Chapter 2

Carol had started to develop at thirteen, much earlier than any of her classmates. By the time that she had reached fifteen, her breasts were bigger than those of a lot of mature women. They caused her considerable consternation particularly at school where they boys and even her male teachers eyed them longingly, and lost no opportunity to "accidentally" brush against them in the school yard, in the cloakroom, even when she rode the bus to and from school.

This not only embarrassed her, but also caused her mother a lot of concern, because she had tried desperately to keep Carol looking young, by making her crop her jet-black hair short, just to the lobes of the ears and wear pre-teenage clothes, so that no one would think that she had a "daughter that old." But as Carol continued to round out and her breasts to grow, even a tight bra and little girl clothes couldn't hide her precociously blooming young body.

That Carol was still a virgin and even more naive than the average girl of fifteen was something of a small miracle, although it may have had something to do with her mother and father, who were divorced before Carol was ten.

Her mother had said that they got a divorce because her father was unreasonable, impossible to live with. But Carol had a feeling that her mother was chiefly to blame. As a very young child, she remembered all the strange men that visited their home while her father was at work and how scantily dressed her mother used to be in their presence, sometimes wearing only a bra and panties, or a diaphanous negligee. She would always send Carol out of the house to play while the men were visiting; tell her not to come back until she was called-or she would get a thrashing.

Since Carol had started to grow up, her mother became a lot more discreet, even if Carol did hear strange sounds and male voices coming from her mother's bedroom, when she came in very late, and thought that Carol was asleep.

For the past year, ever since Carol's fourteenth birthday, Carol and her mother had been living in the upstairs half of a two-family brick house in the middle-class suburb of West Allis, about an hour's ride by bus from Milwaukee. Emily Francis, Carol's mother, worked in one of the downtown Milwaukee department stores. Since the store didn't close until six, it was always well past seven before she arrived home. Quite often, it was much, much later, because Emily, still in her early thirties, was a very attractive young woman, with no scarcity of male escorts.

Because of these late hours that her mother kept, Carol found herself alone in the apartment a great deal of the time after she got home from school. Until one day, Mr. Lecheur slipped on the ice on the bottom step of the front stoop of the house and broke his left leg.

Mr. Lecheur was fiftyish, a bachelor and lived by himself in the bottom-floor apartment directly below Carol and her mother's. Mr. Lecheur undoubtedly would have sued somebody for the ice on the bottom step, but it so happened that he owned the building as well as several other dwellings throughout the city.

Mr. Lecheur spent a couple of days in the hospital and when he came home with his leg in a cast and was advised to have someone come in and look after him and stay off his feet as much as possible for a few weeks, the hospital suggested a trained nurse. But a trained nurse would be expensive and no one had ever accused Mr. Lecheur of being a man who squandered his money. So he asked Mrs. Francis if she thought that her daughter would like to come in after school and straighten up the place for him-make the bed, wash his dirty dishes, take care of his laundry and maybe give the apartment a thorough cleaning once a week. For these chores he would be willing to pay Carol fifteen dollars a week, which was less than he might have to pay a trained nurse for a single day.

Mr. Lecheur's reputation in the community was impeccable. Just about everybody liked him because he always had a big smile and a friendly hello for his neighbors. In spite of this thriftiness, he was always right there with a donation for any worthy cause. Always the one most likely for people to entrust their canary birds, goldfish and other pets when they had to leave on extended vacations. So Mrs. Francis was quick to accept his offer for her daughter ... especially since that extra fifteen dollars would go toward meeting the rising cost of living expenses.

"Carol will be more than pleased to help out, Mr. Lecheur," the woman assured him. "Not only that, but she'll also be happy to prepare your evening meal if you like. Carol's an excellent cook, you know. A wonderful little housekeeper."

