Alpha Annie

Alpha Annie 2 by Olivia Palmer

(ff, fdom, cons, bdsm, humil, viol, va, mast, anal, ws)

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This story is a work of fiction and does not purport to depict any real people, places, or situations. It is entirely fantasy and should be treated as such. This story describes explicit sexual acts between girls, teen girls, and women. If this type of content offends you or if you are not of legal age to view adult content, then do not read it.

Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent.

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved.

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Josie and Mrs. Oliveira – what can I say? They were two perfect bitches for my witch's brew. I mixed them together, added some choice fluids, and let it all marinate for a while. Then I turned up the heat, watched it all simmer, so long and sweet, and then set it to boil.

And did they cook! So yummy....

Meanwhile, I got bored. Yeah, once a week fucking around with those two was great, and I loved it and looked forward to it, but I gotta be honest – when you're in the authority biz, you have to take it slow or they'll break. Even subs need some time off to recover, some space to breathe. Kylie's mom taught me that. Since fifth grade I'd watched how she handled my mom and Kylie, and she let me learn by doing.

Josie and our assistant principal were my first official slaves, kind of by accident, really, but that didn't mean I was going to fuck it up and let a ton of great orgasms vanish right in front of me. So I took it slow. I remembered what I'd learned. And I made damn sure that, once a week, those two cunts would never forget me.

Plus, it was pretty clear from the start that they were in love. I made sure not to wreck that, since I could easily twist it in my favor, depending on what I wanted at the time. Beat ass on one so the other could lick ass even better. That kind of thing. I did love having my ass licked, I'll admit it. Who wouldn't? Even top bitches like me have a soft side. Some tender cravings. Soft tongues on my supple, sweet hole. Mmmmmm.....

But between our weekly play dates, I often wondered at how Kylie's mom did it, keeping my mom as a 24/7 slave. It seemed exhausting, too demanding on the domme. I wasn't sure my imagination was good enough for that. Yeah, I was plenty clever – smartest bitch in my grade in science and math, in fact – but I figured that slaves who stayed with you, who lived every day with you, probably needed more attention than I'd ever care to give. How fucking needy, you know?

Made me think less of my mom, I'll be honest. What kind of bitch needs to waste her domme's time every stupid second of every damn day? I guess that's why they made those big-ass cages. Lock 'em up and shut 'em up, and just let 'em out for fun when you want. That's how Kylie's mom rolled. I'd seen the pics on Kik before the courts cut off our contact. I'd have to wait a couple more birthdays before I could see any more. Their parole officer made damn sure of that.

For me, in the meantime, I had my chubby redneck bitch. But she annoyed the hell out of me. Sure, her ass was fat and delicious, but she was dumb as dried paint, and just as hard to scrape away. I'd ramp up the torture, she'd cry and come hard and flee, then sure as fuck in a couple weeks the bitch would be back! Time healed her wounds, and then her pussy honed in on me like a bloodhound.

My other teammates were all scared of me. I knew that. Sure, we were something like friends on and off the court, but I was the clear star, way better than every last one of them, no matter what sport it was, and I was so out and so horny and so ready to fuck all the time, too... couldn't help it, didn't want to help it. They needed me to win, but they were in awe of my talents and clearly had no chance to catch up. Then, personally, sexually, they all kept up walls with me.

I mean, it wasn't like I was trying to molest them all the time. I didn't ever even mention anything to any of them directly – no propositions, no demands. But I was the freak. My sexuality was always out there, easy to see, and when you're a homosexual or bisexual teenaged girl I guess it can be intimidating to behold somebody like me at such close range all the time – this magnified mirror image, distorted in so many pervy ways, of your own inner self.

I just did my thing, you know? I kept my pits and pussy and legs natural. I'd never shaved, not once, and never intended to. I did keep my head shaved, except for a little tuft of blonde on top, which I liked to highlight in all kinds of fun rainbow ways. I farted and laughed about it. I pissed standing up about half the time (takes a lot of practice and a certain secret stance/tilt/hold technique!). I never wore makeup and only wore socks when I was playing a sport. Because I liked my feet-stink, plain and simple (still do). And there were my piercings: nose, lip, eyebrow, and all over my ears. No tongue at that point, and no nipples or clit. Those would be later, after I'd finished with sports, long after college, in fact.

But even in high school I was this wild, free, freaky bitch, and my teammates couldn't deal with me away from whatever practice and game I was helping them win. And I just had to live with it. Only Josie had been willing. The rest, even the other clearly lesbian bitches, kept to themselves, formed their own pairs, and steered clear of me. Made me feel like the starving little match stick girl shivering at the winter windows of some bright, warm delicatessen, unable to get in.

Too much poetry for you? Well fuck you. It's how I think, and it's my damn story.

I wanted more bitches. I didn't want just a dumb-as-fuck shit-kicking farm girl to bruise and batter a couple times a month. I didn't want to have to wait a week to get off with my slaves. I didn't want to keep going home at night to my shitty apartment and my asshole dad and fuck myself to my kind of porn while he sat out in the kitchen fucking himself to his kind of porn. What kind of life was that?

So I had to adjust. It's true. I had to compromise. Maybe I needed a girlfriend. Maybe if I found a chick outside school – some woman out there in town somewhere, or some girl at some other school, maybe one of those other bitches on those other teams we kept beating – then maybe I could fuck a lot more, touch a lot more, get a lot more ladyparts in my face. She didn't have to know about that other shit, the other bitches I ruled. She would just be some horny, sweet treat that I could suck on more than every now and then. I wanted a fucking girlfriend and I wanted to fuck every fucking day. Is that too much to ask?

Figured it was worth a try. So: Internet, meet Annie. Annie, meet Internet.

