index


Message-ID: <62867asstr$1388452201@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: glegroupsg2000goo.googlegroups.com; posting-host=136.145.181.36;
 posting-account=KLMmSgoAAACdqZK3pC_icK-S8hXLo_kg
User-Agent: G2/1.0
MIME-Version: 1.0
From: Douche Bag <circuscircusallhallowsday@gmail.com>
Injection-Date: Mon, 30 Dec 2013 12:58:27 +0000
Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable
Subject: {ASSM} "Watching Television Watching" (Mg, incest, fantasy, mystery, horror)
Lines: 1048
Date: Mon, 30 Dec 2013 20:10:01 -0500
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

It was in his mailbox when he got home that night, a flat square
brown mailer not unlike the kind in which he used to get any DVDs
he ordered online, but smaller. With almost everything being on
the internet these days, he rarely got anything of interest by
snail mail anymore, but he still made it a routine to check the
mailbox. Among other things, a lot of courts and government
agencies, such as the ones that relayed his ex-wife's demands for
alimony payments to him, still sent their messages this way. This
time, there was nothing but some old-fashioned junk mail and
this: an unmarked package. More junk mail, perhaps? He would see.

When he got into the little house he was renting, he flipped on
the light and checked the mailer again. This being the depths of
Winter, the sun had already been setting when he left work. He'd
still been able to see a bit in the moonlight, but he had to have
some real light to be sure. No, there was nothing on the mailer,
not even a post mark. It was possible, even likely, that it
hadn't been mailed at all, that some random bozo had just stuck
it in his mailbox as a stupid prank. Well, he'd find out soon
enough.

Prying open the flap on the end with his fingernails, he looked
into the mailer and saw that it held a mini-DVD. The disc was
tightly wedged in place, and in his efforts to extract it from
the mailer he lost hold of it and accidentally dropped it on the
floor recorded-face-down. Knowing that the slightest scratch on
this side could interfere with reading what was on it, he was
careful to stoop and pick it up very gently.

Looking the disc over, he saw that it was just a generic
recordable mini-DVD for home use of the kind one could get
cheaply from any store with an electronics department. While it
had some lines on its upper face where someone could scribble a
label on it with a permanent marker, these had been left blank.
Turning it over and holding it up to the light, he saw that
whatever was recorded on it had almost completely filled the
disc. His experience suggested this was probably video footage;
people who used these discs to record data usually had an
appalling tendency to let a lot of the available space go to
waste.

Locking the door behind him, he sighed and took the disc over to
the old PC he had hooked into his old CRT television. He rarely
used this computer anymore, though it doubled as his DVD player
and Netflix streamer. Firing it up, he opened the DVD drive's
tray and slipped the disc into it. Then he closed it and went to
the kitchen to get a brew. Work had been a hassle and right now
he didn't even care to think about the assignment his butt-head
of a boss had given him to complete over the weekend. Whatever
was on the disc could wait.

By the time he got back, he'd forgotten all about the disc and
his PC. Kicking back in his recliner, he flipped on the TV, which
was running a news program, and relaxed with the tales of
international murder and mayhem they were telling. The breathless
tone with which the news anchors reported these he found mildly
amusing. A few years ago, they'd used the same breathless tone
talking about all the mounting casualties in Afghanistan and
Iraq. With the change of administrations, casualties in these
countries had continued to mount, but for some reason these
didn't matter anymore and all the emphasis was on the turmoil
between Syria's regime and its rebels these days.

After a while, watching the news got boring, so he picked up his
remote and changed the channel. The next channel was also running
a news program. He surfed some more through commercials, an old
science fiction show rerun, and some kind of stupid singles'
sitcom with canned laughter. As usual, there was nothing on.
Maybe, he mused, he should have sprung for cable or a dish. Then
he could have surfed through hundreds of channels with nothing
on.

Then he came to the auxiliary channel. Normally, this would have
shown a blank screen, but since his PC was on, it was showing a
desktop with icons. I must be getting old, he thought; I'd
forgotten all about that. Well, whatever the disc might have on
it, it stood a chance of being more interesting than any more
channel surfing would be. Putting down the remote, he took hold
of the long-neglected wireless mouse next to it and
double-clicked the DVD drive shortcut icon. As he'd half
expected, it opened his video player. Right clicking on this, he
directed it to fill the screen and waited.

The TV screen almost immediately filled with static. This was
probably a capture from some old VHS tape, since digital cameras
nowadays were usually wide screen and didn't have static anything
like this. Indeed, though the static soon cleared, he could still
see the tape noise in the blank darkness that followed and a
slight warp in the lines at the bottom of the screen. Whoever had
captured this hadn't bothered to crop it properly either.

Soon a little circle appeared on the screen and expanded to fill
it with an image. As this came into focus, he saw that it was a
human face; a little girl's face. She had waves of golden-brown
hair spilling down to her shoulders and looked to be about 6
years old, give or take a year. Though her face was
expressionless, she also seemed to be staring right at him
through those gray eyes of hers, which for some reason fascinated
him and held his gaze.

Then the circle contracted in on her image and she was gone,
though she continued to hold his gaze right up until her eyes
were covered. He hadn't been this fascinated with anything for a
long time. Who was she, and why was he suddenly so interested in
her? He continued to watch and wait.

Soon, a blur of color faded into view and then focused into an
image of someone's back yard. From all the greenery and blooming
flowers on the shrubbery, he could see that this must have been
shot somewhere in summertime. Into the frame skipped the little
girl from earlier, now grinning and giggling and making goofy
faces at whoever was holding the camera. Her summer clothes
confirmed his seasonal assessment: no school's dress code would
have allowed her in class in the neon-pink sleeveless shirt,
short shorts, and open-toed sandals she was wearing as she
pranced happily around the yard, teasing at the camera as it
pursued her everywhere she went.

