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Message-ID: <34586asstr$1010491807@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Wylodmayer" <1066@bellsouth.net>
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Subject: {ASSM} THE RING, Part One (Mf, semi-nc, young, oral, ws)
Date: Tue,  8 Jan 2002 07:10:07 -0500
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Hi all, long time lurker/reader, first time poster.  I hope
everyone enjoys this story; it is - putatatively - the first of
a multi part story that... well, I'll let the overall plan be a
surprise.  Let's just go with "I hope you enjoy it."

Incidentally, as a side note, I generally prefer stories written
from first person, preferably from the female's POV, and yet
Ifoud myself writing this story in third person.  Some stories
just work better in one format of another; I suppose I'll be a
little more tolerant of other writers who don't precisely
satisfy my personal little fetishes, from now on. :)

Also, this story was inspired by a mm story from nifty, the name
and author of which I cannot remember.  Anyone who is familiar
with that story will see the resemblance and know what I am
talking about.  Anyone who isn't, well, I'm not wholly original.
The specifics are all my own, however.

DISCLAIMER:  If it would be illegal for you to read this story
in your area, don't.  Unless you are that sort of law-breaking
daredevil, in which case, have a good lawyer on hand.  If you
think this will make you burn in hell, don't read it, unless you
think all your friends will be there anyway.  If you think
masturbating to this will make you go blind, either don't read
it or start brushing up on your braille.  Too much masturbation
can cause blisters, at any rate (ahem... don't - I repeat -
DON'T ask).\

For the record, I am not into all of the things that go on in my
stories, either in real life or even in fantasy, though I will
not specify which I do enjoy and which I do not.  Some things
are exigent to the story, regardless of my personal
squick-factor.  As a great author once said, the benefit of
being a writer is that you can put things into your characters'
mouths, and deny the ones that bother people while yet claiming
the ones that are praised.

I appreciate direct replies with comments, questions, praise,
insults, rebukes, refutations, rejoinders, quips, remarks,
addendums, nitpicks, and grand Broadway-style songs.

Wylodmayer

THE RING, Part One

(Mf, semi-nc, young, oral, ws)



Morning

      Laurel Hartman shook herself awake to the sound of her
alarm clock.  Sitting up, her comforter sliding half off the
bed, she rubbed her eyes and yawned sleepily.  The digital clock
read 6:00 A.M.  It was an unusually early hour for a
twelve-year-old girl to get up, especially considering that she
didn't have to be at school until 8:00 A.M.  But Laurel had
chores to take care of.

      She stumbled to the bathroom, nude.  At twelve, her body
was slim, not yet having developed the curves that she might
perhaps one day acquire as a woman.  She was about four feet
tall, indicating that she would likely be short even when fully
grown, but she was lithe and toned, her slender legs tapering
into a taut, firm butt.  Her breasts were little more than
swells around her nipples.  She had no pubic hair whatsoever,
which some may have found odd (though, of course, how many
people are going to be examining the pubis of a twelve-year old
girl?), but the hair on her head was a glossy black, ruffled
from sleep but otherwise styled into a fetching yet practical
bob.

      In the bathroom, she tiptoed across the cold tiles, the
sensation sending the blood racing through her body and chasing
sleep from her head.  More awake and now shivering a bit in the
coolness of the house in the early morning, she hastily turned
on the faucet and prepared herself a steaming shower.  She stood
for a long moment in the dim light, quiet and still, watching
the water rush across her hand as she tested its temperature.
Soon enough, however, the water became warm, then hot, breaking
her reverie and causing her to snatch her hand back quickly.
Gingerly, she stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain
closed, and then adjusted the tap so that the water poured
across her young skin.

      She showered hastily - she had duties around the house
that would not wait for her to tarry in the bathroom - but she
still could not resist savoring the penetrating warmth of the
hot water, sluicing across her shoulders, trickling down her
back and between her firm buttocks.  The wet warmth brought
familiar sensations to her mind, and her fingers strayed to the
hairless cleft between her legs, stroking absently across her
clit as the lips of her sex began to part and open.  She touched
her clit, her eyes closing and her nipples stiffening as the
tingling sensations in her loins began to gather in her belly.
The sound of a car starting outside the bathroom window,
however, interrupted her, and all thoughts of self-gratification
were quickly forgotten.

