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Subject: {ASSM} A Teen Slut's Saga Ch. 5
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Date: Thu, 05 Jan 2006 07:10:04 -0500
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THIS story should only be read by adults who understand the difference
between fiction and reality.

This story has lots of edgy sex (edgy  if-it-was-real-it'd-be-illegal)
involved. But they're not real!!! So enjoy with a clear conscience if
you're mature enough!

To see all of my stories, and participate in a cool online community,
check out www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Forbidden_Fantasies/www/, my 100% free story
review and collection
website!

A Teen Slut's Saga
By PunkyGirl

Chapter 5: Away Into Nothing
ď>>ż

George was a nervous wreck when he pulled onto the small residential
street off of the gas-station and liquor-store ridden road he usually
took home from work. Part of him had considered not making the turn
toward home at all. A few more blocks and that main drag would have
brought him to a freeway. Once there he could just go, head anywhere,
maybe someplace out west, or someplace down south.

But the nervous man, full of fear at the thought of going to jail, made
the turn toward home anyway.

He took his large Dodge Ram pickup truck slowly down the road lined
with parked cars. The closer he got to his house, the more his heart
rate increased.

You fucked yourself good this time, a voice deep inside his head said.
Yeah, you fucked yourself real good. Was it worth it? Was it worth
raping that bitch of a daughter of yours? She got you good, got you
real good. Because you're fucked now, my man. And it better have been
worth it 'cause the cops are waiting for you. They're waiting at your
house to arrest your punk ass. You're gonna be in court again and all
the war medals in the world ain't gonna impress no judges this time.
You raped your daughter, you sick fuck! Your 13-year-old girl! They're
gonna put her on the stand and one sight of that cute little angel brat
bitch will anger a jury like nothing. And when it's your turn, what're
you gonna say? That she's yours? Shit, they're gonna hate you even
more! They're gonna wanna make you pay for what you did. And you will
pay. You'll pay by going to some rape-me-in-the-ass prison for the rest
of your miserable fucking life. So when you're getting gang-raped by
some neo-nazi motherfuckers six months from now, you better be able to
think it was worth it, you stupid fuck!

"FUCK!" George exclaimed. His hands were gripping his steering wheel
and his knuckles were white and his forehead was sweaty. He was scaring
himself shitless. His truck was idling. The springtime sun was high and
bright in the sky. He heard someone honk their horn.

Anger boiled in his stomach. Fuck, he kept thinking. Why'd I fucking do
that? I'm fucked, I'm totally fucked.

Reluctantly the 'Nam vet pushed at the gas peddle. The truck began to
move again, move closer to his house. The cops are going to be there,
he told himself. They're going to be there, waiting.

But they weren't.

Everything seemed normal, in fact. No cops, no strange cars parked in
the street, nothing. Hands trembling, he pulled into his narrow
driveway. When he finally pulled into the garage behind the house, he
put the truck in park and killed the engine.

"Lord," he whispered aloud, "if you let me off this time I swear, I
swear I'll never do that again. I swear it."

George wasn't religious. But prayers like that had worked in Vietnam.
It'd been that long since he'd needed them. He got out of his truck.

When he entered the house through its side entrance he was amazed at
how quiet everything was. It was disconcerting. Mary wasn't there,
cooking dinner or watching TV. She'd left him, he remembered. Shit.

But also, the loud rock music that usually came from his daughter's
room upstairs wasn't to be heard, either. Strange.

He began to grow nervous again. Maybe she'd left. Maybe his little girl
had hiked up to the police station, or was at a neighbor's house. Or
maybe, he thought optimistically, she simply ran away. Maybe she was on
the streets of the Cleveland ghetto right now, officially becoming the
whore he knew she was.

Then he saw her little silver purse on the kitchen counter. She hadn't
run away. She was still in the house.

He knew that he wasn't going to be able to relax until he confirmed
this, though. After all, it was too much to ask for. So George, walking
softly, went to the stairs. He ascended them. He stood in front of his
little girl's door. And then he knocked.

At first there was no response, and his hopes began to fade. She was at
a police station; she was being counseled by some tight-assed D.A., who
was getting every detail possible, every detail they'd need to send him
prison for the rest of his life. The next sound he was going to hear
was sirens.

He was wrong. There were no sirens. Instead he heard the soft and
fragile voice of his little girl asking, "What?"

He didn't know what to say. "Can I come in?" he asked.

He heard a rustling inside the room. Finally: "Okay."

He turned the knob and pushed open the door. His girl, his little brat
of a daughter, was lying on her bed. She looked terrible. Still sexy as
always, but terribly sick, her face was pale, her hair was disheveled.
It looked like she'd been lying there all day. The covers of her bed
were pulled right up to her chin, and she was eying him like he was the
devil, but her stare was weak and sad and pathetic.

