Gender: Female Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: DON'T read this if you are easily offended|
I was shaking from the cold, the humiliation…and the fear. My father had caught me playing with myself in the bathtub, and he had snapped. After he had pulled me up by the hair so that I was kneeling in the bathtub, he had slapped and punched me until I started crying. Then, with a death grip on my hair, he had dragged me out of the bathtub and forced me to stand in front of the bathroom mirror. He made me look at myself, naked, soaking wet and freezing cold from the water he had just doused me with. “Take a good look at yourself, you stupid little whore,” he’d screamed as he shook my head to force my hair out of my eyes, “you’re disgusting! So now I know what you’ve been doing all day while I’m gone! You laze around like the ugly slut you are, while I’m working my ass off to provide for this family! Are you proud of yourself, whore? Are you?” And with that, he started hitting me again with one hand while he pulled my hair to keep me still with the other. I realized he was drunk; very drunk. He kept asking me if I was happy, if I was a proud whore, and telling me how ashamed he was of me. My heart was racing, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I kept slipping on the wet floor as a result of his blows.
He dragged me by the hair from the bathroom to the basement. I tried to keep up with him, but he was going too fast and was swinging me, so I kept slipping. So I was half-dragged down two flights of stairs naked, and thrown onto the basement floor. The heating vent was shut, so the basement was freezing cold, or at least it felt that way to me. The cold and the fear together combined to make me shake enough that I was feeling muscles twitch and jerk involuntarily all over my body, and I was covered in goose bumps. Dad kept screaming at me, hitting me, and kicking me as I scrambled pathetically on the floor to get away from him and to cover myself. “Whore! Dirty, stupid whore,” he screamed over and over, “I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!” Too late, I realized what he was doing; he had been shepherding me over to the far wall, where his weights were; I realized this when I rolled backward after a slap, right into his large barbell that sat on the floor. When I realized he was going to hurt me bad, I tried to get up and run—the first time I had ever tried to run. And that only made him angrier; he brought me back down to the ground with a sharp punch in the stomach that knocked the wind out of me. “Just you try that again, whore,” he spat, “and there’ll be one less dirty whore in this world. Try it again if you don’t believe me.”
I believed him.
“Grab the bar!” He yelled, and I obeyed. He grabbed my side and flipped me over, so that I was lying face up. He told me to not move or he would kill me, and he moved away to get some rope. I knew already that this wasn’t going to be good; he always wanted me face down, so that he could hit my ass, back, and legs. Never like this. I tried to think of how I could get away, but before any real thoughts could make it into my head, he was back and looping the rope around my wrists. As he pulled the ropes tight, I felt hopeless, as if I were watching my own coffin lid close on top of me. I couldn’t stop crying, couldn’t catch my breath enough to speak. He walked away and came back over toward me, carrying one of the heavy weights that weren’t already on the big barbell. I thought for a second that he was going to throw it on me, or smash my face in, but he set it down far to my side, and then brought the other one and laid it to my other side. “Daddy, I’m sorry…” I tried to apologize, when I saw the cold look in his eyes, the rest of the words caught in my throat. “You’re going to be a lot sorrier once I’m done with you, you dirty little bitch,” he said with an expressionless face. He grabbed my right ankle and pulled it over to the weight to my right, tied a rope around my ankle, and then around the weight, so that my leg was immobile because the weight was too heavy for me to move, even in a more advantageous position. He then did the same thing to my left ankle on the other side, so that I was practically doing a split lying on my back. Then he left the basement.
I lay there shivering, my head racing and unable to think, all at the same time. He was going to kill me. It would be his way to do it as slowly and painfully as possible. I started hyperventilating. That was why he wanted me on my back; so he could hurt my front bad and kill me. Oh god, help me, I prayed; please dear god, help me. If I had thought there was any possibility that Paul could rescue me, I would have nursed that hope for all it was worth, but there was no hope. By my panicked calculations, he wouldn’t even be home for a few more hours, but even if he were at home this very minute, he’d have no way to know I was about to be killed. He would never guess, because there was so much I hadn’t told him about my home life because it was embarrassing to me. Like this, I thought; if I live through this, I won’t be able to tell him about this, either…
Dad came back downstairs with something in a bag; I was torn between being relieved it wasn’t the knife I’d expected, and the fear over what it could be. He stopped on the way back over to me to pick up the thick leather belt from the wall; I started praying again, furiously as my heart pounded so hard that I thought it was going to jump out of my chest; so hard I could feel my pulse shooting painfully through my jaw.
