Pony Boy Ch. 04

"Go, scum, do not look at me. Go to the bathroom, take your things and leave."

I went to the bathroom, undoing the gag as I went. He obviously wanted me out of there as soon as possible but I still needed a moment or two to get myself together. There was a full length mirror and I looked, as far as I was able, at the red raw striping across my buttocks and thighs. It really fucking hurt. He hadn't been playing around in the slightest.

I wanted a shower, I needed a shower, but that would have been pushing things too far so I just got dressed and, leaving the gag on the washstand, went back into the bedroom. He wasn't there, he was in the lounge area watching the TV. OK, I could take a hint so, as quietly as I could, I headed for the door.

On the way past the dressing table I looked to see if there was anything there for me but there wasn't. Tight bastard. Right at that moment I hated him and I hated myself.

And then, even as I was crossing the lounge area he didn't turn away from the TV so, without even the courtesy of a 'goodbye', I left.

As the tube train rattled it's way east across London I stood rather than sat. London Underground seats aren't the most comfortable at the best of times and this certainly wasn't the best of times.

I wasn't quite home when my phone bleeped telling me I had a text. It read 'Mr H's office Monday twelve thirty' so I guessed that was when I was going to get paid.

"No tip, you tight bastard," I muttered to myself.

When I got to Mr H's office on Monday luchtime, Tracy was expecting me and waved me straight through to the inner sanctum. Somewhat to my surprise, when I entered I found not only Mr H but Mr Mason and, amazingly, Jed waiting there as well.

"Come on in, Ben, come on in. Grab a pew, that's if you want to sit down."

That caused a round of laughter from Jed and Mr. Mason. However, my backside had recovered somewhat so, slightly gingerly, I sat down.

"First things first, you were on duty from seven thirty until eleven fifteen but let's call that four hours at one hundred per which is a grand total of four hundred quid." Mr H reached for the cashbox in his desk drawer.

"On top of that he asked me to give you this," Mr. Mason put in and he handed me a sealed envelope with 'Ben' written on it. I opened it up and it was packed with twenties. OK, maybe he did tip after all. I put the envelope, along with the four hundred Mr H had given me in my jacket pocket. I was still not exactly happy about what had gone on but that made it a lot easier.

"I suppose you're wondering what Jed is doing here," Mr. Mason said. "Well, I've got a job for you both, the two of you together. Jim Bothwick comes out of clink on Friday and we're giving him a bit of a welcome home. His mate Gerry saw you two performing last Thursday and he reckons your little dance routine is just the thing to help the party along. Now the thing is that, as far as I'm concerned, it's only the best for Jim Bothwick and, rather than that pretty lame routine you two worked out on the spur of the moment, you're going to give him a proper show.

"First things first, I want to make it a bit more theatrical. Having you suck Jed off was all very well but it's not really enough. I want to give it more of a story and, with that in mind, I've gone out and bought you a costume. Harold, will you get Tracy to bring it in, please?"

Mr H pressed the buzzer on his desk and, a moment or two later, Tracy appeared at the door holding a couple of coat hangers and a plastic shopping bag. As soon as I saw them my heart sunk and, when I spotted the tartan miniskirt, I knew exactly what I was in for.

"You have got to be kidding me," I groaned.

"No one's kidding, Ben. These are the costumes I've picked out for the two of you and that's what you're wearing. I do hope I'm not going to have problems with you over this."

He looked at me and I could see that he was dead serious. I'd never really seen this side of Mr. Mason before. There was no actual threat, no threat at all, but it was as clear as day that it wouldn't be wise to cross him.

"No, no, of course not," I said hurriedly.

"So what's this story then?" Jed asked. "It had better not be me wearing that fuckin' skirt."

"Don't worry, Jed, it's Ben who will be wearing the skirt and as for calling it a 'fucking' skirt, well I think that's another improvement we ought to make. Rather than have Ben suck you off I think you ought to fuck him. How does that sound?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"Right, Ben, why don't you try it on and see whether it fits?"

"Right here?"

"Unless you have any objections," and, again, in a simple and seemingly innocuous phrase, Mr. Mason had made it clear that it would be best if I didn't have any objections.

