Chapter 22 -Arlene - Part 1
Please take note! Adults Only Literature
The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for
adults only.
If you are an underage minor or offended by such material -or- if viewing this
file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story
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This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise
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Email HarryBerg01@aol.com with your comments.
Copyright 2003
****
Candace translated the Portuguese as she read the note from Delgado.
My dearest Candace,
I would like to begin by offering you my warmest congratulations on your
recent election to Minority Leader of the US Senate. You serve as an inspiration
to all of us who follow the Master. I wish you every success in your new
position.
Senorina Arlene Fairchild, the lady whom you exiled to our safe keeping two
years ago attempted to persuade a customer of the brothel to aid her escape. She
had been repeatedly warned of the consequences of such action. The attempt was
unsuccessful, of course. Senor Enrique Podaris, the Manager of the Palace of
Sin, has taken no action in regard to this matter and awaits your instructions.
If you decide to sanction her termination, he plans to make her execution an
example to the other whores. Senor Podaris will make a video of her being eaten
alive by Timeca and Zuma, his pet jaguars. (If you are interested in a personal
copy of her execution, it will be my pleasure to provide it.)
Timeca and Zuma are magnificent animals whose species has been driven to the
brink of extinction by the destruction of the rain forest. On several occasions,
I have watched jaguars make a human kill. Invariably the pair mates immediately
afterwards and it is a moment of high eroticism to watch the male and female
engage in what in America would be called "very rough sex".
Senor Polaris found a journal in Ms. Fairchild's possessions that I have
enclosed. I thought you would enjoy reading it and it might help you to decide
her fate.
We await your decision as to how to resolve this matter.
Your most obedient servant in the work of the Master,
Delgado
Candace perused the thick spiral ring notebook that she had removed from the
courier envelope. It was less than five minutes since she had signed the
courier's log requiring her personally to acknowledge receipt of the package.
Candace was seated behind her desk in her new suite of offices in the Senate's
Russell Building. As Senate Minority Leader, Candace would be acquiring a larger
staff and the offices to accommodate them. Candace flipped open the cover of the
notebook. A lot of people had passed through Candace's life since that fateful
weekend at the Monastery of St. Therese; however she could recall the face of an
attractive young woman named Arlene Fairchild. Candace looked at the neat
penmanship of the first page then thumbed through the entire notebook noting
that it ended abruptly.
Poor little Arlene, you had no idea what you were getting yourself into, maybe
you deserve a break thought Candace. She turned to the first page and began to
read.
Prologue
I recall the last book I read, a Daniel Steele novel, had a Prologue so I
decided to have one in my story. Of course, that was a novel and this is
autobiographical which probably means I'm doing something wrong. Although I was
a journalism major in college and worked at a newspaper, I have little idea how
to structure my biography. I'll just wing it and hopes it comes out all right. I
do recall all my professor's suggestions about making notes and organizing my
thoughts. However, I'm not going to be that formal. Here goes.
There's not much to do here at the Palace between customers other than watch
television. Writing an account of how I came to be in this awful place is a way
to pass the time. It's also a way to help me get through each day without going
insane. I'm sure no one will ever read this.
The idea of writing my story to make the days go quicker came to me when I saw
this unused spiral notebook lying on a shelf in Aurora's room. Aurora's the only
whore with a separate room. That's because she's Enrique's main girl and he
depends on her to help with running the business.
I was desperate for a way to occupy myself other than watching the soaps. I'm
not claiming to be an intellectual or anything like that. It's just the mind can
only take so many images of attractive well dressed people in clean and safe
places like Rio without attacking the television. Without too much effort, I
managed to talk Aurora out of the notebook. Luckily, she threw in a box of
medium blue ballpoints. I have no idea why Aurora had a blank notebook or the
pens.
Aurora grew up in a slum or favela in Sao Paulo. Oddly it was named City of
God. Can you believe that? Aurora can neither read nor write but she does fuck
like a well-trained brothel girl. Not surprising since she started when she was
twelve and both her mother and grandmothers were whores before her. That makes
her a third generation whore. Since she gets regular meals and no one beats the
shit out of her when they're drunk, Aurora regards the Palace as a step up in
the world. She's told me about what happens in the City of God. It's hard to
imagine people living that way.
