The day I met my future husband was the day he took my virginity and made me his slave.
I can still remember even the tiniest details about that day, even though it was over 30 years ago. I was early spring, just before what was then known as "Easter Vacation." I could describe the weather, the exact hue of blue in the sky, the sounds, even the smells in the air. But you wouldn't be interested in that.
I was a sophomore in high school, not a particularly outstanding student, nor a popular one At 4'8"" tall and just 90 pounds, I had scrawny, thin arms and legs. My hair was either a dark blonde or light brunette, depending on the lighting, and was always cut shoulder length and straight. My parents dictated my appearance, just like they did my clothing Always "sensible" shoes (some would just call them clunky), a shirt, blouse, and knee socks. In warmer weather, the skirt would be replaced with a jumper, but always the same shoes, knee socks and blouse. My bra and panties? Nothing but plain white cotton; even something as innocent as undies with the days of the week embroidered on them were considered too risqué'.
My parents wouldn't allow me to wear makeup of any kind, saying I was still too young. It didn't matter that the few friends I had wore it, or that every girl in school did ... even those several years younger. They'd just look at me and give the old, "If your friends jumped off a cliff" speech.
A "good girl." That's what I was, though you'd never know it now. I always did exactly as my parents asked. I did my chores, kept my room tidy, helped Mom with the housework, and paid studious attention in class. I don't think I even missed turning in a homework assignment, though I admit I wasn't really very good, at least in academics. My forte was in Home Economics classes ... cooking, sewing, and the like. In retrospect, I can see that my upbringing and educational interests were merely preparation for what my life would eventually become.
Puberty arrived over summer vacation. Although I'd been menstruating since the seventh grade, nothing else really changed until the end of my freshman year of high school. On the last day of school, I was still wearing a training bra. By the time school started again in September, I was wearing a D cup. This lead to a lot of rumor — the hateful, spiteful kind — about whether I stuffed my bra, had implants, or was taking some sort of hormones. If only those were true. My new breasts bothered me immensely, getting in the way all the time and causing my back to ache from the extra weight. I also noticed that my hips were getting wider, and my ass larger. I didn't like what was happening to my body, but the worst was the hair that began to sprout everywhere. I hated it, and it grew so fast that I had to shave my legs and pits just about every day to avoid that itchy, uncomfortable feeling. There was a forest between my legs, but I never even thought about doing anything with it. Like I said, I was a "good girl," never even touching myself except accidentally.
In short, I was the stereotypical Plain Jane, the only attributes immediately noticeable were mammaries overly large for my age. They were extremely sensitive, too, but I knew that giving myself pleasure like that was something no "good girl" would ever do. Just like that patch of hair between my legs; I knew things were changing "down there," but except for the washing necessary in the tub, I never even considered touching myself. I was so virginal that I'd never even had an orgasm.
I guess that's why I was so surprised — shocked would probably be a better description — when HE noticed me. HE was Robert Tanner, student body president, four sport jock, and although I didn't know it yet, my future Master. I was standing next to my open locker when he walked up behind me. I didn't even realize he'd approached until he grabbed my hair and spun me around, his hand forcing my head back so my eyes were fixed on his.
"This afternoon, behind the locker room. If I'm not there by five, wait for me."
Those were the first words he spoke to me, and I realized later, the first command to his slave. He released my hair, and my head automatically fell forward, my eyes looking down at the ground in front of me. He didn't even wait for a response, and I didn't think about disobeying. Even if I'd had other plans, HE had just given me an order and knew I would obey it.
School got out at 3:30, and even though I knew I'd have at least a 90 minute wait, I didn't want to be late. I took my books with me and sat down against the cinderblock wall of the gym, using the time productively by working on my homework. My only worry was that my parents expected me home immediately, but the choice I made wasn't much of dilemma. I'd just tell them I stayed at school to work on my homework and meet with a friend. It wouldn't really be a lie, would it?
