The Road To Mercedes Ch 02

"Oh, boy," said Deidra, looking apprehensively at Turd Fingers and then at her younger friend. The girls lowered, as if a gun might go off if they made any sudden move. "He locked us in again."

"I hope this guy's not a creep," Phoebe intimated to Deidra in her trademark obliviously audible whisper. As if in answer, Turd Fingers went over to the sofa, his gait a little off-balance from the surging stiffy in his pants.

"Can I sit here?" Turd Fingers panted, patting the sofa arm next to Deidra. The girl shuddered and shook her head.

"I don't think there's, like, enough room?" She rolled her eyes, forced to talk to the loser with cooties. "This sofa's only big enough for two."

Heedless, Turd Fingers plopped down on the sofa arm, leering at Deidra. She looked so pretty, sitting helplessly with her wrists bound. With a grunt he slid his palm on top of the middle of her thigh.

"Your jeans are really tight," belched Turd Fingers. Deidra wriggled, trying to get away from him. Alas, cramped up against her friend Phoebe, she could mostly just writhe in place. Turd Fingers played his finger over the bright white seam along the outside of Deidra's leg, squeezed her twiggy thigh through the second-skin denim of her crisp britches, and tried to wedge his fingers between her legs. First he parlayed near her knees but they were clenched too tight. Still, fondling Deidra's young body, even through her clothes, immediately gave him a full on in his dirty pants.

"Ugh!" Deidra protested. "Stop touching me." She jostled her hips to try and buck Turd Fingers's heavy hand.

"Make me."

Turd Fingers wriggled his fingers up along her and found that as her knee gave to the meat of her thigh, she softened and he was able to rummage the tight furrow between her legs. He worked his way farther, toward her jean-armored crotch. Meantime she went frenzied, wrenching her wrists against the flexicuffs keeping her from resisting him. Alas this just wagged her shoulders, which caused her corpulent bosom to jiggle deliciously.

Turd Fingers switched gears. Responding to the way she was trying to fight him off, he started groping her righty through her cool blouse. Her B-size brisket went live as a responsive body texture in his bouncing palm.

His pinky diddled her underwire. Then he cupped her. Her silky blouse and lace bra matted her flush nipple, but it perked enough that he felt it on the center of his palm anyway, warm, seeming like the fabric tenting it were part of it.

She sat sad a moment, realizing the futility of physical struggle but seething as Turd Fingers felt her up. The rape-misery shudder thrilled her top to bottom.

An idea came.

"Listen." Deidra shook. If you're going to get all pervy on one of us, why not do it on Phoebe?"

Turd Fingers stopped mid-grope.

"Huh?"

Phoebe, who'd been looking on at her molestation in frozen horror, started. "Yeah. Huh?"

"Just look at her," Deidra stammered, breath heaving in her molested chest. She was shaking head to toe. "She's blonde. She's got bigger boobs. And look at those legs."

Turd Fingers leered at Phoebe's body and nodded.

"What are you doing? Oh, my God, if that gross guy touches me I'll totally barf. He smells."

"Plus," Deidra went on, heedless. "I'll do what I gotta." Her breath caught on a hiccup. "I'll make it hard for you. I bite, I scream." She darted her eyes toward her younger friend. "Phoebe's docs, they have her on these compliance meds. Relaxa. They make her really docile. Relaxa. They do it to keep her from getting in trouble at college. It makes it hard for her to say no; she'll probably lie down and let you rape her just to get it over with."

"Deidra! Shut up!"

"And here's the thing: she's nineteen; I'm twenty-one. We don't even go to school together; I'm a junior." She nodded at Phoebe, closing. "She's a freshman. Don't you pervy types always want the young ones?"

Turd Fingers's hand had drifted from Deidra's now tingling, violated breast to her trim, hyperventilating belly. A welcome victory for her. His attention was entirely diverted to Phoebe, and he lifted his weight─which had unsettlingly spread out on Deidra's lap; she'd clearly felt the erection he'd already grown─as he rose and closed on his new favorite crush.

"That's true," he panted. "We do like the young ones." He ran his fingers through Phoebe's spray-crinkled, straight blonde bangs. "You've got on glitter mascara."

