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Date: Thu, 24 Mar 2005 19:14:32 -0800

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EPIPHANY (Mf, cons, pedo)

By Rex Antioch

1.

I have a name, of course.  A dull, ordinary one given to me by my 
parents.  That name doesn't matter, it's just an i.d. for them and the 
State.  My fans and clients know me by another, more glamorous sounding 
one and if you knew it you'd be able to find photos of me on the Net, 
but that name's just as meaningless to me.  I call myself Epiphany.  If 
you don't know what it means, look it up.  (Not the Christian stuff. 
The original Greek, available in any good dictionary.)
I was the only girl in our family, which also had four boys.  The 'only' 
is important.  Not only was I the only girl.   I was only a girl.
Dad, you see, wanted boys.  Farmers often do, especially when they're 
the sort of farmer that does lots of labour-intensive stuff like 
planting out seedlings and weeding hundred-foot rows, bird-scaring and 
picking, sorting and packing.  The sorts of things that machinery or 
hired labour has to be expensive to do.  Children are cheaper.
Dad was old-fashioned, too.  I mean really old fashioned.  Not just a 
generation out of date like some people are.  I mean old.  As old as the 
Bible, and the old parts of the Bible at that. Oh, he didn't go round 
dressed in bed-sheets screwing camels like they did in the Old 
Testament.  We had a car and an old tractor and even a 'phone because, 
Dad said, God had allowed some improvements in life.  God's 
improvements, however, did not extend to a TV or CD player, that kind of 
frivolous thing.  You probably know where he was coming from.  You've 
had people like him standing on your doorstep telling you that God loves 
you and would love you ever more if you gave up the things you like, the 
things that make life bearable, and gave them $100.
So of course sons, to Dad, were a sign that God loved him and when he 
had first Joshua and then the twins Samuel and David, he must have been 
over the moon.  (OK, I know Mom actually had them, but only to the 
extent that she was there.  It was all done by Dad and she was just the 
vehicle, like the mail van.  That was Dad's viewpoint, anyway.  If Mom 
disagreed, she kept it to herself as those biblical sorts of women do.)
Then I happened, which must have made Dad wonder what he had done to 
earn God's disfavour for in Old Testament times a daughter was almost as 
a curse, to be sold to a husband or swapped out for a few goats as soon 
as possible.  Whatever it was he put it right pretty quickly as my 
younger brother Aaron arrived within a year of me, which might have been 
too quick for Mom as she's never had any more sons, or daughters.
I was six the first time my big brother Joshua put his prick in my 
mouth.  I remember it well.  Hell, it was a seminal moment for me, if 
you'll forgive the pun.
His prick wasn't exactly new to me.  I'd seen it before.  He was only 
twelve so I guess he'd only discovered it himself a short while before - 
as something you can do more than just pee with, anyway - and he had 
shown it to me, and made it go stiff for me, a couple of times (and I'd 
stroked it, too, when he'd asked me to) before he asked me to put it in 
my mouth.
Did he think of it himself or get the idea from a book?  Or did God 
whisper to him, 'Hey, it would feel even nicer in your little sister's 
mouth than in her fingers'?  Only God knows, and Joshua of course.  And 
I haven't spoken to Joshua for while.  I haven't spoken to God either 
for quite a while, but that's only because I got tired of one-sided 
conversations.
Anyway Joshua took me into the sack store, undid his flies and took his 
prick out, and told me to suck it.
Joshua, you know, was the name the Bible had said the Jews' Messiah 
would have.  I guess every other boy born to the Jews in Old Testament 
times must have been called Joshua by hopeful parents.  Even Jesus is 
just the Greek version of Joshua because the New Testament books were 
written in Greek not Hebrew.  And my Dad didn't pick the name Joshua 
with a pin, which shows you what he thought of his first-born son.  I 
guess Jesus would have been too pretentious.  Where we lived, anyway. 
The Latinos aren't so modest, it seems.
Not that we were Jews.  Josh wasn't circumcised, not that the fact 
registered on me at the time.  His prick had a tube of skin I could roll 
back from its strawberry head like the wrapper off a Popsicle and as a 
six-year-old girl I found that fascinating.  (Hell, it still makes me 
giggle.)
After all, I didn't have a prick.  I just had a slit with a hole in it. 
  I hadn't really been aware of it before Josh drew my attention to it 
by wanting to look at it and sticking his finger up the hole, which made 
me jump.  Freud says sisters envy their brother's penises.  Crap.  Even 
at six-years-old I knew that I was a girl and Joshua was a boy, and that 
boys and girls were different between the legs.  It was the way God made 
us.  (That was how I thought at the time.  By the time I knew better it 
didn't matter because I knew by then that what I had was a lot better 
than what boys had.)  So I was just curious as to what God had done to 
Joshua and assumed I'd eventually find out why He'd done something 
different to me.
Anyway, Josh got his prick out and told me to suck it, and as in our 
family Joshua was looked on in much the same way as the Jews regarded 
Jesus at the time he entered Jerusalem (before he failed his exams) it 
never occurred to me not to suck it.  So I did.
I was six and my brother was a tallish twelve so I was pretty much 
eye-to-eye with it even with us both standing up.  Strawberries were one 
of the things we grew of the farm - a real money-spinner but a lot of 
work - and as I looked at the thing in front of my face and rolled back 
the tube of skin I remember wondering if would taste of strawberry.  It 
didn't, but it felt like a strawberry on my tongue, round and velvety at 
first and then slick and hard-skinned over softness when wet.  It didn't 
taste of anything much, but my tongue, exploring it, found some of that 
white stuff that gathers under the rim if you don't wash it too often 
and that was sharp and tangy until I'd licked it away.  (I'd draw the 
line at that now, of course, but I didn't know any different then.  And 
it never did me any harm.)
Of course the strawberry bit pretty much filled my mouth and when Josh 
pushed it in a bit further it hit the back of my throat and made me gag 
which I didn't like.  So I grabbed the shaft  in both hands in 
self-defence and we compromised - Joshua holding still and me bobbing my 
head back and forth as far as I could without bruising my tonsils until 
he shot his load.
Yep, I knew he was going to do that.  After all, I'd wanked him with my 
hands until he shot his load a couple of times and it was pretty obvious 
that all I was doing was wanking him with my mouth instead.
Did I like it?  Not much.  Cum looks like snot and tastes like it.
Did I know what my brother was doing to me?  No and yes.
No, in that I was only six and had no idea why Josh wanted to do it to 
me.  I had no experience then of that tingling a boy feels in his prick 
(and a girl feels in her cunt, as I eventually discovered) which gets 
into the blood like an itch and the only way to scratch it is to have an 
orgasm which kind'a burns it away for a time - it's the itch which tells 
you you're alive.  So although I know now that Joshua could have ignored 
it until it went away, as all itches eventually do, or even wanked 
himself off to scratch it, I don't blame him for using me to do it. 
Itches are a lot better scratched than left, and scratching is a lot 
nicer if someone else does it, and I guess a little girl's mouth is much 
nicer for a boy to have round his prick than her little hands.
And yes, I did know in a way what he was doing.  After all, I was still 
sleeping in my parent's bedroom - there wasn't an empty bedroom in the 
farmhouse I could have had - and Dad still hadn't given up seeking God's 
approval and obeying His command to multiply into one of those obscene 
twelve-child families which is sucking the world's resources dry, so I 
got to see him fucking Mom almost every night.  So for me it was quite 
natural for a man (a class which included Joshua) to stick his prick 
into a woman (a class which included me.)  I knew Josh wasn't sticking 
his prick into me where Dad stuck his into Mom but it was obvious even 
to me that the hole between my legs wasn't big enough for Joshua to 
stick his prick into but my mouth was, so that was obviously where 
Joshua was entitled to stick it.
So what was the seminal moment?  The moment that changed that little 
six-year-old girl's life?
It was when I was standing there able to breath properly again with the 
taste of my brother's spunk in my mouth and a teaspoonful of it on its 
way to my stomach, watching Joshua wipe my spit and a bit of spunk off 
his prick with his hanky.
"You won't tell Dad, or Mom, will you," he said.
I don't know what mouth-fucking me had just done for my brother, but 
what he'd just said to me blew my mind.
First of all it told me that Dad didn't always know what was going on 
and could be kept from knowing,  and that, to me, was an extraordinary 
revelation.  I mean, it was like the Pope telling Catholics that God 
went and played golf every Wednesday afternoon and, if you didn't 
confess it later, would never know what you got up to while He was away 
from the office.  But even more than that was the implication that 
something bad would happen if I did tell Dad what had just happened, 
probably to me as well but certainly to Josh or he wouldn't have been 
worried about it.  I know now that Dad would have been furious with 
Joshua, not for mouth-fucking me but for 'spilling his seed on the bare 
earth', which is apparently a sin.  Then, though, all I knew from what 
my brother had told me was that I had power.  For the first time I had 
power.  If I wanted to stop Josh from sticking his prick in my mouth I 
could, even though he was my hugely older, vastly more experienced, 
almost devoutly loved brother.  All I had to do was to say, 'I'll tell.' 
  I was a six-year-old girl with Power.
Not that I ever considered using it.  It was just wonderful to know that 
I had it.  For two years I meekly allowed my big brother to mouth-fuck 
me almost daily and I loved the taste of his cum because, to me, it was 
the taste of Power.  It still is.
Of course my big brother was desperate to fuck me, and he tried.  Every 
so often he'd get me to lie on a pile of sacks, or the ground, or a bed 
if we had the chance, rub his prick in my crack and try to put it up my 
hole.  Rubbing it in my crack felt quite good to me as it made me tingle 
all over not just in my crack, but trying to put it in my hole hurt me 
and must have hurt Josh as well as I don't think he'd have stopped just 
because it was hurting me.  He could get the tip of his prick in me and 
sometimes squirted his spunk inside me that way but I preferred him 
doing it in my mouth as that didn't leave me with a mess to worry about. 
  When he shot his spunk into my vagina from outside it was always 
soaking into my knickers for hours afterwards.
