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My father used to say to me, "You're just TOO inquisitive for your own damned good Heather." Sitting here now, I have to say he was absolutely right. Never one to act with caution, if ever I wanted to know something, I would just go right out there and find out for myself. Whatever... where-ever!

I wouldn't say dad and mom were overly strict parentally, but I was brought up to be mindful of the need to observe healthy thoughts and actions. "Having respect for yourself Heather," my dad would remind me "is the cornerstone to having respect for others."

How I miss him. Snatched cruelly from our lives when I was just fourteen years old, in an auto-wreck caused by a drunk-driver, I don't think I ever came to terms with it.

I am seventeen now and holed-up here in this shabby little room on Cleveland Drive, so far removed from any lifestyle my parents might once have wished for me, that my only joy now is to be found at the business-end of a shared needle.

Perhaps sympathy was all I ever wanted? Maybe just a shoulder to cry on. Who knows? At fourteen though, I discovered that my developing body was of particular interest to the male population of Thyssen County, Iowa. When I say 'the male population,' you can take that to mean anyone between thirteen and sixty -- not that I ever tested my theoretical limits you understand.

I can tell you exactly how this all came about -- if you're interested?

It was only a few weeks after the funeral. I couldn't face school and had just gone to Rafferty's Park where I had been sitting alone on a swing for maybe an hour. Between bouts of tears I just felt so alone. An only child, mom had been considerably older than my father and although shattered herself I suppose, she didn't have enough emotional space for me as well. We fought over nothing most nights.

My thoughts were interrupted by this guy -- he must have been in his fifties I suppose, asking me what was wrong and could he help? I wasn't so far out of it that I didn't recognise stranger-danger, so I more or less told him to take a hike. Instead of taking offense though, he just looked at me in a kindly way and said he was sorry for interrupting and to forgive him. Something about him looked and sounded "safe" and as he walked away, I felt such a little bitch speaking to him like that and called him back.

"No apologies necessary missy," he said to me. "You are quite right to be wary... there's some total fruitcakes in the County." I managed a half-smile.

We must have sat in that park for almost an hour. I told him what had happened and why I wasn't at school. He listened just like the father I now needed so badly and after I had finished -- brought down by a further emotional relapse... he cuddled me and held me to him.

Whilst he then talked for a bit, I discovered that misery and loneliness was not the solitary domain of a fourteen-year old girl having a bad month or two. His wife had died of leukemia recently and as a result of her inability to have children, he now found himself alone and without a great deal of purpose in life. "That" he assured me, was a greater challenge at his age, than was the case of a teenager with their whole life in front of them. Exactly the sort of thing my own father would have said!

Anyway, to get to the point. The man, whose name was Martin so he told me, lived just across the way and he asked me if I would like to maybe drop by one afternoon on my way home from school, for a chat or a soda perhaps. He gave me the address and his telephone number.

Well over the next week, I called in pretty much every afternoon. He'd fetch a soft drink for me and either a biscuit or some other munchie and we would just sit in his kitchen talking about things -- all sorts of things. TV shows to News items, poetry to ice-skating. I found out that he used to be a High School teacher himself in Boston of all places.

I never stayed more than three-quarters of an hour though, as mom would have started asking all manner of questions and we would have ended up having another huge fight. Martin was never anything but a perfect gentleman when I was there and looking back now it's hardly surprising that I began to see in him some sort of surrogate father.

It was the week after he had offered to help me with my Trigonometry homework that things began to unravel, although at the time I had never been happier. Perhaps my own hormones were to blame? Certainly Martin never made the slightest improper or inappropriate comment.

I remember sitting at the kitchen table there, listening to him explaining something about algorithms and suddenly thinking, "For a guy in his fifties he doesn't seem that old at all." Maybe that's when age suddenly didn't come into it and I found myself wondering, "Hmmm, what would it be like?"

Obviously, all girls fifteen to fifty want to be desired. In my case though it was more than that -- I needed to be loved... I wanted to love! I most assuredly was dying to know what sex felt like and as I admitted earlier, once committed to some course of action. I could always be relied upon to see it through, no matter the consequence.

I can't remember whether I started to tease him at all or if he just sensed some sort of "compliance" from my viewpoint. I do recall though the day he put his hand on my thigh while I was working out some maths problem. It was only for a second, but it excited me and I so wanted him to prolong the contact. He glanced up at me for a moment and I knew questions were being asked... and answered.

I realised of course the next afternoon that I was going to let him touch me.

