Message-ID: <44941asstr$1066896607@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <newsadm@attbi.com> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <Xns941CB337E6B9Fanaisninja@216.148.227.77> User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25 NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 21:36:00 GMT X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Wed, 22 Oct 2003 21:36:00 GMT Subject: {ASSM} Phoenix Rising - Chapter Nine - Desert Rose (Mf teen inc oral drugs) Date: Thu, 23 Oct 2003 04:10:07 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2003/44941> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: hecate, dennyw Phoenix Rising (c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html Note: This is my story. The names and details have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. Some of this account has been reconstructed from memory, but most of it has been based on a journal I kept during these years. This is a sequel to _Exile_, which can be found on my asstr-mirror.org site: http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/exile/index.html * * * Chapter Nine - Desert Rose (Mf teen inc oral drugs) It was rare for me to recall my dreams after smoking pot the night before, but this one I did remember, vividly. Maybe it was the cocaine, maybe it was everything that had happened that day. I was with Krystle, and we were in a big, brightly lit room, like a gymnasium, a high ceiling above us, dozens of bright lights beaming down on us. I was lying on top of her, face up, and she had her hands on my breasts, her thighs between mine, holding me open the way she'd done during that afternoon tryst with my father, at the model home at Corazon. She was inside me, too, in my bottom, and it felt hard, like a strap-on, except I could feel her throbbing with every beat of her heart. And then my field of vision expanded, the way it sometimes does when you're just waking up, just becoming aware of the world beyond your soft pillow and warm blankets. I could see the rest of the room, clear plastic sheets covering the whole floor, all the way to the white- painted cinder block walls. We were surrounded by men, naked men, strange men, faces I'd never seen before, at least a hundred of them. Krystle released one of my breasts and reached down between my legs, spreading my lips, rolling my clit between her fingers, exposing me to all of these men. As if on cue, they began to urinate, aiming their steaming streams of piss at my slit, wetting me, making me moan and writhe on top of Krystle's soft breasts. When one man was done, another would take his place, and the urine began to pool around us, collecting in the folds of the plastic tarpaulins. Then the piss became a thick white fluid, more like heavy cream than semen, great streams of liquid that clung to our skin, covering us. Krystle kept manipulating my button with her fingers, and I felt ashamed, that I didn't want these strange men to see me in the throes of an orgasm, but I couldn't help myself. She cooed in my ear, telling me to let myself go, and I did, feeling a tremendous climax take hold of my senses. The white fluid began to rise, a flood of milky liquid that rose past the men's ankles, and I began to worry that we might drown. * * * I woke up, looking around for the men, feeling my skin, wondering why I wasn't wet. David had slipped out of me, and was laying on his back. Quietly, I climbed out of his bed and picked up my towel from the floor, wrapping it around me. I grabbed the bottle of moisturizer from the bedside table and walked into the bathroom. Dry skin or no dry skin, I needed another shower. However, I didn't want to wake up David and Dana, so I wet a washcloth under the sink and cleaned between my legs, washing away the residue of the night before. Then I spread more lotion to my arms and legs; my skin had soaked up David's loving application like a dry sponge. Afterwards, I tiptoed into Dana's room and slowly laid down on the cot, trying not to make a sound. Soon I was asleep again, lulled by Dana's slow breathing. My father woke me with a kiss, kneeling next to the cot, his eyes bloodshot, a grayish pallor to his skin. "Wake up, sweetheart," he whispered. "We're already running behind." "Okay, Daddy," I said, sitting up on the cot. I'd gone to sleep naked, and as the sheets fell from my breasts he smiled. "I brought you a pair of hiking boots," he said. "They're Mia's, she's hardly worn them. Let me know if they fit." "Thanks," I said. He gave me a kiss on the forehead and left. "Where are you going, Annie?" Dana sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. "We're going camping, Daddy and me," I said. "Can I come, too?" "Sorry, sweetie," I said, sitting on the edge of her bed and hugging her. "It's just me and Daddy this time. Besides, you've got school today." "How long are you going to be gone?" she asked. "Just overnight," I said. "We'll be back tomorrow." "Okay," she said, disappointed. "I'll miss you." "I'll miss you, too." I kissed her on the cheek and rubbed her back through her nightie. "Can I ask a favor, Dana?" "What?" "I'd like to borrow a skirt. Is that okay?" "Yes," she said. "But won't it be small on