("`-''-/").___..--''"`-._ `6_ 6 ) `-. ( ).`-.__.`) (_Y_.)' ._ ) `._ `. ``-..-' _..`--'_..-_/ /--'_.' ,' (((' (((-((('' (((( K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N _________________________________________ WARNING! This text file contains sexually explicit material. If you do not wish to read this type of literature, or you are under age, PLEASE DELETE THIS FILE NOW!!!! _________________________________________ Scroll down to view text -------------------------------------------------------- This work is copyrighted to the author © 2008. Please don't remove the author information or make any changes to this story. All rights reserved. Thank you for your consideration. -------------------------------------------------------- Jenni's Story - 1 by Brian_r_98 (brian_r_98@yahoo.com) *** Young teen girl learns about sex from her stepfather, girlfriend and by watching her mother. (MFff, ped, bi, nc, 1st, mast, bd, spank, toys) *** Chapter 1 – Spanked Naked My name is Jenni, I'm 14 years old, and I am a sex slave. This is my story. Sexual submissives aren't born; they're created gradually over a number of years. With me, it started with bare-bottom spankings. My first memory of a spanking was when I was three or four years old. My mother was determined that I'd be a good girl. Every offense earned me a spanking; it was only a question of how many swats I got. After my father died when I was seven, the spankings became more frequent. To me it seemed no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried to be good, I just couldn't go an entire week without breaking some rule my mother had, or invented. She loved me, she told me. It was for my own good, she told me. It would make me a better person, she said. When I was ten, she began using a leather belt on me. Now the punishments hurt worse. They were more than just bare-bottom, too. Beginning about the time she switched to the leather belt, I had to take off all my clothes to prepare for punishment, and remain naked for a time afterward, usually standing in a corner. Just before I turned thirteen, my mother remarried. It was in the spring of my 7th grade year. My stepfather, Jim, seemed like a pretty cool guy to me, at least at first. The spankings eased after he moved in, and it was still my mother who gave them. She did them in the privacy of my bedroom for a while, but after a few months we moved back into the living room. Where Jim could see me. She did allow me to keep most of my clothes on, only baring my bum to the reach of the belt. When I stood in the corner afterwards, I'd be bare from the waist down. I'd have to hold my skirt or shorts or pants in my hand and my panties would be around my knees. At thirteen, I was slender, blonde, and pretty. I didn't have much of a figure but I did have a cute butt and slim, pretty legs. Knowing he could see me – all of me – when I was spanked over my mother's knee made me nervous. He never said anything, never touched me or was involved in the spanking. But he watched me, sizing me up. Sometimes I felt like an object of curiosity, or a steak on a plate ready to be eaten. After I finished 7th grade we moved across town to a better neighborhood, but with a worse public school. Mom and Jim wouldn't even consider sending me there so I started 8th grade at St. Ignatius, an all-girls school. I had to wear a uniform – a white blouse, plaid skirt, and knee socks. I probably looked like every pervert's dream. But I also knew I looked good in it. I only had to look at the boys on the street looking at me as I walked to and from school every day to know that. I always rolled my skirt so that it was just short enough that I got lots of attention from the boys. I made sure it was long enough that the teachers left me alone about it. The first time I came home with my skirt rolled higher than Mom liked earned me a bare-bottom spanking. Mom worked, but she had a weird schedule, didn't have the same days off each week. Mom was home that day when I came waltzing in. When I spun around to close the door my skirt swirled up and you could see my white panties. Mom yelled and got really mad. She was still yelling almost an hour later when Jim came home. "June," said Jim, "instead of yelling at her endlessly, why don't you spank her like you've been promising probably since you started in on her. I'll get the belt." He headed down the hall to their bedroom where it was kept. 'Thanks for nothing, Jim,' I thought. Jim walked in with the belt and handed it to Mom. She motioned with her hand, a general up-and-down wave. "I've told you more than once about rolling your skirt. You know how much I don't like it. So, because you don't listen, we'll go back to the way you used to get punished." She paused. "Strip," she said, "blouse, skirt, bra, and panties. Leave the shoes and socks. Do it now!" "Mom!! You can't spank me like you used to with HIM here! He'll see me... you know... see EVERYTHING!! Mom!!" "I said, NOW, young lady!" Tears were rolling down my cheeks but I knew not to say anything more. Jim was watching my hands as I reached for the buttons on my blouse. As I opened each one I could feel his gaze on my chest. My bra came into view, only recently upgraded to an A-cup, and I saw his gaze shift to the lacy edges of the small cup. I dropped the blouse on the arm of the couch. The waistband button on my skirt gave me a little trouble, but in a moment I was pushing the skirt down my long legs. Jim was starting to smile as I reached behind me to get the clasp for the bra. It joined the skirt and blouse on the couch. I looked pleadingly at my mother to be spared the final indignity of my panties. "All of it, Jenni." No expression on her face, none. I knew I was going to get it bad. Jim was smiling. A cat's-gonna-eat-the-canary kind of smile. My hands pushed the waistband down over my hips and I turned at the same time. I wanted to hide my little pussy from Jim's burning gaze. The wispy hairs growing in front couldn't hide from him what I looked like if he looked. Then my panties joined the pile. "You're too big to go over the knee this time, Jenni," said my mother, "we'll try something different." She walked toward me. "Stand away from the couch and face the kitchen, feet as wide as your shoulders. Bend at the waist and grab your legs just below your knees." By facing the kitchen, my back aimed toward Jim's favorite chair. As I moved I saw him head towards the chair. 'Damn,' I thought. 