Chapter 3	How I Answered The Question


I think I was just plain stunned at first more than anything else. It seemed to take forever for me to realize that he was serious, that he wasn't coming back, and that I was naked at the bottom of his stairwell, squatting on my dildo with my mouth open. I guess it was the sound of his truck door slamming shut that brought me out of it. And then I started to cry. I wasn't really angry so much as hurt and the sound of him backing out and driving away like that just made the tears flow. I had been waiting for that day for months by then. The anticipation alone had been carrying me around like I was on a cloud or something the whole time that he was on his vacation. But I sure didn't feel very high at that point. I felt like the nastiest, dirtiest little girl that had ever been born, and the more I cried, the worse I felt. 

I know it sounds dysfunctional, and it probably is, but in the end it was the humiliation of the whole thing that saved me. The more I thought about how he had just left me there, naked, with my dildo buried in me, and sweat soaked from all the cums I had had waiting for him, the more I cried. And the more I cried, the more humiliated I felt. I had been sobbing so hard that I had fallen forward onto my hands and was just staring blankly at the bottom step through my tears when it finally hit me that my pussy was spasming around my dildo, my nips were rock hard, and I was about to cum again.

Looking back on it now, it was probably the best birthday present he could have given me, well almost. I suppose that I should have realized it earlier, but I was living it at the time. I have girlfriends that still don't have a clue about what they want sexually. I learned it at the bottom of Mr. Sanders' stairwell on my 13th birthday. Naked, on my hands and knees, with my dildo buried in my pussy by my calves, I finally realized that it wasn't the fear of being caught that made me cum so hard when I acted like a slut. I wanted to be caught. I wanted the boys to pull up my skirt when I came out of the girl's bathroom after school. I wanted all of them to see that I wasn't wearing any panties. I wanted one of the male teachers to see them do it to me, drag me into the office, and make me pull up my skirt in front of the principal. I wanted the meter man, or the mail man, or the garbage man to find me, naked, gushing on my dildo at the bottom of that stairwell after school. I wanted Mr. Sanders to show my pictures and vids to his friends at work. And I had wanted one of the neighbors to catch me that day, running home from the construction site with cum all over my face, hair and shirt. 

Down there in that stairwell, on the afternoon of my 13th birthday, I crashed through a 'plateau' that changed my entire life. I know it sounds trite but it literally was just like a flash had gone off in my head. I didn't just want to be caught. I wanted the humiliation of being caught. I wanted them all to know what a nasty, dirty, little cum craving slut I was. And I wanted them all to know what Mr. Sanders knew, and what he had just taught me. That being sexually humiliated by men, and being forced by them to admit to myself what a little slut I am, is what really makes me cum. And GOD, did I cum!

I don't think I blacked out but something happened. It was almost like that first day in our garage. I just don't remember. But somewhere between his truck door slamming shut and the moment I realized I loved being humiliated by him, I stopped crying and started to cum harder than I ever had before. Later, I learned that I was only down there for 20 minutes or so after he left, but it seemed like time just stopped for me. My next conscious thought seemed to come to me so slowly. I remember wondering to myself just how long I had been like that. By that, I mean the position I was in. It still seems almost as surreal to me now as it did then. It was like I had been away from my body for a very long time. 

Reality, my reality, was that I was now resting on my right forearm with my butt in the air brutally fucking myself and mumbling, "dirty little slut, dirty little slut" over and over as my cum gushed out of me and flowed down my thighs and belly. I knew I was a mess and that I had to get out of there before my mom came home, but I just couldn't stop. To be honest, I just wouldn't stop. I was cumming so hard and it felt so good I didn't want it ever to stop. It was like part of my brain was hovering over me, shouting at me to get out of there before it was too late, and the other part was praying for it to already be too late, for someone, anyone, to find me and make my humiliation complete.

The second half won, of course, and ironically saved me a lot of trouble from my mother. Beyond reason, I shouted common sense down and imagined that all the boys from school, the principal, the male teachers, Mr. Sanders, Mr. Sabonjian, the clerk, the old man, and the guys from the construction site were standing around the top of the stairwell laughing at me, and hosing me with their cum. That thought sent every muscle in my body into contractions and I know I blacked out for a minute at that point, because when I came to again I was flat on my belly. I didn't want to get up but I knew that I had to. I knew that if my mom did catch me down there like that I would be in more trouble than I could handle. But I felt so warm and glowing and sated that I just couldn't seem to will my muscles to move. Even though I knew that my time was running out and if didn't move I was certainly going to get caught. I did, but not by my mom.

