Daddy Raped My Ass

Daddy Raped My Ass

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"Yo' Dad, what's up?" I asked my Dad. Me and my Dad
were both in the kitchen. My Dad was looking extra sexy
that day. I kept looking at his long blonde hair,
orange beard, and his baggy eyes. About a year ago I
put a curse on my Dad's hair to make it look spiky and
have giant sideburns, but it recently wore off. I think
my Dad looks pretty muskee, although most people tell
me he's fat, but what do they know?
I'd like to think that he was admiring my sexy face
with it's bald head that had three hairs at the top. I
wasn't wearing a shirt that day, but I never wear
shirts anyway. I was just wearing some black sweat
pants that I've had on non-stop for the past five
years.
My Dad looked at me and didn't answer. That made me
mad, so I pulled out a dildo and stabbed him in the
chest with it. "AAAHHH! MARKUS! WHAT THE FUCK IS THE
MATTER WITH YOU!!?" he screamed as he fell to the
floor. Blood poured out of his sexy chest and mouth.
I started dancing as my Dad was potentially bleeding to
death. "Markus... what the fuck is wrong with you?" he
asked weakly with tears in his eyes. I looked at him
for a few minutes, and went back to dancing.
"I gotta get to a hospital Markus..." he groaned.
"YOU STABBED ME IN THE CHEST WITH A FUCKING DILDO!" he
screamed.
"There's no need to be bitchy Dad." I told him. My Dad
slowly and weakly got off the ground. I didn't offer
him help. He slowly walked for the door towards his
truck. "I'm gonna drive Dad." I told him. "THE FUCK YOU
ARE!" he screamed.
My Dad fell back to the floor. As he lay on the floor,
I started stomping his head. My bitchy sister Melissa,
who I once gave a hickey to when she was sleeping in
the middle of the night, shoved me out of the way and
helped my Dad off the floor.
She's a bitch. She's only living with us now because
her boyfriend Jessie kicked her out of their house. He
claimed that she got too fat after she had their baby.
Someone named Ashley was living with them at the time,
and Jessie got her pregnant shortly before he kicked my
sister out. Ashley is the only person besides my Dad
that I think is sexy, so when he got her pregnant I was
PISSED.
"What did Markus do this time?" she asked him. "He
stabbed me with a dildo... A dildo... I mean what the
fuck..." my dad said weakly. "Well I'll drive you to
the hospital." she told him. "Can I come too?" I asked
her.
"Whatever..." Dad said. I started dancing again after I
heard that I could come.
We all got into the van and my sister started driving
to the hospital. My Dad sat in the passenger's seat,
moaning. I started grabbing my Dad's long sexy hair and
started tugging. "MARKUS! QUIT PULLING ON MY HAIR!" he
screamed. I kept pulling on his hair anyway, giggling
like a girl.
My Dad eventually got tired of yelling and just let me
continue to pull his hair. We finally got the hospital.
My sister helped Dad get out and get inside. They got
my Dad into a hospital bed and in a room where they
treated the wound. After they were done treating him, a
doctor came in. "What were you stabbed with?" a doctor
asked.
"A dildo..." my Dad told him. He looked embarrassed for
some reason when he told him. The doctor just burst out
laughing. "You making fun of my Dad's pain?" I asked
him getting in his face.
"Well you're the one who stabbed me!" Dad said.
"That's besides the point." I told him.
"Why did you stab your Dad with a dildo?" the doctor
asked me. I gave the doctor an angry look and raised my
first. "I'm gonna!" I growled. "You're starting to
freak me out kid, I'm leaving." the stupid doctor said.
When he left, I realized that it was just me and Dad.
"So Dad... you're in a bed...unable to get out..." I
said smiling. "Oh great!" my Dad moaned. I took off my
pants and jumped on my Dad. I then made him turn face
down and opened up his but cheeks. "MARKUS! THIS IS A
HOSPITAL!" he screamed. I stuck my dick in his sweet
tight ass.
"AAAHHH! HELP ME!" he screamed. I just kept pumping my
dick in his big hairy ass. As I kept pumping I spanked
his butt. I've fucked my Dad so many times.
After a few minutes, I got an orgasm and shot my load
deep into his butt. I then pulled my dick out. It was
covered with poop. I turned my Dad back on his back
(hee hee, get it?). "OK Dad, I want to lick the poop
off," I told him. He just rolled his eyes and started
licking it off.
After he was done, I turned him back over and started
fucking his ass again. He screamed as I pumped harder
and deeper than I did last time. His ass felt so warm
and gewy. After a few minutes, I orgasmed again and
shot an even bigger load than last time which shot even
deeper.
I then pulled my dick out and made him lick the poop
off again. He rolled his eyes again and started licking
it off. I kept fucking him all day. Whenever someone
came in, I'd hiss at them and they'd quickly leave.
Sunny, a seventy year old man that I hang out with,
came inside the room. "What's up Markus?" he asked.
Sunny's a good man, but he's often confused and can't
find his house. Sunny then left the room. I went back
to pumping my Dad's ass.
A few days later, my Dad finally got out of the
hospital. "Markus, please don't stab me in the chest
with a dildo ever again," he told me.

