Missy followed Mrs. Marston down the flight of stairs to the main floor. She expected to find a huge crowd gathered in the living room. Instead, it was empty, but the sounds of people talking and laughing could be heard in the distance. She was led down the narrow hallway, through the kitchen to another door which, once opened, led to the basement. At this point Mrs. Marston stopped, withdrew a blindfold from her robe pocket and proceeded to wrap it tightly around Missy's eyes. As she done so, she noticed Missy's hands shaking uncontrollably.

"No need to be so nervous, dear," Mrs. Marston said while stroking Missy's head, "you'll soon find yourself amidst people whose sole purpose this evening will be bringing you pleasure. In turn, you will expected to provide equal pleasure to their masters and mistresses. Just in case you find yourself in a situation where you think you cannot handle any further activities, say 'peanuts'. That is our safe word here.

Upon hearing this word, all activities will cease, and you will be excused from any further participation in tonight's festivities. But mind you, use this word ONLY if you feel that continuing on would cause you physical harm. If you use it too soon, or to escape any activity simply because you do not want to continue, you will have to answer for it. You will not find that pleasant, I assure you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mistress, but why 'peanuts'?"

"That's easy, dear. You must use a word that one would never use in the heat of passion. I can't imagine anyone saying 'peanuts' in the heat of passion, can you?"

"No, Mistress." Missy giggled nervously at the thought of such an occurrence.

"I should think not. Some clubs use an object, such as a small ball or marble, that they place in the slave's hand. The safe signal is when the object falls to the floor. They reason that an eager initiate may tend to hold back too long and may not be able to speak when they've had enough. Still, it is more likely for an object to fall out of the hand by accident. Either way, it's just a signal to all that you have reached your limit."

While Missy was busy upstairs being prepared for her initiation, Rob was busy downstairs being introduced to the other members of the club. At 21 years of age, he was clearly the youngest of the masters present and was greeted, and talked to, by the other masters (and an occasional mistress) in parental tones.

As each master would welcome him and stop to ask him a question or offer advice, Rob couldn't help but notice the admiring glances he was receiving from many of the nude slaves at their sides. His only expectation of the night was the sight of his Missy being initiated by the club members. The fact that there would be other nude slaves present never crossed his mind. His mind began to conjure up visions of what was about to happen and his dick grew harder and harder with each image.

He was almost about to come in his pants when Mr. Marston entered and called the room to order. As he welcomed the members and explained what was in store for them tonight, Rob sat quietly and looked around the room.

At first glance the room appeared to be just another basement den or recreation room. Upon closer inspection, however, the differences between this room and an ordinary rec room could be easily spotted. The floor was covered with very thick black carpeting. It obviously was well padded for you could feel your feet sink into it as you walked.

Along three of the walls were assorted overstuffed sofas and chairs, each piece having either a cocktail or end table on which were bowls of nuts, pretzels, chips and the member's drinks. Scattered in front of the seats and around the middle of the room were large pillows, some so large they resembled mattresses or gym mats.

Rob could see they were placed there for the slaves who sat at their masters' feet. The remaining wall of the room was covered by a thick white drapery which ran from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. A platform, about 8" high, extended 10' out from the drapes and also ran wall to wall.

Centered on the platform, but against the wall, was a large, wooden cross lying on its side resembling an X. Rob noticed that near each end of the cross were metal cuffs. At each end of the platform stood a padded bench which had dolly wheels on each leg. The benches, which were identical except for size, were lower on one end than the other. Colored, mostly red, lights were installed flush with the ceiling over the stage and cast an eerie glow over the area.

"So without further ado, I present, for your approval, our newest initiate, Missy, slave to Master Rob." Mr. Marston's announcement caught Rob in the middle of daydreaming about the naked slaves gathered in the room and he directed his attention to Mrs. Marston who was leading Missy through the doorway.

The room was quiet, except for an occasional whisper among masters, as Missy was led to the stage area. She was placed in front of the cross where her hands and ankles were fastened by the cuffs. Her cape was removed and she stood there naked for all to see. Missy could not see the approving smiles of those watching her, but her ears heard the low mumblings coming from the room. She was visibly shaking and very obviously frightened as she waited.

Almost immediately she felt hands starting to touch her body. The hands were joined by another pair then another, and another, until she could no longer determine the exact number. The hands lightly caressed every inch of body; her face, neck, hair, breasts, arms, navel, thigh, pubis, legs. There was no part of her, that could be reached, that escaped their touch.

The hands continued but were soon joined by lips kissing and tongues licking. She felt the nipples of her breasts being gently kissed by lips and licked by tongues. Another tongue flicked in and around her navel while others licked her lips, probing behind them as they attempted to enter her mouth. Her toes were being licked and sucked by an unknown number of mouths, some of them continuing up her legs to her knees, then thighs.

All at once, the endless parade of mouths and hands seemed to withdraw to her extremities. They only concerned themselves with her face, hands and feet. All except three, that is. She felt a pair of lips on each of her nipples, lightly sucking. She trembled when the third mouth began to lick her between her spread thighs. They were masterful in their art; licking, flicking, probing all around her sex without ever touching it.

Before long, Missy was lost in ecstasy, her head leaned back as she pushed her hips outward. She prayed for the tongue between her legs to stop its teasing and to enter her now wet pussy. Her prayers were answered shortly as she felt a pair of hands gently spread her labia and the tongue feverishly flick across her clitoris and vagina.

The ministrations seemed to go on for hours and Missy could no longer control herself. She began to grind her pelvis into the probing tongue as she moaned softly. The approving ahs and ohs from the crowd were lost to her ears as she felt the orgasm begin to build. Her moaning came more frequently and louder until suddenly all activity stopped and she was left there, alone.

Her hips slowed their gyrations and her breathing returned to normal when she felt her lips being spread again. She gasped as the tip of the dildo began to enter her pussy at the same time the mouths returned to her breasts. Her body again was being brought to the edge of orgasm by the pulsating instrument being pushed and pulled in and out of her, and again they stopped just prior to her achieving it. She felt the sweat build on her forehead and belly.

The vibrator entered her again, but this time it was pushed deep inside her and held in place. Fingers were now spreading oil around her anus and she knew what was going to happen next. She waited for, craved for, the feel of a dildo in her bottom. It came quickly, pushing its thin tip past the tight muscles of her ass and into her bowels. She heard the faint click of a switch and at once the two vibrators were humming inside her, touching each other through the thin membrane which separated them. They were being alternately worked in and out of their respective openings and Missy again found herself ready to come. Again the taunting stopped.

"Please." Missy whispered, pleading for her tormentors to continue.

She heard the faint, isolated, laughter and felt her hands and ankles being freed from the cuffs. She was led to one of the padded benches and was laid back on it. Her wrists and ankles were clipped to the legs of the bench and Missy found herself once again spread eagle, but this time on her back with her hips slightly higher than her head. She felt the bench being wheeled to the center of the stage and the thin dildo being reinserted into her ass. She waited.

She felt it then. The unmistakable feel of a man's hips between her legs and his penis at her vagina. It entered her quickly with no mercy. It shoved into her with a force that drove her whole body up the platform. It pumped in and out at a fast pace right from the beginning. It promised the relief she was after. She responded, her hips rising and falling with each stroke of the warm cock. Within moments she was moaning loudly again, nearing her orgasm.

She felt another cock. This one on her lips. She opened her mouth and it slid in. She was beyond any control except the control her body held over her. Hips bucking, head bobbing, she felt the rush of fluids heralding the onslaught of her climax. Her mouth filled suddenly and fully with semen. When the softening cock pulled away from her lips, it was immediately replaced with another hard one.

The cock in her pussy pulled out and she felt the spurts of warm semen splash onto her belly, filling her navel. Again the spent organ was replaced with a fresh one. She felt her wrists being unsnapped from the legs of the bench and her hands filled with a cock from each side. She worked furiously as the cocks kept coming. As the semen from one cock spilled across her face, her arms, her belly or down the lips of her pussy, a fresh cock would replace it.

At one point, the cock in her mouth was replaced with the sweet taste of a woman. Soon she found her hands working their fingers into the cunts of two women while her tongue probed a third, a dick still pounding her cunt. It went on for hours, or so it seemed.

She remembers her body being lifted off the bench, turned over and placed back on the same bench, belly down. She remembers the cock entering her asshole and the excruciating pain as it plunged into her. She remembers her flood of orgasms, so many she knew not how many. She knew not how, or when, it ended. She remembers the grunts, the groans, the laughter, the obscenities spoken into her ear, the darkness falling upon her.

When she opened her eyes, Missy saw Rob's face staring down at hers. Startled, she leaped to a sitting position and discovered herself in the Marston's living room.

"Welcome back, dear." Mrs. Marston said.

Missy began to ask question after question, not giving anyone the chance to enter one before she asked another. She was told that soon after she passed out, she was carried to Mrs. Marston's bedroom, cleaned up, dressed and brought down here to the couch. During all that time, she never woke up, never stirred. Rob had been worried about her and, at one point, was going to call an ambulance. "Your master should be very proud of you, Missy," Mrs. Marston continued, "That was a lot to handle for a first timer - and not a peanut." She smiled.

Missy realized now what she had done, what she had been through, and that it was over, all of it was over. She had done it! She leaned over to Rob and kissed his cheek. His arm went around her shoulder and pulled her closer to him. She listened to the Marstons compliment her again, and thank Rob for sharing his slave with them. Shortly, she was at the door, Rob beside her, telling the Marstons good-bye.

************

Missy slept late the next morning. She was awoken at noon by the telephone. It was Rob, telling, or rather inviting, her to dinner that afternoon - a real dinner. At 4 o'clock, she was ready and waiting for him. She looked at herself in the mirror and saw her legs once again wearing nylons. She smoothed her hands over her hips and felt the outline of panties under her dress. She felt wonderful, and wonderfully feminine, once again.

They dined at "O'Neils's", a fashionable restaurant on the outskirts of town and they ate well; shrimp cocktail, filet mignon, dessert. The food was delicious, the setting romantic, and the talk happy. After dinner, Rob reached into her pocket and pulled out a gift wrapped box and handed it to Missy. She looked at the box, the size of it hinted what was inside. She opened the box cautiously, her fingers crossed. It was, as she hoped, the engagement ring she had so desperately wanted.

"I already asked your father," Rob said humbly, "and he gave me his best wishes. I figure we'll get married next year. That'll give you a whole year after graduation to sorta get yourself a job and all. That is if you say 'Yes', of course."

Beside herself with happiness, Missy leaned across the table and kissed Rob's lips, whispering "Yes" as she did. It was a fine evening, indeed.

Rob pulled the car to a halt in from of Missy's house and stared at her for a moment.

"Missy, I just want to say how much I love you and how much doing what you did meant to me. I know I agreed to end it here, but I must tell you that I really don't want to see it end. But, I'll love you no matter what, for at least I'll have the memories of the past couple months."

