Prescription:
An Enthusiastic Fucking
by Sterling
Chapter 6 of 11
Blech.
Yuck. Cathy woke in the middle of the night feeling very sick to her
stomach. She had time to make it to the toilet to puke. Back to bed.
She didn't get vomiting bugs very often, so she immediately suspected
it was the same thing she'd had a few months before. Swiping a finger
between her legs, it came up wet from her vagina. Yep, same.
Her mother came in and sat on the edge of her bed. "I heard you
vomiting. I'm sorry. How do you feel now?"
"OK for now. But can daddy fuck me and make me better?"
"Oh,
sometimes you get sick and it's not that bug. We don't know anyone
who's gotten sick with that twice. Not us personally. The news said it
does happen, though..."
"I'm wet between my legs too," she said.
"Oh, oh really... Hmm. Well, let's let it go for a little while and see
how it develops."
"All right," said Cathy. The idea of not throwing up again was very
appealing, but sometimes her mother knew best.
Ten
minutes later the nausea started building again, and an hour later her
head was once more hanging over the toilet bowl. And then again an hour
later, with less in her stomach each time.
Her daddy came to see her.
"How are you, princess?"
"Awful. Can you fuck me now and make me better?"
"You get right to the point, don't you!" he said, amused.
Why shouldn't I get right to the point, she wondered. I'm puking, it
hurts, and I want to get better.
"I'd
be happy to, Cathy. I will if that's what it takes. But it's not good
for a father and daughter to do that. We did it just that once because
it was an emergency."
"Yeah, I guess," Cathy said.
"There's another man, though. Do you remember Felix? Came to dinner a
few weeks back."
"Yeah."
"He
should be here by late morning. Would you be willing to let him have
sex with you? That way you can feel better and you and I can just be
father and daughter like we're supposed to."
"Oh." Her father
had cured her before, that was the main thing. But if she thought about
the details, it had been a weird experience, and she wasn't sure how
she'd felt about it. If someone else could fuck her and cure her, she
figured that was OK too.
She doubted the wisdom of the plan as
she contemplated the nausea building within her. Her father could fuck
her now, but with Felix she'd have to wait. She felt worse and worse as
the seconds ticked along agonizingly into minutes, and then she
convulsed. Her muscles already hurt from her first few bouts of intense
spasms, and each whole-body spasm made her blood pound and gave her a
splitting headache. Vile liquid filled her mouth. She made awful
gagging noises.
"Daddy," she moaned, as she felt her next
vomiting attack approaching, "Can't you just do it now -- like after
I'm sick this next time -- and then I'll get better right away? How
long is it 'til Felix comes?"
She saw him check his watch. "Just two more hours. He thought he could
be here by 11:30."
"But I don't want to wait!" she moaned.
"Sorry, sweetie, but it will be for the best," he said, holding her
hand.
It was nice of him to hold her hand, but what she wanted was to stop
vomiting her guts out.
"We'll leave you alone now," said her father, retreating and closing
the door.
"You're sexy, Cathy, did you know that? I bet you didn't know how sexy
you are," said Felix as he stripped.
Blearily Cathy shed her pajama bottoms and panties to expose herself.
Felix
knelt above her, then lowered his head to examine her privates. "Cool,"
he said, grinning. "I've never seen a girl before. Kind of different
from women."
"'Scuse me," croaked Cathy, turning onto her side
and retching into the basin. Her legs naturally came up into the fetal
position as she puked.
"Look pretty from this angle, too!" Felix said, looking at her bottom.
Cathy
was getting the definite idea that Felix was a jerk. She felt a touch
more nausea than usual and convulsed five times in that bout instead of
the usual three or four.
She rinsed her mouth to spit, then rolled onto her back.
"OK," she said.
"Oh, baby!" said Felix.
She opened her eyes enough to see his lusty smile as he moved up into
position and aimed his penis.
She felt it shove into her depths a lot faster than her father had and
drew her breath sharply in surprise. But it didn't hurt.
Felix was holding himself up on his hands, his eyes fixed down between
her legs as he plunged in and out.
"Oh,
ohhh, wow, mmmmm, aaaahhhh, baby girl, you're so hot! And so small!..."
went his commentary as he thrust into her fast and deep. To Cathy it
felt very impersonal. In a couple minutes he built to a crescendo in
terms of his penis rhythm, the tension in his body, and his monologue.
"I'm cumming in a girl!" he exclaimed when he reached orgasm.
He rolled off and lay panting for a minute before starting to get
dressed.
"Thanks," said Cathy weakly. He was truly a major-league jerk, she
decided.
