Chapter 1

I got my first scar the day my mother died.

Molly was sick with the flu so I decided to stay home from school to look after her. Our dad had to work and our mom, well, technically she did too. I had hoped she would choose not to that day but knew she probably would. Even if she didn't, she'd be too high to care about my little sister's fever. It had gotten to the point that she doped up practically every day.

When her first client came by the house I went straight to my bedroom. I was still trying to protect Molly from the realities of what our mother did for a living, but she was old enough to understand that our mom's "friends" were more than simply that. She'd also started asking questions about the needles and Mom's other drug paraphernalia. Whenever she did, I told her that it was a "grown up thing" and hoped she'd forget about it. I knew deep down that she wouldn't. She was only two years younger than me and I hadn't been much older than she was when I first came to understand that our mom was a heroin addict.

Figuring out that she was a whore, too, was even worse. It wasn't until I was about Molly's age that I realized that all of her male "friends" were actually customers. Knowing this, remembering the first time I realized what our mom was, made me fear for my sweet sister. She would soon go through the same shock and embarrassment I had felt when I first figured it out and I knew it would crush her, just as it had crushed me.

At least she had me to protect her, for now. I hadn't had anyone. I'd heard our mom with those strange men through the walls of our small house, heard them fuck her, with no one around to hid me from the truth. I had also overheard her conversations with those men on the phone, heard her argue with my dad about money. From all of my observations I eventually figured out what my mom was, and what she did, by the time I was twelve. The same age Molly was now.

"Can we watch another movie?"

I glanced over at her. There was sweat on her brow, a cool sweat from the fever. Her face was still pale, too, and she sounded miserable. My heart broke for the little beauty. I didn't think she'd ever grow breasts as large as mine, seeing as mine had been bigger at her age. But she had our aunt's red hair and our mother's height. She had the wits of a child, unfortunately, but the beauty of a supermodel. It pained me to see her so sick and pale and confused.

In the room next door I suddenly heard the creaking of our parents' bed and the grunting of some strange man. Forcing myself to smile I said, "Let's check your temperature first..." while turning up the volume on the TV to drown out the sounds from next door.

Her fever had broke. That was a relief. I quickly found a different DVD and popped it into the player. It was one of her favorites, an action movie that involved lots of violence. I chose it because I knew it'd be loud. It began to play on the small TV and I made sure to keep the volume high enough to block out the grunting coming from the next room.

Some men, knowing there were children in the house, kept as quiet as possible. This wasn't one of those: the man was cursing and grunting and obviously didn't care who heard. My mom, as usual, was also pretty loud. Her moans and pleadings to get "fucked harder" penetrated through the wall and all I could do was hope that Molly couldn't hear. Or, if she did, that she didn't understand.

By mid-morning my little sister had fallen asleep. I rested my hand on her small pale forehead to make sure her fever had truly gone. She felt cool, still, and I sighed in relief. I decided to leave the movie playing, just in case Mom had another customer today, and then I tip-toed out of our bedroom.

After making myself lunch I settled in on the living room sofa and lazily began browsing the Internet. The crappy laptop computer we had was good for little else: its speakers were broken and even headphones didn't work, so videos and music were worthless. As for computer games, well, it could run Solitaire and little else. Dad used it to look at porn, I knew, and at least with that it was useful. But I mainly used it to update my blog.

"Home Today," I titled my new post. I knew that I had to be careful when writing about my home-life or else police might find it and take me away from my parents. Because of this I was always intentionally vague: "Had to stay home. My sister is sick and Mom and Dad are busy with work. Not much else to say about all that. As promised, though, here's a picture of me in my new bra. :P"

I don't know why I did that. Post sexy pictures of myself, I mean. I'd been doing it for about six months and I suppose I thrived on the attention it gave me. I'd been running my blog for over three years but it hadn't been until my breasts really sprouted and I started posting pictures of them online that my little blog started to get any attention. Now I got over five thousand hits a day. Whenever I posted a new photo, I received dozens of comments.

There were two rules I promised myself about the photos: no face, no nudity. A year earlier, when I'd been in the 8th grade, a girl in my class had posted a naked picture of herself online as a joke. Or so she claimed. Whatever her reasons, the results had been severe: cops got involved, she was taken away from her parents for a time, that sort of thing. The whole ordeal had even been written up in the local newspaper. I still didn't know for sure what had happened to her but had heard rumors that her family had moved away. Her experience had been a lesson to me when I started posting my photos: no nudity. No face. And always remain anonymous.

After posting the blog entry I re-read it and smiled. It would be a popular post, I was certain. It'd been over two weeks since I'd posted a sexy picture of myself and everyone had been begging me to hurry up and finally show off the bra I'd received for my fourteenth birthday. I had chosen to tease my online fans with pictures of it first. Every few days I showed more of it: first in its package. Later, opened up. Finally, the whole thing laid out on my bed: blue and frilly, 28-B in size, and silky smooth. The picture I had finally taken of myself wearing it would not disappoint my readers, I thought.

I was wearing that bra right now. It was a little loose, but I was certain I'd grow into it. Even though I hadn't sprouted up much in height yet, A-cups were definitely a thing of the past for me.

When I looked at the picture I had taken the night before I was pleased with how teasing my growing breasts appeared in them compared to pictures of me in a bikinis only six months earlier. I didn't have a matured woman's body yet, not even close, but I was on my way: my waist was shedding its baby-fat at a record pace and giving my tiny hips a more curvy form. I was short, and skinny, on the small size like my cousins. But my ass was beginning to round out and my thighs were getting thicker, like my mom's.

