You’d Look Prettier If You Smiled

In some ways, we were a stereotype. When you think about environmentalists, you probably think about white guys with dreadlocks. Hemp hoodies and potluck suppers. And yeah, that's what I was wearing and that's what I was eating, but I also have a PhD in forestry management.

There's this valley just, up the coast from here. It’s called Broad Creek, and it’s the last untouched stand of old growth forest within a hundred miles. Most people don't realize how many trees there used to be. Most of the West Coast used to be covered in a natural cathedral of canopy. Well over 90% of that has been logged, and it's only a matter of time until the rest of it goes.

People like me are out there every day putting our careers and our freedom in jeopardy. When the news shows a bunch of hippies are lying down in front of trucks, or chaining themselves to trees, or getting arrested by the dozens – that's us. We're taking a stand, putting our lives on the line to protect one of the planets most beautiful and sacred carbon sinks.

Maybe I'm a hippie, but I'm doing it for a better world.

Broad Creek is being logged by a forestry company named Northern Resources. They claim there's no harm in logging this valley. They say there's plenty of other old growth, and that we're all making a big deal about nothing.

I say they’re lying. I say that they falsified the environmental impact report. I say that they care about nothing but profit.

My name is Troy Grant, and I'm not going to let them win.

So I was at yet another planning meeting. We were gathered at Greg's house, planning our next piece of direct action. I want to be clear, I don't like lying in the mud or blocking highways. But I think it has to be done.

"I think we're going about this the wrong way,” Shayla said. "We keep trying civil disobedience and legal challenges, but these guys own the media. They’ve got way deeper pockets than we’ll ever have. "

"So what are we supposed to do?” Greg asked.

"I think it's all about that environmental assessment," Shayla said. "If we had a copy of that, we could post it online and people would see how much damage this is doing!"

"Yeah, but how do we get a copy of that?" Greg laughed.

"OK… I know this is a little outside the box," Shayla said. "But I've been doing some research on the CEO of Northern Resources, Jeffrey Boswell. Apparently he's gay – there's no problem with that, of course – but it also seems like he's got a type."

"What's that?" I asked. "Grungy guys who play hacky-sack?”

"No," Shayla laughed. “They’re called himbos. Muscular young blond guys, kind of on the stupid side, but totally down to fuck. Apparently he has such a weakness for young blonde boy toys that he routinely invites them into his home… And that's where the files are.”

"So you think we hire some blond rent boy and have him steal the environmental assessment report?”

"No," Shayla said. "I think we've got a lot of attractive young guys right here, surely one of you would be willing to do the job. We've tried lying in the mud and vandalizing equipment – maybe it's time to try honey instead of vinegar. You dress up pretty, catch his eye, and then once you're inside you steal the files. Come on guys, women have been using sex as a weapon for millennia… I think it's your turn!”

You could've heard a pin drop.

I chewed on my lip. Did it seem like it was even a possible plan? I mean, maybe… And didn't we have a responsibility to try anything that might work?

I decided that I owed it to my grandchildren. Their grandchildren. What we’re doing here, it’s not just for us.

“Look…" I said. "I guess, I'd be willing to do it… But I'm not gay, or even bi or anything. Wouldn’t he figure that out right away? Besides, nobody here is the ‘keep your mouth shut’ kind of person – I doubt we could pull it off convincingly.”

“I guess that's where I come in," Alfie said. Alfie was this older guy who had been hanging out with us for about a year. I always wrote him off as an old school environmentalist, more interested in talking about consensus building than actually getting anything done.

All eyes turned to him.

“I think I mentioned... I used to work for the government,” Alfie said carefully. “And... look, I’m breaking about a dozen federal laws by even mentioning this, but I think I’ve got something that can help. See... I used to work on a mind control program, part of our psyops work in the seventies.”

“Dude, that’s such bullshit,” Jasper said from across the room. But Jasper shits on every single idea, so no surprise there.

“Wait... our government has mind control?” Shayla said incredulously.

