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Suzy's Story - 2
by AnnaB (anna33bukowsky@gmail.com)
***
Suzy's story continues, she finds a girl on her own and
plans for future fun! (Ff, ped, nc, rp, v)
***
Part III
Inside I paced my flat like a caged animal (a predator,
naturally) and started to have some very dark thoughts.
I wanted to get a girl on my own, a girl with no
'history' of being abused before, or with no sense of
being 'institutionalised', or being abandoned by
society; I was going to get me a genuine virgin (well,
mentally at least, even back then it was generally known
that teenage girls could be pretty promiscuous if they
wanted to be.)
Finally, about 4 in the morning I fell asleep, but by
then I had the broad outline of my plan and I knew I
would execute it within a few days. Looking back now I
realise that the ease with which I'd abused the 8 year
old girl had blinded me to the inherent dangers involved
in any sort of criminal act – let alone sexual assault –
and all I could see was my target; accordingly I wasn't
as careful as I had been before and always was
afterwards.
The next day, Saturday, I woke about noon and started to
make some preparations. I popped out for about an hour
and headed for a few charity shops I knew of in search
of a blonde wig to hide my raven black hair. I found one
and it just about fitted; sure in the mirror I looked
stupid but that wasn't the real point. I laughed at how
badly it fitted with the elderly woman behind the
counter, telling her it was for a fancy dress party and
so the fit didn't matter (I knew I could get it to fit
better for my big plan).
On the Sunday I considered how I'd over-power my prey; I
settled on a trusty knife but knew it would have to be
one I could carry in my hand-bag (the large carving
knife I'd used to terrorise little Emma in London was
too large to use) so I spent most of Sunday afternoon
sharpening a small cutting knife of about 6 inches
length. By the time I was finished it was razor sharp
and anyone against whose throat I pressed it would know
immediately that they were one little bit of pressure
from death.
Next I turned my thoughts to where I was going to find
my victim; I didn't think it would be wise to strike in
my home city of Cardiff, instead I turned my lustful
thoughts to Swansea a short distance further west. The
plan was coming together perfectly; on Monday afternoon
I would drive to Swansea, pick a school-girl on her way
home, seize her, brutalise her and force her to become
my sex-toy for as long as I wanted. I slept very badly
that night; I couldn't stop rubbing my pussy both in
memory of my domination of the young girl on Friday, and
also in anticipation of the abuse I was going to inflict
on some unsuspecting girl tomorrow.
The next day I was very restless with anticipation; I
decided to arrive about mid-day reasoning that I'd
either see a girl on her lunch-break or (even better)
one playing truant – she'd be more likely to be on her
own and more easily subdued (she could even be
blackmailed into acquiescence.).
The only draw-back to my plan I knew of at the time was
that I didn't really know Swansea very well and so
couldn't stray too far from the city centre as I would
probably need to get out in a hurry. I pondered this
problem for a while before deciding luck would carry the
day; looking back now I realise that the sexual
excitement of abusing the young twins a few days before
had made me reckless to a very dangerous degree.
I left the house with my knife and blonde wig hidden in
my hand-bag (I didn't want anyone seeing me wearing it
who might start wondering what I was doing, etc), half-
way between Cardiff and Swansea I pulled off the road
and fitted my blonde wig, after a bit of tugging and
pushing I got it to fit pretty well. I took a long look
at myself in the mirror and decided I was quite
unrecognisable from myself. I felt a thrill surge
through me; this was going to be easy.
I drove the rest of the way into the city and after a
bit of a search found a shopping centre with a multi-
storey care park attached; parked up and went in search
of my prey.
After about half an hour of fruitless walking around I
decided I needed a re-think and went for a coffee in a
fast-food bar that fronted right onto the main shopping
area. I sipped my drink with hands trembling in lustful
anticipation and waited like a spider for my fly.
20 or so minutes passed and I was just debating whether
to go for a second cup of really undrinkable coffee when
she came into sight. I knew from the second I saw her
that she was the one; she was about 14 or so, long dark
hair and a slim just-this-side-of-childhood body.
