THE LIBRARY: Trailer Trash Part 1

Trailer1TRAILER TRASH Part 1 {This story originally appeared on BDSMARTWORK and features some amazing art by ROUGIN. We thank them for letting us share it with you here}

Kelly made a mistake. She never should have come to the condemned low income housing project. Not at that hour. But she had so wanted to impress the housing authority that they had made the right decision hiring her right out of college, that she was willing to study the problem on location the day before she was set to report to the office.

She blinked, breaking the spell...because here she was, alone, in the middle of an condemned trailer park, all five foot, six inches of her, her short blonde hair clean and coiffed around her pixie-cute face, her adorable lips painted light red, and her expensive glasses perched on her fine nose in front of sparkling blue eyes.

Kelly made another mistake. She never should have worn what she did. But she thought she was a young professional doing a job, therefore she should be dressed suitably. But what was suitable where she lived and what was suitable on the outskirts of town were two different things.

She took a quick look down at herself, as if for the first time. She saw her pendulous dew-drop breasts swelling under the all-too-thin material of her cream-colored silky shirt. She saw her flat tummy and streamlined curves. And she saw her long, long legs coming from beneath the tailored blue suit’s miniskirt, and the way her small, perfect feet fit into the three-inch high heel pumps.

She suddenly became acutely aware of how the simple gold chain crinkled across her smooth white throat, and then, how her breasts shifted in the frilly beige cups of the demi-bra beneath the silky shirt. Despite herself, she got lost in personal thoughts; how proud she was of her long legs, how she loved showing them, how they fit so perfectly into her slim hips and high, round, tight rear.

Kelly made a third mistake. She thought the place would be abandoned.

She first heard a noise coming from beside a rusted mobile home in the back. She spun around, her blue eyes gleaming in the gloom of the sunset.

It’s nothing, she told herself. Nothing bad would happen. Nothing bad could happen. She was perfectly safe. Even so, she took a step back toward the street, now thirty feet away, beyond four rows of dilapidated, rectangular, mobile homes. A sharp sound of movement came from her left. Telling herself she was overreacting, she nonetheless went quickly to the right, hastily deciding to take a short cut between the two furthest rows.

That was her last mistake.

When it happened, it happened fast. The squatter didn’t give her time to correct any of her mistakes. He had seen her minutes before, making her way through the seemingly deserted park, examining the abandoned shacks as if it were her birthright. He immediately started stalking her, becoming more angry and excited as she neared. She’s alone, he realized, no one else knows she’s here...she’s cute, she’s sexy, she’s mine!

His hand clamped over her mouth as if it had been designed for it. Her felt her lips flattening against his palm, he felt his fingertips sinking into her cool, creamy cheek, and he felt his hand lock onto her face as if cemented there. At the same time his other arm clamped around her waist, trapping her arms against her side. He felt her strong yet pliant body. She bent forward, accidentally pressing her firm rump against his crotch, letting the bottom of her breasts brush across the top of his arm.

It was as if the dance was meant to be, because, when she straightened back up, she all but helped him lift her off her feet and through the open, unlocked, door of the mobile home. It was as if she had never existed. The condemned low-income trailer park was empty again...save for a single small cloud of dust...already returning to the ground.

One second she was outside and alone; the next she was inside, hidden from sight, struggling madly with a man on top of her -- her slim, stylish glasses laying against the far wall, her assault refracted through its thin lenses.

She couldn’t be more than 110 pounds, he realized, and so slim yet so luscious writhing beneath him, her legs scissoring, her arms flailing, and her waist contorting. He looked down on her useless struggle like a father onto a baby’s tantrum -- like a conqueror looking down on the already vanquished. Her years of comfort was literally no match for his years of survival.

Still, if he let her scream, someone might hear her...and might come to help her. No, that couldn’t happen...not now...not when he had her on the dirty worn carpet, surrounded by garbage.

Kelly screamed hysterically beneath his hand, feeling the heat inside the sheet metal box, seeing the torn paneled walls just three feet on either side of her, the corrugated ceiling just six feet overhead, and the cracked, broken slat windows just out of range. She bucked and kicked, but his weight wouldn’t shift and the hand sealing her mouth seemed sewn there. Bite him! she screamed at herself. Bite him! But his hand vised her jaw, his palm squeezing her lips.

TO BE CONTINUED

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