Chapter 8
Joyce had just passed the dirt road onto which the car had turned when she sighted the hunched figure of a man, not more than ten yards away, come running directly at her. Her hands clamped over her mouth in horror and she stopped dead in her tracks frozen with fear. She wondered if this could be a nightmare or maybe a hallucination from drinking too much vodka. There was no one to help her, not a car in view, and she was alone with this approaching monster.
She nearly wet her pants as the big man grabbed her gruffly, picked her up in his powerful arms and ran back toward the cover of the trees. Kicking, screaming to no avail, terror surged through her. She had never felt so alone and helpless. She screamed louder, louder, but the man's huge hand clamped tightly over her mouth, muffling her screams for help.
"You don't want me to knock you out, do you?" the deep voice asked. Then shut up or I'll have to put you in dreamland." He emitted a hideous laugh. "Besides, I wouldn't wancha to miss any of this, little darlin' virgin cunt. Shut up!"
They exited from the cluster of pine trees then and her assailant slowed to a trot, still breathing hard but slowing as he made his way toward a battered old car that was parked up on the shoulder of this narrow, deserted side road.
They reached the car and the man let Joyce slide to her feet. He held her wrist in a viselike grip, though, as he opened the door with his free hand and hurled her onto the front seat. He climbed in after her, slamming the door.
Panting, his eyes blazing crazily, he said, "Don't fight me and don't dare make a sound. I won't hurt you if you don't resist"
Joyce's heart hammered against her rib cage. Huddling against the door, she wondered what he meant by: Don't fight me. Did he plan to rape her? She had been insane to run from the party that way. Please god, she thought. Please don't let him hurt me. She longed for the protection of her brother. Oh, where was Denny now?
She began sobbing uncontrollably, trembling all over. "Please don't hurt me?" she pleaded. "I'm only fourteen, and—and I—I'm a virgin. I'm so scared. Y-You wouldn't rape me, would you?"
In the moonlight, Joyce could see that his eyes were afire with lust. He still held her wrist, half grinning at her, as if contemplating all the things he planned to do to her body. He pulled her toward him then, crushing his body to hers and roughly squeezed her breasts.
"Relax, pretty girl," he said. "I promise I won't rape you as long as you're quiet and do exactly what I tell you." Suddenly headlights showed from the main street, fifty yards distant, and there was the sound of an approaching car. The man glanced nervously over his shoulder, clutching Joyce even harder until the car had passed. Then he began stroking her hair, his lips parted in a hideous leer. "I love your shiny hair in the moonlight, girl," he said. "Soft and pretty and shiny-perfect for shootin' off in."
Joyce sensed that her captor was some kind of hair freak. He seemed hypnotized and insanely fascinated as he stroked her locks gently, lovingly, talking about the way it hung over her shoulders and its silky texture. She wondered if maybe that was all he wanted of her—just to play with her hair. But he had said he wanted to "shoot off in it."
He went on that way, feeling her hair, and she decided a crazed man wouldn't snatch her from the road merely to stroke her hair. Maybe he as planning to kidnap her, or kill her and leave her raped and mangled body here in the trees!
Tears streamed down her cheeks as he went on fondling, purring his admiration for her hair. He even referred to the downy texture of her pussy hair, saying it must be even smoother. He ceased touching her breasts then and began concentrating solely on her hair. Working with both hands, he worshipfully manipulated the black, shining tresses, chanting like a degenerate in a horror film. But this was no film. Somehow, his sudden tenderness frightened her even more than his previous roughness. Was he preparing her for something awful and violent—calming her so he could stick his big cock in her and split her wide apart?
"I smell booze on your breath, little girl," he said. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't drink, you know that? Alcohol dries things up. It'll take all the nice shine out of your pretty hair. Don't try to stop me, sugar. I—I'm gonna brush your pretty hair and make it nice and shiny." He grunted, shuddering, held her wrist hard and reached over and opened the glove compartment. Not taking his eyes from her hair, fumbling, he withdrew a brush! Then he instructed her to face the other way. Surely, he wouldn't simply brush her hair, she thought. Please help me, God? Don't let him bludgeon me to death with the brush. Don't let him stick the handle up me!
