Message-ID: <40752asstr$1044673803@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: X-Original-Path: sequencer.newscene.com!not-for-mail From: anais ninja X-Original-Message-ID: User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: 7 Feb 2003 16:23:18 -0600 Subject: {ASSM} Exile - Chapter Eight - Just a Girl (Ff mmf Mf teen oral anal drugs viol) Date: Fri, 7 Feb 2003 22:10:03 -0500 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hecate, gill-bates, newsman Exile (c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html Note: This is my story. The names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. Some of this account has been reconstructed from memory, but most of it has been based on a journal I kept during these years. This is a sequel to _Wanderings_, which can be found on my asstr-mirror.org site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/wander/index.html Chapter Eight - Just a Girl (Ff mmf Mf teen oral anal drugs viol) Billy was gone when I woke up. Since I was excused from class, I stayed in bed late, only getting up to wash and dress in time to catch the end of breakfast. After some toast and a cup of tea, I went back upstairs and retrieved the money Father Ken had given me, grabbed my coat, and headed off to the subway to go downtown. I'd have loved to go shopping for undies on Newbury Street, but the cash I had with me would have only covered the cost of one or two of those expensive imported bras. When I emerged from the smelly subway station, I headed for the department store where I had bought my chemise the week before. I picked up a couple of soft cup, everyday bras in the Juniors' department, along with some skimpy string bikini panties, and a camisole I hoped would satisfy Sister Katherine's order that I wear a bra, in spirit if not in letter. I also picked up a kimono-style bathrobe, so I could walk across the hall to the bathroom without getting dressed. Remembering Father Ken's request that I buy something "special", I looked around for something racier, but other than a bra and panty set in scratchy black lace, there was nothing really sexy to be found. I paid for my purchases and headed back to the street, intending to try the other big stores downtown. Something down the street caught my eye, though, a lacy yellow negligee in a window display, the kind of short babydoll nightie that my mother used to wear. I closed my coat against the chilly wind that whipped down the street and headed over to get a closer look. Other than that nightie, the rest of the things on display looked like things an older woman would wear, full slips, long nightgowns, girdles and thick, bullet-shaped bras. Still, there was that short nightie. Maybe they had it in pink, like my mother's. "Lady Fair" the place was called. I opened the door and stepped inside. It was warm in the store, and the place smelled like potpourri with a hint of mothballs, like one big underwear drawer. A short, older woman with blue-tinted grey hair and a tape measure draped around her neck came over. She wore a pink wool cardigan over her grey dress, the corner of a lace handkerchief peeking from inside the sleeve of her sweater. "Hello, darling," she said, pronouncing the words like "Hullo, dollink." She smiled and looked me up and down. "Hi," I said. "Are you here for the fitting?" "Fitting?" "Our expert bra fitter comes in twice a week. She's here now. Would you like a fitting?" She held up the tape measure for effect, holding it across my breasts as if to measure them. "Um, okay," I said. I remembered my mother taking me for my first training bra before she died, to a department store in Miami, the saleslady making me hold my arms up so she could wrap the measuring tape around my chest, coming back with a plastic package of three stretchy cotton bras, how scratchy they felt over my sensitive nipples until they went through the laundry a few times and softened. "She's with another customer, but it'll only be a couple of minutes. Would you like a cup of tea?" the proprietor asked. "No thank you, ma'am. I'd just like to look around if that's okay," I said. "Look! Look all you want, dollink! Let me know if I can help you with anything," she said. I went over to the rack of nightgowns, looking at the shortest ones while the fitter attended to the other customer. Their muffled conversation filtered out from a curtained area in the back corner of the shop. I pulled a skimpy pink nightie from the rack, holding it against me and looking in one of the many mirrors that adorned the walls and columns of the boutique. Just then the thick curtain parted, revealing two women. A woman in her early thirties was pulling on a sweater while an older woman in her fifties, measuring tape around her neck, looked on. The younger woman got up from a stool and said something to the fitter, making them both laugh out loud. Then the younger woman reached for her purse and took something out, pressing it into the fitter's hand. The fitter stuffed it in her smock before I could see what it was. "Patricia! My lovely Patricia, what can I get you?" The proprietor came out from behind her counter, handing the younger woman a hot cup of tea on a matching saucer. "Thank you so much, Mrs. Pomerantz," Patricia said. "More tea, Denise?" Mrs. Pomerantz called out to the fitter. "No thanks, Greta," she said. "My teeth are floating already." This made Mrs. Pomerantz laugh heartily. As Denise disappeared into a back room, I leaned over a display case, looking at all the different kinds of stockings the store sold. "Miss, miss? What's your name?" Mrs. Pomerantz asked as the fitter returned from the back room. "Anne," I said. "Anne, what a lovely name, Anne. Denise will see you now." Still carrying the short pink babydoll nightie, I followed Mrs. Pomerantz back to the curtained area. Patricia smiled at me as I passed by her. She was quite beautiful, with dark brown hair carefully styled and pale blue eyes, a small, sharp nose and a chin to match. "Let me take that," Mrs. Pomerantz said, taking the nightie from my hands. "Would you like this gift wrapped?" "No, thanks. It's for me," I said. "Such a grown-up nightie," she said. "Are you sure...?" "My mother used to wear one just like it," I said. I didn't have to add "...before she died." It was in my voice. Mrs. Pomerantz looked so sad for a second, but then her expression brightened. "Such an adorable face," she said, reaching out and gently pinching my cheek the way Ramon's older sisters used to do, back in a happier time long ago. "You'll look so pretty in this." "Have a seat and take off your coat, Anne," Denise said, ushering me on to the stool. I shrugged off my jacket, a hand-me-down from Del, and draped it over the back of the seat. Denise closed the curtain and told me to take off my sweater. "Nice," she said when she saw my bra, one of the ones Julia had bought for me on Newbury Street. "Expensive." "It was a gift from a very dear friend," I said. There was something about Denise that reminded me of Julia, her silver hair, her long fingers, her graceful neck. Then I realized what it was: her perfume. As Denise unclasped my bra, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, imagining that I was with Julia again, a long day of shopping with her, hoping that when the curtain opened she'd be standing there, sipping tea with Greta Pomerantz. I felt my nipples stiffen and I began to blush. "Cold, dear?" Denise said, wrapping her measuring tape under my breasts and bringing the end around my back. "Yes, ma'am," I said. "I'll be quick," she replied, measuring me again with the tape over my breasts this time. "You're still growing. You're fourteen?" "Yes, ma'am." "Your mother, was she...big on top?" she asked. "Not really, ma'am." "Don't be so formal," she said. "Call me Denise." "Thank you, ma...um, Denise." She laughed and handed my bra back to me, helping me into the straps and fastening the clasp behind my back. I pulled my sweater back on as Denise opened the curtain. My hope that Julia would be standing there vanished like a ghost. As Denise and Mrs. Pomerantz pulled different boxes down from the tall shelves behind the counter, I noticed that Patricia was still browsing through the racks and hangers, even though she'd already paid for her purchases. I chose a pair of white lycra bras, lightly underwired and edged in delicate lace, a pair of cotton soft cup bras like the ones I'd already bought at the Jordan Marsh store, except of much better quality, and a sheer black bra. This last item earned a raised eyebrow from Mrs. Pomerantz, but when I pulled out the two hundred dollar bills to pay for everything, she threw in matching panties for the lot and a couple of pairs of nice warm knit tights, all for free. Denise brought me back behind the curtain to see how the bras fit, adjusting the straps and making sure the underwires didn't poke me. We swapped the sheer black bra for a slightly smaller size, but everything fit perfectly otherwise. "You're a dream to fit, Anne," Denise said. "Some women are no end of trouble." "Come back anytime, dollink. Such a cutie you are," Mrs. Pomerantz said, pinching my cheek again. I couldn't help but smile; her warmth and her affection were so contagious. I liked this place. "Thank you so much," I said, picking up my shopping bags and heading to the door. "Stay warm, dollink," she called out, waving good-bye. "So adorable," I heard her say to Denise as I left the store. I started back towards the subway when I heard someone behind me calling out my name. "Anne? Anne!" It was Patricia, shopping bags in hand, her cashmere coat buttoned up against the cold wind. "Um, Patricia?" "Trish. Call me Trish," she said, her breath turning to steam in the chilly air. "Would you like to get some lunch?" "Um, sure," I said. Toast and tea hadn't been enough for breakfast and I was hungry again. We walked down the block together towards a coffee shop. It was packed with the lunchtime business crowd, as was just about every other place we passed. "Let's go to my place," she said. "It's not far. I'll make us something." "Sure," I said, following her to a cab stand where a lone taxi waited. We got in and she gave the driver an address, and he shifted into gear and drove off, threading through a crowd of shoppers and businessmen. "You're a student?" Trish asked me as the cab passed by the bus station. I looked around, wondering if I'd see that prostitute who threatened to kill me that first night in town. "Sort of," I said, once the block had passed. I didn't know how to say that I was staying in a shelter for homeless boys. "Are you?" "Student?" she said. "Not for years. I'm a reporter, the Herald, been there six months. I was in Des Moines before that and a small town before that." "Des Moines? What's that like?" "Dreadful," she