Robert — Master — was on the track team. He played football, basketball and tennis, too, but track was the seasonal sport at the moment. He competed in several events, but the pentathlon was his specialty. The team usually practiced until six or seven, but because the state tournament was in three days, they were taking it somewhat easy and concentrating on form. That's why he told me to be waiting for him at five.
It turned out he was late, but I didn't mind. I saw the team depart the field, and was standing there waiting for him when he walked out of the locker room door, dressed in his practice uniform. My heart skipped a beat when I saw him, but when he pulled his jersey off and tossed it at my face, my body went limp as the scent of the damp, sweaty shirt filled my nostrils. His torso was sculpted like an Adonis; he was the stuff of the romance novels I secretly read in my darkened bedroom, hiding them under my mattress so my parents wouldn't find them. I started to stand as he approached, but he put his hands on my shoulders and forced me back to the ground.
"You look good on your knees. Stay there until I tell you otherwise."
I just looked up at him, all doe-eyed.
"Someone said you stuff your bra, but I told him you were too much of a prude. I think if those tits weren't real, you'd be trying to show them off rather than hide them, so I bet him ten bucks he was wrong. So, are those your real tits or what?" The way he looked at me, I knew I had to answer truthfully. He'd know if I lied, and besides, I was a good girl and good girls didn't stuff their bras.
"Ye, Sir," I mumbled. I could see the satisfied grin on his face as I felt blood rush to my face.
"Prove it," he commanded.
""Huh?" I replied, startled and not believing what I just heard.
"I said prove it, slut. Show me your tits."
My hands trembled as they worked at the buttons of my blouse, my entire body flushed with ... well, I'm not sure what. Fear? Anticipation? I'm just not sure what it was. Eventually, though, my top was completely unbuttoned, and I opened the front of the blouse to expose my bra-covered breasts. I looked up at him expectantly.
"I said show me your tits, dipshit, not your fucking bra. Take all that crap off," he said. I hesitated only a moment, taking a deep breath and gathering my composure first, before quickly shedding the blouse and then unclipping the bra straps, letting them fall down my arms, exposing my chest to a boy — a man — for the first time ever.
"Not bad. Looks like I win ten bucks," he chuckled. "Should have brought my camera, but I guess if he doesn't believe me, you'll just have to show him. You'll do that, right?" he half asked, half commanded.
"Yes, Sir," I replied, mortified that I was probably going to have to display myself just like this for someone else. Well, at least there weren't any photos ... yet.
"So let's see the rest of it," he ordered.
"Sir?" I asked, not wanting to believe he was asking what I thought he was.
"Get the rest of the crap off, bitch. It's time I decide whether or not you're worth my time, and before I do that, I want you naked."
I nearly peed my panties right there. From the expression on his face, I knew it was either take off my remaining clothes or have them forcibly removed. At least if I took them off myself, they'd probably still be in condition to be worn home.
"I knew you were a hot little bitch," he said laughingly when he saw the damp spot on my panties. I was mortified when he took them from my hand and held them to his face, inhaling the scent. How gross! Of course, I had no idea how many formerly gross things I'd be doing in the next few days. I could only watch as he took the rest of my clothes and tossed them into the dirt several feet away.
"Hands and knees," was his next command. "Legs spread and ass in the air. A slut's first time should be like a bitch."
Oh, God, I thought ... he's really going to fuck me! Again, though, my body obeyed almost without thought as I turned away from him, spreading my legs and raising my ass for him. I'd read all the romance novels and had dreams of a husband gently taking my virginity on our wedding bed, me dressed in white lace, but at that moment, I knew the fallacy of this fairy tale. Instead, I was on my hands and knees in the dirt behind a high school gym, about to be raped like the bitch I really was. I could feel the wetness dripping from my cunt, the swollen lips feeling like they were flapping in the wind. Even Robert noticed, commenting that he'd never seen a bitch so ready to lose her cherry.
