Dan Webster - Forced into damnation

Foxy reached around her waist and was rubbing the front of her body now, bringing the flat of his hand up as far as the swell of her quivering tits and then down as far as the hair-cushioned mound of her sox. Connie pulled away from him, taking her hands from the top of the packing crate and turning to face him. "Are you satisfied?" she asked. "Now you can be sure I've got no gun."

"I don't know," Foxy said, licking his lips lustfully. "You might have it hidden somewhere I couldn't feel it. I think you'd better take off your clothes and let me have a look."

"No," Connie sputtered, her voice a nervous shout.

"Keep your voice down," Foxy said, his tone cold, hard, and menacing. He held the knife in front of her face, its point grazing the tip of her nose. "I don't like noise. And, anyway, there's no one around to hear you."

Connie felt hot tears of frustration welling in her eyes as she realized that she was completely at his mercy.

"Take off your clothes nice and slow," he commanded. "And don't try any tricks. I'd hate to have to mark up that pretty face of yours. Now strip!"

No longer able to control the sobs of humiliation that were clogging her throat, Connie began to cry openly, all hope lost. "Don't make me do this," she pleaded. "I assure you that I haven't got a gun. Please. Just let me go and we can forget the whole thing."

But Foxy just shook his head from side to side. "It's gone too far for that," he said. "Now get, 'em off." As he spoke, he ran the edge of the sharp blade lightly across the freckled skin of her cheek. The blade felt cold and razor sharp, and Connie shuddered inwardly at the thought of what he could do to her with it. He could disfigure me for life, she thought. All in a swift flash of unreasoning anger. And he might not stop there. He might kill me.

Resolving to do nothing which might anger him, she crossed her arms, reaching for the ribbed border of her sweater. She drew a deep breath before pulling the sweater up over her head. When it was off, she placed it carefully on top of the packing crate. She stood before him now, naked from the waist up except for the tight black bra that held her lusciously big fits in place. Its front was cut to a deep plunging vee, designed to give her breasts uplift under the sweater. She could see him staring lustfully at her cleavage, wetly licking his lips as he did so. With his left hand, he was rubbing the growing lump which stood out against his pants. His right hand continued to wave the switchblade toward her, reminding her of what would happen if she refused to comply with his command.

She hesitated briefly, uncertain of whether to take off her bra or her jeans next, finally deciding on her jeans so that she could keep her breasts covered for a moment longer. She unfastened the snap at the front of her pants and began to open the zipper. Her panties were black and matched her bra. She heard Foxy draw his breath in sharply as she opened her jeans, exposing the wispy garment to his view, and began to draw them down over her hips and the full ripe mounds of her ass.

As the jeans dropped to her ankles and she stepped out of them, she saw the perpetrator untie the thong which held his leather pants closed and reach inside. He was playing with his prick. Connie could see the thick organ outlined clearly against the dirty, sweat-stained leather as he rubbed and manipulated it with his fingers. Although filled with revulsion at the thought of what he was making her do, Connie found herself intrigued by the outline of the mammoth organ. She remembered what Lionel's naked cock had looked like and wondered if all pricks looked the same.

Foxy saw her looking toward his erection and smiled with satisfaction. It didn't take any of them very long to discover that there was something special about him. And no matter who they were, it wasn't long before they wanted it.

"Come on," he said. "Quit stalling! I want to see what you've got hidden inside that brassiere." His prick throbbed achingly as he surveyed her full titties, the curving white skin of their tops overflowing the low cut undergarment. He could see the puckered silhouettes of her turgid nipples pressing insistently against the material of the black bra-cups.

When Connie hesitated, he moved toward her, brandishing the knife. He ran the cold steel areoles the curve of her swelling tits, pressing its sharp point threateningly against the soft white skin separating the huge mounds of swollen flesh. "Don't make me cut this thing off you," he growled, turning the sharp edge of the blade against the tautly drawn material which separated the two black bra-cups, filled with their sensuous load.

Connie obeyed quickly, reaching behind her to undo the clasp, fearful that he would carry out his threat, leaving her with nothing to put on later. When she opened the catch, the bra fell from her, carried away by the swelling tits that it contained and which longed to be free of its confinement. She dropped the bra on top of her sweater on the dusty top of the empty crate.

Her breasts were naked now, jutting proudly from the front of her body, the two erect nipples pointing straight at Foxy. She could feel them swelling to complete erection, the rosy aureoles puckering around the rising buds of pink which they surrounded. Foxy licked his lips again as he looked at them.

"No gun there," he said, grinning lasciviously. "Now the drawers."

"You can see I've got nothing hidden in my panties," she said imploringly. "Can't you leave me one last shred of decency?"

But Foxy sneered, his teeth glinting yellow in the flickering candlelight. "The drawers," he repeated impassively.

Connie clenched her teeth in an effort to contain the sob of shame which was building in her throat and threatening to tear from her lips. A flood of humiliated tears was flowing down her freckled cheeks and dropping wetly to the swell of her naked tits. She looked down at the concrete floor of the warehouse, unable to meet the beady eyes of the knife-wielding hoodlum who was tormenting her.

Three horizontal ruffles crossed the front of her panties just above the swollen mound of her pussy. She liked wearing pretty underwear. It made her feel clean and pure. But now, posing before this repulsive creature, clad in nothing but her ruffled underpants, she felt soiled and defiled. Most humiliating of all was the knowledge that there was no way to avoid doing what he ordered.

Hooking the elastic waistband of her panties with her thumbs, she pulled them swiftly down over the curving swell of her hips. She could feel her flesh crawl as gradually it was bared for the lewd inspection of the knife-brandishing tough. When the waistband reached the top of her furred pubic triangle, she stopped for a moment, unable to bring herself to expose any more of her body.

But when the candlelight glinted off the blade of Foxy's knife, she remembered his threat. Biting her lip to keep herself from wailing in despair, she pulled the panties all the way down, feeling the dusty air of the warehouse sweep dankly over the curling hair of her sex. She could see Foxy's gaze trained openly on the pouting lips of her cunt, flowering open and peeking out through the tangled jungle of wiry fur.

"Are you satisfied now?" she asked, her quavering voice barely audible in the thunderous silence of the empty warehouse. "Have I proved to your satisfaction that I'm not a cop?" She hated this smugly sneering criminal. Hated the expression of lustful desire on his face and the look of contempt which he turned on her as she spoke.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "A smart policewoman might travel without a gun if she thought she was going to be searched."

Connie began to sob openly now, unable to control the flood of emotion which assailed the dam of her self-control. "Then what do you want?" she screamed. "What more do I have to do to convince you?"