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Review This Story || Author: Couture

Unknown Waifish Model Page 53

Chapter 2

Waifish Model on Page Fifty-three Ch.2
by Couture


(TG, MM, MC)

Please do not read if under 18 years of age or 
offended by sexually explicit stories and situations.  

(c) 2003 Couture

***********

I blinked away the tears welling in my eyes and looked 
at the cute brunette in front of me critically.

She wore white.  White heels, white stockings, white 
g-string panties, white lace corset.  The corset was 
tight and gave her an exaggerated hour-glass figure.  
Her breasts were pushed up by the corset.  Hair that 
was short and dark, with bangs so long they had to be 
constantly tucked behind her ears to keep them out of 
her eyes.

The sight of her made my heart speed in my chest.  I 
couldn't help but want her.  A woman that looked the 
way she did had to know what men thought about when 
they looked at her.  A woman like that would should 
have given me a hard on like you wouldn't believe.

Why was I crying?  Because, the woman I was watching 
wasn't in front of me at all.  I was looking at a 
mirror.  The woman was me.     

The erection I should be having?  The thought made me 
cry even harder.  My cock was collared and wouldn't 
get erect even if I stopped taking the pills that 
bastard Phil was feeding me daily.

Phil, the bastard, he had caught me with his wife and 
sought revenge.  Instead of punching me out like a 
real man, he had somehow got inside my head and made 
me do things - things that transformed me into the 
feminine creature I now was.  Then he offered me a 
deal. 

Be his wife for a year.  A year and then I was free.  

I agreed.  What choice did I have? 

And tonight?  Tonight was our wedding night and I was 
the blushing bride.  Phil decided to save money, so he 
cut out the whole wedding ceremony.  (Not that I 
minded in the least.)

We went straight to Vegas for the honeymoon.  Oh yeah, 
and I was the blushing bride.  And why was I blushing?  

I was the bride sans dress.  

"They cost too much and it ain't like you can wear it 
again," Phil had said.

He was impossible to argue with.  His powers over me 
were like a God.  "Yes, daddy," I replied.

I looked back in the mirror.  Shit, my bangs had 
fallen in my face again.  I hated them.  I hated 
looking so cute.  

I tucked the stray hair behind my ear and then I tried 
to smooth down my nipples.  I didn't want Phil 
thinking I was turned on.  I wasn't.  I was only 
scared, and though Vegas was hot, the room was cold.

There was a knock on the door that made me start.  
Thankfully, it wasn't on the bathroom door.  It would 
probably be room service.  Anyway, Phil was in the 
room, I hoped he would get it instead of embarrassing 
me further.

My hands were shaking and time was running out.  I 
tried to think of someway to get out of my situation, 
but it was useless.  He had me.  And tonight, tonight 
I had a feeling Phil would want more than the blowjobs 
I had been giving him since he took me from the 
clinic.

There was a knock on the bathroom door.  My heart 
pounded and wouldn't stop.  

"Just a minute more Daddy," I said, voice trembling.  
"I'm not quite finished."  

"It's time Chrissie," he said.  "Get your hot little 
ass out here."

He could get inside my head and make me open the door 
if he wanted.  I wouldn't let that happen again if I 
could help it; the sadistic bastard always punished me 
when he did.  Rather, he made me do the punishing.  If 
I was going to do it, I was going to do it walking 
like a man . . . in heels that is.

"Yes, daddy," I said meekly as I exited.  I gasped 
when I saw the bellboy standing there, eyes gaping, 
staring at my chest.

Breasts. . . my breasts!  I kept forgetting.  My hands 
flew up to cover my nakedness.

Phil took my wrist and easily forced my hand down.  
"Don't you start being modest now, you were the one 
who wanted to get married in your undies," he laughed.    

The liar!  He was the one who had sent me into the 
bathroom with nothing but panties, stockings, garters, 
and heels.

He shrugged his shoulders at the bellhop.  "Women. . 
." he said conspiratorially.  "Come on, let's do it on 
the balcony."

Phil slid open the glass door and led me out onto the 
balcony.  My heart was racing.  I felt like I was out 
of breath.  What did he want to do on the balcony?  
Why was the bellhop there?

Out on the balcony, Phil pulled me close and 
whispered.  "You better smile and act the part or 
you're gonna find yourself giving blowjobs to every 
salesmen at the bar."

