Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 M/g; pedo; caution

   THE WHORE by Silvio Stoker

   Story_intro: The short story about the girl at early age learnt sexual
pleasures.
...Gary started playing with me when I was six, and by the time I was
seven we were having sex.  My daddy licked me a lot when I was little, and
I guess Gary could tell that I was that kind of girl.  I wasn't scared of
him - I was scared of my mommy.  She went crazy when she caught my daddy
licking me, when I was four or five, and I never saw him again.  I didn't

want Gary to go away, so I kept what we did a secret...

   ===This story is a work of fiction.===

   (This text from archive ' 6 my collections of this writer.  Access to
archives from page [0SilvioStoker.htm] in the same directory
...\favoritecollection\Silvio_Stroker)

   T H E W H O R E

   Written by Silvio Stoker



   Whenever Mr.  Weaver looked at me, I'd start feeling like I did when
Gary got into bed with me.  Gary was my mom's boyfriend, but he wasn't
around anymore.  He started playing with me when I was six, and by the time
I was seven we were having sex.  My daddy licked me a lot when I was
little, and I guess Gary could tell that I was that kind of girl.  I wasn't
scared of him - I was scared of my mommy.  She went crazy when she caught
my daddy licking me, when I was four or five, and I never saw him again.  I
didn't want Gary to go away, so I kept what we did a secret.  He diddled me
and licked me, and when I was seven he started putting it in my mouth.  I
liked it a lot, but I wasn't really in love with him until he started
playing with my botty.  He didn't fuck me, but he put his finger in there,
and it made me his.  All he had to do was look at me to make me melt.  I
stopped thinking about my daddy and started playing with my poophole a lot.
I still do - I play with my ass and suck my thumb, and it's like I'm a
little girl again, sucking him and getting off.  He made me feel like I was
part of him.  I needed his come as much as he needed to come.  Sometimes he
poured baby oil between my legs and rubbed his cock there, squirting in my
cunny, but I was too small and it hurt when he tried to put it in.  He
always stopped when it hurt too much and hugged me and went in my mouth. 
When I was eight, he started sticking two fingers in my botty.  He used
baby oil, but it still hurt unless I'd been sucking him for a really long
time and went limp.  I screamed when he tried to stick his cock in it,
though.  He was just too big, even there.

   Gary got arrested for drugs, and my mom started seeing Stan.  They got
married when I was eight and a half.  I was really lonely and wanted Stan
to play with me, but when I let him look up my dress he spanked me.  He
didn't even pull my panty down, just spanked me.  I hated him.  Then, when
I turned nine, Mr.  Weaver moved into the apartment next door; we lived in
a two-story double.  Whenever he looked at me, I'd start feeling like I did
when Gary did things to me, when my mom was at work and Gary stared at me
before telling me to take off my clothes.  Only I was nine, and Mr.  Weaver
made me excited in front, too - and I knew it was wrong.  I hadn't known
that until then, not really; my mom told me not to let anyone touch me, but
I didn't know I was a dirty whore.  Stan said I was, and I was old enough
to know that there was something wrong with me.  Nobody was like me, and
nobody liked me.  Except Mr.  Weaver.  I knew he liked me, and whenever I
saw him my slit got wet and I'd feel sick, my head spinning and my poophole
moist, my mouth watering, my hands hanging like they did when Gary had me
kneel and held my shoulders, going in my mouth.