But to her amazement, he began brushing tenderly, with long even strokes. He groaned with admiration as he worked, and she wondered what unspeakable act was about to follow. And then, barely noticeable at first, Joyce became aware that the car was rocking in a steady rhythmic motion. She guessed she knew what he was doing. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw him brushing with one hand and jerking on his big stiff flesh-hunk with the other hand. "Tresses," he kept saying. "Tresses ... tresses ... "
As the rocking of the car increased, she considered making a dash for freedom—opening the door and running—but she could not move. Expecting the worst, she sat frozen, paralyzed with fear as he went on chanting and beating his meat.
The old car was rocking so fast now she could hear the springs squeaking. He dropped the brush to the floor then began petting the black tresses more urgently. He turned her so that she faced him and ripped her blouse open so he could stare at her breasts as he groped her hair. The tempo of his masturbation increased to a frenzy and he grunted with each thump of his fist. His prick was very large, but it was crooked like no male organ she had ever seen. It curved off to one side, like a knockwurst.
He bent down, licked her erect nipples for a moment, then said, "I'm gonna come in your hair, little girl. I'm gonna shoot my goo all over your black hair. I told you I wouldn't hurt you if you let me have my way. I meant it, too. Just you let me do my weird thing. Don't get scared," he cackled. "In fact, you kin watch me shoot my wad if you want. Wouldn't you like to see a man's goo blast out and clump up in your hair? Huh?"
The desperate expression on his face and the fast pace of his jerking off his bent prick told Joyce that probably all he wanted was to come in her hair. Yes, he actually meant what he had said—at least she hoped so. Yes, he was some kind of sex kook who just wanted to shoot his sperm in her hair! Relief and gratitude singed through her as she realized he wasn't going to rape her and he wasn't going to kill her. Still, she would have to be tactful. Instinct told her that the main crisis would come after he had spent his sperm. Then she would have to persuade him she would never, never tell. If necessary, she would have to pretend she liked the act and even make a follow-up date to repeat the weird ritual. Suddenly he told her to bend down.
Apparently she did not move fast enough to please him, for he jerked very hard at her hair until her face was just inches from the dribbling end of his bent hard-on. To her surprise, he did not attempt to stick his prick in her mouth. Instead, he arranged her hair so that it draped over his furry testicles and tenacled all around his rock-hard shaft. He began pounding harder and faster then, grunting like some crazed, demented animal as he stared in abject worship at the dark strands that tickled his balls and pulsing erection.
Eyes bulging, he then began emitting hysterical breath-bursts: "Ah, Ouh, Egh, Ergh, Oh!" he babbled deliriously as his free hand moved the shiny hair about his cock and balls and rectum. And then his prick began to geyser, to gush and fling his scalding, white sperm spurting onto her hair, drenching the long black strands with his sticky fluid. Enraptured, he stared at the white goo against the soft black hair. He continued squeezing at his organ, mopping up every drop with Joyce's shiny hair and he sort of yodeled as he reached his bucking climax. Then he sat upright, lying with his head against the back of the car seat. Joyce huddled against the opposite door, wishing she had a tissue to remove his come from her hair, but she was afraid of triggering some violent reaction from this degenerate. She now had met her first honest-to-god degenerate.
"We kin talk for a while 'fore I let you go, little girl," he gasped. "Unless you'd rather lick the rest of my juice off the end of my dong. Would you like that? Don't play games with me, girl. You don't have to, see? Shit, I know plenty females who love swallowing a man's come. You want to?"
Trying to smile, Joyce shook her head. "Uh—no thank you," she said.
"Betchoo think I'm pretty strange, eh? Well, when you spend as much time behind bars as I have, a guy develops some pretty kinky tastes, see?"
Abruptly, he held his face with both of his hands, obviously depressed, repentant. Joyce said nothing.
"I could go back to prison for what I just did to you, girl," he said. "This was the same as—as rape, I guess. They's say, 'Let's send the weirdo back to the joint—lock him up again.' Would you like that, girl?"
