"Sweet Ride" by the unusually talented young Swedish writer, Ingmar Hanssen is easily one of the most remarkable sex novels of recent times. It treats some of the most forbidden psychosexual themes with the utmost frankness. It was to be expected that the book was practically banned upon publication in London by the Office of the Chief Censor. Because of the extraordinary interest aroused by this ultramodern frank treatment of incest, the book became a collector's item on the continent. This fact assured its present reprinting by Continental Classics.
In respect to the highly unusual sexual episodes described in the book, similar occurrences are revealed in everyday psychiatric consultations. The following from the actual case histories of the prominent analyst, Dr. O. Berndorff, will prove to be very interesting:
"Sid W., a young man aged twenty-six, single, was very effeminate in appearance and held a responsible office job. He came to me for asalysis upon the recommendation of his personal physician.
"I urged him to reveal his intimate sexual life in detail. He confessed that up to the age of twenty he had been having sexual relations with his sister, who was about five years older. It started as sex play during their childhood, but as he approached late adolescence, his sister enticed him into actual sexual intercourse with her. In his words:
'At the age of six, I indulged in sexual play with my sister. She was about eleven and asked me. to fool around with her. I fondled her vagina with my finger. I had my first real frigging with her when I was fifteen. She was in her room, lying on her bed nude. There was no one else in the house. She called me into her room and told me to play with her breasts. She then induced me to get on top of her and put my penis in her vagina. I ejaculated, but withdrew my penis in time. I screwed her about five different times and once I shot my load right up her vagina. The last time I had actual sex intercourse with my sister was at the age of twenty'.
"This patient developed strong homosexual cravings which he gratified during the time he was intimate with his sister. He, on several occasions would receive the penis of one man in his mouth, while he permitted another man to insert his penis in his rectum."
If the reader will recognize the dangers of perverse sex behavior, he should realize that intelligent self-discipline will help him avoid abnormal sex outlets.
Continental Classics presents "Sweet Ride" from this standpoint in its original, unexpurgated version. It is recommended only for the graduate student and mature adult reader
A. L. Saunders, M.A. New York City February, 1969
Archive Note: The large number of misspellings present in the original pocketbook are faithfully reproduced in this text. No attempt whatsoever has been made to correct those misspelled or misused words.
CHAPTER ONE
I was trembling ... I was going to see a woman for the first time in my life. Or rather, a young, attractive woman ... We had matrons at the orphanage, but they were a hundred years old and didn't count as women. And when I say the first time, that isn't completely accurate either. Probably I had met women before I was seven, but since then I'd been in the orphan home, and couldn't remember back that far. Now, after all these years of wondering and longing after that mystery, I was going to meet a beautiful woman.
I was born in Camden Town, North London, during the early years of the last war. I don't know much about my parents except that they were Swedes who were caught by the war while visiting England ... I know that I had a sister and that my father died soon after I was born. My mother, as far as I can judge, was a respectable woman who managed to take good care of us until I was seven.
Then, for some mysterious reason (something I did, something evidently shameful and awful) she placed me in the orphanage.
As the years passed and I grew older, I was obsessed with worry and guilt over what it was I had done, but I could never, try as I would, remember. I tried in all ways to be good and proper, hoping this would somehow make up for it and that Mother would come back and love me. I thought, or hoped, that she might hear if I was good. But she never came.
Perhaps because of the great scandal in my past, or simply because I was so shy, no one seemed to want to adopt me ... Occasionally people would come and look at us while we played in the recreation area and many of my friends were called for personal interviews with prospective parents, but until the spring of my fourteenth year I had not gotten even a nibble.
At this time I was a tall, slender boy with a shock of sandy blonde hair over wideset, lightblue eyes that they said gave me a simple and honest appearance. My mouth was a little too large and full-lipped to compensate for the tendency of my cheeks to freckle in the sun, but I was not an ugly boy. Nevertheless, as I walked back to the orphanage from school on the afternoon of my fourteenth birthday, I had given up hope of ever belonging to a family again, since so many years had passed without anyone evincing the slightest interest in me. Hence I was surprised when, entering the yard, I was told by a matron that a wealthy young couple was interested in adopting me and was, at this moment waiting in the Head Master's office to interview me.
I hurried to wash, but for a few minutes I could do nothing, so great was my inner agitation ... It was not only the possibility of being adopted that overpowered me, but more, the mere possibility of seeing the couple. For the matron had described them as being young and I could not remember ever seeing a young woman!!! For some reason I wasn't allowed to. Each time a woman came to the orphanage I was always somehow shuttled away. Thus the prospect of just seeing a young woman had me trembling with eagerness and excitement. Soon however, I composed myself enough to wash and hurry to the office.
As I approached I found the door slightly open and I was just raising my hand to knock when I heard, coming from within, the strangest and most beautiful voice I had ever experienced. It was deeper than a boy's and more rich and throaty, yet it was higher than a man's and sweet, like the song of a bird. It was saying.... ." and you say he doesn't even see pictures of women? That he never has?"
"No, Mrs. Brahe," followed the deep voice of Mr. Anderson, the Head Master. "We cut them out of all his books and magazinse before he reads them. This was the stipulation of his mother when she left him with us: he must never have any contact with women here."
The magic effect of the first voice, coupled with the sweeping sense of shame at what Anderson was saying, brought me up sharply. I pulled myself together and knocked timidly.
"Come in!" Anderson's voice said.
What I saw is quite truly the most incredible experience of my life. I had, of course, read vague descriptions of women in books, and I had tried very hard for years to form some mental image from these, but it had never reaDy taken shape and certainly had in no way prepared me. I had barely registered the fact that there were three people seated at the desk, when the woman turned to face me. The sight of her was a miracle and, try as I would, my eyes at first simply could not take it in. I must have stood gaping in awe and wonder for some time.
When my vision finally cleared and focused I found myself noting each wondrous details and simultaneously trying to memorize them. She was wearing a large fur hat and a mink stole hung from her shoulders over some kind of suit unlike anything I'd known. There was a general sense of luxury and beauty. Her hair had a miraculous redgold sheen which seemed to reflect and absorb the rays of the late sun like crystal; its texture seemed like the clothe of gold I had read of in books of chvialry. Her neck was long and fine. It's skin was white, yet pink with life like mother-of-pearl, still it seemed soft as warm silk. Below, where the neckline of the suit was cut in a "V" there was a strange other "V" in her swelling flesh. I kept staring at this odd difference, noticing how it undulated with her breathing and how much whiter the skin was just as it disappeared. Her skirt came just to her knees as she sat with her legs uncrossed. They were in the sheerest stockings and seemed to be formed in wax by a master artist, gracefully curving from back of the knee, swelling out to the calf and then down and back to the slimmest ankles I could imagine.
"How does she stand?" I wondered, noticing the high-heeled Italian shoes.
And then, full of wonder, I dared her face. If you can imagine what it would mean to be blind and then suddenly, miraculously, to see your first leaf, then you may appreciate a part of what happened to me. To say that her face was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen would be, to a gross degree, an understatement. Her bearing was elegant and aristocratic, but it was the features and the expression that compounded the miracle. She had a high, finely set brow over which the skin was smooth and firm, but not tight. The nose was straight, narrow and finely moulded. Her cheeks were smooth and milk-white though they were transformed by a slight flush of rose as she met my awed glance. Her lips were fantastically red, the color of ripe strawberries shining with dew. It was unbelievable how red they were. On each cheek as she started to smile was the faintest trace of a dimple. The chin was round with a small cleft in the center. This face was a study in perfection for an artist, but for a young boy in my unusual position, it was the Eucharist itself! And her eyes! They were wide and open, of light pearl-gray, and their expression was both eager and questioning, warm and comforting at the same time. Indeed, all the time I stood there, she regarded me with that same surprised, intent, yet almost inviting expression. When I finally took it in so weakened my knees that I nearly stumbled and fell. I was hopelessly at a loss until Mr. Anderson appeared at my side suddenly and, almost hurriedly taking my hand speaking quickly, drew me toward the desk.
"Come, Lars," he said, "I'd like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Brahe from Stockholm." As I moved un certainly with him, my eyes again saw the beautiful woman, the tall man beside her with a folio of papers in his hand, the desk scattered with documents once more.
She was still looking at me that way, but smiling now and extending her hand. I remembered how ladies' hands were always kissed by their knights. I hesitated, blushed, took her hand, hesitated again, then timidly brushed it quickly with my lips. As I did so my nostrils were assailed by the most delicate and seductive odor of perfume I had ever imagined and, as I stifled a gasp and stepped back, I must have paled.
"Hello, Lars," she said in that same low musical voice I had heard before.
"Huh-hello, Mrs. Brahe," I stammered. "V-very glad to meet you." I had to stop looking but I couldn't. I knew I was making a terrible impression.
But she smiled and said, "And now, dear, I'd like you to meet my husband, WiDy Brahe," in the manner of an old and tender relative introducing one to a newcomer. Somehow I freed myself and approached Mr. Brahe....
"I'm very pleased to meet you. sir," I managed. He was a tall, distinguished looking man in a well-cut, narrow pin-stripe suit; his thin blond hair had just begun to recede at the temples and he appeared to be in his middle thirties. His eyes were blue and frindly as he slightly moved his lean body forward to take my hand, which he clasped with a firm, clean grip. I noticed that his mouth was a little thin but moist and his cheeks were lean and hard. He smiled with warmth, if also with a veiled hint hint of superiority.
I sat down with my thoughts in a whirl. These people seemed to me like gods, or the people and dress were so elegant and, even in the man, bautiful, compltely apart from anything in my experience. The faint suggestion of perfume emanating from Mrs. Brahe kept my senses strangely reeling.
"The Braehes, Lars, are from one of the oldest and most honored families in Sweden. You will be a very lucky boy if they decide to take you," Mr. Anderson was saying, giving me a stern look from his small brown eyes. He was middle-aged and wore a pince-nez which always intimidated me. I stammered something and nodded. In the meantime, Mr. Brahe began to study some of the papers he had been perusing when I entered and which I saw were documents from a manila envelope marked: Lars Olsson. His wife turned her chair around to face me, seeming to envelop me with her warm gray eyes.
She asked: "Lars, Mr. Anderson has been telling us about you but I wonder if you would tell me how you like it here at the orphanage."
Casting a side glance at Anderson, I replied that I was very well treated, but that everyone, I supposed, longed for a home of his own.
"I understand you read a great deal," she returned.
"Yes, Ma'am, I do," I answered, hesitating as I caught myself looking at the way her slim, well-rounded body filled the tight, close-fitting suit. Even as I did this she stretched her legs slightly and crossed them, causing her skirt to move ever so slightly above her knee. Why did it fascinate me so? Why was that little bit of leg on the inside just above her knee so important to me?
"Before you came to the orphanage you lived in town," she was saying with a reassuring smile at my confusion. "Did you prefer that to country living like at the orphanage here?"
I didn't know what to say to that. I blushed, then stammered:
"I'm afraid I don't remember the city well, Ma'am, but I've always been interested in it. Here in the country I'm at home and love it. I just don't know, Ma'am."
She had spoken in Swedish and I answered her fluently having spoken frequently with one of the matrons, who was from Sweden.
As we talked I caught myself covertly watching how her crossed legs revealed part of her thigh, and, even as I looked her fingers, which were idly toying with her skirt, revealed a little more ... and then a little more. Because of where she was sitting beside the desk, neither of the two men could see lower than her waist. Her skirt was now in me. I had no name for it, but there was an enormous joy and a great sense of power.
She looked at me a moment and I tore my eyes away, filled with shame and self-disgust, and then she turned to Mr. Anderson with a smile:...."You say his mother's name was Oxenstierna?" she asked.
"Yes," Anderson replied. "She was the daughter of a nobleman who married a businessman and came to England to avoid her family's censure. The father, Nils Olsson, died a few years later before the second child, a girl, was born."
"Yes, dear," Mr. Brahe cut in. "I've just been reading about it in these papers. The mother is from an excellent family. If he appeals to you, which he obviously does, it is all right with me!"
