Chapter 1

By the time Melissa turned sixteen, she had discovered her power to lure most males of all ages, but it wasn't always to her liking how easy it was for them to overpower her. She knew of a woman's attractiveness to men from watching her mother who brought home a constant stream during her childhood. Melissa would watch through a crack in the door or behind a curtain while men would strip her mother naked, whether just inside the front door, on the couch, or in the bedroom, and roll all over her. She also saw how her mother liked to take the long thing that only men have and suck it deep into her mouth until it squirted stuff; the men liked this even more. So when she was a month before fourteen, wearing only a tiny bikini over her apricot-sized breasts which would double in size when her nipples hardened, and alone in his car with a sixteen-year-old boy named Todd, Melissa pulled away from his lips, leaned over to his crotch pulling a very stiff cock out of his pants, and sucked until he shot several mouthfuls into her. Not wanting to make a mess or end up with stuff in her long curly light brown hair, she swallowed.

How word gets around. Seems like the whole school knew of Melissa's talent by Monday afternoon, popular with the boys, but not so much with the girls. Todd opened his car door for her, drove them to a vacant lot and unzipped his pants. Soon she had moved up to one of the hottest seniors in the school with her reputation for moving down. For a couple of years she could count on free meals, movies, and even clothes gifts for taking a boy into her, one place or another, none seemed to care where they came in her. She also noticed how men of all ages watched her go by. Short tight skirts worked wonders. If she didn't wear a bra and left a couple buttons undone, they'd never take their eyes off of her; especially since her little apricots bulged to firm peaches. Mom's boyfriends noticed too.

First there was Gary, a forty something auto repairman who never got his nails clean and smelled of grease. Dark and mysterious with his black moustache, small obsidian eyes, and barely taller than Melissa who was now five-foot-six, Melissa wondered what this older man might do different than the boys her age. Sure, Melissa had been invited to several parties where older college age guys, big brothers or neighbors, would hit on the high school girls. Melissa would chose her favorite, watch him find a way to get closer and closer to her as if by accident, until he'd maneuvered her to a spare bedroom or behind a garage where he'd press into her and begin the grope. Melissa always knew what was coming, but liked to see how and when each guy would make his move on her. If a guy was too slow for her liking, she'd reach down and rub his cock through his pants, counting how many strokes before the guy would pull her clothes open, whatever flimsy item it might be. Rarely did she get more than three strokes in, though one confused college freshman just let her continue until he came in his pants. Poor boy.

Gary though was a man, a man who kept her mother's bed bouncing against the wall for over a half hour. He didn't stare at Melissa like a couple other of Mom's bed-friends did; the worst was a lanky Radio Shack manager who Melissa teased incessantly, though she didn't have any interest in fucking him. Melissa would let him in the front door in just her bikini briefs and a see through undershirt, dart topless from the bathroom to her bedroom knowing the guy would be sitting on the couch facing her direction, and then later parade by "dressed" in some little top and mini-skirt, and if Mom wasn't with him yet, bending over in front of him to put her shoes on, putting her bikini brief on later in the car — or not. She thought it would be fun to take him behind the house and give him a hand job, but he only lasted a couple of weeks before Mom had dropped him.

Melissa knew Gary was checking her out though when he thought no one was looking. So it seemed like the best way to attract him might be to not appear to be doing so. Talk with him. Appear innocent. One Saturday afternoon he was working on his own car in the apartment parking lot. She undid all the buttons on her blouse tying it loosely at the bottom of her countable ribs, her low-rise cut-off jeans an innocent compliment. Very open top, bare flat belly and smooth tanned legs, she strolled to the corner of the parking lot, a man in an upstairs window watching her. "Hi Gary, do you know where my mom is?"

Gary looked up, took her in for a second before reaching back under the hood. "She's out shopping. Said she'd be back before dinnertime."

Melissa leaned her hip against the car grill, hand closest to Gary tucked in her back pocket, and leaned deep letting her blouse drop open for a full view of one breast. "Whatcha workin' on?"

Gary side glanced at her chest. "Carborateur, timing." His eyes darted twice again to her bare breast.

