Sam And Anada --- Part 1 free porn video

SAM & ANADA --- PART 1 Sleazy Blonde 2023 It had not been a good day. After several years, my parents and I had finally had the big blow-up I had long feared. "Get out, you faggot!" my dad had yelled. "I can't believe I raised you to be like this!" my mom had screamed. "And don't come back!" they had shouted in unison as I hurriedly rushed out the door. I had made my way to the bus station, purchased a ticket to Los Angeles, plunked my self into seat 4B, sat on that rolling ghetto for 10 hours, disembarked at one of the bathroom breaks it had made, waited in line for a stall, finished up there, and walked back to the bus stand only to see the bus and my big backpack in the cargo hold drive off in the night. So, there I stood: me, all five foot one and a frail 110 pounds dressed in my pink Nikes, my black capris, my mauve hoodie covering my white bandeau, my shoulder-length ponytailed hair. No, I was not the macho man my parents had hoped I would be. In fact, I was anything but; I knew it and probably everyone else knew it. With my family's genes, I was a perfect candidate to be a petite ladyboy but for one crucial fact: I was thoroughly heterosexual. It didn't take a rocket scientist to conclude that a bus station at 11 p.m. in a dank mid-west town dressed as I was dressed was not a good place to be. I glanced around, made a few inquiries, and trudged to a 24-hour caf? about a mile down the road. It started raining. It poured. My school bag was getting soaked. I couldn't afford to let my laptop and few remaining possessions get wet. I hurried. It was four hours and two coffees later that a shadow towered over me. "Anada Lawan?" My name! Here? Someone here knew my name? I looked up. "Ms. Blake?" Incredibly, here, in shit-hole Missouri, a teacher from my old high school. I had been in grade 9 when she had been "resigned". Rumours had raced: beating up the janitor, dating the principle, an OnlyFans site on the side; none of us had ever known the truth beyond the stark fact that one day she was no longer teaching. I hadn't even been in one of her classes, but she remembered me! About an hour later, after another coffee and dozens of tissues as I had recounted to her the story of my pathetic life, I was in the passenger seat of her BMW SUV as she headed back home to Minneapolis, a city in which I had never been. I fell asleep. "And here it is!" she said, getting out of the car. Her home was on the outskirts of the city. It was stately. I thought it to be a mansion, but she assured me it was simply a large, spacious 1930s art deco masterpiece. "Anada, take your shoes off," she said as we entered. "You've had a long, tough journey. You can relax here. Follow me to the guest bedroom. There's a bathroom in it. Have a shower, shave whatever it is you shave," she glanced at me, "use the hairdryer in the vanity, change your clothing, and then meet me in the kitchen for a light lunch. Be there in one hour, mister!" she laughed and left me alone in the comfort of that room. Baby pink walls. Pearl-colored carpeting. White dressers. A white vanity with a mirror. A spacious walk-in closet (empty). A large brass bed. An attractive, dainty comforter. The sun shone brightly. The slightly humid late August air breezed through the room. The bathroom was immaculate and well-stocked. I cleaned up and headed barefoot downstairs. I already felt better. "Why are you wearing the same clothes as before?" she asked as she poured and brought over the tea. "It's all I have now, Ms. Blake." "No money?" "Fifty-seven dollars and change." She sighed. "Well, you can't keep wearing the same thing while you're here. I'll tell you what; tomorrow, we'll head to Walmart, I'll loan you $200, and you can pick up some basics." Her kind offer and warm smile produced in me instant relief. "Thank you, Ms. Blake! I appreciate your generosity!" She put her hand on my forearm. "Anada, while you're here, please call me 'Sam'. My name's Samantha and you're no longer in school and, frankly, 'Ms. Blake' makes me sound like an old spinster." She sipped her tea. "I remember you from Central High. Small. Quiet. Soft. Delicate even. Feminine." I blushed. She waved her hand dismissively. "You were noticeable. Memorable in my mind. Tell me now: what are you? A homosexual? A sissy? A transsexual? A cross-dresser? What are you?" She was, if anything, direct. I looked down at my tea and in a whisper slowly answered. "I'm fairly simple. I'm not gay; I like girls. But I like to wear girls' clothing. It makes me feel natural." I raised my head and looked her in the eye. "I've been called all those names in my life, at school, at home. But I'm none of them. I'm just me." "Just a minute," she said, rising, going to the cupboard, and returning to sit again. She passed me a small, thin, white package. "It's a bandage. You nicked your leg when shaving," she remarked nonchalantly as she sipped her tea and pointed at my shin. I blushed and then applied the dressing. I sat quietly listening to her story. She had been dismissed from my school for "incompatibilities with the teaching profession", whatever that meant. She had moved here and begun a new career. "Comprehensive physiological therapy," she said cryptically with a grin. "It pays the bills." As she spoke, I admired