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From: "Mary Wollstonecraft" <m_wollstonecraft@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} {GALAGO} Family (Wollstonecraft)
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Date: Wed, 10 Nov 1999 14:10:02 -0500
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<1st attachment, "B.txt" begin>
Family
or
An Exquisite Death
"Damn."
The urine is cold and wet on my skin as it soaks through my best
uniform top and slacks. "Damn it, Sherry," I curse to no one in
particular. Sherry's long gone, and if Mr. Peterson hears me, he
couldn't tell anyone anyway.
"That's it," I think to myself, "this is the final straw." It's
bad enough that I'm on alone again tonight, bad enough that I have to do
a double again because they haven't hired a new third shift aid yet, bad
enough that because of this horrid, nasty job I have no life of my own
whatsoever. What upsets me the most is the incompetence, the laziness,
the downright selfishness. I specifically told Sherry to empty Mr.
Peterson's urine bag hours ago. But, no, she left it for me to do, and
now, when I finally find the time to get to it, the damn thing is too
full, too heavy, and while I'm carrying it to the toilet it splits wide
open, pouring its entire contents all down the front of me.
I sigh in resignation as the urine runs down my legs and into my
shoes. I pull a towel from the linen cart and futilely try to sponge
what I can out of my drenched clothes. Giving up, I frown in disgust as
I take another bag from the cart, connect Mr. Peterson's catheter tube
to it and hang it on the side of the bed.
Once I'm sure Mr. Peterson is secure and safe for the moment, I
head for the laundry room in the basement, feeling my pantyhose
squishing with each step. There's no way I'm going to get though the
rest of the shift in these sopping wet clothes, much less wear them
until eight in the morning. I figure I'll find something clean to wear
temporarily while I run my clothes through the washer and dryer. I just
hope there's a bar of soap down there so I can shower.
I shouldn't be surprised to find the laundry room filthy. At least
a day's worth of dirty linens is just piled up on the floor. Looks like
they lost another laundry guy. This place is falling apart. It was bad
before they'd lost the Medicare residents, but now they don't even try
to follow the state regulations.
Like me being on alone. Besides me, there's supposed to be a nurse
on duty, but they won't pay a nurse's salary so they do without, knowing
I can administer meds, even though I'm not supposed to. And they keep
on hiring people with no training at all and they all either stop
showing up after a couple of weeks or, like Sherry, don't do
dooleysquat. And it's the residents who suffer.
That's the only reason I stay. There's only a few residents left,
but somebody's got to take care of them. Their families don't care.
Most of them don't even have families to speak of. The owners certainly
don't care. And sure as heck people like Sherry don't care. So I work
evenings and nights and weekends, because I care. I don't have any kind
of life, because I care. Somebody's got to. I know they're taking
advantage of me, but I'll get my reward in heaven. I'm not getting it
here, that's for sure.
I rummage through the linen shelves and, just my luck, all I can
find clean is an old, threadbare scrub top. It'll just have to do for
the hour or so that my clothes were washing and drying. I don't care,
I'm desperate to get these urine-drenched clothes off of me. I take off
my tap, slide off my slacks and throw then both into the washer. My
canvas shoes, knee-highs and panties follow. I find the box of laundry
soap, pour it in. I'm about to turn the machine on when I see the
yellow stains on my bra. It goes in, too.
I've been alone in this laundry room at night hundreds of times,
but it's still a bit unnerving to stand here naked. Before I get into
the shower I start to go to the laundry room door to close and lock it,
but then I remember there isn't even a doorknob on the door, just a
handle, so I don't even bother closing it. After all, it isn't like
anyone going to barge in. None of the residents are ambulatory and even
if they were, I'd given most of them their meds and by now they're all
in a heavily drugged sleep. And before evening rounds I'd secured the
building. No one can get in unless I let them in, not that anyone had
ever tried.
I find a fresh bar of soap and a clean washcloth, pad over to the
shower stall, turn on the water and gEt in. Most of the urine had
poured onto my abdomen and ran down my thighs, so I spenD a lot of time
scrubbing down there. My panties had gotten really soaked through and
I'm a little worried about catching something. As I rub the lathered
washcloth up and down the folds of my labia, I think cynically that, the
way my life is going, getting a lap-full of urine is the only way I'll
ever catch anything down there.
It takes a while but finally I start to feel clean, or at least
clean enough, so I turn off the water and open the shower stall door.
But as I reach for the towel I 'm suprised to see something suddenly
moving across the room. I jump back in fright, hitting the back of the
stall hard, and my arms fly up in a useless attempt to hide my
nakedness. Then I start to giggle as I realize I'm staring at my own
frightened reflection. Stupid place to put a mirror!
I get out of the shower and start to towel myself off, trying to
avoid my image in that mirror. I don't like to look at myself naked. My
butt is too big, my thighs too thick, my hips too wide, my belly too
round. I really don't weigh all that much; I'm much too short for
anyone to call me a "big" girl. No, I was told often enough in high
school what I was: the word begins with "p" and it isn't "pretty."
When I was a little girl, I used to dream about being married and
having a family but those dreams died years ago. Most boys don't even
bother taking a second glance at me, and the few that do don't have
marriage on their minds. I was a "good girl" in high school. I
didn't "put out" just to be "popular," I guess because I was so afraid
I'd get pregnant. I wanted my babies to have a daddy who loved them and
didn't leave. So now, here I was, almost twenty-two years old and still
a virgin, and in all likelihood going to die that way.
