When I was 13 I was already obsessed with sex to some extent. My first orgasm came at a young age, perhaps 7, when I was molested (though not unwillingly) by two gardeners employed by my family. They did not speak English very well, other than a few well-chosen obscene terms, but they made their intentions clear. They took me into a small garden shed where they made me lie down on some sort of grain or feed sacks.
I’ll never forget how excited I was when they pulled off my panties, spread my legs and began touching my hairless pussy.
I felt a thrill go through me when one of them whispered something about little pussy, even though I didn’t know what that was at the time. They played with me for a long time and made me lick and kiss their cocks. (I discovered later that my 11 year old brother was outside watching through the window, trying to decide what to do. He later admitted that since he could see I was smiling and laughing, he ended up jacking off while the two men put their fingers in me and deposited their cum on my face and belly.
I remember they wiped me off with rags and warned me not to tell anyone – as if I would? I just went back and took a bath, and an early nap. Although my brother and I ended up playing with each other whenever we had the chance, we never quite had the courage to actually fuck and then he went away to school.
I was desperate to have sex, but still afraid of getting a reputation at school. Other girls my age did not even suck boys off, let alone fuck them. My mother married, again, when I was 12. Malcolm, my new stepfather liked to give spankings, and those spankings began to change. First with the panties on, then with the panties down a bit, then with them off completely, then just in my bra, then, finally, I was told to strip completely for my punishment. His fingers kept brushing the new crop of soft hair on my crotch, but still he didn’t actually do anything, even when I squirmed a bit trying to get his fingers closer. Then, one night, he came home and caught me making out on the couch with a 16-year old boy. My blouse was open and I was on my knees sucking the boy’s hard-on. Malcolm sent him out the door still trying to get his dick back in his pants, and hauled me upstairs. Suddenly I knew that would be the night, and it was. At first he ripped my clothes off harshly, and turned me over his knee. But I could feel the enormous bulge in his trousers as he reddened my ass. Then he made me kneel in front of him as he sat on the bed. He interrogated me about my activities, wanting to know if I’d let any of those boys stick their cocks in my pussy. He’d never used such language and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter. He made me use the words, too.
I couldn’t get away with a yes or a no answer. He showed me that he had discovered the cache of hard core porn magazines I had stolen from him and from my stepbrother, and hidden in my dresser drawer. He made me point to the pictures I liked (the ones of women tied up and spread open, being roughly handled), made me read the captions out loud and describe what was going on. He told me, finally, if I wanted to be a slut, I would certainly be HIS slut.
I felt myself trembling. He was going to fuck me, for real. He made me kneel between legs and unzip his trousers, and wrap my hands around his thick, hard, meaty cock.
I saw you licking that kid’s dick downstairs, so I know you know how to do it. Start sucking, my sweet little bitch! That first night, he came first in my mouth, then he enjoyed my virgin cunt.
It hurt, but not as much as I thought it might. And I wanted it so bad, but he wouldn’t let me want it, if you know what I mean. He made sure that I knew he was in charge, he was the boss, he owned my pussy.