Homeless

Down the street from where I work in the mall, there’s a homeless shelter. I drive past it every single day, and I see people of all ages standing about in scraped together clothes, hair matted down with dirt and possibly blood, with no way to make it better for themselves. It saddens me to no end, but there’s nothing I can really do to help them; I’m one missed rent payment away from joining them.
I occasionally volunteer down there when I have days off, or when I have early work days, I’ll go down there in the afternoons. I really enjoy sitting and chatting away with the older guys as most of them are war veterans from ‘Nam or Korea. There was one guy who fought in WWII, but he died after I met him just once. Turns out, he had been a 4-star general, and his remains were interred at Arlington.
After volunteering there for about a year, Nancy walked in for the first time.
She was about sixteen years old, and it was impossible to believe that she was comfortable in the discarded scraps of fabric (one could hardly call them clothes) that she wore. Her hair was dark, but it was so caked with muck that it could have been any color. She couldn’t have been more than 5’1″, perhaps 110lbs soaking wet.
The first day she was there, she looked incredibly uncomfortable. She looked around as if trying to identify someone who might rape her in a dark alleyway. I poured some of the beef stew that had been made for that day’s meal into a bowl and brought it over to her. As I approached her, she kept her head down, not even flexing her neck muscles as I neared her.
“Looks like you need something to eat,” I said as I set the bowl down next to her. She darted her eyes to the bowl, then to me, noticing me for the first time. She never said anything, though. She just nodded her head in thanks, and began eating. The bowl was halfway gone before I was back in the kitchen. I kept tabs on her until about nine when I left for the evening. When I left, I saw her sitting near another guy I was well aware had a history of getting violent from time to time, but figured the other staff would take care of it if something happened to her.
A week later, she was still there. This time, however, she had a massive bruise on her neck and a cut on her cheek. It was as if someone had beaten her like an unwanted puppy. And they looked to be about a week old. I mentally kicked myself for not sticking around, but I couldn’t change what had happened. Instead, I did the only thing I could do in my situation.
This time, I brought a bowl for myself as well and sat down with her. I pushed a bowl towards her, and she looked up at it, unsure of what to do.
“Hi,” I said with a smile on my face. She let out a sound that may have been a reply, but I couldn’t make it out.
“I’m Dustin,” I introduced myself. I took a sip of the stew in my bowl, hoping she would realize I was just there to be friendly. “And you are…?”
She stared at me for a moment like I was a freak, but then picked up her spoon and began eating the stew. “Nancy,” she whispered after she swallowed a few spoons. I noticed a slight drawl in her voice, but couldn’t place it just yet.
“So, Nancy,” I began. “What are you doing here? You realize this is a homeless shelter, right?”
She nodded in affirmation as I set a can of soda down next to her bowl.
“Just you? Or are your folks with you, too?” I pressed. She shook her head no. “Well, which is it?” I asked.
“I don’t have parents,” she whispered. I was kind of taken aback. How could she not have parents? Surely she hadn’t been on the streets her entire life. I reached for the salt shaker and continued.
“Orphan?” She shook her head again.
“Well then you must have parents. Everyone does.” I passed her the salt shaker after I had used it, and she took it greedily.
“Not me,” she said matter-of-factually. “Not as far as I’m concerned.”
“Was there trouble at home?” I asked, now sounding concerned. She didn’t respond; instead, she just took another sip of her stew.
“You’re a runaway, aren’t you,” I said. But it was less a question, more a statement. I’d seen runaways in the shelter before, so this revelation was nothing new.
“Yeah,” she sighed.
“Why did you run away?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer. “Problems at home?”
A nod, and then another sip of the stew.
“Were they abusive?” I pressed further. Again, another statement. Hardly any girl her age would run away unless one parent, or perhaps both, was physically abusive towards her.
“Yes,” came her soft reply.
I didn’t want to press into details; sometimes, runaways will lock up if you probe too deeply too quickly. Instead, I changed the subject while keeping with the same train of thought.
“How long have you been a runaway?”
“About five months,” she replied.
“How have you survived being on your own? Are you from around here, or did you travel?”
“I came from down river,” she said. It was then that I placed her accent; she was Cajun. The way she tended to replace some of her “R”s with “W”s should have been my first clue, and the way she said “I” as “Ah” and also dropped some of her syllables was also a dead giveaway.
“Where at, around Orleans?” I asked.
“Yeah, near the river delta.”
“What are you doing up here in Chicago?”
“I’ve been hopping freight trains for three weeks. I’d sneak into the rail yards and stowaway on any train heading a direction other than south.”