I felt his hands between my legs, the first time anyone had ever touched me down there. I'd never even masturbated; not really, though I'd once taken a mirror to see what I looked like. The sensations I was feeling as he opened me and played his fingers over my slit was overwhelming. I gasped when he positioned the head of his dick at my untouched opening, waiting for the pain I'd read in those romance novels. I wasn't disappointed in that respect, as he grabbed my shoulders and thrust himself fully inside me, tearing my hymen with a force that I never even thought was possible. It was all I could do to keep from screaming; afterwards, I discovered that I'd managed to bite through both sides of my lower lip, experiencing my first ever orgasm as he pummeled my virgin hole. He was far from gentle, pounding relentlessly at me without apparent concern for anything except shoving as fast and hard as possible. I felt him harden — something I wouldn't have believed was possible — and then heard a moan, feeling for the first time in my short life the wonder of a man's semen spurting deeply into my womb. I barely had a moment to catch my breath, though, before he pulled out of me and swung me around.
"Clean it, slut!" he commanded, waving his turgid, blood-streaked cock in my face. Again, I didn't even consider disobeying, simply opening my mouth and allowing him to shove his slime-covered member into it. I must have sucked and licked for a half hour before he was finally satisfied.
"You need some practice, but you're trainable," he said, looking down at me as he pulled his clothes back on. "From now on, no panties or bras — ever — and whenever we're together, you're barefoot. Got it?"
Oh, God, I thought for at least the fifth time that afternoon..."Whenever we're together," he said! My thoughts were teeming, but a sharp slap to the side of my head quickly brought me back to reality.
"Did you hear what I said, cunt?" he demanded.
"Yes, sir," I responded meekly, staring at the ground as befitted my new position.
"Tell me what I said, then," he ordered.
"Um ... I have to be barefoot whenever we're together, Sir?" Though I'd heard everything he said, those were the only words that my brain processed.
"Concentrate, bitch," he said, a fist to the side of my head. "What else did I say?'
I thought hard for a few seconds before it came back. "I'm supposed to be naked when I'm with you?"
"Close enough," he laughed softly. "Oh, and one more thing. I want to be able to actually see your cunt tomorrow. The forest goes," he said, reaching out and grabbing a tuft of my pubic hair, causing me to squeal in pain as he pulled them out by the roots. "I plan on seeing how sweet you taste tomorrow, and I don't want any rug burns on my face."
"Yes, sir," I replied automatically, not realizing until I looked up that he was already walking away.
I crawled to where my clothes lay, picking up the blouse and skirt — ruined, I saw — and tried to clean them off as best as I could. I struggled into my shoes and knee socks, my body battered and bruised, my knees bleeding from the gravel I'd been kneeling on for over an hour. I finally stood up, my legs shaking, and took one last glance at the undergarments laying on the ground. As I turned my back for the long walk home, I didn't realize I'd never again wear such garments.
I managed to sneak into the house without being spotted, rushing into the bedroom to clean up. I was usually quite fastidious about being clean, so nobody thought anything about the mid-afternoon bath I was taking. They knew I didn't like using the showers in the girls' locker room ... As I stripped my filthy, ruined clothes off, I looked at myself in the mirror. There was a faint red mark on my face where he'd hit me, and I could still see handprints on my tits. They weren't breasts anymore, I thought to myself. Only good girls have breasts; sluts have tits, udders or milkbags. There were bleeding scrapes on my knees where the gravel had dug into the skin while he was fucking me, but most of all, I could clearly see drying semen in my pubic hair and on my thighs. I started the tub, sitting on the toilet while my mind went over all the things that had happened today.
I was so confused. I was a good girl, but being used like a slut was so exciting for me, like I was alive for the first time ever. I knew I could never be a virgin again, but did I really want to be a slut, or worse? I climbed into the tub and carefully washed my abused body, knowing that if I didn't do as he'd told me — if I showed up at school with undergarments on and my pubic hair intact — one of two things would happen. Either he'd never see me again, or I'd be beaten and then raped. At this point, I was so confused that I wasn't sure which eventuality was worse.
