A Game of Dress-Up

 

 

 

It was Monday night and Vanessa was dressing up. It was, in fact, a holiday and she'd been home from school all day, free to laze about.  The house was empty, her mom and brother were at the movies, and she was all alone, free to take her time. She stood in her bedroom in front of the full length mirror, watching herself and posing as she slowly and deliberately got dressed in her very sluttiest clothes, a kind of reverse striptease, for her eyes only.

 

She stepped into the tiny black thong panties—sheer Lurex, shot with metallic silver threads—pulled  them up over her knees and smoothed them out. She hooked her thumbs into the waist band and drew them slowly up her long, smooth thighs, purposely avoiding her reflection in the mirror until they were all the way up, then she let the panties snap gently into place over her naked sex and raised her eyes to see herself in the mirror. She smiled.

 

She turned around and looked back at herself over her shoulder so she could see the black thong running like an exclamation point between the proud hemispheres of her ass, and then turned back, admiring the way the scrap of shiny Lurex barely concealed the trimmed patch of pubic hair, giving the panties a suggestive, sexy bulge. Moving closer to the mirror, she cocked her hips forward so she could just see her shadowy folds through the sheer fabric. She looked terribly sexy to herself, and she ran her fingertip over her crease, enjoying the sight of her red fingernail against the black panties as much as she did the shivery sensation of touching herself.

 

She was such a whore.

She wasn't going anywhere and she didn't have a date. Her mother and brother had gone out to see a movie, and Vanessa was happy to be alone with herself for a change. She studied hard during the week and when she wasn't studying she was working keeping Mr. Taylor’s books, so these few hours alone were precious: a time for a long, leisurely game of dress-up, followed by a prolonged, fantasy-fueled masturbation. It was something she rarely had time to indulge in anymore. She had no social life anymore, no time for boys. She had sacrificed everything for the sake of her scholarship, so this make-believe sex was the only kind she had time for.

 

It wasn't bad. It wasn't the real thing, but then it didn't have the complications of real relationships either, and this way she was free to indulge all her fantasies and desires without worrying what anyone thought. She was a perfect date.

She'd already showered and put on her makeup,  more extreme than she would ever have worn in public. Her eye shadow and black eyeliner enhanced her clear brown eyes, and her lipstick was so shiny it was almost obscene, as if a lover's semen still glistened on her lips. Her earrings were outrageous: long, shimmery strands of rhinestone that flashed with the least movement of her head and gleamed wickedly against her dark auburn hair. She'd perfumed herself too, and even rouged her nipples to make them stand out. She felt deliciously wicked and wanton, a true whore, and it excited her terrifically. This was her favorite game.

She turned her back to the mirror and slipped on a black mesh and pleather corset, zipping it on backwards and then spinning it around so the zipper was where it belonged. She carefully lifted her breasts into the open demi-cups, then took a deep breath. She pulled the front laces hard, cinching her waist in so that the corset hugged her tight—tight as a lover's embrace, accentuating the curve of her hips and forcing her breasts up and out; so tight that even her rouged nipples looked redder, as if the blood from her body were being forced into her tits.

 

Now she allowed herself a peek in the mirror. The tightness of the corset even seemed to make her labia look engorged. They bulged behind the little black thong, and Vanessa didn't have to touch them to know she was already wet.

 

She was gett8ing very excited now, so she sat on the bed and put on her fishnet hose, drawing them slowly up over her legs, watching herself in the mirror as she extended her foot, pointed her toe and teased the stocking up her thigh. She pulled the stay-up elastic high on the her legs and smoothed it into place. She loved the way it gripped her.

 

The rule of the game was that she wasn't allowed to touch herself until she was completely dressed and had a fantasy scenario clear in her mind, but a little tease didn't really count, and she took a moment to lie on her side and spread her knees, admiring the contrast of the stockings against the pale flesh of her thighs. She ran her nails down the corset, over the smooth skin of her belly, and finally along the moist fabric of her thong, imagining a lover's tongue following the same path.

The panties she had worn for only minutes were already soaked. Although she would never let anyone else see her without her modesty fully intact, in her dreams she liked to wear the most provocative and blatantly sexual clothes she could find. In her fantasies she was irresistibly sexy; men admired her with or without her consent; she drove them wild, and yet she was always totally innocent. She couldn't imagine why men threw themselves at her feet.

The final bit of dressing always had to be done without peeking in the mirror, so as to get the final effect all at once. She put on her wickedly high heels, sexy strappy things that made her legs look even longer than they were, and then the dress.

The dress was the final touch, a buttery soft black vinyl number that snapped all the way up the front. She had bought it a size too small and had grown since then, so that it now fit her like a second skin, pushing her breasts in and compressing them into an erupting cleavage and showing every stitch of the lingerie underneath. The dress hugged her so tightly that even the cleavage in her ass showed clearly. It encased her in wicked, shiny black.

She finished snapping it up, took a moment to compose herself and shake her hair free, closed her eyes and turned around to face the mirror. Then she opened her eyes.

Oh yes. Perfect! What a whore; what a delicious slut she was! She looked like she was about to burst from the dress; her nipples were hard and clearly visible through the vinyl. The corset accentuated the generous thrust of her hips and made her look even more leggy, and she posed for herself, cocking her hip provocatively, raising an eyebrow, blowing a kiss with her red lips. God she looked cheap. Cheap and hot. Who wouldn't want to fuck her?

 

She could just picture herself walking into some bar or nightclub: all the men’s and even the women’s heads turning to look at her. She could imagine the men’s cocks getting hard in their pants as she walked in: all that male meat standing at attention, all those balls filling with come eager to be launched in her direction.

The next step in the usual game was to pose and admire herself until some very erotic scenario came to mind, then act it out is as best she could, touching herself, using her toys, and then end it with a savage and glorious full-throttle masturbation. But she felt so wonderfully sexy now she didn't want to rush through it. She liked the way her ass swayed as she walked in front of the mirror in the heels. She loved the way the dress held her. She cocked her head and watched the earring sparkle as they kissed her neck. She was excited when she felt how wet she was.

In her mind, the scenario was fairly simple this time: this was her place and she had a man over; just some friend, some good-looking man she worked with. He'd never seen her like this and would be unable to keep his hands off her. He'd seduce her and be amazed at the way the studious college girl had been transformed into a voracious slut, and she'd protest that she always dressed like this at home.

She had a sudden urge to have a drink. She didn't really like to drink, but she wanted the drink as a prop: sophisticated, dissolute. Maybe she'd have a cigarette too. She didn't smoke, but she had an old pack of Parliaments she'd bought months ago. She dug them out now from among her collection of clothes and put one between her lips. Perfect. She felt like a total whore.

 

She walked down the stairs to the kitchen, swaying slightly on the absurdly high heels,  and after digging around in some cabinets, found an old bottle of whiskey. She put some ice cubes into a glass and poured the whiskey in. She found a book of matches in her mom's junk drawer and lit her cigarette. She took a deep drag into her mouth and blew it out, then lounged against the sink and sipped the drink.

It was awful. Just terrible, but she forced herself to take a little more. She liked the way it made her mouth feel, the way it stung her throat with just a hint of suppressed evil. Yes, this was what a real whore would feel.

 

She took another drag and turned to see her reflection in the dark window glass.  Her very red lips parted sensuously as she let the smoke trail from her nostrils, then she puckered her lips and blew, just the way she'd blow smoke in some stud's face as a way of telling him to get lost. The gesture was so wicked she felt her nipples harden and she thrust her shoulders back to make her breasts stand out even more. Sh3e felt positively lethal.

 

She raised the cigarette to her lips and inhaled this time, concentrating on not coughing, then turned around and blew a stream of smoke at the light fixture. The nicotine rush made her slightly dizzy, and she leaned her ass against the sink and took another drink.

She was startled by a quick, casual knock on the front door, and before she could even think to react, the door opened and Rob Taylor—Vanessa’s boss and mother’s friend—walked into the room carrying the weekend’s accounts as he did every Monday.

Vanessa stared at him in shock. She had totally forgotten this was Monday, and that Mr. Taylor brought over his receipts every Monday night for Vanessa to enter in his books. That was her job and what he paid her for. And now here she was dressed like an absolute whore, smoking and drinking in her mother’s kitchen.

 

 He stared at her and she stared back, horrified.

He looked at her. He looked at the bottle of whiskey. He looked at the cigarette. "Vanessa? God, what’s going on here?"

