Timmy's New Life, part 3
by C.L.T.
A young man is brought to heel by tall dominant women

[NOTE: Parts 1 & 2 are available elsewhere on this site. When all five chapters 
are completed, the entire story will be republished as one file, with 
corrections made.

*** Any comments from readers would be very encouraging to me; please email me 
at eslepov@yahoo.com ***

*See end of the story for information about an informal "contest" in which
readers can submit ideas for the upcoming Chapter 4: Sarah's Birthday  Party*]




Chapter 3: A Day In with Rose; A Night Out with Brooks

Jerome sipped hot cider and looked at Timmy skeptically. They sat in beach 
chairs on the veranda of Rose Nordegren's mansion. It was surprisingly warm for 
late January, but even then no one in their right mind would sunbathe. And yet 
that's just what Rose and Brooks were doing, sunbathing, laying out on slinky 
beach chairs on the other side of the balcony, just out of earshot from Timmy 
and his friend.

"Remind me why exactly you DON'T like your situation here?" Jerome asked, 
raising one eyebrow and reaching into his jacket pocket to extract a sheet of 
paper.

Timmy was dressed in a pink winter coat and pink tights. On top of his head sat 
a pink winter hat with a purple poofy ball on top of it.

"Just look at me," he said. "Look at how they--"

"Dude," Jerome said. "I saw how they fuss and fawn over you and how 'cute' you 
look. Yeah it's weird, but what's not to like about the situation you're in?"

"Okay, well then how about YOU start dressing this way and--"

"Maybe I would," Jerome interrupted, "if I lived in a mansion and had two 
superbabes to look after me all day long." He opened up the paper he was holding 
and began to read: "...'things are really crazy here with all of these females 
and i have soo much to tell you, dude that its just crazy I don't even know 
where to start, let's see with marta martha mathre marthe tholen thollennnnn and 
brooke brooks whose last name i dont know oh yeah its fraser brooks fraser or 
frazer but am going on a date with soon and sara i mean and tholen sarah rose 
nordgren nordegren i mean nordegren i meannnnnnn sarah thollen i mean YOU GOTTA 
HELP ME!'"

Timmy had buried his head in his hands and Jerome broke into laughter.

"WHAT is the problem, man?" Jerome asked, semi-rhetorically. "Look at those two 
fine females over there. WHAT is the problem?"

He gestured to where the long, leggy forms of Rose and Brooks were laid out. 
Both women wore oversized circular sunglasses, were flipping through fashion 
magazines and listening to their iPods as they sunned themselves. Brooks was in 
a skimpy black bikini that contrasted nicely with her relatively pale skin. Her 
toenails were painted dark purple, and her feet bopped to whatever music she was 
hearing. Rose was more immobile, and seemed to be losing herself in whatever 
article she was reading. She wore a brown, earth-tone bikini that nearly blended 
in with her own carmel skin. Timmy knew that she was white, was pure 
Scandanavian in fact, but she was so tan that she could almost pass for several 
non-caucasian ethnicities. She looked a bit like Nelly Furtado, he thought. He 
still suspected that her vegan diet had something to do with her skintone and 
hoped that her insistance he he become vegan too wouldn't turn him slightly 
orangy-brown as well.

"But don't you see how humiliating this is for me?" Timmy asked his friend.

Jerome looked at him intently. "What do you want me to do about it, man? You 
told me to come over here and look at what you were 'going through'. So I came 
over. And I see that you're living in some sort of paradise mansion with two big 
babes, one of whom is your rich aunt who spends tons of money on you, and the 
other of whom is the maid--who is apparently going on a DATE with you in a few 
days. And you act like this is a problem."

Timmy gestured to his pink attire. "THIS is a problem."

"You could always just--"

"No, Jerome, what I'm getting at is that--This is all part of some scheme or 
something. Don't you see? They want me to wear these clothes. Don't you find 
that almost...psychotically weird?"

"Look man..." Jerome began. "Stranger things have happened. I mean, if you check 
out my wardrobe, I used to dress in baggy pants and oversized white T's. Now I'm 
usually in tight jeans and tight V-necks. Because that's what girlies wanted to 
see me in. And I look good in them. I don't mind showing off my ass or my body. 
I exercise, so what the hell, you know? It's just fashion. It's better this way 
than literally showing my ass-crack like a bum because my baggy pants are 
falling down."

"Jerome," Timmy broke in, "they've got me wearing pink. I'm basically wearing 
girls clothes."

"They're not for girls, man. I've seen other dudes wear pink before, and it is 
starting to catch on, so--"

"Okay, YOU wear pink then. You wear the kinda clothes I've been wearing and--"

"Look. Tim, this conversation is going nowhere. You're complaining that your 
rich aunt bought you a new high-fashion wardrobe and you don't like the taste of 
it. But don't drag this into some big conspiracy idea. Besides, if you don't 
like it, you can always leave."

"Yeah..."

"Your problem is you just don't know where you'd go or what you'd do. That's a 
YOU-problem."

Timmy looked at the marble floor of the veranda. A chill breeze began to blow, 
breaking up an otherwise incredibly beautiful sunny winter day.

"It IS weird for ladies to sun themselves in January, though," Jerome admitted. 
"I'll give you that. But who the hell could possibly complain?"

"I have to say," Timmy began, unsure how much of his inner feelings he really 
wanted to reveal to Jerome, "I--I'm looking forward to my date. It was weird how 
they sort of set it all up for me and are treating it like some sort of...school 
assignment or community service requirement, on my path back to being a normal 
person in society or whatever, but..."

"That girl is fine as hell, man," Jerome remarked, tracing Brooks' form with his 
eyes and admiring her toned feminine body. "If you weren't going on a date with 
her, I'd totally hit on her."

"Oh as if you'd have a chance, man."

"What?!" Jerome said with indignation that wasn't entirely good-spirited.

"You're like 5'6", man. She's six feet, easy."

"What's that got to do with anything? Tim, you're like 5'2", and YOU'VE got a 
date with her."

Timmy appreciated that Jerome thought he was taller than he really was. But if 
Jerome considered Timmy to be 5'2", maybe that meant Jerome wasn't as tall as 
5'6".

"Well, like I said, it's not a real date, I don't think. It's something my aunt 
and her set up."

"Either way, man," Jerome said. "I bet I could pull that girl. And if your Aunt 
Rose wasn't your aunt, I'll pull her too."

"Yeah. Okay, man. Keep dreaming. You'd be going after a chick who's ten years 
older, over a foot taller, and infinitely richer than you."

"None of that matters in bed, Tim. And besides, she's not 'infinitely' richer. 
Where to you get off?" Jerome laughed.

Lost in conversation, they hadn't noticed Rose and Brooks picking up their 
things and walking towards them, towards the sliding glass door that lead 
inside.

"You guys could've come sat nearer to us, y'know," Brooks quipped. "What were 
you, scared?" Beneath her sunglasses a smirk crept across her face.

Both boys were speechless. Sitting down they were eye-level with Brooks' ripped 
abs and Rose's beautiful tanned midrift.

"I think it was probably too cold for them to sun themselves anyway," Rose 
Nordegren remarked.

"N-No, no," Jerome stuttered, trying to regain his composure. "Just not used to 
sunbathing in January. Maybe next time, though?"

He stood up and awkwardly made his way over to the sliding glass door, which he 
struggled to open but finally pulled free. He gestured for Rose and Brooks to go 
inside.

"Oh, such a gentleman," Brooks said, more than a touch of sarcasm in her voice, 
as she and her towering employer-cum-friend walked into the house.

When they had passed Jerome struggled again with the door, but finally closed 
it.

"Smooooth," Timmy remarked with a smile.

"Hey," Jerome said, "she digs me, I think."

"Yeah. You come up to her boobs, dude."

"Nothin' wrong with that," Jerome said smiling and sitting back down, "just 
means I'm at a convenient height for certain things."

"Well will you at least admit that she's stronger than you?"

"Um," Jerome paused. "Okay, yeah, yeah I'll admit that. She looks like she's in 
really good shape."

"And you'd date a girl who was stronger than you?" Timmy wanted to know.

"I've never thought about it actually," Jerome mused, suddenly taken aback. "I'm 
not this new diet, though. More greens. And some pills that make me lose fat, 
so... I imagine I'll be pretty buff in no time. Even buffer than I am now, I 
mean."

-----

Jerome's visit hadn't gone as Timmy planned. He was looking for sympathy and for 
his friend to offer him some sort of escape, a way out that he couldn't see. 
Instead, Jerome didn't even see the need for Timmy to look for a way out. What 
really puzzled Timmy was that Jerome hadn't even been taken aback by Timmy's 
clothes. He expected Jerome to die laughing when he saw him decked out in all-
pink; in fact, Timmy was actually looking forward to that moment, just so Jerome 
would know from the get-go that something was very wrong in Timmy's life. 
Instead, Jerome actually seemed to envy Timmy. He didn't get it. But Timmy 
himself, if pressed, couldn't give a logical account of just what was going on 
in his life, or why, anyway.

That week the days blurred together. Every morning Brooks got him up and dressed 
him. She cooked his meals and did his laundry. Every evening he was expected to 
eat dinner with Aunt Rose, and at every dinner his aunt made vague and 
interchangeable remarks about Timmy's "transition" back to social 
respectability. Every night he went to bed and dreamt either nightmares centered 
around Sarah's upcoming birthday party, which was his chief source of anxiety, 
or prurient fantasies centered around tall women whose faces morphed into those 
of the women in his life.

Besides Jerome's visit, only one other incident stood out in Timmy's mind that 
week was an email he received from Martha. It included an attachment: the 
picture she had snapped of Timmy and herself in the full-length mirror. The 
email read: "For Mrs. Claus's naughty little elf and his little Mr. Willy: Hope 
the memory of this moment stays with you always and brings you much enjoyment on 
long lonely cold nights! xxx, Martha".

Upon seeing this email, he felt disgust and shame and wanted to delete it 
immediately. Instead he ended up masturbating to the picture five times that 
week--twice on the first night he had it.

-----

It was Saturday morning, the day of his big date. Much like Sarah's party, 
Timmyhad tried to put this event out of his mind as well. Unlike the case with 
Sarah's party, however, he had actually been quite successful in this. The idea 
of going on a date with Brooks could, or should, have been a source of much 
masturbation for Timmy. But as it was, the prospect seemed scary to him. He 
didn't care to investigate exactly why he found it scary--he just wanted to put 
it out of his mind. Anyway, he had plenty of other things to masturbate to.

On Friday night he had gone to bed as usual, though this time he stuffed 
earplugs in his ears and had taken a few sleeping pills. He didn't want to give 
his mind a chance to worry about the date. He was just going to let it happen. 
In a vague way, he obviously liked the idea of going on a date with Brooks. But 
all of the specifics--what they would do, what he would wear, how embarrassing 
or traumatizing it could become--he did not even think about.

He was pulled back to consciousness by a large white-gloved hand on his 
shoulder, shaking him awake.

"Timmy? Timmy?"

It was Brooks, waking him up as usual as part of her maidly duties.

He looked up at her, thought "This won't be so bad," and strugged to sit up in 
bed. He smiled at her.

"Morning," he said, taking the earplugs out of his ears.

"I let you sleep in," Brooks said. "You're going to need the extra energy for 
tonight. And we might be staying up late depending on how long you can last."

She winked at him and Timmy blushed.

"Here," she said, smiling sweetly and handing him some clothes. "Put these on. 
These are your clothes for today, until our date at least."

He took the clothes and was confused. White boxer shorts and a black "wife-
beater"?

"These are... guy clothes?" he asked hopefully. He had gotten in the habit of 
expecting Brooks to bring him apparel that was soft, frilly, and more often than 
not pink or purple.

"Silly," she said, smiling sweetly and honestly--which was uncharacteristic for 
her. "I always bring you GUY clothes. Technically, anway."

"You know what I mean. These are... really guy clothes, though."

"Wrong again, Timmy," Brooks said, some spunk returning to her demeanor. "Check 
the tags, little guy."

Timmy looked. Both the sleeveless shirt and the boxers were made by Victoria's 
Secret.

"I don't understand," he said, but nonetheless he began to get himself out of 
bed and put the clothes on dutifully.

"They make clothes like these for women too, y'know," Brooks said. "In fact, 
these are some of my clothes. You can wear them for today, though, at least 
until this evening when we go out. I think your aunt has some special clothes 
for you to wear on our date. But she'll be dressing you by then, cuz I'll have 
to go back to my place and get ready."

"O...kay," Timmy said, beginning to get a bit nervous. He didn't like the idea 
of his aunt having something "special" for him to wear on his date. And he 
wasn't all that happy about wearing some of Brooks' clothes. It helped a lot 
that they looked like guy clothes, but nonetheless he was annoyed that one way 
or another every new thing in his life seemed designed to humiliate him in a new 
way. He could finally wear "guy clothes" again, if only for half a day, but they 
were actually clothes for girls modeled after classical garments for guys. 
Either way, they were kind of big on him, a fact that threatened to annoy and 
humiliate him all the more, if he let it.

"Kinda BIG on you, aren't they?" Brooks said, arching an eyebrow and looking 
down at the little male standing before him.

"Yeah," he said. "But-but THANK YOU, Brooks. I like wearing clothes like this."

He wasn't lying, and he wisely decided to make the best of things. Arguing could 
get him nowhere anyway. He had learned that by now.

"Okay," Brooks said, "next thing's next!" She pulled out a clipboard and from 
behind her revealed the scale and measuring device.

"Oh god," Timmy groaned, unable to hold back the sense of deflation that he 
instantly felt upon seeing this. "It hasn't been a month yet. You said I only 
had to do this once a month."

"Timmy, next Saturday is little Sarah Thollen's Sweet Thirteen party. Your aunt 
has a LOT planned for you then. You'll be busy the WHOLE day and we won't have 
time to do it. So we're doing it one Saturday early, 'kay?"

Timmy hated everything he was hearing. It was all he could do not to either go 
into a fit or else feel an overwhelming sensation of paralyzing trepidation. But 
Brooks looked down at him smilingly and picked up her pen smartly, ready to 
record his meager height and weight.

He sighed. Brooks chuckled. And then he stepped on the scale.

The numbers on the wheel whizzed by.

"Uh-oh!" Brooks chimed, mockingly. "Uh-oh! Is he less than a hundred now?!"

Timmy didn't need this. He had tried so hard to put concerns about his body out 
of his mind. He felt like he was becoming some poor cliche of a teenage girl 
with anorexia, only he actually wanted to get bigger, not smaller, but was 
powerless to do so.

The numbers climbed higher but looked as though they were going to settle 
somewhere in the 90s.

"UH-OH!" Brooks said again louder, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Timmy felt 
so tiny and embarrassed.

Then, miraculously, the wheel turned a bit more. 

105! 

Timmy was elated. He smiled up at Brooks like a small child proud of having 
accomplished a pathetically mighty task that all grown-ups could do but the 
child himself hadn't been able to master yet.

"Oh Timmy!" Brooks beamed down at him, her voice still overly dramatic. "How 
MANLY of you! My heart is so a-flutter to be going on a date with a REAL MAN who 
clocks in at ONE-HUNDRED and FIVE pounds of pure-- Oh. OH. Look, Timmy. Look."