her mid-thirties form. Countless students had been astonished at her larger-than-life figure and I had been one of them. She stood at least one foot taller than I and surely weighed almost double. Yet she wasn't fat. Rather, she was muscular, her hefty arms and powerful legs bulging with power. Her red mane flowed wildly across her shoulders. I felt naked under the piercing gaze of her blue eyes. As she once had at school and did again now, she effortlessly conveyed an impression that she was not to be trifled with. (Not that I was inclined to, anyway.) She took my hand and guided me through a tour of her home. Sam had a fine taste in d?cor and the furniture was modern yet casual. I staggered at the sight of her basement gym; Arnold himself would be envious. The living room was bright and spacious and adjoined the classic dining room to which the European-style kitchen was immediately adjacent. The massive maple desk grounded her office in which there were innumerable books on innumerable bookshelves. Tiles in the kitchen, cherry planks elsewhere. Eclectic art scattered here and there on the walls. "Come, Anada. Upstairs." It dawned on me that she had not let go of my hand since the tour started. At the top of the stairs, she began to narrate again. "This is a reading nook. There, you've seen your room. Here are two other guest bedrooms. This one has a queen-size bed and the other has two doubles. That's the linen room. The washer and dryer are in there too." I had never been in such a magnificent home. "This," she said as she opened a door, "is my bedroom." I stood in the doorway awestruck. Dominating the room was a black steel 4-poster king-size bed. The tester panel was mirrored. The upper rails were curved. Dangling from each corner were chains at the end of which were leather cuffs. At the foot of the bed was a wooden sort of footboard with holes in it. Most beds were a foot or so off the floor; so too was this one but there appeared to be steel prison bars between the bed's main rails and the floor. On the bars under the footboard were a clasp and a lock. It looked like a cage. There was a large, tilted mirror above the headboard. I stood motionless, nervous. Sam warmly smiled at me as she led me into her room. "My bed. My dressers. My vanity. There's my walk-in closet. Here's my bathroom," she pushed the door open, "with all the usual things. The hot tub is an indulgence. So is the Japanese toilet. Now, let's go downstairs and get supper going." I glanced one more time at the mummy-like black steel cage in the corner by the window as I followed her. "Since you've got free room and board for a few days, why don't you prepare dinner?" She sat and issued instructions. "The peppers are in the left drawer in the fridge. ... Use the other knife, Anada. ... I said 'green onion'. That's a red one. ... Smaller pieces. ... No, the non-stick pan. ... Put a wooden spoon in the water to keep the starch down. Good. ... That goes in the recycle bin under the sink. ..." I wasn't by any means a good chef let alone a good cook, but she guided me through the preparation. She also directed me to open a bottle of Merlot and pour two glasses (crystal, I think they were). I hated wine. My mother had tended toward alcoholism. I told Sam the same. "You're not your mother, Anada. You're my guest, and a good guest is gracious toward their hostess. Pour two glasses, please. "Now." She said it gently, but I understood her. And I poured two glasses. "Cheers, sweetie," she cried happily. "Cheers, Sam, and thank you." "Drink up!" She gulped her drink. I sipped mine. "Anada, sweetie, I said 'drink up'." A firm voice. I took a proper drink. "Better. There's hope for you," she merrily said. We ate. Dinner conversation concerned teachers at my old school, various pranks some of the other students had committed, life back home, politics (of which I knew little; so I listened), and such. I liked the sound of her voice: clear, confident, composed. It struck me that hers was a controlled and controlling personality. Disciplined. Decisive. Dominant. I liked her: she made me feel safe. After dinner, I cleaned up per her instructions --- e.g. "The other cupboard. That one's for glasses. ... Get a clean cloth; they're under the sink. ... Anada, wipe it again." --- and we soon sat on the softly cushioned couch to watch a movie. "Your pick," she said. "I like Korean dramas." "Well then, we'll try a Korean drama." I picked "Mr. Queen", a beautiful story about a chef transported back in time into a woman's body and her growing attraction to her husband, the King. Twenty minutes into it, Sam declared it a flop. I hid my disappointment. She rather coldly said that she would pick something. She played with the remote. Perhaps having some regret at her terseness, she consoled me: "I'll keep it Korean." And so I began to endure the 2 hours of zombie slashing that is "Train To Busan". About half an hour into it, Sam paused the movie and threw me a question I didn't expect: "Have you ever used nail polish?" I blushed and told her that I had a few times. My parents had caught me twice and warned me against doing so ever again. My subsequent efforts had been conducted quite clandestinely. Fear. Pathetic is the home in which the child is afraid of their parents. In a gentle tone, she