Mr. Wallace and Me Pt. 01-05

My eyes misty, but still seeing how beautiful and sexy I looked in the mirror, I hated myself for what I was feeling, for how sexy I felt, for shimmying my bare shoulders ... for imagining fat Mr. Wallace behind me, his gross, pasty, hairy body, his thick, ugly cock hanging there, his rough hands on my shoulders, his breathing hard as his mouth neared my neck, my eyes closing, tilting my head to give him access to that spot between my neck and shoulders that made me tingle ...

And then I literally saw stars as I came. I hadn't even realized that my right hand had been pumping my tiny dick. My cum was spraying all over the sink and mirror, and I was making helpless girlie noises in the back of my throat.

My knees shaky, slowly, I regained my equilibrium, ashamed as I looked in the mirror at the disheveled person in front of me, my torso bare, the robe clinging to me by the belt around my tiny waist. I was still undeniably sexy, but so ashamed. I wiped up my cum from the sink and mirror with some toilet paper, hoping I hadn't missed any, then went back into the shower, so confused, so humiliated. I couldn't help but lean my head against the shower wall and cry.

The next week seemed to crawl at times, and also somehow to fly by. When I saw Mr. Wallace at work as I took over the night watch, he was all business, only his confident eyes giving any indication of what we had done ... what he had done to me ... on Saturday. As the days and nights went by, I grew more and more determined that I would not countenance a repeat of what happened Saturday. I'll go to his crummy double-wide house and clean. I'll even wear the damn dress, but no more physical contact, no matter what.

Saturday finally arrived, and so did I at Mr. Wallace's trailer. He was wearing only that same ratty bathrobe, and I couldn't believe how much of a mess he had made in just a week.

"Come in, Billy," he said.

I didn't like the way he said my name, putting extra emphasis on the second syllable, making it sound like a feminine bill-EEE.

He told me to go into the bedroom and change my clothes and not to forget to look at myself in the bedroom mirror every 15 minutes.. I went in, and there was the same puffy-sleeve blue dress. I took off my boy clothes and put it on, getting a little chill going through me as it slid over my body and revealed so much of my chest..

I walked into the living room and saw that fat slob on the couch watching football, his rolling, flabby, hairy belly showing outside the robe. I started in on the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, then had to stop when Mr. Wallace told me to get him a beer. The refrigerator stunk to high heaven. I made a mental note to clean that today and took out a beer. When I walked over to Mr. Wallace with it, I saw a flash. The son of a bitch had taken my picture with a camera! Now he was pointing his cell phone at me. He was taking a video!

"You look so pretty in that dress, Bill-EEE, that I wanna add to my collection of you. After all, at the office you weren't wearing much when you were jerking off, but what you had on was male clothing. Smile for me, will you, honey?"

I didn't smile. I stamped my foot, maybe a little femininely, handed him his beer and turned to do the dishes. I began washing them, occasionally looking over my shoulder at the fat fuck, and each time, he was either pointing his phone at me or snapping another picture. That's the way the afternoon went. No matter whether I was cleaning out the fridge or picking up the living room, Mr. Wallace stayed on the couch, except when he went to piss because of all the beers I had to fetch for him, and he would take my photo or do a video every so often. Every 15 minutes, I would go look at myself in the bedroom mirror, each time seeing a pretty, young girl.

After a couple of hours of this, I went into the bedroom to pick up his clothes and make the bed. I figured that's when he might make his move ... like he did last week. I was determined not to give in this time. Yes, determined.

But he never did come in. I looked at myself in the mirror, wondering why, after last week, he wasn't molesting me, kissing my neck and ...well, you know. After a while, I looked closely at myself in the mirror, finding mostly imaginary flaws in how I looked. Was there something wrong with me? I'd find excuses to walk into the living room, but other than taking my picture, he pretty much ignored me. I looked in the mirror again, and for some reason, this time, I moved my puffy sleeves just off my slender shoulders, as if they might have slipped while I was doing housework. I didn't want Mr. Wallace to touch me again, I really didn't, but ... well, he did find me prettier with my shoulders bare, and I felt so vulnerable and -- yes -- sexy as I moved around from room to room.

Mr. Wallace is disgusting. I don't want him to touch me, but something within me wants to be considered pretty enough for him to try. When I swayed while I walked into the living room with my shoulders back and my palms facing forward in a feminine way, he stood up, smiled a knowing, confident smile and told me to stop right in front of him. He took several pictures of me, then spoke.

