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No Pride Amongst The Wounded
by Peter Pan (uds3@hotmail.com)

***

A young girl finds her father facing circumstances in 
which she now appears to be his only practical 
salvation. Sometimes "trust" is all you have left to 
hold on to. (Mf, ped, inc, mast)

***

Greg Anderson cut a sad profile of humanity as he sat 
slumped in his easy chair. The same one he had been 
seated in that day so long ago, when his wife had 
announced breathlessly, "The doctor confirmed it this 
morning honey... we’re finally going to have a baby," 
He had leaped up, held her tightly and kissed her 
lovingly... inarguably the proudest husband in the 
small residential conclave of Madison Heights at that 
moment. Now, his greatest happiness was all but a 
memory – only the discolored ice remaining in the glass 
in his hand, offering but the vaguest evidence of his 
very last bottle of bourbon. How had it come to this? 

As if he needed a post mortem! 

The gambling had started shortly after Debbie was born. 
Nothing major, just the usual suspects... trotting, 
greyhounds, big-time horse racing, all of which were 
"retired" from the game-plan once he got a taste for 
the poker machines. At first he fed them casually. 
Loose change, then the odd five and ten dollar note. 
But they were always hungry and he couldn’t bear to see 
them suffer. 

Thus twenties and fifties became part of their regular 
diet and when that didn’t seem to quell their seemingly 
insatiable consumptive urge – it had to be his entire 
pay-packet. Well, he could hardly watch them nudging 
starvation could he? On the occasions they returned him 
a pittance, maybe two hundred dollars or so, his faith 
in the Gods of gambling was restored – had not they 
promised him that big pay-day...and soon?

The home was re-mortgaged, though his wife never knew. 
A hundred and fifty-eight grand – a king’s ransom to be 
sure. Shame he never took the time to check out the 
hostages – a young wife and a (then) fourteen year old 
daughter. You’d be surprised how brief the acquaintance 
with a hundred and fifty-eight thousand dollars can be, 
when you’re talking compulsive gambling disorder. Greg 
Anderson found out – the hard way. So what does a man 
do when the cash-pool runs dry or in his case, to 
stone-cold fossilised rock! Yep, you sign on the dotted 
line... whatever... whenever. 40% interest? no problem!

If there was an upside to this tale of a wasted if not 
disenfranchised and potentially great script-writer, it 
is that his income somehow managed to stave off that 
final denouement. He still lived in the same home 
although the Bank now owned nine-tenths of it. The 
crippled paper boy that smiled up at him from his small 
trundle board on the corner of Fourth and Rickard most 
nights as he collected his nightly headlines, was about 
God’s only creature he didn’t owe money too... and 
there was no guarantee how long that situation might 
remain even.

Could things worsen? A dumb contemplation at the best 
of times and for Greg Anderson, pretty much par for the 
course. 

Both cops were expressionless that night as they had 
told him there had been "a serious accident" on the 
Madison Heights off-ramp of the local Interstate. He 
had no need to ask "How serious?" He didn’t even 
enquire as to the identity of the ‘victim.’ He heard 
more words but none of them translated meaningfully in 
his head. Jenny had mentioned not two days earlier that 
the two front tires were smooth – he hadn’t had any 
free cash to give her.

Debbie provided him now with the one thing that 
absolutely nothing else in his life did. A reason to 
live! Almost seventeen now, she was a stunningly 
beautiful young girl and this was no alcoholic 
exaggeration he knew. Shoulder-length light brown hair 
that curled up naturally, framing an exquisitely pretty 
face. Perfect unblemished skin. pale blue eyes, the 
merest ‘application’ of eyebrows yet with impossibly 
long lashes. Her designers were a shoe-in for an Oscar 
he figured. Little more than five three, she looked way 
younger and carried an air of total innocence that 
indeed reflected just how it was. She was still his 
little girl, and as he saw it, womanhood was queued-up 
just around the corner still and there it could stay as 
far as he was concerned. Bringing down top grades at 
school,. she would Greg knew, yet prove his own 
existence to have had purpose, despite his every other 
seeming failure.

For several months now he had been skating on thin ice, 
four weeks ago it had caved-in big time! With gambling 
debts mounting, utilities close to disconnection, 
school fees unpaid and myriad smaller bills playing 
‘follow the leader,’ he had pulled down a twenty grand 
loan from a ‘friend of a friend’ principally to buy 
some time and to seek professional help. The "help" he 
had gotten, the monthly repayment – he hadn’t!

Jack Bernstein wasn’t the kind of guy you call up and 
say "Hey Jack, about this week’s payment..." You tended 
to either ‘have an accident’ or ‘disappear’ trying that 
one on. 