"I'd like to know more about cars. When I get one will you teach me to do some things?"

"What do you want to know?"

"Whatever you think I should know. I'll be inside if you want me for anything." Returning across the lot she was aware of two men watching her, Gary she knew would have his eyes on her butt and whoever it was in the upstairs window got an eyefull down her open blouse. She caught the glint of a camera lens, or maybe just glasses.

It wasn't exactly as subtle as she intended, her little show inside the hood. Twenty minutes later she heard the door, then running water. She stopped checking email and went to the kitchen. Pulling a coke from the fridge she turned to find Gary five feet away, shirt off, hands wet. His eyes were like little burning coals, he breathed hard through his mouth. "Do you want something?" Melissa squeaked.

He grabbed her by the upper arms shoving her into the refrigerator. A cereal box fell off the top to the floor. The impact cut her wind. Melissa tried to move but he held her fast, inches from her face. "What?" she managed. Without answering he carried her through the living room to her bedroom throwing her backwards onto her bed. "Wait!" She closed her legs and held her arms out indicating stop.

"No woman teases me without putting out later, especially a fifteen-year-old slut." He dropped his pants and jumped on her pulling the loose knot of her blouse open then pinning her arms. He paused, staring at her now completely naked top. His hands dove for her shorts, yanking the zipper open and taking hold of the pockets to pull them off.

"Gary wait. Wait! I'll do it, okay? You don't have to hurt me." He stopped. Melissa slipped her shorts the rest of the way off, then her briefs. "I didn't know you'd want a young girl like me or I would have just asked." She stretched her arms above her head and looked at his bulging cock before slowly spreading her legs.

Five times in the next two weeks he pounded into her whenever they were alone. He never asked, just grabbed her and started in. It was her cunt he wanted. She'd find his lips, but he didn't kiss back. If she reached for his cock he'd yank her hand away and lift her against the wall or lean her over the back of the couch. He loved to ram her from behind, banging hard against her little butt until he'd explode while squeezing the air out of her lungs or locking her throat with the inside of his elbow. If she tried to slow things down, he pretended like he didn't hear. She knew things were well beyond saying no. She knew she could tell someone, even put him in jail for a long time, but everyone from her mom on down would know her part in it. Melissa started to avoid coming home before her mom was there. Her outfits became much more conservative too, at least at home. One evening, when Melissa hadn't been alone with Gary for four days, her mom stepped into the bathtub for a long soak. Gary lifted the hundred and five pound Melissa out of her chair where she was attempting homework, pulled her pants off, clamped a hand over her mouth, and worked her hard on the rug hissing in her ear that she had to finish what she started.

That night she heard Gary and her mom yelling. Two nights later she came home to shouting. The next day he was gone with all of his stuff. Her mom said he changed over night - she was sure he'd started seeing another woman. Melissa would watch for the Gary types in the future, the hard-eyed slow to speak type, and do things differently.

In the fall, Melissa entered her junior year of high school, having turned sixteen at the end of the summer. She didn't care much for school except for foreign languages, which she had a knack for, and flirting. The only thing to break up the boredom in math and science classes was to sit in the front row and leave her mini-skirt exposed legs open, causing a few broken thoughts from her male teachers. High school guys weren't much of a challenge anymore, though they could still be fun. With her well defined reputation, that seemed to be the only option anyway.

Early fall warmth became winter cold. Though Melissa was the last to cover her bare legs and belly, soon she changed to tight cashmere sweaters, v-cut from mid-cleavage to belly, or thick tops with cowl necks which looked conservative while vertical but dropped far from her bra-less chest when she bent forward. She stopped asking her mom for clothes money, finding it easy to get a man to buy her most any article of clothing, if she promised to take it off in front of him that night. Melissa started to date older guys, at first a couple just out of high school, but soon several guys in their twenties found there way to her. Mostly, they were as predictable as her schoolmates, but they had more money. She could count on a concert or fine restaurant for fifteen minutes of her efforts at the end of the evening. If she liked their place, she'd stay the night. If she found a guy attractive in whatever way, she said yes. If men insulted her or got angry for her seeing more then one at a time, she dropped them. If they were nice, she'd see them again.