      "Shit!" she cursed as she turned the shower off, grabbed a
towel, and headed for the bathroom door almost in one motion.
The sound of the car could only mean that Mr. Walburton was
getting ready to leave for work, and that meant she was very
nearly late.  Rushing down the hall while toweling up the water
on her body, she imagined what might happen if she wasn't on
time for her morning chores.  Her nipples only got harder,
though perhaps this was due to the sudden chilling effect of the
air outside the now steamy bathroom.

      Approaching the door to the master bedroom, she moved more
cautiously now, creeping along quietly through the hallway.  She
pushed the door open, which had been closed but not latched,
slowly and quietly.  The room inside was dimly lit, as was the
rest of the house, by the early morning sun filtering in around
the curtains.  The whole room was done in shades of silver or
grey, with chrome and glass nighttables, and a chrome bedframe
with a mirror on the headboard.  Under silver silk sheets lay a
massively built man, thick of shoulders, neck and torso.  His
glossy black hair, cut very short, immediately suggested
relation to Laurel, even if it was going a bit grey around the
temples.  He lay on his back, sprawled as if suddenly struck by
sleep, his immense chest rising and falling slowly with his
measured, sleeping breaths.  The fashionably steel analog clock
by his bed read nearly 6:20 A.M.

      Laurel entered the room slowly, almost reverently, letting
the towel fall from her fingers as she did.  She padded softly
across the floor, her damp hair moving only slightly, framing
her blue eyes and delicate features.  She would be, no doubt,
quite lovely when she reached adulthood, and was, indeed, a
beatific beauty even now.  Coming to the side of the bed, she
knelt on the deep-pile carpet, and took the sheet in her hand.
Carefully, slowly, she pulled the sheet from the bed, revealing
in slow motion the older man's body: his chiseled abdomen, his
powerful and thick legs... and his penis, of no inconsiderable
size even flaccid, surrounded by a thick, lush bush of black
hair and sitting atop a pair of sizable balls, themselves
covered in dark, wiry fur.  The man continued to slumber,
undisturbed.  Laurel anxiously gnawed her lower lip, kneeling
next to the bed, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes darting
from the clock to the cock and back again, her nipples tingling
and stiff and practically aching, and the only sound in the room
was of the clock's soft ticking.

      As the minute hand ticked over to the fourth mark,
indicating twenty minutes after six.  With only a slight
hesitation, Laurel leaned across the side of the bed, her hands
coming up to rest on it, and lowered her head to the man's dick.
For just a moment, she hovered over it, her nose barely brushing
against the pubic hair, inhaling its scent, her lips barely
parted over the man flesh.  Then, she extended her pink tongue
and took a long, slow lick across the cock.  It was salty,
slightly sweaty, and hot.  She licked it again, and closed her
eyes.  Another lick, and another, and her hands began to creep
across the bedsheet to tickle their way across the corded thigh
whose muscles just barely touched her pointed little nipples.
Another lick, longer and slower than any of the others, savoring
the taste, as the man's penis began to thicken and fill out from
the stimulation of the preteen girl's mouth.  One more lick, as
she opened her eyes, seeing the results of her attentions, and
she reached up with one hand to worshipfully take the member in
her eager, tiny fingers, her eyes fixed on the ruddy head, and
the small slit with had begun, now, to drool a small, clear drop
of pre-cum.  The man's body stirred, but Laurel didn't notice.
She was totally fixed on that drop, as her palm pressed against
the meaty flesh.

