Vicious

All sexually active persons in this story are over 18 years of age.

I woke up in a hospital bed, with a small Asian woman staring at me intently.

"Ryan's been searching for you for a long time, Bridget." The woman said.

Ryan! It had been a name I had cherished, but that was 13 years ago. "And" I thought, "that's how long it's been since anyone called me 'Bridget'."

I closed my eyes and drifted off.

My mother and Ryan's father had shared a tent for a few months, back when I was six or seven years old. Ryan and I were often kicked out of the tent and left on our own. Ryan was used to this, but for me it was a new experience.

I'd try to get Ryan to play with me, but he made it clear from the beginning that he didn't want to be bothered with 'any damned girl'. He was two years older than me, at least chronologically. Streetwise, he was a lifetime older than me. He was wary of everybody but knew where to get any free food or loose change. He didn't seem to like me, didn't want to be near me, but always shared the food he was able to scrounge with me. I thought he was wonderful, even when he pushed me away.

My mother had always kept me with her, protecting me from predators simply with her constant presence. Now that she was spending more and more time in the tent with Ryan's father, I became vulnerable. Old men started offering me candies or wanting to show me the puppy they had in their tent. I loved candy and puppies and would have fallen for those ploys if not for Ryan. He would suddenly be there, growling, growling like a dog, at the men. Even at eight, there was something about Ryan that forced the men to retreat.

I'd get mad at him for making me lose the candy or not see the puppy, and he would scowl at me. "There is no goddamn candy, stupid." He'd growl out at me, "Those men just want to hurt you."

I didn't believe him, until one day I was playing with a doll Ryan had found somewhere. I was sitting between the dumpsters in an alley, where I'd set up small, discarded boxes as a table, chairs and a bed for my dolly. Suddenly, there were two men blocking the entrance to my little alcove.

"What'd we have here? What 'cha doing, sweet girl?" the first man said through his broken, yellowish orange and black teeth. "You gotcha yourself a little doll, huh."

"Ain't you just a living doll yourself, honey?" leered his partner. His tooth wasn't quite decayed as his partner's but was solitary in his mouth.

They crowded into my alcove between the dumpsters and the first man grabbed me by my arms. "Let's see how sweet this doll really is?" I screamed.

Suddenly, two shoes landed on the man's shoulders, driving his face into the asphalt. "Run!" Ryan yelled at me, as he launched himself at the first man. As I dropped my doll and ran, I saw Ryan seize the first man's large ears as he sank his teeth on the man's nose.

I ran back to the tent, but no one was there. I hid inside, shaking and worrying about Ryan. He was so small compared to the men. I lay there, shivering and alone for what seemed like forever before Ryan returned. His face showed that he'd been battered, and he was having trouble breathing. His shirt was bloody, and my face must have shown the horror I was feeling.

He grinned at me, showing teeth with blood showing at the gums and between each tooth. "Don't worry. The blood on the shirt is mostly not mine." But when he started taking off his shirt, his torso was nearly completely purple. I jumped up to help him as his awkward movements showed how painful removing the shirt was for him.

"What happened, Ryan?" I was crying as I asked.

"Ah, they got in some good hits and kicks before I was able to get away." He gave me his bloody grin again. "But I went back with a 2x4 and jammed it into Toothless's mouth. Now he doesn't even have that one tooth."

His face hardened. "I told them that it wasn't worth messing with me or you, that no matter what they did I'd hurt them worse. I told the other one that next time I'd bite his nose clean off, instead of just leaving tooth marks. They cursed at me, but I think they believed me."

Everyone believed him. They told stories about this vicious kid. Even non-believers who heard the stories became believers when they saw someone cross Ryan. He'd get hit, kicked or worse, but eventually he'd get payback. Even the toughest guys realized that it wasn't worth it to go after him. Vicious, they called him. "That Vicious Kid."

My mother and Ryan's dad never came back that day. We found out later that his dad had been pinched and it was six months before he got out. My mother? I never saw her again. I still don't know what happened to her.

Ryan waited those six months for his father to be released. While he waited, he took care of me. The first thing he did was to pull out a knife and hold me down while he chopped off my hair. I was terrified. I thought he was going to cut me with the knife.

