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Closing The Book
Filename: CLOSING THE BOOK.txt
Title: Closing The Book
Author: Kay Ellem
Keywords: Mg-f, nc, mast, rom.
******************************************************
WARNING!!
CLOSING THE BOOK
This true MUST NOT be reposted to any other site whatsoever,
neither free nor pay site. It is lodged with ASSM and ASSTR in
perpetuity and must not be used for any reason without the written
permission of the author.
To those reading, beware; there are sexually explicit segments that
may offend some people.
******************************************************
CLOSING THE BOOK ©November 2002
(The end to a dark chapter of my life)
By
Kay Ellem kayellemREMOVE@hotmail.com
Preamble
This is a true story. Some may not believe that but it is the truth.
I am now a happily woman of 38 with a loving husband and
a beautiful near-teen aged daughter. But the fact is, there was a time
in my life that was anything but happy and is the only secret I’ve ever
kept from my wonderful husband over these past 14 years. This black
hole, as I call it, is also the cause of the one and only lie I’ve ever
told my husband; something I’ve always regretted but to this day, am
sure was the right thing.
However the memories of that time and the ever present thought of
that one small lie continued to play on my mind. So for some years
I’ve been desperately trying to find a way of closing the book on
those dark memories; to put the whole painful past to rest once and
for all; to cleanse my mind of the vile events I suffered. Finally, I
decided the best way to achieve this was to write the whole truth,
leaving nothing out. I feel very comfortable with that choice now.
After searching hundreds of sites, even though ASSM/ASSTR is, to
me anyway, generally a receptor for sexually explicit fiction, I’ve
decided to place my “black hole” here and open an Author’s page for
this one article, to reside in the public domain in perpetuity.
Hopefully, now ASSTR can shoulder the load far more easily than I
have up to now.
No-one has the authority to repost or publish this article anywhere
else, either on free sites or for commercial gain. It is copyright© to
me for my sole use but may be held in private archives for the use of
the archive owner only.
To those reading, beware; there are sexually explicit segments that
may offend some people. For that I make no apology; the truth must
be told in full, minutiae detail, before the black veil can be thrown to
the wind. You will notice that I’ve used no names but my own;
something I purposefully decided from the outset.
I do not expect any responses but should anyone wish, they may
contact me at kayellemREMOVE@hotmail.com
(Remove the no-spam “REMOVE” to make the address work)
The can be found in ASSTR at
ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/Kayellem in both Text and Word2002
formats.
Reading the FAQ, I guess the key codes would be: Mg-f, nc, mast,
with a lot of ROM at the end.
CLOSING THE BOOK
Part One
The Early Years
I was just seven or eight years when I was removed from my drug
and alcohol impaired care. Memories of those early years are
little more than a blur to me now although I do remember life being
full of turmoil, from verbal and physical abuse that drugs and alcohol
caused them to rain down on me.
It was only later when I heard it was one of my school teachers who
had reported my apparently obvious mistreatment to the authorities.
However the day it all took place is etched clearly in my mind. We
were all still asleep when loud knocking wakened me and my dazed
parents. As soon as the door was opened, in poured several people,
men and women all in uniform, and immediately took me into their
custody. There was much screaming in terror from me; loud abuse
and swearing from my parents, especially my who was
stomping around the room in his torn pajama pants, arguing and
ordering the intruders out.
They soon did leave with me being held tightly in the arms of a lady
in uniform. All that was left of me with my was a piece of
paper one of the policemen thrust into Dad’s hands. He was still
roaring abuse as we drove away. My final sighting of him was a flick
of his hand as he turned back towards the house, as much to say,
‘good riddance.’
I think I was still crying from fear but that soon stopped when I
realised they were talking calmly to me, smiles of encouragement
and something I’d never experienced before, hugs and cuddles.
Most of that day was spent with the lady who took me from the
house. She was very pleasant and cheerful; talked to me continually;
asked me lots of questions; never growled when I couldn’t answer
and even bought me a hamburger for lunch. I was taken to see a lady
doctor which frightened me for I’d never been to a doctor’s in my
whole life that I could remember, but again my first fears were
quickly dispelled and I was apparently found to be in good health.
My first night away from my was spent in a room with
several other and I found myself sleeping in the softest, cleanest
bed I have ever seen. It even smelled sweet, a far cry from the dank
mattress on the living room floor at home.
The next morning I was given a whole suitcase of new clothes, pretty
things I’d envied other wearing up to now and I was taken for a
long ride in a car with the same lady who’d rescued me the day
before. She explained lots of things during the trip but the one that
remained with me was the fact that I would be living with some
people who look after children who have no home and that they were
very nice and would treat me like a child of their own.
After that day I rarely thought of my again, they quickly
became a distant memory and to this day I’ve had no desire to make
contact with them or even learn their fate.
The people lived in a nice home in a small town in Arkansas. It had
flowers growing all around, lots of nicely trimmed grass to play on
and there were already two staying with them, both like me,
being taken from their because they hadn’t been looked after
properly. One was about three years than me, the other
about my own age.
Within a day I was calling them and Dad and they were fun to
be with. For the first time in my life, I was living with a proper
family; happy and cared for, actually loved because both and
Dad kept telling me how much they loved having a little to call
their own for the first time. As I got I learned that they hadn’t
any children of their own and for many years had been looking after
homeless kids like me, some for just a while, and others, like the
elder boy, for a long time.
We were a and I grew to accept and Dad as my true
parents. All thought of my real ones quickly faded. They made rules
that had to be kept, like no fighting, no swearing, do your homework
on time, help with various chores; all the things I guess normal
families did. Breaking the rules usually brought a talking to which
always made me feel so guilty, especially when most infractions were
not done with intent but through simple girlish spontaneity.
Occasionally, Dad would growl a bit which made us all take notice
immediately. Only once did I remember Dad spanking the younger
boy when he swore at Dad after being spoken to for some reason.
Even then, the spanking didn’t seem to last very long behind the
closed door of his room and the came out red-faced with
embarrassment.
As I got older, took me aside one evening and told me about
the things that would soon begin happening to my body; growing
boobies and periods. I knew I’d eventually get bosoms but had no
idea what periods were. After learning that my front place, that’s
what I’d learned to call my from my first mother, would begin
to bleed actual blood every month, I became very self-conscious of
my body. didn’t talk about sex at all, just that a girl’s vagina, as
she called it, bled every month and I had to accept it. Her explanation
for this unheard of phenomenon was that it proved I wasn’t pregnant.
Despite my questions she went no further with her explanation.
But a talk about the birds and bees was never given to me. I must say
here that I did know a little about what and did, rather
mothers and fathers did, from several of my school friends. One
in particular told us every time her did sex things because she
could hear them through the bedroom wall. Some of the other
had been told about sex and some of that filtered down to me with
lots of giggling and blushes. All of this, including the knowledge that
my would soon begin to bleed turned me into a real little
prude amongst my friends and the at home. There was no way I
would ever give them the chance to look up my skirts or catch me
naked in the bathroom.
At about this time, I was probably aged eleven or just turned twelve,
a new came to live with us. She was about seven and quickly
became part of the growing family. This led to a new dimension in
family life for me when Dad announced that he would bathe both
girls each night.
I clearly remember looking at him in surprise. So did I for that
matter. It was just something he never did. I don’t remember it being
a modesty thing for me. I was still a child, no and no bleeding
and after all, it was Dad so it wasn’t such a big deal. It was just that
he had never bathed me before, so why now?
Mom began to speak, querying why he should do that but Dad
looked fiercely at her and actually said, “Shut up, woman. If I want
to bathe my I will bathe them and that’s that.” never said
another word on the subject.
So that evening, two pranced to the bathroom, Dad in
tow and innocently stripped their clothes off and jumped in. Nothing
of those evening baths ever struck me as anything more than a
thing. It certainly wasn’t sexual in any way from my point of view
although I must say now, sexual thoughts rarely entered my head
then. We were two being bathed by our and that was that.
Each night was the same as the last. We would sit together in the
bath. Dad would kneel beside the bath, soap the washer and wash
our face, arms, back and chest, then we’d stand up and let him do
our bottom, tummy, legs and between our legs. I never remember
him laboring longer over my or my bottom than he did
anywhere else and there was certainly no innuendo of sexual
gratification on his part. We were just happy to share this extra time
with him.
Looking back later, I realised he was getting his kicks even then,
albeit passively and I often wondered how he’d used the sight of our
young naked bodies and freely displayed genitals when he went to
bed with each night.
And our happy lives went on
Part Two
Puberty Finally Arrives
Life continued along the same happy lines until one morning I woke
to feel a strange stickiness between my legs. A quick probe with my
fingers brought a scream to my lips. They had come away all
bloodied. The long awaited but unwanted bleeding had begun.
My scream woke the but I was able to calm her by saying I’d had
a bad dream. I slipped my robe on before I stood up to keep the
offending mess from her eyes and rushed to the kitchen to tell Mom.
She looked at me for several seconds then said, “Your will fix
you up.” Then she simply went back to preparing the breakfast, my
predicament apparently forgotten.
Dad was in the bathroom shaving. I was now embarrassed because
this event had changed me from to woman overnight and it was
embarrassing to even talk to him about such an intimate thing much
less let him look at the mess that had spread over my pajamas
between my legs. But I had to tell him.
His face covered in shaving cream, he simply stared back at me in
the mirror for what seemed an eternity. Then without looking around
even once, continued shaving as he instructed me to run the bath
with hot water, to use no soap and to sit still until he returned to
examine me. I knew he watched every move I made and as I
removed my robe he stopped shaving altogether and stared back at
me as I peeled the bloodied pajama pants down my legs and stepped
into the hot bath. It stung no end, as hot baths always do but I gritted
my teeth and eased myself down until I sat on the bottom. It took
quite a while before the burning eased but I managed to sit still as he
had instructed.
After he had wiped his face clean of the remaining shaving cream, he
glanced towards me as he collected my pajamas and left the room.
I had no idea how long I’d been sitting but it was certainly long
enough for the water to have cooled right down and I began to feel
chilly. The water between my legs had turned quite from the flow
and the colour looked much like ink had been poured into the
bath. In the time I waited, many things ran through my mind. Why
did he want to see how much I would colour the water? Why did he
take my bloodied pajamas away with him? What did he mean when
he said he would return to examine me? How on earth would I stop
the bleeding running down my legs during the day? Would I have to
stay home from school while it was happening? How long before it
stopped? Did this happen to all my girlfriends? If so, why didn’t they
talk about it?
I’ll never forget the date; it was June 4th. 1976 and I was just twelve
and a half years old. My boobies had already started to grow
although they were not much larger than a squashed tomato but the
nips had puffed out quite a bit and were rather rounder and plumper
than I would have liked but I knew I had no say in the way they
developed. Also I had recently found the first longish hairs growing
between my legs. There was quite a little clump that I could see
through the pinkish water as I sat there pondering all these things.