said. She was about to say something else, but the driver was about to miss the turn on to her block and she had to yell at him a bit. The cab parked in front of a brownstone on a dead end street, the end of the block cut off by railroad tracks set below street level, guarded by a chain link fence. "We're here," she said. I got out of the taxi and waited while she paid the driver. Then she led me up a flight of stairs cut from coffee- colored stone, and through the polished wooden doors of her building. There were six mailboxes in the lobby, six apartments, two on each floor of the narrow brownstone. We walked up another flight of stairs to the second floor, where Trish fished through her purse for another set of keys. Finding them, she unlocked her apartment door, two above the knob and one in the middle, set into a square metal plate held by four round rivets. It was a nice place, the nicest place I'd seen in Boston so far, other than the rooms at the Ritz and the Cabots' place on Beacon Hill. No peeling paint, no water stains on the ceiling. The floor was an expanse of polished wood, unadorned except for a couple of small rugs. A whole long wall running the length of the living and dining area and the open kitchen was brick instead of whitewashed plaster. Past this was a small hallway that led to the bathroom and a single bedroom. "I still haven't really furnished this place," Trish said, taking off her coat and dropping her purse and shopping bags on a black lacquered dinner table. Other than the table and four chairs, there was a couch and a glass coffee table, a television and small stereo, and a single painting, an abstract like the stuff Michael painted, hanging from the bare brick wall. "Have a seat and I'll whip up something to eat. Salad okay?" "Yes, thank you," I said, taking off my coat and putting my things down next to hers. "Is there anything I can do?" "Sure," she said, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out an open bottle of white wine. "Tell you what, why don't you rinse off the lettuce, okay? It's in the bottom drawer in the fridge." "I'd be happy to," I said, rolling up the sleeves of my sweater. I pulled the lettuce out and Trish handed me a colander. As she poured herself a glass of wine, I began to break off leaves from the head of lettuce and wash them under the tap. "Could I have a sip?" I asked. "I'm sorry. Where are my manners? Would you like a glass?" she said. "Please." "Sure thing," she said, reaching into a cabinet for another glass and pouring some white wine. "A toast, to Mrs. Pomerantz." "To Mrs. Pomerantz." We clinked our glasses together. "That was your first time there, wasn't it?" Trish asked as she sliced a tomato on the carving board set into the counter. "Yes, it was," I replied, shaking the last drops of water from the colander. "You're not from around here, are you?" "No. I lived in Maine for the last year, and Florida before that." "What brought you to Boston?" Trish asked. "It's a long story," I said, taking a sip of wine. "I've got time," she said. "Don't you have to get back to work or something?" "Anne, I love my job but every so often I have to take a 'mental health day', you know? Besides, the Legislature isn't in session until next week. State House. That's my beat." "Annie." "Beg your pardon?" she said. "You can call me 'Annie'," I said. "Annie. Lovely. So, tell me, Annie, what brought you to Boston?" Trish was cutting an onion into thin, nearly transparent slices. "I ran away." "You what?" Trish stopped slicing the onion. I stood in her kitchen, sipping chilled white wine from a nice long- stemmed glass, and told her about how my mother was killed, how my papi moved us to Maine. I glossed over a lot of things, mostly about me and Julia, and when I began to recall how Ramon and the boys died, my eyes began to mist up and a lump formed in my throat. Trish listened quietly as I choked back my tears and told her about the foster home, how Mr. Hubbard tried to rape me in the bathroom, how I sneaked out in the middle of the night. "Annie, I'm so sorry," Trish whispered. She tore a piece of paper towel from the roll over the sink and handed it to me so I could dry my tears. "It's okay, I'm okay," I said. "Where are you staying now?" she asked. "Father Ken took me in." "Ken Foley? The street priest?" "Street priest?" I'd never heard that phrase. It sounded rough, like streetfight or streetwalker. "His ministry is the street, runaways like you are his flock," Trish said. "Except I was under the impression that his shelter took in boys only." "Girls too," I said, even though I knew I was the only one. "Interesting," she said, pulling a container of leftover grilled chicken from the fridge. "Ken's a sweet guy. I met him at a reception at the Parkman House last fall." "Father Ken," I corrected her, without even thinking. "Right, Father Ken. Sorry," she said, pulling the cold chicken breasts apart with a fork and tossing the pieces into a large stainless steel bowl along with the lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and some croutons. Trish grabbed a bottle of dressing from the shelves inside the refrigerator door. "Vinaigrette okay with you?" "That's fine," I said. She poured dressing over the salad and began to toss it with two forks. Then she reached into the cabinet for a couple of plates and into a drawer for silverware. "Let's eat," Trish said, bringing the salad and plates over to the table. "Grab my wine, would you?" I picked up our glasses and brought them over to the dining table, putting my shopping bags on the floor next to the couch. Trish loaded my plate with salad and topped off my glass with the last of the wine. I attacked my salad with gusto; Sister Bernice wasn't big on serving fresh veggies at the shelter. There were too many mouths to feed, and it was easier to open a huge institution- sized can of creamed corn than to serve fresh corn on the cob to a dozen or so hungry kids. There was something about the salad, though, something that dredged up a memory of the summer before. Julia, white wine, the table in her garden, under the shade of a tree, grilled chicken and salad, bees buzzing around her flowers. "Something wrong, Annie? Is the salad okay?" Trish asked, seeing my distant expression. "It's fine, really. It's just..." "Tell me," she said. "This reminds me of a friend I had last summer," I said, gesturing towards the salad with my fork. "We used to sit in her garden, eat lunch, drink wine." "You miss her?" "Yes." "You were lovers?" I hesitated a moment before answering, wondering if I could confide in this person I'd just met. There was something in her eyes, though, a softness, sympathy. "Yes. She passed away late last year." I felt a tear begin its journey down my cheek. "Annie, I'm so sorry," Trish said, reaching out for my hand. I felt ashamed for getting so emotional in front of this woman I barely knew. She was really sweet to me; I didn't want to burden her with my sorrows. "I'm sorry...I don't want to...I can't..." I picked up my napkin and tried to dry my tears. "Annie. Come," Trish said, getting up from the table and leading me to the couch. "Lunch can wait. Let it all out, sweetie." We sat together and she held me while I sobbed, and in between crying jags she blotted my tears with a tissue. I knew this was coming, ever since I caught the scent of Julia's perfume when Denise and I were in the fitting room. I felt like a spinning top, my emotions delicately balanced on a single point, waiting for the lightest touch to send them wobbling out of control. "Tell me about her," Trish whispered. And I did, starting with the day I first met Julia, when I had stopped to smell the flowers that grew in her front yard and she suddenly appeared, looking like a ghostly apparition in a gauzy white dress, how we made love in her garden, in her bed, the poetry we read to each other, the scent of her hair, the freckles on her chest. By the time I'd finished painting Julia's portrait with words, my tears had stopped. Trish had held me the whole time, stroking my hair, rocking me in her arms. I lifted my head from her breasts and looked at her, shining blue eyes misting up as she shared my pain. There was a long, silent moment as the distance between our lips narrowed, and then we kissed, her soft lips meeting mine, parting, her tongue seeking mine, touching, the taste of wine and tears. "Annie. I can't take advantage..." "Shhh..." We kissed again, harder this time, passion instead of sorrow. I cupped her breast through her soft sweater and I felt her hand seeking mine, burrowing under my sweater and resting on my bra. "Show me your bedroom," I said. "Annie, are you sure?" "Show me," I repeated. Trish smiled and stood up, extending her hand and leading me into her bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, it was sparsely furnished, with just a bed, dresser, and night table. A full length mirror leaned against the wall, waiting to be mounted inside the closet door. Trish closed the door behind her and unzipped her long wool skirt, stepping out of it and then pulling her sweater over her head. I sat on the edge of the bed, wriggling out of my jeans and pulling off my sweater. "Nice," Trish said, running her finger over my bra strap. "Did you buy that today?" "No, it was a gift from Julia," I said, unclasping the bra and shrugging the straps off of my shoulders. Trish took her bra off as well and then gently pushed me back on to the bed and crawled on top of me. She had full, round breasts with big brown nipples that stiffened when they rubbed against mine. As we kissed again, our thighs intertwined, pressing against each other's cleft. We rolled around on the bed, kissing, necking, smooching, sucking on each other's lips and tongue as our hands roamed everywhere. And then we were head to toe on her big brass bed, skinning off each other's panties, parting thighs, a gentle kiss and then a probing tongue. I teased her little pearl from its hiding place, slowly circling it before touching it directly with my tongue. Trish's head was buried between my thighs, and I could feel her soft breath on my nether lips before she touched me with her lips, kissing me, licking me, pleasing me. I hadn't come the day before, not with Mr. O'Hare, not with Father Ken, not with Billy, and I'd been too sore down there to do anything about it. I felt my pleasure build almost immediately, even before Trish began to lash my clitoris with her tongue. My thighs began to quiver, and I had to make a conscious effort not to pin Trish's head between them as she ate me. I concentrated on her sex, gently nibbling her swollen clit as I cupped her bottom in my hands. Unlike Sister Katherine's bony figure, Trish had a bit of flesh on her, not too fat but not too skinny either, enough to give her a