Path: not-for-mail
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.babies
Subject: Title story: "Confessions of a Highschool Honors Student - Chapter 1." Author: The Girl In The Corner - Chapter 1 44872545
From: TheXfan <ryzij@poczta.fm>
Lines: 361
Message-ID: <9gjme.20666$H_1.7751@fe04.news.easynews.com>
X-Complaints-To: abuse@easynews.com
Organization: EasyNews, UseNet made Easy!
X-Complaints-Info: Please be sure to forward a copy of ALL headers otherwise we will be unable to process your complaint properly.
Date: Sun, 29 May 2005 13:15:50 +0000
===================
-------------------------------- ONLY FOR ADULTS -----------------------------------------
You can at any time to read and comment the Stories sent to us OR
You can always add a favourite story on here http://e-story.biz/addstory.html OR
Add a favourite site on here http://e-story.biz/addlink.html
The continue of this history http://e-story.biz/virtuoso/index.html?id_group=11&id_story=776&id_posting=8579
Free XXX photos on us frend: http://tgp.photoset.biz
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
What I'm about to tell you is horrible and terrible, disgusting, and I feel like
an incredibly vile and filthy person for telling you, but I have to tell
someone... I just want you to keep in mind, as you read this, that's it's all
just a dream. Just a dream. I swear it…
The dream starts like this. I'm in my room, just like this, on a night like
this, stretched out on my bed with books, a can of diet coke and maybe a bowl
of unsalted pocorn if I'm hungry or if I haven't been eating because Mom and
Eddie are making me sick with their bullshit. Only, in the dream, I'm not
writing in some stupid notebook because I'm feeling like I'm completely crazy,
and I can't tell anyone why or how, but I can't just let the craziness sit
inside of me any longer either. What I'm doing is I'm studying for the stupid
SATs just like I do every night in a t-shirt and gym shorts, my hair pulled
back in a pony tail, no make up, this is my home uniform, or, should I say, my
room uniform, because I try to leave my room as little as possible when I get
home after school, and if I do leave my room it's only to leave the house.
Eddie says I'm a shut in and it's not good for me, but he's not my father and I
don't really care what he says about anything even if he does have my mother
wrapped around his finger. Anyway, I don't want to make this about Eddie. The
fact is, when it starts I don't know how long I've been lying here studying;
minutes, hours, when exactly does reality become the dream? I can't figure it
out, I can't pinpoint it, and it's different every time. Maybe that's part of
the craziness. If I could just figure out when reality dissolved into the
dream I'd maybe be able to stop it from happening…but all these months since it
started happening and I still can't figure it out. Studying these stupid
vocabulary words that I'll never use except to take this test. Formulas and
theorems, word games. I know I should look at the whole thing like a game,
that's what Bobby tells me to do, but there's something so offensive about it
to me. Wasting all this time on this stupid test to get into some school that
I don't even want to go to. Bobby's always so positive about everything; it
really pisses me off. I can't help that I'm good at school, good at taking
tests. It's not even like I'm smart, either, I can take tests and I know how
to say the things in papers that teacher's like. Besides, at this point, I can
pretty much cruise on my reputation anyway. I mean, a teacher gets me in their
class now and they just know I'm this 'slice of life' and 'wise beyond my
years' and 'One of the bright young stars at Marshall High School.' God forbid
they should tarnish their image. It's not even about me, the whole being smart
thing. Last year we had to write these twenty page papers on an American
Author, so I chose Faulkner. My thesis was that his imagination and his work
were tied to his lifelong guilt over slavery. I mean any idiot can see that.