“It’s got... it’s not like the movies,” Alfie shrugged. “We never figured out how to successfully reprogram an unwilling subject. Otherwise the USSR would still be around – with our people in charge. But with the right chemicals, I know how to hypnotize a willing subject and reprogram them.”

I shook my head in disbelief.

“So you’re saying I wouldn’t just pretend to be some shallow boytoy,” I said. “I’d actually *be that guy*.”

“And they’d never catch on,” Alfie nodded. “We’d put in a trigger, so the moment you’re in the house, you’d revert to your original personality. Search for the files. Get the fuck outta there.”

“Whoa,” Jasper said like he just took a major bong hit. Maybe he did.

It was a weird idea. I had trouble wrapping my head around it – if I did this, I wouldn’t be me anymore. At least, not until I snapped out of it. That scared me... but it was for the planet, right? It was for the species.

This is about survival. It wasn’t time to be selfish.

“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s try it.”

I got a few slaps on the back from my friends and a few dubious looks from some of the guys sitting near Jasper. Dave – one of the guys who founded our group – came over and hugged me.

“Thanks Troy,” he said, giving me a long squeeze. “We’ll keep working with the traditional tactics, but if you can find that report, it'll really turn the tide of public opinion.”

I biked home, feeling good about myself, but I barely slept that night. I kept turning it over and over in my head – how freaky was this? I couldn't believe it was possible. To be honest, I didn’t believe it was possible.

-------------------------

The next morning I dragged my ass out of bed and drove my truck out to Alfie’s house. He lives way off the bike lanes, out in a patch of forest outside the city. It’s got real ‘cabin in the woods’ vibes, but it’s totally off grid. Solar panels and septic – that’s the life.

Alfie took me inside. It was a nice little cabin with one bedroom off the side of the kitchen. He asked if I was sure, took me into the bedroom, and told me to lie down.

I put on a pair of old-school stereo headphones. He prepped an IV line – some sort of chemicals that were supposed to help the process. I don't know where Alfie got his medical training, but the IV went in easily. A few seconds later I was fast asleep.

When I woke up it was dark out. It must have been the middle of the night. For a second I felt bad – I’d fallen asleep like an asshole and taken up Alfie’s bed.

I felt for my IV and tugged it out. I didn’t feel any different – I thought the brainwashing hadn't taken. Maybe I didn’t consent subconsciously? Or maybe it was just all bullshit? A guy like Alfie probably did some real drugs in the 70’s. How much of this was a fantasy?

Like I expected, Alfie was on the couch. I decided to wake him up – Alfie was old, he should take the bed.

“Hey Alfie,” I said shaking his shoulder gently. “Sorry man.... it didn’t work. C’mon, go to bed, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Mmmm... Troy!” Alfie said, like he was surprised to see me.

“What’s up?”

“It’s been three days!” Alfie said. He was rubbing his eyes, trying to wake up. “The programming must have finished integrating.”

“Uh... I feel the same,” I said.

“That’s because you haven’t been triggered yet. Once I say the right code phrase, the new personality will take over.”

“Some simpleminded consumerist bimbo,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Who’s the perfect match for the Boswell's preferences,” Alfie said pointedly. “Now, take the couch, get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow.”

He shuffled off toward the bedroom.

-------------------------

Alfie drove us into the city. For the past three days, as I’d laid unconscious in his room, he’d been prepping for my mission. He handed me a folder of colour printouts – paparazzi shots of Boswell with a harem worth of boytoys.

They all had the same basic look – blond and fit, with preppy clothing that was just a little too tight. Everything was styled to draw attention – the bright colours they wore, the pursed lips, the pierced ears. Their empty eyes were disturbing. These guys weren’t interested in anything real, just sex and pleasure.

I wondered if there would be photos of me, splashed out in the tabloids. I never wanted to see them. Eyes are the windows of the soul, and I was scared of seeing mine become flat and empty.

“We should start with the hair,” Alfie said, driving us to a downtown salon. I’m not really a salon guy – usually I cut my own hair – but for this plan to work I needed to look pretty.