softness that I hadn't felt in a while. Since Julia. Trish was close to her release, too, but I came first, all the pent-up sexual tension in my body coming out in an explosive climax. With her lips glued to my sex, she lashed my tender clit with her tongue and probed my slit with her fingers, staying with me even as I thrashed around on her bed. I hadn't been eaten like that in a long time -- again, since Julia -- and I let her ravish me even after my orgasm faded, until I felt too sensitive down there and had to make her stop. "Do me. I'm close," she said, looking up from between my thighs. Her hair was a mess and her face moist with my juices, a look of pure, unadulterated lust in her beautiful blue eyes. I kissed her thighs and returned to her cleft, her thighs beginning to quiver as I kissed and licked her sex. "Annie...yes...yes...oh...oh...omigod...ungh!" Now that her mouth wasn't busy pleasuring me, Trish was free to vocalize her lust. As she came, she pressed her mouth against my mons and screamed. Even muffled by my flesh, it seemed loud enough to hear on the street, and it sent a rather pleasurable feeling through my belly. I held her shuddering thighs apart and lashed her clit mercilessly, backing off when her climax seemed about to fade, only to return to it and push her over another peak. When she finally pulled her sex away from my mouth, her blue eyes were misting again. She reached for my arm and pulled me up from between her thighs, a tear of pleasure rolling down her cheekbone. We kissed again, the taste of our nectar now mixing with the white wine that lingered on our lips. Trish held me in her arms, caressing me as I laid my head on her breasts. "Beautiful Annie," she whispered, gently kissing the top of my head. I held her tighter and kissed her breast, feeling like a massive weight had been lifted from my shoulders. I could have spent all day in Trish's big comfortable bed, her breasts my pillow, her gentle caress my blanket. After lying quietly for a while, she tenderly lifted my head and kissed my lips. "Let's finish lunch, then you can show me the pretty things you bought today, okay?" she said. We kissed again, and then we got out of bed. Trish pulled a plush bathrobe from the bedroom closet and handed it to me. "Actually, I just bought one today," I said. Trish wrapped her robe around her and we left the bedroom. I rummaged through my shopping bags and found my new kimono-style robe, pulling off the sales tags and slipping it on. "You missed one," Trish said, kneeling next to me and plucking a small tag from the hem of my robe. "That's lovely. Where did you find it?" "Jordan Marsh, in the Juniors department," I said, taking a sip of wine and sitting down to my half-eaten salad. We talked about clothes while we ate, mostly I listened to Trish talk about cheap places to shop. She had a mere fraction of Julia's money, but every bit of her sense of style, albeit a style more suited for a younger woman. I helped her clean up afterwards and then we took our shopping bags into her bedroom, modeling our new purchases for each other. Trish though I looked just darling in the short pink nightie, and I envied the bra and panty set she'd picked up at the boutique, a lacy fire-engine red ensemble with garter belt and red stockings. It was fun, an opportunity to primp, show off, and, of course, to fondle and caress, fingers grazing across a bra cup or pantied bottom. We made love again, Trish slowly pulling my new sheer black panties down my legs and kissing my sex, bringing me to another climax, not as intense as the first, but wonderful anyway. I returned the favor, curling up between her stocking-clad legs and making her scream again. We lay together, on the edge between afterglow and sleep, until the sun began to set. "I have to get back," I said. "They'll be serving dinner soon." "I wish you could stay," Trish said. "I'd love that, too." "Will I see you again?" I answered her with a kiss. It seemed as if I could always find another lover, someone with whom I could share my body, my pleasure, but I felt like I'd found a friend in Trish, and that was as precious as a diamond. We kissed for a while and then she helped me fold and pack my new lingerie in the shopping bags. We got dressed quietly in the orange rays of the setting sun that streamed through her bedroom window. She walked me out to the apartment door. "Hang on a sec," Trish said, going to her purse and riffling through it, coming up with a small white business card. She wrote a number on the back and handed it to me. "Call me. Anytime. Even if you just want to have a glass of wine and talk. Okay?" "Thank you, Trish," I said, putting down my bags and hugging her. "Take care of yourself, Anne. I'll see you soon." "Bye." I gave her another kiss, a quick one on the lips before I left. * * * The shelter actually wasn't that far away from her place, though it took me a minute or two to get my bearings. It was even chillier as the sun fell below the skyline, but soon enough I was back at the shelter, the familiar sound of steam hissing from the radiators, announcing the heat. I went up to my room to drop off my things and headed back downstairs just as dinner was served. "Where'd you go today?" Manny asked, stuffing a forkful of franks and beans into his mouth. "I didn't see you in class." "Shopping," I said, sitting down next to him with my tray. I was still a bit full from lunch and I just picked at my dinner for a while. The nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right began to bother me. I looked around. Someone was missing. Billy was here, sitting at another table with some boys his age. Father Ken was in the kitchen, talking with Sister Bernice. It was only after I cleaned off my tray that I realized Chris was gone. "Annie! Where are you...?" Manny called after me as I rushed upstairs. The door to Chris's room was closed. I knocked out of habit before walking inside. The sheets and pillowcases had been stripped from his bedding, and all of his things were gone, clothes, comic books, the baseball he kept on the table by his bed. I sat down on his bed and picked up his pillow, clutching it to my body the way he used to do, trying to pick up his boy scent on the striped ticking. The material was old, yellowing, stained with the tears of a hundred scared boys. I tried to cry, but I couldn't. I'd purged my sorrows with Trish and I had no more tears to give for my beautiful, scared, little Chris. I just sat there on his bed, rocking back and forth with his pillow in my arms, remembering how happy he'd been when I agreed to be his 'pretend mommy'. Manny walked into the room and sat down next to me, putting his arm around me and pulling me close. I swung my legs up on to the bed and, still holding the tear-stained pillow, laid my head in Manny's lap. He leaned over and kissed my cheek before caressing my hair, my shoulder, my arm. "He left today after lunch," Manny whispered. "Father Ken took him out to the lobby. There was a woman waiting and his things were already packed." "I've got to talk to Father Ken," I said, lifting my head from his lap. I kissed the pillow, just once, a kiss for Chris, and put it aside before getting up from the bed. "Annie, wait..." Manny called out. But I'd already left the room. Father Ken was just pouring an after-dinner drink for himself when I entered his office. He looked startled for a moment -- I hadn't bothered knocking -- but his composure returned in a split second. He gestured towards a chair, but I remained standing. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Anne?" "Where did Chris go?" I asked him. I was in the anger stage of loss, and I had to try my best to conceal my rage. "Sit down, Anne. Let's talk." His face softened, the sincere look that made him such a successful counselor, minister, fundraiser, forming on his face. I took a seat, crossing my legs and folding my hands in my lap. "We've managed to place Christopher with a family, an adoptive family, not a foster home. He's one of the lucky few. It's exceedingly rare that we find a family willing to accept one of our boys into their home. You should be happy for him, Anne." Father Ken's words took a moment to sink in, and I realized that this was the best possible outcome for Chris. He'd have a real family again, a loving father and mother, not a fourteen-year-old 'pretend' mother. I felt my eyes begin to well up with tears, tears I though would never come. Father Ken pushed the box of tissues on his desk over to me. "You were close, Anne?" he asked as I dried my eyes. "He was so scared. He missed his mother so much," I said. My anger had melted, only the raw feeling of loss remained. "I'd hold him and rock him in my arms until he'd stop crying." "Anne," Father Ken said, getting up from behind his desk and coming over to kneel next to me. He brushed a strand of hair from my face and stroked my teary cheek. "You're an angel, Anne. But Christopher needs a real home." I could just nod my head. The lump in my throat was too big, blocking the words I wanted to say. I wanted to ask Father Ken to hold me, to rock me in his arms and dry my tears. "Can I get you something?" he asked. "A drink? Would you like a pill?" I shook my head. Manny knew what I wanted, just some comfort, a gentle caress, a tender kiss. All Father Ken had to give me was intoxication, escape. "Thank you, Father. I just wanted to know." I got up from the chair and left his office. I went back up to my room and lay on my bed, quietly sobbing into my pillow. My feeling of loss was tempered by shame; I felt selfish for missing Chris now. He was probably sleeping in a nice warm bed at this moment, with a mother to tuck him in and a father to read him a bedtime story. Still, even though I'd known him for just a week, I couldn't help but feel like he'd been torn from my womb. Even though I turned down Father Ken's offer of a pill, it was to the little orange plastic vial he'd given me that I turned. I tapped a few pills into my palm, painkiller, tranquilizer, sleeping pill, painkiller, tranquilizer, sleeping pill. I took a painkiller, a Dilaudid, swallowing it dry. As I laid my head on my pillow, waiting for the flood of warmth to spread through my body, there was a soft knocking on the door, and then it opened. "Annie? Are you okay?" Manny asked. Billy was there with him. I nodded, my tears already starting to dry up on my eyelashes. "I'm sorry about Chris," Billy said, standing next to the bed. "He's in a good home now," I said. "It's all for the best." "What can we do?" Manny asked. "Is there anything we can do?" "Just lie with me," I said. "Both of you. Please?" The boys shucked off their shoes and crawled into bed with me, one on either side, holding me, gently kissing me. "He was my little boy," I whispered, right before