Hi, long time no see.
Some considerations:
- What follows is a standalone try out story that may or may not become a series. It would depend on how it goes in the matter of votes and comments.
- I am not a native English speaker so it may contain some errors and I wish you can still enjoy the story if it does. Sorry in advance.
- This is a story that contains strong subjects, as abuse and practically rape, but wasn't made to offend anyone so, if it's not your thing, QUIT READING. You've been warned.
- Those of you who would like to have help picturing the girl from the story apart from my descriptions, Google "Camila Queiroz". She is the reference for the character.
(If there's any reader of my Chace McCartson series out there, know that you're not forgotten and that I'm trying my best for years to bring it back and I still do, but the right way.)
Enjoy, A2O.
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Little Deaths of Miss Isabel
Isabel could not handle any more of it, it was clear to me. Nevertheless, she was still on all fours on top of my bed, her teenage body trembling a lot. Maybe even too much. The way she breathe deeply, still letting out some of those cried moans, it made me so turned on that I wasn't ready to let her go home yet, or just let her skinny body fall asleep in my bed. Her beautiful pussy lips soaked with a mix of her juices and cum. I knew she was still contracting all over inside, spasming, in that trance she entered every time I made her come over and over again.
Still, I had to be inside of her a little more.
"Sweetheart, I'm going to fuck you again." I stated. She let out a cried little moan.
…
Sometimes the world gives you hints of what you should do to be happy, fulfilled. Those moments when you look at something and think to yourself "This can't be that easy" or "This can't be that simple". The thing is, sometimes it is, indeed, that simple. You just have to take the risk.
By the way, risk is the main word in my story with that sad girl named Isabel.
Being a teacher, you get to know many types of person, or more, you get to see how those types of person develop into who they will become. Before I turned into a high school teacher, I was a professor at the most famous university of my country. Not only that, I was the youngest person to be named Chief of Human Sciences Department in that university.
By the age of 28 I had a master's degree in History and my work was acknowledged all around the country – and some places around the world as well.
I had it all. I was rich. I was tall, wide-shouldered, good looking and I was engaged to a hell of a woman. A common person would be happy just like that, I know that, but I was no common person.
Terrible things happened, my fault mostly, changing my life forever.
I lost that fire, that thing that kept me pushing forward, so I decided to give and resume my life to the basics. Lucky for me I had enough money to make that happen; putting my savings together with all the money I inherited from my dead father, I bought half of the school I myself studied when I was a teenager. The only thing I had to do was to convince my brother to join me with his part, what was not that hard after I showed him a little demonstrative of the possible earnings.
It was no ordinary school; it was one of the biggest and better renowned private schools of our country. I had it all figured out. I would teach as many classes as I'd like, any way I'd like to. I would have no problem teaching new generations of free thinkers, of people able to think outside the box, a new way to look into the past. They would question and see the malice in everything. In theory, at least, as the school had a director board that could try to mess with my plans.
However, it all came out well. One year had passed and my students loved my classes: Harsh, realistic, sometimes even cruel, but highly satisfying. It was more and more effective the older they were. They loved to fear me and having others submitting to me was completely, and absolutely, in my nature, so we did very well. The more famous I got, the less I heard about the board.
For my second year, I would just repeat the formula. Teaching about the dark ages, or being visceral while explaining how it worked in several revolutions and wars around the globe in all its gruesome details was entertaining. I taught Geography and Literature too, but my focus were my History classes. To high school only. I had no interest in middle school.
By the age of thirty-two, I was initiating my fourth year as a teacher in my own school, when I noticed that stunning tall girl sitting more to the back of a junior year classroom, near the side window to the right, gazing to the outside.
I knew exactly who she was.
…
Her slender and beautiful body still, where I left it a couple minutes ago, when I "punished" her using our favorite toy, the Hitachi vibrator wand. The position of a doggy style fuck. I just wanted to see if she would consent.
It was part of our thing; If she consented, it would be as if she was overcoming her physical conditions to do as I wanted, what was a hard thing to do. At that point she was extremely sensitive and would flinch to the mere touch, let alone another round of rough fuckery. If she denied, I would take her anyway, roughly. I would show her who gave the orders and who had to consent when asked. I would show her who owned her and she would get what she wanted, to be used mindlessly. Either way, as it have happened before, she would break. I loved it.
I waited for her to look at me. The dark brown and perfect curtain that was her sleek and long hair covered her cute face. Isabel took a little time trying to control her breathing and, after two deep and breaking breaths, she looked at me. She showed clear signs of exhaustion, her beautiful and full cheeks still blushing, eyeliner marking where tears rolled down more than once today, her brows rugged in that kind of uneasy apprehension, her perfect and absolutely black eyes were on mine... When she nodded.