She pointed an elegant, white-gloved finger down towards the back of the scale. 
Timmy turned his head back and saw to his horror that Brooks had leaned her leg 
over and placed one of her dressy black heels on the back of the scale.

The moment sunk in, and once it had Brooks curtly removed her shoe, at which 
point the numbers on the scale spun lower.

95 lbs.

"THAT's more like it!" Brooks roared. "Looks like you're not done losing weight 
yet, huh?" She poked Timmy in the ribs and he stepped back, startled. "Oh well, 
I guess you just have to hit bottom before you can come back up, huh? RIGHT?"

She waited for an answer, looking at the little man intently.

"Yeah, I-I guess," said Timmy, rapidly losing any bravery and goodwill that he 
felt that morning. "I-I guess I had more fat on me than I thought, and the 
pills--"

"OR YOU HAD LESS MUSCLE," Brooks said loudly.

"Yeah. P-p-probably."

Timmy wanted to cry. Why did these women always lord their power over him and 
point out his weaknesses so meanly, like an owner rubbing a dog's nose in its 
own poop. But Timmy couldn't help it; he couldn't help being small. And after 
all, it was his aunt who was putting him on this dietary program. Still, those 
same pills had apparently worked wonders for Mrs. Thollen, so...

"Now the REALLY fun part!" Brooks said in a voice so loud that it was almost an 
orgasmic scream. "Time to measure your HEIGHT!"

Bashful, Timmy stepped back on the scale.

"Head UP!" Brooks bellowed. "Do you WANT to measure less than five feet tall?"

Mercifully, she left that question rhetorically and didn't press Timmy for an 
answer. Above him, her gloved hands adjusted the measuring bar.

"Hm," she remarked when she was done. "Very interesting."

"How tall am I?" Timmy asked in a meager, hopeless voice.

"Oh you are so adorable," Brooks said. "Mouthing those little questions. So 
adorable I could take you right here and rape you right on the floor if I wanted 
to."

Timmy shivered. What the hell was she saying. He hated her and wanted her gone, 
but he was so afraid, paralyzed with fright and indecision.

"Just tell me and stop picking on me!" he yelled.

Brooks looked deep into his eyes, which were beginning to water. "Stop 'pickin'' 
on you?" she asked in a mocking tone. Then she smiled a wicked smile, baring her 
teeth. "You're 4'11", you little shit," she said cruelly.

He fearfully moved his head and looked up at the bar. Sure enough, he was under 
five feet now but, if it was any consolation, he didn't fall short by that much. 
The measuring bar was only one small mark, a sixteenth of an inch, below the 60-
inches mark.

"Four-foot eleven, 15 slash 16," Brooks said, as she recorded his height.

Timmy stepped down from the scale and, silently, he started crying.

Ignoring him, Brooks folded the height ruler down and packed up the scale. She 
put the cap back on her pen, clipped the pen back onto the clipboard, set the 
clipboard down on the scale and then--

"Oh!" she said brightly. "I almost forgot!"

She hurriedly picked the clipboard up again, knelt down before Timmy (who was 
still softly crying), and with one gloved hand she promptly pulled his boxer 
shorts down. A rock-hard erection flopped up and down, sprung by the descending 
waistband, and then steadied itself to point directly up towards Brooks' smiling 
face. 

She noted something on the clipboard and then turned to Timmy. Knelt down like 
this she was just a bit shorter than he was.

"Hey. Timmy. Stop crying."

He looked at her with tearful eyes. His mouth twitched and moaned.

"If you stop crying I'll give you fellatio. Right here, right now," she said.

He moaned a bit more, then steadied himself, trying not to suck in any more 
pitiful gasps of air. His tears stopped.

"Just kidding," she said. 

He moaned a bit, dejectedly.

"Look," she said. "Timmy. Pull yourself together. We're going on a date tonight. 
I want to have a good time. We're going to have a good time. Okay?"

He softly said, "Okay."

"Good."

She reached down and pulled his boxers back up just far enough so that they hung 
from his erection. Then she stood up and looked down at him.

"I know what'll cheer you up," she said. She got the scale back out and slid up 
the height ruler. She kicked off her heels and Timmy noted that her dark painted 
toenails could be seen through her white hosiery.

"Measure me!" she said, stepping on the scale.

Timmy approached her, still too anxious to really say anything.

"NOT THE WEIGHT, THOUGH," Brooks warned loudly. "It's impolite to ask a woman's 
weight."

That was fine by Timmy. He thought--and the thought pulled him back into 
reality--that the last thing he wanted to find out was whether or not this 
brawny, shapely woman before him weighed over twice as much as he did. Brooks 
wasn't fat at all, but she was big and tall and fairly muscular.

"Can you reach?" Brooks asked. "Of course you can't. Here!"

She bent down and wrapped her big gloved hands around his waist. Then she stood 
tall and lifted him aloft. She positioned him to sit on her broad shoulders.

"Can you do it?" she asked.

"Y-yeah," he said, his shaky hands reaching out to lower the measuring bar.

"What is it? How TALL am I?"

"Um... Six-two," he said. "6'2" and a half, really."

"WOW," Brooks said dramatically. "That's a LOT taller than you."

"Y-yeah," Timmy said.

Silence.

"Um," he said. "C-can you put me down now?"

"SURE!" Brooks bellowed. He knew that she was smiling even though all he could 
see of her was the top of her head and her short, trimmed black hair. He hated 
that she was so condescending to him. He really hated her, he thought.

She set his little body back down in from of her, put away the scale and 
clipboard again, then slid her hosed feet back into her heeled black dress 
shoes. She put her hands on her hips and leaned over him.

"Okay, Timmy!" she said. "Time for me to go! The next time I see you, I'll be 
PICKING YOU UP AGAIN--for our BIG DATE I mean!" She let out a sarcastic laugh.

He looked down at the floor, so nervous. He just wanted her to leave so he could 
cry again.

"Can I have a BIG HUG before I go?"

Without thinking, Timmy threw himself towards her, wrapping his arms around her 
waist and sliding his body against one of her legs. Any hatred or resentment 
that he had just felt for her instantly disappeared. He wasn't even thinking 
now--he was just embracing something that was maddeningly desirable to him.

As he did this, Brooks let out a laught that was more of a squeal. Then she 
quickly bent down and peeled him off of her leg with one strong hand, holding 
him out at arm's length with her big hand spread over his entire chest.

"Haaaang on, little guy!" she said. "Don't do that yet! We need to save that for 
tonight, 'kay?"

"Okay! Okay!" Timmy said, suddenly out of breath.

"And one more thing," she said, bending down further and reaching toward the 
tent in his boxer shorts. "If you waste any cum today wacking off in the shower, 
or into tissue papers, or anything--I'LL KNOW ABOUT IT." Through her gloves and 
his shorts she squeezed the head of Timmy's penis with a big strong thumb and 
forefinger. "And I'll be VERY ANGRY with you."

"Owwwwww..." Timmy whined, once she let up. "Okay okay okay."

"Heh," she said, standing back up and gathering her things. "You're like a 
little virgin on prom night, aren't you. Don't worry, though. I'll go easy on 
you. AT FIRST, anyway."

With that Brooks walked out of the room, leaving Timmy to stand there, his boner 
throbbing, wearing her own boyish underclothes and feeling so exhausted already. 
If he was already that overcome, exhausted, mentally defeated, humiliated, 
craven and horny, what was the actual date going to feel like?

He slunk off to his private lavatory to give himself a cold shower.

-----

"Aunt Rose?" he called, stepping downstairs. "Aunt Rose?"

"I'm out here, Timmy." Her voice came from the veranda.

Timmy bundled himself tighter in his pluffy pink robe and stepped through the 
sliding glass door. Rose was eating breakfast at a high circular wooden table, 
sitting on one of the tall deck chairs, which look like smaller versions of a 
chair you might find a life-guard on at the beach. Rose wore stylish white-
rimmed sunglasses, a sleeveless torquoise top, and maroon velveteen pants that, 
on her long legs, became capris, for they ended just above her shapely calves. 
On her feet she wore laceless leather loafers. She greeted her nephew with a 
broad smile, tipping her sunglasses up onto her short brown hair to reveal those 
deep brown eyes that Timmy had begun to find so captivating. Hardly in control 
of his actions at this point, still somewhat traumatized by his interactions 
with Brooks earlier, Timmy felt compelled to walk directly over to his aunt, 
perched high on her chair, and wrap his arms around one of her legs. His cheek 
smushed against one of her bare calves, and as he hugged it he gave it a few 
kisses.

"Oh what an affectionate boy!" Rose remarked happily. "I like it when you're 
this way."

Timmy pulled back and smiled up at her hopefully. Still his hands lingered 
against her leg, not wanting to lose contact.

"Why don't you join me for breakfast, Timmy? Brooks has left but I've made us 
some fixings. Can you make it way up here?" She gestured to another tall chair 
at the table.

These chairs were probably six feet tall. Even Aunt Rose's legs didn't reach the 
floor when she was sitting in one of them. It was a struggle, but Timmy pulled 
himself up slowly, crossbar by crossbar, until he made it to the empty seat 
across from his aunt. He was almost out of breath, and he felt like a child, for 
his feet barely dangled down at all once he was properly seated, but he was 
proud of his accomplishment, and it showed on his face.

"Very good, Timmy," his aunt said, still beaming at him with white teeth, dark 
lips and rosey dimples adorning her supermodel-level face.

Before him Timmy saw a tiny glass of orange juice, a small cup of oatmeal with a 
childish little blue spoon in it, and two multigrain crackers. He thought about 
remarking upon the extremely small portions, but decided against it. He bit into 
one of the crackers. It was probably very healthy, but he still hated most of 
this food that his aunt allotted him.

"And how is Timmy on this BIG DAY?" Rose asked.

"I'm...okay, I guess."

"You don't sound very sure. Tell me, are there any butterflies in your little 
tummy?"

If they were seated any closer, Timmy thought, his aunt probably would have 
tickled him in the stomach as she said that. He didn't know if he wished that 
could have happened or not. On the one hand, he still disliked being treated 
like a child; on the other hand, for some reason he was beginning to crave her 
attention and soft touch.

"Yeah. I am nervous."

"Aw," his aunt said. "Well don't be. Brooks isn't going to HURT you, you know 
that, right?"

"Actually, Aunt Rose--"

"Why don't you just call me Aunty. We've grown close enough for that, I think."

"Okay, um, Aunty. I...I'm actually a-afraid of Brooks. Sometimes. I..." He 
shoved another cracker in his mouth, purposely not wanting to continue talking 
about this if he could help it.

"Well, you know Brooks only does what I instruct her. When she punishes you, she 
only does so because I give her that power. But she and I both just want what's 
best for you. And we all just want this to be a fun night out on the town for 
you. We don't want it to be about you getting scared and feeling like you're 
going to get punished. You know that, right?"

"...Yeah," Timmy said uncertainly, looking down and fingering his juice glass 
nervously.

"And I know it's a big scary world out there, but Brooks will protect you 
tonight. That's what she is. She's your protector, not a person looking to hurt 
you for no reason."

"I know..." Timmy murmured.

His aunt looked at him intently as she downed her own glass of orange juice, 
which was much taller and larger than his.

"Aunt Rose," he asked. "Aunty?"

"Yes?"

"Is Brooks supposed to be my girlfriend?" He asked this with much trepidation, 
not really knowing where the question came from or what he wanted the answer to 
be.

"No, don't be stupid, Timmy." Rose tilted her head at him and glared at him as 
if she were ashamed. But then her look softened. "She DOES like to spend time 
with you, though. She likes to wait on you, and dress you, and watch you eat--
and she especially likes to tease you. And I think you like it when she does 
that."

"...Yes."

"I'm glad you can admit it, Timmy. That's a big step, admitting that you like a 
woman to tease and tantalize you." Rose dantily wiped her mouth with a napkin 
and then smiled broadly at Timmy.

"Aunt Rose, Aunty... I love you," he said earnestly and felt as though he would 
about to cry again. "But I'm so confused with all of this... all of this..."

"I know," she said. "But you're doing a GOOD JOB, Timmy. I am proud of how you 
have behaved this past week. And a little date with Brooks will be just the 
right reward for you."

"But," Timmy began, "but... it's just..."

"Timmy," Rose said gravely, "right now, if it were any other day, I'd pick you 
up in my arms, carry you into my bedroom, lay on the bed, and let you dry-hump 
me until you found release. Would you like that."

He was shocked but also elated in a way that he couldn't quite process fully.

"Oh yes, Aunty. Oh god, oh god, yes."

"But tonight you have a date with another woman, don't you?"

"...Yes," Timmy admitted.

"So you should save yourself for her. Maybe if you're good tonight, she'll let 
you release while she's touching you with her big strong fingers."

With that Rose balled her napkin up and rubbed it between her hands. At that 
moment Timmy wanted his aunt's hands more than he wanted Brooks'. His aunt's 
hands and fingers were longer, softer, their nails natural and unpainted. They 
looked like the hands of an amateur gardener or a loyal wife. He wanted those 
hands to pick him up beneath his armpits and hold him close to that smiling 
beautiful face that he couldn't help finding so attractive, even though he was 
related to her by blood.

"You haven't eaten much of your breakfast, Timmy," she said.

He glanced down and blushed. It was true. Only half of his oatmeal was gone. 
Part of a cracker remained. And he had only had two sips of his orange juice.

"I thought I find finally figured out how much--or how little--to feed you. But 
I guess I overestimated you, didn't I? Anyway, here are your morning vitamins."

She reached over and sprinkled an assortment of pills onto Timmy's little plate.

"Aunty," he said, fingering the pills. "I'm concerned about my size. Brooks 
measured me today and--"

"I know," she said. "You're still getting smaller. But not much smaller, right?"

"No not much smaller, Aunty, but... I can't afford to lose anymore!" He almost 
burst into tears but held himself back.

"Darling," she said. "It's almost over. I've told you before that the medicine 
has to burn away the bad cells before it grows new ones."

"I know," he said. "I know,  but it's just... it's SO hard..."

Silently he began to drink down his pills, one by one, with sips of orange 
juice. The pills felt perceptibly larger in his throat, even though he new for a 
fact that he hasn't lost all that much size proportionately.

While he was doing this his aunt cleaned up the table and stood next to him. 
Seated in the tall chair, he at least came up to her shoulder. When he was 
finished taking his pills his aunt put the tip of one of her long soft fingers 
under his chin and gently made him tilt his head to loook up at her. He loved 
her face--so beautiful and feminine, even with its boyish bob of short brown 
hair. She bent down slightly and gave him a tender kiss right on the lips, 
licking his lips with her tongue once or twice after pulling back. He moaned and 
wanted her, and after he stood up next to her, eye level with her abdomen, it 
was all he could do not to wrap his arms around her leg and start rubbing his 
groin against it.

"Come inside with me, Timmy. I have some presents for you that I think you'll 
like."

He followed her like a little lost puppy--a little lost horny puppy. Rose seemed 
more than aware of his growing attraction for her, and it amused her. More than 
once, as he followed her through the mansion, she glanced back, glanced down at 
the tent in his boxer shorts, and smiled knowingly.

