Dolphina's Ascent

This story is meant to make you think, to be "speculative with enterprise" in no way does it condone the avarice depredations it brings light to; but proposes the true cause for such sorrows. In a way it is a trumped of sedition against the moral cause of decay. As a deep personal note I see nothing distasteful about sex with a corpse. It is not something that happens in this story, I just thought I would throw that thought out there in case there were some undead fellows about. -Go Bula!

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Cruel, a demon's fantasy; a Gwrach-y-rhibyn, alike to the phantom, similar to the Russian Rusk-la or the Irish Banshee, Dolphina appeared young as her original host-victim that she supplanted in Doppelganger fashion, but in fact Dolphina is more ancient than the olive trees in the grove of Gethsemane. Like her, not every thing is as it seams; not every victim a victim, nor culprit the culprit. No methodical happenstance, less human will- but a sincere act of malevolence, cruel demonic pleasure from making the killer kill, the rapist rape, etc... and driving madness sure to ensue. What if the attacker himself or herself were not merely the victim but actual pawns in a truly diabolical game of chess? Between Heaven and Hell, we the puppets of madness and grief, woe and disbelief, cry out to the Great benevolent Puppeteer for grace. "Forgive!" is our song, "But why?" his reply.

Mere puppets are we, that hang in between.

Ambivalence displayed, she kicked back her skirt, a flirtatious grin and smile. Bright eyes cloaked cruel ill-temperament and jest her malefic nature. Puckered lips and a kiss to the camera flash acquiesce: Marilyn Monroe pose without the boobs, hips or butt. Premature, diabolical and nasty the twinkle of her eye the ebbing coals of HATES or GHANNA. She blew a kiss to the adoring crowd, waved stopped turned and posed irresistibly cute for two dozen more flashes waved again and stooped into the Limousine. Her too short skirt riding up on her loose fitting Hello Kitty panties; making an ideal photo opportunity for the perverse who mistook her for young pure innocence.

In her seat she pressed her shirt smooth against her flat chest and straitened her skirt.

"You did wonderful today sweetie!" her nervous wreck of a father said.

Ignoring him she rubbed at something on her shirt.

Smoothly the car pulled away. Her father poured a drink. "It was a good movie." he spoke of her most recent film. A family Christmas touchy, warm feeling film about Father Christmas. "You did good in it darling."

She wasn't to be amused: "It was a crappy film. A piece of shit would look good in it."

He was afraid of that and looked out the window, nervously busied himself with its controls.

"Don't talk to me." she cut him short before his next placid reply.

"OK UM..." he tapped the arm rest.

"Don't speak at all." she commanded, fuming.

Drumming his fingers, he took a sip of his drink. He took a sullen interest in the passing surroundings, the fleeting crowds, the city lights. He shook his head at the crowds that had come out to see his daughter, the young starlet of The Gold Medallion. She had grown more and more popular with her feel good movies and little song and Puppet Show on Saturday mornings, but what a contrast she was in real life! A miserable wretched little monster!

"What are you thinking?"

Her sudden question and interest in him gave him much unrest: "Oh uh nothing dear." he checked his watch, how long was the ride?

How the fans adored her! Fan letters, BLOGS, e-mails, YOUTUBE, Television, Radio and Magazine; they all confirmed her as Hollywood's little darling. A select few however, very select, and very few, knew her for what she was; ambivalent, cruel ill-tempered, malefic, a-moral: filled with a vile evil dark seed and greed, malice and decadency. Fewer still saw through her veil of deception to the warm caring being, innocent and frightened which lived deep inside her inner core. It was this fragile flower, that tender rose beneath the winter frost which her absolute nature and deep inner core creature that she was longed to kill, to be rid of, destroy, defame, disgrace.

Her thoughts spun on to Harold, the man who thought he was her father. He was doing something as usual to annoy her: "What are you doing?"

"Who me?" Harold gulped pushing the lock down on the door. He had been locking it and unlocking it idly.

"Yes you! is there anyone else back here with me?" She stood up on the seat and poked his shoulder, stooping her head at the roof, looking down at him.

"Careful darling, you should stay in your seat."

"And you should shut the hell up!" she gave him another poke for good measure, grinning down at him. "I have an idea." She saw Harold as a weak vain sycophant, incapable of action unless pushed. Oh and she would have to push him, and push him, she would.

