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Closing The Book Mg-f, nc, mast, rom
The Early Years
I was just seven or eight years old when I was removed from my drug
and alcohol impaired parents care. Memories of those early years are
little more than a blur to me now although I do remember life being
full of turmoil, from verbal and physical abuse that drugs and alcohol
caused them to rain down on me.
It was only later when I heard it was one of my school teachers who
had reported my apparently obvious mistreatment to the authorities.
However the day it all took place is etched clearly in my mind. We
were all still asleep when loud knocking wakened me and my dazed
parents. As soon as the door was opened, in poured several people,
men and women all in uniform, and immediately took me into their
custody. There was much screaming in terror from me; loud abuse
and swearing from my parents, especially my father who was
stomping around the room in his torn pajama pants, arguing and
ordering the intruders out.
They soon did leave with me being held tightly in the arms of a lady
in uniform. All that was left of me with my parents was a piece of
paper one of the policemen thrust into Dad's hands. He was still
roaring abuse as we drove away. My final sighting of him was a flick
of his hand as he turned back towards the house, as much to say,
'good riddance.'
I think I was still crying from fear but that soon stopped when I
realised they were talking calmly to me, smiles of encouragement
and something I'd never experienced before, hugs and cuddles.
Most of that day was spent with the lady who took me from the
house. She was very pleasant and cheerful; talked to me continually;
asked me lots of questions; never growled when I couldn't answer
and even bought me a hamburger for lunch. I was taken to see a lady
doctor which frightened me for I'd never been to a doctor's in my
whole life that I could remember, but again my first fears were
quickly dispelled and I was apparently found to be in good health.
My first night away from my parents was spent in a room with
several other girls and I found myself sleeping in the softest, cleanest
bed I have ever seen. It even smelled sweet, a far cry from the dank
mattress on the living room floor at home.
The next morning I was given a whole suitcase of new clothes, pretty
things I'd envied other girls wearing up to now and I was taken for a
long ride in a car with the same lady who'd rescued me the day
before. She explained lots of things during the trip but the one that
remained with me was the fact that I would be living with some
people who look after children who have no home and that they were
very nice and would treat me like a child of their own.
After that day I rarely thought of my parents again, they quickly
became a distant memory and to this day I've had no desire to make
contact with them or even learn their fate.
The people lived in a nice home in a small town in Arkansas. It had
flowers growing all around, lots of nicely trimmed grass to play on
and there were already two boys staying with them, both like me,
being taken from their parents because they hadn't been looked after
properly. One boy was about three years older than me, the other
about my own age.
Within a day I was calling them Mom and Dad and they were fun to
be with. For the first time in my life, I was living with a proper
family; happy and cared for, actually loved because both Mom and
Dad kept telling me how much they loved having a little girl to call
their own for the first time. As I got older I learned that they hadn't
any children of their own and for many years had been looking after
homeless kids like me, some for just a while, and others, like the
elder boy, for a long time.
We were a family and I grew to accept Mom and Dad as my true
parents. All thought of my real ones quickly faded. They made rules
that had to be kept, like no fighting, no swearing, do your homework
on time, help with various chores; all the things I guess normal
families did. Breaking the rules usually brought a talking to which
always made me feel so guilty, especially when most infractions were
not done with intent but through simple girlish spontaneity.
Occasionally, Dad would growl a bit which made us all take notice
immediately. Only once did I remember Dad spanking the younger
boy when he swore at Dad after being spoken to for some reason.
Even then, the spanking didn't seem to last very long behind the
closed door of his room and the boy came out red-faced with
embarrassment.
As I got older, Mom took me aside one evening and told me about
the things that would soon begin happening to my body; growing
boobies and periods. I knew I'd eventually get bosoms but had no
idea what periods were. After learning that my front place, that's
what I'd learned to call my pussy from my first mother, would begin
to bleed actual blood every month, I became very self-conscious of
my body. Mom didn't talk about sex at all, just that a girl's vagina, as
she called it, bled every month and I had to accept it. Her explanation
for this unheard of phenomenon was that it proved I wasn't pregnant.
Despite my questions she went no further with her explanation.
But a talk about the birds and bees was never given to me. I must say
here that I did know a little about what boys and girls did, rather
mothers and fathers did, from several of my school friends. One girl
in particular told us every time her parents did sex things because she
could hear them through the bedroom wall. Some of the other girls
had been told about sex and some of that filtered down to me with
lots of giggling and blushes. All of this, including the knowledge that
my vagina would soon begin to bleed turned me into a real little
prude amongst my friends and the boys at home. There was no way I
would ever give them the chance to look up my skirts or catch me
naked in the bathroom.
At about this time, I was probably aged eleven or just turned twelve,
a new girl came to live with us. She was about seven and quickly
became part of the growing family. This led to a new dimension in
family life for me when Dad announced that he would bathe both
girls each night.
I clearly remember Mom looking at him in surprise. So did I for that
matter. It was just something he never did. I don't remember it being
a modesty thing for me. I was still a child, no breasts and no bleeding
and after all, it was Dad so it wasn't such a big deal. It was just that
he had never bathed me before, so why now?
Mom began to speak, querying why he should do that but Dad
looked fiercely at her and actually said, "Shut up, woman. If I want
to bathe my girls I will bathe them and that's that." Mom never said
another word on the subject.
So that evening, two young girls pranced to the bathroom, Dad in
tow and innocently stripped their clothes off and jumped in. Nothing
of those evening baths ever struck me as anything more than a family
thing. It certainly wasn't sexual in any way from my point of view
although I must say now, sexual thoughts rarely entered my head
then. We were two girls being bathed by our father and that was that.
Each night was the same as the last. We would sit together in the
bath. Dad would kneel beside the bath, soap the washer and wash
our face, arms, back and chest, then we'd stand up and let him do
our bottom, tummy, legs and between our legs. I never remember
him laboring longer over my vagina or my bottom than he did
anywhere else and there was certainly no innuendo of sexual
gratification on his part. We were just happy to share this extra time
with him.
Looking back later, I realised he was getting his kicks even then,
albeit passively and I often wondered how he'd used the sight of our
young naked bodies and freely displayed genitals when he went to
bed with Mom each night.
And our happy lives went on
Part Two
Puberty Finally Arrives
Life continued along the same happy lines until one morning I woke
to feel a strange stickiness between my legs. A quick probe with my
fingers brought a scream to my lips. They had come away all
bloodied. The long awaited but unwanted bleeding had begun.
