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Date: Wed, 19 Jan 2005 18:52:58 -0800
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Cindy's Upbringing (Mf, oral inc, mg, pedo)
Written by Janus Copyright 2004
All my stories can be found at http://www.asstr.org/~Janus
I wrote this story after a reader responded to my "Angela the Naughty
Altar Girl" series. "Cindy" asked me to write out the stories of her
youth. We exchanged a few emails during which she revealed to me her
molestation by her father when she was a little girl.
***************
Hi, my name is Cindy and I'm twenty-five years old. I'm a graduate
student at the University of ****** (deleted). I wanted to share my
stories about growing up with my dad. Depending on your point of view,
this is a story about child abuse and molestation. Some days I think back
and my mind is made up that I was abused. Other days I'm not so sure.
My dad and I lived alone in rural Montana. My mother had left us when I
was less than a year old. You hear stories every day about how tough it is
for working single moms. Let me tell you that being a working single dad
is just as difficult.
My dad did office work for a local contracting company. The pay was not
terrible but it definitely wasn't enough for a single parent. He
eventually had to take on part-time job at the local Wal-Mart. Even so,
when I was growing up I remember we had to save money at every turn. I
usually wore cheap thrift store clothes and our meals were never elaborate.
Plenty of macaroni and cheese with hot dogs, I remember.
Being a single father, my dad told me in later years that a lot of his
parenting came from improvising on the spot. His methods were almost
always non-traditional. For example, he knew it was important for me to
eat vegetables but he never had time to prepare them. I drank gallons of
V-8 for the first five years of my life. Once that got too expensive, my
dad bought his own ingredients and made homemade V-8 juice. It wasn't
until I was a teenager that I began eating solid vegetables.
That's one example of my non-traditional upbringing. The others are as
follows.
I. The Butt Plug
After my mother left, my father was faced with the difficulties of
raising a newborn baby. As he told me later, one of the greatest expenses
for newborns was diapers. For the first two years, my father was able to
afford disposable diapers. Once I turned two, his finances were so
depleted that he started using cloth diapers. This worked okay but as a
working dad he never had time to wash the diapers. It didn't help that we
had no washing machine.
As he told me once I was older, the peed-on diapers were easy to clean.
It was mostly a matter of letting them soak. It was the poop that was more
stubborn. After staying up until one a.m. one night cleaning diapers, my
dad hit upon a rather unique solution. With his pen knife, he trimmed a
taper candle to a few inches and notched a bulb out of one end by shaving
away the wax. He then wrapped the whole thing in plastic Saran Wrap.
There it was: a homemade butt plug.
As he told me this story, my dad said he felt very ashamed and
embarrassed for being such a terrible father. But what could he do? He
worked two jobs for almost 70 hours a week and there was simply no time to
clean diapers and make sure they were properly sanitized..
With a bit of KY jelly, my dad lubed up the homemade butt plug. Taking
me out of my crib, he took off my diapers and laid me down on my stomach.
With very tender care, he told me, he gently worked the butt plug into my
rectum and reapplied my diaper. He then put me back in my crib and went to
bed himself, knowing he had to wake up at six a.m. the next day.
When his alarm went off that next morning, my dad checked on me as he
always did when he first got up. My diaper was wet but there was no sign
of any poop. The butt plug was working. Lining my crib with newspaper, my
dad removed my butt plug and put me back in the crib. He then went to get
ready for the morning.
By the time he came back, I had done my "other" business but the
newspaper saved the day. My dad just had to clean me up and throw out the
newspaper. He apparently found the solution to the diaper problem.
So it began. My dad kept a butt plug in me all the time. Four times a
day (when he woke up, around lunchtime, around dinner time, and before bed)
he would remove the butt plug and place me in a newspaper-covered crib to
let me do my business. Afterwards he would clean both me and the crib.
Finally, before putting on a diaper, he would re-insert the butt plug using
fresh Saran Wrap and more lube. It became a ritual.
It was about a six months later when my dad ran across an adult toy
catalog. Inside he found a butt plug kit that had various sizes. After
saving money for four months, he finally ordered it. When it arrived, he
chose the smallest butt plug and replaced the candle plug he had fashioned.
I had graduated to using real sex toys before age three.