said, "Up in your vanity is an assortment of nail polish. Get a bright pink or yellow one and bring it down. You're going to do your nails, Anada." When I happily returned downstairs, I found a fleece blanket on the floor and a small towel. Sam smiled at me and pointed to the floor. "Show me what you can do!" she encouraged. I appreciated the diversion; I disliked the zombie genre. Twenty minutes later, I proudly flashed my brilliant fuchsia talons at her. I felt great! Here I was, in a warm, safe, comforting home, stress- free and relaxed. I hadn't felt so liberated since...well, since forever. I admired my work in amazement. This was me! She beamed at me and asked me whether I also wanted to do my toenails. I eagerly began and soon finished. Sam then asked me to do her nails. "Really?" My surprise was genuine. I thought I had done a good job on mine but now she wanted me to do hers? "Are you sure?" I politely asked. "Yes, Anada. I have confidence in you." And she turned away from me, resumed watching the movie which I had grown to detest, and placed her hand onto her knee. I crawled over and started. I soon shuffled over to her other knee and commenced the other hand. I attended to my work. Smears and splotches were gingerly avoided. The result was quickly ten beautiful fuchsia fingernails. "Anada, that's remarkable for someone who has rarely done their nails. Do you think you could also do my toenails?" Another masterpiece followed. "That's splendid!" she cried. "We have matching, flawless polish!" The smile that accompanied her kind words shot me to the moon. No criticism. No insults. No damnation. Praise: it inspired me. She directed me to return the blanket to its chest and the towel to the laundry upstairs. I joined her on the couch and we finished watching the movie. Turning off the TV, she said, "Bedtime, sweetie. Do you have a nightgown or PJs?" I didn't. "Walmart tomorrow then, sweetie. Now, you: upstairs, brush teeth --- in the vanity you'll find a toothbrush, go to the toilet, use the bidet to wash your tiny cock and tight little butthole, and then rub some lotion all over your body. Use the lavender one; it's in the vanity. Get into bed and I'll check on you. You've got 15 minutes." She clapped her hands together and jokingly said, "Move it or you'll get a spanking!" Blushing furiously, I sped upstairs and did my ablutions. How did she know I had a tiny cock? I've watched porn and accepted that my little man was relatively thin and tiny. I'm Asian, remember? So, three-and-a- half inches (four on a good day) and as thick as a Costco hot dog was something that I resigned myself to. But how did she know? I luxuriated in the smell of the lavender. I patted myself dry with the fluffy pink towel, quickly cleaned up the bathroom, and leapt into bed. What a fine bed it was! Fit for a princess, which, honestly, I started to feel like. "Anada, what are you doing?" Sam asked from the doorway. "I'm in bed like you said, Sam." "Did you brush your teeth?" "Yes, Sam." "Did you go poo-poo and pee-pee?" I couldn't speak. I nodded. "Did you wash your tiny cock and virgin butthole?" I blushed. "Yes, Sam." She smiled. "Brush your hair?" I hadn't. "No, Sam. I didn't." "Well, you must. That's what girls do. Or were you just going on about girls' clothing and such as though it were a fetish?" Much as she boosted my spirits before, she put me directly on the spot and made me feel small. She pointed to the vanity. "Here." "I'm naked, Sam." She walked over to the side of the bed and sat on it next to me. She put one hand on my chest and caressed my cheek with the other. And there was that adorable smile again. "Anada, you're here safe and sound. The only clothes you have right now are very feminine. You've put on nail polish. You smell like exquisite lavender. You're quite cute, honey. I've seen more naked bodies than you can imagine, and yours will not surprise me at all." She bent over and kissed me on the forehead. She got up, went to the vanity, and pulled out the chair. "Anada. Come. Now." That kindly firm tone again. Lips pursed, I slowly drew back the comforter and turned to get out of bed. I paused at the side of the bed. "Come on, sweetie." I nervously stood and at a snail's pace moved toward her. "Stop!" I froze a few feet from the vanity. She moved the chair away from it and came over to me. She put her hands on my shoulders and nudged me to stand in front of the mirror. She stood behind me. "Don't move, sweetie. I'm going to look at you. Just look in the mirror at me and relax. Always relax when you're with me, sweetie." Her thumbs pressed into my shoulders and massaged them. Her eyes darted up and down at my reflection in the mirror. "You're very pretty, Anada," she said as she continued her inspection. She lifted up my hair to inspect my neck. She took a step back and bent her head to look at my butt cheeks. I felt my blood racing through my body. My cock was earnestly hardening; she ignored it. I barely breathed. After a few minutes of inspecting, she told me to sit down. Relieved to be moving again, I sat and looked at her in the mirror. She picked up a brush and started brushing my shoulder-length hair. Stroke. "It's very thick, Anada." Stroke. "You could do lots of styles with it, sweetie." Stroke. "It's grab-worthy," she said playing with