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The Submission Of Heather, ch1-5 ....
The Submission Of Heather, ch 1-5
Written by T. Allen Strange
Thomas ached. More precisely, his balls ached. He awoke and
groaned loudly, discovering he had a huge boner! He remembered
the dream; it was still fresh. He'd been having them ever since
he found those "fuck-n-suck" magazines in his father's room.
Raising up on an elbow he heard Randy's deep, even breathing from
his bed across the room and knew he was still asleep. Thomas was
thirteen and his brother Randy was his junior by one year, almost
to the day. Their birthdays were exactly three days apart.
Thomas slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his pajamas and grasped his swollen penis, and grinned. It was a monster! He considered jacking off but he didn't have a washcloth to cum in.
"Damn! If I had a woman like in one of dad's fuck-books, I would be getting my rocks off right now!", he thought wistfully. He sighed and slipped out of bed. There was no getting around it. It was too good to waste. He'd have to go into the bathroom and whack off. While he thoroughly enjoyed whacking his meat, it no longer gave him the thrill it used to. Now he only did it when he was in need of relief, like tonight. He'd been told once that a man ejaculated barely enough to fill a teaspoon. Whoever said that had never seen him unload a gusher! If he went several days without jerking off he could drown a horse!
Thomas padded on bare feet into the hall and hooked a left toward the bathroom. He paused at the door and glanced across the hall. His sisters had left the night light on in their room and forgotten to close the door. They would be in big trouble when mom got up! She said they were too old to leave their door open. It wasn't decent.
"Shit! What have they got to be indecent with?!", he thought. The two girls hadn't begun to develop yet! Laura, age nine, and Heather, ten, were more of a nuisance than anything else. Still, he could save them a little grief. He went over to close their door and looked in as he pulled it to. The door stopped halfway.
In the yellow glow of the night light he saw Heather had tossed the sheet aside in her sleep. She was laying on her back with her legs parted, breathing softly. Her nightgown, an ankle length granny-gown she seldom wore, was up around her waist and she wore nothing beneath it. That was not unusual; none of them wore underwear to bed. Just pajamas and nightgowns was the general rule. It was the first time since he'd caught her playing "Show Me" with Danny Walker last year that he'd seen her even partially naked. In her sleep she was unaware she was giving her brother an even bigger eyeful than Danny had gotten. She'd been scared that he was going to tell on her and cried. He merely laughed and taunted her saying he was going to wait awhile and then tell. He hadn't thought of it again until just now. He eased inside the room and quietly closed the door behind him, then moved over to Heather's bed and stared at her bare, hairless pubic mound. Someday she would probably be beautiful; perhaps already was. For a ten-year-old she was very pretty, with long straight blonde hair halfway down her back and deep blue eyes that sparkled merrily most of the time.
A wicked grin spread slowly across his face. Maybe he wouldn't have to have blue-balls after all! He sat down on the bed and ran his hand over her flat stomach, feeling her softness. If he handled this just right it could be great!
Heather stirred, then opened her eyes sleepily. She looked at him without comprehension for a few seconds, then her eyes flew open.
"What are you doing in here?!", she whispered.
"I've decided to tell mom and dad about you and Danny Walker tomorrow. I thought you should know," he whispered back.
Heather had been in the process of reaching for the sheet to cover herself. Now she froze, her modesty forgotten.
"No! Please don't Tommy!" Instantly tears formed in her blue eyes and an icy panic gripped her.
"Why not?", he asked still rubbing her stomach in slow circles. He glanced across at Laura to make certain she wasn't waking up.
"Because they'll whip me! They both will. You know it!", she whispered haltingly, a solitary tear rolling down one cheek.
"What would you do if I didn't?", he asked casually. As he did he slid his hand between her legs and fondled her pubic mound. The gesture was significant even to her. He was taking an unprecedented liberty with her. Her breath caught in her throat as his hand rubbed across her clitoris. Tommy could be mean. If she gave in to him there was no telling what he might do. But if she didn't he might make good on his threat, and she knew the beating would be merciless!
