Sex-crazed stallion

CHAPTER FIVE

Lucus Simpson ran his hands in unison along his daughter's bare back. His head had a sharp stabbing pain racing through it. He felt the beating of his heart, the throbbing of his blood as it pounded in his ears.

His scene with Carrie had disturbed him greatly, had thrown him totally out of synch with himself.

He had tried to work in the lab, but couldn't keep his mind on what he was doing. The experiments were entering a new phase, a very crucial phase. He was preparing to impregnate a mouse with an embryo that had been fertilized in a test tube, in itself nothing spectacular. What was special was the embryo that he was developing. It was a fusion. Two zygotes each the fertilized product of separate sets of parents had been fused into a single embryo. If it lived, the stage would be set for future fusions, fusions of a decidedly more bizarre and unnatural variety.

But he hadn't dared to attempt the delicate process of inserting the tiny blob of life into the selected mother. His hands were trembling more often now. The tension was beginning to take its toll. He felt restless. He felt… He felt the old urges churning closer and closer to the surface. For twenty years, he had through the sheer power of his mind, the same power that enabled him to vanish, to evade all those seeking him, this awesome intellect had managed to beat down its darker side, its nightmarish alter ego… But now, the demons chained so long were struggling once more for their freedom. In his dreams he could hear them, could hear the soft metallic clank of locks being sprung, of cell doors slowly creaking open, could hear their furtive footsteps through the corridors of his brain as they searched for their own form of daylight, of freedom…

He knew that he could not control them this time. The effort to change himself, to beat them back had succeeded for twenty years. He had watched his daughters grow to womanhood through those long years, and had managed to translate his demented desires into a simple satisfying of his sexual needs. They had kept him sane.

At least, Sherry had. But now Carrie threatened his very being. She threatened him with the one thing he could not tolerate… exposure. She, by her very reluctance to live the life he had programmed for her, stood as an obstacle in his path. She was his daughter. He had endured years of isolation for them. He had suffered for them. He loved them. But no one, not even one of his own could threaten to interrupt his work again. It couldn't happen. It must not happen!

It wouldn't happen!

And now, she was gone again. She had left without a word. He had stood at the window and watched her leave.

Why should he be frightened? What was wrong with her wanting to be off by herself?

They were, of course, questions that had no answers, at least none that would have fitted into Lucus Simpson's scheme of things. For he had, over the years, painted himself into a corner, so to speak, by hinging his life and his sanity on the two women who formed the focus of his existence, and now, discovering that they weren't both the perfect image he'd tried to fashion, he had no resources left with which to improvise an alternative solution. It was forward, keeping to the same course however ill advised, or it was oblivion. Destruction. Ruin.

And so his work was left in the freezer of his laboratory, and his mind was distracted by his overwhelming needs…

It almost was no longer enough. He could feel it, in his balls, in his hands, in his brain.

The beautiful supple body bent willingly before him, so ready to answer his every request was reaching nonetheless his limits.

He ran his fingers down the crack of her ass and felt her lean backwards into him. He was at her anus, pressing into her with his finger, opening her body, entering her, violating her and she gladly accepted him.

Stretching her, wider and wider, rubbing her juices back from the pink wet slit between her legs, back between her smooth buttocks, up into the brown ring of muscle, he kept it up until the opening was smooth and oily.

He dropped a blob of saliva onto his fingers and started to work the liquid onto the head of his swollen cock. Again, and again until the head and upper shaft were slippery from his spittle, then back into her asshole, inserting one then two fingers, rubbing them in and out, in and out until he felt the muscles finally start to relax, felt the hole open wider and wider, felt her whole body settle forward as she prepared to receive him.

He placed his cock at her anus.

The opening was still far too small to make entry easy, but he was in a heat of tension and lust. He needed this, needed it in precisely this way, needed to feel her body closing around his throbbing prick, needed to feel her shudder from the pressure of his entry.

Down, down into her, thrusting with one mighty jab of his hips. She cried out.

But she might have been crying to an empty room. He hurt her when he did this, hurt her knowingly, willingly. He enjoyed it, wanted it, needed it, somehow, needed to hurt her.

