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Message-ID: <31198asstr$994039803@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Phil Phantom <pp@philphantom.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Pretentious Bitch
Date: Sun,  1 Jul 2001 22:10:03 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "pretentious-bitch-pp.txt" begin>

                          Pretentious Bitch
                          By: Phil Phantom
                  http://www.PhilPhantom.Com
                         
BIG SALE AT http://www.PhilPhantom.Com  Join Now Before Its Too
Late !

I finally got a date with the girl of my wet dreams, Heather
Manning, 110 lbs of sweet sixteen feminine loveliness, and I
caught her on the rebound from our super jock, Craig Franklin, so
I knew she couldn't be virgin. I also had insider information;
besides, even without insider information from an unimpeachable
source, Craig would never go steady with any girl if she didn't
put out, I don't care how good she looked, and Craig went with
that drop-dead gorgeous junior for the entire football season. He
pissed off a lot of cheerleaders, too.

Our cheerleaders hated Heather. That was one girl who didn't need
to wear a skimpy nothing of a uniform and jump around to get the
guy's attention. Heather was one class chick, head to toe, and
she didn't need to show intimate flesh to get guys to stop and
stare, or hold doors, or offer seats. With silky blonde hair that
ran straight to her ass, a drum-tight eighteen-inch waist,
dancer's legs and dainty feet, she didn't need big tits. She
didn't even need tits but she had a nice set perched perfectly on
her chest and carried proudly - head up, shoulders back. She
didn't walk and never ran; she flowed.

Heather's junior year of high school was her first year in a
public school. Her folks were mega rich and they put her in a
poor school district when most girls her age attended a finishing
school in preparation for college. She stood out like a rose in a
weed patch, but she seemed happy to be where she was. Craig moved
in on her right away, but she wasn't the least bit impressed
right away. She didn't know a quarterback from a water boy, but
she eventually came around and began going out with him.

I don't think she ever carried books in her life. Even while
going with Craig, she had her entourage of guys who followed her
around wanting to do things for her. When he'd show up, he'd
brush them off like flies. As soon as he left, they returned.
Those guys were pathetic - juniors and sophomores mostly. I know.
I was the worst of them and a senior, but she liked me best. When
Craig had enough of kissing her royal ass, I was poised to swoop
in. To my utter shock, she said, "Sure. Sounds great, Phil. Pick
me up at seven. I have a new dress you are going to love. Maybe
we'll run into Craig. I would love to brush right past him
wearing the French perfume he bought me in the dress he picked
out with you on my arm. Yes, it'll be a hoot - the jerk."

Hoot hell, he'll kick my ass, I thought but only smiled. If there
was one thing I would change about Heather it was that hoot shit.
Nobody said hoot. Even owls stopped saying hoot because they
didn't want to appear pretentious. Then again, Heather never
cared one wit how she appeared or what people thought. Heather
was Heather, in a class by herself with a bright Ivy League
future that didn't need anything from high school except
excellent grades which she got seemingly without effort, always
straight A's'. I helped. A lot of guys helped, but I think
teachers bent over backwards for her just to look up her dress.

Heather would let a teacher look up her dress or peek into her
bra. Male and female teachers were attracted to her. I don't know
how much of that went on or what all she did for them, but I do
know she often let her Algebra teacher look in her panties, nose
her twat, and sniff her butt. She bragged about that and thought
it was a hoot. I suppose it was. The guy was seventy with a nose
like a dick. She said Mr. Green always got his nose all wet. What
a hoot.

She was something else, and she'd drop shit like that on us
knowing we'd all go home and jack off to the lurid images she
planted in our fertile minds. She was a major prick tease and she
knew her shit didn't stink. She also knew we'd fight for a pair
of her soiled panties and would kill for a used tampon. Not a
week went by that she didn't shimmie out of a pair of panties,
then fling them with a flip of her foot, causing a ruckus among
her entourage. We all had trophy panties or pieces of panties,
but the crotch was the prize, and she always got the crotch good
and wet before she began the tortuous shimmie process.

Eight of us sat around her in a crowded cafeteria one day when
she announced that she had to change tampons - had to - urgent -
flowing like a river. She had us close in and promise not to
watch. We closed and promised. She did it, right there at the
table. No one watched her do it, but we knew she did because
after rummaging around in her crotch for a minute or so she ends
up with a bloody rag pinched by the string, wondering what to do
with it.