"I just," he began to say before stopping. He sounded scared, he
realized. I shouldn't sound scared, he thought.

"Did you go to school?" he asked, his voice more firm.

"No," the girl replied, her voice a whisper.

"That's okay," he nodded. Her weakness was giving him confidence. And
thank God she hadn't gone to school! But there was another issue.

"Did you call anyone today?" he asked.

She shifted nervously. "No."

Again, Thank God! His prayers had been answered.

"Okay," he said. "That's fine. I know you're upset about Mary leaving.
You can stay home again tomorrow if you want."

She nodded her head, ever so slightly.

George felt relief beyond imagination. He hadn't been so relieved since
back during the war, after a mortar round had exploded nearby, sending
him into the heavy brush. He'd come to in a daze, with blood covering
his body. The terror he'd felt back then was like the terror he'd felt
only moments before. The drive home from work today had been like when
his comrades had dragged him away, desperately dragging him through the
jungle, away from the river, the scariest time when bullets were
whizzing and explosions were deafening his ears. While they were saving
him George had thought they were saying he was dead. Or that he was
going to die. There'd been so much fucking blood.

The relief he felt now was like the relief he'd felt when the medic had
rushed over, examined him, and smiled. The bandages had been placed
onto him, but it hadn't taken long, and his comrades had begun to joke
to him in relief. The shrapnel had hit him in the right shoulder and
the lower left side of his torso, and though there'd been a lot of
blood, he hadn't actually been hurt that bad. He'd been given a second
chance.

Such relief then. Such relief, now.

His little girl was scared too, he now realized. She wasn't going to
call the cops. Or even tell a teacher or anyone about what he'd done to
her. She wasn't going to tell a soul. He was safe. He'd been worried
that she'd be smart enough to get away from him, run away or whatever,
but the truth was she was too fucking stupid to know what was best.
Thank God.

Still, George couldn't shake the guilt entirely. But a thought suddenly
entered his head that would do just that.

"So yeah, take tomorrow off from school," he said again. "But there was
something else I wanted to talk to you about."

He stepped forward, and he saw her flinch slightly, but he didn't care.
He walked right up to her bed. Looking down into her cute, wide eyes,
staring up at him in fear, he almost got a hard-on, actually.

No, he told himself.

"Mary and I had an arrangement," he explained to his daughter, making
his words up on the fly. "Every other Friday I gave her $500 cash, and
she'd use it to buy groceries, and sometimes clothes for her and you. I
don't know shit about buying groceries. Would you want to do that for
me?"

His saw his daughter's eyes go wide. To a 13-year-old, $250 a week was
a lot of money. The truth was that Mary had always insisted on at least
$750 a paycheck, in addition to the grocery money. And he had always
complied. But this stupid twat of a daughter didn't know that, and she
didn't need to know that.

"What about... my allowance?" the girl responded.

"Well," George said to her, "that was paid out of Mary's $500, too.
What was it, $20 a week? Just go ahead and pay yourself whatever
allowance you feel like."

The look on his little girl's face was priceless. Was she upset,
scared, embarrassed? Sure. But she was also greedy. He fought away a
grin as his guilt melted away.

"You'll have $500 every other week, cash," he went on, "to spend as you
like. The only condition is that you have to keep the fridge stocked
up. Anything left over after that, well, it'll be yours."

Pure greed had filled the brat's eyes, now. But she was still a little
worried.

"I can't buy your beer," she said meekly, pointing out the obvious.

"I'll buy that myself," he told her. "Always have."

A moment passed. She was staring at him one second, then away into
nothing the next. What was the big deal? he wondered. After grocery
expenses she'd be pulling in at least $170 a week! She should be
sucking his dick in appreciation!

"Okay," she finally said.

He sighed. Another flood of relief engulfed him. He nodded. Then he
turned around and went out of her room.

When he got to the hallway, he felt better. A lot better. His daughter
hadn't ratted him out about what he'd done. And what's more, she had
accepted his "bribe" to forgive his guilt.

Thank you Lord, he prayed as he went downstairs for a beer. I owe you
one, big time. And there's no fucking way I'm ever doing any of that
shit to her again. I promise. I swear it.


END OF CHAPTER
SEE all currently posted chapters of this stories, my other stories,
plus find reviews to similar stories I like at:

www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Forbidden_Fantasies/www/

...a 100% free collection and review website run by me, Shannon!
IF (for some strange reason) you want to distribute this story without
my consent, well, there's nothing I can do about it is there? Frankly I
wouldn't mind either. But a simple e-mail in advance would make me feel
wanted!: PunkyGirl04@gmail.com
PLEASE e-mail me with any comments/advice/mistakes... feedback makes
the world go round! :P

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