Date: Sat, 30 Mar 2013 20:58:43 -0400
From: oberon ofavalon <oberon_52@hotmail.com>
Subject: Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 5) (TG)

Mr. Wallace and Me (Part 5)

By Robin O.

Driving home in the dark, looking for a place to change my clothes, I
realized that I was starving. The only things I had in my mouth all day
were the tongues and penises of two old men. I glanced down at my bare
waist, and if anything, it seemed even more taut and thinner than when I
graduated high school a couple of months ago. I made a mental note to weigh
myself when I got home, but I couldn't go home to my parents' house dressed
in this schoolgirl outfit.

Finally, I found a 24-hour diner, and walked in carrying the plastic bag
with my boy clothes in it. There were maybe 20 people eating there, and it
felt like 40 eyes were all on me. From somewhere on the counter came a loud
wolf whistle, and I must have blushed six shades of scarlet. I walked the
narrow lane to the back of the diner, knowing that I would have to use the
ladies' room instead of the men's. I tried the door ... and to my despair,
it was locked. From inside, I heard a woman's voice telling me she would be
out in a minute.

So, I stood there, my back to the diner patrons, but I could feel all the
eyes on me in my sexy outfit. From behind, I heard some footsteps. I looked
over my shoulder and apparently three men at the same table had decided at
that same time they all needed to go to the men's room located right next
to the ladies' room in the narrow hallway. The first man was overweight,
about 45 years old, wearing overalls and a gray shirt.

"Excuse me, honey," he said with a big smile as his rough hands quickly
moved up and down my bare sides, causing me to quiver as he slid past me
and entered the men's room. His friends, about his age, guffawed at the
cheap feel, and stood there, crowding me and looking down at me.

"Heaven must be missing an angel," said one of them, his eyes devouring
me. "Are you from around here, Angel?"

I pressed my back against the wall. It felt cold against my bare
midsection. I shook my head, "no" to the insipid pickup line as he leaned
in toward me and put his right arm against the wall next to my head,
enclosing me. "You want to go to a party, Angel?"

I stammered, looking at him and the other man grinning at me. Thank
goodness, the door to the ladies' room opened, and a matronly woman in her
50s got out. The men made way for her to go back to her table. I took the
opportunity to quickly enter the small ladies' room and lock the door. I
was near tears, breathing heavily as I looked at myself in the mirror. I
saw a scared, beautiful young girl. Men, I decided, were pigs ... and yet,
something inside me realized that in all my life I had never been the
subject of so much attention as I had received in this one day.

Still, I couldn't wait to remove these female garments and change back into
a boy, I took off the blouse, and still wearing the cute little skirt,
scrubbed the makeup, lipstick and eye shadow from my face. In the mirror, I
could see how bruised my breasts were, how distended my poor nipples
were. I took off my socks and shoes, wriggled out of my skirt and used a
wet paper towel to clean my genitals and penis before putting on my
underpants and jeans. My tight T-shirt rubbed against my tender nipples,
causing me to wince. My boy socks and sneakers came next, and I felt I was
ready to leave the bathroom, when I took a last glance at the mirror and
started to laugh at myself.

My hair was still in braided pigtails.

It took me a while to get the braids undone, but my hair was still
billowing out in a feminine way. How to get my blonde hair into my usual
boy ponytail? I didn't have a rubber band. I sat on the toilet seat and
fretted until I came up with the idea of using the shoelace of one of my
sneakers. Pleased at my ingenuity, I put all the girlie clothes into the
bag, opened the door a crack and noticed that the three "gentlemen" were no
longer in the hall. Quickly exiting the ladies' room, I walked down the
hall toward the exit. That's when I realized something.

Nobody was giving me a second glance. Not even the three guys who had
returned to their table after bothering me. They were looking at the
hallway for the girl in the schoolgirl outfit.

I was the same person, with the same body, but now I was a nobody, a
non-entity. As relieved as I was when I left the diner to the sanctuary of
my mom's car and drove off, there was something about being desireable and
attractive that I missed just a little bit. I shook my head, reminding
myself that I'm a teenage boy, not a girl, and that I must forget about
everything that happened today and just hope that Mr. Drummond can help me.