In the end, of course, I did shave. I had to use a pair of scissors first, dumping the clumps of hair into the toilet so they wouldn't clog up the tub drain. Then I took my razor out, lathered up, and carefully scraped away what hair remained. It was difficult since I couldn't see what I was doing and was afraid of cutting myself — how would I explain it if I had to go to the hospital? But after three tries, I finally got it to the point that I couldn't feel any stubble anywhere. Just for good measure, although I'd just done it the day before, I re-shaved my pits and legs. That way, if there was any hair remaining in the tub after I rinsed it out, I'd have an excuse.
Dinner that night was uncomfortable for me, to say the least. I'd been forbidden from wearing panties or bras, so I ate quietly, wearing a knee-length skirt and a blouse with a heavy sweater over it. I checked myself in the mirror before going downstairs, and unless you knew I wasn't wearing undergarments, you couldn't tell. Still, I was unusually quiet during the family meal, so preoccupied that even my dad mentioned it. I shrugged his comment off, saying that I was thinking about my homework and a fictitious test the following day. He seemed to believe me, though.
After dinner, I went back up into my bedroom and fired up my computer. I needed to understand what was going on inside me, and did a few web searches. I wasn't sure what I was looking for, but one thing I knew was that Robert had decided to make me his sex slave. So that was the fist term I entered. I found a lot of stuff, primarily fictional stories, but as I read them I realized maybe this really was what I needed. I found a couple of other sites that talked about power exchange, submissiveness, and other terms I'd never really paid much attention to. It was almost midnight when I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, so I quickly clicked on the school's web site, their front page loading just as my door opened.
"Young lady, it's way past bedtime," my mother scolded. I told her okay, shut down the computer, and went to bed. For as long as I could remember, I'd worn pajamas to bed. Tonight, I just hung up my clothes and climbed between the sheets naked, tweaking my nipples and fingering myself like a slut until I finally fell asleep.
I awoke the next morning exhausted, having fingered myself all night long. I knew I'd had at least four or five orgasms, but none were like the one Robert had given me the day before. The dried vaginal fluids left a sticky, shiny residue on my hand and between my legs, and I knew I had to bathe again before getting ready for school. This wasn't unusual for me, as I often perspired at night. My family wouldn't be surprised that I'd taken a bath after school yesterday and another this morning.
While the tub filled, I inspected my carefully denuded body. My knees were still pretty scraped up, but the bruises on my breasts — tits, I reminded myself — were nearly gone. My bare vagina (I couldn't bring myself to call it a cunt or anything else yet) showed a little redness and swelling, but that could have been from the fucking I'd received, the shaving, or the fact that I'd spent the night diddling myself. Or, most likely, a combination of all three.
At any rate, it was a quick bath, followed by all the normal morning stuff except brushing my teeth. I would save that for after breakfast. Returning to my room, I picked out one of my many "sensible" skirts, one that went to mid-calf this time to better hide my damaged knees. All my blouses were white cotton button-fronts, so the only decision I had to make there was sleeve length. I figured Robert would want as much skin exposed as possible, so I picked out a sleeveless one. On top went the obligatory sweater, hiding the fact that I wasn't wearing a bra. My usual white knee socks and black shoes finished off the ensemble, but as I put them on, I thought to what he'd told me about being barefoot. I wasn't sure how I could do that, since I had to wear shoes at school. I'd have to find out, I guessed.
After breakfast, I went back upstairs and brushed my teeth before leaving for school. I only had to walk about six blocks, but it felt strange to be doing so with everything under my skirt exposed to the air. I knew I'd done the same thing the day before, but now that I was able to think, I noticed sensations that I hadn't felt before. Perhaps it was the fact that there was no hair to sop up the juices; I could feel that I was getting wet just walking down the street like that. I only hoped that I wouldn't be leaving a visible stain on the back of my skirt when I sat down!
Although I looked for him, I didn't see Robert until just before lunch ended. I was standing in front of my locker, searching for a lost homework assignment among the books, old lunch bags, and assorted trash. The front of my head was actually inside the locker, when I felt a hand slip between my legs.
"Steady, slut," I heard Robert's calm voice order as I jerked forward, my head banging against the inside of the locker. I took a deep breath and spread my legs for him, as his thumb wormed its way inside my newly-shaven hole. His other hand reached under the bottom of my blouse, feeling its way upward until it found my naked breast.
