Including Me

I held my hand to my tummy as I lay on my side, imagining the life I knew was growing in there stirring along with me as the first hints of morning light felt their way through the room, throwing little splashes of colour here and there and I opened my eyes a fraction, closed them again to sleep some more.

A hand snaked over my hip, felt up and down my thigh. Pushed my top leg forward slightly, ran behind and under it, cupping me. A finger stretched in and started to run up and down, from my clit to my vulva and back again. I lubricated against the intrusion, making the tip of the finger slick. The finger dipped inside me an inch, pulsed as I inhaled sharply, my body stirring against the demand, the intention.

The finger withdrew from my pussy and the hand swept north under the covers, over my form, until the finger reappeared beneath my nose. The sweet scent of my juice rippled in my nostrils. I opened my mouth and sucked onto the finger, swirling my tongue over it, around it, savouring the flavour, tasting my lust.

Another arm slid underneath my neck, a body pressed itself against my back. Lower down an engorged monster announced itself, ready to invade me and have me and fill my defenceless hole. It was large too I knew, seven or eight inches at least not that I'd measured it but it was big and for a moment I remembered how it had hurt the first time I took it inside me, a sharp, blinding flash of pain that had taken fully a minute, a determined minute to subside.

I'd known then that I was going to be used by this beast, to provide it with every release it wanted, until I had what I needed. Now I would permit it this one final opportunity to ravage me, to flood my womb with its no longer needed delivery of life creating sperm. By the end of the day I'd be gone, and his child with me.

He had me rolling over onto my front now, the weight of his body forcing me and it was always that way. He didn't ask for permission, he simply assumed that I would do whatever he wanted. I'd certainly never given him reason to think otherwise, and I doubt the other sluts he fucked resisted much either, not the regular ones, the opportunity lays, the ones I knew about, the ones I didn't. My father was a machine, an arrogant, uncaring machine and when he was turned on, he didn't expect to be argued with.

He positioned himself between my legs and I gasped into my pillow as I felt him press against my hole. Held up on his left elbow, he'd rolled my neck onto his left hand and now he wrapped his fingers around my throat. I felt my hair being wrapped in a loop around his right hand so that my whole head was taut between the one hand choking me and the other pulling at my hair.

His alcohol soaked breath bathed my left cheek as he lowered his head and grunted in my ear. At the same moment he thrust forward, controlled but malevolent in his ingracious entry. My pussy walls spasmed against him, relented, let more in, spasmed again. My hands clawed at the pillows, grabbed at the bars at the head of his ratty bed.

My father didn't know too much about cleaning. I'd done some since I arrived, but it was always fighting against the tide. I'd attend to the worst of it, but the state of the place really reflected our relationship quite well. Unclean. Sordid. Dangerous, even. But being a shameful, horny receptacle for my father's insatiable lust worked just fine for me. Passing the days, weeks and months in his shitty home, servicing him in ways I couldn't have conceived before I found myself in this situation.

My body felt crushed beneath his weight, my slight frame no match for his broad, muscular bulk. His hips rocked and rolled his thick, veiny shaft as he pounded me relentlessly, each throbbing movement inflaming my passage, stretched out around him, and alternately sending dizzied sparks to my brain on the way in and the briefest respite on the way out while my insides begged to be filled again.

His pace was still slow but as he continued to grip my airway I struggled to breath and I didn't care as long as he kept fucking into my desperate whore cunt, the moans I had no control over becoming high pitched whines at his incessant ploughing. My body did everything it could to move with him, to assist him in any way of his assertion of dominance over it. My back arched, my legs tried to hook around the back of his knees to pull him into me. My muscles squeezed at his length, sucking, pulling, anything to have him inside me, keep him inside me, to submit and be his.

He was that kind of man and I wasn't surprised at how much female attention he got. He didn't really have to try. He wasn't charming. He wasn't a rogue, though he was unkempt, sometimes to the point of slovenly. He wasn't a funny guy despite a certain dark wit, or even particularly interesting, not that he was at all stupid. He just had that thing, whatever it was, and women wanted him.

