" Orange Touque 1 "

By Orestes

orestes007@hotmail.com
ftp.asstr.org./pub/Authors/Orestes

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   I had been watching her all night, trying to 
convince myself that I was wrong. The longer I watched 
her, though, the less I could sustain my doubts. This 
was the same girl who disappeared from my life over 
five years ago, taking her sparkling eyes and her 
orange touque away with her. 
   She could still make her eyes sparkle, although now 
it was for money. Three times now, I watched her appear 
on the stage, and turn on her charm for the men in the 
lounge. The light in her eyes was very different now. 
No longer did her eyes sparkle with the innocent joy of 
youth. They burned with the staged lust of a downtown 
stripper.
   Kara Boldt was her name when I knew her. I didn't 
even listen to the god-awful stage name that the 
loudspeaker tried to pin on her. She would always be 
Kara for me.
   The first time I saw her, it was in the very first 
class that I taught at junior high. It's funny, I've 
been teaching for five years now, and although I can 
barely remember the names of the students in last 
year's classes, I can remember every face from that 
first class I taught. I was so nervous back then that 
it all seems much more vivid to me.
   I even remember what Kara was wearing. It was a 
chilly November day that I took over the English class, 
and Kara wore an orange wool touque in to class. I 
recall thinking about how cute it was, with little 
orange tassels hanging off to each side of her head.
   She was a bright spot of sunshine in a sea of grey 
and blue winter clothing. 
   There was always a sparkle in her eye, and a smile 
on her face. She stood out from the other kids her age. 
By the time most of them reached tenth grade, they had 
resigned themselves to the uniform of youth. Dark 
colours, baggy pants, skimpy little tops. 
   Somehow, Kara had maintained the little bit of 
childhood that most so eagerly discarded when they 
first walked though the doors of junior high. That 
first day I saw her, she wore a pair of denim overalls, 
and a big pair of green gum boots, all packaged 
together under that silly orange touque.
   And now, here she was, five years older, and changed 
almost beyond recognition. This was no longer the 
developing body of a teen girl. I watched again as she 
dropped to her knees, and held her full breasts out for 
the audience. She gyrated to the music as her hands 
wandered up and down her trim body.
   Finding her in this place was unreal. I sometimes 
retreat to the city, to these familiar streets, when I 
feel restless. Every year, it happens more often. It's 
like I'm searching for something, but I don't know what 
it is. On this night, I had no idea what I was going to 
find.
   Kara, writhing to the music. So unexpected.
   I felt guilty for watching her. It's a feeling I had 
often indulged in during my first year as a teacher. I 
was in my early twenties then. The young girls would 
dress so provocatively, and my eyes would betray my 
interest. I would look down their shirts when they bent 
forward, or catch a glimpse the outline of their 
nipples through too-tight T-shirts. Then the guilt 
would hit me.
   I tried not to think about it too much. It's only 
natural, I argued to myself. These are young women, the 
same age as the girls who grace the covers of fashion 
magazines. They are the exact same girls I would have 
fantasized about endlessly in my own teen years. I 
couldn't beat myself up about a stray look now and 
again.
   When I'm teaching now, I barely think about it 
anymore. Every year, a new set of young girls come 
through my classroom, and sometimes I catch a view or 
two. No harm done. I don't worry about it anymore.
   In my first year, though, it made me nervous as 
hell, and I'll be damned if some of the girls didn't 
know it. They would wear the tightest little things 
their parents would let them get away with, and enjoyed 
the looks they got from the males students and teachers 
alike. 
   Kara was never like that. Whenever caught myself 
looking at her body, I had no excuse for myself, except 
perhaps that she was a girl I could have fallen in love 
with if I were her age. She was a sweet girl, who wore 
brightly coloured outfits, and lugged around this big 
beat-up backpack wherever she went. There was no 
attempt to be sexy. Cute, maybe, but not sexy.
   I wanted her even then. Perhaps not the same way I 
wanted her now, but enough to trigger guilt attacks 
most every time I saw her. 
   For the life of me, I couldn't think of why I should 
feel guilty now. In this seedy club, it was painfully 
clear that Kara was an adult. She crawled seductively 
around the stage, rolling her hips, and letting her 
beautiful breasts swing beneath her. I closed my eyes 
briefly. I had seen the act twice before, and knew what 
was coming next. I didn't want to watch, but I couldn't 
resist.
   Kara positioned herself at the edge of the stage on 
her knees, and bent forward with her ass in the air. 
Despite myself, my eyes were drawn to the crotch of her 
lacy red panties, and to the shape of the barely 
covered flesh beneath. She spread her legs at the 
knees, and brought her face to the floor. 
