Color of the Seed

by Tony Tiger

Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Consensual, NonConsensual, Heterosexual, Interracial, Prostitution, .

Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Helping a homeless sex slave helps him too.

It was my volunteer night at the homeless shelter when I saw her in a corner, the darkest one in the room. As I walked her way to make her welcome, since I’ve never seen her before, she seemed to shrink as if to hide. My greeting was not responded to. Peering out of the shadowy hoodie was a Hispanic face with a very dark skin color. I went to get one of our translators.

Martina, who was also a social worker whom I had known for many years, was a big help. The girl, at least that was our consensus, had just wandered in a short while ago. No English and a very rural flavor of Mexican. Hungry but couldn’t keep food down. When asked if she had a place to stay she shook her head. Martina looked at me and said they were already full for the night.

I asked if there was anything I could do. She replied that this little one had not been registered in their system yet so could I take her home and bring her back tomorrow? I gulped and said yes. Martina explained this to the so-far nameless one.

She followed me docilely to my car and got in. We could not communicate verbally so gesturing had to work.

When we got to my house I made her a fruit smoothie which she attacked. So far, so good. It seemed to stay down. Her clothes were dirty and in bad shape so I took her to the shower in the guest room. She just stared at me as I tried to indicate she should get clean.

I guessed that she was maybe twelve years old. Skinny and not very tall either. Martina said the girl, that had been confirmed, didn’t know how old she was or where she was from. A man had dropped her off near the shelter when she started throwing up all the time. That started two weeks earlier.

I’d helped raise my daughters so was not at a total loss. BTW, I’m just over fifty and a widower for a year due to breast cancer. Anyway, I finally turned on the water and started to take her clothes off. She got the idea and finished the job, not at all embarrassed to be naked in front of me. Early adolescence, I guessed. A bit of pubic hair, small early breasts, and a very dirty and unkempt mane on top,

I left her to get clean, put her clothes in the washer, and found a log t-shirt for her to wear.

When I got back to the bathroom she was obviously enjoying the experience. She exited the shower and just stood there, naked and dripping. I grabbed a towel but no response so I began toweling her. Now this was not at all what I was prepared for. I’m not dead so I did feel a swelling “down there”. She noticed and I got the first hint of a smile on that dark face.

I was more comfortable when she had the shirt on and I made another smoothie before I took her to the guest room. She looked around in amazement. It had been one of my grown daughter’s room and was very feminine. I tucked her in and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. She smiled again.

In the middle of the night I was awakened by an unaccustomed sensation. Someone was in my bed and plastered up against my back. She was sobbing quietly so I turned to put my arms around her. I sleep nude usually but had put on boxer shorts “just in case”. She calmed down and we slept.

Was it a dream? My wife had enjoyed waking me sometimes with a hand exploring my manhood, teasing it big with gentle stroking so she could have fun with it in a variety of ways. Mine is pretty average in size but she seemed quite pleased with it. Of course I had missed that.

Could it be this child? I flashed awake and it sure was. She was fondling me rather expertly I thought. Although it was about to set off a boner-blast, I gently removed her hand from my crotch and shook my head “No”. She seemed disappointed but cooperated.

After another smoothie for her and breakfast for me, and we went shopping. Her clothes, although now clean, were in ruins. We went to Walmart where I found a Spanish speaking associate in the girls’ department to get her fitted with new clothes from top to bottom: a loose top, no bra because she refused it, jeans, sport shoes.

Our next stop was my high school friend, an obstetrician who worked us into his busy schedule. He did the exam and took some lab samples. His nurse explained to a very scared youngster what was going on. We picked up two prescriptions on the way out.

One was to calm her stomach so we waited for that to take effect before going to the best Mexican restaurant in town. The second was an antibiotic for the chlamydia the lab had found. My friend told me she had vaginal abrasions from rough intercourse, and was approximately two months pregnant. He agreed with our assessment of her age. She didn’t know.

