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Message-ID: <43639asstr$1059369006@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Simple Man" <Simple@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Wee Wanda" (Mg, gross, snuff, cons)
Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 01:10:06 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Wee Wanda

{ASSM} (Mg, gross, snuff, cons)

By Simple Man (C)2003





     "That's it baby, suck Daddy's cock!  Such a good girl that loves Daddy'
s cock."

     I like sucking Daddy's cock and waiting for him for him to squirt his
cream into my mouth.  Daddy says I look sexy with his cock in my mouth and
all naked and everything.  He says he wants to fuck me but hasn't done that
yet, says I'm not stretched out enough, so he just uses my butt hole when he
feels like it.  I want Daddy to do this stuff to me.  I like knowing he
wants me and my little body too.

     Meet 9 year old Wanda, a little girl that likes sex and loves her
Daddy.  She practically lives on male sperm, swallowing gallons of it in the
last four years.  Immature in size and looks, she is her Daddy's sex toy.
Wanda has no mother and no sisters or brothers, has never gone to school and
the only clothes she has are erotic dress up in nature.  They live so far
off the beaten path that they are virtually unknown by anyone.  Living so
far away from any civilization, they have a garden and are vegetarians.  Her
bathroom needs go into her Daddy's mouth and she is bathed six times a day
in a stream behind their cabin.  She does not play will dolls, and has no
toys, her life having only one meaning, she lives only for sex.

     Welcome to another Simple Man story.  You will either love it or hate
it, there is no middle ground, and in either case I don't want to hear about
it.  In the deepest, darkest part of my mind, these stories grow and fester
until they cannot be stopped, nor left alone.  Read it or leave it alone,
your choice.

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Wee Wanda (C)Simple Man, 2003

     How I come by these little girls is not really the question you want to
ask, is it?  Maybe it's why I do it?  Well for one thing, I don't like
women, never have, never will.  I want little girls, babies if you must
know.  I like having sex with their immature bodies.  Say, these cuffs are
kinda tight, would you mind loosening them just a notch?  No, I thought as
much.  You hate me, that much is plain to see.  And if it wasn't for the
fact that I was going to the Gas Chamber, you would kill me right now.  But
you want to hear my story, don't you; very well I will tell it to you
because it's the right thing to do.  A man should not die without his story
being known.

     My mother was a brutal woman that beat her husband and me, only a child
at the time.  She had no use for men, and made it plainly known every day.
My father was weak and beaten down, a mere shell of a man that took his
beatings, accepting them as signs of love.  Boy was he sick.  I was 17 when
she hit me for the last time and when my hands grasp her throat she suffered
long and hard before she died.  I turned on the oven and set the temperature
to 450 degrees and to bake, then dragged her dead body and stuffed as much
of it as I could into the oven.  I took the keys to my father's car as he
sat at the kitchen table enjoying the scene I had left for him, his mind
completely gone.

My back, my butt, the back of my legs, all held scars from the beating that
woman had given me over the years.  I drove away, as far away from people as
possible.  And as I drove, I noticed a very little girl, not much more than
a baby.  Now you gotta understand, this little girl would grow up to be a
woman, and that was bad.  Anyway I stopped the car, grabbed the tiny girl
and raced off to the mountains.  I drove for hours as the child slept;
finally coming to an open grove half way up the mountain.  Working all night
and for the next two days I managed to build a crude cabin of logs that the
grove provided with its many trees.  The little girl just sat there on a log
and sucked her thumb, too young to understand anything, urine running down
her legs.  With the last of the logs in place and a grass mat roof, I took
the child inside, undressed her and pissed on her face.

The fucking child giggled, liking me pissing on her.  I kept her 8 years and
fucked her every opening every day, until she understood what her life was
all about.  When she was finally trained, she was getting too old, so I
fucked her really hard and choked the life from her.  This was the best way
to go, in orgasm, she lay there like a dead stump, and I buried her out in
the garden I was working on.

     The next girl was even younger and still in diapers.  What the fuck,
this was just like a woman to not give a shit and leave the girl out where
she could be grabbed.  These women had to be either shown their proper place
or be exterminated.  Women were of no use, mean and sadistic, the scars on
my back hurt again and when the child's mother came out her voice died
quickly as my hands squeezed her throat, and she dangled a moment before
death.  The baby and I went home and she quickly learned what I wanted from
her, complete and utter submission, and sex.

     May I have a glass of water?  The officer looked at me like I was dirt
and worse, but he poured a glass of water and pushed it within my reach.
All the women in the station had been removed, there were only men, some
older, some younger, and I could sense the hatred they had for me.  I drank
and went on with my story.

     This second child was with me for 9 years.  See, little girls are
alright, they fuck and suck, doing what they are told, and it's only when
they begin to grow up that the danger of becoming a woman has to be stopped.
She slept through the slitting of her throat and died without effort.  I
sharpened at young sapling and pushed it into her cunt and up through her
body, then buried the other end of the pole into the ground.  She stood
there aloft impaled on the pole, her blood making designs of her naked body.
It was a beautiful sight to see her life end, saving her from being a woman.
I left her there to rot, it was only fitting.

The officer was retching on the floor, vomiting all he had ever eaten.
Wanda was next and she was way different.  She was 11 months old.  Her
mother took off her backpack which held the baby, her back sore from the
weight of the infant and sat on the park bench, her daughter sleeping in the
backpack next to her.  She thought she had nodded off for only a minute or
two, but when she looked, her baby was gone.  I could see the images of the
boys in the park, their bodies bruised and welted from numerous beatings at
the hand of their mothers.  There were no men; probably already abused so
much they never went out in public anymore, fucking women, why do they hate
us so much?

     The baby was my pride and joy, too little for anything, she just
occupied time and space and was hungry all the time, and well there was no
formula, only my sperm to fill her hungry belly.  She literally grew up on
the protein I fed her constantly with.  The child loved sucking my cock and
getting her mouthful of sperm, as she grew up, and I was getting too old to
do this anymore, I would let this one live and had named her Wanda, my
mother's name.  Unlike the others, she accepted me as her father and for
once I wondered if rigid training would not make her a worthwhile woman.  It
's so simple, the Bible tells of Adam being the first man, and God, the Lord
of all, taking one of his ribs to make a woman.  Even then Eve ruined his
life, in the very fucking beginning of it all.

God was angry, and I am angry too.  Women must not be allowed a right to
choose like men do.  They are to grovel at a man's feet in abject submission
the way it was intended for them to do.  Offer their cunt's to them for
satisfaction and bear their children.  If anyone is to be beaten it should
be the woman and not the child.

     Death Row is a sad place where men come to die for what society thinks
is wrong.  No one understands my point of view.  Wanda is now 13 and she
writes to me every day, often enclosing pictures of her heavenly body, at
least her foster family is taking care of all her needs.  The cell wing is
quiet now save for the footsteps that will take another man away, this time
they come for me.

The cubicle is small and circular and as I am strapped into the wooden chair
I am facing a Priest who makes the sign of the cross.  The door closed, the
pellet dropped, it's over.



END

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