So the next afternoon, after school, Carol began taking care of Mr. Lecheur's needs. For the first two days, everything proceeded according to the book. Carol did all the things for him that her mother had promised, including preparing his evening meal. On each of these occasions, she managed to get home in time to change from her school clothes into a pair of denims and a sweatshirt, very careful to wear a bra. Sometimes wearing a bra embarrassed her, especially when she had to undress for gym in the school locker room with the other girls. She could see just by looking around the locker room that only the "squared" wore bras, which put her in a "drippy class" that she didn't like. But her mother insisted that she wear one at all times-and a full cup, support kind at that.

On the third day that she was to visit Mr. Lecheur's apartment, Carol was detained at school, missed the bus and didn't get home until rather late. So instead of going upstairs to change, she went right to Mr. Lecheur's apart merit, wearing her school clothes-a dark miniskirt, a white blouse, no stockings and black boots.

The moment that she took off her coat, she saw the way that his hot eyes roved the ample curves of her youthful body and zeroed in on the lushness of her fully packed blouse and the bare white flesh of her legs between the tops of her boots and the bottom of her skirt. She couldn't remember him ever looking at her quite the way that he was ogling her now. But by this time she was sort of used to being gawked at and didn't give it a second thought as she prepared to go about her chores.

"Your legs must get awfully cold, being bare in winter weather like this," he commented as he followed her into the bedroom in his wheel chair and watched her start to make the bed.

"You get used to it," was all she said, as she stretched across the bed to straighten the sheets at the far side. She felt the pressure of his eyes on the backs of her bare thighs as her skirt crept up.

"Carol," he exclaimed with a little gasp, "You haven't any panties on!"

She got off the bed quickly, and faced him. "But I do, Mr. Lecheur, I always wear panties."

"Prove it," he petitioned. "I'll bet you a whole dollar you don't have any pants on."

A whole dollar he was willing to bet her! Why that was like finding money, because she knew darn well that she had them on. "Prove it how?" she asked.

He shrugged. "How else-show me."

Carol gulped and retreated a step. "Show you?"

He chuckled disarmingly. "Good heavens, my child. Don't tell me you're afraid to show me your panties? Why, I'm old enough to be your father-twice over."

Carol took a moment to consider. She guessed that it was kind of silly to have qualms about showing a man his age a little thing like her panties. So she reached down and lifted one corner of her skirt very slowly, demurely.

Mr. Lecheur's eyes began to bug out of his head, as her skirt rose to show more and more of her smooth, white, nicely rounded young thighs-until she reached the border of her panties, then dropped her skirt quickly.

"There," she said, flushing a little.

He frowned disappointedly. 'That doesn't prove anything, darling. You didn't show me your panties. All I saw was a couple of inches of white nylon." He saw her reluctance and said, "I'll tell you what. I'll make it two dollars if you really prove to me that you have panties on. Two dollars we won't even tell your mother about. Two dollars all for yourself."

Carol gave his offer very serious consideration. Two dollars was a lot of money to a girl who never really had any of her own to spend, especially since he had said that they wouldn't tell her mother about it, because Carol knew damn well that she would never see any of the fifteen dollars that she was earning, that would go toward household expenses.

The idea of him watching her raise her skirt all the way somehow gave her a funny feeling. She hesitated a moment, then she said, "Close your eyes and ... and I'll tell you when I'm ready." He did as she requested.

Carol sucked in her breath and held it, her heart hammering as she again reached for the bottom of her skirt. She tried to remember exactly which panties she was wearing. Then she recalled putting on the plain white nylon pair that morning, because all the frilly lace ones that she had gotten for Christmas were upstairs in the dirty-clothes hamper waiting to be washed.

It wasn't until she raised the skirt all the way to her wiast and glanced at her reflection in the full-length wall mirror, that she realized how tight-fitting and scanty and sheer the panties were. Her face burned with shame because she could see the shadowy triangle of black hair that covered her prominent cuntal flesh, through the flimsy material. She would be mortified to death for him to see, too, and started to drop her skirt. But it was too late. His eyes were already open and he had seen as much as she. Enough for his cock to lift its eager head and swell out to full size, so that he had to bring the tails of his shirt over it to keep it concealed from the girl.

"You-you peeked," she scolded.

