I
slip into her
room and, by the soft glow of the nightlight, make out her huddled form
under
the bedclothes. She doesn’t move, doesn’t make a
sound, but I know she hears
me. But,
like the rabbit in headlamps, she
is frozen in place, terrified of what’s to come but powerless
to get out of the
way.
Facing
the foot of
the bed, mounted above the large, mirror, is the big, flat tv bolted to
the
wall. It has a built in dvd player and it swallows my freshly burned
disc with
what sounds like a hum of contentment. Even machinery can sound happy
when it’s
doing what it was meant to do. The remote is on her bedside table and I
pick it
up as I sit on the edge of the bed and rest my hand on her curled form.
She’s
warm and I feel a slight tremor in her flesh. I wonder if
she’s crying again. I
hope so.
‘Hey
angel. Emma.
Wake up for daddy,’ I whisper and gently shake her.
‘There’s something on TV I
want you to see, ok? Come on… Wake up sleepyhead.’
I shake her a little more
vigourously and she turns over, wide eyed and wide awake, sitting up
against
the headboard. Her eyes are puffy and red from the tears, black smudges
under
them from lack of sleep. Emma looks at me with as much resignation as
fear and
even that’s becoming too much effort for her now.
I
pat the centre
of the bed to show where I want her. She knows that place, knows I can
put her
there if I want to and where once there was a defiant shake of the
head, now
she takes a shuddering breath, gives a slight whimper and pads on all
fours to
where she belongs.
‘Good
girl for
daddy,’ I say and kneel behind her. She gives another whimper
as I lift the hem
of her silky nightie up to show her tight, pert little rump. The
whimper turns
to a kind of choked sob as Emma feels my hand between her legs, pushing
them
open, cupping the smooth swell of her sex. I stroke a finger between
her little
lips and feel heat but no real moisture. Well, one day perhaps, but for
now
there are ways and means and I lean over, open the cabinet drawer and
take out
the partly squeezed tube of KY.
I
coat my already
aching erection in the cold slickness and then generously apply it to
Emma’s
ass and cunt. She’s crying by the time I screw the cap back
on and put it on
the cabinet.
‘Now,’
I say,
picking up the remote, ‘I’ve got something to show
you. Something very, very
special. I haven’t even watched it all myself because I
wanted to share it with
you.’
I
press the button
and the tv flicks on with a staticy click. A few seconds later static
shows and
I press another button to find the AV channel. The dvd menu comes up
and
there’s one file on the disc. I press play and news.avi
begins to play. On the screen, a woman in a nice suit sat
behind a big desk starts to talk.
At
a news conference today, Southwest regional police
made a further appeal for any witnesses who may have information in the
disappearance
of 7 year old Emma Austen. Emma has been missing for three days after
becoming separated
from her parents at a local antique fair. Initial thoughts that she had
wandered off quickly faded and police are now certain that she has been
abducted. An extensive search was conducted, with local volunteers and
police
with sniffer dogs combing local woods and parks for any sign…
Behind
her there’s
a picture of Emma in her school uniform, which is nowhere near as sexy
as the
one I got her. She looks happy, carefree, a smile on her face.
I’m sure that
I’ll get to see that smile myself, once she adjusts.
It’s a lot for her to take
in and I like to think that things like this will make her understand
there’s
no going back for her.
I
push the tip of
my cock at the tight, puckered entrance to her ass and Emma gives a
mewl of
discomfort, though she’s well used to this by now. Fingers
digging into her
hips, I hold her in place, offering a deep, heartfelt sigh of pleasure
as I
push deep into her. She grips me like a fist and it’s hard to
believe that once
upon a time she was too tight to penetrate. It just hurt too much. But
nowadays
she’s still tight but, with plenty of lubricant, her little
anus soon gives and
before long I’m easing in and out of her.
I
watch in the
mirror and I see the look of discomfort on her face, that familiar
‘I don’t
understand why this is happening’ look. I can see it changing
a little more
every time, becoming more resigned and accepting of her new place and
purpose.
I find that thrilling. It’s only right she should see sense.
‘That
good,
babygirl?’ I whisper as I move in and out of her little body.
‘Do you like when
daddy fucks you?’
Again
I see her in
the mirror. She closes her eyes, bites her lip and nods silently. A
couple of
thick tears run in parallel down her cheeks. She’s achingly
beautiful to me and
as much as like to see her suffer, it’s nice she’s
starting to appreciate me
helping her become a good girl.
And
speaking of
making Emma suffer, I slide out of her and she gives a sigh of relief
which is
quickly caught when she feels me at the entrance to her little pussy.
She’s
starting to sob already and I notice her head drop in exhaustion. I
reach
forward, take a handful of her long, blonde hair and pull her head back
at the
screen. With my other hand I guide myself a little way inside her,
feeling my
way, pushing her soft, pliable flesh aside to make way for
what’s to come.
On
the tv, the
photo of Emma drops away, replaced by a recording of a room full of
reporters.
At the end of the room, on a raised stage, is a table. Some people are
seen
taking their seats.
Emma’s
parents, Samantha and Peter, made this
heartbreaking appeal for the return of their daughter.
On
the screen, a
man and a woman huddled together like refugees speak into the crop of
microphones arranged in front of them. Cameras flash and click as the
assembled
jackals sniff blood.