"Good girl," Robert purred into my ear, taking his hands off my body. "I want you to skip your last class today. Go to the back door of the boy's locker room — right where we met yesterday — and get undressed. You can hide your clothes behind the bushes if you want. Once you're naked, slip in the back door and go to the middle toilet stall. After you go in, lock the stall, squat on the toilet so nobody can see your feet, and wait for me. Understand?" he asked, grabbing my chin and forcing my face to look up at his.
"Yes, Sir," I mumbled, my mind a jumble of emotions.
"Just remember to keep quiet while you're in there. If you get caught, you'll probably end up gang raped, and there won't be anything I'll be able to do about it." He made it sound like a gang rape wasn't exactly what he intended.
I did just what he told me, my own concerns set aside by my desire — need? — to obey. As soon as sixth hour was over, I scampered out of the building and hid, crouching down behind some shrubs, until I was relatively sure I wouldn't be seen. Quickly, I slipped around to the back of the school building, arriving at the rear entrance to the locker room just as I heard the last gym class of the day starting their warm-up exercises. The bushes Robert had mentioned were quite thick and close to the door, so I was able to wiggle behind them, quickly divesting myself of the few clothes I was wearing — carefully hanging my skirt and blouse on the branches this time — and slipped into the locker room.
The first thing I noticed was the odor. It was definitely unlike the smell of the girl's locker room, in which the mixed scents of soap and perfume filled the air. The boy's locker had a more heady aroma, one of sweat and humidity. I didn't have time to really pay much attention, though, as I entered the restroom area. There were five toilet stalls; I quickly tiptoed into the third one, and as instructed, locked the door and then stood on the toilet seat, squatting precariously so my head wouldn't be seen over the top of the stall. I braced myself against the left and right walls with my hands, only momentarily glancing down to see that whoever had last used the toilet had failed to flush. Three large turds were floating in the yellow water. Whether it was my imagination or not, the odor of urine and fresh shit soon seemed to fill my nostrils.
I squatted there for what seemed like hours, naked and vulnerable, the knob on the stall door my only protection. Eventually, I heard the boisterous sounds of boys coming back from the P.E. field, their yelling and shouting as they looked forward to the coming weekend. Over the sounds of the showers, I could clearly hear the sounds of urine splashing in the urinals just across from my hiding place, as boys voided their bladders mere feet from me. I tensed as the stall immediately to my right opened; grunts and farting noises were followed with the sound of solid objects hitting water. Perspiration covered my body as I crouched down in my hiding place, the muscles in my thighs trembling with the extended exertion of remaining in place.
The noises finally tapered off, eventually becoming low murmurs and bangs, the sounds of lockers and the spring-loaded locker room doors slamming shut. Still, I remained silent and motionless, knowing anyone out there could hear me if I so much as coughed or sniffled. Then I heard footsteps approaching my hiding place.
"Kneel on the floor, facing the toilet," Robert's voice said softly. I breathed a sigh of relief before climbing down to the floor. I painfully lowered myself to my knees, the muscles in my legs screaming after the prolonged immobility. I turned, my face inches from the shit-filled toilet. Strong hands grabbed my ankles, and I felt something firm yet soft being fastened around them. Then, without warning, my feet were jerked backwards, pulling me rearwards under the stall door. A bare foot was planted on the back of my neck, warning me without a single word not to move. I lay there, naked, while my wrists were bound behind me. The foot moved to my back, pressing down between my shoulder blades, as a metal choke chain was slipped over my head. A leash was attached to it, and then as the foot was removed, a sharp jerk pulled me to my knees. As I looked up, I saw that I was surrounded by naked boys, all with their hard dicks pointing at me.
"You're right, she does have big tits for a young skank," one of them commented, reaching down and grabbing one of my breasts, squeezing it until I winced in pain. "I can't wait to see them all marked up. You gonna have them ringed, like that last cunt?"