I was a bit astounded by her honesty with me, a complete and total stranger in her eyes. I wanted to know why she was being so candid.
“So how have you managed to stay alive without constant shelter? Did you face any problems getting up here?”
“I met up with a group of vagrants near Tulsa, and they gave me a few things… in exchange for some other things.” Her voice dipped really low as she added that last bit, like she was ashamed of something.
“So these strange men took advantage of a pretty little girl like you? That’s not right,” I said offhandedly. I hadn’t thought much of the “pretty” bit because, to me, all women and girls are pretty, even the ones who look like wildebeests or hyenas. These women may not be particularly sexy, which I define differently than “pretty,” but every woman is pretty in her own right.
Nancy, however, took it to heart.
“You really think I’m pretty?”
I had just taken a sip of my soda as she said that, and nearly choked on it. The drink washed uneasily down my throat, and I turned to her direction. It was only then that I realized just how beautiful she could be. Her frail little arms and her face were covered in dirt, as if she hadn’t seen a shower in weeks, perhaps longer. Her clothes were muddy and shredded to pieces, and her legs, her lovely, slender legs, were clothed in a pair of hosiery that was ripping and bunching up in places so as to suggest they were too long for her.
Her hair was probably a burnt-red color underneath all that dirt, as well.
“Uh, well, yeah,” I stammered like a dork, trying to banish any and all dirty thoughts from my mind. At the time, I was about eight years her senior; a twenty-three year old man with a sixteen year old girl wasn’t as creepy or socially taboo as it would be if I was forty or fifty-something, but it could still send my happy ass to prison for a long time.
“Thanks,” she said with the first smile I had ever seen on her. “Nobody’s ever said that before.”
“They haven’t?” I asked, somewhat flabbergasted.
“No, my dad always called me either bitch, slut, or my personal favorite, fuck doll.”
“You’re dad was sexually abusive, as well?” I queried.
“Yeah, he could be when he got his liquor in him; momma wouldn’t touch him when he was drunk, so he’d come to me instead.”
“And she allowed this?” I asked, not thinking until after that I may have been getting too personal.
“She didn’t know,” Nancy added as she picked up her bowl to slurp some more of the soup. She tilted the bowl back, but at that moment, the guy at the table behind her stood up abruptly, and lost his balance. He stumbled backwards into Nancy, falling to the ground and causing Nancy to dump the remaining contents of the bowl all over her frontside.
“Oh hell,” she exclaimed.
“Here, I got it,” I said as I stood up, grabbing the napkin near my bowl and reaching across the table for her chest, wiping the stew off before I had any realization that I was touching her.
I stopped and she looked up at me, and I looked back in confusion for a moment before handing the napkin to her.
“Sorry,” I apologized quickly, but the smile never left her face as she cleaned the stew off her shirt. I quickly finished off what remained of my stew and took both of our bowls to the kitchens without another word.

The rest of the night passed by rather uneventfully. I kept an eye on Nancy, and I left at my normal time, around nine. As I was walking towards the door, I noticed Nancy sitting near the same man she had been the week before. I didn’t know if he had been the one to give her those marks, but I felt like if I repeated what I did last week when I had that same feeling, I’d see her next week with more of them.
Add in the fact that I had been analyzing the conversation her and I had, and it seemed to me like she was simply crying out for help, and I realized that I had to do something.
I walked over to Nancy, who was fiddling with a deck of cards, and tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped in her seat and froze solid, seemingly frightened.
“Nancy,” I spoke. She turned to face me, and the smile returned.
“Dustin!” she cried as if I was an old friend she hadn’t seen in years.
“Listen, I was wondering… and if you don’t want to, that’s fine,” I rambled on for a solid minute before finally getting to the point. “Look, I know this place is supposed to be a safe shelter for people like you, but it would put my mind at ease if you came and stayed at my place for a bit. Just until you’re ready to move on, of course.”
‘Move on?’ What the hell was that supposed to mean? It was as if she would stay a few days, and then hit the rails again. And I wasn’t about to let that happen again, who was I kidding? This girl needed a steady, stable home. How long could she survive hopping trains and jumping from homeless shelter to homeless shelter? She could fall into a sex trafficking ring, and I was surprised that she hadn’t already.
She could meet up with the wrong person and find herself dying in a gutter somewhere after a psychopath has his way with her.
And I knew she had no reason to believe I wouldn’t do the same, but I figured if she was any kind of smart, she would realize that coming with me meant the potential of a hot shower and a warm place to sleep, new clothes, and something to eat that wasn’t stew.
