slut-problems: I disappeared from my house when I was just a…

slut-problems:

I disappeared from my house when I was just a girl. It was
the guy that lived four doors down in our cul-de-sac. He took me to his attic
and I lived there as his sex slave for a very long time. I didn’t realize how
long until I was finally able to break free when I was twenty.

I had been with him for such a long time, completely at his
mercy. I allowed him to do unspeakable things to me whenever he asked. I let
him fuck my ass, stick his cock so far down my throat that most people would’ve
thrown up. But not me. He had painstakingly trained me, forcing his cock down
my throat over and over again, making me lick up my own vomit when I lost
control. He came in my pussy almost every day. It’s a miracle I didn’t get
pregnant. Later they would tell me it was because he had damaged my uterus
somehow with his brutal fucking.

He didn’t know my real birthday and so he just made one up
because he wanted me to have a real birthday party like a real whore.  He bought me a cake from the local
grocery store that said, “I’m a whore,” on it. He wanted me to sing happy
birthday to myself, but I was afraid of what he was going to do to me on this
special day. I started to sing the words of the song, also afraid of what would
happen if I didn’t sing it.

Of course he couldn’t stand it. He pushed my sweet little
girl face into the cake and commanded me to eat it like a good girl. He pushed
my face down into the cake, the frosting sticking into my eyelashes and my
hair. He pulled my torso back and grabbed my ass, spreading it open. I felt his
tongue licking my cunt and my asshole. I knew he was going to fuck me I just
didn’t know which hole.

He stuck his cock into my pussy! Wow, it was a miracle! In
those days he usually fucked my ass. Maybe this whole birthday thing was
actually going to work out for me. He fucked my pussy and even let me have an
orgasm. After that, he stuck it back into my asshole, like always.

 “Happy birthday, you fucking whore,” he said.

 “Thank you Uncle Daddy,” I said. That’s what he liked to be
called.

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