AUTHOR = JAX
E-MAIL = JAX@jaustin.fsnet.co.uk
I'm in my last year of school and I've just turned eighteen. I know I'm pretty because lots of boys hit on me, ask me out, or just stare at my body -- my boobs usually. I find it all very silly and I'm not really interested in these immature boys. There's this old guy who lives down the street from me. When I say old, he must be forty at least. Anyway, I've caught him looking at me sometimes and it sends a shiver down my spine. He's so gross and disgusting, never dressing nice or anything. In fact, I think he's out of work and on social. I never have seen him with any woman so he must live on his own.
I'm walking home from school right past his place, when I notice he is working in his front garden. When I walk by he straightens up and stares at me. I feel all shivery, like he has put his dirty hands on me. When I get home I go straight up to my room and strip off my school clothes and lay down on my bed naked and touch myself. In my mind I can see him looking at me, while I rub myself between my legs. My orgasm goes on and on, leaving me spent and sweaty. I don't know what it is about him, he's not handsome or rich. In fact, he's rough and gross, possibly smelly as well, but I always look for him as I pass, and I then frig myself when I get home while thinking about what he would do to me.
School is out for Easter; Mum and Dad are at work leaving me all alone at home. After the first week, I complete all my homework and I'm bored. I decide to go through my whole wardrobe and chuck out everything that doesn't fit me anymore. This is about half of my clothes -- my figure has developed so much in the last year that none of my favourite things fit any more. I stand there in my bikini knickers looking down at the pile of stuff that I may throw away. I look at myself in the full-length mirror, turning to see each side of my body. Not too bad, I think. Boobs are still not big enough yet, but if I take after my mum, I still got a few inches to come. Looking down at the pile of old clothes, most are too good to dump, so I look to see if any of them can be salvaged and reused. Clothes aren't cheap and Mum and Dad don't have much money to spare to spend on me. There's a pair of jeans that I can cut down into shorts, the legs shaped into a bikini top or something, and that denim shirt, perhaps can be cut up into a sun top.
I look out of my window and I can see him staring back at me; he's in his back garden, dressed in just some dirty shorts. I'm sure he can't see past my net curtains and into my room, but I cross my arms over my naked bust anyway -- I can feel my skin crawl. I pick up Mum's large dressmaking scissors and get to work on my denims. First I cut the legs off my old jeans, and then I pull them on. They're very tight and I can only do them up if I lay down on the bed. I look at myself in the mirror -- not bad, my bum looks pretty good. Now for that shirt, this is a bit more tricky. I cut the arms off and some of the back. After each cut, I put it on to see how it looks. After an hour I'm reasonably satisfied with the result -- most of my midriff is bare as well as my back. I retain just two of the buttons at the front, but only do one up, which leaves a good amount of my boobs on show. I move over to the window but he's not in view. I wonder what he would do if he could see me like this. I lay down on the bed and fantasise he's in the room looking down at me; my fingers are busy between my legs until I come.
The next day is quite warm. Perhaps I'll go for a cycle or a walk, anything, I'm so bored. I shower and rummage for something to wear. I pick up my new denim outfit, remove my dressing gown and put it on. I go downstairs and I get my bike out of the garage, but both tires are flat -- shit, what now?
"Need any help girlie," he says. Unknown by me he was standing at my gate and could see my flat tires. This was the first time he has ever spoken to me.
"My tires are flat," I say.
"Yeah, so I see. Do you want me to fix them for you?" he says.
The thought of being near him sends a shiver of disgust or something through my body, but I hear myself answer, "Could you?"
"Sure girlie, I'll take it to my workshop, OK?" he says.
"Thanks," is all I could think to say.
He walks towards me. The closer he gets the more disgusting he looks -- dirty and unshaven. He picks my bike up and carries it off.
"You can come and watch if you like," he offers over his shoulder.
"Thanks," I reply and docilely walk after him.
His workshop in his back garden is surprisingly tidy, with all his tools hanging on the wall. I watch him remove both wheels and then the tubes. I notice that he looks at me from time to time while he works.
"No punctures, just the valves I think," he says. "Got some spares here somewhere."
I stand there watching his big hands working on my bike when I become flushed at the thought of those same hands working on me.
"What's your name girlie?" he asks.
"What?" I was miles away in my own private nightmare.
"Your name?"
"Oh sorry, it's Trish," I say.
"Trish, nice name that matches you too, nice bit of crumpet you," he looks me up and down with a leer. "Yeah, built nice you are," he says. I went bright red at his words. I was used to boys looking at me, but this was completely different -- somehow dirty and disgusting. "Nice legs and good size tits, just like your mum's," he carries on.
I stand there like a statue, not knowing what to do.
"There you are, that should fix it," he says, wiping his greasy hands on a rag.