I fell asleep. * * * I woke up early the next morning, still dressed in my jeans and sweater from the day before, my eyes crusty from dried tears. Manny and Billy were already gone. It was that quiet time in the shelter, before anyone was awake, before the sound of traffic began to filter up from the street. I skinned off my clothes and put on my new kimono, padding barefoot across the hall to take a shower. The boys were all still asleep as I went downstairs for breakfast. I felt dead inside, especially when I passed Chris's empty room, the bare mattress and the stained pillow. I thought about sitting in there for a while but I'd only be torturing myself. Sister Bernice was busy in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. I decided to help her, and she was glad to have an assistant. I was just content to be doing something that would get my mind off of things, even a simple task like cracking two dozen eggs and beating them in a chipped porcelain bowl. She wasn't used to having an assistant in the morning, and we bumped into each other often as she went from freezer to counter to stove, my skinny hips bouncing off of her broad bottom. "I'm sorry, Sister," I said, feeling like I was in her way. "Nonsense, Anne. I'm happy to have some company this early," she said, as if she could read my mind. "Are you all right dear? Something troubling you?" "I miss Chris," I said, picking a stray bit of eggshell from the bowl. "He was a darling little boy, an angel," she said. "I miss him, too." Sister Bernice made me sit down while she prepared her special scrambled eggs for me, not too runny, not too firm, with some cream cheese added into the mix. It was delicious, but I began to have a craving for eggs the way Ramon's sisters would make, fried in oil and served with salsa and a hot tortilla, fresh from the stove. I thanked Sister Bernice for her kindness and cleaned my dishes, heading back upstairs to write for a while just as the shelter's residents began to stir and rub the sleep from their eyes. Classes seemed to drag on forever that day. It didn't help that Sister Josephine never once left the room, so Manny and I couldn't talk or pass a note, except during lunch. I was feeling a bit better, and I could tell that he knew this. We held each other's hands under the table during lunch, and once, during afternoon classes, he reached for my hand while Sister Josephine's back was turned and gave it a gentle squeeze. I missed Chris, but I still had Manny and Billy, Sister Katherine, and even Father Ken, who could sometimes be affectionate after we made love, though he usually fell asleep. And then there was Trish. Before dinner, I called the number she'd written on the back of her business card, but there was no answer, not even a machine. I tried again after dinner, but still no one picked up the phone. Manny was sitting on his bed, a baseball mitt in one hand, ball in the other, trying to work the glove into the proper shape. For a moment, he could have been Del, who used to sit on his bed the same way, doing the same thing. "Hey," he said, looking up. "Hey," I answered. "Let's get fucked up." "Let's get Billy, too," Manny said. "He's got some primo hash." We knocked on Billy's door on the way up to my room. He put aside his comic book and followed us upstairs, stopping off at the bathroom across the hall to get a wet towel for the door. Once inside my room, we pulled the mattress off of the bed and on to the floor and began to undress, stripping down to our underwear. While Billy rolled a joint from my stash, sprinkling crumbs of hashish into the pot, I passed around the Valium and we washed it down with a pint of rum that Manny had scored the day before. Just as I missed the taste of eggs and salsa, I missed the smooth sweetness of rum as well. It was a reminder of a happier time, a golden time. I began to smile as I remembered those times. "It's good to see you smile again, Annie," Billy said, lighting the joint and taking a big hit before passing it to me. "I was just...nevermind," I said. I couldn't explain; I just kissed Billy on the cheek, and then Manny, happy to have them with me, glad that I wasn't alone that night. We finished the joint and had some more rum before we began to make out, Manny and I locking lips while Billy kissed and suckled my breasts. Billy had just pulled my panties down my thighs when I remembered that I had to put in my diaphragm. The boys watched, fascinated, as I went through the familiar ritual, filling the latex cap with spermicidal jelly, folding it, and slipping it inside me. The taste didn't bother Billy, and he ate me out like a champ, making me quiver and moan on the lumpy mattress while Manny attended to my breasts. Afterwards, I sucked their hard young cocks, first Billy, then Manny, until they glistened and throbbed, ready for my pleasure. Manny lay on his back as I straddled him, guiding his lovely penis inside me, and then I presented my bottom for Billy, who had already greased his pole with hand lotion. With Billy in my ass and Manny's cock in my hungry pussy, we found our rhythm and fucked slowly, steadily, our heads full of rum, pot, and Valium. Their hard boycocks pressed against each other inside me, a delicious friction that brought me to another climax. I pressed my lips against Manny's, trying not to cry out as I came. Billy clung to my back, his hands traveling around to my breasts, squeezing them as he pumped my tender bottom. I felt him twitch inside me, spurting once before he softened and slipped out, climbing off of my back to wipe off his messy cock with the wet towel he'd stuffed under the door. Manny lasted a bit longer, even though I began to hump his hard pole faster after Billy had pulled out of my ass, but eventually his body stiffened and he let a quiet gasp escape from his lips as he came. Unlike Billy, Manny's cock spurted a few times as it twitched inside me, filling me with his hot boycum. I clenched myself around his softening cock, trying to milk the last few drops from his fuzzy balls, and then I collapsed on his chest, satisfied. Billy lay next to us, gently caressing my back. We smoked another joint and finished off the rum. I would have loved to have them both spend the night in my bed, but after our little scare with Father Kevin, this was just tempting fate, last night notwithstanding. The boys got dressed and helped me pull the mattress back on to the bed before leaving. "Thanks," I said, kissing them both. "Hey, anything for my sister," Billy said. "Right, bro?" "Yeah, anything. Anything at all," Manny said. I hugged them both and then watched them leave before putting my kimono on and heading across the hall to take a bath. I was heading back to my room when I heard it. A quiet sobbing, coming from Chris's room. My heart pounded as I stood there listening, wondering if I was hallucinating, wondering if he'd returned to the shelter, his new family rejecting him. I stood outside his door. It was real, not my imagination, but it sounded different. I knocked on the door; there was no answer. I knocked again and opened it. She was young, so terribly young, no older than eight or nine years of age, lying on the bed in a fetal position, sucking her thumb and crying into her pillow. I walked over to the bed and sat on the edge, reaching out to caress her, comfort her. She flinched from my touch, rolling over on to her other side, her back to me, her body heaving with each thumb-muffled sob. It was then that I noticed that she'd wet herself. There was a yellowish stain on the fresh sheets and her panties were wet. "Sweetie, honey," I cooed, brushing her red hair from her tear-stained face. She rolled over again and looked at me. The front of her little t-shirt was wet, too, but from tears. "Let's get you out of those wet things, okay?" She looked at me for a second and nodded, her thumb still firmly clamped between her lips. Such beautiful green eyes, fair skin, some freckles, but not as many as the red-headed Billy. She sat up in bed and accepted my embrace, and I rocked her gently in my arms as her sobbing began to cease. "Come, let's get you into the bath. Would you like a nice warm bath?" She nodded again, still silent, still looking as if the tears were about to start again. I took her by the hand and led her to the bathroom next door. The tub had just finished draining from my bath, so I sat the girl down on the toilet seat, rinsed the last suds from the bathtub, and began to fill it with warm water. While the tub filled up, I knelt next to the little girl, drying her tears before helping her out of her t-shirt and wet panties. I let them soak in some soapy water in the sink while I helped her into the tub. She was a tiny girl, a scared girl, the last traces of babyfat plumpness remaining on her little body. As she sat quietly, sucking her thumb, I gently washed her with a soapy washcloth. "My name is Annie. What's yours?" She said nothing, didn't even take her thumb out of her mouth. "You don't want to tell me your name?" She shook her head. "Such a pretty girl. I'm sure you have a lovely name to match. Is it Bertha?" She shook her head again. "Gladys?" Another silent shake of the head. "Griselda? I'll bet your name is Griselda," I said, rinsing the soap from her creamy skin. "Megan," she said in a raspy voice, a voice that sounded like she'd been crying for days. "My name is Megan." "Megan. That's a beautiful name. Come, let's dry you off." I helped her out of the tub and dried her with a towel, wrapping her up so she wouldn't catch a chill. Before we returned to her room, I rinsed out her wet panties and t-shirt and wrung them out, hanging them on a bathroom hook to dry. I took Megan's hand and led her back to her room. "Let's take care of this in the morning," I said, stripping the wet sheet from the mattress. Someone must have anticipated this happening, as there was a rubberized mattress cover underneath the sheet. I stripped that off as well and left the soiled bedding on the floor. There was a little valise on the floor, next to a tattered dress she'd been wearing before someone put her to bed. I opened the valise and looked inside. There were some clothes, underwear, a hair brush, nothing else. I picked out a fresh pair of panties and helped Megan step into them. "Do you have these accidents a lot, Megan?" She shook her head, her thumb back in its usual place. "Just this once?" She nodded. "Would you like to sleep in my bed? With me?" She nodded again. "Okay, baby. Come," I said, holding out my hand. We went to my room, where the smell of pot and hash lingered. I tucked her into my bed and took off my kimono. Though I wanted to wear my new nightie, I didn't want to risk wearing it to bed. Megan might have another "accident" during the night. Wearing just a pair of cotton