Her father hated these moments. Sweat stained his collar, he found it difficult to breath; "KEHEM!" he tried to clear his throat.

"Let's play." She gave him no opportunity to resist. Pulling up her skirt with one hand, she slid in between his legs and retrieved his flaccid, thick cock with her other tiny hand. Its warm fleshiness lumped over the sides of her hand. Tickling his furry balls with one finger she rubbed it against her panties and her ass until life sparked into it, regardless of his will for it not to, it began to twitch, a mind of it's own.

"Oh no don't." he mumbled in pale resistance, trying not to anger her.

In reply she gripped his member tighter and turned to face it, spitting down into her hands and spreading the saliva over the length of his dick. As it grew longer and thicker, she spit more into her hands, stroking it softly, tenderly and then forceful with both hands: (SQUISH! SQUISH! SQUISH!)

He groaned, no longer able to deny the pleasure or refute her advances. his large hands gripped her little shoulders turning her around. She pulled her panties down and he poked his dick between her legs, just under her soft little pussy. Her moist mound slid over his slick lumpy phallic slide, back and forth.

She moaned, locking her ankles together, making it a tight squeeze for him to push his cock through her legs. "Oh yeah Daddy! Give it to me! Oh you feel so good Daddy! OH!" (SQUISH! SQUISH! SQUISH!)

"Oh my darling! Oh my angel!" he dribbled over her shoulder, leaning over her little form and pulling her tightly, thrusting his cock in between her legs, rubbing her hot sex pot with each stroke. (SQUISH! SQUISH! SQUISH!)

Dolphina felt the familiar warmth before eruption. she cupped her hands in front of it, capturing two of the four long hot sprays and rubbed his cock with it's own juice. Continuing to ride on it, back and forth squeezing tighter and tighter. (SQUISH! SQUASH! SQUISH! SQUASH!)

"Oh stop it baby! Stop it! OH I can't take any more!"

All of her father's protests fell on deaf ears, she was having too much fun. When she felt him ready to go again, she hopped off and turned around, slinking to her knees before him and pulling on his dick with both hands feverishly: (SQUISH! SQUASH! SQUISH! SQUASH!) until he erupted into her face, neck and shirt, shoulders and hair.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" he bemoaned his loss of character and wit yet again to his daughter.

She stood, smiling down at him: "Can I have a pony?"

"What?" where did that come from? The last pony she had, she purposefully sold to ALPO disgusted later to find out that it had NOT become dog food.

"I want a pony."

"No you don't you didn't like the last one and it is cruel what you do to animals." (It is cruel what you do to humans!" -he thought.)

"Fine." a placid expression came over her. The car rolled to a stop and she began to cry.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Don't touch me!" she screamed.

"What are you? Oh NO!" he'd seen this act before, but was powerless to stop it.

She ran out of the door, he reached after her. Standing there, in the drive way, his wife.

"OH FUCKSAKE!" he climbed out of the car, pulling his pants up.

Words like: pervert, molester, child abuse were thrown around, mixed with key phrases like "that little monster" and "evil wicked she-devil bitch" the argument ensued into the house where the phone was picked up and hung up several times.

No, Olga could not call the police. It would be the ruin of the family's fortune. If word got out to the press that Dolphina had been molested by her father, the movies would be over- or worse that the press found out how much of a tirade little brat she was, it could be just as bad. No, this would have to handled within the family.

But what could Harold (the father) do? The law was not going to protect him from her, certainly they would take her side. Everything in society was set up to protect the little ones. And that is a good thing, save when there comes along an evil seed, born to manipulate and bleed the system. She had a gift of guile and a repose of sweet innocence but she was a nocturnal bloodsucking little whore! How he loathed the sight of her! Why did Olga send him alone with his daughter in the first place, she knew what that little beast was capable of?

Evil so cruel a need so vile the law and society was not prepared for her. There was nothing authorities could do no one would listen to Harold. It was only a matter of time before charges would be set against him. In a court against that great actress, that little whore of Babylon what chance did he really have?

Harold reasoned that Olga no longer loved him, that she wanted him out of the way. Perhaps she had found another? It wouldn't be the first time for that either. What a crappy world he found himself suddenly in at the age of forty five. Who would have thought it when it all began?