…
Isabel Monteiro. That was her name. The white and tall girl, very dark brown and long hair, a characteristic spot on her left cheek. First-degree Portuguese descent. When the psychologist said she was gorgeous, he wasn't kidding. She looked like a painting, sitting still at her desk, looking across the window. At the first few minutes of class, it was obvious that her classmates were as struck by her as I was. However, she had history, and one of them knew that. Like a plague, if one of them know something degrading about other student, all of them know. Soon she became isolated and she herself destroyed any little chance of connection with those who tried proximity. Mainly nerd boys looking for an unexpected chance.
The girl was considered incapable already, at that young age, due to psychological conditions. Depression, self-degrading behavior, suicidal attempts. Things that were hard to believe being in the record of a creature that looked like an angel. I remember signing with the board the paperwork of the social healthcare program that gave her the scholarship to study there. Apparently, she was signed to a model agency at too young age and her little life went downhill since then. Her father used the money to cheat on her mother, she died an alcoholic, then the girl suffered abuse from her agent, the guy was put in jail but her career was gone. They lost everything. I remember being astonished when I read that story.
She had panic disorder and had to take strong antidepressants. The already quiet girl became a living zombie, as they said. Soon she used it as a tool to end up her life, trying to overdose... She failed twice. Her dad was charged for abandonment of minor and wasn't locked up in a cell through an accord involving the girl, that plead for her father's innocence. The deal was, if she got involved in anything that denoted she was not being well treated and keeping an exemplar behavior, he'd get jail and she would be put in a psychiatric clinic.
At first, when I finally met her, when I heard the soothing tone of her voice and how intelligent she seemed to be, I wanted to help her. Badly.
One week after, she was kneeling in front of me, sucking my dick during school hours, in my office.
A long story for another time.
…
Her breath sped up even before I had positioned myself behind her. I loved watching her body from behind, her porcelain white skin speckled with a variety of little black spots, her small butt, and the rosaceous lips of her young pussy... She shifted her weight from knee to knee, trembling in anticipation. I have been playing with her for almost two hours now, fucking, teasing her nipples, biting, using dildos, probing her little ass. Isabel had marks all over. I guess we could call it torture. She came four times already, that I could count. Most of them were multiple.
It is no wonder that she started to cry instead of moan when I rubbed my rock hard cock on her pussy twice and then plunged it deeply inside of her, unceremoniously. I pushed everything, slowly but uninterrupted, until there was nothing left of me out of her and I could feel myself pushing against her cervix a little.
"Huuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrr! Uuuuuuuuugh..." She wailed in that sweet agony, her slender, little body shaking even more and her insides twitching, holding me. Her arms lost strength and her torso fell on the bed, contorting, as soon as I started moving, from slow pushes to frantic humping in no time. "Ahhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Aaaaaooooaaa!"
My pelvis made slapping noises when hitting her tight behind, more and more, and Isabel's moans and cries were getting louder. Her pussy was getting wetter and I could feel her juices flowing. I held the sides of her little butt tighter and slapped her - already red from spanking - butt once again, as soon as I noticed that she was coming yet another time.
"Look to the mirror!" I commanded. There was a big mirror on my wall, at the down end of my bed. I slapped her again, stronger, so she would pay attention to me. She shrieked, out of her mind. "Look!!!"
Isabel rose her eyes to the mirror, making her beautiful face visible to me, between the long locks of her disheveled hair, which some strands stuck splattered on the sweat and tears moist of her face. Her eyes and the tip of her nose were red from crying and the expression on her face was priceless. Something to record for the rest of my life. As if she could not handle what was happening to her. Her little mouth open as she wailed non-stop. Eyebrows arched in agony.
"HUUUUUAA-AAAAAA-AAAAA-AARRRRGH!!!" Her beautiful voice broke in between her cried groans as my thrusts reached the bottom of her, swinging, rocking her kneeling body fiercely.
I fucked her harder and harder. She couldn't hold her head up for long and let her face fall on the bed, screaming and cringing as another orgasm took over and, as her juices started to drip from us once again, I came inside of her, jolting everything I had the deepest I could inside of that convulsing girl. Pushing the last strokes as strong and straight as I could into the deepest part of her.
"AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" She screamed, her fingers clawing the mattress with every inch of strength she had left. I moaned too, releasing everything.
Isabel was coming from the moment I pushed myself inside of her to the moment I took myself out of her ravaged little pussy, that was the truth. She couldn't stop shaking even after I let her fall to her side, gasping, moaning, a pool of cum mixed with a little trace of blood running down her abused little crotch. A very beautiful thing to see, the mess that she was. Trying to stop coming, having spasms, trying to breathe normally and ease all those sensations. Sitting on my chair, I watched her fail miserably.
I lit up a cigar, crossed my legs and watched her. Her half-open eyes on mine. A little dead, like she wanted. I wondered if she thought about the same things I did at that moment. I wondered how we got there, at that point. And how long would she endure.
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Would you like to know how it got to that point? Vote and give me your comments, they are welcome.