It made me even angrier. This beautiful, loving woman you drove away left me starved for even the littlest scraps of affection that I have known. My sisters, my partners, my friends – far away.
From the school’s golden girl, the princess who could do no wrong, I became known as the wanton woman. I welcomed all men between my legs, whoever they were, anyone who wanted a taste. And they all wanted a taste, for you see, I was still beautiful, and my years of dancing have made me flexible, and have given me mastery over the contractions and movements of each part of my body. Yes, father, each part of my body. Men described my vagina as having the dexterity of a hand, massaging their length until they could bear it no longer and they exploded inside me, filling my womb with their sperm.
I would school younger boys in the sixual arts. For many young men I was their first foray into the pleasures of the flesh; and for older men I tempted them with my youth and my beauty and they would go willingly to my bed. They would fall me in the bed you paid for, in the house you built, in the home that was now bereft of anything remotely resembling family. They would fall me in the bathrooms in school, in the darkness of movie theaters, or in cheap motels that would accept students in school uniforms.
I would moan out loud, cry out in pleasure with no guilt or shame in my voice, knowing you could hear me, hear the men rutting wildly into my wetness, hear us as we climaxed and falled well into the night.
Love me, father. Love me, each nocturnal moan and gasp shouted through the thin walls that separated our rooms.
The darkest night came one night, when I arrived home from prom. I was prom princess, did you know? I missed being queen only because a girl with down’s syndrome was in my year, and she was awarded the recognition simply for showing up.
You were still up that night, with people from your work. Unsavory characters – the foremen and managers from the lower classes that you associated with; men who would look less out of place on Most Wanted posters than they did in the finery of our house.
You were all drunk, and merry, and I could see them leering at my young, supple body, my smooth, flawless skin, and my toned figure. I could see them licking their lips as they undressed me with their eyes, imagining all of the nasty things they would do to me.
You passed out that night, your head falling onto your arms on the dining table, snoring loudly. I joined your “friends” that night, knowing you wouldn’t approve. They teased and joked with me, words ripe with sixual innuendo, and I teased and joked right back, still dressed in my beautiful gown with my prom princess sash slung over my shoulder.
Do you know what I did then? I challenged them to poker. The stakes were a piece of clothing each time one plays a losing hand.
I played my part well – the innocent little girl wanting to swim in the deep end of the pool with the big boys, not knowing what she was getting into, losing round after round until my naked body was on full display for these lecherous creatures who hungrily devoured me with their eyes.
The thing is, I’m very good at poker. But I threw the rounds. I lost on purpose, father, because I knew that they hated you nearly as much as I did. You pretended to be one of them, commiserating with their hardships, when you yourself were born into a world of privilege and luxury, and for whom everything came easy. They told me so that night. Have you ever worried about where your next meal will come from, father? Have you ever lost your house because you couldn’t afford to pay the rent? They did.
You’re not one of them, father, and they used you and abused you for everything they could give, until the only thing they could take was your young, beautiful daughter and her sweet, fresh body.
Love me, father. Love me, the words rang in my head each time I folded on purpose, or pushed when I should have folded.
At one point, I lost, and the men sat wondering what my next move would be, for I was already sitting there naked as the day I was born, with nothing but my prom princess sash slung around my shoulder.
What’s a girl to do, I had wondered then aloud. I don’t want to take off my sash – that would mean I’m not a princess anymore, I had said mischievously.
You know what I did then, father? I led one of your men, I took one of your dirty men by the hand and led him into the bathroom, where I got on my knees and sucked his cock. I licked it, and nibbled on his balls, and slid my tongue along his length, and bobbed my head up and down on it until he exploded all over my face and my hair. His seed splattered onto my almond-shaped eyes, my perfectly-shaped nose, and onto my lips, where my tongue flickered out hungrily to scoop it up.
He wanted to cum in my mouth, you know. I insisted he do it on my face. So everyone would see it when I came back to the table.
Love me, father. Love me, I whispered each time I took him into my mouth, each time he fired shot after shot of his thick, white seed onto my beautifully made-up face and onto my meticulously styled hair.
I lost round after round following that encounter – eventually I stopped taking them into the bathroom and I would service them right then and there, these dirty men being sucked off by your little princess just an arm’s length from where you lay sleeping, their dark, ugly cocks disappearing into my soft, pink lips and then emerging, gleaming with my saliva before I devoured them again, moaning softly as I tasted the salty sweat on their length, until they exploded in my mouth, or on my body, showering me with their lust.
And you know what, father? It made me wet. I was so very wet knowing how painful it would be for you to see me being used like this, and to see me loving every moment of it.
Love me, father. Love me, I thought as you snored and mumbled in your sleep as my lips suckled on yet another man’s turgid manhood, coaxing him to climax with my mouth and tongue and hands.
When next I lost, one of your men sat back on his chair, his cock standing proudly from a tangled mass of unkempt pubic hair, waiting for me to lower my head onto it yet again. It was ugly and misshapen, not perfectly formed and beautiful like the boys from my school. It had veins running up and down its length and it seemed bent at an unnatural angle and the length was dark with an angry, swollen red coloring its head.
I surprised them all by straddling him instead. I took his grotesque manhood in my hand and pointed it at the opening to my vagina and lowered myself onto it, gasping and moaning as it penetrated me and filled me completely.
He was the man seated right next to you, do you remember him? That short, fat man with the pockmarked face and dark skin and the tattoos all over his arms? He had a big cock, father. The biggest I’ve had, and it pleased me greatly.
I wish I could say I was making it a show as I rode him, grinding and impaling myself onto it, moaning loudly and gasping each time it retreated and plunged into me again, but I wasn’t. I loved every minute of it.