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Middle aged farmer is smitten with black teen.

Now she was a grieving mother! Parent of a dead child! Oh the drama! The sublime romance of it all! I could see her, tearfully proclaiming her love for me and her horror over what I had done! Nope, I'd never jump. I'd never give her that opportunity.

I heard someone coming up the steps but I didn't turn around. I was still too deep in my self-pitying fantasy to be concerned. I could smell liquor, so I assumed it was Carrie. I stared out the window, focusing my vision on a blinking construction crane on the other side of the river.

A hand slipped around my mouth. My body was pushed against the glass.

It was him.

I was sick of this! I struggled violently, my verbal disapproval muted by the hand clamped viciously around my mouth. I wasn't afraid yet, but I was angry. My hands pulled at his arms. Suddenly his knee thrust hard against my legs forcing its way in-between them. I yelped in pain tears welled up in my eyes. He yanked my head back viciously.

"You let him fuck you!" He spat into my ear. He pushed my head forward against he glass. His hand left my mouth.

"You're hurting me!" I whispered against the window.

"Shut up!" He said. I could feel his cock hard against my thigh. He had my body crushed against the cold glass windowpane. "I heard my daughter talking about it!"

"Stop it!" I gasped. "I said this was over!"

His breathing was heavy. I realized knew the alcohol I smelled on his breath was Crown Royal. I'll never forget that smell.

"You're hurting me!" I shouted hoarsely. His hands slid up the sides of my body to my breasts. He began squeezing them roughly.

"She said you'd fucked him!" I struggled but he kept kneading them harder. "That little bastard," he mumbled. "You let him fuck you!"

His hands pulled at the material that covered my breasts. I was shaking, crying now.

"You'll fucking remember it was me who broke you in!"

I shuddered in disgust. I felt the material of one of my dress straps give in and rip.

"I fucked your little cherry, you slut! I made you cum all over my cock!"

I could feel the heat between my legs rising. He tore off the other dress strap, pulling the material down to expose my breasts. He held them roughly in his hands as he thrust his hips into me rhythmically.

"Nooo!" I moaned in rage and rising pleasure.

He turned me around to face him. I'll never know how a face so handsome could suddenly look so cruel. I had made myself cum every night for two years to the thought of his face, his body. At that moment, though, the man in front of me was a terrifying stranger. He was not my lover as much as he was my rapist.

"NOO Please Mr. Jones! Stop!!"

"Shut up," he said, clamping his hand around my neck and pushing up my dress up over my hips with the other.

I sobbed. My eyes stung from the mascara that was running down my cheeks. He kissed me hard, slamming his pelvis against mine. I shivered under the force of that kiss. I could taste the liquor. My body was ready for him automatically. It was a natural response, but I shook with terror and rage.

He molested my breasts in his hands, his rough fingers squeezing my nipples.

"No!" I whimpered. "Please, no"

He pushed me forward, slamming my chest against the glass and pulling my hips back toward him.

"Don't! No! Stop!" I struggled but he had my hands pinned against my back.

He let go of my hands, reaching around my waist and moving downward to cup my pubic mound in his hands. He rubbed my pussy through my panties.

"You," he breathed. "You're such a little slut." He licked my ear making me cringe. "You're already wet and ready for me"

"I hate you!" I sobbed.

He jerked the thin fabric of my panties, trying to rip them.

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