AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is an updated version of the story that was posted on Literotica under the name Roger Simian. BTW: It's SUPPOSED to have the weird punctuation. Just me being a bit wacky and experimental - haha
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Severine Heart grinned as strands of red hair flew out around her head. She breathed in the cool Highland air and sighed contentedly. She had always fantasised about driving a big old open-topped car like this. It was a real lush vehicle. Decadent and pink. Clay Corby was sooo fucking rich. There was no denying it. He had two convertibles exactly the same model (one blue and one red) back at the small Scottish castle he now called home.
*I feel like Lady Penelope* giggled Severine turning to glance at the rockstar.
*Go faster!* said Clay. His cruel lip curled mischievously.
Severine glanced at the speedo. She was already doing 75 but she pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator and giggled/ steering the car around the sharp twists and bends of this narrow country road.
The sun blazed down across the beautiful Highland scenery. The sky was as blue as she had ever known it. Driving at this speed though - with the top rolled right back - she could feel the cold air biting at her cheeks. She shivered/ nipples poking hard through the material of her blouse.
Severine wondered if Clay had noticed this. He had a devilish smile on his face so she was fairly certain that he had. Clay did actually look kind of like the Devil with those dark eyes/ that messy black hair/ cheeky little goatee.
He was muttering something to her now but the rush of cold air carried his words away.
*Hmn?*
He spoke again but she couldnt make out a word. She lifted her foot from the accelerator/ slowing right down until she was travelling at a steady 50. *What was that?*
*I said youre a good driver.*
*Thanks.* This was the first open compliment the rockstar had paid her in the two weeks since he had entered her life. She felt his big rough hand pressing down warm against her knee and blushed like a schoolgirl.
~~~~~
Clay Corby loved the way this girl smiled at him with those glazed pouting lips. She was so pretty and innocent: skin soft and unblemished like a peach/ fiery red hair falling over pale shoulders. She was a real English Rose but there was something else there too. Something wild. Was it the vaguely mocking tone of her voice? The hint of danger behind those blue eyes? The way she had parted her legs just then as he brushed his hand *accidentally* up over her thigh? Uh-huh. Somewhere deep inside this well-spoken 19-year-old there was a shameless harlot just itching to escape. All the girl really needed was a good teacher/ someone older and wiser to guide her through these difficult times.
~~~~~
Severine had noticed the way the rockstar was studying her. He had that dark look in his eyes again. She felt her cheeks flush.
Clay leaned in close and pressed his rough lips against her cheek/ running his fingers over her breasts through the material of her blouse. He was so close. She could smell his skin. He flicked a finger over each nipple/ watching them stiffen. This was the first time the Californian had touched her in such a sensual way. He ran his tongue over her neck. Severine breathed in through flared nostrils/ enjoying the dreamy daze of arousal.
~~~~~
For the past two weeks the American had tormented Severine by making her watch all the twisted sex games he liked to play with his entourage of friends and groupies. The rockstars castle had become the venue for countless displays of decadence. The sorts of sado-masochistic goings-on that she had only ever read about in erotic novels.
Frank allowed the English girl to watch wide-eyed as these weird leather-clad strangers fondled/ sucked/ fucked and beat each other in that dark chamber beneath the castle. She was never invited to participate herself. How cruel.
Lying alone in the darkness of the guest room Severine often recalled those squirming leather-clad bodies bound and chained down there in the dungeon. She imagined herself strapped spread-eagled and naked face-down on the rough wooden table - her breasts squashed beneath her body - begging for just one more crack of the whip.
Each night she tossed and turned/ aching to feel Clays rough hands smacking hard against the soft flesh of her buttocks. She silently willed the wicked American to burst into her bedroom and thrust his erection into her mouth or bury his face between her thighs. In her mind she urged him to lick her roughly/ without any delicacy/ to squeeze her breasts and buttocks until it exploded through her/ leaving her squealing and shuddering.
In reality none of these things had happened. Every miserable night shed had to content herself with her own hand. Each time - as the contractions pulsated through her exhausted body - shed been left physically satisfied but ultimately empty and alone. Neglected.
~~~~~
The English Rose changed gears and accelerated. She was so deep in her thoughts that it was a few moments before she realised that Clay had unfastened three buttons of her blouse and was now slipping his hand inside. *You cant do that* she said/ shocked by his action.
*Why not?*
*Because... because someone might see us.*
*Have you noticed a single other car since we left the village?*
Severine shrugged her shoulders.
*Well then.* The American caressed her naked breast.
