Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 feedback, criticism, comments, and special requests are always welcome at
sh.cries@gmail.com (just not always fullfilled)

   /~she_cries/



   Ariel: After the Dance - part i

   (Mf, voy, hum, exhib, nc)



   by she cries



   There was a lot to be said for discovering that the penetration girls
were raised to believe was a form of domination could in fact be turned
around on a boy.  Knowing that Jerry had spent the night in hospital after
having torn his frenum trying to impale me, and had also suffered massive
bruising and a strained back did wonders for my traumatized psyche.

   I could feel a very distinct change within, and it wasn't just a torn up
hymen.  I had turned the most humiliating, traumatizing night of my life
into a triumphant revenge epic just by virtue of playing up to Jerry's
vices, just like a Greek tragedy.  I didn't have to do anything but let
karma whack him around.

   Now I certainly wasn't okay.  Aside from the hot bath which I kept
refilling for four hours to soothe my aching sex, I had a lot of crying to
do over my lost virginity, and the way I'd found my hormones so demanding
that I had been willing to give myself to my worst tormentor rather than
fighting, to the death if necessary.

   But the important thing was that the debacle of sex with Jerry allowed
me to remember the incident without horror, tears, or even much shame. 
Those moments behind the trees, or in the foyer with Mrs.  Dee stripping me
were far, far harder for me to remember.  But the actual sex had scarred me
with a very different sensation: that I had power.  That Jerry, my biggest
detractor had been unable to control not only his lusts, but his body once
he was inside me told me a great deal about the whole male-female status
issue.  I had to wonder about Muffy and her self-imposed submission to the
malicious boy, and whether she and Chelsea used their cunts for much more
lucrative ends than just Ôgetting it over with.'

   The walk home had been the hardest part.  I had sauntered out of the gym
without any trouble from the boys (just walking had been the hard part) and
right out the side door, which I deliberately took, probably as some sort
of protest to the fear it had inspired in me, and made it all the way down
to the temp buildings before I collapsed, the combination of alcohol,
fatigue, nervous exhaustion, and of course the sex took me out, and it was
Mitch and Bones who found me.

   I was too exhausted to be scared, and expected them to drag me down to
the creek, but they quickly made it clear that they were taking me home,
Bill having rallied them to search for me (Bill had gone searching the
opposite direction, since none of them knew where I lived) while Ronnie and
the rest shuffled Jerry who couldn't even stand off to the hospital.

   They revived me by standing me up and making me walk until I puked about
nineteen times, after which I was not only covered with blood, but my own
puke dribbled down my front.  I tried washing that off in a water fountain
and started shivering uncontrollably until, horror of horrors I found
myself accepting Bones' football jersey which was surprisingly warm on my
body.

   But I couldn't let them drive me home.  I just couldn't handle too much
of their company, and as the alcohol faded with the cold night air I found
their attempts to make amends more and more galling.  Besides, I really
didn't want them to know where I lived.

   Instead I took off on my own, forcing myself to play nice with them
because I had, after all, been the slut they had described me as, even if
they had been assholes to me all night.  The only crime I could accuse them
of was that of being dicks, and they were certainly showing themselves
capable of real, human emotions (I hadn't realized human brain cloning was
that far advanced, but I was only a sophomore).  They begged me to "be
cool" about everything, and swore that no matter what happened they'd hold
up their end of the bet; even though Ronnie evidently claimed to have won
on a technicality (it was no surprise to learn that Ronnie was a budding
lawyer) since technically I had been wet and been able to take Jerry all
the way inside me and I therefore had defaulted since he still had to fuck
me when I walked out.

   I didn't bother to explain the number of times the terms had been
slightly modified, nor that slipping on blood and drinking apple juice were
distinctly different realities, because I knew that Mitch, Bones, and Bill
at least didn't proscribe to the theory (and that Mitch and Bones probably
hadn't wanted to have sex with me in the first place).

   I walked the creek most of the way, since it led into my neighborhood
and in spite of my condition I was still too proud to be seen walking the
neighborhood at night in a football jersey.  Odd that that pride would
still be so prevalent, since I met the normal conditions for wearing one: I
had fucked a football player.

   Being alone at night on the creek also allowed me to give myself a quick
bathing and get most of the blood off with the cold rippling water.  The
jersey wasn't a very good towel, but it was better than having blood
dribbling down my thighs (and other viscous material).  I also put in the
tampon, though inserting it hurt, and the thought of deliberately
stoppering Jerry's fluids inside me chafed.  It was better than letting it
run, and once it was in, it was surprisingly soothing on my aching vagina.

   The walk took the better part of an hour and a half, since the creek
trails are much harder to walk than sidewalks, but I got home a little
after ten and as I mentioned before, I soaked after showering off until I
literally felt no pain, and stealing a pad from my mom's bathroom and
snipping those stupid Ôwings' off it (I couldn't bear the thought of
putting anything else inside me, even my Ôstarter' tampons for virgins) I
pulled on some briefs and passed out.

   I found myself the next morning staring down a very uncomfortable UPS
driver, who was trying very hard to not stare at me while I stood there,
topless, only in my tighty-whiteys, signing his fat, plastic thingamajig.

