The Girl in the Green Dress

She's got a tight ass, thought Nick. The girl was young, about eighteen. Seems like she couldn't speak a word of English.

It was a small boutique, back of beyond, downtown Delaware for Christ's sake. Even the spades didn't come here.

"You got a name?"

She shook her head. Her mouth was tight, her green eyes wide. So wide he couldn't see her eyelids. She blinked twice. Stared at him.

Nick cocked his head. The back room was small and hot, smelt of rock salt. Boxes of clothes were piled up the walls. They both sat on plastic chairs in the center of the room a good five feet apart.

Her eyes pierced into his. She had long, dark hair, big on the top, came down her shoulders and halfway down her back. She was wearing a dark green dress, long. It trailed on the floor around her feet in waves. It made her seem younger almost, this old woman's dress on a girl's body.

"You Hispanic?" he asked.

She blinked, shook her head slowly.

She didn't look Hispanic. She wasn't dusky enough. She had pale, waxy skin, a thin nose, wide lips. Wide red lips. She was short too - five four maybe.

Nick picked up the clothes from the floor.

"Got the money for these?"

She looked at the clothes in his big hand. A red skirt, halter tops, T-shirts. A necklace, big blue stones, swung from his thumb.

Her eyes pivoted to his again. Her mouth parted; might've been a smile, he couldn't tell.

He reached down and picked up a second pile.

Panties, brassieres, stockings.

"Nice selection. You'd look good in 'em."

Her mouth parted slightly. He was confident she couldn't understand him. He stood up, dropped the panties and stockings onto the floor right in front of her. He kept the two brassieres in his hand, one black, the other scarlet, both see-through. He didn't know much about lady's undergarments, but he liked the look of these. He examined them closely.

The girl dropped her eyes, bent slowly to the pile of clothes on the floor.

She whispered something.

He stopped off examining the brassieres. "What d'you say?"

She picked up a pair of panties from the floor, her hair falling across her face.

She whispered again. He couldn't hear. Her bent down, comically cupped a hand to his ear.

"Huh?"

Her breath was cold in the warmth of this subterranean room.

"A atë që ju deshironi," she whispered.

Nick straightened. He wouldn't like to say where she was from. Didn't sound like any immigrant he'd heard before. Accent like that, could've been from anywhere. Europe even.

"Iti?" he tried.

He was standing over her, looking down at the top of her head. Her hair fell across her bent-over body, over her long green dress. Her feet were bare. Her toes peeked out underneath. How could he have not noticed that before?

There was a movement from the doorway.

"You gonna be long?"

Nick looked up.

Marsha, the owner, was standing in the doorway, a bunch of dungarees in her hand. She looked stressed.

"Give me five, okay? I'm guessing she's an illegal. Cops'll pick her up once I'm done."

"Okay. Only I'm closing up soon. Sonja's birthday, I told you."

"Sure."

Marsha frowned quickly, disappeared from sight like vapour.

Nick stood there in the silence of the room for several seconds.

Then he lowered the red brassiere onto the girl's head, letting the metal hasp rub slowly back and forth across her hair, as if combing it. He pulled it up gently, pulling up a thin strand of hair along with it. The girl gasped, quietly, but didn't look up.

Her pale white hands were still holding the panties. She was wringing them like they were dirty laundry. Nick let the brassiere drop through his fingers. He bent his knees, cupping her head in his hands. He had big hands, grooved clean.

He pulled her hair up slowly through his fingers. It was clean, thick. It tangled as he pulled it. She gasped again. But he didn't stop. She cried out, not loudly. His pulling turned into a tug. She tried to stand up, he held her head down with one hand. He raised his other hand high, lifting her long dark hair with it. She jerked, cried out again. He slapped her. She stopped.

He looked up, into the stationary blades of the ceiling fan, closing his eyes; waiting.

He felt her fingers on the insides of his legs. He tensed, relaxed, tensed again. A jolt ran up his thighs, into his crotch. He arched his back, took his hand from her head, lifted his arms above his head.

Her fingers climbed his jeans. She was using both hands, one on each leg, moving upwards at infinite slow speed.

The air in the room was thick as mud.

All at once his cock hardened inside his boxers. It was like an outside force. It pushed suddenly against his jeans fly. He felt his jeans ride up to accommodate it.

