Art Of Growing Up Ch. 03-05

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FURIOUS: MADLY FURIOUS! …he would grab me rough, by the arm, and drag me squirming, kicking and screaming into the living room. I spit at him like a King Cobra, hissed like a bob-cat, and creamed my panties like a cloistered novice taking her vows with Farther O’Reilly in the Bell-tower following Vespers – after the last candle had been blown out — well, the last but one…O’ Reilly? No, –Oh! Really!

Daddy lifted me up by the waist, with just one of his powerful, masculine, hairy limbs, and plunked himself down into the couch toting my entire body like a sack of spuds – tucked untidily under the crook his arm. I would be kicking and screaming, and complaining by then, but he calmly ignored my tantrum, throwing me over his lap, and pulling my little mini-skirt up, exposing my squirming buns; my firm young melons packed into my tight fitting, skimpy, panties like two boiled eggs in a handkerchief.

Daddy would pay no attention to my dire objections, and yank my two-day-old knickers, down over my bulbous rump and rapidly developing thighs. The Animal would spank my clappers, until I begged for him, kicking and screaming, to stop – which he never did, mind you!

As I got older I would maliciously soak his trouser leg: Foamy bubbles would coat the swollen lips of my labia as he beat my ass-cheeks pillar-box red. I would drip, and squirt down the leg of his pants as he heated my firm young orbs with the palm of his brutish hand, causing violent orgasmic waves to thunder through my naïve form. I shuddered and convulsed in his lap, and dug my false nails into his thigh. I bit him, viciously, through the leg of his trousers. I liked biting him.

Some months into this, we were starting to run out of dishes, but I needed daddy to surreptitiously give me my Tuesday-night orgasm before we moved from china onto plastic; although, I understand a province someplace out in the orient, is making real, imitation, plastic Wedgewood these days — dishwasher friendly, they say…!

AFTER I PISSED and creamed down daddy’s leg, I would think to myself, “…Now then, that’ll teach you, won’t it! Try explaining the smell on your pants to mommy on wash day – daddy darling, and I will be helping her, so don’t worry, I will make sure she gets a good whiff before they go into the wash. Oh–oh! Daddy’s going to be in the dog-house — again!” consoled Tonya to herself, as her daddy spanked her hams red raw.

Tonya would fart loudly, as the brutish monster did it to her over his knee, and turn her crying face around to see if she had affected him in any way, with her pungent retaliation.

Tonya’s pooh-pooh hole was all she had to fight back with, and she used it with gusto! The racket from which bahis siteleri had become alarming though lately, and during her weekly orgasmic spank, she, and her daddy, were treated to a rather reedy rendition of baritone issuances from her hairy little ring, that would put a sextet of Louisiana funeral-march trombonists to shame.

Chp. 4.

THAT SUMMER, the summer of Tonya’s 18th birthday, she got very big down there, between her legs, I mean – and up on top too! Tonya’s bottom got to be so rounded that year, that she could hear the stitching of her panties creaking and straining in the mornings as she tried to pack 10lbs ass-cheek into a pair of 5lb knickers: Her poor panties were doing double duty at the back of her, valiantly struggling to contain her new, burgeoning, haunches.

Tonya would spend more than half an hour of a morning aligning the cheeks of her ass, tidily, into their respective panty tote-bag bloomer sacks which hung left and right of her musky ass-crack, and dangled like weighty droplets of fat and muscular tissue atop her ample thighs; her panty waist band, cutting deep into the soft smooth flesh along the perimeter-shelf at the curvature of her hip plateau, the elastic band biting-in under the dead weight of her developing bum.

A red circular welt was visible in her soft lovely flesh, when she showered after gym with the girls at college, and rode like a fiery halo about her torso, broadcasting the voluminous load her panties had to put up with from her exploding buttocks, with blatant, irrefutable, confirmatory evidence. Tonya was always embarrassed by the red ring! If only she would resist those curly-fries, and those cream-éclairs, but she knew she couldn’t, and she hated her ass, dangling, heavily, in her screaming panties, as their sheer mass bit welts into her pristine flesh.

Tonya spent countless hours kneeling down in front of her bedroom mirror, staring over her shoulder at the reflection of her voluptuous ass, crying and viciously beating her ass-cheeks with a spatula from the kitchen. She would punish her ass severely for getting so big, and pulling her panties up into her clout, giving her a constant camel-toe.

Tonya would paddle her buttocks hard, and wouldn’t stop until she came to a shuddering orgasm, whereupon she would roll over onto her back, and do her foaming vulva-hole something shameful with the handle of the spatula; legs sticking up into the air, her steaming beaver squirting at her reflection with utter malice and contempt.

Chp. 5.

