Did you ever wonder what her father did to deserve being left to die in the blowing winds of an Oklahoma tornado? Well, now you know.
There's Not Enough Rain In Oklahoma
Author's Note: This story is about the brutalization of a young girl by the one man who should willingly give his life to protect her. In the end, it's not willing, but he does give his life.
"So, where were you last week?"
Tara turned at the familiar voice; Amy, her friend and classmate joined her on the sidewalk near the front of the high-school.
"I was sick; daddy made me stay home.”
An approaching storm cell had caused the principal to cancel classes for the rest of the day so there was nothing to do but head towards home; their houses were in the same direction, only a few blocks from each other.
"I'm better now."
Their brief walk time was spent in comfortable silence. They'd known each other since that first day of Kindergarten when small children instinctively search for that one other person in the crowd who was as lost as they were. On that day they had found each other, and on almost every day in the decade since then, so a constant chatter wasn't necessary.
"Can you believe that they canceled classes?" Amy asked abruptly, "That never happens; this storm must be a big one. They say that there may be tornadoes all this week. You may want to stock up the storm cellar; you know your daddy won't think to do it."
A smile played across Tara's lips and she nodded at her friend's suggestion.
Amy's house was the closer of the two and she paused as they approached the classic white-picket fence that surrounded her front yard; her face showed her concern as she touched Tara's arm gently.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
Tara nodded without saying anything and slipped away from her friend’s comforting touch. She resumed her short journey to the house where she lived; it had stopped being her home many years ago. Amy continued to watch her friend until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight; she could feel deep in her bones that something was terribly wrong, but nothing in her fifteen years had given her what she needed to help her friend. She decided to trust that God would protect, and went inside to help her family prepare for the approaching storm.
Tara enjoyed the way the leaves blew around her feet and the smell of smoke from her neighbors chimneys. It wasn’t smart to have a fire going during a tornado warning; she hoped that her neighbors had doused the flames. As she walked, her skirt swirled upwards many times; there was a time that she would have been concerned that her panties might become visible, but that time was long past.
She entered the house; the smell of stale alcohol permeated the air. She saw her father passed out on the ratty couch; empty containers of cheap whiskey and generic beer littered the floor near his outstretched hand. He called them ‘dead soldiers’. He snorted and turned over in his alcohol drenched sleep. She stood and stared at him and remembered.
Her momma had been dead for months; the pick-up truck that had been the instrument of her pain-filled end was found a mile away the morning after she was killed; it had been set on fire so there was no evidence to be collected from inside of its burned out hulk. The police did their best, but its driver was never identified.
It was late at night when he came into her room that first time; she was in a deep sleep but woke when his hands slid under her nightgown.
"Daddy? What are you doing?"
He ignored her words and continued to run his hands across her stomach.
"Your skin is so soft." He mumbled to himself.
His eyes were clouded by drink. Her fear grew as his hands slid up and found her nipples; even at fourteen-going-on-fifteen, her breasts were almost non-existent, they were there, but that was all. He played with them until he passed out and slid to the floor. She clutched the blanket to her chin and watched him carefully the rest of the night. She was dressed and out of the house before he woke up the next morning.
Things continued along that line for several weeks; he'd get drunk and stumble into her room at least two times a week; in the beginning he wouldn't always touch her, but the incidents became more and more frequent as the time passed. Several months passed before he pulled her panties down the first time.
It was after midnight; his hands roamed over her skin. She was numb to his attention by this time; before her mind could comprehend that things had changed, he hooked his fingers and her underwear was down below her knees. She screamed, "Daddy!" and reached for them. He slapped her face hard and she reared back in pain. He pulled her legs apart and forced his face between them.
She trembled as she felt his tongue slide between her nearly-hairless pussy lips; he licked her for more than an hour, running up and down her slit and sucking hard on her clit. Even through her mounting fear, she couldn’t help giving into the pleasure of his mouth as it worked on her pussy. Her moans of pain and terror turned into cries of ecstasy as he brought her to several bone crunching orgasms. She felt shame at her body's betrayal; the next morning she showered until long after the hot water ran out.
It became an almost nightly ritual; he's drink, find her room and use his mouth to bring her to orgasm after orgasm. He never spoke to her when it was happening; it was like he was in his own world after darkness fell.