We were supposed to hand in our papers in March but I just didn't want to do
it, y'know. I don't know why, it's not that I couldn't, I just didn't want
to. My teacher, Mr. Caseman, he gave me five extensions. I handed the paper
in on the last day of school, plagiarized the whole paper, pretty much word for
word except for a few minor flourishes just to make it mine, from an old
Atlantic Monthly. A++++. So I'm thinking about all these things, about how I
wish Bobby and everyone else would just leave me alone, and if I had any guts
at all I'd just leave without a word to anyone, but since I'm a coward I won't
do it, and it's just another night. Another boring night in my boring town
until at some point it finally comes. I always expect it now, I mean, I know
it's coming, but when it comes, I'm always taken totally by surprise. It's as
if, at the moment of the crash, at the exact sound, I split in two. On one
hand I become the surprised, terrified me, and on the other the invisible me
who knows exactly what's happening the whole time. The invisible me is
watching the surprised me from this point on, taking notes, observing how I
react to all the situations, comparing my behaviors and reactions to how I've
acted at other times. It's like some sick game, another set of rules, only
this time, I don't know them, they change every time. That's what I like about
it, that's what I'm addicted to. A loud crashing sound from downstairs. A loud
crashing sound like no sound I've ever heard before. Glass breaking, Eddie's
voice, the terrified screams of my mother, a commotion from the dining room,
the slap of flesh hitting flesh hard, again and again and again, sometimes even
a gunshot, and then nothing. Silence. I sit there on my bed wondering what I
should do, waiting for a sound, for anything. Always, at this moment, I simply
cannot move. It's as if I have a choice, to go on with it, to play the game,
or simply walk down the hall, pick up the phone and call the police and end it
right then and there. In all the months it's been going on, I've never once
done that. 'Mom!' I call out, but nothing. 'Eddie, is everything all right?!'
Still nothing. So I open my door and peak my head down the hallway but
everything is as should be, and silent too. I walk out of my room and down the
hall to the edge of the stairs and call again, 'Eddie, Mom!' but still
nothing. I creep down the stairs, and that's when I see it, him… Eddie is
lying face down on the living room floor a pool of his own blood puddling
around his head. In the corner a lone man is just finishing tying my mother to
a chair with a length of rope, her hands and legs expertly bound together so
there's no way for her to move. My mother is weeping, shaking her head,
calling out Eddie's name, but Eddie's not moving. Eddie's out. She looks up
and sees me standing there in the middle of the stairs. 'NATALIE!' She
screams, but the man standing over her, I can barely make him out, his face is
concealed by shoulder length black hair, and all I can tell is that he's of
medium build, wearing jeans and a long, leather jacket. At the moment of her
scream he wraps electrical tape across my mother's face and knocks her out with
a blow to the back of the head. I stand there, transfixed, unable to believe
what I'm seeing. I tell myself it's a dream. I do. I swear it. Every time.
I tell myself this, but it's not a dream, it's really happening. It's
happening, I'm watching it happen, and if I stand there, if I don't somehow try
to get away, if I don't become complicit in the idea that this man has come
into our home and done this then my mother and Eddie are dead. I know this in
my heart. If I don't play along there both dead and it will be all my fault.
The man looks up at me and our eyes lock. That's when I realize
it, this is no stranger, this is somebody I know, somebody I see every day and
rarely if ever take notice of. It's the maintenance man from school* (most of
the time anyway. It can be other people too, but mostly it's the janitor, and
never once one of my classmates.) His name's Eugene, I think, but nobody ever
pays attention to him. I know it sounds like a cliché or some made up story
like in 'To Kill A Mocking Bird,' but it's true, I swear. He's deaf and mute,
and if he's not he never says a word to anyone. I think he's mixed too, Arab,
or American Indian, part white or part black, nobody knows for certain because
he never talks, but he's parts and definitely not whole. As long as I've been
in school, for the last three years, I've only known him to just stare at
everyone, empty the trash, mop the floor, and just stare. He never gives
anyone trouble; always does his job without a complaint that I know of. If you
ever tried to talk to him or say thank you for putting away the chairs for the
Honor Society meeting when he didn't have to, I mean, it wasn't his job, it
wasn't something he had to or got paid extra for, he never said a word, not
one. He' d just stare at you empty eyed and go on about his business. What the
Hell is he doing in my house? What the Hell is he doing to my Mother and her
boyfriend. These thoughts flash through my head in a nano-second, and then
synapses in my brain tell me to run, get to the phone, anything to get to the
phone and call the police. I take off back up the stairs as fast I can. I
crash through the hall and I'm just about to get to my mother's room where the
phone is, she won't let me have my own phone because she thinks it'll distract
me from my studies talking on the phone all the time to my friends, and just as
I get to the door I feel the crash against my back. I don't move, I just lie
there with my face smashed against the rug. I can feel his breath against the
back of my neck; feel his large hands gripping my sides. I don't move, not one
inch. 'You're not goin' to fight? Not even a little,' He whispers in my ear.