She didn't wonder for long. One guy grabbed the soggy fucker in
his fist and ran. Two others grabbed him. The three ended up on
the floor fighting for possession of her used tampon. That was a
bloody hoot. Fucking pathetic morons, but I got it and got away.
I'm not proud, and I won't tell you what I did with it, or how
long I kept bloody crotch rocket in a glass cigar tube. The point
is, that fucking twat plug was a treasure and says a great deal
about the girl and the guys who worshipped her.

We were amusing to say the least, pathetic losers to say the
most, but to her we were a hoot. We comprised her inner circle,
her only friends, and I was her most ardent admirer, her closest
friend, the one she talked to most and shared most with. I was
the only one she told about Mr. Green. She knew her secrets were
safe with me. She tested me then knew, but once she developed
confidence, she enjoyed confiding.

I knew when she was thinking about giving Craig her cherry. I
knew when she gave it, and I knew he came in the box her cherry
was in after he promised not to. I knew he flooded her, and I
knew how she really felt about cum that ran from her womb to her
heels. She knew he was lying, but she respected a guy who went
after what he wanted and would lie to get it the way he wanted
it. She said she would have lost a great deal of respect for him
if he did put the condom on or did pull out to cum. He had a
great cock, knew how to use it, and kept her respect by paying no
attention to her wishes or concerns.

Like any good friend, I was a good listener, but I took copious
notes behind her back. I always held out the possibility that
Craig might get hit by a train or struck by lightning, and on a
whim, she might go out with her best friend. I wanted to be
ready.

I was ready and swooped in, but I wasn't ready for her to say,
sure. I had one major problem - my stepfather, Lloyd. He had a
rule. No using the family car for dates until he got to meet what
I was dating. That rule put a huge crimp in my dating life
because the guy is a total asshole in the presence of young
girls. He also has two sons, twins a year younger than me, but
they had been set back two grades, so they were three grades
behind me and still struggling to keep up with kids they dwarfed.
They were younger than me but considerably bigger - a couple of
Clems - Jethro and Lester - dumb as stumps and built likestumps.

If the Clems were home when I brought a date around, I could
forget that date. Floyd was bad enough all by himself, but the
Clems were determined to make the girl blush. The best way was to
show her their hard cocks, and between them, they must have ten
pounds of cock to show a girl. If Dad joined in, that added
another seven pounds. Seventeen pounds of cock is a lot of damn
cock when the average cock weighed less than a pound. If that
didn't work, they rubbed their cocks on her, and if that didn't
do it, they would piss on her. That will do it, and my biggest
nightmare was placing Heather in a situation like that.

There was no getting around that rule. There was no getting
around Floyd. I always warned my dates, and I warned Heather
hoping she would get a car and pick me up. This was all news to
her. This led to us skipping a class and hanging out in the
library while I described the hell I lived with after my mother
married that crude, uncouth redneck six years ago - the past
three years being the worst because the Clems started fucking
her, and the bigger those boys get, the bigger problem they are
for her. Floyd thinks it's funny and calls it working out or
exercising their love muscles. Sometimes all three workout on her
together. They call that making the bitch airtight.

Heather wanted to know all about my mother, but I told her that I
didn't understand my mother anymore. She is not the simple woman
who raised me. Heather didn't care what she used to be like. She
was only interested in the mother I had now. One word sums that
up - whore. Hearing me call my own mother a whore put a smile on
Heather's face. I thought it might.

Heather also wanted good descriptions of their cocks, not
estimates of poundage. She could not relate to pounds. She wanted
inches, color, form, texture, head type, shaft type. I described
what she called a muscle cock, but the inches were still
estimates. Hell, I never measured any of them, but they filled a
hunky fist. The boys had at least ten inches and Floyd had a good
two inches on them with a bigger fist. They all put Craig to
shame. He had a measured nine inches, but his was not a muscle
cock that would even fill Heather's fist. I assured her she could
not grasp any of those cocks and be near touching her thumb to
her fingers, certainly not at the base where they were as thick
as the fat end of a baseball bat.

