2 comments/ 13323 views/ 5 favorites Small Talk By: Potato11 The woman opened her eyes to a suffocating darkness. She felt a breeze caress her bare skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Her wriggling fingers were bound with a rope above her head as she lay in an involuntary straddle. As her eyes adjusted, she could see pockets of light at the bottom of her vision, and deduced that someone had blindfolded her. At this realization, her heart began to beat rapidly and her teeth chattered, anticipating what was to come. Minutes later, heard a door squeak open, followed by the sound of feet approaching. Her breathing hitched and her teeth ceased their chatted. "Good morning, darling." The woman jolted as a gravelly voice embraced her ear. She could feel the hot breath of her captor on the side of her head, and she cringed. "Aw, the sweetie doesn't like it when Daddy whispers?" The voice moved closer to the woman's ear, which in turn became unbearably warm. "Would the sweetie prefer that I stop talking?" The woman shook her head passionately, but with limited motion, as she did not want to bring herself any closer to the man. "You want me to keep talking?" The man moved his face away from the woman's ear. "I'd love to, but I also have some other things I have to get done. Luckily for you, I am a multi-tasked by nature. I can do two things at once." The woman tensed as the man's hand grabbed her left breast with force. "Actually, I can do three." He grabbed the woman's other breast and started massaging them both with his hands. The woman stayed silent throughout, too terrified to protest. She tried to focus on anything but the hands traversing her chest but it proved too difficult to manage. "I can't talk only to myself, honey," said the man, pinching the woman's nipples them and pulling them up and down. "People might think I'm crazy. Why don't you say something, too?" With that, he twisted the woman's nipples until she was forced to let out a gasp of protest. "No, stop!" She shouted as the pain shot through her nipples. "Please, that hurts!" "She speaks," said the man, laughing and releasing the woman's breasts from his death-pinch. "Well, darling, I'm going to ask that you keep talking, because my mouth is going to be a bit busy. Talk about, oh, I don't know, cats or something." The man placed his warm mouth into the woman's left nipple and sucked hard, massaging the other breast with his hand. The woman could only gasp and swallow, tears threatening to brim. The man released the woman's breast with a pop. "I thought I told you to keep talking, honey. It's so awkward when you stay silent like that. Let's try that again." His mouth and hand returned to their positions and tasks, but the woman became even quieter than before. "Sweetie, talk," said the man, his voice muffled by the breast in his mouth. "Remember: cats." The woman stayed silent. There was no way this monster was going to make her attempt small-talk during her own rape. She gulped and stayed silent. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain on her breast. She let out an involuntary scream as she realized that man had bitten down around her breast. "Stop!" She shrieked. "Stop, please stop!" The man immediately removed his teeth from the woman's skin. "If you want your skin to stay un-damaged, you'll speak when I ask you to and about what I ask you to. Do you understand me?" The woman nodded, the tears that previously threatened egress spilling out of her ducts and being soaked up by the blindfold. The man returned to his position as the woman choked out sentences. "Cats... are so... so cute. I love... cats. My mom has... a cat. It's a Siamese... and it's adorable." The man removed his mouth from the woman's breast and pat it lightly. "Good job, honey. Exactly what I wanted. For this next part, I want you to talk about your favorite childhood television shows. Nothing is too obscure." The man's footsteps trailed away from the woman for a few seconds before returning to her. She conjectured that he was somewhere near her ankles. "Ready, dear?" The man placed is hands on the insides of the woman's thighs and started rubbing them up and down. This tickled the woman and her legs fidgeted. "Childhood television shows. Go." "Well, when I was very little, I loved to watch the Teletubbies. My favorite was Tink-" The woman stopped talking abruptly as she felt a wet tongue on her vulva. Gathering her senses and deciding that she wouldn't want the man to get angry and bite her labia, she tried to ignore him and continued talking. "Tinky-Winky. I really liked the color purple." She gulped as the tongue swirled around her privates, grazing the clitoris and exploring her sex. Her stomach began contracting with each wave of slight pleasure, however clouded by the woman's fear. "Later, I loved... watching Nickelodeon. I really liked CatDog and Angry Beavers." The man continued licking around the woman's clitoris, but introduced two fingers into the game, which he shoved roughly inside the woman's vagina and began pumping slowly. The woman began having a bit of trouble breathing. "I...I wanted to watch Ed, Edd, & Eddy, but m-my mom didn't approve. She th-thought it would dumb... me down." The man licked faster and in more concentrated areas