He was just noticing how remarkably steady this footage was,
coming from what was obviously a hand-held camera, when the girl
suddenly scampered onto a porch and through the sliding glass
doors of someone's house and the scene suddenly faded to a room
presumably somewhere inside that same house, where the same
giggling little girl now pranced around in front of a fireplace.
She must have lost her sandals at some point during the
transition as she was barefoot now, a seemingly insignificant
detail that he somehow noticed nonetheless. He also noticed that
while he could see reflections of both the room and girl in the
brightly polished brass and glass on the fireplace doors,
including some off-camera furniture, he could see no camera-man
reflected there. He also could see nothing else to identify the
little girl or where she was: no portraits or pictures or
placards or anything like that around the room.

Once again the girl scampered out of the room with the camera in
pursuit, and once again the scene faded to another setting, with
the girl sitting cross-legged on a little bed with pink covers in
a room with the walls and furniture all painted pink and with
light-pink carpeting. It was probably her bedroom, judging by all
the feminine coloring and the dolls and stuffed animals and other
childish girly items he saw behind her. Now she was just sitting
quietly, smiling and staring intently up into the camera. As he
watched, she cocked her head slightly, nodded as if in answer to
some inaudible question, and grabbed the edges of her shirt.

Then, as if someone had suddenly bumped the camera, the screen
blanked out in a silent burst of static. This static persisted
for about a minute, and then the PC's media player stopped and
exited full-screen mode. The player window continued to hover
over the desktop, dark and empty except for a product logo in the
center.

For quite a while he seemed to be in a stupor, transfixed with
dull surprise, not quite sure how to react to the sudden lack of
any meaningful ending to this video. Who was that girl, and what
was the point of all this footage of her? What had she been doing
that last moment before the video cut out? Why had someone seen
fit to give this recording to him?

Was there anything else on the disc? He checked the player; it
offered no further chapters or titles. He explored the disc
itself; it had nothing but the one video on it, which was a large
enough file to fill the disc. Those few minutes of footage must
have been encoded at an exceedingly high bit rate for the video
file to be that big.

Well, it was late and he was hungry. He would go back over the
video and search for clues some other time. He picked up the
remote and changed the channel again just to see whether anything
of interest was on the news now, and hit the power button when
there wasn't. Dragging his weary bones up out of his seat, he
went to the kitchen to get himself a microwave dinner and
promptly forgot about everything that had just happened.

----------------------------------------------

He was surfing the web on his laptop at the kitchen table the
next morning during breakfast when the doorbell rang. He hadn't
ordered any packages lately, and nobody he knew had any reason to
visit him here, unless it was one of his ex-wife's lawyers.
Groaning to himself and hoping whoever was at the door was nobody
important, he got up to go answer it.

Peeking through the little peephole on the front door, he saw no
one there. At the end of the street, however, he could see a car
idling at the curb. Then the handle on his locked front door
rattled and he realized why he couldn't see the one who was
obviously there nonetheless. Was it that time of the month
already? Yes, it surely was.

"Hi, Daddy!" said little Marissa, springing up into his arms as
he opened the door to her. The backpack she was hefting was
heavier than he'd anticipated, and she almost bowled him over
with her enthusiastic greeting. Stepping back a bit to regain his
balance, he let her slide back down to the floor.

"Your mother's not here with you?" he asked.

"No, she didn't want to walk me to the door. She's just waiting
until you take me in."

As if to confirm what she was saying, his ex-wife's car suddenly
revved up and peeled away from the curb. Yes, of course that old
harpy didn't want to see him again. She knew, for all that she'd
won from him in divorce court, that she'd been the one who'd
wronged him, and that everyone else involved with her understood
this even though the blatantly biased judge who'd presided over
the divorce hadn't.

His little six-year-old Marissa, with her long jet-black head of
hair and sparkling baby-blue eyes, was a delightful child even
though she wasn't strictly his; her black hair definitely didn't
come from the long line of Swedish tow-heads in his family
history, and her mother's hair was a flaming Scottish red. This
obvious genetic inconsistency hadn't been the only reason for the
divorce, but it had been one of the more decisive ones. Even so,
he was the only man Marissa would ever call "Daddy" and he did
love her as if she were his very own daughter.

Mentally, he kicked himself for forgetting Marissa was going to
be here for this weekend. She was one of the few highlights in
his otherwise miserable and incredibly boring life; how could he
have let this visitation slip his mind? To make matters worse, he
still had that assignment from work to do today and it couldn't
wait. Much as he hated to put her off, Marissa was going to have
to take care of herself for a while.

As his cheerful little first-grader scampered off to his kitchen
on her stubby little legs, he sighed, closed the door, and
followed her. Climbing up into her chair and laying her backpack
on the table, she watched him eagerly as he got a carton of milk
from the fridge and poured her a glass.

"Anything else for you? You want something to eat?" he asked.

"No, I'm good," she said. "Mom made me breakfast before we left."
She took a big gulp from her glass. "So, Daddy, what are we gonna
do today?"

He hid a grimace behind the laptop as he took his seat again.

"Um, well, actually, Marissa, I'm afraid Daddy's got some work to
do today," he said. "It really can't wait. My boss is riding me
hard about this, and you know what he's like."

"Yeah," said Marissa, her smile suddenly vanishing. She'd heard a
lot about Daddy's boss, though he'd lately been trying not to
complain about him so much. The mere mention of him could blight
just about any conversation.

Not wanting to disappoint her too much, however, he quickly added
"I think I'll have most of it done by noon, though. Then maybe we
can go somewhere and have some fun. What do you say?"

