Chapter 1
She started out on top, the bitch. On top! How many virgins ... well, ex-virgins ... do you know that started out on top?
We were parked on the hill... to watch the lights, all that shit. I'd been bringing her there every date for six months, and it had taken me three of those months just to get a goddamn kiss out of her, and then she'd backed off at that after just one night. And I was relieved, because that one night of mild necking ... not even a feel, for Christ's sake ... had my balls aching like they were going to fall off! Relieved! And she knew I would be, the bitch.
So anyway, on New Year's Eve we parked there ... the view spot just a couple blocks down from where she lived ... and watched the lights and the stars, and talked. I can't even remember what we talked about, except she did most of the talking, and it was always about what was wrong with me. How lazy I was, and how mean to my mother; all that shit she wouldn't quit spouting.
At midnight she was still talking, and she didn't even hear the radio announce that it was midnight. But I heard, and I'd made a New Year's resolution, and I was damn well gonna keep it.
I had my arm around her. She allowed that, as long as I just kept my hand right up on her shoulder and didn't do any rubbing around. So now I pulled her up against me, and when she tried to squirm away ... without even stopping bitching at me, for Christ's sake! or even changing her voice ... I grabbed a handful of her hair right up close to the back of her head, and wrenched her face back to me .. . and just sort of surged right into her. I must have bruised her tits, my chest would have hit so hard, but I didn't even notice that, because my mouth hit hers so hard that I could feel my lower lip split, feel my teeth impact with hers and her head sock back against my hand.
I just kept lurching forward until she was smashed up against the door, the back of my hand against the window glass, her head squashed against my clenched fingers, my teeth still against hers and feeling like they were going to be bent back inward like a snake's.
Her left arm was caught between our waists, and all she could move were her right one and her legs. She seemed to be pushing with her legs, like she wanted to slide upward out of my grip, but she couldn't get the angle right to make any progress.
The arm kept beating against the back of my head, and the pops when the knuckles hit, and the rasping roar of my breathing... those are the only sounds I can remember, and I must have held her like that for three minutes, just crushing my smashed mouth down on hers, tasting blood, feeling her muscles flex as she tried to squirm away ... Where her tits were against me I couldn't feel anything but pressure, and I wasn't thinking about them anyway, but because of them she was able to shift her torso from side to side a little, and she was doing that, but it just made me madder, made me jam myself against her all the harder, hating her, trying to get up tlje guts for the next step.
Then I realized that the moving side to side on the cushions of her tits, and the upward strain she was exerting by pushing with her legs was making her hip rub up against my cock ... and the fucking thing had gone soft!
My left hand had been clamped on the door handle beside her waist, pulling me hard into her, helping my legs, which were having trouble getting good purchase just like hers were. But then I got the left foot up against the stem of the clutch pedal, got the knee straight and locked, and could use that hand.
I guess what I'd planned was to start ripping her dress off, because first I tried to jam the arm up behind her to get at the back of the neckline; but it wouldn't go up that far, she was so tight against the door, so I pulled the arm down and grabbed a handful of her skirt just below the hip, and yanked fiercely ... and it wouldn't rip.
That was when I really felt rage. I still knew what I was doing, but for the next several minutes I didn't know what I was going to do, even a split second in advance. I just sort of watched myself doing it... and saw that it was good.
God, I moved fast! I straightened out my right arm, forcing my head and chest back from hers and turning her head to my left, and as it turned, and as she started to get breath for a scream, my left fist was already coming up ...
The impact was pretty disappointing. It sort of glanced off her cheekbone, and two knuckles hit the ridge of her eyebrow. She moaned, but it didn't even snap her head back, and that made me madder still, and now the fist was backing off to the side, toward the windshield ...
I guess she saw it. She cut off the moan and started to gasp, and I could see the blood all over her mouth, and her eyes bulging, and feel the strain of my right nand's grip iri her hair, scalding her scalp ...
This punch hit her right on the jaw, and I could feel it all the way up both forearms as her skull was still-whipped solidly between my two hands.
Her eyes were wild, and a sheet of fresh blood began to slide down her chin, and I knew it was her blood, even if the other hadn't been, and that was good.
I was panting and sort of sobbing, and my teeth hurt like hell, but I think I was happier at that moment than I'd ever been before in my life.
Now my left hand unclenched and the fingers scraped down her throat and hooked in the prissy-prim neck of her dress... and down. The buttons were in the back, but a couple of 'em gave way before my slashing yank lost its force against a new barrier ... the fabric of her bra between the cups.
"Tom!"
It came out with bloodspit and a drowning sound from that frog-eyed face. I'd never seen a cunt, not even a good picture of one; but I'd imagined Sandra's in full, wetly gleaming color every time I'd jacked off for all those six months. Now her mouth, as she sucked her lips down over her teeth to try to stop the blood, suddenly looked to me like that ruddy, quivering slot I'd a thousand teeth-gritting times imagined driving my spurting cock into ...
The fucking thing was still soft, I realized then!
"Tom . .. Stop it! I..." Did those wild eyes flash with cunning for a minute?
"I love you, Tom. But if you don't stop this and... and take me home right ... "
The next word was a shocked wheeze, as my left hand came back up edgewise, thumb extended, chopping into her windpipe.
I straightened that arm and leaned on it, pinning her in the corner between seat-back and door, and
I dragged my right hand out of her hair now, feeling a few broken-off strands tangled in my fingers, and I pulled that hand back and drove it into her body, aiming for the belly but hitting ribs.