He may have heard me but more than likely he had smelled me. I had cum so much that my thighs and belly looked like someone had painted them with melted butter. Whatever it was the sudden barking of the Hanacek's black lab at the railing above and behind me brought me crashing back to reality fast. I don't think my fear helped the situation much. To be honest, it was a lot worse than fear, it was panic. No matter how much I had wanted to get caught before I came, at that point I was almost crazy from the fear that his barking would guarantee it. But as soon as I started to pull my dildo out of me, my pussy wanted to take control again. God, how I wanted to push it back in. I didn't, but I sure wanted to. 

Just thinking about it helped to calm me down enough to hiss at him to shut up and go home. He didn't, but at least he stopped barking. Instead he circled around to the top of the stairs.  I pushed myself up and finally started to think about how I was going to get all the way over to my house in the middle of the afternoon naked. What choice did I have? It was either wait for my mom to drive up and find me or make a run for it. But, Otto had other ideas. As soon as I got to the top of the stairs he was pushing his tongue into my puss and licking at my thighs. He was a lot bigger than I was and a whole lot stronger. Plus it seemed like the more he licked, the weaker I got, especially when he would manage to get in a really good lick on my clit, like that's a surprise. 

The last time he did it my knees started to buckle and the panic set in again when I imagined my mom driving up with my baby sister to find me getting fucked by the neighbors black lab. I know it sounds funny now, but at the time it wasn't. I used the only weapon I had and hit him as hard as I could right on the nose with my dildo. I know it hurt him, because he yelped and ran back towards his yard, but at least it gave me the time I needed. I took one quick look around the corner of the house to make sure that no one was walking or driving by, and then ran for our back porch and through the screen door as fast as I could. I should have taken a longer look.

It was only 5:00, but as it turned out that wasn't nearly enough time. In my rush out the door that morning I hadn't noticed the note my mom had left for me on the kitchen table. The stack of dishes in the sink was no problem, but the 2 loads of laundry in the basement were. There was no way I could get them all washed, dried, folded, and put away in an hour, but I did try. Still naked, I dropped my dildo on the table and ran down to the basement and put in the first load of whites. By the time I had finished washing the dishes (and the dog hair off of my dildo) the first load was done, so I threw them into the dryer and then started the darks before I finally managed to get upstairs and hide my dildo. 

By then it was 5:45 and one look in my mirror told me that I was in trouble. My face was tear stained, my stomach and thighs were sticky and dirty from when I had collapsed on the carpeting at the bottom of the stairwell, and my hair, which had still been wet when I went over there, was matted and snarled beyond belief. On top of that I was almost completely out of clean clothes. In my rush to get over to Mr. Sanders house I had thrown my last good pair of cut-offs down the laundry chute. I would have run down to get them if I hadn’t thrown them into washing machine with the rest of the dark clothes only minutes before. My underwear was tumbling in the dryer and my last decent t-shirt (which wasn't very decent anymore) was stuffed under my mattress. All I had left were a pair of cut-offs and a t-shirt from the summer before, but because of the way I had filled out since then, they were way too small for me. But the worst thing was that my last pair of clean panties was riding around Missoula in Mr. Sander’s truck. 

I suppose that if I had been thinking I would have just thrown on a pair of sweats, but it was 90 degrees out. Sweats would have taken some explaining and I knew that I already had enough of that to do. With only 15 minutes to spare I was in a panic again. Washing up wasn't a problem, but getting into those cut-offs, let alone getting them zipped up sure was. They were just too small and because my breasts had grown so much my t-shirt didn't even come down to my navel. I was running on pure adrenaline at that point and my nips were hard as rocks and trying to poke through it. When I looked in the mirror on the back of my door I knew I was going to be in trouble as soon as my mom saw me. I was.

I was still trying to brush the snarls out of my hair when she threw my door open and started in on me. She was mad. It wasn't just the laundry. Apparently she had tried to call me twice that day. Now she wanted to know where I had been, since she already knew that the pool had been closed because of the rain. I tried to make up an excuse about playing softball all afternoon with a bunch of kids over at Washington Park next to our school, and I almost got away with it. At least I was getting away with it until she noticed how tight my t-shirt was and that I obviously wasn’t wearing a bra. And when she got a look at how the gusset of my cutoffs was pushing into my slit, and the way my labs were spilling over it, she pretty much lost it.

An hour’s worth of lecturing later found me grounded for the rest of the week and my birthday party on Saturday cancelled. She was still muttering about what the boys must have thought about me at the ball field that day when she finally went down stairs. I don't really know what the boys at school thought about me. But I knew what Mr. Sanders, Mr. Sabonjian, the clerk, the old man, and the guys at the construction site thought about me.

