Teen Lust Lori and Lexies First Sexual Encounter
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Pink HairChapter 2: Lexie's Story free porn video
He led me onto the footpath along the top of the bank. We had to step over a low metal wall onto a tarmac path. The tarmac didn't last long; we squeezed through a sort of gate onto a muddy path. There were fields to one side of us and a large, flat greyish green area between us and the river, cut by muddy channels and with puddles of water here and there. There didn't seem to be anyone else about. It was rather early. There were a lot of birds, though, and they made a lot of noise. All I recognised were the gulls and their raucous cries.
He wasn't like any man I'd met before. Sort of quiet. I didn't know what to make of him. When I got into the boat with him, I was expecting to earn my bed and board 'on my back', as the saying is. I didn't mind. That was pretty much what I'd been doing for years. Not prostitution, you understand (I'll come back to that in a bit) but certainly sexual favours in return for accommodation and food. I wouldn't have minded anyway. Okay, he was a bit older than my usual 'friends', but there was something that made me want to trust him. I couldn't make out what the score was when he just took me in and treated me like an honoured guest. I could tell from the way he looked at me that he couldn't make his mind up about me either. I was pretty sure he didn't like my piercings and probably not my hair, either. On the other hand, the way he looked at me, he didn't think I was repulsive, though.
I hardly hesitated when he offered me a bed for the night. I was hungry and cold and I wanted a wash at least. I'd never been in a boat before, not a small one, not a sailing boat. It was nervous-making, but after a bit I found I liked it. It took a while, but he obviously knew what he was doing and told me clearly and concisely if he wanted me to do something; what and how to do it. By the time we were heading out to sea I felt confident of him. The motion was uncomfortable, but the only bad part was crossing what he called the 'bar' where the water was really rough. Putting the boat away was slow and fiddly; I was hungry and tired and couldn't understand why we just couldn't park it and go eat. It made sense after a while, though. He explained everything as we went along.
The house-boat was clean, neat, dry and warm. Supper – soup and garlic bread – was obviously make-shift, but none-the-less satisfying. He left me to it after supper with a discreet hint I could wash comprehensively without disturbance in the warm room he called the saloon. I took the opportunity to wash through a couple of pairs of panties and my bra and change my t-shirt. While I was doing that I heard some noises from the front of the boat. I had to smile to myself as I heard him ... well ... pissing over the side of the boat. It explained his comments about the toilet which obviously had to be emptied. Equally obviously, that wasn't something he wanted to do more than he had to. I resolved to minimise the use I made of it too. I had the idea I could be on to a good thing, and I didn't want to queer it.
I slept ... well certainly better than under the bridge, but still heard him get up before dawn. I gave him a little time, then dressed and went and sat next to him. He was holding a mug of black coffee, which smelt fantastic, and watching the lightening sky. I suppose he must have seen me eyeing the coffee, because he offered me the mug and I took it and had a sip before passing it back. We passed it back and forth like that as we waited for the sun. I think it was ... the most intimate thing I could remember doing. Which is odd considering what I've done in the past. We didn't say much over breakfast, but when he invited me to walk with him and tell my story, I thought it wasn't something I could, or, for that matter should, avoid.
I wasn't used to walking in the country; I was a town girl. I didn't want mud on my expensive trainers. The ground was uneven and I had to think about what I was doing as we walked ... and I didn't know how to start talking.
"My parents were decent sorts," I began. "We had no problems until I reached puberty. Then I wanted to start stretching my wings, you might say. But they ... at least, Dad, were really strict. I didn't go out on a date until after I was eighteen; then, only because I'd left home. They wanted me to go to University, but I was tired of being controlled. The only way I'd get to University was if they paid for it; that meant going locally from home and accounting for every second of my time. So I got a job. Just stacking shelves in Tesco, but it was a job. Made friends, not 'our sort' of course ... moved out of home into a shared house with some girls from work."
I paused then, thinking and remembering. He didn't say anything, but it was a comfortable silence as we walked along.
"I still saw them. Had lunch on Sunday if I wasn't working. I got my first piercings; they didn't like it, but they gritted their teeth and smiled. I died my hair electric blue and they just sighed. Then I met Sean. They didn't like him at all. I understand why, now. We had a towering row when I said I was moving in with him. Even my friends at work tried to argue me out of it. It was a disaster. He just sponged off me and used me, but I was too proud to go home." I swallowed hard and looked at Bill.
Our eyes met and I saw only understanding. No condemnation. No 'you should have known better'. No 'what on earth were you thinking of'.
"I stuck it out for quite a while. Almost a year; then I met Gabe. He was charming and polite. I lived with him for a couple of years. He wasn't around much – he travelled. It took me two years to realise I was just his girl in Ipswich, that he had one in London, another in Stirling ... you get the picture? I was just a ... bed-warmer. It was really demoralising. At that time, I took most of the piercings out and kept my hair blonde. Not my natural colour, but one that looked natural. He didn't want me showing him up when we went out, you see. I didn't say anything, just took off while he was away, as soon as I found a replacement. That would be ... Bristoe." I swallowed and we walked in silence for a while.
"Bristoe seemed pretty cool. He had a job, a good one with computers, so there was plenty of money around. Or so I thought. Anyway, we were okay for another couple of years, give or take. I didn't know he was using drugs. I mean, I knew about the ganja. It didn't really bother me, except sometimes he got ... out of control. I didn't realise he was doing coke. I thought he seemed ... disconnected somehow, but didn't get on at him – he wouldn't talk about it." I really didn't want to go on, but something in his silence, his presence ... meant I couldn't stop.
"I didn't know he'd lost his job, ran out of money, got into debt. I just know that one day several men turned up to have sex with me. He'd pimped me to pay his debts ... by the small hours of the morning, I hurt. I was bruised and sore ... bleeding ... felt..."
I couldn't go on. I just turned to Bill, leaned on him and wept.
Marisol
- 22.08.2021
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