Surrendering Sarah - Chapter 14
Chapter 14
Sport's drive home wasn't much better than the rest of his day. After missing his exit, he nearly ran another car off the highway trying to catch the next one. His hands shook, and he had trouble focusing on the traffic ahead. Assuming hunger was the culprit, he stopped to grab a burger and a shake as he doubled back to his neighborhood. Shayla had warned him not cheat on his new diet, but hell, how would the bitch ever know? Two blocks from his house, he spotted the red and blue flashing lights of a police cruiser in his mirror. The officer eyed him with suspicion as Sport stammered and fumbled with his wallet, then wrote a ticket for $350.
"Watch your speed, Bud. There are kids in this neighborhood - I clocked you at 58. You were probably going faster."
He sat for a while after the policeman pulled away, trying to calm himself, now thinking only about the hunger that gnawed at him and the aroma of the double burger escaping from the paper bag on the seat beside him. But the drugs Shayla added to his lunch-time salad still coursed through his system. She had access to a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals, many developed and used during her partnership with Finch. Sport's salad dressing contained a cocktail of a powerful, long-lasting amphetamine and a dash of designer hormone which powerfully enhanced libido and erection in males. The third ingredient was Shayla's proudest achievement - SSRA. A distorted analogue of the SSRIs used to treat depression, her "selective serotonin reuptake accelerator" gradually eroded the subject's will and self-esteem while slowly smothering him with hopeless depression. As much as he was tempted to devour the filling fast food then and there, the nervousness and fear that nagged at him overpowered his hunger, and he headed for the safety of home, away from any more trouble that may come his way.
Once home, he entered the darkened house through the garage and headed for the kitchen. He fumbled for the light switch, then found it, squinting as the overhead fluorescents filled the room with blazing white.
"Oh good, I see you've brought my dinner."
Janey sat at the kitchen table. She took a long drag on her cigarette, smiled her crooked smile, reaching for the paper bag clenched tightly in Sport's shaking hand. She leaned back in the chair as if she owned it, legs crossed, dress hiked far enough above the knee to show plenty of perfect thigh. The gaudy floral pattern did little to hide two hard mounds of breast which clung to her slim torso like ripe, oversized grapefruits. Sport couldn't help thinking she was the consummate poster-girl for cosmetic surgery.
"I met a friend of yours today. Sounds like you're in deep shit to me. Anyway, I know about your diet. So, if you hand over the food, maybe I won't go running to Shayla just yet."
Sport stood motionless, feet glued to the floor. He had never considered Shayla would go this far. And Janey, of all people. All hope seemed to drain from him, just as the color drained from his face. The room started to spin. He was moving forward, flashes of her wicked smile and bare thighs filling his field of vision, until he was only a few feet away. He released the paper sack immediately when she pulled it from his hand, apprehension now replacing hunger. Janey brought him the familiar salad from the refrigerator and ordered him to sit. It was a much larger serving than Shayla had provided at lunch, but after picking through the contents of the deep bowl, he found little but shredded lettuce swimming in a pool of thick, translucent dressing. It tasted of garlic and a tantalizing mix of spices, and strangely seemed to soothe his hunger a little more with each spoonful - so he ate quickly, scraping every last drop from the bottom of the bowl.
"I always suspected you were cheating on Sarah. You men are all alike. Every time she made an excuse to avoid a dinner invitation, I knew you were really behind it, trying to keep us apart. And don't even try to deny it. I saw you with that little blonde slut the other day when she dropped you out front. You could have at least put some clothes on.
"I'm not surprised that Sarah left you. She should have done it a long time ago. A girl like Sarah could have any man she wants. Shayla told me how hurt she was, and how she pleaded with Shayla to teach you a lesson. But, hell, I'm not complaining. Things couldn't have worked out better for me. Punishing you will be almost as satisfying as punishing my ex."
His nerves frayed to the breaking point from the drugs and Shayla's day-long abuse, Sport shoved the empty bowl across the table and glared at her.
"You don't know Sarah! You don't know anything about us! Sarah didn't like you any more than I do - in fact, we did everything we could to avoid your mind-numbing tirades and trashy friends! Oh, and about Shayla - you *really* don't know Shayla. She's not your friend. You have no idea what she is, or what you've stumbled into!"
Even as his anger rose to a rolling boil, he couldn't look away from her creamy thighs as she uncrossed and crossed them again. And worse, his erection had returned, cramped and urgent, straining behind the fly of his slacks. He jumped from the chair and took a step toward her, hoping that some physical action might shake him from the effect she had on him.
"Now get the fuck out of our house, you tacky bitch!"
Janey smiled at him. She reached out with a single digit and traced a firm straight line over his pants along outline of his swollen cock.
"Ohh, you're so cute when you're angry! But I think you like me a lot more than you let on, honey."
Her tits seemed to grow behind the flowered dress. They were so full and round. Perfect - with pouting nipples that hardened before his eyes, as if to tease him, to make sure he saw that only a flimsy layer of material stood between her flesh and his shaking hands.
