11 comments/ 62947 views/ 38 favorites Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 01-05 By: oberon_52 (The author welcomes comment via the CONTACT tab on his profile.) My name is Bill. I'm just out of high school, and still living at home. I had decided to take a year off before I went to college. I was tired of studying, and being the best diver on our swimming team had been a lot of pressure. I hadn't had time for much dating, and I was looking forward to going off the diet that I've had to be on ever since I could remember and taking a scissors to that tight rubber cap I had to wear over my blond ponytail whenever I was in the pool.. I'm 5-6 and 130 pounds. The girls in high school ignored me and my sex life consisted of playing with myself while looking at Internet porn. The only job I could find was as a night security guard at an old factory in my small hometown. The factory used to be humming 24 hours a day, but since the economy had tanked, there is only one shift, and I'm all by myself overnight. It's such a nothing job that if I had to do it for more than a year, I think I would go mad. My supervisor, Ted Wallace, has been there for about 30 years, and I never met a bigger loser in my life. He's a 63-year-old former Marine, but you'd never know it by looking at him now. His pockmarked face usually needs a shave, and it's almost always scowling. He's about 6-4 and he's got to be pushing 290 pounds. He's on duty every day when I come in, and he's a stickler for all the company rules. Most of those rules don't make a lot of sense to me. I mean, it's not like the Iranians are going to invade the factory any time soon. One of those rules was to stay away from the company computers and just do my rounds. It took me only a few weeks before I found a computer in a corner of the third floor where I could pass hours looking at porn. This wasn't such a bad job after that.... until one evening when I came in to work, and there was Mr. Wallace's fat face smugly smiling at me. "C'mere, kid," he said, motioning to his computer monitor with a pudgy hand. "I keep telling you how much you have to learn, and that includes where all of our security cameras are located." My eyes grew wide as I leaned in over where he was sitting, smelling his sickly, pungent after-shave, which he must have had on him at least two days based on the stubble on his face.What I saw on the tape from last night almost made my heart stop. There I was, sitting in front of the computer, my eyes half-open, my pants and underpants around my ankles, my necktie very loose and my uniform shirt unbuttoned. My left hand was pinching my right nipple, and my right was around my slim, 4-inch circumsized penis. I turned away from the screen, started to stammer, and tears were forming in my eyes. I started to move away, but Mr. Wallace grabbed my wrist. "No, Billy boy," the fat man said with a derisive laugh. "It's just getting to the best part." I almost couldn't see the screen through my tears as my slender little penis erupted, my left hand preventing my cum from getting over the computer. Mr. Wallace let go of my wrist, and I stumbled back. "Now," he said, smiling widely enough for me to notice he was missing a side tooth. I had never seen him smile before. "What should we do about this, Billy boy? I should certainly have you fired. I could probably have you arrested, too, for putting company equipment at risk. Of course, I'll have to see that your parents see this tape. I've got it on my home computer already. I'll almost certainly post it on Facebook." I was literally shaking. "Please, Ted ... Mr. Wallace, please ... not that. I'll never do it again. I'll work extra hours for no pay. Please ... don't. Why would you do this to me?" He laughed again. "Why, you little shit," he said, "do you think I'm stupid? I can tell every time you come in to work that you think you're better than me, that I'm a nothing guy in a nothing job." My eyes almost shut as I tried to keep from crying, I slowly shook my head "no," even as I knew he was right. "I ... I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace." He looked me up and down and smirked. "I'll tell you what, Billy boy," he said. "I'll keep this our secret ... at least for a while. We'll see how sorry you are. My house has been a mess ever since my wife divorced me ... what has it been, 16 years now? Well, from now on, every Saturday afternoon, you're gonna come over and clean my house." I brightened just a bit. "That's it? I've just got to clean your house ... and you won't let anyone else see the tape?" "That's it," he said. "But I'm particular about how my house is cleaned. You'll have to follow all my instructions when you're there. If you don't, or if you miss one Saturday, the tape goes out to everyone." He wrote his address on a piece of paper and told me to get there at 12:30 sharp before he picked up his things and left at the end of his shift. The next two nights at work passed without more than a few words passing between us as we met on our shifts, except I called him Mr. Wallace instead of Ted, like I had been doing. Finally, it was Saturday