0 comments/ 67998 views/ 1 favorites Sweet Mandy By: 23bdr I had known Mandy for most of her life, both of us growing up in the same Catholic community. I was eleven years her senior, and looked up to her dad, Martin, who was active in the Church and had agreed to sponsor me when I was going through the teenage ritual of Confirmation. At 25, having just graduated law school, I was in St. Louis taking a bar prep course when it was announced that the Pope was coming for a visit. My hometown church, some three hours south, had acquired eight tickets, and I applied for one, thinking some divine intervention would serve me well. Arriving alone at the convention center at 6 a.m., I felt quite lonely until the other seven arrived about an hour later. Mandy, then fourteen at the time, was the only teenager among a group of forty-plus others who had received a ticket, took a seat by me, and I noticed for the first time what a lovely young lady she was growing into. She was quite mature for her age, and I much enjoyed our conversation and time spent together as we waited for the Pope to arrive. Successful passing of the bar and an offer to work in Columbia landed me a bright future as an attorney. After four years of hard work, I landed a small partnership in a firm which afforded me the luxury of my first real house near the local state college campus. Shortly thereafter, I got a call from Martin, advising me that Mandy, now eighteen, was to begin her freshman year of college in Columbia, and asking that I keep an eye on her, as she would be all alone for the first time and five hours from home. He told me they would be arriving in a few weeks to move her into her dorm room, and I gladly offered my assistance. It had been four years since our last visit, and when I saw her, I had to contain myself taking in the beauty of her tight, athletic, firm body attired in a tight, form-fitting grey Mizzou T-shirt and ass-hugging denim shorts. Her interest in pursuing a career was a wonderful topic of conversation for us, and it wasn't long until I offered her the opportunity to earn some spending money while working a few hours a week at the firm. My attention and focus was quite distracted when she appeared in her professional, yet sexy, business attire. I was often out of town on business, and when I extended her the offer to house-sit and take care of fifty gallon aquarium, she quickly accepted and made herself quite at home. As the months wore on, I assigned her more work and told her my home, which was much closer than my office, was open and accessible to her. She spent quite a few evenings at my house, and I often had dinner and drinks available for her so we could spend more time together. She also worked on the weekends, and never seemed to have much of a social life. I pressed her on the issue, and she told me that between studies and work, she had little time for social activities. I finally told her I was leaving for the weekend on a Friday afternoon and needed her to house-sit. Instead, I went to my local watering hole and worked up the courage to head back to the house about 7 p.m. with steaks, wine, and all the dressings and an excuse about my trip being canceled. I found Mandy in some relaxed, but sexy looking loungewear and none too disappointed about the situation. Dinner was great and I kept the wine flowing. Afterwards, we relaxed in front of my big screen for a movie on HBO. Soon, her head was resting on my shoulder and my left arm was around her. As we watched the movie, I began to hold her tighter and watched as her right hand grasped my left leg and squeezed me gently, moving closer to my groin. Finally, I turned her chin towards me and enveloped her in a slow, sensual kiss and caress. She responded in kind, moving up to my now hard cock and squeezing my now swollen member as I moved to her neck with slow, sloppy, sucking and embrace. We moved to the master bedroom, where I took in her beauty as we removed each other's clothing. Her buoyant breasts, smooth silky skin, and trimmed bush heightened my desire for her. After removing my briefs, she quickly went down and engulfed my hard member, taking me in her luscious mouth as I caressed her scalp. She looked up at me with my member pulsing between her lips, searching for approval and a sign of satisfaction. I groaned in delight, holding back my impulse to spray her throat with jism and pulled her up to me and laid her on the bed. As I moved down to take her breasts to me, she moaned and squirmed underneath. I traveled further, taking in her wonderful fragrance, and settled on her trimmed, yet beautiful, black bush. I extended my tongue through her lips and up to the swelling bed of her clitoris. She moaned in pleasure as I grazed her bud back and forth and spelled out the alphabet on her swelling clit. Her hands pushed me into the center of her sex, and she groaned and moaned in pleasurable delight as I brought her to a screeching climax. After she settled down, I moved up and placed my swollen member between her lips and pushed forcefully into her. She bellowed in delight as I hit bottom and began an all-embracing in and out thrusting into her tight orifice. After several minutes, she bucked her hips hard and bellowed out in orgasmic release. I held out as long as possible, but was soon depositing my load into her deep chasm. We settled down into sweet, slow caresses, and it wasn't long before I felt myself rise up and our second wave of passion swept over us. I woke up the next morning with Mandy deep-throating me to a state of full hardness. She quickly moved up and mounted me, extending her breasts for my enjoyment. We rode each other to another wave of pleasure and she came on my cock just before I filled her womb with my seed. As we came down off of our sexual high, she said, "Thank God for the Pope." Thank God indeed. Sweet Mangala, A Picture Of Virtue Authors Note: The story you are about to read is for the most part true. My name is Mangala, I'm 23, Indian born and now I am living with my husband in Paris, France. Why do I write about my life, my inner thoughts, and my nature which is this incredible weakness for sex? What is the good of writing of things which really should be hidden, about what has gone wrong in my life? I think I know the answer all too well, that I just let myself drift on the waves of my own passion, captive to my own desires. When I'm rational I constantly ask myself the reason for my actions, I mean of course I should have said NO at the beginning of things. I have no clear answer and only hope that writing about my life will help me understand myself better. My life is otherwise respectable and boring! My husband has no idea about any of the naughty, even nasty things I have done and will do again. When I look at him across the dinner table, I very much doubt his jealousy and pride would let him accept any of it. But I will write everything down for you, sweet reader; everything that comes to my mind, my ideas, memories, feelings and dreams and of course my weakness. I will write about my life which really began when I ran away from an arranged marriage in