She knew that something was different the night that it got worse; it was months since he'd first touched her. He stood in the doorway for a long time instead of stumbling into her room. They locked eyes and he slowly walked towards her. His gait was steady; he hadn't been drinking as much that evening. For the first time, he unbuckled his belt. Her eyes grew wide and her mouth opened in shock as his limp cock flopped into view.
His hand shot out and grabbed her hair; she jumped and a scream yipped from her mouth. He held her still for what seemed an eternity before he slowly brought her face to his groin. The look in his eyes told her what he wanted; her terror made her comply without hesitation.
The head slipped past her lips and she sucked on it like a bottle. He pulled her closer and more of his member fed into her mouth. He grew hard as her tongue licked the shaft and ran around the head. He grunted and her mouth filled with his salty, slimy cum. She froze as he continued to pump and shoot his ooze onto her tongue. He said one word, "Swallow." She gulped and his cream slid down her throat; she gagged but forced it to stay down. When she'd swallowed his entire load, he let go of her hair, turned and strode from the room. She slipped into the bathroom and threw up into the toilet; by the next week, she was able to swallow his cum without vomiting later.
He'd stopped drinking for the most part; she came to wish for the nights that he did get drunk because it was the only time he used his mouth on her pussy. Months after the first blowjob, it got worse again.
He was sober that night, but he still pulled her panties down; she was confused. He stood back with her undies dangling from his fingers and said, "Strip." The look on his face allowed for no argument. She quickly pulled her nightgown over her head and set it on the bed next to her. His eyes roamed up and down her torso, taking in her ‘A’ cup breasts and making her feel dirty. Her nipples crinkled hard from the slight chill in the room. She spread her legs without being told and his eyes locked on the soft tuft of blond hairs that covered what should have been her most private of places.
He walked over and stood in front of her; her hands automatically went to his pants and had his cock out in moments. She leaned forward and sucked on him until he was completely hard in her mouth. She was surprised when he pushed her off of him and onto her stomach. She knew better than to protest; a new terror shot through her when she felt his hands on her ass. She whimpered as he spread her cheeks wide and his breath puffed against her asshole.
He shifted and she felt his tongue run down her crack and force its way into her back passage. It felt good to her and she moaned when his thumb found her clit as he continued to force his spit into her anus. She was unprepared when he suddenly shifted and his cock stabbed into her. The head and half of his shaft were deep inside her asshole before she knew what was happening. He shoved her face into the blanket as a howl of pure agony tore itself from her very soul.
It felt like he'd jammed a sword into her ass; he only pumped a few times before his cum squirted deep into her. She felt each pulse as it ejaculated from his cock; once, twice, then a third time, he continued to stab her anus long after the last of his cum was inside of her. His cock stayed hard and he kept raping her; when she stopped screaming, he let her head up. She gasped air into her lungs and lay in agony until his cock pulsed and fed a huge load of semen into her asshole a second time.
She stayed home from school the next day; she spent all morning shitting cum and blood into the toilet. When the teacher asked why she was absent, she told her that she got her period but they couldn’t afford to buy sanitary napkins until her daddy got paid that morning. The teacher shook her head in sympathy and let it go.
She looked up anal sex on a computer at the public library and found out how to minimize the pain; the next time he forced himself into her ass, she pushed out like she was taking a shit and he slid right in. He grunted in satisfaction and fucked her balls deep three times before he left her that night. He didn't always rape her asshole; sometimes he would still fuck her mouth until she swallowed his load. He began to drink heavily again and would suck on her pussy when he couldn't get it up.
Raping her asshole satisfied him for the rest of the year; then came the next level of horror, on the eve of her sixteenth birthday. When he came into her room, she automatically stripped naked and rolled onto her stomach; she didn't see the look on his face. He pushed on her hip and turned her over onto her back; her face showed her confusion. He spread her legs and pushed his face into her pussy. She grabbed his head and pulled him tight against her. She quickly rose to her orgasm; when she was at the height of her pleasure, he quickly rose up over her tiny body and stabbed his cock deep into her pussy.
Her virginity was gone in an instant; his hand found her mouth and kept her screams bottled up as he pumped his blood-covered cock deep inside her tight, tight pussy. Her mind went blank and her eyes rolled back in her head as she passed out; she never felt him shoot his cum into her womb that night.
