These incidents happened ****CIRCA 1996****. Like my other confession, this is told in first-person present in an active tense just for the sake of porn. These accounts, in particular, are pure porn. No plot or any of that. I had tried writing it completely differently but it became too difficult for emotional reasons. Real incest is not an easy subject. This story, though, has scant mentions of it as it involves two incidents with other people. I lastly want to add that I know Marilyn Manson is not gothic. I was simply at his concert then for the Anti-Christ Superstar tour. I was gothic at the time, though a baby goth just getting into the subculture.
Boyfriend’s House. Bedroom Loft.
I’m not a virgin but Andrew’s cock hurts me when he pushes himself into my tight little asshole. I gasp out once more and cringe, grinding my teeth, clawing at his clothed arms. I try to dig my nails as deep as I can to give him some pain of my own. The tightness of my sphincter certainly isn’t enough for him, isn’t a suitable revenge. Unless he’s some kind of freak it’s pleasurable, too pleasurable.
I bend my knees and place my feet on his ribs, though quickly slide them down to press them onto both of his thighs as he keeps driving his cock into me further and further. We’re screwing face to face, missionary style. He watches every twitch my mouth makes, I’m certain. He’s reading my emotions to boost his own ego. I lift my butt up a little bit, as if that would lessen the discomfort. Surprise, it doesn’t, just allows him to go deeper, though not by much.
“Oh my god, ungh.”
His cock goes all the way into my hole. The member is swallowed down to the end of its shaft…not that it’s very long. That’s when he takes his cue to start pumping himself in and out of me. I roll my eyes up into my head and take it as best as I can.
Switchblade Symphony’s Mine Eyes plays in the background from a portable stereo that’s directly behind me in the small loft. Haunting operatic vocals matched with synthesizers for an otherworldly atmosphere that fits the low lighting in the room. It almost overpowers the weird squishy sounds of our fucking. I focus my gaze up to the triangular ceiling above. “Harder,” I hear myself saying, practically without any breath behind my utterance. “Harder.” Make this moment special, I think.
He lowers his body onto mine, holding me so that I have to hug his body or otherwise keep my arms awkwardly down by my sides. I decide to run one hand through his chin-length wavy brown hair while I wrap the other one around him to keep him close. Oddly, I’m not hard, not like I am when my brother fucks me. Nevertheless, I moan as if I were, and take his pounding like a pro. For all the things I’ve already done at my age, I’m sadly like a pro.
His small balls slap against my ass. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. Slap. My shirt rides up my back, exposing my skin to the carpet, giving me a mild rug burn. His humping becomes erratic and my cock doesn’t get any harder. Any illusion of romance I had with the situation is shattered. It’s too amateurish, I realize. My brother is much more enjoyable, more experienced, more considerate.
“Uh, uh, uh, uh.”
He suddenly scrunches up his face. His whole slim body tenses. To my complete and utter surprise, the bastard chomps down onto the side of my neck. I scream out in agony while his cock twitches inside of me, pumping out his come spurt by spurt. He moans over my yelping and sucks on my neck as if he were a vampire. I know that’s what he wishes he was. That’s fine as I don’t mind the idea of being a blood doll, but some warning would have been nice. I assume this is what I get for wearing a black Interview with the Vampire t-shirt the other day that had a hot-as-fuck Tom Cruise on it with the words, “Drink from me and live forever,” written on the back.
As soon as his cock shrinks, he releases his hold on my neck and pulls out. Relief at last. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. He lies down next to me but doesn’t touch me. He’s out of breath too. When I glance at him I realize that he looks rather silly the way he is…pants down around his ankles. What a lousy fuck, I think. I can’t blame the guy, though. I’m his first boy, his second sexual partner altogether. He was only sixteen, I, the fourteen year old brother-fucker turned slut.
Marilyn Manson Concert. 9:30 Club. Bathroom.
I make direct eye-contact while I wait in line for the bathroom. I suck on my forefinger. It has two coats of hot pink nail polish on it. I ask him for his name.
“Nathan (Ethan?), what’s yours?”
“Seth. But you can call me baby. Do you like me? I like you…think you’re like hot and all.”
We make out like the overexcited, overindulgent rebellious teenagers that we are. Someone shouts “faggots get a room” but we just laugh it off until the line shrinks.
It’s chaos inside the bathroom. Smoke everywhere. And holy shit it reeks of butt. But Nathan/Ethan is so fucking hot, and not too old—looks to be about seventeen. He has braces in his mouth and an earring in one ear. His hair is dyed black and down to his chin, shaved underneath and flipped to one side, too. On his forehead is a black X. Whether it’s there to imitate Charles Manson or Rob Zombie, I’m not sure. Either way, his whole look contrasted nicely with my more feminine appearance—plastic pink barrettes in my short black hair, long black skirt, eyeliner, eyeshadow, mascara, pink lipstick and all.