"Billy, you're looking very pretty. Now, turn a little sideways, yes, like that," he said as he snapped more pictures."Your shoulders look so soft and slender, like a girl's."

I blanched, and didn't know what to say. I just stood there, twisting my lean upper body sideways as he took pictures.

"Now, Billy, I want you to put your pinkie between your lips and give me a little smile."

I did so, my right shoulder touching my chin, feeling so girlie as he snapped my picture.

"Tell me, Billy, did you like it when I kissed you last week?"

I was so surprised. The question had come right out of the blue. I shook my head. "No, Mr. Wallace," I said. "I didn't."

"He sat on the couch and put down the camera. His right hand reached into his robe and started slowly to pump his penis.

"Billy, we both know you're lying, don't we?"

I shook my head "no" again, and he laughed.

"Come closer, Billy," he ordered.

I paused for a moment, then took a tentative step forward. Mr. Wallace took his hand off his dick, grabbed my left wrist and placed it on his thick cock. I pulled it back like it was a piece of hot coal.. His eyes bore into mine.

"You're going to put that hand back where I put it, Billy, for two reasons."

I was breathing very hard, both my hands facing outward behind the skirt of my dress.

Mr. Wallace's voice was so arrogantly confident as he smiled at me.

"The first reason is that video of you jerking off at work along with the pictures I took of you today in your pretty dress."

I bit my lower lip, trying not to cry.

"And the second reason," he said with an evil grin as his robe fell off his disgusting body, "is that you want to."

I started to quiver, slowly shaking my head "no" as I peered down at the ugly hunk of flesh between Mr. Wallace's legs, mostly hidden by the great mass of flab over it.

"Do it, sweet thing," he ordered, his voice so harsh, as if I had no choice.

I felt so weak, so girly. What little willpower I had was drawing me to that thick, flacid cock. I felt my bare right shoulder touch my chin as my right hand pinkie moved between my lips ... just like Mr. Wallace had ordered me to do minutes earlier, except this time it was a genuinely girlish thing that just seemed to happen. My other hand moved slowly ... slowly down to grasp his thick prick. It felt so hot. I could feel his pulse through that awful cock. I gave out a little moan as I moved my little hand up and down. When I looked up at his face and saw his triumphant smirk, I had an overwhelming feeling of horror. I let go of his cock and started to move away when he grabbed me and pulled me onto his flabby lap, his thick arms pinning my slender ones to my body, my bare shoulders hunched in, his mouth so close to mine.

I struggled, but it was no use. He was going to kiss me, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. The skirt of my dress had ridden up, barely covering my tiny, hard penis, and I could feel his thick cock -- in my hand moments before -- on my bare thighs, Was he going to ... take me? I could smell the beer on his breath, his putrid after-shave, almost feel the rough stubble on his three chins. No one was going to come and rescue me from his clutches.

"Do you want me to kiss you, Bil-eeee?" he whispered.

I wanted him to so much. He was so repulsive, so ugly, so disgusting, so fat and old, my boss at work, and yet I yearned to surrender to him, to be the beauty to his beast. I took a deep breath, summoned up the last of what had been my male persona and whispered, not really meaning it: "No, let me go, please."

Almost before the words were out of my mouth, Mr. Wallace suddenly dumped me off his lap onto the floor. I was stunned. I lay there, propped up on my elbows, looking up at him. If anything, being manhandled and looking up at him scowling at me made me feel even more feminine and sexy.

"Have it your way, Billy," he said, matter-of-factly. "Now, get your ass into your boy clothes and get the hell out of here."

Don't ask me why, but I reached out and put my right arm around his hairy, chunky right leg and hugged my body to it.

"Please, Mr. Wallace," I pleaded. "I'm sorry. I ... I didn't mean it. You can kiss me. I mean .. I want you to kiss me."

Mr. Wallace stood up, his huge belly hanging over his now-soft prick that was so close to my face that I could smell its musky scent. My eyes locked on it. It was so big, so manly, so overpowering and dominant. My mind was in a soft daze, and my lips parted.

The next thing I felt was this incredible pain as Mr. Wallace yanked my hair, pulling me off of his leg.

"I said to get the hell out of here, Billy," he said harshly. "What part of that didn't you understand?"

