Mr. Wallace and Me: Part 7:
By Robin O.
I wasn't sure how long I slept, but it couldn't have been very long. Dr. Phillips hovered slightly over me, his right arm around me, his hand caressing my sensitive shoulder. I was still feeling femininely sensual and I moaned in his embrace. His left hand was lovingly playing with my hair.
"You're so beautiful," he said softly. "Your skin is so vibrant and smooth. Seeing you for the first time in that wonderful dress when I came into the house, I wanted to touch your skin, to put my hands all over you so much. And your hair. I've never been with a real blonde before, and now ... now my sperm is inside the body of the most beautiful blonde I've ever seen."
He slowly lowered his face and tenderly kissed me, his right hand pulling my unresisting shoulder up toward him as the older man's tongue gently entered my welcoming mouth.
"Mmmmm," I moaned softly, my long hair under me, my body totally limp, except for my little penis, which hadn't reached orgasm during our lovemaking and was growing again.
After a very, very long, slow and -- yes -- loving kiss, Dr. Phillips lifted his narrow, homely face so slowly that our moist lips stretched and clung together until they finally parted. He got up on one elbow and admired me as I lay under him feeling wonderfully feminine. He was so adoring that I may have actually blushed No one had ever looked at me quite that way before. He was still so undeniably ugly, scrawny, old and even ridiculous-looking with those puny strands of hair over his bald head, but after all I had been through with awful men who wanted my body only to satisfy their immediate lust, Dr. Phillips wanted me to be his girl. My 18-year-old psyche was so confused.
Would I live my life as a boy or a girl? A month ago, I had never had a gay or feminine thought, but Mr. Wallace must have seen something about me that made him want to see me in a dress. Forced to dress like a girl, why had I so readily assumed the submissive role, my neck and shoulders, in particular, so girlishly sensitive to men's hands and mouths? What was it about a grotesque man holding me, kissing me, his insistent tongue invading my mouth that made me forget all about being masculine? Why did old men's heavy breathing behind me turn me on so much? What was it about old, ugly men desiring me that made me feel so special? I had sucked two men's cocks, something unthinkable to me only weeks before. My wrists have been tied by three men. I had been used and fucked like a woman. I had gotten a man so excited while fucking me that he not only orgasmed, he died. There is no denying that an older man's hands exploring my tiny, curvy midriff while kissing me was highly likely to make me surrender to his desires ... and my own.
There was also no denying that I was developing a teenage crush on Mr. Drummond, who is more than 40 years older than me.
However, my real life is as a teenage boy. If my parents ever found out what I have been doing over the past few weeks, I'd just die. They'd never understand. Neither would my friends and everyone else who knows me.
But what was I to do? I've gone from being blackmailed by Mr. Wallace to now having the same thing done to me by Dr. Phillips. Should I tell Mr. Drummond about it? What would he think of me for having sex -- with such a nothing old man -- after he had instructed me not to talk to anyone? Dr. Phillips expected me to fulfill all his fantasies It was all so much to think about ... too much to think about, and I was soooo worn out. This day ... and night ... seemed like it would never end. I was naked on a bed with an aged medical examiner -- the coroner whose bony, too-moist hands usually were on corpses -- holding me, caressing me, kissing me after we had made such passionate love. My body was limp, my mind a blur, still feeling some of the effects of the chloroform. I needed someone else to do my thinking for me, and Dr. Phillips ... Leo ... was more than happy to oblige.
"It's getting late, Sweety pie," he said. "I don't want to miss our first shower together."
He actually called me "Sweety pie." It sounded so uncool and silly that despite my hazy mind, I smiled.
"Give me a minute in there first, OK?" Dr. Phillips said as he clumsily got up and half-ran into the bathroom.
I nodded and for some reason femininely moved the bed cover over my puffy little breasts. When the bathroom door closed, I absently glanced around the room. The clock that I had looked at so impatiently while trapped under Mr. Wallace read 11:14.
"Oh no!" I thought. "Mom and Dad have got to be wondering what I'm doing out so late."
I bounced off the bed, ran to the bedroom phone and called home. I had to make a conscious effort to use my boy voice instead of the lighter, girly one I had been speaking with since Mr. Wallace made me put the dress on so many hours ago. Dad answered the phone and said they had been worried about me and that I should have called earlier. I told him I was sorry, that I had lost track of the time with my friends and I'd be home in a little while. Dad said it was fine now that they knew I was OK but to be more considerate next time. I promised I would and told him I was sorry. He said he and Mom were going to sleep, then said goodbye. I hung up the phone and moved quickly back to the bed.