"Oh my gosh! Mr. Taylor! I’m so sorry. I forgot you were coming!"

He stepped into the room, the look in his eyes changing gradually from shock to lusty appreciation as he took her all in, the shoes, the stockings, the obscenely tight dress, the makeup. Vanessa looked frantically around the familiar kitchen, as if she could find a good place to hide.

"What is this, Vanessa?" he asked her. "You going out? Getting all dressed up to go out, huh? Your mother know what you were planning tonight? You look like a regular little tramp, honey, you know that?"

"No, I was just trying on some clothes… I…"

He stepped closer and picked up the bottle of whiskey. "Drinking too, huh? Does your mother know you smoke!"

"No, really, I was just fooling around," she said hurriedly, "Here, let me take the books…"

"No, no, that's okay." He pulled them back as Vanessa reached for them, almost stumbling in her heels. "I’ll put them on the desk in the other room"

He walked past her and into the den. Vanessa quickly threw the whiskey down the sink and ran water over the incriminating cigarette, then threw it in the trash. She stood nervously by the sink as he came back in and stood in the doorway. She couldn’t think of anything else to do.

 

Rob Taylor was an family friend who’d been wonderfully helpful after Vanessa’s father had died. He’d taken Vanessa under his wing and let her keep the books fro the salon he owned downtown, which allowed her to work whatever hours her school schedule allowed. Her mother had often said what a godsend he’d been. He’d always been kind to Vanessa, but rather aloof. He wasn’t aloof now.

"So look at you," he said, leaning against the door jam. He smiled slowly. "Just look at you."

She didn't know what else to say so she tried to smile, waiting for him to leave. She was mortified, and she really didn’t want to try and explain herself any further, which would only make things worse. She just wanted him to walk out the door so she could run to her room, get out of those clothes, and shove everything back under her bed and pull the covers up over her head.

But he seemed to like what he was seeing. He stepped forward and took her wrist, holding her at arms’ length while he continued to admire her. "I didn't even know you had a boyfriend." he said, looking her up and down, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"No, really, Mr. Taylor." she said. "There isn’t any boyfriend."

"So you're just going out alone like that? You look hotter than hell dressed like that. I never would have guessed it Vanessa, a good little girl like you.” For a moment he looked slightly disapproving, as though his parental instinct had kicked in and he thought she should be sent to her room. That look quickly gave way to his previous lecherous stare, and it was clear he didn’t want to send her away. “You look like a regular little tramp, you know that? Some hot little piece of tail."

"Oh God, no, I would never let anyone see me like this. No…" she said again, and she twisted her body around in an attempt to get her arm away from him. The snaps on the dress were down far enough to give him a generous shot of her cleavage which was only enhanced by her twisting and straining, and she could see her own flesh tremble as she fought for her arm.

"But you dress the part," he said, "Does that mean you can play it too? Are you really that hot, Vanessa? Can you back up what the clothes say?"

"Please…"

"Please what, you little tramp? Please what?"

His voice had gotten deeper now, and Vanessa knew something was going to happen that was beyond her control. He grabbed her other wrist and pushed her back, knocking her against the refrigerator, scattering papers and little alphabet magnets to the floor He pressed her hands up and back, holding them over her head and leaning his body against hers. He was strong and the hardness of his body against her was unaccountably exciting.

"Mr. Taylor, don't do this." she begged. She tried to remain in control of herself, to calm her breathing and slow her heart, but the body against her was not willing to let her relax.

"Don't do what? You think I'm going to let you go out and walk the streets looking like that? You little tramp, your mama will thank me for keeping you in! Do you have any idea how much trouble you could get in? You little whore! How long has this been going on?"

"Really, I was just dressing up. Just trying on clothes…"

"Oh sure." he said. "With that makeup and those stockings and heels. And who tries on a vinyl dress like that? Where do you wear that? To class? Don't bullshit me, Vanessa. There’s only one reason a girl gets dressed up like that, and that’s to go whoring. You're going out looking for it, aren't you? You wait till your mom's away and that you get all dressed up and go out and find yourself some nice hard cock, don't you, sweetie? Well you know what?” he sneered, “There’s no need to go out looking for it."

Vanessa tried one last time to escape, but Mr. Taylor was just too strong. He took both of her wrists in one hand and pressed her against the fridge with his body. He used his other hand to slowly draw a finger down her body from her throat to where the last snap strained to keep her dress in place. Then he reached up under the dress and his fingers touched her naked thighs.

 

“You’ve grown up,” Mr. Taylor said. “I never even noticed. Can you imagine that? You’re a beautiful girl, Vanessa. You should be glad I found you before some other creep got a hold of you.”

"Oh God!" she said in horror, but to Mr. Taylor it sounded like the first sign of arousal, and he pressed himself tighter against her. She closed her eyes and willed the earth to swallow her and her shame, but her visitor was still there when she opened them again.

Vanessa was trembling with fear and humiliation, still on a high level of excitement from her game of dress up, and his body felt wonderful against hers, despite her horror. It was just what she wanted to feel, his hardness against her, his strength holding her. She was torn, part of her dying to see her fantasies realized, and part of her ashamed that she would ever let a man take advantage of her like this.

"Come on, Vanessa!" he whispered to her face, "Let's see if you're as hot as you think you are. Let's see just what you've got."

His fingers touched her pussy through her panties and she gasped. Her knees went weak. "Mr. Taylor, please! It was just a game!"

"Jesus Christ!" he swore softly, his forehead almost touching hers. "You're soaking wet! I can feel you through your panties! What the hell have you been doing to yourself?"

"No, no!" she said, but now it was more like a whine. All the force was gone from her voice, all the resistance was fading from her body. She turned her head to the side so he wouldn't see the shame and desire in her face, but his fingers slid through the leg band of her pantries and touched her naked sex, and a thrill coursed through her like an electric shock,  washing all her embarrassment away. Her body didn't want him to stop, and her hips thrust themselves against his hand with a mind of their own as she pressed her cunt against his seeking fingers.

"You are one hot little piece, Vanessa. All wet and ready to go!"

His lips were right next to her now, and when he kissed her she couldn't escape; she just whimpered into his mouth. He broke away and looked down at her breasts, pushed up and out by the position of her arms above her head, and she saw the hungry gleam in his eye. The thought that her body turned him on so much gave her a strange, fierce thrill, and when his lips came down on hers again, she surrendered to his demanding kiss and opened her mouth to let him in.

It had always been a fantasy of hers to be taken by a man who knew just what he wanted, who would look at her with the hot flame of desire in his eyes and who would not be denied. Now it was happening to her, and it was every bit as exciting as it was in her fantasies. Mr. Taylor was much older than she and far more experienced, and he knew just how to touch her to make her yearn for him. The fact that he was her mother’s age was supposed to make it wrong, was supposed to turn her off, but Vanessa couldn’t seem to make her body care.

He slid his hand down the front of her panties, cupping her mound in his hand, curved his fingers beneath her, and entered her pussy. She stuck her tongue into his mouth, and spread her thighs to give him better access, an action that shocked her so much she moaned into his mouth at her own behavior. He still held her hands over her head, and his chest flattened her breasts and rubbed against her nipples as they kissed, but it was his hand between her legs that wouldn’t leave her alone. It just felt so incredibly good and evil at the same time that her hips began to lift towards him in a lewd imitation of coitus.

"Jesus Christ, you little bitch!" he said as he broke the kiss. Vanessa’s body humped shamelessly against him, out of control now. "You really need to get fucked, don't you? You're lucky I came along when I did, before some stupid kid got his hands on you, Vanessa. You're too fucking good for that. You need to get fucked by a man who knows what he's doing, who can fill that little pussy with some good, hard cock and show you what it's all about."

 

“No, Mr. Taylor! Please! Don’t talk that that! I can’t”

 

“Can’t what, bitch? Can’t take some hard cock in your pussy? You’re going to get fucked, Vanessa. We can do it sweet and easy or we can do it rough, but you’re going down tonight.”

He kissed her again, overcome with lust, and his fingers began to pump in and out of her cunt, driving her wild. She already felt like a whore, and now he was confirming it for her, treating her just the way she wanted to be treated, finger fucking her against her mother's refrigerator in her own kitchen. Of course, she couldn’t admit that this was what she wanted. She would never admit that she was that kind of girl, but her body didn’t lie. Her pussy was a molten puddle of need. Her breasts felt like they’d explode if she didn’t get his rough mouth on them.

