This story was writtin by prey4me.
It is a long story but once it gets going you cant help but finish it.
Raping and Abusing
The Drunk's Date
Introduction and Disclaimer
This story is fiction.
It contains graphic descriptions of the rape, degradation, and physical abuse of a beautiful, innocent high school girl. It is intended as sordid entertainment, and nothing more. If such content is offensive to you, or were to encourage you to engage in similar activities, then close out this page.
It is based on a young guy and a girl I actually observed one night some time ago. The girl is just as beautiful, wearing a beautiful, feminine silk dress, as described. Her boyfriend/date became obscenely drunk, and I actually located police services to look after them in their plight.
But the girl would have been an incredibly easy mark to victimize and rape.
The story that follows describes what I wish I could have done!
* * *
I am a creature of the night.
Ordinarily, I’m a helper, a fixer. I’m out at ungodly hours—and I mean ungodly!—in my van. I fix the things that go break in the night. Like cable connections, car alarms, broken windows, busted door locks, leaky pipes—all sorts of things. Out in my non-descript white van, I wait for the calls from my dispatch service, and hang around, until somebody pays me to fix something.
Like one night, a few weeks ago. There wasn’t any business, so I was in the club district chillin’ and killin’ time. It’s bright, entertaining, full of energy, and I can often pick up quick cash jobs, like car lockouts and dead batteries. And there are lots to see. Lots of girls and guys, often drunk, sometimes astonishingly stupid, or just foolish and funny.
But then, there is another side of me, the darker side, which connects with the gaudy neon and the dark shadows of the night.
An evil side, one steeped in malice and lust. And that is what I intend to tell you about. A time when I was able to indulge that pernicious side.
When I raped and ruined a girl.
A nice, old-fashioned girl. A very lovely, sweet girl—the kind guys want to bring home to meet their parents.
Her name is Stephanie. And she is, er, was, well, just beautiful and innocent beyond description. Very much an All-American girl. The “girl next door,” and all that.
It was her skirt that first caught my eye. Or more accurately, her dress. They were across the street, this guy and girl, but I couldn’t help but notice her skirt. It was off-white, a kind of a peach, box-pleated thing, cut right at her smooth, slender knee. First of all, girls in this section of the club district tend to go out in hot-tease outfits: tight jeans, or Capri pants, and things, or sexy, “come-on-guy!” exhibitionistic miniskirts. But this girl was wearing something feminine and elegant, a silky dress that fell in large, generously cut, deep-cut pleats. You don’t see them so much nowadays. Nice, crisp, big pleats, about two or three inches wide, which fanned in and out and swayed to and fro. She strutted along atop classy, high-heeled pumps which complemented the light beige-pink dress. She was carrying a sweater in the comfortable night air, exposing a snug-fitting sleeveless bodice which was modest but flattered a slender body with medium-sized bust.
Some girls can’t wear heels. I don’t know why, they kind of slouch forward and shuffle their feet. But this girl could. Smooth, slender legs, upright posture, and shoulders back—I could hear the distinctive click-click-click all the way across the street of three-inch pumps, darker when contrasted to the pastel pinky-peach of her skirt and sweater.
And as she walked, the hem of her pleated dress swished and swayed, back and forth, fanning out occasionally as a bit of breeze caught the delicate fabric. They went by a side street, and a gust caught the hem, pulling it out. It was a very wide skirt, quite enchanting.
As the evening breeze lifted her hem, I noticed he was wearing a slip. I like that on a girl. Girls don’t wear them much nowadays. Too bad.
She was all female. So very female.
They were both dressed lightly for the warm evening. He had on a sport jacket and tie, and showed breeding.
Very classy, the both of them.
And you could tell she was very much in love with him. Very. She kept looking at him, and found little ways to touch him, to put a hand on his arm, to hold hands, and when they passed me, I heard her use his name, Robert, softly, about three times in as many sentences. Not “Bob” or “Bobby.” That’s a real give-away.
But it was those pleats that riveted my attention. Moving around those smooth, slender legs.
They got to me.
They kept drifting and swishing. She had on sheer hose. But those pleats.
Just swishing about smooth, flawless knees.
A kind of a muted satin fabric.
I watched her, and was, well, very jealous of that guy, Robert. He seemed to sort of take her for granted.
I know I wouldn’t, if she were with me.
But enough description. Let me tell you what happened that night.
I got a call to board up somebody’s window, which some drunken idiot had smashed. But that little girl, blonde hair brushed out and falling to the shoulders, sweet little tits pushing out against that snug dress, and those smooth legs scissoring back and forth within the circumference of those generous box pleats, had gotten hard-wired on my brain, like a continuous-loop video.
That girl was etched on my brain.
Blonde. Her hair falling to her shoulder, curling about in big, round loops.
Her silk dress.
The pleated skirt.
The skirt, moving about those perfect legs, her trim ankles, her elegant rose-hued heels. I turned around, and headed for the job.
My assignment service got me a few quick jobs. Good money, but before too long I meandered back to the club district, to enjoy again the lights, the energy, and whatever the out-and-about crowd might have to offer.
It was a several hours later, a bit before closing time, that I noticed those pleats again. Probably two blocks away, crossing the street; there was no mistaking them! Anxious for another peek at this classy fuckmeat, I maneuvered my van and headed down the Boulevard, focusing on where I last saw those distinctive pleats, negotiating the heavy post-club traffic with my peripheral vision. I saw her—and her date—on the opposite side of the street, walking away from the bars, towards the side streets.
“Robert” was drunk. Very drunk! He was staggering. Pretty little Miss Box Pleats looked steady and upright to the point of prim. She could have been heading into Easter church service. After a warm day and evening, it had gotten unseasonably cold. Spring had just disappeared, and it was now winter again--windy, with a bit of snow. She had her sweater on, buttoned tight. Robert was oblivious to the biting cold, his jacket open, wit his shirt-tail and tie were loose underneath it, everything flapping in the wind.
As was her skirt. Those pleats. Blowing and billowing in the near-gale breeze, exposing her slip, her shiny slip, shimmering in the night street lights. I drove past them, and pulled over, watching them, in my van mirrors, catch up and walk past me. He couldn’t notice they were being followed (or was it being stalked?) and she was preoccupied with her stumbling inebriated boyfriend. Then I leapfrogged them a half block, and stopped again. They crossed to my side. I studied her as they walked past.
I realized that I had evolved from voyeur to predator.
Damn, I wanted her.
To fuck her.
To have her.
To possess her.
To take her.
She looked so virginal, so very pure!
To deflower her.
To mate her.
To rape her!