CHAPTER TWO
It would be difficult to describe the trip from South End, England to Stockholm. There was so much that was entirely new for me. Just the sight of these people was a miracle, and here I was talking with them. Then there was the strange outside world. Also the sensation of flight, and the knowledge of imminent aproach to a new country, a new family and way of life. Above everything else there was the new overpoweringly wonderful feeling already growing in me for Mother.
After we landed in Stockholm my senses were reeling so that the long drive from Bromma airport to Norrtalje was a blur in which I couldn't separate the beauty and rapture coming from the closeness of Mother from the great loveliness of Sweden's countryside in the spring. We arrived late in the afternoon before a large manor house where I was taken in and introduced to the rest of the household. There were two daughters, sixteen and twelve, and a pretty, red-haired maid who was just serving evening coffee.
I was so dazed by everything that I didn't fully take it all in, but I noticed that Gunilla, the older girl, had full, laughing lips and very large tits. The younger, Louise, was thin and built like a boy. Both were blonde and both were extremely pretty.
They took me into the huge living room for coffee. It was really two rooms running across one entire end of the manor divided by an arch. On one side of the arch was the music room with a magnificent Bechstein piano, while the other division was used as a living room. As we entered, Louise, or Lou as she was called in the family, since she did not drink coffee, went to the piano. In the living room Mother and Father seated themselves on one of the three large divans and leaned back to rest and listen. I sat in an armchair to one side of them.
Things began to quiet a little inside me and I gradually became aware of my new sisters. Gunilla, who sat on the arm of the couch beside her father, was gorgeous. Her hair was lighter than her mother's, almost white, and it fell over her ample shoulders like rain. The eyes were blue and wide. The mouth was soft and full. Her skin, while obviously of the same fine texture as her mother's, was richly tanned. Her body was all lushness. At the absolute peak of ripeness. Her full blooming breasts strained her white linen blouse, and when her deep contralto laugh rang out they were live things. To prevent myself from the impossible audacity of staring at these wonders I looked at the younger girl.
Louise was very sweetly attractive with the red dish blonde hair of the mother and the same gray eyes. The face was narrower, however, and had an intense expression almost always in flux as though some internal pressure struggled in her. Except for 'her face she suffered by comparison with her sister. Her shoulders were thin and her body gangling and straight. She wore a blue schoolgirl's frock. Underneath it her budding breasts could be seen but they lacked the luxurious development of Gunilla's. I noticed a light brush of freckles across her nose.
Abruptly I realized that I was again staring at the rich form of Gunilla. My eyes fixed themselves on the point where the tanned skin suddenly swelled as it entered the light covering. The first three buttons of the blouse were open. It seemed to me these breasts were even larger, no, twice as large as Mother's, and to my intense excitement, followed by an even more intense embarrassment, I realized suddenly that she wore nothing underneath! I stared nearly paralyzed as my eye slowly made out the precise contour: how each breast swelled out to a large round button, and these tips began to push out in sharper relief even as I looked. A strange, fine trembling which I could not halt ran over me.
Again I felt a twinge of shame. Why was I always looking at the women so intimately?
As Louise began to play an etude, Annie, the maid, brought in a large silver tray with four demitasse cups and a pot of coffee. She placed it on the low table in front of Mother and Father. Gunilla got up and, taking the cups, passed them to each of us in turn. Then she picked up the silver pot and began to fill the cups as the maid left.
Gunilla was beautiful beyond belief. She wore a tight, gray, knee-length skirt under which her body seemed to squirm as she walked. As I was watching how her skirt showed the movement of her full asscheeks, I realized suddenly she was coming to serve me. As I was holding the cup in my lap, she had to lean forward to pour. The faint perfume from her platinum hair which came to my nostrils as she bent forward stunned me. I was all confusion and breathless. Then I noticed her blouse fall away from her body as she poured. I had been right. There wasn't anything underneath! Only Gunilla! I was suddenly confronted by her bare, voluminous breasts, firm, yet somehow soft I almost passed out. How I managed not to drop the cup I don't know. I shook my head slightly, and when I realized she had moved away, put the cup down. My head was burning. Hot and cold flashes alternated in my body.
She had poured herself a cup and sat on the arm of the couch beside Father. I was terribly excited, and the shame I felt at the reaction was drowned in my desire. I gulped my coffee quickly and asked if I could have more in a small voice. Gunilla quickly rose and, with a smile in my direction, returned with the pot of coffee. This time I was looking for something. I wanted to see those tips of her breasts. She leaned down slowly and even more slowly began to pour coffee into my cup.
I was puzzzled by the slowness. At first I thought she might be afraid of spill some, but when I noticed the smile on her lips this seemed unlikely. Then I saw the blouse falling away from her body as she bent again, and I almost touched her head as I bent forward to look. I could see the tanned flesh swelling out, down in the blouse: how the skin darkened in shadow as it entered the ravine between. She must have drawn in her breath although I did not notice), for the soft flesh rose out suddenly towards me as though disconnected from the rest of her. The two breasts moved farther apart and the warm surface of the skin seemed to undulate with separate life. Her chin was almost above my head which enabled me to peer directly in, at the same time bringing the flesh almost to touch my crazed lips. But the breasts were so large that even so I could not see the tips. They were just in the front of the blouse where the incredible flesh moved and swelled out of sight. Just as she started to straighten I had a glimpse of something, but she straightened and asked:
"Well, would you like sugar this time? You didn't say before when I asked."
I couldn't get the breath to answer properly. "Uh no ... no sugar, thank you." I stumbled. I tried to smile but the trouble was I couldn't see her. All I could see those luscious breasts. I again gulped my coffee without tasting it, waited a few minutes somehow, and then gasped out my desire for a third.
Gunilla's eyebrows raised slightly at this and she smiled. Very slowly this time she walked towards me with the pot, staring at me with that smile, and calmly undoing a fourth button on her blouse as she got up. She reached out as though her up the cup and when, filled with confusion, I continued to hold it in my lap, her lips smiled again slightly and, very slowly, she leaned down to pour.
There they were again, but more of them, the skin all tan and clean and moving. She bent far forward above me now, and by leaning forward slightly myself I looked directly into her blouse. Never had I seen flesh as soft as this, and their size was incredible. Her tities swung free now like live things in the loosened blouse, and my face was almost in them. Then, to my intense joy as I looked along the magnificent curve of them, I finally saw the mystery I was searching for. Just at the end, where the breast pushed into the blouse, was a circle of pink colored flesh as wide as three of my fingers. In the center of this was a hard pink bud about the size of an acorn which pushed into the blouse as I had seen before.
All over me, my skin felt pricked by thousands of needles and I was shaking. I could not understand why the sight of this strange difference between boys and girls so excited me, but I knew that it did and that this was shameful. But somehow, at least for now, I didn't care. As she straightened Gunilla looked keenly at me, buttoning her blouse while I fixed my eyes on her shoes and muttered my thanks. My mouth kept moving back and forth.
I was confused, but as I gradually began to gain possession of myself, I heard Father asking for coffee, and dimly realizzed that it was his third cup. Gunilla got up, turning her back to him, and picked up the coffee pot from the table. As she did so I noticed that she quickly reached her left hand to her blouse and undid a button, then went to the couch and bent low to fill Father's cup just as she had mine. Was it my imagination, or did she seem to lean down just a little longer than was necessary to fill the cup? Father raised his head and seemed to look covertly into her blouse! Indeed, I thought I saw his eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. But I could not be sure for Gunilla had strightened again and replacing the pot on the table, resumed her seat. All was as before. I looked hard at Father's face which I could see clearly in profile, but it was as serene and elegant as always.
I flushed with shame at attributing to this fine man the same low tendencies that I had. Certainly the Brahes would never taken me from the orphanage to be their son had they had any inkling of the strange wickedness in me-these ugly thoughts. And, reflecting so I gradually overcame the odd excitement that had been troubling me. I swore not to allow any more of this sort of thing and, above all, not to permit myself to ascribe to these noble people the sort of perverted impulses I found so rampant in myself.
At this point Mother got up and came over to me. "Lars, Dear," she said," As you are no doubt tired from the long trip, you should come with me now and lie down in your room to rest."
"Yes, Mrs. Br-uh-Mother," I said. Blushed. Smiled somehow at the others, and followed her out the door into the hall. Mother took my hand and led me to my room, then left me there to rest.
But it was impossible to remain still. I wandered out in a daze of happiness looking at the fairy-tale richness of the house. No one was in the living room, so I supposed all the family had gone to lie down. I was sitting in a high-backed chair by the fireplace when I heard someone come in behind me. Because I felt guilty at not being in my room as I had been told, I remained still, hoping the high back of the chair would hide me. It did, too well....
"But, Daddy, you were away in England such a long time. I was so lonely without you. I'm so glad you're back!"
It was Gunilla's voice, but the tone was a little strange. It was very sweet, but somehow drawled, seeming to suggest something unknown to me beyond the words themselves.
"So my little girl really missed her daddy, did she?" It was Father's voice, and the tone was questioning. "Just how much did she miss her daddy? And what did she miss most?"
Gunilla only giggled at this.
"Come now, tell me how much my little girl missed her daddy!" There was an odd tone in his voice that vibrated in me in a way I didn't understand.
Again she giggled, but this time it seemed partly muffled. She said:
"Oh I missed my daddy, very much, but he'll have to go a little to find out!" And another giggle followed by a little cry.
"But what did my little girl miss most about her daddy."
"Do you really want me to show where I missed him most?" And the muffled laugh again.
"I'd love to know, Sugar Plum, but first let me see if I can guess. Was it here?" A giggle. "Here?" More stange laughter from Gunilla. "Or here?" She let out a little bleat and there were slight sounds of a scuffle.
"Daddy," she blurted, all the time giggling, "you'll never guess where I missed you most and it will be expensive if you want me to tell you!"
"Oh it will, will it now?" His voice seemed a bit reproachful, but it was blurred over by her laughter and little cries.
"But if you can find it, then...." Her voice was lost in a peal of excited laughter.
I could stand it no longer! The strange answers to these fatherly questions, the curious overtones in Father's voice, and the unfamiliar note in the little smothered laughs and cries, caused the hair to rise on the back of my head. I had to peek.
They couldn't see me. They were sitting on the couch, Father on the cushions and Gunilla on the arm. There was a lamp with a modern conical shade where they were which made them easily visible.
Father reached up and pulled her into his lap. Filled with the feelings natural to a father and daughter who have been separated for a month, they were unaware of me in my large chair behind them.
"Did you miss your daddy. Nilla baby?" he asked gently and began to run his fingers slowly through her hair. "Did my little girl miss her daddy?" His voice was very gentle and fatherly and his hand lightly stroked her neck, running over her hair and the pressing it against her neck.
"Yes Daddy," Gunilla was saying, "every day that you were away I missed you and thought about you." Father ran his hand up under the nape of her neck and under her hair and began gently caressing her. "Did you really miss your daddy? Really? Then tell me how much did you miss him?"
There was only a low laugh from Gunilla. From where I sat huddled deep in the chair, Gunilla's head was between me and the light, creating the effect of a flaming corona which seemed to throw off sparks of white fire with the movement of Father's hand. But now, as though in answer to his question, and to my puzzlement, Gunilla giggled, then deftly reached up, unbuttoned another button of her blouse and, taking Father's other hand which had been resting lightly on her lap, put it inside.
Lost in my fascination with the hair I had almost missed this, for me, incredible act. For it all appeared so easy and natural and right, yet I watched with both horror and a strange and growing fascination.
"... Did she miss her daddy?" His voice was soft ind he brushed his lips lovingly against her long lair as he spoke, his hand was well inside her blouse and he was fondling and stroking her, moving his hand and his finger tips against her flesh. But was he, could he actually be caressing her breasts? And why did this thought excite me so? I craned my neck to see better, but my chair creaked slightly and I feared to stretch further and possibly disclose my presence. His hand was still slowly stroking as he said:
"Daddy missed his little girl, too. What do you think he brought her from England?"
"Presents. Daddy?" Gunilla's voice was languorous.
"Very nice presents, love, for little girls who miss their daddies! Very nice...."