Utterly humiliated, I ran into the bedroom crying. Sobbing, I put my boy clothes back on and walked sullenly back into the living room on my way to the door. Mr. Wallace was back on the couch in his ratty bathrobe, playing idly with his cock while watching TV. His voice had a no-nonsense air to it, as if to reinforce what we both knew: that I had debased myself to him even as I had not been forced to do anything -- other than wearing that dress and cleaning his house -- against my will.

"See you next Saturday, Billy," he said, dismissing me. "Don't even think about being late."

(To be continued.)

Part 3:

The next week was spent in a confused daze. I went from utter self-loathing to a certain calmness about what had happened to me, about what I had become, at least for those last humiliating moments when I virtually begged my fat, horrible, ugly boss to have his way with me. I told myself that I'm still a man, not that helpless, pretty girl who so needed that awful old ex-Marine to put his hands on me, to kiss me, to lure me to his low-hanging, thick, wrinkled cock.

And yet, after I would shower and put on my robe, I couldn't resist again moving the sleeves just off my slender shoulders and turning it into kind of a sexy, short dress that revealed a triangle of my bare chest. The top of my small swimmer's breasts straining against the robe, I'd shimmy in front of the mirror, look at myself and see myself once again as a desirable young girl. After I would invariably jerk my little penis to orgasm, shame would again overcome me and I would vow never to see myself as anything but masculine again. I even considered cutting my long, thick blond hair into a crewcut, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

Work was a nightly ordeal. Mr. Wallace, aware that security cameras were everywhere, was very official, but his eyes and his smirk and the tone of his voice reinforced my feelings of inferiority to this fat,old man I had derided just a few weeks ago. I knew that even though I was in the slacks, shirt and necktie of the security guard company, the pig was envisioning me in that blue dress with the puffy sleeves. When he would look me up and down slowly and confidently leer at me, I'd shudder and look away, trying to forget the humiliation of how I had pitifully clung to his leg. All week, I dreaded Saturday, hoping it would never come, but it did.

Mom asked me where I was going when I asked to borrow her car again. I told her a friend and I were getting together to play video games.

"Is he nice, this friend of yours?" Mom asked.

I gulped. Mr. Wallace is anything but nice.

"Uhhh ... sure, Mom," I said. "I suppose so."

Wearing jeans and a white T-shirt on the mild autumn day, I arrived at Mr. Wallace's double-wide trailer, not knowing what might await me. I looked around. The trailer was set off about 75 yards from the nearest other trailer. I was grateful that no would see me come in or out. I was surprised that my knock on the door was answered by a middle-aged, pleasant-looking, plump woman who greeted me with a wide smile and a hug as I entered, more than a little bewildered. Mr. Wallace was, for a change, wearing instead of his ratty robe, pants and a Hawaiian shirt with his fat, belly emerging over his belt at the bottom of the shirt as he sat on his couch in front of the TV.

The woman's hair was so red it was almost orange, but it was well-styled, and her makeup made her look younger than she probably was. She had her hands on my elbows as she leaned back and looked me over.

She called out to Mr. Wallace: "You're absolutely right, Ted. He's absolutely stunning."

Mr. Wallace merely grunted and watched a football game. New in the living room from a week ago was a cheap-looking card table with four folding chairs around it.

"Billy," the woman exclaimed with a big smile, "I feel like I already know you. I'm Shirley McAdams. I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" I said."I don't understand."

"Mr. Wallace showed me pictures of you, and I couldn't believe how lovely you were when he told me you ... well, you weren't a girl. Now that I've seen you ... you're just precious. Look at that tiny waist, that complexion, that hair! Come with me, sweetie. I'm going to help you look your best. Mr. Wallace has some guests arriving in a few hours to play poker, and you need to look nice."

"Friends?" I said as she led me toward the bedroom. "I don't want anyone else to ... to ... see me here!"

She took my left hand in both of hers assuredly as we entered the bedroom and then she smiled.

"It will be all right," she said. "Now, you must call me Shirley, and I'm going to call you Billie, that's B-i-l-l-i-e. Old Ted over there says that everything about you when you're here has to be feminine, so your name should be, too."

My mind was in a whirl. Only a few weeks ago, I was totally male, never giving any thought to being anything but male. Now ...?

"Shirley, you said you were going to help me. What did you mean?"

"Why, dearie," she said, "I'm just going to teach you a few things you'll need to know about makeup, how to do your hair, that sort of thing."

My mouth open in surprise, I looked at her.

"Makeup?" I said. "My hair? Why?"

Shirley chuckled.

"Because," she said, "old Ted is paying me a hundred dollars."