you?" "That's sort of the idea," I said. "I want to give Daddy a little treat and wear one of your school skirts for him." "Oh, I see," she said, smiling. "My red plaid one has elastic on the waist." "Perfect," I said. "Thanks." We hugged again and I went to take a shower. The moisturizer had soothed my dry skin, and I knew that I wouldn't have another chance to take a shower until we returned the next day. Even so, I kept it short, and used lukewarm water, reapplying more lotion after I dried myself. I returned to Dana's room and packed some clothes, a pair of jeans, a couple of sweaters in case it got too cold, my white peasant blouse, and some underwear and socks. I tried on Dana's pleated skirt and Mia's boots. The skirt was a little tight around my waist but not uncomfortable. The hem was tantalizingly short, too. Mia's boots were just a little loose, so I changed into a thicker pair of socks. I folded the skirt and put it in my backpack, slipping on a pair of cutoff shorts and a sweatshirt, and hefting the bag on to my shoulders. Not too heavy, though I knew after a couple of miles it would feel like it was filled with bricks. I double checked the side compartment, making sure I had my diaphragm and jelly, as well as my toothbrush and hair brush. My father was waiting in the front hallway, an assortment of camping gear on the floor at his feet. He had a large backpack and a couple of sleeping bags. "Aren't we going to bring a tent?" I asked him. "We won't need one," he said. "There's an old shack where we'll be camping." My father strapped one of the sleeping bags to my pack, making it feel even heavier as it sagged on my shoulders, but he helped me tighten the padded straps, making the weight more manageable. He carried his pack and bag into the garage and we threw them into the back of Mia's Jeep. This was the car my father had sold her when she was still in college, and it had just over 10,000 miles on the odometer, even though it was a few years old. Then he opened the garage door and backed his Cadillac into the street, parking it by the curb before easing the Jeep out of the garage. I waited in the passenger seat while he drove his Caddy back into the driveway, and then we were off, heading downtown. "Where are we going?" I asked him. "I've go to stop off at the office and pick something up, then we need to stop at the store for food and water," he said. "No restaurants where we're going." We parked in front of his office building and he went inside, returning with a bulging manila envelope that he stuffed into his backpack. "What's that?" I asked him. "Just a little gift from Krys," he said, putting the car in gear. "Something to make our camp out special." We stopped off at a grocery store next, picking up cans of chili, pork and beans, bottles of water, instant coffee, some beef jerky, dried fruit, chocolate and granola bars, "camping food" my father called it. He put the heaviest stuff in his pack and let me carry the lighter items, like the jerky and the dried fruit. I noticed that he'd bought a couple of pints of Cuervo Gold, slipping them into the side compartment of his backpack. On our way out of town, we ate a quick breakfast at that truck stop where we'd eaten the day my father brought me into his office for a visit. Madge, that buxom waitress who knew his name wasn't working, but an equally stacked woman with a name tag that said "MARY LOU" on it served us. After breakfast and coffee, we got back in the Jeep and drove out of town, an hour on the highway and another hour on back roads, some of them unpaved ruts in the dirt. It was just after noon when we reached the trailhead, a patch of asphalt crisscrossed by dusty tire prints at the entrance of a shallow canyon. We parked in the shade of a stunted tree and shouldered our packs, walking past a faded "NO TRESSPASSING" sign and heading into the wilderness. The path we followed took us along the banks of a dry river, its bed a network of cracks and ruts. After about an hour of hiking, my pack began to feel like a bolder, so we stopped under a rocky ledge and took a breather. "Drink," my father said, handing me one of the water bottles. "How far are we going?" I asked him, taking a big gulp from the plastic bottle. "It's about four or five more miles," he said. "Couple more hours, with a bit of a climb at the end. You gonna make it?" "I'm fine, Daddy," I said. "Let's get going before our legs start cramping," he said. "We'll stop again at Shell Rock. That's not far from here. "Not far from here" turned out to be about forty-five minutes, the half- way point according to my father. We climbed up the shallow sides of the canyon, slipping on rocks and gravel as we tried to get a foothold in the rocky soil. Finally, we reached an outcropping of stone near the rim. I looked around, seeing the rest of the terrain for the first time since we'd parked at the trailhead, a hilly wasteland scarred by sharp depressions, the paths of other ancient rivers. Ahead of us was a range of purple hills and orange mesas. "Here it is," my father said. "This is Shell Rock, Annie." "Wow." It was a jagged boulder with a nearly flat surface on the side, upon which were the fossilized impressions of ancient