Somehow we made it through the rest of the evening. I helped her with dinner and the dishes, finished all the laundry by myself, and then made sure that I was upstairs again before George got home. The last thing I needed was another round of lectures from him, and I wanted to be sure that they were asleep by the time I tried to sneak out of my window at 11. I can't be sure, but as quiet as my mom was, I believe she was doing a lot of thinking about when she was my age. Considering the way their bed started squeaking downstairs a half hour after he got home something sure set her off. Just when I thought that they had finally gone to sleep, they started up all over again. 

As it turned out, it was probably better for me that way. Even though my bedroom was upstairs and at the opposite end of the house from theirs, there was always the chance that they might hear me moving around up there if they were still awake. The way they were going at it that night I probably could have gone out the front door. I didn't. I was way too keyed up by that time to even think about taking a chance like that. I waited until 10:50 and then as quietly as I could I pulled my dildo out of my dresser drawer, put it in my mouth, slid open the screen, and climbed down the tree. It wasn't until I was making my way around the back of our house that I realized how much my pussy was already leaking. I was finally going to get what I had been begging for, and just the thought of getting Mr. Sanders' cock into me had my knees shaking so hard I thought they were going to give out before I could get to his drive way. And if I had known what he really had waiting for me they would have.

It wasn't until I was up to his driveway that I realized he had done it to me again. He had purposely left all of his outside lights on, including the one over the door at the bottom of the stairwell. Just like that afternoon he was starting in on the humiliation again before I could even get to his house. It didn't take a genius to understand what he was telling me. If I wanted his cock, I was going to have do it in the open, under the lights, where any of the neighbors might see me if they happened to be looking out their windows. I didn't care. There was only one thing on my mind at that point and it was at the bottom of that stairwell. If I hesitated at all, I don't remember doing it. In fact I don't really remember darting across the drive and going down the stairs. What I do remember is how nasty and slutty I felt as I knelt down on his carpet for the third time that day, and how hard I came as soon I pushed my dildo back up into me. 

I don't know, maybe it was because of the light shining on me, like the way his flash made me spasm when he took pictures of me. Whatever it was, I wasn't even able to get my hands behind me before my pussy exploded and I found myself on my knees and right forearm again, fucking myself for all I was worth. If ever a girl was ready to get well and truly fucked for the first time, I sure was.

I guess I'll never know for sure if it was a coincidence or not that as soon as I calmed down and got back into 'position' all the lights began to go out one by one. God, he knew how to work me over! No, the door didn't open. I knew it had to be after 11 by then, but I didn't dare knock. He knew I was out there, and he knew exactly what he was doing to me. As it turned out I was only out there for 10 minutes but it seemed so much longer to me. And the longer I waited the sluttier I felt, until I finally just gave in and got back down on my knees and forearm and started in on myself again. 

You guessed it, just as I was on the verge and beyond all hope of trying to stop, the stairwell light came on and the door opened. He just stood there, grinning down at me with my paddle in his hand, as I gushed all over my legs and came hard right in front of him. He didn't say a word until I had pulled my dildo out of me, and then it wasn't much. Just, 

"Well slut, it looks like you've not only made a mess of my carpet again, but you are out of 'position'. Better add 26 more to your total."

It was all I could do just to look up at him through my hair and tell him, 

"Yes, sir,"

 And then ask him the question that had been driving me so crazy all day, 

"Please, Mr. Sanders, will you pleeeeeeese fuck me now?"

He was still grinning at me. 

"Are you sure that's what you want little slut?"

God, I felt so nasty having to beg him, but we both knew by then how much I loved the humiliation of having to answer him from my hands and knees like that. 

"Oooh, God, yes sir, you know that I do!"

He didn't give me an inch, of course, 

"Do what, Candy?"

"I want you to fuck me as hard as you can sir, pleeeeeeese???"

At first I mistook the expression on his face as a smile, but as the words spilled out I realized that I was staring at the nastiest leer that he had ever given me, 

"Well then, Candy, I guess that I better let you crawl in here so I can give you your birthday fucking. Oh, and don't forget your dildo, in fact, why don't you carry it in your mouth so that you can crawl easier."

God, to this day I still remember the way my pussy started to gush when he said that. My thighs were shaking so bad that I actually had to sit up first, just so I could calm down enough to put my dildo in my mouth. I never told him, but I had to cheat and use my teeth to hold it in. I was just too messed up at that point to have any kind of control. Not that it did me any good. As soon as I was inside, he closed the door, and then ordered me to stop right there in the laundry room and get in 'position'. I barely had time to get my cheek against the linoleum before that first spank crashed into me and my dildo squirted out of my mouth when I yelped from the sting. 