I heard her scolding him, as she assisted her drunken boyfriend, guiding and steadying him. I couldn’t make out the words, but she had her hands full: Robert was all over the sidewalk, bumping into things, leaning on her, and she was trying to keep a hand on her skirt, it was blowing about so. Occasional blasts of wind would really blow her box-pleated dress, slip and all, up high, displaying perfect panty-hosed legs and panties underneath.
And she was cold. Her hands in turn clutched her sweater tight against her trim torso, steadied Robert, and pushed down and pinched her blowing pleats. Then she’d have to hold up the staggering preppie, and her dress was whipped out again. He was apparently oblivious to all this—but I wasn’t!
A gentleman would have his jacket around her, and suffer the cold himself. But Robert’s jacket was half off his shoulders, blowing in the late Winter wind.
Then they turned up a side street. I waited a moment, and turned.
I was now, officially, a predator.
I was perniciously obsessed with this girl in a peculiar way. She looked young—nineteen, maybe eighteen; she could pass for sixteen, maybe. Yet she was out late at the bars. Fake ID, I’m sure. “Robert” didn’t look much older. She was devastatingly pretty in such an old-fashioned way, with her golden blonde hair brushed straight back and flaring to her shoulders, were it ended with an even wave, although it was really wind-tusseled about her face. It was kind of waved at her back, and curled in around her neck and chin. .She had nice, but not very protruding cheekbones. Her chin looked small and round in the street lights.
And that skirt, now in the protection of the side street, just swayed and fanned out gently in the quieter confines of the buildings.
I wanted her in the meanest way, and I mean mean! I was willing to take outrageous chances to get her, to have her, to push that satiny peach skirt up and drive my hard, lonely cock deep into her aristocratic body.
I crept along in my van, watching, trailing, stalking them. Young Robert stepped in between some buildings, and I could tell he was heaving his guts out, the asshole. Little Miss Preppie stood behind him, dismayed. There was a lot of curb space, and I pulled over. I lowered the right-size window and called out.
“You don’t seem to be doing very well there. You need a hand?”
The girl looked at me, numbly. The boy emerged from the shadows, wiping his mouth with his jacket sleeve. He removed a bottle out of his pocket and took a swig.
What an asshole! All this, and he was still drinking?
He was a disgusting, slovenly incompetent mess. When I take a girl out, I dress right, look after her, and make sure she’s treated like a lady. Young Robert was hardly “husband material.”
What did she see in this slob, let alone love?
I got out and approached them. In a moment, I had found out that not only was he too drunk to drive, he couldn’t remember where he had parked his car!
I heard him call her by name.
It was Stephanie.
Stephanie. Stephanie! I liked that.
I liked Stephanie.
I wanted to fuck Stephanie.
Sweet, lovely Stephanie.
Pretty little fuck-bait Stephanie.
Blonde, young, classy Stephanie.
Stephanie! I’m going to rape you, Stephanie—and your drunk boyfriend won’t be able to do a thing to stop me!
Robert leaned against the building, oblivious, while I set up Stephanie.
“This is a rough part of town. Why don’t I drive you around till we find Robert’s car?” I offered. Looking relieved, she agreed, and I opened the passenger door for the young lady. “Come on, Robert,” Stephanie commanded. She slid in, neatly smoothing her dress beneath her, and the pleats fanned to the sides of her slim hips. “The front will fit only one passenger,” I explained, as I opened the back of the van, and I lead, half-carried, Robert over to it. I turned him around, and before the inebriate could do anything, I had a gag on his mouth, and bound around the back of his head. I kicked his leg out, and he collapsed on the wet pavement. A split moment later, I had his wrists crossed, and bound with a long nylon zip-tie. I shoved him up and in, and, even though he kicked a bit, got his ankles got similarly bound.
On the far side of the passenger panel, Stephanie was ignorant of her perilous state.
Sweet, innocent girl!
. A bit of twine, and I brought his feet up behind his ass, and he was hog-tied to his wrists. He moaned, put his head back, and passed out like the dim bulb he was.
I put a handful of zipties in my pocket, and got behind the wheel.
Stephanie looked at me, a bit confused, but I calmed her with smooth patter. “We’ll drive around and see if we can find his car. I hope you can drive it home—he’s not in any shape! Now, what are we looking for….” I chattered on, and lovely Stephanie opened up and told me just about everything I needed to know.
Gullible girl! I told her maybe the best thing would be to drive her to her home or her school. I found out she’s a senior at a nearby—and very exclusive—girls’ school.
“Thank you so much, mister,” she breathes. “I do wish Robert wouldn’t drink so much. When he’s sober, he’s the most wonderful guy! He’s on a full athletic scholarship—two sports, swimming and baseball! I hate to think of the trouble he’d be in if his school found out he has this drinking problem….”
Thanks, cupcake! I think, just tell me what I need to know! It explained why he was so beefy, and also alerted me to a risk factor, that he was strong. But I could also use that information about his precarious scholarship status.
I had the cream of American youth here!
I moved down the side streets. I know my way around, including some very dark and remote corners. I looked at my prey, sitting demurely a few feet away, her skirt spread a little untidily on the work-stained front seat. She pulled her peach cashmere sweater tight about her modest bosom, maybe a “B” cup? Her knees and ankles were pressed together. So demure!
But her dress still captivated me. The wide pleats were spread slightly to her sides on the rather grungy upholstery of the van seat, and fell to just over her knees. Sitting, the hem of her dress was almost mid-calf.
She was wearing nice, sheer pantyhose. The light silky stuff.
A bit of dainty white lace, edging a luminous silvery-white satin, peeked out from a small gap in the folds of her pleats.
The girl was a portrait in feminine modesty!
I moved to an empty block and stopped. “Would you mind leaning forward a bit?” I asked, casually. “I have to adjust my side mirror.” She accommodated me, and I leaned behind her, feigning a motion to the side window.
“Just a bit more, please.” She moved so the edge so her ass was just on the edge of the seat, and her face was on the dash. Her curled hair was draped to the top of her shoulders. “Uh, just put your hands down to your sides, would you please?” Full of foolish trust, she did just what I asked, not realizing it made no sense whatsoever, except to make her vulnerable. “Now put your hands back a little,” and I steered her near, left hand to the back of her hip. I did the same with her right hand—stupid girl!—and I asked her to keep her head right down on the dash. Amazingly, she complied!
I had both her wrists, and yanked them behind her in a criss-cross, then wrapped a zip-tie around them. Now she jolted, and it took a moment to feed the end into the lock, but even while she twisted and pulled, more in confusion than fright, I had the zip-tie mated, and pulled it snug. Suddenly she comprehended just what had happened, and she turned and looked at me, eyes large with fright.
