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Subject: {ASSM} Orange Touque 1 (MF prost rom) by Orestes
Date: Fri, 7 Apr 2000 21:11:10 -0400
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" Orange Touque 1 "
By Orestes
orestes007@hotmail.com
www.asstr-mirror.org./pub/Authors/Orestes
***
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***
I had been watching her all night, trying to convince myself that I
was wrong. The longer I watched her, though, the less I could sustain
my doubts. This was the same girl who disappeared from my life over
five years ago, taking her sparkling eyes and her orange touque away
with her.
She could still make her eyes sparkle, although now it was for
money. Three times now, I watched her appear on the stage, and turn on
her charm for the men in the lounge. The light in her eyes was very
different now. No longer did her eyes sparkle with the innocent joy of
youth. They burned with the staged lust of a downtown stripper.
Kara Boldt was her name when I knew her. I didn't even listen to the
god-awful stage name that the loudspeaker tried to pin on her. She
would always be Kara for me.
The first time I saw her, it was in the very first class that I
taught at junior high. It's funny, I've been teaching for five years
now, and although I can barely remember the names of the students in
last year's classes, I can remember every face from that first class I
taught. I was so nervous back then that it all seems much more vivid to
me.
I even remember what Kara was wearing. It was a chilly November day
that I took over the English class, and Kara wore an orange wool touque
in to class. I recall thinking about how cute it was, with little
orange tassels hanging off to each side of her head.
She was a bright spot of sunshine in a sea of grey and blue winter
clothing.
There was always a sparkle in her eye, and a smile on her face. She
stood out from the other kids her age. By the time most of them reached
tenth grade, they had resigned themselves to the uniform of youth. Dark
colours, baggy pants, skimpy little tops.
Somehow, Kara had maintained the little bit of childhood that most
so eagerly discarded when they first walked though the doors of junior
high. That first day I saw her, she wore a pair of denim overalls, and
a big pair of green gum boots, all packaged together under that silly
orange touque.
And now, here she was, five years older, and changed almost beyond
recognition. This was no longer the developing body of a teen girl. I
watched again as she dropped to her knees, and held her full breasts
out for the audience. She gyrated to the music as her hands wandered up
and down her trim body.
Finding her in this place was unreal. I sometimes retreat to the
city, to these familiar streets, when I feel restless. Every year, it
happens more often. It's like I'm searching for something, but I don't
know what it is. On this night, I had no idea what I was going to find.
Kara, writhing to the music. So unexpected.
I felt guilty for watching her. It's a feeling I had often indulged
in during my first year as a teacher. I was in my early twenties then.
The young girls would dress so provocatively, and my eyes would betray
my interest. I would look down their shirts when they bent forward, or
catch a glimpse the outline of their nipples through too-tight T-
shirts. Then the guilt would hit me.
I tried not to think about it too much. It's only natural, I argued
to myself. These are young women, the same age as the girls who grace
the covers of fashion magazines. They are the exact same girls I would
have fantasized about endlessly in my own teen years. I couldn't beat
myself up about a stray look now and again.
When I'm teaching now, I barely think about it anymore. Every year,
a new set of young girls come through my classroom, and sometimes I
catch a view or two. No harm done. I don't worry about it anymore.
In my first year, though, it made me nervous as hell, and I'll be
damned if some of the girls didn't know it. They would wear the
tightest little things their parents would let them get away with, and
enjoyed the looks they got from the males students and teachers alike.
Kara was never like that. Whenever caught myself looking at her
body, I had no excuse for myself, except perhaps that she was a girl I
could have fallen in love with if I were her age. She was a sweet girl,
who wore brightly coloured outfits, and lugged around this big beat-up
backpack wherever she went. There was no attempt to be sexy. Cute,
maybe, but not sexy.
I wanted her even then. Perhaps not the same way I wanted her now,
but enough to trigger guilt attacks most every time I saw her.
For the life of me, I couldn't think of why I should feel guilty
now. In this seedy club, it was painfully clear that Kara was an adult.
She crawled seductively around the stage, rolling her hips, and letting
her beautiful breasts swing beneath her. I closed my eyes briefly. I
had seen the act twice before, and knew what was coming next. I didn't
want to watch, but I couldn't resist.