"When we go shopping, we like to get made," Phoebe got as far as before Turd Fingers bent down, protruded his greasy tongue, and exhaled, silencing her with the stink of yesterday's fish on his breath. She shook her shoulders and turned her head, balking.

The light fingers in her hair tightened to a grip as Turd Fingers held her to run his clammy tongue over her face chin to cheek.

She tasted salty.

Her peach perfume wafted to Turd Fingers's nostrils as he played his nose over her clenched eyelids and tickled her bangs.

"Gag me," Deidra groaned, leaning away from Phoebe and Turd Fingers with a wince.

Turd Fingers eyeballed Phoebe up and down, from her spare silver necklace and beach-and-sail print spaghetti top—sheltering a healthy pair of perky coconuts that seemed awfully generous for such a slender girl—down to her shorts, so tiny they made a V at her crotch and so short the fins of her pockets showed at the tops of her creamy thighs.

Squaring himself, Turd Fingers threaded the straps of Phoebe's blouse and yanked her bra free of it. He kneaded her lactescent knobs through her lacey undergarment. Behind her girlish flesh mounds, he could feel her heart race. Her elbows flapped like bird wings as she squirmed against the unyielding flexicuffs around her wrists. "Ugh," she groaned. "Deidra, I hate you so much right now."

Phoebe's struggles caught Turd Fingers's eye. He clutched her by the forearm just above her flapping elbow and stood, hauling her off the sofa like a ragdoll.

"What you need," Turd Fingers droned at Phoebe, "is a good skinnin'." Crazed with lust, he unsnapped his hunting knife and brought it to Phoebe's breastbone as her eyes went wide.

"Oh, no. What are you going to do with that?"

"Please don't skin me," Deidra contributed.

Turd Fingers stared Phoebe down with the mischief in his eyes. As he pointed with the knife, Phoebe carefully retreated.

"I'll do what I like."

"Please just don't hurt me."

With a flick Turd Fingers popped open trembling Phoebe's bra by cutting the ribbon between its cups. Her golden hummocks quavered, naked.

"Nice knockers, baby."

He ogled the girl's delectable chest before guiding her like a criminal to the office desk, where she submissively complied, following his hand with the crown of her gripped hair and scarcely taking her eyes off the knife.

He bent her over. Her only protest was to tug her wrists uselessly against the inflexible flexicuffs.

"Please don't hurt me," she repeated.

Turd Fingers got Phoebe by her back belt loop and tugged up on it expertly, hauling her over onto her stomach, smoothing her down on the desk.

"Wow, this Relaxa must be some pretty strong stuff." Turd Fingers patted her on the bottom, reiterating that she was to languish as she was. "Wait a second. Stay here."

He got the middle of Phoebe's short shorts, lifting her trunk off the coffee table as he pulled up on her to grasp the hem and the small of her back. With the serrated knife he expertly found the sweet spot in the fabric between the pockets and despite her struggles ripped Phoebe's shorts upper thigh to upper bottom. He didn't cut her much. He just snagged the secret part of her thigh, because she chose to struggle. And he accidentally caught the peak of her buttock with the tip as he turned up the knife hilt to finish the stroke.

"Feel how you're a piece of meat?"

He jogged his erection, poking up in his stinking trousers, over the sweet planar curve of Phoebe's backside.

"Ow," she mewled, harmed.

"Quit bitching," said Turd Fingers. "It's just a pinprick." Having compromised the fabric of Phoebe's shorts, he tore them until he could pull them like a miniskirt down over her panties, baring her underpants and, under them, her corpulent, juicy derriere. He balanced the snicked shorts on her middle thighs, using what was left of them to help immobilize her.

Turd Fingers fumbled his uncomfortably rigid meat out of his pants and got it by the root, taking aim. With his other hand he tugged teen Phoebe's nylon underpants at the seat, baring the smooth crack of her bottom. "I don't need to skin you anymore," he muttered.

And with that, and with not so much as a by your leave, Turd Fingers parted Phoebe's lean bumcheeks and, with a forward stumble, sank his dirty prick into her bottom.