I sighed, telling myself all these things were part of growing up into
womanhood but my mind was that of a and quite innocent
still.
He finally came back and stood staring down at me, at the colored
water and I think, at my boobies which seemed bigger all of a
sudden. I asked him what I should do but he simply turned and
vanished once more.
Maybe ten minutes later he came back and informed me that
had taken the others off to school and was then going to do the
shopping. I wouldn’t be going to school today and he would remain
at home to examine me and assess my flow. I had no idea what that
meant but had no reason to doubt anything.
He knelt by the bath, put his hand into the water and ran his fingers
across my several times. Then he pulled the plug and told me
to remain sitting while it flowed away. He refilled the bath about six
inches deep then took a washer and soap and bathed me just as he
always did, this time taking much more time over my genitals and
boobs but it seemed the right thing to do, seeing how messy I had
been. Even then, I never realised he was doing any more than caring
for me.
After toweling me down he lifted me into his arms and carried me
back to my room, laying me down on my bed which had been
stripped of covers, leaving just the sheet and a white fluffy towel
right where he placed my bottom. His eyes ran back and forth along
the full length of my body several times as he stood above me. For
the first time I felt uncomfortable, not because I was naked in his
sight for I’d been so every night in the bath. But it was the way he
stood so silently, looking so intensely.
I hesitantly asked him what I should do to stop the bleeding; it was
something I’d been considering from the time I eased myself into the
bath. It was my biggest concern just now; how do stop the blood
from oozing down their legs?
Saying nothing, he took a tissue from the box and peeled both layers
apart and held a single layer between his fingers then told me to lift
my legs towards the ceiling and spread them wide apart. Now this
was definitely more than he had ever done before. This time he could
look right into my bleeding pussy. Why did he want to do this? It
sounded so…, well so gross. The tissue was so thin it could never
soak much of the flow and from the color of the bath water; it
seemed to be oozing so quickly. I was so naïve back then.
Still silent, he leaned over and let the thin leaflet float down over my
spread pussy, patting it against my slit with his fingertips.
“We need to take a sample of your first flow,” he said soothingly as
though that explained everything.
“But that could never soak up what’s coming out, Dad,” I said
innocently.
“Once we have the sample and I inspect your vagina, I’ll teach you
how to wear sanitary pads. They’ll soak up everything.”
In those simple words, all the worry left me. Dad knew what to do so
the problem was solved.
There didn’t seem to be any color forming on the tissue so he placed
his hand right over my crotch and had me roll over onto my tummy,
his hand still cupping my pussy. In a few minutes he peeled the
paper carefully away and held it up for me to see. I remember so
clearly his next words. “I will keep this as a permanent memento of
your first bleeding.” It was such a strange thing to say, I thought.
I was then turned over again and made to hold my apart with
my fingers while he used several tissues to mop up the small amount
of blood that had escaped. While it looked messy and somewhat
ghoulish, I was soon clean and felt more comfortable. He took charge
of my then, running fingertips along the lips, even pushing
slightly inside where I knew he’d feel my hymen (yes, I did know
some things about my body) but I was sure he wouldn’t do anything
to injure the thin membrane. Somehow, I knew the evidence of my
purity was very important to both and Dad so I suppose it was
important to me also.
His fingers felt nice, the way he was stroking me down there. It was
soothing and I just let him continue and in fact closed my eyes as I
took in the pleasures.. After all he was my Dad and he was checking
that things were working down there. In those days there was no
SexEd in schools, especially not the small country school we
attended. Finally he told me everything looked to be working as it
should and patted my several times, smiling down on me as
he did so. I never even tried to stop him; that was the level of my
innocence then. Maybe if my real had parented me properly I
would have known better, or more so, if my new had given me
instructions about molestation and sex in general as I reached
puberty, I would have read the signs much sooner. But that had never
happened.
Thankfully, he then brought out my very first sanitary napkin and
after reading the packet himself, showed me how to place it between
my legs and hold it inside my with safety pins. The first steps
I took once the padding was in place, made me feel as though I
was still wearing diapers, not that I can remember back that far of
course but they sure did fill the vee of my crotch. Thank God for
today’s tampons.
He watched me walk in circles, testing how the pad felt. But I
suddenly realised he was staring at my small the whole time.
For the first time I realised he was thinking dirty thoughts about my
boobies and before long he knew that I knew what he was thinking,
if that makes sense. Instinctively, I covered my mounds with both
hands and tried to get to my robe but he stopped me. It was a
terrifying moment.
Then he broke his gaze and handed me a packet of pills, explaining
that I must take one every evening as I went to bed, to make sure my
monthly periods stayed regular. He showed me how to take the seven
tablets marked with a different color during my period then go on to
the rest of the packet. It was several years before I discovered I had
been taking birth control pills throughout that time.
My other instruction was that I had to ask him for a new pad when
the current one became full. I had no idea how long that would be
and he said that for the first few months he would test each used pad
for its saturation levels against the time I wore it. So my duty was to
hand in the one when I asked for a fresh one. It seemed a bit
embarrassing but I thought it was no great deal and so did as I was
told.
Two other things happened during the day of my very first menstrual
cycle. The first was that my bed was moved into their bedroom so, in
his words, the new wouldn’t be exposed to a having monthly
periods. It seemed a bit harsh because the and I got on quite well
despite our several years age difference. However I had to help him
move the bed and my things into their bedroom. From now on I
would be sleeping right beside their bed which made me
uncomfortable because I did know that husbands and wives had sex
together. It was the ‘how’ that I wasn’t so sure of. Despite some mild
protests on my part, the matter was decided by him, of course.
Then he told me simply that I would be spanked on the first evening
my period had finished. I was devastated because I couldn’t think of
any reason to be punished and he refused to explain why. It was so
unfair but when the time came I learned it was because of
disobedience in covering my from his gaze.
Apart from the un-nerving change-over of sanitary napkins during
the five days of my period, something both he and I took for granted
within a day or so, nothing that I viewed as an intrusion on my
privacy happened at all. Maybe it was simply that I knew no better
for all that took place more than twenty-five years ago, long before
television and computers opened the eyes of the youth of the nation.
I slept beside and Dad and I saw no sign of them doing
anything other than sleep.
Towards the end of the fifth day of my first period, the napkin
showed no staining at all and I simply told Dad it was over. A look of
anticipation grew across his face when he heard that. It was then that
he reminded me of my impending spanking. It had slipped my mind
completely and of course, sent my mind reeling.
Dad had never really spanked me in all the years I’d been with them,
just an occasional one or two slaps across my bottom as I stood
beside him for doing something naughty, so the prospect of an
official spanking for something I was still unaware of, wasn’t very
pleasant at all. More embarrassing was to have it announced to the
whole that evening at supper. The two smirked and
made faces at me, making me blush in fury at them. The just
gasped and looked at me in surprise. actually objected and
asked Dad what it was that I had done that was bad enough for a
spanking. These days, Dad had taken all control of the household
away from Mom; he treated her more as a servant than his and
so she rarely spoke up against anything he said or did.
We all held our breath, waiting for Dad’s reaction to Mom’s
objection. It came with a simple, soft, “None of your business,
woman.” said no more about it.
Before bed that night I received my instructions on how I was to
prepare for my spanking the next evening. It seemed he was going to
make a big production about the whole thing. Straight after dinner,
without being told, I was to shower and wash and dry my hair; I was
to wear one of my cotton nighties and a pair of that he had
already chosen from my draw. They too were cotton and white. By
eight o’clock I had to be kneeling at the foot of my bed, my hands
clasped together behind my back, my face looking to the floor. From
the time he entered the room, I was not to move at all nor make any
sound without his permission and my obedience to his wishes was
paramount.
I clearly remember that evening as though it had happened yesterday.
I had been kneeling in the one spot for what seemed like hours, it
was certainly a long time and my knees were aching terribly but in
Dad’s current mood I dared not shift, knowing he could enter at any
moment. When he finally did, my body froze and I held my breath
lest I make any sound that might earn me more punishment. But he
stood behind me for several minutes so I had to release the air slowly
to remain silent and by then I was desperate to take another breath. I
actually gulped as I filled my aching lungs. He still remained silent
but moved to the end of the bed and sat down so close I could smell
his scent.
I call it that now because I’ve come to cherish my husband’s scent; it
becomes very strong and heady when he’s aroused. But back then,
all I noticed was a slight body odor, not unpleasant but nothing like
Mom smelled.
After a further time of silence he began to lay down many rules that I
would be governed by from then on. I was still kneeling, my face
looking at a particular pattern on the carpet.
Firstly, I could expect to receive a spanking several times a week;
girls of my age have much to learn and a good spanking helps them
remember their responsibilities much quicker than having to be told
over and over again. I wasn’t given permission to respond but
inwardly seethed at the injustice of my lot.
Then I got my first lecture about right and wrong from his point of
view. Wrong, was when I tried to stop him from looking at me when
I was undressing. It was made perfectly clear that as my father, he
had every right to see me any way he wanted so wrong was trying to
cover my private places from his gaze; right was actually displaying
myself more openly. Wrong was disobedience in any way; right was
absolute obedience no matter what he demanded.
My knees were now killing me with aching pains from kneeling in
the one position for so long. He must have known it would be so but
he gave me no choice to move. Consequently it was so difficult to
concentrate on all the things he mentioned and bear the pain as well.
I knew I hadn’t remembered much of what he told me.
One thing that did sink in and has stayed with me all these years was
the way he explained what would happen to me if I told anyone
about what happens between him and me from then on. He made it
perfectly clear that as a government sponsored foster home, his word
would always be accepted as the truth over any complaint I might
make. He went on to explain that foster children who cause trouble
are sent to special guarded sanatoriums where discipline is strict and
terrible. He told me about going there who are raped and
molested every day by special black cruelty guards until they lose all
will to live. Many commit suicide and many are not heard of again. It
put the fear of the devil in me, that did and I lived with it the whole
time I stayed with and Dad.
Wrong was objecting about the things he and I would be doing in the
future; right was accepting those things, which he gives in love and
should be accepted by me in the same way. He didn’t explain what
the things in the future would be and I was too frightened to even
open my mouth, lest he took offence. In fact, I think he was just
waiting for me to object somehow because he stopped talking at
certain points as though it was my turn to respond. But I never did
respond.
Finally he asked me a direct question that I had to answer. “Yes,
Dad, I promise to obey you in anything you ask and I do love you.”
That was what he wanted to hear so that was my answer.
The sigh I heard was indeed telling. He knew he had won; I was his
to be used as he wished.
