WARNING: This is fiction. It is a graphic description of incest.
If this theme offends you or you are under eighteen, leave now.
Romany does not condone sexual abuse of minors. Romany supports
the right to free speech and thought.

Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely
coincidental.

In the Wee Small Hours

By Romany

(Mg, incest, oral)


The wind whistles through the gaps in the bare weatherboard and
the building creaks in the stronger gusts, as the summer breeze
from the hills buffets abruptly against the old farm house. She
lies under just a sheet, as it is unbearably hot in her room. She
keeps the window closed as always to avoid the procession of
windborne pests and irritants. She does not like insects no
matter how small or innocuous they are. The dirty-gray net
curtain billows slightly from the draft that squeezes between the
ill-fitting window sash and frame; warped over time from the dry
summers and cold winters. She was in that pre-sleep doze.
Thinking of her life and why her mother had left her here with
him.

It was a mismatch of a marriage. He was in his early fifties and
she was thirty eight and a widow after her husband and son had
been killed in an auto accident, five years back. She had
conceived the first time he took her on their wedding night. Most
folks were pleased to see them both paired off; both having
suffered from tragedy to partners in years past. No one knew
exactly how his wife died. He had spoken briefly of his loss when
he came to the run down farm years ago. So even if the age
difference was marked and not normal, people felt it was a good
union.

The wind blew a little harder and she stirred as she now felt the
draft from the window sill. She turned on her side, facing the
general direction of the window, and opened her eyes in the gloom
of the night. There was no moon and she could barely make out the
window opening as being slightly less black than the rest of the
darkened room. Then she heard it. The sound that makes her shiver
and tremble; and feel sick to the pit of her young stomach. The
tell-tale creak of a loose board part way along the uncarpeted
hall. She lay with her senses heightened; put on alert by the
creaking board. As she expected, the door handle made a soft
click and she heard the faint shuffle of feet on the bare floor.

She saw the figure against the faintly lighter backdrop of the
window with the old net curtains that did little to restrict what
vague exterior light there was. She felt his presence, rather
than saw it as the object now standing beside her bed. She knew
the drill. The hand extended to touch her shoulder or whatever
part of her it reached first. The signal for her to begin.
Without question, her fear and trembling gives over to
resignation as if it was a recurring nightmare she had become
used to. She obediently reached her hand in the general direction
of where he stood and felt the cotton of his long john
underpants; somewhere near his right hip at the waistband. Her
hand trailed, as if guided by radar, to the flies and found the
hard fleshy tube protruding there as expected.

Raising herself up, as she was taught to do, she grasped it
around the middle and leaning forward to the side of the bed, she
propped her upper body with her free hand, as she guided her
mouth to the hand that held the hard cock. She touched it lightly
with her lips, as if to align her mouth, and then parting her
lips, she drew him in. The odor from him was unmistakable and
sadly familiar to her. The dried sweat from the day�s toil and
the sickly rank smell of the head of the cock. The mushroom head
would be flared and slick from the arousal he had given himself
before making the journey from his bed to her bedside. She had
seen it only twice. That first time he had showed it to her in
the barn. She had walked in on him masturbating. He had been
sitting on a hay bale; eyeing it almost reverently as he watched
his hand work the stiff organ. It fascinated her to see him this
way yet she had a deep natural fear this was very wrong for her
to see. It was the first time he forced himself on her. And then
the second time she saw it he had appeared by her bed as she lay
reading before lights out to sleep. He was still dripping from
his bath and hadn�t even bothered to towel himself dry such was
his urgent need for her mouth. Apart from that, he came in the
wee small hours and the engagements were conducted by touch.

She suckled him at first; holding him lightly in her hand and
moving her mouth lightly over the head, while racking it with her
tongue as he had taught her to do. She could hear his breathing
catch in his throat occasionally as she brought about tingles of
pleasure to him, as she tongued him expertly. This went on for a
few minutes, and then to her surprise, the hand came to her head
and she knew this would be a quick one this night. For that she
was grateful. He held her head cupped in the palm of his hand and
she sensed his pushing movements as he sought to encourage her to
the rhythm he desired. She changed her approach and took more of
him in her small mouth and increased the pressure of her hand as
she now jacked him deliberately; as the mouth and tongue worked
the hard cock in unison.

Her arm propping her upper body half upright was now beginning to
ache. Often she raised herself into a kneeling position; or
sometimes he made her lie flat on her back with her head turned
up towards him and he literally fucked her warm mouth as he stood
over the bedside. But as she detected, he was closer than usual,
so soon after the sucking began, and she determined to last in
this position despite the ache in her shoulder joint. Soon he
held her head in both hands and his breathing was now a series of
obscene guttural grunts and carnal groans as his pleasure grew.
She had been here so many nights since her mother left. She knew
him like a book now. He was close. To bring her nightmare to the
inevitable close and to her respite; at least for another twenty
four hours, she jacked him harder and more deliberately and soon
he was gasping and holding her head tight in both hands as he
roughly pushed his hips towards her and forced more of the
intruding cock down her throat. Panic and fear returned as it
always did at this point of the engagement and she struggled to
remain in the awkward position she had placed herself in.