I stop drying myself and look at my reflection. I used to be really
proud of my breasts. They were my only decent feature. They were large
but they stayed up by themselves without a bra. Now they're beginning
to sag, and it's only a matter of time before my bottom begins to do the
same. I've wasted the best years of my life stuck in this place. Even
if by some miracle there's a boy out there who would find me attractive,
he'll never find me if I spend my every waking hour cooped up in here
taking care of old people and vegetables.
I know I could make a boy happy, if only one would have me. I
think about that a lot when I masturbate. I have a "hair trigger" and I
know boys like that. I can orgasm over and over and over. It's the
only way I can get to sleep after work. It's the only pleasure I have
in my life, a pleasure I've resigned myself to indulge in alone.
I don't even realize I'm rubbing myself between my legs with the
towel until my body shakes in release. I've never masturbated at work
before and if there'd been anyone else in the building who could have
seen what I'd just done, I'd be embarrassed. But I know I'm alone. As
usual.
I'm pretty much dry by now, so I throw the wet towel onto the pile
of dirty linen on the floor and put on the scrub top. It's pretty
short, barely covering my thighs, but it's all there is and I have to
finish evening rounds. Besides, who's going to see me, anyway? I tug
at the bottom to pull it down a bit and the shoulder seam start to rip.
I hope it'll stay together until my own clothes are done. But if it
doesn't, who cares? What difference does it make if I finish rounds
naked as a jaybird? It isn't like there's anyone around to get repulsed
at the sight of me.
"God," I think as I walk barefoot up the stairs, "I'm really
depressed." I always get this way in the middle of my cycle. I can
tell when I'm ovulating because I'm even quicker to orgasm then, and all
I can think of is what a waste my fertility is. I was so excited when
my period first came, and I used to dream about the day I'd take care of
my own babies. But there'll be no babies for me. The egg now inside me
will just go to waste, just like every month. In two weeks it'll be
flushed out, unfertilized, and another egg would be gone, another baby
that wouldn't be, month after month, year after year, until all my eggs
were gone, along with every chance I'll ever have to take care of a real
family instead of a bunch of slobbering invalid strangers whose piss I
have to wear.
The total silence that greets me when I get to the main floor
deepens my depression but brings me back to reality. I don't have time
to indulge in a pity party right now. I have to finish rounds, and the
first thing I have to do was clean up the mess in Mr. Peterson's room. I
decide that when I get home in the morning, I'll have a good cry and
then masturbate until I totally exhaust myself. My mood brightens a bit
as I open to door to the janitor's closet to get the mop and pail. At
least I have something to look forward to.
Mr. Peterson is exactly the way I left him in his drugged out
"sleep." The "on-call" doctor believes in "preventative medication," so
four times a day all the residents get a shot of thorazine, so even if
they weren't vegetables when they got here, they end up that way. Less
work for the doctor, less worry for the owners, and more work for the
aids. Especially if there's no nurse on shift.
I've already given Mr. Peterson his bath and changed his bedding
before the "accident," so pretty much all I have to do is mop up the
urine on the floor. Careful not to step in the puddle with my bare
feet, I take the mop and run it back and forth across the floor, the
motion making my unrestrained breasts swing with each push, my nipples
hard in the cool air. I'm surprised at how good it feels.
As I bemd down to pick up the broken urine bag from where I'd
dropped it, I feel the hem of top riding up my bottom, so I decide to
give Mr. Peterson a little "show," pointing my butt at his bed and
parting my legs a little. "Want some of this, Mr. P.?" I mutter,
wiggling my ass at him.
The furnace decides to kick on at that moment. I must be standing
near a heating duct because I suddenly feel a warm gust of air blow
between my thighs, making my skin tingle. It feels really nice. "You
sure?" I continue saying to Mr Peterson, my voice betraying a bit of
moan. I stand up. "Too bad, Mr. P.," I sigh, "your loss," and I toss
the used urine bag into the trash bag on the cart. I take a final look
about the room and, satisfied I was done, I begin to push the cart out
of the room.
But before I turn off the light, I turn around, walk back to the
bed and stand mere inches from Mr. Peterson's face. With a wicked grin,
I pull the hem of my top up to my face, exposing myself completely.
"Last chance," I say. No reaction whatsoever, of course. Mr. Peterson
just continues to dribble from his slack jaw onto his pillow.
I shrug my shoulders, spin around and walk back to the cart,
enjoying the freedom of my nakedness under the loose fitting top. As I
turn out the light and push the cart to the next room, I realize I was
also enjoying the freedom of being a "bad girl." I mean, I'd just
flashed Mr. Peterson! For a moment I wonder what had possessed me to do
that, but I decide I don't care. It's about time I actually have some
fun. I wheel the cart to the last stop of my rounds, Mr. Riley's room.
I always make Mr. Riley's room the last one, because it gives me
something to look forward to. He's the youngest of the residents and
for a vegetable he isn't bad looking. He isn't buff, that's for sure.
He's lost a lot of muscle tissue from being bedridden, but he's in a lot
better shape than any of the other men I'd ever taken care of. They say
he's "brain dead" but when his family took him off the life support, he
just kept on breathing, so they're not sure what his functionality is.
Far as I can tell, though, his body seems to work just fine. I found
that out the first time I gave him a sponge bath.
