("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text ------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2015. Please do not remove the author information nor make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. ------------------------------------------------------- Suzy's Story - 2 by AnnaB (anna33bukowsky@gmail.com) *** Suzy's story continues, she finds a girl on her own and plans for future fun! (Ff, ped, nc, rp, v) *** Part III Inside I paced my flat like a caged animal (a predator, naturally) and started to have some very dark thoughts. I wanted to get a girl on my own, a girl with no 'history' of being abused before, or with no sense of being 'institutionalised', or being abandoned by society; I was going to get me a genuine virgin (well, mentally at least, even back then it was generally known that teenage girls could be pretty promiscuous if they wanted to be.) Finally, about 4 in the morning I fell asleep, but by then I had the broad outline of my plan and I knew I would execute it within a few days. Looking back now I realise that the ease with which I'd abused the 8 year old girl had blinded me to the inherent dangers involved in any sort of criminal act – let alone sexual assault – and all I could see was my target; accordingly I wasn't as careful as I had been before and always was afterwards. The next day, Saturday, I woke about noon and started to make some preparations. I popped out for about an hour and headed for a few charity shops I knew of in search of a blonde wig to hide my raven black hair. I found one and it just about fitted; sure in the mirror I looked stupid but that wasn't the real point. I laughed at how badly it fitted with the elderly woman behind the counter, telling her it was for a fancy dress party and so the fit didn't matter (I knew I could get it to fit better for my big plan). On the Sunday I considered how I'd over-power my prey; I settled on a trusty knife but knew it would have to be one I could carry in my hand-bag (the large carving knife I'd used to terrorise little Emma in London was too large to use) so I spent most of Sunday afternoon sharpening a small cutting knife of about 6 inches length. By the time I was finished it was razor sharp and anyone against whose throat I pressed it would know immediately that they were one little bit of pressure from death. Next I turned my thoughts to where I was going to find my victim; I didn't think it would be wise to strike in my home city of Cardiff, instead I turned my lustful thoughts to Swansea a short distance further west. The plan was coming together perfectly; on Monday afternoon I would drive to Swansea, pick a school-girl on her way home, seize her, brutalise her and force her to become my sex-toy for as long as I wanted. I slept very badly that night; I couldn't stop rubbing my pussy both in memory of my domination of the young girl on Friday, and also in anticipation of the abuse I was going to inflict on some unsuspecting girl tomorrow. The next day I was very restless with anticipation; I decided to arrive about mid-day reasoning that I'd either see a girl on her lunch-break or (even better) one playing truant – she'd be more likely to be on her own and more easily subdued (she could even be blackmailed into acquiescence.). The only draw-back to my plan I knew of at the time was that I didn't really know Swansea very well and so couldn't stray too far from the city centre as I would probably need to get out in a hurry. I pondered this problem for a while before deciding luck would carry the day; looking back now I realise that the sexual excitement of abusing the young twins a few days before had made me reckless to a very dangerous degree. I left the house with my knife and blonde wig hidden in my hand-bag (I didn't want anyone seeing me wearing it who might start wondering what I was doing, etc), half- way between Cardiff and Swansea I pulled off the road and fitted my blonde wig, after a bit of tugging and pushing I got it to fit pretty well. I took a long look at myself in the mirror and decided I was quite unrecognisable from myself. I felt a thrill surge through me; this was going to be easy. I drove the rest of the way into the city and after a bit of a search found a shopping centre with a multi- storey care park attached; parked up and went in search of my prey. After about half an hour of fruitless walking around I decided I needed a re-think and went for a coffee in a fast-food bar that fronted right onto the main shopping area. I sipped my drink with hands trembling in lustful anticipation and waited like a spider for my fly. 20 or so minutes passed and I was just debating whether to go for a second cup of really undrinkable coffee when she came into sight. I knew from the second I saw her that