Mr. Wallace and Me
Part 3:
The next week was spent in a confused daze. I went from utter self-loathing to a certain calmness about what had happened to me, about what I had become, at least for those last humiliating moments when I virtually begged my fat, horrible, ugly boss to have his way with me. I told myself that I'm still a man, not that helpless, pretty girl who so needed that awful old ex-Marine to put his hands on me, to kiss me, to lure me to his low-hanging, thick, wrinkled cock.
And yet, after I would shower and put on my robe, I couldn't resist again moving the sleeves just off my slender shoulders and turning it into kind of a sexy, short dress that revealed a triangle of my bare chest. The top of my small swimmer's breasts straining against the robe, I'd shimmy in front of the mirror, look at myself and see myself once again as a desirable young girl. After I would invariably jerk my little penis to orgasm, shame would again overcome me and I would vow never to see myself as anything but masculine again. I even considered cutting my long, thick blond hair into a crewcut, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.
Work was a nightly ordeal. Mr. Wallace, aware that security cameras were everywhere, was very official, but his eyes and his smirk and the tone of his voice reinforced my feelings of inferiority to this fat,old man I had derided just a few weeks ago. I knew that even though I was in the slacks, shirt and necktie of the security guard company, the pig was envisioning me in that blue dress with the puffy sleeves. When he would look me up and down slowly and confidently leer at me, I'd shudder and look away, trying to forget the humiliation of how I had pitifully clung to his leg. All week, I dreaded Saturday, hoping it would never come, but it did.
Mom asked me where I was going when I asked to borrow her car again. I told her a friend and I were getting together to play video games.
"Is he nice, this friend of yours?" Mom asked.
I gulped. Mr. Wallace is anything but nice.
"Uhhh ... sure, Mom," I said. "I suppose so."
Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt on the mild autumn day, I arrived at Mr. Wallace's double-wide trailer, not knowing what might await me. I looked around. The trailer was set off about 75 yards from the nearest other trailer. I was grateful that no would see me come in or out. I was surprised that my knock on the door was answered by a middle-aged, pleasant-looking, plump woman who greeted me with a wide smile and a hug as I entered, more than a little bewildered. Mr. Wallace was, for a change, wearing instead of his ratty robe, pants and a Hawaiian shirt with his fat, belly emerging over his belt at the bottom of the shirt as he sat on his couch in front of the TV.
The woman's hair was so red it was almost orange, but it was well-styled, and her makeup made her look younger than she probably was. She had her hands on my elbows as she leaned back and looked me over.
She called out to Mr. Wallace: "You're absolutely right, Ted. He's absolutely stunning."
Mr. Wallace merely grunted and watched a football game. New in the living room from a week ago was a cheap-looking card table with four folding chairs around it.
"Billy," the woman exclaimed with a big smile, "I feel like I already know you. I'm Shirley McAdams. I'm here to help you."
"Help me?" I said."I don't understand."
"Mr. Wallace showed me pictures of you, and I couldn't believe how lovely you were when he told me you ... well, you weren't a girl. Now that I've seen you ... you're just precious. Look at that tiny waist, that complexion, that hair! Come with me, sweetie. I'm going to help you look your best. Mr. Wallace has some guests arriving in a few hours to play poker, and you need to look nice."
"Friends?" I said as she led me toward the bedroom. "I don't want anyone else to ... to ... see me here!"
She took my left hand in both of hers assuredly as we entered the bedroom and then she smiled.
"It will be all right," she said. "Now, you must call me Shirley, and I'm going to call you Billie, that's B-i-l-l-i-e. Old Ted over there says that everything about you when you're here has to be feminine, so your name should be, too."
My mind was in a whirl. Only a few weeks ago, I was totally male, never giving any thought to being anything but male. Now ...?
"Shirley, you said you were going to help me. What did you mean?"
"Why, dearie," she said, "I'm just going to teach you a few things you'll need to know about makeup, how to do your hair, that sort of thing."
My mouth open in surprise, I looked at her.
"Makeup?" I said. "My hair? Why?"
Shirley chuckled.
"Because," she said, "old Ted is paying me a hundred dollars."
Totally confused, I looked at the bed, expecting to see the same blue dress that Mr. Wallace made me wear the past two weeks, but it wasn't there. Instead, there was a pair of panties, a pair of white socks with a pink ball of fabric on each one, a short, plaid skirt and two white button-up blouses. From what I could see, they were identical.
"A hundred dollars?"
