Leave Him

You pause and think back to the party last night. You think about all your friends and how they would react if they saw you like this. You think about how shamelessly you had flirted with Tony, and how effortlessly Jack got you on your knees. You think about your cock, ever shrinking in its miniature prison. You think about your parents, and what they would say if they knew. No. I'm not doing this.

"Fuck you, Bob. The game's over."

"What game? The fuck are you talking about?"

"The game. You know, the one we've been playing. Your parents are coming home, so it's over."

"Bitch, the game was over two days ago when I fucked your sissy ass bent over the kitchen sink. You sucked cock because I told you to, not because of some stupid game. You got that? Listen, I know thinking isn't a woman's strong suit, so I'm going to tell you again very slowly. Suck. My. Cock. Now!"

You start to tremble under his authoritative tone, but the fact that you're standing over him keeps you from submitting. Everything he says is true, of course, but you're not going to admit it to yourself.

"I want the key," You manage.

"The key?"

"To my clitty's cage. Where is it?"

His face turns from serious to angry. He tries to get up but you push him down.

"Just tell me where it is."

"Bitch, who the fuck do you think you are?" He repeats his favorite phrase.

Then something inside you snaps. You step on his balls as hard as you can. They flatten against the couch as your friend screams in pain. You've never been in a fight before, but you think back to all the manly action movies you used to watch. You knee him in the head, before pummeling him with your fists. Soon the alpha male is crumpled up on the floor, whimpering and begging you to stop.

It's hard to describe what you're feeling, but the best way to put it is a sort of liberation. Reaffirmed of your masculinity, you tear of your sissy dress and panties, throwing them at Bob.

"The key!" You demand.

"In the XBox," He cries, wiping his tears with your panties.

"I want you to put the dress on," You say as you start to unscrew the casing.

He starts to protest but you kick him again, your heels driving straight into his six-pack. With no fat to protect it, the pain is immense.

Bob recovers by the time you've found the key and wordlessly starts to dress, annoying you with his constant sobbing. Your dick flops free as you throw the device out the window. Anxiously, you give it a few jerks to make sure it still works. It does, but you're not going to be able to get hard so soon. There goes that plan. Or does it?

"Come over here! No! Crawl!" You correct Bob. The dress looks like it barley fits on his masculine form, and the panties are actually ripped from his wide hips. "Get me hard!" You command.

He tries, he really does, but he's just not good enough. After two minutes you've had enough.

"Eat my ass!" You bend over as Bob begins the humiliating task.

It's not that bad for him as it was for you, considering you have everything shaved. But on the other hand, he has to do a lot more than just kiss it. You push his head into it, commanding him to use his tongue. Every little flick on your bud sends pleasure coursing thought your body, involuntarily reminding you of how good yesterday had felt. Slowly, he starts to explore your hole, first licking all over and then starting to tongue fuck you. At that point your dick gets hard, but you only stroke it absentmindedly, brain focused on the thrill of dominating this larger man.

Eventually it's too much, and you turn around, surprising Bob with his very first facial. Then you take out your phone and snap a few pictures.

"You see these? You tell anyone what you did to me, I tell them what I did to you."

You dress as Bob meekly kneels there, recovering from everything that happened. Although by now he might have the strength to beat you up, he doesn't have the pride.

Then something happens that even you weren't expecting. The door opens and his mother walks in. She drops her bags as she sees her son dressed in a skirt with cum on his face. She opens her mouth, but words don't come out. Thinking fast, you know just what to say:

"I think it's time for me to leave. You can help Becky clean up, Mrs. Raster, can't you?" You feel proud of yourself as you drive off.