Wet Dreams

*** I hate to have to issue an explanatory preamble to my story, but I fear that it might save undue criticism later and avoid wasting the time of potential readers. This story is a work of fiction! It is set as a woman's self-discovery of her sexual needs, by interpreting her own daydreams. But that only attempts to disguise the fact that this is pure hard-core pornography and nothing else. So please don't over-analyze it or search for truths that are not there, and it is not intended as some bizarro Hallmark tribute to "dear ol' dad." Read it or not, as you wish. But remember the site that you're on. Thanks. ***

The bitch was tied to a chair, the type of scene I love to see. Her silk blouse was hanging torn and dirty from her one shoulder. It revealed signs of having been twisted and pulled violently from her cute satiny shorts, and ripped apart down the front, the buttons lay scattered on the wooden floor where they fell. In the struggle with her attacker, she had tried to run. But when he caught up with her in the hall, he gripped the back of her shirt, yanking the stark white material and reducing it to rags. The only remnant left was the badly frayed end of what had been a sleeve and the filthy stretched threads of the collar.

Her translucent white demi-bra was twisted and mangled on her raw red chest. With every rise and fall of her sweaty, heaving upper torso, the rounded mounds revealed most of her shivering C-cups and the glimpse of a dark pink areola, while the perky tip of her pointy nipple poked alluringly over the edge of the torn and tattered underwear. The smeared, dirty handprints showed where he had roughly handled her.

Faint beads of moisture dotted her forehead and smudges of dust and sweaty stains stood-out on her face and chest. Long dark streaks had formed where his fingers had clawed her chest and back in the struggle and her subtle sobbing left tear-stained tracks of mascara marring her angelic complexion. Her throat ached from the dryness caused by screaming, as she tried to swallow. And small droplets of perspiration gathered under her chin and seductively, slowly trickled down into the sensuous cleavage of her frightened anatomy. The gentle rise of her firm, ripe globes sprinkled with the light dew, cast a lustrous sheen on her tanned tits, and made her luscious body appear as if it were dipped in honey.

When her assailant finally corralled her, it was by catching hold of the back waistband of her shorts while she continued to try to run. They ripped at the seams and she literally peeled out of them with each step. Her entire backside was left bare as she ran into a corner, then turned and fell to her knees naked and afraid. She was tied to the chair on her rosy bottom, arms strapped behind her, with just the shreds of her outfit clinging to her. The remains of her shorts hung around one ankle, her long bare legs showed bruises from the battle and her feet were blackened from the dusty floor. Her pink toenails remained an ironic detail to the weary torment.

Scanning up to her thighs, sleek athletic muscles struggled to no avail, and her movements barely concealed the alluring shadow of a dark, trimmed landing strip of kinky blond curls that hid in the crevice of her taut "Y." The pink toenails nervously tapped on the plank boards, her sandals having been lost in the chase long before. But though she could have kicked or stomped her feet, or screamed for help, she sat relatively motionless as her desperate eyes scanned the room.

All the while, though her hands with the matching pink manicure, were tied behind her back, and she was nearly naked from head to toe, she sat rather still and quiet while her abductor was in the next room rifling the place.

He was searching drawers and opening closets when finally he started to finger her exotic lingerie in the clothes hamper. It had all the makings of something sinister and erotic but then her erstwhile attacker took a pair of her sheer, red panties and held them to his nose as he climbed on her bed.

When the scene returned to her I looked again, her golden blonde hair was beauty shop perfect. The wavy spun-straw strands just seductively hovered over her brow, shadowing most of her sky blue eyes, even the feline-like extensions of her delicate lashes. The moist specks in her icy eyes just reflected the light, capturing every sparkle. The make-up was flawless, soft pink gloss looked sexy and kissable, and even the messy eyeshadow didn't dim the bright cheeks. Her pouty lips, glistening with moisture were emphasized by a sexy, slithering tongue that inched-out and bit at the edges of her lips to pronounce her nervous mind. Yet she didn't scream or try to run. Or do anything else but pose, while her kidnapper jerked-off in her bedroom, with her undies wrapped around his dick.

