Just a Friendly Drink

I cast my eyes away, shifted my weight to the other foot, and hung my head.

He touched my penis -- Max realized the truth, the darkest truth, he'd turned me on. A weight in my chest overpowered me. Cupping his hands over my crotch, he ran a finger over my penis, kept touching, fondling my dick. The fire burned in my cheeks, my knees nearly buckled under the pressure of the attention.

"Tiny, baby prick, like some girl's fucking clit," Max said.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Don't be," Max Andersen said. Still, the emotions burned in me. And him treating me like a girl, touching me, caressing me devastated my masculinity. At that moment, the worst happened, as my prick spit thick streams of juice, which darkened my jeans, spreading over them more with each spurt.

"Mmm, pussy juice," Max purred in my ear. My pants fell to the floor. "Commando. I like your style, Brandy," he told me. I regretted not wearing underwear. He rubbed his hand over prick and balls, getting the cum all gathered up, wiping the cum into his palm. He lifted his cum covered hand to my face.

"Clean me up, Brandy, you fucking, beautiful bitch," his deep voice purred in my ear. His other hand left my chest and seized my hair, and he twisted a handful. "Snake your fucking tongue out and clean...bitch!" Max cooed in my ear.

Something in his words, his tone, ominous, intimidating, and threatening in some vague way words fail to express. I complied, eating my disgusting issue. As my own spooch slavered over my tongue nasty, salty, hated the flavor, and wanted to stop. But this man was strong, I'm weak, or do I desire to comply. I wasn't sure what the truth was.

Once I cleaned his hand, he started to unbutton his shirt, held me by my hair, pulled me to him so tight, his free hand worked the buttons. With some effort, Max worked his muscled arm out of the sleeve. Switching hands, the one took the other's place on my head.

Again, Max tore at my hair, controlling me, twisting my head as he clasped my hair. A sourness set into my mouth, my lust; they mingled with my semen, nauseating me. My heart pounded, so hard, so fast my chest hurt. My ears pounded; I swear the blood rushed through every vein in my body, and electricity ran through every fiber of my flesh.

I wanted to run, to break free of him and run. Two things stopped me, though. First, my feet froze to the floor, refusing to move. But second, lust, the fucking longing, inside of me. Like a drug, doping me up to where I couldn't make myself have the will to do a damn thing. I want him to take me, desired his passion, his body.

My head was only as tall as his broad chest. Like a Greek statue chiseled out of marble, he towered over me. Outweighing me by one-hundred-twenty pounds or more. Tears flowed in a tiny stream from each of my eyes. My heart raced, pounding in my chest so hard I thought a bass drum hid inside, beating a hard tempo in my ears. My flesh tingled as the gooseflesh rose over my entire body, not utterly an unpleasant sensation. Yet, the dread of my situation raced in my mind. Letting go of me, Max backed away, giving me my freedom.

"You want to leave? Do you Brandy? Do you want to leave?" Max stood behind me, unmoving.

"Yes," I said.

"Go," Maximus said, "pick up your clothes and get the fuck out of here."

Transfixed, unable to move, as my feet seemed stuck. The will to leave deserted me, and, oh, dear, God, I wanted him to want me, to use me.

Grabbing me, Max whispered in my ear, "You don't want to leave, sweetie. You need to grow your hair longer, baby doll. I like long hair on my little girls." Holding me in a loving embrace while he worked his left arm from the shirt.

Calling the shots, Max pushed my face down on the spacious sofa, which appeared like a bed with curled wood as a head and footboard. The ornate arms were a dark wood with rough notches and stains covering them. The mattress had circular, discolored, yellowish stains. In a few seconds, I recognized them as semen stains. At one end of the daybed lay a sizeable fluffy pillow which I was all I had time to see before he buried my face into the perfumed softness. The fragrance of citrus filled my nostrils again.

Pushing me down, Mr. Andersen pressed his muscled body into mine, unbuckled his belt, and worked the belt out of the loops. Putting the leather around my neck, he positioned the strap with care, placing the tip through the buckle dragging the leather past the holes, drawing the belt tight around my neck, a choke collar to control me.

"Such a cute body, thin waist, lovely little tits, and the most adorable, round ass, mmm," Max said. With a slight jerk, he tugged the leather snug but not too tight. He ran his tongue up my spine, and shivers ran from where his wet tongue met my flesh.