She was wearing her school uniform of navy-blue jumper
over a white blouse and a black, shortish, pleated skirt
which ended quite a few inches above her knees. I
glanced at my watch; it was nearly 2.30. She should have
been in school and the fact she wasn't told me she was
playing truant. This, I told myself, was going to be a
piece of cake.
I checked in my bag for my knife and moved it discretely
to the top, then left the café and started to trail
along behind her; this prolonged hunt gave me plenty of
opportunity to take in everything about her; the way she
walked – not quite a full-grown adult sway of the hips,
but way beyond the way children move, the way she'd
sometimes throw her head back to sweep her long hair out
of her face and also the almost furtive way she glanced
around as if to make sure no-one from her school was
about to catch her. (I thought then that if you want not
to be seen by someone from your school then don't wear
the uniform, but I was hardly going to point that out to
her.)
The number of people in the shopping centre worked in my
favour in one way in that I was able to get pretty close
to her a few times before dropping back to avoid
suspicion, but the crowd also worked against me in that
unless she left the main shopping area I couldn't see
how I could get to her.
I contented myself with shadowing her, pausing when she
paused, moving on when she moved on. At one point she
went into a clothes shop and I pretended to do a bit of
window shopping while keeping her under observation. To
my delight she spent some time browsing the lingerie
section, taking some of the lacy underwear off the racks
and holding it up to examine it.
I felt my pussy tingle as I pictured her on my bed her
hands cuffed behind her and her ankles loosely tied,
imagining the thrill of kneeling over her, relishing the
terror in her eyes, her throat making strange gurgling
noises behind the gag I'd made from her own school-tie
as my hands began to run up her bare legs, slipping
under her short, school skirt, sliding inch by inch up
her firm thighs before my fingers touched the saucy,
lacy underwear she was currently gazing at as if in
silent rapture.
In my fantasy my other hand would press against her
thin, white school blouse, squeezing the lacy, wired
half cup of her matching bra. My fingers would slip
between the buttons of her shirt and pull it open,
buttons popping in all directions as she screamed in
muffled terror before I lowered my lips and teeth onto
the exposed flesh of her breast.
I was so lost in this dark fantasy that I suddenly
noticed she was no longer in site, I stared around
rapidly and realised she was only a few feet away in the
shop entrance; my unexpected movement startled her and
our eyes met, I smiled at her almost guiltily although
she couldn't have possible known that and she smiled
back politely.
For a brief second I thought the age old molester's
thought that she must have read my mind and wanted me to
do these things to her. Fortunately reality kicked in
immediately and I knew she had no idea of my plans.
Momentarily non-plussed I watched her walk away without
a backward glance. "Damn" I cursed inwardly. If she saw
me following her now the alarm bells would go off in her
head immediately. I stood and stared longingly after her
until she suddenly turned off the main hall-way towards
the doors marked "Toilets." This was it, I was going to
take her in there.
I moved swiftly after her; I had to time my 'run' really
well – if she saw me coming after her as she looked back
going through the door (as people do) her suspicions
would be raised. But if left too long a gap she'd be
locked inside the cubicle before I arrived.
As it turned out she didn't look back, just let the door
close so I quickened my step and arrived at the entrance
a matter of seconds after her. I felt for my knife in my
bag and grasped its firm, solid handle. It never once
occurred to me that there'd be anyone else in the
toilet; I guess I was just trusting to my luck yet
again, never once did it occur to me that I was
confusing luck with sheer recklessness.
My breathing was short and shallow now (as it always was
and is in these situations), my body was 'alive' in a
way that people who just live hum-drum lives never
experience, my pussy was already tingling. I saw her
just entering one of the cubicles, there was no one else
in the place. She was mine.
Just as she was closing the door I charged my shoulder
against it, knocking her backwards so she stumbled
against the toilet bowl and gave a startled yelp of
surprise as I forced my way inside the narrow cubicle,
kicking the door shut with my leg as I did so and
pushing myself over her unbalanced body, one hand over
her mouth the other holding the knife directly against
her throat.
My eyes, (under my blonde wig), blazed a real threat of
violence as I told her that if she kept quiet I wouldn't
hurt her. I emphasised the implication behind these last
words by pressing the knife even harder against the pale
skin of her throat.