"Sure, Daddy," she said, after some hesitation. She still didn't
look very happy. However, after about a minute, she had an
inspiration and suddenly perked up again. "Daddy, did you see my
new clothes? Mommy got them for me yesterday! What do you think?"
She slid down off her chair and stood out in the middle of the
kitchen, turning this way and that to show off her new outfit.

Looking away from the laptop, he looked his little girl up and
down. So this was what all those alimony payments to that old
harlot went to buy. At least with Marissa, the money wasn't being
wasted. She had on a blue denim jumper over a long-sleeved
powder-blue flannel shirt and a pair of powder-blue knee-socks.
On her feet, coordinating well with the rest of her clothes, she
was wearing a pair of white canvas shoes with powder-blue
highlights.

"I think they're very pretty, darling," he said, continuing to
admire her clothes with his eyes for as long as she continued to
flaunt them, and trying to keep what he was thinking and feeling
about her mother from showing on his face. Now that he thought of
it, his ex-wife always had known how to dress for success, though
from what Marissa had told him about her Mommy's many boyfriends,
she was probably dressing for "success" with a very different
kind of clientele these days.

When Marissa was satisfied that her daddy had appreciated her new
clothes to the fullest, she said "While you're working, Daddy,
can I go watch TV?"

"Of course, darling," he said. "Just finish your milk first."

"Right!" Returning to her seat, Marissa quickly gulped down the
rest of her drink and then ran out to the living room. Before
long, he was hearing the saccharine theme song to some new
Saturday morning cartoon for girls blaring from the speakers, and
knew she'd found something to suit her. Deciding now was as good
a time as any to get to work, he quickly finished off the rest of
his orange juice and soggy corn flakes, and picked up his laptop
to take it with him to his desk upstairs.

On his way through the living room, he saw Marissa parked on the
floor at the foot of the recliner, staring up at the TV.

"You'll get a real crick in your neck if you keep looking up like
that, Marissa," he admonished her. "If you're going to keep
watching the TV, you'd better get up on the chair."

Marissa got up, stepped over next to the recliner and pulled the
lever to extend the foot rest, and then sat on the foot rest.
Pulling her legs up to cross them under her, she felt the rubber
soles of her shoes digging into her knees, and slid them off. All
this she did without ever once looking away from her cartoons.
This wasn't quite what he'd had in mind when he told her to get
up on the chair, but at least she wasn't straining her neck so
much now.

Something about all of this, her quiet compliance with his
instructions, and the way she was sitting there now, struck him
as really odd, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what it
was. Now was no time to be lingering over such stray thoughts,
however; he had work to do. He continued up the stairs to the
dormer he used partially as his bedroom and partially as his
study. While his desk and study were at the far end of the house
from the stairs, the stairs down into the living room were open
at the top such that if Marissa cried out in alarm or made any
other loud noises, he could hear her and come running.

Of course, what reason would Marissa have to be alarmed? She was
watching TV, and he knew the cartoons that had her so thoroughly
enthralled would be on for several more hours. Watching too much
TV at a time might turn her mind to mush in the long run, but as
long as he didn't make a habit out of letting the TV babysit her
this way in the future, she should be fine.

----------------------------------------------

Several hours later, the last of the Saturday morning cartoons
was over, and Marissa was getting bored. The last show had been
one of those guys-in-big-robot-suits cartoons for boys, and she'd
only watched it because everything on the other channels was
live-action stuff for bigger kids and grownups. Now that was over
too and some kind of game show for grownups was coming up next.
She picked up the remote and started to surf, vainly hoping
somebody would still be showing cartoons.

She knew the channels on Daddy's TV only went up to a certain
number, but in her boredom and frustration at finding no more
cartoons, she wasn't keeping track of the little numbers flashing
up on the corner of the screen, and kept flipping past the last
one. This rolled Marissa around to the auxiliary channel, on
which a screen saver was currently running. This caught her
attention: she'd seen stuff like this on computers at school and
on Mommy and Daddy's laptops, but was there a computer on the TV
too?

Putting down the remote, Marissa watched the screen saver pattern
continue to bounce around the screen at random for a while. When
she got tired of this, she got down off her seat and went looking
around the room. Yes, there was a computer right there next to
the TV, a PC box like the ones they had at school in the library
and on wheeled platforms in the classrooms. She didn't see any
mouse or keyboard attached to this one, though. So how did it
work?

While exploring around the room, she happened to bump into the
little table from which she'd gotten the remote. Suddenly the
screen saver disappeared and she saw that thing her teachers at
school called a "desktop" come up on the TV. "Did I do that?" she
muttered softly. Climbing up into the recliner, she looked over
the arm rest at the little table and saw a mouse and keyboard
lying there that looked just like the ones at school, except that
these didn't have any cords.

Putting her hand on the mouse the way they'd shown her how to do
at school, Marissa moved it around and saw the little pointy
arrow thing on the screen move around just like it did on any
other computer with any other mouse. This mouse not having to be
attached to the computer by a cord to move the arrow around was
pretty cool. She was going to let one of her teachers at school
know about this mouse so they could get some like this for the
computers there too.

As she was playing with the mouse, she accidentally clicked one
of the buttons, and suddenly the screen went blank. Uh oh! What
had she done now? Then, just as suddenly as it had gone blank,
she saw a bunch of fuzzy white dots all over the screen something
like what you saw with a TV when it was turned to a channel that
wasn't working right. Most of her teachers called this stuff
foam, though the science teacher, who was from up north, called
it snow. Had she just changed the channel by accident?

Now the snow or foam or whatever faded away, and the screen went
almost completely dark, though not quite. Some of the movies and
stuff they'd shown her at school looked this way at the
beginning. Was she about to see a movie?