Totally confused, I looked at the bed, expecting to see the same blue dress that Mr. Wallace made me wear the past two weeks, but it wasn't there. Instead, there was a pair of panties, a pair of white socks with a pink ball of fabric on each one, a short, plaid skirt and two white button-up blouses. From what I could see, they were identical.

"A hundred dollars?"

"Yes, she said. "Now, Billie, I want you to take off those clothes and hop into the shower. Chop-chop, we don't have all day, dearie."

Dazed, I did as she said, taking off my T-shirt.first.

"Oh my goodness," Shirley said admiringly, "look at that waist. Reminds me of myself when I was younger."

Then she leaned conspiratorily toward me and whispered, "Well, truth be known, I never had anywhere as tiny a middle as that. Look at how it caves in from your ribcage. Are you an athlete or something?"

I told her I was a diver and swimmer when I was in high school.

"That would explain it then," she said. "When Ted showed me those photos and videos, you looked so slender, so pretty. Here, I'll show you."

She opened her purse and pulled out a photo of me with my pinkie between my lips, my bare shoulder touching my chin, my lithe body turned sideways in that blue dress. I was so embarrassed that she saw that, but I had to admit to myself that I was pretty, even sexy.

"Come on, now, into the shower," she said. "We're going to make you even prettier."

I couldn't help but like Shirley. She was nice. I quickly showered, letting the hot water cascade over my slender body, my mind deciding that since I couldn't do anything about what was happening, I'd just do what she said. When I got out of the shower, I dried myself with a large, soft towel, put it around my waist and walked into the bedroom.

Shirley looked at me.

"Oh no, dearie!" she exclaimed. "Not like that. That's not the feminine way."

"She removed my towel, and for some reason -- probably her motherly ways -- I didn't feel terribly embarrassed when my little penis became exposed, She quickly unfolded the plush towel and wrapped it vertically around my chest like a girl would wear it, tucking it in just above my small swimmer's breasts. Most of my smooth chest and all of my slender arms and shoulders were exposed along with a good deal of my thighs as she sat me down on a chair in front of the bedroom's full-length mirror. I crossed my slender legs.

"You are so cute," she said, shaking her head admiringly, then using a brush to stroke out my long, straight blond hair.

"Shirley," I asked tentatively, "why are you here? Why are you doing this?"

"Like I told you, Billie," she said, "because Ted is paying me a hundred dollars."

I asked her how she knew Mr. Wallace.

"Oh, that," she said with a smile, "Ted's been coming to the diner where I'm a waitress almost every morning for about 15 years now, since his wife left him. Over the years, we've gotten to the point where we chat about this and that. He thinks I do a good job on my own makeup and hair, so he asked me if I wouldn't help out a young person for a hundred dollars. I didn't know until I saw your pictures that it was for a boy. But honestly, I had to look really closely to tell you weren't a girl. You really looked gorgeous in your dress. I don't even know why you're doing this. Tell me, did you lose a bet with him or something?"

"Yes," I said, not wanting her to know Mr. Wallace had caught me beating off at work, "something like that."

Using the brush and a few bobbie pins, Shirley fashioned my hair into a simple, very feminine style, with a sexy swirl over my forehead.

"This is how you can wear it when you want to look a little more grown-up," she said. "If you ever want to cut part of it in the front, you'd look adorable with bangs."

I looked at myself in the mirror, my blond hair cascading over my bare shoulders. I looked pretty, very pretty.

"Now," she said, removing the pins, "let's see if you can do it yourself."

It took me a few tries, but I got it right in only a few minutes. I felt like a girl talking to another woman. I was curious about something.

"Shirley," I asked, "you and Mr. Wallace ... are you ... you know ... have you ... ummmm?"

Shirley's eyes got real big, and then she made a disgusted face.

"Me?" she said incredulously. "With that fat, ugly bastard? Eeeeeyuuuuuu! I don't even like waiting on him at the diner. Ted? And me? Yuck! Even if he wasn't so fat and hideous, he's really a creepy guy. There's not a tip big enough he could give me to let him touch me."

She shuddered and made another face. The way she felt about Mr. Wallace was exactly how I feel about him. But then, I remembered last Saturday ...and the Saturday before, and I started to feel a little sick as Shirley began to do my makeup. She really didn't do much. A little rouge on my cheekbones and she used an eyebrow pencil on my blond brows to give them a feminine look. A reddish lipstick finished her efforts. It felt weird on my lips but looked nice when I looked in the mirror.