Path: not-for-mail
From: INDEX HTML <INDEXHTML@INHELL.COM>
Newsgroups: alt.stories.incest
Subject: index html'S Revenge (Humor, teen, mf, pedo)
Date: Thu, 26 Feb 2004 12:53:02 -0800
Organization: *
Message-ID: <403E5CAE.F799AF66@INHELL.COM>
Reply-To: INDEXHTML@INHELL.COM
X-Mailer: Mozilla 4.79 [en] (Windows NT 5.0; U)
X-Accept-Language: en
MIME-Version: 1.0
Content-Type: text/plain; charset="us-ascii"
Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit
X-Complaints-To: abuse@supernews.com
Lines: 457
===================
index html'S Revenge (Humor, teen, mf, pedo)
I am just a poster and not the author Of This Story!
Warning: contents are adult erotic entertainment material. If you are a
minor or will be offended by such material, stop right now and delete
this
file.
By downloading this material you certify that:
You are an adult, being at least 18 years of age. You are not accessing
this
material to use against any person whomsoever in any
conceivable manner; and that you are not a member of any law enforcement
organization or an officer of any court nor acting as agent for such.
Your
further certify that you will not
permit any minor to see this material, or any other person who might
find
such material personally offensive.
You believe that such material does not offend the standard of the
community
in which you live and that your community subscribes to the principles
of
the First Amendment which holds that free adult Americans have the right
to
decide for themselves what they will read and view without governmental
interference,All the standard rules apply. If you are offended
by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is
illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are
under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you
might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this
text from your computer.
This is purely a work of
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or
actions described,
This story is not for everyone and may contain some quite graphical
depictions of children, adolescents, and adults in extreme sexual
situations. If any of this subject matter offends you then don't read
it.
The things depicted herein are purely fiction. I do not condone any of
the actions depicted.
If you've gotten past that, I'm going to assume that, like me, you are a
sick fuck who gets off on pre-teens. If not, what the fuck are you
doing reading this?
If you wish to contact me, I can be reached at:INDEXHTML@INHELL.COM
Hello, gentlemen and, um, ladies. My name is index html, and I'm a
senior
at Ted Turner High School in Marietta, Georgia. You might have heard of
it:
it used to be called Oglethorpe Vocational School, but the county
changed the
name back during my first senior year. Anyway, I'm not real good at
writing,
which is why I was in a tech school to begin with, but I figured I had
to
clear the air of some of the outrageous got-damned lies that my
ex-girlfriend Hollie has been spreading all over the Innernet.
I didn't know she'd been writing about me until this little queer named
Lamar, who's always trying to be "pals," showed me a story he'd printed
out
on his daddy's computer. I couldn't fucken believe my eyes when I read
all
that shit about me being a mama's boy and Hollie getting "raped," yeah,
sure,
by that fag English teacher at that snotty "magnet school" she goes to!
I
was so pissed off that I punched Lamar out, right there in the
cafeteria, and
left school for the rest of the day. I bought a six-pack of Bud, even
though
that's a kinda faggy name for a beer, and drove around all afternoon in
my
truck, drinking and cussing Hollie and tossing the "dead soldiers," as
my Dad
used to call 'em, out the window.
Speaking of my Dad, all I can say is, I'm glad he didn't live to see
that
pile of shit that Hollie wrote! (He went to work at the County Parks
and
Recreation about a year ago, and he was drunk as usual, and got sucked
into a
wood-chipper. There were pieces of my dear ole Daddy all over a
six-acre
field. For awhile at school, some of those bastids was calling me a
"chip off
the old block," but never where I could hear 'em. I'd of opened a can
of
whup-ass on 'em pretty fucken quick....) Anyway, he's my inspiration.
He
once said, "Boy, a man's got nothing in this got-damned world but his
own
good name!" (Of course, he had a number instead of a name at the time,
but
once he made parole I knew what he meant.) So, Daddy, wherever the fuck
you
are, this little assay is for you.
