*****
Hello!
As a disclaimer, this story contains explicit nonconsent, with the male in the position of the victim. Themes of blackmail, coercion, and forced breeding are part of this. Take this as a potential trigger warning. I want to state outright that while nonconsent is the root of this story, my intent is not to glamorize or promote rape in any real-life scenario. All characters are of consenting age.
Feedback is welcome. Enjoy.
-TheDaggerAndTheCup
*****
"Surprise!" She shouted, her eyes gleaming as she held up a cake covered in vanilla frosting. "Happy half birthday!"
I hadn't even realized it was my half birthday.
"What? Oh- huh," I was doing the math in my head. I would be twenty-two in exactly six months. "Yeah I guess it is. Huh, well, I mean, thanks. Wait- how do you know when my birthday is? I never told you that."
"I just found it on your facebook while I was looking at your pictures. Here, let me get you a plate. It's carrot cake!" She smiled amiably as she buzzed around the room in an apron, assembling utensils and plates.
This was our fifth date, if you could call any of them that. Skye had invited me to her house for dinner. I didn't have anything else going on, though I wasn't exactly excited for another mundane evening eating, watching whatever disney movie she wanted, and then not having sex. I felt like it had been getting weird with her. But in the end I was hungry, and decided a platonic meal couldn't hurt anybody. But now I was getting uncomfortable.
"You were on my facebook? What for, I don't even use it."
"I wanted to learn more about you!" She said, still smiling toothily. Everything she said had the same glaze of childlike enthusiasm over it. "Do you not like it?"
"No- no, of course I like it, carrot cake is my favorite actually... thanks."
She smiled at me. That same bright-eyed, toothy, disney grin. Almost like she knew something I didn't. I started trying to remember if I had ever mentioned liking carrot cake on facebook. Her persistence in trying to constantly flatter me had become more than a little unnerving.
I had met Skye in a biology lab. The lab instructor had put us in groups to go over the stages of meiosis, the process by which sex cells are created. I was on my game that day. I remember making some kind of quip, not what it was exactly, but that she had laughed hard at it and all her attention had immediately shifted to me. I had gotten her number as we walked out of the biology building and the next night we had gone for a walk. Of all things, yes, a walk. That was her idea. After some conversation I learned Skye, short for Skyeliegh, had been devoutly christian her entire life.
That explains it
, I thought. It would end up explaining a lot with her.
I didn't mind her religious convictions. She had brown, shoulder-length curls that bounced when she walked. Actually, most everything about her bounced when she walked. It was hard not to notice her figure. She had beautifully-shaped, larger-than-average tits and a bubble butt. She was six feet tall, almost as tall as me, and athletic. Her legs were long and toned, much like the rest of her. Her eyes were an azure blue, peering out over her freckled nose and cheeks.
She talked on and on about her vanilla life. Her eight siblings, their ages and nicknames, her course schedule, the suburb she grew up in, her favorite childrens' movies (none of which I had seen since I was six), her favorite musicals (none of which I had heard of). All of it sterile and oddly childlike. I nodded and listened and tried to contribute when I had something to add. As we walked I couldn't shake the image of her beautiful legs wrapping around me as I tasted her forbidden fruit. I wasn't very interested in her on an intellectual level, but I was willing to stick it out to see if repressed christian girls really were secretly freaks.
On the second date she had suggested watching The Beauty And The Beast with me.
Sure,
I thought,
whatever works for you
. She laughed loudly at every joke as if it was the first time she had ever seen it, looking over at me to see if I was laughing too. I would return the look and force a smile.
Do people really do this?
We ended up on my couch making out after the credits had stopped rolling. She shook violently in my hands as I ran them over her body.
"Are you okay? I don't want to make you uncomfortable." I said, pulling away from her.
"No, seriously, it's fine, I'm just..."
"What? We really don't have to do anything if you don't want to, I'm not trying to be pushy."
"No! That's not it, I just... I haven't really done this a lot."