it. Stroke. "You could streak it." Stroke. "You could colour it." Stroke. "You could do so many things with it." Stroke. "Just like a girl would, sweetie." Stroke. "That's enough for now," she said eventually. "It's your turn to do mine. My room. My vanity. Come." I froze. My "tiny cock" as she called it was in its full glory, if that's what one could call four inches of a raging hardon. "Come on. I know you've got a hardon and I've seen all shapes and sizes of them. There's nothing to be embarrassed about when you're with me." And she left my room. I felt myself lessening and, with a turgid but not hard cock, anxiously went to her room. She was already sitting at her vanity. "You saw how I did it? Good. Now you do mine the same way." She talked about what I might want to buy tomorrow. She rambled on about the merits of different types of makeup and how each might look on me. "Mascara is a must for you, sweetie. Eyeliner too." With each word she softly spoke, my tiny little cock resumed its tiny little flagpole state. I stroked her hair for what seemed like hours. I had never been naked in front of a woman. And Sam was a goddess to me. Her hair was luxurious. Her alabaster skin was flawless. In the mirror, I watched her large breasts gently move up and down in sync with her breathing. I so wanted to jerk off --- but there was no way I could. "We'll do this every night, if you wish, Anada," she said as she abruptly ended our haircare session. Without looking at me, she rose, went to one of her dressers, fetched something from it, and returned to me. "Arms up!" I lifted my arms above my head. She dropped something over my arms and head. As it fell, it snagged on my cock. Wordlessly, she freed it and allowed it to fall. She flattened it out. "Turn around, sweetie." I turned and looked in the mirror. I now wore an extremely large pink silk T-shirt. It hung loosely on my body. It draped down past my knees. There was a hint of perfume on it. It electrified me. She took hold of my hands and placed them on my chest. She began to rotate them and move them around my nipples. "Look at me in the mirror, Anada." My eyes met hers in the mirror. She bent over and whispered in my ear: "Keep rubbing your nipples, sweetie." Her hands caressed the sides of my chest and wandered down to my hips. They lingered there before inching to my butt cheeks and then quickly moving to my lower belly. Oh, please touch my cock, I thought, please touch it. But she didn't. Once she saw the desperation on my face, she smirked and gradually withdrew her hands, finger by finger, from my body. "Be downstairs at exactly 7:30 for breakfast. Not before. Not after. Seven-thirty exactly. To your room. Scoot. Goodnight, Anada." I went to my room and, after what seemed like ages, fell asleep. After an extremely satisfying sleep, I awoke, dressed, and headed downstairs. I looked at my watch: 7:30 on the button! "Good morning, Sam!" I greeted her as she sat at the kitchen table. "Good morning to you too, Anada. You're late." I glanced at the microwave: 7:35. The oven: 7:35. She held out her wrist so I could see her large Omega Astronaut watch: 7:35. "Anada, please reset your watch and the clock in your bedroom. My time is now your time. Got it? Good. There's fresh coffee in the pot. Why don't you get us some fruit and buns on plates?" She sat and directed. I moved and implemented. We ate. "We're leaving in 20 minutes. Brush your hair and put on a hairband. There should be a pink one in the vanity; it will match your nail polish. Now, please clean up," she said as she stood, "and be at the front door in 17 minutes. And don't forget to clean your teeth." I glanced at my watch and hustled to meet the timing. At Walmart, she handed me $200 cash and told me to be at the front door at exactly 11:00. "I'm off to do some of my own errands," she merrily said as she drove off. I soon filled my shopping cart. Panties. Low cut socks with lace trim. Leggings. One pair of tights. A beautiful (at Walmart?) pair of jeans with flower embroidery on the back pockets. Two pairs of mid-thigh shorts in tan and baby blue. Three T-shirts. Another hoodie. Unicorn and mermaid pajamas. A bubble-gum pink blouse. A lightweight white raincoat (not Gore-Tex: it was Walmart). A pair of glittering sandals and another pair of runners. I reckoned I had several dollars left and quickly found some accessories. I was ecstatic! All my life I had long dreamt of such an opportunity and here it was, given to me on a silver platter by Sam! Sam! Given to me by Super Sam! I could hardly wait to get home and put my new clothing! Everything I held in my bags was me! Mine! The true me! All mine! I stood outside by the curb: 10:55 (corrected time). I waited. And waited. And waited some more. At 11:30, Sam drove up and cheered me into the SUV. "You're late, Sam," I jokingly said as she got into traffic. "How so, Anada?" "You said 11 and you were late." "Incorrect, Anada. I told you to be outside at 11. I never said when I would show up." She grinned at me as she said it. I realized that she was right. I said nothing more about it. We soon parked and arrived at Sally's Spa. "What are we doing here?" "You, young...lady, are going to get your hair done and some introductory makeup. I think you should also get your ears pierced. All girls