India, about how calm and spoiled my life was then at the large estate of my parents. My life was luxurious, respectable, tranquil and pure! You will see how much it changed... I had romantic dreams of meeting a loving, caring man when I arrived in New York from India on October 12, 2008 as a 19 year old virgin. In India I was what is known as a "white wedding innocent" and it was true I was a pure, beautiful Indian flower.I was about to be corrupted and the meaning and purpose of my life changed. There are three men who influenced and changed my life; Samuel our black driver, who drove me and picked me up form school when I was fifteen, about who I will talk later; Wolfgang, a German business man who forced and deflowered me; Sir Jerome, my husband's boss who has claimed my body and corrupted my soul and taught me all about servitude. But it was Wolfgang who started this, stealing my innocence the same day I arrived in New York. He looked deeply into my brown "fuck-me" eyes and recognised my weakness for sex before I even knew it existed. Wolfgang bought me pretty dresses and then intimidated and deflowered me on my first night in New York. He made me his Randi for the next three weeks, showing me I had all the right qualities to be a high class whore. Sir Jerome is the owner of the company my husband works for. He is a French banker that immediately impressed me when I was introduced to him, making me think of my Dad. That first occasion he was elegantly dressed as the prominent banker he is in a fine blue pinstripe suit, an expensive silk tie, shoes and a tailor made shirt which fit his strong body like a glove. His intense blue eyes looked right through me, devouring me and I saw him smiling and felt his dominating animalistic power as he undressed me with his eyes, making me extremely nervous. Meeting Sir Jerome was the sealing of my destiny, sending me along the one-way street called "desire". On my wedding day he danced with me and as he held me uncomfortably close I could feel him as he asked, "Mangala, are you going to be a good girl to your husband or will you take advantage of his weakness. Your husband is a very weak man, blinded by your virtues and he has no idea what you need. But I do. A woman like you is born for servitude. I know all about you. Your husband is a fool if he thinks he knows you and can satisfy a women like you." "You need a real man who you can serve! It's all in your eyes for men like me to recognise, the need to serve men. But your husband is pathetic and will not protect you like a real man should. He cannot satisfy you and then you will start looking for the men who want you. My dear your husband works for me and he might be a nice likable person, but he is a follower and not a leader and I know all too well he is weak. He will do anything I want to keep his pathetic job and my dear I want you and I will protect you like you need to be protected." I was so appalled. How dare he say this! While we danced I could see my kind husband watching us, smiling happily as our hips moved more together. In the darkness of the room he pulled me even closer to him, pushed his knee between my legs and slid his hand between us and then cupped my breast and pinched my nipple which was already hard. The way he handled me gave me no choice unless I wished to make a scene. I felt his hardness through my thin dress as he rubbed it against me. I didn't even say, "NO," and just let it happen. In the darkness of the room he took my hand and made me touch his member, made me feel him. He let my hand go and still I touched him. I closed my eyes as if I had no choice and heard him whisper, "Like what you feel bitch?" I rubbed my thighs together, an unbearable feeling of lust between my legs as his hand squeezed my breasts. My nipples were very hard and throbbing from his touch. It seemed forever before the song finally finished and he led me back to our table, handing me back to my husband with a smile. But he had already come between my husband and I. During the night that followed, whenever I closed my eyes I heard his voice and felt Sir Jerome's hands, instead of those of my husband when he touched me. Two weeks later Sir came for dinner and I realised everything he had said was true. He was looking through me as the kind of man who knows exactly what I need and understands my protests mean little when he insists. Sitting next to him I crossed my legs when he put his strong hand on my knee. But I let him slip his hand under my skirt when he pressed. This was all while he was talking to my husband about the strategy of his companies, while my dear husband who was sitting across the table was completely unaware of any how Sir was caressing my leg, making me feel like a little girl the way he looked at me. He made me tell him what colour my lingerie was on my wedding night. Sir exuded complete sensuality. I felt it claim me while he was saying that women like me are born for servitude to men. I did not know what to say, but felt myself getting wet. After dinner he claimed me, having sent my husband away on an errand. I felt a fire burning inside me and submitted to him. I was totally alone and helpless and I could not resist him, feeling my own heat when he pushed his expert hand between my legs and called me a slut. As I let him touch me I felt the hunger between my legs. Willingly I opened my dress for him, showing myself to him. I submitted to everything he wanted. Later, I was gracefully asleep when my husband returned. He knew and suspected nothing. Then Sir came back the next day and I undressed myself for him and let it happen again, feeling absolute pleasure at being possessed and controlled, being on my back and opening my legs again whenever he wanted. Soon my husband was on regular business trips and I was doing whatever Sir wanted. The remaining man in my life is of course my weak and pathetic husband who really let it all happen! For any other woman he would be a wonderful and kind husband. I was convinced after my first experiences with Wolfgang that he was the kind of man I desired, that I had looked for; a true gentlemen, intelligent, kind and tender who brought me roses and presents and adored me; who never insisted on having sex before we got married or wanted me to satisfy him orally; protecting me from all the predators that did. These are the same predators who regularly look at my elegant exterior, attracted by my body, making me feel unconformable as my nipples get hard under the gaze of their hungry eyes. I find myself wanting them to strip away the layers of my façade and my clothes, undressing me, knowing what they want and how easy I have become for such men when they insist. My pathetic husband recently suggested when he was away that I accept the dinner invitation of Sir Jerome and enjoy myself, trusting his boss with his precious wife. If my husband only knew how the nights always end with his gorgeous wife on her knees and on her back with her pretty legs spread. I first tried to avoid this, but then my husband called and I had no excuse to not agree that Sir's driver would pick me up. Then Sir sent me a box with a