To that small group of Disturbed people who have enjoyed my previous efforts and encouraged me, thank you.

I’m sitting sullenly in the back seat of the car, trying to act like I don’t care. That’s my way of coping I guess. I let the world know I don’t care. Nothing they do to me has any effect on me. I’m worried, though. I’m being driven to my third foster home in less than three months and each one seems to be worse than the one before.

My parents were arrested three months ago for a long list of what seemed like minor crimes to me. They were just trying to get by, doing what they could to bring in a little money. They made most of their money growing and selling a little pot. Not a lot. Not enough to get rich doing it. The cartels weren’t worried about them. They just sold enough to make ends meet. That’s what got them in trouble to start with. After they were arrested there were all kinds of other crappy charges piled on and now it looks like they’ll be guests of the government for a long time to come.

My parents have always been what you might call free spirits more than criminals. They have been, in my opinion, good parents. I always thought we had a happy home. I suppose the lawyers involved have a different opinion about that. But I have been happy and loved and cared for and I’m extremely resentful of the authorities for breaking up my happy, if somewhat unorthodox home.

The first foster home they put me in had actually been pretty nice. The couple who took me in already had two other girls staying with them. But they had a big house and they treated me well. At least they tried to.

I guess I probably made it pretty difficult for them. They were, after all, a part of the system that broke up my home and took me away from my parents. It isn’t that I blamed them. I blamed everyone and I refused to cooperate. After a couple of weeks they gave up. They decided I was “unmanageable” and a bad influence on the other two foster kids in the home. So the social workers came and took me away.

I was put into some kind of halfway house for a couple of weeks. It wasn’t a house, though. There were a whole bunch of kids living in barracks-like dormitories surrounded by tall barbed wire fences. It was sort of like what they used to call a reform school. My father spent a lot of time in a reform school when he was young and he told me all about it. Basically it’s a jail for kids.

I received a couple halfhearted counseling sessions and then I was taken to another foster home. This one wasn’t quite as nice. The people whose home I ended up in this time were strict and mean. They didn’t beat me or anything but they yelled all the time and called me some pretty nasty names. The worst thing about it, though, was that I had to share a room with a seven year old boy. Being a thirteen year old girl, about to turn fourteen, I had a big problem with that.

The little pervert was always trying to catch me dressing or undressing. The worst part was that he had been taken from a home where he was molested and he was always doing what they called “acting out.” I’m not exactly sure what that means. I just know that the little bastard was always trying to touch me somewhere he shouldn’t when nobody was looking. I woke up one morning and he had pulled the covers down off of me while I was asleep and he was holding the bottom of my t-shirt up so he could look at my panties.

I beat the crap out of him and they took me out of that home as quick as I could pack my few belongings in my little suitcase. They put me right back in the halfway house for a couple of weeks and gave me some more halfhearted counseling.

I guess they’re losing patience with me now, though. I was all but dragged out of my dormitory and shoved into the back of this car. The big, black, very scary social worker ragged on me for a half hour as he drove me to what he promised me was the last chance I’m going to get. I tried to act like I’m not afraid of him. But I am. I tried to act like I don’t care what they do to me. But I’m scared.

My fear only increased as I looked through the window at the houses passing by. I can’t help but notice we’ve entered a pretty seedy area of town. When he pulled up in front of a large but very run down house I got really nervous. I couldn’t help but notice I’ve not seen another white face in quite a while.

Don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that I’m prejudiced. Well, not like I’m into that white power shit or anything. I don’t think less of someone because they aren’t white. I have a pretty low opinion of those clowns who drive around with the rap music blaring out of the five hundred dollar speakers in their two hundred dollar cars. Of course, those guys are just as apt to be white as black or brown anymore. I also think that a person’s pants should come all the way up over their ass. Maybe I’m not the free spirit my parents are but I don’t give a rat’s ass what kind of underwear a guy is wearing, I don’t want to see it.

