Mark
Mark Jackson was not a nice man. He was tall, ruggedly handsome, confident, brilliant and imposing, but he was not nice. Oh, he cultivated just enough polite charm to fake his way through most social situations. After all people were generally stupid, and even the bright ones seldom cared to look beneath the surface of a pleasant smile.
It's not as if he were an evil man, giving off the chilling vibes of a blossoming serial killer. He wasn't even a true sadist. Well... maybe he was that... just a little. For the most part, though, he was just a man who wanted exactly what he wanted, when and how he wanted it. And what he wanted more than anything was the perfect girl.
Women came easily to Mark. He was the picture of the ideal bachelor. He had looks and money. He was 6'2 and had the lean muscles of a runner, with light brown hair, and black eyes. He was still young, and at 35 he'd never been married. Women quite literally threw themselves at his feet.
Of course they did; most women were whores. So he let them crawl to him. He shoved his cock down their throats and kicked them off of him when he was done. If they came back for more, he gave it to them. Few came back more than twice. Those few usually thought they could change him, make him fall in love with them. But Mark had no interest in falling in love. What Mark wanted was perfection.
He just never thought he'd find it at Wal Mart. She was standing in the shoe section, and the first thing he noticed about her was her size. She was absolutely tiny, certainly no more than 5 feet tall, if that, and thin. She wore a shapeless sweater and baggy jeans, so 'thin' was all he could say for sure. But she had gorgeous long, copper-brown curls, huge green eyes, and full pouty lips. She had a pixie-like nose and just the barest sprinkling of freckles.
At first he thought she must be a child, 14 at the most, but after studying her a moment he guessed she could be as old as 20. In the end, he decided it hardly mattered.
It was the way she held herself that called to him. The way she kept her head bowed even when her eyes were looking at a high shelf. The way her shoulders were hunched in as if expecting a blow at any moment. The way her voice quaked and her hands trembled when she asked for help from the salesman. Everything about her screamed victim, and Mark knew he had to make her his.
He waited until she was done with the salesman, and had her shoebox in hand. He stepped in front of her, blocking the aisle. She gave a little yelp, a muttered "sorry" and moved to step around him, never once taking her eyes off the floor.
Mark side stepped, again blocking her way. She froze, trembling hands clutching her package, staring at her feet, clearly waiting for him to move past. Instead Mark took her chin in his hand and tilted her face up. Their eyes met for just the briefest second before she lowered hers. Mark felt his cock give a twitch of delight.
"What...what do you want?" she asked in a mousy whisper.
"Those are the wrong shoes," Mark said.
"Why..what do you mean?" she frowned.
"A woman's shoe should have at least a 4 inch heel. If you can't manage a four inch heel, you should be barefoot."
The girl glanced around nervously, but made no move to pull away from Mark's grip on her chin. "I..I didn't see anything that high."
"Well, you're not going to find anything appropriate here. How old are you, girl?" Mark hated having to ask, but he still couldn't tell, and if she were underage, he might need to adjust his game.
"Eighteen."
"Is that the truth?" Mark let go of her, and stepped back, eying her up and down. "Never lie to me."
"I'm not lying."
"Show me your driver's license. Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?"
"No. Um, I mean, neither," she blushed prettily as she dug in her baggy pockets and pulled out a card holder. She slid her license out and handed it to him. Allison Michaels, age 18. The address was some town he'd never heard of in Tennessee.
"I can understand why you wouldn't have someone. Honestly look at you." Mark chuckled. "Clothes, including shoes, should serve one of two purposes: enhance beauty or hide deformity. Are you hiding some kind of deformity under all that bulky shit?"
"No. Not...I'm not deformed."
"Then you should be wearing sexy clothes, or you should be naked. The shit you have on is just hiding your body from men who could be enjoying looking at you. How selfish are you?"
"I..I'm not..its just I'm not like that...I'm not... sexy. And besides, it's cold."
Mark put on a stern mask to hide his smile. By trying to justify herself to him, the girl was admitting Mark was in control. She all but belonged to him already.
