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From: anon584c@nyx.cs.du.edu (Name withheld by request)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.hetero
Subject: {Pendragon} "WAGTAIL" ( Mf mf zoo rape nc ) [1/1] new <*>
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Date: 9 Dec 1996 00:17:22 -0700
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IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, or otherwise forbidden by law to read
electronically transmitted erotic material, please go do something else.

    This material is Copyright by the author who specifically grants the
right of downloading and electronic copying of ONE copy for your personal 
use.  I would prefer to do my own reposting, thank you.

    I read alt.sex.stories.d.  If you have any comments or requests, please
post them in that newsgroup.  Please use "Pendragon" somewhere in the 
header of any posted reply.  Or e-mail to anon584c@nyx.cs.du.edu.

    All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public
figures in the background, are figments of my imagination and any
resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.


                               #   #   #   #

We all know that this story is fiction, don't we?


                                  WAGTAIL
                            by  Uther Pendragon


He was nothing before I helped him.  Then he was something.  Now he is 
nothing again.

     To understand what happened you have to understand the physical 
layout.  The houses in our part of town are mostly single-family 
residences.  It is not unusual, however, to have a larger apartment 
building at the corner.  I, for instance, live in a single-family two-story 
house overlooked by an apartment house two lots away.

     There was a bedroom and a full bathroom on the ground floor when we 
bought the house.  We used the bedroom for guests until my wife said "Traci 
might hear," once too often.  Traci moved downstairs, I got a computer 
room, my wife went back to having headaches.  

     (I'll never understand it.  Margaret was one hot girl until we were 
married.  I think that I had more sex the year before we were married, 
despite her living at home, than I have had in any year since Traci was 
born.)

     One summer night, I took a break while downloading some large files 
and walked a bit in the back yard.  It was late, and most of the windows in 
the surrounding houses were dark.  One window of the apartment building, 
however, was lit by a green glow.  "Monochrome monitor in this age?" I 
thought, "I wonder if he has an 8086."  Then I returned to my own problems. 

     Some weeks later, I was idly watching my daughter play with her girl 
friends and our dog.  Most of the girls were, like Traci, going into their 
Junior year.  Many of them were "busting out" quite nicely.  I was in the 
computer room window and remembered the glow from another computer.  
Looking toward the apartment building, I saw that that window was open.  A 
man was sitting there looking out with binoculars.  The binoculars seemed 
to be pointing at our yard.  Although all the girls were decently dressed, 
it gave me a weird feeling to think of some dirty old man spying on their 
innocent play.  I couldn't think of anything to do about it.  You can 
complain to the cops about a man looking in your window but not about a man 
looking out of his own.

     This worry was soon replaced by a more serious one.  Coming home early 
one August afternoon, I heard sounds like moaning coming from Traci's room.  
Opening the door I saw our dog, Wagtail, with his nose buried between my 
daughter's naked legs.  

     "Traci," I shouted.

     "Daddy," she screamed.  Neither sound disturbed the dog.  We were both 
frozen for a second, then she tried to pull the covers over her with one 
hand while pushing the dog away with the other.  Wagtail avoided her 
easily.

     "Bad Dog!"  I shouted.  I tossed the covers back so I could grab his 
collar.  I finally pulled him away.  That revealed my fifteen-year-old 
daughter in her lustful nakedness.  Her blouse was open and the bra pushed 
up above her nipples.  These were bright red and standing up asking for 
attention.  From waist to ankles, she was naked.  Her spread legs revealed 
her swollen, pouting, labia.  They were wet from her own juices and 
Wagtail's saliva.  She was red from her face to her breasts.  Whether from 
embarrassment or from adolescent lust, I couldn't tell.

     She was a bad little girl, needing correction.  She was a wanton woman 
needing a man before she was trapped in bestiality.  As I moved toward her, 
she pulled the sheet back over her.  I pulled it off again.  

     "Daddy," she screamed.  Screaming wouldn't do her any good.  I knew 
what she needed, and I would give it to her.  She screamed again, then 
Wagtail was on the bed, standing over her and facing me.  His teeth were 
bared in a snarl.  I backed up, and she curled into a ball, sobbing.