You want to know the real story of what happened on the night of that
shitty
Backstreet Boys concert? Well, I'm glad you asked, 'cause like Coach
Muzzle
says, Hollie's story was "not quite as complete as one might hope."
(That's
how Coach Muzzle talks. He's not a fag or anything, in fact the
football
team only lost eight games this season, but since old lady Squeen died
last
year, he's been filling in for her in Freshman English, and he says he
has to
watch his "sintacks," whatever the fuck they are.) Of course, little
Princess Hollie didn't know the whole story herself. Too bad she didn't
ask
her little sister....
The first part of Hollie's story was true enough, I guess, if you could
stand
that cutesy-poo gay-assed way she talks. I picked her up for the
concert
(no, I didn't want to go, but it was the only way she'd agree to go to
the
Monster Truck Rally with me), we got a hamburger, we got to the Omni,
sat
through a bunch of shit, and then she went to the crapper. I don't know
what
really happened there. I know Mr. Saynesberry was in the place, cause I
saw
him at the Coke stand. But when fifteen minutes had gone by, and Hollie
wasn't back, I got just a little pissed. What was she doing, putting
more
glitter on her fucken fingernails or something?
Just about that time, as the intramission was almost over, somebody
slipped
into Hollie's seat. I turned to bitch her out, but it wasn't Hollie!
It was
her little sister, Jamie! What the fuck?
"Oh, Brian, I'm so glad to see you," she said, grapping holt of my arm.
"I'm
scared! I came here with my friend Nancy, and all of a sudden Nancy got
real
sick and started spitting up, and her Dad had to take her home, but I
said it
was okay, 'cause you and Hollie were here and could give me a ride home,
but
now I can't find Hollie, and - - - "
Holy shit! This kid could talk faster than her sister! Girls like that
usually drive me crazy, but I got to tell you, something was different
that
night. Now, look, I'm no pussy, I'm a tough guy, just ask that little
fag
Lamar, but I must admit this frytened little bitch touched me. I mean,
she
was only nine years old, and hadn't even begun to sprout any tits or ass
like
her sister (well, her sister hadn't sprouted all that much, to tell the
truth), and she had tears in those big brown eyes, and she was grapping
hold
of my arm like it was the sissy bar on a fucken roller coaster. So I
took
pity on her.
"Hey, Jamie, chill," I said, setten my hand on top of hers. "It's gonna
be
okay. Hollie's gonna be gone for a few minutes, but if you're upset,
then,
shit, I'll drive you home right now!"
"Oh, Brian!" she said in this little-girl voice (what the fuck? she
*was* a
little girl!), "would you really do that? I don't care about the
concert, I
just came 'cause Nancy asked me....but how would Hollie get home?"
"Don't worry about Hollie," I said, starting to stand up. "All of her
snob
friends here. She'll get home all right." And with the kid's little
hands
still grapping my arm, we walked out of the Omni and got in my truck.
Y'know, at that moment, I felt like a hero, like Luke Skyscraper or that
nigger in "Night of the Living Dead" or something. Poor fucken little
girl!
Only problem was, on the ride to her house, I noticed that, as Coach
Muzzle
would say, "I was surprised by a seemingly squantaneous erection." In
plainer words, my pecker had done swole up! I sure as shit wasn't hot
for
Hollie anymore; I was hot *at* her, but not *for* her. And I knew I
didn't
need to piss. Then I realized. Hold the fucken phone! Was Little
Elvis
reacting to this weepy-eyed nine-year-old? Damn! But as my foot pushed
a
little harder on the accelerator, it started making sense. Why, Daddy
married Momma when she was only 12....what's three chickenshit little
years?
Well, buddy, this was a first for me. (Okay, I won't call you "buddy."
But
I'm not gonna pull that *Gentle Reader* shit like in Hollie's story,
either.
I'm writing this for everybody: Jews, Gentles, white folk, niggers....)