My scream woke the girl but I was able to calm her by saying I'd had
a bad dream. I slipped my robe on before I stood up to keep the
offending mess from her eyes and rushed to the kitchen to tell Mom.
She looked at me for several seconds then said, "Your father will fix
you up." Then she simply went back to preparing the breakfast, my
predicament apparently forgotten.
Dad was in the bathroom shaving. I was now embarrassed because
this event had changed me from girl to woman overnight and it was
embarrassing to even talk to him about such an intimate thing much
less let him look at the mess that had spread over my pajamas
between my legs. But I had to tell him.
His face covered in shaving cream, he simply stared back at me in
the mirror for what seemed an eternity. Then without looking around
even once, continued shaving as he instructed me to run the bath
with hot water, to use no soap and to sit still until he returned to
examine me. I knew he watched every move I made and as I
removed my robe he stopped shaving altogether and stared back at
me as I peeled the bloodied pajama pants down my legs and stepped
into the hot bath. It stung no end, as hot baths always do but I gritted
my teeth and eased myself down until I sat on the bottom. It took
quite a while before the burning eased but I managed to sit still as he
had instructed.
After he had wiped his face clean of the remaining shaving cream, he
glanced towards me as he collected my pajamas and left the room.
I had no idea how long I'd been sitting but it was certainly long
enough for the water to have cooled right down and I began to feel
chilly. The water between my legs had turned quite red from the flow
and the colour looked much like red ink had been poured into the
bath. In the time I waited, many things ran through my mind. Why
did he want to see how much I would colour the water? Why did he
take my bloodied pajamas away with him? What did he mean when
he said he would return to examine me? How on earth would I stop
the bleeding running down my legs during the day? Would I have to
stay home from school while it was happening? How long before it
stopped? Did this happen to all my girlfriends? If so, why didn't they
talk about it?
I'll never forget the date; it was June 4th. 1976 and I was just twelve
and a half years old. My boobies had already started to grow
although they were not much larger than a squashed tomato but the
nips had puffed out quite a bit and were rather rounder and plumper
than I would have liked but I knew I had no say in the way they
developed. Also I had recently found the first longish hairs growing
between my legs. There was quite a little clump that I could see
through the pinkish water as I sat there pondering all these things.
I sighed, telling myself all these things were part of growing up into
womanhood but my mind was that of a young and quite innocent girl
still.
He finally came back and stood staring down at me, at the colored
water and I think, at my boobies which seemed bigger all of a
sudden. I asked him what I should do but he simply turned and
vanished once more.
Maybe ten minutes later he came back and informed me that Mom
had taken the others off to school and was then going to do the
shopping. I wouldn't be going to school today and he would remain
at home to examine me and assess my flow. I had no idea what that
meant but had no reason to doubt anything.
He knelt by the bath, put his hand into the water and ran his fingers
across my vagina several times. Then he pulled the plug and told me
to remain sitting while it flowed away. He refilled the bath about six
inches deep then took a washer and soap and bathed me just as he
always did, this time taking much more time over my genitals and
boobs but it seemed the right thing to do, seeing how messy I had
been. Even then, I never realised he was doing any more than caring
for me.
After toweling me down he lifted me into his arms and carried me
back to my room, laying me down on my bed which had been
stripped of covers, leaving just the sheet and a white fluffy towel
right where he placed my bottom. His eyes ran back and forth along
the full length of my body several times as he stood above me. For
the first time I felt uncomfortable, not because I was naked in his
sight for I'd been so every night in the bath. But it was the way he
stood so silently, looking so intensely.
I hesitantly asked him what I should do to stop the bleeding; it was
something I'd been considering from the time I eased myself into the
bath. It was my biggest concern just now; how do girls stop the blood
from oozing down their legs?
Saying nothing, he took a tissue from the box and peeled both layers
apart and held a single layer between his fingers then told me to lift
my legs towards the ceiling and spread them wide apart. Now this
was definitely more than he had ever done before. This time he could
look right into my bleeding pussy. Why did he want to do this? It
sounded so…, well so gross. The tissue was so thin it could never
soak much of the flow and from the color of the bath water; it
seemed to be oozing so quickly. I was so naïve back then.
Still silent, he leaned over and let the thin leaflet float down over my
spread pussy, patting it against my slit with his fingertips.
"We need to take a sample of your first flow," he said soothingly as
though that explained everything.
"But that could never soak up what's coming out, Dad," I said
innocently.
"Once we have the sample and I inspect your vagina, I'll teach you
how to wear sanitary pads. They'll soak up everything."
In those simple words, all the worry left me. Dad knew what to do so
the problem was solved.
There didn't seem to be any color forming on the tissue so he placed
his hand right over my crotch and had me roll over onto my tummy,
his hand still cupping my pussy. In a few minutes he peeled the
paper carefully away and held it up for me to see. I remember so
clearly his next words. "I will keep this as a permanent memento of
your first bleeding." It was such a strange thing to say, I thought.
I was then turned over again and made to hold my vagina apart with
my fingers while he used several tissues to mop up the small amount
of blood that had escaped. While it looked messy and somewhat
ghoulish, I was soon clean and felt more comfortable. He took charge
of my vagina then, running fingertips along the lips, even pushing
slightly inside where I knew he'd feel my hymen (yes, I did know
some things about my body) but I was sure he wouldn't do anything
to injure the thin membrane. Somehow, I knew the evidence of my
purity was very important to both Mom and Dad so I suppose it was
important to me also.
His fingers felt nice, the way he was stroking me down there. It was
soothing and I just let him continue and in fact closed my eyes as I
took in the pleasures.. After all he was my Dad and he was checking
that things were working down there. In those days there was no
SexEd in schools, especially not the small country school we
attended. Finally he told me everything looked to be working as it
should and patted my vagina several times, smiling down on me as
he did so. I never even tried to stop him; that was the level of my
innocence then. Maybe if my real parents had parented me properly I
would have known better, or more so, if my new Mom had given me
instructions about molestation and sex in general as I reached
puberty, I would have read the signs much sooner. But that had never
happened.
Thankfully, he then brought out my very first sanitary napkin and
after reading the packet himself, showed me how to place it between
my legs and hold it inside my panties with safety pins. The first steps
I took once the thick padding was in place, made me feel as though I
was still wearing diapers, not that I can remember back that far of
course but they sure did fill the vee of my crotch. Thank God for
today's tampons.
He watched me walk in circles, testing how the thick pad felt. But I
suddenly realised he was staring at my small breasts the whole time.
