Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 INTRO

   I suppose that the first thing that I should do is introduce myself.  My
name is Candice Marie Krieger.  My real father gave me that name on the day
that I was born, and I haven't seen or heard from him since.  I don't
really blame him I guess.  He was only 24 and my mom was barely 17.  I'm 23
and the last thing that I would want right now is the responsibility of
raising a kid.  We lived with my grandparents until my mom finished high
school and got married again.  That didn't last very long either.  I don't
remember much about Steve.  They were divorced when I was 3.  After that my
mom had a lot of different boyfriends.  Like me, she seems to have a
problem keeping her panties on.  She married George when I was 9.  He is a
used car salesman and the biggest asshole that I have ever known. 
Righteous as a saint on Sunday morning, and a lying, back stabbing thief
the rest of the time.  You know the type.  She must love him though,
because they are still married.  My sister, Debbie, was born 2 years later.
She'll be 13 in March, the same age I was that first time.  I often wonder
if she will be like mom and me.  They live in L.A.  now, so I don't see her
much.  I never got the whole story but George got caught doing something
sketchy at work and they left Missoula in a hurry not too long after I
moved in with Pete.

   We live in Wisconsin now.  Pete's dad has cancer and Pete wanted to be
closer to home, so we moved here last August.  I miss the mountains but the
people are pretty much the same.  Pete was able to get me a job as a
waitress at a bar that his best friend, Corky, owns.  And since that is the
only thing I have ever done, that part of the transition has been pretty
easy.  Pete's brother, Tony, stayed out there for a couple of months to
take care of selling the property and then moved here at the end of
October. If it wasn't for their cousins, Steve and Jed, and my boss, Corky,
I think I would have gone crazy those first 2 months.  Pete was on the road
most of the time, he's an independent trucker, and I am way too much of a
slut to go that long without getting a cock in me.  I suppose that I should
be embarrassed to say that, but I'm not.  Men have been telling me that I
am a slut since I was 13 (or making me tell them that I was).  It always
makes me wet when they call me that.  I AM a slut.  I know it, and I love
being one.  I've always been this way and I'm not going to change now.  If
some people think that I am less of a person then they are because of it, I
really don't care.

   Anyhow, the reason that I am writing this now is because this guy I met
online, LM, wanted me to tell him how I lost my virginity when I was 13.  I
told Pete about it and he thought that it was great idea, but of course he
had to take it further.  He thinks I have too much time on my hands anyway,
so he has now ordered me to write a complete autobiography and to finish it
by my birthday in August.  I have no idea how I am going to be able to do
that.  I was never very good in English.  In fact, if it wasn't for my
horny pussy I probably wouldn't have passed at all, Plus, I can't really
remember every conversation I have ever had but since most of them have
usually included the word "slut" I should be able to get close.  Anyhow try
to bear with me as best as you can and I'll try to do the best I can too.



   Chapter 1 Why I Kept My Panties In My Backpack

   I don't really remember when I first discovered that it felt good to
touch myself "down there".  It seems to me now that I've always known it. I
do remember that around the age of 8 or so I became aware that whenever I
woke up in the morning my left hand was always clamped firmly between my
thighs.  And I remember my first orgasm.  I was 11, and we had just moved
into our new house on Strand Street.  Actually, it was just new to us.  I
think the house itself was built back in the 60's.

   There were 2 bedrooms, living room, kitchen, and bathroom on the first
floor, and my bedroom and a half bath on the second floor.  It really
wasn't a second story.  At one time my room had been the attic but someone
had re-modeled it.  It also had a full basement with 2 stairways, one that
went up to the kitchen and one that went out to the back yard.  After
growing up in an apartment it seemed like a mansion to me.  My sister,
Debbie, was a baby when we first moved in there so she got the bedroom next
to my mom and George and I had the whole upstairs to myself.  My shower had
one of those detachable massager heads and once I discovered what it could
do to me I became the cleanest little girl on the block.  After that first
time it seemed like I could never keep my fingers out of my panties.  It
just felt too good, I don't think there's hardly been a day since then that
I haven't cum at least once.