"Please!" she said as he licked and bit her tits, "I'm not like that! I'm not like you think! It was just a game I play."

But he wasn't listening to her anymore. Her body was doing things that gave the lie to everything she said, and she didn’t even believe what she was saying anymore. She was lost.

"Come on," he said, letting her go and grabbing her wrist. "Show me where your bedroom is."

She couldn't think straight and she didn't know how to tell him no. Her heart was pounding and her body throbbing with need. She led him dizzily up the stairs, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor,  and into her bedroom, forgetting that her sex toys were spread out on the bed, there among her stuffed animals.

He looked at the ropes and vibrators, her handcuffs and slave collar—all the things she’d purchased so discreetly through mail-order on the internet—and gave her an evil and knowing smile. "Looks like you were going to make a fucking night of it, huh Vanessa? You like it kinky too, huh? A little bondage? A girl after my own heart"

She stood there dazed, breathless, running her hand through her hair, looking at the toys on the bed. There was no question of what he'd think of her now: she'd never convince him that she was anything but a slut. But for now she didn't care about that. She just wanted to feel his body against hers again, wanted to feel him take her before she came to her senses.

"We can use this." he said, picking up a length of rope. "Turn around."

She turned around, automatically putting her hands behind her back, and Mr. Taylor quickly bound her wrists together, then spun her back and caught her in a deep and passionate kiss, driving rational thought from her mind. The helpless feeling of her hands pinioned behind her back flooded her with wild desire to be taken, and she moaned shamelessly as his tongue explored her mouth. His hands came up and he grabbed her breasts right through the dress, squeezing and kneading them, rubbing his thumbs over her aching nipples. Everything he did thrilled her. This was just what she'd wanted, just what she'd dreamed of, and now the dream was real.

"You're gonna dress like a whore, then you're gonna show me what a good little whore you can be!" he said to her as he mauled her breasts and pinched her nipples through the vinyl. "You're gonna fuck me with that whore pussy of yours, Vanessa. You're gonna show me what a good fuck you are, or I’m going to have a little discussion with your mother about how you spend your free time, understand?"

He stepped back from her, took the lapels of her dress in his hand and pulled them apart, popping the snaps one by one all the way down, exposing her body in the mesh corset to his gaze. Vanessa stood there watching his eyes as he took in her nearly naked body, and what she saw there made her groan out loud—the naked lust, the heated desire and raw excitement. It thrilled her to think that she could inspire such passion in a man. He didn't see an overworked and lonely college student when he looked at her; he saw a hot, desirable woman, and the mere sight of her made his dick hard.

"You sweet little bitch!" he said. "What a fucking body! Baby, I could fuck you all night long and not get tired." He grabbed her breasts and began to suck them hungrily, going from one to the other, swirling his tongue around her nipples and biting them softly, making Vanessa's head swim.

 

She knew she should fight, she should resist him, but her hands were tied behind her back. What chance did she have. Taylor sucked and bit her breasts and Vanessa pulled at her bonds, loving the fact that they held her, loving her helplessness. There was nothing she could do now. It was out of her hands. It was all him now—whatever he wanted to do.

He took her arm and pushed her down onto her bed so that she was flat on her back. Her mind cleared suddenly and she realized what was going to happen: that he was really going to fuck her, put his cock in her pussy and fuck her on her own bed.

She made one last attempt to regain control of herself. "No," she said, "Please! Mr. Taylor, don't do this!"

He was stepping out of his pants and pulling his shorts down, and she saw his cock, big and hard for her, eager for her body. She should have been horrified but the sight excited her tremendously. She wanted that monster inside of her, inside her pussy. She wanted to feel this older man slamming his body into hers, making her take his big prick, fucking her like a woman.

He stopped over to the bed and took his cock in one hand and the back of her head in the other. "Come on, baby!" he said, "Suck me! You know how to do it! Suck my cock, bitch!"

She wanted to tell him that she didn't know how. She'd done it to some boys her own age, but he was a full grown man and she had no real skill, no real experience. But it all happened so fast. Her mouth just opened and he pushed his cock inside. She closed her eyes and tasted him, salty and pungent on her tongue, his prick pulsing with a savage life and urgency.

She was so ashamed. She wanted to tell him that she wasn't a whore, she wasn't what he thought, but every time she tried to draw off his cock to speak he pushed it back into her mouth. And for all her inexperience, whatever she was doing was making him groan with lewd pleasure and pump his prick in and out of her mouth with growing speed.

 

He pulled her panties off her and threw them aside, and as she sucked his cock he jammed a finger back inside her. She couldn't help it; she spread her legs and he began to fuck her with his finger. She could hear the sloppy sound of his fingers in her wet pussy and it felt so good, but there was more to it than that. It was just so terribly dirty, so obscene to be finger fucked while she sucked his cock. Her head filled with all sorts of filthy images, with her in the middle of them.

Then he pulled his cock out of her mouth. She swallowed and tried to catch her breath. "Mr. Taylor, please!" she whined. "I'm not like this. Don't!"

She felt the bed sag as he climbed between her legs and got on his knees, and she looked up to see him aiming his big prick at her twitching cunt. As soon as she felt him make contact with the outside of her labia, she gasped.

"Yeah?" he challenged her, "You don't want this? You don't want my cock in you? Then tell me to stop, Vanessa. Tell me you don't want my big cock inside you reaming you out, you slut! Tell me no!"

She knew she had to stop him, that she had to tell him to get dressed and leave her alone, but she just couldn't. She couldn't say anything at all. His cock felt so good pushing against her and spreading her pussy, almost inside her. She could feel it throbbing, ready to plunge deep inside. She felt deliciously helpless, at his mercy, just like in her fantasies. She couldn't fight it—she wanted him; wanted him badly.

He laughed with contempt at her inability to answer, then he pushed into her, stretching her open and filling her with his incredible hot, virile hardness, and she groaned at her body’s reluctant surrender. Taylor snarled like an animal as his cock bottomed out in her tight sheath. He levered himself up on his hands and looked down to where her tight pussy was stretched around his invading member, and without giving her a moment to adjust he began to fuck her, hard and deep, already almost out of control.

"You hot cunt! You little slut! Is this good enough for you? You like this big prick?"

She couldn't speak, it just felt so good, so right, and his savagery was just what she wanted. She was tried of fighting. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him tight. Her trapped fingers clawed at the bedspread beneath her as she pushed her tits up for him to plunder and abuse, and all the while her hips were fucking with him, up and down on his stiff pole, sending pangs of raw pleasure through her feverish body.

It had been so long since she'd had a cock inside her, and never like this, never as she'd dreamed it would be someday: tied and taken by a man who wouldn't let her escape, wouldn't listen to her excuses. He was driven by his lust for her, and what could she do but let him fuck her like this, let him use her body for his own pleasure?

"That's my little whore!" he hissed at her as she raised her pussy to him again and again. "Now you're fucking like you mean it! You are a slut, aren't you Vanessa? You love it, don't you?"

"Oh God, yes!" she spit the words out from between clenched teeth. "Yes, I'm a slut! I'm a whore, I’m whatever you want! Just fuck me! Fuck me!"

Her words inflamed him and he pounded into her with renewed fury. This was her bed, her childhood bed. Her collection of stuffed animals was crushed between her and the wall as she writhed against him, her hands pinned beneath her. It just added to her excitement, as if they were forced to witness her own humiliation, the corruption of their childhood playmate.

He groaned above her. "You sweet bitch! You're gonna make me come! I'm gonna come in you, baby. You want it? You want it? Tell me you want it, whore! Tell me!"

She couldn’t control her excitement any more.

"Oh God yes I want it!" she cried out as he bucked on top of her, making her breasts shake. "I want your hot come! I want all of it!"

Again and again he beat into her, the slick sound of his prick pumping in and out of her wet pussy loud in her ears, along with the frantic creak of the bedsprings, the banging of the headboard against the wall.

"Oh Fuck!" he moaned, "Oh Christ! Oh Jesus Christ!"

His body went suddenly stiff, ramming her deep and she screamed as she felt his fingers claw into her breasts. Her pussy was crammed with cock, and she felt him throb hard and knew that he was shooting his semen into her, filling her with his hot load.

Her head spun with the erotic nastiness of it. She cried out, and then she came too, thrusting her hips up at him in a spasm of release as his seed poured into her. She arched her back and her bound hands clawed the bedspread as she trembled beneath him, the blood roaring in her ears.