For the first time I realised he was thinking dirty thoughts about my
boobies and before long he knew that I knew what he was thinking,
if that makes sense. Instinctively, I covered my mounds with both
hands and tried to get to my robe but he stopped me. It was a
terrifying moment.
Then he broke his gaze and handed me a packet of pills, explaining
that I must take one every evening as I went to bed, to make sure my
monthly periods stayed regular. He showed me how to take the seven
tablets marked with a different color during my period then go on to
the rest of the packet. It was several years before I discovered I had
been taking birth control pills throughout that time.
My other instruction was that I had to ask him for a new pad when
the current one became full. I had no idea how long that would be
and he said that for the first few months he would test each used pad
for its saturation levels against the time I wore it. So my duty was to
hand in the old one when I asked for a fresh one. It seemed a bit
embarrassing but I thought it was no great deal and so did as I was
told.
Two other things happened during the day of my very first menstrual
cycle. The first was that my bed was moved into their bedroom so, in
his words, the new girl wouldn't be exposed to a girl having monthly
periods. It seemed a bit harsh because the girl and I got on quite well
despite our several years age difference. However I had to help him
move the bed and my things into their bedroom. From now on I
would be sleeping right beside their bed which made me
uncomfortable because I did know that husbands and wives had sex
together. It was the 'how' that I wasn't so sure of. Despite some mild
protests on my part, the matter was decided by him, of course.
Then he told me simply that I would be spanked on the first evening
my period had finished. I was devastated because I couldn't think of
any reason to be punished and he refused to explain why. It was so
unfair but when the time came I learned it was because of
disobedience in covering my boobs from his gaze.
Apart from the un-nerving change-over of sanitary napkins during
the five days of my period, something both he and I took for granted
within a day or so, nothing that I viewed as an intrusion on my
privacy happened at all. Maybe it was simply that I knew no better
for all that took place more than twenty-five years ago, long before
television and computers opened the eyes of the youth of the nation.
I slept beside Mom and Dad and I saw no sign of them doing
anything other than sleep.
Towards the end of the fifth day of my first period, the napkin
showed no staining at all and I simply told Dad it was over. A look of
anticipation grew across his face when he heard that. It was then that
he reminded me of my impending spanking. It had slipped my mind
completely and of course, sent my mind reeling.
Dad had never really spanked me in all the years I'd been with them,
just an occasional one or two slaps across my bottom as I stood
beside him for doing something naughty, so the prospect of an
official spanking for something I was still unaware of, wasn't very
pleasant at all. More embarrassing was to have it announced to the
whole family that evening at supper. The two boys smirked and
made faces at me, making me blush in fury at them. The girl just
gasped and looked at me in surprise. Mom actually objected and
asked Dad what it was that I had done that was bad enough for a
spanking. These days, Dad had taken all control of the household
away from Mom; he treated her more as a servant than his wife and
so she rarely spoke up against anything he said or did.
We all held our breath, waiting for Dad's reaction to Mom's
objection. It came with a simple, soft, "None of your business,
woman." Mom said no more about it.
Before bed that night I received my instructions on how I was to
prepare for my spanking the next evening. It seemed he was going to
make a big production about the whole thing. Straight after dinner,
without being told, I was to shower and wash and dry my hair; I was
to wear one of my cotton nighties and a pair of panties that he had
already chosen from my draw. They too were cotton and white. By
eight o'clock I had to be kneeling at the foot of my bed, my hands
clasped together behind my back, my face looking to the floor. From
the time he entered the room, I was not to move at all nor make any
sound without his permission and my obedience to his wishes was
paramount.
I clearly remember that evening as though it had happened yesterday.
I had been kneeling in the one spot for what seemed like hours, it
was certainly a long time and my knees were aching terribly but in
Dad's current mood I dared not shift, knowing he could enter at any
moment. When he finally did, my body froze and I held my breath
lest I make any sound that might earn me more punishment. But he
stood behind me for several minutes so I had to release the air slowly
to remain silent and by then I was desperate to take another breath. I
actually gulped as I filled my aching lungs. He still remained silent
but moved to the end of the bed and sat down so close I could smell
his man scent.
I call it that now because I've come to cherish my husband's scent; it
becomes very strong and heady when he's aroused. But back then,
all I noticed was a slight body odor, not unpleasant but nothing like
Mom smelled.
After a further time of silence he began to lay down many rules that I
would be governed by from then on. I was still kneeling, my face
looking at a particular pattern on the carpet.
Firstly, I could expect to receive a spanking several times a week;
girls of my age have much to learn and a good spanking helps them
remember their responsibilities much quicker than having to be told
over and over again. I wasn't given permission to respond but
inwardly seethed at the injustice of my lot.
Then I got my first lecture about right and wrong from his point of
view. Wrong, was when I tried to stop him from looking at me when
I was undressing. It was made perfectly clear that as my father, he
had every right to see me any way he wanted so wrong was trying to
cover my private places from his gaze; right was actually displaying
myself more openly. Wrong was disobedience in any way; right was
absolute obedience no matter what he demanded.
My knees were now killing me with aching pains from kneeling in
the one position for so long. He must have known it would be so but
he gave me no choice to move. Consequently it was so difficult to
concentrate on all the things he mentioned and bear the pain as well.
I knew I hadn't remembered much of what he told me.
One thing that did sink in and has stayed with me all these years was
the way he explained what would happen to me if I told anyone
about what happens between him and me from then on. He made it
perfectly clear that as a government sponsored foster home, his word
would always be accepted as the truth over any complaint I might
make. He went on to explain that foster children who cause trouble
are sent to special guarded sanatoriums where discipline is strict and
terrible. He told me about girls going there who are raped and
molested every day by special black cruelty guards until they lose all
will to live. Many commit suicide and many are not heard of again. It
put the fear of the devil in me, that did and I lived with it the whole
time I stayed with Mom and Dad.
Wrong was objecting about the things he and I would be doing in the
future; right was accepting those things, which he gives in love and
should be accepted by me in the same way. He didn't explain what
the things in the future would be and I was too frightened to even
open my mouth, lest he took offence. In fact, I think he was just
waiting for me to object somehow because he stopped talking at
certain points as though it was my turn to respond. But I never did
respond.
Finally he asked me a direct question that I had to answer. "Yes,
Dad, I promise to obey you in anything you ask and I do love you."
That was what he wanted to hear so that was my answer.
The sigh I heard was indeed telling. He knew he had won; I was his
to be used as he wished.