She led him into one of the many spare bedrooms in her mansion and gestured 
towards a simple white chair on which several garments were piled. Like a 
curious little monkey, Timmy walked over and began sifting through the items, 
some of which were folded, trying to figure out what they were.

"A dress?" he said, in a surprised but not wholly disapproving tone. He held it 
out before him, as if sizing it up to see how it would fit him. It was silvery 
and polyester; it had almost a retro, space-age style to it, like something a 
girl in the early '60s might where to a sci-fi themed party. Still Timmy kind of 
liked it, which came as a surprise to himself.

"Isn't it neat?" Aunt Rose said. "I got it from a vintage shop. Very chic, I 
think."

"It's for me?" Timmy asked. Things like this still confused him, more than 
anything, but there began to emerge a kernel of hope and grace in his voice.

"Yes, Timmy. It's for you to wear on your date tonight."

"Oh," he replied simply. Suddenly nervousness set in as he began to imagine 
himself wearing this dress out in public, surrounded by a bunch of jeering and 
laughing mean people.

"Don't worry," Aunt Rose assured him, as if she could read his thoughts. "Brooks 
will protect you. No one will dare make fun of you with your mighty guardian 
alongside you. And besides--don't you sort of WANT to wear this out in public?"

"I... guess," he replied, doubful but honest. "It's not like I have any other 
clothes that are any better. Not anymore anyway. I--"

"Timmy, just stop right there. Don't even go down that road. That's the past. 
Okay?"

"Okay," he said, staring up as his aunt.

"Now look at the other things I got you."

From the pile he pulled out sheer skintone stockings. Wrapped within them was a 
packet of razors and a dainty electric shaver.

"Pantyhose?" he asked in disbelief. "And... What-what do you want me to do?"

"You should start shaving your body anyway, Timmy. I know you aren't very hairy, 
but you should try to clean yourself up a little bit. Balls and all should be 
shaved. If you'd like, I can help you with that, but personally I'd rather you 
do it on your own. And, besides, those aren't pantyhose. They're 'Mantyhose', a 
real brand. For men. It is a cold night out, and if you're going to wear a short 
dress then you should also put on some hosiery. You'll feel good in it once you 
slip it on. I know you will. You'll feel so sexy, Timmy."

Next was a hair of well-heeled booties. They were silver and matched the dress.

Timmy held them in his hands, speechless and not knowing what to think. They 
were actually quite heavy in his hands. Through his shock, the first coherent 
thought to emerge was the rationalization that he would at least be taller in 
these.

Aunt Rose smiled, walked behind Timmy, bent down and wrapped her arms around 
Timmy's shoulders, nuzzling him cheek to cheek. 

"I know you've secretly been wanting heels for sometime. You'll be about 5'3" in 
these--the same height you always said you were."

"The same height I used to BE," Timmy thought, "with slight makeshift lifts in 
my shoes. Now I actually have to wear high-heels to reach that height. Still, I 
suppose it's better than walking around in public while standing 4'11"..."

"Brooks will no doubt be wearing heels tonight, Timmy," his aunt warned. So 
you'd better wear some too unless you want to get totally blown out and dwarfed 
by your lady."

He grimaced, but then the expression turned into a wary smile.

"Thank you, Aunty," he said.

"These booties were actually mine when I was a little girl," Rose said. "I saved 
them all these years and took good care of them. Do you want to know how young I 
was when I wore them, and how tall I was in them?"

"No, Aunty, no," Timmy whined. "Please, I-I don't want to know that. I feel so 
pathetic as it is. I'm 25, and--"

"Okay. Okay, darling," she said nuzzling his face and hugging his shoulders 
hard, smushing her face against his soft little cheeks, giving him a few kisses. 
"You don't have to know, if knowing would upset you so. But you can imagine, 
right?"

"Yesh, Aunty," he said, his mouth squished by her cheek and smiling lips. "I can 
imagine."

"I was even taller than Sarah is at her age."

The mention of the girl Timmy used to babysit caused him more despair.

"Please let's change the subject," he said.

His aunt released him and stood back up.

"Right. Anyway, Timmy, if you like these heels and you find that you can walk 
well in them, I have another pair, with taller heels, for you to wear next 
weekend to Sarah's party. All right?" 

The notion of showing up to Sarah's Sweet Thirteen party at all, much less 
showing up to it clad in high heels and presumably another dress, normally would 
have disgusted and distressed Timmy. But as it was--resigned to fate as he had 
become--the idea of wearing heels so that he'd be closer to the girls' level 
actually pleased him and gave him a little confidence.

"Okay, Auntie. Sounds good." He couldn't believe he was saying the words, but he 
was.

"Glad to hear it, Timmy. You're coming such a long way. But there's one thing 
you've forgotten."

He looked at her with some confusion and more than a little exhaustion. The 
surprises weren't totally overwhelming to him, but he had had enough of them and 
wanted to get away safely.

"What is it, Aunty?"

"Well. Did you get your date a gift?"

"Um... No, I didn't. I didn't get Brooks anything. I didn't know I was expected 
to."

"Of course you aren't EXPECTED to, Timmy. But a gentleman should do everything 
he can to supplicate himself before the woman. Even if he knows he can never 
really become her boyfriend."

"Right," Timmy said. (And in his head he thought, "Of course you'd say that, you 
feminist bitch." He hadn't wholly gone over to her side yet. He was glad to know 
that a small part of him, an independent and traditionally masculine side, still 
remained. At that moment, even though he remained calm on the outside, he swore 
to never foresake the last of his independence.)

"Since it's too late for us to go shopping for a gift now," Rose said (at which 
point Timmy added a sarcastic "DARN!" in his head), "I have arranged an 
assortment of my jewelry from which you can select one item to give to Brooks, 
from you, on your date.

"Oh," Timmy considered. "Well, thank you, Aunty. That's very kind."

Rose pulled out a large rectangular jewelry box and flipped the lid. Timmy was 
impressed, even though he knew that this wasn't all of his aunt's jewelry. He 
saw many rings, necklaces, broaches, earrings, and other assorted shiny things 
of gold and silver. He saw various rubies and emeralds and tried to imagine 
which might look best juxtaposed with Brooks' haunting green eyes.

At last he selected perhaps the simplest item of all: a featureless silver ring, 
perfectly circular, with no adornments.
 
"Ah," Rose said, closing the lid and putting the box away. "Good choice. 
Seemingly very traditional, but just a touch naughty."

"What do you mean?" Timmy was confused, turning the simple ring over in his 
hands.

"See the triple-X impression?" his aunt asked, steadying his hands with one of 
her long forefingers and directing Timmy to hold the ring at an angle in the 
light. Sure enough, at one place, on a centimeter-long distance, there was a 
tiny impression in the ring that read "XXX".

"One of my old lovers gave that ring to me. It is fitting that you give it to 
Brooks."

Timmy did not want to press his aunt further to explain herself. He frankly just 
wanted to be done with the situation and hoped that Brooks wouldn't notice the 
naughty impression. "Whatever," he thought.

"But you must now write Brooks a nice letter to accompany the gift," his aunt 
said.

She guided him over to a desk, and got out a sheet of paper and a fancy pen for 
him.

"Oh, I almost forgot," she said. "Here! I got this for you as well."

She handed him a plush little white pocketbook with a silver latch. It was 
covered with what looked to be soft feathery strands that were probably 
artificial but nonetheless very stylish. Timmy watched as his aunts big fingers 
opened the pocketbook and dropped the ring inside. The pocketbook looked so tiny 
in his aunt's hands, like it was just an accessory for a doll.

He turned back to the paper on the desk but had no idea what to write. But he 
knew he wasn't going to be allowed to leave the room until he had completed this 
task.

From over his shoulder he heard his aunt way: "When you give Brooks that ring--
She's sure to fuck you tonight, Timmy. I just hope that she isn't too rough with 
you and that she doesn't squeeze your penis so hard that the triple-X impression 
becomes intented into your penis flesh."

He felt so embarrassed, and yet his dick sprang to attention. He put his head in 
his hands and leaned down against the desk. At this point, he knew he could 
either begin to cry and have a real nervous breakdown, or else he could write 
the sort of letter that he knew he had to write, the sort of letter that would 
please his aunt, would please Brooks, and would more or less correspond to his 
actual emotions.

He wrote:

"Dear Brooks,

I'm sorry it took us a while to get to know each other. I'm so glad you're in my 
life, but you make me confused. I am so afraid of you, and yet I think I love 
you. I think I'm too little for you, and you scare me, but I want to be with you 
as much as you will allow, in whatever way you will allow. You make me be a 
better boy, I think. That night when you first disciplined me was so traumatic 
for me. I was never so scared in my life. When I think of it, I want to go hide 
somewhere, but I know you'd find me. You scare me so much sometimes. I think 
sometimes that you're going to kill me or crush me or abuse my penis so much 
that it could be injured forever. But then you're nice to me and I want to love 
you, and you've given me release before, which I love you for. But I know you 
like to hurt me, and that makes me hate you sometimes. It also turns me on, 
though, a lot. I can't explain it. I want to hump your legs like a little puppy. 
Sometimes at night I imagine myself doing that, and I imagine you looking down 
at me and laughing at me while I'm doing it. Then I can't help myself. And I 
think about how much bigger and stronger you are then me, and my penis explodes 
at that thought. Thank you for going on a date with me. It means a lot to me. I 
think you know how bad of a crush I've got on you. You still frighten me and I 
can't do anything about it. But I guess I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm so 
lucky for someone like you to even pay attention to me.

Love,
Timmy"

"VERY good!" his aunt exclaimed when she had read the letter.

Timmy smiled. He really couldn't help himself and was honestly so glad that he 
had done a good job of writing the letter.

"Oh I could just kiss you, Timmy!" she continued. "In fact, I think I will!"

She bent down but to Timmy's annoyance she only gave him a peck on the forehead.

"Now go run along and take a shower. You need to shave everywhere, under your 
armpits too. No one wants to see a hairy man in a dress. And the fabric will 
feel so much better against your smooth tender skin."

Timmy did as he was told, and shaved his face too (though, for the second week 
in a row, he thought that he really didn't need to). In the shower it was all he 
could do not to masturbate, but he wanted to save himself for his date.

-----

He was indeed, as Brooks had insinuated, nervous as a virgin on prom night. At 
ten minutes to eight he found himself pacing back and forth in the mansion's 
anteroom, waiting for the doorbell. The heels of the hand-me-down booties his 
aunt had given him clacked against the wood panel floor.

He had shaved and put on his new silvery dress, which ended mid-thigh. He had to 
admit that were his legs still somewhat hairy, with the dark hairs showing 
through his sheer pantyhose, he would have looked ridiculous in these clothes. 
But as it was he had to admit, when he examined himself in the full-length 
mirror, that he looked "okay". He certainly didn't look "manly" in any way that 
he had understood that term. But he could live with how he looked. He wondered 
if this was how gay people or transgenders felt, but he wasn't sure. No one was 
asking him to become part of the LGBT community, whatever that was. He really 
didn't understand any of it. But he was simply dressed in clothes befitting a 
modern man of his stature and disposition. 

On one level, of course he still planned to have done with this phase of his 
life as soon as possible. But as it was, he could live with it. Especially if he 
got to go on dates with Brooks.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, sending Timmy's pounding heart up into his mouth.

He hesitated before the door, visibly shaking. His knees actually buckled a bit 
and knocked together. The bell rang again. He didn't want to appear too eager, 
but... Still he hesitated and shook, his little hand reaching toward the chest-
high doorknob but somehow afraid to touch it.

From out of nowhere his aunt's long tan arm descend down in front of him.

"What are you waiting for, Timmy?" he heard Aunt Rose's voice say from behind 
him.

Her hand enveloped his and guided it to the doorknob. Together, his hand in 
hers, they turned the big golden knob and opened the door.

Timmy instictively stepped back at the imposing sight that greeted him. In doing 
so, he predictably bumped into his aunt's unyielding form behind him. Her hands 
came down in his shoulders to steady him as he teetered on his heels. Confused 
and scared, he looked back and up at his aunt's smiling face so high above him. 
But at that point his aunt moved her big hands onto the sides of his head and 
gently, but firmly, guided his head back to face the scary figure before him.

He had often seen hints of Brooks' darker, more imposing side, but never could 
he have imagined a female vision more intimidating than the one that faced him. 
The fact that he nonetheless found her sexually attractive, and that he was 
expected to accompany her for the rest of the evening, made the sight all the 
more overwhelming for Timmy.

Brooks' expression and style of dress projected an aura of fierceness and 
confidence. It was her smokey eyeshadow that drew him in at first; it make her 
mysterious green eyes seem even more hypnotic to him. Then he saw that she had 
styled her short black hair into a sort of pompadour, which went well with her 
"street tough" image. Not for the first time did he notice that Brooks' face 
could flash between prettiness and hardness in an instant. Despite her short 
hair, she did not look "butch", but rather like a beautiful liberated woman. If 
only her fire could be quelled, if only she could resign herself to being a 
traditional, servile woman--Timmy would have loved her gently, he imagined, and 
thought how nice it would be to stroke her hair if she would rest her head in 
his lap. But, no, she was not his to love gently; he was hers to love hardly.

She wore her black leather jacket, which had about a hundred silver spikes and 
rhinestones all over it. For the first time Timmy noticed that, amongst the 
other accessories and studs, the jacket had a silver logo of the video game 
"DOOM" on it--and that's just what Timmy was feeling. Her jacket was open, 
exposing Brooks' alabaster skin. She wore no shirt, only a skimpy black velvet 
tubetop, which was studded with three rows of white pearl-like ornaments--
perhaps they were real pearls, though Timmy didn't think Brooks was so rich. 

She wore matching black velvet panties, which were easily visible through her 
see-through hosiery bottoms, which hugged her shapely, muscular hips, legs, and 
ass. The material of the stockings could be considered fishnet, though the weave 
was tighter and not as open as most fishnet. The most striking aspect of these 
hosiery bottoms was that they were ripped and had runs in them. He had seen 
Brooks' wearing stylishly ripped jeans before--Did stores nowadays also sell 
pantyhose and stockings with rips and runs already in them? Or were Brooks' 
bottoms simply an old undergarment that she had long since outgrown? Their look 
inspired Timmy to imagine the rips being a result of Brooks "hulking out" and 
growing out of them right on the spot. 

The hosiery ran down her thighs and into her boots, which were jet black leather 
boots that reached all the way up to her knees, which were covered with flaps of 
leather. The boots, of course, had huge chunky heels on them; Timmy estimated 
they were 5-inch monsters, which would have brought Brooks up to a height of 
6'7". If his aunt were barefoot, he surmised, Brooks would actually be taller 
than her. Meanwhile Timmy stood there in his own little booties, thanks to which 
he was 5'4". He was suddenly most grateful for his aunt's gifts. He did not want 
to face a 6'7" Brooks Fraser if he were only 4'11".

"HI TIMMY!" Brooks bellowed stepping forward and pinning her little date against 
his aunt's stomach and hers. "I'M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU!" Her voice was a mix of 
sarcastic goodwill and irony, like a cat who has just seen its trapped prey. She 
smiled down at him and sneered. He noticed that her lips had been liberally 
painted with very dark red lipstick. She looked so fearsome to Timmy.

