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“I’m still wondering how you managed to find yourself all the way out here, this is super far from where you said you’re from.” Owen states, looking in your direction from the love seat he’s sat on. You’re on the sofa, a blanket draped around your still shivering form.
You found yourself in this stranger’s house by happenstance; you’d run away from home, from everything happening there, everything with your parents – but you didn’t even know where you were going. You’d just kept moving, ending up somewhere you’d never seen before. Wherever you’d ended up, the street names were completely unfamiliar to you. You kinda just figured you wouldn’t make it, that you’d be murdered or something other, and you’d just disappear, never having had a chance to truly be happy.
But just when you’d finally accepted your fate, when the temperature began to drop terribly low, putting any hope you might’ve had like water quenching a fire, it had been ignited by this strange man… Owen, he’d said his name was. He gave you a blanket, and somehow got you into his car, and soon after, his home. It’s cozy, and warm. Your mind swirls with confusion and everything seems bleary.
“What was that?” You manage to mutter out, casting your tired gaze up at the man who’s taken you in. He has olive skin and brilliant brown eyes, as well as plump lips. Under any other circumstances, you’d think he was quite handsome, but you’re not exactly in your right mind at the moment.
Owen shakes his head, a slight smile on his broad face. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” He continues. “Is there anything you need, anything at all? Food, water?”
Even if your stomach thinks your throat’s been torn out with how hungry you are, having not eaten for days on end, you shake your head. You don’t want to be a bother any further, you’re almost sure this kind man must’ve had plans that weren’t taking care of your sorry ass.
“Are you sure?” Owen asks, concern apparent in his voice and features. You can’t help but wonder, how can he be so… kind to someone he’s barely known for an hour and a half. But you’re thankful regardless. Nodding, you try to break a smile, but it must’ve fallen into a grimace, gauging by Owen’s reaction.
“I’ll make you something to eat. Try to get warm, okay?” He stands and trods off to his kitchen, not listening to if you were going to argue or not. When he leaves, you sit and just stare at the floor, weighing where you could go from here. Surely you wouldn’t be here long? You couldn’t. People would come looking…right? You shudder, the sheer weight of your sadness bearing down on you. God, this is so fucked. Where would you even go? Home? As if. You don’t want to be there, nor are you wanted.
Interrupting your spiraling thoughts is Owen returning to the living room, a paper plate in hand. Your stomach rumbles when you smell it, is it, hm, eggs? Honestly, you’d settle for gravel right now if it would calm your growling belly. He places the plate on the coffee table in front of you, and you see he’s made you an egg sandwich. Still feeling slightly uneasy, you look up almost warily at Owen as he sits back down, this time on the same couch as yourself. At a comfortable distance, thankfully. After taking another glance at him, you slowly put the plate in your lap, and begin eating the meal that’d been prepared for you.
You eat unhurriedly at first, not wanting to seem as ravenous as you truly are. But alas, you eventually give in, horking down your food at a brisk, speedy pace. You finish your food quickly, wiping your mouth with your hands. Hearing Owen chuckle, you turn to face him, and see him smiling once again.
“You really must’ve been hungry, huh? You don’t have to reply, it doesn’t seem like you like to talk much…?” You can tell by the way his observation trails off it’s less of that and more of a question.
You clear your throat. “I can speak.” Is all you say. “I’m just…tired, honestly.”
“And that’s okay.” Owen says sympathetically, placing a hand next to where your leg rests on the seat. You don’t move away, mostly because you lack the energy to do so. “Look, I don’t need to know your story, you can stay for a while, it’s no problem. I’ll help you.” He leans in. “And I guess that starts with getting you settled, right?” He smiles at you again, and you finally acknowledge how handsome he is. “I have some spare clothes, they’re too small for me now, so perhaps you can use them?” He proposes; if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he was looking over your pudgy form.
You suddenly grow suspicious as the situation sets in for you. Why was this guy being so hospitable? Was there something he wanted from you? You push the worry to the back of your mind, even if that might be foolish. You decide to put your comfort first, for now. You feel yourself growing even more tired as the sleepiness from the food coma sets in, and if Owen really lets you stay here, you’d be incredibly grateful for a comfortable place to sleep. The last couple nights, you’ve been sleeping in makeshift cot-nest types, made from whatever discarded clothes you could find, draped over a base of tall grass, dried with the winter. You pitied yourself, praying for better but knowing better would never come. It seems you were wrong in that regard, though. After a few moments, you reply quietly:
“That would work.”
Owen shows you around his home, stopping at the bathroom and telling you to wait there while he gets you some clothes, a towel and a washcloth. You do as he says, getting antsy for whatever reason. But you’re relieved when Owen returns with the aforementioned items in his arms, and a warm smile on his face. You try to smile back, taking the things from him and going into the bathroom, closing the door behind yourself. You sigh, walking over to start the shower and then setting the items in your vice onto the counter. When you look up at yourself in the mirror, you almost don’t recognize yourself. Since when did your hair get so matted? No wonder peoples’ kids stared at you as they drove by. You’re a mess!