"What kind of presents, Daddy." Gunilla's voice took on a dreamy tone as she unbuttoned another button and then slowly another. She reached in and seemed to move with his hand, or perhaps she was stroking the hand while it caressed her.
"Be a good girl to your daddy and you'll find out, Little love. "But Daaaddy!" she seemed to stretch out the word and caress it with her voice while she spoke. "You'll have to really be good to your little girl, give her many, many nice things if you want me to...." She cried out again, squirming on his lap, and fell into a little peal of smothered laughter as he started to kiss her lips!
I was contused by the tone of all this, but I felt the strange excitement rising and rising....
Gunilla had withdrawn her hand now, I found myself straining and straining to see, but Father's arm was in the way and cast a deep shadow.
"Come kiss your Daddy, sweetheart," he entreated and again there was a slight scuffle as he got his mouth on hers and held it there. Both seemed greatly agitated.
But now they shifted, he sliding her deeper into his lap and she bent back by his kisses, which he soon began to paant on her neck and down onto her bosom. Gunilla writhed against him and tickled his ribs. As he started back, almost growling (but with pleasure, I could see from his face) she fell backward supported by his arms and came completely into view for a second. But the light was bad and they were too far away.
He pulled her toward him again and began to run his mouth and one hand over her tits, holding her with the other. She breathed hard and seemed to strain up eagerly against him.
I was maddened to see more! For a precarious moment I was almost so foolish as to think of leaving the safety of my high-backed chair and trying to move closer, but it would have been folly. I sat shaking with fear, yet passionate for a sight of that lush body at almost any price! But now there was a new tone in Father's voice, an almost crooning softness.
"Did my little girl miss her daddy? Did she really miss him, eh?" he crooned to her. Gunilla was leaning back against him, her chin tilted slightly so that her hair fell over his shoulder and she was slowly and languorously turning the top part of her body first one way, then the other, seeming to twist slightly each time. And over and over the soft, crooning murmur of his voice always caressingly repeating the same phrase: "Did my little girl miss her daddy?" while his left hand slid in and out of the opening of her blouse. His right, meanwhile, was opening one by one the few remaing buttons as a high pitched singing hum began to come from her lipps.
Half-paralyzed by all this, I left till later any questions regarding the propriety of what I was doing. I was fixed there, held by forces within me too powerful to overcome.
"My baby, my little baby girl," Father was crooning. "Did my baby girl really miss her daddy?" His left hand moved around and back and forth inside her open blouse, by now he had undone the last button and, as Gunilla squirmed and twisted more and more under his caresses, her titties began to work themselves out through the front and into plain view.
Gunilla seemed strongly affected by the caressed and soon was lying back against him with her breasts completely exposed. Finally I risked kneeling on the seat of the high-backed chair and stared at them from the gloom. At last I had a clear view of them and Gunilla's naked breasts completely absorbed my bewildered eyes.
Father's hands kept running over them, stroking the soft sides with his fingertips and brushing his palms across the bursting pink buds of first one, then the other. Still again he would place his entire hand over the breast with the tip against his palm and gently squeeze it. And always the sing-song voice:
"Did my little baby miss her daddy? What did she miss, huh? Was it this, little lover, this? or this?"
And from Gunilla, as his hands moved more and more deftly over her swelling breasts, came more and more this high pitched mewing.
And I was transfixed! I could not breathe! for, while I had seen those glimpses earlier, this was the first time that I had really seen a girl's naked breasts and I was bewitched! They were so large, lifting far out from her chest despite the fact that her reclining backward tended to flatten them, and the hard, pink buds at the end of each were swollen and rigid. The soft, luminous quality of the flesh caused me to be seized by a paroxysm of excitement such as I had never known. My penis was tingling all over and growing and swelling out so that it hurt me against my pants.
Mesmerized, Gunilla reached her own hands up to her breasts and began to lightly stroke the edges of the buds with her fingertips then resting her hands on his, she guided their caresses.
"So my little girl did miss her daddy a little, did she?" My baby missed this, and this, did she?"
"Daddy, Daddy, Dady...? Gunilla muttered over and over between open lips as she writhed in his lap.
Father was aroused by her excitement. Suddenly he reached his hand down and slid it under her skirt. His action had pulled the garment up and I could see that he was stroking her thighs. Gunilla threw her head further back as she continued to murmur over and over:
"Daddydaddydaddydaddy...."
Now he reached further up, then even further, finally moving his arm back and forth, although what he was actually doing or why I could not tell.
At each motion of his arm Gunilla let out little cries and moans. Her giggling had ceased altogether and her face seemed to be undergoing some great inner struggle, couple with a rising pleasure. I had gotten an intense cramp in my stomach so bad that I could not have moved, even if I thought they might discover me there.
Father was moving his arm back and forth with a rhythmic motion now and with each stroke Gunilla moaned louder. Her voice had become a singsong whine crying only "Daddyohdaddydaddyho...." while he rubbed and caressed inside her skirt.
With a rising feeling of power he was crooning. "Did my baby miss me, now? Did my little girl miss her daddy, after all?"
But then, as Father opened his mouth and bent forward as though to take her left titty in it, Gunilla suddenly leapt out of his grasp and onto her feet. She pulled her open blouse together and dashed for the door! Before I could move, or Father raise a hand to stop her, she was gone.
I was so astonished that I was unable to get my bearings. Father sitting where he had been, but with a puzzled and somewhat angry expression on his face. Then, just as I had sunk down out of sight and was striving to collect myself and to ponder how best to leave the room without being seen, I heard the door connecting the hall to the kitchen open and, to my amazement, Annie entered the living room. She walked over to Father and said:
"Miss Gunilla said you wished something, sir." Father blinked, looked at her a moment, then said, "Why uh yes. Yes, Annie, I did. you'll do fine."
He ran his eyes slowly over her and moistened his lips with his tongue. Annie stood awaiting his instructions.
"What would you wish sir?" she asked.
"Why-uh-some champgne, Annie, and two glasses."
"Yes sir," Annie said and moved across the room to a sideboard of finely carved mahogany, opened it, removed a bottle two fine long-stemmed glasses, placed all three on a silver tray and returned to the couch, placing the tray on the low table. Then she straightened once more.
"You are lovely tonight, Annie." Father told her as he took the bottle, exploded the cork and pured champagne into both glasses.
"Thank you sir," Annie said formally. "Will there be anything else sir?"
"Well yes, perhaps there is. Father replied. "Everyone is resting and I am a bit lonely. Here have some champagne." He picked up a glass and proffered it, but Annie didn't move.
"No thank you sir. It really isn't fitting. Should I send Miss Gunilla back to keep you compapny?"
"No she is tired and has gone to lie down. Besides, you are older, a woman. You are better company for a man who had just had a long, exhausting trip and who is home at last and needs some relaxation.
But honestly, Annie, you are quite lovely tonight. The way your skin catches the light is enchanting. Here, let us see...." And he reached up, changing slightly the focus of the funnel-shaped lampshade so that the light fell more fully on Annie's face. ... "There. That is magnificent! Now, if you would turn just a bit so...." He reached toward her shoulder as though to turn her, but she anticipated his movement and turned herself. "Yes that's it. I love to watch the effect of light on you. The way it catches in your hair and falls upon your face. But here, let us unpin your hair a little and let it fall around those fine shoulders of yours."
Annie's face had become tense and indecision was clearly written there.
"Please sir, if there is any service I can do, let me do it for you. But all these things are most irregular, sir. I don't know just what to do, nor what you wish."
"Calmly, calmly now Annie!" Father remostrated. "You will see you will see. We shall discover all that together in a moment. For now, just do as I tell you. Take the pins out of your hair-the cap off first, then let your hair down." His voice was still sophisticate and debonair, but now there was an unmistakable tone of authority in it.
Annie flushed pink under her freckles. She stood straight before him hesitating, seeming to be confused by these strange reqquests of Father's, torn, it seemed to me, between her shy embarrassment and her duty as a servant.
"Well?" Father demanded, raising his eyebrows slightly and looking up at her.
"Yes sir." Annie lowered her eyes, took off her cap and hesitated again.
"Come, come my lovely, the hairpins now, I want to see that wealth of yours spread flaming red in the light-not pinned and pushed away out of art ardent admirer's sight. Take it down my dear!"
Again Annie looked confused. Then she slowly (and was it a little demurely?) began to remove the coral-colored hairpins from her flaming hair, which gradually began to fall in ringlets on her shoulders. Father, meantime, continued to observe her with a rapt expression.
Finally he said "Annie! How beautiful! how incredible is your hair!" It was all down the back now and over her shoulders in a thousand tiny ringlets and Father had stood up and was running it through his fingers, holding it to the light.
"Really, my dear, your hair is titian, the true color of Venetian glass! Here, stand more in the light. There!" In a lower, more intense tone. "You are gorgeous! That hair is a flame of the devil. It turns men to devils for you, doesn't it, Annie?" He took her chin and tilted her face up to him. As he caught her eye and held it, he smiled broadly, released her and sat down. Annie remained standing, staring at him, petrified before him.
"I-I don't know what you mean, sir. I just don't I...."
"Yes, you know Annie, my love. Yes you know. You know what fools you make of us, with your red hair long and flaming for us-how we react when it touches us, falls across our faces or along our arms, or heaven of miracles, when you have it on our chests, our stomachs or just running deliciously over our thights and pelvis. Can you imagine, Annie, the thought of driving a man mad with just your hair? Of drawing it softly across the best of him, til he screams for you! His cock growing hard and red and hungry for you-red as your hair and tangled in it and maybe finally being so overpowered that he comes in it! Can you imagine. Annie and desire? Father's voice had become insinuating as he talked of these things I didn't understand, but which Annie was obviously disturbed by.
"That is the power of your hair, Annie, and you do know it." Kindness entered his voice now of an almost fatherly benevolence. "But darling, I will teach you about it-you can be sure of me and trust me. You can't be allowed to go on without knowing your own power."
"Sir, please, sir, don't go on like this-saying those things to me. It isn't right sir, that you should talk of these things to me. You know, sir, you shouldn't!"
"But Annie, I certainly should. Every girl has a right to know how attractive and bewitching she is, what her special power is." He lit a cigarette and continued in this debonair manner while punctuating his remarks with the cigarette.
"Now, let us see more of your skin with the hair over it. Unbutton your blouse a little and shift a bit more to the light. Please, just open it a little, now Annie. I must see the red on that soft flesh above your breasts."
"Please sir!" Annie interrupted. "Don't say any more. You know how strange I get and that I can't control it. Please, sir, help me!" The girl was near to tears. Her body twitched strangely now and her face kept changing color. She seemed to be caught in a struggle that was beyond her strength.
"Come dear, just a button or two so that I can see your two treasures together-the hair and the skin of your titties. Please Annie!" His voice managed to gain a cooing note without even losing its air of command. Annie hesitated a moment more, then unbuttoned the top button.
"There you are, sir," she gasped out. "Please let this be enough, though! You know how I get, sir, so please say no more!" But even as she said this, I noticed that she, perhaps unconsciously opened another button. Her breath was coming fast.
"That's my nice girl," Father was saying. "Now pull your blouse open a bit more. Ah! That skin dusted with love! Pull the hair over it! Do as I tell you, love! Now open some more, open I say! There, my luscious angel, more now! more!"
Annie had lost all control of her propriety and seemed to melt before his teasing. Her face went completely pale and she hypnotically unbuttoned the blouse of her uniform.
"Come now, my sexy; let me see more of them! Open your blouse and expose them to me in their beauty. Yes-that's it-now with the hair on them, Annie, Stroke them with the hair for me!"
Annie's face had an almost religious expression ion it as she took her longest lings of hair and complied with his wishes. Her breasts were fully exposed now. They were paler than Guniila's and with a dust of freckles like her face. But unlike the younger girl's. They were pendant, hanging like two ripe melons, yet curving up a bit at the end into two large red buttons which were standing up hard. Annie was running the locks of hair down the sides of them and brushing the tips and her breath was coming faster and faster. She began to gyrate her ass and wiggle before him.
