by Frank Martinet
Most teenage girls, caught in the supply closet with their mouth around the wet, swollen shaft of a boy, would have reacted with shame or at least an expression of guilt. Some might have tried to bolt or pretend they were doing something else. But not Taylor Ford. She just glared up at the teacher, growled a "Do you mind?" with a sweet smile, and went back to work as though the woman wasn't there.
Mrs. Davis was so startled by this reaction she hesitantly closed the door and went on, actually unsure if she'd seen what she'd thought she'd seen. "I must have been imagining it," she told herself. "Sweet little Taylor wouldn't be doing that!"
Far from being a rare and odd event, this was typical in the life of the petite blond. She was genetically blessed with such an innocent face that scarcely anyone could believe she was guilty of anything. With her flawless pale skin and platinum gold hair - in delicate ringlets around her round head - she was angelic in appearance. Her eyes were obsidian black, creating a striking contrast, and made her seem intense and interesting. Her nose was tiny and on the flat side, but it was her mouth that was the most unusual. It was like a miniature version of Jack Nickelson's Joker's smile except it wasn't makeup or a disfigurement. It was merely the cutest smile possible: tiny with a little dip in the center of the upper lip and narrowing into up-curled slits on each side like some perfect line drawing of a grin. The plump cheeks were topped with disgustingly cute dimples and Taylor Ford's rosy face was complete.
Just looking at Taylor's face you'd be hard-pressed to guess her age - somewhere between twelve and twenty. In truth she was just turned eighteen and had the body to prove it. She was small, but those short stocky legs led up to the roundest rear end you've ever seen. She was generous in the hips and her ass was as plump as a swollen Ballpark hot dog. Such a low center of gravity was made more obvious by the narrowness of her tiny waist. Her single flaw, at least from her perspective, was that she was shallow in the chest. Her breasts were tiny like the rest of her, a fact that irritated her tremendously - but in truth this added to her elf-like appeal and made her seem more innocent and less mature. It was a key aspect of her Teflon nature.
Taylor could smile sweetly at just about anyone and get them to do whatever she wanted. Grown men saw those tiny lips and either saw their own daughters and sympathized, or they imagined how rude she'd look with that small mouth ensconced around their thick, pulsing member. Boys saw a smoking hot girl and just wanted to be near her, to see her pleased with them, and would do anything she asked. Women saw a darling girl perfect for their sons, or were desperate to recognize themselves or their own daughters in her beauty, while fellow girls found it hard to be jealous of such a friendly smile and just wanted to be her friend and trade sweaters and makeup tips. Yet despite appearances, Taylor was decidedly not a nice girl. She was vain, cold-hearted, and an expert manipulator. For her entire life she'd done whatever she wanted and gotten away with it. She stole money from her mother's purse and justified it with a smile. She came home three hours past curfew and kissed her bewildered father on the nose, his fury mysteriously vanishing. She skipped classes, hung out with boys of all types and ages, smoked, drank adult beverages, partied, shoplifted, and never once paid a speeding ticket. She didn't do her homework and failed tests but still managed a 3.5 GPA via special extra credit assignments teachers were delighted to offer her. Taylor could brim her eyes with tears in an instant, and it would take a far stronger constitution than she'd ever met to resist that sad puppy dog pout, and she knew it. Taylor ruled the world.
At least that was the case until that fateful Saturday when she met the witch.
It was such an inconsequential event Taylor never even realized it happened. She was pulling into the packed mall parking lot with three of her girlfriends in her new red Volkswagen Beetle when she spotted an SUV's brake lights go on in the next aisle over as it prepared to depart. Quick as a flash she slipped down that lane, going against the traffic direction arrow, and snagged the spot the moment the SUV had backed out. She and her friends flooded out of the Bug like fleeing mice, Taylor noticing the furiously muttering woman in the Prius who'd been patiently waiting for the opening.
Taylor first realized that something was wrong an hour later, when the saleswoman at the Gap blocked her from leaving. "Excuse me, Miss, but you have to pay for that top."
"Huh? What are you talking about?" Taylor beamed her most powerful Helpless Little Girl smile.
"That's our sweater under your coat."
"No, no, I bought this last week."
"It still has the tags on it."
"I haven't taken them off. I'm still testing it."
At that moment a mall security guard showed up and Taylor knew she wasn't getting away with it. Stupid bitch, she thought.
"I was going to pay for it," she told the woman sweetly. "I just forgot."
"Sure, honey."
Taylor looked for her friends and was shocked to see that she was utterly alone. As the guard escorted her away, she looked up and down the mall and didn't see Ashley and the others anywhere. She'd been deserted!
In the guard's office, Taylor went on full assault. The man was heavy with greasy hair and crooked teeth - he'd be no match for her charms. Her smile was dazzling and she touched his hand and shoulder several times as she spoke in a low, soothing voice. She told him it was just a silly misunderstanding, how she was with her friends and she'd thought Ashley had paid for the sweater with her purchase, and couldn't the man help a poor girl out? She blinked her wide eyes and grinned cutely.