Daddy stood over me, holding the belt looped in half in his hand. “What are you?” he demanded. I opened my mouth to speak, but couldn’t make any sound come out. “WHAT ARE YOU?” he screamed, raising the belt. “I…I’m…a…a…whore,” I choked. “Damn right you are,” he said as he knelt down to grab my hair again, “And I’m gonna teach you a lesson, whore. A lesson you’re going to remember for a long time. Do you want to learn your lesson, whore?” “Y…yes sir,” I stammered. I knew when he expected an answer, and he wanted one then. “I’m gonna teach you not to play with yourself, whore,” he said as he moved his face inches from mine, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “And when I’m done, you’re gonna thank me—do you understand?” I said I did. His eyes left my face and moved down my body, “What in the hell is that!” he yelled; I tried to look down, but he was holding my head too tightly. He turned back to glare at me. “What is the meaning of that?” “I…I don’t know,” I answered, not understanding what he was talking about. “Of that,” he said, raising my head so that I was looking down my body at the far wall. I couldn’t see anything amiss, and was careful in case this was one of his traps that he sometimes set for me. “Of THAT,” he screamed as he poked the side of my breast with his finger, “what is the meaning of that, you dirty slut?” I stared at him blankly; I didn’t know what to say. “Your nipples are hard, whore,” he said as he pulled my hair to make me look at him, “are you turned on by this, whore? Why are your nipples hard?”
“I…I don’t know,” I said as I started to cry. “You don’t know? You don’t know if you’re turned on?” “No—Daddy—I…I…” I stammered, trying to understand and explain, “I’m not. I’m not, really!” “Shut up, slut; I saw you playing with your nipples. You liked it, didn’t you? And now you’re letting your slut nature take over while I’m trying to discipline you!” “No, Daddy! No! It isn’t…I didn’t…I…” “SHUT UP, WHORE!” he screamed, “you should be ashamed of yourself, getting turned on by your own father like this, but you aren’t, are you? Well, I’m gonna teach you to be ashamed! And I’m starting with your dirty little whore nipples!” And with that, he dropped my head to the floor, and moved down; holding the belt with his right hand, he pinched my nipple with the other hand. “You like that, whore? You like that?” “n…n…no…no,” I managed to gasp out, “no sir!” He pulled my nipple up and started twisting it; “How about that? You like it yet, whore?” “No, sir,” I whined through my tears. “I think you do,” he said, “I think you like it, and you’re learning to be ashamed of your whore nature! I think you’re lying. Are you a lying little slut?” “No, Daddy…please stop,” I begged through sobs, “please stop Daddy, please!” But he put one hand onto each of my breasts, and started roughly tugging and twisting my nipples. I broke out into hysterical sobs from the pain and the humiliation, and he started getting rougher with my nipples, pinching the tips sharply, and slapping my breasts. “I think we need to teach these little slut nipples a lesson first,” he hissed, “do you want me to teach your little slut nipples their lesson?” “Oh, god, no…Daddy…” He cut my pleas off with a sharp slap on my breast. “Do you want me to teach your little slut nipples a lesson?” he demanded again. I tried to beg him again to stop, and he landed another stinging slap on my breast. I realized that he wanted me to say yes, and it was only going to get worse until I did. “Do you want me to teach your little slut nipples a lesson?” he screamed. “Yes, Daddy,” I forced myself to say to appease him. “Yes Daddy, what?” “Yes, Daddy, I want you to teach my little slut nipples a lesson,” I said as I gave myself over to wracking sobs.
Dad said that was much better, and set to his lesson. I screamed as he pinched my nipples hard, pulled them far out, then twisted them, and let them drop. Over and over he did it, as he told me how bad I was, how slutty, whorish, and lazy. He was pulling hard enough that my chest was being raised painfully off the ground; each pinch brought screams from my mouth that I couldn’t stop. He pulled my nipples up hard and high and twisted them back and forth more violently than ever, and made me admit that I was a dirty whore. I wanted to die from the embarrassment of everything. He threatened to get his pliers, crush my nipples, and twist them off if I didn’t admit that I was a whore with every pinch, slap, and hit. Over and over, he slapped my breasts, until they were reddened and painful. Then he stood above me with his belt and told me that with each lash, I was to say “I’m a dirty whore”, followed by the number of the lash. Then he landed twenty lashes on each breast. I know because I counted them just like he said to. By the time he was finished, I was gasping for air in between my screams.
