A Rose by Any Other Name Vol. 03

-CHAPTER NINE-

Our kiss lingered on, hot and passionate. Bree's lips were soft and inviting. As we explored each other's mouths, her hands tangled in my hair, keeping me close. I wasn't going anywhere!

My fingers traced the swell of her back and inched lower, sliding down her skirt and touching her luscious ass. Oh my god! I gave her a quick, playful swat, and she gasped into my mouth.

Bree pulled back and gave a teasing smile before lowering to her knees. Looking down at Bree, there was something in her eye. Desire? She undid my pants and started to pull them.

Then, I bolted upright.

Damn! Just a fucking dream. Why did I have to wake up?

Wait, does that mean? I swallowed hard and looked down.

Still there, my smooth hairless pussy. I stared at my naked body, seeing my barely noticeable breasts and, well, everything. Damn!

I pressed my hands to my face, dragging them down slowly.

Okay, Riley, breath.

I had spent so much time in therapy after my parents' deaths that I knew all the techniques. "How am I feeling?" was always the one Mrs. Coxwell loved to use.

So, how am I feeling? Remember, you should just identify and not judge.

What am I feeling emotionally?

Some panic, sure. There's some shame. Also, there is some guilt, but who knows why? Maybe because I, I don't know, enjoyed it? Curiosity?

What am I feeling physically?

My body feels warm. I'm hungry. My chest is kind of tight. My arms feel weak. There's a dull ache between my legs. On top of that, my skin is very sensitive. Everything feels so intense.

What thoughts are running through my mind?

This isn't real. How long is this going to last? What if I never change back? Do I want to change back? Do I want others to know?

I forced a deep breath through my nose. I held it and then released it through my mouth.

Okay, Riley. That's the check-in.

So, how am I feeling? Strangely okay, right? With my parents, the stages of grief all took days, weeks, months, and even years, but where was I with my penis?

Did I honestly go through denial and anger in one morning? I did not attempt to bargain, so was I depressed now? No, not really. So, what does that leave me with? Acceptance?

This is happening, and I know that. I accept that. If that's true, what the fuck do I do next?

I can't figure out what the fuck to do next?

You're smart, even Bree thinks so. Let's examine myself then: how bad is it?

Centering myself in front of the mirror on my closet door, I stared. I really, really stared.

At first glance, I still looked like me. Like Riley, but with some changes, it's not bad. Not really.

No penis was huge, there was no denying that, but what else? Come on, dude, focus, stop staring at your pussy.

I forced my eyes to scan my body. Although my hair felt softer, nobody would notice. The girly haircut was noticeable, but my cap could hide that.

My face? It was, what, softer? It's like my features were just toned down a bit. It was cute, but was it that much different? I grabbed a picture on my phone and compared it. Maybe it's a little different. It was hard to tell.

I grabbed my glasses, put them on, and returned to the mirror. I don't think people could tell unless they knew me very well. However, nobody on campus knew me that well. Thankfully. Thankfully? The one time it pays off to be a loser.

My body had more drastic changes, the breasts. Yes, they were small, but there. My hips were wider, and my waist slimmed, and that caused an effect on my ass. It looked a little more plump, kind of pert.

It's wild; this morning, everything felt massive. I was clearly panicking because the changes were not that drastic. I could hide everything with the right clothes.

For now? Will these changes continue? Did I want them to? That's out of my control. Let's focus on what I can control.

I grabbed my clothes and got dressed; the baggier, the better. My regular boxer briefs felt uncomfortable. Everything fits differently, but I can't afford new stuff now. Luckily, nobody will notice, especially with my Padres cap and my Clark Kent glasses.

Was Riley my secret identity now, and what does that make Rose? My superpower? For a split second, I pictured myself in a Supergirl costume and shuddered.

I grabbed my phone--1:27 PM.

Fuck, I missed Marketing. Whatever, I'll borrow the notes from Kathy on Monday. Right now, I have way bigger problems.

Problems like, what do I do now?

Realistically, I should go to the doctor. The idea of waltzing into the San Diego University Health Clinic and telling a doctor, "by the way, I woke up without my penis," terrified me.