A little circle appeared on the screen and grew into a bunch of
blurry little blobs of color. Then, like when she looked through
a lens on a microscope while turning the little dial, Marissa saw
the blur get un-blurry and turn into a picture of a little girl
about her age. The girl had long brown hair and gray eyes, and
she was looking out from the screen right at her.

At first, Marissa wanted to say something, to ask the girl who
she was, and why she was looking at her that way: neither happy
nor sad, neither friendly nor mean, just... watching her. Their
eyes met and their gazes locked, and suddenly she couldn't think
of anything to say. Quietly, not really aware of what she was
doing, she took her seat on the foot rest and crossed her legs
under her again, waiting to see what the little girl would do.

The circle shrank around the girl and she vanished, though she
kept watching Marissa until she was gone. Then another one of
those blurs of color faded into view and turned into a picture of
someone's back yard. Into the frame skipped the same little girl
from before, dressed in a hot pink shirt and shorts and sandals
and smiling and laughing and making faces at someone off the
screen, which followed her around the yard every where she went.
The girl scampered onto a porch and through the sliding glass
doors of someone's house, and then the picture faded into another
picture of a room with a fireplace, where the same girl came
running in barefoot and played around some more.

Now the screen followed her out of that room and faded to another
room that looked something like Marissa's bedroom at home, though
the walls and furniture and stuff were all pink instead of light
purple. She sat Indian-style on the bed, watching somebody just
off the screen. She turned her head just a little bit, as if
listening to something, and nodded. Reaching down, she grabbed
the edges of her shirt in both hands.

----------------------------------------------

Upstairs, the man Marissa knew as her daddy looked up from the
memorandum he'd just finished proofreading and realized he must
have fallen into a stupor for a moment. Looking down at the
little digital clock on the task bar, he realized it was several
minutes past noon already and past time for him to knock off.
There was still a bit more to be done, but he could send what
he'd finished so far off to the boss after lunch, and that would
keep him at bay at least until tomorrow. For that matter, he
could probably finish the rest tonight after his little girl was
in bed. For now, it was time to knock off.

Closing his laptop, he stood up and stretched his limbs.
Mindlessly watching TV for several hours, he mused, really does
help develop one important skill: the ability to keep looking
mindlessly at a computer screen for several hours once you grow
up to be an office drone with a coffee cup glued to your lips.
Speaking of watching TV, the morning was over, and with it the
Saturday morning cartoons. What might his little Marissa be
watching now?

In fact, as he walked solemnly across the dormer to the stairs,
he suddenly realized it was awfully quiet down there in the
living room; too quiet, really. What was Marissa doing? Knowing
her, she was never this quiet when she wasn't watching TV. Had
she found something else to keep her occupied? He couldn't think
of anything much she'd find around the house to interest her; it
was just a rental, and not very elaborately furnished.

Creeping stealthily down the stairs, he looked between the rails
of the banister and saw little Marissa sitting right where she'd
been the last time he saw her, her legs crossed in the same
position, still staring at the TV. The TV, however, was showing
nothing but static, and making no audible noise. Why would she
sit still to watch that?

"Marissa?" For a moment, he felt like cringing from the sound of
his own voice. It seemed so loud, cutting through this eerie
silence so suddenly. Nevertheless, he broke the silence again,
albeit more softly. "Marissa?" She wasn't answering. He raised
his voice again. "Marissa!"

She didn't respond. What was wrong with her? Gingerly, he stepped
down the stairs and approached Marissa and the inexplicably
horrible silence of that static-filled television screen.
Something felt very, very wrong about this whole situation, and
his instincts told him that whatever it was had everything to do
with that static-filled screen. If he looked at it too long, it
might capture his gaze the same way it had captured hers.
Already, he thought he could feel something resisting him as he
wrenched his gaze away.

Though for some reason he didn't like having his back turned to
the TV, he kept it turned all the same as he finally stepped
directly between Marissa and the screen. Looking down into her
little face and beholding the complete lack of expression on it
as those baby blues of hers seemed to stare blankly right past
him, he began to think she'd gone catatonic. What on earth could
she have been watching? He looked down and saw the remote control
on the arm rest behind her, pointed backwards; obviously placed,
not dropped. Looking further, he saw the little table next to the
recliner where he usually kept that remote along with the
wireless mouse and keyboard.

In a flash, memories of everything he'd seen last night suddenly
came back to him in a mighty flood. Now he knew why the silent
static, Marissa's expressionless face, and the way she was
sitting cross-legged with her shoes off all seemed so oddly
familiar to him. These were all things that he'd seen on that
video on the mini-DVD last night; which, now that he thought of
it, was still in the tray and ready to be played.

Yet none of this explained what the TV was doing now... or why
Marissa had seemingly gone catatonic... or what was in the video
itself and why it had been sent to him in the first place.
Remembering a lesson about problem-solving he'd learned back in
his own childhood, he decided to tackle these mysteries one at a
time, starting with the silent static on the TV. The video on the
mini-DVD had started and ended with this static. Could that video
somehow be stuck in a loop at the beginning or end?

Turning to his PC, he pushed the eject button on the DVD drive.
It made a whirring noise, but did not open. He pushed it again.
The drive door flapped open, the tray popped out, and the static
immediately vanished from the screen, replaced by the PC's
desktop with the media player window on it. Remembering how he'd
dropped the disc last night and how the slightest bit of dust on
a disc could make a video scramble and stick, he turned it over,
blew on it, and wiped it against his shirt before putting it back
in the tray and closing it again.

