What interests me… writing and maidenism (of which I am a devout follower). So mayhaps I shall write about maidenism? That would certainly be fitting.
Now an about-me first. I am 14 years old, a bright and beautiful girl, and I live in Thailand. I am white however, blonde of hair and fair complected, a proper northern Viking girl if I do ever say so. I am also a lesbian, hence the whole maidenism thing. And I live with daddy, who is very supportive/protective of my sexuality (and I appreciate that quite a lot, thank you very much).
I’m also a vampire. Not the imaginary Twilight sort however, but the real sort. The breed of vampirism in my family is more akin to, say, Dr. Lecter in that TV drama Hannibal. That is to say, it is a real thing. Or real enough. In any case, ever since I can remember, daddy has had me cutting the throats of chickens, catching their blood in a bowl and drinking it. It’s an offering, you see, one most pleasing to our Goddess of Violence, the divine Lady Saga. Daddy says it’s a religious tradition that runs in the family… although I’m not so sure whether or not I believe him, because I’ve never met any other family members and ofttimes has he been known to be, how shall we say, economical with the truth. Yet I like the taste of blood well enough and the feel of it on my skin and in my mouth, so I won’t complain.
Anyway, back to maidenism.
So as I said, daddy is very protective of my sexuality. Now you know I live in Thailand and I’m a white diamond of a girl with long braided blonde hair which has never been cut, so this makes me quite the exotic beauty here. And because of that, men have been trying to fuck me since I was 8 years old. Or perhaps rape is a better word, although it’s all the same to men, I figure. That is to say, it’s the sex they want and whether you want it back or not is beside the point for them. So when I was 9 years old, daddy bought me a puppy Rottweiler for a guard dog to keep the rapers at bay. And now I never set foot outside without my faithful companion, whom I have named Bully.
Bully really does a great job at keeping men away. Thai people are terrified of Rottweilers, for some reason. So nobody bothers me anymore… nor tries to make friends with me either, it seems. Maybe that was what daddy wanted, now that I think about it?
Yet the ability of a dog like Bully to protect me from rape is a little more, how shall I put this one, open to interpretation. I might as well start at the beginning for this tale. I think I was 11 years old when I had my first flowering. Daddy was so proud when I told him (not that I had to tell him, because the bed was covered in blood and so was I). “My little girl has become a woman grown,” he smiled at me. And, “Being a woman grown is messy,” I frowned back, “Not to mention painful… my tummy is cramping something big time, daddy.” So daddy nodded and pondered that for a moment, thinking about my sex in that appallingly pragmatic way he thinks about us women. Then he came up with a solution.
So daddy gave me one of his old socks to stuff down my underpants, a handful of coins, and a joint to smoke, then he sent me off to 7 Eleven to buy a packet of girly pads. The joint was Kali Mist, he says, and tells me how he read that this particular strain helps women with their period cramps. And you know how fathers are all into herbal medicine and all. Not that “medicine” is what daddy had in mind by growing it, to be sure. Besides, he’s been feeding me marijuana since I was 5 years old, I think, long before my cramps started. He used to boil it into butter and spread it on my toast for breakfast every morning. Gods forgive me but, that would explain why my childhood was such a blur of laughter and behaving stupidly.
Anyway, so there I was strolling along with a sock shoved in my undies and my faithful anti-raper guard dog at my side, a joint pinched between my teeth, on my way to 7 Eleven to buy some girly pads. Now I live in rural Thailand you see, but it is still quite thickly populated here abouts. So I was cutting through a rubber tree plantation so nobody would smell the smoke. Young girls should generally avoid such secluded areas as they are the natural habitat of the raper, it seems, but what did I care? For I had my trusty Rottweiler, bound to defend my honor with bark, claw, and bite!
The only problem was, the dog could smell the blood between my legs. He had his nose shoved up my ass the whole way. And what he did next, well it makes me wonder how smart dogs really are? It was as though he was waiting until we got to the deepest part of the woods before he acted on his baser urges, waiting until we reached a place where nobody would be around to witness the crime he was about to commit. So what happened next? You guessed it, Bully took one more sniff of my ass before finally thinking, “The white haired bitch is on heat at last,” then bulling me down, jumping on me, and humping away.
So much for the noble defender of maidenism! And what can a girl do when the guardian sworn to protect her from rape turns out to be a raper himself? It was horrible.
Now I was only about 11 at the time and quite innocent in my imagination. I knew what sex was, but didn’t fully understand what Bully was doing right then and there. He had always been a rough dog in play, you see. And he was about twice my weight or more, him being some 60 kilo, not to mention being at least a dozen times my strength. So I had a habit of curling up into a little ball every time Bully’s games got a bit rough for me. Simply adopt the fetal position and wait for him to lose interest. So that’s what I did that time, I curled up in a little ball on the ground and let him hump away. He only “lost interest” after a gigantic splash of doggy cum soaked into my short jean shorts, absolutely saturating my ass. And with that, I finally realized I had just been raped, or at least dry-humped raped, because (thank the gods) his cock hadn’t managed to find its way through the denim of my shorts.
Afterwards, I sat in the trees cross legged, soaked in doggy cum, sobbing to myself as I finished my joint. Bully sat there watching me, panting heavily with excitement, a veritable smile seemed to be smeared across his slobbery face. No doubt he was quite proud of his achievement. By the time I made it to 7 Eleven, I was stoned out of my brain, stank absolutely horrible of cum, and had failed to notice that the sock shoved in my undies was failing to catch all of my period blood. So yes, I was visibly bleeding from my sacred flower and people saw it. How fucking embarrassing. I’m just glad nobody saw me get raped by a Rottweiler, even if they could smell it.