Mr. Riley seems to be resting comfortably, but it looks like he's
lying a little too much to one side. When I turn down the bed sheet, I
find out why. He has one of those vibrating mattress pads that helps
circulation and prevents bedsores, but it doesn't work too well if it's
all bunched up on one side of the bed instead of being underneath him. I
shake my head. Just another example of the incompetence I have to put
up with. Sherry was too lazy to get it under him properly. Well, I
think, I have to take it off the bed to change his linens anyway.
I get Mr. Riley's wash basin, fill it with warm water and put it on
his utility table. Then I go around to the far side of the bed and put
down the side rail so I can pull off the blanket and top sheet. All the
rooms are small, but this one seems the smallest. There's barely space
for the bed, the nightstand and the utility table, much less my linen
cart, so it's a bit of a tight fit between the wall and the bed. I drop
the dirty bedclothes on the floor on that side so they'll be out of the
way, and I put the massage pad there, too, rolling it up so it won't get
damaged. Then I come back around, get the soap and a washcloth from the
cart and take off Mr. Riley's gown, throwing it onto the pile on the
other side of the bed. And then I begin to bathe him, just like I do
every night.
After you've washed a few hundred decrepit old men a few hundred
times, any embarrassment you might have had about pulling and poking
around a man's privates is long gone and it become just another job. It
sure ain't sexy, let me tell you. But Mr. Riley is different.
Normally, Mr. Riley hardly moves at all, and he certainly won't
respond if you talk to him, but he seems to be able to tell when it's
time for his bath, because he seems to start breathing just a little bit
faster, even before I start. I don't know if that's just me imagining
it, though, because I sure start breathing faster when it's time.
Especially tonight. After the night I've had, I'm looking forward
to this. I take the wet washcloth and clean under his armpits. Then I
wash his chest and it's not my imagination, he is breathing faster. I
like his chest. It's still kind of muscular. You can tell he used to
be real athletic. As I press the warm washcloth against his skin, I can
feel a warmth of my own growing between my legs. I rub in little
circles down his torso, and when I get to just below his belly button, I
see it begin.
Since I started working here, I've seen a lot of men's penises, but
Mr. Riley's is easily the biggest I've ever seen, and that's even before
I start washing him. But it's now, when I start to wash his pubic hair,
that it starts to get even bigger. I've got a routine. First I scrub
his pubic hair really good, then I pull his thighs apart and wash the
insides of his legs. Then I wash his scrotum. He really likes it when
I wash his scrotum, especially when I use both hands, because he really
starts to grow. Like I said, I know I can make a boy happy. I sure can
make Mr. Riley happy.
We're both really enjoying his bath tonight. Most nights I content
myself with just making it grow a bit. But tonight, even before I'm
done with his thighs and scrotum, it's already really long and really
thick and it's actually beginning to rise up on its own. I'm bending
over him so my breasts are brushing against him, my stiff nipples poking
into his chest. And I'm feeling my thighs getting really wet.
I start to run the washcloth up and down the length of his penis
with one hand, while my other hand dives between my legs. His penis
starts rising faster and faster, getting stiffer and stiffer, as my own
orgasm gets closer and closer. Then I move my fingers to stroke the
underside of his penis just below the head. And that's when his hips
start to move.
And, oh God, that's when I explode.
It's easily the best orgasm I've ever had. I feel my knees buckle
and suddenly I'm falling across him as my body shudders with wave after
wave of pleasure. I revel in the feeling of his body rutting up against
mine as my spamsing hand squeezes his rock-solid penis again and again.
The waves subside. I let him loose. His rutting slows and stops
at about the same time I finally catch my breath. I stand up, feeling a
little embarrassed. Thank God no one saw that. "That's all for
tonight, Mr. Riley," I whisper, still a little out of breath, trying to
ignore my orgasmic discharge trickling down my legs. My goodness, I
don't think I've ever felt so open down there before.
I look at Mr. Riley and I see that his penis is slowly shrinking
and his breathing is getting back to normal. I breath a sigh of relief.
At least I stopped before he "went off." His penis was the only part of
him left that "worked," and it worked very well. Too good, really. I
once overheard his family asking the doctor about "harvesting" his semen
for a sperm bank or something, and I heard the doctor tell them it was
the most potent semen he'd ever found. I don't know if they ever did
anything about it. I thought it was pretty sick. I mean, he's a
vegetable. I would have thought that odds of birth defects were just
about certain.
Once I went too far and brought him to ejaculation. It was a mess.
The semen got all over the place, on the sheets, in my hair, on my face
and all over my uniform. I know it's silly to worry about getting
pregnant from just letting it touch my skin, but it still scared me to
death. I've never let it happen again, even though it's a favorite
image of mine when I masturbate.
Mr. Riley got awful close this time, though. There's a clear
discharge seeping from his now flaccid penis. Too close, I think to
myself. I'm beginning to wonder what's getting into me. I've never even
touched myself at work before, and tonight I've made myself come twice.
I decide I'd better get back to work. And I'd better get dressed just
as soon as my clothes are done, becayse running around almost naked
seems to have a bad influence on me. I'm losing all sense of propriety.
I finish washing Mr. Riley and roll him onto his side so I can get
to his back and bottom. It'not easy to keep my mind on my work. When I
lean over to pull him onto his side, my top pulls up so as I'm holding
him to wash his back I'm feeling the warm skin of his hip against my
bare abdomen. And I can tell he's reacting to this, too, because his
breathing starts to get faster again. And, truth to tell, so is mine.