Missy's lips moved towards Rob's and they kissed. As his arms went around her back, and their tongues intertwined, Missy thought about Bill and Mary and Joanne and the Marstons and the nights she had spent at Rob's apartment. She felt the desire begin to build in her loins and the ball begin to form in her stomach. She broke the embrace and looked into Rob's eyes for a second before reaching under her dress and pulling her panties and stockings off, throwing them into the back seat.

"Just when is the Marston's next party?" she asked, a sly, knowing grin on her face.

>>> MARIE <<<

Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Marie. I live in the Bronx in New York City. My mother was latino and my father was white. My mother died of a drug overdose when I was 4 and I lived the rest of my childhood alone with my father in an apartment. I'm 14 years old and I've been used for sex for as long as I can remember. I'll give you a little summary of my life and you can get some idea of how I got to be where I am today.

* * *

One of my earliest clear memories was when I was two years old. My grandfather had been baby-sitting me fairly regularly every weekend while my parents got some time to themselves. My mother had me when she was only 16 and my father was 18. My grandfather had a few extra dollars which he frequently gave to my parents and offered to take care of me while they had some time to still enjoy their youth. I would think very well of him today for that reason, if it weren't for everything else.

I remember he always used to give me extra long baths, which didn't really bother me. I enjoyed it at the time, being in the warm water. He had such big hands that would cover half my body when he put them around my stomach and lifted me. We'd play little games as he bathed me sometimes, usually which just consisted of picking me up and making faces and putting me back down. I didn't do a whole lot since I was so young.

One night after a particularly long session he dried me off and then laid out a towel on the floor. He laid me down on the floor with my stomach facing down. He then took his big hand and started feeling all over my ass. After a few seconds of this he grabbed and squeezed it, and it hurt a little bit. He kept doing this--rubbing his hand over my skin and squeezing, sometimes touching my legs also. I had no idea why he was doing it, but I figured there was a reason. This became a regular occurrence with him after my baths.

A few months after this all started--I think I was three years old by that time--he went even farther. As I was lying there on my stomach he slipped one of his fingers under my ass and started touching my baby vagina. It felt a little slimey when he did it, so I guess he put his finger in his mouth before he did it. He just moved his finger around my little hole and pushed it inside just a bit. I didn't think much of it at the time, since it didn't hurt or anything. It just added another level of mystery to these things he was doing to me.

Once again, it continued no farther than this for a long time. He only baby-sat for me a couple times a month, so I guess it took him a while to decide he needed to try new things. When I was 4--it was just a couple months before my mother died--he really started progressing. He had started touching me while I was lying on my back. I had grown much larger, so he would spread my legs wide and concentrate on my vagina. He would touch it with his fingers and lick it sometimes. I had long since started talking, but he never asked me what I thought of the things he did to me. He had never said a word or made a sound when he touched me as he did. I also kept quiet.

Then on this one particular occasion he took off his pants and pulled out his cock. At that point I had never seen a penis, not even my father's. Even after all the attention from my grandfather I still didn't wonder much about what was between my legs other than knowing it was how I went to the bathroom. I guess I just assumed that everyone was the same in that area. I never even thought to wonder about other people. You know how you are at that age when you think the world revolves around you. So anyway, this was a little unusual for me to be seeing.

His cock was rock hard (it was a little odd for me later on in life--my first impression of a penis being when it was sticking straight out, seven inches long). He positioned himself over me and started rubbing it all around the area between my legs--running the length of it the outside of my vagina. For the first time since he started talking to me he made little grunts which I would later identify as perverse sexual pleasure.

He then sat down next to me and put his hand behind me onto my back, lifting forward as if to indicate I should sit up. I took a position on my knees putting the weight on the back of my legs, still naked from my bath. He also sat there on his knees in a very similar position, but upright in an L position right in front of me. Because of the difference in size, my head was almost level with his big penis. I looked straight at it knowing that whatever was happening next would probably involve it--and I had also learned after years of these after-bath sessions that looking up at his face wouldn't reveal much. If there was one time my grandfather seemed void of emotion, it was when he was molesting me.

Sure enough, his cock was involved. He took the base of his penis in one hand and the base of my head in the other. He soon started rubbing it all over my face and my forehead.

Then he uttered the first words he ever said during one of these sessions: "Stick out your tongue Marie."

I did, just like I was at the doctor's. He started to rub his penis on it like he did down between my legs. I soon noticed that it was more relaxing if, instead of sticking my tongue out like I was making a face, that I relax and open my mouth a little and let it hang out. Soon he was also rubbing on my wet lips. Looking back I am surprised he didn't try to force the head of his penis into my little mouth, but I guess he didn't want to take it that far. Somehow I guess he thought if he didn't molest me by getting rough and forcing things on me, it wouldn't hurt me as much. He was right, but only in physical terms.

Soon he pulled back from my face and the hand that was on the base of his cock started pumping it up and down. All at once he let out a loud grunt and pulled my face close to his cock as he started squirting his sperm all over. He shot it on my cheek and then on my upper lip, and it was soon drooling down to my chin. As the last few shots pumped out he looked down and pumped his cock a few last times, wiping the last couple drops on my lips. I was not only confused but bothered. This felt disgusting, like someone had spit on my face or something.

I was hoping he'd do something to wipe it off, since I didn't dare make a move until he did. As a matter of fact, for the first time with him, I was genuinely scared. He did do something to wipe it off, but not quite what I had in mind. He took his finger and collected the few drops around my lips, then stuck his finger into my mouth, which was still relaxed slightly, though I had since taken my tongue back inside. He wiped the warm semen on my tongue, then pushed up on my chin with his other hand as if to indicate I was supposed to eat it. I looked up at him with my scared eyes and saw his usual blank expression. I braced myself and swallowed the strange bodily fluid. I had no idea why he was doing this to me, and my fear continued.

I sat there for the next few minutes as he took the sperm off my face in little globs and put it in my mouth for me to eat. When it was all off, he took a wet washcloth and wiped my face clean. Though I felt for the first time like something truly wrong had been done to me, the feeling had passed by this point. Just before he dressed me and let me go, he put his hand between my legs one last time and pushed rather hard on my tiny vagina with his finger--harder than he had done before. When he did this he looked me straight in the eye with a slight expression of what looked like anger on his face. I wondered if I had done something wrong. Not until years later did I realize that he was simply getting off--in a very dirty way--on the fear that he was making me feel.

After that incident he only baby-sat for me two more times, and they were generally quite similar. The one exception was the very last time. We went through the same bath routine where he fed me his semen slowly, and he dressed me and let me go. Then an hour later when it was my bedtime he took me up to my bed and masturbated in front of me as I sat on my bed--him standing beside my bed and me sitting up--afraid to lie down before he pulled back the covers for me--his cock a few inches from my head being pumped-- expecting me to watch. After a couple minutes he said without emotion "Open up Marie, wide." I didn't want to think what would happen if I didn't. I opened wide, thinking I knew what was coming, as he did what I expected and pushed forward, the head of his cock brushing my lips as he shot his semen directly into my mouth. As the first shots came he put his hand on my head and pushed it toward his penis, increasing the pressure against my lips.

I knew my role in all this, and I swallowed as soon as the sperm stopped coming. He continued to pump his shaft, as a few remaining drops formed on the top. He pushed it out toward my closed mouth and didn't say a word, wondering if I would get the hint. After a few seconds I did what came most naturally-- what I thought he would be expecting--and I opened my mouth, wrapped my lips around the warm semen, and pulled it into my mouth. I sucked the drop off as if sucking from the end of a thick human lollypop wondering to myself what all this was about and if I would find out what it meant before he stopped.

Well, that question was answered when my mother died two weeks later. At that point everything changed. My grandfather never came by because my father never went out anymore. Arrangements had been made for me to spend the day at a neighbor's who had another kid my age while my father continued to work. At night he would feed me and give me a bath and go to bed while he spent his time drinking or watching TV. He drank a lot during that period, and didn't talk to me much at all. It was a bit lonely for me being a young kid and still not fully understanding what happened to my mother.

Only one sexual thing happened during this period of my life, and it was fortunately not about me being used. In fact, it was something I started. With my grandfather never using me anymore, I began to get curious about the things he did to me. The kid I got stuck with during the day was a boy--named Mike--who I got along with all right. One summer we were playing on the floor and his mother was off in the other room baking a cake or something.

We had been sitting there playing with a checkerboard--as if we knew how to play (ha!). He said he was going to go to the bathroom and said told me not to cheat at the game while he was out of the room.

I followed close behind him, saying that if he didn't trust me I'd go with him. I had since figured out-- though I don't recall from where--that the man's penis was the way they went to the bathroom just like I did with what was between my legs. I figured if I followed Mike I could get a look at what his penis was like. He didn't seem bothered by my following him, and didn't seem to think anything was too odd as I walked behind him into the bathroom. He hesitated slightly before he pulled down his shorts and pulled out his cock, but I made it look like I wasn't really watching what was going on. He aimed and went about his business.

Of course, as soon as he was looking down at his aim I was staring right at it. It was the strangest thing in contrast to my grandfather's. It was so small and limp that I thought it was actually a completely different thing. Knowing he wasn't watching me I walked up closer to him. As I was approaching he looked to me and saw me nearby, realizing something odd was going on. Learning from how my grandfather just did things without a word, I reached out and touched his penis. From seeing how my grandfather handled his, I knew it could stand some touching without being hurt.

He said something like "Cut it out, that tickles!" but I was 5 and he was only 4, so I was a bit bigger than him and he didn't try to hit me or anything. Seeing that he had a shaft like my grandfather, though it was much smaller, I put my hand around it and squeezed gently. It actually got a little harder as I did this.

All at once, all the deeds of my grandfather came rushing back to me. Though many of them were now cloudy memories I had packed away, I remembered it all. Something about those memories made me feel like touching someone else would help me understand and would help make things right. I leaned over and angled the floppy cock up at my face. Going on what I knew I took the head into my wet little mouth and swished it around a little bit. That was all it took to satisfy my curiosity. When I stood back up, he didn't look particularly surprised, though a little puzzled. He certainly didn't know what was going on, and I can't say I did either. It was the only time I ever fooled with his dick.

For the next few years I led as much of a kid's life as I could. My father wasn't much of a parent. Each morning he dropped me off at school, I was expected to stay at friends' houses until 5:00 PM when he got out of work. Then he'd take me home and we'd have dinner. I could watch TV or do whatever I wanted until about 8:00 PM, at which time I was expected to go to my room and read or go to bed or do whatever I wanted. He didn't care what I did after that point. All that mattered was I got up the next morning for school.

Believe it or not, even though I didn't have much positive reinforcement, I took well to this and led an independent lifestyle and was a pretty good kid.