"You're going to love what I do to you, Brandy," Max whispered in my ear. I had tried several times to protest, but the words wouldn't come forth. In a rushed flow, I begged him while bawling. A deep giggle came from him, his amusement at my circumstance degrading me even more.

"Your tears are so lovely. If makeup mingled with them, you would be even more gorgeous," Max said. Running his tongue over my face, he traced a tear from my cheek to the corner of my eye. "You have to stop asking me to stop if you aren't going to leave when I give you the opportunity," his tone again ominous.

"Please, stop. I'm not like this. I beg of you, don't hurt me, don't do this," Max stood up and walked away from me, pushing the call button on the elevator. The doors slid open, and I lay still. I didn't understand what I wanted, but I didn't leave, and I didn't wish to leave, not really.

He returned as the doors clanged shut, laying on top of me again. The zipper sang as Max struggled to free his prick from inside his pants. In a moment, I realized why he had difficulty releasing his cock, when Maximus laid the anaconda on my ass. To describe this thing, the words enormous, rigid, and burning hot, come to mind.

"No, please," I begged, pleaded, and cried as Mr. Andersen adjusted himself on top of me. The massive globular head lay against my asshole, like a mammoth plum pressing against my opening. The bulbous helmet rubbing me, my ass tensed, and I clenched my cheeks tight.

"Stop teasing, no more bullshit," Max said before he flexed, shoving inside me. Pain slashed my anus as the angry snake tore into me, and Maximus stabbed through the threshold. Agony blasted through me. I thought he had ripped me apart -- I feared my guts would shred. Deeper, he pushed. The pain travled with his pecker.

After a moment, inside me, the pain lessened at the opening, his shaft seeming smaller behind the massive head. With a lurch of his body, Max thrust forward, and the gigantic head tore in further -- driving in further, plumbing my depths.

The opening seemed to rip as his shaft fattened. Each thrust, the prick head went deeper and a hard throbbing seared inside me. One-half-an-inch at a time, he thrust in -- slow deliberate -- hard -- he pressed the massive dick into me. The breaching of my ass hurt so bad, yet, an astonishing, undeniable pleasure as my cock swelled.

"Oh," I said in a hushed whisper. I moaned as the sensation spread through me.

Pulling back, Max stopped, by the size of his cockshead, short of removing the rod from my ass. In rough jab, he pressed in again, forcing his weight down on me, thrusting his cock. His penis so impressive and prodigious, and my hole was so small and tender. As he rammed harder, he banged an inch deeper each time. Every inch inside, the cock was fatter than the inch which preceded. Ten thrusts, ten fucking inches, and still more cock was left.

"That's it, bitch, work your ass. Fuck me back, whore," Max grunted out.

I thrashed about under him, desperate to getaway. Mistaking my efforts to be free, Max believed I enjoyed his rough method. Still, sweet pleasure lived in the injury, yes, Oh Lord, I hurt, but this was such an enjoyable pain. I wanted this so much now. Finding no way out for me, I yielded to the truth.

In a constant barrage, the man berated me with demeaning insults about me being a dirty little whore, a randy, raunchy bitch. He held me in such a tight grasp I thought my hair would rip from my head. He pulled back, way back, almost out of me out, the fat head only still inside me. Max adjusted his position over me.

The enormous helmet inside my rectum moved around, hurting me. With one hand, he worked his cock around, and the other, he clutched the strap. Yanking on the belt, he jerked my head back. I panicked and writhed about under him. He pounded into me, deep, forcing his cock all inside me in one brutal shove. Impossible as I believed possible, Max's gigantic, fat balls rested against my tiny nut sack.

"I knew you would love my cock -- Brandy," Max Andersen hissed in my ear.

"I hate this," I said. But my actions betrayed me. Pushing my hips back to meet his thrust, a long moan escaped my lips.

"Lying cunt," Max said, banging me harder. I couldn't help but wonder how he realized I lied.

"Tell me to fuck you hard and fast, Brandy," Max said, his enthusiastic laughter filled my ears.

"No," I answered. With a prodigious tug, Max yanked the belt so tight I struggled to breathe. "Fuck me hard and fast," I choked out the words. Dear God, I meant what I said. The statement enthused him, and Maximus bucked into me, driving in deeper with each lunge.

Shoving his monster cock into my guts, I worried he might be ripping me apart. Inside me, my muscles yielding as Max fucked my shit deeper with each harsh lunge. For a moment, the briefest of moments, I thought of trying to escape. For you see, conflicting emotions raged inside me. Fearing these passions boiling inside, I wanted to flee.