and pumped as rapidly as he could. The sudden change in tempo shocked the woman and brought her almost to the edge. "As... as a-a preteen... I l-loved Spongebob Squa-" The woman's sentence was cut short by the onslaught of her reluctant orgasm. The man licked and pumped quickly as the woman writhed beneath his hands and tongue. When he was satisfied with her orgasm, he removed his hands and face from her sex. "Ed, Edd & Eddy was alright," he said. "There were better shows on Cartoon Network." Small Talk It has been a very, very long while since I had been back home. Although the city was only a couple hours away, I had no desire to visit the small town I had grown up in. However, this year is my five year high school reunion. Since I was somewhat proud of what I had accomplished, I decided to attend the party. Since the event was scheduled for the morrow and I had nothing better to do, I had taken a few days off and checked into a hotel room. Maybe something exciting would happen, but so far my trip had been rather dull. It was nearing late evening, and I was sitting at a fairly empty bar, nursing a sweet margarita. So far, I had seen a few former classmates. Some made small chat; others seemed to not recognize me. It was no matter; I dressed up a lot more now than what I had ever in high school. Since I did hair for a living, I had to look the part if I expected to make money. Sighing, I glance down the bar, searching for a familiar face to talk with. There's a man who stirs my memory, but he is too old to be a former classmate. He's sipping on a glass of bourbon, neat. Much to my embarrassment, he catches my stare and gives me a small smile. Mortified, I instantly redden and turn my eyes back to my drink. I hear a bar stool scrape the floor as he makes his way in my direction. I squirm uncomfortably as he sits beside me his front facing my side. My eyes turn to his. "Mr. Stiles?" I gasp in recognition. He was my freshmen English teacher in high school, although I did seek advice from him all four years. "Sydnee," he grins warmly. "Five years?" "Yes," I answer, my long blond hair falling down my back. "It's good to see a familiar face. How have you been?" "I've been well. Glad for the summer to finally be here. I'm still teaching," he says. "Are you going to the reunion?" I ask. "No. That's for you young folks," he shakes his head. "Do you still write?" "Sometimes. It can be difficult to find time," I say. "What do you do for a living?" he asks. His eyes flit to my chest for a moment. I grin mischievously at him. His expression is guilty, but it's slightly cute. "I do hair," I answer, leaning forward slightly. The small movement is enough to give him a glimpse of my chest under my dress. Alcohol does foolish things to a mind . . . especially around an old crush. "You look wonderful," he says quietly, keeping his eyes on mine. "So do you," I whisper, turning to face him. My legs are between his now. For a few moments, we gaze at each other. Then, he clears his throat and looks away. "Where are you staying?" he asks, breaking the silence. "The only hotel in town," I answer. "Do you still write, Mr. Stiles?" "Not as much as I did when you were in school," he confesses. "I enjoyed reading what you let me," I say truthfully. "You're brilliant." "So are you. Part of the reason why I stopped writing was the fact you were gone. You are excruciatingly honest when you peer edit. I've missed you." he says, his eyes turning to mine. "Aww," I grin at him. "We should exchange phone numbers. I would love to edit your work. Or just chat." "That would be great," he says. My legs are still between his. When I stand, we're extremely close. Since he's sitting and I'm wearing heels, our faces are extremely close. He smells sweet and fresh; almost minty. "My phone is in my car. You're finished, right?" I ask with a glance to his empty glass. He nods, standing as well. "I am . . . but not with you. We could grab a pizza and go to my place. I bought new patio furniture that I haven't tried out yet. And . . . I wouldn't mind catching up with you a bit . . . if that's all right." he says. "Yeah. Would it be all right if you just followed me to the hotel so I can drop off my car? On the way here, it was sounding a little rough and I don't want to drive it too much," I say. "Do you know what's wrong with it? I could take a look for you," he says, wrapping his arm around me and laying a twenty down on the bar. "Don't pay for my drink," I scold, but he shakes his head. "Let's go," he says, leading me out of the bar. In no time, he's scratching his head although something tells me it's not from confusion. He lets out a sigh, turning his gaze to me. "Sydnee, I don't think this thing is meant to drive anymore. I'm sincerely worried for your trip back home. The wheel bearings are definitely bad, and I'm pretty sure you're going to have to replace the passenger axel." he eyes me steadily, annoyed. "Why would you deliberately put yourself in danger like this? You could have been hurt . . ." "Mr. Stiles, I—" "Remy." he says quietly, and I'm not sure if he meant the thought to be aloud. "I'm sorry . . . Remy." I say timidly. Again, our gazes meet. Does he see the desire in my eyes? Can he sense the longing on my face? "Should I just go home?" "No. Listen, I'll follow you to the hotel. It's not far and it's not fast. I'll pick you up when you get there and I'll drive you where you need to be." he says. "What about when I need to go home?" I ask, my heart sinking. Of course, I knew the car was in bad shape. I was currently in the process of saving for a new one. However, the money wasn't in a bank; it was in a pair of boots in the bottom of my closet, inconspicuous and safe. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there," he says. I nod, climbing into the beat up Toyota. "I'll see you soon. Be. Careful. Please?" "Always," I grin up at him. A few minutes later, I'm climbing into his car. He ordered the pizza on the drive over. He was still driving the same Jeep Liberty from when I was in school. I had to admit, he had kept it in tip top condition; it ran a lot better than my Corolla that was only a year older. It was extremely comfortable as well. Since Remy was dutifully paying strict attention to the road, I took advantage of his silence to take in his handsome face. He had dark hair that was prematurely graying from wisdom; he definitely had more lines in his face than five years ago. However, it all suited him. Even in the four years I had known him in high school, he had aged quite a bit. My freshmen year, he was just beginning a nasty divorce. It left him drained and gaunt . . . probably part of the reason I had taken pity on him and began a 'teacher's pet' sort of routine. However, I had quickly found he was a lot deeper than what appeared at the surface. Despite being dashingly handsome, it was not his looks that formed an innocent crush years ago. It was certainly his sense of self and his incomparably kind demeanor that was infatuating. As ridiculous as it sounds, it was the typical high school crush on a teacher. So cliché. Ugh. "What are you thinking about?" he asks, his velvety voice penetrating my thoughts. I look over at his solid figure. "High school," I answer meaningfully . . . meaning him. How my feelings had manifested into something that almost ached after graduation. Since I was starting school in the city, I had decided to move just after my class walked across the stage. Mr. Stiles – Remy and I hadn't spoken since. "I really thought you would keep in contact with me. I'm not upset by any means . . . just surprised." he says, and it does hurt to hear his words. "I kept telling myself I'd write or something, I just never did. Now, it's five years later . . . I'm sorry." I close my eyes, looking away. "Don't be sorry, Sydnee. I was your high school English instructor. You were a high school graduate." he waves his hand. "Have you thought about me a lot?" I ask, and I clap my hand over my mouth. How tacky of me. I wish the words away. "Sometimes," he answers after a pause. He sounds nervous and tense. "I think the pizza may be ready. Let's pick it up." "All right," I agree. Ten minutes later, we're adjusting ourselves on his new patio furniture. The patio was a new addition to his house; I had been here on a few sparse occasions assisting him with class projects and such while in high school. The furniture was nice and there was plenty of shade offered by the house so we weren't getting burned. "This is really, really nice." I say, looking around at our immediate surroundings. He gives me a tilted grin. "Thank you. It's the first time anyone has seen it. I did it myself," he gazes around the structure. "You did a magnificent job," I say honestly. "I had no idea you were so talented." "Well, it's not typical conversation. I'm a private person . . ." he says, gazing at me. "Until it comes to you. You've always had a way about bringing down walls." "You're not the first person who's told me that," I say, grabbing a slice of pizza. "It's odd because I have a general dislike for people . . . all people." "You're a mystery," he murmurs, taking a slow bite of food. It takes a moment to realize I'm staring with my mouth open. Quickly, I shut it and look away. With difficulty, I stifle the growing wetness in my panties. I squirm, and he chuckles darkly. "I don't think so," I say. "I think you already have me figured out." "Only in so many ways. You've changed quite a bit over the past five years." he opens his mouth as if he's about to add more, but he stops. "So have you. You're much more mature," I grin. He laughs. "You're beautiful," he blurts, then instantly looks as red as a sunset. However, he doesn't backpedal. His eyes don't stray from mine. I realize he's nervous; not embarrassed. "Thank you," I say. "I've always found you quite handsome." For a moment, we just gaze at each other. We're silent for a time, trying to measure the other's thoughts. Without a word, I stand and walk slowly over to him. He watches me inch closer until I'm right in front of him. He leans forward, looking up into my eyes. With a deep breath, I press my mouth to his. Surprisingly, he's not tense. He's responsive. His hands are instantly all over my back . . . on my face . . . tangling in my hair. I moan appreciatively. My own hands nervously seek out his angular, bearded face. I lower myself to his lap and he makes room so I can straddle him easily. Our kiss intensifies; out tongues seek the other in a journey that seems to have taken a lifetime. Suddenly, he