   It was an unabashed invitation for every man in the 
room to imagine themselves fucking her. She reached her 
hand back to her crotch, and traced one of her fingers 
along the outline of her pussy lips through the thin 
material. Every eye in the room watched as she rubbed 
herself lewdly. Whistles and cat calls filled the air. 
Finally, she pulled the crotch of the panties aside 
briefly, and gave the crowd a glimpse of the treasure 
beneath. 
   Her fingers danced along the moist lips of her 
pussy. She jerked her hips back and forth to the 
thrusts of an imaginary lover.
   " Do you want another ?" the waitress asked me. My 
face went red. I was so absorbed in Kara's dance that I 
hadn't even noticed her approach.
   " Uh, yeah. One more. "
   " Hey, " she nodded towards the stage. " She'll be 
done in a few minutes. Did you want to book her in the 
VIP room ?"
   The waitress didn't have to explain the term to me. 
I knew that it meant a session with Kara in a private 
room. In some of the classier strip clubs, no touching 
was allowed, but in a seedy joint like this, it was 
pretty much anything goes. 
   I looked up at the stage again. Kara was facing the 
audience again, and one by one, she was licking off 
those naughty fingers of hers. Yes, I wanted her. I'm 
not sure in what way I wanted her, but I know I did. I 
just couldn't let her walk away from me again without 
saying goodbye. 
   " Yeah, I'll take the room. "
   " Great. That's fifty up front for dancing. If you 
want anything else, you discuss it with the girl. "
   Anything else ? I wasn't sure if I even wanted the 
dancing. I wasn't sure why I wanted to go up there at 
all. But I did go up, and I waited silently in the 
scuzzy little VIP room while I heard her music continue 
in the lounge below. It would be a few minutes before 
her act was finished.
   There was nothing innocent about this place. Kara 
seemed so out of place in this world. It was so unlike 
the place she came from. The first time I drove away 
from the city, and into the farms and fruit stands of 
the valley, I knew that I was changing worlds. The 
school itself rose out the shimmering green of the 
surrounding corn fields.
   I didn't think I would ever fit in out there. I had 
grown up in the city. There was no way to prepare 
myself for the culture shock that I experience only an 
hour's drive away from where I was born. I could count 
three churches on my short drive to school in the 
morning. People were different here. More conservative. 
Everything that they believed in was about God, the 
local hockey team, and fields tall with corn.
   They might be the same fields that inspired W.P. 
Kinsella to write 'Field of Dreams'. In fact, he later 
moved out to the valley, not far from where I now live, 
and joined the scrabble club. Good wholesome fun, just 
like everything in the valley.
   That's the world Kara belonged in. Not here. The 
city is where I always belonged. I often came to this 
part of town as a teenager, and tried to get into the 
clubs and adult book stores. I never would have 
believed that I'd move away for a job in a rural 
school. When I come back here, during my restless 
times, I see how much it hasn't changed. Inside of it 
all, I haven't changed much either.
   Images of Kara as a teenager danced in my head. Not 
the lewd sexual dance I had witnessed minutes before, 
but the cheery bounce of her orange touque as she 
confidently made her way down the hallways of the 
junior high school.
   I remembered the last few days before she 
disappeared. Something was bothering her, I knew, but 
she still always greeted me with a smile. I've asked 
myself a thousand times why I didn't stop her, and ask 
her what was wrong. I was afraid, I guess. I was afraid 
of what I might do if I got too close.
   That Friday she turned in an essay on 'The Rocking 
Horse Winner'. Hers was the first in the class that I 
read. It was a wonderful piece of work, filled with 
references to British colonialism, and proclamations 
about the nature of our materialist culture. I was 
looking forward to returning it to her. She was always 
so happy to have done well.
   But she never came back. Over the weekend, she ran 
away. Her family looked for her for a long time. 
Rumours of abuse persisted, but I wasn't sure any of it 
was true. All I knew was that she was gone, and that it 
hurt me much more than it should have. I kept the essay 
in my top drawer for three years after that. I guess I 
always hoped that she would return.
   Eventually, her family moved away from the accusing 
eyes of the local folk, severing the last link between 
Kara and the valley.
   My memories of Kara were interrupted by her knock on 
the door. I was sitting at the edge of the bed, and 
suddenly, I was filled with anxiety. Would she 
recognize me ? I had lost some weight, and shaved off 
my beard. It was nothing compared to the change in 
Kara, and still, I had recognized her. 
