by JJ Argus
Chapter Five
She and Davie partied again, and she danced with such abandon, such energy, that her friends raised their eyebrows.
“What's up with you tonight?” Sarah demanded as she fell into her chair.
“Nothing,” she said, gulping in air as she took a drink.
“You seem a little, uhm, frantic tonight.”
“I just feel alive,” she said.
“What are you on?” Sarah asked curiously.
Spirit scowled at her. “Nothing. Can't a girl just dance hard without people thinking she's stoned?”
“You party hard and you dance hard but you seem kind of frenzied tonight.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
She did feel full of energy, wild, dark energy that came from... she didn't know. She was dancing with a lot of different guys since Davie was too laid back, too lazy – too drugged up – she thought, to want to spend a lot of time on the dance floor. She was dancing with guys she didn't even like, guys she knew would grope her, and had, and she hadn't even reacted. Worse, she had liked it, for some weird, dark reason.
It wasn't that she wanted to have anything to do with them, not that she had any intention of fucking them or anything, but their unwelcome groping made her feel as though she wasn't in control, as though, somehow, she was some sort of wild sex creature that anyone could do whatever they wanted to.
She had pretended to ignore the groping, even though it made her heart race and her blood burn. She had ignored the fact that hairy guy who had ground himself into her ass while they danced had an obvious erection. She hadn't protested when guys had squeezed her ass, or even her breasts.
They just weren't – important. Yes, that was it, in a way. Did you complain when a dog stuck its nose into your crotch? Did you bitch at the cat if its paws touched your breasts? These guys were so – so pathetic, so weak and poor, not the least bit accomplished or capable. She was a wild spirit of – of sex and heat and lust, and she didn't deign to notice their feeble efforts.
There was only one man who could arouse her, who could tame her, who could use her the way she needed to be used, and that was Davie's father. Which was bizarre, because she didn't even like him! She lusted after him and reveled in what he did to her. But she felt a sense of indignation and outrage at how arrogantly he lorded it over her, at how peremptorily he treated her.
Arrogant old bastard! He didn't like her music, didn't like her TV shows, didn't like how she dressed or did her hair, didn't like how she talked. He didn't respect her and didn't treat her with respect! He called her a slut constantly, and while that made her blood race with dark excitement it also infuriated her, at least, after the fire had died down it did.
Maybe if his own precious little Carey turned out to be a slut too he'd change his tune!
She had to get that girl! The older one was an ice queen, but she sensed interest in the young one, the curiosity about hot, nasty, wild sex beyond the pale imitation she had no doubt already experienced.
She would have to be nice to the girl, see if they could become 'friends' and then encourage her in her darkest fantasies. Maybe she could get one of her friends to come over, one of her better looking male friends, and fuck her little brains out. That would teach Rutherford!
* * *
They went home. She didn't even try to get into Davie's pants. She was eager for him to fall asleep, and he did quickly. Smirking, she left the suite and wandered down the hall, wondering where the old man was. Probably asleep, she thought in disappointment. It was almost three in the morning, after all. Should she set off the alarm again? No, that would be too fucking obvious, and she was still not prepared to admit to him on any level that she welcomed his attentions.
She paused by his door, her mind whirling. She should go, she knew, but her pussy was throbbing, and a dark hunger had hold of her. There had to be a way, a way to provoke him yet pretend she didn't want him at all. She turned the handle and listened intently to the sound of steady breathing.
Spirit crept into the dark room, her mind still fluttering with uncertainty about what to do. Should she throw water or something on him to piss him off so he grabbed her and - punished her? Should she crawl into bed and wake him with a blow job?
Should she just sit on the edge of the bed and wake him up and tell him she wanted him to fuck her brains out? No, she couldn’t ask, couldn’t say anything like that. She didn’t want to wake him with a blow job either. She wasn’t the one who initiated sex, after all. It was him, the old guy, who attacked her!
And that was just how she wanted it.
She sauntered across to his bed then, not being particularly careful or quiet. She looked at him a moment, then scanned the room. There was a leather bench at the foot of the big, four poster, and his clothes were on it. She let a smile creep over her and picked up his pants, searching them for cash, but came up empty. Looking around, she went to the bed table and pulled it open. She smiled as she saw the fat wallet sitting inside, and next to it, a gun.
Perfect, she thought with delight.
She pulled the wallet out and took all the cash she could feel, sliding it into the pocket of her cutoffs, then picked up the gun and examined it. It was heavier than she’d have thought. She turned to the bed and sat carefully on the edge, then brought the gun down against his lips. Could she scare him? Could she get him to suck on the gun the way she had by threatening to blow his head off? Could she make him beg!?
The light snapped on and she jumped in surprise as he sat up in bed. She held the gun up determinedly, but he didn’t look very frightened. He gave her a contemptuous look and threw back the covers. He was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts and she felt herself momentarily distracted by his powerful chest. Then he was standing before her with the gun pressed into his chest.
“Don’t you think you should stop playing games/” he growled.
“I-I don’t know what you mean,” she said impudently. “If you don’t do what I say I’ll -- .”
He grabbed her wrist, twisted it to the side, and pulled the gun out of her hand, tossing it on the bed.