     "Get dressed and get your mutt out in the yard," I said.  "You have 
ten minutes."  Twenty-three minutes later, by my watch, she came back 
inside.  "This is the worst thing that you have ever done," I told her.

     "Was it any worse than what you wanted to do?"

     "I don't know what you mean.  Now pull those jeans down and get over 
my lap."  She hesitated for a long time, then dropped the jeans.  At that 
point, I sat down in a kitchen chair.

     "I'm too old for this, Daddy," she said.  She lay down with her 
stomach over my legs and her pantie-covered bottom convenient to my right 
hand.  She was too old in one sense, her legs stretched out at an angle 
instead of hanging down.  Her soft breasts were pressed against my left 
leg.  I could still see dried dog spit on her thighs.  

     "You're too damn young to be a pervert," I said.  I took her hands and 
put them up against her neck in my left hand.  Then I hit her once as hard 
as I could.  My next blows were softer, but only to keep my hand in hitting 
condition.  She yowled when I hit her and sobbed when I took a break.  When 
my hand was sore, I had her stand and switch sides.  Then I whopped her 
with my left hand.  She was reduced to sniffles and gasps when I finally 
stood her up.  I had to pull her pants up for her.  "Now go to your room.  
You are grounded indefinitely."

     Her mother tried to talk me out of the punishment.  Finally, we 
compromised on one solid week confined to the house all day and two more 
weeks grounded after dinner time.  That would have cut her social life to 
tatters in the school year, but an early curfew was no great restriction in 
the summer.  I fed the dog the first week, not even letting her out for 
that.  For the first week, I called up a couple times a day, and she had 
better answer the phone.  The last day of her house confinement, I took a 
half day of vacation time and came home at noon.  She was in the house, and 
Wagtail was outside.  So that restriction, at least, was being obeyed.

     I had bought a Ping-Pong paddle.  I turned her over my knees again and 
gave her thirty whacks.  This time it was on her naked butt.  Ten were from 
the rubber side of the paddle, another ten were from the sandpaper side.  
When she was crying and thoroughly sore, I gave her ten more with my bare 
hand.  These last were hard but slow.  I rested my hand on her hot butt 
after every blow.  "Now do you know what will happen to you if you ever do 
that again?" I asked on the ninth.

     "Yes daddy.  You will spank me like this again."

     "A damn sight harder.  I have the paddle, now.  And I can use it all 
day if I have to.  Can you guess what will happen to Wagtail?"

     "Wagtail?  You wouldn't.  You couldn't!"

     "This wouldn't have happened without that dog.  It wouldn't happen 
again if he were gone."

     "I promise.  Never again."  I lifted my hand from her butt then and 
brought it down in the spank of her life.

     Things gradually got back to normal, but she held a grudge from then 
on.  To be honest, I didn't think of her in the same way, either.  My 
innocent Traci was gone, and some sex-mad teenybopper had taken her place 
in my house.

     I had to paddle her twice more that summer, but never that hard.  Each 
time, I held her slender body across my legs with her ripening breasts 
hanging down on one side and her tight, teen-age butt sticking up on the 
other.  I did it slowly, the first half with the paddle, the second half 
with my hand.

     Nearly a month after she had started school, I took another half day 
of vacation time.  Wagtail came to the gate when I got home.  He had 
forgotten all about his threatening me, but I hadn't.  This was a vicious 
animal, I couldn't let him endanger my family.  I got my pistol and his 
leash from the house.  He was happy to see the leash and ecstatic to be 
taken for a ride in the car.  I drove to a rural area where gunshots 
wouldn't bring calls to the police.  I parked on a an untraveled road and 
walked Wagtail toward the woods.  He was barking at some animal in the 
trees when I shot him.  I tossed the body on the road and the collar into a 
stream that I crossed on the way back.

     I got home at the usual time.  Traci was in hysterics about Wagtail's 
being lost.  We advertised for him and put up posters on trees, but we 
never saw him again.  She stayed hysterical in some ways.  She even made 
dark accusations about me.