His voice, it's soft and sounds like it's being dragged over pieces of gravel.
Those are the first words he ever says to me. Suddenly he lifts me to my feet.
I stare at him. He stares at me. I spit in his face. He smiles and without
wiping the gob of spit from his cheek, pushes me through the door of my
mother's room, closing and locking it behind him. He pushes me over to the bed
and throws me down onto it. He sees the phone on the night table and goes to
it, ripping the cord out of the wall. Then he sits down on the bed next to me.
'Stand up,' he commands. 'You talk?' He smiles then suddenly, without warning,
slaps me across the face with his open hand. The shot's violent, loud, really
loud and the silence that comes after is even more disturbing. I look up at
him, trying not to cry. I can't cry, I tell myself. I just breathe. Wait. 'I
talk, when there's something to talk about. Now stand up. I want to have a
look at you.' I swallow and stand up. He makes me stand there in front of him
for what seems like hours. Just stand there fidgeting, waiting, trying to
mentally cover myself from his gaze, but it's no uses, his eyes, his empty
black eyes, they're staring right through me. 'You recognize me?' He finally
asks. 'You know who I am?' I nod my head. 'You're a good student aren't you?'
'Not that good.' 'Sure you are. One of the best. I see you. That big
backpack full of books, taking classes with all the chinks and Jews. The smart
classes. The smart kids. Going to the good colleges.' 'Maybe. It depends.
Anything can happen.' 'You're right about that. Anything can happen. Anything
has happened, to you.' He smiles. 'I bet you were in here studying, weren't
you? Studying like a good little girl, even on a Friday night when all the
rest of the kids are out getting high, getting drunk, getting laid.' I don't
say anything. 'Don't you ever want to go get high, get drunk, get laid? Don't
you get tired of being so good all the time? You're only young once, y'know.'
I don't say anything. 'No, you're different, aren't you? You don't have time
for the rest of them. You got plans. I can see it in the way you walk, the
way you talk. You're different from all of them. When you graduate you're
leaving and you ain't ever coming back, are you? Answer me!' 'I wasn't
planning on it, if you must know.' 'Yeah, I know. I know you. You all think
I'm dumb, stupid, but I watch. I watch all of you, but you especially. You're
my special one; you're the one I like to watch the most. You want to know
why?' 'Why?' 'Because you're the biggest liar of them all and you'll do
anything to get out of here. Smarter than them, the rest don't have a clue.'
He smiles again. 'Look, whatever you want you can have. I know where my mother
keeps her jewelry, there's some cash too, not much, but at least a couple
hundred bucks. You can have it all and I won't say anything about this. I
won't tell. If you just leave right now I promise… He starts to laugh, a loud
bellowing laugh, the kind of laugh that kills everything else living around.
At the sound of his laugh it takes everything I have to not crumple to the
floor right there, crying. 'I'm not here for that.' 'What do you want? Why are
you here?' 'I see you looking at me too.' 'What?' 'In school, I've seen you
looking at me. What d'you find so interesting about me? I told you, now you
tell me.' 'You're crazy.' 'Maybe, maybe not. But I see you looking at me. Why
do you look at me?' 'I don't know. I don't know what you're talking about! I
just go to school and do my best and try to be as nice as I can to everybody.'
He glares at me. 'If you don't keep your voice, I kill them both. I kill them
right in front of your eyes, and then I'll kill myself and leave you living.
That's the rules. You get the rules don't you? You always play by the rules.
Now you do exactly what I'm telling you to do, girlie, or that's what I'll do.'
