"Oh! G-Go easy!" she grunted as the cockhead, too hungry to wait any longer, burrowed into her chute, fucking halfway home before she could brace for the drive. "Bastard! Oh, you motherfucker!"
Barely hearing the words, barely aware of her presence, Sam threw her roughly forward onto the bed. He used his legs to spread her full thighs, opening the halves of her jiggly bottom still more. He knew he was hurting her; he wanted to hurt her, as he'd hurt Wendy night after night on this same bed, in this same room, his big cock boring into the same tight, hairy pocket.
For a moment he wondered if the girl would ever come home. He'd promise her anything – he'd give her the belt and bend and let her beat him if she wanted to, if that would placate her. It was a shameless perversion, this incestuous desire that engulfed him; but there was no getting away. The red welts were there, inside his head. The first night he'd come to the room, whipped her to cover his own unruly desires, and fucked out her asshole, telling himself that was okay, rationalizing his incestuous lust. Now he knew better. He took pleasure in beating, inflicting pain, and more pleasure still in subjecting his own daughter to torture.
Groaning, fucking his meat all the way up Cindy's reluctant asshole, the hot blood of desire thumping loudly in his ears, he wondered again – God, how he wondered and yearned! He wondered what Wendy, his baby, the one whose ass he loved to flog and fuck, was doing while he pretended it was her – her succulent little-girl bottom – draped helplessly over the foot of the bed.
Fucking men! thought Wendy. She simply didn't know what to make of them anymore. Like Gus… He'd visited Miss Alberta's house almost every night since she got there, always asking for her. Except last night. Last night, for no reason at all, he'd insisted on her and another girl in the same bed.
Sighing, she stared at the high ceiling and wondered what Daddy, her wonderful daddy, was doing. She wondered if he'd ever visited a whorehouse, and what he would do if he came to this place – expecting to pay for a girl he'd never seen before – and found her, naked, arms and legs out flung, every secret open to view. She could imagine him pausing to ogle at the foot of the bed. Then the belt: his face pasty white as he tore the horrid leather snake from his waist, and beat her and beat her. She could almost feel the cruel blows, the sting of the leather against her skin. But the thought didn't frighten her. The pain, the memory of the last lashing, made her cunthole all sticky with cream, and quickened her breath. She supposed Gus had lots to do with her kinky reactions – he'd forced her into every painful contortion imaginable, every trick in Daddy's sex manual, and then some. He, more than anyone, had taught her to accept pain.
She stretched, trying not to think about fucking; trying to concentrate on the room, the plush, old fashioned furniture. Her hair needed washing, she thought, toying with the messy red locks at her forehead. And she had to wash her underwear. But the other Wendy, the one up her belly, cared nothing about clean hair and clothing and all that. The other Wendy wanted only a cock!
As if the thought had traveled beyond the bedroom into the hall, the door swung suddenly open.
Lew Ogden – wearing the dapper suit and tie he wore each Saturday night when he and the boys "played cards" until daybreak – stepped into the room. "Hey now, baby," he said.
The bastard! thought Wendy, scrambling to cover herself with the sheet. She'd almost forgotten about him. It was the first she'd seen of him since the day she arrived, and she knew by the look in his eye what he had come for. "Oh no," she wailed, curling into a protective ball at the head of the bed. "Not after what you did. No!"
Lew closed the door. He studied her for a moment before approaching the bed. He sat at the edge of the mattress, and reached out to touch her bare shoulder.
"No!" She slapped the hand away, reminding herself that not only was he the one who'd started it all by having her sent to the home; but also the fact that she was there, in a common whorehouse, compelled to give up pussy to anyone Miss Alberta sent up to the room, was his fault, too.
"Fuck off!" she yelled, unable to still the restlessness in her lower abdomen, pussy, and asshole.
Lew leaned toward her, forcing her to the far side of the bed. "So what'd I do that's so terrible?"
"You… you… oh!" She looked hastily about, searching for something to slug him with. He was acting as if it happened every day; as if every young girl in the world was delivered into the hands of a madam, and the delivery boy – him in this case – stopped in for a quick piece of ass whenever his dick got hard. She glanced furtively at his crotch. He was indeed hard, bulging. "No!" she repeated.
Lew merely laughed, and leaned closer. "Shit! You ain't never had it so good, baby. I knew it the first time we screwed. You're a natural pro." His hand shot forward, gripped the sheet, and yanked. Wendy tried to leap from the bed, but Lew caught her trim ankle, and sent her tumbling onto her belly. She felt the smooth material of his suit on her back, the bulge in his pants leg. Silently she struggled. She twisted to face him, balled her hands into fists, and rained light blows about his face and shoulders. She wasn't sure why she was fighting – she longed for a cock! But wrestling, making him take it, hurt her in the process of getting it in, and made it somehow better…
"C'mon, ya bitch!" Trapping both her small wrists in one hand, he held her arms pinned to the mattress above her head.
"Oh…!" Wendy kicked at his crotch. Her bare foot dug into his balls, and made him groan. Panting, she watched with satisfaction as the blood drained from his face; watched the fury creep into his pain-stricken eyes.
"Ya rotten little fuck!" He doubled up, the knee of his pants rubbing her pussy. He rested a moment, trying to catch his breath. Then, when his breathing grew steady once more, he punched her, a right in the thigh.
Wendy opened her mouth to bellow, but a mere squeak came out. It was the worst pain she had ever felt. It snatched the wind from her lungs, and brought unwilling tears to her eyes. She tried to straighten the tortured limb, but the slightest movement gave her new stabs of pain. And before she could recover, his hard fist struck again, crippling the other jackknifed leg.
"Wanna play, huh?" Lew jumped from the bed, and began tearing at his clothes. "Fucking cockteasing whore! I'll give ya something to play with, all right."
Thigh muscles locked, legs gaping open like the hind legs of a frog, Wendy watched the garments being flung to the floor. She saw his big half-hard prick spring free; saw the shorts fall, exposing the mass of black cockhair and the enormous cum sacs. Her limbs twitched. Her hot little cunthole tightened in anticipation.
Not bothering to discard his shoes and socks, Lew fell hungrily on her. His hand filled the gap at her pussy. "We never did finish the first one," he said, fingering her clit. "But I can't forget how hot you were, baby. So be nice to your old Uncle Lew. There's nobody to stop us now."
"I… I hate you. I hate you! I hate you!" It was only half true. Only her mind – a residue of the "good girl" Wendy – hated him. The rest of her loved what he was doing. Inside her sheath, the other Wendy was flooding her channel with love juices, preparing the way. And now she was remembering the first time with Lew – how he'd taken her cherry, made her thrash and whimper and want it, but was snatched away by Penny before the cream could overflow into her eager cunthole. She felt the long, veiny meat at her thigh, the glans growing fat as he humped against the creamy inner expanse so close to her niche. She glanced down and saw his hand working. She looked into his face; darn men and their cocks! She couldn't help wanting him, even after all the horrid things he'd done to her, and the hurt he'd caused her body.