Self Knowledge

"Wh.. what're... AaaaAhhh!" I yelped as the this salacious senior's obviously experienced hand immediately went to work purposefully between my shaky thighs. His fingers confidently wove their magic on me - two of them teasing open the moistened folds of my labia, wiggling and stroking just inside them. His thumb delicately flicking over my clit with almost the same rhythm and tempo I use on myself. The old fart who I'd just met and was taking serious liberties with my personal space, seemed to know my own body better than I did -- his continued expert touch down there elicited an involuntary, drawn out and uneven "OoohhoOoohhh" from me. He was operating my cunny like he had designed it and owned the blueprints.

I was incredibly worked-up at this point, from my steamy display to the guys earlier and now this creep having his way with me -- my body was overwhelmed with the sensations and was starting to do the reacting for me, no mind involved. It decided on it's own to try and escape backwards and upwards, away from the probing hand in my underwear, but this just resulted in me going back on tiptoe, arching my back more and grinding my ass against him with his obscenely-scaled and now rapidly hardening dick. I was trembling in his grip and panting, feeling light-headed: I don't think I'd managed to take a full breath since first bumping into him.

He let out a deep, appreciative sound as I pressed back against him -- somewhere between a hum and a low growl, and said something low enough that I couldn't hear as he continued to manhandle my most sensitive spot. My little pussy and clit were loving the attention, and not 5 seconds passed of this new degradation before I felt the intense warm tingling in my belly that heralded an extended, crashing orgasm if it continued.

I couldn't do much at this point except look back at the bold fucker over my shoulder and whimper weakly: "oh god, please...s.. stop...."

My whole body trembled, me still gyrating my hips back against him, my knees pointing in towards each other and my legs shaking. I was going to cum hard on this ugly geriatric's stubby fingers within 10 seconds at this rate.

Unbelievably though he did actually stop like I asked and brought his hand out oh my jean shorts up to my hip. In retrospect it probably wasn't my request to stop that did it - he just did the math of what he thought he could plausibly deny. Fingering his neighbours' hot teen daughter to a screaming orgasm in broad daylight, with them in the garden not 30 feet away, did not intersect anywhere in that Venn diagram. I'd learn later that besides this old fucker's degenerate lifelong obsession with violating inexperienced babes, was paired a devious trickiness and arrogant charisma that had kept him out of jail (mostly), and not as socially ostracized as you might've otherwise thought natural.

I heard myself let out a little frustrated, plaintive "uuuargh" sound, purely on automatic, over the removal of his deft digits. My mind and body were definitely conflicted in that moment over how they wanted the situation to pan out... All the same, he'd taken me almost to the edge and I was still there. I was tingly and hot all over, and clearly still on a hair trigger. A light breeze would've had me soon standing in my own little puddle.

"Are you ok missy? You haven't been drinking have you? You're very unsteady on your feet." He was whispering this straight into my ear from behind me. Once again the tone was not one of concern for my well-being; it had a gravelly, hungry element which he wasn't trying to hide, and it gave me goosebumps.

My voice is weak and I struggle for breath to answer - "N.. no... just a bit tired. Thanks."

This old creep, hands still greedily violating every part of me he could reach; his monstrous half-chubbed penis wedged snugly in my butt cleft, for some reason I thanked him. I'm guessing I was operating at about 30 fewer IQ points than I would normally. Though thanking this sex-crazed old monster for the things he'd do to me would be a recurring theme in the following months. Go figure.

"'I'm sure your parents will clear up the rest of the stuff. You should just head on up to bed sweetie. Mmm, to be a fly on that wall... " Again, whispered straight into my ear, though he growled the last part in a much lower register just within hearing volume. Again, goosebumps -- I whimpered and squirmed in his hands again, as he was still holding firmly onto me.

Then, he leans his face down into my neck and I can hear him breathing in deeply -- this old creepy fuck was shamelessly breathing in my scent. One last hard squeeze of each handful he was holding of my body made me whimper again, and he twisted his body, jumbo dick still wedged in my butt crack like an obscene draught excluder, until I was clear on the other side of the hallway with him letting go of me. Finally I was free from his grasping.