While he's on his side, I pull the bottom linens out from under him
and toss them onto the pile of dirty linens on the floor between the bed
and the wall. Then, finished with his sponge bath, I roll him onto his
back again and I'm about to get the clean linins when out of the corner
of my eye I see something moving on the other side of the bed. I freeze
in my tracks, startled, and stare at the source of the movement.
I let go of my held breath. I feel silly all over again at getting
frightened at nothing. The dirty bedclothes on the floor are vibrating
as if they were alive because of the still-functioning massaging
mattress pad that's rolled up and buried in the pile. For a second I
watch the pile fluttering and for some reason it looks oddly erotic to
me, which, I guess, shows the state of mind I'm in.
I have to again remind myself that I still have work to do. I get
the clean sheets for Mr. Riley's bed, but before I start to put them on,
I realize he's lying too low in the bed. All that hip movement must
have made him slide down. I have to pull him up, but I know it isn't
going to be easy because he's a pretty big man. I hook my arm under his
armpit and try to pull him up, but he doesn't budge, just as I expect.
I know I have to lower the bed, get behind the head and pull him up by
both arms. So I lower the bed, but, just like practically everything
else in this God-forsaken place, I find out the bed is broken. The
wheels are jammed and I can't pull the head of the bed far enough away
from the wall to get behind it.
There's only one other way for me to pull Mr. Riley up to where he
belongs in the bed. I'll have to get onto the bed myself. If I was
dressed properly, I wouldn't give it a second thought, I'd just do it.
But I'm far from dressed properly. I think about waiting until my
clothes are dry,but they aren't even out of the washer yet, and I can't
make the bed until Mr. Riley is positioned correctly, because if I do
I'll just pull the bottom bedclothes, including the pneumatic mattress
pad, all out of place when I pull him up. And I can't leave him lying
on the bare mattress for over an hour.
What the heck, I decide. I just need to keep a professional
attitude, that's all. And so I proceed to kneel on the bed next to Mr.
Riley's nude body.
Very carefully, trying not to touch him, I swing one leg over to
the other side of the bed so I'm straddling him, but when I put my other
knee on the bed to kneel over him, I feel my thighs brush against his
hips. Immediately his breathing changes. So does mine. And it catches
in my throat when I lose my balance, my hips drop and I feel his limp
penis pressing against my exposed labia.
It's like feeling an electric shock between my legs. My body jerks
forward and my hand flles up, grabbing for the side bed rail to try to
pull myself back up. And the whole world suddenly lurches sideways.
Suddenly all I'm feeling and seeing and hearing is confusion. All
I feel is a dizzying sense of rolling and falling. All I hear is the
sound of grinding metal and tearing cloth. All I see is Mr Riley's body
flying up and crushing into mine. And when reality stops spinning I
find myself staring at the ceiling with my arms wrapped around Mr.
Riley's neck and my legs wrapped around his waist.
Desparately, I try to make sense of my senses. My bare breasts are
pressing up against warm flesh. My top is gone! I feel something under
me tickling my buttocks. And, oh my God, something soft and warm is
nuzzling at the cleft of my labia!
Slowly I begin to grasp what had happened, becoming more and more
terrified with each realization. Between me and Mr. Riley, the weight
must have been too much for the springs of that ancient bed. They'd
given way on one side, the bed pitched sharply and when I started
falling I clutched at anything to stop my fall. That's when my top got
caught on the IV pole. The flimsy cloth tore from my body as I grabbed
Mr. Riley's shoulders and together we rolled, falling onto the pile of
dirty linen next to the bed.
And now we're wedged between the bed and the wall, locked naked
together with his genitals pressed tight against mine in the most
intimate embrace a man and woman can experience. I'm lying underneath
him on the pile of bedclothes with my shoulders lower than my bottom, my
legs caught around his waist, my feet pointing practically straight up.
It feels as if I'm supporting his entire weight between my legs and I
can feel my bottom settling deeper into the linens. Oh, God. I'm
trapped, exposed, and totally defenseless. And this realization becomes
clearre when I discover to my horror that my struggling to get out from
under him has no effect but to cause whatever is pressing against my
vagina to nestle itself even more snugly between the folds.
My whole body is shaking in utter terror. I try to calm myself
down, but it in't easy with the increasing pressure I'm feeling upon my
vaginal opening. I can feel that Mr. Riley's body is responding to my
efforts and becoming agitated, his chest pressing more tightly against
my breasts as his breath quickened. And, God help me, I know it's his
gradually thickening penis that's slowly nudging into my labia. How did
I get into this? How, oh God, how am I going to get out of this?
Panicing isn't helping. It's only making it worse. In the small
part of my mind that isn't frozen with fear, I tell myself that I have
to stop moving. If I stop moving, I'll stop stimulating him and he'll
calm down and at the very least I'll avoid the inevitable consequence of
his penis pushing into my vagina.
I'm finally able to still myself and for a fleeting instant the
overwhelming terror gripping me begins to lessen. But to my shock and
confusion, I realize that the strange tickling I'm feeling against my
bottom is becoming a fierce vibration. Suddenly I remember. It's that
rolled up massaging mattress pad, still working away, working directly
under my hip bone, and as we settle into the linens the vibrting is
growing stronger and stronger until now my buttocks are churning. And
Mr Riley is responding to the quivering body underneath him with a
sickening predictability. The limp flesh that is his penis continues to
slowly swell, lodging itself even tighter into the crevice between my
legs.
I try to calm myself by remembering that he isn't yet aroused
anywhere near enough to ejaculate. His penis is still mostly flaccid.