"Have respect for yourself Heather," dad had said. Was I flying in the face of his wisdom then by choosing the shortest school skirt I owned that morning? cheeky little pink bra and panties that we weren't supposed to wear in class? I even sat differently while Martin was talking to me... my legs just fractionally too far apart, my expression flirty. I saw his occasional glance up my skirt and his embarrassment at being caught-out. It was making me hotter and even more adventurous. While he was out of the room getting me another Sprite, I undid the top two buttons of my school blouse.

Half an hour later though, I was beginning to think "God, some guys just can't take a hint" as he appeared more interested in explaining the workings of Pythagoras than my (admittedly limited) cleavage. It was only when his hand once more descended to my thigh that I sensed an interest over and above fatherly compassion.

I wriggled forward on my chair -- only a fraction, but enough that his hand was momentarily inclined towards my inner thigh -- where I knew it was both softer and warmer. Just for a second he looked at me, and I smiled at him - the sexiest little glance I had in my armory.

Whether he picked-up on my needs or was simply responding to his own I can't be sure, but he allowed his hand to inch upwards until he reached my panties. Math was the last thing on either of our minds right then I would imagine.

He suddenly withdrew his hand and in a fit of self- reproach, apologised for his forward and improper behavior.

"I'm so sorry Heather," he mumbled. "I don't know what I was thinking. You're just a young girl and I had no right to abuse your trust. You must think me a disgusting old man, please forgive me."

I had no idea what to say, so I just took his hand and pulled my chair in closer.

"The only excuse I have my most beautiful girl," he looked completely heartbroken, "is that I'm very lonely and I miss female companionship so much.. Having you come here most days has been my greatest joy and - I know how pathetic this will sound -- I think I am falling in love with you Heather."

I was just speechless and on the verge of tears myself. He was continuing.

"Crazy as that sounds -- I know I am more than forty years older than you -- its true... I'm so sorry for embarrassing you!"

I didn't have to answer, I just knew what to do. With his hand in mine still and without breaking eye contact, I just slipped it back beneath my skirt, making sure contact with my panties was re-established. I spread my legs just those few crucial degrees more.

Now he wasn't talking!

The feel of a male hand up between my legs where none but my own had ever ventured, was causing pleasurable sensations, the like of which I could barely countenance. As he rubbed me there, I know I was making so many soft moans that I must have sounded like I had been brought up in a convent. That all changed when his hand slipped inside the leg of my panties and we both discovered what fun opportunities then beckoned.

I don't even remember going upstairs with him -- just laying on his bed later while he took my school uniform off. I recall him telling me how pretty I was, staring at me, clad only in my skimpy little bra and panties now. Slipping my small breasts free of the clingy material, he began kissing them and then gently sucking the nipples. I couldn't believe how erect they were becoming as he gradually drove me crazy.

I wanted more than anything to be naked for him and had no hesitation in allowing him to strip me completely. For the longest time, he was just sitting between my legs staring at my pussy, brushing his fingers through my pubic curls and then just gently separating both labia the length of my (now) very wet slit. In the gentlest of voices he asked me if I wouldn't mind playing with my nipples while he watched.

At the point he removed his own trousers and I saw his erection for the first time -- the only one I had ever seen of course, I was suddenly filled as much with trepidation as expectancy. Would it really hurt? Is this what I truly wanted?

I didn't need to go to the video ref!

He was still kissing me passionately, my arms around his neck, my eyes tight closed, when the grim reaper showed up between my legs. Aroused, wet and most definitely willing as I was, my hymen apparently was anything but ready to hand in its resignation without a fight.

Analogies such as a "hot knife through butter" or "David versus Goliath" might seem appropriate here but in fact it almost killed me. Three times Martin pulled back saying "I can't Heather, it's just hurting you too much." Three times I clung to him begging him to "push in harder."

Eventually he placed a soft pillow beneath my hips, spread me even more and simply kissed me to distraction. It worked, and despite the searing pain initially, once he was in me and doing things I just could never have imagined being done to my young body, something was let loose that subsequently I have never been able to control.

Maybe on account of the fact he was having sex with an under-age schoolgirl and that this perhaps excited him, but it seemed to me, even with my total inexperience in such matters, that it was over pretty quickly as I felt him spurting his semen deep inside me. I definitely needed more.

Afterwards, Martin was again apologising for his actions, saying he should never have taken advantage of me, even though I had been willing for it to happen. Right then I simply had to get home before mom started asking questions. Leaving me to dress, I felt almost dizzy and took a while pulling my bra and panties back on. I could feel his cum leaking out of me as I walked somewhat unsteadily downstairs. It felt sexy.