He takes a hunting knife out of his belt and twirls it in his hand. He
suddenly runs the blade over the top of his wrist immediately drawing a stream
of blood that spills out on to my mother's bedspread, staining the white cotton
with red blotches. They almost look pretty there. 'You understand? You
understand what I'm telling you?' I nod. 'How old are you?' 'Sixteen.'
'Sixteen. Yeah. Sixteen. Take off your shirt, smart girl, and any funny
stuff I'll slit their fucking throats and make you drink the blood.' Shaking, I
take off my shirt. 'Now your fucking shorts. Take off your little fucking gym
shorts so I can see that hot little ass of yours.' I start to take them off.
'Slowly,' he says. 'Do it slow. Pretend I'm one of your boyfriends. 'I don't
have a boyfriend.' 'Oh yeah, who's that other smart kid you're always walking
around with, talking to? The one always trying to get down your pants.' 'Just
a friend. He's just my friend.' 'No boyfriend, huh?' I shake my head. 'Look at
that fucking ass. That tight little ass. Anyone ever tell you what a great
ass you have?' I shake my head. 'The teachers say it too.' 'They do not.' 'Yup,
they do. I hear em'. You don't believe me. And you know the one who talks
the most? That scumbag English teacher you had last year, I heard em' tell
another one how he would have given you an A for just showing up in those tight
little jeans of yours. Scumbags been married thirty years with three grown
kids. Spin around, move that ass for me.' I do so moving my hips in a circle,
trying to hold it together, my legs shaking. 'Maybe I don't want a boyfriend.'
'Maybe, maybe not.' He shifts his crotch with his hand and that's when I see
it, the enormous bulge. It's huge, bursting against the pants of jeans, trying
to bust through. He laughs. 'Y'know I just saw it.' 'What?' 'The same look you
give me in school sometimes.' 'I said that you're crazy.' As he reaches down
and unbuttons his fly unzipping his jeans, my knees go. He's not wearing any
underwear and springs out as if it needs air. I swear to God, it's maybe 12
inches long and two inches thick with these big fat veins sticking out of it.
It's the first erect cock I've ever seen up close like that. I can feel it's
energy from across the room and it scares me, it scares me even more than he
does. He strips down in front of me, and his body, it's taught, muscled, in
some way just like his cock, but not as intense. 'You like it, don't you? You
do. It's the first one you've ever seen isn't it.' I nod my head. 'You don't
have to do this.' I can feel the tears welling up as he approaches and takes my
hand. 'Grab my fucking cock.' I shake my head. 'You have to.' 'It's too big.'
He takes my hand and places it around the bulbous tip. 'Like this you dumb
cunt.' He presses my hand against the tip so it's tight and runs it up and down
hard and slow. 'You've never even jerked a cock off before?' I shake my head.
He lets out a groan as I continue to do as he tells me. 'Well, you're doing
great. You're doing great with that little fucking hand, and those little
fingers. Get as much into your little fucking hand as you can, bitch. Keep
jerking my cock off and listen to me.' He groans, and I can feel it, the
energy seeping through me. It feels as if it's growing in my hand, I can feel
the blood engorging his member with every stroke, the blood rushing up and down
the veins. It's so thick I can't get my hand around it. He leans in close. 'I
know you're a good girl, that's why I chose you. I could have chosen anybody
but you're a good girl. A good, smart girl. I've been waiting for this, the
right time, the right moment. I've been watching you for three years now.
Three years waiting for this, dreaming about this. As soon as you walked into
the doors that first day of school three years ago, I knew it. I knew it was
you. I knew it had to be you. Keep fucking stroking my cock, don't stop just
because I'm talking to you.' I do keep stroking it and my wrist is starting to
hurt but I keep doing it and it keeps getting large. 'You're good at this.
Now, you're a good girl and you follow the rules, so here are the rules.
You're my slave and if you don't do exactly what I say when I say I will kill
your parents and myself. I promise you that. I will still do exactly what
I'm going to do to you and then I will kill them and myself. Understand?