“Now it’s time for us to teach that dirty whore pussy a lesson, isn’t it?” my Dad asked, “And you’ve been looking forward to it, haven’t you, baby slut?” I was too beaten to do anything other than what he wanted. “Yes, sir,” I answered, dutifully. “Yes, sir what?” “Yes, sir, it’s time to teach my dirty whore pussy a lesson,” I responded immediately so he wouldn’t hit me. “And have you been looking forward to it?” I didn’t know how to answer; “yes, sir…I mean…no!” “Which is it, slut? Are you looking forward to having your Daddy hurt your pussy?” I decided to try the truth first; “No sir.” “And why not?” “Because I don’t want you to hurt me,” I said tearfully. “Well, you should have thought of that before you decided to be a whore and an embarrassment to me,” he said, “because right now, I’m getting ready to teach you the errors of your ways, slut!” And he stood above me, facing away, and then to my horror, he knelt down so that he blocked my view—I couldn’t see what he was about it do, and I couldn’t move my hips to avoid anything he did! “You’re gonna learn, whore,” he said, as he slapped my wide open pussy with a sharp slap, “I’m gonna make you hurt like you’ve never been hurt before!” And he started slapping me hard with his hand; the blows landed all over my sensitive little pussy and my inner thighs. He made sure that I couldn’t predict where the next slap would land, and he also made sure many of them landed directly on my clit and on my tender inner lips. The pain was excruciating, and I started an uncontrollable howling that left my throat raw. Then he picked up the belt, looped it in half, and started hitting me right on my pussy with it. I screamed until all my breath had left my body, and still he kept hitting, the blows landing with sharp cracks all over my tender flesh. He may have been punishing me more for not saying whatever he wanted me to say as he hit, or for not counting, or both, but I couldn’t hear anything he was saying; my head was spinning with pain and lack of oxygen, and I couldn’t stop my own screams from coming, drowning out anything he might have been saying. He kept beating me with the belt, striking my little clit and lips over and over until I passed out from the pain.
When I came to, I was still naked in the basement, but I was tied face down to the large, overstuffed ottoman from the living room. Dad must have brought it down while I was unconscious, and had each of my arms and legs secured to a leg of the ottoman, so that I was stretched face-down across it. The ottoman’s fabric felt like it was sandpaper across my breasts; my nipples felt like they were on fire. In between my legs, my tiny pussy was aching from his beating. I could hear Dad behind me, doing something. I tried to pretend to still be unconscious to buy a little more time; the way he was, he would definitely save his torture for when I was awake. He wouldn’t want me to miss out on a minute of it. My little breasts and pussy felt like they were on fire, scorched through with a bright, burning sting that would not go away. I fought the urge to start crying again. It sounded like he might have also brought down the TV/VCR from their bedroom; I heard a whirring that sounded like a videotape playing on silent, and occasionally he would fast forward or rewind. At some point, I must have let too much breath out, or something that alerted him to my awakened state. He walked over beside me, and raised my head by pulling my hair. “Ready for round two?” he asked. I could barely choke out a whisper; “Please, Daddy…don’t…no…” But he ignored my pleas and let my head drop as he walked back behind me, out of my line of sight. I was afraid of what he was going to do; my arms and legs were pinned tightly, and I didn’t think I could survive another beating on my pussy; for all I knew, I was already bleeding and damaged beyond repair, and that thought filled me with new fear. What if he had just taken away the only nice feelings I had ever felt? What could I tell Paul? Despite my best efforts, I started to cry again.
“Oh, I’m gonna give your little whore ass something to cry about,” he said from behind me. “Girl, you’re gonna get a beating like you’ve never had before; when I hit you, you’re gonna admit that you’re a dirty whore, and ask me to hit you again. If you forget, I’m going to turn you over and push one of your Mama’s sewing needles into each of your nipples, and one into that dirty little slut clitty of yours, and two more into each of your little whore pussy lips. I’ll leave the needles in and turn you back over and we’ll start again, and I guarantee that you’ll remember what to say then—understand?” I said that I did, and he hit me on the back with the belt. “I’m a dirty whore, Daddy; hit me again!” I said, and he did. And I said it again, and he did, and again. And again. After about ten lashes, the strain on my back and legs as well as the pain from the earlier beating made it so that I was shaking, but he kept on for another ten, and with each hit I responded as I had been told. I was terrified that he would really use the needles on me like he had threatened—that might hurt enough to make you make a noise like I heard Mom make the night before. That’s want I was afraid of. That he’d done it before, and planned to do it to me as soon as I slipped up.