"Annie, my dear, you need not go quite so far. Your lovely hair burning on your breasts-that is what I wanted. But what breasts you do have, Annie! Just take the inside of your hands-the palms, that's it-and rotate them on your nipples with the hair wrapped around them. Stroke them, Annie-love them for the world, though it should be the world that loved them."
This too, Annie did, but her face now changed to a look of wild pleading, even while her body made strange postures.
"Don't resist so much Annie!" Father went on as I peered around the corner of my chair. "You know it won't do any good! And I know the things you want to do to me! ... Come now, Annie, why not just admit you aren't really a proper little prude-admit you really want to be natural and. ... ah ... maybe a little ... ah ... lewd. Eh?" He paused, tilting the champagne glass between his fingertips. Annie stared at him like a bird at a snake, trembling spasmodically.
"You want to show yourself to me, luscious, so why should we pretend, you and I? We know the truth, Annie dear-we know you wanted to show those tits to me, all delightful and dewy with the sheen of sweat on them-the fruit of fear, Annie! We know you want to slowly, copiously, reveal everything to me, to wind your curls around them and then take off your skirt, let me put my hand inside your ponties and then fuck you-and then to come to me, to get at me-put your hands and then your delicious tongue on me, to slide your hands inside my trousers, get your hands on it, take it out and play with it between your hands-then stroke my balls over and over like you do the cat. Oh, yes I've watched you with the cat. Annie my love, how you stroke it and get at his belly and then his nuts till his little cock rises up and you go wild. I know you, Annie, better than you know yourselfhow you want to do me like the cat, to be pulling it out with the first drops of moist hotness for you dripping from the end-how you want to be licking at me, stroking them off with your tongue! To be sucking me-sucking and sucking me till I can't stand it any more and get as wild as you are and then my having you. I know how you want me to be fucking you over and over and over with my lips on your tits and my finger stroking you in your asshole till you just want to die of it!----Yes indeed; we know, Annie, Don't we?"
Annie was in a trance, moaning with his words, gesturing and undulating before him. I was shaken almost as much, impaled by things beyond me but which held me slave in their mounting power.
Annie was whining and pleading. "You mustn't say these things to me, sir-mustn't-can't help-want to...." She gasped for air. "Please, please just take-I mean-let me go-take-free me; help! Oh please, sir, help me! Aii."
Annie seemed lost to control now. She took off her skirt and dropped it to the floor and even as she begged Father to let her go, she was gently rubbing her fingers across her panties and rotating her torso toward him in a manner which was completely opposite to her entreaties.
Father was leaning back watching her with strange fascination, occasionally flicking his tongue across his lips.
"Exquisite, Annie! Absolutely exquisite!" he uttered sauvely and appreciatively. "You are lovely, really lovely! Come here!" His hands reached out for her.
Annie appearead nearly helpless, yet she only partially obeyed. Still moving in this off, distorted way, she came a step towards him, but at the same time ceaselessly begged him to release her.
"You know how I always get sir! I just don't know how to stop. But please don't do this to me sir! Do something-uh-anything with me! But let me be-let me go!" Her voice was rasping now as though she were in great pain.
"You are my little whore, aren't you. Annie? Tell me you are my little whore! That you want me to do it to you."
She advanced another step and he reached up and brushed his fingertips across her arching nipples.
"Ahhhh!" Annie almost screamed. "Yes yes yes, I'm your whore or anything ya want-only don't tease me any more! I'll give you anything! Anything! But please...."
Her face was a mass of entreaty. But now his hands ran down her bare flesh between her breasts and her hips, and tightening his grip, he pulled her forward till her knees were touching his. Then he began to run his fingers over her pink panties, particularly where a dark spot seemed to hover at the center point where her legs parted. She must have hair there like I had been growing for the last year. Annie's arms were over her head now, and she was beginning to gyrate them around and moan in a low whine with her head back and her mouth open.
In the meantime I was watching almost hypnotized, too concerned with missing so detail of what was happening to take time to evaluate it. In my innocence I fixed on each detail, needing to remember each expression and act, each detail of this body whose every movement was a revelation: to remember each thing they said, even though I did not know what they meant.
And as Father caressed her. Annie's personality seemed to change completely, and even her speech became different-almost vulgar. But as yet, Father himself remained elegant, almost detached from the scene which he had created.
Now he lifted his head and, drawing her right up to him, placed it aganist her stomach. Her back was towards me now, and I saw how his hands gripped her ample asscheeks and how his fingers played along the crack. Annie's body was a little thick, but was well proportioned and solid. Her buttocks, as he caressed them, filled me with the sudden desire to seize them too, and use them as he was doing. The wild excitement in me kept mounting.
With his head still against her stomach, Father was speaking to her again:
"The smell of you is so intoxicating, Annie-so fresh and musky at the same time!" He breathed deeply, still moving his fingers across her buttocks where the tight panties clearly defined everything: the fullness, the smooth curves, and the crack. "Annie, Annie, let me smell you more!" and he pressed her towards him, seeming to bury his nose between her legs. Then he drew back and watched her again.
"Take off your blouse now, little strumpet, and let me feast my eyes on all of you with the red hair over everything. Come now take it off!" And Annie, who was moving in a strange, distorted dance before him, threw the blouse of her uniform backwards to the floor so that she remained naked but for her panties and shoes. The lamp light fell full on her now, mingling and blending its yellow tones with the white of her skin and the red of her hair. And, watching her supple movements, the beauty of her curved, flowing softness. I was torn bstween excitement, curiosity and a mounting revolt.
Father's hands were behind his head now, and he watched her smiling. Annie was moaning and squirming against his knees. Then she moved forward so that the table partially obscured her as she dropped to her knees, running her hands over his thighs and begging:
"Please, sir, don't torture me any more! Please give it to me! Please sir ... give me, gimme gimme it sir...." she was becoming incoherent and rapid and strange: "Sir, Billy-ya gotta let me have it, do you hear, Bill, give it to me! Oh Oh, BILLY, come on now, give it to me, your cock, Billy, that BIG ONE. Give it GIVE IT TO ME! Ohhhhh!" She was fumbling with, his pants. I think, but I couldn't see very well for the table and the arm of the couch.
"Let me hear how much you want it, little cunt. Let me hear you beg for it-you have to really want it to get it you know."
"I do beg you" she whispered huskily, "haven't I been begging you for it, Billy? I want it. I'll die if ya don't give it to me. Please, Billy and I'll suck ya, and do anything ya want-yes, yes all those other things too, only give it to me Billy."
"There, there, little trull, open up and take it if you need it so much." He was still leaning back, but his tongue was always running over his lips now, and his face seemed to twist and contort with some inner emotion. Annie was doing something to his pants and suddenly:
"Ah, I have him! I have him! OHHH!" and her head buried itself in his lap and her voice was suddenly muffled! Father's face changed to an expression of pure joy, tinged with a gradually mounting urgency. Annie was doing something and I craned up on my toes to see what it was. But strain as I would, the arm was in the way, and all I could discern was Annie back, and side, and her head which seemed to be licking and caressing something coming up from Father's lap. She sucked and licked and sucked again, running her tongue around it. Then, with a sidden shock of horror, I realized that it was Father's prick, hard and stiff as my own had become during this scene-but what horrified me more was my own wild excitement at this act.
Father's face was moving with the most intense pleasure. His mouth was contorted and his breathing quick:
"Suck me, now, that's it, little trull, lick it nice now! Oh, you are delicious." Suck it out now!" His voice raised and lost some of its elegance and control. "Ah, ah! That's enough. That's enough!" And he fell sideways on the couch, pulling her up with him as he did it. Hid hands were moving quickly over what I could see of her body, and their mouths moved around and across each other.
"Billy please" she was almost screaming, "give it to me-in me, Billy! Ya got to give it to me!...." But Father's mouth cut her off and he rolled on top of her, reaching down to, I think, take off her panties. I could see only his back now as he lay between her up-thrust legs and her face which was propped on a pillow at the far end of the couch. Her arms, which had seemed to be helping him to adjust something below, came around him now, and their bodies began to move back and forth in unison, his back rising up and then pushing downward on her. I was shocked, puzzled, excited and afraid.
Annie's face began to have a great eagerness in it, and a strangely moving tension. Her lips parted and she kept uttering a high pitched moan. Some times her teeth gritted, and others her mouth would open and her tongue would move in it. Her eyes were mostly closed, but sometimes they would open with a hunger and urgency which seemed to be looking directly into mine, due to how she was lying, and I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to answer her need, even though I could not fathom what it was.
"Fuck me, fuck me Billy." Oh please, harder, harder, now," she pleaded. "Stroke me, stroke me while ya fuck me Billy!" And the repetition of this word which I didn't understand seemed to continously excite both more and more as, although I didn't know why, it did me.
The girl was becoming frantic, writhing around beneath Father, and gripping him and releasing him with her legs. She kept trying to sink her teeth in his shoulder, and tossing her head around.
"Lift up a little, please, please!" She moaned. "So I feel it more. That's it. Move it around in me. Billy! Up, up hard against my button. Aii! Harder, HARDER, ON THE BUTTON YES YES Billy! She writhed and moaned, seeming to beg for something beyond human power to give. But now her face reached a sudden expression of rending ecstasy! Father's breath was short and rapid now, intermingled with sharp, low grunts, reaching towards some crescendo as Annie moaned at him:
"Harder, Billy-my button, yes-that too-OH! Harder now yes! Pump me now! hard and straight and fast! Pump me hard, Billy! Yes yes yes yes yah hhhh! Fuck! Yaahh! All!" and all of a sudden she gripped him and seemed in a convulsion of movement against him, while she screamed her face a contorted struggle between, pleasure and pain, while he moved faster and faster on her, his grunts mingling with her screams. For a moment they seemed bent on tearing each other apart with their movement, but then, after her last gasping cry, they locked themselves together, he with his face buried in her hair.
For a long moment I remained frozen by the experience, continuing to stare at the two pairs of arms, wrapped around each other, the two heads and shoulders lying together before me. I didn't know what I had seen, but I was held fast by the spell of the excitement: the intense pleasure I had seen and felt, coupled with the growing inner feeling of shame: the great beauty in the scene, coupled with my vague feeling that it was something forbidden and wrong. And indeed, so great was my concentration that I might have remained fixed there until I was discovered had not a small sound beside me snapped me to an awareness of my position.
I did not move my body, but turning my head slightly, I was able to see just well enough behind me into the dimly lighted hall to observe Gunilla, whom I had forgotten, pass and ascend the stairs. Although I was so shaken that I could scarcely walk after a moment, I moved slowly after her, and none too soon as the last quick look I sent into the living room showed me that Annie and Father were beginning to move.
Silently on the thick carpet, I crept to the stair and ascended to my room.
CHAPTER THREE
I went up to my room excited and disturbed by all I had heard and seen. Although the hall was brilliantly lit by a great glass chandelier, my room was dark and, without turning on the light. I closed the door and lay down. For some time I stared up at the immense blackness trying to take in all that had happened. Gradually I became aware of a diffused light in the room. Stirring up a little and looking around, I discovered that it came from the crack beneath a door which apparently led to another room. I quickly moved close to the door. Then hesitated: fearing to open it, but ashamed of the idea of peeking through the keyhole. However, this last compunction was soon overwhelmed by my curiosity and, kneeling down, I placed my eye to the opening.
At first I could see nothing. Then as my eyes adjusted to the brightnes, I discovered I was peering into the most marvelous room I had ever seen. Everything was silk and satin, and lace and silk, and velvet and silk. Immediately before me was a screen, and over it was whiteness hanging and silk. Silk stockings were lying on the deep white rug. Strange, delicate garments were scattered on the white furniture. There was a giant bed and over it hung a canopy of white silk. Even the bedspread was silk. And everywhere was whiteness. Hardly had I taken this in when a woman came into my range of vision. The kimono she wore was silk. It was also white. The woman was Mother.
She moved in her bare feet to a dressing table which stood to the right of the screen and began to brush her hair, watching herself in the mirror. As she ran the brush through it in a long steady stroke, her chin tilted up slightly showing her face in clear profile to me. Nothing can describe that beauty! The white, white skin, and the clean line of nose and cheek and throat. I stared in complete awe and reverence.