 Heather was fascinated. She never saw a muscle cock but heard
about them. She never knew anyone like them, or a woman who would
put up with their shit. I wasn't the least surprised. What
surprised me was her willingness to go through that ordeal. She
took it as a challenge and swore they could not make her blush.
She told me to stash a towel in the car because she would not be
intimidated. She might be wet and sticky, but not intimidated.

I pleaded with her, because that was not the way to deal with
Floyd and the boys. I told her you blush right away and insist we
go. You threaten to tell daddy or go to the police, but you don't
challenge them. She let me know that I don't tell her what to do.
She left me with one final warning: don't be late, and don't
interfere.  She also left me with a great incentive: you'll get
the panties from our date, and you will get to take them off. You
will get ten minutes to get them off, and I will cooperatefully.

She left smiling as she floated out the door. She left me smiling
with a hardon I could etch glass with until I thought about
introducing her to the vermin, realizing that the cuter the chick
I brought over the worse they were. I never brought anything
nearly as fine as Heather. There was no telling what they would
do to that girl, but pissing all over her seemed a certainty.

The one thing I didn't tell Heather was that she would be held
for that by my mother, taken out back and held with her arms
pinned while the pissers stood on the back porch and drenched her
- them actually. I didn't know how to tell her that my mom was
one of them and loved shoving a cunt in a girl's face and
pissing. She almost drowned a junior varsity pom pom girl that
refused to lick. That was a quick date: Take me home - NOW!

Fuck...Heather would never speak to me after this. I just knew
it, and I so valued her friendship. God, it was great being best
friends with a chick that fine and foxy. I could listen to her
talk for hours, and we were now at the point where she would talk
about anything, even masturbation and what she thought about
while masturbating. She loved talking about her pussy, and
fucking, and how great it was to be a girl that every guy wanted
to fuck. I needed a friend like that. I sure didn't need one that
hated me and told everyone what a pathetic jerk I was. I had
enough people saying that.

The wheels were set in motion, and there was no reverse. I prayed
that those dumbass Clems wouldn't be home. Floyd by himself
wasn't too bad, and Floyd really wasn't a bad sort. We got along
okay. He considered me a son, his bright son, the one he could
rely on to get things done right. He made my mom happy and was a
good provider. That meant a great deal to me, though I couldn't
understand her happiness. There was no denying that she was, that
she married right and had no regrets. I could only figure that
she had a thing for big cocks.

That became pretty obvious when the Clems started fucking her. In
response to that two-boy gang bang, she threw all of her panties
away, shaved her pussy, and kept her asshole greased. She really
put out the fuck-hole welcome mat for those brats and considered
it an honor to get down on her knees and suck them off, or offer
her big jugs for fucking and her pretty face for cumming in. None
of that is easy for a son to watch and even harder to look away
from, but my watching never seemed to inhibit her.

After fucking those boys for a week solid and putting up with my
hurt or dirty looks, she made me accept the fact that she was a
whore and did that in a most dramatic way by handing me a tube of
lipstick, then telling me to write that word all over her body.
She was naked with a freshly shaved cunt, willing to assume any
pose I wanted her in. I went to work and used up the entiretube.

I will admit, I did enjoy doing that. I mean I really had myself
a ball, and so did she. I put a great WHORE between her legs,
using her cunt lips to form the O. That was great applying
lipstick to my mother's cunt lips. She enjoyed that, too, but
when she was littered with that filth, she wanted me to take her
to the Clems and show them. That was difficult, but I did it,
then watched them fuck the shit out of her. She sure had herself
a good time.

I still do that for her, but not all over. Mostly, I just do my
WHORE in her crotch after shaving her cunt. Sometimes, I'll do
whores on her jugs and make O's' out of the nipples. The full
treatment includes her ass with the asshole serving as an O. I
like doing that, and she loves the full treatment. She likes the
fact that I accept what she is and that she is happy with her
life serving a community of rednecks as a human fuck rag and
mobile urinal. I do accept that, but it was difficult for a
while, especially watching her happily serve as a urinal.
Rednecks love to fuck a woman then piss in her face - what a
hoot. Eventually I came to realize that her happiness was all
that really mattered. That meant a great deal to her, and meant
more because I pissed in her face. Trust me, that is a hoot, and
you don't need to be a redneck to enjoy doing that to a fucking
white-trash whore.

