Becoming Taylor's Bitch

Generally, my writing is quite... extreme. Non-consent, violence, magic, superpowers, even death sometimes. Literotica doesn't like that much, it seems, so this was an attempt to write something rather more conventional and consensual. I enjoyed writing it, may well continue it or do more like it at some point. Hope you like it too.

All characters are aged 18 or over.

*****

Oliver looked up as the first flakes of snow began to descend. "Well that answers that," he muttered.

The day had begun so promisingly. Oliver, always a miserable failure when it came to matters of love and sex, had scored an invite to a Christmas party. It was the first and only party invite he had ever scored. Better than that, it had come from Andrea Fuller, a girl so gorgeous, so hotly desired, so universally popular, that she was practically a walking cliché. In the normal course of events girls like Andrea did not show interest in guys like Oliver. In fact, in the normal course of events girls of any sort didn't show interest in guys like Oliver. So, when Andrea had found him at his locker and invited him to her party, he had been so pathetically grateful that he'd said yes without thinking about it.

He'd spent hours getting ready. Bathing, picking out his best clothing, running over in his head what he would say if he saw Andrea there. She'd talk to him if she saw him, right? It wasn't like she'd asked him as her date or anything - she dated the quarterback from the school's football team, obviously - but she had to at least have some kind of interest in him, even if only platonic, or why would she have asked him? Surely, he'd be able to have a conversation with her! And that alone would probably increase his popularity in the school by tenfold.

So, he'd dressed in his best, got together a rather limited handful of money, and booked himself an Uber. It was an extravagance that would eat up most of his money, but he figured once he got there he wouldn't really have to spend anything, and he could probably catch a lift back with somebody or something.

So off he'd gone into the freezing night. The driver had been friendly enough, and the trip up into the hills had passed pretty quickly. The address was in a very upscale neighbourhood, filled with mansions that Oliver's house would have fitted into ten or twenty times over.

The Uber dropped him off in front of one of the biggest. Oliver looked at the giant building curiously. It was at the end of a considerable driveway, with a wall and a large iron gate. Most of the lights in the place were off, and he couldn't hear any music or see any sign of a party going on.

There was one of those intercom things outside the gate. Oliver pushed it hesitantly. A few moments later a male voice issued forth with a simple "yes?"

"Um, hi... I'm here for the party?"

"Party?" The voice said, obviously nonplussed.

"Um, there's supposed to be a party here?"

"No party here, fella," the voice said. "I think you have the wrong place."

Oliver recited the address.

"Yeah, that's here alright, but there's no party."

"Um, does Andrea live here?" Oliver asked hopefully.

"Never heard of Andrea. Now I suggest you be on your way before I call the police. If I don't anyway. You shouldn't be coming to strange houses like this."

A sick certainty gripped Oliver. It was a setup. The whole damn thing was a particularly cruel prank. Get his hopes up, then send him off miles from home on a fool's errand. He practically burned with humiliation, despite the chill. He stumbled away from the gate with tears prickling his eyes. How could he fall for that, he wondered glumly, how could he convince himself even for a second that a girl like Andrea could be even the slightest bit interested in anything about him?

He counted his money, hoping against hope that he had enough for a ride home. No such luck. Oliver began to trudge through the streets wearily. He didn't know this area well at all, but he figured if he just kept going downhill then sooner or later he'd be close enough to home that he could afford to Uber the rest of the way, or maybe find a bus route.

Unfortunately, the roads around here didn't want to cooperate, insisting on going across the hills rather than down them. Within twenty minutes Oliver was chilled to the bone and pretty thoroughly lost. "Fuck," he muttered to himself, "is there any way this night could possibly get any worse?"

And that was when the snow began to fall.

Finally, he found a road going downhill, and started to follow it. Another fifteen minutes of disconsolate trudging brought him into a slightly less impressive neighbourhood. Still big, impressive houses, but not quite the 'fit for a king' kind of places.

He heard it before he saw it. A thumping base beat accompanied by yells and screams of laughter. A few minutes later he saw a house up ahead. Brightly lit. Dozens of cars were parked in the drive and on the street. He could see partygoers dancing and laughing through almost every downstairs window, and a constant stream of people entering and leaving. It was a big party.

