A Game Of Dress Up

[Author's Note: This story is for VLW; who has the clothes, the toys, and the fantasy.]

******

Vanessa was dressing, slowly and carefully, watching herself in the mirror as she did so. She slowly slid the tiny black thong panties up her legs, over her thighs, and then ran her thumbs under the elastic waist band before letting it snap into place.

She turned around and looked at herself over her shoulder so she could see the naked thrust of her ass, and then turned back to see how the scrap of sheer fabric concealed her neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair which gave an enticing bulge to the front of her panties. Moving closer to the mirror and cocking her hips forward, she could just see her labia through the sheer crotch band. She looked terribly sexy to herself, and she ran her fingertip over her crease, enjoying the sight of her red nail against the black panties as much as she did the shivery sensation of touching herself.

It was Saturday night and she was all alone in the house. Her mother and sister had gone out to have dinner and see a movie that she'd already seen, and she was happy to be alone with time for herself for a change. She worked so hard during the week on her studies that these few hours were precious, a time for a full fantasy masturbation. Her social life was pretty limited; the men in the fantasies were the only ones she saw now. She had sacrificed everything for the sake of her scholarship, and this make-believe sex was the only kind she had time for.

She'd already showered and put on her makeup, a bit more extreme than she would ever would have worn in public. Her eye shadow and black eyeliner enhanced her natural sparkling brown eyes, and her lipstick was so shiny it was almost obscene, as if her lover's semen still glistened on her lips. Her earrings were outrageous: long, shimmery strands of silver tinsel 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 slipped on a mesh corset that left her breasts bare and held her body in a tight and arousing embrace, then sat on the bed and put on her fishnet hose, drawing them slowly up her legs, watching herself in the mirror as she extended her leg and teased the sticking up her thigh. Her rule was that she could not touch herself until she was completely dressed and had a sexy scenario in 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 smooth flesh of her thighs, then ran a red-painted nail along her pussy with agonizing slowness, imagining a lover's tongue following the same path.

Getting dressed up like this always made her hot; 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 always wore the most provocative and blatantly sexual clothes. In her fantasies she was irresistibly sexy; men admired her with or without her consent; she drove them wild. And yet she was totally innocent . She couldn't imagine why men threw themselves at her feet.

The final bit of dressing always had to be done without looking in the mirror, so as to get the final effect all at once. She put on her heels, sexy strappy things that made her legs look even longer than they were, and then the dress.

The dress was the piece de resistance, 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, pulling 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. 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?

The next step in the usual game was to admire herself and pose until some very erotic scenario came to her mind, then she would re-enact is as best she could with only herself, touching herself, using her toys, and then end up masturbating on the bed. 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. She walked down the stairs to the kitchen 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, 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 had just poured it down the sink when the back door opened.

There was Elliot Taylor, a man who worked with her mother, with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He stared at her and she stared back, horrified.

"Vanessa? God Almighty, what are you up to?"

And then she remembered. her mother had told her he might be over to drop over some papers for work. She'd forgotten all about it.

"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, hoping there would suddenly be 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 her little girl was 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 sniffed. "And you've been drinking too, haven't you? Christ!"

"Here," she said hurriedly, "I'll just take those papers…"

"No, no, that's okay." he said. "I told your mom I'd leave them on her desk, honey. I'll just drop them off."

He walked past her and into the dining room where the desk was. She stood nervously by the sink as he came back in and stood in the doorway..

"Well look at you," he said, leaning against the door jam with a slow smile, "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 care to explain herself any further. 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 in the box where it belonged.

But he seemed to like what he saw. 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, his eyes still looking her up and down, "Who's the lucky guy?"

"No, really, Mr. Taylor." she said. "There isn’t a boy."

"So you're just going out alone like that? You look hotter than hell. 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 or something. 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? Just a little piece of ass."

"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? You know how to handle a man?"

"Please…"

"Please what, you little whore? 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 against the refrigerator, holding her hands over her head and leaning his body against hers. Little alphabet magnets went skittering across the floor, dislodged from their place by his sudden move. His hands holding hers were strong, and his strength was unaccountably exciting to her.

"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 makeup and stockings and heels. Don't bullshit me, Vanessa. I know when a girl's set to go whoring. You're out looking for one thing, 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, baby? Well you know what?” he sneered, “I got some right here. No need to go looking for it."

There was no denying it now: her mother’s friend wanted her, was going to have his way with her. She couldn’t pretend anymore that this was really an attempt to keep her safe; it was a seduction, or maybe something worse. 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.

"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, and yet she really didn't want to fight with him. She was still on a high level of excitement from her game of dress up and his body against hers felt wonderful, despite her horror. It was just what she wanted to feel, his hardness against her, his strength holding her. She was completely 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, "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 that washed 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, looking down at her breasts which were pushed up and out by the position of her arms above her head, and she saw the hungry gleam in his eyes. The thought that her body turned him on so much gave her a fierce thrill that melted her resistance completely, 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 her and far more experienced, and he seemed to know 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 moaned and stuck her tongue into his mouth, and she spread her thighs to give him better access. He still held her hands over her head, and his chest flattened her breasts and rubbed against her nipples as they kissed.

"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. 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."

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…

"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 what she said, and her words even sounded false to her own ears.

"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 and into her bedroom, forgetting that her toys were spread out on the bed, there among her stuffed animals..

He looked at the ropes and vibrator, her handcuffs, 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?."

She stood there dazed, breathless, running her hand through her hair, looking at the toys on the bed. She could imagine 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 around and caught her in a deep and passionate kiss, driving rational thought from her mind. The helpless feeling of having 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 palms 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 Saturday nights."

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 the dress, 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.

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.

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.