   My stepfather, George, was a used car salesman and rarely got home
before 9 pm, which was fine by me.  My mom worked as a legal secretary for
an attorney in Missoula and by the time she picked up Debbie from day care
it was usually 6 o'clock by the time she got home.  So every day I would
race the 6 blocks home from school, dump my backpack on the kitchen table,
my skirt and panties down the laundry chute, and diddle myself to heaven on
my bed or in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door.  By the
time my mom would get home I would be dressed in my sweats or a t-shirt and
cut-offs diligently working away at my homework on the kitchen table.

   About the time I turned 12 my breasts started to grow.  And grow.  My
mom said I was an early bloomer just like she was.  I guess I was.  By the
time Christmas rolled around that year I was already a B-cup and all my
girlfriends were still in training bras.  It wasn't too long after that,
that I noticed how hard my nips would get every time I got horny, and
discovered how good it felt to have one hand pinching one of them while the
other one was strumming away like a guitar pick on my clit.

   To be honest, I guess I was already a slut even then.  School was
boring, and it seemed like I just couldn't stop myself from daydreaming
about playing with myself.  As soon as the thought would cross my mind, my
nips would turn into rock hard little eraser heads, my pussy would start to
juice, and it would be all I could stand to wait until lunch time so I
could duck into the girl's bathroom and bring myself off in one of the
stalls.  And now that I think about it, I guess that is when I first
discovered that cumming in a public place like that, instead of alone in my
bedroom, made me cum even harder.  I suppose it was the fear of getting
caught that did it to me, but once I started doing it at school, it wasn't
very long before I got the idea of finding other places.

   In our part of town the neighborhoods all had alleyways that ran between
the backyards.  Most of the garages where detached and backed up against
it. Behind our garage there was a grass strip about 3 feet wide that ran
through the Lilac bushes that bordered our backyards from the alley.  I
think it was April the first time I did it because I remember it was warm
and that all I had on that day was my blouse and plaid skirt.  The easiest
way home was to cut down the alley and through the bushes.  I had been
coming home that way since we first moved there because if I walked down
the street creepy old Mr.  Campbell would be waiting for me and would try
to talk me into coming into his house for some milk and cookies.  Even at
that age I had a pretty good idea what kind of milk he wanted me to drink.

   That day I had almost been caught by my teacher, Mrs.  Destry.  She had
given me a pass to the girl's room during reading and I had obviously been
enjoying myself too long without realizing it.  She came in looking for me
just as I was about to cum.  So, by the time I pushed through those lilac
bushes my panties were soaked, my nips felt like they were going to rip
through my bra, and my legs were shaking so much it was all I could do to
drop down on my hands and knees and bring myself off right there on the
grass next to our garage with my backpack still on my back.

   It was, without a doubt, the best orgasm I had ever had up to that
point. There were cars going by on the street out in front but that didn't
bother me too much.  But the thought that one of them might drive through
the alley and see me back there had me gushing like a fire hydrant.  I
don't even remember when it finally stopped.  The next thing I do remember
is realizing that I was face down on the grass with my left hand between my
legs and that my panties were very VERY wet.  My legs felt like rubber but
somehow I managed to get up and go inside.  But just as I was going through
the back door my pussy started to juice again when I heard the sound of Mr.
Sanders' pick-up truck pulling into his drive way.  Just knowing how close
I had come to getting caught drove my pussy crazy and I loved it.  I
watched through our kitchen window as he got out of his truck and went into
his house.  And then I brought myself off again, thinking about what he
would have done to me if he had caught me back there.