It was just as well, because the next thing he did was to ask me to tell him how many I still had coming. I got it wrong of course. I knew that I still owed him over a hundred, but I am blonde after all. I just couldn't remember where we had left off the night before or where we had even started. He told me and then he made me add the 26 that he had just dumped on me, plus 13 more for forgetting. He laughed at me when I finally managed to guess at 147 after the 4th try and told me that I might as well add 3 more to grow on and make it an even 150. 

He only gave me 13. Not that it mattered. It wasn't the spanks that sent me crashing through my 'plateau' over the next 10 minutes but what he made me say. After thanking him and begging him for the remainder after each spank, he would ask me, 

"Why are you here, Candy?" 

And I now had to say, 

"Because I am a nasty little 13 year old slut, and I want you to fuck me." 

I started to gush before I even got a chance to say it all the way through the first time. And by the third time I could feel it oozing out of me onto the floor between my knees. It was too much, of course. By the time he was through I was flat on my belly with my fingers in my cookie jar again.

He didn't give me any time at all to calm down though. I remember that I was still reveling in how hot my butt felt and how good my pussy felt when he said, 

"Well, little slut, I guess you have finally earned your first fucking, but if you want it, you have 10 seconds to crawl in there and get your horny little cunt over the arm of my chair."

IF I wanted it? Was he kidding? I had thought about nothing else since that first day in our garage. I know I moved fast. But it was weird, because all the way in there I felt like I was moving in slow motion. My senses were on overload, and I remember how odd I felt at the time because of all the things I noticed as I raced in there on my hands and knees with my dildo in my mouth. 

Like how afraid I was that he would change his mind at the last minute if he saw how wet and matted my pubic hair was from lying in my puddle on the laundry room floor. Even before he made me keep it shaved I never had more than a wisp down there. That night I remember thinking that what little I had didn't look pretty anymore, just sticky, and that he wouldn't want to fuck me if he saw it. The other weird thing was how his carpet felt after the linoleum. With my head down and my hair in my face I was looking straight at it, and it was so soft that I felt more like I was floating across it than crawling. I should have been looking up, but not because I bumped my head when I finally got to the chair.

As I pulled myself up over the arm my hair fell away from my face for the first time since I had crawled into the laundry room. I don't have a picture of it, but I am sure that the look on my face must have been priceless as my dildo dropped out of my mouth. Another girl would probably have screamed and tried to cover herself up. I didn't. I just sort of moaned and started to gush again as my arms gave out. I fell across the arm of the chair with my face buried in the cushion next to my dildo. Why? Because sitting on the couch behind the camera tripod was two of our other neighbors, Mr. Bailey from across the street, and Mr. Groh from the next block over.

I'm not really sure how long I laid there like that, moaning into the cushion and gushing sauce down my legs. All I know is that the sound of Mr. Sanders voice from behind me made it worse when he asked, 

"Why are you here, Candy?" 

God, he was such a master at humiliating me like that. As I finally understood the real reason that he had added this question to our spanking routine, I felt another big glob flow out of me. He wanted me to say it again in front of them. I had barely begun to moan out the word 'because', when my paddle crashed into my butt again and he said, 

"Don't tell the chair, Candy, look at Brent and Rich and tell THEM!"

At first all I could do was just moan as I started to really cum hard, but he wasn't about to let me get away with that. Another smack of the paddle and the command, 

"NOW!" 

forced me to find the strength to push myself up on my hands, and look into their grinning faces. As I came in front of them, I told them what they wanted to hear. 

"Because I am a nasty little 13 year old slut and I want you to fuck me!" 

It wasn't good enough of course. At least not until he had made me repeat it 3 more times, each time a little louder than the last, until my arms and legs gave out from the humiliation and the intensity of the orgasm that was washing through me.

I'm not sure if it was the feel of his hands on my hips as he pulled me back up, or the grins on the faces of Mr. Bailey and Mr. Groh that made me beg out loud, 

"Pleeeeese", 

the way I did. But I'm glad that I did because the next thing I felt was the wonderful hardness of the head of his cock finally pressing into me. Knowing what I know now, I am still amazed at the shear amount of self restraint it must have taken him to stop after he was only in me an inch or so. Nobody since, including Mr. Sanders after that first time, has ever stopped like that. But he did. For some reason he just had to hear me say it one more time.

"Candy, I want you to look directly at the camera for all my buddies at work and tell them why you are here."