Then when I was about 8 years old my father started drinking way more than he used to. Almost every night after I went to my room he'd go into a drunken fit and would sometimes throw stuff around and curse and yell. I never came out of my room after 8:00 PM anyway, but I knew that during these times I was ESPECIALLY not supposed to come out of my room.

As I got more worried about why my father was so angry, I started listening to what he was saying. To sum it up, he spent a lot of time getting angry about the fact that he married my mother and got her pregnant. I remember vividly that first night, one of the first things I heard him say clearly was "god damnit this is what you get when you fuck a spic whore!" I had heard the term "spic" before and even though my father was white I didn't see him as being a racist. With a little help from my dictionary I found "whore" wasn't a very nice word either. I began to feel very scared and confused about my own life and what future there could be for me if my father didn't like me.

That same night I had started listening so closely and started feeling so scared I got to feel his anger close up. While sitting there thinking to myself how glad I was I didn't have to be out there with him all angry like that, I remembered something I shouldn't have forgotten. We were having a field trip at school the following day and I was supposed to get a permission slip signed. Normally I was very good about remembering to take care of that kind of thing before I went off to my room for the night, but this one time I had forgotten.

I knew I had to go out there and get it taken care of, but I had no idea when would be a safe time. I sat and waited for him to quiet down.

After a while things got silent. I made sure that they were silent for a good 10 minutes before I dared step out. I slowly opened the door and looked to see the back of my father's head. He was sitting on the couch very still. He didn't hear me until I spoke.

"Dad?", I asked, just louder than a whisper.

"What the hell are you doing out of your room, Marie?!" he said with anger in his voice as he turned toward me. His face was red and it looked like he was sweating. I'd get used to seeing that as his face when he was drunk and angry.

My voice was very quiet and scared. I certainly didn't want to be there any more than he wanted me to be.

"I... have this permission slip... I need to get it signed... sorr--" and before I could finish trying to apologize for making his life difficult he grabbed my arm and yanked it hard. I almost fell over, but I don't think he even noticed much at all.

"Goddamnit! I wish you'd remember this kind of thing earlier at night." He ripped the paper out of my hand and stood up. He stumbled over to the table, grabbed a pen (knocking over the container full of pens that was on the table), and stumbled back to me. He thrust his hand out toward me with the paper, hitting me firmly just below the ribs.

"Now get back to your room! Now!" I turned and scurried back into my room, closing the door behind me as fast as I could. I remember feeling very scared as I sat shaking on the bed, feeling like a prisoner in my home. The language he used made me feel terrible. He had never used obscenities around me. He had never hurt me physically before either, and the place where he yanked my arm was already turning red and starting to hurt like hell. I had no idea what to do.

I wasn't left wondering like this for many nights, because within a week he was making his anger more and more apparent. Normally when it was time for me to go to my room I'd just go off by myself without having to be asked. Now, about 10 minutes before I was supposed to go, he'd say something like "What the fuck are you still doing out here? Get to your room goddamnit!". These varied as the nights progressed. I think the worst it got was "You're always in the way you stupid spic whore! Get to your fucking room already!".

Not only that, but he began hurting me too. Soon after he started yelling at me like that, he wasn't content with just damaging me with words. He wanted to send me off with physical force. If I was sitting on the couch he'd give my arm a hard yank and pull me up. Sometimes after I was standing, he'd push me at the wall as he yelled, very hard. One time I hit my head on a window frame during an episode like this and there was a cut on the side of my face that began to bleed. All he said was "Goddamnit if you just did as you were told that never woulda happened! Now clean that up before I really give you something to cry about!". I think that hurt most of all. I always did what I was told. I was the best kid I knew how to be.

So naturally I was crying all the time now. At night I'd lie awake while he was out there, frightened out of my mind. Then after he went to sleep I'd feel a sense of relief that he was quiet and wasn't hating me anymore, and I'd sit there and cry for about half an hour until I was able to fall asleep. My ninth birthday came and went and everything stayed like this.

I think it's worth saying at this point that I was never a stupid kid. I knew what was going on. I knew that this was called "child abuse". I also knew that if I reported my father the best I could hope for was getting stuck with another family. In actuality, though, I knew that in my area it was very hard to find families to place child abuse victims with, since there were so many kids. At least my father gave me a home and food to eat and a way to go to school. Somehow I felt that if I just continued being the best I could things would eventually get better.

And I was wrong. One night at about 10:30 I was lying in bed waiting for my father to go to sleep. I could hear him in the bathroom brushing his teeth, knowing that the time was near. Instead of going to his room he came to my room and opened my door without knocking. This was something he never did. He just opened it right up and stomped right in. I could tell from his footsteps he was angry and drunk. I hadn't done a thing wrong. It didn't matter.

"You know Marie... I've been thinking..." he was talking slightly through his teeth, his face in an evil scowl, like he'd been plotting this release of anger for hours. "Your mother and I, we never hit you... never spanked you. I think we made a mistake. I've had enough of your mouthing off lately, and I think there's only one way to put a stop to it." I could feel my eyes widen in fear. He walked to my bed as he said these last few words. I had the covers pulled all the way up to my neck through some kind of subconscious protection mechanism. It didn't matter. He took his big right hand and grabbed the covers, yanking them hard so they flew off the bed and onto the floor. With his other hand he grabbed my hair, which was medium length, so this hurt like hell. He yanked my head and furthermore my whole body to an upright position like this, and all I could do was try to gain my composure and move along with his yanks.

MARIE PART TWO

I was sitting up for no more than a second. He sat down right next to me and pulled my body face-down across his legs. He yanked my nightgown up and exposed my ass and pulled my panties down (I was amazed he didn't rip anything). Without words or delay he started laying into me with full force. With each whack he let out a firm grunt, showing he was putting all his energy and effort into inflicting pain. This truly hurt like hell, for not only was he spanking me harder than most parents would ever spank their kids, I had never been spanked AT ALL. Being just a few years from young adulthood, it also felt like a very demeaning experience. I felt shame, horror, and above all--pain.

To be quite honest, I have trouble remembering some of that first incident. He must have gone on for several minutes, but I really can't say I kept track of the time. My memory finally picks up toward the end when I was crying my eyes out, howling like a wounded animal. All of a sudden everything in my mind caved in and I started screaming wildly. Realizing we had neighbors he immediately put his hand over my mouth.

I still couldn't stop screaming. Again and again the whacks came and I kept screaming. He had trouble keeping his hand firmly on my mouth because I kept moving with his spanks and my freely flowing tears made my face wet and slippery. After about a minute in this hysteria he indicated he'd heard enough and spoke for the first time since he started.

"Stop screaming you little whore!"--Two spanks later--"I'll give you something to scream about you fuck!". On his next and final spank, after he brought his hand down he pressed firmly on my ass, as if to secure my midsection. Then he took his other hand, extended his middle finger as if in a rude gesture (and my father had big hands, long thick fingers), slipped his hand between my legs and under, and thrust the full length of his finger right into my virgin cunt. My reaction to this was not to scream. It was more like being stabbed. My mouth opened wide and I tried to breathe but found I couldn't. Every muscle in my body tensed up and I could feel my face distort into a pained expression. I could hear my father grunting as he exerted force on the inside of my cunt--the finger all the way inside--pushing the limits of my underdeveloped sexual organs. Looking for more ways to inflict pain, he angled his finger so it pushed toward my abdomen, where women speak of a "g-spot" (though I assure you, on a 9 year old it just hurts like hell). After exerting pressure like this for a few seconds, he pulled his finger back out and shoved it in and out three times.

Finally he stopped his assault on my prepubescent cunt. Taking his hand from my ass, he grabbed my hair once more and pulled me up off his legs. This time I had no strength to try and move along with his yanks--I was at his mercy. He flipped me back onto the bed on my back. He looked down at my tear stained face and held out the hand he violated me with, his middle finger and knuckle painted with my virgin blood. Making one final scowl he reached down and slapped my limp face, not very hard but enough to leave a red mark from the impact and a stain of my own blood. He quietly mumbled "that'll teach you" and stumbled out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I couldn't move. He didn't even have the decency to pull my nightgown down back over my body or pull the covers over me. I sat there shaking, covered in my own tears and sweat, sobbing lightly. I must admit that, as much as it hurt in a scary way because it was internal, his brief assault on my cunt was not nearly as painful as his harsh spanking. At that moment my ass cheeks burned with a pain worse than any other I had ever experienced. I felt that pain very strongly for a solid week. As for the pain in my vaginal walls, it throbbed and I felt slightly nervous because of the blood. But something told me that my father wouldn't do something that would kill me. I had heard that women bleed through their vaginas under certain circumstances.

After about half an hour I got up the courage to move around a little. I looked down at my lewdly exposed crotch, where the blood was now drying on the smooth skin around my cunt. I tried to sit up but the pressure it put on my ass was too much and I laid back down on my back. I thought about how he violated my virgin body. I remembered feeling his finger inside, pushing up toward my abdomen. Though my finger wasn't anywhere close in size, I put my hand down to my cunt lips and slipped a finger inside. I exerted a slight amount up to where he had pushed, and I felt the pain throb sharply. I withdrew my hand immediately and pulled down my nightgown.

I felt dirty and hurt all over. I thought that a shower or maybe a bath would do me well. I knew I lacked the strength to do either. I managed to fall asleep soon out of sheer exhaustion.

For the next week my father didn't spank me, which was a good thing because my ass was far too sore. He still kept up his routine abuse--yelling at me and yanking or pushing me around when he thought I was in the way or not doing as I was told (though it was almost always just him claiming I had been told to do something he hadn't told me to do). I was in a reasonable amount of pain, but when I was around him I made it seem like there was nothing wrong. It took a lot of effort, but it was worth it. Somehow I knew that complaining would give me another session that much quicker. That first morning after was sure hard though.

My vagina actually felt a lot better in just a couple days. I had actually started touching myself a little bit down there just to see what it was all about. I quite honestly hadn't touched myself at all before my father did, probably somehow linked to memories of my grandfather. I didn't do anything particularly sexual--I didn't rub myself to orgasm or anything. Mostly I just touched and felt what it was like.

Three nights after my big spanking was the first night it felt completely back to normal.

I was lying in bed having a little trouble sleeping (as I had every night since, with my ass still in pain) and got up, thinking of something to do to kill a little time. I flicked on the light and saw myself in the mirror.

It was a rather long mirror--not full length, but if I stood in front I could see myself from my head to my knees. For some reason the thing to do seemed to be to take off my nightgown. I stood there in the dim light, completely naked, looking at myself for a couple minutes. My body seemed like a very strange thing to me. My grandfather touched me and made me touch his. My father had now touched me, though he seemed more interested in hurting me than anything else.

I touched my cunt lips lightly and felt no pain. I took one of my small fingers, tiny in relation to my father's huge ones, and put it inside, my mind replaying the painful memory--though I felt no pain now. I closed my eyes and remembered that night, wondering why my father had suddenly come to hate me as he did. As I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was my blue hairbrush on the dresser. The handle was long and round--in fact, about the size of my father's long finger.

