Chapter 2

I left the bathroom and tapped lightly on Heather’s door. There was no answer but I know she’s awake.

I went in and sat beside her in the dark. I waited for some sign she’s awake and ready to talk.

She didn’t speak or move for a long time but my eyes adjusted to the dark after a few minutes and I see her eyes are open. She’s watching me, waiting for me to speak.

The first problem is, I don’t have a clue what to say to her. I struggled to think what I could possibly say to explain away what just happened, the horrible, violent act she just witnessed.

Before I found the words she quietly said, “He raped you, didn’t he?” It was posed as a question but it wasn’t. It was a simple statement of fact.

I promised myself I wasn’t going to cry, at least not when I’m with her. But as soon as the words left her mouth I lost control. I started sobbing, almost hysterical now. She sat up and put her arms around me. We hugged and soon we were both crying. So much for calming my daughter’s fears!

It was several minutes before I finally got my emotions under control and I started talking. It was a very long conversation. I told her everything. I even told her, for the first time, how I became pregnant. I made it clear that the circumstances are irrelevant. The only thing that matters is that she is the most important person in my life and I love her with all my heart. She’s a very smart girl. She understood.

I also told her what Mr. Kent said about her and that he ordered me to warn her ... prepare her. I explained why he has so much power over me, or I guess I should say us. She understood that, too. She’s much smarter than I was at her age.

We continued to talk for a long time after that. I learned she’s even more mature than I had at first thought. And I already thought she was a remarkably mature thirteen-year-old girl.

I told her I want desperately to protect her from this man and his friends. Unfortunately, I know he was right earlier when he reminded me no one believed a word I said when I went to court. If I complained to someone about Mr. Kent no one would believe me now, either. I’d just piss him off and make things worse for us.

We talked about running away. But we don’t have anything and we have nowhere to go. I have no savings. I used what little money I’d been able to put aside for emergencies just to keep us alive and keep a roof over our heads while I was suspended from my job pending my trial. We have no reserves to draw upon.

We’ve been living from paycheck to paycheck for forever. Now we’re even worse off because of the six weeks I was out of work pending my trial. I’ve lost a lot of money. I’ve counted myself lucky that I was able to keep up with the rent and the utilities.

Heather understood. She understood more than I had any right for her to understand. I finally tucked her in and kissed her goodnight. I quietly left her room and went out and cleaned up the kitchen. By then I had calmed down a little and I finally went to bed.

As hard as I tried, though, I couldn’t stop my mind from reliving every horrible thing that was said and done to me tonight. I doubt if I got more than a couple hours sleep between the time I finally drifted off to a restless sleep full of obscene images and the time my alarm finally went off.

In the morning I made her breakfast. I sat with her and drank coffee while she ate. We didn’t talk much. We said it all last night. She finished her breakfast and just before she left for school she came over and hugged me. She tried to sound confident when she said, “Don’t worry, mom. We’ll figure something out. We just need to hold it together. I promise you, if you don’t freak out I won’t freak out. We’re going to have to be strong for each other.”

I can tell she was trying to be brave for me and it made me want to cry again. Instead, I smiled, hugged her and said goodbye.

After she left I took another quick shower in an attempt to wake up. I trimmed my pubic hair until it was reduced to a small patch just over my vagina to satisfy Mr. Kent. Then I dressed and went to work.

Dressing for work is never a problem. It requires no thought. My uniform for work is a white, one-piece nursing uniform. I was more than a little uncomfortable wearing it at first. I thought that it was a bit too see-through. But the entire female staff at the home wears them and eventually I got used to the idea that my underwear shows faintly beneath the thin fabric.

I’ve always try to do the best job I can possibly do at work. There may be a lot of things I don’t like about my job and it’s just a means to an end. But I have my pride ... or at least I did until my disastrous day in court and my subsequent forced submission to Mr. Kent last night. My pride took a huge hit when that cruel bastard knocked on my door and put me in what he has decided is my place.