Then, escaping from an instant of lust and indecision, he grabbed her wrist, jerked her from the chair, and dragged her kicking and screaming to the door.
"You son of bitch! You gonna hit me, big man? Slap me around a little? That's what you men do when do don't get your way, isn't it. Go ahead, hit me, you prick! Maybe you beat Sarah, but-"
He shoved her hard through the open door. She tripped and landed on her ass, the reds and oranges of her dress gathered about her slim waist, smooth inner thighs splayed wide in the light that spilled through the kitchen doorway. Sport feasted on the sight between them, a narrow space almost covered by transparent red panties, plump cunt-lips moist with juices that seeped from the parted slit between them.
"You'll be sorry! Just wait, you'll be - "
Sport slammed the door, freeing himself from the maddening voice and the flesh his body struggled to resist.
***
Sport was at work thirty minutes early the next morning. He slept little the previous night, waking every hour from a restless sleep. Half way to work, he slipped off the freeway, gorged himself with a fast food breakfast, then continued on, remembering that Shayla expected him there early each day to greet her when she arrived.
She was already in his office when he arrived, sitting back in his chair with her long legs propped up on the desk. Her dark skirt was even shorter than the day before, and she made no attempt to hide the dark, plump labia on display inches above the hem.
"Relax, Sport. You're not late. And for the last time, I'm warning you to ask politely before staring at my pussy."
He tore his eyes away and looked her in the face. She waited for his answer. He knew too well what she expected form him.
"P-please Shayla, m-may I look at your pussy?"
A familiar voice came from behind him.
"Take a good look, Sport. If you don't wise up, it may be the last cunt you'll ever see."
The words spun him around. Rock stood behind him, with a scowl that promised trouble. He moved closer, stopping a foot from Sport's face. Then there was that grin again, much like the first time Rock had peered into his car window.
Sport didn't see the blow that doubled him over. It caved in his stomach, then took his breath away. The pain came within seconds, followed by the violent vomiting that spewed his breakfast across the office floor. The second punch came before he had a chance to recover. The force of it knocked him to the floor. Gasping for breath, he rolled into a ball, trying to protect himself from another blow.
"A friend of ours said you weren't very nice to her last night. She said you were rude. She said you assaulted her. That really pisses me off."
The toe of Rock's boot landed squarely between Sport's legs. The force of it sent pain racing through his body. He rolled onto his back moaning, hands clutched over his balls.
Sport watched Rock's heavy boots step closer, then gasped as Rock took him by the hair, pulling his face closer.
"It's so easy, dude. Just do what the ladies tell you to do. How hard can that be, even for someone like you? Now, tell me you'll behave. Let's hear it, Sport, or the next time I'll cut your nuts off."
Fear and nausea overwhelming him, he nodded two quick nods.
"I said tell me, you pussy. Let's hear it!"
"I-I'll behave. I'll behave, I promise," he croaked.
Rock looked down at him with disgust.
"Fuckin' wimp. I still oughta kick the shit out of you."
Shayla appeared beside him, placing a firm hand on Rock's bulging forearm.
"Let's wait and see if he's learned anything today," Shayla cooed. "He's such a pathetic little thing. I doubt he'll give us any more trouble. If he does, I'll let you finish him off, any way you like."
Shayla smiled down at Sport. He could see up her skirt again as she stood over him. Her slit stood open, it's red center now shiny and wet.
"Agreed Sport?"
The pain caused his voice to waver.
"O-OK, S-Shayla."
When Rock let go of his hair, his head dropped back onto the floor with a crack. Rock wore a nasty smirk as he headed for the door.
"Stupid fuck. I'll be back. You can count on it."
Shayla helped him to his feet. She drew him close to her, holding him in her arms while he sobbed against the ******* valley between her firm breasts.
"Shhh, now, now, you'll be alright. Just do things my way from now on, and you won't have to suffer. Be a good boy and I'll see that Rock never hurts you again. I promise. OK?"
Sport nodded, his face still buried in Shayla's chest.
She clutched his shoulders and moved him away, holding him at arm's length.
"You must be starved."
Shayla glanced at the mess on the floor.
"From now on, please stick to your diet. Had Rock known about it, he might have seriously hurt you. Promise?"
Sport looked up at her with eyes full of tears and defeat, and nodded.
"Good boy. Now, let's get you some breakfast."
***
In the days and weeks that followed, Sport watched helplessly as Shayla took the reins of his business. His employees watched just as helplessly as she ingratiated herself to some, and fired the rest. Those who remained were easy prey for her wiles. They stared at her achingly gorgeous body and face as she made swift daily changes to their routine, never questioning, never objecting to the next order as it slipped from her wide, full lips.
Sport continued to show up for work, on time, at first terrified to disobey Shayla, then, after a while, arrived blank and sullen, taking his chair in the corner each day as she smiled cruelly at him, demanding that he tell her every detail of the night before. And as much as Shayla owned his days, Janey now owned his nights. She was there every night when he stepped in the door, readying his special dinner of drug-laced salad, as condescending and insulting as ever. As the drugs did their work, Sport's mind lost all defense against her rants. As hard as he tried to filter her lies from the unending barrage of sarcastic banter, a few would always slip through, finding some small niche in his brain that would nurse them into planted truths and memories of Sarah and their past life together.