The reason Josh was desperate to fuck me was that I was all he had.  Our 
farm was way out of town.  Dad didn't like the things the State schools 
taught (i.e., the truth) and so we were opted out and Mom taught us 
instead.  All things considered she didn't do a bad job.  Dad managed at 
one time or another to get up the noses of all the few neighbours we did 
have so we didn't have much to do with them and they wouldn't let their 
kids with a mile of the place.    So as I said, although I was only a 
girl I was the only girl my brothers had.
Yeah, it became my brothers as soon as the twins started to get 
interested in what Josh was doing to me.  Then I'd be on my knees (well, 
I was eight by then so wasn't small enough to do it standing up any 
more) in front of the three of them in turn.  Josh was pretty quick as I 
knew how to suck his strawberry and stroke the shaft to make him come 
without hanging about and if I wanted him to come even quicker I'd play 
with his balls in their ridiculous hairy bag as well.  With Samuel and 
David, though, it could take ages.  Just getting their little pricks to 
go stiff in my mouth could sometimes take ages and it took quite a while 
before I felt the first pulsing of David's prick against my lips and the 
first few drops of his spunk on my tongue, and that was a month or more 
before Samuel's first ejaculation down my throat, much to his chagrin.
They were both so pleased, though, at having finally come that it made 
me feel good as well.  I, their little eight-year-old sister, had taught 
them do what men do to women, and I felt the Power within me grow even 
stronger.
So for a while I contentedly mouth-fucked three of my four brothers 
enjoying the taste of Power for I knew, and they knew, that I had only 
to tell Dad or Mom about it and it would all come to an end with, quite 
probably, beatings all round as one lesson Dad had taken to heart from 
the Bible was the dangers of Sparing the Rod, as far as children were 
concerned..
Then my little brother Aaron told Dad.
Why, he asked Dad one day at table, had Ruth (that's not my name but it 
will do) been kissing Joshua's willy?
Dad went white and Josh went scarlet.  I don't know what I went because 
I couldn't see.  Dad, though, just stared at Josh for what seemed like a 
long time but probably wasn't and then walked out of the room.  For an 
hour Josh and I crept around waiting for the sky to fall on us and then 
he and I were summoned to Dad and Mum's, and still my, bedroom.  Dad was 
there, Mom was there, the twins were fetched there and Granpa was there 
and it was Granpa who told us that as Joshua had decided to start acting 
like a man it was time he discovered what it was to be a man, and that 
he was therefore to fuck Mom properly.
I haven't told you about Granpa yet.
If Dad was like God to us - that vengeful, erratic, capricious dispenser 
of thunderbolts in the Old Testament - Granpa was like the Supergod 
who'd wound God up and let it loose on the world.  He'd gone to Vietnam 
as a conscript, trodden on a mine and come home with most of his legs 
missing and some odd ideas as to what God was about.  He'd been married 
and Dad had been born before he'd gone off to war. and on his return had 
bought the farm with his Army compensation.  His wife, Dad's Mom, had 
stuck it for a couple of years and then, for her own sanity, cleared out 
but because she had run off with another man (who had both his legs to 
do it with) and because the Court had sympathy for Granpa and what he 
had Suffered for his Country, and because Granpa in his wheelchair 
wouldn't have been able to look after himself let alone run the farm 
without Dad even though he was only 14, he got custody of Dad.
Granpa  had joined one of those really weird religious groups and given 
them lots of money over the years so when Dad turned 16 Granpa got the 
group to give him one of their women who had been Bible-bashed into 
submission - practically into a coma.  Granpa had officially married her 
- she was eighteen and he was forty-something - but he gave her to Dad 
to breed from.  Granpa's balls had been mashed by the mine so he 
couldn't make sperm, but he could still have erections and produce semen 
from his prostate so he enjoyed sex as much as the next man.  (Did you 
know that as long as they were not gelded until after sexual maturity 
the eunuchs in the Sultan's harem could fuck the girls silly?  They just 
couldn't get them pregnant.  So everyone was happy.)
Apparently the ancient Jews had a rule that if a man died before he 
could get his wife pregnant his brother had to do it.  Well, Granpa just 
extrapolated from that to the view that if a man couldn't get his wife 
pregnant and didn't have a brother it was up to his son to do the job.
So at night Mom slept with Dad who did his best to get her pregnant and 
during the day she looked after Granpa her husband, who never left the 
house and rarely even came downstairs, and had sex with him because it 
was her duty.  She seemed quite happy about the arrangement.
I guess Mom had been the carrot Granpa had used to stop Dad leaving the 
farm as soon as he was old enough, and maybe he was now trying the same 
carrot on Joshua.  Or maybe he thought it was Dad's fault that Mom had 
stopped having babies and thought a change of sperm might make a difference.
Anyway, at Granpa's order Mom obediently took all her clothes off and 
lay on the bed. Joshua, who wasn't quite fifteen, took all his clothes 
off and lay on Mom, Mom took Joshua's prick in her hand and pointed it 
at the right place and Josh fucked her.
It was pure incest, of course.  Mom was being fucked by her own son, not 
just her step-son as Dad was, and even the OT is against that kind of 
thing.  But Mom looked like she was enjoying it so I guess the Biblical 
thing didn't worry her and presumably she knew she wasn't going to get 
pregnant again ever so had nothing to worry about there either.  I can 
only think that if Moses had come down from the Mountain with a 
post-script to the Ten Commandments saying that it was OK for mothers to 
fuck with their sons there would be a lot of happy young men and smug 
mothers around in the Western World, and as in our family Granpa 
outranked Moses and was anyway Mom's husband who's commands it was her 
duty to obey,  what he said went with her.
So Dad, the twins and I stood and Granpa sat in his chair watching as 
Joshua humped up and down on Mom and his prick jerked back and forwards 
in her cunt and she wrapped her legs around his waist and wriggled 
around his prick and moaned and gasped and Joshua puffed and panted 
until at last he rammed his bush of short, curly, gingerish hair against 
Mom's bush of short, curly, gingerish hair, his butt twitched and I knew 
he was squirting his seed into her.  Granpa said "Alleluia", Dad looked 
a bit put out, the twins looked confused and I felt a bit jealous of Mom 
because it always looked like having a prick working in your cunt was a 
mighty good feeling.
Then, as Josh lay puffing on Mom, Granpa turned to me and gave me a 
long, hard look that made my stomach scrunch into a little hot ball.
"Temptation," he said softly, and when he spoke softly it was a lot 
worse than when he ranted and thundered.
He beckoned to me and on legs that could hardly carry me I crossed the 
room to him.  Believe me, (and I hope you don't already know), no matter 
how many times you get beaten you never get immured to it, and I had 
been beaten a lot by then.  I had never once approached any of my 
brothers and offered to rub their pricks or asked them to put their 
pricks in my mouth but I knew there was no future arguing the point.  I 
was temptation just because I was a girl.
"Take your clothes off," Granpa ordered, which was new as I usually just 
had to lift my dress - pants for a girl were a no-no in our house - and 
drop my panties if I was wearing any to my knees so that he or Dad could 
apply the rod to my butt.
I stripped.  Granpa looked my 8-year-old body up and down.
"If you would act like a harlot, you will be treated like one," he 
declared.  He undid his belt and being beaten by that was worse than 
being beaten by a cane, I had long ago found out.  Yet instead of 
pulling it through its loops in the waistband of his trousers as he 
usually did, he left it there and undid his trousers completely, freeing 
his prick from his pants.  It reared like a angry snake from his lap.
I stared at it.  I knew the pricks of my older brothers intimately and 
had seen Dad's often enough as he stuck it in Mom, but had never seen 
Granpa's before.  It must have been caught in the mine blast as it was 
badly scarred with thickened white skin and bent far more than any man's 
I've seen since (and I've seen plenty!)  Part of its strawberry head had 
been gouged away like someone had taken a bite out of it.  He had no 
pubic hair, just unnatural-looking white skin, and where Dad and my 
brothers had those floppy, wrinkled bags holding their balls he had a 
small, smooth pouch of tight pink skin.
Now, ten years on, I can imagine the skill and commitment of the 
surgeons who must have laboured for hours over the wreckage of my 
grandfather's lower body, putting it back together where they could and 
grafting skin to replace that which had been burned off.  It's probably 
as close to a miracle as you can get in the real world that they were 
able to save any part of his testicles at all and give him a sexually 
functioning penis.  Granpa, though, probably didn't see it that way.
While I was still staring at it in horror Granpa reached out and grabbed 
me by the waist, turned me so that I had my back to him, raised me over 
his lap and lowered me down into it.  Years of wheeling himself around 
in his chair and manhandling himself in and out of bed or onto the john 
had given him the arms and shoulders of a weightlifter and he certainly 
made nothing of my forty pounds.  The stumps of his thighs forced my 
legs apart and I felt his prick press into my slit looking for the hole. 
  It was such a big, horrible-looking thing that I'm sure I was 
screaming as I felt its tip pop into me, and then Granpa forced me down 
onto it like an apple onto a corer.
Joshua and more lately the twins had been shoving things up my cunt for 
a year or more - carrots, pitch-fork handles, bottle necks, that kind of 
thing - but because of my power they hadn't used anything big enough to 
really hurt me, and certainly nothing as big as Granpa's prick.  That, 
as it ripped its way though my bent-but-unbroken virginity, did hurt. 
Like Hell.
My bottom came to rest on his stumps and I could feel the thing inside 
me, deep inside me and skewing off to the side.  "Whore," Granpa hissed 
at me, "Jezebel".  His hands around my waist were like a vice and he 
began jerking my whole body up and down and rubbing his prick  with my 
cunt like I was a doll.
The torn skin at the front of my cunt still burned and the bend in 
Granpa's prick felt peculiar as it twisted me inside yet for all that I 
felt a pleasant tingling between my legs which I was sure had to be a 
little bit of what had made Mom wriggle and gasp as Joshua's prick had 
slid back and forth in her cunt.  I was now facing the bed and my family 
of spectators, and as Granpa rubbed me up and down his prick I could 
look back at them.  Joshua was still lying on top of Mom, whether 
because he didn't want to get off her or because Granpa hadn't given him 
permission to, I don't know.  They were both watching Granpa rape his 
eight-year-old granddaughter, and I met Mom's eyes.