Having checked to make sure Debbie was upstairs and way 
out of earshot, he dialled Bernstein’s number. Just two 
rings.

"Yeah?" Not a man to waste words.

"Anderson here Mr. Bernstein, Greg Anderson. Just 
calling to tell you..." Bernstein cut him off. "That 
you’re making that payment tomorrow? Right Anderson?"

What he would have given at that moment to have another 
bottle of bourbon on hand... even "Southern Comfort" at 
a pinch.

"Er, not exactly Mr. Bernstein," he paused, staring at 
a picture of Jenny on the coffee table.  "Look, the 
fact is I just don’t have it tomorrow...I need another 
week, I’m working on a few TV scripts should bring in a 
couple of good checks next week." There was no 
immediate response from Bernstein. Never a good sign.

"That’s not what I hear you’re working on Anderson," 
came the reply. "Word is you’re a machine 
junkie...pouring it into those suckers quicker’n you 
can borrow it?"

Greg was stunned. "I-I," he stammered. Again, Bernstein 
cut him short.
"Anderson," he said, "I like you. Wouldn’t stop me 
having your arms and legs broken but still son, I like 
you. I’m gonna make you an offer you might like to 
think about."

Greg sat there unable to make any constructive reply.

"The fact is Anderson, you do have something of 
value... something just might help you, given your 
predicament right this moment. That young girl of 
yours... how old is she now? sixteen/seventeen? Real 
cute kid as I recall." 

Greg remembered how Bernstein had looked at her that 
night he had dropped by to give him the money and get 
his signature on the paperwork. Debbie had brought them 
both in a cup of coffee. He hadn’t liked it then, he 
knew he was going to like what was coming even less!  
Bernstein was continuing.

"Now you probably know I run the occasional, let's just 
call them "entertainment services" for a few selected 
clients... you listening Anderson?" Greg just 
acknowledged his existence with a soft "Uh-huh!"

"OK well I have a couple of particularly well-paying 
clients let’s say, that have specific needs. You 
getting my drift here Anderson? Needs, like... photos. 
hot photos of cute young girls... girls just like 
Debbie. You understanding me here? Now, if  I was to 
say to you that we "overlook" this month’s repayment 
and perhaps the next couple, maybe even a few dollars 
back your way? On condition you get me what I’m sure 
you know I want... then we won’t need to be breaking 
any unnecessary limbs will we Anderson?" The voice 
turned ugly, "I want that cd on my desk Friday 
afternoon. Don’t disappoint me and don’t disappoint 
yourself Anderson."  

The phone-line went dead.

His first coherent thoughts were to get himself and 
Debbie on a train out of Dodge that night. Then the 
reality of the situation hit home. A train where? and 
what with? Debbie’s school in the morning? Her friends? 
His job? That left the Jim Jones approach – convincing 
her to suicide with him. Hell, he couldn’t even afford 
a bottle of bourbon, let alone a couple of vials of 
hemlock! He sat there stunned, running the numbers. He 
cradled his head in his arms and cried like a baby. He 
didn’t hear her come down the stairs.

"Oh dad, what is it?"  She knelt down alongside the 
chair. Even with prospective suitors queued-up along 
the curbside, she preferred to spend time with her 
father who she knew, needed her. 

Embarrassed beyond words at her seeing him cry, he 
wiped away what tears he could, his eyes still 
stinging.

"We’re in a heap of trouble Deb," he muttered. "I just 
don’t know how to handle things at the moment. But 
don’t you worry about it sweetheart. I got us into to 
this mess and I’ll get us out of it."

"Dad, I know about the money. I know about..." she 
hesitated, trying to find the right words, "...about 
your problem dad. I’m sixteen you know, not a baby."

He looked at her. God, she was anything but that! She 
was holding his hand now and her presence was very 
comforting.

"Tell me the truth dad," she added, "I know you were on 
the phone just now. What happened?"

He desperately wanted to unburden himself to her. It 
wasn’t that he expected that she could help in any way. 
Simply that she would be in the loop, and not on the 
outer periphery any longer. He relayed the facts about 
the loan, his defaulting and that he had only two days 
to come up with the money.

"You’re not telling me everything dad," she said when 
he had finished. "I can tell. What else did Mr. 
Bernstein say to you? I remember when he came here. He 
was a real slime... sorry, but he was!"

There was really nothing else for it, so he told her 
everything that had been said.

Debbie sat there, still holding his hand. She put her 
head down for a second, deep in thought.

"And what will happen dad if he doesn’t get his money 
on Friday?"

"Nothing you’d want to know about sweetie," replied her 
father, "But trust me, it wouldn’t be good!"