     Finally, I had had enough.  I turned her over my knee again and gave 
her the whipping that she deserved.  I used the sandpaper side of the 
paddle again, and then the rubber side.  I rested my hand on her red ass 
and said, "Now do you understand that I had nothing to do with the 
disappearance of our dog?"

     "His leash was gone when I got home.  I know that it was hanging there 
when you left."  I lifted my hand and hit her five hard swats.  Then I 
rested my hand there again.  That let her know that there was more to come 
if she didn't behave.

     "The leash was in the living room.  Where, I'm sure, *you* left it.  
Do you think he unlocked the door and got it when he decided to take a walk 
through the gate that *you* left open?"  She had been the last person to 
leave the house that morning.

     "I left the gate latched.  He was jumping against it, and I petted 
him."

     I gave her one more hard swat.

     "Maybe someone on the sidewalk unlatched it.  But I was at work by 
that time.  You can't blame your father."  She wiggled under my hand.  I 
spanked her again.

     "Okay, Daddy, you didn't do anything wrong."

     "Then stop acting as if I had.  Go wash your face and stay in your 
room until supper.  I'm sorry that Wagtail is gone.  I don't really think 
that you were responsible, but you have been feeling guilty and blaming me 
to escape that guilt.

     "I understand, but you can't treat your father as a criminal suspect 
just because you feel guilty.  You have to honor your parents."  She sulked 
away, but things got a little better after that.

     I had completely forgotten the guy with the binoculars when a coworker 
asked me, "You live on Oak Street don't you?"  I nodded.  "How far from 
Trenton?"

     "Three houses."  It turned out that he was part of some goody-goody 
church group which helped shut-ins.  They occasionally visited a man who 
lived at the corner of Oak and Trenton.  The man was confined to a 
wheelchair and never left his apartment.  He had enough money for his 
needs, but precious little entertainment.  He'd been an active guy before 
an accident, and he had little interest in TV, reading, or puzzles.  His 
only enjoyments were his computer and vicariously sharing what life he 
could see from his window.  These do-gooders wanted help getting him on the 
Internet.  My coworker remembered me as good at computers (I use one at 
work.) and knowledgeable about the Internet.

     I had already figured out which apartment held this geek.  I declined 
to help as politely as my rage allowed.  I reconsidered later.  His 
problems were no excuse for spying on my yard;  but if spying and computers 
were the only ways that he spent his days, I was in favor of his spending 
more time on computers.  I figured that once he was on the Internet he'd 
forget he had any windows that he hadn't bought from Bill Gates.  

     I visited the geek.  He was a stubborn cuss who did things his way.  
(He was, after all, living in a wheelchair in a third-floor apartment.)  
This is not a personality type which is good with computers.  I got his 
modem installed and a cheap Internet connection.  I pointed him at Usenet 
and the Web.  I would visit him once every month or two.

     Traci was still giving us trouble.  Her grades were down, as was the 
time she spent on homework.  She was in dramatic mourning for "her only 
friend in the world," Wagtail.  It was a mourning period which interfered 
with her attention to homework, but not to her attendance at parties.  It 
kept her from smiling at her parents but not from laughing with boys.  I 
had to give her about one spanking a month to keep her attending school and 
doing the minimal amount of work.  

     Things got a little easier in the summer.  There weren't any classes 
to worry about.  Traci went to visit friends, or they came over to our 
house in bunches.  One of the times that there were a lot of girls over, I 
was standing in the computer room again and watching the young girls 
giggling in our yard.  I remembered the previous year, and looked over at 
the geek's window.  

     He was sitting there with his binoculars.  It was a long time before I 
visited the damned ingrate again.  When I did, I talked to him about all 
the pictures he was missing by using Lynx on the Web.  I told him about 
some new software.  Of course, the new software required a hardware 
upgrade, which required more software to make the most of the system.  He 
never suspected a thing.  After all the companies, and the magazines they 
supported with their advertising, were telling him the same thing.  The 
money he had spent by the end of the year would have bought him a move to a 
nicer place and an air conditioner.  But his window didn't glow green 
anymore.  He had six months more time committed to get on top of all the 
new software screens when I cut back on my visits again. 

