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Note: This story is a continuation of the previous three and will be best understood if those are read prior.
I proudly reached the ground without breaking my neck. It was my first time walking any distance or down stairs in high heels, and I could see why they are despised by many women. My pulse raced with anticipation, unsure of what twisted mix of degradation and abuse Za’ana was in the mood to dish out tonight. She was especially sweet and affectionate earlier today in public, once her hangover had disappeared, touching my face, encouraging me to smack her ass, kissing frequently, looking at me with those mesmerizing brown eyes. On several occasions, she whispered into my ear, with that Russian-French accent I had grown to love, how good my cock felt in her ass and that she couldn’t wait for another night with her ‘very nazz-tee guy’.
I hoped I had assembled my clothes how she wanted for tonight’s activities. In addition to the black leather heels, I wore a tight but stretchy white, long-sleeved turtleneck top, thin enough to reveal a flattened black lace bra underneath. My tiny, pleated, red and gray plaid wool skirt barely covered my naked ass and hanging balls, and left a gap of hairy, bare leg before the wide elastic band of the white thigh-high stockings began. My dick was growing a little already, as I felt especially filthy-minded, as I did when I had worn the garter belt. Compounded by the humiliation of wearing ill-fitting female clothing, and knowing how ridiculous I must have appeared, there was something about having my legs and body covered but dick and ass exposed or under a short skirt that I liked; I wasn’t sure why. Back when I was younger, at home alone in my room with the door locked, I wore a t-shirt or hoodie and boots but nothing else if I was in a horny mood. That was probably one reason my dick loved it when I jerked off with only a shirt on in front of her that very first time in Rodanthe, even though I was embarrassed. This night I felt like I was ready for anything, whether it was wallowing in her stinking shit, or having my freshly emptied and lubricated asshole pounded by her dildo. I was already craving it, despite the fact that I could still feel the effects of her recent violations. People in chat rooms said anal gets addicting, and they were right.
My girlfriend, as she called herself for the first time earlier today, was waiting for me, sitting on the pastel yellow blanket sideways on one hip, her legs curled up, sipping a plastic cup of wine. After our fourth day in the sun, her flawless skin had taken on a luxurious, exotic dark bronze hue, which contrasted with her sexy white smile and framed her stunning eyes. Behind her was the view of the cove, darkened but dotted with lights from distant boats and buildings. Next to her was the carton of food and one of her gym bags. Za’ana’s clothing continued the naughty schoolgirl theme, with her dark but sun streaked hair in ponytails on the sides of her head above her ears, tied with long pink ribbons. She wore a white dress shirt, and the outline of a white bra was visible beneath in the moonlight. The shirttails were not tucked in and the lower buttons were undone, revealing her sculpted abs and navel, which was sometimes hidden by her long, striped necktie. A short, dark green pleated skirt flowed around her hips. The Middle Eastern beauty’s long legs were covered in sheer dark blue stockings, which led the eye down to her feet, tucked into burgundy leather loafers.
She kissed me as I sat down and we sat close while nibbling on our fancy sandwiches, fruit, and cheese, talking quietly. In the middle of me thanking her again for the vacation, I spilled some wine on the blanket.
“Don’t worry. I tipped the housekeeper fifty euros to overlook anything that might be ruined or go missing.” Za’ana said with a grin.
We had nearly finished our food when her mood suddenly turned sour.
“Now, it’s time to find out what the fuck you’re doing in those clothes, Robert.” The Middle Eastern beauty asked angrily, her widened eyes catching the light from the cabin behind me. Her pony tails and ribbons flowed with the breeze, in contrast with her serious expression.
I sat dumfounded at the unexpected statement. My pulse began to race.
“I left out one of your shirts and a pair of shorts for you, didn’t you see them? You could have come out here dressed like a man, ripped open these stockings, and fucked me like a man! Are you stupid?”
“I saw the others, but I…thought this is what you wanted…” Again she was messing with my brain. I had never been given any choice before and it was obvious she had wanted me to wear this stuff, but I played along. Still, the thought of missing the chance to slide my dick into her without the theatrics lingered in my mind.
“How do you know the girl’s clothes were not for me to wear on another night? You güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri had a choice and just chose to dress like a little girl, didn’t you? You sick bastard!” She slapped my cheek.