Aurora like most whores is damn good at eating pussy. When she goes to work
on your cunt with her mouth and fingers, you know you're only moments away from
a prolonged mind blowing climax. She's had her head between my legs and I've
done the same for her. A whore will always tell you she'd rather suck a clit
than a dick. I guess that's logical given that dicks are work and clits are
leisure.
When Aurora offered me the notebook and pens, requesting nothing in return, it
struck me as odd. LaPenera is a cruel and unfeeling world and anything that
smacks of generosity or kindness seems out of place.
"Take these too, I'll never use them," said Aurora handing me the unopened box
of pens. The lettering on the outside of the box was in English just like they
were ordered from an office supply house in the states. How they came to be in a
mining town deep in Amazonia is a mystery. Maybe an American engineer left them
one night while getting laid at Enrique's Palace of Sin.
Aurora gave them to me soon after I arrived. At the time, Enrique was using
Naomi, Denise, Aurora, and myself to make a series of scat and fetish videos to
be sold through the Internet. Maybe the fact that the four of us were appearing
in the same videos made her feel sisterly. Maybe it was that she and I had spent
the day slowly eating each other's turds as we pushed them out of our assholes.
However, I doubt it. More likely, she was just getting rid of things she
couldn't use.
Shit, I'm getting ahead of myself plus this sounds entirely too maudlin. I'll
describe this place and what goes on here in the proper sequence of my story. A
good reporter tells her story in a straightforward manner that the average
reader can easily understand. One of my journalism professors at University of
New Hampshire used to say over and over again, "You're not trying to write War
and Peace, your trying to make sure that the brain dead prick who reads your
story at the breakfast table understands the simple fact that there were three
dead and two survivors in yesterday's crash on I-93."
Therefore for you brain dead pricks let me get my shit together and describe
events in the order they occurred. I apologize for the confused and disorderly
way this story began. Keep in mind, I'm not using word processing software but
writing this out in long hand. I can't go back and change the previous
paragraphs without making a bug fucking hash out of the notebook, so bear with
me. Also, I haven't written cursive in months actually years, and am out of
practice. I hope you can read my writing. Revisions aren't easy and there's no
spell checker. Please keep all this in mind and cut me some slack.
First, let's begin with some background material. You need to know that in
order to really understand how everything happened. I warn you that this is
neither a pretty story nor one for the kiddies.
My full name is Arlene Graham Fairchild. I am twenty-five years old. Parents
are Sara Graham Fairchild and Ralph Baker Fairchild. Mom works in the Manchester
Public Library and dad sells casualty insurance for New England Life. They are
unremarkable third generation New England Yankees. If you've even seen Thornton
Wilder's "Our Town" you knows what they're all about. In terms of the economic
ladder, I grew up lower middle class. I guess the fact that I always wanted to
move up the economic ladder was a factor in how everything turned out. Money
does play a role in my story.
I have a brother, Edward, who's three years older. Ed flies helicopters for
the US Army, 101st Airborne. I'm not sure where Ed's stationed now. He might be
in Afghanistan or Iraq. Last I knew it was Fort Campbell, Kentucky.
I was born, grew up, attended school, lived and worked in Manchester, New
Hampshire, the Granite State. That is until I found myself exiled in this Green
Hell they call the upper reaches of the Amazon (actually I'm on a tributary, the
Jivara River). For a girl who spent almost all her life in a state where the
motto is, "Live Free or Die" working as an indentured whore in a mining town
brothel is quite a leap.
They say if you try hard enough, you can always find something interesting or
unique about every individual on the planet. I'm going to write a few paragraphs
that you might think have nothing much to do with anything but they are very
important to my life story. Trust me before the end of this, you'll understand
why.
My hobby, avocation, life interest, whatever you choose to call it is Yoga. My
mother developed an interest in Yoga long before it became trendy. Mom got me
involved in Hatha Yoga when I was eleven. Children in India start at age five.
From the start, I loved it. Yoga, once you reach a certain level provides
incredible benefits to both mind and body. I was a certified Yoga instructor by
the time I was eighteen. During college, I made pocket money by teaching Yoga
classes to coeds three nights a week.