panties, I crawled into bed next to her. Immediately, she snuggled up against my body, her warmth mingling with my own. She finally pulled her thumb from her mouth and closed her eyes, resting her head against my shoulder. I gave her a tender kiss on the cheek and turned out the light. * * * "Mommy! Mommmmmmyyyy!!!" Megan was sitting up in bed. It was still pitch black outside. I turned on the light, and we both began squinting against the sudden brightness. "Annie's here, baby," I said, taking her in my arms, holding her trembling little body. "Annie's here." "Mommy," she said, softer this time, like it was a special magic word that would protect her. "I'm here baby." I didn't want to say that, I didn't want to be a 'pretend' mom again, like with Chris. But it just came out, naturally. "Annie," she said, in the same quiet voice. "I'm here baby. I'm here. Just a nightmare, sweetie. You're safe with me." "Annie," she said again, clinging to me, hugging me. Her face was wet but the bed was dry. Just tears, just a few tears. We held each other, a gentle rocking calming her, reassuring her. Her trembling stopped, her breathing became regular again. "I've got to go pee," she said. "Okay, climb out," I said, pulling the blanket aside. "Come with me," she said. "Please?" "Okay, just a second." I put my robe on and led her across the hall. As she pulled down her panties and sat on the toilet to empty her bladder, I wrung out her wet undies again and put them back on the hook. They'd be dry in the morning. Megan wiped herself, pulled her panties back up, and flushed the toilet. I took her hand and we went back to my room, to bed. I was a bit disoriented when I woke up, lingering effects of the drugs I'd had the night before. It took me a moment to remember who was in bed next to me. Megan was fast asleep. She looked so pretty, so angelic as she slept, no tears, no thumbsucking, no wet panties. I watched her sleep for a while, not wanting to break the spell, reluctant to wake her up. She lay on her back, her red hair spilling over the pillow, her legs askew. Such a pretty little girl. There was something about her flat chest, tiny brown nipples atop nothing more than small pads of babyfat, that reminded me of Luci, my best friend from grade school. I wanted to kiss Megan's little buds, to suckle them, to give her a taste of the pleasure I felt. Her panties pressed against her babyfat labia, and it was all I could do to keep from kissing her down there, to make her squirm and squeal, to make her come. Too young. She was too young. In a year or two, she'd have the same curiosity about sex that drove Luci and I to explore each other's bodies, to find our pleasure. I softly kissed Megan's round little tummy and wondered where Luci was right now. Probably still in Ohio or wherever she'd moved with her mother, probably still asleep or getting ready for school. I wondered if she had a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, or if she was lonely, if she was thinking about me, wondering where I was at that moment. I looked out the window, in the direction of what I thought might be the west, towards Luci, wondering if my thoughts could travel that far. "Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get up," I whispered, kissing Megan's cheek, gently rousing her from her slumber. She opened her beautiful green eyes and smiled. "Annie," she said, putting her arms around me. I pulled her tiny body on top of mine, cupping her little bottom and stroking her hair. "Good morning, angel. Sleep well?" "Yes, Annie," she said. I could have laid in bed and held her all day, but we had to get up, get dressed, get ready for breakfast and everything after. Megan rubbed her eyes as we got out of bed, and, after I wrapped my kimono around me, we went into the bathroom to wash up. Megan's t-shirt and panties were still on the hook behind the door, dry now, and I took them with me as I led her back to her room to get dressed. She followed me to my room and sat on the bed while I changed my panties and put on my plaid skirt and blouse for class. I wore one of my new bras, a cotton soft-cup. Megan sat next to me at breakfast, letting me butter her toast for her. She sat close to me as if we were joined at the hip. After we finished eating, Father Ken and Sister Bernice came out of the kitchen and walked over to our table. "I see you've met Megan," Father Ken said to me. "Come, Megan. You're going to spend the day with Sister Bernice while Anne goes to class." The nun smiled and held out her hand. "I want to stay with Annie," Megan said. "Come, dearie. We'll have fun together," Sister Bernice said. Megan looked up at me; she looked like she was about to start crying again. "Go with Sister Bernice," I said. "I've got to go to class, but I'll be back in a couple of hours for lunch. I'll see you then, okay?" Megan didn't cry, but she got up from the table slowly, reluctantly. "Do you like to color, Megan?" Sister Bernice asked as she led the little girl into the kitchen. "Anything I should know about, Anne?" Father Ken asked. "I heard her crying last night, so I held her for a while. But she had wet the bed, so I bathed her and let her sleep with me," I said. "I noticed that when I went to check on her this morning," he said. "I figured she might be with you." I began to wonder if Father Ken had poked his head into my room while we were asleep. He sat down next to me and leaned over. "She'll probably be placed with a family very soon," he whispered. "Enjoy it while it lasts." As he got up and left, that word, "enjoy", stuck in my head. It was an odd choice of words. What did Father Ken think went on last night? As slow as class was the day before, the morning went by quickly, and it seemed as if I had just finished breakfast when I sat down for lunch. Megan came bounding out of the kitchen when she saw me sit down to eat with Billy and Manny, wrapping her arms around me and giving me a big hug. "I missed you, Annie," she said. I remembered how just a couple of hours could seem like a year when you're that age. "I missed you, too, angel," I said, kissing her forehead. "I want to show you what I colored," Megan said, bounding back into the kitchen and returning with a coloring book, the Official Pope Paul VI Coloring Book. Megan sat between me and Billy, showing me how well she'd colored in the Vatican's coat-of-arms. "Let me show you the house," she said, opening the coloring book to a blank page in the back. It was a typical child's drawing of a house, an open square, a peaked roof with a chimney, curls of smoke rising past the sun's simple yellow disk. Inside the open square were stick figures, one next to a square stove, two smaller ones together, holding hands. "That's me, and that's you, and that's Sister Bernice making us breakfast," she explained. "What about Billy and Manny?" I said. "Don't you want two strong, handsome brothers to keep the dragons away?" Megan wrinkled her little button nose, a gesture of mild disgust. I looked at my two "brothers". They rolled their eyes in unison. "It's a lovely house, Megan. We'll live there some day," I said, leaning over for a kiss on the cheek from my little angel. Megan wasn't as upset to see me go when lunchtime was over, like she'd been after breakfast. She seemed to enjoy Sister Bernice's affectionate company. I watched her bound back into the kitchen before heading back to class. I was distracted during afternoon class, fantasizing about Megan's little home, except it was Julia cooking for us instead of Sister Bernice, and it was Julia's house, her flowers, her garden, her bed. I thought about the three of us sharing Julia's big four-poster, and I was holding Megan in my arms while Julia lapped at her puffy labia. No, no, no. I tried to erase that image from my mind. Too young, Megan's too young. Too young to understand, too young to comprehend, too young to feel anything but the love of a mother and father, not the kind of love I shared with Julia. In my distraction, I didn't hear Sister Josephine calling on me until she cleared her throat. I managed to croak out the correct answer, though it was more of a lucky guess. Even so, I was given an extra assignment for not paying attention to the lesson. After classes let out for the day, I went upstairs to do my punishment assignment, resisting the temptation to go into the kitchen to check up on Megan. I so badly wanted to hug her, to kiss her, to see her drawing of the house again, but I was afraid of getting too attached to my little angel. I knew she'd be gone soon, like Chris, to a loving family. Besides, she was in good hands with Sister Bernice. Megan was so happy to see me again. She had a whole new set of crayon drawings, the two of us on a boat, riding horses, even another house, this time with stick figures of Billy and Manny. She drew Billy's hair in the same orange-red hue as her own. The four of us ate dinner together, and Megan talked a mile a minute, much to the disdain of Billy and Manny, not that they were known for sparkling dinner conversation. I was pleased to see the change in Megan's demeanor from the night before, when she'd been a terrified little girl, unwilling to even tell me her name. Megan stopped talking as soon as she saw Father Ken approach. There was something about him that scared her, cowed her back into silence. "Megan," he said, holding out his hand. "Come with me, dear." "Where are we going?" she asked. "Just to my office. To talk. Come," he said. She stood up slowly, leaving her drawings at the table, giving me a look of fear as Father Ken led her from the dining room. "I don't like this," I said. Billy and Manny said nothing, but I could tell that they were thinking the same thing: Father Ken was going to give her an "examination". We were back in my room after dinner, the three of us sitting on the floor passing around a hash-laced joint, the stack of Megan's drawings on my lap. "I don't like it. She's too young for this shit," I said, passing the joint back to Billy. "Maybe he'll just look at her, or touch her just a bit," he said. "He didn't really touch me until the second time." This was brave of Billy; he didn't like to talk about the things Father Ken and the other priests did to him. He repressed it all, hid it deep inside. For him to remember something like this was a bold step. "I don't like it either," Manny said. "But what can we do?" "We could go to the police," I said, remembering the scandal that surrounded the guidance counselor back in Maine, the one who took a student into a motel. She was seventeen. Ratting out Father Ken would produce an even bigger shitstorm. "No, no cops, no way, no how," Manny said. "They just fuck everything up." "Then who?" I asked. "Another priest?" "They're all in on it," Billy said. "Every priest in the city comes