After he finished beating me, he stepped away and started talking at me while he did something back on the table behind me. I say “at” me because he had worked himself up to where he was talking really only to himself; he sometimes got that way during regular beatings that were bad ones. This time, he was just saying over and over things like, “I’m gonna teach that whore, she’s gonna learn…” and I figured he was getting something else to beat me with, like the insulated cable. I think I felt and noticed only the second or third drop of oil as it landed on my ass. I gasped in shock. “Shut up whore; you know you want it,” Dad said, and then added in a lower voice, “you want it bad, and I’m going to give it to you, you little slut…” I felt him spread my ass open with one hand and I felt something filling the crack of my ass; something wet and oily. Then he pushed the bottle of whatever it was up against my little asshole, worked the tip in a little bit, and he must have squeezed the bottle hard, because I felt the oil sliding deep into my ass! I protested, but he was back to ignoring me and talking to himself. “A little baby oil for the baby slut…” So it was baby oil—he was filling me up with baby oil! I started hyperventilating and crying again; he finally put the bottle down, and then he put a hand on each of my cheeks and stretched them apart, and I felt something else sliding around in my ass crack; I froze, unable to move or speak—I realized it was his cock! Daddy was going to put his cock into my pussy, or my ass! No! No!! Oh, god, no!! He is sick and mean, and I hate him, and I wanted to save myself for Paul! No! No!! I started to scream, but he kept pushing against my asshole with his cock, trying to push inside! I begged, I pleaded, I screamed, but he kept pushing, kept talking to himself. Crazy talking. Oh my god, I thought; someone has to help me! He added more baby oil, and then put his cock right back and started pushing harder. “Get it in there, baby…open up and take it all, baby whore,” he crooned dementedly. I felt a bolt of terror as I realized that my asshole was starting to open up—I could feel the head of his dirty cock pushing in, and I screamed at the top of my lungs as his cockhead started to open my asshole up farther and farther. And then I felt a shooting pain in my tiny sphincter, and I felt his cock’s head pop all the way inside. I was beyond pain, beyond humiliation, beyond thought. I howled endlessly as he began pushing deeper inside me. He leaned over my back as he pushed downwards, and said, “That’s right, baby slut; give it to your Daddy like he likes it—with you screaming!” I only vaguely realized that I was doing exactly what he wanted, but it didn’t matter; if I didn’t, he would find a way to make me scream. As it was, he didn’t need the help—his cock was only about two or three inches in, and I felt like my bowels were being ripped open; I couldn’t stop screaming if I had to. He murmured as he pushed harder to get inside; telling me that I’m a slut; a whore; I’m gonna be fucked like the whore I am, baby slut, scream baby slut…I felt like I was going to lose my mind. Nothing would stop him; I could feel him going deeper and deeper and nothing was going to stop him! I heard myself whining like a wounded animal as he pushed inside deeper; it sounded like I was listening to someone else, someone far, far away.
And then he started trying to pump his cock in and out of my ass.
I could feel everything—the pain was sharp and alive, and tore through my body. In and out. In and out. Each time deeper. And deeper. In and out. I was tortured by the understanding that my Daddy was going to be able to push his whole cock into me, and nothing was going to stop him. Nothing, and no one. Even if it killed me. In and out. Deeper and deeper. Over and over until I felt like my bowels were going to explode inside my body, in and out until I felt nothing but pain, deeper and deeper until his hips rested on my asscheeks. And my Daddy lay down on my beaten back. He was all the way inside me. All the way.
My voice was gone. All I could do was let out a whine. “Oh, yeah,” he said, his full weight pressing down on me, grinding my battered nipples into the ottoman, “that’s how my baby slut likes it, isn’t it? That’s what my baby whore wanted…” And he stayed on me, as if to rub in the insult, to prove to me that I couldn’t get him off, couldn’t get him out. He lay on top of me for what seemed like an eternity. I could feel his hard dick inside me, forcing my little bowels straight, stretching them out beyond capacity, pushing them into an unnatural position around his big cock, pushing up deep toward my stomach, filling me with pain. And then he started rocking his hips back and forth, and I felt his dick moving back and forth inside me in response, and it was poking around in me deep up inside, rocking right and left, like it, and he, was laughing at me. “You like it, don’t you?” he asked. All I could do was sob soundlessly. “I knew you liked it,” he said, happy with his own answer. And then he started pushing his cock in and out. It felt like I was being kicked in the guts, over and over. He raised off of me a little and started pumping in a steady rhythm. “Gonna hurt my baby slut’s ass bad…oh, yes I am…gonna hurt you, bitch!” he said, as he started to pick up speed.
The cramping that was welling up in my bowels was increasing by the second, making me shake and sweat. Waves of cramps broke over and over as Daddy drilled inside me harder and faster, until I was rocking on the ottoman so fast that I was afraid it would tip over. He put his hands on my back and pushed me down hard as he picked up his speed even more, driving in with a force that felt like a speeding car. “Oh, yeah…tight little baby slut…fuck it girl…fuck my cock…mmmmm…what a hot, tight little baby slut!” I wanted to cry, but I had run out of tears. My voice was gone. I couldn’t move. I could only stare at the floor moving back and forth in front of me, faster and faster. And harder. I could feel him in my ass, getting harder. And going faster. I was dripping sweat from the barrage of cramps that were shooting through my overstuffed bowels and he was only trying to hurt me more. I tensed as the cramps grew even fiercer, and I felt like I would have shit all over myself if his big cock wasn’t plugging my ass up. “Gonna tear you up, baby slut…uuuuhhhhhhh…” And I felt him fall on top of me, pushing his dick deep inside me, growling, and he stayed there. I felt his cock jerking, and I felt something hot deep inside me, and I realized that my Daddy had just shot his cum deep up inside my ass. Overwhelmed with disgust, humiliation, and pain, I could do nothing but stare.