He stood there, still drinking me in with his eyes -- I just looked up at him in dumbfounded shock for a full couple of seconds, wondering if he'll find some new even less plausible excuse to get his hands back onto me.

What he actually did next instead was something that left a deeper and more lasting impression than any renewed touching -- it would be an image seared into my mind forever, a key moment that would (later, when I processed this whole thing emotionally) shape my desires and change everything in the months afterward. It would be the first lesson of my new 'education' from him, a practical lesson in the subject of what my body craved sexually without any input or interference from my conscious mind.

He brought his right hand up to his face, his fingers visibly moist from being between my legs earlier, and breathed in deeply from them. Then he slowly licked his fingers clean of my moisture, obviously enjoying how I tasted, maintaining intense eye contact with me the whole time.

Still in shock and not mentally equipped to know how I could possibly react to this, I just watch in disbelief with my mouth wide open as he slurps my nectar from his fingers.

Finished, the fucker just stood stock still, eyes still roving over me appreciatively with that wolfish, mirthless, arrogant grin, but making no move towards me. I turned and made off towards the den, walking shakily down the hall without a word.

I pass my dropped phone on the right, and I stop. Every conscious part of my mind is screaming to keep moving -- I don't want to give the perv another excuse to get his hands busy all over me. The phone will be there in the morning.

But something in my subconscious has taken root, and was already growing. At the time I had no idea why I did it: later on it would be clearer as I learned more about myself. But I stepped over to the phone and slowly bent down at the waist with my legs together and perfectly straight with gymnastic flexibility -- and pushing the ass and legs he'd shown so much interest in earlier out straight out toward him. Hand on my phone, I maintain this posture and look back and up at him demurely, and bite my lip -- swap out my undersized 'Mean Girls' attire for a corset and stockings, and I'd be one of those pin-up poster girls you saw in WWII barracks in movies.

His grin fades somewhat, and his expression turns hungry again. Suddenly he looks tensed up and ready to lunge, my submissive little display having had a strong effect on him. I'm suddenly afraid that I might have pushed my luck and provoked him to grab me again for round two...!

Fear adrenaline kicking in, I quickly straightened up with my phone in hand and move as fast as my tired, sore body could manage, without looking back again. I could feel his eyes on my legs and ass until I turn the corner and climb the stairs -- I'm taking his advice and heading straight to bed, but only after wedging my desk chair under the door handle. I don't know if he's still in the house, but after all of that who knows if he'd chance coming into my room, or how that scenario would play out..! Better safe than sorry.

I barely have the energy to kick my chucks off and just collapse into my bed with everything else still on. My body is tired and sore, with tender red spots from his lustful grip on me -- but my mind is racing, processing it all. Am I going to cry now? This old pervert violated me under the most shamefully weak of excuses, in the house I grew up in no less -- I should be incredibly angry. I should be calling police, my parents, anything but what I did next.

But no tears came.

Instead I undid the top button on my shorts and ran my hand slowly down, over the place his hand had held me -- I tingled in that spot still from his calloused grip. Then I moved my hand down past where he had managed to get to, into my little panties and over my shaved smooth pink pussy. I ran my finger over it, gathering some of my dewy moisture onto it and bringing it to my mouth and lapping it off. I ran my left hand all over my body, over and under my clothes, especially focusing on the places where he had grabbed or touched me. I was reliving it in my mind, like I was burning each hot little detail straight into my memory. The old creepy fat geezer had violated me, and it was wrong, and bad, and oh fuck it was the hottest thing ever.

Something broke in my mind -- or awakened might better describe it.

I flicked my finger over my clit, swollen and so much more sensitive than usual, it felt like a little electric shock. And in a lot less time than usual I was bringing myself to the hottest, most earth-shattering, multiple orgasms I've ever had, my mouth biting down hard on the comforter to muffle my mewling, ecstatic cries, all while picturing the bastard licking my juices from his fingers.

Normally I feel down or restless after an O, but this time, with my exhausted and abused body trembling with the aftershocks, I only felt a deep contented warmth in my belly spreading out to my arms and legs and tingling in my fingers and toes.

I fell into a deep restful sleep at that point, and my last waking thought was the feel of those strong, confident, rough hands holding onto my bare skin.

To be continued!