She was literally rigid with shock; only the terrified
movement of her eyes showed any sign of life despite the
unnatural position of her body half fallen against the
back wall of the confined space. I asked her if she
understood and she came back to life as she nodded a
frenzied agreement.
This was bliss, in only a matter of seconds I'd caught
my prey and wrapped it in a web of terror. I reached
behind me and drew the lock into the 'shut' position,
then pulled my victim fully upright. As she was drawn
close to me I inhaled her perfume, it was cheap but
because of the situation it was intoxicating and I
couldn't stop myself burying my face in her neck and
hair and inhaling the scent.
I kissed her neck through her hair, and felt the blade
of the knife rub against my chin; I could also feel her
gulping in fear as she felt my lips on her flesh for the
first time. As ever the girl's evident fear (and
helplessness) connected directly to my pussy and I could
feel real dampness down there.
The naturally cramped dimensions of the cubicle were
becoming a real turn-on for me (although it was pretty
dingy I had to admit) as I was pressed right against the
girl all the time; every time either of us moved we
rubbed and pressed against the other; I clamped my
thighs around one of her legs and rapidly rubbed my
crotch against it.
My wet panties slid against her bare flesh and the feel
of my juices on her leg made her struggle and for a
moment I thought she was going to scream, so I covered
her mouth with one hand, pressed the flat blade of the
knife against her throat again and whispered (well, more
like, panted) in her ear.
"Shhhss, shhhsss, don't scream, I'll only hurt you if
you do. Just let me do what I want and it'll soon be
over." I took my hand from her mouth and she gulped at
the air; she was starting to sob now and she tried to
talk, but her weeping made every word almost into a
paragraph.
"Please," ... "Please!" ... "Don't hurt me!" ... "I
won't scream!" ... "Please, let me go!"
Each word was separated by terrified sobs. And as she
shook in fear, I nuzzled my face into her hair and neck
again, lost in my own perverted fantasies I muttered "So
sexy, such a sexy little girl" as I kissed her neck and
face. Keeping the knife at her throat with one hand I
ran my free hand down to her legs and squeezed them;
Oh God, there are few things as sexy as the feel of a
gorgeous teenage girl's bare legs; they are so firm and
toned, not an ounce of fat, or rough skin, just beauty,
pure and simple. (In later years, when I had my whole
set-up perfected, and I could keep my girls for as long
as I wanted I would sometimes spend ages just kissing
their thighs and rubbing my face against them; kissing,
licking and then biting their firm, young flesh just to
hear their screams.)
I forced my hand up her smooth, firm, struggling thigh,
not because she was resisting me that much but simply
because of the huge sexual thrill it gave me to feel a
captive girl's flesh under my touch, knowing that she
was hating every second of my unwanted abuse. When my
fingers reached the elastic ridge of her knickers I
came.
I was that aroused that I actually orgasmed as my
fingers went from the smooth skin of a 13 year old girl
onto the cotton of her panties and felt their way under
the tight hem of them, my fingers were then pressed
further into her flesh by her own panties. It was
heaven.
I pulled my hand out briefly but only so I could slip it
inside her knickers again from the top as it were so I
could grope and fondle her bottom; she moaned in
discomfort as my nails dug sharply into her buttocks
before I forced my hand down between her legs and my
fingers played with her pussy lips.
Correctly guessing that she was subdued now I put the
knife on top of the toilet cistern and started to pull
her jumper up to expose her blouse; I squeezed her small
breasts through the thin white material while the
fingers of my other hand now began to probe between her
pussy lips, forcing them apart and violating her.
I pulled her blouse out of her skirt and slipped my hand
under it and mauled her breasts through the cups of her
bra. I was almost giddy with the feel of it all and
began to rub my pussy up and down her leg to bring
myself off. She let out a small yelp of fear but I
didn't care. She was mine now.
Suddenly my heart missed a beat; there was an almighty
banging on the cubicle door, and I heard a woman
shouting.
"What's going on in there, what are you doing?"
