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It's later than usual when we reach the supermarket for our weekly shop, but the store's still quite busy. We're late for two reasons. The first is that I had extra music practice after school.
Mum encouraged me to take up an instrument. She says that learning to play a wind instrument will help my breath control. The trumpet is one of the options on the list supplied by Mrs Kelly, the music teacher. She is pleased I chose it because she rarely gets to teach the trumpet and she says end-of-term concerts sound bland without a brass accompaniment. The lessons are free, subsidised by the government and a local charity, so the only expense is the cost of my trumpet, which mum bought me for Christmas. End of term is rapidly approaching so Mrs Kelly has organised extra practices especially for the concert.
The second reason is that mum is late picking me up afterwards. She had arranged an extra client while I was at music practice and when she picks me up I realised she has showered afterwards because her hair is slightly damp and she smells nice but not in her usual mumsy sort of way. I'm not too upset she's late because an extra client means extra money and mum would splash out on a few luxuries, such as my favourite chocolate.
By the time mum picks me up, I've made the habitual adjustments to my uniform. In school we're supposed to wear black leather shoes, grey knee-high socks and a matching grey knee-length skirt. But as soon as we leave the school premises, we older girls roll our socks down to our calves and roll up the waistbands of our skirts so the hems come down to mid-thigh. They're still decent at that length since boys can't see our knickers unless we bend right over, but some of the girls say it looks sexy, whatever that means.
As we're making our way round the supermarket aisles, I get a feeling that someone is watching me. I turn round suddenly and see a man staring at me hungrily. He's slim and smartly-dressed, but with a sort of sad expression. I stare back at him and our eyes meet. He looks embarrassed but doesn't look away.
"Come on Amanda," calls my mum, as she moves away further up the aisle.
Discreetly I keep watching the man. When he's delving into one of the chest freezers I move next to him.
"Do you think I'm sexy?" I ask.
He jumps as though he has received an electric shock and turns bright red. He doesn't seem able to speak but he nods his head. I feel like I'm floating on air as I skip back to mum.
"Mum, you see that man over there?" I say, "I think he wants to fuck me."
Mum discreetly turns round and studies the man.
"He looks clean and I don't think he'll be very big. Would you like him to be your first?"
I know about the mechanics of sex from school but I don't know what it's like for real. I'm keen to try, especially since half the girls in my class claim to have done it, so I nod my head.
"My little girl's growing up so quickly. Why don't you ask him if he's interested then bring him over here to talk to me."
I wait until the man's engrossed in a chiller cabinet then I sidle over to him again.
"Would you like to fuck me?" I ask.
The man gets a frightened look on his face, like a deer in headlights, but he doesn't flee.
"Yes," he croaks.
"It's okay, I'd like you to come and talk to my mum."
I hold out my hand and he tentatively takes it, allowing me to lead him over to my mum. His hand is warm and soft so he doesn't do manual work for a living.
"So you want to fuck my little baby?" she asks, with a smile on her face.
The man nods.
"Okay. It's fifty quid in advance. Take her up to the second floor of the multi-storey. There's a disabled toilet there, it's clean and spacious, nobody ever uses it and you can lock the door. You've got until I finish doing my shopping, about twenty minutes."
"I haven't got any condoms," the man says.
"Are you clean?" mum asks.
"Yes."
"Well she hasn't started bleeding yet so she's safe too."
The man takes out his wallet and gives mum a couple of twenties and a ten.
"This is your money, baby," she tells me. "I'll look after it until we get home. Do you want me to get anything special for you while I'm doing the rest of the shopping?"
"Chocolate please."
I don't need to say more since mum knows my favourite brand.
The man takes my hand in his again and, abandoning his shopping trolley with all his shopping, he leads me out of the supermarket to the adjacent multi-storey car park. We take the lift up to the second floor where there is a complete set of toilets; men's, women's, baby-changing facilities and disabled.
The disabled toilet is unoccupied and the man leads me inside then bolts the door. He positions me with my hips up against the wash basin, facing the mirror, then he makes me bend over, bracing my forearms along the sides of the wash basin for support.