Kara positioned herself at the edge of the stage on her knees, and
bent forward with her ass in the air. Despite myself, my eyes were
drawn to the crotch of her lacy red panties, and to the shape of the
barely covered flesh beneath. She spread her legs at the knees, and
brought her face to the floor.
It was an unabashed invitation for every man in the room to imagine
themselves fucking her. She reached her hand back to her crotch, and
traced one of her fingers along the outline of her pussy lips through
the thin material. Every eye in the room watched as she rubbed herself
lewdly. Whistles and cat calls filled the air. Finally, she pulled the
crotch of the panties aside briefly, and gave the crowd a glimpse of
the treasure beneath.
Her fingers danced along the moist lips of her pussy. She jerked her
hips back and forth to the thrusts of an imaginary lover.
" Do you want another ?" the waitress asked me. My face went red. I
was so absorbed in Kara's dance that I hadn't even noticed her approach.
" Uh, yeah. One more. "
" Hey, " she nodded towards the stage. " She'll be done in a few
minutes. Did you want to book her in the VIP room ?"
The waitress didn't have to explain the term to me. I knew that it
meant a session with Kara in a private room. In some of the classier
strip clubs, no touching was allowed, but in a seedy joint like this,
it was pretty much anything goes.
I looked up at the stage again. Kara was facing the audience again,
and one by one, she was licking off those naughty fingers of hers. Yes,
I wanted her. I'm not sure in what way I wanted her, but I know I did.
I just couldn't let her walk away from me again without saying goodbye.
" Yeah, I'll take the room. "
" Great. That's fifty up front for dancing. If you want anything
else, you discuss it with the girl. "
Anything else ? I wasn't sure if I even wanted the dancing. I wasn't
sure why I wanted to go up there at all. But I did go up, and I waited
silently in the scuzzy little VIP room while I heard her music continue
in the lounge below. It would be a few minutes before her act was
finished.
There was nothing innocent about this place. Kara seemed so out of
place in this world. It was so unlike the place she came from. The
first time I drove away from the city, and into the farms and fruit
stands of the valley, I knew that I was changing worlds. The school
itself rose out the shimmering green of the surrounding corn fields.
I didn't think I would ever fit in out there. I had grown up in the
city. There was no way to prepare myself for the culture shock that I
experience only an hour's drive away from where I was born. I could
count three churches on my short drive to school in the morning. People
were different here. More conservative. Everything that they believed
in was about God, the local hockey team, and fields tall with corn.
They might be the same fields that inspired W.P. Kinsella to write
'Field of Dreams'. In fact, he later moved out to the valley, not far
from where I now live, and joined the scrabble club. Good wholesome
fun, just like everything in the valley.
That's the world Kara belonged in. Not here. The city is where I
always belonged. I often came to this part of town as a teenager, and
tried to get into the clubs and adult book stores. I never would have
believed that I'd move away for a job in a rural school. When I come
back here, during my restless times, I see how much it hasn't changed.
Inside of it all, I haven't changed much either.
Images of Kara as a teenager danced in my head. Not the lewd sexual
dance I had witnessed minutes before, but the cheery bounce of her
orange touque as she confidently made her way down the hallways of the
junior high school.
I remembered the last few days before she disappeared. Something was
bothering her, I knew, but she still always greeted me with a smile.
I've asked myself a thousand times why I didn't stop her, and ask her
what was wrong. I was afraid, I guess. I was afraid of what I might do
if I got too close.
That Friday she turned in an essay on 'The Rocking Horse Winner'.
Hers was the first in the class that I read. It was a wonderful piece
of work, filled with references to British colonialism, and
proclamations about the nature of our materialist culture. I was
looking forward to returning it to her. She was always so happy to have
done well.
But she never came back. Over the weekend, she ran away. Her family
looked for her for a long time. Rumours of abuse persisted, but I
wasn't sure any of it was true. All I knew was that she was gone, and
that it hurt me much more than it should have. I kept the essay in my
top drawer for three years after that. I guess I always hoped that she
would return.
Eventually, her family moved away from the accusing eyes of the
local folk, severing the last link between Kara and the valley.
My memories of Kara were interrupted by her knock on the door. I was
sitting at the edge of the bed, and suddenly, I was filled with
anxiety. Would she recognize me ? I had lost some weight, and shaved
off my beard. It was nothing compared to the change in Kara, and still,
I had recognized her.
