Vixen

By Heather © 2009

Chapter 1

Disclaimer:

If you don’t like graphic sexual stories, if you are under 18, or if you live in a state where reading this is illegal, then don’t read this and leave. If it is illegal in your state to possess this literature then I suggest you leave as well. This is a work of fiction to display fantasy.

WARNING: This story is pretty intense, but as with all my stories, nothing really happens to the characters that they haven’t asked for or injures them. Wait until the end of the story before thinking otherwise, or if in doubt at any time.

I guess I should start with the fact that my real name is Tanya but I am known as Vixen to my friends, and have been going steady with my only real boyfriend ever for about eight months now. His name is Peter, but I call him Peanut and will get to that later. Most people tell me that I'm pretty and such, but because of issues in my childhood, I always kept to myself and would push guys away out of fear that they would learn my secrets. Peter changed all that one night after a school basketball game.

You see, the only real sex I've had always seemed a tad bit perverse and me being the scatter brain that I am, I always came away from interludes with very mixed emotions. I've always been that way since the very first time my older brothers' friend felt me up after finding me home alone. Although, I have always felt both ends of the spectrum within all aspects of my life. I could see something sad and find reasons to be happy at the same time. That carried over into my sexual maturing process just as it did everywhere else. That first time was extremely scary for me because the guy was five years older than myself, yet it taunted my brain for years over how excited it got me.

I'm petite in stature, with long fluffy blonde hair, dimples, and I would say a very nice smile. My rear is small, just as my breasts are, and I come from a tom-boyish background. When I got felt up that first time, I barely had buds starting and I was totally naive as to how to respond. I remember my nipples, very small at the time, were harder than they had ever been and his hands felt huge as they easily covered everything I had quite easily. Much as normal, even though I was freaking out in my mind over what might happen if my brother came home or anyone else for that matter, I got a tingling between my legs that turned to an ache when he suddenly stopped feeling my chest and promptly left my house. I had been experimenting in fingering my little man in the canoe for several months, but that day I took the longest shower of my life as I closed my eyes and remembered every nuance of how his hands had made me feel as thy slid under my top.

Well, getting back to that first time with Peter several years later, he invited me to have a beer with him and a couple of friends. I normally would have given him some lame story to get away, but I had once diddled myself over having just seen him hitting on one of my friends and how I had wished it had been me after finding out what they had done together. My friend, Shelly, went to a dance with him and allowed herself to be talked into giving him a blowjob under the bleachers before going home. It wasn't just the fact that she had done that to him, but more of how she painstakingly described the intimate specifics of what it had been like for her. She went into great detail about how he had given her stern verbal commands for every action he wanted, and when it got to the end, he held her head roughly enough so she couldn't back away when he ejaculated. I now know that feeling well, but it was something I have always denied enjoying, especially to myself.

You see, I spent an entire summer vacation from school two summers ago as the plaything of some older boys that had made me their "vixen", and thus the nickname. It sort of grew on me along with what they were doing to me. There were four boys in on the secret by the end of summer and I was freaking out that someone would find out about that first time until I overheard a conversation by two of the boys. It seemed that they were far more afraid of what I could do to them than I was of them telling anyone about what they were making me do for them. Essentially, the first time came about when three of them found out about another dirty little secret of mine (not really important here), and used it to get use of my mouth. They wanted more, but I talked them into leaving it at blowjobs. At their age, that seemed plenty to satisfy them. After that first time of fumbling my way through what they required of me, it was easier for them to coerce me into it each time. Usually, they would find me walking around town someplace and talk me into going to a secluded place with them. After that second time we sort of made a deal that I would comply with their wishes as long as they kept what I was doing for them totally secret.