I slept late Sunday. My body was sore and exhausted. The bathroom scale
said 123 pounds. I had lost seven pounds from stress and a loss of appetite
since Mr. Wallace started blackmailing me. I took a three-mile run,
something I could usually do without breaking a sweat, but the last half
mile was torture. My nipples hurt as they rubbed against my sweaty
t-shirt. I was out of breath, but more than anything else, my thoughts went
back to what had happened the previous day. I was confused about so
much. Would I ever escape servitude to Mr.Wallace? Is Mr. Maddox still out
to kill me? Could Mr. Drummond really help me? Do I really want to give up
dresses and the admiring looks of men forever? I told myself that I did,
but ... what would the future hold?

I dreaded seeing Mr. Wallace on Monday night at work. When I got there, he
called me over and had me sit next to him, fully aware that we were on the
office security cameras.

"It's time for your performance review," the fat man said with a small,
confident smile. "We need to go over your performance over the last several
weeks."

My performance? I hated him even more.

"Look here," he said, motioning toward the paper in front of him. The
security cameras would not be able to pick up the writing, but I saw it
clearly.

"CLEANING .... Good, efficient job," it said. I looked at him, seeing the
beginnings of a smirk on his face.

"KISSING ... Very good, but could show improvement with more enthusiastic
use of tongue."

I stared at the paper, mortified and upset.

"MOANING ... Fair. Sincere, but needs practice."

I was furious. I didn't think this was funny at all, but I could tell that
even though Mr. Wallace kept a serious face, his eyes were dancing with
merriment.

"SUBSERVIENCE ... After a slow start, has shown that she knows her place is
to please men."

She! He referred to me as "she!"

"HAND JOBS ... Poor. Needs a lot of work."

"BLOW JOBS ... Good. Shows a lot of promise and will only get better with
more practice."

"FUCKING ... Incomplete ... for now."

I could tell that my face was flushed with anger and humiliation. Even
though I was dressed in slacks, a company shirt and tie, I felt all
feminine again. Mr. Wallace was telling me by that "performance review"
that he was far from through with me. He expects to take my virginity. No
way, I thought.

"Any questions?" he said.

I gulped.

"Mr. Maddox ... is he still ... you know?"

"No," said Mr. Wallace. "He lives in Idaho. He just came in for the poker
game. He went back home yesterday. He wasn't happy with me playing that
joke on him, but boy, you'd better stay out of Idaho if you know what's
good for you."

The disgusting old bastard then officiously pointed to the bottom of the
page and told me to sign it.

"Sign it?" I asked.

"Yeah," said the fat man. "I'll keep the only copy. Now, unless you want to
make a fuss in front of the security camera, I'd suggest you smile and sign
this paper."

There wasn't anything to do but scribble my name on the paper. Mr. Wallace
had a look of satisfaction as he collected the paper and put it into his
briefcase. He patted me on the shoulder, then he struggled to get his huge
body out of his chair and went home, leaving me with my thoughts ... and my
dread about next Saturday.

As soon as I got home from work the next morning, I called Mr. Drummond's
office and left a message. I was desperate. I waited all day for him to
return the call, but he didn't. I called again Tuesday and Wednesday, and
still he didn't call me back. Finally, on Thursday afternoon, my cell phone
finally rang.

"Billie," he said, "it's Nathan Drummond."

It sounded a little weird to hear him use my feminine name while I was
dressed in male clothing, but I was happy that he finally called me back. I
blurted out all that Mr. Wallace had done to me over the last few weeks and
told him about my "performance review." My voice was pleading and
desperate.

"OK," he said, his voice calm and reassuring, "Enough is enough. I'll take
care of everything. I have the son of a bitch's power of attorney, and I
could make his life damn miserable if he isn't reasonable."

"Thank you, Mr. Drummond," I said. "I had nowhere else to turn. I don't
know how I can ever repay you."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "You may be able to help me with a future
project I have in mind, but for now, let's get you out of this mess you're
in. I have a meeting Saturday, but I should be able to get to Ted's place
about 4:30 or so. We'll get things settled then."

"But," I said, pleadingly, "I have to be at Mr. Wallace's house at 12:30 or
he'll send out those tapes of me."

Mr. Drummond told me just to do my best to stay away from Mr. Wallace until
he got there, then said he had another call and hung up.