   Part of me wanted her to recognize me right away. I 
don't know what I would have done. Maybe I would have 
talked to her about 'The Rocking Horse Winner', or life 
in the valley, or something else that would have seemed 
out of place in this scuzzy little room. 
   The other part of me, I'm ashamed to admit, just 
wanted her. To possess her for a few moments, in a way 
that I never could have possessed her when I knew her 
before. That part of me wanted her to be the stripper, 
the whore who was coming up to the room for my 
pleasure.
   She paused inside the doorway, and set down a pile 
of clothing on a chair. She was still wearing only the 
lacy red panties from her stage act.
   " How about we start with a little lap dance ?" Kara 
asked me. That was that. She had looked me in the eyes, 
and there was no recognition on her face. 
   Who the hell was I kidding ? Yes, I wanted her to 
give me a lap dance. That, and so much more. I wanted 
to be her lover. If I had wanted to be her teacher and 
her friend, I wouldn't have come up here. I would have 
walked out of the strip club hours ago, before watching 
her whole lewd stage act three times. Maybe I would 
have left a note or something. Sent flowers. I don't 
know.
   Instead, I was here, and I wanted this girl's body 
more than anything I had ever wanted in my life. I was 
selling every memory I had of her for just a little 
taste of it.
   Kara closed the door the small room, and approached 
me. On the stage, she had seemed larger than life. Her 
presence had filled the lounge. Here, she shrunk back 
in my perception to human size. In fact, she was still 
a petite girl, not much taller than when I saw her that 
last Friday.
   " I hope you like it, Mr. Simpson " she had said, a 
smile in her voice, when she had handed me her essay.
   She straddled my lap at the edge of the bed now, and 
held her tits out for me.
   " Mmmm, Do you like these ?" Her voice was low and 
full of sex.
   " Oh, yes. "
   She began to grind her body into mine to the rhythm 
of music borrowed from a dancer downstairs. I didn't 
want to look her in the eyes. My shame was burning into 
my chest. Even as she rubbed her breasts against me, I 
envisioned the form of little Kara in the orange 
touque. The little Kara I loved, but never this way.
   " You want a little something more than this, don't 
you ?" Kara whispered in my ear. Her breath was hot 
against my cheek. 
   " Yes. "
   " For fifty bucks, I'll ride you."
   The mention of money stung a little. Nothing about 
this felt right. I was turning my poor little Kara 
Boldt into a prostitute. I cast my eyes down to her 
body, and could see where the crumpled bills had been 
pushed under the waistband of her panties. 
   It wasn't me who did this to her, I argued silently. 
I was just taking my turn in a long line of men who 
ridden her for money. It's not my responsibility to 
save her.
   " Okay. " I couldn't resist. The lure of forbidden 
fruit was too great.
   Without any further communication, she slid herself 
off of the bed and went to get her purse. She pulled 
out a condom for us to use, and then knelt between my 
legs.
   " Oh, you're so hard for me, " she said in her porn 
star voice. She freed my penis from the confines of my 
clothing with a smooth expert motion.
   The feelings of guilt which lingered in the back of 
my head became fainter as I felt Kara's hand encircle 
the base of my cock, and felt her roll the condom onto 
me.
   She pushed me back onto the bed, with my lower legs 
still hanging over the edge, and positioned herself 
over my lap. I have no idea how she removed the panties 
without me knowing, but I could feel the heat of her 
bare pussy against my balls.
   The lips of her sex parted and slid slowly up the 
underside of my engorged cock. She paused there, my 
cock just outside of her opening. 
   Then, as simple as anything, I was inside of her. I 
slid into her wetness with such ease. 
   Kara began to bounce up and down on penis, making 
sounds of faked lust. Her inner thighs slapped against 
my legs with every stroke. For her, this was routine. 
Her eyes were closed, and she seemed almost tired. 
After a long night of stripping, and god knows how many 
visits to this room, I don't know how she managed the 
energy to bounce her well-used body up and down on my 
lap. But she wasn't here for me, I tried to remind 
myself. She was here for the money, and that's all I 
was to her.
   But she was so much more than that to me. With her 
eyes now closed, I drank in every feature of her face. 
This was more than I had ever dared to allow myself to 
fantasize about my sweet Kara. I tried to picture her 
without the make-up, without the ankle bracelet, and 
without the washed-in blonde that covered her 
wonderfully auburn hair. I tried to think of how she 
would look with hair on her shaved pussy.
   My guilt was lost while I was inside of her. My 
whole world was centred on her breathless body, bucking 
up and down on my prick. I wanted to make this last. 
Maybe even forever, if I could. Kara's breath was 
becoming rough. Still she kept up the movements with 
same sense of urgency. 