They'd study me. Write paper after paper. I'd be worldwide news. Heck, I'd be the world's laughing stock.

Riley, you idiot, I could be dying or worse? There is no information about this. Am I healthy? Am I having a psychology break? I should really get checked out.

Nope! Not going to happen!

I don't know if I can ever tell anybody about this. I have no family, not anymore. Close friends? Who would they be? Classmates? I don't know if I could handle that.

Then I thought about Bree. What about Bree? Can I tell Bree?

She's smart, she can solve problems. All true. She kissed me! Me! But what did that mean? Did she like me, or was she just comforting a loser crossdresser? Well, not a crossdresser anymore? Ugh, whatever.

So what then?

It is Friday, right? That means payday. I searched on my phone, and my regular dishwasher wages hit my account; it wouldn't be for another week until the waitress's money appeared. Sure, it's something, but not enough to keep Uncle Mick and the mob from breaking my bones or worse.

$750 by Wednesday. Uncle Mick was being unreasonable, but I guess that's what you get when dealing with the mob.

What I needed was money and fast. I still have a few shifts before Wednesday and must do better than $39.

You know what? Maybe I could use this whole thing to my advantage.

Before I got any ideas, my stomach growled loudly. I hadn't eaten all day, and my body's been through some stuff. I was starving!

I needed to get to the cafeteria. Looking back at the mirror, I see the changes were hidden well enough, but my nails? Still red from last night. I grabbed the nail polish remover Bree gave me and scrubbed until my nails were bare again. Weirdly, they looked healthy. Less ragged.

Now, all that was needed was to eat all the food the cafeteria had.

The rest of the weekend was a blur. My plate was completely full, and I just didn't mean how much food I ate. Seriously, I don't think I ever ate like this before. Not only did I have homework to catch up on, but ever-approaching payments to the mob pushed me to practice my makeup and, well, girl skills as much as possible. Seriously, I think I read every advice piece from waitresses on how to get more tips available online! It's surprising how much I could get done between jerk-off sessions.

A few hours before my Sunday shift started, I received a text from Bree informing me that she was visiting her parents and wouldn't be around, but she left the keys for me. Parents? It must be nice. A binge of jealousy waved through me, and then I thought about how I'd have to get ready for my shift as "Rose," all by my lonesome. At least I practiced.

Letting myself into Bree's apartment without her there felt taboo. I even arrived way too early to ensure I was ready in time, but now, throwing my stuff on the table, I realized that was a mistake.

Her place smelled nice, much nicer than my dorm room, and was well organized. Looking around, I admired some knick-knacks from a trip to Japan, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her bedroom.

I shouldn't. I really shouldn't, but I did.

Her bed looked cozy with all the extra pillows and the Grumpy Bear; I resisted the urge to lie down and looked around more. Seeing some pictures of her with her parents brought back the jealousy, but her other random travel photos brought me a smile. Damn, she was so beautiful. That's when I realized I was standing in front of her dresser, and putting aside all of my pretenses, I opened it up and found her pantie drawer. Honestly, I didn't know they came in that many styles. I picked up a thong and smelt in; it smelled like Tide. Picturing her wearing those made me blush, and I quickly shoved them back into the drawer and closed it.

Her closet was equally as intriguing. Seeing all these skimpy dresses made me realize I had only ever seen her at work. Bree was a party girl, at least kept the clothes of one. Damn, did I want to see her in one of these tiny black dresses!

With a dull thud, I shut the closet door and returned to the vanity, where I should probably start getting ready.

Makeup took forever. Luckily, Bree left the good stuff. Fuck, keep it together, Riley, it's makeup. The good stuff? What was wrong with me?

Slowly and meticulously, I applied all my new makeup skills, transforming my face. Well, not really. Transforming what? Before I was covering up Riley to create Rose, not, what, was I just improving upon Rose? Wait, was I just Rose now?

I shuddered, took some deep breaths, and then looked at myself in the mirror. I was cute, though. Whether I wanted this was irrelevant; it was here, and I needed the money. So that means I would have to use it.

