And tell I never did.


It was a damp, foggy September night, unseasonably cold and thoroughly miserable. I didn't even feel like leaving the warm, cozy haven of the apartment, but I knew I would, and I did. It was too important. I wouldn't miss it for the world.
My sister was with me on the bus, of course. As she never failed to point out, if it hadn't been for her, I would've never gotten the chance I was blessed with. Well, there was a grain of truth in it, but I resented that fact anyway. Even though twins are supposed be really tight and supportive of each other, and all that crap, we never got along. At thirteen, just hitting puberty, we fought more than ever.
She was the blessed one. The pretty sister. Slim, blonde, blue-eyed - she had it all. Of course, she was attracted to ballet and found this what-you-may-call-it dancing class bullshit. Nobody was particularly surprised when she turned out to be really gifted in that area. She would come home from her twice-weekly meetings with the group, and she would tell the whole family how wonderfully she did - yet again. All I wanted was to prove to my parents that I could do something, too.

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   Oh, and even more than that I wanted to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off her face.
And finally it happened. I went with her a couple of times, just tagged along 'cause her new friends wanted to meet her twin sister. Needless to say, fraternal twins as we were, I looked nothing like her, so her giggling girlfriends quickly lost intrest in me. Not so their manager.
I had been introduced to him on the first occasion, and he made a very favourable impression on me. He was eloquent, charming, had a sense of humour, and - most importantly - he treated me like a grown-up. He was 49, I was 13, but he made me feel like his peer. Intoxing feeling. I had just started smoking at that time, and he let me smoke in his office while I waited for the girls' rehearsal to end. Two hours is a lot of time to talk. After a few of those meetings I started to come with my sister just to talk to the guy more. He appreciated my intelligence and didn't seem to think I was destined to live in my sister's shadow. He actually talked to me. He was my pal.

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   He was great.
And one day he handed me my dream on a platter.
Namely, he was going to host a weekly radio program. And he wanted my help with it. At thirteen, I was gonna host a radio show! Me, a future journalist (that had been the ultimate dream)! I couldn't believe it.
So here it was. On that cold September night I was going there to discuss my ideas with him - and boy, did I have a lot of ideas! I still remember that feeling of excitement and anticipation, the look of pride in my parents' eyes - and the dark shadow that passed over my sister's face before she regained her composure and congratulated me. That night I felt like the queen of the world. That night I was the queen of the world!
Once we got there, my sister headed straight for the changing rooms, while I climbed the few stairs leading to the manager's office. He was happy to see me. The small room was filled with a fragnant smoke from his pipe, and with music playing quietly in the background. Did I notice any of that? Frankly, no. I just burst inside, brimming with questions and ideas, happy and excited. I lit a smoke, finished it, kept talking. Finally he gave me a pile of print-outs to leaf through.

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   Our programs. He wanted me to approve them, to change them as I wished, to discuss them with him. I sank into a comfy armchair and turned all my attention to the pages before me.
Therefore, I never noticed him locking the door.
I remember looking up and seeing his legs, his bleach stain on one knee of his jeans. He was towering over me, standing right in front of me, close enough for me to smell his perfume mixed with a rancid odour of stale sweat and his pipe smoke. I wrinkled my nose in distaste, thinking that it must be his wool vest that absorbed the sweat. Such a stupid thought, considering that a man was standing right in front of me, way too close to be comfortable. But what did I know? I had kissed a boy before, but it was a small, pathetic attempt that was a total failure. I never got further than that. I didn't think I was in any danger at all, until I heard him say, "You're a very beautiful girl, you know that?"
My mind froze. He pulled me up on my feet, and I offered no resistance. I couldn't think straight. A wave of conflicted emotions and feelings washed over me. What is he doing? What do I do? Do I run? Do I scream? But he didn't do anything, how do I know he's gonna do something? Does he want a kiss? He's old and smelly, but he's doing me a favour, so can I say no? In all my innocence and ignorance I thought all he wanted was a kiss! So I didn't say anything, didn't do anything.

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   He leaned in closer, bushing my hair away from my face, caressing my cheek and neck, sending unknown sensations running down my body to the very tips of my toes. I sighed, not knowing that I did. His hand was stroking my neck, his fingers slipping under the collar of my shirt, tracing the line of my collarbone. I shivered. Nothing like that had ever happened to me before. My mind was still frozen, but no longer with alarm and panic. And then I felt his lips on the corner of my eye, brushing my skin, slowly moving towards my lips. I parted them in anticipation. I wanted that kiss. I was aroused, intoxicated, I closed my eyes and I wanted that kiss. And he kissed me. After a few seconds, I pulled away, looked up at him, and smiled. He smiled back.  Suddenly embarassed, I reached for the stack of papers, sinking back into the armchair. I really thought that was it.


