"Wear my (intimate female) clothes, assume the role and position, slut-boy."
(longer story for a woman)
You whisper darkly with malice and revenge in your angry (female) eyes, standing at the entrance to your bedroom, breasts thrusting forward, straining to get free in your “My eyes are up here” t-shirt, suntanned hands resting on your hips sheathed within your Levis ®, as my middle-aged yet youthful in imagination blue (male) eyes open suddenly, wide as spilt bitter Elite Israeli coffee with no cream in it, served Greek style in response to your pitiless words.
My neatly trimmed eyebrows with a few lines of grey hair in them, behind my brown trendy Eddie Bauer Titanium high index Transition ® lenses with Antireflective ® coating trifocals on my naked, clean shaven face rise slightly reflecting my surprise and shock at your unexpected arrival 6 hours early. You’re supposed to be on your annual summer vacation using your Alaska Frequent Flyer miles earned from all your purchases from the past year.
You’ve come back to your (actually mine) tidy and well-kept place near the West side of Green Lake by the PCC (Puget Sound Consumers Coop Natural Food store) and along the sides of Phinney Ridge and Greenwood neighborhoods in Northwest Seattle in Washington State, unexpectedly on an earlier flight when your rig broke down the last day you were in Reno and you decided to cut short your vacation a few hours.
You had based your vacation upon my recommendations based on my own preferences and by making all the arrangements using my office management skills. You had rented a Class C RV for the first time in Reno and traveled around the Eastern Sierra Nevada Mountains eating at places in the local Entertainment 2for1 or discount coupon book and Fodor’s travel guide books, hiking without the ten essentials, petting stray cats and dogs, camping at private campgrounds in the Coast to Coast system, visiting old ghost towns like Bodie and historical gold mining towns like Nevada City in California, the Sacramento Train Museum, steam train rides, historical towns, gambling, the Manzanar internment camp, numerous isolated hot springs, and national parks like Kings Canyon and Lassen.
Only to discover me half-asleep in your firm, like your expectations of others moral behavior, queen-sized Sealy Posture Pedic ™ bed, completely cross-dressed as a French maid (made to obey?) or a truant private school schoolgirl, your femdom pornography lying besides me like changed fall leaves in the grass and opened up to some of your choice stories and photos about how to handle misbehaving, disobedient, naughty males.
Now you know why whenever you have me house-sit the place you live alone in, the bed always smells “funny” (a male smell?) as you had “directed” me to sleep on the couch, things seemed out of place but then your house is never cleaner than when I house sit, your liquor cabinet is untouched, you don’t have to worry about me doing drugs, the bathroom always has Charmin ® in it, and I’ve cut our articles for you from the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and the local daily paper, and your sexy, intimate underwear and personal feminine going out on the town clothes seem to be a little "bigger" when you return. And it isn't because you are following your Weight Watchers® diet.
Perhaps you are a college educated or smart or reads a newspaper daily, non-smoking, lite or socially drinking, disease-free, pleasantly plump (accepted) woman in her latte 20's to 50's who fantasizes about dominating a man, sexually, mentally, emotionally, physically or has always wondered what it would be like to be a guy and “rape and ravish” some innocent virgin "boy-girl" everywhere as they beg you “stop”, but hope you won't. Preferably from behind.
Nevertheless, you haven't had the opportunity in “your small town” in “your state.” You wish you could meet someone, even a guy who would top from the bottom and show you the ropes. You’ve read some books about dominating men at Beyond the Closet, a gay bookstore chain the last time you were in nearest big city with a large queer population and others that a friend had at their place the last time you visited them.
You’ve thought about it a lot since. You even got up the courage to order some porn from Good Vibrations, Shadow Lane spanking store, and the JT’s (BDSM) Stockroom. Alternatively, maybe you have done it before but haven't had the chance to do it again for fear of what the neighbors would think or say. You cross your arms, adjust your bra strap, reach up to brush away your hair, and furiously look at me.
"Just what do you think you are doing, “young” man?" you exclaim, your voice rising in volume when you come to word “young” as you place your hands on your former baby-making hips and observe my reaction as I slowly wake up and realize that you are home early, very early. You ponder what kind of punishment would be appropriate for someone who looks so normal and has a college degree like I do yet is caught engaging in behavior so shocking that you aren’t sure what you should do as you wait for my explanation.