We grew very close after that, but I never wanted to fuck her,
and she never offered me pussy to fuck, or ass, or even a blow
job. We did discuss it, but we mutually agreed that it wouldn't
be right for us, that we would only be doing it because it seemed
like we should. We left the door open should I ever get the urge,
but it was up to me to open that door. I thanked her and kissed
her on the pussy. She thanked me and kissed me on the dick.

That's where things have stood for the past three years, and we
are now closer than ever, but no closer to doing the dirty deed.
I don't know why, either. She is a very sexy woman, voluptuous,
and I think she is very beautiful when her hair isn't wet. Any
guy should want to fuck her. I should want to fuck her. All the
other males in her life are fucking her. It must be the mother
thing, but I love getting her ready to fuck, watching her get
fucked, even cleaning her up after a fuck, blow drying her hair,
wiping her cunt and such. I do that, too. I take good care of my
mommy's cunt. She appreciates that, as do Floyd, and the Clems,
and all the guys who use her as a cum dump. I'm a good son. I
keep that pussy fresh and clean for them, ass too, and that is a
messy job that most sons wouldn't want.

Heather didn't know the half of it, but she might well find out.
I keep secrets, but she wouldn't if telling my secrets all over
would be a hoot. The thought made me cringe and feel queer. Since
I now use my mouth to clean my mom, I had every reason to feel
queer. I knew how Heather felt about them, too, only she doesn't
call them queer. To her, queer is another word for odd or
strange. She once said that Bucky Burgess was a very queer
fellow, and we all went, "BUCKY! QUEER? Sure, he fucks chickens,
but ain't nothing queer about Bucky."

She started all sorts of nasty rumors because she met so many odd
or strange people in our school through Craig. According to her,
our entire offensive line was not only offensive, they were all
queer. They raped every virgin in our school trying to prove it
wasn't so and still the rumor persisted.

Her word for a queer was fag, but we had no fags, at least none
that were obvious or flaming. She searched high and low to find a
fag. She thought it would be a hoot to watch one guy suck on
another's cock or eat a pussy after it got fucked. She asked me
if I would do that for her. I told her I would have to think
about it. I may as well have said, "Yes, I would love to."

She didn't tell the guys, but she told Craig. After that, he
began treating me like a fag, and he has nothing but contempt for
fags, especially after losing his offensive line to expulsions
and arrests. He thought I spread that rumor. She  thought that
was a hoot and urged me to act faggy around Craig. She'd get
upset when I wouldn't and be pleased when I did it well. To stay
on her good side and make her happy, I ruined myself. I became a
fag, the school fag in a school that was proud it didn't have
one.

Turns out we had plenty of fags but none dumb enough to come out
of their closets. The cock suckers came out of the woodwork to
praise me and tell me how brave I was. I sucked off queers and
told her about it. I ended up sucking all the guys in our group
at her insistence. I was her fag friend, but she wanted a fag
friend. She couldn't find one, so she made one, and she didn't
appreciate me reminding her that she made me act like one, that I
wasn't really one. After a few months of sucking cock for her, I
wasn't sure anymore.

The only thing that gave me assurance that I wasn't queer was my
undying lust for Heather as well as a few other girls. I did love
girls. I did not love guys. I was attracted to girls and not to
guys, but I had to admit that I did like sucking cock and
swallowing cum. That defines bisexual, and I could accept that
label, but I was not a fag. I was for Heather, and that didn't
bode well for our date. I couldn't see her treating me any
differently, and could see us out cruising for guys, checking out
tight buns and bulging crotches, having ourselves a real hoot.
That wasn't exactly what I had in mind when I swooped.

On my way home I realized that Heather was the worst thing that
ever happened to me and the best thing that ever happened to me.
I adored her. The sun rose and set on her sexy ass. Just being
near her filled me with warmth. Her soft touch thrilled me, and a
kind word was a soothing balm to my aching spirit. She very much
valued our friendship. She liked me, liked being with me, and
loved talking to me. I was with her much more than Craig ever
was, and I know we talked more. We were, after all, best friends,
and he had nothing to be jealous of because I was a fag. She
loved reminding him, and whenever she did, he looked like he
wanted to kick some fag ass. He didn't like me hanging around his
chick, not one bit.