"Anything!", she whispered fearfully.
"Anything at all?", he grinned, deliberately strumming her clitoris.
Again her breath caught. She wanted to push his hands away, but if he told on her...!
"Yes! Anything at all!"
"Hmmm. I'll tell you what the deal is. I can do anything I want, whenever I want, wherever I want, and you'll do anything and everything I tell you no matter what..."
Thomas removed his hand from between her legs and folded his arms across his chest.
"... and I'll forget I ever caught you."
Heather looked up at her brother, her big blue eyes searching his face. Something told her she was letting herself in for more trouble than she could handle. But all she could think of was her father taking her into their bedroom, pulling her panty off, and using his thick belt on her! It was his way when he was really mad, making her bend over a chair or something, and then setting her bottom of fire. But first mother would make her get naked and then use a switch on her. The switching would continue a long time. For breaking one of her good China plates at Easter the switching lasted nearly fifteen minutes, her mother showing no inclination to stop until Heather literally peed herself.
"Yes, yes! Anything, I promise!"......(cont)
Grandpa's Pony
Written by T. Allen Strange
"Good biscuits, Dear."
"Thank you John, but they're no different today than any other day," Martha replied stiffly.
The mood should have been a cheery one. The aroma of fresh brewed coffee, fried eggs, bacon, and homemade biscuits wafted through the house. Morning sunlight streamed through the large kitchen window, lighting the room brightly. John and Martha Brandenberg, and their granddaughter, eight-year-old Angela, were seated around the heavy old oak table that had belonged to Martha's mother before her.
John cut open a biscuit and smeared butter inside, then closed it to allow the butter to melt. A frown was etched on his lined, weathered face, and his watery blue eyes seemed clouded.
"We're not kids anymore, John," Martha said quietly. "The time for that is long past. "It's time you faced up to that and get on with other, more important things."
John cast a quick glance at Angela. His face seemed to redden a little.
"Okay, now is not the time to talk about it. Later on we'll . . . ." he began.
"No, we WON'T! We'll not discuss it one second longer, Jonathan Brandenberg! Not later, and especially not TONIGHT!! Do you understand me!?"
John's flush deepened and a glint of anger flashed through his eyes. But only for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, "All right dear. Whatever you say. However, we'll not have another outburst like that in front of the child again."
Angela's grandparents locked eyes for a moment. Then Martha looked away and mumbled something about being sorry.
Angela listened to her Grandparents apprehensively. She knew they were fighting about something. Whatever it was they would not discuss it around her, but she knew they weren't happy with each other. She didn't like it when they acted like this, something they seemed to do more and more often lately.
Angela Brandenberg was spending the summer with her grandparents on their farm, something she had been doing since she was a toddler. Her parents both worked, and leaving her with them was better ( in their minds at least ) than trusting her with strangers at a day care facility.
Now the clatter of eating utensils scraping against plates filled the kitchen as eggs were cut, biscuits were buttered and coffee cups were stirred. None of which took the tension out of the air. Angela could still feel it. The three of them ate in relative silence, the usual morning banter between the two older Brandenbergs' and their precocious dark-haired, blue-eyed granddaughter, missing.
"Grandma, are you mad at me?" she asked finally, afraid she'd done something wrong she wasn't aware of. Her voice trembled noticeably when she spoke and she was near to tears.
The question seemed to startle the older woman.
"Why no, my little Precious, I'm not mad at you. Why would you even think such a thing?" she replied.
"Well, you and Grandpa . . . ." she began.
"Oh THAT," she snorted, casting an accusing glance at her husband. "That was nothing for you to worry about, Precious! Your grandfather and I were having a little disagreement about something, that's all. This all started last night dear. It's nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about. Some men just never stop being little boys no matter HOW old they get."
Angela saw grandpa staring sullenly down at his plate. Normally he would be "sopping up the leavin's" by now, but his eggs had barely been touched.
"And some women stop remembering how to BE women when THEY get old!" he retorted angrily.