A ray of warming sunshine streaming through the window displayed her position like she was on stage, and she seemed to know that some White Knight would appear just in time to save her. If not for the tied hands, she might be mistaken for a sunbather on her private pool deck.

"What's wrong with that bitch?! Why doesn't the lame pervert put his cock to good use and rape her?" I screamed at the television. This program warned of graphic violence and adult situations, Bullshit! My fingers had wormed their way into my own panties as I anticipated the climactic end to a sexual showdown. I was ready to experience a vicarious yet taboo thrill imagining my own lusty attacker, tearing off my clothes and binding my frantic limbs then tossing me onto the bed. His menacing, half-naked frame, displaying his bulging muscles and wild-eyed look lurched above me, ready to pounce.

In my fantasy I would have bit and scratched, but to no result. His rugged body would show scars from my nails and he would be keyed-up from the hunt and capture. My tired body would be black and blue from the resistance and I could taste blood in my mouth from having been slapped to keep quiet. I fought at every attempt to his undressing me and I cursed him and beat my fists against his manly chest. He forced me to quit my struggle with repeated slaps and threatening me with more disfiguring violence. I laid fairly still but wary, my limbs poised to strike but knowing that it would be a futile gesture, and any other resistance, was a mere show. My body for all intents and purposes, was his to do with as he pleased. And I knew that deep in my slutty mind, his rampage and conquest would be my pleasure also.

Why do I always root for the rapist? How do I always find myself thinking that I would make a sexier victim? And what makes me feel that every sexual dynamic can be either enhanced or reduced to a basic S/M relation where the only true battle is to decide who is really dominant?

All I know is that if I were the guy in that stupid movie, that bitch would be dizzy from falling to her knees for blowjobs and springing to all-fours for doggy sex, and her slutty ass would be swimming in cum. My cock would become a near permanent fixture in her mouth, and we would have exhausted the Kama Sutra before I start to invent positions of my own. It's insane I realize, but I watch the "dirty" movies to see something dirty happen. When I warm myself up and I'm this close to finishing, I want to see the money shot. I want to be able to place myself in the scene, either the man or woman, and I want to get off!

I'm a woman who likes sex. "Good girls" don't say that outloud, but most people certainly think it, I mean that's why we're here, isn't it? And I like my sex to be kinky, aggressive, sweaty and uncompromising. I can be a kitten and beg for little favors, or I can be a whore and fulfill your every wish. I can even be the guy and "watch" as I rape my own body. I just know that in my fantasies I want it rough, unconventional, and exciting. Something daring and hot, that will set my juices flowing. It's all a fantasy, and it should be designed to be exceptional, with no strings attached. Rape, incest, force, blackmail... any taboo that raises the blood pressure and shocks the senses. Give it to me good and hard, or bend over and take it, I don't care which role I play, I just want it hot and I want it now. My mind is always imagining sexy set-ups, where something strange or forbidden happens, and that's when I begin my little exercise. It doesn't take much to get me going, and I know the situations are never real, and I probably wouldn't want them to be, but I'm in it for the orgasm, and when my hands start wandering I don't want to stop until they come out soaked. I am often reduced to taking the movie or book or whatever, and then filling in the blanks to reward myself with a "happy ending."

I would fuck that little cunt until she stopped yelling for help, and began moaning for more. I liked the scene where he trapped her in the house, I picture it more of the typical "abandoned cottage." Or the lonely house at the end of the dark road. Anyway, if it were me, I sneak in and surprise her as she just exits the shower. With only a gossamer robe on, and her wet hair laying damp on her shoulders, she pads down the hall to her room. I'm waiting in the shadows and the hunt begins. I tease her at first like a cat with a mouse, grabbing at her and blocking her every move, eventually herding her upstairs and deeper away from the door. She tries every door as she scurries from one room to another, shrieking and crying as she goes.

I would chase the little bitch at a leisurely pace, knowing that she can't escape and getting a thrill from watching the understanding of the situation appear on her frightened face. At each room she finds no way out, and the sobbing, desperate yelps only heighten the tense atmosphere. She slips on the steps, bruising a leg.