Joyce decided to risk speaking. "Y-You kept your promise, mister," she managed. "You didn't do me any harm. You keep your promise to me and I'll keep a promise not to tell. Not ever. All right? Let me go and I won't tell."
She did her best to sound nonchalant, casual, despite the terror that surged through her body. He seemed to be merely resting and thinking now. She wondered what his next move would be.
"Listen, I may be pretty weird, but I sure ain't cruel," he said. "Go on home. I won't hurt you. If you tell your folks, I guess that'll be the end for me, but-well, go ahead and leave."
His hand then stretched in front of her—panic seized her—but he was only reaching for the door handle. Quickly, she slid out, then stood there, staring at him. For some strange reason she felt intense pity for this lonely, weird man. But not that much pity! She turned then trotted toward the main road, crying and running desperately for the safety of home.
She did not know how much time it took her to reach the Reardon house. As she staggered up the driveway, she saw her father's car parked near the garage. Inside, she found her father, a bottle of whisky on the table beside his chair. His face wore a stupid grin and he welcomed his daughter. He was obviously drunk and drinking openly since Norma was not there to control him.
"Where's Denny?" he asked, blinking. "You look horrible, sugar. Your hair-sh a mess. Christ, what've you been doing?" He drooled a little.
Joyce wanted to run and hurl herself in her father's arms, scream out the horror of her experience with the degenerate man, but she knew she should straighten herself up.
"Denny's still at the party," she said. "We had an argument, so I left and came home early, daddy."
"You and your brother arguing?" he said. "What the hell for?" He poured straight whisky into his glass. "Hey, how come you're such a mess? Come here. Let me look at you."
She could still hear the pitiful man's voice apologizing for molesting her. "If you tell your folks, that'll be the end of me ..." Somehow, she didn't want the man to get into trouble, at least not to go back to prison.
"I'm going to the bathroom for a second, daddy," she said, trying to sound calm. "I'll be right back."
"In the John, she studied herself in the mirror. She cringed. Her hair was tangled and all stuck together from her molester's fondling and ejaculation. She looked as if she had been to some wild sexy orgy. From the vodka and all that crying, her eyes were red and puffy. She filled the bowl with water and hastily shampooed her hair. She rinsed it, then dried vigorously, trying to erase every trace of the hideous night's experience. When she returned again to the living room, her head was wrapped up in a turkish towel.
Her father crinkled his nose, squinting at her and trying to focus his eyes. "What you do?" he asked. "Take a bath?"
"Just washed my hair," she replied. And then, without warning, tears flooded her eyes. She had managed to escape from her captor and get home safely. Grateful, all restraint left her, and she threw herself against her father, held him close. "Daddy, Oh daddy," she sobbed in despair.
"If Denny laid a hand on you," he said, "if your brother hurt you, I—I'll kick the shit outa him. Did he hurt my baby, huh?"
Gently, Joyce reached up and gently shushed her father's mouth with her hand. "Denny didn't hurt me," she said. "No, daddy. We just argued and then I left and walked on home. On the way, I tripped and fell. That's all. Honest."
"Bullshit! What did you argue about. Tell me, you hear?"
"I was just in a bad mood," Joyce said, defending her brother. "I just wanted to come home and be with you, daddy. It's all over now. Everything's O.K."
Martin Reardon ceased ranting them, obviously pleased that his daughter preferred to be with him. Affectionately, he patted her head and began rubbing her back in a slow, circular motion. "Daddy loves his li'l girl very much," he said, rubbing her back more intently. "My little girl came home to daddy, eh? Umm, that's nice, sugar."
Joyce felt safe and secure in her father's arms. She kissed him on the cheek and nestled lovingly. His big hand felt good and reassuring against her as it moved down to the small of her back and lingered there briefly before it slid up under her blouse and continued stroking bare, smooth flesh. Joyce felt a warm, tingling sensation run up her spine. Breathing faster, she slipped her own hand onto his chest where his bathrobe had parted and ran her nails lightly along his furry chest. When he unclasped her bra and began rubbing harder over the entire length of her back she thought nothing of it.
"You're still daddy's baby, aren't you?" he said. "Yep, and you're all grown up now."
