Scars
I once paid a mother to let me fuck her while
her 7 year old daughter watched. As I pounded out of her tight,
unbroken ass, her body tense under me as she soaked up the abuse, I
pulled her head back so she could she her own child watching and she,
in turn, could see her mother. I smeared her tears over her face,
pushed my fingers down her throat. She gagged, spat up a little down
her front. She’d wanted to be dressed and I’d agreed but she barely
protested when I pulled her top off and lifted her breast from her bra.
I twisted the nipples and felt her body tense even further as she
hissed in pain.
As I felt my orgasm building deep inside me I
told that little girl I was going to fuck her like this and that her
mother wanted me to. Her mother, of course, shook her head, didn’t say
anything but I felt her eyes squeeze shut as she denied this to her
wide-eyed, crying daughter. The little girl was begging her mummy not
to let me do this. The woman tried to reply but I just pushed her face
down in the bedclothes, withdrew from her ass and plunged deep into her
tight cunt.
She was, I’m delighted to say, barely wet. She
wasn’t enjoying this which, of course, meant I enjoyed it more. She
cried out more with that violation than when I sodomised her. But
between the condom and the KY, there was plenty of lubricant for me.
Both hands in her hair, I pulled her head back again, arched her back
so she was hard against me, my thrusts short and sharp and urgent. All
the time I watched that little girl, saw the fear burning bright like a
beacon in her eyes and it thrilled me.
I whispered in her ears, told her how I would
split her daughter when I fucked her, how she’d bleed and cry and
scream as I violated her. I told this woman that unless she did
exactly, precisely what I said, I’d end both of them and walk away,
that she’d let a demon in her home and in her life and then stood her
child in front of it like an offering. I asked if she wanted me to do
this, if she was laying this treat before me hoping I would feast and
she moaned and shook her head, tears flowing freely, jaw quivering.
She kept begging me not to, that she would do
anything and I was pleased to note she was now genuinely terrified. I
twisted harder, telling her that if fucking her daughter was a question
of money I’d pay well for it and her daughter by now had her hands up
to her face, blotting out what was happening in front of her eyes.
I told her mother that if she didn’t get her
whore-cunt daughter to watch again then I’d make her an orphan and
maybe take her under my wing herself. She tried asking nicely, her
voice hitching with pain and the impact of me in and out of her cunt
but the girl didn’t listen. Eventually her mother had to almost scream
at her to look, with me adding spice to the mix by shouting that I’d
fuck her if she didn’t, that I’d hurt her mummy and her too.
Eventually, after a delicious moment where I
wondered if I’d have to make good on my threats because that girl
really didn’t look like she was going to give in, she did as she was
told, small shaking hands lowered to reveal red-rimmed, terrified eyes.
She was panting almost, teeth bared and gritted. A thin trickle of
urine pooled between her bare feet.
Seeing that sent me whirling towards the edge
of my pleasures. I withdrew, pulled off the condom with clumsy fingers
and rolled off the bed. Reaching back, almost like an afterthought, I
grabbed her mother by the hair and pulled her to her knees in front me
and in front of the girl.
The mother didn’t need telling. She saw the end
in sight and welcomed it, unsurprisingly. Her mouth dropped open,
tongue stretched out. She closed her eyes but I growled at her to open
them and she did so. I told her not to swallow, either and she obeyed,
leaving her tongue twitching as she waited for me. I turned her to face
her child as I came, hot and thick, into her gaping mouth, my cum
jetting over her lips and gums. The last few drops, with a great sigh
of release, I pumped over her face. Then I put my hand in front of her
mouth and told her to spit. I think she knew why, guessed in part what
was coming. I smiled and even to me it felt like a cold and uncaring
smile. I told her I would do this or I would do something much worse
and so she dribbled my seed into the cup of my hand. I spat in her
face, pointed at her and told her not to say a fucking word but just to
look at her daughter.
She child looked like she was going to collapse
when I reached out and dragged her over to me. I told her to look at
her mother and tell her she was a whore and that she was going to be a
whore too. It took a few attempts but she did so. That done, I smeared
my cold cum all over that beautiful little face.
My orgasm gone, I felt the brief burst of panic
that, I think, a lot of men feel when they come out of such
intoxicating pleasure. What have I done? But the
more you experience, the less power it has and, eventually, you take a
rueful pleasure in such situations.
I dressed quickly and took a small wad of notes
from my wallet. We’d agreed a price beforehand and she had certainly
lived up to her end of the bargain. Still, that was no reason for me
to. She wasn’t going to counting it anytime soon and it would be a nice
reminder for later, when she did and I was long gone. So, you know,
fuck her. After all, what kind of man would request such a thing and
what kind mother would agree to it?
When I left, the little girl was wrapped around
her mother, still crying, while the mother watched me with a kind of
cold repulsion. Mostly it was intended for me, I’m sure, but I think a
little of it was for her own use. I never went back, never saw them
again and, to be honest, I couldn’t even plot out the chain of events
that led us to such a bizarre position.
But sometimes I think back to that night
because whilst what happened before or after are lost in my memory, the
bit in between is still there, bright and clear. And when I do
reminisce, I often wonder what became of that lovely little girl.
I like to think she was traumatised by the
experience.
I hope she never felt safe with her mother or
anyone she shared her life with after.
Maybe she sees me in her nightmares.
Because as long as we leave scars of one kind
or another in our wake, all is well.
Isn’t that the point?