****** Angel's Cry by Justmaster ******
===============================================================================

Angel's Cry


"Daddy, Please!"

He woke with a start, hot flesh stuck to wet sheets. Her cry, dovelike,
mournful, echoing in his ears. In the distance the soul-rending wail of a train
whistle mingled with the voice in his mind. Her voice.

Sunlight slipped passed the heavy red drapes, cutting the room with a dusty
beam of too bright yellow light. His eyes half opened, clinched shut again at
the sight of it. He stayed in the shadows, on the bed, greasy hair itching his
scalp, legs aching and unsure.

Thin cotton clung to the flaccid skin of his chest. Sitting up, he pulled the
wife beater out and away, feeling breath warm air against his nipples. On the
nightstand a lukewarm half full can of Pabst. He forced himself to gulp it
down.

The doughy bite of it began to burn away the edges of his headache.

Water pooled on old gold carpet, beneath the overworked air conditioner. A
cheap motel clock flashed twelve aimlessly. He fumbled at the bedside, finding
the crushed softpack of Luckies.

Suddenly hungry he pulled one, and pressed it to the dry flesh of his lips.
Shredded tobacco clung to the tacky inside of his mouth. He spit dryly into the
sunlight, and searched blindly for the lighter.

Spark in the dimness, and the soft, seductive smoke caressed his frontal lobe.

Cigarette perched carelessly in the corner of his mouth, he struggled into the
moldy smelling jeans, stood, and stretched. Muscles creaked, and the center of
his chest popped. He was sweating. His teeth hurt.

On the other bed, a pair of red nylon thong panties. He picked them up, feeling
the rough crusted cotton liner. Holding them to his face, he inhaled deeply.
Through hooded eyes he remembered. Remembered her cries, her hot wet cunt. Her
whimpering.

'Daddy please!' Her cry, shrill and tinny. He shook his head angrily.

"Shut up, shut up!" Ash falling from the dull orange butt as he spit this out
angrily. "Why can't you shut up?".

Nothing. Silence. Finally.

He wiped the sweat from his armpits with the panties, and tossed them towards
the corner. On the television, his watch, glinting over a staticy preacher, who
shook the bible at a packed auditorium of swaying onlookers.

10:30. Jesus! He had pick-ups. Scrounging through his pockets, a greasy wad of
bills. Twenty-eight bucks.

He stepped over her on the cool bathroom tile, and rummaged through her purse.
Pills, Kleenex, lipstick, a bag of weed. College id. Forty-three dollars.
Fucking bitch.

He pocketed the money, looking down at her pale blue face. Brick brown mud
stared out of her empty eye sockets. He remembered the feeling, that hard-
boiled egg crunch under his thumbs.

It hadn't started out that way. Hell, it never does. She was just a somewhat
pretty, trampy bar-girl. Smoking Virginia Slims perched high on that barstool.
Too nervous to be old enough to drink. Too pretty to be alone for very long. To
stupid to know better.

Young, he liked them young.

He'd bought the first beer, her embarrassed half smile enough for him to make
the walk across the smoke filled bar, past the truckers playing pool, while
Shania howled about love gone wrong over scratchy speakers.

Rebecca? Rachel, her name had been Rachel. He bought her the second beer with a
shot, and threw his down quickly to goad her into following. She took the bait.

She was a student, at the local community college. She wanted to be an
accountant. Um-hmmm. She had nice eyes. He liked them. Bright, innocent.

A third round and his hand on her knee, skin so warm and soft. She didn't
normally come here, or to bars at all. It was just that she'd broken up with
her boyfriend, and didn't want to be alone. He understood. It was sad. Hard to
get over that kind of thing. She was only human.

He told her his tale. Divorced. Missed his daughter. So hard to meet a nice
girl on the road all the time. It was lonely in his motel room. He'd gone out
too, to just not be alone.

Empathetic gaze, her hand on his.

Akward silence. His fingers thrilling at the touch of her young flesh. She lit
another cigarette as he ordered a fourth round.

So hard to meet good girls these days, he told her. Looks like tonight he might
just have lucked out.

Her smile, nervous and toothy. She liked older men. She thought he
looked...distinguished. Fingers under the hem of that black denim skirt. Her
thigh muscles standing hard from the bend of her knee.

So loud and smoky here, he told her. How about a walk? She smiled brighter. She
knew the game a bit then, he thought. Perhaps it wasn't her first time in this
place.

A stolen kiss, warm and hard, her back against the sweating bricks. Careful,
careful! She told him. His kissed softer, smiled at her, told her she was
beautiful. Those eyes lit up.

In the room, he caressed her. Her flesh was supple under his rough hands.

"You gonna be a good girl for me Angel?" he whispered, forcing his hand into
the cup of her bra.

"Yeah. You like good girls?" She stuck her gum to the edge of the night stand.

"Yeah, I like good girls." His hands roughly squeezing her tit.

"Be... young for me. How old are you?" His breath ragged on her neck.

"How old? I'm twenty one..." He squeezed, hard.

"HOW OLD are you?" He asked, pulling her back against him, grinding his hips
against her.

"I'm, I'm,..." She sounded scared. He cut her off.

"You're sixteen."

"I'm... I'm sixteen," she said back, quietly.

"This is kind of weird, I..." His backhand took her off guard, knocking her to
the bed.

And he was on her, pinning her, forcing her legs apart, kissing her mouth hard.