"No, I have other plans for these milkbags," my Master, Robert, answered. "But let's get this part going, okay?" Then he turned to me. "Cunt, today you're going to earn the title of slut. The first thing you're going to do is suck each and every one of these cocks, then you're going to let my friends use any hole they want to finish off in. And when they're done, you're going to use that slutty little oral fuckhole of yours to clean those cocks off. Got it?" he said, pulling on my hair.
"Yes, Sir!" I screamed, a burning pain in my scalp.
I'd seen most of the boys around school, but only knew a few by name. The first one to walk up to me was a huge — probably 6'5", 250 pound black guy who played on the football team. His cock was just as big as everything else, and he wasted no time in cramming himself into my mouth. Without warning, he grabbed my ears and pulled me into his groin, his cock causing me to gag and wretch as he forced it into my throat. The other boys just laughed as he rammed my nose into his curly black pubic hair again and again while my face turned red, then blue from the lack of oxygen. He finally pulled away, allowing me a few seconds of coughing as I tried to fill my lungs.
"You're going to have a rough time if you don't learn how to breathe around a hard cock, cunt," Robert said, slapping me in the face. "You're going to be sucking cocks every day for the rest of your life, and you'd better learn quick!" He then turned to his friends. "She's obviously not worth a damn as a cocksucker — yet — so what say we get on with the main event?" A chorus of voices in agreement was all the answer he needed.
I gasped as I was lifted into the air, Robert's firm grip on my elbows causing the metal handcuffs to tear painfully into my wrists, while someone else grabbed my legs. They carried me into the locker room itself, laying me face-up on one of the wooden benches. Robert lifted me into a sitting position so he could release the restraints, then pushed me backwards, the back of my head smacking against the bench. My arms were pulled over my head, and the cuffs reattached so that my hands were secured around the metal pole supporting the bench. My legs were draped over either side of the bench and then each tied to a locker on opposite sides of my body, leaving me widely spread and completely helpless.
One by one, the athletes took their turn with me, ramming their hard cocks deeply into my swollen, tender cunt, then shoving their cum-covered members into my mouth and forcing me to suck them clean. By the time the sixth or seventh person used me, I'd experienced several orgasms and was completely unaware of my surroundings. My cunt was numb by this point, but I could feel the warm semen sloshing around and flowing down my naked thighs. At some point, my ankles were released and someone forced my legs over my head, holding them there so I was even more exposed. I barely noticed the bright flashes of light as several cameras were used to record my abuse. Held in that position, even more "customers" plunged into me, so many that I lost count. By now I was completely delirious, covered in sweat and cum.
I barely noticed when my legs were pulled even further back and spread even more widely until I felt the pain in my thighs. It was like someone was trying to rip me apart, like a turkey wishbone at Thanksgiving. The sharp pain caused me to open my mouth to scream, but before I could get a sound out, some stuffed a sweat-covered jock strap into it, forcing my mouth shut with a sharp smack to the underside of my chin. I started to wretch and gag as the acrid, salty taste assaulted my throat, but a strip of duct tape — I had no idea where it came from — was slapped across my mouth, forcing me to either deal with the foreign object in my mouth or choke.
It was then that I felt fingers pawing at my ass, spreading my ass cheeks apart. Someone started slathering something cold and slick up and down my butt crack, stopping momentarily to slide a thumb or finger into my rectum. I tensed the first time, getting a slap across the face as my Master registered it as a lack of enthusiasm on my part.
"It's going to happen whether you want it or not, cunt, but it'll be a lot easier on you if you just relax and take it. But if you want more punishment, go ahead and try to close that anal fuckhole of yours."
I just moaned in embarrassed anxiety from what I knew was going to happen. Just like he said, whether I wanted it or not, I was about to get butt-fucked. A thought ran through my mind at that moment, something I'd heard somewhere that went, "If you're going to get raped, you might as well relax and enjoy it." I doubted if I was going to enjoy it, but I was going to try to relax as much as I could.
At the time, I didn't realize who my Master had selected to take my anal virginity, but when I saw the muscular black torsi, I knew it was the same football player who'd nearly killed me when he forced his huge cock — I found out later it was 11" long and five inches in diameter — down my throat. Now he was going to stick it up my ass, which had never taken anything larger than a thermometer ... and not even that since I was three years old!
