deepundergroundpoetry.com
The First Time
WARNING
The following contains aspects of abuse, paedophilia and rape. If you are easily offended please do not continue reading.
I heard the door slam and his voice calling out that he wasn't going to be long. I didn't care how long he was going to be away for, just the fact that he was out of the house. I knew there would be a price to pay later, there always was, but for a few blessed hours the house was just mine and Peters.
He said that the first thing we ought to do was to see if we could find anything to eat, we had only had a couple of biscuits recently and he said he was worried that I was loosing weight. The cupboards were quite literally bare, not even an out-of-date can of beans left in them. The fridge proved to be no better, just a half pint of milk and about a dozen cans of beer. I took a little sip of the milk, I couldn't dare take too much or else he would notice, and carefully replaced it, Peter having said he wasn't thirsty. I did what I always did when things became this bad, I took a small handful of the dog biscuits. It always amazed me that there was never anything to eat in the house for me, but that devil dog never went without. I knew he had food up in his room, he had kept it locked away ever since I ate the last slice of bread a few months ago. He did feed me occasionally, if he remembered or was too drunk to think straight, the best being if he had stopped at the chippy on his way home from the pub. He would slump into his squalid chair, eat about half and then fall sound asleep. I ate like a king then, because he would never remember how much he himself had managed, but lately he seemed to have stopped the habit.
Peter suggested that we could use the time to play hide and seek and it felt wonderful to have virtually the whole house to ourselves. The dog was locked out in the garden but scratched angrily at the door every time I went past. I hated that beast but Peter wasn't at all frightened and spent some time deliberately kicking the door just to annoy him. It soon passed though, this freedom, it always did. As soon as the clock said eleven, we shot back upstairs making sure all the lights were out. On the way, Peter thought it would be funny if we locked the door and, maybe, he would be too drunk to undo it and just sleep on the doorstep. I could but hope.
*****************************************************************
I am a God. He decided that was the phrase that best described him. He slowly drew out each syllable, playing with the sounds. I...am...a...God! The more he repeated it, the more he liked it. It sounded good and somehow made him feel powerful. It felt so good that the familiar tingling sensation began in his groin. He ordered another pint with a whisky chaser, leering down the top of the young barmaid as he paid and she, the bitch, simpered coyly back! He would certainly love to give her one, for starters. He could just picture her, legs spread wide open, begging him for it. She smiled at him again, if only she could see the vision he could, she'd shit herself with fright. On second thought, probably not, though because he reckoned she was a right little slut on the quiet. Nice full tits, too. She handed him his change and walked away to serve another customer, shuddering with a disgust he didn't see.
He hadn't intended to stay in the pub for so long. Someone had come in and he'd started talking, you know how it is, the time just simply slipped by. It was only when the landlord called for "last orders" that got him moving. Not that he was drunk, oh no, he'd certainly had a few, but he could still walk in straight line. He wouldn't have fancied having to drive home though, in his condition. He was, what was the expression? Ah, yes. 'comfortably numb,' that was it. Still, the rain had stopped, leaving a pleasantly warm evening and the walk would do him good.
He strolled slowly, swaying slightly but deliberately not hurrying through the sleek, wet streets. Pools of soft light from curtained windows reflected off the puddles. It was far too nice an evening to rush and he paused under a street lamp to light a cigarette. A vague memory of a TV ad came to him, one from back in the days before tobacco advertising was banned. He'd always enjoyed that commercial; the mysterious man in the dark trench-coat lighting up, his features mostly hidden by the brim of his hat and the hands that cupped the lighted match. He had an aura about him, the man on the screen, a figure of power and confidence. As he lit up his own cigarette, he liked to think he portrayed the same image.
His house was in darkness when he finally got there ans he cursed softly under his breath as he fumbled with the key. Why did the little bastard always do it when he knew he'd be coming home? Fair enough, he had said he wasn't going to be long, but a man's entitled to a bit of leeway sometimes, isn't he? A boiling knot of anger began to form in his chest and, feeling it there, just fed his irritation. The bastard could have at least left the outside light on for him, couldn't he? Why did he have to deliberately wind him up like that? The key finally turned in the lock, but he pushed too hard at the door and almost fell into the darkened hallway. Stumbling along, he tripped over something and did fall this time, his bellowed expletives filling the silent house. Getting to his feet and rubbing his shin, he saw the offending object was the dogs bed and he kicked out at it in fury.