I felt my blood turn to ice; I let go of the girl's
gorgeous breasts and groped for the knife on top if the
cistern. I glared at the girl and pressed the cutting
edge of the blade against her throat and my face told
her "Make one sound and you are dead."
The woman banged on the door again. "Open this door,
who's in there? If you don't open the door I'll call the
police."
I breathed a slight sigh of relief; at least it wasn't
the Police. But even so, I realised, my situation was
extremely dangerous.
"Stop banging the door, I'm on the loo." I decided to
try and bluff my way out.
"You've got someone in there with you, now open the
door."
I knew I had to take drastic action. "There's no one in
here, but if it'll make you happy I'll open the door.
Just let me pull my knickers up."
I gave one more threatening stare to my unfortunately
reprieved captive which promised extreme reaction if she
did anything silly, and slid the bolt back on the door.
Cautiously I opened the door and peered round, trying to
hide the terrified schoolgirl behind me. The woman was
about my size but twice my age, I relaxed a bit as a
consequence.
"See?" I told her, trying to sound annoyed rather than
scared. "There's no one else here."
She eyed me warily and tried to push the door open
wider; as she peered around me she took her eyes off me
momentarily. It was now or never.
I punched her hard in the face; stunned she staggered
back unsteadily. I rushed after her and shoved her hard
with both hands on her shoulder. She fell backwards and
her head hit the wall with what can only be described as
a sickening thud. The light in her eyes went out and she
slumped down onto the floor. She was out cold (at the
time I even thought I had killed her.)
The girl in the cubicle gave an involuntary short scream
of shock, I spun round and took giant steps towards her,
she cowered against the back wall of the toilet clearly
thinking I was about to do the same to her.
Instead I rifled through her school bag until I found
her purse; a quick check in it told me what I wanted to
know.
I waved the purse at her. "Right, Wendy." I now had her
name and address. "I know where you live now, you tell
anyone about this, if I see one word in the papers, I
will track you down and kill you. Understand?"
She had seen how violent I could be so she'd have no
reason to doubt my threat, and she nodded in dumb,
terrified agreement.
But I was still in extreme danger here; there was an
unconscious woman on one side of the room and a freshly
molested schoolgirl on the other. It was time to go and
fast. I ran to the door of the toilets, pulled it open
and walked quickly, but not so quick as to draw
attention, into the shopping centre.
I took the most direct route back to my car, took one
look around to make sure I was unobserved and removed my
blonde wig realising that at any minute the Police might
start looking for a blonde woman.
I was still shaking with fear, so much so that when I
came to pay at the exit of the multi-storey I found it
very hard to steady my hand enough to put the coins in
the machine.
As I drove away from the shopping centre I passed an
ambulance going full pelt with all its lights flashing
in the opposite direction. My stomach knotted in fear;
it looked like the interfering woman had been
discovered. It would only be a matter of time before the
police were out looking for me.
I headed out of Swansea towards Cardiff, but halfway
there I had to turn off the main road; I drove up into
the hills, parked up in a lay-by and was violently sick.
I walked about a bit feeling the cold air refresh me. I
started to think a bit more clearly now.
I threw the wig into the river that ran alongside the
road, then I cursed myself for taking the girl's purse;
if any police stopped me and found it the game would be
up regardless of the fact I wasn't blonde. I had no real
intention of going looking for her, that had just been
said as a threat, at that moment I had no real intention
of abusing another girl ever, so I took all identifying
papers out of the purse and ripped them to pieces and
scattered them into the fast-flowing, dark water then
threw the purse in after them.
The journey back to Cardiff was a nightmare; every time
I saw a police car I thought I was finished, but they
all just passed me by. I was a nervous wreck by the time
I got to my flat and just curled up on the bed awaiting
the inevitable knock on the door. I knew I would almost
certainly go to jail for what I'd done today, and I knew
well enough of the treatment sex-offenders got in
prison. Filled with self-pity I burst into tears. The
hunter had become the hunted.
Self-pity is the most destructive emotion because it
stops you doing anything; you can even turn hate into
something, but self-pity is like a paralysing poison.
But for the rest of that day I was laid-low by it. Only
slowly did I escape its grip, once I had though my mind
began racing with ideas; the main one was that I needed
to get away for a few days.
