Disgusting Story: Fucked by Me Father on Valentine's Day
All characters are over the age of 18 years. The story takes place in Ireland, England, and Spain. Irish vernacular is involved, these words are not grammatical errors or typos.
MUM'S MISTAKE AND MY BEGINNING
Let me tell ya right off. I'm Irish. If ya don't like it, ya can go fuck yourselves. I've been on my own most of me life. Hard times and easy times, I survived. When my brain couldn't solve problems, I used my body.
Please don't ask me about me father. I never knew my friggen Da. As far as I knew, he left town as soon as me Mum told the bastard that I was arriving. About the only thing I knew about him was his name, Seamus Cadell. My father, as listed on my birth certificate.
It's a sordid tale of the seduction of a young woman who had too much to drink. The event leading to my creation took place on the evening of Valentine's Day. My Mum knew little about him other than he was a newcomer to the city with a wispy mustache and reddish sideburns. A good looking young bartender at The Temple Bar near Ha'penny Bridge, Dublin. It's a pub where Mum and her friends would hang out and listen to Irish folk music and smoke cigarets. Mum had one picture of Seamus Cadell, standing behind the bar, looking cocksure with long hair like a rocker musician.
One night me Mum got drunk on "Looney Soup." That's the name the locals called "Woodpecker Hard Cider." They'd call it that because if you drank a few pints, you were bound to do something foolish. Mum doesn't remember much about that night. She recalled the friendly bartender invited her into the cellar after hours, a dark, damp place where the heavy metal kegs of Guinness and other Irish beers were stored. He kept kissing her and grabbing at her tits. Mum had enormous mammaries, as do I. Men are always hitting on big breasted girls. She let him touch her titties, but then He kept reaching for her pussy. Finally, she felt sick from the drink, pulled away, leaned over a cold keg, and vomited.
Seamus used that inauspicious moment to lift up her dress, pull down her knickers, and the next thing she knew, the bloke had jiggled or screwed his big cock right into her keepsake. Even though she felt sick, having his dick filling her so tightly up gave her the impression of peace and security. Unfortunately, that sensation would not last much longer. She said nothing as he satisfied himself.
Once finished fucking, his task done. He lifted Mum from the floor, used a damp beer rag to wipe off her face, and admonished her for drinking so much.
"It'll get you into trouble," were his parting words.
That's all she knew. When her friends got home, she was still dripping gobs of cum out of her pussy. She realized her seducer was a good Catholic. Father Brown had cautioned the girls not to allow the boys to use condoms or they'd burn in hell for sure. Her period, as regular as the moonrise, stopped coming by next month. Mum was pregnant. Despite what her brother told her to do, she kept the baby, giving birth to me just before Christmas at The Rotunda Hospital over on Parnell Street.
It was a place unwed mothers often ended up. She rolled me home in an old baby carriage that the McMally's lent her brother Sean. Of course, we were the scandal of the neighborhood. When Mum would take me to the park, the other mothers would get up, collect their kids, and walk away. My childhood passed quickly, all in a blur. Eventually, though not forgotten, I was accepted as the black sheep in the neighborhood.
I don't remember much of the early years. I recall birthday visits made to the zoo. Sometimes Uncle Sean and his son would accompany us for a picnic lunch in the park. I got a ride on the Elephant, that was fun. Another time we were admiring the llamas, and the nasty critters spit at us with foul-smelling chud.
A few years later, Mom met and married Jason Pennysnap, an Irish-Australian who'd come home after making a bit of money in the down-under. They were married on a trip they took to London. The family kept my origin a secret, pretending I was adopted. They said I was an out of wedlock babe from a relative. He never knew who my mother was.
Mum went on to four more kids with him. I was the official babysitter, but it won me no privileges. I always felt I was the odd one. He who should have been my step dad treated me like unpaid hired help. It didn't help my self-esteem growing up.
Jason was a penny pincher, well named, he'd buy all the dented food cans at half price and expect us to eat them. He never paid much attention to me and would pull me plate away if I wasn't dining fast enough and give it to his dog.