The brush almost sang through her hair making it flash gold and red and amber in the light. But fascinating as it was to watch this constant transformation of light and beauty, my eyes crept to her body which was swaying gracefully with the motion of her arm. I noticed how with each stroke the silk of the kimono clung, slid along, and then fell away from the lithness of her. I stared.
When the robe was against her it spoke of her body. When it fell away, the light caught in it and I could almost see through. I became obsessed with the need to know if there was anything underneath ... she was naked underneath! But I couldn't be sure. Everything was motion and the robe never was still enough for me to define what I saw. She turned slightly, so that her reflection was full for me. I discovered that the robe was fastened at her throat, but open from there down. So that every time she moved, the gown opened a little. But always it closed before I could see more than an indistinct glory of whiteness and flesh. But I could tell at least that there was nothing under the robe. Nothing!
The robe parted and closed. Almost with the same motion. Parted and shut. My eyes strained to catch a detail. I remembered how they once told me how lightning was a crack in the floor of heaven, and that if you looked quickly enough you could see into paradise. I had tried and tried. I tried and tried now. With the same results. Finally I shifted my attention. First to her beautiful shining arms where the full sleeves had fallen back, giving me the plump, rounded, firm arms. Then I noticed how the body was silhouetted. I fixed on the curves of her. On how the torso flowed down and in to the amazingly small waist, and then out to full rounded hips. And down, I could see her legs. She was standing with them apart, so the long limber perfection of them was clear.
But mostly I feasted on her breasts. They were obviously unfettered under the thin silk. As her arm brushed and brushed, they came alive. The great lush weight of them swayed, leaped, swung, pranced, juggled, shook, quivered, undulated, pulsed, wiggled, and tossed. The breasts were high and firm despite the fullness, and the ends had small points that traced messages on the robe that I struggled to read.
Mother meanwhile was constantly looking at herself in the mirror with a languorous intensity. Her strokes lengthened as she drew the brush through that long cascade of loveliness, and a flush came to her cheek as her motion quickened and the hair picked up more and more fire from the light. Her eyes seemed to caress her body in the mirror even as mine were doing. The realization of one to me was as startling as the other. A liquid feeling of weakness filled me and a" tingling ran over my thighs. Could this be the result of love for her? Holy love? Something in me doubted it profoundly and I was more and more disturbed.
Then she put the brush on the dressing table and, reaching her hands to her neck, she undid the clasp of the robe. She stood admiring herself appreciatively. I could see nothing, yet at the very suggestion of her taking off the gown I was quivering with what seemed more than filian anticipation. I stood transfixed. Mother kept gazing at herself, moving her body slightly all the time. Then she ran her hands up under the robe as though to take it off.
I was paralyzed by anticipation and shock. But this was followed instantly by a convulsion of shame and embarrassment. Somehow I tore my eyes away from the keyhole and stumbled to my feet forcing myself to return to bed.
I was so ashamed. I lay on the bed goading myself with the vileness I had in me. My mind lashed itself for the foulness of peeking through keyholes at a woman! At a lady, who was my mother! I had lusted after her nakedness. In another second I would have looked on my mother's nakedness. I would have seen all her intimacy of flesh.
At this thought, a wild sword of loss stabbed through me, I leaped from the bed and raced to the keyhole while a voice cried, "Too late, Too late, missed it." As I fell to my knees by the door, a spasm of hunger seized me like a cramp. I could't even see I was so frantic to look.
Finally I calmed at least enough to see a little. Mother was still wearing the robe. This was all I could take at first. There was disappointment, but then a hope began hammering in me. I might still see. Then I realized that something strange was happening. Mother was watching herself as before in the mirror. Her hands were inside the robe, and were slowly stroking her breasts. I strained to see but the angel was wrong. She kept gently stroking and caressing inside the robe as though she were doing what I had seen Annie do for Father. Her head fell back now and her lips parted slightly as her eyes closed. Slowly a flush came into her face and a look of mounting joy. Her breathing quickened and her hands moved faster.
I was seized with a fine trembling all over, something was going to happen, the nature of which was bewond me. Her caresses became more insistent, as her breathing quickened still more. Then she slid one hand down over her stomach and began moving back and forth at the point where her legs joined, while the other remained at her breast. Suddenly she began to shake as a low moaning came from her parted lips. She raised her shoulders and her body writhed as she started to shake off the robe. I was going to see! There was a flash of white shoulder, a blur of side, legs. But at that second, the hall door beside me opened and I was blinded by sudden brilliant light.
For an instant I was helpless, petrified. Caught, completely exposed kneeling there peeking into Mother's keyhole. I threw myself face down in the pillow sobbing with self-incrimination for having destroyed all that life had been about to offer me. The door closed and there was darkness again. A long time went by. I lay there with my heart pounding! I could tell someone was in the room, but I couldn't tell who. I could hear them breathing it was so quiet. Was it Father's I was sick with fear and shame and Loss. Then out of the dark, a voice, Gunilla's voice.
"What are we going to do with you? I mean really! Four hours in the house and already you've managed to look everybody over. First me, looking down my dress while I poured the coffee. Then spying on Annie and Father. ... now Mother! Shameful! What will you do after you've had time to establish yourself? A woman won't be able to relax for a minute for fear you'll be looking up her dress, or down it, or peeking through the keyhole, or boring holes in the walls or setting up periscopes, or ... well, I can't even imagine! But there's no telling what a boy like you will do. What are we to do with you around? We'll have to start locking ourselves in closets if we want to undress!"
I stared into the darkness towards her and began to cry. "Oh please, Gunilla, I'll change!" I pleaded. "Please don't tell-I promise I'll change. I'll----"
A low throaty laugh came from the dark. Her voice began again, softer and husky. "Please don't Lars. Please don't Change. Can you realize what it is to a house full of women without men to have you around all at once? Someone who is interested in them? You are the greastest thing that has ever happened to us! Imagine it! On this state all the time, miles from any town, and Only women to talk to! To be with Father doesn't count, because he is away all the time. Now at last, YOU! And you're wonderful! You're completely perverted. You really want to go! You are all over the place from the moment you step into the house! Marvelous! Of course you don't know anything, but you are eager to learn. And I'm a great teacher!"
She seemed to sense my disbelief and continued reasuringly "Yes I mean it! I'll help you. I'll teach you everything I know and help you learn from the others. What they know and I don't I'll give you everything. Everything. Everything you want!" Her voice rose and there was a strange, new hunger in it as she continued: "Let me explain. You have to understand. You see-you have-you have something in you-something other people don't something I've been looking for a long time and never seen. You see. ... but I keep forgetting. You know nothing of the world ... but I'll tell you anyway-just take me on faith-you see, people everywhere-everyone I meet and everyone I read about-has something wrong with them that prevents their being alive. And they never get a chance to find out because their lives are all caught up in the whirl and they can't even begin properly. But we, out here alone with these women-no one to bother us and nothing else to distract us-you and I who have this particular focus-the capability to have it-we can discover together what it is all about. The final thing-what that is about!" Her voice was charged with more and more excitement: this I could tell although most of what she said was beyond me and seemed meaningless. "I have been thinking about this and wondering and yearning, but I had no one to share it with and explore. Now I have you, and I will give you everything! I will give you whatever you want. All of me. All. A sixteen-year-old girl, to supply every one of your fantasies. And I will help you to have the others. I'll help you watch Mother undress and play with herself. And you can watch her through the keyhole into the bath I share with her. Every day. Every night.... I'll fix it so you can watch Father frig her when he is home. Mother is a great adventure. I'll tell you about her.... she is very much alive, but terribly shy and frustrated. She has all the right instincts, but doesn't know what to do with them. She's wild and indecent, but she needs a little help to get started. Why when I was a child she used to ... but I'll tell you about that some other time. Anyway, she will be fine once she gets into it. I'll give her to you Lars. You'll have your lovely sweet mother moaning and begging under your cock. And Louise. I'll help you get her. She will be tougher, since she's so innocent. But we shall have her! Yes. Yes," Her voice rising with excitement constantly. "We shall have her too. Yes little Louise will be your toy. She will do all the fine perverted things you have hidden in you that you don't even know about yet. And Annie. She will be your slave. She is a slave. All you have to do is stare at her and talk dirty and she becomes a nymphomaniac. She can't help it. Then you can use her any way you want. You can beat her if you want. Or take pictures of her. Or make her crawl after you. Lars, I will give you the whole Ali Baba treasure cave of flesh-of woman. You can even have Father as a servant if you want. Anything, Lars, Any thing!"
She paused. "But I guess this a bit beyond you, isn't it Lars?" She seemed to take my incredulous silence as an affirmative. "But never mind ... we'll get to all that-I guess I have to really start from scratch with you. Yes." And then after a pause. But it is worth it, worth anything and besides, come to think of it, it will be great fun ... great fun teaching you from the beginning!"
There was along pause. Then I felt her sit down on the bed. I must have jumped in surprise for there was a low giggle, followed by a new, calm, teasing tone: "Don't be afraid. I just thought I'd pay you a little visit. After all if we are going to be brother and sister, and especially if we are young to investigate together all the things we've been talking about together, we do have to get to know each other."
I didn't know what to say. In all this time I had had no idea what to say or do nor how to react. I lay without moving waiting to see what would happen, my heart racing. She went on, her tone changing more and more to any easy banter.
"Mother said that you had never even seen a girl before today." She paused. I knew she expected and answer. I was petrified but somehow managed stuttering:
"I-I guess I am rather strange!"
She giggled again.
"I guess you are-boy! After supper I managed to ask Father what Mother had meant, Is it true what they say? That you never saw a girl or her body or anything."
"Well, I...."
"Come on Lars, you can tell me. I'm your sister now, you know! I just mean is it true about your never seeing women or anything?"
"Yes, it's true-never before Mother yesterday, and then the ones we saw travelling, and then you tonight."
"Jesus! Boy, that's really fantastic! And you never touched, or felt a girl or anything?"
"No, no never. Never saw nor was around any-except the old Matrons at the orphange in England."
"Wow! And boy, did you look me over! No wonder you poor kid! But wow!" and she started giggling again, but with what seemed a new excitement. "Never even saw a girl. Just never having been kisses would be great, but never to have even SEEN a girl!" And then suddenly. Here give me your hand!" She reached for me, touching my body in a way that embarrassed me in her search, so I took my hand, which had been under the sheet, out and held it towards her. It touched the softest thing! I had ever felt. The flimy sheer blouse she was wearing, and I felt underneath a strange sensation of flesh that gave to the touch.
But before I could register it, she had taken my hand and was softly stroking it on the palm, and running her fingers gently along the inside of my arm in a way that made me gasp.
"Would you like to know about what a girl is like Lars?"
"Well-do you mean?" I hesitated. "Well sure I would. But I guess I will gradually get to know girls being here with you and Louise."
"No, I mean what girls are really like. The way they are different than boys-you know, underneath?"
"Well, uh I don't know just what she meant, and I didn't know what to say, I was terribly embarrassed.
"You wanted to see inside my blouse when I served you coffee," She giggled again. "What were you looking for?"
I just gasped, flushed red in the dark, and couldn't speak. "It was so great, Lars. All of a sudden I realized you wanted coffee so you could look down in my blouse! Wow. And when I saw the way you looked, I started to get wet. In fact, I got so sopping wet that I was afraid it would run down my leg. And that last time, when I opened the new button, I thought you were going to nuzzle your head right in when I bent down. As it was. I almost spilled them out in your face. Oh, how much I wanted to. I wanted so much to reach in and lift them out and work them into the gaping mouth of my new little brother. I might do just that Lars. Would you like that? Just think, a few hours ago, you were having a heart attack just to see a little in my blouse, and now I'm going to let you suck them."
I almost passed out.
"But you have to show you want it, Lars. You have to come and get a little to start me. Don't you want to get your hands in my clothes, little brother? Don' you want a little feel of your new sister, Lars?"
"We can't turn on the lights now as they might notice, but you can feel anything you want. Unbutton me a little and see!" And she took my hand and placed it on the top buttons of her blouse.