There was pain in them.  I guess she could imagine how Granpa forcing 
his big, mutilated prick into me had hurt and I am sure it hurt her to 
watch her eight-year-old daughter being raped even though she didn't do 
anything to try to stop it.  But that wasn't all I saw.  I saw power in 
her eyes, and she was trying to pass some of it to me.  It was the power 
to master and transcend men that all women have even if a lot are 
unaware of it.  It was my Epiphany.
She was being fucked daily by Granpa and Dad, and was now being fucked 
by her oldest son as well.  From what the public now knows of the kind 
of lunatic sect she came from I'd suspect she'd been regularly fucked by 
men whenever they felt like it since she was my age or even before. 
Don't forget, the Prophet Mahomet had been given a nine-year-old girl as 
an extra wife so it had to be OK, hadn't it?
And you can take it, her eyes told me.
So I did.  Whether Granpa's prick wasn't sensitive any more or whether 
he was just enjoying fucking his virgin eight-year-old granddaughter too 
much to make it quick I don't know but he was sweating and his mighty 
arms were trembling with exertion when at last I felt it throbbing 
inside me and knew he was shooting his load into me.  My eyes were 
smeared with tears as my cunt was still hurting like Hell each time his 
prick-shaft dragged at the tear in my hymen and Granpa's fingers were 
digging deep into my waist but I wasn't crying or screaming.  When he at 
last dropped me wearily into his lap and I could feel his prick wilting 
inside me and his cum crawling down my cunt-walls I knew I could take 
more than he could give and I sat up straight on his prick to prove it.
Big mistake.
"You want more, harlot?" he asked so quietly in my ear I'm sure no-one 
else in the room would have heard it.
With a heave that made me squeal he wrenched me off his bloodied prick - 
my blood - and threw me onto the bed.  I twisted and fell right next to 
Mom and Josh.
"Still she has Satan's unseemly itch in her body," he thundered, "And we 
must drive it out.  The Devil is tempting us, too, with her smooth, 
white flesh and cloaking his foulness in her innocence, and we must know 
it so that we can recognise it and defeat Satan's designs.  Isaac, know 
the Devil in your daughter," he commanded.
Dad hadn't been christened Isaac as a baby, but the church he had been 
christened into had become, to Granpa, a meaningless, deeply compromised 
travesty of a religion (and I actually wouldn't disagree with him on 
this)  so at about the time Dad first fucked his step-mom he had been 
re-baptised Isaac.
Did Dad have any reservation about fucking an eight-year-old girl?  Did 
it make any difference that the eight-year-old girl in question was his 
daughter?  Did he do it because when Granpa said 'jump' he'd been 
trained to respond 'how high' automatically?  Did he not want to do it 
but did it because he was too scared of Granpa not to?  Did he do it 
because men don't often get the chance to fuck eight-year-old girls?  Or 
their own daughters? Or did he do it just because he wasn't about to 
turn down the chance for a good fuck?  I don't know.  I don't actually care.
Dad took off his clothes quickly enough and climbed onto the bed.  I 
didn't try to stop him spreading my legs because there was no point and 
when he did so he must have seen the blood on my thighs and fanny, but 
that didn't stop him.  He wriggled between my legs, took his prick in 
his hand and worked it into me.
Although bigger than Joshua's Dad's prick was at least normal and 
although it hurt when it dragged at my split hymen it wasn't all that 
bad and I could feel the power Mom had shown me still giving me strength 
so I didn't show the pain.  When Dad began stroking his prick up and 
down inside my cunt it actually began to feel quite nice.
Unexpectedly something touched my hand in the middle of the bed and 
after a moment my mother's fingers crept into it, hidden from view by 
our bodies.  Next to me she was lying underneath her son with his prick 
still in her cunt while I lay underneath my father, his prick in mine, 
and she was telling me again that I could take it.
And I could.  I even began to enjoy it but knew that if I showed a hint 
of that Granpa might be driven into real witch-hunting mode which could 
likely stop only a step short of my being burned alive at the stake, so 
I lay quiet and passive as Dad worked himself up inside me, gasping, 
humping and straining, until eventually he rammed his hairs against my 
little, bald, wounded fanny so hard that it forced a squeak out of me, I 
felt his prick pulsing and twitching inside me and I knew the sudden hot 
flush pooling in my insides was his cum.
He had been holding himself off me with straight arms to that point, but 
as he came all the strength seemed to pour out of him with his cum and 
his two-hundred plus pounds collapsed onto my forty-nothing pounds.  I 
turned my head aside at the last moment to protect my nose and as I was 
about thirty-inches shorter than Dad I found myself with my head 
squashed beneath his chest with my ear about level with his heart, and I 
could hear it racing and pounding as he gasped for breath.  I could feel 
his prick going soft and wilting in my cunt and knew that just at that 
moment he didn't have the strength to lift himself off me.  My mighty, 
all-powerful father, lay on me as weak and helpless as a baby while I, a 
tiny eight-year-old girl, was a little sore perhaps but otherwise 
unaffected by what we had done.  At the realisation I felt the Power 
tingling even more strongly within me and gave my mother's hand a 
squeeze to show that I understood.
Eventually, wearily, Dad lifted himself off me, his prick slid messily 
out of me and I wondered if I was going to get the blame for the cum I 
could feel running out of me onto the blankets beneath my butt.  Granpa, 
though, was not worried about blankets.
"Joshua," he ordered.  "Face and recognise the Devil in your sister, so 
that you might know and resist Him in the future."
I saw a sudden flare of fright and panic on my eldest brother's face as 
he realised that he wasn't certain what it was Granpa was actually 
asking him to do, for if Granpa gave you an order and it was 
misunderstood or wasn't instantly obeyed, the child concerned was not 
spared the rod.
Mom must have seen or felt it too, for "Granpa wants you to fuck Ruth," 
I heard her breath quietly to him.
Of course Joshua had fucked Mom only a few minutes before but teenage 
boys recover quickly enough and his prick looked more than adequate for 
the job as he slipped it out of Mom and rolled onto me.  His prick 
wasn't a lot smaller than Dad's and he hurt me as, inexperienced, he 
prodded it against me searching for my cunt.  I could easily have helped 
him, and myself, by guiding it there but I was sure Granpa would have 
seen that as a sign of eagerness on my part which would have been 
punished, so I didn't.  Eventually he located it and slid himself into 
me as he had wanted to do, I knew well enough, for many months.
He could, of course, have gone easy with me.  He could have faked an 
ejaculation in me after a few dozen strokes and spared me somewhat, but 
in Joshua's world women were created by God from a man's rib as 
second-hand rather than original divine creations, and then only in 
response to man's need for a companion and plaything.   I realised 
pretty much straight away as my eldest brother's prick began reaming my 
cunt that he was enjoying it too much to worry about me, and that he was 
going to keep going until he got there.
Not that I was bothered by that.  His prick in me didn't make me want to 
wriggle and twitch and gasp as it had in Mom's.  It just set up and 
maintained a lovely warm tingle in my cunt that I could close my eyes 
and relax into.  Lying there quietly under my big brother with his prick 
stroking my cunt-walls certainly beat hoeing a dusty ten-acres of corn 
under the hard sun, which was the alternative.
Eventually he came in me.  By then the sweat was dripping off him and 
where our skin touched - which, as he was lying on me with his arms 
around me was pretty much all of me - I was slippery and greased with 
it.  "Oh, oh, oh," he groaned almost as if the great pumps by his prick 
as he squirted into me were hurting him.  Then like Dad he lay gasping 
on me bonelessly, squashing me against the mattress and twitching inside 
me while I couldn't help giving a little sigh and wishing he would get 
off me as it wasn't very comfortable.  Mom's hand gave mine a warning 
squeeze.
"Did you feel it, Joshua?" Granpa asked eagerly.  "Did you feel Satan in 
your sister sucking at your life-force?  Did you feel behind the 
sweetness of her cunt as it drew you in and tried to swallow you the 
hand of the Devil beckoning to you and offering the chalice of poisoned 
honey?  Do you know now the snare set by the Devil in the beauty of 
women's bodies?  Can you now be on your guard against it and see through 
the lusts of your body to recognise the Devil's designs on your mind?"
As Mom had done I felt Josh's panic at being asked such an impossible 
question for even his prick shrivelling in my cunt twitched in response 
to his sudden fright.  Of course he didn't have a clue what Granpa was 
talking about, neither did I and I don't suppose Granpa really did either.
"Yes, Granpa," he whispered, tight with terror that the old man was 
going to ask some follow-up question which would unmask the lie.
After a paralysing moment of silence Granpa merely grunted acceptance 
and approval.  Josh, wanting I suspect to get out from under Granpa's 
gaze, slipped wetly off and out of me, rolled off the bed and crossed 
somewhat unsteadily to stand beside Dad.
Nearby, white-faced and wide eyed, were the twins, their gazes switching 
from their naked mother and sister on the bed to their naked father and 
brother standing nearby and then back again.  Most often their looks 
lingered on me, and more particularly on what I knew they could see 
between my still widespread legs as the yellow-white semen of my 
grandfather, father and big brother dribbled out of my cunt and mixed 
with the bright red blood still oozing from my torn virginity.
"You two."  They jumped as one as Granpa's voice lashed across them. 
"Are you men enough yet to face the Devil that lies between a woman's legs?"
They were still a few weeks short of twelve but I knew well enough that 
they were both men enough to stick their stiff little pricks in my mouth 
and squirt their semen against the back of my throat.  They stood 
paralysed, mouths opening and closing soundlessly as they tried to think 
of the right answer to the question.
"Drop your pants, both of you," Granpa ordered.
Slowly they obeyed.  Perhaps in response to their fright but more likely 
as a result of the four sex acts they had just witnessed - three of them 
involving me - their little pricks stuck stiffly into the air, trembling.
"Ha!  It seems that you are,"  Granpa observed.  "Then you too shall 
learn to recognise the foul taint of the Devil's purposes in the sweet 
honey of a woman's cunt, here where we can see and guide you lest she 
lure you to some private place where the Devil's work can go on 
unhindered."  At that he gave me a baleful, contemptuous glance and I 
knew he was firmly convinced it had been me who had lured my big brother 
to private places and persuaded him to put his prick in my mouth; so 
firmly convinced that nothing on earth up to and including a full 
confession by Joshua would have dissuaded him.