   He'd woken me up at the ungodly hour of eight o'clock (who sends weekend
delivery to people who are out of town) and pounded until I'd come down
since it was some sort of priority delivery.  I don't think it was a
conscious decision, so much as an impulse to flaunt myself just to deny the
shame that had tortured me the night before, but by the time I collected
the package (all this shit for a fucking manila envelope?) I had completely
lost my nerve, and was beginning to tremble and shake, acutely aware of how
my tits jiggled violently and how the guy couldn't keep his eyes from
darting right back at them every time he tried to look away.

   I'd heard that UPS drivers actually get that kind of thing a lot, but I
supposed the women were usually a bit older than my fifteen years.

   Once he was gone, however, the fear subsided and I was left with a giddy
feeling of having accomplished something very, very naughty, not unlike
every time I snuck back in after having been clubbing, only this time it
was a distinctly sexual feeling and I found myself wishing I wasn't so sore
down below as a good hand job would normally have been in order.



   "Hello?"

   "Hi, is Wade there?"

   "Ariel?"

   "Who?"

   "Oh, uhÉ Sorry, I thought you sounded like-"

   <deeper voice> "Can I talk to Wade?"

   "Yeah, hang on."

   <pause>

   "This is Wade."

   "Hey Wade."

   "Hello."

   "You're a dick, you know."

   "Excuse me."

   "I know I was just a back seat fuck to you, but you think you could have
let me get dressed in the car."

   "Shit." <whisper> "Ariel?"

   "Hey lover."

   "Hey, man, I didn't mean-"

   "What are you doing right now, Wade?"

   "What?  Nothing, having lunch."

   "You wanna come over?"

   "Uhh, hey, I'm sorryÉ What?"

   "Do you want to finish what you started?"

   "Shit.  You sure?"

   "Wade?"

   "UhÉ yeah?"

   "Don't be a pussy.  You know the way."

   <click>



   Even though I knew he was going back to school the next day and I'd
never see him again, having a man who actually kissed me goodbye and never
uttered so much as a harsh word that wasn't a tease did wonders for my ego,
not to mention soothing my growing apprehension about ever laying with a
man.

   No, I didn't have sex.  I wasn't remotely capable of that yet, but a
strategically placed rolled up maxi pad in the bathroom trash can (in plain
few of pissing height) and a fairly blunt explanation that I'd started my
cycles the night before kept Wade from trying to get under the red and
black striped hot shorts I'd worn for the occasion.

   I certainly didn't shirk my part.  We spent a short while building up to
the main event, but once I told him: no, he wasn't going to get laid, but
yes, he was going to get a blow job, it took no more persuading to get him
to hang out until well into the evening.  Wade was very patient with me,
and I spent a good hour acquainting myself with male genitalia and learning
the art of giving head (break your jaw, sprain your neck, cramp your wrist,
and then beg him to finish the job for you while you watch and act
fascinated).  Even after that, Wade stayed and rubbed my neck while we
watched Jeopardy (I kicked his ass all over the game, though we'd have only
have walked with about fifty bucks on the show).  I taught him to make
quesadillas (cheese and tortillas, complex bachelor fair for a promising
young college boy) for dinner before he went out to hang with Ôthe buds.'

   Then I spent the next two hours crying my head off and wallowing in
self-pity as the crushing truth of the past 24 hours came at me full
throttle.  I spent a lot of that time brushing my teeth (Wade had cum in
his hand, but no matter what I did I could still taste Rusty) and wallowing
on the floor of the shower.

   Naturally that was followed by a bout of anger in which I pelted my poor
cat with nickels and pennies every time he dared rear his head in my room,
and spent the rest of it kicking the shit out of my pillows.

   So by the time the doorbell rang at eight o'clock I was actually in a
pretty good mood and was eagerly anticipating Daria's call because tonight
was club night!  For some reason the thought of walking into the club no
longer a virgin made me see an incredible wealth of new opportunities, and
I was eager to start exploring them.

   I poked my head out my window, and wasn't too surprised to see Carl, my
creepy neighbor from across the street who had, in this weird, slimy,
stalker sort of way, adopted himself as my proxy guardian when my parents
were away.  He had been playing that game since we moved here when I was
six years old.  I almost never saw his obese wife, but everyone in the
neighborhood knew they hated each other.  The thing was, Carl, in spite of
being old (He was, like, 42), and having a rather substantial beer belly,
he was still a pretty good looking guy compared to some of the neighbors,
insofar as total boring squares go, and no one knew why he stayed with that
bitch harpy cow of a wife.

   Still, he was here, as I'd been expecting all day, checking up since the
folks were out of town.  I was also really worried, since I'd never been
caught sneaking out before, I really didn't know what he would do if he had
seen me and Wade on the front lawn last night.

   It was Wade who had come up with the plan, which sounded reasonable at
the time, since I had gotten away with it with the UPS guy.  I'd answer the
door in my underwear, act embarrassed, and basically shout an excuse if
Carl had any difficult questions accompanied by a glimpse of boob.

   Seeing him out there I got scared.  This was a guy I knew, and a creepy
one at that.  He was almost family I'd known him so long, and facing the
actual confrontation I was really scared to try it (the three hours of
crying and rage hadn't boosted my confidence either).