He was out of the picture, now, and I never got my ass kicked. I
had her all to myself, even her date time. Life was looking up,
but we had to get past this ordeal. I could not see that going
well, not if she smelled of French perfume wearing a dress Craig
picked out. Fuck, this couldn't go well. Heather makes sack cloth
look sexy. You just don't bring anything sexy into the wolf's den
with a den mother like my mom. That sophomore pom pom girl was
lucky to escape with her virginity. Compared to Heather, she was
a dog. At least Heather was no virgin, wasn't religious, and
liked muscle cock on muscle men. If she got fucked, it wouldn't
be a trauma, but getting pissed on the way they did it would
traumatize any high school girl.

Mom knew all about Heather, though she never met her. We often
talked about Heather while I lapped the cum out of her pussy.
Yeah, picture that scene. Mommy feeding fuck to her little boy.
Mom's life took on a rosy hue after I began eating fuck. She
liked Heather, and loved the odd relationship. She thought
Heather was a hoot, and when Heather began pushing me to be a
fag, Mom was all for that. She urged me to humor Heather. She
urged me to suck some cock. She got me to try cum, scooping some
from her slit, holding her two cummy fingers to my lips, saying,
"Try some. You might like cum. Go ahead. It won't kill you. Cum
is good for a growing boy."

It wasn't bad, so I got more, and more, and that was how her life
got rosy. I figured I might as well go down on her before she
went and got a spoon. I was glad I did. That is the way to eat
cum, right from a good looking pussy, fresh and warm. I sure
thrilled the piss out of her...and Floyd...and Jethro...and
Lester...and about a dozen men from J&B Construction. Mom was as
bad as Heather. It was no wonder I turned fag with the two most
important females in my life driving me to my knees.

Mom was actually a lot worse than Heather. Mom loved watching me
suck cock and loved dressing me up like a girl, calling me her
pretty little girl, Phyllis. She got me to wear only panties with
painted nails, lipstick, and a large, blonde wig. She removed all
body hair with a strong hair removal cream. If I do say so
myself, I am a very sexy girlie boy with the cutest little dick,
great legs, and tight buns. She taught me how to dance sexy and
she bought me a lovely feather boa for my act. I had costumes and
several expensive wigs. I did a great Shirley Temple that always
got me raped before I could get through half of Good Ship
Lollypop.

Mom got off on watching grown men fuck me in the ass. I couldn't
handle Floyd, but got to where I could take the Clems to the
root. A redneck sandwich was taking one up the ass and one in the
mouth at the same time. That'll make a girlie boy airtight, and
make a mom like mine cum. That made me cum, too, but that's
beside the point.

Heather wouldn't think that was beside the point. I knew she
would love that shit, but she never dreamed of that shit, and I
wasn't about to give her any dreamy ideas. She knew enough about
my bizarre family as it was. She was about to meet them and I had
the uncomfortable feeling she'd like them even if they gang
banged her and pissed all over her. I knew they would pay no
attention to her wishes or concerns. They'd sure cum in her pussy
for her - no problem there. Trying to stop them would be a
problem, but I was not to interfere. That was her problem. If she
liked it, that would become my problem - a BIG problem. If she
and my mother hit it off, I may as well get my name legally
changed to Phyllis, get a new school wardrobe, and start using
the restroom all the other girls use.

I was so fucked, but so committed. I should have been committed.
When I entered my home, Mom was there but no one else was. She
turned off the vacuum to say, "Hi Phyllis, suck any dick today?"

How's that for a mother's greeting? I sure missed the days she
would say, "Hello sweetheart. How did your day go?" Seemed like
ages ago but was only a few months. The novelty of having a sexy
girlie boy was still new and exciting. Like Heather, Mom didn't
like me acting like a regular boy, certainly not a young man. She
wanted a dedicated queer transvestite who couldn't wait to get
out of guy clothes and into a soft and sexy pair of panties, so I
hurriedly stripped off the detestable duds while telling her I
sucked off six and took two in the ass.

