It was late Saturday afternoon when Shelia coaxed me into a third drink. I was over at her townhouse after a recent breakup, invited there for consolation. My suspicions that she was going to seduce me were confirmed when she offered me alcohol. I wanted no real part of it but knew my instincts would get the better of me.

Halfway through it, she pulled out a prescription pill bottle. "Vicodin," she said. "A friend of mine came down with pleurisy a few weeks back and didn't take all of them. She gave me the bottle in exchange for some computer help."

"Isn't that stuff bad for your liver with alcohol?"

"It's only this one time. There are plenty of Vicodin addicts who drink." She frowned and then smiled at my stoic, flat face. "Come on, I'll do two if you do one. All the cool kids have tried it." I smiled and, shaking my head, held out my hand. Shelia deposited a pill in it and another on the table in front of me. "In case you want it later," she said. I took it during drink number four and, five minutes later, out came another bottle. "Dexedrine. You'll love it. ADD medicine, but the best. Again, two. Again, two, and then we'll go upstairs and you can cry or complain or curse love. And then I'll have my way with you."

Upstairs, I sat on the bed, starting to buzz, hard. Staring off into space in a warm, euphoric haze, I smiled when Shelia told me she had a present for me, and didn't stop smiling when I saw it. Red fishnet stockings, black ballet slippers, a garter belt, and a red silk and lace bathrobe.

"You can change in the bathroom. Or not." I shrugged and stripped off my clothes, the speed making me horny. "Come on, I want a show," she giggled.

Swinging my shirt in circles over my head, I tossed it in the corner. I proved surprisingly pliable and unfocused and, without her encouragement, I wouldn't have had the wherewithal to put on her present. But, near the end, I became excited and, numbed to what was happening, let her tie the belt on the bathrobe. I walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. My face had always been more pretty than handsome and, if it weren't for my distinctly make nose, I could almost pass.

"Back on the bed," Shelia said. I obeyed, bouncing up and down a few times on the edge of the mattress. Warm and horny and uncaring, I let her apply makeup, making mostly one-sided smalltalk all the while. Eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, a little pink on my cheeks, and bright, sparkling lavender lipstick. "Mirror," she smiled. Wondering why she wasn't giggling at our girlishness, I looked in the mirror and saw my whorish face. "One last thing," she said and retrieved a pair scissors. Floating back onto the mattress, I let her trim my pubic hair. When she was finished, she handed me a disposable razor. "Go downstairs and finish up. Careful, though."

I sat on the couch in the den and sliced the stubble from my crotch as best I could. Moving into the bathroom to finish before the mirror, I got lost in my own reflection, parting my robe to see my dick, rubbing it as it leaked cum, though it wouldn't get hard.

"Come out!" Shelia's voice called. I obeyed. She was dressed in a black tube top and close fitting black skirt with a very sizable bulge in it. Black stockings and black boots with low heels. I stumbled towards her.

"How do I look?"

"Too good not to . . ." She spun me round and pressed my almost limp form flat against the wall. Hiking up her skirt to reveal an oversized dildo, she lubed it up from . . . where did the bottle come from. I moved away from the wall but she spun me back to it and pressed me into it, hard and flat, then kicked my legs apart. I screamed in pain when she pushed into me, tears welling up in my eyes, though I felt no real pain. Slowly, she raped me. I wanted to get away, desperately, but there was something so intimidating about being impaled, and something so pleasurable about getting fucked, and something so erotic about being forced, and her soft breasts on my back and her voice in my ear. "You're a hot little slut. Wanting it, letting me let you see what it felt like, that moment you knew. You fuck." She began slamming into me hard and I screamed again, one long howl. "You fuck. Friends. Friends with benefits? Not here, not ever. You're my fuck. Get use to it. And then, and only when we agree, you'll love it, every minute." She pulled me back from the wall so that I could press my hands against it, bend over, and take her cock with less pain. After a moment of it, I had to get away. I just couldn't.

I headed for the stairs but she overtook me and pressed me into them. Trying my best to remain on my knees and elbows on the steps, she slid into my flaccid body again, fucking me with an even tempo. God, it felt good. I don't know what I was aware of. Myself, certainly. To an extent, I was aware of her cock hammering my fuck hole. I began to moan and say the most vile things. "Fuck me good, Mistress. Fuck your little slut, your horny little slut. My needy shitter loves your cock, my fucking asshole serving you, servicing you like the whore I love being. Cock, god, cock. Slutty fucking hole loves grasping your cock with its ropes of muscle woven through silky soft butter walls. Take my hole! Take my fucking pussy!"

Her arms wrapped under mine and grabbed my shoulders and she did just that, my red stocking clad legs sliding back around and outside of hers. After a few minutes, something popped inside me and I the entrance to my love tunnel swelled while at the same time losing its ability to resist her stroking dick. My legs lifted up at the knees and I began to whimper. A half hour? Longer? I didn't know. I peed and still she didn't stop. When the haze finally broke, I lay there on the steps, staring off to the side, Sheila still pumping my boy pussy. "Shelia?" I asked.

She pulled out and grabbed my hair, forcing me to my feet. "You loved it, didn't you?"

I nodded, sitting back down on the step. "Did I scream?"

"Oh God yes. Do you want to cum?"

I shook my head.

"I do. Go upstairs and lie down. Nothing like curling up in silk, feeling well-fucked."

I was still awake when Shelia crawled into bed with me, groggy and high. She fingered my asshole while I stared off into space, the Dexedrine keeping me awake. Gradually, I began to touch my dick. It grew a bit hard. "Suck my dick?" I whined. "Please, Mistress, suck my dick?" It was such a desperately pleading, honest voice that she responded after a few minutes of my begging. She rolled me over on my back and I untied the belt to the bathrobe that I had retied before lying down. She smiled up at me and I continued to beg, again and again, the same words, even when I was in her mouth. "Suck my dick? Please, please. I want it so bad," I whined in a high pitched, pathetic voice. As I became excited, I began to turn my head on the pillow. "No, mommy, it's so wrong. Please don't make me cum. Please?" She pulled off me and glanced down lasciviously, her skirt pulled up to her waist in a bunch. "Not your pussy. No, not that. It scares me so much. Mommy! I don't want your pussy. Just suck my dick. Suck my dick!" I cried in one last slow whine as she straddled me, touching the head of my dick with her wetness. I stared directly into her eyes which grew proud with power as she massaged my dick with her hand, sliding her body down just a bit to engulf its head. When my pleas lowered in town and wavered in manner, she smiled down at me. "Fuck yes! Fuck yes! I'm gonna cum! I'm gonna cum!" She rose back up till my dick was at the entrance to pussy, just far enough in to create a seal for my cum. "I love your pussy. I'll always be yours. A bit more, a bit more every time, every time you let me spend my cum inside you. Yours, yours, yours! Mommmmy!!"

Shelia leaned down to kiss me. "You're a sick one," she said.

"Yes," I gasped softly, without thinking.