It isn't inside me yet. I'm still intact. So far. There'as still
time. At the rate he's growing and prodding at my vagina, perhaps not
much time, but perhaps enough to find some way to escape what right now
seems inescapable.
But I know that the chances of escaping my fate is growing smaller
as he grows larger. For, God help me, as I feel him pressing ever more
insistantly at the entrance to my vagina, my own body is responding to
the erotic stimulation I'm feeling from both above and below. My
fluttering hips makes my clitoris vibrate against the rough pubic hair
of my determined lover, sending sparks of desire flaring within me. I
feel my vagina growing warm and wet, my labia swelling and parting,
flutering and inticing. God, I'm feeling myself opening in welcome to
the thickening invader. And it's eagerly accepting my invitation with a
slow but steadfast insistance. Damn, oh, damn, my own body is betraying
me.
I focus on the strange and undeniably pleasurable sensations that
dance upon my gently undulating flesh. I can feel the presence becoming
more distinctly tumescent by the second. What began only moments before
as a gentle nuzzling pressure along the crease of my labia was now a
thickening wedge, prying further and further into my undulating vaginal
lips. Oh! Suddenly the inflating mass is shifting in my dampening
vaginal cleft, twising and wriggling into me, repositioning itself to
begin its steady descent into the depths of my vagina. My body is
shivering in response, awash in a mixture of terror and delight, I feel
my rolling pubic mound quivering against him, my vagina carressing him,
urging him on, taking him in.
Now I'm feeling the prodding flesh quickly begin to take form and
shape. I'm suddenly acutely aware of my outer vaginal lips tightly
stretching, enveloped around a massivly bulbous knob. I realize with a
start that it's the head of his penis held tightly in the grasp of the
widely parted folds of my damp and rippling vagina, and already it's
pressing with increasing urgency upon my inner labia. Oh, God, he's
almost inside me, I suddenly realize, and I feel myself shudder in shock
and horror.
His penis is stiffening more quickly now. The hardening flesh
meets no resistance whatsoever as it wedges into my pliant inner cleft,
parting the folds effortlessly, slipping relentlessly between. In spite
of my terror I'm becoming spellbound by the wonderous feeling of his
penis growing within me, increasing in thickness as it snakes its way
into my inflamed channel. And I gasp in erotic delight as the thick knob
pushes though my inner opening and I feel the lips close around the
fleshy, thickening shaft.
The fright overwhelms me as I realize that the head of his penis is
now completely embedded in my vagina. My God, he's inside me, he's
inside me, and I gasp again and again, my breath quick and shallow as I
become hysterical with fear. He's inside me and he'll grow and get
bigger and go deeper and deeper and then he'll come inside me and put
his seed in me and I'll become pregnant and there's no escape, oh my
God, there's no escape!
And through my hysteria I can feel him growing fatter and longer
within me, feel him filling my narrow virgin passage, feel the warm
thickness tightening against my vaginal walls as the head of his penis
inches further down into my now-heaving depths. The stretching,
straining fullness within me is umbelievable and I'm becoming more and
more excited as I feel it pushing, forcing, driving deeper and deeper
into me.
I suddenly notice that my buttocks are damp. I'm becoming even
more moist and open and I realize that it's not just my fluids welling
up inside me. It's the penis inside me excreting it's viscous lubricant
into me, preparing my virgin passage for its first occupation. And now
I'm suddenly aware of a disturbing tension deep inside me, a nagging
pressure, quickly growing in intensity. My God, oh, my God. My
deflowerment is only moments away.
I know what's causing the pressure inside me. His insistant flesh
is pressing ever more urgently against the tender membrane of my
virginity. This is it. There's no escape now. I feel the shaft of his
penis continuing to grow firm and hard, ballooning even more tightly
against my vaginal walls. The pressure within me is building, becoming
more and more intense, becoming an ache. It begins to really hurt and I
start to squirm under it's increasing sharpness. Relentlessly, the
flesh inside me grows more and more rigid. And suddenly the aching
flares white-hot and becoms a burning, piercing pain.
My defilement is slow. I cry out at the knifelike stab as my hymen
finally yields to the pressure and begins to rupture. And my cry of
pain becomes a wail as I suffer the searing agony of the sensitive
tissue being slowly but resolutely torn as the thick tip gradually
splits through the membrane. The pain goes on and on and I start to
think it will never, ever end. So great is the torment that I actually
begin to thrust my hips up at the hardening torturer inside me, trying
to help it burst through the obstruction, trying desparately to get it
over with.
And while my rutting vagina ironically takes him deeper and deeper
inside, I stare up into the face of my slack-jawed, expressionless "lover"
and silently curse the God that had so cruelly "answered my prayers."
I'd prayed for a lover, a husband, a father for my children, a partner
in their upbringing. I'd prayed for a child, someone I could nurture
and take care of, someone I could guide and teach. I'd prayed for a
family, a family I could love, a family who would love me.
And now my prayers have been answered. I've been given my
"family." Above me is my "lover," my "husband," a mindless, drooling
vegatable, oblivious to me, aware only of my pain-driven hips pressing
against his, who "knew" me only as a vessel for his misshapen seed,
offering not "love," not "commitment," but only the insentient erotic
lust of our coupling, an instant of carnal release, and my inevitable
impregnation. And I'll have my "child," a deformed monster who might die
within me before coming to term or might live through childbirth only to
die soon after or even might live for years and decades in the same
condition as his father, a child not born of love but by an accident of
broken bedsprings and urine soaked clothes.