Once a stall becomes free, we make a dash for it, though he goes in first. He tries to cover me so that I’m barely seen, but we make a last minute change of plans. He goes in and closes the door most of the way while I look around with my fingers on the handle as if distracted. When a few seconds pass, I slip inside the stall as if no one else had entered it before me. As I situate myself into the small space he whispers, “Come on, sit on me.” He’s down on the edge of the toilet seat holding his cock in his hand. It pokes out from his light blue boxers. To my surprise, I hesitate to do anything. I’m suddenly bothered by the fact that there are so many guys in there with us, pissing, farting, smoking and, from some giggles I can hear, fucking girls. They have to know that we’re both in there up to no good. Makes me wonder if anyone will tell, mostly because I’m so young. As soon as I second guess myself, however, I talk myself out of the second guessing. Guys seem to be doing their business and leaving. I can tell because of all the shuffling of feet that I hear. Biting my lip, I look down at the condomless stranger. Andrew is upstairs waiting for me, but he’s a lousy boyfriend. He can wait forever for all I cared.
“Uhm…maybe another time,” I say without making a move to leave. Nathan/Ethan takes me by my fishnet-covered wrist and gently pulls me towards him until I’m between his legs (space in the stall is nonexistent). I gulp and nod. “Okay,” I say to myself as I turn off all common sense, as I relent to my overwhelming need to get fucked in the ass. To show that I’m once again willing, I bend down and kiss him deeply, one hand at the back of his head, the other on his cheek, stroking it. Without resisting, I let him, the complete stranger, tug down my long black skirt while I continue to make out with him. I then let him do the same with my briefs. I’m so nervous that when I regain my posture I’m incredibly stiff, like a robot. He has to take me by the hips and turn me around, my ass to his face because I can’t do it myself. To my humiliation the only thing that isn’t stiff is my little cock.
I begin to lower myself to ease onto his dick but he takes me by my girlish hips and just pulls me down to speed up the process. Within seconds the head of his cock is pressed right against my sphincter, but it doesn’t go inside of me. I have to reach around and hold his cock in place for penetration to start to occur. Deprived of even the faintest of lubrication, it hurts like a bitch and isn’t going in me like it should. I’m way too tight. Too nervous. His cock bends. Instead of feeling like I’m getting dicked, I just feel pressure. There’s too much resistance from my end.
“Wait, wait,” I say, glancing over my shoulder to look at him.
“Move forward,” he says. With a non-violent shove, he sends me towards the door. I have to throw up my hands to brace them against the sides of the front of the graffiti-covered stall in order to prevent a collision with my head. As I remain hunched over like that, he stands up and spreads my ass cheeks. I close my eyes and try to focus on loosening the muscles in my entire body to make penetration easier. It seems to work. I relax, and just in time. With one hand wrapped around my waist, he thrusts his meaty cock into my tight little asshole. He’s not a jerk about it, just desperate. I squeak, but quickly suck my bottom lip into my mouth so that I don’t make any other noise. I don’t want to attract any unnecessary attention.
He immediately begins to pound into me, his cock hitting my prostate with every other thrust or less. My natural ass “juices” are the only lube I get. He slaps my ass. I scrunch my face up into a tight wince. I have to gasp for air as if I had been holding my breath. Drool dribbles out of my mouth in thin threads. There doesn’t seem to be any gradual pleasure with this. It hurts so fucking bad that I force myself to turn the pain into pleasure by sheer willpower. Mind over matter. He moans loudly. The belt buckle on his pants jingles as he wildly humps me. My arms begin to shake at the elbows from being strained and stuck in the same position. Before I know it, my arms are given a break. “Come with me,” he says and pulls me down as he goes back to the toilet seat.
Keeping him in my ass, I’m forced into the position we had tried in the beginning. This time, though, I can work it. With my legs closed tightly together because of the lowness of the seat, hands braced on his thighs, I begin to pump my ass up and down his thick throbbing shaft until I’m practically bouncing on him like an excited little child. He moans and moans until his cock accidentally slides out of me. “Opps,” I say. He goes and puts it back in my hole. I bounce on him some more, muffling my own sounds of pleasure, until his dick comes out again. This time I’m embarrassed. Without a word, he stands back up and forces me forward into the position I had been in when he first entered me.
Putting his cock back into me, he resumes the fucking with an arm wrapped around my waist. I take it like a good boy until my eyes widen in surprise. His free hand wraps around my soft, neglected cock. He gives it a firm squeeze and begins to jerk me off. He goes faster and faster. I grow to my full, though small, length.
I can’t help but watch him handle me as my body is repeatedly thrust into, ass tightening more and more in genuine pleasure. I whimper. Everything starts to feel real good—too good. I close my eyes and cry out, foregoing my attempt to keep quiet. My balls tighten as if they have a mind of their own, and a heat moves down my lower back. I grimace and spurt out come in small squirts all over my own clothes, all over my briefs and skirt. Before I can get a good look at the mess, however, he pulls his dick out of my ass and whips me around. He pushes down onto my shoulders then begins to jerk off. He grabs a fistful of my hair and forces my face forward. Mildly disoriented, I don’t register what he’s doing until it’s too late. Until it literally hits me in the face, landing on the apple of my cheek, and above my eyebrow, onto my long dark eyelashes, barely missing my eye, a little on my nose and some on my lips. My lower lip trembles. My heart pounds. I gaze up at him and see him making an o with his mouth, one that quickly turns into a wicked grin. Just as the come starts drying on my face, he stuffs himself into his boxers. Within the blink of an eye, he slides past me, says, “Thanks, little dude,” and is gone, leaving me on my knees. As if on cue, the crowd in the venue roars. It snaps me out of shock. I reach for some toilet paper to clean myself off, but see that there is none save for a few strands that hang from the cardboard roll.