She runs into rooms looking desperately for a secret passage which she knows does not exist. She'll duck behind chairs or hide in a closet with me laughing hauntingly. Then I let her run from the room until I direct her where I want her. As she runs by me, I grab for the robe, ripping long strips of the thin material with each grasp. Even when she runs into another room, I can hear her tortured breathing and as I lean into the door, I can feel her tired body claw at the wood and slump dejectedly as my bodyweight forces it open. I would just bellow out a terrifying laugh and she would whimper-out her scared pleadings to be left alone. Her eyes filled with tears as my eyes shot a leering appraisal of her almost complete nudity. The glow of her warm shower was now the icy-cold chill of a haunted, lost girl.

Finally the chase ended in her very own bedroom, and the sordid image of what was about to happen sapped the remaining energy from her body. Her jittery hands were desperately trying to cover her exposed shame. Her sobs were now choked with despair and the agonizing realization that her womanhood was soon to be surrendered.

Her breathing became ragged and gasping, the disheveled blonde locks matted to her face as she squirms to the far edge of the bed. Desperately searching the tiny room for anyplace to hide or some overlooked passage, as if seeing her home for the first time. She gulped for air, her body trembling and her nipples extended from the sudden excitement. Her tiny, shaking hands tried in vain to cover her poignant nudity, and she begged to be allowed to leave. In answer, I would pull my cock from my pants, stretching it and rubbing it's length as her wide, wet eyes stared in horrible fascination, watching as it grew to it's full size and girth.

She slumped on the sheets and attempted to burrow into the mattress, averting her eyes ostrich-like. Her tired, defeated body gave-up all manner of resistance and her supple body shook with her sobs, I stood over her stroking my blood-filled rod. My shadow darkened her quivering body and she looked up at me through the shade, dropping her eyelids and signaling her submission. I grabbed a thick handful of her damp mane and twisted it around my wrist, bringing her head to attention and pulling her mouth to my crotch. Her dewy brown eyes showed the reddened outline of her tears and she sniffled with a few hiccups, looking much younger than her twenty years. With one last appeal for mercy, she silently shook her head side to side, the blonde strands clinging to her face and her small hand clutching at her breasts.

"You know what to do," I commanded as I thrust my erection at her recoiling neck. As I tightened my grip in her hair, she scrambled to her knees and let-out a quick squeal reacting to the sharp, unexpected pain of her hair being pulled from the roots. With her mouth conveniently open, and forming a perfect "O," I slid my firm rod between her luscious lips. There was one last whimper as I shoved it in, and than some gagging, choking coughs. I gripped her chin in my hand and said, "I can choke you with it 'till you puke, or you can be a good girl and do it right. All the fight had left her, and I saw her hand come up and haltingly take me by the base of my cock. She then threaded the thick pole back and forth in her warm mouth, coating my length with her saliva until it reappeared shiny and solid. I watched surprised, as she repeated the motion and used her tongue to paint the contours of my surging knob. I found that I didn't need as much force, when she accepted my firm cock in her mouth, and worked it into her plump cheeks. She made wildly pornographic noises as she slurped and gulped on my rod, and her snaky tongue would sneak out and bathe the wet circumference of her marvelous toy.

I hated to stop this sexy sucking, but the preliminaries were over and my tool was greased and ready for action. I pulled-out of her hungry mouth with a sloppy, plopping sound. And I turned her onto her hands and knees. I kept the grip on her hair for leverage and ran my firm cock up and down the pink slit of her moist cunt. Her blonde hair was so light and silken on her mons, that she looked almost bald. And the pinkish tint of her lips glistened with her own lubrication, belying the terror of her rape and showing that this rough foreplay may be exciting some deviant thrill in her. I told her to reach back and spread her wet labia for me with her hands, and ask me nicely to fuck her.

With only the slightest hesitation, her hands emerged from each side and her fingers slowly pried her moist folds apart, spreading her thighs and presenting her tight, little cunt for my approval. I gave her a quick, goading spank on her trembling ass and the cute little pussy was opened for me. "Please sir, ram you hard cock in my tight little cunt, and fuck me until I faint." I graciously accepted her offering and dipped the bullet-shaped tip into her hot hole once or twice, feeling her body shift and adjust to the sudden presence of a large spear in her tight sheath. As more of her fluids flowed, her hips relaxed and then started to rock with an anticipatory motion, inviting more of my turgid tool to explore her depths.