My prayers have been answered. I've gotten my wish. And the cost
of wishing is the taking of my precious virginity, now being horribly
and agonizingly ripped away. But this was practically insignificant
compared with what was to come next, what would be my "lover's" ultimate
theft and my ultimate loss. So far my vegetable lover had captured and
ravaged only my vagina, but only moments from now his seed will invade
my uterus, plunder my fertility and plant his spawn in my rapidly
yielding womb.
My hips are now rutting intensely into his groin, my pubic bone
grinding into his. I suddenly realize that the vicious pain inside me
has faded to a tolerable soreness, made even more bearable by the
increasingly pleasant feeling of the base of his penis grating against
my clitoris. I become aware of his scrotum against my rolling buttocks,
feel it becoming heavier and tighter as it beats against my bottom, and
this too becomes a source of pleasure. I'm suddenly aware of a
smouldering fire growing more amd more insistant deep inside me, a
hunger beginning to gnaw at me. And my body grows more excited with
each thrust of my hips.
His body responds to the writhing warmth beneath him with an
excitement that I can instantly feel manifested in the now-rigid penis
fully and firmly imbedded inside me. I can actually feel the blood
coursing through his flesh, pulsing faster and faster against my vaginal
walls, and my own heart beats faster as he grows even thicher and
tighter within me. The exquisite feeling of fullness inside me is like
nothing I'd ever felt before and as he continues to swell, so does my
passion. My hips rise and fall with increasing ardor, and I feel the
thick shaft begin to shift up and down inside me. My lips begin to
flutter from my sighs as I thrill at the feeling of his hard penis
rocking back and forth in my vagina.
And then I feel his hips twitch against my thighs and I gasp as the
stiff flesh suddenly spiking sharply into me. His hips twitch again and
again he jabs himself down into me, and this time I grunt in shock and
delight. His hips rock a third time, then a fourth, and then I'm
moaning with abandon as his penis begins to rhymically thrust in and out
of me.
I know what it means when his hips start rutting. I don't know how
soon it will happen or how it will feel when it happens or even if I'll
know when it happens, but it will happen. And as I become more and more
lost in my carnal desires, I care less and less. God help me, I'm even
beginning to look forward to it. All my awareness is now focused on the
deliciously moving presence inside me, the intense pleasure it's making
deep within me. And, oh God, it's so good, so very good.
At first his strokes are slow and shallow, but I want more of him
in me and adjust my own movements so that my hips are driving up to meet
his downward thrusts. And whne my body synchronizes with his and our
hips mesh perfectly, the first time his magnificent penis glides up the
full length of my vaginal channel and then suddenly plunges back down
and in, I die.
It's an exquisite death. It must be death because I've never felt
in life anything that even comes close to being this wonderful. I'd
thought I'd had orgasms before, but nothing has ever, ever felt this
good before. Nothing. Ever.
Just like the climaxes I'm used to, the ecstasy originates in my
vagina and spreads swiftly in waves through my entire body. But, oh,
the intensity of the pleasure! It's like liquid lightning, it's like an
electric blue cloud, it's like dancing on stars, it's like nothing I've
ever felt before and I never, ever want it to stop.
My entire body is thrusting and pulling, clenching and clutching.
My arms are tight around my sweet lover's back, hugging him, squeezing
him, my fingers clutching, my nails digging, my breasts crushing into
his chest, my nipples poking into his skin. My head is buried in the
hollow of his neck and I'm shrieking into his shoulder, my tongue
sucking, my teeth biting. My thighs are scissoring wildly, first
squeezing tight against his rising hips, then spreading wide as he rams
his glorious manhood back into my eager chasm.
And every minute movement of my body, every twitch, every spasm,
exists for only one purpose, one profound craving. I need more of him
in me. I need him deeper, I need him faster, I can't get enough of him,
I can't get enough. And, oh, God, oh glorious, glorious God, he's
responding, he's responding! It's unbelievable, but he's still getting
bigger, getting thicker, getting longer! And he's thrusting faster, oh,
God, yes, he's thrusting deeper. Yes! Yes!
I'm lost, I'm totally lost in the rapture of primordial lust and
carnal desire. My entire purpose for existence is to feel the
overwhelming rapture of his flesh pistoning in and out of mine. I'm one
with him, our rhythms meshed perfectly. I feel my vagina spasming
against his stabbing, piercing penis and I sigh as my inflamed channel
closes tightly upon itself when the still-bloating shaft pulls upward,
withdrawing until only the head is held by the clinging outer folds of
my labia and I scream as it slices back in, burrowing into the narrow
chamber, widening it as it again buries itself deep in my embrace. The
sweet, savage presence thrusts and plunges, thrusts and plunges, in and
out, in and out, faster and deeper and faster and deeper again and again
and again. And it feels so good, oh, God, it feels so good.
And then from out of nowhere a sudden chilling sense of
anticipation sweeps over me. I don't know what it is. Maybe I'm
feeling him suddenly get all tight, maybe he's suddenly a lot hotter,
maybe his rhythm just suddenly changed. I don't know what it is, but I
feel it to my bones and instinctively I know. And my burning orgasmic
reverie is sudeenly cold, hard fear. Oh, dear God, it's about to
happen, he's about to--
Oh! His body's gone rigid and his penis is jammed in me so tight
and deep I can almost feel it pressing on my--oh my God, it twitched, I
just felt it--God, it happened again, it's--my God, this must be--God,
it's throbbing inside me, it's--God! I'm being--God! It's so--God! Oh,
God! Oh, God!
