The Kids Aren't Alright

He wrapped his arms around her torso and held on for dear life as he pinned her delicious body against the wall and unleashed a salvo of powerful thrusts. His hips pumped away, fucking her faster and deeper as the floodgates broke open. The sensation of his cock pounding into her slick passage was like heroin firing through his synapses over and over again, driving constant spikes of pleasure through his brain.

He was close, and he sensed that she was close, too. Even though he was exhausted, instead of stopping, he simply slowed his pace a little, allowing the knowledge of his conquest to wash over her. "Come for me, you little slut," he growled into her ear.

At first she didn't seem to be listening to him - she was shutting her eyes and biting her lower lip as if trying to think of something, anything, other than her impending orgasm. Frowning, he slapped her ass with enough force to get her attention; the impact left a bright red mark on her right cheek. Her eyes snapped open.

"Did you hear what I said?" he hissed, while a single refrain, like a broken record, played on repeat in his mind.

"Y-yes," she whispered.

Mine.

"And what are you going to do for me?"

She shook her head frantically, mewling, "No no no no, ple-eeeeease, I don't want to, I don't want to - "

Mine, mine, mine ...

"What the fuck did you just say?!" He slapped her ass again - thwack! - as she squirmed under him. The girl groaned as the pain swept through her; her right cheek by this point looked as if it had been given a new coat of red paint. Disobedience would not be tolerated. "When I say come for me, you come, got it?"

"Y-yes."

He slapped her again. She squealed. "Yes, what?!" he snapped.

"Yes ... D-daddy. Yes!"

MINE!!

Through his teeth, and punctuating each word with a savage thrust, he gasped: "Then - come - for - me."

Her moans became shrill and desperate as she started bucking against him wildly, pumping her ass to meet his thrusts, her sex clamping down on his manhood. It was like she was experiencing a revelation as she swore under her breath. She spasmed, her vaginals walls fastening around him like a vice-grip, milking him for all he was worth. As she clawed at the wall like a thing possessed, it was impossible to tell whether she was seeking escape or release.

Tears streamed down her face. "Oh god, oh my fucking god, oh god, oh god - "

Snarling, he dug his fingers into the plump meat of her ass and pressed his chest against her sweat-slicked back. There was something carnal in the way she was flailing in his grasp, like a rabbit trapped in the jaws of a fox that refused to admit she was caught. Yet he loved how she somehow still managed to push herself further and further onto his erection, as if she just couldn't help herself despite her best efforts to resist what he was doing to her. And here he was, stealing every moment of pleasure from her, every twitch, every shiver, every sigh, grasping her firm, lovely tits, burying his teeth into her shoulder as she moaned helplessly, as her youthful body was conquered and ravaged, despoiled, and then at last she shuddered, and -

"NOOoooo-ooooooooo."

Lights exploded in front of Stan's vision. He roared, thrusting inside the velvety interior of her cunt with all of his might as his balls contracted. Rope after rope of hot sperm shot out of his shaft and flooded the recesses of her teenage womb. The girl's voice rose with his own, matching him in intensity, and the two cries melded together as he trapped her against the wall, seized her hips, and poured himself into her like an empty vessel.

For a brief moment, in that breathless interval between orgasm and reality, he was no longer the pathetic, balding, broke sixty-year old deadbeat his ex-wife and kids always believed him to be. No, he was Stan-the-fucking-man. The outrage from a lifetime of injustices sloughed off his shoulders as he buried himself that wet, hot snatch, grunting as his climax coursed through him.

The girl's moans rose to a fever pitch, then she collapsed in his arms.

Eventually, as the intensity of the moment passed, it was followed by a restive period filled only with the sound of their exhausted panting. Stanley exhaled deeply and tried to collect his bearings. His cock twitched, still sheathed inside of her. His balls felt drained and heavy.

Hell and high water. He felt like he'd just run a marathon with this girl.

He wondered how his little prize was faring. It was hard to tell because her face was hidden, lodged in the crook of her arm. But after a few moments Stan noticed admiringly that, even though she was clearly as dead tired as he was, her round hips were still rhythmically and hypnotically gliding back and forth over his cock, slipping over the appendage with ease. She didn't seem to comprehend what she was doing or where she was. The girl was committed, he had to give her that much. The mania of before had been replaced by the guilty, needy whimpers of the well-fucked.

He growled in satisfaction. The sound was music to his ears.

Roughly, he grabbed her breasts and began gnawing the skin of her neck, shoulders and back as her orgasm continued to ebb. She squirmed and begged him to stop, but her protests were half-hearted at best. "Oh, man," he wheezed. "You're something else, you know that? Being inside you is heaven. How could I ever stop?"

They remained locked in that position, panting and sweating, with him kneading her tits, for what could have been minutes or hours - it didn't matter. Time was irrelevant.

After a while, Stanley found the wherewithal to rise and take stock of their situation. Beads of perspiration dripped down his forehead. The juices that had coated his shaft and balls from their lovemaking had now dried.