I stood up and started to get undressed. Tracy hung the coat hangers and bags on the hat stand behind Mr H and, as I took off my clothes, she held out her hand to take them from me. Once again I ended up stark naked in the middle of Mr H's office. There was a certain amount of discussion about the bruising that Mr Novak had left but it was agreed that it would be gone by Friday so that was OK.

The outfit was everything I feared. Well, not quite, it was pretty well made and not some cheap party favour but, in terms of what it did for me, it made me look a fool. The skirt was barely long enough for decency, but then decency was never the object of this exercise. At least I got to wear panties. The blouse was made to be tied up in front and I was showing plenty of bare skin around the waist. It had a silly clip on tie thing as a nod towards being a school uniform but, in all my years at school, no one, boy or girl, had ever worn anything like this. Even then the humiliation wasn't finished. There were white ankle socks and high heels to go on my feet and, at the other end, a blonde wig.

"Oh, Ben, you look so cute!" Tracy exclaimed. "Let's see you walk about."

God, high heeled shoes; how do women manage? Blowed if I know because my attempts at walking just had the four of them howling with laughter.

"No, Ben, small steps and swing your hips. And at least try and look sexy," Tracy called out. "'arold, we can't call her 'Ben', not in that get up. What's her stage name."

"Belinda. Yeah, Belinda Bombshell," Mr. Mason put in. "That's perfect. Now, Jed, let's see what Tracy has for you."

What Tracy had for Jed was a teacher's gown and a cane. This was going from bad to worse.

"OK, let's work on the basics," Mr. Mason ordered. "Harold, music please."

Harold took an iPod and put it in a docking station. The next thing I knew ABBA' were singing something about 'When I Kissed the Teacher'. Corny or what but at least it had a good beat.

When Mr. Mason told us the plot he wanted to use it was just as corny as the music. I was supposed to be the naughty schoolgirl who had been called to the teacher's office after school. When I got there I was supposed to try to use my feminine whiles to try to get out of the punishment. In short I was supposed to offer him a blow job instead. He would refuse, I would be bent over the desk, and he would start punishing me until, overcome by the sight of my arse, he would fuck me. As I said, it wasn't much of a plot but then, when has porn ever bothered with plotting. Moreover, seeing as we were going to have to do all this using dance and mime I was glad that it was simple.

Our first run through was a disaster. I was still having problems with the heels so I was as graceful as a pig on stilts and Jed, poor thing, simply hadn't got a clue. However, with Mr. Mason acting as choreographer, we went through it again and again until we had the basics worked out. It wasn't quite as simple as it might seem at first. When I was being caned Mr. Mason wanted me with my arse facing the audience. However, when Jed was fucking me he wanted me side on. Somewhere in between we had to get Jed's prick out and get a condom on it. Getting all that right was quite complicated. Fortunately, as we were just practicing, Jed wasn't actually caning me for real, nor was he actually fucking me but, instead, he would push his prick up and down the crack of my arse. Whatever his misgivings about the show he was certainly enjoying my humiliation enough to be good and hard as he did so. By the end of the afternoon my feet were in agony and I had definitely had enough. Even Mr. Mason grudgingly admitted that there was little point in continuing. We weren't done yet, not by a long chalk, and he insisted that we were to come back on Wednesday after lunch to work on it some more.

With a sigh of relief I was finally allowed to change back into my normal clothes. I put the skirt and blouse back on their hangers and the rest of the stuff in the plastic bag. Then I got dressed and headed for the door leaving my costume hanging on Mr H's hat stand. However, Mr. Mason stopped me before I had gone two paces.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home. I thought we'd finished for the day."

"And what's that?" he pointed at the hat stand.

"My costume. I thought I'd leave it here until Wednesday."

"Well, think again, sunshine. You've got a lot of practice to do before you can walk properly in those shoes and, while you're at it, I want you to practice wearing the rest of the get up at the same time. At the moment you look like a joke and I'm not going to spoil Jim Bothwick's coming home party by putting on a show by two halfwits who can't get anything right. By Friday you're going to be perfect. You're going to look like you're Belinda fuckin' Bombshell and, more importantly, you're going to act like her and the only way your going to manage that is to practice until you're perfect. You have not got time to sit on your arse over this one. I'll see you on Wednesday."