   I was sort of pretty - but I wasn't sexy, not really.  I was kind of
small for a nine-year-old, with long, straight, light brown hair and
grayish-green eyes, cute hands and feet and a skinny ass.  I didn't have
titties yet, but my nipples were getting bigger, bubble gum pink.  I had a
slight belly, but it looked good then 'cause I was so little and soft, or I
think it did.  I'd started sticking my finger in my cunny hole 'cause I
wanted to be able to get a cock in it, but even when it got wet I mostly
thought about my mouth and butt.  I didn't know how to seduce anyone.  I
wanted somebody to do things to me - to tell me to take my clothes off and
masturbate be and hold me and go in my mouth, maybe fuck me.  Another part
of me wanted a daddy like Gary, making me come in my botty.  I wasn't a
baby - I wanted to be a whore and stuff; I wanted everybody to like me, my
body, and it didn't matter who wanted it (if anyone looked at me like they
wanted it, I got wet and everything, no matter who it was or what they
looked like - or how old they were) - but I dreamt about being naked and
helpless with a big man who would take me potty and give me baths and hold
my head, fucking my face and frigging me - my rectum.  I wanted to belong
to somebody, I suppose.  I was sad, and I needed someone who would make me
feel better about being a whore, or possess my body so that I wouldn't be
able to weasel out of it - but I was a weasel, too, and when I diddled
myself to sleep - I usually slept with my fingers in my botty - I'd float
away, sucking my thumb and thinking about what it would be like not to have
a body at all.

   I was in third grade, and I tried not to think about those things at
school - but kids picked on me, and sometimes the teachers were mean to me,
too, and then I'd pretend that I had somebody to take care of me - if my
body belonged to someone, it wouldn't be mine anymore, and I imagined
drifting around like that, invisible but on a leash or something.  I had an
imaginary friend, too.  She was jealous of me 'cause she was still too
small and I could take a cock.  She had to suck it sometimes, cleaning it
in her little mouth, and she said I tasted good and I kissed her, tasting
my poop.  I tried it, too, sucking my fingers.  I liked the smell, and I
even tasted my pee.  My stepfather slammed me against the wall and stuff,
and sometimes I went in my pants.  It felt sexy and my slit got wet when he
hit me.  I cried all the time.  I pulled my pants down once, to get him to
hit me more.  He banged my head against the bathroom wall until I blacked
out.

   Mr.  Weaver was maybe forty years old.  He lived alone and drank a lot,
and he was sort of furtive, avoiding us - but he didn't mean to avoid me. I
think he was afraid of my stepfather.  I was nine and a half when I finally
knocked on Mr.  Weaver's door.  I was shaking.  I was scared that he would
hurt me like my stepfather did - and I wanted him to, too, or I thought I
did.  Mostly I was scared that he would make me go away.  I didn't know
what to do.  My mommy and Stan had gone to see a movie.  I was supposed to
stay in the house.  I was wearing baggy jeans and a black T-shirt,
barefoot. Mr.  Weaver was in jeans and an orange tank top.  He had a hairy
chest and hadn't shaved for a while.  He was drunk.  I asked him if had any
milk.  I don't know what I was thinking.  It was what came to mind.

   He asked me in.  As soon as he shut the door I dropped my pants and
pulled my panties down, trembling.  He took his cock out.  I peed myself
and gave him a blow job.  He didn't stick it in but let me do it, stroking
it and swirling my tongue around the tip, sucking it.  It was smaller than
Gary's but spurted four or five times, emptying his balls in my mouth and
face.  I slumped to the floor, bawling.  He picked me up and carried me to
the bedroom, undressed me and ate me out.  It hurt a lot when he put it in,
but then he pulled it out of my cunny and slid it into my butt.  It was the
most beautiful thing I'd ever felt, him fucking my rectum, holding my
ankles and slowly stuffing it in, then fucking me hard and deep.  He forced
it all the way into me, reaming me.  I went limp, and Mr.  Weaver flipped
me over, put a pillow under me and buttfucked me until I belonged to him,
coming, his cock squirting into my bowels and the hole staying open
afterwards, for my fingers, lying there, in love.

   It was hard to see him, secretly, but I did, and he taught me to be
sexy. Then he took me away.  He collected the last of his unemployment, put
me in his Impala, and drove me to the city where we live now.  I can have
my cake and eat it, too, his and everyone's, bringing home the bacon with
my body, taking care of daddy 'cause daddy takes care of me.



   Copyright (C) 2000, Silvio Stoker.  ALL Rights Reserved



   ===========================================

   This story is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and
incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used
fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,
living or dead, is entirely coincidental.



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