Tragedy of the Commons

He'd almost missed her, the short brown hair and the baggy jeans making her look like a boy. But Bill was a boob man and the girl, probably twelve, had ripened just enough to catch his eye. She whimpered when he grabbed her, struggled as he reached under her shirt and began groping her braless titlets, but she didn't call for help. What good would it do? Women's rights had been rescinded over a year ago.

Dragging his find towards a bench he pushed the child onto her back, making sure that her head dangled over the edge. That way he could enjoy her mouth while his hands continued molesting her meager treasures. Amidst the sounds of her gagging and the clenching of her throat around his cock Bill remembered better days.

At first he'd had all the boobs he could handle. His favorite had been the cheerleaders, high school seniors whose full breasts were at their perkiest. And if they didn't like being raped then he could punch them in the face until they went limp. That might've been the problem; he wasn't the only man and there was no incentive to be gentle. If he didn't use a bitch to her breaking point then it would just be the next guy who would.

So these days there were only scraps left, little kid pussies that could barely stand up to a single use. This one had already expired, suffocating on his first load and growing colder by the second. More trash for the now overworked garbage men.

Was it possible that, in the long term, having too few restrictions had been a bad thing?

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