Sam stared pensively down at the same worn spot in the bedroom carpet that he'd eyed the night Wendy, his little Wendy, had run away from home. A week now, he thought, cursing himself, blaming his own stupidity. Where could she be? he wondered, going over in his mind the neighborhood hangouts, the homes of friends and classmates he'd visited in the hope of a clue. There were just so many places a fourteen-year-old girl could hide. Yet he'd been to everyone he could think of, and still there was no hint of her anywhere.
Worse! Wendy had ignored her parole, had failed to report, and although he'd been stalling, telling the gruff parole officer she was ill – too sick to even come to the phone – she was on her way back to the State Home for Girls, unless he or Cynthia could come up with something to satisfy the Sherlock Holmes character.
Cynthia, wearing the new shorty pajamas she'd bought especially for him, appeared at the open bed room door. "Sam?"
"Hum?" He turned and studied her, thinking how much Wendy had changed their lives in the five weeks since her release from the institution. Cindy was once again the woman he'd married – the chick who knew all the ropes in the back seat of a car, the way to make him propose. His gaze swept over her body. She looked great; she'd gone on a diet, and lost all the excess fat in the week since they'd begun to screw regularly. Her cunt was still loose and sloppy, stretched out of kilter from too many years of taking his dick up her belly. But she'd already made the appointment with the doctor who was going to sew it up some; and, until then, there were other ports he visited nightly, an asshole and a mouth that made up for the deficit, and then some.
"You're not gonna find her in here, Sam," said Cindy, her tone soft, understanding. "I feel as bad about it as you do, but moping around won't bring her back any sooner. She has to get over her mad."
He supposed she was right, but that didn't make it any better, any easier to accept. He watched her step into the room, and cock her head at him. She was almost girlish; she looked almost as good as Wendy had the last time he saw her standing before the dresser, with the same lamp outlining her body through the flimsy nightgown.
He cleared his throat, not wanting to think about sex in Wendy's bedroom. "You better put something on. I can't concentrate with you running around here like that. Not on Wendy, anyway."
Cindy grinned. "You're just saying that to make me feel good."
Sam glanced toward the closet, where the black, frilly thing Wendy wore to bed – wore whenever he gave her a chance to put something on – hung forlornly. Damn it! he thought; knowing what she was doing out there. She'd be doing the only thing a girl her age with no training could do to survive and remain hidden in a world of grownups.
The realization made him angry. Angry and hot! She was still his daughter; he was still responsible for her. And he resented the thought of someone else planting cum in the cunt he'd resisted because of some stupid idea about incest.
Cindy stepped up close to him, and her arms snaked around his neck. Standing on tiptoe, she rained small, moist kisses over his chin, onto his neck, his earlobe. "Wendy'll be okay," she whispered. "But what about me, lover? Momma's got a big problem too."
"Um. I can feel it." He gripped her slim waist, and his limp prick began to stir. He could feel the heat of her loins through the pajamas, through his pants and shorts. She was getting to be some chick, his Cindy. Both of his girls were top drawer, and he had only himself to blame for the temporary loss of the one with the red pussy.
Cindy steered one of his hands to the waistband of the nightie. "You can feel it better at the source," she cooed, pulling the elastic away from her belly, then letting it snap tight on his wrist. "Down a little bit more, love. You know where."
"Here?" Sam found her bush and rubbed.
"Uh-huh." She planted her feet wide apart, still on tiptoe, swaying gently against him.
Closing his eyes, Sam fingered the loose, juicy slit and envisioned the night he'd found her and the girl using the dildo. Now he wished he hadn't beaten Wendy so cruelly; that he hadn't grown so excited, whacking her butt that last time and sending her off to the bedroom so he and Cindy could be alone. What had she done in the dark? he wondered. Had she fingered herself? Had she listened at the door, jacking herself off before going through the window into the night?
His fingers, all four, slipped high into Cindy's wet cunt. He felt her tremble, but it was Wendy he imagined he held in his arms, as he'd held her so many times in that very same room. It was her breath he felt moist on his neck. Her round bottom was raw from the belt, and he was making it up to her. His dick was growing, getting hard, anxious to find its way up her little-girl tightness, up her hot daughter-asshole.
