"Gary ... please ... I'm so .... I need to ... "

He smiled and moved his head down, lightly kissing the insdes of my milky
thighs. Then my penis was in his mouth, his hands on my tiny waist. I
needed release ... so bad ... so very bad. I was close, so very close. When
his hands reached up and pinched my sore nipples, I could hold out no
longer. My little circumsized penis erupted into Gary's mouth in an array
of light and every color of the rainbow. I'm pretty certain I passed out
for several seconds. When I awoke, I was moaning contentedly as Gary cut
the tape from my wrists with a pair of scissors. I stretched my arms out
luxuriously for Gary, but he pushed me away. I guessed that he had gotten
what he wanted, and now ...

"You'd better go," he said while pulling on his underwear, then his pants
and shirt as I lay there looking up at him, my pretty mouth open in
surprise. "Don't be coming back, either. It was all I could do not to fuck
you this time, and I don't think I could resist you if you showed up
again. C'mon, hurry it up. Get out."

My feelings were hurt. I know it sounds silly, but my feelings were hurt. I
put my top back on, tying the knot under my tender breasts, the taste of
his cum still in my mouth.

"I ... I need to change my clothes," I said. "I'd like to get my boy
clothes from my car and come back here and change."

Gary's face was hard.

"Change someplace else," he said. "You're getting out of here."

He grabbed my upper arm and pulled me out of the back room toward the front
door. It hurt a little, but that's not why I was crying. I felt used, that
this man had gotten what he desired, and now I was less than nothing to
him. He unlocked the door, roughly grabbed one of my pigtails and brutally
kissed me before pushing me out into the cool night.air and relocking the
door.

Still crying, I opened the car door, put on my seat belt and drove off. I'd
have to find a McDonald's or some other place to change my clothes and wash
the makeup off my face before I got home to Mom and Dad. Over the long day
and evening, I had been dressed up, kissed, felt up, threatened, molested,
humiliated ... and I had drunk the cum of two older men. I had also felt
sexy, desired and beautiful, and I had to admit to myself that when I
finally ejaculated, I had felt like a girl.

On the seat next to me was the bag with my boy clothes. I reached in for
Mr. Drummond's business card. He was the only one besides Shirley who had
been nice to me. I found his hankerchief and sniffed it.

"I wonder," I thought, "if he likes me."

The thought made me feel silly. But maybe, just maybe, he can help me free
myself from Mr. Wallace's blackmail.

(End of Part 4 -- To be continued.)

(The author welcomes comments at oberon_52@hotmail.com).