shellfish, scallops and whorls and cones, preserved for millions of years in stone. I ran my fingers over the shallow indentations, tracing the edges with my fingers. "You've been here before?" I asked him. "My father used to take us here," he said. "Me and my brother." "I didn't know you had a brother, Daddy." "He died when we were still kids," my father replied. "Leukemia." "I'm sorry," I said, reaching for his hand. "Let's get going," he said, squeezing my hand. "I want to get a fire going before it gets dark." We walked on for another hour, reaching a footpath that wound up the side of a low mesa. That was an excuse for another break, more water and a granola bar for energy, and then we started up the steep and narrow path. After about twenty minutes of walking, climbing, and crawling, we reached a plateau, about half as high as the nearest hill, maybe a couple of hundred feet in diameter. There was a tiny wooden shack among the boulders and dead trees, its windows broken, the front door hanging on one hinge. "Here we are," my father said, dropping his pack in the shade of the shack. "What is this place?" I asked him. "Don't know," he said. "My dad said it had been built some time in the Thirties. Never knew why." I looked inside the shack. There was a hole in the roof, the only illumination. A pair of wooden bunks was built into one wall, the only furnishing save for the splintered table and chair that sat in a corner, broken up for firewood. The floor was littered with dusty beer cans, the old kind that didn't have a pull-tab, just the bent triangular holes of an opener. There was a straw broom leaning against the corner, half of the handle missing. While I started gathering the cans and sweeping the floor, my father collected dead twigs and branches from the mesa for the fire. By the time I'd gotten the shack as clean as it was ever going to be, the sun had started to set. I stepped outside and watched as my father got the fire going with kindling and a cigarette lighter. As the sun fell below the hills, the sky began to change from blue to a deep purple, the clouds in the western sky lighting up as if they were great tongues of fire, red and orange and yellow. It was the most spectacular sunset I'd ever seen in my life. I stood at the edge of the mesa and stared at the changing skyscape, and as the twilight faded into night time, the stars began to come out, more than I'd ever seen on the clearest night in Maine. The hills changed color as well, a more subtle performance than the sky, a spectrum of rusty hues that ranged from the bright orange of a fresh streak on the hull of a boat to the color of dried blood. As a lone cricket began to chirp, I walked back to the shack, the fire, my father. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said, taking a swig from one of the pints of tequila and offering it to me. "I've never seen anything like it," I said, taking a small sip. "Hungry?" "Yes, Daddy." Despite a quick snack of jerky and dried fruit after I'd cleaned the shack, I was starving. "I'll get dinner going," he said. My father pulled some of the stones that surrounded the campfire with a stick, arranging them in a small circle. He pulled a couple of cans from his pack, opened them, and placed them between the hot stones. A half hour later we were eating warm chili and baked beans off of aluminum plates with plastic spoons. He opened another couple of cans and we had second helpings, my father showing me how to use sand to clean a plate after we'd finished. We sat next to the fire and my father broke out the tequila again. He reached into the pack for the envelope that Krystle had given him, opening the metal clasp and fishing inside, pulling out a joint. He lit it with a twig he'd held in the fire, touching the glowing tip to the end of the joint. "I didn't know you smoked, Daddy," I said, as he handed me the joint. "Sometimes," he said. "Not so much since Mia got pregnant." "Are you happy about the baby, Daddy?" "Yes, yes I am," he said. "Why would you think I wasn't?" "I don't know, Daddy. I just have this feeling," I said, moving closer to him. "You've been drinking a lot, I guess..." "No more than usual...," my father said, "...but maybe you're right. I've been thinking about how hard it's going to be to make ends meet. I've been short of my sales quota for the last three months. Sometimes I think that if Krystle didn't like my cock so much I'd be back selling cars about now." "I'm sorry, Daddy." "Don't be, kitten," he said, putting his arm around me. "We really want this baby. I'm hoping business picks up this spring, when Mia's due and the bills really start rolling in." "I hope so too, Daddy," I said. He wrapped both of his arms around me and kissed me. We sat by the fire for a while, listening to the twigs and branches crackle as they burned, drinking tequila, smoking another joint. There was a chorus of crickets now, filling the night with their chirps and trills. "I've got a treat for you," I said. "Close your eyes." I ran into the shack and changed from my shorts and sweatshirt into Dana's plaid skirt and my loose white peasant blouse, slipping on knee socks and tying my hair into pigtails. The hiking boots looked a bit out of