Somehow I managed to get some sleep, though not very
much, I looked at myself in the mirror the next morning
and hardly recognised the drawn, haggard face staring
back at me. I looked at the knuckles on my right hand
and noticed the bruises from the punch I'd administered.
Yes, I thought, I needed to get away.
First thing I did, though, was get my hands on a copy of
the Western Mail to see if there was any news. It took a
bit of finding but tucked away on page 7 was a report of
a woman found unconscious in a toilet in a Swansea
shopping centre, police were baffled as to the motive of
the attack having ruled out robbery and would have to
wait for the woman to regain consciousness so they could
interview her.
This was good for me in that there was no mention of a
mystery blonde, but bad in that she would come out of
her coma at some point.
Best of all, of course, was no mention of a sexual
assault on a schoolgirl; was this because the police
were keeping it quiet, or had she listened to my threat
and just run away before any one else came along. I
thought about it for a minute or two and decided that
the latter was more likely, perhaps my luck was
returning.
But regardless of these events, I felt so emotionally
drained that I had get away for a few days, the question
was where to?
I knew of a company that rented holiday cottages
throughout Wales and went to pay them a visit as soon as
they opened, explained I needed a few days away and did
they have anywhere suitable. They recommended a little
cottage in the hills: it sounded perfect so I took it at
once.
I got back to my place, packed a few clothes and raced
off to the solitude of the hills; less than 24 hours
after the worst moment of my life I was going into
hiding. Best of all, I thought, my mind was working
again.
I had said I wanted somewhere isolated and they hadn't
disappointed, the cottage was at the end of a half-mile
long track which was 2 miles outside the nearest
village. I could hole up here and virtually no-one would
know where I was. It was perfect.
That night I sat in the lounge with a large glass of
wine in front of a roaring log fire and reflected on
what had gone so disastrously wrong.
Clearly, the sexual euphoria caused by abusing the
little twins had made me almost suicidal reckless and
I'd forgotten all I'd ever thought about being careful.
I'd gone after a girl in broad daylight in a public
place and very nearly paid the penalty (and I still
could, I realised.)
Even more stupid, I thought, was that I'd risked it all
for a sexual thrill that could last only a matter of
minutes even if I hadn't been interrupted; with all the
luck in the world I could never had done to the girl
everything that I wanted to. For that to happen I'd have
to get the girl to a place of my own choosing, a place
where I could make her scream all I wanted to and where
I wouldn't be disturbed.
Suddenly it struck me: somewhere like here. If I could
find a way to get a young girl here I could do what I
wanted to her for as long as I wanted, even for days. My
pussy tingled almost in approval of this idea. The only
question was where I could find my victim, at that point
in my life I wasn't ready to kidnap a girl in the
conventional sense (although on reflection I had sort of
kidnapped the girl in London) so I'd have to turn to the
only person who was able to provide a regular supply of
girls to be abused: Ruth.
I took another sip on my wine and leant back on the sofa
and turned my mind to the only problem with the girls in
Ruth's care: how to stop them telling people what had
happened to them? And with what I had in mind for them
they would almost certainly go to the police, and the
trail would lead first to Ruth and then probably to me.
It was the crux of the whole issue. Even if I went
beyond the ultimate taboo and silenced the girl for ever
it would leave Ruth in a dreadful position of having to
explain to various concerned parties where the girl had
gone.
No matter how long I pondered this question I just
couldn't come up with an answer and eventually the
combination of the stress of the previous day, the best
part of a bottle of wine and the comforting heat of a
real fire lulled me into a deep sleep.
It would be nice to be able to say that I found the
solution in my dreams but no such luck; the next morning
all I had was a slightly sore head but no answer. I knew
I'd have to ask Ruth if she had any solutions. I drove
into the village and phoned her, pleading with her to
come out and visit me, telling her I had a real problem
and she was the only person I could turn to.
Inconvenient though the trip would be, Ruth agreed to
come out that evening and I spent a long time telling
her how to find me in the dark wilds of the Welsh hills
at night (this was in the days before mobile phones made
getting lost no big deal.). On the way back to the
cottage I stopped off at the village shop to get a
newspaper and a couple more bottles of wine; I guessed
that Ruth would take some persuading to agree with my
ideas.
