Chapter 2: Kate

It's been fifteen years since Mom moved in with that no good fuck Steve. I hated him since Day One, that dirty look on his face. Fortunately he never made a move on my body until I was legal, because I guess Mom had let him know that I was off limits before then.

The click of the door latch as he closed it was what woke me up. In the darkness, I couldn't see a thing. The blackout shades that I've known all of my life kept out all ambient light. The sound of him bumping into the dresser told me that he was drunk again. I'm sorry if I made it sound like a remarkable event. Rather, it was the norm.

It had been almost an hour since I had gotten myself off, my trusty Pink Pal buzzing along without loss of stamina until my orgasm had made my pussy jump toward the ceiling. She was still wet under my panties, that's all I ever sleep with, until I knew that he was in the room with me. Then she dried up instantly.

He approached the bed, the smell of stall tobacco from the bar leading the way. Then his belch sent reminders of the beer and of the cold hard boiled eggs which he thinks will keep him from getting drunk. He sat on the bed and his clothing was soaked from the downpour that announced itself on the closed window. I shuddered at the thought of the cleaning job that would face me in the morning.

His head came down and he began to slobber kisses all over my face and neck. Jeez, if I wanted that, I could have bought a dog. He sat back up as I pushed him away but he went no further. After a few moments of silence, he spoke to me in a slurred voice.

"Help me out here, Kate."

Did I have a choice? I slipped out from under the covers, grateful that the darkness, or his own blind drunkenness prevented him from seeing my tits. He always drools when he sees me bare breasted. Not that seeing them was ever necessary. His pleasure was in mauling them, biting them, twisting my nipples until I yelled in pain.

I knelt, feeling the wet spots on the carpeting from his shoes. Slowly, wearily, I unlaced them. There was no rush, for I knew that at the end of it all he's shove his cock inside me and try to cum. Not that he ever did, because the alcohol drained the lead out of his pencil. Nor did he ever, never ever, make any effort to get me off. Apparently, it was not the manly thing to do among his drinking buddies, worrying about 'her' orgasm.

His socks were amazingly dry, and they wound up stuffed inside the shoes and pushed under the bed. I stood up to open his shirt. It was soaking wet, the Genius having neglected to either wear a jacket or carry an umbrella. Also not manly. As I worked on the buttons, his hands came around and slid into the back of my panties. My ass cheeks were warm from sleep, his hand wet and cold. I wanted to cry. Fortunately, he had to remove them from my ass in order for me to pull his wife beater undershirt off over his head. But when it was off, his hands came down and began to mash my tits.

"Get up," I said. I had to kneel again to open his belt and zipper. My hands began to pull them down when I decided there was no sense in prolonging this shit and so I grabbed his underpants at the same time. His cock, temporarily erect at a mere six inches, stared me in the face. He took it and swept it across my lips. I slapped it away and he didn't object.

I got back into bed and under the covers. If he wanted it, as of course I knew he wanted it, he would have to work for it. Alas, he was sober enough for that and he yanked the covers off before lying down himself. Right on top of me! My legs were closed as usual, my feeble attempt at making things difficult for him. With his mouth again slobbering kisses on my face and neck, he tried to force his knee between my own two knees. Surprise! The alcohol had taken enough out of him so that he didn't have the strength to part my legs. Suddenly he raised himself up. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed me by the ankles and pulled, opening me up completely. I was a wishbone that he could break with very little additional effect, breaking my body as he had long since broken by soul.

Lying down again, he shoved forward drunkenly. In his stupor, he missed my pussy completely, his cock passing below my ass cheeks and hitting the bed. He yelped as his crown hit my hard mattress. I smiled in the darkness, one little victory for the oppressed.

He must have sensed my joy, for he gave up momentarily the idea of penetrating me and instead used his hands to twist my nipples. His breathing was nothing but grunts and gasps as he continued the torture until my body shook with sobbing, my throat announcing the crying. He answered my tears with a sharp slap on the side of my face. At least it got one of his hands off of a nipple. For the hundredth time or more, my mind fantasized the concept of justifiable homicide. But I knew that I couldn't, and wouldn't.

Trying to avoid another painful missed thrust, he reached down to line things up and realized that he'd stupidly never even taken off my panties. He put two hands inside then and tried to rip the crotch open. When that failed, he attempted to tear them off me by ripping one side. Another failure. Cursing violently, and much more than usual, he grabbed the waist band and yanked them down, lifting my ass into the air to get them off. My reward was a hard slap, I guess because I had never told him that I still wore the panties.

That problem finally out of the way, he used a hand to spread my labia, opening my as yet still dry cavern. He took cock in hand, in his fist actually, his sweaty fist, and pointed it in the general direction of my pussy. At the same time, he reached over and flicked on a lamp so that he could see where he wanted his cock to go.

"Take it, Kate. Keep it hard."

He was sober enough to understand his problem. It had been the better part of a year since he had been able to stay hard long enough to spew a load of sperm into my cunt. If he had stayed dry, away from the sauce, he would likely have had no trouble shooting his little sperm cells inside me. He wanted so badly to plant a baby inside me, to carry on his name. But the problem was that he had to stay dry, away from the sauce, and he could never think far enough ahead to make me pregnant.