"Such a fine little ass… I'd break it in gently. Never hurt it." He was between my open legs, bending low to kiss the creamy cheeks of my rump. "I'd just give you a little the first time." He kissed me on the right cheek, then the left. "And you'd love it. I know you would." His hands pried my buttocks apart. "We'll grease it up, so it doesn't hurt. So it feels good… like this."
And I felt him press his face hard against the crack of my ass, his lips centered over the tight little entry. The thrusting of his tongue, straining for entry into my ass, caused me to claw at the sheets.
Dimly, I realized that he had done it this way before, and I saw a picture of him doing it that way to Faye. I made up my mind. If he wanted to put it in my ass, he could put it in my ass. I'd do anything before I'd lose him back to that old bitch.
I said softly, "Promise you'll go easy this time," and was rewarded by a deep probing of his wet tongue before he left me and went to get the jar of Vaseline from the bathroom. He was back in a moment.
He sat beside me on the bed and dipped his fingers in the greenish-white grease, then carefully rubbed it on the head of his cock. It made his cock glisten. Then he reached for me. Just before I closed my eyes I saw him dip one finger in the jar and withdraw a thick gob of the Vaseline. It felt cold as he touched it to my ass.
"Get up on your hands and knees," he commanded. I did.
When I felt his greased finger probe at the circle of my asshole, I clamped my teeth tight and closed my eyes, and I felt myself shaken by a flash of pain as his finger slipped inside me. I managed to stay quiet as he moved it in and out. Then he was kneeling behind me. His hands pushed my knees far apart on the bed.
"It'll be easier if you hold it open," he said, and I felt his cock probing at the greasy crack of my ass. I leaned forward until my forehead was resting against the cool sheets, then reached back with both hands, grabbed the soft flesh of my ass and held it ready.
The first pain was unbelievable! My asshole was being ripped apart! Tears rushed from my eyes as I felt myself being stretched to take a cock where I was never meant to have one. I cried out against the sheets. I tried to writhe away from the cock that was spearing me… And then, just when I thought I'd go crazy from it, the pain reached a peak and began to diminish. It was still there but it was dimmer, more bearable, and I remember knowing that the pain was less because his cock had passed the restraining barrier at the rim of my ass.
I could feel it inside me, sliding back and forth through the tight passage he'd lubricated with the Vaseline. It filled me. No, it more than filled me. It packed me. That's the only way to describe the tightness I felt in my ass… I was packed.
After that first rush of pain was over, I became more aware of the other sensations. His hands clutching my belly. His cock-hair tickling my bare rump. The increasing speed with which his prick slid in and out of my rear as he bucked and heaved behind me.
And, just as the feel of his cock was turning my pain into pleasure, there was a great squirting of come that caused his cock to slip from my hole and left me once again feeling the pain.
I ached for a long time afterward, and I argued like hell the next time he wanted me to take it in the ass. And the next. Each time, though, I gave in, and each time the ache was less. And then it was gone, and I suppose my reactions were pretty much like those of the blonde in the photos. I loved it.
From a tight little girl who was frightened and needed her asshole greased, I had been transformed into a woman. My rear had opened like a flower, gotten so large I could take him easily. Hell, I could even take a few inches of that big vibrator.
Now, smiling to myself, I lifted the vibrator and kissed it. Press — Dad, that is — had no idea what I always thought when I did that. It was my secret joke.
"I kissed the vibrator because that was what I used to take him away from my bitch of a stepmother in the first place."
There can be no doubt that jealousy was the primary motivation behind Wanda's incestuous tendencies. She detested her stepmother, as she makes perfectly clear in this first portion of her narrative, and expresses an almost sadistic pleasure over the knowledge that she is taking the older woman's place in the arms of her father.
Unlike many subjects who are willing to discuss the commission of incest, Wanda does not seek to justify or mitigate her actions by attributing them to love or spur-of-the-moment impulses. Instead, she simply describes her acts in the most carnal way possible, leaving the interviewer and the reader to draw whatever conclusions they wish.
A brief look at Wanda's past may make these conclusions more accurate.
Wanda was an only child. Her mother died shortly after giving birth to her. She was raised by a series of aunts, with her father coming to visit when possible. These visits grew to be the great moments in her young life; she looked forward to them with eagerness. And, of course, she idolized her father. His visits meant ball games, trips to the park, new clothing and toys. She and she alone was the object of his affection. He might kiss her aunts in a brotherly fashion, but it was clear that he loved her the most.
This was the life Wanda lived until she reached the age of twelve.
Then came the announcement, a pleasant one at first. She was getting a new mother. She would once again be able to live with her father. At first she was pleased. Soon, she found that their outings came less and less frequently, and that they had to be shared with Faye, her stepmother. Faye also shared in the affection of her father. And Faye was allowed to discipline her. She came to hate the older woman.
Only at a much later time did Wanda see her own sexuality as a means of regaining her father's full affection. This she did with a vengeance.
The oralism and analism described by Wanda seem to support Wayland Young's theory that the destruction of the taboo against incest is likely to lead to the destruction of all taboos among the partners who engage in incest. This, however, may be a hasty conclusion. It must be remembered, as is revealed by certain portions of Wanda's story, that her father was a man for whom these taboos against oralism and analism did not exist. His sexual desires tended toward the exotic and the bizarre, as shown by his voyeuristic enjoyment of her sexual exhibition, his collection of erotica. It is certain that Wanda's father had practiced — or had the desire to practice — both oral and anal intercourse long before he committed incest with his daughter. It is just as certain that he would have found an outlet for these sexual desires even if his daughter had been unwilling to provide one.