So when the social worker got out of the car, grabbed my small bag of belongings out of the trunk and roughly pulled me from the back seat in front of that run down house in that run down neighborhood where every person I’ve seen is black I was scared. I saw people nearby look at me curiously, the cute little blonde chick who obviously doesn’t belong here.

But the social worker has a firm grip on my arm so there’s no escaping even if I had somewhere to run to and I don’t. I put my game face on as I was pulled roughly up the sidewalk to the front door. I heard a man yelling inside but it was a long time before anyone answered the doorbell. When the door finally did open I saw a large black man standing there and two black teenagers standing in the hall behind him staring at me like I’m food. I was so scared in that moment I almost wet myself. I wanted to beg to be taken back to the first foster home. I wanted to promise to behave and get along and do what I was told if only he would take me back there.

I didn’t get a chance to beg, though. For some reason the social worker sounded awfully proud of himself when he said, “Hey KC, look what I brought you this time.”

The man who had opened the door smiled down at me with an expression that made me feel like prey. He looked me over slowly and much too thoroughly. I couldn’t help but notice he’s definitely not looking at me like a grown man should be looking at a thirteen year old kid. My breasts have really started to pop out lately and I’m very self conscious about it so I can’t help noticing when guys look at them. He’s staring straight at them and when I looked at his face I suddenly knew what lascivious meant.

With his large hand in the center of my back the social worker started to push me through the door and I panicked. I started to pull away and I finally found my voice. I pleaded, “No, please! I don’t want to stay here! Take me back to the center.”

It was as though I hadn’t even spoken. His hand came up and gripped my neck so hard I cried out in pain and stopped struggling. He guided me forward and the man inside, KC, reached out, grabbed my shoulder and pulled me inside roughly. As soon as I crossed the threshold he said to the social worker, “I’m pretty sure I can teach this little bitch some manners. I’ll let you know when she’s ready.”

When I’m ready? When I’m ready for what?!

They exchanged a few more words but I was distracted by the blatant looks of lust on the faces of the two teenage boys and I was on the verge of outright panic so I didn’t really hear what they said. The two teenage boys are grinning down at me. I’m not talking about friendly smiles. Both boys are around fifteen or sixteen years old but they’re very tall. I looked at their leering smiles and I knew I had just been thrown to the lions. I’m in deep, deep trouble and I know it.

I heard the door close behind me. I turned around in time to see KC putting a padlock on the door! He turned around, faced me and said, “Okay, bitch. I hear you’ve been thrown out of two foster homes already. Your Social Worker tells me you’re a discipline problem. We’re going to straighten you out. I’m warning you right now, I ain’t putting up with any of your shit. You do what I tell you, when I tell you, or you regret it right away. Do you understand me, bitch?”

I was shocked. I have never been spoken to like that before. I didn’t even know how to respond. But it became pretty obvious when he grabbed a handful of my hair and tipped my head up. With his face only inches from mine he growled, “I asked you a fucking question, bitch! I know you ain’t deaf! Answer me, god damn it!”

I grabbed his hands to relieve the pressure on my hair and I squealed, “Okay!”

He ignored my futile attempts to free myself from his grip and he said, “No! Not okay, you stupid bitch! You say, ‘yes sir’, or ‘no sir’ to me or to either of my boys. And I’m telling you now, if you say, ‘no sir,’ you had best be answering a question and not refusing to do something. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes sir!” I screamed in reply. I know I’m in trouble now. I’m so scared I’m shaking.

He finally turned my hair loose and pointed to my bag. He glared at me and growled, “Get your things and follow me.”

I picked up my little suitcase and followed him across the room and up the stairs. It did nothing for my peace of mind that his two sons followed closely behind. At the top of the stairs he turned and waited for me to catch up. As soon as I stepped onto the landing he turned and I followed him down the hall to a small bedroom. He pushed me inside and said, “This is your room. This is where you’ll be when you’re not doing your chores or doing something for me or one of my boys. Empty your suitcase on the bed and let’s see if you have anything appropriate to wear.”