He sighed. Well, it had been nice while it lasted.

He smacked the girl's bottom and loosened his grip, finally allowing her a reprieve. Instantly, she sank to her knees, apparently too weak and shaky to stand on her own two feet. Stepping away, he snatched some toilet paper and wiped himself off while watching the abused girl from the corner of his eye. From this angle and as a result of her position on the floor, with her bottom pointing towards him, he was able to see, peaking out from under her skirt, the semen leaking from her glistening crotch.

Ah, now isn't that just the cherry on the cake.

Something cruel within him revelled at the sight. She was clutching feebly for the handicap-rail as he finished up, pulling up his pants and tightening his belt.

What now? he wondered, still breathing hard from the exertion.

He was almost certain someone must've heard them. He checked his watch quickly and was shocked: the theater had closed thirty minutes ago. That explained it.

Time flies when you're having fun, I suppose.

He grabbed some more tissue and did a once over his neck, and then went to the girl and held out a hand.

She looked at it for a moment, blitzed out of her mind and not sure what to make of the gesture. Her hair was a mess and the mascara she had been wearing was running down her cheeks. Frankly, she looked pathetic. He took her by the arm and lifted her up gingerly; she threatened to collapse again but he propped her up with his weight.

"W-what happened? What's going on?" she asked, peering around in confusion.

Her eyelids were barely hanging open, as if their mating had left her drugged and unaware. He had to admit that he still found her utterly irresistible, even with her looking like something the cat had just coughed up - especially with her skirt hiked up around her ass and her shirt a crumpled mess from the fucking she had just endured. He did her the favor of fixing them, pulling her skirt down and adjusting her t-shirt, all while she swayed back and forth in a daze.

Had he gone too far, he wondered? He looked at her once more and had his answer.

Once she was in reasonable shape again, he brought her into his arms and hungrily kissed her full, soft lips, flicking his tongue in and out of her mouth passionately. His tongue sought out hers, wrapping itself around the delicate little morsel as he ravished her mouth. Her lips were so sweet; he was reminded of butterscotch again as he devoured them. She resisted at first, her hands reflexively fluttering against his hard chest, before she softly moaned and went limp in his embrace. She felt so tiny in comparison to him, like a small bird or something. He ran his hands down her plump ass and gave it a firm squeeze, then let her go.

He opened the door to the stall and looked out quickly, making sure the coast was clear. Satisfied, he turned back around and took her by the arm.

"Look at me," he said, and she did. She was still trembling, but he had to get something off his chest, even if it killed him. "Here's the deal, sweetheart. I want to see you again. Now I know an ugly old bastard like me should've never had a chance with a young thing like you, 'specially with these bad knees of mine and all." His expression darkened. "But I know who you are now. If I want you, I can take you, whenever I please. And I wonder what your father would think of his little princess giving herself so easily to some ugly bastard like me. Do you think he'd ever be able to look you in the eye again? I don't."

He waited and saw a flicker of recognition in her eyes, the look of panic in them. She knew he was being serious and that, moreover, he was probably right about her parents. That was good.

"Just do as I say, and they'll never find out. No harm, no foul. Deal?"

She stared at him again. After a pause, meekly, she nodded.

"Excellent." He turned to leave but then heard a gasp. Stan stared back at her, puzzled. "What is it?"

"What about my ...?" she whispered, unable to finish her sentence.

"Yes?"

She lowered her eyes in embarrassment. "You have my panties."

He looked down and realized he must have picked them up at some point. The thin fabric was sticky with saliva and love-juice. Then, gazing at them like an artist admiring his latest masterpiece, his face broke out in a ghastly grin. "I think I'll hold onto these, too, if you don't mind. Perhaps you can have them back after our next get together. Work hard and who knows? Maybe you'll deserve it." He stuffed the panties in his coat pocket. "I'll be expecting your call." Then he swivelled and, without so much as a word goodbye, walked out of the stall.

The door to the bathroom slammed shut behind him. Outside, Stan walked through the almost empty lobby, passing the only person in sight - a lone janitor with a mop who didn't even lift his head to acknowledge him. He noticed the young punk had earbuds in his head. Normally this would have annoyed him, but he was feeling surprisingly peppy for his age, so he let it slide. He whistled a tune as he left the building. When he got to his job's car - a beat-up thing that he was fond of calling "Old Reliable" - he took his keys out and unlocked the door, then shambled inside.

He sat inside the cab of his limo for a few minutes, letting the events of the last hour or so sink in.

He smiled. He felt like a new man. Re-energized.

He took out the girl's phone and opened it. Went through her personal files, including her photos. It almost felt like a more personal violation than what he had just put her through in a way, which was crazy, of course, and yet ... he pushed his doubts aside and continued his investigation until he found a name -

Erin Monaghan.

Monaghan. Now why did that name ring a bell? Frowning, he threw the phone on the seat beside him and started the car. His research could wait. Something told him he was going to have more time to get to know little Erin.

And, oh, how he was looking forward to it.