Daughter Anal Incest

Daughter Anal Incest

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It was a normal, busy weekday. I was driving to work and noticed cars parked along the highway. I realised that there was a police crackdown on traffic violators and, to my horror, I suddenly realised that I had forgotten my driving license at home. Luckily, no one stopped me.
When I got to work, I decided to park my car and take a bus home to get my license. I wasn't going to take chances and risk trouble on my way home in the evening.
When I got home, I found the house silent. My husband had said he had a headache and was not going to work. I figured he was in bed, still asleep. My daughter, a university student, had mentioned she didn't have didn't have morning classes so she was probably studying in her bedroom.
I tip-toed upstairs to our room so as not to disturb my sleeping husband. I knew exactly where the license was so I thought I could just grab it and ease the door shut...until I heard noises from the bedroom.
I had never suspected my husband for cheating on me let alone bringing a woman to my house. But what I saw was beyond anyone's imagination; my husband having sex with our daughter!
The sight of my daughter and my husband naked on my very bed sickened me. I still get nauseated at the sheer thought of the spectacle. It was more ugly than shocking. Momentarily, I thought I had gone mad. I opened my mouth to scream but nothing came out.
Then my daughter shamelessly retorted: "Mum, why are you surprised? I thought you knew it all along!" And to rub it in, my husband confirmed that what they were doing was no mistake. "The only mistake we've made is using your bed," my husband arrogantly said. Only the previous night, he and I were very intimate on the same bed. What a betrayal!
Their retorts brought me back to my senses and I walked out. I later told my in-laws and the village elders what I had seen and all of us were summoned. My husband can win an Oscar; he denied everything saying that he was very concerned I was losing my mind. I was shocked when he and my in-laws suggested I should get psychiatric help. I knew they had beaten me and I got into serious depression.
I kicked my husband out of our bedroom and as expected he ran into his 'lovers' arms. My two sons kept aloof and never encouraged any discussion about what was happening. Maybe they too blame me for their sister's insanity though their distant relationship never changed.
Thoughts of pain and regret started creeping through my mind. I had severally been warned by concerned women who had seen them together that the two were overly involved. I often told-off the women justifying the closeness with the obvious fact that it is psychologically proven that daughters love their fathers more than their mothers.
When my daughter grew older and became a pretty young woman, I got suspicious but I severally rebuked myself for even imagining that my daughter and her father would ever have a sexual relationship. From when she was a tiny baby she would sit on his lap and lay her head on his chest and he would kiss her cheeks. What reason did I have to thwart the beautiful relationship between father and daughter?
I recall a day when one of my friends called me to inform me that she had seen my daughter and her father kissing passionately. I scolded the woman for having such immoral thoughts and firmly defended my family. My husband is a prominent business man and my family was steadfastly crocheted together hence I wouldn't be the one to expose it to public shame. Besides, even if it were true, everyone would blame me for being poor in parenting or worse still, no one would believe me. Had I listened, I would have cautioned my daughter early enough or separated them at some point but I worried what the two would have thought of me had it turned out to be just an innocent father-daughter relationship.
The relationship between me and my daughter was average; we had good and bad times and I was firm but loving whenever she did a mistake. But every time I corrected her, the father would reprimand me in her presence. This made her very disrespectful and even when I invited our local pastor to speak to her, she accused me of being unfair to her declaring that the only true friend she had was her father.
She was very distant to her brothers and had no girlfriends. When she was in high school, I questioned who her girlfriends were but she was categorical that she enjoyed her own company. I admit I may have given up on her too soon because I chose to ignore her and to continue bringing up my sons who had teachable spirits. I comforted myself that getting solace from her own father was safe instead of getting it from outside.
I went to see a psychological counselor as a last resort but he advised me to file a divorce. I have invested so much into that marriage that I can't stand losing all the estates I have laboured for. I chose to stay and ignore everything.
I do all a wife is supposed to do apart from sharing my bed with my husband or choosing his wardrobe. That's within my 'co-wife's' docket. It's been over three years since they moved in. Our sons have gone their different ways to pursue their careers. I am so lonely in that house but I can't move out neither can I share my ordeal with anyone. I blame myself so much for being a poor mother but now, as it were, it's too late. I must learn to accept my daughter as my co-wife.