With food staying in her belly, we next went to the shelter. Martina hugged the waif and we talked. I filled her in on the basics of her care so far, but not about some of the very personal interactions.

The two of them chatted for a while and then I got a report. Martina told me that her name was Iza and she felt safe with me and wanted me to “keep her”. She been sold by her impoverished parents to a human trafficker, smuggled into the US and men had done what they wanted to her for a while, maybe six months based on the seasons. Martina wanted to talk more with her but didn’t have enough time right now.

“Could you come for dinner and stay to talk to her” I asked.

Martina agreed and I gave her my address. I’d asked Martina for a date about six months ago but she sweetly declined, saying she had a steady boyfriend, but she’d let me know if that changed. We continued to become even better friends.

On our way home, Iza said in such a heavy accent she had to repeat several times, “Me Eeenglesh?” I figured out she wanted to learn my language. Lord knows I’d never learn hers. I nodded and she smiled, something that was happening more often.

When we started exploring her vocabulary it was almost entirely vulgar and four letter words. She’d learned some work phrases such as, “You like fuck?” and “Blow job?”

I downloaded a translation program and a Spanish test-to speech so communication would be at least one-way. She’d apparently had little schooling in her rural area.

She laughed at the computer voice but caught on to what I was trying to do. I was blindly trying to become an ESL teacher. It did give us something to do until Martina arrived. Oh, she was some help in the kitchen as I fixed dinner but was unfamiliar with anything but the most basic implements.

Martina spent a long time with her and after we put her to bed I got the report. Martina summarized that she was better off with me and out of the “system” for the time being. Since she was not at work what she was about to tell me was off the record. “You can expect her to want sex with you when she is healed. In spite of her young age, she is used to it and will get as horny as any other young woman. I can’t tell you how to deal with this nor will I tell you to hurt her feelings. It is also the only way she has to thank you for helping her. I can advise her about the need for complete confidentiality because of her age though.”

I had a few other questions and Martina said she would like to come to dinner once a week to do a “foster home inspection”. I told her to plan on it.

So when I wasn’t working, I was teaching English and cooking and other household skills to my new charge. She slept snuggled to me in her t-shirt but didn’t make any sexual advances. I did notice her rubbing herself during the night though.

At the first weekly visit, Iza asked Martina when she could fuck me. It had to get translated, of course. She was told to finish her medicine. That was four days away. She was also told about keeping anything them might happen between us completely private, that is if I agreed to let anything happen. Martina said she didn’t know if I would do things like that or not.

The night the pills were finished there was no t-shirt a bedtime, only a young girl asking, “You fuck me, pleeze?”

When I tried to not respond, she put on hand into my boxers and her other one took one of mine to her damp vulva. She kept cooing, “In me pleeze?” When she bent down and gave me expert oral attention, I was a goner. She got a small mouthful and sat up smiling happily, then bent back over had got me hard again. Pushing me over on my back, she hopped on what she had produced.

She’d learned a lot in a relatively few months, that was for sure. She pulled my hands to her small breasts with their hard nipples and squeaked with pleasure as I did what I thought might feel good to her. I rubbed her small belly bump and fingered her clit and she hummed with pleasure.

She rode me hard, determined to get me off, it seemed, and when she felt my warmth inside she smiled and bent down to kiss me hard on the lips. “You good!” was her comment. She laid her small body on my chest and kept kissing me. After our breathing slowed down she asked, “More?” I shook my head and she seemed disappointed. I pointed to my watch and gestured, trying to convey “Later”. I needed to recover. She finally got it and rolled off.

I was so surprised when she used her mouth to clean the juices off my shriveled organ. I guess that what whores were expected to do. The thoughts of her recent past were on my mind as I drifted off to sleep.

More oral action in the middle of the night got me a chance to ride on her the next time. Shit, I’d not been laid twice in a week, let alone the same night, in decades.

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