It was during my sophomore year at UNH that I moved beyond Hatha Yoga into
Tantric. The girl that ran the coed fitness program at UNH asked me to help her
develop a course for coeds who'd recently given birth and needed to repair that
muscle group known as the "Pelvic Floor". Pelvic Floor muscles control your
lower bowel, urinary tract and the lining of the birth canal. During childbirth,
these muscles get stretched to the maximum and loose their tone. As a result,
new mothers often suffer from a reduced capacity to control their bowel
movements and urination. They may also have lost muscle sensation in their
vagina. I'm sure you males have experienced one of your buds complaining that
the little woman's pussy could fit a bowling ball since she had bud junior.
Hang with me a moment. I'm getting to the point. Exercising the Pelvic Floor
group is difficult because they've inside your body. You can't see them. You
can't lift weights or use machines to re-tone them. One approach is the Tantric
form of Yoga that is centered on the muscles of the Pelvic Floor. During the
preparation for the course, the girl working with me contacted a company named
Peritron that manufactured devices that measured feedback for anal and vaginal
responses while performing Pelvic Floor Exercises based on Tantric Yoga.
Peritron at no cost agreed to provide the meters to the instructors and students
for the initial class. They were just introducing their products and hoped to
get some free publicity.
Stating it more plainly, Peritron made two types of feedback meters. For the
anal meter, you stick a probe up your ass that measures how tight you're
squeezing your butt muscles. There's a soft plastic four-inch probe connected
by a wire to a small meter that reads from one to ten. For the vaginal meter,
you insert six inches of probe in your vagina. The readout measures the strength
of your vaginal contractions. Now put Tantric Yoga exercises and the Peritron
meters together.
Picture Althea, the lady in charge of the program, and me instructing a class
of eight brand new mothers. Everyone is lying on her mat naked or semi-naked
with a tube of K-Y jelly nearby. During the first part of the class we stuck the
probe up our butt hole and performed Tantric exercises for the muscles that
control the sphincter and rectum. In the second part we put the six inches of
plastic probe inside our cunts, performed our vaginal exercises and read out
meters. These muscles control urination and the walls of your pussy. We write it
all down in a journal so we can track our progress.
After the first few classes, the results were gratifying. Several of the young
mothers commented that both them and their husbands were enjoying sex a lot
more.
"Tom says that the other night I gave him the best fuck ever," candidly stated
a little brunette who was married to one of UNH's football players. Well if you
and your classmates have been lying about with probes in your cunt, candor comes
easily.
"Have you tried anal since we started this? My boyfriend says my backdoor is
so much tighter," commented a coed who somehow hadn't learned that taking it up
the ass wasn't a fit topic for casual conversation.
I hadn't had a baby but I did find myself developing a set of cunt muscles I
had tremendous control over and could flex at will. I'd tried the keggle
exercises you read about in Cosmopolitan; but this was on a totally different
level. You have to understand that most of the young mothers did not have eight
years of Yoga background. I was amazed at what I could do with the Peritron
meters. I was the only person in the class who could reach ten on both meters.
Furthermore I could hold it for a full minute. Althea's maximum was eight and
that was for less than five seconds.
A guy I was dating at the time said I had become a "nut cracker". I'm not sure
how that term applied since I was squeezing his dick not his balls. I had also
improved control over my sphincter and not only did anal intercourse not hurt
like it used to, I positively enjoyed it.
I should also mention that Tantric Yoga does wonder for the female orgasm. You
gain control over when the "Big O" hits and you can make it happen big or small
depending on how you feel. For the right kind of cock, I practically stop
breathing when I climax. Guys say that I can literally suck the cum out of their
balls with my vagina.
The point of all this is my female parts are unusually well trained for sex.
(No wonder I found up in a brothel. I was training for it all my life. I just
didn't know it.) Combine that with the fact that I'm uninhibited, not squeamish
about body fluids even the kind that come out of a butt hole and have the
flexibility of an experienced Yoga instructor. If I really want to freak a guy
out, I get on my back and draw my legs up and lock my ankles behind my neck.
Once he's inside me, I squeeze his cock with my "nut cracker".