   Mr.  Sanders was a widower.  I never met his wife.  She died when his
sons were still in grade school.  He had raised them by himself.  I've
never met the oldest one.  He was married and lived in Texas I think.  The
youngest one, Tom, was in the Army.  I only met him a couple of times when
he was home on leave.  I think Mr.  Sanders was in his mid to late 40's
when we first moved there.  He worked at the Stone Container plant out in
Frenchtown on the day shift and usually got home about 15 minutes or so
after I did.  He was tall and strong, with bright blue eyes that always
seemed to be laughing at me when I looked at him.  I think he knew long
before anyone else what kind of a girl I was going to be.  He had blonde
hair and a neatly trimmed beard that somehow made him look much younger
than he must have really been, considering how old his sons were.

   He and my parents became good friends as soon as we moved in.  George
and him were both `car nuts' and were always borrowing tools from each
other or going to car shows.  In fact the whole neighborhood was pretty
close back then.  As soon as the weather would warm up it seemed like every
weekend somebody would have a cook out in their back yard.

   Cumming behind the garage and then again in the kitchen had changed
something in me.  Somehow just lying on my bed wasn't good enough for me
anymore.  But I knew that I wasn't going to be able to get away with doing
it out in the open like that very often, no matter how much I wanted to. 
So the next day when I got home I dumped my backpack on the kitchen table
and went back outside to find a place that would be a little more discreet,
but still risky enough to make me cum like I had the day before.  The first
place I found was at the bottom of our basement stairwell.  For the next
week or so I would head down to the bottom of the stairs and slowly start
to bring myself off as I listened for the sound of Mr.  Sanders' truck.  As
soon as I would hear that door slam I would start to gush, just from the
thought that, instead of going into his house, he could very well be
walking in to our back yard to borrow something, and would find me.  With
sopping panties and wet thighs I would slowly make my way to the top of the
stairs and peer out to make sure that he really had gone inside.  Then I
would race to the back door and into the kitchen.

   My panties were becoming something of a problem at that point.  I've
learned since then that not all girls cum like I do, some just cum a little
and some cum a lot.  I definitely fall into the second category.  It
doesn't spray out of me like when I'm peeing but it does flow.  Gushes
really.  When I cum my pussy goes crazy.  It opens and contracts through a
series of spasms that push my cum out of me in globs, for the lack of a
better word.  Tony says that if it wasn't for the color and thickness of it
he would swear that I was slowly peeing myself.  And there is always so
much of it.  Even back then, whenever I would cum my panties would be
soaked through half way up to the waist band.  I couldn't just throw them
down the laundry chute.  Sooner or later my mom would come home from work,
decide to do a load of laundry and find them.  So I would hide them under
my bed until they dried out.  Now I may not be the smartest girl in the
world, even if I am blonde, but I'm not stupid.  One afternoon, as I was
spreading my panties out under my bed, it finally occurred to me that the
best way to avoid getting discovered was to simply not get them wet in the
first place.

   So the next day when I got home I dropped my book bag on the table and
my panties down the chute.  God, to this day I still remember the thrill I
got when I stepped on to the back porch with nothing under my skirt for the
first time.  I felt so naughty, like I was really being bad.  My pussy
started gushing and my legs were shaking so bad that I barely made it to
the bottom of the stairwell before I started to cum, and I hadn't even
touched myself yet.  As soon as I started to rub my little button I had an
orgasm that was the best yet, even better than that day behind the garage.
I think half the reason that it felt so good was due to the rush I got from
the feeling of my cum gushing out of me and running down my thighs.

   After that, going without them became almost an obsession with me.  As
soon as the last bell would ring, I would run to my locker, throw whatever
books I needed into my backpack, and then duck into the girl's bathroom so
that I could strip them off for the walk home.  I loved the naughty feeling
that it gave me.  Just knowing that all I would have to do was to trip and
fall, or thinking about one of the boys running by and pulling up my skirt
kept my pussy juicing the whole way home.  My little routine worked well
for about a week, and then it rained.