My uniform sat freshly laundered and folded neatly on the table. Thank goodness for Bree; I couldn't store it at my place. Sure, I could hide it, but what happens when it gets in the laundry? She was turning into my savior.

The panties slid on so much easier this time. No tucking was terrific, plus no chafing. Just this smooth fabric against skin that some felt way too nice. Why were these so comfortable? Damn that stupid fucking wish.

Thinking of my boxer briefs, I didn't know how I'd return to them. Then my traitorous brain thought, "I could buy some." Where could I hide them? How could I put them in the wash without anyone knowing? I lived in a dorm. I'm stuck with the boxer briefs for now. Focus, Riley, why are you obsessing over underwear in times like this?

The uniform looked better on me today. The small changes to my body were not massive, but I didn't feel as awkward this time. Just different.

The real question was, would any of this actually help? I could not settle for another night of just $39 in tips.

Sweet Cheeks felt so different on a Sunday night. I couldn't pinpoint the exact reason, maybe because it was Ava's day off, although it was nice not to be made fun of. Perhaps it was Bree's reassuring smile not there to help me. Maybe, just maybe, it was because it was the first time I was here without my dick.

Things started steady enough, with Sori moving effortlessly from table to table, but once the dinner rush was over, she was off, leaving me alone with Charlene.

Charlene was so beautiful. Seriously she was unbelievable, but, and let me be delicate here, she was a fucking moron.

It was only my second shift, but I already had to help her with the POS system and remind her to bring water to the tables. You know, the basics. I'm not even that experienced, but watching her struggle to get the proper order actually gave me a weird boost of confidence. There was no way I could be as bad as her, right?

And in some strange way, I think that's what I needed. As much as I hated how awkward I felt, I was starting to see myself in a new light. Maybe I could do this? All the advice I'd read online was surprisingly working. Sure, I still didn't look people in the eye as much as I should, and I was still hesitant around the customers, but I kept my smile and stayed positive.

Compared to Thursday, it was working; the tips seemed somewhat better. Maybe it was the power of the pussy? I wasn't pretending to be a girl anymore. I was a girl? At least downstairs, I don't know; it was so damn confusing, but whatever. It wasn't the time to dwell on that.

The skimpy uniform still felt embarrassing; I mean, I was showing so much skin, and I'd spent my whole life hiding my body away. I had to remind myself that I was Supergirl right now. I could handle it. I could totally handle it.

Every trip to the kitchen upped my anxiety, though. Frank, man, I'd been avoiding his gaze all night. Why has his eyes so fixated on me? Frank was always a little weird around the new waitresses, but did he know the truth, or worse, was he flirting with me? Or was that worse? Either way, I hated each trip to pick up the orders for my customers. I didn't want to flirt with Frank, but I didn't want to be exposed, either. This whole damn situation was all so complicated.

Anyway, after closing out the cash system for Charlene and myself, thank goodness she was so hot, I moved on to my tips. $69. Nice, not enough, but better. Maybe I was starting to get the hang of this?

-CHAPTER TEN-

Back in class brought back some well-needed normalcy to my life. However, I couldn't stop adjusting my Padres cap and my glasses, hoping my disguise would hide my changes. Baggy clothes are not new to me; hoodies and jeans have been my most common choices since childhood. I was never comfortable showing my slim body, but this was different. I tried to picture myself as Kara Danvers, which helped.

"Mr. Rose, could you please remove your cap? This is a classroom, not a ballgame." Professor Jenkins' voice startled me. Oh no, please, my disguise! A few snickers were heard around the room as I muttered an apology, removed my hat, and tossed it into my bag, exposing my now very girly hair. I prayed nobody would say anything, and I never prayed.

"I like your hair," came a whisper from Kathy, sitting beside me. I felt warm and embarrassed.

"Um, thanks," I mumbled deliberately, trying to lower my voice.

"Now, everyone, please get into your groups. Today is the last day you'll get time in class to work on this critical group project. Very important because it's worth twenty-five percent of your grade. Approach me if you need any clarification."

Shit! Groups! I missed Friday. How did I miss group project day? My palms started to feel sweaty as I looked around for a group.

Kathy nudged my elbow. "Don't worry, you can join mine." She looked around, "Here they come now."

