Repressed Memories

Now I know what was happening to me when I was younger.

I’m 15 and I have been getting into trouble with parents, police and school for years. I was always disruptive in class, I got arrested for drinking cider in the park, I used to flash my tits at my male teachers and at mum and dad’s friends. I let one of my dad’s work colleagues put his hand up my skirt and into my panties.

My parents took me to see various shrinks, but it didn’t help me. They said I wasn’t mad and didn’t have psychological problems, rather I was just being a rebellious teen. Mum and Dad knew that was wrong and, if I’m honest, so did I.

Finally they took me to a hypnotherapist for some regression therapy. I thought they were nuts and the guy was a charlatan. But after a few sessions he started to pull out some childhood memories I had repressed.

The first one was of being disturbed in my bed by the covers being lifted and fingers being pushed down my panties. I couldn’t have been more than five years old. I couldn’t see the face of who was owning the hand, but I I remembered the feel of fat dry fingers trying to push into my fanny and ass. The hands were hot large and rough. They rubbed my fanny , bottom and chest.

Another set of memories were me waking up on numerous mornings with my fanny and arsehole being sore. I do remember telling my Mum about it and her saying I must have a thrush infection. She got some cream from the chemist to rub on my sore bits.

More recent memories emerged from when I was probably about eight years old. I think I had been having a sexy dream about a boy I fancied at school. I drowsily became aware of my fanny being touched, no it was being licked. It felt great. There were hands on my chest squeezing my breasts. The memory was a bit confused because I must have been between sleep awake. I can remember a head being between my legs and my panties hanging off one foot which was in the air.

I was definitely enjoying the feeling and felt the most fantastic pleasure sweep through my body and a pulsing sensation from my fanny. I know it must have been the first orgasm I remember having.

These sessions triggers other memories of waking up without panties on, when I thought I had gone to bed wearing them. I would wake up with sticky wet or crusty patches on the sheet under me or on my bottom and fanny.

I would also have a funny taste in my mouth some mornings.

So, it was clear from these recovered memories that I was being abused as a small child. It bothered me that I couldn’t see the face of the abuser.

The therapist told me not to worry. He thought there were more traumatic memories that I had buried deeper and once we surfaced all of these we could start the process of recovery.

In between sessions I’d go home and dwell on what I had learned during the day. I am ashamed to say that the thought of someone exploring my tiny body whilst I was asleep turned me on. I’d lie in bed stroking my pussy thinking about it until I climaxed in a juicy mess. These thoughts made me cum hard.

I started to dream that I had someone’s big fat cock in my hand, wanking it hard with my little fingers. My legs would get spread apart my strong hands and the cock would be rubbing against my fanny with a great weight grinding it into my clitoris. It felt amazing and I awoke in the middle of a massive orgasm. I was sweating and breathing heavily.

I told the therapist about the dream but he said it was most likely more repressed memories surfacing. In all likelihood the events of the dream actually happened. He said I had probably buried them because I was ashamed that I had enjoyed the experience whilst knowing in was wrong.

In the days and weeks that followed, more memories came back to me with greater clarity.

It started with touching, fanny, ass, chest, then stimulating me by stroking and licking. It took time until my little body responded and I started to experience pleasure. Only then did a penis appear. First it was put in my hand which was guided by a bigger hand encircling it, making me wank it. For all this, the perpetrator stood or knelt beside my bed and put his hands under my clothes.

He moved on to removing my panties and leaving my nightshirt on, He would climb into my bed naked, turn me so I faced away from him and put his burning hot cock against my little bottom. He reached around between my legs, fondling my fanny whilst humping my arse. He never lasted long doing this, literally 30 seconds before I felt his hot liquid cover my bottom and lower back. I am sure that sometimes I didn’t wake up during some of these visit, but knew he had been there because of the dried or semi-dried cum on me, my night clothes and sheets.

He began to get more adventurous and would put the head of his cock into my buttocks, right at the top of my legs and push in and out, bumping against my bottom hole and pussy, releasing his load there. He moved on to putting that long, thick schlong all the way through between my legs and hump with it pressing against my fanny lips. That felt nice. He would last a lot longer that way and I usually orgasmed when he did that.

I guess because he knew I was getting pleasure, even in my sleep, he got bolder, lying me on my back and climbing between my legs and humping my fanny, but never entering. He was very heavy and I often woke up struggling for breath just as he was shooting his load on my stomach or fanny.

Sometimes he would just force his cock into my mouth whilst circling my clitoris with one finger. I always orgasmed when he did that, but didn’t like it when he made me gag with his dick or when he came in my mouth. Contrary to what many girls say, cum does not taste nice, it is disgusting and smells as bad as it tastes.

As I got older and developed breasts, he would strip me completely and pay my boobs much attention, squeezing, pinching, sucking, licking and even biting. When they got bigger, he began putting his dick between then, pushing them together hard and humping them. I often thought he would pop a nipple he pressed so hard, but he always blew his load in my face and left my tits red and sore. He didn’t touch my fanny when he was doing that.

Of course the memories of me being penetrated came out. They started as dreams of my fanny being poked by something large. My unconscious mind interpreted it as a broom handle or a tree branch. As I faded into semi consciousness, it was a cock pumping in and out of me. It felt wonderful and, still drowsy, my body shook with an incredible climax. My pussy pulsed and contracted around the huge invading cock which stretched my hole causing me to moan involuntarily. The cock began to pulsate and twitch inside me and I heard the deep grunt of a male cumming inside me.

I couldn’t understand why I didn’t freak out and shout the place down or why I couldn’t see who was doing this.

My therapist said he suspected I had been sedated or drugged in some way.

I do remember the blood on my fanny in the morning. Mum said it was my period and bought me some sanitary pads later that day.

I was having dreams of being fucked by horses, the neighbour’s Great Dane, Teachers at school and even all of the boys in my class. I would wake up sore and horny. I had begun humping my pillow to get myself off in the mornings. The feel of the cool pillow against my burning sore fanny had me cumming in minutes.

My Mum walked in on me doing it once. What she must have thought seeing my bare bubble butt bouncing up and down I can only imagine.

My bottom hole was not immune from invasion either. I remembered waking up with a really sore bum hole and blood spots in the toilet. I also became conscious of my bowels being flooded and an impossibly large cock between my spread buttocks and up my arse. That hurt and gave me no pleasure at all.

The sessions with my therapist revealed that the nighttime intrusions stopped when I was 12 yo. By then , the abuse and disturbed sleep had led to poor performance in school and my bad behaviour.

My therapist asked me the question that rocked me to my core. “Did anything change at home around the age of 12”. My brother left home for University. Crash! With that one statement the face of my abuser resolved into my Brother Graham. Oh my god! I had been convinced it was my Dad doing this, all through the therapy sessions after my repressed memories began to surface. I had treated him like shit the whole time and he had been upset by that. Jesus Christ, my poor Dad. I wept uncontrollably.

The therapist asked if I wanted to share this new info with my parents or keep it between us. I wanted my parents to know but I couldn’t bring myself to say the words.

My therapist told them followed by silence, then by anger. I had never seen dad so angry. He was asked if he wanted the Police to be informed. No, he said in a voice that frightened me because I had never heard that tone from him before. “I’ll sort it out” he said, and walked out.

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