Mostly this worked fine. Exceptions are a learning experience. One guy who screamed whore in her face apologized profusely two days later offering her a front row Dave Mathews ticket, next to him, of course. All seemed fine until they returned to his apartment and she had performed a striptease for him by request. Since all she was wearing was an ultra-short, thin, and tight pullover black dress, she elongated the show by raising and lowering, bending and twisting, touching and promising, before she finally pulled the dress all the way up past her hip bones, narrow waist, concave stomach under protruding rib cage, catching for a second on the three-inch ledge of her pair of womanly ornaments that flopped into a prominence that took over the room before she temporarily lost view of her surroundings taking the dress over her head, leaving Melissa standing naked in a bedroom she'd only been in twice before. Suddenly three other guys emerged from behind closets doors and curtains. For a moment, no one moved as she looked to the right and left at the extra men who had just enjoyed her show, their mouths open and twisted into ragged smiles while their eyes looked everywhere but her face. She grabbed her dress from the floor running towards the door in one motion. The first to catch her spun her back into the door. In another second the waifish teenage girl was pinned from both sides while one stuffed a sock in her mouth tying it in place with a bandana. Then they tied her hands behind her back. They tossed her around the house like a sex toy, pawing and shoving. Four long hours they penetrated her body however and wherever they pleased, most of the time with Melissa on her back, her arms and legs stretched wide to the four corners of the bed. They grabbed, slapped, pinched, and prodded. The only movement Melissa could make was the struggle to fill her rib cage with air through the wad of cloth and the flinching of her little belly. After each man had come in her or on her twice, two urinating on her face, they washed her and pulled her dress back on. With his hand around her neck, her date threatened that if she spoke a word of this to anyone, friends of theirs would take her down for good. "Also, I hate Dave Matthews, but I felt it was only fair for your services." They dropped her off at her house before dawn letting her limp in on her own. She didn't leave the apartment for three days, telling her mom she had a flu. Her mom telling her it served her right for the hours she kept at her age.

It was the first time Melissa had been raped, unless she counted Gary, though she never tried to stop him, knowing she couldn't and he wouldn't and not sure what she wanted. Rope burns, small bruises, and cuts all healed before winter break was over. Spending more time alone than at any time in her life she figured out the lesson: Any man that needs to make a big apology has already blown his chance.

Her body healed, but other things took longer. Her power. She still had her power to attract, but it takes much more courage to get back up and ride again when you've slammed onto the ground feeling the pain of the hard surface against your soft body. Which guys were safe? Her thin delicate body was no match for even the smallest boy in her class, if he didn't care about what she felt. As far as everyone knew, except for Melissa and the four perpetrators, she was recovering from a bad case of the flu. Melissa received seven offers for dates during her recovery - three high school seniors, two of which she'd been with before, one college guy she'd sucked off in the French literature section on the sixth floor of the university library, and four men, only one of which she had dated before. Two of the men she couldn't remember meeting, though they obviously had seen her, wanted her, found out her name and phone number, and were ready to negotiate for the pleasures she was known to generously give-out. With a sick feeling in her gut she suspected that one or both of these men were related to the four that raped her, trying to set her up again. She wasn't going to leave herself vulnerable with men she knew nothing about. Not a single girl had called to see how she was, but then she hadn't spent much time with girls for a couple of years.

Wandering the apartment, home alone in just her robe, Melissa wondered how she could keep from being hurt again. Her entire wardrobe was meant to show her off for sex. She could buy some bras and longer skirts, keep blouses buttoned higher, wear something under the see-through tops. Like it would change much at school. But out in the world, with men that didn't know her ... Except that she loved to turn their heads, strangers walking buy, men in cars, men with girlfriends and wives unable to keep their eyes off of her, seeing the swelling in their crotch. This was a power. She could lure guys from across a store, street, or dance floor without appearing to be doing so - meet their eyes once, arch or stretch her back and there they were, bringing this or buying that, taking whatever sex she offered at the end of the evening. What if she didn't offer it? But she wanted it too, most of the time. If they didn't make it pleasurable for her too, she got a rush out of making them come faster than they wanted to, pushing her chest into their face or bending nearly double backwards off the side of the bed, kissing them wildly, and thrusting back with her hips. Very few could last more than a couple of minutes if she went all out. If they were slow and sensual with her, she'd tease them for an hour, keeping them on edge until they'd nearly crush her with the power of their orgasm.