Then he released her wrist, grabbed the front of her shirt and tore it down the middle. He pulled hard enough to yank her stumbling forward, stepped aside, and then yanked her torn blouse off from behind. He shoved her forward so she half fell into the bed and undid her bra, then tore it loose as she started to struggle.
“Get off me! Pig! Bastard!”
He snorted and let her roll over, then tore open the front of her cutoffs, and yanked them and her thong down, lifting up hard enough to raise her butt of the bed, and to yank her legs up as he pulled them off. Then, he flipped her onto her belly,
“That first night when I saw you, do you remember saying that if I’d been stricter with Davie he might not have turned out to be a lazy sot? And I said if your parents had tanned your butt you might not have become a worthless little brat?
He tore the thong, then pulled her flailing arms back behind her, pinned her wrists, and wrapped the thong around them, tying them tightly.
“Let me go! Let me go, you pervert bastard!” she gasped.
It was important, of course, to get it on record that she wanted no part of his dirty body!
He made a face and bent over, grabbing one of his socks off the floor, then yanked back on her hair to force her mouth wider, and stuffed it inside.
A moment later he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling her over his lap, belly down. He had her hair in one hand and his leather slipper in the other.
The slipper came down on her upraised bottom with a loud crack of noise, and she howled at the sudden stinging pain. But it was just the first. The slipper came down again and again and again, as she twisted and writhed and tried to curse him to no avail. She tried to use her tongue to shove the sock out, but whenever she got most of it free he would pause and patiently force it back inside again, yanking back on her hair until her head was forced way back and she couldn’t
close her mouth.
Then he’d resume wacking her ass with the slipper!
Being spanked with a slipper was just not the kind of dark, dangerous, nasty thing that Spirit had been looking for. Beaten with a belt, maybe, or a riding crop, or something like that. But being spanked with a slipper was just too tame. On the other hand -- it fucking hurt! In fact, it hurt more than she would have believed possible! Her ass was a flaming red, throbbing ache, and every blow turned the heat up higher!
Despite her best efforts, tears of anger, frustration and pain began to fill her eyes as he continued to bring the slipper cracking down on her aching backside. She exhausted herself in struggling and still he brought the slipper down. And it hurt! And he wasn’t groping her or touching her in any way that would have made it seem more sexual - her being naked notwithstanding
Spirit determinedly clung to her tough-girl image as long as she could, but as the spanking continued and the pain clawed at her with unrelenting force tears began to fall from her eyes. Her ass was on fire! And there was no way to stop it! No way to keep the blows from landing on tender, red flesh!
She couldn't even throw away her pride and beg him to stop! And as the frustration and pain mounted she embarrassed herself by beginning to cry, first just a little, then, as he continued to bring the slipper down on her fiery red ass, in great, heaving sobs that shook her body.
Still he brought the slipper cracking down across her burning bottom, until finally, suddenly, he stopped. He grabbed some tissue from the bedside table and pulled her head up by the hair, holding it against her nose.
“Blow,” he said, not unkindly.
Spirit blew her nose gratefully, still sobbing, and he wiped her nose and tossed the tissue away.
“Are you going to be a good little girl or do I continue?”
She moaned weakly, still sniffling.
“Nod your head if you agree to be a good little girl.”
A good little girl!? She thrashed and screamed wildly - in her mind.
But she nodded her head meekly.
He pulled the sock out of her mouth and she gulped in air, feeling his hand now caressing her overheated bottom, gliding over the hot, red skin. She felt his hand slip down between her thighs, his fingers lightly caressing her sex, and felt an instant awakening, a sharp, sudden spike of sensation and heat between her legs.
His other hand slid along her ribs and under to cup and massage her breast.
“I don’t want to see any more insolence coming from you,” he said, his fingers gently parting her labia and slipping inside. “I don’t want to hear any more snotty, challenging talk, no more rudeness, no more disobedience.”
Fuck you, she thought, but his fingers felt soooo good as they slipped gently into her body she couldn’t bring herself to talk.
“If you want me to fuck you, you should just ask, politely,” he said, his fingers rubbing at her clit, pinching her nipple lightly. “You’re a pretty girl and any man would be delighted to take you up on the offer.”
She felt a surge of pleasure at his words, then self-loathing. Who cared if he thought she was pretty!? She knew she was hot!
But she only gasped in pleasure at the way he was swirling his fingers round in the mouth of her sex.
“I’ve seen girls like you before,” he said. “You obviously need a lot of cock. I can probably supply more than enough to keep you happy.”
His fingers suddenly plunged deep and Spirit groaned aloud, her head rolling.
“Now are you going to be a good little girl?” he demanded.
She didn’t answer, and he drew his fingers back. A moment later she gasped as his hand slapped stingingly against her bare bottom.
“Yes!” she gasped.
“Yes, sir,” he corrected.
“Yes, sir,” she moaned.
His fingers returned to exploring her now very moist pussy, slipping inside again while rubbing against her clit.
“Hot little slut,” he said.