"I can't take care of no girl. Hold still, damn it!" He bit his lip as he concentrated on my hair. It hurt as he sawed away at it, but he explained that I was now a boy. He'd get me some clothes, and I was going to be his brother, "Billy".

"I'm Bridget," I whimpered. "I'm a girl!"

"NO, you're Billy. And you're a boy. Unless you want guys like Toothless trying to hurt you again." He squinted his eyes, regarding my new hair style. He apparently was satisfied with it, because he put away the knife and got up off me. As I sat up, he explained that we'd avoid the predators that preyed on girls with this ploy, but we'd still have to be on the lookout for those that went after boys.

"But" he finished, "As my brother they will probably not bother you. It just wouldn't be worth it to them, and they know it."

He was right. Eight years old, and he understood what he had to do to survive. I had no clue how to survive without Ryan.

Toothless left Ryan alone after losing his last tooth, but his black toothed partner wouldn't let it go. One night, as Ryan and I were settling down for the night in his father's tent, the flap flew back, a hand reached in and dragged Ryan out.

Caught unaware, the man was on top of the boy before he could react. The man's fists rained down on the poor, helpless boy until a loud crack was heard. The man slowly slid off Ryan.

My friend lay there, looking at me. I was holding the baseball bat Ryan kept in the tent. I'd learned something from Ryan. It was my turn to save him.

He got up, knelt next to Blacktooth for a moment before going through the man's pockets, taking his money and anything else he thought was useful. While he did that, he told me to start packing.

I was seven at the time, and I'd killed a man. It didn't hit me until much later. At the time, all I knew was that I'd saved Ryan.

We struck the tent and moved to another neighborhood. The police apparently gave the murder the same attention they give to most crimes among the homeless. In any case, there was never any blowback.

So, now I was Billy, the boy with that Vicious Kid. We were pretty much left alone by the predators, especially after what happened to Toothless and Blacktooth. Nobody knew for sure, but they all thought it was Vicious.

For almost three years Ryan took care of me. When his father got out of jail, he tried to shed me, but Ryan wouldn't have it. I was his brother, and his dad would just have to accept that. His father had no more idea of how to handle Ryan than anyone else did. I think he was afraid of his own son. So, I joined the family.

Then Ryan got pinched and his father disappeared. I was alone. I'd been laying in the tent. At eight, I already had gotten my period and it was painful. And embarrassing. Ryan and his father were no help when it came to preparing me for the experience or helping me when it happened. Ryan got me sanitary napkins, but there was no one who could guide Ryan's BROTHER through it all. So I was not with Ryan that day, as I normally would have been. Instead, I was dealing with my second period and the accompanying cramps.

When Ryan's father told me Ryan had been arrested, he sent me down to the store to score some food for dinner. I was still small enough to not seem threatening to store owners and would shoplift quite often for meals.

When I returned, the tent was gone, along with everything in it. Money Ryan and I had collected, extra clothes, some food, all gone with the father. I ended up sleeping in the doorways, hoping Ryan would return. But he never did.

A woman showed up, asking for me. "Miss Kitty." She was asking everyone about me, dropping Ryan's name. I was wary. Ryan had always warned me about people like her.

I was hiding behind some tents that belonged to the Joes. They were a group of men, eight of them, whose co-leaders were both named Joe. They were a tough bunch, known to abuse girls and women who fell into their clutches. But they'd always been friendly with Ryan. I think they admired that tough ten-year-old kid.

Big Joe (the other was Little Joe. Not sure why -- they were both the same size) saw me hiding and wandered over to me. "You're smart to hide out. She probably one of those pedophile pimps. I bet she's got Vicious trapped somewhere." He laughed gruffly. "If she does, I'll bet she'll be regretting it soon."

He looked me over and said, "You know what, kid. You can hang out with us until Ryan returns. No one can hold him, I bet."

So, I became part of his gang. Ryan never came back, so for the next eight years, I was a Joe. It wasn't as easy to hide my sex without Ryan's help, but I managed. Periods were problematic, acquiring clean napkins and disposing of the soiled ones without anyone seeing them. I got ribbed a lot about being shy peeing and bathing, but honestly, no one really cared after a while. They were used to me, and I could go off by myself quite often, using shoplifting or other scrounging as an excuse. Ryan had taught me a lot about being a scrounger.