But now I really went out of my way to put in every extra effort I possibly can. I appreciate the fact that my supervisor defended me to her supervisors and let me keep my job. I want to make sure she never once has reason to doubt it was the right thing to do.

The atmosphere at work is a little uncomfortable now. The people under my care don’t seem to know anything about what happened. But the people I work with all do. I explained what happened to the people I consider my friends. They seem to understand and sympathize. But I couldn’t go around and explain to everyone. I doubt if it would help anyway. No matter what I say now, a jury of my peers found me guilty of a felony. I’ve been convicted of assault and battery. I’m officially a felon now.

I suppose all I can do to recover from my situation is continue to prove myself worthy of my supervisor’s trust and ignore those of my co-workers who aren’t convinced I don’t belong in jail.

A nice young Doctor comes to the home on Tuesday and Thursday and sees patients. I assist him fairly often and I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. He’s always been very nice to me. I managed to talk him into squeezing me in on Tuesday when he had some free time. After a brief examination, and a few embarrassing questions, he wrote me my very first prescription for birth control pills.

I stopped on the way home from work and with the last of my money I bought the pills. I hurried home as soon as I picked up my prescription. Heather gets home an hour before I do and I worry about her when she’s alone in that apartment.

Unfortunately, I can’t afford a sitter and if I could she’d object very strongly if I hired one. Because we live in such a dangerous part of town with a lot of crime and several gangs making trouble for the honest residents of this inadequately policed area she has to lock herself inside when she comes home from school and do her homework until I get home. I really wish I could afford to move. I worry about her constantly when she’s home alone.

As soon as I got home I changed out of my uniform and went to the kitchen to start supper. Heather always helps me cook our evening meal unless she has an inordinate amount of homework. My mother never taught me how to cook and that was a real handicap when I finally struck out on my own. I managed to survive on sandwiches and TV dinners until I learned to cook. But I want Heather to know how to cook and we enjoy making supper together. It gives us an opportunity to talk and tell each other about anything interesting which happened that day.

The conversation this day was bizarre. Heather asked about, and I felt compelled to explain as much as I could about sex, oral sex and vaginal sex. That naturally led to a discussion about men and their sex organs and their orgasms.

It’s a very uncomfortable conversation for a mother to have with her thirteen-year-old daughter. To add to my embarrassment, due to my own limited experience I honestly don’t know much more than I learned when Mr. Kent raped me yesterday.

Before he left last night he ordered me to speak with her about what might happen. I hated having to have this conversation, especially at Heather’s age. But at least on this one point I agree with Mr. Kent. It’s in my daughter’s best interest that I explain as much as I can and prepare her for what I fear is to come.

I’m not that well informed, either. I can only guess what’s to come. I fear, though, that it won’t be long before Heather will witness things no thirteen-year-old girl should witness. She already has.

She asked more questions about her conception, too. She’s a lot more world-wise than I was at her age. She recognized the signs of a girl who’s been drugged and raped.

She asked me how being drugged and raped had colored my feelings about her. I was glad for that question. I want there to be no misunderstanding about how much I adore her. I’ve loved her right from the very first minute I learned I was pregnant. I’m not necessarily opposed to abortions. I think it’s a personal choice, a medical decision between a woman and her doctor and it’s none of the Government’s, the church’s, or the busybody down the street’s business. But I never even considered it. I’m so glad now. There’s no question in my mind my daughter is the most amazing and loving creature on the face of the earth. She deserves a lot better than the life I’ve given her, and the danger I’ve put her in. But this is all just a temporary setback. I’ll work through this somehow. I’ll get my degree and life will be better then. I have to believe that.

I honestly didn’t believe Mr. Kent would return this evening. Not after he was so thoroughly sated last night. It turns out I have a lot to learn about his appetites and I’m not going to like any of it.

Not long after we ate supper I heard the door rattle and then someone knocked. My heart was in my throat as I went to answer it. I’m pretty sure I know who it is. We don’t get visitors.

I was right. It was Mr. Kent. I unlocked the door and opened it for him. He glared at me and said, “Don’t lock your door anymore, not until you give me a key.”