afternoon, and I told my parents I was spending the day with friends. I found his double-wide trailer house in a lower middle class neighborhood. Dressed in jeans, a T-shirt and sneakers, I rang the bell. He opened the door in a bathrobe that was probably older than I am. Somehow, he looked even bigger than he did at work, where he was mostly sitting on his fat butt. The place reeked of cigar smoke, and there were clothes and magazines and fast-food bags strewn around. There was a sink full of dishes that probably weren't washed for weeks. "Come in, Billy boy," he said expansively. "Five minutes early, I like that." He put his fat hand on the small of my back and led me to the bedroom door. "Go in there and change," he said matter-of-factly. "Change?" I asked, confused. "Yeah," he said, his hand on my back urging me into the bedroom. "When you clean my house, you're going to dress the way I want you to." The bedroom was a dissheveled mess, but on the rumpled bed was a crisp, blue house dress. "You ... you can't be serious," I said. Mr. Wallace sauntered, if a man that big and fat can saunter, over to his bedroom computer, punched a few keys, and there I was on the screen showing me beating off at work. His eyes were steely and mean. "Oh, I'm serious, Billy boy," he said. "I'm dead serious. Now, you get out of your clothes and put that dress on. No underwear, you understand? You can go barefoot today. I'll be waiting in the living room. Snap it up. You've got a lot of work to do." After he left the room, my mind was in a haze. It's bad enough I have to clean this fat, old man's pigsty, but in a dress? There wasn't anything I could do about it, though, and I looked at myself in the bedroom's full-length mirror as I took off my clothes. I don't have much body hair to start with, and that I had I shaved because I was on the swimming and diving team. Was this Mr. Wallace's method of humiliating me for my attitude at work? I pulled the dress over my head, and it eased down over my body, coming down to a few inches above my knees. The built-in belt was snug but not too snug on my concave waist. The elastic top of the dress had puffy sleeves that just did cover my shoulders, and the scoop neck revealed a good deal of my chest and my upper back, on which rested my blond ponytail. Swimming and diving had given me a taut body and breasts that jutted out just a little, giving me a hint of cleavage in the dress. I looked in the mirror and had to admit that I looked pretty nice, but I felt ridiculous. I walked out into the living room. Mr. Wallace was sprawled on the couch in that ratty robe while watching football. "Ah," he said. "you look very pretty." I didn't say anything. I just stood there, mortified. "You can start on the dishes, Billy," he said. "But first, fetch me a beer, will you, honey?" "Honey?" I thought. "Did he just call me 'honey?'" I walked to the refrigerator and opened it. It smelled like something had died in there. I took out a can of beer and brought it to him, humiliated with each step I took in that dress. He looked up at me, then turned his attention to the game. I was being dismissed to do my housework, reinforcing my feminine role while the man of the house watched football. I started on the huge pile of dishes, my mind in a whirl in the dress. In about 10 minutes, Mr. Wallace called to me. "Hey, Billy, he said, "fetch me another beer." I stopped what I was doing, dried my hands on a towel and obediently brought him another beer. He smiled that missing tooth grin at me, handed me his empty beer can and said, "Thanks, hon." A chill went through me. Something in me was pleased that I had pleased him, and that bothered me.Walking back, I felt and heard the skirt of my dress swishing. It made an interesting sound. After I got through with the dishes, he told me to tidy up the living room but not block his view of the game. "Oh, and one other thing," he said, "every five minutes, I want you to go into the bedroom and look at yourself in the mirror." I could see what the bastard was up to. He wanted to keep reinforcing my mental image of myself dressed as a girl. I was already arching my back femininely and bending my knees rather than leaning over as I picked up things around the couch so as not to block his view of the TV. When I wasn't stopping what I'm doing to fetch him another beer, I was going into the bedroom to look at myself in the mirror. For some reason, when I looked in the mirror, I would adjust the dress or move a stray hair off my forehead or some other little thing that would help me look a bit better. When I walked back to the living room, for some reason my palms faced forward and my shoulders were back The living room needed vacuuming, but when I asked Mr. Wallace, he said he didn't want the noise. He said I should go make the bed and pick up the clothes in the bedroom, and not to forget about looking in the mirror every few minutes. I couldn't help moving differently in the dress than in my male clothes. When I looked in the mirror, I had to admit that ... well ... I was pretty. About a half hour later, the bed was made, the room was a bit neater, and I