The whole thing came off without a hitch. A bunch of us guys from the minimum security prison were doing cleanup along the highway. My sister drove up, I got in and we drove away. I was a trustee because I was in prison for something pretty minor. That had a pretty short shelf life because of the recent arrest of someone who I knew couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I’d have been moved to a maximum security prison and I’d be there a very long time if I hadn’t taken off when I did.
Sis took me to a vacant house she’d found in one of those real estate papers. She had an extra pair of stolen plates and a box of spray paint. All we needed was to borrow another car and we’d go our separate ways. I was a little hungry and so we decided to have a pizza delivered along with that car. My day had been going pretty good so far, and it just got a hell of a lot better. When dinner arrived, my sister invited the driver inside. I stepped out from behind the door and found that I had my hand over the mouth, and my knife at the throat of a pretty young girl.
She dropped the pizza and started trembling in fear. As scared as she was, she couldn’t have screamed even if she’d been that stupid. The nearest house was far enough away that no one would hear her. My sister looked the girl up and down approvingly, and smiled. Then, giving me a wink, said, “She left the engine running, so the keys are obviously in the car. I’ll get it ready; it looks like you’re going to be busy.”
Uncovering the girl’s mouth, I got a tight hold on her jet black ponytail and whispered in her ear, “When your on the inside, you can get ass, but you never get cunt. I sort of miss it, if you know what I mean. I’m guessing, though, that you’ve got a tight one in your trousers, am I right?”
She gasped and for a second I thought she was going to put up a fight. The knife seemed to convince her just what a bad idea that was. Her mouth opened and her breathing got all ragged, but she didn’t say anything.
“If you’re too modest to say, that’s fine,” I said, pulling her to one side so my sister could get to the door. “I’ll find out for myself.”
When she did say something, she had this sexy little shake in her voice and asked, “You’re going to rape me?”
As my sister went out the door, she smirked and said, “Creamsicle, that wins the prize for the stupidest question I’ve heard this year.”
I had to laugh. Half a dozen times while we were in high school, my sister would invite some snooty girl she didn’t like to a slumber party just so she could drug the little bitch for me to rape. Usually, she had to drug all the girls at the party so there would be no witnesses. That meant I got to suck tittie and lick pussy with a room full of girls. I always knew which one she wanted fucked and knocked up, though, because she’d say, “Creamsicle is the one on the floor in front of the stereo,” or “Creamsicle is wearing the polka dotted pajamas,” or something like that.
Sis never watched, though. Just knowing they were getting raped seemed to make her happy. Of course, if later she learned they were pregnant, she was happy all over again. I never knew for sure, but I think her being happy meant she was upstairs in her room rubbing her clit raw. That was fine by me. Her being otherwise occupied meant that I got to fuck some of the others too, with no one being the wiser.
I always thought of the rest as being Popsicles. I didn’t want to risk them getting pregnant and my sister catching on, so instead of creaming their cunts I’d pop them in the ass. It’s too bad they didn’t have digital cameras in those days. One of them is famous now; naked pictures of her when she was 18 would be worth a lot of money. I don’t know if her ass helped her get to the top, but it sure was fine. I fucked it twice at one party and again at another.
While my sister went at the car with a couple of cans of spray paint, I dragged my little pony-tailed plaything toward the bedroom, keeping my knife to her throat.
“You’ll never get away with this,” she said, fighting back tears.
I laughed and forced her through the door.
“What the hell do you care?” I asked. “It won’t make any difference. The cops might catch me, but they sure as shit aren’t going to unfuck you. Whether I get away with it on not, you’re gettin’ got, girl.”
“Oh, God, no. Please, no,” she said, looking at the bed like it was an open grave.
I turned her toward the mirror on the dresser so I could see her face. She was petite, looked to be about 20 and was pretty as a button. She could see me too. The cold, determined expression on my face told her just what little good begging would do her. Whispering in her ear, I asked, “Are you scared?”
“Are you afraid I might kill you?”
Her big brown eyes opened even wider as if she hadn’t even considered that possibility. Tears started rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t answer. Snickering, I said, “You’re supposed to say, Please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything if you promise not to kill me.”
In response to that, she clenched her eyes shut and cringed. She was obviously imagining just what ‘doing anything’ would be like.