That was the summer that I really gained my aspect of what sex was supposed to be like and have gone with that theory ever since. Every single time I had ever done anything with a guy it always seemed perverted in some way. Either the guy, or guys, were older than me, a relative, or it would be some weird kinky thing they wanted rather than just screwing. Until I met Peter, I had really only had intercourse twice - both times were with much older men. That all changed after that first time with Peter. After the ball game, we went around the school and met up with his friends. As we drank our beers and made small talk, Peter invited me to take a walk in the moonlight with him. Remembering what he had done to my friend Shelly, I jumped at the chance for the first shot at sex I had had in almost a year.

After making sure we were well out of earshot from any of the many people smoking and drinking behind the school, he began making his move on me. It's in my nature to always be somewhat reluctant, but when his hand pushed its way over the crotch of my jeans, it was obvious that he didn't just want what I was prepared to give. When he started for the snap on my jeans, I pushed his hands away while declaring I was on my period. After a small amount of whining, he came right out and asked me for a blowjob to placate his needs. I dreaded being thought of as a prick teaser and waited for sufficient coercion before allowing him to push me to me knees with his hands on my shoulder. It was always easier for me when the guy worked physically to overcome my reluctance.

It started with him getting somewhat annoyed that I didn't just rip his pants off, and progressed to him almost demanding every one of my actions. Secretly I got a deep-seated thrill out of working his pants to his ankles. Just being there on my knees in front of a guy and struggling to get past the belt, snap, and zipper would make my clitoris become engorged with blood over the excitement I felt just knowing what I was about to do with his thing. And I never just went at it - the guy would always have to help me along to get started. You see, there are many aspects of doing that for a guy that really turn me on, but there are several things that also repulse me at the same time. For instance, opening the guys pants or like the feel of getting it pushed into my mouth that first moment is wild, but just the thought of getting semen in my mouth or having to lick hairy balls really bothers me.

Peter wasn't about to let those quirks slow up his need for satisfaction and took charge of me just the way I like. Having been such a long time since a guy had seriously come on to me where I was receptive at all, I started right out with the mindset of wanting to get a little nasty. Peter made that very easy for me. I figured he was nervous because of all the people that could possibly come along and see us, because he wasn't very hard like most guys would be just by having a girl pull their pants down for them. He made it clear that he considered it my job to get him hard and worked my mouth open with his fingers to get it started into me.

I sucked on the tip of it a little, and as I felt him coming to life, I lusted over the feel of a hard penis in my mouth and without thinking I almost lovingly worked my mouth up and down while sucking his member roughly. He began using all the nasty words that I never can bring myself to use, and that always heightens that tingling sensation between my legs. Just hearing him call me "the best cocksucker" he ever had made me quiver with self confidence. Peter immediately responded to my efforts with a very hard penis that I'm sure made my eyes roll into the back of my head.

I normally really hate the bobbing part after the first minute or so, but Peter just kept coaxing me with his nasty slurs and calling me dirty names. For the first time ever, I felt myself growing very wet as I worked to provide the service he demanded of me. He nearly blew it for himself when he ordered me to swallow his semen when it was time. I pulled away from him and told him I wouldn't do that for him, nor even allow him to do it in my mouth at all. Unlike any other guy so far, my pleas went unheard as he worked himself back into my mouth and told me to stop being a "cock tease". To a great extent, that was enough to make me want to do it, but I still hated the very idea of a guy doing that to me. So, when I felt his foreleg muscles tighten, I was just about to pull away to finish him with my hand when his hands grabbed the hair on the back of my head and he took full control of me. He twisted my hair in his fingers for a most excellent grip on me, and went nuts trying to poke a hole in the back of my throat.

I kept trying to mumble my protests and even pushed hard against his hips trying to get away from him, but he held me fast as he began literally fucking away at my face. He asked me if I had ever swallowed for any guy and I nearly cried and shook my head side-to-side as I fearfully tried to get him to understand that I never had, nor ever wanted to before. Peter got all giddy and told me that I was about to get my first good "feeding" then, and began groaning as he strained to find the deepest spot in my mouth that he could fight his way into. I kept mumbling my protests even as I knew he was about to ejaculate, and when his hands tightened his already harsh grip on my hair and plunged as deep into me as I've ever had it done to me, I felt that first spurt spill into my mouth. Peter quickly moved one hand under my chin to lift my head, held his penis to the back of my throat, and groaned loudly as he began pumping the rest of his stuff as deep into my throat as he could. All of a sudden, I felt my head go limp in his hands and my eyes rolled into the back of my head as I waited for him to finish with me.