I heard the toilet flush, and then the bathroom door opened. Dr. Phillips started the shower, got in and motioned me to join him. I think the adrenalin of the quick phone call and talking to Dad kinda woke me up a little. I looked at the ridiculous-looking man under the shower spray and wished I could just run out of the house. But I knew I couldn't. I took off my high heels and walked naked slowly into the shower. Dr. Phillips' left hand moved behind my head, gripped my hair and pulled my face to his for an ardent open-mouthed kiss. His right arm moved around my waist and pulled me to him, causing my back to arch as I leaned back and he leaned forward. The hot water made our bodies rub together sensually. My arms flailed out. I started to feel helpless and vulnerable again. I didn't want to think anymore.
"If you're going to be my girlfriend, you'll do what I say from now on, right?" said Dr. Phillips, kissing me forcefully while keeping me from falling backwards.
"Yes, Leo," I said, obediently.
He smiled and manuevered me under the water. My hair got very wet. He placed his wet bony hands on my soft shoulders and squeezed. The water made my slender body glisten. My tender breasts were pressed against his hairy chest.as we kissed.
"Next Saturday night, I'm taking you out," he said.
"Yes, Leo," I said girlishly, accepting another kiss.
"One of the women in my office is getting married," he said. "I got invited only because she invited everyone else and it would have looked bad if she didn't include me. I wasn't going to go, but now that I'll have a great-looking date, I wouldn't miss it for the world."
"Yes, dear," I said with a little smile, clasping my hands behind my back and cutely swaying my shoulders as he squeezed them. I was starting to enjoy being the subservient little girlfriend. "But I simply haven't a thing to wear."
The water cascaded over us as Dr. Phillips kissed me again. My mind nearly blank, I moaned as our tongues met.
"Look what you've done to me," he said, his eyes pointing downward. "I haven't been able to get hard twice like this since I was a teenager."
I looked down and saw that his slender cock was erect. Mine was not. I put my right hand pinkie between my lips like Mr. Wallace had demanded when I was wearing that off-the-shoulders blue dress.
"Oh, did I do that, darling?" I asked innocently.
"That does it," Leo said with a laugh. He began kissing my neck and chest, all while holding my shoulders tight. His lips, then his teeth, found my left nipple, then my right, biting much too hard as I squirmed, but I didn't think it was my place as his young girlfriend to protest. My already-sore nipples were going to hurt for a long time.
The water was starting to turn just a little cooler. Dr. Phillips smiled confidently, and his hands on my shoulders slowly pushed me down to my knees. With water splashing all around me, his thin cock loomed in front of me. I looked up at him.
"Come on now," he said, that pencil thin moustache moving up to show his gray teeth.."Do what a girlfriend does for her man. Hurry, put it into your mouth before the water gets too cold."
I didn't know what choice I had ... and the water was indeed getting cold. I moved my right shoulder forward sensually and put my right hand on his slender 5 inches and pumped his penis slowly with my slender fingers as the water from the shower made it particularly slick. I looked up at him adoringly to show him I would do as he wanted.
"Wait, wait, wait," he said quickly. "Your mouth, I want it in your mouth."
But it was too late. He closed his eyes and grabbed my hair as his cock exploded his milky cum onto my collar bone and breasts, which were almost immediately washed clean by the shower spray. Dr. Phillips' knees buckled as he groaned disappointedly.
I rose and put my toned arms around his scrawny neck and kissed the top of his head.
"I'm sorry, dear," I said. "Did I do something wrong?"
"No," he said, catching his breath, "you did everything too damn right."
He turned off the water and ushered me out of the shower. I took a towel and femininely patted my man dry. He began to cough and wheeze, probably not used to all that physical activity.
"We'd better get dressed," he said, walking into the living room.
"Yes, Leo," I said as if in a daze. "Whatever you say."
I took the last towel in the bathroom. It was an older one and felt rough on my smooth skin. Dr. Phillips was sitting on the bed, mumbling while puttng on his socks. I walked over and turned my back to him as I girlishly held the towel to cover my breasts and looked at him coquetishly over my left shoulder.
"Would you be a dear and dry my back, darling?" I said, looking back into his eyes.
Dr. Phillips took his own towel and patted my back dry, then he slapped my bottom and smiled as I skipped away, giggling.