There were three main "alt lifestyle" bars in my town. One was free-range, any orientation, all kinds welcomed, from hetero to whatevero. One was gay male. One was lesbian. I was too young to enter all three during prime hunting hours, but I parked my ass in front of the lesbian bar, Donna's, on Saturday afternoon and decided I'd just wait and see what came sniffing around. I could at least legally go in there and have a bite in the middle of the day. The Internet told me so, thanks to some "Teen LGBT Awareness and Support Blog" that some old farts in my town maintained. They said it was "a good way to become more accustomed to the culture" and to "find a sympathetic ear" or "a mentor to help guide you along a sometimes difficult path". Well. No shit. It was difficult finding a new tasty piece of ass. No doubt about it.

I'd just finished a late-morning practice with my traveling volleyball team, and I was still sweaty and smelly and wearing my gym shorts and tank top. I sat there with my rings and bolts all lined up on the dashboard, methodically re-inserting them one by one into all their tiny holes, and watched, one by one, the women cruise up and wander in.

It was lunch hour, and a lot of housewives seemed to be on the prowl, tigresses ready to pounce. Saturday grocery shopping, sure, but stop in for a little snack first.... Most didn't bother taking off their wedding rings before leaving the car. Mixed in with them were bitches like me, who declared it out loud, manly dykes rolling up on their Harleys and in their pickups and Jeeps, in their jeans and t-shirts, work shirts with their name stitched on, boot-wearing, hanky-flying, butch-haired hounds on the hunt. Some short, some tall, some fat, some built like the fucking Rock.

A third group was in between, those awkward almost-out single bitches who weren't quite femme, weren't quite butch, sort of stuck in the lesbian netherworld, not yet signed up for a side. Those, I bet my sweaty ass, were the main source of subs in that little universe inside Donna's. If I was going to snag a girlfriend, maybe I should concentrate on those mice and not the dogs, not the cats.

Some of them were punkish, some had the librarian sort of über-nerd thing going on, some were self-absorbed little hipster-looking social media addicts, wandering in with eyes glued to their phones already. Some were coming from a workout, yoga pants nice and damp. Some were fresh from the golf course, couldn't have made Muffin any prouder, with their wedge cuts and grandma shorts and hand-holding.

At long last, seemed like it took fucking forever, this one in particular got my attention. She pulled up on her bike – and I mean, it was a real bicycle – in full road race gear, and leaned it right beside the front double doors, u-locking it to one of the awning support pillars. Her spandex shorts went down to the tops of her knees, and the ass was thickly padded. She bent over, working at the lock, and I was mesmerized. That ass. She was fat-bottomed, nice and round, but muscular, and so were her thighs and back and arms. She stood, and it was clear from her shoulders that she was not new to working a racing bike, she was strong. I felt the first stirring down deep, a seepage just starting, and I watched her take off her goofy-looking helmet.

Black hair in a low, messy bun, right at the base of her skull. She worked her fingers into it, shook it out. Her hair fell past her shoulders and fanned out in a muss of perfection as she worked it over, looking in the reflection of the glass doors as she shifted from foot to foot. She was nearly as tall as me, definitely quite a lot older, and one hell of a hot bitch. Her clip-cloppy cycling shoes made her walk funny as she headed inside, making that big delicious ass wobble nicely.

I was hooked. I decided to invade.

Once my piercings were safely back in, I wormed out of my sports bra, slipped off my socks, shoving my big damp feet back inside my old practice trainers. I made sure my spike was perfect, my nipples were hard against the inside of my tank top, and my stink was just right. Then I made my way for the double doors. Stopping by the bike, I slipped a little note I'd written beneath the tight brake cable stretched along one of the handlebars. First name, cell number, and this: "I was that tall hot young blonde bitch you just saw, and I want you to take me out tonight".

Inside, Donna's had a pleasant sort of quasi-sports bar feel. There were about a dozen flat screen TVs scattered around up near the high ceiling. The bar was a giant u-shaped piece of work, dominating the center of the room, extending to the back wall, with probably fifty lesbians crammed around it, munching on club sandwiches or salads. Nearly all the seats were taken. Around the edges of the room were booths, also crammed, with four-top tables scattered in between the booths and the bar. To one side of the bar, in the back, was a small antechamber leading to the bathroom. On the other side was another small antechamber, curtained off with thick black drapes, some special back room shit, no doubt.

Just beside me at the entrance, to the left, was a corner stage. A tiny hippie-looking thing sat on a stool with her acoustic Gibson and a mic stand, her huge chunky glasses halfway down her nose, her limp hair all around her face as she bent over her song-making, crooning into the mic. She was barefoot, had a wreath of flowers in her hair, wore a long flowing skirt and a peasant top. She was trying too fucking hard. But the song was nice. Some cover, couldn't quite place it.

On the other side of the entrance, to my right, was a corner play area, where kids could do puzzles and color and watch a big TV set up near the floor – it was quietly inflicting some kind of saccharin-overloaded pre-school animation at a couple of tow-headed little squirts. They knelt hip-to-hip at a knee-high table, snapping LEGOs together and babbling their hearts out.

So, OK – kids, early afternoon, and lunch. Not exactly a predatory environment. Pretty casual, in fact. And pretty damn boring-looking. But old Donna, whoever the bitch was, knew how to pack a house. I figured the food must have been stellar. Yelp had sure seemed to agree.

I spotted the bike racing babe. She was down at the right end of the bar, near the drapes, picking at some cranberry-riddled greens. The last stool, just beyond her, was open, right in front of the waitress's pickup counter. The suckiest seat, probably, but it was next to my maybe-lady-love.

I went for it.

"Taken?" I asked, bending over a little beside her and giving her my best panty-melter, right from the start. My smile was nice. So nice. I didn't use it much. You save those weapons and only bring them out when the max effect is required. I knew I was very pretty, gorgeous in that boyish way, and my smile could make any girl drip.