In time, Sport began to accept an undeserved guilt for losing Sarah. He worshiped her as an icon of physical perfection, but was eventually persuaded by Shayla and Janey that he was unworthy of her attention or love. As he slept, his drug-laced dreams were of a Sarah who ignored him, a golden goddess who could pick and choose cocks of more deserving men to satisfy her. She was the ultimate essence of raw, feminine sexuality, sacred and desirable, but impossibly, and rightfully, out of his reach.
Existing on a diet of drug-laced salads and protein drinks, Sport's weight plummeted from 190 pounds to 140 as the weeks dragged on. The rumor among his employees was that he had cancer, but no one dared to ask. When his clothes began to sag on his rail-thin frame, Shayla came to the rescue.
"I have a present for you, Sport," she told him one day as he headed for his corner chair. He stopped and turned to her, eyeing the large white bag on her desk. Shayla shook her head and sighed.
"Well, open it, Sport. I run a business here - I don't have all day."
He went to her desk and slid the contents onto glass desktop. Just below, his eyes were drawn to her firm, slim legs, stretched to their amazing full length, the smooth chocolate skin beckoning him to touch her. Shayla caught him looking, and spread her hands over the glass, blocking his view.
"There'll be time for that later, Sport. Do you think I want you to touch me this early in the morning? Ugh - it's enough to make me lose my breakfast. Pay attention, Sport! Concentrate! Your present, remember? Honestly, I don't know how you were ever able to run this business."
He unfolded the items and held them up, one by one, before her. At first he didn't understand - a few pair of red spandex bicycle shorts, some T-shirts in a variety of pink and purple pastels, and a pair of white tennis shoes with pink eyelets.
"Well, do you like them?" Shayla asked, grinning slyly.
"I-I don't know - are they - you want me to wear this?"
"Of course, Sport! Why else would I waste my hard-earned money on you?"
"B-but, I can't wear these - I mean, I can't be seen in these - people would think - "
"What, Sport? That you're a sissy? That you're not a man? They'd be right, wouldn't they? Your own wife thinks so. Sarah never saw you as a real man. She told you that, more than once, remember?"
Sport struggled with past memories, trying to sort out the real from the imagined. In his mind, Sarah's face, the face he used to know, framed by soft, dark hair, was replaced in an instant by Barbie's big blonde hair and pouty red lips. And then the lips were moving, the words sultry and wanton. "Ummm, I want you Rock, I want a real man, a real man who can put his big hard cock inside me. Not like him! He was never a man! He could never make me cum like you do! Never! Never!" She was pointing at Sport, shouting at him, accusing him of the very thing Shayla had told him. In the end, he no longer knew what Sarah had said, but the words seemed so familiar, and came back to him so easily. He had probably just forgotten them.
"Well, Sport, what are you waiting for? Try them on! Let's get a good look at the new you!"
"B-but, here? At work? What will everyone - "
"I run this company now, not you. No one cares, Sport. Not anymore. No one will even notice."
Sport knew she was right, but the truth still hit him like a sledge hammer. He didn't even know most of the employees anymore. Shayla had hired new workers to replace anyone who thought about objecting to the changes she brought. She hired a new engineer to replace Sport's life-long friend, and he couldn't lift a finger to stop her. She called him Spike, and he quickly went about changing the product line from hospital beds and wheelchairs to sex paraphernalia of every size and shape. She had tripled the company's income in a month while Sport sat drugged in his corner, fidgeting nervously with a constant erection, staring up her skirt. It was what he lived for now - to watch her, to touch her, to please her. And in return, she would take care of him, protect him from Rock. And that was all that mattered.
Sport undressed in front of Shayla, his sense of modesty erased long ago by her skillful manipulations. When he reached for a pair of the spandex shorts, Shayla stopped him.
"You can't wear briefs under spandex, Sport! I hate panty lines. It's why I never wear them myself. You wouldn't want to look up my skirt and see panties instead of my bare pussy, would you, Sport?"
Sport got the message and stripped off his underwear. He reached for the shorts again, and again Shayla stopped him. She couldn't help but stare. His body had become wire-thin and soft, almost boyish in appearance. In contrast, his ever- present erection jutted forward, as hard and urgent as a sixteen-year-old's. It was a strange sight, she thought, this boy-man she had created. How bizarre he looked - such weak, androgynous, impotent flesh flaunting the rigid, pulsing organ that seemed oddly out of place, so wasted on such a pathetic excuse of a man. Her creation brought her pleasure, and she smiled at him.
"Turn around for me, slowly. I want to look at you."
Sport did as she said, hoping that if he pleased her, she might reward him. As he continued to turn for her, she watched, still amused by the outlandish sight.
"Is your little prick always hard?" she asked him casually as he stopped to face her.
