Tapping into that Market Pt. 02

The school term was ending but my continuing education into my own sexual identity was just gaining steam. I had already learned of my innate desire to please other people where the realm of sexual adventure was concerned. If this drive to appear subservient in my role means to debase myself, I am finding that is what feeds my obsession. I will obey commands and put someone else's climax ahead of my own. Not because I don't know any better, but exactly because I understand that my body reacts orgasmically to being "forced" to perform. I don't want to delve into the psychology of my drive, but I think alot about it. My fantasies, and my limited experience have convinced me, that I reach a much higher state of arousal when I'm being told, (forcibly sometimes,) how and what to do. I can't help myself, this is what I so badly desire.

I was nineteen years old and a high school graduate. I was intending to take a year off in further pursuit of my softball career, in hopes that maybe an athletic scholarship would help me decide on a future college. My parents endorsed the idea, as they both worked hard to finance the education of my older brother. But first, before I said goodby to school friends, was the senior prom. I had no intention or any real desire to attend this semi-formal dance and late-night after party, because it would simply reinforce the notion that I had never been on a date and that many people assumed from my previous liaisons, that I was a closeted lesbian.

However, the girls on the team wanted to make a statement about our "unbreakable bonds." Though many of them were hetero, and even some of the "lezzies," had male dates, I wasn't in the mood to have my last remaining moments of my four years, to be gawked at and gossiped over. But I had committed to the team and we wanted to show a united front. We all found gowns of a similar style and in various shades of the school's colors, and we promised each other that we would spend atleast some big part of the evening together.

On the morning of the prom, I gazed at my lacy dress and high-heeled shoes and thought just how elegant it appeared. Then I feared how clumsy and clunky, I would look in this get-up. "Like dressing-up a mule in race-horse harness." I even stood infront of my mirror, straight from my shower, and studied my reflection in the glass. I was bare-lagged and my hair was bundled in a towel. The lazy-cat tattoo peeked-out at me from my upper thigh and another cartoonish, tiny, jagged-heart sketch, symbolizing my seemingly broken heart was just below my left breast.

Speaking of my breasts, they looked pert and supple, probably aided by my nervous breaths expanding and jiggling them on my chest, and the warm glow recently added from a hot shower. A few other choice discoveries awaited my inspection. My shoulders were fairly broad for a young woman but they made my waist look smaller and I could actually see a few of my ribs. Two years of varsity athletics had toned my body and added definition, where once only flab resided. The constant running shaped my thighs and produced flattering contours to my calves that were emphasized when I tried-on the four-inch heels. Under the towel, my brunette locks were sun-streaked, which high-lighted the natural auburn tints, and my dikey-do had grown-out to wear it hung in thick sheets and could have completely hidden my tits, if I ever wanted to go all "Lady Godiva." And my tits had benefited from my new body-sculpting, they were now a 34 and were closer to a C-cup and much firmer than I remembered.

But my mind still played terrible tricks on me. For me, the full-length glass reflected not mere reality but a "Fun-house" distortion of how I thought about myself. The insecurities that I nurtured for years continued to drag at my ego. I had always scrambled to get from the showers to my clothes without any of the other girls getting a closer look at me. This saved the humiliation of witnessing their sneering glances or of having to listen to their snide japes. Though my body changed over the course of two years, I still saw in my reflection; the limp, saggy tits with nipples drooping south, the half-shaved head, a wrinkled and rubbery belly that lapped over the fur-patch that was my unused cunt and the doughy, trunk-like legs that despite their size could barely support my weight. In my head, no amount of frilly finery could disguise this impending disaster, it was like pouring "ten pounds of mud in a five-pound sack."

Towards the evening of the big reveal, my mother helped me into the gown and styled my hair in a swept-back pompadour. She even lent me earrings and a necklace that dropped tantalizingly into my newly emerged cleavage. Before she sent me off, she was nearly in tears, remarking that I looked far more glamorous and so unlike the lost waif, who she fretted over entering my freshman year, so long ago.

