Marianne 1

This story was written with Literotica's Fetish category in mind. If miniskirts aren't your thing... well, you may want to go back to 'search'. However, if you like wearing or watching sexy short skirts... this is for you.

RC

All characters are eighteen or older.

Hampshire, England, the present day.

Marianne felt herself jump as the gavel rapped smartly on the wooden lectern. The old auctioneer fixed on her, his deep brown eyes twinkling alarmingly beneath bushy white eyebrows,

'Yours, Miss," he motioned with the small wooden mallet.

Mine?

Marianne glanced at the squat ratty-looking woman to her left,

Yes, yours,

said the voice in her head. She suddenly felt a bit dizzy; then a light tap on her right shoulder, "Are you alright? - you're swaying."

Marianne swivelled sharply. "Yes... I... I'm fine, thank you," she answered meekly.

The well dressed middle-aged man studied the pretty teenager intently. "Sure?" His cultured accent carried an air of concern, "Can I get you a drink of water or something?"

Pushing her small fists into her blazer pockets, Marianne stared at the swirls of sawdust surrounding her shiny grey shoes, her bobbed black hair obscuring the soft pale features that men found so appealing. The lofty sharp-suited stranger was checking her out - she could feel his prying eyes scanning her willowy figure. The hem of her dark grey skirt hung a few inches above her knees: hardly provocative, but she wished she had chosen something less revealing. She sensed him looking at her slim white legs.

Paranoia - Stop it!

she told herself.

"Lot 27, Miss."

Marianne turned as the young porter brushed past her wheeling a squeaking dolly carrying the metal trunk that she had apparently bid on, and won.

You bought it,

whispered the voice.

Don't you remember?

The porter looked over his shoulder offering a toothy grin, "Foller me Miss, if yer would... I'll 'elp ya load it. You c'n pay fer it at the door."

*

It was dark by now and the warm evening air was a welcome change after the stuffy auction room. Surrounded by the tall forest trees, Marianne stared up at the stars as the old building emptied; chattering customers filed past, some clutching bizarre items of dubious worth.

"Where's yer car, Miss?" enquired the helpful young porter.

"Mm... well, I..." Marianne had chained her bicycle to a wire fence at the back of the building.

Marianne was okay with people she knew well, like her mother. And the woman at the village shop. It was just strangers that were a problem. At school she had made few friends, and job interviews were a nightmare.

I'll just

say

it

, she resolved, convincing neither herself or the voice in her head.

He seems nice... just

say

it... 'I'm sorry, I haven't got a car...'

"Miss?"

"I... I..." Marianne knew she was blushing.

"Everything alright?" enquired the man in the smart suit.

*

Marianne watched in silence as a pair of wild rabbits scurried across the headlights. In this part of the forest the winding roads were narrow and perilous and the man drove the silver Volvo estate with due caution. Marianne allowed herself a fleeting glance at the man beside her. He was slim and quite tall, his chiselled features reminiscent of a Liverpool footballer whose name she didn't know. Not bad looking though, if a little grey around the edges.

I know what he has in mind,

whispered the voice.

"Be quiet!" Marianne said out loud.

The man looked at her, then returned his attention to the road ahead. Fumbling in his jacket pocket, he produced a gold pack of Benson's, "Smoke?"

At that moment the driver hit the brakes hard, bringing the Volvo to a screeching halt as the metal trunk slid forward, thumping heavily into the front seats. The large deer, replete with magnificent hat rack, stared through the windscreen for a few moments then casually sauntered off into the undergrowth.

"Must be one of Henry's," commented the man, referring to the sixteenth century king who had introduced the buck's ancestors to the forest, then killed them for fun.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Marianne turned, and kneeling on her seat, pushed the trunk back to its original position. As she regained her seat, Marianne's skirt rode up, fully exposing her slender bare legs. The middle-aged man stared at her silky beige panties, and though she tried not to look, Marianne thought she saw him caressing his bulging crotch in the darkness.

*

Bending his knees, the man carefully placed the bulky metal trunk on the red living-room carpet and looked around. The secluded old cottage exuded a classic rural charm; dark oak beams supported a low ceiling, horse brasses adorned the fireplace and comfortable country-style furniture softened the room. Marianne stood by the open front door, fiddling nervously with her keys.