As for Wanda, any revulsion or disgust she may have felt while engaging in these acts — and she says little that would indicate she suffered from such feelings — was far outweighed by the knowledge that her participation in these acts was a weapon which could be used in her battle to regain the full affections of her father. If the taboos against oral and anal intercourse existed at all within the mind of Wanda, they existed only as rules which could be brushed aside in the name of expediency.
As a matter of fact, it may be that a great majority of our society no longer recognizes the taboo against oralism, and that analism, more repugnant to some because of the excretory functions of the anus, is gaining wider acceptance. A myth has contributed much to the stronger taboo against analism; this is the widespread belief that it is the means of intercourse used by male homosexuals, the act of inverts. Freud was aware of the absurdity of this notion. He wrote:
The playing of a sexual part by the mucous membrane of the anus is by no means limited to men. On the contrary, it seems that paedecatio with a male owes its origin to an analogy with a similar act performed with a woman; while mutual masturbation is the sexual aim most often found in intercourse between inverts.
As for oralism, Freud wrote:
It is only in the rarest instances that the physical valuation that is set on the sexual object, as being the goal of the sexual instinct, stops short at its genitals. The appreciation extends to the whole body of the sexual object and tends to involve every sensation derived from it… The sexual over-valuation is something that cannot be easily reconciled with a restriction of the sexual aim to union of the actual genitals and it helps to turn activities connected with other parts of the body into sexual aims.
What Freud seems to be saying in this quote, even though he often referred to oral-genital contact as a "perversion", is that all of us have within us the desire for oral contact with the genitals of the person chosen as our sexual partner, or "object", as Freud called it.
Oralism and analism are of secondary interest to this study of daughter-father incest, of course, and are mentioned here only because they were the methods of sexual contact employed by Wanda and her father.
Oral and anal intercourse, it seems reasonable to conclude, occur in incestuous relationships with a frequency that is neither greater, nor less than in other sexual unions. The oralism and the analism are not the factors which motivate the incest — from Wanda's viewpoint, at least, in this case — but are a means of consummating it. The desire to commit incest would remain, even if both daughter and father were nauseated by the thought of oral and anal intercourse.
In this case, Wanda had made of her father an idol… an idol with feet of clay. It is known by psychologists that we tend to make of our childhood a peaceful memory into which we can at times retreat, thus escaping the frustrations we face, and that we people this memory with false images of our parents.
Of this false memory Freud said, "It seems that childhood is not the blissful idyll into which we later distort it, that, on the contrary, children are lashed through the years of childhood by the wish to become big and imitate and compete with the grown-ups."
So it was that Wanda blamed her stepmother for the destruction of this "blissful idyll" and for the loss of her father's affection.
And how much easier it would be for a child to compete with a woman whom she disliked. It was this instinctive desire to compete, a desire which Wanda recognized as she reached her early teens, that led to the first incestuous union between daughter and father.
Though Wanda readily and openly recognized this need to compete, she was slower in realizing that she desired to compete sexually, and it was only after a great deal of mental struggle that she reached the decision that was to lead her into the sexual relationship with her father.
As I turned the cock-like vibrator slowly over and over in my hand, looking at it through eyes that were heavy with sleep, I found myself remembering the first time I'd seen it. That night, almost six months ago, had changed my life.
I'd been in bed, half asleep, when I heard them arguing in their room, really going at it, and I laughed to myself as I slipped on a robe and crept quietly through the house to listen. I was hoping he'd knock the old bitch's teeth out, I guess.
I stopped at the dark little alcove in the hallway, where I could see through the half-opened door to their room. Their lights were on, and I could see my father sitting on the bed. He had on a pair of white shorts, nothing else. Faye was out of sight.
"You get more… more freakish every week," I heard her say in that shrill voice that always scrapes across my nerves. "I never know what kind of perverted thing you'll dream up next. Well, this one's too much, Press. I won't do it."
"Perverted, my aching ass!" he said loudly. His face was a dark red. "Anything except a straight fuck is perverted to a cold old bitch like you. You think that cunt of yours is a Goddamned prize or something!"
Faye stepped out where I could see her. She was naked except for a pair of pale blue panties, and I could see the dark hair of her cunt through them. Her tits were little, far smaller than mine, and I wondered what my father had ever seen in her. Then I noticed the object she held in her hand.
"I've done a lot… a lot of things to keep you happy," she said. "But I won't lower myself by inserting this… thing into myself while you watch." She looked sourly down at the tube in her hand.
I had just a brief glimpse of it before she threw it on the bed and said, "If you can't do it without things like that, we'll just not do it at all." She stepped out of sight again.
"You can't even call it what it is, can you, you cold-assed cunt? You can't even say fucking, can you?" he shouted.
"Well, I'll tell you why I need a show, 'cause fucking you is like sticking it in a dead mule, that's why!"
I knew that she'd soon be coming out of their bedroom after a remark like that, so I went quickly back to my own room and got in bed. Then I thought about what I'd seen. Even then, I knew that he'd wanted Faye to fuck herself with the tube I'd seen her holding. I didn't know exactly what it was, of course, and I really wasn't too concerned with that. I just wondered why she wouldn't do it.
Didn't she know how lucky she was to have a man like my father? Didn't she know most women would be happy to do anything for a man like that? Or didn't she even care? Maybe the tube could hurt a woman's pussy in some way, I thought. Just before I dropped off to sleep, I decided to find out for myself.