I wanted to drape a scarf over my bare shoulders, (mostly to hide what I felt was my tits spilling-over the frilly top of my dress,) but she wouldn't allow it. My father and mother did pitch-in with some other parents to rent a limo for a few of us, so we wouldn't be seen having to arrive and leave unescorted. I know that I wasn't as clumsy as I felt, with my legs sheathed in stockings and walking in heels but my feet were plainly more used to sweat socks and spikes. Mom insisted that I quit fussing and fiddling with every bow or pleat on the dress and just as the fancy car was pulling up to the curb, she handed me a shot-glass of chilled vodka, "just a 'one-time' thing," she said, "to take the edge off and have a good time."

In the car, the other dateless girls were already chatting cattily, about who was sure to look like a painted whore or whose boyfriend would be the first to cheat on them, typical girl-stuff. As we approached the ballroom where the event was taking place, a hip-flask was produced and passed around. A second shot of vodka was more than I needed at seven o'clock with a full night ahead. But as mom requested, the edge was coming off! My head was already slightly spinning when we stepped inside the hotel's main conference room and my senses were immediately assaulted by the disco bulb and laser lights.

Most of the unattached boys were scattered around the room, tugging at their bowties or scuffling their patent-leather shoes while the single girls were generally huddled together, commenting on various forms of finery and frippery. An amateur band played the latest hits and a few couples were whirling across the dance floor, some working-up a sweat while most others lazed in each other's arms. My team was standing near the soda bar, surreptitiously spiking their lemonade with the contents of pocket decanters. I was convinced that I had wrung all the fun out of this non-event by now and was feeling a bit woozy. As the night drew near to a close and the lights had dimmed, I sat patiently by myself watching the others like someone working at a gas pump, as the other cars drove by.

It was past eleven, the room was in shadow and the air thick with smoke, hair gel and pheromones. My beautifully coifed hair had long ago lost its shape and was a stringy mess, laying plastered on my heavily perspiring shoulders. Hours of twisting and picking at the delicate folds of my expensive gown, had rendered it a wrinkled, baggy sheath that hung on me like a sparkly shroud. My sore feet had finally surrendered to the agony of tapered heels and my stockings were a tangled and torn knot in my purse. The girls had laced a few of my colas with something stiff and now the entire evening was making my head spin. I was near the point of asking the limo driver to take me back home, when I noticed some of my teammates whispering conspiratorially with a pimply-faced, string-bean, senior nerd named Adam. They were all looking in my direction and having a great laugh when Jenny walked over to where I was perched.

She said that a certain boy whom I shared a few classes with, wanted to ask me to dance but was shy and had heard the rumors that I may be gay. I replied that I'm not much of a dancer and its extremely hot in here, but if he would like to take a walk out in the cool air and talk, I would like that. Then I blushed and told Jen that I needed to go "fix my face." When I returned, Adam was waiting with two glasses of ice water and suggested that we stroll out around the back parking lot. I knew him briefly but we had never really conversed, and neither of us wished to be seen sitting side-by-side in the gathering gloom of a quickly emptying room, so we left by a side door with only my girlfriends marking our absence.

The air was sticky with humidity and I was fairly nervous, walking alone at night with a boy whom I barely knew. The lot was not-surprisingly void of activity, with the hotel guests probably settled in for the night and the vehicles for the prom kids already lining-up at the front entrance for the journey to the after-party. There were distant noises from the band and announcements over the speakers from inside, but we were mostly alone. I was padding bare-footed on the walk while attempting to hold both my hair and gown in place, both were wilting badly in this heat.

Through the intervening streams of light filtered through the overhanging branches, Adam looked much older than me. His clean-shaven chin was now showing signs of a dark stubble, and his hair- dampened by perspiration- and maybe as nervous as I felt, was falling over his forehead, throwing his dark eyes into shadows, making him look, in these spooky conditions, slightly evil. His rented tux was draped carelessly over one shoulder and the ruffled shirt was unbuttoned almost to the waist, showing a great deal of coarse black hair on an unexpectantly barrel chest. It seems that he was not the standard-issue computer nerd, but a rugby player who happened to be good with advanced mathematics.

