I raised my cunt against him. 'And good pussy, or so I'm told.' I stroked the back of his head. 'Aren't you glad I'm a good fuck? I owe it all to you, you know.'
I raised my legs high and wrapped them around his naked body.
'Is this the way you like it?' I asked. Any moment now, I knew, he would become aware of the contempt in my voice. I was wrong. He was too hot.
'Oh, sweet Jesus… yes!' he groaned suddenly, lifting his head from my tit and parting the rubbery lips of my cunt with the first inches of his meat. It slipped in easily with my legs raised the way they were, and I sucked in a deep breath as I realized that his entry had caused a tremendously exquisite sensation inside my cunt. I had forgotten how big he was. I struggled to put the contempt back in my voice. 'You're sure you wouldn't rather have it dog fashion?' I asked, trying to ignore the feel of the cock that slipped back and forth in the soft flesh of my cunt. I reached up and put one hand on each side of his face. 'Or maybe you'd like me to go down on you? Suck you off? Lots of boys like that. Or would you like to eat a little of my pussy? Ronnie Gower always does. Makes me hot. He says it makes me fuck better, too.'
'Don't talk like that,' he said suddenly, throwing himself down heavily atop me. My tits were flattened beneath his chest, his lips were close to my ear. He breathed warm against my throat. His hips churned faster, his prick moving… moving… moving! I fought to keep my mind off that.
'Why not? If you're going to come to me for your pussy, I might as well know how you like it. Don't you think so?' And I once again began to rattle about the most obscene things I could think of, most of them things I'd only heard about, things I hoped would shame him so bad he'd regret this night for as long as he lived. He put his hand over my mouth. 'Quit talking like a Goddamned whore, quit it.'
Pulling his hand away, I French-kissed him. 'But I am a whore.'
And then, just like a whore, I began to wiggle beneath him. My fingertips fluttered down across his back. My hands found the hard cheeks of his ass, spreading them and using the grip on them as leverage with which to draw his cock deeper inside me. I bent one leg around his back. My back arched itself like a bow. My pelvis swung upward sliding my pussy fully into his hardened cock, fell away, swung upward again. See when a good whore you've made of me? I whispered.
I say, then, that I had hurt him. A sort of crazy expression passed over his face. I think he wanted to pull away. But my arms were around his body. So were my legs. And he was inside me.
'Do you like it like this?' I lifted my cunt until my groin was pressed against his, held it there, then began a slow retreat down the length of his cock. I repeated the action. 'Or is it better when I move it in little circles… like this? How does Mom do it? Is her pussy as good as mine?'
Then, suddenly, he pressed his face down into the hollow of my neck. The tears against my throat told me I had won, had shamed him; but I knew at the same time that I'd lost. He was almost motionless. Inside me… and it was I who was doing the fucking.
My hips continued to move in the rolling motions I'd used as I derided him. Every fiber of my being was suddenly alive and sharing in the exquisite torture my cunt was undergoing. My clitoris throbbed. I felt that I could see it being drawn across the flesh of his peter. My tits ached with pleasure. My skin was teased by the hair of his body. My fingers clawed at the cheeks of his ass. My teeth bit hard into my lower hp. I was only dimly aware that he was once more pumping his hips.
And only briefly did it flash through my mind that I was no longer being raped — I was now being fucked!
Closing out every thought of right or wrong, thinking only of the new and wonderfully pleasing feeling that was growing, growing, growing in the deep places of my cunt, I twisted my head and let my lips find his. Our tongues touched. We thrashed together. Our groins were locked together, straining.
And I had a sensation like you get when an elevator plummets downward beneath your feet… only it was a good feeling. And my cunt was suddenly drenched. And the good feeling went on. I strained my hips upward. My nails clawed at him, they kept clawing until he cried out, flooded my cunt with the warm, spasmodic spurts of his come, and fell limply into my arms. I had come for the first time in my life.
Those were the first two times he fucked me.
The next time I didn't have to be raped.
I didn't have to be raped at all.
In this case we have seen an artificial factor appear; that is the total destruction of the restraints against incest through the use of alcohol.
While alcohol is by no means a stimulator of sexual desire (it is, in fact, to a limited extent, a depressant), it does serve to lower the inhibitions of the drinker, to interfere with his judgment, and to allow the release of his frustrations.
Those are its greatest dangers.
With the moral senses which exclude incest dulled by alcohol, and with his sexual awareness of his young daughter obviously honed to a keen edge at the moment of greatest opportunity, Melody's father was confronted by a situation which practically pleaded that he satisfy the incestuous desire he harbored.
The accusations of his somewhat shrewish wife very likely increased his awareness of Melody's young sexuality, added to his frustrations, and speeded him onward toward the moment when these frustrations and desires would explode in incestuous rape.
Lucy Freeman, in The Cry For Love, describes the inhibition-releasing effects of alcohol this way:
'Take a frustrated man. Give him too much to drink.'
No man can predict his actions. He may careen wildly down a highway. He may become belligerent. But he will rid himself of those frustrations. Sexually, he may express — or attempt to express his most carefully hidden desires.
Very few figures are available regarding the frequency of incestuous rape, probably because they are mingled with the statistics on other statutory offenses. It seems safe to assume, however, that Melody's case would approach the classical in its elements: An unhappy, argumentative atmosphere in the home; alcohol; the first incident occurs while the girl is extremely young; it involves daughter and father, rather than brother and sister. These conclusions are easily reached. Frustrations are present due to the tense marital relationship. Alcohol is used as a valve to release these frustrations. Moral restrictions are dimmed. The stage is set.
Several factors lead one to the conclusion that most such rapes occur between daughter and father when she is extremely young.
Incest between brother and sister is much more likely to be a thing of mutual consent, an experiment, thus removing the need for rape. The brother-sister relationship seems more conducive to mild exploration than to forcible rape. Then, too, there is always the knowledge that the victim may 'tell'.
With a daughter and her father the situation is entirely different. Who is she to tell? The mother? The father is the strong, dominant figure in the life of most girls. He provides. He is often the one who punishes. She is accustomed to doing as he tells her. These images are especially true during the early years of life, and it is for that reason that a great majority of cases of incestuous rape involve younger children. In the mind of the father she seems less likely to reject his advances. She can most likely be frightened into silence. She is not aware, as an older child might be, that her father can be sent to prison for such acts.
While the mind of a rapist, any rapist, incestuous or not, is a devious thing and too intricate in its workings to be explored at this time, the incidents described in Melody's narrative can lead only to the conclusion that she and she alone was the only female capable of arousing him to such an extent that he would commit rape.
His first approaches to her were almost childish in their shyness. They were the clumsy 'accidental' touches of the sexually inexperienced, growing bolder only when he became intoxicated. It is likely that he had no intention — consciously, at least — of going beyond the caressing, the fondling and the kisses to which he first limited himself — until the moment when his long-smoldering sexual desires were released by Melody's reactions… He was intent on seduction, or sexual play within the limits of her acceptance, rather than forcible rape. Thus when Melody allowed him to exceed his expectations, and her actions made it obvious to him that she was sexually aroused, his drunkenness combined with his own state of arousal literally propelled him onward.
Though Melody herself possessed absolutely no sexual knowledge at the time of the first rape. It would be naive to believe that she was totally unaware of the effects of her submission to the sexual caresses of her father. Nowadays, few children of her age are that unaware of their sexuality. True, sexual taboos — such as the taboo against incest — are seldom taught as a unit. They are imposed piece by piece, so to speak.