have pierced ears." "I don't have any more money, Sam," I said worriedly. "This treat is on me. However," she said as we went in, "I know just the style you need so just say 'yes' when the hairdresser offers it to you. Same for all the other things. I've arranged it all. Understood?" "Never bite the hand that feeds you," they say. So, I nodded. Three hours later, I met Sam again and got in the SUV. "You look beautiful!" she cried. Despite my utter lack of choice in the selection, I felt beautiful. My thick hair was now curly, touching the collarbones. The off-centre part added flair. There were several stark blonde streaks running through it. Each of my ears were pierced thrice: large faux-silver hoops on the earlobes, an industrial pin from front to back, and an orbital conch in the centre. My heart fluttered as my mascara-laden fake eyelashes fluttered. One glittering zirconia stud through my nostril. Yet the centrepiece of this transformation was my bright cherry red lip gloss. My dreams had come true: I looked like a beautiful young woman. Back home, I helped her unload the BMW. She too had several bags. "Anada, I want to see you wear what you bought. A fashion show! I'll make us a tea while you get changed into the first outfit.! Get going!" she enthused. I started heading upstairs. "Where are you going?" she snapped. "Upstairs to get changed," I replied, puzzled. "No. We're doing this in the living room where I can sit comfortably and sip my tea. Now don't give me any nonsense about being embarrassed about your body. I saw all of it, including your teeny-weeny dickie, last night." Excitedly resigned, I put my bags down in the living room and with my head down undressed. Sam sat, sipped her tea, and said nothing. I dressed. "I love those panties, sweetie. The lace is a nice touch. ... Those anklet socks are so you! ... I'm surprised you got PJs instead of a tap set. To each their own, I suppose. ... Look at that blouse! It's perfect! ... See how your sandals sparkle on your feet and your jewelry sparkles on your head! Charming! ..." Once again, Sam made me feel great. My doubts and worries, my insecurities and troubles were retreating with each word she spoke. And I was no longer ashamed of my little Tiger's throbbing away in front of her. "I got some things for you too, Anada." She bent over and picked up a bag. She drew from it what seemed to be a sheet of fabric with strings on the vertical edges. "Come here and stand in front of me." I did. I was being examined. "Turn slowly, sweetie." Her hands caressed my cheeks and drifted towards my inner thighs. "Anada, last night I told you to shave. You didn't." She pulled one of my pubic hairs. "Tonight, I'll put some Nair out and you'll rid yourself of that tiny jungle covering your tiny cock. You'll also cream your anus too. I want you to be soft and smooth like every girl looks. Now, face the window." I spun. She stood and wrapped that fabric thing around my chest and stomach. "This," she said pulling it together, "is a corset. By tightening it, "she pulled, "we can enhance your shape to make it more feminine. I want you to wear it until I tell you to take it off. Is that okay, honey?" I nodded. I desperately wanted to jerk off. Her touching me was setting me on edge. I could explode soon. I felt my ribs constricting. It was tight but not painfully so. "Go look in the mirror, sweetie." I gazed at my reflection in the hallway. Sam came up behind me and started rubbing my shoulders. It soothed me. "If you want, Anada, you can do this all the time. Be the girl you want to be. Everyday. Here. With me. When I finish my vacation and get back to work, you'll need something to do." Her hands found their way down to my hips. Her soft fingers tickled me. Why couldn't she just reach for my cock and play with it? Why? "You," she said as she kissed my shoulder, "are going to enrol in some online college program. "You," she kissed the other one, "are going to clean your bedroom and bathroom, my bedroom and bathroom, and the kitchen every day. "You'll study, "she raised my hair and kissed my neck, "you'll learn something practical for a working life, no uneducated bums here. "You'll keep my home neat and tidy." "Look at me." Our eyes met in the mirror. Her hands descended toward my cock --- but stopped short. Again. "Don't worry about the money. Don't worry about room and board. Just do as I say with a smile on your face and happiness in your heart and we'll be fine. Is that okay with you? Will you always do what I say? Is that a fair bargain?" Given the literal two cents I now had to my name, the obvious stupidity of my plan to "make it" in Los Angeles, the care and comfort Sam offered me, and the delightful prospect of spending more time with this larger- than-life goddess, I agreed. "Yes, Sam." "Excellent. For that, "she said as I felt the squeeze of her breasts leaving my body, "one more treat for today." She held up a pair of three-inch espadrilles with straps that would go up the calf. "Tan shorts. Pink blouse; keep the bandeau on. White panties. And these. Five minutes. Starting...now!" She handed me the shoes. A few minutes later, I looked in the mirror just as we headed out for dinner. I saw my true self. I smiled. It was a Korean restaurant of all places. Out of the car, she didn't offer me