The Book

Chapter One

This is the intellectual property of Brie Stoll only, in infinitum and et al

He had loved her in white. Her body in the taut fabric stretching across her body threatening to expose her naked flesh beneath. He loved her in white. She was so sexy in white, her tanned skin shone against it so well. She was wearing white everyone she came to him, she was in white when she died. The next time he saw her they had become the ruined grey of funeral vestments.

She liked to tease him, he knew that. He would watch her at the bus stop, stretching unnecessarily. He tried not to let her know that he was watching, she was in white then too, a tee shirt, with blue jeans and a bra visible through the light cotton of the shirt. The bra was the soft pink that he had come to most associate with the color of her nipples. He had seen those nipple. She had seen him passing in the backyard of her house and she had looked at him then removed her bra, she looked at him, she wanted him to see.

She wanted him, she had finally told him as much one day when he was working at the store. She had entered with the gaggle of her friends, all giggling and loud girlish voices. It was odd to him that they always seemed to be yelling or giggling, or both. She had stayed behind, having manufactured some pretext or another, forgotten soda, or incorrect change.  She had come into the aisle and looked at him. She had gotten close and in her breathy little girl voice she had asked if he thought she was “hot”

He hadn’t answered, he wasn’t sure why she was doing this but he was sure that she was playing some game. Then she leaned in and said “I think you are smoking hot, I always have,” She gave him a smile of infinite slyness and sweet sexy desire and said “I want you, I don’t know why but I just do”.  

 She ran from the store after that, taking her place among the giggling swarm and more than likely covering for her friends having seen her talking to him by expressing that she thought he was “weird”. She had tossed her hair and walked with her friends but she had spared one glance over her shoulder, giving the store and him inside a slow, sly, sexy smile. That smile was genuine. It was all want. A week later, she had shown him her naked breasts and her nipples, the soft bubblegum Pink color of them.

When she showed him her pussy it was less subtle, and much more erotic for its public and dangerous aspect. He had dropped something on the floor, turned to pick it up, still in his chair, and she had opened her legs revealing the downy black hair to him, it was not like his pubic hair, wiry and bristly, but looked soft and full. Her clit was swollen and visible, as pink as her nipples had been, so vibrant and alive against that thicket of black hair. He had wanted to lay on the ground in front of her and let her grind on his face. He had wanted to bite her nipples , both of them , but when he saw her clit he had wanted to suckle  When he sat back up , which was only seconds later thought it felt much longer , with his rock hard penis painfully flush against the teeth of  the zipper of the now tight jeans , she looked at him and smiled. He wondered how many days she had waited to do that to him. How many days had she been coming to school with no panties hoping that he would see?

He wasn’t sure if it was weird that she was not shaved down there. All the girls in porn were shaved. He only knew that he liked it, liked the fecund fertile look of her pussy hair. He wanted to touch that hair, stroke it like a pet, and see if it was as soft as it looked. The next day she again wore white, jeans this time, and he was thrilled at the idea of her little bush of black hair rubbing against the tight white jeans.

The next week she came into the store and kissed him. She pushed into the back of the store and put her mouth against his, briskly, crushing his lips apart with her firm tongue, then exploring his mouth with that tongue. He felt her nipples hard and warm against the straining white fabric of her baby tee and he brushed them with his thumbs. She shivered against him and pushed his hand down  to the inverted v of her jeans and up to the hard bump that was her hard clitoris , he pinched it between his fingers and she moaned into his  ear “ now you know where it is , you can always find  it “. Her breath warm and soft in his ear, then she was gone. He was painfully erect, skin stretched to diamond hardness and had to masturbate or be driven insane.

The next week, in white open blouse and tight white shorts, she came into his garage and blew him, licking him with her soft bubblegum pink tongue, all her sex was pink it seemed. He had cum in her mouth, quick and unexpectedly, and she had swallowed him down. When he reached out for her, she flitted away back into the night and her own world. His mouth chaffed for her, with the need of her, that glimpsed fertile jungle, black hair, pink sex wanting her in his mouth and between his teeth.

He started to study her face, her eyes were unremarkable, brown and large. Her nose, her chin and her cheeks were ordinary, slightly red and dappled with a few pimples. Her mouth was where her loveliness lie. The top lip was thin, almost nonexistent, while her bottom lip was full, thick and lush. You would think that a mouth like that would give the constant impression of petulance and pouty arrogance but they came together to form a perfect little cartoon smile.

When he thought about his cock resting on that full bottom lip, thought about her lips around him her knowing hands on him he would explode with barely a touch. She was something that the porn would never be. She, her image in his head, was his and his alone.