Part of me wanted her to recognize me right away. I don't know what
I would have done. Maybe I would have talked to her about 'The Rocking
Horse Winner', or life in the valley, or something else that would have
seemed out of place in this scuzzy little room.
The other part of me, I'm ashamed to admit, just wanted her. To
possess her for a few moments, in a way that I never could have
possessed her when I knew her before. That part of me wanted her to be
the stripper, the whore who was coming up to the room for my pleasure.
She paused inside the doorway, and set down a pile of clothing on a
chair. She was still wearing only the lacy red panties from her stage
act.
" How about we start with a little lap dance ?" Kara asked me. That
was that. She had looked me in the eyes, and there was no recognition
on her face.
Who the hell was I kidding ? Yes, I wanted her to give me a lap
dance. That, and so much more. I wanted to be her lover. If I had
wanted to be her teacher and her friend, I wouldn't have come up here.
I would have walked out of the strip club hours ago, before watching
her whole lewd stage act three times. Maybe I would have left a note or
something. Sent flowers. I don't know.
Instead, I was here, and I wanted this girl's body more than
anything I had ever wanted in my life. I was selling every memory I had
of her for just a little taste of it.
Kara closed the door the small room, and approached me. On the
stage, she had seemed larger than life. Her presence had filled the
lounge. Here, she shrunk back in my perception to human size. In fact,
she was still a petite girl, not much taller than when I saw her that
last Friday.
" I hope you like it, Mr. Simpson " she had said, a smile in her
voice, when she had handed me her essay.
She straddled my lap at the edge of the bed now, and held her tits
out for me.
" Mmmm, Do you like these ?" Her voice was low and full of sex.
" Oh, yes. "
She began to grind her body into mine to the rhythm of music
borrowed from a dancer downstairs. I didn't want to look her in the
eyes. My shame was burning into my chest. Even as she rubbed her
breasts against me, I envisioned the form of little Kara in the orange
touque. The little Kara I loved, but never this way.
" You want a little something more than this, don't you ?" Kara
whispered in my ear. Her breath was hot against my cheek.
" Yes. "
" For fifty bucks, I'll ride you."
The mention of money stung a little. Nothing about this felt right.
I was turning my poor little Kara Boldt into a prostitute. I cast my
eyes down to her body, and could see where the crumpled bills had been
pushed under the waistband of her panties.
It wasn't me who did this to her, I argued silently. I was just
taking my turn in a long line of men who ridden her for money. It's not
my responsibility to save her.
" Okay. " I couldn't resist. The lure of forbidden fruit was too
great.
Without any further communication, she slid herself off of the bed
and went to get her purse. She pulled out a condom for us to use, and
then knelt between my legs.
" Oh, you're so hard for me, " she said in her porn star voice. She
freed my penis from the confines of my clothing with a smooth expert
motion.
The feelings of guilt which lingered in the back of my head became
fainter as I felt Kara's hand encircle the base of my cock, and felt
her roll the condom onto me.
She pushed me back onto the bed, with my lower legs still hanging
over the edge, and positioned herself over my lap. I have no idea how
she removed the panties without me knowing, but I could feel the heat
of her bare pussy against my balls.
The lips of her sex parted and slid slowly up the underside of my
engorged cock. She paused there, my cock just outside of her opening.
Then, as simple as anything, I was inside of her. I slid into her
wetness with such ease.
Kara began to bounce up and down on penis, making sounds of faked
lust. Her inner thighs slapped against my legs with every stroke. For
her, this was routine. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed almost
tired. After a long night of stripping, and god knows how many visits
to this room, I don't know how she managed the energy to bounce her
well-used body up and down on my lap. But she wasn't here for me, I
tried to remind myself. She was here for the money, and that's all I
was to her.
But she was so much more than that to me. With her eyes now closed,
I drank in every feature of her face. This was more than I had ever
dared to allow myself to fantasize about my sweet Kara. I tried to
picture her without the make-up, without the ankle bracelet, and
without the washed-in blonde that covered her wonderfully auburn hair.
I tried to think of how she would look with hair on her shaved pussy.
My guilt was lost while I was inside of her. My whole world was
centred on her breathless body, bucking up and down on my prick. I
wanted to make this last. Maybe even forever, if I could. Kara's breath
was becoming rough. Still she kept up the movements with same sense of
urgency.
