I guess it was my fault, what happened. I should never have been so stupid! My mother always told me, "Never go out by yourself to where you can't see our house." How right she was, and most of the time I respected this but considering we lived deep, deep in the forest, if I ventured even a hundred feet from our house I couldn't see it for the trees. But that one balmy afternoon I went far out; my parents had gone to the village and to have an evening tea with friends, leaving me to tend the house, and, figuring that I would receive no punishment for 'adventuring', I decided to head out to the small lake where we sometimes picniqued, about half a mile from home. I was so happy walking there. I felt mature, and capable of taking care of myself even though I had only just turned thirteen a few weeks before. Tripping along the crooked, moss-cushioned, ancient logging trail, a basket of bread and butter and jam swinging gaily from my loosely clenched fingers, I felt at peace and at one with everything around me. I got to the lake as the sun started to reach for the tips of the tall pine trees and I collapsed onto the shore, kicked off my shoes and let the cool water tease the sand away from my heels. With the last beams of sun still beating down on me, I grew warm, and forgetting about proper modesty and I took off my heavy dress and stockings, and sat, with my knees pulled up against my chest and my toes in the water, in my white cotton undergarments, breathing in the scent of nature, listening to the birds and the toads, touching my arms to feel my sun-warmed skin. Then I heard heavy footsteps behind me and I stood and turned quickly.
"Sophie, what are you doing out here?" The deep, gruff voice belonged to Mr. Smythe, a burly, fierce-looking middle-aged man who lived by himyself even deeper in the forest and brought firewood to young ladies' houses in winter in exchange for certain favours. My father had always told me to be careful around him and whenever I saw his arms and biceps bulging beneath his shirt, I felt afraid and understood why my father told me this.
"Oh, Mr. Smythe, um, I just came out here for a picnic and, uh, Ma and Pa will be back soon, I was just about to head back," I stammered, fumbling with my dress, trying to cover my breasts poking against the thin fabric of my undershirt.
"Well now, don't look so flushed Sophie. Why are you looking so afraid? Pretty girl like you shouldn't rush to put her clothes back on when a man comes around," he spoke, his voice sickeningly sweet like putrid meat. I could feel his eyes stroking my body, his gaze sending a hot draft beneath my underclothes and making my skin crawl. He took a few heavy steps toward me and I froze. I didn't know what to do, I had never been by myself with a man before; he was overbearing and I felt myself begining to panic. He saw it, too, because he quickened his pace and stopped only when he was standing less than a foot in front of me.
"Um, it was really nice to see you Mr. Smythe, but... Ma and Pa are waiting for me, I have to go now, goodbye," I stuttered quickly and began to turn away, carrying my dress, my lunch basket long forgotten. I didn't get more than two steps away when I fellt him grab my arm and pull me back towards him. I stood, quivering, with my eyes squeezed shut, my back to him. He took my other arm in his other hand and pressed me against him, and I could feel his hard bulge against the small of my back. He bent and breathed on my neck and gripped my arms harder. I wimpered softly and muttered again that I had to leave.
"Now Sophie, that's rude. Stay and keep me company a while. Your Ma and Pa won't miss you," he whispered - nay, growled - in my ear as my knees began to buckle from fear and panic and the pain of him squeezing my arms. I told him he was hurting me, begged him to let me go, and I felt his grip loosen. He turned me around until I was facing him again, and let go of one of my arms, but kept his hand against my skin. My eyes were still closed tight, and I could feel his hand moving down my arm, the small of my back and finally cupping my little tight butt. I felt with every nerve where he touched me, and hot tears squeezed out of my eyes.
"Don't cry, Sophie," he said when he saw me crying. "Don't cry and don't scream; ain't no one around here anyway". Of course he was right, but I had to bite my lip to stifle my yelps as he held me tighter against his body, reached around between my legs with his hands and tore the seam of my underpants. He groaned as he tore again, until my underpants were in two pieces, each lying in a sad, crumpled heap around my ankles. I could feel the bulge of his dick getting harder as he cupped my ass cheeks, pulling them apart, and put the tip of his finger in my tight virgin cunt.
"Sophie, sophie, you sweet girl you," he muttered, and wiggled his finger up my pussy. I started to scream and with his other hand he pressed my head against his chest until I could barely breathe. He pulled his finger out and rammed it in again; I could feel my cunt stretching and from somewhere within me I felt warm and wet and his finger slid in easier. His cock throbbed as he fucked me with his finger and I tried not to scream and cry.
"Oh Sophie, little Sophie, you like my finger in you like this, huh? You're wet, I can feel it, you like it! That's my girl." With this, he grabbed my hair and jerked my head back, kissing and sucking and biting my neck. Of course I didn't like it. I felt pain and humiliation; things I had never felt before. My parents were good, kind people, and though the boys at the schoolhouse would sometimes tease the girls mercilessly, they too, were good boys at heart.
Before I could tell him I hate it, he tripped me with his foot and I was on my back in the sand, the ends of my hair getting wet, floating back and forth on the water with the swelling and ebbing of the tiny lake waves. With his large, strong hands he grabbed frantically at my little tits, and then began tearing at my undershirt and flinging the pieces of frayed and torn fabric onto the water. I found myself completely unclothed, totally naked. He pinched my little pink nipples and slobbered on my chest as he forced my legs apart with his knees. Through the fabric of his pants I could feel his huge dick pressing into my crotch.
He sat back, "Don't move now, Sophie," he said as he took off his belt, pants and underwear. For the first time I saw this impossibly huge cock straining for me and through my fear I felt faint excitement that I had caused this. He seized my shoulders and pulled me up until I sat up in front of him, and pushed his dick into my face. "Suck it, little Sophie." I took the big swollen purple head of his cock into my mouth and sucked. He thrust himself onto my face until his dick was at the back of my throat and I could take no more. I sucked as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head closer to him and started to groan and yell like an animal. With unrestrained fervor he pushed me back onto the sand and forced my legs apart, and plunged his giant cock into my tight cunt.
I felt my skin tear and I screamed, tried to buck him off me, flailed my arms and tried to claw his eyes. In vain. With his jaw clenched, as plunged his hot dick into my torn cunt again and again, he held my hands behind me in the shallow water. He drove into me, pounded me faster and faster and harder as I wimpered for him to relent. And suddenly there he was, cumming, dumping his hot load into my cunt. I could feel it, spilling out of my pussy as he withdrew and cummed another load on my stomach. In the cool evening air it steamed as he smeared it onto my tits.
"Well Sophie, I have to say, that was wonderful. Run along home now, don't mention anything to your Pa; you wouldn't want anything to happen to your Ma, would you? I know where your house is, little Sophie," he sneared at me as Iay gasping in the sand, barely listening to anything but the blood pounding in my ears. He stood and pulled his pants back on and sauntered back into the woods. I caught my breath and crawled into the water. I floated quietly and let the cool waves and the refreshing night air wash away my fear and panic and pain.
As I started to become aware of myself again, eyed my sandy dress and wondered how I was going to explain my late return to my parents, I contemplated the vague threat Mr. Smythe had made to me regarding my mother. Yes, he knew where I lived. But perhaps he underestimated me; I knew where he lived, too.