"Yes, she said. "Now, Billie, I want you to take off those clothes and hop into the shower. Chop-chop, we don't have all day, dearie."
Dazed, I did as she said, taking off my T-shirt.first.
"Oh my goodness," Shirley said admiringly, "look at that waist. Reminds me of myself when I was younger."
Then she leaned conspiratorily toward me and whispered, "Well, truth be known, I never had anywhere as tiny a middle as that. Look at how it caves in from your ribcage. Are you an athlete or something?"
I told her I was a diver and swimmer when I was in high school.
"That would explain it then," she said. "When Ted showed me those photos and videos, you looked so slender, so pretty. Here, I'll show you."
She opened her purse and pulled out a photo of me with my pinkie between my lips, my bare shoulder touching my chin, my lithe body turned sideways in that blue dress. I was so embarrassed that she saw that, but I had to admit to myself that I was pretty, even sexy.
"Come on, now, into the shower," she said. "We're going to make you even prettier."
I couldn't help but like Shirley. She was nice. I quickly showered, letting the hot water cascade over my slender body, my mind deciding that since I couldn't do anything about what was happening, I'd just do what she said. When I got out of the shower, I dried myself with a large, soft towel, put it around my waist and walked into the bedroom.
Shirley looked at me.
"Oh no, dearie!" she exclaimed. "Not like that. That's not the feminine way."
"She removed my towel, and for some reason -- probably her motherly ways -- I didn't feel terribly embarrassed when my little penis became exposed, She quickly unfolded the plush towel and wrapped it vertically around my chest like a girl would wear it, tucking it in just above my small swimmer's breasts. Most of my smooth chest and all of my slender arms and shoulders were exposed along with a good deal of my thighs as she sat me down on a chair in front of the bedroom's full-length mirror. I crossed my slender legs.
"You are so cute," she said, shaking her head admiringly, then using a brush to stroke out my long, straight blond hair.
"Shirley," I asked tentatively, "why are you here? Why are you doing this?"
"Like I told you, Billie," she said, "because Ted is paying me a hundred dollars."
I asked her how she knew Mr. Wallace.
"Oh, that," she said with a smile, "Ted's been coming to the diner where I'm a waitress almost every morning for about 15 years now, since his wife left him. Over the years, we've gotten to the point where we chat about this and that. He thinks I do a good job on my own makeup and hair, so he asked me if I wouldn't help out a young person for a hundred dollars. I didn't know until I saw your pictures that it was for a boy. But honestly, I had to look really closely to tell you weren't a girl. You really looked gorgeous in your dress. I don't even know why you're doing this. Tell me, did you lose a bet with him or something?"
"Yes," I said, not wanting her to know Mr. Wallace had caught me beating off at work, "something like that."
Using the brush and a few bobbie pins, Shirley fashioned my hair into a simple, very feminine style, with a sexy swirl over my forehead.
"This is how you can wear it when you want to look a little more grown-up," she said. "If you ever want to cut part of it in the front, you'd look adorable with bangs."
I looked at myself in the mirror, my blond hair cascading over my bare shoulders. I looked pretty, very pretty.
"Now," she said, removing the pins, "let's see if you can do it yourself."
It took me a few tries, but I got it right in only a few minutes. I felt like a girl talking to another woman. I was curious about something.
"Shirley," I asked, "you and Mr. Wallace ... are you ... you know ... have you ... ummmm?"
Shirley's eyes got real big, and then she made a disgusted face.
"Me?" she said incredulously. "With that fat, ugly bastard? Eeeeeyuuuuuu! I don't even like waiting on him at the diner. Ted? And me? Yuck! Even if he wasn't so fat and hideous, he's really a creepy guy. There's not a tip big enough he could give me to let him touch me."
She shuddered and made another face. The way she felt about Mr. Wallace was exactly how I feel about him. But then, I remembered last Saturday ...and the Saturday before, and I started to feel a little sick as Shirley began to do my makeup. She really didn't do much. A little rouge on my cheekbones and she used an eyebrow pencil on my blond brows to give them a feminine look. A reddish lipstick finished her efforts. It felt weird on my lips but looked nice when I looked in the mirror.
"Do you think you can do this yourself?" she asked.
I nodded, looking at the pretty young blonde woman in the mirror. "Yes," I said, not knowing why I would ever want to put makeup on myself after today was over.
Shirley produced a pair of pink, frilly cotton panties and told me to put them on. I shyly slid them over my legs and did a little hop on the chair to get them over my tight, slender bottom while still trying to keep the towel on me.