"And you're very lovely, my child," he whispered hoarsely, trying to hide the emotion clogging his throat. He held out a hand to her and beckoned her forward.

Carol was suddenly afraid. She didn't like the way that he was lecherously looking at her, or the way that he was starting to breathe so heavily.

She said, "I-I think maybe I'd better take a few minutes and go upstairs and put on my sweatshirt and denims."

But as she started to go past him, he caught her wrist. "Don't go, darling," he beseeched her. "Please. I'm a lonely old man. I have so very few pleasures-especially since I've been laid up with this thing." He indicated the plaster cast on his left leg that was partly covered with the names and initials and bright saying of many of his neighbors. "Every time that you're away from me, I keep counting the minutes until you come back." Still holding onto her wrist, he ran his free hand upward along her arm to her shoulder, then traced her chin and jawline and gently stroked her short black hair. "You're so lovely ... so young ... you make me feel young again ... even for the short time you're with me."

Carol couldn't understand her mixed feelings. She was still frightened, almost to the point of paralysis when he first grasped her wrist. But then his touch was so gentle, his voice so soft, his words so touching, so sincere, that she felt almost sorry for him. She made no attempt to step away from him. when he finally let her go and dug a hand into the pocket of his trousers and brought forth a roll of bills. He peeled off two singles and gave them to Carol. Then he held up a third single to her.

"You're so lovely," he said. "I'll-I'll give you this extra dollar-if you'll let me see your panties again." When she started to balk, he quickly added, "What harm can it do, darling? After all, I've already seen them."

She weighed his words very carefully, as she fixed her gaze on the third dollar bill. Three dollars! That would be just enough for her to buy that darling charm bracelet that she stopped to admire every day in the jeweler's window, on the way from school. As he said, he had already seen her panties, so what difference would it make if he had another look ... and since she did want that bracelet so much....

Almost as if she were afraid that she might talk herself out of it and lose that third dollar, if she gave it too much thought, Carol closed her eyes and began pulling up her skirt again. She never stopped to realize that it would have been far better if she had raised her skirt quickly and gotten it over with; that inching it slowly up her bare thighs only teased and excited him that much more.

by the time that the skirt was above her hips, Mr. Lecheur's cock was throbbing uncontrollably inside his split-leg trousers. A thin line of perspiration had appeared on his upper lip and his burning eyes were focused hungrily on the gleaming bare flesh of her thighs, and on the taut white fabric of her panties that cupped her bountiful black bush and virgin cuntal lips.

Carol opened her eyes and a terrible fear gripped her as she saw the expression on his face. Boys as well as men had looked at her this way before as if they wanted to strip off her clothes and devour her. But never had she been as alone with anyone when it happened. Not as alone as she was with Mr. Lecheur right now. Terror streaked through her brain and she felt her stomach constrict and her knees start to buckle. She let her skirt drop and started to step back from him. But again he grasped her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap, careful to keep his left leg in cast out of the way so that she didn't strike it.

Carol cried out in protest as he bent her arm up behind her back, rendering her helpless. "Let me go, Mr. Lecheur. Please let me go!"

"I just want a kiss," he panted.

The mere thought of kissing him curdled everything in her stomach. "No! Let me go-or I'll scream!" she cried out as she struggled against him.

"Screaming won't get you anything," he told her, as he used his free hand to cup her face and force her to look up into his pale, watery eyes. "Your mother won't be home for hours yet-and there isn't a chance of any of the neighbors hearing you, because these houses are really built. You can't even hear the TV blaring next door. So relax and don't tease."

He kissed her and tried to get her to open her mouth, but she refused. But his wet, closemouthed kiss made her nauseous. Her limbs and body remained stiff and unresponsive as if solidly frozen.

"I said relax," he murmured muffledly against her lips as he ran his free hand over her silken black hair and down to her shoulder.

Carol tasted hot panic as his fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She struggled against him with all her strength but he was a great deal more powerful than his slim body had led her to believe. He handled her easily. From all the things that she had read and all the things that she had heard the other girls talk about at school, she should have known better than to fall for the wager that he had made with her, that he simply wanted her to prove whether or not she had panties on, or to think, that he would stop there.

