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.