The Birds and the Bees

***** This story tended to get a little long before it came to its conclusion and frankly I grew tired of it. It was set to continue with more family members. I rewrote it a few times but decided just to stop it where it is. I may be tempted to finish it later. And ofcourse all the players in this little fantasy are over eighteen. Thanks for your indulgence. *****

The selling of women into sexual slavery is rampant in my country. But the elders dress it up by applying vague names to the practice and couching it with ancient traditions, as if stoning people would still be acceptable if we gave it a sporty name.

We are a poor nation, where the prevailing attitude among rural dwellers is that male children are over-valued because they can work on the farms and perform the manual labor that is required to provide shelter and what little income can be gained. So, their sometimes-perverted sexual peccadillos are overlooked or winked-at. Females are considered to be the caretakers and social providers, but are mostly looked down upon, as so many mouths to feed and are prized primarily for being subservient and for sexual gratification. And these two traits should be employed together, according to most men. To be concise, there are two rules in this society; rule #1 says that at all times, men are dominant. Rule #2 says that when in doubt, refer to rule #1.

The buying and selling of human beings is strictly forbidden in our country as it is in most other civilized societies and nobody would ever dare say otherwise. But the ancient tradition of child-brides, doweries and arranged marriages are legally sanctioned by both our government and our state religion. The law insists that a woman must be eighteen before engaging in sex or being offered in marriage, but the enforcement is a bit spotty. Even at the appropriate age, the situation can be disturbing. The real story is often a sad one. I know. I am one.

My name is Mary. I was the eldest of my family's three surviving children-all girls. And an exorbitant amount of menial labor and unrelenting scorn was heaped on my narrow shoulders, simply for want of a penis. From a young age, I was tasked with helping my father in the fields and was also responsible for sharing with my mother, who was only thirteen years older than me, household chores and the raising of my younger sisters.

Father saw us all as nearly useless for his purposes. My mother was a disappointment to him for not breeding sons. Me, for not being strong. And the little ones, or maybe all of us as redundant. He believed, like most of the men in our country, that a house needed only one woman to cook and clean. And at nights, (or practically anytime,) being of legal age, she should be willing and available for any form of sexual pleasure that her man desired. She should arrive at the marital bed or whichever room that the intended debauchery was to take place, energetic, clean and smelling nice, and prepared to allow whatever type of sexual indulgence that her man desired. Her obligation was his satisfaction, whether or not she was in the mood or if he had not shaved or showered. It was taken as a matter of course that too many women in a home could lead to discontentment or other forms of rebellion that upset the patriarchal harmony. Men found that situation to be inconvenient and intolerable.

Sons on the other hand; built things, hauled heavy objects, protected the land and eventually either inherited the property or drifted away to start their own households. They were indulged in most things. Though trouble could arise as sons reached puberty and felt that sexual itch. As they grew to the legitimate, adult age where they wished to experiment with more than their clenched hand, they wanted to begin feeling a warm, female body underneath of them. Their first thoughts were to find a woman of legal breeding age to practice with. The mother was first employed to teach them the gentle basics of the "birds and the bees," and how and when to control those urges. But there would always come a night when the grown boy returned home drunk and horny. If there were no women of appropriate age around, either in the home or nearby neighbors who may be willing, then often with the father's reluctant consent, the mother became a sexual surrogate. This was usually understood to be the best way to solve this problem without violence, and ideally it would never be spoken of, again. Regardless of the mother's consent. Or with the father alongside, they became an uncomfortable threesome. The mother was not always excited about this unusual coupling, but ofcourse her vote didn't count. But having had a sniff, the son was reluctant to give-up and the father hated to cede control.

This arrangement eventually became untenable. Either the father became a cuckold or the son was driven off. Both scenarios brought unwanted disharmony to the home. The house could only prosper if value was being added. Horny angry young men led to confusion and animosity. Women (of proper age) needed to be acquired to keep the family functioning. So, a man in need of a woman either for himself or his son, would approach a family with too many daughters of atleast eighteen years and not enough money. An arrangement was made and everyone concerned left happy. The woman's feelings on this transaction really didn't matter. I was one of those unfortunates.

