Scenarios On Ice

pictures [pt. 1]

REACHING under the cushion, Elizabeth Wilson pulled out a bottle of firewhiskey. She'd never drank before, but now felt like the perfect time to start.

Three shots in and she was already feeling very warm and much better about herself. The portrait opened and a boy walked in. If he was shocked to see the normally stringent Elizabeth Wilson drunk, he didn't show it. Rather he sat down and asked her why she felt it necessary to pinch from his stash. Taking another shot she relayed the story to him and poured her heart out. When she was done he didn't say anything, he merely leaned forward and kissed her. She accepted the kiss and before long she was putting all her frustration from being rejected by Lorcan into giving this boy the snog of his life. She drank more of the whiskey and at some point her blazer and tie came off before she was being carried upstairs to his room. Everything else was a bit hazy after that.

When she woke up, her head was pounding and her mouth tasted like she had given her pet cat a bath with her tongue. She stretched her legs and that was when she realized she wasn't alone. There was an arm over her waist that curled in reflexively pulling her closer when she tried to move away. As her backside touched the skin of that person, she realized she was naked. Knowing that there was only one person that it could possibly be, she steeled herself and rolled over to look into the teal eyes of a Plisetsky.

"Morning, love," he said with a sarcastic smirk. She concentrated very hard on not screaming and shimmied out from under him to try to retreat back to her own room. She only got as far two steps away before he was up and had snaked a hand between her thighs, his long fingers gripping the tender flesh to tug her back to him. When she stumbled he pushed his arms under her and lifted her back to the center of his bed, laying his lean, naked body on top of hers. "Where do you think you're going? You promised me another round in the morning."

"Another what?" Elizabeth was horrified. Not only was she intimately pressed up against who could be her fifth grade bully or her best friend's nemesis, it had become apparent that she had done something with him last night. "I don't have to do anything, Plisetsky, now get off of me." She had to get out of there. Most of all she had to prevent Henry and Lorcan from finding out.

"Ah-ah-ah," he chastised. "You promised me and I intend to collect. You put on one hell of a performance last night, Wilson. If I hadn't seen the blood for myself I would never have believed that last night was your first time."

Eliza went cold. She was sore between her legs and Plisetsky's comments made her freeze. She couldn't have, could she? "I don't believe you," she whispered.

"Oh you don't, hm?" he smirked at her discomfort. "How about I give you some proof? You were more than willing to smile for the camera." Leaning over her, he retrieved a set of pictures, but not before bending to her exposed breast to flick his tongue across her sensitive pink nipple.

"How did you get pictures developed so quickly if they were taken last night?" she asked, dread filling her stomach.

"I created a dark room in my closet. Photography has always been a side hobby of mine. Once you were asleep I had to get these developed, they were too good to wait. You talk in your sleep, by the way."

"I do not!" she retorted before taking the stack of moving pictures he offered. Once she got them she was horrified. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined doing these things, much less with a Plisetsky boy. In one picture, she continually opened her bra and massaged her own breasts while licking her lips at the photographer. In another, she was giving him head and looking up at the camera to wink suggestively. In another she masturbated while wearing his emerald-green tie and nothing else, and the final ones were the worst. In each successive one she was wrapped around Plisetsky, her hips moving in a desperate attempt to get her own pleasure. In some she was submissive, in others she moved like a wanton little whore. It appeared that they had exhausted every possible position and in each one she was obviously enjoying herself.