("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._
`6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`)
(_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-'
_..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,'
(((' (((-((('' ((((
K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
_________________________________________
WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
material. If you do not wish to read this
type of literature, or you are under age,
PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!!
_________________________________________
Scroll down to view text
--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your
consideration.
--------------------------------------------------------
Jenni's Story - 1
by Brian_r_98 (brian_r_98@yahoo.com)
***
Young teen girl learns about sex from her stepfather,
girlfriend and by watching her mother. (MFff, ped, bi,
nc, 1st, mast, bd, spank, toys)
***
Chapter 1 – Spanked Naked
My name is Jenni, I'm 14 years old, and I am a sex
slave. This is my story.
Sexual submissives aren't born; they're created
gradually over a number of years. With me, it started
with bare-bottom spankings. My first memory of a
spanking was when I was three or four years old. My
mother was determined that I'd be a good girl. Every
offense earned me a spanking; it was only a question of
how many swats I got. After my father died when I was
seven, the spankings became more frequent.
To me it seemed no matter what I did, no matter how
hard I tried to be good, I just couldn't go an entire
week without breaking some rule my mother had, or
invented. She loved me, she told me. It was for my own
good, she told me. It would make me a better person,
she said. When I was ten, she began using a leather
belt on me. Now the punishments hurt worse. They were
more than just bare-bottom, too. Beginning about the
time she switched to the leather belt, I had to take
off all my clothes to prepare for punishment, and
remain naked for a time afterward, usually standing in
a corner.
Just before I turned thirteen, my mother remarried. It
was in the spring of my 7th grade year. My stepfather,
Jim, seemed like a pretty cool guy to me, at least at
first. The spankings eased after he moved in, and it
was still my mother who gave them. She did them in the
privacy of my bedroom for a while, but after a few
months we moved back into the living room. Where Jim
could see me. She did allow me to keep most of my
clothes on, only baring my bum to the reach of the
belt. When I stood in the corner afterwards, I'd be
bare from the waist down. I'd have to hold my skirt or
shorts or pants in my hand and my panties would be
around my knees.
At thirteen, I was slender, blonde, and pretty. I
didn't have much of a figure but I did have a cute butt
and slim, pretty legs. Knowing he could see me – all of
me – when I was spanked over my mother's knee made me
nervous. He never said anything, never touched me or
was involved in the spanking. But he watched me, sizing
me up. Sometimes I felt like an object of curiosity, or
a steak on a plate ready to be eaten.
After I finished 7th grade we moved across town to a
better neighborhood, but with a worse public school.
Mom and Jim wouldn't even consider sending me there so
I started 8th grade at St. Ignatius, an all-girls
school. I had to wear a uniform – a white blouse, plaid
skirt, and knee socks. I probably looked like every
pervert's dream. But I also knew I looked good in it. I
only had to look at the boys on the street looking at
me as I walked to and from school every day to know
that. I always rolled my skirt so that it was just
short enough that I got lots of attention from the
boys. I made sure it was long enough that the teachers
left me alone about it.
The first time I came home with my skirt rolled higher
than Mom liked earned me a bare-bottom spanking. Mom
worked, but she had a weird schedule, didn't have the
same days off each week. Mom was home that day when I
came waltzing in. When I spun around to close the door
my skirt swirled up and you could see my white panties.
Mom yelled and got really mad. She was still yelling
almost an hour later when Jim came home.
"June," said Jim, "instead of yelling at her endlessly,
why don't you spank her like you've been promising
probably since you started in on her. I'll get the
belt." He headed down the hall to their bedroom where
it was kept.
'Thanks for nothing, Jim,' I thought.
Jim walked in with the belt and handed it to Mom. She
motioned with her hand, a general up-and-down wave.
"I've told you more than once about rolling your skirt.
You know how much I don't like it. So, because you
don't listen, we'll go back to the way you used to get
punished." She paused. "Strip," she said, "blouse,
skirt, bra, and panties. Leave the shoes and socks. Do
it now!"
"Mom!! You can't spank me like you used to with HIM
here! He'll see me... you know... see EVERYTHING!!
Mom!!"
"I said, NOW, young lady!"
Tears were rolling down my cheeks but I knew not to say
anything more. Jim was watching my hands as I reached
for the buttons on my blouse. As I opened each one I
could feel his gaze on my chest. My bra came into view,
only recently upgraded to an A-cup, and I saw his gaze
shift to the lacy edges of the small cup. I dropped the
blouse on the arm of the couch.
The waistband button on my skirt gave me a little
trouble, but in a moment I was pushing the skirt down
my long legs. Jim was starting to smile as I reached
behind me to get the clasp for the bra. It joined the
skirt and blouse on the couch. I looked pleadingly at
my mother to be spared the final indignity of my
panties.
"All of it, Jenni." No expression on her face, none. I
knew I was going to get it bad. Jim was smiling. A
cat's-gonna-eat-the-canary kind of smile.
My hands pushed the waistband down over my hips and I
turned at the same time. I wanted to hide my little
pussy from Jim's burning gaze. The wispy hairs growing
in front couldn't hide from him what I looked like if
he looked. Then my panties joined the pile.
"You're too big to go over the knee this time, Jenni,"
said my mother, "we'll try something different." She
walked toward me. "Stand away from the couch and face
the kitchen, feet as wide as your shoulders. Bend at
the waist and grab your legs just below your knees."
By facing the kitchen, my back aimed toward Jim's
favorite chair. As I moved I saw him head towards the
chair. 'Damn,' I thought. 'He'll get a clear view of my
butt and between my legs.' I could feel my face redden
with shame already.