"Yessss, daddy," she purred, palming his chest more urgently. Even after her earlier hideous experience, she felt herself being aroused. Yes, it was odd, but she felt that same secure and loving feeling she often felt with Denny. Her father's hand inched from her back to her breasts, then softly massaged them. To her astonishment, she did not resist and, glancing down, she saw her father's erection bulging against his bathrobe.
Swallowing, she found herself wondering what her daddy's prick looked like. She had never laid eyes on it. She tried to cast the thought out of her mind, but despite herself she wanted to touch it—maybe do even more to it! Was it because of that strange man masturbating in her hair, she wondered. True, his crooked organ had repulsed her, but at the same time the sight of his spurting prick and his desperate need had touched something off deep within her being. Something maternal? She did not know, or care!
Her daddy was fondling her breasts with one hand while his other hand pleasantly explored her tummy—moving steadily lower and nudging her pubic patch. Very slightly, she spread her legs, curious to see if he would actually touch her pussy. Suddenly, fear seized her and her body stiffened as she considered the consequences of her father's sexual advance.
"Here my li'l sweetheart," he said abruptly, as though sensing her fear. You better take a little sip of this and calm down. Go ahead, honey. You'll feel better if you take a little belt."
For the second time this evening Joyce felt the scalding heat of alcohol in her throat. There was the lovely warmth, too, as the alcohol began flowing through her veins. And then she felt good again—the way she'd felt at the party! Her father's hand still played with her titties, moving also nearer and nearer her dampening vagina. This alcohol was a miracle drug all right. All her fear had left!
She found herself mewing as she spread her legs still wider to bring his hand in contact with her moistening nest. "Dadd-eeee" she moaned, as he began running his finger up and down the length of her damp, then gushing indentation, toying with her clit as he pressed harder against her nipples with his other hand.
Both of them breathed fast and hard now, and Joyce knew there was no return from the course they were taking. They both sensed this. "It's so wonderful to be close to you this way," Joyce moaned. "Daddy, you make me feel so good. It's all right for me to feel this way, isn't it? What we're doing isn't wrong, is it?"
"You know it's all right," he grunted. "Your feelings tell you it's nice, huh? No, daddy wouldn't lie to you, dear. It'sh perfectly all right, honey."
"I'll keep it a—a secret, though, daddy. A secret?"
"Yes, baby—keep it a secret ..."
Now that they had established that what they were doing was perfectly all right, yet confidential, Martin Reardon's hands began moving without hesitation and uncertainty. He worked his hand up his daughter's skirt, parted her trembling knees forcefully and began massaging her wet slit and clit harder, urgently. He even parted his robe, revealing his naked, stiff and thick hard-on.
To Joyce's amazement, her father's hard-on was as stiff as any erection she had ever seen! Then it wasn't so that older men's pensies didn't get as hard as younger men's! This delighted her, for her father's cock stood proud and eager, ready to probe into cunt-heat. Joyce spasmed, then bent down and planted a kiss on the bulbous, dribbling head of the meaty monster. She longed to keep his respect, and therefore she tried to disguise her experience. But she wanted to nurse on her daddy's hard-on, suck it hard—just as she had sucked Roger's and Denny's. She teased his balls, trying to gather courage to go down on him.
She was grateful when he began applying pressure to the back of her head. She bent forward, took the head of the stiff meat between her eager lips and began working slowly, deliciously, up and down. She wanted to suck him off just perfectly—give him the best blow job in the world. Because he was older and more experienced sexually, she felt she dared not displease or disappoint him. Soon, she guessed she was giving him a good blow job, because he murmured: "Umm, what a good girl! What a perfect li'l sweetheart." His voice was very distant. "Keep it up ... don't stop ... that's fine, Joyce. You're sucking daddy's prick very, very nicely."
And then he was promising her all lands of crazy, drunken things—presents, money, his undying love and devotion. She loved hearing these words as she took his prick as far back as possible into the depths of her throat and listening to his grunts and felt his hands harshly directing her tempo and the depth of his penetration.