She never wanted to come down from that orgasmic high, never wanted to open her eyes again. How could she ever face the shame, the humiliation of letting this family friend reduce her to a submissive whore, begging for anything he wanted to give her. Maybe Mr. Taylor knew her shame, or maybe he was ashamed too, because he didn’t say a word as he slowly withdrew from her aching body.

He climbed off her, still panting, rolled her onto her side and untied her wrists. Vanessa just lay there, unable to move, her humiliation mixed with a feeling of deep sexual satisfaction like she'd never known. She had never come like that before. It had been an orgasm that involved all of her, body and soul, and she didn't know what to make of it, what to make of herself now. Was that truly who she was?.

Mr. Taylor was staring at her as he caught his breath. He reached out and ran a hand appreciatively over her trembling body.

"So it wasn't just a game, was it Vanessa?" he asked her softly. "It was something you wanted, wasn't it?"

She didn't say anything. She was too ashamed, too confused.

He got up and put on his shorts and pants, picked up his shoes and his shirt. He paused at the door and said. "This never happened, did it, Vanessa?"

She shook her head, her eyes still closed so he wouldn't see the tears.

"I’ve got the kids all week, but the bitch picks them up on Friday." he said as he put his shirt on. "I'll see you then. You know where I live, right?"

She nodded.

 

“You wouldn’t want your mother to know about what you keep in your room, would you, Vanessa?”

 

She shook her head.

”Good,” he said. “Then we have an understanding.”

 

He stood there and watched her for awhile. He couldn’t help but see the tears as they squeezed out between her eyelashes. even though she refused to let him see her cry.

 

He walked back over to her, bent over and kissed her on the cheek. "You feel sick and ashamed, don’t you? But mostly ashamed. You really lost it there, Vanessa. Most women don’t come that hard, but you were fantastic. It’s not something you find everyday. It’s a real gift and you should be proud of it. You’re quite a woman.”

 

Vanessa finally broke down. The excitement, the orgasm and shame were just too much for her. “I liked it,” she sobbed. “I loved it! I’m not a woman. I’m a slut!”

 

Taylor stood up and walked to the door. “You’re still young, Vanessa. You still think there’s a difference. There isn’t.”

 
Vanessa didn’t know what he meant, so she said nothing.

 

He laughed. "Don't worry about it. You're all that and more, Vanessa. You'll see. You don’t know the half of it yet. You're that and a whole lot more."

Vanessa did her best not to think about what had happened with Mr. Taylor. It had been rape, or very close to it, and she figured that the less she thought about it, the better off she'd be, at least for now. She was sure she'd been mentally scarred, and she knew from reading magazines and watching television that she could expect the symptoms to begin to manifest themselves any time now: inability to sleep, nightmares, changes in her appetite, a horror of sex.

The only problem was, she couldn't put it out of her mind. Her imagination kept on returning to that night, unable to leave the memories alone: the way he'd discovered her playing her private game of Slut; the way he'd grabbed her, stripped her clothes off and fucked her, never understanding that she was only pretending to be that kind of girl, that it was only a dress-up game she played for her own excitement. He had thought it was for real, that she was that cheap and that easy. So he'd treated her like that, tied her hands behind her back, made her suck his cock as he stuck his finger in her, and then fucked her right on her own bed, shooting his hot semen into her.

And yet, every time she thought about it she became extremely aroused, so excited that several times she had to lock herself in the bathroom to masturbate just to calm down. She remembered the look in his eyes as they wandered up and down her body, almost bursting out of her skin-tight latex dress, her legs caressed in her wicked fish-net stockings. She had never seen a man look at her that way. Or she recalled the hard, almost painful way he'd grabbed her breasts and squeezed them, the way he'd shoved his cock into her, so rough and uncaring, as if her body was his to do with what he wanted.

So she'd think about these things while she squeezed a towel between her legs and worked her fingers in her pussy. She'd relive that night as she fucked her own hand, biting her lip to keep from screaming as she came, imagining Mr. Taylor's big dick spurting its cream inside her and remembering her own excitement and delicious humiliation.

She finally had to admit to herself that she'd loved it. She'd hated it and loved it at the same time and the memories wouldn't leave her alone. It was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her and she wanted more. In fact, she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with herself now that she had experienced this touch; how would she ever find someone who could make her that excited?

Fortunately for Vanessa, she had her never-ending schoolwork to keep her from focusing exclusively on such thoughts. The great homework gods cared not for sexual crises.

Nonetheless, she knew she had decisions to make. The last thing he'd said to her before he left that night was that he would see her this weekend, that he expected her to be at his house on Friday night. Of course there was no way she was going to go, that much was certain. She simply couldn't face him after what had happened, after he had seen the way his behavior excited her. When he fucked her and plunged his big cock into her, calling her a slut and cunt and bitch, she'd just lost all control of herself and showed that she was all that and worse. And when he'd come she did too, screaming out her pleasure and begging him for more. No, there was definitely no way she could face him after that.

So when the doorbell rang Thursday night, interrupting their dinner, Mr. Taylor was the last person Vanessa expected to see. She and her sister, Cheryl, were having an argument over some childish nonsense, and her mother got up to answer the door. Vanessa hadn't paid any attention until she heard a man's voice in the hallway, and then she realized it was him.

"No, no, Elliot, we're just finishing dinner," her mother said in the hallways. "Come on in, come in, you can ask her yourself."

Vanessa's face must have gone white judging by the way Cheryl looked at her, and when she turned around, there he was, standing in the very kitchen where he'd discovered her in her vinyl whore's dress almost a week ago. He was wearing the same jacket and he had the same easy smile and air of command about him. She thought her heart would stop. She couldn't look at him and turned back to her plate.

"Girls, you know Mr. Taylor from the office? Elliot, this is Cheryl; I think you know Vanessa."

"Hi, Cheryl." he said, shaking her hand with a smile. "Vanessa." he said, and she held out her hand and felt him squeeze it, his fingers lingering just a bit as he let her hand go. Her face was red now, and her blood pounded in her ears. From the look in Cheryl's eyes, Vanessa could tell that she thought Mr. Taylor was hunky, even if he was her mother's age. But then, Cheryl had always been a flirt.

"Mr. Taylor's got a job for you, Vanessa. I told him you'd be glad to help."

He smiled again and said, "Well, it's really not all that big a deal. Mrs. Taylor and I are going away for the weekend and we just need someone to keep an eye on the kids. Their aunt was going to watch them but she just had a little accident and broke her wrist."

"Oh, that's a shame!" her mom cooed.

"Yeah. It's always something." he grinned again. "So we need someone to stay over tomorrow night. We'll be back Saturday; just a little overnight getaway kind of thing."

"Oh, that's nice," her mom said. It was clear that her mom thought highly of Mr. Taylor.

But that's not what he'd told Vanessa. He'd told her that he'd be alone over the weekend. She knew there was no getaway weekend involved. She could hardly believe his nerve.

"Uh, tomorrow I can't," she said nervously. "I made other plans."

Her mom looked at her with exasperation. "What plans? You didn't tell me about any plans."

"With some of the kids at school. We're going to…er…get together and study." Vanessa was a terrible liar, especially in front of her mother.

"Well you're always complaining about not having any money." her mother said now. "You could cancel your plans. After all, you never do anything but study."

"Yeah." Mr. Taylor said. "Because this is such short notice I'll give you sixty dollars."

Her mother was impressed. "Sixty dollars! You hear that, Vanessa? That's not bad."

"I'll do it!" Cheryl chimed in. Her eagerness made both the grownups laugh.

"You're not old enough." her mother said. "And besides, you're still grounded for those grades."

Vanessa had been avoiding his eyes, but she couldn’t keep this up without looking suspicious. She searched desperately for an excuse to get out of it, but she couldn’t think of anything. Her mother was looking at her. She had to say something.

"Okay."

"Good," her mom said. "What time do you want her?"

"About seven or eight would be fine."

It seemed settled. Mr. Taylor and her mother talked on about his fictitious plans—dinner, a getaway night at a hotel—and about his kids, a boy and a girl, 11 and 7, as they walked out to the hallway. Then her mother called her.

"Vanessa? Vanessa, Mr. Taylor wants to know what you like to eat."

Vanessa was standing by the table, holding her plate in her hand. "What?"