Then he pushed his way in and went over to sit on the couch beside my daughter. He immediately started giving her orders, too. And it’s clear he expects to be obeyed. He handed her a twelve pack of beer and told her to put them in the refrigerator and bring him back one.

I was afraid that he was going to touch her, make her do something with him. He didn’t, but it was almost as bad. When she returned he took the beer from her and he ordered her to sit back down on the couch beside him. It’s starting again and I’m helpless to put a stop to it.

She obeyed without question. It’s obvious how scared she is, with good reason. She saw him in action last night. He’s not a nice man. But she didn’t say a word to him. She didn’t cry. She was careful not to say or do anything which might annoy him and make our situation even more difficult.

She returned to her seat. He’s watching me closely and ignoring her. I think he’s waiting for me to say something, to complain, or to plead. I only wish I’d had the courage.

As soon as Heather sat down he asked, “Did you talk to her? Did you tell her what happened to you last night? Did you tell her about the changes in your life?”

I nodded.

He turned to Heather and asked, “What did your mother tell you?”

Heather gathered her thoughts and then summed up for him the long discussion we had last night.

He asked, “What did you think about the things she told you?”

She responded, “I thought it sucked, and that you aren’t a very nice person.”

Mr. Kent just chuckled. But then he turned to me and said, “Smart kid. Now strip, I’m horny.”

I knew the answer before I asked but I had to ask. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to ask you to let her go to her room?”

He chuckled again and said, “No. I’m not going to fuck with her. But it won’t hurt her to learn a little about sex. Like I said last night, some of my friends might enjoy a cute young girl like her.”

“Mr. Kent,” I pleaded. “I promise I’ll do anything you want me to do. But please, she’s so young. Please let her go to her room. Please don’t let your friends hurt her.”

But I’ve already figured out he enjoys tormenting me all the more with my daughter being forced to witness my humiliation. I’ve no doubt he planned this from the moment he learned of her existence. And there’s no doubt in my mind he’s going to torment her in front of me for that same reason.

He responded noncommittally, “I’ll take it under advisement. Now strip, cunt.”

The look of pleasure on his face as he tormented me said it all. When the jury pronounced me guilty they sentenced both me and my young daughter to five years of sexual slavery. He has every intention of molesting my little girl, if not actually raping her. And there’s no way of knowing what these mysterious friends of his will do to her.

I winced at the use of that awful word. As much as I hate the word cunt, it sounds so much more obscene when he uses it in front of Heather. But I saw no point in mentioning it to him. I’m reasonably certain he knows how any decent woman feels about that word. That’s why he uses it so much. I heard it often last night.

I pulled off my t-shirt and slid my shorts down quickly. I uncovered another plain bra and panty set. That’s the only kind I own. He shook his head and said, “I don’t want you wearing any of your old underwear anymore. Christ! It’s like watching my mother undress. We’ll get you something a little more attractive to wear later.”

I nodded. There’s no point in arguing with him. He likes telling women what to do, and the more unreasonable is demands the more he enjoys it.

He added, “That means when you go to work, too.”

I nodded again, thinking of those lightweight, white uniforms and wondering how much of me will show through. I’m very aware just how tenuous my hold on my job is now. But it isn’t just losing my job that terrifies me. If I lose my job and can’t immediately replace it I’ll be in violation of my parole. I can’t let that happen. But there’s no reasoning with this man.

I unfastened my bra and shrugged it down off my shoulders, baring my breasts to Mr. Kent once again. Even after all that happened to me last night it was nearly as hard to bare my breasts as it was when I did it for the first time last night.

Actually, because Heather is sitting beside him now and being forced to watch, it’s even more difficult. No mother wants her daughter to witness her being humiliated this way.

Since Heather began going through puberty I’d been trying to decide what and when to tell her about sex. Our discussions on the uncomfortable subject began last night after she witnessed him raping me. This is not the sex education I envisioned for her.

I dropped my bra and slid my panties down. Mr. Kent waved me over and pulled me into his lap facing Heather so she’s forced to witness every inappropriate thing he intends to do to me.