was looking at myself in the full-length mirror when I heard Mr. Wallace walk in behind me. I saw the fat slob in the mirror. "You know, Billy, you really are pretty," he said as his fat hands went around my tiny waist, "and you're a much better housemaid than you are a security guard." I wanted his hands off me, but then there was that tape. I could feel his thick fingers fiddle with the rubber band holding my ponytail, and then I felt it break and saw in the mirror as my blond hair spread out over my shoulders and back. I heard Mr. Wallace's hard breathing and felt his breath on my neck. His hands moved up from my waist to my puffy sleeves, which he ever-so-slowly pulled just off my slender shoulders. I started to tremble and breathe hard as I looked at this giant in the mirror behind a sweet-looking ... yes ... girl. My mind fought against this image. I'm a man, after all, and determined not to react to the touch of this fat, ugly old man who is blackmailing me, no matter what. But something about my shoulders being exposed made me feel so vulnerable ... so feminine. Mr. Wallace's robe came open. I could see a thick penis emerging from a gray and black bush of pubic hair. Then he kissed my right shoulder ... just once, and a chill went through me. "N----no," I said weakly. Mr. Wallace's hands went to my bare shoulders as his mouth began kissing and licking and nibbling my neck. I stood straight up, impassively, even as my little penis got stiff in my dress. I hoped he didn't notice. "Mr. Wallace ... please ... I ... I'm ... not interested." Mr. Wallace just kept on his caressing my sensitive shoulders, licking, kissing and nibbling my neck as I stood there hoping he would get frustrated and give up. But, he didn't stop. "It's all right, Billy," he said as his pockmarked, stubby, fat face moved my hair out of the way of his gentle assault. "We have the entire afternoon." I stood there, looking in the mirror as my old, fat supervisor just kept kissing and nibbling my neck. I never knew my shoulders were so sensitive until I felt his hands alternate between feathery touches and powerful grasps. The seconds turned to minutes ... and the minutes dragged on. I didn't realize it, but my shoulders began to shimmy just a bit, his gamey after-shave making me a little dizzy as he kept up his assault on my neck. I ... couldn't ... help ... it. His fat lips were giving me the chills. His hands caressing my shoulders made me feel so ... so desired and ... yes, feminine. I closed my eyes and tilted my head to give him more access to my neck. That little movement was apparently what he was waiting for. His robe fell away, revealing his disgusting, hairy body. He intensified his assault, pulling my hair back and biting my neck. His tongue traced my collar bone as he twisted my body from behind. I cried out as he bent me back, my hands reaching for his shoulders to keep myself from falling. His lips searched for mine. I kept my lips shut tight, but he was insistent. My body went limp in his grasp, and his thick lips moved on mine. Then, for the first time in my life, there was a tongue in my mouth that wasn't mine. I never felt like this before. In my mind, I was a pretty young girl being despoiled by a fat, ugly, old brute.We kissed for minutes ... or maybe it was hours. All I knew was that I was surrendering to the overwhelming girth and power of my worthless boss in my nothing job. I was making little girly noises as we kissed and I clung to Mr. Wallace's putrid body. The look of utter triumph on his face made me ashamed, but still, I yearned for his kiss, his hands on my chest and shoulders, my dress remaining on my quivering body. As his lips pressed against mine, he lifted me up, one thick arm under my legs, the other behind my back. He lay me gently on the bed and raised my arms to either side of my head, my palms femininely outward, my slender bare shoulders shimmying slightly and revealing my desire. Mr. Wallace stood diagonally over me, his fat, disgusting belly hanging over his thick cock. I looked up at him, breathing hard, feeling like a pretty, young girl in the clutches of an ugly, old monster. My mouth silently mouthed one word of desire. "Please ....?" Mr. Wallace smiled much too confidently, bent over and lifted the skirt of my dress, revealing my slender, erect, little penis. "Damn, Billy," he said, "with that little excuse for a dick, you're better off as a girl." My face turned red, my wrists on either side of my head as he lowered his face to my penis, My eyes grew wide as his thick lips encompassed my penis. I groaned out loud. Then my body began to undulate. He started sucking rapidly, and I hardly noticed as his middle finger maneuvered its way slightly into my rectum. I was going to shoot any second, but he lifted his sweaty face and smiled at me triumphantly. "Want me to stop, Billy?" I was lying there in this pretty dress. I had surrendered myself to this awful man I despised. I was so ashamed, but I had to cum. I just had to cum. "Please don't stop, Mr. Wallace." He smiled again, actually more of a triumphant leer, his right hand digging more into my bottom, his