I'd felt it too, as soon as I met him and he'd taken my virginity within an hour of that moment. What he'd have done if I'd have carried out my intention of revealing my identity I have no idea, we'd never know now anyway. He'd never know that he'd made his teenage daughter his live in slut. He'd never know that he'd used his little girl like a worthless piece of trash, a cum rag. And he'd never know that she'd decided she wanted him to impregnante her within minutes of meeting him, and now after just a few months in which all self respect had been shed, she had realised that aim.

And now he'd never know that it his baby girl that would today disappear from his life forever. All he'd know was that another cunt had disappeared, doubtless he'd replace it with minimal fuss and he'd care little about that, or more likely not at all. He was that kind of man.

He was pulling himself up now, pulling back slowly from me and I pushed with my arms to raise up with him onto my hands and knees. Grateful for the extra air, I had been spacing out and he could probably suffocate me and I wouldn't have minded, when it was like that I was in a trance and if he killed me while fucking me then I guess was his choice, that's how it felt in the moment, at least. But he didn't and I breathed a deep lungful of air as I squeezed even harder on him, telling him I was his whatever position he wanted me in or what he wanted me to do, or to do to me.

Now he had let go of my throat but still had my hair and he pulled my body onto his enraged cock. I fought to keep my neck strong and stop my head from raising back, ensuring all the force he exerted on my hair was transferred along my chest and torso straight onto the join between us. Just pulling now, and he made little circles with his hips so that my rear danced below him.

I'd danced with him that first day and it hadn't been my choice, it was his. Approaching him in that bar had taken all the steel I could muster and I had planned and rehearsed what I'd say to him, all lines about how to prepare him for a shock and telling him how it had come about that I found out he was my real father and what had transpired between my mother and him. I never got the chance. When I approached him and he turned, I was caught in the furnace of his gaze, that shaggy dark hair and those piercing blue eyes and my mouth refused to work.

Before I could recollect my senses he'd swept a powerful arm around me and was pulling me to the dance floor, where dozens of drunken revellers made a human mass that swallowed us up and there, surrounded by people yet in complete privacy, my father pressed me into him.

Holding me to him with one strong hand on my rear he used his spare arm to pull one of mine up around his neck. Almost as a reflex I raised the other arm to hang on to him as he spun, swinging me around with him as easily as if I weighed nothing at all as his other arm embraced me about my shoulders, encouraging my arms to stay at his neck.

Giggling despite myself, I found I felt I had always known this man, for all his face betrayed nothing. No smile, no hint of feeling. Yet I intimately understood that we belonged together. And his lower hand gripped at my cheeks possessively. That was the moment probably, I could have reacted to that, said something, stopped him. But I was too far gone already and I did nothing to prevent him holding me that way and as he pulled my right leg across his left thigh to grind into my snatch in time with the music I surrendered to him, with a blank mind I gave up any pretence at resistance and let myself be had.

He'd held his nose to my cheek, tracing a spot up and down just in front of my ear and it had tickled so nice. Then he dipped to move his nose down and nuzzle in behind my ear, as the stubble on his jowl scratched roughly across my cheek. He'd kissed me then, planting his lips on my neck and sucking softly and I melted inside. My arms tightened about his neck and he knew he had me then.

The hand on my behind shifted down and his fingers tractored the back of my dress upwards and I must have been plenty wet just then because he'd slipped his finger right up to my slit and with little circles it was working its way inside me and lights flashed in my eyes and the beat of the music pulsed through his finger, shooting pleasure directly into me, my suddenly ravenous hole feeding the pleasure instantly to my brain which in turn demanded more. My pussy acceded by squeezing at the welcome intruder and he worked further in as he continued to suck at my neck and I held on tight with my arms and let him have full access to anything he wanted.