I found my cute panties, put them on, then oozed into my nearly backless frilly dress. I went into the bathroom, first drying with my towel and then brushing my long, blonde hair. My puffy breasts filled out the dress more than they had before, and my nipples rubbed erotically against the light fabric. I looked fresh again, but I felt so tired.
"Leo," I said, "would you be a dear and please bring me my shoes?"
He stopped buttoning his shirt and searched for a moment before finding my high heels and bringing them to me. I liked the idea that I could induce an older man to drop what he was doing and cater to me.
"You are so sexy in this dress," Dr. Phillips said through clenched teeth as his hands went around my tiny waist from behind me and his mouth began nibbling on my neck. I still hadn't cum, and I started to moan needingly. I reached behind me and felt for his penis through his pants, but it wasn't hard at all. I femininely moved my hand up to his face, turned my head and gave him a gentle kiss.
"Next time," I whispered.
The older man turned me around to face him and kept his hands around my waist as I leaned back and placed my slender hands gently on his chest.
""Next time will be next Saturday," he said confidently. "That wedding is going to be great. Where shall I pick you up?"
I certainly couldn't have him picking me up at my parents' house.
"I ... I'll meet you, Leo, wherever you want to meet. I'm so looking forward to it."
We agreed to meet at 6 p.m. in front of the local church where the wedding would be held. Leo would drive me to the reception after the ceremony. He told me not to even think about standing him up. All of a sudden, he seemed to change. He said that as medical examiner, he had the authority to hire detectives who would track me down if I didn't show up. He said I could still be charged with contributing to Mr. Wallace's death. His old man face was dead serious, and I again saw him for what he really is -- an ugly, insecure, horny, little gnome.
I was frightened, my mind in a whirl. If I do show up for our "date," I still have no idea what I could possibly wear, but I didn't care at the moment. His hands held my waist tight. My hands were femininely flat on his chest. I told him he should go home, that I wanted to pick the place up a bit before I left because I wouldn't be returning here anymore with Mr. Wallace gone. Dr. Phillips grabbed me to him, his hands now caressing my bare back, gave me one more passionate kiss that I didn't return, then got his bag and left.
Trying to overcome a rising nausea, I called out, "goodbye" to him as he walked toward his car. He gave a little wave, and he drove away.
After the door closed, I was in that trailer all alone. I began absently cleaning up the living room. Mr. Wallace's pizza crusts were on the carpet along with the pizza box. I don't know why I didn't immediately take my high heels off as I picked things up. They were pretty tight on my feet, and it had already been such a long day and night. They just seemed to go so well with my dress and my calves looked so sleek in them. In the eerie silence, I walked into the bedroom. Almost without thinking, I made the bed on which I lost my virginity and looked in the bureau drawers. In there, I found two other pairs of panties and the blue dress I wore the first two Saturdays with Mr. Wallace. I set them aside to take with me when I left. I already had the schoolgirl outfit hidden in my room at home. I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. I was undeniably young, blonde and pretty and the dress was incredibly sexy on me. Heaven help me, I hadn't cum since I was under Mr. Wallace after he died, and I was yearning for release.
That's when I lost what little composure I had remaining. My lower lip began to quiver ... and I started to cry. Not timid, little sobs, but long, loud, mournful wails. I sank to my knees on the carpet, my head in my hands. Through my tears as I looked down, I saw my puffy cleavage straining against my dress. I told myself that I was only pretending when I acted like Dr. Phillips' little girlfriend, that I only did what I had to do to keep him from revealing what he knew about me and Mr. Wallace. But I also knew that I had abandoned what was left of my virtue much too easily with this pitiful man who couldn't get laid in a women's prison with a fistful of pardons. I was sure I was going to throw up. My eyes blurred with tears, I half-ran, half-stumbled into the bathroom and went to my knees in front of the toilet. My stomach and throat made retching movements, but like my first time with Mr. Wallace, I had the dry heaves. I hadn't eaten in more than 20 hours, and there was nothing to throw up.
I wanted to just lay my head down on the toilet and go to sleep, but I knew I couldn't stay in this house. I rose shakily, took a drink of water from the faucet, looked in the mirror absently and ran the brush through my long blonde hair without any real thoughts going through my mind. I picked up the panties and blue dress and walked like a zombie to the front door. Through my exhausted mental fog I planned to fetch my boy clothes from my mom's car and return to the house to change back into a boy -- change back into Bill -- and leave Billie behind ... forever.