I was paralyzed with timidity and embarrassment, but she moved my hand on the button and it came open.
"Don't be afraid now, I won't bite you. She kept giggling happily at my confusion. "Come on, now.
Unbutton another one!"
The blouse was so soft and inviting, and beneath my confusion and timidity. I was becoming very interested and excited.
Something told me this was not very proper, but as before, I had this other force in me which made me not care. And as my hand rested on her crest. I could feel the gentle warmth of her skin which heightened my growing tension.
Gunilla took my hand now and moved it across her skin and up along her neck.
"Doesn't it feel different, Lars? she asked.
"It is so soft and fine." I could not speak easily. It was all so strange, and all the time something in me kept wondering if it was proper.
"Another button now. This is the Arabian Nights. Lars. And I will show you all the wonders one by one until...." She pauses suggestively. My hand released two more buttons I was becoming eager. Then I reached for the last, opened it, and found my hand lying against the warmth of her stomach. She had absolutely nothing on beneath the flimsy blouse.
"Now newborn little brother, feel this. She drew my fingers across her stomach and up her side. The skin was unbelievavly supple and soft. "And this," taking my hand to the front of her chest near her fine neck, then slowly down to where the skin softened even more and began to rise outward. I trembled with awe and excitement, remembering the brief glimpse of what lay below, and not daring to hope that she would actually lead me to these!
"And now these" she invited, moving my fingers along the edge of her right breast which seemed incredibly full. My fingers trembled against her.
"Yes Lars" she whispered. "It's my breasts. The hidden things you wanted so much to see. Touch them. Do like that-it feels wonderful on me. Do it more!" My trembling kept increasing, but I did at the same time move my hand on her.
"Yes dear like that. Here, just run your fingers around me and explore a bit." And when I still hesitated. Remember I'm your sister now Lars, so it's all in the family. Come on just do it feel me Lars, you'll like it!" And emboldened by her I ran my hand over the miracle. Never had I dreamed of such flesh. So soft, and yielding, when I pressed a little with my fingertips the sensation burned in my palms and a strange singing, caroled in me. The indecency of it-of what I was doing!
"You sure do feel strange-and wonderful," I said daringly. And then I suddenly caught my breath in a short gasp, and Gunilla uttered a moan as my hand slid to the end of her sloping breast and encountered something new, something hard and round.
"Yes yes there, rub that a little-yes." Her breathing was quicker and the easy tone had left her voice. I was getting so excited and eager that I fumbled at it, but kept rubbing my hand on it as she said, the feeling growing in me as I felt her tension mount.
But now I was trying to take in the whole thing. My hand moved more boldly, and I moved it around the breast, half in wonder. It was so large and soft. Nothing I had ever felt was quite like it nor so strange. The way it curved from her chest at the top, and out to such incredible size at the bottom. I felt underneath, lifting the heavy weight of it in my palm a little, and wanting it in a way I can't describe.
Gunilla seemed a little less confident. There was a note of pleading in her voice now.
"Do you like it Lars? she asked a little breathssly. "Here that titty has a sister you know!" And she took my other hand which had been lying between us as I sat up in bed, and placed it inside her blouse on the other side.
It was incredible to me that a person could have such bounty of flesh. I had never known anything so thrilling as the feel of them.
Gunilla was gently taking my hands now and leading them down the sides till they reached the two hard buds at the ends. "These are my nipples, dear-don't you like them? she was asking.
"Gosh Nilla, I exclaimed," Yes I...."
"Play with them then, I want you to." As I began to feel and squeeze them they grew harder and harder and her breath quickened as before. My fingers trembled so much I hardly knew what I was feeling and the tips which were touching her began to tingle like an electric shock. As I kept feeling her. I moved my fingers around the nipples a bit and felt the soft, pink circles I had glimpsed earlier, but I kept coming back to the hard buds with ever-mounting excitement.
She took my hands again and placed the palms on the nipples, gently rotating them. It tickled terribly, but the feeling had me wild and I twisted slightly in the bed and leaned forward instinctively, sometimes poking the breast with the fingers of one hand while I rubbed the nipple of the other breast with the other.
Nilla's breath was coming in gasps, and she wanted more and more.
"Harder and faster. Pleased, Lars," she whispered. "Please dear! Oh, what a sweet little brother! Harder now-yes-yes-please Lars-Oh its good!" I grew bolder, and kneaded them, worked them with all the strength in my hands until with a little sigh, she slid forward with her head in my lap, beginning at the same time to stroke my legs.
I was embarrassed because I feared she would feel my swollen penis. But I was so wildly excited that I hardly cared. She sat up again, moving her fingers to my face with a soothing touch, stroking my temples gently.
"Now Lars, you must learn how to undress a girl a bit further. Did you like me up there? You kept looking so hard, before-are you satisfied?"
I gulped, all confusion again and didn't know how or what to say. Then finally: Oh, yes Nilla-I'm sorry, I just don't...."
"That's all right Lars, I understand. But here now, try this." And she took my hand again and put it to the side of her skirt where she helped me to unhook it, and then to unzip the zipper that held it together. Then standing beside the bed she said: "Now pull it down all the way-that's it. Afterwards she came back on the bed and lay beside me. I was so startled that I almost jumped out, but the excitement was still in me, and she had my hand again and was saying:
"Feel this now-do you like it?" She moved my hand over her tight warm stomach and down. I discovered the panties she was wearing. I guess they were of the same material as Annie's earlier, but these I had only seen in half light and from a distance. I had never known any material that felt so delicate-like silk, I guess. And Nilla was running my hands over her belly now and asking me:
"Do you feel this elastic band, Lard? Reach inside it now! Come on, don't be afraid! Reach inside, Lars, I have some wonderful gifts for you in my panties. All you have to do is have the courage to push your hand under the elastic. Daddy give me a hundred kronor just for this. I give it to you Lars, I give everything to you. Reach under, Lars. Feel in my pants. Feel me, little brother. Feel your little sister Gunilla."
I timidly slipped my hand inside the band, and found the skin of her belly soft but firm. With growing interest and excitement I pushed it further, down. I encountered incredibly fine hair right above, where I supposed her "penis" was. But I was trembling hard, and I didn't know for sure how far to go.
"Take your other hand now and pull my panties down," Gunilla lectured me. "Here, kneel beside me, and you can do it better."
I guess I was so excited that I forgot about myself and how, if I did this, my prick would be exposed. Because of that weird feeling of guilt. I was embarrassed about it, but it didn't matter, I got up on my knees and, using both hands, took the band on either side of her waist and started sliding it down.
She lifted herself somehow. The flesh of her hips Was smooth and supple, and my hands, touching it, trembled more and more.
"Feel my leg as you do it, Lars," Gunilla was telling me "Isn't it different than yours?" Complying eagerly, I ran my hands over her thighs, and intermittently pulled at the panties.
"Gosh, it sure is, Nilla." I exclaimed in a small voice, still afraid and shy of her and all that was happening.
"There, now pull them off over my legs and ankles," she directed, setling back and pulling her legs up to make it easier for me to do. I felt the fine curve of her long legs, and the delicate ankles-even daring to feel one as I took the panties off. She giggled again at this and said:
"Now, Lars, I'm all naked and all yours tonight, It's like we were on our magic carpet. Feel me wherever and however you like. Be free Lars-and don't fear to do anything you want! You've never seen a girl, and you can't see me now. But you can feel me, and discover a lot that way. There must be many other things about a girl than my breasts that you'd like to know, and that you never dreamed about. So feel me. I'm your magic girl! I will permit you anything!"
All this time, rising and falling, but always going on, excitement and curiosity had been coming like waves stronger and stronger in me. Gunilla was so sweet and natural about everything, and my sense of guilt and shame was slipping further away. So taking courage, aided by the dense dark where everything was unseen and a little like a fairy dream rather than reality. I began tentatively to explore.
. I ran my fingers gingerly over her feet, marveling that they could seem so nude, over the ankles, and up the smooth curving calves, till I reached her knees. They were like Mother's round and delicately formed,, graceful. And then I continued up her full, plump, hot thighs, and eventually, even dared to slide over to her loins, noticing with tense fascination how the harder flesh of the thigh melted to the loose, sensuous flesh on the inner side. This excited me even more. I squeezed gently at her inner leg, and as I ran my fingers even higher, she lay back with a slight sigh against the pillow.
But this stopped me in confusion because it reminded me somehow of what I was doing and instinctively, of where I was: that I was approaching the core of the miracle.
"What's wrong, dear," she asked me. "Don't be afraid now. You're almost there, little brother, so don't stop now!" But somehow her voice only inhibited me more as it brought me back toward reality.
"Help me, Nilla-I-well...." and I ran out of words as the shyness returned and for a moment some strange memory tried to tug at my mind and take it away. But Gunilla had her hands on my wrists now, drawing me higher.
"Come, Lars, I'll help you! Is your leg soft like this? or like this? And does it have this?" And she gradually drew my hands up till they felt the brush of hair again, fine and thin on the ends of her loins. "And now, Lars, haven't you ever wondered about this?" And to my amazement and embarrassment she began to draw me slowly across her pubic hair towards where her organ must be.
"Nilla-I' and my voice raised in consternation, for surely this must be very private-but at the same time that compulsion was on me to discover this above all. I stopped her gradual movement and froze.
"Lars, I told you, everything-everything is yours to learn-come, come on-feel me-I know you'll like it! It's all right I promise you!" And slowly but firmly she moved me in again around, all over it!
And suddenly the strangeness overcame all else. My fingers reached for her and tried to feel carefully over the fine mass of hair. But where was it? There was nothing there! I guess it had never occurred to me that women didn't have a prick of some sort like mine, and the discovery was a shock. Gunilla had my hand again and was pushing it down between her legs, moving it against first one, then the other, and sliding it in the strange fluid I found there. She rubbed my hand against her hair, and when I touched a part that seemed bare of hair and very slippery, she shivered and stiffened suddenly.
"But...." I began. Her breathing was very rapid now.
"No, no-you see I don't have one-aren't you surprised?" She spoke rapidly now in a tense voice. "But here, Lars, see what I do have! Feel here, now and here!" She put my fingers into a hole between her legs which was all liquid and warm. It was the strangest thing I'd ever known. And somehow the most fantastically exciting. The hole seemed to close on my fingers. To kiss and suck at them. A honey flowed from her into my hand. Each time I moved my fingers in the hole, it trembled and Gunilla writhed-making little mewing sounds. Then she began moaning: "The other too, Lars, please the other too." And drawing my hand up, rubbed, or slid it across a fold of skin in a crack between the hairs where they thinned out. At this last, she twisted and moaned:
"Lars, darling, please stroke me there-yes, like that, dearest, back and forth on it-now quicker, quicker, quicker, darling! And here, put your two fingers of this hand in here for me?" She took my left hand which was free, fumbling for it wildly at first in the dark, and put my two middle fingers into the slippery warm hole I had just felt ... "Pull it in and out, precious, in and out-that's it-and keep rubbing with the other hand-yes-stroke it faster, faster, faster!". Her voice rose and the urgency mounted with each word.
And I was completely lost! Wild with excitement from where I know not, I complied wither her every wish as best as my trembling and shaking hands were able. A weird giddiness came in my head which fell forward on her stomach, and instinctively, from some force I do not understand, I began licking it with my tongue. But this impeded my left arm, and Gunilla pushed me up and back.
"Lick me, lick me Lars, but bend to do it. Don't ever stop with your hands...." Her voice was low and husky now ... "But here, here, keep this hand in," holding my left hand, and moving her hand with it in and out, "and lick me here, here on my clitoris! Quick. Lars, suck me-you'll like it! Please I'll be your slave, only please suck me. Eat me, Lars, little brother." And she pushed my head down into the hair to where I was stroking her. I was caught with a moment of revulsion at this, but as her hand pressed on my neck, her fingers gently pressing and squeezing, drawing me down, a sudden liquid feeling of compliance crept over me blotting out everything else. My head seemed to be bursting with the need to please, to succumb, to comply, and over it all this dreamy vagueness.