left slowly tracing over my chest, moving from one bare shoulder to another, only touching what the dress made bare, ignoring my nipples. His mouth, a minute ago on my penis, now covered my lips, his tongue owning my pliant mouth. He whispered. "Are you a pretty girl, Billy boy?" His finger now completely inside me, I nodded. "Say it, Billy boy." Mr. Wallace's finger pumped in and out of me. It felt like a baseball bat. "I ... I'm ... I'm a ... pretty ... girl, Mr. Wallace." Another leer, and the fat man was under my skirt again, my penis entirely in his mouth, his finger pumping my bottom. Ten seconds later, my mind dizzy, I cried out loudly as I exploded into Mr. Wallace's mouth. I didn't feel like a boy. I felt like a girl ... a woman ... achieving the best orgasm of my life. His finger pounding away at my rectum, I finally eased back ... limp, moaning contentedly, luxuriously, slowly shimmying my bare shoulders. Mr. Wallace removed his finger. His enormous body covered mine as his hands gripped my shoulders. His mouth covered mine, his mouth maneuvering mine open. I was too weak to resist. To my horror, I felt my own cum sliding into my mouth. The bastard had saved it to feed to me. I tried to struggle, but his weight on me and his thick hands on my shoulders made it impossible. He kissed me, rubbing his cum-covered tongue over mine for several minutes before collapsing atop me. Long minutes passed until he woke up. Was he going to fuck me? The big man rolled off me, breathing hard. "Go get dressed, Billy," he said. I slowly removed my gown and dressed in my male clothes. It felt a little weird. I kinda missed the dress. "Y'know," I said, "I don't mind staying and tidying the place up some more." The big, old man got up and pulled my hair sharply, walking me rapidly to the door. He bit my neck one last time, then opened the door and shoved me out. "I'll see you at work Monday,: he snarled. "And next Saturday, Billy, Don't even think about being late coming over here." (To be continued.) Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 2) By Robin O. (The author welcomes comment at oberon_52@hotmail.com) The cool air hit me outside Mr. Wallace's doublewide trailer as I staggered to the car I had borrowed from my mom. My body was shaking and I was having trouble catching my breath. I don't even remember starting up the engine and driving away. I couldn't make my mind believe what had just happened to me. Fat, disgusting, old Mr. Wallace I always thought was such a loser, had turned me into ... into ... my eyes started to mist up. I looked in the rear view mirror and turned my head a little. There was the red mark where Mr. Wallace had taken that last bite of my neck. I had let him kiss me ... and I kissed him back as his big, fat hands had held me and caressed me like I was some girl. He was in total charge of me. He didn't even have to play with my tits to get me all pliant and girly. He had put his stubby finger up my bottom. He made me beg for him to let me cum. My mind went back to seeing his thick, old cock hanging there flacid. My heart started beating faster. What if he ... what if he had told me to suck it? Would I have? The answer came over me along with a wave of incredible nausea. I pulled the car over, kinda screaching the brakes. I opened the car door and lunged out, certain I was about to throw up. There I was, hanging half out of the door, and trying to keep from vomiting in my mom's car. I had been too nervous to eat breakfast, and I was in Mr. Wallace's house for hours without eating anything, and instead of actually throwing up, I had the dry heaves. It felt awful, almost as awful as realizing that I would have sucked that fat prick's prick if he had wanted me to. It took me about 10 minutes before the nausea let up enough for me to resume driving. As I drove, I got more and more angry, more determined that no one -- least of all that fat bastard Mr. Wallace -- would ever make me feel like anything other than a man again. When I got home, I said hello to Mom and Dad, then I took a hot, cleansing shower, determined to scald off any vestige of the humiliation I had been feeling. I dried myself off, then put on my white terrycloth bathrobe, tying the belt snug around my narrow waist. I started brushing out my blond hair in front of the mirror as the fog on it slowly dissipated. I am a man, dammit. I looked at my thick hair in the mirror, remembering, despite trying to forget, how it had fallen over my shoulders and neck after Mr. Wallace had snapped the rubber band holding my ponytail. Almost hypnotically, I moved the top of my robe just off my shoulders, revealing them, in addition to my chest, baring it in a triangle to the start of my small, firm swimmer's breasts. Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 01-05 My eyes misty, but still seeing how beautiful and sexy I looked in the mirror, I hated myself for what I was feeling, for how sexy I felt, for shimmying my bare shoulders ... for imagining fat Mr. Wallace behind me, his gross, pasty, hairy body, his thick, ugly cock hanging there, his rough hands on my shoulders, his breathing hard as his mouth neared my neck, my eyes closing, tilting my head to give him access to that spot between my neck and shoulders that made me tingle ... And then I literally saw stars as I came. I hadn't even realized that my right hand had been pumping my tiny dick. My cum was spraying all over the sink and mirror, and I was making helpless girlie noises in the back of my throat. My knees shaky, slowly, I regained my equilibrium, ashamed as I looked in the mirror at the disheveled person in front of me, my torso bare, the robe clinging to me by the belt around my tiny waist. I was still undeniably sexy, but so ashamed. I wiped up my cum from the sink and mirror with some toilet paper, hoping I hadn't missed any, then went back into the shower, so confused, so humiliated. I couldn't help but lean my head against the shower wall and cry. The next week seemed to crawl at times, and also somehow to fly by. When I saw Mr. Wallace at work as I took over the night watch, he was all business, only his confident eyes giving any indication of what we had done ... what he had done to me ... on Saturday. As the days and nights went by, I grew more and more determined that I would not countenance a repeat of what happened Saturday. I'll go to his crummy double-wide house and clean. I'll even wear the damn dress, but no more physical contact, no matter what. Saturday finally arrived, and so did I at Mr. Wallace's trailer. He was wearing only that same ratty bathrobe, and I couldn't believe how much of a mess he had made in just a week. "Come in, Billy," he said. I didn't like the way he said my name, putting extra emphasis on the second syllable, making it sound like a feminine bill-EEE. He told me to go into the bedroom and change my clothes and not to forget to look at myself in the bedroom mirror every 15 minutes.. I went in, and there was the same puffy-sleeve blue dress. I took off my boy clothes and put it on, getting a little chill going through me as it slid over my body and revealed so much of my chest.. I walked into the living room and saw that fat slob on the couch watching football, his rolling, flabby, hairy belly showing outside the robe. I started in on the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, then had to stop when Mr. Wallace told me to get him a beer. The refrigerator stunk to high heaven. I made a mental note to clean that today and took out a beer. When I walked over to Mr. Wallace with it, I saw a flash. The son of a bitch had taken my picture with a camera! Now he was pointing his cell phone at me. He was taking a video! "You look so pretty in that dress, Bill-EEE, that I wanna add to my collection of you. After all, at the office you weren't wearing much when you were jerking off, but what you had on was male clothing. Smile for me, will you, honey?" I didn't smile. I stamped my foot, maybe a little femininely, handed him his beer and turned to do the dishes. I began washing them, occasionally looking over my shoulder at the fat fuck, and each time, he was either pointing his phone at me or snapping another picture. That's the way the afternoon went. No matter whether I was cleaning out the fridge or picking up the living room, Mr. Wallace stayed on the couch, except when he went to piss because of all the beers I had to fetch for him, and he would take my photo or do a video every so often. Every 15 minutes, I would go look at myself in the bedroom mirror, each time seeing a pretty, young girl. After a couple of hours of this, I went into the bedroom to pick up his clothes and make the bed. I figured that's when he might make his move ... like he did last week. I was determined not to give in this time. Yes, determined. But he never did come in. I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering why, after last week, he wasn't molesting me, kissing my neck and ...well, you know. After a while, I looked closely at myself in the mirror, finding mostly imaginary flaws in how I looked. Was there something wrong with me? I'd find excuses to walk into the living room, but other than taking my picture, he pretty much ignored me. I looked in the mirror again, and for some reason, this time, I moved my puffy sleeves just off my slender shoulders, as if they might have slipped while I was doing housework. I didn't want Mr. Wallace to touch me again, I really didn't, but ... well, he did find me prettier with my shoulders bare, and I felt so vulnerable and -- yes -- sexy as I moved around from room to room. Mr. Wallace is disgusting. I don't want him to touch me, but something within me wants to be considered pretty enough for him to try. When I swayed while I walked into the living room with my shoulders back and my palms facing forward in a feminine way, he stood up, smiled a knowing, confident smile and told me to stop right in front of him. He took several pictures of me, then spoke. "Billy, you're looking very pretty. Now, turn a little sideways, yes, like that," he said as he snapped more pictures."Your shoulders look so soft and slender, like a girl's." I blanched, and didn't know what to say. I just stood there, twisting my lean upper body sideways as