"Dad," she said at last, "Look at me!" He gazed down at 
her beautiful face, creased now with serious 
deliberation. "You really don’t have any choice. I 
don’t either. How would I survive if anything happened 
to you?"  He was about to reply, but she continued.

"Look, he just wants pictures. You could take them dad. 
No-one but you and I will ever know and I trust and 
love you daddy. I’ll do it for you. We have that 
digital camera you bought me at Christmas so that’s 
another problem solved...nothing to develop!"

He just stared at her. "I can’t Deb, I just can’t do 
it!"

"You can’t get hurt or maybe even killed for me either 
dad." She was almost crying herself.

He knew she was right. Resignedly he pulled her to him 
and hugged her.

"Well, best we get started," she headed for the 
doorway. "No point putting it off is there?"

"Well, where are you going?" he called after her.

"To get the camera silly," she replied. She was right, 
it had been a dumb question.

When she came back down she gave him the camera. He 
knew it could store up to one hundred images. He didn’t 
dare imagine anything more.

"Well how do you want me dad?" she said, posing 
prettily on the lounge.

"Well, I think he has in mind wanting to see more than 
a smile Debbie." He replied getting the camera ready 
for the first image.

She leant forward for him and he was shocked to see her 
still small but well rounded breasts with readily 
noticeable cleavage semi-exposed. He took a first shot, 
blushing as he did. 

"I think we’ll need to undo a couple of buttons Deb," 
he said to her "Like we’re doing a "series" of pics." 

She undid three buttons which exposed much of her 
pretty little light red bra. It was her turn to blush. 
Again she leant forward for him and this time little 
was left to the imagination. Although not quite 
revealing her nipples he could see the full curve of 
her beautiful young breasts. She looked up enticingly 
as he filled the viewfinder with her cleavage.

"Well I suppose it's just my bra now?" she whispered to 
him, pulling her top off completely, sitting there in 
just her short skirt now. "Shall I pull the straps down 
for you dad?" He nodded and was aware for the first 
time that certain parts of his own anatomy were 
displaying an especial interest in proceedings.

Posing still with unassailable innocence on the lounge, 
she pulled the straps down to the point of both nipples 
teasing the viewer with their seeming imminent 
disclosure. He found himself seriously challenged to 
keep his mind on the photography. She had a definite 
aptitude for this he decided...probably all girls did!

"Debbie," he said to her, "Just sit back a tad near 
that cushion and spread your legs a little for me." He 
realised his voice was a trifle hoarse.

"Oh, you mean you want to see my panties daddy?" she 
teased him.

"Of course not Deb," he replied, "Just thinking what 
they’ll want to be seeing."

"Just kidding you," she smiled at him and did as he 
asked. As she moved her pretty and very well shaped 
legs apart fractionally, he caught sight of the front 
of her bright red panties. He wondered whether or not 
she had deliberately slipped them on for the occasion? 
He also found himself thinking how much he would enjoy 
slipping them off, and immediately cursed his parental 
shortcomings.

Reluctant to ask her to do more, she seized the 
initiative. "C’mon dad...you have to be a bit more 
adventurous." Saying which, she lay back on the cushion 
and with no warning, pulled her left bra cup down 
completely freeing her breast. He simply stared at his 
daughter’s young exposed body feeling a mixture of 
disgust for himself and gratitude for whatever 
circumstances had brought about this opportunity of a 
lifetime.

"Spread your legs more Debbie," he whispered and as the 
skirt crept indecently high up her thighs, her panties 
were openly exposed to the lens. She lay there 
breathing heavily, but no more so than her father. 

For the eighth image he told her to take her bra right 
off and if he wasn’t mistaken he heard a slight gasp. 
She tossed the flimsy little item on the floor and 
looked up at him as he brought the camera in to 
photograph her at close range. "Do you think I have 
nice tits dad?" she asked matter-of-factly.

"Are you trying to tease me Debbie?" he replied.

"Probably," she laughed. "But do you think so?"

"You are the prettiest girl Deb," he answered 
truthfully, "As for your breasts, sorry..."tits," yes 
they are perfect. I shouldn’t say this, but if I wasn’t 
your father, I think I would want to kiss them."

She seemed to shiver but looked up at him appealingly. 
"Well just pretend you’re not my dad for a moment and 
kiss them. Please!"

He didn’t need asking twice. Inclining his head he 
kissed her left breast right on her nipple and as she 
shivered a second time he kissed her right breast, The 
young milky smell was almost more than he could stand. 
He allowed his lips a momentary suck and she moaned the 
softest and sweetest little moan. He looked at her and 
saw a different expression there, one he knew he had 
best not act upon. He broke the spell by withdrawing a 
couple of feet. 