she was the one; she was about 14 or so, long dark hair and a slim just-this-side-of-childhood body. She was wearing her school uniform of navy-blue jumper over a white blouse and a black, shortish, pleated skirt which ended quite a few inches above her knees. I glanced at my watch; it was nearly 2.30. She should have been in school and the fact she wasn't told me she was playing truant. This, I told myself, was going to be a piece of cake. I checked in my bag for my knife and moved it discretely to the top, then left the café and started to trail along behind her; this prolonged hunt gave me plenty of opportunity to take in everything about her; the way she walked – not quite a full-grown adult sway of the hips, but way beyond the way children move, the way she'd sometimes throw her head back to sweep her long hair out of her face and also the almost furtive way she glanced around as if to make sure no-one from her school was about to catch her. (I thought then that if you want not to be seen by someone from your school then don't wear the uniform, but I was hardly going to point that out to her.) The number of people in the shopping centre worked in my favour in one way in that I was able to get pretty close to her a few times before dropping back to avoid suspicion, but the crowd also worked against me in that unless she left the main shopping area I couldn't see how I could get to her. I contented myself with shadowing her, pausing when she paused, moving on when she moved on. At one point she went into a clothes shop and I pretended to do a bit of window shopping while keeping her under observation. To my delight she spent some time browsing the lingerie section, taking some of the lacy underwear off the racks and holding it up to examine it. I felt my pussy tingle as I pictured her on my bed her hands cuffed behind her and her ankles loosely tied, imagining the thrill of kneeling over her, relishing the terror in her eyes, her throat making strange gurgling noises behind the gag I'd made from her own school-tie as my hands began to run up her bare legs, slipping under her short, school skirt, sliding inch by inch up her firm thighs before my fingers touched the saucy, lacy underwear she was currently gazing at as if in silent rapture. In my fantasy my other hand would press against her thin, white school blouse, squeezing the lacy, wired half cup of her matching bra. My fingers would slip between the buttons of her shirt and pull it open, buttons popping in all directions as she screamed in muffled terror before I lowered my lips and teeth onto the exposed flesh of her breast. I was so lost in this dark fantasy that I suddenly noticed she was no longer in site, I stared around rapidly and realised she was only a few feet away in the shop entrance; my unexpected movement startled her and our eyes met, I smiled at her almost guiltily although she couldn't have possible known that and she smiled back politely. For a brief second I thought the age old molester's thought that she must have read my mind and wanted me to do these things to her. Fortunately reality kicked in immediately and I knew she had no idea of my plans. Momentarily non-plussed I watched her walk away without a backward glance. "Damn" I cursed inwardly. If she saw me following her now the alarm bells would go off in her head immediately. I stood and stared longingly after her until she suddenly turned off the main hall-way towards the doors marked "Toilets." This was it, I was going to take her in there. I moved swiftly after her; I had to time my 'run' really well – if she saw me coming after her as she looked back going through the door (as people do) her suspicions would be raised. But if left too long a gap she'd be locked inside the cubicle before I arrived. As it turned out she didn't look back, just let the door close so I quickened my step and arrived at the entrance a matter of seconds after her. I felt for my knife in my bag and grasped its firm, solid handle. It never once occurred to me that there'd be anyone else in the toilet; I guess I was just trusting to my luck yet again, never once did it occur to me that I was confusing luck with sheer recklessness. My breathing was short and shallow now (as it always was and is in these situations), my body was 'alive' in a way that people who just live hum-drum lives never experience, my pussy was already tingling. I saw her just entering one of the cubicles, there was no one else in the place. She was mine. Just as she was closing the door I charged my shoulder against it, knocking her backwards so she stumbled against the toilet bowl and gave a startled yelp of surprise as I forced my way inside the narrow cubicle, kicking the door shut with my leg as I did so and pushing myself over her unbalanced