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From: anais ninja <anais_ninja@hotmail.com>
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NNTP-Posting-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
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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.
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