At the far end of the room, an oak dining table was set for two. Pulling out one of the crafted wooden chairs, the man seated himself and waved a finger at the metal trunk in the middle of the room,

"Where's it going to live?" he asked the girl.

Marianne stared vacantly at her purchase, turning the keys over in her small hands.

"Do you know what's inside?" the man enquired.

Marianne shook her head.

"So why did you buy a tr-"

"I can't leave it there." Marianne looked up at the man realising she had interrupted him. "Sorry."

He smiled, "Where shall we put it?"

The metal trunk had a leather handle on either end. As they picked it up, something soft shifted inside. Climbing backwards, Marianne led the way up the narrow staircase. The trunk wasn't so much heavy, as awkward.

"Please try to be quiet, Mum's in bed."

The man looked up at her and nodded.

How on earth did I end up with this old thing?

thought Marianne, bumping her knees on the rounded metal corners of the cumbersome footlocker.

Straightening his arms, the man lifted his end of the trunk above his head. "Better?" he whispered.

Much better!

thought the man. Marianne's legs were wide apart and her skirt had ridden high up her thighs. Beneath the trunk, he now had a perfect view of her beige panties.

I must be dreaming,

he thought.

Twice in half an hour!

A faint light showed beneath the first door they passed on the dark upstairs landing. A radio played quietly inside the room.

"She always sleeps with the radio on," whispered Marianne.

They manoeuvred the trunk into Marianne's bedroom: the small one at the back of the cottage that overlooked the garden. A bright half-moon lit the sparsely decorated room in silver-grey monotones, and they placed the trunk at the foot of her single bed.

The man stared at Marianne, half smiling. She suddenly felt very nervous and chill fingers ran up her spine sending a perceptible shiver through her small frame. The man reached behind his back, gently closing the bedroom door. The lock engaged with a quiet

click

.

I tried to warn you,

said the voice.

You weren't listening.

He stepped towards her. Marianne froze. Then his arms were around her, feeling her, pulling her body to his. She felt his hard bulge rubbing against her clothes, his erection flexing inside his trousers.

Now his hands were at her sides, pulling her skirt up, feeling up her bare legs. He was breathing loudly, panting like a dog; Marianne absently wondered if her mother could hear him. She heard herself squeal as a large hand slid down inside her silky panties, fingers probing, finding her slit. Marianne held his broad shoulders, steadying herself as he masturbated her.

She remembered her mothers' angry reprimand when years ago she had been caught doing it to herself

.

The man stepped back, franticly undoing his trousers. Marianne stared, vacantly observing as he released his long hard penis, pre-cum glistening at the tip.

Without warning, a switch flipped in her head and Marianne flew at the tall man, catching him unawares, sending him crashing to the bedroom floor. In a flash, she was through the door, running along the corridor, down the stairs.

*

"Is it this one?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Marianne backed herself against the fireplace, nodding.

The man slipped the small key off the ring and gently placed the bunch back on the dining room table.

"Look, I'm

so

sorry... I badly misread..." he paused. "Anyway, I'll have your bike back after work tomorrow."

With that, he turned and left, smiling apologetically over his shoulder as he closed the door quietly behind him.

*

As the silver Volvo pulled up in front of the cottage, the storm broke. Ominous grey clouds had been gathering all day, and the ensuing downpour was torrential.

Tapping two short blasts on the horn, the man peered through the rain-streaked windscreen. A curtain moved in an upstairs window;

Shit!

he thought,

Her bloody mother.

Less than a minute later, the front door was opened by a teenage girl with long blonde hair.

"That's not her mother!"

the man said quietly to himself, pleasantly surprised by the sight of the attractive young woman in the doorway.

"Hello?" the blonde called through the rain. "Are you here with Marianne's bicycle?"

The man nodded, reaching back over his seat and ringing the bicycle bell.

She beckoned him in and disappeared inside, leaving the front door ajar.

Grabbing the lock and chain from the passenger seat, the man made a dash for the cottage.

*

Directly overhead, a crash of thunder clapped noisily causing the man to spill some of his tea. Taking a clean white handkerchief from his jacket pocket, he mopped up the spilt liquid on the dining-room table. The blonde laughed.

"Marianne didn't tell me she had a sister," said the man, noting the physical resemblance.

"No, she wouldn't," replied the girl, smiling softly. "Marianne doesn't talk about me."

The man raised his eyebrows questioningly.