I was out of breath by the time he pulled back away from me, and in an effort to clear my throat, I naturally had to gulp what he had placed in me just to get air. I called him a bastard for doing that to me, but he just laughed and taunted me for being a prude. I got to my feet and when he realized I was really pissed at him, he backed me against a tree and held my hands over my head against the trunk. As he leaned close to my ear, he whispered how he knew about my summer servicing two years prior and said he knew I would never tell anyone about what he had just done. But he didn't stop there!

For several minutes he held me in what became a very well restrained position as he tried to get me to tell him that I wasn't mad at him. The tide began changing when he told me again that I had been the best "cocksucker" he had ever enjoyed and melted his face against my neck as he began telling me that because I was the first guy to ever get me to swallow his "cum" that that made me his bitch. I struggled to get away from the jerk that would dare say that to me, but after a minute of his cooing in my ear that it was alright to be a man's bitch, I guess the nastiness of his words began to win me over. I could feel my clitoris becoming engorged just over his words and after begging me several times if I would be his bitch from then forward, I slowly nodded in agreement. I couldn't believe what I was doing and just kept my eyes tightly closed. He snickered seductively as he declared, "I knew I had you."

Peter ran his hand down and took one long grope over my vulva before finally releasing me from his grip. I quivered unnoticed as he grazed that special bump that caused my mind to swell in exuberance over being groped by a wanting male. Being free I suddenly became ashamed over my earlier nod and asked him why he assumed I would be what he had called me.

Peter snickered again and asked, "My bitch?"

"Yes! It's demeaning. Why would you say that after I just did that for you?"

He just smiled as he informed me that he understood me better than I thought he did. The next day, after a great deal of pestering, I finally relented and agreed I would go out with him even under the terms of him thinking of me as his "bitch". I finally came to the realization that he wasn't using the term as derogatory as anyone else might, but more of a private sexually charged pet name for me. In that regard, I could deal with it. Actually, after parting ways from my first real boyfriend, I thought about it and came to accept the term as a little more true to what I wanted than I could ever admit to anyone. Women will hate me for saying it, but it was when I thought of how the term almost made me feel like his property that I saw a particular thrill in it. The thought of being "owned" by a guy seemed so absolutely intoxicating to me.

And that brings me to where I'm at now - tied spread-eagled on the bed with ropes tied to the four corner posts of the bed, totally nude, blindfolded, and waiting for my guy to come back and fuck me crazy. Over the past eight months since that night behind the school, Peter gently plied from me the truth about liking kinky sex. It was all I had ever known until I met him, and I guess it had become somewhat hardwired in my brain as normal. This was the third time he had set me up for sex this way. Essentially, he had me strip for him, tied me to the bed, and left after calmly feeling me up and getting me all hot to trot for a good romp. You see, he would taunt me before leaving that he was going to get a guy to bring home to fuck me. I knew he never would, but he was so in tune with how to push my buttons. The first two times he came back after twenty or so minutes and ravaged me as he told me how a guy was watching him do it to me. It secretly caused me such a high that my mind would go nuts trying to figure out if he was lying or not. However, the thought of what he was telling me drove me crazy with lust for the act.

There was something that I could never bring myself to admit to Peter, but I had a pretty good idea that he understood it anyway. I liked being thought of as a man's property. It took away so much of my reluctance to do things that I really wanted to do anyway, if truth be known. I had certainly come to understand Peter's verbal ability and how he was very adept to sexing me up just the way I would often fantasize about as I would masturbate when alone.

