From: bobandcarole@aol.com   
      
   Story: Beth   
      
   by bobandcarole   
      
   My name is Beth.  I am 12 years old.  I haveby  long blonde hair that hangs   
   down to the middle of my back in loose ringlets.  I have blue eyes.  I go   
   to an all girl Catholic School near my home in San Francisco.  Don't I look   
   cute in my little uniform?  I hate it.  Plaid skirt, blue knee highs, white   
   blouse, blue cardigan or jacket.  Dull, dull, dull.  But some men seem to   
   like it.  They slow down their cars when we walk by.  Watching hungrily as   
   10 or 12 junior high school girls, all laughing and joking like we haven't   
   got a care in the world.  We see you, but even at our young ages, we know   
   that you'll never make the grade.  Girls at our school come from the   
   richest families in the City.  For us, you simply don't exist.  Apparently   
   this kind of attitude makes some men mad.   
      
       I was walking home from school, minding my own business.  I was by   
   myself, due to an after school appointment with my music teacher.  She   
   wanted me to have a solo in the winter recital.  I was terrified of this,   
   as I'd only started playing the cello three months before, but after her   
   reassurances I felt more confident.  Walking home, I even began to imagine   
   myself at the recital, taking my bow.  Humming the piece of music to myself   
   that I would be playing, I was taken completely by surprise when somebody   
   grabbed me from behind and pulled me into a parking garage.  His hands were   
   over my mouth, and there was no way that I could scream, even if I wasn't   
   too frightened.   
      
       "Get on your knees, you little bitch, or I'll cut up your pretty face,"   
   he hissed.  Shaking from the menace in his voice, I fell to my hands and   
   knees on the ground.  The rough concrete scraped my bare knees, and I   
   almost screamed when he grabbed my ponytail and pulled me up on to my   
   knees. One hand held me by my hair and he used the other one to tear my   
   blouse open.  "Look at those little tits!" he mumbled.  Still holding my   
   hair with one hand, he fumbled at his fly with the other one.  His cock   
   sprang out.  Pitilessly, he shoved it down my throat.  "Suck it, bitch," he   
   snarled.  Using his hold on my hair, he jerked my head back and forth on   
   his cock.  I tried not to gag, but it had to be nine inches long, and most   
   of it was in my mouth.  "Use your tongue!" So I moved my head away, and   
   teased him with the tip of my tongue.   
      
       "Is this right?" I whimpered pathetically.  He had begun jerking his   
   hips back and forth.  "Oh yeah," he muttered.  Jerking on my hair, he   
   shoved it in my mouth again.  It was salty tasting, and a rich earthy scent   
   came from his crotch.  I sucked it as hard as I could, trying not to gag.   
   For obvious reasons we could make no sounds, but his breathing grew more   
   and more ragged, until he pushed me off his cock and held me by the   
   shoulders while his cock spurted six jets of a sticky liquid at me.  It got   
   in my eyes and my hair.   
      
       Once he'd finished, he pushed me back on to the floor, hard, and ran   
   away.  Listening to the sound of his footsteps echoing away, I sat up,   
   rubbing my head where I'd banged it on the concrete.  I sat for a couple of   
   minutes on the cold ground to collect my thoughts.  Then I picked myself up   
   and walked back to the freight elevator.  Fortunately, since my clothes   
   were ripped and torn, and I was covered in that sticky stuff, none of the   
   staff were in it, and I was able to take it straight to the penthouse where   
   we lived.   
      
       Everything was as normal in the hall.  My daddy's overcoat, hung on the   
   coat rack; my school bag sat on the floor beside his briefcase.  I could   
   hear the sound of the shower, so divesting myself of my hated blue blazer,   
   I ran to his suite of rooms.   
      
       "Daddy!" I shouted, banging loudly at his bathroom door.  "Daddy I need   
   you!" "Just a sec, doll," he shouted back.  "There's shampoo in my eyes!"   
   Impatiently I waited.  How could he be in the shower at a time like this? I   
   needed him now!   
      
       "What is it, Beth?" He asked, concernedly.  Exiting the bathroom, he   
   wore a towel around his waist and used another to rub his black curls dry.   
   The dark hair on his chest was matted with drops of water from the shower,   
   and his tan skin also glistened.  "Something happen today?"   
      
       "Oh Daddy, you won't believe what happened to me," I wailed at him.   
   "Some guy grabbed me in the parking garage and made me suck his cock!"   
   Shocked, he looked me in the eye.  "Beth, what are you saying?  Have you   
   been raped?" "No!  He just made me suck it!" "You mean he didn't touch you   
   or anything like that?"   
      
       "Well he ripped my blouse so that he could see my breasts," I replied.   
   "But really all he wanted was a blow job.  And he threw me on the ground   
   too." I ducked into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror, looking   
   at my cum splattered face.   
      
       "That's terrible!  But he didn't try to touch your pussy?" "No," I   
   shouted.  "He was selfish!  Mean and rough and selfish!" "You mean he   
   didn't even go down on you?  Oh that's awful.  We should phone the police."   
      
       He came up behind me and tried to rub my shoulders.  It felt good..  I   
   tried to shrug him off but was pinned between him and the sink.  Pretending   
   he wasn't there, I rinsed the cleanser off of my face.  "Hand me that   
   towel, would you?" I asked coolly.  Wordlessly, he complied.  Then, instead   
   of returning that hand to my shoulder, it traveled down my back, over my   
   hips, and under my skirt.  I tried to keep my legs closed, but Daddy is soo   
   strong (and persistent) that his hand was able to wiggle its way to the   
   crotch of my panties.  The long sensitive fingers stroked the crotch, one,   
   two, three times.  I buried my face in the towel and shuddered.   
      
       "You're wet," he murmured in his deep husky voice.  He was standing so   
   close to me that I could feel the vibrations in his chest as he spoke, and   
   also his hard-on brushing lightly against my hips.  I raised my head up,   
   and our eyes met in the mirror over the sink.  Blue on blue.  I wet my lips   
   with my tongue, and nodded.  His fingers still stroking me, eyes still   
   meeting, he whispered, "Can I?" and I nodded again.  Then I closed my eyes   
   and waited.  I felt no shame; a year ago when our games started, he had   
   taught me that there should be no embarrassment between us.   
      
       He slid down to his knees and lifted my skirt up over my rear.  For a   
   moment, he just looked at it.  Then I felt his hand stroking my pussy   
   again, fingers brushing gently against the bare skin.  I tried to turn   
   around to give him easier access, but he stopped me.  Then I felt his lips   
   on the sensitive place where my buttocks met the thighs.  He tentatively   
   brushed kisses against my thighs and buttocks, so lightly that I could   
   barely feel it, stroking my little pussy all the while.  After about five   
      
   [continued in next message]   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)