body, one hand over her mouth the other holding the knife directly against her throat. My eyes, (under my blonde wig), blazed a real threat of violence as I told her that if she kept quiet I wouldn't hurt her. I emphasised the implication behind these last words by pressing the knife even harder against the pale skin of her throat. She was literally rigid with shock; only the terrified movement of her eyes showed any sign of life despite the unnatural position of her body half fallen against the back wall of the confined space. I asked her if she understood and she came back to life as she nodded a frenzied agreement. This was bliss, in only a matter of seconds I'd caught my prey and wrapped it in a web of terror. I reached behind me and drew the lock into the 'shut' position, then pulled my victim fully upright. As she was drawn close to me I inhaled her perfume, it was cheap but because of the situation it was intoxicating and I couldn't stop myself burying my face in her neck and hair and inhaling the scent. I kissed her neck through her hair, and felt the blade of the knife rub against my chin; I could also feel her gulping in fear as she felt my lips on her flesh for the first time. As ever the girl's evident fear (and helplessness) connected directly to my pussy and I could feel real dampness down there. The naturally cramped dimensions of the cubicle were becoming a real turn-on for me (although it was pretty dingy I had to admit) as I was pressed right against the girl all the time; every time either of us moved we rubbed and pressed against the other; I clamped my thighs around one of her legs and rapidly rubbed my crotch against it. My wet panties slid against her bare flesh and the feel of my juices on her leg made her struggle and for a moment I thought she was going to scream, so I covered her mouth with one hand, pressed the flat blade of the knife against her throat again and whispered (well, more like, panted) in her ear. "Shhhss, shhhsss, don't scream, I'll only hurt you if you do. Just let me do what I want and it'll soon be over." I took my hand from her mouth and she gulped at the air; she was starting to sob now and she tried to talk, but her weeping made every word almost into a paragraph. "Please," ... "Please!" ... "Don't hurt me!" ... "I won't scream!" ... "Please, let me go!" Each word was separated by terrified sobs. And as she shook in fear, I nuzzled my face into her hair and neck again, lost in my own perverted fantasies I muttered "So sexy, such a sexy little girl" as I kissed her neck and face. Keeping the knife at her throat with one hand I ran my free hand down to her legs and squeezed them; Oh God, there are few things as sexy as the feel of a gorgeous teenage girl's bare legs; they are so firm and toned, not an ounce of fat, or rough skin, just beauty, pure and simple. (In later years, when I had my whole set-up perfected, and I could keep my girls for as long as I wanted I would sometimes spend ages just kissing their thighs and rubbing my face against them; kissing, licking and then biting their firm, young flesh just to hear their screams.) I forced my hand up her smooth, firm, struggling thigh, not because she was resisting me that much but simply because of the huge sexual thrill it gave me to feel a captive girl's flesh under my touch, knowing that she was hating every second of my unwanted abuse. When my fingers reached the elastic ridge of her knickers I came. I was that aroused that I actually orgasmed as my fingers went from the smooth skin of a 13 year old girl onto the cotton of her panties and felt their way under the tight hem of them, my fingers were then pressed further into her flesh by her own panties. It was heaven. I pulled my hand out briefly but only so I could slip it inside her knickers again from the top as it were so I could grope and fondle her bottom; she moaned in discomfort as my nails dug sharply into her buttocks before I forced my hand down between her legs and my fingers played with her pussy lips. Correctly guessing that she was subdued now I put the knife on top of the toilet cistern and started to pull her jumper up to expose her blouse; I squeezed her small breasts through the thin white material while the fingers of my other hand now began to probe between her pussy lips, forcing them apart and violating her. I pulled her blouse out of her skirt and slipped my hand under it and mauled her breasts through the cups of her bra. I was almost giddy with the feel of it all and began to rub my pussy up and down her leg to bring myself off. She let out a small yelp of fear but I didn't care. She was mine now. Suddenly my heart missed a beat; there was an almighty banging on the cubicle door, and I heard a woman shouting. "What's going on in there, what are you doing?" I