I picked it up and eyed it. I adjusted my light a little so I could see my crotch. With one hand I spread my young cunt lips while I moved the end of the handle to the opening. Gently I began to push inward. As I pushed lightly, I realized it wasn't a very wide opening, and my father's quick assault on the narrow hole must have been related to what caused the blood. I kept pushing, something in my mind wanting me to relive the feeling. There was a point of great resistance, but knowing it would give as it did when my father did it, I pushed a little harder and soon it was in all the way. I pulled my hands away and saw only the bristles pointing lewdly out of my hairless pussy.

After watching for a few seconds, I remembered the push he gave me inside. I put a hand on the bristles and pushed down lightly, feeling the pressure oriented toward my abdomen. It wasn't bad--a little discomfort--but nothing bad. Trying to go more for how it was with my father, I put the brush back to its resting state and pushed it a little harder and quicker. A little gasp escaped my lips as I felt it pushing. Yes--a little discomfort, but nothing that awful. Certainly a hell of a lot better than getting spanked in the ass several dozen times.

This was the most experimentation I did that week. Then, on the night a week after the first incident, I heard the sounds of my father yelling in a drunken state from the other room. With my ass almost completely back to normal, I feared more than anything else that he was going to give me another royal whooping. I started shaking in my bed, wishing silently to be left alone. Sure enough, he barged in, looking just as angry as he did last time. He had the face of the villain in a horror movie. "I thought maybe you'd learned your lesson last week," he began. "Fuckin' ungrateful bitch."

An enormous amount of fear overtook me. The pain from the last week all came back to me and I began to panic. I sat up in my bed and pulled off the covers instantly hoping it would keep him from yanking me around by my hair. He sat down where he did last week and put his forearm behind my neck, knocking me down across the tops of his legs. Feeling him pull up my nightgown the tears began to well in my eyes. Though I knew I could live through it physically, I felt like I would die if I had to endure the torture again.

"Stop dad! Please stop!" I yelled. He put his hand over my mouth and started spanking me. The pain was unbelievable. In the first two full power whacks it felt like all the healing from the previous week was gone. I couldn't bear it. His grip on my mouth came loose and I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"I'll do anything! Please! No more--" he put his hand over my mouth tighter and whacked me again. Then he stopped. He maintained his hold over my mouth-- tears rolling down my cheeks onto his hands.

"What do you mean anything? What the fuck are you talking about?" He made it sound like this was going to be a brief intermission before he went back to smacking me that much harder. He loosened his grip on my mouth. I had to think fast.

"I--I--Well, last week..." I remembered the incident with the hairbrush. How bad could it be? "After you spanked me--your finger. It wasn't so bad. I mean--you could--if you have to. Just don't spank me anymore. Don't hurt me like this. Anything else."

He let out what sounded like a low drunken chuckle. I couldn't see his face--I had no idea what he was thinking at that moment. He then picked me up from across his legs--not by the hair, not roughly at all. He just gripped me firmly by the shoulders, and laid me down on my back in my bed. Could it be? Could it be that he just simply understood that he shouldn't be hurting me and he was going to leave me alone now?

He only had to speak to answer my question. "I can't believe it." He sounded so drunk. "I can't FUCKING believe it." He still sounded angry--something wasn't right. "You fucking spic whores. I can't fucking believe it. You know what you're saying?" Well gee--maybe I didn't.

He reached out to my face and stroked my cheek gently for only a second, wiping away one of my tears. Then I realized his comforting was fake. "Anything, hmm? Aww..." He pulled his hand back and gave me a good solid smack, certainly harder than the one he left me with last week. "Whore. The finger wasn't so bad, HMM? You fuckin' want it, HMM? Didn't think I'd hear this shit from my own fuckin' daughter... but what'ya expect with a goddamn spic whore..."

He reached down to my exposed bare genitals, still out in the open from when he ripped down my nightgown. He stroked my cuntlips up and down, as gently as he could in his drunken state. I had no idea how to react to his alternation between soft tender contact and sharp physical pain. After spending half a minute or so on the outer portion he inserted the tip of his index finger into my cunny and felt around slightly. He wasn't penetrating me much at all, and the fact that it was someone else's warm hand made it feel very different from when I touched myself. I would almost say it felt nice at the time, in contrast to the sharp spanking I was still getting over. It certainly wasn't causing me any discomfort.

After feeling around inside just a bit, he reached over to my dresser and pulled a bottle of hand lotion I kept there. Thinking he was going to just touch me gently all over with it was made me feel nice--but he didn't intend to do that. Instead he lewdly took gobs of the cream and spread it around my cunt lips, and then inserted gob after job into my cunt, shoving it in with his index finger. My insides felt cold and slimy. I didn't say a word about what was happening though. I said "anything", and I meant it. Anything to keep me from that spanking.

That was my thought, until I saw what he did next. He got up from the bed briefly and unzipped his pants. Pulling down his drawers and his underwear all at once, he set free his big solid penis. I hadn't seen one hard like that since the days with my grandfather--and the memories came rushing back. It actually looked about the same size as my grandfather's--I'd say a little over 6 inches--with one big difference: my father's penis was THICK. I remembered my grandfather putting the head of his penis up to my mouth. Even now that I was much older, I figured I could barely fit that thing in my mouth if I had to.

He then took gobs of the lotion and started spreading them on his penis. It was so rock hard and red it looked almost menacing. The fact that he kept looking right at my face and grinning while he smeared the lotion wasn't helping me feel any more relaxed. I think I knew what was coming, but I didn't wanna believe it could really be what he had in mind. Sure I could fit the handle from a hairbrush part of the way up into me, but his big penis, no way.

He seemed to think differently. Looking back as I write this, I don't remember my father for anything good anymore--but I do think, if he weren't drunk, and full of rage, and apparently horny, he wouldn't have done what he did that night. If only my father knew how to "sleep off" his alcohol.

So he took his position over me, that stiff red penis hanging below his long body, pointing toward my abdomen menacingly. With his arms holding him up to my sides--his face to mine--he smiled his evil drunk smile and laughed. "Anything but the spanking, my dear. Your wish is granted." He kissed me on the nose mockingly. "If you thought the finger was good... but hey, you're the spic whore here. I'll let you find out for yourself."

He pushed himself up from his position and parted my legs. Sitting on his knees in front of me, he pulled my legs up into the air and spread them WIDE apart, holding my ankles, one in either hand. I looked down at my sopping cunt, lewdly exposed--feeling my pelvis stretching as he pulled my legs farther apart than they wanted to be pulled. Putting my legs to rest on the bed, he shifted himself forward and took the base of his slick cock with his left hand. I looked down as he positioned his cock in front of my spread crotch--his eyes focused on the same spot. I gasped in fear as I observed how thick his cock was when held before my underdeveloped genitals. I felt the head make contact with my outer pussy lips.

"It's just a big finger--just a big hairbrush handle--" I said to myself in my head as I closed my eyes. I could feel the shaking come again--the fear. He paused for just a second, then pushed in--at least an inch. Still no resistance inside yet, though I could feel the pressure starting to build as he stretched my cunt lips beyond their normal capacity. He paused for a couple more seconds, then really pushed hard, not caring one bit for how it would hurt me. He grunted to himself loudly, like I wasn't even there--"Ahhgghh"--as he pushed down, hard.

The pain came over me like a wave. All of a sudden I was in hell. It was sharper and deeper than any spanking that burned my ass for a week. It was inside like a knife slicing up skin that had never been exposed to the air. I felt him withdraw, as he "ooo"ed to himself, feeling the suction which I could hear as he pulled his cock out slowly.

With only the head inside as it was before the big push, I opened my eyes and looked down to the connection, knowing it was coming again--wanting to see myself get tortured--like when you can't help but watch the needle go into your arm at the doctor's office.

Four or five inches of his red slimy cock was between my body and his. I glanced up at his face--his eyes were clamped shut and his face as red as his loins.

Another tough grunt and I felt my chest go limp with fear as the pain struck through my abdomen--me watching him put almost his entire cock into my underdeveloped body. I'm not going to go much further into the thrust-after-thrust of this first sexual assault. All I can say is, it went on, pump by pump. Within a dozen strokes he had pounded my insides hard enough that he was able to fit his entire cock in me and was thrusting deeply. I remember how it started to feel even slicker, and I looked down and saw blood was once again decorating my cunt, and I don't think he noticed, or would have cared if he did notice.

One more thing worth mentioning is the unfortunate tendency of my father to last longer when he is drunk. This first time he pumped me for a good ten minutes, which, I know is nothing compared to what men can do when they are out to please their mate. But when you're just out to fuck--punish, fuck, rape--I wouldn't expect it to take ten minutes.

So as his 10 minutes of pumping was finishing up, and I was starting to feel slightly like I was going to pass out from the pain and humiliation, he let out a really hard grunt and was having an orgasm. I don't know if it was just to add to my humiliation or because he wanted to see it or what--but he blew most of his seed--perhaps all of it--outside of my cunt. He positioned his cock over my abdomen and pumped himself as the sperm shot out all over my stomach and dripping down to my cunt lips. He slapped his cock head in the mess a few times, shaking some of the blood off his member.

I think he almost came back to the reality of what he'd done when he saw the blood, but his regret didn't last long if there was any. He certainly calmed down though, and didn't seem particularly angry. He sat there, his cock growing soft- -hanging wet and limp over my body--sloppy with his sperm, the blood, and the excess lotion--panting for a minute or two and looking down at the mess, not looking at my face. Somehow I felt he wasn't going to hurt me physically. But after he got up his strength he still managed to hurt me emotionally, and said the one thing that will surely stick with me until the day I die.

"I'm sorry it had to be like this. You heard what I said though. Besides, in a way it's not so bad I had to do that to you--you'll have to get used to it. The way you are, all your life--it's all you're gonna be good for."

He got up from the bed, leaving me once again lewdly exposed, covered in slime, too weak to move. My father went off to bed. I made no attempt to move. I sat in my pain and my shame--knowing any trace of innocence in me was gone--knowing I could never be clean again.

MARIE PART THREE

This began what had to truly be the lowest era in my life. In time I have come accustomed to my only purpose on earth being to be used for sex--but during that period of adjustment when I learned to accept it--I felt very confused and depressed. Many times I wondered to myself if I should turn my father in, but I thought back to the foster home concept, and how it could very likely turn out just as bad or worse. Besides which, I'd be in for years of counseling, people teaching me to "cope" with what had happened to me. I didn't want that. I just wanted it to stop, but I didn't know how. There was no easy way to undo this and go back to the way things were before.

So the sex became a semi-regular occurrence--a couple nights a week. He didn't bother to talk much about it anymore, he would just come into my room and take it. It got less brutal with time, when he saw I wouldn't resist and he could just get his rocks off and leave. In fact, as he got less brutal I worried less and less about it. It didn't hurt nearly as much, though it still was very uncomfortable for a girl my size. At least he didn't expect me to DO anything but lie there and get abused.