My mouth was in her hair now, and realizing vaguely that I was to lick the fold I had been stroking. I began to do so. A strong but wonderful smell was everywhere, and it took me back somewhere in my childhood, but I only knew it was beautiful and like love, and that it was beautiful now-that it was love, and I wanted to tell her, but I wanted more to only keep licking her.
"Oh, yes, little brother. Dear little cunt-sucking brother. Eat me! Eat me! Eat me-eat me!"
In all this I had forgotten to use my fingers in her and now she drew them out and replaced them with her own, her other hand, stroking my hair, running the fingers through it, and pressing me against her. Her legs raised and grasped my head, and she was moaning and twisting her head in pleasure. And as the tension grew in me again, I licked harder and harder, seeming by instinct to know how to please her. But she was whispering hoarsely to me:
"Suck me Lars, harder now-faster, faster, darling, darling, Lars, lick me, my juice, Lars-come on, come on-yes lover, I'm coming now, I'm coming-oh lick me, SUCK ME, SUCK, SUCK! ALLL! Ahh!" Something had happened. Something gigantic. I knew that, even if I didn't know what it was. Gunilla had covered her mouth with the pillow to muffle her last great moans. Then she went all limp. She gently put her hands on my head and drew it to her stomach, tenderly stroking me and murmuring incoherently.
Images swam in my head: images of joy and wholeness and power. Memory picked at my brain but I was possessed.
After a while, her hands slid down from my head, unbuttoned my pajamas, and slid down my chest.
Then along the sides of my body, I shook spasmodically. Her fingers played across my stomach causing the muscles to spasm. I know I was murmuring things helplessly, saying her name, and other things I don't know in a strange voice, begging for something I did not realize nor understand.
Then, sliding inside the pants of my pajamas her hands ran over my belly, and then on the sides of my legs.
As I jerked and shook, twisting under her touch, completely helpless in her hands, she began giggling. And kept playfully moving towards my penis, but never touching it. I don't know why this maddened me. But I tried to twist my torso towards her hand, tried to get her to touch my penis. Somewhere in my head was the thought that this was terrible, but it was blotted out by a need which was as uncontrollable as it was new to me.
Once I almost got her to touch me, but she swept away in time, only slightly brushing my erect organ. Gunilla laughed low and teased me:
"Don't know what it is you want, do you, brother? Where is it you want me to play with you? Is it here, or here?" And she touched my stomach, and my loins, both sending shivers of frustration through me ... "Or do you want it here, lover boy." And she began sensuously stroking across my pubic hair till I nearly screamed ... "Or is it here darling" and she slid her hand beneath my back and caressed lightly with her fingers on my asscheeks.
"Or do you want something different, little brother. Are you ashamed to say it." Her fingers were in my bush-hair again, stroking and stroking, getting closer, "Or maybe you don't even know the name of it. But you want me to touch it, don't you Lars? Don't you?" I couldn't speak. I was being lifted and lifted on a tremendous wave. "You have to ask for it though, Lars. You have to ask for it so I'll know you really don't dislike it. Say: Please, little sister Gunilla." Her fingers were so close. "Please," I heard myself gasping. "O please, little sister Gunilla." Her fingers reached me. Her hot hands clasped me. The great wave broke and I fell in a welter of joy. Spurt after spurt fountained from my penis all over her and the bed and me. My mind was buried in the masses of the wave. Just before it closed over me. I heard her marvelous laugh, and she kissed me. And ran away. Darkness and joy flooded me. I fainted.
CHAPTER FOUR
After she had gone I just lay there in the darkness, my head spinning. From time to time I shuddered convulsively. At first I did not even try to gather my wits. Everything was unreal and whirling: the darkness, the experience of unknown and forbidder emotions, and the fantastic events preceding. Everywhere was that odd, musky smell of her.
When the shock of her sudden exit had passed a little, I sat up, retrieved the sheet, which had fallen of the floor, and tried to sleep. I was dazed-too much for thought. The peace and the happiness I felt was in the musk smell, but I remember, just as I fell asleep, the smell from the distant past.
My dreams were broken and incomprehensible.
There was something about me and a little girl, and something else about being in bed with my mother. And that smell. About warmth and happiness. But it was all fragmentary and unreal.
When I woke in the morning it was with the memory of Gunilla flowing in my mind and tugging at me with that strange excitement. I opened my eyes and the whole room was in sunlight. I looked at the chandelier, the arm chair, the cupboard, the door, and finally at the place beside me on the bed where she had lain. All these things had been felt, but not seen, and now, in the bright light, it seemed impossible-a part of my dream. And as such I basked in it, full of wonder, full of joy.
But then the dried sperm spots on the sheet recalled that it had actually happened-a though, a realization which immediately brought back my sense of shame, and with it of fear. What did it all mean? And those forbidden places she had me touch-was this-could it be right? I remembered parts of the dream, and I was certain this was very wrong. Why had Gunilla done it? In the orphanage we had been strictly taught not to have anything to do with our organs except when urinating. Only the wicked would even think of it, and yet, here was my sister doing all these things. I did not understand.
And there was the scene between Father and the maid, and before that, Father and Gunilla. This had something to do with it. In fact, this clean, respectable house seemed steeped in it, overflowing with it. My head began to ache with the confusion. Why had it been so fantastically pleasurable? From my own experience I could well comprehend why one wanted to do it, but why should these noble people permit themselves to do it if it were wrong. Even I, wicked as I was, had never permitted myself to do thing that were wrong before-except something in my childhood!-but I couldn't remember that.
I thought of asking Mother. She had told me to ask her about anything that bothered me. But, not only was I far too shy to discuss this subject with her as yet, but alas, since it involved others who had acted as though they did not want to be discovered, I could not speak without betraying them.
That was it! The concealment Father acting a bit that way although I couldn't be sure-Annie begging him to stop, and saying it was wrong, and finally Gunilla not wanting the lights on. I just couldn't put it together and I was left as always with that sense of shame as though it were I who made thing evil wherever I went.
But perhaps the strangest thing was my confusion over the emotions I had felt: the curiosity, the excitement the timidity, with only a slight feeling of shame. Perhaps this was because in the dark it was all so unreal, so phantom-like, so much like The Arabian Nights as Gunilla had said.
I could not fathom it all, and, feeling hungry, decided to get up and dress so that I could go down to eat. I put on a shirt and a pair of jeans so I could play outside, and left the room.
I went outside first. It was a perfect summer day, I sat down on the grass beneath one of the dining room windows, leaning my back against the side of the house.
The window above my head was open, and voices were coming from inside. It was Mother and Father, talking over breakfast I was just about to go in and join them when the mention of my name caused me instinctively to stop and listen.
"... but I'm worried about Lars with the girls," Mother was saying. "Whatever it was in his past that caused all his difficulties, and which caused him to be put away under the strange stipulations about women which we learned about-whatever it was-it is sure to be activated violently by this contact with the girls. Probably already has. After all, he never had even seen a picture of one before!"
"But how can it do him harm, Karin," Father replied. "After all, he had to see a girl sometime, and then to learn about them. Seems to me that the quicker it happens the better. And about time, I might add!".
"Yes, yes, Bill of course! But don't you think the process should be a bit-well-gradual? Little by little rather than all at a swoop? After all, a whole multitude of things are natural to the girls-particularly to Gunilla, which would be impossible for him to take in at a gulp after the background he's had.
And I'm afraid it is bound to happen around Nilla, and that it will only corrupt him."
"Humph! Are you sure, Karin, that you aren't just worried that she will get to frig him before you have a chance to do just that yourself?"
"Bill, can't you ever be serious!" For the first time I heard a sharp tone in Mother's voice. Then, "I-well-hope to be able to adjust him to Swedish life and the freedom we have won and the progress in ideas about sex in society which we have made. But I don't want him spoiled first. He's our son now, and we must protect him.
"Especially from corruption, Bill. Isn't there some way he can be adjusted a bit before he has to meet it all?"
"Maybe a little corruption is good for him. Sven Lindstrom, our principal Swedish disciple of Fred and Jung, wrote a long book which is a continuation of the investigations. Freud was making in "Beyond The Pleasure Principle." He calls it "Corruption As A Purgative." I have a copy upstairs if you'd like to read it. Anyway, in this book he expounds how corruption is necessary in our lives from time to time in order to cleanse the psyche of exaggerated conditioned responses and the harm which they create through inhibition. He says that only by the periodic catharsis produced by this corrupting of the natural drives can the psyche be cleansed, and the super-ego prevented from strangling our natural responses."
Mother seemed to pause a bit after this. Then: "I only fear that what he is talking about is for the normally developed person. Lars is a special case."
They went on to other matters, and then Father left for his office in town.
For a few moments I sat still trying to take this in but most of it was incomprehensible to me. All I got from it was that Mother was worried about the shame in my past, and that some learned men believed bad things were sometimes good for your-or at least, this is how it seemed to me. I wished I could ask Mother, but I was ashamed to admit that had been eavesdropping.
When I entered the dining room, Gunilla and Louise were coming down the stairs. I waved to them, they ducked through the door, not wanting to see Gunilla-or better-not being yet prepared to see her after the strange night before, but to my consternation, they followed me in. I was just on the verge of excusing myself from breakfast despite my hunger rather than face her over the meal, when Nilla said:
"Hi, Lars, morning. Mother! We are going for a walk in the woods with Gustav it it's all right."
"Of course, dear," Mother replied.
Gunilla turned to me, her eyes twinkling and dancing: "Like to come along Lars?" she half mocked. Her large breasts were offering themselves through a tight mocha jacket.
But as I blushed, trying to decide between the company of the breasts and the prospect of talking to Mother, the latter came to my rescue:
"Now girls, you run along and let Lars have some breakfast and collect himself. He can come out later and play with you."
I wondered to myself how she meant that "play" and then blushed again in self reproach for such thoughts, and for me sudden impulse to go. Without meeting Gunilla's eye again I turned and walked to the table.
As I sat down, Mother pulled a cloth cord and when the maid entered said:
"Annie, bring Lars a bowl of porridge, and afterwards some potatoes and eggs. He's used to a good English breakfast."
The maid stared at me with blue eyes, staring me up and down.
"Yes, Mrs. Brahe," she said, and turned towards the pantry.
I noticed the gentle roll of her asscheeks as she walked, but under the apron and serving frock she was wearing, it was hard to discern the apparition of the night before. Her long red hair, which I had last seen hanging to her waist, was now quite properly pinned on top of her head. But the arms which I had admired by lamp light looked the same. But everything was profoundly different. The knowledge of her unclothed breasts was in me. The memory of her in front of Father.
And under him. It was wild to be properly in a room with her now as though all was decent. It was the same with Gunilla.
I turned my eyes toward Mother whose smile suddenly enveloped me.
"Well, did you sleep, Lars?" she demanded. I almost feared those wide, discerning eyes could look into my soul to discover my secrets of the night before.
"Uh-yes, Mother, I-uh-did sleep all right. But I was uh-so excited-that is-uh-it took me a while," I stammered. Then I blushed furiously at the possible double meaning of this.
"You poor darling," she said, reaching out and stroking my hand. "You mustn't be afraid of me. But then soon you will get used to being loved and cared for in ways you haven't been used to."
Again I blushed, then pinched myself for allowing these interpretations to occur to me. But she kept looking at me and smiling as though to herself.
Nothing more was said while I ate. Each time I looked up, she was looking at me with vague, dream-like eyes.
After breakfast, we went into the living room, still both busy with our own thoughts. Annie brought in the coffee things, brought me a cup and left. I drank the coffee slowly, gazing at the floor filled with a sea of memories of Gunilla. It had been so much more than I thought could be. Suddenly I realized Mother was approaching me with the coffee urn. I remembered the previous night and what had happened when Gunilla had leaned down to pour. It was that Mother's blouse had several buttons open. She was before me, asking if she could fill my cup. She was bending, the blouse was sagging. At the last second I closed my eyes. Thank God.