And now I don't know if I'm feeling fear or joy or horror or
rapture because he's coming, oh my God, he's coming and I can feel him
pumping, pumping his semen into my vagina and the feeling is incredible,
it's amazing, it's, oh, God, I didn't know it would feel this good, oh,
God, I didn't know, I didn't know!
And now the waves are rolling, rolling through my being. He's
seeding me, squirting his potent, eager sperm deep into me, and, my God,
I'm loving it, loving him, opening myself to take in the flood of his
urgency, yielding to the inundation. I feel my spasming vagina actually
sucking at the pulsing flesh within me, taking millions of him into my
uterus. Yes, oh, God, yes, take my womb, take my fertility, fill me
with your sweet, sweet need, inseminate me, inpregnate me, breed me, oh
God, breed me!
And he's filling me, oh, God, is he filling me! I'm overflowing
with his release and my labia grows slick with the lathering froth
spraying out of me, soaking my thighs, running down my buttocks. The
air is thick with the liquid sounds of our mating, the moist gliding of
my slippery breasts against his sweaty chest, the wet slapping of his
dripping hips against my glistening thighs, the loud sqishing of his
semen-oiled penis sluicing in and out of my gurgling vaginal channel.
There is so much, so much of him, on me and in me, oh God, so deep
inside me, and still the thick flesh embeded within me throbs and pumps,
forcing more and more of his seed into me, shooting it deep into the
mouth of my uterus. And it flows, oh God, I can feel it flowing inside
me, a surging torrent sreaming through my cervix and into my womb.
And then the pulsing inside me ebbs and suddenly his hips cease
their intense thrusting. They drop onto my thighs and I instinctively
realize it's coming to an end. In a panic, my body responds by
thrusting myself up at him, trying to restore him, trying to sustain the
ecstasy. But it's to no avail, His breathing becomes slower and his
body relaxes until it sags down heavily onto mine.
My vaginal spasms begin to fade, my orgasmic reverie subsides and
suddenly cruel reality returns. I'm still pinned underneath him, his
slowly deflating penis still buried deep in my vagina. I'm still in the
same position I was in before terror was overtaken by rapture, but
what was before a feared peril is now a grim fact.
The pile of linens undermenath me is soaking wet. I'm lying in a
puddle of sweat and semen. There's a pool of sweat between my breasts
and another in my navel. Beads of sweat run along my belly and down my
hips. My thigh are caked with drying semen. Semen coats my buttocks.
Semen oozes out of my vagina. And inside me, oh, God, inside me!
And the full realization crashes in:
I've been fucked!
Oh, my God, he fucked me! He fucked me and came inside me, filled
me with his cum, fucked me, fucked his sperm into me, oh, God, he fucked
me, he fucked me and I can feel it, God, I can feel it inside me,
flowing inside me, draining out of my vagina and into my womb, teeming
inside me, alive and swimming inside me, millions of them wriggling in
my vagina and in my womb and in my tubes, deep, deep inside me!
I've got to get out, get away, get it out of me before it makes me
pregnant, oh, God, I don't want to be pregnant, I can't get pregnant,
not now, not by him, not by a fucking vegetable, I won't give birth to a
bastard, not like me, not again, no, I won't! I won't!
Get off of me, you fucking bastard, I have to get it out of me, you
bastard, you fucking bastard! I'll get you the hell off of me and then
I'll get it out, I'll get it out before it makes me pregnant, I don't
know how, but I will, I will, I have to, I've got to! Move, you
bastard!
Oh, God, God, he won't move, he won't move! I can't get out, I
have to get out, but I can't, I can't, what'll I do, what'll I do? I've
got to get it out of me, I can't have it in me, I'll get pregnant, but I
can't get it out. It's in me, it's in me, I've got to get it out of me,
but how, oh, God, how? How?
I can't! I can't! It's too late! Too late! It's in me, in my
vagina and my womb and my tubes and I can't get it out, I can't, it's
too late, it's too late! Oh, God, it's too late, it's alive inside me,
alive and moving, swimming, searching, finding. It'll find the egg
inside me and fertilize it. It'll root and grow inside me. And my
belly will balloon and my breasts will fill with milk and I'll bear a
bastard baby, a fucking bastard baby who'll suck at my nipples amd pull
at my flesh and beg me to love it, but I won't, I won't, I'll hate it,
I'll hate that bastard baby just like my mother hated me. Hate me, hate
it, hate you!
I hate you, you fucking bastard, you fucked a baby into me, a
fucking bastard, you fucking bastard! Get off, get off of me, I said!
But you won't get off, you won't, but you like my breasts heaving
against your chest, don't you, you bastard?! You like my arms and legs
and hips pushing at you, don't you?! Yeah, you fucking bastard, you
won't get off of me but your fucking cock is getting hard again, isn't
it, you fucking prick, isn't it?! You're getting excited again!
Christ, you're getting excited again!!
Haven't you done enough, you bastard?! Oh, you fucking Goddamned
bastard, you're going to do it again, oh, fuck, oh Jesus fuck, not
again, not again!! Don't grow inside me, don't do this, God, don't do
this again, not again!! Stop growing in me, stop getting bigger,
please, oh, God, please! Please!!
