Posted by Barbanne on December 31, 2003 at 21:35:13:
Picking her up was easy.
He waited near the bank and studied the photo he'd been given.
Fresh, open face. Unruly hair. Wire framed spectacles.
When she came along, he knew it was her. Knew her face. Being a man and being focussed on her face, he didn't really see what she was wearing, just her.
If he'd broadened his vision he'd have seen the open webbed, strap up shoes with the Minnie Mouse heels and the short denim skirt with a row of buttons down the front. The ribbed cotton top with a vee neckline and short sleeves and the centimetre or so of white flesh where top and skirt just missed meeting. He'd have seen the glimpse of bra strap which escaped from under her top and the sliver at the top of her panties that showed when she stooped to adjust her shoe strap and her skirt waist pulled down. He did notice the shoulder bag and the long, slightly messy, brown hair that cascaded to her shoulders.
Mostly what he saw was her. He was expecting a young girl, here came a young girl, indistinguishable from most other young girls. He had her picture, the girl in the picture had glasses, this girl had glasses. It was her!
He got out of the car and leaving the passenger side door open, called to her.
She was hurrying home, a day at the bank finished. Like most lowly employees she just wanted to be anywhere but here now her working day was over.
"Uh, Yes?" She peered at him through her glasses.
"In the car."
"Uh. What?" She stooped to look into the car and his stiffened fingers, tempered like a blade slammed into her neck, just below and behind her ear. She said "oh.", and collapsed. He caught her by the shoulders as she went down and smoothly propelled her into the car, swinging her unconscious body so that her bum landed in the seat. He gathered her legs under the knees and lifted them in. To passers by it looked like a man helping a girl into his car. Nobody took any special notice. Nobody realised she had been knocked out.
He went around and got behind the wheel.
The girl was slumped in her seat. Her skirt had ridden up and her panties just showed in a little vee under the denim. He pulled the skirt down as much as he could and then pulled her seat belt across and fastened it in place.
He drove to the motel and parked in front of the room. He'd picked this one especially, down the back and around a corner where it had no direct contact with any other room. He went around to the passenger side. As he was getting the girl out, he talked to her. He could see no-one around but carried out the charade as insurance.
"Honey I told you you'd had too many." He pulled her out and up and leaned her against him and encircled her with his big arm. Together they walked over and he fumbled with the key and then pushed the door open and got her inside. To a casual observer it would look like a guy bringing a slightly inebriated girl back to his room. Anyone watching closely may have seen the girl's toes dragging, scraping helplessly across the concrete paving, but no-one was watching. No-one at all.
He flopped her into a chair and closed the door. The curtains were drawn as he'd left them earlier.
He sat on the bed and looked at her.
She slumped, like a doll dumped by a little girl. Her head was bowed forward, her legs were crossed in an awkward manner and one foot was over on its side while the other was tucked backwards very unnaturally. Her arms trailed in her lap, fingers curled and motionless.
He looked at her.
She stirred, snuffled and twitched, and came awake with a start. She wiped drool from her mouth with a backhand swipe and groaned and fluttered her eyes open and looked at him. He saw recognition and consciousness return to her eyes. She looked at him for a long time.
"Are you going to hurt me?"
"I don't want to."
"Why am I here then?"
He'd always believed in honesty but the way the girl was looking at him made him pause. "Because I'm being paid to bring you here."
Straight question. Deserved a straight answer.
"I've been paid to kill you."
"WHY? What have I done? Why? why, why?"
Her voice trailed off and she started to cry. Not noisily, quiet, softly sobbing, big fat, tears, running down her cheeks.
"Something at the bank."
"I'm nothing at the bank. Nothing. I operate a computer."
"Someone thinks you know too much."
"I know nothing. I feed in figures."
"You saw something and its made you dangerous."
"What? What? I feed in figures others give me."
"I don't know girlie. Don't ask me. I only do what I'm paid to."
Tears ran down her cheeks and she sat rigidly in her chair. Her shoulders slumped and she looked at him.
"I'm only eighteen."
"I'm nothing. Nobody."