Now I need to explain something here. I'm sure you can imagine
some of the things I was about to face; of course, he was taking the
first steps towards me becoming his object of sexual gratification. In
my short and somewhat protected life, I had never heard such a term
and while I had come to the realization that Dad wanted to do things
that were naughty for a father to do, I never associated the prospect
with something as evil as the sexual degradation of a pre-teen girl.
Pedophilia and incest were not subjects talked about either in the
press or at school. In fact, small-town schools in those days kept their
students entirely oblivious of the dangers that lurked out there. He
was my Dad, I was his daughter, that's exactly how it was and if he
decided I needed to be taught certain things that were not spoken
about, then so be it.
I do know I accepted the situation with a certain amount of
trepidation, fearing the unknown things he had hinted at, especially
the impending first spanking of my life. That wasn't something to
look forward to. But Dad was the head of the house in every way and
so his wishes naturally, had to be obeyed. I wasn't simply a stupid
young girl; it was just the way it was in my mind.
Having won the battle of wills, it was time to take my punishment. I
was told to stand but that was quite difficult because my knees just
wouldn't hold me up and Dad had to help me and lead me around the
bedroom for a few minutes. Still facing the floor, he made me lift my
nightie until my panties were exposed. He just stared for a while and
I saw his penis had grown big and he sheepishly adjusted himself so
it wasn't poking out so much.
Without saying a word he then sat down and maneuvered me across
his knees, my hands and toes helping me to balance. It was an
uncomfortable position to be in, especially once he made me spread
my feet far apart. I'd closed my eyes tightly in anticipation of the
spanking beginning but he spent some time adjusting my nightie far
up my back so the whole of my panties were on display. Still his
hand hadn't landed even one blow. They were however, at work
smoothing down the panties; at least that's how it felt. His hand was
sweeping back and forth over my bottom cheeks and occasionally
creeping down the crease and almost touching my pussy.
The thought of him molesting me sexually was farthest from my
mind. All I was waiting for was the beating to be over and wondering
if it would be so painful that I would have to cry out. I didn't have to
wait much longer to learn about that.
Part Three
My Servitude Begins
God, I never realised how much a proper spanking hurt. From the
first swat, I cried out loud, not caring that the whole household could
hear the results. After about the fifth, the burning began. He held me
down with his left hand, pressing tightly against my back while his
right hand did the damage. Both left and right cheeks were
individually targeted, one after the other and his pummeling never let
up.
I was beside myself, shrieking, wriggling across his knees in a vain
attempt to make him miss, kicking my legs up and down, trying to
place my hands over the burning surface but he easily flicked them
away each time. Several times he growled about closing my legs and
gave me extra hard spanks until they were splayed into a wide vee
again. That was when his hand landed inside my thighs and
sometimes directly over my pussy. It was sheer cruelty, the pain he
put me through.
But I knew he enjoyed every moment of my torture because I could
feel his penis poking up against my tummy. It could have been a
thick stick, it felt so hard and I had the distinct feeling he was
grinding it against me.
I don't know how long it lasted; it seemed like an eternity and his
hand never slowed down one little bit. After a while my strength
began to fade; the kicking and wriggling stopped and my screams of
pain reverted to heavy sobbing and short breaths. I had no energy to
retaliate in any way. Not long after that it was over. At least the
spanking was over but the humiliation continued.
He stood me up, caring nothing for the sobs and tears that still
flowed. Then he turned me around so I was facing away from him
and slipped my panties down my legs. That shocked me the most. I
had no idea he would do something like that and objected mightily.
His response was to threaten me with his belt if I didn't co-operate.
With the panties around my ankles he made me lift my nightie and
patted my legs apart until the panties were stretched as far as they
would go. Then he whistled his satisfaction, describing how red my
bottom was and that he had done a fine job. His hands roamed
everywhere, all over the tender surfaces, down my bottom crease to
tickle my bottom hole; that revolted me at first but soon sent strange
feelings through my body. I knew very well that it wasn't right when
he cupped my pussy and used a finger to stroke the hairs just above it
but the thought of being strapped kept me absolutely quiet.
I was made to walk to the mirror with the panties impeding my steps
like a pair of ankle cuffs, if there was such a thing, so I could see the
damage he had done. My body was fairly pale for I rarely got out in
the sun so the crimson red bottom cheeks stood out like angry
pimples. The whole area from where my crease started to half way
down the inside and backs of my thighs was red raw with spots of
deeper purple in some places. It looked like a shocking injury and I
cried out in despair when I saw the damage. That made him laugh
out loud.
He made me hobble back to him and growled when I let the nightie
fall back into place, covering my exposure. So I lifted it up again to
show him my pussy up close. He'd seen it so many times of course;
every night when he bathed me, even a few days ago when I sat in
the clear bath water when it was bleeding but this way, any girl
would know wasn't right.
Fear of repercussion kept me silent. This was when I began to learn
the true facts of life. He held back nothing. I was a young and
beautiful girl and my body made him feel sexy. Mom's body was old
and she didn't make him feel sexy. Men, meaning him, had needs
women don't feel and the strongest need was to feel sexy and have
sex with someone who made them feel that way. Men felt sexy when
they spanked young girl's bottoms; men felt sexy when they looked
at young naked girls; when they touched young naked girl's bodies,
their breasts and pussies and bottoms.
I was going to take Mom's place in making him feel sexy and help
him to relieve those sexy feelings. He would spank me often to make
him feel sexy. He would run his hands all over my body to make him
feel sexy. He would buy me clothes that made me look sexy to him.
He would teach me how to look sexy and make him happy. He would
teach me how to kiss him as a sexy woman should. He would teach
me how to touch him to make him feel very sexy and how to relieve
his sexy feelings.
He told me that whatever we did together, Mom would agree with
and she would continue to sleep in our bedroom, watch the things he
did with me and even help me do things to him. In the bedroom from
now on, I was to call him Daddy and Mom, Mummy but just Mom
and Dad elsewhere. He sniggered when he suggested it was a good
time to train me as a lesbian, not that I knew what that was at the
time.
From then on, when I was dressing, I had to remove everything and
stand there showing myself off until he nodded that I could dress. I
was to sleep naked except during my periods when I could wear
panties to hold the pad in place. The day after a spanking I wasn't
allowed to wear underwear at all, even to school. That shocked me
no end and I was about to object when I saw the look in his eyes,
daring me to say something. When I remained silent he had a smug
look of success on his face. I decided to try and talk him out of the
school thing later.
