His laugh was caustic and directed at my embarrassing in-experience. As his hand brushed higher on my inner thigh, I sunk lower into the plush leather of his passenger seat. "A virgin?" he said beneath his breath as his inquiring digits pressed into my untouched hole as if checking to lend validity to the fact that nothing had ever entered. I squirmed beneath the uncomfortable pressure of the protruding digits and brought forth a laugh from him again. "Well, I suppose you are the first virgin slut I've encountered. We'll just have to fix that, won't we?"
I shook my head. Dark locks, preciously manicured for perfection, obscured my vision. His hand was still between my legs, pushing up the silk crepe of my newly bought red dress into a dimple at my woman hood. As I spoke, my voice quivered. "I always thought.. Thought I'd wait until marriage." He laughed.
I'd met him just a week ago on a night out with my friends. A fresh new fake ID ensured that I could gain access to whatever club and whatever alcohol I wanted despite my three year shortfall from 21. He was sweet, and bought my drinks. He wined and dined me from the first night, all thirty-five years of him. We had exchanged telephone numbers, and for the entirety of a week he was silent and out of my mind. Unexpectedly, last night he called and invited me for dinner at his place. I graciously accepted.
I had spent all day getting ready. I borrowed the most ideal dress from a close friend, it was red silk crepe that fell asymmetrically from my upper thigh to my knee. It was low cut at the top with only thin straps holding it, exposing my modest cleavage and a small show of nipples since I did not wear anything beneath it. The red brought out the best of my naturally bronzed skin color and the dark mahogany of my hair that fell to the middle of my delicate back.
Silence fell over the car for the last of the remaining journey as my modest hand protested against his intrusion of my unhampered parts, pushing it back. The quiet was terse and awkward as we pulled up the majestic drive of his home. He made no more mention of the conversation as he served me a glass of red wine and dinner. But as I was about to sit, he pressed his body close in behind me.
His hands dominated my form, sliding from behind around my center and then up to my ample bosom. I could feel the roughness of his unshaved chin as it brushed against my neck, his lips leaving a trail of wetness on the skin. The dress, delicate, rose and fell with the whims of his hands. His hands were rough, callused, and large. I knew he could wrap the both around my waist, he was so much larger than I. They dove beneath the soft fabric of my dress and unsheathed my breast from the dress. Instantly, from the chill of the air and the steady, but foreign excitement, my nipple was a hard nub. His breath was hot on my skin as he laughed. "See, little slut, you like what I'm doing. You're excited."
I shook my head and tried to move back, but his hands pressed me into his overpowering body. Admittedly, a strange pulsing between my legs, unlike anything I had ever felt, began. I wiggled trying to prevent it. His large fingers enclosed around one of my nipples, rubbing it back and forth and then squeezing with such pressure that I gasped and cried out. He continued to squeeze, but one arm closed around my neck as he whispered into my ear, "Listen, whore. I'm going to fuck that pussy. You can make this easy and nice for yourself, and play along.. Or I'll do it by force. Either way.. " He didn't need to finish the sentence- his hand that had been torturing my nipple descended to grab hold of my mound.
