She's seventeen.
Seventeen.
What had gone wrong in my structured plannings? What was off in all of my hours of research? Why did I miss the correct resources and go straight for the ones that would only lead me to where I am now? Dammit, why didn't I think this through?
Her flesh is unbearably smooth underneath my body, her skin warm... her eyes clashing with mine as her mouth fights against the duct tape, trying to force screams between the small space between skin and tape. Nails claw against my arms violently, trails of blood long since running down to drop on the bathroom tile.
Seventeen.
I reach down and grab a fistful of cloth, tearing her skirt from the slit up to reveal the garment she wears underneath...
... The garment that offers little protection from her innocence.
... The garment that I need to remove to complete my fantasy.
Ever since I had seen her on the television, I knew I was torn. The need started when her eyes locked onto the camera and she smiled a politician's smile, sucking up to the crowd to get them to loosen up. They all swooned beneath her lady-like antics, her hands tucked up on the podium, her bright eyes seeming to lock with every one who dared show up to see such an important woman. Her clothes were always so casual, but managed to bring in a certain amount of femininity that was necessary to gain respect. No flimsy dresses... no strappy shoes... what an ideal woman looks like.
But that's not right.
She isn't a woman. Not yet.
Seventeen.
She's a child.
Pain ripples across my system as one of her free hands slams into my face again, adrenaline surely starting to pump through her small frame. She doesn't stand a chance against me, though. How could she?
She's just a child.
Light burns in her eyes as she stares straight through me, flicking her gaze in the direction of the door where she thinks she could possibly escape. Seeking hope and salvation... seeking the prince charming that won't show. Her small hands slide into my hair, yanking... tugging... but, if I close my eyes, she's caressing me.
Young blood.
My desire grows stronger as I laugh. Not at her.
Never at her.
When the sound dies down, she starts to struggle more viciously, gaining an obscene amount of strength in a time span of two minutes. Her blows are stronger, her forced screams growing louder as the tape begins to separate from her beautiful skin, her mind telling her to use her legs to try and catch me by surprise.
Emotion floods into my head, clouding the sensible voice now screaming at me to stop. Her legs part to try and kick me, and I slide tight against her body. As my eyes flutter with pleasure, she starts thrashing, thrusting against me to try and get me away. Try and get me to stop.
I absently reach down and rip the tape off. She winces for a brief second before her gorgeous voice fills my apartment with harsh shouts and hopeless cries. Her whole body tenses as I unleash her hands and bring mine to her underwear so I can slide them down. I have a second to react before five sharp claws slam down my cheek. Ignoring the momentary flash of pain, I drag her panties down, holding her still until I can slip one leg out.
Harsh words begin to spill from lips that spoke of good and pure.
She's no longer the sweet politician I had dreamed of.
But she's a child.
Seventeen.
As I reach for my belt, she seems to learn that slapping won't work, and her fist connects with my nose. Oh... such strength from a small girl.
I unzip myself and manage to free my erection from the confines of my boxers, staring down at her sexy body. Her perk breasts are for the most part uncovered, shreds of her torn t-shirt laying around her torso with her nipples hard from stimulation alone.
"No."
Seventeen.
I push her legs apart but she fights back like a rabid animal. She slaps, punches, kicks, spits, and even goes so far as to lean up and bite my neck. The pain triggers something in my mind, and I place my hands on her bony shoulders. Obviously noticing my brief second of discomfort, she goes in for another bite. Instinct takes over and I slam her away from me, wincing as her head cracks against the tile, a scream following the harsh act.
I'm gone after that.
Her brief moment of disorientation is enough for me to slip inside of her without too much trouble, but her stubbornness comes back when I'm fully seated. She opens her mouth to let out another scream, and I pause for a split second when a trail of blood filters out.
"No!"
She slowly puts her hands up to my neck and tries to place pressure anywhere she can possibly reach.
"Please... stop!"