And then he realised I was a virgin and he knew exactly what he was going to do with me, this girl half his age that he'd met barely five minutes ago and he let go so that I almost sobbed and dragged my by the hand and right then I understood what we were going to do and I decided right there and then that I would deny him nothing. Because I knew what I wanted and it was not for this horrifying human being to be a father to me. I wanted him to use me in whatever way he desired, so long as it resulted in one thing. I wanted my father to make a baby in me.

That was on my eighteenth birthday.

My father relaxed his grip on my hair and stopped rotating his hips, now holding his penis motionless inside me. I had no control but kept clenching on him gently, knowing when he wanted me to hold still for him that I must do my best. SMACK! My left cheek went white in my mind and he never held back when he wanted to use pain, my pain, to enhance his pleasure.

He quickly switched my hair to his other hand and followed up with a blow to the other cheek. I was more prepared but it still smarted sorely. My cheeks burned sharply in contrast to the flood in my pussy. The distinction of the pain heightened the sensation of pleasure and I shuddered with a low, uncontrolled utterance that announced my orgasm.

His right hand closed around my throat once more and he released my hair in order to grip the join between my belly and left thigh, for purchase, as he began to slam rapidly into me, quickly finding a rhythm as each penetration sent a shockwave through my body, causing my small tits to ripple and forcing my throat into his big, steady hand. It felt like each one was a separate mini climax and I belonged to him, in this moment I was a thing, a hunk of flesh for him to wrap around his cock and fuck onto it and more than anything I desired to be that empty piece of meat for him to massage his cum bloated dick with and spray himself into at his will.

I wasn't going to miss my father. He'd been no kind of Dad to me, he refused to acknowledge he had a daughter by my mother, didn't care an ounce whether I lived or died. Knew nothing about me. Couldn't even see the resemblance he bore to his new fuck toy. He wasn't an observant man unless he had to be, I knew that much.

He could smell a vulnerable young girl from across the room, could pick out the actions and nuances required to turn her into a helpless victim to his sexual advances. No problem with his perceptions there. Identifying that it was his own progeny that he'd been banging senseless for three months, not a whisper of cognition.

He was a special class of bastard, and serving his unbridled sexual demand filled me to overflowing with the want, the need to sink lower and lower, to shed all self respect and be used at his whim at any time and in any way. To have no thought to his lack of consideration or fidelity, these qualities only serving to augment the depravity that fed my desire. No room to think of the future, of what my life might be. He was my father and I was his whore and that was all that mattered.

Until one day it wasn't all that mattered.

That day came later though. I had gotten my period two or three weeks after my birthday, the first night with my father. The night he'd rushed me home, keeping me to the point of delirium with his spare hand as he drove. Had me on his bed no sooner we were through the door and his penis pressed up against my unbroken hymen in no time at all. His girth was uncomfortable, then it was painful. Until that moment neither of us had spoken a single word. At least I broke the silence as he pushed the end of his cock against my cherry.

"Please..."

Whether he knew or cared whether I was asking him to do it or stop was quickly moot. His hand closed around my neck, with his thumb he turned my head to the side and he leaned forward and bit firmly onto my earlobe. As a gasp escaped from my mouth he pushed hard against my maidenhead, and my eyes wide, I felt a tear inside me. A small tear, then pain, blinding pain.

He'd teach me pain later that made this seem insignificant by comparison, but it was enough. And then he stopped, gently releasing my ear and loosing his hold on my throat. Shushing me and telling me the pain was done now and it would start to feel good soon. He waited and listened to me whimper and sob, and then when I subsided he made the smallest movement inside me the pain was further away, more of an ebb now.

He found my lips with his and kissed me, our first kiss, and the feeling was more than enough to put the embers of the pain into perspective. I kissed back, feeling love and need and submission. We kept kissing for a long time it seemed, and I felt comforted and reassured and I tentatively wrapped my arms around him and began to relax. Still kissing, our lips rocking gently against each other at his lead and I followed contentedly, starting to enjoy my first kiss so much that I almost didn't realise that he was making little movements inside of me. I was going to let him do whatever he wanted, I knew.

