Mike and I Ch. 03

I knew that the mail sometimes came before noon, and if my package had arrived without me to grab it and squirrel it away then it surely would be in Frank's possession.

However, I thought, Frank had had a late night, just like me. Could he have slept in? I was banking on it, hoping his sadistic exertions had tired him out just enough for me to get lucky.

My morning erection strained hungrily at my cage as I quickly dressed myself, choosing a pair of baggy sweatpants to cover it up.

Pausing only briefly to put my hair up in a bun, I crept silently through the upstairs hallway and down the stairs to the first floor.

All was quiet throughout the house and only the sounds of distant trucks could be heard, going up and down the busy road to the west.

The front door was closed and locked and there was no sign of any mail. Could it be that it hadn't arrived yet? Sweating and anxious I crept towards the kitchen.

Coffee had been made at some point that morning, I could smell it even through the door. That dashed my hopes for a still sleeping Frank; he was the only one that drank the stuff, with even Mike preferring tea.

Gritting my teeth, I pushed open the kitchen door and slipped in, doing my best to minimize any potential noise.

The kitchen light was off but the blinds were up, revealing a view of a perfect summer's day as the light streamed into the gleaming white room.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust but when they did I sae two things that made my heart skip a beat and what felt like all the blood in my body rush to my face.

At the kitchen table sat Frank, coffee cup in hand, one leg crossed over the other with his gaze fixed on mine, and beside him on the table was a package, a packaged addressed to me, a package addressed to me that had been very clearly opened.

"Frank...", I stuttered, " you can't...you can't just open my things..."

Frank's famous stare bored into me, that robotic, flat, unemotional stare. He could have been looking into a car's engine for all it mattered.

For a moment nothing happened. I stood, rooted to the spot, in the kitchen doorway and Frank sat motionless at the table, not even blinking.

I stepped forward into the kitchen and made for the package.

I still held, however unrealistic, the tiniest shred of hope that Frank hadn't actually delved too deep into the package. There were one or two things I could lie away, or rationalize, but there was also something I couldn't.

At my movement, however, Frank spoke.

"Stop", he said, quietly but firmly. I froze once more, the sheer power in that simply word halting my progress as if by an electric shock.

He took a sip of his coffee, carefully placing the cup back on the table as I stood in front of him, beet red.

"Do you know what is in this package, Justin?" he said, "It is addressed to you, so I cannot help but think you do."

I said nothing.

Unable to keep eye contact with his steely gaze I hung my head and stared at the floor.

"Just on the unlikely chance you do not", he continued, "I will tell you".

"These are the tools of a faggot, Justin. What are they doing in my house?"

I stayed silent, struck speechless by Frank's use of a word I'd never heard him say.

Frank placed the package on his lap and opened it, "do you need to be reminded of what is in here? Can you really have forgotten the filth you have tracked in to my home?"

I silently shook my head, but he continued on, reaching in to the brown, cardboard box, pulling out a handful of items.

"High heels, stockings and underwear, in a variety of disgusting colours."

Frank's cool, robotic face began to crack. His lips pulled back in an expression of loathing, "are these what a man wears, Justin?"

I stood quietly there in front of Frank, face still burning, and said nothing.

The sharp crack of his palm against the table startled me enough to gasp, it was not so much the noise itself but that Frank had let his cool composure slip.

I had only even seen him like this once, and that was when he was buried to the hilt in a woman's ass.

"No...," I said, still looking at the ground, "no, a woman wears those."

Frank grimaced, and then took another sip of coffee, his face reverted to its normal placid mask.

"So, Justin, then if a man wears these clothes, what does that make him? A woman?"

"No, Frank," I tried to get out, "I was just-"

"You were planning to dress up as a prostitute, Justin, like some cheap streetwalker, and a man who does this is no man at all, is he? Do you know what that makes him?"

"No, Frank," I said, defeated once again.

"I will tell you what that makes him, Justin, it makes him a disgusting whore. I can't call you a man, Justin, I can't sit here and look at you and see anything other than a filthy slut. Do you understand?"

"But, Frank...," I began, "it's not like that, it's-".

And with that Frank drew the thing out from the box I had been dreading.

