The Boyfriend Solution by Throne 

The Boyfriend Solution by Throne

Synopsis:Maggie had an unspectacular boyfriend, so she turned him into her sissy. But she still needed a manly man to fulfill her needs. What to do?

The Boyfriend Solution

By Throne

Maggie was with her new boyfriend, Bud. He was tall and muscular, though he carried a few extra pounds around his middle, due to a love of beer and fatty foods. He was lounging on her sofa, in cut-off jeans and a muscle shirt. She cuddled against him, her trim figure in a cropped top and panties. The attractive girl ran a small hand over his brush- cut hair, and then onto an impressive bicep, before she planted a kiss on his tattooed shoulder. He took a pull on his can of beer.

She told him, "I'm so glad I hooked up with you. My regular boyfriend was such a dud."

"Yeah. You told me he was useless."

"Well," she said with a sigh. "Not completely. He does pay the rent and gives me money whenever I need it."

"Wait. He still does that? After you dumped him?"
"I didn't exactly get rid of Ron. I sort of repurposed him." His brow furrowed. "What the crap are you talking about?"

"Ron was a weakling. It was easy to push him around. In fact, I got him to the point where that was our relationship, me telling him what to do and him doing it."

"Why didn't he just leave?"

"I kept pointing out to him that other girls wouldn't accept such a wimp. Then I talked him into dressing special for me, doing the housework, and being my sex slave in bed."

"Whoa." Bud frowned threateningly. "You're still sleeping with this chump?"

"No way." She squeezed the inside of Bud's thigh, which shifted the focus of his thoughts away from Ron. Maggie stroked the enviable bulge between his legs. "He hasn't had sex since long before I met you, babe. That is, he hasn't been allowed to get his dick near my pussy. That was no big loss, because what he's got is nothing compared to yours."

That compliment relaxed Bud further. "So, what's your deal with him?"

"Ron is more like a house pet now. Those special things I have him wear are to show that he let himself be turned into a sissy for me."

Bud laughed. "Now he's a Nancy-boy?"

"That's a good name for his new personality. It might be easier if I let you see him."

"What? You want to call him and he'll come here?"

"Actually," she told him with a sly smile, "he's in the walk-in closet, which I turned into a bedroom for him. A sissy bedroom. Want to pay him a visit?"

The big man shook his head. "This is nuts." He considered for a moment longer. His atavistic need to see any competing male being eliminated as a threat took over. "Yeah. This I have to see."

Maggie slid off the sofa and stood, all in one fluid motion. Bud heaved himself up onto his feet. He did it without relinquishing his beer can, which did present a certain type of gracefulness. She took his hand and he lumbered after her. They reached the door of the former storage space and she opened it a few inches.

"Ronette, honey," she called out. "I'm coming in. With Bud."

There was a moan from inside the space. She pushed the door the rest of the way, to reveal a young girl's bed, accompanied by a dresser and vanity table that would also be appropriate for a juvenile female. Everything was pink and white, with a few splashes of gold. Lying on the bed, atop a pink spread, with his head resting on a pink pillow, was a young man. Bud gawked at what he saw. The reclining guy had long blond hair that was gathered at either side of his head and held there

with red bands. His smooth face was lightly made up, with blush on his cheeks. All he had on was a baby doll nighty in pale lavender, with matching panties. The sleepwear was sheer, so it was obvious that he had no body hair, not even above his genitals. More noteworthy was that his penis was encased in a pink plastic tube.

"Jeez Louise," Bud exclaimed. "You weren't kidding about him being a fag."

"To be accurate," Maggie told him, "he's not gay. I haven't pushed him that far, at least not yet." She chuckled.

The male on the bed grimaced when she said that. Maggie snapped her fingers at him and motioned for him to get up. He swung around to put his feet on the floor, briefly hugged himself, and then stood. Bud stared at him as if he was a sideshow attraction.

The bigger man wanted to know, "And he likes being treated this way?"

"Not exactly." She reached out to pat Ron lightly on the side of his face. Her question for him was, "Do you enjoy being my sissy, Ronette?"

"No," he said with a pout. "But I do it because it's what you want."

"That's my good girl," she congratulated. "Don't fret. You'll still live here and be available when I have that special itch that needs to be scratched. Or licked. But I know you'll understand that I need a real man in my bed. Bud is exactly what I was missing."

She put an arm around the tall figure's waist and drew him nearer. He possessively embraced her, so that his long arm reached around far enough that he could grab some side-boob, making sure that Ron saw it.