“I’ll make you a deal,” I told her, holding her tight to my chest with the knife in my right hand pressed firmly against her throat as my left left hand let go of her hair and started squeezing her tittie. “If you behave yourself and let me fuck you without too much muss or fuss, you’ll live to tell about it. Sure as shit I’m doing you, Creamsicle. …my stick is going in you and you’re getting filled with cream. You ain’t strong enough to stop me, but you’ll die trying.”
I felt her tense up and she shifted sideways trying in vain to get her tit away from my hand. Moving my hand to her other tit so she was in more of a bear hug than before, I repeated, “…you’ll die trying.”
She cringed again and started crying harder. Her imagination wasn’t being her friend. The near future was probably a lot easier to imagine, but a lot harder to accept.
“…beaten, raped and killed, or just a real good fucking,” I added, “The choice is yours. If you’re smart, though, you’ll drop your pants.”
Her eyes opened and she looked at my reflection in the mirror. She was trying her very best to control her tears, but was only having marginal success. Giving her a little kiss on a cheek, I said in a soft, almost fatherly, yet still firm voice, “Drop your pants.”
“I can’t,” she whimpered.
I gave her nipple a pinch. She was wearing a heavy sweatshirt and a bra, but it was still enough to make her wince with pain. Giving it a little twist, I told her, “Yes you can. It’s called survival instinct. Do I have to cut your pretty face so that you know I’m serious? If you know I’m capable of hurting you, maybe you’ll believe I’m capable of killing you.”
She shook her head rather adamantly. Then, after more than a half dozen false starts and halted movements, her slacks finally slide down her sweet little legs. She didn’t step out of them, though. She was obviously going to have to be told each and every thing and then be threatened and given time to comply. She didn’t have it in her to be cooperative; She was just too scared to be too much trouble.
“You aren’t a virgin, are you?” I asked, moving my hand from her tit to the top of her panties.
She lowered her face almost like she was ashamed, and shook her head the tiniest little bit.
“You know it wouldn’t matter, don’t you?” I asked, lowering the knife a little. “I’m doing you, no matter what. You know that too, don’t you?”
She was holding her legs together as tight as she could and really starting to blubber. Her lips were quiver so much she found it hard to speak, but finally managed to say, “Please…”
“Don’t beg,” I said, interrupting her. “Just nod your head.”
She reluctantly started to nod, but stopped the instant my hand slipped into the front of her panties. Bending forward as far as she could without actually cutting herself, she let a long, pathetic, “Nooooo…”
I gave her a minute or so to get used to the feel of my fingers petting her muff before using my knife to convince her to stand up straight again. I figured it was time for a show of strength and so I jammed my hand into her crotch, picked her up bodily and shook her pants off of her tennis shoe clad feet.
Setting her back down, I told her, “You’re either going to take your sweatshirt and bra off or I’m going to cut them off. That means two things. One, I might accidentally cut your titties. Two, you won’t have anything to wear when we’re done, assuming you remain cooperative enough to still be alive. Now I’m already playing with your pussy, so showing your tits should be no big deal.”
Even though I was way past her muff and was actually petting her pussy lips, she didn’t seem to follow my logic. She was a little damp like most scared females have a tendency to be. It must be some sort of a primal thing. It’s as if a woman’s brain comes wired for rape. Whatever the reason, though, she was slick enough that the tip of my finger slipped easily into the mouth of her tight little cunt.
Using the knife to force her to look in the mirror again, I gave her a stern look and said, “Now I’m fingering you and you won’t show your tits. You’re starting to piss me off, and that’s not a good idea. If you don’t show them to me real soon, you quite possibly won’t live to regret it, if you know what I mean.”
The hem of her sweatshirt slowly rose in fitful little starts and stops until I could see the bottom half of her bra. I had a tight enough grip on her with the hand in her panties so that I could move the one holding the knife behind her head and hold her by her ponytail. I gave her another no-nonsense look and she yanked her sweatshirt up and over her head in a single movement like she was pulling off a bandaid, or something.
A little shake and it was off my arm. Because I was getting a little impatient, I cut through the back strap of her bra with a quick and easy slice before taking hold of her ponytail again. She stood there shivering for the longest time, glancing at my refection in the mirror a few times. Then, finally, she made this almost unnoticeable move with her shoulders and her bra slid down her arms to the floor with all the rest of her clothing except her panties, socks and shoes.
She had really nice titties. They were a little on the small side, but were perky with stiff, pink, upturned nipples. It was like being in high school again. Her arms fluttered around a little. I could tell she wanted to cover herself, but knew just how bad an idea that was. She was getting more and more worked up because we were getting closer and closer to the part she was dreading the most. While I played with her twat and tits she did this little dance like she was practicing running if she ever got the chance.