"Lover man," gasped Cindy, offering him her lips, grinding her cunt into his hand. She clawed at his belt buckle, undid the zipper, and let his pants fall to the floor. Her hand dove inside the fly of the shorts, groping.
"Not this way," choked Sam, still envisioning Wendy, seeing her childlike beauty in his mind's eye. Quickly he backed Cindy to the foot of the bed. Then, before she could utter a protest, he spun her around and yanked the shorty pajama bottoms down off her hips. "Over the mattress," he ordered, already shoving the bloated head of his cock between the lush, quivering cheeks of her ass. "Double up, baby. Give Daddy some asshole!"
"Oh! G-Go easy!" she grunted as the cockhead, too hungry to wait any longer, burrowed into her chute, fucking halfway home before she could brace for the drive. "Bastard! Oh, you motherfucker!"
Barely hearing the words, barely aware of her presence, Sam threw her roughly forward onto the bed. He used his legs to spread her full thighs, opening the halves of her jiggly bottom still more. He knew he was hurting her; he wanted to hurt her, as he'd hurt Wendy night after night on this same bed, in this same room, his big cock boring into the same tight, hairy pocket.
For a moment he wondered if the girl would ever come home. He'd promise her anything – he'd give her the belt and bend and let her beat him if she wanted to, if that would placate her. It was a shameless perversion, this incestuous desire that engulfed him; but there was no getting away. The red welts were there, inside his head. The first night he'd come to the room, whipped her to cover his own unruly desires, and fucked out her asshole, telling himself that was okay, rationalizing his incestuous lust. Now he knew better. He took pleasure in beating, inflicting pain, and more pleasure still in subjecting his own daughter to torture.
Groaning, fucking his meat all the way up Cindy's reluctant asshole, the hot blood of desire thumping loudly in his ears, he wondered again – God, how he wondered and yearned! He wondered what Wendy, his baby, the one whose ass he loved to flog and fuck, was doing while he pretended it was her – her succulent little-girl bottom – draped helplessly over the foot of the bed.
Fucking men! thought Wendy. She simply didn't know what to make of them anymore. Like Gus… He'd visited Miss Alberta's house almost every night since she got there, always asking for her. Except last night. Last night, for no reason at all, he'd insisted on her and another girl in the same bed.
Sighing, she stared at the high ceiling and wondered what Daddy, her wonderful daddy, was doing. She wondered if he'd ever visited a whorehouse, and what he would do if he came to this place – expecting to pay for a girl he'd never seen before – and found her, naked, arms and legs out flung, every secret open to view. She could imagine him pausing to ogle at the foot of the bed. Then the belt: his face pasty white as he tore the horrid leather snake from his waist, and beat her and beat her. She could almost feel the cruel blows, the sting of the leather against her skin. But the thought didn't frighten her. The pain, the memory of the last lashing, made her cunthole all sticky with cream, and quickened her breath. She supposed Gus had lots to do with her kinky reactions – he'd forced her into every painful contortion imaginable, every trick in Daddy's sex manual, and then some. He, more than anyone, had taught her to accept pain.
She stretched, trying not to think about fucking; trying to concentrate on the room, the plush, old fashioned furniture. Her hair needed washing, she thought, toying with the messy red locks at her forehead. And she had to wash her underwear. But the other Wendy, the one up her belly, cared nothing about clean hair and clothing and all that. The other Wendy wanted only a cock!
As if the thought had traveled beyond the bedroom into the hall, the door swung suddenly open.
Lew Ogden – wearing the dapper suit and tie he wore each Saturday night when he and the boys "played cards" until daybreak – stepped into the room. "Hey now, baby," he said.
The bastard! thought Wendy, scrambling to cover herself with the sheet. She'd almost forgotten about him. It was the first she'd seen of him since the day she arrived, and she knew by the look in his eye what he had come for. "Oh no," she wailed, curling into a protective ball at the head of the bed. "Not after what you did. No!"
Lew closed the door. He studied her for a moment before approaching the bed. He sat at the edge of the mattress, and reached out to touch her bare shoulder.