“You’re going to look like... so hot,” the stylist said as he ran his hands through my shoulder length strands, getting a feel for the texture. “How do we feel about a few highlights?”

“I want him to look like the guys in these photos,” Alfie said, pointing at the tabloid printouts again.

“Then he’s gonna need highlights!” the stylist grinned. “You’ve got beautiful hair babe.”

I almost got emotional, watching as pieces of my mane dropped to the floor.

By the time he was done, the sides of my head were shaved into a tight fade, and the top had been reduced to a fairly short perm that sort of combed over to one side. He used so many chemicals on my hair it probably required it’s own impact report.

“What do you think?” the stylist said, adding a third layer of hairspray.

It wasn’t me. But that was sort of the point.

“It’s good,” I said, glancing over at Alfie. He gave me an awkward thumbs up.

It took almost two hours, but eventually we escaped the stylists chair. He sent me away with a full bag of waxes and sprays to use in my hair – like I’d remember any of it. Alfie paid, but I saw the number and I felt a little guilty.

Even though I knew, there was no reason for me to feel guilty. I’d been literally reprogrammed for this to work. I’d done my part already, and I’d do even more later.

The jewellers didn’t take that long. My ears are already pierced – a fuck you to gender conformity – so we picked out a gaudy pair of studs to draw attention. When we showed the jeweller the tabloid photos, he also insisted on selling us a gold necklace with a little ‘BITCH’ charm on it. He said it ‘worked the vibe’, whatever that means.

I felt so uncomfortable wearing it all. The studs felt heavy compared to the little hoops I usually wear, and the necklace make me look like an asshole. I wanted to shove the necklace in my pocket and forget about it, but Alfie assured me that it would help complete the look, and that would help us save the trees. So I wore the fucking necklace.

The studs and the curls looked totally out of place on me. I was wearing a baja hoodie and a pair of dickies – the kind of clothes you can wear out camping for weeks. It’s what I’m comfortable in, y’know?

I own a suit, but I always feel like a poser.

Alfie pulled us up to this mens store that specializes in suits and stuff. The kind of preppy bullshit that Boswell liked his men to wear. I felt immediately awkward, just walking in there.

“I’m sorry, our washrooms are only for customers” a fashionable young man said, giving me a confused dose of side eye. He saw the hair and the jewelry, but he also saw a lot of hemp.

“That’s us. My friend is getting a bit of a makeover, and I hear your store is the best. We want him to look something like this,” Alfie said, handing over the folder of photos.

“Hmmm...” the clerk said, flipping through the photos. “Excellent taste. I can see that you’re going for a very specific look... but yes, I think we can help you. I think we can help... what’s your name?” he said, finally making eye contact with me.

“Troy.”

“Hello Troy, I’m Ricardo. Why don't you come into the back with me?” he commanded. “We have a private area where you can try a few things on.”

I followed him into a backroom. I was expecting a changing stall, but this was more like a runway. A small stage in front of several mirrors, with a set of armchairs nearby. I’ll never understand this kind of life – who’s that vain? Why does it have to be so pretentious?

Alfie took a seat in one of the armchairs.

“I think we’ll have to rebuild you from the ground up...” Ricardo said. “Strip down.”

He was back a minute later carrying a few items from the store. I was shivering in my boxers. With my clothes stripped away, it was surprising how shallow I looked – I’ve earned a hard body through years of treeplanting and rock climbing. Add in the perm and ‘BITCH” chain, and I looked like I was a wannabe fashion model.

It’s for the planet, I reminded myself. It’s for the species.

“Strip,” Ricardo said again, gesturing at my boxers.

“Um... in front of...”

“Babe, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of,” Ricardo said, glancing at my body. “Besides, I’m a professional.”

So I dropped my boxers. He picked them up with two fingers and carefully deposited them into a trash bin.

“Put this on.”

I took the item he passed and slid it up my legs. I thought it was a pair of briefs, but I quickly realized there wasn’t enough fabric. Ricardo had me putting on a thong. Just a silky strap with a pocket for my dick.

“Uh... Alfie,” I said, standing there in the red scrap of fabric. “This doesn’t feel right.”