One other little twist: What I thought was ice water, turned-out ofcourse, to be vodka. The girls apparently tipped him off to my weakness and mentioned that I might be an easy target. As I further stumbled aimlessly, fanning myself and robotically loosening my bodice and raising my skirts to allow air-flow, his eyes scanned my naive form and sized me up, like a wolf. All the while, he was steering me towards his Lincoln SUV parked in the far shadows of the lot. I was hot and dripping wet, and the previous drinks were taking their effect. I could see what was evolving but I wasn't really fighting it. He would by turns, hold my hand sweetly and then pat my ass and give it a good squeeze. With one last swallow of the liquid courage and a knowing leer from my Svengali-like paramour, he opened a side door and we crawled inside where on the dusty floor, my throbbing and spinning head fell heavily to his broad shoulders.

I was half-sitting, propped against Adam and otherwise, sprawled on the floor of his van. My bare legs were spraddled indelicately and every once in a while, when I noticed, I tried to smooth my worn and torn dress over my knees. My tired eyes closed for a minute as I felt the cool metal against my skin and the warm, male body to lean on. He had one arm wrapped around my shoulder and with the other hand, he assertively cupped my breast. My eyes darted wide but my hands never moved. This was the moment that a "good girl" would put a stop to this sordid affair. My mind flashed back to the party and I took stock of the indecent situation.

I saw at that moment that this was a set-up. And he soon confirmed my suspicion. He was one of those jerky guys who hung-out at these school dances and watched like a hawk, waiting for a chance to pick-off the weak ones and further notch his jockstrap. My teammates knew that Adam had a "reputation," and they assured him that I would be an easy lay, especially if properly braced with alcohol.

While I mumbled half-heartedly that we should probably be getting back and that I might miss my ride, he nuzzled closer. "You know," he declared, "you're actually a nice-looking girl, I can see why the dykes like you." I silently questioned his statement but accepted his second-hand compliment. The one hand eased the zipper down on the back of my dress and the other wormed between my legs and rubbed the dank fabric of my thin panties. I barely moved. This no-nonsense approach staggered me but fitted perfectly with my erotic fantasies. I wasn't prepared for anything like this, but deep-down, it fulfilled my dirtiest, inner wishes.

I was dumbfounded by my own inaction, my mind sorted through the logistics but nothing seemed to matter. I understood that my liquor intake was high, but I certainly knew what was happening. He was given my secrets and exploited them well. I realized that he had cut me out from the herd and led me to his private lair, possibly the sight of many other debaucheries. He had almost four inches and thirty pounds on me, but he had used no force and even now, I was here willingly. And at my size and being in fairly nice shape, I could present quite a struggle if it came to that, but I wasn't struggling.

I sensed his hand gliding down my bare, nervous back as my gown was pushed to my hips. A cold shiver ran down my spine. But a torrent was brewing between my thighs. I even subtly lifted my butt to permit the stained and tattered taffeta material to slide over my thighs and be kicked to the side of the van. He continued to paw at the damp gusset of my tiny panties, encouraged by the low, gutteral moans emanating from my dry throat. Meanwhile he firmly gripped my wrist and holding it securely, he managed to rub the palm of my hand up and down over the startling bulge arising at the crotch of his cheap, polyester pants. I had never seen- let alone caressed- a males' cock and I became erotically fascinated by this new adventure. Separated by only the shiny material of his quickly-tenting trousers, my fingers fastened around the fabric-covered prize and I slowly stroked his awakening tool.

Satisfied that I would only increase my sensual massage on his raging boner, Adam went to work, further undressing me and preparing me for my intended deflowering. His thumb and finger made quick work of my bra and it soon joined the rest of my prom attire, crumpled at the back of the van. "These are nice tits," he smirked at me, when for the first time, I seemed to notice his unsubtle seduction. "It's a shame that you waste them on other women." He rubbed his face in the shallow cleft formed when he squeezed my boobs together. Then his tongue performed a thorough examination of my firm pink tits, the darker quarter-size areola and the perky nipples. A few young women had played with my tits before, but Adam was so much better.

He expertly kissed the soft undersides of both swaying breasts while kneading and weighing them in his callused palms. Another shiver rippled me down to my painted toenails and I moaned like a rutting whore. My chest rose and fell with each halting breath as he licked around the dimpled edges of each darkened circle then nibbled and pinched the pouty nubs. My breathing became erratic and shallow. I squirmed and twitched at each raspy touch of his rough whiskers and held my breath as his teeth raked the delicate tips. Goosebumps rose on my flesh and my entire body shivered while he devoured my needy globes. I was nearly hyperventilating and my pelvis was thudding off the cool metal floor of the big car, when he finally released the pressure building on my upper torso, only to watch him slip my soaked undies from my legs and throw them on the heap with my dress and shoes.