‘Please,
whoever has our little girl, please, let her
go,’
the
man says, his voice holds true and even,
sounding detached and disbelieving. ‘She’s
just a little girl who should be home with her family, who love her and
miss
her very much.’
‘But
I love her
now,’ I say, and I push hard into Emma’s cunt and
she gives a scream of pain.
I’ve not been inside her this deep before. It’s
mainly been fingers and slim
toys and the tip of me. But now, well lubricated as we both are, and to
mark
this special occasion, I grit my teeth against the pain of her body
clenching
around me and push.
Emma’s
scream
tapers off into a wracking sob and I feel a thrill of pleasure seeing
her hands
gripping the bedclothes, white knuckled. In the mirror her
head’s dropped again
and I realise that I’ve let go of her hair in order to better
hold her in place
for me to make love to her.
I’m
deep enough in
her now that I can afford to take her by the hair again. I pull her
head
sharply back and drive forward again.
‘Good
girl,’ I
whisper, breathless. ‘Good cunt for daddy. Good little
cunt.’ Her wailing means
she probably doesn’t hear most of me telling her how I feel
so I make sure she
understands, pulling her head hard back and over so she can see me.
‘I
love fucking
you, Emma. I love it and you have to learn to love it too. You have to
love
me.’ She looks terrified and I sympathise. I’m
asking a lot of her but I have
faith and I think that, together, when can get her where she needs to
be.
I
look at the
screen, smile at what I see, and turn her head back to look.
Her
mum’s a pretty
girl and I can see a lot of Emma in her; same cute nose, same pouting
lips. But
the biggest similarity is the eyes and it takes me a second to realise
why, to
understand that they both have the same red rimmed, puffy, sleepless
eyes.
Haunted almost. Afraid.
‘Please,
whoever you are… don’t…
please… don’t hurt
her. Please. Just bring her back. Let her go. Please. I just want my
little
girl back. I just want-‘
and
the rest is lost in
great heaving sobs and I think they share some similarities in that,
too.
‘Mummy…’
Emma says
and I see in the mirror as she looks with big, glassy, wet eyes at the
woman. I
pause the playback and she’s frozen there.
‘Mummy… please…
Mummy…’ Emma says,
and her words are distorted by sobs and gasps.
And
it’s ecstasy.
I drive in and out of her tight, sweet little cunt, short, sharp jabs,
over and
over. She gives bit by bit and I sink incrementally deeper.
‘You’re
never
going to see her again, Emma,’ I say and the little girl
gives a great
screaming cry of anguish, hope ripped from her as I let of her head to
grip her
perfect little ass and hammer into her.
I
don’t feel pain,
even though later I’ll find out I bled because of it. I like
that I did, that I
left my blood inside her cunt. Cum, piss, spit; she’s
experienced all of them,
why not a little blood?
By
the time I cum,
Emma’s collapsed forward, her ass supported only by hands,
and the only sign of
life as I pound away is the racking breathes she takes with each
thrust. I
flood into her, pulling out to send the last few spurts over her slick,
used
asshole. With a euphoric gasp, I fall forward alongside her, turn on my
side
and pull her into me.
‘You’re
such a
good girl for me, aren’t you? Such a good
girl…’ and she says nothing. That’s
ok. We’re both tired and it’s been a traumatic
night for her. I fumble for the
remote, kill the tv and eject the disc.
‘Now,
bed for you
young lady. Big day tomorrow. Someone I want you to meet. One of
daddy’s new
friends. And they’re all very
keen to
meet you.’
I
tuck her back
under the covers and her glazed eyes barely do anything other than
blink. So
tired, poor girl.
After
locking the
door, I go to the study and put the disc of the news conference back
with the
others in the set. An awful lot’s happened since I took Emma,
but then it’s
been almost two years. She still has a lot to catch up on and I think
she’s
ready for it. I think it’ll be good for her to see that her
old life is gone.
And
it is, it
really is. Long gone.
You
see, it
couldn’t have worked out better. Daddy got the blame. Police
found a bunch of kiddie
porn on his home computer, though none of it of Emma. But there was
some of her
brother, Sean, who was only 5. No details but, you know, a boy of
5… whatever
it was, it was wrong. Just wrong. He hung himself in prison and
it’s hard to
imagine he did it alone, you know? Poor guy but hey, 5 year old
boy… Enough
said.
That
was about 6
months ago. Shortly after, mommy took an overdose. Left a note saying
she
blamed herself for not seeing it, not knowing her husband and the
father of her
children was a man capable of such things. She’s not dead but
that’s only
because of life support. She’s vegetative and
that’s not going to change.
I’ve
nearly got
all tv news reports about all of this, too, and when I do I’m
going to make
sure Emma sees that this world, my world, is the only one she has left.
Maybe
that might make her a little more appreciative of her new daddy.
I
mean, Sean’s no
doubt adjusting to his new parents and I hope he’s happy.
After having such a
rotten dad, he deserves to be. I’m only glad I got Emma away
in time. I know
it’s hard for her but in time she’ll understand and
I’ll help her in every way
I can. That’s why I’m letting Adam meet her. He
knows about helping little
girls settle into knew homes and how to help them blossom and grow.
He’s a
doctor, well a plastic surgeon, and he’s spoken about
medication regimes,
hormones and even a little surgery.
Sounds
promising
and I think it might help. Really, whatever it takes to make this
easier for us
both can only be a good thing. Anything for my beautiful Emma.