Would Dr. Phillips be able to track me down when I'm a boy? If he did, what could I possibly tell my parents? Would I go to jail? When he called me tomorrow, would I tell Mr. Drummond anything about the fix I am in ... about what I'd done with Dr. Phillips since Mr. Drummond left the house? I didn't want to think about any of that. I didn't want to think about anything. My mind, my body, were on automatic pilot as I opened the door and walked out into the chilly, moonless, pitch-black night.
Goosebumps appeared on my bare arms, shoulders and legs. I couldn't see two feet in front of me. Then, in what must have been the street in front of the trailer, I saw what looked like an ember. As I stared at it, my eyes adjusting to the rural darkness, I could tell that it was the lighted end of a cigarette. I shivered and called out nervously, my voice shaking.
"Who's ... who's there?
A confident masculine voice answered.
"Don't worry," the voice said. "It's me, Stan. We met earlier when I was with my wife and baby. You were taking out the trash."
My mind a blur, I forced myself to think. Yes, yes, he was the married man in his 30s who had been talking to the mailman. Yes, I remember. Now, I wanted him to go away so I could get my boy clothes and have this horrible day finally come to an end.
"Yes," I said vacantly, "I remember you. How are you?"
It was a stupid question, but I was in no condition to be smart about anything. Now, he was coming over to talk to me. He was clean-shaven, about six feet tall, with a light, zippered jacket over his medium build.
"I'm sorry," he said apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you. I was just out for a walk, sneaking a midnight smoke. Since the baby came, I haven't been able to light up in the house." He gave me a silly smile while looking down at me and crushing out his cigarette on the bumper of my mother's car. "Actually, there's a lot I haven't been able to do since the baby came."
"Uh huh," I said, not knowing what he meant and caring even less. I was exhausted, getting colder, and I wanted him to leave so I could get on with getting my boy clothes.
"Look at you, you're shivering," he said as he quickly moved his large hands to my bare arms and began to rub them up and down.
"Please, mister, that's not necessary," I said, shimmying, trying to free myself from him, but he held onto me. My tortured mind didn't want to admit that his hands felt good on my sensitive arms. This can't be happening to me. Not now ... not again.
"Stan," he said, caressing my arms and pulling me to him. "My name is Stan."
"Stan," I said in a pleading way, searching for something, anything to get out of this situation, "please let me go. I'll come clean your house sometime, but right now, I'm ... I've had such a long day ... and I ... I'm having my period. I've got to go."
His insistent hands went to my bare back as he held my body to his, my forearms trapped against his chest..
"You know, Billie," he said, "you did say your name was Billie this afternoon, right? My wife cut me off from sex three months into her pregnancy. Now, the kid's almost five months old, and we still haven't done it. Not even once. You'd think even if her cunt's not up to it that she would let me fuck her ass. But no, and she used to like that, too."
Holding me close, my arms trapped against him, he moved the frilly strap off my right shoulder with his teeth and started kissing my neck and the soft top of my smooth chest near my shoulder. I was too mentally and physically spent to offer much resistance.
"Have you ever been with an older man, Billie?" he said.
I couldn't help it. Exhausted, I started to laugh, a shrill, hideous giggle. This older man who asked me that question was far younger than all the other men who had held me in their arms. Stan took my laugh as cause for encouragement. His fervent lips met my unresisting, listless, unencouraging ones as his arms manuevered my malleable body against his larger, stronger one. In seconds, there was another eager tongue in my mouth that wasn't mine.
"I saw the way you smiled at me when I was talking to the mailman," he said confidently. "You wanted me. I could tell."
He was right about one thing. I did flirt with him and the even-older mailman with the moustache. But I didn't want them. In my girly dress and cute apron, at the time I was just enjoying the effect I was having on older men that I could sense wanted me.
Stan's mouth planted wet kisses on my bare shoulder and chest as his hands gripped my bare back, owning it. I couldn't help but moan just a little. He looked down at me.
"Is it really your period?" he asked.
I nodded and he frowned. My mind was an absolute blank, but my body was starting to respond. My breathing was getting heavier and his kisses on my body were making me tingle.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said, then slammed me face-down sideways over the hood of my mom's car. I cried out into the cold darkness, but no one could hear. "You're so thin and cute, so gorgeous," he muttered, "and I'm not going one more night without fucking something."
His thick body pinning my slender one to the car hood, Stan raised my skirt, gripped and tore my panties in two.
"Holy crap, what a great little ass. I mean it. What a great, little ass. This is going to hurt for a while," he said, pulling down his pants and undershorts, "but then it's going to feel great."
"Nooooooooo," I sobbed mournfully. "Oh, please, please ... noooooo!"