here for a piece." "Fuck. Then what?" I said. We finished the joint in silence. Worrying about Megan really killed the mood. I'd wanted to party with Billy and Manny, to be sandwiched between their smooth young bodies, to come like I did the night before, to feel their warm semen drip out of me as we lay together. But little Megan's safety was on all of our minds. I passed up the offer to smoke another joint and after a while the boys left to scrounge up something to eat, leaving me alone in my room, alone with my thoughts. About an hour later I heard footsteps in the hallway. Hard shoes, not the sneakers most of the boys wore around the shelter. Then I heard Megan's door close, and the footsteps receded into the distance. I counted to 10 and went into the hall, pressing my ear against her door. Silence. I knocked twice before going in. Megan was lying on her bed, wearing just her panties. Her ratty little dress hung over the foot of the bed. She was curled up on her side, her back to me. I walked over to the bed and sat next to her. "Megan? Sweetie? Are you all right?" "Annie...," she rasped, rolling over and holding out her arms. I hugged her, kissed her, relieved that she seemed to be safe and unharmed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and I knew she'd been crying, but she was quiet now. "What's this?" I asked, feeling something sticky on her chest. "Lay back for a second, sweetie." Megan let go of me and I checked her for bruises, scrapes, any visible sign of abuse. She was fine, but it was obvious that someone had done something; the stickiness was semen. Most of it had been wiped off, but some traces remained. "Let's take a bath, okay?" I said. Megan nodded, and I led her to the bathroom. While the water ran, I knelt next to her and held her, wondering what had happened in Father Ken's office. My questions were partially answered when I helped Megan step out of her panties. Her smooth little labia were red and tender. "Does it hurt down there?" I asked her. She nodded, her thumb stuck in her mouth. "Did Father Ken touch you there?" Another nod. I checked the temperature of the water and helped Megan into the tub. "What else did he do?" I asked her as I soaped up her chest, washing away the priest's semen. "He pulled his pee pee out," she said, her voice still hoarse from crying. "And then what?" "He rubbed it on me and then it squirted pee." "White stuff?" Megan nodded. Remembering this scary incident brought the tears back. I held her and washed the tears away with a washcloth. "I won't let him hurt you, baby. I promise," I whispered. She nodded again and pressed her head against my breasts. After I finished bathing her and drying her off, I wrapped her in a towel and hustled her back into my room. Megan climbed into my bed, and I could see the chafing on her labia as she slid her legs under the blanket. "Let me see you again, honey," I whispered, pulling the blanket down. "Does it still hurt?" She nodded her head. I wanted to give her something, maybe a little piece of a Dilaudid, but I was afraid of the effect it might have on someone so young. Instead, I reached for the small bottle of hand lotion I kept next to the bed and squeezed some into my palm, rubbing it around with my fingers to warm it up. "Tell me if this hurts, sweetie," I said, gently rubbing her inflamed labia. She was wary of being touched there again, holding her arms up in a defensive posture. But I was especially gentle and, as the lotion soothed her tender area, she relaxed, settling back into my pillow. "Feel better, Megan?" "Yes, Annie," she sighed. "Thank you, Annie." "My poor little angel," I cooed, kissing her belly, her chest, her nose, her forehead. She closed her eyes and smiled as I rubbed the lotion on her abused little cunny. I pulled the blanket up over her again and gave her a tender kiss on the lips, and then I watched her while she fell asleep. It was still early in the evening, but I was exhausted from worrying about Megan and tired from the joints I'd smoked with Billy and Manny. There was one thing I had to do first, though. I pushed my dresser over to the door, slowly, quietly, trying not to wake up Megan. It was made of cheap veneer and almost empty, not heavy enough to block the door. I pushed it until it was a few inches away from the doorknob, hoping that if someone did try to enter the room in the middle of the night, the sound of the knob hitting the dresser would startle the intruder, or, at the very least, wake us up. I got undressed and slipped under the covers, putting my arm around Megan's slumbering form, giving her a light kiss on the cheek before settling my head on the pillow next to her angelic face. That night I had the strangest dream. We were on Ramon's boat, Megan and I, just the two of us, drifting in the middle of the ocean. It was sunny, but the waves were enormous, towering over the fishing boat and tossing it up and down. We were huddled in the forward cabin, where Del and Paco slept, listening to the waves crest and splash against the hull. The boat reeked of diesel fuel and rotting fish, but somehow I wasn't sick, despite the heavy seas. We were wet, our clothes were soaked, and I was helping Megan out of her dress and underwear, drying her off with a towel that bore a Ritz-Carlton monogram. Then it was my turn to undress. I was wearing my long peasant skirt and the wet fabric clung to my legs. After I stepped out of the wet clothes, I pulled off my panties and looked down: I had a penis. It was small and smooth like Billy's boycock, devoid of hair. I looked back up at Megan, who was lying on the cushioned bunk. She spread her legs and looked up at me with an expression of anticipation, a strange lust in her eyes. Without a word between us, I lay on top of her and we began to kiss, not the motherly kisses I'd given her before, but passionate kisses, intense kisses, lovers' kisses. Megan looked down between her legs and then back up at me and she nodded. I pressed my hips forward, feeling my dream cock press into her folds, inside her, through her cherry. Megan winced slightly as I tore through her hymen and then she smiled again and started sucking her thumb. I began to thrust. Something woke me up, a sharp sound and a loud thump. I sat up in bed and saw that my door was open slightly. I tried to remember if I had closed it before I went to sleep. I must have. I always did. I quietly climbed out of bed and went over to the dresser. There was a small mark on the side, exactly level with the doorknob. After I closed the door, I slid the dresser against the door, just to be sure, and went back to sleep. Whomever it was probably wouldn't come back, or so I hoped. I was wide awake, though. I watched Megan sleep peacefully for a while and then decided to take a sleeping pill. There was a can of flat soda from the night before, so I washed it down with that. I laid my head back on the pillow and waited for the pill to take effect. * * * We slept undisturbed for the rest of that night. In the morning, I checked Megan again before she got dressed. The chafing looked better, but there were a couple of small bruises on the insides of her thighs, roughly the size of a finger or thumb print. Megan was in a happy mood that morning, with Father Ken's "examination" the night before a fading memory. I didn't share her bright mood that morning. Her bruises lingered on my mind, especially after I remembered having similar marks on my thighs after a night with Del. He liked to hold my thighs when we fucked, my legs resting on his shoulders as he pounded my pussy with his hard cock. His thumbs would dig into my flesh, something I'd hardly notice in the heat of our lovemaking, but some faint bruises would show up afterwards. I'd see them the next morning when I showered. They didn't hurt, and because I liked it when Del was a little rough, I never said anything to him about it. But I couldn't bear to see these same bruises on Megan's creamy skin. Megan went with Sister Bernice after breakfast. Just like yesterday, I was distracted during classes, but I managed to pay enough attention to Sister Josephine to keep from getting hit with another penalty assignment. Manny kept glancing over at me, his brow furrowed with worry. When class broke for lunch, he caught up with me as we headed towards the dining room. "How is she?" he asked. "She's okay, but..." "But what?" I told him how I found her the night before, the dried semen on her skin, the chafing, the bruises. Manny clenched his teeth and shook his head as he listened. I could feel his rage, the tightness in his chest. He kept balling his hands into fists and then relaxing them. "Annie, we gotta do something," he said. "What?" I was at a loss, I couldn't think of who to turn to. Sister Bernice? Sister Josephine? Trish? Michael? If only I could remember the name of Julia's law firm. Maybe they could help. "I dunno. Something," Manny said, still seething. "Manny, don't do anything stupid. Promise me," I said. When it came down to it, I really didn't know him all that well. He was a strong kid, a street kid, and I had no doubt that he could beat the crap out of Father Ken. "Yeah, okay. I promise. But if he hurts her again..." "I know, I know," I said. I pictured myself kicking Father Ken in the crotch, over and over again. Megan still wore her sunny disposition as we had lunch together. We sat with Manny and Billy flanking us, like bodyguards, looking around between bites to see if Father Ken was near. I felt somewhat safer having Billy and Manny with us, acting protective, safety in numbers. I didn't see Father Ken until after lunch. He was waiting by the door to Sister Josephine's classroom, and he pulled me aside as Manny and the other boys entered the room. "Father Steve is coming by tonight," he said. "He'd like to see you again." "Okay," I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach. "Father..." "Did you buy something nice with the money I gave you?" he said, cutting me off. "Yes, Father," I replied. "Good, good. Wear it tonight," he said. "I'll see you after supper." "Father? I'd like to talk..." "Sorry, Anne. I've got to run. There's a meeting of the board of directors and I'm running late. We can talk later." "Yes, Father," I said. As he turned on his heel and left, I entered the classroom and took my seat. Manny looked over and shook his head, and I returned the gesture. Even if Father Ken had the time to talk, I couldn't think of anything to say other than "You hurt Megan, you prick". As for sleeping with Father Steve again, I dreaded it, feeling his clumsy hands on my body, squeezing my breasts and bottom as he speared me with his fat, stubby penis. But I had no choice. If I didn't do it, Megan would probably take my place in Father Ken's bed. I shuddered to think what would happen