When they were alone she was his sexual goddess and doled out her pleasures to him in fits and spurts. She was his first and only sexual partner. He was no stranger to porn , he had masturbated as much as 10 times in a day , with the flesh of his penis ending up a raw red unless lump at the end . The women in porn, the girls he used in his head from school also, were just that, used. All vessel. They had no voice, no say, and no choice. They would moan for him, to please him. Yet he never thought of the orgasm for them, never thought about what the moans were for. He would be surprised to realize that he never thought about the woman’s pleasure until the day that he went for his pencil and saw the fecund bodyscape of under her dress.

In anyone else company, thought, she was separate from him. Web she came into the store, accompanied by her entourage she would giggle with her friends, ignore him, look through him. She would sometimes laugh right at him. She would reward him later with some new thing, some new bit to their clandestine and increasingly frequent sexual encounters. The day that she came in with her friends and he heard her call him “creepy” to her friends, catching his eye and knowing that he had heard, she had come to him later. She never mentioned it, never apologized. Just came to him and let him finger her while she got him off. The smell of her was on his hands for hours, sweat, and pussy and perfume with a strawberry top note. He had licked his hands while masturbating that night. Almost in tears with the want to have her fully.

She was not a virgin, she had let her boyfriend, and real boyfriend take her when she was only 15. Bill was the boyfriend that her family wanted her to have, good looking and successful even as a student. Football star, likable and everybody’s all American. His college life had taken him away the summer before and while they were still a couple “technically” in practice she was her own, and she had him.

 One day she saw him at the mall, she and her friends walked in to Victoria secret. One of the girls , A pudgy redhead who everyone called Beth but whose real name was Rachel , something that had baffled him for years , had stuck out her tongue at him and then pointed and Laughed at him. The next time He and Ashley were together she had done a 69 with him, a genuine 69, and him with no penthouse forum to tell. She had been wearing white satin panties, they were new, clean and just held the faintest smell of her. He had wanted to keep them.

Later he sat wondering how long this was going to go on. They still had another year of High School, and then what? Would he follow her to her school of choice to be used by her? She would eventually go back to her boyfriend or get another. Someone that her parents would approve of, someone like Bill. Someone whose dad was a crony of her father, or someone that Rich Bitch of a mother of hers would love, someone she could fantasize about and call it harmless. Meanwhile he would be here, fucking her when she let him, crazy for her. He was addicted and she knew it, which was why she kept giving him little tastes. She would never have done this to anyone else.

The next week she was dead. The he reason that he killed her was much more complex than the murder itself. It took only seconds to kill her, mere moments to end her life. Part of it was that she was using him. Using him and knowing that he had no power to stop her.

They were in the woods, she had lured him to the woods. She was completely in white this time, virginal white cotton dress, long and flowing, white panties, and white bra. All the clean cotton shone in the gloom of the evening. She had pushed her hips against him and begged for him to “Do it “but she wouldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t kiss him, wouldn’t acknowledge him in the way he wanted He wanted her and she just wanted to fuck him and treat him as her dirty little secret, she would not ever care for him, and introduce him to her friends or her parents as her boyfriend. She would want to meet again, like this, under cover of night and be taken. She would even convince herself that the sex was his idea. That he wanted her body and not her love. She would make herself feel better by acting as if she was the victim. And if someone was to walk upon them, find them together in the woods, him inside of her and on top of her would she tell them it was her idea or would she cry rape? The thought of it, of all of it was what started his anger.

 As he entered her she let out a moan, it was low and sensual and he began to feel his muscles thrum with the disproportionate anger. He was falling in love with her, was in love with her and all she thought he was, all she was to him was a fucking dildo. A toy for her pleasure. It wasn’t fair. The whole thing was unfair. He was worth her time, he was her peer, what made her so much better than him? Then it just happened. He was thrusting into her and then his hands gripped her hair, his hands went into the hair , holding her head and then he just twisted and it had happened so fast, He was not sure how he felt, he saw the shift in her eyes from pleasure and light to fear, to nothing. He saw her change, the subtle changes in body.  She became looser. She sagged everywhere. All the places that we hold up unconsciously, our head, our shoulders, and our arms just went limp, as if they all died a little death of their own. He had cum then, cum into her finally, and now she was all vessel. He wasn’t sure if that made his a necrophilia. She was dead when he finished. He laid her down in the woods and sat next to her. He rubbed the parts of her skin he had touched with leaves. He also made sure the condom was with him. He hated the feel of the thing but she was right, it was better to give up a little pleasure to be safe.

He didn’t do it on purpose, he was angry but he would have wanted to be with her again. He wanted her. He lay next to her in the wet leaves, shaking.

Oh you know you have SOMETHING you want to say!

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