He flips the rear of my skirt up onto my back. I stifle a giggle because we're not supposed to show our knickers to boys. I'm wearing my usual school knickers, plain white, thick cotton, up to my waist. Mum doesn't like me to see but when she's going out with a client she wears tiny, see-through knickers because that's what they like. I hope the man isn't disappointed now he can see my knickers.
He runs his hand gently over my knicker-clad bum cheeks.
"God, you're so beautiful," he says.
So I guess he likes my knickers after all.
The man slips his thumbs inside the waistband of my knickers on either side of my waist and gently peels them down my thighs until they're round my knees. He strokes my bum cheeks again, this time caressing my bare skin.
"Beautiful," he sighs. Then, "Please move your legs apart."
It's not easy since my knickers restrict how far I can move my knees apart but the man seems happy. He uses a hand to gently rub my coochie then tries to probe my hole with a finger.
"Your still have your hymen," he says, as though it's a good thing. "But you're so dry."
That confuses me. What am I supposed to be? Wet? Does he think I still pee myself?
I hear a zipper and start to turn round so I can see.
"No," the man says, "it's better that you don't see this."
There's more rustling of clothes then the man reaches over my shoulder and squeezes a generous quantity of anti-bacterial handwash gel into his palm from the dispenser. I hear squelching sounds behind me as the gel is applied to something.
Soon after I feel another finger trying to probe my hole. Only it's not a finger, it feels much larger, and it's warm and soft but hard at the same time and covered with something slimy. I guess it's the man's willy and he's trying to put it in me.
He grasps my hips and gives an extra-forceful push and I grunt with pain at the sharp sting as something gives way inside me.
"God, you're perfect. So hot and tight," the man says as he forces his willy deeper inside me.
I can feel my hole stretching uncomfortably to accommodate the man's willy. Then I wince as he hits something tender inside me.
"But so small," he says, with a disappointed tone to his voice.
He starts to pull his willy out, which confuses me. I remember being taught that the man puts his willy all the way inside the woman then he squirts his sperm and makes a baby. Surely he hasn't finished already.
The man withdraws his willy until only the knob at the end is nestling inside my hole, then he quickly pushes back in until he makes me wince again. He adopts a frenetic rhythm, in-out, in-out, making me wince most times, then suddenly he grunts, pushes in as far as he can get, and I feel his willy throb inside my tummy. After his willy stops throbbing, it seems to soften and shrink a little and the man pulls it completely out of my hole, leaving a sore, sticky, slimy and chilly sensation as air fills the void he left.
It's only been a few minutes and my mum said she'd be about twenty minutes so I wonder what we're going to do for the rest of the time. I start to get up from my position, leaning over the washbasin, but the man stops me by putting an insistent hand on the small of my back.
"Not yet, honey," he insists.
The man reaches over me again and squirts another dollop of anti-bacterial handwash gel into his palm. More squelching sounds as he applies some to himself, then he rubs some around my bum-hole. I'm confused again - does he think I'm dirty and need washing?
The answer comes when I feel his willy pressing against my bum-hole. I giggle nervously.
"That's the wrong hole, silly. You'll never make a baby if you put your willy in there."
"Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. And I'm not trying to make a baby."
He pushes again, more insistently. Now I'm worried and I tense up.
The man leans forward and gently strokes my hair.
"Honey, I'd like you to make me feel really good, but to achieve that you need to do something for me. I need you to push out like you're taking a really big dump. Can you do that for me?"
I giggle nervously.
"But I'll poo all over you," I say.
"I don't think you will honey, but even if you do it doesn't matter, I won't get upset with you. On the count of three."
The man stops stroking my hair and grasps my hips again. I think quickly. When did I last go? It was this morning, before school. So even if I do poo, it will only be a little.
"One, two, three," the man counts.
When he reaches three, I push out with all my might, as though having the biggest poo of my life. But I find myself having the biggest poo of my life in reverse as the man's willy breaches my bum-hole, stretching it painfully.
"Oh God, you're incredible," gasps the man. "So hot and so tight."
Gripping my hips really tightly, he pushes hard and more and more of his willy slips into me. It feels like he's forcing a telegraph pole into me and I quickly feel very full.
"I'm too full, I whimper. "I've got to poo, I can't hold it."
