"Fine."
As she slid into the passenger seat, she felt Weaver's lecherous eyes roam over her scantily-clad body. She glared at him and crossed her arms over her chest, wishing she'd at least put on some shorts. The pout in her lip and the sternness in her eyes bemused him. No matter how she scrunched up her pretty face she was breathtaking. Her curves, her golden tresses, her cobalt blue eyes. Women the world over paid to have what genetics blessed her with. He switched the car back into drive, and they rolled away from the strip center. When he turned away from her neighborhood, she got worried.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked.
"To dinner, at my place."
"Why? I know what you're after. Can't we just do it in your back seat and then you take me home?"
"We could, but I'm hungry. Ever had baked lemon herb tilapia? It's guaranteed to be better than whatever fast food slop you were gonna order."
It did sound delicious, but she wasn't happy about being strong-armed into going home with him. No matter what he said, she knew what he'd want from her later. What he always wanted. Dinner was just a pretext to get her alone in his apartment. She could already picture him bending her over his dining table, making her pay for dinner with her body. His rough hands on her soft tits, fat belly slapping against her ass. Huge, hard cock stretching her tight pussy. Despite her disgust, her traitorous cunt drooled at the thought. She clenched her jaw.
"Whatever," she replied, watching the buildings zip past. Like the bars of a cell sliding shut.
Though small, his apartment was warm and homey. A round dark wood dining table sat near the tiny kitchen, and a large flat-screen hung on the wall across from a plush teal couch and glass coffee table. Framed nature prints decorating the walls and a few potted plants scattered about added life and color to the place. A photograph of a woman -- perhaps his mother or sister -- sat on the bar next to a green ceramic dish where he kept his keys and wallet. She didn't bother checking out his bedroom. She assumed she'd see it soon enough.
After putting away the groceries, he started on dinner. Lacy helped by chopping and seasoning the veggies. Time zoomed by. Half an hour later, they were seated and eating. He paired their meal with a white Cava Brut wine, which was just sweet enough for her to tolerate. Astonishingly, Weaver wasn't a half-bad cook. As they ate, he attempted to initiate a conversation, but Lact was even more tight-lipped than usual. Being alone with the old bastard in his apartment made her anxious. The wine helped to calm her nerves, and she finished the glass.
When the food was gone, she helped him carry their dishes to the sink. While she rinsed her plate, Weaver stepped up behind her. She flinched as he leaned over her to shut off the water. The busty teen shook like a leaf, braced against the counter, heart thudding in her chest. Over the past two weeks, he'd taken her many times, but this was different. She felt trapped and overwhelmed. The wine that calmed her frazzled nerves before made her dizzy now. Her breath caught in her throat as strong hands encircled her slender waist. His lips on her neck and shoulder, body pressed into hers from behind.
"I guess I can't say no," she whimpered. His hands swept up the flat of her stomach to her big, soft breasts, fingers pressing into the supple flesh. Her bikini protected her not at all.
"You could," he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear, "but it wouldn't matter."
He lifted her fat tits and slid her bikini cups aside. Exposing her hard, pink nubs and the wide areolas surrounding them. Skilled fingers teased her nipples to full hardness, pulling them out from her body. Hoisting the heavy orbs up by her tender points, stretching them deliciously. She trembled in his arms, chewing her bottom lip. Hands clinging to the counter top. Panting with shallow breaths. Though she fought against it, dampness spilled down her bare, clenched thighs.
"Please stop," she begged, even as the pain in her boobs sent tremors of pure lust down to her moist snatch.
"I don't think you really want me to," he replied, lips kissing a receptive spot below her ear.
Without warning, his hand rushed down her body. Fingers intruding under the waistband of her bottoms, finding and stroking her tender button. A raspy breath quivered out of her open mouth. Lacy tipped her head back against his broad chest, quaky thighs clamping around his hand. She reviled him, hated the feel of his hands on her body, his breath on her neck, but god did he know how to work her. Two weeks and he already knew her body better than she knew it herself. His fingertips played over her delicate folds -- his other hand pawing her warm, luscious globe. As a fat finger nudged its way into her opening, she tried to wriggle free of his grasp. Slender fingers grabbing at his wrist. A futile attempt to halt his invasion of her intimacy.
"Little slut, strutting around with barely a stitch of fabric on you."
"I'm not a slut."
"Fooled me, showing off like this. Going around basically naked."
"I wasn't showing off," she whimpered, pressing back against him unconsciously.