   Still, it was the only plan I had, and though the excuse Wade had made
up was good, it would certainly be much more effective if I were half
dressed.

   Carl had seen me topless for most of my life, but I was a kid then. 
Flashing my tits now might seem more conspicuous than appearing normal.

   I settled for a compromise.

   Carl was certainly disconcerted when I let him in.  Normally I'd have
held him at the door unless he asked to come in, but part of my brilliant
compromise was to let him in so he could have a good long look at me.  So
in he walked, the old family friend, and he didn't even pretend not to take
full measure of the outfit I'd donned unbeknownst to him, for his benefit.

   I'd donned a pair of last year's briefs, a bit too small (I had to leave
the pad off for this one, but I had already passed most of the bleeding the
night before) and one of my brothers tank tops (Eric was already taller
than me, but didn't sport the chest I had), an old white thing, threadbare
enough for my nipples to be clearly outlined and translucent enough to
separate the color of them, but long enough so only the bottom of my butt
stuck out.

   "Where were you last night?" I cried out, as if he had done something
wrong.

   He was still taken aback by my appearance.  "I-I was home, Ariel."

   I flopped down on the couch, scared and uncomfortable in my deliberate
vulnerability, but determined to play my hand, "There was this creepy guy
out front, calling my name!  I called you but you didn't pick up."

   "I was home Ariel."

   Carl sat down on the couch with me, which was a little unusual, he'd
normally have sat across from me, but even weirder was that he sat down
sideways, sitting on one leg and facing his body right at me.  Carl was
definitely one of those guys who couldn't spread his legs wide enough once
he'd sat down, a trait that led to many jokes about the sizeable package
that dropped out of his shorts in it's white cotton wrapping on hot summer
days.

   "How come you didn't answer the phone?"

   "What number did you call?"

   "I used the autodial." I realized too late that I ought to have waited
for him to question me a little before I ran over to the phone in the
hallway, but I was there, and he came up and looked at the freshly labeled
ÔCarl' button, deliberately smudged and faded by Wade so as to look like it
had been there for years.  I had his attention, but he was watching my tits
jiggle as I bounded across the room.  I was starting to realize that I
didn't need to act at all.

   He came over, facing the phone as he came, but his eyes were all over
me, "Have you been out today, Ariel?"

   I shrugged and gave myself a sharp reminder not to do that again as his
eyes plunged to my jiggling bosom, "No school today, house to myself."

   He stopped by the phone, but didn't look at it.  Instead he took another
step.  He was very close to me, "It's just that I haven't seen you dressed
like that since you were a little girl." Without my boots I was only five
foot three, and Carl was well over six feet.  I had to look straight up to
see him.

   I forced myself not to shrug, trying to figure out what other gestures
might indicate nonchalance, and instead ran my hand through my hair while
repeating a line Wade had come up with, "Oh, I didn't have anything on when
you came over so I threw this on."

   Since Carl hadn't met my eyes for more than a total of three seconds
since he'd come in I was getting decidedly more and more nervous about the
whole thing.  It was one thing to play on the old pervert's miserable sex
drive.  It was another thing to realize that the guy who I'd known since
adolescence was re-evaluating me from the neighbor's little girl to a local
piece of ass.

   He seemed to think for a long time before replying.  "Oh, well, you
don't have to stand on formality for me, Ariel, you know that." And
suddenly his big, meaty hand was on my shoulder.  It was clammy, and damp.
I felt the muscles in my back tighten up, but I stood my ground.  I'd
turned Jerry into a mass of quivering Jell-O last night, and I could take
this guy if it came down to that.

   He started kneading me.  I know it was supposed to be something
soothing, like a massage, but it felt more like he was kneading dough, "You
know, Ariel, you used to run around in nothing but your panties when you
were a kid." He smiled and waved his free hand, "Sometimes not even that."

   He was lying, I think.  I didn't remember ever running around naked. 
But shit, I was five or six when I met him.

   I tried to play along, but not lead him on, "Yeah, well, I was pretty
carefree when I was a kid."

   His hand shifted down slightly, onto my shoulder, "Well, you still are."
And he very directly and purposefully ran his eyes all over the length of
my body, just as exposed as I had been the night before, barring the
deliberately evocative G-string and half bared breasts.  "But you must be
turning into quite the woman," Carl said.

   Must be.  He could see everything for god's sake.  I needed to change
the subject.  "Carl, the, uhÉ The phone?"

   He raised his eyebrows, and gave me a knowing grin (though I don't know
what I was supposed to know).  He didn't remove his hand.

   He picked up the handset and cradled it between his shoulder and ear,
and punched the button.  He listened, and I could hear ringing, then a
message that I couldn't make out.  He never stopped rubbing my arm, and I
had the uncomfortable feeling that it was creeping towards my breast.

   He hung up the phone.  "It's set to dial the police."

   I knew I had a line to say after that, but I couldn't stop from
obsessing on the hand that prowled over me, and all the subsequent
emotions, fear, shame, and frustration at being able to do nothing about
it. I also had the sudden flashback that when I was a girl, I'd actually
had a crush on the old guy.  An adolescent crush, mind you, the one where
some nice guy takes you away and marries you, lets you eat all the sweets
you want and stay up all night, but it was an upsetting thing to remember
as he started stroking my arm up and down like it was a cock he was jerking
off.