It would be preferable to blowing you, asshole.  But, 
I dared not utter those words.  If he wanted, not only 
would I blow them, I would blow him as well, and there 
was nothing I could do to stop it.    "Yes, daddy," I 
said, and shivered from the night air or perhaps his 
chilling words.  I hated calling him that, but that 
was one of the few rules he had given me.  Rules I had 
learned to obey by painful example.

"Okay, let's do this," he said to the bellboy, handing 
him a piece of paper, a camera, and two twenties.

The bellboy pocketed the cash and looked at the paper.  
"Do you Chrissie take Phil Barnes as your husband, to 
love honor and obey?"

The bellboy looked at me with a smirk.  He was staring 
at my breasts.  I was a size 32A.  Not the size to 
inspire awe, only enough to be rewarded with a knowing 
smirk.  Phil grinned a shit-eaten grin, leering at me, 
surely knowing what must be going through my mind.

"I do," I replied meekly.  

"And do you Phil, promise to ahh . . ." The bellboy 
looked down at the paper and narrowed his eyes, just 
to be sure he was reading it properly.  "To ah- *take* 
Chrissie?"

Phil chuckled.  The bastard.  "You bet."

"You may now kiss the bride."  

Phil grabbed me and kissed me deeply before I even 
knew what was going on.  I didn't even have time to 
think about it as I kissed a man for the first time.  
He put his hand down my panties and groped my ass.

I saw the flash of the camera from my closed eyelids.  
Phil pulled away.  

"Lock the door behind you," he told the bellboy.  "And 
leave the camera on the dresser."

I heard the glass doors slide shut.  My knees were 
weak.  I wasn't ready for this.  I don't think I would 
ever be ready.  "Please Phil.  Please don't make me do 
this."

He spun me around and pushed me against the balcony.  
I looked down seven stories and the world began to 
spin.  I was afraid of heights.   

"What did you call me?" he hissed, pushing my torso 
over the balcony.  Shit I had called him Phil.  I had 
broken a rule.  

"I'm sorry.  I'm sorry Daddy." I begged.  "Oh God, 
please Daddy, don't hurt me, I'm scared."

"Wedding jitters, huh?  Well, just be a good girl and 
there's nothing to be afraid of."  He pushed my legs 
apart.  I felt a finger sneak into my panties and prod 
my hole.  There was nothing I could do.  With the 
ground three stories below and Phil behind me, I was 
caught between the devil and the deep blue sea.  Owww!  
Jesus the friction from his callused finger burned 
like mad.

"Ouch."  I tried to pull away, but couldn't.  

"Does it hurt?"  He kept poking.

"Yes."

"Then be a good little wifie and say, please Sweetie, 
be gentle with my cherry."

His finger was like sandpaper and he knew it.  He was 
trying to humiliate me.  A few people by the pool were 
now openly staring at me.  Luckily, only my head was 
visible.

"Please Sweetie, please be gentle with my cherry," I 
whispered.

"I didn't hear you."  He pushed his finger in and 
twisted.

"Ouch!"  I winced, my pride rapidly dwindling.  
"Please Sweetie, be gentle with my cherry."  I 
shuddered, knowing the people below must have heard 
me.

"That's real good.  Uh-huh, and it looks like you are 
starting to attract a crowd."  He tapped my arsehole 
again.  Not hurting it, just letting me know he could 
if he wanted to.  "What was this again?"

"My cherry."  I said it loudly enough to be overheard 
again.

Thankfully, the finger was removed, but it soon 
returned.  This time it was cold and slick.  It 
slipped past my tight defenses, and pressed inside me.

"There," Phil said, moving his finger in and out, 
fucking me with it.  "That's not so bad is it?"

"Please Phil," I whispered.  "Don't make me do this.  
I'm not gay."

"Of course not," he said, causing my heart to leap 
with new hope, only to dash it away.  "You're a 
married woman.  It's okay for us to fuck now."

"But - ugh-" I grunted as his finger burrowed in me to 
the knuckle.  "I don't want to."

"God, you're tight," Phil said, as he removed his 
finger.  "I can't wait to feel you around my fucking 
cock."  His hands grasped my hips and I felt the head 
of his cock nestled between the cheeks of my bottom.  
Involuntarily clenching my arse, I moved closer to the 
railing.

"Please. . . ," I begged.  "Please don't."

 "Kinky slut," he said, prodding me with his dick, 
pushing me forward even more.  "Gonna give them all a 
show huh?"

Several people pointed at me and I realized my breasts 
were uncovered.  I tried to cover them with my hands, 
but that gave me no leverage to keep from being pushed 
further toward the rail.  I could feel his dick 
penetrating me and there was nothing I could do about 
it.  I could barely stand and the high heel shoes I 
was wearing didn't help a bit.