He moved his hands over my body as if he owns it. But then, it seems he does now, now and until my five-year parole is completed ... or until I can’t take it anymore and I kill the son of a bitch. He pushed my thighs apart and examined my newly trimmed pubic hair. He didn’t say anything so I guess my trim job met with his approval.

I saw Heather watching as his finger slowly entered me. He watched her face. He saw the turmoil there and I know he’s getting turned on as much by the fact that she’s being forced to witness my rape as he is by mauling my helpless body.

After several long, degrading minutes, Mr. Kent removed his finger from my vagina and held it up so we can all see the light glistening off my juices. He smiled and said to Heather, “See that? Do you know what it means when her cunt gets all wet like that? It means she likes it. It means she’s gettin’ hot.”

He held his finger under Heather’s nose and commanded, “Smell that. That’s what a horny cunt smells like.”

Heather’s face twisted in disgust and she turned her head.

Mr. Kent chuckled and placed his hand on my belly. He slid it slowly upward until it cupped my breast. He squeezed hard enough to make me wince before he began teasing and playing with my nipple. Once that nipple was erect he moved to the other and got that one standing up as well. Then he leaned down and took the nipple closest to him into his mouth. Heather watched my reaction curiously. It’s killing me that she’s being forced to witness this. But it’s even more humiliating because even though I hate this man with every fiber of my being, it’s impossible to deny the things he’s doing are sending shockwaves to my clit and the feeling is delicious.

I’m unable to hide from him or from my daughter how aroused I’m becoming as he works on my nipple with his lips, tongue and teeth. These are the wonderful sensations I’ve denied myself for so long. As I’m being forced to experience those pleasurable sensations now I find myself regretting my life of self-imposed abstinence. But I’m not enjoying them so much that I’m able to forget my daughter is being forced to watch as I’m introduced to these wonderful feelings.

That I’m being put through this humiliating molestation, this prelude to rape by a man I can’t stand is bad enough. But to have to submit to him with my daughter sitting so close that my foot is touching her leg ... no mother should have to experience that.

I can’t look Heather in the eyes as this sadist molests me in front of her. But I can’t avoid seeing her face and being aware of how she’s responding to what she’s forced to witness. It’s impossible not to see that although it embarrasses her, although she doesn’t want to watch her mother being abused like this, she’s fascinated. She can’t look away.

I feel his large erection growing and moving under me. I know this humiliating groping won’t last much longer. This is just the foreplay. He didn’t come here just to grope my naked body. He came here to rape me again. I was right. It wasn’t more than five minutes later when he pushed me out of his lap. I stood in front of him, nervously waiting for him to tell me what he wants me to do next.

I stepped back to give him room when he stood up and undressed. He made quick work of stripping and sat back down beside my little girl. Heather’s eyes were drawn to his massive erection almost against her will. I saw the look of fear and awe on her face. Her face turned an even darker shade of red but she seems unable to tear her gaze away from his exposed manhood. He saw her expression, too. And I can see that it amuses him. I probably had much the same look on my face last night when I saw his cock for the first time.

Mr. Kent spread his legs. He doesn’t even have to tell me what he wants me to do. Everything he made me do last night has been burned into my memory. it’s obvious what he expects from me. I dropped to my knees and inched forward until I was between his knees. I leaned forward and began doing all the nasty things he made me do to his cock and his ugly, hairy balls last night.

I stuck out my tongue and began to lick and gently suck on his large, hairy testicles. It was easier this time. I’m disgusted but I’m not quite as scared. Well, I suppose I’m just as scared. But at least this time I have some idea what to expect, for whatever that’s worth. But it’s harder, too. Because my daughter is sitting so close my arm is almost touching her. She’s staring at me, almost in shock as I use my tongue on this horrible man’s sex organs against my will.

He demanded more of me this time. He forced more of his fat cock into my mouth, jamming the dark red tip against the back of my throat as I went down on it. He doesn’t seem to mind the tears running down my cheeks, or the violent gagging. In fact, he seems to enjoy it.