      Jeffrey Hartman, Laurel's father, opened his eyes dreamily
just in time to see his pre-pubescent daughter lean forward and
lick the drop of pre-cum from his dick as if she were licking an
ice cream cone made of her favorite flavor in the world.  He
smiled, and placed a strong hand on her shoulder.  She tensed
slightly, but did not turn to look at him.  Nor did the slight
up-and-down motion of her hand on his shaft stop.  She watched
his manhood intently as she stroked it to life, to fullness, to
firm, hot, pulsing hardness, while his hand absently stroked her
slim shoulders and ruffled her damp hair.

      "Very good, darling," he said.

      She smiled ever so slightly, at the corners of her mouth.
"Thank you, Daddy."

      "Now finish what you started, slut," he said, in the same
even tone.

      She fully grinned, now.  "Yes, Daddy."

      Laurel took her father into her mouth, running her tongue
over the head of his cock as her lips pursed around it.  He
groaned, deeply in the back of his throat as she did, and
gripped her neck tightly.  A slight whimper escaped from Laurel
as her father dug his fingers into her flesh, but she kept
sucking.

      After a few seconds of teasing the head and jacking him
with her hand, she pulled back and applied her lips and tongue
to the side of the shaft. She took long licks, alternated with
lip-smacking sucks, up one side and down the other.  She darted
her tongue around the base of the cock, into the thick tangle of
pubic hair as she moved her head from side to side, back and
forth, pausing only to rub the hard, warm flesh against her
cheeks and to press her nose into her daddy's crotch and inhale
deeply.

      Her father's legs and ass tensed with the incredible
stimulation his daughter was providing.  He was quite happy with
her performance; he had trained her well.  Still, as much as he
was enjoying her technique and enthusiasm, he had a lot to do
this morning, and didn't have time to lie in bed (however
enticing the prospect).  So, at one point while his daughter was
vigorously pumping his now spit-soaked shaft with her hand while
she took kitten-like licks of the flesh of his balls, he ran his
hand, which hand been resting on her delicate, smooth back, up
her little neck and into her hair, seizing a handful of it quite
suddenly.

      Laurel made some slight gasp of pain as her father jerked
her head back from where she had been tonguing his sack quite
happily, but she had no time to complain as he thrust his meat
into her mouth and down her throat.  Her whole body shuddered as
she gagged quite loudly, coating her dad's cock with thick,
mucousy saliva.  Tears welled in her eyes, but Jeffrey Hartman
was not interested in her tears, or her comfort.  He thrust his
hips upward spasmodically as he pumped her face, yanking her
head up and down.  She deparately tried to work her tongue
across his penis, or apply suction in some way to his man-flesh,
but her oral skills were not what he wanted at the moment.  He
needed one thing and one thing only - her tight, young throat to
fuck, so he could dump a load of spunk into her precious little
belly.

      Again and again he skewered her face cruelly down onto his
shaft.  Again and again, she shuddered and spasmed and choked,
coughing and gagging up thick, ropy strings of spit that soon
covered his crotch and her face, and was forming a pool between
his legs.  Normally, he would have enjoyed a leisurely blowjob
from his daughter, watching her innocent face while she nursed
him to climax and swallowed his seed - the same seed that made
her - and then lick him clean.  Sure, he had things to do this
morning, but that wasn't the only reason he had taken her in
hand today.  Every so often, for some reason, he felt not just
like using her, but using her.  She was his daughter...his
daughter.  His little girl, his joy, his angel, his whore, his
slut, his pride and joy, his personal fuck-toy, cum-rag, and
private playground.  Why not fuck her face from time to time?
She would get what she always got out of it, one way or the
other.

      Laurel was dizzy by now, from the gagging and the motion
of her head, her hands gripping the sheet uselessly, her body
pulled invitingly over the side of the bed, her pert
seventh-grader ass sticking in the air.  Had anyone else been
there, they would have had a wonderful view of her puffy lips,
all but concealing her slit, now dripping and slick with her
juices.  Somewhere in her mind, she wished there was someone
else there.  Somewhere in her mind, she remembered all the times
there had been.