"No!" She slapped the hand away, reminding herself that not only was he the one who'd started it all by having her sent to the home; but also the fact that she was there, in a common whorehouse, compelled to give up pussy to anyone Miss Alberta sent up to the room, was his fault, too.
"Fuck off!" she yelled, unable to still the restlessness in her lower abdomen, pussy, and asshole.
Lew leaned toward her, forcing her to the far side of the bed. "So what'd I do that's so terrible?"
"You… you… oh!" She looked hastily about, searching for something to slug him with. He was acting as if it happened every day; as if every young girl in the world was delivered into the hands of a madam, and the delivery boy – him in this case – stopped in for a quick piece of ass whenever his dick got hard. She glanced furtively at his crotch. He was indeed hard, bulging. "No!" she repeated.
Lew merely laughed, and leaned closer. "Shit! You ain't never had it so good, baby. I knew it the first time we screwed. You're a natural pro." His hand shot forward, gripped the sheet, and yanked. Wendy tried to leap from the bed, but Lew caught her trim ankle, and sent her tumbling onto her belly. She felt the smooth material of his suit on her back, the bulge in his pants leg. Silently she struggled. She twisted to face him, balled her hands into fists, and rained light blows about his face and shoulders. She wasn't sure why she was fighting – she longed for a cock! But wrestling, making him take it, hurt her in the process of getting it in, and made it somehow better…
"C'mon, ya bitch!" Trapping both her small wrists in one hand, he held her arms pinned to the mattress above her head.
"Oh…!" Wendy kicked at his crotch. Her bare foot dug into his balls, and made him groan. Panting, she watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from his face; watched the fury creep into his pain-stricken eyes.
"Ya rotten little fuck!" He doubled up, the knee of his pants rubbing her pussy. He rested a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then, when his breathing grew steady once more, he punched her, a right in the thigh.
Wendy opened her mouth to bellow, but a mere squeak came out. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. It snatched the wind from her lungs, and brought unwilling tears to her eyes. She tried to straighten the tortured limb, but the slightest movement gave her new stabs of pain. And before she could recover, his hard fist struck again, crippling the other jackknifed leg.
"Wanna play, huh?" Lew jumped from the bed, and began tearing at his clothes. "Fucking cockteasing whore! I'll give ya something to play with, all right."
Thigh muscles locked, legs gaping open like the hind legs of a frog, Wendy watched the garments being flung to the floor. She saw his big half-hard prick spring free; saw the shorts fall, exposing the mass of black cockhair and the enormous cum sacs. Her limbs twitched. Her hot little cunthole tightened in anticipation.
Not bothering to discard his shoes and socks, Lew fell hungrily on her. His hand filled the gap at her pussy. "We never did finish the first one," he said, fingering her clit. "But I can't forget how hot you were, baby. So be nice to your old Uncle Lew. There's nobody to stop us now."
"I… I hate you. I hate you! I hate you!" It was only half true. Only her mind – a residue of the "good girl" Wendy – hated him. The rest of her loved what he was doing. Inside her sheath, the other Wendy was flooding her channel with love juices, preparing the way. And now she was remembering the first time with Lew – how he'd taken her cherry, made her thrash and whimper and want it, but was snatched away by Penny before the cream could overflow into her eager cunthole. She felt the long, veiny meat at her thigh, the glans growing fat as he humped against the creamy inner expanse so close to her niche. She glanced down and saw his hand working. She looked into his face; darn men and their cocks! She couldn't help wanting him, even after all the horrid things he'd done to her, and the hurt he'd caused her body.
"Remember how it was, kid?" Lew kissed her tits; first one, then the other, teasing the nipples up tall. The hand at her cunt rubbed until she was swollen down there. He inched his dick closer. "You fought me then, too," he said, tickling the crack of her ass with two fingers. "Shit, baby, I had to wrestle every fucking bit in. But it was good – worth waiting for. Christ! I used to watch you run around with my Tish, in and out of the house, and think, Lew, that's a sweetheart. You gotta get some of that one. One of these days, one way or another, you gotta make that cute bitch drop her drawers. And then that time at the party, when you wouldn't sit on my lap no matter what I offered? I was hotter than hell that day – my dick just wouldn't go down after seeing you in those fuckin' tight short-shorts. I made up my mind then and there to take it if I couldn't make you give." He covered one tit with his mouth, chewing on the rubbery peak.