Whatever happened inside the house was our secret and must never
be spoken about to anyone, never. I'd already had that lecture a few
days ago but he emphasized that if the worst thing happened and the
police were informed about what we were doing together, he and
Mom would probably go to jail and I would be sent to one of those
homes where big black men raped girls every day. It was enough to
keep me quiet for the rest of my days with him. I was also warned
that if I didn't please him every time or refused to do anything he
wanted, I would be punished naked, in front of the whole house,
meaning the boys would see everything. He made an excellent case
of why I should obey his every wish and it worked.
Nevertheless, he didn't always need an excuse to humiliate me in
front of the boys as I will describe later on.
His speech took quite a while with me holding my nightie away from
my naked pussy. He had a long interrupted view of my sex but when
he finished talking, I soon learned he hadn't finished with my body
for that day.
"We are going to kiss like lovers before and after every lesson you
receive," he told me, pulling me between his spread knees. One hand
pulled my face to his, the other pushed my bottom towards his crotch
and he began grinding his sex, which was still in his trousers, against
my available pussy.
The kiss took my breath away, literally. His lips encased mine and I
soon felt his tongue fighting to gain entrance past my teeth. Lots of
saliva passed between us and I had never known such a kiss. I had to
give in and let him win; feeling a man's tongue fishing about in my
mouth was so strange. For a moment an inspiration hit me; if I bit
down now I could do a lot of damage… of course that lasted only a
heartbeat. But I did think of something else and without being told,
put a hand on his cheek and the other around his neck and kissed
him back as best I could. I knew I couldn't stop him doing all these
things so decided to join rather than oppose.
Immediately I felt his body relax and he broke the kiss and said, "Oh,
my darling girl, I love you."
Whether he loved me or rather loved my body, I didn't care. But
whatever he loved, I thought it would be better for me to acquiesce
than to fight.
Now both hands were pressed against my bottom and he was
grinding himself fiercely. "I have to cum," he told me almost lovingly
and then I felt a shudder and several throaty groans and he laid back
on the bed asleep… or dead.
"Dad," I said softly then remembered. "Daddy, are you alright?"
"Huh? Oh, yes. Go to bed, child. I… I have to clean up." That's
when I noticed the crotch of his trousers had a large wet stain. I
knew what it was; he had used my body to make his penis shoot
boy's stuff. The older boy told me about that once; I didn't believe
him then but now I did. It looked so gross.
I undressed and stood naked for a few seconds but he wasn't in the
room and I felt stupid. So I slipped under the covers and slept quite
naked. It was a strange feeling.
Sometime later, I'm not sure when but it was quite dark and very
quiet, I was woken by something. I could hear Mom sleeping heavily
nearby and then I realised Dad had got into my bed.
"Dad? Uhm, Daddy, what is it?"
"Be quiet and roll over, no face me," he added when I laid on my
back.
"What's the matter? I haven't done…"
"Kiss your Daddy, baby," he whispered, pressing his lips over mine.
I instinctively opened my mouth and his tongue slid in.
His hands found my boobies and he began feeling them. It was then I
realised he was as naked as I was.
"You've got no clothes on," I gasped in shock.
He said nothing but used one hand to grab my tender bottom and
pressed it against him. His penis was hard and I thought he was
going to push it in me; to have real sex with me. I squirmed but then
realised he was doing the same, squirming against me. Now he was
rubbing his penis along my tummy, really fast. He was using my
tummy just like this evening but this time there was no clothes
between us. Oh, it felt so large, like a cucumber, I thought to myself.
He kept mumbling things that I didn't understand but later as I
learned his ways, knew he was talking to himself, urging himself to
shoot his sperm. He was using me to give him another orgasm. It
wasn't long before the now familiar shudders and deep groaning
arose and his penis began to throb then shoot sperm between us. It
took quite a while before the spurting stopped and then he just held
me against him. We were lying face to face and it was so dark I
couldn't see his features at all so wasn't sure whether he had gone to
sleep like earlier. I just lay still wondering what would happen next.
It wasn't earth shattering. Several minutes of silence then he moved
away and took my hand and wiped it over his discharge. "That's my
spunk, baby. Rub it into your skin; it's good for your complexion."
Then he slipped out and I heard their bed creaking as he slipped
under the covers.
My first feel of sperm wasn't as exciting as it may have been; it was
so gooey and slippery that I felt nauseous. And it had dribbled
everywhere, across my boobies, and all over my tummy and because
I was lying on my side it had drained down over the bottom sheet. I
didn't know what to do so just laid still, waiting for some miracle to
take it away. When I woke the next morning I was stuck to the sheet.
I had to peel myself off.
At breakfast the next morning, Dad gave us all the same speech I'd
had about not speaking to anyone about anything that happens within
the house. He went on and on and the two boys kept looking at me,
knowing smiles and winks all in my direction.
"You whooped her good last night, Dad. We heard her squeals all
over the house. I bet she's got a sore bum today," the elder boy
finally broke Dad's speech. I was so pleased when Dad took him to
task and reminded that was just one of the things no-one will be
talking about outside the family and to labor the point, informed him
that he would be receiving a similar spanking this evening. "It's for
your own good, boy," Dad added. I almost clapped my hands.
When the Boys and girl had left for school, Mom called me back.
She was almost crying and after a few moments told me she knew
what Dad had done and that she was sorry but she had no way of
stopping him touching me. I knew she didn't and assured her I
understood. I said something like it was a girl's lot to make men
happy which made her gasp then come to my side and draw my face
to her breast. "Do your best, child" she said simply as she let me go.
I survived the day at school without underwear and when Dad got
home the first thing he did was put his hand under my skirt to check
for any offending clothing. He told me I was a good girl.
If I screamed, the boy shrieked the whole way through his beating. It
made me feel so proud to know he was louder than I was. Three
years older and ten times the baby I was or at least that's what I
thought.
I received a spanking about three or four times a week for several
weeks, the only difference to my first was that I had to stand in front
of Dad and remove all my clothes. All spankings were in the nude.
First was the lovers kiss, next a good feeling up of all my girl-parts,
including pubic hair pulling from which I wasn't allowed to back
away, remaining absolutely silent while the pulling took place. It sure
hurt a lot. Stroking and massaging and squeezing, even twisting of
my breasts was another game he liked but something we both
enjoyed began to creep in. That was his sucking of my boobies. He
lathed the whole surfaces and sucked like a baby for several minutes
which excited me as well and he knew it.
He had begun to stroke my sex in recent days, just over the outer lips
and it always gave him an erection which tented his trousers
outwards. I liked the sensations it gave me but wondered if this was
how a girl's orgasm felt. It was as good a feeling as I had ever
experienced and was pretty sure it was.