   Rain in Montana is nothing like the violent thunderstorms that we have
here in Wisconsin.  In Montana we get the "driz", a very light continuous
rain that sometimes lasts for 2 or 3 days in a row.  The first day wasn't
too bad, I just went up to my room, but it wasn't nearly as good as the
feeling that I got from doing it outside in the stairwell.  So the next day
I knew I was going to have to find another hiding place.  The whole way
home I remember looking for a place that I could duck into, or under, to
get out of the rain.  All I needed was a place to hide for just a few
minutes, but other than the picnic tables in Lions Park there just wasn't
anywhere.  Even as horny as I was, I knew that would be pushing it.  It
wasn't until I was walking through the bushes that I suddenly realized what
a perfect place the loft of our garage would be.  Not as good as the
stairwell, but at least I would be out of the rain.  I remember that
afternoon like it was yesterday.

   I didn't even go inside the house first.  I was way too horny to take
the time for that.  I just dropped my pack and jacket on the empty garage
floor and climbed up.  There wasn't much up there, just a few boxes of
Christmas ornaments and some junk that my mom and George didn't know what
else to do with.  There was only one light, just a bulb with a little pull
chain that hung down from the ceiling.  I didn't turn it on at first.  I
was too horny to do anything but sit down with my back against one of the
boxes, pull my skirt up over my waist and give my aching pussy the relief
it needed.  It wasn't until after I had cum that I started to worry about
the spiders.  I hate spiders.  So I turned the light on and that's when I
saw the boxes.  There were four of them but they were way over in the
corner with an old blanket draped over them and I remember how odd that
seemed to me.  Most of the stuff was pretty much gathered around the
opening but these boxes were all by themselves and my curiosity was a lot
stronger than my fear of spiders.

   They were full of George's porn magazines.  Playboy, Penthouse, Club,
softcore, hardcore, you name it, he had it.  It seems odd but up to that
time I had never really thought about cocks at all.  I knew about them of
course, and I knew from health class that they were pretty important when
it came to making babies.  But I had never really put the connection
together that they had to be inside of me for that to happen.  It didn't
take me long to figure it out.  The Playboys did nothing for me, but those
hardcore ones sure did.  Cocks in vaginas, cocks in asses, cocks in mouths,
before I was even aware of it I was back up against the Christmas boxes
with 3 or 4 of those mags spread open around me and literally groaning
through my second orgasm of the afternoon.  When I finally calmed down
enough to look around I realized that I must have been making a lot more
noise than I thought, because the first thing I saw was the leer on the
face of our next door neighbor, Mr.  Sanders.

   He was grinning at me when he spoke.  The joy in his eyes at discovering
me, splayed out in front of him, gushing all over my fingers like that,
didn't match the harshness in his voice at all when he said,

   "I suggest that you put those magazines back where you found them and
get your slutty little cunt downstairs, young lady!"

   It was the first time anyone had ever called me a slut, and just the
sound of the word had my pussy juicing again.  I scrambled to follow his
orders and gathered up George's magazines.  By the time I turned around
again, he had already disappeared.  He was waiting for me below the opening
and that only made my pussy gush more.  I knew that he could see right up
my short skirt.  The first thing he asked me when I turned around to face
him was,

   "Where are your panties, Candice?"

   I remember that I felt like my face was on fire when I pointed to my
back pack.  It was still lying on the garage floor, near the side door,
right where I had dropped it in my rush to get up to the loft.  I'm a
natural blonde, and blushing when I am embarrassed is something that I have
never been able to control.  But I remember that I was excited too.  My
nipples were rock hard, and my pussy just would not stop gushing, which in
turn fed on my feeling of embarrassment, because I knew that sooner or
later he was going to notice the juice rolling down the inside of my
thighs.

   Mr.  Sanders looked at my back pack and then back down at me.  He had a
nasty smile on his face, but all he said was,

   "Why?"

   I can't count the number of times since then that men have asked me that
question, but that first time still stands out in my mind.  I thought that
my pussy was going to explode and felt like my whole body was sun burned. I
explained to him that I had put them in there so that they would not get
soaked when I came.

