by Carrie
Diary of A Rich Girl – Chapter 107
Farrelli was losing his patience, “Answer the boy.” Even though the boy looked 12 and was half my height I said, “He’s not a boy. He’s 18.” Farrelli said, “That’s irrelevant. You know better than to behave like riff-raff, especially someone with your social pedigree.” He meant that I was expected to remain numb, not get pissed off by what that little twit, or should I say pervert said to me. I was to answer the question perfunctorily.
The boy, excuse me, the young esteemed gentleman asked me again, “Is that really true?” Well, an answer doesn’t mean you have to open your mouth so I offered a minimal shrug. The boy, sorry, the little twit looked at Mr. Farrelli who looked at the boy who looked at me — this was getting ridiculous — I looked at them and no one was satisfied.
“Do you really come down here pretending you don’t want a spanking then wait until my dad will gives you one? Because I bet he makes you wait real long. I can tell it drives a fancy type like you crazy.” I had my own premonitions that he jerked off to Paris Hilton (the recent Nobel Prize winner for Physics), then banged his head against the wall.
It took the utmost nerve not to ask him how he could tell. So I finagled, “Just how could anyone tell if a girl wants to be spanked?” “I can tell.” He was full of shit. “Really? You have some kind of spank detector?” He laughed at that and said to his dad, “Hey that’s a good idea. Maybe we ought to get one.” I was thinking of a 4 by 4 cell to lock him in, and not for just the day.
Farrelli walked over to the front door of his quaint little tailor shop and turned the closed sign around so it would face the street. The side I was now looking at said Open. I didn’t want to read into what that might mean, but I had a feeling it meant open season.
“You still haven’t answered my boy.” I wanted my dress for the gala. It was only an arm’s length away. Marco folded his arms like his dad. I wanted to grab his new PSP and say, “Gimme the dress or you don’t get to play Grand Theft Auto.”
He read my mind. He slipped the PSP into his pocket. His eyes dropped to my Manilo Blahnik strapped day sandals. The heels brought me up to 6 feet. The kid crossed his legs and showed me his Jumpman Jeters, the kind my younger brother needs for smoking pot and sleeping all day, then settled in.
Marco was busy checking out the pussy. I wasn’t too sure if he was a leg man or a tit man, but he was a pussyman nonetheless. He took his time. Enjoyed what he saw. I was fucking material and he made no bones about it.
I tried to lift up my low rise jeans to cover the snippet of lacy panty that showed, but didn’t have much luck. I’ve been told by certain jocksters I’ve got good long legs and you’ll need at least an hour to cover everything that is if your eyes don’t tire. The boy was still waiting for an answer, but wasn’t in so much of a rush now. He was thinking of giving me a good fucking against my will. There was no love in his eyes.