Her mother pushed her out into the hallway as if she were bundling her off on a date and whispered urgently to her. "Go talk to him. Stop being so rude to the poor man. He wants to pay you just for helping him out."

Reluctantly, Vanessa walked up to him where he stood by the front door.

"I just wanted to know what you like to eat, for snacks and things," he said.

Vanessa shrugged. Something made her look at him though. As if against her will, she raised her eyes and looked into the face of the man who had stripped her, shamed her, and fucked her not a week ago, showing her pleasure like she had never imagined.

He had some hold over her. Her eyes were full of resentment and anger when she raised them to his face, but he saw right past them, right into her. It was that look again. That look of naked desire and lust, and all the resistance melted out of her leaving a hollow thrill in her stomach. Somehow he controlled her with his eyes and she felt her legs actually grow weak.

"Tomorrow night," he said softly. Then he called into the kitchen in a cheery voice. "Good night Cheryl! Jenna, I'll see you at work tomorrow morning."

He looked at Vanessa once more, and then he left.

She wouldn't go, she thought. She'd make herself sick, or she'd go spend the night at a friend's house and lie if she had to. But she knew she couldn't. She was such a bad liar.

In fact, she was such a bad liar that when her mother offered to drop her off at the Taylor's on the way to her night class, Vanessa could find no way out of it. Her mind raced even as she threw some overnight things into a backpack as her mother waited impatiently.

"Your toothbrush? Don’t you want your toothbrush? And your books? You're not going to take your books?"

Good mother that she was, she even waited to make sure that Vanessa got into the Taylor's house safely before driving away.

He was wearing a shirt and tie when he let her in, and despite her numbness she realized that he looked very nice. He locked the door after her and pocketed the key, and she was trapped.

'Don't," was all she could say as she stood in his living room, "Mr. Taylor, I don’t know what you think, but what you did to me wasn't right. I'm not going to let you do that again, I swear."

"I'm disappointed." he said, looking her up and down. "Jeans and a sweater? I thought you'd do better than that."

She stood in the middle of the living room still wearing her leather jacket as he walked around her, appraising her. "Mr. Taylor, really. You know, you came in and found me fooling around, trying on some clothes I had. Just fooling around. But I'm not like that really. I'm not that kind of girl. I don’t do this. Certainly not with someone old enough to be my own father. It's disgusting. You know, I should have told the police. I still might. You took advantage of me. That's rape. I could still tell the police."

He sat down on the arm of the sofa and idly played with a piece of rope. She realized now that there was all sorts of stuff on the sofa: rope, leather cuffs, gags, vibrators, a whole collection. Her eyes went wide and her stomach sank. She felt a thrill run up her back.

"I figured you wouldn't be able to bring your toys," he said, "So these are my toys."

"Mr. Taylor…"

"Hey, I just thought we might play a little game together,” he said, looking at her pointedly. “You know, just fool around. I even bought you some clothes. Want to see?"

"I've got to go." she said. She turned and strode to the front door. "Open the door please."

He watched her from the sofa, playing with the rope. That look was back in his eyes and she was afraid to look at him.

"You can stop that, Vanessa." he said softly. "You can just stop all that crap. You know you loved it. You loved every fucking bit of it. Didn't you."

She stood at the door, her hand on the knob, her forehead pressed against the wood. "Please unlock the door, Mr. Taylor."

He got up off the sofa and walked towards her slowly. "You loved dressing up like a little whore, and you loved it that I found you like that. You loved that I took you for what you were and treated you like a little slut, and you're lying if you say you didn't. I was there, Vanessa, remember? I felt how you kissed me and stuck your tongue into my mouth. I felt how wet your pussy was and how you fucked yourself on my finger, just like my little whore! You almost came right there when I tied your wrists behind your back, you were so fucking hot. So we both know what we're dealing with here, don't we, Vanessa? Don't we?"

She was trying not to listen, because what he was saying was filling her with shame and excitement at the same time. "No," she said, "No. You're wrong. I'm not like that. It was a game."

He came up to her now and grabbed her, turned her around and pinned her against the door with his body, his face inches from hers. She shook her head, her eyes closed tight.

Just as he had that first fateful day, he took her wrists in his hands and lifted them over her head, pressing them too against the door. He leaned his weight against her, and she gasped as she felt the hard stalk of his cock dig into her stomach.

"You're a slut, Vanessa. Maybe you don't want to admit it yet, but I know it. And that wasn't just some little game you were playing. You were trying out the role, weren't you? You liked dressing up like that. Just a little cock-hungry slut." he said as he wrapped the rope around her wrist. "So why don't you just admit it so we can get on with our show?"

He had her wrists bound together now and he pulled her back into the living room. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tried to fight him, tried to free her wrists, but he pulled her around and threw her down on the sofa.

Before she could move he was on top of her, one hand holding her wrists out of the way, the other pushing her jacket aside and pulling her sweater up over her tits. She tried to break free but his hand closed on her breast and squeezed hard, making her cry out. He grabbed her bra and pulled it up so that her tits fell free, then he sucked one into his mouth as she arched off the couch, trying to throw him off.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she cried out, but he held her down and his free hand scrabbled at her jeans, trying to get them open. She tossed her hips, trying to get away from him but she felt his strong fingers open her pants, then the zipper, then his hand was sliding inside her panties.

When his finger touched her they both froze. She let out a sob of shame as he touched her pussy. She was aroused and wet and she knew it, and now he knew it too. Everything he'd said had been true. She couldn't deny it now. Her body wouldn't let her. His finger slid easily along her soaking crease, then he pulled his hand out and showed his glistening finger to her.

"Look at that," he said as she turned her head away. "You're already hot. Suck it!"

"Mr. Taylor, no…"

He pushed his finger against her mouth. "Suck it, Vanessa. I want you to taste you own slut juice. Suck it!"

She opened her mouth, shame wracking her body, and she let him put his sticky finger in her mouth. She tasted her own musk, the undeniable proof of all he had said about her.

"So you're a hot little cunt, Vanessa," he said as he slid his finger back into her panties and began to rub her slit again. "That's not so bad. I know you can't help it, can you baby? Your body just won't behave. See? You're already fucking that little pussy against my hand, aren’t you?"

She gasped. He was right; she'd been humping her hips against his hand as if fucking it. She hadn't realized that she'd been doing that. It was like her body had a mind of its own. She made herself stop.

"It just feels so good, doesn't it, Vanessa? It feels so good to have someone touch your pussy and suck your tits." he said as he continued to kiss her breasts and finger her cunt. "You can't help it if that's what you are. You're just highly sexed. It's not your fault. You need someone who knows what you want, that's all."

She still had her head turned to the side, trying to hide her face from him. She didn't believe him. It wasn't true. She was a straight A student, a good girl who'd never been in trouble in her life. Not that she was a prude, it was just that she was so busy studying. She dated when she had time, and she'd made love before. It’s not like she wasn’t aware of her sexuality. So why would he say what he was saying? How could he accuse of that? He didn't even know her.

But his fingers and his mouth felt so good, and she loved the way he held her down, her arms tied and held out of the way. There was no way she could fight him as he kissed her breasts and belly and played with her excited pussy. None of the guys she’d dated had never treated her this way. They didn't have a beard that scraped on her tender skin, and none of them had a mouth that was so hot and demanding for her, a mouth that had already known so many women's bodies and now wanted hers. Her lovers never forced her down and told her what she was right to her face, shaming her and making her wild with excitement. Her dates were just boys; Mr. Taylor was a man. It made all the difference.

He was pushing her back into the cushions of the sofa and her little moans of protest were taking on a different meaning as he sucked a nipple into his mouth and lashing it lightly with his tongue. His finger was teasing at her pussy, rimming her hole and she wanted him to stick it inside her: he was driving her crazy.

He caught her nipple between her teeth and bit down on it, not too hard, but hard enough to send a spear of pain shooting through her body and igniting a sudden gush of masochistic pleasure.

"Oh God!" she cried out as she thrust her hips up against his hand. Her own body was betraying her, humiliating her. Her body wanted more. Her body loved being treated like this, no matter what she herself might want.

Suddenly he got off her and stood up, leaving her lying there panting with her sweater pulled up over her boobs and her pants gaping open. He pulled her up into a sitting position and untied her wrists.

Vanessa was confused, groggy, her head reeling from her sensual excitement as she tried to understand what was happening to her. Was he done? Why had he stopped? He pushed her to her feet and, with her wrists free, she ran a hand through her tousled hair, trying to get her bearings.

