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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.
   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
   (C) ROMANY 2007 Please do not repost, copy, amend or distribute without
the author's permission.  
  
The_wee_ small_ hours