“Oh, that was good,” Daddy said as he lay on top of me. His cock was still packed into my ass, but I could feel it going soft. He left it in me as he lay there, as if just to prove that he could, to prolong my total debasement for as long as possible. I felt dirty, like I would never be clean again; if my hands weren’t tied, I could have scratched off my skin trying to get the filth off. I could still feel his filth deep in my ass, and I wanted it out. It seemed to me that I could still feel his dirty, filthy cum as it slid and spread around up in my ass, making me just as dirty and filthy. I wanted to die, to stop thinking forever, because all I could think about was his mud up inside me forever, and all I could hear was my own voice saying “I’m a dirty whore!” Nothing could ever clean this dirt off of me.
No matter how hard I might wish it, Daddy wasn’t through with me yet. All I could do was stare ahead dully as he turned the ottoman around, leaving his dick in me the whole time; he steered it with both hands on the corners, pushing and turning it with his feet. His cock stayed in me especially because my swollen little asshole was gripping him hard; I could feel my bowels swelling up from his assault, and I could feel my father’s cock trapped in my ass, prying my inflamed asshole apart. To get the ottoman totally around, he had to maneuver it into a three point turn; I felt his cock pull out of me more and I prayed it would fall out, but he got the ottoman turned around, facing the table, all with part of his dick still inside me. I had been right; the TV/VCR was sitting on it, along with the remote, a six-pack, his cigarettes and ashtray, and a huge bottle of baby oil, almost half used. Rolling around inside of me, along with his dirty cum, I thought.
He reached over to the table and grabbed a beer. Then he grabbed his cigarettes and ashtray, and then the remote. I lay motionless underneath him, staring at the floor. I heard him open the beer and drink it, slopping drops on my back. He finished the beer and grabbed another one, opened it, and lit a cigarette. He set the ashtray on my back, and turned on the TV. He’s going to just lay there, smoking and drinking while he watches TV with his cock still in his daughter’s ass, I thought; this is insane. I could feel his cigarette burning my back as it sat in the glass ashtray, and I told myself I didn’t care. I tried to think of something nice, but I couldn’t tear my mind away from what had just happened as it replayed over and over again in my head, every graphic little detail vomiting itself back into my mind. My nipples were still stinging and throbbing from his abuse; all I felt in my little pussy was pain—my clit and inner lips felt especially swollen—a stinging, peeling pain that I could not ignore. My bowels and ass felt congested and as if they would be swollen shut if his limp dick wasn’t clenched in there. These thoughts ran through my mind as he lounged on me, in me, as he smoked and drank and the TV chattered away robotically. How long we lay like that, I don’t know.
Finally Daddy reached back over to the chair by the table and grabbed his white undershirt. He opened it up like he was going to put it on, and slipped it over my head, but left covering my head, so that I couldn’t see. “You’re too young to see this,” he laughed. I almost felt fear, but the filth and death I felt inside kept the fear from overtaking me. I was surrounded by the stink of him as I lay with my head trapped in his undershirt. I closed my eyes and prayed that I would die quickly, prayed for a heaven with Paul, and no more beatings. I wasn’t very sure that God would listen to the prayers of a dirty whore full of filth like me, but I hoped that maybe he would, and I begged him very hard to listen.
Daddy was watching a videotape. He had raised the volume, and I couldn’t tell what it was about, but it sounded bad. At first I thought he might have made a tape of what he just did to me, but different things were going on and different things were being said. I heard a girl screaming like I did, though. I heard something that sounded like the time he beat Mom down in the kitchen and kept kicking her in the stomach, making her back bang into the cabinet, but the voices were not his and Mom’s; it sounded like there was two men, maybe more. The girl screamed and screamed, and I could hear the bad men telling her she was going to “take it all” or she would be sorry. Maybe, I thought, they are fucking her in the ass like he did me. I “took it all” and I’m still sorry anyway, I thought to the poor girl; don’t believe them—fight and let them kill you before they kill you inside first. I could feel the tears starting to come again.
And then I felt Daddy reaching for something else. It had to be the baby oil. My suspicions were confirmed when I felt him pull back and start to drip it onto my ass. Now I felt fear again; as much as I hurt, I don’t think I could take it again. Oh, God, no, I thought, echoing the screams of the girl on the tape. I don’t want to die like this, in pain, like a beaten animal. No, no, please, the girl screamed on the tape as I screamed in my mind.