Turning to Marissa, he saw that he was well on his way to solving
the second mystery as well, since something about the static
being cleared from the screen had apparently snapped her out of
her stupor. The expression on her face was one of tranquil
curiosity, and she was watching him now, following his every move
with her eyes. He thought of asking her about the video: how
she'd discovered it, why she'd been watching it, and what she'd
found so fascinating about it. However, the mini-DVD had
evidently triggered the auto-play function on his PC's media
player, for it was already filling the screen, and the video was
already starting again.

As the static faded into the tape-noise-covered darkness, he slid
into his recliner behind Marissa and waited to see whether a
second viewing would reveal something to either of them that they
might have missed the first time. Once again, the blurry circle
appeared and expanded and the blurry image of the little girl
came into focus. Once again, the little girl with the
golden-brown waves of hair and the piercing gray eyes seemed to
be watching them with a complete lack of any expression. Once
again, she continued to watch until the circle closed in on her
again and she was gone.

He noticed nothing particularly significant about this part of
the video he hadn't noticed before except for perhaps one or two
minor details: the girl's face truly was filling the screen, such
that he couldn't see anything below her chin, and the background
behind her was completely blank, just a big off-white blur.
Probably, he speculated, that part had been shot against a blue
screen. If so, this video might well be an excerpt from a
professional home movie some vanity studio had compiled from
somebody's old home video tapes.

As the back yard came into view and the little brunette came
prancing into the frame once again, Marissa suddenly began
scooting backwards, sliding herself up her daddy's legs and into
his lap. As she leaned her pretty little head back against his
chest, the feel of her soft warm body awakened some long-dormant
instinct in him, and he wrapped his arms around her in a warm
embrace. Once again, the tittering little brunette pranced around
in front of the fireplace up on the screen. In the recliner,
Marissa wrapped her own arms around her daddy's and squirmed
against him, seemingly trying to press every part of herself into
every part of him.

Once again, the little girl was in her bedroom, looking up into
the camera. Once again, she nodded her assent to some question
neither of the viewers could hear. Marissa felt a strange
tingling warmth deep down inside her that somehow both comforted
her and stirred up a strange longing she'd never felt before for
some glorious thing she didn't have the words to explain to
happen to her. At the same time, the man holding her in his arms
was feeling the very same warm and tingly sensations deep within
and the very same longing, the difference being that he full well
the words to explain what glorious event he anticipated and
desired, but did not wish to ponder any of them.

On the screen, the girl was reaching down and grabbing the edges
of her shirt in both hands the way she always did right before
the video stopped. This time, as they watched together, the
little girl pulled the shirt up over her head, worked her arms
loose, and flung it away. This time, the video was not stopping.
The little girl now sat topless on the bed, looking up at them
again with the same look of anticipation as before. This time,
the passionate desire that her look implied was not lost on
either of the viewers, who now shared the same desire for each
other. Everything they saw her do, the man and his little girl in
the recliner were going to do too.

Taking hold of his own shirt, he pulled it loose from where he
had stuffed it down into his pants, peeled it up over his head,
and tossed it back behind the recliner. Unhooking the straps of
her jumper, meanwhile, little Marissa peeled off her own shirt
and tossed it after her daddy's. With the flaps of her jumper
hanging down into his lap and hers, there was now nothing between
her bare flesh and his, and she pressed herself even more tightly
into his embrace.

On the screen, as the topless little brunette continued to wait
for something, she was casually feeling herself up, running her
hands up and down over her flat chest and tiny bee-sting-sized
nipples. Marissa didn't even have to extend the invitation for
him to do the same to her. As he ran his hands up and down her
ribs and tenderly stroked her tiny six-year-old nipples to
hardness with his fingertips, Marissa pressed her own small hands
down onto his, seemingly trying to merge them with her soft and
supple skin.

Now the little brunette was nodding again. As they watched her,
she lay back on the bed and pulled down her shorts, raising her
knees to her chest so she could pull them the rest of the way
down to her ankles, and then kicking them away over the camera.
Now all she was wearing was a very brief pair of pink cotton
panties. As Marissa wiggled in his lap, slipping out of her
jumper, he undid his belt and did his best to pull his jeans down
beneath her. In the end, with her jumper snagged on his jeans,
she lifted her rear ever so slightly and each article came away
over his feet together with his shoes and tumbled down over the
foot rest, leaving him in just his socks and boxer shorts and her
in just a pair of cotton panties about the same shade of blue as
her socks.

With everything between them gone but the thin layers of cloth
down around their feet and loins, Marissa was now acutely aware
of the growing bulge in the boxer shorts beneath her that
reflected the swelling of her own little lower lips beneath the
cotton. She wanted to feel the release that she now knew could
only come from the touch of another. The hands and fingers that
continued to stroke her tiny nipples to hardness, she now
directed lower with her own hands to rub her belly button, her
hips, and her thighs. This felt good, particularly when he
stroked her over the cotton, but she wanted more.

In the video, the little girl stood up, looking directly into the
camera, and brought her hands down to her hips, rubbing them
around in little circles over her little panties. This loosened
the grip of the fabric, and as they watched, the stroking motions
of the girl's dainty fingers gradually slid them under the
panties, and she peeled them down lower and lower until they
tumbled down her legs on their own, exposing the swollen bare
lips of her most erotic prize. Laying herself back on the bed
again, she slid her fingertips down between her legs to her
little vaginal lips, spread her legs, and spread her lips to
reveal her tiny clitoris.

Following this example, Marissa now got up out of the recliner,
turned and stood facing the man she loved, and slid her hands
down beneath the cotton of her panties. As he watched her slide
them off the same way the girl on the video had, he hooked his
thumbs into his own boxer shorts and pulled them down at the same
time. The sight of his swollen penis emerging from beneath the
fabric, though it was no larger than most, had her gaping. To her
six-year-old eyes, his six inches of manly flesh seemed
absolutely enormous. He, meanwhile, could not take his eyes off
of her tiny jewel, the luscious lips of her miniature mound,
parted slightly and starting to glisten with her moisture. Both
were so enthralled with each other's glorious nakedness that
neither marked the moment his boxers and her panties hit the
floor.