"Too slow it's gotta go," he'd chant.
Most of the year, we lived on potatoes and discolored cheap cuts of meat, often foul-tasting and gamey, that he scavenged from the butchers.
Most of the years, before my menstrual cycle began, are a blur. I hardly remember anything. When I was 14 years old, I dropped out of school and took the ferry to Great Britain. I found odd delivery jobs before hired as a maid for an elderly lady who treated me well. I worked for five years for Mrs. Harris. When she died, I was 19 years old. Her death was the end for me. She left me a stipend in her will of 500 Euros.
ADDICTION AND PROSTITUTION
Once more, I was on my own again. I started making mistakes. I began consorting with the wrong people, drinking too much, smoking reefers. Stupidly, I tried a free sample of crack cocaine. The experience was unforgettable, it was as if the back of my head opened up, and every trouble or concern spilled out. Unfortunately, in subsequent attempts to repeat the profound ecstasy of that first taste, I was never able to achieve the same high. Pursuing the dark dragon had its consequences. Before I knew it, I was addicted.
By the time my stipend had run out, the crack dealer had suggested I turn a few tricks to support my habit. I foolishly took that road. Of course, he was the first one to fuck me. He reneged on the deal to give me two lumps and handed me only one.
"That fuck was worth only one. You didn't even suck my cock," the dealer said while pissing.
I learned right then, you can't satisfy everyone, and you get paid before you spread your legs. Up to then, I was giving sex away for free. It made sense that I might as well get paid for it.
I started as a streetwalker, but I was smacked around by other girls and their pimps who resented me standing on their territory. Within a few months, I ended up being run by a knife-wielding Turkish pimp who offered protection. It was three other girls and myself. When I told the Turk how the drug dealer shorted me, he cut a long scar in the guy's cheek.
We lived in a caravan in a horrible area alongside refugees who didn't speak our language. The Turk handled the negotiations and pocketed the profits. Even though the men were wearing ragged clothing, they somehow found the money to have sex. Being an attractive young woman with long legs and red hair, I was their fantasy fuck. They wore out my pussy, often ten or more times a night. I had no choice but to submit or be beaten. Since I was in a drug-induced stupor most of the time, I just laid there. They'd pinch my tits and fuck me raw.
One thing I'll say for the Turk, he made sure most of them wore condoms. He'd tell them if they didn't, they'd catch something and take it back to their wives. Another thing he taught us had to do with the older men who had trouble ejaculating. For a man to fail at sex was a terrible thing in their world. He taught us to put a finger in their assholes to help get them off. I guess it had something to do with their prostates. He always had these baby wipes on the side of the bed so we could clean our hands. I thought the whole thing was unpleasant, but my finger did save the day for frustrated elders trying to be young again. There is nothing sadder than the expression on the face of a man who can't finish after he starts to have sex.
ESCAPE WITH A BAND OF HIPPIES
On a stroll down Penny Lane, one Sunday, I met a college boy, Charles Hopkins. He told me a bunch of college kids had bought an old bus and were heading to Spain for the summer holidays. He invited me to join them. Of course, I wanked him off in an alley to keep on his right side. I thought this was my chance to break away from being controlled by Mustafa, my Turkish pimp.
I met Charles a week later at a designated spot. I had stopped smoking black tar (crack). I suffered, but I was able to break the addiction. I sweated it out on the trip. We took a ferry to the continent. Everyone on board was drunk on French cognac or beer. One of Charles's friends, Alex, bought me dinner and drinks. I let him fuck me in a lifeboat.
The bus kept breaking down. After several days, we finally arrived at Fisterra. This peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic had become a hippy colony. Its sandy beach was beautiful. The nearby forest was green with pine trees and lush vegetation. Indeed, it was God's country.
Of course, I had to deal with Charles wanting to fuck me every day and then discretely sharing me with his friends. I had little choice, but they fed me and looked after me. Once the tourist season was over, the students headed back to England. I stayed on. I was successfully giving up drugs. Life in Spain, though cheap, still required money. Once summer turned to winter, I had to do something or starve to death.