her hand but rather her arm. I put mine through hers. We walked in. A hostess led us to a table. I tried to move Sam's chair, but she brushed me off and moved mine and beckoned me to sit. I sat. She sat herself. "Anada, whenever I say 'we need to talk', that means ours will be a serious conversation in which I talk and you sit and listen and answer any questions I have. Understood?" she asked brightly. I nodded. "Good. We need to talk." My nod was my silent reply. "During the time we have together, and I hope today that it will be a long time, you must understand one immutable fact." She stared. I waited silently. "You are the woman in our relationship, Anada. I lead; you follow. I question; you answer. I order; you comply. I require; you submit. I say these things with a purpose in mind. I have a good sense about you. You'll never be nor do I think you want to be a macho man. No army. No police force. No construction work. Yours is a delicate soul in a delicate frame, and I can and will protect it and nurture it. "If you agree to that singular fact." The hostess came and asked us for our orders. Sam requested the bibimbap for herself and, raising her eyebrows at me before I could utter a word, requested --- "She would like..." Sam said to the hostess --- miso soup and seaweed salad for me. There came a bottle of Pinot Grigio for us. "Cheers. Drink, Anada." I knew what she expected. I drank --- not sipped --- my wine. "Cross your legs, sweetie. ... Back straight, sweetie. ... You look ravishing, sweetie. ... Napkin, sweetie. ...Smaller portions, sweetie. ... I love the twinkle in your eye, sweetie. ..." And so on. Truthfully, the soup and salad were delicious, crossing my legs kept them warm in the air-conditioned room, my straight back felt better with the corset on, I didn't feel nervous about ruining my lipstick after napkin dabbing, my stomach felt full after small bites and slurps, and I realized that this woman was controlling me and that I longed for her to do so. I would surrender to her (if I hadn't already). We finished. "I'm grateful, Sam. Very grateful." "Grateful? Anada, gratitude is dog's disease. Perhaps I'll explain to you one day why I think that way. For the moment, just say 'thank you'. I'm not ready and maybe I never will be to hear you say that you're grateful to me." She shuddered a bit as she replied. She paid and we returned home. "Anada! Get your laptop and start looking for an online college. A reputable one. Not some junk scam like Pacific Northwest or anything in that vein. You said you like accounting and bookkeeping. There are some institutions out there for you offering that. "Also, Nair then get changed. And don't put on your PJs. I have something else for you." She handed me a pink, poly, cami tap set and pink EVA platform sandals and she pulled a string to undo the corset. "You have 20 minutes to be down here changed and with your laptop. Get going, girl!" She laughed. Nineteen minutes later, I stood before her in the kitchen where she was slicing fruit. "Breakfast for tomorrow. As for you, inspection time. Drop them. Now," she casually ordered, pointing at my tap pants. I balked. She stared. I dropped them. I held my hands to my chest. "Good. A few strays here and there but you'll get them tomorrow, yes? Good. Now, turn around, bend over, and spread your cheeks apart. ... Excellent!" I felt her finger caress the crack of my buttocks but she was just pulling my tap pants up. "Why not give me your driver's license, birth certificate, and high school records? I'll photocopy them for you and keep the originals in my safe." I complied. She provided. A few hours later, I shut down my laptop and joined Sam on the couch. She was watching "The Walking Dead". I hated it. My body language betrayed my true feelings. She noticed. "Anada, come sit here on my lap." She leaned back on the generous couch. I sat down, my back to her chest. My legs on hers. "Arms up, sweetie. Put your hands on the back of my head. Good. Now keep your legs outside mine. She spread her legs, pushing mine outward beyond hers. I felt tremendously exposed but secure next to her. "Now close your eyes and be quiet while I watch my show." I closed my eyes. Her hands started rubbing my top, my inner thighs, my nipples, my stomach, my ribs, my belly, my neck, my upper thighs. Her touch was electrifying. My nipples surged with excitement. And, once again, I had a furiously raging hardon that her fingers seemingly found impossible to locate. "Your pants are wet, sweetie," she whispered as her hand fleetingly brushed my tiny Tiger. I moaned. "Shh!" came the crisp order. "I'm watching my show." I moaned in silence. So this is how a kitten feels when its tummy gets rubbed, I thought. Later, we went upstairs. She looked at me in my bedroom and nonchalantly said, "Bedtime, Anada. You know the routine." Though not convinced that once constituted a routine, I nonetheless began that routine: teeth got brushed, toilet flushed, bidet used, lotion rubbed all over my body. I put on my PJs, stood by the vanity, and awaited her. Sam smiled as she entered my room. She was gorgeous --- and wearing nothing but her panties. My jaw dropped. But for porn on the net, I had never seen a woman so scantily clad. Obeying her flick of her wrist, I moved the chair and stood in