Chapter 2
The bra was white, simple. I hadn't torn it at all, nor unfastened it before I let her fall back to bring those snug cups into view.
My cock began to ache as I gazed down at the white cones, at the swollen arcs of flesh that glowed above their top edges. I just looked, my hands hanging limp, my hips straining forward into the seat-back to keep pressure on my cock, taking deep breaths and making my eyes crawl slowly over every pore, every tiny change of color and contour in those white-clad swells and their naked upper slopes... the inner curve of her right tit into pallid cleavage, a sleep valley only barely less white than the bra fabric that blocked its lower reaches from my view ... the outer bulge into dark armpit of the left one's mouth-watering overflow...
How many breaths, how many tingling forward surge-waves of my loins against the little-yielding seat-back... I don't know. But finally my hands wanted in on the business. They wanted ... I wanted ... to rip that bra from Sandra's still body as her next shallow breath lifted so slightly the snow-clad barrier mountains on which I gazed, these heights that I must take before I sacked the city of her sex.
I haven't tried it since; I don't know whether the bra was flimsy or if my strength was exceptional at that holy moment. But when her breathing did thrust those tits up toward me, my hands were there, hooking the cups apart, fmgerbacks indenting the warm softness and I jerked, and both cups tore free of the band beneath them, dragging the straps from her shoulders...
My hands were shaking, locked on the torn flaps of cloth they held as my eyes drank in the sleeping, moonlike hillocks with their dark-plateaued crests, the nipples flaccid, pink, crinkling slightly while I watched.
Mother of God! I wanted to crush them, twist them, wrench them from her as I had the bra cups. But the pain might wake her, and I wasn't ready yet. I didn't even touch them.
By hip and shoulder again ... the shoulder now gleaming naked in the dark car, the hazy moonlight ... warm and yielding, a little sweat-slickened ... I rolled her to her side once more. But I found I needed both hands on the bra's catch, so I had to crouch up and swing my left leg over the seat-back, bracing her ass with my shin as I undid the two hooks'and cleared the conquered garment from under her, lifting her at the waist till I had slipped it free, tossing it to the floor in front. I got in back with her then, took her calves and turned her at an angle across the cargo space, and she slumped flat again.
Should I push the skirt and slip up now, to gaze at her crotch in the panties I had so of ten imagined seeing her slide tantalizingly down her slim thighs? Or work skirt and slip down past her ass and off? This must be done soon anyway, for I knew I must have her totally naked when I drove my cock ... throbbing painfully now, feeling bigger in my tight-twisted pants than it could possible be ... feeling as big as my forearm and fist...
Down, then.
My fingers, at either side of her trim waist, sorted the folds of fabric till only the panties were free of my grip. I knelt over her knees and slid my hands low, pressing them into the give of her buttocks' sides, lifting and pulling toward me... She moaned again, her breathing deeper and irregular for a moment, her eyes fluttering open once, but sightless, and she twisted to her right a little in unconscious protest, enabling me to pull the bunching cloth past her butt on one side, then force it free on the other as she settled flat again.
The panties were white, too, thin cotton, but opaque over her taut belly. A fold of the dress-top still obscured her mound and the line where legbands gripped thighs, but I paused to stare again, knowing she couldn't come to at least until I began to work the panties off, now.
She seemed to grow out of the crumped cloth in my hands, a legless creature, utterly vulnerable, and for the first time since I had know her ... for the first time in my life, for that matter, applied to anyone ... I saw, I felt her breathtaking beauty.
The backs of my fingers must have been touching her thighs, I suppose, as I still held the bunched skirt and slip, but I was unaware of this. I seemed to be breathing in my vision of her, feeling it in my chest.. . The spiraling curve of neck as her head lolled to her right, her hair in disheveled magnificence... limp arms slim and white those breasts looming smugly from her chest as it rose and fell almost imperceptibly again... the long, softly terraced slop of rib cage, diaphragm and belly to the broad snowfield of the panties, ridged by her hip bones.
