Tyler never dreamed that stealing a pair of his sister’s underwear would start a revolution. But after his mother dresses him up as Sissy Prissy and his very own Father pops his cherry, Tyler becomes a major part of turning America into a Sissy Slut Nation. Soon, training houses sweep the USA with one mission: to teach feminized men how serve the insatiable lusts of alpha males.
Excerpt:
Tyler Hiatt had been looking for his old baseball glove in the attic when he found the faded erotic photograph. After blushing furiously once he realized what he’d discovered, he’d settled down in a patch of sunlight, examining it as dust motes danced around him.
On a neatly made bed, a young man in a frilly dress knelt on all fours while a curvaceous woman wearing nothing but a strap-on and high heels fucked him.
Tyler couldn’t imagine where it could have come from. Nothing else in the attic came close to what he held. Besides old clothing, paintings, and knickknacks, boxes of dusty photographs by the dozens took up the center space, but nothing like this one. This had been stuck behind a bunch of crap draped on a nail. Had he not bumped into it, he never would have discovered the strange image. He’d looked around the area for more but came up empty.
Curious, he kept scrutinizing the image, like a detective looking for clues. Since his family had owned this house since the turn of the century, it had to be a family photo. Given the faded quality and the crinkly edges he imagined it had to be at least twenty years old. Maybe even thirty. He compared it to the other photographs in the boxes but it didn’t seem to match. This must have been taken by a different camera, maybe even one of those big ones since the image size was bigger than anything in the boxes.
Unlike most of the kids in the United States, Tyler didn’t have the luxury of internet porn, not in isolated old Greenville. Twenty years ago the interstate had gone through Madison, leaving Greenville even more remote.
“Not a lot of people stumble upon us,” Sheriff Matthew said, his stubby fingers tucking behind the suspenders that held up his pants. “And that’s just the way we like it.”
Tyler only knew from pictures in magazines that the rest of the world had moved on from the 1950s. He only knew about the internet because his mother had taken him to Madison to buy new pants and he’d heard kids talking.
Tyler had never seen his mother naked but the figure—big breasts, tiny waist, wide hips—could belong to her. The long red nails that guided the tool into the boy’s backside looked like hers. The photographer had cut off the top of the woman’s head, probably to protect her identity, but the lipstick matched the nail polish exactly. Mother’s always matched. Lips and nails also matched her shoes, but he couldn’t see more than the top edge of one heel because of the angle. What he could see in excruciating detail was the boy’s face.
His expression, caught by the flash, forever froze a strange combination of heaven and hell on his face. Heaven because his dick was hard. Even as isolated as he was, Tyler knew what that meant. His dick had gotten hard a couple of times, but he hadn’t understood why so he didn’t really do anything about. This boy’s dick was hard and something drooled from the tip. Widened eyes showed terror and pain. From the way the woman’s hand couldn’t wrap all the way around the base of the strap-on, it must be huge, and most of it had already gone inside the boy who seemed half the size of the woman.
Eventually, he’d stopped looking at the dirty picture, found his baseball glove, and he’d gone out to play, but he hadn’t put the photograph back. For three years, he’d kept hidden in his room, terrified and ashamed that someone would catch him with it and think he wanted to act the strange scene out. He swore he didn’t but as he grew older, a peculiar thing happened. Every time he looked at the photograph, his dick got harder and harder until one day he wrapped his fist around it, jerked hard and fast, and orgasmed.
He refused to look at the photo again for almost a month. During that time, he dreamed about being the boy on the bed, the boy in all the frilly lace with a woman doing to him what a man was supposed to do to a woman. He woke up wet and ashamed. Tyler tried to forget about it, he even tried to get rid of it, but he couldn’t do either.
And then one day, driven by a compulsion he didn’t understand, he snuck into his sister’s room. He opened her dresser drawers, looking for something lacy and silky. When he found a pair of purple underwear that reminded him of the photograph, he pulled them on. He spewed all over them without even getting them all the way up.
Shocked, he quickly recovered when panic set in. Somehow, he had to get them clean, dry, and put back before his sister got home from school. As if summoned by his predicament, Emily caught him trying to get the sticky panties past his thighs.
“What are you doing in my room?” Emily had her book bag over one shoulder, her long brown hair over the other. Her gaze dropped down his body. She realized what he was wearing and she gasped.
“I can explain.”
“You sick little pervert!” Emily dropped her books and screamed for their mother.
“Please, Emily. I can explain.” Terrified, Tyler tried to run, but the gooey panties clung around his upper thighs, making his steps too short to get him anywhere. Besides, Emily blocked the doorway.
“Mom! Mom?”
Mother appeared in the hall outside his sister’s bedroom, her pale green shirt dress buttoned all the way up and her brown hair pulled all the way back. Instead of shock, her eyes narrowed when she took in the scene.
“Look at this, Mother. Look at what this sick little pervert has done to my best pair of underwear!”
“I can explain.” Instead of trying to get the panties off, Tyler pulled them up. Sticky panties were better than nothing at all.
“Leave this to me, Emily.”
“But Mom.”
“Get your things and go over to Alicia’s early.”
Huffing and puffing in annoyance, Emily gathered clothing and then hiked up her book bag. “Sicko,” she snarled, before leaving.
Tyler didn’t take a breath until he heard the front door slam.
“Where is it?” Mother asked.
Instead of answering her, Tyler just stood mute.
“I want it in my hand in less than ten seconds, Tyler.”
Tyler ran to his room, retrieved the photograph, and handed it over.
“You should have left it alone.”
“I didn’t mean to find it.”
“Maybe you were meant to.” Mother tucked the image into her dress pocket. “Come along, Tyler. It’s time for your first lesson.”