"Oh, don't worry about the towel, dearie," said Shirley, removing it from my body. "It's time to get dressed."
I sat on the bed and put on the white socks, with the pink fabric balls cutely on the back of my ankles. I stood up when Shirley handed me the short, plaid skirt. It was snug around my tiny waist.and flared out, loosely coming about halfway down my bare thighs. Shirley pulled it down a few inches so that it rested on my narrow hips. Next was one of the identical white blouses. Shirley helped me with the short sleeves. There were only two buttons leading down to longish flaps on either side. I began to button them, but Shirley stopped me.
"No dearie," she said, "you don't button them."
Shirley took the two flaps and tied them into a neat knot just under my small breasts, revealing most of my long, slender and yes, narrowly curvy torso. A strip of my chest was bare from my collar to the knot in my shirt, revealing the sides of my small, firm swimmer's breasts.
"Shirley," I exclaimed, my voice barely above a whisper as I stared at myself in the mirror, "I can't wear this."
"Sure you can, dearie," she said as she sat me down on the chair and began to twist my hair into braids. I was too stunned to do much except sit there as Shirley twisted my hair into two braided pigtails.
"You know how men are with their fantasies, Billie," Shirley said as if talking to another girl. "They're all perverts when it comes to lusting after a cute young schoolgirl. But Ted says that other than having you dress up and clean his house, he hasn't made you do anything you didn't want. Is that right, dearie?"
I nodded "yes," stood up and looked at myself in the mirror, my face lightly made up, my pigtails hanging down, long midriff exposed..I looked about 16 years old ... and delicious.
"Oh, my!" said Shirley. "If you're not a walking wet dream. If I didn't know better ... oh my goodness, you're just gorgeous."
She produced a pair of black, two-inch-heel girl's shoes. "I had to guess your shoe size from your pictures," she said.
I put them on. They were just a little tight. I was feeling so strange, so exposed in my schoolgirl clothes as I stared at the lovely, sexy girl in the mirror. I looked so pure that I would melt if someone touched me. I was feeling sensual, innocent and daring at the same time. I wondered if men would find me attractive. Something within me wanted them to find me attractive.
"Come on, dearie," Shirley said. "We have to go."
When I walked out into the living room, a little unsteady in the shoes, I was literally shaking. Shirley presented me to Mr. Wallace with more than a little pride in her voice.
"Well, Ted," she said, "did I earn that hundred bucks, or didn't I?"
Mr. Wallace's face lit up and his eyes got very big as they scanned my body.
"Holy shit!" he said. "She's amazing, Shirley."
He brought out his camera and was soon all over the room, taking pictures of me from all angles. I felt so humiliated, but some little part of me was glad that they thought I was pretty. He handed the camera to Shirley and had her take a photo of him smiling obnoxiously next to me, his right arm hovering over my bare midriff, but not touching it.
After she gave him back the camera, he told Shirley she better hurry because "the boys would be here in a few hours."
"The boys?" I said.
Shirley said that Mr. Wallace was having some of his old Marine buddies from the Vietnam War over to play poker. We needed to go out to the convenience store to buy beer, chips, salsa and some new playing cards. She grabbed her purse and took my elbow, leading me toward the door. I was horrified.
"Shirley, I can't go out ... not like this!"
"Sure you can, Billie," she said reassuringly. "You're just the loveliest little thing. It'll be fine. I'll have to buy the beer because you're underage, but you get the chips, salsa and playing cards. C'mon, it'll be all right."
With that, we were out the door and into her 10-year-old Buick. The lower-middle class area didn't have any supermarkets, and soon we were outside a seedy-looking convenience store. I couldn't stop shaking as I got out of the car. Outside the store, a couple of teenage boys were sneaking a smoke. When they saw me, one of them said something to his buddy, who started to giggle and they both stared at me, making panting gestures. I was hoping it wasn't because they could tell I wasn't a girl. It didn't help me be any less nervous. But the fear made me move more femininely, my back straight, my shoulders back, my palms facing forward, and I swayed just a bit as I walked.
There was a woman with two small children at the checkout counter while a thin, 40-something, leather-skinned clerk was bagging their purchases. As soon as Shirley and I entered, his bloodshot eyes were drawn to me. A 50ish man wearing a blue shirt with a necktie was doing some shopping. I put my head down as Shirley and I parted. She made for the back of the store where the beer was located, and I wandered the narrow aisles looking for the chips, salsa and playing cards, so aware that I was showing so much skin and being so scared.
