Vincent Church - Degraded teenager

"I'll be Goddamned," grunted the man, pushing it slowly, ever so slowly and maddeningly, back up her vulva. "If I was your Daddy, little sweetie, I'd never let you out of my fucking sight. I always wanted a daughter. To fuck! Yeah! I'd sure like to be your Daddy – putting it to you regular like."

"Daddy does," she heard herself whisper, and was immediately sorry.

"Huh? What's this?"

"I… I…"

The man cackled gleefully. "You fuck for your Daddy," he said: "Son of a bitch!"

Again he traced the welts of her ass, raising up as if he could see in the dark. She wished he could see. She suddenly wished the room could be flooded with light, so he could see her and she could see him, and look back over her shoulder and watch the long stiffness drive into her.

"Should've known," said the man, caressing the welts, the split down the center of her small, plump behind. "Pretty little girlie like you. Why, if you was mine – ah! Ummmmm!" With a thumb and two fingers he opened her sphincter, slipped his dick out of her cunt, and set the round tip at her asshole. "If you was my own little cunt, my daughter, I'd have been sticking it to ya back here even before you had hair."

Wendy closed her eyes and moaned. It felt just like her daddy back there, and it made her drunk with desire. She hated being reamed; true: it made her feel like a faggot, a boy giving his girlish bottom to a man. But a rod at her asshole brought back scenes from the home: the Coke bottles, the broomsticks, and Crazy Inez moving wildly up and down the leg of the bed. She pumped her hips off the bedding, waiting for the shaft to go in, tensing in anticipation of the pain of penetration.

But the man seemed content to let his cockhead soak in the warmth at the mouth of her rectum. He moved teasingly from side to side, going in no more than an inch, coming out… in-out, in-out, until she wanted to scream. Until she thought for sure she'd die. She longed for the initial agony of a big prick forcing open the inner folds of her asshole. She wiggled as hard as she could, drawing the stiffness in past the entrance, embedding the pulsating glans in the soft tightness back there.

"Motherfucker!" groaned the man. His fingers, the nails scratching and irritating the welts, dug brutally into her buttocks. His balls leaped at her crotch. His prick swelled, as if already on the brink of orgasm.

"I… Daddy always uses a pillow," she breathed. "Um – under my belly. Oh God! So-so he can get it all in."

"Shit! Fuck that pillow business. That's for amateurs – guys with no driving power. Me, I like it tight, so fucking tight you have to pound it in like a spike, use muscle. Force it. Like this!"

"Ow! Ow! Aaargh!" She felt the hands spreading the cheeks of her ass, the steely prick fucking forward but getting nowhere. She tried to help, but now the man's weight was full upon her, holding her down, trying to push her through the mattress, it seemed. It was no good this way: she couldn't open up. The fat, veiny cock above the sacs butting her cunthole simply wouldn't go past the jacket of muscle like a collar at the base of the cockhead.

"Ar! Stubborn little mother, ain't it!"

Wendy went rigid as the man hooked two fingers at either side of her anus, attempting to stretch the hole. "N-Not that way! No! You… oh! Oh! Oh! Oh nooooooooo!"

"Shuddup!"

Oh God! she thought. He was splitting her in half back there. No matter how willing she was, how compliant, they took pleasure in hurting her. All of them; every last one! They beat her and made her so sore it felt as if she'd been ground under a tank; they made her whimper, and then filled her with cum. And that was the worst part – the cream. Because jism made her forget. The first spurt washed away pain, brainwashed her pussy, and made her clit dance, seeking more, like right now. The mere thought of the sticky white goo – despite the burning sensation, the fire at the mouth of her little pink asshole – made the love juice drip from her cunt. It was true, she decided; her pussy did have a mind of its own. The slick, hot folds cared nothing about pain, and ignored degradation. Hidden inside her belly was a wanton: the other Wendy!

"Oh yeah, there! That's – um! Ah! That's it. That's a sweetheart. Ar! Oh, fucking yeah, baby."

Using his knees to force her legs even farther apart, the man drove into her.

Tears sprang into her eyes, and she gritted her teeth. It was going, grating in, searing the dry walls of her asshole. She wished she'd taken a shit-juiced up the entry. She wished Daddy hadn't beaten her raw. She wished… oh, dam it all! She wished he'd get the dumb fucking thing in, so the hot sperm would pour out and wet her and make it stop hurting.

"Aaarrrgh!" he groaned. "There's a good girlie asshole. Jesus! The eye of a needle. Tighter! Ummmmmmmmmm! Ar! Aaahhhh…" The man pulled back, arching his body, and shot his hips forward with such force that Wendy felt the rush of pain at the top of her head.

"Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…!" Unconsciousness, like a sea of black, turbulent water swept over her, and then she knew no more.

The bed lamp was on, and the man, a worried look on his face, was sitting beside her on the edge of the mattress when she opened her eyes. Had be cum in her? she wondered, and then wondered why she'd thought of that first. She looked down at herself. He'd turned her over, onto her back, her thighs slightly apart. She followed his inquiring gaze to the curly red wedge low on her belly, marveling that the sweet thing showed no signs of the repeated bludgeoning it had suffered in the past few days. She moved her legs, expecting to feel the stickiness of cum between the cheeks of her ass. The sticky feeling wasn't there. She blinked into the man's eyes.

"Jesus, baby. You scared fucking hell out of me. I thought maybe I killed ya or something."

Wendy almost laughed; she remembered the joke Crazy Inez told about a fly fucking its prick up an elephant's rear and, when the huge animal trumpeted, asking, "Did I hurt you, hon?" She wasn't an elephant. And her asshole wasn't huge, and it was indeed sore. But her body had been sore before – almost every day since her release from the State Home for Girls – and the man looked so pathetic, so concerned and apologetic, that she felt suddenly sorry for him.

"I… I'm okay," she whispered, thinking she should be embarrassed or something. There she lay, her charms exposed to yet another stranger, and she felt no shame, no anger about what he'd done. It was as if she were becoming used to – no! – beginning to enjoy being brutally taken, being hurt.

The man looked tentatively toward the door, as if undecided whether to stay or go. She took a quick inventory, eying his dark, rugged features, broad shoulders, muscular thighs, and long, flaccid cock. Her wet cunthole twitched. Her sphincter closed at the memory of the power it took to drive the awesome length – awesome even now: soft but still mightier than any she'd ever before seen – up her reluctant rectum. She watched him glance from the door to her bush. She watched his gaze travel slowly up, pause at her round belly, again at her tits, and finally settle on her face. "I… you didn't finish," she heard herself say, and felt the blood gush like molten lava into her cheeks. "I mean I… you… we…"

The man studied her a moment more and then grinned uncertainly. "My name's Gus," he blurted.

"I… I'm Wendy."

"Hi."

"Hi."

Gus thrusted a large, calloused hand at her. She accepted, thinking it was the most ridiculous thing she'd ever done. This time she did laugh – a high-pitched titter, as silly as the awkward situation. There they were, both naked, his hoslike prick still sporting brown gook from the depths of her asshole, shaking hands like two people being formally introduced at an afternoon tea party.