"Hi Brooks," he said, and offered her a meek hand.

"Oh a HANDSHAKE?" she said with a snigger. "OKAY, if that's how you'd like to 
start out our date!"

He should have known better. She reached down and grabbed his hand, and suddenly 
he became aware of what Brooks' hands looked like that evening. She was wearing 
fingerless leather gloves, like something a biker might wear. And her nails were 
enough to make Timmy want to run away crying. They were like dragons claws: long 
and sharp and painted with a base of midnight black. Along each razor-sharp nail 
Brooks had drizzled a little dark red, giving the impression of blood running 
down her sharp black talons. Brooks hands were already huge, her fingers already 
long; these nails made the effect ridiculously frightening--and sexy--as far as 
Timmy was concerned. Were these fake nails? Timmy wasn't sure. Brooks had been 
wearing gloves every time he had seen her lately...

He tried to pull away, but it was no use. Her hand gripped his and squeezed it. 
The "handshake" was more of a crushing session, though Timmy was painfully aware 
that Brooks was using hardly any of her real strength. He sniveled in discomfort 
and both his date and his aunt laughed at him.

"I LOVE what you're wearing, Timmy!" Brooks exclaimed, letting his hand go and 
running the back of her hand down the length of his dress.

"Oh, uh, good," Timmy said.

"You're not embarrassed to go around town looking like a little faggy princess?" 
she questioned, teasingly.

"N-n-no," he said. "I'm okay with this. And, um... I think it will be fun to be 
with you, and that's all that matters."

Brooks and his aunt exchanged a delighted look, then Brooks remarked, "Yes, 
that's very sweet. But no one fucks with me or my men anyway. So you're safe 
with me."

With that she flex her right bicep, and muscle exploded from her thick arm. 
Timmy was amazed that someone so strong could still be so feminine. Ordinarily, 
Timmy had no doubt that Brooks could pass for a typical babe; her muscles 
weren't THAT defined all the time. Brooks didn't look like a bodybuilder, just a 
really, really strong girl. And when she wanted to, she could definitely make 
her muscles pop.

"You haven't eaten dinner yet, have you?" she asked.

"N-no, no, you said not to."

His aunt put a hand on his shoulder and said, "He begged me for some crackers 
earlier, but I didn't give him even one. You should have see it, Brooks--when he 
asked me his little tummy actually gurgled. He hasn't eaten since breakfast. I 
wanted him good and hungry for you. And," she added, "I made sure to keep tabs 
on him, and he hasn't had any 'release' all day long, either!"

"Is that so?" Brooks poked his stomach with a long witchy forefinger and said, 
"We'll just have to get some food inside his little 'tomach, won't we?"

"Let me get a picture of you two before you leave," Rose said, getting out her 
camera.

Brooks maneuvered him and made him stand in front of her right leg. He could 
feel her knee bouncing behind him; it reached almost as high as his waist. They 
faced his aunt and smiled. Before the picture was taken he felt Brooks snake her 
right hand behind his neck and grasp its circumference totally with her fingers 
and nails. It was as if she petted his neck threateningly, scraping her nails 
lightly against his Adam's apple.

She kept her hand there, as if she were a mother dog holding her puppy by the 
scruff of its neck, as she walked him outside and down the steps toward their 
ride.

"A limo?" Timmy said in disbelief. He wasn't expecting his. It was a huge limo 
that looked like an extended SUV.

"Well, YEAH," Brooks said. "You think I'm not going to treat you to the best 
night of your life? I always take care of my men."

The driver opened and closed the door for them, and then for the next ten 
minutes or so they were totally alone. Timmy felt the nice leather of the car's 
interior. There was no visible window between then and the driver. His feet 
didn't even reach the floor--even with his heeled boots on--but Brooks looked 
almost uncomfortably cramped. She had to fold her legs up, and Timmy thrilled at 
seeing the expanse of her thighs beneath the ripped hosiery. She had probably 
put more runs in it just positioning herself in the limo, but no one could tell; 
and, besides, the trashier the dark pantyhose looked, the BETTER and SEXIER it 
looked on her.

"Your whole look tonight, Brooks..." he began, not sure what he was trying to 
tell her, but he had to tell her how much he appreciated it. "I mean, um, you 
look..."

She didn't even let him finish. She knew they only had limited time before they 
got to the restaurant.

First she gave him a quick slap across the face to stop him from talking. To say 
the least, this shocked him and no doubt felt like a much harder blow than she 
intended. But she was just so much bigger and stronger, that she really couldn't 
help it if he was so weak. Before he had time to really process what had just 
happened, though, she had reached over and pulled him against her. She tried to 
stretch out as far as she could, but the space of the limo wasn't quite 
accommodating  for what she was trying to do. Undaunted, she simply began pawing 
at Timmy's body, tossing it this way and that, yanking an arm then flipping him 
over to sqeeze his thighs or rake her nails against his rump. 

Timmy was totally disoriented and didn't know what was happening other than the 
obvious: that he was being treated like the toy of a bitch bulldog, and that he 
was probably going to get raped whether he liked it or not--and he wasn't sure 
that he didn't actually like it.

Suddenly both of her hands were shoved up his dress and working their way toward 
his groin. He looked down and saw Brooks' meaty foreforms; he noted with a 
thrill, mixed with dismay, that they were bigger than his thighs. She had 
discarded her leather jacket and he had an excellent view of her cleavage and 
impressive bare shoulders. As she picked through his dainty underwear she 
simultaneously rammed his body, but didn't let go of his crotch, until he was 
underneath her, almost head-over-heels. She hunched over him and looked down at 
him with a wicked smile.

When she began massaging his penis and scrotum, she was not exactly gentle, but 
it was just what he wanted. At least she didn't scratch or prick him too much 
with her nails. He reached up towards her with his baby arms and put his little 
hands on her biceps, rubbing them lovingly. As if repulsed by his weakness and 
tenderness, at that moment she grunted and rammed his body harder against the 
leather seat of the limo.

She was treating his gentitals like one little mass of Playdoh at this point, 
and the fact that his penis was hard didn't prevent her from bending it 
backwards and twisting it around her fingers any way she wanted to. Timmy winced 
with pain but also in anticipation of the gigantic orgasm that he knew was on 
the way.

She quickly sat down and dragged Timmy's body across her lap. He was looking up 
at the ceiling and noticed that the limo had a sun roof. It was a starry night, 
he saw, has his orgasm began. Suddenly Brooks' beautiful but wicked face blotted 
out the stars. He wanted to come right into her dark red lips if he could. But 
she sneered and worked his penis even harder, grinding it between her two 
vicelike hands.

He felt his hips begin to gyrate. Brooks lifted him up in her arms and finally, 
as the moment came, she wrapped her big sexy mouth around the entirety of his 
dick and scrotum.

He got one good--real good--pulse of ejaculate out, but then... something was 
wrong. He couldn't come anymore. Something was holding him back somehow. In 
confusion he looked into his date's eyes, and her mischievious expression told 
him that somehow she was preventing him from coming anymore. As the crisis of 
his frustration passed, along with his thrill, he realized that he was blocking 
the hole of his penis with her incredibly strong tongue. She slowly removed most 
of his penis from her mouth, but kept the pressure up until the end, until there 
was no need for it anymore. As his penis head finally emerged from her blood-red 
lips, she dabbed its blowhole one more time with her tongue, in sort of a 
goodbye kiss.

"How did you--?"

Rather than answer, she swished around the bit of come that was still in her 
mouth and then showed it to Timmy once she had collected most of it in the 
middle of her tongue. She then lifted his now only semi-erect cock back to her 
lips and enveloped it again.

Timmy feared he knew was her plan was, and he was right. Her lips sealed tight 
around its girth, Brooks began to blow into the hole of Timmy's penis, forcing 
it open so that she could push the semen back inside. It was unimaginably 
painful. His penis felt like it was being cut open; she was capable of putting 
so much pressure on it. And he could feel it when the semen went back in. She 
blew so hard in order to shoot the come back from where it came. His penis ached 
so bad when she was done.

She finally sat his on her knee, his little legs dangling down a pitifully short 
distance, an expression of pain and shame on his face. She smiled at him, proud 
of what she had just orchestrated.

"But wasn't that FIRST moment of release WORTH IT?" she asked him rhetorically, 
and then bellowed with laughter.

He had instinctively placed his hands over his crotch area, as if in a 
protective effort, and he held his head down in fear.

"Oh don't WORRY, Timmy!" she said happily. "I'll let you come again later. Maybe 
I'll let you come many, many times before the night is through. But right now 
we're just getting started, and I can't afford you to waste even one drop of 
semen. Do you know why?"

Evidently she expected him to formulate an answer.

"I have n-no idea," he said meekly.

"Well," Brooks began, picking him up in her arms again and hugging him close to 
her chest, bringing his shivering little face close to hers. "If I let you come 
now... for all I know you won't be able to get it up when I need it later. I 
mean, for all I know you might not find me attractive enough to have sex with 
more than once a night!"

She said this sarcastically and brought him so close to her that their eyes were 
almost touching.

"Timmy, I'm SO happy you would go out with an ugly girl like me! I'm not sure 
what a manly stud like you, with your so sexy feeble 4'11" body could ever find 
in a girl like me. But I'm so happy for you to have lowered your standards to 
date me! But--DO you think you could have sex with me more than once tonight? DO 
you find me attractive AT ALL?"

"Um y-y-y-yeah Brooks, I do. I d-don't know why you're talking this w-way, um. 
Y-you should kn-know that I like you. Y-you don't have to act this way." Then he 
added in a quivering voice: "P-please."

She lowered his little body as if she were done lifting weights and set him on 
the floor in front of him. He was able to stand up to his full height in the 
limo, which they both realized had stopped moving. They were at their 
destination.

From her crotched position Brooks stared up at the scared man. There was time 
for one last thing.

"So you mean to say that you DO find me attractive?" she asked plaintively and 
sarcastically.

"Y-y-yeah," Timmy stuttered. "Everything about you scares the shit out of me but 
turns me on."

With that she smirked and punched his shoulder in a "friendly" way.

"GOOD!" she said, and as the door of the limo opened she placed a clawed hand 
behind Timmy's lower back and with one motion roughly flung him out of the 
vehicle and onto the city street.

"Gentleman first!" she said, as she skillfully maneuvered her long legs sideways 
and stepped outside.

-----

His shoulder still ached as they entered the elegant restaurant. He rubbed it 
and tried to move and rotate it around a bit. It didn't feel sore but it felt 
like he had pulled something.

"Oh stop it!" Brooks hissed. "I didn't hit you that hard, you fucking baby!"

The words stung. "Fucking baby"--that was the same thing Sarah had called him 
that day in the mall, when he had whined to his aunt and complained about the 
young girl picking him up off the ground so much.

"I'm s-sorry, Brooks," Timmy said, mentally noting how unfair it was for him to 
be apologizing to her. "It feels like I pulled a muscle or something," he added.

"Ha!" She tossed her head back. "You don't have any muscles TO pull! Not like 
these."

She held one of her mighty hands in from of her little companion's face. She 
made a fist, into which most of her black nails disappeared inside, except for 
her mighty thumbnail, and she squeezed and showed off her strong fingers. Timmy 
had no doubt that just one of those hands would be a match for every muscle in 
his pathetic, emaciated body. He made a low whimpering sound, half because he 
envied Brooks' power, half because he knew that she would find the pathetic 
sound cute. Despite all else, he wanted Brooks to like him, and was evidently 
willing to compromise much (if not all) of his integrity to endear himself to 
her in any way.

"Could this be what a good relationship for me would be like now?" he asked 
himself silently. "Is this the sort of woman someone like me should be with? 
Someone so tall and strong and domineering? Lord knows I don't have any ambition 
left for my own life. But a girl like this--she could just tell me what to do 
and how to act. So in that case it might be okay if I remained an indecisive 
little nothing. But she's SO cruel... I guess that would be part of the package, 
submitting to her and allowing her to beat the hell out of me and dominate and 
humiliate me constantly. Still, she's so damn attractive to me..."

Brooks looked around impatiently. It was Saturday night and the restaurant was 
packed. It was a very upscale place, somewhere Timmy had never been. He was glad 
that his aunt had given him her credit card. He wasn't used to spending this 
kind of money on food. Then again, maybe Brooks would insist on paying, just as 
she had paid for the limo, if only to prove to him how much in control she could 
be.

At the moment a disgusted look crossed her face. "Seriously?!" she groaned 
loudly, in disbelief and annoyance at the line of well-dressed patrons ahead of 
them.

She would have towered over everyone there even if she didn't have her 4.5-inch 
heeled boots on. With them on, she could see over everyone's head, and in the 
distance she spotted the maitre d', an old white-haired man in a tuxedo. He was 
in the front of the line, standing at a podium, taking down people's names and 
looking at his watch regretfully.

"This is ridiculous, Timmy--Come on!"

She snatched his hand in hers and propelled them through the line. She didn't 
even bother saying "Excuse me" but simply pushed the smaller people out of her 
way as if they were lifeless munchkin mannequens. She seemed not to notice their 
calls of displeasure and pain as she shoved past them.

"Do you h-have a reservation?" Timmy asked as she dragged him behind her.

"Do you think I NEED one?" she quipped.

At that moment he looked down and saw Brooks' ass. This was the first instance 
so far that night that he had actually been behind her, so for the first time he 
saw that there were daring holes and rips and runs in the hosiery material that 
covered her rear-end as well. It was the sexiest thing Timmy had ever seen, 
Brooks' round, hard ass cheeks showing beneath the tattered dark lingerie 
bottoms. And right in between the cheeks he saw a black velvet thong strap 
disappear. Timmy's loins began to throb and suddenly he didn't care where they 
were or what Brooks was doing dragging him behind her like a doll. He just 
looked at her plump-but-toned ass cheeks and imagined his dick between them, 
nestled against the scant sexy fabric that was only halfway covering them.

"U-u-uh, Miss, U-u-h, what do you mean to--?!"

"Shoe us to a table," Brooks said to the stuttering maitre-d'. "Now."

"E-excuse me, d-d-do you have a reservation?"

"Do I look like the kind of girl who needs a reservation?"

The little old man was speechless. Timmy noticed that he and the man were about 
the same height. The man, of course, was not wearing high-heeled booties, but 
still... Timmy felt glad to know that there was someone else on his level.


"That table in the corner there should be fine," Brooks noted, looking over 
everyone and pointing in the distance with a long pointy black nail. "Come 
along, Timmy."
'
She yanked him forward and pushed past the maitre-d' and began to enter the 
dining area.

Suddenly the little old man rushed and flung himself ahead of Brooks again. He 
was quite spry for his age, Timmy noted. And either quite brave or quite stupid.

"E-e-exCUSE me, miss!" he said, a rising tone of anger in his voice. "That is 
NOT the way we do things at this establishment. Justine's not the sort of 
restaurant where one can just-just...Just, please, promptly return to the back 
of the line and--"

That did it. Brooks leaned down to that she was nearly face-to-face with the 
little gentleman. She stopped his annoying speech by smushing his cheeks 
together with her free hand. She glared wickedly at him. By this time several of 
the diners were taking note of the scene.