“Whaaaat…??!! What? Mister—what—what—hey,. Hey! You can’t—oh, no. NO! Robert—Robert!!” she screamed. She retreated against the car door. I moved the van down the street while pretty little fuck-bait Stephanie screamed, hollered, called to her passed-out boyfriend, and screamed. “Mister, you can’t do this!” She tried to manipulate the door handle, but I sped up. “ Stop—let me out! I’ll—I’ll—this isn’t funny—you won’t get away with this!!—you don’t know who I am—mister—mister….please, Please! What do,…do—do you want? LET ME GO!!
I answered her question by putting my hand on her knee, and sliding her skirt up her thigh. It exposed her slip—a very rich, satiny thing, generously cut, which fell about her tightly closed legs sensuously. She squeezed her knees together, squeezing herself into the corner of the car.
“No…no-no-no-NO-NO! Not THAT! Robert—ROBERT—ROB--ERT!!” she screamed.
“He’s passed out cold back there, Stephanie baby,” I teased. “And besides, he’s tied up at the moment. Tied up with his booze, and, well, just tied up!”
I pushed her dress further up, piling it atop her thighs. Her slip shimmered under the dashboard lights.
“No, no, no, no, please, please, not that, anything but that, not that, not-that-not- that-I-can’t, you can’t, I won’t let you, I’ll fight you, I’ll send you to jail for the rest of your life, no, not that, NOT THAT!”
“Not what?” I asked, just to play with her mind.
I steered down back streets that were even darker and more deserted. One hand on the wheel, I pushed her dress all the way up to her lap, and stroked the top of her near thigh, through her silvery pink slip.
“To, to…to-to-mmmm,..make…love…to me..”
She suttetered and gasped it.
“Well, if you must know, I’m not going ‘to make love’ to you.”
Stephanie looked at me quizzically. I reached over, and pushed her slip up, and it joined her skirt bunched up at her lap. Her medium-sized breasts heaved up and down. She was wearing sheer-to-the-waist pantyhose, and had pink satin panties underneath.
The blonde curled her legs underneath her keeping her knees squeezed together. She was rigid under my touch.
I stroked the top her thigh, my fingertips sliding to the inside surface, digging in to her pressed-together legs. I noticed she was breathing hard underneath her light pink cashmere sweater.
I pulled back, and put both hands on the wheel as I wound through a maze of dark wintry streets. “I’m not going to make love to you, Stephanie.”
She closed her eyes; her face frozen with shock and dread.
“I’m going to rape you!”
She gasped, took in a deep breath, and then screamed—a loud, lungs-full-of-air, all-out soprano scream of terror and dread.
The fear, the dread, the terror—utterly thrilling!
Then she began to “negotiate,” offering me money and promises not to tell the police if I would just let her—them--go.
I gawked at her body, lusting for her in with unrestrained desire. I ran my hand up the smooth, nylon-covered thigh while she squirmed desperately away. Her legs were fantastic, possibly the nicest I had ever seen. Her dress had slipped down, and I casually took the hem of her dress and flicked it back up. She continued to squirm and cringe.
This was a very classy, feminine girl. Not extinct, but getting rare.
“Mister, mister, mister, please, please, no, don’t—oh, no, don’t you have any decency?”
“No. None whatsoever. I guess we’re just not meant for each other. You strike me as a very ‘decent’ kind of girl. And I’m anything but decent, eh?”
I meandered through a maze of side streets as we drove deeper into the night. She seemed dazed, not paying attention to where we were going.
“Mister…mister…” she softly intoned. “I don’t know what I can say or offer you not to…do…anything…to me. Please. My family has some money, and we have some connections. Well, actually, we have rather a lot… If I ask my father to, well, help you out, I’m sure he would. Do you need a job or something? He has his own company…if I asked…” I kept staring at her body, especially her hips. “Please, just…don’t…” her voice trailed off to a whisper. “….Don’t…(rape…me)…(pleeeease)….”
She was whispering, actually whining, with that young teenage voice. Her words died off as my hand slid up her slip, caressing itself against the satin shimmering beneath the dashboard lights. I pressed down on her thigh a bit, and gave it a squeeze. She gasped.
I pulled over to a dark side of the road. Inner-city nowhere.
I grabbed her hair at the top of her back, dragging her to the center of the seat and shoved her against the seatback. With my other hand, I brushed across her breasts. She sucked in her breath and held it. Then I just grabbed her right tit, cupping it, fondling it, massaging it, and finally squeezing it. I just had to sample the pleasures in store for me.
“Please, please….mister…don’t…” she pled again in that little voice. “Oh…..”
My hand moved to her other tit. Through her soft sweater and dress, I could feel the outline of her bra. She was built medium and rather firm—whatever she was wearing under that silk dress was not heavy-duty underwear. Her young, firm tits didn’t need much molding or support.
I just pawed at her tits. She took in measured breaths, looking straight ahead at the empty street.
“Don’t. Oh, please, please…” she gasped, “Stop, I’ve never… I’m not that kind of girl. Really. I mean…” She was sighing, that demure bosom rising and falling, and the first (of many!) tears trickled down her high cheekbones. I moved South and stroked up and down her thighs, my hands absorbing the soft femininity of her lingerie-covered thigh. Something silky and soft sliding over nylons is incredibly sexy to me. My movements went higher and higher, up a little, down a little, and up a little more--until my fingers were well under the bunched-up pleats at her lap.
I pushed her down and she was lying back on the van seat. Her glossy blonde hair spread across the grubby, stained upholstery. One leg was dangling under the steering wheel, the other twisted back under her ass. I further explored the curves at the bottom of her torso, sliding about her hips, her belly, the top of her thigh, the bottom of her belly, and I groped her crotch through her panty hose, just shoving my fingers up against her pussy.
“Oh…no…oh god oh god oh god ohhhhh…nooo… not that…Please..please? Don’t…touch me…there, like that.” Stephanie’s face was clenched tight with dread and loathing. She rocked her head back and forth. Her eyes were closed, but the tears still came, trickling down her temples to her ears.
I lay down upon her, as much as the confines of the van seat and the steering wheel would allow. Her dress was still bunched up around her hips. I put my weight on her, squeezing her tit.
“Ooooowwwwww!” The strap at her wrists was probably pretty painful now.
I pushed my face deep into her lush blonde hair and growled into her ear, “Listen, Stephanie baby, you better understand you’re in a world of shit right now. You’re in the middle of nowhere, your boyfriend is drunk, passed out, and tied up in the back. If you don’t want to get hurt—or worse!—you better be a good girl.