I could feel Daddy pulling on my little asshole, trying to get it to open around his cock so that he could flood me inside with more baby oil. It was only a matter of time, I thought with desolation, until he would win. He always won. I listened to the girl beg for mercy as the bad men hit her, probably with something, from the slapping sounds. Then Daddy won the battle with my little asshole, and I felt him pull it open and then more baby oil was pouring into me; it felt like he was emptying the whole bottle into my ass, though how much he actually used I don’t know. He let go of my asshole, and it slammed back shut tightly around his now semi-hard dick. I could feel him jerking the end of his cock that was sticking out of me, covering his cock in the baby oil, too. He started getting harder as the girl in the video screamed that whatever they had put into I guess her pussy or ass was too big. She screamed it over and over, and begged them to take it out, and that made Daddy get hard fast. He started trying to push the rest of his dick back into my ass as she screamed, but my swollen little hole wasn’t cooperating. He pushed harder and harder, and I could hear him saying “Gonna hurt you bad, you little bitch,” though whether he was talking to me or to the girl in the video, I wasn’t sure. The pain shooting through me as he pushed was almost unbearable; I heard a long, howling whine, and realized it was me when I heard the girl in the video screaming again, still begging the men to take it out.
Daddy used two hands to spread my cheeks wide apart and tried to push his cock back in that way. He was thrusting and grunting on top of me with what felt like all of his strength. After trying that way, he changed to longer, more painful thrusts as the bad men in the video made the girl open her eyes and look at whatever it was they said they were about to put into her ass. She started screaming, and begging them not to. So whatever they had been using on her must have been in her pussy, I assumed. Poor girl, I thought, we’re going to die together, I think. Daddy’s efforts were starting to pay off; I could feel his cock starting to slowly force its way back inside; he was asking me, over and over, “Is it too big, baby slut? Does it hurt? Does my baby slut want me to take it out?” I screamed, or tried to, through the pain as the bad men in the video told the girl not to worry, that they would make it fit. Oh, god, no, I cried with her, as I felt a searing pain tear through my bowels. Daddy had gotten all the way back in; he’d made it fit, just like the bad men would.
Just like the first time, Daddy lay full weight on top of me, leaving his hard cock motionless inside me again as I sobbed. Just to prove he could. I could feel every inch stretching my swollen ass; I could feel the tip of his cock poking me deep inside. The horrible cramping started again, but worse. I cried through my hoarse, dry throat, but my sobs weren’t even competing with the girl in the video; she let out one piercing scream after another as the men somehow made whatever it was fit in her ass, just like they had promised. Just like my Daddy was doing to me, I thought, and started to cry harder. Daddy must have wanted me to make more noise, because he worked his hands underneath me, and grabbed my little breasts up in his hands and squeezed, hard. I screamed in pain and went wild; I tried to get free of his hands and cock. I fought as hard as I could, screaming, thrashing as much as possible, trying to get away, but it was no use. My arms and legs were secured tightly, and I was stretched across the ottoman too firmly to free myself of anything. As I started to give up, Daddy began pumping his cock in and out of my ass again, driving waves of pain throughout my body. He squeezed and mauled my breasts again, and I tried again to free myself from him, to no avail. He moved his hands off my breasts and started pinching just the nipples, and the pain that shot through me from both ends made me scream and thrash with each pinch. More often than not, my thrashing to get away from his pinching fingers only resulted in his cock driving deeper into me than before, since my ass would raise up to meet his thrusts down. I could hear the girl in the video screaming with me; I could only imagine what she must be going through with two or more monsters attacking her. I cried for her, for me, as Daddy pounded my ass with all his might. I lost my voice from the screaming, and even though I could only hear a wheezing breath when I screamed, Daddy kept on pinching and pulling my nipples as he fucked my battered body.
One of the men in the video asked the girl if it felt good; she screamed, and I heard her get hit. The man asked her again, and she didn’t answer again, and got hit again. Girl, I thought, you had better say yes, or they’re going to keep hitting you! Finally she said yes, and the men started hurting her some other way, because she started screaming again while they called her a trash slut. Whatever they were doing was turning Daddy on, because he started pinching and ramming harder. He took his hand off one of my nipples, and pushed it under my belly as he worked his dick in and out of my ass. I heard the men in the video say to the girl that they bet she liked her nipples. I wondered dully if Daddy was hurting me in keeping with what the men were doing to the girl, but whatever they were doing to her, they were doing only to her nipples, while Daddy was bringing his hand to my pussy.
I tried to move away, I tried to scream, but I couldn’t. He was twisting my nipple and holding it twisted with one hand, and pushing my swollen clit with the other hand. The pain from my ass, clit, and nipple converged in the center of my body and every muscle in my body clenched in pain; I rose off the ottoman as much as humanly possible, stiff, tortured, and shaking. Daddy kept me like that by pounding deep into my unwilling ass, tearing past my clenched and swollen sphincter, kept me in that position by raking his fingers over my clit; I was in hell. My body contorted in pain, my muscles clenched and frozen, I screamed silently into his undershirt as he pounded into me harder and harder, and the girl in the video screamed in terror as the men told her they were going to do the other nipple next. A cold sweat broke out all over my body, and I heard Daddy yelling and grunting as he pounded my ass with more ferocity than I had thought possible. It crossed my mind that the men in the video might be hurting the girl like Daddy had threatened to hurt me. He was hurting me worse now, it seemed. I would have gotten off easy if he had just crushed my nipples with pliers and pulled them off. The agony ripping across my clit into my body was unbearable. Oh, God, let me die, I prayed silently as the girl in the video started shrieking again.