Put as it had been it was not surprising that neither boy rushed forward 
to undergo the experienced offered and as I had never, and despite the 
discovery of the Power still didn't, consider myself a woman I had not 
realised that the foully tainted sweet honey of the cunt being offered 
the twins was mine.  Mom, though, had.
"Let them do it to me," she offered in a small, nervous voice.  There 
was a moment of shocked silence which included even Granpa. I had never, 
ever, heard Mom counter, even partially, anything ordered by Granpa, or 
even Dad, before.  Mom was always meek and obedient as required by the 
Bible, to the point of being a robot.  If Granpa or Dad told her to do 
something she did it even if she knew it was wrong, from taking a week 
to paint a picket fence with oil-based paint on top of water-based 
primer so that it was peeling off in a month, to letting her own son 
have sexual intercourse with her - not that I think the latter is 
inherently wrong, but I'm sure she did.  Even if she knew a better, 
easier, more efficient way of doing something she did it the way she was 
told to do it.  Despite it being frowned on even in the OT and has 
nothing whatever to do with procreation she never tried to stop Dad or 
Granpa having vaginal sex with her during her periods despite the fact 
that it can be damned uncomfortable and gets menstrual blood all over 
the sheets which she had to wash out the next day.  Dad even had anal 
sex with her, too - I knew because I'd watched it - and if she enjoyed 
that she never showed it.  Had Granpa or Dad parked her on the roadside 
naked and with a sign around her neck saying "$10 a fuck" - and still 
only thirty she was a pretty woman for, don't forget, I'm her daughter- 
she would have sat there and collected the money, and handed every cent 
over to Granpa at the end of the day like the temple prostitutes in 
Ancient Greece.
So for her to suggest to Granpa that the twins should fuck her, their 
mother,  rather than with me, their sister, was as though a burning bush 
really had spoken.
"Silence,"  Granpa barked after that stunned moment, putting her back 
into her place.  "They are still young, and the Devil is not yet strong 
in the girl.  It is better they know Him in her at this time.  They 
shall know you in good time, for you are not yet past the time for 
childbearing and the Lord commands the time not be wasted."
Mom's hand in mine gave a sad little squeeze of regret and apology, not 
that I was looking for either.  What she thought of the news that Granpa 
was expecting her to have children by all her sons I could not tell.
The twins still hesitated, standing there with their pricks hanging out. 
  They were not identical twins and were in fact very different people. 
  David, eldest by a couple of hours of agony for Mom, was Granpa's 
favourite.
"David, copulate with your sister," Granpa ordered.  I, and I'm pretty 
sure David, had never heard the word 'copulate' before but in context it 
was fairly obvious what it meant.  As David slowly dropped his pants 
Granpa ranted on, "With your penis in the harlot's vagina feel how the 
Devil in her seeks to draw your strength to Himself.  Guard your mind 
against His lewd whisperings in your ears that you surrender to 
pleasure, for that is how He gets its claws into your soul.  Eschew the 
temptation to lose yourself in the sweet clouds of carnality for once 
lost you might never find your way back to the true service of God but 
wander lost in your beads and  clouds of hash without hope or 
direction…."  He ranted on, capitalising all the personal pronouns, 
amazingly lucid and quite mad, his mind trapped in the '80s when, I 
suppose, his own world more or less came to an end.
Not surprisingly David had become convinced that some kind of evil, 
clawed monster was actually lurking in my cunt waiting eagerly for him 
to stick his prick into its lair, and was now clearly reluctant to do 
what, only a few days previously, he had been only to keen to try, lying 
on top of me in the pump house and pressing his prickhead vainly against 
my virginity.  I had pretended it was hurting more than it actually had 
and he had backed off.  Very reluctantly he climbed onto the bed and 
knelt between my knees, staring with horror at my bleeding cunt while 
Granpa raved on, only partly aware of what was going on.
"Do it, dear.  It will not hurt you," Mom said to him softly from beside 
me, giving my hand another apologetic squeeze even though I could see no 
reason for David to bring Granpa's wrath down on himself by not doing 
it.  "But try and be quick," she added.
Carefully David lay on me, poked gingerly between my legs with his prick 
and then slid it into me.
It was a small prick and caused me no great discomfort.  I lay limply 
under him as he humped away at me and knew instantly that he was faking 
it when he arched above me gasping as he had seen our father and his 
elder brother do only a few minutes before.  Perhaps he was trying to 
spare me, perhaps he had realised that under the avid gazes of the rest 
of the family he was never going to get there and decided to give up.  I 
never asked him.
"Did you feel it, boy?"  Granpa asked eagerly.  "Feel Satan making His 
nest in her cunt and waiting to fasten onto any man using it for any 
purpose other than the one God intended?"  I cannot imagine how he 
squared that with the use to which he put Mom's cunt on a daily basis, 
for through his open bedroom door we'd all seen Mom with her skirt 
around her waist bobbing up and down over his lap with absolutely no 
chance of getting pregnant, although perhaps Granpa still hadn't given 
up on miracles in general and miracle births in particular.
"Yes, Granpa,"  David agreed.  "I felt Him there, dark and terrible." 
Embellishment was a dangerous thing when dealing with Granpa as it 
offered more opportunities for him to catch you out, but David was the 
quickest and brightest of us all and knew he was Granpa's favourite. 
For David it worked this time, but he hadn't done me any favours. 
Granpa's eyes blazed eager malice and satisfied self-justification at me.
"Well, we'll soon drive Him from poor Ruth," he promised and I didn't 
like the sound of that at all.
"Come Samuel," he said as David, sagging with relief, climbed off me. 
"You too shall learn to recognise the Devil that lurks within women."
Dropping his pants Samuel approached me nervously.  Granpa was still 
staring fixedly at me as though for a glimpse of the Devil within me and 
I saw David breath a couple of words to his twin as they passed. 
'There's nothing there, really' perhaps, or 'fucking your little sister 
is fun'.  I tried to give him a little smile of reassurance without 
Granpa seeing it and in the corner of my eye I saw Mom doing the same. 
Then my third brother climbed aboard, very gingerly plugged himself in 
and was fucking me.
Though they say it isn't possible it seemed very much as if the twins 
had shared out between them in Mom's womb what should have made just one 
boy.  David got most of the wit and intelligence but not much bone and 
muscle.  Samuel was much heavier, bigger and stronger  - and thus Dad's 
favourite - but relied almost entirely on his twin to supply the brains. 
  I expected him to try to go all the way to ejaculation in me as it 
just wouldn't occur to him not to, and he didn't disappoint me.  Having 
five people watching him fuck his little sister bothered him not at all 
but I could tell he was absolutely terrified of what might be lurking in 
the depths of my cunt and so he did little more than slip his prickhead 
in and fucked me like a rabbit, with quick, shallow and very short 
strokes.  As the torn hymen at the entrance to my vagina still hurt when 
it was touched and I only got the nice feelings when a prick was 
actually inside it, this was not very satisfying for me.  However with 
Mom still holding my hand I gritted my teeth and called on the Power, 
and endured.
Eventually Samuel came in me - I could feel the little hot jets of his 
semen hitting my vaginal walls - and he popped his prick out of me 
almost before he had finished.
"Did you feel it too, boy?"  Granpa demanded.
"Yes, Granpa," Samuel agreed faithfully.  As two words were about the 
longest sentence anyone ever got out of Samuel at any time Granpa 
accepted it.  Dismissed, Samuel scrambled back to stand beside his twin 
leaving me fully exposed to Granpa's gaze.  My insides scrunched up again.
"We'll drive the Devil from you, girl,' he promised and ordered Dad to 
give me back to him.  Dad lifted me from the bed and handed me to Granpa 
and Granpa impaled me on his prick again.  Watching his son and three of 
his grandsons fuck me one after the other had very much restored it to 
life and with his hands gripping me cruelly by the waist again he fucked 
me and fucked me and fucked me, driving me up and down on his twisted 
prick for what seemed like hours until, with his arms barely able to 
lift me and me lolling in his hands like a rag doll and weeping with the 
pain of his bent prickshaft sawing at my torn hymen, he managed a second 
weak ejaculation into me.  He was too weary to throw me back onto the 
bed and made Dad put me there, and then Dad was lying on me and fucking 
me again and it was only Mom's hand in mine that enabled me to hold on.
I didn't feel Dad finish and it was Mom's hand that called me back. 
Dashing the tears of weariness, pain and fright from my eyes I looked 
around the bed and saw Granpa in his chair, his misshapen, bloodied 
prick an angry red raw colour and shrivelling.  Dad's prick, too, was 
shiny with my cunt-grease and smeared with cum, and though twitching 
weakly was shrinking wearily.  The twins' pricks were already soft, 
floppy and spent and Joshua's sagged out of his black bush of hair. 
Five of them, two of them twice, and I had beaten them.  Little 
eight-year-old me had been fucked by the five of them seven times in one 
session and I knew that without the one-off pain from my torn hymen I 
could take more.  I even felt a jag of annoyance that the men and boys 
standing or sitting around the bed looking down at me hadn't been able 
to manage one more between them so that it would have been once for each 
year of my life.  Tidier that way.
I had bruises like a belt around my waist from Granpa's fingers, my hair 
was limp and tangled, and my face wet with tears and my body soaked with 
sweat.  There was blood, cum and my cunt-grease smeared from my knees to 
my navel.  The torn skin that had once partially blocked off my cunt was 
burning between my legs and I was sobbing quietly but I wasn't finished, 
and I knew each man and boy around that bed knew it.  My Power -  the 
Power that is Woman -  filled me, singing in my blood and tingling in my 
weak muscles.  The gazes of five men and boys rested on me and I think 
they saw it.  They were looking at Epiphany.