Saturday afternoon came all too soon. Again borrowing my mom's car, I
arrived at Mr.Wallace's double-wide trailer in jeans, sneakers and a
long-sleeve shirt. Mr. Wallace, in his ratty robe, his huge belly
protruding, let me in. Incredibly, no one had cleaned up any of the poker
chips, playing cards, beer cans and nacho chips that were strewn on the
floor when Mr. Maddox overturned the poker table a whole week
ago. Mr. Wallace plunked his whale-like body on the couch and took a slice
of pizza out of a delivery box.

I began cleaning up the mess, but the fat pig wasn't having any of it. He
motioned toward the bedroom with the pizza slice.

"Go in there and change," he said through a mouthful of pizza.

"Look, Mr. Wallace," I said. "I'm not going to wear a dress anymore."

He just looked at me and didn't say anything. I started to stammer.

"I-I-I ...I m-m-mean it, Mr. Wallace," I said. "I'll clean this pigsty, but
I'm going to do it in boy clothes."

Mr. Wallace smiled, sat up and wiped his greasy fingers on his robe.

"Sure, Billy boy," he said as he got up and waddled to his computer in the
bedroom. "I'll just send out all the video I have on you right now."

I watched in horror as he called up the video of me jerking off at work. A
few more keystrokes, and he was ready to ruin my life.

"What's it going to be, Billy Boy?" he said with a sneer. "Are you going to
put on a pretty dress ... or not?"

I wanted so much to tell him to go fuck himself, but with Mr. Drummond
coming to fix things, I knew I'd have to play along for a few more hours.

"You win, Mr. Wallace," I said resignedly. "I'll ... I'll do what you
want."

"Not good enough, Billie," he said confidently. "Are you my little sissy
bitch, Billee?"

I bit my lip and closed my eyes.

"Say it!" the fat man demanded.

I shook my head slowly, my eyes tearing up.

"You said it to me once before, so it shouldn't be a problem, sissy. Say
it!"

"Yes, Mr. Wallace," I said softly, feeling defeated. "I'm your little sissy
bitch."

"That's better," he said smiling. "Now, get dresssed, my little sissy
bitch. Shirley said she got you something really pretty."

He turned off the computer, got up ponderously and waddled out of the
bedroom. I took off my shirt and walked into the bathroom, where I applied
just a little foundation, eyeliner, makeup and lipstick. It didn't take
long. I ruefully noted that I was getting pretty good at it.

On the bed was a pair of frilly, pink panties that seemed to have a tiny,
inch-long purple skirt of its own. After removing my boy clothes, socks and
sneakers, I slowly pulled on the panties and noticed immediately how
sensual they felt on my tiny scrotum and penis. In the closet was just one
dress, light green and incredibly frilly and feminine. I slid it over my
slender frame, and it felt like nothing I have ever worn before. The narrow
straps on my shoulders had fluffy bits of fabric that accented my soft
shoulders and toned, bare arms. It had ruffles all over, modestly low-cut
in the front, exposing my cute collarbone down to just a hint of my
breasts, but was much lower behind me, leaving most of my slender back
bare. Accenting my tiny waist was a thick, pastel belt that I cinched in
tight above the dress' loose skirt down to five inches above my knees. On
the closet floor was a shoebox. I opened it to see the first true pair of
high heels I would ever wear. They weren't exactly stilletos, but the
three-inch narrow heel green (to match my dress) shoes were undeniably
feminine and gave my legs an entirely different appearance. My feet felt
cramped, but I was able to walk surprisingly well, considering I had never
worn anything like these shoes before.

Looking in the mirror, I saw the most incredibly girly young thing I have
ever seen, with her hands on her waist and her body shimmying back and
forth, her blonde ponytail adding to her youthful, virginal, sexy
appearance.

I looked like my own dream date, the girl any man would want to have but
knows she is so far above him that he has no chance of her giving him a
second glance.

Walking tentatively on the high heels, my shoulders back and my posture
perfect, I took a deep breath and walked into the living room. Mr. Wallace
didn't notice me at first as he lay like a beached walrus on the couch, his
eyes fixed on the football game on TV and his mouth disgustingly chewing
yet another slice of pizza. I set the poker table upright and began to pick
things up off the floor. It didn't take long for Mr. Wallace to notice me.

"Holy shit, Billie!" he blurted with his mouth full. "I mean holy fucking
shit!"

I stood up straight, my right hand holding my left wrist behind my back,
one foot ahead of the other, pointed toward Mr. Wallace, like women do. It
wasn't anything I planned to do. It just kind of came naturally.