We developed an easy, swaying rhythm with my cock gradually working in deeper until the lubricating quality of her secretions glided my path. The next few inches stroked hard and fast and I pumped that hot pussy for all I was worth. She was moaning and rolling beneath me and I was grunting and holding her slippery hips for balance. After our combined bucking and thrusting lasted about five minutes, she gave a great shudder and stiffened under my thrusts. Her primal scream and electric spasms signaled her release and she screamed various oaths and crudities. She gripped the sheets and buried her face in the mattress, muffling her cries of euphoria. I grunted like I was lifting weights and the sweat poured off of me , dripping on her back and oiling the both of us. I rode her as if it were the Tour de France of sex. She collapsed under me but my cock remained in her tight clutches and I could feel the raw muscles of her pussy gripping my cock and holding me inside. She was ready to burst and begging me to bring it out of her. I was straining to remain hard, but dying to explode.

I proceeded to plow a determined furrow into her hot, wet garden. Her wiry, little curls tickled my balls as I withdrew and then plunged back inside of her. Her guttural grunts were the only sound she made as the approach of her orgasm came on her like a freight train. The initial constriction I felt was loosened and became a welcoming glove, surrounding me with warmth and gripping me securely. Her pussy responded to the stimulation of my pounding, and my fleshy piston scraped against her tender, inner walls. Finally she screamed and her body went haywire, I had trouble holding on to her. I could feel her pussy convulse and squeeze my cock, forcing the flow of semen to commence. With a jolt, I pumped it in to her like a firehose. It seemed to spout for a solid minute and all the time she was squirming and shrieking. Her limp body was a soggy mess and my deflated husk could barely move, but we achieved simultaneous orgasms and melted into the bed. And whenever I pulled back from her sweet honey pot, the flaming pink folds tugged at me to come right back. It would take a moment but I was definitely ready for round two.

"Me, too." I was able to cum like a warm, cream-filled water balloon burst in my uterus, and an electric switch had been thrown that was connected to my clit. I can take most any story or scenario and fit it to my deviant day dreams. It's best when the tale can naturally bring me to a climactic finish, but most of them leave me on the edge. Fortunately, I have an imaginative and extremely filthy mind. But one thing always seems strange to me, and it's appearing in my fantasies much more often. The male figure in most of my illusions is startlingly familiar. He is an older man, strong-shouldered and soft-spoken but something about me seems to trigger his domineering, fiercely sexual side. And I just know that it's my daddy. And something about the idea of him wanting to fuck me, sends me into manic convulsions of ecstasy. I've never said anything to anyone, certainly he doesn't have a clue, and I've never flirted or acted in a slutty manner towards him, but now when I'm close to him, or especially in my dream-like state, the image always pops in my head. I would love for him to overpower me sexually, and demand that I perform for his pleasure. And after putting up a bit of a fight I would easily surrender to his wishes. The illicit thrill of rape and incest adds just the lewd, crude touch of taboo excitement that my every fantasy needs.

Without that extra level of stimulation I'm usually left frustrated with an odd feeling of self-loathing, but knowing that I'm just a short distance from a fantastic orgasm. My body is sweatier than that girl on TV. I have goose bumps from the nervous anticipation of where or when my intruder would place his rough, demanding hands on my trembling torso. Hot and sex-crazed from the wrongful stabbings of his mighty digits, my Sunday School upbringing of a conservative, chaste young lady, is frazzled and torn from the conflicting emotions thrown at me. Even without seeing him, I can recognize the touch of those calloused fingers as they abrade my tender flesh, the hint of alcohol on his breath, and the deep grunts of the dangerous yet highly sensual demands that he growls into my ear while his gruff whiskers brush my neck.

I know that it's my widowed father, and he's going to warn me to stop struggling and "to be a good girl," while he proceeds to fuck my pussy and mouth, and I understand that I secretly want and desire his taboo attentions. If only I could find a way to convey my feelings for real. Maybe he could bring-out the sexual beast in me and I would fulfil his every dark fantasy. I mean, doesn't every guy want to fuck his grown daughter? If he could get away with it, and I could easily be made his wench, we could have a furious, hard-core sexual adventure.