silk black "fuck me" dress from Cavalli with precise, cool and demanding instructions on what else to wear. I knew it was exactly as Sir said, "It's impossible to run away from what you have learned, what you are, what you need." Sir and his friends give me what I need each time. I have become entirely dependent on him and the degree of his wishes, since there is no greater honour then to have my will commended to Sir's authority. Being shared at these parties, even accepting those men I never liked and who are below me without any protest has humbled me and I have learned to treat and accept everybody with the same respect. As Sir said "The price of an object should not dictate how it is treated." He has trained me to reach a level of total selflessness understanding my obligation towards his guests is their pleasure and satisfaction alone. On the surface I appear a decent married woman. But when some men look at me they make me hot. I feel desire rise in me and I rub my thighs together seeing myself on my knees in front of them, imagining how I look naked for them, my long legs spread for them, nude on my back on a thick carpet on the floor, helpless and waiting for them. I am appalled by my thoughts being sensed and used and need really to close the window of my mind to these thoughts. But can I resist them; is it not too late already? I ask myself, is this the meaning and purpose of my life; can I protect my marriage; can I protect my husband who is ignorant, weak and jealous? When I tease or flirt he even frowns on that. Knowing the truth about me would destroy him. It may be that I have a fatal flaw in my character; underneath the surface of my sweet and sophisticated personality there is a dark side that craves to dress in short skirts and tight tops without a bra, showing my hard nipples and have other men tell me what to do; a dark side that teases and flirts and craves the attention of men and women who make me stand in front of them dressed only in black lace suspenders and black silk stockings on high heels, while they use and abuse me. How can I justify such cravings considering my highborn background? Perhaps I will never be able to return to being a respectable woman again. I might look very aristocratic and respectable and sophisticated to my friends. I see the admiring glances but they don't know the truth. I often think that Wolfgang who deflowered me is right; my destiny is to be a common slut. But my real downfall started when, freshly married I moved two years ago to Paris where my submissiveness was exploited at the hands of Sir Jerome. Sir recognized what I am beneath my sophistication, my arrogance and expensive clothes. He sees through all that to see I am no more than my exotic body and understands that deep inside me is a part which craves the touch of men on my sensitive skin. Sir looked at me and he saw me for what I should be, a high class slut; but he also knows I am unable to accept what I feel inside and explains that I am deluding myself; at first and despite my protests he made me feel hot and wet, making me feel a now too familiar warm and delicious excitement between my legs and on the tips of my breasts when he looks at me, making me realise what I need, know what I want deep inside. Sir unravelled my decent world, making me feel the pleasure of being controlled at private parties, being told what clothes to wear, feeling the decadent pleasure of being abused and humiliated, of letting men and women touch my aristocratic body, opening my pretty legs for them when so ordered, being displayed at parties to perform and satisfy these shameless sexual desires. But how different my life was when I grew up in India; there was great luxury and abundance of anything I wanted; we lived on a large estate with large trees surrounding the mansion. There were elephants, horses and peacocks in different parts of the estate and of course we had many servants. Everything was luxurious and made of the best materials. The marble was imported, and the furniture almost all in embroidered silk. We were surrounded by beautiful paintings, some of members of our family. My own room was twice as large as the apartment I live in now with my husband and I had my own maid who picked up after me when I dropped my clothes, or did whatever I wanted. My dad was a well-known industrialist, ours a very wealthy aristocratic family and dad pampered me; almost every day I would receive small presents from him and he adored spoiling me. My mother was as jealous as could be; disliking every present he gave me, but my parents were also very conservative and very protective. How long ago this all seems, but some things although insignificant have made a strong impression on me, like our black driver Samuel who was hired one day by my mother when my Dad was away and fired six months later when my Dad saw the way he looked at me. He left just like he came, with only the shirt on his back and he must have known he was fortunate to leave like that. But from his arrival, Samuel had always fascinated me with his black skin and the gossip I heard when the servants talked to each other. Giggling and laughing about Samuel when they thought I could not hear them, they were gossiping about his big black thing as they called it. But my memories of Samuel are about his black eyes, his gentle dark voice, the timbre in his voice which could punish and seduce me at the same time and made me do things I should not have done. But perhaps I can be forgiven!? Perhaps Samuel should also be forgiven! I was still very young and extremely cute for my age. But even in all my innocence I was already a tease, something Samuel reprimanded and punished me for. When I grew up I went to a girls-only Catholic school. High families in India send their children to such schools. Every morning our black driver Samuel would drive me to school and pick me up at the end of the day. I wore a school uniform, a blue plaid skirt with a white school blouse and tie, white knee-high school socks and shoes. At school I was one of the most popular girls, very pretty and at the top of my class, which was of course expected of me. My parents gave me a very strict upbringing, but not as strict as the nun's did, but what affected me most of all was the jealousy my Mother felt and the way my dad adored me. I was brought up with the proper values and demands of age old traditions which meant that when I was 16 my marriage was arranged with an older business associate of my dad. It was an evil choice of my mother, jealousy making her punish me for the 16 years of my happiness. She arranged my marriage with the most chauvinistic man she could find, but thanks to my Dad this was to be consummated after I had finished my studies at the university, very much to the chagrin of my mother. Running away at 19 was the only alternative I had to avoid him. This decision broke my family's honour, transforming and forever reshaping my life. Now at 23, I have the body and face of a model; high cheekbones with pouting lips and like most girls from India my hair is shoulder length and straight black, my eyes are alluring, my