“A good girl—a very good girl--to me. Got it?”
She kind of moaned, with a tone that suggested assent.
“Me master. You fuck-toy. You’re going to be fucked, Stephanie. Fucked! Or raped, which is the word I prefer.” The girl was really sobbing now, emitting a low sound, kind of a moan mixed with the word, “Noooo….please, I—I—my family—my daddy, he, we, can help you, there’s, there’s…money…”
I was breathing really hard now. “We’re not going to talk about it. Negotiate anything. Don’t try begging, or threatening, or offering me anything. I don’t want anything. Not your daddy’s money. Just you, Stephanie. You! Specifically, your body.”
Still holding her hair, I turned her head so she was facing me, and stroked her face.
“Kiss me, Stephanie.
She turned her head away, her face awash with anguish. A lush swath of blonde curls fell across her face, which I brushed back and tucked behind her ear. Then I slid my hand to her nape, and I pulled her head up towards me.
I ordered her quietly and calmly. Guys hope desperately for kisses from girls like Stephanie. I wanted them too, but would just as soon force them from her. Her neck was stiff as I turned her to me.
Stephanie kissed me. Softly. It was sweet, quite sweet, really. I figured her lip gloss was watermelon. “Again.” She pointed her head up to me, gently puckered, and I kissed her some more, pressing down, harder. “Keep your eyes open, cunt!” They were beautiful, a bright azure blue, glowing even in the dim light inside the van.
My heart was racing. How unbelievably nice, to kiss this sweet, lovely girl! We kept kissing, and she quieted down a bit.
I cupped, then squeezed that perfect tit, which made her stiffen up again. Even through the sweater and her dress her breasts had a great feel—firm, pushing up and out, and just a little bit pliable. I kneaded her right breast, squeezed it, and pulled at it. I moved back to her left breast, and gave it the same treatment. Then I just roamed all over her breasts, chest, and stomach, feeling how nice her body was, kissing her all the time, and just feeling her up without restraint.
And I was getting hornier—very, very hard. I freed the leg that was curled under her ass, and lay down on her, grinding her my crotch against her. I wanted Stephanie to feel my erection through our clothes.
It also felt good.
I broke the kiss, looming over her. I wasn’t feeling her up so much as I was assaulting her tits. I squeezed them and started pinching her nipples through all that material.
I started to unbutton her peachy-beige cashmere sweater. It had tiny silvery pearl-like buttons, and I loosened each one, parting the fuzzy material. Stephanie lay very still, almost hypnotized, looking up at the van’s celing as I unfastened each button, down to a bit below her tits. I could just imagine what was going through her pristine young mind. He’s doing it. He’s really doing it. He’s going to undress me, and then he’s going to rape me. Oh-god-oh-god-oh-god I’m going to be raped and there’s no one around to help me! Am I fertile? What if I get pregnant? Is he carrying any STD? AIDS? Oh, no, he seems so…dirty!
Well, I don’t carry any diseases, not that I felt like putting any fears to rest. More fun to keep her anxious. The sweater unbuttoned, I snaked my left hand inside and continued my enjoyment of her body. Her dress was satiny, just a little shiny, but it was smooth and sensuous as my hand slipped and slid over the curves of her tits. It was a back-zipper dress. Not many girls wear dresses, let alone “dress-up dresses” to the clubs around here. Stephanie was a dainty treat right in the midst of the neon squalor.
I forced more kisses onto her pliant lips, mashing my mouth, ravenously wet, all over hers. I pulled at her mounds, then pinched her nipples through her clothes, and she yelped, jerking.
She winced. I squeezed some more, then squeezed her nipples through her layers of girly apparel.
A good, hard squeeze, right between my thumb and index-finger knuckle!
She let out a scream. Then another. Long, loud soprano screams which filled the van. There wasn’t the least response from the inert boyfriend trussed up in the back. Stephanie cried. “Please—please—oh, stop!!--be gentle. Don’t hurt me. I’ll—I’ll do what you want. Just don’t hurt me, and promise me you’ll let us go. I’ll…I’ll do… anything you want me to.”
“Anything.” She added, in a weeping tone. “I don’t…handle…pain…very well.”
“Well. Well, well! Then it will behoove you to accommodate me, hmm…?” Stephanie didn’t answer. I reached for her skirt again. It had slid down, and I pulled it back up her thighs, and then pushed her slip up, too, so I could enjoy the view—and access to her legs.
It embarrassed her a bit, too. She instinctively squeezed her legs together.
Damn, these shy, innocent girls excite me! I wanted to pry into her soul before prying myself in between her legs. I pulled her back to a sitting position, right in the middle of the seat. She was crying as I re-arranged her pleats and her slip high up her thighs, fondled her boobs some more, and kissed her tear-stained face in mock-affection. I pressed my lips to her cute little ears, and her blonde curls tickled my nose and chin.
“Let’s get going, baby. I have a nice cozy place for us to have some fun!” She didn’t say anything, but kept crying, her wonderful teenage chest heaving with sobs.
I sat up, and pushed her head down onto my lap. Then I drove on. She lay curled up, her head pressing against my lap, and her pleated dress still pushed up to her waist. Her stockinged legs were gorgeous in the night lights. I slid my right hand up and down her thighs, along the curve of her hips, on top and on the inside, right up to her pantyhose crotch. She was tense, but opened her knees when I told her to, and I dug my palm against her pussy while I drove.
“What do you use for birth control, Stephanie?”
She was quiet for a moment.
“Nothing. I…I don’t…”
“You don’t use birth control?”
“No…I don’t…do…sex…so I don’t…” her voice trailed off,…”use the…pill. Or anything.” It was great hearing her confirm what I had suspected about her!
In spite of the noisy van, it seemed as quiet as a tomb. I knew what she meant, and was actually rather taken aback at my good fortune. Not only had I happened upon this preppy dream-boat in a very vulnerable situation, and had successfully exploited it, but I could look forward to deflowering a….
“So you’re a virgin, Stephanie?”
She was quiet for a moment, then answered me in a soft voice.
I let out my breath. Such unbelievable luck! I don’t know why, but we guys just love being the first with a girl. And here I was with this incredibly beautiful, classy girl—and she’s a virgin!
“So you’ve never—ever—had a guy, I mean, a guy’s cock, um, I mean, you’ve never been fucked?”
“Well, have you ever done it with, like a guy’s fingers, or a dildo, or something?”
“Nothing…nothing at all?”