The smile on her face grew bigger than before, and she nodded eagerly.
It was only then that I realized I had no women’s clothes at my house. I guess she would have to make do with some of my clothing until I could get at least her underwear washed. I would take her shopping for some real clothes in the morning.
I ushered her out the door as the guy she had been sitting near grew a scowl on his face; I made a note of it as I followed her out.
Nancy was rubbing her arms to keep herself warm, so I pulled my jacket off and placed it over her. She wrapped it around herself and stopped shivering. I placed a hand on her back and led her to my car, a beat-up little Jeep Liberty, where she eagerly hopped into the passenger seat and strapped in.

My apartment wasn’t anything special. It was a simple one-bedroom, about seven-hundred or so square feet. The living room took up most of the space, and the bedroom was a decent size. A queen-sized bed was what I slept on, and taking a look around the apartment, one could easily figure out both my young age and my geekiness. I had movie and comic posters everywhere, and entertainment center was loaded with books and graphic novels. Long white boxes were organized on a separate shelf, each containing dozens of comics that were sorted by publisher and then alphabetized. Shelves upon shelves of DVDs and video games were dotted all over the place.
It was home.
I opened the door to the apartment and ushered Nancy inside. Her eyes lit up wide when she saw everything.
“Wow,” she exclaimed. “All this is yours?”
“Yeah, it is,” I replied as I closed and locked the door. “I’ll give you a quick tour. Obviously, this is the living room. Over there-” I pointed to a closet door, “-is my hall closet. To the left is the bedroom, and the bathroom and laundry room are on the right side.
“Why don’t you head in there and hop into the shower? Put your underwear in the washer, and I’ll find you a shirt and pants you can wear.”
“Bra, too?” I nodded in agreement, though I hadn’t given much thought to her in a bra; her breasts were perhaps B-cup at the extreme most, so I hadn’t paid much attention to them.
She hopped into the bathroom and closed the door, but it didn’t shut all the way and left a small crack. I ignored it and ducked into my bedroom. I grabbed a pair of pajama pants, hoping she wouldn’t mind too much that they had DC Superheroes on them, and were missing their drawstring.
I grabbed the smallest shirt I could find, which was a “Large” school shirt from my middle school Communications class. It had the names of all the students from the class on the back, and my name was on there somewhere.
I brought the clothes and a towel to the bathroom door and called Nancy’s name, but she couldn’t hear me over the running water.
I peeked inside, and could see her shadow through the shower curtain. She was washing her chest, and I pictured her running her hands all up and down her breasts…
“Nancy,” I called. “I’m bringing in some clothes!”
“Okay,” she called back. I placed the clothes on the back of the toilet seat and was about to leave when I noticed that her bra and panties were laying on the floor, clearly forgotten. I picked them up and was about to toss them into the washing machine when a dirty thought made a sudden pass through my head.
Sniff her panties; I’ll bet she smells good…
What the fuck, brain?
But for some reason or another, I did just that. I brought the crotch of the panties to my nose and inhaled.
Oh good God…
It smelled fresh and wet, like she had just taken them off after thinking extremely dirty thoughts. I pressed the fabric to my nose and inhaled again, savoring the aroma, not wanting to put it down because I knew that once it was washed, it would be gone forever.
But I forced myself to quit after that second sniff and placed the undies in the washing machine with the bra and nothing else. Five minutes ought to do it.
I sat in the living room for a good while until the washer buzzed, at which point I placed the panties in the dryer. I returned to the living room and resumed my activity of watching television shows on my DVR until I heard the shower shut off and the telltale sound of the shower curtain being drawn.
A few minutes later, Nancy came out wearing the shirt, but not the pants. Fortunately, the shirt had been made rather long so she wasn’t showing anything, but I was a tad confused.
“Uh, did the pants not fit?” I queried.
“No, they kept falling off,” she said. “But this will be fine for now; my panties are almost done, right?”
“Uh, yeah, they should be,” I figured. “We’ll go get you some actual clothes tomorrow afternoon.”
“Thank you so much for doing this,” she smiled, walking towards the empty side of the couch. She sat down and leaned against the armrest, pulling her legs up close to her on the couch. Before she flashed me anything, she pulled the shirt down as far as it would go.
“Cold?” I intoned. She nodded fairly quickly, but added, “I’m used to it. Been sleeping outside for six months.”
“Well there’s not gonna be any more need for that.” I reached over the side of my arm rest and pulled up a comforter. “Here, this will help.”