Now I need to explain something here. I’m sure you can imagine
some of the things I was about to face; of course, he was taking the
first steps towards me becoming his object of sexual gratification. In
my short and somewhat protected life, I had never heard such a term
and while I had come to the realization that Dad wanted to do things
that were naughty for a to do, I never associated the prospect
with something as evil as the sexual degradation of a pre-teen girl.
Pedophilia and were not subjects talked about either in the
press or at school. In fact, small-town schools in those days kept their
students entirely oblivious of the dangers that lurked out there. He
was my Dad, I was his daughter, that’s exactly how it was and if he
decided I needed to be taught certain things that were not spoken
about, then so be it.
I do know I accepted the situation with a certain amount of
trepidation, fearing the unknown things he had hinted at, especially
the impending first spanking of my life. That wasn’t something to
look forward to. But Dad was the head of the house in every way and
so his wishes naturally, had to be obeyed. I wasn’t simply a stupid
young girl; it was just the way it was in my mind.
Having won the battle of wills, it was time to take my punishment. I
was told to stand but that was quite difficult because my knees just
wouldn’t hold me up and Dad had to help me and lead me around the
bedroom for a few minutes. Still facing the floor, he made me lift my
nightie until my were exposed. He just stared for a while and
I saw his penis had grown big and he sheepishly adjusted himself so
it wasn’t poking out so much.
Without saying a word he then sat down and maneuvered me across
his knees, my hands and toes helping me to balance. It was an
uncomfortable position to be in, especially once he made me spread
my feet far apart. I’d closed my eyes tightly in anticipation of the
spanking beginning but he spent some time adjusting my nightie far
up my back so the whole of my were on display. Still his
hand hadn’t landed even one blow. They were however, at work
smoothing down the panties; at least that’s how it felt. His hand was
sweeping back and forth over my bottom cheeks and occasionally
creeping down the crease and almost touching my pussy.
The thought of him molesting me sexually was farthest from my
mind. All I was waiting for was the beating to be over and wondering
if it would be so painful that I would have to cry out. I didn’t have to
wait much longer to learn about that.
Part Three
My Servitude Begins
God, I never realised how much a proper spanking hurt. From the
first swat, I cried out loud, not caring that the whole household could
hear the results. After about the fifth, the burning began. He held me
down with his left hand, pressing tightly against my back while his
right hand did the damage. Both left and right cheeks were
individually targeted, one after the other and his pummeling never let
up.
I was beside myself, shrieking, wriggling across his knees in a vain
attempt to make him miss, kicking my legs up and down, trying to
place my hands over the burning surface but he easily flicked them
away each time. Several times he growled about closing my legs and
gave me extra hard spanks until they were splayed into a wide vee
again. That was when his hand landed inside my thighs and
sometimes directly over my pussy. It was sheer cruelty, the pain he
put me through.
But I knew he enjoyed every moment of my torture because I could
feel his penis poking up against my tummy. It could have been a
thick stick, it felt so hard and I had the distinct feeling he was
grinding it against me.
I don’t know how long it lasted; it seemed like an eternity and his
hand never slowed down one little bit. After a while my strength
began to fade; the kicking and wriggling stopped and my screams of
pain reverted to heavy sobbing and short breaths. I had no energy to
retaliate in any way. Not long after that it was over. At least the
spanking was over but the humiliation continued.
He stood me up, caring nothing for the sobs and tears that still
flowed. Then he turned me around so I was facing away from him
and slipped my down my legs. That shocked me the most. I
had no idea he would do something like that and objected mightily.
His response was to threaten me with his belt if I didn’t co-operate.
With the around my ankles he made me lift my nightie and
patted my legs apart until the were stretched as far as they
would go. Then he whistled his satisfaction, describing how my
bottom was and that he had done a fine job. His hands roamed
everywhere, all over the tender surfaces, down my bottom crease to
tickle my bottom hole; that revolted me at first but soon sent strange
feelings through my body. I knew very well that it wasn’t right when
he cupped my and used a finger to stroke the hairs just above it
but the thought of being strapped kept me absolutely quiet.
I was made to walk to the mirror with the impeding my steps
like a pair of ankle cuffs, if there was such a thing, so I could see the
damage he had done. My body was fairly pale for I rarely got out in
the sun so the crimson bottom cheeks stood out like angry
pimples. The whole area from where my crease started to half way
down the inside and backs of my thighs was raw with spots of
deeper purple in some places. It looked like a shocking injury and I
cried out in despair when I saw the damage. That made him laugh
out loud.
He made me hobble back to him and growled when I let the nightie
fall back into place, covering my exposure. So I lifted it up again to
show him my up close. He’d seen it so many times of course;
every night when he bathed me, even a few days ago when I sat in
the clear bath water when it was bleeding but this way, any
would know wasn’t right.
Fear of repercussion kept me silent. This was when I began to learn
the true facts of life. He held back nothing. I was a and
beautiful and my body made him feel sexy. Mom’s body was
and she didn’t make him feel sexy. Men, meaning him, had needs
women don’t feel and the strongest need was to feel sexy and have
sex with someone who made them feel that way. felt sexy when
they spanked girl’s bottoms; felt sexy when they looked
at naked girls; when they touched naked girl’s bodies,
their and pussies and bottoms.
I was going to take Mom’s place in making him feel sexy and help
him to relieve those sexy feelings. He would spank me often to make
him feel sexy. He would run his hands all over my body to make him
feel sexy. He would buy me clothes that made me look sexy to him.
He would teach me how to look sexy and make him happy. He would
teach me how to kiss him as a sexy woman should. He would teach
me how to touch him to make him feel very sexy and how to relieve
his sexy feelings.
He told me that whatever we did together, would agree with
and she would continue to sleep in our bedroom, watch the things he
did with me and even help me do things to him. In the bedroom from
now on, I was to call him Daddy and Mom, Mummy but just
and Dad elsewhere. He sniggered when he suggested it was a good
time to train me as a lesbian, not that I knew what that was at the
time.
From then on, when I was dressing, I had to remove everything and
stand there showing myself off until he nodded that I could dress. I
was to sleep naked except during my periods when I could wear
panties to hold the pad in place. The day after a spanking I wasn’t
allowed to wear underwear at all, even to school. That shocked me
no end and I was about to object when I saw the look in his eyes,
daring me to say something. When I remained silent he had a smug
look of success on his face. I decided to try and talk him out of the
school thing later.
Whatever happened inside the house was our secret and must never
be spoken about to anyone, never. I’d already had that lecture a few
days ago but he emphasized that if the worst thing happened and the
police were informed about what we were doing together, he and
Mom would probably go to jail and I would be sent to one of those
homes where big black raped every day. It was enough to
keep me quiet for the rest of my days with him. I was also warned
that if I didn’t please him every time or refused to do anything he
wanted, I would be punished naked, in front of the whole house,
meaning the would see everything. He made an excellent case
of why I should obey his every wish and it worked.
Nevertheless, he didn’t always need an excuse to humiliate me in
front of the as I will describe later on.
His speech took quite a while with me holding my nightie away from
my naked pussy. He had a long interrupted view of my sex but when
he finished talking, I soon learned he hadn’t finished with my body
for that day.
“We are going to kiss like lovers before and after every lesson you
receive,” he told me, pulling me between his spread knees. One hand
pulled my face to his, the other pushed my bottom towards his crotch
and he began grinding his sex, which was still in his trousers, against
my available pussy.
The kiss took my breath away, literally. His lips encased mine and I
soon felt his tongue fighting to gain entrance past my teeth. Lots of
saliva passed between us and I had never known such a kiss. I had to
give in and let him win; feeling a man’s tongue fishing about in my
mouth was so strange. For a moment an inspiration hit me; if I bit
down now I could do a lot of damage… of course that lasted only a
heartbeat. But I did think of something else and without being told,
put a hand on his cheek and the other around his neck and kissed
him back as best I could. I knew I couldn’t stop him doing all these
things so decided to join rather than oppose.
Immediately I felt his body relax and he broke the kiss and said, “Oh,
my darling girl, I love you.”
Whether he loved me or rather loved my body, I didn’t care. But
whatever he loved, I thought it would be better for me to acquiesce
than to fight.
Now both hands were pressed against my bottom and he was
grinding himself fiercely. “I have to cum,” he told me almost lovingly
and then I felt a shudder and several throaty groans and he laid back
on the bed asleep… or dead.
“Dad,” I said softly then remembered. “Daddy, are you alright?”
“Huh? Oh, yes. Go to bed, child. I… I have to clean up.” That’s
when I noticed the crotch of his trousers had a large wet stain. I
knew what it was; he had used my body to make his penis shoot
boy’s stuff. The told me about that once; I didn’t believe
him then but now I did. It looked so gross.
I undressed and stood naked for a few seconds but he wasn’t in the
room and I felt stupid. So I slipped under the covers and slept quite
naked. It was a strange feeling.
Sometime later, I’m not sure when but it was quite dark and very
quiet, I was woken by something. I could hear sleeping heavily
nearby and then I realised Dad had got into my bed.
“Dad? Uhm, Daddy, what is it?”
“Be quiet and roll over, no face me,” he added when I laid on my
back.
“What’s the matter? I haven’t done…”
“Kiss your Daddy, baby,” he whispered, pressing his lips over mine.
I instinctively opened my mouth and his tongue slid in.
His hands found my boobies and he began feeling them. It was then I
realised he was as naked as I was.
“You’ve got no clothes on,” I gasped in shock.
He said nothing but used one hand to grab my tender bottom and
pressed it against him. His penis was hard and I thought he was
going to push it in me; to have real sex with me. I squirmed but then
realised he was doing the same, squirming against me. Now he was
rubbing his penis along my tummy, really fast. He was using my
tummy just like this evening but this time there was no clothes
between us. Oh, it felt so large, like a cucumber, I thought to myself.
He kept mumbling things that I didn’t understand but later as I
learned his ways, knew he was talking to himself, urging himself to
shoot his sperm. He was using me to give him another orgasm. It
wasn’t long before the now familiar shudders and deep groaning
arose and his penis began to throb then shoot sperm between us. It
took quite a while before the spurting stopped and then he just held
me against him. We were lying face to face and it was so dark I
couldn’t see his features at all so wasn’t sure whether he had gone to
sleep like earlier. I just lay still wondering what would happen next.
It wasn’t earth shattering. Several minutes of silence then he moved
away and took my hand and wiped it over his discharge. “That’s my
spunk, baby. Rub it into your skin; it’s good for your complexion.”
Then he slipped out and I heard their bed creaking as he slipped
under the covers.
My first feel of sperm wasn’t as exciting as it may have been; it was
so gooey and slippery that I felt nauseous. And it had dribbled
everywhere, across my boobies, and all over my tummy and because
I was lying on my side it had drained down over the bottom sheet. I
didn’t know what to do so just laid still, waiting for some miracle to
take it away. When I woke the next morning I was stuck to the sheet.