Though that was only the pattern for the first couple weeks. One night about an hour before dinner, my father came to where I was at the couch and stood before me. He was completely sober, so I guess this was a milestone in our relationship since I was previously able to pin his evil down to alcoholism. However, I guess he realized he could now take advantage of me whenever he felt the urge.

He blocked my view of the TV and looked down at me. "I think it's about time you started sucking my cock, Marie." I looked up at him, a little frightened. "You do know what that is, don't you?" I lowered my head and stared off into space. Yes, I knew what it was. Over the years in my brief lessons about the mechanics of sex I learned how a woman could take a man's cock in her mouth and suck it. Yes, I knew that a woman was expected to take the load of sperm in her mouth just as my grandfather did to me when I was practically a baby. I nodded timidly and didn't make any attempt to look up at him.

"That's good. I guess you Spanish girls are born with the knowledge of how to get a man off." He chuckled slightly. At least when he was sober he didn't call me a "spic whore", but he still had a racist attitude and had no trouble borrowing his abusive attitude over from events in my bedroom. He unzipped his pants right in front of me and pulled out his floppy penis.

It wasn't rock hard yet but was most of the way there, and he waved it back and forth, slapping it on his upper thighs--I could see the thick meat waving out of the corner of my eye--knowing that it was gonna have to fit in my mouth one way or another.

I figured I'd not put up a fight. I turned to his exposed organ, still not looking at his face--though I was sure he was looking down at me--enjoying the sight of my humiliation as usual. I took the floppy cock in my left hand and brought it up to my mouth. Knowing how he got off by pumping inside my cunt, so I'd probably have to pump him in my mouth to get him off (though I knew I'd never be able to get as much in my mouth as I could in my cunt). I opened as wide as I could and it just barely fit. I even had the forethought to make sure my teeth wouldn't get in the way.

So with the knob fully in my little mouth I tried to take in as much as I could. I think I fit in about three inches before it was pushing at the back of my throat and I didn't want to push any more. Fortunately my father didn't complain. I sucked in and made a slurping sound, hoping it would please him and get him off so I could continue with my life. I pulled the wet thing out a couple inches and back in--repeating--increasing the pace--getting a rhythm. This was no big deal, though my mouth got tired quickly.

He seemed to enjoy it. "Owwwwh, you fuckin' know what you're doing. I hope you know how to suck down some cream--it's coming Marie."

Sure enough, it didn't take much longer. I felt the end get even harder than I thought it could get and it throbbed slightly--so I sensed that this was probably a sign that his orgasm was coming. I pulled it out so only the head was in my mouth, and my father started shooting into my little mouth and grunting to himself as he got off. One thing I'll say for my father, he sure knew how to serve up a big load. I didn't expect to like the taste, but I didn't expect to get the option to spit it out. I slurped the whole serving off the end and gulped it down, pulling his cock out and sitting back. I hadn't looked at his face the whole time.

He pulled his now red organ back and slipped it into his pants--zipping up-- not saying a word. He turned and walked back to the kitchen where he was preparing dinner.

"You want beans or peas?" he asked, as if nothing had happened. Within a few seconds I forgot about the salty taste in my mouth and was able to answer him.

Apparently I had done just as he wanted, cause this became a VERY regular occurrence.

Every night, like clockwork, he got off his aggressions in my mouth as a break from preparing dinner. There wasn't any talk about it--he'd just walk over, unzip his pants, and sometimes he'd say "feeding time" and chuckle to himself. In time I got better at it--all in the name of getting him off quicker and getting it over with. For my own benefit I learned how to take the semen right into the back of my throat so I wouldn't even have to taste it.

And that was the pattern for about three years. It all got easier with time. As I grew older and bigger both the fucking and the sucking became easier to take on. Just before I turned 12 I actually started having orgasms sometimes when my father would fuck me for more than a few minutes. They were a very personal thing though, and I didn't moan or let on like I was getting any pleasure from it--though my breathing got a little heavier--I tried to hide it all. I really wouldn't say that even the orgasms represented "pleasure", it was just me making the best out of a situation I couldn't get out of. Sex was such a routine thing for me that I was able to reduce it into an act--something I hear from psychology that women don't do by nature--that they enjoy sex because they enjoy the person they're with--and I certainly didn't.

Shortly after I turned 11 my father did something that made the humiliation even worse--he had his brother over to fuck me. I remember sitting in my room and hearing another voice in the other room. I had never met my uncle. The two just came barging into my room, and my father spoke a bit more than he normally did these days.

"This is your uncle Pete. He'd like the idea of fucking your tight cunt. While he does that you're gonna show him how you suck my dick."

I'm not going to go much into the details of that night--but let me say that it was one of my lowest moments of that period of my life. Instead of just fucking me as my father had been doing lately, they roughed me up a lot, and laughed evilly as they did--even more evilly than when my father used to do it on his own.

They kept fucking me and making me suck them, but they never came in me and instead squirted all over my face and in my hair and on my stomach and thighs. They each must have come three or four times over the period of an hour before they gave up and my body was a sticky disgusting mess.

Then, like it was some kind of brotherly prank they closed the door and propped a chair under the doorknob so I couldn't leave and I was forced to sit in my room covered in their slime for hours and hours while they went out drinking. I heard them come home around 3am and remove the chair, but I had long since passed out from exhaustion and all my crying. It wasn't until the following morning that I was able to get up the energy to shower and face my father again. It wasn't the only time my uncle came over to fuck me--I'd say he did me about a dozen times--but it was never as bad as that again. It got more "vanilla" with time.

One other thing happened to me later the same year--I got raped shortly after I turned 12. I had started to grow tits and was getting a figure, and someone decided they were going to sample it against my will. It was a student teacher for the fall--Mr. Fernandez, a guy in his mid 20's. He looked to be a white/latino mix like me, and he used to look at me a lot closer than he looked at any of the other students. I even thought he was kinda cute in that way you can sometimes have a crush on your teachers. I even thought about him a couple times while my father was fucking me, so I guess the rape didn't bother me as much for that reason.

Anyway, we were doing a unit on biology, and my school had a few microscopes for use during the unit. I showed a little extra interest in the topic and Mr. Fernandez agreed to stay late and be in the room while I worked. Since I enjoyed working with a microscope and I kinda liked being with Mr. Fernandez, I just stayed longer than I had intended and kept fooling with the equipment. This didn't bother him at all--in fact, as soon as we were alone he came over to me and told me I could stay as long as I wanted. He just sat at the desk grading papers.

Grading papers--and looking up at me from time to time. It was one of those hot early fall days and I was wearing a reasonably short skirt with no stockings. I wasn't out to make myself look sexy or anything, it was just warm and was what lots of girls were wearing at the time. Well I noticed that when I was looking into the microscope he'd be looking at me for long periods of time, and I began to feel a little uncomfortable. One time I looked over at him really quickly and caught him looking at me really wide-eyed and his mouth was open a little, like he was in a real state of lust. As he snapped to attention he got up from the desk and walked over to me, locking the room door as he came.

He didn't say a word, and neither did I. For some reason the idea of saying "no" never crossed my mind, even though I didn't want him to do it. He grabbed my arm and tugged to indicate I should get off the stool I was sitting on. I stood up and he put his hands around my waist and moved me over toward one of the desks in the room--my back was to him.

He put a hand around my neck and squeezed lightly as he pushed me down so I was hunched over the desk. I put my arms out and held onto the desk-- knowing we were alone in the school by this time and to scream or resist would only make things worse.

He hesitantly loosened his grip on my neck, wondering if I was going to resist. When I didn't move but instead held tighter on the desk to support myself, he sensed I was going to comply and he went about his business. He flipped up my skirt to expose my ass and pulled my panties straight down to my ankles. I heard him unzip his pants and drop them, and I felt his hard cock slap against my thigh as it boinged free of his underwear.

He shoved a finger up my cunt and rolled it around for a few seconds, then inserted his cock from behind. Making sure it would feel like a rape he came at me with hard slapping thrusts, gripping me by the waist as he moved. It was actually a new experience for me since my father had never done me from behind. It felt different--that's about all I could say for it. I just gripped the desk and waited until it was over. He grunted and shot his sperm deep into my body. As long as I'm doing comparison, I might as well say neither his thickness nor his load was as big as my father's.

He pulled my panties back up for me and pulled me up from the desk. I was a little worn from getting raped essentially standing up--also a new one for me. I don't remember what my face must have looked like then, but I'm sure I didn't look happy. He gave me that usual line about "Don't tell anyone or I'll kill you". I just nodded timidly. He even gave me a ride home from school that night.

I'm sure he didn't know, but he didn't need to feed me any line. I wasn't going to tell anyone. At this point I had been fucked and used so much that his was just another cock. I didn't want him to use me all the time like my father did--but somehow I knew he wasn't going to ever touch me again, and in time I found I was right. Mr. Fernandez is just another brief episode on my sexual road.

So after that, things with my father continued as they were for a few more months.

Then about halfway through the year my father started beating me again. I don't know why exactly--I've never been able to formulate a logical guess. I had gotten to the point where I knew what pleased him and gave it to him whenever he asked for it. I can only think of a couple things. First, maybe he was simply bored of me. Second, maybe because I was starting to look more and more like a grown woman it wasn't interesting for him.

Maybe he only got off on the evil act of fucking his helpless daughter when I looked so small and defenseless. I didn't have much time to think about this since I was getting the shit beat out of me so often.

It was the spankings again--and it was worse. He whipped my back with a belt. He punched me in the face sometimes. He once started pulling back one of my fingers and threatened to break it unless I said I liked my beatings. He fucked me less during this period, but sometimes after a good long beating he'd throw my limp body down and rape me quickly and hard.

Becoming more of an adult, I started to think more seriously about how I could get out of this. I didn't have many ideas, though I started to have fantasies about killing my father and taking the money and going out on my own. However, I knew a girl in my position had no hope. I couldn't live in the apartment and go to school because the police would surely find out. I couldn't live on my own hiding from the law, cause then I couldn't go to school. What could I do for money then? I knew it'd be a sure road to a career as a prostitute. I had to wait for a solution to come to me.

I got mildly suicidal also. Not like I was going to kill myself, but I started tempting fate. I started walking home from school in a shady part of the neighborhood where a lot of black guys roamed the street. People at school said they were gang controlled areas. I thought that was bullshit, but if it was true, I didn't care much if I got caught in the crossfire.

One day I was walking down the sidewalk in a part of a bad neighborhood, and one of the black guys grinned at me as he walked by. I was wearing one of my skirts (in fact, it might have been the same one I wore the day I got raped). For some reason I decided to smile slightly back at him. As soon as he was by me, I felt a hand grab at my shirt. He had gotten right behind me and was in the process of pulling me into an alley. I looked around and saw nobody else on the street.

