Poetic justice

 

  

Brad called me at work asking to meet him at the club.

I had intended to go home, take a shower before going there since the band didn’t go on until much later.

But Brad sounded so desperate, I agreed.

It was happy hour when I got to the club, the place packed with blue collar workers, getting a few cheap drinks before going home.

At first, I didn’t see Brad, but when I did, I almost didn’t recognize him, huddled in a dark, corner booth, wearing a hoodie with the hood draw up so I couldn’t quite see his face.

“I’m in deep shit,” he said, when I slid into the booth across from him.

“With a woman?” I asked, having seen the trail of tears he’d created from well before graduating high school.

When the dictionary defined womanizer, Brad’s name came up.

He was relentless, and could not stop fucking, and I recalled his brief stint as manager of a fast food place on the highway. We used to go there for free meals. He required all the girls working for him to supply him with blow jobs.

Brad nodded. “More than one,” he said.

“Are you still mad at me?” I asked.

The last time I’d seen him here, I accidentally or maybe unconsciously deliberately knocked a pitcher of beer in his lap, embarrassing him in front of his date – who was not his wife.

We all knew he cheated on his wife – a woman we all loved, and who was stuck home raising his kids.

More than once I’d been tempted to tell her about his extra circular activities, not out of kindness, but because I was smitten with her. I never did, believing the whole thing would blow up in my face. I figured she either already knew or would find out when someone else told her.

“No, I’m not mad at you,” he said. “That’s water already under the bridge.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

‘I fucked up royally this time,” he said, apparently referring to yet another affair. “I got involved with my wife’s best friend.”

I started to laugh, but his eyes – the only part of his face I could see glinting at me – suggested this wasn’t one of the usual fuck them and leave them situations.

“I thought you were smarter than that,” I said.

“I thought so, too,” he admitted. “But frankly, it’s not completely my fault. Lori – that’s her name – has flirted with me for years, often in front of my wife. But I always kept my distance.”

“What changed?”

“She did,” Brad said. “She got more and more provocative every time she came over to our house. I mean she was fucking hot.”

“So, you fucked her and now she’s threatening to tell your wife?”

“If it was only that simple,” Brad mumbled. “She’s got my balls in a vice and she keeps on squeezing.”

Brad said he was particularly drunk when he made the leap, meeting her as another club, where she was even hotter than usual. They went to a model, where she did everything he ever imagined she would do.

“I thought it would end there,” he said. “But she wanted to meet again at her place.”

“And like a horny dog, you went,” I said, laughing.

“It’s not funny. The sex was great, better than I ever had with another else, even my wife. But when I got to her place, she wanted to do some kinky shit, and I went along with it because if felt good.”

“Need I ask what kind of kinky shit?”

“You name it, we did it, some of it involved causing me pain. She videotaped it all.”

“That’s not good,” I said.

“No shit, sherlock. I must have been out of my mind when I let her handcuff me to the bed. I was helpless when she put it on me.”

“Put what on you?”

“A lock box for my cock,” Brad said. “she dangled the keys in front of me and said if I ever wanted to fuck anyone again, I would have to so whatever she said, then, she stuck some devise up my butt, with remote control thing that allowed her to make it vibrant through some cellphone app.”

“So, why didn’t you take it out and find someone to remove the cock box?”

“She said if I did that, she’d go straight to my wife with the video tape, evidence that would allow my wife to get everything in a divorce.”

“So what did you do?”

“What else could I do, I did what she told me.”

“What did she make you do?”

“She made me wear women’s clothing while at her house, and women’s undergarments the rest of the time.”

“You’re wearing these now?”

He rubbed his face and I noticed his fingernails were polished, and I mentioned that to him.

“My fingernails, by toenails. I’m also wearing make up like a slut.”

That’s when I noticed the red lipstick and the rest of the stuff around his eyes.

“And you wife doesn’t notice this when you get home?” I asked.

“Not at first, because it was subtle, a little pink lipstick, polish only on my toes – I wore socks to bed. Later, Lori wanted me to go out in public with her, bar hopping like two girls, since looked like a girl.”

“You did that?”

“Yes,” he said. “Guys kept hitting on us with her encouragement, and when one of them wanted us to go out to their car, she agreed, dragging me along with her.. When it was clear the men wanted sex or at least a blow job, Lori said if I didn’t give them something, she’d take the whole mess back to my wife.”

“You had sex with those men?”

“Only a blow job. I did them both, and then they had sex with Lori,” Brad said. “She filmed the whole thing on her cell phone.”

Hearing this, my mouth went dry and I waved to Tommy, the bartender to bring me a beer and a shot.

“So now she has even more blackmail material on you?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Brad said. “Lori drove me home that night, made me go up to our apartment where my wife confronted us. She apparently knew about the whole thing the whole time. The two of them laughed about it, and said I should lick the cum off my face, telling me it’s uncomely.”

“Are you getting a divorce?”

“No, my wife doesn’t want one.”

“What does she want?”

“To teach me a lesson.”

“What kind of lesson.”

“How it feels to be a woman.”

“I still don’t get what you’re getting at.”

“The two of them chain me up at our house, feeding me hormones, and refusing to unlock my cock. They said they need me to get my pleasure with my mouth and my ass, and eventually, they’ll find a way to castrate me. Lori said she’s actually thinking of pimping me out after she saw what a good job I did with those blow jobs. But she said she wants to wait until my breasts grow in and my butt plug makes it so men can fuck me. She said some of the construction workers in our building have expressed interest in me.”

“This is crazy. Can’t you go to the law?”

“I’ve thought about it, but they’d kept me pretty much under lock and key the whole time.”

“You’re here now,” I said.

“Pure luck,” Brad said. “They forgot to lock me to the bed. I crawled out the window, and down the fire escape. I called you because I couldn’t think of anyone else who I could trust. I need help, a place to stay until I can straighten all this out.”

“I live in a rooming house,” I said. “I only have one room.”

“I don’t care, I’ll sleep in a closet if that’s all you have.”

I was about the say yes, when I saw Brad’s wife come through the front door of the club along with the woman I assumed to be Lori.

“There you are!” his wife said.

“Such a bad boi,” Lori said.

Brad whimpered.

“Time to come home,” his wife said, casting off Brad’s hood to reveal the face of a very pretty, but also very slutty looking woman. Brad did not look up, could not look them in the eyes, even as Lori attached a dog leach to the collar Brad wore around his neck.

“Why don’t you leave him alone,” I said.

Both women glared at me.

“Why don’t you mind your own business,” Brad’s wife said.

‘He’s my friend, he’s asked for my help,” I said. “Don’t you think he’s learned his lesson?”

“Not by a long shot,” Lori said, giving me a wicked grin. “He’s got a lot more to learn before this is over.”

I was not the only one who stared when they left, two hot women, Brad on all fours walking behind them on a leach like a dog.

I pitied him, and yet wondered how he would feel when they finally finished converting him into a woman, and whether or not it was poetic justice.

 

 

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