I had to peel myself off.
At breakfast the next morning, Dad gave us all the same speech I’d
had about not speaking to anyone about anything that happens within
the house. He went on and on and the two kept looking at me,
knowing smiles and winks all in my direction.
“You whooped her good last night, Dad. We heard her squeals all
over the house. I bet she’s got a sore bum today,” the elder
finally broke Dad’s speech. I was so pleased when Dad took him to
task and reminded that was just one of the things no-one will be
talking about outside the and to labor the point, informed him
that he would be receiving a similar spanking this evening. “It’s for
your own good, boy,” Dad added. I almost clapped my hands.
When the and had left for school, called me back.
She was almost crying and after a few moments told me she knew
what Dad had done and that she was sorry but she had no way of
stopping him touching me. I knew she didn’t and assured her I
understood. I said something like it was a girl’s lot to make
happy which made her gasp then come to my side and draw my face
to her breast. “Do your best, child” she said simply as she let me go.
I survived the day at school without underwear and when Dad got
home the first thing he did was put his hand under my skirt to check
for any offending clothing. He told me I was a good girl.
If I screamed, the shrieked the whole way through his beating. It
made me feel so proud to know he was louder than I was. Three
years and ten times the baby I was or at least that’s what I
thought.
I received a spanking about three or four times a week for several
weeks, the only difference to my first was that I had to stand in front
of Dad and remove all my clothes. All spankings were in the nude.
First was the lovers kiss, next a good feeling up of all my girl-parts,
including pubic hair pulling from which I wasn’t allowed to back
away, remaining absolutely silent while the pulling took place. It sure
hurt a lot. Stroking and massaging and squeezing, even twisting of
my was another game he liked but something we both
enjoyed began to creep in. That was his of my boobies. He
lathed the whole surfaces and like a baby for several minutes
which excited me as well and he knew it.
He had begun to stroke my sex in recent days, just over the outer lips
and it always gave him an erection which tented his trousers
outwards. I liked the sensations it gave me but wondered if this was
how a girl’s orgasm felt. It was as good a feeling as I had ever
experienced and was pretty sure it was.
After his gropings came my spanking. Sometimes it was easier than
the first time but often he hit me longer and harder. I shrieked too
during those ones and the sniggered at breakfast the following
morning. I hated them knowing I had been spanked again.
Two things happened on one evening that took my punishments to
new heights of humiliation. Firstly he made come to witness all
that he did to me, the sex things and the beating. I know she didn’t
want to be there but it was just another thing that excited him. I was
slowly learning that once Dad did something new to me, he looked
for the opportunity of doing something extra the next time. And so it
was this night.
Everyone had been sent to bed early; he’d literally threatened
to get to the bedroom; he’d made me strip naked and mauled my
privates for a long feel up, describing his thoughts of my body parts
to as he progressed and then he’d spanked my bare bottom. It
wasn’t such a hard beating and I kept my cries as quiet as I could to
ease Mom’s anguish. Then he progressed to the next level for the
evening.
Mom was sitting up against the headrest as a silent observer and he
made me get on hands and knees, my bottom facing straight towards
Mom. She actually refused his demand that she should hold my
bottom cheeks apart which made Dad furious. His face went and
he hissed in her face something I couldn’t believe he’d say. He told
her that if she didn’t do it right now, he would give her to both the
boys for their enjoyment. After a moment’s pause I felt her hands
pushing my globes apart. It was indeed embarrassing for both of us.
I felt something cold touch my bottom and then a finger drove
itself deep inside. He had lubricated the entrance then penetrated my
bottom. Except for his tongue in my mouth he had never penetrated
any of my openings before. I can still remember the sensation. It
wasn’t that it so much but the shock of something so dirty, so
obscene, as doing this. It was something I’d never even heard of
before, entering a girl’s bottom with a finger. I mean, who
would do such a thing? Dad would of course, but why?
And it felt as though I needed to go to the something urgent.
But soon he was pushing in and out, sometimes quickly, sometimes
slow and he was talking to as he did it.
“Oh, shit she’s tight, I have to take her. You’ll have to get an enema
bag. From now on, when she’s due for a spanking, you’ll clean her
out that afternoon. Understand, woman?”
Where will he have to take me? I wondered. What will have to
clean out? What’s an amena bag? I just didn’t understand. Actually,
Mom tried to object but shut up halfway through her first sentence. I
couldn’t see what he had done to make her stop but it sure worked.
His other hand now began to squeeze my and lightly pinch
the nipples which made me feel strangely nice but guilty at the same
time. By now I was enough to know that men, especially fathers
shouldn’t touch like this yet he was doing it right in front of
Mom and she never even tried to stop him.
When he saw I was becoming upset he sneered straight at me and
said, “You’re big enough to make me happy now, kid. Always
wanted a young’un to fool around with and the time has come when
you’re going to learn how to do that. Now go and get your and
get into the bath. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Well at least I had the to protect me somewhat. He never seemed
to do much to me when she was with me in the bath. I suppose the
way he washed us down, the way he ran his hands over us was
alright for a to do but when he did in the bedroom, it definitely
wasn’t.
However, things changed that day. We both got soaped and washed
down, his hands all over both our bodies, especially between my legs
and on my but it was nothing out of the ordinary. That was
until he’d finished bathing us as usual. Then he told me to stay in the
bath while he dried off the who was then sent off to bed. We
usually always went to bed together.
As soon as she’d left he actually stripped all his clothes off and got
into the bath with me, his cock all hard and pointing upwards. It was
a strange feeling, having him squeeze his legs along my sides as he
pulled me closer to him and his cock which was soon poking against
my stomach, just above my pussy.
He asked me what I was staring at, knowing full well it was his cock;
it just fascinated me seeing it up close like this.
“Like my beauty, do you, kid?”
“Huh? Uhm, no… I mean… I’m sorry, Daddy. I didn’t mean to
stare.”
“Tonight you’re going to learn how to make your Daddy a happy
man, girl. Touch it.”
I looked up into his face and his eyes darted back at me, daring me to
disobey him. I could hardly believe he’d said such a thing but I knew
he meant it. Lately, he’d been giving me a slap on the behind when I
didn’t please him, but it seemed to me that most of the slaps were for
no reason at all. I was becoming quite cautious of upsetting him in
any way. I was sure this was one of those times because he looked
so intense as he sat there facing me, his cock bobbing up above the
water level and poking into me. Yes he definitely wanted me to take
hold of it. It was very scary.
“Looking for a belting, kid?” he asked sarcastically.
So I took it in my hand. I couldn’t believe how hard it felt, not like
flesh at all, just hard and lumpy where several veins stood out and
the point was all dark and shiny.
Soon he had me masturbating him, not that I knew what it was called
at the time but I was jerking him off and he was enjoying it very
much, that was for sure. I kept glancing up into his eyes to make sure
it was what he wanted. His face seemed to be glazed over, an
occasional grunt as he lay back against the end of the bath, staring up
at the ceiling. I stopped for a moment wondering if he was alright
and he slapped me across my cheek with his hand.
“When I want you to stop I’ll tell you, girl, now get on with it.”
The longer it went, the more I hated it. I knew it was sex. I knew I
shouldn’t be doing it and I knew he couldn’t care less about that. All
he wanted was for me to continue rubbing my hand along his cock.
Then without warning, his whole body shuddered and he let out a
soft grunting moan and white shot out the end of his cock all
over my chest and face.
It gave me such a shock I squealed and tried to push myself
backwards away from the streams that seemed to be aimed straight at
me. As my hand let go, he took hold of his own cock and almost like
a fire hose, directed the streams straight at my chest. It made me feel
nauseous and I almost threw up all over him, stopping only as he
growled at me to sit still.
I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there between his legs; my arms
half spread out, as I looked down at the slimy strings of sperm that
were slowly oozing down my body.
He had slid down so his head rested on the edge of the bath, his eyes
closed, his breathing coming in fast short breaths as he held my arm
to make sure I didn’t escape. All I wanted was to get rid of the
sickening but wasn’t sure what I should do. Finally he sat up and
after looking at me for a few seconds, roared with laughter.
“Shit, girl, you look the of misery. You’d better get used to it
because there’ll be plenty more where that came from,” he giggled as
he wiped his hand across my boobs, spreading his sperm everywhere.
All I could do was burst into tears.
God, it is so clear in my mind even today, all those years ago.
He finally washed me down and sent me off to bed. I wasn’t sure if
Mom was still awake but as I slipped between the sheets I was pretty
sure I caught her closing her eyes as I glanced over.
This was the beginning of nearly three years of sexual molestation at
my so-called father’s hands.
I hardly slept at all that night, reliving the horrible scenes over and
over, sobbing silently and knowing I had no choice but to obey him.
It had become almost a dream sequence in my mind but the one thing
it didn’t do was affect my schooling. Somehow, I’d suffer his
indignities which soon became more and more intrusive and
despicable, yet my school work never suffered. To this day I still
don’t know why that was but possibly school was my retreat; there, I
was out of his clutches. Teachers were caring and friendly, someone
I could talk to without being shouted down or belittled. They had no
idea of the treatment I was receiving at home and I certainly couldn’t
bring myself to telling anyone of my predicament, it was just too
embarrassing.
Part Four
Sexual Slavery takes many forms
The bath sex became almost a daily ritual. We’d both be bathed by
Dad, then the is sent to bed and he strips naked and joins me in
the bath.
Sometimes I just had to stroke him until he shot his sperm all over
me but as the weeks went by he had me doing it in other ways. One
of his favorites was to lay back in the bath, his legs spread against
each side with me laying up his body so my stomach was pressing
against his cock. Then I had to move myself up and down pressing
my stomach against his cock, to give him the sensations he had
become addicted to.
While this was going on, his hands were all over my bottom,
squeezing and stroking, pressing into my crease, tickling my bottom
hole which I tried to hold tight shut but that wasn’t easy, moving
myself along his cock at the same time. His breath was usually sickly
stale but that didn’t stop him kissing me all over my face and even
licking me everywhere so my face was as wet as the rest of me.
It was quite revolting and he knew I hated it but I think that was the
reason he kept doing such gross things. Looking back, he just loved
the absolute control he held over everything I did.
So I kept up my movements until I felt the telltale shudders and
groans as his sperm spilled between us. My job after he had
recovered was to wash him clean of his discharges then he quickly
left me to clean myself off and go to bed.
I’m sure knew he was doing things to me because she always
looked so guilty when I came back to the bedroom. Even now, I
never blamed her however because she was under his power just as I
was. If she refused him anything, she would often have bruises to
show for it the next morning.
