textfiles/sex/EROTICA/J/justice.txt

Archive-name: Violent/justice.txt
Archive-author: Michael K. Smith
Archive-title: Justice


[The theme of this little story is nonconsensual incest -- but it isn't the kind
of story you think it is.  Even if you generally find this subject off-putting,
try reading it anyway.  THEN, if you don't like it, tell me so....]


  It started when Susan was 12 and just entering puberty.  Her brother Tom,
who was two years and a few months older, went hiking and camping with
friends almost every weekend, often even in bad weather.  Her grandfather
had died a few years before and her grandmother was alone with her
Parkinson's and a full-time nurse; her mother spent three evenings a
week and every weekend over there, to give the nurse some time off and
to keep the bills down.  That left Susan alone with her father a lot.
  At 12, it never entered her mind that problems might arise in such
circumstances.  Not with her Daddy.  Then, one Saturday afternoon, he
unthinkingly barged into the bathroom just as she was getting out of
the shower.  (She was still sure, years later, that his first sudden
appearance really *had* been accidental; he had looked so startled to
find her there.)  Susan was frozen in her surprise, one foot still
in the shower stall, one arm stretched out toward the towel rack --
her budding young body wide open and exposed to him.  After a moment of
shock and embarrassment, he mumbled something, backed out, and shut the
bathroom door.
  Susan knew quite well what she looked like naked.  Like many young girls,
she spent considerable time anxiously studying her body before the full-length
mirror on her closet door.  Her breasts were small and conical but
her nipples protruded rigidly in a way that made her a natural for the
bra-less look, even at that age.  She was slim but not boyish at all,
and her legs were long and nicely curved, and her little-girl ass was high
and firm.  She was vain about her long, straight, straw-blonde hair, too.
The color was natural, which meant her pubic patch was pale and silky
and sparse.  Susan guessed that that was the image her father had seen
in the bathroom, and it was the image he had apparently carried around
with him the remainder of the day.  It was her fault: If he hadn't seen
her naked, he would never have done what he did.
  Some time after midnight, that Saturday night when she was 12, her father
came to her room and gently woke her.  While she rubbed her eyes, he mumbled
something about how he needed her, how her mother wasn't interested in
his needs anymore, how Susan was his little girl and she could help him,
couldn't she?  Susan had no idea what he was talking about, and she
didn't really understand what was happening when he slowly pulled down
her covers.  And she didn't know what to do when he stroked her long,
tan legs and slid his hand up under the tee shirt she habitually slept
in, and rested his palm on her stomach.  He told her quietly to sit
up and lift her arms, and she did.  She was an obedient little girl,
and at that moment she was also puzzled and confused.
  Her father ran his hands slowly over her pointy little breasts, and she
shivered.  She had already learned to produce that tingling sensation
for herself, but her Daddy doing it to her startled her so, she just sat
there with her hands at her sides, staring at him.  When he got up from
the bed abruptly and threw off his robe, she was even more startled,
but also amazed.  She couldn't remember the last time she had seen her
father naked -- and his thing was standing up hugely at an angle, and
she had never even *imagined* anything like *that* before.
  He took her hand in his and wrapped her fingers around his thing, his
penis -- she remembered the word now -- and showed her how to slide her
hand up and down.  So she did it.  Her Daddy swallowed hard and then
pressed her firmly back down on the bed.  As she fell slowly backward,
she instinctively clutched at what she was holding, and he made a
gasping sound.  Then he was yanking her cotton panties off and sliding
his fingers over her crotch.  She had already discovered that activity,
too, and it was her turn to gasp involuntarily at the tiny electric
shocks his fingers produced.
  And then he was pushing her knees wide apart and his body was looming over
her, and she was suddenly frightened.  His huge penis was battering
at her crevice -- and she understood instantly what he meant to do.
It wasn't like the stylized cutaway drawings in her 7th Grade Health
textbook, either.  Looking back later, she guessed she had not had a
hymen, or had lost it learning to masturbate, since there was no blood --
but, GOD, it hurt!  He didn't bother with lubrication, maybe thought she
didn't need it, but she did.  K-Y jelly and a slower pace might have
helped, but the invasion of her little virgin vagina by his man-sized
cock would have been painful under *any* conditions.