“I’m trying to please you…um…” I stammered, my face stinging.
“Well I see you’ve made your decision, pervert. If you want to look like a fucking little girl, you should act like one!” She said angrily, a moonlit scowl on her face, reaching into the carton of food.
She handed me two oranges, and pointed at my chest, indicating where the fruit was to go. I reached up underneath my top and stuffed them into the empty cups of bra that tightly stretched around my ribcage. I had wondered why the bra was a C cup tonight, up until now, she had given me smaller sizes to wear. The weight against my chest felt weird.
“Here, you need some nipples,” she said, pulling two grapes out of a bunch and handing them to me.
I slipped the grapes into the bra as well, and tried to line them up so each side would match. I felt strange as I looked down at the bizarre transformation. Suddenly a wig appeared, retrieved from Za’ana’s gym bag. It was blonde, almost shoulder length, with large curls that swept away from the front and smelled of hairspray. The purpose of putting me in the lingerie up until tonight, seemed to be for my embarrassment, not an actual imitation of a woman in nearly full dress. I slipped the wig onto my head, and the hair tickled my neck. She ignored my annoyed expression as she reached into her skirt pocket and retrieved a tube of lipstick.
“Stick your lips out like this,” she said, then made a pouting expression.
I did as she said and felt stupid as she dragged the soft, waxy red stick across my lips and around in a circle twice, applying what seemed like way too much, at least compared to what rubbed off of the few girls I had kissed previously.
She commented in French with a condescending tone and made kissing motions at me, then laughed. “It was embarrassing going through customs with the box containing the strap-on cock I purchased for you, and I almost didn’t pack the wig,” Za’ana said, referring to the sloppy imitation of a Farrah hairstyle clinging to my head. But I’m glad I did, because now I get to watch you prance around the yard, my little bitch! Stand up, you fucking pervert!” She slapped me again and spoke several insults in other languages.
I hesitated after I stood, my cheek throbbing and pulse racing, hoping I hadn’t heard her correctly. The roar of an airliner briefly overtook the sounds of the chirping insects around us in the night, and reminded me I was essentially trapped on an island, thousands of miles from home.
“Go on! Prance like a girl!”
I hadn’t felt this much reluctance to do anything she asked since our first days at the Outer Banks. Maybe I wasn’t as ‘ready for anything’ as I thought. This crossed a new line. Despite the lingerie she had me wear previously, I was never asked to be effeminate or act like a sissy. The look on my face must have revealed how I felt.
“I’m waiting, Roberta!” She yelled, using the woman’s version of my name. “If you refuse or fail to perform to my satisfaction, I will go inside and pack and we will be on the next fucking plane to New York!”
I took a deep breath and hopped a couple steps, beginning my latest descent into depravity. My family and friends would disown me if they knew about this secret life I was now living.
“Hold it like this and skip around the yard for me!” She sat up and hiked her skirt above her waist at each hip with her pinky fingers extended to demonstrate, an annoyed look on her face. “Toss your head from side to side!”
At least it was nighttime, so it was difficult for anyone to see me. My stomach was in knots as I clumsily began to trot across the small yard as best I could in the heels, moving the hem of my skirt up, down and around, twisting my hips, and tilting my head occasionally. The oranges bounced inside my shirt, and the breeze passed across my ass, jiggling balls and dick. I passed through the rectangular patterns of light cast across the grass by the cabin’s illumination and reached the edge. Dreading more, I turned around and squinted as the glare of a small flashlight burst directly into my eyes. Just great, I was being spotlighted like a deer in the woods. The glow of the moon and the interior of the cabin was adequate enough for her to see, but that wasn’t enough for Za’ana. The people out on the boats were getting another show. The beam of light was lowered out of my eyes and she barked another command.
“Pinch and roll your nipples!” She demonstrated on one of her own breasts. “Fling your arms around like this!”