stands. Clutching me to his chest, he pushes his hips into mine. I feel his stiff manhood. He wants this. "This is too fast," he says, but I kiss him aggressively. He chuckles darkly and grinds me into his core. Carefully, I adjust my legs so they're on either side of his. Without breaking my mouth away from his, I rub my wetness onto his leg. "Mmm, Sydnee," he growls. Together, we lay down on the secluded patio. He's on top of me as I seek his muscles and tear off clothing. Within a matter of moments, we're naked. His impressive manhood digs into my leg as I pant beneath him. "I want this," I whine into his ear, and he pushes my legs aside so he can lay between them. He rubs his large head into my mound and watches as I squirm in pleasure. "Fuck, Remy . . ." "It's so hot when you say my name . . .especially when I'm between your legs," he breathes into my ear. "Moan for me, baby." "Remy," I gasp, letting out a long shriek of ecstasy. His hand reaches up and cups my breast. Our mouths meet for a brief moment before his tongue is flicking my nipple. Again, I'm moaning beneath him, bucking against his member. "Sydnee . . ." he murmurs as he starts to slowly push himself inside of me. I shout in pain and pleasure as I feel him rip me apart. "So . . . big . . ." I throw my head back as he shoves himself deeper. When he starts fucking me, I wrap my legs around him tight, matching his rough rhythm. I felt his balls slap my ass and I ground my arousal against him as he bit at my nipple. My face presses against his neck, and I know he has to hear how hard I'm breathing. I throw my head back as he shoves himself inside me with a little more force than before. "Mmmm, Remy." "Fuck . . . I'm close," he moans into my ear, his face nuzzling my neck. His rhythm has slowed. It's tender and passionate. He rubs against my sensitive parts, penetrating my deeper now. "Remy," I gasp, nibbling his neck. He kisses me as his pace quickens slightly. My own arousal was quickly approaching its climax. "Fuck me." "Baby," his lips press to mine, hard. His hips wildly slap against my core as his climax takes over. I buck against him, shouting his name as I come over his manhood. We gasp in each other's arms while his cock pulses inside me. "That was wonderful," I murmur, holding him against me. "You were painfully tight." he says. "So fucking good." "I've always wanted to do that," I say after a few moments. His softening manhood slips from my depths. "Me too," he murmurs, kissing me deeply. It wasn't hungry, but it was full of a passionate tenderness. "What happens now?" I ask him. We look at each other closely for a few moments. "I don't know. I understand that you don't want to be tied down . . . but I would be lying if I said I wanted nothing more than today. I've thought about you more than once, and more than once, I thought of you in an obscene way." he says. "You're so honest," I say appreciatively, kissing his neck. "That's the best way to be," he says, his lips finding mine. "Let's just take this day by day." I say slowly. "I don't know what I want. Not right now . . . I'm sorry." "Don't be," he shakes his head. "That's all right. Right now . . . I just want you to feel good." "I do. Thank you, Mr. Stiles." I say, and he presses his lips to mine in a gentle, but possessive way. "The pleasure was mine. Now, let's finish that pizza. Surely no one will see us from here," he stands, naked and glorious. He offers a hand up. "You are a fine specimen," I compliment, taking the proffered hand. "And you are gorgeous, and I daresay I am the luckiest man in the world." he cups a breast and his lips find mine. "If you wouldn't mind, I would like to do this again before you leave for home." "I wouldn't mind at all . . . but only if it's more than once." I look up at him. His member dug into my hip as I cupped his balls. "Oh," he gasps, closing his eyes. "Deal." That day alone, we were intimate three times. When the day of my departure came after a rather uneventful high school reunion, I was almost in tears. We had grown quite close and had spent majority of everyday with the other. He had taken the liberty of having my car towed home, and he decided to drive me as well. The drive to the city was uneventful and painful. My eyes were wet the whole time; his own face was stoic and tense. His right hand held my left for the entire drive. I clutched him back fearfully, kissing his upper arm as I leaned into him. The whole time, my breath caught in my throat and I choked back tears. How was it that I could be so entirely attached in such a short amount of time? "Do you want me to visit?" he asks presently. We're in my apartment, holding onto the other. "Or would it be easier for you if we never spoke again?" "Remy . . ." I bury my face into his neck. "I want you to visit. I want to visit you. Do . . . do you want this to end, right here? Right now?" "No," he answers quickly. His arms hold me to his chest. "My age—" "Oh goodness, you're only thirty-six. That's hardly something to dwell on." I roll my eyes as he gives me a crooked grin. "Sydnee, I love you." his eyes look into mine, and my tears start to fall in earnest. My stomach feels tingly and tight. "I love you, too." I choke out, and he kisses me, long and hard. And it's absolutely perfect.