That was a lie. I only sucked off four and didn't take any in the
ass. I didn't let guys fuck me at school. The administration will
overlook sucking but not fucking. There was to be no fucking on
school grounds - none. The offensive line ruined it for everyone,
but she was very pleased while helping me into my panties. Before
covering my little dickie, she gave it a little suckie,  patted
my sexy fanny, then stood back to take it all in, saying, "Oh,
you are a sexy little whore, Phyllis. Turn around and show me
that adorable ass."

I showed her the way she taught me, and she loved that sexy
wiggle, but was disappointed that my ass didn't looked fucked. I
told her they were little guys, then stood and faced her to tell
her that I had a date with Heather and needed the car.

Her face lit up as she said, "Well, well, a date with Heather.
You know the rules, Phyllis."

"I know, but Mom, please don't let them treat Heather the way
they treated Joann."

"Honey, I have no say. Just bring her by and hope for the best,
but you could improve your odds by having her dress down and
cover as much skin as possible."

"She'll be wearing a sexy dress, probably short and low cut."

"If she does, and she looks half as sexy as you say she does,
your date will begin and end right here."

"That's what I'm afraid of. Mom, did you ever tell Floyd about
Heather?"

"I tell Floyd everything, Phyllis. He is very eager to meet this
girl. So are the twins and half the guys from J&B. To be
perfectly honest, it doesn't matter what she wears, she won't be
wearing it for long."

"Mom, no, please!"

"I wouldn't worry about it. From all you've told me, she'll have
the time of her life here. Honey, face it. You could never show
that girl a good time. Let's be honest. Do I need to drop your
panties?"

We both looked to a pitiful impression. The truth hurt. Mom came
up and held me, rubbing my back, saying, "Sweetheart, she wants a
fag friend. That's all you'll ever be, but you could be a great
fag friend if you get her the sex she craves, and sweetheart,
Heather and I are kindred spirits. I feel like I know her very
well. She's a fucking whore, and she loves being treated like one
in a place where no one will ever know, at least no one that
matters. We will give her what she wants in spades. She will be
your girl, but you'll be her fag. I hope you weren't thinking
that anything would change just because she broke up with Craig.
Baby, she didn't dump a jock to date a fag. Let's face it, you
are a fag and queer as a three-dollar bill. You do accept that
don't you...Phil?"

She posed that question while fingering my butt. My butt wanted
something bigger, much bigger. My ass is queer, no argument
there. Her fingering gradually brought on a smile of acceptance.
I admitted that I was very queer. She asked if I was a whore. I
said I was. She asked if I would like to be Heather's whore. I
never thought about that, but did then, and eagerly said I would
love to be Heather's whore. She asked me if I would be sexy
tonight and do my Shirley Temple number. I excitedly cried, "YES!
YES! Invite all the guys over. I want to show Heather what a
great whore I am and what a good girl I make. I want to get
fucked for her. Oh Mom, please make me be a good whore for
Heather - Please! Please!"

Oh, I was so screwed. My mother promised me that she would see to
it personally. She said I needed a good cleaning-out enema
because I was taking Floyd to the root if it killed me. God was I
screwed. She took me by the hand and led me off to the bathroom.
After the thorough enema, she took great pains to make me look
like a sexy girl, about as sexy as the girl I was to pick up. I
pleaded and begged but there was no budging her. I was coming out
and that was that. At fifteen minutes to seven, she sent me out,
and there I stood on my street looking like a sexy girl in a
short dress, wearing high heels and a blonde wig with makeup
expertly applied. The paperboy fell off his bike. He didn't
recognize me. A sexy girl made him hit the curb.

That felt kinda good and gave me confidence that I could pull
this gender swap off. If I could fool Frank, I could fool
anybody. Actually, it was really neat going out in public as a
girl that drew a great deal of attention. All the way to
Heather's estate, guys were flirting with me. That felt great and
I flirted back. Everybody wanted to fuck me, and I finally knew
what Heather felt like. Meeting Heather this way still posed a
challenge, but I was up to the challenge by the time I swung into
her circular drive. The doorman took one look at me and I could
tell he wanted to fuck me.

He was expecting a young man. I wasn't about to tell him he was
looking at one, so I told him the young man couldn't make it, but
I was his sister come to pick up Heather. He called Heather down.
God, she looked gorgeous. She made my dick hard, which feels
really neat in panties, but I digress.