   His smile had turned into a grin by then,

   "So let me get this straight, you walked home from school, came in here,
took your panties off and put them in your backpack, and then crawled up
into the loft to masturbate to George's porn mags?"

   As I was listening to him, something in my eyes must have told him that
he didn't quite have the whole story yet, because before I could even begin
to answer he said,

   "No, that's not right, is it, Candice?"

   The way he was looking at me there was no way that I could lie to him. I
didn't even try.  By the time he was done cross-examining me, I had not
only admitted to him that I had actually taken my panties off at school
that day, but everything else that I had been up to for the previous six
months as well.  I know now that he was enjoying the whole sordid little
scene, but I wasn't even 13 yet.  I thought that he was serious when he
finally asked me just what I thought my mother was going to do to me when
he told her what a little slut she had for a daughter.  With summer
vacation only a few weeks away I didn't even want to think about what she
would do.  One thing was sure, if he told her, I would be spending the
entire summer grounded instead of at the pool with my friends.

   By the time I was through begging him to please not tell her, I had
agreed that I at least deserved a spanking, and that I would let him give
it to me.  There was an element of a game to all of this, certainly on his
part.  At that point he could have told me to stand on my head and I would
have done it.  He knew that he had me, and I knew that he knew it.  But
there was an element of it on my side too.  My pussy was gushing.  He had
already forced me to explain how I had cum, watching him through our
kitchen window, or from our basement stairwell.  So he knew that I had a
crush on him, even if it was more lust than emotion.

   What I really wanted was for him to throw me down on the floor and fuck
me, (and I think he knew that too), so I was more than willing to accept
any attention he was willing to give me, even if it was a spanking.  Just
the anticipation of it had me leaking down my legs again, and he could see
it.

   When I think about it now, Mr.  Sanders, like most of the men I've
known, always knew just how to read me.  Somehow he seemed to know that
humiliating me sexually was what I had been craving.  He certainly knew it
before I did.  Not that it would take a rocket scientist to figure it out.
I mean what else could he think about a girl like me who was constantly
masturbating in public, running around with no panties on, gushing like
crazy from the fear that she might get caught and secretly hoping that she
would be?

   He pulled the stool from George's work bench out into the middle of the
empty garage and then grinned down at me again, leaving it up to me to make
the next move.  I knew that by bending over that stool I might be
acquiescing to more than just a spanking, that he might decide to do more
to me than just redden my cheeks, and that thought had me so excited that I
thought my legs were going to give out before I could get to that stool. 
As soon as I had my belly draped over the seat he ordered me to reach back
and pull my skirt up over my waist.  Then he told me to spread my legs,
turn my toes in and hold on to the front legs.

   I was ok up until then, but as soon as I turned my toes in, I felt my
lips open and a huge glob of cum gushed out of my pussy and dripped to the
floor.  I was looking back through my legs and when I saw that I knew that
he had seen it too.  My pussy went absolutely crazy.  Every muscle in my
body began to spasm as my orgasm washed through me and glob after glob of
thick clear cum gushed out of me onto the floor between my feet.  It seemed
to go on forever.  Just when I would think that it was slowing down another
glob would drop to the floor and set me off again.  And the whole time Mr.
Sanders was standing behind me making it worse by laughing at me and
telling me what a little slut I was for cumming like that in front of him.
When I finally did start to calm down, he ordered me not to move, and
walked out of the garage.

   I don't really know how long he was gone, but it seemed like a half an
hour at least to me.  I knew better than to move, but the anticipation was
making my pussy all twitchy, and the fear that it was getting late, and
that my mom would come home and find me like that, was even worse.  The
longer I waited the hotter I got until finally I couldn't stand it anymore.
I reached back between my legs and stroked my aching clit to another creamy
orgasm.  I never heard Mr.  Sanders come back in.