My cock decided I had gazed long enough. It twitched painfully in the bind of my clothes, and I rocked back to relieve it, pulling Sandra's dress and slip down her legs, moving to kneel at her side while I freed them from her feet and threw these, too, into the front.
Yes. The swell of her mound was visibly darker than the rest of the white pantie-badge, and grew still darker as it creased down to disappear between her glowing thighs ...
That was where I was going; and I had waited long enough.
I would slip them off, careful to touch no closer to the vital goal than I must, and then I would bring her to, somehow. I hadn't planned how, but I knew I'd figure that out; maybe open a couple windows for a few minutes, or burn her somewhere with a cirgarette... Bring her to, make her know in helpless terror just how weak, how powerless she was as she lay before me, about to be raped, to be brutally thrust out of innocence and purity, out of childhood with me...
I think these things now, in the words of now, because I can't precisely recapture what I thought then, if I was thinking at all in ways for which there are words. I know that I felt I was about to become a man. And I know that I was about to reach for the waistband of those glaring white pants, but looked up one last time at her face, before this ultimate unmasking...
That was when the bitch woke up ... still wearing the pants.
Her eyes were cold now, immediately aware and sharp, the needles of scorn I had cringed before so often in the past months. She still lay limp, except for those eyes, and her bloody mouth was now only a bloody mouth, as it formed and spoke:
"All right, Tommy. I'll help. It doesn't have to be rape."
I was seventeen. You've got to understand that! I didn't say a word; I couldn't, suddenly. But something in my mind said, Good, and somehow my face or my body communicated it.
Sandra smiled, and I could see the traces of blood discoloring her teeth, between the swollen, gluey lips. "Take your pants off, Tommy," she whispered. "Take everything off, if that's what you were planning to do, because when I get naked, you aren't going to want to waste any time."
I have wondered ever since if she was a virgin, because of the way she said that. But at a time later when she couldn't possibly have lied to me, she affirmed it, swore to it, screamed it so that I must believe it.
She just lay there, and I don't think her eyes ever fell from mine as I clumsily got out of my clothes, sitting by her feet, in the back of my mother's car. My cock stayed hard, though, it didn't ache now, and whenever I wasn't looking at what my hands were doing in getting the clothes off, I would look first at that darkening crease of cotton that masked her snatch, then return my eyes to the capture of hers, always waiting. I'm sure she never once looked at my cock then, nor until a moment before it went into her.
When I was naked I sat impaled by those eyes, and she showed her bloody teeth again and whispered drily, "Come kiss me, Tommy."
As I got on my hands and knees to move up beside her, I found myself saying what I had said a thousand times before, the pleading lie, "I love you, Sandra." It had never worked, and part of my resolution had been that I would never say it again. But suddenly, now, I meant it. "I'm sorryl ... "
"Kiss me, Tommy," she whispered, teeth gritted, drawing me down with brittle arms to the starched face, the gory lips ... her eyes closing as they drifted toward each other in the blurring foreground of my vision.
I kissed her, long, hard, gripping her waist chastely, never even thinking to open my lips as I had heard one did in sexy kissing.
It must have hurt her. She whimpered, but didn't try to turn her head aside, and when the pain in my own broken lip grew severe, I lifted my head.
"AH right, Tommy," she said, stabbing me with her eyes again. "Let's get it over with."
There was strain in her voice; a tone of... Condescension? Resignation? I don't know, even now. I never understood her more than was necessary to hate her.
I was braced on my left elbow, my cock straining forward in air, its tip an inch from her thigh, and I put my right hand back to, start pushing her pants down.
"Wait," she said. "Lie down and let me do it, Tommy. I don't want you to hurt me any more."
"Sandy, I won't-"
"Lie back, Tommy. Please."
There was no smile, no touch, but something in her tone made me want to let her. For a moment I knew she was truly afraid.