I’m so scared that I didn’t notice at first that there’s no door on my room. I put my suitcase on the small cot and looked back over my shoulder. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of these three males looking through the contents of my suitcase. It was then that I noticed I don’t have a bedroom door. I glanced at the doorway and looked back at KC in consternation. He just smiled and as if there isn’t even anything unusual about a teenage girl not having a bedroom door he casually explained, “For security reasons we don’t have interior doors.”

I glanced at the two boys standing just inside my room grinning evilly and obviously enjoying my discomfort. No, discomfort is too mild a word, my terror. I glanced around my barren little room. I’ve seen bigger closets! It can’t be more than eight feet wide and ten feet long. There’s a small cot against one wall. It isn’t even a real bed. A chest of drawers that looks like it’s made from cardboard and was rescued from someone’s garbage is against the opposite wall. Beside the chest of drawers is a closet, also with no door.

I don’t have a lamp table or a lamp. The only light comes from a bare bulb in the ceiling and a window that’s so dirty it hardly lets in any light. But I’m less concerned by the dirt covering the window than I am by the bars over it. I really am a prisoner here! The front door is padlocked and my window has bars. I’m locked in a house with a large black man, his two large teenage boys and no interior doors.

I was shaken from my reverie by his thunderous voice demanding, “I gave you a fucking order, bitch! Empty your suitcase, now!”

I jumped in fear and moved over to the bed. I placed my suitcase on the bed and opened it. I dumped my few remaining belongings out and looked over my shoulder to see what he wants me to do next. The three of them gathered around and KC pushed me out of the way. The boys watched as KC went through my clothing. There isn’t much. I didn’t have a lot of clothes when I lived at home. I have less now.

He reached down and picked up two of my bras. I’m wearing the third. He looked at them and shook his head in disgust, tossed them to the foot of the bed and said, “You won’t need those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue with him but he glared down at me, daring me to speak. The bone chilling look on his face was all it took to shut me up. He went through my small handful of plain white cotton panties, grinning as he held them up to show his boys. Then he tossed them onto the pile he started with my bras. He pulled a couple of t-shirts out of the small pile of clothing. I didn’t understand what he meant when he handed them to me and said, “As long as you behave yourself you can wear these. The rest of this stuff is going to be put away until you need it. Now take those jeans off and anything else you’re wearing except for the t-shirt you have on.”

I gasped and gaped at him in disbelief. Then the panic that’s been building up in me since I entered this neighborhood took control of me and I made a break for the door. My rational mind knows there’s not a chance in hell I can get past these three monsters and even if I do there’s no safe place to which I can run. But my rational mind is no longer in charge. My new warden was ready for me, though. I didn’t get two steps before he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me up short.

“You just lost your t-shirt privileges,” he bellowed at me. “Take everything off and put it all in your suitcase. Now! You stupid bitch!”

I just couldn’t make myself obey that outrageous order. There’s absolutely no way I can strip naked in front of these three males who are already looking at me with pure lust. Lust isn’t something with which I’ve had much experience but I know it when I see it. I started crying and I begged him to let me go. There’s only one thought racing through my traumatized brain. I have to get out of here. This is all some huge mistake. It has to be!

He watched me beg and sob hysterically for a minute. It made my situation seem so much worse that he’s obviously enjoying my suffering.

He finally released my hair. He took a step back but there’s nowhere for me to run. He’s still standing between me and the door. He waited another moment or two and then he said, “Either you take those fuckin’ clothes off right now or I let my two boys do it for you. They might not be all that gentle about it.”

I glanced fearfully at all three of them. I don’t need to be a very good judge of human nature to see they’re really hoping I’ll balk; especially the two boys. They’d obviously love having the opportunity to tear my clothes off. Though it’s inconceivable that I’ll be able to do what that large man is demanding of me with all three of them watching I know I have no other option but to do the unimaginable. I took a deep, trembling breath and slipped out of my sneakers, prying them off my feet with my toes. There wasn’t much to choose from after my shoes were off.