As I got older, I also got teased a lot for not taking part in the rapes and other sexual abuses the Joes practiced on helpless women. They'd grab a woman, hold her for a couple of days while they took their pleasure, then let her go, with a warning of dire consequences if they tried to get payback or reported the crime to the police. Which was a joke -- the police would never have responded anyway, based on how little they pursued homeless crimes in the past. And many of the girls would come back, wanting to party with the Joes for the food, drink and drugs the Joes always seem to have.

I insisted that my mother had been raped and that because of that, I'd never take part in a rape. The Joes seemed to respect that, especially since I never criticized them for being rapists.

It was years before I appreciated the irony of finding succor among the very predators that Ryan had worked so hard to protect me from. Now, I served as the lookout while they "partied hardy" with their victims. I felt guilty for my part in the females' maltreatment, but Ryan had also taught me the thought that kept reoccurring in my mind: "Better them than me!" I needed to survive, and this was how I had to do it.

For eight years, I hid out as Billy. I think genetics and a bad diet most of my life kept my breast from developing beyond what I later learned was an "A" cup. And even that was rounding way up. I was flat enough to have a career as a board in a fence. That helped. I was able to strip to the waist without raising any suspicions. I could probably have gotten away with it longer if not for Covid.

I was coming up on my 19th birthday when I developed what turned out to be a yeast infection, so I was forced to go into a free clinic and reveal to the doctor and nurse my true sex to get treatment. If it hadn't burned so badly, I wouldn't have gone, but I couldn't stand the pain and there were no other options.

Then with Covid, the homeless were herded into the clinic to receive shots. For some reason, they divided us into two groups, male and female. I went in with the Joes, figuring I might have to take off my shirt, but wouldn't have to expose my sex. I was confident that I wouldn't be discovered.

But of course, my luck failed. The busybody nurse from the clinic was giving the shots. She recognized me and announced loudly, "Hey! You're a woman. You don't belong here. Go get in the other line!"

I saw the Joes staring at me, slack jawed. Someone said, "He always was shy about peeing!" "And bathing!" someone else quipped.

I turned and ran. I tried to move quickly out of the area, but without money, it's difficult.

It only took them two days to catch up to me.

The Joes felt that I owed them. They also didn't like the fact that I'd fooled them for so long. I don't know who was doing my job as lookout, but I'm sure they didn't feel guilty at all. As far as I could tell over the hours I was held down, every Joe had at least one turn at me, with Big Joe jubilantly scoring my cherry.

At first, I fought and cried. Then, after several Joes, I just lay there, passive. Then, against my will I had my first orgasm. I didn't climax with each of my rapists, but there was more than one before they were done with me.

Then there were two men that I didn't know. They weren't Joe's but bought a turn with cigarettes and booze. Somehow, knowing I was being sold brought forth several larger, longer orgasm.

Little Joe then convinced Big Joe that they shouldn't let me go, that they should keep my money maker working for them. So began my life as a whore. A whore you could get for a pack of cigarettes or half a bottle of cheap wine.

The night I cried the most was when Joe got the first request for my ass. I refused, saying I didn't do anal. (A few days before I hadn't done anything, so yeah, I didn't do anal. And didn't want to). I refused and got hit. I still refused, and refused again before I lost two teeth. It became obvious to me that I was going to be anally raped, and refusing was only going to delay it, to my detriment. I still refused.

Big Joe got impatient and had three of the other men come in to help Little Joe hold me down while Big Joe snatched another cherry from me. After the other four men had their turn "breaking" me in, the Joes asked me if I did anal.

"Yes," I mumbled.

Big Joe slapped me on my ass, hard. "What? Louder!"

"YES, I DO ANAL!" I whimpered, sobbing.

"Hey, Big Joe. Remember Reynolds? In Lompoc?" Little Joe was giggling.

Big Joe started grinning. He slapped my ass again. "Oh, yeah. That tattoo we gave him. Billy won't be forgetting that she does anal, will she? Reynolds sure never did."

They got some ink and a needle and held me down again as they tattooed my left butt cheek. "I love anal!" my ass now advertised. Now not only those who came looking for anal will be after my ass, but this advertisement will put that suggestion into all the johns' minds.

I will say that I did learn to enjoy anal, but I never did learn to love it.

