tagTranssexuals & CrossdressersI Hate Him...Ch. 02

I Hate Him...Ch. 02


Round 2

The Car-Jacking

It is very difficult to undo the damage done by a lifetime of intimate indifference. Seemingly random acts of mild sexual abuse are not checked through the course of one's gender development. Such is the case of my life. Alone, I battle against the urges that violate a social standard that abandoned me to the dark recesses of perversion. Forever desiring the beauty of a gender not natural to me, forever cursed with a vain love for dressing up the girl inside me, forever burned with the images of male possession that has befallen me. Eternally bound to the knowledge that I would undoubtedly reveal my inner demons to any man who would chance to evoke it from me.

The following morning, the images still burning in my mind, I was driving to work when I was given a glimpse into the depths of Jaime's insatiable depravity. He had followed me to work where I had hoped to be able to distance myself from the humiliation of the night before. When I saw him pull up alongside the driver's side of my company car I was, at once, shocked, terrified, and angry. He rolled down the window to his car and in a voice completely unaware of my feelings said, "Get in." He was pleasant, even jovial like we were old friends. I got in but ready to lay into him for his brazen violation of the sanctity of the male workplace. I was really in no mood to see him. As he sped back out of the parking space, I demanded, "What the fuck are you doing here?!?" My anger was palpable but he remained oblivious to it as he drove behind the store and pulled next to a dumpster. My frustration began drowning beneath waves of curiosity and uneasiness. "I really need to bang one out this morning, and since you work so close to the school, I thought I'd let you take care of it for me."

I was visibly shocked; he put the car in park and adjusted his seat all the way back and reclined as if this was a foregone conclusion. I must have really gotten myself into something bizarre last night when I gave into him. My anger had become absolutely hollowed as the situation started to sink in. I was flattered to see him think of me to satisfy his needs and like a sex-starved teen, extremely aroused by the gesture. Amid my protestations, he was not to be deterred. And as I looked around the back lot seeing he had found a very obscure space to park, my arousal collided with my attraction to Jaime's powerful aggression. I was refusing his suggestion but staring at the bulge pressing up against his dark slacks. He then started to get impatient with me and explained what was going to happen.

"Look, I'm trying to be nice here. Don't sit there and pretend you don't want to take hold of my cock. We both know what a puta you are. All I need is a good hand job to get you out of my head. Now stop fucking around, I need to get to work."

I fall into a category of person that I label as freeze and please. Always a coward in the face of confrontation, my normal response in volatile situations is to freeze up or abandon my ideals to appease the stronger personality. I developed this reflex from years of being molested while I slept. Of course I was never really asleep, just unable to respond to being sexually assailed in any other way. That eventually led to the appeasement when I found myself in situations where feigning unconsciousness was not practical. This was an appease situation.

"You're a real asshole, Jaime." I said as I reached over to his lap and began unzipping his pants.

"That's a good girl, the more you hate it, the more it gets me off." He responded with satisfaction. I did hate it, I hated him, but most of all, I hated myself for being so desperately turned on by it.

So that's the scene, I was behind the store where I work hiding behind a dumpster giving my wife's jerk of a horny ex-husband a hand job while most people are getting their morning coffee. His cock was rock-hard and I tried to obscure the pleasure it was giving me. To be reduced to a functionary for a man's, this man's, sexual appetite was more than I could bear . I played so put-out and condescending to his primal weakness. Who was I kidding? I was enjoying every slow stroke taking care to let my pinky give his scrotum a love-tap with every downward push.

"Se siente rico chafa huila," Jaime exhaled. [lit. That feels good you cheap slut]

I didn't know what it meant but it sounded like I was doing it right. I confess it was hot hearing him speak Spanish. He fit into a very narrow-minded world view that I had for Mexicans. He taught History and Spanish at a nearby high school. And also ran a landscaping business on the side. Not to mention his apparent need for sexual gratification. I didn't feel guilty for seeing him as a stereotype. I did feel guilty for being so easily coerced into doing his bidding.

My heart began racing as I heard a delivery truck come around the back but I kept on whacking him off...faster and faster I went. Jaime began to start gyrating his hips and slowly thrusting in and out of my wanton hand. He was starting to get that look on his face that indicated that he would be through with me soon.

"Quick, I don't want to get messy!" Jaime demanded.

I replied, "Excuse me?!?"

"Mamada tu mensa!" Jaime blurted out, and then frustrated that I didn't speak his language, "Don't let it get on my pants, chica!" And he grabbed me by the back of my head and forced me towards his crotch. I understood then exactly what he was talking about. I felt like he punched me in the stomach as the breath shot out of me. I could still hear the delivery truck idling and workers beginning to unload into the docking bay which I hoped was well out of sight. I caught my breath and, closing my eyes, puckered up and put an airtight seal around the tip of his penis while I stroked harder and harder. Like a ship on an angry sea, I tried to stay balanced atop his helmet as he thrust his hips up and down lest I slip all the way down on his cock. After a few final ball-pounding thrusts, his body tensed up and began releasing his 'mecos' into my mouth. Like the pleaser that I was, I truly understood his concern for getting his pants messy, and somehow focused on not letting a drop get away. It was no easy task because I counted no fewer than 6 full shots of cum spray against every bit of my mouth. Twice, now, in the last 12 hours, I had swallowed a load of Jaime's sperm. I carefully licked the tip clean and rubbed it dry before replacing it back into his pants and zipping him up. He adjusted his seat and with an inane grin, began to drive back around front to my car.

"Your mouth is such a good panocha" Jaime said, extending the shame he had heaped into me.

"Well, Jaime, this needs to end, I'm not going to keep playing this game with you." I felt confident that I was firm enough.

"Sure about that, Shannon?" he said as he pulled to a stop.

"I thought my name was Sarah!" I said thinking I was being smart. He just laughed at me.

"Which do you prefer, chica?" still laughing, I just dropped my head [I really walked into that one]

He reached over and before I could react, he grabbed my cock seeing that I was undeniably hard. "Un pajaro, miha"

"Keep telling yourself that it's over. I just like getting off. I kind of like that my ex-wife's 'marica' is willing to help me get off. And I kind of think it's sick and twisted that you like pretending to be a woman. But at the end of the day, that erection gives you away. You're the one who won't let it end because you need to be reduced to the little 'puta' that you are. If that means I got to be a little pushy, I don't mind as long as you keep sucking the way you do. To be honest, I can't find a real woman to do it like you do."

He reached into the back seat and gave me a nicely wrapped gift. "Now get out of here, Shannon. I get done with after-school baseball practice at 6:30, I'll be parked at the end of the batting cages."

I exited his car and with the warm taste of semen still clinging to my taste buds, I blushed as he drove away. Saving the gift for later, I put it in my trunk and went into the store.

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