"I don't want to die."
"Nobody does when you come down to it."
"What do you want. I don't have much money."
He stared at her.
Her eyes lit briefly as a thought passed behind them. "I'll do anything for you. I'll be your slave. I'll do anything, anything. Just ask me and I'll do it. Take me with you. I'll do all your chores. You can use me anyway you like. You want sex? I'll give you any sex you want. I'll do anything. Anything at all. Disgusting, depraved. Just ask me. Don't kill me. Don't waste me. Let me be your slave."
He stared at her.
She looked at him.
She took the hem of her top and with a cross armed motion pulled it up and off, over her head. Tossed it aside. She sat there, her small breasts contained by her mesh bra. He could see her surprisingly large, brown and pointy nipples quite clearly through the near transparent material. She put her open hands under her breasts and pushed them up. "I'll give you good sex."
He looked at her.
She stood and popped open the waist band of her skirt. She wriggled it off her hips, stooped, slipped it down and off. Tossed it. Her scrap of panties matched her bra and he could see her dark pubic bush scrunched in place by the flimsy material.
She came to him. He watched her silently. She undid his belt, opened his trousers, unzipped his fly, eased them aside, pulled down his jocks and stooping took his flaccid penis in her mouth. She sucked, rolled her head, eyes closed. She hummed a little tune and her tongue worked furiously while she sucked and sucked. His erection grew. She nipped and sucked and he groaned and placing a hand on the top of her head pushed her down onto him. She worked harder and harder. He heard her choke, gag, but she kept at it until he came inside her mouth. She looked up at him, his cum filling her mouth.
"Was that good man?"
"I'll do it. I'll do anything."
She lay her head on his lap. He looked down at the top of her head. Brown hair, curly and regular. Not natural curls. A perm. He wondered what her hair looked like natural. Soft, wavy. Why did young girls all want to look like something they weren't? Why did they all want to look like they were alike. In being different they became uniform. But then he thought of young men. Baseball caps usually backwards, ridiculously large, baggy shorts, hair shaved at the sides and floppy on top. Kids! They had to be themselves and became herd creatures doing it.
He touched her hair.
She spoke. Very softly.
"I don't want to die. Please mister." She looked up at him. Big, round, brown eyes. "I want to have kids of my own. Be a mum. I want to love and be loved. I want to learn. There's so much to learn. I want to go places. Meet people. Grow up."
He stroked her hair.
She looked at him. Tears were forming in her eyes and dropping onto her chest. She made no noise. No crying. No sobbing now. Just big silent tears.
"You don't want to kill me."
She touched his penis.
"Let me live and I'll stay with you from now on. I'll do anything. You want to hurt me? OK, hurt me. I like being hurt. I'll do anything. Anything!"
He thought how much she reminded him of his daughter. His own little girl. If anyone hurt her, he'd kill them. But this was business. Just business.
"D'ya want to fuck me. You can. Sure, fuck me now." She smiled at him and the tears fell. Plop. Plop. She stood and wriggled her panties down and off. He took her shoulders and sat her beside him.
Her face quivered and dissolved into ugliness. The tears streamed. He took his belt and wrapped it around her throat. She didn't fight him, didn't struggle.
He tightened the belt. Pulled it tight and hard.
It lasted about five minutes and then she was dead.
He lay her on her back on the bed. Her face was swollen and bluish. Her eyes were open under drooping lids, but they had no sparkle. They were flat and dead. Her tongue protruded from the left corner of her mouth. It was lavender grey and becoming huge. He stooped and kissed her. She had been so much like his daughter.
Quickly he arranged the scene to look like a sex murder. He was sure the cops would buy it. After all, why else would a kid like this end up dead in a sleazy motel room like this?
He crossed to the door, looked back at the still white form of the near nude little girl, lying dead on the bed clad only in her bra and those ridiculous Minnie Mouse shoes.
He closed the door, went to the car. If he hurried he'd still have time to get to the supermarket and pick up the list of stuff his wife had given him.
He looked forward to seeing his family.
What man doesn't at the end of the working day?