I lay back, wondering for a second how she knew you could do it this way. I'd heard about it from guys at school, bragging or telling dirty jokes, but Sandra wasn't... Could she have just figured it out? Or did girls talk about sex, too, in their locker rooms and bathrooms, and giggling on the street together?
I watched her tits, too tight to sway or jounce, jiggle slightly as she sat up, then got to her knees while turning to face me, her hands at the waistband of her panties.
"We can stop, Tommy," she said flatly. "I don't want to do this, but I can't... I won't let you rape me."
I was silent. I was scared, now, and thinking. I knew of at least four easy lays around school. Was it worth the risk of all this bitch could do to me?
If she'd only said Tom, as she did when she wanted to make me feel good... And if only those eyes hadn't been laughing at me, taunting me, saying, You're turning chicken, aren't you, little Tommy? ... I think I would have chickened out indeed. But her eyes saw the hate flare up in mine, and saw the strength that hate gave me. I didn't even have to say anything. "All right," Sandra sighed. It was then that she looked down at my cock for the first time, where it arched stiffly toward my navel.
"All right," she said again, louder, but still in that dry, emotionless voice. And she slid her panties down, baring the taut, cream-tinted belly, the dark patch of curls that veiled her mound... down to her knees and the cargo deck. Now she crouched back and worked them off her feet. This caused her thighs to part for a second, and I saw the dark, sparsely haired line of her cunt, tight-lipped and prim, not at all the wet, florid maw I had envisioned.
Silent now, her face frozen, she stepped forward, crouching awkwardly, then extended her left leg across my waist. Her tits loomed near my face as she held herself on stiff arms and bent legs above my torso.
My cock twitched, straining up toward her, and I reached for her shoulders but let my arms fall back when she whispered, "No. Let me do it alone. Please."
Her thighs were trembling, and as the angle of her body changed, I could see the slot again, a little wider than before, but in deeper shadow now too, so that no pinkish tinge of inner tissue was visible.
I watched intently, free of her eyes now, as the tip of my cock touched those primly pursed cuntlips. I couldn't feel the hair; only cool pressure, a little yielding as Sandra snugged my tool's head first to one side and then the other, wedging it between the stubborn folds. The sensation wasn't at all the joyous grip of bliss I had anticipated, yet the view of it stirred me, and involuntarily my hips surged up a little, my cock meeting firm resistance and bending a bit, hurting...
Her fingers still held it, and she tightened her grasp in response to my gainless thrust, hissing, "No! Let me. I just need ..."
She discovered that she could kneel without increasing my penetration, and thus relieve the strain on her arm and legs. In fact, as she swayed left and then right, in putting her knees where her feet had been, my cockhead was pulled from the groove entirely, and she had to scrunch down and back a little to re-position it.
"Are you ready, Tommy?"
Holy Mother of God, how could the bitch be so cool?
"Yeah. I'm ready. I'm gonna ... Aaaaagh!" Christ! It was like she'd picked up her knees and balanced her entire weight on the end of my prick, so perfectly positioned that it couldn't bend, but only bore down into my pelvis with a screaming, flooding ache. Yet her thighs were still tense; she had lowered herself only an inch or so, and most of my cock was still visible.
The head and top quarter of the shaft were out of sight within her clinging, still-pursed outer lips, and the tip felt like it was jammed against stainless steel armor.
I cringed down under the pressure, scraping my ass on the cargo deck, but it didn't help; her weight came with me.
Maidenhead. I heard about it, from locker-room boasters. And heard that it hurt the girl when it was broken.
Ignoring my own pain, I gathered tension, then reached up, grabbed Sandra's pert tits as if to claw them, wrench them clear off... and just as she opened her mouth to protest, bringing her arms up to fend me off... I rammed my hips upward, savagely, my ass coming clear off the deck...
She screamed, and I felt myself break through into a hot, dry sheath, grating the whole surface of my cock as I bored hilt-deep without a break in the surge, her ass smacking against my groin with a jolt that took her breath and cut off the scream.