eyebrows are black and I have full luscious lips and a slender body. I have a gorgeous figure standing five-eight, bust 34C, 25" waist, 35" hips at 105 lbs. My Indian heritage means that for Western men I am very exotic. I still feel uncomfortable as well as desired when I see how men watch me, their greedy eyes on my breasts, on my legs, on my lips and sometimes I hear their remarks. But I know my breasts are what men like most about me, they are firm and my nipples are dark and harden when these insolent men watch me. But above all I am still reserved and elegant. Until I came to New York I was innocent and naïve and spent hours reading, dreaming myself away in romantic poetry. I was thinking about pure love; about an elegant young man, graceful with a beautiful soul. I wanted a young man who could speak about literature, music, paintings and write poetry; wooing me with such a voice wishing me to die of love, so that I was swept away on the waves of my emotions. How different life is in India from the west, and of course I had never slept with a guy or even been touched when I arrived in New York. Then I settled into my new life and started to understand better what kind of effect I had on most men. I started wearing short skirts and high heels, understanding that for these men I was exotic and I enjoyed teasing them in an innocent way, letting them take care of me, accepting the roses and other presents and watching how they always where falling over themselves for the pleasure of my company. That might have something to do with what they expected of me, but never got; with my long dark hair, my beautiful face and how I loved to be in the centre of attention. Coming alone or with a girlfriend and leaving alone always gave me control over them. I don't understand why some men who took my innocence and used my body are the way they are. The evil men, the nasty men who started me on this one way street towards my destiny, they looked at me and saw a naïve, virtuous and perfect innocent prey for their pleasures and how they then corrupted me. What a loser my husband turned out to be, unable to give me the luxury I was used to; what a wimp, who wouldn't protect me against his boss and I look back with amazement to what has happened to me since the first day I came to New York. Sweet Mangala, The Journey Starts I have come to understand there will be always men who greedily look at me and want to use my hot body and will behave the way Wolfgang the first German guy did when he deflowered me during the first long night I arrived in New York and stayed with him in his large hotel suite. Perhaps I was fortunate! He was very experienced and strong and knew how to corrupt and use an innocent young girl during the next three weeks, until he flew back to Germany. I was so sweet and innocent when I met him, a beautiful flower, mistaking the way he looked at me for kindness and respect. I thought I could trust him and had no idea of his true intention, his cruelty, his insistence, his sexual dominance over me during the days to come. I met him on the flight from Paris to New York. We both flew first class with Air France to New York and I thought he was like my Dad, serious and very well dressed, older and nice, as in the beginning he did not show any interest in me and was reading his documents and magazines. After the second glass of champagne we talked and during dinner I told him about India, how my marriage was fixed, and the dowry decided, without any concern how smart and intelligent I was, this was done with a business partner of my father who was much older and not the dream person I had in mind. How all my life my parents had ordered me around how to be a good girl, choosing my friends, deciding what I should do or not do and I had accepted this. With my new husband it would not be much different, even worse and this created my predicament. I was not attracted to him, he was much older and the way he looked at me made me finally run away to the west, to escape from this. But the reality was also, sitting in the airplane, I had no idea where to stay in New York and needed first to sell some of my jewellery because I had little money. My Dad was furious when he found out that his pretty daughter had left and cancelled all my debit and credit cards to force me to come back home to my well-ordered and sophisticated life. His name was Wolfgang, and he was much older and was very understandable and nice about it and smiled when he looked at me, telling me if he needed gladly would assist me when asked. He told me not to worry that I looked like a Princess and he would treat me like his own daughter and protect me. Already on the flight we had been drinking too much wine, celebrating my freedom. I realized my good fortune: I had met a nice and clearly rich civilized gentleman, who would help me during the first days in to start my new life. The wine made me happy and careless; I felt comfortable and told him about my plans to work as a model first. I saw him smile and told me via his investment company in New York he would introduce me to some model agencies and agents. He became my new Daddy and I kissed him on his cheek to thank him for his kindness when he said I could have everything I wanted, without realizing I was going to pay him back with my body the same night. He thought it best that I stay in a separate bedroom in the suite in the Plaza hotel, and I felt intimidated and I accepted. Then even if I had wanted to refuse I would not have been able; when we arrived in New York he had a limo waiting and we drove us to the Plaza hotel where I stayed the next three weeks. He in his mid-forties, so very nice, fit and very charming, in a fatherly way and took me to some shops in the hotel and bought me a pretty black silk strapless dress , some black lingerie from La Perla which was really very beautiful, black stockings and high heeled shoes. The dress was low cut, showing the swell of my young breasts and much shorter than I ever had worn, it embarrassed me and I protested that it was too short, but he told me not to sound like a spoiled girl; then the shop owner, a very classy Lady and other people watching me told me they liked it, insisted and I had to accept. When we got to his apartment he told me to give him my passport and jewellery to put in his safe to keep both safe and I complied. At that moment I had no idea of his true intention. I saw how he looked at me with his dark eyes and smiled. He insisted we go out for dinner and I wear the dress, together with the black lingerie. He said it in the same strong tone my Dad spoke to me when I was ordered me to do things and I understood I would have to obey him too and did not mind, since I always was around strong powerful men. After a nice bath I stepped into the clothes he had bought and looked at myself in the mirror and felt really beautiful, proud and felt very sexy and ready to embrace my new life in the west. All my life I had been forced to hide my body; but now I could show it, show my long legs. But my dress was too revealing, it was hugging my body and when I noticed him looking at the