At three sharp I pulled up in front of the designated McDonalds restaurant. My heart was pounding fiercely. I looked around for several minutes but didn’t see the girl. Suddenly, there she was, standing beside my driver’s side window. She was nicely dressed in jeans—tight ones—a white blouse and black leather jacket. She was holding school books, which must have been her ruse for leaving her house. I motioned for her to go around and get in the car. As she did so, my heart was racing faster than the 2,000 rpms of Porsche’s idling engine.
I was dying to look at her, but refused to do so as I put the car in gear the second she got in and had shut the door behind her. I pulled away, paying attention to traffic as I entered the road, but I could tell that she had fixed her gaze upon me. I passed her a written note that I had prepared in advance. She started to read the note out loud, but after I abruptly gave her a silence signal with my forefinger in front of my lips, continued reading the note quietly to herself. The note read: “No conversation until I’ve had the chance to search you for a listening device.”
I heard her giggle as she folded the note. It was the first thing I had ever heard or seen—or felt—about this girl that told me she was only a teenager.
I drove out of the commercial area and soon we were in forest land where trees crowed the highway. After a few minutes, my passenger asked: “Where are you taking me?” When I didn’t answer, she said, her voice shaking slightly: “I told my friend that I was meeting you…” For once she didn’t sound so…so much in control! But what a smart little bitch. Maybe she had told someone, maybe not, but she obviously told me this so that I wouldn’t kill her and bury her in a fucking hole in the forest!
After not too many miles I pulled off onto a logging road and drove a hundred yards into the forest. I stopped the car and got out. I walked around and opened the door for the teen girl, who unwrapped her lithe hard body from the low slung car and stood to her full 5’6” height. Without high heels she was a little shorter than she had been the night before.
With no introductory niceties, I immediately told the girl to take off the leather jacket. Looking at me, a noncommittal expression on her pretty, young face, she obliged, and handed it to me. Meticulously, I searched the garment. I was trusting her that she had not gone to the police, and therefore it was unlikely that she had any sort of sophisticated audio surveillance device, but a small tape recorder was a possibility. This little bitch was not to be taken lightly.
There proved to be nothing in the coat. I then demanded her purse, which she proffered. Inside was her cell phone, which was not in record mode, but no other electronic device. I took the girl by her shoulders and spun her around rudely until she faced the car, and made her put her hands on top of the car. I then frisked her body thoroughly, leaving no part of her unexamined. My cock, despite my potentially dire circumstances, had the audacity of stiffening slightly as my hands felt the girl’s firm, natural breasts that lay beneath the white blouse and what must have been that familiar, flimsy push-up bra. I then made sure with my hands that there was nothing in the pockets of her jeans that stretched across the curves of her hips and ass, although the jeans fit her so tightly that just by looking one could tell that they held no foreign object. My hands also confirmed beyond doubt that there was nothing of a extraneous nature in the snug fitting crotch of the jeans.
The girl tried to watch me over her shoulder as I patted her down. I could tell that an open mouth smile played on her lips. She appeared to be highly amused, which irritated the shit out of me. I wanted her to be terrified. Instead, I was the one who was terrified. When I was done, and satisfied that she was clean, I gave her back her jacket to put on. The day was rather chilly. Her eyes, which were fixed on mine as she pulled the black leather jacket back on, fairly flashed with amusement. God was she beautiful! “Maybe you better do a cavity search,” she purred. “There might be a listening device in my pussy.”
“Get back in the fucking car!” I hissed.
Once we were both back inside and out of the chill air, I demanded: “Okay, talk!”
The girl tossed her head and her long, dark blonde hair flowed over her shoulders. “Well,” she began, “you never answered my first question.”
“What questions?”
“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” She was looking out the windshield.
“Enjoy WHAT?” I hissed, exasperation getting the best of me.
The girl turned her beautiful face toward me and, as calmly as if she were ordering a burger with fries, asked: “Did you enjoy fucking me?”
Hearing the f-word like this coming from the pretty mouth of such a good looking teenage girl caught me momentarily off guard. Recovering quickly, I nearly shouted: “I did not…” At first I could not even repeat such a word in front of such a young, sweet looking girl, but then I persevered. “I DID NOT FUCK YOU!”
