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Message-ID: <50796asstr$1111745403@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: Frank Braun <mazares@hotmail.com>
User-Agent: Xnews/5.04.25
NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 20:46:17 EST
Subject: {ASSM} RP: HOME IN MANHATTAN - Part II
Lines: 290
Date: Fri, 25 Mar 2005 05:10:03 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Copyright (C) 2002 by Frank Braun

mazares@hotmail.com

Emailed comments are welcome.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


HOME IN MANHATTAN - Part II

The words rolled only half-heard into my ears through the fog of near 
darkness: "... found strangled today in a Midtown pharmacy. This brings 
to 17 the number of teenage girls found raped and murdered in public 
places during business hours in Manhattan in just the last 14 months..."

I might have drifted back into sleep had not a hand patted my belly and 
an excited voice said, "Daddy, you're on TV!"

My eyes parted halfway to find my daughter, Gabriela, squatting beside me 
on the bed, dressed in her favorite long, red negligee, and staring into 
the television set. The room was dark except for the TV and the dim, 
yellow light from the lamp on the nightstand on her side of the bed.

"What time is it?" I said. "How long did I sleep?"

"It's seven," she said. "You've been asleep since four."

On arriving home, earlier, I'd showered then collapsed, naked, on the 
bed, having no idea I'd sleep so long. I'd planned only to rest for a few 
minutes.

"You over-did yourself," said Gabriela, giggling.

I slapped her lazily across the back of her head, then pulled her gently 
down to lie beside me. Her lips nuzzled my neck, half-tomboyishly, half-
lovingly, as she wrapped her crotch around my right thigh, planting her 
right leg between both of mine. The red silk of her gown rubbed 
luxuriously against my skin.

"Yep," she said, "Daddy's getting too old for his games."

"Fuck you," I whispered, hoping to close my eyes and fall back to sleep. 
I squeezed my daughter with an arm around her waist, pulling her close.

At 16, now, she was beautiful -- long, lustrous black hair, milky white 
skin, sparkling black eyes, and already nearly fully developed. Her 
presence in my bed nearly every night had long since become completely 
natural; and I didn't know where I'd be without her.

She was my daughter, to be sure; but after all these years, she was also 
by now my wife, my confidant.

"They got a picture of you this time," she said. I started a bit; I had 
begun to drift again, and the words frightened me awake.

"A picture?" I said. "What do you mean?"

"Store camera," she said. "Just the back and side of your head as you 
were leaving the place. It was the camera in the front door. They showed 
it on TV."

"Shit," I whispered, closing my eyes again. "Shit."

"Not to worry," she said. "Blue, fuzzy picture. You look like half the 
white crackers in Manhattan. Not to worry."

"I'll have to lie low for a while," I muttered, my eyes still closed, 
hoping for sleep. We had a nice life, here in the West 40s. Three-story 
brownstone. The ground floor was for guests and for Brian, the cook and 
housekeeper. The second floor was mine; my bedroom, my library, my 
office.

The third floor was Gabriela's. I tried never to visit her floor. It was 
hers to do with as she pleased, and I was often frightened to know what 
went on up there.

She spent her days roaming Manhattan on foot. It was no accident that we 
lived near the Port Authority Terminal and Times Square Station -- center 
of the world for runaways -- and Gabriela had become exquisitely expert 
at luring young, destitute wanderers to the third-floor quarters she 
offered them as free, temporary lodging. I often had no idea who, or how 
many, might be the children -- yes, many of them mere children -- living 
above me by her good graces.

"Hey!" So Gabriela whispered in my ear, waking me again from my dozing.

"Hey what? I'm trying to sleep."

"You can't sleep," she said, still whispering, her lips practically in my 
ear. "You got yours today, but I haven't had mine!"

"Tough shit," I said. "I'm asleep."

The sweet child sighed, and I fell back into sleep. And -- God knows 
where it came from -- I started to dream. Something about summer camp as 
a child, and the old wives' tale about how if you dip somebody's hand in 
warm water while they sleep, they'll wet their bed... Someone was dousing 
my hand in water, and I was about to pee...

My eyes flickered open to find my daughter's black hair poured like silky 
paint across my belly as she gently worked the head of my cock with her 
mouth. My right hand was awash in the black sea of hair; and in my sleep, 
she had managed already to cause me half an erection.

"Stop that," I moaned. "I'm so tired."

"But it feels so good," she garbled, her tongue confounded by the growing 
cock in her mouth. "Admit it."

I closed my eyes; nobody said I had to do anything; perhaps if I just 
laid here long enough, whatever was happening would pass...

My daughter was no oral amateur, and my cock continued to grow as her 
mouth moved deeper, deeper, warm and wet, over its growing length.

In no time, it had expanded to its full nine inches, and there was no 
longer any hope of sleep. Though the rest of my body was tired and 
aching, my cock was aflame with desire.

Gabriela sat up, and stared at me with a smirking grin. "Never fails, 
huh?" she said, proud of herself. She sat on my thighs, facing me, her 
hips practically on my balls, and pulled the red gown over her head and 
off.

Her apple-sized breasts, with their large, round, pink aureoles, jiggled 
deliciously as she tossed the red silk aside. "Watch this," she said with 
childish glee. "I'm jacking off!"

Indeed, she took my erect penis in her right hand, and it appeared for 
all the world to grow from her own thick, beautiful, black bush where she 
sat -- and I watched this sweet child, her soft white breasts heaving, 
her beautiful white belly protruding, masturbating what seemed to be her 
own, huge, nine-inch cock. Like a 16-year-old transsexual. It was almost 
too much.

"You want to watch me come?" she said, licking her lips lasciviously, her 
black eyes darting fire, her smile mocking me. "I bet I can dump great 
gobs of it. All over your belly. Maybe I'll come in your eye!"

