He was a fuckaphile, not a pedophile. Little girls and young ladies didn't interest him, but from the mid-twenties and up all females were prey for Soane.
He was a typical looking shy kid from the wrong side of the tracks, town, river or whatever. At eighteen, he was sexually driven but socially inept. His hormones were screaming, and he had no outlet. Masturbation was unsatisfying, but he had a near photographic memory for anything dealing with sex. His time on the internet wasn't a waste because he learned about the female body and what it took to please them. He remained a virgin due to his shy personality but beneath a benign exterior was a beast of prey ready to pounce.
While females who were near his age didn't tempt him, it was the female professors, of which they were few, peaked his interest, and he stalked a single, fortyish professor of history. She wasn't particularly attractive or well built, but she was vulnerable. His stalking abilities were superb, and he went unnoticed. By the middle of the fall semester, he knew all her habits, where she lived, who her friends were, where she ate when going out, and when she was home alone.
It was the Saturday of a home football game. Professor Vining had no interest in sports, especially football. She stayed home on those days to read, prepare lectures, or research Warren Harding. He was considered one of the worst if not the worst Presidents of the United States, but she was intrigued by weak men. Thus, her dissertation and later research was on Warren Harding and now Donald Trump.
Saone knew a way into her home. He was there when she arose. After her morning routine, as she was leaving the kitchen, He pinned her against a closet door. A sterile rag in her mouth silenced her, and a rope around her hands and tightened rendered her helpless. Saone carried her struggling form over his shoulder to her bedroom. He placed her face down on the bed and covered her head with a hood that prevented her from seeing him, but did not hamper her breathing. He, then, meticulously, undressed her and tied her spread eagled to a four-poster bed with durable but soft velcroed cuffs. He covered her with a blanket.
He slowly undressed as Professor Vining struggled against her restraints. Patiently, he waited for her to tire, by going to the kitchen and fixing his breakfast. Thin rubber gloves covered his hands to leave no prints. After eating and washing the dishes, he returned to the bedroom. The professor laid still, crying.
She jerked at her restraints as he sat on the bed. In a calm, soothing, almost hypnotic voice he said, "Ms. Vining, I'm not going to hurt you."
She tried to shout, but the gag was too strong.
"I'll remove the gag later, but first I'm going to prepare you for sex," Saone said.
The professor tried to cry out, but it was in vain.
Saone used his hands on her feet, actually each toe. He caressed and kissed each one. Slowly, carefully, gently he moved his hands up her body to her ankles, her calves, her thighs, but stopped short of her treasure trove, the object of his desire.
Professor Vining twisted and turned when he began but was near a state of complete and utter exhaustion. By the time he reached the top of her thighs, she lay quietly crying.
There was a lull as Saone moved to sit at her shoulder and softly brushed her hair.
She hummed for some reason or other.
He lightly massaged her ears, neck, and face. A pair of hands caressed her neck and upper chest in a series of random movements. The hands slide down the valley between her small breasts.
He could feel and hear her heart pounding. He smiled as he cupped her breasts, and ran his hands around and over them but not touching her nipples. His hand trailed toward her stomach and belly button brushing ever so gently. He toyed with her innie and traced circles around her stomach and hips.
"Ms. Vining, I'm going to touch you where few if any men have gone before. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm going to excite you. There's no way you can resist. Your body will instinctively react. I know you're scared but allow me to give you the kind of pleasure you have never attained before."
She tried to struggle, but she was too weak to last any length of time.
Lightly a hand crisscrossed her vulva lips. Over and over, around and around, and then up and down her quivering slit. "I know that feels good to you, enjoy it as much as you can." The wind of his hypnotic voice flowed over her pussy as his fingers continued to trace patterns over her entrance. "I'm going to enter you now," he whispered.
Her body stiffened as his finger slowly, ever so slowly pushed into her.
He only went to the second knuckle. His entry made easy by the fluids that had been building for over an hour. He stopped, waited and flicked his finger against the front of her vaginal wall. Rapidly, he flapped his finger over and over until he heard her moan around her gag.
Smiling at his success, he placed his finger at the top of her clitoral hood, and gently, ever so gingerly swiped his finger back and forth across the roof of her clit's protective cover.
She moaned again while slightly lifting her hips.
Saone shifted his position, still leaving his finger in place until he was able to blow softly on her clit.
She went rigid again, but the warm air flowing over her most sensitive organ caused her to raise her hips closer to the source and moaned.