"You fuckin' want it, honey?" he asked me. The guy had to be in his mid 20's, and while I wasn't a racist person at all, I suddenly had an image in my mind of getting raped by this big black guy and I was scared out of my mind. Unlike in school, though, I had a little sense, and at least said "no"--quietly though, since I knew if I was too loud he could always shoot me or stab me.

He laughed a little to himself and eyed the waist of my skirt, flipping the elastic waistband as he gripped me tightly with his other arm. As he laughed I saw his crooked teeth--an evil face if I ever saw one--an image that I'll remember forever.

Then I heard a voice from the other end of the alley. I don't know if you've spent any time around black gang members, but they have a language all their own. I didn't quite understand what the voice said, but it was a male voice, and I heard the word "her" in there somewhere. It must have translated to "let her go", since, after some protest, the guy holding me did so. When he let me go I looked in the direction of where the voice come, and there stood another black male. He was several years younger, and he held a gun which was pointed right in our direction. As soon as I turned toward him he pointed it toward the ground and motioned me over toward him.

He yelled another something at the guy who had held me, and the guy walked away yelling some obscenities back. I was alone at my end of the alley, and my anonymous hero stood at the other end. I looked in that direction wondering if I should go to him or just go on and be glad I was able to get out unharmed. Suddenly the realization of what almost happened to me--getting raped or killed--hit me and I ran over to the anonymous figure.

By the time I got there I was out of breath and slightly hysterical. Fortunately he didn't just speak his gang language, he said something like "It's OK, you're all right now, I won't hurt you" and he put his gun away and held up his hands as if to show he was harmless. I stood there for a couple minutes just coming to my senses, and he stood there with me. I finally got up the nerve to speak.

"Thank you for saving me. I don't know how to thank you." He smiled, and had nice teeth, unlike the guy who was going to rape me. "Sheeeeit," he began, "don't you know no white girl like you should be walkin' 'round here?"

I understood how dumb it was of me to come through that section of town-- suicidal or not. I nodded. I suddenly felt very vulnerable and didn't want to walk the rest of the way alone. He was the only person who represented safety to me, and I didn't want him to go away.

"My name's Marie. What's yours?" I tried to sound like I had already forgotten about the near-rape.

"David Brown." He shrugged, as if to admit that he was a gang member. I nodded, understanding his position, and accepting him for what he was since I felt he was the only person I could trust.

He spoke again. "In case you wanna know, that guy was from another set. He's always doin' shit 'round here. I showed up at the right time. I seen him do a lot worse to a girl. I seen him rape girls and kill 'em. Motherfuckers don't think it's enough to deal shit, they gotta be rapists and shit."

He walked and talked with me till we got right to the edge of my street and I said I'd be all right the rest of the way. He seemed like a pretty well- educated guy for a gang member, and he told me he managed to finish high school. He was 22 years old now. He told me the name of his gang.

I actually thought about him several times in the next few days. I thought about what he had done for me. I thought that he certainly was a nice guy. I knew that he was dangerous. One night when my father was fucking me and I was thinking to myself how I could get rid of my father, I thought to myself that it would be great if I could get David to kill my father. At the time it was just a soothing thought to help me get through yet another rape session, but for the next few nights it made more and more sense to me. After about a week of thinking about it obsessively, I decided to find David and ask him about it.

It took a couple days of walking through the bad part of town (though I made sure I was wearing very drab clothing at the time, not to attract any more shady characters) but I finally came across David again. He seemed happy to see me, and started walking with me again. After some friendly conversation, I got right to the point.

He seemed more into the idea than I could have imagined. He explained that crime was his game, so whether it was something he had a personal stake in or not, he was in the business to make money however it took. In fact, my situation made it even easy for him since I could just let him right into my house and he could do the job. Of course, he didn't want to do it for free--he wanted half of any money or goods that we managed to take from the scene. I agreed and arranged a time in a few days to meet him again and discuss details. He left me at the end of my street again and I nervously said good-bye.

When my father came home from work that night and I said hello to him in an almost happy tone, I felt a sudden pang of sadness to realize that my father would be dead in a week or two if everything went as planned. He was the only family I had, the only I had ever really known. There was even a time in my life when I liked him quite a bit. I guess this kind of thinking is common among kids that have been abused. Well, later that same night he spanked me and then whipped me with a belt. He didn't fuck me, but instead left me in tears, wishing more than ever for the day when he'd be out of my life.

MARIE PART FOUR

In the next couple days I thought more and more about what I could possibly do with my life when my father was gone. I figured with the money I had I could get a bus ticket to somewhere in the country where I could live in an abandoned barn and steal food from apple orchards and such, buying food only when I had to. This was the naive way I thought as a city girl. Something in the back of my mind told me that this might not work, but I needed some way to get myself through the act of killing my father.

The day soon came when I met with David to work out the details. When we were done with that, he asked me if I had plans for after my father was gone.

"Nothing really. I'm still just 13, there's not much I can do. I was hoping to maybe run away to the country."

"And do what?" he asked.

"I don't know. Whatever there is to do." I felt kinda lost in my own words.

"I dunno if you'd be interested, but I could get you a place to stay and you could do some work and make good money. Up to you."

I think I understood where he was coming from. It was probably going to be something illegal, most definitely related to his gang. But it was something to do, and I knew I'd not have to go hungry. In a way, it was the only thing that really made sense. I would already be a fugitive after planning my father's murder. I told him I'd think it over.

We were approaching the end of my street again, and I felt a bit of sadness realizing I'd be going home again to await my father's next beating. I began clutching at the only straw I could find.

"Hey David, do you have a place where we could hang out for a while?" He smiled and said "sure", and we turned around and walked a couple blocks back in the other direction. Turning down a side street, we were soon in front of a seedy apartment building. After climbing a couple of flights of stairs, we were in his place, which was actually very nice considering what it looked like outside.

I looked around at the expensive stereo and nice furniture he had, no doubt bought with dirty money.

"You live here yourself?" I asked him. He nodded again. Looking around the room I saw his unmade bed with messily distributed satin sheets on it. Satin sheets were something I had only seen in magazines, and I had always wondered what they were like, never having had them for myself.

"Wow! Satin sheets!" I certainly sounded like a child. I naively went over to them and brushed my hand along the smooth surface and smiled broadly. David chuckled lightly to himself. I turned around and looked at him, and he grinned as if to indicate I could sit down if I wanted. I did and smiled even more as I felt the smooth surface on my hands. David came over and sat down next to me, though I wasn't looking at him. I was looking down at the shiny satin and running my fingers along the surface, imagining what it would be like to have something like that in my room at home.

He then took my hand in his and I looked up into his eyes. He looked quite handsome and I felt something strange and new deep in my chest as I felt his touch. The idea of someone showing me genuine affection of any kind had become so foreign to me that it felt like being reborn.

"Ever since the firs' time I saw you, I thought you's about the prettiest white girl I've ever seen. I know you're real young and stuff, but you still look real good." He stopped speaking, and I felt it was time for me to say something reassuring. This was all so new to me, but I didn't want to ruin the feeling I was having.

"I like you too." That was all I could come up with. It still made him smile (he had a very nice smile) and that made me feel even better.

Apparently that was all it took, because at that point he began kissing my neck and feeling my ass. Before I knew it he was taking off my clothes. I remember feeling very relaxed as I laid back on those incredible satin sheets and he straddled my naked body and took of his shirt. I hardly knew this man, but I felt strangely indebted to him for saving me from being raped and strangely attracted him just because he felt attracted to me. He grinned again as he looked down at my naked young body, then got off briefly to remove his pants. He musta had about an 8 inch cock, and it looked new and innocent to me, because it wasn't white like all the penises I associated with being violated throughout my life.

He touched my vagina and felt how wet I was. Call it a defense mechanism, but I had gotten very good at getting moist before a sexual encounter.

He grinned again and planted the head of his thick black cock at the entrance to my body. Before I knew it he was on top of me pumping the full length of his penis deep into my body. I was so used to violent, painful sex that I was not ready for what I was experiencing. The thrusts of sex had never felt so soothing and pleasing. I couldn't help getting deeply involved, and I began moaning loudly and gyrating my hips with his rhythmic humping.

Within just a couple minutes I could feel myself having an orgasm. It was nothing like the hesitant scared orgasms I had with my father, it brought pleasure to my whole lower body and made me wanna squeeze David's cock harder and make it feel more and more at home in my body. The whole world of sex for pleasure was opening up to me, and I gripped his tense arms tightly as I lost control and cried out in extreme pleasure.

He upped his pace and grunted loudly as well, driving me to several more orgasms. The sex was so frantic that my mind felt buzzed over. I had no idea how I could return to a world of conscious beatings and rapings when things like this existed. Only one actual word stuck in my mind: "love". Maybe this is love. My family never showed it to me, nobody at school ever did. This feels great. Maybe this is it. After a couple more minutes I felt his cock slip out of me and I opened my eyes to see what was going on. I looked down to see him pumping his cock with the first squirts of his sperm being shot out onto my body. He grunted as he watched his cock blow streams of white sperm onto my stomach. Soon he was done and we were both panting, as he pumped the last drop of semen out of his cock, which rolled slowly down his finger.

Well, that was not the first time we had sex together. In the next week I had sex with him three more times, and each time it felt better and better. My father was too stupid to notice that I was getting served by someone other than him, not like he'd care even if he did know.

And then the day came when we were finally going to get rid of my father. To make a short story of it all, David agreed to take my suggestions on how to try and get a little revenge on him. David hid in the closet for when my father came home, and as soon as he entered the bedroom, David jumped out and held him at gun point. Soon David tied his wrists to the bedposts and gagged him. Then I came in.

Of course, my father was trying to ask what was going on through his gag, but I didn't hear his words and didn't care to.

I then took on the job of stripping him out of his pants and tying down his legs, though David had to help me a little with that. I started sucking my father and sure enough he still had a hard-on even though his life was in danger and there was a black man standing there watching. I sucked and took his cream into my mouth, and then spat it right into his face being sure to get it in his eyes and all over his face.

Then, though it wasn't in the original plan, I started pulling off David's pants and sucking him off right there in the room. We were sure to make a lot of noise and disturb my father one way or another. Soon I had a load of David's cream in my mouth and I spat that onto my father as well.

"Gee dad, looks like David here blew more come than you. You call yourself a man?" I then pulled out a knife and stabbed my father in the balls. Soon he was writhing in pure agony and screaming out through his gag. After letting him suffer like this for about five minutes David shot him twice through the head and we were gone. We made of with almost $1,000 in cash, which we split.

That was the beginning of my new life. I disappeared off the face of the earth. I didn't show up at school again. The news had a field day wondering how my father could be murdered and me disappear all at the same time. There was much speculation and investigation that I was also murdered or that I may have done it and run away. But they'd never find me. David had devised a whole plan to do just as he said: Provide me with a place to stay and work, with good money.