   He said, "The lines were probably jammed because it was Friday night. 
That's why you didn't get a message."

   That was the line, and I felt a smile that was both genuine and forced
curl my mouth.  Wade had thought of that too.  And Carl had anticipated it
for me.

   Having solved that little problem Carl moved onto more pressing
interests, however; namely me and my white cotton briefs and undersized
tank top.

   I started rehearsing an excuse to go get dressed, but before I'd even
sorted it out Carl cut that off, "I'm glad you still feel comfortable
around me, Ariel.  A lot of girls your age would be uncomfortable walking
around naked with an older man."

   "Oh, it doesn't bother-" Did he say Ônaked?' "Well, it is a bit weird."

   "Good.  Good." He said, interrupting me as if he hadn't heard, "You
should never feel uncomfortable around me." Now both hands were on my
shoulders, "I bet you're in training bras already."

   As if he couldn't see that I was way past them.  "Carl, I've been
wearing them since I was twelve." What a fucking creep, asking me about my
bra.

   But I was trembling.  Just slightly, but I was really starting to get
nervous.  This was playing out a bit too much like last night, but Carl was
an adult.  I couldn't seem to muster the kind of venom I was able to throw
at my peers.  Plus Carl had the ability to get me into a lot of trouble
with my folks.  I had to play this cool.  I'd started this thing, and I
should have expected his to get a bit weird.  I was really glad I hadn't
come down topless like Wade had suggested.

   Carl had used the fact that we were now talking about my boobs to make a
big show out of scrutinizing them as if he had been doing anything else
since he walked in, "Still, some girls take years to grow in.  What size
are they now?"

   Now overtly examining my tits Carl felt confident enough to actually
touch one.  He was very casual about it, very analytical, and he flattened
a hand and brought just the tip of his finger up to the bottom of my left
boob and held it there, as if measuring it by his knuckle or something.

   I needed to get away from him, but I was tossed how to change the
subject without alienating him.  How do you tell one of your oldest
neighbors that no, I don't want to be molested and still have him vouch for
your story if someone claims to have seen a guy calling out for you the
night before, which was the plan.

   "I- I'm a thirty-four B." I stammered, stupidly.

   "No." he acted shocked.  Of course I'd exaggerated.  I'd always punched
up my own numbers from my age to my grades when talking to people, just a
bit.  Carl went on, using this as yet another excuse for a closer
examination, "I don't believe it.  No.  These are so tiny."

   And he did it.  He got his handful and I felt the skin crawling on my
back as he cupped both my breasts in his hands, hefting and cupping them as
I sucked in as much air as I could hold as my nipples curled up and
hardened, pushing through the thin shirt even as Carl ran his thumbs over
them, tweaking them as if by accident, sending twinges through my chest and
heat flooding my bosom.  I looked down but there was Carl's reputable bulge
now a long, thick lump down his left trouser leg.  Through the thick
polyester of his beige pants it didn't look to be as long as Jerry's, but
it seemed very thick.

   "Carl, can you show me how to do the phone."

   He seemed to grin at that, but only for a moment.  "No, I don't believe
it.  Let me see.  I have to see this." He was jovial, calm, playful, but
the problem was he was gesturing at my boobs, and at the bottom of the
shirt.

   Aside from the very real apprehension about stripping the shirt off, the
tighty-whiteys I wore underneath had been chosen because they were too
small.  The problem was that not only had the top of the waistband lost
most of its elasticity and the panties were barely hanging off my hips, but
they were barely high enough to cover my privates, leaving half my ass
exposed and my jet black pubic bush sticking out the top.

   The final thing I didn't want Carl to see was how flushed my chest
undoubtedly was.  I knew that feeling, and like shame and arousal had
reflected one another in the mirror, Carl's cold, clammy hands were both
uncomfortable and piercing.

   I put my hands up, just touching his wrists, "Uh, Carl, I'm notÉ I don't
feelÉ"

   "Now, now, no need to play bashful with me, Dear." He took hold of me
and pulled me up to him, right up against him, sliding his hands down my
sides, sending tingles rocketing through my body as I felt him veer me to
the right, his left, and suddenly there it was: Carl's manhood.  Just a big
lump of sausage colliding with my pubic bone.  Carl's legs were so long
that most of the length of his thing ran up my tummy, which I sucked in
hard to avoid it, but the hands on my hips held me close, and right at the
end, the tip, he was nudged up, a fraction of an inch from my clit but
close enough to press the skin around it.  Close enough to send twinges of
excitement through my loins, even as the bile built up in my throat, and
the pit of my stomach seemed full of lead bricks.

   His strategy seemed clear: get me hot, and have his way with me.

   Maybe, I thought, he hadn't actually been fooled by my na*ve little girl
routine, or perhaps he was, which was why he was doing this.  I didn't like
that particular thought, because it implied that I was a little girl since
it was obviously starting to work.

   I had to find a way to stop him, but I was terrified of the
ramifications of playing it wrong.  I was petrified that, like last night
when Mrs.  Dee made me strip, that I might wind up both punished and
exposed.  Had he seen me with Wade on the lawn?  Carl couldn't possibly
mean to have sex with me, I thought.  I was his neighbor.  He could play
his games pretty far, but sex was sex.  There was no way he could defend
that.