I reached for the bottom of my t-shirt. I hesitated and looked as pitifully as I could at KC. I pleaded with him not to make me do this in front of him and his two boys. To look at their faces you’d swear they didn’t hear a single word I just said. The three of them stood around me, pressing in so close I think I can feel their body heat. They just grinned evilly and stared, waiting for me to undress in front of them.

I’ve never undressed in front of anyone before; at least not since I was about five or six years old. Now that my body has begun to change into that of a young woman I’ve become terribly self-conscious. I see the way guys look at my breasts as they grow larger and transform from all but unnoticeable little mounds into ever more mature breasts. I’m constantly torn between wishing the feminine protrusions on my chest would go back down and wishing they’d finish growing out. Something about being at that in-between stage seems to make it more embarrassing. The only person who has ever seen my breasts since they began to come in was the female doctor at the center who gave me a brief physical when I was first brought there to make sure I was healthy and that I had not been abused.

I will admit there are times, like when I’m lying in bed at night in the dark, that the idea of being seen naked by a boy, or better yet, touched by a boy, has really made my pulse race. But I haven’t had time for those kinds of thoughts in months; not since my parents were arrested. Besides, those were just mind games. I’m certainly not ready for that kind of thing to happen in real life. I’m still almost a month away from turning fourteen!

Looking at the faces of my tormenters I realized I had dawdled as long as I could. Their patience was all but non-existent to begin with. I’ve apparently used up their small supply. Rather than submit to having one of my few remaining changes of clothing torn from my body I crossed my arms in front of me and pulled my t-shirt up over my head and off. I swear I could feel their eyes crawling all over my plain white bra. I have just gone from wearing a training bra to an honest to goodness grown up bra, even if it is only an AA cup, and I’m both self-conscious about how small my breasts are and yet at the same time proud of them. Despite my pride in my pert little breasts I’m extremely self-conscious about having people look at them, especially a black man and his two teenage sons into whose grasp I have just been thrust. I tossed my shirt onto the bed and stared down at the floor as I unbuttoned by jeans and spread them open.

I’m so scared and so embarrassed I can hear my blood racing through my veins. I must be blushing furiously. I can feel my skin prickling. I started to turn around so I wouldn’t have to see them but then I saw a mental picture of myself bending over in front of these guys and showing them my butt. I remained in place and slowly pushed my jeans down over my hips and down my legs until I was able to step out of them. I tossed them on the bed.

Now I’ve reached the moment of truth. I know that whatever I do now will either display my budding breasts or the tight little slit of my pussy around which I have just started to grow a few small blonde hairs. I can’t decide which will be the more humiliating display.

I suppose some innate female instinct to protect my vagina at all costs made me reach behind my back and unfasten my bra. I can hear the boys breathing more heavily now as I let the bra straps slide down my arms. I want desperately to escape from this room; to somehow put an end to this entire episode from my suddenly screwed up and totally out of control life. But there’s no escape and no one is going to come crashing through the front door and rescue me. After taking a deep breath I let the bra slide free of my breasts and tossed it onto the bed.

I’m still staring at the floor. I can’t stand the thought of seeing the look of lust I know those three horny males must have on their faces as they watch me undress. I stopped crying after KC released his painful grip on my hair a few minutes ago. Now my vision began to blur again as the tears of humiliation and self pity flowed quietly down my cheeks. My life has been totally out of control since my parents were arrested and I was put into the system as if I, too, were some kind of criminal. But I’ve never felt as totally helpless in my life as I do at this moment.

Somehow, suddenly I have become property. I’ve experienced a total loss of power; an inability to make choices, to effect any of the outcomes in my life. The realization that I’m no longer able to look someone right in the eyes and say no is shattering. Out of the blue the term sex slave is no longer an esoteric phrase having no real meaning in my life because something like that could never happen to me. It’s happening to me now! I don’t have to see their faces to be able to sense the males surrounding me are staring at my nearly naked body and to know they’re enjoying my little strip show and my humiliation. Worse yet, I’m not so naïve that I don’t have at least a vague idea what’s going to happen to me once I’m naked.