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Sick and sad story, sounds like you should animate it and put it in the flash portal

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Maor leik EPIC FAIL. You really do fail though, it was s shitty, shitty, "thing".
"You know you fail in life when you fail to end your failure"

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

YOU ARE FUCKED UP AND THAT BELONGS IN THE ART SECTION FOR POETRY! BITCH!

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Thats really nice, i wish I could do the same.

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

PROPER SPACING AND PARAGRAPH STRUCTURE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?
I hope everybody had a real, real good time.

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

Self-published fiction: Mostly Lies

Response to
I raped my dad!

Dec 21, 2007

no that was epic win, i lold hard at it
Collect star shards and restore peace.
Softserve teh gwoteicorn is shitting his way to glory!

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I think I recently had one of the hardest days of my life. It was a personal issue so I’m not gonna disclose the issue, but everything was falling apart and I couldn’t gather enough courage to pull myself out of the muck.
Today, I happened to spot a thread on Quora that asked readers to describe the hardest day of their lives. I came across an answer that has occupied my head from the very moment I read it. I couldn’t help but write about it because every person should read the story of this brave woman called Ann Young , who has been fighting with life since she was a little kid.
The hardest day of my life was my entire childhood.
At age 3, my uncle made me lick his penis “like a lollypop.”
At age 9, I was raped by another family member.
At 15, my mom and step-dad thought it was funny for my step-dad to touch my breasts.
My mom’s second husband would make me strip naked and lay in the center of my bed while he beat me all over my body.
My mom’s third and current husband, my step-dad, beat me regularly for a decade, from the time I was 5 until I was 15.
I got hit for making too much noise in the morning. I got hit for eating the last pickle. I got hit for speaking. I got hit even if I opened my mouth to speak. I endured black eyes, bloody noses, fat and bloody lips, a broken finger, welt marks and bruises all over my body. I’ve been hit with a croquet mallet and beaten with a whiffle bat until it was broken in half. My entire childhood was terrifying.
On top of it my mom would tell me that she didn’t want me, that if she could do things over she wouldn’t have had me. She didn’t want me.
My step-dad made fun of me every day because I was a little chubby. He would entertain guests by making fun of me. He would encourage me to make fun of him in return and then laugh at my poor attempts. Whenever I did make a joke he didn’t like, he would beat me for it.
I tried my best to overcome it. By age 30, my body gave out. It was too damaged from all the physical abuse. I have Enthesopathy, Fibromyalgia, and polyarthritis, just to name a few. I also suffer from chronic PTSD, major depressive disorder, and anxiety.
I live off of SSD and receive less than $12,000 a year to survive. All of my hopes and dreams were stolen from me.
Shortly after my uncle sexually abused me, he killed himself. I have wondered all of my life if he killed himself because of what he did to me.
The person who raped me when I was 9 years old was my older brother. He did not live with us.
My two older brothers grew up with our biological father while I grew up with my mom and step-dad. My mom didn’t want the boys. She barely had anything to do with them. She kept me because I was a girl and because she wasn’t entirely sure who my father was. I grew up believing that William James Young Sr was my father. My mom kept me away from him for most of my childhood because of my brothers, according to her.
The brother who raped me did so during a very rare visit to our home. He was allowed to spend the night that night. He hated me. He hated that my mom kept me and had barely anything to do with him. Little did he know what I was going through.
I didn’t tell on him until I was 11. My mom contacted the police and a woman came to our home. I had to tell her everything. My brother was arrested and sent to live in a juvenile detention facility for 4 years. His last year there, my mom took some interest in him for some reason. She started bringing my rapist home for visits. One day she made me sit at the dining room table and write a letter. She forced me to write that I had forgiven my brother and that I wanted him to come live with us. None of it was true. I was terrified of my brother. Additionally, my parents never got me any help for what he did to me. They said that they couldn’t afford it. My parents could afford new jewelry every Christmas for my mom and yearly vacations to Las Vegas but they couldn’t afford anything for me ever, not dental check ups, not doctors, nothing. I was lucky to get a coat for winter and with that I was forced to get on my knees and thank my parents repeatedly for all they did for me.
My mom had my rapist come live with us. Then they blatantly favored him right in front of me. He was good looking. He made them laugh. My step-dad would have my brother join in in making fun of me.
Eventually, they kicked him out when he became a serious drug user and started selling their stuff.
I came to forgive my brother. I learned that he did to me what someone had done to him. He is currently on parole after serving his second prison term. He never stopped using drugs. I don’t have anything to do with him.
A couple of people have asked me, “Why didn’t you get out?” As a young child, I didn’t realize I was being abused. I thought that all kids got hit like me. I was a bad child. I didn’t clean my room when I was told to. I made too much noise. Sometimes I talked back. I ate the last pickle. I didn’t clean up my parents mess in the kitchen. I could go on.