      Suddenly and without warning, her father jammed her head
as far down onto his pole as he could, mashing her lips into his
crotch and her nose into her pubic hair.  Her feet dug at the
carpet, her hands took in fistfuls of the bedsheet, as his
prick, now a good six-and-a-half-inches long and fairly thick
was filling her throat completely.  Her throat grasped and
spasmed around it, her stomach churned.  She felt his manhood
stiffen even more, and pulse in her throat, and she realized
that he was cumming not just in her mouth, but instead right
into her stomach.  The sensation was indescribable, and for a
moment she lost herself in orgasm, as her head became light and
waves of pleasure swept her body, from nipples to cunt, from ass
to throat, from her fingers to her toes.

      When she was again aware of what was going on, her father
had released his iron grip on her head, and lay panting on the
bed, covered in a light sheen of sweat.  She lay in disarray
across the bed, her knees still on the floor, her head in her
father's lap, his cock in her mouth now instead of her throat.
It was still hard, but as she held it only loosely in her mouth,
suckling slightly without even realizing it, it began to shrink
and return to a flaccid state.  As she layed there, her saliva
drying on her chin and neck and little lumps of tits, she
watched him, watched his face.  His eyes were closed as he
slowed his heart by measured breathing.  His chest glistened in
the now somewhat brighter light.  His hand still rested on her
head, his fingers stroking across her back.  After a few minutes
that seemed to last forever, he lifted his head and smiled at
her, a quirky half-smile that no doubt sent the ladies into
romantic - or perhaps steamy - day dreams.  She did not smile
back, but rather pursed her lips tight around the head of his
cock.  She knew what was coming next.

      Soon enough, she felt the first dribble of hot, salty piss
on her tongue, and just a moment afterward, a full flow of her
daddy's urine began to fill her mouth.  She knew better than to
let any of it spill - a dark, sweaty, painful, cunt-spasming
memory flashed across her brain - so she pressed her tongue to
the bottom of his cockhead and swallowed as fast as she could.
It was heaven for Jeffrey Hartman to watch his daughter's throat
work as she drank his piss.  She looked at him with desparate
eyes, her nostrils flaring.  He knew that the powerful stream of
his waste into her mouth must be acrid and bitter, just as he
knew that while she secretly enjoyed sucking cock (his cock, any
cock, older cock, lots of cock... fond memories passed through
his brain), she hated this.  It was the part of her morning
duties she dreaded most, and he occassionally let her out of
it - just often enough to make her think, every now and then,
that he was getting tired of this part of their game, and
wouldn't make her serve as his personal urinal any more.  He
smiled more broadly.  If only she knew what he had planned for
her this weekend.

      Laurel's eyes welled once more with tears, this time
because of the sharp ammonia piss that washed over her tongue,
that sprayed directly into the back of her throat, tickling it
and making her want to choke or spit it out.  In a way she was
almost glad that her father had raped her tender throat just
moments ago: it made this part just a bit easier.  It would
never be easy, though, no matter how much she loved cock (his
cock, any cock, old cock, lots of cock...an erotic whirlwind of
sensations tore through her stomach and cunt), no matter how
much she loved having the pretty head of her father's penis in
her mouth, she was revolted by the smell and taste and thought
of this, this perversity.  Drinking her father's urine, being
made into a toilet.  She loved it when he loved her; when he
took her into his arms and kissed her, fucked her.  She liked
being trapped under his body, pressed into the bed face first as
he shafted her tight young pussy.  She felt close, loved at
those times.  But this... this made her feel...dirty, cheap,
like a thing her father owned...her sex welled with juice at the
very thought of it, at the very thought of being a toy for her
father... and anyone he cared to entertain with his favorite
plaything.

      So she swallowed every drop, a tear shining at the corner
of her eye, her spit drying on her face, his sweat covering his
body and her neck and cheek, his hand resting idly on her head,
her head nestled in his lap, his penis suckled in her mouth like
a baby's bottle.  She was his baby.  He was her Daddy.  She
loved him, totally and without reservation.  He was her world,
her total all-in-all.  And he could use her any way he wanted
to, and she would never complain or say no.  Jeffrey Hartman
knew this, and knew it well.  And he intended to take full
advantage of it.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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