I hold on as long as I can, the man seemingly ignoring my plight, then my insides start cramping and I lose control. Instinctively I push out as hard as I can, anticipating blissful relief, but instead the man's willy slips into me even further. That makes me cramp again, and again I push out and again I get no relief from the merciless invader.
I feel hair brushing against my bum. It must be the man's. They told us at school we'd grow hair round our coochies. I hope mine never starts to grow, but if it does, I hope it isn't like his because it feels nasty and scratchy.
I cramp again and yet again I can't stop myself from pushing out. The man's willy thrusts in as deep as it can get, his hairs pressed into a tight mat against my bum, the front of his thighs pressing against the backs of mine, pushing me harder against the porcelain washbasin, and a couple of strange objects, warm and hairy with crinkly skin, dangling gently against my coochie.
"Oh God, this is amazing. I've died and gone to heaven," the man exclaims.
My innards feel bruised and battered. It's not heaven for me.
The man slowly pulls his willy out of my bum. I didn't feel him squirting but I pray silently that he's finished. When just the knob at the end is left inside me, he dashes my hopes by reversing direction. I can guess what's coming next, and sure enough, before long he's pumping in and out. My tummy aches but he doesn't seem to care as he pants violently with the effort. I look in the mirror and see beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead.
I want to tell him to stop but he's a grown-up and I asked for this. And I don't want to make my mum angry. So I continue to stand there on trembling legs, my tummy aching, hoping it will soon be all over. I notice that I can no longer feel the dangling things. I wonder what they were and where they've gone. I'll have to ask my mum.
"Good thing I came so quickly the first time," he pants. "I'll last a lot longer this time. You are so fucking incredible, worth every penny."
And so my misery continues. Then, just as I think there's no end in sight, he thrusts in all the way and stays there, crushing me against the porcelain washbasin. The familiar grunts accompany his willy throbbing deep inside me as it squirts his stuff. Even after it stops squirting, I can feel it give an occasional aftershock throb. As his willy eventually softens and shrinks, I realise I can feel the dangly things against my coochie again. After his panting dies down, the man pulls his willy out of my bum-hole. Again I feel sore and sticky and chilly inside.
The man leans over me and wets a paper towel. I assume he's cleaning himself up, since his willy must be quite messy after being in my bum. I continue to lean over the washbasin, wishing my tummy would stop aching.
There's a loud banging on the door.
"Okay, time's up."
It's my mum. Relief flows through me that my ordeal is over.
"Just a moment, I'm just getting cleaned up," says the man.
I hear paper towels being screwed up and discarded. There's a rustling of clothes then the sound of a zipper. The man unbolts the door.
"She's bloody amazing," he says to my mum. "I'd love to do her again some time."
"Here's my number," says my mum.
In the mirror I see her give him a card.
"Give me a call and I'll sort out a time for you," she says.
"Thanks, will do."
The man leaves and my mum enters. She shuts the door and bolts it.
My mum sees me naked quite often and I've never been embarrassed before but something has changed and I'm not comfortable with her seeing me like this. I close my knees and flip my skirt down off my back so I'm covered.
"How did it go, baby? Are you okay?"
At last a semblance of concern.
"My tummy aches and my bum-hole is very sore."
"I'm sorry baby. If I'd known he was going to use your back door I would have asked for double."
I don't know what she means by back door.
Mum flips the rear of my skirt back up onto my back, leaving me exposed again. I feel ashamed.
"You're still gaping open but at least there's no blood," she says. "Did he cum in you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know, did he squirt his stuff in you."
"Yes, two lots. One in my hole and one in my bum-hole."
"When we get home you can have a nice long soak in the bath while I'm doing dinner. That will make you feel better. Now pull your knickers up and put this pad inside them. It will stop you making a mess when his stuff seeps out."
I take the pad mum is holding out and insert it in my knickers as I pull them up. When I try to stand up straight, a fresh wave of pain from my tummy makes me feel sick but it soon passes.
"Let's get you home," says mum, taking my hand and leading me to the door.
She unbolts the door and we leave, heading towards the car. I walk gingerly because I'm so sore between my legs.
"My poor baby," says my mum, "I'm so proud of you. It's a shame that doesn't qualify you for another Badge for your Brownie uniform."
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