Being restrained and blindfolded as I waited for him to come home to begin part two of this exercise, all I could do was fantasize about all the changes Peter had brought about in me since I began dating him. I would let him talk me into just about anything as long as I thought it would please him. I love him so much that knowing I was fulfilling his wishes gave me a sense of pleasure that I could please him so much. I was really into the mindset that I had handed myself over to him as his property, and as long as he took good care of me, that was a very happy place for me to live.

I'm not sure where Peter learned his skills of enticing a girl, or whether I was his learning tool, but I have had a very pleasant, though somewhat kinky, sex life ever since that first night with him. It evolved over the months to greater and greater heights of sexual bliss. The blindfold for instance, allowed me to play in my mind as he set the scene for me. The restraining also took away my ability to protest in any meaningful way to what he would scheme up to please me. But the "show respect" rule was the final way of controlling my reluctance for him to please me with whatever new sexual thrill he had planned for me. By showing respect meant that I wasn't allowed to say a single word. Grunting and groaning was about the only sounds I was allowed to make unless asked a direct question. The first time he instilled that new rule for our sex time, I violated it by begging him to fuck me deeper. I wound up locked in the bedroom closet for two hours before he let me out. I hated sitting there in the dark wondering when he would let me out, but when he finally did I got the best sex in weeks as my reward for learning. Despite performing his greatest talent on me, I made sure I didn't say another word.

One of the things I love most about the way Peter makes love to me is that he always makes sure I get off fantastically well before he rolls over to sleep to regain his strength. And the best way he does that is something that many guys won't do, and most guys don't do well at all. That special pleasure comes in the form of an all out licking that any girl would die to experience. He was a true expert when it came to eating out a girl. He laps at me so lovingly, nips and nibbles my clitoris just perfectly, and works his tongue deeper into me than I can believe possible. And best of all, he really enjoys doing it for me. That's great because in other areas he's not quite so... shall I say... capable. You see, that's how he got his nickname actually. He would never tell me the story, but one day when visiting his parents, I asked his mom. The look on her face was priceless. After clearing her throat and making me affirm that we were serious in our endeavors for a future together, she confided in me that she had started calling him Peanut because his penis was so small as an infant. I sheepishly replied that it still had potential, meaning that he hadn't grown much since then. I mean, he can get really hard, but he lacks a little in the length and girth departments. But considering how well he uses what he does have and how well he compensates by munching on me the way he does, I have absolutely no regrets.

As in the past two times that we played out this scenario, I began imagining what else he might dream up for our future forays into the wild side of life. That's when I heard the front door slam shut and smiled knowing that my reward was about to play out. But all of a sudden my world of graceful lust came crashing back to reality when I heard Peter and another man talking. He wouldn't, he couldn't... but as I listened, I had to accept that I was hearing two voices. My first instinct was to cry out for them not to come in, but I instantly caught myself over the respect rule. I heard the fridge open and figured they were getting beers and when they didn't immediately come to the bedroom, I realized that Peter was just playing mind games with me. The other man probably didn't even know I was there and would be leaving before Peter came to me. I expected Peter to sneak the guy out and pretend he was still there. That was right in line with how things had progressed in this sexual scenario in the past.

As I waited with my skin crawling over not knowing what my demise might really be, I wondered what it would really be like if he indeed did bring another guy into the bedroom. Would he really allow another man to watch him making love to me? What if he let the guy touch me? Had I trained my mouth to stay quiet enough to prove I loved and trusted Peter to do anything to me in the name of love? In the name of the best sex a guy has ever treated a girl to in history?

I was snapped from my mental venture when I heard the bedroom door opening. The first thing I heard was, "Show me the proper respect bitch, or you know what'll happen."