I hated this part of my transformation the most- being 
so weak.  "Please Phil, I'm going to fall," I whined.  
Tears welled in my eyes.

"Then grab the fucking rail."

"But my breasts . . ."

"Those aren't breasts, just little bee-stings.  
Somebody tell me why did it have to be page fifty-
eight?"

My face flushed with embarrassment.  I hated my 
breasts too.  As strange as it sounds, I wanted them 
bigger.  Phil's one big rule was to never let anyone 
discover I was a man or I'd find myself working as a 
whore, strung out on drugs.  I could forget about the 
year's service, it would be that way for *life*.  
Anyway, small breasts attract the wrong sort of 
attention when you are someone like me.

"Maybe you should ask me to cover them for you," Phil 
whispered.

At last a good idea and while he went to get a top for 
me or at least a bra, I could get off the balcony and 
collect my thoughts, maybe even persuade him not to do 
this.

"Please Sweetie," I gasped.  "Would you get me 
something to cover my breasts with?"

His hands moved from my hips, along my sides, and 
grabbed my wrists.  I struggled briefly as he sought 
to pull my hands away from my breasts, but he was 
stronger.  Down below, everyone stared at my lewd 
display.  Phil placed my hands on the rail and used 
his on to cover my breasts.  Not quite what I had in 
mind, but at least I was covered.

"Here it comes baby," he said, and pushed his hips 
forward.

Christ, his penis hurt!  It opened me, it kept 
penetrated me and there was nothing I could do about 
it.  I grimaced in pain, giving a long and drawn out, 
"Owww fuck. . ."  The people watched below.  To them I 
was a girl being fucked - a virgin being taken on her 
honeymoon.  But inside, I was a heterosexual male; my 
body feminized and chastised, taken from behind by 
another man.  Ugh- Oh God, a large man.  A large 
sadistic black man.

"Just relax and go with it," he whispered thickly in 
my ear.  But it was impossible.  With something that 
big invading your ass, the body's reaction is to 
clench.  I couldn't overcome it and each time I 
clenched, it hurt even more.

But he never stopped.  Monster!  In fact, he lurched 
faster and faster.  His fingers played with my 
nipples, tugging and tweaking the hardened nubs.  They 
hurt and my ass burned with pain.  

"Play with your clit," he said.  "It will help."

At that point, I would do anything to lessen the pain, 
even play with myself for this bastard.  I reached my 
hand down and attempted to tug on my collared cock.  

"Ouch!" I cried, as he viciously tweaked my nipples.

"Girls don't tug," he said.  "Girls finger.  Up and 
down and around and around in little circles."

Evil bastard.  He got off on robbing me of every last 
strip of my masculinity.  But, hell I gave up, I 
starting stroking myself.  Anything to take my mind 
off the pain.  I followed orders and did my best to 
imitate what I remembered from watching women pleasure 
themselves.  While I couldn't get an erection, I found 
that I could still feel pleasure and soon the pleasure 
grew, emanating from my groin and moving to my newly 
acquired sensitive nipples and even to my ass.  I 
tried my best to resist, but my body betrayed me by 
pushing back against him, gasping and grunting as he 
took me.  The bell attached to the ring on my cock 
jingled faster and faster.

There I was on the balcony of a large hotel in Vegas 
in broad daylight, moaning and groaning while a large 
black man was taking my ass while clutching my 
breasts. To anyone looking, I was a thin blonde girl, 
clearly enjoying what was happening to her on her 
wedding night.  Not just enjoying it, but getting 
ready to orgasm.  Little did they know how much I 
desired *not* to orgasm.  Not like this.  And 
certainly not for *him*.  

Oh, but no matter what I desired, my body had other 
ideas.    It wanted it.  It needed it.    

"I feel you getting tighter baby girl," he laughed.  
"You're loving this, aren't you?"

"No," I grunted.  But, the truth was, it did feel good 
in some sick way.

"You're lying," he said, grabbing my hand, pulling it 
away from my collared cock, and forcing it back to the 
handrail.  "But anyway, let's talk about something for 
a minute."

God, there I was, penetrated from the rear, nearly 
naked and on display to the people watching from the 
pool.  How could he want to talk at a time like this?  
My cheeks burned with humiliation.  "Please," I 
begged.

"You want some more of this, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted, with tears flowing from my eyes.  I 
didn't want to be fucked; I only wanted to go back 
inside.  I only wanted my life back.