I bring her to my chest and then push her back to the floor, her head slamming against tile again. Her eyes cloud over as I start to move, blood pouring more openly from her parted lips. I repeat the action twice more, waiting until her cries die down to a soft whisper of breath to accompany the sounds of my body against hers. It doesn't take long for me to reach a pause in my fantasy, coming to a harsh realization directly in the middle of the daydream.
Her blood is slowly seeping out onto the white floor, staining her blonde hair red.
Her blank eyes stare up at me, her breathing harsh and labored as I slow my urgent thrusting to a small rock.
I reach down and lift her head, my hand falling into a thick mass of something wet. Without needing to see it, I bring it back around to look at the blood now running down my palm to drip across my forearm. It dances across my skin, touching me and giving me just a light sensual feeling.
She's sprawled out before me now, legs limp and parted. Just for me. Her hands rest half-curled off to her sides, red splotches of my blood underneath her manicured fingernails. Her bangs fall in a sweaty tangle over her blue eyes, creating a somewhat coy curtain. My now-bloodied hand reaches up to gently grab one of her breasts, kneading carefully as I fall back into my fantasy.
She's willing.
Young blood.
Seventeen.
The pleasure that I experience is strong and powerful, years of pent-up pressure and lust building in the back of my mind finally able to release from its cage. I pull away from her soft skin, her thighs sliding along mine as I reposition myself back on the tile to put space between her and myself. I pull her ankles until her legs straighten out and rest on the floor. With no little amount of guilt, I spread her legs slightly apart again so she's laying in a half spread-eagle.
The pool of blood around her head has grown much larger in the little time it took when I fell back into my fantasy and finished. Her eyes now stare up at the ceiling, watching nothing.
I climb to my feet and carefully button back up, not bothering to clean before dressing.
She looks so small now that I can observe her.
So young.
Seventeen.
My fantasy has been acted out. No need for me to stay any longer.
I nudge her side with my boot, her eyes not moving.
"Good-bye, little sister. I'll see you again one day."
Her breathing picks up just a little.
"I'd certainly love to replay this fantasy."
Seventeen.
What had gone wrong in my structured plannings? What was off in all of my hours of research? Why did I miss the correct resources and go straight for the ones that would only lead me to where I am now? Dammit, why didn't I think this through?
Her flesh is unbearably smooth underneath my body, her skin warm... her eyes clashing with mine as her mouth fights against the duct tape, trying to force screams between the small space between skin and tape. Nails claw against my arms violently, trails of blood long since running down to drop on the bathroom tile.
Seventeen.
I reach down and grab a fistful of cloth, tearing her skirt from the slit up to reveal the garment she wears underneath...
... The garment that offers little protection from her innocence.
... The garment that I need to remove to complete my fantasy.
Ever since I had seen her on the television, I knew I was torn. The need started when her eyes locked onto the camera and she smiled a politician's smile, sucking up to the crowd to get them to loosen up. They all swooned beneath her lady-like antics, her hands tucked up on the podium, her bright eyes seeming to lock with every one who dared show up to see such an important woman. Her clothes were always so casual, but managed to bring in a certain amount of femininity that was necessary to gain respect. No flimsy dresses... no strappy shoes... what an ideal woman looks like.
But that's not right.
She isn't a woman. Not yet.
Seventeen.
She's a child.
Pain ripples across my system as one of her free hands slams into my face again, adrenaline surely starting to pump through her small frame. She doesn't stand a chance against me, though. How could she?
She's just a child.
Light burns in her eyes as she stares straight through me, flicking her gaze in the direction of the door where she thinks she could possibly escape. Seeking hope and salvation... seeking the prince charming that won't show. Her small hands slide into my hair, yanking... tugging... but, if I close my eyes, she's caressing me.
Young blood.
My desire grows stronger as I laugh. Not at her.
Never at her.
When the sound dies down, she starts to struggle more viciously, gaining an obscene amount of strength in a time span of two minutes. Her blows are stronger, her forced screams growing louder as the tape begins to separate from her beautiful skin, her mind telling her to use her legs to try and catch me by surprise.