     Traci, who had been a popular girl playing the field, began going 
steady with a guy named Larry.  I neither really liked him nor trusted him, 
but Traci was paying no attention to my opinions except to thwart them.  
Besides, Larry pushed her to study more.  He was planning to go to a decent 
school and wanted her grades good enough for her to follow him.  Traci's 
grades had been quite good for her first two years, and they thought that a 
one-year dip could be finessed.  Maybe it could have been.

     I caught Traci sneaking into the house late from a date early in 
March.  Her blouse was buttoned in the wrong button holes.  I could see 
that her bra wasn't doing its job when I jerked her toward me.  "I'm not 
raising a whore," I yelled.  I got out the paddle and followed her to her 
room.

     "Daddy," she dared to answer back, "I didn't do anything wrong."

     "Nothing wrong with your bra off for Larry?"

     "We were making out and let the time get away from us.  I'm not a 
whore, all we did was pet."

     "Take them off.  You are going to be punished as bare as you sinned."

     "Daddy, I'm a virgin.  I haven't done anything with Larry.  But I 
swear that I won't say no to him anymore if you go through with this.  This 
is degrading.  Didn't you and Mom ever pet?"  That last broke my temper 
completely.

     "Your mother is a faithful married woman.  Don't you ever compare her 
to a slut like yourself. "  I sat on her bed, grabbed her, and pushed her 
over my knee.  She continued to struggle as I flipped up her skirt and 
pulled down her pantyhose.  Her panties were probably in her purse, if not 
Larry's pocket.  With the pantyhose rolled down below her knees, she lost 
all kicking ability.  I grabbed both of her hands and got them into my 
left.  Her struggles rubbed her free breasts against my leg.  That, her 
lustful odor, and the sight of her bouncing ass gave me a hard-on.  She 
felt it against her.

     She brushed against it and said, "Daddy, is this why you want me 
naked?  Are you afraid that Larry got what you want?  You call me a slut, 
but you are excited by your own daughter."

     I didn't have to put up with that kind of talk.  I slapped her once 
with my hand before I grabbed the paddle.  I swatted her with one side 
until I had her sobbing.  I found that I had been using the rubber side 
when I took time to check.  I flipped it and started counting.  I gave her 
twenty strokes with the sandpaper.  She was gasping into the mattress, too 
tired for screams, at the end.

     I spanked her hot ass ten times with my hand before I rested.  I 
couldn't help noticing that the flesh under my hand was softer than it had 
been the year before.  It was turning from a girl's ass into a woman's.  
"Do you know why you are being punished?" I asked.

     "No."  she was deep in denial.

     "You bared your body to a boy's eyes and hands."  I lifted my hand 
from her ass and slapped it down hard.  "You came in late."  I repeated the 
stroke.  "You tried to sneak in to hide your lateness from us."  I slapped 
her again.  "You spoke dirty about your mother."  Again.  "You refused to 
take your punishment and struggled against me."  Again.  You made filthy 
threats to avoid your just desserts,"  Again.  "You made dirty accusations 
against your father."  I took up the paddle again and gave her five swats 
with the rubber side.  "Now do you know why you are being punished?"

     "Yes Daddy."

     "Will you do it again?"

     "No Daddy."

     I gave her the hardest swat that my bare hand could endure.  She 
yelped again.  "See that you don't."

     I left her there and returned to my bed.  All that yelling had wakened 
Margaret.  I told her a little of what had happened.  She wanted to go to 
Traci, but I stopped her.  If she was awake enough to comfort the criminal, 
she was awake enough to comfort the judge.  She started to find another 
excuse, but I was rock hard.  I rolled her over and entered her before she 
could refuse.  She wasn't very wet, but that only made the friction 
greater.  I came in two minutes.  She complained that she hadn't had her 
release.  Isn't that like a woman?  She hadn't *wanted* release a few 
minutes before.

