What She Deserves 1

"Hey, heading into work?" She greeted him as he came up to the register. He sat the red bull on the counter and replied, "yeah, you know how it goes. Can I get a pack of reds?"

When she turned around to grab the cigarettes, he used the opportunity to check out her deliciously round ass.

She turned back and started ringing him up, making small talk with him as she completed the transaction.

As he took his purchases, he smiled at her and said, "have a great day, pretty girl." He pauses to watch the blush travel from her chest up to her cheeks. He lets out a little chuckle, then turns to leave.

He started coming by this particular local pharmacy just because it was convenient on his way into work. Now, even if he got a new job on the other side of town, he would still find a way to stop at this store just to see her.

She was...where did he start? She wasn't conventionally pretty - but attractive and interesting looking, with long dark hair and big brown eyes. She had full pink lips and smooth skin.

She had a perfect smile, perfect teeth and an easy, pleasant laugh. She carried quite a bit more weight on her than was his usual type, but he knew he'd appreciate the extra curves and softness.

He would know for sure soon enough. He had been working on a plan to get her for weeks now. She had no idea the information she provided in their little chats at the register.

He knew she had a little boy, and that he spent every other weekend with his dad. So she was alone every other weekend. He knew she took a specific route home that he was familiar with. He also knew that she deserved to be punished and he was getting prepared to do just that.

--

She sighed, heavily.

She loved when he came in and her days felt so empty on the days he didn't stop in. Which was ridiculous, really, but...he was so attractive, and more than that, he had a swagger about him. A confidence, a manliness, that appealed to her on several levels.

She'd never admit it to anybody but she spent many slow afternoons at work leaning over the counter, imagining him fucking her from behind.

She always got tongue tied when he said those little things, like calling her "pretty girl." What was that?

He always flirted with her, yet had never asked for her phone number. She would never dare offer it, she just wasn't confident enough that he actually would want it.

They both wore name tags, even though they never addressed each other properly. So she knew his name, knew where he worked, knew his preferred method of caffeinating...but that was mostly it.

"I'm in love with a stranger," she thought to herself as she proceeded to ring up an old lady that had come up to her register.

--

The next day...

"Did you go through that whole pack already??" She asked as he sat yet another red bull on the counter. He smiles and says, "no no, just the caffeine today. How are you?"

"Good. Tired. I'm working this weekend, but next weekend my ex is taking the baby for a long weekend since we're both off on Monday. I have three whole days to myself!"

"Wow, what are you going to do with all of that time?"

"Well, hopefully nothing. Stay at home and read, take some long baths followed by some long naps."

"Oh, you're one of those sleepy girls, huh?"

She laughed, "sleep is my second favorite thing to do in bed," and then she winked. He looked at her, a slow smile coming to his face. He took his drink and as he walked away, he said, "always a pleasure to see you, pretty girl."

--

He had to work fast to get his location set up, if she had a 3 day weekend alone, this would have to be it.

He didn't want anyone to be looking for her when he took her, and he wanted uninterrupted time with her. It would have to be next weekend.

--

He saw her as she left work, looking so pretty. Her hair was straightened, and pulled to the side to keep it out of her face. She had on just enough makeup to make a difference.

She was wearing a knee length pencil skirt over black sparkly panty hose, and a black pea coat. Her shoes were red, patent pumps...with any other outfit they would have been "fuck me" pumps, but with this outfit, spelled out "class." He couldn't wait to break her.

--

She was walking home after getting off work late, later than usual. But it was ok because it was Friday, and she had three glorious days to herself.

She had a million and one things running through her mind, so when she felt someone reach out and touch her arm she let out a very startled "ahh!"

She relaxed instantly when she saw who it was, and smiled at him. He returned the smile, and apologized for startling her.

"Oh it's fine, sorry I screamed at you. What are you up to?"

"I was actually looking for you."

"Me? What do you want with me?"

"Oh pretty girl, I want all of you."

"I don't understand."

"Just, be quiet and come with me."

"I don't want to go with you..."

He grabbed her arm, leaned in close to her face and said, "it doesn't matter what you want."

Her eyes got wide in fear and surprise, "what are you talking about??"

They'd been walking as they were talking, and they ended up in front of an old, mostly abandoned, furniture storage warehouse.

Thankful the streets were empty, he strong armed her into the door he had left unlocked that evening. She turned around, trying to get herself out of his grip but he held fast to her...slamming her against the wall of the stairwell.

He pressed his body against hers, his cheek against hers as he spoke near her ear.

"I knew you would put up a little fight, and trust me...it's turning me on. Now. Come with me up the stairs, it'll be better for you if you come nicely."

Again she tries to get out of his grasp, so he's left with no choice but to grab a fist full of hair and start pulling her up the stairs.