I was also so fucking tall, six-foot-two – and even taller in my fat-soled tennis shoes – that when the woman looked up at me, blinking, slyly double-taking, it felt like I'd claimed her already. Or she'd claimed me. She swallowed her bite and smiled back, lips closed, and shook her head. She blinked and stared up at me with open admiration, running her tongue around the inside of her mouth, across her teeth, before she spoke. Her voice was low, husky, and not at all hesitant.

"By all means, sweetheart, please sit down," she crooned, patting at her lips with a little square bar napkin. "You are more than welcome next to me."

I sat and immediately had to scoot close, giving one of the roly-poly waitresses enough room to huff and puff her way into the spot on my other side so she could load up her tray with drinks. The air conditioning was already cooling me off, drying my sweat-soaked clothes, and I could feel the goosebumps prickling me everywhere. My hairy thigh bumped the woman's spandex-sheathed quadricep, then retreated. Our elbows bumped, bumped, rubbed a little. I was busying myself with a menu I'd snagged, asked for a water with lemon, and pretended to ignore my neighbor.

My pussy was flooded. I could smell it. I could smell my sweaty pits, my sweaty tits, my bare sweaty feet in my shoes. I was a mess of horny girl-funk, and now I was perched in the perfect spot to let it work some musky magic. It was enough to make me a little dizzy, I admit. I hadn't ever been that excited or nervous about a bitch – not to that point in my life, at least. This was new and different and totally fucking cool. I was claiming some ass, hopefully, and proving to a whole roomful of other bitches how to get the job done.

My ears rang a little in the low din of the bar. I could feel my pulse beating hard in my throat as I went about staring blankly at the menu and soaking in the presence of the beautiful woman sitting next to me. She was in her mid-forties, at least, but she was amazing.

In a glance I'd seen her black hair was finely streaked with gray, and her eyes were large and dark brown, with long soft lashes. Fine, deep crinkles had smiled at me around those gorgeous eyes, and she had the most lickable dimple in either cheek. Her green, white, and blue racing top, spandex like her goofy pants, was tight across her large round breasts, and she'd unzipped it halfway down her cleavage. When I'd leaned over her it was easy to see the sweat soaking her yellow sports bra and her fat, hard nipples straining for attention. It was clear she had a ring through either nipple. Large, heavy rings in fact.

I wanted her something bad.

I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with fries, then flipped the menu away and plopped my elbows on the bar, looking all around at everyone except her. I was being watched by so many bitches, some making sure I knew it, some too embarrassed to give it away. I was new meat, no doubt about it, but I was tall and strong and young, and I was already right there next to a special sort of dyke. I could feel it by the careful looks those other women were flashing. This lady beside me was not as meek as I'd assumed at first, when she'd rolled up on her thin, light road racer. She wasn't just some adrenaline-craving sports-junkie fitness lesbian. She was maybe something else entirely.

A waitress then whisked the curtain back, just a tiny ways behind me to the right, and I turned just in time to see a little alcove with a closed door leading farther back, and steps to the right of that disappearing upstairs. Another set of steps, to the left of the door, led down. I couldn't help but mutter a little "Hmmph..." to myself, wondering what went to what.

"That's the members-only area, my dear," my neighbor purred. She leaned into me, shoulder to shoulder, and I could feel her breath on my neck. I froze, watching the curtain fall back into place and enjoying the intimacy of this simple social touch. Sitting together, I realized again that she was actually pretty tall, herself. Our faces were nearly level, with mine only an inch or two higher. She spoke again, her breath again tickling at me, vinaigrette-laced but fruity, peppery. She was now actively up against me, not just elbow-to-shoulder. There was a pushing, a pressure being applied.

"The door is to the back rooms, little dining areas and play pens and such. Upstairs is Donna's duplex, her apartment and her guest apartment, which is like a hotel sort of thing, you can rent it if you get too smashed and can't drive home. Or you can have it for a weekend, for special events. Downstairs are the keg and wine cellars. And the dungeon, of course."

I chuckled, couldn't help it. Dungeon. Sure. Right. Like shit on the Internet happened in real life.

I swung my head around and nearly bumped noses with the lady, who didn't flinch. She had been ready for me to turn. She was still leaning in. I pulled my face back, surprised and a little embarrassed, despite my best effort to keep cool and calm. Trying to regain my edge, I self-consciously clucked my tongue. Rolled my eyes.

"OK, right," I sneered lightly. "A dungeon? Like, bitches chained up or tied down, getting their asses whipped? Really?"

The woman didn't move for a long beat, staring me confidently in the eyes, like she was reading me from the inside out. It was not pleasant. No bitch had ever done that to me. Holding me with her eyes. Not even Kylie's mom.

And I couldn't take it. I'll admit it. I broke the stare.

I blinked, shrugged, and leaned farther back, focused on her sweet round tits and her bulky, enticing nipple rings so perfectly outlined beneath the damp fabric of her top. Maybe she'd get the hint that I wanted her hot body and didn't give a shit about her little mojo thing.

But she simply turned to her empty plate and pushed it away. When I'd leaned back, our skin had peeled so sweetly apart, my arm was suddenly chilled and alone. I rubbed it with my other hand and watched her finish her own water with lemon. Then she signaled the bartender for her check.

"Don't know what to tell you, honey," she declared, staring off at a couple of lesbians in a booth near the door who were getting a little frisky as they shared a calzone. Full canoodling, with hands up under t-shirts. Lots of husky giggles. Then the bill arrived and my neighbor stood, glancing down at it and reaching into the front of her damp sports bra. "It serves a purpose," she finished.