Oliver gritted his teeth. Now this, he wondered? Not only was he denied, he had to have it thrown in his face like this? He stopped, watching the house. It seemed to be an open house... nobody on the door checking whether people were invited or anything.

The decision came instantly. Dammit, he was going to a party tonight no matter what. He walked to the house and, with only the smallest hesitation, fell in just behind a group of five or six guys and followed them up the drive and inside. He expected to be stopped at any moment, but nothing came of it.

It wasn't a school crowd, he saw. But neither was this some 40-something group either. Mostly people in their early or mid 20s, a few older. Oliver made his way through the house, hardly able to believe that he'd actually done this. Now he was here, he felt kind of intimidated. He supposed the best thing to do would be to just brazen it out. Project confidence, act like you completely belong here, he told himself. But he was worried about being caught and the outrage that would surely follow.

At least the house was warm and bright, something he appreciated after the night he'd had. He wandered around, trying not to attract attention. He found himself wandering out onto a huge deck on the back of the house. To his surprise, it wasn't cold. He saw why; the whole deck was dotted with those huge outdoor heater things. Oliver marvelled at the money it must cost to turn a winter night into an environment where one could wear a thin shirt or party dress.

The slope of the hill put the back edge of the deck a good fifteen feet above the ground. Oliver walked over to a corner and looked over into the darkness. It was pretty quiet out here, only a half dozen or so people. A good place to stay inconspicuous.

"Hi."

He turned, startled at the woman's voice. She was standing right behind him. Oliver found himself eye to eye with her, which was unusual. One reason he'd never had any success with women was that even the average girl was at least three inches taller than he was. He lived in a world where he pretty much had to look up at everyone, so being able to look a girl straight in the eye was a pleasant surprise.

And what a girl! She was stunning, a petite redhead with deep auburn hair in a pixie cut that flattered her face whilst leaving the enticing curves of her neck and shoulders visible. A generous mouth was decorated with hot red lipstick, whilst piercing blue eyes flanked an adorably cute button of a nose. She had cheekbones to die for, decorated with a very light sprinkling of tiny freckles.

Oliver found himself momentarily stunned into silence. Here was a girl that made Andrea Fuller look positively homely in comparison... talking to him. Him!

For a moment, he felt a flash of panic and anger. Was this another cruel prank? He had visions of returning her greeting, only to have her laugh and mock him for daring to talk to a girl like her.

No... ridiculous. "Hi..." he tried cautiously. "I'm... um... Oliver."

"You don't sound too sure," she said with a smile, "you wouldn't be fibbing, would you?"

He could feel himself blushing. "No!" He protested.

"Well it's nice to meet you, Oliver," she said. "I'm Taylor."

Oliver had no idea whether to extend his hand or not, decided against it. "Nice to meet you too," he said.

"So, who brought you here," she asked. "Was it Sarah? I swear, she brings more new guys than the rest of us put together."

"Um, yeah, Sarah," Oliver said. "At least, I think. I'm not sure I got the name right."

She accepted that and moved over to a nearby couch, perching on the edge of it and patting the cushion beside her. Oliver lowered himself into it. "So what are you into, Oliver?" She asked.

"Oh... um, well, reading, I guess. Kind of a sci-fi fan."

She laughed again. "Reading, huh? That's funny."

"Oh... you don't like reading?" He asked, a little puzzled. He wasn't dumb enough to buy into the stereotype of the gorgeous bimbo who didn't use her brain for much, but if she was that contemptuous of reading...

"Oh, I like it fine," she said. "More of a classics girl myself, though. More Dickens and Austen than Niven and Banks. My sci-fi reading doesn't go far beyond The Invisible Man and The War of the Worlds. I was just... well, you know, when you ask somebody what they're into at one of our parties you usually get a different response."

He had no idea what that meant. Maybe her friends weren't big readers, even if she was? "Oh... well, you know who Niven and Banks are, so I think maybe you're selling yourself a little short on that," he said. He kind of felt bad for having even considered that she might be stupid.

They fell into conversation, talking about reading. Surprisingly, he found her very easy to talk to. Partly it was that it fast became clear that she was smart. Smarter than him, even. But it wasn't just her obviously dazzling intellect. She had a way of drawing him out, guiding the conversation. She asked a lot of leading questions... what was his favourite author? Which was their best book? What did he like about it? She'd meet his answers with follow-up questions that showed she'd paid attention, too.