Kissing me lightly, he said he hoped I could forgive him his moment of weakness. Right then, I was kinda hoping he might have a few more!

Emotionally confused as I walked home, all I really knew is that I liked what had just happened and that I wanted Martin to do that again to me tomorrow. Why I never even gave a thought about the possibility of falling pregnant, I don't know.

Mom looked at me kinda questioningly when I sauntered in. "You OK Heather?" she said, "You look a little flushed?"

"Just a cheer-squad try-out Mom," I replied, thinking how much I'd like to parade around Martin's kitchen in that little outfit, not to mention how much he'd probably like it! Once upstairs I stripped off for a shower and found a few very incriminating spots of blood on my panties. Definitely had to lose those! Beneath the hot water was heaven and thinking minutely about what Martin had done to me, it wasn't long before my hands found their way between my legs. I can be such a naughty girl!

3.45 p.m. couldn't come around quick enough. Martin was out the front fixing some timber on his porch as I got there. He smiled when he saw me.

"About yesterday Heather," he started.

"Yesterday was great," I cut him off. "Have you missed me?" I teased.

Once inside and the door closed, I took his hand and headed for the stairs.

"What are you doing sweetie?" Martin asked, looking puzzled.

"Well, wouldn't you like to fuck me again?" I giggled, "I thought you enjoyed it yesterday?" I added, trying my best to pout meaningfully.

"Heather... we shouldn't," he pleaded. "I could go to jail you know."

"Only If I tell someone," I laughed. "and I promise I won't," I added, pulling him harder.

"You really liked me doing it to you Heather?" he asked, almost comically. "Even though I'm a much older man?" Now he looked distinctly sad.

We had reached the top of the stairs and having unloaded my back pack. I put my arms around his neck and kissed him. He didn't seem to need much more encouragement.

This time he was far less gentle with me, pretty much shoving me backwards on the bed and ripping my white school briefs off in his enthusiasm. I loved it. As his hands groped my breasts through the thin top I could feel my nipples becoming erect. My heart was racing and when he pushed my dress up, exposing my pussy to his gaze, I just spread my legs as wide as I could get them. I felt so submissive and deliciously female, I knew this was going to rate high on the Richter scale.

"Fuck me Martin," I prompted him at regular intervals and I think hearing me utter those words really spurred him on. I so meant it!

So wrapped-up had I been the previous day with the discomfort of my departing virginity I hadn't "let go" as such during the penetration. Today though I was the complete 'slut' moaning, begging and using my hips anything but discreetly.

My own pleasures rubbed off (as it were) on Martin who gave voice to the fact that I had the "sexiest little cunt," during his moments of unhinged thrusting. Shocked but excited by hearing such dirty words spoken to a girl my age I just wriggled in pleasure and whispered to him to "play with my tits." He didn't need an instruction manual, that's for sure.

This time I found out what a real vaginal orgasm was. I went to Heaven and back I think. Tingling all the way from my nipples to my pussy I just shook as wave after wave took me where I definitely wanted to go. Judging by what he shot-up inside me, his own finality wasn't that un-enjoyable either!

After ten minutes or so and I could bear touching my sensitive zones once more I started teasing Martin again and got him to the stage of wanting to strip me completely -- an activity I had no problem with. Giggling as my bra, the last item of modesty I possessed, took its leave I knelt there in the middle of the bed as naked as the day I was born.

Tickling me as he groped my breasts while doing several other things that are probably not appropriate to enact with a fourteen-year old girl, I must have appeared, thinking back now -- the embodiment of every male fantasy.

He fucked me several more times, including an instructive session behind me whilst on all fours with my bottom at a particularly acute angle. Note, I said acute... not cute, although we are talking semantics here I guess. I have to admit this particular method felt very sexy and seems to give the male partner extra penetration. Yummy!

By the time I got home that afternoon I was not only flushed once again, I was completely hooked on sex. I needed to know what it was like with boys my own age.

Unfortunately I found out... crappy!

When a girl "puts out" at school, there's no shortage of takers it seems...and in my quest for experience, I took whatever was on offer. If anything, being groped and fingered by boys way younger than me was sexier than having fifteen and sixteen year old tenth graders shoving their pencil-thin interfaces up my pussy and then having no idea what to do. After a couple of weeks, I couldn't wait to see Martin again.

Time flies when you're having fun but with the passage of weeks I knew that Martin had lost all respect for me and was just making the most of what opportunities he had to fuck a sexy young schoolgirl. We talked less and he penetrated me harder, frequently not even bothering to strip me any longer, simply pushing me onto the bed, holding my panties aside and just raping me senseless -- exactly what I was there for!