   But then, I had tried to manipulate him with my state of undress.  It
was almost as if he was calling my bluff.  Preying on my attempt to play
the na*ve young girlÉ

   "Come on, where's the little girl who used to skinny dip in my pool?"
Carl said, now doing this little left-right jiggle with me, which had the
effect of rubbing me against his member.  It wasn't helping me that Carl
was doing the very thing I, and a lot of young girls had done when we first
discovered masturbation: rubbing up against something firm.  He seemed like
he knew exactly what he was doing, and I wondered if he had done this
before.  Here I was fighting fear and nausea, but getting really worked up.
I'd put my arms up to push Carl away, but I couldn't seem to command them
to work, instead letting them rest on his healthy biceps.  God, I thought.
It was happening again.  I completely forgot to contradict that I'd ever
swam naked in his pool.

   But if this went on much longer I was afraid I'd wind up in the state
I'd been in last night: Horny, vulnerable, submissive, and this time alone
and with a grown man at that.  There was nothing here to stop him bringing
all his influence to bear as Wade had, and I, for some reason, had
orchestrated the very circumstances that had gotten me in trouble in the
first place.  First by getting caught on the front lawn with only a wrap,
then by being stripped in front of the jocks, then caught drunk and topless
in the bathroom by the geeks, and ultimately betrayed by my body's horrible
timing.  This time however, I had walked right out and tempted fate
deliberately.  I knew now was time to pay the piper.  I either had to call
it quits or up the stakes.

   "All right, Carl.  All right." I said, forcing a smile and backing away,
relieving the pressure on my sex but doing nothing to alleviate my tension
and fear.

   Nevertheless, for some reason I pulled the shirt up, over my head and
let it hang from a hand while Carl took stock of me, flushed, rigid
nipples, heavy breathing, underwear wadded up on my crotch.  Practically my
whole bush was showing.

   I quickly hiked up the underwear.  They must have gotten bunched up
because of the rubbing.  Unfortunately hiking them up didn't count for
much, as I could still see a big tuft of black hair sticking out the top,
and in my effort to hike then up I'd given myself a wedgie up the butt. 
Carl never blinked as I reached back to pull them out, reluctantly letting
the underwear down a bit so they wouldn't ride up.

   Carl started to lift his hands again, but I was ready with my next move,
"Carl can you program your number into the phone." Get him busy and figure
out an escape, I thought.

   He held still for a moment, then glanced at the phone, "Here, I'll show
you how to do it." And he stepped out of the way.

   I wasn't sure what he was up to, but my arms reflexively went up over my
chest (I couldn't believe I had actually taken off my shirt.  I still had
no idea if he had seen anything at all last night but I was going so far on
a Ôwhat if?') I stepped up to the phone table.

   Carl moved in right behind me, his erection nuzzled right between my ass
cheeks, and I gasped, letting out my breath with a high pitched squeak as I
felt it press into me.  He laughed as his arms wrapping around me as he
took the phone off the receiver and pointed to a button, as if this were
the most practical position to do that in.

   "You still squeak like a little girl, Ariel.  I always loved that about
you."

   His hot breath on my ear smoldered, fiery and damp.  He set the phone on
the table and reached with his right hand for the keypad, his free left on
my waist.  Had I not been wearing ridiculously old underwear he'd have been
touching cloth.  Instead he slid his hand forward, over my hipbone and was
running his fingertips over the top of my pubic hair as he showed me what
various buttons did.

   Then the hand piece fell off the table.

   "Whoops." Carl said with a smile.  I had to grab the waistband to keep
him from stripping my panties off as he slid his hand down my leg, "Carl,
Please."

   Rather than bend over like a normal person, Carl had squatted straight
down, actually sliding his face down my side, his coarse stubble a gentle
scrape on my hip.  He was now exactly level with my ass, which, I was
pretty bare now.  I reached back to pull up my panties, but Carl
intercepted my hand.  He pushed it aside, and I acquiesced.

   "Ariel these have got to be the oldest panties I have ever seen.  Don't
you have any new pairs?" He said it in a light tone of voice.  Never one to
miss an opportunity, Carl tucked a few fingers under the elastic, his
coarse knuckles sliding slowly across each buttock.  I was starting to
churn with the building tension in my loins, my body reacting to his touch
by pushing against it, asking for more.  Before I realized what I'd done I
had let go of the waistband, putting both hands on the ledge.

   The underwear slid down, Carl tugging them gently.  I was stooping over,
giving the old man unfettered access to my backside.  I could imagine his
view.  Skinny, bony legs and wet, glistening labia, tilting, rocking back
and forth against gentle, now firm caress.  His hand slid between my
cheeks, hairy knuckles touching my anus-an eruption inside me, pleasure in
places I didn't know I had.  I leaned forward, consciously this time,
lifting my loins to face him and his prowling hand as he turned it and
drove it shamelessly against me, his long fingers spreading my lips and
grinding against my clit, pain, fire, and ice lancing through me as he
abused the tender flesh, but over that an overwhelming surge of electric
passion boiling inside me, denied for hours with Wade, shamelessly
exploited for so long last night, and now I found myself riding to release,
pushing on the wall to get Carl's hand to take me the rest of the way, a
blossoming fire of womanhood sprouting up in my loins as I moaned
shamelessly, both entreating him to be careful, "Soft." I'd cry, "No
harder!" "It hurts, Carl." I moaned even as I ground myself even harder.