place, but I hadn't brought any other shoes. I snuck up behind my father and plopped myself in his lap. He opened his eyes and smiled. "Damn, you look so cute," my father said. "Let me take some pictures." I got up from his lap and he went to get his camera from the backpack, snapping photos of me, some with a flash, some by the light of the campfire. I pushed the cap sleeves of my blouse down, exposing my shoulders, lifted my skirt to flash my panties for the camera. I'd worn the undies that Jack had given me, the ones that belonged to Amber, even though the crotch was still stained with his semen. My father laughed when I hoisted the back of Dana's little skirt, exposing my bare cheeks and the thin strip of cotton that ran between them. He went through a whole roll of film and then put the camera away for later. "You look so pretty I could eat you up," he said, taking me in his arms. As we kissed, I felt his hands slipping under the skirt, squeezing my bare bottom as I pressed against the hardness in his trousers. I led him into the shack and kneeled on one of the rolled-up sleeping bags, unbuckling his belt and tugging on the zipper of his jeans. He took off his windbreaker and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it hang open as I pulled his boxers down his thighs. His erection popped out, quivering just an inch from my face. "You're so hard, Daddy," I cooed, wrapping my fingers around his thick shaft and kissing the tip of his cock, where a pearl of precum had formed. I didn't take him in my mouth right away, preferring to lick the length of his penis, bathing the meaty ridge that ran along the underside with my tongue. I nuzzled the base of his tool, feeling his pubic hair tickle my nose. He gasped when I licked the fleshy rim of his glans and swirled my tongue over the tip, finding his most sensitive spot, along the bottom, just below his cockhead. When I finally wrapped my lips around his cock, he sighed and stroked my hair, fingering my long pigtails as he began to rock his hips. My father's penis began to slide back and forth over my lips, and I ravished his hard meat with my busy tongue. "Fuck, yeah...suck it...suck that cock, kitten," he murmured. I moaned like a porn star as I gobbled his tool, stroking his shaft and fondling his hairy balls as my head bobbed back and forth. My father grabbed my pigtails and began to move his hips faster, fucking my face with his penis. I put my hands on his butt and squeezed his cheeks with every stroke, tightening my lips around his throbbing cock. "Here it comes, sweetheart," my father said. Of course, I knew he was about to come from the way his cock twitched in my mouth and his buttocks began to tense. I felt him stiffen between my lips, seemingly growing even larger than before, and then he erupted, filling my mouth with a gush of cum. I swallowed twice before the flow began to wane, feeling a warm drip of semen escape down the corner of my mouth. As he softened, I used my tongue to clean him, swirling it over the tip of his cockhead. Then I released him from my mouth, pulling down my blouse and using his wet glans to paint circles on my nipples, feeling them stiffen as they cooled in the chilly night air. "I gotta sit down," he muttered, parking himself on one of the sleeping bags. He pulled me into his lap and kissed me on the lips, tasting the lingering traces of his sweet offering. "I love to suck you, Daddy," I whispered. "You do it so well, princess," he said, wrapping me in his arms and holding me close. I put my arms around his shoulders and hugged him, feeling closer to him than I'd ever been. "Just like your mother used to." "Tell me about her, Daddy," I said. "Tell me about how you met her. Tell me about what it was like growing up here. I want to know. I want to know you." "Okay, kitten," he said. "Let's unroll the bags first and lay down together, okay?" We unfurled the bags and laid them on the floor of the shack. My father lit another of Krystle's joints and broke out the tequila again, and we stretched out on the sleeping bags, passing the joint and the bottle back and forth. Illuminated by the glow of a battery-powered lamp, he began to speak "My father sold feed and grain," he said. "There were more farms here back then, more cattle, the city was a fraction of the size it is now. He did a pretty brisk business. We had a nice house, a nice car, took long motor trips to the Grand Canyon, to Los Angeles, to the Rocky Mountains. Then my brother died, and a year later my mother, too. Freddy's death just broke her heart." "Freddy was your brother?" "Yes. My kid brother. He was only twelve." My father took another swig from the bottle, a sadness in his eyes. "After that it was as if my father just gave up. Like a light went out in his heart. His business went to hell, he was about to lose the house, and one day I came home from high school and found him in his bedroom, hanging from a noose he'd tied to the closet door." "Daddy..." I'd never heard about this, not even from my mother, and so far as I had known his parents were alive, living in California, though we never visited them, never heard from them, not a phone call, not even a card at Christmas. Now I knew why. He