Spurred on, she cradled his furry balls in her hands and jiggled them as she licked and gulped on his hard cock. Then, to her surprise, he suddenly stopped her sucking efforts, hastily carried her over to the couch and slid her panties down and over her ankles. He tossed the panties aside, lifted her legs just below the knees and lifted until her cunt and ass became a sort of platform.
"Dadd-eee," she breathed. "Are you going to fuck me, daddy?"
Her knees were up and pressed against her shoulders as he stared in awe at her spread cunt and rectum. She loved the thought of offering her daddy everything she possessed ... letting her daddy have anything he wanted from her. She loved the look on his face as, moaning, he went on staring with lust-crazed eyes at her pussy.
"A-Are you going to fuck me, daddy?" she asked rather timidly.
"Yes, sugar," he panted. "But first daddy's gonna kiss your tight, pretty snatch—that beautiful cunt—and then daddy's going to fuck you. Would you like that?"
"I would, daddy, but I've never been fucked before. I never had it done to me before. Please don't hurt me, daddy?"
He cackled, then emitted low, groaning sounds and promised to "stab you easy, baby ... I want to make your first fuck nice and—and memorable."
She realized that he was not as drunk as she had guessed, because he slid his silken robe under ass so they wouldn't stain the couch. "I promise it'll feel good, hon," he said, "even though it might hurt just a little in the beginning."
She stared up at the ceiling then, tossing her head a bit from side to side. At last she would know how it felt to have a man's prick inside her—daddy's prick, too!—and the idea had her vagina gushing torrents of lubricant. His prick shoved hard against her juicy, virginal cavern, forcing its way into her eager channel. She was about to be fucked!
"Oh, daddy!" she sobbed. "Fuck me ... yes, fuck me!" And her own voice sounded strange and childlike to her ears."
"Don't worry, sugar," he rasped. "Daddy's gonna fuck you good—just right. Ugh ... pretty soon it'll be all the way inside you."
He had hold of his shaft, staring at his own thick member as it pried into the tight, virginal folds of his daughter's love channel. Then, abruptly, he ceased the pressure, stopped pushing. He withdrew the big prick, denying her, and gasped: "Before I stick it all the way in, sugar, I better lick it a little and make it feel even better."
He scooted down, and then Joyce felt her daddy's tongue gulping at her pussy; swallowing sounds filled her ears as he threatened to gulp her cunt lips down into his throat. She could easily tell he had licked more pussies than any of the boys she had fooled with. He was like an animal, and his tongue found special places that gave Joyce more pleasure than she had dreamed was possible. Briefly, she felt embarrassment as her father's greedy tongue settled into her rear entrance. But it was heavenly and she involuntarily reached down and parted her buttocks with her hands, spreading her ass cheeks as far as possible so her daddy could lick and gorge himself there, tool
Finally, after she had almost come, he raised up and began once again working his stiff prick into her cunt. He was pressing hard, very hard, and then she felt a sharp pain that brought tears to her eyes as her father ended her virginity with one slick and mighty stroke!
The word deflowered actually popped into her head, and then the aggressive, jabbing cock plunged into the depths of her, into the hilt, and Joyce knew that at last she had become a woman of the world. She let out a long groan, ending in a little squeal, and then she began pumping and raising her ass steadily to meet the driving meat that speared so urgently.
No, her father had not split her apart, as she had feared at first, for gradually there came blessed elasticity as her inner chasm stretched to accommodate the hard-on that pierced, stabbed, impaled the depths of her vagina. But he was rough—much rougher than she imagined even an aroused male might be while fucking—and several times she begged him to go slower.
He apologized, but he stabbed just as hard anyway. "You can't get pregnant, sugar," he kept repeating. "No, I had an operation, so you c-can't get pregnant ... don't worry ... nothing to worry about. Just fuck your daddy ... fuck, sugar ..."
She realized then that she had subconsciously feared getting pregnant. Her father was very wise indeed, for he removed this lingering fear from her entirely, permitting now to provide him with a totally uninhibited, all-out fuck. She locked her mouth to his and pounded his buttocks with her heels. In a matter of minutes, she was raking his back with her fingernails and driving her tingling pelvis at his slamming cock with total abandon.