Lacy was powerless in his arms. His hands and fingers transgressing on her soft skin. While his one hand fondled her sensitive melons, he tugged on the string at her hip with the other. Her bottoms fell open, exposing her moist slit. The musk of her arousal filled the air, mixed with the smell of sweat and chlorine. Before she could stop him, his hand cupped her bare, molten sex and squeezed her there. A big handful of her wet, puffy mound. His fingers curled into her crevice, scratching along her delicate petals. Sending sparks of pleasure through her body. Her mouth hung open as she panted and moaned, her head swimming in a daze of helpless lust.
"God, you're hot in this," he groaned in her ear. "You must've been wanting it."
"Stop! I didn't come here for this."
"You knew," he said, his hand squeezing her tit harshly, fingers digging in until she whimpered in pain.
While she mewled and trembled, his fingers stroked along her soft, smelly pussy, circled her engorged clit. His other hand kneaded the smooth, elastic flesh of her breast. Thumb and forefinger tweaking her pert nipple almost painfully. Her hips tipped back into his hand. She felt heat roiling in her core, felt herself melting for him. Sweet honey spilling from her nether lips. Flushed from her chest to her cheeks, eyes hooded and glassy. While he molested her breast and cunny, his lips left trails of butterfly kisses on her neck and shoulder. Her head tipped forward, hair falling around to the front, exposing more of her to him. He kissed her upper back between her shoulder blades, felt how she quivered. Her legs parted involuntarily, body opening up to him. It felt so good. The way he teased and caressed her with his coarse hands, his nimble fingertips. His warm, wet lips softly kissing. Touching her so intimately. No one had ever touched her like this before, and she felt like wet clay in his skilled hands.
"Tell me you want this," he said, his voice coiling around her like wisps of smoke.
"Never," she breathed.
She was bending over now. Dropping to her elbows, head down, hair falling into the sink. Her back arched with a deep moan as his fingers scraped along her simmering tunnel. The pad of his thumb pressed against her little brown star, and she shuddered at the unfamiliar sensation. Electricity sparked through her from her virgin pucker. She'd never even touched herself there before -- the feeling was immeasurable! Her ass pushed back, wanting more.
For an instant, his hand left her breast to tug the one remaining string at her hip, the garment falling in heap around her sandals. Then it was back at her tit, plucking her nipple and making her whine with need. As his manipulation of her sex continued, thick, white juices poured from her cunt, dribbling down her legs and spattering on the kitchen rug. She was drowning in a sea of debauchery and lust.
"Tell me."
"No," she sighed, shaking her head. She wouldn't give him that satisfaction. She would never admit it.
Weaver crouched behind her, pressed his face against her ass. While squeezing her hips, he lapped her sodden pleats, daubed his tongue around the hard nub of her clit. A tremor running through her thick thighs as she whined in ecstasy. Sweet, tangy cream flowed over his tongue. He loved her taste, drank deeply of her essence. Lacy felt a maelstrom of pleasure threatening to overwhelm her. She resisted it with all she had, but it surged in her with a mind of its own. How was he so good at this? A scant few minutes and he already had her on the edge. Weaver swabbed his tongue around her weeping hole, thumb rubbing light circles around her clit. Torturously edging her. Her hips undulated, tipping back against his mouth, silently urging him on.
Instead, he spun her around by her hips and pushed her back against the counter. Her hands flew back to grasp the edge of the sink. Lifting a leg over his shoulder, he nudged his face between her thighs and captured her clit with his lips. Two fingers invading her soaked snatch. Against her will, her hips bucked against his face. God, he was making her crazy! Peering up past her stomach, he watched her huge, heavy breasts sway as she rode his lips and fingers. Disgust and desire warred within her -- conflict evident in her expression. He adored that look. With his fingers scrunched against the spongy bump of flesh on her upper wall, he sucked her clit like he was trying to take the skin off. She stiffened and moaned. Brought inexorably to the precipice of a monstrous orgasm. At the crescendo, he cruelly backed off, leaving her shaking with unfulfilled need.
The old man stood and grabbed her hair, mashing his lips against hers. Tongue forcing into her mouth. The awful taste and smell of fish and alcohol washed into her. Lacy tried to push him off, but he tightened his fist in her hair. Opposite hand shoving back between her sticky thighs. Two fingers pressed into her again, digging through her overheated channel. Her entire body shook. Helplessly kissing him back, meeting his tongue with hers. She hated how he could make her feel like this, and so easily. With Simon sometimes, she wanted him so badly it hurt, but nothing came close to this. Not even in the same time zone. A deep, consuming hunger in the depths of her. Like a living thing, ravenous and bestial, aching to be satisfied. With his dexterous fingers manipulating her wanton sex, her will to resist was crumbling fast.