if Mr. O'Hare decided she was ready for her First Communion. I'd gladly sacrifice my body for her, for Billy and Manny, too, for all the boys in the shelter, whether I knew them or not. I pretty much knew all of their names by then, Joey, Gregg, Scotty, who everyone called "Scooter", Marcel, who was the only black child in the shelter, Fat Mario, who always had a smile for me, Bobby and Lenny, my classmates with Manny, Billy's friend Max, Barry, the really shy kid with the curly black hair. Even though almost all of the priests who visited the shelter in the evenings seemed to prefer boys, giving me a wide berth, I knew that every time I slept with one it meant that one of the boys would be left alone that night. "Manny, do me a big favor," I said. "Anything, bonita," he said. "I've got to see Father Steve tonight in Father Ken's office. I don't know how long it will take. Could you stay with Megan? Keep her company in my room until I get back?" "Sure. No problem," he said. He and Billy followed as I led Megan upstairs to my room. They stopped off in Manny's room for a minute and were knocking on my door as I was getting ready to go downstairs to Father Ken's office. Megan sat on my bed and watched me undress, exchanging my plaid skirt, white blouse, and cotton underwear for the sheer black bra and panty set, my shortest skirt, and my tightest sweater. She was especially curious about my diaphragm, her eyes wide as she watched me insert it inside my vagina. I didn't know how to explain it to her without going into the whole sperm and egg thing or that "When two people love each other a lot..." bullshit. Love had nothing to do with what I'd be doing that evening. "Smoke before you go?" Billy asked, pulling a fat joint from his pocket. I nodded, not wanting to go down there straight. As Billy went to get a wet towel for the door, I considered taking a Valium or something to calm my nerves, but it would only keep me from confronting Father Ken. A bit of pot, that's all I wanted, though a drink would be nice, too. Before I left, the boys showed me what they had stopped off to get from Manny's room. Billy had a folding knife, sort of like the one Ramon wore on the boat, with a dark brown wooden handle stained from sweat and skin oil. Manny had a collapsible baton made of some shiny black metal, a rubber handle, and a leather loop at the end. There was a small metal ball on the other end, the size of a marble, and it looked pretty nasty as Manny whipped it back and forth. "Megan's safe with us," Manny said. "No one's gonna take her anywhere." "No one," Billy repeated. "Megan, honey. I'll be back in a little while, okay?" I said, sitting on the bed next to her. She nodded her head and held out her arms for a hug. I kissed her precious red hair and her peachy cheeks. * * * Father Ken was seated behind his desk, but Father Steve was nowhere in sight. I sat down across from the desk and Father Ken poured me a drink, bourbon mixed with cola. He pushed it across the table. "Father Steve is waiting for you," he said, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom. "Yes, Father. Could we...?" "Did you wear something special?" he asked, cutting me off. "Yes, Father. Could we talk about...?" "Let me see." I put down my drink and raised the front of my sweater so he could see the sheer black bra, the dark circles of my areolae showing through the thin material. "Come here," he said. I got up and walked behind his desk, over to his chair. He lifted the front of my skirt, exposing the matching panties, the dark line of my cleft visible through the crotch. He brushed against my sex with his fingers, a distant look in his eyes. "Father, I want to talk about Megan," I said quietly. "I know," he said. "We'll talk later, I promise. He's waiting." He nodded his head towards the bedroom and let go of my skirt, letting it fall back over my thighs. "Go." "Yes, Father." I left his office as he was pouring himself another drink. The lights in the bedroom were off, but I could make out a shape on the bed once my eyes adjusted to the darkness. "Andie? Is that you?" Father Steve asked. "Annie. It's Annie." "Oh, right. Annie. How are you tonight?" "Fine, Father." I didn't want to make small talk. I just wanted to get it over with. I took off my clothes, sweater, skirt, bra, panties, and climbed into bed with him. Last week he had been tentative, clumsy, but this time his hand went straight to my breasts, cupping them, kneading them, not as roughly as before. "That thing you did with your mouth," Father Steve said. "Do that again." "Yes, Father." I sat up and leaned over his belly, taking his stiff cock and heavy balls in my hands, guiding his fat glans into my mouth, sinking my lips down his thick shaft. He sighed and ran his hand over my back, caressing me as I sucked him. He was already hard and twitching, a drop of precum weeping from the tip of his tool. "That's enough," he said, tugging at my arm and pulling me back on the bed. Then he rolled over on top of me, spreading my legs apart with his knees and stuffing his stubby cock inside me. I wasn't nearly wet enough for this, but there was enough of my saliva on his penis and it didn't hurt too much. As he began to thrust, I loosened up a bit, getting wetter as his glans dragged across the sensitive spot inside my cunny. He fucked me slowly, steadily, his bulk pinning me to the bed, nearly cutting off my breathing. I held his flabby waist, grabbing his "love handles" as his hips kept up an even rhythm, pushing his plug of a cock in and out of my slit. I was actually starting to enjoy this. Father Steve was a little too heavy, but I was reminded of the times that Ramon would make love to me, how I loved to feel him on top of me, feeling almost helpless as he pounded my tender pussy. I felt that familiar tension start to form in my belly, the harbinger of an orgasm. I tried to move my hips, to feel Father Steve's cock go deeper inside me, but he was too heavy. I could barely move. He just kept rocking his hips against mine, his face buried in my hair, his hot breath against my neck, smelling of bourbon or something. The squeaking of the bed got louder, faster, and then I felt him hesitate for a moment, a hitch in the rhythm of his hips right before he came inside me, a torrent of sperm flowing from his bulbous cockhead, a week's worth of unrelieved sexual tension flooding my pussy. He grunted once and rolled off of me, lying on his side, his softening cock laying across his thigh like a discarded cigar butt. I sat up and bunched the sheets between my legs, hoping to stem the flow of semen that leaked from my slit. I hadn't come, and I was close, so close that I felt dizzy. Maybe Father Ken would lick me like he did the last time, maybe fuck me, too. Maybe that would make it easier to talk about Megan. I started to get out of bed, but Father Steve grabbed my arm. "We're not done yet," he said. "Get back here." "Yes, Father," I said. He reached for my breasts again, rougher this time, pinching my nipples until I began to flinch away from him. The he put his hand on the back of my head and guided me down to his crotch. It smelled musty this time, sweaty, damp from the exertion of our last coupling. I took his flaccid cock in my mouth again, licking and sucking it until he was hard again, at which point he tugged my arm, pulling me back up on the bed. Father Steve mounted me once more, this time pulling my legs up and holding my thighs in his hands as he pushed his cock into my messy slit. It was much easier this time, with his penis riding on a slippery carpet of his own spunk, making obscene squishing sounds as it pistoned in and out of my sex. He tightened his grip on my thighs and began to fuck me faster. I knew I'd see bruises in the morning, but I was beyond caring at this point. Better me than Megan, I thought. Better me than Megan. My interrupted climax began anew, the tension spreading from my belly to my thighs. As Father Steve pounded me, I cupped my breasts, circling my fingers over the nipples he'd pinched, feeling my pleasure spread through my chest, my legs, centering in my pussy and clit as his thick shaft slammed inside me. I began to come, letting go of my breasts and grabbing Father Steve's hips, lifting my bottom from the bed to feel more of his cock inside me. There was just a nest of wiry pubic hair, the base of his shaft, scratching my labia with each stroke. If only he was an inch or two bigger... Father Steve answered my moans with a grunt, thrusting faster, his fat- padded pubic bone slamming against my clit, and then he came again, burying his penis inside me one last time, adding to the river of semen I felt dripping down my ass crack and pooling on the sheets. He released my thighs, letting my legs fall to the bed, and without saying a word he pulled out of me and got up from the bed, wiping off his cock with a towel and quickly getting dressed. My pussy began to ache, a soreness I hadn't noticed while we fucked, a slight throbbing and a feeling of rawness on my labia where his coarse pubes had scratched me. I bunched up the sheets between my legs again, listening to the murmur of conversation drifting in from Father Ken's office. I couldn't make out what they were saying, not complete sentences, just a phrase or a word or two, "hundred", and "liked it", "next week" and "morning mass". I thought I heard Father Ken say "Megan", but it could easily have been the word "naked". Still... I waited until I heard Father Steve leave, the door to the office closing behind him, before I gathered my clothes and left the bedroom. Father Ken was sipping his drink, a small stack of $10 bills stuck into the corner of the blotter on his desk, money that hadn't been there before. "Everything go okay?" Father Ken asked. Not "Are you all right?" or "How do you feel?". I nodded anyway. "Good. Come here," he said. I put my clothes down on his desk as he unzipped his fly, fishing his half-hard cock from his trousers. Father Ken spread his legs and nodded towards the floor. I knelt before him, the hard plastic sheet that protected the carpet from his chair making my knees ache, a thick stream of Father Steve's spunk dripping down my thigh. I leaned into his crotch and took his cock in my mouth, slowly sucking it, swirling my tongue over the underside of his shaft. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his drink as I pleasured him with my mouth. Only he wasn't getting hard. He'd twitch a bit, his glans would swell, but he never got more than half way there. I licked and sucked him as best as I could, but it just wasn't happening. I pulled his penis from my mouth and gently squeezed it, to no effect. "What's wrong?" Father Ken asked. "You're not...it's not getting hard," I said. "You must be doing it wrong," he replied, a coldness creeping into his voice. "Maybe if you close your eyes and think of Megan," I blurted out, instantly regretting that I had said this. Father Ken froze in mid-sip, his face turning red, burning with rage. His eyes narrowed, he slammed down his drink, and rearing his arm back, he slapped me hard, right across my cheek. I fell back on the carpet, landing on my ass, tasting blood where his ring had hit my lip. "Harlot!" he shouted. It was a word I knew from the Bible, but I'd never heard anyone use it. Father Ken stood up from his chair, and I began to back away, crab-crawling backwards, but he reached down and grabbed my ankle, kneeling between my legs, his cock now hard and as red as his face. "Father...no...please..." This only served to stoke his anger. He let go of one of my legs and unbuckled his trousers, pushing them down before grabbing me again. I tried to kick back, to struggle, but he was too big, too strong, too angry. He grabbed my thighs in the same spot as Father Steve had done and thrust himself inside me, covering me with his body so I couldn't crawl away. I closed my eyes and tried to be somewhere else as he stabbed me with his cock, I thought about Megan, about Manny and Billy, I tried to imagine the boys taking on Father Ken with knife and baton. From somewhere deep inside me, a prayer I'd heard at the cathedral, and at the church in Florida during my mother's funeral, drifted into my consciousness... "Hail, Mary, full of grace, our Lord is with thee..." Father Ken kept slamming into me, forcefully, spitefully, punishing me with his penis, punishing my impertinence, my disrespect. He moved a hand from my thigh to my breast, squeezing it until I began to cry out, tears running down my face. "Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb..." I kept pushing back at him, grabbing two fistfuls of his chest hair, hoping to return some of the pain. Father Ken just grunted and swatted my hands away. I could feel hairs that I'd ripped out on my fingers, sticky with sweat. "O virgin Saint Mary, O Mother of God..." Father Ken let go of my thighs and held my wrists, laying his body on me and thrusting even faster. I was already sore down there from Father Steve, and it was getting worse. I tried to clench myself around his shaft, hoping to make him come and get it over with, but it hurt too much. "...now and at all times, and at the hour of our death." I stopped struggling. I was spent. It was no use fighting him, it was just too much. I turned my head and closed my eyes, feeling the tears rolling down my face. Father Ken accepted my surrender, and I felt him twitch inside me, his glans flaring as he poured his cum into me, adding to the mess that was already there. I wondered if my diaphragm was still set in place, thinking that I'd slit my wrists rather than carry this man's baby in my womb. He let go of my wrists and got up off of me, pulling his softening cock out quickly, not wanting to linger inside me. He pulled up his trousers and returned to his chair, sweeping my clothes off of his desk with the back of his hand, the same hand he'd slapped me with. "Go," he said, pouring another drink. I grabbed my clothes and dressed quickly, my back to him, unwilling to look him in the eye. Without a word, I left, so sore that I was barely able to walk. I couldn't even make it up the stairs to the top floor. I had to sit and rest half way, until the throbbing subsided. My cheek hurt as well, and my lip was swollen. I sat in the bathroom on the second floor, the one I'd barged into while Billy was in the bath, holding my thighs together, my head in my hands. I wept. * * * The pain subsided enough for me to make it the rest of the way, back to my room, to Megan, to the boys, to the last Dilaudid in the little orange vial. Manny and Billy looked up as I walked into the room, a look of horror turning to anger on their faces when they saw my split lip. "Annie? What the fuck?" Manny asked, the collapsible baton stuck in his waistband. He and Billy helped me into bed, and I laid down next to Megan, who looked even more frightened than she did that first night. "Could you get me a cold washcloth, please," I said, my swollen lip making it hard to speak. Billy immediately went across the hall and came back with a damp washrag. I held it on my lip. "What happened?" he asked. "I don't want to talk about it," I said. "Who did this to you?" Manny asked. "Father Steve? Father Ken?" I nodded at the last name, and his expression darkened, his eyes narrowed with rage. Manny pulled the baton from the waistband of his pants, flicking it with his wrist so it extended to its full length. His hand was shaking with barely repressed anger, making the ball end of the baton quiver. "I'll kill him," he said, in a quiet, measured tone, just the barest edge of ire in his voice. "No, he's pissed right now. He'll kill you," I said. "Manny. Don't. Please." Manny tightened his grip on the baton and then he relaxed, taking a deep breath. Billy was all wound up as well, the folding knife in his hand. Maybe they both could have taken on Father Ken, but who knew what he had in his desk? A knife? A gun? Even if it was a fair fight, there would be hell to pay later. No doubt the police would get involved. I thought about going to the cops myself, but something Manny had said stuck in my mind: "They just fuck everything up." I'd be sent back to Maine for sure, back to the foster home, back to Mr. Hubbard, though after what I'd just been through that didn't sound so awful. I sat up and reached for the vial of pills, washing down my last Dilaudid with a sip of Billy's soda. "I'm gonna get some ice for your lip," he said. "Should I get Sister Bernice?" "No, dude," Manny said. "She can't help." "Why not?" Billy asked. "You don't think she's blind to what goes on here?" I said. "She knows," Manny agreed. "She won't do shit." Billy nodded and went down to the kitchen, returning with a handful of ice cubes in a dishtowel, twisted into a compress. I put down the cold washcloth and held the ice to my lip. The pain began to fade, lip, cheek, breasts, wrists, thighs, and cunny, as the painkiller took effect. Laying back on the bed, I put my arm around Megan, who snuggled up against me, tears in her eyes. She was frightened, scared for me, scared to see me like this. I promised to protect her and now I felt like I couldn't even protect myself. "Help me up," I said, "I've got to take a shower or something." Manny came over and supported my back as I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I probably could have made it into the bathroom under my own power, but Manny held me up, putting my arm around his neck as Billy got the door. Megan followed us across the hall to the bathroom, and as Manny set me down to sit on the toilet seat, Billy wiggled the faucets, filling the bathtub with warm water. I had to pee, badly. Megan helped me unzip my skirt and pull it down, even helping with my panties. They were a mess, the crotch soaked with semen. As I sat down on the toilet again, she helped me step out of them, her eyes on the greyish fluid that pooled inside them. I emptied my bladder, unselfconsciously, wincing at the pain I felt, pain that penetrated the Dilaudid haze. When I was done, I wiped myself carefully, lightly. Manny helped me take off my sweater and bra, and guided me into the bath. I sat down slowly. Bruises had already begun to form on my thighs, my breasts, my knees. Without even looking, I knew my ass and tailbone were probably just as bad, bluish circles with a sickly yellow tint. Megan was right there with the soap and the washcloth, and she gently washed me, just as I had done for her. "Angel," I whispered, leaning over to kiss her cheek. She still had a frightened look on her face, but now she had a task, a purpose, something to take her mind off of her fears. Billy helped as well, lightly scrubbing my back with a soapy washcloth; Manny just stood by the tub, staring at my bruises, his anger rising and falling like the tide. Megan and Billy rinsed me off and, as Manny helped me emerge from the tub, they carefully dried me off, avoiding all of the bruised places on my body. Megan ran back to my room to get my kimono, and Manny wrapped me in it before he helped me back to my room. "Thank you," I said, sitting down on the bed. "Anything for you, Annie," he whispered. I tilted my head and he kissed me, gingerly, touching his lips to mine, kissing the part that wasn't swollen. I had avoided looking in the mirror when we were in the bathroom, afraid of what I would see. Megan and Billy came in, carrying my clothes, which she carefully folded and placed on my dresser. "Do you want us to stay tonight?" Manny asked. "No, but thanks. We'll be okay," I said. "I'll watch her," Megan said, trying to sound as grown-up as she could. I smiled at her, even though it hurt to do so. My angel. "Take care of her for us," Manny said, reaching out and playfully pinching her button nose with his fingers. Megan laughed and swatted at his hand. Even Billy smiled. I hugged her, kissed the top of her head as she put her arms around me. We smoked a last joint before they left, not even bothering to stuff a wet towel under the door. Let Father Ken bust us. We didn't care. The boys would have loved to have a chance to take him on. After they went back to their rooms, Megan helped me push the dresser against the door and we climbed into bed. She pulled her dress over her head and slipped under the blanket next to me, putting her arm around me and resting her head on my shoulder. "Megan, honey?" I whispered after I turned out the light. "Annie?" "I want you to promise me something, angel." "Okay." "Listen, this is important, okay?" "Okay," she said. "If Father Ken or anyone else touches you again, I want you to scream. Scream as loud as you can, bite, kick, punch, whatever. But scream, okay?" "Scream," she said. "I will. I promise." "I know you will, baby." I kissed her and closed my eyes, listening to the sound of her breathing slow as she fell asleep. I wondered what she dreamed about. She must have had a family at some point, a mother at least, maybe brothers and sisters, too. I wondered how she ended up here, what horrible things she might have seen, what abuse she was subjected to. For the millionth time in the last couple of months I wished Julia were still alive. She'd help us, she'd know what to do. Maybe she was watching over us, from heaven, like a guardian angel. I wished I was in her arms again. "I love you, angel," I whispered, right before I joined Megan in Dreamland. * * * (c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: | | FAQ: Moderator: | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d, look for subject {ASSD}| |Archive at Hosted by | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+