The woman placed a wet, folded-up twenty dollar bill on top of the check and turned to smile at me. To give me what was surely her own panty-melter. Because mine pretty much did. Her round brown gorgeous eyes framed by long lashes and sweet crinkled lines, her dimpled cheeks, her perfectly straight white teeth, her black hair just messy enough and sticking a little to her still-damp neck.

Fuck. Me. I gawped at her like a four year old being offered a popsicle.

"There's your burger," she motioned with a little nod. I suddenly realized my lunch was right in front of me, and had been for a little while. "Better eat before it gets cold."

She sighed. "Wish I could still eat junk like that."

Then she leaned in and whispered to me, her lips brushing my ear. My cunt spasmed hard, and I suddenly couldn't help but grind my thighs together as she spoke.

"What a fat smelly turd that's going to make," she purred. "Thick and dark and long, heavy as hell in your perfect little teen ass. No doubt about it."

She stood back up and flipped some hair away from her face. Smiled at me again. My stomach flipped and flopped. She winked.

"Bye-bye," she chirped, giving me a little girlie-wave, and then she was gone.

It seemed like everyone watched her leave, clip-clopping in those silly bicycling shoes, her muscular round ass tick-tocking in time with her stride, her broad shoulders and her sleek, muscular back so well-defined beneath the thin fabric of her racing top. Heads turned, conversations paused. The canoodlers even called a brief truce to stop and stare. A waitress bustled over to get the door and wish her a nice day.

Then she was out, gone through the doors, and I turned to my lunch. Loved every bite. Donna could damn straight make a fantastic burger!

I couldn't help but wonder what kind of turd it would make, too.

The fat waitress was suddenly back beside me, loading more drinks on her tray. She sighed and glanced my way. "That's Tina for you," she said, "stopping a room in its tracks."

I nodded once, slowly, and chewed my food, watching the last of the beer glasses fit onto the impossibly crowded circle of rubber-topped food-service simplicity. The waitress was now the one leaning over a little, and she winked at me too.

"Bet whatever she whispered was naughty, wasn't it? Bet it made your pretty little heart skip a beat, didn't it?"

Then she was gone, off to do her job. And that was fucking that.

I'd be back at Donna's soon, no doubt about it. The wonders of that place. Lesbians unafraid to be. Roly-poly waitresses and hot-crotched patrons not too proud to honor a goddess when she came in their midst. What a wonderland!

But hopefully, before that, I'd get a call or a text from Tina. She should have found my note by the time I was one bite into my burger, and maybe she was already making plans for that night. For me.

And maybe it was the first time in my life – I swear, it really might have been – but I think I finally got a glimpse of what it was like to really submit. Just a little bit. I thought that, maybe if it was only for a single second more, if I could just be together with Tina again, to just see her smile, hear her voice, I could die happy. I would be willing to do anything for that chance. Anything. Even if she sliced me open and ate me whole, it'd be worth it.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

Then nine hours passed. Nine. It was Saturday night, almost eleven, and no call. No text. Fuck.

My dad was naked in the kitchen already, edging with some Chaturbate whore, sending her all his little token dings and muttering under his breath. The screen lit him up like a pale ghostly lump. His eyes were bright and flashing at the streaming sex show, his mouth hung open. He panted. Pitiful.

I slunk past him and, as usual, he didn't bother to notice. I couldn't stay in my room anymore. I couldn't stick one more dildo up inside myself. I couldn't do any more edging on my own.

I needed contact. I needed flesh.

I got to my car and texted my redneck bitch.

• on my way to fuck ur fat ass -

• walk to the end of your road and wait for me beside the mailbox -

• naked -

• be there in ten -

I hadn't showered or changed since I got home from Donna's. I'd gone straight to my room and pulled out my toys, my big awesome Hitachi and some beads. My lube, of course. My fave pink phallic friend, codename Brony. I'd shucked clothes and went at it. Hours at it. But what a waste. Bitch never called!

So I'd crawled back into my practice gear – same panties, same sports bra, same tank top, same shorts – all now stiff with dried sweat, shoved my big bare feet back into my tennis shoes, texted my redneck bitch, and I took off.

Tina had been right. My ass was so heavy with turd. Ready to bust. I just couldn't let that go to waste.

My redneck bitch lived in the country, of course, but not too far out. Her road was dirt, cutting through scrub oak and pine, and led back to her family's little ranch. They raised cashmere goats and alpacas and some other weird shit, like those puffy bunnies, trying to cash in on whatever dumb craze it is with rich people that makes them want to buy "organically-raised, ethically-sheared, cruelty-free quality natural animal furs". I mean, really. People. Spend your money on feeding hungry kids. Stop wasting it feeding fat furry goats instead.

She was hiding behind a tree when I pulled over beside the mailbox, my headlights turning her pale white ass into a beacon you could probably see from space. A plastic grocery bag hung heavily from a low branch near her head. Probably her clothes. She'd be leaving that behind, of course.

"Bitch!" I called out from my rolled down window. "Get in here! And leave the fucking bag!"

This was a new thing for her. For me. And yeah, I was humming pretty good inside – soupy, goopy, wet and ready – to see where things would go. I'd never showed up at her house. Never had her wait naked. Never driven her anywhere. All our transactions had taken place in my backseat, parked in the school parking lot, after practices.

But this. This was like a date. A semi-rape-date-by-design, yeah, but my bitch knew what she was getting into. This was her thing as much as it was mine. Go ask her right now and she'll straight up say it's true.

It felt weird. Me, about to go on a date. Even though it was a wicked, twisted, pervy date arranged by me for my own pleasure – it was still kind of a thing. And I wasn't all that sure I liked getting into any kind of thing with anybody. This was going to help me get off, yeah, but this might also make my bitch think a little higher about herself than she should. Might make her think I was hers somehow. Fuck that.