2

Granpa didn't like it.  Gripping the wheels of his chair angrily he spun 
it round and bowled himself out of the room.  Dad and the boys 
awkwardly, even a bit shyly and guiltily, filed from the room in 
silence.  Mom stirred beside me, climbed from the bed and, naked, 
crossed to the washstand.  She returned with the bowl full of cold water 
and a flannel and cleaned me up, sponging the sweat from my body and the 
mess from between my thighs.  Gently she dabbed at the wound in my 
vagina until the bleeding stopped, which took some time, but she didn't 
say anything.
What was there to say?  Dad perhaps might have been able to save me had 
he stood up to Granpa but he had never been able to do it before in his 
life and I certainly wasn't important enough for him to change the habit 
of a lifetime.  There was nothing at all Mom could have done, in the 
world she lived in.
And there was nothing now she could tell me.  At eight years old I had 
come into my Power, a Power any woman has although so few seem to know 
it, or use it.  Perhaps you have to go through something like I did to 
know it, if it doesn't break you first.  And Mom knew it. When the 
bleeding had stopped and I was clean she wiped her own fanny where her 
son's semen had dribbled out of her, then dressed and went down to begin 
the evening meal for us all.
I lay where I was, feeling myself.  No, not with my fingers or anything 
like that. Feeling myself.  Exploring myself.  Getting to know Epiphany. 
  Then I got up, dressed and went downstairs to peel some potatoes for Mom.
If Granpa had thought his story about there being a Devil in my cunt 
might stop the boys from wanting to get into it, he failed.  For a few 
days they as well as Dad all avoided me as much as they could and 
certainly avoided my eyes when they couldn't avoid me, and for me it was 
a confirmation of my Power when I saw them go a long way around so as 
not to have to see me, or pass me with their eyes downcast to the ground 
as though I was just too bright to look at.  Slowly though, when I just 
went on being the Ruth they had always known, they began to accept me again.
Granpa had no such problems.  A week or so after he had ordered my 
gang-rape by my own family Dad took me up to his room and I stood before 
him in his wheelchair.
"So, girl," he asked me.  "Do you still have the Devil in your cunt?"
I knew him.  Women with the Power in their blood can read a man, any 
man, like a book.  He could see the Power in me - most men can see the 
Power in a woman - and it frightened him like it frightens all men.  Men 
are bigger and stronger than women, and converted into violence this 
strength can crush the Power.  Yet men yearn, too, for a woman to have 
the Power for She is the whore/goddess they desire in their deepest 
dreams and in overcoming her by violence they put that desire out of 
reach of fulfilment.  Only by submitting their strength to the Power - 
like the unicorn to the Virgin - can they possess it in the woman of 
their dreams.  I had come to understand that, though not in those terms, 
at eight-years-old.  Many men never understand it.
Granpa was one of them.  He could see the Power in me, had seen it in my 
battered body on the bed a week before, and it frightened him because 
his only answer to it was violence even though he knew that to use 
violence against it was to lose.  According to his lights, then, it was 
all too easy to see it as the work of the Devil and his only response 
was to try to drive it away.
I knew he was going to fuck me, and fuck me, and fuck me week in and 
week out trying to break the Power and I knew that the Power existed 
only to protect me in my weakness against men who had the strength to 
fuck me and fuck me and fuck me week in and week out.  Granpa was 
setting out to stop an advancing glacier with a sword and he knew it. 
In truth the answer is easy -  the Power will submit to Love - but love 
did not exist in the Old Testament world Granpa had adopted so he had no 
choice but to pick up the sword.
He called it the Devil  but I called it the Power and so couldn't deny 
that I had it in my cunt.  I stared the answer back at him, terrified 
because no-one in the family answered Granpa back.  He saw it in my eyes 
and was frightened.
"Take your knickers off," he ordered and I did.  Then he picked me up 
again, impaled me on his prick and fucked me as hard as he could. 
Knowing it was coming, for he had already readied his prick, I managed 
to arrange my legs around the front of the chair so that I could at 
least touch the floor with my toes and take some of my weight so that I 
could stop the head of Granpa's prick thumping quite so hard against 
what I now know is my cervix.  Granpa used all his strength to try to 
master the Power but in his dressing table mirror  I could see myself 
standing over his lap as Mom did, holding my skirt around my waist as 
the old man jerked and twitched in his chair and his prick banged around 
inside the soft padded cell of my cunt, and I knew the Power was secure.
And infinite, whereas Granpa's strength was limited.  Try as he might he 
could not hold off indefinitely his ejaculation and orgasm in me and as 
soon as he lost that battle, he lost the battle with my Power for his 
strength fled from him from his cum and his weapon, his prick, began 
shrivelling and going soft.  Then, beaten, he threw me from him again 
and lashed at my bare butt and legs with his belt but with no strength 
left in his arms and his aim hindered by the tears of fury and despair 
in his eyes he did not hurt me much. Epiphany had beaten Granpa and we 
both knew it, though I also knew he would not stop trying for a while.
I said nothing of this to Mom, Dad and the boys but Dad had seen it and 
I knew they all knew.  I had beaten Granpa.  That frightened Dad and the 
boys, too tho' Mom, I know, understood for the Power was in her too.
And in a way Granpa was right.  Having tasted the honey of my cunt Dad 
and the boys were lost in it.
Though they avoided my eyes I could see it in theirs.  I could feel 
their sidelong glances at my limbs as, bare-armed and bare-legged, I 
hoed my way with them along the rows of pumpkins.  I could feel their 
breath in the breeze lifting and playing with my long ashen hair as I 
held the pea-sacks open for the full, ripe pods they were plucking from 
the vines.  I could feel their hot, shamed gazes on my thighs, buttocks 
and pudenda in the shade of my dress as they stood beneath me holding 
the ladder and I picked the last apples from the topmost branches of the 
trees.  Through the sounding-board of the Power I could feel the hot 
blood pulsing with its need for me in their stiff pricks as I, younger 
and smaller than any of them, danced wet-slicked in the warm rain at the 
end of a long, hot, dusty drought.
Weeks of fucking and beating me later a defeated Granpa finally gave up 
trying to defeat my Power, the Patriarch of his Tribe trying to purify 
it for God.  He was just an old, sad man half-mad with anger and 
bitterness and despair who found a special joy in fucking his 
eight-year-old granddaughter, so I began helping him to fuck me more 
comfortably - for both our sakes - and in return he stopped beating me 
afterwards.
About six months after Epiphany was born on the bed in the peeling 
clapboard farmhouse and not long after I turned nine I was working alone 
with Dad pricking out lettuces in the frame shed and the Power was 
telling me of his need, and the pain of that need.  When it became too 
great for me to bear I just put down the tray, dropped to my knees in 
front of him, got out his prick and massaged it with my mouth until his 
cum jetted down my throat, taking with it all his need and the pain of 
it.  As I had been working on him he had been breathing my name and his 
hands had been fondling my head and stroking my hair, and he had never 
before in my life touched me so gently.
The boys were still too much in awe of Epiphany to approach me despite 
their throbbing needs but once I'd begun to let Dad fuck me I let them 
know that I was willing to let them fuck me, too.  Not all at once, 
unless I chose, and only when and where and as I chose, and they did not 
challenge my Power to make that choice.  The boys knew Dad was fucking 
me because they sometimes saw us fucking in the wood or the orchard, and 
Dad knew I was letting the boys fuck me in the sheds or their bedroom 
but said nothing.  Mom knew, of course, because we were women together 
and Dad and the boys were fucking her too and I'm sure even Granpa knew 
as he fucked me that his Devil had won but he closed his eyes to the 
knowledge and concentrated on the honey in my cunt, because my Power was 
now the power of the family.



3

So two years passed with us fucking as a family.
Like many farms we kept a shed by the roadside and in season sold 
surplus produce in little bags for cash.  The road, run-down and dusty, 
ran from nowhere to nowhere and most of the vehicles that passed by were 
from farms just like ours.  Enough people, though, did venture out of 
the towns particularly at weekends to buy little bags from roadside 
stalls, which they thought made it better in some way than the same 
stuff bought from the supermart,  to make it worthwhile having one.
With Joshua and the twins big enough now to do a man's work in the 
fields and Aaron stronger than me despite being ten months younger, I 
was given the task of minding the shop.
I loved it.  I had rarely been left alone for so long.  Nothing to do 
but sit by the table smelling the strawberries in their punnetts on the 
table next to me, listening to the birds, watching the clouds drift by 
and perhaps waving to the occupants of the wagons and trucks as they 
occasionally rattled by.
On the third day an auto braked sharply as it passed the driveway where 
I sat and swung into it.  It was a town car, expensive, undinted and 
with only one layer of dust.  The man who climbed out of it was wearing 
town shoes and a dark suit with a tie like they do in towns.
"Hello," he said.  "What's your name?"
"Ruth," I told him.
"How much are the strawberries?" he asked.
It was a strange question as the price was chalked in big figures on a 
board beside me but I wasn't surprised at it as the Power had already 
made me aware of his eyes on my knees and lap, and on my chest where my 
breasts would one day grow.  I told him how much the strawberries were.
"They look very nice," he said.  "I think I'll have four cartons."
"OK"
He took out a fat shiny wallet and began counting out some money.
"How old are you, Ruth?"
"Eleven."
He set the money for the strawberries on the table and then stopped with 
another bill in his hand which he half-offered me.
"Would you like twenty dollars for yourself, Ruth?" he asked.  "It's 
yours for a peek at your panties."
I already knew what he wanted.  Although he was a complete stranger and 
I had met few men outside those in my family the Power told me all about 
him.
And I felt a huge disappointment.  I had never in my life had a cent of 
my own and here I was being offered twenty dollars for something I 
couldn't do.
"I'm not wearing any," I said sadly.  It was easier that way and I don't 
think Mom liked seeing the semen stains in my panties when she had them 
for the wash.
Through the Power I felt his heart stop and his chest tighten.  I could 
feel the want boiling in his blood to see me, to touch me, to fuck me, 
but I was not frightened of him as he did not have in him the darkness 
Granpa did and which made him want to hurt because he couldn't love.
"Would you let me see under your dress, then?" he whispered, still 
holding out the banknote.
I hesitated for a moment because the Power told me to and then bundled 
the skirt of my dress to my waist as I had so often for Dad and the 
boys, and Grandpa.