This is why, from age thirteen back to as far as I can remember, I
always had a butt plug inserted in my anus. It sounds uncomfortable but I
basically grew up with it so I never noticed anything out of the ordinary.
It was your standard butt plug with a thicker bulbous tip followed by a
flared end that prevented the plug from going all the way in. It was small
and discreet enough that I could wear a swimsuit and it was completely
undetectable. I didn't even walk funny because I was so used to it.
Once I was old enough to be potty trained, my dad taught me how to
remove the butt plug myself. I also learned how to carefully clean it with
soap and water before using a bit of lube to re-insert it. During potty
training, my dad kept using the butt plug as a backup precaution but even
after potty training, I kept the butt plug inside me. I distinctly
remember my father taking away the butt plug when I was four years old. I
pouted and cried for days because it just felt strange and foreign to have
an empty rectum. My sphincter muscle had grown accustomed to clenching the
butt plug. Some kids had security blankets. I had a security butt plug.
Once I was old enough to begin kindergarten, my dad explained to me that
the butt plug had to be kept secret. Not all children wore butt plugs, he
told me. At that age, I didn't fully understand the concept but I kept the
secret all through my school years. I'm pretty sure I was the only
kindergarten student who carried a small tube of KY jelly in my backpack
though.
Each birthday I would receive, in addition to other small gifts, a new
butt plug. This was a coming-of-age necessity because I would outgrow my
butt plug, just like I would clothes or shoes. My dad kept all my old butt
plugs so even today I can chart my growth. The earliest plugs from my
toddler years were no larger than an adults thumb. By the time I was five,
the plug had grown larger to about the size of a bulbous hot dog. My butt
plug for my seventh birthday had grown to a decent cucumber size. By the
time I was ten, I was using a full-blown adult butt plug.
Growing up with a butt plug had its occasional problems. I went to a
sleepover once when I was about eight or nine and my dad had insisted I
leave the butt plug at home. I think he was worried I would accidentally
be found out. Anyway, it was an uncomfortable time for me the entire
evening. It was just a funny sensation without the butt plug, like taking
off a ring you've worn for a long time or going out in public without
underwear for the first time. I couldn't sleep at all that night because I
felt so empty.
I ended up "improvising" with my hairbrush handle. There were a dozen
or so girls at the slumber party and we were spread out over the living
room in sleeping bags. I had been tossing and turning all night and it
wasn't until two in the morning that I got the idea to use my hairbrush.
As quietly as I could, I felt around in the darkness until I found my
overnight bag. I didn't have any lubricant with me so I sucked on the
handle to coat it with my saliva. Not as slippery as KY but the hairbrush
handle slid into my anus with some gentle maneuvering.
Comforted to feel that familiar sensation in my butt, I soon fell
asleep. When I woke up, I took care to remove the hairbrush and hide it.
II. The Sleeping Problem
My dad told me, again once when I was older, that I was quite the
difficult newborn when it came to sleeping. I would only sleep for two or
three hours at a clip and then I would wake up and cry. When this happens
with traditional families, the mother usually gets up to nurse which quiets
the baby. This, of course, was not an option for my dad.
His solution for my crying was to masturbate me. That's it. No mincing
words there. It started right after my mom left us when I was six months
old. If I woke up in the middle of the night, my dad would prepare a
bottle of formula and feed me. To calm me further, he would start to rub
my little pussy.
Studies have shown that infants are capable of orgasm. There is even
documented studies of newborns, even fetuses, masturbating. I don't know
whether or not my father knew this but he touched me anyway. Using some
lubricant or saliva (whichever was handy), he would rub his finger against
my baby slit while rocking and shushing me. The touch of his finger would
instantly calm me and he would continue until I spasmed gently in his arms.
After my orgasm, my father simply laid me in the crib and I would fall
asleep like a little angel, he said. My father used this method to calm me
over the years and it continued until I was thirteen. I have early, fuzzy
memories of being four years old and my dad masturbating me before putting
me to bed. I remember I would pull my pajamas around my ankles for him and
then cuddle up next to a stuffed animal. My legs would be willingly spread
wide as my dad massaged my "cunny," as we called it. My excitement would
grow until it exploded an orgasm shook my body.
