My instructions were explicit. I was to go home for the weekend and prepare myself for Mr. Anderson on Monday. I was to remove all obvious traces of my masculinity 'excluding your faggot sissy-stick of course' in order to prepare myself to be his fuck toy. This meant shaving my body hair, clipping and painting my nails, sanding my calluses, and waxing my eyelashes. Anderson wanted my ass especially smooth and gorgeous. 'I'm not interested in using any bitch with a hairy hole.' He said. 'I want your little pussy clean.'
I knew how my girlfriend Bella would react. It's enough that I don't deserve her, that she's a drop dead knockout, that she attracts stares from men who are much larger, stronger, and more successful than I am. She has to put up with all that and now I was going to ask her to date a drag queen? How could I expect her to ignore the men who catcall to her on the street when we walk arm and arm? The men who yell, 'Baby, why don't you leave that shrimpy faggot, and date a real man?' or 'My dick weighs more than your boyfriend baby!'. After all, its not like I was going to be a faggot, I already was a faggot. Just yesterday I had dropped to my knees and sucked another man's cock. I allowed him to cum on me. No, that's not right. Allowed is the wrong word. I had begged for it. I was eager for his spunk. Now, ostensibly to keep my job, I wanted her to put up with me shaved and dressed like a slut everyday. There was just no way.
Bella is a bombshell, just incredibly sexy. She's about 5'6" with long black hair; she's thin but with a ripe round ass and nice natural tits, big enough to look hot in a tank top but not so large that you think she has implants. She works as some sort of cocktail waitress, I don't really know, she dresses sexy and stays out late and she always tells me how much she appreciates me for understanding. Who knows? I was lucky to have her as a girlfriend. I was in no position to complain even if it was true that she virtually never allowed me to touch her anymore. It was always 'not tonight dear' or 'I think I have a cold, you better not kiss me'. I didn't ask many questions, I was happy just to be allowed in her presence. Given that I would soon be a painted little fuck whore for Anderson my only hope of keeping her was to simply avoid her. I figured she would dump me eventually, I was just hoping to postpone it as long as possible.
I'd managed to avoid Bella most of the weekend. Friday night she'd stayed out late again and didn't roll into bed until well after 5:00 am. She slept most of the day so that I hardly saw her. I managed to shave while she was at work Friday night. The most difficult part was finding a place to dispose of my pubic hair where Bella wouldn't see it. It felt strange to be hairless. I felt rubbery until I covered my body with powder, and my little penis felt overly sensitive to any touches. It was difficult to just walk around the house as without leg and arm hair my clothes strangely caressed my body in a way I was not accustomed to. Needless to say I had a constant hard on and internally I was ashamed of what turned me on.
In bed Saturday night, Bella long gone to her Bar to work I allowed my hands to touch my little sex. It was hard and erect, awake and at attention. I tried to reclaim my masculinity, at least psychologically speaking by visualizing sex with Bella. She had rejected my recent advances and we hadn't fucked in ages. I tried to imagine her as I saw her that first time she let me fuck her. She had been drunk and willing, her body taut and eager. She had offered herself to me on her knees with her face pressed against the carpet of our mutual friend's guest bedroom carpet. Her hands were behind her and she held her cheeks apart, pushing first one, then two fingers up her asshole. 'Fuck my cunt baby!' She panted 'Fuck my bitchy little cunt.' And what a cunt it was. Slick and shaven, it was hot and pink, and I could smell her musky odor. Everyone knew Bella was a whore, and I desired her even more because of it.
That night I moved to her, but in my fantasy as I now imagined it, it was no longer me that was entering her, it was Anderson. Anderson was strong and masculine, he was much larger than me in every imaginable way. I recalled his huge cock photographically and in my mind he was me, and I? Well I was Bella of course. It was now me on my hands and knees, whining like a bitch.
"Fuck me, fuck me Mr. Anderson." I whined. After that, there was no distinction in my minds eye between me and Bella there was just my ass which was open to his increasingly brutal thrusts. He fucked me viscously calling me names.
"Take it pussyboy. You like having a man's cock in you, don't you faggot?" And I did. I cried in my bed as I readied myself to ejaculated, the blanket pushed down, me on my back with my legs spread wide. The idea struck me, so I did it. In a flash I was hunched over on my shoulders my legs above me against the headboard and my dick pointed at my face.
"Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me." I thought as I whacked my dick. It didn't take long. I stared at my cockhead and watched it shoot hot strings of jizz onto my face. I opened my mouth and ate all I could, letting the rest coat my face, slicking me like a nasty porn star slut. God that was hot, I thought. That was before I realized what was really happening.