I understood his warning well and even acknowledged my willingness by clamping my lips tightly for him to see. I waited for the "act" to start, but instead I heard, "Now that's a fine looking piece of ass." My mind went blazing into a freefall when I realized it was a strangers voice. That bastard had really done it! He had brought another guy home to watch him making love to me. I couldn't believe it, but for some reason my oath to be silent overrode my fear of the unknown. My mouth may have stayed shut, but my entire body began quivering. And that's when the first really big event changing part of our secret sex lives was altered forever.

Peter said rather calmly to the other man, "Well, go ahead! Fuck her... she's all yours."

I frantically shook my head trying to heed his warning for respect. It had to be a joke. Letting someone see me nude and tied down like this is one thing, but he couldn't really be serious about handing me over so casually to another man like this. I strained to hear any inflection in their voices in between the sound of someone removing their jeans. There were simply too many keys in the pants being shed towards the floor to be Peter's. The man was verbally thanking Peter for the "scrumptious" tidbit lying trussed before him and Peter kept assuring him that it would be fine and that I was very obedient as my silence indicated. I struggled to wipe my blindfold away from my eyes against the bedding, but it wasn't working.

I struggled to hear anything until suddenly I felt my right breast getting squeezed and manipulated under a very new touch. The fingers of that hand worked teasingly down to my crotch and began frigging my clitoris. It grew hard instantly at his touch and my mouth fell open. One thing I had learned very well from Peter was about the penis and clitoris and how they foretold certain secrets. Essentially, when engorgement takes place, it's because the person is in a dominant state and thus enjoying themselves. When either of those appendages fall flaccid, it means that person has fallen into a totally submissive state of mind and they have relinquished themselves to the more dominant action. I had found this to be absolutely true about myself time and time again. It quickly became bothersome to me that Peter might also be seeing this for himself and I certainly didn't want him to think I liked the idea of a strange man's hands on me. Unfortunately though, that cue is not something controlled consciously.

The bed shook under the weight of the man getting onto it. I could tell he was much heavier than Peter, and it was clear his was getting ready to mount me like a splayed dog. I felt fingers working my vaginal lips into a wet entryway for the interloper, and then he was obviously rubbing the tip of his penis through the wetness he had achieved. I began squirming around and received a slap to my thigh for my disrespect. I gasped at that and without warning, he skewered himself into me in an instant. I gasped again and much louder as the largest penis I had ever felt down there forced me open to consume it. The man didn't seem at all worried about finessing his way into me, but instead opted for a full long plunge. My mouth fell open, silent, and my mind raced with hundreds of disbelieving thoughts.

How could Peter let another man fuck me? How could he bare knowing about it, let alone watch it happening? Was this some sick joke?

But as the man took to fucking me, I heard Peter egging him on to enjoy himself. The man was being so rough with me that constant grunts and groans were emanating from my lips with me having no control over them at all. I began twisting frantically to get my blindfold to push up over my eyes, and after much effort I got a pinhole of light to come in. I couldn't see Peter, and all I really could see was a huge amount of chest hair. My whole abdomen was convulsing in time with the man's almost violent thrusting and his hands began kneading my already small breasts flat against my chest. He tweaked my nipples so hard I cried out. Then as I twisted my head the other direction, I caught an extremely quick glimpse of Peter's face. Not only was he smiling, but he had that look in his eyes that told me he was enthralled with what he was watching. Was he really getting off on this?

The answer came when he spoke in such sexual charged words, "Go ahead man, rape that ass."

I had my answers now that told me that he had no regrets over what was happening to me, or what had been planned to happen to me. He was playing out the fantasy he had whispered in my ear just two weeks prior of his desire to watch me get raped. I was only comforted when I remembered that he had also assured me that it would only be exciting for him if he knew I wouldn't be hurt. That was it then - I had to resign my mind to understand that there wasn't anything I could do to stop this now, so I tried relaxing my muscles to accept the instrument of my rape. It wasn't easy since every one of his thrusts pushed my entire body towards the headboard, only to be dragged back away from it with every withdrawal.