low décolleté I felt more naked than dressed. I had never looked like this and the way he looked made me also uncomfortable. I felt unsteady on the new high heels, the kind I was never allowed to wear. When we walked into the restaurant, it only served to draw more attention to me. I was very aware of all the stares, men and women alike were all watching at me and felt uncomfortable in the low cut dress, seeing how the waiter leered at me, at my cleavage when he stood next to me looking down at me. I realized the bra was not padded and everybody could see my hard nipples pressed against the thin material. At home I had never worn bras without soft pads, garters or high heels like this. During dinner we drank Champagne and it gave me a real warm feeling. I told him about my family, the servants and our big black driver Samuel who got fired for looking at me; how jealous my mother was and how I had protested and cried against my mother's choice of my future husband. I did not wish to lose my sense of self-respect, chosen because of the seize of the considerable dowry, my parents offered to my future husband, I did not want to be sold like a cow on the market. But by running away two weeks before the grand wedding, I had disgraced my family and would be punished severely if I ever got back to India. With my life and the honour of my family at stake, I had little doubt as to what my fate would be. Followed my escape from India my Grandfather had held a family court at his estate and all the senior members of our family were invited to discuss my misbehaviour, the shame I had brought and ultimately my punishment were discussed. At the end my family first of all disowned me, never to speak to me again. The last time I spoke to my mother and remembered how she told me "Child come back home and be a "good" and "decent"girl and marry this nice man we have chosen for you and do your duty. Don't waste your young life with white men who only want to use your body which is very evil of you and shameful for your Dad." How angry, how incensed she was when I refused to return to my comfortable life back in India and called me a "Randi," and I saw Wolfgang grin in an evil way when he made me tell what Randi meant a "whore" and now I know which showed his despicable character. He smiled and said "How does that make you feel Mangala, are you a "Randi," and is your mother right, you are pretty enough to be a famous Randi on Park Avenue." I felt so embarrassed and protested while he looked he smiled at me. It was very embarrassing when I said, "No Wolfgang, I will never be a Randi, I am a "nice girl", I am a Virgin, which is the most precious gift from the Christian God I have received, which only to be released by my husband". For a "nice and decent" woman like me it is a matter of family honour to remain pure until my wedding day." How naïve and innocent I was, coming from a conservative family and growing up in a traditional moral culture, not understanding the west, his true intentions, how foolish it was to stay with a man in his apartment, not seeing his lusty desires for my body. During that first night in New York I was deflowered, my nice and decent world unravelled and I started to travel on this one way street to my destiny. He has given me some small jewellery just like my Dad would have done and made me feel very happy to celebrate my freedom. I ask him to be my new Daddy because I thought I could trust him. I told him all about my parents, my dad this companies and where I lived in India and drank more champagne. Finally when we got back to the suite I felt dizzy but relaxed on the couch when he gave me a Cognac. I never felt like this, very funny", feeling warm and high and he had made some pictures with his cell phone of my sexy dress and showed me the pictures. He sat close to me and slowly put his hand on my cheek. He cupped my chin, slowly caressing my cheek, looked in my eyes and I felt strange when his fingers touched my lips and he began thrusting in and out of my mouth; he pushed his thumb between my lips, touching my tongue, then he smiled and said, "You are a bad girl Mangala, you have very sensual lips suck it, use your lips, use your tongue," I felt how his thump played inside with my tongue, closing my eyes seeing and remembering our black driver Samuel, how he always teased me as he talked about the boys who sent me messages or short poems and said I was a bad girl and must be punished; As in a dream I sucked his thumb, I was again fifteen years old obeying, eagerly sucking his thumb, recalling the images of Samuel who was so big and black as the night, how when he picked me up from school and during the weeks my parents where away in Europe for a few weeks. During this period I escaped from the other servants to the stable, where Samuel was always waiting and ordered me to come. There in the back of the stable where nobody would find us big black Samuel would tell me in his dark voice almost making me become as I was in trance "Mangala, you are gorgeous, but you know you drive the boys crazy, you are a bad girl and bad girl must be punished, don't they?" Then he would smile and I would nod my head and say "yes Samuel, I am bad and bad girls must be punished." He would tenderly touch my nose, my lips, and he would press his black finger against my lips pushing between my lips, in and out, in and out my mouth, that is how he made me lick his long black fingers, telling me to circle my tongue around his thumb and taught me to close my lips around his black finger licking and sucking his thumb with my lips wrapped around it and my tongue licking the way he liked for a long time, until I got it finally right. Then a few days before my dad fired him, while we were in the stable I sucked his thumb because he told me to be a good girl and good girls obey; he made me open my white blouse and show him my young breasts and then he took my hand and made me finally feel his amazing hardness the servants gossiped about. I felt his hand massaging my throat when he told to unzip his jeans and I did. He showed himself to me in the stable in his magnificent glory and he made me touch him; that afternoon he made me lick the full length, just like I licked his fingers, licking his tip, stroking and slowly rub his beautiful black penis with my hand; these same images of his beautiful black penis, how I kissed him daily, opened my lips for him, are what keep me awake at night and which I had pushed away from my mind for so many years. I was if I was in trance, obeying him as I let him in mouth, circling my tongue around his thumb, letting him move in and out between my lips and I sucked eagerly on his thump, until he let me stop and said "that was very good Mangala, very sensual, you have a very able mouth, you are not that innocent, you have done this before!" I felt warm and light headed, my face flushed when his hand brushed my body, touching my breast and I came finally to my senses when he took me hand to touch the front of his trousers, "Mangala you made me hard." "Mangala, don't be a hypocrite, you are very exotic and attractive girl. You have very sensual