Suddenly, Daddy drove into me hard and deep, and I could feel his hot dirty cum pouring into my ass again. He fell on top of me, and I was pushed back down onto the ottoman. His hand was still on my clit, unmoving, sending a dull ache into me to compete with the sharp pain I felt in my bowels as his throbbing dick emptied into me. Daddy lay on me, immobile while the video kept playing. No matter how much I wanted to pass out, I couldn’t, which was to me further proof that God had forgotten all about me. I had to lie there in pain indescribable as I heard the bad men finish their cruel task on the girl; I had to listen, trapped under my Daddy as they decided the whimpering girl was able to take a bigger one of whatever it was into her pussy. I prayed for her and for me as I heard her scream as they pulled the first thing out. I think Daddy was asleep by then, but his slowly-softening dick was still shoved all the way inside me. I had to listen as they hurt the girl somehow, and then did something called “lubing up” the thing they were going to put in her. I lay there listening to them hurting her, making it fit, just like they promised, and she screamed and begged, but they didn’t care. They kept on going. Her inhuman screams filled the basement as I lay in a hell of my own. And I had to listen as the bad men kept working on her. Punishing her. At the end, I wasn’t sure if they had killed her. They might have.
Much later, after the horrible tape had ended, Daddy was still on top of me as he took the remote and turned the TV off. “How’s my little baby slut?” he asked. I had no way to answer; my throat was raw and dry from screaming. He pulled the undershirt off of my head, and I gasped for breath that didn’t stink of him. “I have one more punishment for you, baby slut,” he said. I felt like nothing he could do could possibly compare to everything else today, including the horrible video. “You’re gonna take your punishment whether you want to or not, baby slut,” he laughed, “but I’m gonna make sure you know what’s happening! I’ve already cum up in your ass twice, and I could tell you liked it. I could tell it fulfilled all of your little baby slut dreams! Well, you’re about to get a little something extra up in that tight little ass of yours!” And he started laughing. I felt something strange inside me; he can’t be cumming up inside me again, I thought; I’d seen Paul cum enough times that I knew it didn’t work that way…what could… “You like it, slutbitch?” Daddy laughed, “You like being my little slut to piss in?”
Oh my God, I thought as my skin crawled in disgust, he’s peeing up inside me! I could feel the burning liquid sliding deeper up in my bowels. I understood then that the hot discomfort I was feeling was his stream as it hit my swollen, damaged guts. I could do nothing but stare unthinkingly at the floor while I felt him fill me with his piss; it was too horrible to process. “I got a big load for you, baby slut; I know you like it hot,” he laughed as he emptied his bladder into me, “and since you’ve been such a bad girl, I’m half tempted to finish off this second six pack and give you another load in a few! Ha, HA!,” he shook with laughter as more hot pee ran deep up into my bowels, “I think I just discovered a nice way to watch TV for hours without having to get up for anything!” As he laughed, I could feel his stream ending. He was right; he’d peed a huge amount into my little ass. I could feel it making its way up my abused ass toward my stomach, sloshing inside me, and the weight of the liquid making tiny cramps start anew inside me as Daddy reached for another beer.
It hadn’t taken long for Daddy to finish off that second six pack. After he did, he had slept on me for a while, his limp dick buried in my brutalized ass. When he woke up, true to his word, he peed in me a second time. It felt like he was peeing the entire six pack into my ass. I could do nothing but cry silently as he did it. He talked to me the whole time he was doing it, gloating and laughing at my predicament. Telling me I loved it. When he was done peeing into me, I felt as if I would burst. He added insult to that injury by starting to talk about ways to hurt girls—girls like me, he said, like in the video—turning himself on again; as he was talking, I felt his cock growing, painfully, in my ass, forcing what had swollen up to open wide for him again. He came again after thrusting into me a few quick times, making sure to point out to me that my bowels were now packed full of his pee and cum. Packed full of your filthy dirt, I thought, as I felt him slowly pulling out of my ass. My whole ass, from the inner bowels to the outer sphincter, felt like it was swelling shut behind his cock as he pulled it out. “Be a good girl,” he said as he patted my ass, “or else.” And with that, he got up, left me tied to the ottoman, and went upstairs.