felt my blood turn to ice; I let go of the girl's gorgeous breasts and groped for the knife on top if the cistern. I glared at the girl and pressed the cutting edge of the blade against her throat and my face told her "Make one sound and you are dead." The woman banged on the door again. "Open this door, who's in there? If you don't open the door I'll call the police." I breathed a slight sigh of relief; at least it wasn't the Police. But even so, I realised, my situation was extremely dangerous. "Stop banging the door, I'm on the loo." I decided to try and bluff my way out. "You've got someone in there with you, now open the door." I knew I had to take drastic action. "There's no one in here, but if it'll make you happy I'll open the door. Just let me pull my knickers up." I gave one more threatening stare to my unfortunately reprieved captive which promised extreme reaction if she did anything silly, and slid the bolt back on the door. Cautiously I opened the door and peered round, trying to hide the terrified schoolgirl behind me. The woman was about my size but twice my age, I relaxed a bit as a consequence. "See?" I told her, trying to sound annoyed rather than scared. "There's no one else here." She eyed me warily and tried to push the door open wider; as she peered around me she took her eyes off me momentarily. It was now or never. I punched her hard in the face; stunned she staggered back unsteadily. I rushed after her and shoved her hard with both hands on her shoulder. She fell backwards and her head hit the wall with what can only be described as a sickening thud. The light in her eyes went out and she slumped down onto the floor. She was out cold (at the time I even thought I had killed her.) The girl in the cubicle gave an involuntary short scream of shock, I spun round and took giant steps towards her, she cowered against the back wall of the toilet clearly thinking I was about to do the same to her. Instead I rifled through her school bag until I found her purse; a quick check in it told me what I wanted to know. I waved the purse at her. "Right, Wendy." I now had her name and address. "I know where you live now, you tell anyone about this, if I see one word in the papers, I will track you down and kill you. Understand?" She had seen how violent I could be so she'd have no reason to doubt my threat, and she nodded in dumb, terrified agreement. But I was still in extreme danger here; there was an unconscious woman on one side of the room and a freshly molested schoolgirl on the other. It was time to go and fast. I ran to the door of the toilets, pulled it open and walked quickly, but not so quick as to draw attention, into the shopping centre. I took the most direct route back to my car, took one look around to make sure I was unobserved and removed my blonde wig realising that at any minute the Police might start looking for a blonde woman. I was still shaking with fear, so much so that when I came to pay at the exit of the multi-storey I found it very hard to steady my hand enough to put the coins in the machine. As I drove away from the shopping centre I passed an ambulance going full pelt with all its lights flashing in the opposite direction. My stomach knotted in fear; it looked like the interfering woman had been discovered. It would only be a matter of time before the police were out looking for me. I headed out of Swansea towards Cardiff, but halfway there I had to turn off the main road; I drove up into the hills, parked up in a lay-by and was violently sick. I walked about a bit feeling the cold air refresh me. I started to think a bit more clearly now. I threw the wig into the river that ran alongside the road, then I cursed myself for taking the girl's purse; if any police stopped me and found it the game would be up regardless of the fact I wasn't blonde. I had no real intention of going looking for her, that had just been said as a threat, at that moment I had no real intention of abusing another girl ever, so I took all identifying papers out of the purse and ripped them to pieces and scattered them into the fast-flowing, dark water then threw the purse in after them. The journey back to Cardiff was a nightmare; every time I saw a police car I thought I was finished, but they all just passed me by. I was a nervous wreck by the time I got to my flat and just curled up on the bed awaiting the inevitable knock on the door. I knew I would almost certainly go to jail for what I'd done today, and I knew well enough of the treatment sex-offenders got in prison. Filled with self-pity I burst into tears. The hunter had become the hunted. Self-pity is the most destructive emotion because it stops you doing anything; you can even turn hate into something, but self-pity is like a paralysing poison. But for