Chapter 3

I'm not sure how long he was gone b/4 I calmed down enough to get up, put the stool away, grab my back pack and the paddle and head for the house. I do remember how warm and numb and wonderful I felt though. It was better than any drug I could ever imagine, and I wanted more. At least I wanted more until I saw the clock in the kitchen, and realized that I only had about 10 minutes to get myself cleaned up and doing my homework at the kitchen table like normal, before my mom and little sister got home. It almost seems amazing to me now, that in all the years that Mr. Sanders used me as his slut, we never once got caught by my mom. God knows he sure pushed it to the limit enough times. Then again, she may have known, and figured that I was safer with someone she knew than with a guy she didn't. One thing I do know for sure, she wasn't about to let me get pregnant as young as she did. As soon as I had my first period she took me to our doctor and had her put me on the pill.

The next day at school was torture. I couldn't get Mr. Sanders out of my head or the heat from what he had done to me out of my pussy. Every recess and most of my lunch period found me in the girls' room. I think I must have cum 5 times that day before that last bell finally rang and I was able to pull my sopping panties off and stuff them into my pack for the walk home. Actually it was more of a run. I was so worked up by then that it was all I could do not to stop along the way and frig myself off.

Mr. Sanders found me just as he had ordered. But as soon as he walked up to me I started to cum and that damn paddle squirted out of my pussy and onto the floor. He just laughed at me as I gushed, and informed me that since I had dropped the paddle I could add 12 more to my total. That day he let me have all 42 of them, even though I was cumming and begging him to fuck me almost from the beginning. When he was through he again informed that I would have to earn my first fucking, and that no matter what, I would have to wait until I turned 13. He then asked me if I wanted to suck his cock again. When all I could manage through my heat was to look up at him and nod my head, he gave me 5 more whacks, and informed me that if I wanted to suck his cock, I would have to beg for it properly and address him as "Sir". And that, quite simply is how he managed to keep me in spanking debt to him for the next 4 years, when he moved to Arizona. By making me beg for sex, I was being a slut, and therefore deserved another spanking on the following day, 12 for being a slut, and 12 more for actually doing what I had just begged for. The only thing that ever changed was the total, every year on my birthday from then on it went up by one.

It really wasn't fair in a way. I couldn't help it. Every time he would spank me for my previous behavior the heat would go straight to my pussy and before he was even half way done I would already be begging him to use me. And of course he always did, which again made me a double slut for letting him. Dysfunctional? I suppose. But god I love men who treat me that way. It makes me gush like crazy just thinking about it.

So I did it. As fast as I could, I got down on my knees on that garage floor and begged him to please let me suck his cock again. And of course he said yes, like that's a surprise. Only instead of cumming in my mouth, he let go of my head and hosed me with it, all over my face, hair and my blouse. Oooh god, what a gusher I had that day! It still makes me cum instantly when men hose me. There is something soooo nasty about letting them do that to me that my pussy just goes crazy, and that first time was no different. I was on my back on the garage floor with my fingers jammed into my snatch and Mr. Sanders was standing there looking down at me, laughing, which only made me cum harder.

When I finally calmed down he informed me that girls who get off on being hosed are much bigger sluts than girls that just swallow, and that I could therefore expect to receive an extra 12 strokes the next day. God he was a master at that. No matter what I did, there was always some reason why I deserved an extra 12, or 13 or 14 or whatever. I don't remember a time when I didn't have at least 30 cumming to me. I probably still owe him at least that much. The last thing he did the morning he left for Arizona, was to push me into the space between the garages, where he filled my 16 year old ass with his jizz, shoved my first buttplug into me, and made me swear that I would keep it in me for the rest of the weekend.

After that second time he started to up the ante. He told me that the next day he would expect to find me "ready" for him at the bottom of his outside basement stairwell. "Ready" now meant that I was to be kneeling on the indoor/outdoor carpeting with my hands behind my back, and my blouse and bra neatly folded in a pile 3 steps up, so that they wouldn't get wet when he hosed me. Looking back on it now, I suppose I should be embarrassed or something that the thought of saying no never crossed my mind. Instead, my pussy started to gush, and I ended up with my fingers coated in goo as he walked out the side door.

I suppose I was an exhibitionist even then. Just the thought of being ordered to expose myself like that drove my pussy crazy, even if it was at the bottom of a stairwell. If anyone did come back there before he got home, I would have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and absolutely no defense. Only a slut would kneel at the bottom of a basement stairwell with her hands behind her back and her tits exposed, waiting for her neighbor to come home from work and hose her.

For the rest of that week and into the next Mr. Sanders would cum home from work each day to find me there, on my knees, with my hands behind my back, and my nips so hard you could hang weights from them. But what he enjoyed the most I think was the growing wet spot that he always found on the indoor/outdoor carpet between my knees. I just couldn't seem to help it. The exposure, the fear of getting caught by someone else, and the anticipation of another spanking followed by a hosing were all too much for my pussy to handle. I would try to hold out as long as I could, but sooner or later my pussy would just start gushing on its own, and my fingers would find their way down there, as I desperately tried to get off as fast as I could before he drove up.

Each day he would get out of his car and come down those stairs grinning at me. Then he would say something like, "Hello, Candy, I see that you've made a mess of my carpet again. Better add another 12."

Then he would unlock the basement door and lead me into his rec room, where I would obediently pull my skirt up, spread my legs, turn my toes in, drape my tummy over the arm of his easy chair, and beg him to pleeeeeeese spank me for being such a dirty little slut the day before. To this day I am not sure if I came harder from the spankings or from sucking his fat cock until he was coating my face, hair, boobs, and tongue with his hot jizz.

One thing I do know for sure is that I loved it. It was all I could think about. At school or at home his cock was constantly on my mind. I think I came as many times on the weekends, just from thinking about it, as I did from doing it during the week. And god, how he would torture me in front of my parents on the weekends. He and my stepfather, George, were always going somewhere, car shows, boat shows, gun shows, or working in their yards and borrowing each other's tools. Every chance he got he would ask me all these innocent sounding questions, like how was I 'cumming' along in school, or was I looking forward to be-'cumming' a teenager (in other words to my 13^th birthday when I would finally get what I had been begging him for). Or he would 'accidentally' forget something that he had meant to bring over, and then send me over to his house to get it for him. No matter what it was, I would always find it laying on the arm of his easy chair in the basement rec room, where he had, of course, purposely left it. And where I would have to drop my panties and frig myself off, because as soon as I would get to the top of those stairs my pussy would start to gush, and by the time I would get to the chair I would be shaking so much that I could hardly stand.

About 2 weeks before school got out he upped the ante again. From then on being 'ready' for him meant that my skirt was in the pile on the steps with my blouse and bra, and instead of laying 3 steps from the bottom, they were all 3 steps from the top. Somehow, that made it worse for me. There had always been the chance up until then, that if I did hear someone other than him pulling into the drive way, I might be able to get dressed in time, but not after he made me put them all the way up there. And knowing what a gushing mess he was making out of my pussy only seemed to spur him on. Instead of coming straight home after work he began showing up later and later, driving me crazy with the fear that my mother would come home before him, and find me kneeling at the bottom of his stairwell, naked, with my hands behind my back and a huge wet spot on the carpet between my knees. And instead of every day he would make me wait for him, so that after 2 or 3 days I would be almost crazy for his cock. I never knew when it would be either. All day long I would be gushing from the anticipation, only to find a note on his basement door that would either have BRS (be ready slut) or GHS (go home slut) written on it.