"Yes - I don't know why, but it is," he answered.
Shayla smiled wider. "I think it's because you can't stop thinking about me. Isn't that right? Do you want to fuck me with your little prick? Come on, you can tell me. I won't bite."
Sport tried to process her question, but his mind short-circuited. Would agreeing bring Rock's boot to his groin? Would declining be taken as an insult to Shayla? She had become his protector, the one safe place in his life where he could go for both comfort and the touch of a woman's flesh, however limited it might be. Could he dare hope for sex with her?
"I-I want to, but I shouldn't," he finally muttered, looking down at his bare feet.
"And why shouldn't you?" Shayla asked, smiling as she guided their conversation to it's usual end.
"Because you probably want men like Rock, not like me. You wouldn't enjoy it."
"And why do you think that, Sport?"
"Because women want that, women want - "
"Women, Sport? What women? Be specific. How do you know what women want? Tell me, Sport. How do you know?"
Sport shivered as he stood naked in the air-conditioned office. Shayla kept it cold, especially in the summer. But he shivered just as much from what he saw as he looked down over his pale, emaciated body, the outrageous erection ever- present, but the flesh so soft and afraid. The images again flooded his mind, and he told her what she wanted to hear, what he now accepted as the truth.
"Sarah wanted him. She wanted him instead of me. I know because she left me for men like that. I couldn't be that for her - I never can be. So I can't be that for you, either."
Shayla smiled again and stretched her legs under the glass desk, letting her skirt ride high enough to tease him with a glimpse of her naked slit. She marveled at how simple it had been to break him, to convert this once proud husband of a beautiful woman into a weak, fearful shell of a man. She wondered how far he would go for her, to what depths of perversion he might descend for her. The possibilities made her wet as her mind raced with twisted flashes of depravity. If only there was time.
"Get dressed, Sport. You're insight is right on target, as usual. And, the sight of you naked isn't exactly stirring my appetite for sex, with a man, that is. I want to take a tour of the shop this morning, and you can come along, to take notes."
Sport shivered again as he thought of having to face the employees in the clothes Shayla had brought him. He dressed slowly, pulling the tight red spandex shorts up over his bobbing erection, then stretching a small pink T- shirt over his head and shoulders, tugging at it until it covered his thin chest and belly like a second skin. After lacing and tying the white tennis shoes, he stood up and faced her, afraid to think of the sight she must be enjoying. Shayla got up and went to him, this time circling him with slow, enticing steps, her hips swaying maddeningly beneath the tiny skirt. She stopped in front of him, looking down at the obvious outline of his erection under the spandex. Then looking up, directly into his eyes, she traced a path over his cock with a single finger, her finely-manicured nail grazing the underside of it, then moving slowly over the head until she felt the spandex grow moist with a droplet of the fluid she coaxed from him.
"Now, you really don't want to fuck me, do you Sport?" she whispered, still circling her nail over the tip of his cock, spreading the pre-cum into an ever- widening spot on the front of his shorts. He was shaking, trying to contain the orgasm that threatened to explode from deep within his gut. His eyes were locked on hers, his body nearly out of control, but still, the fear of Rock's boot paralyzed him.
"P-please, no, I don't, I mean, I know you don't want me to - I know you want..."
Shayla suddenly burst into laughter, then carefully wiped her finger clean on the front of Sport's T-shirt. Turning back to her desk, she picked up a large clipboard and handed it to him. "Come on, Sport. Let's see what our people are up to this morning. I'm sure you're eager to give them a good look at the new you!"
Shayla led him around the shop, using all her wiles to ensure her new employees stayed compliant and loyal. Her smile melted every man she spoke to, and her mesmerizing voice had even the women eating out of her hands. Sport used the clipboard to try to hide his erection, but everyone's eyes were drawn to his new outfit, and as Shayla ordered him to take notes while they gave her their comments and suggestions, howls of laughter rose from the back of the shop. For her grand finale, Shayla called everyone together for one of her pep-talks, took the clipboard from Sport, and let everyone have a good long look. She ignored the sniggering and whispers as she talked, glancing at Sports' erection now and then to make sure her audience got the message.
Whatever Sport had become, there was no question that Shayla was the boss, both theirs and his. But there were plenty of questions about Sport's sanity, as well as his apparent betrayal of Sarah. The few that still knew him either pitied him or wrote him off. Only Shannon continued to treat him with her familiar brand of acceptance and respect, smiling her gorgeous smile at him every morning, checking on him throughout the day, and always remembering to give him a cheery goodbye at closing. In time, she became his only anchor to reality, and to the past. In a world gone mad, Shannon's presence was the only thing that hadn't gone mad with it. She was the one and only bright spot in day after day of increasing hopelessness and depression.
As the drugs Shayla fed him did their work, Sport withdrew from their world into one where Shayla was the only safe refuge from the encroaching depression and fear. And those nights when Sarah came to him in his dreams, a strange pleasure filled him as he put her hand in Rock's, then watched as the rugged biker took her, using her perfect body the way she deserved, as only a real man could.