The man in the shirt and tie and I found ourselves in the same aisle as I looked over the choices of salsa. His face impassive, he moved behind me to pass me. As he did, his hand moved softly over my plaid-skirted bottom, quickly caressing it and then pinching it.. I made a little startled squeal and jumped a few inches. When I stared at him after he passed me, his face still had no expression, as if he had done nothing. Is this what happens to girls all the time ... or just those dressed like I was? He paid for his three or four purchases and left. I was relieved that there were no other customers in the store, but the clerk's eyes constantly on me were a little disconcerting. Maybe he thought I was a shoplifter or something.
I found the salsa, chips and a couple of packs of playing cards and brought them to the checkout counter. The clerk rang up the chips and salsa, but he said the playing cards were cheap ones.
"I have some better ones in the back, cutie," he said, pointing to the open door behind the register leading to a dimly lighted room. "Come with me, and I'll show you." He placed his hand on my elbow, guiding me toward the back room. I was in such a daze that if anyone had said that I should go to the moon, I would have said, "OK." I started to walk through the door.
"Billie!"
It was Shirley's voice.
"Billie, you stay out of there. Where are you going?"
I said that the man had told me that the better playing cards were in the back. Shirley gave the guy a look that would have melted steel as she put a case of beer on the counter. He shrugged.
"You can't," he said with kind of a sick smile, "blame a guy for trying."
Shirley crossed her arms in front of her and told him to just ring up our purchases. As we were leaving the store, I glanced back at the clerk. He smiled and gave me a wink. I blushed and hurried out. The teenagers were still there, both making kissing gestures at me and then laughing. When we got into her car and drove off, Shirley was shaking her head.
"You've got to be more careful, dearie," she said. "There's no telling what that man would have done with you had he gotten you alone in that back room."
I gasped.
"You mean?"
Shirley nodded.
"That's exactly what I mean."
I shuddered and didn't say anything for the rest of the ride back to Mr. Wallace's double-wide. Shirley stopped the car, but kept the engine running. She handed me the beer and the bag containing the other items.
"You be careful, Billie, OK?" she said.
My voice was shaky and softly feminine. "Aren't you coming in with me?"
"No, dearie," she said. "My work is done. You're on your own from here on in. Good luck."
I stood outside the front door for a while after Shirley drove off. I didn't want to go in, but knowing I couldn't stay outside, particularly dressed as I was, forever, I opened the door and carried the things inside.I put the beer into the refrigerator and set the salsa and chips on the counter. I put the playing cards on the card table while Mr. Wallace lay there like a beached whale on the couch.
"You better start cleaning this place up, Princess," he ordered. "I'm going to want you to serve my buddies when they arrive, and I don't want this place to look like a pig sty when they get here in a couple of hours."
I hated that he had called me "princess," particularly in such a superior way, but I did kind of feel like a beautiful princess being kept prisoner by an evil giant gnome. I began to pick things up and straighten up the place. All the time, I was bending and straightening up in that schoolgirl blouse and skirt, Mr. Wallace's eyes were drinking me in. He hardly watched his football game at all. With Shirley gone, he made himself comfortable. His belt was undone, and his pants were open. His hairy belly protruded under his Hawaiian shirt. I moved around the living room and kitchen, feeling so exposed in my schoolgirl clothes, and I couldn't help but feel just a little sensual. My movements became more and more gentle and feminine. After what I had just encountered at the convenience store and feeling Mr. Wallace's eyes on me, the memories of manhood began slipping to the back of my brain. The more Mr. Wallace stared at me without saying anything, the more girly and vulnerable I felt, the more pure and pretty I felt. It was becoming a little hard to catch my breath.
He got up and went to the bathroom. When I heard him return, I was in the kitchen, my back to him. I was reaching up on my tiptoes to put a couple of plates up on a shelf, my exposed midriff becoming even more taut. The first thing I felt was his fat belly on the small of my back. Then, his fetid breath was on my neck. He pulled on my left pigtail, exposing the right side of my neck. His thick lips and tongue slowly nuzzled it, not appearing to be in any hurry. Chills went all through me. I wanted him to stop, but it felt so .... good. I did nothing. Minutes passed, then his fat, strong hands were on my shoulders, turning me to face him, my back up against the refrigerator. His pants were in a clump on the floor of the living room. His thick, ugly cock erect, the Hawaiian shirt barely containing his huge belly.
