A Game of Dress-up

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."