  She sobbed in terror, but Daddy told her to hush, so she did, and bit her
lip and clenched her fists instead.  Her legs were folded back so her knees
were against her ribs, and her calves stuck out over his braced arms at
odd angles.  Each time he thrust forward, his cock rammed against her
cervix, and that hurt even more.  After a few moments, he speeded up
his driving motion, and then he pushed extra hard and froze, trembling,
and she felt a sudden wetness inside herself.
  Daddy hung suspended there, supported on his rigid arms, filling the space
above her slender body, staring into her eyes.  She stared back, almost
hypnotized, and said nothing.  He pulled out of her and sat heavily
on the side of her bed.  He nodded in the direction of the bathroom,
across the hall.
  "Go get a wet towel and clean yourself up, honey."  Susan climbed out
of bed, numb and wobbly and still naked, and went and did
as she was told.  When she returned, her room was empty.  In an unthinking
daze, she pulled her panties and tee shirt back on and climbed back under
the covers.  She tried to go back to sleep, to put the strange thing
that had happened out of her mind.  She was still aware of the dampness
between her legs, though, and her vagina throbbed the rest of the night.
  When she got up in the morning and dressed, and went into the kitchen, her
Daddy was there making waffles.  He flashed his usual, cheerful breakfast
smile.
  "'Morning, sweetheart.  You want orange juice or tomato?"  She might
have thought it a dream, except that her pelvis was still stiff and sore.
  That was the beginning.  Her father had split neatly into two people in
her life.  There was her Daddy, whom she loved, who dropped her off at the
school bus stop and helped her with her homework, who always laughed
at the ageless jokes and riddles she repeated from her friends, and
who carefully and gently cleaned up her scraped arm when she fell off
Tom's skateboard.  He hadn't changed at all.
  But there was also the man who came at night whenever the two of them
were alone, and put part of his body inside her body.  She usually knew
when the circumstances were right for one of his visits, and she didn't
bother to dress for bed, but climbed under the covers naked.  And when he
came, he never struck her or put the pillow over her face, or anything
so dramatic.  They simply had sex.  And it never occurred to her to say
anything about their relationship to her mother, or to Tom, or to anyone
else.  She simply got used to the visits and outwardly accepted them.
  After the first few times, her father added some variety to the routine.
He had her get up on her hands and knees and spread her thighs so he could
enter her from behind.  The first time he did that, she finally cushioned
her head on her forearms, with her sweet little pussy stuck up in the air,
and was almost able to move her mind to another place.  She pretended
she was playing at the park, riding her bike, throwing a softball to
Tom ... until he pushed his middle finger several inches into her ass.
That reminded her uncomfortably of the last time she had had an enema,
years before.  She was more moist now, and the finger didn't hurt,
but it felt very strange, wiggling about up there.
  Another time, her father lay down on his back and had her sit astride
him, like a saddle with a thick, meaty rod in the middle of it.  Her own
weight pressed his cock hard against the end of her vagina, and she found
herself leaning forward on his chest to relieve the pain.  He cupped her
breasts in his big hands and drew her further down so he could suck on
those hard, protruding nipples.  Susan had been very aroused by that,
to her own surprise and confusion.
  After perhaps six months of night time visits, Susan discovered there were
other aspects to sex besides merely being fucked.  She lay naked and
waiting in her bed, one night, with a tampon string dangling between
her legs, wondering what her father would do.  It was the first time
one of her recently-begun periods had coincided with her mother's and
brother's absences.
  She had entirely stopped thinking of the man who came in the night as "Daddy."
No, it was her father who had sex with her, who no longer frightened her,
but whom she always obeyed absolutely.  "Daddy" was the one who talked
and laughed with her in the daytime, the one she could argue into letting
her do things.  Both of them said they loved her, but she now understood
that word to have two different meanings.  And neither man ever mentioned
the other.
  She lay there, patiently waiting, and fingered the string.  Her finger also
glided over the little nub of her clitoris, as it did more and more
frequently these days.  Sometimes her father didn't push so hard and
the friction against her own genitals wasn't forced out by the pain.
Sometimes she felt the tingles very strongly -- so strongly that her legs
trembled and she realized she was lifting her hips to meet his thrusts.
She also found herself rubbing and squeezing her nipples in the shower,
and once she had had even arched her back and pushed a soapy finger up
her own asshole.
  All those things felt nice when she did them to herself.  And that was the
most confusing thing of all: If doing sexy things by herself gave her
such satisfaction, why didn't she *always* get the same satisfaction
when someone else did things to her?  Why should she have to pretend
sometimes that it wasn't *her* body being fucked, but someone else's?