He watched me closely and then he started talking to me as I sucked his cock. His strong, arrogant, cruel voice is a steady drone in my ears, telling me to calm down and get over it. He sounded like an expert when he insisted my difficulties are all in my head. I briefly wondered how many other innocent, unwilling women and girls he’s forced to perform like this. It’s obvious I’m not the first woman he has trained to be a cocksucker.

He started telling me to swallow at the top of each stroke just before I started forcing my wide-stretched lips back down over his cock. I tried that. I’m uncomfortably aware I’m obeying his every command automatically.

Much to my surprise his suggestions seemed to help. After a couple of attempts I stopped gagging. He watched me as I started to calm down and then, on one of my downstrokes, with no warning he pulled against the back of my head and thrust his hips up.

I felt his cock slide right down into my throat! I was horrified to find myself with the entire thing in my mouth and throat and my lips stretched impossibly wide around the base of his cock! I was too startled to panic, at first. The pain was worse than I could have imagined, worse than any pain I’ve experienced before. I expected to pass out and I was terribly disappointed when I didn’t.

The pain quickly became a secondary problem. I was so shocked and in so much pain at first that I didn’t even realize I can’t breathe! Suddenly the pain didn’t even matter! I realized I’m going to die if I don’t get that stump out of my throat! I struggled to pull back and get some air before I lost consciousness. He let me. But not immediately. First he held me in place and smiled down at my panicky face.

Just as I was about to pass out from lack of oxygen he relented. My vision had faded to black by the time he chuckled and let me pull back. He continued to hold me there, gasping for air with the top half of his cock still in my mouth and he happily exclaimed in his mocking voice, “There, cunt! I knew you could do it! That’s how a cunt like you should suck a cock! You must be a natural born cocksucker. You weren’t lying to me were you? Is this really just the second time you’ve sucked a cock?”

I can’t respond. My mouth is still full of his long, fat cock. And I can’t see because of the tears in my eyes. For that I’m grateful. I don’t want to see my daughter’s face as she watches me being raped and abused like this.

I took a deep breath and at his insistence I tried to do it again. I failed. Once more I needed his hand on the back of my head, forcing his cock into my throat. He used his hand to force his cock down my throat for the next few strokes. It hurt terribly each time. But then he sat back and I surprised myself by taking it down on my own. It’s still painful. It hurts like hell. But when I’m able to do it on my own it doesn’t seem to hurt quite as much and I’m able to control my breathing. The pain began to decrease and the panic subsided when I was no longer dependent on that cruel bastard for my air supply.

As I sucked on his cock, and as I began to take his cock down my throat, not with ease, but with less trauma, my vision began clearing and I saw that Mr. Kent now has his arm around Heather’s shoulders. He has pulled her closer and she’s watching in disbelief as I continue to take his large cock into my throat on every stroke without the kind assistance of my rapist violently slamming his cock down my throat.

I’m so humiliated that at first I didn’t even notice his hand is resting on her budding young breast, despite his assurance to me earlier that he wouldn’t touch her. He’s a rapist and a liar! What a surprise!

I began to sense that he’s nearing orgasm. Before long he grabbed my head again and pulled my face down hard against his hairy belly on one of the painful down strokes. I can feel his cock throbbing in my throat and I know he’s cumming. I almost feel like I’m cheating. I can’t breathe, but at least I don’t have to taste his nasty, bitter cum. But before he finally let me go I started getting worried. I had been holding his cock in my mouth and throat for a long time while he was in the grips of his orgasm. I’m beginning to get desperate for air. At the last moment before I was going to pass out from lack of air he released my head.

The worst of it is over. I assume he’s still going to rape me after he recovers. But at least I can breathe while he plunders my pussy with that oversized cock. I pulled back and filled my lungs, gasping for breath after breath of life-giving oxygen. It was a minute or two before I was able to draw enough air into my burning lungs and begin to breathe more or less normally. I leaned back down and lapped up a few stray drops of cum from the end of his cock because I remember he made me do it last night. I have done those things I’m required to do to satisfy him, at least so far. I sat back on my heels, still panting, and waited for his next command.