I'd had a chance to grow accustomed to the size of him and the pain of the tear and he was doing everything so slowly that I didn't even realise that he'd submerged himself further inside me. Not until at last he broke the kiss and moved his head up just enough to study my eyes. My mouth hung limply open for a moment, already missing the kiss, when his rocking motions increased and despite a little residual soreness I began to feel little jabs of pleasure with each one. My breathing quickened, coming out in short little gasps and I liked this, I was through the tough part and starting to see that having a man inside you was even better than I could have imagined. I started to moan.

As if a dam had burst, be began thrusting into me more earnestly and I could barely keep up but I certainly didn't want him to stop. My short little moans without had no intention or control, it seemed that I was beyond my own ability to affect and I didn't feel the least worried about that. My only concern was to be here where I was now, to allow him to continue, to be taken in this way and to experience these sensations. Again and again, I couldn't keep count of the number of times he pushed himself into me and I wasn't trying anyway.

I pulled softly with my hands on his back and he moved a hand behind my head on one side, dropping his head on the other to lick and suck at my neck. My legs instinctively hooked over his calves as the waves of pleasure began to crash through me as he used his whole body to push up and down against me, his penis buried fully inside me and just making me feel incredible deep within and then suddenly he seized up and held me tightly, one arm behind my neck and the other reaching down to grab my right cheek and it seemed like his penis was pulsing but other than that he was just pushing himself at me.

I caught my breath and continued to hold him, waiting for him to take the lead again. The pulsing subsided presently and he lifted his head and began to withdraw slowly from inside me. I pressed with my arms, I didn't want him to pull out. I loved this feeling of being stuffed full of him, like it was what I was made for and being empty would never be quite the same again. Nonetheless he continued to withdraw slowly and, ultimately, he exited me. Without ado he rolled off and lay beside me, facing up.

Tucking an arm under my neck he pulled me round so that my head lay in his armpit and I let my left leg cross over his left so that I was lying against him, and he fished for the cover and drew it over us. Judging by the sound of his breathing he was asleep within a minute, but I lay there basking, wondering and at points leaking little bits of his sperm from my no longer virgin pussy while much of it remained inside me, potent and wriggling, searching, ambivalent to the similarity of genetic code any egg if discovered might have.

But my period came on schedule a couple of weeks later. In those weeks my father rapidly turned from a lover to a user. The diligence he'd paid that first night was, it turned out, reserved for the deflowering act, designed to engender in me a state of sexual and emotional dependence him. The next morning he held me as the TV droned but showed little interest in precipitating conversation, then he went out early in the afternoon, leaving me alone and unsure of where I stood, only returning shortly before midnight.

I had drifted off some time before and was awoken to him climbing onto me, the reek of liquor about him. Foggy headed, naive and by then already keen for the connection of the previous evening, I again gave him every encouragement and was rewarded with a close and hard fuck that sent my mind blank and required me to simply hold on, to perform my function as the one being fucked and accept that as my place. I did so all too easily and without reservation. My father humped at me mercilessly for half an hour and I reached my first orgasm under his punishment, and uncertainty I'd had during the day was washed away with the power of that climax. I was amazed at the pure power he exerted over me and perhaps I was in love with him or perhaps it was something else but I was rambling over and over again that I loved him and he knew he had me.

The pattern was quickly set then. Often he'd be out for long hours, sometimes overnight. He might leave money and specify things he wanted me to get and I dutifully went shopping. I made efforts to clean, I went for long walks and runs. I made a habit of doing things that required me to go out in the early evening once I realised he was never home between mid afternoon and late evening. I didn't want to miss any opportunity for attention from him.

Sometimes he'd fuck me in the morning and I liked that, because afterwards I'd lie in his arms and we'd watch TV and it almost felt like there was something there, like we were a real family. Only my pussy was a mix of our juices and sometimes he'd play with my tits or we'd kiss, or he'd push my head down to his crotch and I'd suck the mess off it and bring him to another climax and savour the strange, salty taste of his cum. But even still it felt like family at those times, like I could pretend he loved me. Pretend we loved each other.