From behind me his strong hands were on my waist, and his thick cock -- so much bigger than Dr. Phillips' -- burrowed into me. He was right. It hurt. I arched my back and emitted a kind of sick moan as he impaled me..
"Holy shit!" he said. "It slipped in there like nothing. You've taken a cock up the ass before! Why, you little whore!"
The married man proceeded to bang into me harder and harder, his teeth taking little nips of my bare back as my dress clung to me by the one remaining frilly strap. He grabbed my hair and pulled, making me arch my back as he plowed into my sore bottom. After all I had been through, my mind was disbelieving that this could be happening to me.
"Take my cock, you little cunt!" he said between deep breaths and slobbering on my back. "You've got the sexiest back I've ever seen. You bitch, you cunt, you little whore!"
I didn't know why he was calling me names. But he seemed to get more excited doing it. I was crying, my body unresponsive as Stan dragged me off the car hood and put me face-down onto the lawn where he lay on top of me, gripped my shoulders and continued his assault,
"Do you like this cock in you, Baby?" He was breathing hard as he lay atop me, kissing and nibbling my bare back and neck. "I know you do, Slut. You feel so fucking good. What a body. What a fucking body."
His thrusts were driving my sore breasts and narrow hips into the soft, damp grass. The friction on my little penis as it rubbed against my dress as it was forced down again and again was making it hard. Stan started grunting rapidly in my ear, his hands squeezing my sensitive shoulders, my bottom so full with his thick cock.that I was incapable of any kind of cogent thought. I could tell that Stan was getting close ... and so was I.
"Cunt!" he shouted. "Whore! Bitch! Slut!" He rammed into me. I was so close.
Then he bit my shoulder, and I arched my back and screamed as my little penis shot a hot wad of cum into the skirt part of my lovely dress. I'm sure I passed out for several seconds. I have a vague recollection of Stan continuing to plunge into me many more times before grunting in rapid succession, pulling out of me, grabbing his dick and launching his seed onto my bare bottom and lower back.
We lay there for minutes with him on top of me, trying to catch our breath, the only sound other than our breathing made by crickets in the dark distance. Then abruptly, Stan kissed my back and got up. He pulled up his pants and undershorts, which had been caught up on his shoes while he had his way with me.
I lay there limp, face-down, one frilly strap off my shoulder that now bore his bite indentation. The back of my dress was still pulled up, revealing his white cum on my tight, taut bottom. My blonde hair was all over the place. My relief at finally orgasming overwhelmed by feeling so used, so physically and mentally dominated ... again.
"Fuck," Stan exclaimed, looking down at me as I sobbed softly, feeling horribly violated. "That was great. You look so sweet and innocent, but you're the best piece of ass I've ever had."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out several folded bills. He selected a $20 bill, bent down and pushed it arrogantly into my cleavage.
"Here you go, Billie," he said. "You certainly earned it, you little whore. You can earn another 20 next Saturday by coming to my house -- it's No. 15 just down the street -- to clean. I'll send the wife out to her mother's with the kid. I'll be wanting to see if your cunt is as good as your ass. If it is, there's another 20 bucks on top of that for you."
He not only treated me like a prostitute, he paid me like one! I didn't think I could feel lower than when I was fucked by Mr. Wallace's corpse, but I was wrong. Stan was a pig. I began to think all men are pigs.
But through my haze, I realized that for the first time, I had been fucked by a man who -- even afterwards -- didn't know I wasn't a girl.
A moment later, Stan was gone into the dark night.
I rolled up into a fetal position ball and would have cried, but I had no tears left. Eventually, I realized I was cold. I rose vacantly, found my boy clothes in the car and walked in a trance back to the trailer. Twenty-five minutes later, I entered my parents' house dressed as Bill, an 18-year-old boy. I fell into my bed with my clothes on and slept until late the next morning when my cell phone rang.
It was Mr. Drummond. I was so sleepy that I barely understood what he was saying.
"Billy," he said, "I want you to call in sick the next two nights at work. The last thing we need is you having to answer any qustions about Ted Wallace. I want you to meet me at my office on Tuesday at 4 p.m. The address is on the business card I gave you. Oh, and wear a suit ... a young man's suit. See you then. Gotta go. Goodbye."
"Yeah," I said sleepily. "OK."
Then I removed my boy clothes, lay back down naked, pulled the covers around me and slept for another five hours.
End of Part 7. (To be continued.)
The author welcomes comments at Oberon_52@hotmail.com.