the rest of that day I was laid-low by it. Only slowly did I escape its grip, once I had though my mind began racing with ideas; the main one was that I needed to get away for a few days. Somehow I managed to get some sleep, though not very much, I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning and hardly recognised the drawn, haggard face staring back at me. I looked at the knuckles on my right hand and noticed the bruises from the punch I'd administered. Yes, I thought, I needed to get away. First thing I did, though, was get my hands on a copy of the Western Mail to see if there was any news. It took a bit of finding but tucked away on page 7 was a report of a woman found unconscious in a toilet in a Swansea shopping centre, police were baffled as to the motive of the attack having ruled out robbery and would have to wait for the woman to regain consciousness so they could interview her. This was good for me in that there was no mention of a mystery blonde, but bad in that she would come out of her coma at some point. Best of all, of course, was no mention of a sexual assault on a schoolgirl; was this because the police were keeping it quiet, or had she listened to my threat and just run away before any one else came along. I thought about it for a minute or two and decided that the latter was more likely, perhaps my luck was returning. But regardless of these events, I felt so emotionally drained that I had get away for a few days, the question was where to? I knew of a company that rented holiday cottages throughout Wales and went to pay them a visit as soon as they opened, explained I needed a few days away and did they have anywhere suitable. They recommended a little cottage in the hills: it sounded perfect so I took it at once. I got back to my place, packed a few clothes and raced off to the solitude of the hills; less than 24 hours after the worst moment of my life I was going into hiding. Best of all, I thought, my mind was working again. I had said I wanted somewhere isolated and they hadn't disappointed, the cottage was at the end of a half-mile long track which was 2 miles outside the nearest village. I could hole up here and virtually no-one would know where I was. It was perfect. That night I sat in the lounge with a large glass of wine in front of a roaring log fire and reflected on what had gone so disastrously wrong. Clearly, the sexual euphoria caused by abusing the little twins had made me almost suicidal reckless and I'd forgotten all I'd ever thought about being careful. I'd gone after a girl in broad daylight in a public place and very nearly paid the penalty (and I still could, I realised.) Even more stupid, I thought, was that I'd risked it all for a sexual thrill that could last only a matter of minutes even if I hadn't been interrupted; with all the luck in the world I could never had done to the girl everything that I wanted to. For that to happen I'd have to get the girl to a place of my own choosing, a place where I could make her scream all I wanted to and where I wouldn't be disturbed. Suddenly it struck me: somewhere like here. If I could find a way to get a young girl here I could do what I wanted to her for as long as I wanted, even for days. My pussy tingled almost in approval of this idea. The only question was where I could find my victim, at that point in my life I wasn't ready to kidnap a girl in the conventional sense (although on reflection I had sort of kidnapped the girl in London) so I'd have to turn to the only person who was able to provide a regular supply of girls to be abused: Ruth. I took another sip on my wine and leant back on the sofa and turned my mind to the only problem with the girls in Ruth's care: how to stop them telling people what had happened to them? And with what I had in mind for them they would almost certainly go to the police, and the trail would lead first to Ruth and then probably to me. It was the crux of the whole issue. Even if I went beyond the ultimate taboo and silenced the girl for ever it would leave Ruth in a dreadful position of having to explain to various concerned parties where the girl had gone. No matter how long I pondered this question I just couldn't come up with an answer and eventually the combination of the stress of the previous day, the best part of a bottle of wine and the comforting heat of a real fire lulled me into a deep sleep. It would be nice to be able to say that I found the solution in my dreams but no such luck; the next morning all I had was a slightly sore head but no answer. I knew I'd have to ask Ruth if she had any solutions. I drove into the village and phoned her, pleading with her to come out and visit me, telling her I had a real problem and she was the only person I could turn to. Inconvenient though the