More and more he seemed to need to work out fantasies of violence on her body, needed to feel himself triumph over her helplessness.

He needed to feel the stretching of her body, needed to hear her cry, not from ecstasy but from agony.

He wanted most of all, to force a blending of the two in her mind, to feel that he had gained total control, not only of her will, for that had been his all along, but also of her reflexes, of her instincts, of the very foundation of her being.

He wanted to reduce her to an instrument of release.

He was well on his way.

She knew that there was nothing to be done about it, that she had been selected for a peculiar role in life and would never question it. He needed her. He needed her body for reasons that she could only dimly perceive and never hope to understand, but that was enough for her.

He was her reason for existing. Never had she actually spoken the thought to herself in exactly those words, but it didn't matter. At a more fundamental level, they both knew it and neither questioned it.

He thrust his cock into her ass, like a spear cleaving a melon. Her cheeks quivered as the rest of her body shook from the pain of the onslaught.

Out, in, out, in. He slowly, deliberately increased his speed, holding himself back to milk the absolute extremes from the experience.

He felt himself grow harder with each scream torn from her throat. He felt his blood race, his heart pound, felt his skin almost crawling across his body from excitement.

And he remembered!

Yes!

Somewhere, in some small room at the very center of his mind, there existed in all their full lifelike horror, the memories… Ignored but never truly forgotten. Overcome, but not banished. Always they had been there, always, forever, as long as he could remember waiting, calmly, patiently till they could be called up.

Lately, they had been appearing at times other than his deepest dreams.

During the day, at night before sleeping… and especially times like now, when his dominance asserted itself, when his daughter's body was spread and opened to him, opened to his attacking cock, his twisted mind.

He remembered.

The darkened rooms the sleeping bodies.

In the hallways, he would prowl, a creature of the night disguised as one of their saviours.

A creature of torture clothed in the robes of a bearer of life.

One by one, the cases grew. And his split mind fought with itself with each new attack. During the day he was at the front of the investigations.

But at night, he was an animal seeking to satisfy its hunger, its thirst, its need…

He remembered. With each shudder wracking his daughter's body, he remembered other bodies, smaller, softer, more helpless.

He remembered how easy they had been, how trusting, how utterly delicious!

He remembered their eyes, opening always at the last instant in wide horror as they realized what was about to befall them, their sweet tiny mouths, struggling beneath his powerful hands to utter a single cry for help, release a single scream of pain and agony…

He remembered. More and more, he was remembering, bringing the demons back to the surface. The night was settling once more in his brain. The darkness was enveloping him, choking him, dragging him back into the slime from which he had so laboriously crawled so long ago.

Devolution. That's what was taking place inside him. He was regressing. Should it overtake him, he knew he would be helpless.

Oh GOD! he thought, he didn't want it to take him again, the thirst, the hunger, the need…

His need to feel their soft bodies as his fingers squeezed relentlessly into the flesh, as he dug into them, seeking them out with his fingers, his cock…

He knew that this time, the hunger would run rampant; would consume not only those around him but he himself. There would be only ashes where once there had been a brilliant mind.

It frightened him, and so to stave off the approaching doom, he thrust his throbbing cock once more into her, felt her squirm in pain, heard her cries grow more and more intense.

It wasn't enough!

He needed more!

He raised his hand, and for the first time in his life, he struck Sherry's body. Hard.

She collapsed, both from the pain and from the shock.

"Oh, Dad, that hurt! Please, why are you doing this?"

He heard her, a voice in the fog, a shape in the night without form.

He slapped her again, firmly on her buttocks and he could feel the force of his assault as it penetrated her body, could feel it in his embedded cock.

And again he struck her, on the side of her buttocks this time, leaving a deep red mark from his hand.

She was confused, was in pain, but she did not struggle. It was her role to serve. She would not question it.

But somewhere inside her, a flicker of doubt sparked to life, a small glowing ember, unnoticed as the fallen ash from a cigarette onto the mattress just before sleep can go unnoticed.

But there was something in her father that was malignant, and it seemed to be growing. As his blows fell, she endured them in silence. This was not like him. This was not what she wanted. This was something that she would not be able to take for the rest of her life. Something would have to change.