   Unable to look up, I pretended to read the print-outs. I never noticed his big, hairy hand sneaking out to cover my mouth.
"You little teasing bitch," he hissed. "Do you really think you can play me like that, letting me kiss you and then pulling away? I'm gonna have some fun tonight. You might as well enjoy it. "
And then I truly froze. I was completely unable to move a muscle, let alone try to escape. My mind was screaming at me to do something, for God's sake, but my body wouldn't listen. The man smirked slightly. Belatedly I thought he had taken my immobility for consent - but before I could act on that thought, I was gagged, and my wrists were tied to the decorative metal grill over the window right behind my chair. With a quick pull, he yanked my pants off me and put my thighs over the arms of the chair, tying my ankles to whatever he could find on either side of it. The spell that held me frozen suddenly broke, and I started to struggle. but by then it was too late. I thrashed in my bindings, but it only seemed to turn him on more. Finally I stopped struggling.

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   I was panting through my gag, glaring silently at him. He laughed.
When he undid the top button of my shirt, a sudden wave of embarrassment washed over me, making me turn my face away in shame. I closed my eyes, feeling his hands on my shirt, hearing the fabric whisper. I was there, spread-eagled, exposed, with my white cotton underwear and plain bra for the whole world - for him - to see. I could feel my face burning. And then he touched me, his hot palms running up and down my sides, over my belly, not touching my breasts, getting me familiar with the feeling of having masculine hands on me. I couldn't help but feel a faint trickle of arousal. My body was betraying me even as my mind was screaming for help, and tears were starting to well up in my eyes as I realized the hopelessnes of my situation. I hated him and I hated myself for that faint trickle of pleasure, I willed it to die down to nothing and it did - but then his hands were cupped over my breasts, not quite touching them, just hovering over them a hair width away, and his fingers delicately slipped under the cups of the bra. He was touching and teasing, and the moment he touched my nipples, I felt a hottness in my pussy, a strange feeling I'd never had before.
I lifted me off the chair just enough to undo the clasp of my bra. My budding breasts were completely bare now, but I didn't care that much anymore, because now all I could concentrate on was his lips on my breast, his breath on my nipple, hot when he breathed out, cold when he breathed in. Cold, hot, cold, hot, it felt amazing, and I was getting lost in this feeling. Then his tounge darted out for a fraction of a second, wetting my nipple, sending ripples of pleasure throughout my body.

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   I arched my back involuntarily. He was getting more insistent, no longer delicate and careful. He sucked on my nipple. I moaned through my gag. His hands were all over my belly, my arms, my hair, and he was nibbling on my nipple, grazing it with his teeth until in hurt, but at the same time it seemed to multiply the pleasure.
It was when his hands moved lower that I was startled into coming back to reality. He was too horny now to be delicate and careful. His hand slipped under my underware, pressing on my clit. My yell of pain was muffled by the gag, and he must have taken in for a moan of pleasure, for he started rubbing my poor virgin nub until it felt raw and bruised.  I struggled against my bindings again, but he didn't seem to notice. With a violent push, he shoved his finger up my pussy. Pain laced my insides, and he roughly finger-fucked me, breathing hard, his eyes glazed over, unzipping his pants with his other hand. His dick plopped out, it was the first one I'd ever seen and the realization that he was gonna stick this huge, hairy thing in me made the sheer terror break my skin in goose bumps. It must have been a further turn on for him. He spread my pussy lips wide, looking down at it, pulling at the few pubic hair I had, shoving his finger in and out of me.

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   Then he grabbed the base of his cock and pressed in against my pussy lips, my clit, moaning low as he rubbed the think up and down my pussy. He found my little love hole with his finger and positioned the head of his dick right there. I closed my eyes and braced myself for the pain. I felt his muscles tense for a split second before he started to shove. Tense as I was, it took him a few tries to get the first inch in. I felt my hole being stretched, violated, flaming up in pain - and then he withdrew, and tried to slam it back in. He got in an agonizing half inch with each push, fully withdrawing each time, ramming his cock back in, oblivious to my yelling and sobbing, slaughtering my pussy until I thought this would never end. But end it did, and when he got all of his shaft in, he just rested there for a second. Blood was slowly dripping down my ass crack, pooling under me. For a moment I though it was over.
But then he withdrew completely, and rammed his cock back in, and got out again, and it again, all very slowly, in agonizingly slow motion, picking up the speed bit by bit, and by the time he really got going, I was on the verge of passing out. He fucked me brutally, squeezing my tits, twisting my nipples, there was nothing left of the gentle, careful lover who turned me on a mere half an hour earlier. I was praying for it to stop, and finally I felt the huge cock in my pussy grow even bigger, stretching my walls past their limit, I felt the man shudder, and with a stangled yell he pulled out and sprayed his cum over my breasts and belly, sprinkling my face and glasses, and the stink of it made me retch. As his cock was going limp fast, he used it to smear the cum over as much of my body as he could, eyes half closed and panting.
And then it was over.

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   He cleaned me up, snarled the usual warning about not telling anyone, and just let me go. I stumbled out into the night, sore and devastated, ashamed and embarrassed, full of guilt and hatred, and wanting to die. And as I sat down on a park bench, lit a cigarette and watched the smoke envelop me in the still, foggy air, I knew one thing: I can never tell anyone.
And tell I never did.