I
never thought that I'd be sexually attrackted to a mere slip of a child,
but
here I was, mashin' on the gas and runnin' my Hurst shifter through th'
gears
like Richard fucken Petty, my pecker tryin' to bust a hole in my jeans,
prayin' that the cops wouldn't notice that my plate had been expired
ever
since Jimmy Carter was Governor. As I drove, I kept giving Jamie
furtive
glances, which only made things worse. (*Furtive* is Coach Muzzle's
word for
secret, like, "Lamar looked furtively at my pecker in the showers
today.")
She was....well, I wish there was a guy word that means "cute," because
she
was about as cute as bugs' ears. Long brown hair, I guess it came down
to
the bottom of her shoulderplates, big brown eyes, and FRECKLES! (Like
my
dear old Daddy before me, I've always been a damn fool for freckles.
Wonder
did she have 'em on her little chest?) Well, you can see that I was
greatly
relieved when the kid piped up with "It's a good thing Mommy and Daddy
are at
that meeting. They might not like me coming home alone with you. Oh,
it's
not you, they think you're okay, but you know, they don't like any
*tension,*
they call it, between me and Hollie, and I just know that when Hollie
hears
about this she's gonna just - - -" I ground my teeth. This little girl
might be shy, but once she started talking, she was worse than my
brother
Elmo when he's been speedballing!
"What meeting did they go to, Jamie?" I asked, my interest pricked, or
peaked, or whatever happens to a guy's interest......"Oh," she answered,
"It's just that silly Amway thing. They have meetings once a month, and
sometimes they don't get home 'til after midnight." I quickly checked
my
Daddy's old John Deere wristwatch. It was just a little after ten.
Plenty
of time, I thought, and then we were at Jamie's house.
"Thanks a lot for bringing me home, Brian," she said, her hand on the
door-handle. "I don't care if Hollie *is* pissed! I think you're real
sweet, and If I was as big as Hollie, I'd give you a big kiss!" She
giggled,
and blushed. Now, I don't much care for giggling, 'cause Hollie giggles
more
than a got-damned hyena, but just like freckles, I'm a fool for a girl's
blush. Between Jamie's freckles and her blush, Little Elvis was just
about
ready to rip the seam outta my Levis!
"I think you're big enough, Jamie," I said, like I was some kinda damned
authority, "but, just the same, I'd best see you to th' fucken door."
(Momma
used to say that all us Creech men were silver-tongued devils!) So I
hopped
out and walked around the truck, opening Jamie's door and reaching to
help
her out, She put her hands on my shoulders and I grapped her by the
waist,
and gently lifted her out and down. Fuck if she didn't have a soft,
sweet
little waist! Of course, being only nine yrs old, her "waist" kinda
stretched from her ass to her shoulders: she was about as straight as
one of
those NHRA tracks where they do the drag racing. But she was soft, and
warm,
and lifting her down, I could feel her little hipbones and ribs lyin'
under
the layers of baby fat. (That's what Hollie calls *her* soft places,
but on
her it's more like lazy-slut-fat.) To say the least, I had gotten
pretty
straight my own self!
We walked up to the front door, which she opened with a key on a long
spiral
rubber cord that was hangin' around her neck. She turned and looked up
at
me. "You want to come in for a Coke or a glass of milk something? You
want
to wait for Hollie? Or maybe you'd like to watch some TV? If you come
in,
we could - - - "
I shut her up by grapping her little shoulders, but not rough, and
bending
down to lay a big kiss on her pale little lips. (Man, those lips tasted
good! Kissing Hollie had always been like rubbing against those big wax
lips
they sell at Halloween, she wore so much fucken lipstick.) She kind of
froze
up at first, and I was afraid I'd have to do some fancy apologizin', but
after a few seconds she just sort of relaxed and pushed her lips against
mine
- - - hard, but I wasn't gonna complain!
Jamie had already opened the front door, so I just threw caution to the
whens
and picked her up in my arms, and carried her across the thrashhold just
like
an old married guy in one of those chick movies. Without stopping, I
kicked
the door shut behind us.