Afterward, my dad would pull my pajamas back on and tuck me in. I never
had problems falling asleep after an orgasm. To this very day, an orgasm
has a very narcotic effect on me. Guys rarely have to waste time with
post-sex pillow talk with me! On the other hand, it's usually a bad sign
if I'm wide awake after sex...
My dad's sexual touching of me never got forceful or weird. He never
instigated it at all. I was always the one asking him to do it and he
rarely said no to me. I almost always had a masturbation session with my
dad before bed for the first twelve years of my life. If I was bad or
naughty, my dad would punish me by denying me his touch. I had learned how
to masturbate by myself by the time I was five but it never felt as nice as
my father's touch. It always felt so much more loving and comforting when
he did it for me.
My dad's masturbating of me even functioned as a reward. If I got
straight As on my report card, I would receive a blissful orgasm from my
father and then we would go out for ice cream. It was the same thing if I
scored a goal with my intramural soccer team.
Orgasms were my reward from my father, but also a way he would comfort
me. When I was eleven and entering the "awkward" stage of girlhood, I had
plenty of cruel girlfriends who would sometimes be nice to me and then
sometimes turn on me. My dad picked me up after school one day when I had
experienced a particularly malicious and spiteful recess with some girls
who had made teased me for my thrift store fashions. I sobbed the entire
drive home while my dad tried to console me.
After unsuccessfully offering a comforting word, my dad pulled the truck
over to the side of the road. Pulling me close, he held me tight as I wept
into his shoulder. His arms were rubbing my neck and I still remember how
my breast buds pressed hard into his chest. Neither of us said a word as
he slipped a knowing hand under the elastic waistband of my underwear.
Anyone could have driven by and caught us but no one did. My dad expertly
massaged my clit until I came hard, my arms clenched tight around him and
my hips bucking against his leg.
Afterwards, he gave me a fatherly kiss on the forehead and we continued
home. The next day he bought me a new outfit from the Gap. I thought he
was the greatest dad ever.
III. Fatherly Love
Looking back to my childhood, I remember spending a lot of time alone.
My father worked during the day and into the night, rarely returning home
before eight p.m. My dad did his best to be a good parent and spend time
with me, even if it meant just watching TV together.
One of our nighttime rituals was to take a bath and then a watch some TV
before going to bed. When I was a toddler, my dad got into the practice of
taking both our showers at the same time and this continued as I grew
older. I have an early memory of being maybe five years old and being in
the shower with my dad. He always removed my butt plug during baths and he
would thoroughly clean me.
For my part, I stood idly by while my dad showered. His naked body was
nothing new to me since I had grown up with it. Some little girls have
fascinations with penises because it's so taboo and foreign but to me there
was nothing to strange about being face to face with my dad's penis.
Sometimes I would soap it up for him and giggle as it grew hard beneath my
touch. But other than that, it was simply another appendage to me, like an
earlobe or a fingernail. I did think it was odd that my dad had a penis
and I didn't, but I soon accepted it as a normal fact of life, like how
some animals could fly but I could not.
After showering we would towel off, put on our bathrobes (I would take a
second to re-insert my butt plug), and plunk ourselves down in the easy
chair in front of the TV. If it was summertime, we usually wouldn't bother
with the robes and I would cuddle up, naked, against my father's bare skin.
I remember summer nights like this one being the best. We would cuddle up
and sometimes I would fall asleep right there in my dad's lap and he would
later carry me to my bed and tuck me in.
Other times, he would masturbate me as I reclined against his naked
body. That was always blissful too and again I usually fell asleep
afterwards. Sometimes my dad would get an erection, sometimes not. For as
long as I can remember, I would usually idly play with my father's
erection, pulling it this way and that, pretending it was a rudder control
of an airplane. Sometimes I would recline against him and let if press
between my legs, enjoying the heat of it against my cunny.
My relationship to his penis changed when I was six years old, however.
After our shower one night, I was putting lubricant on my butt plug so I
could push it back into my anus. Clumsily, I dropped it and it landed in
the toilet. Frantic, I yelled for my dad.
He came in to see what the fuss was about. I was on the verge of tears
at this point. My dad fished the butt plug out of the toilet and I reached
for it eagerly. However, he told me that it would be necessary to let it
soak in bleach overnight in order to disinfect it. I protested, telling
him I wouldn't be able to sleep without it.