I played with my mock mammary glands, pinkies extended, then grudgingly copied her limp-wrist gestures as I hopped back toward her in the light, feeling like an idiot. I scanned the bushes güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri to see if anyone was watching, even though I knew it was not likely. My bigger fear was that this was a progression toward making me a total drag queen. The only thing missing was eye makeup, nails and body-wide shaving, activities she had already begun to share with me as she undertook them. I started to think maybe I should try to end my romance with her before I lost my normal, acceptably macho, small town persona entirely. But outside of her sexual tastes, most of which I willingly acquiesced to, she was a captivating, beautiful, attentive, terrific girlfriend. I was obsessed. Conflicted, my stomach began to knot. I knew I had to at least ride out this week.
“Again!” she shouted before I made another swishy, bouncy, erratically illuminated lap around the perimeter, bra straps digging at my shoulders. “Do some kicks like a ballroom dancer!”
I flung my foot into the air, the hair on my leg visible through the white stocking that covered it. I could feel my meat catch the breeze as the skirt lifted.
“You love doing this! Your circumcised cock is nice and hard!” She smiled.
Sure enough, between the lack of a release after my first official penetration of her the previous night, seeing her nearly naked all day, the physical bouncing around just now and rush of this new level of humiliation, my dick was totally stiff. I had really hoped she wouldn’t notice, as I didn’t want to encourage her to make the cross dressing and prancing a nightly routine. I returned to a spot on the blanket at her command as she rose. I had noticed before that she was wearing a narrow black leather belt, and now she was sliding it out of the loops around her waist and looking at me with her serious, sadistic smile. Dutifully, I turned to face away from her and tucked the hem of the back of the skirt into the waistband, exposing my ass to the breeze. I bent over to receive my lashing, feeling the bra strap tighten across my back due to the weight of the oranges. My cock throbbed in anticipation, and soon the sting of the belt on my bare ass burst into my senses.
“Now I want you to act and sound like a little girl as I whip your fucking derriere!”
Another first, imitating a female voice.
“Let’s hear your little girl squeal!”
I made a short squeaky hum.
“Louder!” she demanded, lashing me once again. Previously during her spankings, I just gritted my teeth and grunted through the pain, holding onto my thighs. “Wave your arms like a surprised, silly teenager!”
I increased the length and volume of my high-pitched cries. Keeping my voice elevated and flailing my arms, with elbows bent downward, limp wrists and fingers spread became easier, almost natural, as the pain of the repeated, randomly timed lashes registered from my throbbing cheeks.
“Now I want to hear you orgasm like a sorority slut! Jerk your cock! Keep your ass exposed, you sick bitch!”
Still bent over, my grape ‘nipples’ pointed at the ground, I reached down and yanked on my dick. My upper arm rubbed against the side of my fake tit, and I raised my other hand to react to her continued, but fortunately less frequent, lashings. It felt comforting and familiar stroking my meat and I began to moan in an uneven falsetto, crying out, jolting and squirming with each strike of the belt. I watched my elongated shadow, cast onto the blanket, whack away as my free forearm swished around.
“Let your mess drip, you stinking little whore!” she yelled as my breathy, high-pitched moans became more frequent.
It wasn’t long before my left hand flapped excitedly as I shot my satisfying load and let out several whiney outcries, simultaneous with each burst of jizz and diminishing as their output lessened. My pulse was pounding in my head as she cursed in some language, flinging the narrow belt across my raw, stinging ass a final few times.
“On your knees! Rub your fucking face in it!” she yelled from behind me. She asked me repeatedly if I was a disgusting, nasty whore.
I answered a squealing ‘yes’ each time as I dropped down and backed up, found the small puddles of cooled semen and complied, but the wig, which was making my head begin to sweat, kept getting in the way. Most of the smelly jizz had soaked into the blanket but I still got a little on my nose and cheeks.
“Are you ready for some cock, little whore? Stand up!”
I arose to see that Za’ana had removed her skirt, and had replaced it with the strap-on, apparently pulled from the gym bag. It looked strange over the top of the blue stockings, but I didn’t care. I wanted her to bend me over, grab my hips and plunge it into my ass. She barked another command before I could start begging for exactly that.
“Tuck your penis behind your legs so you look like a real girl with a hairy vagina!”
I pushed my sack and güvenilir bahis şirketleri limp, dripping dick up and back, and closed my thighs.
“Hold up your skirt to show me. Beg for permission to suck on this cock, mon petite bitch!” she said, referring to the protruding dildo, and mixing in a little French. The small black flashlight was pointed under my elevated skirt.
