I watched helplessly as he took off his pants and jumped on top of me, crushing my naked body with his. He mauled me with his hands, with grips like steel that I struggled, or made like I struggled, to get clear of.Then, right in front of my mother, Dad raped me. He fucked me until my pussy was raw, then teased me until I begged him to stop, and then, literally fucked the skin off my cunt. By the time he was finished, Mom had watched him rape me thrice, leaving me a bloody and torn and totally defeated self. Wordlessly, she followed her naked husband out of the barn and into the house. I slept with the pigs that night.The next day, Dad raped me again. Over the next couple of months, he would rape me at any time of the day that he saw fit - during breakfast, during lunch, even during Mass. Gradually, we started to spend every Sunday together, drawing flak for our obvious indiscretion. On one of the rare occasions that we were in Church, the priest even mentioned Lot and his daughters. As they both lay entwined in post-orgasmic bliss he had remembered the satellite phone left outside where they had watched elephants wander across the savannah towards the local drinking hole. She had told him to leave it till the morning or at least till the rain had stopped; it was safe enough in its water-proof holder. He said it might get washed away. She said they could cope without it; they were both reasonably experienced.He said it was only a hundred yards away.She wrapped her hand around his flaccid cock, feeling the slickness of their combined juices upon his flesh slowly drying. He grinned, telling her he would only be a moment. She lifted her fingers to her mouth and sucked them clean. He hesitated before kneeling and reassuring her it would be okay. She frowned at him before sliding her hand back to her still-wet pussy; slipping two fingers deep inside; his eyes fixed upon her slit.“You’d better hurry!” she declared.She watched him pull open the tent, a waterproof coat.
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