He suggested I use last year's butt plug but again I protested, saying I
had outgrown it and I was used to this one. As gently as he could, my
father told me I would have to wait until tomorrow to put the butt plug
back inside my rectum. Lifting my chin, he told me to be a big girl.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tried not to cry.
As we cuddled and watched TV that night, I was still feeling quite upset
over my butt plug. I know it sounds silly but it was my security blanket.
A few tears rolled down my cheeks as I cuddled against my dad's chest.
Brushing my hair with his fingers, my dad asked me to bring him the tube of
KY.
I went to fetch it and handed it to him, not asking what it was for. He
lifted me back onto his lap and let me recline against his body. Kissing
the top of my head, he told me not to worry. We continued watching TV but
I was still upset about the butt plug. I didn't really notice my dad's
erection as it grew hard and poked my thigh. I had seen and felt it
numerous times before. It was nothing new.
My father told me to stand up, lifting me off his lap. I stood in front
of the armchair and kept watching TV with my back turned to him. After a
moment, he told me to move closer to him. I glanced back and saw him
leaning forward off of the armchair and spreading his legs slightly,
allowing his hard penis to jut straight out from his body. I noticed his
penis was now glistening with lubricant.
He directed me to turn around and bend over a little. Obediently, I
bent over and presented my little butt to my dad, curious to what he had
planned. I felt his hands part my butt cheeks and a slippery finger press
against my anal ring. His finger slipped easily inside my rectum, the
muscles pliant after years of the butt plug.
After probing inside me for a moment, he withdrew his finger. I soon
felt something bigger, something rubbery yet hard pressing against my anal
rosette. With years of practice, I willingly relaxed my sphincter muscles
to allow the intruder inside me. The object slipped further and further
inside me until I felt my butt touch my dad's stomach. It felt much too
large to be his finger. Craning my head to look behind me, I confirmed my
suspicion.
My butt was resting against my dad's midsection. His penis was now
burrowed into my tight anal opening. I could feel its warmth inside my
body. My dad asked me if I felt okay.
"It feels really nice, Daddy."
Carefully, my father lifted me up and together we maneuvered ourselves
back into the armchair. I reclined against my dad's chest again, my
sphincter muscles content that they were again clutching something. From
time to time, I could feel my dad's penis twitch inside me. Comforted, I
soon fell asleep with my father's penis lodged inside me. When I woke up
that morning, we were still reclining in the armchair with a light blanket
on top of us. I still remember that blissful morning and how I felt so
content and loved with my dad's penis still buried deep inside me.
From that day on, my dad and I had a new activity to add to our
father-daughter time before bed. Sometimes we would just cuddle and watch
TV in our bathrobes. Other times we cuddled naked, enjoying each other's
warm touch. Occasionally, my dad would masturbate me, rubbing my hairless
cunny until I stiffened and bucked against him. At other times, my dad
would get an erection and I would ask if I could put his penis inside me.
If he agreed, I would joyfully jump off his lap and fetch the lubricant.
Returning, I would remove my butt plug and then use lubricant to prepare
his penis. Once ready, I would impale myself on him and we would continue
watching TV.
I remember watching lots of TV like that, reclined on my dad's lap with
his penis hard inside me. We got a secondhand VCR and some kids' movies at
a garage sale when I was eight. I spent that summer happily watching
Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, and Snow White over and over while
sitting on dad's lap. I didn't like watching TV alone and there were
countless times I would run up to him on a weekend with a videocassette in
one hand and the tube of KY Jelly in the other. To be honest, The Land
Before Time still gets me wet to this very day. And homesick too.
I always loved the closeness I felt with my dad inside me. It felt so
loving and so natural. Some girls have memories of going out for ice cream
or going bowling with their fathers. We didn't have the money to spend.
Instead, this was our own special way of spending time together and it made
me feel so loved and happy. My favorite was when he would masturbate me
with his penis firmly lodged inside my anus. His penis inside me was
definitely the cherry on top of the sundae. It made a good thing even
better to feel so close to him. From that early age I was able to mentally
connect orgasms and love and emotion.
Looking back, I find it astounding that we continued this activity for
years before my father ejaculated inside me. I can't imagine what kind of
control and self-restraint he must have had. There had never been any sort
of hanky-panky because I was content to merely have his penis inserted. My
dad never suggested that it might feel pleasurable for me or him if he
thrusted.