“Ricardo, can we have a moment?” Alfie said. The clerk turned and left the room. “What’s wrong?” Alfie asked me.

“I just... this isn’t me man...” I said pathetically. “I know i said I could do this, but none of this feels right...”

Alfie gave me an understanding smile. “You know,” he said, leaning in close and whispering in my ear. “You’d look prettier if you smiled.”

My whole world turned upside down, like when you wipe out on your surfboard. I felt my mind twist and my stomach unclench. My ass felt suddenly empty... holy shit... my ass was so empty...

Memories returned. I hadn’t spent three days sleeping at Alfie’s place – I’d been awake for most of it, dumbly staring at the TV as I watched movie after movie, learning how to be a total ditz. Filling my head with gay porn so I’d know what to do. I scrolled through TikTok for hours, learning all the right things to say... all the right ways to move...

Whoa...

I felt a war going on in my head. On one side was like... this super boring tree guy, always trying to make the world feel guilty for their bullshit. And then there was like... me, pretty and polished, and soooo fuckin’ horny. The tree dude had like... totally invaded my mind, but I was strong...

Look at my muscles... I’m so strong. Strong enough to push him out.

I grinned and looked at myself in the mirror. I arched my back, making sure my muscle tits really popped out. I raised myself up, getting rid of a slouch and really making sure my abs showed right. I let my mouth hang open a little bit, just to show off how dumb I really am.

My fit body was posed to maximum effect. The silky red thong disappeared between my tight cheeks. A big wide smile with empty eyes let you know how bad I needed to get filled.

“Fuck me, I’m so fuckin’ hot bro,” I said to anyone that would listen. I watched my cock get hard, the thong struggling to hold me.

“That's better," Alfie said.

“Huh?” I said, letting my deep voice drop another octave. "What were we talkin’ about?”

“You were just complaining,” my buddy Alfie said. “You said nothing feels right.”

“Who cares how it feels?” I laughed. “I care how it looks!”

Alfie called Ricardo back in. He’d spent the time picking out some options for me. The first suit was like... way too boring. Dark grey with a white shirt? Nah, I picked out a ocean blue suit with a silky pink shit underneath. Three buttons popped, gotta show off that chest. Gotta show off my chain.

Gotta let people know Troy Grant is a total bitch.

I took myself in from every angle. Yeah, I looked fuckin’ fierce bro. I looked hot as hell. Ricardo protested when I asked for a smaller pair of slacks, but I’m the customer, right? I wanted my bulge to show. I wanted my ass to strain against the fabric.

Brown wingtips, in case you love shoes like I do.

“What do you think?” I said, showing off a few poses for Alfie. “I’m like... totally hot, right?”

“Yeah,” Alfie said. “For sure.”

“Everyone’s gonna be like... check out that thirst trap,” I laughed joyfully.

Alfie paid the man and we got out of there. Too bad... I kinda wanted to thank Ricardo... privately.

“Come back soon,” Ricardo called as we exited the shop.

I couldn’t wait. I fuckin’ love shopping.

I had a spring in my step as we waled outside. It felt so good to be in the city... I love all the tall buildings, and all the guys dress so nice. I fit right in. Men were glancing over at me, and I loved the attention. Every dude who glanced at my tight pants was rewarded – a flex of the ass, a pursing of my lips, a shameless wink.

“What do you say we find a hotel room,” I said, flirting with Alfie. He wasn’t like... traditionally hot, but he had a cock, and I had a craving. “Let’s like... check out the amenities,” I giggled, grabbing his hand and placing it on my round asscheeks.

“Actually, you need to get to a party,” Alfie said, sounding a little tired. He had me get in this stupid little smart car – it was so dumb. The guy handed me a folder of papers and started to drive.

“Look inside,” he said, when I made no move to check out the papers. Lucky it was all pictures in there. All pictures of this older guy, but still in like... really good shape. He was always wearing these expensive suits, always styled to a T.”

“Meet Jeffrey Boswell, the CEO of Northern Resources,” Alfie said.