I felt the man's breath turn to concrete in his throat and lungs as he 
gazed on the tight innocent slit in the little soft cushion where my 
legs met my body.  I could hear the blood rushing in his ears and feel 
the heart thumping in his chest.
His mouth popped open a little as he made himself breath again and his 
eyes flicked for a moment to mine in wonderment before fixing again on 
my little fanny.
"You're very beautiful, Ruth," he breathed.  I knew that..
"Would you," he whispered, "For another twenty.  Let me touch you?"
He was much bigger than me, of course, and older than Dad but he was 
soft and puffy with a stomach that flopped over the waistband of his 
pants.  He was rich and knew all about the world, and he was frightened 
of me.  If I had dropped my dress and burst into tears he would have run 
back to his car and disappeared in a cloud of dust, leaving his money on 
the table.
"Yes," I said.
He had to bend down and forward a little and his hand sneaked out 
towards my fanny like a boy's trying to grab a wary mouse.  I heard him 
swallow and his shallow, shaky breathing and knew his heart was hurting 
him.  Because he only had eyes for his hand creeping up to my fanny and 
had forgotten that anything existed beyond the little cleft Y that was 
my thighs and my tummy I looked around to make sure no-one was coming. 
No-one was.
He moaned, a little whine he was unaware of as his trembling fingertip 
touched the very tip of my split and, hardly touching me, traced it 
downwards to where my legs pressed together. I moved my feet slightly, 
opening my legs just enough to let him slip his finger between them to 
where the little roll of my clit peeked shyly out of the slit.
The Power was tingling like electricity up and down my spine and was 
letting me feel the soft dry warmth of my skin on the man's fingertip 
and its brush with each tiny blond hair like those on my arms and the 
backs of my hands which also, I had not realised before, were thinly 
spread on the curve between my legs.  I could feel what he was feeling 
through his fingertip as it stroked so lightly across the dry wrinkled 
back of the worm of my clit and burrowed on further.  I marvelled as did 
the man at the sudden warmth, like the opening of an oven door, and the 
moist breath his fingertip felt as it softly parted the little flaps 
that lay at the entrance to my cunt.
No-one had ever touched me like that before, so softly and with such 
fascination and such wonderment.  Even when they knew I was Epiphany - , 
tho' they didn't know the name as I didn't then -  even then when the 
boys were in awe of me their hard farmers' fingers were rough as 
sandpaper and direct as bullets as they rubbed my fanny and poked into 
my cunt.    This stranger's fingertip was gentle and cautious like a 
man's exploring the innards of an unexploded bomb as it softly probed 
the entrance and eased itself into the warm sheath of my vagina.
He was a sad man, my Power told me as my cunt enfolded his finger.  A 
lonely man for all that he had a wife and kids.  A man of 
disappointments, of masks over emptiness.  The bending twist his slack 
flabby body was having to assume in order to get his hand between my 
legs and his finger up my cunt was hurting his back and I could feel it. 
  I could smell scented soap and the tangy fragrances men wear on their 
cheeks but it didn't cover the heavy sour smell of his fat.  He had hair 
in his ears and dapples of sweat on the bald patch on his head as he 
bowed over me, snorting in his tension and not knowing it.
"Oh," he breathed as his knuckles pressed against my clit, and through 
the Power I felt the soft press of my cunt walls sucking at his finger.
He kept it there for an age, unmoving as the Power in me watched him 
grapple every precious moment of the experience - his finger in an 
eleven-year-old girl's cunt - to his soul. Then reluctantly he removed 
it and, despite my Power, surprised me by dropping to his knees in his 
expensive trousers on the gravel of the roadside and lowering his face 
to my fanny.  He breathed in the scent of my cunt and I experienced it 
as he did, young as apple-blossom, fruity as ripe strawberries, strong 
as a thunderstorm.  Then he kissed me square on the clit.
Granpa had never wanted me to take his mutilated prick into my mouth 
for, I guess, he thought the act a perversion and the work of the Devil. 
  Or perhaps he was just too ashamed of it.  And for all the hundreds of 
times over the years I had taken their pricks into my mouth Dad and the 
boys had never kissed my fanny.  The boys had studied it, sure.  They'd 
looked closely at it, spreading apart the lips to my cunt with their 
fingers in order to see the hole, teasing my clit out of its hiding 
place and trying to see where I peed from, but they had never kissed it. 
  They had never thought to.
And the man was right, I thought as I checked around again to make sure 
no-one was about and the man's tongue lapped at my crack.  It was right 
that he should be on his knees before me, kissing the source of my 
Power.  Worshipping it, worshipping me.  After all, I was a goddess.  At 
that moment his Epiphany.
He let go of my little bottom, lifted his face away from my thighs and 
climbed awkwardly to his feet, brushing the dirt from his knees.
"Ruth, you are amazing,' he whispered.  No,  I'm not.  The Goddess is.
"Have you ever…?"  He paused, terrified of me.  "Have you ever…?"  I 
waited, though I knew from the Power what he was trying to say.  "Have 
you ever seen a man's prick?" he asked quickly.  I waited again and then 
nodded slowly.  A little doubtfully.
"Would you like to see mine?"
I shrugged that I didn't mind one way or the other.  He unzipped his 
flies and pulled it out.  It throbbed stiffly before me, little 
different from Dad's or Joshua's tho' bigger than the twins' of course. 
I looked at it.
"Ruth," he breathed.  "I'll give you another twenty if you'll touch it." 
  His prick waved in the air as he twisted to add a bill to the little 
pile on the table and then pointed at me again.  The Power told me to 
wait a moment and then put out a hand to it a little reluctantly.  It 
was warm and dry and alive.  And it wanted me the way a baby wants its 
mother.  The way worshippers want their goddess.
I stroked it with all the experience learned in six years of stroking 
pricks - more than half my life -  and felt the man's soul in my hands.
I knew my Power was absolute and I tired of the game.  Sinking to my 
knees before the man I took him in my mouth.
Had I been the Devil as Granpa believed the man's soul would have been 
mine as there was not an atom of him that had not become mine to 
command.  But Granpa was wrong, and I did not want any part of him.  The 
Power protects.  It does not seek to command.
His hands on my head were as soft as my father's had been once he had 
seen the whore/goddess in me and as I sucked him he repeated my name 
over and over like a mantra, a prayer.  "Oh Ruth.  Ruth."  I brought him 
to climax and his cum tasted no different as it carried from him into me 
all his impossible longings, bitter disappointments, self loathing.  His 
prick softened between my lips and the Power let me feel the huge 
stillness and peace and vast satisfaction that filled the space left by 
his orgasm.
"Oh Ruth," he said with a sigh.  "That was fantastic."
I rose to my feet, no taller than the smart pen-top peeping out of the 
top pocket of his slightly shiny jacket, and popped a strawberry from 
one of the punnets he had bought into my mouth to take away the taste of 
his cum.
He put his prick back into his pants, still shiny with my spit and with 
a last glob of semen oozing from its little mouth, and looked at me. 
Yet he had nothing to say.  What is there for a man to say to a Goddess 
at his Epiphany?  I looked back at him.
"You won't tell anyone?" he asked eventually.
I looked puzzled.  Who was there to tell?  What was there to tell?  I'd 
only done what I'd already done twice that day, and would probably have 
to do again before I got to bed.  To reassure the man I shook my head.
"Are you here every day?"
I nodded. "While there's strawberries."
"Would you mind if I came to see you again?"
What was there to mind, or not mind?  He was nothing to me.  But my 
Power was huge to him and he had to ask these things.  I shrugged.
He dithered for a moment more, loaded his strawberries into his car and 
drove away.  I sat down as the dust and the quiet settled again and I 
looked at my $60.  I would have done it for nothing had he just asked.
He came back three days later, first just driving past and looking 
carefully around.  When he drove by the other way there was a woman with 
a child buying some strawberries so he had to keep going. When he 
returned ten minutes later I was alone.
"Hello Ruth," he said.  "Remember me?"
I nodded.  The peace I had given him had gone and I could feel the 
desire in him, driving him like the tide.  Though only his finger and 
tongue had tasted the honey of my cunt he wanted more.  Needed more. 
And he was afraid of me.  Afraid I wouldn't give him any.
"What we did…" he began.  "What we did.  Did you mind?"
I shrugged.
Thanks to the Power I knew the questions boiling in his mind.  Where had 
I learned to do it?  How long had I been doing it? Who did I do it to? 
What was I thinking and feeling as I did it? Yet he was afraid to ask 
and, after all, only one question really mattered to him.
"Ruth.  You are so beautiful. You are an amazing little girl.  If I gave 
you a hundred dollars….  would you let me put my prick inside you?"
He showed me the bill to prove he had it.  I had never seen a $100 bill 
before.
"Buy some strawberries?" I asked.
"Yes.  Yes.  Of course."  He placed the price of four punnets onto the 
table next to the $100 bill.  His hand was shaking.
A car on the road announced its approach with a plume of dust five 
minutes before it arrived.  There were no plumes on the road in either 
direction.  The drive to the house half-a-mile away where the well had 
been dug was empty and nothing moved under the hot sun.  I nodded at the 
man and led him to a little rusty-iron lock-up next to the stall where 
the boxes of fruit were stored overnight.  Left on the stall they 
disappeared.
Inside I hitched up my dress, sat on the rickety old table and lay back 
with my legs dangling over the edge as I had there and in a dozen other 
places for Dad and the boys.
"Ruth, my Angel," the man croaked as though he was having difficulty 
speaking, and I liked 'Angel' because it went with Epiphany even if I 
didn't know the word then.  I knew the concept.  "Can I see you….?" He 
softly and reverently touched my chest.
This surprised me.    I knew how interested Dad was in Mom's tits as I 
was still sleeping in their room, and the boys loved them too.  Several 
times I had nearly tripped over Josh or one of the twins fucking Mom on 
the kitchen floor, for if they asked she gave it to them then and there, 
and then got up and went back to whatever she had been doing before. 
Dad and the boys knew perfectly well that I had no tits to be interested 
in and thus paid no attention to my chest. Why the man should be 
interested in my titless chest I couldn't imagine but the Power told me 
that he really, really was so I unbuttoned the front of my dress and 
folded it back for him.  I could have taken it off quite easily but I 
never did for Dad or the boys and didn't see why I should for him.
