The Slut I Am, A Letter To My Therapist (Letter two, Aunt Charlotte) Goose is still at it Dr. Watkins; As told you in my last letter, my parents sent me to live with my Aunt Charlotte because I was pregnant. Also, if you remember, I refused to tell anyone that I was pregnant from being raped by my mother`s brother. Aunt Charlotte is my father's youngest sister. That makes her only ten years older than me. She has always been somewhat of a black sheep. Even though I knew she existed, my parents never talked about her or had any contact with her until they told me I was going to live with her. Soon after arriving, I learned that Aunt Charlotte was a whore. I mean that in the simplest of terms, she sold her body for a living. A damn good living it was. You see, Charlotte didn't just peddle her ass on the streets. No, Charlotte was a highly paid, well-respected lady of the night. Her clients were rich, anonymous and in many cases powerful men. Her clientele consisted of Doctors. Lawyers and Politicians. Men, that were willing to pay not only for discretion, but shall we say, the fulfillment of unusual sexual practices. Whether or not my parent's were fully aware of all of this, I cannot say. You see, I never spoke to them again after they sent me away. From the moment I de-planed, I knew I was in a different world. Even before I discovered what Charlotte`s livelihood. I knew my whole world was going to be different. The most obvious of these changes was leaving a small town in Southern Iowa and arriving in Chicago. To sum it up; imagine a fifteen year old girl, I just had a birthday, who had spent her life surrounded by cornfields and farmers suddenly cast into a sea of people and surrounded by skyscrapers. To top it off, I was going to live with a woman I had never even met. Anyway, as I walked into the terminal, I saw what I thought was the most glamorous, most beautiful woman in the world waiting for me. She looked elegant, even just standing there holding a sign with my name on it. Charlotte was tall, probably five seven, even without heels. Her hair was as black as a moonless night and fell softly past her shoulders and halfway down her back. Her face was long and thin. She had big dark eyes and large full lips. Charlotte didn't look or dress like a whore. She looked more like a fashion model. The suit she wore was black with thin white pinstripes and perfectly cut to fit her amazing figure, the hem of her skirt cut just and inch or two above the knee, just short enough to tease. The jacket was full over her breasts and tight around her small waist, flaring out over her womanly hips. Around her slender neck, she wore a single strand of pearls. Her body, even in a business suit, exuded sexual prowess. I immediately envied everything about her. She was beautiful, graceful and confident, everything I was lacking. She lowered the sign as I walked toward her, opening her arms to welcome me with a very polite hug. "You must be Cindy. I would have recognized you anywhere. You are so pretty, the mirror image of your mother." I didn't say anything. I was too scared to speak. It wasn't just the unfamiliar surroundings or that I was pregnant. It was everything; this beautiful woman, people bustling around me and of course the massive airport. To make matters worse, standing next to this beautiful and elegantly dressed woman in my jeans and sweatshirt, I felt like a bum. None of that seemed to bother her however. She took me by the hand and led me down the corridor. "Give me your baggage ticket," She said. "I'll have John pick them up. He is waiting for us in the car." I had no idea at the time who John was and didn't ask. I would soon learn though, that John was Charlotte's driver and gopher. I would discover as well, that the car of which she spoke was long white limo. The limo was just part of it though. Charlotte also owned a penthouse on Lake Shore Drive, overlooking Lake Michigan. I found out later that she also owned several other valuable properties around the city and was invested heavily in the stock market. Charlotte wasn't just a whore. She was a very smart, very rich whore. As we sat I the back seat, waiting for John to return with my suitcases, she continued to talk freely, her smile never fading. "I'll bet you're starved. Have you eaten? "I'm okay," I said sheepishly. It was when she patted my leg with her long slender fingers, that I saw the bright red nail polish covering her perfectly manicured nails. When she crossed her legs, I noticed through her open-toed heels that her toenails matched her fingernails and were just as neatly manicured. Everything about her was meticulous. With her hand still resting on my knee, she said. "If there is anything you need, you just let me know." I simply stared at her, not knowing what to say. My mind was spinning. Why was she being so kind? Everybody else in the world was mad at me. It wasn't until we were on the expressway that she pushed a button to raise the glass separating us from John. Then, turning slightly in her seat to face me, she spoke evenly and deliberately. "I understand you have a little problem." Her large eyes were looking at my lower belly. Even though there was a concerned look on her face, she was still smiling. I blushed, ashamed. Very tenderly, she touched my cheek. "We have to talk about it you know." I still didn't speak. "Do you know who the father is?" When I looked into her eyes, I saw tenderness and compassion. "I