Dottie Reuter inhaled sharply as firm hands reached up, cupping her petite breasts, "So fucking beautiful." Her partner whispered, the delicate caress of his breath on her ear sending chills snaking down the eighteen-year-old's spine.
"They-They're not t-too small?" She asked, whimpering as his fingers tweaked her pierced nipples.
"They're perfect," He replied, softly and into her ear, "You're perfect, my fallen angel."
Another whimper escaped her painted lips, "Oh god."
"My needy little slut," He murmured, slowly running a hand down from her breast, inching towards her hot throbbing core.
Her breath hitched, a finger was closing in on her pussy. Just as it reached, her eyes opened, and she found herself back in her dark room, laying under her blood red covers, the vicious blizzard of a kind one could only witness in the state of Minnesota still rapping at her window.
Dottie swept her covers off and sat up, running a hand through her medium-length light blue and black-dyed hair. She shivered slightly as cool air brushed against her soaked and hotly throbbing crotch. Biting one of her heavily pierced lips, she, almost unconsciously, spread her legs slightly, as if to accept some invisible lover.
She slipped a hand under her light blue panties, past the bramble of reddish pubic hair, and slowly sunk one finger into her tight sopping pussy. Dottie let her eyes slide closed and began pumping the finger in and out, soft whimpers occasionally escaping her lips. Her other hand grasped at one of her bare breasts, and after a short pant, added a second finger, stretching her pussy almost painfully.
Dottie let out a soft moan, continuing to fuck herself, even as a coil began tightening in her abdomen. Unwarranted, a face appeared in her mind's eye, light blonde hair, kind grey eyes, and a small handsome smile. Dottie's pussy clamped down on her fingers, her body gave a little spasm, and a rush of wetness drenched the palm of her hand.
Panting, the eighteen year-old laid back, directing her gaze up towards her room's poster-decorated ceiling. What seemed like hours later, Dottie sighed, returning to a position under the covers and proceeded to grab her phone and attached earbuds off the end-table. Popping each in, she started up a hastily-chosen playlist and relaxed, letting her eyes slide closed.
Several hours later, at six o' clock in the morning, Dottie awoke, her eyes shooting wide open as an alarm blared from her cellphone. Sweeping the covers off, she quickly dashed out of bed and down the hall towards her bathroom, she could already faintly hear the upstairs shower running, most likely her father, Amos Reuter, getting ready to take the eighteen-year-old to the airport. She hastily brushed her teeth, did her makeup, and dashed back towards her room, throwing on a pair of ripped jeans and a black t-shirt.
Dottie shrugged on a heavily-embellished leather jacket, "Oregon here I come." She muttered, looking herself in the eyes using a wall-mounted mirror.
"Sweetie? Are you ready?" Laura Reuter, her mother, shouted from the staircase to the second floor.
"Almost, Mom!" She replied, stepping into a pair of tall leather boots, quickly lacing them up before snatching her suitcase and carry-on.
"Well, come on then!" Her mother shouted, "Your plane leaves at eight-thirty!"
"It isn't like I'm going to be late," Dottie sniped, rolling her eyes and strolling out of her room, down the second hall, through the workshop, and out the front door, into the patio under the second-floor deck, in contrast to hours before, the blizzard had receded to a light flurry. Wolf Reuter, her uncle who served as Captain aboard some nuclear submarine, hopped down from the staircase up to the deck, a garment bag slung over his shoulder.
"Seeya, kiddo," He said, hastily making his way over to the Reuter estate's carport, throwing the garment bag into the back of a bright blue nineteen-seventy-seven Chevrolet corvette before getting in himself.