Anyway, she doesn't recognize me and was put off by this
unexpected change, and she knows I have no sister. I gave her
several winks while explaining to her, but my winks only added to
her state of confusion. She was getting pissed that I was
flirting with her, so I took her by the hand and led her outside.
Once outside, she angrily jerked her hand back. When the door
closed, I said, "Heather, it's me, Phil."

She looked; she stared; a smile grew slowly, then exploded in
laughter as she said, "PHIL! Oh my god! Phil is that reallyyou?"

"Phyllis."

"Phyllis! Oh god, I love it. My fag friend Phyllis."

"Yeah, well this wasn't my idea."

"Whose idea was it, Phyllis?"

"My mother's."

"Oh my god! Your mother dressed you this way?"

"Heather, I can see you like me this way. She thought youmight."

"Well she was right on with that, Phyllis. You are a sexy little
slut. You whore, I feel over dressed."

"You look great, Heather."

"Thanks, so do you. Bernard wanted to fuck you. I have a good
mind to take you back in there and let him. You'd like that,
wouldn't you? I can see you would. Don't lie to me, Phyllis. You
would love it if he shoved his big, black cock in your ass and
fucked you like a girl. You would love that, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, Heather, I would love that, but we have people waiting, a
bunch of people. Mom invited all the guys from J&B Construction
over. There were eight there when I left with more due to arrive,
plus Floyd and the twins. They are all dying to meet you."

"I'll bet they are. Just what did you tell them about me? Did you
promise them all pussy?"

"No, but I did tell them that they couldn't make you blush no
matter what they did. Are you still up to the challenge? They
are. They are all drinking beer getting ready for you."

"Is that so. Well, for your information, I am up to the
challenge. I could use another shower, a nice warm golden shower,
so lead on, Phyllis. [after taking seats in the car] I'll show
you how to make men horny. You'll get your sexy ass screwed, you
little tramp."

I smiled as I set the car in motion, saying, "I sure hope so.
There is plenty of cock for both of us - big muscle cocks,
Heather."

"Oh god, I love this! We're going to fuck their brains out,
aren't we girlfriend?"

"Five at a time if you're up to it."

"Oh, I'm up to it. I have never been airtight, have you?"

"Lots of times."

"You bitch! Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"You'd think I was a whore."

"You are a whore. Do you deny it?"

"No. What's more, I'm your whore, Heather. At least I will be if
you'll have me."

"My whore!"

That idea had obviously never entered her pretty head, but now
did and took root, bringing on a pensive smile, then an excited,
"Are you saying you'll fuck for me - fuck anyone I want you to
fuck?"

"Yes. Does that appeal to you?"

"Appeal to me? APPEAL TO ME! Feel my cunt. You tell me if that
appeals to me."

I felt her cunt, and her cunt appealed to me. Yes, she did want
her very own girlie boy whore. Mom was right. When we arrived,
Heather was primed and ready to go. She took one look around the
room at all those hunky men stroking hard cocks and whipped that
dress right off, shimmied out of her panties, tossed the bra,
then knelt between Floyd's knees to begin worshipping his cock
with her hands and mouth.

That girl turned out to be quite a whore. She couldn't get enough
and absolutely loved being airtight. We had fourteen cocks
between us. Mom left them all to us, but fourteen drained three
and four times each wasn't enough. At two in the morning, we went
back to her place and fucked Bernard till dawn. Her folks were on
the continent, which narrowed it down to one of seven -
pretentious slut. What can I say. We had a hoot.

                                                         The End

DID YOU LIKE THIS STORY ?  DO YOU WANT MORE ? JOIN PHANTOM BASE
NOW AND SAVE !

Read other stories by the same author by visiting Phantom Base at
HTTP://www.PhilPhantom.Com/

CAUTION: Exercise caution and good sense before engaging in
unsafe sex practices that involve any exchange of body fluid,
even contact with open sores or small cuts. Scenes involving
large objects, tattoos, bestial sex, body waste ingestion,
bindings, devices and gadgets are the stuff of fantasy and are
offered to promote the only safe sex there is - masturbation.
Before you try anything, find out what the risks and hazards are
because they can all be deadly. Read, enjoy, and remember - sex
with minors should be left to other minors. PP


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