That was the night I cried the most. I didn't see any future for me. At least their previous victims were released after a couple of days. They were going to keep me forever.

I think after that I was numb. They pimped me out for the next few months, adding tattoos that said "Property of Joes" across my chest. Little Joe's humorous idea to shave my pubic mound and mark it with "Eat at Joes" had everyone but me in stitches.

I now had two safety pins piercing my nipples. Two on each nipple. Whenever I displeased Big or Little Joe, they took an incredible amount of enjoyment shoving another pin through my skin. They loved hearing me scream. Little Joe wanted to start piercing my vulva and clitoris, but I begged Big Joe not to do it. I convinced him that he could damage his "money maker". He decided it wasn't worth the risk. But he then shoved another pin through my breast.

They were selling my body for cigarettes and cans of beer! I tried to convince them to let me hook on the streets. I thought I could convince them that they could make real money. Unfortunately, they saw through my ploy, recognizing that once I was in someone's car, I'd be begging the john to drive me away. They refused, settling for whatever they could get from the other people in the tent city we were in.

I was missing my teeth, embarrassed by the gap in my top teeth where Big Joe had knocked them out. Ryan had lost his mother when he was five, but she had taught him hygiene and tooth care, and he'd taught me. I think he honored his mother by trying to stay clean and religiously brushing his teeth morning and night. People comment on how filthy the father was, but the two kids were cleaner. Ryan had given me my first toothbrush. I wasn't sure it was new, but he made me use it every morning and night from the day he had rescued me onward. Now I was missing two teeth, and the Joes didn't care about my teeth. Little Joe insisted that all the cum in my mouth I got from blowjobs would coat my teeth and keep me cavity free.

I saw that my teeth were getting yellower and black spots caused by cavities were on several teeth. I cried and begged the Joes for a toothbrush. It wasn't the teeth. It was now my way of honoring Ryan. Eight years later, I still cried for him. He tried to protect me. Now I was lost.

That night, Big Joe and Little Joe DP'ed me for the last time. They'd sold me to a South-Central pimp. It was my fault. I'd given them the idea of getting real money by hooking, and they figured out how to cash in. Big Joe told me I was getting my wish to whore for real money. They sold my body for $1000.00. They thought that was big money. Jackson, my new pimp, made that back the first night.

There were a few silver linings. Now instead of fucking on a dirty sleeping bag in a filthier tent, I got to screw in a bed! I hadn't slept in a bed for at least 13 years. Now I had one of my own, when I wasn't sharing it with a john.

The safety pins were removed from my nipples and replaced with barbells.

Another silver lining was my new customers were healthier than the homeless men the Joes had sold me to. Now I could pretty much count on having a orgasm, as these new johns lasted much longer.

I was given one nightgown to wear. No other clothes, not even underwear. Jackson saw no need for something that took any time to take off. Time was money.

The nightgown was sheer, leading almost every john to stop and ask me if I was really a girl. "You's as flat as da floor, bitch!" was something I heard often. After a while the nightgown was less sheer as the dirt and cum built up on it. Jackson didn't believe in laundry. I was lucky he let me bathe. And I now had a toothbrush. Apparently, some 'clients' didn't like whores with cum breath.

Neither the room nor the bed were any cleaner than the old tent. I think the tent had less bugs. I was covered with flea bites the first few weeks, before the fleas got tired of me. I tried to get Jackson to clean the sheets, but he wouldn't. And when I did it myself, washing the sheets and my nightgown after the last customer one night. Jackson whipped me with his belt. He whipped me so badly the johns nicknamed me "The Tiger" because of my stripes.

Jackson took pleasure in planning "events" where the white girl was humiliated. I was featured in gangbangs, had things shoved in every orifice and was "invited" to "entertain" animals. That never happened, but Jackson seemed to love threatening me with it and I got more stripes added to my skin for my refusals. I had black spades tattooed all over my body. I was hung from the ceiling and for a fee anyone could use a whip on me.

What scared me most was the butchered breast or body implants that many of the girls had. Huge scars, cockeye nipples pointing in what can only be called non-traditional directions, and symmetry issues. That was the worst. One girl seemed to have a B cup on the left but a D on the right. She was scheduled for another appointment with the butcher doctor to fix that.