Before I realise, he is standing inches in front of me; he is so close I could smell the maleness of him. I am like the mouse before the hypnotic stare of the snake. One arm moves around me and pulls me closer.
"Yeah, been watching you girlie, you're coming along nicely," he whispers in my ear. His other hand moves up my leg, along my thigh and up to my bust. "Yeah, just like your mum, nice pair of tits on her," he says, his voice low and throaty.
I could see the dirt under his nails and the ingrained grease on his hands. He undoes the two buttons on my top to expose my naked boobs to his gaze. His rough hands maul my boobs now, his overpowering male smell fills my senses, and I become quite faint. Encouraged by my passiveness he becomes more aggressive. His hands now move down to my shorts and unzipp me. At this point I come partially to my senses and try to stop him.
"No, please stop," I cry, but his hand forces its way into my shorts and into my pussy.
"Oh no, please," I beg.
"You're going to like this," he whispers in my ear.
I close my eyes, still not believing this is happening. His fingers move along my slit, bringing an involuntary moan from my lips. If his arm wasn't around my waist, I'm sure I would collapse. The action of his hand causes my shorts to fall around my ankles leaving me totally naked in his hands. I can feel the heat in my pussy getting hotter and hotter.
"Come for me, girlie," he whispers. "That's right girlie, come for me," and I do. I can't catch my breath, my legs sag, and let out a cry. "There's a good girlie," he coos at me, his hand had left my pussy and is again mauling my boobs. Still, in this weakened condition, I feel him turn me around and I hear his zipper.
"Oh no, please," I say, thinking he is going to put his maleness in me, but I only feel it against my bum. While he moves his thing up and down, his hands continue to maul my breasts. Then he lets out a cry and I feel his hot juices over my back.
He wipes me down with the same dirty rag and tells me to get dressed. As soon as my shorts are done up, I am out, running up his path while still doing up the buttons of my top. Anybody nearby would have a good look at my boobs then, and I leave my bike behind. I lay soaking in my bath wondering what happened; how did I let myself be handled by such a gross and dirty person? I run the events through my mind, like a movie, and to my distaste my pussy becomes hot again. My fingers stroke myself until the water splashes over the rim of the bath and wets the floor; I come for the second time in an hour.
For the next couple of days I don't venture out of my room, except for meals. Every time I look out of my window I can see him pottering about in his garden and looking up at my window. I want my bike back, but I am afraid to go and get it in case I bump into him again. I spend my days salvaging what clothes that I could, using my mum's sewing machine. I put on my new denim bikini, made up from the old jeans legs and some curtain rope. I think I've made the top a little small for I almost fall out of it when I put it on. I put on a loose top and some shorts. I feel brave, so I decide to go and get my bike. All seems quiet when I open the workshop door, nobody around, good. There is my bike, looking clean and oiled, its tires pumped up. I start to wheel it out and a shadow falls over me; he is there standing in the doorway.
"Couldn't keep away girlie," he smiles lewdly at me.
"Please," I say, shaking a bit, "I was just picking up my bike."
"You're looking good today," he says walking towards me.
"Please," I beg, "I must go."
"Sure girlie," he smiles nastily at me, sending a shiver down my body, but he stands blocking the doorway.
His big hands take hold of my bike and push it up against the wall; then he turns towards me. As he comes near I could smell him, a pungent male smell that almost makes me gag. Once again I can't move, his hands moving over my exposed thighs.
"Please," I say softly, "let me go."
"Soon girlie," he replies, but his hands are popping my top buttons to reveal my denim bikini top. "You look good in that," he smiles, "but even better with it off." With that he pulls it over my head, almost tearing it. "That's better, you've got a nice pair on you."
His hands now roughly maul my boobs. Soon my shorts and bikini bottoms lay on the floor and I am naked before him again. His hand roams over me, squeezing and mauling me roughly, bringing involuntary cries of pain and pleasure from my lips.
"Please no," I whimper.
"Come on girlie, come for me," he whispers in my ear. One of his hands is working between my parted thighs, the other squeezing my boobs; my orgasmic cry came then. "There's a good girlie," he coos, "now it's my turn," he says unzipping himself.
"Please no," I say with wide eyes staring down at his large thingie.
"Your choice, girl. Your cunt, your mouth, or perhaps between your tits, or a hand job," he laughs.
"Please, I've never," I splutter, my eyes never leaving his hardness.
He grabs my hand and pulls it towards his thing. "Okay, stroke it," he says. My hand can just about encircle it. I rub back and forth -- it feels silky in my hand. "Yeah, that's right girlie," he says. His body tenses and he comes, a long spurt of his juices hits me on my thigh.
"Yeah, that was good," he smiles at me and puts his limp thing away and zips up. I pick up my clothes and think about putting them on as quickly as possible, but he has other ideas. "Stand still," he barks at me. "Drop them," he points at my clothes.
"Please," I say, "I just want to go home," but his sharp voice makes me drop my bundle.