   Many women have a diamond revealing a soft tuft of pinched labia when
they bend over.  I, on the other hand was an open page, little flesh
existed to curl around my sex, but Carl was confronted with everything,
just as clearly as if I laid on my back and spread my legs wide.  I thought
it was sexy when I was frigging myself, but now it just made me feel
trashy.

   But Carl wasn't content just to observe my degradation, he wanted to
join me, though he seemed to think he could hide it from me.  I could tell
with every shifting hand, in spite of my arousal, that he was getting busy
back there.  I had little doubt that it involved a now unencumbered cock. I
was afraid that if I didn't find a way to stop him it would hurt as much,
if not more than Jerry had on my abused and inexperienced sex.  I couldn't
go through that again.

   "PleaseÉ" I cried.  "Please, CarlÉ" but I was panting too hard; every
third breath was a squeal of pleasure, every second a groan of bitterness
and pain.  I couldn't make the words come out, to beg him not to fuck me as
I abandoned any futile attempts at resistance or to mask what was
happening. I pulled one foot free of the panties and kicked them away.  I
planted my arms firmly in preparation and prayed to a god I didn't believe
in that he wouldn't, for no reason whatsoever, jam his cock in me.

   But I felt it.  Oh my god, it seemed so big on my tender flesh.  His
hands wet and slippery on my hips as he held me in place.  The pressure
gone-so much pleasure fading as his cock, nudging against my sex threatened
to impale me.  I screamed, aching for the pain and pressure to blind me to
the savage whore I had become, bribing my master with my body like he would
have bribed me with treats.

   The phone rang.

   I bit my lip; a lance of pain for my poor abused mouth, so many bites
and hands and dicks running rampant over it.

   Carl, probably lost in his own ecstasy started at the ring, his penis
slipping upwards, away from my sex to my frustration and relief.  His
member nuzzled back into my sex and I couldn't stop from rocking, grinding,
clutching the phone table with all my might as it slid forward.

   Another ring pierced me I felt Carl slip again.  Into the pit of my ass,
and God!  How it felt, an incredible rush up through my abdomen with just
the tip riding me there, wet and slippery from its collision with my sex,
sliding and jamming against my tight puckered hole which I clenched with
all my might to prevent him from punching through yet also to increase the
pressure, to excite the raging sensations the contact made me feel.  I
heard my lover moan, even as the answering machine beeped,

   "Hey sweets, it's meÉ"

   "Oh god!" I cried Daria.  Not now.  Not a part of this moment.  Please
don't come in to my head.  "Just wanted to make sure you still needed help
with your English paper."

   That was our code, even though our folks were out of town.  Any kind of
paper or project was the club.  She was telling me she was on her way.

   No Daria.  Not now.  Don't come.  I groaned a deep throaty growl as I
felt my anus spreading, the effort of keeping it so tight taxing me, but I
couldn't stop pushing ever harder, driving myself against Carl's monster,
ravaging myself.

   I wanted to pick up the phone.  I wanted to cry to my friend that I was
a horrible slut, and I couldn't bear to have her see me, but I spent my
every effort riding the wave of boiling ecstasy that overwhelmed me, riding
Carl, riding the old perverted man from across the street who treated me
like a little girl.

   "Oh," Daria's beautiful voice pitched, "You simply have to tell me how
you did on the Algebra test." Algebra for A.  A forÉ Oh yes, Alan.  My date
with Alan.  Well, I tried to fuck him, and wound up spreading my legs for a
jock.  Now I was getting my ass pummeled by a forty-two year old dick.

   The machine clicked off.  I fought my shifting senses, overwhelmed with
the punching, piercing sensation that was rocketing every bit of me into
oblivion, pain lacerated with heavenly pleasure sprouting from every pore
of my body as the orgasm hit.

   "See you in a bit.  Love you.  Bye."

   "I love youÉ" I mumbled, not caring about the slobber dribbling from my
panting, moaning lips as the universe exploded in warm, tender, violent
inferno, enveloping me and driving me to one, great push before my limbs
collapsed utterly.  I knew he was in me for the great shout I cried out. 
It was like a great void had been consumed by some vast leviathan, and
though I cried out in horror and pain, my body alighted, spread out over
Carl's organ.  The most intense, graphic, overwhelming orgasm I had ever
imagined was a pale shadow of what I found anally impaled on the head of
that titanic beast.

   As my senses flooded back to me, my mind also snapped back into place.
The glow of ecstasy was there, but the beast was just a thing in my ass. 
He was pumping, gently, but quickly.  I felt a need to crap like I'd never
known before.

   It was so quiet in the house.  Only my own rasping breath and a faint
slapping sound pierced the muffled void, like cotton stuffed in my ears.  I
seemed to hover there, a strong hand perching me against the table on which
my head lay, smashed against the answering machine, Daria's voice echoing
in my ear, my arms dangling uselessly, while I waited for him to be done. I
thought I should fall, my legs barely supporting me, but he held me still,
though I was little more than a lifeless rag.