  Susan also wondered about the boys at school, but soon decided their silliness
around girls was a facet of their being so young -- like her.  Maybe they
could only do sex when they got older.
  Tom had just turned 16.  He drove the car and everything, just like her
father.  Maybe he was old enough for sex.  In fact, to judge by his
sometimes rearranged clothing when he slipped in from a late date, Tom
probably did sex a lot.  She thought about asking him, but she somehow
knew he wouldn't answer such a question.
  She knew the problems some of her girl friends had with older brothers who
regarded kid sisters as barely human.  She knew she was fortunate in that
respect; Tom was always nice to her, certainly nicer than he had to be.
He teased her, but in ways that made her laugh.  He took her to see movies
her friends weren't interested in (she hated going to the show alone),
or weren't allowed to see.  He gave her sincere advice on how to deal
with problems at school, and he went by the junior high and picked up
her assignments when she was home sick with the flu.
  In return, Susan never pulled pranks on her brother -- not nasty ones, anyway
-- and she defended him in arguments with her friends about the
uselessness of older brothers.  She didn't snoop in his belongings,
and she never, never made fun of the girls he chose to ask out on dates,
no matter what she might think of them.  Yes, if she wanted to have sex
with someone else, Susan thought, Tom would be a pretty good choice.
  But on the night of the tampon string, Susan was more concerned about her
father.  When he finally came to her bed and reached out to stroke her
lower body, as he often did, she tensed up.  When his finger tried to
glide into her and was blocked by the tampon, she said timidly, "It's
my period."
  His only reply, as he discovered the string for himself, was "Oh."
  He glanced down at his half-erect cock and licked his lips.
  "Okay, let's try something else."  He lay back on the bed, took her
hand, and placed it on his penis.  Susan felt sudden relief.  She
had masturbated him on numerous occasions and she
knew just how he liked it.  But as she scrambled to a sitting position
and began moving her hand up and down, he reached up and placed his own
hand firmly on the back of her head.
  "No, no -- this time, use your mouth.  Suck on my cock, sweetheart."
  She looked at him for a moment.  Put his penis in her mouth?
How could he fuck her in the mouth?  His cock was *much* too large.
  "Suck on it," he repeated.  This time it was an order.  "Just pretend it's a
peppermint stick.  But be careful with your teeth."  He pressed her
head down and she couldn't resist him.  Her pale, straight hair fell
about his crotch as she shifted onto her side, propped up on one elbow.
Very gingerly, she opened her mouth wide and fastened her lips over the
smooth head.  Suck it?  She held her mouth still and applied suction.
  "Move your mouth up and down -- it's like jacking me off with your mouth,
honey.  Lick it; move your tongue around it."
  Oh.  She held the shaft firmly in control and raised and lowered her head a
few times.  It was a little like being fucked in the mouth.
The hand pressed her head downward again and she almost gagged as the
rejuvenated organ expanded and filled her mouth.  She took a tight grip
on her momentary panic and concentrated on breathing through her nose.
Her breasts were pressed against her father's thigh, and she realized her
other hand had begun squeezing and tugging the nearest nipple.  Her mind
might be on a tight rein, but her body seemed to be responding on its own.
  She remembered the instruction to "lick it" and began moving her tongue round
and round the head and up and down the shaft.  Her nervousness was making
her salivate, so there was plenty of lubrication.
  As she went on sucking the muscular shaft, she relaxed a bit: This wasn't so
bad after all.  She picked up the tempo a little, cued by the increasing
motion of her father's hips.  Then it suddenly occurred to her to
wonder what would happen when he had his orgasm.  The first time she
had sat astride his waist and masturbated him to climax, he had shot
gobs of that white stuff all over her front, even as high as her chin.
What would it feel like, that explosion going off in her mouth?  She never
even considered *not* taking his load in her mouth.
  A few minutes later, she found out.  As he neared his climax, both of her
father's hands held her head firmly and pressed it downward.  She let go
with her hand to steady her balance as she felt the end of his slippery
penis poke the back of her throat.  She fought the urge to throw up and
squeezed her eyes shut.  The semen burst against her epiglottis as it
had so often blasted against her cervix.  She swallowed reflexively --
and was thankful she did, because the first ejaculation was followed by at
least four more.  She kept gulping the salty stuff until the pressure of
the hands eased.  Even then, part of it got into her sinuses and dripped
out her nostrils.