"Nothing." I utter through my decent set of reasonably aligned natural teeth and a few porcelain crowns in the back and a few cavities concealed by natural color fillings. I try to cover myself up with your new Ralph Lauren comforter. I attempt to avoid your piercing, intense, X-ray type eyes, the way I would avoid the principal eyes when I was caught playing hooky or talking back to the teacher, the new female boss when I was caught viewing porno sites at work, or a policewoman as she was about to search me, “everywhere.”
"Nothing, what?” You call out in annoyance wondering why I don’t show you the deference you deserve.
“Nothing, Ma’am.” I unhurriedly reply but only slightly obediently.
"Nothing? You call this nothing, you naughty little slut-boy?" as you pull back the comforter to reveal and expose my naughty, wayward, untrustworthy behavior. And to think you let me into your house! After seeing my ad on Craig’s List, you had decided to hire me to take care of your place while you would be gone for 28 days. You observed when I came over to be interviewed, how the seat was always left down in my place after using the facilities in the three times you interviewed me, how you seen my name mentioned on a variety of charity news releases and sites, and that I returned your phone calls and emails within 48 hours. I seemed like a very considerate guy. You were mistaken.
"I was just curious, Miss Gato (cat in Spanish)." I stammer as I try to brush back my receding short ash blond-brown hair, feel a little stubble on my formerly above suspicion naked Caucasian yet half-Hispanic face, try to adjust the uncomfortable Albert Nippon black polyester skirt slightly above my soon to be bending knees and white DKNY button down blouse of yours, and realize that you are home early, very early.
“Curious? Well, now I know why my *personal* things are stretched out!” You yell, putting emphasis on the word “personal” and crossing your arms against your heaving chest.
I feel myself getting aroused at the result of being caught, hearing your words of anger filling the room like your favorite perfume, Obsession that you bought at Nordstrom’s, and shiver in fright, wondering what is going to happen to me next. I can smell your sweaty smell after a long day of traveling in the room as well as your aroma, your bodily essence in your clothing wrapped around me.
I feel your tight virgin white silk panties wrapped like a condom around my firm furry bubble butt and my half a foot plus one inch banana with a round cut male clit at the end making a tent in the violated fabric from my arousal and leaking slightly, the black garter belt digging into my waist like society’s morals and expectations about what is good and bad, the white snug thigh-high cotton stockings itching me around my hairy legs and thunder thighs.
Around them I feel the swish of the silk slip barely touching my soon to be always bending knee and a lacy camisole concealing your demi-bra showing off my “A” cups nested in a sea of chest hair, waiting for you to run your fingers through like an innocent schoolgirl running on the beach.
Surrounding my upper body is an innocent white buttoned cotton DKNY blouse, the top two buttons showing my petite valley of the dammed, the sleeves concealing my hairy arms while the bottom of the blouse is tucked into your uncomfortable polyester black or plaid (in a pattern resembling that of prison bars) skirt always 3” above the knee. I knew you might catch an earlier flight but decided to play and take a chance instead as your last email said how much fun you were having.
"I mean you have such pretty things. Guys don't have such nice things to wear,” I hesitate in my answer. “I didn't think you would mind. I just wanted to try them on, just this once. Honest."
"Just this once?" You ask with the look of knowledge in your eyes as you gaze upon my gulping Adam's apple, its bobbing betraying me like an increased heart rate in front of a poisonous snake. I know that you know.
"Well, I ..."
I never get a chance to finish my sentence. Suddenly, like a Praying Mantis going after her prey/mate, you roughly grab my sinister, left arm, sit down on the hard, firm bed like a silicone butt plug, and drag my slutty, cross-dressed, vertically-challenged (5'5") but reasonablely HWP (170), Jewish, Peter Sellers look-a-like in his latte 40’s body over your eager soon to be moist in the middle thighs.
"What are you doing?" I protest as I struggle to get free, only to feel your hands restrain mine behind my back and barely touching my soon to be molested two curved hills of pleasure and pain and cave waiting to be explored by your probing fingers and toys.