I handed it to her and she eagerly pulled it over her tiny body. “Thanks, again.” She held up one end of the cover, silently asking me if I would join her.
Without thinking, I pulled her over to my side, allowing her to lean up against my massive frame. I pulled up the leg-rest and laid back, and she pulled herself close into me. It was the first time I had a girl so close to me in years, and at that moment, it didn’t matter that she was a decade my junior; to me, it was no different than if she had been my younger sister.
Until she put her hand on my chest. My sister never did that before…
It was then that I was able to fully take in her beauty. I was right about her hair being a burnt-red color, and in the light of the room, her skin looked pasty pale. And she was warm…
“So what are we watching?” She asked.
“Fargo,” I replied. “It’s pretty dark.”
“Is it funny dark, or scary dark?”
“Funny dark. Wanna watch?”
“Okay,” she said. “You may have to explain what’s going on, though.”
We watched the episode and I would pause it occasionally to explain a few details. She seemed to get pretty invested in it, but it was about midnight when we finally finished the episode. I still had all the others on there, and she could watch them at her leisure. But she seemed to be getting pretty exhausted.
“Getting tired?” I asked her.
“Mmm-hmm…” She replied sleepily, her eyes closed.
“Alright, well you can take the bed,” I told her as I gently shook her awake. I stood up and headed into the laundry room and pulled her panties out of the dryer. I turned around to find her standing behind me, staring.
I smiled and handed her the panties, which she took with a “thank you,” and put them on right there in front of me. My mouth dropped open just a bit; this girl had little modesty in her. Spending as much time as she had being homeless, there was probably little room for modesty, sure. But to have abandoned so much of it in less than six months after learning if for fourteen years, it seemed a little shocking.
But my shock was quickly driven away by my baser instincts; when she lifted her leg to put her panties on, I was flashed by her inner thighs. I saw what seemed to be a small bush on her crotch, and I felt my blood rushing to my own thighs.
She pulled the panties up and, when they were stretched taught, she had a momentary camel-toe.
“Ooh, still warm,” she giggled as she turned around. She hadn’t pulled the shirt tail down yet, so I caught a glimpse of her young ass through the fabric, and then noticed a small portion of it was showing out the sides of her underwear.
Before I could stare too long, she pulled the shirt down and trotted off into the bedroom. However, she quickly turned around and ran back to me, throwing her arms around my waist and burying her head into my chest.
“Thank you again, Dustin,” she said sweetly. “For everything.”
A smile crossed my face. “Well, I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you stay in that place any longer than you have to.”
“Yeah, but you could have taken anybody from that shelter home, and you chose me. That means a lot to me, because nobody’s ever picked me for anything before.”
It didn’t hit me until just then that this girl definitely had some self esteem issues. But I hugged her back and sent her back to bed. She smiled at me as she headed into the bedroom, leaving me alone in the bathroom with an erection that would have made Ron Jeremy jealous.

I had been asleep on the couch for less than two hours when I awoke to a sound I hadn’t heard in years: that of a young woman crying. I walked into the bedroom and saw Nancy huddled up in a ball on the bed, as close to the window as possible.
“Nancy,” I whispered. She jerked around to look at me, and even in the dim light, I could see the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“My god, honey,” I said. “What’s wrong?”
“I had a nightmare. About my dad.”
I felt a twinge of pity in my heart; this man must have been something awful if he could give his daughter nightmares a thousand miles away despite not being around her in nearly six months.
“He can’t get you here,” I explained as I approached the bed and sat down on the edge. “You’re completely safe in this apartment, and I’m not going to let that change.”
“Promise?” she choked through her tears. The pain on this girl’s face was unbelievably clear, and I did the only thing I could do: I grabbed her by the hand and pulled her close to me, wrapping my arm around her waist and the other behind her shoulders. She was on her knees now and threw her arms behind mine, pulling herself to me so tightly, I thought I’d need to get the Jaws of Life to get her off.
“I promise,” I repeated.
“Then could you sleep in here with me?” she sobbed.
“Yeah,” I said quickly. I kept thinking that it was the wrong answer, but if this was what it took to give this girl peace of mind, then that was what I was going to do.
I pulled myself into the bed and brought the blankets over us. I’m a cuddle-buddy by nature, so I instinctively reached around her and placed my hand on her belly. I briefly thought about pulling it away, but she responded by scooting back towards me until her body was flush against mine.