Sport's drive home wasn't much better than the rest of his day. After missing his exit, he nearly ran another car off the highway trying to catch the next one. His hands shook, and he had trouble focusing on the traffic ahead. Assuming hunger was the culprit, he stopped to grab a burger and a shake as he doubled back to his neighborhood. Shayla had warned him not cheat on his new diet, but hell, how would the bitch ever know? Two blocks from his house, he spotted the red and blue flashing lights of a police cruiser in his mirror. The officer eyed him with suspicion as Sport stammered and fumbled with his wallet, then wrote a ticket for $350.
"Watch your speed, Bud. There are kids in this neighborhood - I clocked you at 58. You were probably going faster."
He sat for a while after the policeman pulled away, trying to calm himself, now thinking only about the hunger that gnawed at him and the aroma of the double burger escaping from the paper bag on the seat beside him. But the drugs Shayla added to his lunch-time salad still coursed through his system. She had access to a cornucopia of pharmaceuticals, many developed and used during her partnership with Finch. Sport's salad dressing contained a cocktail of a powerful, long-lasting amphetamine and a dash of designer hormone which powerfully enhanced libido and erection in males. The third ingredient was Shayla's proudest achievement - SSRA. A distorted analogue of the SSRIs used to treat depression, her "selective serotonin reuptake accelerator" gradually eroded the subject's will and self-esteem while slowly smothering him with hopeless depression. As much as he was tempted to devour the filling fast food then and there, the nervousness and fear that nagged at him overpowered his hunger, and he headed for the safety of home, away from any more trouble that may come his way.
Once home, he entered the darkened house through the garage and headed for the kitchen. He fumbled for the light switch, then found it, squinting as the overhead fluorescents filled the room with blazing white.
"Oh good, I see you've brought my dinner."
Janey sat at the kitchen table. She took a long drag on her cigarette, smiled her crooked smile, reaching for the paper bag clenched tightly in Sport's shaking hand. She leaned back in the chair as if she owned it, legs crossed, dress hiked far enough above the knee to show plenty of perfect thigh. The gaudy floral pattern did little to hide two hard mounds of breast which clung to her slim torso like ripe, oversized grapefruits. Sport couldn't help thinking she was the consummate poster-girl for cosmetic surgery.
"I met a friend of yours today. Sounds like you're in deep shit to me. Anyway, I know about your diet. So, if you hand over the food, maybe I won't go running to Shayla just yet."
Sport stood motionless, feet glued to the floor. He had never considered Shayla would go this far. And Janey, of all people. All hope seemed to drain from him, just as the color drained from his face. The room started to spin. He was moving forward, flashes of her wicked smile and bare thighs filling his field of vision, until he was only a few feet away. He released the paper sack immediately when she pulled it from his hand, apprehension now replacing hunger. Janey brought him the familiar salad from the refrigerator and ordered him to sit. It was a much larger serving than Shayla had provided at lunch, but after picking through the contents of the deep bowl, he found little but shredded lettuce swimming in a pool of thick, translucent dressing. It tasted of garlic and a tantalizing mix of spices, and strangely seemed to soothe his hunger a little more with each spoonful - so he ate quickly, scraping every last drop from the bottom of the bowl.
"I always suspected you were cheating on Sarah. You men are all alike. Every time she made an excuse to avoid a dinner invitation, I knew you were really behind it, trying to keep us apart. And don't even try to deny it. I saw you with that little blonde slut the other day when she dropped you out front. You could have at least put some clothes on.
"I'm not surprised that Sarah left you. She should have done it a long time ago. A girl like Sarah could have any man she wants. Shayla told me how hurt she was, and how she pleaded with Shayla to teach you a lesson. But, hell, I'm not complaining. Things couldn't have worked out better for me. Punishing you will be almost as satisfying as punishing my ex."
His nerves frayed to the breaking point from the drugs and Shayla's day-long abuse, Sport shoved the empty bowl across the table and glared at her.
"You don't know Sarah! You don't know anything about us! Sarah didn't like you any more than I do - in fact, we did everything we could to avoid your mind-numbing tirades and trashy friends! Oh, and about Shayla - you *really* don't know Shayla. She's not your friend. You have no idea what she is, or what you've stumbled into!"
Even as his anger rose to a rolling boil, he couldn't look away from her creamy thighs as she uncrossed and crossed them again. And worse, his erection had returned, cramped and urgent, straining behind the fly of his slacks. He jumped from the chair and took a step toward her, hoping that some physical action might shake him from the effect she had on him.
"Now get the fuck out of our house, you tacky bitch!"
Janey smiled at him. She reached out with a single digit and traced a firm straight line over his pants along outline of his swollen cock.
"Ohh, you're so cute when you're angry! But I think you like me a lot more than you let on, honey."
Her tits seemed to grow behind the flowered dress. They were so full and round. Perfect - with pouting nipples that hardened before his eyes, as if to tease him, to make sure he saw that only a flimsy layer of material stood between her flesh and his shaking hands.
