Now that she had accepted me as her Dominant "Master", her Daddy, and her Priest in the worship of her whoreship, we spent much time delving into the past, exploring the incidents that had created the patterns and programs she now followed. Much of this exploration occurred under erotic hypnosis, often combined with various forms of ritual sexual power focusing, such as Tantra.
One session produced a mine of precious memories, glittering brighter than jewels...
"Why do you enjoy group sex and gangbang fantasies so much? What experiences have shaped you this way?"
The stories welled forth from her half asleep lips, sultry like a sleep-talking woman murmuring to he who is violating her in her dreams...
Deep whispers of a dark past far before rationality, of Fathers, and Brothers, best left untouched for the sake of sanity...
Adrift in the foster-care system with a half brother with whom she shared comfort, need, and exploration...
The day her adopted father beats her for her slutty ways... the day her brother offers her a needle to dull the pain of the broken ribs...
One hell rapidly traded for another, and finally during one fight she just... leaves.
Wandering the city park, just trying to clear her head. Her veins are singing harmonies to the universe, and her nerves are awash with sensation, so strong it almost burns. A group is gathered ahead, she recognizes some faces from her college... haven?
They see her, the "tough girl" with the black clothes and the spikes. The one with the attitude, who clearly relishes the effect her stunning body, waist length red chair, and divers flexibility has on bystanders.
This girl is used to getting her way with men.
She rushes among them seeking any sort of anchor. A girl in her English class catches her and asks her if she's OK. She starts spinning bullshit, because she's almost incapable of telling the truth when she's this spun up and in this much fear...
She smells the rum now. Her "friend" doesn't look so friendly...
"Aww, look who's all fucked up and running away from Daddy. Little Miss Wears plaid miniskirts to show off her g-strings and will fuck anyone despite their relationships, because it's 'not Her problem'!"
The girl grabbed her by the hair. The guys started closing in. One thing she'd learned all those bad years was how to hit. Her punch broke the bitches hold, and with any luck her jaw.
As she surged back the drunken pack of upper class jock boys, Greeks and general A-listers came at her with a will. Despite her best moves and almost berserk resistance they got a hold of her by sheer numbers and immobilized her with hands across the whole of her body. Her shirt was ripped open, her bra torn off, and her panties ripped from beneath her miniskirt. She was hoisted in the air, face down, while hands explored her most intimate places. Her brain began to involuntarily fall into the fog programmed into her subconscious so long ago...
She barely recognized the cock that slid between her lips. She swallowed it and nursed like a baby calf suckling at a teat. The adrenaline surge from this drunken gang-rape had this football player on the verge, and he almost immediately began unloading his backlog of cum down her throat in convulsive jets of ropy strands. She murmured like a happy baby and drank it all. Then a cockhead pushed against her wee starfish. Her eyes sudden awoke in shock...
NO ONE!
(except her foster father, but that wasn't her fault...)
NO WAY!
As the unfamiliar cock drove into her asshole, she twisted like a salmon on a hook. She suddenly bit down on the softening cock in her mouth, hard enough to draw copious amounts of blood.
Spitting blood in their faces disturbed her captors enough that she could twist free, and with speed , fear and adrenaline surging in her veins she runs.
And runs.
And finds herself at home. The home that is no longer hers. She's been kicked out. She has nowhere to go. She sneaks in to tell her brother goodbye. He's not there. She looks around, but their "Father" has heard something. She hasn't much time. She grabs the shoe box that holds her bro's stash and skates out the window before that bastard can arrive.
In shock, suddenly on the streets, nearly raped and half naked, her only positions her tattered clothes and a shoe box with a rather hefty amount of drugs contained within, she walks to the truck stop.
Truckers are supposed to like speed, right? Helps them do their job. I gotta be able to trade this for a ride the hell outta here and a little money for food and new clothes.
Across the fields between the city and the strip of businesses serving the highway. Moving faster now that she knows she's out of sight. Watching the truck stop along the interstate. She's tied her torn shirt back together, but the tied ends gather between her tits and draw them into focus. If she still had a bra it'd be one thing, but right now her nipples are staining against the thin fabric from the exertion and cold night air. She still has on her red plaid micro-miniskirt, her white socks and her short, heeled boots.
As she tremblingly steps into the pool of light from a mercury arc lamp she has no idea how much she looks like the usual first time truck stop whore.