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Wallace?" I asked in a soft, feminine voice.

The fat pig started to choke. Some of the pizza must have gone down the
wrong way. He got flustered and coughed.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said crossly. "Clean this place up, and hurry up
about it."

I nodded and quickly filled up two plastic bags with the mess in the
room. The sink was a disaster, and I didn't want to get my pretty dress wet
and soiled. I found a thigh-length, halter-type backless apron and put it
on over the dress, tying it around my waist. I decided to take the garbage
bags outside to the metal trash cans.

I had just gotten out of the front door when I noticed the 50-ish
moustachioed mailman talking to a couple in their early 30s with a baby in
a carriage in front of the house.

"Hey," said the mailman to me. "I was wondering whose car this was here
every Saturday. Ted Wallace doesn't get many visitors, as far as I can
see."

The man with the wife and baby didn't say anything. He just looked at me,
averted his eyes so his wife wouldn't notice, then looked me over
again. Does a girl always know when a man wants her? I could tell that he
did, and it kind of gave me an eerie but confident feeling. Meanwhile, I
responded to what the mailman said.

"I'm Billie," I said. "Mr. Wallace hired me about a month ago to clean his
house once a week."

"You clean houses?" said the husband, his face brightening. "Honey," he
said to his tired-looking wife who obviously hadn't lost the weight she had
gained from the baby, "we could use some help around the house, couldn't
we?"

She didn't say anything, but didn't look happy when her husband asked for
my phone number so they could "have me come over to clean sometime."

The mailman then said that he had a nephew about my age who would probably
love to meet such a nice, hard-working girl, and asked for my number,
too. For some reason, I didn't think the husband wanted my number so I
could clean his house, and I doubted the mailman had a nephew. I shyly
smiled and gave them both the same phony phone number, then excused myself
and emptied the garbage bags into the trash cans in the back.

On my way back, I paused at the front door to give the two men, who were
still chatting (and looking at me), a smile over my left shoulder before
re-entering the house. I guess I was enjoying the obvious effect I was
having on men.

Certainly, I was having an effect on Mr. Wallace, whose eyes never left me
as I continued to clean the kitchen and wash the dishes. He finished the
whole large pizza, then threw the box on the floor and told me to fetch him
a beer. He took a big swallow, burped and grabbed the skirt of my apron.

"Who told you that you could put this on?" he said arrogantly, tiny bits of
cheese from the pizza clinging to his beard stubble as he wallowed on the
couch, holding onto my apron.

"I ... I didn't want to get this pretty dress dirty, Mr. Wallace," I said.

His face got real serious.

"Take it off."

I looked at the clock. It was 1:15. Mr. Drummond wouldn't be here for more
than three hours. Mr. Wallace pulled my apron string, loosening it around
my waist. I lifted the halter top of it off over my head and set the apron
down on a chair. Mr. Wallace took another swig of beer. It obviously wasn't
his first beer of the day. He sat up, his huge belly spilling out of his
open robe, and stared at me.

"So fuckin' gorgeous," he muttered as I stood in front of him. "You belong
to me, you little prissy bitch. Are you wearing panties?"

I nodded.

"Do they feel good on your little sissy prick, Billie?"

I didn't like where this was going.

"Yes, Mr. Wallace," I said nervously. "They feel nice."

"Well, lemme see 'em," he drunkenly ordered, slurring his words.

"Wha ... What?" I said, my voice tremulous.

Mr. Wallace grabbed the skirt of my pretty dress.

"I said ... lemme see 'em!"

I pulled away, and his hand lost its grip on my skirt. I stepped back and
... utterly humiliated ... slowly raised my skirt so he could see my
frilly, pink panties. The fat bastard stared at my panties and smooth
thighs and smacked his lips. I lowered the skirt, hoping he would let me
resume cleaning.

"Nice, cute panties, Cutie," he taunted. "Now ... take them off."

"Please, Mr. Wallace ... I don't ...."

"DO IT!" he demanded.

I felt like crying, but tried not to.

"Come closer," he said.

I stepped closer, and Mr. Wallace reached out and moved his fat hand up and
down my left thigh as if he were entitled. I shuddered, feelng so violated.

"Take 'em off," he said.

Mortified, I reached under my dress with both hands and slid the panties
down my slender, bare legs. They got caught momentarily on my right high
heel. From where he sat, Mr. Wallace reached down and plucked them off my
shoe, then pressed the panties to his face and took a big sniff.

