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An Encounter With Jen
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Encounter with Jennifer
We had been together in the darkened room for scarcely a minute.
A skinny, energetic girl of eighteen, Jennifer threw off her
school blouse, unzipped her skirt and stood still, a few feet in
front of me, just out of reach, in plimsolls, socks, white train-
er bra and tiny, tight silk G-string. In the moonlight her black
hair shone and her pale skin gleamed like pink marble, as though
faintly iridescent. She spoke quickly. Her voice was business-
like, crisp, upper-class English. Unused to seeing such girls in
all their glory, I was staring in silence. She guessed exactly
what I was wondering.
`It's a 32B. Front fastening. I stole it from Harrod's...Where
all the top people steal from. Don't be shy, I've done this
before, I'm good at it. Firm, warm and tight.'
She pronounced the last three adjectives with deliberate care and
emphasis. I suddenly noticed the fragrance of the young girl's
clean skin as she tugged one shoulder strap down. She babbled a
confusion of thoughts all at once, trying to reassure me, or
perhaps to reassure herself. She's young, I thought, supposing
they found out.
`Here, I'll take off the bra and you take off the panties. Front
or back? You look like a tradesman's entrance man to me. Do you
like my bottom? Don't worry, I don't screw and tell. I mean, I
screw but I don't tell. And nobody will come in here.'
She parted her legs. The G-string hid almost nothing: a daring,
V-shaped scrap of white silk held in place by two elastic straps
which met in a fastener at her back. One strap circled her hips,
the other ran between her legs and up the cleft between her
buttocks. The fastener was fixed so tightly that the silk out-
lined her labia. The angle of the V parted over her hairless
pubic mound. She turned her back to me, legs still parted. I
was transfixed. Her bottom was delicious: small, firm, pert.
`Home made panties. Like them? I ran them up on Mummy's sewing
machine. If she only knew. Specially designed and fabricated by
my own fair hands to entice and provoke mankind. Can you see any
marks?' She did not pause for me to reply, but continued direct-
ly with her breathless, explicit banter. `Helga spanked me
today. With this.' She took off one of the plimsolls and handed
it to me. `She's very strong. I bet you couldn't hurt me as
much as she did.'
She paused to let the challenge sink in.
`I'll tell you all about her...Do you want to see my breasts?
Don't bite them though, I'm tender there.' She turned and looked
at me again, and her eyes flashed affection. She slid the other
shoulder strap off, and then her hands flew to the clip, a plas-
tic affair between the little cups. She unfastened it deftly,
and the bra tumbled to the floor, where it lay with the skirt and
blouse. She cupped her breasts in her hands for a moment, lower-
ing the hands gently and revealing her curves gradually. Her
breasts were small, but golden and inviting, with soft, reddish
nipples. My pants tightened as she put her arms down. `You may
kiss me', she announced in a Shakespearian tone, but she stayed
out of reach and I was unable to move. `Kiss, but not nibble'.
So young...suppose the spell broke?
`I'll take this off too, it's uncomfortable'. Jennifer kicked
off her other plimsoll and peeled off the socks, explaining as
she did so: `Helga is beautiful. Queen of the school. Five
foot nine, rock-hard 37C, nipples like pennies, and a twenty-four
inch waist and a face you'd die for. eighteen years old, Lesbian,
fancies me. Sixth former, does Fine Art and Latin and political
history...Good with a vibrator', Jennifer explained breathlessly.
`Oh, you thought because she spanked me she must be one of the
teachers. No, she's not. She told her uncle Richard she had a
new boyfriend and got him to buy her some gorgeous underwear.
She put it on to show him, she says, but wouldn't let him touch.
Then she came around here to flaunt it. Black bra and panties,
stockings, garter, the works, looks fantastic on her. All straps
and lace. Anyway, then she said she'd seen me with Roger and I
was her property and she'd show me.'
She mimicked Helga's deeper voice and American accent. `She
asked me ``How many times did he get into you?''.
I said ``Three penetrations, front, back and front, in that
order, I always keep count''.
``Serious matter, eight strokes.'' She held me down and spanked
me. She spanks well. I peed my pants for shock. This thing got
soaked.' Jennifer ran her finger over the silk panel that hid her
vulva. `Helga enjoyed that. Sadistic bitch.'
For the first time she paused. Her voice dropped to a murmur.
`I enjoyed it too. I want more and harder.'
She reached into a cupboard and produced a short cane.
`You can use this. It belongs to Mrs. Hungerford, the geography
mistress.' She giggled. `You can't trust kids these days,
they'll take anything that isn't nailed down...Go on, then. I
mean it.'
She handed me the cane and then bent right forwards, putting her
hands on her ankles, inviting me to attend to her bottom. Sud-
denly I noticed how slender and firm her waist was. I rested my
hands there.
She had been right about me: I was shy. I stood back and lifted
the cane but I could hardly bear to use it. It was several
seconds before I hit her. There was a clapping sound as the
stick hit her cheeks.
`That didn't hurt', she said, remaining motionless.
I did it again, still uncertain, but harder. The clap was loud-
er. This time I could see that it did hurt. She jolted and
gasped out loud, and a red line formed.
`Aah, aah.' She steadied herself. `Like a wasp sting. Again.'
This time I had more confidence. A firmer stroke brought up a
darker line and an appreciative cry.
`Gaah, that stings. Oh, now look what you've done.' Rising
slightly, she showed mock surprise at the urine that leaked
through the panties and ran down her legs onto the floor. `One
more. Then you get your treat.' She bent down again. Wet, the
silk clung to her labia, showing pink.
I gave one more stroke. Confident that she would enjoy the
sharp, sudden pain, I made it harder. She stood upright and
pretended a display of sudden agony and anger.
`You're horrid. That really, really hurt. You don't deserve a
treat at all.'
She paused to see the effect of her words. I must have looked
disappointed.
`Here you are though. Actually the last stroke was the best.'
She smiled, bent over again and let me slip the soaking panties
off. I pulled them to her ankles. My face was an inch from her
buttocks and I kissed the darkest cane mark. She stepped out of
the panties and parted her legs wide. Then she separated her
buttocks with her fingers and waited silently. I caressed her
waist, pulled down my pants and stood behind her, cupping those
soft, tender breasts gently in my hands.
Inside, she was every bit as she had described: firm, warm and
tight.
`I knew you were the tradesman's entrance type', she sighed
afterwards, pulling on her clothes: bra, blouse, skirt, socks,
plimsolls, leaving the panties until last. `Good, isn't it. I'm
good at the front too. Taut young muscles. You'll find out how
taut one day, I promise.' She picked up her panties, raised one
foot to put them back on, and then changed her mind and pressed
them into my hand. They were still warm and drenched. `Keep
these under your pillow. You will see me again. Oh, yes, and I
love you.'
We embraced briefly. She kissed me on the mouth, and was gone.
--
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