Date: Sat, 27 Apr 2013 01:41:44 -0400
From: oberon ofavalon <oberon_52@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 6)

By Robin O.

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

Part 6:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My mind was still in a whirl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They weren't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I gave a small, polite smile before looking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes sir," I said timidly.

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you find that curious, Miss Smith?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Old Mr. Wallace was fully clothed," he said. "But I found traces of sperm
on his body. Some of it was his ... but some was from someone else. You
know, you have wonderful posture, Miss Smith.

My voice was shaky and barely above a whisper..

"Thank you, Dr. Phillips."

>From behind me, his hands that spent so much time on dead people went to
my bare arms as I felt his suit jacket and scrawny body up against my
back. With my heels on, we were about the same height.

"You know, I've never had much success with women," he whispered as his
tongue teased my right ear. "Certainly with no one as beautiful as you. Do
you find me attractive, Miss Smith?"

I was petrified with fear. Dr. Phillips' hands were making my skin crawl.

"Ummm ... well ... yes," I said, my voice shaky. "Yes, you're very
attractive."

The horrible little man's voice became more confident. His right hand
slowly moved the frilly strap off my right shoulder.

"You know," he said, "All I would have to do to link you to the sperm on
Mr. Wallace is to do a coroner's inquiry and test your dna."

I turned to face him.

"But," I said, the frilly strap still hanging off my slender shoulder, "I
... I don't have sperm. I ... I'm a girl."

"It's funny about that," he said with a broad smile that made his
pencil-thin moustache look sinister. "I'm a medical examiner, you know."

He took my left hand and led me in front of the full-length mirror that
Mr. Wallace had made me look at all those times. Standing behind me, with
his left hand, he moved my left hand fingertips gently over my throat while
his right hand held my bare right shoulder.

"Do you feel that bump, Miss Smith?" he asked as my fingers rolled over
it. "It's smaller than most, but it is undeniably an adam's apple." He
kissed my neck and I shuddered. "Only men have them."

My blood ran cold.

He knew.

Slowly, he moved the frilly strap off my other shoulder as I stared into
the mirror. I moved both my hands over the dress at my breasts to hold it
up and Dr. Phillips began wetly kissing my back and shoulders. I closed my
eyes.

"Your wrists," he said between kisses. "He tied you up, didn't he? Was it
kinky sex, or did he force you?"

"He ... forced me," I said, half-lying.

"And he died having sex with you?"

I nodded. Dr. Phillips' hands caressed my shoulders as he began kissing my
neck.

"Given the choice, that's how I'd like to go," he said. "You're so lovely,
I have no doubt that Mr. Wallace died a happy man. Tell me, Miss Smith,
under normal circumstances, you'd never look twice at me, would you?"

I started to sob.

"You were so beautiful, unapproachable and disinterested in the living room
when I came in, weren't you, Miss Smith?"

I nodded, sobbing more. His hands were making my skin crawl. His left hand
turned my face toward him, and he kissed my mouth clumsily. I hated it.

"You don't know what it's like, Miss Smith," he said. "All my life, I've
been ridiculed because I'm such a washout with women. You know, my dear,
you have a very lovely back." His hands began to run all over my bare
back. He didn't say anything for a minute or so, his hands on my back, his
lips on my neck and right shoulder while I held up my dress. It wasn't like
Mr. Wallace or Mr. Maddox or Gary the convenience store clerk, who were
sleazy but powerful men. If it came to it, I could probably beat
Dr. Phillips in a fight, but now I had to act all girly and let the little
worm touch me ... and kiss me.

"Any woman I've been with, I've had to pay for the privilege," he
said. "I've also put together a huge collection of erotica."

"Porn?" I murmured. The long day was taking its emotional and physical
toll. I was feeling so tired. Despite my loathing him, his hands and mouth
were starting to have an effect on me.

"I prefer 'erotica,' if you don't mind," he said. "It's given me an
appreciation for ladies with, shall we say, a little extra. I've been with
tranny prostitutes from Bangcock to San Francisco, and I have to tell you,
girlie, not one of them was half as beautiful as you."

The horrid little man turned me to face him. I felt helpless holding up my
dress.

"The way I see it, Miss Smith, you have a choice," he said, running his
fingertips slowly back and forth across my collarbone. My legs started to
shake.  "I could begin a coroner's inquiry in which I would have immense
power to call witnesses and determine the cause of Mr. Wallace's death. If
nothing else, the newspapers would eat up a story about a man dying while
having sex with a transvestite. Oh, and of course, your lawyer,
Mr. Drummond, is likely to be disbarred if he attempted to alter evidence
in the death of Mr. Wallace."

Mr. Drummond? No! I couldn't let that happen.

"You ... you said I have a choice, Dr. Phillips?"

"Oh, I think you know what that choice might be, Miss Smith," he said, his
hands settling on my tiny waist.

"You won't do anything to Mr. Drummond ... or me ... if I have sex with
you? Is that it?"

"No," he said. "That's not it. Well, not entirely. Not only are you going
to have sex with me, you're going to make me believe you like it. That you
love it."