"Oh, you are most welcome, Cathy! Any time! It was my pleasure!"
He
was a jerk because when she was vomiting at the start, he didn't even
notice her suffering. Not one 'sorry' or anything. He never looked at
her face while he was doing it. He noted that he was cumming in a girl
without even thinking to mention what individual girl it might be -- if
he even remembered. But if he could get this fucking vomiting to stop,
it would be well worth it.
"We
don't know what's wrong, why Felix didn't make you better. Would you
like some other men to try? We really don't know what's going on. It's
an awful thing to do, letting those men get intimate with you. I don't
think I'd do it if I were you, but it's your choice. You might get
better anyway -- the news says it's different than the first time in
some ways."
What the fuck was her mother talking about? "Of
course, yes, more men, as many as you can get." She didn't give a shit
what happened down in her vagina, she just wanted to stop the damned
vomiting.
Three times -- she thought it was three, but had she
forgotten one? -- men came to her room. Once the guy's penis didn't get
hard, and although he hung around for a while touching her and himself
different ways, he never got it into her. She didn't know what that was
about. The other times she felt them enter her, felt the back and forth
motion, heard their gasps and moans. One clutched her tightly instead
of holding himself up.
These experiences were interesting, in
theory. She might find it interesting to think about later, but at the
moment she was just an exhausted lump with no interest in anything.
The
vomiting got less intense and the bouts less frequent, but she felt
just as sick between them. Perhaps her body had just run out of energy.
It was towards dawn, over a day since her ordeal began that she felt a
weight on the bed.
"Sweetie?" asked her father.
Cathy felt a little flutter of hope. Daddies could make things all
right.
"I don't know what helps -- no one does. But just in case -- would you
like me to do it to you again?"
"Mmm-hmmmm," she managed. "Yes!"
Then
her daddy did it to her, much as before. He kissed her and stroked her
everywhere. When Daddy did it to her, she felt not just fucked but
loved. She was dimly aware that she would like the feel of his caresses
on all of her different body parts if she was in the mood to enjoy
anything. She even felt a little surge of love as her daddy reached his
peak and ejaculated into her.
Still, his attentions didn't make
her get better the way she had a few months before. Her nausea seemed
to be a little better by the evening of that second day, but she was
worried. This thing killed people! Her parents reassured her that this
was a normal pattern for when the bug came back.
She knew she
was better when she woke the following morning and realized she had
slept through the night. Her stomach was still sore, but she was hungry.
The New York Times.
"Sexually Transmitted Diseases Headed for Extinction"
The
evidence is very strong that whatever causes the Lolita Syndrome in
girls has one effect in everyone: it completely prevents the
transmission of STDs. New cases of gonorrhea, syphilis, HIV have all
plummeted, perfectly tracking the temporal and spatial spread of the
Lolita Syndrome.
That is a great cause for rejoicing, but no one
seems willing to give Angry Scientist any credit for it. He presumably
did it to remove one more obstacle to promiscuous sex with girls.
One
anonymous source said, "They've had the technology to do that for
years, if you're willing to release a tailored virus into the
population. If you're willing to take that risk, it's a no-brainer.
There are other ways that issue could be effectively addressed, too,
but pressure by religious conservatives prevented looking at the other
possibilities seriously."
That last statement was corroborated
by other sources, and it is bound to re-ignite some old battles. The
idea that we should not eliminate STDs since they serve as a deterrent
to sexual immorality is one that the public rejects by an overwhelming
margin in opinion polls.
No
one ever said that the Lolita virus would strike once and go away. Some
diseases work that way, and some don't. Yet I had assumed it would be a
one-time ordeal. I assumed that because it was so terribly difficult to
accept the deadly disease and its cruel cure at all. I couldn't bear to
imagine girls needing to go through this over and over again.
They do. They will.
The scientific picture gets clearer all the time, and this is where we
stand at six months:
About
80% of infected girls contract the Syndrome. In its initial form, it is
about 95% fatal if not treated, but 97% survivable if treated. As we
now know, it's not a cure, it's just a treatment.
Somewhere
between two and four months after the initial outbreak, the disease
comes back. The statistics for the second time around are a little
different -- only 80% fatal without treatment, 99% survivable with
treatment.
There is also a subtle difference in the effect of
treatment. In the initial outbreak, symptoms disappear within an hour
or two of treatment. In the recurrence, symptoms persist for a minimum
of 48 hours regardless of how early it is treated.
The most
recent news: If treatment is provided on a prophylactic basis, there is
no recurrence. This is good news at one level, bad news at another.