After his gropings came my spanking. Sometimes it was easier than
the first time but often he hit me longer and harder. I shrieked too
during those ones and the boys sniggered at breakfast the following
morning. I hated them knowing I had been spanked again.
Two things happened on one evening that took my punishments to
new heights of humiliation. Firstly he made Mom come to witness all
that he did to me, the sex things and the beating. I know she didn't
want to be there but it was just another thing that excited him. I was
slowly learning that once Dad did something new to me, he looked
for the opportunity of doing something extra the next time. And so it
was this night.
Everyone had been sent to bed early; he'd literally threatened Mom
to get to the bedroom; he'd made me strip naked and mauled my
privates for a long feel up, describing his thoughts of my body parts
to Mom as he progressed and then he'd spanked my bare bottom. It
wasn't such a hard beating and I kept my cries as quiet as I could to
ease Mom's anguish. Then he progressed to the next level for the
evening.
Mom was sitting up against the headrest as a silent observer and he
made me get on hands and knees, my bottom facing straight towards
Mom. She actually refused his demand that she should hold my
bottom cheeks apart which made Dad furious. His face went red and
he hissed in her face something I couldn't believe he'd say. He told
her that if she didn't do it right now, he would give her to both the
boys for their enjoyment. After a moment's pause I felt her hands
pushing my globes apart. It was indeed embarrassing for both of us.
I felt something cold touch my bottom hole and then a finger drove
itself deep inside. He had lubricated the entrance then penetrated my
bottom. Except for his tongue in my mouth he had never penetrated
any of my openings before. I can still remember the sensation. It
wasn't that it hurt so much but the shock of something so dirty, so
obscene, as doing this. It was something I'd never even heard of
before, entering a girl's bottom hole with a finger. I mean, who
would do such a thing? Dad would of course, but why?
And it felt as though I needed to go to the toilet something urgent.
But soon he was pushing in and out, sometimes quickly, sometimes
slow and he was talking to Mom as he did it.
"Oh, shit she's tight, I have to take her. You'll have to get an enema
bag. From now on, when she's due for a spanking, you'll clean her
out that afternoon. Understand, woman?"
Where will he have to take me? I wondered. What will Mom have to
clean out? What's an amena bag? I just didn't understand. Actually,
Mom tried to object but shut up halfway through her first sentence. I
couldn't see what he had done to make her stop but it sure worked.
His other hand now began to squeeze my breasts and lightly pinch
the nipples which made me feel strangely nice but guilty at the same
time. By now I was old enough to know that men, especially fathers
shouldn't touch girls like this yet he was doing it right in front of
Mom and she never even tried to stop him.
When he saw I was becoming upset he sneered straight at me and
said, "You're big enough to make me happy now, kid. Always
wanted a young'un to fool around with and the time has come when
you're going to learn how to do that. Now go and get your sister and
get into the bath. I'll be there in a minute."
Well at least I had the girl to protect me somewhat. He never seemed
to do much to me when she was with me in the bath. I suppose the
way he washed us down, the way he ran his hands over us was
alright for a father to do but when he did in the bedroom, it definitely
wasn't.
However, things changed that day. We both got soaped and washed
down, his hands all over both our bodies, especially between my legs
and on my boobs but it was nothing out of the ordinary. That was
until he'd finished bathing us as usual. Then he told me to stay in the
bath while he dried off the girl who was then sent off to bed. We
usually always went to bed together.
As soon as she'd left he actually stripped all his clothes off and got
into the bath with me, his cock all hard and pointing upwards. It was
a strange feeling, having him squeeze his legs along my sides as he
pulled me closer to him and his cock which was soon poking against
my stomach, just above my pussy.
He asked me what I was staring at, knowing full well it was his cock;
it just fascinated me seeing it up close like this.
"Like my beauty, do you, kid?"
"Huh? Uhm, no… I mean… I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to
stare."
"Tonight you're going to learn how to make your Daddy a happy
man, girl. Touch it."
I looked up into his face and his eyes darted back at me, daring me to
disobey him. I could hardly believe he'd said such a thing but I knew
he meant it. Lately, he'd been giving me a slap on the behind when I
didn't please him, but it seemed to me that most of the slaps were for
no reason at all. I was becoming quite cautious of upsetting him in
any way. I was sure this was one of those times because he looked
so intense as he sat there facing me, his cock bobbing up above the
water level and poking into me. Yes he definitely wanted me to take
hold of it. It was very scary.
"Looking for a belting, kid?" he asked sarcastically.
So I took it in my hand. I couldn't believe how hard it felt, not like
flesh at all, just hard and lumpy where several veins stood out and
the point was all dark red and shiny.
Soon he had me masturbating him, not that I knew what it was called
at the time but I was jerking him off and he was enjoying it very
much, that was for sure. I kept glancing up into his eyes to make sure
it was what he wanted. His face seemed to be glazed over, an
occasional grunt as he lay back against the end of the bath, staring up
at the ceiling. I stopped for a moment wondering if he was alright
and he slapped me across my cheek with his hand.
"When I want you to stop I'll tell you, girl, now get on with it."
The longer it went, the more I hated it. I knew it was sex. I knew I
shouldn't be doing it and I knew he couldn't care less about that. All
he wanted was for me to continue rubbing my hand along his cock.
Then without warning, his whole body shuddered and he let out a
soft grunting moan and white goo shot out the end of his cock all
over my chest and face.
It gave me such a shock I squealed and tried to push myself
backwards away from the streams that seemed to be aimed straight at
me. As my hand let go, he took hold of his own cock and almost like
a fire hose, directed the streams straight at my chest. It made me feel
nauseous and I almost threw up all over him, stopping only as he
growled at me to sit still.
I didn't know what to do. I just sat there between his legs; my arms
half spread out, as I looked down at the slimy strings of sperm that
were slowly oozing down my body.
He had slid down so his head rested on the edge of the bath, his eyes
closed, his breathing coming in fast short breaths as he held my arm
to make sure I didn't escape. All I wanted was to get rid of the
sickening goo but wasn't sure what I should do. Finally he sat up and
after looking at me for a few seconds, roared with laughter.
"Shit, girl, you look the picture of misery. You'd better get used to it
because there'll be plenty more where that came from," he giggled as
he wiped his hand across my boobs, spreading his sperm everywhere.
All I could do was burst into tears.
God, it is so clear in my mind even today, all those years ago.