It wasn’t long, maybe a few weeks after the first time I masturbated
him, that his mistreatment of me became so blatant he never even
bothered to hide anything from her. Quite often I’d be pulled into
bed with him, lying on his other side while I was expected to
make his cock hard with my hands.
She really became upset the first time, getting out of bed and coming
around to my side, trying to pull me off the bed, not harshly, just to
get me away from his grasp. But he soon put a stop to her efforts by
slapping her really hard across her face. It was so hard, the crack of
his hand echoed throughout the house and she was thrown to the
floor. Still whimpering, she got back into bed just as he told her to.
That first time was terrible. She lay on her side, facing away and
weeping silently. I could even feel the bed rocking from her tremors
but all Dad wanted was for me to “please” him. While he used me to
bring him to climax in the bath nearly every night, I was also
masturbating him two or three times a week in their bed as well.
Sometimes I would have to roll over and he would simply rub
himself against my bottom crease until he all over my
back, pushing me out as soon as he’d finished spurting. So it was
another trip to the bathroom to sponge off all his stickiness.
One night though, after he’d splashed his discharge all over my
stomach, he pushed my head downwards. “Suck me clean, little
whore,” he demanded almost casually.
I didn’t understand. “What?”
“Get down there and suck me clean, you stupid bitch. You made my
cock filthy so you can clean your mess up.”
The thought turned my stomach and I dry-retched, making him angry
enough to slap my face. It wasn’t hard but it was the first time he hit
me anywhere but on the bottom.
“Mom?” I asked, looking towards her. She tried to reach out to me
but he slapped her hand away.
“Do it now, bitch or I’ll take the skin off your hide.”
What choice did I have? Thirteen years and bullied by a
who seemed to have no compassion at all. I was half sitting up, my
stomach dripping his sperm down into my lap, feeling unclean and
desperately wanting to go and wipe away his emissions. He was
lying on his back, his wet prick, now small and wizened, curled up
on his pubic hairs where a small puddle of his final discharges had
pooled and soaked down through the black forest. How could anyone
want such a gross act to be performed? But there was no way I could
refuse.
I picked the floppy organ between finger and thumb and with eyes
closed, touched it tentatively with my tongue. His hand pressed me
downwards until my face was mashed against the wetness and his
deep voice told me to clean him up. Just the feel of the wetness
against my face was disgusting; to actually lick and suck the fluids
became the most terrible act of my life.
I soon realised there was little taste; it was just the very act of having
to lick the away that turned my stomach. I knew I had to fight
the sensations of needing to vomit right there and then for that would
have courted disaster. Finally it was over and he let me rise. Most of
the discharge that he’d squirted over me had pooled in the vee where
my legs and crotch were clamped tightly together and I had to
actually sweep that up with my hand as best I could or it would have
spilled all over his bed when I rose to go to the bathroom.
But I wasn’t given even that privilege this night. As soon as I stood I
was ordered into my own bed. “You can clean it off in the morning,”
he told me with a smile on his face, just another reminder I was
under his complete control. The sheets clung to the wetness and it
seemed like hours before I finally dozed off. It was like removing
sticking plaster the next morning as I peeled back the sheets that had
dried against my flesh during the night.
In the bath the next evening, I was given my first lesson in fellatio
and not long afterwards learned that it was a woman’s responsibility
to her man’s discharge every time.
After that, I became what Dad called, his “little cocksucker”, and he
took great delight in making watch as I him off right in
front of her. The look of helplessness and sorrow on her face gave
me some hint of comradeship but we both knew there was no way
she could do anything to stop him abusing me as he did.
My abuse slowly grew in subtle ways until one evening; it was
who came to bath me after Dad had bathed the girl. We were alone
and kept on telling me how sorry she was but she had to do
whatever Dad told her to, just the same as I did. I knew that was
right; his ill-treatment now commonplace.
After my bath she made me bend over, holding the side of the bath
for balance. Unbeknown to me, I was about to receive the first of
many, many enemas Dad demanded. hooked some kind of bag
over the shower curtain rod and warned me not to move until she
said to. I felt her fiddling about with my bottom then the
pressure of something being pushed inside. I wriggled and
complained until she explained what was happening. It didn’t
and I found out later that the nozzle wasn’t much larger than a
pencil, but as the fluid grew inside my colon, it became most
uncomfortable.
Even after the bag had completely emptied into my bowels and the
nozzle removed, I was made to stand still, half leaning over as I
balanced against the bath. She warned me several times that I had to
wait “for it to work”; telling me to make sure I never let a drop spill
out. That was all very well but my belly felt so full I desperately
wanted was to waste it all down the toilet. I still wasn’t aware of the
true purpose for having to endure the discomfort and embarrassment;
that was to come later in the evening.
Finally, I was given permission to flush the fluids away. It felt so
good it made my teeth itch and I gave a great sigh of relief when the
final splatterings were delivered.
She bathed me again, making much of cleaning my nether regions
and then took me to our bedroom and installed me into their bed. I
was left alone there for a long time, several hours probably.
They both came to bed together, leaning down to whisper in
my ear. “I’m sorry, Kay. I tried to stop him but I couldn’t. Just let
him do it, baby. Try to relax, that’s what you need to do”.
“What’s he…” I began but my words were cut off with an order to
get over onto my hands and knees. I realised then I was going to get
another beating. He did this to me quite often these days. A spanking
or his belt over my bottom; he just loved doing it and it made his
cock hard so the end was inevitable. I would suck him until he shot
his stuff again.
By then I was nearing fifteen and these things were commonplace.
My nudity in his presence was almost mandatory and his hands
roamed all over me at will. The fact that I’d become accustomed to
all the indignities he laid on me didn’t stop the seething deep down.
That was something I tried desperately to avoid because I knew it
would only fester away inside if I let it but when I got a beating for
nothing other than to serve his own arousal it made me so mad.
So there I was, on hands and knees, legs wide apart so he could slip
his fingers wherever he wanted, waiting for the belt to land. I pressed
my face into the pillow to cushion my loud screams when the pain
grew stronger.
But neither the belt fell nor his hands wander. Instead, they were
rather soothing, running softly along my backbone as he crawled up
behind me.
“You’re enough now, kid,” was all he said as he knelt up and
took hold of my breasts. This was different. He hadn’t touched me
like this before; it was sort of loving, I thought for those few
moments. Then I felt his cock nudge my bottom crease and looked
around to see holding his cock straight at me. I thought I was
going to be raped and tried to pull away but his hold on my
tightened so hard, I cried out in pain.
“Just take it easy kid, it’ll be better for you,” he warned me as I felt
his cock poke against my bottom hole. He wasn’t going to rape me
after all, I sighed silently. That was until his poking became
menacing and I knew then that he was trying to push his thing inside
my bottom.
I couldn’t believe it. He was trying to… He was trying to actually
push his cock up inside my bottom. I’d never even heard of such a
thing, not even from the at school. I wriggled and cried out for
him to stop but all I got was a heavy smack against my which
hurt so much I shrieked with pain. All the time he held my other
boobie and my shoulder firmly so I couldn’t get away and pushed his
cock all the harder against my bottom hole. He was breathing hard
and fast with exertion.
Oh, God, it hurt. The sheer strength he had, even when I was
desperately trying to clench my bottom closed, was no match for me
and I groaned and cried out in pain as he finally got the head inside.
He was tearing my apart, I cried out several times but there was
no stopping his desires. Even now, I can’t describe the feelings that
were racing through my mind. Revulsion; hate; hurt, lots of that;
disbelief, not only at the fact of what he was doing but that was
helping, all these things roared through my head in one mighty
storm.
I had no where to turn. There was no-one to come to my aid. I just
had to let him have his way. Yes, I was being raped but in such a
filthy and disgusting way. How could anyone think of doing
something like this?
The deeper he got inside, the more it and the more I desperately
wanted to go to the toilet. My bottom felt as though it was so full, if I
didn’t go right now, I’d soil myself and get into even more trouble.
I really don’t know how deep inside he pressed but the awful truth
was that he was there and now he began to move back and forth.
Instead of me using my hands to make him discharge, or of him
rubbing his thing against my stomach, he was rubbing himself back
and forth inside my bottom.
He was saying things too but I took no notice. It was filth like he
always espoused when he was nearing his climax which gave me
some heart because he might finish soon. But the burning pain right
at my bottom and the cramps I was having in my stomach were
excruciating. I know I was crying piteously, pleading for him to stop
but he took no notice. Like always, only his pleasure mattered.
Then the groans; then the shudder; then the swearing as his cock
pulsed and he spurted deep inside. Soon he was finished and with no
word of compassion, slumped back onto the bed with the words I’d
become well accustomed to. “Suck it clean, bitch.”
Surely he didn’t mean that? Not after where it had been. No, not that;
please, not that. But as usual I had no choice.
Get it over with, I told myself desperate to get to the bathroom and
see how much damage he’d done to my bottom hole. It was still
burning something dreadful. So I took it between my lips and
my own juices from him. Admittedly, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it
would be. Slightly bitter but no brown marks or anything and I
suddenly remembered the enema had given me. She had
removed all that from me only a few hours ago.
Surprisingly, when I finally escaped to the bathroom and felt
between my legs and used a hand mirror to look down there, I found
no sign of bleeding or any damage at all. It had dreadfully but I
wasn’t damaged, except for my pride, of course.
It was dark when I slipped under the covers of my own bed. I heard
some rustling and felt Mom’s hand on my shoulder. “Are you alright,
Kay?”
I tried to remain silent but emotions overflowed and so did my tears.
She heard of course and I couldn’t pretend any longer. “It still hurts
down there. It was cruel,” I whimpered.
“I’m sorry, baby. Are you bleeding?”
When I told her I wasn’t, she continued. “You know I can’t stop him,
he’s too strong. I pleaded with him not to do it but he has wanted to
for a long time. It will get easier but I’ve got to tell you he will want
this more and more. You’ll grow up before long and then you can
run away; it’s the only way, child,” she said, pressing her face to
mine and kissing me on the cheek.
Run away? How could I do that? I don’t know anyone and there’s no
way I’d ever find my real and Dad, not that they’d care
anyway, I had decided long ago. And I had no money at all and knew
I’d have to have some before I dared do something like that. But the
thought did take up much of my mind from then on.
Anal rape never improved. It always hurt. He never once used any
lubrication and so when he wanted it again, I learned to rub some
spit over my before he began to push inside. But it was the
stretching that the most. Often I’d sleep with them the whole
night and knew it was to give him access to my bottom. Rarely did he
want anything but this now and his favorite way was to spoon me,
his arms around my body so he could access my boobies and I had to
press my bottom back against his cock. He took his relief going to
sleep almost immediately while his cock was still pushed inside.
Woe betide me if I let it slip out before he slept.