These
details come together into a clear picture if you make the assumption
that Angry Scientist tailored this virus rather specifically to
encourage pedophilia. (If only this man could have brought his talents
to preventing domestic violence, drunk driving, even littering --
something socially useful! At least he has provided us the cure for
STDs, but they say that wasn't a real innovation.)
If the
recurrence could be treated very quickly with little discomfort, then a
tempting strategy would be to wait until it struck and only then
arrange for a treatment. If treatment after a recurrence couldn't
prevent a high mortality rate, everyone would opt for prophylactic
treatments. But it is somewhere in between: a very uncomfortable bug
with a very small though real mortality risk. This middle situation
creates a tension, typically with parents on one side and daughters on
the other.
Parents assume that a 48-hour-bug can't be all that
bad -- they've had them before. But the girls know this one really
hurts. Girls who've also had an ordinary flu say an attack of Lolita
Syndrome feels worse, and brain scans show there is more of the neural
activity we associate with pain.
Of great interest is the
differing views of daughters and parents on just how distasteful the
treatment is. Parents reflexively make all the old assumptions: the
girl's privacy is being violated by a selfish man fulfilling a
disgusting sexual preference. She is being raped and will suffer for it
later in life.
Girls see it differently, and experts say there are good reasons for it.
First,
whatever trauma is involved with early sexual intercourse, the first
one is most traumatic, and these girls have already had one encounter
and are pretty much condemned to have many more. The only question is
how many.
Second, it is her choice -- the vast majority of girls
put up with the sex willingly and get understandably nervous if it
looks like they might not get it in time.
Third, the man is not
primarily seeking his own satisfaction -- he is performing a vital
public health service. He is not taking his satisfaction at her
expense. Men are typically very solicitous of the girl's feelings and
apologetic that they have to do this to her.
Fourth pertains to
the man's and girl's sexual experience. He is enjoying the act -- Angry
Scientist arranged it so if he isn't enthusiastic about it, the
treatment will be ineffective. Pedophilic desire is required. In the
old world order, this desire was without question viewed with loathing
and disgust. But the girls experience something else. They see, feel,
hear, and sense the man's desire in a very intimate way. It is
identical to the sexual desire any of us observes in our partners. It
is positive, a matter of pleasure and affirmation of life. It is no
more mysterious from their point of view than the attraction of men to
grown women or of women to grown men.
The situation is not
identical to adult-adult sexuality because the physical pleasure is
almost all on one side. But this is not because the men are unwilling
to provide it, it is because the girls' bodies are not really equipped
to experience it. They understand that it is not the man's fault.
However, the girls do feel how their bodies can give rise to ecstasy in
their partners, something adults will recognize as an important part of
good sex.
The girls are not experiencing a total zero in the way
of sexual response. Angry Scientist arranged for the genitals of the
affected girls to enlarge enough to comfortably accommodate a penis,
but he did not give the girls an adolescent's or adult's sexual desire.
Few if any girls reported sexual pleasure from their initial or
follow-up treatments, but a perfectly adequate explanation is the fact
that they are feeling very, very sick. When receiving prophylactic
treatments, most girls are experiencing a muted form of sexual
pleasure. It is muted, but enough to give a hint of what might lie in
their future and of why the man is enjoying it so much.
So,
imagine yourself in this position. You can wait to get very sick, and
then submit to a man's sexual attentions so you get better -- an
agonizing two days later. Or you can seek out regular sex. You will
feel a hint of pleasure, and you will know that your little body -- the
one you may feel insecure about -- is giving immense pleasure to a
grown man.
The brave new world taking shape in our daughters' bedrooms is
horrible. But it is not as horrible as I had feared.
Men
with pedophilic inclinations are getting a lot of sex. At one level, we
all find that revolting. What are the sources of the revulsion? In the
old days, a child rapist was taking his own pleasure in defiance of the
law and morality, and at the expense of the girl: her body's physical
integrity, her sense of personal space and control, and often despite
her immediate distress.
The pedophiles who treat and prevent the
Lolita Syndrome are not traumatizing the girl's body. They are saving
lives, acting in accord with the wishes of parents and the girls
themselves. And the act itself is one of pleasure, union, and the
creative life force. It is less violent than something as simple as an
injection with a needle.
It is too early to tell how the girls
will react later in life. Perhaps they will be traumatized, but I think
we must guard against talking them into being traumatized. Their bodies
are not hurt and they are receiving a not-unpleasant form of regular
therapy from kind therapists with good intentions who also enjoy what
they do. Time will tell.