Message-ID: <48421asstr$1089184201@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <myriad@shiveringnaked.org> X-Original-To: ckought69@hotmail.com Delivered-To: ckought69@hotmail.com From: myriad <myriad@shiveringnaked.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <Pine.LNX.4.58.0407061915320.22170@balrog.dreamhost.com> MIME-Version: 1.0 X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Tue, 6 Jul 2004 19:25:56 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} Morgan's Memories, part 1 (Mg, ped, inc, nc, viol, oral) Lines: 270 Date: Wed, 7 Jul 2004 03:10:01 -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/Year2004/48421> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: hoisingr, newsman This is my first attempt (in years, anyway, and my first serious attempt) at writing erotica. I'd love lots of good criticism. I expect this to be the first part of a series of my memories - it's a true story, with little details fudged. I'm thinking an autobiography through porn might be very intersting. ^.^ So please email me (myriad@shiveringnaked.org) with any comment, however small! This is copyright me, all rights reserved and etc. Although this story is not fictional, all events should be treated as allegations only. Don't read if under 18. Etc. ---------------------------------- It's so hard to fall asleep, lying in bed tossing and turning. The sheets are twisted and damp, tucked between my legs. My mind wanders, and sometimes I find myself thinking strange thoughts, telling myself stories. Things that could have happened; things that might have happened; things that never happened. She has a natural resistance to cleaning up tinkertoys, so she throws a fit when Daddy insists on a clean room. "Noooo!" she wails, working herself into a sweaty, runny-nosed tantrum, pounding her fists in the mounds of toys about her. "Won't!" "Morgan, I'm not asking, I'm telling you," Daddy says, wiping a brown hand through his thick, curly black hair. "Do it quickly and we'll have time for a story before bed." Morgan pouts and squeezes a few more tears out of big, watery brown eyes, more for show than anything. She knows when she's lost a fight. It doesn't mean she has to give up gracefully though. She is throwing green and purple wooden sticks into the canister with all the force her two-year-old arms can muster. She hopes he feels sorry for her, big mean Daddy that he is, when she is just like Cinderella, burdened with all the work. It goes pretty easily after all, though, especially since Daddy is bending down and helping her. Slyly she cleans up slower and slower until he is doing all the work, sweeping many pieces at a time capably into the bucket. Soon he is done and places the bucket on the shelf, then turns to Morgan. "All right, bedtime. Let's go brush your teeth." She runs into the bathroom, one sock loose and trailing underfoot, and reaches up to the counter. Daddy lifts her up and squeezes toothpaste onto her little brush. She is proud of being able to brush her teeth all by herself and finishes up, letting Daddy wash her face. He herds her into her bedroom and they stop in front of the bookshelf. So many choices. She pulls out a Berenstein Bears book at random and scurries over to her narrow twin bed. I tug on my sheet, feeling the pull across my chest and against my thighs. I strain ever-so-slightly against it, resisting sensation, craving real touch. Thoughts of unfinished English homework bump around in my head, gently trying to derail the train of the story. Things were so much simpler when I was little. Daddy perches on the bed, and Morgan edges toward the window to make room for him. He places a hand on the top of her head as he reads. She doesn't try to look at the pictures, just looks at the ceiling and imagines the cute little Bears, learning lessons about manners and going to school, talking to other little bears, playing all sorts of games in the woods. Their life seems so glamorous to Morgan, so full of experience. She can't wait until she's old enough to go to school, too. For now, Daddy takes care of her when Mommy has to go work at the restaurant, which is practically every night. As he reads, Daddy brushes the hair back from her face, rubbing his thumb across her cheek softly and absentmindedly. He moves his hand to turn the page every couple of moments, and sometimes puts his hand back on her head, sometimes just under the cover on her slightly-chubby chest or stomach, always moving slightly, smoothing back and forth across her skin. She tries to tug the blanket down around her better, but he is sitting on it and so she just does her best to concentrate on the Bears. "The end," Daddy says, closing the book with a soft thump and setting it on the shelf next to him. My hand rests conspicuously on my thigh, and I feel dirty. I want the story to stop, the book to be shut, sleep to envelop me. I want to be normal and make friends more easily, I want the girls at school to stop teasing me and suddenly think I'm cool. But my hand creeps up my thigh, and the story is relentless. He