  Her father sighed as she raised her head.  His penis was shrinking again and
he would leave her room in a few moments, as he always did.  And in the
morning, he would be replaced by her Daddy ... until the next time.
  There were many more times, and always at night.  Most of a year went by.
Susan turned 14 and the months kept marching.  Her grandmother died,
finally, and then her mother was usually home on weekends, though she
had to work during the week to help pay off the enormous medical bills
produced by her grandmother's lengthy illness.  Her father found fewer
opportunities to visit her at night.
  She watched her body continue to develop in the mirror -- the flattening of
her stomach muscles, the narrowing of her waist, the growth of her breasts
(though not by much).  Her pubic hair was a little thicker and longer,
but still pale blonde.  Sometimes, she envied the bodies of the other
girls in the gym locker room.  Susan knew perfectly well that the more
mature girls sometimes dropped their towels in order to show off their
tits or their bushy crotches.  One or two of the more daring girls
strolled about with no towel at all, swaying their hips and posing for
their adolescent female audience.
  Most of the time, though, she was quite happy with the way her figure was
developing.  Breasts that grew too large would spoil her ambition of
making the junior varsity swim team.  And she knew she was pretty,
and she always got lots of Valentines.
  But Susan always politely refused the hesitant requests for dates she
regularly received during that first semester in high school.  By now,
she had had sex at least two dozen times and had sucked off her night
time visitor on five or six occasions.  She was used to it, anyway.
What did these 9th Grade boys have to offer?
  She knew Tom was concerned about her lack of dates, though he never asked her
about it directly.  He hinted, however, with a smile and an affectionate
squeeze of her shoulders, that she could come to him for references
about any boy she might be interested in.  She loved him for that.


  And then, one autumn day, everything changed.  Susan had gone down to the
river park with her Daddy early one Saturday morning.  She was going
to start jogging, to get in top condition to try out for the swim team.
Daddy had been jogging for several months, to lose a little weight and
to keep his doctor off his back, he said.  He was going to show her how
to warm up, how to set and hold the proper pace, how to tell when her
body had had enough, and also just to keep her company.
  After the first carefully timed mile, they slowed to a brisk walk, breathing
hard.  Daddy explained that her system had to get used to such strenuous
exercise gradually or she could pull a tendon or get a cramp.  Then he
stopped abruptly in the middle of the path and a peculiar expression
flowed over his face.  Susan looked at him oddly and watched his face
turn very pale.  He opened his mouth twice without saying a word.  He sat
down suddenly and slowly tipped over backward, sprawling in the grass.
  Susan looked around: They were on a long curve between the river and a tall
hedge, and no one else was in sight.  She hesitated as he seemed to
gasp for breath and vaguely waved one arm.  Her Daddy was sick, she
realized in alarm.  She wasn't sure what a heart attack looked like,
but she thought this might be one.  She turned to run back up the path
for assistance, but she stopped after the first step and looked back
at the man on the ground.  At the bare legs below his running shorts.
Legs which had rested between hers so many times.
  It wasn't her Daddy who was sick: It was her father.  She walked back to
stand over him and thrust her fists into the pockets of her warm-up jacket ...
the new jacket her Daddy had bought her.  She stared down at her father,
whose movements had slowed to an irregular twitch.  And she smiled.
He stopped moving altogether, and sighed, and she continued to smile.
She thought about checking for a pulse, but she wasn't sure how.
  Her father's eyes rolled up and a trail of drool spilled out one side of his
mouth.  It made him look ugly, and that was good.  She sat down
cross-legged beside the visitor who would come no more in the night.
And that thought made her smile even more.
  She didn't realize, until she was already doing it, that her right hand had
slipped under the waistband of her shorts and inside her panties.
Her middle finger stroked up and down her well-used pussy and strummed
her suddenly erect clit.  Her nipples felt like they were sticking out
six inches.  The tingling between her legs built rapidly and then she
was panting sharply as the orgasm washed over her, quicker and much
stronger than any of the few she had experienced before.  She caught
her breath, withdrew her finger, and put it in her mouth.  It tasted
sweet and this time it was all hers.  All hers from now on, she thought.
And she grinned happily as she climbed to her feet and trotted back up
the path to get help.


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Copyright 1993 by Michael K. Smith. Copies may be made and posted
elsewhere for personal enjoyment, but all commercial rights are reserved.