My family was in desperate straights when Samuel arrived at our door. Just days

before, we had celebrated my eighteenth birthday- the legal age for publicly announcing that I could be bred- and we all had different reasons to rejoice. My father had been letting it known as soon as deemed socially acceptible, to anyone with a cock, that his big-titted daughter would soon be available. He lavishly praised my homemaking qualities all around our small village and incidentally mentioned that I would make a capable breeder. Its terribly strange that I had never once heard him praise my homemaking abilities.

And before anyone would come asking of me, he almost guaranteed with a sly wink that I would be glad to take any cock in any hole, and never complain. He expected suiters to line-up to present their offers almost as if he were conducting an impromptu slave auction. I was required to twirl, bend and preen for admiring men while smiling and accept the commendations of my housekeeping skills, that I had never heard extolled before. And though I was new to this absurd practice, I realized that the ogling, drooling expressions of lust that covered most of the faces in the crowd, had almost nothing to do with my domestic abilities and were entirely due to my curvy figure and supposed enthusiasm to please.

My mother ofcourse, was delighted that her daughter was finally entering that age of becoming a viable woman. It wasn't always easy for a young girl to reach this milestone and still maintain her virginity, let alone all of her teeth and a sense of good health. But mother also came to the conclusion that 18 years of child-rearing could finally pay-off for her. She might be afforded some of the benefits that "trading" me in, could gather. It may have been akin to the animal kingdom, when the young ones finally leave the nest or the pack, the mother loses all regard to her offspring and continues-on with her life.

I was thrilled to finally be "of age." Maybe a life of endless toil and mostly misery, would let-up if I were to marry someone and have a home of my own. Though I understood that this day would mark a lewd passage of sorts. Soon I would undergo a certain ritual-deflowering, that was unspoken but quite expected. The novelty of a woman's virginity being intact at my age was not always so admirable. Most men wanted a woman who wasn't scared or timid between the sheets, but one who understood how she was expected to respond to her husband's expressed wishes. Just how you were expected to acquire this knowledge while remaining pure and innocent was a mystery. I had never been touched in that way and knew very little about the impending ordeal. I would now be slated to begin a week or so, of sleeping in the same bed as my parents. There, I would learn and practice the intimate arts that my mother had been dutifully lecturing and preparing me for. And my father would "teach" me how to perform and obey any or all of the crude, obscene directives that my new husband might want. And possibly get some satisfaction from our little predicament.

Samuel wasn't the first to appear at our door as news of my birthday passed, but he made the best offer. Sam was about sixty back then and claimed that as the head of his family, he was tasked with finding a new wife for his oldest son, who was recently widowed. However unbelievable this story sounded, it started the negotiations. His offer to my desperate father involved horses, other livestock, a carriage, bushels of wheat and corn, and tools and firearms. A veritable bonanza as far as father was concerned. Sam convinced my dad that his son had small children already and needed a woman to tend to their care and schooling, so that he could make a success of his land. My father merely nodded his assent.

I knew better. I could tell by the way that Sam eyed me up, and the tell-tale drool at the corner of his mouth, that he intended me to be his own, personal concubine. I'm not even certain that he had a son. As my parents marveled at the thought of such lavish riches, Sam nonchalantly groped my full breasts through my shapeless smock, under the guise of inquiring if I could provide good milk for a newborn baby. When he asked my father if I had child-bearing hips, daddy casually lifted my well-worn dress and allowed Sam to rub his grubby hand over my round ass and in between my thighs, teasing my inexperienced pussy with a lone, bony finger and to my deep shame, causing the heated reaction of moist fluid to dampen my underwear. He even asked if I had all of my teeth and then thumbed my lips seductively, gently parting them and inserting his intrusive digit into my surprised mouth and explored the insides of my cheeks and had me suckle on his thick thumb. My callow body betrayed my best wishes with intimate responses that I was unaccustomed to.

