Joan Kelly: Rape me!

"Ohhhh!" My gasp made a froth of spit at the corners of my mouth. I tossed my head back and forth on the pillow. There was a cramp in my calves and I found I was pointing my toes as hard as I could as I fucked the brush handle up and down the steamy divide of my cunt.

My breath was wheezy and wild. Without thinking I bundled my pillow, scratched frantically for the other one and pushed them both down between my thighs. My ass thumped feverishly against the mattress as I tightened my scissor-hold on the pillows, imagining a man between my legs, covering my belly, covering my whole body. Pressing me down against the bed, crushing me, kissing me! How helpless I felt, how wicked. But the frenzied sensations that spread over my belly and throbbed in the pit of my convulsing pussy caused me not to care about anything but making the feeling even better. After all I wasn't really screwing a guy. When the odd tingly itch began to come in steady waves of pleasure, I knew I was going to have one – have a climax. Before it had just been a word, a mysterious word that some people talked coolly about and others whispered. Now it was happening to me! I rolled half on one side, pumping wildly with my ass. I was rubbing with the brush handle, my fingers, the bunched pillows – anything I could reach. And something, maybe that hidden tube of my cunt was clasping inside me – as if it was around a man's cock. I couldn't create enough friction, couldn't scratch the lovely itch enough. It poured over me, burned my skin. I choked off a loud cry and moaned instead I flopped onto my stomach and tossed my hips around in wild circles. Then I knew I was rubbing too hard. The ecstasy built in half a second to an excruciating edge and burst. I gave a gasping cry and shivered into the throes of the spasm. The muscles in my thighs ridged out as I tried to keep from crying out. I wanted to touch every inch of my body all at the same time. Even as I collapsed and the spasms deep in my cunt began to die away I still tingled. The places between my toes itched, the backs of my knees where the flesh was so soft – all of me felt lavished, drenched with pleasure.

"Lorrie?" My mother just outside my door! I stiffened, tried to make my breathing slow down some.

"What is it, Mom?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were getting up. I've got to run out for a second and pick up something at the Seven-Eleven. Don't dawdle, because we're going to the church at ten. I think I've found you a new friend. Mrs. Caruthers has a daughter your age, and I'm sure she'll be happy to show you around town so you can meet some people your own age."

"Yes, Mom, I'm getting up." I swung my legs out of bed. Between my thighs the swelled outer lips were shiny slick, dewdrops of sex butter dangling in the brown fur of my cunt hair. I tried to think of some prayer I might say to make everything all right. Nothing came to mind. I wasn't so good at praying as Elaine was. I knew I'd done something wrong by fingering my cunt. Finger-fucking was what my girlfriends back in Billings called it. But it was the first time I'd ever come.

"Come," I said, surprised at the huskiness of my voice. The word felt strange on my tongue. Such an ordinary word until you thought of it like this, like what had happened to me. The sex magazine lay open on the bed. Now with my excitement passed, the pleasure behind me, the pictures seemed wrong. The idea of a man's cock inside my cunt was scary and the thought of him pumping in and out of me with that huge, hard thing seemed gross, carnal. Things that animals did in the darkness of the forest, or dogs in the shameless season of their rutting.

"I'm just not going to think about it," I said aloud and yanked a pair of nylon panties up my thighs. I bit my lip and tried to ignore the tiny jolt of pleasure when the silky crotchband rubbed against my swollen cuntlips. I opened my door and started down the short hall towards the bathroom. I could get my face washed and teeth brushed before Mom got back and… "Lorrie baby, let me look at you." My dad had caught my wrist as he came out of the bathroom. There was a towel draped around his neck. His muscled chest moved as he held me at arm's length.

I was coming apart with embarrassment. I never had my clothes off around my father. I'd thought he'd already gone to work. I wanted to break and run back down the hall.

"I thought… I mean… that no one was in the bath…"

"I'm through." He smiled, looked at my bare shoulders, my tits. "I forget what a big girl you're getting to be." He made me turn so he could see the profile of my body. "You got breasts just like your mother did when she was young, honey. Maybe even better…" My eyes were cast down. I felt the red flush on my cheeks.

"I guess I better hurry and get washed…"

"Hold your horses. Your old daddy doesn't hardly get a chance to see his only daughter in her birthday suit." He patted my ass. The gentle spank of his hand through the nylon made me gasp. He was my father, after all. Why had my body tingled? I felt awful and naughty and more confused than ever. My nipples were standing straight out from the dark soft circles of titty flesh that surrounded them. I felt like sinking through the floor.

"You got legs, too, honey. Some of the finest legs I've ever seen." He shook his head. "Gonna have to be some hell of a man come along before I'll be giving you away to get married."

"Oh, Daddy." He was turning me more, stopped me when I faced away from him. I could almost feel his eyes on the sharp inward curve of my waist, the sudden, smooth flare of my hips. And he had to be looking at the way my ass stuckout in back. I was thankful that I had at least put on a pair of panties. But what was wrong with me? He was my own flesh and blood. He'd never done anything… wrong.

"You're so slender, just like a young tree blowing in the breeze." He was talking like he did when he drank. I was afraid of Daddy when he drank. I was a little afraid of him even when he wasn't. He stepped close again and petted his hands down over my hair. I closed my eyes, waiting for it to be over, wondering why my heart seemed about to jump from my chest.

"Such pretty, fine hair. It's past your shoulders now… damned if it ain't." He let his fingers brush my neck. "Why I remember when I used to give you rides on my shoulders. You've grown a hunk since then."

I stared down at my feet. I was trembling. If he knew what I'd just been doing in my room, if he knew about the book I'd found under the seat of his truck… I was ashamed of my lack of will power. And it was as if his eyes on my body shamed me even more. I longed to cover my nakedness, to hide away the carnal sight of my tits and belly and thighs.

"You go get ready for breakfast now," Dad said. He slapped me on the ass just before I got into the bathroom and shut the door behind me. I leaned against it panting. It was crazy how I'd just fingered my cunt and made myself come and now my body seemed to yearn for more! It wasn't possible. It wasn't right. Had I opened some awful Pandora's box? Had I started some force to working inside me that would control me from now on? No, it was preposterous to believe that.

I went to the sink and squeezed toothpaste on my brush. But as I scrubbed my teeth, my cunt mound bumped against the edge of the sink. Even that slight pressure made me have to breathe harder through my nose. I rinsed my mouth, washed my face and tiptoed back down the hall towards my room.

I don't know why I stopped. When I saw Dad through the partly opened door to his and Mom's bedroom, I should have just kept going. But my legs froze, my breathing, too. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, half turned away from me. But I could see the brutish jut of his cock, the bruised-looking crown, the steady jacking movement of his fingers. He held a magazine open, a magazine with pictures like the one I'd found in his truck. His face had a slack, dazed look to it. Finally I drew a tiny breath, steadied myself against the wall. My very own father! Somehow I hadn't thought of my parents in a sexual way. They were just… my parents. But there was always a vague tension between them. Lots of times my mom slept on the sofa in the front roam.