Danny Starr - Go Down Payments

"Yes, well I'm glad I was able to help you, Mr. Bessel, but the time has come for me to leave."

"Stick around, kid," he told her. "You and I could have a couple of laughs together. Besides, I want a chance to sort of thank you for what you did."

Marge was very conscious of the way he was looking at her, and realized what was on his mind. The same look had been in Cousin Walter's eye, the day before. He was admiring the shape of her fourteen-year-old body, and she could see him swallowing his drool. Elliot Bessel was definitely not a hero. He was the farthest thing from a hero. And when he began walking toward her, she started backing away.

"Look, I think you'd better let me out of here," she whimpered.

"Sure I will," he assured her. "After you and I ball."

"Get away," she cried, backing further into the room. "I'll scream. I'll scream very loud. Someone'll hear me and call the police. You'll see."

"In this neighborhood, everyone minds his own business," Bessel told her. "But there's no reason for you to be afraid, kid."

He was leering at her, though she could barely see his yellow teeth under his shaggy mustache. Her intestines seemed to freeze.

"No," she screamed, hoarsely. "No, no, no. Get away from me!"

She wanted to run as fast as she could, to get away from this wicked-looking man. But terror rooted her to the spot.

There was a small table near her, and on the table was an old broken vase. Turning, she saw the phone near his cot. Maybe she could reach it and call someone. Picking up the broken vase, she threw it at Bessel, then went running to the phone. The vase crashed to the floor as she reached the phone. Turning, she saw Bessel coming closer and closer, moving as if in slow motion. Her hand reached for the phone, but froze. She couldn't move, watching the skinny man come closer and closer.

Terrified, she felt him grab her shoulders and hurl her down on the cot. Then he was kneeling over her. When she tried punching him, he grabbed her wrist, showing amazing strength for a man so skinny.

"Please… " Marge screamed. "Oh, please, please, let me go. I didn't hurt you. I was the one who warned you."

"Stop sniveling like some brat," he ordered, and his hand whipped across her face, jerking her head to the side.

She cringed, trying to pull herself away from him. The pain against the side of her face dazed her. He pinned her to the bed, and she realized he was too strong for her. There was no way she would be able to fight him. And the helplessness of her situation totally overwhelmed her. This was a man, in his late thirties or early forties, and though he was thin, he was very strong. Her struggles seemed to make him very angry, and he had hit her. For now, she would have to go along with him and hope he wouldn't hurt her any more. Maybe she would find a chance to get away.

"Look," she said, trying to keep the shiver out of her voice. "Why are you doing this to me? If it weren't for me, you might be in a hospital. Why are you repaying me by hurting me?"

"Now look, kid," he said, his breath smelling of some kind of cheap wine, "I don't wanna hurt you. I just wanna be nice to you. Jesus! It's been so fucking long since I've dicked a broad. And now, like heaven sent you, you're here. You did me one favor last night. Now you're gonna do me another favor, and if you behave, maybe you'll like it, too."

"L-Look, why can't we talk about this? I mean, I'm just a girl."

"Cut the shit, honey. You have a cunt, and you have tits. In fact, you have nice big tits, which means you're old enough to be fucked. Now stop with this crap, because the fact of the matter is, my cock is going inside your twat. And there isn't a damn thing that'll stop it."

"But why… I mean… " and she was unable to finish, terror gripping her, strongly.

"Just shut up, little girl," he told her. "You think you're the first young kid I've ever fucked? Christ! This neighborhood is full of pre-teen whores. You'll probably be the oldest cunt I've fucked in the past two years."

"What are you talking about?" Marge asked.

"Stop the shit," he snapped. "Just because you have a better-looking body than most of those other little cunts doesn't mean I'm gonna pay you anything. I didn't pay them, either."

"Pay? I didn't come here to get paid."

"Look, kid. I told you to stop bullshitting me. You called me last night and warned me. Now you came here hoping I'd pay you a little some thing for your trouble. Then you flashed this terrific body at me, thinking if I wouldn't pay you for the phone call, maybe you could coax money out of me another way."

My God! Marge thought. This man is a real sickie.

"Now, wait a minute… " she said aloud, but she was cut off when he slammed his mouth against hers, shoving his bushy mustache into her nostrils. She jumped because of the savage way he was kissing her, feeling his sharp, yellow teeth cutting into her tender lips. She could smell his heavy breath and it almost nauseated her.

Taking a deep breath, Marge mustered her strength and pushed. She caught him by surprise, and he went shooting away from her. Desperately she tried getting up from the cot, but he grabbed her dress and pulled. For a moment the dress held, but the strain was too much, and it began tearing. He kicked her and she slammed right back down onto the cot. She lay there, panting, terrified, watching him leap to his feet and move to his easel. He grabbed a paint-covered palate knife and stumbled toward her. She saw the glint of the metal under the many paint colors, and her heart turned to ice.

Fear totally paralyzed her, as if she were surrounded by a cold, icy blanket. Her eyes remained locked on the palate knife, realizing a man crazy enough to show her such a weapon might also be insane enough to use it. This maniac had her totally at his mercy. No wonder Cousin Walter had sent goons to beat him up. She wondered why her Cousin Walter had bothered loaning him money in the first place. This man wasn't a bad risk, he was a horrible risk. He was criminally insane, and she was completely at his mercy. She wouldn't dream of challenging the knife. He could do whatever pleased him, and she didn't dare fight it.

Elliot Bessel was an ego-maniac. As far as he was concerned, the world had been created just so he could have a place to exist. Had he not come into existence there would never have been any need for the world. Therefore, everything in the world rightfully belonged to him, even if the other morons who shared this planet with him couldn't understand that. Their puny laws were meant for their own protection. Bessel needed no laws. He was a law unto himself. Even if the rest of the world was unable to understand that, he knew it. He was wise enough to let them think he would be subjugated by their rules and regulations, but whenever possible, he flouted them. He had raped more young girls than he had fingers on his hands, but in the past few months he had curtailed that activity a bit, knowing the foolish police might hurt him if they caught him. This was why Marge seemed like such a godsend to him.

He sensed her surrender when he brandished the palate knife, and wasted no time wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him, tearing off the rest of her dress.

Marge lay cowering on the cot, clad only in her bra and panties as he pulled off her shoes. He was still pointing the palate knife at her, but the fear which had initially seized her was rapidly going away, leaving only a dull ache inside her to finish whatever it was he had in mind. She shut her eyes, praying he would let her leave without hurting her.

She felt his hands grab the elastic waistband of her panties and draw them down over her ankles, and off. Now she felt the cool air blowing against the golden curls covering her pussy. Then he sliced the band holding her bra, and pulled it off, as well, and the air seemed to waft over her nipples, making them swell a little.