can't tell you." She seemed to be able to read my mind. "Someone threatened you didn't they?" I turned to watch the traffic through the side window. Her tone suddenly became sterner. "You don't have to tell me who if you don't want to. We do however have to talk about what we are going to do. Your father sent you to me because I live in the city. Here, no one cares if a fifteen year old is pregnant. No one cares who you slept with or why. All of that aside however, we still have to deal with the situation." I turned to face her, my eyes filling with tears. "Uncle Jack. Promise you won't tell anyone. If you do, he will kill mom and dad." "Don't worry. It will be our secret." She pulled me to her, hugging me tightly, whispering in my ear. "I know someone that can make this all go away." Did I mention that Charlotte was a beautiful, kind and caring woman? I think I did. Well, this might be the best time to add that all of the kindness and understanding was only one side of her. She could change instantly to an evil, manipulating bitch. You see Doc, two days after arriving in Chicago; I was in a private clinic somewhere on the outskirts of the city having an abortion. I was never asked if that was what I wanted, although I guess I did. Charlotte decided for me. Being the dumb country girl that I was, I didn't think it odd that an abortion required a hospital stay. Neither did I know that having an abortion meant I could never have children again. I know what you're thinking. None of that is true. Well, for me it was. Charlotte's friend, the one who made the problem go away, also made sure that I would never have that problem again. He tied my tubes. While he was cleaning out my womb, he also repaired my hymen. I was a virgin again. Charlotte told me about the virgin part right away. "You're as good as new honey. It will be just like that bastard never touched you." It would be later that I found out about my being sterilized. Charlotte had plans for me. Plans she had not yet discussed with me. I have to admit that from my first night in Charlotte's penthouse she was honest about what she did. In fact, she had gentleman caller the very first night I was there. Did I mention that Charlotte did all of her entertaining at home. She never went to hotels or to a client's home. It was her policy that they come to her. That being the case, after dinner that first night, she dismissed me to my room. It was a nice room. A frilly, little girl room with shelves lined with little girl stuff like baby dolls and teddy bears. The drapes, the bedspread... everything was done in soft pink with a lot of lace. My bed was small with a lacy pink canopy. I even had my own bathroom. Charlotte had gone to a lot of trouble and expense to make me comfortable. I had my own TV and stereo. Charlotte made sure I had everything I needed to keep me occupied while she worked. From that very first night, Charlotte made it clear that when she was entertaining, I was not to come out of my room for anything. During the time I was healing from my procedures, Charlotte transformed me from a hick-town country-girl to a well-dressed, well-mannered city-girl. We shopped everyday. She bought me clothes to wear out in public. A large part of my new wardrobe however included frilly little dresses with hems just barely long enough to cover the lacey little panties she bought. When I tried them on, I looked like I was twelve. I protested but to no avail. Next, Charlotte taught me how to apply makeup so that it didn't look like I was wearing makeup. She showed me how to stand, how to walk and most importantly to my image at that time, how to be shy and demure. I didn't go to school. I was home-schooled by a private tutor. I know now that the schooling was just to keep the truant officer away. Charlotte did all of this with out telling me exactly why. By the time I healed, I had been with Charlotte for six weeks. It was then that she explained to me that I was ready. She also told me what I was ready for. I was, as she so aptly put it, every man's fantasy. My young body was still fresh. Even at fifteen, with my new wardrobe, I could pass for twelve. Being small, I was only four-foot-ten and weighed less than ninety pounds. My breasts were still undeveloped and my hips almost non-existent. To add to that image, Charlotte made sure that I shaved my pussy every day. "Little girls," she told me, "don't have hair on their pussies." I listened to all of this without speaking. I didn't know what to say. I was trapped. What could I do? I had no choice but to accept what I was told. If Charlotte turned me out on the streets, I had no place else to go. Not only that, Charlotte made it all sound so easy. I could live in luxury just like her. All I had to do was listen to her and learn. I learned several things very quickly. I learned that there were men that would pay a lot of money to fuck a twelve-year-old virgin. I learned that although men may talk about how experienced a woman is at sucking cock, they really get off telling a girl what to do. These men were just like Uncle Jack. They wanted to be the first to fuck me. I also learned. It didn't matter how many cocks I sucked or how many dicks plowed my pussy and ass, as long as I acted like a virgin, I was paid well. Charlotte and I got away with that gig for almost two years. It always went something like this: Charlotte would meet the man at the door. After taking his money, a minimum