Date: Tue, 16 Feb 2016 10:57:39 -0500
From: EricAunleashed@aol.com
Subject: Erica Unleashed in High School - part 9 (TG-teen)

TG ARCHIVES;'Erica Unleashed in High School #9'{EricA}( teen1 tg )[9!9]
"Erica Unleashed"
Erica Unleashed - Chapter 9


Author's notes:

Still no word from my talented co-writer Alice. Since I expected her to be
back in touch with me around Thanksgiving (late November, for those of you
not  in the USA) I fear the possibilities - anything from loss of interest
to  computer issues to even worse. I certainly hope she's just having too
much fun  doing something else. And yes, I've emailed her just enough times to
let her  know she's wanted, but not so many that she thinks I'm a pest.

So, I'll continue to press on with stories of Erica, hoping you enjoy them.

One more thing. I admit I have read (or started reading) billions of erotic
 stories online, and very rarely have I taken the time or trouble to write
a note  to the author to praise their work. Shame on me. Now that I've
received a few  compliments on Erica, I understand now just how important it is
for an author to  know there's at least one person out there reading his or
her work. In the  beginning of this series, I received several emails of
praise and suggestions.  Lately, I've received nothing. I have to wonder if the
story is getting worse  and causing people to lose interest, OR might it be
people would feel silly  writing to say something as simple as "read it, it
was okay" when they've  already written a time or two.

Seriously, let me know what you think. And if you have ideas you'd like to
share. _Ericaunleashed@aol.com_ (mailto:Ericaunleashed@aol.com)  is my
address.

And .. the same disclaimers apply. This is fiction. The people aren't based
 on anybody who is real. Don't try this at home. SUPPORT NIFTY FINANCIALLY
or bad  things will happen.

On to the story:

*****************

(One year earlier) ....

The shy 13 year old with hunched shoulders and long stringy brown hair
stood in aisle 12 overwhelmed by the abundance of nuts and bolts of various
sizes, shapes, and even colors. Okay, maybe not colors, but degrees of
shininess. "Three eighths" he mumbled to himself as he read the tiny type on the
seemingly hundreds of bins in aisle 12. "Six inches long.. no.. wait.. four
six  inches and four eight inches..." The boy wanted to cry. Damn him. Damn
that  asshole sending him to get something he didn't know what he was
supposed to be  getting for a project he didn't want to help with anyway. He
finally managed to  find what he thought he needed, only ... there were only
three bolts in the bin,  and he needed four. Then there were the nuts. Someone
had apparently gotten a  hand full of nuts, then decided to put them back,
but put them back in the wrong  bin. And .. they didn't look the same color as
the bolts. Did something like  that matter?

Eric looked around for someone in a store jacket to ask for help, but saw
no one but other men who reminded him of his father. Men with the magical
ability to look at a bolt and know which wrench they needed to turn it. Men
who  knew if it was okay to use dull nuts on shiny bolts. And just when
things were  looking bad for Eric, it got worse. His dad was approaching with a
cart full of  other stuff needed for the project.

"What's the holdup, sport?" God, how he hated being called that. Sports was
 not his forte, and dad didn't do a very good job of hiding his
disappointment.  "Oh no, that's all wrong... you don't use zinc for outside projects..
geez..."  And if that wasn't bad enough, some of the men were looking their
direction. A  couple gave dad a knowing smile ... yep, it's hard to raise a
son, isn't it?  There's so much you have to teach them. Dad was already a
few feet over, in  front of another set of bins ... pointing out they're color
coded. Not the nuts  and bolts, but the labels on the bins. What do the
colors mean? Apparently, real  men instinctively know. "Okay, got 'em ... get
another bag and get some washers  then look for me in paints."

Eric got the washers, and was proud of himself for thinking to test them on
 a proper size bolt to make sure they were the right ones. One less thing
for his  asshole of a father to criticize him for.

"Jesus Christ, Eric ... eight bolts.. SIXTEEN washers.. you only got eight.
 What the h... what were you thinking?"

That earned poor Eric one sympathetic look from a woman examining labels on
 paint cans for god knows what. Then he heard it ... another dad. One with
a son  he could be proud of. Obviously in reference to Eric the fuckup, the
dad said to  his boy "I'm glad I have you for a son."

That was it! He'd had enough. Eric didn't care if this was a grownup, he
was going to tell the man off. Tell the asshole that he, Eric Somerville, had
 maintained an A average practically his whole scholastic career, that he
won an  award for the paint job on a model X-Wing fighter, and just because
he didn't  know anything about nuts and bolts didn't mean he couldn't go to
college and  make a lot of money instead of being some stupid mechanic or
whatever ... and  the first utterance was about to escape his throat as his
head turned to face  this asshole and ... Trey Gibson. His nemesis. One of
many, but Trey and his two  cohorts were the eighth graders most responsible for
his misery. Even for  entertaining thoughts of .. ending it all. If it
hadn't been for Donna, Eric  would have nothing to live for.