Then, escaping from an instant of lust and indecision, he grabbed her wrist, jerked her from the chair, and dragged her kicking and screaming to the door.
"You son of bitch! You gonna hit me, big man? Slap me around a little? That's what you men do when do don't get your way, isn't it. Go ahead, hit me, you prick! Maybe you beat Sarah, but-"
He shoved her hard through the open door. She tripped and landed on her ass, the reds and oranges of her dress gathered about her slim waist, smooth inner thighs splayed wide in the light that spilled through the kitchen doorway. Sport feasted on the sight between them, a narrow space almost covered by transparent red panties, plump cunt-lips moist with juices that seeped from the parted slit between them.
"You'll be sorry! Just wait, you'll be - "
Sport slammed the door, freeing himself from the maddening voice and the flesh his body struggled to resist.
***
Sport was at work thirty minutes early the next morning. He slept little the previous night, waking every hour from a restless sleep. Half way to work, he slipped off the freeway, gorged himself with a fast food breakfast, then continued on, remembering that Shayla expected him there early each day to greet her when she arrived.
She was already in his office when he arrived, sitting back in his chair with her long legs propped up on the desk. Her dark skirt was even shorter than the day before, and she made no attempt to hide the dark, plump labia on display inches above the hem.
"Relax, Sport. You're not late. And for the last time, I'm warning you to ask politely before staring at my pussy."
He tore his eyes away and looked her in the face. She waited for his answer. He knew too well what she expected form him.
"P-please Shayla, m-may I look at your pussy?"
A familiar voice came from behind him.
"Take a good look, Sport. If you don't wise up, it may be the last cunt you'll ever see."
The words spun him around. Rock stood behind him, with a scowl that promised trouble. He moved closer, stopping a foot from Sport's face. Then there was that grin again, much like the first time Rock had peered into his car window.
Sport didn't see the blow that doubled him over. It caved in his stomach, then took his breath away. The pain came within seconds, followed by the violent vomiting that spewed his breakfast across the office floor. The second punch came before he had a chance to recover. The force of it knocked him to the floor. Gasping for breath, he rolled into a ball, trying to protect himself from another blow.
"A friend of ours said you weren't very nice to her last night. She said you were rude. She said you assaulted her. That really pisses me off."
The toe of Rock's boot landed squarely between Sport's legs. The force of it sent pain racing through his body. He rolled onto his back moaning, hands clutched over his balls.
Sport watched Rock's heavy boots step closer, then gasped as Rock took him by the hair, pulling his face closer.
"It's so easy, dude. Just do what the ladies tell you to do. How hard can that be, even for someone like you? Now, tell me you'll behave. Let's hear it, Sport, or the next time I'll cut your nuts off."
Fear and nausea overwhelming him, he nodded two quick nods.
"I said tell me, you pussy. Let's hear it!"
"I-I'll behave. I'll behave, I promise," he croaked.
Rock looked down at him with disgust.
"Fuckin' wimp. I still oughta kick the shit out of you."
Shayla appeared beside him, placing a firm hand on Rock's bulging forearm.
"Let's wait and see if he's learned anything today," Shayla cooed. "He's such a pathetic little thing. I doubt he'll give us any more trouble. If he does, I'll let you finish him off, any way you like."
Shayla smiled down at Sport. He could see up her skirt again as she stood over him. Her slit stood open, it's red center now shiny and wet.
"Agreed Sport?"
The pain caused his voice to waver.
"O-OK, S-Shayla."
When Rock let go of his hair, his head dropped back onto the floor with a crack. Rock wore a nasty smirk as he headed for the door.
"Stupid fuck. I'll be back. You can count on it."
Shayla helped him to his feet. She drew him close to her, holding him in her arms while he sobbed against the ******* valley between her firm breasts.
"Shhh, now, now, you'll be alright. Just do things my way from now on, and you won't have to suffer. Be a good boy and I'll see that Rock never hurts you again. I promise. OK?"
Sport nodded, his face still buried in Shayla's chest.
She clutched his shoulders and moved him away, holding him at arm's length.
"You must be starved."
Shayla glanced at the mess on the floor.
"From now on, please stick to your diet. Had Rock known about it, he might have seriously hurt you. Promise?"
Sport looked up at her with eyes full of tears and defeat, and nodded.
"Good boy. Now, let's get you some breakfast."
***
In the days and weeks that followed, Sport watched helplessly as Shayla took the reins of his business. His employees watched just as helplessly as she ingratiated herself to some, and fired the rest. Those who remained were easy prey for her wiles. They stared at her achingly gorgeous body and face as she made swift daily changes to their routine, never questioning, never objecting to the next order as it slipped from her wide, full lips.
Sport continued to show up for work, on time, at first terrified to disobey Shayla, then, after a while, arrived blank and sullen, taking his chair in the corner each day as she smiled cruelly at him, demanding that he tell her every detail of the night before. And as much as Shayla owned his days, Janey now owned his nights. She was there every night when he stepped in the door, readying his special dinner of drug-laced salad, as condescending and insulting as ever. As the drugs did their work, Sport's mind lost all defense against her rants. As hard as he tried to filter her lies from the unending barrage of sarcastic banter, a few would always slip through, finding some small niche in his brain that would nurse them into planted truths and memories of Sarah and their past life together.