I was a virgin just five days ago and extremely insecure in my sexuality, now I was being groped and prodded as if Sam were purchasing another horse. It was blatantly obvious to me, although my parents were oblivious, not that it would have quashed the deal anyway, but Sam's trousers were bulging at the pelvis and his filthy leer was like a wolf targeting a lost sheep. The bargain was struck and sealed with a celebratory drink, then I was bundled into a cart next to Sam at the reins, and we trotted away from my childhood home towards Sam's farm. Once out of sight of my family homestead, (as if they would have interfered anyway,) Sam proceeded to order me to untie my shabby little dress and allow him to fully and lustily examine my tits.

He couldn't keep his filthy hands off of me, practically ripping my bodice from my chest. His slobber and paw-prints covered my tits as he squeezed my pert nipples in his hungry grip. I was riding on a rickety buckboard, topless in the sun as a perverted old geezer lecherously sized me up like his noon day meal. My tits bounced and jiggled from the rocking of the wagon, and he pulled me so close to him that I was almost sitting in his lap. He smelled of horse manure and tobacco and had yellow teeth and grey hairs sprouting from his ears.

I knew full well that this moment was coming, but still I believed that the setting might be something other than a bumpy horsecart on a dusty road in the middle of the day. But Sam- and most of the people of my village- considered me to be his property now which meant that my treatment was barely on a par with his horses. He shamelessly grabbed my shaking hand and placed it on the large, warm lump that was steadily expanding the black, sodden garment that he was wearing and forced my palm to rub the swollen cloth and squeeze the huge column that was throbbing just beneath the surface. I was riding by his side, half naked with my tits bouncing and slowly jerking-off the older man sitting next to me. Happy birthday to me. I half-wondered if when we arrived at our destination, whether I would be fought-over or shared with other male members of the house, or if this was truly my future.

He told me to fish the large prick out of his pants with his panting, husky breath. At first, I hesitated. Then noticing the lurid scowl on his face and the sharp manner in which he gripped my hair in his hand, I realized that it was not a mere request. I wrangled the sturdy cock free and was encouraged to stroke its ugly length. Other than my father's, this was the first cock I had ever seen, and lucky me- it was all mine! He had me repeatedly jerk his masculine tool until I felt an oily discharge begin to leak between my fingers. The domed head turned bright pink and it noticeably thickened in my grip. For an ugly old man, he had a remarkably large cock. And I knew that I would soon be entertaining it in all of my recently-deflowered orifices. His face flushed crimson and his body visibly shook as I continued to masturbate his sturdy rod. He reached over and roughly fondled my hard nipples while I continued to stroke his cock. Those wrinkled, calloused hands were unbearably strong and he grasped my bounding breasts in a vise-like grip. His grunts grew hoarse and ugly sounding, while his eyes squeezed shut. My eyes shut also, and I'm certain that we were imagining entirely different outcomes. The horse knew the way home and my body tensed-up as I pumped his enlarged organ. My hair was streaked with sweat but still blew in the wind and my exposed breasts jiggled on the bouncing one-horse cart with my pink nipples feeling the sun's warmth for the first time ever.

His body stiffened and the throbbing prick seemed solid in my grasp. What little experience that I had gained this week, alerted me that an explosion was imminent, here in the wide-open prairie road. Hoping to get it over with quickly, I rapidly coaxed his engorged rod until the bold, blue veins grew pronounced and the spongy mushroomed head reddened and thickened. He was breathing hard and reached a firm hand behind my neck, leveraging my head down to his exposed pelvis. I gasped, knowing what I was intended to do right here in the middle of the road. There was no turning back and nobody to rescue me. Refusing was not an option and there was certainly nowhere to run. I braced myself and parted my dry lips.

The smell of his crotch was not noticeably better than his breath but I learned quickly to take short breaths and to suck hard. He forcibly filled my cheek with his plunging shaft. There was no pretense concerning my willingness or satisfaction. He held my head still and pressed it further down on his firm column. The large, mushroomed head grew remarkably solid in my mouth and strained towards my tonsils. I felt his rough fingers on my nape and his hips thrusting into me. His rough hand took hold of my shaggy mane and he bounced my head up and down on his slimy, swollen organ. I could taste something both salty and acidic on my tongue and the tension in his thick shaft was throbbing. His huge head was blocking my airway and I started to gag.

