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Message-ID: <48421asstr$1089184201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: myriad <myriad@shiveringnaked.org>
MIME-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} Morgan's Memories, part 1 (Mg, ped, inc, nc, viol, oral)
Lines: 270
Date: Wed,  7 Jul 2004 03:10:01 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

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.
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