   " Ungh... ungh...ungh... oh god, yesss...you're so 
hard, " she said rhythmically. I didn't need my ego 
stroked. Everything about her was turning me on. I 
reached my hands up and gently cupped her breasts in 
them. In response, she bent forward enough that they 
were close to my mouth, all without missing a stroke. 
   She was like a well oiled machine. Her breath blew 
hot over my face as she continued to push her exhausted 
body to the limit. On and on she pushed herself, while 
waves of pleasure tickled my brain. Each motion of her 
body brought me closer to climax.
   Sensing my impending orgasm, Kara slowed herself 
down. Her chest rose and fell quickly from the exertion 
of riding me. 
   Her face came to beside mine now, and I found her 
body in my arms. She was so very warm. I wondered how 
many times she had ridden men this exact way. Her 
technique was flawless.
   Kara's lips were at my ears.
   " You don't want to cum in a condom, do you ?"
   I had no idea what she was getting at. She slowed 
herself further. Her hips were just barely moving 
against me. It was maddening.
   " If you want, " she continued her pitch. " I'll let 
you cum on my face. Ten bucks extra. "
   There was no debate. I was in the palm of her hands. 
God, yes, I wanted to cum on this whore's face, and I 
needed to cum so very badly.
   Kara dismounted me, and dropped herself back to the 
floor at the end of the bed. I began to sit up. She 
slipped one of her long, polished fingernails under the 
edge of the condom, and pulled it off of me. 
   Then I was in heaven. Her mouth took me fully in a 
single motion. Without even a slight pause, she took me 
into her throat. She began to ride my cock again, this 
time with her face.
   I was on the edge of the bed again now. I allowed 
one of my hands to take her by the back of the head. 
Yes, that felt right. 
   She was still breathing rapidly from her exertion, 
but now could only do so through her nose. 
   Slow again. My cock was swelling in her mouth, and 
she wanted to finish this right.
   Her hand pumped up and down on my shaft while she 
slowly allowed my cock to dislodge from her throat. 
Finally, as the head of my cock emerged from her lips, 
covered with saliva, she began to tilt her head 
backwards.
   The underside of my cock rested over her bottom lip. 
Her mouth remained open, and she teased the tip of my 
cock with her tongue while her hand still pumped me.
   I looked down at her now, with nothing but lust in 
my heart. She was my sweet little orange touque girl, 
and I didn't give a fuck. I was going to cum on her 
face. Her mouth was begging for it, and her eyes looked 
seductively into mine, coaxing me to cum.
   But there was something else in her eyes at that 
very last moment. It was something that transformed 
her. Recognition. In the moment that my balls began to 
release my cum, in that very last instant as I could 
feel my load pumping out of my cock, she had recognized 
me.
   Unmistakably, she knew who I was, and at that 
moment, I just didn't care. One jet of my cum sprayed 
out onto her face, landing on her nose and forehead.
   " Take it, bitch, " I grunted. Every sensation told 
me how very good it felt to degrade this whore.
   A second stream of cum hit her on the cheek, and ran 
down towards her ear.
   Two or three more times, my cock spurted onto Kara's 
surprised face, these ones landing on her upper lip and 
dribbling into her mouth. My whole body shook from the 
powerful sensations. 
   Then, when the lust was gone, I was hit by a 
suppressed wave of guilt and shame.
   It was surprising how quickly the emotions came upon 
me. In one second, I was enraptured with the feeling of 
spilling my seed into Kara's mouth. She was just a 
whore in that moment. Simply there to satisfy my urges. 
The next moment, I was looking into the eyes of a 
fourteen year runaway.
   " I'm sorry... I'm so, so sorry... ," I told her. 
I'm not sure what I was apologizing about. Everything, 
really. I was sorry because I had used her this way. I 
was sorry that I had watched her strip all evening. I 
was sorry that I hadn't tried to help her before she 
ran away. Sorry because in my heart, I had always 
wanted to possess her.
   I was on my knees beside her, hugging her close to 
me. Kara was crying. I could feel her warm body shaking 
up against me. She had no strength left.
   " Please forgive me, " I begged.
   She kissed me softly. Her face was wet from tears, 
sweat, and cum. I didn't care. The kiss was real. That 
was all I cared about. I was crying with her now, as we 
continued to kiss. For the first time in years, I knew 
what I needed to do.
   Finally, I broke from the kiss..
   " Come home with me Kara... you've been lost for too 
long. "

---

Comments can be forwarded to: orestes007@hotmail.com
All of my stories can be found at: 
ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Orestes