“No. Nothing. Nothing at all. I hope you’re happy.”
Actually, I was delirious!
“Tell me you’re a virgin. I want to hear you say it. Say, ‘I am a virgin.’”
“I am a virgin.”
I had one hand on the steering wheel, the other right up at her pussy, feeling her through her pantyhose. “Again. ‘I am a virgin, sir. I have never given myself to a man.’ I want to hear it from you.”
“I am a virgin. Sir….I have never…given myself…..to a man.”
Damn, it was exciting hearing her say it, even if I was making her into something of a puppet. I kept pawing at her and drove the last several blocks to my rape lair, a vacant warehouse I tended. I opened a delivery door, drove the van in, and shut the door. We were now alone, not counting passed-out Robert. Then I opened the passenger door. There was my little Stephanie with the silky skirt all disheveled about her thighs and lap.
She shrank away from me.
I walked around and took a peak in the back of the van.
Robert was still passed out.
The drunken asshole. How could a guy get this drunk with a girl this beautiful?
Maybe she drove him to drink! I could imagine her turning him on so, then shutting him off, so he got into a state of frustration and compensated with booze. Oh well, who the fuck cares?
I returned to Stephanie’s door. “Out!” I ordered. She slid out, reluctantly and apprehensively, her skirt trailing behind her on the car seat. She was rather awkward, what with her hands bound behind her. Damn, I was getting hot for this girl. That bit of nooky on the back street had really affected me!
I impulsively grabbed her, and pushed her up against the side of the van and just shoved myself against her, pinning her, pressing her against the sheet metal. Oh, I wanted to devour this fuckbait! Wrapping one arm around her slender waist, and the other gripping her at her nape, I just pushed myself hard against her, holding, hugging, and kissing her with greedy delight. For starters I just pushed myself against her, then I started grinding my crotch against her, back and forth, up and down. Even with all our clothes on, I could feel her perfect adolescent curves.
I broke the kiss, and pawed her tits, waist, hips and ass with wild abandon. Then I gave her nipple a good hard pinch.
“Ow! Please! I thought you promised…!!”
I slapped her, several times, back and forth, first on her cheeks, then on her shoulders and breasts. “I didn’t promise anything, cunt!” I yelled, which seemed to really startle her. Here in the empty warehouse, we could make as much noise as I wanted to!
“Except to rape the hell out of you!”
I slapped her again.
Back and forth, back and forth, sending her baby-fine blonde locks flying about her head and shoulders. And just for sadistic kicks, I landed a fist deep into her flat, trim tummy.
“Ooooph! OW! Oh-oh-Oh-OH!!” Stephanie yelped and hollered. “Please, please, no more..no-NO!”
It felt good to rough her up, scare her, hurt her. Stephanie screamed on as I slapped her. Her hair was tossed back and forth over her shoulders.
“You going to be an obediant bitch and do what I tell you?” I demanded.
“Yes—YES! I said I would, I did, I did, I did!”
I walked the girl around to the rear of the van, and opened the back. Robert was still there, hog-tied, and dead to his girlfriend’s impending tragedy. “Behold your knight, my princess!” I laughed.
I picked up a handful of zip-ties, a coil of rope, and a couple of tools, a piece of dowling, and some pliers. Then I slammed the doors. A resounding silence came from inside the van.
I had parked near the rear of the warehouse. Taking a handful of blonde curls, I pushed her towards some offices. Intoxicated with the absolute, sexual power I had over the girl—the freedom to enjoy her anyway I wanted!--I stopped a couple of times, and pulled her face to mine, forcing lewd, lustful kisses on her tender lips, kind of prefiguring the violation that was to come. By now, she just parted her lips and I tongued her freely. Her lips were fruity, and her breath had traces of wine on it.
There was a metal staircase, leading up to a catwalk alongside a row of empty offices. With my hand gripping her at the nape, I led her ahead of me. I was right behind, oogling her slender legs moving up, her skirt pleats swaying about her knees, and her pretty little feet with those high-heeled pumps. I noticed for the first time they were a kind of salmon grosgrain satin.
“Stop! Stop right here!” I ordered, half-way up. She halted, her small feet separated on different metal steps, the skirt swinging back and forth, then motionless. I put my hands on her lower ankle. I moved up to her calf, which was smooth and slender, encased within the smoothness of her high-fashion hose. When I reached her knee, the crisp hem of her pleated skirt gathered on my wrist with a pleasant, tickling feel. I moved up and around her knee. It was quite straight, with just a bit of dimpling. Her other knee was bent on the rising stair, and I reached under her dress and found it, stroking it as well. It was a little awkward, but I just paused and enjoyed those legs. I continued up, up under her dress, feeling the smoothness of her slip on my fingers and wrists, up her thighs, down a bit, up more, until both hands found her ass cheeks.
She had a firm, compact ass—no jiggle to speak of. Her pantyhose was stretched smooth and tight over the firm curves of her butt. I squeezed and stroked, while my sexy captive stood frozen on her two steps, my hands up her backside, under her dress. I could feel the outline of her panties. I savor things like this on a beautiful girl—the subtle details of her femininity, her style, her lingerie.
Entertaining as this was, it was time to move on. I really wanted to fuck this girl.
More precisely, I wanted to rape this girl! To violate her, and to utterly defile her. With her boyfriend in his condition, I figured I could keep Stephanie until dawn.
Now, how many erections and climaxes could I manage in the next four, five, or six hours? It was going to be fun to find out!, But still, I wanted to take at least a bit of time and thoroughly enjoy this prime, grade-A piece of girlflesh!
I gave her a slap on her rump, signaling her that it was time to move. Up she went, the pretty creamy pink of her dress moving and swaying up the steps, and along the catwalk.
Every detail about her, the way she moved, enchanted me.
I found an office, and marched her in, putting on a bank of lights. It was covered with a dull, dirty, gray carpet of an institutional texture. Papers and abandoned office furniture were scattered about, some broken or turned over. The place was littered with derelict coffee cups, ashtrays, yellowed newspapers, pizza boxes, and all sorts of crap. The walls were a flat green, rather dingy in the fluorescent lights.
“Welcome to our boudoir, my love!”
I turned her and undid the last buttons of the soft sweater, and slid it down her shoulders and arms. Now, standing before me, I could see just what a knock-our she was. She was five-foot-four, and about 115 pounds. Her figure was impeccable: she had a small waist with a flat tummy, so her tits—more modest than they had first seemed—looked larger. And there was a smooth, gentle line to her hips. The dress had a modest scoop neckline, and fit her a bit on the snug side at her bust and down to her waist, where it opened up in those crisp box pleats that had caught my eye in the first place. In these lights, the satin had a bit more sheen.