There's nothing you can do to stop me. You want to cry, cry, I'll enjoy it if
you cry. I want you to cry. But no screaming, or else. Did I tell you to
stop fucking jerking my cock off, little slut.' He grabs me by the hair and
stairs at me real close, but he doesn't kiss me like I expect him to. I jerk it
harder with both my hands. 'No,' I say. 'No, what, bitch?' 'No, what?' He
grabs me by the neck, hard, I can't breathe. He's suffocating me. 'No,
Daddy.' He says. He chokes hard and then releases. I struggle for breath. He
stares at me. 'No, what?' 'No, Daddy,' I say. He immediately pushes me to my
knees. 'Open your fucking mouth bitch.' 'Yes, Daddy.' I open my mouth wide,
thinking of my parents, school, Bobby, thinking this is what I deserve, that it
should be like this. 'Gob up your mouth with spit, bitch.' 'I don't
understand.' He whacks me across the face, not hard, but hard enough. 'Like
this, you dumb bitch. God, for being so smart you're dumb. Like this.' He
gobs up his mouth with spit and opens, spitting onto me, my face, covering my
cheek.' 'Now do it!' I hack up spit and open my mouth waiting. 'Now you're
going to take what I have to give you and if you don't take it all, and if you
use your teeth, you know damn well what'll happen. You've been fucking warned
so anything bad happens to them it's your fault not mine. Understand?' 'Yes,
Daddy.' 'Keep your hands at your side, whore, look at me. Don't even think
about using your hands on me. He takes his cock, it's like a hammer and slaps
it across my cheek, hard, again and again…it hurts. It hurts bad, like being
hit with a ball peen hammer. 'You scared, cunt?' 'Yes, Daddy.' 'Good, I want
you to be scared.' With that he shoves his cock into my open mouth, he grabs
the back of my head and presses down as far as it will go, I can't breathe, I'm
gagging I feel like I'm going to throw up, there's no room, the spit slides
down his cock. Just at the last second, when I can't take anymore he releases
my head. I gasp; cough, the tears running out of my eyes. He laughs enjoying
the pain. 'That's as bad as it gets, see. That's the worst of it. You
understand. Nod your head, bitch.' I do, my throat burning bad. 'Now put your
fucking hands on my hips, and don't move them. Now I'm going to fuck your
beautiful little mouth like it's a pussy, like it's my pussy. I'm going to use
your mouth for my pleasure the way I want to, the way I always wanted. I want
you to look up at me the whole time. Now tell me you want me to fuck you in
the mouth.' 'Fuck me in the mouth, Daddy.' 'What, I can't hear you?' 'Fuck me
in the mouth, Daddy.' Beg me for it. 'Please, Daddy, fuck me in the mouth!'
With that he slides his cock into my mouth, this time easier than before. I
grip onto his hips digging my nails into the flesh, but he doesn't feel it even
though I know I'm drawing blood. He grabs me by the back of the head and
undulates my mouth back and forth over the head of his cock. I can't take much
of it into my mouth, only about a quarter of it and I swear it's still growing
there. It's so powerful, so consuming and as he moves my head back and forth
and I gob up more spit, as he continues to use my mouth, as his body rocks and
undulates as he mumbles calling me a bitch a cunt and a whore, as the sweat
beads down his body, I think how he's a slave to this thing, this monster
between his legs. I think about how he can't possibly fight this monster off
anymore than I can fight him or my parents or school or anything, and at that
moment I want this monster to be mine. I want this monster to respect me, to
fear me. He moves my head back and forth and I realize that when I slide my
tongue on the under part of the shaft the monster feels it and is pleased
greatly by this action, little spasms run up and down the length of it. So I
do that and I keep my mouth wet and it's getting easier. There's a shift
then. He's fucking my mouth just as hard as before, maybe even harder, I've
read about it since and it's called skull fucking. I mean, he's skull fucking
me with all his might, my neck's exploding, but I can feel it, the shift. I'm
staring up at him and he's staring down at me and he's stroking my hair. I
hold his hips and I take control sliding my mouth up and down the monster,
licking the point right where the shaft meets the pulsing head. Suddenly, he's
calling out, praying and I realize that I've got it all now, the power, that
the monster is mine, that the monster wants to be tamed, to be tamed by me.