   Then a low groan, a deep swift nasal intake of breath.

   He froze up I felt throbbing, my whole body seemed to expand with the
sudden pulse.  And he slipped out.  It felt like taking a shit, but no
getting to finish.  A warm little splat on my butt.  Something pulsing on
my sex, and warm splashes, throb-drip, throb-drip, throb, throb-drip.  A
pressure against my sex, throb, throb.  So numb, no pain, a little harder,
a little slip, throb-throb, push, push.  The smallest bit of fucking.  Carl
was in me, finishing his cum as I held my ass up high for him.  His manhood
in my body, emptying itself into me, and forty year old man and a virgin
but for a day.  Then it was over.  He slid out, and it felt okay.

   As if a weight had been released I felt the strength reinvigorate my
legs, and with it came a throbbing ache, a soreness that held my thighs
apart.  Behind me I heard a ruffle of clothes.  His cum still dripping over
my lips and dribbling out my sex the man tucked in and made as if he'd just
been an innocent bystander.  Acting as if he hadn't just fucked me in the
ass, or spilled his jazzing cock in my cooch after he'd done with my ass,
the sweating, red faced forty-something actually put his hands together and
twiddled his wet, glistening, viscous thumbs while I turned to face him,
wobbling on legs that barely obeyed, struggling with a flaring ache in my
crotch, a blistering pressure in my bowels, completely naked before this
man who had played with me as a little girl.

   Okay, so things hadn't gone exactly as I'd planned.



   "Well, dear, you're probably very confused right now."

   Well, Carl, I just stripped down and let you ride me like a bitch. 
"Yes." I said meekly, my voice dry and harsh.

   "Of course you are," he put a hand on the small of my back, and slowly
caressing me, walked me out of the hallway where he he'd had me.  "A girl
your age is bound to experience sensations and emotions she doesn't
understand."

   Carl, you just fucked my ass, I think we can cut the baby talk now. 
"You're right, Carl."

   He let me walk ahead, and ran his hand tenderly over my butt when I did
so, smearing his dribbled cum around.

   "I'm just glad someone was here when it happened, to help you through
it."

   You realize I've been masturbating since I was eleven years old, don't
you Carl?

   "Oh, dear, you've got a bit of saliva here." And he ran a finger across
my lip as I let my mouth hang open.  I was parched, having drooled myself
dry, yet his hand slid across my lips, two fingers, smearingÉ He was
smearing his cum on my face.  I let him stick his fingers in my mouth. 
What kind of fucking pervert was he?

   "Go ahead, dear, trust me."

   I had to admit, that aside from the glob of goo on his fingers, suckling
on him was very relaxing.  I found, even as the acrid, bitter slime coated
my tongue and the back of my mouth that my legs were no longer trembling.

   "Very good." He said as I suckled on him like an infant at a tit.  "A
girl like you needs a friend she can trust.  Someone she can go to when
these feelings get strong."

   You want me to call you the next time I'm feeling randy, right.  But I
shut my eyes and suckled on him.  Whatever his faults, and he had many, he
seemed to know what he was doing.  I felt my body relaxing, even as I slid
my face back and forth, up and down his fingers practicing the skills Wade
had only just taught me.  I was so involved with his fingers that I hardly
thought to respond as he dug through the narrow channel of my sex with his
free hand.  As he extracted his fingers I opened wide, leaning forward to
claim them again, only to get a fresh glob of semen on another two fingers
dropped into my mouth.

   The sicko was feeding me his jizz, scraped from my own pussy.  For some
twisted reason I was lapping it up, licking his fingers clean as he settled
me down on the couch, and spread my legs to scoop up another dose of my
medicine.  This time he teased me with it, letting it dribble on my chin
before allowing me to gulp down my gift, and twice more, until my mouth was
surrounded with globs of sperm mixed with my own juices, a particularly
gooey, acrid mixture, with the faint, distinct taste, I thought as my mind
wandered away from me, of Chinese food.

   He told me to stay put until he came back.  Not to move a muscle, and to
relax, to let the sensations pass, and I was at the point where whatever
game he was playing, I was willing to play along.  I didn't see how much
worse it could get than having his dick in my ass.  Besides, I not only had
achieved an incredible orgasm, but was hovering in a delirious afterglow.
Certainly better that the condition Jerry had left me in.  I figured that
if the guy was capable of making my afterglow feel so good, I could handle
a few degradations, so long as it didn't get much worse.

   Of course, quantifying whether being spoon fed cum from my own snatch
was worse than, say, being ditched and left alone with vibrating thighs and
a chronic ache in my ass was probably relative to the orgasm you've had and
your distance from it, but since in my case it was pretty huge, and very
close, I was unable to make a rational judgment call.

   This point was compounded, as I'd not even noticed he'd returned when I
felt him pushing my legs apart wider.

   I let my eyes fall open.  He was squatting between my legs.  The coffee
table in front of the couch had been moved across the room and Carl had
ample room to maneuver.  He had in his hands the digital camera my folks
had bought me for my fifteenth birthday.  It was a really good camera, but
as I had few friends I seldom had cause to use it.  Carl seemed to know
exactly how to use it as he pointed it between my legs, snapping a shot of
my swollen, flushed, and cum-covered crotch.

