Protecting Heather
by
Stephen Smith
This is a work of fantasy and fiction. The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under legal age in real life.
CH. 7
Heather’s inner world was in utter chaos. She needed some time to think. In just the span of a day - or was it two? - her entire life as she knew it was gone. For the first time in her life she questioned what was real to her.
Her mother. Had her mother been real? Yes, and no. She existed, she was around sometimes. Heather searched her memory for a time when she had felt ‘mothered’ like other kids, and was left feeling empty. Other people here and there had helped her, but Heather was left mostly to herself to survive.
Desperate poverty. That was real. Am I still poor? I don’t know. I’m not sure if it matters right now. I don’t even own myself.
Am I pretty? Am I sexy? Am I desirable? Suddenly this became a very important question to her. She had been stolen, captured by the Mask. What if she wasn’t pretty enough for him to keep? What if it turned out that he didn’t like her? Would she get taken by T-Bone? Get sent to a foster home?
Should I be sexy for him? I tried so hard to hide to be unseen. A mouse in the walls. When the boys wanted to feel my new breasts, I hid. Men on the street, with their hungry eyes, eating her with their eyes. The teachers… Mr. Hargrove, her science teacher …
She remembered how last year as her breasts had budded, without the protection of the sports bra, he had stared at her. Noticed her. Been extra nice to her on one hand, and then extra strict the next. He had ensnared her with classroom rules about being late, letting the *unfair* late demerits stack up until he decided to keep her after class.
Yes, he wanted me after class. And he almost got me, if it hadn’t been for my music teacher Mrs. Eldridge who had come by.
After, Heather had turned herself grey. She hid away her breasts, but still those eyes followed after her growing legs, her swaying hips, her long hair. Trying to catch her. T-Bone had seen her on the street just last month. She remembered the encounter, how he had smiled at her. His eyes had the hunger in them.
Oh, mom… Look what he did to you. What you let him do. You were supposed to protect me!
She allowed the depths of despair to wash over her.
And now, she was caught. Caught more surely than playground groping. More than after school sessions with her middle school teacher. Maybe even more than T-Bone. Maybe.
Caught by the Mask. But he was different somehow. How? How is he any different, if not worse?
She let her mind run in idle. Sometimes ideas would come to her if she didn’t chase them. Finally, one did. Sometimes when they came, it sounded like someone else’s voice entirely.
He’s different because he doesn’t have that rat faced hunger in his eyes. Not like the boys. Not like the men. So far he’s actually been…. alright. And something else…
Something… Something about him. Wait. it’ll come.
But didn’t he just… what? Fuck me? In her thoughts, she wanted to hurl the phrase with all the hate she could muster, but was surprised to feel her body sing with the afterglow and shudder with the recent revelation of these new sensations in her body. No, that’s not quite right. I think it takes a lot more to call it fucking. But, then, what was it? He’ll do this with me again and… MORE. What am I then, if I enjoy it? Can I trust him? And really, do I have a choice? I wonder what’s next.
One way or the other, she knew that she really didn’t have any choice. It was time to get up. Get up, before he makes me get up. I can at least do this much myself.
Experimentally, she moved. Finding her body was ready to obey her again, she made her way to the bathroom, dragging the robe behind her. She cleaned herself up with a wet washcloth as best she could.
Spying around the door frame, she made sure that Mask wasn’t watching, and then walked to the dresser and armoire, investigating their contents. She found black silk panties which she put on immediately. There were shorts, dresses, skimpy tops and some more regular girly tops. No bras though. Several sets of athletic socks, but also… stockings in several colors and a few schoolgirl patterns. Real stockings! She’d never had any before.
She considered several pieces until she settled on a white sleeveless tennis-style dress with a plunge neckline. Pink stockings. Returning to the mirror, her hand froze, brush in hand, as she caught a look at herself. The girl looking back at her was at least 3 years older than she’d last seen herself. She noted how her cleavage was shown off by the dress, which was just a bit tight and very conforming. In length it was mid-thigh. It was possibly the most revealing thing that she had ever worn. The edge of the dress made a promise out of her well-proportioned ass. And most of all was the flush of her skin.
Her nipples were clearly standing at attention again. She was so used to ignoring them in the old sports bra that being able to see them made her feel alien to herself.
No bra. No way to cover them up. Guess they’re out in the open now. The silky fabric combined with the sensitivity following her recent experience made them tighten up again, twin throbbing and glowing reminders. With a determined sigh she pushed them from her mind and finished brushing out her hair.