lips and don't look at me with those big innocent eyes, you have sucked before and you will do it again." "Darling, you look at men with your innocent eyes and you know you will not having any trouble meeting lots of men here who will give you roses , presents and they will take you for dinner and treat you very nice. Like tonight you will show your long sexy legs and your beautiful hard breasts; you know western men like your exotic body and you don't mind to show it; Mangala, your mother is right, deep inside you know this why you came, to have the kind of fun, a proper young lady like you can't have in India." All of a sudden he send a shiver through me, I could feel the intense physical desire for me, the way he leered at my breasts, just like the waiters in the restaurant had stared at me. He slowly moved his eyes across my body. I felt as if his eyes were peeling off my clothes, undressing me with his intense eyes; he shocked me the way he now surveyed my body and I knew he was no different. The remark was so sneering and it shocked me wishing I was away from this evil black eyed man, wanting to run away, but where could I go. Pulling away my hand I said, "Please don't say this, you have no right to do this, my Dad would never do that, don't touch me like this!" I pushed him away he smiled, and remarked "Mangala has a temper, very nice Mangala, I like a women with a temper especial in bed," and again I said "This is not nice, please don't say these things." I was able to leave without any accident and saying good night I felt his black eyes on me as I went to my bedroom. When I was finally safe in my bedroom, I sat relieved on the bed, knowing I had to leave in the morning. I was groggy and felt dizzy as I unzipped my dress, dropped it to the floor just like I did at home to have the servant pick it up and jumped between the fresh sheets and calmed down and felt very comfortable and safe in my big bed between the silk sheets and dozed off. All of a sudden before I realized what happened he was standing over me and I felt his hand on my shoulder, stroking my hair, I was so frightened and begged him, "Please no, please don't." "Please what," I felt his hand reach behind my head and touched my neck gently, and then the hand slid to my naked shoulder, kissing my neck, my ears and felt so alone. He said, "Mangala, you will be a good girl, won't you and be nice for your new Daddy?" He was behind me and begged him again, but he pulled away the covers coming came into my big bed; I felt him behind me and put his hands on my hips and grabbed my butt, kissed my neck. He laughed softly when I tried to get away from him. He slid his hands along my bare back and pulled my arms behind my back and both his hands began to explore my breasts. I could not escape him; his hands made me tingle, my nipples were immediately stiffening against my tight bra and started to kiss my ear and biting my neck, I felt tears, begged and I tried to push his hand away but could not escape him. I could feel him behind me, he held me preventing from escaping his attentions as I twisted and turned. I begged him saying "No please, I am not like this, I am a good girl." I tried to move my hips away from him but he held my breasts with his big hands and I could feel him behind me. I heard him whispering "Mangala, you disappoint me, you are not as innocent as you look; the way you look at men I know what you really want and need, you might be a Virgin, but tonight you are destined to serve a superior German man with your beautiful brown body." I tried to object, pleaded but he held me and whispered "I know what you want Mangala, I know what you need, it's in your teasing eyes, the way you look at all the trousers of men, thinking how to suck them, I know after the way you sucked my thumb, just like your mother says, she knows you want white men who use your brown sexy body, she knows this is why you came to the West." "Which will it be Mangala, will you obey and be nice to me or would you like me to call your daddy now and tell him where you are, send him those sexy pictures. You looked gorgeous tonight, like an expensive escort, ready for it. Did you see how the waiters looked at your beautiful tits, seeing your hard nipples? Why do you think your nipples were so hard Mangala, begging to be touched?" You know how your Daddy will react after how you have humiliated your family, you will be back in India in two days and Darling we both know how your family will punish you, they will put you in the monastery or perhaps worse?" I was shattered and ask him "Please no, you can't, you wouldn't really do that, would you?" "Mangala darling, I don't want to call you Dad, I only want what is best for you, but I will if you do not behave and obey me," he grinned evil "Darling, you must obey, get used to it, I am your new Daddy, your new Master; Your body is mine, you know you really have no choice." I trembled, merely staring in the distance, feeling how he squeezed my breasts, his fingers and thumb rubbing me, but I had no strength to push his hand away, knowing he was right, I was losing control and felt so much shame; he had used my vulnerability and betrayed my trust; I lived in shame during the next three weeks with him and despite my protests at the first moments I had no illusions what would happen. I had made a terrible mistake by confessing to something that I should have never mentioned to a stranger. It was going to cost me dearly and would change my life forever. I did not know what to do; I felt his hands and was scared. I just laid there and waited in my desperation praying he would go away and leave me alone. I hated my weakness but I begged him again not to do this, not to call my Dad, but I knew anything was better than to go back to India, even being with this old and ugly man who was rubbing his fingers and thumb around my nipple, feeling my nipple getting harder and harder. I closed my eyes and felt the excitement between my legs; was it really going to happen, was I going to become a real women. I heard the voice of my mother, "Mangala, you are a whore, you are wasting your young life with white men who only want to use your body and you know this!" And I knew what was about to happen, what I was going to do and that I was forced to accommodate him, I knew I was going to be his whore. He was the first man who touched me like this, even Samuel had never touched my young breasts like this, so ashamed I let him fondled my breasts through my bra, feeling the fear, the pleasure, the excitement of my nipples under his fingers. I knew it was no use as I felt his hand fondling my breasts and put my hand on his. Now I know I should have stopped him, then my life would have been different, but I protested only in a minor way and let it happen. The truth is it felt so good when he touched my young proud breasts and squeezed my nipples. Now I know how sensitive my nipples are, how easy it is to get me aroused, to drive me insane when they kiss my earlobe and my tender neck; when they touch my breasts; how easy I am when a real man insist, when they don't listen to my protests, hold me