Invisible Girl - An Erotic Romance Pt. 01

He was looking down at her. He said, "Good. Pull my pants the rest of the way down. With your hands."

She did so, and now the outline of the bulge was fully revealed, standing out between his blue shirttails. She saw two smaller bulges at the bottom, one on each side. The size of the whole thing frightened her, and yet...

As if reading her thoughts, he said, "You'd like to know what's under there, wouldn't you?"

There was no point in denying it. She nodded, barely moving her head.

"Give me your hand."

She did so and watched, hypnotized, as he drew it to him and pressed the palm against the middle part of the bulge, gently curling her fingers around it. It was so warm! After a moment, he began slowly moving her hand, first upward to the top of the shaft, then just as slowly down, until her hand was cupping the two smaller bulges. He squeezed her hand gently there so that her hand in turn lightly squeezed the two bulges, which seemed to move under her fingers. They felt like tiny eggs. Again he drew her hand slowly up the shaft, then down again. And again. Now they were both breathing through their mouths, quickly.

Oh god, she was kneeling there in her underwear with her hand right on his...

"Tell me what it is," he said, stopping his movement but continuing to hold her hand against him.

Her mind was reeling. "It's...is it...is it your..." What was the word? Oh god. "P-penis?"

He smiled, briefly. "That's right, slave. You're touching..." He squeezed her hand around it again. "Or, almost touching, my penis. But there's another word for it that I want you to use. The word is cock. Say it."

She had overheard boys saying that word and knew it was filthy. Oh god, he was making her say that nasty, dirty word! While she was touching it! It was so shameful. She felt herself reddening again.

Unbidden, the tears sprang into her eyes again. No! She wasn't going to cry again after what happened last time. She took a breath to calm herself, then spoke, looking up into his eyes.

"C-c-cock."

"Good. Now say, 'I'm touching your cock.'"

Oh god. She would not cry again. "I'm touching...t-touching your...cock."

"That's right, you are. And you know what that makes you?"

Her mind went blank. "N-no."

He leaned down to her, and, enunciating clearly, said, "A...little...slut."

She desperately wanted not to cry, but her breath began coming in sobs again.

He continued to press her hand against him and continued, "Say it. Say, 'I'm a little slut and I'm touching your cock.'"

Oh god, it must be true! "I'm...I'm...a little s-slut, and I'm touching...touching your cock."

She couldn't help it--the tears began to flow again.

"Good. Actually, of course, you're not really touching my cock yet. But you'd like to, wouldn't you?"

No, no. No more.

She began to shake her head. Immediately, he let go of her hand and, placing both of his on either side of her head, tilted it back so that she was forced to look up at him.

"I said, wouldn't you, slave?"

All right, all right...!

"Y-yes!"

He released her and she slumped back onto her heels, covering her face with her hands.

He waited for a moment, then said "Enough. Straighten up."

She did so, her face still wet.

"Now, slave. Would you like to take out my cock?"

"Yessss...." Her voice was barely a whisper, her throat raw.

"Then you know what to ask."

She knew. "Please, m-may I take out your cock?"

"Yes, you may. Pull the elastic out before you pull it down."

She reached up with both hands and, terrified, grasped the elastic and pulled it out and then down, as he'd instructed, running her thumbs back to ease the elastic over his behind, her eyes closed, not daring to look. She pulled his underwear down to his ankles and remained there, her head down.

"Look at it."

Slowly, she raised her head and opened her eyes.

The first thing she saw was a dark sack, lightly covered with brown curly hairs, that contained the two egg-like things she had touched earlier. Then above it, rising out of a nest of dark snarly hair, was the shaft, which somehow seemed even bigger now. It was pink and rose, rough and smooth, traced with bluish veins that led upward to where the skin gathered into a kind of mushroom cap.

It seemed so strange just hanging there like that, like a clumsy afterthought to his body, so unlike the way she was down there. It looked so hard, yet the skin seemed slippery and shiny, almost like a snake. She almost wanted to...

"Touch it."

Timidly, she reached out, barely grazing the shaft with the tips of two fingers, then pulling back.

She looked up at him, waiting. He merely looked back at her.