In time, Sport began to accept an undeserved guilt for losing Sarah. He worshiped her as an icon of physical perfection, but was eventually persuaded by Shayla and Janey that he was unworthy of her attention or love. As he slept, his drug-laced dreams were of a Sarah who ignored him, a golden goddess who could pick and choose cocks of more deserving men to satisfy her. She was the ultimate essence of raw, feminine sexuality, sacred and desirable, but impossibly, and rightfully, out of his reach.
Existing on a diet of drug-laced salads and protein drinks, Sport's weight plummeted from 190 pounds to 140 as the weeks dragged on. The rumor among his employees was that he had cancer, but no one dared to ask. When his clothes began to sag on his rail-thin frame, Shayla came to the rescue.
"I have a present for you, Sport," she told him one day as he headed for his corner chair. He stopped and turned to her, eyeing the large white bag on her desk. Shayla shook her head and sighed.
"Well, open it, Sport. I run a business here - I don't have all day."
He went to her desk and slid the contents onto glass desktop. Just below, his eyes were drawn to her firm, slim legs, stretched to their amazing full length, the smooth chocolate skin beckoning him to touch her. Shayla caught him looking, and spread her hands over the glass, blocking his view.
"There'll be time for that later, Sport. Do you think I want you to touch me this early in the morning? Ugh - it's enough to make me lose my breakfast. Pay attention, Sport! Concentrate! Your present, remember? Honestly, I don't know how you were ever able to run this business."
He unfolded the items and held them up, one by one, before her. At first he didn't understand - a few pair of red spandex bicycle shorts, some T-shirts in a variety of pink and purple pastels, and a pair of white tennis shoes with pink eyelets.
"Well, do you like them?" Shayla asked, grinning slyly.
"I-I don't know - are they - you want me to wear this?"
"Of course, Sport! Why else would I waste my hard-earned money on you?"
"B-but, I can't wear these - I mean, I can't be seen in these - people would think - "
"What, Sport? That you're a sissy? That you're not a man? They'd be right, wouldn't they? Your own wife thinks so. Sarah never saw you as a real man. She told you that, more than once, remember?"
Sport struggled with past memories, trying to sort out the real from the imagined. In his mind, Sarah's face, the face he used to know, framed by soft, dark hair, was replaced in an instant by Barbie's big blonde hair and pouty red lips. And then the lips were moving, the words sultry and wanton. "Ummm, I want you Rock, I want a real man, a real man who can put his big hard cock inside me. Not like him! He was never a man! He could never make me cum like you do! Never! Never!" She was pointing at Sport, shouting at him, accusing him of the very thing Shayla had told him. In the end, he no longer knew what Sarah had said, but the words seemed so familiar, and came back to him so easily. He had probably just forgotten them.
"Well, Sport, what are you waiting for? Try them on! Let's get a good look at the new you!"
"B-but, here? At work? What will everyone - "
"I run this company now, not you. No one cares, Sport. Not anymore. No one will even notice."
Sport knew she was right, but the truth still hit him like a sledge hammer. He didn't even know most of the employees anymore. Shayla had hired new workers to replace anyone who thought about objecting to the changes she brought. She hired a new engineer to replace Sport's life-long friend, and he couldn't lift a finger to stop her. She called him Spike, and he quickly went about changing the product line from hospital beds and wheelchairs to sex paraphernalia of every size and shape. She had tripled the company's income in a month while Sport sat drugged in his corner, fidgeting nervously with a constant erection, staring up her skirt. It was what he lived for now - to watch her, to touch her, to please her. And in return, she would take care of him, protect him from Rock. And that was all that mattered.
Sport undressed in front of Shayla, his sense of modesty erased long ago by her skillful manipulations. When he reached for a pair of the spandex shorts, Shayla stopped him.
"You can't wear briefs under spandex, Sport! I hate panty lines. It's why I never wear them myself. You wouldn't want to look up my skirt and see panties instead of my bare pussy, would you, Sport?"
Sport got the message and stripped off his underwear. He reached for the shorts again, and again Shayla stopped him. She couldn't help but stare. His body had become wire-thin and soft, almost boyish in appearance. In contrast, his ever- present erection jutted forward, as hard and urgent as a sixteen-year-old's. It was a strange sight, she thought, this boy-man she had created. How bizarre he looked - such weak, androgynous, impotent flesh flaunting the rigid, pulsing organ that seemed oddly out of place, so wasted on such a pathetic excuse of a man. Her creation brought her pleasure, and she smiled at him.
"Turn around for me, slowly. I want to look at you."
Sport did as she said, hoping that if he pleased her, she might reward him. As he continued to turn for her, she watched, still amused by the outlandish sight.
"Is your little prick always hard?" she asked him casually as he stopped to face her.