front of the mirror. "Take them off," she muttered. My PJs came off. "Take them out," she murmured. My earrings came out. "Look at me in the mirror," she moaned as she pressed her voluminous breasts against my back. "Nipples," she whispered. My tiny Tiger raged in untouched fury as I rubbed my nipples. Her hands explored my body. Her fingers stroked through my hair. Her palms greased my ribcage. They descended toward my belly. I wanted to cum so badly. She was here. She was awesome. She was the most desirable sight I'd ever seen. My body shook at her touch. I felt the back of her fingers tortuously creep down toward my inner thighs. The back of her fingers brushed against my scrotum. A gentle kick. "Spread your legs, Anada." The last ray of the setting sun warmly left the room. Her fingernails fleetingly tickled my sac. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to do something. I needed her embrace, her seizing me, her overpowering me. But I couldn't move. "You've been a very good boi," she whispered in my ear while maintaining her gaze. "I think you need a little reward." She stepped back and told me to put my hands together behind my back. She told me to turn around. "Kiss them gently, sweetie," she said as she pulled my head toward her breasts. "Gently, sweetie, gently." She petted my head with one hand and caressed my lower abdomen with the other. "That's it. Good boi." Touch my cock, please! I screamed to myself. I lost track of time. I don't know how long I delicately kissed her nipples, her areolas, her curvy stunning breasts. Her alabaster skin was smooth to the touch and held a fragrant smell. "Stop," she tenderly sighed. I looked up at her. She smiled down at me. "Sit, sweetie." And she began to brush my hair. I stared at her in the mirror. How much my life had changed in under two days. From expulsion and excommunication to embrace and exhilaration. I no longer had any fear or worry; Sam was with me. My dubious, ambiguous future was erased; my possible future in school and in this house --- this home --- came into sharper focus. Doubts fled and confidence advanced. I needed this. I wanted this. I was hers and felt prepared to do anything to remain so. "My room," she said as she put the brush down. As I stroked her hair with the brush, she stared at me in the mirror. I concentrated on making every brush stroke count. I concentrated my efforts so as not to miss a single hair on her head. I gradually noticed that she was not simply looking at me. She was also lightly caressing her plush nipples as she did so. My Tiger stood proud --- frustrated but proud. And Sam knew it. "Put the brush down, Anada." She stood and walked to the doorway. "Bedtime, sweetie." She barred my way as I was leaving. She softly gripped my chin with one hand and, as she kissed me once on the lips, ran her fingernails --- those beautifully polished fingernails --- along Tiger's underside. But only once. And with a smile on her face, she nudged me out into the hallway and disappeared into her room. It was another sensuously dreamy night. The next morning, I dressed in my anklet socks, baby blue shorts, a white T-shirt. I put on my hoop earrings and freshened my lipstick; I chose the pink gloss this time. I soon stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared at my watch: 7:29 and 10 seconds. And 20. And 30. 40. 50. I entered the kitchen and greeted Sam with my best smile. But she looked at me sternly. What have I done? What's wrong? Is she mad at me? Did I miss something cleaning? Does she not care for me for some reason anymore? My worries grew exponentially amidst her silence and glare. "Anada, sit." I immediately sat and gulped. "We need to talk." I couldn't breathe. "I'll get straight to the point. I like to sleep well. Every night before you came into my home, I slept well. The past two nights, I have gone to bed relaxed and, frankly happier than I have been in several years. You've had a positive effect upon my outlook. "But," she paused, "I have not slept well at all. Do you know why?" Her emotionless, steely voice scared me. "I don't, Sam." "Anada, during our 'we need to talk' conversations, it's 'Ms. Blake'. Understood?" I vigorously nodded. She raised her eyebrows at me. "No, I don't, Ms. Blake." "That's better. Anada, just about as I am to fall asleep, I get wakened by the incessant banging of your brass bed headboard against the wall. Not just once. Not just twice. But several times throughout the night." She leaned back in her chair and glared at me. I knew what she was talking about but feared her actually saying it. But she did anyway. "Your jerking off is ruining my sleep. The thought of your masturbating that tiny little dick of yours is amusing in part. However, your proclivities are disturbing me." I knew I was red-faced with shame. And I was certainly paralyzed with dread. What might happen? Breathless, I listened to her go on: "Now, I didn't think twice before inviting you into my home. You were in need, and I rescued you. I don't regret that. But I didn't think it would come at the price of my no longer sleeping well. "I've given this some consideration. I know that your original plan had been to go to Los Angeles and do...whatever the fuck you were planning on doing. I also know that I've offered you an alternative: a