Martha Brandenberg flinched at the angry words and her face blanched.
"Why Jonathan Brandenberg!! How could you . . . !"
The old woman bit off her words before she finished the sentence. A few seconds later she said in a tight voice, "I'm going into town to buy a few 'essentials.' Then Mabel and I are going to visit Gertie at the hospital in Pine Bluff. It'll be sometime after one o'clock before I get back, and you'd better have this nonsense out of your system once and for all. Martha's voice was cold. "Do you want me to make you and Angela up something for lunch or . . . ."
"Angela and I will do very well on our own, thank you!" he cut her off. "We'll probably treat ourselves to burgers in town." Then, his face brightening, he added, "And if she can put a smile back on my face, we may even stop off at the Ice Cream Shoppe' for a treat afterward! I'll bet she can get Grandpa up and rarin' to go again!" He winked at Angela as he said this last part.
Angela smiled back. She knew he meant he wanted to play their secret "game." He called it "Riding The Pony," a game he "invented" one afternoon when she was only four. It's really very simple - he takes off his pants and underwear and sits on the toilet ( cover up, seat down ) with his legs parted and his "Pony," resting on the seat - she takes off her panties and sits on it, usually facing away, but sometimes face to face. She then "rides" it by sliding back and forth on it until it gets big and hard and finally squirts some warm creamy white stuff all over her bottom and cunny.
They didn't get to do it often, but it ALWAYS made Grandpa happy when they did! And last summer she'd found, when facing away from him that if she leaned forward far enough, her little clitty would rub against his "Pony" too, and THAT felt really good!
"Well, just don't over do it," Martha was saying, "I don't want her filled up with so much 'junk' that she won't have any appetite for supper."
Grandpa's mood was suddenly so much better however, that his own appetite came back with gusto and he was happily devouring everything is sight, casting an occasional smile in Angela's direction, leaving Martha to wonder at his sudden change of disposition. Seeing the secretive smiles Angela kept returning, she knew it had to have something to do with the fabled "Grandfather/ Granddaughter" relationship. She loved Angela as much as he did, and she knew the darling eight-year-old adored her, but that special "something" that existed between Angela and John wasn't there. Well . . . it was THERE, but it was different.
Nevertheless she was grateful the bond between the two was as strong as it was, otherwise the rift between Martha and her husband would have only gotten worse today. Martha sighed heavily. It wasn't that she didn't love John as much as she used to; in fact she probably loved him MORE than when they'd first married. She just didn't want sex anymore. The urges just were no longer there. Her body didn't respond the way it used to. The last several times they tried, she couldn't even get wet, and his manhood hurt her when he, as Gertie would have said, "dry fucked" her. Gertie would always cackle like a laying hen whenever she said that, leaving Martha to blush and threaten to never visit again.
Martha glanced at the clock. She would have start getting ready soon.
* * *
John watched the old Buick ambling down the long, winding gravel roadway before disappearing behind a stand of trees. It was a quarter mile further on down before it met up with the county road, and every bit of it was on his land. He stood there watching silently, just standing on the long porch with Angela, hand in hand.
Angela looked beautiful. Since her grandfather had told her
grandmother they were going to eat in town today, she'd dressed
Angela in one of her prettiest baby-blue dresses. A matching satin
ribbon was around her neck, and in her hair her bangs were held back
with yet another, wider ribbon. For some reason her little-girl mind
couldn't figure out, whenever they were going someplace "special,"
mothers and grandmothers always think alike. They insist that under
one's prettiest dresses they wear their prettiest panties. Grandma
Brandenberg was no exception, and beneath her dress she wore a new
pair of panties trimmed in oodles of white lace - and no one was ever
going to SEE them! White knee-socks and black patent leather shoes
finished off her attire. The young girl waved with her free hand until
she could no longer see the car. Then she turned her face up at her
grandfather and smiled shyly.......(cont)
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A MrDouble Production: mrdouble Changes last made on: Saturday February 07, 1998 |
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| Copyright © 1998, T. Allen Strange, ALL Rights Reserved |