The only other way he used me those days was to give me a daddy of
a spanking, me crying out for him to stop so the whole house heard
and then having to kneel on hands and knees while he raped me.
The of course heard most of the noise although I was sure they
didn’t know about the sex and rapes but they teased me mercilessly,
the next day. The who by now was nearly eighteen seemed
to take much more interest in me also. He never tried to touch me but
I often caught him, looking at me strangely. I knew both of them
would take looks up my skirt whenever they got the chance. It was a
nervous time.
Part Five
Mom’s Advice Finally Taken
As I’d learned a long time before, once Dad did something new to
me there was always something more he wanted before long. He
always wanted more. I had thought over this many times because I
couldn’t think of anything else he could do to me after using my
bottom the way he did. Nothing else except…!
I knew what real sex was, not that I’d tried it, of course but there
were books and newspapers often carried that opened my eyes
to the things adults do.
However, when he announced to the whole household over
breakfast, that I would be getting disciplined that evening, I read no
more into it other than Dad wanted to be aroused again, nothing new
at all. But he had never made a public announcement like that before.
All went smoothly that evening; dinner was normal, the girl’s bath
was normal and after she left, he gave me a good feel up which was
pretty normal as well. I expected to be made to him but
none of that happened this night. Instead he made me lay back in the
bath and stood directly over me.
“This is just a taste of what is to come, bitch,” he said callously and
then immediately began to over my body. It took a few moments
to realise the enormity of the degradation he was carrying out.
“Open your mouth, bitch,” he hissed as the spray hit my face. A kick
on the bottom was enough to make me obey and I found myself
tasting and spewing his vile stream out as fast as I could. Even so,
much became swallowed as he poured his deep inside. To
breathe I had also to swallow. By the time I’d decided to escape from
the torrent that was aimed at me, he’d finished his business and
stood looking down at me, a sneer on his face. “I’ll do this whenever
I want from now on, bitch. Next time, you’d better start swallowing
or you’ll get much worse,” he threatened.
What could be any worse than this? The question flooded through
my mind and terrible images surfaced.
After he’d put his prick away, he washed me down with his hands,
feeling me up again before he stood up.
I was told was to dry myself and go into the living room in my
nightdress, bra and panties. Now that was something new too. I
never wore underwear to bed and rarely did at any time other that to
school. I daren’t ask him why because that would have been treated
as impertinent so I simply did as I was told.
It took me quite a while to recover from the trauma he had just put
me through but I eventually carried out his instructions.
The next shock though, came soon afterwards. I walked into the
living room and found not only and Dad there but the
as well. He smirked at me knowingly and could hardly contain
himself from outright laughter. I knew Dad had found a new way to
humiliate me.
“Come in, bad girl,” Dad said in an exaggerated voice, holding a
long cane in both hands. He’d caned me a few times before which
weren’t at all pleasant, leaving dark welts on my bottom and thighs
that lasted two weeks or more. And it far worse than all the
other belts and paddles he used on me.
“I’ve decided you need twenty strokes for being such a bad girl, and
it’s about time the learned how naughty should be handled.
It won’t be long before he’s enough to punish you himself.”
I couldn’t believe even Dad could be so cruel. Not only was I being
beaten for no reason, but this smirking, self-righteous was here
to witness my humiliation. At least I had my underwear on so he
wouldn’t see me undressed the way I always was when Dad did it in
private. But I couldn’t bring myself to simply accept something as
terrible as having the as a spectator.
“No, you can’t let him stay, Dad. It’s not right. It’s embarrassing,” I
declared with all the affront I could muster.
“That little outburst has earned another five strokes, girl.”
“Nooo,” I whined.
“Want to make it more?”
More? I’d never been beaten even twenty times before let alone more
and with a cane at that. It was cruel. I was a prisoner and had no
rights at all.
I remained silent, shaking my head in despair.
“Good then stand up.”
I stood.
“Remove your panties, girl.”
My eyes shot up to his, scarcely believing what he had told me.
“Remove…? No, you can’t make me,” I cried in horror.
“If you don’t slip then down right now, I’ll have the do it for
you,” he warned me, threateningly.
Oh, of all the humiliations he had dumped on me over the years, this
was the most terrible… But I knew I had no choice, hate it though I
did.
I could see the smirking, giggling at my predicament and I saw
the tent in his trousers.
As I stepped out of my panties, Dad told me to hand them to the
for safe keeping. It was beyond humiliation. I couldn’t believe he
would make me do such things. I had endured many of the worst
days of my life over the last few years but this was the worst ever.
Mom did nothing to help me.
I looked at Dad and saw the determination in his eyes, so picked up
the underpants and reached out in the boy’s direction, not daring to
look his way. They were quickly snatched.
“What else are you wearing, bad girl?” Dad demanded. The
humiliation grew deeper.
“Just… Just my nightie and my… And my bra,” I sighed.
“You know how I want you for punishment, bad girl,” he growled
despite the fact it was him who made me wear the bra. I looked at
Dad trying to understand what he meant but he just glared back,
smacking the cane in the palm of his other hand. When I didn’t
move, he cocked an eyebrow as much to say, ‘Well, what are you
waiting for?”
In despair, I carried out the difficult task of extracting each arm from
my nightie to divest myself of the bra which now lay on the floor
beside me. The next task was always the same. I turned my back on
Dad, bent over and raised the hem of my nightie so he had clear
access to my buttocks and thighs.
“Take it off, bad girl. You don’t deserve the privilege of protecting
your modesty at all, after what you’ve done.”
After what I’ve done? I didn’t do anything; this was just his sadistic
idea of enjoyment, my humiliation being used to stimulate his
arousal. And he used the to increase that humiliation a hundred
times over.
“The boy…?” I reminded Dad to no avail. The warning was in his
eyes.
Well, I certainly wasn’t going to give the any more show of my
privates than I had to, so turned my back to him as I lifted the nightie
over my head. I stood facing Dad in my nudity but all the could
see was my naked behind. That gave me some satisfaction but not for
long.
“Stand there, bend over and hold the chair then spread your legs, bad
girl,” he said, pointing to a chair right beside the boy. I’d be facing
him and when I leaned over my boobies would be hanging just
inches from his face. I knew it was a set-up and I knew I had no
choice.
“Oh, shit,” the gasped as I stood beside him, showing off every
secret place a had. I can’t remember blushing but my face must
have been crimson with embarrassment. To emphasize his power of
domination, Dad then felt me all over; my boobs, and bottom,
letting the see everything he did. All I could do was close my
eyes as tightly as I could to stop the flow of tears that began to well
up deep inside.
Then I was caned. It was excruciating torture and after the first two
or three strokes, I cried out for mercy after every one, saliva and
mucus fouling my face, my legs trembling to stay upright for I was
warned of much worse if I dared move.
The was irrelevant now, despite his cruel laughter and
occasional urging for Dad to lay it on harder. All I could concentrate
on was to weather the storm and survive the twenty five strokes. I
had no idea how many I’d already taken when Dad suddenly
stopped. It was over; at least the caning was over but not my
humiliation.
Dad handed me a towel to clean my face then as though heaping
humiliation on humiliation, I was made to thank the for
witnessing my punishment. The smug look as he lay back in his chair
waiting for my response was devastating. It was impossible to find
the words to describe my feelings, even now. But apologize I did, in
word only, certainly not with any meaning.
“Well, boy, now you can see what a looks like. What do you
think?”
“Oh, shit, Dad, I love it. She’s got great and a cunt,” he said with
all the authority of a sleazebag.
“Sure she has, and a great ass as well. Tomorrow, she’ll begin to
teach you how to be a man. Hear that, girl. You’ve been chosen to
teach the how to fuck girls.”
“Nooo,” I cried out in terror. Surely he was teasing? Tormenting?
But his eyes didn’t say that; his eyes said exactly what his lips had
just spoken. Even started to object but as usual she shut up in
mid-sentence.
“Why not? You’ll learn too. You have to learn how to fuck
sometime. It’s not as though he’s your brother, is it? So tomorrow
we’ll start. Before long you’ll become a real woman and then you
can show me all you’ve learned from him.”
He’d called me a whore many times when he used me for his own
pleasure but now, I was about to become everyone’s real whore. I
couldn’t understand how this once loving could have changed
so much since I began to grow up. Now, many years later, it was
more obvious; pubescent girl, desiring ever-
increasing sexual pleasures, who had the power to demand
things most good wouldn’t. Dad had changed from caring
parent to monster as my grew; that was the real truth of it all.
I was surprised Dad didn’t use me that night but I was left in peace
in my own bed although sleep didn’t come at all. My mind raced the
whole night, imagining the boy… Oh, God, surely Dad didn’t mean
it… But I knew he meant every word.
Mom’s words finally came back to me. ‘When you grow up you can
run away. It’s the only way.’
Well I was certainly about to grow up in Dad’s eyes. The very
thought of being made to let the do those things… I just
couldn’t. Yet how could I run away from it all? I was fifteen for
goodness sake; fifteen, with not a cent to my name. And I was about
to be raped by my foster brother.
It dawned on me sometime during the night. Anything was better
than waiting for what Dad had in store the next day; anything. Plans
began to form and be cast out. Then they filled out and became
realistic and workable.
As dawn arrived and the room lightened, I looked over towards
and found her studying me closely. “I’m going,” I mouthed silently to
her. “I’m going away.”
She nodded. She understood.
I tried to do all the normal things that morning. I dressed for school,
packed my lunch and came to the table for breakfast. The was in
high spirits, laughing and smirking as I sat down.
“Great day, isn’t it, little sis?” He sneered, full of innuendo. “Hot
damn, I look forward to tonight. Yep, great time ahead, don’t you
think?”
“Why’s it a great time?” The younger asked.
“Aw, shit, it’s nothin’ for you, kid, just me and the here.”
More questions but I remained silent and un-cooperative. There was
no way I was going to spell out what Dad was going to do to me.
Finally it was time for us to leave for school.
“I’ve got some books to get,” I told them when they waited at the
door for me. “I’ll catch up later.”
When they left, I looked at and she came to my side and
hugged me. “It’s the right thing, Kay. It’s time you left,” she said,
putting an arm around my shoulder. Then she pushed something into
my hand. “It’s all I’ve got, baby. Use it as best you can.” It was cash.
Quite a few notes but I didn’t bother to count them just then.
“I’m sorry, Mom, but I have to go. I can’t let him…”
“I know child. Look after yourself, won’t you? I… I’m so sorry I
couldn’t protect you. He changed; he was a lovely once.”
“I know, Mom. Give this to Dad when he gets home,” I said giving
her an envelope. I’d written a small note threatening him I would
divulge everything he’d done to me if he ever tried to find me and
that if he ever touched the the way he did me, I would turn up to
collaborate her to the police. I knew there was no way I could
really help the once I left but hoped my threat would give her
some protection.
