"Wear my wife or girlfriend's clothes, assume the role and position, slut-boy."

You whisper darkly with malice and revenge in your bi male eyes to me, seeing my eyes open suddenly, wide as split coffee, as you come home unexpectedly on an earlier flight this summer vacation and discover me half-asleep in your queen-sized bed, completely cross-dressed as a French maid (made to obey?) or slutty schoolgirl in her thigh-high stockings, garter belt, tight white panties, slip, push-up bra, black skirt, and revealing slightly unbuttoned white blouse.

Now you know why whenever you have me house-sit the apartment you live in, the bed always smells funny from my masturbating as you directed me to sleep on the couch and your wife or girlfriend's clothes seem a little "bigger" when you return. And it isn't because they were following their Weight Watchers® diet.

Perhaps you are a college educated, non-smoking, considerate really single bi or married with permission male in his 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 “rape” and ravish some innocent virgin "boy-girl" everywhere as they beg you ‘stop’, but hope you won't.

Nevertheless, you haven't had the opportunity in name of your small town, Washington and wish you could meet someone, even a guy who would top from the bottom and show you the ropes. 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 as you adjust your briefs containing your stiffing erection betraying your interest, cross your arms, brush away your hair, and angrily look at me.

"Just what do you think you are doing, young man?" you exclaim as you place your hands on your hips and observe my reaction as I wake up and realize that you are home early, very early. I wonder what you are going to do as feel the clothes grow tighter in fear. You ponder what kind of punishment would be appropriate as you wait for the answer.

"Nothing." I say as I try to cover myself up with the new comforter and avoid your eyes, the way I would avoid the principal eyes when I was caught playing hooky, the new boss when I was viewing porno sites at work, or a police officer as he was about to search me, everywhere.

"Nothing? You call this nothing, you little slut-boy?" as you pull back the comforter to expose my naughty behavior.

"I was just curious." I stammer. "Honest."

I feel myself getting aroused at the result of being caught, wondering what was going to happen next, smelling your sweaty man smell after a long day traveling in the room and your aroma in the clothing around me, and feeling the silk panties contain my resisting cock, wrapped around my thunder thighs and knee high white stockings around my hairy legs. I knew you might catch an earlier flight but decided to play instead.

"I mean your wife has such pretty things and guys don't have such nice things to wear. And I didn't think she would mind. Honest. I just wanted to try them on, just this once. Really."

"Just this once?" You ask with the look of knowledge in your eyes as you gaze upon my gulping Adam's apple. 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 arm, sit down on the hard, firm bed like a silicone butt plug, and drag my body over your eager moist thighs. I can feel your stiffening cock. It arouses me and makes me shiver in fear and anticipation.

"What are you doing?" I protest.

I try to struggle but suddenly like a snakebite, I feel the whoosh of air as your angry hand descends like manna from heaven to connect against my covered panty clad ass. Then a smooth pain like a flash flood quickly develops near my lower portion of my 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.

"You shouldn't be doing this?" I shout.

"Shouldn't be doing, what?" You ask in disgust as you shake your hand, stinging from the fresh blow. It has been a while. But now the memory of the pleasure of giving cross-dressed slut boys begins to return and you feel that familiar buzz return. 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.

"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 the hardness developing stronger like your dominance and gender role reversal.

"No right, what?" You query as you cover my virginal mouth with 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, sir." I finally blurt out as I realize what you want to hear me say and submit to your authority.

"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). I think I have escaped another connection. 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 wife' s clothes without my consent, you little sissy. I think you liked it. From now on, things are going to be different, you little cocksucker." Your eyes are aglow like a burning bush. Something has been awakened within you. Something ancient and evil? Has the spirit of Lilith (first wife of Adam, later banned from Eden for being independent and refusing to submit to the will of Adam) entered you?

"No, sir," I 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 know that you have me over the barrel. And you can do anything reasonable and consensual that you want to do.

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, 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!" and direct me to service the appropriate clean area 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 all men are sluts.

Or will you first force me to handle your used and "smelly" wife's underwear 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 or just plain nude, teasing me with your 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.

"You can start with my bath," you mischievously grin feeling more aroused this time. Then as we walk to the bath, 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 "Burglar" and see what else of my innocence you can take. You look forward to grabbing me (still cross-dressed and squeaky clean) from behind, fondling my A titties and ass, spanking me, interrogating me about my sexual preferences and experiences, rubbing your body against mine, searching me everywhere, hearing me plead you to not do this and laugh at me, exposing my privates, undressing you, forcing me to give you a "blow-job" so I understand what it is like to try to breath while a firm, curved banana, dildo, or strap on is inserted or shoved down, down my innocent throat (while telling me "now you know what it is like to be a girl, slut-boy", and finally showing me what it is like to be impaled doggy style or by straddling you by being on top (the only time!) by a half a foot plus one inch (7") "cock" as you feel the male power within you rise to the surface like true love.

Maybe, a male friend of yours will participate as you flip a coin to see who gets heads or tails. Or strip poker with certain cards representing which parts of the body get serviced.

"Beg me 'stop' (writing kinky bedtime stories), hope I won't."

Copyright 2003-2006 by Switchable Yento of Seattle. All Rights Reserved.

If you are interested in acting this out as a dominant or domme, please email me

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