Point of No Return.
She had a decision to make. ′To be, or not to be. That was the question’. Poor Hamlet.
No, not quite the question. ‘To remove splinters, or not to remove splinters. Aye, that was the question’.
No, it wasn’t that one either. It was likely boiling down to something very basic, like, ′to be fucked or not to be fucked’. That, was where all of this would probably end up.
She was almost getting used to the potential danger. It was so confusing for her. ‘To trust, or not to trust’. Boys were not to be trusted, but she couldn’t go back to school like this and get anyone else to help her.
Fortunately, he could not know what she was thinking. He tried further. “You may not want my help, Erin, but you do need it.” He let that obvious fact, sink in.
It was all so confusing for a girl to have to deal with.
It began to sound as if he was about to wash his hands of her if she persisted in making things too difficult for him to help her. Maybe he didn’t plan on... doing that other, to her. Oh, the confusion of it!
A warm flood of uncertainty washed over her. Should she? Shouldn’t she? If only she knew him better.
He continued in a matter of fact way, leaving the choice up to her.
“I have told you what needs to be done, but you object, which I understand at such a delicate time, and you are obviously afraid of me. Hell, I am even afraid of me with such beauty and temptation floating around, and the way we were drawn together. And my unwise and outspoken comments, earlier. Silly me! No wonder you are afraid.”
I am not afraid!
But she was. She came back at him, denying her unspoken denial. “Of course I am afraid. I don’t know you at all, and I will be exposed; even vulnerable.”
That sounded better. She wasn't actually telling him to get lost, and that no way was she going to let him help her. Progress would come in small steps.
He tried not to grin.
Yes she would be wonderfully exposed, that was the nicest part about it.
“Afraid of what, Erin? Of me? Of others finding out what we did? Are you afraid that I might harm you, rather than help you? That you might actually find it interesting as well as challenging, for you to have to co-operate in this impossible situation as I help you? I know that I will find it interesting, as well as challenging, but that’s the man in me speaking.”
Did he have to be so honest?
He reached out and gently touched her hand. “I think you have much more control over this and what might happen, Erin, than you give yourself credit for.”
He was utterly outrageous in a charming kind of way. But he was also having more fun at her expense, knocking her back on her heels all the time. His eyes were twinkling with humor. He was toying with her, provoking her and making her unsteady on this pedestal she was on, in her hitherto safe and cozy little world without any 'difficult' boys in it. He was also slowly wearing her defenses down and getting her used to what seemed to be inevitable as he helped her: the inevitability of her panties coming off!
She would not dare think any further than that.
Some men could talk your panties right off. She was beginning to believe it.
Indecision! She was not sure what to do, and was close to tears.
He could see that he’d gone too far. He moved, and sat on the table directly in front of her and took her hand. She did not pull away. She had a look of tearful uncertainty in her eyes.
“Forgive me, Erin, please. I shouldn't have tormented, or have been so outspoken about something so delicate to you. I am coming on too strong, too flippant, and being too difficult for you to deal with, and this is not who I normally am, but I am also nervous about this. I have never been caught up in a situation like this, where I have so much to lose.”
She didn't understand what he was telling her.
He touched her face. “Erin, shy Erin, beautiful, patient, Erin”—maybe he was trying too hard—“Please try to forgive my occasionally wicked sense of humor as I try to make light of this very personal issue, for us both. I need you to get to know me very quickly if you can, and learn to trust me, or I will have to call the school, or drive you to the clinic with you kneeling on the seat of the car (undoubtedly knicker-less. What a thought!), and then I will have to carry you in. Others will certainly find out about it then, and the rumors about us will fly. We neither of us want to deal with that kind of embarrassment.”
Damned right they didn't!
Why is he carrying her like that? What were they doing together? Why are her knickers at her knees? Or, Where are her knickers? What had they done together? She looked very sore down there; but also very moist. And what was that, leaking from her?
Had he nailed her?
She could see it exactly the way he described it, and could envisage the rest of it. Neither option was desirable.
It would be one hell of an entrance. Especially if her panties were around her knees or missing and he was bulging out of his shorts as he seemed to do all of the time. Then, the rumors would really fly!
They were all impossible choices for her to deal with, but one was a little less dangerous than the others.
Or, could turn out to be more dangerous. Maybe. Once he’d got her panties off she might still be safe, and he wouldn’t take advantage of her.
And pigs might fly!
She gave in, reluctantly, and slowly took her skirt off for him, hitching her panties up to where they should be, regretting it almost immediately with what she began to feel pricking at her.
Her skirt had been off before, in his presence. Once more wouldn’t matter. She was ready to fight him about it going any further than that, even though she knew that it probably would have to, considering what she was finding out about her discomfort, and where it was hurting every time she moved. However, one step at a time.
“There is something else I can do to persuade you that this is needed, Erin.” She saw him remove her cellphone from the pocket in her skirt.
At least she hadn’t lost that on her way down that ramp, or smashed it.
Who was he going to call? “What are you doing?”
“I'm showing you.”
She saw him point the camera and take her photograph, blinding her, standing there with no skirt, her drooping panties on display, along with a suggestion of hair appearing above them, and her blouse gaping wide open, revealing too much of her in her almost-demolished bra. She would look like she'd been dragged through a hedge by her ankles. And worse. She was Little Miss Muffet with the tattered and torn knickers, very tender down there, and he was Little Boy Blue--except not so little Boy Blue--with the bloody big horn!
He had taken her unprepared and off guard by taking her photograph like that.
Why did he do that? Evidence for blackmail? Photographs, in exchange for her virginity? The sod did intend to fuck her, and was developing leverage. It was getting too far out of hand already.
“Now, I am going to ask you to bend over this table, facing away from me, and I will show you what needs to be done. If you object, I will do nothing, but I doubt you will be able to sit down with things as they are.”
She already knew that for herself. She was concerned. Was he kinky and into the sado-masochistic stuff that the girls had been shocked by when one of them had delved into the writings of De Sade? So shocked, that they had read it out loud that evening and giggled over it. Then dreamed about it happening to them.
With her bent over like that what was to stop him…?
She would be exceptionally vulnerable and he could easily move her loose panties to one side, or down her legs and be into her, impaling her before she even knew it. He was primed and ready, and he was more than hard enough. Two seconds, and it would all be over for her with her 'fillings' rattling as they dropped to the table. Fortunately, she had no fillings, but you get my meaning.
She had little choice, so did as he said, grinding her teeth and swearing at what fate had done to her.
If you…. She wisely kept her mouth shut.
She knew he was taking photographs of her down there, close up. He took several of each leg, consolidating his hold over her, working to just one painful end. Hers! He could do anything he wanted to do to her after this, even insist on fucking her before he would let her go, and she would dare say nothing with those photographs of her as evidence of her moral turpitude.
“No one will recognize you, except for that first photograph, and I have no intention of letting anyone see them. Besides, they are on your phone.”
Except he was already mailing them to his own phone, but she didn’t need to know that.
He showed her what he had photographed.
The back of her legs were full of small splinters. She did not understand how such little bits of wood could hurt so much, but others were hurting even more; the ones still out of sight, and that would require her panties coming off.
“May I continue now, or not?”