'He'll get a clear view of my butt and between my legs.' I could feel my face redden with shame already. I spread my feet apart and bent forward. Without thinking I looked back between my knees and caught Jim's eye. He stared right back at me and smiled. His hand reached into his crotch and moved something. I think I knew what he was doing, but I didn't really want to know. My mother saw where my head was aimed. "No," Mom said. "Lift your head and stare at the refrigerator. If I catch you looking back, or if you take your hands off your legs, that stroke won't count and I add two besides. If you fail to count, that stroke doesn't count and I add two more. Clear?" I lifted my head. "Yes, ma'am." This was gonna hurt a lot. "Fifteen strokes, Jenni. You count them." Fifteen. More than the usual number. "All right, here we go. Remember to count." My mother's voice sounded calm. That meant she was over being angry. Maybe this wouldn't be that bad after all. I was still processing all that when the first stroke of the belt whistled through the air and slapped across both butt cheeks at the same time. "OW!! One...." My breathing started speeding up. The next two or three strokes weren't quite as hard, but each one landed on one cheek only. The one that fell just below the line of my butt, you know, at the tops of your thighs where the skin is really tender, THAT was the one that made me lose count. "OW! Ow, ow, ow, ow!!" No number. I straightened up and my hands left my knees, reaching for my tender backside. "Hands down, Jenni, that stroke doesn't count, and we add four. Two for not counting and two for lifting your hands from your legs. We'll do it over. Begin at six." Oh, my mother was an ice queen. Without even losing rhythm she began the next stroke. "Ow. Six." "Ow. Seven." And so on through the original fifteen plus the four extra strokes. My ass burned like fire. Mom had a way of making the whole area feel like it was going to spontaneously combust, rather than inflict massive pain. I sneaked a look at Jim just before I straightened up when it was all over. His grin was bigger than before and his hand was pushing around the tent pole in the front of his pants. He could see me watching him and he didn't even try to hide it. As I stood fully upright I turned to my mother. After a spanking, one of three things typically happened. She could just tell me to get dressed and go on with the evening as if nothing had happened. I didn't expect that. The next thing is to be sent to my room immediately without supper. I didn't expect that either. Turns out I was right in my prediction. "Jenni, leave your clothes where they are and go stand in the corner. I'll let you know when an hour is up. You can spend the time considering how clothes are to be worn." Well, at least I was facing away from Jim. I wouldn't have liked it if I'd had to face into the living room. Jim's eyes would have been all over me then. That wouldn't have been comfortable at all. When the hour was up my mother spoke to me again. I was told to put my school clothes away and put on pajamas; I could eat supper that way. Relieved, I gathered my things, holding them to my waist to cover myself. Jim's eyes followed me everywhere I went. Even then, I could feel my butt jiggle and my young breasts bounce as I walked. And I knew his eyes followed every movement. That incident was less than a week before Halloween. I remember because I was still uncomfortable on the hay ride I went on with my friends, the sharp ends of the straw poking my still-tender butt cheeks. From then on it seemed I could do few things right, couldn't please my mother on anything. Late homework, sassing her or Jim, didn't clean up my room, didn't put all the dishes away after emptying the dishwasher, leaving my dirty clothes on the floor of my room instead of putting them in the hamper. You get the picture. I got spanked at least a dozen times more before Christmas, twice even more severely than that time right before Halloween. It didn't matter how minor the sin was, every one was on my bare bottom. After a while I was no longer uncomfortable being naked or mostly so with Jim in the house. I can't say I wanted to be naked, only that it somehow seemed normal, or at least not abnormal. Right before dinner was Mom's preferred time to deal with it, as if it provided closure (well, for her anyway...) for the events of the day. Every spanking from then on ended up with me standing naked in the corner. Jim always made a point of walking past me as I stood in the corner after the spankings. That first time, the one before Halloween, he touched me as he walked by. I jumped and almost squeaked. His hard eyes bored into my head and the sound ended in my throat. Mom was busy in the kitchen and never heard a thing. After that he always touched me as I stood there. Sometimes my mother turned on a small TV on the kitchen counter as she was cooking dinner, the slight drone of voices from the news program she watched drowned out any little squeak or sigh or movement I made as Jim touched me. Sometimes he'd have his hands on me continuously for several minutes. Light and feathery touches, teasing touches. Over time his touches became more and more probing, a firmer touch. At first it was just a wandering finger across my butt or up my back. Later it was up my side, almost like counting my ribs. His hand would make its way around to my stomach, touching my hip bones, fingering my belly button. The first time he touched the outside of my breast I did jump. Another time his fingers toyed with the sparse hair growing over the top of my little pussy. By the middle of December I expected his touch, missed it if he didn't come over to me right away. Once or twice I looked over at him, pleading with me eyes for him to get up out of his chair. I NEEDED his touch... And he'd touch me everywhere. On my breasts, lifting them, teasing the nipples, between my butt cheeks as I spread my legs enough for him to reach in. Down the front, across my pussy hair, gently and slowly rubbing the lips, teasing out the wetness that more and more easily came when he touched me. His middle finger slid easily between the lips, caressing the button of my clit at the top. Never enough to get me off, he'd toy with me just enough to make me almost crazy with the need. When I was released from standing in the corner I'd race to my room and finish the job he'd started. And knowing how was only a fairly recently acquired skill, thanks to my best friend, Jessica. To be continued? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author does not condone the described behavior in real life. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Kristen's collection - Directory 61