"What, kissing?" I asked, almost laughing.
"Not really. I've kissed five people." She answered timidly. "You make me really nervous. I just want to do the right things."
"Five!?" I asked, startled. "Does that mean you're, like... a virgin?"
"Well, yeah," she said. "I'm saving it for the right person. I think when it's right, God will tell me and I'll know."
I laughed. "Okay, well, we don't have to take it so fast if you don't want to."
"I really was enjoying it. I-" she hesitated, seeming unsure of how she wanted to proceed. "I was hoping to sleep with you."
I raised an eyebrow confusedly.
"Not like that, I mean, I'm just not sure if it's right. But maybe we can, you know, cuddle?" She took my hand and placed it back on her waist.
"Well I definitely couldn't say no to that."
We wrestled tongues for a while. When she kissed, Skye repeated the same motions over and over again, like I had as an inexperienced teenager. I tried to shake things up, kissing away from her mouth to her ears and neck, nibbling on her skin. She was awkwardly non-engaging, leaving me to wonder if she was okay. I would check in regularly, and she would always respond that she was enjoying it. I figured she must have just not ever had any sexual contact like this. She quivered at my touch. I took off my shirt, then hers. I took off my pants, then hers. I asked to take off her bra. She assented as nervously as she had to everything else, but with an upfront enthusiasm that I believed.
Her tits were full and teardrop shaped, with small dark nipples hard enough to cut glass. Kissing down her neck, I cupped and sucked on them. It occurred to me that everything I did would probably have an extra impact on her, having no baseline for what kind of performance to expect. To most women I performed slightly above average on a good day, but to her... to her I was a Cassanova. I laughed mischievously to myself at the thought, circling my tongue around the excited peaks of her nipples. She breathed heavily through her mouth and vibrated, a sign I was learning to take as pent-up excitement that she had no idea how to express. I tried to reposition myself between her legs, hoping to rub my stiff cock against her clit and give her a
real
thrill. She held them tightly together, to the side. I looked up and she shook her head.
There's the line
, I thought.
"Fair enough," I said, and went back to massaging her soft, ample tits, kissing every wayward freckle on her chest.
She seemed content to let me touch her, to find her buttons and press them (with a few exceptions), but she clearly had no idea what to do other than be touched. She just shook harder and sighed breathily. My erection felt like it was going to rip through my underwear. After a while we switched to spooning, me grinding my hips against her, making sure she could feel it. I whispered into her ear that she was beautiful. She rolled over forcefully, her eyes searching for mine in the dark.
"No.
You
are beautiful." Her voice was deadly serious.
I chuckled playfully, unsure of how to respond. She shuddered against me, breathing loudly, long after I was asleep.
This evening repeated the next two times I saw her, each an almost exact replica of the first time. We watched another childrens' cartoon and had a boring conversation on the couch, retreading ground that had never been all that interesting to begin with. I had to explain things at length when I talked about myself. She had never experienced anything outside her own little religious, suburban bubble. She barraged me hungrily with questions and searched for eye contact. I tried not to sound vain, patiently defining terms and elaborating about ideas.
She sat close enough that our bodies touched, but didn't seem to know how to engage me physically. Eventually I abandoned conversation and just started kissing her, which she responded to emphatically. She stayed over again, our underwear stayed on, and I went to sleep bulging against my fly and frustrated.
There is no way I'm going to fuck this girl without marrying her
, I thought. We didn't really have chemistry, though she seemed completely oblivious of that, and aside from her body I didn't have a lot of interest in her as a person.
With the possibility of sex abandoned, talking to Skye was an unpleasant mixture of boring and offputting. Every time we hung out was the same conversation, starting nowhere and going nowhere. She didn't have many opinions or experiences, as it was clear she had been thoroughly sheltered her entire life. But she always approached me with the same grinning enthusiasm, hovering too close in public, awkwardly agreeing with everything I said. She would appear out of nowhere on campus, acting surprised to see me. And yet it happened multiple times a day over the next two weeks.