"Let me go," she hissed feverously as his hand parted the blouse and he stared at the swell of her breasts pushing up over the top of her bra.

"I just want a look," he told her as he licked away the bits of cotton that had formed at the corners of his mouth. He didn't bother to unsnap the hooks in back of her bra. He simply inserted his fingers inside the cups and gave a quick tug. The straps snapped and he pulled the bra down to her waist, allowing her beautiful big breasts to spring free.

"Wow, what a pair!" he uttered, causing the blush that started in Carol's cheeks to sweep down into the points of her breasts, that crinkled and hardened with fear. Girls had seen her naked. Some, out of curiosity, had even touched them, to compare them with their own. But this was the first man who had ever laid eyes on their luscious nakedness and she was humiliated to the point where she started to cry.

"There's no need for you to bawl," he told her. I'm not going to hurt you."

He began kissing her bare shoulders and the sides of her neck. He was aching to get his mouth on her lusciously young tits. But he wanted her to quiet down first. He didn't want a hysterical girl on his hands and that was where she was heading if he didn't damn soon get her confidence.

"Y'know what, Carol darling," he whispered close to her left ear. "I changed my mind. I'm not going to give you three dollars ... I'm going to give you five. I'll buy you a new brassiere and a pretty, new pair of panties, too. Anything you want, but you've got to stop crying."

She checked her sobs and looked at him. "Why should you buy me those things?"

"Because I want to."

"But why?"

"Because I want you to look pretty, prettier than any other girl in all West Allis," he murmured as he began to kiss his way down to her breasts. "But you've got to trust me. You've got to believe that I wouldn't harm you, my darling."

Still holding her right wrist bent up behind her with his left hand, so that she couldn't get away, he moistened the forefinger of his right hand with saliva and applied it to her left nipple. The edible pink nub responded by wrinkling and swelling up even more. The touch shocked her and caused her to gasp, but she couldn't deny the thrill that it brought her. At the same time it added to her fears, and again she begged him to turn her loose.

"Darling, you want all those lovely things I promised you, don't you?" he asked her and by her silence he knew that she did. His fingers toyed with her wet tingling nipples as he went back to gently kissing her shoulders and chest down to the rising swell of her resilient tit flesh. Her nipples were tingling, felt as if he were tickling them with a feather, his touch was so light.

Carol wanted to cry again at the thought that he was the first male ever to feast his eyes on her beautiful young tits, the first ever to actually touch them. She had it figured out so differently in her mind. All this was going to happen on her wedding night. A young man closer to her own age was going to do these things to her. Young and handsome and virile. Not an old man like Mr. Lecheur in a wheelchair.

The next thing that Carol knew, Mr. Lecheur's head dipped and suddenly his partly bald pate was rubbing under her chin and he was licking in circles around her quivering right nipple. Her back arched slowly and she began breathing through her mouth. "Oh, no ... no...."

He continued to lap at the excitingly distended nipple, then finally he took it between his thin, wet lips and began lashing it with his tongue. His left hand cradled the large, white, plump mound of flesh and he started to knead it as he sucked. Carol made a small, breathy sound as crazy frightening sensations came alive in her belly. She felt terrible for not trying harder to push away his mouth, but she had no idea that having her tits sucked would make her feel that way.

She wasn't aware that his hand had moved down from her breasts and up under her skirt until it was too late to bring her legs together protectively. It lifted her when his fingertips slid off the velvety skin of her inner thigh and made their first caress over the crotch of her nylon panties. What embarrassed her almost as much as the touch of his fingers was that she was so deliciously wet down there. Wet with the warm, sticky secretion that flooded her vagina whenever she got overly excited.

She writhed and struggled but the finesse of his deft fingers rapidly began draining all of her strength to resist him. Then she felt him working his middle finger up underneath the tight legband of her desire-soaked panties. It wiggled through the soft growth of black hair between her legs. When she felt its contact with her moist cuntal opening, she flinched and moaned aloud.

