Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 1 first.
I wonder what she saw when she looked at me. I was dying of curiosity, actually. I wanted to see the look in her eyes, study her body language, pick her apart, but we both had roles here. I had to drive. I had to look forward and clench my jaw and go.
“This isn’t the way to my apartment.” She was pouting with every word.
I didn’t have to pretend when I scoffed.
When I got to my block I was trying to formulate something that wouldn’t seem that horrific to anyone who might see us, but at the same time let her know that I was serious. I parked across the street and turned off the engine. I looked at her dead in the eyes. She had her arms folded in front of her chest and she was frowning. Continue reading Fiction – The Date, Part Two
Warning: This story involves forced sex/rape fantasies and role playing. Read The Date, Part 2 next.
The crickets chirped as I pulled the car up to the clearing. Nothing but trees around us and stars above us. I turned off the motor but left the lights and the radio on. Out there the station was a little static-y, but the smooth sounds of an old Motown song came through.
Stacy was twenty. We met online, talked a lot, hit it off. I wasn’t sure she would go for me. I was a bit older, a little awkward. Turns out she was just as awkward. Two book nerds who found we hit it off pretty well over coffee.
She was pretty; sort of fair skinned, green eyed, very short reddish brown hair parted neatly with bangs that were swept to the side and held back with a barrette. She was that perfect (at least for me) edge of just a little chubby. The slightest little belly and a plump bottom and chubby cheeks and cupid bow lips. She wore a light blue shirt with some band name on it I’ve never heard of and a smart little denim skirt. Knee high socks and Chucks. Cute. Adorable even. Big bright eyes and lip-glossed lips. Continue reading Fiction – The Date, Part One