"Damn right," Bud declared with macho pride. "I take good care of her in the sack."

To reinforce his words, she lowered a hand to massage his potent bulge. He drained the last of his beer and tossed the empty into a flowered trash can alongside the dresser.

She told Ron, "Show him the picture I took of you before your chastity

got locked on."

The sissy seemed to draw into himself, as if he wished her could vanish. He went to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and took out a framed photo. When he showed it to Bud, the well-hung guy chortled. What he was seeing was a very small penis, with proportionately undersized balls peeking out from behind. There was no pubic hair, so those organs looked even more immature. Bud made Ron hold the image in front of his own crotch, to give an idea of how his manhood appeared before it was caged. That caused Bud to laugh out loud. Ron shuddered at the mocking sound.

Maggie concluded, "So you can see, Bud, that Ronette is no threat to you or your claim on my body."

"For sure. He's just a joke. A fairy. A fruit."

"He is attractive in that way," she mentioned. "I'm sure there are guys who couldn't resist him."

"Yep. I know a few who've been to prison and turned punks like him into cellblock prom queens. They'd be happy to relive those times with this one."

Ron shuddered. Plainly, that was a possibility he did not relish. As if to further assert his dominance, Bud stepped up to him, took hold of both tails of hair, and pulled him nearer, so close that the sissy could smell beer and tobacco on his breath.

"Hell," Bud declared. "I might turn into a dating service for you, with dudes lining up to plug that pretty mouth."

He forced Ron backward, so he fell over onto the bed, face up. Bud leered down at him. Ron curled defensively into a ball, as if to make it unmistakable that he had surrendered.

Maggie suggested, "How about if we go back to the living room? Ronette can fetch you a fresh beer from the fridge."

"Sounds good," he agreed. "You got yourself a full-service pansy."

It was Maggie's turn to laugh. "I won't disagree with that."

The lovers departed the cramped room. Ron followed, using the mincing gait that had become automatic to him when he was at home. Sometimes it would show up when he was elsewhere, much to his embarrassment. He kept his arms down, hands held slightly away from his body, wrists noticeably limp. Maggie had trained him well. He scurried to the kitchen, concerned about what might happen if he was too slow. From the fridge he took a cold beer. With correct presentation in mind, he set it on a small round tray. When he swished into the living room, using both hands to carry it, Bud shook his head in disbelief. Ron bent at the knees before offering the beverage. Bud snatched it, made a show of pulling the tab, and took a long swallow. Ron straightened and turned toward Maggie.

He asked her, "Would you like anything, dear?"
"Why not? I'll have a seven-and-seven."
"Hey," Bud said more loudly than necessary. "One for me, too, Ronette."

Ron cringed inwardly at having the brutish guy address him by his feminine name. This situation was going from bad to worse. He dreaded to think how far it might progress, especially after those remarks Bud had made.

Maggie asked Bud, "Want to see something funny?"

He shrugged. "Funnier than the princess in her see-through nightie? Why not?"

"Ronette," Maggie snapped, putting authority into her usually soft voice. "Get my boots."

"Yes, Ma'am." He switched to that submissive form of address without being told to. "Which pair?"

She explained to Bud, "I make Ronette buy me sexy shoes and boots from time to time. Since he doesn't get real sex, I'm conditioning him to develop a fetish for them, along with my feet and stockings and even socks. He's so ridiculous, now that I have him drooling over all that."

Ron was obviously shamed by that revelation. Maggie didn't rush to let him leave the room. She pursed her lips and put a fingertip against her delicate chin. After more consideration she decided, "Make it the thigh-high ones. I remember how you acted the last time I wore those. They sure bring out the pervert in you."

"I wasn't like that before," he said, and then clamped shut his mouth, realizing that he had said the wrong thing.

"Giving me backtalk?" Maggie asked rhetorically. "You know what that means, Ronette. Why don't you tell Bud what happens when you get snippy with me?"

The dolled-up guy sniffled. "I get punished." "And what is your favorite punishment?" she inquired.

None of them were favorites, of course. She was taking private delight in suggesting that he enjoyed the discipline she meted out. Since he had no preferred form of correction, she cited the one he suffered most often.

"My favorite," he lied, "is spanking."
"Do you think Bud would like to see you get your fanny tanned?" He reflexively glanced toward the seated man. "I'm not sure." "Take a guess."
"Yes. I think he'd appreciate that."
"Hell, yeah," Bud confirmed. He took a swallow of beer. "I might even

volunteer to help out."