   I had my eyes closed and three fingers buried in my pussy when I
suddenly heard him say,

   "I told you not to move, you little slut!"

   That word, "slut", crashed into my brain at the exact instant that the
paddle he had brought back from his house crashed into my butt.  God it
hurt!  I barely had time to pull my hand out of my hole and let out a
pain-filled scream before the next 3 landed on me, one after the other,
each one followed by a yelp from me.  He was serious!  I had never been
spanked like that.  My cheeks felt like they were on fire and all that heat
surged straight into my pussy.

   Mr.  Sanders walked around in front of me, squatted down and lifted my
chin with his hand.  I could barely see him through my hair but I knew he
could see the tears rolling down my cheeks because he brushed them, and my
hair, out of the way with his other hand.  He then asked me how many spanks
I thought I deserved for all the slutty things I had done that day.  When I
told him that I didn't know, he got up, walked behind me, and let me have a
two more.  Then he came around and lifted my chin again.  He didn't brush
my hair out of the way though; instead he informed me that from then on I
was to address him only as "Sir" when we were alone.  I suppose if I had
been thinking at the time I would have realized right then that as far as
he was concerned, there were going to be a lot more 'alone' times ahead.  I
was thinking, of course, but not about that.  I was thinking about how sore
my butt was, how hot my pussy was, how many more spanks I was going to have
to endure, but mostly about trying to remember to call him "Sir", so that I
wouldn't get any extra ones.

   Then he began to add up my total.  Actually, he made me do the adding.
Since I was still 12 he decided that I would get 12 strokes for each
offense.  Just the way he did it had my pussy gushing again before he even
started spanking me.  I still have dreams about that day.  I can't count
the number of times I have been awakened since then, in the middle of an
orgasm, because I was dreaming about Mr.  Sanders holding my chin up and
forcing me to look at him, as I answer each of his questions with a "Yes,
Sir..." and try desperately to keep count.

   "Did you take off your panties at school today, LIKE A LITTLE SLUT, and
walk home without them on?"

   "Yes, Sir" (12)

   "Did you crawl up into the loft today without your panties, LIKE A
LITTLE SLUT, and get into George's porn magazines?"

   "Yes, Sir" (24)

   "Did you pull up your skirt, LIKE A LITTLE SLUT, and masturbate to those
magazines?"

   "Yes, Sir" (36)

   "Did you masturbate again, LIKE A LITTLE SLUT, even after I ordered you
not to move?"

   "Yes, Sir" (48)

   "What are you, Candice?"

   I knew what I was by then, he had said it enough times to permanently
drive it into my brain, but having to admit it out loud to him like that,
sent me over the edge again and into another gushing orgasm.  I told him,

   "I'm a little slut, Sir."

   My body was shaking on that stool so hard that I thought I might fall
off.  I was watching my cum ooze out of me onto the floor and with each
glob it seemed like all of my muscles would spasm even harder.  When I saw
Mr.  Sanders standing behind me again it only got worse, because I knew
that he was watching my pussy slit open and contract and gush in front of
him.  And I felt like I really was a slut.

   He wasn't about to let me have any illusions about it though.  Just when
I thought that my orgasm couldn't possibly become any more intense he
pushed two of his fat fingers into me and started fucking me with them. 
That was the first time that I ever crashed through what I call my
'plateau'.  My eyes rolled back and I was gone.  I didn't black out, but I
wasn't there either.  I had had my own fingers in there, of course, but
they didn't feel ANYTHING like his big fat ones did.  He was really fucking
me with them, pushing them into me as far as they could go, all the way up
to my hymen.  Hard, so that I knew just what it was that he was pushing
against, and GOD, how I wanted him to push through it!

   I'm not sure how long I was out of it like that, writhing and cumming
and gushing on his fingers.  But the first thing I was aware of again was
the sound of my own voice, begging him to

   "PLEEEEESE FUCK ME!"

   over and over again, and the sound of him laughing.  After letting me
beg him at least a half dozen times, he finally pulled his fingers out of
me and told me, no.  He said that I would have to earn that first.  (God,
how many times have I heard that from men in the last 10 years?)