     I made Traci's curfew a half hour earlier in the evenings and made 
sure that I was there when that time arrived.  She got two days grounding 
for missing a deadline, so she met them.  She came in decently dressed, and 
she studied when she wasn't out on dates, too.  Aside from that, things had 
gone to hell.  She would talk to her mother at the dinner table, stop while 
I spoke, and then go on as if I hadn't said anything.  She knew what the 
line was and stayed one inch within it.  If I came in and sat down while 
she was watching television in the living room, she would get up and go to 
her room.  She took to spending more and more time in there.

     Late in April, she came in a few minutes early.  She went to her room 
and I went back up to connect to the Internet.  When I had a large set of 
GIFs downloading, I went down to the yard in pajamas and robe.  The rain 
was over, the geek's window was dark.  The air was fresh but a little 
chill, so my walk was brief.  I was returning to the back door when I saw 
that Traci's window was open all the way.

     This was not the weather for it.  I went to the window half fearing 
her taking a chill, half fearing burglars.  What I heard was worse than 
either.  I stood transfixed as Traci's moans filled my ears.  The noises 
were more erotic than she had made while Wagtail was licking her.  The bed 
was making the steady squeaking of a full-paced fuck.  Those noises were 
soon joined by a boy's grunts.  Traci made a muffled scream.  Only when the 
noises stilled was I able to move.  I tore through the back door and 
grabbed the paddle.  They must have heard me because Larry was in his 
shorts and half out the window when I burst in.  I caught him a clip on his 
head with the edge of the paddle before he escaped.

     I slammed down the window and turned on the light.  Traci was sitting 
up in bed looking shocked.  The sheet covered her to her waist until I 
swept it off.  She was stark naked.  I could see her pouting, pink lips 
through her sparse bush.  The odor of sex filled the room.  I caught a 
glimpse of the used rubber in the wastebasket.  I closed the door before 
either of us said a word.  I gave her a chance.  "Turn over," I said.

     "No Daddy.  I told you that I wouldn't be hanged for a lamb.  You 
whipped me for a little necking, and I told Larry that I would go as far as 
he wanted."  I took off my robe as she spoke.  I had to switch hands on the 
paddles to get it off.

     "Turn over and put up your ass for the paddling of your life.  I don't 
want to wrestle you."  She just sat there with a look of horror on her 
face.  I took hold of her arms and pulled her towards me.  She flopped down 
on her back.  I climbed between her legs and lay on her.  "This is what you 
really want."

     She was screaming, "No," and "Daddy don't."  For a moment, I was 
afraid Margaret would hear.  Then I realized that Traci had sounded the 
same during all her other punishments.  She clawed at me until I captured 
her hands, dropping the paddle to do so.  I couldn't get a hand free, but 
my cock was already sticking out of my pajamas.  I held her wrists in my 
hands and held her body down with my weight.  

     I stuck my cock into her squirming bush.  It took several stabs to 
find the moisture, and more movement to find the hole.  She was screaming 
"no," but she was awfully wet.  She bucked up to meet me as I pressed in.  
Her firm, young, breasts brushed against me as she wiggled.  God, but she 
was tight.  I hadn't had anything like that in years.  She could say "no" 
all she wanted, but her body was moving under mine.  She would have done 
all the work if I could have stayed still.  I couldn't stay still.  
Instinct took over and drove me in and out of that twisting tightness.

     Finally, I drove deep in her and shot my wad as she wiggled under me.  
She was crying and had stopped shouting.  I lay on her until I softened and 
recovered my breath.  I got up.

     "That hurt," she said.

     "Your boyfriend must not be as big as I am."

     "That hurt.  That was rape."

     "Nonsense.  You lay there on your back pointing your cunt at me after 
I had told you to turn over.  You used it as a bribe to keep me from 
spanking you."

     "That was rape.  You could go to jail."

     "If they believe you.  I caught you and your boyfriend having sex.  I 
clipped him one.  You made up that story for revenge.  You have evidence 
that you had sex.  You don't have evidence that it was me.  I marked 
Larry when I clipped him.  Explain that.