I am a mother and a once happy wife. Not anymore; today I am a bitter woman; full of regrets and nursing pangs of resentment against my daughter. She is a girl I nursed as a baby and nurtured into adulthood. I never withheld an iota of love from her yet she mercilessly took my husband and abused my matrimonial bed. It would have been less painful, if my co-wife were not my very own daughter.
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by PAUL HARRIS and CHRISTIAN GYSIN, Daily Mail
Sarah Payne is a name few parents will ever forget. The summer holidays had barely started when she was snatched from a cornfield and bundled into the back of a van, another victim to add to Britain's bleak catalogue of abducted children.
But there was something about the disappearance of this bright-eyed eight-year- old that dominated the thoughts of parents across the land.
She had been kidnapped in daylight just a short distance from her grandparents' home.
For weeks afterwards, her little face beamed out almost everywhere from ' missing' posters or newspaper appeals.
Practically every day, you could catch her increasingly desperate parents on a TV screen somewhere, pleading for help, refusing to give up hope.
So when hope died, and Sarah's naked body was found in a dismal roadside grave, there could hardly have been a mother or father anywhere who didn't imagine that it could so easily have been their own child.
The perverted irony of this case is that as far as Sarah's killer was concerned, it might just as well have been.
Any little girl would have done for Roy Whiting, on any day.
Had the tragedy of chance not thrown them together that summer's evening two years ago, then some other parents, somewhere else, would almost certainly have been in mourning.
He did not stalk Sarah Payne. He had never met her before and had no connection with her school or family.
But Roy Whiting was ever ready to take an opportunity.
We now know he had kidnapped and indecently assaulted a young schoolgirl before. He couldn't get the thought of children out of his sick mind.
He had already prepared the back of his white van like a sealed prison cell, with all the necessary equipment for abducting and assaulting a little girl, right down to the rope, the nylon-tie handcuffs and the Johnson's baby-oil.
He spent the day cruising three parks, a funfair and a boating lake. He didn't have long to wait.
Some time around 7.50pm on July 1 last year, Sarah Payne was making her way out of the cornfield at Kingston Gorse, West Sussex, after playing with her sister and brothers at a rope-swing play area popular with local children.
In a disastrous coincidence, it appears she simply stumbled into Whiting's path. He suddenly-found himself presented with an eight-year- old girl in her favourite blue dress and little black shoes.
Yet the chances of the two coinciding would have been massively reduced, or even eliminated, had Whiting's twisted predilection for young girls not been left to develop by those who might have done something about it.
For it transpires that Whiting had been convicted five years earlier of abducting a nine-year-old schoolgirl and subjecting her to a disgusting attack.
It does not take much imagination to identify a pattern in his actions.
Once again, it was a sunny Saturday and she was playing in the street. He snatched her, dragged her into his car and took her on a terrifying drive to a secluded spot in West Sussex.
There, he told her he had a knife and a rope then ordered her to strip naked.
He assaulted her and tried to force her to commit indecent acts.
It was 90 minutes before he allowed her out of the car.
When he later appeared in court, however, a psychiatrist told the judge in a medical report that Whiting was 'not a paedophile'.
Furthermore, Whiting volunteered to undergo treatment for his perversions in prison.
His pathetic explanation for the offences - to which he pleaded guilty - was that something 'just snapped'.
First, it allowed Judge John Gower to sentence him to only four years in prison (the maximum sentence for indecent assault is ten years, and the jail term for kidnap is normally between five years and life).
Second, going to prison only as an unclassified sex-offender meant he never received any of the attention the authorities afford paedophiles, both to help them and to protect potential victims.
Nor was he segregated with other child-sex offenders, incidentally --he avoided retribution from fellow inmates by claiming he had been jailed for a car-ringing scam.
Although he had assured the court he would undergo voluntary treatment for his perversions, he never did.
Neither did he take up the option of treatment under licence once freed.
Crucially, no one bothered to check. There wasn't even any mechanism in place to do so.
The first time anyone identified his perversion was when a probation officer opposed his parole application because he had not admitted culpability for what he had done.
She believed Whiting was 'a predatory paedophile' who would re- offend and possibly kill next time.
Parole was refused then - but Whiting was nevertheless released in November 1997 after serving just over half his sentence.
It was only then that he came under any kind of structured scrutiny.
The national register of sexoffenders had come into operation while Whiting was in prison and he signed it after he was freed.
Inspector Paul Williams, an intelligence officer with a brief to monitor sexoffendersin the Sussex area, visitedhim at home.