Every once in a while, I’d hear her sniffle as she finished crying, and I would respond simply by slightly readjusting my arm, just to let her know I was still there. Soon, she was asleep and I was as well not long after.
I awoke again another hour or so later because of another sound, but it wasn’t sobbing this time. It sounded more… satisfying, I guess would be the word.
It was only then that I realized I had a giant erection, which I found to be somewhat awkward because her butt was right up against my crotch. Then, it occurred to me that was the reason I had an erection: she was grinding herself on it.
Oddly, pulling away was the last thing on my mind.
She has to be doing this subconsciously, I realized. If she had been sexually abused, she wouldn’t go actively seeking anything like this. She probably doesn’t realize she’s doing it; she might be dreaming about something her father made her do. She could wake up crying again here pretty soon…
But the crying never came.
In fact, what she was doing felt damn good. She was scratching an itch I’d had for over a year. No red flags went off that this was wrong; apparently my little Shoulder Angel, the guy that tells you the difference between right and wrong, hadn’t been laid in a while either.
I decided to roll with it and allowed her to continue grinding away. I subtly moved the hand I had on her stomach so that it was underneath her shirt, now holding her belly proper. When I did this, she let out a small gasp, but continued grinding. I bowed my head into the back of her neck, careful not to do anything that might make it seem like I was doing this intentionally, lest she actually awake up.
Suddenly, her hand shot up and grabbed my own. I was panicked for a brief moment until I realized that she was lacing her fingers in my own. Her hands were cold as ice, I thought.
“Warm,” a sleepy word escaped her lips. The grinding had stopped, but she was soon moving my hand around her belly which, despite the covers, was extremely cold. It wasn’t until my hand brushed up against the bottom line of her bra that I realized what she was doing.
“Nancy,” I whispered. She turned her head around to face me, and I saw that her eyes, though no longer crying, were still puffy and red. And her face was covered in worry; yeah, she definitely knew what she was doing, and was clearly worried she would get in trouble for it.
I don’t know what on God’s Green Earth possessed me at that particular moment in time, but I leaned forward, and kissed Nancy. Not a peck on the cheek, mind you. Nor was I planting one on her forehead to be mildly affectionate.
No, this was a full blown romantic kiss on the lips. She enthusiastically pressed her lips to mine, and I could feel her heart beat growing wild as we continued.
When we finally broke the kiss, my hand was still on her chest, and I felt her heart beating so fast, I was afraid it might burst. Her breath was ragged and shallow, suggesting a mix of excitement and anticipation, and perhaps a little anxiety.
“Are you okay?” I asked. She responded with a breathy, “Yes,” and she turned her body towards me. She moved my hand up underneath her bra, closer to her heart, still pounding away like a jackhammer inside her. My hand brushed against one of her nipples and she let out a small gasp. I traced my pinky finger over it and she closed her eyes, mouth open and gasping in excitement.
She pulled her shirt off and rolled over onto her back. I rubbed my hands all over her chest, paying extra attention to her nipples, which were now hard as stone. I leaned in and began planting small kisses on her bare belly, using my free hand to trace lines up and down her legs, caressing her young thighs. She squealed in delight and began breathing heavily.
She suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled it towards her panty-line. I slipped a finger underneath the thin fabric and began playing with her pussy fur, gently taking handfuls of it and giving mall, playful tugs.
I then pulled my hand out and began tracing over her panties, and her breaths became more erratic and excited. I traced my middle finger over where her pussy crack was and heard an immediate squeal of approval.
I came back up to her and she looked at me with her bright blue eyes, a smile on her face.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” I asked her. There was still time to stop…
“I’m sure,” she responded with a nod. I leaned down and kissed her again, now feeling my engorged pole pressing against my pants and begging for freedom. She seemed to know what was happening and placed a hand on me pants, slipping her fingers down the top of the waist. I felt something loosen and then heard the zipper, realizing that she had unbuttoned my pants without breaking the kiss.
Her tongue came to my lips and gently licked them as her fingers groped for my junk, finding it and then pulling it free from it’s cotton prison. Her fingers were small, soft and delicate as they stroked me until I was hard enough to cut diamonds. She never tightened her grip, and I feared I’d shoot it off before we truly got a chance to begin.
She pulled away from me, letting go of my junk, and reached around to undo her bra clasp. The chest basket fell away and I was left staring at her breasts which, small though they were, were still part of the single most beautiful woman I had ever laid eyes on, and I loved them all he more for it.
I leaned in and started kissing the tops of her breasts. She leaned back onto the bed and her hands found my cock again. I sucked and licked each nipple until they came up damn near an inch off her breasts.