     "If you do get me sent to jail, how will you and your mother eat?  Her 
pay would barely cover the mortgage.  Whether you convince people or not, 
your reputation would be gone.  Think about it."

     "Anyway, as I said, it wasn't rape.  You've been trying to seduce me 
this past year."

     She must have seen the justice of that statement, because she told 
nobody.  I think that she continued to see Larry, but he was too smart to 
come by our house again.  I wasn't enforcing the curfew any more.

     Considering the way she was behaving, her pregnancy shouldn't have 
been a surprise, but it was.  We found out a little after graduation.  This 
time, I called Larry.  He was reluctant to come to the house, but he did.  
We gave him the news there.  He tried to get out of the responsibility, but 
he would have had to pay child support if they weren't married.  With Traci 
working for the first months and our putting some money in the pot, 
marriage was really cheaper for him.  Besides, his parents were old 
fashioned, honest, types.  They wouldn't help him a bit if he ducked his 
duties.

     Traci must have told her mother some poisonous stories about me, 
because -- the day that we finished moving Traci's stuff into her new 
apartment -- she told me that she was never going to sleep with me again.  
To tell the truth, she wasn't cutting the frequency by much.  She now 
sleeps in the downstairs bedroom, and I have a bathroom to myself.

     All that was bad enough.  It got worse a few months later.  I 
downloaded some stories from the Internet and read one that looked awfully 
familiar.  The names and events were changed a little, the dog was still 
alive, but most of what I told you was in the story.  I thought it might be 
a coincidence, but I suspected that it was by the geek.  Finally, I figured 
out how to get the facts.

     The author was using anon.penet.fi to anonymize his posts, but there 
was a hole in their security.  If John Smith had the anonymous address 
an1234@anon.penet.fi, then an email to John Smith through the anonymous 
system and an email to an1234@anon.penet.fi would look precisely the same 
to John Smith.  I already had an anonymous address there, so I emailed the 
geek an innocent question through that address.  He responded, and it was 
the author's anonymous number.

     He had seen Larry sneaking in and out of my house.  He had my phone 
number.  Instead of calling me up, the creep had enjoyed the scene and then 
added insult to injury by turning it into a story.  Worse was to come.  
Everywhere else he was an object of pity or annoyance.  On alt.sex.stories 
he had some claim to respect.  This story, in particular, had received 
high ratings.

     I decided that the least I could do to the ingrate was to destroy that 
claim to respect.  I concocted a complex scheme involving moving his 
anonymous address to respond to me rather than to him.  In order to do 
this, I needed the passwords to penet and to his provider.  I paid him 
another visit.  I did some work on his hard drive, finding where he had his 
stories and modem scripts in the process.  Then I downloaded the scripts 
and a few stories.

     Before I left, I told him he needed some more work, just in case I had 
to come back.  The penet password was on the story, however, and I was set 
to go.  Then things got much easier.  Penet went down permanently.  I 
waited two weeks and then used the ISP password from his modem script.  I 
posted a "MAKE MONEY FAST" scheme from his account with his name and 
address as number five.  I complained to the postal authorities.  The ISP 
kicked him off, and his time was occupied for the next month.

     Meanwhile, I was writing furiously.  I copied his style and then 
mended his weaknesses.  (He had never learned to punctuate.)  I posted 
stories through other anonymous routes using his pen name.  I then 
established an anonymous box from which I could send and receive mail using 
the pen name.  

     I'm sure that he's back reading the net by now, but I am secure in the 
possession of the pen name.  I even got better reviews than he did.  He 
can't complain publicly in his own name, for his only visitors are goody-
goody church people.  He can't write more under another pen name, even if 
he figures out the harder sort of anonymous mailers.  Then he'll just be my 
imitator.  My revenge was complete except that he might not know who did it 
to him and why.

     Now he does.

THE END
Uther Pendragon
96/12/08

--
Uther Pendragon
anon584c@nyx.cs.du.edu