"Thanks, Kathy." My voice sounded weird. I was trying to replicate my old voice, but it felt as odd as the first night I played Rose and pitched it up. She didn't give me a look like it was weird, though, so maybe I was just being paranoid.

That's when our group started to settle in. Carlos slid into a desk beside Kathy, flashing his perfect smile. Well, maybe this wouldn't be so bad, but then someone else sat down next to me.

"Oh, Riley, you're with us?" Mark! Fucking great, that asshole. He is a complete asshole who thought he knew everything.

"Yeah, he missed last class. We need a fourth, anyway." Kathy chimed in cheerily.

Mark sighed, making it clear I was an inconvenience. "Let's just pick up where we left off."

Left off? I must've looked lost because Carlos leaned in and said, "The project is to come up with a product and a marketing campaign, even a commercial. The whole deal." I don't know how someone could be so nonchalant about a project worth a quarter of their grade, but Carlos was like that.

Mark steamrolled ahead. "We already came up with a product on Friday. Sorry, Riley, we all decided." He smirked.

"What is it?"

"Juicy," Mark said with joy in his eyes.

I blinked, "What?"

Mark and Carlos grinned while Kathy avoided my eyes.

"A workout energy drink for women," Carlos explained.

Mark picked up the pitch, "Yeah, we can get Kathy in sexy workout clothes for the commercial, really show off her ass." He winked at her.

Kathy just shrugged, "I know it's stupid, but we need the grades... and Mark is quite convinced we'll ace the project."

What kind of sexist bullshit was this? "But, Juicy?"

"Great name, right?" Mark said proudly.

"Can it be something, like, less offensive?" Seriously, "Juicy was a ridiculous name.

"Well, table that for later," Mark said, noting it, but I doubt we would. Then Mark looked directly at me. "I don't know where you fit in. Kathy is the eye candy, Carlos and I are the studs at the gym, but you, I'm sorry, but you can't play a stud."

Well, yeah, "Um, I guess I could just film the commercial...."

"No, we all need to be in it; that's the rules," Mark stroked his beard, contemplating, and then his posture shot up like he had a brilliant idea. "You know what? Maybe Juicy can be more progressive? Maybe instead of just marketing to women, we could also market to femboys?"

What the fuck?

I stared back at him in disbelief. Kathy shot me a sympathetic look, but how do you react to something like this? I wasn't a femboy, was I? I wasn't even sure what I was anymore, to be honest, but fuck Mark for saying anything.

"Mark... I just don't know," I managed to get out, sounding whiny.

Mark continued like he didn't hear my response and kept going forward, launching into some spiel about progressive marketing and expanding demographics and how this would set "Juicy" apart from the other products. He even had the gall to say, "It's not sexist if it's inclusive," with a straight face. By the end, Kathy and Carlos were nodding along.

When he brought up the commercial, he even joked I should do some squats to get my ass ready.

I was frozen, my hands clenched together inside my hoodie pocket. Femboy? I didn't want to parade around in spandex, especially for some stupid fake commercial. But Riley, you were already parading around as a slutty waitress at Sweet Cheeks? Yeah, but I needed to do that, or the mob would kill me. This was for grades. Grades, I admitted, I desperately needed as well.

The others kept talking, designing a prototype, and planning a whole campaign, and I added very little to the group. I was speechless.

After class, as Carlos and Mark walked away, Kathy lingered.

"Can you believe him?" She muttered, rolling her eyes.

I let out a little laugh that sounded way too close to a giggle.

"No?" My voice came out naturally and was way higher pitched than my old normal. I flinched, but Kathy seemed not to notice.

She smirked. "Well, it'll get a good grade. And hey, nothing wrong with using your assets." She handed me her notes from Friday's class. "Plus, you will probably make a cute femboy, Riley."

-CHAPTER ELEVEN-

I had to admit it was nice to have Bree back to help me get ready for my shift. Even though today she insisted she just supervised. "You must learn to do this by yourself, Rose." It was probably some good luck because she might have noticed the subtle differences if she had done my makeup.

She hovered behind me, studying each move closely and correcting my mistakes. In the mirror, I scowled, "I liked it better when you did it for me."