"Yes - I don't know why, but it is," he answered.
Shayla smiled wider. "I think it's because you can't stop thinking about me. Isn't that right? Do you want to fuck me with your little prick? Come on, you can tell me. I won't bite."
Sport tried to process her question, but his mind short-circuited. Would agreeing bring Rock's boot to his groin? Would declining be taken as an insult to Shayla? She had become his protector, the one safe place in his life where he could go for both comfort and the touch of a woman's flesh, however limited it might be. Could he dare hope for sex with her?
"I-I want to, but I shouldn't," he finally muttered, looking down at his bare feet.
"And why shouldn't you?" Shayla asked, smiling as she guided their conversation to it's usual end.
"Because you probably want men like Rock, not like me. You wouldn't enjoy it."
"And why do you think that, Sport?"
"Because women want that, women want - "
"Women, Sport? What women? Be specific. How do you know what women want? Tell me, Sport. How do you know?"
Sport shivered as he stood naked in the air-conditioned office. Shayla kept it cold, especially in the summer. But he shivered just as much from what he saw as he looked down over his pale, emaciated body, the outrageous erection ever- present, but the flesh so soft and afraid. The images again flooded his mind, and he told her what she wanted to hear, what he now accepted as the truth.
"Sarah wanted him. She wanted him instead of me. I know because she left me for men like that. I couldn't be that for her - I never can be. So I can't be that for you, either."
Shayla smiled again and stretched her legs under the glass desk, letting her skirt ride high enough to tease him with a glimpse of her naked slit. She marveled at how simple it had been to break him, to convert this once proud husband of a beautiful woman into a weak, fearful shell of a man. She wondered how far he would go for her, to what depths of perversion he might descend for her. The possibilities made her wet as her mind raced with twisted flashes of depravity. If only there was time.
"Get dressed, Sport. You're insight is right on target, as usual. And, the sight of you naked isn't exactly stirring my appetite for sex, with a man, that is. I want to take a tour of the shop this morning, and you can come along, to take notes."
Sport shivered again as he thought of having to face the employees in the clothes Shayla had brought him. He dressed slowly, pulling the tight red spandex shorts up over his bobbing erection, then stretching a small pink T- shirt over his head and shoulders, tugging at it until it covered his thin chest and belly like a second skin. After lacing and tying the white tennis shoes, he stood up and faced her, afraid to think of the sight she must be enjoying. Shayla got up and went to him, this time circling him with slow, enticing steps, her hips swaying maddeningly beneath the tiny skirt. She stopped in front of him, looking down at the obvious outline of his erection under the spandex. Then looking up, directly into his eyes, she traced a path over his cock with a single finger, her finely-manicured nail grazing the underside of it, then moving slowly over the head until she felt the spandex grow moist with a droplet of the fluid she coaxed from him.
"Now, you really don't want to fuck me, do you Sport?" she whispered, still circling her nail over the tip of his cock, spreading the pre-cum into an ever- widening spot on the front of his shorts. He was shaking, trying to contain the orgasm that threatened to explode from deep within his gut. His eyes were locked on hers, his body nearly out of control, but still, the fear of Rock's boot paralyzed him.
"P-please, no, I don't, I mean, I know you don't want me to - I know you want..."
Shayla suddenly burst into laughter, then carefully wiped her finger clean on the front of Sport's T-shirt. Turning back to her desk, she picked up a large clipboard and handed it to him. "Come on, Sport. Let's see what our people are up to this morning. I'm sure you're eager to give them a good look at the new you!"
Shayla led him around the shop, using all her wiles to ensure her new employees stayed compliant and loyal. Her smile melted every man she spoke to, and her mesmerizing voice had even the women eating out of her hands. Sport used the clipboard to try to hide his erection, but everyone's eyes were drawn to his new outfit, and as Shayla ordered him to take notes while they gave her their comments and suggestions, howls of laughter rose from the back of the shop. For her grand finale, Shayla called everyone together for one of her pep-talks, took the clipboard from Sport, and let everyone have a good long look. She ignored the sniggering and whispers as she talked, glancing at Sports' erection now and then to make sure her audience got the message.
Whatever Sport had become, there was no question that Shayla was the boss, both theirs and his. But there were plenty of questions about Sport's sanity, as well as his apparent betrayal of Sarah. The few that still knew him either pitied him or wrote him off. Only Shannon continued to treat him with her familiar brand of acceptance and respect, smiling her gorgeous smile at him every morning, checking on him throughout the day, and always remembering to give him a cheery goodbye at closing. In time, she became his only anchor to reality, and to the past. In a world gone mad, Shannon's presence was the only thing that hadn't gone mad with it. She was the one and only bright spot in day after day of increasing hopelessness and depression.
As the drugs Shayla fed him did their work, Sport withdrew from their world into one where Shayla was the only safe refuge from the encroaching depression and fear. And those nights when Sarah came to him in his dreams, a strange pleasure filled him as he put her hand in Rock's, then watched as the rugged biker took her, using her perfect body the way she deserved, as only a real man could.