Pounding me into the day sleeper, Max let go of the belt and reached underneath me. With a rough, coarse grip, he yanked twice on my cock. The penis twitched and spilled cum on the bed and up my belly. A profound shame overwhelmed me. I'd gone against my parents and my own beliefs. And yet, I enjoyed this, wanted this, wanted him.

In a lust, induced haze, I gazed around the room. A distorted view; my mind whirled, adjusting to reality. Casting my eyes about the place, scrutinizing the expensive furniture, fixtures, paintings, and statues, but nothing I might use as a weapon. I turned my head to the side and searched out the elevator. From the sofa, I glanced at those sliding doors, but they were miles away.

I won't be able to make the door, call the elevator, and escape before Mr. Andersen beats the hell out of me. And what was my option, anyway? To run naked, in a groggy haze, through the halls of his building begging for help. Don't yop remarkable how fear can make you realize you have to, absolutely must, please your captor.

No, the truth was simple; I didn't have to please him; I wanted to please him. In fact, I enjoyed his cock. I stopped searching for a means of escape. I quit my bitching, begging, and instead moaned like a dog in heat, getting fucked the way she wanted. In the end, I took his cock. I required this. What I needed. If I'm truthful, Maximus Andersen didn't rape me — he gave me every opportunity to leave.

At first, I had this idea Max stole something from me, self-respect and manhood, but as he dominated me, used me for his satisfaction, I realized Max gave me something. Something other than his monster prick, a part of me hidden in the shadows, revealed my true self. Something I always denied would be denied no longer.

I really wanted this — desired Max and allowed myself to enjoy his attention. I let go of the fear and embraced the situation, pushing back to meet each plunge. Maximus's body tensed as his muscles tightened. With a spontaneous burst of energy, Max quickened his pace as his hand grabbed my throbbing prick.

"I want us to cum together," Max said as he stroked me. When he let loose thick globs coating my insides, I understood, Maximus Andersen owned me. At the same time, I dumped my own load. One heavy, intense blast after another spilled inside me before Maximus collapsed on top of me, touching me and fondling my body for some time.

With his cock laid between my legs, all sticky, slick with the mixture covering it, Max purred in my ear. Pleasant, pleasing words, as we lay, entwined on the antique day sleeper, he whispered in my ear — sweet nothings about me being his girl. No longer did the words hurt, offend, or frighten me.

Touching his tremendous, overgrown pecker, "Maximus, you're well named."

A soft snicker, a light kiss on my ear, and we rose from the sofa and showered. Clutching each other's bodies as we cleaned ourselves. With this lustful gawk, Max bent down to me, his lips hovered on mine, only grazing my flesh as the water streamed over faces, running into our open mouths.

Max whispered, his lips brushing mine, "Such, a beautiful girl, all mine." His tongue snaked out of his mouth and wound into mine. Our lips pressed tighter, and we kissed. His rugged arms pulled me tightly to him. The strength in his muscles, like bundles of coiled wires, made his body rigid and unyielding.

When we broke apart, I couldn't help but want more. I clutched him, Max spun me around. I thought he was going to enter me again, but instead, he soaped me up. His hands roamed over my body, lathering my back. When Max got to my pecker, Max took his time.

Working up the lather, Max stroked me. A slow, gentle, up and down, he squeezed my balls in a light, loving grasp. Teetering on the brink of ecstasy, I lasted for several minutes before I spurted against the shower wall. The heavy, white stream was washed away by the water as soon which splattered on the decorative tile.

After the shower, we dried each other off. I sat on his lap, and Max kissed my neck as we snuggled on the bathroom floor. His monster cock twitched from time to time, and I realized, soon, Max wanted more of me. I could hardly wait. He carried me to the bedroom and laid me on the bed. Opening a drawer, he took out a small teddy and spread the sexy garment over me.

"Yeah, you'll look fabulous in this," my man said, his deep voice soft and gentle. "When you're dressed and come to me at the fireplace." Max's unbelievable cock showed signs of life as he moved around, bobbing and twitching as the prick swung between his legs. Strutting to the door, Max stopped, turned back to me with a loving grin on his lips.

"Come out, and let's see how long we can fuck this time," a wicked grin on his face. I had never dressed as a girl before, but I viewed myself as Maximus Andersaw did when I stared at myself in the mirror. Oh, shit, I am, fucking, hot. I was more confident than I had been in my life. I didn't want this to end.