"I dug this out after your last visit," he says and a bright flash blinds me.
"What?" I sputter.
He is working on the thing he is holding and paper bits fall to the floor.
"There you are, girlie," he says holding up the developed picture for me to see.
"Oh no, please," I say, when I realise what he has done. The picture shows me from my knees to well above my head, of course totally naked.
"Not got you all in," he smirks at my discomfort and I'm blinded by a second flash.
"That's better," he says, "got you all in this time. You can get dressed now, girlie, but you can come again tomorrow," he laughs at his own pun.
I quickly put on my shorts and top. Carrying my denim bikini, I run all the way home. Once again I seek solace in the hot waters of my bath. My mind is in turmoil. How come he can exercise such control over me, especially when I find him so disgusting?
"Oh shit," I say. I even forgot my bike again in my haste to leave; plus now he has a picture of me, naked. "Oh shit," I say again. The thought of him showing it to his friends brings a familiar tingle between my thighs. Before too long the water is splashing on the bathroom floor again.
What am I going to do now? I still want my bike back, but not at the expense of being molested again. The trouble is that every time I think about him and what he did to me, I get this tingle between my thighs. I stay at home for two days, trying not to think about it, but eventually I find myself outside the door of his workshop; I know he's on the other side of the door for I can hear him working. I watch my hand reach out and pull the handle towards me. He looks up from his workbench and sees me.
"Took your time, girlie," he smiles at me, picking up a rag and wiping his hands. "Come in, now you're here," he says.
My traitorous feet move me into the dark interior of my private hell.
"I've just come for my bike," I stutter.
"Sure girlie, it's there," he points.
"Thanks," I say, moving towards it.
"You can stay for a bit," he chuckles, "if you want."
"No please, I must go," I say, but I can feel him right behind me. His hand moves to cup my bust and I can feel his hardness up against my bum. "No please," I beg. I am breathless and the tingle is back between my legs. Both his hands are now undoing my buttons and then he roughly pulls my top off. "No," I say. He takes no notice and carries on stripping me. My bra is next, followed by my skirt and knickers.
"There, that's better," he says, his hands roaming over my naked body.
"Please don't hurt me," I whisper.
"I ain't going to hurt you girlie," he says in my ear. "The only screaming you'll be doing, is out of pleasure."
"Please," I say.
I'm not sure if I mean yes or no. His hands are now working between my legs and on my boobs.
"Open wider," he demands, "...yeah, that's right," as I spread my thighs a little more. His fingers are inside my pussy now, igniting the fire down there. His hands on my boobs and the hardness on my bum also enflame my senses. "Come for me girlie," he whispers in my ear.
Arching my back I come with a loud cry.
"Now it's my turn," he says, picking me up and depositing me on his workbench. He spreads my legs wide as he moves between them.
"Oh no please, I've never," I start to say. He unzips himself and positions his hardness at the entrance of my pussy. "Oh no, please don't. I'll do anything else, please," I beg.
"Anything?" he says looking straight at me. I just nod. "Okay girlie, 'anything' means anything, except sticking my cock into your cunt, right?" Again I nod. "Okay girlie, but I'm telling you now, it'll be better for you if I just fuck you now and get it over with."
"Please no," I say.
"Okay, on your knees then." He moves from between my legs and gives me room to jump off the bench and onto my knees in front of him. "Open wide," he says with a chuckle. "Right girlie, now suck me."
His hardness goes deep inside my mouth, almost making me gag. His hand goes behind my head, stopping me from moving my head back too far. His hips thrust back and forth, moving his hardness in and out of my mouth, until he finally pushes it in fully and I can feel him gush, making me gag again.
"Swallow it girlie," he laughs, so I try.
"In your honour, I spent some of my money on this," he says, picking up a strange object. He puts it up to his eyes and it flashes. "This is one of the best Polaroid cameras they do, just so I can record that body of yours in all its perfection," he laughs. The picture popped out of the front.
"Now, as part of this 'anything' you are going to do for me, I want you to pose for me, OK?"
I just nod, a new tingle starting between my thighs.
"Come on girlie, open wider," he says, aiming the camera between my thighs. The last few shots, I have been laid on the floor with my legs open, while he photographs me. "Okay, now use you fingers," he says. The fire between my thighs is growing. Before too long, I make myself come. The flashes tell me he has recorded my orgasm on film.
I feel his weight on me and I panic. I think he's going to put his thing in me, but no, it comes to rest between my boobs.
"Squeeze them for me girlie," he says.
After a few thrusts, I feel him spurt all over me. I get up and dress, well aware he is watching me.
"I'll see you tomorrow, OK?" he says as I wheel my bike out of the door.
I just nod, knowing that I must do anything he asks. When I look back he is looking at the pile of pictures he has taken of me and I know that the bathroom floor is going to get wet again.
THE END