The fact that he was on this list, and because of what Williams knew about him, was the reason he would so quickly become a suspect for the Sarah Payne murder.
Mr Williams said that when he heard about Sarah's disappearance, he put Whiting 'at the top of my list'.
Yet at Christmas 1997 Whiting was essentially on the loose again. It would have been impossible --and unnecessary at that stage - for police to keep a constant watch on him.
After all, he did not shape his life in the classic style of paedophilia. Perhaps he was too clever for that.
He even showed some signs of reform - getting rid of a stash of pornographic magazines and videos from his home, for example.
He categorically told police when questioned about children: 'I keep away from all that now. I've learned my lesson.'
Yet there would later be signals that flagged up his continuing sexual interests.
In Littlehampton, some time after the first police visit, he moved to a flat overlooking the beach and a children's playground.
Even his work would not get in the way of his hobby. In the past, he had organised his schedule as a mechanic at a local garage so he could take cars on road tests at the exact time girls were walking home from school.
Now he would make time to go out 'window-shopping' in his car, cruising parks and playgrounds.
Three years later, when Sarah Payne became his victim, he was also much wiser.
The only reason he was caught last time was because police were given a good description of the abductor and his car. This time there would be no witnesses.
So were the danger signs there when he was convicted in 1995?
The mother of his first victim is in no doubt. The dark-haired housewife, who cannot be named without identifying her daughter, told the Daily Mail: 'It staggers and angers me that he was not classed as a paedophile.
'I would like to stand in front of the judge and those who defended Whiting then, and ask them how they feel now. I am sure Sarah Payne's parents feel the same.'
Quite what turned Whiting from an unremarkable teenager into a monster who preyed on children seems to have escaped the 'experts'. But with hindsight, there were ominous foundations.
was born in Horsham, West Sussex, on January 26, 1959. He grew up in Crawley, one of the 'new towns' created to relieve pressure on London, from where his parents had moved.
It was a pleasant modern suburb, but Whiting's upbringing was hardly idyllic.
He was abused as a child by a close relative. As long ago as 1965, when Roy was six, his father George, a sheet metal worker, was cautioned after an indecent act with a girl at the local swimming baths.
George and his wife Pamela had two other children, a boy, three years older than Roy, and a girl, six years younger.
Roy would later tell people his mother had a nervous breakdown when he was a child. Pamela left in 1976 - on her daughter's 11th birthday - leaving the three children with their father.
Roy Whiting had not enjoyed school. He was slow at reading and never showed any flair in his other work. Even at this age, his class-
mates described him as solitary and aloof.
The one passion he had was cars. So at 16, with few other options, he got a job as a mechanic. He drifted between several garages before settling at Kirkham Motors in Crawley, where he worked as an MoT tester.
Even there, in the company of other mechanics, he failed to fit in. The lone figure in the corner, listening to his favourite heavy metal music on a cassette player while he worked, was Roy Whiting.
In the evenings he would spend his time doing up old cars at home. The most respectablesounding entry on his otherwise uninspiring CV would have been a spell at Lancing College, a leading independent school whose alumni include Evelyn Waugh and Sir Tim Rice.
But Whiting was never a pupil - all he did there was an out-of-hours paint-spraying course when he was 18.
From the mid-1970s until 1991 Whiting was a casual worker at the Cherry Lane adventure park in Langley Green, Crawley.
He would turn up and help children fix their bicycles. He was also a member of the Crawley Tigers cycle racing team which competed at the children's play area. He continued to lead a mostly friendless existence, living partly with his father in return for doing jobs around the house. According to George, his other son regarded Roy as the black sheep of the family and did not speak to him.
His sister never got on with Roy and described him to a friend as 'a dreamer'. He bullied and tormented her for years.
George remembers the father-son relationship at that time as being 'a very good one', although it went through difficult periods.
They had a row one day and Roy moved out. He set up a 'home' in the rented workshop at Bonnets Lane Farm, Crawley, where he had a job repairing cars. There was a camp bed, a kettle, a microwave oven and a TV, plus some posters of racing cars on the wall.
Were anyone looking for a snapshot to sum up Whiting's miserable life, it could be found here behind the doors of his grubby little den.
Whiting, now in his midtwenties, had showed only casual interest in women his own age. Although he told friends he had his first sexual encounter at 16 and progressed into several long-term relationships, he probably exaggerated his sexual experience to appear 'normal'.

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