Some of my dates looked absolutely terrified when I do that. Others think it
is very sexy. I've seen more than my share of premature ejaculations. The end
result is an Arlene Fairchild who excels at one thing and that's "SEX". At UNH,
I developed a reputation as a "sexual athlete" and I must admit a slut. But the
slut part started years before and I was used to it. My sexual prowess got me a
lot of dates but no offers of marriage.
Guys are strange. They love great sex that just don't want to marry a girl
who's screwed enough to know how to give it to them.
I refer to think of myself as just a "great fuck". Being a great fuck and
having a willingness to use sex to get what I wanted turned out to be the two
major causes that brought me here to the Palace. I must also mention that greed
and ambition played a part.
I recently had my twenty-fifth birthday, not that anyone here baked me a cake
or sang "Happy Birthday". I'm still slender in spite of the high carb diet they
feed us. I guess my body's still attractive. Plenty of customers pick me when
I'm in the meat line downstairs. And I have developed a larger number of
regulars than any of the other whores.
Maybe all the fucking keeps me trim. If I ever get out of here (and that's
extremely doubtful) I'll document what we eat and sell it as the "brothel diet"
with the tag line, "Swallow all the sperm you want and still loose weight".
For those of you who need a mental picture, I'm 5'9" tall and 120 pounds. My
hair is blonde (dyed) and my eyes are green. My friends tell me that my legs are
my best feature. Perverts who are looking for something in my story to wack off
to should know that I'm a 34C. My nipples are sucked so often by customers, they
look like I'm breast-feeding. Before they were small and pink.
My figure is gym toned or at least it was. I'd continued spinning, yoga, and
Pilates after I graduated college. I suppose that's something we women do in
hopes of attracting Mr. Right. Now I keep in shape by fucking as many as thirty
gold miners a day. I have to admit that constant intercourse will keep a girl
toned. Even Denise has lost weight and looks a hell of a lot better that when
she got here. Anyhow, back to my resume vitae.
After high school in Manchester, I went off to college at the state
university, University of New Hampshire or UNH in nearby Durham, NH. Let's face
it. New Hampshire's a small state. Everything is nearby. I started out majoring
in Elementary Education. Later I switched to the School of Journalism. I had
come to realize the idea of working for a newspaper was a lot more exciting than
minding other people's brats.
Unfortunately, the US economy had tipped into a recession right when I got my
bachelors so jobs were scarce. My first six months after graduation, I worked
for minimum wage as a receptionist in my dad's insurance office. I was fortunate
to get that. Most of my fellow graduating students were working in the fast food
industry.
I got lucky when a girl friend told me that the Manchester Union Leader had an
opening for a cub reporter. By that time I was desperate. I was still living at
home. My mom kept asking when I planned to leave the nest, get married, and
start my own family. She wasn't very subtle about it either. Our conversations
went like this.
"You dad and I got married the day after I graduated."
"I know, you took the last good man," I countered.
"What ever happened to that boy Perry you dated when you were a senior at UNH?
He asked you to marry him."
"He moved to the West Coast." I didn't feel like explaining to her that Perry
and I broke up because he insisted on wearing my clothes. He ruined a dozen pair
of pantyhose and never offered to pay for them. He was more girl friend than boy
friend. We used to sit in this large bathtub and shave each other's legs. The
fact is that after six months of living with my parents, I was considering
looking up Perry to see if he was still available. That was when a friend told
me that the Union Leader was going to advertise for a reporter. The friend said
that if I got there before they advertised and were deluged with applications, I
might get the job.
I dressed in the dark blue power suit I kept for job interviews and presented
myself at the personnel office of The Manchester Union Leader. I put on my most
determined look and demanded an interview. Now for those of you who do not know,
the Union Leader is after the Boston Globe, the largest and most prestigious
newspaper in New England. It's very conservative Republican. You might recall
they're the newspaper that printed such mean stories about Edmund Muskie, a
liberal Democrat who was running for President, that he cried on their office
steps. The tears didn't go over well with the voters and Senator Muskie was
forced to withdraw from the Presidential primary. To the mean assholes that
manage the paper, that's their favorite story.