The girl leaned forward, her long blonde hair brushing the tabletop. She spoke in a hushed conspiratorial tone, "She told me about

you

, though."

The man's eyes strayed to the drooping top of her low-cut red dress. She wore no bra and he could see her small pert tits.

Smiling knowingly, the sexy blonde left the table and walked slowly towards the fireplace. With her forearm resting casually on the mantelpiece, she freshened her makeup in the mirror.

The man looked at her slim legs; her short red dress barely covered her panties. He squeezed his erection through his trousers. Closely inspecting her eyeliner in the mirror, the blonde leaned forward, showing her red knickers. The man wore no underwear, and holding his penis through the thin material, he jiggled his foreskin vigorously.

Returning to the table, the girl pulled a chair out next to the man, and sat directly facing him. She looked into his eyes,

"Do you like my legs?" she asked casually.

The man smiled.

"I saw you looking," the girl remarked nonchalantly. "I was watching you in the mirror."

She parted her legs slightly - just enough for the man to glimpse her red panties. He stared between her legs. The blonde was deliberately teasing him, and he

wanted

her to see him ogling her knickers.

"Do you like looking up girls' skirts?"

"I... ye-" He cleared his throat. "Yes... that's

exactly

what I like."

The girl giggled, "I bet when you're on a bus or a train, you sit opposite girls in short skirts... and you look at their panties."

Wearing a naughty smile, the girl slowly opened her legs in front of the man. He looked up her dress. Knowing that she was watching him, the man brazenly flexed his erection, tenting the front of his trousers for the girl to see.

She breathed in sharply, "Oh, you naughty man!" she exclaimed with feigned indignation, and began wriggling provocatively in her seat.

The man stared at the girls' red panties, now clearly accentuating her pussy slit, where a tiny wet patch had begun to form. Then she closed her legs.

Taking the bicycle chain from the table, the blonde knelt in front of the man. He watched passively as she passed the chain behind the chair leg, wrapping it tightly several times around his upper shin, fastening him securely to the robust wooden dining chair. The small padlock clicked shut.

The sexy girl stepped back admiring her work. "I won't be long," she assured him, and disappeared upstairs with the key.

The man evaluated his predicament. As well as passing the chain around the chair leg, the girl had looped it once around his own leg just below his knee, ensuring that he would be unable to slide free. The solid wooden crosspieces that held the legs in place prevented him from sliding the chair up and out of the chain. It would take a feat of strength to break-up the chair - possibly a hammer or an axe.

She was good - very good.

The man jumped as the stereo kicked into life. The music was loud. He instantly recognised the song -

I Touch Myself

by the Divinals.

The schoolgirl danced down the stairs, her long blonde hair flailing across her pretty face. She stood in front of the man, her legs apart, gyrating her narrow hips seductively. Her school uniform was full-on

St Trinian's

: navy-blue, with a white blouse, black hold-up stockings, and a pleated miniskirt so short that from his seated position, the man caught tantalising glimpses of her white cotton knickers as she danced for him.

Standing with her legs spread wide, the girl seductively lifted the front of her navy-blue pleated miniskirt. Bumping and grinding like a Burlesque dancer, she jerked her hips, rudely thrusting her white panties suggestively towards him. Holding her skirt up with both hands, she mouthed,

'Mas-tur-bate ... mas-tur-bate.'

His trousers were open in seconds, and he hurriedly pushed them down to his knees; his long penis stood proudly erect. Taking his stiff cock in his hand, the man masturbated to the horny schoolgirl. Still holding up the front of her miniskirt, the girls' eyes never left him as he stared voyeuristically at her white panties, jerking himself off to her.

Sliding her hand down inside her cotton knickers, swivelling her narrow hips, the schoolgirl mimed to the song,

'When I think about you, I touch myself...'

Pulling her panty gusset aside, she pushed her hips forward, holding them there, rudely exposing her smooth girly pussy to the man... and slipped a stiff middle finger into her small wet hole. In an exaggerated display of self-pleasure, the blonde stared wide-eyed at the jerking man mouthing,

'Oh! ... Oh! ... Ohhh!!...'

as in slow-motion, she slid her stiff wet middle finger in and out of her little cunt.

The man was sweating, wanking fast in sporadic jerks. A dribble of pre-cum ran down his thumb. Moving closer, the girl breathed-in the thick musty smell of his semen.

