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Subject: {ASSM} Story By Phil Phantom/Dandy Don "pretentious-bitch-pp.txt" (humilation, cross dress)
Date: Sun, 27 Oct 2002 07:10:02 -0500
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Copyright (C) 1997 and 2002, Phil Phantom

WARNING:

This story is fiction, and should be treated as such.  The following
story is for the entertainment of ADULTS ONLY, and contains
descriptions of explicit sex.  If you are not an
adult, or reading sex stories upsets you, or is illegal, do not read
any further.


No part may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
electronic means for profit or where a fee is charged for access
including but not limited to printing, photocopying, recording or by
any information and retrieval system, without the written permission
of the author.  All rights are reserved by the author.  The author may
be contacted through HTTP://PhilPhantom.Com         Copyright (C) 1997
and 2002, Phil Phantom


If you like this story and you want more Phil Phantom's or Tiffany's
stories you can read  over 500 other stories by the same author by
visiting Phantom Base at HTTP://PhilPhantom.Com





                                    Pretentious Bitch
                                    By: Phil Phantom

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 like
stumps.

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 cooperate fully.

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 entire tube.

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 really you?"

"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 you might."

"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?  There are over 500 other stories not
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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

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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