When I walked out, Max sat near the fireplace, seated on a small love seat. He patted the cushion next to him, and I went and sat. With his massive arm, Max hugged me to him, and I laid my head against his well-formed pecs. My small hands roamed over his hard body as we sat together. I was free to be myself with him; I had never known who I was until the night he chose me. Running my fingers, in satisfied contentment, over his hard body, the blessing of belonging made me delighted.

The rest of the weekend passed in a whirlwind. We would be talking, something would set us off, and we'd be at it again, fucking like bunnies. Dumping a load in my ass, he'd climb off me, grab my head and guide me to suck him hard again. We banged on the couch, the floor near the fireplace with flames licking near my face.

I lost count of how many times Max fucked my ass. The first night, we coupled more than six times. I hurt. Yet hurt is incorrect. I ached so deeply; a gut-wrenching agony filled my every fiber, and still, I was delighted. I leaked cum from my ass while this profound, enjoyable, throbbing pain shot through me in waves. When Max wanted to rest, we would sleep with our bodies tangled together.

A violent, rough, and cruel man, Max was loving and kind at the same time.

Through it all, he praised my figure, my form, and my feminine face. As he fucked me, I needed his praise, desired his appreciation, and when I received those words from him, oh, God, I can't believe how being wanted so much pleased me overwhelmed me. The scent and flavor, both his sweat and cum, appealed and titillated me.

The weekend passed with Max, fucking the shit out of me, gorging his fat prick down my throat while telling me how cute I was. Finding this a somewhat painful reality, Max violated my ass a minimum of twenty-five times, my throat at least as many. The best thing of all is his constant comments about me being feminine, sexy, and beautiful. With no need left to doubt, I had no manhood. Nothing about me was masculine, nothing handsome or macho—I belonged to him, his sissy slut. I'm okay with my place in the relationship.

After our precious weekend, we agreed not to see each other for two months. I would allow my hair to grow out and learn how to apply makeup. Pealing the bills off into my hand, Max Andersen gave me twenty-five hundred dollars to purchase clothing, underthings, stockings, and shoes.

The weeks crawled by. I put in my time at work, and I appreciated their gawking glances at my strut and the way I wore my hair. I began to dress differently. Not girly, not yet, but in unisex clothing, giving me an androgynous appearance. I started wearing lipstick and eyeliner, and shadow.

The boss thought I was going emo. One day, as my transition progressed, the uptight businessman called me into his office and asked if this was because of the clothing line we picked up recently. They were my account, and I was wearing their label, so I said yes. He was pleased; clairvoyantly, I realized he undressed me with his eyes. You understand my meaning; my women's intuition had blossomed.

In fact, I sensed all the men in the office ogled and lusted after me. I perceived their yearnings. And my clients loved the change, flirting with me, wanting to be with me. But this change wasn't them. My transition was for Mr. Anderson and myself, but the appreciation of others was an incredible perk.

Dying each day, one little bit of me at a time, needing to see him again. Texting one another every day. I sent him pictures of my transformation. Sweet words were returned to me, lover's compliments. Without a doubt, a poor substitute for his harsh, gentile touch.

As the day of our reunion drew near, my anticipation grew boundless. The night arrived; I picked out a black mini skirt, a white silk blouse, a matching black bra (with a bit of padding) and thong, fishnet stockings, and some lovely high heels.

The cab pulled up in front of the building. I got out, leaned down into the passenger window handing the man a $20.00 bill. When the cabby took the bill from my hand, I touched his arm, running my finger over his muscle, and winked.

"Thank you, miss, oh hombre qué puta caliente ojala pudiera tornillo," he said. I didn't understand, but I confident the horny fellow complimented me. Adjusting the growing cock in front of me, he said, "Tan largo," waving at me as he drove away into the night. Turning to the building, I strutted to the doorman. With a quick move, a tip of his hat, he opened the door and grinned at me.

"You're sexy tonight, Miss ...," he paused, continued, "Brandy, that's right, isn't it?" I nodded, walked into the elegant lobby.

The security guard eyed me and wagged her finger for me to come to her. She handed me a key card. "You're looking wonderful," she bent her head to my ear and whispered, "bitch." She straightened, "He's waiting for you, and he's in such a mood of anticipation. I bet he makes you howl tonight."

With my hips swaying, I strutted to the elevator. I strolled into the waiting penthouse car, turned back to the dyke guard.