"Set yer ass down," growled the man rudely, pushing her into a chair. He sat behind a desk and began to fill out paperwork. Taylor's heart fluttered with confusion. What the hell was happening? Was the guy gay or something? She'd never had this happen before in her life. By now the guy should have been a drooling idiot ready to pay her to keep the sweater!
"What are you doing?"
"Got to file a report."
"A report? You mean, like the police?"
"Of course. And your parents."
"Oh come on, please. This was all just a mistake, as I explained! Can't you just let me go? I'll pay for the sweater! I've got my credit card right here." She reached for her purse, the purse the man had confiscated and placed on his desk. His meaty paw caught hers.
"Don't you move, young lady. You're in real trouble."
"This isn't fair! I didn't do anything."
"Anything but steal."
"Please, I'll pay for it. Just don't call the police." Taylor was becoming desperate, practically throwing herself upon the repugnant man, conspicuously sitting herself on the desk in front of him and moving the papers aside with her butt. She put her hands on the man's poorly-shaved face and looked at him earnestly, pleading with an exaggerated frown.
The guard was stone, however. "Remove that stolen garment, Miss. It's evidence for my report." He gently pushed her off his desk.
Taylor stood, aghast, and angrily removed her coat and the offending sweater. Inspired, she kept on going, removing her shirt as well, and playfully pretending it was accident. She noticed him ogling her tiny tits in the push-up bra and decided to forego all subtlety.
"Like what you see, mister? I can lose the bra if you'll be my friend..."
"Miss, does your father know you're behaving like this? If you were my daughter I'd-" He stopped.
"You'd what?" In just her bra and jeans, Taylor was feeling sexy and desperate. She arched her back and rotated her butt toward the man, patting the generous ball of flesh and giggling. "You'd spank me?"
"That's precisely correct, you little tramp. I'd whip your ass watermelon red!"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"It would be just what you deserve," said the man grimly. "But I'll just have to let the cops deal with you."
"Oh no, please, you can't! I can't have a criminal record. It'll ruin my chances for college!"
"You should have thought of that before you stole that sweater."
"Oh please, sir. I'll do anything. Just don't call the cops." Taylor was at a loss as to how to seduce the implacable man. He didn't seem to respond at all to her normal flirting. The only time he'd shown life was when he talked about spanking her.
Wait a second, she thought suddenly. Maybe that's the approach.
Looking contrite, she dropped her eyes demurely and purred, "You're absolutely right, sir. I do deserve a whipping."
"Stop the act, blondie."
"I'm serious, sir, I am. You're right. I'm an awful, awful person. I deserve to be punished." The tears flowed easily, but the man just glared at her.
"Those aren't real tears. If I paddled you, then you'd shed real tears!"
"Then do it!" gasped Taylor, desperate. "Spank me like you think I deserve, only don't call the police!"
For the first time, the man hesitated. "Are you serious?"
"Totally," Taylor lied.
"It would have to be a real spanking. Not pretend or play. It would hurt. You'd cry."
It was Taylor's turn to hesitate. What was she getting herself into? Perhaps she should take her chances with the cops. She usually could talk her way out of anything. The cops would have to be better than this creep. But Taylor's usual infallible confidence was weakened by her encounter with the repugnant saleswoman and this guard. She suddenly wasn't quite so sure. Besides, if she was arrested, wouldn't that show up on her record even if she convinced the officer to let her off? Maybe it was better to just let this perv do what he wanted and spare herself the risk.
"Yes sir," she said slowly. "I understand. I'll take the spanking if you don't call the police."
"Hmmm. Unorthodox, but you would be getting punished. Probably worse than the slap on the hand the cops would give you. Okay, I'll do it. But you'd better cooperate or I'll just go back to filling out this report."
That's how sweet-looking young Taylor found herself draped over a strange man's desk with her jeans and panties down around her ankles. Only this time it wasn't to spread her naughty pussy lips to some dude she barely knew, but to present her bare ass for the man's heavy leather belt. That leather stung like a mother, too. Taylor squealed and yelped, hissing angrily at the guard and begging him to go easier on her. The fiery blasts of the belt ignited her entire butt and after just a few blistering slaps her eyes were watering and she was regretting her situation.
"Ah! Oh! Ouch! Oooh, please! Not so ha-arrd! Ahhhhh!"
"Stay still. Stop wiggling, you disgusting tramp! You're just getting what you deserve."
The belt licked and kissed and bit. Taylor squirmed, wiggling her ass like she hadn't since her freshman year when she'd dared belly dancing at senior Scott Worstle's party during "Truth or Dare." She knew she was giving the guy a show, but couldn't help it. The belt hurt too much for her to just lie there and take it.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.