"Tough."

What has gotten into her today? Between her intense focus on my makeup skills, she took glances at her phone. She was distracted, but why? Something felt off, and it wasn't just my first attempt at eyeliner. Was it the kiss? She didn't say anything, and I sure as well wasn't going to. Sure, I daydreamed of being with Bree, but really, she was out of my league.

That didn't feel like it, though; something was distracting her.

"Here's the keys, Rose."

Did Bree really stop thinking of me as Riley already? Come to think of it, she's called me Rose all night, even before I put on any makeup. Was I that far gone already?

"Um, thanks," I muttered.

"Have a good shift." With that, she was off.

Things did not settle when I was at the restaurant, but the shift wasn't a total disaster. My tips were growing slightly, even though I continued to have trouble looking anyone in the eye. Ava, I tried to avoid. What was her deal? All that talk about sisterhood, and she treated me like I was just an inconvenience. She was even mean to Charlene, who, yeah, it was annoying how dumb she was, but come on.

While waiting for my beers for table eight, I caught a glimpse in the mirror and didn't cringe at my reflection. Things were, in some ways, improving.

In other ways, it was not. Every time I ducked into the kitchen, Frank was weird. He'd "accidentally" touch me, like my hand or arm. Frank would stare, was overly friendly, and said "Rose" too many times for my liking. I still couldn't tell if he was trying to flirt with me or mocking me. Frankly, no pun intended; I didn't know which was worse.

Bree remained weird. Hidden in her office, she only emerged to bark orders, but she was never far from her phone. That was until near the end of the evening, when there was a sudden bounce in her step, and she was nice to everyone, even Bree.

The night hit its low when a table of frat guys, who were very overtly flirting with me, for which I did not reciprocate, gave me the smallest tip of the night. Meanwhile, Ava was making a fortune over there. Maybe I should have flirted back; I need the fucking money.

Screw it.

At my last table of the night sat two older gentlemen in suits, clean-cut, polite, and made of money. Money I may be able to get if I played the role properly.

With a deep breath, I gathered myself, preparing to be laughed out of the restaurant, and approached their table.

"Hi, gentlemen," I pitched my voice even higher, making it as sweet as possible. "I'm Rose. How can I serve you today?"

To my surprise, it worked. The gentlemen smiled and were very pleasant. They even took the special! When I delivered it, I leaned in close and brushed their arms. It felt so weird, so wrong, but exciting. After they left, twenty bucks was waiting for me. My biggest tip yet! Maybe there was something to this?

Of course, Ava noticed and walked past me as she was leaving, already cashed out. "What took you so long, skank?" As bitchy as she was, she kind of had a point.

"Good shift, Rose," she said and tossed me the restaurant keys. "Lock up for me?"

She clearly wanted to get out of here quickly, and I guess I'll see her soon anyway. I dreaded the extra work, especially in heels. How did women wear these all the time? My feet were so sore.

Exhausted, I reached the apartment, which smelled extra nice tonight; Bree had been burning some lovely tropical-smelling candles. Her good move carried over, and I heard her humming some catchy pop song while she cleaned up in the bathroom.

After I finished the makeup removal routine Bree had taught me, she grabbed something from the kitchen.

"Hey, Rose," she was so happy now as she sat on the dining room table and plopped down a bottle of whiskey with two glasses. "Come have a seat."

I joined her as she poured two fingers into each glass, chugged her's in one gulp, and then raised an eyebrow at me.

"Uh..." I hesitated. I'd never had whiskey before and rarely drank. She stared expectantly, though, and I didn't want to disappoint. I followed her lead and swallowed it down. It was fire!

My eyes started to water, and I coughed a few times while Bree laughed. "That's the spirit!"

She refilled the glasses, "I'm sorry if I was rude earlier. I was just, I don't know, anxious."

Anxiety? Now she was speaking my language. I clutched my glass, thinking of my own cause of anxiety. The fact I suddenly have a pussy. I downed the second drink after Bree and thought about telling her. Hey, Bree, funny story. Like, how do you tell someone so outrageous? Dreading what she would say, my inhibitions were dropping with each drink, and I kind of wanted to share it. If anyone would help me, it would be her.