"I… I still hate you," she said in a small, unconvincing voice.
"No you don't, sugar. You like old Uncle Lew. I can feel it in your cunt. It won't let go of my fingers."
Wendy sobbed. The pain was ebbing, leaving only a glow in her loins. Already her hips were gyrating, and the talk of the birthday party was making her giddy. She was innocent then, she recalled: a silly child who blushed at dirty words and whispered jokes, but who knew all the positions in Daddy's secret fuck book and was at once attracted and frightened out of her wits by the thought of a foot long prick pushing up her round, virgin belly. She remembered how Lew had tried to talk her onto his lap; remembered the mighty bulge in his pants, the pock now moving slowly toward the moist pocket between her young thighs. If she'd only known then, she thought, known how good fucking was. If she had given in willingly that day, she might have avoided the misery, the pain, the shame that followed the rape.
But then she wouldn't have gone to the home, she realized. She wouldn't have met Crazy Inez and the others; she wouldn't have learned all the best ways to fuck. And she would never have mustered the courage to seduce her own daddy.
It was all so confusing: sex and pain and degradation. Like men, and the things they did to her; she didn't know what to make of it any more. All she knew for certain was that the cock nearing its target was long and stiff. That inside the funny-looking things, the sacs she'd always considered a silly genetic invention or an eyesore, there was another thick cum load waiting to blast off up her pussy. Nothing else really mattered. She didn't care that it was Lew's pecker; it could have belong to a horse, a bull, or the elephant Crazy Inez told the dumb joke about. It could have belonged to a whale – just so long as it was shoved up her cunt, and could spit, and the burning need making her forget the ache of her bruised legs was temporarily sated.
"Move to the edge of the bed," Lew told her. "I wanna get every inch of this…" he took hold of the shaft of his dick, rubbing the fat knob slowly up and down her wet, pink cunt lips, "up your hole. Shift it!"
"I… I… ummmmmmmm! Oh!" She didn't know what to do. It was as if she were being suffocated by her own desire.
"Still need persuading, huh?" Lew stood, gripped her ankles, and dragged her to the edge of the mattress. He steered her legs to his waist, causing new stabs of pain in her thighs. "Mother!" he hissed, staring into the breach at her crotch, straight up her cunthole. "That fucking sweet gash of yours looks too tiny. But it ain't! Man, do I ever remember how it ain't!"
"Oh! Oh!" She felt herself being lifted, until only her shoulders and head remained on the bed. She felt his hands spreading the cheeks of her ass, her thighs. And then she felt him end his nuts – the huge, hairy things butting the underside of her buttocks as he thrust into her.
Lew buried the tip of his meat in the tight niche below the red curls. A sound – half grunt, half sigh of satisfaction – came from deep in his throat. Holding her legs at the crook of the knee, he stepped closer, pushing the length of his prick smoothly up, going in to the hilt in one unbroken stroke.
It was the wildest thing. She felt his hardness at the top of her head, it seemed. It left her gulping for air, too thrilled to speak, too bloated to give more than a cursory round and round ass wiggle. Wide-eyed she stared at the black cock hair mixed with her satiny red ringlets. It was stupendous: the absolute best way to take cock up her belly.
"Mary mother of fucking Christ," breathed Lew wondrously. "I forgot how good it was. Jesus!" He moved his loins slowly from side to side, keeping it in to the roots and causing friction by grinding their pubic mounds together. "Um. Ah! Ah! Ahhhhhhh! That's what I call fuckin' pussy. Roll some more, baby. Put it in motion."
Wendy obeyed, no longer thinking, allowing instinct to guide her. It was difficult, almost impossible, to get her ass working in the awkward position. But every slight stir sent new thrills up her spine, and spurred her on. She threw her arms wide, gaining leverage, ignoring the ache in her bowed neck, and set her pelvis going in slow motion. She watched her cunt swell and flatten, swell and flatten – as if the other Wendy inside were sucking him off. She watched his tempo increase; saw the fat, slimy shaft begin to pull back and plow. The sight made her wild, crazy for cum. Somehow she made her hips match his building rhythm. The room spun, and the mattress became a screeching seesaw. She whimpered and fucked, doing things no good girl would dare, urging him on.