"I am used to getting what I want!" Brooks bellowed. "And I am used to getting 
what I want WHEN I want! Right now my darling little date-boy and I would like 
to eat. So we are going to go over there to that table and eat. If you would 
like to try to stop me, I promise you that you will be needing an ambulance to 
leave--if not a hearse. And if you're waiters and chefs know what's good for 
them, they will serve and wait on us so that we receive our meal as quickly as 
possible. Understand, or do I need to BREAK you?"

The old man was speechless, his eyes popping out of his skull. It was evident 
that no one had ever talked to him this way, and that he had no idea how to 
react to such a threat coming from a person of Brooks' sex, sexuality, and 
stature. When she released his cheeks, dragging her nails slowly down his face 
and scratching his skin only lightly, he murmured wordless syllables for a few 
seconds before saying:

"B-b-but miss... miss... there are o-other people eating at that table now."

She smiled and patted his cheek, gently but threateningly, with one of her open 
palms.

"You're cute," she said. "You men say just the cutest things. These other people 
will simply have to leave so that my little boy and I may sit down."

She strode over to the corner table, dragging Timmy behind her, with the useless 
maitre-d' following behind as well. There was no doubt now that Brooks was in 
charge here; everyone who came in contact with her soon found that out, the easy 
way or the hard way.

At the table was a family of five: a husband in his late 40s, a wife in her late 
30s, two twin boys who looked to be about 13, and a girl of 8 or 9. Brooks 
smiled at them and rapped her knuckles against their table to get their 
attention.

"Hello. My little date and I would like to eat here now. So you need to move."

The husband and wife looked at each other. The children looked up at Brooks' 
imposing, impressive figure. All five had their mouths hanging open, not knowing 
what to say.

The husband, who had a thin beard and thick "hipster" glasses, put down his fork 
and said to Brooks, "I don't understand. W-what do you want?"

"You're an idiot," Brooks said. "I know your type, you cowardly little turd. You 
already heard me: I said I want your table. LEAVE."

"Um, excuse me," the man said again, wiping his mouth with his napkin nervously. 
"We-we're still eating here; we-we're almost done, though, and--"

"I don't WANT 'almost done'"--Brooks pounded her mighty fist on the table. "I 
want you to leave. NOW."

The husband looked at his wife for support. The woman was in disbelief, though 
she seemed less rattled than her husband. She stared back at him, and in a meek, 
anxious voice he whispered to her, "What do you want me to say?"

The wife looked up at Brooks and said, "Is it absolutely necessary that you have 
this table?"

"YES," Brooks said. "I am on a date here"--she yanked Timmy upwards, holding him 
in the air by his hand as if he were a prize fish that she had caught--"and we 
need to move things along so that I can have a perfect night."

"Okay, then," the wife said. "We'll leave."

The husband still looked at her, as if afraid to look back at Brooks. His mouth 
gaped open even lower. "You-you're just going to have us LEAVE?!" he asked his 
wife.

"Well what CAN I do, Benjamin?" the wife said as she began to collect her purse. 
"It's obvious that you aren't going to stop her."

The husband, Benjamin, gaffawed a bit and glanced side to side nervously. The 
two twin boys looked at each other but didn't say a word. The little girl calmly 
studied the entire situation.

Suddenly the husband stood up and turned to face Brooks. He wasn't a short man. 
He was nearly six feet tall. Still, at the moment that made him over seven 
inches shorter than Brooks. He had to tilt his head up comically so as not to be 
looking into her chest area.

"Well," Brooks smirked. "Little Mr. Benjamin. I hope you're getting up to give 
me your seat. I hope for your sake that you're not getting up to challenge me."

Rather than answer her, Ben turned to the maitre-d'. "Why aren't you stopping 
her?" he asked.

The maitre-d' had his head down. He murmured something no one could hear and 
then walked off. He went back to the entrance and began taking down people's 
names as if nothing had happened.

Ben let out a loud sigh of dramatic annoyance.

"Look, we're ALMOST done eating here," he told Brooks, trying this angle again. 
"I'm sorry you're having to wait, but you can have the table if you just let us 
finish eating our--"

"NO!" Brooks said authoritatively. Every eye in the dining room was on her, and 
everyone was listening. "You will take your little family and run along so that 
I can get on with my foreplay. Or else I will BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF YOU RIGHT 
NOW!"

She grabbed the man's collar, balled her hand into a fist, and lifted him off 
the ground so as to look him directly in the eyes.

"Daddy!" one of the twin boys squealed. "Don't hurt daddy!"

"Do you WANT to see your daddy beaten up by a big sexy girl?" Brooks asked.

"N-no!" the other boy said. "No! Stop please!"

She turned her gaze back to Ben. Her crimson lips twisted into a wicked smile 
and she slowly lowered him back to the ground, taking care to let his smaller 
body rub against her larger body as she did so. She didn't let go of his collar, 
though; she held him fast and kept the helpless man totally under her control.

"I think I'll beat him up now," she said matter-of-factly.

"Please don't!"

She turned. This call actually came from Timmy. He couldn't help it. He had to 
do something and he heard himself saying the words even before he decided to say 
them.

Brooks yanked him toward her. His head didn't even come up to the level of her 
boobs. He looked at her toned abdomen as it appeared from between her open 
leather jacket.

"Haha," Brooks chuckled. "Would you care to repeat that?"

"Um, please don't hurt the guy, Brooks. Please."

She yanked his arm up again, which had the effect of pulling him closer against 
her body. He was lifted off his feet and he swung towards her. As it happened, 
his fully erect penis bounced against Brooks' fishnet-clad thigh. He almost 
exploded on the spot. His loins throbbed. He moaned as his erection, through his 
dress, settled against the side of Brooks' big shapely thigh. She laughed, very 
much aware of what Timmy was going through.

She lifted Ben back up into the air, then lifted Timmy higher.

"Two men in two hands!" she said to the table. "I think I'll beat one of them up 
now"--she shook Ben a bit--"and FUCK one of them up later"--she shook Timmy. She 
shook him like a ragdoll.

"Why would you want to be mean to someone?" a small voice asked. It was the 
little girl at the table. She asked the question calmly and seriously.

"Because it turns me on," Brooks said, answering in the same honest tone in 
which the quesiton was asked. "Because it turns me on and because it gives a 
pleasent, pleasurable ORDER to the world."

Then she slowly lowered both men down and actually released her grip on Ben's 
collar. The man choked for air and touched his throat.

"Water!" he gasped, extending a hand towards his wife, who put her head to one 
side, paused, and then handed him a glass of water.

"Oh it wasn't THAT bad, Ben," she said. "Quit being so dramatic."

Brooks put her arm around Ben's shoulder and pulled him close to her. "I've 
decided NOT to just beat him up. Rather, I'll give him a chance to fight me. If 
he's like. If he still doesn't just want to LEAVE ALREADY." Ben glanced up at 
her nervously, but continued to sip his water. "So what do you say?" she asked 
the table. "Should your MIGHTY patriarch fight me, in which case I'll let him 
have the first punch, or should he just he his supposed AUTHORITY to order you, 
his family, to leave? It's up to you guys."

The wife looked at Brooks intently, then she brought her gaze to her daughter. 
Mother and daughter looked at each other for a long time, as if they were having 
a wordless conversation.

"Don't fight!" one of the boys yelled.

"Yeah c'mon, let's just GO!" the other one said, shuffling in his chair.

"Well," Brooks said, "what say you two?" Both mother and daughter looked up at 
Brooks. "Would you like him to fight me? Would you like to see me break this 
pathetic annoying man of yours, who pretends in some annoying respect to 
actually be in charge of anything?"

Timmy looked at the glances of both mother and daughter, and without a doubt he 
knew that their eyes said "YES".

"No," the mother said, sighing.

"No, don't beat him up," the daughter said.

"Okay then," Brooks said, and the entire company breathed a sigh of relief.

The rest of the family got up, collected their coats, and shuffled off. Timmy 
noted that the father had his head down but was speaking in very fast, soft, 
whispering tones to his wife, no doubt trying to explain himself and make 
himself seem not as embarrassing as he truly was. Meanwhile, the little girl led 
the way, unphased by anything that had just occurred. She looked several years 
younger than her brothers, but Timmy noticed that she was less than half a foot 
shorter than her older brothers. Timmy had estimated the twins' age to be about 
13 or so. But Sarah Thollen was just turning 13, and she was over 5'9". These 
boys wouldn't have even been Timmy's height if he weren't wearing heels. Timmy 
knew that girls were getting taller, but was it really possible that there could 
be a difference of an entire foot between girls and boys of the same age? Surely 
not every girl was taller than her male classmates, but still--

"I wonder if those little boys go to school with that Sarah girl you're always 
talking about?" Brooks asked as they sat down. It was as if she could read his 
mind.

"I don't know," Timmy said. Suddenly he decided to be a gentleman and hurriedly 
rushed over to pull a chair out for Brooks and help her take off her leather 
jacket. It felt SO heavy to him as he lowered it down. He noted that Brooks' 
upper body looked magnificent, dressed as she was in just the black push-up 
tube-top. Suddenly he felt really proud and lucky to be her date.

"Imagine those two little shits playing in the same gym class with her. Isn't 
she pretty tall?"

"Uh. Yeah," Timmy said. He hated the subject of Sarah. He would rather look at 
and think about Brooks herself and was annoyed that she thought he was "always 
talking about" Sarah. He had only mentioned Sarah a couple times when in Brooks' 
company, and in those cases it had been to tell his aunt that he didn't really 
want to go to her party.

As soon as they sat down, two things happened simultaneously: A waiter slipped 
menus in front of them, and people started clapping.

At first Timmy didn't know what was going on. Then he looked around and he saw 
that everyone was applauding Brooks. They evidently liked what she had done, or 
at least they appreciated the show. All throughout the room, Timmy turned to see 
approving faces of ritzy people clapping and raising their glasses to Brooks, 
who took it all in with a polite, understated, self-satisfied grin, putting one 
of her long-nailed hands to her chest as if to say "All for me?!"

There were several whoops as the cheering continued. Timmy noticed that it was 
the females in the room who were clapping loudest. Some of the males clapped 
politely, as if they were only going along with what their wives, companions, or 
female friends were doing. No male raised a glass to Brooks, but only a few of 
them dared not clap.

Finally Brooks stood up quickly, took a bow, and sat back down, after which 
point the clapping stopped.

"Your meals will be on the house tonight, mademoiselle," the waiter said. 
"Orders of the owner, Justine. And those ladies over there have insisted that 
they pay for your drinks. Shall we start you off with some wine?"

Timmy looked at the women whom the waiter had indicated. They were sitting at a 
table in the opposite corner, just the two of them. Both in their late 20s or 
early 30s. Both attractive. One a dirty blonde and the other a brunette. The 
blonde had short hair, a birdlike face, a pointy nose and circular glasses. She 
seemed tall and thin. The other woman was a plump brunette with flowing hair and 
breasts so large that they almost popped out of black dress. Both women smiled 
at Timmy, and the blonde raised her glass to him. The brunette winked and licked 
her dark red lips with her tongue. Timmy turned away.

"We'll start off with wine," Brooks said. "Red wine, I suppose. Whatever you 
think would be nice. I'm not much of a wine-drinker. I prefer harder drinks."

"As mademoiselle wishes," the waiter says. "And--"

"And when you bring us the wine," Brooks added. "Just pour it. I don't want to 
sit through any spiel about what sort of wine it is and where it came from. I 
don't care. I just want to drink it as fast as possible and get it over with."

"A-as you wish, mademoiselle."

"And one last thing," Brooks added, looking at the waiter but pointing toward 
Timmy. "He will need a booster seat."

"What?" Brooks squawked. "I don't need a booster seat! Brooks--"

"Do your feet touch the ground?" she asked him.

Timmy lowered his eyes in shame. He could touch the floor with the tips of his 
boots, but he couldn't really place his shoes down on the floor fully, not even 
with the aid of heels. He knew that this wasn't good enough.

"I asked you a question, Timmy," Brooks said. "If you tell me you don't need a 
booster seat, but then I look down under the table and I see a those little feet 
swinging in the air, or dangling down, or even scuffing against the floor--there 
is going to be one naughty, horny little liar of a boy who goes to bed tonight 
without getting his dick sucked." The waiter snorted, and the corner of his lips 
rose to a smile. "So I'll ask you again: Does little Timmy need a booster seat?"

"Yes," he said.

"Very good," the waiter noted, and went away.

He felt so humiliated a few moments later, when he was lifted in the air by 
Brooks and then placed into the booster. What sense did this make? he wondered. 
He had to get a booster seat because his legs weren't long enough to touch the 
ground. But now he was sitting up even higher, which make his legs that much 
further from the floor.

"Now I can look you right in the lie," Brooks said, as if to answer his 
question.

She didn't let him order his own meal, either. He had tried to tell the waiter 
that he wanted steak, but Brooks had interrupted him by laughing.

"Oh Timmy," she said. "You haven't eaten any meat in months, and now you want to 
eat steak! Your tiny little belly isn't used to real meat anymore. You're a 
vegetarian now, and vegetarians can't just all of a sudden process red meat 
again once they've decided not to eat it anymore."

("I didn't decide not to eat it," Timmy thought, resentfully. "Other women in my 
life seem to have made that decision for me.")

"But I WILL let you eat meat tonight," Brooks said. And even though the notion 
of her "letting" him eat something should have come as an insult, Timmy was at 
least grateful for small favors. "I'll have the King and Queen Lobster 
portions," she told the waiter. "With butter. And with steak fries on the side. 
No salad. And our little man over there"--she pointed to Timmy with a long sharp 
finger--"will have a little bowl of cold paella, two stalks of uncooked cellary, 
and a child's portion of crayfish." She handed the menus back to the waiter. 
"Are you happy, Timmy? Crayfish have meat in them."

Of course Timmy was disappointed, but he knew it would do him no good to 
complain or argue. He knew that being disagreeable at all could only make things 
worse for him and decrease his chances at having a good time.

Before he could say anything, he felt a weight land against his crotch. It was 
Brooks' foot and leg, clad in her tarty fishnet hosiery. She must have snaked it 
out of her boot under the table. Her heel had slammed right against his cock, 
which was fast becoming erect again, and her wiggling toes reached all the way 
up to his waist. He instinctively shot his hands down to protect himself from 
the initial blow, then found himself massaging Brooks' foot and petting it 
tenderly.

Somehow, as he was rubbing her foot, Brooks caught two of Timmy's fingers 
between her big toe and second toe. Even with her toes--even through the 
pantyhose--Brooks' grip was overpowering. Timmy couldn't extract his trapped 
fingers. He tried with his other hand to pry Brooks' toes apart, but found that 
he couldn't. He was helpless. He winced and looked up at her. She gritted her 
teeth and beneath the table her toes squeezed his fingers even tighter.

"Imagine your dick between those toes," she mused. "Oh just imagine what they 
could do to it."

A tear trickled down Timmy's face and he grunted pathetically. She was really 
hurting him.

Suddenly she eased up. He shot his hand out from her toes and up to his mouth. 
He sucked on his fingers, which looked black and blue. They would probably be 
okay, he thought. But it was a good thing she let go when she did. He took an 
entirely too large gulp of wine, to help ease the lingering pain.