As I waited for her to prance over across the dirt and grass on her pretty little chubby feet, watching her round, soft, gorgeous boobs bounce and sway, her little belly jiggle, her soft lush curls fall all around her embarrassed, excited, cute little face, I made a vow to dump her like hot garbage as soon as the night was over.

I began to wonder where I'd leave her. How much could I get away with? Could I give her just a garbage bag to wear home? Could I leave her at a street corner somewhere in the next town, call an Uber for her, and drive off? Could I do it at like 10 AM, leave her standing in front of a convenience store or something? The possibilities were thrilling!

But, fuck it all. There was this lump in my throat. All of a sudden. Just as she opened the door and hopped in beside me, lighter in one hand, cigarettes in the other. Fuck. Could I really do what I really wanted to do?

And what did I really want to do with her, anyway?

I decided I'd think about that shit later. After tonight. After the fun. After she'd been used enough and I'd come enough and, hopefully, Tina was happy enough with my gift.

It had been almost two weeks. My redneck bitch's side was still obviously bruised, as were her perfect fat tits. My teeth marks, in fact, were still hard and purply-black, in several curving, menacing lines from where I'd last chosen to mark her. Yeah, it was sweet. That bloody, broken skin in my mouth. Two on her tits, one on her ass, two on her inner thighs. My mouth. My teeth. My marks.

Couldn't help but wonder if Tina had ever been bitten. Or if Tina liked to bite. Her skin had been tan, smooth, lightly dusted with freckles. So very delicious-looking. I craved. I wondered.

Kylie's mom had bitten me once. On my ass. I was thirteen, and I couldn't sit on that cheek for a week. She'd had me pinned on my belly, holding me down by my asshole, her fingers stabbing deep, her other hand cramming my face into the floor by the back of the head. My face in a big puddle of our piss. She bit and I screamed. It was punishment for smacking Kylie's ass first, for not knowing my place. I never did that again, needless to say. Pain was not my thing.

Redneck bitch had not done anything more than squeal and sob when I'd bitten her. No pushing me away, no kicking or struggling. I'd held her down and chomped down, and then I did it again and again and again and again. She was a blood-trickled, sweaty, shaky, calf-eyed mess when I finally got her off, my whole hand inside her, letting her gush all over my floorboard. Letting her yelp like the bitch she was.

How she got those tight-as-fuck Lady Wranglers back on was a complete mystery to me. It must have hurt like crazy. But she finally staggered off toward her truck, and I'd watched her climb in and light a cigarette before I pulled away. She'd waved to me, just a little flicker of her hand, a flutter of her fingers, as I drove off. Smoke curled up out of her open window, her eyes bright and wild, staring hard at my face. I'd leered, sneered, and then turned my attention to leaving her fat ass right where it was. What a dumb bitch.

Now she was shivering next to me, naked, bruised, scabbed-over, and anxious. We were in new territory, there could be no doubt.

I let her light up, cracking our windows. I liked the nasty taste of her cig-stained mouth, and she knew it. Reminded me of mom. Reminded me of Kylie and her mom, too, for that matter. Redneck bitch's fat thighs wobbled with the vibration of the road, and so did her chubby tits and round little belly. I thoroughly enjoyed watching the goosebumps rise all over her like a sexy little rash, her nipples hard as diamonds in the cooling rush of cracked-window air as we drove. She sat almost proudly, bearing her fear with a kind of dignified grace, chain smoking as we rolled along, staring straight ahead, one hand occasionally running lightly over her breasts or dipping down between her legs.

Agitated and ready to bust in so many ways, I finally grabbed her hand and yanked those wandering fingers up to my nose. That sweet, tangy pussy. Her hand was wet with it. I put her fingers in my mouth, sucked on them. Then I bit down a little. Didn't stop until she whimpered. I let her take her hand back. Soon it was down between her legs again. Wandering over her tits again. Making me crazy. Again.

With a grunt, I pulled up to Donna's and got out, leaving her to smoke and wait. And fuck herself a little. Why not? I liked how horny she was. I'd never seen her that obvious about it. Because of me. Because I was doing this to her. So let her go a little crazy. I'd catch her at it later and have a new reason to beat her ass in some new way. Win-win.

Inside Donna's, I discovered a bouncer. This huge Amazon bitch, even taller than me, full of juice and not happy to see a kid my age. She put a huge hand between my tits and pushed. I staggered back a step, then straightened up and stared her down. Not a good idea, actually. Her voice was low and hard. She looked like John Cena. And she was going to squash me.

"You can't come in, missy," the bull warned. "Too young. No one under 21 can come in after ten."

I found my voice and gave my message: "I don't want to come in, you dumb muscly cunt. I want Tina to come see what I've brought her. Is she here?"

Got shoved back again for that, harder than I could take. Stumbling, my arms flung out for balance and I banged my back into the double doors. The bouncer was on me instantly, flinging open the door and shoving me again. Then she slapped me. Hard. So fucking hard! Right in the mouth.

The fuck?!

My lips stung, went numb, and I tasted blood. Hands to my face, I fled as she stalked me farther out into the parking lot. A fat elderly couple twittered nervously and danced awkwardly aside as they edged around us and entered the bar. Those ladies would surely tell somebody inside that this roid-enraged bitch was assaulting a minor! Right?!

Then a voice. Not her voice, not Tina's. But at that point I didn't care. Somebody was saving my dumb fucking ass!

"Wait. Stop."

The giantess lowered her huge arm with its fat veins and hard muscles. Stepped away from me. I'd been about to take blow number two, which was shaping up to look like a full on fistful of knuckles. Despite my own size and strength and tough-as-shit ways, I knew I'd have been down for good.

"Come back inside, Mags," the voice commanded. With a huff and a puff – swear to God that's what she did – the big bitch followed orders. I was bent over holding my face, blood running out between my fingers, and cautiously watched her tall, broad back move farther away. The voice in charge was still out of sight, over by the doors.