“Mmmm... look at the silver fox,” I moaned, gently rubbing a nipple while I shuffled through the pictures. There were so many pics of this guy... on the beach wearing trucks that outlined his cock... on a yacht wearing shorts and boat shoes... on a stage wearing one hell of a power suit...

And every single photo had some fuckboy in the background. Young. Hot. Blond. Just like me.

“He’s rich too,” Alfie said, glancing over at me with a funny look on his face. “He’s throwing a huge party tonight, a fundraiser for... you don’t care, huh?”

“Huh?”

“You’re on the guest list,” Alfie said. “Your job is to find him and seduce him. Make him take you home with him.”

“Yeah?” I asked excitedly. I could totally do that. A boy like me... a daddy like him... we were meant to be together. “How rich?”

“His personal net worth is several billion dollars,” Alfie said.

“Huh?” I didn’t do math or whatever.

“He’s really rich,” Alfie said, making it simple for me.

“Cool,” I grinned. “It’s time to score a sugar daddy!”

Alfie dropped me off at the party. There were some bouncers out front, but he talked to ‘em for a minute and they let me inside. I even got let up to the mezzanine where Mr. Boswell was hosting VIP guests. I never asked how Alfie did it – I was focussed on getting that rich daddy dick.

Mr. Boswell looked good in a tuxedo. His grey hair was spiked up into a faux hawk. His eyes were scanning the room. Looking for me, I hoped.

The moment I saw him, I was in love.

He was powerful. The centre of attention. People were waiting to get a moment of his time, but I’m the one who caught his eye.

The moment he saw me, he was in lust.

“Hello there,” he said, approaching me. I was holding a glass of champagne and pushing out my chest.

“Hi,” I said, giving him a little giggle. “I’m Troy.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you Troy,” he said, giving me a hungry look. I blushed. I bet he used that line on everyone.

Who cared? He was using the line on me and it was making me horny.

“Yeah,” I said, stepping close and brushing my hand against Boswell’s hardening cock. “I imagine it would be.”

“Discretion is key,” Boswell said, glancing at the other guests. “I don’t need to have sex in the middle of a party.”

“Then maybe we should leave,” I suggested, raising an eyebrow at him.

“I’m sorry, but I’ve got to take care of some business first,” the CEO said. “It shouldn't take too long. Afterwards... perhaps you’d like to come back to my place? I think we might have some fun together.”

“Mmmm...” I moaned quietly. He was giving off this scent that drove me wild. I wanted his cock inside of me right away.

But daddy knows best.

“Okay,” I said, trying to hold myself back. “Is there somewhere I can sit to make you look good?”

Boswell snapped his fingers and a young security guard ran over to us. He was a little older than me – maybe 25. Not my type at all. I wanted someone rich and powerful and mature...

I wanted Boswell.

“This is Troy Grant,” the CEO said. “Please seat him at my table. Now if you’ll excuse me Troy, I’m afraid I have to give a speech.”

“Oh yeah, for sure!” I cheered. It didn’t matter – I’d be waiting, whenever he was ready.

My seat had a good view of the party – it was fancy as hell. I probably looked like trash, but like Dolly Parton says, that’s who I wanna be.

“Thank you all for coming,” Mr. Boswell was saying from the podium. “Welcome to our twenty-second annual gala to raise money for homeless youth.”

Everyone clapped, so I clapped along too. The podium was hiding his cock – I had to use my imagination. The speech went on for a long time, but they kept filling up my champagne, and I didn’t mind the jealous glances everyone gave me.

Finally he was done. It was an agonizing twenty minutes, watching him cross the ballroom floor and make smalltalk with every person along the way. I wanted to run over and jump him, but his words were echoing through my empty mind... discretion is key.

“We’re leaving,” he said, tapping me on the shoulder. I must have zoned out for a while. I stood up and followed in his wake.

His car was a limo – the real kind, with the bar in the back and everything.

“Do you want a drink?” I asked, glancing at the champagne bottle.

“I want you,” he said, grabbing me by the lapels and pulling me close.