She woke up the next day and spent the morning soaking in the tub and washing her bedsheets. Her agony slowly went away until her daddy came home from work and raped her again. This time he took her on the living room couch; it was the first time he'd touched her outside of her bedroom, or when the sun was up.
She didn't pass out this time, as much as she wanted to; every pulse of his cum shooting into her body was agony for her torn open pussy. When he was finished, he made her suck the scum from his limp cock. When he was clean and hard again, he pushed his cock back in her pussy and pumped until he shot another load of pain into her. He kept her home from school every day that week; he raped her over and over. He was like a madman; every day he would rape her in all of her holes.
The next Monday, he was nowhere to be found when she woke up in the morning; she got dressed for the first time in days and went to school. He'd left her a note for the teacher saying that she'd had the flu.
The knife had been in her backpack all day; she hadn’t wanted to spend time hunting for it when she needed it. She reached over her shoulder and felt for the wooden handle, taking a step towards the couch as her fingers closed around it. She jumped as the air-raid sirens began to scream out in their mournful wail. The wind had picked up considerably while she had been lost in her pain filled memories; the windows rattled hard in their frames. Her fingers let go of the knife as she waited for her daddy to stir; when he continued to lie there, she turned and walked out the kitchen door.
The entrance to the storm cellar was at the far end of the back yard; she’d always thought that it was dumb that you had to cross such a wide open space to get to it. She spotted several of her next door neighbors as they headed for safety; they were too concerned with their own asses to notice a teenage girl who was leaving her father to his fate.
She quickly slipped down the stairs and closed the upper door behind her. Its heavy oak timber would withstand all but the most deadly of storms and the lower door would protect her from anything the outer one couldn't handle. She reached blindly for the string and turned on the overhead light; the bare bulb showed her a small, but well provisioned room that was meant to withstand just about anything that mother nature could throw at it. There was a cot set up next to the back wall and she settled onto its moderately comfortable mattress. She'd already gathered the few possessions that meant anything to her before she filled the cellar with plenty of food and water; she could outlast any weather.
It was only a few minutes later that the air in the room changed and it became hard to breath; the muffled sounds of heavy things falling reached her ears. When the roaring started, she quickly slipped headphones on and turned her iPod to its loudest setting; her mother had given it to her for her last happy birthday. She passed the next few hours looking through old photo albums that had pictures of her mother's life in them.
She eventually felt the storm pass from the area; she took the headphones off and listened to the quiet. Her smile grew wide as she pushed the heavy cellar door open; it had done its job. When she stepped out into the fading evening sunlight she saw that the entire side of her street was just…gone. Except for the house at the end of the block; it sat untouched.
The house where she'd suffered so much pain and humiliation was leveled, as if it had never existed; except for the couch where her daddy had slept. It was still sitting in its proper place; he was nowhere to be seen. She hoped that he had woken up in a panic and tried to stumble to the cellar; maybe he had been sucked up into the air as he tried to cross the long back yard. Maybe he’d been crushed by the refrigerator as the house collapsed around him. She would spend many an hour speculating about his final fate; his body was never found.
In the end, it wasn't what he was doing to her that had cost him his life; it was what he'd done so long ago, long before he began to rape her young body over and over.
That last night, the night before God gave him his final judgment, he grunted over her, slamming his hard cock into her torn pussy. She heard him mumble, "Oh, God, so tight, so tight...I was right to run that no-good bitch over; her cunt was never at tight as yours." He probably didn't even know that he'd spoken out loud. It took her a moment to process his words; before she did, he shot his last load into her, pulled his pants up and stumbled out the front door.
She moved in with Amy and her parents. The payout from her daddy's homeowners policy helped pay for her expenses; they didn't like to pay out for tornado damage, but daddy had opted for an 'entire destruction' clause and they were forced to. Since his body couldn’t be located, it took seven years for the insurance company to pay out on the life insurance policy that his work had bought for him. Time passed, as it is want to do; she grew up and moved on with her life. She became a regular churchgoer; she didn't believe in any religion that was supported by man, but it helped bring her closer to the God that she was sure had saved her. She owed her life to His actions and she did her best to make that life worthy of His generosity.