I began thinking about how I had willingly handed myself over to Peter so many times now as his property, that I really couldn't cry about him letting someone else view my body as that as well. That's when in between the thrusts into me, I realized that my special bump was no longer hardened. I had fallen into a totally submissive state for this man to continue raping my body. Again I wondered if Peter was viewing this undeniable sign. Oddly enough, as my body was getting use to this man's girth, I tried finding something within this act to pleasure my own mind. It seemed like he was so large that I could feel the veins in his shaft as they brushed through my lips.

I felt my right leg go free and realized that the rope had come undone. When my left leg came free as well, I knew that Peter had freed them.

"There you go," I heard Peter say, "that should provide you with a little extra fight."

Immediately I pulled my knees back trying to make the intrusions a little more acceptable. My rape seemed much more bearable now and I even noticed my legs were flailing around the man's legs in an effort to have some measure of control. And when I heard the man proclaim how much he liked what he construed as fighting against him, my mind went into autopilot and I began squirming to get away from him as best I could with my wrists still tied down. It was crazy I know, but when I heard how much my struggling excited him, like a wanton whore I kicked and bucked my pelvis. I knew what I was doing to enhance my rapist's appetite for me, and sadly, I began working to please this stranger that was stealing my body parts for his own sick fantasies. A fantasy that I was submitting to despite my groans of protest.

It all seemed to work nicely and in less than a minute, the man plowed into me so hard my head banged the headboard of the bed as I could tell he was cumming inside of me. Never had I ever had anything that hard, that big in me and as I felt the warmth bathing my insides, I had any orgasm that a blind man could have seen. He impaled me to the same depth three more times as he emptied himself in me and that made me feel like such a piece of trash. But as I struggled to catch my breath, I caught another look of Peter through the pinhole in my blindfold. He had such a sultry look on his face. And when the man unceremoniously pulled out of me and rolled off the bed, Peter's eyes seemed to glow to see the mess the man had left behind. I dropped my head and felt a finger wiping its way through my lips, but when Peter tried to wipe his finger into my mouth, I sputtered it away and turned my head. He knew full well that I still hated the idea of semen in my mouth, especially that of a stranger.

My breathing was as labored as it had ever been as I listened to the man getting dressed and the two of them talking about just how great a piece of ass I had been. I felt so used, so betrayed, so mad at Peter. But to myself, I had to admit one fact for sure. It had been just as wild of a romp as any other time in my life with Peter. But he sure wasn't going to know that!

Several minutes later and after Peter had showed the man out, he came back to me. I swore, "You bastard!"

Instantly, I received a slap to my thigh that stung like hell.

"Show respect bitch! Did I ask you a question?"

For the next several minutes, I felt Peter's fingers running through the mess his new friend had made of me and getting wiped onto my belly. Finally, Peter fell on top of me and began his typical cooing. Whenever he knew he had gone a little further than I had given him permission to do, he would coo his way back into my heart. When he asked if I still loved him, I made him wait as long as I could before slowly nodding my head. But then he asked me if I liked getting my "cunt" raped, he had to ask a dozen times more before I again nodded. I thought that had been the big question, but he had one last one.

"So," he asked, "if I decide I want to watch you getting raped again, will you still love me?"

I refused to answer him. I knew there was only one acceptable answer he wanted to come from me. Tears started rolling from under my blind, and I began weeping softly. I hated so much that he wanted an answer from me. But when I thought about what had really just happened to me, and how he was actually okay with it, excited by it even, I feared lying to him. I never would have allowed him to set me up like that if I knew before hand, but he had taken good care of me as I was being violated. That's when I starting analyzing what I had taken away from all this and thought about my body signs. They don't lie! My flaccid clitoris, after having gone through the excitement faze, proved I had been brought to a point of submission. I knew it was the duty of a good piece of property to accept whatever its owner so desired for it. So when Peter asked me for the tenth time if I would still love him, clearly signifying that he had my permission to do this again if he so desired, I nodded as slowly as I ever had in my life.

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