he took pictures. "Now, Billy, I want you to put your pinkie between your lips and give me a little smile." I did so, my right shoulder touching my chin, feeling so girlie as he snapped my picture. "Tell me, Billy, did you like it when I kissed you last week?" I was so surprised. The question had come right out of the blue. I shook my head. "No, Mr. Wallace," I said. "I didn't." "He sat on the couch and put down the camera. His right hand reached into his robe and started slowly to pump his penis. "Billy, we both know you're lying, don't we?" I shook my head "no" again, and he laughed. "Come closer, Billy," he ordered. I paused for a moment, then took a tentative step forward. Mr. Wallace took his hand off his dick, grabbed my left wrist and placed it on his thick cock. I pulled it back like it was a piece of hot coal.. His eyes bore into mine. "You're going to put that hand back where I put it, Billy, for two reasons." I was breathing very hard, both my hands facing outward behind the skirt of my dress. Mr. Wallace's voice was so arrogantly confident as he smiled at me. "The first reason is that video of you jerking off at work along with the pictures I took of you today in your pretty dress." I bit my lower lip, trying not to cry. "And the second reason," he said with an evil grin as his robe fell off his disgusting body, "is that you want to." I started to quiver, slowly shaking my head "no" as I peered down at the ugly hunk of flesh between Mr. Wallace's legs, mostly hidden by the great mass of flab over it. "Do it, sweet thing," he ordered, his voice so harsh, as if I had no choice. I felt so weak, so girly. What little willpower I had was drawing me to that thick, flacid cock. I felt my bare right shoulder touch my chin as my right hand pinkie moved between my lips ... just like Mr. Wallace had ordered me to do minutes earlier, except this time it was a genuinely girlish thing that just seemed to happen. My other hand moved slowly ... slowly down to grasp his thick prick. It felt so hot. I could feel his pulse through that awful cock. I gave out a little moan as I moved my little hand up and down. When I looked up at his face and saw his triumphant smirk, I had an overwhelming feeling of horror. I let go of his cock and started to move away when he grabbed me and pulled me onto his flabby lap, his thick arms pinning my slender ones to my body, my bare shoulders hunched in, his mouth so close to mine. I struggled, but it was no use. He was going to kiss me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. The skirt of my dress had ridden up, barely covering my tiny, hard penis, and I could feel his thick cock -- in my hand moments before -- on my bare thighs, Was he going to ... take me? I could smell the beer on his breath, his putrid after-shave, almost feel the rough stubble on his three chins. No one was going to come and rescue me from his clutches. "Do you want me to kiss you, Bil-eeee?" he whispered. I wanted him to so much. He was so repulsive, so ugly, so disgusting, so fat and old, my boss at work, and yet I yearned to surrender to him, to be the beauty to his beast. I took a deep breath, summoned up the last of what had been my male persona and whispered, not really meaning it: "No, let me go, please." Almost before the words were out of my mouth, Mr. Wallace suddenly dumped me off his lap onto the floor. I was stunned. I lay there, propped up on my elbows, looking up at him. If anything, being manhandled and looking up at him scowling at me made me feel even more feminine and sexy. "Have it your way, Billy," he said, matter-of-factly. "Now, get your ass into your boy clothes and get the hell out of here." Don't ask me why, but I reached out and put my right arm around his hairy, chunky right leg and hugged my body to it. "Please, Mr. Wallace," I pleaded. "I'm sorry. I ... I didn't mean it. You can kiss me. I mean .. I want you to kiss me." Mr. Wallace stood up, his huge belly hanging over his now-soft prick that was so close to my face that I could smell its musky scent. My eyes locked on it. It was so big, so manly, so overpowering and dominant. My mind was in a soft daze, and my lips parted. The next thing I felt was this incredible pain as Mr. Wallace yanked my hair, pulling me off of his leg. "I said to get the hell out of here, Billy," he said harshly. "What part of that didn't you understand?" Utterly humiliated, I ran into the bedroom crying. Sobbing, I put my boy clothes back on and walked sullenly back into the living room on my way to the door. Mr. Wallace was back on the couch in his ratty bathrobe, playing idly with his cock while watching TV. His voice had a no-nonsense air to it, as if to reinforce what we both knew: that I had debased myself to him even as I had not been forced to do anything -- other than wearing that dress and cleaning his house -- against my will. "See you next Saturday, Billy," he said, dismissing me. "Don't even think about being late." (To be continued.) 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. Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 01-05 "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!