Eventually she paused. "We're both out of drinks," she said. "Go to the kitchen and fetch some more, Oliver. I'll have a whiskey, single malt, no mixer and no ice. You may have whatever you like."

He was in the kitchen before it occurred to him how strange that was. She hadn't asked him. She hadn't said please. She's simply instructed him to fetch the drink. Yet... it hadn't come off as rude. Direct, yes, but somehow not rude. When he returned with the drinks she accepted hers without a word of thanks. He wondered if he had offended her... but she again smiled and patted the seat beside her. He sat, and they were into conversation again.

He had no idea how long they talked. At least an hour or two. She sent him for more drinks several times, each time using the same phrasing. Finally, she let the conversation fall away and they sat in silence. Oliver sipped his beer, savouring the delight of simply sitting next to her. She was very direct, he thought. She wasn't shy about expressing her opinions, or of challenging his. The girl practically brimmed over with confidence. It was very alien to him.

"You're very obedient," she said suddenly.

Oliver wasn't sure how to take that. "Uh... thanks," he said.

"I like that in a man," she added after a moment. "Some men, anyway."

"Oh..."

"Do you like being obedient, Oliver?" She asked, turning to face him. He felt pinned by her gaze. She didn't know, did she? How could she?

Visions of his porn history danced before his eyes. Video clips, stories, even comics sometimes, all on the theme of men who liked to take orders from women. Beautiful, commanding, often cruel women. Could he tell her that? Admit that to her? Normally he wouldn't dream of it. But... she said she liked obedient men. Did that mean...? He could hardly dare to hope.

"Yeah..." he managed finally.

She nodded and smiled. "You enjoyed taking orders from me, didn't you Oliver? It's okay, you can admit it."

"I... um... yeah," he said again, seeking refuge in simplicity.

"A nice, obedient boy," she said. She reached out and caressed his shoulder softly before running her hand down his back. The first time they had touched. He felt an electric thrill. She leaned in. "So small and soft," she whispered.

Oliver shuddered. Words like that usually hurt. They were usually said with the intent of hurting. But Taylor was smiling as she said it. From her lips they were praise, not condemnation.

"Girls like you... usually they like the big macho types," he ventured. It occurred to him that most of the guys at the part were that type. Big guys, six feet or more. Athletic sorts, big and strong. The kind of guy Andrea dated. The kind of guy that would either ignore or bully guys like Oliver.

"Hmm, that's true," she said. "Big macho guys have their purpose, even for me. But you want to know what really cranks my engine, Oliver? It's little soft obedient beta male guys. Guys like you."

"Beta..." he repeated softly.

She laughed a little. "I know, the whole alpha/beta thing is mostly nonsense. Most human relationships don't fit that mould, no matter how much wannabe tough guys want to believe it. Neither do wolf relationships, for that matter. But just because it's not true most of the time, that doesn't mean it's not true any of the time, does it?"

"No, I guess," Oliver replied. He wasn't sure what he should be saying to any of this.

"There can be big strong macho alpha type males, and there are women who love them," she said. "And there can be soft little submissive beta males, and there are women who love them, too. I think you're one of those... aren't you, Oliver?"

Could he admit it? Could he not admit it? "I guess," he said finally.

She smiled and tutted. "You guess? Don't you know, Oliver?"

"I... I am," he said. Surely now would come the condemnation, the mockery.

But she just nodded, and the smile broadened. She really did look amazingly cute when she smiled, he thought. "I knew it," she said. "I'm pleased, Oliver. Very pleased."

"So... what happens now?" He asked. It seemed natural to ask her, as if what followed was entirely her choice.

"Now we go do what I've wanted to do since the first moment I saw you, of course," she said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "We go and have sex. I'm going to make you my bitch for the night, Oliver. I'm going to fuck you into submission."

He stared at her. The crudity of the language seemed oddly incongruous. Could this be real? The most beautiful girl he'd ever met was propositioning him... no, that wasn't right, she wasn't asking him for sex. She was informing him that there was going to be sex.