was ashamed about this, his father's suicide, even his mother's broken heart, a family torn apart by the death of their child. "After that I quit school and joined the Air Force. The Korean War had been over for a couple of years, but they were still drafting people into the Army. I figured hanging around an air base with a wrench in my hand was better than a thirty mile march with a rifle and a pack." "Wow, Robby is in the Air Force," I said. "Robby?" "A guy I met on the plane coming over." "Cute guy?" "Very," I said. "Go on, Daddy." I was laying on my side next to him, my hand under his shirt, tracing lazy circles on his back with a fingertip. "Where was I?" he said. "Oh, yeah. Air Force. They sent me all over the place, Missouri, California, Alaska, Guam, Maine..." "Maine?" "Middle of the fucking woods. Did I mention Alaska? Florida, too, probably the nicest place of all, and that wasn't saying much. I'll tell you, if you ever need to find a place that's a hundred miles from anything, go to an air base. Anyway, I got out three years later. I'd had enough. There was nothing keeping me here in Phoenix, so I took a bus to Florida. I liked the weather there, and I liked being near all that water. The ocean was a nice change of pace from the desert." "Is that when you met Mommy?" "Yeah, right after I got a place in Miami. I had some money saved up, what I hadn't lost in card games while I was in the service. It took me a while to find a job I liked, so I lived off of my savings for about a year. I met your mom at the bank. She was a teller back then. I'd come in every Monday to withdraw some cash for the week and I kept ending up at her window. We got to talking, and I asked her out on a date. She introduced me to this man who had an account at the bank, who owned a used car lot, and I got a job there. He was ex-Air Force, too, took a liking to me. I think she dated him once, but she never would tell me." "And then you got married?" "After we dated for a couple of years. Her parents didn't like the idea of her dating a high-school dropout, but they got to know me a little better. We drove all the way up to Chicago to see them for Christmas one year, and I proposed to her on New Year's Eve." "Daddy, that's so romantic." "It wasn't at the time. She was so surprised that she almost passed out. Then she started crying. Then she said 'Yes'." "It still sounds romantic, Daddy." "I guess. I was pretty scared, scared she'd say no. But we were married that spring and a year later we bought our house. Then we had you, princess. I should never have left. I still miss her." "I miss her too, Daddy," I said. "I dream about her a lot." "I dreamed about you, Annie," my father said, kissing my nose. "All those years when we were apart." "We're together now," I whispered. "I know, and I never want to let you go." He put his arm around me and held me against his chest, kissing my hair, nuzzling my neck. "Daddy, I've decided what I want to do." "Tell me, sweetheart." "I'm going to go to school in Boston this semester," I said. "I need to make up the year I lost, some of it, at least. But I want to come back here this summer, and spring vacation, too. I can decide if I want to move in with you then, okay?" "Okay, baby. Whatever you want to do is fine with me." "You understand, right?" "I do," he said. "I'd rather you never get on that plane back to Boston, but you have to think about your future. That's a good school you're going to attend, right?" "The best, Daddy." "And those people, Bradley and Helen, they're good people?" "They're wonderful," I said. "I love them, too." "Then that's what you should do, Annie. We'll be together about half the year, and that's more than I ever hoped for before you found me, princess." "Thank you," I whispered, kissing him on the lips. "Thank you for understanding." My tears began to flow, and he held me while I quietly sobbed on his broad chest, wetting his t-shirt with my tears. Then we drank a toast with the bottle of tequila, celebrating the fact that we'd found each other again, after all these years and all those miles that separated us. "Krystle gave me something for you," my father said, fishing through the envelope she'd given him. "Here." He pulled out a pair of panties, pink satin and white lace. They were crotchless, and tied on each side with white ribbons. I slipped off my dress and panties and put on the lacy undies, retying the ribbons to fit my slimmer hips. "Lovely," he said, kissing me, his fingers tickling my exposed cleft. "What else did she put in there?" I asked him. "This," he said, spilling the contents of the envelope out on the floor next to our sleeping bags. There was a vial of white powder, a small square mirror, and three more joints. I watched my father pour some cocaine on the mirror, reaching into his pants for his wallet, pulling out a credit card and a $20 bill. He chopped the cocaine with the card, using the corner to lay out two long lines. Then he rolled the bill into a tight cylinder and handed it to me. I held my hair behind my head and snorted one of the lines, half in one nostril, half in the other. As I handed the bill to him, I felt the rush hit me. I'd been exhausted from the hike and the climb up