After some preliminaries in Personnel, I found myself being interviewed by the
Assistant Editor for News, David Smyth. The lady in Personnel informed me that
Mr. Smyth had the final say of who got the position. David Smyth was in his mid
thirties, kept an unlit cigar in this mouth and was obese to the point that
cardiac arrest seemed an immediate possibility. I later found out he was married
and had four boys. That in no way stopped him from communicating to me exactly
what I had to do to get the job. Of course, I started off by telling him how
desperate I was.
"Mr. Smyth, I'll do anything to work at the Union Leader. My family supports
the Leader's editorial policies and they're excited about the possibility of my
employment. I'm open on salary, assignments, anything. Just tell me what it
takes and I'll do it." I guess my opening statement signaled my willingness to
spread my legs if that would affect the hiring decision. Looking back I guess I
wasn't very subtle.
"Ms. Fairchild, the problem is you have no actual newspaper work experience.
I'd be taking a serious risk if I hired you."
"Mr. Smyth, I won't let you down. I'll work twenty four hours a day if I need
to." I flashed a smile thinking that a little flirting wouldn't hurt. My friends
have always said my legs are my best feature. I had sized Mr. Smyth up as a
legman from the way he looked at them when I walked into the office. He quickly
stood up and suggested we sit over at a couch and chair group in the corner of
his office. He didn't want the desk blocking his view of my legs. I sat down
letting my skirt ride up a little. God, how I wanted that job? He'd mentioned my
lack of experience as an obstacle but quickly came up with a solution.
"I could train you myself but that would have to be away from the office. The
paper doesn't provide any on the job training."
"Certainly, anywhere, just name it." I was a drowning girl willing to grab any
life preserver even if it was shaped like the boss's cock.
"Do you have an apartment we could use?"
"Not at the moment but if I get this job, I'll get one. I'm still living at my
folks."
"How soon could you get your own place?"
"Immediately." That was true. I had some money saved up. First months rent and
security deposit were already in my bank account. I'd even found a place that
was decent and that I could afford.
"You understand what I saying here?" At that point, Mr. Smyth who had been
sitting across from me opened his legs and ran his hand over his crotch. Well if
I didn't understand what was involved I certainly did after he pawed his dick.
You're probably saying that couldn't happen in this age of sexual harassment
lawsuits and EEOC claims. Well, tell that to the management at the Union Leader.
My answer signaled my willingness to play David's game.
"Any help you could give me would be deeply appreciated. I'll do everything
possible to learn what's required to do the job exactly as you want it done."
Those were code words for "Yes, after I get the job and lease an apartment, you
can come over and fuck me any way you want."
The bottom line is I was perfectly willing to have sex with him if he gave me
a job. I know today's women are supposed to have principles and values that
prevent us from trading our bodies for favors. According to all the feminist
tracts I read in college, exploiting our bodies for male favors and acceptance
is not acceptable behavior in the America of today. Being an intelligent and
college-educated female should mean that men are to be treated as equal partners
in life not as someone we must please and act subservient to. Too bad it doesn't
work that way in reality.
I know women are not supposed to put up with that shit anymore. Tell that to a
twenty two year old girl who's been living with her parents for the last six
months. Something that happened right before I graduated illustrates how I felt
about the issue of quid pro quo when it comes to sex. I have time to digress. No
miners will show up for several hours.
I had been out with three of my girl friends to celebrate finishing our
degrees. I'd been drinking Cuervo Gold margaritas, the kind that slides down so
easily you forget how potent they are. I was more than a little drunk when I
decided to drive back to the dorm. I wasn't dating anyone at the time. I was
having trouble controlling the car when I saw blue lights flashing in my rear
view mirror. "Oh shit," I said as I sobered up pretty quick and guided the car
to the side of the road. First offence for DUI in the Granite State is a
mandatory six-month suspension of your driver's license. I was about to pee
myself when this local cop, thank God it wasn't the state highway patrol, taped
on my window.
He looked at my license then asked me to get out of the car. Since I couldn't
touch my nose, stand on one foot, or walk a straight line plus I smelled like an
open bottle of tequila, I found myself in the back of his patrol car on my way
to jail. I decided to try tears and a little pleading to see if he would let me
go. The cop wasn't moved by any of that. However, his attitude changed when in
desperation I blurted out an offer he was forced to give serious consideration.