How long I was down there, I don’t know. I drifted in and out of sleep. Sleep filled with nightmares and pain. Each time I woke up crying all over again. I tried talking to myself in my head, telling myself happy stories, like I had done other times after a bad beating, but this time I was so overwhelmed that I couldn’t keep a story straight in my head, and would drift back off into a sleep overflowing with monsters and torture. Moments that I was awake, I was aware only of his dirty juices still packed tightly into my aching ass. I had tried to push them out even a little to get some relief from the grotesque feeling, but to my alarm, my tiny asshole refused to open even a little. My pushing and straining resulted only in having to endure the feeling of his foul fluids sloshing around as they trickled back up deep inside me, leaving me stuffed full of grime and filth.
After what seemed like days, Daddy came back downstairs with a sandwich and a glass of water with a straw. He didn’t say a word to me as he made me drink, then eat, then drink again. And then he went back upstairs. I slept for a while after that, and I dreamed of the girl in the video. I dreamed that Daddy was with a bunch of bad men and monsters, and they had killed her. They showed me her body, and when I looked, her nipples had been pulled off, and she was bleeding from every hole. Her eyes opened and she looked at me and shrieked, “You’re next!” I woke up gasping for breath, trying to run, but I was still tied down, swollen, stuffed, and aching. The basement was dark, and I was terrified. My heart was racing; I felt like some big, evil monster was going to come out of the darkness and tear me apart. I wanted to sleep because I was exhausted, hurt, and frightened. Sleep was an escape. At the same time, I was afraid to sleep because I felt like something might get me while I was asleep and also because I was afraid of what I would dream about. My eyelids stung, and sometimes I couldn’t tell if my eyes were open or not in the pitch blackness of the basement.
Much later, Daddy came back downstairs. I had been so scared down there that I guess I was sort of happy to see him. It was hard for me to understand, and harder still to explain, but I almost didn’t care about before, as long as he didn’t hurt me again; I just wanted to get out of that horrible, dark place. He didn’t say a word to me, he just untied my hands and legs and I guess I got confused, made a mistake, and tried to go back upstairs, and he pushed me instead to the bathroom. It’s a difficult thing to explain, but I guess you can get used to anything after a while. I had gotten used to what was in me, or maybe I just wanted out more; I don’t know. I did what I had to in the bathroom with no small amount of pain. The light hurt my eyes. I think I would have cried, but my eyes were too tired. I tried to make sure I cleaned up ok, but did it by feel; I didn’t want to look at myself. I felt almost like if I didn’t look at myself, then it wouldn’t be real. I felt kind of embarrassed when I came out. I was embarrassed because I was naked, because of what had happened, because I had forgotten to go to the bathroom, because he probably knew what happened when I went into the bathroom…because of everything. Because now I was a dirty whore.
When I got back upstairs, I made other mistakes. I didn’t mean to, I just couldn’t think straight. I hoped neither of them was angry at me. I felt like everything was in slow motion, or maybe it was just me that was in slow motion. I heard Mom in the kitchen, and I thought I was supposed to go in there and make dinner, or start cleaning, I wasn’t sure. But it was supposed to be me in there instead of her. At least that was what I thought. I wasn’t sure what the rules were anymore. I started to walk toward the kitchen, and Daddy pushed me toward the stairs. I went up, and he went up right behind me. When I got to the top, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do again, so I stopped. He pushed me toward my room. It occurred to me that I was being what he called “difficult”. I didn’t mean to. I hoped he knew that.
When I got into my room, even though I was trying not to be difficult, I stopped again. Things in the house usually followed a set schedule, but nothing was like it should be, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to be doing anymore. Daddy pushed me over to my bed, and I stood there, looking at the floor, waiting, trying to figure out what I was supposed to be doing. He stood there, and I could tell he was looking at me, and I figured he was getting angry that I wasn’t doing what I was supposed to do, and I figured he was about to hit me, but I just couldn’t snap out of the fog I was in and start thinking. He finally got tired of waiting for me to do something and pushed me on my bed. I didn’t know if I should sit or not, but he had pushed me so that I was sitting, so I sat. I couldn’t look at his face to see what he wanted; my eyes were locked onto his bluish grey pant legs, just above his shoes, and I couldn’t get them to move. He pushed me back onto the bed, and I just lay there, looking at my nightstand, staring at the little tiger lamp, with the stuffed tiger at the base. My eyes wouldn’t move, and my mouth wouldn’t either. It was like they were too comfortable to move. Daddy unfolded the afghan from the foot of my bed and put it over me, and then started to walk out. He turned out the light and out of the corner of my eye that was still locked onto the tiger lamp I could see him turn around, backlit from the light in the hall. He told me that he’d made it so that my window wouldn’t open, that my door now locked with a bolt from the outside, and if I woke them up or caused a problem, I would be sorry. In my mind, I said ok. He closed the door, and I could hear the new bolt slide into place. I lay there, staring at my tiger lamp in the dark.
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