When my step-dad broke my finger my parents brought me to the hospital. I was told to say that I slipped and fell in the driveway. I was threatened that if I said anything else I would be hurt worse. I was too terrified of my parents to say anything but what I was told to.
It wasn’t until my early teens that I was allowed to spend time with friends in their homes. That’s when I saw that they weren’t being beat like I was. I remember one friend talking back to her dad. I winced and cowered in anticipation. I was shocked by her father’s response. He spoke to her firmly but lovingly. I finally started to see that what was happening to me was not normal.
At 15, I overdosed on Advil. I was questioned by many people at the hospital but I was still too terrified to speak about my parents. I blamed it all on a bad grade.
Eventually, I started to confide in some of my friends and one friend’s mom in particular. I would tell her something and then I would be shocked and intrigued by her response. She was the one who got me to open up a little.
At one point CPS (Child Protective Services) were notified by another friend’s mom. I told CPS a few things over the phone. The next day they showed up at my high school. I was horrified. My step-dad was a teacher at the school. I was brought to a guidance counselor’s office. I knew that the guidance counselor knew my step-dad. I was too terrified to speak. I only confirmed the few things I had told CPS on the phone. From there, a detective brought me down to the police station.
I was brought upstairs to a room full of desks. The detective introduced me to the secretary. I recognized her name. “She knows my step-dad!” I exclaimed. The detective yelled at me saying that whatever I had to say would stay in that room. Again I was too terrified to speak about my parents. The detective started asking me if my step-dad touched my breasts “playfully or sexually.” To me it didn’t matter. I thought it was wrong that he touched me period. I couldn’t answer the detective. He kept asking me over and over again, becoming more irate everytime he asked. He was outright screaming at me. I thought about how my parents would laugh at me everytime my step-dad touched my breasts. They thought it was funny that I would get upset by him touching me. After the third time he touched me, I stood up and stormed off. That’s when my mom said, “oh we can’t even play with you!” Because she had said that, I finally answered the detective, “playfully.” That was it. That’s all he wanted to know. He was done with me.
The detective then brought me down to CPS. I was made to sit in a worker’s cubicle. Somewhere in the room, I could here my mom and my rapist brother talking. I could hear my brother saying, “She’s lying! She’s lying!” I could hear my mom say, “He’s a respected teacher in this community!” While hearing all of this, I was questioned by the CPS worker. Again, I was too terrified to speak. At no point in time during that day was I given a safe place to talk. No one offered me a single ounce of compassion.
I was put in a foster home that night. I spent 4 nights there. On the 5th day, my parents called me. They said all the right things. They told me that they weren’t angry. They said that they loved me, that they missed me and that they wanted me to come home. I agreed to go home.
The CPS worker came and brought me home. She stayed and chatted with my parents for a few minutes. My parents were so polite and friendly to her. I really thought at that moment that everything was going to be okay. Then she left. My parents watched her leave. Then they turned on me and the smiles on their faces morphed into something that looked pure evil. I got a verbal beating that day that was so awful I just ran. I ran out of the house and I didn’t stop running until I got to my friend’s house a mile away. It was the friend whose mom I had confided in.
I lived there with my friend and her mom for a few months. One day my friend and I got into an argument over something stupid like kids do. My friend decided that she didn’t want me living there anymore. Her mom went to pray about it. Five minutes later she decided to bring me home. They packed up all my stuff in a garbage bag and drove me to my parent’s house and left me there.
I spent one night home. I endured more verbal abuse. The next day I ran away again. For some reason I ran back to the same friend’s house. This time the police were called. I told the police I was being abused. They told me they would handcuff me if they had to to bring me home. They treated me like a run away, not an abused child. They advised me to get a job or do some after school activities to keep myself out of the house. That’s what I did. CPS never did another thing for me.
My step-dad did not lay a hand on me again after CPS was notified. The verbal abuse was worse then ever though. When I was 17, my step-dad hurt my cat. That’s when I called up my real dad and asked him if I could live with him. He came and got me and my cats right away.
My father never knew the abuse I endured at the hands of my step-dad. I don’t know why I never told him. My time with him was very limited as a child. What little memories I have of him were all positive. I always felt safe with my dad. He never hurt me in any way. During my rare visits, we would do whatever I wanted. He would take me to the movies or roller skating or ice skating. We would take walks and go to the park. He also protected me from my rapist brother.
Living with my dad meant living with my rapist brother. For that reason, I only lived with my dad for one year. It was during that year that I really got to know him. He was a great man.
When I turned 18 I got my own apartment. I worked full time and went to college full time. Because I had lived with my dad, who was poor, for the year prior to college, I was eligible for full financial aid.
Four days before Christmas of 1992 my dad came over to my apartment. He gav
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