Brooks was on her third margarita by the time their meals came. Had she not been 
so sauced, her impatience probably would have caused another scene.

Brooks received two absolutely enormous plates, each with a giant lobster on it. 
A king and queen lobster. The chefs had placed a clumsy, rudimentary gold crown 
on one of the lobsters, and a tall elegant silver crown on the other. Evidently 
the gold crown was for the king and the silver crown was for the queen. The 
queen was, Timmy noted, the larger of the two lobsters.

Next to Brooks' meal--which covered three plates, including one for her french 
fries--Timmy's meal looked absolutely laughable. Some paella in a teeny tiny 
bowl. Three pieces of cellary on a napkin (placed on a napkin!). And four dinky 
crayfish placed on a plate that wasn't even as big as one of Timmy's hands (and 
Timmy had very small hands). He looked over and felt sure that all four of his 
crayfrish could fit in the lower part of either of Brooks' lobsters' claws. How 
much more han him was Brooks allowing herself to eat? A hundred times more? A 
thousand? And most of what Brooks was eating was meat, whereas there probably 
wasn't enough meat in all of Timmy's crayfish to equal the volume of one stick 
of cellary. It was all so unfair. Why was Brooks in charge and why did she have 
to be so much bigger than him?

Again, as if she could read his thoughts, from across the table Brooks told him, 
"It's not my fault that you're so shrimy, Timmy. Would you rather I have ordered 
you actual SHRIMP instead of crayfish?"

Timmy didn't like the joke. Nevertheless, despite his obvious sulking, he dug 
into his paella and had some cellary. As he ate he could feel the sole of 
Brooks' outstretched foot patting his groin lightly.

"Just wait till later," she said to him slyly. "I'll make all of this worth it 
to you. Don't you understand, Timmy, that I HAVE to humiliate you?" He looked up 
at her. "Don't you understand that it really DOES--TURN--ME--ON?" She breathed 
huskily and, under his dress and through his panties, the toes of her foot 
suddenly gripped the length of Timmy's cock. "It REALLY DOES turn me on, Timmy. 
A lot. To humiliate you as much as your cowardly helpless ass with let me. And 
there seems to be no limit to what you're willing to put up with and lie down 
for."

He moaned as her toes gripped his cock harder and then released it. She withdrew 
her foot and bent down to put it back in her boot. Evidently hanky-panky under 
the table was over. Which was okay, because Timmy felt that now if she even 
tapped his cock with her pinky toe he would have exploded in his panties.

Nervously he turned his attention back to the meager "meal" before him. His 
fingers were shaking and it was hard for him to peal the crayfish apart to get 

at the bit of meat in them. The hard shells hurt his fingers and were somewhat 
sharp on the side.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Brooks asked, deadpan. "You can't even do THAT?"

He whined up at her and frantically tried to rip into the crayfish. Brooks 
tossed her fourth margarita back and belched.

"If you can't get those crayfish apart, bring them over here. I'll take them 
apart for you. And then I'll take YOu apart for me. I wonder how much meat is on 
your bones, huh? TImmy? I wonder if there's more meat in this big queen lobster 
than there is on your reedy little bones, Timmy." He shivered. He didn't like 
her talking this way. "Bring those little crayfish over here and I'll get them 
for you."

"No-no, I can get the meat out," Timmy said.

"You don't sound very confident," she remarked.

Once he set his mind to it and really attacked the shells methodically, he found 
that he had just strength enough in his hands to get the crayfish apart. There 
was only a small morsel of meat in each one, but it was the only meat Timmy had 
had in months. He happily chewed each tiny piece five times as long as he had to 
before swallowing. He ate three of the four crayfish this way.

"Very good," Brooks said, her strong hands cracking apart her lobsters. Timmy 
noted how easily ripped apart the shells, pulled off the beasts' tails and 
expertly cut through various parts of the shell using her long black nails as if 
they were razorblades. Watching her do this turned him on but also made him very 
afraid. It was an emotional mix that Timmy was becoming accustomed to.

"I'll trade you your last crayfish for a lobster claw," she said.

Timmy couldn't resist this. The thought of a whole lobster claw--all that meat--
was too good to be true. He eagerly shoved his plate towards Brooks, who smirked 
and picked up his remaining crayfish. She looked at it, looked at Timmy, and 
then put the crayfish in her mouth whole, shell and all. She smiled at Timmy as 
she chomped down, chrushing the shell and evidently feeling no pain or even 
displeasure. In one gulp she swallowed it down. The waiter had returned and had 
brought her two vodka-and-Redbulls, which she drank down on the spot. Next she 
ripped off one of the lobster claws and threw it on Timmy's plate.

"There!" she yelled happily. "Now you try that!"

For the next five minutes Brooks laughed louder and louder as Timmy strugged 
with the lobster claw. His little hands were useless against it. He tried to use 
his fork and knife, but could muster no technique that had any effect. He tried 
to use a specialized lobster shell-cracking tools, but he couldn't seem to get 
the hand of it and it kept slipping out of his hands. In the event that he did 
manage to position the cracking tool correctly, he found that he simply lacked 
the strength to bring it down hard enough.

By now a small crowd had gathered around their table--most of them women, 
including the birdlike blonde woman and the plump brunette who were buying their 
drinks. The crowd snickered and laughed along with Brooks at Timmy's pathetic 
efforts.

Timmy finally put his hands down, exhausted.

"Aw!" Brooks bellowed. "GIVE UP?"

"Yes," Timmy said sorrowfully. "I give up. I can't do it. I'm just not strong 
enough... And I'm too little."

This brought a hearty round of laughter from Brooks and, in turn, from the 
crowd.

"Oh bring it over here!" Brooks said in sing-song fashion, scooching her chair 
out a bit and patting her big thigh.

Timmy dutifully got down from his booster seat, took the big lobster claw over 
to her--over to Brooks, his maid, his date, his dream date--handed it to her and 
then climbed up on her lap.

"Now watch how I do it!" Brooks said brightly, and she instantly crushed the 
claw apart with just one of her hands. It was as if the shell shattered almost 
as soon as she put even the most infintesimal amount of her strength into it. 
Again the crowd clapped and applauded her. "Yaaay!" some of them screamed.

Timmy watched, his gaze frozen, as Brooks' big hands picked apart the shell and 
collected the meat. She skewered one of the larger morsels onto one of her razor 
sharp nails and then pointed it at Timmy's mouth.

"Open up, little boy!" she said, but he was too frightened.

She raised her other hand close to his mouth, and put a sharp black nail to his 
lips. In addition to the painted on red drizzles of fake blood, her dark nails 
now had lobster guts all over them. The nails lightly scraped Timmy's thin lips.

"Open up please, little one!" she said and began probing Timmy's lips apart with 
her nails.

He furtively opened his mouth--he was scared to do so, but he was more scared 
NOT to--and then she inserted the nail that had the lobster meat skewered on it.

He lightly took the meat and held it in his jaws as Brooks extracted her finger. 
The morsel of meat felt so big and so good in his mouth. He bit down on it 
cautiously, wanting ot savor every second of his experience. He rolled it 
against his tongue.

"I hope you don't need me to CHEW your food for you too!" Brooks teased cruelly.

At that, Timmy began to chew normally. When he was done with that piece, Brooks 
fed him another in just the same way. 

When all of the sizable chunks were gone, Brooks amassed the remaining scraps of 
lobster meat onto the palm of one of her big hands. Then she spit in it.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Yes," Timmy said, though he didn't really know what she was asking.

At that she forced his jaw open by pinching it with her other hand, then she 
shoved the palm with the meat in it into his face. She smeared her hand all over 
his face, getting most, but not all, of the lobster scraps into his mouth. 
Timmy's face was slobbery wet with lobster meat and spit, but he was enjoying 
eating meat again--even if it was only for a night, and even if it was only 
seafood.

When he was done, Brooks wiped his face with her napkin, bounced him up and down 
on her big thigh a few times, and the crowd applauded before going back to their 
seats. Brooks threw back another glass of vodka.

"Do you want to go back to your own seat now?" she asked him. "Or do you want to 
stay here while we have our special dessert?"

"Mmm," Timmy thought. "Stay here," he said. Then he put his arms around Brooks' 
naked shoulders and hugged her big toned form.

"Aw, that's my boy. That's my adorable little pipsqueak fairy-boy," she said, 
before craning her neck down to give him a light kiss on the forehead. "Oh how I 
wish I could just rape and break your little body apart right now on this very 
table."

Luckily, before their special dessert arrived, Timmy remembered the ring.

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "Brooks, please hand me my pocketbook!"

She smiled knowingly, leaned, and reached a long arm over to the chair in which 
he had been sitting. She snatched the feathery little pocketbook and handed it 
to Timmy.

"I got you a present," he said, and handed her a little black box.

"You aren't going to PROPOSE to me, are you?" She eyed him skeptically.

"No, nothing like that. Um... Just open it."

She paused and considered her date. He thought he was so cute. Such a polite 
little man, eager to make her happy.

At this moment Timmy was closer than he had ever been to being "okay" with his 
entire new situation. At this moment all he cared about was pleasing Brooks and 
making her happy with his gift. For so long he had wanted to be in a situation 
in which he could proudly give a woman he loved gifts of affection, and here he 
was, finally, in such a position. Although in all of his daydreams leading up to 
this moment, in all his years, he never imagined that he would find himself 
sitting on a big girl's lap and giving her a gift of jewelry shortly after she 
had said something about raping and breaking him.

Brooks opened the box and took out the simple little silvery ring.

"Oh Timmy," she said sardonically. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble. Or 
the expense."

"D-d-do you like it?" he sputtered.

"Yes, Timmy. Yes I love it," she glanced down at him. "I love it because it's 
from you."

With that she gave him a half-hearted squeeze, bounced him once on her thigh 
again, and began to try on the ring. It only fit her pinky, but that was still 
good enough. Timmy liked the way it looked on her. He liked the fact that she 
was wearing something he had given her.

"Oh look," Brooks said. "It has a little 'XXX' symbol on it. You naughty, 
naughty boy."

He crimsoned.

"Did you know about that?"

"Y-yeah, I knew," he admitted. He hoped that she wouldn't take offense or think 
the ring was too racy.

"Well I suppose that little 'XXX' will look good when it makes an impression on 
your penis, won't it?" That was just what his aunt had said. "This ring ought to 
really hurt you--in a good way--when we play some games later."

Timmy shivered.

The waiter brought their special dessert, which Brooks had apparently made 
arrangements for an ice cream shop to deliver. ("That's odd," Timmy thought. 
"She didn't bother to make reservations here but she had the foresight to get 
someone else to deliver her dessert.")

The dessert was an ice cream cake on which there was a cartoonish picture of two 
people, a female and male who were obviously supposed to be Brooks and Timmy. 
The character of Timmy was dressed in little pink shorts, a poofy purple shirt, 
and a childish propeller hat. Brooks was dressed in a dominatrix outfit and wore 
spiked gloves, one of which was held out in a fist, and one of which was 
reaching way down to hold Timmy's hand. The picture exaggerated their already 
immense height disparity: the cake showed Brooks towering over Timmy to the 
extent that his head only came up to her crotch. The representation of Timmy had 
a confused, scared expression on its face. Meanwhile the representation of 
Brooks smiled wickedly.

Looking up, Timmy noticed that the real Brooks had a matching smile.

"Do you like it, Timmy?" she asked, breathing on him with breath that smelled of 
alcohol, sex, and power. "I had it specially made for us. This picture is what I 
think of when I think of me and you. You should have seen the man at the ice 
cream shop when I was describing what I wanted him to do. I swear I think the 
man went to the bathroom halfway through just so he could wack off."

She squeezed him again tightly, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a kiss 
on the cheek.

-----

After the restaurant they were supposed to go to a dance club. Timmy had never 
liked dancing, and right now he certainly didn't feel up to making an attempt at 
it. As if the date itself wasn't overwhelming enough for him, he had just eaten 
a lot of ice cream cake. "Who goes dancing right after eating a meal?" Timmy 
wondered with some annoyance. But he knew that Brooks, at this point, had 
consumed about twelve or thirteen glasses, all told, of wine, margaritas, and 
vodka mixed with energy drinks. The big girl looked borderline manic and out of 
control. The idea of being on a date with a girl like that was no doubt exciting 
to Timmy, but when that girl is someone like Brooks Fraser, the prospect becomes 
scary. Especially when you're a tiny little man whom she's decided to bully, 
throttle, and sexually abuse as she pleases.

In the back of the limo, Brooks went into a laughing fit for no discernable 
reason that Timmy could understand. She had been recounting the experience with 
the little husband and his family, from whom she appropriated their table, but 
something made her "lose it". She was sprawled out all across the seat of the 
limo, laughing and flailing her arms. Timmy was trapped beneath her--her big, 
tight, perfectly proportioned ass laying hard and heavy against his crotch. Of 
course he had an erection again, and Brooks could no doubt feel it--probably her 
laughter was due in part to this--but Timmy had become severely annoyed with the 
whole situation. He was just about to make a stand, wiggle out from beneath her 
and bolt for the limo door--prepared to walk back all the way to his aunt's 
mansion dressed in his dress and high heels--when he noticed that the limo had 
stopped again.

"We're HERE!" he yelled, trying to raise his voice above Brooks' laughter. 
"We're HEEEERE!"

She just rolled over on top of him, laughed in his face, and then sighed, 
breathing heavy.

"Well hello, little one," she said, "where did you come from?" She began to 
laugh again, and with every laugh her body bounced up and down on top of Timmy, 
pressing him deep into the swanky leather seat of the limo.

"Please, Brooks," he said weakly. "You're really crushing me. You gotta get 
off."

"AWWW!" she said. "Poor little man having a tough time?"

"We're at the club!" he yelled.

"At the club? No we're not. We're in a limo!" She began laughing again.

"You know what I meant! Please, get off!"

She sighed.

"You're such a fucking little baby, Timmy. You know that? You are the weakest 
little fussy baby ever."

He hated hearing that, but at least she got up off of him. She began fixing her 
short dark hair again and making sure that her make-up was still immaculate. It 
was. Her dark lipstick and smokey eyeshadow had remained in tact all night.

"We're NOT at the club, though. I told the driver he has to park a few blocks 
away since we're going to be in there for a while. We can just walk there from 
here."

Brooks brashly flung open the limo door and stepped out into the chilly, windy 
winter air. Timmy was instantly chilled to the bone. He timidly began to make 
his way out of the limo when one of Brooks' hands grabbed him around the neck 
and yanked him out. She steadied him with one hand and slammed the limo door 
shut with the other.

"GOD, it's cold out here!" Timmy exclaimed. He was only dressed in his little 
dress, booties and panties.

"Do you want my jacket, BABY?" Brooks asked him in a mean tone.

He didn't reply, too ashamed. He was supposed to be the man.

"C'mon!" she said, taking his hand and leading him down the street.

It was a starry night and the moon shone full.

"How much farther is it?" Timmy asked, his teeth chattering.

"Just a few more blocks. If you keep whining I'm going to rip that little dress 
off of you, so I can look at your sexy pathetic body, and then you'll REALLY be 
cold dressed just in your panties!"