“What’s your bust size, honey?”
“34-23-35. 34B-23-35,” she corrected. “I’m five-foot four, and weigh 110 pounds, and wear a size four dress, sometimes a six or a junior five. Are you going to rip my clothes off? Please, sir, don’t!”
“If I want to rip your dress off, I’ll rip it off.” I put my hands at her neckline, and was about to just yank the silky thing off, but then reconsidered.
Instead, I used my grip on her bodice to maneuver her, and backed her up against a ceiling column. I picked up a length of wooden dowling. “Now stand there. Don’t move—not an inch! I’m going to get to know you better. Resist me or try to run, and you not only lose any privileges to speak, but I’ll hurt you—hurt you bad. Capeche?”
“It would be a good idea if you called me ‘sir.’”
“Piss me off and I’ll beat you senseless with this—maybe shove it up your asshole!” Stephanie shut her eyes, and nodded that she understood.
I took the doweling, and ran it gently down the side of her head, flicking her blonde curls a bit, and then down to her shoulders and forearms. I stroked them with the wood.
“Sir, may I ask you something, please, sir?”
“Go ahead, talk.”
“If I promise not to fight or run, would you take these things of my wrists? They really hurt so!” The tip of the stick moved up and down her arm, then moved in to the inside curve of her waist, and it stroked her ribcage, her waist, and the gentle swelling of her hip, over the dress pleats. “I mean, I know you hold all the cards, and I won’t…do anything, but it hurts so much!” The stick moved about her hip, her upper leg, and then moved to the center of her hip, and rudely poked into her crotch.
“Tell me you’re a virgin again. Tell me your name, tell me you’re a virgin, I want to hear it!” The stick was digging against her pussy a bit, making an inverted tent of her skirt. “Tell me your name, how old you are, that you’re a beautiful blonde, your measurements, and that you’re a virgin. I want to hear you tell me you’re a virgin. A lot! And that I’m going to be your first…fuck!” I jabbed her crotch with the stick, to “drive” the point home.
“Sir, I’m eighteen years old, and my name…and I’m a virgin. I’m, I mean, my name is Stephanie Davidson, and I’m …an eighteen-year-old…virgin.”
I moved the wood up her arms, across the slope of her shoulders, and toyed with her hair with the tip.
“Go on. Tell me just how beautiful you are and how all the guys want you.”
“Yes, sir. I’m, uh, eighteen, but I’ve never, well, I mean, okay, I’m a virgin, and I’ve never had a man before, and,…ummm. I’m a senior at the Woodside Academy, and I’m a virgin..yes, a real virgin”—she kind of breathed it out this time—“I’m five-foot-four, a hundred ten pounds,”—the doweling migrated to her breasts, drawing circles around each tit, then I poked her at the nipple,--“and my measurements are 34B, 23, 35.” I poked each nipple, in turn, with the stick. Stephanie grimaced. “Lots and lots of guys ask me out.”
I jabbed a tit, dead center. She grimaced. “Sometimes I let a guy feel me up, but only if I really like him. I’m beautiful….yes, I’m beautiful,I know it, and I’m a natural blonde, and, well, I guess I know how guys like me. Want me. I, I—have my choice of dates—status dates, I guess you’d call them, but I don’t sleep with them. They all want to…have sex with me.”
“Don’t use that word. Talk dirty.” I shoved the stick back into her crotch, and she winced, right through the gathered pleats.
Stephanie looked down, wincing at the tightness of the zip-tie binding her wrists. Then she looked me straight in the eyes.
“All the guys want…to…fuck…fuck me.”
“Well, sir, I’m well, I’m probably the most popular girl in my school—I’m a senior—I date college guys. Like Robert. You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”
I gave her hip a painful whack. She uttered a yelp. “Never mind Robert. Go on. Talk dirity!”
“Ummm, well, I’m blonde and very pretty, and I’m a virgin. That’s—that’s what…well, I know they want to…f-fuck me. Yes. All the guys want to f-f-fuck me. But I’m saving myself for marriage. I’ve never had a man put his…”
“I said talk dirty!”
“…I’ve, I’ve never had a man, well, s-s-stick his..cock in me…before.”
She took a breath. “I’ve never been fucked. Never. I’ve never let a man do it, er, fuck me. I’m, well, I’m pure.”
The stick moved down her legs. Nervously, she kept shifting her weight. Her pleats swayed around her knees enticingly.
“I don’t let the guys fuck me, sir,” she continued. “I know I’m very, very, uh, lovely. But I don’t lead them on, I really don’t, you know?”
“You’re a cock-teaser, that’s what you are.”
“No I’m not!”
The tip moved up and down her leg, hooking the hem of her dress.
“Yes you are, cunt. You’re a gorgeous cockteaser, ‘cause you’re a virgin.”
Her head dropped in defeat. “All right, sir. I’m a c-c-cock-teaser.
“You’re going to be my first, my first…” Stephanie paused, and a tear trickled down from her left eye. “You’re going to be my very first…fuck,” she whispered.
I could tell she was fighting hard to stay still, as I played the dowling up her legs, along the inside of her thighs. Her skirt and slip looped over it.
I pulled it up against her crotch.
“How does it feel to have something hard shoved up between your legs, whore?. Stephanie’s face was frozen except for two tears the oozed out of her eyes
She was wearing nude-to-the-waist pantyhose, and the pink panties underneath glistened. Full-cut things, that went right from her hip up to her bellbutton.
Pretty, feminine, modest.
I moved the stick in between her thighs, dry-fucking her with it. Some of her dress was caught by the coarse wood, and was pulled in between her leg. .I dropped the stick and pulled her into my arms, grabbing and fondling her greedily..
“Yeah, baby, go on, go on!”
“You’re going to be the first man to fuck me, to put his penis in me.” I leaned in close to her, holding her with my left arm around her waist, and rubbing that stick up at her pantyhose crotch, hard, in and out. She pushed herself up on her toes, and softly said, “…my first, my very, very first, you’re going to be my…oh….my first man, my first…fuck…my first…fuck..!” I could feel her warm breath on my ear. “Just please…be gentle. Don’t…hurt me….
“I’m so scared. Please—I don’t want to lose my virginity this way, please?”
I gave her a squeeze, and my freehand moved underneath her bound hands, squeezing her ass cheeks.
