A Christmiss Story

"Bratwurst," I said, slurring the word slightly. "Want one?"

"Good heavens, no! Out of the kindness of my heart, I will not declare your disgraceful conduct today to be a breach of the Consent Decree, but I want you to know how disappointed I am in your behavior."

"You should have called first. I would have put on a dress and invited you over for a tea party."

"Don't press your luck, Missy." For some reason, I found her domineering tone extremely arousing, and with no underwear to constrain it, my erection sprang to her attention. "My, my, what have we here," she said with mock surprise as she stared at the bulge in my jogging suit. "Aren't you wearing any panties?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," I said coquettishly. She pushed me back on the sofa and before I knew it, my pants were down to my ankles and she was tearing off her jeans. "You're no one to talk," I said when I saw that she wasn't wearing panties either. She pinned me down and began to rub her pussy against my aching cock.

"You realize what this means," she said as she teased me to the brink of orgasm.

"What," I moaned.

"This shocking display of manhood is a flagrant violation of the Consent Decree."

"Screw the Consent Decree." By that point I was so horny that I would have gladly agreed to start my year as a woman all over again in return for one good fuck. But Donna had something far more sinister in mind, and whether it was the alcohol or my raging testosterone, I was blind to her true intentions.

"There is an alternative," she whispered as she brought me to the brink once again.

"Anything. I'll do anything you say," I sighed.

"Good. Oh God," she panted as she lowered herself onto my rock-hard member. "I'll have to give you another shot of hormones. Are you sure you want that?"

By then, I couldn't have stopped her if she told me she was going to cut off my balls and flush them down the toilet.