Chapter 22: Sissification

A few afternoons later, Janelle got back to the apartment having just finished her shift at the mall. Doug would not be home for another two hours yet.

Brad was there, though.

He was putting a new set of strings on his beat-up Fender, having found a replacement neck for it after the cops broke it for him.

He was clearly nervous about being alone with her.

As well he might.

She was the kind of stunning woman who always made him get all tongue-tied anyway.

But without Doug present as buffer and protector, there was also the sense of not knowing what she might do to him next.

This instilled fear.

But also hope, and a certain amount of anticipation.

Because, truth be told, he fancied her something rotten.

But what price would he have to pay for each titillation?

And titillation was all it was, and probably all it ever would be. Yet it still engendered faint hope in him that she might someday deliver on what he truly fantasized about.

She regarded him at length, smelling out his rising alarm and consternation.

This he had in good measure, as he looked up anxiously at her from the coils of bright wire he was winding onto his axe.

These reactions of his were sharpening her appetite.

Like a shark smelling blood, she began circling.

Closing in.

"Brad..."

He just looked at her mutely.

"Can you put that down for a minute?"

He carefully laid the guitar down on the carpet.

"Stand up."

He complied, after a moment's hesitation.

"Drop your draws."

Aha! Just another routine spot-check by the Panty Patrol. He might get off lightly this time!

He slid his jeans down to his knees, to reveal a dainty creation in shiny pink nylon that only just barely concealed his flaccid wedding-tackle. Its front was blotchy and yellowed by aging cum-stains.

She nodded with satisfaction.

Phew! He'd passed muster.

And only just. He'd had regular mens' briefs on up until an hour ago, but fortunately had changed into these.

Why?

Premonition?

Yes, he'd had a sneaking feeling this might be on the cards. Not only that, he wasn't too averse these days to the feel of women's panties. So silky-smooth, so slippery.

So nice to masturbate into.

"Get all your clothes off."

Uh-oh! Still more to come! Or would that be "cum"?

And what would he have to endure before he did?

Again, he complied.

So far, he hadn't spoken a word.

And still he didn't speak, as she surveyed his well-muscled, smooth and almost hairless body.

She now knew enough about art to liken him to Michaelangelo's David.

Except that no fig leaf ever created would have kept this particular donger covered up.

It had partially stiffened now and was straining against its confinement, like a cobra stirring in its basket. Pubic hair - practically the only body hair he had - could be seen sprouting from the margins of those pretty pink knickers.

She stepped up to him, and ran one hand across his chest. Her finger grazed a nipple, almost making him swoon with delight.

Her hands traced downward along his sides, and gently slid those panties off to ground-level.

His fat cock stuck straight out in front of him, as if undecided whether to go right on up or go back down again.

She looked at it in admiration.

"Boy, that is one mighty fine prick you've got there."

Understatement of the year.

"Have you made any ladies happy with that yet?"

"Yeah."

Yay! It talks!

"Who?"

"Coupla girls back home."

"And here, since you got to the city?"

He shrugged.

Actually, there'd been one. It'd been after a gig, and she'd been drunk and horny, and he'd nailed her in the parking lot against the hood of a car. It'd been over pretty quick, and neither of them remembered much the next day.

But he wasn't about to discuss that with Janelle.

Janelle couldn't care less anyway, she was too busy taking in the sights.

"Wait there. Don't move."

She returned in half a minute, bearing a towel, her razor, and a can of foam.

"Hey! What the... ?"

"Shuddup, and hold still."

Kneeling before him, she squirted foam around his pubic area and used one hand to lather up the halo of hair around the base of his prick.

Holding his prick steady in one hand, and using swift but sure strokes of the razor, she cut swathe after swathe through his soapy fluff. He stood there without protest. She was touching his prick! She was actually holding his prick!

Mind you, she was pretty business-like about it. She intended for there to be nothing erotic about her touch. It was visual impact she was striving for here.

She finished up by wiping all remaining traces of shaving foam away with the towel.

He scrubbed up rather well, she thought.

In fact, it looked beautiful.

Almost virginal.

Positively pre-pubescent.

Yet so fucking huge.

She pulled the pink panties back up from his ankles and slipped them back into place. His massive prick stuck way up out the top of them.

She performed that girl trick of unsnapping her bra and pulling it out through one shirt-sleeve.