J Long: Motel peeper

Thwack!

"Ooooooooohhhh!" Rebecca gasped. Her cheeks, the ones on her face, stung with agony.

"You slut! You mean to tell me you really don't have no faith in your pa!"

Rebecca nodded… no! Oh, no! Here it comes again!

Thwack! Thwack!

Hiram saw red, not only in his mind's eye but on Rebecca's cheek. Jesus! How can she just sprawl there in the fucking dirt and keep agreeing that she had not faith in him as a father, that she wanted to find out the vile things men did to little girls.

Hiram fumed. It was time to show her. That's right! Time to show that fucking bitch daughter of his what a real man could do to little girls.

"Zzzzzziiiiiipppppp!"

Rebecca was startled. She had heard that sound before. She had heard it every night of her existence. It was the sound of her father's zipper, and it was what usually woke her up in the mornings because the outhouse was only three yards away from her bedroom window and the ever-present norther, that always came from the south, would carry the sound of her father unzipping, then tinkling or shitting or failing, or whatever people did in an outhouse besides writing graffiti.

What was he doing? What was her father going to do to her? Why was he unzipping his pants? What was she doing here, naked, in the barn, on her knees, smiling nervously and feeling like a dog that had worms?

Than she heard a noise that she had never heard before. At first, she thought he father was working the butter chum, because there was a constant stroking rhythm to the noise.

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

What was that sound?

God, for the first time in her life, Rebecca wished that she were not thirteen. She wished that she was middle-aged, or around twenty-one, whichever came first, of course, so that she'd have the experience to know what that sound was.

Stroke. Stoke. Stroke.

"Oooooooohhhhhh, Jesus!"

Rebecca gasped. Why was her father asking for Jesus' help? He wasn't a religious man – her father, that is. He hadn't been to church since the days they had their evening meetings in Reverend Manly's rectory.

"Oooooooohhhhhh, God!" Hiram gasped.

Rebecca's eyes opened wide. First Jesus, now God!

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

Hiram gasped again: "Gaaaaaasssssspppppp!"

Hiram couldn't help gasping. No man could have helped gasping had they been in Hiram's slit-stained shoes. Because most men gasp when they've got their cocks out and are beating the living daylights out of their meat and they have a pretty, naked girl kneeling before them ready to be violated.

Rebecca shuddered, then muttered: "Pa, what ya up to?"

Hiram wanted desperately to answer, to tell his favorite daughter what he was up to. But it was in the Lord's hands now – and Hiram's, too, of course.

Hiram was going to punish his daughter, show her what cruel things men did to pretty little girls. Hiram knew it would be disgusting, that it would hurt him as much as her. But, God willing, he'd show his daughter what was right and what was wrong, what was moral and immoral, what men did when they got their cocks out and were planning to rape a pretty girl's lips that were sensuous, fast-moving and wide-open.

Rebecca's face, like a modem toilet, flushed. She knew her father was very near to her. Because she could feel his body heat, almost feeling the hairs of his flesh.

Hiram gasped again: "Gaaaasssspppp!"

Stroke. Stroke. Stroke.

He looked down at his prick. He looked at his daughter. He looked up to God. Just like most Christians.

Everything was ready. He was ready to punish his favorite daughter for the sins she would commit because she had been blessed with a set of fast-moving, wide-open, smiling lips.

"O-open up, Rebecca."

Rebecca was stunned. Open up what?

"What d-do I o-open – Mmmmgcggffff!"

"Oooooooohhhhhhh, Jessssssuuuuuussssss!"

Rebecca was shocked, stunned, startled. Something was between her smiling lips. She protested: "Mmmmmmggggggffffff!"

Hiram tried his best to calm down, prayed to the Lord to give him the strength to show his daughter the evils that men do the pretty little girls.

"B-Becky," he stammered. "This… aaaahhhh… this is what men do… oh Lord! When… AAAAAIIIIIEEEEE!"

God! Rebecca was so relieved, so alive. She hadn't meant to bite down hard, but she was willing to do anything to get in lungfuls of hog shit stench.

"You slut! You bit me! Oh my God! Look at my cock!"

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Rebecca didn't know what bit her. Oh, she had a pretty good idea when the first blow had landed that it might be her father's fist. But the second blow made her see stars. And the third blow made her see blackness.

Hiram saw red again. He saw that his blood was red, very red. And he knew that blood tends to spurt when a major artery is halved by a set of fast-moving incisors. He felt relieved that his cock wasn't spurting. Only the little veins had been severed.

He looked at his cock, inspected it, watched it become limp and not worth a fucking damn right now. All because his fucking daughter had refused to take her punishment like a man.

He'd show her! He'd show that mother-fucking daughter of his that he knew what was best for her. The little asshole!

It was easy to tie her up. Shit, the beams were low enough, there were plenty of ropes and harnesses and leather-type goodies all over. After all, this was a barn scene and not a bedroom.

By the time Rebecca opened her eyes, she still saw darkness.

Probably because it was night and she had a blindfold on.

She also felt uncomfortable. Her head felt very heavy and her feet felt very light. Her tits were also sagging in the wrong direction. And she was so fearful now that she wanted, to piss very bad, but she had a fearful feeling that if she pissed now the yellow stream would flow in the wrong direction. Like up her belly instead on down her thighs.

Then a cold hand was on her right tittie. The hand gave her right titties a teensy weensy show. Creak. Creak. Creak.

Rebecca felt herself swaying, swinging. But she also felt herself hurting in many places. Like her arms hurt because every time she moved her arms, her toes would hurt. And every time she tried to look up – or was it down? – she would feel something pull on her titties.

Site was in a very precarious position.

And she knew it. She knew it because when a person's tied in an upside-down fetal position, with their arms bound to their toes, and their neck is shackled by leather bindings to their nipples, and they feel a free-fall sensation constantly – then what other conclusion could be drawn? Unless she were insane like those people who wear straitjackets and live in rubber rooms because they have a hang-up about oral sex.

But Rebecca was not insane – was she?

Creak. Creak. Creak.

Then amidst the creak, creak, creak, she could hear movements behind her.

Then cold hand was on her left nipple.

And Rebecca became very dizzy because the hand had started a spinning motion that she did not appreciate very much.

Suddenly full consciousness dawned on Rebecca. And she wanted to scream. She wanted to twist and writhe. Fight her way out of this very ridiculous and absurd situation.

She screamed: "Aaaaiiiieeeeeeee!"

She writhed.

Writhe. Writhe. Writhe.

Then she stopped writhing and screaming. She was arrested, not for indecent exposure, but because her father's voice had such a menacing tone.

"Rebecca, if you bite my cock again – I'm gonna kill you."

Silence, then a quiet creak, creak, creak. Rebecca was stunned – for the fourth time since the episode in the barn had begun. But it was only natural to be stunned. She was stunned because she now knew what she had bitten before she had been thwacked thrice – she had bitten her daddy's prick.