Both of her wrists fit nicely in a single one of my hands, as I pinned them against the concrete of the fountain. That left my other hand free to fumble with the button on my pants. Not the easiest of feats for someone unused to the process, but I got it quickly enough. The zipper was easier.
She mewled softly as she looked helplessly up at me. Her eyes shouted defiance, mimicked by the constant shifting of her hips. My own pressed against her to keep her legs under control and keep me from getting kicked in the head. It didn't help with trying to open my fly. Still, it wasn't enough to stop me. The moment my pants were down, my hand pressed against the slight fuzz between her legs and pushed. Another mewl escaped her lips. If the rim of the fountain was too hard for her delicate sensitivities, that wasn't my problem.
Dressed in a loose skirt, white blouse with short sleeves that ballooned at her shoulders, and pink bows that held her pig-tails, she looked like anyone's kid sister. It was an image she worked hard to cultivate. Her breasts were small enough that she didn't need to wear a bra. The push-up training one she'd chosen was ample proof of her attempts to foster the youthful image.
She'd need to get a new one, of course. As soon as I had her hands under control and her back flat against the fountain, I'd ripped open her shirt and yanked down the specious protection of the undergarment. The straps hadn't been designed to carry any real weight and snapped with only a fraction of my strength. Even if they hadn't, I'd have been ready to use the knife that hung on the back of my belt.
If I cared about such things, I'd have known in the first instant I grabbed her that she wanted this. She might not have been able to fight me off, being less than half my mass with no upper body strength, but she never once screamed. She fought, she glared, she whimpered but it was all a token defense.
Truthfully, I
did
care. I don't usually get off on this kind of thing. Sure, I'll pay for a good time now and then but I don't need to
take
it in order to enjoy myself. And I certainly don't have a thing for young girls. Of course, she only looked young. Although no one kept records these days, she was at least twice as old as her body and carefully maintained image insisted.
This was meant to be an abject lesson. That was why I'd thrown her down on her back. Most guys, when they really sought to fuck a woman against her will, bent her over forward so she couldn't see their face. It kept revenge a more difficult proposition.
Might makes right. That sort of sentiment ruled the world in which we lived. It was a world generally dominated by men. Occasionally a truly ruthless woman managed to cow the surrounding region into following her but generally that was more a situation that occurred in the privacy of one's home. Get any large number of people together and the alpha male response kicked in for some and rather quickly displaced the would-be queen.
The little cunt beneath me was the exception to the rule. Most women discovered how fruitless it was to attempt to rule by pure charisma. They tried to flirt, or downright prostitute themselves, in order to maintain their grip. Unfortunately, eventually, jealousy would rear its ugly head and the guys would depose her. She'd last a bit longer than ruthless force, but not much.
The cute bitch here had found a different path to follow. Rather than bank on more adult feminine whiles, she convinced the men around her that she was utterly harmless. It hadn't taken long for her to garnish enough of the protector sentiment from the guys that no one wanted to cross her, for fear of the repercussions. From there, it was easy enough to twist their collective ears until they all fell into the habit of submission to her will.
I don't have a problem with that. More power to her! It's such a subtle ploy that countless women across the globe should try it. I don't know if the world would be different if women ruled it, instead of men, but I'd be willing to let them try. It's not like they could do much
worse
of a job than the men.
No. The bitch needed a lesson because she forgot the single rule of the world.
There's always someone stronger than you!
I'm a vagrant. Unlike ninety-nine percent of the population, I have no desire to find a nice place to settle down. I've been told that in times past I would have been called an archeologist. I find old cities and towns, from before the fall of civilization, and dig up whatever might prove the most profitable. Gold, jewels and tools are my most common find but every once in a while I come across some gem of technology that people are really willing to pay for.
She'd heard about me, about my reputation for quality goods, and sent an invitation. Given that she runs a sizeable city, population nearly ten thousand including the outlying farms, I'd have been stupid not to accept. With that many potential customers, I could have unloaded my entire current stock and earned as much as a year's living.
Unlike her, I didn't forget the way the world works. One thing about vagrancy, it keeps you from becoming complacent. I did my research and discovered the political layout of the region. I knew how she ran things. Most importantly, I made certain to leave the lion's share of my goods hidden well beyond the city limits. Sure, I'd need to make numerous trips to sell it all but I couldn't lose everything in one ill-timed catastrophe.
She turned out to be just such a catastrophe. She was attracted to the shiny baubles I brought along. She was excited by the couple of pieces of technology I'd scrounged. She was all but drooling over the precision-crafted pistol I kept strapped to my thigh for personal defense. When the price wasn't right,
free
, she decided to
make
it right. She grinned when she had 'her boys' strip me naked and send me on my way at the point of my own firearm.
She wasn't grinning now.
All I could spare was a thumb. Slowly, inch-by-inch, her skirt crept up. Despite the facade she continued to attempt to portray, she no longer tried to buck me off. Instead, her hips rolled upward. Unfortunately for her, my hand was just a little too high to hit her clit 'by accident'. Even the continued glare began to ring bells of falsehood in my mind.
It wasn't until I finally moved to tear off her underwear that the truth really sank in. The simple white cotton panties matched the push-up bra in her illusion of youthful innocence. Undoubtedly, she occasionally slipped up and offered her mindless followers an 'unintentional' glimpse to fuel the very fantasies that they berated themselves for imagining.
Right then, they were soaked through. The thick material would have been difficult enough to rip away under normal circumstances. Sodden with her desire, it was impossible. A single tug was all I needed to know that. Worse still, when my knife slid between the tough fabric and her soft flesh, she lost all pretense of resistance and moaned.