No prison would not do. There he would be gang raped for being accused of molestation, beaten and dehumanized. No! No! NO! This all would have to end, and it would be on his terms.

The family wore black and turned out in three different limousines. Randal, the only son flew in from England for the day only and some photo opportunities with his Mother Olga and his elder sister Sophia, little Dolphina was by herself in most of the pictures save a few with family and here at arm's length. A flurry of press filled the grave yard and took indiscreet photos, flashes lit up the gray morning and brought down the rain. Lightning accompanied the gun salute from the marines, Harold had been a major.

The family secret was kept. It would not have been good for business to let it out. Olga was tormented by the need to get her daughter help and the need to pay huge mortgage bills and support a life style that her and her other children found most agreeable. In the end, to Dolphina's relief, she chose her human greed and needs before her daughter's and no one was told why Harold committed suicide. Only the police even knew how he had done it. "He was a depressed man." Olga told the news and media, "But he was very proud of our little Dolphina, and the joy she brings to the world though these good movies and programs."

"Harold! Alas you are dead my father... burn in hell, I wish you well." Dolphina rimed, skipping into the house, and trudging up the stairs. He was gone, but now she would have to turn her cruel intentions on another.

That night, Dolphina lay in a tub filled with bubbles. She fondly remembered playing with Harold many times there and began to touch herself with the sweet memory. By no means were there human emotions or feelings passing through her hellish veins, what pulsed in the hot waters of an evening bath was not even mortal. She relished the pain and suffering she had caused the man. How she broke his will, how she broke the man. The anguish the family was all in now, erotic.

She traced her small body with her soapy hands. "Such soft little nipples Dolphina!" she told herself playfully, "Would you like to squeeze them?" she asked herself. "OK!" she rubbed the soapy water over her small chest and plucked at her nipples, giggling with delight. Sophia had entered the bathroom to retrieve a brush, but lingered.

Dolphina noticed her from the corner of her eye. The older sister, out of basic human courtesy should have coughed, or knocked at the door, but she hadn't. When she saw that she had been spotted she should have left, but there she stood. Sophia was blush red, but she remained. "How interesting!" Dolphina thought. "Why don't you close the door sis?" she poured water out of her hands, over her breasts and looked up towards her, impressing her large innocent eyes into a purely concocted gaze.

"I came for this..." she held up the brush, blinking down into the tub, already hovering over her little sister. The water reflected off of her smooth skin, she watched the lights mingle on her shoulder.. Her soft shoulder. Shiny skin.

Dolphina took hold of Sophia's hand and brought it to her cheek. The warm water and suds trailed off her forearm and cascade down her flat chest, parting at the hard nipple and rippling the water below. She shifted under the suds and hot water, placing her body square with her sister's who squat at the edge of the tile tub, on the steps where her mother and father used to burned candles, for romance.

"Don't." Sophia breathed.

But it was too late. Dolphina knew it. She had her under the thumb. Had her sister only closed the door and left it would have been over, but she did not. Had she apologized and grabbed what she needed from the bathroom and then left it still might have been over, but she did not, no. She came in, entered at the becoming glance and now, no longer a hapless victim, she became part of Dolphina's crime.

Powerless to stop Dolphina, Sophia watched in horror as her hand was guided down the lathery, silky, smooth, form; into the hot bath water and between her little sister's legs. She tried to withdraw, but couldn't or no longer wanted to. Her finger pushed into the heat and she watched the color upon her sister's face alter. She cooed. "Happy eighteenth birthday Sophia!"

Kissing each other, Sophia climbed into the tub joining her sister. Both of their little bodies fit easily into the tub filled with soapy water. Their limbs entwined. Kissing and caressing. It would be moments before Sophia realized she was still wearing her clothes. They laughed and stripped her, together, hands eager to explore and share. Bath water splashed around in their youthful energy, and with no ending of want or depravity their lasciviousness took them to the floor where Sophia lay naked on her back, suds running down her thighs and Dolphina on all fours, over her, reversed. Her small hairless pot pushed down into her sister's face, and her mouth locked over the soft furry mound of gold beneath her. Sophia moaned and gasped. Dolphina moaned, giggled and gasped. They reveled in their delight too late realizing they were not alone.