Our lips made contact and I felt sparks. He was so confident and forceful, taking complete control of the situation. I felt myself melt in his arms.

I don’t know how long we were driving – all I could think about was his cock, hidden away behind those pants, straining for release. I wanted him to pound my ass so badly... but he wouldn’t.

“Not yet,” he’d say, staring me down with beautiful green eyes. “Wait until we get home.”

So we made out instead. And he groped my ass a little. God it felt good.

-------------------------

The house was massive. It took almost a minute for us to drive from the gates to the front door. The driver walked around to open our car door, and a security guard opened up the house. I didn’t see anyone else for the rest of the evening.

Discretion is key.

I crossed the threshold and felt a wave pass through me again. Another surf accident, another wipeout. I stumbled on my wingtip shoes.

“Are you okay?” Jeffrey Boswell, CEO of Northern Resources said. I was in the psychos house.

I wish he’d show that much concern for the planet. For the future.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to sound dumb. “I think I drank too much.”

“Well, why don’t you take a few minutes,” Boswell said, pointing down the hall. “There’s a washroom, third door on the left. Across from the study.”

“Yeah, sure,” I agreed.

Boswell sat down to untie his shoes. I stumbled off towards the bathroom.

I was going to get those papers. The study seemed like the obvious place, and one of the things I’ve learned in all my years of activism is that bad guys aren’t smarter than us. They just don’t care about who they hurt.

I was going to find the real impact report and then I was out the back door. We’d post it online and Northern Resources would have to stop logging. The public wouldn’t let them.

I stepped into the bathroom for a moment, then listened for footsteps. Boswell was headed away from me, into another part of the house. I cracked the door open, listened for another moment, and dashed across to the study.

You don’t need me to describe it, but I will anyhow. The study was full of hardwood, undoubtably each piece of furniture in here had been constructed from a tree killed by Northern Resources.

The report was just there, sitting on top of his desk. Like it was waiting for me.

I grabbed it. I couldn’t resist opening up the folder. The table of contents was enough to confirm it – this document reported on the risks to the ecosystem, and they were far graver than the publicly released report implied.

“Gotcha,” I whispered.

“I could say the same,” Boswell said from behind me. I spun around and found him staring, a revolver in his hand.

“You won’t use that,” I said. “You’re not a murderer.”

“No,” Boswell sighed, laying the handgun on a table. “I have people who do that for me. Have you figured it out yet?”

“What? That you falsified the report?”

“Please, Troy,” Boswell chuckled. “Seriously? Like I keep these things on paper? I might own a forestry company, but I also own a computer.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“I knew they were sending you Troy,” Boswell shrugged. “Shayla is one of my people. So is Alfie. I like to send him out to spy on terrorists like yourself. He has a lot of skills, but this is my favourite one. Convincing a handsome young man to brainwash himself and become my new toy.”

I thought back to the hour before. The party. The car. The desperate need.

“Then you made a mistake,” I said. “I’m back to my old self.”

“You know, there are plenty of young men who fit my criteria,” Boswell said, disregarding my disdain. “And quite a few more who would beg to be brainwashed for my pleasure. But there’s something sexy about it, don’t you think? Knowing your complete and utter commitment against me?”

“You’re not getting away with this,” I said, waving the report. I walked confidently towards him. If I had to knock him down, I could do that.

“Oh Troy,” Boswell said, stepping aside and letting me pass. “Beautiful boys shouldn’t worry about business like that. Don’t you want to know why I allowed your old personality to resurface?”

“Go to hell Boswell,” I shouted as I walked down the hall.

“I love this moment,” he said without raising his voice. “You’d look prettier if you smiled.”

The wipeout came again. I felt like I was struggling underwater, trying to find a way to stay afloat. I groped for my surfboard and found nothing but ocean. It was like I was being held there, my ankle gripped by some monster from the deep.

Oh my god... I needed him to fuck me so bad!

But that’s not what I wanted. I had to stay in control. I had to reject this mindfuck, no matter what happened. I had to get out of here, to expose Jeff Boswell for who he really is.

