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ORANGE1 hurt much more than


" Orange Touque 1 "

By 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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
" 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
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,'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
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
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. "


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