"Young lady, come back over here please." It wasn't a request.

I did as I was told. My feet betrayed my brain, no doubt about it. They were under the command of my needy cunt and heavy rectum. I was dizzy and hurt, but my pussy throbbed harder than ever. I should have run back to my car, driven my redneck bitch home, and crawled back to my apartment, lesson learned.

But I didn't.

It was the fat waitress. But she was all in black leather – heels, corset, panties, garters, and chaps, her ample pink flesh spilling out at every possible opening. Her boobs were impossibly massive, floating atop their straining cups. Her round bare arms and chest were covered in lewd tattoos of naked goddesses mouthing cunts and asses in daisy chains, free-floating dewy flowers and vaginas dripping honey, tongues entwining tongues, snakes dancing, thorny vines, slippery mermaids.... I found myself staring at her skin as she talked, amazed at the ink and afraid, more than a little, that I was still going to have my stupid horny ass kicked.

"Tina's not available," the waitress said. "And you aren't allowed in anyway. Like Mags said. Too young. You can only come in from eleven in the morning until eight in the evening. From nine until two it's twenty-one-and-up only."

I nodded. The bleeding had mostly stopped. My lips felt as fat as the waitress's tits. Tears stung my eyes. What a fucking joke. I was ashamed of myself.

Then a buzz-buzz buzz-buzz, and the waitress was fishing her cell from out between her smashed-together boobs. Texts. She read them silently, eyes flicking up at me, then read them again. She sighed, decided something, then smiled tightly. The kind of smile that didn't make it all the way to her eyes.

"Give me your number. I've got an address to send you," she declared, businesslike. "It's off premises and I'm deleting your number and this text thread as soon as we're finished. I want you to do the same. Understand?"

I didn't, but I nodded and told her my number anyway. The waitress tapped around a little bit, then looked at me expectantly. "Well?"

My phone was in the car. I trudged back and reached into the open window. My redneck bitch was fingering herself shamelessly as I leaned in. "Fuck, are you OK?" she panted, obviously on the edge of a nice little moment. "I can't believe... unghhh... somebody hit you... unghhhhhhh... like that...."

I grabbed my phone and turned my back on her. "Shuddup," I growled, but even to myself I sounded lame. To see that bitch getting off on my pain, and for me to feel a thrill – I couldn't deny it – a huge gushing jolt of guilty pleasure deep in my sloppy pussy, just because I knew that worthless bitch liked seeing me suffer?! What a fucking joke. God. Fucking. Damn it.

What was wrong with me?

The text was indeed an address. I sent it to my maps app, got the directions, and gave the waitress the thumbs-up. She waved her phone at me and then tapped again. My phone buzz-buzzed, buzz-buzzed, buzz-buzzed.

• she says go there now if you're serious -

• someone will let you both in -

• she will be there in a little while -

• delete this text thread and my contact from your phone now please -

I stood for a minute pretending to delete things, then I walked back toward the doors about halfway and called out, "Goddit. I'm good." My voice sounded so silly, with my lips all fat and bloody. "Sorry for the trouble."

The waitress nodded and semi-smiled again, tapping away on her phone and not looking at me. She was already turning to go back inside. Then she paused and looked up, clearly having reached another decision.

"I'm Donna, by the way," she chirped, "and you're welcome back here any time you're Legally Allowed To Enter. Love to have you. Really. And I hope those lips are OK soon!"

Then she was gone, back inside the bar, the hulking shadow of Mags the bouncer menacing even from forty feet away behind translucent glass doors. I went back to my car. My redneck bitch was smoking again, her chest still rising and falling heavily, her legs sprawled out wide and her puffy cuntlips seeping her wonderful stinky juice all over my upholstery.

"Goddammit, bitch," I growled, flinging myself behind the wheel. I reached over and slapped her open thigh as hard as I could, right on a bite mark, my large palm and long fingers instantly raising a huge series of pink welts on her chubby flesh, in a perfect outline of my hand. She screamed and drew her legs together, knees up, and sat in a little ball. Her cigarette dropped ash on her foot, and she squeaked about that, too.

"Shut the fuck up!" I commanded, happy again to be in control of something. "We're not done."

"Where are we going?" she sobbed. What the fuck was she talking so much for, anyway?

"Shut. Fucking. Up." I was back on the road, letting my phone tell me where to go. I jammed one finger into her bruised ribs, hard. Redneck bitch cried out again and tried to squirm away.

"Who said you could come without my permission, anyway?"

Redneck bitch was sobbing, but she wiped her tears away and slowly pulled her knees down, stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. She lit another cigarette and shrugged.

"Sorry. Couldn't help it," she muttered.

Had to admit, I really couldn't blame her. But at least I now had some new irons in that fire of ours.

"Well, you'll pay for that," I sneered. "Hope you fucking know it."

Redneck bitch just nodded silently and took another drag. The tears were still fresh on her cheek from my assault on her thigh. Cigarette ash smeared the top of her cute chubby little foot. The bite mark on her sweet round tit was beginning to yellow and look itchy. Her nipples were still huge and hard, and I could still smell her hot, leaking cunt. What a fucking mess she was.

I couldn't wait to make it even worse. And then I had a good idea how.

We were heading into a pretty swanky part of town, the new developments and gated community shit, so there were some decent wide shoulders to the roads and a lot of easy entrances to neighborhoods-under-construction where I could pull off and take a little time with my bitch, out of the way of traffic and nosy assholes. I picked a nice dark spot, just short of our destination, and pulled off into a wide flat patch of grass. Redneck bitch just sat, like she knew she should, while I popped the trunk and got out a few things.