"It's okay, Bree. I get that too, well, a lot. Especially..."

With flushed cheeks, she interrupted me. "It's the worst, Thanks. But I'm good now. It finally happened!"

"What happened?" I asked flatly, thanking her for saving me from my confession. What was I thinking? How would she have reacted?

"I got the promotion! Mr. Cross is opening a new club, and I will run it!"

My stomach dropped. Wait. What? That means she's leaving. Fuck me.

Seeing my panic, Bree placated me. "Oh, don't worry, sweetie. Your new boss will be fine. I'll make sure of it. Plus, you can still change here."

"Okay," I said, trailing off.

Bree went on about the new challenge. I don't think she meant to be insensitive about the money; she was just excited. "Two weeks! Can you believe it?"

I couldn't. My head was fuzzy from the whiskey and the overload of new information. Bree, though, she was beaming, and it was beautiful.

Another glass appeared in my hand, and after another, Bree's concept of hot waitresses serving drinks in costumes sounded awesome. Who wouldn't want to be at a club where the waitresses were Wonder Woman and a sexy nurse?

Finally, pretty drunk, she walked me to the door with her hand lingering on my arm. At the door, she was smiling at me, thanking me, and she was so close. So close; I just had to do it. I leaned in.

She pulled back just as our lips touched.

"Naughty girl," she teased. "I am your boss. Well, for another two weeks." Then she pushed me gently out the door. "Good night, Rose."

The night air did nothing to clear my head. I stumbled home, looking up at the stars and searching for another shooting star. What would I even wish for? I'd probably end up with huge tits, I thought, remembering my mistake last time. Instead, I focussed on not tripping.

Luckily, I made it to my dorm without incident until I reached the lobby. Chris appeared out of thin air.

"Jesus, Chris!" My voice came out too high. Fuck, it was hard to hide, especially right now.

He loomed over me, smirking. Damn, he was tall. "Good night?" He asked.

"Yeahsure," the words slurred together.

"A little too good," he teased.

"Shut up." I shoved him lightly, weirdly playfully. My fingers lingered on his chest a little too long. Wait, what the fuck was that. I have to get myself out of waitress mode.

Chris's eyebrows shot up. "Sleep well," he said, stepping aside just enough so I could force my way past him. I fled to my room, my face on fire, and not just from the alcohol.

-CHAPTER TWELVE-

The next day, I woke up and dreaded my choices. My head was throbbing, and my mouth was so dry. Sunlight blazed through the blinds. What time is it? I reached for my phone, and it wasn't there.

Shit!

I must have tossed it in my drunken stupor last night. I tore apart my bed sheets, checked under my desk, and even in my hoodie pocket, but it was nowhere.

Just fantastic.

There was no time for this; I needed to get to Statistics class. I did my best to look presentable, thanking my Clark Kent glasses for hiding the giant bags under my eyes.

Kathy slid into the seat beside me, eyeing me carefully. "Rough night?"

"Yeah..." I croaked and then downed my water from my bottle. If she only knew.

Boy, did this day drag on. I was hungover, tired, and wanted nothing more than to get back to bed, but I knew my day did not end with classes. Today was fucking Wednesday, which meant my lovely weekly visit with Uncle Mick.

$750.

Between my tips and my final dishwasher paycheque, I was short. Which meant one thing, and I hated it! I had to sell my Tony Gwynn rookie card. My final cherished item. The card my mother bought me, which passed on her love of the Padres to me. It was fucking gone, but I had enough to keep Uncle Mick off my back this week. Only this week, though, because next week, I'd be fucked unless Rose starts making some serious bank.

To add to the shitstorm of mine, I didn't find my phone on my break, and I had no idea what to do about that. It certainly made the bus ride to The Peach Pit more boring.

"Riley, my boy! My boy!" Uncle Mick spread his arms like we were old pals. "How's life?"

"Never had a bad day," I lied, pitching my voice down. I didn't want to sound girly in front of the mob.

He laughed, "Oh, yes, good, good. Sit down."