"Ah! Too much! Too fucking quick, baby." Lew tried to slow down some, but he too was caught up in the frenzy; he couldn't resist. "Too fucking, fucking – oh! We're out of it now! Too – oh, Jesus! Oh, sweet little fucker. I…"
Wendy knew what the non-words meant: the cylindrical rod was about to spurt hot cream into her. And that, she now realized, was the only "good" that actually mattered. "Harder!" she managed in a strangled voice. "Oh, don't stop now. Fuck it to me. Stick it in! Stick your cock up there! Oh, just like that! All the – um! Up me! Up me! Up me!"
Trying to oblige, Lew fucked in so far that one of his nuts got wedged in the crack of her ass. She tightened her cheeks, holding it. She used her buttocks to milk, rolling the halves of her bottom on the sensitive sacs, savoring the feel of the wrinkled man flesh at the mouth of her rectum. She closed her eyes tight, screwing like never before. It was better that way – she'd read somewhere that the blind were gifted with heightened sensory perception. It was true, she decided, squeezing her eyelids shut so forcefully that it hurt. It was true because now she could feel every wrinkle, every hair on the trapped ball. Impulsively she wished for permanent blindness. She wished her body could be taken apart and put back together, leaving out all the unnecessary parts, all but her pussy and asshole. She wished she could somehow become cunt from head to toe, and a rod, a giant's huge prick, could fill her forever and ever, and never stop pissing hot liquid juice up her frantic cunt.
Suddenly Lew lifted her legs to his chest, so high that she was standing on the back of her head. His prick retreated one last, breathless time, and came pistoning back with the force of a torpedo, and blasted.
Her clit throbbed. It was such a marvelous load she could hear it – actually hear the cream spurting! Her cunthole became a pink velvet vise. The split up her ass nipped at his cubes. And her, hips! Her hips moved as if disconnected from the rest of her, slap-slap-slapping against his loins, fucking her toward the place where Lew stood pouring off jism.
"Roll it, baby. Twist!" Lew's knees buckled, and hit the edge of the mattress. But his prick refused to stop spitting. Gob after gob shot into her. "Motherfucker!" he groaned. "Sweet baby – fuck! GO!"
She didn't have to be told twice. Because now she too was cuming, the hot juice spewing out as if her cunt were a faucet. She couldn't breathe, and her lungs were about to burst through her tits. Her belly was about to explode and spatter cum all over the room, and her asshole – oh, her adorable prick-loving hole was about to drop shit on the bed.
"You little mother," choked Lew as the first turd appeared, inched out, and slipped slowly down his fat balls.
"I… I can't help it," sobbed Wendy, still fucking, unable to control herself from the waist down. Another shithall plopped onto the sheets. And another. "Owwwww!" she wailed, hating herself, hating him, hating God for having created big, lovely cream-pissing cocks.
Lew grimaced at the stink wafting up between them. His dick went limp. Abruptly he pulled out, dropping her bottom into the mess on the mattress which was oozing down onto the floor. "Stupid cunt! I should break your filthy ass!"
Wanting to die, cheeks burning anew, the hot shit spreading like a syrupy pancake beneath her weight, Wendy watched him move to the foot of the bed snatch her white knit from the post, and use it to wipe his nuts. "Not my dress!" she bellowed, sitting up in the gook.
"Dirty bitch!" Lew flung it at her.
She tried to duck, but she wasn't quick enough. The material wrapped itself around her head, smearing the brown, smelly slime all over her face. She hollered; she fought to dislodge the horrible thing, wrapping it tighter, getting the shit in her hair. It had been so wonderful there for a moment Lew humping it to her, her cunthole ablaze. And now this! Treating her as if she were not better than the shit itself. And still she wanted him, wanted his dick up her hole. She smelled her own awful stink, felt the slime beneath her buttocks and thighs, and could think only of how good it was when he lifted her onto her head and rammed it – his love dart, his long spitting dick – all the way home.