I spread my feet apart and bent forward. Without
thinking I looked back between my knees and caught
Jim's eye. He stared right back at me and smiled. His
hand reached into his crotch and moved something. I
think I knew what he was doing, but I didn't really
want to know. My mother saw where my head was aimed.
"No," Mom said. "Lift your head and stare at the
refrigerator. If I catch you looking back, or if you
take your hands off your legs, that stroke won't count
and I add two besides. If you fail to count, that
stroke doesn't count and I add two more. Clear?"
I lifted my head. "Yes, ma'am." This was gonna hurt a
lot.
"Fifteen strokes, Jenni. You count them."
Fifteen. More than the usual number.
"All right, here we go. Remember to count." My mother's
voice sounded calm. That meant she was over being
angry. Maybe this wouldn't be that bad after all.
I was still processing all that when the first stroke
of the belt whistled through the air and slapped across
both butt cheeks at the same time. "OW!! One...." My
breathing started speeding up.
The next two or three strokes weren't quite as hard,
but each one landed on one cheek only. The one that
fell just below the line of my butt, you know, at the
tops of your thighs where the skin is really tender,
THAT was the one that made me lose count.
"OW! Ow, ow, ow, ow!!" No number. I straightened up and
my hands left my knees, reaching for my tender
backside.
"Hands down, Jenni, that stroke doesn't count, and we
add four. Two for not counting and two for lifting your
hands from your legs. We'll do it over. Begin at six."
Oh, my mother was an ice queen. Without even losing
rhythm she began the next stroke.
"Ow. Six."
"Ow. Seven." And so on through the original fifteen
plus the four extra strokes. My ass burned like fire.
Mom had a way of making the whole area feel like it was
going to spontaneously combust, rather than inflict
massive pain.
I sneaked a look at Jim just before I straightened up
when it was all over. His grin was bigger than before
and his hand was pushing around the tent pole in the
front of his pants. He could see me watching him and he
didn't even try to hide it.
As I stood fully upright I turned to my mother. After a
spanking, one of three things typically happened. She
could just tell me to get dressed and go on with the
evening as if nothing had happened. I didn't expect
that. The next thing is to be sent to my room
immediately without supper. I didn't expect that
either. Turns out I was right in my prediction.
"Jenni, leave your clothes where they are and go stand
in the corner. I'll let you know when an hour is up.
You can spend the time considering how clothes are to
be worn."
Well, at least I was facing away from Jim. I wouldn't
have liked it if I'd had to face into the living room.
Jim's eyes would have been all over me then. That
wouldn't have been comfortable at all.
When the hour was up my mother spoke to me again. I was
told to put my school clothes away and put on pajamas;
I could eat supper that way. Relieved, I gathered my
things, holding them to my waist to cover myself. Jim's
eyes followed me everywhere I went. Even then, I could
feel my butt jiggle and my young breasts bounce as I
walked. And I knew his eyes followed every movement.
That incident was less than a week before Halloween. I
remember because I was still uncomfortable on the hay
ride I went on with my friends, the sharp ends of the
straw poking my still-tender butt cheeks. From then on
it seemed I could do few things right, couldn't please
my mother on anything. Late homework, sassing her or
Jim, didn't clean up my room, didn't put all the dishes
away after emptying the dishwasher, leaving my dirty
clothes on the floor of my room instead of putting them
in the hamper.
You get the picture. I got spanked at least a dozen
times more before Christmas, twice even more severely
than that time right before Halloween. It didn't matter
how minor the sin was, every one was on my bare bottom.
After a while I was no longer uncomfortable being naked
or mostly so with Jim in the house. I can't say I
wanted to be naked, only that it somehow seemed normal,
or at least not abnormal.
Right before dinner was Mom's preferred time to deal
with it, as if it provided closure (well, for her
anyway...) for the events of the day. Every spanking
from then on ended up with me standing naked in the
corner. Jim always made a point of walking past me as I
stood in the corner after the spankings. That first
time, the one before Halloween, he touched me as he
walked by. I jumped and almost squeaked. His hard eyes
bored into my head and the sound ended in my throat.
Mom was busy in the kitchen and never heard a thing.
After that he always touched me as I stood there.
Sometimes my mother turned on a small TV on the kitchen
counter as she was cooking dinner, the slight drone of
voices from the news program she watched drowned out
any little squeak or sigh or movement I made as Jim
touched me. Sometimes he'd have his hands on me
continuously for several minutes. Light and feathery
touches, teasing touches.
Over time his touches became more and more probing, a
firmer touch. At first it was just a wandering finger
across my butt or up my back. Later it was up my side,
almost like counting my ribs. His hand would make its
way around to my stomach, touching my hip bones,
fingering my belly button. The first time he touched
the outside of my breast I did jump. Another time his
fingers toyed with the sparse hair growing over the top
of my little pussy.
By the middle of December I expected his touch, missed
it if he didn't come over to me right away. Once or
twice I looked over at him, pleading with me eyes for
him to get up out of his chair. I NEEDED his touch...
And he'd touch me everywhere. On my breasts, lifting
them, teasing the nipples, between my butt cheeks as I
spread my legs enough for him to reach in. Down the
front, across my pussy hair, gently and slowly rubbing
the lips, teasing out the wetness that more and more
easily came when he touched me. His middle finger slid
easily between the lips, caressing the button of my
clit at the top. Never enough to get me off, he'd toy
with me just enough to make me almost crazy with the
need. When I was released from standing in the corner
I'd race to my room and finish the job he'd started.
And knowing how was only a fairly recently acquired
skill, thanks to my best friend, Jessica.
To be continued?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 61