I try to struggle but suddenly like a fast snakebite, I feel the whoosh of air as your irate hand descends like manna from heaven to connect twice in rapid succession against my barely protected and covered panty clad ass. Then a smooth pain like a flash flood quickly develops near my lower portion of my pliable cheeks. Finally the pleasure message is sent to my brain as the blood rushes to the surface of my bodacious buttocks after the first stroke of your annoyed but firm, outstretched, hand for my trying to worship the Golden Calf of crossing the gender line.
"You shouldn't be doing this?" I shout.
“Doing, what? And I don’t want to repeat it, you little faggot!” You shout in anger.
“Ma’am, please stop, it hurts.” I cry.
“Oh and what did you think would happen if you got caught?” You bark as your hand descends again and my virgin ass cheeks clench together tightly from the smack.
“Well, I figured that you would get back when you said you would. But you didn’t. I whimper as I feel your hand connect firmly with my butt.
“And what else do you say when you are getting a spanking,” you shout.
“You shouldn't be doing this?" I bawl. “I know that I’ve been a bad boy.”
“And what else?” You scream “Haven’t you been a bad boy who deserves a spanking?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I have.” I shout as I realize what you want to hear. “May I have another? But you shouldn’t be doing this.” I wail trying to move away from your soon to be descending hand like a cane in Singapore upon misbehaving men violating societal norms.
"Shouldn't be doing, what, young man?" You ask in disgust as you shake your hand, stinging from the fresh blows. It has been a while since you’ve spanked someone. But now the memory of the pleasure of giving bushmen (men who like lesbians) and cross-dressed slut boys begins to return and you feel that familiar buzz return in your heart, breasts, and loins.
Like a lightning bolt or divine retribution from the holy one, blessed be he or she, another blow descends as my body twists and turns. Again, my voice fills the room with my pleadings that I have been naughty and deserve to be punished everywhere followed by the proper title.
You begin to quiz me like the stern teacher I had in fifth grade whose favorite activity it seemed was having me stay after school for lectures, interrogations about how I was a "bad boy", and spankings. It seemed like I stayed after school a lot. I don’t remember minding it all that much.
"Spanking me. You have no right." I whine. I try to get up but you now have my hands restrained, perhaps tied together with some extra pantyhose against my back and I feel my hardness developing like your dominance and gender role reversal.
"No right, what?" You shout as you cover my virginal mouth with your mouth and then your left, your sinister hand as I feel another series of strokes arriving close to my other gate of pleasure and hear me gasp in pain and pleasure. It seems like I have always enjoyed being spanked, interrogated, and molested later. I just didn't want to admit it. Eight more strokes follow, like the number of days during Passover, before you allow me to speak or rise slightly and look at you.
"No right to spank me, ma'am." I finally blurt out as I realize what you want to hear me say and to submit to your authority, voluntarily.
"Very good, slut-boy." You reply in a sneering voice. Your hand doesn't descend this time. You look at me the way a hunter looks at its prey. It's not likely that I am going to complain to anyone. After all, I would have to explain what I was doing. But then as you think about it, you realize who is in control and submissives don't have the right to tell you what to do or top from the bottom (unless you're a novice at this and would like me to). I think I have escaped another connection with your harsh hand. As usual, I am wrong.
"Whack" goes your hand again like a Ronald Reagan caricature as you fill the room with the sound of domination and my cries flutter like butterflies in the softly lit bedroom.
"You don't have the right to object being spanked, faggot." You hiss harshly. "I have every right." "You wore my clothes without my consent, you little sissy. I think you liked it. From now on, things are going to be different, you little cocksucker. From now on, you are going to service my needs!"
Your eyes are aglow like a burning bush. Something has been awakened within you. Is it something ancient and contrary? Has the spirit of Lilith (the first wife of Adam according to the Talmud, later banned from Eden for being independent and refusing to submit to the will of Adam) entered you?
"Yes, ma'am," I wimply say as I nod in final submission. I realize finally that I don't have a choice in what is going to happen to me. I can’t afford to have the police called and seeing my name in the small town newspaper. I know that it would make its way into the local “police beat” column and it wouldn’t take most people long to figure out that it was me as many people know that I housesit for you. I couldn’t afford the embarrassment, smile. I know that you have me over the barrel. And you can do anything reasonable and consensual that you want to do. And like what is between my naked body in my black Calvin Klein jeans on Saturday night, there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing.
