God I’m dumb. Like, not stupid, I always got good grades and shit, but you don’t have to be stupid to be dumb. That’s what I think anyway. So yeah, I’m not a moron, but I’m dumb as shit, why else would I have met an older stranger off the internet at 11pm, outside my own home, in my pyjama shorts and t-shirt no less, and just let him drive me off to somewhere we hadn’t previously agreed to after I sucked his dick? I even let him convince me to suck off four of his buddies.
Well, I say suck off, they mostly fucked my face one after the other, like, real hard too, no chance to catch my breath or anything. I’d sucked off a few guys, but I wasn’t used to oral like that, I puked a couple of times, but they didn’t seem to mind, they found it totally hilarious. I found it totally humiliating. My pussy found it totally arousing. I hated that, how my body reacted when guys humiliated me or got a little rough, but the more I tried to suppress it the more I thought about it and the more it turned me on.
I didn’t get to clean up before I was dropped back home, so there I was, sneaking (as much as anyone can really sneak in flip flops) my skinny ass up our long-ass driveway at, like, midnight, in my soaked little PJ shorts and cum-stained t-shirt that did jack shit to hide the little brown bullets poking out from my barely there tits, my face and hair a sticky mess, a mixture of jizz and puke lingering on my tongue. It wasn’t until I got to the top of the driveway that I noticed the dim light coming through a crack in the curtains. It had to be my dad. He didn’t often stay up this late, but realising he was up made me remember a comment he’d made to mom over breakfast about the West Indies (where they came from) playing cricket against Australia. Mom didn’t much care, but if it involved men playing with balls my dad would watch it. Well, like, sports balls anyway, not the kind of balls I liked. His enthusiasm for sports could be pretty entertaining and super cute, but now it was just an enormous problem.
See, my dad is strict. Really, really fucking strict. Even now, at 18, I wasn’t allowed out late, I wasn’t allowed to be friends with guys, almost everything I wore had to be modest - although that wasn’t a big issue for me because I’d gone to a fancy school with modest uniforms, and outside of that I was pretty self-conscious - I was 5’4”, but my limbs and proportions and lack of tits or ass made me look all gangley and awkward, like a baby giraffe or something. I asked mom if she’d help me get ass implants once, just so I wouldn’t have to live with, like, negative ass all my life, dad probably would’ve had a fit though.
I found the hidden spare key and very carefully opened the door as quietly as humanly possible. I didn’t have to open it too much to slip through, a small benefit of my underdeveloped figure, and carefully closed it again, holding the knob, making sure the locking mechanism wouldn’t snap back and make a noise. With the door very quietly put in it’s place I turned around and felt what seemed like every drop of blood and feeling drain from my body as I came face-to-chest with my father. I didn’t have to look up to know he was angry, I could feel it radiating off him like he were made of nuclear material.
“Where - the fuck - have you been?” He growled, clearly trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake my mom and sister at stupid-o’clock.
He wasn’t going to get an answer, I opened my mouth but couldn’t manage more than a strangled squeak, my instincts were trying to get me to phase backwards through the closed door or something, I wished I could, especially when the stench coming off me hit his nostrils.
“The fuck is that smell?”
He grabbed my hair, bringing his nose closer to my head, then dragged me into the living room to look at me in better light. He only had a standing lamp on but it was more than enough for him to see the state of me, and by the look on his face I thought he was about to blow the house to smithereens. He seemed like he was trying to speak, well, shout, he shouted a lot when he was mad, but no words seemed to come to him. He looked at his hand, sticky with cum from contact with my hair, then back at me.
Three letters. I couldn’t get three letters out before his soiled hand struck the mess that was my face hard enough to knock me off balance and send me falling to the floor between the couch and coffee table. The speed and shock of it must have been what kept me from crying out, neither of my parents had hit me since I became a teenager, and never across the face like that. They weren’t abusive or anything before that either, it was just the discipline they grew up with - if your kid misbehaves you beat their ass - it happened to their parents, it happened to them, it happened to my sister and I, but dad was going to go way beyond anything he’d dished out before.
He grabbed me by the hair again and slapped me twice more as I cried out and he called me a fucking whore. Dragging me up by my roots he threw me onto the couch, I didn’t even consider fighting back, I just covered my head with my arms and cried into the couch cusions while he started beating my boney ass like a drum.
“You fucking whore.” He spat between hits. “Fucking disgrace. To me, to your mother, to this whole fucking family.”