It was very irrational, silly, actually, but having Miss-Prim-and-Proper say all these things, which everybody knows but nobody says outright, gets my evil soul all aglow. I have had beautiful girls, and I have had a couple of virgins along the way, but never a girl this lovely, this young, and this pristine! And besides, she obviously came from good breeding and income. The silky material of her dress slid this way and that as I ran my palm and fingers all about her belly, her thighs, pushing in and about, digging in, groping and feeling all over her virgin cunt!
“I’m a virgin, sir. Please, now, sir, please, if I promise to be, well, a good virgin would you take these things off my wrists, please, they hurt so, please?”
“Okay. I’ll take them off, girl. One bad move, and I will tie you up like a trussed pig—tighter than Robert is down there! And you will be so sorry. And Robert, too. Not just your life depends on what you do, girl. His does, too.”
“I understand. Sir. I promise. I’ll do everything you tell me to. Everything. Now, will you please take them off? Please, Sir?”
I took out a knife, and she turned around. I snaked the point in to where the cutter found the nylon strap, and “clip!” her hands were freed. She immediately gripped her wrists, massaging them.
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir!”
I grabbed her teenage body against me, running my hands up and down the back of her, from her hair and shoulders, down to her tight butt. I yanked her sweater down, pushing it off her arms. It fell onto the grubby floor in a heap. Her hair was glossy and inviting, and I pushed my face deep in it, close to her ear.
“Lift up your dress.”
Stephanie took hold of some pleated silk at her thighs, and pulled it up, exposing her slip..
“Now your slip, too.”
She pinched at some satin, and pulled it up, to the top of her thighs, and looked at me awaiting my next order. I motioned upwards, and she pulled it all the way up, and I was looking at her sheer pantyhose, and those pastel pink panties, nylon or some polyester-satin job.
Stephanie was so very much the young lady, right to her skin.
I moved her a few feet, and she stepped to the side, still holding up her skirts. Now she was leaning her rump against the old, metal table. It was littered with old newspapers, dried-out coffee cups, all sorts of crap. So here she was, leaning against the table edge, and I got down on my knees in front of her, and started rubbing her legs She stood, or leaned, there, holding her skirt pleats and her dainty slip up so I could enjoy myself. I dug and pressed my hands into her crotch area, and she winced a bit, and looked off the side. I’m not much of a foot fetishist, but it was I enjoyed fondling a foot before I slid the sexy rose-colored pump off.
Then the other one.
I traveled slowly, sensuously back up her legs to the waistband of her panthose, and yanked it down. I heard a kind of a whimper, but she eased her butt off the table edge while I slid the gossamer hose down her hips, thighs, to her knees. Stephanie dutifully kept her dress and slip pulled up, and she shifted her weight so I could slide the coil of nylon over her ankles, and off her small feet.
I pushed my face into her pantycrotch, inhaling her female aroma, and fully enjoyed the soft material on my face. I wrapped my arms around her hips, massaging her tight ass cheeks through the satin fabric. I think I nuzzled her pantycrotch for several minutes before getting up.
I pivoted her, and unzipped her dress; there was this sexy zzzzzzz as I pulled it down. I held her by her silken shoulders for a short moment, and then pulled her dress off her shoulders, down her arms and her torso It bunched at her waist.. She had a perfect teenage frame, and very good skin. The bodice fell off her arms and wrists, and in a moment I had her bra unhooked. It was delicate, with pink satin cups and a bit of lace along the top edge. The pink satin straps slid down her arms, and with a slight tug it landed on the dirty gray carpet next to her pantyhose and spike heels.
I turned my victim around.
Damn, what an incredible sight! She was naked to her waist, with the nicest set of tennis-ball sized tits I have ever seen, on or off the web. Nice, round orbs, pushing right off her rib cage, with good color, soft and creamy. Her nipples were pink, about the size of a quarter, and tipped with tiny light-brown nodules, each the size of a pencil erasure.
The girl stood perfectly still, with her arms at her side, while I took her in. I put my hands on her waist, just above the inside-our fabric of her dress top, and slowly, deliberately, moved them up to her breasts, and cupped them.
I just held them for a minute or two, squeezing them a little. I was kind of mesmerized by the intensity of the moment. Stephanie remained still, but I noticed her eyes were closed while she endured the indignity of allowing her tits to be fondled by some stranger. Then I started squeezing and groping them, rubbing her nipples with my thumbs, then flicking them.
Stephanie clenched her face.
I got a bit rough, but Stephanie forced herself to stay still while I mauled her. She gasped and her chest heaved, and a single tear trickled down from her right eye.
There was a secretary’s chair nearby. I wheeled it over, sat down, and adjusted the seat so my face was even with her boobs. I had her leaning back against the table. I wrapped my arms around her hips and hugged her. I planted my mouth on her left tit, and kissed it, then started licking it. Meanwhile, my hands stroked her legs through her dress. I gave myself a real mouthful of her 34B tit, all the while my palms went up and down. The silky pleats bunched this way and fanned out that. I had my left hand running up to her belly and her crotch, while my left hand was cupping and squeezing her ass cheeks—and my mouth was slobbering all over that right tit!
I moved to her right boob, and gave it the same treatment: kissing, licking, sucking, and swallowing as much of her firm teen tissues as I could draw into my mouth. I reached down to her knees, and slid my hands up her legs, under her dress and slip, right up to her panties. I sucked on that tit, and pawed at her private areas with wild abandon. The hem of her skirt swished about my crotch, caressing back and forth against my hard dick, tickling it sweetly. That felt especially seductive. Don’t these girls know what a dress like this does to a guy? I have a soft-fetish-thing for the feel of silk against my skin, and I was getting hotter and as hard as ever.
I took a minute or two to enjoy the feel of smooth skin on her legs, rubbing, stroking, caressing, and feeling her up. She was like a statue, but a living, feeling, and breathing one, submitting to my roaming hands. Her panties were a high-sheen satin, pale peachy-pink, and I lightly ran my fingertips over them, digging my fingers up against her pantycrotch, outlining her mouns venus.
Stephanie stood there, immobile against the grungy table, with her pleated skirt spilling from about her waist, down the side of her legs.
Her slip, too.
I got up, and quickly stripped my clothes off. My workshirt was half-unbuttoned, and I pulled it over my head, kicking off my boots. Then I dropped trou, boxer shorts, too.
I was getting very ready to fuck my captive fuck-doll, all appealing as hell, with her blonde curls mussed, stripped to the waist.