She'd rather take her chances than be like the Christian girls in their knee length hems and high neck dresses, saving sex for marriage, becoming some kind of saintly domestic servant. These girls insulted Melissa under their breath every time she walked by. Even the average girls that tried for something inbetween - how much different was it really? So they wore a bra, pushed his hands away on the first date, not let him drift below the waist until the third date when she'd get him to say something about love? Then play the "I love you, no I don't" game? Without an exception, these guys drooled for Melissa when she came into view. All she had to do was beckon with wide eyes and a smile and they'd come running, sure of the reward she never refused her partners. Most weren't worth more than a time or two, but at least she knew fast and didn't waste half the school year or ten years and a baby to find out. Melissa knew her power over men and they loved her and hated her for it. There wasn't a girl at the school that wielded as much of this kind of power as Melissa and they envied her, all of them. And they hated her. The powerful are always a little lonely. She wasn't about to give up this power, but she'd watch more closely for those whom hate was the strongest feeling towards her.

It was around this time that Russell came into her mom's life, as well as Melissa's. He was just thirty, eight years younger than her mom. He was five foot ten with a bush of sandy blonde hair and a clean tanned face. Russell wasn't shy about appreciating Melissa, spreading compliments around the house like rose petals to mother and daughter alike. Mom was in love, again. Seemed like they were always at it, making the house a little noisy. Melissa decided to try-out the one classmate who had called her during winter break that she hadn't dated yet.

Manuel was a senior, star of the soccer team, a good student, and a very handsome young Mexican man. Melissa had surprised him once speaking Spanish, ignoring a slur or two that his friends were using to describe her when she turned on them, pretending the other guys didn't exist and setting her gaze on Manuel. He had a girlfriend though, at the time, who fixed a threatening stare on Melissa whenever she saw her. He said they had split-up though and wanted to go out with her. He took her to a semi-pro soccer game where the men around her spent as much time roving her naked legs with their eyes as they did watching the game. She sat on the wooden bleacher seat in the warm afternoon sun, the bottom of her butt bare against the old wood, with her legs held tight together, her stretchy tube skirt creeping up her sides to where panties might have been, until someone would score and the crowd would applaud and cheer, at which time Melissa would strain to see what had just happened, relaxing her legs a few inches, the air cool against her sweaty inner thighs, and for a few seconds allowing a handful of men a view of what they craved.

When Manuel left the first time for drinks, men on all sides were without pretense about openly staring at her. She smiled to the left and right. They asked her if she played soccer. She wondered what would happen if Manuel never returned. But he did. When they descended together out of the stands, Melissa could see a group of junior high age boys underneath following her every step. She took a couple of steps extra slow, holding on to Manuel, with her legs wide apart for a few seconds.

Driving home she wanted to stroke his leg while he drove, higher and higher, until he slammed on the breaks and jumped her, but she thought of the men in the bleachers and the rumors that would follow her and thought better. She let him park at the edge of a parking lot behind closed businesses, chatting him up for a half-hour before he leaned in to kiss her lips. Twice she moved his hand away from her breast before she let it stay. Then Melissa took over, pulled her halter off, jumped out the door and into the back seat, spreading arms and legs wide.

Manuel was different with her when they were alone than when at school. Alone, he was attentive, affectionate, and always after sex. At school, he engaged his friends while holding her waist, hand under her shirt, but not including her in the conversations. She knew she was a trophy of sorts to him and knew she was partly guilty of the same feelings towards him. Until the day the trophy was wrenched from her hands. Melissa stayed after school often to watch Manuel practice with the team. She took the short-cut behind the gym to the field by the basketball courts. Manuel's ex-girlfriend with three of her friends surrounded Melissa. She was only Melissa's height, but outweighed her by twenty pounds, large breasts and hips. "You think you can take a Mexican's boyfriend just like you steal everyone else's, white bitch?"