Again she reached out, this time laying her fingers against the shaft. After a moment, she began to move them upward, feeling the strange sensation of the skin sliding along the shaft. She touched near the top where the skin gathered, and ran her index finger along the rim of the mushroom cap, looking at the oddly shaped hole in the center.

Finally, she gave into her desire and allowed her hand to circle the shaft. She squeezed it gently, the head peeping out of her fist. What a strange thing boys have!

His voice was soft, as if with wonder. "You like my cock, don't you?"

Strangely, she did. "Yes," she whispered. "I like your...cock."

"Good. You'd like to...kiss it, wouldn't you?'

Kiss it! Oh no. Kiss his, his thing? If she hadn't been a slut before, that would certainly do it. Still, what choice did she have, and besides his...his cock really felt kind of warm and snug in her hand. Maybe just once... And she knew what he wanted her to say.

"Please, may I...kiss your cock?"

There. She had surprised him a little, she could tell, by not waiting to be told what to say.

But he simply replied, "Yes, you may."

So still holding it wrapped in her hand she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on the place where the rim of the mushroom cap rose toward the top. Then she leaned back, feeling a slight taste of salt on her tongue.

"Again."

Well, it wasn't so bad. Again she leaned forward, this time placing her lips gently on the very tip, before leaning back. She thought it had seemed to jump a little as she'd kissed it that time.

"Give me your hand."

She uncurled her fingers from around his cock and extended her hand to him.

He took it in both of his hands, gently curling down the last two fingers, leaving the first two and the thumb extended. She steadied herself with her left hand on his hip.

"Now, whatever I do with your hand, you will do with my cock. Understand?"

No. "Yes."

He kissed the tips of her two fingers. She leaned forward and kissed him where she had the first time.

He began slowly kissing his way down her hand towards the base of her thumb. She kissed her way down his shaft, feeling it pulse under her lips.

He kissed the heel of her hand in two places, and she gently kissed the two eggs in their sack.

By this time her response to what he was doing to her hand was automatic. Whatever he did, she did. So when she suddenly felt the tip of his tongue sliding along the base of her hand she didn't hesitate, running the tip of her own tongue back and forth along the bottom of his sack, lightly at first, then with more pressure, juggling the eggs gently with her tongue, tasting the salty sweat there, the mushroom smell filling up her nose.

Following his lead, she began now to lick her way up his shaft in fast little circles, spending a little time at the top before working her way down again.

The texture of his skin was unlike anything she'd ever felt before, especially with her tongue. So smooth and slick and full and warm. Maybe like a tomato, picked warm from the vine. The image almost made her want to bite into it. She knew she couldn't, but turned her head to the side and allowed herself to nibble it ever so slightly while her tongue continued...

And felt it jump. It twitched away from her mouth for a moment, in a short jerky movement, as if it had a life of its own. At the same time, she heard him gasp, softly. At first she thought maybe she'd hurt him, but he said nothing. So she continued to nibble as she continued up his shaft.

As she was nearing the top, he took her two fingers into his mouth, sliding them in and out, moistening them with his tongue. It felt wonderful, but...put his cock in her mouth? The thing he pees with?

Yes.

She raised her head and again kissed it on the very top, then slowly began to open her lips, taking just the tip in and moistening it with her tongue, letting it slide out again, taking it a little farther, slowly, slowly letting it slide out across her lips, instinctively careful not to touch it with her teeth. Or her braces. She took a deep breath in through her nose. Then, opening her jaws as wide as she could, she slid the whole mushroom cap into her mouth...

And heard him groan, a soft exhalation of breath. And she knew it was from pleasure, not pain.

And it thrilled her. She had made him do that! She wanted to do it again. So she let the cap slide slowly, even more slowly, out through her moistened lips, this time massaging it with the tip of her tongue...

And this time he groaned out loud, a drawn-out, "Ohhhh!"

And Jane knew that she was no longer the slave.

The sudden knowledge of her power made her heart race. She felt her nipples harden and tingle once more, and a rush of sensation between her legs.

She was going to make him squirm.