of two thousand dollars. Charlotte had a sliding scale. She charged whatever she could get away with. Once she had the money, she would escort him to my room. The room that she had so carefully decorated to perpetuate the idea that I was a child. Before leaving me alone with the client, she would always say the same thing. She would cut her big eyes at him and say, "Be gentle with her. You're the first." Then she would turn to me. "Do whatever the nice man tells you sweetie, your Aunt Charlotte loves you." Then it was my turn. I would bow my head shyly and say, "Yes ma'am." I think the first time was the hardest. Aunt Charlotte had told me what to do but still I was very scared. It helped that the man was nothing like Uncle Jack. Instead of being crude and smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, he wore a business suit, smelled of expensive cologne and was quite gentlemanly. When Charlotte had left the room, he sat down on the edge of my bed. Then patting the bed next to him, he urged me to join him. Surprisingly, when I sat down he didn't grab me or anything like that. Instead he spoke very softly. "Are you scared?" I nodded. That was part of the act Charlotte and I had rehearsed. Still, a part of it was very real. I was scared. "Have you ever seen a naked man?" I shook my head. Still though I had images of Jack pushing his cock between my lips. He smiled. "That's okay. We'll go slow." He got up from the bed and, very casually, undressed down to his boxers, his erection pushing against the thin material. His movements were easy and deliberate, carefully hanging his slacks and jacket over the back of a chair, and neatly folding his shirt and socks in a pile. I was still sitting on the edge of the bed when he approached me, took my hand and slid it through the opening in his boxers, placing my fingers around his hard cock. He felt small compared to Jack, my small fingers easily encircling his tool. He was very polite when he asked, "Do you know what that is?" I shook my head. "It's a penis," he said. "Have you ever seen one?" Again, I shook my head. Still having images of Jack's nasty tool. He removed my hand and pulled his boxers down over his knees, stepping out of them. "Touch it," he said. "Get used to the feel of it." I did as he asked, wrapping my fingers around it, pulling the foreskin back and forth. For whatever reason, I didn't feel threatened like I had with Uncle Jack. The soft skin felt warm in my hand. The hardness didn't feel as menacing. I continued like that until the first drop of cum leaked from the tip. He must have seen the surprise on my face. "You know what that is?" I didn't and I said so. "It's called semen or cum. That happens when a man gets exited. Why don`t you taste it." I touched my tongue to the tip of his dick. He tasted salty. "Why don't you take my penis in your mouth?" Very gingerly, I opened my mouth, allowing the head to slip past my lips. "That's good," he said. Although the only reference I had was Uncle Jack, I appreciated this new man`s smaller cleaner rod. I would learn as time went by that he was actually much smaller than most. God had given him the short end of the stick when he handed out dicks. I could hear his breathing become more labored as I held him in my mouth. I wasn't really sucking him, he was just kind of fucking my mouth, sliding his dick in and out. Unlike Jack however, he didn't try to force feed it to me. He was very gentle, never putting more than just the head in my mouth. Through gasps he said. "Now, let's take off your clothes so that we are both naked." I stood up, allowing him to undress me. As he kneeled before me, pulling my panties down over my hips, he kissed my bald pussy. "Do you know what this is called?" He asked as he slid his hand between my legs. I shook my head. "This is your vagina. You see, boys have penis' and girls have vaginas. Do you know what we do with them?" I wanted to say yeah. Grown men fuck little girls in their vaginas with their hard penis'. Instead I shook my head again. "Let me show you," he said as he pushed my onto my back on the bed. Kneeling between my legs, he held his cock in one hand, directing it toward my rebuilt pussy. "This may hurt a little," he said as he pushed the head between my cunt lips. To my surprise and probably his too, I was wet. My cunt was making it's own lubrication as he slid his dick up and down my crack, searching for the opening to my pussy. He was right. It did hurt. It was nothing like Uncle Jack however. It was just a sharp pain that quickly dissipated. Probably because he didn't ram me, instead he took his time, pushing forcefully but slowly until he was all in. There was a smile, a look of accomplishment, on his face when his balls bottomed out against my cunt. As he fucked me, he whispered things like; "That's a good girl. Take my cock up your tight little hole. Doesn't that feel good. Doesn't it feel good to have my cock in your pussy?" Charlotte had prepared me well. "Yes, that feels amazing. I love your cock in my vagina." He continued in that manner, fucking me slowly and easily, until, with one deep plunge, his cock began exploding between my legs. Suddenly he pulled out and with cum still leaking from the tip of his cock, he was once again a businessman. He went directly to my bathroom, cleaned up, got dressed and left a hundred dollar tip on my dresser. He left the room with out saying another word. That's the was my first client.