He stroked me, fingertips gently tracing the ribs under my prairie-flat 
chest, and kissed as though they were the Pope's ring each little brown 
nipple.  He stroked me from neck to knee, even slipping his hand under 
the rumpled dress lying on my stomach in order to stroke that, but left 
out my fanny as though leaving it the way you leave the best bits of a 
pudding until last.  He teased my nipples with a gentle finger as though 
they were buttons that, if pressed, rewarded you with either a million 
dollars or a million volts, and for the first time ever the Power which 
let me share what he was feeling let me know how velvety soft they were 
while I felt for myself how a gentle touch on the little round pimples 
at their centre sent tingles of pleasure like streams to join the great 
ocean of Power in me.  The man's hand made me feel nice in a way Dad and 
the boys had never even attempted - had never even thought of 
attempting, the Power told me - and I began to enjoy myself.
Too soon for me he moved on, although I knew the man was terrified that 
someone would come and catch him in the shed with me and was being 
lashed by every passing second he spent there.  He moved around to stand 
  between my knees draped over the edge of the table and laid his hand 
on my fanny like a priest touching a sacred object on an altar and 
through the Power I felt the warm softness of the kiss that the lips 
between my legs gave him back on the palm of his hand.  So I understood 
why he bent and kissed it in worship, slipping his tongue inside my cunt 
as far as it would go, and for the first time I tasted my cunt juice.
Once, years ago, Dad and Mom had taken Granpa to hospital in town when 
the pain in his legs had him screaming, and the boys and I had been left 
alone in the house.  In a cupboard in Granpa's room we had found an open 
bottle of cherry brandy and it seemed to me that the taste of my cunt as 
it lay on the man's tongue was just like that one sip of cherry brandy 
stolen so long ago.
Time was clawing at the man's back like a cat and he rose too soon from 
the kiss, his prick jutting stiffly from his thighs.  Nervously and 
trembling with tension he stepped between my knees, bobbed down the 
couple of inches necessary to line his prick up with my cunt and eased 
it into me.
He knew immediately that his was not the first prick to slip into me, 
and the Power told me that if he were to know in that moment how often 
and for how many years how many pricks had gone that way before his 
heart would break. But he didn't.  All it meant to him was that I was 
whore/goddess, and that as he had paid for the whore, deserved the whore 
and had properly worshipped the goddess, his conscience could accept 
what he was doing.   Had I been virgin, I realise now as I didn't then, 
what he was doing would have been Sacrifice and he knew in his heart 
that he didn't deserve that.  He would still have done it - his need was 
driving him too hard - but afterwards his conscience would have demanded 
atonement which could have destroyed him.  I was Sacrificed on Granpa's 
prick, a victim of his mad imaginings, and Epiphany was born to revenge me.
The man's prick sliding back and forth in me was only knowing the whore 
and for $100 he could have bought that anywhere.  What he recognised as 
a precious, once-in-a-lifetime moment for men like him was that he was 
coupling with a goddess as well.  It was this that was pounding in his 
heart and singing in his blood as he fucked me, this he was confirming 
when he lay smoothed gentle palms across my breastless little-girl's 
chest as he fucked me, this his eyes were telling him as he watched his 
prick slide in and out of the vagina in the bald, young fanny between my 
child's thin thighs. When his cum burst from him into the tight confines 
of my vagina it was the unbearably sweet knowledge that he was 
impregnating a goddess that made him cry out and sag at the knees, and 
broke out in sweat across his brow, for the whores he had paid in town 
to receive his seed had never, could never be as sweet.
"Oh Ruth, Ruth, my Angel," he gasped as the aftershocks of his orgasm 
wracked him, my Power sharing with me the tingling cascading from his 
scalp to his toes as his prick twitched and pumped the dregs of his 
ejaculation into me.  'Angel' pleased me as it proved he was in some way 
aware of what I was and I was also glad I hadn't been lying under him 
when he had come for it would not have been pleasant to have had his 
soft bulk collapsing on me as his flabby strength left him with his cum. 
  I didn't mind the boys lying on me when they fucked me as they weren't 
too heavy but I always made Dad fuck me standing between my legs as I 
didn't like being squashed under him.
The moment was already past but the man was still clinging to it as he 
stood with his shrivelling prick in my cunt.  His blood was still 
burning with the knowledge that he was fucking a goddess - although to 
him I was just an eleven-year-old girl with a Power he could dimly see - 
but he was old and flabby and the life was dying from his prick.  Sadly 
he let it slip out of me and it was gone.
"Are you all right?" he asked me, panting.
It was a surprising question as he had done nothing even remotely 
capable of harming me in any way.  Puzzled, I looked at him and nodded.
"Good, because I wouldn't want to hurt you," he said.  "I could never 
hurt you."  I already knew that.  He had seen and felt the Power and 
although it awed and humbled him he knew it did not threaten him.  In 
any case the man was too soft and weak for violence.  I sat up on the 
table and began buttoning up my dress.
"You won't…..  You won't tell anyone about this?"  he asked.  I shook my 
head.  He was stuffing his prick back into his trousers just like Dad 
and the boys did afterwards.  I slipped off the table onto my feet, my 
dress falling like a curtain around my hips and hiding my legs to the knees.
The man wanted to cry, my Power told me.  In the huge, still peace left 
behind by the storm of his orgasm he no longer saw my Power.  He saw 
only a smallish eleven-year-old girl with straight ash-blond hair 
half-way down her back in a cheap flower-print summer frock, wearing no 
socks in her scuffed black lace-up shoes and a serene expression. A 
smallish eleven-year-old girl he had just fucked.
He had a girl at home like me, I knew. Young and waifish.  Perhaps 
younger.  Yet not like me in that the Power had not yet woken in her, or 
been woken.  The serenity he had purchased from me was already being 
troubled by his thoughts of her, his reawakening need for her only 
momentarily sated by what he had done with me.  And a need that would 
return all the stronger as he transposed what he had done with me onto 
what he wanted to do with her.  He was already seeing her face on his 
memory of my body spread open to him on the table, feeling my cunt as 
hers.  If he was no longer aware of the difference between us, 
overlooked the fact that he saw a Power in me that he didn't see in his 
daughter, he would burn to experience in her what he had in me and 
expect it to affect her as little as it had me.  Now, with his soul at 
peace, he could see it yet he knew the storm would gather, destroying 
that peace and the understanding that went with it.  He knew dimly that 
the little girl he would not hurt for the world was now at far greater 
risk of such hurt because of what he had done with me.  Perhaps because 
of me, who had enabled him to have a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  He 
wanted to cry.  I felt sad but, like my mother when I was sacrificed to 
his mad beliefs and his lusts on the altar of my grandfather's lap, 
there was nothing I could so about it.  He gathered up his strawberries 
and left.  I added the $100 bill to the $60 in a jar I had stolen from 
the kitchen and hid the jar very very well.
I never saw him again but four days later another shiny town car pulled 
up at the stall and another flabby man in a suit climbed out, already 
tingling with his need and anticipation.
"Hello,' he said.  "Is your name Ruth?"
"Yes,"  I said.
"Would you like to earn $100?"
So I let him fuck me in the little shed and added the bill to the jar. 
And sold him some strawberries.
Two days later two men arrived in the same car and one kept watch while 
the other fucked me and then they changed over.  Later still one of them 
arrived with two others in two cars and as one kept watch the other two 
crowded into the shed with me and one took pictures while the other 
fucked me, changed over to take more pictures then one went out to keep 
watch while the third man came in to have pictures taken of him fucking me.
When the strawberries started going soft and mushy so that no-one wanted 
them the stall was closed down and I had $3, 460 in the jar.  I was 
glad, though, that it was over for the men who were arriving with the 
$100 bills in their hands were not, most of them, like that sad first 
man who had seen the Power in me.  Most of the men thought the power was 
in the $100 bill so I was just whore to them and I let them bang away at 
me while I watched the cobwebs wave in the draughts in the shed roof. 
They never saw the Goddess and went away without Epiphany.
I went on being whore and Goddess for Granpa, Dad and the boys and when 
the stall reopened to sell the apples and pears and peaches in the fall 
I asked that Aaron mind it, because I knew the men would return and I 
did not like just being whore.  And because of my Power Granpa agreed.
At Christmas I bled for the first time and Mom told me what to do about 
it.  And about Easter Dad, Joshua or one of the twins got me pregnant. 
I know it hadn't been Aaron because although he was beginning to take an 
interest in me he hadn't been able to fuck me properly.
The strawberries were ripe on the plants when I told Mom that my 
bleedings had stopped again.  She got me to take my dress off, stroked 
my belly and told me I was going to have a baby.  Granpa, who liked to 
think he was the only one fucking me, was overjoyed and said it was his 
Easter Miracle, Dad looked unhappy, Joshua looked proud, the twins were 
confused, Aaron looked sad and it for me was just too big to comprehend. 
  Mom just hugged me and told me that God knew best.
As Granpa said I wasn't to work in the fields in my condition I was sent 
out to the stall again to sell strawberries and after a week the men 
started coming back.
Granpa, Dad and the boys had not stopped fucking me as the baby was 
still very little, although Mom told the boys not to lie on me when they 
fucked me, and so I let the men who came to the stall fuck me although I 
didn't like it.  When the strawberries came to an end I had $9, 472.50 
in the jar, as some of the men liked to give me a tip afterwards as well 
as the $100 up front and three men who made a film of me being fucked in 
the shed by them, gave me $500.
I also didn't like it that my tits had begun to grow about the same time 
my bleedings started  and Grampa, Dad, the boys and the men were all 
fascinated by them.  They were stroked, fondled, kissed, squeezed, 
pressed and caressed so often some days that they were almost 
permanently sore.
Granpa had never allowed Mom to have a bra as he believed their purpose 
was to thrust a woman's breasts in a man's face and he wasn't about to 
change that rule for me.  I liked it in that some men looked at them and 
touched them like they could see the Goddess in them but they could be 
uncomfortable, too, and some men sucked them so hard it was like they 
were trying to drink the milk that was not there yet.