I was in rolling tears when I got back home, having realized why people were pointing and laughing at me, but when I told daddy everything that had happened, he only laughed at me too! It turns out, he doesn’t consider doggy-rape to be on par with regular rape. Well I told him I wanted to have Bully de-sexed for the crime he committed, gelded. Daddy didn’t like that. “How would you like it if someone cut your bits out just for using them,” he said, and suggested that if I was so afraid of Bully then I should wear a chastity belt.
I actually thought daddy was joking about the chastity belt part, but a few months later I realized I might’ve been better served by taking the advice. You see, with daddy being so supportive of Bully’s sexuality and thus no one to tell the Rottweiler no (he won’t listen to me, only daddy), the mock rapes continued. Every month, when I get my period, Bully pins me to the ground and soaks me in cum. And one night, he nearly got it in. Nearly though, but not quite, thank the gods.
So what happened was, we have an outdoor toilet and Bully sleeps outside. So I had my period and had been avoiding going outside for fear of the rapes, but when you gotta go then you gotta go, you know. Yet I made the mistake of going out to pee one night wearing only my bathrobe, naked beneath. Well Bully is, as I said, a clever boy and he was quick to sense the opportunity. He tore that bathrobe right off me and chased me naked through the backyard, bulled me over, and got to work. I promptly adopted the fetal position, as usual, but had to cover my female parts with both hands to keep his cock from stabbing me there. And it really took all the strength I had. Gods but maintaining your virginity is damn hard work!
Maidenism is not for the fainthearted, you should be getting that picture by now.
Okay, so I never did get the chastity belt daddy suggested. I browsed the internet looking at a few different types, but none of them looked comfortable to wear, despite the obvious usefulness about them of making a girl pretty much rape proof. Although I found another way of controlling Bully. Basically, whenever I feel my period coming on, I just sit down on the veranda smoking a joint and permit him to hump my leg until he’s finished. So long as I let him blow his load on my shank once a day, he won’t try and rape me like he used to. It wasn’t the ideal compromise, but I figured I had to meet him half way, right?
Yet daddy wasn’t impressed.
When daddy saw I was actually allowing the dog to fuck my leg, I got one hell of a scolding for having sex outside of marriage. To drive the point home, daddy staged a mock wedding and made me marry the dog! That way, he said, the sex wouldn’t violate the laws of chastity. So that’s what we did. I dressed all in white and we sacrificed a chicken to Lady Saga. Then when I drank the blood, the bodice of my wedding dress got stained all crimson where I spilled a bit. Oh well. I must admit, I felt a bit stupid walking through the backyard, down an “aisle” flanked by marijuana plants, to marry a Rottweiler, but it was an important lesson for me. It was at that. I won’t ever allow anyone to fuck my leg again!
So I had a little bouquet of marijuana flowers in my hand as I approached the altar with the dead chicken on it. The flowers were really pretty, the sort with pink pistils in full bloom, they smelt better than roses. I really did look beautiful standing there with my long braided blonde hair as daddy said the words and gave me away to a Rottweiler. My husband to be however, he was more interested in the dead chicken than he was in me. He couldn’t take his eyes off it and his slobbery tongue was splashing all over the place. So Bully wasn’t the ideal groom I had always imagined. Oh well. At least daddy didn’t make me consummate the marriage! I never expected he would try and make me actually proper fuck the dog. After all, this was a lesson on chastity and maidenism. Yet daddy is known for queer tastes, so I must confess I was nursing doubts over what was going to happen next as daddy pushed that little plastic ring onto my finger. But it turned out alright in the end, aside the slobbery wet kiss I had to give the dog. Like, ew!
Or at least, things were alright for the next year or so, but it didn’t last.
You see, as I grew and developed a clearer vision of my own sexuality, I began to realize I was a lesbian. I’d always had an obsession with beauty, you see, but I thought that was just normal for girls. I liked to collect pictures of beautiful women, fantasy art, that sort of thing. Yet when I started thinking about those women in my, how shall I put it, in my “private time,” then I finally realized what I was.
I confessed all this to daddy and he was genuinely disappointed that I wasn’t finding happiness in my marriage to a male dog. At first, he was a little surprised. After all, he had gone to such an effort to give me a quality upbringing that the thought I had turned out “abnormal” made him sit down and have a long hard think about where he had “gone wrong” in raising me. In the end though, he came out supportive of my sexuality and actually confessed that he enjoyed watching lesbian porn too, so that was something we had in common and it really made our relationship stronger to be able to share such interests. And of course, we both noted how easy it would be to keep my hymen intact if I only ever slept with other girls. So this was a real boon for my maidenism and we both agreed then that my sexual identity was surely a gift from Lady Saga herself.
Okay, so here I am at the grand old age of 14, still married to a Rottweiler who pretty much savages anyone who tries to get near me, but at least he keeps the other rapers away. And I’m almost permanently high nowadays too, but you had probably figured that out by now. The life of a virgin and the ideals of maidenism have proved challenging for me in ways people might never have expected, but I like to think I’m intelligent and resilient and I look forward to meeting the challenges of my future head on!