For a quick second, the fog was lifted in my brain and I recovered the power of speech, so I tremulously asked, "What do you mean that I 'waste them' on women?"

Adam was rearranging my quivering legs and parting my hips to reveal my newly-cropped reddish curls. His eyes were dilated and his cheeks puffing like a locomotive, he was just lowering his face to my sopping-wet tunnel, when he looked up at me. "The girls told me that you're a lezzie and dared me to try to convert you. They said that you like your pussy licked." He stuck-out his pink tongue and swiped it lasciviously across his blood-red lips. "I can lick your cunt for you, if that's what you want."

I cried out almost indignantly, "I am not a lesbo." Never bothering to tell him to stop. And when I shamefully attempted to close my legs and scramble shakily to my feet, he easily held me in place and planted polite and soothing little kisses on my tender pubic mound. We both knew at this minute that there would be no stopping. Then I offered the frailest of defenses, "Just because I like it, doesn't mean I'm a lesbian."

"Do you like guys?" he offered.

"I... I don't know. I've never been alone with a guy," I stammered.

He kissed my trembling flesh again, his tongue darting at the exposed nub and sending jolts of electricity throughout my anatomy. And his fingers twirled tight, little circles around the opening of my shuddering snatch. "Have you ever wanted a guy to eat your pussy?" He quizzed me, knowingly. I nervously shook my head, not sure anymore what I wanted. But I did know that I didn't want this to stop. "Do you want me to lick your wet cunt?" I could only nod confusedly. "Then say it, tell me you want me to eat you," he sharply demanded. I fidgeted. My lips quivered. Seeing that I was about to surrender. They must also have suggested that I respond well to commands.

I haltingly stuttered, that "Yes, I want you to eat me." And I let-out a deep sigh, seeing that the illicit sexual pattern of my obedience was rearing its ugly head. My body sagged and I fell back a bit on my elbows. He chuckled a little and stared at me like the cat with the canary.

"That's not enough," I felt both of my nipples being twisted. My body recoiled and I tried to stretch out of his reach but to no avail. "Say it again and say it right this time." His hand jabbed at my pussy and his fingers flicked at my pouty clit, drawing my instant attention. "Use the polite terms and ask me nicely."

Why didn't I kick him in the balls and spit in his face, I wondered. Because it turned me on, that's why! I dreamed many nights while fingering my own pussy, of being degraded and debased in just this fashion. Either the girls let him in on my little secret, (if they even realized themselves,) or he read it in my demeanor and desperation. I envisioned gathering my torn and filthy clothing and the "walk of shame" that would entail, from having to walk half-naked through the length of the parking lot and find somebody to take me home. That should have been a minor price to pay for any woman who didn't look forward to her upcoming forced ravishment. But my loins were percolating and my nipples swollen. I begged him to essentially rape me and take my virginity.

In his mind, this certainly started as a conquest to be attained, nothing more. The girls saw it as a humorous dare. It was practically a "mercy fuck." And they would all have a big laugh. I could have left, I don't imagine he would have held me hostage. Then in the morning I could tell the girls that my honor and dignity were intact. What would that do for me? I was known as a lezzie and an easy date. Right now, I was laying semi-drunk and totally naked with my legs spread on the dirty metal floor of some guy's van, and I just pleaded with him to eat my cunt. Dignity is in short supply. This is exactly what I've always wanted and needed, and now was the time.

He settled into position and his flat tongue traced a slippery groove, back and forth across the narrow entrance to my twat. The pointed tip stabbed at my clit and then burrowed inside my velvety walls, exciting every nerve-ending in my tight little receptacle. The creamy fluids poured out of my swollen passage and coated his face with my essence. I bucked wildly and forced my damp cunt into his face. His fingers tickled and probed my tight cavity, not only thrilling me to excess but lowering my inhibitions and loosening the constricted tunnel for his future intrusion. I was writhing and moaning, my entire surplus of bodily fluids emptied onto his chin and soaked the collar of his frilly shirt. I needed to grab his dark, sweaty hair to pull him away or I would have had a heart attack.