"First of all, sexy means different things to different men. Your opinion of yourself is irrelevant. Second 'It's cold' is an excuse. I don't see how your comfort figures into things. Honestly, a selfish girl is the biggest turn off I can imagine. I spoke to you because I think you're pretty and I wanted to be helpful. I could see you're seriously lacking any kind of education regarding men, but I thought you seemed sweet. But you're starting to seem like a selfish little bitch."
So, test one. Would she act like any other girl and storm off or...
"I'm sorry," She bit her lip, obviously fighting back tears. "I didn't mean to sound...I mean, I'm not selfish. I..I didn't... I'm sorry." She finished with a whimper.
"Look, it's okay. Obviously you have a lot to learn, but I'm not mad. Give me your phone number. I'll call you and we can go out tomorrow night. That will give you 24 hours to try to find something decent to wear."
Mark took out his phone and quickly programed in her number as she nervously rattled it off. Then he turned and walked away. He never looked back, so he didn't see her place the shoebox back on the shelf.
Allie
Allie watched as the gorgeous stranger walked away. All in all, she figured that to be the most surreal encounter of her life. He was so commanding, so utterly sure of himself, and so beautiful she could hardly believe she'd had the courage to even answer his questions.
Talking to handsome men was not something she'd had much practice doing. Allie knew 'cute' was about the best that could be said about her looks, and her shyness was practically debilitating. In high school she'd been known as a geek, a bookworm, the shy girl who never spoke. She was a straight A student, but turned into a babbling idiot when called on in class.
She'd been asked out a few times, sure, by stammering boys as socially backward as she. They held no appeal at all for Allie, and somehow each time she'd managed to squeak out a polite "no thank you".
She'd been in college now, in this unfamiliar city, for all of 2 weeks. So far it felt little different from high school. She kept to herself, studied hard, and managed to be ignored by teachers and students alike. Even her party girl roommate with her endless stream of friends hardly acknowledged her existence.
So Allie didn't know what to make of the odd conversation she'd just had. He had mocked her clothes, called her a selfish bitch, sweet and pretty all in practically the same breath. He was so rude, and demanding. His whole demeanor was overwhelming.
And he'd asked her on a date. Her! Well, not so much asked as stated they would be going out. And he would be expecting her to dress.... sexy. Allie had a credit card her grandmother had given her for emergencies. Maybe her roommate could tell her where to shop for the right clothes, and shoes. Mustn't forget the shoes.
Mark
Mark called the next afternoon. He wasted no time on pleasantries.
"Is this Allison Michaels?"
"Yes, this is Allie," said the quiet little voice that had floated through his perverted dreams the night before.
"Hello, my little alley cat." He chuckled. "This is Mark Jackson. Be ready by seven. I'll pick you up. Where are you staying?"
"Crider House. Its a dorm on the Bryer University campus."
"I know the house. Be outside, at the end of the walk at seven sharp. I won't be kept waiting."
She was standing at the curb shivering when Mark pulled up in his classic 1960 T-bird. He leaned over and opened the passenger door.
"You look spectacular!" he said, and she did. She was wearing the classic little black dress, sleeveless, with a plunging neckline, the hem coming to mid thigh. Her breasts were only modest size, though larger than he'd expected with her tiny frame, a good b cup, he'd guess. She was bra less of course in that dress, and the cold night air had her nipples rock hard and straining against the thin black fabric.
Her hair was a mass of loose curls, her makeup just a touch of red lipstick. Her legs were bare and on her feet were a strappy pair of 5 inch stiletto heels. If not for her blushing cheeks and downcast eyes, Mark would never have believed this was the same girl. She carried a simple black clutch purse, but no jacket, he was pleased to note.
As she stepped up to the car, Mark noticed that she was really struggling in the unfamiliar heels. Each step was slow and deliberate. She was biting her lower lip, watching the ground ahead of her. The sway in her walk combined with her obvious discomfort shot a jolt of pleasure straight to Mark's cock.