She took just the tip back into her mouth, and began teasing it with her tongue, making slow circles around it and probing the slit in the top, then suddenly opening wide and taking as much of him into her mouth as she could, this time quickly letting him slip out again.

"Ohhhhh...god!"

It sounded almost reverent.

She took her mouth off him and raised her head to look at him. His eyes were closed and he was breathing through his mouth. She waited until he opened his eyes and looked at her. Then she gently pulled her hand away from his. She smiled at him and knew he could tell that the power had changed hands.

Then she plunged her mouth down on him again, taking him in and slowly letting him out again, her tongue traveling down his shaft and up. She did it again, a little faster.

By now he was groaning non-stop, and she found it so exciting that she began to groan too as she toyed with him, the sound muffled in her mouth, more like an "Uhhhhhhnnn!"

This excited her even more and she began to work faster, closing her eyes and wishing she could stop long enough to take off the rest of her clothes, as her nipples were burning inside her bra, and her panties... Oh god, her panties were soaked!

And between her legs something was throbbing, the way his cock was beginning to throb in her mouth! It was almost bucking like a horse, and it seemed even bigger, if that was possible.

His groans were getting faster "Ahh!...Ahh!...Ah!" And so were hers: "Uh!...Uh!...Uh!"

She used one hand to hold his cock steady, then completely gave herself up to the rhythm, her head bobbing up and down, her tongue flickering faster and faster, the throbbing between her legs growing more and more intense.

Then suddenly his groaning cut off in mid-breath, and she felt his whole body stiffen. Without knowing why, and without stopping what she was doing, she moved her other hand between his legs, cupping his sack...and squeezed.

His hands flew up to cover his mouth as he cried out. At the same time, she felt something hot and salty and slimy spurting into her mouth as the throbbing between her legs crescendoed and sent a warm explosion traveling in wave after wave through her body until she thought she would faint.

She began to remove her mouth from him, but he held her head there with his hands, saying, in a hoarse whisper, "Please... Oh god, please don't stop!"

She let the slimy liquid trickle down her throat, the action of swallowing stimulating another couple of short spurts, which she also swallowed, continuing to gently lick him and hold him in her mouth for a while, until she felt him beginning to slide out from between her lips.

She didn't want to open her eyes; she wanted to just kneel there and feel the waves still reverberating through her. She felt as though she'd been picked up by a tornado and dropped somewhere completely different. She didn't know who she was anymore.

She opened her eyes and just caught a glimpse of his cock, now looking softer and kind of fragile, as he pulled up his underwear, then pulled up and fastened his pants and belt.

She wanted to talk to him about what had just happened, ask him how it had felt for him--ask him a thousand questions!

But before she could, he looked down at her, still kneeling on the floor, and said, neutrally, "You can go home now."

He reached past her to unlatch the door, then carefully eased past her and walked out, his footsteps echoing on the tiles. She heard the bathroom door open and slowly sigh shut.

She was stunned. Was that all? Was she suddenly invisible again? She didn't know what to think.

Now the waves of pleasure had faded away and she felt empty. And sad.

But no matter what she was feeling she couldn't stay here. She clambered painfully to her feet, noticing, with a distant amusement, that she still had her socks and one of her penny loafers on. She gathered up her clothing and carried it out of the cubicle, draping her dress over the sink while she untangled her turtleneck. She suddenly remembered her glasses and was relieved to discover them unbroken in her dress pocket--she was afraid she had knelt on them. She placed them carefully on the edge of the sink.

She was just about to put her arms into her sweater prior to slipping it over her head, when she heard the bathroom door open. Oh god, she was going to get caught after all, standing in the bathroom in her bra and panties. Her sopping wet panties. Instinctively she turned away from the door, covering herself with her turtleneck as best she could.

Quick footsteps. A hand on her shoulder, turning her around to face...him.

Her eyes widened with shock.

He pulled the sweater out of her hands and tossed it onto the sink with her dress.

Then he put his arms around her, pulled her to him, and kissed her--deeply, tenderly.

Then he pulled away and looked into her eyes with an expression that she couldn't read.

Then he released her and, without a word, was gone again.