Timmy put his head down and continued to follow her down the sidewalk. He was so 
ashamed of himself, and cold, and scared. And yet Brooks' domineering tone 
really turned him on, even now.

At the end of one block they had to wait for a "DON'T WALK" sign to vanish 
before proceeding. A gust of frigid air swept through and Timmy shivered, 
leaning against Brooks' large form for heat.

"Here," Brooks said tenderly, taking off her big leather jacket. "Here, just 
wear this, honey. It's too cold out for you."

He remembered how heavy the jacket felt when he helped Brooks take it off in the 
restaurant. It felt even heavier to him now, given the environmental conditions. 
He put it on and Brooks zipped it up for him. His hands didn't come anywhere 
near the openings of the sleeves. On Brooks the jacket only reached down to her 
belly button, but on Timmy it was so long that it ended about where his dress 
did, right about his knee. 

"That better?" Brooks asked. Above her waist she was now clad only in her black 
velvet push-up tube-top. But she didn't appear to feel the cold to any extent 
that troubled her.

"Yeah," Timmy said gratefully. "Thank you, sweetheart."

"Aw," Brooks said. "Calling me sweetheart, huh?" She bent was down and gave him 
a long French kiss.

The green "WALK" sign illuminated, and they crossed the street. 

The spiky leather jacket felt like it weighed a hundred pounds to Timmy. It felt 
like it weighed more than he did. He had trouble keeping up now, and it became a 
case of Brooks basically dragging him along behind her. In the process he got a 
great view of her ass and reflected again at how sexy it looked in the ripped 
hosiery bottoms. But, overall, the experience was too much for him

"Brooks-Brooks, I can't keep up!" he panted.

She stopped and whirled around. She looked down at him imperiously, like she was 
an empress and he a peon. He cowered and began to say he was sorry. She rolled 
her eyes dramatically, then squatted, picked him up in her arms and carried him 
the rest of the way.

-----

At the club Brooks was like a wild cat. Once another drink was in her, all 
annoyances of the past fifteen minutes were forgotten. The music pumped and 
Brooks pumped against Timmy on the dancefloor. Timmy had had a few drinks 
himself, and due to his meagure bodyweight that was enough for him to feel 
nearly plastered. He resolved to stop drinking so that he could better enjoy--
and remember--the great time he was having. He didn't know any of the extremely 
loud electronic dance music that was being played. He didn't know anyone else at 
the club. Which was a good thing because he was dressed in clothes that he never 
wanted anyone he knew to see him in. He didn't even know how to dance. But he 
was having a great time. Brooks couldn't keep her hands off of him. While 
dancing she mouthed words to the songs, and Timmy couldn't even understand what 
she was saying, but he didn't care. She was constantly looking him in the eye 
with a "Fuck me now" gaze. She often gyrated before him and squeezed his dick 
through his dress, hard. She would back him up against a wall and press him to 
his knees, then rub her ass against his face. Then she would lift his exhausted 
form up and press him against the wall, chest to chest, looking down at him and 
smiling wickedly. Once she literally picked him up and dropped him to the 
dancefloor. Were it not for the alcohol he would have been screaming in pain. 
But then before he knew it she had mounted him and was grinding his face into 
her groin. She had wrapped her hands around the back of his head and was forcing 
him to breathe in her warm odors. He loved it.

At one point, when they went back to the bar to get her two more rum and cokes, 
two foolish guys tried to cause some problems. They were both in their mid-20s 
and were dressed to the 9s with trendy dress shirts, pleated khakis, and 
expensive sunglasses (which made no sense, since the club was dark already). 
Timmy couldn't hear what they were saying to Brooks, but one of them gestured to 
Timmy and then put his hand at the level of Brooks' bellybutton, as if to say 
"He only comes up to here on you". Brooks sipped her rum and coke through a 
straw and gave the young men a dismissive look. Both were about 5'10" or so. 
They said something else to her but she turned to walk away, to guide Timmy back 
to the area of the club they had been partying in. One of the young men caught 
her arm as she was leaving, though. Brooks spun around and elbowed the guy hard 
in the side of the head. The blow dropped him to the floor like a sack of flour. 
The other guy bounded up into Brooks' face, but she quickly push one of her big 
hands over his face and then threw his head backwards. He went flying and hit 
the floor, the back of his head smashing against the concrete. After this Brooks 
turned back to Timmy and said, "Come along, little baby."

They went into the ladies room and Brooks guided him into a stall.

"Not like this, Brooksie," Timmy whined as she put her hands up his dress.

"Oooh yes," she said. "Mama needs some sex before the ride home."

"Nooooo," Timmy said in a low tone. "Pleeeease. I want to do it at your place."

"You will," she said. "But I'm going to do it here."

She stripped him of all his clothes, then sat on the toilet. She took a huge sip 
of alcohol, burped, and then shoved her hands down to peel her panties and 
hosiery lower than her cunt. She spread her legs wide and Timmy could see for 
the first time what he was getting into. She was completely shaved and the 
vagina was the largest and most inviting that he had ever seen.

He used his hands and his elbows and his tongue.

"Harder!" Brooks often commanded him. Even though he thought he was doing a good 
job overall, and even though Brooks seemed to be enjoying herself, he knew that 
he just wasn't big enough in any way to please her properly.

When she finally came it was disappointing, for Timmy at least. For all the 
bigness, violence, loudness, and excess that the woman so often revelled in, her 
modest orgasm seemed understated. Still, afterwards he looked up at him 
contented and told him "Thank you, baby" in the sweetest voice he had ever heard 
come from her cruel dark lips.

-----

He sat on her lap during the ride home. She had draped her big leather coat 
around him. They tenderly made out the whole time.

When they got to Brooks' apartment complex, she held him aloft with one arm as 
she handed the driver a tip. The limo drove off and Brooks bounced Timmy in her 
arms as they made their way up to her apartment.

"I hope you have something left in you," she said as she unlocked the door and 
carried him inside.

"Of course I do," he said. "I only ever came once today, and you spit that back 
inside me."

He pressed his groin against her breasts as she carried him high in the air. He 
glided through the dark rooms of her apartment, almost dancing with him in her 
arms. When they got to her bedroom, she tossed him on her springy bed and then 
pounced on him.

"Does my little boy think he can survive the experience?" she asked.

Timmy just moaned, wanting her to take him, craving her roughness and toughness, 
wanting to be controlled and dominated.

"I wanted to come in my pants when I first saw you tonight, dressed like that," 
he said, as he wriggled out of his clothes, tossing his little silk panties to 
the floor.

"Huh," she remarked quizzically. "You looked more like you were going to PISS 
your pants. Or SHIT your pants. You looked like you thought I was going to EAT 
you. Maybe I am!"

She put her mouth over his face. It was large enough to cover his mouth and his 
nostrils as well. She blocked the flow of oxygen into his lungs as she played 
with his body, fingering his penis, pinching him all over with her sharp nails, 
and even tickling him under the armpits. Timmy went into spasms and convultions. 
He needed air and he was so overwhelmed. He pounded his useless little fists 
against Brooks' musculed flank, but she wouldn't let up, or let him breathe. He 
tried to scream but his voice was lost within her suction cup lips.

Finally, when he thought he was about to pass out from lack of oxygen, he took 
her mouth away. He gasped and sucked in breath after breath. His little stomach 
was pulsating rapidly and his thin little body was quaking. Brooks sat next to 
him on the bed, resting one of her big hands on his shoulder.

"Aw, what's the matter?" she asked. "Did you get the idea that I was going to be 
all NICE to you now?"

Timmy whined.

"Oh come here," she said, and drew Timmy onto her lap. She make out with him for 
a few minutes and stroked his body tenderly.

After a particularly long kiss Timmy drew his head back and asked her, "Should I 
wear a condom, or are you on...?"

Brooks bellowed with laughter, startling Timmy.

"Do you actually think any of your wimpy little tadpole sperm could ever have a 
chance of piercing my ovum?" she asked him.

"Um," Timmy said.

"Look at me and look at you," Brooks said pointedly, raising one of her arms. 
"Put one of your biceps up against mine. Go ahead. DO IT."

He raised one of his arms and put it next to hers. He tried to flex but the 
attempt came off as pathetic. His whole body trembled, half in fear and half 
because he didn't even really know how to flex, so his whole body felt the vague 
strain. The disparity between their arms was immense. Brooks' arm was huge. His 
was a pipecleaner.

"And I'm not even flexing," Brooks noted. "Do you want to see me flex?"

"No!" Timmy said hurriedly. He just wanted the humiliation to stop.

"TOO BAD!" Brooks yelled and swung her bicep into Timmy's face, flexing it hard. 
Strands of muscle exploded and Timmy felt total fear. She was squeezing his 
entire body with hers and shoving her bicep right against his nose and mouth, 
blocking his breathing again.

Finally she let up, and when she did Timmy found that he had begun to weep.

"Now do you see how much bigger and stronger I am than you?"

"Yes!" he said. He already knew it before, but now he really knew it and didn't 
want to know it any better than he already did.

"The idea of your sperm piercing my ovum is like the idea of YOU beating up ME. 
Do you think that could EVER happen?"

"N-no," Timmy said.

"Not EVER?"

"N-n-no! Not ever! Not ever!"

"What if I was five years old?" Brooks asked. "Do you think you could have beat 
me up when I was five?"

"No!" Timmy blurted.

Brooks promptly slapped him on the back of his head, causing him to fall forward 
into her chest. He braced himself with both hands against her breasts and picked 
himself back up. He hoped that she wouldn't think this was inappropriate 
touching. It was just a reaction to steady himself. She apparently didn't mind; 
she just squeezed him harder with her thighs as he sat in her lap on the bed.

"Don't be stupid!" she warned. "I know you're a scaredy-cat baby, but even you 
are stronger than a five-year-old! If I was TEN, though, I think I could have 
clobbered you!"

He wiped a stray tear from his cheek. He hated that she had turned on him again. 
He had so hoped that they could have sweet sex. At the club and on the way home, 
and as she carried him through her apartment, she had been so tender to him. He 
thought that finally they were on the same page and that this was going to be a 
beautiful love story. But reality had other plans.

"We're going to play a game where you don't get to breathe until you come," she 
instructed him. "After you come, you get to breathe for a little bit, and then I 
put my hand over your face again and I don't let up until you come again. I 
don't care what you do to make yourself come. You can even tell me to jerk you 
off. But, god damn it, you better be able to come ten times in a row like that, 
or else you don't get to breathe."

"No," Timmy said. "No. No, I don't want to do that. I want to just have sex with 
you--PLEASE!"

"Hm," Brooks thought, tilting her head and resting a big fist against her cheek. 
She considered him. "No," she said.

Then in one motion she socked Timmy right in the jaw with a big punch. His body 
would have gone flying across the room had she not held it fast with her legs.

"Actually," Brooks said, "on second thought--okay. Go for it."

She released him and leaned back on her bed. She stripped off her tube-top, 
allowing her nice breasts to be free, and she pulled down her hosiery and 
panties again to reveal her naked pussy.

Timmy climbed on top of her. Even this was an admission of defeat. He was 
willing to have sex with a girl right after she had punched him hard and abused 
him the way she just had? He wanted to love her and to make love with her. But 
he knew that Brooks had no care for his love and did not love him back. He was a 
plaything to her and at the moment she was just testing to see how much he 
desired her and how much he was willing to put up with.

"There's only one catch," Brooks said. "You can fuck me right now to your 
heart's content, and have one nice big orgasm on your own terms. But after 
that's over we have to play my game. And you have to come... mmm... seven times 
or else you don't get to breathe. Deal?"

"Uh..." Timmy said.

"If you don't take this deal, Timmy, then you have to go home right now. And I 
WILL drag you back to your aunt's mansion right now--I don't care how late it is 
or how cold it is outside." She grinned at the wimply little man whose thin-
boned body was just above her. "Those are your options."

"I..." Timmy began, "I...can't help it. I want to fuck you so bad. I-I need to 
fuck you, oh God..."

He sighed, resigned himself to face, and dropped himself down on top of her. 
Brooks' body felt so big to him now that he was trying to mount it properly in 
the missionary position. He felt so overmatched, but the sensation of her naked 
skin against his was so pleasurable to him. He didn't care what happened 
afterwards, he just wanted to feel his cheek against her bare breasts, and he 
wanted to explore her toned arms and abs with his tiny little hands, and most of 
all he wanted to feel her pussy envelop his dick and begin to flex and suck on 
it.

Brooks did nothing to heighten the experience for him. She just laid there like 
a cold fish or a beached whale. In a way, Timmy was glad of this. He knew that 
his orgasm was going to be immense. If Brooks excited him any more than he 
already was, he was sure to blow his entire wad right now. But she had told him 
that he needed to come seven more times that night, or else she would suffocate 
him.

He didn't care, though. He put that out of his mind. Right now it was too good 
of an opportunity, to have sex with this big girl, a girl who had been turning 
him on for months now, and who this night had put his mind through the wringer, 
titilating him in ways that were tortorous, and torturing him in ways that were 
titilating.

"Ah God Brooks I luv youuu..." he moaned as he reached climax, his little 
haunches humping rapidly, his little legs knocking against her big thighs. He 
clutched her sides as release came, and moaned and pressed his face against her 
breasts, which is as high as his head reached.

She let him rest for almost a minute, then she sat up and peeled his limp, 
drained form off of her. He tried to regain some composure, but it was 
difficult. He had just experienced the biggest orgasm of his life. She got down 
on all floors, and turned around on the bed so that her ass was facing him.

"Here," she said. "hop on. Why don't you put your little dick inside my ass. 
Maybe that will get you going again. If you don't do it right now, then I'm 
going to smother you."

Timmy weakly climbed her thighs with his hands and pulled his body up. He felt 
so small. It seemed as if each of her thighs were bigger than he was. But the 
lovely vision of her ass propelled him onwards. It looked so sexy, he thought 
again, that perfect ass inside those tattered fishnets, and those velvet panties 
there too.

"Here you go. Hurry up or I'm going to get angry with you."

She reached back, put a long finger through a hole in the hosiery that covered 
her ass, and with her long black nail fished the thong strap of her panties out 
of her ass crack. She pulled it to the side and bent down lower so that her 
cheeks spread apart further.

"Here you go. Stick it inside."

He didn't need to be told twice. He stood up and shoved his erect dick into her 
asshole. At that point she tightened her ass muscles around him and rocked him 
back and forth. He humped her like a little chihuahua humping a dog twenty times 
its size. He came hard and fast, and pulled his now-aching, tender cock out from 
between her tight, clenched cheeks.

"Now it gets fun," Brooks said, spinning around and collecting her onto her lap 
in one swift motion. "Now we play the game for real."

She slammed one of her hands over Timmy's face. He couldn't breathe again. He 
struggled but his nose and mouth were completely covered with Brooks' big palm. 
He knew it would do no good to try to yank her hand off. Even if he used both of 
his hands, she was still almost infinitely stronger than him. He gave a muffled 
moan.

"Okay, Timmy," Brooks said brightly. "Here we go!"