She was only reason I felt any guilt at leaving and keep telling myself
to this day that she wasn’t abused after he read my note. I told
she had to threaten Dad with being reported if he ever tried to touch
the and promised she would. I just hope she kept her
promise.
We hugged then I left. Originally I was going to hitch a ride on the
highway but Mom’s hundred dollars let me catch a train to the city
within an hour of leaving.
Part Six
Street Kids
A small case with a few clothes and seventy dollars in cash left over
wasn’t much to help me start a new life. I sat on the Railway steps
for several hours after arriving in the city, not knowing where to go
or what to do. There were other kids sitting about too and when it
got dark, a couple of came over and asked me what I was doing.
They seemed OK and when I told them I had nowhere to go they
took me with them to an dilapidated house where they ‘crashed’
each night, they told me in their terminology. There were six or
seven kids, mostly with a couple of all about my own age,
living in this place. The first night I laid on bare floorboards but the
next morning one of the brought a mattress from somewhere
and told me it was a gift.
It took a while to understand their ways but the one thing I realised
early was that no-one ever put pressure on me in any way. They all
seemed to want a peaceful life. It wasn’t exactly true of course.
pestered me and the other for sex and sometimes a would
relent and give him access. One of the went out and ‘did
tricks’ each night. At first I thought she was a street performer until
it was explained what it really meant.
It shocked me but it was that who provided us with regular
supplies of food and drink. We all drank alcohol, me for the first time
but I soon became addicted to it as all the others were. It took away
the pain of loneliness and deprivation. I’d used all the money I had
providing food but that didn’t last long. What it did do however, was
to buy my entry to the group permanently. I had become one of them.
Soon I learned where to scrounge food; from the supermarket bins
where out-of-date bread and other stuff was dumped, the markets
where overripe fruit and vegetables were discarded. I also learned
how to steal as well; how to create a diversion so others could rush in
and take a handful of something before the shopkeeper could react.
Usually it was food but sometimes more expensive stuff that was
sold in pubs and street corners.
The police spoke to us at times but we were lucky enough never to
be caught with stolen goods or the like. It was certainly different
from a normal life, as though I knew what that was, but we didn’t
starve. Some of the kids took drugs, mostly weed or pills but I told
myself I never wanted to get into that. I’d seen the result on some of
them, especially who got themselves hooked and swore never to
get involved.
But drugs were the cause of most of the arguments within our group.
We were usually peaceful but arguments did arise and were usually
resolved by one or more, beating another up. too, but it was
mostly boys.
I turned seventeen with this group and we celebrated with a box of
beer confiscated from the bench of a drive through liquor store, late
one night. After we’d disposed of most of it, one of the decided
it was time I ‘put out’. I well knew what that was all about by then.
In fact, I’d seen almost all the having sex with the at one
time or another. Nothing was sacred between us. If they wanted it,
they did it in front of everyone. Sometimes we cheered them on. But
I was the only one who hadn’t gone all the way. I’d and
stroked all the off from time to time and lain naked while they
stroked me all over but I declared my and behind were out of
bounds for anything else.
That was simply accepted by the all the way through but alcohol
got the better of this one on my birthday. After a few tries at
cajoling me to spread myself for him, he became abusive and
punched me squarely in the face. Before I knew it he was between
my legs, trying to get his cock out of his jeans when my two closest
girlfriends tackled him and pulled him off.
Still dazed from the attack, I scurried out of the house and began
wandering aimlessly, not realising my nose was bleeding profusely. It
was quite late, well after midnight and there was no way I was going
back to the squat that night. Worn out, I leaned against a shop
window and slid down until I was squatting on the footpath, bawling
my eyes out.
That was when I felt a hand touch my shoulder and I looked up into
the eyes and a most gracious Salvation Army lady.
Part Seven
Rehabilitation
I don’t remember much more until I found myself being tucked into a
soft warm bed by this same lady. She smiled and told me she would
come and visit me in the morning; then we could talk things over.
Noises woke me to find I was sleeping in a dormitory with several
other who were already dressed.
“You can shower in there,” one of them pointed out. Shower? I
hadn’t had a shower in over a year, but I should point out, we did
wash ourselves every day in the squat; we weren’t exactly feral.
I was wearing a nightdress and on the end of my bed were my
clothes all washed and pressed. How did they do that so quickly?
The shower was complete luxury and so too, the breakfast. It was
only cereal and toast but it was all clean and absolutely wonderful.
The lady who’d found me last night saw me and came straight over,
a comforting smile on her face. “Did you sleep well, my dear?” She
asked, genuinely interested.
After breakfast was cleared away, we all helped with that, she took
me to another room where she needed to take some details. She
asked my name and whether I wanted to talk about last night.
I told her the gist of it all but not the attempted rape. She never
seemed surprised when I told her about my existence over the past
year or so in the squat and she never pushed for details when I
refused to discuss my parents. Then she asked me if I wanted to
return to living the way I had been.
It was a shock because I couldn’t see any other way to live, given my
circumstances.
“We have this hostel open to who have no to go to. They
can stay here for up to three months while they try to sort out their
lives and we try to find employment. Would you like to stay with us,
Kay?”
Would I? Oh, damn right I would. Then the visions of and
Dad’s foster home surfaced and I know she could see something in
my eyes.
“You can leave whenever you wish, Kay. There’s no-one to stop you
going but you’re a bright girl, I’m sure you can do better with your
life, my dear. What do you think? Would you like us to help you?”
Oh, God, was this my life saver come at last? My mind was soaring.
“What…? What could I do?” I asked simply.
The end of it all was that she obtained approval to pay for a short
secretarial course and then actually found a job for me in an office.
On top of that, when my three months were up, she found a room to
move into with three other who were leasing a small house
together. My pay wasn’t much but certainly enough to cover my
share and some left over for clothes and other things.
In all of that time neither she nor any of the Salvo’s preached religion
to me at all. They did their work simply by helping and caring for the
girls staying with them. By the time I hugged her goodbye and finally
she pushed me apart, my eyes were overflowing with tears of
gratitude. I revisited her quite often after I left, just to make sure she
knew I had kept on the path she had provided for me. We are still
good friends.
Part Eight
Working and a Happy Ending
It turned out that all the in the house I shared had been helped
by the same Salvation Army hostel and that was a bond that bound us
closely together in friendship. There was rarely a harsh word spoken;
in fact it was the happiest home I’d lived in, even more so that
and Dad’s home when I was first taken there.
We all had similar experiences and reasons for leaving home and all
had done it tough for a time before being rescued by the Salvos. No
one was ready to divulge their dark secrets but we knew each of us
carried scars of some sort. It goes without saying that we were all so
very thankful to our rescuers.
My job started at the bottom, literally. I was stuck away in a small
corner of a basement as the Mail Clerk’s assistant. I doubt that such a
lowly job still existed these days, but to me it was the whole world. I
was treated civilly and courteously, even by my so-called boss, a
not much than me.
Not long after starting, he resigned and I was given his job with my
own assistant, a pimply-faced just out of school. Our main
responsibilities were to dispatch incoming mail to all the departments
and collect outgoing mail twice a day for stamping and posting. That
meant I became known through out the whole office, all seven floors
of it.
It became obvious early on that a smile works wonders and I became
expert at helping people to like me. I was happy in my work and that
seemed to rub off on all the staff I met through out each day. The
company sent me to several courses, learning various aspects of their
business and I progressed slowly up the ladder.
I was transferred into a typing pool for a short time, then to a smaller
pool on one of the upper floors where more senior managers were
housed. The whole company seemed happy. There were no disputes,
little arguing between staff and I later found that the owners were
Christian people who made sure their own principles were upheld by
all the managers throughout the company.
At twenty, I was appointed to the position of Senior Secretary to one
of the Departmental Managers and of course took on more
responsibilities but the atmosphere there was no different. I was a
very happy girl.
Several boys, actually, had been badgering me for dates
and the like but I had no interest in any of that. There was nothing
sinister in any of their approaches but my mind kept wandering back
to the abuses of the past and I could not face the prospect of someone
trying to take advantage of me again. I know most of the in the
Company were flirting with the or going out but it was just not
for me.
One day when I arrived at work, a rose was lying on my desk.
There was no note, just a rose. I quickly glanced around but no-one
looked suspicious. If it was a practical joke, it wasn’t much of a one.
But I put the flower in water and left it on my desk.
That afternoon, coming back from lunch, there was a second rose in
the vase; still no note and no-one trying to hide their sniggers. My
boss assured me it wasn’t him and suggested I had a secret admirer.
Oh, my, a secret admirer? Why would anyone…?
It made me suspect every on the floor and I kept watch on each
and every one without even a sign of the culprit.
The next morning, there were three roses in the vase; still no clue to
whom it might be and it was driving me mad.
Later in the morning, one of the from the floor below came to
my desk and left an envelope. “From my boss to yours,” he said with
a smile, turning to go. That was when I noticed it.
“Nice rose,” I said casually.
“What?”
“The rose in your lapel,” I reminded him. “Just like mine.”
“Like yours? Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Bye.” Then he walked
back to the stairwell without even glancing back. It couldn’t have
been him, I told myself although he was quite nice looking. But I
didn’t need a in my life.
After lunch, there were four roses but they were all a different
colour. My three ones had been replaced. No-one had seen
anything, it seemed.
I decided to sneak a look at my significant suspect downstairs. There
he was working away, oblivious of me, with a new rose, the same
colour as mine.
“It is you. What do you want?”
“What?” He asked, looking into my eyes questioningly.
“Where did you get that rose? Do you buy them in bulk now?”
“What on earth are you talking about, lady?” He asked, not harshly
but certainly not guiltily. He genuinely looked shocked at my
questions.
“I…,” I stammered. “I thought you… Did you put… Uhm, where did
you buy that rose?” I finally blurted out.
“This one?” he asked, smelling it. “Why? Do you want one too?”
“N… No, but I thought…,” then my confidence vanished and I knew
I was blushing furiously. I felt really stupid.
“If you want it, I’d be happy to give it to you,” he said with a smile,
beginning to un-pin it. “It’s not every day I get such attention as this
and from such a lovely lady. Here take it with my complements.”
“No, I… Look, I’m sorry. I thought you… Oh, forgive me,” I
mumbled and rushed up the stairs, my face still crimson with
embarrassment.
That night I decided to get to work very early to catch my so-called
secret admirer. I felt like James Bond as I made my way to my floor
but as I got close to my desk, there was another change. Four roses in
four separate vases in four different colours sat waiting for my
arrival. They looked so fresh they could have been left here only
minutes ago. No-one else was in sight. I was the only one on my floor
this early. Even my boss hadn’t arrived.