That afternoon I scanned the paper to see if there was
any update on my debacle in Swansea but there was
nothing new; not that it mattered to me now, I was
fairly sure the girl would keep quiet and even if the
interfering busy-body ever woke up from her coma what
was there to link her to me? I felt no regret about what
had happened to the woman; the only emotion I felt was
fear, but that was starting to dissipate now. My self-
confidence had returned, and it was stronger than ever.
About 8 in the evening a knock at the door announced
Ruth's arrival; I'd prepared a meal for her and we ate
it while we chatted as if I calling her out to an
isolated cottage in the middle of nowhere was as normal
as making a cup of coffee. I kept topping her glass up;
I think she knew what I was doing but appeared happy to
go along with it.
Finally she asked the question. "So, Suze, what's your
problem? I hope you're not having regrets about our
little fun with the twins the other night?"
I laughed softly, "Far from it, to be honest I enjoyed
it almost too much."
Then it all poured out of me, I told her about my trip
to London to buy various toys, my rape of the homeless
girl in the hotel, my disaster in Swansea and the woman
left in a coma. She listened without comment until I'd
finished, then shrugged.
"Really, Suze, I had you down as smarter than to just to
molest a girl in a public toilet." Her voice had a
mocking edge to it, but I could hardly defend myself; I
knew how stupid I'd been. "Still, at least that
interfering bitch got hers. But aren't the girls at the
Home enough for you?"
"But that's the thing, Ruth, it's hard to explain, but I
want to do things to them that I can't in your flat, I
want to hurt them so much that they scream, and that
can't be done there, so I was thinking.."
Ruth leant forward slightly. "Thinking what exactly?" I
sensed she knew the way my idea was going.
"Well, I thought that if we could get one of your girls
out somewhere like here, we could be as brutal as we
liked to them, and no-one would hear anything except
us."
"That's no problem, Suze, all you had to do was ask and
I'd have brought a girl along tonight." She laughed as
she said this, almost relieved that this was all I was
asking for.
I shook my head. "Not that simple, I'm worried that at
some point one of the girls at the Home will blab to
someone and we'd all get arrested. I want to really hurt
the little things and the chance they might go to the
police or anyone is too much of a risk."
Ruth's eyes narrowed. "That's a bit rich, coming from
someone who molested a girl in broad daylight, in a
toilet in a busy shopping centre."
I'd been half expecting that accusation and I sort of
cringed backwards into my chair "God, don't think I
don't know that. But that's what made me think all the
more about the safety angle. Don't tell me you haven't
wanted to really hurt the little darlings? That you've
never wanted to hear them scream without worrying about
the consequences?"
This seemed to hit home, and I suspected I was pushing
at an open door. She looked pensively at me. "Go on."
"Well, I was sort of hoping you could find a way of
getting a girl who won't be missed, one that we can
abuse to our hearts content here for several days and
then won't have the chance to go to the police or
anyone?"
Now it was her turn to sit back in her chair. "How do
you expect me to just 'lose' a girl? And where do you
think I'm supposed to take her afterwards? We just say
'Well, we've fucked you, tortured you and used you as
our toy for 4 days now, but no hard feelings, eh?' I
mean, a bit of tongue and groove is one thing, but the
abuse you seem to have planned puts it on a whole
different level."
It was exactly the problem I'd wrestled with the night
before and I didn't have an answer to it. I shook my
head.
"Yeah, I know. It's just a shame that I've discovered
this place which would be ideal to really abuse the
little ones and I can't work out how to get it sorted.
Look, ok, I'm sorry to drag you all this way just for
you to tell me exactly what I thought last night, but I
didn't know what else to do, and I do appreciate the
fact you came all this way at the drop of a hat."
She leant back in her chair again, but this time in a
slightly more relaxed way, sipping her wine. "Look,
leave it with me. I'll see if I can think of anything."
She smiled indulgently at me. "I think I've had too much
to drive, any chance I can crash her tonight?"
