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Images of My Youth

Posted by: Author: Age: 27 Posted on: 1 comments
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I used to spy on my parents making love. When I was 14 I would creep down the hall and peer into there room. What I saw had a profound effect on me and I used to get wet, but I never masturbated until I was much older. Then, I used the imagery. I want to try to put it into words. I suppose it must be said there is an incestuos nature to this, so please do not read it if you are likely to be offended. This is something I need to write about. This was my first ever masturbatory fantasy.


Tumult is the only word to describe it. A deep, profound agitation and churning like a dark and angry sea before a storm. My own storm was coming.

I heard the sounds first. Dark sounds that scared me. Groans of pain? Murmered obscenties? Even a content of contempt and hate. These are what drew me out of my bed and along the corridor that night, and the other nights that followed.

The sliver of flickering candle light dappled the darkness of the landing and I crouched against the wall listening. A low female groan drifted out to me. I crouched there, my knees clasped to my emergent breasts holding my breath in case I missed anything. There was heavy breathing, increasingly heavy and then my father's voice lanced the night like a needle into an abcess. One word, sharp, accusitive, 'Cunt.' My mother moaned again, and this time her voice 'Again, more.' I heard strange rhythmic movements yet they seemed totally familiar to me. Then, stillness. Was it an eternity that passed or just a few seconds. I didn't breath, and my own heart seemed to echo off the walls of the house. Into that silence my father 'You dirty fucking whore.' This time a gasp from my mother forced me to slink forward onto my knees and peer through that tiny crack of the door and into the candle light within. Of course, I saw them. Her on all fours and him with what seemed to my young eyes a monstrous penis thrusting in and out of her. 'Oh, do it. Hurt me.' He raised his hand and slapped her. Hard. She moaned and shook her hair. She looked at him and had the most lascivious smile on her face. 'Rape me like the cunt I am.' No more words. Just increased thrusting, savagery surplanting anything vaguely romantic.

I felt something. Something between my legs. I realised I was wet and for a moment I thought I had urinated. I remember feeling a slick wetness that was clear and fragrant. My whole body was on fire but then, I didn't know how to quench the flames. More night time excursions followed, each with a different theme, but always the constant of them making love. Sometimes with such tenderness it made me weep, other times violent and primal. Even sometimes when my sweet mother would dress up for him. Sometimes as a whore, other times as a sweet innocent schoolgirl. Sometimes their role play was light hearted, playful and fun. Other times they ventured into the darkness of rape fantasies.

(Four Years Later)

I am in my bedroom and have the room lit only with four candles. Their light flickers and dances on the walls and ceiling. I recall the images from four years ago. My mother and father joined. Him abusing her and her worshipping him for it. Strange how it is always this, the violent and the disturbing that arouses me most. I remember the child-like wonder of how her slender body could accept such a huge penis. I remember my wetness and then I know in an epiphanal moment that of delicious perversity I wanted him to be inside me. My head swims as I revel in the forbidden thought. Forbidden? But why? Was it not through that penis that I came to be? Was it not through that vagina that I was born? I spread my legs on the bed and my hand reaches into the white cotton panties I have chosen especially for this. I have chosen their darkest fantasy for my own. I am to be the schoolgirl my father rapes. Just as my mother used to pretend to resist him and just as he used to be so insistent, so I murmer dissent into the night and my hand becomes his. I feel my smooth mound and the pouting lips beneath. I clamp my knees together, but my hand presses them firmly apart. I cannot resist him has I caress my aching clitoris and feel again the delicious wetness begin to spread. My mind travels back to that night. I see him pumping her, pushing against her with such force. Her pushing backwards against him. I pull the soft white cotton aside and place my dildo against my opening. I pretend to feel resistance as it touches my hymen. I know he won't stop now and with a sudden thrust, my mind provides the pain as my hymen tears. And then his arched back and the long protracted groan. They hold together in stillness for an eternity. Finally he pulls away from her and I see his seed inside her. As this image touches my brain and I can feel his penis inside me. Knowing it is his, I orgasm long and hard. One word excaping my lips.




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