My new job was to be a live-in maid at this building they used, which I guess could be called a "hideout". It operated as a crack house, as well as a place for them to stay. A couple of them actually lived there all the time, but most of them had permanent homes. It was a big house with lots of rooms, so there was always extra space where a member would stay while in between apartments (they moved fairly often) or where friends or out of town relations would stay. There was always lots of activity going on and that at least kept my life from getting boring, since I knew it would not be wise to let my face be seen outside the building.

So I just spent my time out cleaning up and straightening up and spending the rest of the time hanging out. They paid me $50 a week, which may not sound like a lot, but it was plenty by my standards at the time and looking back it's not so bad today either since I didn't have to pay taxes and all that nonsense. Of course I couldn't spend any of it since I couldn't leave, but I stored it up and figured it would come in handy someday.

Hanging out was cool. The guys would spend a lot of time hanging out playing cards or dominos while drinking. Of course, their girlfriends were almost never around during these sessions, but since it was sorta my job, I was usually in charge of taking care of drinks and food and so forth, and soon I was allowed to get in on the games. It was just another way to have fun while killing time, but it really became like being one of the family. Even though they were all black guys and even though they were all older, they treated me pretty nice and I think they appreciated having me around both as a maid and as a person. I didn't think any less of them because they were drug dealers I figured the world was a fucked up place and it was every man for himself.

David came around frequently. He didn't participate in the games much, but he did frequently sweep me off to a room for sex every couple days. Of course, he had a black girlfriend who he was steady with and he told me he could never leave her, but he still wanted to have sex with me. I had no problems with that, and I got more and more into sex with him. Soon I started relaxing more and more at the games and I took to drinking. I had never actually tried it before and it seemed great to me. I had previously been a little uptight around all the guys, but after a few drinks I was really mellowed out and started joking around and didn't have a fear in me. Then I started getting rip-roaring drunk, and got kinda flirty and kinda dangerous.

It became really common at the table for the guys to flirt with me. Then there was this one night--I don't know what brought it about--maybe it was what I was wearing--it was this black miniskirt and this really excellent gold blouse-- we were flirting along as usual and I was drunk off my ass. We were playing poker, which I was never particularly good at but we paid for low stakes so I only managed to lose a couple dollars a week out of my $50. I had been losing consistently since I started drinking that night, and had called on at least 3 hands in a row which I had no business being in with terrible cards.

It had become a real running joke with Trey--one of the players--cause he was the one I kept losing to. He was this really big and muscular guy that was always at the games, and I have to admit I had found him attractive for quite a while. I remember many times during sex with David I imagined what it would be like to have Trey's muscular body over me. His face was a little scary to look at--but I definitely wanted his body.

I was in one more hand, with a pair of kings, up against Trey who was raising hard. It came around to the final bet and I looked down and found out I had ran out of almost all the ten dollars I brought to the table with me. Boy was I having a bad night! I didn't even have enough left to cover the final bet.

"Aww fuck, I don't even have enough for the bet," I said.

"Sheeeit bitch!" said Trey, laughing loudly. "Don't you ever stop losing? We oughta start making you pay with them clothes of yours, honey!" He shook his head and laid out his cards, as if he didn't care if I could put up the money, showing that he had beaten me yet again. I laid out my cards and looked at him. I was feeling so horny and drunk, and I was kinda giggly but sheer flirtiness was not feeling right for me tonight. I started taking off my top and all the eyes at the table were on me as I grinned. Even though we all knew Trey was joking and didn't actually expect me to get naked, we all were aware of the sexual tension that had been building at the table as I flirted with them night after night.

I think they found me very attractive. Yes, I was only 13, and I was barely starting to develop. But I have my own theory that all men are secretly pedophiles of one kind of another (except for those who are openly pedophiles) and those who say they aren't just haven't seen the right stuff yet. 5 black guys gaped at my half-naked body. I'm sure the fact I was white made this very dirty--the fact that I was young made it even dirtier. I wished I could get fucked right there, but I knew that would be out of place considering that Trey didn't even know that I really wanted him.

Of course I wasn't wearing any kind of bra, so my underdeveloped chest was out for all to see. I then smiled and suggested we get back to the game, and I played for a good half an hour like this and soon everyone was used to it--even if the atmosphere was a little more steamy in there. Strangely, the flirting completely disappeared as soon as I took off my top. Then, after this half an hour, I was almost out of money again and found myself once again in a pot with Trey. I lost again, and without a word I stood up and started wiggling my way out of my skirt.

I must have looked like a little whore. I was so drunk at this point I can only barely remember the action itself. I can only imagine what I looked like or what the reaction was of everybody else. Well, I WAS wearing underwear, but that was it at this point so not much had to be left up to the imagination of the onlookers.

No sooner had I sat down with a deck of cards in my hand than someone mentioned it was getting late and we should end the game.

I'm pretty sure they also realized that to continue the game with an almost completely naked girl would be a bit too much tension for one evening, and I'm sure they didn't want to know what would happen if I took off my panties soon. Trey had definitely come out as the big winner, not only in money but with my top and miniskirt neatly piled beside him. Everyone chuckled and looked between him and me. Soon everyone had left the room but Trey and I. I walked around dumping out ashtrays and wiping up, all in my panties as Trey watched my every move. He was drunk off his ass too.

"You didn't have to do all that," he said. I didn't reply, I just laughed and continued cleaning up. When I was done I turned around quickly and saw the expression on his face. He was just tasting my body with his eyes and I wanted him to be as naked as I was. I sat down at the table.

"Let's play one more hand," I said, and without a word began dealing cards to him and myself. He shook his head, not knowing what I was up to. I actually dealt myself a pair of aces (fine time for success, ha!). I threw them away on the draw leaving myself with total junk and after the draw and had just a pair of sixes. Trey showed his hand as a pair of queens, and I feigned disappointment.

"My panties, Trey..." and I moaned like a slut. "My panties... are yours. Let's go upstairs." And without a word we went to one of the nicer bedrooms upstairs.

As soon as we walked through the door he slipped out of his shirt and pants in seconds, and I removed my little panties which were getting soaking wet up front. He literally threw me onto the bed and starting eating my smooth pussy, which is something I can tell you now that black men do not tend to do. I remember him calling me a whore and a slut, and this turned me on a whole lot.

Then he climbed on top of me and starting fucking me with his fat dick. He was only about a 6 incher, but god was he thick. He filled me up almost as much as my dad did, but it felt so good. The alcohol was doing wonders for me. I thought I could go all night. I ran my hands over Trey's smooth muscles and whispered to him how much I loved getting fucked by him.

We must have fucked for a good 20 minutes (which, once again, is unusual for a black man--I've found most of them don't last much longer than 5 even when they try). Soon we were sweaty and groaning like animals and he shoved his thick cock all the way up me and held it deep inside.

"Oh Marie..." I felt his body exert pressure on top of me. "You white slut, you want it..." and I could feel his cock jerking as he filled me with a huge load of sperm. I felt more full and wet than I ever had in my entire life. I wanted Trey in no way other than sexually, and in that moment it felt great.

With that we both passed out from exhaustion and alcohol. He actually spent the whole night there with me, and I woke up the next morning without too much of a hangover and found him still sleeping there. It was a rather warm summer morning and I loved to see the sunlight trickling across his dark upper body and his muscles. Even without the alcohol I wanted him again, and I decided to wake him up as a good man deserves. I slipped under the covers and found his cock rock hard as men's cocks always are the morning after steamy sex. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and barely fit in his huge black penis. This woke him up almost instantly and I could hear him groaning with my sucking motions, surely looking down at the sheets as a white slut slurped and fed herself beneath. I gladly accepted a full mouth of semen from him, and came up to greet him face to face for the first time that morning.

"Hi Marie..." he said and smiled, contented.

"Good morning Trey. Thanks for everything." Yes, well, I know it was him who should be thanking me. But the black male ego loves to think they are sex machines just dispensing pleasure everywhere. I was enjoying myself, so what reason did I have not to play into things?

"You got it honey," he said and got out of bed. He put on his shorts and left, likely off for a day's work. I got up a few minutes later and marveled at how I was a little off-balance in the legs when I walked. Yes, that was quite a fucking I had that last night, much more than I had gotten used to with David. And there was something so different about it. It wasn't like with my father who wanted to hurt me or with David who wanted to save me. It was just someone who wanted to fuck with me--no other feelings there, and it was a new feeling that was very pure to me. It was a new era of sexual openness in my life.

MARIE PART FIVE

The next night's game went only about half an hour before someone made a crack along the lines of "What? Nobody's gonna get naked at tonight's game?" Well, it was a hot night and it wasn't like they hadn't already seen it. I was wearing these short shorts and a tight T-shirt and I stripped down to my underwear thinking nothing of it. There was less tension about the table this time, and the guys knew I was laid back about it.

They started testing me out to see if I would let them touch me when I brought them drinks and such, and when I showed no resistance they all got really into it and were soon feeling my ass and thighs whenever I was near them. With the alcohol and all it was really turning me on and I felt like a damn slut. It didn't matter to me cause I was also having the most fun of my life.

Well, I once again ended up in bed with the big winner. It was a younger guy named Eric who had bad teeth and wasn't really good looking, but I was horny and he was good enough for me at the time. He was pretty good in bed and I got off and that's what's important. After a week I had fucked almost everyone at the table and everyone knew it. There was a first timer at the table when one of the fellas held up a 5 dollar bill and told me he had a problem he'd like me to take care of in the other room, and we walked into the other room and he dropped his pants and told me to suck his cock. I had no problems with the job or the money so I went down on my knees and gave him a grade-A two minute suck off and ate up a big load of his cream. When I was done he mussed up my hair a bit and said I was a "fuckin' good bitch" and we went back to the other room.

Well, soon this also became pretty standard stuff. Soon I was making $40 or more per night at the table sucking cocks off in the other room and sometimes spreading my legs for a fuck. I was always really wet and ready either in my mouth or my pussy and had no problems providing whatever service was needed.

I started wearing more provocative clothes to the table and taking them off slowly and at the right time. I found I could increase the number and frequency of my customers that way. I learned who liked what best and served them as best as I could.

Well, this didn't go on for a couple weeks before I got word that Damian wanted to speak to me. He was a guy of about age 30 who wasn't seen a whole lot but who ran things. He owned the building and was surely loaded. He was the guy that David went through about me coming to work there.

Well, I went to see him and it was about my little poker time activities. He spoke pretty well as I remember it.

"So Marie, I hear you've been doing a little side business at night here in the building. That right?"

I wasn't sure if he was just asking, if he was pissed, or if he was really pissed and just waiting to explode. I figured honesty would be the best path.

"Yes, well, some of the fellas... I've just been making a couple bucks a night. They were the ones who started giving me money for it, and you know I'm only supposed to be here as a maid...."