I did of course, almost. As soon as I got to the words 'fuck me', he did, and they were lost in the long guttural moan that escaped from my throat as he buried himself all the way up inside of me. He didn't stop again. Not that it would have mattered if he had. I was pushing back onto him as hard as he was pounding into me. I just couldn't help myself. It was better than anything I had imagined all those times at the bottom of his stairwell with my dildo. If you are a guy reading this right now, then I kind of feel sorry for you. I mean, I know it feels good for you guys too, in a way that I will never understand. But I can't believe that it could ever compare to the way a hard cock, ramming past my lips, spreading my walls apart, and hosing my insides with hot cum, feels to me. 

And GOD, did he ever let me feel it! After what seemed like forever he finally grabbed my hips really hard, slammed one last time all the way into me, and hosed my gushing pussy with its first load of hot thick jizz. His cock felt like it had swelled to twice its normal size inside of me, and every time he would spurt another dose it would spring up, pushing against my cervix, and forcing another loud moan out of me. It was too much. My arms gave out again, but he didn't seem to care at that point. He just continued to hold me by my hips, impaled on his cock, as he finished using me. 

And God did I feel used! Between Mr. Groh and Mr. Bailey egging him on with sweet comments like, 

"Yeah Jim, give it to her! Show the little skank what she's good for!” 

and the way that he was holding me, bent over that chair as his cock twitched and spurted inside of me, I knew that he was using me. I was just the little neighborhood slut to him, his little cum dump. And I loved it! I was shameless at that point. I loved being his slut, loved getting fucked by him, and loved the way he was using me like that in front of our neighbors. Showing them, and me, what a nasty little girl I really was!

God, I still remember the way that they all laughed at me as I let out that long 

"Nooooooo!!!" 

when he started to pull out of me. The empty feeling inside of me as my walls collapsed behind the head of his cock was terrible. I could feel his cum pouring out of me and down my legs, I knew that I probably looked nasty to him at that point, but I didn't care. With all the strength I had left, I pushed myself back up on my hands and turned back to look at him, 

"Pleeeeeeese???" 

He had my paddle in his hand again, but he was staring at my hole and grinning like a little kid. Ignoring me, he looked over at Mr. Groh and said, 

"Brent, grab that camera, we have to get a shot of this."

Cameras, to this day I don't know what it is about cameras. Just the sound of that damn thing clicking behind me as he zoomed in was all it took to set me off again. I couldn't help it. One second I was trying to squeeze my pussy shut to keep all his wonderful cum inside of me, and the next I had 3 fingers buried in my hole, as I rubbed it all over my lips and came like a little slut in front of his DAMN camera. And the way the were all laughing at me and calling me a little skank only made it worse. But that was nothing compared to the way they all started to howl when Mr. Sanders smacked me with my paddle and made me repeat my litany for them all once again. I saw that video a lot over the next couple of years, and I was always surprised at how desperate I sounded when he asked,

"Why are you here, Candy?"

"Oooooh God, pleeeeeeeeese, Sir, because I am a nasty little 13 year old SLUT, and I want you to FUCK me!!!!"

"You mean you want more?"

It wasn't just me. It was him too. There was something in him, and in Mr. Groh and Mr. Bailey too, after that night. Something, in fact, in just about all of the men I have ever known. Something perverse inside of them that drives them all to use me. Something they love about humiliating me and making me beg for their cocks. And something in me that absolutely craves the humiliation. 

God, he knew how to read me! Even though he had just spanked and fucked me in front of his friends, made me admit to them, countless times, that I was a slut, he knew that it wasn't enough for me. Knew that as long as he wanted to use me, humiliate me, and fuck me in front of them, I would continue to cum. And beg for more. And I did. (Just like I have almost every day of my life since then.) Barely able to hold myself up with my right arm, with the fingers of my left hand still buried in my hole, I looked back through my matted hair at their leering faces and begged for it,

"Yes, Sir, pleeeeeeeeeeese FUCK me again???!!!"

And then those words. The ones that had been driving me crazy for months. The ones that had kept me cumming at the bottom of his cellar stairs and sneaking out of the house in just my tennis shoes all summer long,

"Well, little slut, if that's what you want, you're going to have to earn it first."

Just words. 16 of them to be exact. 16 words that had me on my knees in the park at 1a.m., running around town with my dildo shoved into me by my cutoffs, sucking off clerks, store owners, old men, and construction workers. 16 little words that had found me lying on his floor with my fingers in my hole, and his cum all over my face for the last 3 months. But they were nothing like the ONE word. The word that to this day, even if I am just standing in line at McDonald's, makes my knees weak and my pussy wet. The word that followed the leer he gave me as he passed my paddle over to Mr. Bailey. Just one little word,

"Next."