He finally washed me down and sent me off to bed. I wasn't sure if
Mom was still awake but as I slipped between the sheets I was pretty
sure I caught her closing her eyes as I glanced over.
This was the beginning of nearly three years of sexual molestation at
my so-called father's hands.
I hardly slept at all that night, reliving the horrible scenes over and
over, sobbing silently and knowing I had no choice but to obey him.
It had become almost a dream sequence in my mind but the one thing
it didn't do was affect my schooling. Somehow, I'd suffer his
indignities which soon became more and more intrusive and
despicable, yet my school work never suffered. To this day I still
don't know why that was but possibly school was my retreat; there, I
was out of his clutches. Teachers were caring and friendly, someone
I could talk to without being shouted down or belittled. They had no
idea of the treatment I was receiving at home and I certainly couldn't
bring myself to telling anyone of my predicament, it was just too
embarrassing.
Part Four
Sexual Slavery takes many forms
The bath sex became almost a daily ritual. We'd both be bathed by
Dad, then the girl is sent to bed and he strips naked and joins me in
the bath.
Sometimes I just had to stroke him until he shot his sperm all over
me but as the weeks went by he had me doing it in other ways. One
of his favorites was to lay back in the bath, his legs spread against
each side with me laying up his body so my stomach was pressing
against his cock. Then I had to move myself up and down pressing
my stomach against his cock, to give him the sensations he had
become addicted to.
While this was going on, his hands were all over my bottom,
squeezing and stroking, pressing into my crease, tickling my bottom
hole which I tried to hold tight shut but that wasn't easy, moving
myself along his cock at the same time. His breath was usually sickly
stale but that didn't stop him kissing me all over my face and even
licking me everywhere so my face was as wet as the rest of me.
It was quite revolting and he knew I hated it but I think that was the
reason he kept doing such gross things. Looking back, he just loved
the absolute control he held over everything I did.
So I kept up my movements until I felt the telltale shudders and
groans as his sperm spilled between us. My job after he had
recovered was to wash him clean of his discharges then he quickly
left me to clean myself off and go to bed.
I'm sure Mom knew he was doing things to me because she always
looked so guilty when I came back to the bedroom. Even now, I
never blamed her however because she was under his power just as I
was. If she refused him anything, she would often have bruises to
show for it the next morning.
It wasn't long, maybe a few weeks after the first time I masturbated
him, that his mistreatment of me became so blatant he never even
bothered to hide anything from her. Quite often I'd be pulled into
bed with him, Mom lying on his other side while I was expected to
make his cock hard with my hands.
She really became upset the first time, getting out of bed and coming
around to my side, trying to pull me off the bed, not harshly, just to
get me away from his grasp. But he soon put a stop to her efforts by
slapping her really hard across her face. It was so hard, the crack of
his hand echoed throughout the house and she was thrown to the
floor. Still whimpering, she got back into bed just as he told her to.
That first time was terrible. She lay on her side, facing away and
weeping silently. I could even feel the bed rocking from her tremors
but all Dad wanted was for me to "please" him. While he used me to
bring him to climax in the bath nearly every night, I was also
masturbating him two or three times a week in their bed as well.
Sometimes I would have to roll over and he would simply rub
himself against my bottom crease until he ejaculated all over my
back, pushing me out as soon as he'd finished spurting. So it was
another trip to the bathroom to sponge off all his stickiness.
One night though, after he'd splashed his discharge all over my
stomach, he pushed my head downwards. "Suck me clean, little
whore," he demanded almost casually.
I didn't understand. "What?"
"Get down there and suck me clean, you stupid bitch. You made my
cock filthy so you can clean your mess up."
The thought turned my stomach and I dry-retched, making him angry
enough to slap my face. It wasn't hard but it was the first time he hit
me anywhere but on the bottom.
"Mom?" I asked, looking towards her. She tried to reach out to me
but he slapped her hand away.
"Do it now, bitch or I'll take the skin off your hide."
What choice did I have? Thirteen years old and bullied by a man
who seemed to have no compassion at all. I was half sitting up, my
stomach dripping his sperm down into my lap, feeling unclean and
desperately wanting to go and wipe away his emissions. He was
lying on his back, his wet prick, now small and wizened, curled up
on his pubic hairs where a small puddle of his final discharges had
pooled and soaked down through the black forest. How could anyone
want such a gross act to be performed? But there was no way I could
refuse.
I picked the floppy organ between finger and thumb and with eyes
closed, touched it tentatively with my tongue. His hand pressed me
downwards until my face was mashed against the wetness and his
deep voice told me to clean him up. Just the feel of the wetness
against my face was disgusting; to actually lick and suck the fluids
became the most terrible act of my life.
I soon realised there was little taste; it was just the very act of having
to lick the goo away that turned my stomach. I knew I had to fight
the sensations of needing to vomit right there and then for that would
have courted disaster. Finally it was over and he let me rise. Most of
the discharge that he'd squirted over me had pooled in the vee where
my legs and crotch were clamped tightly together and I had to
actually sweep that up with my hand as best I could or it would have
spilled all over his bed when I rose to go to the bathroom.
But I wasn't given even that privilege this night. As soon as I stood I
was ordered into my own bed. "You can clean it off in the morning,"
he told me with a smile on his face, just another reminder I was
under his complete control. The sheets clung to the wetness and it
seemed like hours before I finally dozed off. It was like removing
sticking plaster the next morning as I peeled back the sheets that had
dried against my flesh during the night.
In the bath the next evening, I was given my first lesson in fellatio
and not long afterwards learned that it was a woman's responsibility
to swallow her man's discharge every time.
After that, I became what Dad called, his "little cocksucker", and he
took great delight in making Mom watch as I sucked him off right in
front of her. The look of helplessness and sorrow on her face gave
me some hint of comradeship but we both knew there was no way
she could do anything to stop him abusing me as he did.
My abuse slowly grew in subtle ways until one evening; it was Mom
who came to bath me after Dad had bathed the girl. We were alone
and Mom kept on telling me how sorry she was but she had to do
whatever Dad told her to, just the same as I did. I knew that was
right; his ill-treatment now commonplace.
After my bath she made me bend over, holding the side of the bath
for balance. Unbeknown to me, I was about to receive the first of
many, many enemas Dad demanded. Mom hooked some kind of bag
over the shower curtain rod and warned me not to move until she
said to. I felt her fiddling about with my bottom hole then the
pressure of something being pushed inside. I wriggled and
complained until she explained what was happening. It didn't hurt
and I found out later that the nozzle wasn't much larger than a
pencil, but as the fluid grew inside my colon, it became most
uncomfortable.