“It’s time you got on the bed,” I told her, pinching a nipple and pulling forward, leading her to where she really didn’t want to go. “You just lie down, get comfortable and relax. …well, as much as you can under the circumstances.”
If I hadn’t been pulling her from the front and pushing her from the back, she wouldn’t have obeyed for at least another five minutes. I had to literally shove her onto the bed and then pin her down to keep her from trying to roll off the other side. Every muscle in her body was straining, but she wasn’t going anywhere or doing anything I didn’t want her to do.
“I really hate to do this,” I told her, putting the knife to her cheek. “I guess you’re just going to have to bleed before you realize how fucking serious I am.”
Her eyes snapped open wide and she blurted out, “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“What is it you’re supposed to say?” I asked.
She gave me this terrified look of confusion. Her brain wasn’t working, but then I considered that a good thing. It made her a whole lot easier to control. Reminding her, I said, “You’re supposed to say, Please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything if you promise not to kill me.”
“I’ll do anything,” she croaked. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Chuckling I said, “That’s close enough. Now, we’re going to see just how true that is. It’s time for your panties to come off. Remember what I said about relaxing?”
She was wound up tighter than a spring. Slowly, though, I felt the fight go out of her and along with it the tautness of her muscles. Keeping my eyes on hers, I eased down the bed. She didn’t move. I set the knife down near her feet. She didn’t move. Gripping her panties on either side, I tugged. She still didn’t move for the longest time. Then, clenching her eyes shut tight and screwing up her pretty face with anguish, she grudgingly lifted her hips.
“Good,” I said, softly. “Keep behaving and you’ll still be alive and in one piece when we say our goodbyes.”
When I got them to her ankles, she nodded her head, lowered her cute little butt and lifted her feet. A second later, she was completely naked except for her socks and tennis shoes. Somehow, they made her look even sexier than if she’d been totally naked. They spelled out unplanned-sex in no uncertain terms. In my experience, unless they are hi-heels, only a girl getting raped is wearing her shoes and nothing else while being fucked.
“Open your eyes.”
When she did, I picked up the knife and showed it to her.
“It’s right here,” I said. “Don’t forget that.”
Her eyes closed again and she crossed her arms under her tits, giving herself a little hug. When you’ve raped as many women as I have, you learn to recognize real resignation and submission when you see it. Of the conscious ones, meaning all of them since high school and the slumber parties, she was by far the youngest, but the signs were the same. She wouldn’t be giving me any more trouble. She was putting all her energy into enduring the unwelcome fucking she would soon be getting.
I set the knife back down. Then, with one of her trembling ankles in each hand, I gently pulled her legs open. She started crying harder and her hands covered her face, but she didn’t resist at all. Her moment of truth had come. There was no longer any doubt in her pretty little head that I was going to fuck her, and she wasn’t going to risk suffering the consequences for trying to stop me. Like I said, she was resigned to enduring the unwelcome fucking she would soon be getting.
Pushing her feet up so that her knees were bent, I told her, “Don’t move until I’m in you, and then you can show me what a good piece of ass you are.”
As I knelt on the bed, opening the front of my pants, her feet remained where I had planted them, but her knees moved together until they touched. I knew it was out of modesty and not out of resistance, though. She didn’t like her little lightly fringed slit being on display. Just for the fun of it, I decided to prove it. My cock was hard and after a few strokes to spread the pre-cum, it was slick too. With a tone of voice that sounded more like friendly advice than an order, I said, “Open.”
I was tempted to make her put it in, but that would have involved more threatening and more delay. Even the ones that willingly spread for you can’t bring themselves to stick a rapist’s cock in their cunt, and I was ready to get to the in and out. Porno always says you slam your entire length into a woman and go to plowing her good and hard. Reality is seldom like that. A cunt’s got to be real wet and a little loose for it to happen like in the stories. …not what you want and not what I got.
There was a little fumbling finding her hole and getting in, and then a few spread-the-wetness pushes and pulls. My little Creamsicle was tighter than most and only a little moist. I was in for one sweet fuck, complete with trembling and tears. She was just the way I like them; crying, but compliant. …tilting her hips to give me the right angle, but too terrified to do more than ride it out. There was humiliation in her eyes from the moment I’d said, “Don’t move until I’m in you,” and it had deepened every second from then on until it overflowed.
