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).