"You're a sick slut," I gasped, hoarse with excitement, my hips now 
starting to buck uncontrollably as she brought me near to coming.

"Yeah," she sneered, "but I don't come that easily."

She stopped, just sitting there, still smirking, looking me right in the 
eye.

"What?" I said. "What do you want?" My cock now twitched on my belly, 
where she had let go of it and left it.

She stood on her knees, straddling me, then moved forward to lie across 
me, her lips near my ear. My hardness pressed into her belly.

"You fucked that little 'Rican bitch today," she whispered -- seemingly 
bitterly -- in my ear. "And you made me watch. I wanted you so bad. And 
she got it, not me. And all I could do was watch."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," I said, caressing her hair with my hand.

"Fuck you," she said. And she squirmed down to position her cunt right on 
the head of my cock, her wet warmth sliding around on it -- but not 
letting it in.

I shoved my shaft at her, trying to get in -- and she moved forward, not 
letting me -- just keeping her moist lips on it to tease it.

"My little pussy isn't good enough for you any more," she whispered, 
staring me straight in the eye -- while grinding her wetness all over the 
tip of my cock, teasing.

"That's not true, sweetheart -- " I started.

"Fuck you!" she screamed, no longer whispering. Then, her voice low 
again, she said, "Feel it."

She took my cock with her hand and massaged her hot, wet cunt lips with 
its head, driving me mad with desire. "It just isn't good enough, is it? 
Not brown enough? Not black enough? What do you want? What's good 
enough?"

Again, I jabbed at her with it, trying to get in -- and again, she jumped 
forward, taunting me, silently, with her eyes. Now I was angry. Placing 
my hand on her chest, between her heaving little breasts, I shoved her 
off me.

She, in turn, jumped off the bed and moved toward the bedroom door. I 
jumped up likewise, grabbed her by the arm, swirled her around, and 
slapped her as hard as I could across the face.

"Oh!" she screamed. "God! Yes!"

I slapped her again, then threw her across the bed, where she landed on 
her back, her legs spread wide open, her tongue darting around her lips. 
"God, yes!"

I dived onto the bed, spread myself across her, and started to guide my 
maddened cock into her cunt -- only to watch her squirm free and crawl 
toward the head of the bed.

I grabbed her by the hair and pulled her backward; on her knees, now, her 
milky white ass was practically in my face -- and on an impulse I leapt 
forward and delved my tongue as deep into her tiny asshole as I could.

She yelped, and then screamed, "You sick fucker! Stick your tongue up 
your own daughter's ass! You sick fucker! Why don't you fuck me like a 
real man? Fuck me like a real man, you asshole! I've had 15-year-old boys 
fuck me better than that!"

I yanked her by the hair, suddenly angered, and said, "Look me in the eye 
and say that, you little slut!"

She turned, slowly, even calmly, and looked me directly in the eye. And 
before saying anything, she slowly licked the whole circumference of her 
lips with the tip of her tongue, teasing me.

"I said," she intoned slowly, her eyes never leaving my own, "that I've 
had 15-year-old boys fuck me better than that." She paused. "Get it?"

Suddenly enraged, I slapped her so hard across her face that she fell 
backward, stunned, on the bed.

"You're dead, now," I said, as I grabbed her hair with my right hand to 
hold her still, and plowed my cock into her (dear God, very wet) cunt 
with my left, and began pounding her senseless.

"God damn!" she screamed. "Finally! What do I have to do to get you to 
fuck me?!"

"Act like the bitch that you are!" I yelled back. "That's all it takes!"

My daughter's pelvis began rising, hungrily, to meet each of my frenzied 
thrusts as I pounded her with total abandon. She was moaning now, 
apparently pleased at having aroused my wrath. I was near coming, but 
didn't want to end it here.

"You're enjoying this too much, you little cunt," I panted in her ear as 
I fucked her as hard as I could.

"Yeah, and so what!" she panted back.

I pulled my cock suddenly out, raised her legs to rest her ankles on my 
shoulders, then -- using the lubrication from her wanton cunt -- sank the 
head of my manhood into her tiny asshole.

"No!!!!" she screamed, her eyes suddenly wide open, stricken with pain.

"Yes!!!" I yelled back, gradually forcing another inch, then another, 
past her sphincter.

At last, it was in to the hilt, and my face was within inches of hers as 
I fucked her mercilessly, watching the tears come to her eyes as she 
whispered, "Yes, God yes, finally... fuck me... fuck me!"

I came in great spurts -- and, as always happens when doing it this way 
-- it was as though the cum had nowhere to go in the tightness of it all, 
and built nearly painful pressure backward on my cock, so that I slid 
immediately out, propelled by the natural action of the sphincter, and 
dribbled the last drops of my cum on my daughter's precious, white belly.

"You bastard," she whispered, tears welled up in her eyes. "Thank you."

I kissed her, my tongue exploring the depths of this mouth with which I 
was so familiar, and without which I could not live. I was in love with 
my daughter.

I rolled over on my back beside her, and said, "Lick your asshole off my 
cock."

Dutifully, she sat up, bent over me with her hair hanging luxuriously 
across my belly, and took the whole shrinking length of my penis into her 
mouth, cleansing it of her own filth, and sucking the remaining drops of 
cum from it as it twitched its last for the evening.

We laid side by side in silence, my right hand lounging on her beautiful 
black patch, long enough for me to nearly drift off again into sleep. 
Then she spoke.

"You've been a good Daddy today," she said.

"Oh yeah?" I mumbled, only half awake.

"Yes," she said. "And I have a surprise for you."

"I'm too tired for surprises," I replied -- suddenly worried that there 
was more to come tonight.

"Save your energy," she said. "It's tomorrow night. And you won't be 
sorry. You'll like her."

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