the mesa, but now I felt wide awake, wired. "We'll do the rest later," my father said, wiping his nose with his thumb and forefinger after doing his line. He lit a joint and we smoked half of it, just to take the edge off of the coke, and took another few sips from the bottle of Cuervo. "Kiss me, Daddy," I said. He put down the bottle and rolled me on to my back, laying on top of me and pressing his lips to mine. I sucked his tongue into my mouth, swirling over it with my own, as if it was a wet little penis. I felt him begin to stiffen inside his boxers, his hardness pressing against my thigh, his hips slowly moving back and forth. My father began to kiss my neck, my chin, my collarbone, tugging at the neckline of my peasant blouse, freeing my breasts. As he kissed my nipples, cleaning the dried sperm from them with his tongue, I pressed my sex against his leg, slowly humping his thigh. "Does my little girl want her pussy licked?" my father whispered. "Yes, Daddy." "Say it," he said. "Tell me how much you want it." "Please, Daddy," I cooed. "Please lick me." "Again." "Please lick my pussy, Daddy. Please..." "Okay, princess," he said, moving lower down my body, kissing my belly, his hands slipping underneath me to cup my bottom. He kissed my thighs and mons, and I felt his warm breath on my sex, getting closer, closer. "Oh, Daddy," I moaned as his tongue began to probe my lips, pressing into my wet slit, entering me. He began to lick me up and down, just barely grazing my pearl with the tip of his tongue before returning to my passage and probing it. When his tongue hit my clit again I cried "There! Right there, Daddy. Lick me there..." He lingered at that spot for what seemed like hours, licking and sucking my button as he squeezed my cheeks. I felt his finger take the place of his tongue at my entrance, slipping inside me, rubbing that secret spot on the top wall of my vagina. My body hadn't been numbed by the cocaine yet; quite the opposite. I felt ultra-sensitive, feeling every tastebud on his tongue, the whorls and lines on his fingertip. My pleasure churned inside me, and I pressed my sex hard against his lips, wanting to feel even more. "Oh, Daddy...oh, yes...yes...yes...yes..." It was as if lightning was coursing through my veins, making me cry out for him, making my arms and legs tremble and shake. I felt my climax approach, bearing down on my like a tropical storm, winds of desire and passion blowing through me. When it arrived, I felt like a palm tree swaying in a gale, writhing back and forth on the sleeping bag, with only my two fistfuls of nylon and insulation keeping me from being swept away in the wind. I was more than ready for him, and I sat up, pushing his face away from my cleft, kissing him, tasting my nectar on his lips. He knew what I wanted right then, no words, no begging, just a hunger in his eyes, a fire. He knew. I opened my thighs for him as he skinned off his boxers and stretched out on top of me. I reached down for his thick tool, guiding him to the entrance of my needy slit, feeling him press into me, opening me, filling me, laying on top of me as he began to thrust. I wrapped my arms and legs around my father, savoring the feeling of his body against mine, pinning me to the sleeping bag with each long slow stroke. He felt bigger than ever inside me, stretching my hungry pussy, his fleshy glans dragging over my sweet inner spot. The cyclone within me began to howl again, as if the pause between his tongue and cock had been the calm eye of the storm. The winds were stronger this time, the passion more intense, and I trembled beneath him, barely able to hear my own moans and cries. He nuzzled my hair and began to pump me faster, harder, seeking his own release within my spasming cunny. My father reached down and hoisted my legs up, over his shoulder as he began to pound my tender hole, his balls slapping against my upturned bottom. When he clamped his lips around one of my nipples and began to suckle, I came again, quivering beneath him, filling the shack with my cries of pleasure. I barely had enough control of my body to tighten myself around his pumping shaft, squeezing his beautiful daddycock, urging him to spill his seed inside me. "I love that," he rasped. "So tight..." My father gave one last thrust, burying his delicious tool inside my spasming cunny, and I felt him let go, his cock twitching and throbbing as he spurted his hot daddycum inside my cleft. My pussy made funny wet sucking sounds as he filled me with his semen, and I could feel it begin to drip down my crack and soak into the sleeping bag as his final thrusts slowed to a halt. He let go of my thighs, and I slid them off of his shoulders, pulling him against me, his broad, hairy chest pressing against my breasts. We kissed, nibbling each other's lips, our tongues meeting and becoming one. I wanted him to stay inside me, even sleep on top of me, but he had to take a leak. I wouldn't have minded if he let go inside me, that's how much I wanted him to keep his manhood nestled in my sex. The need to piss was too urgent to ignore, and he rolled off of me, leaving me with an empty feeling as his softening cock slipped out of my messy snatch. As he stepped