leans down and gives her the standard bedtime kiss-on-the-cheek. Morgan closes her eyes and tries very hard to look sleepy, because this is a critical juncture. Often Daddy just goes away; if she's really lucky he'll leave the nightlight on. But Mommy is working late tonight, and Daddy follows the first kiss with one on the lips, tucking his tongue subtly into her mouth, sucking on her tiny, rounded lips. "Night, Daddy," she murmurs desperately, but Daddy responds to that with a barely audible laugh, and stealthily swings his feet up onto the bed, hugging Morgan close to him as he leans down beside her. He tickles her a little and she squirms, wishing she knew some magic words to make him go away. His fingers are big, almost as big as her wrists, and they travel down her tummy to the part of her body that a diaper no longer covers. Morgan is proud of being able to go in the potty, even though she still wets the bed sometimes, but tonight she wouldn't mind having the safety and security of her diaper around her hips. She whimpers and tries to turn away, but Daddy's hand is firm and his whisper is sharp with authority, "Be still, Morgan. Be a good girl." It's in the open now, no longer stealthy or masquerading as tickles or affection. Daddy licks his finger and rubs the outer lips of her baby cunt, prodding unquestionably, brushing against her asshole now and then. She whimpers again in fear but Daddy doesn't even hear her now, he is murmuring to himself. "Goood girl, such a little girl, my little, little cunt..." My finger rests lengthwise on my vulva, feeling the wetness gather. I leave it there as long as I can stand, but my breathing is coming faster now and I can't help it. I have to touch myself, I'm burning. I dip my finger in, brushing my labia, and soon I am rubbing slow circles around my clitoris, moving my legs against each other just to feel skin on skin. It shouldn't turn me on. But it does, oh, it does. "Get ready," Daddy says and he spits on his two fingers, working the saliva into Morgan's tiny hymenless opening. Her cunt is rather red and feels sore already, so when Daddy suddenly pushes his index finger inside, to the second knuckle, the pain is enough to bring silent tears to her eyes. At least he spit on it, so the finger moves back and forth without making it hurt worse than it already does. At first he moves it slowly, but soon he is excited and his other hand drifts towards the tent in his robe. Morgan squeezes her eyes shut. He slides his finger in and out faster. When he removes the finger and brings it up to his nose to smell, she crosses her legs tightly, in the hopes of discouraging him. But he is angry when the hand returns, and he slaps her cheek roughly. "All right, *mi putita*, do as you're told." With that, he shoves her legs apart (easily, too - why did she bother putting up a fight?) and starts fucking his finger deep into her. He's got a really rough rhythm going and it feels like being in her tricycle, going over a really bumpy road, at about 90 miles per hour. His hand is so strong that he has to use his other elbow to pin her body in place; soon he slides another finger in and then it really hurts and she starts to cry in earnest. He ignores her and pumps his two fingers in and out. They can't go up very far, but he stretches and tugs to make room for them. She knows why. She knows what is coming next. Morgan quivers in fear, her thumb creeping into her mouth. She tucks her green-and-white checked baby blanket under her arm, holding one of its bits of yellow yarn between her fingers. But her grip on the familiar won't protect her. Her Daddy is fucking her with his fingers and it hurts so bad and there's nothing she can do about it. Tears fill her tightly shut eyes and trickle down her cheeks into her ears. I shut my eyes and pump three of my fingers desperately inside of me, imagining how it must be to be almost-three and have my vagina stretched wide as it could go, wider. My fingers feel so good and even though I want to stop, it's way too late for that. I tickle my clitoris with my thumb. Daddy took his fingers out of her and Morgan felt a momentary relief, breathing shudderingly, trying to calm down. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand as he shifts in the bed. But all too soon, as her tongue brushes her shuddering lips, she feels something else brush against those lips from the other side. Something sour and hot and insistent. "Open up," he demands. She has to open her mouth anyway to breathe, since her nose is running. But she tries to hold her breath and is rewarded with a slap against both cheeks by whatever is by her mouth. She opens for a breath and in it comes. It feels huge, like the Empire State Building, and already sweaty with a sour taste. He doesn't ask her to suck on it. Maybe he knows better. He just holds her head and thrusts his penis as far down her throat as it will go. A kind of frantic, gulping, teary panic overtakes Morgan, as she struggles to breathe through her stuffy nose. She can't think of anything. His knees are