Tables Turned Ch. 02

Things have been, well, very agreeable at home. At first, seeing Bobby fall through the slapdash structure of his "bigshot" persona, seeing it implode before my eyes, was a great awakening for me. A great awakening, and a great liberation. For him, too, it turns out! I mean, the boy has done a 180. It seems he got down-and dirty in some inner part of himself and saw his true nature:

Just to give you an example: The apartment is as neat as a pin. All Bobby's doing, mind you. He works part-time at an electronics store (He lost his previous job at a restaurant for making suggestive remarks to a young waitress there). Now he has some free time on his hands, I manage it, and he has no complaints.

On the night of the cataclysmic turnaround in our relationship, things got pretty rough. But, as history has shown, revolutions don't come easy. I laid the law down that night and in the subsequent weeks where Bobby needed help finding his place. The belt, which I simply appropriated as my property and hung on a hook on my bedroom door, needed to be used more than once in that span of time. It's still there, of course, but now, just the suggestion that I am going for it stops him in his tracks.

Moreover, he is practically brimming with new ideas on how he can be of service around the house, and with me personally. He does all the laundry, food shopping, vacuuming, dusting. On my days off, I like to kick back with a glass of cabernet and watch him work. It's not boring at all. I call him "Nancy" when I give feedback or instruction regarding his work.

"Nancy, dear, you didn't do behind the sofa very well." I'll tell him, and he gets flustered. It's hilarious! Suddenly he's on his hands and knees with brushes and cloths, and apologizing nonstop. Until I tell him to shut up, that is. And, so, he does just that. like a spigot. Sometimes i feel like I'm at the controls of some sophisticated machine, sitting at a dimly lit panel with many knobs and levers. Beats any computer game!

I should tell you that it is the fear of my wrath that keeps the boy in line, but it is also my "special rewards" program.

So... the rewards program. Well, if he's been a good boy, I'll let him put on one of his dresses (which he selected himself, by the way!) put on some rouge and lipstick (he chose a very sweet pink hue. The guy's got taste!), and the blonde wig that set him back $300. He gets quite excited when I bestow this privilege on him. He'll start thanking me profusely until I shut him up or give him a swift kick. There are other "specials" in the rewards program, but we'll get to that in time.

Anyway, once Mr. shithead gets all dolled up in the bathroom, I call him to appear before me in the living room. Invariably, once "she" turns the corner, I just go on a laughing jag. And he LOVES it. Starts prancing about, taking small mincing steps, all excited. Such a whore!

Once he gets to center stage, I give him his instructions. It could be to sing a song in a falsetto tone. Something by Johnny Mathis. Chances Are, perhaps. He knows I like it when he plays it all hammy and effeminate, swishing his dress from side to side, and curtseying when he's done.

Or, I'll make him tell me some girly secret of his in storybook form. And has he got secrets, let me tell you. He'd been a closeted bisexual all his adult life and had had various crushes on boys in school. He confessed this to me during our initial training stages when I insisted he tell me all his dark, little secrets.

One of my favorites is his telling of his ardor for a certain John K when he was a freshman in high school. John K moved away in second year, but not before Bobby fell deeply in love with his slim body, boyish good looks, and highly attractive penis. Bobby had the good fortune of being a couple of benches down from him in the gym locker room, and he would dress slowly so that he could get a sideways glimpse of what he craved.

When Missy Bobby told this tale, standing before me, I'd give him a big rubber cock to demonstrate his love for John K. You know, there's something very satisfying in seeing a guy who formerly pushed you around fall to his knees in his frilly dress, wrap his pink-painted lips around a rubber cock, and make passionate love to it, moaning and sighing the loved one's name. "Oh, John. You beautiful young man, mmmmmm. So sweet! I'll be so good to you. You'll see, John. mmmmm."

Just like that.

When I take the cock away from him, he sort of falls out of his lusting trance and gets all embarrassed. In fact, he blushes (right through his blush).

Then, while his shame is at its peak, and he's still on his knees, I'll ask a few probing questions.

"So you really wanted to suck on his cock, didn't you? John K's cock. You wanted to kneel down before him, unzip his pants, reach into his plaid boxer shorts, and slowly pull his beautiful cock out into the daylight. Did I get that right. Missy Bobby?"

"Yes, Ms Gretchen. I've dreamed of it hundreds of times." he would say, eyes downcast.

"You wanted to be his personal cocksucker."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"But you never got the chance. That's too bad. Tell me some more. Did you ever imagine you were a pretty teen girl with braces making out with him in the back of a car? Him getting his fingers under you panties and finding your soft, wet hole? And you, moaning and rubbing his warm hard-on through his pants?"

Of course, he'd already confessed this in previous sessions, but I liked repeating it to him so that I could watch him squirm and blush.

"I did. I wanted to be the pretty girl who got him hot; the girl he would ask out on a date." Bobby would say, his lower lip beginning to tremble. These were precious moments to me. I loved seeing him mourn his ridiculous and unfulfilled life. That always got me going, if you know what I mean.

But as for the "special rewards" program, this is just one facet of it.

One of its central components is the "Worship" ceremony. It's also a favorite of mine. It's when I get to really feel the formidable influence and power I hold over Bobby. In the course of it I reduce him to a nobody, a weakling, a loser. Right down to his pathetic ground zero.

Do stay tuned!