trip would be, Ruth agreed to come out that evening and I spent a long time telling her how to find me in the dark wilds of the Welsh hills at night (this was in the days before mobile phones made getting lost no big deal.). On the way back to the cottage I stopped off at the village shop to get a newspaper and a couple more bottles of wine; I guessed that Ruth would take some persuading to agree with my ideas. That afternoon I scanned the paper to see if there was any update on my debacle in Swansea but there was nothing new; not that it mattered to me now, I was fairly sure the girl would keep quiet and even if the interfering busy-body ever woke up from her coma what was there to link her to me? I felt no regret about what had happened to the woman; the only emotion I felt was fear, but that was starting to dissipate now. My self- confidence had returned, and it was stronger than ever. About 8 in the evening a knock at the door announced Ruth's arrival; I'd prepared a meal for her and we ate it while we chatted as if I calling her out to an isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere was as normal as making a cup of coffee. I kept topping her glass up; I think she knew what I was doing but appeared happy to go along with it. Finally she asked the question. "So, Suze, what's your problem? I hope you're not having regrets about our little fun with the twins the other night?" I laughed softly, "Far from it, to be honest I enjoyed it almost too much." Then it all poured out of me, I told her about my trip to London to buy various toys, my rape of the homeless girl in the hotel, my disaster in Swansea and the woman left in a coma. She listened without comment until I'd finished, then shrugged. "Really, Suze, I had you down as smarter than to just to molest a girl in a public toilet." Her voice had a mocking edge to it, but I could hardly defend myself; I knew how stupid I'd been. "Still, at least that interfering bitch got hers. But aren't the girls at the Home enough for you?" "But that's the thing, Ruth, it's hard to explain, but I want to do things to them that I can't in your flat, I want to hurt them so much that they scream, and that can't be done there, so I was thinking.." Ruth leant forward slightly. "Thinking what exactly?" I sensed she knew the way my idea was going. "Well, I thought that if we could get one of your girls out somewhere like here, we could be as brutal as we liked to them, and no-one would hear anything except us." "That's no problem, Suze, all you had to do was ask and I'd have brought a girl along tonight." She laughed as she said this, almost relieved that this was all I was asking for. I shook my head. "Not that simple, I'm worried that at some point one of the girls at the Home will blab to someone and we'd all get arrested. I want to really hurt the little things and the chance they might go to the police or anyone is too much of a risk." Ruth's eyes narrowed. "That's a bit rich, coming from someone who molested a girl in broad daylight, in a toilet in a busy shopping centre." I'd been half expecting that accusation and I sort of cringed backwards into my chair "God, don't think I don't know that. But that's what made me think all the more about the safety angle. Don't tell me you haven't wanted to really hurt the little darlings? That you've never wanted to hear them scream without worrying about the consequences?" This seemed to hit home, and I suspected I was pushing at an open door. She looked pensively at me. "Go on." "Well, I was sort of hoping you could find a way of getting a girl who won't be missed, one that we can abuse to our hearts content here for several days and then won't have the chance to go to the police or anyone?" Now it was her turn to sit back in her chair. "How do you expect me to just 'lose' a girl? And where do you think I'm supposed to take her afterwards? We just say 'Well, we've fucked you, tortured you and used you as our toy for 4 days now, but no hard feelings, eh?' I mean, a bit of tongue and groove is one thing, but the abuse you seem to have planned puts it on a whole different level." It was exactly the problem I'd wrestled with the night before and I didn't have an answer to it. I shook my head. "Yeah, I know. It's just a shame that I've discovered this place which would be ideal to really abuse the little ones and I can't work out how to get it sorted. Look, ok, I'm sorry to drag you all this way just for you to tell me exactly what I thought last night, but I didn't know what else to do, and I do appreciate the fact you came all this way at the drop of a hat." She leant back in her chair again, but this time in a slightly more relaxed way, sipping her wine. "Look, leave it with me. I'll see if I can think of anything." She smiled indulgently at