" Ungh... ungh...ungh... oh god, yesss...you're so hard, " she said
rhythmically. I didn't need my ego stroked. Everything about her was
turning me on. I reached my hands up and gently cupped her breasts in
them. In response, she bent forward enough that they were close to my
mouth, all without missing a stroke.
She was like a well oiled machine. Her breath blew hot over my face
as she continued to push her exhausted body to the limit. On and on she
pushed herself, while waves of pleasure tickled my brain. Each motion
of her body brought me closer to climax.
Sensing my impending orgasm, Kara slowed herself down. Her chest
rose and fell quickly from the exertion of riding me.
Her face came to beside mine now, and I found her body in my arms.
She was so very warm. I wondered how many times she had ridden men this
exact way. Her technique was flawless.
Kara's lips were at my ears.
" You don't want to cum in a condom, do you ?"
I had no idea what she was getting at. She slowed herself further.
Her hips were just barely moving against me. It was maddening.
" If you want, " she continued her pitch. " I'll let you cum on my
face. Ten bucks extra. "
There was no debate. I was in the palm of her hands. God, yes, I
wanted to cum on this whore's face, and I needed to cum so very badly.
Kara dismounted me, and dropped herself back to the floor at the end
of the bed. I began to sit up. She slipped one of her long, polished
fingernails under the edge of the condom, and pulled it off of me.
Then I was in heaven. Her mouth took me fully in a single motion.
Without even a slight pause, she took me into her throat. She began to
ride my cock again, this time with her face.
I was on the edge of the bed again now. I allowed one of my hands to
take her by the back of the head. Yes, that felt right.
She was still breathing rapidly from her exertion, but now could
only do so through her nose.
Slow again. My cock was swelling in her mouth, and she wanted to
finish this right.
Her hand pumped up and down on my shaft while she slowly allowed my
cock to dislodge from her throat. Finally, as the head of my cock
emerged from her lips, covered with saliva, she began to tilt her head
backwards.
The underside of my cock rested over her bottom lip. Her mouth
remained open, and she teased the tip of my cock with her tongue while
her hand still pumped me.
I looked down at her now, with nothing but lust in my heart. She was
my sweet little orange touque girl, and I didn't give a fuck. I was
going to cum on her face. Her mouth was begging for it, and her eyes
looked seductively into mine, coaxing me to cum.
But there was something else in her eyes at that very last moment.
It was something that transformed her. Recognition. In the moment that
my balls began to release my cum, in that very last instant as I could
feel my load pumping out of my cock, she had recognized me.
Unmistakably, she knew who I was, and at that moment, I just didn't
care. One jet of my cum sprayed out onto her face, landing on her nose
and forehead.
" Take it, bitch, " I grunted. Every sensation told me how very good
it felt to degrade this whore.
A second stream of cum hit her on the cheek, and ran down towards
her ear.
Two or three more times, my cock spurted onto Kara's surprised face,
these ones landing on her upper lip and dribbling into her mouth. My
whole body shook from the powerful sensations.
Then, when the lust was gone, I was hit by a suppressed wave of
guilt and shame.
It was surprising how quickly the emotions came upon me. In one
second, I was enraptured with the feeling of spilling my seed into
Kara's mouth. She was just a whore in that moment. Simply there to
satisfy my urges. The next moment, I was looking into the eyes of a
fourteen year runaway.
" I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry... ," I told her. I'm not sure what
I was apologizing about. Everything, really. I was sorry because I had
used her this way. I was sorry that I had watched her strip all
evening. I was sorry that I hadn't tried to help her before she ran
away. Sorry because in my heart, I had always wanted to possess her.
I was on my knees beside her, hugging her close to me. Kara was
crying. I could feel her warm body shaking up against me. She had no
strength left.
" Please forgive me, " I begged.
She kissed me softly. Her face was wet from tears, sweat, and cum. I
didn't care. The kiss was real. That was all I cared about. I was
crying with her now, as we continued to kiss. For the first time in
years, I knew what I needed to do.
Finally, I broke from the kiss..
" Come home with me Kara... you've been lost for too long. "
---
Comments can be forwarded to: orestes007@hotmail.com
All of my stories can be found at: www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Orestes
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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