Then something on the screen caught his attention, Marissa saw
this, and they both turned their attention back to the video. A
man had now entered the frame, naked except for his socks just as
they were, his own manly pole standing tall and proud. As he
approached the girl, who was unmistakably giving him a sultry
come-hither look, he paused briefly to lift first one foot and
then the other and pull off his socks. This way, the man and girl
faced each other completely and equally naked.

Watching little Marissa mimic the man's every motion in
child-sized miniature as she took off her socks seemed both
rather cute and amusing, and slightly stimulating. Her admirer in
the recliner hardly even noticed that he was also removing his
own socks. By some instinct, she and he both understood that they
wished to hide nothing from each other, and to expose every last
part of themselves to each other.

On the screen, the little brunette reached up to her man with
both arms. Turning to the recliner, Marissa reached out to her
own man, the same invitation written all over her face. Each man
accepted, the one in the video hefting up his little lover in his
arms, the one in the recliner reaching out to draw his darling
Marissa up on his lap again as she came running back to him.

Nuzzling his little girl, the man in the video sat down on the
edge of the bed and held her in his lap, his manly organ standing
right up between her legs. On the recliner, all six inches of
Marissa's lover stood just as proudly between her little legs. As
the man and girl couplings on each side of the fourth wall sat
seemingly staring at each other, the distinction between the
spectacle and the spectators seemed almost to vanish.
Simultaneously, on each side, each little six-year-old clamped
her soft smooth thighs down around her lover's manhood. Each
man's arousal was stirred up very near to the breaking point.

Now, as each girl turned around to face her man, the one lay back
on the bed, the other on his recliner. The video's perspective
swept completely around to show the little brunette in all her
naked glory fully from the front as she straddled her lover, but
neither Marissa nor her man were watching anymore. They both knew
now what they wanted to do, and needed no further demonstrations.

On the screen and off, a little girl raised herself up over her
man's penis, spreading her legs as wide as she could to accept
it. As each man took his penis in hand and stroked it lightly
against his little girl's clitoris, each girl reached down with
both hands to pull her tiny weeping orifice as wide open as she
could. Into each opening sank the head of each man's penis,
barely able to fit even with all the accommodations being made
for it.

Down the little girls pushed, oblivious to what would otherwise
have been excruciating pain through the mighty tingling buzz of
pleasure that seemed to explode in each of their heads. Upward
the men thrust, impaling their little girls bit by incredibly
tiny bit. Those tiny six-year-old vaginas were gripping the
penises far too tightly for either man or girl to do much
thrusting up and down as they would do were they making love to
someone their own size, but as soon as they were penetrated about
as deeply as they could be, each girl rocked herself slightly
from side to side, twisting herself around just a little bit.

Neither man could last much longer. The semen boiling in their
testicles was rising fast and about to boil over. Their girls'
vaginas began to spasm, squeezing them even harder, and each gave
one last push to put the tiny opening on the end of his penis
right up against the tiny opening in his little girl's cervix.
Then each penis bulged, pumping one mighty blast of semen after
another up through their tightly constricted tubes. As they all
climaxed together, each powerful surge sprayed right through each
cervix, coating each tiny womb with sperm. Men and girls alike
shuddered with ecstasy, and collapsed into each other's arms.

Marissa awoke to a soft kiss on her lips. How long had she been
asleep? Suddenly feeling a cold draft, she realized she was
naked. Opening her eyes, she saw the man she'd known as her
daddy, but now knew as something more, gazing down at her with a
warm smile. Rolling over, she felt something slide out of her
down below, and then was suddenly very sore and felt like she
never wanted to move again. She shivered and whimpered a little
until he enfolded her in the warmth of his arms again.

Looking up, she saw the man on the video holding and caressing
his little brunette and whispering something in her ear.
Together, they looked out at their viewers one last time. Girl's
eyes locked with girl's; man's eyes locked with man's. The living
room, the bedroom, the recliner, the bed, the naked bodies, the
softly smiling faces and even the eyes all seemed to fade away
until there was nothing left but the gazes themselves.

Then the video was over.

----------------------------------------------

Marissa never came home from her visitation. That Monday morning,
her mother waited well into the afternoon expecting to see that
old clunker her loser ex-husband drove pulling into her driveway
any minute, but it never arrived. She thought maybe he had taken
her daughter directly to school instead, so she waited for the
bus. It came rolling through at its proper time, and several
children got off at its usual stop, but Marissa was not among
them.

In frustration, she looked up the number to that hovel he was
renting and gave him a call. The phone rang and rang unanswered.
She repeated her call every hour or so, increasingly furious to
be putting her schedule on hold for him. If he wanted to hang on
to the daughter that wasn't really his longer than was legally
allowed, she didn't really mind. Let him pay twice to raise that
little brat who'd shown her up for cheating on him; she wouldn't
have to hire a babysitter anymore and could afford to have a lot
more wild weekends with her boyfriends like the one she'd just
had. However, he could at least tell her when he was going to be
late bringing Marissa back so she wouldn't have to wait for him.

She fumed and fumed all day long until she finally went to bed
that night. On Tuesday, at 10:00 sharp, she called her lawyer to
go serve her wayward ex-husband with a summons or a warrant or a
subpoena or whatever. (It wasn't her job to keep track of all the
proper legal procedures; that was what she paid that lawyer to
do.) Suspecting that his client's ex-husband had decided to blow
town (for which he couldn't blame him personally, though he was
still going to put him through the wringer if he could), her
lawyer decided to go the extra mile and deliver the summons in
person.