Chapter Two

The next few days passed her by without really registering, a distant distraction like a television playing unwatched in a corner of the room.

Outwardly she was still the Invisible Girl, for which she was thankful, because this allowed her to give her attention almost entirely to the stranger she had suddenly become.

Who was this girl who had done all those things, things that played themselves over and over in her mind, things she had never even heard of but knew were bad, things that would shock anyone who knew her? Things she had only done because she'd been forced to, she told herself, but still things she was certain no other girl she knew had even thought about. She felt as if she had not only become a different person, but a different species, outwardly similar in appearance but inwardly totally unlike the people around her.

Sometimes a particular memory would suddenly fill her mind. While changing into her gym clothes she would remember standing in her bra and panties before him, his eyes looking at her. Absently chewing on a pencil in class, she would suddenly recall having him in her mouth, the taste of him. At those moments she would blush to the roots of her hair, and have to look down, thankful for her long bangs and glasses.

And it didn't help that her history class was studying the Civil War. Every time she heard the word slavery it jolted her. She wondered if slaves then had to do the kinds of things she had done.

And what about him? She could hardly bear to think about him. When she did she would cringe inwardly, overwhelmed with conflicting feelings: anger that he had forced her to do and say such awful, humiliating things, driving her to tears; shame that she had done them--she had had a choice, after all, and could have turned herself in, which would have been the right thing to do--what a good girl would have done. And this brought her to a deeper feeling of shame, one that told her that maybe she had deserved exactly what had happened to her, because she was not a good girl.

And below that, a shame so deep that she dared not allow it to become even a thought: that she had, finally, enjoyed it.

And that he knew.

The thought of seeing him again terrified her. As long as she didn't see him, it hadn't really happened; only in her mind, a story she had made up. To see him again, to have him looking at her, would make it irrevocably real. So she scuttled from one class to the next, her head even further down than usual, and dashed out a side door at the end of the day. Once she had recognized the back of his head in the student union cafeteria and had run out in a blind panic. She hated him more for knowing the things she had done than for making her do them. He was a terrible person; only a monster would have made her experience such degrading things.

And yet sometimes, even when overwhelmed by memories that made her want to cry with shame and anger, there would arise unbidden the memory of that kiss--a wonderful, romantic kiss, despite the circumstances. The way he had held her, the tenderness in it. It was the kind of kiss she had only seen in movies or read about.

And that look he had given her afterwards, his eyes searching hers. What was it she had seen in that look? She didn't know. But she thought that sadness was a part of it.

In some ways the memory--that kiss, that look--haunted her more consistently than any of the others, so much so that even though she was frantically trying to avoid him, she also now found herself paying attention to how she looked, although she wouldn't admit to herself that she was doing so, resolutely thinking about something else as she picked out her clothes in the morning.

By the end of that week she was no longer drawn to her invisibility wardrobe. That Friday morning she put on a white blouse with matching knee-socks (she hated pantyhose, which made her feel as if her lower body had been shrink-wrapped) and a tartan skirt--nothing that would attract attention, certainly, but not invisible, either. She had even, while defiantly not noticing that she was doing so, put on a pair of panties that she had never worn--white, with a pattern of large and small red hearts--which her mother had picked up somewhere and given her as a sort of jokey Valentine's day present. She had never worn such girly things, not since entering adolescence, and would not allow herself to wonder why she was doing so now.

Her family lived close enough to the school that she could ride her bike there in good weather and she did so that morning, arriving, as she had all that week, in a state of anxiety and, somewhere underneath, unacknowledged, anticipation. She had managed to avoid him so far, except for that moment in the lunchroom. She knew that in a school as small as Ridgeton Community College she couldn't hope to avoid him forever, but felt that maybe if enough time went by it would erase what had happened between them, if only partially.

So when he came into the library while she was studying there that afternoon she restrained herself from picking up her books and fleeing.

There was a good chance he wouldn't see her: the long table at which she sat was almost around the corner of the L-shaped room and partially obscured by a chest-high set of bookshelves. It was an unpopular table because there was no window, and the light wasn't good, which was why she had chosen it. She could see across the library but was somewhat in shadow herself.