The Right Girl for the Job

"Turn around," she demanded. She stretched her legs across the bed. "Jerk off for me now." I pumped my cock. "All the way, bottom to top. Faster. Good boy. Now stop." She took her tits out again, but all I wanted was to touch her face, her hair. I understood now why some dominatrices call themselves goddesses. She watched as I pumped my cock, and then stopped me right at the edge of orgasm again and again.

She grabbed the boy shorts and draped them over her thigh. "I'm going to count down from 15, and when I get to one you're going to cum, okay? Fifteen. Come on, stroke faster. Fourteen. Did you see all of those men looking at you? Thirteen. They all know you're a sissy now. Twelve..."

When she hit one I exploded all over the bed, the boy shorts, her thighs. I held her close to me until the convulsions stopped, her head pressed against her own dress that stretched across my chest. Eventually I relaxed. "Get on your knees and lick this mess off of my thigh," she said, and she pointed to the semen trickling down her leg. I did what I was told. She pointed to every drop until she was clean, and then she stuffed the cum soaked boy shorts into my mouth.

"Leave them there and follow me," she said. We walked to the bathroom, where she rinsed off my cock and then yanked the panties from my mouth. "Now get in the shower and wash the faggot off of you," she said.

When I emerged from the shower, Lacey was leaning against the wall by the window. "Was it everything you expected?"

"I don't know. I worried a lot."

"About what?"

"About you," I said.

"Why would you worry about me?" Lacey asked.

"Because that's a terrible thing to put a person through."

"Are you kidding? My panties are soaked. I'm serious. Look at this," she said. She held open the front of her panties and slid her middle finger along her shaved slit. A clear trail of juice clung to her finger.

"I told you that I was the right girl for the job," she grinned.