I was walking back to my car when I saw Jed standing at the bus stop. I'm not sure why but something made me go over to him.

"Jed, can I offer you a lift?"

"Yeah, alright."

Together we walked round the corner to where my car was parked and got in. He told me he lived in Hackney which wasn't exactly on my route but then I couldn't refuse after having offered.

"This is fuckin' joke, init?" Jed said after a while. "Fuckin' dance routine for some gangster's coming out party."

"Hey, you're not the one getting fucked up the arse while dressed as a schoolgirl," I replied bitterly.

"Maybe not but that doesn't mean that you're not loving it, loving every second. You're just a little show off who likes being the centre of attention."

"You can't exactly be shy, not in our game."

"Our game? What the fuck do you know about 'our game'? You've hardly been with us for five minutes and you're winning all the races and walking off with all the best punters. You're not one of us and, what's more, you don't want to be one of us. You think you're something special; you have done right from the start."

That one hurt, possibly because there was more than a grain of truth in it. We drove on for a while in silence until we got to Hackney and Jed had to give me instructions on how to get to his flat. When we got there it was a sixties tower block and it looked grim, really grim.

"You live here?" I asked in amazement as I pulled in to the car park.

"Yeah, why shouldn't I?"

"It looks a bit rough."

"Well, it suits me then. I'm a bit rough."

"But... with the sort of money we earn couldn't you afford something better."

"I don't want something better. Anyway, it's cheap and... and I'm saving up."

"What are you saving for?"

"My out, you retard. How long do you think you can last as Mr. Mason's rent boy? How long before it all gets too much? How long before he sends you to some sadistic bastard who goes too far and puts you in hospital? You need an out. You've got to have an out."

"But... as soon as I've finished my college course I'll stop."

"And how will you do that?"

"I'll just go to Mr. Mason and tell him."

Jed just looked at me. However, there was a change. In among the disdain there was something else, pity, maybe.

"God you're fuckin' green. You'll learn, we all do in the end. Thanks for the lift."

And, with that, he was gone.

I had quite a bit to think about as I drove myself home. In Jed's terms he had really opened up to me and when he had called me green it wasn't the usual put down but more a warning. What was Jed warning me about?

When I got to my room I hung the outfit up on the back of my bedroom door and sat down on the bed looking at it. Maybe I'd been a bit too quick to judge; maybe Mr. Mason did know a thing or two about how I should dress. Now that I had got over the shock of having to wear it I could see that, in many ways, it was perfect for Belinda Bombshell in the role of sexy schoolgirl. It was girly, sexy and left absolutely no doubts as to my availability; it was just the thing for a sex crazed tart. What's more, Mr H's office had been a bit short on mirrors so I hadn't actually got to see what I looked like wearing it. Mr. Mason had said that I looked like a joke. He had said that I had to not only look like Belinda Bombshell but become her. Maybe it was time to see what he meant.

Once again I got undressed but this time without an audience. Then I looked inside the plastic bag which held the wig, the shoes, the socks and the panties.

This time, as I put the panties on, I thought about how girls clothes are so much nicer than boys clothes. Take the panties; they were soft white cotton and felt so nice against my skin. They looked a little strange where my prick made them bulge at the front and, if I got hard, then my prick would poke up, over the waistband, but they were much nicer to wear than my normal boxers. I stood in front of my full length mirror and struck a few poses; they looked really sweet. It was a little weird but I really liked how it felt wearing them. They weren't exactly sexy, not in a Belinda Bombshell way, but they spoke to something inside me and I could get into using something like these for everyday wear. I mean, they felt so nice and no one would ever know I was wearing them. The only problem was that I couldn't just go down to Marks and Sparks and pick up a dozen pairs. On the other hand, on line, I could probably buy them in secret.

Still wearing just the panties I sat down at my desk and fired up my laptop. It was just curiosity; I merely wondered what was out there. I mean, I'd looked before, hasn't every young lad, but never with the possibility or actually buying them. Of course, all the High Street stores have web sites and there was no shortage of options. In some sort of haze I clicked from site to site until I came across this set of seven, all in pretty pastel shades with lace edging, a pretty little bow at the front and a lovely little heart motif. I only meant to check out how much they cost but, before I knew it, I was entering my credit card details. After all, it wasn't as if I couldn't afford them. There was a deliciously naughty feeling when I finalised the purchase and, when I stood up again my prick was hard and poking out of the top of my panties.