"Not so rough baby!" she'd whispered, her hands on the muscles of his back.

He smiled at this.

He could still half feel how her body contracted around him as he slammed into
her over and over.

"Not so rough!" she cried again, as his hand slid off her tits and onto her
neck.

He felt the veins, thumb pushing in to the hollow of her.

"Stop it! Stop it!" she cried, finally realizing her danger.

He pushed harder, fucked deeper, his hips slamming into her, making red marks
on her plush, white ass. He squeezed harder, saw her gag, desperate for air. He
gave her a breath, and pushed again. So hot, so sexy, her arms flailing, hands
clawing.

"God no, please no!" she said, over and over.

He'd slapped her. Slapped her and yelled at her, through half clenched teeth

"Fucking bitch!" Shaking her roughly by the neck. Then a quick calm.

"Be a g'good girl now..." his voice quivering with anticipation.

"Call me Daddy," he whispered. "Beg daddy for mercy." He saw her horror.

"Please god mister, ple..." His knuckles smashed into the spongy flesh of her
nose. He watched the crimson splatter across her lips, the shock in those
bright blue eyes.

"Say it! Say it!" His cock, so hard, driving deep into her, bottoming out
roughly at the top of her womb.

"Jeezus, please, please!" she cried, tears spraying his chest.

Again the sting across his knuckles as he drew back from her. Her nostrils
flared, the skin of her eyes puffing up from the swelling.

"Oh god! Please stop please I beg you!" That's when he'd done it, sinking both
thumbs into her skull, squeezing her, as she bucked and gagged. Shaking her
with hot wet hands. They'd been blue eyes anyway, not brown. All wrong, all
wrong.

"Say it!" he'd bellowed, his fury belching out onto her, into her.

"D'daddy, daddy don't hurt me!" Her fear vivid in his ears.

"Daddy gawd please stop, p'p'please!" She was blubbering now, losing it.

He felt bile in the back of his throat. Her Texas drawl so wrong, all wrong,
her fear a panic, not sad at all. When your daddy fucks you, you're hurt, hurt
damnit! She wasn't his angel, his baby. He hated this impostor. Hated her.

He felt his body soften, rejecting this whore. He let go of her, the anger
becoming anguish.

"Angel!" He called out as she rolled off the bed, clawing her way blindly away
from him.

He followed. She crawled into the bathroom, tried to shut the door. He slammed
into it, his shoulder forcing it open. The face of it struck her face, sending
her backward, onto the tile.

He looked around, through a red haze. She was not his Angel. she would never be
his Angel. Never.

The plunger felt cool and hard in his hand. This bitch, this slut. His body
would have nothing of her, but if she wanted the gap in her loins filled, he
would fill it...

The tool still jutted out of her womb, four inches of blood stained wood, and
the black rubber cup. Two more inches of the handle stuck out of her stomach,
just above her belly button.

He splashed cold water on his face, feeling two days of stubble against his
palms. He'd have to take out the...trash. But afterward.

Putting the 'do not disturb' sign on the door handle, he was glad that he'd
found this place. Seven stone cottages dotted a ridge overlooking a pleasant
Ozark valley. This was the far end of his root, and he stayed here twice a
month.

He paid Earl for another night, made some small talk, and told him not to
bother cleaning it up. Earl was the owner, manager, and staff of the place, and
didn't argue at not having more to do.

In the truck he bit his nails nervously, tasting the iron flavor of her blood.
He'd need to stop at Walmart, get some trash bags and some cleaner, but he was
behind on the root, so that would come later.

He collected the change from those small gambling machines, video poker they
called them, that dotted the gas stations and cheap dinners of this part of the
state.

Some two time loser would eat his meatloaf and potatoes, grab a beer, and spend
a few minutes and a few dollars trying to beat the odds. He never played. He
knew the odds.

He'd go in with a big ring of keys, instant headache from the air conditioning.
Ten minutes later he was squinting in the sun, feeling the heat of the day bake
away his pain, a plastic bucket or two of quarters in each hand. it was a job.
It paid the bills.

"When are you coming home?" she asked, disappointment in her voice.

"Tomorrow night, most likely." He said, stuffing the McDonalds' cheeseburger
into his face.

The sun was baking the Plexiglas phone booth, reminding him of the beetle he'd
burned with a magnifying glass in science class in fourth grade. He was still
way behind too.

"I miss you baby!" she whispered.

"I miss you too darlin'," he said back tenderly, sipping coke from the
oversized cup.

"If you aren't here for her play, she'll kill you. I will too." His wife always
used Angel as a weapon. He tried to not show annoyance.

"I'll be there. You know I will. Put her on."

"Daddy?" His heart melted.

"Angel?" She sounded so sweet, so soft, so pure.

"Daddy, you'll be here for the play, right? Everyone in the high school will be
there! I'll be so upset if you don't come home! You've got to!"

"Yes Angel, yes I'll be there." He'd have to drive all night.

"Oh Daddy thank you!" A long silence. "Daddy?" Her voice got sweeter, younger.

"Yes Angel?" He felt his breath catch in his throat.

"You missed me, right?" She asked, coy and quiet.

"Oh yes Baby, Daddy missed you more than you can ever imagine."

He got off quickly, after saying goodbye to his wife. he'd have to hurry. It
was a long way home, and he still had to take out the trash.


Justafella@hotmail.com

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
You may also want to visit:
    * Sexy_Top_100_Stories
    * Erotic_Top_100_Story_Sites