:"Mmmmmmm boy!" he said as I stood there in that frilly dress, fidgeting.

"Let your hair down," he ordered. "I like your hair down, girlie boy."

I reached behind me and slid the rubber band out of my ponytail. I shook my
head, and my blonde hair cascaded down over my shoulders and neck.

"Now," he said, "keep the shoes on ... but lose the dress."

"The ... the dress?" I said.

"Yeah," he replied arrogantly. "You like that apron so much, you can wear
that -- only that -- while you clean the joint."

"No way!" I said.

"I said, LOSE THE DRESS or I go back and fire up that computer."

Mr. Wallace grinned stupidly, spittle forming at the corners of his
mouth. My heart sank. I knew I had no choice. Slowly, my face a blank, I
moved the ruffled straps off my shoulders, undid the thick belt and oozed
out of the lovely, frilly dress. Wanting to cover my nakedness, I hurriedly
reached for the mid-thigh-length apron on the chair and put the halter top
over my head. I tied the apron string tightly around my tiny waist. My
arms, neck and all of my back and bottom were bare.

"That's better," said Mr. Wallace, laughing hideously. "Turn around."

As soon as I turned, his huge, greasy hands went to my tight little bottom
and squeezed. I cried out and quickly moved away.

"Damn," he said. "What an incredible little ass."

I tried to ignore him ...  and the draft I felt on my bottom. I went back
into the kitchen and resumed washing the dishes under the eyes of that fat,
disgusting pig on the couch.. More of me was bare than clothed as I plunged
my hands into the hot, soapy water. I couldn't help feeling youthfully
sensual, and yes, sexy. I glanced back at Mr. Wallace over my slender, bare
shoulder, and the repulsive creep's right hand was slowly moving up and
down over his fat cock while his eyes were riveted on me. It was
disgusting, but I couldn't help but stare for just a moment at that thick,
utterly manly object between my office supervisor's immense thighs.

Trying to catch my breath and feeling frail, I hurried through the dishes,
leaving them to dry, and walked quickly out of Mr. Wallace's sight into the
bedroom, telling him that I'd be straightening things up in there. I was
breathing hard when I got into the room and looked into the full-length
mirror. Damn, that short halter apron was sexy. I ... I was sexy! I
couldn't help it. My little penis started to grow under the apron. I closed
my eyes.

>From the bedroom doorway, I heard Mr. Wallace's slurring, deep voice.

"You do know," he said, "I'm going to fuck you."

It wasn't a question. It was a simple statement of fact ... and it made my
blood run cold. He looked so huge, standing there naked, his hairy, pasty
body disgusting, his impossibly big belly hanging down over his thick,
erect cock. I had lost seven pounds over the last month. He had to have
gone over 300 pounds on his 6-foot-4 frame.

I turned to face him, illogically trying to hide my exposed rear end from
him.

"No, Mr. Wallace," I said, my voice more pleading than defiant.

 He walked right up close to me. I could smell his rancid body odor and the
beer and pizza on his breath. I felt so tiny next to him.

"You're such a gorgeous little cunt," he said. "I'm going to pop your
pretty boy cherry but good. Now, what will you do for me?"

Do for him? I was confused.

Suddenly, Mr. Wallace, his eyes holding mine captive, reached under my
apron, grabbed my scrotum and squeezed ... hard.

I thought I was going to faint. My legs went weak and I cried out in pain.

"What will you do for me?" Mr. Wallace said, his left arm moving around me
and his big, fat hand between my bare shoulder blades, pressing me toward
him.

"I ... I don't understand," I said, my voice a pained squeak.

He squeezed harder. I cried out.

"What will you do for me?" he said again, his fetid breath in my face.

His fat hand squeezed again. It hurt so much.

"I ... I'll do something for you, Mr. Wallace," I pleaded. "I ... I'll kiss
you."

I crossed my bare, toned arms around his thick neck, my right hand on my
left elbow, helping me keep my balance as I went up on my tiptoes in those
high heels. Mr. Wallace 's left hand caressed my bare back and his grip on
my scrotum with his right hand loosened as he lowered his massive face to
meet my lips with his. I closed my eyes. My flimsy apron rode up on my
thighs as his fat lips played with my slender ones. His stubble rough
against my smooth face, I could feel his erect cock against the belt of my
apron.  His right hand still on my scrotum, his thick, awful tasting tongue
entered my little mouth. My body went limp as I surrendered it to him. His
fat fingers moved from my scrotum to my slim penis.