I gasped. Make love to this miserable little man? Nausea swept over me.

"And that's not all," he said as he moved my hands from the dress, which
fell to the carpet.. "From now on, you're going to be my girlfriend."

His girlfriend!

"Oh, I'll treat you like a princess," he said, the bony fingers of his
right hand caressing my left breast while his left held me close by my
now-bare waist. "I'll take you to dinner, dancing, movies. We'll take
walks, holding hands. You'll hang on me when we're with my friends and
colleagues. We'll spend evenings in each others' arms watching TV and
kissing on my couch. Weekend after next, I'll take you to the medical
examiners convention in Cleveland. Nice hotel room, the works. You'll dress
sexy, and my colleagues will be jealous as hell when they see me with my
beautiful girlfriend."

I stood there mortified in my high heels and cute panties, my dress at my
feet, this horrid old man's fingers pinching my sore, tender left
nipple. He's crazy, I thought. He's been frustrated so long, watching too
many porn movies. There's no way I'm going to be his girlfriend. I don't
what I'm going to do. But I need time to think ... to save Mr. Drummond's
career and to keep my parents from knowing ... to get myself out of this
mess some way ... any way.

"Well, Miss Smith? Do I start a coroner's inquiry ... or not?"

"You're a horrible man," I said as tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Perhaps," he said, pinching my sore nipple harder. "But you're going to
convince me that you love me, aren't you, Miss Smith, or whatever your name
might be?

I stifled the urge to throw up. This was a nightmare. I felt so defeated. I
needed time, time to think. For now, I had to convince this horrible little
man that his perverted dream could come true. My eyes met his as I reached
back and pulled the rubber band from my ponytail. I shook my head
femininely and my blonde hair cascaded down over my neck, shoulders and
back. I reached down, pulled my dress up and put it back on. He gave me a
puzzled look as I shimmied into the dress and smiled.

"Here, darling," I said softly, "let me look pretty for you while I help
you out of those clothes."

I removed his suit jacket, folded it femininely and put it on a chair. I
crossed my arms around his neck, tilted my head and placed my mouth on
his. Mr. Phillips' hands went to my torso, pulling me to him as I allowed
his tentative tongue to enter my mouth.

I could tell the kiss excited him. I leaned back in his arms and girlishly
undid his necktie, giving him little flirty pecks on his lips. As I hunched
in my shoulders and undid each button of his dingy shirt, I planted wet
kisses on his hairy, bony chest above his dingy undershirt. I moved his
shirt over his shoulders, but it got caught on his buttoned cuffs.

"Shouldn't I know my boyfriend's first name?" I asked with a cute smile as
I undid his belt and pants, which dropped to the carpet. I pulled down his
briefs. His very thin penis -- about five inches -- was erect, emerging
from a mass of gray pubic hair. His hands running up and down my bare back
excitedly pulled me to him.

"It's Leo," he said.

He was obviously enjoying himself immensely, but he looked so ridiculous
with his pants at his ankles, his shirt trapped at his wrists and his
yellowed undershirt showing two small holes. I tried to forget about that
and how puny and repulsive he was, how I hated his hands on me. I had been
through so much already today. My body was sore and tired, and now I have
to make this absolutely horrid old man think I was falling in love with
him.

"MMMMMMM," I like that name, Leo," I murmured romantically.as I kissed him
passionately, his tongue moving aggressively now in my sweet, young
mouth. I was getting seriously close to vomiting. His eyes were closed in
obvious ecstacy as we kissed. Mine were open. My hands went to his head, my
long, slender fingers moving sensually over the greasy strands of hair he
had combed over his bald spot. His right hand squeezed my left breast and
... and I couldn't ... I just couldn't.do this anymore.

"I'm sorry," I said, sobbing, pushing myself away and turning my back to
him. "I'm sorry. I just ... I just can't!"

"WHAT?" he shouted. "You bitch! You can't get me all revved up like that
and then stop. I'll ruin you, do you understand?"

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to keep from passing out. He put his hand on my
side, but I slapped it away. I knew that I was probably ruining my life and
Mr. Drummond's, too, but I just couldn't make love to this miserable excuse
for a human being. My back to him, I bent over the bed, crying and fighting
terrible nausea. I heard Dr. Phillips cursing and muttering while opening
his medical bag.

"Please go," I said, my head in a fog. "I'm sorry. I .. I just ..."

Suddenly, Dr. Phillips pushed me over onto the bed. My arms pinned under
me, nausea making me defenseless, a cloth with a strange smell was pressed
hard against my face. I tried to struggle, but the room was swimming around
me. The last thing I remember was Dr. Phillips's cruel voice in my ear.

"That's it, bitch," he said as my body went limp and I began to pass
out. "Breathe in deep. Yes, just like that. Good girl."

I don't know how long I was out, but I when I awoke, something was terribly
wrong. My wrists were once again tied together, stretched out above my
head. I glanced up and saw that one end of Dr. Phillips' necktie was tied
to the headboard, the other to my wrists. My dress was on the floor ... and
Dr. Phillips was naked on his knees at the end of the bed, smiling as he
moved his bony fingers up and down on his small penis.