I finally pulled myself together enough to finish. I tried to steady my trembling fingers in order to hook my thumbs into the waistband of my plain, white underwear. I slowly slid them down my legs and stepped out of them, carefully keeping my legs pressed tightly together.

I dropped my panties on the bed and stood there holding my breath and fighting the all but irresistible but totally futile urge to cover myself with my hands. The three of them stared at me for a minute and then KC said, “Put everything in your suitcase, bitch. When you learn to behave yourself to my satisfaction I’ll give you back your t-shirts.”

I turned my back to them and I could feel their eyes on my ass as I bent over and stuffed my clothes into my suitcase as rapidly as I could. KC stopped me before I closed it up. He reached in and took out my bras and panties. He spotted the little plastic bag containing my few toiletries and removed that, too. Then he let me close it and he took it from me.

He set it down beside him on the floor and said, “I’ll keep this in my closet for now. I’ll decide when you can have anything out of it.”

He handed the suitcase to the older of the two boys and said, “Jamal, take this to my room and put it in my closet.”

While Jamal was leaving with my clothes KC said, “Okay, bitch, your training starts now. Come with me. I need to show you a few things.”

KC turned and left the room. I suppose it makes no sense since I have no bedroom door. But the act of leaving my little bedroom totally naked was almost as difficult as undressing had been. It didn’t even occur to me to refuse but god it was hard to step out into the hallway. I stepped carefully around the younger of the two teenage boys and with my heart racing in fear I followed KC back downstairs with the two boys following close behind. We entered the living room and I followed KC across the room to an old desk in the corner. I glanced around as I made my way across the room and this time I noticed that all of the windows have bars on them. I might as well be in a real prison!

KC picked up a fat manila folder from the desk and said, “This is your file. As far as the people at Social Services are concerned you don’t exist anymore. Your name has been deleted from the system. If someone tries to find you they’ll get a ‘no record’ response from the computer. You have fallen through the cracks. You no longer exist.”

He put my file down and picked up a couple of pictures and held them, looking at them fondly. Then he looked up at me and his face became stern again. “Put your god damned arms down bitch!” he exclaimed. “If I wanted your tits and your pussy to be covered I would have let you keep your clothes on. Jesus you’re stupid!”

I don’t think I even realized I’ve been covering up! I dropped my arms to my side and his eyes scanned my developing body for a long moment before he finally said, “You’re not the first little blonde slut I’ve taken in. I want to show you some pictures of the girl who was here before you. The dumb bitch never did learn to act right. She fought me and my boys for the entire time she was here. She just couldn’t get it through her thick head that she wasn’t in charge of her body anymore. I want you to see how that worked out for her. You’re future depends on you not making the same fuckin’ mistakes that dumb cunt did.”

He handed me one of the pictures and I saw a young girl who looks a lot like me. She looks about my age, too. She’s standing in front of a small cubicle. Looking through the doorway into the dim cubicle behind the girl I can see that it contains only a thin, nasty looking mattress lying directly on the dirt floor and a washstand. The girl is standing there naked. She’s looking at the camera with a look of total desperation on her pretty face.

I stared at the picture for a minute and then KC said, “I got tired of her shit and I sold her to a guy I know in Mexico. Now she’s working at a whorehouse on the outskirts of Tijuana fucking migrant farm workers and the occasional tourist for a couple bucks a pop.”

He handed me another photo and said, “This is her other job.”

I looked down and I almost threw up. I found myself looking at a picture of that same girl on a stage surrounded by a huge audience. She’s helpless, tied down to a large, heavy looking bench. Tears are pouring down her cheeks and a donkey is being led up over her body.