"Hold your skirt up for me Deb... right up to your 
hips. Her panties were now totally exposed and he could 
clearly see the curve of her vaginal area, and the dark 
curly hair beneath. Concentration was a luxury at this 
stage. As he took picture after picture, she 
anticipated his agenda...slipping her hands beneath the 
waistband and gradually pushing the panties lower. Both 
of them gasped as she gradually exposed her pubic hair.

"Just one of you holding your panties aside first." He 
asked. She obliged without resistance. Watching her 
lying there so seductively, holding her panties right 
open like that, exposing her entire moist slit, brought 
his erection into the discomfort zone. 

"This is making me so hot Debbie, I’m sorry," he told 
her.

"Me too dad," she said. "I suppose you can tell!"

"No more than you can sweetheart!" They both laughed.

He had his daughter sit up in the lounge now and with 
her panties off and just her skirt left on for some 
token modesty, he had her spread her legs wide. 
Kneeling directly in front of her, he took several 
pictures of her totally exposed and spread vaginal 
entrance at point-blank range. 

"Masturbate for me Debbie," he pleaded. She looked down 
at him crouched there. 

"For the camera or just for you dad?" she whispered, 
barely able to speak herself.

"For me Deb, I just want to watch you once. Will you do 
it for me?"

She smiled lovingly and lowered her hands to her 
glistening labia. As she gently inserted just one 
finger he was transported by the wondrous sight before 
him. This was something Bernstein was never going to 
see. As she commenced the gentlest of rhythmic 
stroking, she closed her eyes and became lost in her 
own pleasure. 

He watched her hips as they moved in perfect time to 
her ministrations. He could see how engorged her 
vaginal lips were, her nipples too were incredibly 
erect now. He reached up and stroked one. She moaned 
loudly and lay back against the lounge. As she began to 
stimulate her clitoris, both hands down between her 
legs, now working towards one common goal. He laid the 
camera down. 

"Do it with me dad," she whispered, eyes still three-
quarters closed.

Strangely he found no shyness or emotional discomfort 
in retrieving his erection. Even as he did so, she 
opened her eyes and smiled at him, maintaining the 
pressure on her own pussy.

"You are just so beautiful Debbie," he managed somehow, 
commencing to stroke his erection in earnest. She 
watched fascinated as he rubbed his shaft. It was 
having an incredible effect on her and she felt the 
pressure building. 

From his perspective, watching his daughter wriggle and 
thrust her hips as she neared her own orgasm had a 
devastating effect on him too. He leant forwards and 
kissed her full on her pussy. She shivered and widened 
still more. Parting her hands he lowered his head 
between her thighs and licked her. She shuddered yet 
made no move to stop him. 

He licked her again and this time she just whispered 
"Don’t stop dad!" He began to lap at her wetness, She 
was quite openly moaning now and holding his head 
against her ingress. He licked her several more times, 
taking her right to the edge before replacing her hands 
between her legs and having her complete the cycle. 

Both knew they could never do what their bodies wanted 
and that knowledge and desire was being transmutated to 
their respective genitalia. Both reached the zenith of 
their ministrations concurrently. Debbie, as she was 
gripped by her greatest ever orgasm flooded internally, 
just as her father found himself at the mercy of the 
mother of all ejaculations. "Do it here dad" she 
pleaded, patting her crotch. He had no time to lodge a 
flight plan, simply shooting his super-heated semen all 
over her hands and pussy. 

This never was about sex as such, it was about love and 
at that moment they had never been closer. He laid 
Debbie on the lounge, kissed her lips, her nipples, her 
tummy. Then he took her hand and together they rubbed 
his cum into her hot little mound, her thighs and what 
was left over, across her breasts. She smiled and 
understood. Jenny was right there with them and she too 
understood!

Following that, the completion of the shoot was no 
major challenge. Debbie was happy to pose naked on the 
lounge, her bed, even the floor. Greg took several 
pictures of her lying across the arm of a chair in just 
her knickers, promoting the "spanked schoolgirl" image. 
He had her pose in her bikini, then with one breast 
exposed and her pants partially pulled down exposing 
her bottom. The session was wrapped with a series of 
pics with her in the shower and getting dressed in some 
hot undies. Transferring the images to a CD was the 
simplest of tasks.

Bernstein kept his side of the bargain, Greg got his 
act together and started the long haul back to 
extricate himself from the hell he’d dug for himself. 
Debbie is just nineteen now, and the embodiment of 
youthful feminine beauty, but hey, she always was.

END

© Peter_Panhttp://www.lulu.com/content/74426
  also: http://www.lulu.com/content/106537

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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a 
fellow convict in their local prison.
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