Emotion floods into my head, clouding the sensible voice now screaming at me to stop. Her legs part to try and kick me, and I slide tight against her body. As my eyes flutter with pleasure, she starts thrashing, thrusting against me to try and get me away. Try and get me to stop.
I absently reach down and rip the tape off. She winces for a brief second before her gorgeous voice fills my apartment with harsh shouts and hopeless cries. Her whole body tenses as I unleash her hands and bring mine to her underwear so I can slide them down. I have a second to react before five sharp claws slam down my cheek. Ignoring the momentary flash of pain, I drag her panties down, holding her still until I can slip one leg out.
Harsh words begin to spill from lips that spoke of good and pure.
She's no longer the sweet politician I had dreamed of.
But she's a child.
Seventeen.
As I reach for my belt, she seems to learn that slapping won't work, and her fist connects with my nose. Oh... such strength from a small girl.
I unzip myself and manage to free my erection from the confines of my boxers, staring down at her sexy body. Her perk breasts are for the most part uncovered, shreds of her torn t-shirt laying around her torso with her nipples hard from stimulation alone.
"No."
Seventeen.
I push her legs apart but she fights back like a rabid animal. She slaps, punches, kicks, spits, and even goes so far as to lean up and bite my neck. The pain triggers something in my mind, and I place my hands on her bony shoulders. Obviously noticing my brief second of discomfort, she goes in for another bite. Instinct takes over and I slam her away from me, wincing as her head cracks against the tile, a scream following the harsh act.
I'm gone after that.
Her brief moment of disorientation is enough for me to slip inside of her without too much trouble, but her stubbornness comes back when I'm fully seated. She opens her mouth to let out another scream, and I pause for a split second when a trail of blood filters out.
"No!"
She slowly puts her hands up to my neck and tries to place pressure anywhere she can possibly reach.
"Please... stop!"
I bring her to my chest and then push her back to the floor, her head slamming against tile again. Her eyes cloud over as I start to move, blood pouring more openly from her parted lips. I repeat the action twice more, waiting until her cries die down to a soft whisper of breath to accompany the sounds of my body against hers. It doesn't take long for me to reach a pause in my fantasy, coming to a harsh realization directly in the middle of the daydream.
Her blood is slowly seeping out onto the white floor, staining her blonde hair red.
Her blank eyes stare up at me, her breathing harsh and labored as I slow my urgent thrusting to a small rock.
I reach down and lift her head, my hand falling into a thick mass of something wet. Without needing to see it, I bring it back around to look at the blood now running down my palm to drip across my forearm. It dances across my skin, touching me and giving me just a light sensual feeling.
She's sprawled out before me now, legs limp and parted. Just for me. Her hands rest half-curled off to her sides, red splotches of my blood underneath her manicured fingernails. Her bangs fall in a sweaty tangle over her blue eyes, creating a somewhat coy curtain. My now-bloodied hand reaches up to gently grab one of her breasts, kneading carefully as I fall back into my fantasy.
She's willing.
Young blood.
Seventeen.
The pleasure that I experience is strong and powerful, years of pent-up pressure and lust building in the back of my mind finally able to release from its cage. I pull away from her soft skin, her thighs sliding along mine as I reposition myself back on the tile to put space between her and myself. I pull her ankles until her legs straighten out and rest on the floor. With no little amount of guilt, I spread her legs slightly apart again so she's laying in a half spread-eagle.
The pool of blood around her head has grown much larger in the little time it took when I fell back into my fantasy and finished. Her eyes now stare up at the ceiling, watching nothing.
I climb to my feet and carefully button back up, not bothering to clean before dressing.
She looks so small now that I can observe her.
So young.
Seventeen.
My fantasy has been acted out. No need for me to stay any longer.
I nudge her side with my boot, her eyes not moving.
"Good-bye, little sister. I'll see you again one day."
Her breathing picks up just a little.
"I'd certainly love to replay this fantasy."