I gasped as I felt his warm fingers grab my ass cheeks and spread them apart, his thumbs forcing their way into my ass. His thumbs prodded, moving in and out as he slowly opened me up, soon replaced with two and then three fingers as he entered further and further. I finally felt the tip of the lubricant bottle entering again, squirting its contents deeply into my bowels.
"Ready, cunt?" Robert asked, grabbing my hair and forcing me to look at him. All I could do was moan in reply. "It'll be easier if you make like you're trying to shit when he puts it in you, but it really doesn't matter to me either way."
The cameras came out again as the huge, black cock prodded at my asshole, slowly forcing itself past the rubbery ring protecting my bowels. I tried to bear down as much as possible and felt my sphincter expand a little and cause the pain to ease a little. But when my rapist decided it was time to complete his task and shove himself fully inside me, I screamed — or would have, had my mouth not been full of rancid jock strap — in agony. The pain was incredible, and I felt as though my insides were being ripped through as he sawed his huge cock in and out, slamming the tops of my thighs into my swollen breasts with each forceful thrust. It was as though he was taking his whole race's revenge for centuries of white abuse out on my poor ass. My eyes couldn't focus, and filled with tears as snot began pouring out of my nostrils. I grunted and moaned in agony, the only thing I could do, as he pummeled my body into submission. The abuse seemed to go on forever, and then with one final, thrust, I felt his hot semen shooting up into my intestines. He pulled out, and again the cameras recorded for all posterity my naked, beaten body, this time showing my swollen, open ass, with cum dripping out of it.
My abuse was hardly over, though, because before I could even catch my breath, I was pushed to the floor and dragged by my hair to a kneeling position. The duct tape was unceremoniously ripped from my face, causing me to squeal in even more pain and cough the filthy undergarment onto the floor. When I looked up, the turgid black cock was waving in my face, streaks of blood, shit and cum clearly visible.
"Clean it, cunt!" my Master commanded, and without hesitation, I opened my mouth and let the monster invade me once more. The taste was even worse than the sweaty underwear that I'd just taken out of my mouth, the combination of feces and lubricant particularly foul. It was all I could do to keep from gagging, but I'd learned from my earlier experience that coughing or retching would just cause further punishment. This time I was fortunate, as he didn't try to impale himself into my throat, preferring to allow me to lick and suck his dick, balls and thighs until he was clean. As a finale, he sat down on the bench where I'd just been fucked, and ordered me to clean his bare feet the same way.
The one thing I'm still thankful for was the opportunity to use the shower before I was sent home. In future weeks, I'd often not be allowed to bathe for several days — one time it was a full month — regardless how many times I'd been used.
When I was finally somewhat clean, I found a pile of dirty clothing on the floor next to my dress, which someone had retrieved from behind the bushes. That's when Master advised me that one of my duties from now on would be to wash the gym socks and jock straps of each of his friends each weekend, returning them before school on Monday.
I was then dismissed, and limped slowly home, barefoot and clutching an armload of boy's gym underwear in my arms, praying that nobody would notice. On future Fridays, I'd be sure to have a book bag or backpack in which to secrete them. Fortunately, the house was empty when I arrived, and I was able to stuff the sweat-coated undergarments under my pillow before changing into something more presentable. As much as I wanted to, I refrained from wearing any undergarments, afraid that Master would find out somehow, and I'd be punished even worse. How anything could be worse than what I'd undergone that afternoon, I had no idea. But I was still extremely naive.
I didn't hear from Master all weekend, but the memories of what had transpired over the past few days kept me wet and excited. My parents must have wondered what I was doing with all the time I spent in my room. If they'd only known I was laying naked on my bed, splayed out with some boy's dirty jock strap over my face, inhaling his scent while I diddled myself to seemingly endless orgasms. In just two days, I'd gone from good girl to wanton slut!