I decided to check up on the below. If he was there already I
could point the finger with much more assurance. But his desk like
that whole floor was empty too.
To make matters worse, later in the morning, he came strolling up to
my desk with a single rose between his fingers, a different colour to
the four I already had. “For my rose fancier,” he began then saw the
four vases. “Oh, dear, you are hooked on roses, aren’t you? I’m
sorry, I thought…,” he tried to explain but I cut him off.
“What did you think?” I asked brusquely.
It brought another querying look from him. “You didn’t sleep very
well last night, did you?”
“No, I… It’s none of your business,” I said blushing furiously, not
because his question was correct but because of the way I spoke to
him. “Look, I’m sorry, really I am. I didn’t mean to speak like that.
Yes, thank you, I’ll take your rose if you are still offering,” I said,
trying to diffuse my sharpness.
“It might help if you told me what’s bothering you,” he said with a
smile as he handed me his single rose. “Talking always helps.”
I had to admit, he was nice. There was something about the way he
looked at me. It was something that kept prompting me that he still
might be the rose-giver despite his apparent innocence.
“It’s nothing; silly really. See these roses; someone’s been leaving
them on my desk secretly for the last few days and I don’t know who
it is. I thought it was you when you wore the exact same rose
yesterday but today… Well, your rose is different to all these,” I
explained, sweeping my hand across the desk to prove my point.
“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, Miss… Uhm, I don’t even know
your name.”
“It’s Miss Ellem. Kay,” I added stupidly.
“Well, Miss Ellem Kay, maybe I…”
“No, I mean it’s Kay Ellem,” I corrected him feeling all the more
foolish.
“Yes, I know it is, sorry,” he said with that smile again.
“You already knew? Why…?”
“It’s on your nameplate here, see?”
“You must think I’m so stupid,” I gushed, feeling very stupid indeed.
“A lady who looks as lovely as you do, Miss Kay Ellem, could never
be stupid,” he retorted, his eyes daring me to smile back.
“Oh,” I gasped, the blush deepening.
“The thing is, Kay, I buy my rose each day at the flower stall in the
foyer. Maybe you do have another admirer after all.”
“Another admirer?” I asked.
“Well, I certainly admire you, lady but it appears I may have
some opposition, doesn’t it?”
“Yes… No, it doesn’t… I mean… Oh, please go away, you’re
confusing me.”
“That’s good. I’m confusing you, am I? Are you confused enough to
have coffee with me at lunchtime, then. I’d really like that.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t date,” I responded far too quickly.
“Oh, I knew that. You’ve got quite a reputation around here, you
know; the who doesn’t date. We’ve been quite concerned about
you. So I thought I’d ask you to share a coffee with me for a few
minutes. Does that sound like a date? It’d be for just a few minutes?”
“A reputation? Me? Who’s concerned about me? Tell me,” I
snapped, my pride dented no end.
“You know, you’re beautiful when you blush like that,” he said with
a little laugh. “Well, the fact of the matter is, I’m concerned about
you. Do you think I could help scotch the rumors inviting you for a
coffee?”
“Rumors? What rumors?”
“You don’t want to know.”
“Yes I do.”
“I promise you, you definitely don’t want to hear them, Kay.”
I sat for a moment, fuming, my eyes glancing around to see if anyone
was watching but no-one was.
“I don’t think I do want to know anyway,” I told him. “But if it will
stop what they’re saying, maybe I will have that coffee.”
“That’s the spirit. Prove to everyone that your not.”
“What? That I’m not what?”
“I told you, you don’t want…”
“I damn well do want to know, right now.”
“I’ll tell you over coffee.”
“No, tell me now.”
“Well, if you really want to hear something you don’t want to know,
it’s on your head. You really want me to tell you?”
“Yes, damnit,” I snapped, inwardly fuming.
Just as he was about to speak, the boss rang me on his intercom.
“Kay, please come in for a moment.”
“The coffee shop at twelve-thirty. Don’t be late,” he whispered and
left.
I’m not sure that I heard anything my boss said after I went in.
“So, you are really here,” he said, smiling happily as he held the
chair for me.
“Tell me,” were my first words.
“I’d rather not. Maybe on the way back to the office,” he leaned over
in a whisper.
“Now,” I demanded.
“Alright if that’s what you want but don’t blame me, I’m just the
bearer of the news, O.K.?”
“So tell me.”
“There are quite a few who think you’re made in heaven, you
know but you’ve spurned them all. So,” he began, his face as serious
as I’d ever seen it, “So, some are suggesting you don’t like at
all. Some are saying you might be… Well, you know.”
“I am not,” I stated self-righteously. “I’ve never… I mean, I’m not…
I’m not even a closet one,” I huffed, feeling very hurt.
“I never did believe them, you know.”
I looked straight into his eyes with a wry smile. “Oh, yeah?”
“It’s the truth; honest.”
“Now how can I believe that? A who tells me he thinks I’m not
interested in because I’m, well, because I’m interested in ladies
only; now you’re telling me you don’t believe that after all. Have you
had a bet with some of your friends? Hmm? Was it your job to
discover the real truth?” I was joking but it never came out like that
and he looked sort of deflated.
“Kay, I never said you were that way inclined. All I did was what
you wanted. You wanted to know what they were saying about you
so I told you. I never believed it for a minute.”
“Dreamed about it though, I’ll bet.”
“No. No, I never,” he gushed and I got the distinct impression he was
really lying this time.
“Alright, I forgive you,” I said then rephrased it. “I mean, I hope you
forgive me for not believing you. Do you?”
His smile assured me he did. Yes, he was a nice but he was a
man and I was still getting over my deep-seated of what men, or
at least one man, had done to me.
“It wasn’t long but I did enjoy your company, Kay,” he said as we
both rose to go back to work.
“Yes, well I did too. Thank you,” I responded.
“Oh, just a moment, must get a fresh rose for my lapel,” he said,
guiding me to the flower stall.
“Good afternoon, Sir,” The lady smiled. “Here for more roses?
You’ve been buying so many these days. What was it, five this
morning and…?”
“Yes, yes, I know lady. Just one now, please,” he said cutting off her
question.
“Excuse me. Did you say he purchased five roses this morning?” I
asked her.
“That’s right, dear; five very early this morning and quite a few these
past few days. He’s such a good man, giving flowers to all his
secretaries,” she smiled back at me as she handed him a single
bloom.
I couldn’t help but giggle at the look on his face. For once, he was
the one blushing.
He never said a word on the way up in the elevator but as I turned
into my office he began to apologize. “Look, Kaye, I’m sorry if I…”
I sniggered again. “All your secretaries? Such a good man,” I smiled
wryly, secretly thinking I could learn to love this man.
“I really wanted to meet you, Kay. It wasn’t for a bet or anything. In
fact no-one in my group knew what I was doing. Will you forgive
me? Please?”
“I don’t date because there are things… Things I’d rather forget
before I can even think of making any sort of commitment to a man,”
I told him seriously. “You may find me very different to what you
expect, you know.”
“You don’t have any dangly bits, do you?” He asked tentatively
which made me laugh.
“No, just girl’s bits, I promise. But we can stay just friends for a
while, can’t we? I mean go out as friends, not as dates?”
“Oh, I think I could manage that,” he said, his face decidedly
brighter. “For a while, anyway,” he added quickly.
“Good, then see you in the coffee shop tomorrow, same time.”
And that’s how I met my future husband. We dated for nearly three
years and never in that time did he ever try to force his desires on
me. It took him well over six months before he even held my hand
one day while we were walking along the beach. As he did, I smiled
into his eyes and he relaxed.
Our first real kiss never came until the evening of our first
anniversary date. It was a goodnight kiss and his embrace nearly took
my breath away, it was so marvelous. I swooned and he held me tight
until I got my legs back again.
Of course, I knew needed things more urgently than women, sex
things that is, and one day as he groaned with impatience as I broke
from his arms to go inside I knew I had to say something.
“I know you want more from me,” I began. “I do understand some
things about and I know you’ve been very patient with me. It’s
one of the things that made me fall in love with you,” I prattled on,
desperately trying to put words that were racing through my mind
into reality. “I mean I know need sexual stimulation, more than I
do, probably more than most women do,” I continued and had his full
attention, his eyes bright with anticipation. “But I can’t, yet. It’s so
difficult. Please be patient. You must think I’m heartless but I really
do love you, really I do. It’s just that… Well, it’s difficult to talk
about it, even now,” I continued hoping for some sort of
understanding.
“You’ve had some bad times, haven’t you?”
“Yes,” I said quietly, a sob impossible to stop.
“You don’t have to talk about it, I understand.”
“It’s just that if we do, well if we do decide to… to make a
permanent commitment to each other, I want to be… Oh, this is
embarrassing,” I told him. “I just want to be… I want to be pure for
you. Do you understand?”
“You’re still a virgin, aren’t you?” He was holding my hands in his
now, looking directly into my eyes in the darkness.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“So you weren’t raped?”
I had now reached the crossroads and in my selfishness I lied. “Is
that what you thought? Oh, no, not raped. But I was forced to do
things and I really want to put them completely behind me before I
can lay with you and give my purity, all of me exclusively for you.”
Well, I was technically a virgin, my hymen was still intact but my
bottom and my mouth had been raped so many times it was
uncountable.
He just took me in his arms and held me tight, his face against mine.
“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing my ear chastely.
“You could… You should touch yourself when you need,” I blurted
back, hating myself the moment the words came out.
“Not until you’re ready. Then we’ll be happy together,” he replied
simply.
We dated for another twelve months until one evening he proposed;
dinner, champagne, flowers, the ring offered to me on his knee. How
could I refuse? I loved him very, very much.
Our first preliminary touches came much later, just before our
wedding. I told him of the abuse and the molestation but nothing
about the forced rapes. But the last night with and Dad when I
was forced for show myself to the and be told he would have sex
with me the next day: I managed to tell him every detail of that night.
We clutched each other as the unfolded and sobbed together
when it was over. That night, he was my Rock of Gibraltar and has
remained so ever since.
Our honeymoon is private. Suffice to say I never realised how
beautiful the touch of a loving, caring can be. The whole
wonderland of marriage that night was painless, exciting and
produced my very first experience of climax. To this day, my lover
and best friend, my darling husband still has that same secret touch.
Well, that is my story. My original purpose for putting this together
has been well and truly justified I believe. It has given me a calming
that I have not felt in all these years. The lie remains but is of no
consequence now and the black veil has been thrown to the wind.
Some years ago we moved from Arkansas when the company we,
and my husband still works for, appointed him head of the Canadian
organization. We live our days happily in Alberta, caring for our
beautiful whom we love far beyond her understanding.
Of course, my name is no longer Ellem; I am now Mrs. Kay… But
that’s my secret.
Goodbye to you all.
The End