"Take your coat off." he said, and she realized that she was still wearing her leather jacket. She slipped it off and just dropped it on the floor, something she would never do ordinarily. But she was dizzy and not herself.

"Now take your clothes off." he said as he sat back down on the sofa.

She looked at him in surprise. Her clothes? Her pants were hanging open, her panties showing, and her breasts were still naked, her bra was twisted and pushed out of the way. Her nipple still ached where he had bitten it and she could feel his saliva cooling on her skin. She couldn't undress in front of him. That was too much.

The blinds were closed tight. She looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time: the television, the sofa, tables, all the usual accoutrements of middle class life. She couldn't believe this was happening.

"I can't."

"Yes you can." he said mildly. "And you will, right now. I want to show you what a slut you are."

She made the mistake of looking him in the eye, and she was caught by the force of his gaze.

Keeping her head down and burning with shame, she pushed her jeans down over her hips, down her legs, and stepped out of them. She lifted her sweater over her head and let it fall as well. He bra wasn't doing her any good, so she started to unfasten that too when he said, "Okay. Stop there. Now look at yourself."

She was already looking down, but she didn't understand what she was supposed to see.

He said, "You knew you were coming over here, didn't you, Vanessa? Of course you did. And look at the underwear you wore."

She looked down. She was wearing one of her favorite pair of sheer black panties, very tiny and very sexy, and her bra matched, just a whisper of thin black fabric that made her breasts look great. Why on earth had she worn these? She hardly remembered getting dressed that morning. Had she subconsciously wanted to look nice for him?

"You wear stuff like that every day?" he asked her with a laugh.

Her face went red, and her embarrassment made her suddenly conscious that she was standing there mostly naked. She grabbed her bra and twisted it around to cover her breasts. Mr. Taylor got up and quickly picked up her jeans and sweater and tucked them under his arm. "Your clothes are in there." he said, pointing to the den. “I laid them all out for you. Bought them special."

 

Her wits were returning to her now. She had to get out of there. She thought about putting her coat on and she stood there, frozen with indecision for a moment.

That was all it took for him to lose his temper. He threw her clothes in a wad against the wall, strode over to her and grabbed her arms.

"Listen, bitch, we're done screwing around! You're not fooling anyone with that innocence act so why don't you just drop it? I'm getting really sick of it. Face it, baby: I know what you are and I know what you fucking want!"

She tried to struggle away from him but he twisted her arms behind her back. He gathered both her wrists into one massive hand and kept her arms pinned behind her as he pulled her to him and reached down to shove his hand into her crotch again.

She groaned in anger and frustration as she felt him touch her but he held her hands immobile. He was too strong, and he handled her effortlessly, as if she were a child. His hand ran along her body, cupping her breasts and finally pulling her face around to face him and he kissed her hard.

It was no use. The struggling just seemed to make them both hotter. The feel of his strength and his obvious desire for her made her weak, and the more she tried to hide it the more urgently she wanted to feel him against her, holding her, not letting her go. She wanted him to force her to do everything for him. She wanted him to push her down and fuck her mouth, treat her like a slut, do every filthy thing to her she'd ever dared dream of.

He broke the kiss but held her face in his hand. "You're going to go in there and you're going to put on those fucking clothes so I can see what a cheap whore you are, Vanessa. It's just like your dress-up game, but this time I'm playing too. Then you're going to come out here and show me your hot little ass, and you're going to do whatever I tell you to do. If I tell you to suck my cock, you'll get down on your knees and suck my fucking cock. If I tell you to play with yourself you're going to play with yourself. If I tell you to spread your legs and show me your little pussy, you're going to spread your legs and show me your pussy. And you know what else? You're going to love it! You're going to just fucking love it! So quit acting like you’re too good for this, and let’s move on."

His words cut into her like daggers, each one dripping with his hot need. At the end of his speech he pulled her to him and kissed her again, slipping his hand beneath her panties to cup her ass. One finger dipped low and poked against her tiny asshole, and the lewdness of touch made her pussy throb with desire for him.

He propelled her to the den and pushed her in, her head reeling. The clothes were laid out on the sofa there, and even as she looked at them with horror her pulse began to race. There were a pair of sandals with enormous spiked heels, a tiny miniskirt of some sheer gold metallic fabric, and a skimpy red stretch tank top. Just the same kind of things that she always wore when she played by herself.

"And take off your underwear," he called. "No bra, no panties."

Half in a daze, she stripped and then began to dress again. The miniskirt was tight. She felt it compress her buttocks together, and she could see her pubic mound where it puffed out the front just a bit. The top was tiny, even after she stretched into it. It looked as if it were painted on.

But it wasn't until she put the shoes on that she really felt the part. They raised her up, pushed her ass out and made her throw her shoulders back for balance. There was no mirror down here, but she could imagine what she looked like and it thrilled her. She looked cheap and on display, just like she'd always fantasized.

She was afraid to face him. What if he laughed? As naughty as she felt, she still felt like Vanessa, the good little straight-A student, trying to play the bad girl.

"I'm waiting." he called.

She took a deep breath to try and calm herself, then she walked into the living room.

When she saw the look in his eyes her fears melted, replaced by an incandescent glow of excitement. There was a gleam in his eye, sharp and bright, almost violent, and a nasty smile on his face that gave her goose bumps. No man had ever looked at her that way before, and her excitement was tinged with a bit of fear, that he might suddenly attack her. He looked as if he were ready to. That was the way men looked at her in her fantasies before they threw her on the bed and fucked her. But in her fantasies she was always somewhat in control. This was real, and she felt more naked than if she'd had no clothes on at all. Still, the feeling was powerful…

"Walk," he said simply, his voice sounding like a dry croak.

She felt like the goddess of lust. She walked and felt her hips slide inside the slippery metallic skirt. Her nipples were hard and rubbed teasingly against the tight fabric of the top. From the height of her heels she no longer felt like a student drudge. She felt very adult, sexy and dangerous, and her feelings were reinforced by what she saw in his eyes. She was filled with a confidence she'd never felt before, and she didn't even wobble as she walked across the floor. She stopped, spun like a model and pulled it off, then stopped and let him have a good look at her in profile.

She was so keyed up she was afraid she might giggle with sheer pleasure, and the look of raw lust on his face was so extreme it was almost amusing. She had a sudden urge to tease him. Her fear and resistance were gone now, as if the power had shifted from him to her and she was calling the shots now It was an intoxicating feeling.

She made a show of doing something with her hair so that she could raise her arms, hiking up her breasts so they hung rich and full on her chest, and he just sat there and stared. She could see his cock tenting the front of his pants, could almost see it pulsing with his heart beat, and on impulse she turned her back to him and bent over, putting her hands on her knees and causing her skirt to rise up in the back and showing just a hint of the bottom of her ass and her puff of pubic hair where it showed through her legs.

"Don't you think this skirt is too short?" she asked innocently.

"Come here," he breathed, and Vanessa couldn't repress a giggle. "Come over here."

This is how she'd always wanted to feel: irresistibly sexy, and powerful enough to keep a man under her thumb just from his wanting her. She liked walking on the edge, never knowing when she might push him so far that he'd explode, grab her and force her to do all sorts of terrible, obscene things.

As she walked over to him, she suddenly felt conscious of their difference in age. She was young, not even out of school, at the very peak of her body's ripeness. He was old enough to be her father, experienced and supposedly mature enough to control his feelings. She felt like a little slave girl who'd caught the fancy of the old and powerful king, and she liked the feeling.

He reached out and grabbed her wrist, pulled her into his lap and she fell on him with a little squeal of alarm. He pressed his face against her tits and his hand slid right up under her skirt to her naked pussy, puffy with excitement and ready to be used.

"You little tramp!" he hissed at her. "What happened to the good girl now, huh? What happened to the good little Vanessa?"

She laughed with excitement as his hand stroked her cunt and he licked at her nipple through the top. "I lied." she said, "I am a slut. But what are you going to do about it, baby?"

The words came easily to her, even as she shocked herself by saying them. It was like her dress-up game: those are the kinds of things she said to her imaginary lover when she would look in the mirror and pose for herself, calling him baby and lover and stud as she stroked her nipples and dipped a finger into her wet slit.

He grabbed her face in his hand and kissed her roughly, his beard scratching her, as he opened her up and pushed a thick finger into her.