At the man's workplace, his boss was likewise infuriated when he
heard nothing from his employee all through the weekend, and
planned to give him a really rousing dressing-down in front of
everyone in the office for missing the deadline on his assignment
and losing the company a client. He was definitely going to
threaten to fire him, and if he didn't grovel sufficiently, quite
possibly make good on that threat. The boss was even more furious
when the coward didn't show up at all that Monday, and more
furious yet that all calls to his residence rang unanswered;
evidently, he was too cheap even to spring for an answering
machine.

His other employees kept their distance as much as possible that
Monday, and Tuesday as well when their missing co-worker still
didn't show up. He was fired, no question about it, and all his
former boss wanted to do now was let him know personally just how
fired he was; how the big black stain on his work history would
follow him everywhere he went to try to get another job. Everyone
at the office heaved a big sigh of relief when the boss left in
his car to go pay his ex-employee a little visit.

Neither the boss nor the lawyer got any satisfaction for their
troubles. They arrived at very nearly the same time that Tuesday
to find the man's car in his driveway and the house locked up
with nobody home. Just to make sure he really wasn't home, the
lawyer decided to call in the police on suspicion of a possible
kidnapping. The police, having recently acquired some very nice
surplus military equipment for their SWAT team and being eager to
try it out, sent in a SWAT team to break down the door (though a
locksmith would have been quite sufficient). They found nobody
and nothing and got slapped with a lawsuit in small-claims court
by the landlord for the cost of replacing the door.

With a little help from that same landlord, the boss was able to
get in soon after the raid to recover the laptop, which was his
company's property. He found it plugged in upstairs with the
almost-finished assignment still on it, and was simultaneously
mollified and creeped out, wondering how his former employee
could simply have vanished altogether, seemingly into thin air.
How could he just disappear in the middle of everything that way,
leaving it all behind? Of course, he couldn't linger very long to
investigate, since the landlord was there with him and insisted
that he leave immediately once he'd gotten what he came to get.

The landlord, for his part, got to do a much more thorough
investigation, as did the lawyer and the police. All they got for
their trouble was a few clues that not only failed to unravel
each of the specific mysteries it was their specific job to
investigate, but each pointed to an even greater mystery they
would never be able to solve. In the living room, they found
discarded clothing on the floor all around the recliner that fit
the description of what the missing man and girl typically wore
-- and what she definitely had been wearing on the day she
vanished, according to her mother.

The SWAT team had cut power to the house before raiding it, so
the television and PC and other electronics (except for the
laptop, which ran on battery backup power) were all turned off.
The police did check the PC for any relevant data, but discovered
nothing of interest on either of its hard drives. The DVD/CD-RW
drive's tray was empty, as were the old long-neglected floppy and
Zip drives. They made backup images of everything for their
files, and then returned the computer to the house. When the
lease on the house ran out a month later, the landlord gathered
up what few paltry belongings the police hadn't kept for
evidence. Keeping the best stuff for himself (specifically the
computer), he sold off and gave away everything else.

With her daughter and ex-husband both officially declared missing
persons, the atrocious ex-wife's alimony and child support gravy
train was now gone as well. She tried to snare one of her richer
boyfriends into marrying her, but he was an old corporate
mercenary himself and knew a gold-digger when he saw one. As she
ran out of money to go on dates, her other boyfriends drifted
away as well. With no relevant skills or experience for getting a
job in this tough economy, she took up prostitution and spent the
rest of her life in and out of prison and on welfare. In the end,
while plying her trade, she happened to meet a necrophiliac
serial killer who was cutting up hookers. Her death was a lot
quicker and less painful than his, as he managed to contract a
very nasty case of drug-resistant gonorrhea from her.

Eventually, everyone who'd known little Marissa and the man she
called her daddy got on with living and dying. The case of their
disappearance was never closed, but after a time was classified
inactive, and eventually was reduced to little more than
occasional fodder for idle speculation in cheesy "real life
mystery" documentaries.

----------------------------------------------

There was nothing in his P.O. Box and nothing in his mailbox at
home that Friday when he got off work, which was just the way he
liked things. Practically everything he got by snail mail these
days was either junk mail or government notices, so no news was
good news. Pulling into the bachelor pad he called home these
days, he slid the hard hat off his head and left it in the pickup
truck. It had been a long and busy day, and right now he just
wanted to leave the job at the job.

It was dark out and there was no moon, so he had to feel through
his keys to find the one with the familiar sloping in the teeth
to open the door. It just went to show how richly he deserved
that overtime pay he was getting for this week: it being Summer,
with the days getting so long, he really should have been home
long before sunset. Well, he'd get his compensation one way or
another.

Kicking off his boots, he nuked himself a TV dinner and poured
himself a shot of whiskey before he settled down on the sofa in
front of the big plasma screen that doubled as his TV and a
second monitor for his little laptop. Before he vegged out with
the idiot box (or, well, idiot panel), he thought maybe he should
check his messages first. Hooking up the laptop, he called up his
e-mail program and entered his handle and password. Some guys he
knew preferred to let the computer log them in automatically, but
he thought it best to do it manually to keep his memory sharp.

There in his in-box, at the top, was a new message with no title.
Wasn't his program supposed to put a "(no title)" or something on
untitled stuff like that? Then too, why hadn't this been
classified as spam and kicked over to his junk folder? He looked
for the sender, but for the first time ever (as far back as he
could recall), that label was missing too. He did a right-click
on it to order it sent to his junk mail folder, but his finger
slipped a little on the touch pad and he accidentally clicked on
the "open in a new window" option in the menu instead.