outside to water the stunted shrubs next to the shack, I reached for Amber's cotton panties and wiped up some of the sperm that leaked from my slit. When he returned we laid together for a while, nestled like spoons, his sticky penis pressed against my bottom, his arm wrapped around my waist, caressing my belly, pressing his lips to my neck. I sighed and felt like I could melt into him, the boundary between my father and I becoming indistinct, as if we shared the same skin. We smoked the rest of the joint and finished the bottle of Cuervo, and though there was another pint in his backpack, we were both too tired to move. My father suggested that we share a sleeping bag, placing it on top of the other, a cushion against the shack's hard wooden floor. I found the strength to get up on my knees, helping him drag one bag on top of the other, unzipping it, getting inside. I could have fallen asleep on the floor, bag or no bag. My father slipped in behind me and pulled up the zipper, enclosing us in the flannel-lined bag. I pressed my bottom against his hips, feeling his penis nestle between my cheeks. He kissed my cheek and reached for the battery-powered lamp, switching it off, and then he wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me close. As I began to relax and drift off to sleep I felt a rumbling in my tummy, not hunger but the need to pass gas. The chili and beans we'd had for dinner began to affect me, and as hard as I tried not to, I couldn't help but let out a little fart, right on my father's penis. Almost immediately, it began to smell like there was a skunk in the sleeping bag with us. "Jeez, Annie," my father whispered. "You could have warned me." "Sorry, Daddy," I said. "It was your idea to have beans and chili." "Yeah, blame it on me," he said, laughing and kissing the back of my head. Then he let out a fart of his own, so loud that I thought the sleeping bag would start rippling like a flag. "Daddy!" I laughed. "That's awful!" I thought my fart smelled bad, but it was nothing like his. There was no point in holding back, so I let another one loose, right on my father's cock, and I felt him begin to stir. "Do that again," he said. I farted once more, and he began to harden between my cheeks. "Daddy...," I whispered as he slipped his thigh between my legs, pressing the tip of his cock against my nether lips, entering me, his cock gliding on a carpet of his own semen. "Princess," he murmured, his hands coming up to my breasts, cupping them, gently squeezing them, rolling my stiff nipples between his fingers. He fucked me slowly this time, gentle movements and short strokes as he took me from behind. I reached between my legs and felt his slick shaft sliding in and out of my cleft, my father's cock, his beautiful tool, his sweet stem. I didn't care if it wasn't the biggest penis I'd ever had inside me. It was my father's, and he could touch me in ways that no other man could ever hope to do. As he nibbled my earlobes with his lips, his breath a warm cloud on my neck and shoulder, I felt my pleasure begin to rise again, a feeling that rose with each beat of my heart, each thrust of his hardness. I began to rub my little button, using his semen as a lubricant, swirling my slick fingertip around my slippery clit, feeling my climax approach. It wasn't intense as the last one I'd had, but it was strong enough to leave me limp, like a rag doll in my father's arms. He felt my muscles contract around his cock and began to pump my cunny faster, seeking his own release. My father wrapped his arms around me, guiding my body back and forth on his thick shaft, using my flesh for his pleasure. I closed my eyes and surrendered myself to him; I'd gladly become a slave to his desire, to let him have his way with me, anytime, any place. I was his daughter. His blood ran through my veins, his semen filled my pussy. I was his, completely. My father let out a soft grunt, a feral sound, an utterance that wouldn't have been out of place in a cave a hundred thousand years before. I felt his cock begin to pulse, his glans swelling as he began to fill me with his cum, a hot gusher of cream that warmed my belly and seeped around his shaft to drip down my thigh. He kissed me on the cheek and relaxed his hold on my body, his thrusts slowing to a halt as the last drops of sperm oozed from his penis. "Stay in me, Daddy," I said, clamping my thighs together, trapping his softening penis inside me. "Forever, Annie," he whispered, kissing me again. "Forever and ever." "Thank you," I sighed, a contented smile on my face as I laid my head down on the sleeping bag, falling asleep as soon as I closed my eyes. * * * I was riding a horse through the rust-colored wasteland, a stallion, a mottled palomino. No reins, no saddle, nothing between me and the horse's scratchy hide but a fringed red loincloth cut from some animal's tanned and dyed skin. The movement of my mount's muscles reminded me of something sexual, but I couldn't quite place what it was. As in most of my dreams, that feeling of uncertainty would stick to the back of my mind like a burr. I held on to the horse's neck as we galloped between boulders and brush, the hills a blur as we moved swiftly through the