I tried to orient myself underwater. I tried to swim for the surface, but I couldn’t get loose.

“Dude...” the word slipped from my lips as Boswell watched me struggle. It was all in my head, but he could see something happening. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.

I had to hold on. I had to remember what was important in life. Saving the planet. Saving every life that it held.

Fucking. Shopping. Looking like... really pretty. I had to remember.

I fought with myself. I should be able to win, I thought. I’m so much smarter than he is, and with a real reason to exist. The other me... it’s just a shadow, just a fake personality.

But like... the tree guy thinks way too much, y’know? Overthinks. Like he never fucks.

While the tree guy was tied up trying to plan an attack, I was pushing him under the water. Holding him there while my head broke the surface. We were both strong, but I was horny, and horny always wins.

The tree dude was like... he sucked, y’know? The world sucked, sure, but he was never gonna fix it. Why not let me exist? A brilliant spot of beauty in a bleak landscape.

He stopped struggling. I could feel him sinking down farther to the deepest parts of my mind. I don’t need those depths, I chuckled. I’m not deep.

“Dude, that guy sucks,” I chuckled. I loved how dumb my voice sounded. I was like... so sexy.

“Yeah, he does,” Mr. Boswell said from behind me. I stayed perfectly still while he walked closer.

Soon his bulge was pressed against my ass.

“How about we go upstairs?” he suggested.

“Totally,” I grinned. I took his hand and he lead up to the third floor – his master bedroom was up there, big and rich and beautiful.

“Now strip,” he ordered. He tugged off his bowtie while I ripped open my silk shirt. Buttons flew across the room. It hung loosely over my muscular chest. I caught my reflection in a mirror – I was all pecs and abs and sex drive. I was like... so hot.

Mr. Boswell was even hotter. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it aside. His shirt joined it a few seconds later. We were just a couple of studs, down to fuck.

“I love that blank look,” he said, holding my jaw with one hand, like he was appraising a piece of art. “Alfie did an excellent job on you.”

I grinned even harder.

“Now finish getting naked and get on the bed,” he commanded. “I’m gonna split that terrorist ass wide open.”

I kicked off my shoes and pants. Soon it was just me and the thong, and then even the thong was thrown aside. I planted my elbows on what felt like an expensive bedspread and stuck my ass in the air.

“Fuck me Daddy...” I begged, moaning in anticipation.

Mr. Boswell positioned his cock against my hole, putting just enough pressure on it that I got excited. It was wet and slippery with plenty of lube. I was surprised how easily it slipped inside, how comfortable I felt opening up to his cock.

Why wouldn’t I be comfortable? I fuckin’ love cock. And Mr. Boswell’s is the very best.

I moaned louder and pushed my ass back against him, making it slide in even faster.

“Yeah,” I moaned. “Fuck me!”

“You like trees, huh?” Mr. Boswell said, grabbing my hips and thrusting. “Tell me something about trees.”

I felt a part of myself struggling to get out. Something deep down inside of me was reaching up, grabbing on to Mr. Boswell’s question.

Mr. Boswell pushed into me hard and my whole brain lit up. Holy fuck... none of the porn I watched prepared me for this. I screamed out in joy – it felt like I was short circuiting. Bolts of lighting were ricocheting through my mind.

One of them connected with the monster inside me, the thing that was struggling to get out.

“Your cock is like a fuckin’ tree trunk!” I screamed, an image of a massive tree flashing through my mind. I remembered being under the tree with so many of my friends, trying to stop the logging trucks as they rolled forward.

“Tell me more,” Mr. Boswell moaned.

“Plow me like you plowed the forests!” I yelled. “Knock me down. Split me apart!”

“I'm gonna use you,” Mr. Boswell said with satisfaction. “I’m gonna use you to make something new.”

I remembered hating Mr. Boswell... but I don’t remember why. The memories were all mixing together... me and my friends in a forest full of giant cocks. The beauty and the power of daddy dick brought me to tears.

“Fuck me sir!” I screamed as he tore me apart. “Cum inside me! Make me new!”