Needless to say, Trey's presence shocked Eric into silence. Silence, but
not acute extreme embarrassment. That smile. NO, not a smile.. a smirk. God,
how  Eric wanted to kill ... or at least beat the hell out of a classmate.

If only he was man enough.


************************

Click click click click. There's something exciting about the distinctive
sound of stiletto heels on a hard surface, but I especially loved the sound
my  heels made on the hardware store's concrete floor. It made them ...
louder. More  confident. More determined. Rising above the din. Everyone in the
store would  knew I was there ... nobody could resist looking in my
direction.

For Erica Somerville, a trip to the hardware store was certainly not the
occasion for dressing down. On the contrary ... it's where my particular
charms  could best be put on display for the lowly working classes. To show them
what  they can't have, and to taunt them for it.

Boys. Silly, horny, helpless boys. They were probably mistaking me for much
 older. After all, few 14 year old girls have a body like mine (in more
ways than  one) - and especially don't have huge size-C breasts so prominently
displayed. I  love how I can make them jiggle or bounce or sway at will as I
walk. Believe me,  it takes practice, but it's worth the effort. The boys
seemed to like it. Those  silly, horny, helpless boys.

Unlike many customers in the store, I only had to give "the look" and more
than one store employee came rushing to my assistance.

I would have loved the opportunity to wander around the store, asking
questions, getting guys to do things for me, but I was on a schedule. Donna was
waiting for me in the parking lot, sure I could handle this little task on
my  own. Armed with a list of materials needed, I strategically waited until
the  time was right to stroll up to the customer service desk. Right
because the old  guy working there and the two girls had all just started dealing
with customers,  and all that was left was a young guy with a pimple on his
forehead. I  recognized him from the softball game, but couldn't be bothered
to remember his  name until now. The name tag said "Tom".

He definitely remembered me.   I hit two home runs while he was  pitching.

"Okay, here's my address, and I need it all delivered this afternoon." The
list was extensive... plywood and two by fours and two by eights and
whatever  ... Donna knew all that stuff, my job was just to wave the list close to
my  cleavage before handing it to the guy.

"Uhh.. I can't have it delivered today, the truck is already full up ... I
can do it tomorrow afternoon."

Not good enough. Well, it might have been good enough, but why should I
have to wait. Instead, I pouted.

"Oh, well, we need it all today. I guess I can go to Spencer's Hardware..
it's just.. well.. there's a guy there I used to date and I know he'll get
it  delivered, it's just that I don't want to see him again. It's like, you
know,  he'll expect me to owe him a favor..." and I frowned. Surely, a
gallant young  gentleman such as yourself wouldn't stand to see a lady like me put
into a  dreadful situation like that. I sighed .. "but .. I guess if you
can't do it..."

"Wait.. uh.. uh.." for fuck's sake, spit it out, moron. "Uh.. I .. I think
I can.. I mean.. my dad owns the store.. I'm pretty sure if I ask.."

I smiled. Daddy owns the store .. act suitably impressed and interested,
girl. The moron just stared at me for a minute.

"Well? How long will this take?"

Fuck. Was he communicating telepathically with daddy or what? Finally, he
disappeared behind a door for a minute then emerged with the biggest
goofiest  grin I've seen in ages. His face was so contorted I was afraid the pimple
might  pop and get all over me.

As if this nineteen year old nerd was in charge or something, he assured me
 he would "see to it personally" .. which I hoped might mean he'd be riding
on  the truck when the delivery was made.

Maybe we'd test out the dungeon on him first.

*****************

The boss' son and a buff guy who was probably working his way through
college arrived right on time. I guess they were expecting to dump the stuff in
the driveway or something, but no, we wanted it taken down to the basement.
The  guys weren't expecting that, but it didn't take much convincing. After
all, Mom  and I had been in the pool and came to the door in string bikinis
(I had a towel  around my waist, but they didn't seem to mind) and watched
with our arms around  each others waists as the boys struggled to maneuver
everything around corners  and down steps without hurting anything.

I dread to think of how difficult it would have been for Donna and me, and
how much trouble junior was in for taking so long with the delivery. I'm
sure  they had to pay college guy overtime. Then, as they were leaving, after
college  guy started up the truck and pimple guy was hanging back to gawk a
bit more, I  got the nod from Donna to approach the boss' son.

"After work, do you think you can come back by to help us put this stuff
together. I mean, we have the directions, but we don't know much about this
kind  of stuff."

Oh yeah, he'd be glad to help. I kind of thought it would be interesting to
 invite college guy too, but Donna thought it would be better to just have
to  deal with the weaker one. Like a lamb to slaughter, he not only walked
right  into our trap, but rushed in eagerly. Like he really thought we could
be  interested in him? Silly stupid horny helpless boys.