By the time the apples started my belly had swollen so that everyone 
could see it and some of them men who came to the stall went away again 
without fucking me.  Most stayed, though, and fucked me carefully on the 
little table in the shed with their hands softly stroking my lump with 
wonder as though it was the Goddess's, which I liked.
Then one day yet another shiny town car scrunched to a stop on the 
gravel in front of the stall and a man climbed out.  He was younger than 
most and not dressed in a suit as most of them were.  He reminded me of 
the men who had come to make the film of me being fucked and I wondered 
if they wanted to make another one, especially as my Power told me that 
although he'd looked at me and wondered what it would be like to fuck 
me, his blood was not burning with the need to like it was in most of 
the men.
"Hello," he said.  "Are you Ruth?"
"Yes."
"Are you going to have a baby?"
"Yes."
"Who put the baby in you?"  Some of the other men had asked that one. 
Sometimes the answer had made them go away without fucking me and as it 
was hot and my baby was heavy and my little tits were sore I half hoped 
it would make this man go away without fucking me. He seemed very kind 
and friendly but I had known instantly that he had seen nothing of my 
Power and never would, and I preferred being fucked by the ones who saw 
my Power because they worshipped the Goddess in me.
"Dad, or one of the boys.  It probably wasn't Granpa though he thinks it 
was.  His balls don't work."
"How old are you, Ruth?"  A lot of the men wanted to know that.
"Twelve."
"Uhuh."  he smiled sadly.  "You gonna be here a while?"
"Uhuh.  While there's apples to sell.  You gonna buy some?"
"Not today.  But I'll be back, OK?"
"OK."
He came back with a nurse and a kind woman in a shiny town car, and 
three police cars.  While they put me into the back of the car with the 
nurse and the kind woman the police cars drove on down to the farm.
They took me to a 'place of safety' with locks on the doors and bars on 
the windows.  Men in white coats talked to me, for hours sometimes, and 
tried to take the whore out of the Goddess which showed that they did 
not know Epiphany because that's what the Goddess is. Women tried too, 
one so old that she told me to think of her as my grandmother, which I 
couldn't as I'd never had one, and a pretty young one who had trouble 
because the whore/goddesss was strong in her and she was fighting her 
own while trying to fight mine.  She thought she was clever because she 
had read lots of books and studied.  I though she was silly for ignoring 
the obvious and fighting the inevitable, and turning her back on the 
Goddess.
The pain came and  they took me to a place for me to have my baby and I 
did, and they took it away without letting me see it and wouldn't even 
let me know if it was a girl or a boy.
When I was well again I was taken to a different place with no bars on 
the windows but a high fence around its gardens just one gate which a 
man in a uniform opened to let people in and out.  There were adults 
there, some deeply unhappy ones and some blissfully happy ones that 
lived in their own worlds like Granpa but who had found something better 
to make them with.  I was in a ward for problem children, which didn't 
surprise me as I knew I represented a problem to them as I refused to 
let them mould me into their image.
Two years passed after the birth of my baby and the Goddess gave me 
strength.  The people at the institution gave me schooling and because 
the Goddess told me I needed it I revelled in the truth Granpa hadn't 
wanted us to see as it didn't fit into his world.  I was, they declared, 
a highly intelligent girl who would do wonderfully well in their world - 
if I would only forget the Epiphany born on Dad's bed six years before 
and move on.
But I am Epiphany, and would not deny the Goddess.
Then Mike came to the boy's wing, where they had to send him because he 
was too young for prison. Mike had the Devil in him.
Not Granpa's Devil, with horns and hooves and evil intent.  Mike's Devil 
was just his defence against what had happened to him and made him 
clever at looking after himself.  Mike's Devil recognised my Goddess and 
each knew they needed the other.
Mike found somewhere we could fuck without getting caught and there one 
night I told him about the jar with over $10,000 in it hidden by the 
little roadside stall in the middle of nowhere.  Four nights later we ran.
Mike stole cars and food for us and clothes off washing lines and two 
nights later I stood again in the little stall with the jar in my hand, 
looking over the still, dark fields to the light in Mom and Dad's 
bedroom, but I didn't want to go there.
Two days later we reached the city Mike knew and he found a room we 
could live in from people who didn't ask any questions.  Mike would go 
out and bring back men to fuck me while he took the money and we ate 
well and bought nice things and laughed, for Mike's Devil wasn't dark 
when he laughed.  He took me to a shed where I put on schoolgirl's 
clothes or clothes like Shirley Temple's in the 'Wizard of Oz' and films 
were taken of men fucking me, six men at the same time on one film.
And after that because Mike said it paid better they got me to fuck 
animals, and although animals cannot see the Goddess her Power could 
still touch their maleness and made the dogs and horses and the 
frightened chimpanzee want to fuck me so that the men behind the cameras 
shook their heads and said 'fantastic'.
Best paying were the films with the ropes, chains and handcuffs, and the 
whips, needles and clamps.  I did not understand then what these had to 
do with the Goddess but she told me I had taken worse under Granpa's 
belt and could take it, so I did.
Then it all changed again.
In the shed where they made the films four men were waiting to fuck me 
for the cameras.  Often the Goddess was quiet at these times for only 
the men behind the cameras, and the men behind them, saw her while the 
men who were fucking me didn't.  But one of those four men did and even 
when I couldn't see whose prick it was in my cunt, ass, mouth or hand, I 
knew which prick was his.
During a break when they were checking the tapes and the men were 
getting their breath back I talked to him and we arranged to meet next 
day.  We met, he took me back to his place and we fucked for ourselves, 
not the cameras and not for money, and I had the first orgasm of my life.
Does that surprise you?
I was not fucked often during the two years in the institution but often 
enough during the other six years since Epiphany to claim a very 
conservative average of three a day, every day.  That's about nine 
thousand fucks, by perhaps a thousand different men - Mike had kept me 
busy - and not one orgasm among them.  Twice as many fucks by the time I 
was sixteen than most men manage in a lifetime.
But Epiphany is Goddess/whore and whores do not orgasm unless they want 
to, for that is not their job.  Yet Alan loved me despite the Goddess, 
the first man to do so, and I could be Goddess without whore for him. 
And so I could orgasm.  And orgasm and orgasm.  Alan blew my mind and, 
because he loved me, I blew his.
At last, exhausted and the quiet after the storm, we talked.  Alan was 
athletic and handsome, which the men behind the cameras liked for their 
films, and he did it for the money to help pay his college fees - and 
because it was fun for a man, of course.  He usually worked for a better 
company, though, and he took me to them and they defended me when Mike 
came looking for me.  Then I made for them the classy films you've 
probably seen, and which I'm still making as Alan manages my career and 
we fuck each other just for love.
A while back I got hold of copies of some the films I'd made before, the 
dark ones, which wasn't easy as they are much in demand, from cops most 
of all.  For the first time I saw myself as men see me and I understood.
A pearl, they say, shines brightest amid shit, and they put me through 
some shit.  Yet even the men who find it hardest to see the Goddess 
cannot fail to see her in the steady gaze and serene smile of the little 
girl transcending the pain of the whip-weals and the needles in her 
flesh, the clamps crushing her nipples and her clit, the ropes and 
chains biting into her skin, the joint-stressing contortions on the 
cross and sinew-wrenching strain of the chains.  And although I did not 
see it then the Goddess knew, and endured so that even the saddest of 
men might have Epiphany.
So I have gone back to making those films but with a far better crew and 
under the direction of the Goddess, and can trust in the man who loves 
me.  And the future excites me.
Yet this is not quite the end.
Two weeks ago the table next to ours in the restaurant ordered 
strawberries and as their fragrance reached my nose the Goddess spoke to 
me of unfinished business.  I cleared my diary for two days, promised 
Alan I would be back and drove and drove until I was on a road, run-down 
and dusty, from nowhere to nowhere.  In a broken-down stall beside a 
table bearing strawberries a young boy sat watching the traffic go by. 
I drew in.
"Hello, Aaron," I said to him.
He did not recognise me, of course.  I was far from the twelve-year-old, 
pregnant Ruth he had last seen.  The Goddess saw the fear and awe in his 
eyes as he yearned for her in the me beneath the thousand-dollar shirt 
and two-thousand dollar jeans.
"It's me.  Ruth."
His Epiphany left him panting and quivering as he admitted it to 
himself,  for only the Ruth he had known could have asked him the 
questions I did.
The police had questioned them all and must have known that the boys 
were fucking Mom but they did nothing for I guess it was all too 
difficult, and with me no longer there they saw no real harm.  Granpa 
went madder and madder and was taken away to an institution just like 
mine after he tried to burn the house down with himself in it.  As soon 
as he was old enough David had run and joined the Army and they had 
letters from him now and then but Dad was still fucking Mom by night and 
Joshua, Samuel and Aaron were fucking her by day - for Dad needed them - 
and she still hadn't had any more babies.
As he told me all this I saw his eyes on me still dazzled by Epiphany 
and through the Goddess I knew his thoughts.  When he had finished I 
took him by the hand and led him into the little tin shed, took off the 
thousand-dollar shirt and two-thousand dollar jeans and lay on the same 
rickety table so that my little brother could at last fuck me as he had 
so often seen his big brothers do, laying at last to rest the envy and 
jealousy that had been eating at his heart for five years.
And the peace he at last felt when he came in me made him weep at its 
beauty, for this is the gift of the Goddess to all men if they only will 
acknowledge Her.
Dressing again I asked Aaron to let Mom know he had seen me and that I 
was happy, safe and successful, and missed her.  I asked him not to let 
Dad or his brothers know lest it starts them yearning for the Goddess 
they once knew and had lost.  Aaron I promised to visit again, 
unannounced and for a few moments only as is a Goddess's way, and I 
will.  Then I drove away down the road to nowhere again, plume of dust 
at my tail and the car filled with the sweet scent of the strawberries 
filling the back seat.

©  Rex Antioch 2003





















	



























































    

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