***************************************************************************
I deliberately didn't turn the light on at the top at the stairs, praying desperately that he wouldn't notice me and that he might slink off to his chair and fall asleep. I tentatively looked down and could see his face staring back, contorted by rage. My heart started to flutter wildly as the familiar terror engulfed me, a low moan, resigned moan barely escaping my lips. He was charging up the stairs towards me, snorting with fury, resembling an enraged bull. Even from yards away, I could smell the alcohol fumes on his breath and the stale tobacco odour clinging to his suit. Then came the usual pain as he seized me by the hair and half dragged, half threw me down the staircase.
"Dad!" I wailed, "Please dad, you promised!"
The sound of my voice only seemed to serve to infuriate him more and his fist landed squarely into my face, without him even needing to turn to look at me.
What frightened me the most at such times was the cruel, methodical way he went about the beatings. The rage was there, certainly, I could read him like a book, but there appeared to be no loss of control. If anything it was the reverse, he seemed to posses too much control, the blows too deliberate to be human. They weren't the actions of an angry man just simply lashing out, it was a more calculated cruelty. I lost track of time as I slipped in and out of consciousness. It could have taken a minute or an hour, I could never really tell. My whole world was encompassed by the pain, by the sickening noise of fist hitting tender flesh and the rasp of his breathing. He didn't say a word throughout, well, nothing that wasn't disgusting or degrading.
Finally he grew tired and let me be. I heard him walk through to the kitchen, heard the sound of the kettle filling and the gas being lit. I lay still, clasping my knees and trying my hardest to not sob. I was determined not to allow him the satisfaction. The kettle began to sing as the water boiled and she heard the sound of pouring and the soft 'thunk' of the fridge door closing. He appeared in the doorway carrying a mug of tea in one hand and the kettle in the other. His face was an inscrutable mask, his anger appearing under control again He placed the mug beside me on the floor but I made the mistake of glancing at it. I remember his laughter as I passed into peaceful oblivion, the boiling water pouring down my legs.
********************************************************************
With the greatest care, the he placed one hand on each of the boy’s perfect, hairless little ass cheeks. Leaning forward very slowly as he spread them, he closed his eyes and took in the sweet scent of youth. He spat on one hand and lathered it across his cock, making sure to spread it thoroughly over the entire shaft and, with his cock now nice and wet, he shifted his body up by sliding across the boy’s naked back. The child was shaking now with fear, and his crying was growing more pronounced even though he was doing a brave job of trying to contain it.
Like an achievement of epic, dreamlike proportions, considering his drunken state, he felt his cock head come into contact with the boy’s ass cheeks. He almost wanted to cum right then and there, but he held back and simply enjoyed the sensations while he allowed himself to calm down a bit. For a while he just focused on his breathing, listening to the boy’s own quickened pace of breath beneath him, and the occasional sniffle. A smile, a great and terrible smile, spread across his face so slowly it was like ecstasy in itself.
Once again he spread his young son’s ass cheeks and, there it was, that perfect little hole, quivering and glistening in anticipation of his adult cock. The man placed his cock head against that asshole and the boy jumped again. Taking a deep breath and holding it, the man began to push ever so slightly, gradually increasing pressure one tiny bit at a time. Very slowly the boy’s sphincter began to stretch, and he felt the tiniest tip of his dick enter the wonderful warmth. Heaven.
In a slow and loving press he entered his cock into the boy’s ass, and even as he cried out in a groan of ecstasy the boy cried out a sob of pain. It was such a beautiful sound, he came close to orgasm again, but he managed to hold himself together, and watched in joy as he pressed the rest of his cock slowly inward. Fraction by tiny fraction he slowly entered the boy as deeply as he was able, observing that little pucker stretched around his cock as he pressed further in. Glistening spit shone bright points of light as he watched, until finally they were visible no more as the very base of his cock rested snugly in that perfect little hole. The boy sobbed several more times, and the he could not be happier than he was at that moment.