I still remember the very first time he ejaculated his semen inside my
rectum. I was nine years old. We had both fallen asleep on the armchair.
I woke up to find his hard penis still buried to the hilt inside me. My
dad was still asleep but I was playfully bored so I used my sphincter
muscles to squeeze his penis inside me. This is what I did with my butt
plug when I was bored in class. It always made me feel nice and warm
inside to squeeze like this.
It felt even nicer with my dad's penis though. My strong muscles
massaged the hard penis inside me. Squirming a bit, I found I could grind
on the penis, letting it move in and out of me. Enjoying the sensation, I
started fucking my dad's penis.
By now my dad was awake. I felt his hands caressing my back. He didn't
protest at my motions but I could feel his breathing become little ragged
gasps. Not knowing why except that it felt good, I continued fucking his
penis. Suddenly I felt my dad's hands clutch tightly against my hips. He
moaned softly and his penis twitched violently inside me. I could feel a
hotness spread inside my rectum.
My dad slowed my motions until understood he wanted me to stop. I
reclined against his chest while he recovered. When he pulled his
softening penis from my rectum, I could feel a trail of a sticky fluid
follow it.
I asked him what it was.
That day, my dad explained in detail about sex and human anatomy. I
understood most of it but the lesson I took with me was that I had given my
father an orgasm. I knew how nice it felt when he gave me an orgasm so,
from that point on, I was determined to make my dad happy.
Once or twice a week, I would remove my butt plug and engage in anal sex
with my dad. We eventually moved from the armchair to his bed where I
learned more positions. I soon grew to enjoy being on my hands and knees
as my dad gently worked his penis inside my anal ring until he ejaculated,
filling me with his hot semen.
However, that was as far as our sex play ever went. My father never
performed oral sex on me. He never asked me to give him a blowjob. The
possibility of vaginal sex was never discussed. It was only anal sex and
him masturbating me with his fingers. And of course we still watched TV
almost every night in our special position. Sometimes this would lead to
thrusting sex, but more often than not, we just enjoyed the warmth and
closeness.
It wasn't until I turned thirteen that our sexual activities began to
decrease in frequency. I had begun to read girls' magazines like YM or
Seventeen. It was there that I learned how abnormal my childhood had been.
I read stories about girls who had been molested by their brothers,
fathers, or grandfathers. Girls who had been forced to do things they
didn't want to by their boyfriends or priests or next-door neighbors. I
began to comprehend the concept of morality and I understood that sexual
activity with my father was wrong.
It's a difficult age, being thirteen. More than ever, I just wanted to
fit in, to be normal. I remember the last time I took out my butt plug and
swore never to use it again. It was difficult for a while but I eventually
adjusted. My dad and I stopped showering together. We would watch TV
together but we would sit in separate armchairs.
The next four years of my life were the most difficult ever. I felt
humiliated and betrayed that my dad had done these things to me. I felt he
had cheated me out of a normal childhood. But I was torn. Up until I was
thirteen, I was undeniably happy. I did a lot of soul-searching during
those lonely years when I simultaneously felt ashamed, miserable, outcast,
and, most of all, longing to be loved again.
My dad never complained that the sexual nature of our relationship had
stopped. To his credit, he never again asked for any sexual favors or
tried to coerce me. I guess my dad technically molested me during my
childhood but I'm not sure what that means. Did it matter that I was a
willing participant? Did it matter that my father should have known
better? He didn't force me to do anything. But nor was I given the
opportunity to have a normal childhood.
My dad and I still talk but there are certain subjects we avoid.
Actually, since talking of my childhood is completely off limits, we're
like strangers who are forced to be together. But I guess I'm lucky
because I didn't become an anti-heroine poster-child for child abuse. I
never became outrageously promiscuous or got hooked on drugs. I got good
grades in high school, went to college, and I've got a steady boyfriend of
four years. There was no lasting damage. If anything, I just prefer anal
sex to vaginal sex and, thankfully, my boyfriend doesn't mind.
************************
Please send feedback and comments! Thanks for reading. ~Janus
All my stories can be found at http://www.asstr.org/~Janus
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