"But right now," Maggie instructed her slave, "fetch us those drinks. Don't take too long, or I might have to add another punishment. Do you want Bud to see you sitting on your bad-girl seat?"

A wave of distress washed over Ron's face. "No, Ma'am." He

reconsidered his words. "But if you want him to see me doing that, it would be fine."

She speculated, "I think you secretly want this big strong man to see you doing it. Confess, Ronette. You want that. Don't you?"

The last thing he desired was for the caveman to witness that especially humiliating and uncomfortable act. And he certainly didn't want to claim that he wanted Bud to view it. Even so, he knew what Maggie expected.

"You're right," Ron prevaricated. He even forced himself to project a smile, though he was certain it was unconvincing. "I want Bud to see me put myself on the bad-girl stool." Just to make sure his words were strong enough, he added, "I hope you'll make me do that so he can watch."

"Well..." She appeared uncertain. "I don't want to do that to you unless you've earned it. Let's wait and see what happens."

"Yes, Ma'am."

Plainly, she was playing with his head. At least when it was only the two of them it was more intimate. As cruel as she could be, it was a form of paying attention to him, a step in recreating him in the image she willed. Ron didn't like being transformed, having his masculinity taken away, being made to disgrace himself in so many ways, but it was now the basis of their union, and worth undergoing if he could only hold onto Maggie. By now he truly believed what she had repeatedly but subtly convinced him of, that no other girl would want him. He was pitiably dependent on her. Ron even responded erotically to her controlling ways. At the moment, as much as he outwardly disliked what was happening, his imprisoned penis throbbed with need inside its restrainer. He self-consciously smoothed down his filmy nightie, savoring the way it touched his skin. Over time, Maggie had made a good start on getting him addicted to wearing girly fashions. She intended to go much further.

Ron belatedly returned to the kitchen. She trusted him to make mixed drinks, if they contained only two ingredients. Maggie knew he was capable of being an even better mixologist, but maintained the fiction

that he was not competent enough for even slightly more complicated recipes. It was one more of the countless ways in which she undermined his confidence. He poured the ginger ale and whiskey into two glasses and added ice. They went onto the tray and he hurried to deliver them, carefully placing one foot in front of the other and taking tiny steps. He went to Maggie first, squatting to offer her drink. Then he turned to Bud, alongside her, and did the same.

Bud scowled at what was offered. "You could have asked me if I wanted so much ice," he groused. "I don't like my booze watered down."

"I'm so sorry," Ron said breathily, his voice high and thin. "I can try to fix it."

"Don't bother," Bud told him, acting resigned to an unsatisfying seven- and-seven. "I'm thinking you did it on purpose, so you can show off on that seat Maggie said something about."

"Um..." Ron was in a quandary. "I don't think so. I mean, I'm not sure." He whimpered. "Please accept my apologies."

"Whatever." Bud made it clear that the offer had not been accepted.

Maggie smiled inwardly. She was thrilled that her new bedmate intuitively understood how to treat Ron. Together they could drive her plaything deeper and deeper into his new role. The possibilities seemed endless, the depths to which she could sink him without limit.

With a hint of impatience, Maggie reminded Ron, "My boots."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm sorry. Right away."

He wiggle-walked away. In the bedroom he opened the closet with reverence. There, on the floor and filling a shoe rack, where many examples of her footwear. He paused to admire the black shoes with square toes and chunky heels. In his mind he saw her combining those with black stockings and a miniskirt. He ached to see that again. And there were her calf-high boots, the red ones made of pebbled leather. He knelt and inhaled, breathing in the scent that increasingly intoxicated him. It was undeniable that she had gotten him hooked on everything he was currently fixating over. Ron reached out to stroke a

riding boot, caress a stiletto pump, finger a high-top, platform-soled shoe. He shook off his reverie and got his hands on the requested items, two very tall boots in thin yellow leather, with a single row of metal studs circling them at their tops. The heels were three inches and thick. The toes came to points. He hugged them to his chest, exhaled slowly, and got off his knees.

For a moment, Ron paused. He couldn't help remembering time spent here before Maggie came to dominate him. Now he was very aware of the closet that held lots of girly fashions for him. There were bulky sweaters, pleated skirts, summery dresses and satiny robes. In his mind he replayed what it was like to wear them, the touch of soft material against his skin. Soon she would move all that into a wardrobe she had ordered for his room, which would take up more of its limited space. Naturally, it was him who had paid for it.

When he returned, Bud was kissing Maggie. That was awkward for Ron to see them like that. Nevertheless, he stood back and held his silence. His eyes ran up and down Maggie's bare legs and feet, admiring her petite toes and slim ankles. Bud broke off the kiss, eyed the boots, and grunted his approval.

