Unknown - The junkyard family

There was nobody there, as usual. Her dad, Jason, Mark, and Joe were all out working in the yard. Steve was still at school. She turned and went down another hall to her bedroom, then went into her own room and closed the door.

It hadn't been easy fitting in at St. Patrick's, living where she did. She was still considered a little weird by some people.

She flicked on the television, and clicked the remote control to the music station. Her dad had put together a satellite dish a while ago, and hooked it up to the televisions in the house. They never lacked for any kind of electronic toys, that was certain.

They never lacked for cars either, at least, the boys didn't. All four of her brothers had cars, and her dad had three. All of them had been junked by somebody but rebuilt by her dad and brothers. It had taken her a lot of whining and yelling before they'd finally put one together for her and it had never run properly, which was why she usually took the bus to school.

Her father was a chauvinist pig of the first order, a blue collar, hard working sexist pig who thought women were for the kitchen and the bedroom. He had been surprised she'd even wanted a car. Surely she could get a boy to drive her around, he'd said.

She sighed, and stripped off her mini skirt and blouse. Her brothers had taken after her dad, which made it practically impossible for a girl to live around here. There wasn't any alternative though, not if she wanted to finish high school and go to college.

She wasn't sure what she was going to take in college, something involving paperwork that would get her a high paying white collar job. She didn't intend to work with her hands like her father did and her mother had. She hated her father, and wasn't terribly fond of her brothers, either. She had no intention of working at some "Chicken Delight" for minimum wage for the rest of her life, however. And she certainly didn't want to stay home and do the "paperwork" for her father's business.

She stripped off her bra and panties and walked over to the dresser. She picked up a brush and began running it through her hair, examining herself in the mirror as she did. Perhaps her looks were one of the reasons why her father and brothers refused to take her seriously. They were all so ignorant and sexist that they figured any pretty girl with big breasts, a small waist, and long legs must be a dumb, helpless bimbo.

She rubbed a hand under her right breast, cupping the malleable orb gently. She had big boobs all right – thirty-eight-D's. They were round and heavy on her chest, and attracted boys like honey did flies.

She had a gently curving waist, nicely sized hips, and a pair of magnificent legs. She turned casually. Her ass was pretty good too, she noted.

Her best feature though, was, she thought, her hair. It was long and luxuriously thick. It fell around her pretty face and dainty shoulders in cascading waves of coppery brown. She smiled, posing for the mirror. She was hot-looking, knew it, accepted it with a kind of casual nonchalance, and coped with the results as best she could. That meant a lot of wrestling with boys who thought like her family – that a girl with big tits was an easy make.

She put on a robe and sunglasses, picked up a radio and suntan lotion, and walked down the hall to the narrow stairway that led way up to the roof.

The roof was a good fifty feet above the yard, and covered in little stones and tarpaper. She set her things down and pulled out the lawnchair she kept up here, then unfolded it and took off her robe. She propped a two by four under the doorknob to keep any of her brothers from coming up and settled down to get an all over tan.

She picked up the lotion and spilled it onto her palm, then slowly began rubbing it onto her body. She oiled up her shoulders and chest, rolling her hand in slow circles over her breasts until they gleamed in the sunlight. She poured some on her legs and ran her hand up and down the long, lithe limb, then did the same to the other. She lay back and poured some on her belly, sighing as the coolish liquid pooled and then dribbled down over her belly button and into her pubic hair.

Her hand went to her crotch, catching the oil before it slid off. She started rubbing it over her belly, then down her hips and thighs. Her oiled hand glided across her soft warm skin, sliding down between her legs to rub easily across her pubic mound. He fingers felt the shallow indentation of her cleft as they passed over it. She straightened her index finger and pressed it between her pussy-lips, sawing it back and forth indifferently.

She thought about Tommy Jones and what she'd done on the bus. She knew, she absolutely, positively knew, that he would masturbate while thinking about her, that he would jerk-off as he fucked her senseless in his mind. She wondered if he'd do it in the shower after school or wait until he went to bed tonight. Maybe he was jerking-off even now, thinking about her beneath him, legs spread, breasts swollen…

The idea excited her. She was used to boys and men lusting after her by now, but the way she could turn them on without even trying still filled her with a kind of egotistical pride. She knew from living with her four brothers the way boys thought and acted.

Probably every boy in her class at school had jacked-off while fantasizing about fucking her. Why, she'd been fucked silly by dozens of boys who had never even touched her. It had been done in their minds, where she was helpless and cock-hungry. She wondered sometimes, about what they did to her while fantasizing.

Once, after she'd actually fucked Mike Allan, she'd asked him if he'd ever jerked-off while thinking about her. He'd gotten kind of red, but admitted he had, not once, not twice, but dozens of times – even before he had ever dated her. That had been an eye-opener. He'd been reluctant to tell her what images he'd played out in his mind, but had admitted that she'd been all kinds of things, whore, prostitute, rape victim, nurse, teacher, secretary, and policewoman among others. They'd done the dirty deed in every imaginable position, in all kinds of unlikely places. None of them had come close to matching the actual event, he'd assured her.

He wouldn't be any more specific. She would have liked a detailed description of at least one of the fantasies. Had he tied her spreadeagled on a big bed and then fucked her mercilessly? Maybe. Maybe he'd taken her on her hands and knees like a bitch dog in heat.

Her hand had been unconsciously working at her crotch while she was thinking. It was rubbing back and forth over her glistening, oily pussy mouth, her finger sliding back and forth between her tight cuntlips as she daydreamed. She found that she was getting turned-on by thinking about Tommy, and Mike, and the ways they'd used and abused her in their fantasies.

How many times, she wondered, rubbing harder at her crotch, had the boys she knew made love to her? Had she screamed and howled in ecstasy as they'd poled her?

She dug her middle finger in deeper, sliding it into her tight little pussy to the first joint, dipping it in and out. She pulled both her legs off the lawnchair, pulling them apart to open up her crotch even more. Her finger pushed deeper, wiggling in to the second joint.

She wished she could read their minds. What was Tommy doing now? What was he thinking?

She imagined him in the shower, his cock, an enormous hard erection, covered in soap as his hands worked back and forth over it.

She'd seen Joe last month jerking off in the shower. He hadn't locked the door and she'd snuck in to get her make-up case. The curtain had had a six inch wide crack between it and the wall. She'd been unable to resist, and had peaked in.

Joe had been leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. Both his hands were folded around his cock as he rubbed them back and forth. His cock had been big, but not huge. It had been very hard though, with the little helmet bloated out at the end.