He came hard, uttering loud groans; almost sobs, as he spewed his
cum into her mouth. Copious amounts generated by the hard day
toiling on the barren unproductive farm. His balls filled from
the energy he expended daily, now violently emptying as he
ejaculated. She clung stoically to his cock and braced her body
harder against her outstretched hand on the bed; the fingers
curled into a panic driven claw as she gripped the sheet and
under blanket. The abundant warm salty fluid bounced off her
throat and upper mouth and she struggled not to gag on the cock
as the fluid squeezed past the constriction her throat had made
around the fat mushroom head wedged right back as far as he could
get it. Mercifully his passion subsided quickly and as she was
now literally choking for breath, he suddenly pulled the cock
from her lips and grasp and heaved a loud self satisfied sigh.
She gagged and coughed, all the while trying to keep herself
under control. He had slapped her sometimes when he felt her
protesting was unwarranted; violence driven by his post orgasmic
guilt. The sex-drugged psyche now deflated with the flood of
realization that this was wrong. He did not recognize that this
act of control and power over the young girl was just a metaphor
for the hatred he felt for that bitch who had left him. Just like
the first one had left him years before. Like all abusers, this
was not just about sex.

He left her struggling to regain control of her breathing and
shuffled quickly to the door. He knew it was bound to swing half
closed after he entered the room being as the old house was no
longer level and the door left wide open, invariably swung slowly
to a mid-open point due to gravity. He felt for the edge of the
door so as not to walk into it, and once he had located it and
negotiated himself past the obstacle, he drifted through the
doorway, pulling the heavy door closed behind him. The lock
clicking loudly and the door making a resounding thump as he had
miscalculated the effort to close it quietly. As he fled along
the hall to his bedroom, she collapsed back onto her bed; her arm
aching from supporting her weight. Her mouth and jaw aching from
the working of the fat adult cock in her throat. And the feeling
of worthlessness and shame that engulfed her; all held together
by the hopelessness she felt in being powerless to stop this
nightly ritual. She held the vague fear that as her body marched
towards puberty; that was not far off, the sessions were likely
to change emphasis as she developed. She always pushed this
thought quickly from her mind. It was bad enough to worry about
the present rather than to fear the future.

She lay back, working her mouth open and closed and trying to
exorcise the rancid taste in her mouth. Later she would rise and
creep quietly to the bathroom at the end of the hall. She would
quietly run the cold water tap as she always did; using her
cupped hands as a vessel to transfer the water, warmed in the
pipes by the summer heat, to her mouth. She would rinse and spit,
and rinse and spit. It never seemed to take the after taste away
but it had become a ritual of self-cleansing. Just as the oral
sex had become a ritual of revenge for him. A misguided ritual,
as the target of his revenge would likely never know of it. She
was far away and long gone.

But for now the young girl lay back with her forearms drawn over
her forehead and she sobbed uncontrollably as she always did. As
she cried bitterly, no tears came. They had long dried up when
she realized her mother was never returning. Her mother now
locked safely in the arms of the younger man that she had fled
from the old man with. Leaving behind the one thing in her life
that she had held as precious and good. Her desperation to be
free had outweighed the hurt she now felt for leaving the girl
behind. As the young girl lay there and brought herself under
control, she thought of that day she had returned from school to
find the note left for her; pinned to her pillow. It said she
would be back when the time was right. To get her and take her to
be with them. When the time was right. She hid the note. It was
read a thousand times now. The scrap of paper creased and
crumpled from her grip as she cried in anguish at the fate she
had been left to bear. The crumpled note discarded in anger; only
to be retrieved, smoothed flat and the words read again. He had
had no such luxury of an explanation. He knew as soon as she
failed to appear that first evening; not returning from the town
were she had work in the general store. He knew his wife had run
off with his hired hand. His jaw set in a grim face of anger and
remorse as he gruffly told the girl what she already knew. He was
angry at the bitch of a woman and himself for the situation he
had let develop with the young drifter they had given shelter to.
He forbade the girl to ever mention her mother or the young man
again.

She lies with her eyes half closed. Back to the state of dozing
that thankfully will lead her into sleep; and let her forget her
troubles for just a few hours, before she rises to prepare a
simple breakfast for them both. He won�t look at her, such is the
guilt in the daylight hours. They will hardly communicate; not
ven with signs or gestures. And she will thankfully part from him
and walk to the bus stop to seek the refuge that school provides
for most of the waking hours. But until then she lies still, and
as her mind begins to lose consciousness, the same old thought
and emotion fleetingly slips to the forefront of her mind.

I hate you mom.

The End

� 2007 Romany. Protected by copyright law. Please do not copy,
edit, amend or post this on any website without the author�s
permission.

https://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/gypsey/romany/



  
The Wee Small Hours