She was trembling now, and whimpering, her hands making spastic patterns in the air, her eyes dazed, thighs slack, useless, so that as I settled back, her full weight came with me, her knees finding no traction.
I still held her tits, and as I lunged up a second time, I felt her lean into my grip, giving them up to me, the nipples heating and crinkling against my palms.
And on my second downstroke her knees closed on my waist, achieving an angle they could hold, and I felt my cock slide a little in the crushing clutch of her cunt flesh.
Again, again, again I surged up into her, battering, grating, jolting her spine and bringing little yelps of abject agony from her slack, blood-crusted lips.
Again. Again.
She was beginning to moisten. The tightness increased, if anything, yet now my strokes slid in her wringing snatchgrasp, the raw rub of her tissues subsiding.
And suddenly she was moving with me, snapping her hips forward a little as each new upstroke impaled her, creating an almost knife-edge pressure on the soft under-ridge of my plunging rod. And as I dropped back, pulling perhaps an inch of the shaft free, she swished her ass back and the ruddy suck of her inner lips clung and protruded a little, trying to pull me in again.
She was gasping now, her shoulders braced back, her head beginning to toss. Her tits grew hot in my hands, and her thighs somehow softened so that they embraced and caressed my hips.
My cock had begun to tingle and burn, an acid ecstasy spreading from the head downward, advancing with my every plunge into Sandra's spasming sheath, seeping toward my balls ... and I knew that when it reached them I would come.
She seemed to sense it, or at least to respond instinctively to the more ragged, double and triple-jerking tempo of my ascending thrusts, for now her hips began to circle and flutter, milking me toward climax.
I couldn't appreciate her devastating technique then, of course, but it has come back to haunt me endlessly ever since. She couldn't have been a virgin, and yet she had to be! Even then, as the blue flame of passion flowed to the very base of my cock and began to ignite my balls, I could see the blood of her shattered cherry bubbling in my crotch-hair, smearing her thighs, tinting the viscous seepage that coated my shaft and now oozed audibly with every heave of my loins into her flailing, flourishing cunt.
Then the blue flame turned white, seething back up the tube of my reaming tool, pulling my hips off the deck in an epileptic dance that shook and shuddered Sandra till even her frozen face vibrated, her breath coming like shots from a pellet gun. As I felt my cum boil into her, I froze, bridged up and quivering, branding the very core of her with the mark of my manhood. Now she slumped forward, limp against my hands on her swollen, sweat-glowed tits, and I let her fall against my chest, then closed my arms on her ribs in a crushing hug and jammed her down one last, jolting time, and I hooked my numb but rock-hard cock to the sodden depths of her, mashing and grinding her mound against my pelvic bone until she creamed and wept. Suddenly a new kind of energy washed through me like cold water.
"I'd done it. I'd fucked the bitch."
I dumped her off me, grabbed my clothes and swung over to the front seat, threw her clothes back to her and, without a word ... without even a look to see if we were still alone in the little park ... opened the door and stepped outside to dress.
I left the door open, and by the dome light I watched deep, ragged breaths heave Sandra's crumpled form. I could see shiny smears of ooze on her lower thigh, thrust forward as she slumped waist-twisted, breasts and right cheekbone against the cargo deck, hair-tangles veiling her empty eyes.
"Get dressed, Sandy," I said as I got back in.
She didn't move.
I closed the door, slid under the steering wheel and started the car, not looking back. And by the time I pulled up under the street light in front of her house, she was dressed, sitting with legs curled tightly under her in the same spot where she'd been when I'd looked at her last.
I reached back and opened the rear passenger door. "Happy New Year, Sandy," I said coldly. "And good-bye. You're a good piece, but not good enough for me to take any more shit from you. See you around, but I won't be calling any more, Bitch."
She slid out, then leaned back in, and those knowing eyes, that icy, condescending smile hit me again, full-strength:
"You'll call, Tommy. You'll call."