Maggie languidly ordered Ron, "Put them on me." She accommodatingly stretched out her lower limbs.

Bud observed intently as Ron unzipped the boots in the back, worked them onto her feet, and adjusted them before raising the zippers. His hands stole extra seconds in contact with them. By the time he was done, he was panting. There was no way to deny how aroused this made him.

With a smirk, Maggie asked her kneeling boot boy, "Would you like to get your mouth on them, Ronette?"

Although he didn't want to admit it in front of Bud, he choked out the words, "Yes, Ma'am. I'd like that very much."

She sighed theatrically. "Fine. Have your twisted fun."

Maggie opened her arms to Bud, who leaned in to wrap her in his arms. Ron turned up his eyes and saw them kissing open-mouthed, at the same time he pressed his lips to the slick shiny leather. A familiar warmth

filled him. Before Maggie he would have been more interested in the girl than what she wore on her legs. Now the opposite was true, even though he didn't want it to be. He kissed his way down to her toes, with a hand massaging each heel. His neglected dick strained against its confinement. He groaned. His nipples begged to be touched. Maggie would occasionally diddle them. Sometimes she let him do it, though it shamed him to commit such self-pleasuring. Worse, no matter who stimulated those twin erogenous zones, it left him frustrated, with his balls throbbing painfully. He was permitted to continue indulging his induced footwear fetish while the two on the sofa shared a prolonged make-out session. Bud pawed Maggie's softness. She ran her hands over his muscles, along with massaging him through his cut-off jeans.

At last, they came up for air. Ron was so involved with his boot worshipping that Maggie had to slap him on the top of the head to get him to cease. He took several revivifying breaths and blinked repeatedly, as if he had just had sex. Too bad that he hadn't achieved the relief that the real act would have provided.

Maggie announced, "Spanking time. I think one of the kitchen chairs would be nice for the spanker to sit on."

Ron was upset that she hadn't identified who would be administering his discipline. Surely, she wouldn't allow Bud to do it. He had bigger hands than her and would assuredly hit harder. More importantly, the punished one did not want a man being the one to swat his bottom, especially not with Maggie in attendance. The two from the sofa got up. Maggie told Ron he could follow them on hands and knees. He got down on all fours and trailed along obediently. Perhaps on purpose, knowing Ron could see it, Bud put his hand on Maggie's ass and kept it there.

"Here we go," said Maggie in the kitchen as she pulled out a chair and rotated it.

Ron was relieved. He assumed she was going to be the one to sit on it. Instead, she surprised him by gesturing for her replacement lover to take the seat. Bud plumped himself down and sat there like the king of the castle.

He told Ron, "Hey, sissy. Get up and go grab my drink. Maggie's too. And don't spill any, or I'll take it out on your girly ass."

With a quick look toward Maggie, to see if she would disagree with Bud, Ron got up and did what he was told. He carried the glasses carefully. They weren't overly full but he was afraid of angering the powerful man who was about to spank him. When he got back and gave them their drinks, Bud took a sip and then nodded. He adjusted the angle of his chair. Then he slapped his thigh.

"Let's go, Ronette. Over my lap. Right now."

Ron bit his lips. He wanted to refuse but saw no way that would work to his advantage. He was already facing this punishment and time on his sissy seat. His buns would be sore when he assumed his spot on the stool. And that piece of furniture had its own built-in discomfort- maker. It would be doubly painful. Giving up any thoughts of gaining mercy, he draped himself over Bud's upper legs. Maggie watched avidly. The seated man took another drink. He barked at Ron to get his nighty and panties out of the way, which the helpless prey reluctantly did. Bud laid a hand on the bare bottom. His fingers prodded the soft flesh. Ron was trying to regulate his breathing when Bud unexpectedly raised his arm and swung hard. There was a loud fleshy crack, accompanied by a wild wail. Ron kicked his feet. He was held in place by the spanker's free hand. After that, the blows fell fast and furiously. Ron squalled and squirmed. He was aware of the muscular thighs beneath him. This was so much harsher than what he was used to from his girlfriend. His only consolation was that it didn't last as long. When it was done, Maggie came over and bent forward to kiss Bud. She put a hand on the small of Ron's back for balance. After she straightened up, she poked
at his blazing backside, like it was cooked meat she was checking for tenderness.

Maggie said, "You know, Bud, seeing you slap Ronette's rear got me all heated up. How about if we head for the bedroom?"