He handed me another picture and in this one I can actually see the donkey’s large cock inside of the girl whose face is twisted in obvious pain. She’s crying hysterically but none of the people watching care about her suffering.

All around her I can make out the amused faces of the men in the incredibly large audience. The laughing, cheering men gathered around to enjoy the sick show are a mix. Many of them are obviously Mexicans. Some look like peasants or farmers but I see more than a few who appear to be prosperous businessmen. A nearly equal number, though, are obviously Americans who have come across the border to witness an underage American girl being raped by an animal. I don’t see any sign that any of them are bothered by the fact that she’s obviously there against her will.

When he thought I had stared in horror at the pictures for long enough KC took them back and said, “She also does shows like that with dogs. She fucks anything and everything and that’s how she’s going to spend the rest of her miserable life.”

He let that sink in for a minute. Then he asked, “Do you want to end up like that?”

I shook my head violently and exclaimed, “No, sir!”

KC asked, “Do you know what you have to do to avoid it?”

I looked up at him. I can’t see him very well because of the tears in my eyes but I see him well enough to see how much he’s enjoying my shock and my terror.

I responded, “What, sir?”

“Everything! All you have to do is everything me or my boys tell you to do. I don’t want to have to put up with any of your shit. You don’t have to like it. In fact, we’ll like it more if you don’t like it. But god damn it, when one of us tells you to do something you had best do it. That doesn’t mean that you think about it, or you beg us not to, you just fucking do it. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered in despair.

I’m not so naïve that I don’t know what he means, either. As of the moment I was dropped off here I became a slave. More to the point I’ve become a sex slave. I pretty much knew what was on their minds from the moment I was pushed through the front door and saw the evil leers on their faces. Now I know that no matter how hard it is, no matter how much I hate it, I’m going to give them everything they want from me.

No matter how horrible their demands I’m going to have to remind myself constantly that nothing that happens here can be worse than being strapped down on a stage in Tijuana. I shuddered at the very thought of it.

KC continued, “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking you’re about to get fucked. Well, you are. You’re going to be getting fucked a lot while you’re here and if you’re lucky you’ll get to stay here long after you get real good at it because the alternative really sucks. But it ain’t just about the sex. You’re also going to be doing all the housework and all the cooking. I imagine you’re probably thinking that it don’t hardly seem fair. Well, any time you want to get out of it you just let me know. I got a thousand dollars for that girl in the pictures and she was a year older than you. I could probably get five hundred more for you and my old buddy from Social Services could have another little cunt like you over here in two days.”

I got scared all over again. I know how to clean house and do laundry. I did those things when I lived at home. But the only thing I ever cooked was hot dogs or stuff that came in cans.

I looked up at KC and whispered in a trembling voice, “I don’t know how to cook, sir.”

“You’re going to learn. I’ll see to it. Until you learn you had best do what you can to stay on my good side.”

“Yes, sir,” I murmured. I meant it, too. I can’t get the horrible images of that poor girl out of my mind.

KC finally moved away from the desk and I followed him around the house while he showed me where the cleaning supplies are and where the laundry room is. After the grand tour we returned to the living room and I stood back and watched in increasing terror as he stood in front of the sofa, looked into my eyes, smiled in amusement at what he saw there and started slowly getting undressed.

As he took his clothes off he said, “I looked through your file. It says you’re still a virgin. To be honest I don’t much give a shit about that. I know most guys get all hot and bothered at the idea of popping some young girl’s fuckin’ cherry. If you ask me it’s a pain in the ass so I figure we might as well get it out of the way. Then you ain’t got anything to worry about anymore.”

He finished undressing and asked, “When was your last period?”

I had a hard time answering. My mind just doesn’t want to work. I finally forced myself to concentrate and I said, “I just finished three days ago.”

He nodded and said, “Guess we better get you on the pill. Don’t want you getting knocked up and ruining that hot little body of yours.”

I tried not to look as he took off his pants but I couldn’t help it. I’ve never seen a naked man before and I’m almost as curious as I am scared.