She reached down with her other hand and began jacking him off. Her hand was so 
big that the length of his penis didn't peek out the end of it. Yet it was the 
hand she had put his ring on. He could feel the ring rubbing against his cock as 
she pumped it steadily. His penis already hurt and ached, and he couldn't 
breathe, but just thinking about how strong Brooks was and how sexy it was that 
she was torturing him while wearing his ring turned him on so much. He came and 
shot a small, barely respectable wad of come into her hand.

"Yuck!" Brooks said sarcastically. "Okay, you can breathe now."

She took her other hand away from Timmy's face. He gasped for air.

"Please, Brooks, no more. Please. Please. Please."

Before he knew what happened, she backhanded him hard with the hand he had just 
come in, wiping some of his ejaculate onto his cheek in the process.

"I don't like whiners," Brooks said. "That can turn me on, but only up to a 
point. And after that point, you don't get to be the lucky little boy who gets 
to fuck the big girls. Instead you get the be the lucky little boy who gets the 
fuck beaten out of him by the big girls." 

Timmy wanted to say he was sorry, but before he could Brooks had grabbed ahold 
of him again. 

"It's time for the next round!" she said, putting her other hand over Timmy's 
face this time. It was the same hand he had just ejaculated in, and there was 
still a little of his come on the palm. Brooks smeared it over his face a bit 
before pressing her palm hard enough to block his breating. 

Again she began jerking him off, and again he managed, miraculously, to come 
again, just before he would have passed out from lack of oxygen.

"Third time's the charm!" Brooks said, as she switched hands again, not giving 
him a moment's respite this time. "I'm not sure how much more come you could 
possibly be hiding in that teeny little body of yours, but you'll probably have 
lost another five pounds before the night's through!"

"No, Brooks. Please stop," Timmy moaned.

"Have you ALREADY forgotten what I told you about little whiners?" she asked. 
Then she slammed one hand over his face again, and with her other hand she did 
not jerk him off so much as she began to simply squeeze his cock, harder and 
harder, tighter and tighter. It was the hand with his ring on it again. He could 
feel the ring, feel the metal pressing into his penis. It hurt so much and he 

could feel Brooks' long black nails coming down as well, piercing his skin and 
digging in deep."

He wanted to scream, but he had no air. He wanted to come, but he was too 
drained and too terrified. He wanted to breathe, but Brooks' big hand wouldn't 
let him. He wanted to break free, but his abused, malnourished, undersized male 
body was nothing compared to Brooks' gigantic, toned, curvy form.

The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was her maniacal, sadistic 
laughing. And the last thing he felt was the sting of the ring on Brooks' pinky 
as it crushed the life out of his penis.

-----

He woke up the next morning in her bathtub. He was naked and everything below 
his head was submerged in warm water. The tap was running a steady little stream 
of hot water, just enough to keep the temperature up, with the excess water 
rising just high enough to trickle down the emergency hole just below the ring 
of the tub. There was the smell of eucalyptus and aloe in the air, and Timmy 
realized that Brooks must have put some kind of soothing medicinal mixture in 
the bathwater for him. He even put a pillow behind his head.

The Sunday morning light came through the high bathroom window. Timmy yawned and 
scooched up a bit in the tub. He wiggled his body a bit and found that he wasn't 
anywhere near as sore as he thought he'd be.

After a few minutes he stood up, then looked down and examined his penis. There 
were marks where Brooks' nails had dug in, and it looked purple and bruised. But 
it wasn't so bad. It would probably heal in a week or so.

He reached for a towel and dried himself off. His clothes were nowhere to be 
found.

A sudden thought struck him, a somewhat dirty thought. For all he knew, Brooks 
was probably still sleeping. The notion of exploring her apartment and rifling 
through her things without her knowing really excited him. Maybe he could find 
some old pictures of her to take back to his aunt's mansion and masturbate to 
when he got lonely and horny at night. He wrapped the towel around his waist and 
exited the room.

Brooks' apartment was a mess. He was seeing it now for the first time in the 
light. There were magazines scattered everywhere, and dirty clothes tossed all 
over the floor and furniture. There was a pizza box in the corner. 

He crept over to the desk on which her computer sat and was just about to open 
one of the drawers when a voice came from behind him:

"What are you doing?"

He turned, guilty and caught in the act of snooping.

She was wearing boxer shorts that barely came down three inches, exposing her 
long shapely pale legs, and a white, tight spaghetti-strap top that ended above 
her bellybutton. Her dark hair was messed up, and she rubbed the sleep from her 
eyes as she sauntered towards Timmy.

"Where you going through my things?"

"N-no," Timmy said, hurriedly putting his hands behind his back and trying to 
look innocent. The last thing he wanted this morning was another bruising.

Brooks grumbled but walked past him, into the kitchen. He followed her, admiring 
the way her ass--which  was chest-level to him--looked in boxer shorts. From a 
stand she picked up a pair of thick-rimmed, rectancular reading glasses and put 
them on. He had never seen Brooks in glasses before, and he liked the way she 
looked in them. He liked the way she looked in the morning, period, with her 
hair a bit messed up, dressed in boxers and a short shirt. She looked less hard-
edged and mean. She listlessly got a box from a high shelf and poured some 
cereal into a bowl.

Timmy decided to take a chance. He walked up behind her, leaning into her butt, 
and put his arms around her and began to rub his hands up toward her breasts.

"WHOA--What are you doing?" Brooks said, flinging his hands away and turning 
towards him accusatorily.

Timmy gulped. "I...I thought..."

"We're not boyfriend and girlfriend, Timmy," Brooks said in a sharp, no-nonsense 
tone that stung his heart. "Last night was last night. You're lucky I didn't 
dump you off at your aunt's at 4AM when I was done with you."

"Oh..." Timmy murmured bashfully. "Well... Thanks for putting me in the bath 
like that, Brooks, after I passed out. That was really nice of you."

"I didn't put you in the bath after you passed out," Brooks said, pouring milk 
on her cereal and getting a spoon. "I played with you for another hour or so, 
then I put you in."

"W-what did you do to me?" Timmy said, alarmed and more than a little insulted. 
He thought this was so unfair. If anything, she should be apologizing to him for 
smothering him until he lost consciousness.

Brooks snorted and smirked, took a bite of cereal, then replied, "I had some fun 
with you. Don't worry about it."

"H-how did you know I w-wasn't going to die? You suffocated me and I--"

"I've done it before," she said calmly. "With lots of guys."

Timmy wondered what it was like for a guy to date Brooks on a regular basis. How 
long had her longest relationship lasted? How long could any guy possibly last, 
physically as well as emotionally, around her and her abusive personality?

"Can I have something to eat?" Timmy asked, sitting down next to her on a high 
stool.

"Mmm," Brooks considered. "No. I'm going to take you back to your aunt's in a 
few minutes anyway. I have the day off, so I'd prefer not to wait on you and fix 
you a meal with my food, since I only get paid to fix you a meal with your 
aunt's food."

("What a bitch," Timmy thought. Still, she looked so good to him. He glanced 
down at her long, long legs. He wished that when she went back to her maidly 
duties at the mansion she would dress in short boxers like the ones she wore at 
home.)

"Can you STOP undressing me with your eyes?" she asked him pointedly. She had 
never seemed to mind it before whenever he oogled her. "I'd prefer to eat my 
breakfast without being stared at by a horny, pathetic little creep."

He looked down at the table and said nothing for a while. She finished her 
cereal and got up to put the bowl in the sink.

"Where are my clothes?" he asked.

"They're stained," she replied. "Last night you got come all over them. And you 
probably don't remember but I sort of used them to soak up some of my own 
juices. Once you had passed out I could finally make use of your little body to 
actually get myself off. Which you could never do for me while awake. Anyway, I 
believe your dress and panties were purchased by your aunt, so I guess it's my 
duty to wash them for her. I'll bring them back to the mansion tomorrow."

"Well what am I going to wear today?" Timmy asked, afraid of the answer.

Brooks chortled.

"We-ell, unfortunately I don't have any of the clothes that I wore when I was 
ten years old, because those might fit you. But I can probably find something 
for you to wear until I get you back to your aunt's."

She took his hand and led hiim into her bedroom. Despite all the humiliation, he 
was grateful that she had initiated some physical contact with him.

She rummaged through her drawers and tossed out a pair of pink socks.

"Here," she said, "these will probably fit."

She dug deeper and found a pair of white panties with a bow on the front.

"Wear these," she said. "But DON'T come in them. Or piss in them. Or shit in 
them."

She found a pair of spandex exercise shorts that he could also wear without them 
feeling too loose on him. And she found a sports bra that also fit him quite 
like a normal-sized t-shirt. He stood there, the towel still wrapped around him, 
holding the garments that Brooks had given him.

"What are you waiting for?" she asked. "Go put them on."

"Um. Brooks?" he asked hesitantly.

"WHAT?" she asked, very annoyed.

"I was wondering, c-could you please... um..."

"Spit it out! God damn it, you are a stuttering, sputtering little nervous 
baby!"

"Could we please have sex again? Or could I dry-hump you. Or could you at least 
jerk me off, PLEASE?"

"NO, you pathetic creep. NO." She folded her brawny arms across her chest. "That 
was last night. NO MORE. If you wanted more, you shouldn't've fallen asleep like 
the wimpy little BOY that you are!"

"B-But Brooks--" he started. That was all it took--He should have remembered 
what she said about not tolerating whiners.

A cruel, imperious look flashed across her face. She moved like lightning and 
wrapped one strong, long arm around Timmy's waist and stormed toward her bed, 
carrying Timmy the way one might carry a naughty puppy.

"N-NOOO!" Timmy yelled. He beat his little fists against Brooks, but it did no 
good. He squeeled and kicked his legs in the air, but that did no good either.

Before he knew it, Brooks had sat down and had slung his little body face down 
across her curvy thighs. By this time the towel that was around his waist had 
fallen to the floor, and he was naked. His delicate little rump faced upwards; 
Brooks greeted it with a smile and began rubbing her finger-tips against it 
lightly, menacingly. And meanwhile his little pecker was, despite himself, 
beginning to grow, poking Brooks between her thighs. She noted this and quickly 
clamped down on it, painfully, between her kneecaps. She squeezed Timmy's dick 
hard between the bones of her kneecaps: this was one punishment that he was NOT 
going to find release from; his dick was to be squeezed shut in the clamp of her 
knees, which would prevent any semen from pleasureably leaking out.

"I thought I was supposed to take you on a DATE, Timmy!" she bellowed, now 
raking her dark pointy nails across his ass. "I didn't know I was going to have 
to basically BABYSIT you and tend to your every little fussy concern! But if 
it's discipline you NEED--and you DO--then I guess I'll have to dispense with 
it!"

With that her right palm began to thunder down on his ass, raining a hailstorm 
of hard, cracking blows upon him. Timmy screamed and screamed, but there was no 
release. He cried and cried, but Brooks didn't stop until her own durable hand 
began to throb, by which point Timmy's ass was glowing red.

-----

On the bus back to Aunt Rose's mansion, Timmy stared out the window sullenly. 
His ass still hurt a lot, even after they had put cooling ointment on it, but he 
did his best to put the violent discomfort out of his mind. Brooks was seated 
next to him, determined to see him home safely if only so that she could be sure 
that her responsibility of "babysitting" him was completed and that he didn't 
get lost on the way home. She still wore those thick rectangular glasses that 
Timmy found so attractive on her, and she sore a yellow jacket and purple short-
shorts.

The ride would take about half an hour, and it was packed with church-goers and 
other tourists evidently in town for the weekend.

Timmy stared out at all of the ugly city streets of a delapitated urban sprawl 
of a declining America. The scenes of course depressed him. It seemed as though 
the country he knew was in inevitable, unstoppable decline; and it seemed as 
though his own life's malaise and arrested development was somehow similar.

Before he could reflect on this lofty and self-important theme too much, 
however, he felt a hand snake down his pants. It was Brooks. What was she doing? 
There was a bus full of people and they were seated in the open back seat in the 
center of the aisle, so everyone could see him. Brooks had placed her big 
leather purse over Timmy's lap, so no one could see that behind it her hand was 
going into Timmy's waistband.

As her fingers began to play with his cock, he looked up at her. She was looking 
off to the side, disinterested, looking out the opposite window. No one could 
tell that she was interacting with the little man sitting next to her at all.

He began to moan softly. He couldn't help it. She was twisting his little 
hardening cock all around her big long strong fingers. His cock was still 
bruised and cut from the night before. It was sore and wounded, but she just 
kept playing with it, tapping it, drumming it with her finger tips, raking it 
relatively softly with her nails, and squeezing it and rubbing it with every 
conceivable technique.

He couldn't stop moaning. He knew that children, families, and elderly people 
were looking at him.

He suddenly remembered what Brooks said about the white panties she had lent 
him: "DON'T COME IN THEM." Now she was purposely trying to get him to ejaculate 
all over them. And the mental torture of this was even greater, since back at 
her apartment he had begged her to get him off then, and she had refused.

He lerched up in his seat and thrust his hips out as he came violently, 
splooging wet sticky come all over this bottoms. His low moaning became a high-
pitched scream. No one said anything, but Timmy felt so embarrassed, sure that 
everyone on the bus thought he was a pervert or a crazy person. A bit later, 
when the moment had passed, he glanced back up at Brooks' face and saw a sly 
smile in the near corner of her mouth. As always, she knew what she was doing to 
him, was in total control, and reveled in making his life an uncomfortable, 
sexually-charged misery

The next stop was near Aunt Rose's mansion, and when Timmy led the way off of 
the bus, everyone could see the stain in the front of his shorts.

"I guess you can keep the panties and shorts," Brooks said as they walked up to 
the mansion door. "Think of them as mementos from what I'm sure was the happiest 
12-hour span in your pathetic life."

He didn't say anything to her. He didn't know what he thought of her now, or how 
to feel about any of this. After his date experience, he knew even less about 
where he was in life or what he thought about the new mode of living that he had 
been placed in. On the one hand, he loved all the attention he had gotten--from 
Brooks, from his aunt, from Martha Thollen. On the other hand, he knew that his 
manhood--his personhood--was being debased so much. His value as a human being 
was being trampled over, crushed lower and lower into the dirt just as his own 
height, weight, and self-esteem were slowly diminishing. 

"I brought him back to you. And he's in one piece," Brooks said to Rose Nordgren 
as she opened the door to let her nephew inside.

"I hope he wasn't too much trouble for you," Aunt Rose said. She was dressed in 
a red kimono-style morning robe. She smelled of strawberries, had a towel 
wrapped around her head, which suggested that she had just taken a shower, and 
was wearing 3-inch open-toed cork sandals. "It certainly LOOKS as though he had 
a good time," she added, noting the pitiful stain on the front of Timmy's 
shorts.
 
He sulked off, not even bothering to greet his aunt or to say goodbye to Brooks. 
The worst part of it all was that he knew when evening came he would creep to 
his bedroom and masturbate like crazy--like the pathetic cowardly pervert that 
he was--while remembering all of the sexy but traumatic experiences of his big 
date night with his big sexy date.

END OF CHAPTER THREE


[To be continued in Part Four. If you have any ideas for what (non-sexual) 
activities could happen at Sarah's birthday party, send them to 
eslepov@yahoo.com]