"Mmmmm ... mmmm, what a nice little hard-on you've got there, Billie," he
said with a chuckle before resuming his tongue's assault on my sweet,pliant
mouth.

To my consternation, he was right. Maybe it was feeling so sexy in this
flimsy halter apron, I don't know. Maybe it was surrendering my kiss to
this awful, horrible man. What I did know was that I was getting an
erection. Our kisses was getting moist and passionate. Both his fat hands
went to my upper arms as he broke the kiss and roughly turned my body
around, my bare back to him. His breathing was becoming rapid as his mouth
nuzzzled my neck, giving me the chills. The older man's rapid, urgent
breathing from behind me made me feel even more girly. His hands on my arms
bent me over the chair, and I felt the weight of his huge belly on me. His
left arm went around my chest from behind, his fat fingers finding my right
nipple under the apron. His right hand was on his thick cock as he
maneuvered it first between my tight little bottom, then right at my
opening.

Before I could protest, he plunged that fat cock an inch past my protesting
sphincter. I thought I would die from the pain.

"No, no ... please ... take it out!" I cried. "Take it out!"

But he didn't.

"What an ass," he exclaimed. "Such a tight little cunt."

I could feel his belly on my backside as he plunged in another couple of
inches. I thought he was splitting me open. His right hand cupped my face
and turned it to the side, where his mouth captured mine, stifling my
scream..His left hand brutally squeezed my nipple.

Another plunge, and his cock seemed to pop open a barrier in my bottom. I
felt so incredibly filled up. I jerked my body, but his hand on my face
kept our lips joined. He was breathing hard right into my mouth, my chin on
my bare shoulder as he started to pump his dick into me slowly, going
farther with each humiliating thrust.

Then ... suddenly, he pulled out of me. I felt empty, but so relieved to
have that monster cock out of my body. He eased my body off the chair and
turned me to face him. He was huffing and puffing a bit as he kissed me
rapidly several times, each kiss seeming to drain me of my resistance as
his hands moved all over my body. Involuntarily, in my surrender to the
huge old man, I was making little girlie noises with each kiss.

Finally, he paused and leaned back, his hands holding me by my bare
back. He leered at me, trying to catch his breath.

"I own you, you stuck-up little cunt," he said as his greasy fingers ran
back and forth lightly over my collarbone. "I turned you from an arrogant,
lazy shit boy into a beautiful woman, and you know what, it wasn't hard,
was it?"

I couldn't answer, even if I wanted to, because he pressed his lips to mine
and left them there, his tongue slowly overpowering mine as I surrendered
yet again. It occurred to me that the miserable, fat prick was right. It
hadn't taken much to make me feel more like a woman than a man.

Almost without me noticing, he slowly pulled the apron string from my tiny
waist right off the apron as he kissed me. His strong, fat hands moved to
my sensitive shoulders and squeezed and caressed them as I stood there
shimmying slightly in abject surrender, accepting his kiss, moaning softly
and leaning in to him. Eventually, his rough hands moved down my smooth
arms and settled on my narrow wrists. Before I realized it, he began tying
my wrists together with the apron string. I looked up at him in surprise as
he tied a tight knot around my wrists..I felt so helpless as my wrists in
front of me struggled hopelessly to free themselves.

Mr. Wallace's smile was confident, evil and eager, the flab of his putrid
body moving up and down as he threw me roughly onto the bed. My apron clung
to my slender body as I lay on my back. His eyes took me in, his lust
evident as his massive body covered me. He was so heavy, it was hard to
breathe. His body odor and breath repulsive, his hands grabbing, caressing,
his teeth attacking my neck, shoulders and breasts, all as my wrists were
tied in front of me. He was breathing hard as he got on his knees on either
side of my writhing body and tied the other end of the apron string to the
headboard, forcing my arms helplessly over my head and pulling my slender
torso even more taut. As he leaned forward, his fat, smelly prick brushed
against my lips as I started to sob quietly..

He was almost totally out of breath, but managed to get out two words:

"Suck it."