********************

Can you imagine the irony of assembling the dungeon then becoming it's
first prisoner? Tom confided in us (before he realized he was putting together
a  dungeon) that he had the next two days off. Like we were going to spend
the next  two days letting him fuck us? Hardly. But it couldn't have worked
any better for  us. Nobody at work would miss him, and I'm sure he didn't
tell college boy he'd  been invited back. Pimple boy didn't need the
competition.

It was simple enough dungeon. A platform was built for Donna's throne and
mine to sit on .. she'd bought some very large ornate chairs for the
occasion,  of equal size to demonstrate my exalted status in her household. There
was a  cage for Jake to live in which he wasn't out being useful to us. There
was a  very heavy duty table to strap him to. A cross (a big X) to strap
him to. Hooks  at various heights on a wall and ceiling to attach him to or
hang him from. And  a rack for toys. Whips and floggers and paddles.

It was so easy. Pimple boy's eyes grew wide as we relieved him of the
burden of trying to guess what this was all about. It was a dungeon. For Donna's
 husband. My stepfather. And .. whomever else might like to submit to
either of  us - or both of us.

That's when I stepped up close and gently rubbed the palm of my hand over
his butt and then around to his erect cock. Would he like to help us out
even  more, by letting us test it out on him?

He looked like he was going to cry.

I can always spot the submissive ones. This one must have had the fantasies
 his whole life, but no one to do it with. Well, this would be his lucky
day.

Did I mention the whole thing was being recorded on video? Donna even had
him sign a disclaimer so he couldn't come back later and claim he had been
kidnapped. Not that he knew what he was signing, since I was rubbing his
cock  and cooing in his ear the whole time she was explaining what he was
signing.

Then she gave me the nod, and I kicked him in the groin.

Poor thing, doubled over in pain as the two lovely ladies began to strip
off his clothing. Any sign of resistance, or worse yet, aggressiveness toward
 either of us, and he would get another thrashing. It doesn't take too many
fists  to the belly or kicks to the balls to send a message to a male ..
even one as  stupid as pimple boy. Soon he was stripped naked and tied face up
onto the  table. Despite the pain, it didn't take long for his worthless
little cock to  get hard for me. Probably the lotion on my hand helped. Did he
really think he  was going to get to cum in my hand? About the third time I
took him to the edge  then slapped an ice pack on his groin he began to
suspect he was in for a  frustrating night.

But not as frustrating as mine.

Can you imagine. Whimper. Beg. Cry. Whimper. Beg. Plead. Promise. Cry. Beg.
 Cry some more. For fuck's sake, shut the fuck up! I'm not normally a
violent  person, but fuck! He deserved to be slapped. And punched in the balls.

Besides, it was good practice for when daddykins gets home.

When he wasn't being teased and tortured, he was being made to work. He
might have been a loser, but at least he knew how to hammer and saw and stuff.
 Since we needed some incriminating blackmail pictures to keep him quiet,
and  since we didn't want anyone else to know about my non-girl appendage,
Donna  invited a friend over to help us out.

Remember Stephanie, of Stephanie's Closet at the mall? Beautiful woman,
with a penis. She was only too eager to help us out. Not particularly cruel in
a  physical way, but oh could she fuck with a man's mind. Two days after
helping us  build our dungeon, Tom was begging for another opportunity to suck
her cock,  professing his undying love for her.

There would be no problems from this one.

Stephanie and I made plans to start attending that Baptist church he went
to. That could lead to some fun and interesting encounters, couldn't it? We
also  discussed various boys I knew who I thought might make interesting
subjects for  Stephanie's unique talents. Feminization. Of course we know Donna
was good at it  too, but in a totally different way. Donna helped me find
Erica out of love and  concern, and Erica was no sissy. Stephanie was looking
for sissy boys who were  totally passable, whom she could dress up in
private, and show off to exclusive  audiences, not the general public. Boys who
could continue to live as boys in  the eyes of the community and their
families, but knowing there were a few  people who knew their secrets.

Yeah, I had a few ideas there.

------------------------

I had never seen Donna look hotter. That's saying a lot in light of how
many times I'd seen her looking totally hot. She was on her way to the airport
 to pick up Jake. It would take all his willpower (and her manipulation) to
 resist wrestling her to the floor at the arrival's gate. Her story that
"Eric"  was going to hang out at the mall with friends (so they could have
some alone  time together) wasn't too far from the truth. I'd be helping out
Stephanie at  her boutique, learning all I could of the business (and the
merchandise) while  helping lure men into the store to spend way too much money
on their wives and  sweethearts.

Just before time to close the shop we got the text we'd been waiting for:
"done" -- It meant she had Jake restrained and we could come home to begin
his  breaking.