She grabs at his arms, tears streaming down her face...she says, "please. Please don't do this, I didn't do anything to you. Please, let me go now and I won't tell anyone anything."

He continues walking up the stairs, pulling her, as he says to her,

"You're not going to say anything to anyone. I'm not going to let you go. I'm going to use you and your body for my pleasure and perhaps if you cooperate, you can find some pleasure too. If I know you the way I think I do, you will enjoy this immensely. I already am. Say 'please' again."

Instead of tears streaming down her face, she is openly sobbing. They arrive upstairs and he flings her into a chair next to the bed. He walks back to the landing and locks the door.

She takes the opportunity to look around. They're in a large room, there is a king sized bed with clean white sheets, but no pillows or blankets. There is a bedside table with a lamp, a small kitchenette off to the side and what appears to be a bathroom behind a pocket door.

--

He walks back towards her, takes in her appearance. Her perfectly styled hair is now a disaster, there is mascara smudged under her eyes and several runs in her pantyhose.

He pulls up another chair and sits down across from her. He says, "tell me something sexual that you're deeply ashamed of doing."

"I don't know what you mean."

He stands up and slaps her across the face with an open palm, "don't make me ask you again bitch. You know what I mean."

"I-I-I can't think of anything," she stammers. He grabs her jaw in his hand, squeezing tight.

"Think."

He lets go and sits back down, his cock growing hard at how pathetic she looks... how pathetic she is...

"Ok...um...I used to send explicit pictures and videos to guys."

He stands up and slaps her across the face again.

"Why would you be ashamed of that? Most whores do that, I'm not surprised you have."

"I did it while I was married."

"I see. Tell me more."

"Well, it was mostly one guy. And I listened to his directions and basically took pictures and videos of any and every thing he requested."

"What else?"

"That's all I can think of."

He slapped her again.

"We'll come back to this, I need you to tell me your secrets. Now, stand up."

She keeps her eyes locked on him as she stands up. He reaches out to unbutton her coat, his thumbs lightly touching her neck as he slides the coat from her shoulders. She shivers...her nipples growing hard under her silk shirt and thin lace bra.

He commands her to unzip her skirt. She reaches behind her which forces her tits farther out in front of her.

His eyes are drawn to the small points of her nipples, and for a brief moment she feels powerful.

She unzips her skirt and it slides down her ample hips and thighs, coming to rest in a pool at her feet. He sits down in his chair, her pussy is eye level to his face.

He reaches out towards her hips - sliding each thumb under the waistband of her hose. He slides them down to her knees, then immediately shoves two fingers into her pussy.

He is simultaneously turned on, pleased, and appalled by just how wet she is. He pulls his hand away, covered in her sticky clear juices.

He pulls her wrist down so she is sitting, and he holds his hand up to her face, and asks "what's this?"

Her face turns crimson- she is so embarrassed that her body has betrayed her this way. She doesn't answer him.

He smears some of her pussy juice over her lips...she turns her head away, and he grabs her jaw. He commands her to suck his fingers clean.

She opens her mouth and one by one, sucks her own juices from him. She tastes her sweat, her sweetness, and the nicotine on his fingers.

He says, "have you ever tasted yourself before?"

"No."

Instead of slapping her with an open hand, this time he punches her in the face, saying, "don't ever lie to me. Ever."

She is on the floor in an instant, the force of the blow sending her to her knees. She's never been hit before tonight.

He grabs her by the hair, pulling her up to sit back in her chair. She's crying. He grips her jaw in his hand and asks her again, "have you tasted yourself before?"

"...yes."

"How often?"

"Almost daily."

"Do you enjoy the way you taste?"

"I wouldn't do it if I didn't enjoy the taste."

He slaps her again, immediately she says, "yes. Yes, I love the way I taste very much."

"Tell me the way you like it best."

She blushes, then admits to him, "I like it best when I'm ovulating. It's sticky and clear and there is a bunch of it. When I was married, I particularly enjoyed the day after sex, when my juices had time to mix with his. I would taste myself a lot the day after."

He says, "I knew you were a whore. Now you're my whore. You deserve everything that is going to happen to you over the next three days, because that's your place. And your place is to make my cock feel good. Now, go take a shower. Don't be long."

She stumbles to the shower, her panty hose around her ankles and her high heels making her unsteady. In the bathroom she sees an array of products - shampoo, conditioner, a bar of soap, a wash cloth, a razor.

She steps in the scalding hot water, careful to not get her hair wet. She washes her ample body, then decides she may as well shave her legs. She steps out, dries off and goes back into the main room. He is lying on the bed, as naked as she is.

She stands there, brushing her hair and waits for further instructions.