I wonder what is going to be different and what you are going to do next. Part of me is afraid. Will I be partially disrobed and exposed, spanked, interrogated about what else I have done in your home and elsewhere as well as my sexual history, sexually used like a toy and perhaps raped and ravished by yourself and/or your male and female friends, molested with dildos and strap-ons in both sets of cheeks as you flip a coin and shout "Heads or tails!" or just by yourself. Will I enjoy every minute of it because I really am a slut-boy? Part of me has fantasized having all these things happen to me and loving every minute of it. Because we know that all men are sluts.
Or will you first force me to handle your used and "smelly" underwear from your trip and sniff each one to make sure it needs to be cleaned before doing your laundry? Cook and clean for you wearing girl's clothes, only an apron, or just plain nude, while teasing me with the various parts of your guapa/beautiful body, bringing me off because you feel like it (or because it is going to be part of our play), or ordering me to service or serve you whenever you feel like it whether it be bringing tea, giving a massage, or drawing a hot bath and washing you everywhere and making sure that you are squeaky clean as your like your boy slaves to eat and taste you everywhere.
"You can start drawing my bath," you mischievously grin, feeling more aroused this time. You anticipate having me dress you like a guy, including the cologne, wearing the rough manly clothes, binding your breasts and massaging and licking them after I free them (or not at all if you really want to play the role (to the hilt)), lubricating your pussy and ass with my eager semi-long misbehaving tongue while teasing me about how I am nothing more than a lesbo slut muff diver, and finally having me mount the strap-on inside you and over your clit for our maximum pleasure. You begin to plan in your devious mind how you will rape and ravish me and hear me beg stop (but hope you won't, of course). You like to play the game of "The Intruder in Miss or Mister Rogers Neighborhood."
You look forward to grabbing me (still cross-dressed and squeaky clean) from behind, fondling my “titties” and ass, spanking me, interrogating me about my sexual preferences and experiences, ripping or removing some of your now spoiled clothes off me and throwing me to the floor like my virtue, rubbing your hands, arms, breasts, face, tongue, ass, and body against mine, feeling me get aroused, searching me everywhere, and hearing me plead you to not do this and laugh at me while exposing my privates and forcing me to fondle or later undress you.
Perhaps after some fondling, massage, kissing, necking, making out, lightly stroking your covered and protected breasts (from what, I wonder) in your well-worn t-shirt and foreplay while clothed and your Levi clad ass, you will order me to remove your clothes and get a good whiff or your sweet bodily essence from your white, cotton with a little girl polka dot print pattern panties. You order me to keep it by the bed as it will serve as my mouth gag in case I disobey you.
You spread your legs and order me to eat your pussy to get it aroused and ready for the dildo. I like eating pussy (and ass) so I eagerly comply. You don’t have to repeat that order twice. You feel me plunge my mouth dick into your sweaty cavern, surround your clit, your little dick with the tip of my tongue, twirling around in a clockwise direction as I caress one of your breasts and fondle your puckered flower between your twin hills as your juices begin to flow and you sigh like a stream after a hard rainfall.
You taste of many flavors. At first, it is just the taste of your general pussy, then the taste of the last meal you had (was it Salmon?), followed by the muskiness of your horniness, and finally the last woman or is it a man (the hormones are different for each) who ate you or the last person who fucked you as you begin to shake from the pleasure. Afterwards, you pull me up using my hair noticing the pussy juices dripping from my plump coffee coolers (lips) and tasting yourself if you passionately kiss me as my reward.
You instruct me to position the blue stiff yet squeezably soft and pliable Tantus Feeldoe Slim ® strapless or strap-on vibrating, Silicone, double headed dildo from that you got from Babeland inside your moist, lubricated, aroused pussy to good use and force me to fondle it, stroke it, masturbate it before giving you a thrusting "blow-job."
You order me to treat it like a cock, to play with it the way I would play with my own member and I do. I can see that just fondling it arouses you as you quiver in enjoyment. I figure that if I stroke it and use the leverage to move it inside you, I can make you come again and perhaps you will let me go. I am wrong.