desert, the warm wind caressing my bare breasts. We arrived at a place I'd never seen before, yet it seemed familiar all the same, a rock-strewn box canyon with steep sides. The horse slowed to a walk as we picked our way around the rubble, and then he stopped of his own accord, at a place where the canyon walls were dotted with caves and grottos. As he ducked his head to chew on some weedy grasses that grew on the canyon floor, I dismounted, patting his flanks, feeling the warmth that radiated from under his skin. There was the smell of a cooking fire coming from somewhere nearby. I sniffed at the air and followed it, my stomach rumbling as if I hadn't eaten in days. Then I spotted the smoke, wafting from one of the caves, a black hole about thirty feet up from the canyon floor. There was no path up there, just a rocky outcropping below the cave mouth. I began to climb up the rocks, trying to find a foothold in the crumbling stone, sharp edges scratching my hands and feet. I felt a wetness between my toes, my own blood, but I kept climbing until I reached the cave. He sat behind the fire, just beyond the reach of the shadows. His eyes were closed until he heard me approach, and then he looked up at me, holding his arm out and motioning for me to sit down on a woolen blanket across from him. We sat there, only the crackling of the fire breaking the silence. He had the high cheekbones of a Native-American, but his wrinkled skin and long hair were a delicate shade of white, almost translucent. I thought he might be a ghost, but his eyes were as red as the glowing embers. An albino. "Katsinme na'am hoomay aw hikwsut pu'aq," he said in a low, droning voice. "Katsinme homna'angwu." He reached into a pouch tied to his belt and poured a fistful of yellow cornmeal into the fire. "Pay katsinam piw yep itawuy taawiy aq hikwsuntiwisa." As he uttered a language I'd never heard before, two figures emerged from the shadows, two women, their skin the color of the hills, dressed in dark blue woolen cloaks. They flanked the pale man, squatting next to him as he spoke. "Pangso hak ahoy nimangwu," he said. "I'hakiy qatungwu'ata." I felt this must be some sort of ritual, sacred words, and I bowed my head in reverence, seeing for the first time that my blonde hair was now black, thick, with bangs cut low on my forehead. "Niqa apiynipa hik'wsi aniwtiqaa." One of the women stood up and came over to me, handing me an ear of corn, perfect, unblemished. She returned to the fire, stirring something in the pot that was suspended over the flames. "Pam hapi sutsep qatungwu." The old man threw another handful of cornmeal into the fire. It crackled, sending a cloud of smoke and orange sparks up to the roof of the cave. Now the other woman stood up, tying a string of turquoise beads and animal teeth around my neck. I looked up at her and saw that she had the sharp features of a man. She smiled, revealing some missing teeth, reaching out to gently caress my cheek. Then she returned to the pale man's side, sitting cross-legged on a folded blanket. There was silence again. "You bring the rain," he said. I heard drops begin to fall outside the cave, the sound of distant thunder. "Yes, Makya," I replied. I knew his name, and I didn't know how I knew. I just did. "I show you this, so you will know," Makya said, reaching into another pouch tied around his waist, sprinkling a copper-colored powder into the fire. There was another gout of sparks, green and blue this time, and I saw a room in my mind's eye, a bed, a carpeted floor, the body of a young man. I couldn't see his face, but there was something familiar about him, a memory of someone I'd known, though I couldn't remember exactly who it was. "Who?" I pleaded. "Who is he?" "He weighs on your heart," Makya said. "Tell me who," I cried. "When? Where?" "There is no when," he said. "There is only now." The woman who had handed me the ear of corn got up and stirred the cooking pot again, and then she ladled some of the contents into a gourd and handed it to me, along with a spoon carved from old silvery wood. Despite all the questions I'd had, the answers I needed, I was ravenously hungry, and I began to wolf down the food. It was a savory stew of beans, chunks of squash, kernels of corn, and some gamy, stringy meat. I used my fingers to scoop the last morsels from the gourd and looked up again, intending to ask for more. But there was no one there. They'd disappeared, leaving me alone with the fire. And then I was riding again, clinging to the horse's wet hide, the rain falling in big drops that turned the sandy floor of the canyon into a muddy quagmire. There was a flash of lightning and a second later a booming peal of thunder, and then I heard it, a wall of water, a flash flood pouring through the box canyon, coming closer, gaining ground on us. I spurred the horse on with my heels, urging him to gallop faster, to outrun the deluge behind us. * * * (c) 2003 Anais Ninja anais_ninja@hotmail.com http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/anais_ninja/index.html -- Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>| | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> | |Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+