“But I’m a futa,” I protested, my cheeks burning. I was sixteen. I had pride. “I don’t want to be another futa’s sex slave. I don’t want...to suck cock or get fucked or anything.”“She’s still got her cherry,” my little sister said, an impish grin on her face. Her auburn hair fell about her face. Her blue eyes twinkled. “So, it’ll be a great reward.”“It will be great if you agreed to do it,” the coach said. “For the team. If we win, it’ll be big for the school. You two will be heroes.”I quivered.. I felt that there was some gentleness there, some kind of compassion for my situation. I felt emboldened enough to say “it stung when Mr West hit me, but it's not so bad now Matron”.That was a mistake. What she was showing wasn't compassion, it was want. A need to see the marks left behind after the punishment. I soon learnt that what aroused Matron was to see the suffering of others. To see pain inflicted, to see humiliation handed out, to watch suffering made her aroused. And when she was. The dagger was still glistening with her blood. She took the dagger and raised it over my head, letting three drops of her blood land perfectly in the center of my forehead. With one fluid slash my clothes had been cut in two. I lay there naked in the moonlight, quivering with the anticipation of her bloodlust for me. She began to drag the dagger across my body slithering it back and fourth much like the movement of a snake, leaving a scarlet line in the daggers wake. I moaned with the. Master, he rogered me regular as clockwork, first a'every damn month, nasty ol' bugger."I held my peace and watched the road, ears pricked."Wanted t'get me wif child, 'e did. Make me do 'nother year."I nodded, understanding the law."Then, then, las' night he done brung his boys to my bed, bof a'them hounds, and he sicced 'em on me. I fought an' bit and yelled and then I ran." How old were the boys?" I asked, holding up my end of the conversation but mainly enjoying the feel of her body clamped.
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