"Fuck me hard, daddy," she rasped. "Fuck me ... fuck me! It hurts, but it feels sooo good. Stick it way up inside ... harder ... harder!"
Her father's claws clutched both cheeks of her ass roughly, tugging the smooth, quivering butt savagely at his intruding and swollen tool. She begged him to fill her up with his "goo" and his thrusts became rotating and piston like as pelvis rammed pelvis, their pubic mounds scraping and grinding together infurious intensity. Joyce felt she might scream out hysterically as the intense pleasure deep within her scalding and dripping cunt rose and multiplied. Then she could actually hear the wet squishing sounds as her father spread her hard and steadily, making her juices gush down and into the crack of her ass. The robe beneath her was drenched with their combined juices.
Yes, daddy was fucking every drop of love-juice from her and begging for more. He even stuck his middle finger up her sopping-wet ass hole, wagging the finger hard back and forth as he fucked like a demented demon. For an instant, she felt she might come from this delicious sensation, the gnashing of the finger and the cock against her fleshy partition driving her to the brink of passing out from the pleasure.
Ahhhh ... both holes!" she screamed. "Oh, daddy! Dadd-eee!" And the hoarse and savage obscenities in her ear rose, exciting her beyond belief as she held his hips and pulled her father to urge him to still greater thrusts into her seething cunt.
At last, Joyce realized that there was nothing dirty about what they were doing. Fucking was beautiful ... something everyone was born to do! She became delirious then, muttering words and thoughts she had never before dared to think, much less utter. She told her father that she had always wanted his prick, had always wanted his big dong inside her pussy. She said she had prayed for her daddy to fuck her ever since she could remember. At first, she thought she had merely gushed these innermost secrets as the result of vague dreams she had experienced—long ago, as a little girl—but then she realized she had indeed always wanted her father for her own ... had always wanted daddy to fuck her. It was as if she spewed forth long held secrets from deep within her unconscious. True thoughts!
She was at the peak of ecstasy then, babbling, insane, begging the erect flesh-spear never to stop, always to keep driving, because she was almost there—her first come by a prick. A near convulsion seemed to wrack her young body as wave after wave of indescribable tingling, all-relieving pleasure-current washed over her entire body, bringing blessed relief, jolting her to the core before catapulting her heavenward.
"Ohhhhhh!" she wailed, seeing star-like specks and flashing colors and, weirdly, even the demented man who had come in her hair was fucking her there along with daddy ...
Her father was yelling in a voice, not his own, as his body bucked to completion and he sent his sperm into her womb. "Shoot it inside me!" she urged. And he cried, "Com-ming in my little girl's cunt ... ahhhhhh!"
They both lay shuddering, and Joyce clutched her father's buttocks hard against her, eager to drain his balls of every trace of swirling come-seed, way up inside of her without any of the love-juice going to waste. She was amazed that she could not feel the individual spurts of his sperm. She had always visualized and imagined that male's pearly love-cream could be felt as it squirted inside a pussy. But it did not! Still, the mere thought of daddy's love-juice pouring into her loving, wet darkness, into the welcoming pussy-heat, was lovely to imagine.
Her father's shuddering weight still on top of her, Joyce sobbed, saddened by the fact that his proud erection was dwindling at last. But it was draining— the load had filled her and it was draining—and this thought compensated somehow.
She had been shuddering out the aftermath of her orgasm for several minutes before the first guilt and intense remorse struck her. She saw that her father felt guilty, too, as they moved about in silence, cleaning up the evidence of their fucking. She noticed a small blood stain on her father's bathrobe, where her buttocks had lain, proof she had lost her virginity to her father.
She watched him gather up the stained robe, then walk naked to the bathroom. He said he would wash it with cold water ...
Immediately outside the living room window, Denny slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. He had been standing there for a long time, witnessing his own father fuck his own sister. For a moment, he thought he might vomit, but he somehow managed to stifle his gagging. He stared up at the stars questioningly, waiting for his father and sister to make themselves presentable before entering. He felt certain that he hated his father more than anything or person he had ever laid eyes on.