Tears are welling in my eyes as he put his smelly cock at my lips. The odor
is almost unbearable as the strong, musky, sweaty odor of his thick,
pulsating cock makes me gag even before he puts it into my mouth. I open my
mouth and he slowly puts his blood-engorged organ between my lips. His
thick, gray pubic hair in my face, he thrusts into my mouth.

"That's it, princess," he says, "suck that old cock."

Mr. Wallace grabs my hair with both hands as he starts fucking my mouth. I
struggle against the apron string, but it's no use. His cock is so thick
that my lips are open about as far as they can go. I start to gag as his
dick rams the back of my throat.

"Yeah? You like sucking Mr. Wallace's cock? You like this, cocksucker?"

I didn't answer. I was getting into a rhythm, sucking this old man's
penis. I was concentrating on that.

Finally, he pulls that massive organ out of my mouth, leaving a thin trail
of my saliva from the tip for a moment. He sat back, breathing hard, his
huge, hairy belly heaving, looking down at me.

"It's your own fault, Bill, for being so fuckin' gorgeous," he said. I
noted that he used my masculine name, the more to humiliate me. I begged
him to untie me and let me go.

"You know," he sneered, "I might consider that ... if you didn't have a
hard-on."

It was true. To my eternal shame, my little penis was hard and at its puny
4-inch maximum length.

"You want this," he said. "You want me to fuck you."

I was crying now.

"No!" I say as loudly as I can. "I hate you, you fat prick. Let me go."

He just stared down at me as tears streamed down my cheeks.

"Please," I pleaded softly between sobs. "Please let me go."

"You don't mean that," he said. "You really don't."

As if to prove it, he bent down and kissed me. After struggling for a few
moments, I moaned softly and began kissing him back.

With that, Mr. Wallace sat up and roughly put my feet onto his hairy
shoulders.and pushed my thighs back with his massive chest and
belly. Without warning, he plunged his thick cock into me to the hilt. His
huge, old cock is so hard as pulls almost all the way out and slams it deep
into me, knocking the breath out of me, the pain incredible.

He grinds into me, slamming into me again and again. The pain slowly begins
to subside. My legs slide off his sweaty shoulders and attempt to wrap
around his waist, but it is too big to get around. My thighs are spread
wide, his weight overwhelming as he plunges into me again and again. My
little penis is rubbing against the apron material, trapped under
Mr. Wallace's massive belly. His breathing now is incredibly loud, his
belly weighing me down. His mouth attacks my neck and shoulders, nuzzling,
nipping, kissing, his hands squeezing my little breasts. My little hips
begin to start moving, responding to his thrusts as his fingers brutally
squeeze my already-sore nipples.

He keeps fucking me, his breathing becoming louder and louder, sweat
dripping from his face and neck onto me, his prick filling my tight canal,
his weight ponderous as I'm moving my hips and squeezing my little bottom's
muscles. I'm exhausted. My body goes limp. His hands move to my torso, and
his mouth captures mine in a long, tongue kiss that I don't resist. My
little penis, trapped between us, is getting close to orgasming..

His face is very red, sweat pouring off it, his breathing so hard.

"Damn," he says, "you're ... such ... a ... good ... fuck."

Strangely, it felt good that he would say that.

"So beautiful," he says, breathing hard as he continued to ram into me
again and again. "I never fucked anyone so beautiful. I'm going to fuck you
any time I want."

His giant hands grabbed my face as he kissed me roughly. His breathing
louder than ever, he arched his back. His cock seemed to grow even bigger
inside me. His eyes rolled back in his head as he made one last plunge into
me. He screamed as his cock ripped into me harder than ever, gushing his
old man cum into my no-longer-virgin bottom.

Mr. Wallace's elbows landed on either side of my head, and his massive body
collapsed on top of me. His 6-foot-4, 300-pound body covered my 123 pounds
from head to toe and more. I felt so girly and feminine, an unfamiliar
pride in turning on a man enough to make him cum. His cock still hard
inside me, I squeezed my butt muscles a bit around his cock. It felt
good. I guess he had hit my prostate. I almost came ... but not quite. My
wrists were still tied above my head, and Mr. Wallace was very heavy. It
was a little hard for me to breathe.

"Mr. Wallace," I said timidly, "would you please let me up now?"

There was no answer. I tried to move him off me with my body, but it was no
use.

"Mr. Wallace?"

I figured he had fallen asleep after he came.

"Mr. Wallace?"