It's like nothing I've ever felt before, this power. He thrusts in so deep, to
the back of my throat and as he does so I suck, with all my might, I suck the
bulbous throbbing head of that monster. At that moment I feel his entire body
convulse as if from so place so deep that it could never be touched by anyone.
The only word I have for it is ancient. It's ancient, what's happening, and
still we continue to stare at each other. I love you monster. I always love
you for you violence, for your unquenchable desire. I love you and I always
have because you destroy, you destroy me, you rape me and destroy me and I
always love you for destroy and raping and punishing me and making me stronger
than I could ever be. 'You fucking whore bitch!' I watch as his eyes grow big
and he presses my head down all the way and the cock passes through the back of
my throat and down into my gluteus just as I instinctively cup his balls with
my hands hoping he won't hold it against me. For a moment, I feel them, his
testacies, they feel like they're ten pounds each and boiling hot. How can
anyone live with this, I wonder and I cup them and jerk the shaft of his cock
just like he showed me to help him, to try and help him, help him be free. 'Are
you going to swallow it, bitch. Are you going to swallow it like a good girl.'
I nod my head, making my eyes as big as I can for him, showing that I'm open,
that he can do anything he wants to do, if it helps him be free, helps him
attain a moment of freedom through me. 'Agggghhhhh.' He explodes, wads of spew
shooting down my throat. Again and again his body rocks and undulates as more
and more spooge pours into my throat and mouth I feel like I'm drowning, but I
swallow the wet burning liquid as best I can, scalding my throat all the way
down. Finally, he pulls out of my mouth and continues to ejaculate all over my
face and hair as I stare up at him, crying, finally crying, jerking his cock to
get it all out of him, to make him free.
He stares down at me. 'You're a cum covered bitch now.' 'Yes, Daddy.' 'You
like that?' 'I don't know, Daddy.' He reaches for his jeans and pulls them on.
'Are you going to kill them and yourself, Daddy?' He goes to the door and
stares at me. 'That was the best blow job I've ever had. I knew it. I knew
it.' He turns and walks out and I lie there, feeling his sticky goo drying on my
face, and it reminds me of when I was a child and using wet cement to glue the
leafs onto my family tree for my second grade project, and that's when I
realize, my pussy is sopping wet, wetter then it's ever been, and I wish he
would have stayed, because if he would have promised to fuck me and let me bleed
all over his huge fucking cock I would have helped him kill my mother and Eddie.
I know it's ridiculous. I know it is, but that's the dream I keep having, and
the fact that it's Eugene. Eugene the maintenance man whose so ugly, and
basically retarded…I mean, he's retarded, that's why they gave him the job, and
he doesn't look anything in real life the way he looks in my dream... What the
fuck is wrong with me? Over the last few months the dreams, I have them all the
time now. I mean, I guess I always had them, but the last few months it's just
been insane. I can't concentrate on anything; I mean I'll be sitting and taking
a test and start having these fantasies. That's why I bought this notebook,
because maybe, if I can write them out, the fantasies, they'll leave me alone
and I can be normal again. Just normal. This notebook, I read about the Greeks
in my A.P Ancient History class and they would do the same thing with their
theatre, they would write out the bad stuff to try and get it out of them, to
purify them. They called it 'Catharsis.' That's what I'm going to name this
notebook, Cathy, so that way it will seem like I'm telling a friend and not just
writing to myself. Let me try, Cathy, but if you ever tell anyone about this
I'll kill you then myself. I keep having these fantasies and you have to help
me because it's not normal, I mean, my pussy's getting wet just thinking about
it, and if anyone ever found this, I don't know what I'd do...
-------------------------------- ONLY FOR ADULTS -----------------------------------------
You can at any time to read and comment the Stories sent to us OR
You can always add a favourite story on here http://e-story.biz/addstory.html OR
Add a favourite site on here http://e-story.biz/addlink.html
The continue of this history http://e-story.biz/virtuoso/index.html?id_group=11&id_story=776&id_posting=8579
Free XXX photos on us frend: http://tgp.photoset.biz
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------