I’ve never had one who bawled so long and hard. I must have pounded her pussy for a good five minutes and she never ran out of tears. Her face was wetter than her cunt. They were both pretty sweet, too. I wanted more of that wonderful cunt, though, so I hooked my elbows under her legs and pressed her knees to her tits. Instead of just whimpering and cringing in protest, she started whining and wincing in pain. Being petite has its disadvantages.
Another a couple of minutes of pounding her into the bed, pumping that sweet slit, and I was getting close. My little ponytailed pizza girl had my stick in her belly and she was about to get the cream that would make her a fully-fledged creamsicle. I could tell from the distress in her watery eyes that she knew it too.
“You know I don’t care whether you’re on the pill or not, don’t you,” I asked.
I couldn’t tell from the expression on her face whether she was horrified at the thought of getting pregnant, or just disgusted by the thought of me cumming inside of her, but it was one delicious look. It was all I needed to push me over the edge. I grabbed her shoulders, pulled her to me, plunged as deep as I could, balls to baby maker, and started filling her up with baby batter. She was young and fertile and too much of a goody-two shoes to abort. We both knew I was putting a baby in her belly.
I didn’t think she could cry any harder, but she did. As I unloaded inside of her, jerking and twitching, grunting and groaning, she opened her mouth and let out this mournful, primal cry. It was pretty spectacular. I swear I could hear my sister climaxing to it in the living room. My pretty little creamsicle was shaking and shivering so much it was like she had a vibrator up her ass. It probably wasn’t her intention, but she milked every drop of sperm out of me.
When I rolled off of her, panting and gasping for breath, she propped herself up a little on her elbows and asked, hesitantly, “Are you going to let me go now?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “In the first place, you aren’t going; we are. You’ll stay behind tied to this bed until someone comes looking for you. Second, I’m not done with you just yet.”
Pointing toward my crotch I added, “Your mouth, my cock, get to it. Don’t make me say or else.”
Her tears had finally dried up, but she still had a mournful look in her eyes. It was obvious, though, even with her being totally disgusted by the idea, she was going to comply. Stalling for as long as she thought safe, she reluctantly scooted into position. With the first taste, I thought she was going to puke on me. She didn’t. She managed with a lot of effort to get her stomach under control and set to the task grudgingly, but sufficiently.
I was soon hard again. She of course knew she had another load coming her way, and soon too. Her sweet little mouth slid off my cock and she gave me a questioning look. She seemed to be wondering if it was going down her throat or whether she was getting fucked again. I patted the bed beside me. She started to lie back down and I told her, “Hands and knees, popsicle.”
The change in name seemed to confuse her more than the position. She probably thought I just wanted to pound her cunt doggie style.
“I’m going to pop you in the ass,” I explained.
Saying she found that to be an unpleasant surprise, would be a colossal understatement. Her head started shaking from side to side and she did a lot of protesting and begging. Unfortunately for her, she was on her belly and under me before she knew what happened. Being twice as big and twice as strong is a pretty significant advantage. On top of that, a ponytail is the perfect hairstyle for a girl to get herself raped.
Due to the lack of folds of soft flesh, finding her brown eye was a lot easier than finding her cunt. My cock found its target first try. I still didn’t sink it in a single stroke, but two or three good shoves is all it took. Damn did she have a tight ass. She may have even been a backdoor virgin. The whole time I pounded her, she squealed to high heaven and thrashed around what little she could.
Let me tell you that little girl was one hell of a ride. It usually takes me about twice as long to get off the second time, but I was draining my balls into her bowels in no time. The slickness of the cum must have eased the pain some, though, because she settled down some. She was lying still when my limp cock slipped out of her. Tears were rolling down her cheeks again, and she was saying over and over, “You bastard. You bastard.”
I had to grin. It was the honest to God truth; momma was never the type to marry one man when she could keep half a dozen in her stable. If she’d stuck to single men, or at least ones who didn’t have wives who owned guns, she’d still be Queen of the Trailer Park.
Almost on cue, my sister came in the room with some rope and helped me tie up pizza girl. The knots keeping her legs together were the sort that come loose with a tug. My sister and I never talked about her sex life, but I had the definite impression she’d be back in that bedroom the moment I drove off. I guess a couple of stiff fingers and a girl’s own cum would still make her a creamsicle.
#Rape #Teen #Virgin