"He said you split-up a month ago."

"He stop seeing me when you start sucking his dick."

"I don't need this," Melissa said turning to walk away.

"Here's what you need." An open hand smacked Melissa's cheek, turning her around. With her hands blocking her face, a large girl twice Melissa's width buried a fist in her stomach and another jabbed under her side ribs. Melissa bent double, the wind knocked out of her, dropping to her knees. Fists banged at her head. A kick to her belly sent Melissa flat. She put her hands to her face trying to curl into a ball for what felt like a lifetime in hell, though really only lasted twenty seconds, as the four girls encircled Melissa on their knees punching her with closed fists into her back, ribs, legs, arms, and into the hands on her face. Suddenly they flipped Melissa onto her back pinning her arms out. The ex-girlfriend sat on Melissa's chest. Ten or fifteen kids had stopped playing basketball or whatever they were doing and stood a few yards off, just watching; most were boys, but not all and most were Anglos. They all watched to see what would happen next to the very cute girl with the sexy reputation.

"Spread the whore's legs," the ex-girlfriend commanded. She slammed her fist into Melissa's cunt. She screamed, only to receive a harder one. The ex raised herself up and dropped down onto Melissa's belly with both knees. The impact drove a wave of nausea up through Melissa's chest as a dry heave forced out her mouth. She slapped Melissa's unprotected face back and forth while her knees ground into her gut. A hand closed tight around Melissa's neck. "You listen good. I see you with Manuel anywhere, I make you so ugly no boy ever wants you again. I know you hear me." Then to the audience. "This whore tried to steal my boyfriend, just like she steal everybody's. You see her with Manuel, you tell me." With her hand like a clamp on Melissa's neck, she worked her tongue until she could unload a mouthful of spit into Melissa's face. "Piece of shit."

The four girls walked away. Melissa wiped her face with a dirty hand, finding blood with the spit. The small crowd stared silently, no one making a step towards her. It took a couple of minutes to regain her breath. She struggled to standing, holding onto the fence. She headed for home. A boy came up beside her from one of her classes, Jason? Justin? "Do you need help?"

"I needed help five minutes ago."

"I didn't know how to stop them. They'd just get you later anyway."

"Hope you liked the show," Melissa said and knocked his hand off of her bare waist.

Melissa lived a fifteen minute walk from school. She labored down the side walk aching like a bad flu, only many of the pains were sharp, stabbing into her sides. Aware of honks and yells in her direction, she kept her eyes straight ahead. Their apartment door stood ajar. "Whoa, what happened to you?" Russell turned off the TV.

"Leave me alone." Melissa stumbled into the doorjamb on the way to her bedroom. She closed the door. He opened it. She lay on her side in a ball facing away from the door.

"Who beat you up?" He sat next to her placing a hand on her shoulder. "Are you hurt bad?"

Melissa's only tears up to this point had been a few drops from the pain. She didn't want to break down in front of her peers. The humiliation and despair came from deep and she broke into sobs. She let him hold her as she cried into the pillow

"Here, let me see." Russell turned her gently, inspecting the bruises on her face and belly. "Who did this?"

"Manuel's ex and her little gang."

"Where was your boyfriend?"

"He doesn't even know yet."

Russell brought a bowl of warm water and wash cloth. He dabbed her face clean and wiped her belly. "Can I feel your ribs?" Slowly he made his way along the skinny girl's sides and the top of her stomach. "It would hurt worse if they broke a rib. Who stopped it?"

"Nobody. Next time they'll kill me." He brought her clothes to change to and left the room. Her mom came home.

"Who did this to you?" Melissa told the story. "I'm calling the police."

"Mom, don't."

"You can't just let someone do this to you or they'll do it again."

