Chapter 110
by 
Yelawolf
She...
Left the room heading somewhere to compose herself
You look at your phone seeing Garvin laughing hard. You stare back at him. You flip him off.
You said. "Shut up. You are a huge fucking tool. You're such an asshole. I hate you so much."
You get up from the bed. Your small cock, now limp and glistening with Ashley's wetness, feels like an absurd afterthought. The ache in your boycunt, however, is a roaring fire. A void demanding to be filled.
You rip the phone from its perch, your knuckles white. "You hear me? I hate you!"
Garvin's laughter doesn't stop. If anything, it looks louder, richer. He's not offended. He's amused. Utterly happily at Ashley defeat.
You watch him as he lay back on a bed some where. He pull down his pants letting his monster black cock out.
"Aww, is little baby mad?" he mouths silently, his grin stretching wider. He gives his huge, semi-hard cock a slow, lazy stroke. "Talk to the hand, bitch." He winks. "Or better yet, talk to this dick. 'Cause we both know that's the only thing you're really thinking about."
The raw truth of his words hits you like a physical blow. You're raging at him, yes, but your body is betraying you. Your boycunt clenches, a ****, involuntary spasm at the sight of his cock, even through the screen. He's right. He's fucking right.
You look at his glorious black cock. The ache inside you becomes a tidal wave, a craving so intense it makes you feel like you're going to shatter. You hate him. You hate what he's done to you. You hate how he's ruined the one good thing you thought you had.
And you want him more than you've ever wanted anything in your life.
Garvin said. "You're going to come to me, aren't you, Harley? All by yourself. No one dragging you. No one making you. Because you know where you belong. You know what you need."
You drop the phone onto the bed as if it's burning you. You stand there, naked and trembling in the middle of the room, the scent of Ashley's perfume and your own shame heavy in the air.
You have a choice. Path one is through that door. Find Ashley. Try to salvage the wreckage. Apologize. Beg. It's the path of the sissy you were supposed to be. The sweet cute sissy that everyone would want to make love with and to marry. The sissy everyone wants to be friends with. The path of decency.
Path two is your clothes. Get dressed. Walk out of this house. Get in your car. Drive. Drive to him. It's the path of the man you've become. The slutty sissy that wants that big black cock desperately. The path of surrender. You look at the closed bedroom door.
His cock waving back and forth on the face time. He doesn't need you. He knows you will come. He knows your body better than you do. He knows the ghost of him is a more demanding lover than the real girl you just failed.
You're moving before you've even consciously made the decision. Your movements are frantic, clumsy. You grab your torn dress, your useless panties. You pull them on, the fabric a mockery of clothing. You don't care. You look like you've been through a war. You have.
You're at the bedroom door, your hand on the knob. You hesitate. One last look back. The phone is still on the bed, Garvin's smirking face illuminated, a silent, mocking god on the altar of your defeat.