Also like my mom, my breasts were exploding in size. Even a year earlier, back in middle school, I had little lumps of tit on my chest. Now? Honest to god B-cups! I was catching up with all my friends and I truly believed, now, that unlike my completely flat little sister I would take after our mom.

My biggest worry was my height: I was only 5'1" tall, only an inch improvement from a year before. Even Molly was taller than me, and she was two years younger. That worried me because my mom was on the short side, too, but even she had been taller at my age.

Even so, I thought I looked good. It was just too bad that I couldn't show my face in the photo I was currently staring at. In it, my hand was covering my face. Too bad because I honestly believed I was extremely cute: large blue eyes, long lashes, pert nose. When I smiled I displayed the cutest dimples and even when I didn't I thought my slender lips and pale complexion made me more attractive than most girls. My long golden hair had natural highlights of red, giving me a unique look which is why, sadly, I always tied my hair back and wore a winter hat to hide it in my pictures.

They'll like it anyway, I thought, nodding with approval at the picture. Look at those tits, what's not to like? I giggled.

There was a knock at the front door. I immediately closed the web-browser and then discarded the laptop. Might be Dad, I thought hopefully. It wouldn't be unusual for him to lock himself out of the house but it would be unusual to return from work so early. That thought made me wary.

I pushed myself up from the sofa just as the doorbell began to ring incessantly. I groaned, knowing now that it definitely wasn't Dad. He rarely used the doorbell and when he did, it was one polite ring. The person at the door was panicked; one of Mom's customers not wanting to be seen by the neighbors, no doubt.

"Stop that!" I snapped after opening the door. "Molly's sleeping, you'll wake her up!"

The man was surprised to see me. His name was Eddy, or at least that's what he called himself. A man older than most of Mom's regulars, he came by at least twice a month. I knew through eavesdropping that she'd met him at the club where she danced. I also knew that she didn't really like him because he was too rough with her when they fucked, but I'd heard Dad tell her once that he paid better than most. Besides, Dad had explained, the John never did any permanent damage.

They'd argued about it many times. Dad knew that she whored herself in addition to stripping, and he didn't care. One time I heard her say that she wanted to quit. He'd told her that if she did she'd have to figure out another way to earn money for her dope-addiction because she wouldn't be getting any from him. She defiantly declared that she'd quit that, too. He'd simply laughed at her but I had been childish enough to think she was serious.

She hadn't been. Within days she'd gone back to shooting up and fucking strange men in her bedroom, sometimes even when my dad was home. Her addiction had gotten even worse than it had been before that hopeful argument. Now she was stoned so often that she rarely worked at the stripclub anymore, preferring instead to shoot up in her bedroom and fuck any guy she managed to find who was willing to pay.

Men like Eddy.

"Hey, child," he said. His eyes dropped down immediately to my chest and I suddenly wished I'd worn a looser tee-shirt. At the very least, I wished I'd worn a darker one. Instead I was wearing an old white shirt that hugged my adolescent body far too snugly. Worse yet, my prized new bra could almost be seen through the worn white fabric.

I unconsciously crossed my arms over my chest and gave him a nasty glare. "Mom's not here," I lied.

He looked back up to my blue eyes and snorted. A moment later and he was pushing past me, moving inside the house. "Bullshit," he said after I closed the door in defeat. "She texted me not five minutes ago. Ready to work, she said. She in her room?"

There was no point in denying it. "Yeah," I grumbled. "Keep it down though, okay? Molly really is asleep. She's sick. The flu."

"Who the fuck is Molly and why should I give a shit?" he said.

"She's my sister!" I snapped. "And you should give a shit because if you wake her up I'm gonna call the cops and tell 'em you raped my mom!"

That made him laugh. He said, "The cops? Shit, girl, all the cops in town know what your ma is. Half of 'em have fucked her and the other half are either women or faggots but even they wouldn't believe she got herself raped. Shit, how dumb are you?" He gave me the once-over with his nasty gray eyes and I found myself losing my defiant stance. "Why ain't you in school, anyways?"

"I'm taking care of Molly," I said. I was immediately ashamed with myself for sounding so weak and afraid.

"Whatever," he said. He sauntered through the living room and then down the hallway like he owned the place. Truthfully, horrifyingly, it was a relief to see him leave. The man scared me and I didn't like being scared. A moment later I heard my mother mumble a lazy, stoned greeting as he entered her bedroom.

It took me a few minutes to gather my confidence back again but once I did I went to check on Molly. She was still asleep, thankfully. I slipped another DVD into the player and turned up the volume on the TV. Eddy would probably be loud. He obviously didn't give a shit and he loved smacking my mom's large breasts while he nailed her. That would make her scream, make him laugh, make him call her all sorts of nasty names. Just to be safe, I turned the volume up even more.

Once I returned to the sofa and the laptop computer I found no joy in the fact that my blog post had already received a dozen comments. I read them with dull eyes as the grunts coming from down the hall filled my ears. "So hot, take it off!!!" read one. "Tits or GTFO" read another. Most were variations on those, but there were a couple that indulged my ego. "You're a true beauty. Thanks for posting" was one and another was, "You're going to be a sexy woman someday, girl!"

I closed the computer and turned on the TV. Something neutral, I thought dully. The Weather Channel. Something easy and boring and dull. I just needed something to look at until my mom's customer finished fucking her and left. Once he did I would clean the bathroom, I decided, and then get everything ready for supper after checking in on my little sister again.

Angry footsteps sounded from the hallway. I spun my head over and saw Eddy, naked save for his socks, storming into the living room. In one hand he was holding his shoes. In the other he was holding the rest of his clothing: jacket, shirt, boxers, jeans. I stared at him in shock: I'd never seen a man his age, or any man for that matter, naked in real life before. My heart was filled with fear even as my eyes refused to look away.