“That's right boy,” Mr. Boswell said. I could hear the sadistic grin in his voice. “I’m gonna... I’m...”

I felt his cock pulsing inside of me, releasing a huge load into my ass. Sheets of lighting flashed through my head, striking the tree guy... breaking him apart forever.

My fingers gripped the bedspread tightly. Oh my god, it felt so good. I could feel my own cock jumping, my load spraying across the sheets. Wiping out any memory of... any memory of...

Did it matter?

We collapsed on the bed. Mr. Boswell rolled off me, gasping for breath.

“Fuck boy, you’ve got a great ass,” he mumbled, half awake.

“It’s all yours,” I promised. “Whenever you want it.”

“Damn right.”

We dozed for a while. Eventually Mr. Boswell started moving beside me. I rolled over, wincing at the new feeling of dried cum pulling on my leg hairs. I’d have to get those lasered away.

He took me into the shower with him. It’s a big one, with one of those waterfall shower heads. I loved how the water felt when it poured over my muscles.

“We’ll get you a wax tomorrow,” Mr. Boswell said critically. "And those eyebrows need shaping. Not perfect... but easy enough to have fixed.”

“Thank you sir,” I said, squatting down to soap up his calves. He had the most beautiful calves.

“Of course boy,” he laughed. “I like to see my resources developed.”

He chuckled like that was particularly clever, so I laughed along with him. He's so smart, but it goes right over my silly little head.

When we got out of the shower he grabbed a wrapped gift from the counter.

“These are for you,” he said. “I'd like it if you’d wear them.”

I tore into the wrapping paper. There was a pair of silk boxers inside... really short ones. I loved them immediately. An expensive gift from Mr. Boswell – how could I not?

“I love them,” I said, sliding the soft material up my legs. “Mmm... these make me feel so sexy.”

Mr. Boswell leaned against the wall and watched me pose in the mirror. My curls were messy, but I could fix them. I flexed, running through pose after pose, loving the way I looked as I moved my body. Loving the empty look in my eyes and the idiot smile under them.

“Alfie really made you a narcissist, huh?” Mr. Boswell chuckled. “It’s a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” I giggled, doing a double bicep pose and sticking out my tongue.

“Do you know what this means?” Mr. Boswell said, reaching out and touching my necklace.

“Yeah!” I said proudly. “It says BITCH! Cause I’m a bitch!” I laughed, shaking my ass for him.

“Almost,” Mr. Boswell said. “It’s because you’re my bitch.”

“Hell yeah!”

----------------------------------

We were on the helicopter, flying low over the coast. Normally Mr. Boswell’s yacht is moored near here, but a bunch of the eco-whatever people found out where it was docked. Those guys totally suck, like... why do they have to ruin stuff for everybody?

“Buzz the crowd,” Mr. Boswell told the pilot. “Nothing that will get me sued, but let’s fuck with them a little.”

“You wanna fuck with me a little?” I giggled, proud of my joke.

“Soon baby,” he said, patting me on the bicep. “Wait til we're at the boat.”

We passed over quickly and flew over the water. It was a perfect day – warm and sunny. I was overdressed in a pair of white shorts and a yellow polo shirt that was a size too small.

“God,” I whined as the crowd fell behind us. “Why don't they get a real job?”

“Like you?” Mr Boswell said, looking amused. I grinned along with him.

"I know exactly what job I got,” I smirked. “And you gotta wait til we're at the boat.”

The helicopter pilot pretended like he couldn’t hear. Mr. Boswell put a finger to his lips, telling me to settle down. I cracked my neck and blew him a kiss. That always got him going. He paid a lot of money for my plastic surgery – and my DSLs are his favourite part.

A few minutes later we landed on the yacht.

“I’m gonna go slip into something more comfortable,” I said, touching Mr. Boswell lightly on the arm. “Do you want me in a thong today? Or a speedo?”

“Oh, definitely a thong.”

“You got it Daddy,” I said, grabbing our bags and heading below. As I reached the stairs I put on my best smile – the one he always loves.

“Daddy,” I said, turning to give my idiot smile. “I love looking pretty for you.”