room, food, schooling, security, not to mention understanding and compassion. "Those two options are still open to you. "You can take this duffel bag," she plunked one on the table, "pack all the things I've bought for you and whatever else you brought with you and then leave this house, my home, within one hour. Go to LA. Go to buttfuck Louisiana for all I care. Will I miss you? Yes, but I'll probably get over that within a week or so. "The other option --- staying here --- has conditions. My conditions. And there is no negotiation about them. Do you understand me so far?" "Yes, Ms. Blake." I was scared shitless. "Good. The first condition is to put this on." She bent over and picked up a small bag off the floor. She put her hand in it. She drew a small box out of it. She put it in front of me. "Open it. Now." I did so. It was a small, shiny, metal device with curves and a small locking mechanism. I didn't recognize it. "Do you know what this is?" she asked. "No, Ms. Blake. I don't." She smiled as though amused. "This is an ultra small chastity cage. It goes around your puny little balls and that microscopic thing you call a cock gets compressed into the cage. It has a lock. You wouldn't be able to take it off. I would hold the keys to the lock. "No erections. No jerking off. No playing with yourself." She leaned forward, put her elbows on the table, and cupped her chin. "You would only be able to masturbate when I permit you to do so. Better yet, for a variety of reasons that I might discuss with you another day, I would masturbate you. Effectively, your little dicklet would be mine. "Under my control. "Always." She stood and fetched herself a coffee. She didn't offer me one. I didn't expect her to, given her tone. "The second condition is that you be tattooed. Several tattoos. The first would be a small, bright red rose behind your left ear. The second would be a small, colorful butterfly behind your right ear." She paused and drank her coffee. "I would also want two tattoos next to your little, tiny cock. Pelvic tattoos. One would be a tiger --- that's what you call your little jewel, right? --- and the other would be a unicorn because that is part of who you are." She drank more coffee and casually continued as though I wasn't even there. "The last one would be a tramp stamp. Do you know what a tramp stamp is?" I withered under her gaze. "Yes, I do, Ms. Blake." "Good. It would be a floral brand, very feminine design, and very bold too. I would pick it out. You would wear it for life." Her offhanded manner of telling me these conditions threw me into complete disarray. I liked her. I wanted her. I adored her. I would do almost anything for her. But my body! There would be no going back. I would be marked as a woman would be, as some of the girls in my old high school were, as my old neighbour's university daughters back home were. There would be no going back. None at all. She poured the remainder of her coffee in the sink and approached me. Mouth agape, I looked up at her. She smiled mischievously at me. "One last condition." "Yes, Ms. Blake?" She bent over and kissed me softly on the lips. I closed my eyes and savoured the exquisite touch of her lips on mine. "Anada, you would sleep with me in my bed from now on." Her finger lingered under my chin. I started to cry. Tears flowed down my face. Here was the most wonderful woman I had ever met in my life. Here was my saviour from my ruinous parents' home, my life preserver and now rescuer from the uncertainty of my fleeing across the country to an unknown fate, alone. Here was someone who wanted me. Me. Anada Lawan. Femboi. Girly man. Sissy. Ladyboy-in-waiting. Faggot. All the other names I had ever been called and all the innumerable insults hurled at me. She wanted me. I sniffled as I picked up the cage. I nodded and couldn't stop crying. She stood up, grinned, and jerked her head, beckoning me to stand. I stood and looked up at her. "Stand on the chair." I cautiously stood on the chair. I was still getting used to my platform sandals. "Drop them," she whispered. I unbuttoned my shorts and let them fall. I hooked my panties with my thumbs and pulled them down. She went to the cupboard and got a zip-lock bag. She went to the freezer and put ice in the bag. "Spread your legs a tiny bit, Anada." I did. Staring in my eyes and keeping a hand on my shoulder to maintain my balance, she gave me a little peck on the lips. Suddenly, my balls screamed in pain. Cold! Cold! Cold! I whimpered. "Just a few more seconds, sweetie," she whispered. She soon put the ice bag on the table. I stared at the ceiling, the walls, the cupboards as she fidgeted. Click. "It's done," she said decisively. I looked down. Tiger was squeezed into a cage that seemed to be the size of a thimble. This was one of those moments that shifted my life from one trajectory, albeit an aimless one, to another, albeit a subordinate one. I knew it. I had lost one thing but had gained another. I wanted to laugh, cry, sob, and rejoice. I was so confused. And happy. She pulled up my panties and my shorts and buttoned them. "Ready for some tattoos?" I sniffled and nodded. "Yes, Ms. Blake." She kissed me. "Anada, you may call me 'Sam' again. Now, pour us each a coffee, let's have breakfast, and we'll get our day underway, sweetie." FINITO