The door was opened and their mother turned away, shocked, her pale expression and a black dress swirled into the hall.

Sophia reached up, but could not moved or cover her nakedness for her sister was on top of her: "Mom!" was all she could say.

Dolphina bit her sister's mound. "Shut up!"

"Owe!" Sophia pushed her little sister off of her and, grabbing a towel ran after Mother.

Dolphina pouted on the floor for a while, but only a while. The gears and mechanics that made up her disturbed mind were already twisting and perverting anew.

She combed her long hair, brushing out the damp snares, powdered her skin with her sister's powder and sprayed her sister's perfume on her face and neck and chest and butt. Dolphina likened it's cool touch to the dogs nose on her soft skin. She ran her small hands over her tiny frame, staring at herself in the mirror. It was unfortunate what her father had done, she had so many dark designs for their future. She pitied her sister and wondered if she would be strong enough to withstand what she had in mind for her. "Oh well!" she humdrum-ed, "Tomorrow will tell."

Her dreams that night were disturbed. She dreamed that her father had crawled out from the grave and came to her, in bed. Covered in dirt and mud he climbed on top of her. Worms crawled from his eyes, which were sewn shut, his nose and his rotted lips. His heavy weight oppressed her. She pushed at him but her hands broke through his carcase and entered his jelly like body. Maggots poured out of the hole in his chest and covered her with their wriggly cool dirty bodies, biting and burrowing into her skin. She threw her blankets off and screamed.

Covered in sweat and her small body wrecked with the shakes, she ran to her mother's room. "What is it darling?"

"Daddy! He comes for me!" she cried, climbing into bed. Not waiting for the invitation.

Olga Woodward pulled back the blankets for her daughter and held her in her arms. Guilt, concern, remorse flooded over her. But she noticed in her mixed feelings there was little compassion for her daughter. Was it because of the sex? Was it jealousy? "Hush now baby, baby don't you cry." her voice was soft and sweet even if the words of the song were melancholy, it was Dolphina's favorite song. When she was a baby, Pink Floyd's The Wall was the only thing that would make her stop crying.

Fear removed, trembling remained. Malicious timid-ness, wickedness and guileful insincerity manifested, she pulled herself closer to her mother. Snuggling tight to her warmth much like a python would it's prey.

Olga felt her little daughter, but could not feel for her. There was a wall between them but she would not identify it. When she finished with the song she asked, quietly, what had happened with Sophia earlier in the bathroom.

"I cannot blame her mother, it is I that cannot be alone."

So there it was. The fault, the blame, her husbands. That bastard was no longer here to answer for it either. If it ever got into the press, they would be ruined. No, she could not seek a psychiatrist either. This had to be handled in the house and Olga knew that she was not the match for it. She said no more, but held her daughter close and let her sleep. She honestly tried to feel something for the little brat, but couldn't.

It was funny. The little girl had millions of adoring fans, but not one member of her family could tolerate her.

Olga Vera Woodward was a handsome woman. She didn't look a day over twenty something but was actually thirty five. No matter how sour her children were, the fact remained that she was a very pretty, very rich widow and it wasn't long before men came calling. Actors were not intelligent enough for her design, and their careers to short lived to grab her attention. Agent's and producers were scum, and politicians fagots or scoundrels. However, among the later she met a gentleman named Gomez Lupine. He was a congressman from New Mexico, in town for a convention on some ridiculous radical concept of alternative power, which was meeting in Los Angeles. The two struck it off well and before long he was frequenting their manor at the Hills.

Unlike the director and agent before him, Gomez was not to be dissuaded by the miscreant brats. To his credit, Sophia and Dolphina did not find him altogether in despairing want as the others, but they still harbored him no favorable port, that was until the night after thanksgiving. Gomez had come into town to spend the weekend with Olga. She had invited him to the premier night of part two to The Golden Medallion, an anti-Christian film which her lovely daughter Dolphina had stared in. Dolphina had ruined much of a potential following in the press with her curt reply to a Christian interview: "Morality is in the hearts of men and women already, we don't need a god to tell us that!" they were not her words, but her mother's- however the producers were livid. Ticket sales had plummeted and the prospects of the third movie which was to close the trap on the author's belief, was in jeopardy. But all that aside. Gomez appeared on the red carpet with Olga and posed for pictures.