He slowly pulled back until only half his cock was inside, then pressed forward again to the hilt. It was so far beyond perfect, he doubted he would ever be able to explain to another person even if he had the chance. Again he pulled back, a bit more quickly, and pressed inward to the hilt. With each pull outward the boy gasped, and with each inward thrust he boy gave a little whimpering grunt. He could see tears pooling up under his sons face and dripping down his chin.
Gradually now he began to pick up speed, pulling out and pressing back inward with greater energy. He could feel the interior walls of his son’s ass pulling against his cock, brushing their delicate perfection against his cock in the sweetest embrace the universe might offer. Silk could not compare to this, it was too course and raw and imperfect. More and more he picked up speed, until finally he was fucking the little boy like a piston, moving in and out with precision and power. The boy was sobbing openly now, giving a great grunt every time he landed his weight on him again. In and out his cock went, he was in heaven and part of him wanted to die right now so he wouldn’t have to live life without this sensation. Nothing after this would ever be enough for him. He slammed his cock home, grunting to himself now with the effort of his love, pounding the boy so he would never be able to forget his first rape. It was so good, it was so perfect, and he could feel the orgasm building deep within him. He didn’t stop it, this was exacting perfection and he wanted to enjoy the final moments without concern. His orgasm built as he continued to ram his cock through the interior of the his little boy’s ass. Then it came.
Groaning and crying out in ecstasy, he felt his semen shoot through every inch of his cock like his nerve endings were on fire, and spray the inside of his son wantonly. He slammed his cock home one more time, twitching as he fired spurt after spurt into the child. It was the greatest orgasm of his life, and he would never have another like it; all his feeling seemed like it was in that boy’s ass, being fired up into the boy’s intestines to stay forever. The boy sobbed several times, only enhancing the sensations of this perfect orgasm. Finally done, he collapsed onto the boy and allowed himself to drift off into a drunken stupor.
*******************************************************
Peter sat and cried with me, whispering sounds of comfort and love. I would become so used to the abuse that I would almost laugh in their faces in the future but, for now, I laid there and sobbed my heart out.
I was six.
I / He / We ( Reworked from various scribblings – 11.07.2012 )
www.nspcc.org.uk Call 0808 800 5000
www.lanternproject.org.uk
The following contains aspects of abuse, paedophilia and rape. If you are easily offended please do not continue reading.
I heard the door slam and his voice calling out that he wasn't going to be long. I didn't care how long he was going to be away for, just the fact that he was out of the house. I knew there would be a price to pay later, there always was, but for a few blessed hours the house was just mine and Peters.
He said that the first thing we ought to do was to see if we could find anything to eat, we had only had a couple of biscuits recently and he said he was worried that I was loosing weight. The cupboards were quite literally bare, not even an out-of-date can of beans left in them. The fridge proved to be no better, just a half pint of milk and about a dozen cans of beer. I took a little sip of the milk, I couldn't dare take too much or else he would notice, and carefully replaced it, Peter having said he wasn't thirsty. I did what I always did when things became this bad, I took a small handful of the dog biscuits. It always amazed me that there was never anything to eat in the house for me, but that devil dog never went without. I knew he had food up in his room, he had kept it locked away ever since I ate the last slice of bread a few months ago. He did feed me occasionally, if he remembered or was too drunk to think straight, the best being if he had stopped at the chippy on his way home from the pub. He would slump into his squalid chair, eat about half and then fall sound asleep. I ate like a king then, because he would never remember how much he himself had managed, but lately he seemed to have stopped the habit.
Peter suggested that we could use the time to play hide and seek and it felt wonderful to have virtually the whole house to ourselves. The dog was locked out in the garden but scratched angrily at the door every time I went past. I hated that beast but Peter wasn't at all frightened and spent some time deliberately kicking the door just to annoy him. It soon passed though, this freedom, it always did. As soon as the clock said eleven, we shot back upstairs making sure all the lights were out. On the way, Peter thought it would be funny if we locked the door and, maybe, he would be too drunk to undo it and just sleep on the doorstep. I could but hope.