"Oh, good, you're up," he said as I tried to clear my head. He reached with
both hands for my frilly panties and slowly slid them down my slender legs
and over my high-heeled shoes.

"Wha ... what have you done to me?" I asked hazily.

"Oh, that?" he said. "Just a bit of chloroform, It won't kill you."

I was still groggy when Dr, Phillips maneuvered between my legs and kissed
me, his tongue in my mouth, his hands squeezing my sore, tender breasts.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," he said. "I truly am, but you're so
stunningly beautiful ... and so unlikely to report anything I do to the
police."

With that, the horrid older man picked up my legs, put them on his scrawny
shoulders, moved forward and placed his slender cock at my opening.

"Nooooooooo," I wailed. "Please ... wait ... wait ... no ... please."

I looked helplessly at his leering face as he entered me, sliding in slowly
and easily. He did not fill me up the way Mr. Wallace did. I struggled
against the necktie. It gave just a little, but I couldn't quite free
myself. Dr. Phillips' face was blissful as he pumped his small penis in and
out of me on the same bed where Mr. Wallace died fucking me.

In and out, in and out, in and out, his hands gripping my narrow hips, and
then he stopped and pulled out of me.

"Whoa, almost came right there," the awful man said.with a sick smile as he
hovered over me. "I don't want to cum yet. This is going to be the fuck of
my life."

With that, he bent over and began kissing me, nibbling hard on my poor
nipples, nuzzling my neck, all over and over and over again. My body went
limp. I was losing my will to resist, and the ugly little worm was
beginning to turn me on, urgently moving his hands over the deep concave of
my stretched-out midriff. It was as if he couldn't get enough of me. I
could see the sweat on his poor excuse for a moustache as his face showed
his triumph..

"You're so beautiful," he marveled. "And you're mine."

This probably was indeed the fuck of his life ... and, oh my goodness,
maybe mine too. He entered me again, and this time, when he began to
thrust, I was moving with him. The memory of Mr. Wallace's massive organ
hitting my prostate was a distant and yearning memory as Dr. Phillips'
smaller organ teased me. My little penis was trapped between our bodies,
and despite my loathing this pitiful old man, I couldn't summon the will to
resist any longer. I returned Dr. Phillips' kiss whenever our lips met. His
face was red, his blotchy head perspiring, and he was actually drooling
into my mouth. I moaned when he bit my nipples. I couldn't help myself. I
was lost in a fog of lust. My legs slid down his body and wrapped
themselves around his waist. That was something I couldn't do with
Mr. Wallace, and now, it felt so intimate, an act of acceptance and
surrender.

Dr. Phillips was ramming into me harder and harder, grunting and
sweating. I pulled, and my wrists slipped out of the necktie. I was free to
resist this vile creature. I don't know which of us was more surprised when
I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought his lips to mine. He smiled
his inane little smile, even as he rammed into me over and over. I wasn't
being forced anymore. My tongue eagerly played with that of this horrid,
awful man. His hands despoiled my sides and breasts as we fucked like two
lovers, my legs wrapped around him, my arms around his neck. I was making
helpless, little girlie noises. He was grunting loudly with each thrust,
our mouths sharing saliva as if it belonged to both of us, inseparable.

I was getting so close to cumming, This was so much better than a corpse. I
felt like a real woman ... his woman.

Suddenly, he stopped and arched his back. Sweat pouring off him onto me, he
smiled.

"Please ..." I pleaded, my hands now flat against his sweaty, hairy
chest. "Please ... don't stop."

"Well, Miss Smith," he said, catching his breath, "are you my girlfriend?"

"Oh yes!" I murmured. "Whatever you say. Yes, I'll be your girl. Just
please ... don't stop."

His hands went to my shoulders, and he resumed thrusting in and out of me,
We kissed, our tongues playing with each other as I sexily shimmied my
shoulders in his grasp and moaned. He was in charge. We both knew it, and
we both liked it.

"Ohhhhhhhhh, Leo," I murmured, my body limp under his assault. "I'm your
girl. I want to be your girl,"

His face squirreled up. He let out a horrible, gutteral wailing noise and
banged into me so hard that for the first time I felt his cock hit my
prostate. My little penis was hard. I was close ... so close. I couldn't
feel Dr. Phillips' cum squirting into me, but I knew that it was. I waited
for the final thrust that would get me off ... but it never came.
Dr. Phillips moaned and rolled off me, breathing hard on his back, one
forearm over his eyes.

"No!" I thought. I wanted to cum, I needed to cum. I looked over at
Dr. Phillips, who had the most contented smile on his face. I was so
tired. I had been through so much. This awful little man was blackmailing
me. He was threatening Mr. Drummond's career. We had just made love, and I
was feeling so girly. I didn't want to think right now. I snuggled up to
Dr. Phillips, kissed his hairy chest once, and felt his arm move around my
slender shoulders. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

End of Part 6 (To be continued.)

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