The only consolation I knew, was that as the viscous fluid dribbled to the tip of the flared dome, his ejaculation would not be long. My face was literally pressed into his sweaty, sticky crotch and if only to breathe, my mouth opened wider and his sturdy, pulsing tool plunged swiftly against the back of my throat. I gagged and sputtered, unable to fully take-in oxygen with my esophagus blocked. Slobber poured from my lips and coated the length of his piston-like shaft allowing him to pick-up speed and drive deeper into my loathing mouth. My fingers pushed against his thighs trying to relieve the intense pressure. He held me still and I felt the craggy fingers of his hand slide down my jittery spine and firmly grasp my shivering butt. His other hand was tangled in my wet hair, holding my mouth on his cock. My head was forced to bob up and down on his thick column. For an older man he had a strong grip and a forceful cock.

I just managed to loosen his grip enough to let the swollen prickhead ease from my throat but still pulsate on my tongue. I was strangling. His hand gripped a shank of my sweat-soaked mane and maniacally bobbed my head like a yo-yo on his firm rod, feeding it into my slavish gullet. I felt the quivering tool expand in my mouth and his hard, rubbery balls slap my face. Annoyingly, my own saliva splashed on my chin and nose. My cheeks worked like a bellows, expanding and collapsing with each intake. His breathing became ragged and there was one last thrust. Then it happened. He slammed his cock deep into my throat and held it steady while his thick finger played against my ass-crack. If he had any more control over his senses, he would have jammed his fingers into my tight ass while I was stuck deep-throating his swollen cock. Fortunately, I was sitting on the bench or he would have impaled my ass on his probing joint. But his cock was thudding against the back of my mouth and now I felt the rumble of his warm, sticky seed.

He flooded my mouth with his soupy load. It was more than I expected from an old man under this less-than-sensual circumstance. But ofcourse, all that I had to compare it to, was my own father's disgusting cum load that I was forced to swallow every day for the past week. So, I choked down this creamy load and was satisfied that amazingly, it wasn't too disgusting. What I couldn't slurp-up, began to trickle from the corner of my mouth and stretch like a thin vine down to my wobbly tits. Sam's grip on my hair lessened and I was able to gasp for air after digesting the last of his gooey, warm deposit. He sat back sated, I was exhausted and humiliated. Sam was spent for atleast the next few hours and had an unlikely smile on his sour puss, but he continued to paw at my exposed chest and delighted in painting the sticky cum onto my perky nipples, until we drew closer to a settlement, where he announced that I was approaching my new home. I was told to look presentable.

I'd like to be able to say that this experience shocked and bewildered me, but I had been prepped for exactly this situation. Having been forced to give a sloppy blowjob to a dirty old man on a horse-drawn carriage in the middle of a dusty road, was still better than what I left behind. It seems like just yesterday that I was a virginal young lady in the security of my home, infact it was only last week. I had no more actual knowledge about sex than a daughter gets in whispers and hints from her mother, but suddenly things changed, (and for the worse.). The extent of my education of becoming a mature woman and into the sensual pleasures of fulfillment, was an incestuous weeklong raping at the hands of my parents, while they tutored and conditioned me to be a sexual slave that they could then profit from, as my life turned ever more hellish.

The gist of my experience with sex other than occasionally studying the cows and chickens, was to have been shamefully coerced into my parent's bed, where they both took full advantage of me and turned their naive, caring daughter into a writhing, wanton slut. (I should have watched the pigs!) After men began the "courting" ritual that marked my emergence into the world of legal-aged sex, I was told that I would be more valuable if I understood how to please a man. The courting was of my father. He played one against another, trying for the best deal, and understanding that the more ways in which I was prepared to make a man cum, the better it would be for him. So, my personal hell week began.