"Mmmmm!" she screamed into his mouth, pushing her hips forward against his hand as she felt him enter her. His touch felt so good; his roughness was like an aphrodisiac, and she opened her thighs before squeezing them tightly around his hand. She wanted it like this. She was a slut and she needed to be punished for acting this way; she needed his violence: it thrilled her.

"Stand up!" he said and he pushed her off his lap as she mewled with disappointment. He stood up and spun her around so her back was to him, and she felt him wrapping rope around her wrists yet again.

Truthfully, though, she loved the rope. She loved being bound and helpless, unable to defend herself, and she loved the way being bound pushed her tits out. She knew it just increased his lust too, just made him hotter and wilder, and when he spun her back around to face him she had the nerve to give him a sultry little pout.

That was going too far, and he grabbed her hair and pulled her head back.

"You fucking whore!" he hissed at her as his free hand roamed over her body, squeezing her breasts and pinching her nipples, sliding over her stomach to stroke her pussy. "You know just what you're doing! Coming off like the innocent little college girl, then you get some sexy clothes on and you're nothing but a hot cunt! I knew it all along, you fucking tease."

His words made her gasp. She loved it. She closed her eyes and bit her lip and let them wash over her like the hot spray of a shower.

"Well you know what's going to happen to you, baby?" he went on, whispering in her ear so close she could feel his hot breath, "I'm going to tie you up good and tight and see just what kind of slut you are. I'm going to shove my big, hard cock in you, Vanessa, and I'm going to fuck the hell out of you! Fuck you hard, baby; hard and deep, stretch that little pussy wide open and give you the fucking you've been asking for."

She groaned at the force of his words and he pulled her head back again.

"And then you're going to suck my cock, open that sweet mouth and take me in your mouth and suck on me. Every good whore loves to suck cock, doesn't she, baby, and I already know you're real good. You’ll suck my cock till I shoot my come all over your cock-sucking face, slut, and then you'll wipe it all up and swallow it."

"But first," he said, "I got something else for you."

She was on fire now, and she needed him badly. Her hips had started moving of their own accord, trying to rub against him, and she felt all liquid inside. He let go of her hair, turned, and dropped his pants, groaning with relief as his cock was able to spring free inside his shorts. Vanessa saw the wet spot in front and her nostrils flared as she imagined his tool in her mouth, how depraved it would look.

He sat down with his shorts still on and pulled her down. She went to sit on his lap again but he spun her around somehow, manhandling her until she was over his knee and she realized that he was going to spank her.

This was something she'd never envisioned in her games, and this time she felt real alarm as he slid her miniskirt up over her naked ass.

"Wait! Mr. Taylor! Wait!" but he held her down with his arm in the small of her back, and with her hands tied behind her there was nothing she could do.

In her whole life she'd never been hit, and it was degrading to be treated like a child and taken over his knee when she'd just been feeling like such an adult.

"You know why you're getting this?" he asked her as he squeezed her naked cheeks. "Because you're such a fucking whore, Vanessa! You're totally out of control. You're a slut and you'll do anything for cock, won't you?"

Before she could even decide to answer she felt rather than saw him raise his hand, and he brought it down with a loud smack on her ass, making her squeal and sending a surge of heat through her body. He spanked her again, and she jumped, her eyes wide.

She could feel his cock pressing into her stomach, rock hard as she tried to protect her ass with her tied hands, but he just spanked her again and again until all she felt was a generalized burning that melted into the hot need in her pussy. But worse than the pain was the very humiliation of being treated this way, humiliation that built her excitement even higher. She loved his male power and strength, the way he took no shit from her, the way he made her hurt.

After a few spanks she stopped struggling, waiting for every blow, each slap like the thrust of a cock into her pussy, the same delicious pain, and her squeals of alarm became low, throaty moans of gratification as her hips began to grind against his cock.

And it was only fair, after the way she'd teased and taunted him. She deserved it, and she was glad he was there to give it to her. She was a whore; there was nothing she could do about it but take her punishment for her own filthy desires, though each slap on her naked and trembling ass only made her hotter, made her think of even filthier things she wanted him to make her do.

Then suddenly she was on her knees on the floor and he was standing over her. He skinned his shorts down and she saw his gorgeous cock, big and stiff and gleaming with his secretions, his big balls hanging below. This wasn't the bright eager stalk of a boy, but a man's veteran piece, a thick and experienced and rough-looking thing covered with veins and ridges like a club, almost scary.

He pushed it against her lips and she opened her mouth and tilted her head back as he pushed it over her tongue and she felt the bulk fill her up. He tasted salty and musky and she closed her eyes and explored him as far as she could with her tongue.

"Come on whore!" he said. "You know how to suck! Suck me!"

He had fucked her mouth before, when he took her on her own bed, and she remembered the deliciously thick, hard, male feel of him in her mouth. But she was on her knees now, kneeling like a slave before him, and that made this even more exciting.

She'd only begun though when he pulled his cock from her mouth, leaving her panting and bewildered. He grabbed her arm and started to pull her to her feet.

"Come on." he said. "We're going to the bedroom."

"Why?" she said. "Fuck me here. Fuck me on the floor."

"You little bitch!" he said, lifting her to her feet. "You giving the orders now? On your feet."

In her heels she was as tall as him, maybe taller. The red tank top was already sweated through between her breasts and on her back, and her ass was bright red from the spanking. She let him propel her by the arm out of the living room and across the hallway, her heels rapping sharply on the hardwood floor. She climbed the stairs to the second floor unsteadily

Vanessa was dizzy with arousal, her head swimming and her cunt feeling achy and congested. Her ass hurt from the spanking and she staggered slightly as he led her down the hallway upstairs, her hands tied behind her. They passed his kids' rooms. She got a glance of his daughter's frilly bed, his son's room with all the posters on the wall, and he steered her down to his own bedroom: his wife's bedroom.

There were family pictures on the walls, on the dressers, and as she stood there she felt even more of a whore, a home wrecker, an adulteress. This was the bed where he slept with his wife; their marriage bed. He came up to her and grabbed her by the shoulders, pulled her savagely to him and kissed her hard, shoving his tongue into her mouth and she sucked on it like it was his prick.

"Fuck me!" she said as he pulled away. "Fuck me!"

He spun her around so that she was facing the mirror over the dresser and she looked at herself in shock, her hair a mess, her arms pinned behind her back, the tiny skirt barely covering her pussy. Her lips were swollen with desire and her eyes hazy with lust. She was a whore; a cock-sucking slut, and she was proud to see herself that way.

She watched in the mirror as his hands came around her and closed over her tits. He took her nipples between his fingers and squeezed, slowly at first, then harder, until pain shot through her body and she hunched her shoulders forward trying to protect herself.

"You like that, don't you?" he said as he let her go. "You like it when I hurt you."

"Just fuck me!" she said again, her voice a husky whisper. "I want it."

He pushed her onto the bed and she fell on her back. Immediately he was between her legs, sliding the mini skirt up over her hips. He held himself up on his extended arms and she looked up into his hard, determined face.

She knew what he was seeing, and she stuck her tongue out and waggled it at him invitingly, a gesture intended to make herself look even sluttier than she already did. It had its effect and she saw desire burn like rage in his eyes

"I'm going to fuck you now." he said. "I'm going to fuck your pussy and then I'm going to fuck your ass."

"Yes!" she cooed. She looked straight into his eyes and without a hint of shame she said, "Fuck my pussy and fuck my ass. Do it all to me, Mr. Taylor. Fuck me everywhere. I want it all."

He took a deep breath through his nose, thrust his hips forward and impaled her on his cock, shoving his rod right through the fleshy sleeve of her pussy, all the way in.

Vanessa cried out and arched up to him as though she'd been jolted with electricity. Her hips lunged up off the bed so that only her head and heels still touched the mattress, driving her cunt up over his plunging cock, wanting it, wanting all of it.

"Oh God!" she gasped as he pushed into her, so hard, so demanding. He felt huge and thick; massive, and she felt tiny beneath him, open and defenseless.

She fell back to the mattress and Taylor grabbed her ass and pulled her up to him, shoving his cock back into her as if trying to batter her resistance down and make room for himself inside her, snapping his hips hard and the end of his down stroke to make her grunt. Her young snatch was tight around him, swollen and turgid with blood, her muscles quivering as they tried to adjust to his size.