Then her fingers reached his balls. They rubbed them up and down through the coarse material of his trousers, hard. Painfully hard. He felt a bead of sweat on his brow, above his left eye. He opened his eyes, blinked the sweat away, looked down. He was about to make her stop, but she stopped anyway. He watched as one hand reached up to grasp his engorged penis.

Still she was sprawling on the ground, head down.

"Hey, amigo."

Her head craned upwards. She had the panties gripped tight between her teeth. Her green eyes were high in their sockets, looking right up into his. Her face was red.

"Suck me."

The girl straightened up. She undid the button on Nick's jeans, pulled down the zipper. The head of his penis, bright pink, shiny, poked from the slit in his boxers. Her hands slid round his thighs, snaked up, clutched his buttocks hard. She rubbed the panties over his helmet, causing ripples of electricity to jacknife through his body. She pushed her mouth onto his cock, the panties sandwiched now between her tongue and his hard flesh.

She started moving her head back and forth. The panties, wet with saliva and pre- cum, slid back and forth along Nick's shaft. He breathed hard, cried out, pushed his hands down firmly on the girl's shoulders, pulling again at her hair. She squealed, loud this time.

His body was like a stone effigy, vibrating minutely as if charged with some kind of weird energy.

The panties in the girl's mouth at last made her gag. She pulled her head away, spat on the ground, big globules of froth on the dusty concrete. The panties hung like a flag of surrender on Nick's stiff, pulsing penis.

Nick lifted his hands from her, breathed out, long and hard. Sweat slid stickily down the small of his back.

Then in one swift movement, the girl had stood up, plucking the panties up as she did so, and was stretching them tightly across Nick's neck.

"Fuck!"

He grimaced in discomfort, a fine spray of saliva squirted out between clenched teeth onto her face, her hair, her shoulders. She held the panties in two hands behind his neck, drawing them across his Adam's apple as hard as she could.

He could easily have stopped her. But he didn't, for a long moment. She stood on tiptoes, her hair plunging down her back, across her wet face, her teeth bared, her eyes shining.

She made no noise in the quiet of the room.

He arched his back, felt the beads of sweat break and fall from his armpits down his body, his arms. His eyes were open, staring, not on her but on the ceiling fan above them.

Then, as if in slow motion, he carefully brought his hands down and lifted her arms from around his neck. Holding her wrists in one hand, he smacked her across her mouth with the other. Blood spotted his white shirt. Still clutching her wrists, he examined his red fingers. Then he smacked her again. Harder.

He opened his palm. She dropped like a stone. He stepped over her, his penis, now only half-erect, wavering above her, shadowed by his body.

He bent down, picked her up by the elbows and forced her bloodied mouth against his prick. She looked up at him. He raised a fist. She opened her jaws and took him in, as far as he could go.

His helmet rubbed against the back of her mouth. She gagged. He held her firmly, didn't let her move an inch. She blinked tears from her eyes. Big hands on each side of her head, she moved her mouth up and down his thickening penis. A trickle of spit and blood ran down his cock into his thick black pubic hair. She closed her eyes. He forced her head backwards and forwards until he could sense at last a crescendo building deep inside him.

The girl's hands suddenly found his buttocks. Pulling down the elastic of his boxers, she prized his cheeks apart and shoved two fingers deep into his anus. It hurt like hell. His penis twitched sharply inside her mouth. She clamped her teeth down, her tongue rasping across his urethra.

He bent over, her face pressed right into his groin, her fingers down his ass, his hands hard around her head, her dark hair trailing around his thighs, her face.

A second of frozen time and then he yelled out like a tortured animal.

His cum-juice spasmed out, once, twice, three times, hot and heavy into her bloody mouth. His whole body convulsed, his cock jerking, spasming, sending streams of yellow spunk glistening down her chin, down her neck, down her hidden breasts. She swallowed, gagged, swallowed again. He dropped her hands off of her. Inert now, she collapsed on the floor, her hair splayed out around her, her green dress like an uncupped flower.

For a while, Nick just stood there. His cock dripped a last few drops of spunk onto her hair.

Then he pulled up his boxers, his jeans, took a comb to his hair and called the cops.