There was no text in the message, but it had the big black
rectangle of an embedded video player right in the middle, and
this immediately expanded to fill the whole TV screen. "Great.
Just great," he muttered. Sometimes he wished his e-mail program
came with a flash-blocker like the one he had on his browser so
he could stop embedded videos in his e-mail from auto-playing
this way. At least this one didn't seem to be anything too
malevolent... so far.

He swept his finger around the touch pad a few times and saw the
pointer flickering through the video, but no controls came up for
him to stop or even pause the video. How annoying! Well, there
was nothing for it but to let it run. Advertisers were sure
getting downright aggressive these days. He might even watch to
see what product this video was advertising just so he could make
sure to swear off buying it for life.

For a moment, he thought maybe the embedded player had crashed,
as all it showed for a while was big black nothing. He was just
about to call up the task manager and try to kill the plug-in
when at last a little circle appeared on the screen and expanded
to fill it with an image. As this came into focus, he saw that it
was a human face; a little girl's face. She had long locks jet
black hair spilling down her back and looked to be about 6 years
old, give or take a year. Though her face was expressionless, she
somehow seemed to be looking right at him through her big
baby-blues. It was creepy, really, how they seemed to follow him
even as he turned and raised an eyebrow.

After a while, the circle contracted back in on her and she was
gone, though she still seemed to be watching him right up until
her eyes were covered. This really wasn't what he'd been
expecting at all; so far, this wasn't shaping up to be much of an
advertisement. Who was that girl? What kind of video was this? He
continued to watch and wait.

Now a big blur of color came fading into view, and sharpened into
a shot of a small suburban house not too different from his pad,
though the front lawn and hedges looked a bit better tended than
his own. Into this rather tranquil picture stepped the little
girl he'd seen earlier, cheerfully waving goodbye to someone and
then scampering up the walkway to the front porch. She was
probably just coming home from school, since she was hefting a
backpack over her fashionable blue denim jumper and light blue
shirt, knee-high socks, and white canvas shoes with light-blue
highlights.

She rang the doorbell, and before long someone answered by
opening the door to let her in, but before he could see who it
was, the picture very suddenly faded into another shot showing
the little girl sitting cross-legged on the foot rest of a
recliner with her shoes off. From what he could see of the room
in the background, it was a living room right on the other side
of that house's front door; he recognized that same door back
there behind her on the wall adjacent to the recliner. Other than
that, there was nothing else in the room he could see to identify
her or the one who'd let her in or whoever was behind the camera.

As he watched, the girl looked up into the camera and tilted her
head slightly as if listening to some question or instruction.
Nodding her head, she reached up and took hold of the straps on
her jumper. Then the screen blacked out, the embedded player
suddenly exited full-screen mode, and he was back to looking at a
black rectangle in the middle of an otherwise empty message
window from his e-mail program. Just when he'd been getting
interested, the streaming video had apparently run out of
content.

For a long time -- he wasn't sure how long -- he sat there in a
stupor, blankly staring at the screen. Then his cell phone went
off, snapping him out of it. Looking at the caller ID, he saw the
call was coming from his ex-wife's house. Ah, yes, now he
remembered: next week, it was his turn to take care of their
lively little red-headed kindergartner Pamela. Or was she in the
first grade? "Rising first-grader" was the proper term, he seemed
to recall.

In fact, hers was the first voice he heard on the other end when
he picked up the call.

"You didn't forget about us and next week, Daddy, did you?" she
was asking.

"No, of course not, baby doll," he said. "We're gonna have a real
good time next week. You'll see! Now, can I talk to your mother?"

"Sure!"

His ex-wife came on, and together they worked out a few of the
last-minute hitches that always seemed to come up in their
scheduling for this shared-custody arrangement they'd hammered
out in court a year ago. It was really ironic how well they got
along now that they'd split up; back when they were still trying
to make the marriage work, he and she had hardly had a civil word
on their tongues for each other. Now that they were apart, she
seemed to keep her well-nigh stereotypical fiery redhead temper
in check a whole lot better, and he talked to her much the way he
would to a dear old friend.

Maybe he would have done better for himself if he'd just taken a
picture of her and kept that with him since she was, as the old
country song said, "easy on the eyes, hard on the heart." Of
course, now that he thought of it, little Pamela truly was the
spitting image of her mother, so much so that he still sometimes
kidded his ex that she must have gone and gotten herself cloned
while he wasn't looking. She typically kidded him right back that
she didn't know how to modify a clone to have his green eyes
instead of her blue ones; like it or not, she was his kid too.

After a little more banter, they said their goodbyes and signed
off. The conversation must have taken longer than he realized.
When the call ended, he looked up and saw that the screen was
showing that aurora-themed screen saver he'd set to run on his
laptop after ten minutes. It was very relaxing to watch,
especially up there on that big plasma screen...

Snapping awake, he suddenly realized he'd nodded off just now; he
must have been more tuckered out than he'd realized. Finishing
the last of his dinner, he got up, dumped the disposable tray in
the garbage, and wandered off to his bedroom to catch some
shut-eye. Tomorrow was Saturday, and the whole rest of the world
could wait for him until then.

In his living room, meanwhile, the screen saver on his laptop
continued to run until the preset hour was up and it powered down
into its energy-saving sleep mode. The TV, now short a signal,
flashed its own "no signal" screen saver for a minute, and then
also went to sleep. The e-mail message with the video embedded in
it lay dormant in the laptop, awaiting the inevitable moment when
little Pamela and her daddy would discover it, and it would
discover them.

The End

------- ASSM Moderation System Notice--------
This post has been reformatted by the ASSM
Moderation Team due to inadequate formatting.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+