"You're doing a pretty good job of keeping up with 
your marriage vows so far," he said.  "At least the 
obey part.   But what about the honor part?  Huh?"

"I don't know."  I just wanted back in to the bedroom.  
"What do you want me to do?"

"You're trying to obey again.  To honor, you have to 
think for yourself.  Now, I'm gonna finish fucking 
your tight little puss, but if you want to cum to, you 
need to think of a way to honor me."

And he started fucking me again and as much as I 
wanted to just let him finish using me, deep inside, I 
knew I needed to cum too.  It had been weeks and by 
now I was desperate.  I didn't want to give him the 
satisfaction, but I could feel his cock grow longer 
and harder.  Oh, that black bastard, he was going to 
cum regardless.  My resistance and pride crumbled.

"Daddy," I grunted, whispering as he fucked me.  "I do 
honor you.  Please let me cum."

"So you are proud of me?  Of your marriage?  Of 
getting your cherry busted?  You don't act proud to 
me.  Stuck up bitch.  You act ashamed."

I was ashamed.  Deeply ashamed.  I wasn't a girl, but 
a guy.  I wasn't supposed to be the one getting 
fucked.  I looked down at the people below.  They were 
still staring, wondering what was going on up here, 
wondering who was fucking me, wondering what kind of 
girl would let someone do this to her. My cheeks and 
ears burned with the fire of humiliation.  I couldn't 
bear to do it, but I did it anyway.  I honored him the 
only way I knew how.

"Oh yes, Daddy," I cried.  "That's it.  Pop my cherry.  
Make me your wife."  I was dirt.  No, I was lower than 
dirt.  I was an earthworm that lived beneath a pig's 
sty.

"That's it bitch, honor me," he said.  "Go ahead and 
ugh - ugh -play with your clit, but you better hurry.  
I'm ah- ready to cum.  Fuck if I ain't ready."

He didn't have to tell me twice.  My hand flew down.  
It was a blur as I fingered my cock through my 
panties, making quick circles.   

His hands left my breasts and grabbed my hips, as he 
pounded into me.  I wanted to cover them from the 
leering gaze of the onlookers below, at least my 
tender nips, but all I could do was hold on tight to 
the rail and absorb the force of his body colliding 
with my own.  The sound of our bodies slapping 
together was so loud that it drowned out the ringing 
bell that was mounted to my collared cock.  There was 
no way the people staring didn't know what was 
happening.  Suddenly, I felt a wrenching surge of 
pleasure and the pressure in my cock grew as I 
struggled to cum against the ring that bound me.  My 
cock glowed with pleasure. I came but not like I used 
to.  Instead of my passion peeking in spurts, it just 
sort of flowed from me.  I cried out as my ass 
spasmed.  Cried so loud that the people down at the 
pool started pointing, mothers hustled their children 
back inside, hand over their young eyes.  But at the 
moment I didn't care.  I had experienced release - 
glorious sweet release. I felt the cock in my ass 
swell and then, he must have cum too because it was 
sliding quite easily now.  He thrust hard several more 
times and then he finally slowed.  

"Ah . . ." Phil sighed, letting go of my hips.  I slid 
down to my knees on the concrete floor of the balcony.

"Shit, you a good lay," Phil said, as he grabbed my 
nose and pulled me face first toward his filthy cock.    
What the fuck was he doing?  Surely he didn't expect. 
. . Oh God no!

He continued pulling my nose, relentlessly moving me 
closer to his cock.  A cock made dirty by my ass and 
his congealing filthy juice.  

"Stop," I said through clenched teeth.  "You're 
dirty."

"Think of it as a reminder to keep your self clean for 
me," he said dryly.  "Now do it, or you'll be down at 
the bar hustling your ass to convention goers."

"Plea-mmphh" I tried to beg, but he ignored me, 
thrusting into my mouth.  It was horrible.  I wanted 
to wretch, but I somehow managed to finish.  

"Good girl," he smiled down at me and tussled my hair.  
"Why don't you make yourself pretty for me?  Be sure 
to use some mouthwash, and then maybe we can go down 
and do some gambling."

At that point, anything would be better than what had 
just happened to me.  I gladly went downstairs to the 
casino with him.  I never got to gamble.  Just blow on 
his dice.  In three days, he took me countless times, 
in more ways than I could have imagined.

And that is the story of how I spent my honeymoon with 
my enemy, my kidnapper, the black bastard who was now
. . . my husband.

To be continued. . .

*******

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Review This Story || Author: Couture
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