Why was she letting him do such a licentious thing to-her? Why was she not fighting harder to stop him? Good Lord, she wanted to in her mind. But her limbs and her body simply wouldn't respond.

"Please stop, Mr. Lecheur," she begged him as she pressed down on his arm, feebly, with her free hand, trying to push his hand from between her legs.

He paid no attention, but went on suckling her warm breasts, as he wormed his finger between her throbbing pussy lips and then deep into her vaginal passageway. For a moment, Carol thought that she was going to faint with the deep sweep of liquid pleasure that aroused every nerve in her body at this first entry ever of any finger but her own in her virginal tunnel.

As his fingers kept threading its way into the tight cuntal walls of her pussy, he found the membrane of her hymen.

"Well, I'll be damned," he uttered with surprise, "you're a virgin!"

"I didn't think that in this day and age a girl could keep her cherry that long," he said. The thought that she was a virgin turned him on even more to uncontrollable desire. He had a few virgin scalps hanging from his belt, gathered during his fifty-odd years. But as he had told her, they were getting harder and harder to come by ... especially when a man got to be his age.

Now his finger had moved forward in her clasping cuntal orifice to focus on the core of her womanhood, the little erectile stiff and swollen as a rudimentary penis. She was starting to get funny feelings in her belly, and down between her legs she felt all hot and wild, tight and tense. He was teasing her and the sensation was so new and overpowering that for an instant she ceased to resist him. She could hear her own breathing, ragged and uneven, and feel her thighs moving as if on their own. It was a terrible and frightening helplessness....

And then the next thing she knew, she was on the bed. She hadn't realized that he had wheeled the chair across the room, so that with a single motion he had been able to deposit her there. He had learned, too, how to maneuver himself out of the chair and onto the bed with only a minimum of effort and pain to his leg.

She saw him hovering over her, sandwiched between her legs. She tried to move away from him but he pinioned her down and tugged at her lust-soaked panties until they were off. She felt something hot and hard brushing lightly against the inside of her sensitive thighs. Though she had never been even close to a situation like this in her life before, she needed only her feminine intuition to tell her what it was. He had loosened his trousers and taken out his painfully pulsing cock. She had no desire whatsoever to look at it, even though she had never seen a man's organ-except in pictures and on the statues in the museum and they had always been flaccid, helpless looking little things. Nothing like the hot, rigid cudgel that he was moving toward the naked, moist crack of her hot, steaming little pussy.

She stiffened in shame and horror and helplessness at the thought of what he was going to do to her. He was going to stick that hot, hard thing into her ... rape her ... deflower her! In spite of the terror screaming in her brain and her weak efforts at fighting him off, she could feel a strange desire building up inside her and without conscious thought she spread her legs wider and wider apart as the bulging, desire-bloated head of his aching prick moved closer to its goal.

She made a last desperate appeal to him, tears bubbling out of her eyes, fear lodged in her throat. "Oh ... "Oh ... please, Mr. Lecheur ... I beg you ... don't do it...."

"It's got to happen sooner or later, my child," he whispered, breathing heavily, his eyes wild with passion and eager anticipation. "And you're lucky that it's happening with me. Somebody who knows his way around, who won't hurt and mangle you."

She felt the heavy head of his big cock reach the top of her thigh and touch the tender, fleshy mound of the cunt itself. Was this the kindly, considerate Mr. Lecheur that everybody in the neighborhood loved and thought so highly of? Could this be the same man, whom everyone trusted, that was doing this awful thing to her? Her mind was too confused to answer any of the countless questions that bombarded her spinning brain ... would it hurt ... would she dislike it as much as she imagined she would...? She hated herself for the enjoyment that she got out of him sucking her breasts, out of his finger play in her pussy. Could it be possible that she might like this, too? No ... no! She didn't want to get any pleasure out of something so evil, something that he was forcing her to do.

"I'll ... I'll tell my mother!" she screamed at the top of her lungs as she felt him press the fat knob of his hotly palpitating prick against the velvet folds of her outer vaginal lips.