I'll stop moving, I won't move any more, I promise, but please stop
growing, stop getting bigger, please, no, please! I've stopped moving,
I'm trying, God, I'm trying to stop, but he's still getting bigger and
thicker and he's not stopping, he's not stopping, God, please, God,
please, don't make him come again inside me, don't make him put a baby
in me, God, I'm sorry, God, I'm so sorry, I won't do it any more, God,
please, God, please, please!!
Please make me stop moving, God, I'm sorry, God, make him stop,
make him stop! Oh, God!! He's moving! He's moving in me!! He's going
to do it again, he's going to come in me again, God, oh, God, please,
no, God, no! No more come in me, no more in me, please, God, what did I
do, God, what did I do?! Why, God, why are you making him come in me,
God, please don't make a baby in me, please don't, God, please, I'm
sorry, God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!!
Please make him stop, God, please make him stop, I've stopped, I'm
not coming, God, I'm not coming, I'm being good, God, make him stop,
he's moving faster, moving harder! I've been good! I've been good! God
please stop! Don't do this! Please don't put a baby in me! I don't
want a baby in me! Make him stop! Make him stop! Don't-- come-- in--
me-- a-- gain-- Don't-- come-- in-- me-- Don't-- come-- Don't-- come--
Oh, no, no, no.... not again, not again... he's coming, he's
coming, he's, oh, God, he's coming so much, so much, so fucking much,
you basdard, fucking more bastards into me, more bastards, more fucking
bastards, like me, like me, fucking just like me, I'm sorry, God, I'm
sorry, I'm so bad, so bad, I'm so bad....
...growing in me again... feel it jerk... wet...
...again... growing... spurts... mmm...
...ooh... uh-huh... good... feel...
...mmm fuck... yeah... fuck...
...good cock... bad...
...uh bright... ...don't go, daddy! don't go! don't...
---
"Damn."
The urine is cold and wet on my skin as it soaks through my best
uniform top and slacks. "Damn it, Sherry," I curse to no one in
particular. Sherry's long gone, and if Little Lotta hears me, she
couldn't tell anyone anyway.
You'd think that fuckin' stupid bitch could at least put a catheter
into a cunt. You'd think she's be at least a little familiar with the
equipment. Shit, she's lucky she can walk and chew gum at the same
time. Anyway, how fuckin' smart can she be, turning me down and all?
But that's okay. Who needs that cunt when I've got my own private
pussy right here. This job is the sweetest deal I've ever had. All I
gotta do is wash up a few old prunes and then I get to spend the rest of
the night porking Miss Piggy here. And now that the turnip patch is all
snug in their beds, it's time to bang the bacon.
Now that I got the catheter out of her cunt, I pull off my wet
shirt and drop trow. Yeah, I'm ready, so I start to warm her up by
rubbing her tits. For a porker, she ain't too bad looking. Especially
her tits, man, her tits are fine. For being as big as they are, they
hardly sag at all. And I love her rump. Sometimes I roll her over and
give it to her from behind. I'm not usually into big butts, but hers is
big but firm, and the way it jiggles when I'm putting it to her makes me
come in buckets. And she likes that. Boy, does she like that.
Tonight, tho, I want those tits in my face. She's starting to
moan, so I pull her hips to the edge of the bed and pull her legs apart.
I don't even have to touch her, I can see she's already starting to
cream. Man, this is the horniest cunt I've ever sunk my meat into. All
day long she just stares and drools, but slip her the sausage and she
gets real active. All I got to do is stand between her legs like I'm
doing now and she fuckin' wraps 'em around me. And like always, the
bitch practically pulls me into her. I slide it in and right away she
starts bucking.
God, her box is still tight, even after all the kids that've popped
out of there. I started doing her 'cause she was already knocked up and
I didn't have nothing to worry about. I figured my fun was over after
she had the baby, but then I came up with a plan. Every couple of
months I just put her in Riley's bed, let her ride him for the night and
then when they find 'em together in the morning it ain't a surprise when
she ends up with a big belly. The way this place goes through staff and
owners, I figured I'd get away with it over and over.
And so far I have. She'd probably fuckin' die if she knew how many kids
she's had, how many of my bastards are in orphanages and foster homes,
but, hell, she don't care, that's for sure. And neither does the friggin'
nursing home, or her own damn family. Hell, I'm the only family she's
got. And I'm makin' sure she's taken good care of. Like I'm doin'
tonight. I sure as hell don't love her, I mean, who could love a
vegetable? But it's sure as hell the best she's ever gonna get. That's
for damn sure.
Man, is she moving tonight! Yeah, there it is, already she's
coming on my cock. Man, oh man, what a pussy! Never felt nothing like
it, sucking and squeezing like some kind of wild animal. And I'm
getting just as wild, pounding into her box faster and harder until the
sweat's coming off me and splattering all over those beautiful tits.
She's sissoring my wasit with those cushy thighs of hers and her heels
are digging into my back, her legs locked around me so tight that if God
himself came into the room there'd be no way I could get out of her. And
I know she ain't gonna let go until I give her what she wants. And the
way her cunt's grabbing my meat, she ain't gonna have long to wait.
Yeah, I can feel it churning up, yeah, gonna come, mm yeah. Just a
couple more strokes and--oh, yeah. There you go. That's what you want.
Oh, yeah, suck that cum, baby! Man, I love the way she whoops when I
cum. Her whole body shudders and it feels like she gonna suck me right
into her. Man, what a cunt! Yeah, suck it up, yeah, oh, yeah, that's
it, baby, that's it.
That's my baby. That's my little girl.
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