"If you like seeing your wuss suffer, why don't we put him on that whatever-it-is where he has to sit when he's been bad."

"Right. He did misbehave when he made your drink. That's a serious offense. I'll go and get it."

She left and then called Bud to join her. Maggie was outside the main

bedroom. What she had brought was a low stool, like a dairy farmer might use when milking cows. The difference was that there was a dildo mounted in the center of the seat, pointing straight up. The fake cock was only about six inches long, but disproportionately thick.

Maggie held up a tube of lubricant and asked Bud, "Should the rubber rammer go into him dry or wet?"

Bud said, "I don't want to mean to the poor pathetic Mary Jane. Put some of that stuff on her fingers and let her grease it up. But not too much. I don't want her to get spoiled."

Again, Bud understood the psychology of what was happening, if only in his own primitive way. Maggie applied several drops of the creamy stuff to Ron's fingertips. He applied it carefully, making sure to get enough on the big head to ease its passage into his body. What was left went onto the shaft. At Bud's command, he removed his panties entirely. Then he had to straddle the stool and hold up the hem of his nightie with his thumbs and first fingers, pinkies extended, to lower himself onto the penetrator. He managed to get it aligned with his entrance on the first try, reducing his humiliation, if only by the merest fraction. This was something he had done but a few times before. Anticipating what came next was terrible. He let his weight descend by half inches. The stretching was awful. After the knob was inside, he let himself down a bit faster. His buttocks hit the flat surface of the seat and their hurt was intensified by that contact. He sat there, like an offender being publicly pilloried, with his chastity fully visible. Ron sobbed quietly.

"Poor sissy," Maggie offered with blatantly false sympathy. "Bud and I will try not to be too loud while we're screwing each other's brains out."

In contradiction to her offer of limited noise, she left the door ajar. All too soon, Ron was listening to the girl he was so committed to, as she enjoyed lots of foreplay and then an even longer session of sex, with her man of choice. On his seat of humiliation, Ron tried to remain still but also had to fidget occasionally in an attempt to ease his discomfort. He perspired. The muscles being abused by the faux phallus protested. His guts churned. The pain in his buttocks penetrated deeper with time. Despite all that, his nipples begged to be

touched. He was having an unwanted sexual response to being cheated on. To keep his hands out of mischief, he held onto the blond ponytails on either side of his head.

When the happy couple eventually emerged, smelling of sex and sweat, Bud stood in front of him. All the conquering stud had on were his boxers. Ron's face was at the same height as the man's crotch.

"Go on, sissy," Bud offered. "Kiss it through my shorts. We all know you want to."

Had Maggie put him up to this? Was it one more way for her to erode Ron's male ego? Or had Bud conceived of it himself? If it was the latter, could Ron's compliance be a prelude to something more that was much less welcome?

With the dildo limiting his movement, Ron tilted himself forward. He lightly kissed the front of Bud's underwear. The crude man put his hands on the back of Ron's head and yanked him into tight contact. Ron could feel the thickness of that tool against his lower face. He smelled and tasted seminal fluid. Then Bud was grinding on him. The fat head of his organ assaulted Ron's lips.

"How about that?" Bud put surprise into his voice. "Your sissy is trying to suck me off through my shorts."

"I guess we know what direction he wants to go in."

"Probably had it in mind right from the start." He told Ron, "Your secret's out, Missy."

"Ronette will probably like it later on, when he has to use his mouth on my kitty. Now that you and I aren't using condoms anymore, Bud, he'll get to eat what he wants, even though it won't be straight from your king-size cock."

"And you can feed it to him after every time we do the deed."

Maggie chortled at that. Ron's stomach turned over at the thought of what he would be doing later.

The well-used girl said, "Let's order some take-out."

They strolled away, hand-in-hand, leaving Ron where he was. He felt utterly excluded, as if he wasn't even a part of Maggie's life at that point. Instead of making him resolve to cut ties with her, it drove him to a resolution to redouble his efforts to do whatever it took to remain together, in whatever status she granted him, no matter how demeaning. His insides lit up with desire for her, his former sex drive rerouted and turned into a perverse need to be feminized and abused. It didn't matter. His conflicted emotions were settled. He was ready for anything she directed his way. He yearned for more feminine finery and a chance to prove himself as her cooperative cuckold.

It struck Ron that his girlfriend had come up with an answer to her problem with partners. She now had two of them. One who was sweet and giving. The other who was unsophisticated but a dynamo in bed. She had discovered the ideal boyfriend solution.

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