He didn't say a word. His hands slowly moved down to my bare sides. A chill went through me. He pulled me toward him, his hairy belly against the flesh of my midrift. My arms were trapped against his flabby, massive chest.
"Mr. Wallace," I said in a nervous, whispery, feminine voice I didn't recognize, "please ... please ... I don't want to. I can't. I mean ... please."
The bastard didn't say a word. He just looked down at me, his body pressing mine against the refrigerator, his hands moving up and down my bare torso. His thick dick hard against my plaid skirt.
I was almost sobbing now in fear ... and ... to my shame ... desire.
"Please ... Mr. Wallace ... No ..."
But I wasn't very convincing. I wasn't even convincing myself. My arms against Mr. Wallace's chest worked their way up so that they were on his shoulders. His hands kept despoiling the bare flesh of my sides, our faces close together, He had still not made me do anything I didn't want to do. I felt so sexy, so pretty, so desired. We stood there like that for an eternity. Still, Mr. Wallace didn't say anything ... and he didn't kiss me.
I kissed him.
Heaven forgive me, I kissed that awful man who had been blackmailing me, who was robbing me of my manhood, who had turned me into ... into ... this.
But that was the last thing that was my idea. Once our lips met, Mr. Wallace took charge...completely. He pulled me even closer, my arms crossing around his neck as I went up on my tiptoes. His thick lips captured my thin, lipsticked ones and I found myself moaning femininely as his hands possessively covered every inch of my bare midriff over and over again. Finally, he spoke.
"You don't feel so superior now, like you did at work, do you, Billy?"
He didn't wait for an answer, pressing his lips back against mine, my body going limp in his strong grasp, his cock pressed harder into my skirt. He sneered down at me and spoke again.
"What I didn't know is that you were going to be so fuckin' gorgeous," he said, kissing me, rubbing his hands all over my body.
It wasn't enough that we were kissing, he wanted to totally humiliate me.
"Are you my little sissy bitch, Billy?"
My eyes misting, I shook my head. I'm not a bitch. If anything, I'm a cute, pretty ... girl.
Mr. Wallace responded with another rough kiss, his strong hands on my bare waist. Then he repeated the question with a mocking voice.
"Are you my little sissy bitch, Billy?"
Even in my humiliation, I was somehow afraid he would stop kissing me. I was feeling so sexy, so girlie, if this huge man stopped, I'd just die.
"Yes, Mr. Wallace," I whispered in a girly voice between kisses, "I'm your little sissy bitch."
His mouth so dominant on mine, he forced my lips open with his heavy tongue. I clung to his neck, arching my back. His kiss was almost leisurely, yet powerful, wet and disgusting, his tongue deep in my sweet mouth, exploring, possessing. He tastes of cigarettes and beer. My mind is in a whirl. This is Mr. Wallace, for crissakes, why am I letting him do this to me? Why did I kiss him before he kissed me?
My body was fighting with my mind, and my body was winning. Mr. Wallace was starting to sweat through his Hawaiian shirt. His unshaven face is rough against my smooth one. The kiss seems to last forever. We are making slow, wet, erotic noises with our lips and tongues, every moment contributing to my surrender. Shame and desire competed in my mind as this terrible old man ravished my mouth. My body reacted wherever his hands roughly caressed it.
Finally, he moved his mouth from mine. I sighed, my body went limp as i clung to his neck, and my forehead rested against his chest as I caught my breath, my tiny waist heaving. Slowly, he picked me up, one arm under my bare thighs, the other behind my back. In utter surrender, I had one limp arm around his neck, the other on my skirt as my head rested against his damp Hawaiian shirt.
He walked us into the bedroom and placed me upon the bed. He looked down at me, my arms weakly on either side of my head, my midrift so bare, so slender, so curvy, my plaid skirt moving up a bit on my lovely slender thighs. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt, leaving his huge, putrid, flabby, hairy body bare, his cock thick and erect.
"When you come in to work on Monday, Billie," he said in a superior tone, "you're going to be thinking about this. As a matter of fact, you won't forget this for the rest of your life, Princess."
Suddenly, his body was on mine. If before his kisses had been tender, now he was an animal, kissing me roughly, gnawing at my neck, grabbing at my body, ripping my blouse apart. It hung from off my shoulders as I tried to resist. But he outweighed me by almost 150 pounds. I was terrified. I didn't know what to do. Soon, his mouth was on my right breast, biting down hard on my nipple. I cried out. The pain was incredible. His fingers twisted my left nipple. I never felt so helpless ... so in the clutches of a terrible man who didn't care if he hurt me ... so feminine.