against the wall and push their hand between my legs, pulling my panties aside feeling their finger in me then my eyes close feeling hands exploring my hot body; how I love them rubbing my pussy, feeling the heat and I let them do what they want. He teased me gently at first, almost tender and then becoming firmer in his touch as my nipples became harder and I was losing control. But I did not want to lose control, I did not want him; and tried to get away from his evil tongue. I was frightened when I felt his hands all over my naked skin, unable to stop him when he unhooked slowly the clasp of my bra, pushing my breasts out of my black lace bra and he pulled off my bra. I twisted and turned under his hands and begged him, Sweet Mangala, The Journey Starts "Please Wolfgang, don't do this, don't touch me there, please stop, don't make me do this, it's wrong!" He was too powerful, too strong dominating me, talking dirty. Telling me, "Mangala you are my Bitch, when I stick my cock in your mouth, you are going to suck me like I know you love to suck it; When I want you fuck you, you are going to spread those pretty legs and when I shove my cock in you cunt, you are going to be real nice and show me what a nice little Indian whore you are." Nobody had ever told me the things he did, an animal the way he held me, squeezing my breasts, twisting and pulling my nipples, pinching my nipples until I screamed. He pushed me on my back and I felt hot, exposed and disgusted when his hands ran softly over my body. He looked into my eyes and his black eyes scared me, there was no remorse, only lust and squeezed my breasts in both his hands, mashed them together "you are a beautiful bitch Mangala, you will obey me won't you?" I stared at him, without saying a word "You will obey?" and I nodded, "say it" and nodded and whispered "yes," "What do you say, will you obey your Master?" I had no choice "Yes I will obey you Master." I closed my eyes, praying he would stop, but when he pulled with his teeth at my erect nipples I did not want to think what was going to happen to me now. The other hand played with my other nipple I felt so hot, my nipples hard, feeling how my body was reacting to his molesting.I begged him and jerked back, "please, don't do this to me, please I cannot do this, I am a nice girl." "NO Mangala, I know you are not a nice girl, you are a bad girl, you need this, I know truth, you want to show yourself and spread your pretty legs for me, and be nice for the pretty dress I bought you, or does Mangala want to go back to India?" He reached down and felt his hand move between my thighs. I did no struggle anymore as he looked at me, as if appraising a piece of meat, looking me up and down -- knowing he was going to have a sweet 19 year old innocent virgin girl from India and I felt I was getting wet and ready, unable to stop him, or I wonder did I want him to stop; "Mangala you know your mother is right you are a beautiful "Randi", you know you need this, with your great legs and beautiful tits you will make many white men happy with your brown sexy body and every time they fuck you, you will make lots of money!" I saw his hand move in my direction instinctively I started to move to avoid him. I was trying to close my tights, feeling his hand; I did not want to give myself for the first time to such ugly old man. My world and dreams shattered, I had romantic dreams of a young tender and sweet lover who wrote me beautiful poems and treated me like a princess. Who would protect me against men like this and bring me every day flowers, presents and would adore me. But I felt my nipples tingling and my pussy getting wet. I was helpless, thinking how I could give myself to such a repulsive man, open my pretty legs for a man I despised. I was frozen and made almost no further attempt to resist his hand; but the truth was looking me in my face, "Was I really looking at men that way? Did I ask for this to happen?" I had accepted my fate already knowing there was no other way; I just had to do what he wanted. Then he pushed his hand slowly between my legs; my mind screamed in protest; I tried to squeeze my long legs together, getting his hand away from under my panties, knowing now when he touched me there I would not be able to stop. But then I let him slide his hand between my legs, pulling my panties aside and pushed a finger in me; what could I do, it was no use, it was the only way to solve my problem. His hand returned to my breast; he kissed me on my lips as his hands slid over my body, touching my breasts and squeezed then real hard, making comments what aroused me further, about my hard beautiful breasts and my flat tummy and that after today I needed to be played with by lots of men and he was only the first of many men. He was fondling my breasts, rubbing them up and down and pinching my nipples so hard that the pain was too much, making me screaming out again. I heard him laugh. He started kissing my breasts and sucked on my hard nipples; I felt overwhelmed as his tongue explored slowly my entire body; he sucked on my neck and licked my ears, down my to my stomach and kissed my pussy through my silk panties, making my pussy so hot grabbing my ass cheeks and then massaging my very young sex through my panties, fondling me. He slowly pulled my panties down, slowly pulling it off me. He grabbed my ass cheeks and buried his face between my tights and started and lick and suck. I felt his tongue into my wet opening, his mouth making obscene sounds as he used my flesh. I was so ashamed what he did to me, it was obscene; dazed and unable to think, why did it feel so good as I felt the excitement rising and bit my hand and was ready to do as he told, do whatever he wanted me to do knowing I had no choice, no alternative then submitting to these pleasures, knowing it was only sex. As in a dream, I cried out, I was defeated and humiliated. My mind screamed out, "No I am not a Randi," I answered to what my mother said in my head. At least he stopped, I just was laying there on my back in the middle of the big bed, with my legs obscene spread, his finger slowly touching my black patch, sliding over my lips, finally sliding his finger in me while he looked at my body making all kind of remarks about my hard tits, my swollen long nipples and about my firm round butt and wet pussy how I wanted he was going to fuck me. "You want me to fuck you Mangala?" I felt so hot, what was wrong with me, the heat filled me, feeling my pussy so moist between my legs. I don't know why this happened but now I can't avoid the truth, I let him, his fingers slipped easy between my legs, stroking lightly on my sweet young virgin patch, letting his finger slip inside me. I was on fire. "Say it Mangala, do you want me to fuck you?" He made me that long night for the first time a victim of my lust, making me moan, biting on my nipples while he stroked my pussy, unable to say no to his fingers slipping in and out of my very tight pussy. It was heaven. I opened my eyes , completely naked I just let him. I was shaking with excitement and desire, losing all sense of where I was, who I was and