"Mom, the police won't do anything. Then they'll jump me when no one's around and hurt me worse. You don't know these people."

"What are you going to do? Hide from them for now on?"

"I'm not going back to school."

"What do you mean? You're only sixteen."

"I don't care. I'll take the test. I'll get a job, but I'm not going back. Mom, everybody just watched. Nobody even said, 'leave her alone.' Nobody cared." She couldn't go on for tears now. Her mom held her hand and rubbed her forehead.

"Suit yourself, but I think you're making a mistake."

Melissa stayed home. Manuel called the next day, said he wanted to see her, but she told him it was over. He told her not to worry about his ex — they just wanted to scare her. Melissa knew that he didn't really care what happened to her either.

In two weeks her face had healed to where a little make-up covered the remains of her beating. The bruises on her body faded. Russell checked her everyday. He brought her drinks, rubbed her neck and feet. Before her mom got home, she sat curled in his arm watching movies. It wasn't that far for his lips to go from kissing her cheek to her lips, his hand from her ribs to her breasts. The day after their first fondling, Russell came to her bed as soon as her mom left the house. There they stayed all day. He opened her legs, brought his tongue to her clitoris, and taught her about pleasures she had only learned to give so far. By her fourth series of orgasms, she nearly passed-out from hyperventilating. Russell emptied into her with such force he bounced off of her on the way up. Afterwards he lay quiet on top of her. And still she kept flinching in pleasure.

The sheets were in the drier and Melissa was in the shower when her mother came home from work. She told her daughter it was either time to go back to school or get a job. Melissa got an "after school" job in the video store from three to nine, but every morning she lay naked under the sheets or in the lingerie Russell would buy until he would climb on top of her. She did whatever he asked, sucking his cock or opening her legs as wide as they'd go. Anything for his tongue. Sure, she had masturbated for years and boys had touched her, but this was different, this was worth stealing your mom's boyfriend over.

Not that stealing Russell was a conscious decision. Three weeks into their love fest, her mom dropped by at lunch and opened the door to her daughter stretched out in nothing but black stockings on the living room carpet, her boyfriend's mouth deep into Melissa's crotch. Mom threw things. Everything she could get to. The two naked people she now hated tried to calm her, but she only stopped when rage turned to exhaustion. She didn't want to see either of them when she got home that evening. She didn't.

Melissa brought a duffle bag and three boxes to Russell's, which was only a room in a duplex with another guy named Zuck she'd never met. "Zuck, say hi to our new roommate." The tall, long faced man in his late thirties sitting on the couch nodded the top of his beer bottle towards her. The room was strewn with empty fast food bags, coats, boots, a couple car magazines, and several Hustlers and porn magazines she didn't recognize. "Her mom caught us fucking in the living room, so that's that."

"Bummer," Zuck added, "now you can't have both."

Alone in Russell's bedroom, he shoved his clothes over and emptied a drawer to make room for Melissa. "Who's Zuck?"

"My roommate. I rent the room from him."

"He gives me the creeps."

"He's all right. Besides, you're with me."

Melissa had little idea about what being with Russell was about. She made sure she was never left alone long with Zuck, sure that he'd force his way on her if he had a chance. They stayed in bed fucking the morning away. Melissa worked her video store job in the evening.

On the third night, Russell took her to a party — he pulled out a blue-jean mini-skirt and a sheer white halter top for her to wear. The party was fifteen people, twelve of them men. No one under thirty. The house was fancy, the talk cheap. They drank a lot and laughed loud at jokes Melissa didn't quite get. It was hard for her to tell what brought this group together. The only unifying feature she saw was that everyone gave a good long stare at her whenever they thought she wasn't looking. When she caught a man with eyes on some part of her body, she'd smile at him, enjoying how he would seem to stop breathing for a moment or send a nervous twitching smile back at her. What were they doing here, she wondered? Russell only knew two of the guys beforehand. Was he showing her off? Bragging to his friends about his teenage lover? Several guys approached her during the two hours they were there, asking her questions about school and work. Melissa just said she was taking a break from school, not giving any clues about what school or grade-level that might give away her age.