Slowly, with the artistry of a professional stripper, the naughty schoolgirl slid her white cotton panties down to her knees, stretching them taught between her open legs. Lifting her skirt, she exposed her pretty clean-shaven pussy, and licking her fingers, she masturbated in front of the man.

Fully aroused, the girl frigged her wet clit, now not for his pleasure, but for her own. Tense straight fingers spread wide, her small hand was a blur as she stimulated the little pink button between her legs, eliciting waves of tingling sexual electricity throughout her young body.

The music faded. The girl stood arms akimbo, circling her pelvis provocatively in front of the enraptured man; staring at his long hard cock, as he masturbated to her legs.

"Do you like my school uniform?" she enquired seductively.

The man nodded, wanking slowly.

"You like my little pleated skirt, don't you... my short little schoolgirl miniskirt."

Butterflies fluttered in the man's stomach as he prepared himself to verbalise the words for the first time in his life,

"I have a s... skirt fetish," he stuttered.

"I know," answered the girl.

The man was more than twice her age, but her innate knowledge and skill gave her the edge. That evening, he belonged to

her

.

She flipped-up the front of her pleated skirt, regarding the man thoughtfully,

"Do you want to put your cock up my skirt?"

The man's jaw dropped.

"Do you want to

masturbate

your cock up my

naughty... sexy... little miniskirt?"

Tossing her knickers aside, the schoolgirl stepped forward. Resting her hands on his broad shoulders, she stood astride the seated man, lowering herself slowly down. The hem of her pleated school skirt brushed the man's stomach, and she felt a shiver run through him.

She whispered,

"Masturbate with my skirt."

Gripping his long cock through the cotton material, the man used the girls' pleated miniskirt to masturbate. Indulging his fetish, he held the fabric loosely around his erection, allowing the material to rub up and down his long shaft. Watching the girls' pleated skirt shaking in front of him, the man groaned quietly... wanking into her skirt... relishing the illicit pleasure he received whilst performing his lewd act. He ran his free hand up her black nylon stocking, finding the soft warm flesh of her upper thigh. His foreskin pulled fully back, he rubbed his engorged head with the girls' pleated miniskirt, savouring the sensation.

The schoolgirl pandered demurely to his skirt fetish. She bent forward, her long blonde hair brushing his cheek as she whispered,

"Oh, you're so naughty... Does it make you excited... putting your cock up my skirt? ...Does it feel nice... masturbating yourself up my little miniskirt?"

The man bucked his hips - the girl felt his wet cock touch momentarily against her smooth pussy lips. He was straining, pushing his long cock up inside her skirt, trying to make contact. Mesmerised, the man watched the pleats shaking in front of him as he masturbated into her miniskirt,

"I'm gonna spunk!"

he moaned.

"Do it in my cunt,"

said the girl.

Still jerking himself, the man guided the head of his penis into the girl's tight wet slit, then grasping her slender hips, he thrust his long cock deep into her warm cunt. Taking his full length, the girl fucked him fast - so fast, he felt like he was being masturbated. The man groaned,

"Uhh... I'm gonna cum in you!"

The girls' eyes opened wide, "Spunk in me... spunk up my little miniskirt..."

Jets of hot spunk spurted from the mans tingling cock,

"Ahh, Ahhh,"

he groaned, as he ejaculated inside her.

"Fuck me up my skirt... spunk in my cunt - my little cunt - fuck my cunt..."

She slowed, milking the last of the man's semen, then stopped at last, leaving him spent and exhausted.

Breathing heavily, the girl slowly stood up, and sat next to the man at the dining table, facing him. Parting her legs, she looked down, examining her vagina. The man watched in fascinated silence as she inserted her middle finger. She looked up at the man, her finger still inside herself. Then she began to masturbate.

Pushing two stiff fingers into her hairless pussy, the schoolgirl rubbed her tingling clit, frigging herself fast. The man watched as she worked her cunt with both hands, grinding her hips as she pleasured herself.

Despite his preceding climax, the man had a full erection. He wanked himself with the girls' white cotton panties, absently captivated by the movement of her short pleated skirt, hanging down on either side of her chair.

Her gaze fixed on the man's long cock, the schoolgirl's small body shuddered as she quickly brought herself to orgasm, a spurt of sticky warm fluid spattering her wooden seat. Sated, she visibly relaxed, as sweet aftershocks danced tingling through her groin.