I turn my head and cry loudly, begging him to stop. The pain was unbearable, I thought my nipple was going to come off, but he didn't stop. I thought I was going to pass out, but I didn't. The unbearable pain became somehow endurable and I found myself placing a tender hand on Mr. Wallace's sweaty balding head as he bit at my nipple. Eventually, he stopped and kissed me, his tongue devouring my mouth, his hands moving over every inch of my body.
It is the first time in my life that I was in bed with anyone who was naked, man or woman. Mr. Wallace's efforts to make me feel like a girl had changed my whole life's thinking. My mind was swimming, a mass of confusion. Something in me came so close to illogically saying, "I love you."
Instead, I whispered, "I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace. I'm sorry I didn't show you respect. I ... I'm glad you like me now."
The fat man laughed out loud.
"Like you, you little shit?" he said. "I don't like you. I don't give a flying fuck about you. You're just so damn beautiful."
With that, he moved his fat, sweaty body up, placing his knees on either side of my shoulders and sitting on my slender chest. Mounds of his belly flab hung down over his erect cock. My arms were trapped under him, with only my shoulders peeking out from under him. His thick, smelly cock was at my lips.
"Suck it, Princess," he ordered.
I pressed my lips tight and moved my face to the side, but he took his right hand and grabbed my chin, making me face forward. With his left, he pinched my nose, forcing me to open my mouth. My eyes grew wide. A dick? The filthy, sweaty old man was going to put a dick into my mouth!
"This is what you're gonna remember on Monday when you come into work and for the rest of your life," he said cruelly. "When you kiss your mother's cheek it will be with the same mouth that's going to suck my cock."
He really is a bastard. I shimmied my shoulders, trying to get away, but there was nothing I could do. The strong, musky, sweaty odor of his thick, pulsating cock made me gag even before he moved forward, placing a cock in my mouth for the first time in my life. The putrid taste makes me nauseated as I feel his thick gray pubic hair against my chin. I began to whimper.
"That's it, Princess," he says triumphantly. "Suck old Mr. Wallace's cock like a good little girl."
Tears rolling down my cheeks, he holds my head in his hands and starts fucking my tender mouth in earnest, bouncing on my chest, his weight oppressive. His heavy balls slapping against my chin.
"Lick my balls, cocksucker," he orders, "and maybe I won't cum in your pretty mouth."
His thick dick, covered in my saliva, slides noisily out of my mouth. His low-hanging hairy balls are in front of my face. Through my tears, I look at that horrible scrotum, and my tongue slowly licks it tenderly, the ultimate act of subservience.
Soon, Mr. Wallace's cock was again in my mouth, his hands squeezing my breasts. He kept ramming into me, his eyes closed, his flabby body sweating all over me. His cock seemed to grow in my mouth. He grabbed both of my pigtails and shouted that he was going to cum.
My eyes grew wide. He said "maybe" he wouldn't cum in my mouth, the bastard.
Mr. Wallace pushed in harder and gave five or six loud grunts as his cock filled my little mouth with his cum. It tasted horrible, much more sour than my cum that Mr. Wallace had fed me on that first Saturday. After a few more thrusts, Mr. Wallace rolled off me. We lay there side-by-side for several minutes, his left hand casually caressing my body at intervals.My thin, little cock yearned for release. I placed my right hand under my skirt and panties, but Mr. Wallace slapped it away.
"Jerk off on your own time, cocksucker," he said as he rolled his fat body off the bed, getting to his feet. "My poker buddies will be here soon, and you've still got plenty of cleaning up to do. They're going to get a real treat having a sexy little schoolgirl wait on them."
I wiped away my tears and painfully stood up as Mr. Wallace entered the shower. I vacantly thought about getting dressed. But my blouse was in tatters from Mr. Wallace's attack. Then, I remembered. There had been two identical blouses waiting for me when I arrived. I femininely covered my mouth with my hand in surprise and shock. Mr. Wallace knew that I would need two blouses because he knew he would be ripping one of them off my body! He knew how he was going to take my innocence. The fat man had planned iit all!
I heard Mr. Wallace in the shower. I sunk back down to sit on the edge of the bed, my mind numb, my lithe body sore. Mr. Wallace's friends will be arriving soon.
I'll have to get ready.
End of Part 3.-- To Be Continued.