He never wanted me to sit before. Was I fucked? Reluctantly, though, I did and perched on the edge of the chair. He eyed me carefully.

"You have something for me?"

I slid the Manilla envelope out of my pocket and across the table. This time, Uncle Mick counted it right there. Right in front of me to ensure I wasn't short of the inflated amount the mob demanded.

"Well done," he leaned back. "Especially since you quit your job and all."

They're watching me? Of course, they are. They are the fucking mob. How closely, though? How much did they know? If they have someone in Sweet Cheeks, did they know about, well, me?

"I, um, got you the money," I stammered.

Uncle Mick smirked. "As long as that keeps up, my boy. Although I don't think you have any more baseball cards to sell."

He even knew about my Tony Gwynn. Was any part of my life secret? Was Rose a secret?

"Don't worry," I started to get up.

"I don't worry. Did we ever tell you what we'd do if you can't pay us back?"

I couldn't speak, and I wasn't even sure if I was breathing. I remained seated.

"It won't be pleasant. You don't want to end up like your parents."

Motherfucker!

My hands clenched under the table. I wanted to freak out. I wanted to scream. I wanted to punch Uncle Mick's smug face. I couldn't, though.

"Till next week," he waved me off.

Soon, I was sitting on the bus with one thought in mind. I need to make more money.

Once home, I resumed searching for my phone, getting worried. I flipped pillows, checked under my bed, and went through all my pockets. Where the fuck was it?

BANG! BANG!

Who could that be? Nobody ever knocks on my door except the cleaners. It was way too late for them. Worried, I approached the door and yanked it open. There stood Chris, holding my phone up. Oh, right, Riley, you drunken idiot, you dropped it when you bumped into him last night.

"Um, Chris..."

"Lost something?" He smirked, dangling it out of reach as he shouldered past me and into my room and kicked the door shut behind him.

"Thanks," I croaked, hand outstretched.

Chris did not give me back my phone. Instead, he tapped the screen, and a video started to play.

No! No fucking way!

The video I made so impulsively while I was full of lust. My own moans filled the room from my phone.

"Riley, Riley, Riley." Chris' voice was a slow, mocking drawl.

I lunged for the phone, but he held it high and laughed at me.

"Chris, please," I pleaded.

"It's hot, right?"

My face burned. This wasn't happening.

"So," Chris leaned against my desk, "you've been hiding a secret. I can't believe I've been sharing a bathroom with a chick this year."

Does he think I've always been a girl? Not a guy who turned into one overnight. Well, obviously, who would believe me?

"Chris," I trailed off.

"Don't know why, and frankly," he shrugged. "Don't care."

I was at his mercy.

"I assume you want this kept quiet?"

"Please," I begged. "Nobody can find out."

"Yeah," he grinned. "Imagine what the guys on the floor would do if they found out a chick is just down the hall."

Oh. Oh shit!

I'd been so focused on the billion problems in my life that I hadn't even considered that I had a pussy living with a large group of guys.

"I'm glad we understand each other." He said, and then he handed me the phone.

Just like that, it can't be that easy. I stared at it, stunned. Was that it? He just wanted to scare me?

"Don't worry, I made a copy."

Fuck! Of course, he did.

"See, Riley," he stepped closer. "I could be convinced to keep this private."

His gaze dragged down my body, slow and deliberate. Then he stared at his crotch.

"If you're a good girl."

A good girl? I wasn't even a girl, well, technically.

"You know what to do."

Chirs unzipped his jeans with a smirk. Was he fucking serious? No fucking way!

I'd watched this scene play out a hundred times in porn. I fantasized about it even, but this was real life. It was degrading. Dangerous. Disgusting. Yet.

Chris' cock sprang free, thick, and large. I couldn't look away. It dwarfed what I once had, what I lost.

Fuck!

My body started to betray as I could feel my slit getting moist. I clenched my thighs, but that didn't help.

"Don't just stand there," Chris motioned me forward.

Parts of my brain were telling me to run. My hand ran through my hair, realizing I didn't have my disguise on. I felt exposed. The other part of my brain, the curious part, just stared. Stared right at Chris' cock.

I sank to my knees.