Even after the bag had completely emptied into my bowels and the
nozzle removed, I was made to stand still, half leaning over as I
balanced against the bath. She warned me several times that I had to
wait "for it to work"; telling me to make sure I never let a drop spill
out. That was all very well but my belly felt so full I desperately
wanted was to waste it all down the toilet. I still wasn't aware of the
true purpose for having to endure the discomfort and embarrassment;
that was to come later in the evening.
Finally, I was given permission to flush the fluids away. It felt so
good it made my teeth itch and I gave a great sigh of relief when the
final splatterings were delivered.
She bathed me again, making much of cleaning my nether regions
and then took me to our bedroom and installed me into their bed. I
was left alone there for a long time, several hours probably.
They both came to bed together, Mom leaning down to whisper in
my ear. "I'm sorry, Kay. I tried to stop him but I couldn't. Just let
him do it, baby. Try to relax, that's what you need to do".
"What's he…" I began but my words were cut off with an order to
get over onto my hands and knees. I realised then I was going to get
another beating. He did this to me quite often these days. A spanking
or his belt over my bottom; he just loved doing it and it made his
cock hard so the end was inevitable. I would suck him until he shot
his stuff again.
By then I was nearing fifteen and these things were commonplace.
My nudity in his presence was almost mandatory and his hands
roamed all over me at will. The fact that I'd become accustomed to
all the indignities he laid on me didn't stop the seething deep down.
That was something I tried desperately to avoid because I knew it
would only fester away inside if I let it but when I got a beating for
nothing other than to serve his own arousal it made me so mad.
So there I was, on hands and knees, legs wide apart so he could slip
his fingers wherever he wanted, waiting for the belt to land. I pressed
my face into the pillow to cushion my loud screams when the pain
grew stronger.
But neither the belt fell nor his hands wander. Instead, they were
rather soothing, running softly along my backbone as he crawled up
behind me.
"You're old enough now, kid," was all he said as he knelt up and
took hold of my breasts. This was different. He hadn't touched me
like this before; it was sort of loving, I thought for those few
moments. Then I felt his cock nudge my bottom crease and looked
around to see Mom holding his cock straight at me. I thought I was
going to be raped and tried to pull away but his hold on my breasts
tightened so hard, I cried out in pain.
"Just take it easy kid, it'll be better for you," he warned me as I felt
his cock poke against my bottom hole. He wasn't going to rape me
after all, I sighed silently. That was until his poking became
menacing and I knew then that he was trying to push his thing inside
my bottom.
I couldn't believe it. He was trying to… He was trying to actually
push his cock up inside my bottom. I'd never even heard of such a
thing, not even from the girls at school. I wriggled and cried out for
him to stop but all I got was a heavy smack against my breast which
hurt so much I shrieked with pain. All the time he held my other
boobie and my shoulder firmly so I couldn't get away and pushed his
cock all the harder against my bottom hole. He was breathing hard
and fast with exertion.
Oh, God, it hurt. The sheer strength he had, even when I was
desperately trying to clench my bottom closed, was no match for me
and I groaned and cried out in pain as he finally got the head inside.
He was tearing my hole apart, I cried out several times but there was
no stopping his desires. Even now, I can't describe the feelings that
were racing through my mind. Revulsion; hate; hurt, lots of that;
disbelief, not only at the fact of what he was doing but that Mom was
helping, all these things roared through my head in one mighty
storm.
I had no where to turn. There was no-one to come to my aid. I just
had to let him have his way. Yes, I was being raped but in such a
filthy and disgusting way. How could anyone think of doing
something like this?
The deeper he got inside, the more it hurt and the more I desperately
wanted to go to the toilet. My bottom felt as though it was so full, if I
didn't go right now, I'd soil myself and get into even more trouble.
I really don't know how deep inside he pressed but the awful truth
was that he was there and now he began to move back and forth.
Instead of me using my hands to make him discharge, or of him
rubbing his thing against my stomach, he was rubbing himself back
and forth inside my bottom.
He was saying things too but I took no notice. It was filth like he
always espoused when he was nearing his climax which gave me
some heart because he might finish soon. But the burning pain right
at my bottom hole and the cramps I was having in my stomach were
excruciating. I know I was crying piteously, pleading for him to stop
but he took no notice. Like always, only his pleasure mattered.
Then the groans; then the shudder; then the swearing as his cock
pulsed and he spurted deep inside. Soon he was finished and with no
word of compassion, slumped back onto the bed with the words I'd
become well accustomed to. "Suck it clean, bitch."
Surely he didn't mean that? Not after where it had been. No, not that;
please, not that. But as usual I had no choice.
Get it over with, I told myself desperate to get to the bathroom and
see how much damage he'd done to my bottom hole. It was still
burning something dreadful. So I took it between my lips and sucked
my own juices from him. Admittedly, it wasn't as bad as I thought it
would be. Slightly bitter but no brown marks or anything and I
suddenly remembered the enema Mom had given me. She had
removed all that from me only a few hours ago.
Surprisingly, when I finally escaped to the bathroom and felt
between my legs and used a hand mirror to look down there, I found
no sign of bleeding or any damage at all. It had hurt dreadfully but I
wasn't damaged, except for my pride, of course.
It was dark when I slipped under the covers of my own bed. I heard
some rustling and felt Mom's hand on my shoulder. "Are you alright,
Kay?"
I tried to remain silent but emotions overflowed and so did my tears.
She heard of course and I couldn't pretend any longer. "It still hurts
down there. It was cruel," I whimpered.
"I'm sorry, baby. Are you bleeding?"
When I told her I wasn't, she continued. "You know I can't stop him,
he's too strong. I pleaded with him not to do it but he has wanted to
for a long time. It will get easier but I've got to tell you he will want
this more and more. You'll grow up before long and then you can
run away; it's the only way, child," she said, pressing her face to
mine and kissing me on the cheek.
Run away? How could I do that? I don't know anyone and there's no
way I'd ever find my real Mom and Dad, not that they'd care
anyway, I had decided long ago. And I had no money at all and knew
I'd have to have some before I dared do something like that. But the
thought did take up much of my mind from then on.
Anal rape never improved. It always hurt. He never once used any
lubrication and so when he wanted it again, I learned to rub some
spit over my hole before he began to push inside. But it was the
stretching that hurt the most. Often I'd sleep with them the whole
night and knew it was to give him access to my bottom. Rarely did he
Posted By Nikki
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