Walking around to her side of the car, I opened the door and let the dome light illuminate my quick strip. I yanked my shorts down and off, then stepped out of my simple, sweat-stained, pussy-stained panties. Then my shorts were back on and I grabbed my redneck bitch by the back of her soft, pretty hair.

"Open your mouth," I commanded. She did. In went my panties. I picked up a small bungee cord from where I'd dropped it in the grass, figuring it to be about right, and sure enough it fit nice and tight around her head. Not to be too hateful about it, I made sure to join the metal hooks in her mouth, over top of my wadded, slobbered-on panties. At least that way her hair wouldn't rip out too much, and I doubted the metal parts could bang her teeth or lips all that badly. Not really. Not unless she did something stupid.

"How's that for a gag?" I asked her. She was breathing hard through her nose, looking up at me with her bright, horny eyes. She shrugged. Nodded. She was already drooling. Her beautiful fat titties were a slippery mess.

"Hold out your hands," I demanded. She did. Shoelaces from my spare tennis shoes bound her wrists nicely. The long strap from my athletic bag went around her neck, the clip sliding down the flat canvas to tighten nicely at her throat. It would loosen a little on its own unless I was yanking it, but when I tugged on that sucker, my redneck bitch would have to come to me and keep up, or she was going to hurt.

Then I took one of my old, dirty soccer socks – still in my bag from last season, forgotten and mashed beneath all my volleyball stuff – and held it under my nose. It was stiff and crinkled from dried sweat, grass-stained, and altogether a musty, nasty, perfect finale to my redneck bitch's ensemble. I put it under her nose and commanded, "Sniff this, bitch." She did, then jerked her head away, a reflex against the stink. I reached out and grabbed a fistful of her soft brown hair and turned her face back toward me. I jammed the sock against her nostrils and held it there. She'd have to breathe through it if she wanted to breathe at all.

Panicked, her eyes wide, tears flowing freely, my bitch whined and groaned as she finally gave in and began to suck hard through her nose for air.

"That's right, bitch," I growled. "Breathe it in. Inhale my old funky feet."

I smeared the sock against her pretty little nose, then all over her face. Finally I pulled it back and spent a few moments crumpling and stretching it back to better softness. I needed more pliability for what I wanted to do next.

I kept working it, but the sock was still not soft enough. With a sigh, I yanked down my shorts again, hunched my hips forward, and spread my thick, gooey pussy lips with one hand. I pissed in short messy bursts all up and down the length of the sock. Splatters landed on redneck bitch's right tit and arm, on her side and on her hip and on her leg. She moaned and jerked as the drops landed hotly and ran down into the upholstery of the seat.

Finally, soaked through and dripping, certainly warmer and more workable, I decided the sock was ready. I kept the rest of my piss for later, pulled up my shorts with one hand, then set myself to working on my bitch's new tail.

A soccer sock is long and thick. The kind I like are well over two feet long for adults, from toe to top. It takes a lot of effort, and strong hands, but they can be tied into some really nice, heavy knots. I worked the sock for a minute more, squishing its new wetness uniformly through the fabric until it was all over saturated and even smellier, and then I made three fat knots in a row starting at the toe, until the whole foot of the sock and the ankle area were nicely chunked and bunched together. I left maybe an inch of sock alone, then made one more knot. I held it up for redneck bitch to see. It dripped slowly onto the grass at my feet. She just stared at it, not understanding, tears plastered all over her face, still panting through her nose.

"Roll over on your hip," I told her. "And pull you knee up. Pull it up toward your fat gut. That's it. I need that sloppy asshole of yours."

Hearing that, she whimpered a little, but she did as she was told like a good little cunt. I bent over and felt about in the shadows of the cleft in her round gorgeous ass until I found her messy little hole. Working in two fingers, I slowly drilled and plied and made sure she was getting loose enough. I took my time, kept gently working at her dark, clutching sphincter. It was hot. Fever-hot, and I wanted so badly to stop everything and eat it. But that had to wait. I had to get her delivered to Tina.

Then her scent wafted up to me. It was fucking perfection. Musky ass. Sweet, delicious, unwashed, unclean, horny, sweaty, pussy-drenched, sloppy teenage girl ass. She smelled it too. She groaned. Moaned. Liking it too much. Fuck that.

I rammed in a third and a fourth finger and twisted my hand hard. She screamed into the panty gag as her anal ring resisted the new brutal force.

"That's right, bitch," I leaned over and muttered in her ear. "This is my hole. I do what I want with it."

Eventually her sobbing died down and her hole was plenty loose enough. The scent was powerful, wonderful, and I couldn't wait to suck on my fingers. I jammed them into my mouth as I quickly replaced my fingers in her hole with the knotted sock. One. Two. Three. The piss-soaked knots popped in easily. Redneck bitch squirmed her ass around and groaned some more, but I chose to ignore her obvious pleasure. I poked my long index finger into her anus, alongside the flat unkotted inch of sock, and made sure I pushed the three knots as deep inside her as I could get them. Finally, the fourth knot still on the outside of her body was pressing tight and hard against my knuckle. I removed my finger and made sure to push that outside knot just a little more, almost into her anus, then I left it alone.

I took the remaining eight inches or so of the wet, reeking sock and straightened it out beneath her. Then I grabbed her hip and rolled her back to normal. I put my finger beneath my nose and sniffed while I continued sucking on my other hand. She watched me with a glazed look, still panting through her nose, sweating again, a complete mess of a horny, worthless, gorgeous thing.

Finally, I was finished with my snack. Wiping my fingers in her lovely brown curls, I took a moment to make sure she was ready: gagged, hands bound, on a leash, ass plugged with a nasty, drippy, smelly tail. Seemed about right.