From this angle, he looked massive. So tall! His abs, yes, he had abs, flexing as he shifted his weight. My fingers trembled when I reached out, but my mouth watered. I touched it. I touched his dick.

"Don't be shy," Chris chucked.

Humiliation burned my cheeks as I nodded.

"Just give it a big grip."

I did that, and it felt hot and powerful. It twitched in my hand.

"Yeah, you like that, slut," he teased.

Slut? Well, maybe? This was wrong, so fucking wrong, yet. Yet, here I was, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from Chris' cock as I gave it a stroke, feeling it grow and thicken. It was surreal. I moved my hand up and down, feeling its weight. Feeling it react. My hands looked so dainty, holding onto his cock.

"Now, suck it."

Wait, what? This wasn't happening, but then he pushed me by the back of my head, and suddenly, the tip of his cock was dangerously close to my lips. I could feel the heat emanating from it.

"Stop teasing."

He didn't push me further; he knew he was in control. I had two thoughts. One, I didn't really have a choice, and two, I was curious. I slowly opened my mouth and put the tip in my mouth.

From there, he took over as his cock started to slide further in. At that moment, I did what felt natural, I began to suck it.

"That's it," he said in a low moan.

Surprisingly, Chris tasted good, musky, and manly. I'd never tasted dick before, and it was nice. So nice, my pussy ached, begging for attention. I pushed my thighs together, trying to ease the sensation.

"Look at me," he commanded.

My eyes darted up, staring into his as I sucked. He looked so smug, so confident, so masculine.

"That's a good little slut," he muttered.

It was hard to deny. I didn't want to be a slut. Honestly, I've always wanted to have a lot of sex, but I've always been so shy, and what did I have to offer? But like this? Not as a girl. But was that what I was now, a girl? A dirty little slutty girl.

Everything was overwhelming: the taste, the smell, the throbbing in my mouth and between my legs. I was lost in the moment.

"Yeah, take that," he growled as he pushed deeper into my mouth, causing me to gag. Some spit dribbled down my chin.

"You're a good little cocksucker," he teased.

What am I doing? This is ridiculous. My body wasn't listening, though. My lips stayed wrapped around Chris' cock, my tongue instinctively swirling around it. I was wet, embarrassingly so, and I hated how much my body was responding to this, not just to Chris but to this situation. I was literally being blackmailed, and it turned me on.

I gasped, pulling away, needing air. "Don't stop now," Chris growled.

Part of me wanted him to fuck off, to get out of my room and leave me alone. But if that video got out. No, I couldn't even think about that. My secret would be out.

I returned to his cock with gusto. I wanted this to be over. I moved faster; my hand gripped his balls as I worked him over with my mouth. His breathing grew heavier, his grip tightening in my hair. I was doing good.

"Shit, yeah, just like that."

His hips started to move, pushing himself deeper into me. I gagged again but forced myself to keep going. I could tell he was getting close. My heart raced, part panic, part something else. I knew what would be coming next, but what would that be like? His hand held me in place, and he was tensing up, his cock twitching in my mouth.

I tried to pull back and say, "Wait," but my voice was muffled, and he didn't let go. With a low groan, he finally let me go.

Quickly and before I could react, he unloaded all over my face. The first spurt hit my eyelid, warm and sticky. I gasped, and the second landed on my tongue. It tasted salty and bitter. My pussy clenched around nothing, empty and longing. It was humiliating. The cum flowed down my face onto my chin. My hands flew up to wipe it away, but he just laughed.

"Don't be such a baby. You look better this way."

I sat back, my face burning with shame, covered in cum. My hands trembled as I wiped Chris' cum off my face, smearing it more than cleaning it. Some got into my mouth, and the taste lingered; it wasn't entirely unpleasant. I wanted to disappear. Under my shirt, I felt my nipples hard as diamonds.

"Fuck you," I muttered.

Chris pulled up his jeans, still smirking. "Relax, Riley. You did great. Keep being a good girl, and that video stays between us."

I glared at him, my fists clenched, but I said nothing. What could I even say? He was stood up and stretched like it was no big deal.

"See you around, Riley."

How much more could I endure?

To be continued.

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