He didn't hear her. He didn't want to hear her. Right now, he didn't give a damn if she told the whole world and he was put away for the rest of his life. Instead he pushed into her with a slow, relentless pressure.

Carol screamed again, bucked like a bronco coming out of a chute, tried to pull back away from the searing entry of his cock. But she didn't stand a chance as his hands went beneath her, grasped her trembling wet buttocks and lifted her and kept thrusting into her.

He groaned on his own as he felt her stubborn tissue give way. A few drops of her blood sprayed the inside of her thighs and his own. Mingled with her nervous perspiration and her cunt juice it felt warm on his fingers as he drew her closer to him.

Carol was sobbing piteously now, rolling her head from side to side and pushing up at his chest with both hands. "Oh, stop, Mr. Lecheur! You must stop! You're too big. I can't take it. You're going to murder me with that terrible thing!"

The girl's words aroused him to fever pitch. He liked to think of himself as big. But in his heart, he knew that it was because she was too goddamn tight! In all his fifty years, he couldn't remember a cunt as snug and unyielding as Carol's. For such a young girl, her inner muscles were like bands of tempered steel. When she learned how to manipulate them properly, she would be able to bring a man on just by flexing and reflexing them. But for right now it' was like trying to screw his prick into a hole -lined with corrugated metal. Every inch of his penetration was pure torture. Yet he wasn't about to give up. He was going to fuck her, even if she skinned every inch of flesh off his cock and left only the bone showing.

For Carol it was even worse torture. Her heart pounded. She screamed and twisted, but he showed her no quarter. He just kept shoving. His cock was like a sharp spear cutting into her belly. Sinking deeper and deeper. With that lancing pain that he caused her when he tore through her hymen, she thought surely that she could never survive. But now the feeling of the awful fullness of a man in her guts was even worse. The terrible sensation of thickness and stretching, the excruciating pain made her feel as if she were going to die.

And then, at long last, she emitted a sharp yip of pain as with an almost sadistic joy, he told her that he had bottomed. She didn't know for sure whether she should be proud of her womanly ability to adjust to his size, or ashamed that she had let him conquer her so easily. The pain, the searing, burning pain was so intense that it was impossible for her to think of anything with any degree of rationalism.

He lay there atop her, quietly for several moments, his entire length buried inside her, throbbing heavily, his bulk flattening her breasts, the sweat from his face dripping down on her warm flesh. She tried to squirm from beneath him, but succeeded only in spurring him into further action.

She felt him start moving against her, with a slow fucking movement. Up and down, in and out. Her strangling muscles threatening to pulverize his cock, until the copious secretion of her cunt mingled with the pre-cum from his cock and she felt her hole start to relax and her agony slowly fade.

"That's better now, isn't it?" he asked.

She turned her head to one side and closed her eyes and made no answer.

His lips drew back in a grimace of pleasure and he continued fucking her. Without really knowing what she was doing, she began moving her hips, rubbing her naked pussy against him, slowly and warily at first, then faster and faster until she was rhythmically humping right along with him with undisguised lust, as if she had been doing it all her life.

Carol had no longer any awareness of what she was doing, knowing only that she was racing toward some sort of an explosive climax. She clung to him, frantically, welcoming his heavy invasions as if she were trying to help him puncture some imaginary bubble of passion deep in her belly, let out all its pent-up ache. And then it hit her-the initial incredible shock of the first orgasm of her young life. Her straining stomach muscles sucked in and gripped his cock, tenaciously, as the whole body went stiff and arched backwards.

She made no attempt to muffle her scream as she threw back her head and her body began jerking and twitching violently as wave after wave of pleasurable sensations swept along her flaming nerve paths. She had no idea how long it lasted, but it seemed that at the very highest pitch she felt his cock swell to alarming proportions inside her and then buck and begin shooting round after round of white-hot sperm into her spasming guts. It was too much, much too much for a novice, a teenager like herself, to take from a grown man. Somewhere along the line she lost touch with reality and found herself slipping slowly and delightfully into a total and complete blackness....