He left me there between his thighs for a few minutes and I was slowly able to recuperate. I watched his hand on my daughter’s young breast, just resting there, unmoving. I want to scream at him. I want to throw his hand off of her and protect her. I want to drive a knife through this monster’s heart, or at least that place where the heart would be in a normal human being.

He’s watching me, waiting to see what my reaction will be to his hand on Heather’s breast. When he saw me watching he began to move the tip of a finger around her puffy nipple. Her breasts have really begun to grow recently. They’re about the size of an apple cut in half or perhaps a little larger, though it’s a little hard to tell through those loose tops she always wears. Like most girls her age she’s very self-conscious about her developing breasts. It’s a confusing time in a girl’s life. She’s proud because she’s growing into a woman and she’s anxious to acquire what she will already have come to understand is a very powerful addition to a girl’s body ... breasts.

She’s heard the remarks, mostly from boys at school. She will have talked with her friends and seen the emphasis on breasts in advertising and entertainment. She has an idea how important they are. But at the same time, she’s self-conscious. Having gone through it myself I remember that it often seems like every male she passes is staring at her. It can be a difficult adjustment for a girl to make.

I stared at Mr. Kent’s finger as it slowly circled her nipple and I suddenly realized I haven’t been paying very close attention. She must be nearly an A cup now. She may not have totally outgrown those training bras which are the last ones I bought for her. But she’s on the cusp of moving up to a real bra.

Her eyes widened significantly as the unwanted sensations she’s receiving from Mr. Kent’s finger moving on her nipple began to register. I can see she’s troubled by her reaction to his touch. She knows what the pervert is doing is totally inappropriate.

I feel terrible. I know something of what she’s going through. I felt the same confusion of emotions when he was teasing my breasts or when he was toying with my pussy.

I hate him and I hate it that he can make me feel pleasure from his touch. Yet there’s no denying the pleasure I received from the touch of his fingers and his mouth on my breasts. When he raped me right here on my living room floor last night I enjoyed one massive orgasm after another, even though I fought it with every fiber of my being. My mind was conflicted. But my body knows what it likes. I can see I’m going to have to have another long, embarrassing talk with Heather after Mr. Kent leaves.

My heart sped up when he drew my attention back to the ordeal at hand. He ordered me to get his cock hard again. While I bent to the task he sent Heather to get him another beer.

When she returned with his beer he pulled her right back down beside him. Her disgust for him is obvious on her face but she didn’t resist as she was nestled back into his arm and his hand returned to rest possessively on her breast.

He smiled down at her, cupped her small breast and said, “You’re coming right along for a girl your age. The guys are going to love you.”

It’s obvious she’s torn between outrage over his inappropriate behavior, embarrassment and pride. A lot of a girl’s self-esteem is invested in her breasts. She experiences a lot of conflicting emotions when her breasts begin to grow. Especially when they are at that stage when they are too small and too large at the same time, although it suddenly seems hers are a lot larger than the last time I noticed. I guess I’ve been ignoring the signs my baby is growing up.

Mr. Kent’s cock returned to full erection quickly as I worked on him with my tongue and my lips. But he’s sitting there sipping his beer, watching me work and toying with my daughter. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. I took his erection into my throat again several times. I did it just to see if I still can because I know I’ll have to do it from now on. For the most part, though, I lightly teased his cock with my tongue and lightly teased his balls with my fingertips while he relaxed, molested my daughter and enjoyed what I’m doing.

He finally pushed me away and stood up. I don’t need to be told what’s coming next. I can tell by the evil leer on his face. I moved back a couple of feet to the middle of the floor, just like I did when he raped me last night. I didn’t look at Heather. I’m too embarrassed. I can feel her watching us, though.

Just like he did last night he used his tongue on me first. And just like last night it was unquestionably, irresistibly erotic. I had several mind-boggling orgasms before he moved up over me and I guided his large and undeniably satisfying cock into my more than ready pussy.