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Richard and Jenny weren’t the warmest people, but they didn’t abuse me, starve me, or otherwise neglect me like most of the fosters I’d gone through by then. They were fine. Jenny made no secret of opening her doors to troubled kids for the money, such as it was. Things were tight at the Clarks’, so I got it. Jenny’s parents had bought the house, which came with three rooms, and they only had one son, so the extra space came in handy. When they didn’t have fosters, they rented it out to drifters.
I always waited until I was alone, nervous about making too many noises in my foster parents’ presence. That wasn’t too difficult: Jenny worked double shifts at the diner most of the time, and Richard’s job had a two-hour commute, so he rarely returned home before eight.
As for their son, Brandon, he had football practice almost every afternoon, and when he didn’t, he hung out with his friends, like any popular kid with a life.
I didn’t have a life but I had my fingers and a tiny vibrator I’d bought online for thirty dollars. I liked to reach steamy books as I played with it.
I was quite brazen, spreading my legs wide, lifting my hips, switching positions to see which one was the most pleasurable. I was noisy as fuck, so just in case someone came home early, I put some music on my old phone, as high as possible. I found that the right song could actually heighten my already pleasurable indulgences.
That summer, the year I turned fifteen, was when I discovered Specter. I’d always been drawn toa cappellavoices, and there were plenty to listen to, but even at the beginning, although he’d just started, and his equipment wasn’t as good, there was something about him. I was one of his first hundred subscribers. At first, he just sang covers of popular songs wearing a mask, which I thought was a wink toThe Phantom of the Opera, especially considering the pseudonym he chose. Even back then, I thought he was hot as fuck. Then he started opening his shirt, and removing it.
I guess he was my first, and only, wank bank material. I still listen to him on my hikes, and while working, or reading, or cooking. I no longer touch myself. At least, before this week, I didn’t.
Late May, right after the end of the school year, I’d finished my shift at the ice cream parlor where I worked to pay for anything outside of the essentials, when I returned home to an empty house. In the summer, I had less occasions to play, as Brandon was home more often, so I was glad of the opportunity to get my vibrator to work.
I was pressing it against my clit, two fingers stuffed in my pussy, panting and moaning, when I heard that laugh over the music blasting from my phone.
I fell off my tiny bed from the shock, scrambling to hide.
When I regained my senses, I found him in my open door, still folded in two, so delighted by my utter humiliation.
“I mean, I knew what you were up to, but it’s just not the same seeing it in person,” he chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Damn, you’re such a slut, Sarah.”
Slut.
That was one word for it. I guess I liked pleasuring myself. Did that make me a slut? Did I mind?
All I knew was, it wasn’t right for him to mock me for it. I was sure he wanked, too.
“Get out of my room,” I demanded, chin high.
“Oh, I don’t think so.” He crossed the small space between us. “You see, slut, I have videos of you. So many videos.”
My jaw fell. “Liar.”
He likely expected my answer, because he already had his phone in hand, and was quick to play snaps of dozens of different videos, all featuring me right here on this bed, doing things I’d never want anyone to see.
“Here’s what’s going to happen, little slut. You’re going to lie back and spread your legs, and I’m going to give you what you truly crave. Unless you want to become a teenage porn star, that is.”
I gasped, scrambling for ideas. “It’s illegal. I’m a minor. You’d go to prison.”
He only rolled his eyes. “Right. You’re gonna sue me with what money? And you know Dad will kick you out of here the moment you’re a problem, anyway. So, you’ll be homeless, broke, and on every porn site. I’m sure some pimp won’t mind picking you up and selling your pussy, though.”
The scary thing was, I could see my life unfolding exactly as he described if those videos got out. I couldn’t let that happen, no matter what.
So, I did what I had to. I got on my back and lifted my legs, looking away.
Brandon was quick to lower his pants and get his small dick out, pumping it in one fist. “Are you a virgin?” he asked, his hooded eyes eager, greedy.
“No.”
Foster dad number six had taken that one, pinning me down, but I’d penetrated myself with various tools before and after, so I didn’t have a hymen.
He rolled his eyes. “Of course you’re not. Slut.”
That word again.
“You have to wear a condom!” I yelled as he approached.