She couldn't hide the pleasure she felt, pleasure not only physical, but lewd and lascivious as she pictured what she must look like with her arms tied behind her back, her skirt gathered around her waists and her young thighs wide open, Mr. Taylor's big cock stuffed inside her tiny pussy

He was brutal to her and she loved it, knowing instinctively it was a sign of his desire, his lust for her, and when he kissed her she opened her mouth and moaned out her slutty pleasure to him.

With her arms tied and trapped beneath her there was nothing she could do but let herself be fucked by this violent man, and she spread her legs wide and pressing her cunt against him, arched her tits up against his hard chest. He pressed her down hard into the mattress; she could hardly breath and she had to break the kiss to gasp for breath.

Turning her head she could just see their reflection in the mirror, see his naked, muscular ass flex obscenely as he drove his meat into her and see her own feet still in those whore's shoes shake with each savage thrust. It was masochistic heaven; she'd never felt used, so filled, so totally fucked, as if she had a wild bull between her legs.

Her excitement quickly climbed to the breaking point, egged on by the sight of herself in the mirror, and when he grabbed her nipples again and twisted them she thrilled as the pain seared her body, exploding into a wet little orgasm that she choked back by biting her lip.

A few minutes of this savage pounding and he pulled out of her, leaving her cunt pouting after him, twitching with the loss of his big rod. She opened her eyes to see him reaching for a jar on the nightstand, scooping up some gel onto his fingers, some lubricant. But her attention was on his big, heavy cock, glistening with her own juices as it throbbed before him, and she thrilled when he shoved it back into her, blotting out any thoughts as he stretched and filled her once again.

 

As he fucked her he ran his hand below her ass and she felt his fingers reaching up beneath her towards her pussy. There was the kiss of something cold against her anus, and then his finger was pressing against her there, pushing her asshole before it slid inside, making her cry out again.

"Oh yes!" she wailed. "Put your finger in my ass! Do it to me!"

It was wonderfully degrading, the thought of him assaulting her ass, this feeling of fullness in her bowels as his cock slithered in and out of her cunt. His finger was in her asshole, violating her, showing no respect, worming around and stretching her out, and she'd never felt anything so nasty, so lewd and dirty.

"You like that, whore?" he panted in her ear. "You like my fingers in your ass? You do don't you? Don’t you?"

"Yes!" she moaned. "It's good! I love it! Fuck me!"

"You're my slut, aren't you baby? You're my own little slut!"

His finger slid farther into her and sparks went off in her brain. "Oh yes! I'm your slut! Do whatever you want to me! Do everything!"

She extended her tongue obscenely and let him take it between his lips and suck on it as he fucked her and fingered her asshole, both of them grunting and moaning, chills running through her body as her orgasm approached like a runaway train.

But suddenly he pulled out, making her wail with frustration. She squeezed him with her thighs, wanting him back inside her, but he was dipping back into the jar of lube again, and smearing it all over his cock.

"Oh God!" she whispered as she realized what he was going to do. He scooped up more of the lube and wiped it against her anus, and she looked at him with astonishment and desire. She was frightened; she'd never done this before, and yet she wanted it. It would be the ultimate assault on her, her total surrender.

He turned her over, and she started to raise her ass to him, but he slapped her down. She was surprised when he untied her wrists then rolled her over on her back again.

"Hold on to the headboard." he said. "And do as I say."

She did as she was told and he picked up her legs and pressed her knees back against her chest. She watched him as he looked down at his cock and she realized that he was going to fuck her ass from the front, even more degrading. She squealed as she felt the head of his cock searching through the smeared grease on her ass looking for her tiny opening, and she jerked when he found it.

"Spread your ass, Vanessa. Spread your cheeks apart."

"Oh God! I can't!" she wailed.

"Do it!" he shouted, the look in his face scaring her.

He reached beneath her and pulled her buttocks apart, clenching her eyes shut tight as he guiding his cock to her anus and pressed forward.

Instinctively she clenched tight when she felt him there, and she could hear him panting and grunting with effort as he tried to fit the enormous head of his cock to her asshole.

Somehow he managed to get the head past the tight ring of muscle and it popped inside her. He leaned all his weight against it and Vanessa felt herself give, trembling and shaking before his incredibly hard cock.

"No! Oh no!" she wailed, letting go of her ass and pressing against his chest, but he ignored her and continued to sink his prick slowly into her ass, filling her with the most incredibly salacious feelings. Her mouth opened wide and a low, animal groan came out as he filled her belly with his prick, plundering her most private place, shoving his cock into her very body.

She began panting from the pain, fast and shallow, taking a deep breath only to howl out her feeling of violation, and yet she loved it. She knew that this was the ultimate act, the most humiliating, most degrading. Truly she was no more than a whore now, taking his cock up her ass like a slave. Her nipples were rock-hard with excitement, her pussy throbbed in sympathy and chills ran up her spine.

He was maybe half-way in when he stopped, gasping for breath, his eyes burning into her in her shame. He flexed his cock in her and she cried out again, he was so huge, so alive inside her. She didn't know what to do with her hands. They pushed at his hips to keep him out, then clawed at the bedspread, then covered her face. But he wasn't going to withdraw. She was going to get fucked in the ass, just as he'd promised, and her whole body trembled in frightened arousal.

"Gimme your hands." he said to her, flexing his cock again. "Hurry! Play with your pussy! Play with your cunt, whore. I want you to beat off while I fuck your ass!"

"Oh! Oh!" she couldn't even tell him no. She just let him put her hands on her pussy as he pulled his cock out a fraction of an inch and then pushed back into her, making her feel as if he were pushing her insides around. The feelings were so intense she hardly paid attention to what she was doing as she began to rub her pussy. But soon the pleasure of caressing herself lessened the pain of the anal invasion and replaced it with a terribly lewd and filthy pleasure that made all rational thought impossible.

He fucked her slowly, tentatively, pulling out and pushing in, feeding a bit more of his prick into her stretched ass with every stroke. His eyes were locked on her hands as she masturbated, and Vanessa gave a quavering moan as she realized that he was watching her so closely and that it was starting to feel good.

She found her clit with one hand and began to rub herself, her fingers brushing against his shaft just an inch or two below her. Her tongue came out and she licked her upper lip at the deliciously obscene feelings he was giving her, and then she started masturbating for real, egged on by the thought of what a total whore she had become.

He fucked her steadily but carefully now, studying her face in her agony of pleasure and shame as her masturbation became more and more frantic. The juice from her pussy poured down over his cock, lubricating it and easing his entrance further. She was alive all over, a mass of seething sensation in her ass and her cunt, down her legs, her breasts, everything was on fire, and her hands dug cruelly at her pussy as he fucked her ass.

She couldn’t tell whether she was coming or not, it had all merged into one unbearably erotic sluice of feelings. She was screaming constantly, yelling out and saying things she didn’t even hear, begging him to fuck her hard, to ride her ass, telling him she was coming and urging him to shoot his semen into her.

The tendons in her neck stood out as she raised her head to watch her fingers at her pussy, and it suddenly hit her now what a total slut she had become, letting him fuck her ass while she masturbated for him; taking pleasure in her own degradation, and as she realized how far she had fallen she exploded into fragments of unbearably shameless ecstasy, giving herself over to this salacious fucking, coming as she never had before.

She felt his cock throb inside her, and then he was crying out and pumping his hot seed into her ass, clawing at her, pulling her hair, making her take it as he shot again and again, scalding hot in her rectum. Vanessa's eyes rolled back in her head, sightless, she opened her mouth and extended her tongue as if he were coming in her mouth. She beat on his body with her fists, urging all the come out of him. Then she just seemed to go up and over, out of her body and into a black void of excruciating pleasure and pain, and she lost consciousness.

She was not out long, for she felt his deflated cock pull from her asshole trailing strings of his gism over her ass. She couldn't move. It was as if the muscles in her body just would not respond, and she lay there twitching and jerking in the aftermath of orgasm as Mr. Taylor took her in his arms and held her close in her helplessness, and she could feel him shuddering too from the intensity of his release. She was soaked with sweat, her hair matted to her face, and she felt sore all over; sore in places she'd never been sore in before, and yet she'd never felt so deeply satisfied, so totally used. He had hurled all his lust at her, like waves against a seawall, and she had taken all he could give her.

There was no use fighting the feeling; no use pretending that she didn't love it, being used and abused like this, and as he kissed her face and her shoulders, she took it as her due. She knew she would never be satisfied with anything less again.