IT WAS JUST last summer: Tonya had gotten out of class early, and rushed home to beat her ass — good and proper, following off-hand remarks throughout the day, concerning her camel-toe at gym-time, canlı bahis by the other girls! The house was empty. Tonya rummaged through the kitchen cutlery draw and grabbed the spatula and the ice-cream scoop, too. The scoop had a short, thick, rubbery tapered handle, with knobble finger-grips undulating down one side of it. She stripped off, staring at her reflection in her bedroom mirror, furiously!

Instead of punishing her buttocks in the kneeling position as usual, this time, she decided to try and get a better angle on them; and also, afford herself greater access to her beaver and stink-hole, to finish herself off, when the time came.

Tonya put a pillow under her head, and one under the small of her back, and pulled her legs up, wide, open and unashamed. She anchored her feet and ankles under the edge of the bed. She remembered thinking that her clout resembled a large cut of flank steak, rimmed with a quarter bushel of coarsely-cut, black, curly, watercress.

Tonya threaded, both, her arms and shoulders, and upper torso, through her legs, and started beating ten-shades of shit out of her naughty, bulbous, ass-hole cheeks with the flat of the spatula. She was really fed up with her bum, and paddled it without mercy or quarter, screaming and begging herself to stop, but the more she cried, and the more she begged, the harder she beat her buns — she was vicious that day, and she spoke to her buns as she laid into them with all of her might!

“If I’ve told you two once, I’ve told you umpteen times! Don’t pull my panties up into my beaver-crack when people are around to see! ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME…? You malicious pair of bastards…!” she screamed. And with each and every word, she reinforced it with a blistering whack of the spatula.


IN AN ATTEMPT to alleviate the pain, Tonya grabbed the ice-cream scoop and stuffed the handle into her mouth, wetting it good. She found her slit-hole, and without hesitation rammed it into her creamy clout, all the way up to the beginning of the cold metal scoop itself – she shivered. Tonya stared at her ass, and beaver in the mirror, her buttocks turning a dark, blue-red, as she willingly punished them for nothing more than being just what they are; and her pussy-hole, bubbling, foaming and creaming-up as she stabbed at it relentlessly with her scoop-handle of a carving knife, like a sex-driven ‘Psycho’ in an Hitchcockian motel bathroom scene.

Tonya’s head was rolling around wildly on the pillow, as she took equal grains of pain and pleasure, ecstasy and quail, delight and displeasure into her swale. She, as her daddy often said, was a, “little Princess”. A naughty, naughty Pocahontas; and today she was about to live up to her name, as güvenilir bahis she beat her ass, not merely with a feather, and without the absence of distain, but simply out of pain and pleasure, and without reservation, or gain.

Tonya drifted into the final slalom-run of her long, anticipated, slippery orgasm; her psyche skidded into protect-mode — And she gasped as her nostrils filled with the aroma of burning rubber, more from the ice-cream scoop handle, than from the symbolic smoking tires of the psychological Harley which she rode in on; engine thumping, headlights blazing, tires screeching at the behest of a looming psychotic break.

There was just too much vulgarity, and irrefutable graphic evidence, of wanton carnal desire forcing its reflected sight deep into her eyes and consciousness, as she stared at who, and what, she had become, writhing there, alone, over the bedroom floor; flashed back at her, from out of the mirror.

The almost surreal movie-like image mailed at the speed of light, in real time, projecting the sight – of a frothing, moaning, punishing stranger – in the glassy, silvered-screen, fictitious reality, of an envisioned hanging tantric weave, bathed in brown-hued, hurricane lamp-light…


Vision: –Stark sultan: –probable, dream.

Approximated: Chaotic eyelids — occurring…

Climax: –Light oscillation…

Eyelid shutters…blurring:

… to and fro – rolled-back eyes;

Banging in the wind;

Soft-lidded things — there you go!

–Butterfly-wings, all a’row:

…cooling bodies;


Red Admiral and trinkets:

And, sparkly bell-sounding tings…

Height of heat, influenced by cruel built suns;

–Orgasmically driven, of course, fooling:

hopefully, not ,

All the way up:

…into her buns – sweetly slotted,

With ringlets, dangling in her hair and an un-cooling ardor besotted affair.

“Would you like butter or margarine, madam, with your fries on toast, and would you prefer your cream, clotted – Red?” screamed Tonya’s bloody mental organization, as it fell apart at the seams; her ankles chaffing and bleeding under her bed…’nuff said.

Chp. 5 (and a bit.)

Tonya’s stared at the shameless trollop in the mirror, and sobbed in utter despondency, as she watched herself defile her genitals, with much perspiration, and a pinch of intence ideology. Writhing around; her ass-hole opening and closing outside of her express control. Her vulva foaming as she tried to stab the beast within, with her ice-cream-scoop, dagger of sin.

Her legs bent back:

Wide as wide can be:

Hooked under the edge of the bed:

The frame anchoring thee:

Her fluid breasts wobbling and slopping around frantically:

In counter-opposing spins:

It is said:

To be the spin of the northern hemisphere:

I read.

(To be continued…)

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