We were all alone! Right there in the same living room where Hollie and
I
had.....well, where Hollie had explained so many times why she wouldn't
let
me fuck her. Well, fuck her! Jamie was looking up at me like all those
bimbos look at Superman on "Lois and Clark." Okay, Little Elvis, I
believe
Zarathustra is fixin' to speak!
I coulda carried her straight up the stairs to any of the bedrooms, but
at
this critical junkture I gotta make a confession. See, I'd never done
it in
a bed. Been with a girl, I mean. Sure, I'd slammed the ham in bed just
about every night of my life, but this was different. I was afraid that
if I
took this little girl to bed, I'd fall asleep. And if I fell asleep,
and her
parents caught me, well, I guess Turner High's loss would be the State
Reformatory's gain.
So in a matter of moments the two of us were lyin' on the floor, on that
deep-pile Prussian carpet that Hollie's mom was always jabbering about,
and
my lips were on Jamie's once again. She reached up and put her skinny
arms
around my neck, and hugged me close, and I figured this would be a good
time
for some tongue action, so I parted her lips and slipped it to her. At
first, she didn't know what to do, but presently she commenced to
squeaking
and suckin' my tongue like it was a Marlboro Ultra-Light or something.
And
damn me if her little hips didn't commence to wiggling!
While all this was going on, my hands were as busy as a Peterbilt
gear-box on
a downhill grade. I fumbled around with the buttons on her little white
blouse, finally getting the damn thing open and tugged it outta her
jeans.
She wasn't wearing a bra, not even one of those cross-training bras,
and, oh
my soul, her flat little chest was delicately spankled with freckles!
And
there in the midst of her pale-pink flesh and sandy-brown freckles were
the
two cutest little button nipples I'd ever beholded. Actually, they
didn't
look like buttons, as much as those copper snaps and rivets on a pair of
jeans. And they were sticking up, or trying to stick up, and when I ran
my
thumb over 'em, Jamie mewed like a baby kitten. Damn near broke my
heart. I
had not beholded such beauty since the '99 Viper was unveiled.
I unsnapped her jeans and quickly slipped 'em off; of course, she didn't
have
much of an ass to slow 'em down. She was wearing these pale green
cotton
panties with little flowers on 'em, and she didn't make any resistance
at all
when I eased 'em off. Now she lay there, nine years old, naked as the
day
she was borned, stretched out on that Prussian carpet, her legs spread
just a
little, and, oh shit, that beautiful, hairless little cunt winking up at
me
like a Christmas-tree bulb. Then, not surprisingly, she spoke. "Oh,
Brian,
c'mon! I been waiting for this for so long, my love! But I never knew
it
would be you! Oh, you big knight in shining armor, please release dat
white
steed and - - -"
I groaned, partly because the little twat was yammering again, and
without
removing my clothes, I dropped my jeans down around my ankles and fell
on
her. I grapped ahold of her throat and sucked for all I was worth, and
used
one hand to guide Little Elvis to the Quivvring Portal of Her
Womanhood. She
was wet, but not real wet, so I rubbed Little Elvis' head around on her
tiny
little clit for a minute, and that loosened her up some. But by then, I
had
no more patience for foreplay and romance. I grapped her shoulders and
RAMMED my cock into her, all at once, busting through her cherry like a
wildcat goin' through a paper bag, and after two mighty strokes, I
felt my
stuff blowing through me as though Little Elvis had a supercharger.
Man, if
I'd been doin' myself in bed, this one woulda hit the ceiling! And in
just a
second, as Jamie's hot, tight, bloody little puss squeezed and convulsed
around me, I felt the stuff start leakin' back out onto my balls. Jamie
just
hugged me and shook her little hips and squealed like a pig under a
gate, and
I was already fumbling for my Marlboros with one hand, when, oh shit,
the
front door opened!
And there, staring down at Jamie and me locked in our embrace, stood
Hollie,
and of all people, Mr. Saynesberry! Saynesberry had a shit-eating grin
on
his face, but Hollie was pale with horror.
"Oh, fuck, Jamie!" she howled. "You let him get that stuff all over
Mom's
carpet!"