Stephanie was quiet and downcast, looking down and away, obvious dread on her face. The moment of reckoning, or rather deflowering was nigh. Her hands clenched her skirts gathered at her hips. I caught her glancing at my ten inches of impatient manhood pointing up at her, primed and ready—ready to enter her. I pushed her against the table again, so she was lying back on it, legs dangling, and her smooth, flat panty-clad crotch arched out. I leaned forward, downwards her, pushing down. The sensitive underside of my dick rubbed pressed against the light pink satin, and I could feel her cunt hair through it. I lay on her, pushing up and against her, then started rising and falling, rubbing my prick all over the smooth surface, plowing my girl-hungry stick into the valley of lingerie of her pantycrotch. My fingers were occupied with her hair, feeling her up, and kissing her. I kept going back to her breasts and played with them.
I kissed her, a lot. I like kissing pretty girls, don’t you? But I like to force it on them. Girls like this are often, well, economical with their kisses—not to mention further pleasures of their bodies—and it’s an intense high forcing this sick mimicry of affection on these types of girls. I had a laundry list of rude pleasures I wanted to take from this little dreamboat, while her drunken date was tied up downstairs in my van.
Starting with a bit of good old cockteasing—like Stephanie has done before, I’m sure.
“Open your legs, baby,” I said, nuzzling my face into her hair, against her ear. Stephanie obeyed. I pushed my hard erection down a bit, and slid it in between her thighs, right below her pantycrotch. “Okay. Close your legs now.”
She did, and my horny dick was stuck right in between her smooth thighs—just below her pantycrotch.
The squeeze of the creamy skin of her inner thighs against my prick quickened my desperate hormones. I indulged this slow, controlled dry fuck of her pantycrotch, just pushing gently in and out, with a bit of a wriggle, relishing the smooth thigh and warm crotch, and was careful not to let myself get over-excited. She stood there compliantly, holding her skirts up, while I hugged her, pawed her body all over, and burrowed my face in her fragrant blonde hair.
And drove my cock in and out between those exquisite, smooth thighs.
She whispered to me.
“Do you like this, sir? You want to keep going this way? All the way? I’ve taken guys to, uh, climax, um, doing this. Playing with them, you know. Would you like me to?”
I didn’t answer, but continued to shove myself in this way.
“I’m good at it, you know,” she cooed.
She was at once seductive and coy—a truly experienced cockteaser!
“Is there something more I can do—anything?—I’ll leave you, well, very happy….satisified…hmmm?”
Her voice trailed off exotically.
My actions were my answer. I kept poking my dick in and out, getting harder and hotter. I pushed my mouth onto hers, which shut her up, and held onto her good and tight. My hands were up and down her back and into her hair. Then I found the zipper tab, and pulled it down the last few inches. This opened up her dress completely. It slid down her hips and was held up only because my hips were pushed hard against her. I stepped back, and it drifted onto the floor, landing in a delicate puff of rosy pink pleats, circled about her feet.
I pulled Stephanie back into a greedy embrace. My cock and balls pushed against her, and those sensitive areas on the underside rubbed against the smooth halfslip.
“Keep kissing me, Stephanie. Show me your tricks, you gorgeous little cocktease! Run your fingers through my hair and on my shoulders and you better make me feel good, yeah, keep kissing me, and if you stop or fight or resist me, I’m going to hurt you, bitch, and if I start laying into you, well, I just might get carried away.”
And so she did. She kissed me. Our lips were wet and tingling, and she met my tongue with hers. She was damn seductive, playing me as I ground my crotch against the flat of her belly, and my cock had spasms of excitement as it rubbed against the folds of her slips and her panties. I pulled her hard against me and slid my palms over her small round ass, so nice beneath the nylon.
My hands stroked her hips, up and down the nylon. I pulled her slip up again, a few inches at a time, pulling it up the slope of her young body, bunch by bunch by bunch. When I had the hem all the way up, I dropped to my knees in front of her. I snaked my fingers into the waistband of her panties, and pulled them down.
Down, down, down the flawless skin of her slender legs. The lacy hem of the slip followed my hands, tickling my wrists. At her knees, the panties fell loosely to her ankles. Stephanie dutifully lifted one foot, then the other, and the dainty confection was in my hand. This left her slip on, but she was naked, otherwise. A little odd to most people, but what can I say? Such a perfect body with a bit of lingerie on, and she was, well, so fucking cute with the demure thing drifting down her hips, over her rump, to her slender knees.
Nothing between us now except the slip.
Soft and smooth.
I picked up her panties, and sniffed them. I noticed the tag. They came from a very expensive lingerie boutique. I’ve jerked off to the images of this place’s models for years, and here I had their best customer, all to myself!
“This place is known for turning on guys. Their catalogues and website, you know that?”
“So you buy your panties and things there so you can turn on guys, don’t you, you little prick teaser?”
“I, I’m not a cockteaser, sir. Honestly, I’m not. I, well, I just like to wear nice things.”
“Nice things nobody sees? No, baby, I know your type. You dress oh-so-sophisticated, and then you put on sexy lingerie, and you let the guys fondle and paw you and get all excited and fall in love with you while you jerk them off.” I pushed her back against the table, shoving her downwards. I had a vice grip at her nape, and I was gouging her cunt with my other hand, digging in, pinching at her pussy hairs through her slip. “You get them all hot and horny and maybe you let them cum on your panties, if they’re lucky enough, huh?”
“N-n-no, It’s not, not like that….” Her hands were on my arms, but she wasn’t pushing me away. She looked up at me with those devastating blue eyes. I could well imaging what it would be like, her in an evening gown, her skirts up with a date’s hard prick sticking out of his pants, desperately hoping for more, but getting nothing except a feel job against a $35 pair of panties!
I found myself getting into a seething resentment of this girl. I pulled up her slip again and rubbed my knuckles against her cunt lips. She winced, but didn’t pull away..
“Then you shut them off and say, ‘No, honey, I’m not that kind of girl, I’m saving myself for marriage,’ and you hold out for the best prospect, the highest bidder who holds out for Little Miss Aristocratic Virgin Bride in her pure white wedding gown. Yeah, I know the type.”
Now I getting really angry with Stephanie. She really was the type to hype her sex and her beauty, but to make it available only in little amounts until the most deserving country-club dickhead with the right credentials came along.
“I don’t mean to do anything like that, sir, it’s just—“
“And you develop a cohort of status preppie admirers, like drunken Robert downstairs, don’t you?
“No, sir, he’s just a friend.”
I pulled back and slapped her—four or five times. “Lying bitch! He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? You’re in love with him, right, cunt?” I shoved her against the table, pulling her head back by the nape, gripping her chin fiercely with my other hand. I looked right into those perfect azure-blue eyes. She was shaking in my hold. “You’re in love with him, but you still just lead him on with your prissy little cockteasing games, cunt!” I kept her in place w