Chapter 8 #3
Instead of sitting next to him in the back of the car, I find myself being pulled over his thighs, straddling his lap.
I bury my head in the crook of his neck and breathe in expensive hair oil and cologne as he rubs his hands up and down my ass.
I’m still wearing my prison outfit. He slides it down beneath the curve of my ass and rubs his hand over my ass.
I’m wearing my underwear, but he pulls it tight up between my cheeks, exposing them for his touch.
“I wanted to spank your hot little ass, but having heard your side of the story, I don’t know that I blame you anymore. If it were me…”
“You’d have shot him in the face.”
“Perhaps,” he allows. “You still went storming into a public school and demanded an audience with a principal. And then you went to a water park and spent the money from the proceeds of the car, I suppose.”
“Yes. That’s exactly right.”
He pats the curve of my ass firmly, but without any real painful intent. “You’re such a naughty girl. Running off to a water park like a little girl skipping school—which you were also doing. You didn’t attend a single class today.”
He spanks me firmly, but he’s still somehow making it so it doesn’t hurt. I have no idea why I am letting him do this. He’s comforting me, and I am allowing it. My crotch is pressed against his, and unless I am very much mistaken, I feel the hard line of his cock pressing against my mound.
Every time he taps my ass or spanks it, he makes me grind that little bit closer to him. My hungry little clit gets greedy very quickly, wanting firm stimulation and repeated rubbing, so I start to welcome the slaps as they land over and over, giving me a gentle but stinging punishment.
“I missed you,” he murmurs in my ear, cupping both of my bare cheeks as he does. “Being away from you, knowing you were on this coast no doubt getting into trouble, knowing I’d have to wait to punish and fuck you, it was an exquisite kind of torture.”
Listening to him, I find it hard to believe him. Missing me is the sort of thing a normal person would do, but he’s not normal. At all. If he missed me it was probably because he wanted to use me and he couldn’t because of the distance.
He slides my panties to the side and starts stroking my pussy lips. I shouldn’t find this so arousing. I’m angry at him for being an evil stalker, for manipulating me and my life. But he really knows how to make my pussy feel good.
The driver sets the car in motion, and I am driven through the city with my pussy being casually played with. Occasionally he inserts a finger to the second knuckle or so, but then he pulls it out. He’s toying with me. When we get back to his place, I can tell he’s going to fuck me.
I’m going to let him.
When we get to his place, which I discover is a nice house in the hills, surrounded by very tall trees that keep the place private from all kinds of prying eyes.
The driver dismisses himself in the ghost-like way good servants are supposed to, gliding into the dark and ceasing to exist in a meaningful way.
He pushes me down on the hood of the car and kicks my legs apart. I hear the cheap fabric of the prison uniform rip as he yanks at the pants, quite literally tearing a hole in the seam of the rear so they’re no longer an impediment to his lust.
He sinks his cock all the way into my soaking pussy in one thrust, making a sigh of satisfaction as he does.
“I needed this,” he growls, holding himself deep inside me. “I needed you.”
I don’t say anything. He doesn’t care. My feedback isn’t needed. This conquest is what he’s been dreaming of, taking me from the clutches of one authority system and imposing his own.
“You are starting to be trouble,” he says, thrusting deep inside me.
The feeling of the warm hood against my clit is quite nice.
I don’t know if he wants me to enjoy this, or if it is supposed to be a punishment, and to be honest, I don’t fucking care.
The rougher and more demanding he is, the more he tries to make me something he owns, the more my mind and body rebel and focus on taking what I want and what I need.
I like sex. I like being fucked. I like having money to spend on spoiling my little brother and my other siblings.
Tomorrow I’m going out to buy presents for the others.
Hell, I might take my teenage sisters on a shopping spree, and the twins on another later on.
If my life is going to take uncontrollable turns, then I’ll adapt, like I always have.
That’s why he’s wrong about me, I figure as he pins me down and ruts me like an animal.
He thinks me being serious and responsible and taking care of everyone is some ingrained personality trait.
Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. I think all my seriousness and hard work has been an adaptation to an environment.
I think I became what I needed to in order to survive.
And now that my environment has changed, I think I’m going to change again.
Orgasm is building inside me, but it’s not something he’s forcing me to do. It’s my own personal fucking alchemy. I’m getting satisfaction, using him in some fucked-up way. He’s starting to get predictable. He wants sex. He’s good at it. So why wouldn’t I just let him do it?
The knowledge that I am going to get what I need here makes my lower belly clench almost as much as the fact that he’s smacking my ass and lecturing me.
“Naughty girl, hitting people,” he says, either unaware of the irony, or very much enjoying it. I’d put money on the latter because he’s a sick fuck.
He comes inside me and his semen drips out of me as I lie face down on a car in a driveway, wearing a prison uniform because I wasn’t checked out properly, and who even knows if it was legal.
“Get up,” he says, smacking my ass and fastening his pants. “You need a shower and to go to bed.”