"I'll suck you off if you let me go."
"You're kidding."
"No, you don't arrest me, take me back to the dorm and I'll suck your cock."
"You'll let me cum in your mouth. I like my pipe to be drained," said the
policeman as we entered the negotiation phase.
"I'll take everything you give me and swallow it. You can fuck me too if you
want." Actually, I was desperate to keep my license. I was also drunk and horny.
"Blowjob will have to do it. I'm married. I don't dip my wick in strange tail.
I might bring something home to Momma."
If I have any regret in life, it's that all the married men who've fucked me
over the years didn't get a case of the clap and then infect the little woman at
home. I'd have loved to hear her complaining to hubby, "I can't tinkle and it's
all your fault."
I'd made him an offer he couldn't refuse. (I've got to keep tired old cliches
like that out of my writing.) When we got back to my dorm, he parked in a remote
space and got in the back seat. I had sobered up enough to give him the best
blowjob I knew how. I let him play with my tits while I blew him. I repeated my
offer to fuck him but he declined restating his fear of catching an STD from a
college girl slut. He sent me on my way with a stern warning about the dangers
of driving and drinking. When I climbed out of the police cruiser, the smell of
his sperm on my breath covered the tequila.
Yes, I sucked off a cop who had pulled me over for weaving across the yellow
line. What's better, a quick ten minutes of oral sex in the back of a police
cruiser or spending six months ridding the bus? It's a question that if you put
to all the married and unmarried women of America, you might find me with the
majority. I read somewhere that cops frequently get offered sex by women trying
to avoid arrest for traffic violations.
I'd learned at an early age that I had something between my legs that men and
boys were willing to trade almost anything for. I also leaned there was a great
of pleasure to be had from making the trade. When I was fourteen, my brother Ed
was the captain of the basketball team and about the most popular junior class
boy in my high school. I wanted to hang out with him and his teammates more than
anything in the world. But what seventeen-year-old boy wants his freshman kid
sister around?
Mine certainly didn't in spite of my practically begging him. Being a helpful
sibling who cleaned his room and washed his clothes didn't get me anywhere
either. One night, I came out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me on
the way back to my room. Ed was waiting to use the bathroom. He had a date and
had been pounding on the door for the last ten minutes. Yes, we were poor and
the house had only one bathroom. As I appeared in the doorway, Ed playfully
tried to give me a swat on the fanny for making him late. When I jumped to the
side, the towel came loose. All of a sudden, I was standing there totally nude.
Ed looked embarrassed and reached down to the floor to pick up the towel.
"Sorry, Arlene, here," said Ed handing me back the towel while his eyes darted
between my boobs and the patch of dyed blonde hair covering my pussy. I found
myself turned on by the idea of Ed seeing me naked. I took the towel and instead
of wrapping it back around me. I just held it and stood there naked.
"Do you think my boobs will be as big as Mom's?" I put my hands under them and
lifted them up so Ed could make an accurate assessment. Okay, I was a slut
wantabe at fourteen. I also thought my brother was damn sexy. I always say if a
girl's got an attractive older brother that's the place to lose your virginity.
Why rely on some asshole that you don't know that well and may not know what
they're doing? Besides, older brothers secretly fantasize about screwing their
younger sisters so they're primed and ready to go. I may have more about this
topic later.
"Yea, sure, even bigger maybe, they look great. I hadn't realized yours had
started to grow." Ed was working hard to stay cool.
"Are mine as firm as Darlene's?" Darlene was co-captain of the cheerleading
squad and a total slut. She and Ed had been dating since school started last
fall. A couple of times I had spied on Ed and Darlene making out on the couch
after mom and dad went to sleep. Darlene's tits weren't all that great but she
certainly made them accessible. I thought mine were a little larger, had a
better shape, and my nipples went out further when I played with them.
"They look very firm," was all Ed could manage. He was wearing a pair of gym
shorts and they were poking out nicely in front. He seemed mesmerized by my
breasts.
"Feel them, then tell me honestly, who's got the firmest tits, me or Darlene?"