"No no, I'm not mad..." he said, and I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "I just didn't know you went for all that. But as long as you're here... you like all that? Making money that way and all?" I thought briefly. I never had a problem with it. "Yeah sure."

"But you don't wanna work the streets?"

I didn't quite understand what he was implying, but then I snapped to attention. "Oh! No no... The guys at the games... all the guys here... they're my friends. I don't want to... with strangers."

He nodded. "I understand. Just asking. But you know, I can't have that kind of thing going on in the building like that. You know... some of the fellas will be wondering what's up, and the others will wanna know if you would serve them too. How would you like it if we made that all part of your job and we pay you $500 a week instead of $50?"

I thought about it for a few seconds. That was certainly more than I was making putting all my nights together. I wanted to make sure I understood.

"Part of my job? Meaning what?"

"You'd be the girl for the building. If any of the guys... had a problem... you'd help them out. I mean, you don't have to do anything major, but just whatever it takes. And you could dress up real... nice... when you're around the house. You've got to be ready anywhere, anytime. It'd certainly make your life more busy, but you can make big money. And if you do it good, you can only make more."

I thought about it. Were there any guys in the building that it really grossed me out to think about having sex with? Well maybe a couple. There were some that were pretty fat. But I could just suck cock. No man will say no to a girl that wants to go on her knees and swallow his sperm. And I liked the way I felt serving the guys during poker. I thought I might like it to be like that all the time. Yeah, I figured I'd take the job. So I did. And no sooner did I do that than Damian undid his pants and pulled out his cock and asked for a blowjob, saying he wanted to know if I was as good as they all said. I obliged and gave him one of my hard-and-quickie specials, and he was blowing a busting load in my mouth before I knew it.

"Damn that's good. Don't fuckin' let my girlfriend hear about it. Don't fuckin' let any of the guys girlfriends hear about it. We had a girl... a black girl... doing kinda like what you'll be doing a couple years ago.

She'd walk around in skimpy outfits and lived in the house and all, and it was amazing how all the girlfriends never suspected HER MAN was getting it with her, but figured all the other men were. So just don't let them hear it directly and everything's cool. Understand?"

I nodded. "Anything you say, Damian." He gave me a wad of bills which I later counted to be $1,000.

"Listen..." he said. "My sister knows a lot about what goes on here. I told her about me hiring you to do this job and she agreed to go around and buy some clothes for you that will fit the job. I want you to write down all information on your sizes and we'll get you some clothes to wear. If we have a special event going on you'll be expected to dress as we ask you to. Understand?"

And I did. That was the beginning of my new job. I got lots of excellent lingerie as well as delicious shorts, short skirts, lots of see-through items, sexy nighties, everything. It was like I got to play dress-up every day and then see how good of a job I could do in my new outfit for the day.

The job was very demanding. I began trying to keep count and I was giving about three dozen blowjobs a day and getting fucked at least a dozen times. The majority of my work was still during the poker games, though I didn't get to play as much as I used to like to. Since Damian sent word around exactly what my job was, they fellas had no problem interrupting me and asking me to "do them a favor".

It got to the point where I'd just not play for much after the first hour and just fuck and suck for the rest of the evening. A regular occurrence was that I'd bring them a drink and they'd have me stand there while they fingered my bare cunt with one hand and held their cards in the other. Usually as soon as they'd win a hand and feel really good about it, they'd excuse themselves to the other room and get off into my mouth or my pussy.

It didn't take long after I got this full job that I started to lose my interest in sex. I kept up a good front though. I always made it seem like I was having a great time, and sometimes I even was. It was like every day I'd have fun for the first few people served, but soon I was bored and it was like acting. Then I remembered the alcohol, which I had almost stopped with since I got the full job. I found that by drinking I could enjoy myself more again, and everything became a nice, numb fuckfest.

One night during the poker game I sucked off Trey right under the table and that started a new trend. Everyone took advantage. It became as if I'd spend about 15 minutes out of every hour under the table servicing cocks, and I actually noticed myself hungry less often because I always had a belly full of sperm. If I was drunk, this was all cool with me. If not, I just thought of all the money I was making and the time went by pretty fast.

Then the rest of the guys around the house got more used to me and I was fucking them almost as much. At this point it was up to maybe five dozen blowjobs and two dozen fucks a day. One of the guys introduced me to pot and that really taught me what it was like to have a good orgasm. Previously my orgasms were sparse and when I did have them they were nothing great. But now I knew how to get really into sex and once again there was a major change in me. I got into sex again and my image as a slut. I can't say I enjoyed it, but I got off from sex and I felt slutty and I actually craved the idea of getting fucked again and again. It was kinda like the way people describe drugs. I wasn't happy with myself for the way I was acting, but I couldn't help it.

It also seemed that my job description was expanding. On a couple occasions they had friends come in from out of town, sometimes in groups of 6 to 12 people, and I would be expected to have sex with them also. Some of the guys even had younger brothers, as young as 11 or 12, who weren't involved with the gang stuff but who they brought by to fuck me.

I started to feel really used, but no sooner did I start to think about complaining than Damian asked to talk to me again. He told me what a good job I had been doing and upped my weekly from $500 to $1000. Here I was making more money than most adults, and I was 14 and even with the amount of work I was doing I still had a lot of time to myself. And hell, some days I really enjoyed what I was doing. Yeah, money talks, and it convinced me I didn't mind.

Most of the relations I had with the guys were one-on-one, but I remember there were a couple low moments. These black guys tended to not want to get naked in front of each other and hence funny stuff like group sex almost never happened. But thanks to the alcohol and the drugs, sometimes they got so wild that they'd do odd things. I remember a couple of these events, which I thought were low moments in my life and really quite degrading.

One night they were having a party at the house and there must have been 40 guys.

I had been off in other rooms fucking for hours, and at one point I was walking through just bringing drinks to people and such (a break, by comparison) when these 4 guys who were with an out of town gang cornered me and shuffled me off into the bathroom.

I didn't make a big fuss, but I did say things like "hey, what's going on here?" and before I knew it they had pushed me down on my knees and were all unzipping their flies and wagging their cocks in front of my face. I was probably almost as drunk as them and I knew my place so I just started sucking them like the little white whore that I was.

I'd hold one in each hand and suck one for maybe 20 seconds before switching off to another, while the other two would stand by stroking themselves off. Three of them came within seconds of each other, while the fourth several seconds later. I remember one started blowing in my mouth and he soon pulled out and was dribbling it down my face while I could feel the warm shots coming from the others and going all down my cheeks.

After it was over and they left I made an attempt to clean myself up, but I didn't notice until in the shower that night that they had gotten sperm in my hair too and I felt like so low knowing that I walked around that party the rest of the night with their goo in my hair. It was like being spit on but out of someone's cock, and it made me feel like a low piece of shit.

Another event happened with one of the regular members and some friends of his that weren't in the gang. You know, it was a definite pattern that bad shit only happened when outsiders wanted a piece of me, and particularly when the drugs or alcohol were involved. Cause most of the regulars knew I'd treat them well if they treated me well, so there were usually not problems. But this one guy, well, I guess he wanted to look cool with his friends so they all came over one day when almost everyone was gone and, in fact, we were the only people on the upstairs floor.

They all walked into a room where I was hanging out and reading and started undressing me and I didn't say a whole lot. I didn't like the setup--that being me and 6 guys. So if I don't like the setup, I don't play along and pretend like I'm interested. Well, I guess that only gave them ideas of their own, cause I heard them say "gang bang" at least a couple times and sure enough they just took turns walking up and ramming me in my wet hole. Of course, this wasn't enough and they wanted to use my mouth too, so I obediently sucked away.

This must have gone on for a good hour, and when they were done they didn't say "thanks" or anything, they just walked off leaving me naked and sprawled out on the bed, mumbling something to each other about ordering a pizza. I was exhausted and covered with sweat and sperm and must have smelled pretty raunchy. My mouth was aching and my lips were chapped. But I got up and showered and readied myself for the evening, cause I never had a real day off.

The only other time I can remember was actually a one-on-one experience. One of the older guys--he must have been at least thirty--had this father--who must have been over 50. And I don't know how the father came to approve of his son's gang lifestyle OR happened to be some kind of pervert wanting to get it on with 14 year old white girls, but father and son came around to the room one day. The son left and his father didn't say a word but started to move on me. I didn't have any problems with the idea, until we started doing it and the guy said he wanted me to call him "daddy". Well, I did, but it started to bring back some memories about getting raped by my father and the murder and all. And the guy got into it and was saying some of the kind of shit that my father used to say to me while he fucked me, though I had forgotten most of it by blocking it out of my mind. It took a lot of control to keep from freaking out right there. But fortunately he got off and left and I must have stayed there for an hour crying before I got up and cleaned myself off.

EPILOGUE

So those are a few stories I can tell. I've met this guy, a brother of one of the guys here, named Brad. He's not in the gang but he comes to see me a lot. He's a senior in high school and is a good student and everyone around here respects him for that. He's going to go to college in computers and he was the first person who really took an interest in hearing about my life. He said it might help me to write everything down so that's what I've been doing. It's been really good to just sit and write for 15 or 20 minutes every day. He tells me he's going to type them in and share them with the world, though he won't use my real name. So if someone else is out there reading this, "hello" from Marie!

But my life has been just like I've described for many months now. I'll be turning 15 in just a couple weeks and when I think about the time that has passed and how I'm still a young girl by most standards, I feel like maybe there's something wrong with my life. I spend more and more time drunk or stoned and one of the guys showed me what heroin is like and I've been doing that for a while and a couple hundred of my money has been going toward that every week. Since I'm not as wild about sex as I used to be, some of the guys are a little unsatisfied and get kinda mean during sex. Needless to say, I've had several more of those "gang bang" type experiences as a result, but if I'm on the nod from the heroin it doesn't matter, I just lie back and take it.

It was funny cause a few weeks ago I snapped to attention and realized that most girls getting fucked like this get PREGNANT. I couldn't help but wonder how a girl like me that has been full of sperm for YEARS has never been pregnant. I can only wonder that being raped so violently by my father at such an early age did something to my insides so that I can't have babies. I'm sure this constant battering with huge black cocks every day isn't helping matters heal any. But it doesn't matter to me, that just makes it easier so I don't have anything more to worry about. And I guess I should be worried about diseases and AIDS and stuff, but I haven't got anything yet and if I have I don't see any reason to start worrying about it now. We've all gotta go sometime.

And if you're wondering about Brad. Well, we were just friends for a really long time and even after I told him about my life and such he didn't want to have sex with me because he didn't want to treat me like everybody else. But one night we got a little drunk and I sucked his cock and we've been getting busy ever since. Well, there's nothing wrong with that as I see it. I guess it would be nice if he and I started something real away from this place someday, but it'll be really hard cause all my money and the heroin and stuff are here where they're easy to get. And who knows? They might still be looking for me because of my father's murder. I guess it's best to wait a while.

The End