"What is it like then, when you buy this?"

Ever since Mike and Tyler had had their way with me, had slid their rigid cocks past the half-hearted resistance of my tight, virgin hole, I had been craving penetration.

My meager collection of toys were too small to satisfy me now. My plugs still fit, but the tiny dildo I had managed to have delivered a year ago was laughably small and left me craving something big, something to replace the emptiness that Mike left in me.

So I had gone and ordered something big, and now Frank had it gingerly grasped between his fingers as if he was touching something dirty.

It was a dildo, flesh-coloured and realistic, with giant veiny balls and a suction cup base, a full 9 inches long.

It looked mean, and hot.

"I...I...," I stuttered, "it's a joke Frank, I ordered it for...for..."

"For what?", said Frank, sneering, and he picked up his phone from the table, "for this?"

I gave a little shriek when I saw what was on the screen, and clasped my hands to my burning face.

"Imagine," said Frank, "my surprise and disgust, this morning, when I received this little video from an anonymous number. Now I don't mean I was surprised at what you were doing, because quite frankly you have always seemed a mincing little faggot to me, but I was surprised to find out that the little faggot step-son I thought I had is a filthy little whore of a step-daughter instead."

He flung the dildo down on to the table, where it bounced absurdly.

"So," he said, "I suppose this anonymous caller has done me a favour and revealed the truth. What happened, bit of a spat with your lovers?"

"I saw you, last night," I said, suddenly grown bold with the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, "with that woman. I'll tell my mum, you can't do this to me".

Then Frank did something that I had never seen him do; he threw back his head and laughed.

"Oh, you saw us, did you? Creeping around in the dark I see. Well, did you like it?"

His face became rubber-like again, emotionless.

"I can't say I did, that Carol is simply trash. One of my secretaries, you know, but I had to put her in her place and I'm sure she'll remember it. A whore is only fit to be treated like one. Feel free, by the way, to tell your mother. What do you think she'd do? Leave me? I doubt it. You wouldn't know it, because you're too brainless to take much of an interest, but your mother doesn't own even the tiniest portion of this house. Do you think your pathetic father had any money left to give her? She lives the life she does on my dime; the pool, the vacations, the spas...and I suppose you think she'd give it up all up because of some worthless whore. Go on, tell her. You do that and the first thing that she see afterwards is that video of you impaled from behind and begging for a shot of spunk. I bet you she'd prefer a rich husband who strays than some fat trash slut of a daughter."

"I'm not a girl," I began, "it's not-"

"Yes you are," said Frank, cutting me off vehemently, "that's all you are. I saw the video, I saw how much you liked it. You can't hide that from me."

I didn't know what to say. He was right, I did like it. I even liked the fact that Frank had seen it.

He wasn't like Mike or Tyler. They were mean and crude and unsubtle where Frank was downright sinister.

The face of the woman in Frank's study, Carol, stood out in stark relief in my memories.

She didn't look like she had enjoyed her evening with Frank. Would I? How could I even think of it, it was Frank for Christ's sake, my step-father, not some football jock.

But beneath my sweatpants, encased within my cage, I felt a twinge. Slowly but surely my little cock was stiffening, growing to fill the tight confines of its cage.

If possible my face burned even more as I let my gaze fall down to the floor again.

"You can't even attempt to deny it," said Frank, "disgusting. Somehow it's even worse seeing you like dressed like this, like a mockery of a man. I think you should get dressed up properly, don't you? I think you should wear clothing that reflects what you really are."

Frank returned to his coffee, "Go, don't disappoint me."

I paused for what seemed like an eternity while my mind raced to catch up. what the hell had happened? It was like a pit had opened up beneath my feet, threatening to tip me in to a hellish reflection of my life.

Mike and Tyler had been one thing, but Frank?

He was absolutely a psychopath. What would he do with me in his grasp?

But what would he do if I refused?

So I made my choice, not thinking of Mike, or Tyler, or anyone really. I made the choice that damned me forever after.

"Yes, Frank," I said, "I'll go dress now".

"Sir," he said without looking up.

"Yes...yes, sir," I said and slowly walked back out of the kitchen.