“Oh God, yes…” she whispered into my ear. “I’ve never had anybody do that before.”
“This isn’t your first time, is it?” I asked, having momentarily forgotten about her being sexually abused.
“First time consensual,” she acknowledged. “Mostly, they just stick it in, blow, and go. My dad would always beat me to sleep afterwords.”
“That’s not gonna happen anymore,” I reassured her.
“I know,” she laughed, but then fell silent, staring deep into my eyes. “Well don’t stop…” I chuckled and went back to work.
I moved my kisses further down and began drawing my tongue across her stomach. She began fidgeting as I stuck my tongue underneath the top of her panties. Moans of pleasure escaped her throat, and I began pulling her panties away.
I teased her by moving my tongue around her thighs and labia. She whispered, “Do it,” and I did; my tongue probed down into her crack, tasting her soaking wet pussy, lapping up every single drop hungrily.
I found her clit and began flicking it. Her hands grabbed the back of my head and began groping my hair, pulling it as I buried my face deeper into her pussy. My tongue found her tight hole and snaked its way inside. She screamed softly and began bucking herself into my face.
“Don’t stop; keep going… Please…”
I pulled my face away and crawled on top of her, positioning myself and getting ready to enter her. I looked down at her, and saw she had her eyes closed, head resting sideways on the pillow. I placed a hand on her cheek and she looked up at me.
“I’m ready…” she whispered.
I guided the head towards her and gently ran it up her crack, making sure she was wet all over before I stuck it on. I ran it over her clit a couple times, just to get primed. I then positioned my head near her hole, we both took a deep breath, and I plunged in.
Her face contorted into a silent scream, and her eyes quenched shut.
“Oh God, that hurts,” she said.
“Do you want to stop?” I asked.
“Hell no,” she said with a smile. “Just go slow at first.”
I did as I was told, moving my hips in and out slowly, making sure I didn’t go too deep to start. It was like heaven; every girl I’d been with to that point had been virgins, and here was this girl, sexually abused her whole life, and she was tighter than every single one of them.
She slid her hands up to my back and pulled my body closer to hers, as close as it could go. I sped up my thrusts, her breathing becoming one with mine. Her vaginal walls contracted, squeezing my cock as plunged balls deep inside her.
“Harder, harder” she whispered. “I want it all.”
I began pushing as fast as I could; my balls slapped against her asshole with a loud clapping sound, and it only made me go harder. She moaned and squealed in delight with every thrust; her juices were leaking everywhere, almost as if she was squirting. The pushing was a lot easier because of that, and I soon found myself on the verge of cumming.
“I’m almost there,” I warned her.
“Do it,” she breathed. “Inside…”
I gave a few hard, deep thrusts before giving her one final thrust, as deep as I could go and then some, shooting my entire load deep inside her sweet young pussy.
I didn’t want to move. I lay on top of her for a few seconds while her vagina convulsed and contracted around my thick member. Her breathing was ragged and shallow, but she spoke as she tried to catch her breath.
“That… was… fucking… amazing…” she said. “I’ve never experienced anything like that before.”
I rolled over, and my cock flopped out of her pussy with a wet noise.
“Never?” I asked.
“No, I’m pretty sure I just had my first orgasm; when it was my daddy or one of his buddies, it was always quick. Even if I did enjoy it, I never got the chance to,” she explained. “But that… That was the best ever.”
“I’m glad you feel that way,” I said. “Just don’t tell anybody about it.”
“Who am I gonna tell?” she laughed. “Ooh, I can feel it leaking out.”
I looked down and, sure enough, my jizz was dripping out her crack, white and thick. She reached down with her finger and drew it through her slit, moaning briefly as she pulled a thick gob of it out on her finger.
“Now, I do love the taste of it,” she said as she stuck her finger in her mouth. When she pulled it out, every drop of my sperm was gone from her finger. A gulp followed moments later as she swallowed it.
“Damn,” I said. She chuckled and burrowed herself back underneath the blankets, and then scooted in close to me. I held her body against mine, and we both relaxed.
“So I guess I’m staying here for a while?” she asked.
“I kind of figured that would be the way it goes. I hadn’t counted on this, but who am I to complain?” I said.
“Looks like this whole thing could be mutually beneficial. I have a place to stay, off the streets and out of trouble. And you, in return, get your own personal little sex slave,” she laughed.
I laughed with her, but it wasn’t until she was fast asleep and I was still awake that I realized she was right.
She was now my own personal sex slave… and she was all mine.