   He gave me another whack with his paddle to get my attention and then
asked,

   "So, how many have you got coming, little slut?"

   I wasn't sure if it was 48 at that point, or 12 more just for being a
slut, so I played it safe and told him 60.  He then explained his rules to
me.  After every stroke I had to thank him, and then beg him for the
remainder.  If I lost count along the way, we would start over.  So after
the first one I said,

   "Thank you, Sir.  May I please have 59 more?", and it seemed like each
time I said thank you, my pussy would absorb the heat from his paddle and
get even wetter.

   We didn't even make it to 50 before he had to stop.  I was cummming so
hard that my legs just sort of gave out and I somehow ended up on the
concrete floor, lying on my side with both my hands pressed against my slit
as hard as I could.  By the time we reached 45 I became aware that I was
actually arching up on my toes in anticipation of the next spank.  I don't
know how to explain it, but the sting, and the heat had become pleasure and
warmth somehow, and all of it had me riding one long orgasm that just
seemed to go on and on and on.  By the time we got to 40 I was mumbling
"fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..." between my thank you's and that's when he
decided to stop.

   I don't think I'll ever know for sure why he decided to stop after the
first 20.  Perhaps he was worried about bruising me, or his arm was tired,
or he may have just wanted an excuse to spank me again at another time. 
But from the size of the bulge in his pants when he walked around in front
of me it's my guess that my constant begging for him to fuck me was driving
him crazy.

   What he said was,

   "I told you, little slut, you're going to have to earn that!"

   I was a mess.  My legs were coated in goo, my hair was hanging over my
face, wet and stringy.  My butt was on fire, my pussy just wouldn't stop
twitching, and I could see a puddle on the floor between my feet.  At that
point I would have done ANYTHING to earn it and I told him so.  I begged
him to tell me what I could do.  He told me.

   I don't really remember a spot here.  It's like there is a gap or
something.  Perhaps the shock of seeing his huge rod springing out of his
jeans or the words he used to order me to my knees was too much for my
already overloaded brain.  Whatever caused it, I sure don't remember him
doing or saying anything.  Maybe I went into that 'plateau' area again and
had another major gusher.  Even the next day I wasn't sure how I came to be
on my knees on the garage floor, with his hands on my head, and his cock
pushing into my throat for the first time as he taught me how to breathe
through my nose to keep from gagging on it.  I do know one thing though.  I
was loving it!  And I was cumming again!

   The taste and feel of his cock and precum, his hands controlling me,
being on my knees as he fucked my mouth, all of it combined had my pussy in
a spasming frenzy that just wouldn't stop.  When he came in my mouth I lost
it.  If he hadn't been holding on to my pig tails I think I would have just
collapsed I was so high.  It was wonderful; sweet, hot, thick, creamy, and
a little salty all at once.  It was the most amazing stuff I had ever
tasted.  To this day, I still have what can only be described as an
addiction to the taste and texture of cum.

   I was still shaking when he finally let go of me, and allowed me to
collapse to the floor with my hands between my legs.  When I finally calmed
down again he made me lick him clean and allowed me to gently put his cock
back into his jeans and zip them up.  Then he handed me the paddle.  When
he got to the door he turned back to me and grinned.  That's when he
informed me that since we had only made it to 40, I still had 40 more to
go, and that he expected to find me 'ready' for him when he got home from
work the next day.  When I asked him what he meant by 'ready', he told me.
Then he walked out the door as my pussy started go crazy all over again.

   When Mr.  Sanders walked into our garage the next day he found me
waiting for him, just the way he had ordered.  I was bent over the stool
with my skirt up over my waist, my legs spread apart, my toes turned in,
and I was desperately trying not to cum as I clamped down on the handle of
that ping pong paddle in my pussy.