“Please, oh please let me suck your cock! Pleeeease!” I said in the ‘girl voice’, holding up the front of my skirt with one hand, pinky finger extended, and waving my other around, upward, palm facing the sky , excitedly, timed along with my pleading. I gyrated my hips around, still keeping my dick behind my thighs. “I promise to suck it really, really hard! Pleeeease?” I whined, making kissing motions with my coated lips, running my tongue across my teeth and bending at the waist, bouncing slightly for emphasis. It scared me that I seemed to be catching on a little too quickly to the female persona Za’ana demanded of me, although the vocabulary was not any different from what I had used before.
“Show me what you will do to my cock with your nasty mouth!” she demanded.
I started kissing and licking an invisible dick in midair, then bobbing my head back and forth with my lips open and extended, hands out to the side, flailing around. After a minute or so of my pantomime, she sat down on the blanket and spread her legs, leaning back on her elbows, with the brown strap-on pointed right at me.
Moments later I had removed my skirt as ordered, which was irritating my reddened ass anyway, and was on my knees, thighs together, ‘pubic mound’ exposed. I was kneeling between her widened thighs as I ran my tongue up and down the shaft of the brown latex cock. I knew its undulating, vein-crossed, and now, lipstick-smeared surface well, as I was in charge of washing it each night, along with any other cleanup needed after our encounters. In Za’ana’s spotlight, I grasped the base with my thumb and index finger, pinky extended. I held my free hand at shoulder level, elbow bent, palm upward once again, wiggling my fingers around. I got my whole body from the knees up into it, flexing and bouncing to the point I could feel my genitals shaking behind my thighs. After several minutes of sucking it noisily, moaning and answering, in syrupy tones with the high-pitched girl voice, her questions about how good it felt to have a cock in my mouth, Za’ana suddenly pushed my head away and stood, muttering in one of her languages. I sat up, still on my knees, sitting back on my legs, as I saw the latex dick and its leather harness fall to the blanket, which disappointed me, since I again hoped it was butt fuck time.
“Time for a dessert, one suitable for a whore like you!” she said, and pushed the back of her stockings down. Her legs widened, upper body tilted forward slightly, as her gorgeous, exotic face stiffened into a look of concentration for a moment, then a moan and a smile. Soon the breeze delivered a foul smelling hint of what had transpired behind her. Still tingling from the first load, my soft cock twitched and began to grow at the sudden presence of her shit, but then she reached into one of the open white Styrofoam restaurant boxes that contained our unfinished picnic dinner. My stomach again knotted as she assembled her treat, holding the flashlight in her mouth for a few moments like a burglar deactivating an alarm. Her dessert for me was an uneaten segment of her sandwich, complete with a fresh chunk of turd mashed in the middle like a small hamburger.
“Eat this, you disgusting bitch!” She wiped her hand across her white shirttail, leaving a dark smudge.
Another first. The act of consuming her feces in its various forms had of course been purely sexual, but eating normal tasting food at the same time brought on a rush of mixed signals, and I gagged and felt nauseous and dizzy at the thought of the bread, hummus, cheese, lettuce, and tomato in my mouth, mixing with her gummy shit. Za’ana’s hand was soon approaching my open lips, parted to aid in my breathing and still tingling from their recent rigorous contact with the dildo. The putrid excretory creation fell apart as its entirety was forced into my mouth, its multiple tastes and textures fighting for attention. I squinted in the light and gagged as I quickly chewed, moaning complaints in falsetto. I found it was easier to think of the horrid mush as shit that tasted like food, rather than the other way around. She held my jaw and covered my mouth so couldn’t spit it out. I stared at the loosened crotch of the blue stockings as a distraction, since the light from behind offered a brief silhouette of her protruding labia. I finally swallowed the last of my nasty sandwich as Za’ana spoke, standing above me.
“Was that not delicious? You just love eating my bowel movements! You are so fucking disgusting!” Despite her insult, she seemed pleased.
As I responded affirmatively and gushingly thanked her for the dessert, the breeze blew her shirt up for a moment, revealing the lower band of her white lace bra. It was a thrill, even though I had seen her naked most of the week. The flashlight fell to the blanket, casting bizarre shadows on the thick green foliage next to us.
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