Oh, many of you here on SS-69 know my name by now: always willing to join in the conversation with others and having no opinion of my own.
Oh, many of you here on SS-69 know my name by now: always willing to join in the conversation with others and having no opinion of my own.
I might as well tell you right away who I would like to be, but somehow I do want to, but then I make myself vulnerable, and no one wants me the way I am now. I get rejected by all the men.
Hi, my name is Samantha and everyone just calls me SAM.
That is most likely because I act and talk like a man. I hurl swear words and the most vulgar vocabulary at guys, unconsciously pushing them away. I dress rather simply: ripped jeans, a half-open plaid men’s shirt, worn-out boots, and quite a lot of tattoos with the purest nonsense meanings. I used to think that tattoos were cool and part of your identity to show who you were and what you stood for. My father, who was always drunk and would then argue with my mother, was the one I bore the brunt of through sexual abuse by my father. As a very young little girl, you didn’t dare tell anyone about something like that, because then you were a liar. So I just let it happen and was sometimes raped multiple times a day, and had to do everything my father wanted me to do to him. My mother knew about it, but didn’t dare say anything about it, otherwise she would get beaten for the umpteenth time by my violent, alcoholic father, out of fear that I would be abused by him again. In fact, my mother and I were prisoners at home.
My mother therefore tried not to argue with my father, but by then that didn’t matter to him anymore, so he proceeded to sexually abuse me anyway.
I was 15 years old when my father sexually abused me in a brutal way again. I thought then that it had been more than enough and I fled home in search of a better life. I wanted peace and a normal life, just like many girls I knew had at home. The entire village where I grew up knew that I was being sexually abused by my father, but no one intervened.
While hitchhiking along the roadside, hoping someone would pick me up, I encountered guys who immediately said, “If I take you, you have to suck my cock for the ride.” That is how I sucked the cocks of many strangers, and that was solely to get as far away from home as possible, and especially from all those rapes I had to endure at the hands of my father.
I must admit that I sometimes actually enjoyed it when my father rammed his big, hard cock into my pussy again. I never had an orgasm from that, and I actually don’t know what an orgasm feels like when a woman has one.
During my escape expedition, I am on my way to an unknown final destination, the location of which I previously did not know. During my journey, I was raped multiple times by friendly family fathers who were on their way to their wives and children and who, as caring, sweet family fathers, simply continued playing their roles. The biggest swine I encountered during my unknown journey were mostly truck drivers who didn’t give a damn about young girls or women and simply threw you out afterwards as if you were a piece of dirt. Whether it was night or not, and somewhere along a road where you don’t even know if a car might ever come by to pick you up, with the risk of being raped again. They would then pick up the next girls or women who would be raped once more.
No, hitchhiking during my travel expedition didn’t really help me form a different image of society. You get help from no one; you are completely on your own.
Finally, I make the decision that traveling must be enough; far enough from home, I want to build a life for myself here, wherever it may be, like the one I didn’t know at home.
During my naive undertaking, I was raped 7 times. Twice by multiple guys simultaneously who, laughing, emptied their cocks into my pussy. The girl who actually wanted to get away to be raped by her father. At one point, I even thought that I was only good enough to be abused, even though that was exactly what I didn’t want anymore and I was looking for peace and a new life.
To give my story a brief twist, I must say that over the years I have developed a dislike for guys, and that it started back then with my own father.
That is probably also the reason why I use rude and vulgar language in a way that allows me to defend myself against guys. Guys who, in my experience, want only one thing from women, and that is to abuse them and throw them away.
My education is nil, and I learned everything I know or understand on the streets. It also seems that I have no opinion of my own about things and especially situations because I haven’t had those experiences in them either I have.
It is very difficult to hold your own when they see you as a fuck object. For a number of years now, I have let them pay me to empty their cocks into my many times abused cunt; after all, I have to buy food too, I would say.
My personality is:
No education, vulgar, looks cheap, poorly dressed, tattooed, have no opinion of my own, happy with a smile from someone else, have no orderly living situation, poverty, criticizes everything and everyone … and sometimes I am forced to play the role of a cheap whore who is simply hungry.
Expressing criticism towards others has become second nature to me over the years; it is a kind of self-defense and simultaneously jealousy towards others because they are doing better than me.
That is all I have achieved with my life.
It is hilarious, isn’t it, when you consider that I fled from home for a better life.
Thanks for wanting to read my short life story here, even though you might think it isn’t much.
• I am still that cheap whore who gets fucked for little money because she is still hungry.
Don’t feel sorry for me, but I would appreciate a response.
SAMANTHA ON SS-69
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