pinning her down on the bed and she has absolutely no escape route. She wishes for oblivion, but she must remain incredibly alert to keep getting air into her nostrils. So she can't help feeling every bump on the hard, hot skin, every thrust, and she gags and gags with the slimy feel of it in her throat. Pubic hair tickles her chin. It doesn't last too long, maybe a minute or two. But it feels like an eternity. Daddy must know how hard it makes breathing, and how it's impossible to breathe when it's way deep in her throat, because he always stops after a little while. Morgan opens her eyes for a second and sees his brown-purple cock looming large in her face, licked clean and almost shiny, in the dim light from the window. I suck my pinkie absently as I swirl my fingers around. I alternate rubbing myself with the heel of my hand, which feels hot and sweaty and hard, and sticking my fingers back inside of me. I am frantic with burning shame. No wonder my Mom yells at me so much. No wonder no one likes me. I must be really sick. Daddy rubs her body all over for a second while he catches his breath. Morgan gulps air and tears and waits the indeterminable time until she is alone again. He isn't done, she knows that. If he were done she'd be covered in white glue. She grabs hold of the bed and waits, full of fear and trepidation. Sure enough, Daddy spits on his fingers again, and wipes the spit off on her cunt. Then he moves downward, and presses the head of his giant grownup cock against her tiny hole. Time seems to stop as he lingers there. Morgan can see his teeth through his strange half-smile. He rubs the head of his cock back and forth a little, then starts to ease it into the impossibly small opening. You wouldn't think it would stretch that far. Morgan hates this part so bad, it hurts worse than anything she can imagine. She stares at the hair on Daddy's chest. Slowly but surely, it is going in. First her cunt stretches and stretches and when it can stretch no more, a sore red part tears a little and starts bleeding. At that point, Daddy just shoves himself in as far as he can go, and Morgan screams. I shriek a little, just really soft under my breath, with the force of my imagination. I don't see or hear anything, I just feel my hand moving inside of me, four fingers now. I wonder if I could fit any more than that. Even with four fingers it's hard to get them very deep inside me. With my other hand I alternate between my small developing breasts, and my clit. After the blood comes it doesn't get any worse. Maybe it even gets a little easier. Daddy lowers himself to lie on Morgan, still supporting himself with his hands, and moves his cock back and forth inside of her. Every time he pushes it back in it feels like it is ripping again, but it isn't. Morgan has to turn her head to the side under his big sweaty hairy chest, and it is hard to get air. The breath she is able to get is hot and tastes like his cock in her mouth, salty with sweat. At first he rocks back and forth kind of slowly, so that Morgan is able to brace herself a little before each thrust. But then he starts to groan and move faster, his hands all over her body: on her little asscheeks, playing with the opening there, on her face, on her side or lifting a little to pinch her flat chest. He is in his own world and even when she screams in pain he doesn't seem to notice, just fucks her harder. He is nearly lifting her off the bed with his humping now. He lifts her legs up around him and the angle of that makes the pain worse. Finally, he seems to be breathing quicker and quicker - I gulp in air a mile a minute with a soft moaning - He shoves himself in even deeper, not to the balls but certainly as far as he can possibly go - I rub my fingers and thumb hard in the space just between my clit and my vagina, dipping the fingers in slightly at the bottom of every stroke - And he grunts forcefully, making her insides wet and slippery, and her thighs sticky. He collapses his full weight onto Morgan, nearly suffocating her. But it's over. I go faster and faster until finally, gloriously, I shiver and writhe with the sheet, coming as hard as I can remembering coming. Daddy lies there a minute or two, breathing heavily, and Morgan feels squished and bruised all over. When he has caught his breath, he pulls out of her with another little grunt, and disappears into the other room for a minute. He comes back with a hot washcloth, saying lazily, "Clean it up, Morgan. Don't let any blood stain the sheet or your Mother will kill you." This is a ritual too and she scrubs frantically, until all the red is on the washcloth and the sheet is only slightly pink. Daddy takes the washcloth and leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He doesn't even remember to plug the night-light in. Morgan cries herself softly to sleep, hugging her blankie close. As I bathe in the afterglow of my orgasm, I wonder why there are tears on my face. -- 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}| +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+