She coughed another bloody wheeze out and tried to get her hands to the place where I'd hit her this time, sort of hugging herself, and slammed her chin down against my wrist, trying to double up.
Her legs came up, too, and I remember wanting to look and see if I could see her pants, and maybe grab them and start pulling them off.
But I couldn't stop glaring into her hated face ... that bloody, cuntsome mouth working in agonized rhythm, those eyes that had made me so weak by seeing all my weaknesses, now swollen with bewildered terror ...
"I'm going to rape you, Sandra."
She couldn't answer, and I wanted her to. I want her to contradict me, to scorn me and laugh at me just this once more, like she did when I'd said I was going to make first string guard on the football team, and she knew I wouldn't even stick out practice for a whole week. So I took my hand off her throat, sort of rolled back toward the driver's side and waited, not even touching her for a minute.
She stayed scrunched up, holding her ribs, her feet trying to get heel-purchase on the edge of the seat, but her skirt was caught between her knees, and from beside her I couldn't see even her thighs when I looked for a second. She had her eyes closed now, and she gasped a couple of breaths in, and then opened those eyes and blinked, and got 'em focused on me.
The laugh came out as a cough, but I knew what it was.
"Take me home, Tommy. You couldn't RAPE A... You're too scared already that I'll tell. And maybe I will, too, Tommy, because ... "
It was the first perfect thing I ever did in my life, I guess. My right arm shot forward just the way I knew it should, with the legs pushing up to put my whole weight in motion behind it just inches before it hit her, and the knuckles caught both rows of her teeth together, and I felt it, I knew it was perfect and I knew it in time to really watch as her head moved back through a little arc, flashed back to jolt against the door post like thunder as the lightning bolt of the punch blazed back up my arm and down my spine and down both legs, right to my toes!
I knew she was out, and I knew she wasn't dea!d, and I didn't even need to look at her. I sat there staring at my fist, trembling and reddened atop my forearm, looking at the muscle ridges still striping my forearm as I held it up in front of her empty face like a giant's cock ...
That was when my hard-on returned, and that was when I started thinking ahead about what I was going to do. But for a minute I didn't care about my real cock; I wanted to strip her and wake her up and bite her all over till she was torn and bleeding, her tits in tatters, her legs half chewed off, her ass a pulpy flag of butchery ... and then I wanted to drive that fist and forearm up her clear to the elbow, rip her cunt apart, burst through her very guts and grab her heart and tear it out through the blood-blazing rent I'd opened.
For a minute I felt like 1 could do it, too, and that made me know that I didn't want to kill her. She had to know she'd been raped and walked away from; and if her old man killed me then, or mine did, or they put me in jail for the rest of my life, it would be worth it.
I hadn't thought to check before ... since right when we'd driven into the little view park ... to see if any other cars were around. I checked now, and we were still alone. And the cops would be too busy herding drunks on the highways and main streets to go through the usual 1:10 roust routine, I knew. It was pretty chilly outside, though, and as heated up as I was, I didn't feel like spending much time out there, and another car might come any minute...
I sort of crawled over her, stopping to peer into her face and listen to her breathing. She was out.
I thought about working at her dress and pants right there, just to get a look at her tits and cunt before I really stripped her and laid her out to be awakened and fucked, but I decided to do it right ... make a ceremony of it.
The car was a station wagon. It was my mother's, but I used it much more than she did, driving to high school every day and on dates, and once in a while to the store for Mom, just to make sure she'd keep buying the gas... I got out on Sandra's side, closed the door so the cold air wouldn't start her waking up too soon, got in the back and folded down the seat. There was no blanket, but so much the better, I decided. Scrape the bitch's ass up a little, just for good measure.
I wasn't thinking too straight. Instead of just hauling her back to me over the front-seat backrest, I got out again and went around, got in the driver's seat and then up on my knees beside her, and lifted her over.
She moaned a couple times and flopped her head back and forth, but when I plopped her down in the back she was still completely out. Now to undress her.
She was lying on her back, within easy reach as I knelt on the front seat, her head to my right. By shoulder and hip, I rolled her onto her right side, her back toward me, and held her there with my left hand while the right undid the rest of the buttons, down to her waist. There was a belt thing there that had no buttons, so I just ripped it loose, then discovered the bent hooks and eyes that had held it. She had a slip on, and I peeled the top of that down to her waist with the bodice of the dress, and then let her flop back toward me so I could look at her tits in her bra.
Tits, I have discovered since, are pretty forgettable. And Sandra's weren't ... neither then nor later, when she was fully mature ... anything very special. But they were the first tits I'd ever seen even near this naked since my mother was faultlessly modest around the house and I was a sheltered only child in a very respectable home in a very churchy community. Bathing suits and the sexy magazine-pages the kids used to pass around don't count, of course; not if you're any kind of real stud.
Anyway, tits are secondary. Good for heating em up if they need it, good as handles in certain positions, once you get going... And I guess every man likes to suck 'em a little, whether he wants to think about why he does or not. But tits don't mean as much to me as they seem to to most guys. I can remember distinctly at least a dozen cunts I've fucked, for which I can't for the life of me recall a thing about the accompanying tits. But I was sixteen then, and Sandra's were going to be the first I'd ever seen, ever touched, ever squeezed and sucked ... ever smashed with my chest, as I then foresaw it, while I drove my scalding, straining cock into a real, live, clutching, grinding cunt. Sandra's tits were Stage One of my Manhood Ceremony, therefore.