what I was doing. He was stroking his penis. I could see him and I said. "Yes please, fuck me," I could not resist anymore -- he opened my legs further and he rubbed his cock against my pussy, pushing against the opening , making me surrender to him, becoming a real women as he gave my tight pussy time to adjust to the intrusion, several times he stopped saying "bitch you are tight," slowly driving his cock slowly into me. With a final thrust he impaled me, the pain was intense. The hurt and humiliation was beyond anything what I thought I could endure. When I started to struggle and scream but he held me down; I couldn't move while he pawed and grabbed my breasts, pinching my nipples. "You feel so good around my cock. I'm going to fuck you slow, Mangala. This is just what you need." I was completely helpless as he grabbed my hair and pulled my head to him, covering my mouth his tongue pushed in my open mouth. I could hardly breath, I knew better then to resist... I heard him tell him to move my hips and I responded, then to thrust back, trying to bear the pain while my body was on fire, losing my virginity, making me shiver, feeling wonderful vibrations inside me, becoming a real women. He took my breasts in his hands, touching them in such a way I felt my nipples and I kissed him back. At moments he would withdraw and then push deep inside of me, until I could not take it anymore. He pinned me into the matrass and was driving me crazy, it was too much, it was heaven and he pounded my body, faster and faster. The emotions I felt in my brain, the humiliation, the pleasures of being fucked, moving in unison, back and forth, riding me faster and faster cannot be explained; making me feel completely lost in another world unable to control myself when I approached my first organism and he left the ecstasy, shaking and shivering until he pulled out of my pussy. Catching my breath, I could see my own blood and his cum on him, I realize I was no longer a girl, but a women. As he rolled off me, I felt the guilt, the pleasure and tried to recover but he took my hand and made my fist touch him, telling me slowly to pump him. Appalled and as I was in a dream, in another world I wanted to be back with Samuel in the back room of the stable on a mattress. Like then I had my fist around him, slowly pulling and rubbing him just like big black Samuel had made me do and not much later I could feel him again getting hard and he pushed my face to his dick; then he said "I know you have sucked, show me how good you are!" "Of course not!" "Please I don't want to." But he grabbed my hair in the next moment pushed me to the floor. "I see it in your eyes you have, you want it in your pretty mouth, but I don't care what you want, or don't want, bitch, on your knees, now, or the picture will be sent." He pushed me on my knees and on the floor I looked at him with a disgusting look. All of a sudden he slapped me quite hard across her right cheek. "You will not look at me in that arrogant way, do you understand slut?" I was so shocked, so utterly stunned, my eyes started to cry, nobody had ever hit me and simply nodded. "I don't hear your reply." "Yes," I said quietly. "That's better," "You will not question my actions either, do you understand?" "Yes." Then smiled in his evil way and took my hand and made me hold his penis and knew I had to do what he told me, remembering the past with Samuel, squeezing the base, massaging his engrossed tool; sitting on my knees in front of him he had total control over me and it felt very strange looking at him. "Suck me Mangala, suck my dick," he ordered me He grabbed my long hair and began rubbing his dick over my face and over my lips, slapping my pretty face with his penis. "Open your mouth Mangala, open your eyes and look at me." Almost as if my lips had a wish of their own, my lips parted to let him in my mouth, just like Samuel had made me do, sucking him, all those afternoons until I got it right. I heard him laugh when he pushed his thick cock further between my lips, I was very hesitant at first, I wasn't sure what he wanted and he told me what to do, to keep massaging his balls, to lick his shaft. I tried to be good- concentrated and it was appalling, disgusting, salty and glistered and he pushed it further roughly in my pretty mouth. It began to thicken further. I did not want to anger him again. I had no choice but to take him further in my mouth, stroke him, feeling shame how he liked what I was doing, how I was acting like a cheap whore; I felt tears in my eyes and closed my eyes. Thinking what Samuel had wanted me to do, how he was teaching me every day, was this what he wanted me to do. It tasted salty but was exiting and started to suck greedily, not really knowing what to do, wishing that Samuel had taught me everything when he said I was bad and punished me; how I hated this man, hated his hands, hated what he made me do, hated most of all the sensations I felt between my thighs, hated how aroused I felt to obey him. He was forcing my head, getting my mouth deep on his cock, wrapping my lips around it; now getting into it, sliding up and down. I heard him say, "look at me, massage my balls, use your tongue Mangala, suck is up, lick my cock." Humiliated I looked up I saw his cold eyes staring down at me, without mercy watching me continuing to suck him while making his vulgar remarks of that this was not my first time, what a great cocksucker I was. Sucking his penis made me dizzy, he grabbed my breast making me shiver when he touched my hard nipple and I could hardly think. He forced me to take him deeper and deeper in my mouth; I gagged in disgust what he made me do. " Mangala, my slut, you are very talented, very good, you belong on your knees in front of superior men; when I am ready with you, you will suck like a whore and you will make lots of men very happy." Wolfgang laughed and he grabbed me behind my head tightly with both hands and forced himself deeper, rocking his hips backward and forward, fucking my face. I panicked and tried to get away when he stiffened and ejaculated in my mouth. I tried to move away but he held me, forcing me and I had no choice then to swallow his juices, feeling the sperm over my face, my breasts, my hair; I was gasping to regain my breath I heard his cell phone click making pictures of me, with his cum on my face. As soon as he left his hold I was able to get away, I was in rage but he laughed his glistering penis in front of my face. "You will do as told Mangala, you are my brown bitch; my gorgeous and aristocratic whore from India; Your pussy, your great tits, your mouth are mine, wherever or whenever and as long as I want," "don't worry when I leave again, you will be well fucked and you will be ready for your new life with other rich men." "Your family does not need to know your secrets, do they? Or Mangala, my Indian slut do you want me to call your Dad, show him the pictures with cum on your pretty face and tell him how you could not wait to ask me to fuck you." He pulled me up and whispered in my ear "Come back to bed slut, I will buy you another pretty dress tomorrow" and I did..