One end is small about the size of a small cock but flared at the base. It looks like it could fit inside an anus quite comfortably. I wonder what it would be like to use it myself on a partner. The other is longer, about 6-7”, about the thickness of my cock, slightly curved like a railroad curve and looks and feels like the real thing. At the base is a small vibrating portable motor powered by three 675 hearing aid batteries. It has lots of power when I test it.
Now I can understand what it is like to try to breath while a firm, curved banana or dildo is inserted or shoved down, perhaps "roughly", down my throat ("Now you know what it is like to be a girl, bitch-boy." I hear you say, “Open wider, you’re not trying. What kind of girl are you?”) as I am distracted by my attempts to “breath” as I feel the engulfing silicone cock slide into my throat like the real thing and filling up my lip licking cave.
I beg you to stop, please “stop” as you pull me up from the hard floor, throw me on the bed on my knees, lift my easy access skirt (that is why men like them on women) and without mercy, pull my panties down to my compliant knees and entrap them so I can’t easily escape while leaving my body still encased in the rest of your clothing. It’s not like I can run away into the street.
You remove my up-to-date glasses and gently put them on the nightstand. I feel my face shoved against the Tempur-Pedic ® pillow, my arms held behind or held together and shoved under the pillow as you fondle my delicious bubble butt and forcibly spread my naïve round valley girl cheeks, looking at my puckered blossom waiting to be eaten or sniffed if you’re into anal things, ordering me to turn each rounded hill one by one like the biblical expression so your lubricated “cock” can slip in my “girl cave”, like my promises more easily.
Perhaps, if you need a disability accommodation because you have a bad back or are feeling generous, you will demand that I am going to be taken by your lying down on your back on your bed as I straddle you by being on top (the only time!) or to make it easier for me or both to be impaled on your rigid member.
You tell me how you are going to show me what it is like to be taken, molested, and raped like a protesting, innocent “virgin” schoolgirl-boyslut as you pull my head back to distract me, kiss my tobacco-free lips while pressing your liberated breasts against my slightly hairy back, and slowly begin to enter my unopened male pussy flower as you open my cave for spelunking.
You enjoy the feeling of having something hard inside you as you wait for me to moan in pleasure and the feeling of fullness from the foreign body, telling me that it won’t hurt so much if I push out like I am having a bowel movement and meeting your thrusts.
I obey as you push further into me while grabbing my shoulders, ass cheeks, and arms for leverage, before skewering and taking me from behind with your condom covered and well lubricated half a foot plus or minus one inch (5-7") "cock" while shouting “You’re my bitch, boy! Wear my clothes, assume the role and position, slut-boy. Open wide for all of me!”
You feel the male power within you rise to the surface like true love or a volcanic eruption of pleasure from Mother Earth. I squirm like a tree trying to stand against a tornado. It is fruitless. I feel my prostrate get stimulated from your slow intrusions, like the looks you get from men and women as you walk down the street or enter a bar, from the inserting of your cock back and forth in my virgin asshole feeling all the moments of pleasure from being filled up followed by pulling out and over again, as you begin to quake from your own orgasm from the other thicker head of the dildo vibrating in your pussy or ass.
I wish there was a man in front of me to devour his pulsating cock, surround his veins with my wet eager oral cave, and feel my mouth fill up with his hot, ropey, musky jism (in a flavored condom) or have him suck me off in return like the proper slut that I am. As the mini-vibrator in the dildo comes to a head, and you slam your way into both of us, we both come at about the same time, my white soapy looking jism filling my condom to avoid staining your sheets as we both fill the room with our verbal expressions of satisfaction and praise while Trembling before God or the Goddess.
Afterwards as well both lie exhausted from our workout; you tell me that I should plan to come over once a week to service you, preferably on a Saturday afternoon.
“Yes, Ma’am, I sigh and meekly reply.
You tell me that maybe next time, a male friend of yours will participate as you’ll flip a coin to see who gets heads or tails of the caught cross-dressed victim, escaped prisoner’s captive, doctor, nurse and patient, or strip poker loser with certain cards representing which parts of the body get serviced. I can hardly wait.
"Beg me 'stop' (writing kinky bedtime stories to act out), hope I won't."
Copyright 2003-2006 by Bi Switchable Yento of Seattle. All Rights Reserved.
If this got you wet and you would like to consider acting it out, please feel free to contact me.
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