"All right, that's not bad," I muttered to myself. "You'll need to learn how to stay on a leash, won't you?" I pulled on the strap for emphasis, squeezing her throat. More tears sprang into her eyes after a bit, her face turning red, so I relaxed. She nodded.

Snot was running out of both nostrils and onto the bungee hooks, mingling with the drool saturating my panties. What a sight! She snorted several times, trying to get her nose cleared, then finally gave up and blew and blew and blew. Snot flew all over my dashboard. I reached out a hand and slapped down hard on one tit, then the other. She screamed, muffled by the gag, and tried to twist away from me.

"STOP that!" I yelled. "Do NOT get your dirty snot on my car! And do NOT pull away from me!"

I reached down and roughly jammed two ass-stained fingers into her pussy. Her entire crotch was a sloppy, soaked mess, and her cunt might have been a million degrees. It was fucking molten.

I crooked my fingers, found her rough little spot inside, and rubbed hard. She raised her hips and mewled through the gag, her eyes squeezed shut, her chest heaving. Within seconds she was squirting all over my glove box and lower dash, her fat little belly clenching and unclenching as the juice gushed out of her.

"Fuck, you're a messy bitch," I told her, finally withdrawing my fingers and wiping them off in her hair. "Do you have any idea how long this is going to take you to clean? Do you?"

She just shook her head, eyes closed, and tried hard to catch her breath through her still half-clogged nose.

I pinched on a nipple and sneered, "Well, I guess that's how you'll pay for that orgasm, right? You're gonna clean up my car, inside and out, before I ever lick your sorry fat ass again. You hear?"

She nodded.

"You like my long tongue up your shitty hole, don't you?"

More nodding.

"Well, clean my car, bitch, and maybe I'll do it to you again."

I slammed the door and walked back around to my side. It was time to see Tina.

As we got back on the road and listened to the annoying tone my phone always liked to take with me, telling me where to turn, I couldn't help but continue to put my finger to my nose, sniffing the thin coat of grease I'd drawn out of my redneck bitch's perfect, nasty ass. My pussy was a swollen, needy mess of goo. Now that my panties were stuffed inside my bitch's mouth, I was sure my practice shorts were soaked through. Probably going to stink up my upholstery, too. Fucking price to pay, I guess. I didn't have a single damn towel to sit on or nothing.

Next to me, redneck bitch was silent and still. Her breathing had gone back to normal. I couldn't help but keep glancing at her as the street lights flashed by. Her chubby, sweaty, slobber-sheened nakedness. Her bruises. My bite marks. Her gagged mouth drooling. Her tears drying. Her lovely curls falling across her shoulders, some sticking to her skin. My fingers twitched to fix them, to put them back in order. But I stopped myself.

What the fuck was that? Fixing her hair?

Just what the fuck was wrong with me? How fucking horny was I? It was messing with my head. Had that Amazon given me a concussion or something? Did I lose that much blood? The. Fuck. I couldn't figure it out. So I just drove and tried not to look at her anymore.

Fucking failed. But I did try. Swear I did.

My phone finally condescended to tell me, "You have reached your destination." We turned into a wide, tree-sheltered drive, all paver tiles and recessed tasteful evening hedge lights. I pulled up to the low, brick-framed code pad, and stopped.

Then this next thing. Fuck. Couldn't believe I did it. Couldn't help myself. But I couldn't and so I did.

Before hitting the window button and turning to the pad, I turned first to my bitch. I leaned over. I kissed her bare shoulder. I kissed her damp cheek. I kissed the edge of her drooling mouth, on her upper lip, just above the tight cruel pressure of the bungee cord. Then I pulled back. I slowly raised a hand to her left breast. Her sweet, round, beautiful breast. Bitten-on, bruised, slobbery, sweaty, and perfect. I slowly, gently, sweetly rubbed her nipple. Her eyes closed. Her chest rose and fell. She began to pant again, her hips slowly rotating. She was grinding the knot against her ass.

"That's it," I purred. "That's it, bitch. Enjoy it. Enjoy this. Enjoy everything I do for you. Even though you don't deserve it, do you?"

She shook her head. No. She sobbed a little. More tears.

I leaned over and kissed them. They were hot on my lips. In my mouth. Salty. Burned where my lips were cut. Hurt me. But I kept kissing. I slowly licked the whole left side of her face. Tears, drool, snot, all of it. I tasted her misery. I tasted her pain. I tasted her humiliation and her excitement and her joy. Still tenderly working her nipple. Still letting her grind her ass against the knot. Still.

What was fucking happening? My brain seemed to spin inside my skull. I felt weird. There was a tightness in my chest. My pussy, though, was throbbing. Seeping. I felt more squishy down there than ever. Open and swollen and ready.

I pulled back from my redneck bitch. I stopped the kissing. Stopped the touching. I had to stop all that weak shit.

"Now quit it," I grumbled. At both of us. Then I told her, "Don't move, you dumb bitch." Her hips stopped.

"That's better," I muttered. "That's fucking better."

I hit the button on the window. I wondered if that's what I'd find with Tina. Something better than what I had. I punched the button on the pad.

For the moment, my current something better sighed quietly and gazed out her own window. Every now and then the slow sucking of her half-clogged nostrils punctuated our silence. We waited for an answer from the call pad. I watched her, turned away from me, and sniffed at my finger.

I watched her, and I didn't want to stop watching her. Fucking ridiculous. But fucking true.

With my heart beating this new, stupid heat throughout my body, we sat and waited. And I watched her. And I couldn't figure that new shit out.

Hope you liked it!

Please email the author with comments or questions (or story suggestions!): olivia.octavia.palmer@gmail.com

Copyright 2016 by Olivia Palmer, all rights reserved. Do not repost or redistribute without prior written permission of the author. One copy may be saved for private use, insofar as that use does not extend to personal or financial gain by use of the author's work without consent.