The way she merely smiled at me told me that the game was over. “Give it up, Mr. C. We both know what happened.”
Even though I was twenty-five years older than her, and she addressed me as Mister, she seemed every bit the patient adult telling a wayward child to quit lying about something. I shut my eyes against this nightmare as she continued speaking. “I really was shit faced last night. The last thing I remember clearly was talking with Ashley at that party. She told me this morning when I called her that she got me out of the party. For my safety, she said. She thought I was going to be raped or something. So she delivered me to the protective custody of her dear father.” The sarcasm fairly dripped from her voice as she spoke.
She continued: “I remember coming to at some moment, just for a few seconds maybe. I was on a bed and…I was being fucked! I felt that…that I had my ankles around a man’s neck…and we were doing it. Gee, am I blushing?” She paused to giggle. “And then I felt my legs fall to the bed. And the man kept fucking me. But then I must have passed out again.”
I sat there in cold silence hunched behind the steering wheel of the Porsche, my eyes shut, my hands together, fingers interlocked, the knuckles just below my nose.
“I remember only bits and pieces after that. I…felt the man’s fingers in my pussy and he was cussing. Muttering something about a broken condom. And then I could sense some camera flashes going off. I felt so scared at that moment, but I couldn’t do anything. My body wouldn’t respond. It was weird. It was like I was having an out-of-body experience. Ashley told me she thought I had been slipped a date rape drug. Maybe that was the effects, I don’t know.
“I then remember cold air hitting me. I was being carried into the cold outdoors. And then I was sitting in a car. I must have opened my eyes about then because I saw this red neon motel sign, only the “l” in motel was missing. I remember being bothered by that, like that Monk guy on TV. I don’t remember anything after that until somebody was carrying me upstairs to my bedroom. I could hear my mom babbling. And I saw your face as you laid me on my bed.”
There was a pause in the girl’s monologue, but I didn’t open my eyes. I just sat there, petrified.
Then she continued. “My mom came in around nine this morning and woke me up. She was mad as hell and wanted to read me the riot act. She was bitching at me, but my head was terrible. I had this really fucking bad hangover.”
Did most girls her age swear as bad as this girl, I wondered vaguely.
“Then my mom left my room and left me lying there in bed. I wanted to go back to sleep but I couldn’t. My head hurt too bad. I was under the sheets but I realized I was still wearing the clothes I had gone out in. I just lay there, wishing I was dead. And then those few memory flashes of the night before came crawling into my head. I remembered that I had been raped. I reached under my miniskirt and felt my pussy. It was a little sore. I think I did sleep then a little bit. When my mom came into the room again later, I asked her who it was that brought me home, and she said it was you, Mr. C. And she said how much I had embarrassed her. She told me I had to call you and apologize.”
Did I hear a giggle in her voice?
“I finally got up and went to take a shower. When I was in the bathroom and took my panties off, I looked at them really carefully. I’ve seen guys’ dried cum before, and I saw a small trace of it right there in the crotch of the panties. Somebody’s DNA just as plain as could be.”
She paused there, and there was total, deafening silence in the car. Then the girl continued. “YOUR DNA, Mr. Collins. Really, you should have been more careful. Did you really use a condom, but it broke?” There was no doubt this time that she had actually laughed.
“What a gentleman to have used a condom,” she went on, sarcasm coating her words. “So considerate, Mr. Collins. But next time, let me recommend Trojans. Good quality. They won’t break.”
I sat there cursing the phone call that I got from my daughter the night before to go pick her up.
“You could have gotten me pregnant with that cheap rubber! Thank god I’m on the pill.”
Well, at least there was relief there, I thought bitterly.
“And what a flea bag motel you took me to! I think that bed gave me cooties. I thought you had more class than that, Mr. C.”
I know that she thought these snide remarks could get a rise out of me. When they did not, she went on. ”So, I thought, hum, I should go to the police and report that I was raped.”
I at last opened my eyes and glared balefully at the teenage girl.
“You know, you really should be punished for what you did,” she said. “That was really, really, wrong, taking advantage of a young girl like that. But, should you go to prison for thirty years? I hear they do awful things in prison to rapists.
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