He felt a stirring in his pants; he was hardening rapidly. Oh god, would he be big enough for her? It would be generous to say that Oliver was endowed in proportion to his physique. Size doesn't matter, he told himself. It was a mantra that he'd reinforced with countless articles on the subject. Size doesn't matter. Women don't care. A guy can be too big, not too small. It wasn't what you had, it was what you did with it. Please let it be true, he thought desperately, please let it be true.

His cock was practically throbbing hard in his pants, as if the doubts were only spurring it on. Taylor took his hand and stood, practically pulling him to his feet. She led him through the house and upstairs. They entered a palatial bedroom. "One moment," she said. She grabbed a belt from a dressing gown in a closet and wrapped it around the handles of the double-doors before tying it off. "There," she said, admiring her handiwork. "Wouldn't want any interruptions."

"What if the owner comes up here?" He asked uncertainly.

She laughed at that. "Oh Oliver, you're such a darling. The owner is already here."

"Oh," he felt foolish. Young, gorgeous, smart, educated, dominant... and rich, too? Jesus, he had to be dreaming.

"This is it," she said breathily into his ear as she eased him towards the bed. "This is where I'm going to take you. Right here."

And suddenly she was stripping his clothes off. There was no avoiding it, no hiding. She stripped his shirt, and her breath caught in her gorgeous throat as she looked at his slender chest. "So pretty," she crooned, caressing his nipples.

His shoes and socks followed, then his pants. He was left in nothing but a pair of undershorts. Taylor bit her lip slightly as she dropped them.

"Oh my, so small," she said, staring at his cock frankly. Oliver blushed deeply, humiliated beyond belief. Oh Jesus, it was all lies, all of it. The primal fear of all men lanced through him. Size mattered. It did. It mattered, and he was tiny.

She let out a low soft moan. "So small," she said again, "so pretty. Such a lovely little beta cock you have," she reached out and caressed his balls. Oliver practically came on her hand right there and then. Could she mean it? Could she really like it? Surely not.

She straightened up and reached behind her. The little white minidress she was wearing was unzipped and discarded. Beneath it she wore white lingerie; her considerable charms contained in a lacy white bra, her white stockings held up by a matching garter belt. She wore no panties. Her cock lay flaccid, hugely thick and long between her legs.

Her... cock. Oliver blinked and stared.

She has a cock, he thought. My God, she has a cock. A cock.

"But..." he said, staring.

Taylor saw his expression, and for the first time looked uncertain. "Oliver... what's wrong?" She asked.

"You... that's... you have a... I mean, that's a..." he said, his gaze fixed on her crotch. He'd never seen anything like it. Hanging there limp and soft, she was still three times the size of his painfully erect member.

"Wait," she said, puzzled, "are you telling me that you didn't know?"

"Of course I didn't know," he managed to drag his eyes to meet hers. "You didn't say!"

"But that's the whole point," she said in confusion. "Why are you even here if... you mean Sarah invited you here and didn't tell you?"

"I, ah," he was suddenly stung with his own lie. "Um, Sarah was supposed to tell me? She... forgot, I guess."

"Forgot? You're telling me she invited somebody to the party without giving them any idea of what kind of party it is?"

"Um..."

Taylor stared at him, realisation dawning in her eyes. "Did Sarah really ask you here, Oliver?"

What had seemed a casual and unimportant lie suddenly seemed rather weightier. "I, well, no," he said. "Technically not."

"Who did?" He didn't like the way she was staring at him, not one bit.

"Well, strictly speaking, nobody did," he said miserably. "I was... looking for a party, and I passed by, and it all looked like, um, well you were all having so much fun. I didn't think anybody would notice, or mind. Please don't be mad at me."

She stared at him for a long moment, a frown on her beautiful features. Then suddenly she burst out laughing. She crossed her arms under her breasts, literally holding her sides as her entire body shook with the force of it. The jiggling on her chest was enticing indeed, but Oliver felt himself looking down at the thick member between her thighs as it swung like a pendulum.

She sat on the bed, finally getting herself under control. "Oliver, darling," she said. "This is a sex party. It's specifically a sex party for trans girls and men who like trans girls. Everyone here knows why they're here. Everyone except you, that is."

"Oh..." Oliver blushed, feeling very foolish indeed.

"I can't believe... oh God, you must feel so awful right now. Come sit down," she said, patting the bed beside her. Oliver sat obediently. "Do you... are you angry?" She asked.