I managed to get all the undergarments washed over the weekend, thanks to laundry being one of my normal chores. I had a couple of heart-stopping moments, though, when my mother walked in; once while I was dropping a handful of jock straps in the washer, and another while I was sorting out everything (they had their names or initials on the socks and jock straps, so I was able to fold them all together).
Monday morning finally arrived, and I left for school in my normal attire — skirt, blouse, sweater, knee socks and clunky shoes. I was told to be waiting at the locker room again, an hour before school started. I made up some excuse for my parents — I can't remember what, but they must have believed me — and headed out.
I wasn't sure what Master would want, but I wanted to please him, so as soon as I arrived, I stripped my clothes off and knelt in the dirt, waiting for him. I wasn't sure if that's what I was supposed to do, but I figured he wouldn't punish me for it.
I'd had a chance to examine myself in the mirror several times over the weekend, and although they weren't as noticeable now, I knew my body was still covered with bruises. Fortunately, none were visible when I was clothed, but kneeling there naked, I could look down and see the marks where my tits (I no longer thought of them as "breasts") had been mauled, and splotches on my thighs.
I was lost in my own thoughts when the door to the locker room opened. I looked up and saw Master standing there. He looked back at me, smiled, and motioned for me to get inside. I gathered the book bag full clean, folded gym clothes, and crawled in after him. Crawling wasn't anything he told me to do, but it just felt like the right thing.
The entire group of boys who'd taken me so forcefully on Friday afternoon were all there, sitting on the benches, all naked from the waist down. Master whispered instructions to me, and I obeyed, crawling down the line, stopping at each athlete to offer him his freshly-laundered clothing and then showing my thanks for allowing me the privilege of doing so by lavishing kisses on each bare foot. From the odors emanating from some of them, I was willing to bet that quite a few didn't bother to bathe over the weekend, but that didn't matter to me. I was obeying, pleasing my Master, and humiliating myself all at the same time. My thighs glistened with the juices my body was producing. I was, for the first time in my short life, in that place known as "sub space."
When I was finished, Master had me crawl back up the line again, taking each cock into my mouth for a moment, savoring the different sizes, textures and tastes. I wasn't allowed to suck anyone off, though; it was almost time for school to begin. I was allowed to retrieve my clothes and got dressed just in time to get to my first class.
Nothing happened that morning, though several of the boys from the locker room made moaning noises or grabbed their crotches while staring at me. I went from class to class as though in a daze, thoughts of my morning session racing through my mind. I was still wet, and could only hope that nobody else could smell the odor coming from between my legs. Between each class, I rushed to the restroom to dry myself off as well as I could. I made a mental note to bring tampons to wear to classes from now on.
I didn't see Master until lunchtime, when he accosted me as I was walking with my lunch bag to the cafeteria.
"What'ja bring me for lunch, cunt?" he asked, ripping it from my hands. He pulled each item out, looking them over before casually tossing them in a nearby trash can. He kept the apple my mom had so thoughtfully packed, taking a couple of bites out of it before asking me if I was hungry.
"Yes, Sir," I replied meekly. I'd only had a small bowl of cereal before school.
"Tough shit," he laughed. "Get used to it ... and make sure you start bringing something edible. Like, make some excuse tomorrow to get out of class early, and go pick me up a Quarter Pounder meal from McDonald's, got it?"
"Yes, Sir," I responded automatically.
"Come on, we have places to go," he ordered, grabbing me by the arm and leading me to the parking lot, where we got in his car. He made me pull my skirt off and spread my legs so he could finger-fuck me while he drove. I wasn't sure where we were going, but at that point, I only hoped he'd fuck me when we got there. All thoughts of the hunger pangs in my belly had been replaced by the pressing need between my legs.
As it turned out, I wasn't going to get fucked, at least not the way I hoped. After driving across town to an area I'd never been, we pulled up in front of a dingy strip mall. I could see a liquor store, a thrift shop, and an adult bookstore. I was told to put my skirt back on and get out of the car. The parking lot was strewn with trash, cigarette butts, and a few broken bottles. My shoes were left on the floor of the car.