me. "I think I've had too much to drive, any chance I can crash her tonight?" I smiled back. "Sure hon, we'll have to snuggle up though, there is only one bed." Her eyebrows fluttered as she drained her glass. "Sounds delightful." We carried on talking the problem through as we lay in bed. Ruth suggested kidnapping a girl and for a moment I really considered it, before regretfully concluding it was a non-starter. "That is a tempting idea, Ruth, but I'm not sure I could pull it off, besides, what if, after I book this place for a weekend, we don't find an available target?" "What about a paper-girl? They're always about nice and early, I've had some very wild fantasies about them." "Aren't there a lot of people going to work in the mornings though?" "Not if you chose the right area, plus the dark mornings are coming." It was tempting, as she said, but I wasn't ready to do anything that adventurous yet – I think the incident in Swansea had knocked my daring quite a bit – but Ruth had planted a seed in my mind and, over the next few months, like her, I started to have dark thoughts about kidnapping a paper-girl of about 12 or 13, to hold her struggling body hard against me as I covered her mouth with a chloroformed rag before tying her wrists and ankles, pressing some tape over her mouth, and locking in the boot of my car. Then disappearing into the darkness with my prize, getting her home and carrying her unconscious little body upstairs to my bedroom, undressing her and kissing her naked skin, pressing my face against her smooth, pale young flesh. Showing her a tenderness which would vanish the second she woke up. "Nah, it's still too much of a gamble," I sadly concluded, yawning deeply as fatigue and wine started to catch up with me. Almost instinctively my hand went to stroke her hair and caress her cheek. "Besides, if I kidnapped a girl to be abused for a few days only to be let go again at the end of it, either we'd have to wear masks the whole time, or she'd have to be blindfolded and I don't want to wear a stupid bag on my head all weekend and I really want to see the terror in her eyes." Ruth grasped my hand and, bringing it to her lips, kissed it lightly. Her eyes didn't meet mine as she spoke. "You know what you're implying, Suze, don't you?" I did but I didn't. Instead I just shrugged. "I don't know, Ruth, I'm just so fucking turned on by what we could do here, and I can't see what I can do about it. I do understand what you say about the girls in your Home, and I know how just grabbing a girl at random, with all the crap of a police hunt, and all that will make what happened in that toilet in Swansea look like a parking ticket. I just feel so frustrated I could cry." I knew I was sounding like a petulant child stamping their feet but I was really that wound-up; I'd found the perfect scenario but there was no way of making it happen. Ruth propped herself up on her elbow and eased me down onto my back, she lifted her leg so that it covered both of mine and I could feel the juices of her (clearly turned on) pussy rub on one of my thighs as she spread her legs. (But whether she was turned on by me or the scenario we were discussing I couldn't tell) Her face was now inches from mine and I felt one of her manicured nails pushing my chin up so my mouth was touching hers. "Shhhh, Suze, baby, don't worry. I've told you I'll see what I can do." Her lips pressed against mine, and as our tongues met she slowly rubbed her pussy against my thigh just to make me settle. We slept together that night, but although we were both naked and spent all night wrapped in each others arms we didn't make love; I think we both knew that our real desires were too dark and too depraved for sex with someone as an equal. The next morning, she was up early for the drive back to Cardiff. Before she left she sat on the bed and stroked my hand. "I'll do some thinking about what you said. I'll call you at home if I think of anything." She leant down and kissed my lips. "See you soon." I heard her shut the front door of the cottage and my eyes filled with tears; I thought I'd never hear from her again; that my recklessness in with the girl in the toilet had convinced her I was a bad risk, and that I'd freaked her out with my almost insane ramblings. I turned over, buried my face in a pillow and sobbed as if my heart would break. To be continued? Hey I please let me know if you like it, I would especially like to hear from any female readers out there: anna33bukowsky@gmail.com *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* The author does not condone child abuse, this story is meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their local prison system. *-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-* Kristen's collection - Directory 81