*****************************************************************
I am a God. He decided that was the phrase that best described him. He slowly drew out each syllable, playing with the sounds. I...am...a...God! The more he repeated it, the more he liked it. It sounded good and somehow made him feel powerful. It felt so good that the familiar tingling sensation began in his groin. He ordered another pint with a whisky chaser, leering down the top of the young barmaid as he paid and she, the bitch, simpered coyly back! He would certainly love to give her one, for starters. He could just picture her, legs spread wide open, begging him for it. She smiled at him again, if only she could see the vision he could, she'd shit herself with fright. On second thought, probably not, though because he reckoned she was a right little slut on the quiet. Nice full tits, too. She handed him his change and walked away to serve another customer, shuddering with a disgust he didn't see.
He hadn't intended to stay in the pub for so long. Someone had come in and he'd started talking, you know how it is, the time just simply slipped by. It was only when the landlord called for "last orders" that got him moving. Not that he was drunk, oh no, he'd certainly had a few, but he could still walk in straight line. He wouldn't have fancied having to drive home though, in his condition. He was, what was the expression? Ah, yes. 'comfortably numb,' that was it. Still, the rain had stopped, leaving a pleasantly warm evening and the walk would do him good.
He strolled slowly, swaying slightly but deliberately not hurrying through the sleek, wet streets. Pools of soft light from curtained windows reflected off the puddles. It was far too nice an evening to rush and he paused under a street lamp to light a cigarette. A vague memory of a TV ad came to him, one from back in the days before tobacco advertising was banned. He'd always enjoyed that commercial; the mysterious man in the dark trench-coat lighting up, his features mostly hidden by the brim of his hat and the hands that cupped the lighted match. He had an aura about him, the man on the screen, a figure of power and confidence. As he lit up his own cigarette, he liked to think he portrayed the same image.
His house was in darkness when he finally got there ans he cursed softly under his breath as he fumbled with the key. Why did the little bastard always do it when he knew he'd be coming home? Fair enough, he had said he wasn't going to be long, but a man's entitled to a bit of leeway sometimes, isn't he? A boiling knot of anger began to form in his chest and, feeling it there, just fed his irritation. The bastard could have at least left the outside light on for him, couldn't he? Why did he have to deliberately wind him up like that? The key finally turned in the lock, but he pushed too hard at the door and almost fell into the darkened hallway. Stumbling along, he tripped over something and did fall this time, his bellowed expletives filling the silent house. Getting to his feet and rubbing his shin, he saw the offending object was the dogs bed and he kicked out at it in fury.
***************************************************************************
I deliberately didn't turn the light on at the top at the stairs, praying desperately that he wouldn't notice me and that he might slink off to his chair and fall asleep. I tentatively looked down and could see his face staring back, contorted by rage. My heart started to flutter wildly as the familiar terror engulfed me, a low moan, resigned moan barely escaping my lips. He was charging up the stairs towards me, snorting with fury, resembling an enraged bull. Even from yards away, I could smell the alcohol fumes on his breath and the stale tobacco odour clinging to his suit. Then came the usual pain as he seized me by the hair and half dragged, half threw me down the staircase.
"Dad!" I wailed, "Please dad, you promised!"
The sound of my voice only seemed to serve to infuriate him more and his fist landed squarely into my face, without him even needing to turn to look at me.
What frightened me the most at such times was the cruel, methodical way he went about the beatings. The rage was there, certainly, I could read him like a book, but there appeared to be no loss of control. If anything it was the reverse, he seemed to posses too much control, the blows too deliberate to be human. They weren't the actions of an angry man just simply lashing out, it was a more calculated cruelty. I lost track of time as I slipped in and out of consciousness. It could have taken a minute or an hour, I could never really tell. My whole world was encompassed by the pain, by the sickening noise of fist hitting tender flesh and the rasp of his breathing. He didn't say a word throughout, well, nothing that wasn't disgusting or degrading.
Finally he grew tired and let me be. I heard him walk through to the kitchen, heard the sound of the kettle filling and the gas being lit. I lay still, clasping my knees and trying my hardest to not sob. I was determined not to allow him the satisfaction. The kettle began to sing as the water boiled and she heard the sound of pouring and the soft 'thunk' of the fridge door closing. He appeared in the doorway carrying a mug of tea in one hand and the kettle in the other. His face was an inscrutable mask, his anger appearing under control again He placed the mug beside me on the floor but I made the mistake of glancing at it. I remember his laughter as I passed into peaceful oblivion, the boiling water pouring down my legs.