Still looking in the mirror, you begin to undress yourself, from your outer layers, to your undergarments, until you’re completely nude. in a stranger’s home. You’re still not over that bizarre factor in all this, but you don’t want to think about it. You look over your full form, a newfound gratitude for it in your mind. What if you’d been nothing more than a twig? You might’ve succumbed to borderline starvation, even if it hadn’t been that long that you’d been out.
You scratch at your hair, feeling sad at your own appearance. Everything would be better soon. This is the start to the road of recovery. Surely.
After wallowing in self-pity, you find comfort in the warmth of the shower, loving the feeling of the water running over your admittedly grimy skin. You spend quite a while washing, but are grateful when you step out of the now steam-filled restroom, taking a deep breath of cool air. Despite your buxomness, the clothes Owen had given you sagged upon your person. You didn’t have your bra on, as it had gotten soiled by sweat during your aimless trek. Same with your underwear. So you’re without undergarments, but that shouldn’t be an issue, yeah? You hope so.
You look around for Owen, and find him sitting on the couch. When you approach him, he smiles at you once more. You catch him looking you over again, but ignore it still. It’s dark outside now, but you’re not sure exactly how late it is. Does it really matter?
“I bet you’re tired.” Owen says suddenly, and you snap back to attention. “You can sleep in my bed, I’ll sleep out here. I’m sure you need the rest.”
You open your jaws to protest, but he interrupts you.
“It’s no issue, really. You deserve it, if you really trekked as far as you say.” Owen chuckles, standing with a grunt. He walks over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You think that’s quite brazen, but stay silent as you have been. Owen guides you to his bedroom, asking you if you need anything else before he leaves you to sleep. When you say no, he leaves you, turning off the light and leaving the door cracked on his way out. You take notice of such, but think nothing of it as you quickly slip into sleep.
You’re awoken from your somewhat deep slumber by a strange sensation between your legs. When you open your eyes, your vision is slightly hazy, but clears up eventually. You’re looking at the ceiling, but your eyes quickly dart down to your open legs, but it doesn’t take long for you to hastily close them. You scream at the sight: Owen slipping his middle and index fingers into you, his other hand rests beside your now bare hip; he’s slipped your – his – ill-fitting shorts off you. He’s on his knees right in front of you, and you see he has no pants on, and his hard cock is dripping with precum. Owen looks up at you with panic as you scream, and he pulls his hand away, and now you’re both looking at each other dumbfoundedly.
“What are you doing?!” You exclaim. You start to yell again, but Owen has the gall to interrupt you.
“Hey, wait!” He yells over you. “Look, I helped you, didn’t I?” The question isn’t rhetorical. “So just…Let me have this.” You frown, but consider what he says. He did help you in your time of need – great need. You might’ve been dead without this man, this stranger. So this is only fair.
…Right?
You lay your upper half back down, a whimper of fear escapes you as you look away from Owen. He sighs as you let him continue, wasting no time sliding his fingers back inside you. You whine as it goes on, it feels so wrong and weird, but in a way, it’s…good? You gradually find your noises being fueled by enjoyment rather than discomfort. You hated this, but you were loving it. You’d never had sex before, and you’d never even put your fingers inside; You’d only ever rubbed your fingers over your clit, but this was so much better.
You sigh as Owen pulls his digits out, but he soon replaces them with his throbbing member, though he struggles to get it inside. You cry quietly in pain, biting your lower lip to keep it from quivering.
“Please,” You don’t even know what you’re asking for. “I’ve never done this before-” Your words are cut off by another cry of yours as Owen pushes himself deeper inside, stretching you out painfully.
“Oh trust me,” He groans with effort. “I can tell, you’re super tight.” He sighs as he gets in a decent amount. Owen keeps his girth in for a moment, then slowly pulls it out; he repeats it a few times at a leisurely pace, before speeding up, going deeper with each thrust. The delicious drag of his member as he fucks you makes you cry out for him. You’ve never felt anything like this before, the way he almost hits your good spot every time, God, it’s so perfect.
Owen suddenly pushes himself all the way in, the pain from it hurts so good, you can feel yourself inching closer and closer to release. Owen’s speed increases as he hears your needy noises; he wants to see this through.
“Oh my God~!!” You scream. It all feels so good. The amazing feeling is only amplified when he reaches down and, after messily coating his fingers in your slick, uses them to fervently massage your clit. How electrifying! Your thick thighs shake with every thrusts of the man’s hips, a slapping sound filling the room. You’re not sure how much longer you can last, then you realize it’s probably the same for Owen. Panic quickly overtakes your ecstasy.
“Fuck, stop!” You manage between desperate whines. You don’t want to quit so close, but you couldn’t let him get you pregnant, you’re too young! Despite your plea, Owen doesn’t even slow, not for a moment. “Please, I’m only 15!”
“I don’t care.” He groans out, rubbing your clit and thrusting into you with vigor. “Fuck-”
You feel your walls being stained by Owen’s thick seed, and feel it spill out of your sore cunt as he pulls out.
“I wasn’t done yet…”You state dejectedly, looking away in shame. Your ears burn with it, and you’re already starting to regret not fighting him off. Oh God, you’re gonna be a teen mom! Your heart races, from the remainder of your sexual excitement as well as your newfound panic.
Uhh sorry, the author of this fic doesn’t even know how to end this- my fault to whoever’s reading this :/