His face traveled lower, and I cringed as I felt him pull my panties down over my hips to my tied ankles. “Please…please don’t. Please…” ...“Don’t do what? Don’t touch you? Don’t kiss you? Don’t fuck you? Beg, bitch. Beg me again, maybe I’ll stop. Maybe I’ll let you go.” His hands squeezed my thighs, trying to pry them open as I cried. “Please! Please don’t do this. Please let me go.” His thumbs dug into my inner thighs and the sudden pain took me by surprise for just a second. That. I had actually spoken to him earlier in the day as we both had newspaper delivery rounds for the same newsagent , but obviously we didn't discuss the events of the previous day in the paper shop. Jim opened the door and let me in and I went through to the lounge and sat down on the sofa , Jim on the armchair after a while watching the dross what counted for k**s TV back then we where bored , so Jim's dad's porn mags seemed like a better idea , remember back then there was no wall to cartoons. Sadly, four of the dresses I had were well over 200 dollars, which I had decided on as a limit, so I sat those aside. The first one I tried on was about to split a seam over my hips. No go. Feeling fat, I grabbed the second one in the pile — a shimmery grey dress with cap sleeves and a v neck — and shimmied into it. It was comfortable, and when I looked in the mirror my jaw dropped. I looked like some kind of goddess. The tiny little sleeves capped off my shoulders perfectly before the. I thought the best thing to do would be to shop on line and get Joey to participate. I found a ton of bikinis on line that perfectly fit my growing sexuality, my burgeoning need to exhibit myself in front of powerful men, but one in particular caught my attention. It was a string bikini that was almost entirely string, except for a tiny sliver that would cover little more than the slit in my vagina and two petite patches that would certainly cover no more than my nipples. I could see myself in.