********************************************************************
With the greatest care, the he placed one hand on each of the boy’s perfect, hairless little ass cheeks. Leaning forward very slowly as he spread them, he closed his eyes and took in the sweet scent of youth. He spat on one hand and lathered it across his cock, making sure to spread it thoroughly over the entire shaft and, with his cock now nice and wet, he shifted his body up by sliding across the boy’s naked back. The child was shaking now with fear, and his crying was growing more pronounced even though he was doing a brave job of trying to contain it.
Like an achievement of epic, dreamlike proportions, considering his drunken state, he felt his cock head come into contact with the boy’s ass cheeks. He almost wanted to cum right then and there, but he held back and simply enjoyed the sensations while he allowed himself to calm down a bit. For a while he just focused on his breathing, listening to the boy’s own quickened pace of breath beneath him, and the occasional sniffle. A smile, a great and terrible smile, spread across his face so slowly it was like ecstasy in itself.
Once again he spread his young son’s ass cheeks and, there it was, that perfect little hole, quivering and glistening in anticipation of his adult cock. The man placed his cock head against that asshole and the boy jumped again. Taking a deep breath and holding it, the man began to push ever so slightly, gradually increasing pressure one tiny bit at a time. Very slowly the boy’s sphincter began to stretch, and he felt the tiniest tip of his dick enter the wonderful warmth. Heaven.
In a slow and loving press he entered his cock into the boy’s ass, and even as he cried out in a groan of ecstasy the boy cried out a sob of pain. It was such a beautiful sound, he came close to orgasm again, but he managed to hold himself together, and watched in joy as he pressed the rest of his cock slowly inward. Fraction by tiny fraction he slowly entered the boy as deeply as he was able, observing that little pucker stretched around his cock as he pressed further in. Glistening spit shone bright points of light as he watched, until finally they were visible no more as the very base of his cock rested snugly in that perfect little hole. The boy sobbed several more times, and the he could not be happier than he was at that moment.
He slowly pulled back until only half his cock was inside, then pressed forward again to the hilt. It was so far beyond perfect, he doubted he would ever be able to explain to another person even if he had the chance. Again he pulled back, a bit more quickly, and pressed inward to the hilt. With each pull outward the boy gasped, and with each inward thrust he boy gave a little whimpering grunt. He could see tears pooling up under his sons face and dripping down his chin.
Gradually now he began to pick up speed, pulling out and pressing back inward with greater energy. He could feel the interior walls of his son’s ass pulling against his cock, brushing their delicate perfection against his cock in the sweetest embrace the universe might offer. Silk could not compare to this, it was too course and raw and imperfect. More and more he picked up speed, until finally he was fucking the little boy like a piston, moving in and out with precision and power. The boy was sobbing openly now, giving a great grunt every time he landed his weight on him again. In and out his cock went, he was in heaven and part of him wanted to die right now so he wouldn’t have to live life without this sensation. Nothing after this would ever be enough for him. He slammed his cock home, grunting to himself now with the effort of his love, pounding the boy so he would never be able to forget his first rape. It was so good, it was so perfect, and he could feel the orgasm building deep within him. He didn’t stop it, this was exacting perfection and he wanted to enjoy the final moments without concern. His orgasm built as he continued to ram his cock through the interior of the his little boy’s ass. Then it came.
Groaning and crying out in ecstasy, he felt his semen shoot through every inch of his cock like his nerve endings were on fire, and spray the inside of his son wantonly. He slammed his cock home one more time, twitching as he fired spurt after spurt into the child. It was the greatest orgasm of his life, and he would never have another like it; all his feeling seemed like it was in that boy’s ass, being fired up into the boy’s intestines to stay forever. The boy sobbed several times, only enhancing the sensations of this perfect orgasm. Finally done, he collapsed onto the boy and allowed himself to drift off into a drunken stupor.
*******************************************************
Peter sat and cried with me, whispering sounds of comfort and love. I would become so used to the abuse that I would almost laugh in their faces in the future but, for now, I laid there and sobbed my heart out.
I was six.
I / He / We ( Reworked from various scribblings – 11.07.2012 )
www.nspcc.org.uk Call 0808 800 5000
www.lanternproject.org.uk
Published 11th Jul 2012
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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11th Jul 2012 2:18am
