Vincent Church - Degraded teenager

"I won't hurt you," he choked, lifting her hips, reaching beneath her to take hold of the plump, quivering halves of her gyrating bottom.

She knew it would do no good to object: it never did, not since Lew Ogden. She was beginning to think of herself – her curly red pussy, her asshole, her mouth – as a jism receptacle. Everywhere she went, everything she did, no matter how innocently the day began, it always ended in fucking. There was something about her, some mysterious part of her that drew stiff pricks and abuse as sticky paper draws flies.

Yet the joint in her slippery cunt wasn't abusing her. It was basking up there, the glans drinking in her warmth. It felt good. So good she now wished he'd undressed before parking at the side of the highway and putting it in. She wanted to feel his fat balls, to heft and compare them with the memory of those she'd held up at the point. She wanted to tell him to take the stupid pants and shorts off, and ram the last inch of hard dick up her sopping wet twat.

Instead she said, "I didn't say you could…"

The man raised up, looking long and hard into her eyes. What he saw brought a wide, knowing grin. "But you do, don't you?" he said finally.

"Do-ow. Owummm! D-Do what?"

He laughed. He fucked his hips slowly back, withdrawing all but the tip of his prick from her pulsating cunthole. "You want it. This!" He made the glans expand and contract against her swollen love bud.

Wendy gasped. She wiggled herself up off the seat, pussy snapping, sucking him back in to the hilt. Men! They thought they were so smart! Every last one took advantage of her helplessness, making her do all sorts of horrid, perverty things. And then, when her cheeks stopped burning in shame, when it began to get good for her too, really good, they invariably did something rotten. Like the man now taking pleasure from the smooth pinkness between her creamy young thighs; pulling it out like that and making her pull it in, making her gasp with need and embarrassment. She could see the triumph mingled with lust in his deepset brown eyes. She could feel the sense of conquest in the way he was stoking half the length of his cock in and out, in and out. He had her, he knew: she couldn't stop now if the National Guard appeared with machine guns and dogs, and tried to yank her away.

"Tell me you want it," he said, coming down on her once more, kissing her neck, her ear. "Say, fuck me, mister! Fuckout my cunt real food!"

"No-No."

The hands on her ass began to knead, bruising the tender white mounds of flesh. "Say it! Say 'Please, mister, fuck your hard dick up my round, teenage belly! Make my tight little pussy sore. Fill me with hot cum!'"

"Oh…!" The dirty words made her giddy. He knew – darn it, anyway! She couldn't hide the empty ache in her sweet cunthole. She didn't know why a big dick always did her that way; she didn't know why it made her so wanton and willing to do anything, anything at all, to make the cream spurt and pour out and down the inside of her thighs. She knew only that she couldn't help saying the words, couldn't help wanting more of what the mall had shoved up her pussy. Hard cock! The harder the better! Long and stiff and throbbing, with the jism jacking its way up from his big, hairy balls.

"Please, mister," she gasped. "Fuck it all the way up me. Up me hard! Up my wet pussy! Hard! Real hard!"

The man's laughter was harsh, cruel. He paused for a moment, as if considering the best way to go about screwing in the confinement of the front seat. Taking firm hold of the cheeks of her ass, he grunted and sat up, taking her with him. "God that's good, baby! Fucking good! Put your feet up."

Wendy felt his bulbous cockhead at the inside roots of her belly button. Suddenly she was astride his lap, legs wide. Tentatively she placed her feet on the seat at either side of his thighs, opening her wet cunthole still more. She glanced down, and moaned. Now she could see him. In the dim light from the dashboard, she could see the hard cylinder of manmeat protruding from the grotto below her curly red wedge; could see his wiry cockhair, like a burst of black Brillo standing away from the open pants and shorts. Again she wished he'd taken the cumbersome garments off before putting it in. She chewed her lip, and wiggled. "D-Do it, mister. Oh, do it! Do it!"

"Like this?" Holding the plump halves of her bottom, supporting her weight, the man lifted until she almost slipped free of his prick. Then he let her come slowly down the length of his big, throbbing cock.

"Ummmmmmm!" Wendy wrapped her arms around his neck, and hugged tight. Her belly did flips. Her asshole opened, as if she were going to shit. Her cunt began to nip, dripping hot cuntjuice down the front of his pants. There was a knot in her chest – no! Two! Two hot tits demanding attention. She pressed them into his suit jacket, rubbing until they hurt. She'd never before held a dick in her this way; never before had she sat astride a cock with the stiffness pointed straight up her cunthole.

The man kissed her. One hand spread out on her bottom, he gripped the back of her head, forced her lips open, and rammed what seemed to be yards and yards of tongue into her mouth. Again he lifted, and let her fall. And again, groaning each time she came down onto his lap, making his prick jerk like an angry cobra at the top of her velvety vagina.

Wendy's hand dropped of its own accord to his pants, and groped there. She found his nuts and sobbed, not waiting for him to lift, pushing up with her feet and grinding her tiny pink cunthole down on the glistening pole. She didn't care any more that he was a stranger, and that someone, the highway police perhaps, might catch them fucking. She sucked his tongue and worked his fat balls, not caring about anything except the thick cream she knew was on its way up from the wrinkled nuts in the palm of her hand. She hugged him tight with one arm, and made her ass – now wet and sticky with hot goo from her cunt – go like a wild merry-go-round, like the toy belly dancer on her nightstand at home, but faster, more provocatively.

The man's lips slipped from hers, covering one of the hard buds showing through the knit dress. He blew.

"Oh my God!" His moist breath ignited her titties. Again she glanced down, amazed that such a silly thing – his big, rigid cock, which was slimy and slightly pent and full of ridges and veins – could perform such tingly wonders inside the folds of her sex. She felt the hand on her bottom search for and find the small crack, and then search lower, a finger twisting up the little brown asshole between her plump, quivering cheeks. She wondered about that: she fucked as fast as she could, and marveled that men – Daddy, Doctor Bruce, all of them – found such unabashed pleasure in shoving something up her back there. Before the home, she had considered her rectum a filthy, horrid place, a dirty trick nature had played on her otherwise perfect young body. But it was much more, she was learning. Like her pussy, it was a hot, slippery place that men desired. Not even the shit smears, the smell that clung to fingers and cocks, seemed to dissuade them. Everyone enjoyed poking something up her back there.

She stopped wondering, stopped thinking, when the tip of the stiff prick in her belly grew as fat as a doorknob. The man cupped his free hand at the top of one thigh, holding her down on his lap. "Wiggle it, honey," he gasped. "Fuck that hot red pussy around. Jesus! Ch! Baby! Ahhhhhhh!"

The cum spurted out. It filled her sheath, seeped down onto her clit and throwing her too into the grip of orgasm. "Oh, mister. It feels so good. Ohhhh…"

She fucked and fucked, making her vulva suck up the jism, milking his dick. She closed her eyes and worked, made her wet cuntlips feather the roots, the long veiny shaft, and set her inner belly in motion on the fat cockhead. There were bright lights inside her head blinking.