I stepped forward to where my boobs were practically under his chin. His cock
was poking against my belly. I squirmed around a bit so it rubbed across my
navel. Ed slowly reached up to feel me. He was moving like he was part of a bomb
disposal team trying to decide whether to cut the red wire or the blue wire. His
hands were shaking and he hesitated. At times like those, you just have to love
men. All bluster and brag with their buddies but when its time to grab their
sister's boobs, their knees turn to water. I grabbed his wrists and placed both
his hands on my boobs then I leaned in and gave him the hottest and wettest
tongue kiss I could come up with.
You all ready know high school girls will do anything to be popular or at the
least, hang out with the popular students.
"Why'd you do that?" asked my dumb ass about-to-be-seduced sweetheart of a
brother.
"I wanted to. You're my brother and I love you. I want you to be my first." I
made my intentions plain. It was true. Ed was nice looking, had a terrific body
and I felt comfortable with him. A lot of girls I met in college who had an
older brother let them take their virginity. Some didn't exactly let them. Older
brothers tend to be bigger and stronger. Anyway, I seduced Ed not the other way
around. Although he later admitted, I had been a major character in his
masturbatory fantasies.
The parents were out at a movie so it took only a few seconds for Ed to dash
into the bedroom and grab a condom out of their hiding place. Then he took me to
my bedroom and mounted me without foreplay. That didn't matter. I was wet as
only a fourteen-year-old girl can be. Ed used his hard cock to part my pussy
lips with a couple of up and down swipes. Boy did that feel heavenly. I couldn't
wait for him to slide into my cunt. He worked the head into my hole and lunged
forward without fanfare.
I guess he'd been thinking about doing that for quite a while because he
quickly blew his load. It was goodbye to virginity. Ed's was my first real cock.
I'd been secretly borrowing Mom's dildo/vibrator for the past several months so
there wasn't any pain just a lot of pleasure as he slid inside me. My vagina was
already trained to open up and get wet when it had company.
I screwed Ed that night because I wanted him to like me and include me in his
group. I have to add I was also curious and looking back on it, horny. It worked
plus I learned that having a man's erect penis inside your vagina felt even
better than I thought it would. That night I discovered how much I liked to
fuck. I liked it a lot. Well, what girl other than a lesbian doesn't, really?
Aren't we genetically engineered to think having a man's penis inside your
vagina is just this side of heaven?
Ed canceled his date with Darlene and screwed me three times that first night.
Plus he introduced me to the fine points of sucking his dick. Giving head was
also a turn on for me. I particularly liked the sensation of a man's cock
spurting cum in my mouth. Semen tastes warm and salty. Giving head was another
advantage for a young girl who wanted to be part of the in crowd. Willingness to
take a soft cock, get it hard with your mouth and patiently suck dick until you
swallow their load makes a girl very popular with her male classmates.
Afterwards, Ed was scared to death, I'd tell Mom and Dad so the next time I
asked to be included in Ed's clique, he was afraid to say no. I mentally made
the connection between putting out and getting what I wanted when he said,
"Sure, you can go". I had been expecting, "No, you're just a kid."
And the fact I was willing to screw his teammates made them eager to accept
Ed's horny little kid sister. Ed wasn't the kind of brother who assumed that
protecting his sister's virtue was his responsibility. Quickly, I became the
basketball teams combination mascot and slut. By the end of the season, I'd done
the entire team and the manager, you know the one who hands out towels and keeps
track of the practice balls.
For the next two years, I regularly went down for Ed and a good dozen of his
high school buds. When I reached sixteen my parents allowed me to date. My
willingness to have sex on the first and all subsequent dates assured me a
steady stream of partners. I was living proof of the old adage, "Good girls go
to Heaven, and bad girls go everywhere."
The bottom line is that I grew up viewing sex as a commodity I enjoy trading
in. I'm willing to barter when there is something I want. And perhaps the saving
grace was that I enjoyed consummating the deal. They say a great job is getting
paid for doing what you like to do. When you look at it that way, I suppose it's
not surprising I wound up here at the Palace of Sin.
While David Smyth wasn't anybody's idea of Mr. Perfect, he had something I
needed badly. I think you have enough background to form an opinion of me,
basically a not to bad looking New Hampshire miss with a strong desire for cock
and female parts trained to make the most of it. I hope you don't view me too
harshly. I'll begin with the day my troubles started.