Then it occurred to me ... I couldn't hear Mr. Wallace breathing.

"Mr. Wallace!" My voice was shrill and terrified.

"Mr. Wallace, Mr. Wallace!

He was face-down on top of me, seemingly not breathing at all. With a lot
of effort, I was able to nudge his face to the side by shimmying my
shoulder so I could see him. His expression was stupid. His mouth was open
and drooling, his eyes staring ... unblinking ... unseeing.

Mr. Wallace was dead.

I screamed like the girly girl that I was. I absolutely panicked, trying to
free my wrists from their bounds, crying, wailing. My thoughts were
illogical, irrational. I thought how my lovely, slender body, my pretty
face and long, luxuriant hair were all trapped under a vile dead man. A
dead man I had killed. I cried for a long time. Even as I loathed the feel
of Mr. Wallace's dead flesh on me, I wondered if it would be my fate to die
like this, under a corpse, with no one likely to come to the house for days
... maybe weeks.

Then, I remembered Mr. Drummond. He said he would be here at 4:30, didn't
he? I looked for a clock in the bedroom. There was one on the far wall. It
read 2:47.

I tried to calm myself down, but I was still trapped, my wrists tied above
me, and I wondered if Mr. Drummond would keep his word. He's a very busy
and important man. Maybe he'll just blow it off and not show up. The
thought terrified me, and I tried to put it out of my mind. I relaxed my
body, my eyes following the second hand of the clock, wishing it would move
so much faster. The minutes ticked by, oh so slowly. I looked again at
Mr. Wallace's ugly, unseeing face. I hated him. I hated him more than any
other human being I had ever met ... and now, he's dead.

The bastard ... he had turned me into a girl ... his girl. His was the
first cock to ever be in my mouth. He had taken my virginity. What was it
about this grotesque old man that had made me want him to kiss me, to make
me dress and feel all girly for him? I was ashamed to notice with these
thoughts that my slender, circumsized penis was stirring, still trapped
under Mr. Wallace's huge, heavy belly. Meanwhile, his thick cock was still
inside me. I managed to move my hips an inch or two, and his prick nudged
my prostate.

I couldn't ... Oh, I just couldn't, could I? I began to rationalize. I had
been taken advantage of for this horrid man's pleasure. I moved my hips
again. A wave of pleasure swept over me.

But I couldn't ... I mean .. I couldn't be fucked by ... by a corpse
... could I?

My penis was growing harder with the friction under the cute apron. My
wrists tied above me, I was feeling helpless, pretty and trapped under this
terrible man. I moved my hips more ... and more. I looked at Mr. Wallace's
horrible face next to mine. My hips moved more and more. Mr. Wallace's cock
felt so good inside me. My breathing became rapid, my penis feeling full
and ready. I was close ... so ... so close. I moved my face two inches
closer to Mr. Wallace's as my passion built. I could smell his awful
odor. His prick hit my prostate again ...

And I kissed him.

I kissed a corpse. I moaned girlishly. My lips pressed against his open
mouth, my tongue playing with his unresponsive one as my little cock
escaped the apron and erupted with a torrent of cum against Mr. Wallace's
hairy belly. My slender body was wracked with my orgasm as I saw every
color imaginable and cried out helplessly into Mr. Wallace's putrid mouth.

It took me minutes to recover, and when I finally did, I thought I was
going to vomit. My revulsion was overwhelming. What kind of person was I? I
just had sex with a corpse.

A corpse!

The clock ticked by so incredibly slowly. 4 o'clock ... 4:10 ... 4: 15
... Finally, it was 4:30 ... and to my horror, no Mr. Drummond.

"I'm going to die here," I said out loud, panicking again. It was 5:15, and
no one was going to rescue me. I would die a horrible death. I started to
cry. My sobs wracked my body, and to my shame, I felt Mr. Wallace's prick
again rub against my prostate. I hated myself. Maybe I deserve to die like
this.

Then, I heard loud knocking at the front door ... and then Mr. Drummond's
voice from the living room:

"Ted?" he called out. "Where are you? Billie ... are you here?"

I took a deep breath and called out to him as loudly as I could under
Mr. Wallace's weight. A few moments passed, and there was Mr. Drummond
walking into the bedroom.

I was going to live.

(End of Part 5 ... to be continued. The author welcomes comment at
oberon_52@hotmail.com.)