Things took a turn for the worse... or should I say, the better, the afternoon I turned up at Martin's house, a month or so after my fifteenth birthday, only to find he had one of his friends there.

"This is Geoff sweetheart," he said, introducing the admittedly good-looking taller man, who I guessed was a few years younger, though still pushing fifty. Geoff wasn't there for just the conversation.

Made to strip to my bra and panties, I had to sit on both their laps while they kissed and fondled me in turn. What should have been a humiliating experience for so young a girl, simply made me hotter. At the point Martin asked his friend if he had any deep-seated fantasy, he replied that he had always wanted to spank a schoolgirl. Yeah, I know - how original?

Geoff told us that he had longed to do it to his own daughter who was now sixteen he said, but didn't feel that it was worth the subsequent divorce and assault charge. Seemed like I was the next best option.

They put me across his knee and both took turns spanking my bottom pretty hard. Whilst it really stung, I couldn't stop wriggling in pleasure and grinding my pussy against Geoff's knee. Martin knelt beside me and began groping my breasts inside my bra while Geoff continued paddling my butt.

"Pull her panties down Geoff," Martin suggested to his friend, who was anything but opposed to the idea. I suppose seeing my naked bottom glowing red and jiggling about in his lap had its arousing aspects and the spanks rained down harder, though now often wide of the mark, peppering an area between my waist and upper thighs. I could feel Geoff's erection protruding upwards into my tummy.

"She's had enough I think," Geoff said, staying his had. Just because I was crying and completely scarlet didn't mean I wanted it to stop though! By far the best way to alleviate the pain of a girl's spanked bottom is to fuck her and that's precisely what they did. Thank God for the pill!

Taking me upstairs they first ripped my bra off and made me walk about completely naked, while they masturbated. At the critical moment, they had me lie on Martin's bed face-down while they came all over me -- chiefly over my scalding hot bottom and lower back.

After that, they both fucked me. On the bed, on all fours, against the wall -- even standing up while one of them held my arms. No way to treat a lady I suppose, but who's complaining?

By the time I got home, my bottom, breasts and pussy were so sore I could hardly walk. "Roll on Wednesday," I was thinking.

Well, Geoff had a few friends too didn't he? Within six months I was so far down the road to degradation, Martin's little house was playing host to sights that might cause the most experienced member of the Miami Vice Squad to throw-up.

Stripped, fondled and passed-around from chair to chair, room to room, duo to duo, I was fucked so hard and so often that cum would be running out of me in streams even as a fresh cock would find its way into me. I learned how to suck one man while two others fucked me either singly or together.

Whereas I would once be too sore to handle anything after my third or fourth "rape," I learned to overcome the pain barrier and could take whatever physical abuse was handed out -- orally, vaginally and definitely anally. They would be queuing-up to fuck me in the ass for days. Often, I would dress to go home while the men were lying around the house a spent force, wondering what vitamin pills I must have been taking.

I had turned sixteen when I met Jim, one of the few guys in my hometown who had never fucked me. Jim was not short of business acumen and during one "group grope session" at one of the guy's homes -- I had long since moved on from Martin -- he took me aside and said "Look Heather... if you're willing to go the distance with all these men -- why not make some money out of it?"

Within a month I had left home and was set-up here on Cleveland Drive. I suppose you could say that Jim "pimped" for me but in all honesty, I really wasn't short of contacts.

You get to meet the weirdest people in the sex business. Men who would bring their wives -- not just to watch either but whose tastes themselves ran to fondling and fucking young girls. How many times was I put across the woman's lap and spanked insensible while the husband would grope me between my legs or inside my bra? Fathers who occasionally brought their pre-teen sons to strip and fondle a teenage girl after which they might watch her get fucked or even try it themselves.

One incredible afternoon, a sole mother brought her two twelve-year old twin-daughters over, and I was expected to undress them, finger them and suck their hot little nipples while the mother masturbated. Can't say as that was any hardship, to be honest.

So yeah, having dropped out of school understandably, I was starting to make plenty of money -- even allowing for Jim's "commissions." Shame I was introduced to heroin!

My dad's words - "Have respect for yourself Heather"- have long since been swept under the carpet, along with his daughter's future. The heroin usage has seen to it that my clientele let's say, are no longer "screened." I can't afford to be choosy.

A thin seventeen year-old girl with track-marks and hollow-eyes, commands rather less sexual interest than a vibrant fourteen-year old schoolgirl in cute pink knickers.

But hey, I still love being spanked... IF you're interested?


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