He suddenly pulled his hands free, and instead, lifted her and flipped her over. Then he raised her upper body she was sitting across his lap. Her bottom stung, at first, but then he seized her hair and forced her head, firmly, but not cruelly back. Spirit gasped, back arched, and her legs spread apart instinctively to counter balance herself.
His right hand slipped back onto her pussy, fingers probing inside, thumb stroking against her clit, and she moaned as his lips encircled her nipple. He sucked and chewed lightly, his tongue stroking skillfully across her nipple as his fingers pumped in and out of her, and Spirit felt her hips grinding up against him as sexual heat grew into a feverish lust within her.
Three fingers plunged deep, again and again, and then he used a fourth so she felt stretched and gaping. She moaned helplessly, heat suffusing her body as he fingered her, as his lips moved from one breast to the other, as she lay helpless in his arms, burning with pleasure.
“Hot little slut,” he said again.
He bit into the nape of her neck, sucking lightly, then kissed a trail down her chest and onto her breasts again.
“Are you ready to come? Are you ready to come on my fingers, slut? Tell me,” he demanded.
“Y-Y-Yes!” she gasped.
“Yes, sir,” he said, twisting his fingers in her hair so she made a helpless pain sound.
“Yes, sir!” she gasped.
“Beg for it. Beg me to let you come,” he said, his fingers easing their movements, his thumb raising up off her clitoris.
Oh yes, she thought excitedly.
“Please!” she gasped. “Please let me come, sir!”
“Again,” he growled, twisting her hair again so she gasped in pain.
“Please make me come, sir!” she moaned.
Heat and excitement rolled over her now, despite her sense of embarrassment and indignation at demeaning herself. Yet the fact he’d forced her to beg made her even more excited.
“You’ll come… when I say you can… slut,” he said.
He rolled her off his legs and onto the floor, and she gasped in surprise. Then, his fingers still in her hair, he guided her back around so she was on her knees before him. He pulled his cock out of his shorts and drew her in, rubbing it across her face.
“Do you love my cock, slut?” he growled, his fingers twisting in her hair.
“Y-yes!” she gasped.
“Say it, slut.’
“I-I love your cock… sir!” she gasped, as he twisted her hair again.
“Then suck it, you little slut.”
He pushed it into her open mouth and she moaned excitedly, closing her lips around it, sucking, licking, drawing it in deeper as he pushed her head down.
“Do a good job sucking that cock, and maybe I’ll let you come, you little whore.”
Spirit felt a wild flare of outrage, of indignation, and yet they were completely overwhelmed by the surging, churning heat, a dark, burning lust that drove her to push her lips downwards, to take him deeper and deeper, until she gurgled and gulped his cockhead down her throat.
“That’s it, you slut. Swallow that cock. You filthy little whore,” he taunted her, pulling down on her hair, forcing her even further.
He slipped his other hand behind her head and jammed her face into his groin, holding her there, mouth and throat full of cock, her eyes rolling up at him helplessly. Then he let her up, pulling her free so she gasped and gulped in air, saliva drooling over her lower lip.
“You love it. You love that cock, don’t you, slut,” he demanded.
“Y-yes, sir!” she panted.
“Say it.”
“I-I love your cock… sir!” she gasped, flushing with embarrassment, thrilled by dark heat.
“Why? Because you’re a slut?”
“Because I’m a filthy fucking slut whore,” she gasped in overheated delight.
He slapped her face with his cock and forced it into her mouth again,
“Swallow my cock, you nasty little cock sucker,” he said, reach
ing under to grope her breast.
Spirit’s belly churned as he fucked her face, as she sucked his cock, as he called her all those awful, deliciously dirty names! She felt a scalding wave of heat rolling over her, and almost came just from feeling his cock drive deep into her throat.
He pulled her back by the hair.
“What are you?”
“I’m a dirty little cock sucking whore!’ she gasped in a choked voice.
He pumped his cock with his fist, and came, his come spraying over her face and into her open mouth. Then he used his cock to smear his cream all over her face before forcing her down onto it again.
“Clean it off, slut. Make it all nice and shiny so I can fuck you.”
She mouthed his cock, licking and sucking it, and then took his balls into her mouth, one at a time, sucking them as he called her names, as he called her his whore, his bitch, his slut, as he pulled at her hair and roughly groped her breast.
Then he tore her off.
“Turn around, slut.”
She obeyed, moaning, then felt a disappointment as he untied her. But he got up and moved to the closet, coming back with a … leash.
He grinned as she stared at it. He’d torn off her clothes - well, except for her socks, but she was still wearing the studded dog collar, and he clipped the leash to it.
“Get on all fours, you bitch.”
She moaned shakily and obeyed.
“Crawl. Crawl like the bitch in heat you are,”
She crawled across the floor, with him jerking on the leash. It was easy on the carpet, but she winced as they hit the floor. Still, she crawled, and stopped when he ordered her to.
“Are you a good little bitch slut?” he demanded.
“Yes, sir!” she gulped excitedly.
“Show me what a good little bitch slut you are. Bend your head down and lick my foot.”
A shocking little crackle of sexual electricity ran up Spirit’s spine at the outrageousness of the demand. He jerked roughly on the leash, though, and as if in a haze, she bent, staring at his foot, and then brought her tongue across the top.
