This story is published with the permission of the author. The author may be contacted through mrdouble@ix.netcom.com Content-Disposition: attachment; filename="Forbidden.txt" Author grants permission to distribute this story for public domain, but only to appropriate sites or arenas for 'adults only' material. *************************************************** This is intended for adult audiennces, only for those over 21 and NOT for younger ages and/or anyone who finds this subject matter offensive or objectionable. It IS fiction, entirely the product of imaginary storyform and any similarity to anyone anywhere is strictly coincidence. WARNING: Contains controversial explicit sexual situations! DO NOT read any further if this kind of material has no appeal to you. *************************************************** FOREVER FORBIDDEN By: Ms. X Hi. My name is Chandra, I'm sixteen. And yes, I'm considered pretty, sort of the All-American girl, healthy and trim, athletic, a cheerleader. I know it's corny, and I know what you're thinking: 'Oh wow, not another one of those blue-eyed blondes!" And it's true I was named Chandra for the Sanskrit meaning: Moon, moonlike... Or as my mother often quoted Shelly, "That orbed maiden with white fire laden..." At least I didn't inherit her stigma from having been named after 'Princess Grace', since I'd heard her called 'The Ice Princess' behind her back. She did look like Grace Kelly... But back to my life, just listen, okay...just listen to what's been going on with me -- and you'll know I'm not the average teenage girl, though I may seem to be from outer appearances. Because, see, I've got this god-awful sexual thing for my very own daddy! I mean, most people would think this is sick, sick, sick! They even have laws against this kind of stuff -- and it's not like anything has actually happened yet. It's just, I think it might if I keep feeling the way I do around my daddy, the way I've felt since I was only about ten. But let me explain how it was when I first started having these intense feelings, what I think brought it on. When we were at home, my bedroom was nowhere near my parents. No, my room was at the other end of a very, very long upstairs hallway; I never heard any sounds from their room, ever! One summer, the year I turned ten, we went to the beach in Florida; some friends had lent mom and dad their cottage. It was a real small place, beautiful spot on a secluded, private beach (the friends were rich, and my daddy was their lawyer in some kind of messy lawsuit). My daddy was only 35, tall, lean, in great shape, handsome in a thin, intense way, his angular face somehow always seeming sad, melancholy. Anyhow, the very first night there, I realized my bedroom was separated from my parents' room only by a thin wall. And when I got into bed, I began to hear these whispery sounds coming from their bedroom. I couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but soon I heard my daddy's voice clearly say, "Grace, you'd think you had a gold mine down there, the way you guard it." I didn't know what he meant, and their voices lowered, with only an occasionally loud grunt or groan from daddy, my mom's light whimpering like she was in pain. Then I heard a slow, rhythmic pounding begin, the creaky bedsprings noisy, louder and louder as a hard, thrusting sound repeated, over and over, the muffled sobs of my mom making me wonder what on earth daddy as doing to her? I was shocked when I heard a loud thud, then my daddy's voice angry voice, "Have it your way, I'll just finish it myself." Then the bedroom door opened, I heard him pad across the hall to the bathroom, and slam the door behind him. I was dying of curiosity, and got out of bed, feeling strangely excited, almost shivery with anticipation. I crept across my room, slipped open the door and watched through the tiny opening, wondering what daddy was doing in the bathroom? I stood there a long time, and there was no sound from the bathroom, only the dead quiet of the cottage, a low roar of ocean surf in the distance. Finally, I saw the bathroom door open, and daddy came out into the hall; he had on a robe, and it was slightly parted in front. As he turned, I could see the massive knob of hard flesh sticking out; he seemed dazed, his eyes glazed yet bright and his hand went down to touch the thing between his legs, making him groan. Quickly, he went back to their bedroom, and I couldn't help it, I wanted to see what was happening. I waited till he'd gotten into the room, then slipped quietly along the hall, hardly believing he'd not closed the door all the way. I crept up to look through the narrow crack, seeing that daddy was standing over mom, holding that thing and asking her in an agonized groan, "Dear God, help me, Grace, please? Can't you see I'm hurting..." She mumbled something from beneath the pillows where she'd covered her head; he seemed to stiffen, his body going rigid, and then he got a wild look in his eyes, snatched the covers off her. She had her nightgown on, but he pulled her upright, took the gown off over her head, and she was naked...and I knew I shouldn't look, shouldn't watch...but I was feeling so strange, like my body was on fire, that I needed to be touched, or rub against something. But I just couldn't move, I stood paralyzed, and saw daddy force mom to stand, then he began kissing her -- very softly at first, and she moaned, then harder, his mouth opening and his arms going around her tightly, his body pressing into hers, forcing her back, back, back down onto the bed. He parted his legs, shrugging off the robe and I couldn't believe how big, how thick and long that thing between his legs had grown; it was huge! Daddy put his legs on either side of mom, and he straddled her, grunting as he took hold of that thing and told her to open up, let it inside her. And she did, but gave a weak protest and slid up a little, as if trying to escape him. Unaware of what I was doing, I suddenly realized I was rubbing my crotch on the doorframe; it felt so good, so warm and throbbing between my legs as I watched daddy shove that pole hard, harder into my mom, her legs parting and going round him as he grunted, then began the steady pounding, pounding, over and over, his groans as he went deeper, buried as far inside as possible, mom now squirming, seeming to hate what he was doing to her. But I felt so good, for a second, I wanted to be in her place, having daddy doing that with me, sticking his stiff flesh between my legs, now dripping wet with something slick and hot that oozed like honey from a secret depth. My hand went down, slid into my pajamas and I touched the flesh there, so sweet and thrilling. Suddenly daddy pulled out of her, and stood up, taking hold of his own flesh, beginning to roughly rub and fist it, harder and harder, all the time looking at mom with an almost sick, pained look, as if he hated what he was being forced to do... and then he heaved forward, groaned and the thing he was stroking started to spurt a white stream of thick, hot juice that hit my mom's belly as she said, "Get back, don't come on me!" And he turned around, almost facing me where I watched silently, wildly excited, at the doorway, seeing him thrusting into the air, that thick stream of spurting juice still pouring, his fist pumping the jerking, burning flesh between his legs. That's how I first knew he was so terribly unhappy; that he wasn't always the remote, controlled, unemotional father who had always seemed the staid, respectable lawyer. That he was not like my mother, icy cold, remote and inaccessible, though he always treated me that way. Neither of my parents ever hugged or held me, not from my earliest memory. It was as if they'd given not only my physical care over to a nanny, but my emotional development as well. As an only child, I was lonely -- and no one could fill the empty void in my heart, no one but my parents. That summer was a revelation to me; I learned as I watched my parents that they were as unlike as day and night. And they had a very bad marriage; yet the idea of losing either of them was too scary at my age. So I hoped they'd work out their differences; and if not, at least they'd stay together until I got older. I learned, most of all, that my father was more emotional than I'd known, he was alive -- for those intense moments I'd secretly watched him, he was more vibrantly alive than I'd ever seen him. And I wanted to learn how I could make him feel that way -- even though I knew it was probably impossible. But I also knew I'd have to try....whatever happened as a consequence. And though nothing happened for the next six years, I was always watching, waiting for an opportunity. Shameless, I guess; but it is true...and it was what I wanted more than anything on earth. I knew, yes, that it was forbidden, perhaps wrong...but I felt that I had to find a way to reach out and become part of that passionate intensity I'd witnessed in my daddy's eyes that summer at the cottage. To Be Continued...?