   "Carl, what are you doing?" I said in a daze, feeling the afterglow
ripple, he couldn't be taking pictures.  He'd had his dick in my ass, what
did he need pictures for.

   "Just for posterity, dear.  Someday you're going to want to look back on
this day," he straightened up and snapped a close-up of my face.  "You're
going to want to remember every detail.  Just a few more."

   How many pictures had he taken when I was lulling in my orgiastic void?
The camera was essentially silent unless you used the flash.  I saw him
peering at the picture on the mini screen on back of the camera with a
grin,

   "How about a smile for old Carl?"

   I shook my head, and tried to lift a weak arm up, "No, Carl, I've got
cum on my face."

   He shook his head, a peculiar expression raising his brow, "No, dear,
that's just a little spit.  We'll clean you up in a minute."

   Did he think I was totally stupid?

   "Big smile" he smiled, and I let my arm drop, forcing myself to grin as
cum dribbled past my lips.

   Okay, I thought, it was not only getting worse, but I was still playing
along.

   He moved back and took a few more shots while I grew more and more
uncomfortable, but still bravely tried to smile for my molester, licking my
lips at his command, even using my fingers to scrape more goo off myself,
and sucking on them myself, an experience that wasn't anything near as
lulling as when he'd done it himself.

   Fortunately, the camera only took fifty shots, and Carl had to stop
after getting me on my hands and knees on the couch and several shots of me
looking back at him snapping pictures of me from behind.

   By now I was thoroughly bewildered about how I'd let him lull me into
posing for pictures like this.  Maybe it was a kink, like making me eat his
cum.  He could have cum inside me like a normal guy but he pulled out,
waited until after I had cum, then did his thing.  He obviously had a
predilection for watching.

   I knelt back, but Carl had his hand on my butt, "Now dear, we don't want
to get stains on the couch, do we?"

   I looked at where I had been sitting, and the very obvious stain I'd
already left, but obeyed Carl as he scrolled back through the pictures,
found one he didn't like, and snapped a side shot of me waiting for him to
be done.

   "Carl, can I get dressed now?"

   "If you like, dear.  No reason to get dolled up on my account."

   I stepped off the couch, but my legs were really weak and I slumped back
down on it.  No protests this time about stains, I noticed.  "My friend
Daria is coming over to help with my homework."

   His eyes flashed, "Ah, yes, the older girl, right?  With the hair?" He
was referring to Daria's ten inch blue Mohawk and otherwise bald head.

   I nodded, and saw something working behind his eyes.

   He came over and sat next to me, slipping my camera into his pocket, I
couldn't help but noticing, "Ariel dear, ummmÉ"

   Oh, I saw this one from miles away.  Well, this had all been to keep him
silent about Wade last night, or at least get an alibi if someone else had.

   "I was thinking that maybe we shouldn't tell anyone about this evening."

   I must have been getting pretty good at this (well, at least catching on
considering what I had had to do to get that far).  I decided to play
along, "Gosh, Carl, I mean, Daria's my best friend.  I tell her all my
secrets.  She won't tell anyone." I said with my widest-eyed look.

   But even after having had sex with the man and posing for pictures, I
was still really uncomfortable.  I pulled up a knit comforter my mom had
made while pregnant with my brother, wiping up the semen on my face with
the other hand.

   "Well, Ariel, it's just possible that your friend mightÉ Might
misconstrue what occurred here today." He reached over and pulled the
comforter up higher for me.  Then he reached into a pocket and pulled out a
lump on napkins.

   What kind of guy walks around with a lump of napkins in his pocket?

   He gave them to me to wipe my face off.  I realized that he was trying
to make me comfortable, more secure, as opposed to how he had spent every
moment since walking in here to get me uncomfortable, insecure, and
aroused.

   "But, Carl, you were so sweet.  If you weren't here I'd be in an awful
state when she got here.  That would have been so embarrassing.  No, she'll
be just as grateful as I am." And bundled up in the comforter finally I
curled up against the fat man and put my head on his shoulder.

   "Well, if I could ask you, then, as a personal favor to me.  I mean, it
wouldn't do to get all the girls in the neighborhood calling me up when
their time comes, now would it?"

   I didn't know what the fuck he was talking about, a bald faced
rationalization, but since my role was to acquiesce, I sat up and gave in,
reluctantly.  "Okay, Carl.  I promise, I won't tell a soul."

   That was a promise I knew I would keep.  How could I ever let anyone
know I'd done the old guy across the street.  Even now, so close to the
fading afterglow I was starting to be sick at the thought of what I'd just
done.

   "You know, dear, if you guys would like to come over and use the pool a
little later, Madge will be asleep and you can have the whole pool to
yourselves."

   "Uhh, thanks, Carl."

   "No one to peek in, heated, very secluded.  Nice way to relax after a
lot of hard studying.  Don't even need suits." Secluded my ass.  Like I'd
drag Daria over to where Carl could leer at the two of us flopping around
naked and wet in his back yard.

   "Thanks, Carl, that's sweet."


   to be continued...