I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered about what I had just done. There was something about dressing as a girl that got to me but that didn't mean I wanted to be a girl. I wasn't a girl trapped in a boy's body, as I've sometimes heard it described. No, I was happy being a boy; I just liked being a boy wearing girl's panties. What was wrong with that?

Still, that had just been a massive distraction from the task at hand. I went back to the hangers on the back of the door and took down the skirt and blouse. The blouse didn't really work. Let's face it, you need tits to get that Britney Spears look but, without a blouse, the outfit would have looked ridiculous. The skirt, on the other hand, was fine. OK, I didn't really have the hips and my legs, even in their shaven state, aren't that feminine but, now that I could see myself in the mirror, I could see how the skirt could be used to give tantalising glimpses. Tracy had been banging on about this but I hadn't really understood.

Putting on the wig was weird. It completely changed who I was and how I looked. Now I wasn't just wearing girls panties, I was wearing the whole persona. When I stared at myself in the mirror it was Belinda, not Ben who stared back. Belinda Bombshell, what a little floozie! Talk about bangs like a barn door in a gale. However, it wasn't quite there. I could still see traces of Ben showing through. If I could only get some make up then the whole thing would be far more convincing. Even plucking my eyebrows would be a start. I nearly reached for some tweezers there and then but discretion cut it. Wearing girls panties was one thing, plucking my eyebrows was another. There was no way I could hide that during my 'normal' life.

And now, all but completely in role, I had to face up to the problems I had had with the shoes. They had been the bane of my life back in Mr H's office but there was no way Belinda Bombshell was going out on stage without being completely confident on her heels. I went back to my laptop and googled 'how to walk in high heels' and, to my surprise, there were plenty of helpful videos. As I watched I could see what I was doing wrong. I was still trying to walk like a man. I had to walk like a fashion model.

Slightly gingerly I put the shoes back on and went and stood in front of the mirror. There was no denying that they made my legs look longer, sexier. Remembering all the tips from the videos I had just watched I put my head up, my left hand on my hip and walked across the room. It didn't look at all bad. Now it was time to try it to music. I went back to my laptop and found 'When I Kissed the Teacher' on YouTube. It was time to go to town.

I strutted around the room letting my hips swing in time to the music and, in the short flared skirt, it was perfect. Belinda Bombshell was sex on legs and didn't care who knew it. This was just the thing for Jim Bothwick and his friends; they wouldn't see me, they would see Belinda Bombshell in her role as the sex crazed schoolgirl. I could flirt and tease, play the coquette as much as I wanted. I could hint at what was under my skirt without ever quite being blatant about it, although, god knows, with the act that Mr Mason had devised it wasn't long before I would be leaving no doubt whatsoever as to what they would find there.

However, my feet were still giving me gyp and, as the videos had stressed, this meant it was time to give them a rest so I kicked off my shoes and sat down on the bed. I looked across the room at the mirror and, immediately, it struck me. There I was sitting the way a guy would, with my knees apart. Talk about unladylike! The skirt was so short you could see all the way up to my tonsils. This was yet another thing I was going to have to learn. At least I now had a mirror to practice in. I tried out my best Betty Boop impersonations and it became immediately apparent that posture was going to be just as important as clothing in my efforts to come across as Belinda Bombshell.

On Wednesday morning, when I got back from the gym, I found a package waiting for me on the hall table. The BHS label on packaging meant it had to be the panties I had ordered. As I took it up to my room I was as nervous as I'd ever been. Now that I was faced with the reality would I still want to wear them or were they just a stupid fancy. I tore off the wrapping and laid them out on my bed.

My heart thrilled as I looked at them; they were even prettier than they had appeared on the computer screen. I couldn't resist trying them on immediately so I shrugged off my jeans, pulled down my boxers and chose a pair in powder blue. They were absolutely perfect. Just as on Monday, it wasn't about the sex. They appealed to something deep inside me and, I'm not sure I could explain it but I just felt better wearing them. I put my jeans back on and, from the outside, I looked absolutely normal. Anyway, I didn't have time to muck around, time was getting on and I was late for my lectures.