I smiled back. "Sure hon, we'll have to snuggle up
though, there is only one bed."
Her eyebrows fluttered as she drained her glass. "Sounds
delightful."
We carried on talking the problem through as we lay in
bed. Ruth suggested kidnapping a girl and for a moment I
really considered it, before regretfully concluding it
was a non-starter.
"That is a tempting idea, Ruth, but I'm not sure I could
pull it off, besides, what if, after I book this place
for a weekend, we don't find an available target?"
"What about a paper-girl? They're always about nice and
early, I've had some very wild fantasies about them."
"Aren't there a lot of people going to work in the
mornings though?"
"Not if you chose the right area, plus the dark mornings
are coming."
It was tempting, as she said, but I wasn't ready to do
anything that adventurous yet – I think the incident in
Swansea had knocked my daring quite a bit – but Ruth had
planted a seed in my mind and, over the next few months,
like her, I started to have dark thoughts about
kidnapping a paper-girl of about 12 or 13, to hold her
struggling body hard against me as I covered her mouth
with a chloroformed rag before tying her wrists and
ankles, pressing some tape over her mouth, and locking
in the boot of my car.
Then disappearing into the darkness with my prize,
getting her home and carrying her unconscious little
body upstairs to my bedroom, undressing her and kissing
her naked skin, pressing my face against her smooth,
pale young flesh. Showing her a tenderness which would
vanish the second she woke up.
"Nah, it's still too much of a gamble," I sadly
concluded, yawning deeply as fatigue and wine started to
catch up with me. Almost instinctively my hand went to
stroke her hair and caress her cheek. "Besides, if I
kidnapped a girl to be abused for a few days only to be
let go again at the end of it, either we'd have to wear
masks the whole time, or she'd have to be blindfolded
and I don't want to wear a stupid bag on my head all
weekend and I really want to see the terror in her
eyes."
Ruth grasped my hand and, bringing it to her lips,
kissed it lightly. Her eyes didn't meet mine as she
spoke.
"You know what you're implying, Suze, don't you?"
I did but I didn't. Instead I just shrugged.
"I don't know, Ruth, I'm just so fucking turned on by
what we could do here, and I can't see what I can do
about it. I do understand what you say about the girls
in your Home, and I know how just grabbing a girl at
random, with all the crap of a police hunt, and all that
will make what happened in that toilet in Swansea look
like a parking ticket. I just feel so frustrated I could
cry."
I knew I was sounding like a petulant child stamping
their feet but I was really that wound-up; I'd found the
perfect scenario but there was no way of making it
happen.
Ruth propped herself up on her elbow and eased me down
onto my back, she lifted her leg so that it covered both
of mine and I could feel the juices of her (clearly
turned on) pussy rub on one of my thighs as she spread
her legs. (But whether she was turned on by me or the
scenario we were discussing I couldn't tell)
Her face was now inches from mine and I felt one of her
manicured nails pushing my chin up so my mouth was
touching hers.
"Shhhh, Suze, baby, don't worry. I've told you I'll see
what I can do."
Her lips pressed against mine, and as our tongues met
she slowly rubbed her pussy against my thigh just to
make me settle.
We slept together that night, but although we were both
naked and spent all night wrapped in each others arms we
didn't make love; I think we both knew that our real
desires were too dark and too depraved for sex with
someone as an equal.
The next morning, she was up early for the drive back to
Cardiff. Before she left she sat on the bed and stroked
my hand. "I'll do some thinking about what you said.
I'll call you at home if I think of anything." She leant
down and kissed my lips. "See you soon."
I heard her shut the front door of the cottage and my
eyes filled with tears; I thought I'd never hear from
her again; that my recklessness in with the girl in the
toilet had convinced her I was a bad risk, and that I'd
freaked her out with my almost insane ramblings.
I turned over, buried my face in a pillow and sobbed as
if my heart would break.
To be continued?
Hey I please let me know if you like it, I would
especially like to hear from any female readers out
there: anna33bukowsky@gmail.com
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not depicting anything in
real life. Anyone acting out such scenarios in "real
life" can look forward to many unproductive years
getting it up the butt by a fellow convict in their
local prison system.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 81