A long time went by, I couldn't feel my cup filling. I opened my eyes. Mother was standing in front of me. There was an almost invisible smile at the corners of her mouth. Very carefully her left hand buttoned her blouse. To the very top button. Then she leaned forward and filled my cup. She replaced the coffee urn, said softly that she had to go into town for some things, and gracefully walked out, I gulped the coffee and ran out the other door. I had to get outside, out of this house for a while. To think. So much was happening.
Outside, I ran a long time. Finally out of breath I found myself in a pine woods.
As I kept walking the wood grew thicker and thicker, turning the light into strange ambers and greens. Along both sides of the trail were huge boulders, I climbed one of these and moved across the flat top intending to descend the other side. Then I heard a voice coming from the clearing ahead. I stopped and looked down. The clearing was small and in the center of it was Louise laying what appeared to be a bed of pine branches. While she worked she spoke softly as though to another person. Beside the bed lay a coat which I realized to my surprise was mine.
She wore a blue sweat shirt, jeans and tennis shoes, I noticed the curve of her small buttocks as she bent. Even as I thought of how meager they were compared to Gunilla's. I was at the same time excited by their slenderness.
I was about to climb down when something she was saying stopped me...." and in a minute, dear, I'll have it finished so you can lay down and rest. Please be patient, dearest Lars-just one more moment now...." and she stepped over to the coat and patted the shoulder tenderly. The motion pulled the sweat shirt up exposing half her back. I watched the play of sun on the white skin, the narrow waist. The thin form of her back, whiteness, again!
She placed the last couple of branches, adjusted them a little. Then she picked up the coat carefully and laid it on the bed much as one would a person. 'There, my only darling, now you can rest after your long day's work." She bent and kissed the coat. Then: "Are you comfortable, my dearest? Oh Lars, I do so hope I am being a good wife for you." Her face was very concerned. "Do you know that last night while you slept I prayed to God to protect you and to teach me to be worthy of being your wife! You know how completely I adore you, Lars, and how I only live to serve you."
She looked so pleadingly at the coat that my throat caught. Her face was a study in innocent purity and supplication and I was as deeply moved as I was astounded. Then I suddenly remembered Nilla's voice telling me how I would possess and violate this child. Suddenly I heard both voices simultaneously, the one all purity and holiness ... and the other full of the earthy wisdom of indecency and the wild wonderful quality of corruption.
I kept watching the revelation of flesh each time she bent: her form was so thin-so slight, accentuating the narrow ridge of her spine. I noticed how the jeans pulled down as she bent exposing the top of her pink panties. Something about her thin a driving, urgent sense of power-a burning to possess and to alter her-.
Louise had kneeled down beside the coat and with one hand on the sleeve of the coat and the other on her breast was saying. "I seear now, in thy name and in the name of Jesus our Savior to remain always and only yours: your faithful wife, your servant, your plaything...."
(And in my head that other voice: "Little Louise will be your slave, your toy ... ")...." and I will be and do anything and everything for you ... all that you want of me...." ("She will do all the fine perverted things you have hidden inside you that you don't even know about yet ... ") ... Forever I will cleave only unto you, in purity, my darling, my angel, my God!"
Tears came to her eyes as she prayed, yet inside my stomach the panthers were at me again. The double image I had of her purity superimposed on the world of Gunilla was an incredible indecency, and the effect of it was a new madness in my blood. Strange thoughts, fantasies, images danced in my brain and I looked down with a hunger and ravening that violated every law in the temple of my poor little sister ... But that was it! That was what it was in me-the incredible sense of violation! The purity smudged and perverted, taken advantage of and exploited, lustily, hungrily, finally turned all liquid with sensualness and desire: the final corruption of innocence ... all this burning in my startled brain and the need in my bowels and the fever like waves of madness....
Below, Louise had bowed her head and was murmuring soft prayers to herself. It suddenly broke me. And I was crying-craying at my own perfidy and ugliness, yet knowing that both were me. The awareness and admiration for her purity, but also always the hunger, the iron bells in my brain, the rising realization of power, perversion, ecstasy. The deers in me, and the lions. This was my life! And this was the Louise I was going to love. And use.
CHAPTER FIVE
I walked home that night with strongly mixed emotions. What is right? What is wrong? I had to know before these struggles tore me to pieces. I did not want to think about anything, but I knew that watching Louise had profoundly affected me. I could not shake it and wanted to be alone to work it out.
So when I started down the hall and Gunilla, who was alone in the living room, beckoned me to join her, I just shook my head and kept walking. I went to my room, selected the best suit I had, took in to the bathroom and washed and dressed for dinner.
When I returned to my room Gunilla was waiting for me. She was sitting in my arm chair, leaning back with her legs crossed so that her soft full skirt was pulled above her knees.
I started at seeing her, then just stared at the revelation of beautiful flesh. It was tanned golden, like her face, and it was so exciting that my breath caught and my mouth gaped. I couldn't move. The knee was so well formed, like Mother's and the fine long legs. I began to shiver all over. I looked above the knees to the soft, forbidden flesh-the flesh I had felt but never seen, and I started forward with the impossible idea of trying to see more.
As though anticipating my desire, Gunilla uncrossed her legs, and opened them slightly towards me. Inside my head was ringing. It inflamed me. I was standing looking wildly at her as she calmly appraised me with her clear eyes and gradually separated her thighs more and more till I thought I could just almost see ... And then suddenly she closed them, pulling her skirt down to cover her legs with she same motion.
This was accompanied by the same giggle that had tormented me last night
"You want to see, don't you, brother?" she mocked. "Dinner is almost ready, but afterward Mother and Father are going to Stockholm to the opera and won't be back till tomorrow. I'll come and see you at eleven, and we can ride further into The Arabian Nights." She laughed again and started out.
But then I remembered my resolution. "Uh-Nilla, that is...." She stopped and waited, still grining.
"Well-I don't think we-uh-well that we-uh-that we should, I finally gasped out
"You silly little idiot!" Her laughter rang out strong. "Now don't be afraid, Lars dear. Like I told you, everything will be beautiful Now not a word more out of you, hear! Tonight at eleven!" And though I tried to object, the words didn't come and she was gone.
Dinner was uneventful. I excused myself early saying I wanted to lie down. After half an hour there was a knock and Mother came in.
"When I was in town today, dear, I got some clothes for you. They're in my room, would you like to see them?"
"Oh-gee-yes, Mother, I sure would," I cried.
I followed her through the connecting door between our rooms and entered her bedroom for the first time: it was the silken cave I had been so hungrily peeking into last night. She took me to the huge bed and showed me three new suits which lay on the satin spread. I was very excited. My first real clother. The silk, the whiteness. The sudden intimacy of her bedroom.
I tried on each coat and paraded in front of Mother.
"Why, Lars, they make you so handsome!" She exclaimed. "They do seem to fit well. Here, come and see for yourself!" She led me to the dressing table. I looked at myself in the mirror, admiring the fine gray flannel. Then turned and found that Mother was sitting on the bed watching me.
"Do you like them, Lars?" she asked looking closely at me. Her eyes had a strange look in them which I could not define. "Mother, these clothes are the most wonderful thing any-one has ever given me," I said straightforwardly. "I just...."
"Come here, dear, and sit with me," she said softly indicating the place beside her on the edge of the bed. Mother was wearing her hair in a long rolle on the back of her neck tonight, and the bed lamp behind it seemed to send needles of fire through it. She wore a brown cardigan buttoned in the back, and a full brown skirt. Giddy from the first new clothes I had ever had, I went over and sat down.
She looked at me a while without saying anything. Then suddenly she smiled, her eyes becoming, at the same time, misty in a way that released things in me. It is so difficult to explain how she just looked at me, and it released things. My stomach tightened and I found it hard to breathe. The mistiness grew in her eyes when she noticed, causing more shyness and confusion in me. And on and on....
"Tell me, Lars," she asked slowly, "why you stare at me so much? Is it because you never saw a woman before?"
I was tongue-tied and lost, but I tried.
"Yes of course, Mother. Y-you-you are so strange and-well-so beautiful! I don't think there can be anything so ... beautiful-the first thing I ever saw ... and nothing ever again...." I had been cold white in my face, and now as I stumbled and dared to be frank, the color rushed in hot.
Mother drew my head toward her and kissed my forehead. I trembled from head to foot. I tried hard, but could not stop shaking. She stroked my head softly, but my trembling only increased. And beside me, I could feel a slight agitation beginning in her, which excited me more.
"I have to dress now, dear, to go to the opera with your father," she said softly. "If you would feel better staying a while you can sit here while I get ready and then go out." She seemed to understand me so well-to feel and know that I felt like a small child being left in the dark.
"Yes, thank you, Mother," I said. "I would like to stay a few minutes. I guess I'm pretty strange now and then ... I...."
"Not strange at all, Lars," she told me. "You just need to know that you are loved, and with me, you soon will." She got up, went to her chest of drawers, took out a black brassiere, black silk panties with a lace fringe, and a black half slip, marvelous silken things that caused trumpets in me.
Their delicacy and embarrassing intimacy! She carried them to a seat behind the screen. Coming out again, she walked over to the large wardrobe, and took out a beautiful deep violet dress which she carried to her dressing table beside the screen, adujsting casually, as she passed, the mirror. She came over to me.
"Lars, darling, would you unbutton my cardigan? It's awfully difficult for me to reach!" She turned around. Despite myself I looked at the fine legs, the grace and smoothness in her body. Then I took in what she had asked. I was beginning to tremble again as I stood up.
She raised her head slightly, and waited for me to undo the buttons. I reached to the top one, but I could not loosen it because my hands were shaking so. As though divining my confusion, Mother said:
"Dear, please undo the buttons for me. I have a blouse on under it, you know!"
"Yes, Mother...." I somehow got out, undoing quickly the first button, and then more slowly the next and the next. ... The white skin of her neck, and then of her back was exposed. As I opened a third button and more skin was bared, I was filled with a mountaing tension and doubt It was so white, and smooth and inviting and naked, I opened a fourth button, and still only the white skin, beginning to be dusted with almost invisible blonde hairs. So much of it now, I wanted to put my face against it, and I had to struggle with myself.
My hands shock and I was trembling again as I opened the fifth button, but now the shaking was also from anticipation. The cardigan was open to a point well below her shoulders, and beginning to slide off them at the sides as she moved her arms alightly, but there was still no blouse nor anything ... only the flesh. The splendid soft, silken, secret, incredibly naked flesh. The tension in me and between us kept rising I was afraid to open another button, there was so much of her body nude. And yet I was so avid for more that it paralyzed me. I could only stare.
"Come, dear, or I'll be late!" Mother gently chided me. I opened the next button. More sweet skin. Naked. I closed my eyes as I tried to open the next.
"Mother ... I...." and my hands were against the skin and I was fumbling. I was almost helpless from shame and embarrassment because my prick was getting hard again. Then I felt the top of something. I opened my eyes, and there was the blouse! A thin, backless and sleeveless summer blouse!
Mother didn't say anything, although she made a little motion that was like a contented cat. To my further deep shame. I imagined she moved back a little toward me. I kept unbuttoning now with my shaking hands till all the buttons were loosed.
Mother turned toward me, raising her hands to the shoulders so the sweater would stay on.
"Thank you, dear," she said, smiling at my confusion. "Now you just sit here on the bed, and I will be dressed in a minute."
She kissed me lightly on the forehead, pressed my arm with her hand, which let the sweater start to slide! She lingered one wild moment and just before it fell, turned and went behind the screen. I sat staring dumbly after her.
The light on the dressing table threw her silhouette, sharply on the silk screen. I could see her sitting doing something with her stockings. Then I realized she was taking them off, for I could see the movement of each leg lifting, then the clear, pure outline of the leg perfectly, and her pulling the stocking slowly off-I was fascinated by this, even silhouetted, process of seeing the unknown. Then the stockings were tossed across the top of the screen. Jut the sight of the silk tops which had been a few seconds ago in that private hidden world, maddened me.
"Oh, Lars, dear, would you get me those very sheer stockings that are lying on top of the bureau in the corner?"
I picked up the nylons, so sheer as to be almost invisible, shivering at their touch and the idea of what they were about to witness, and carried them to her. As I reached the screen. I hesitated in embarrassment, not knowing her state of undress, nor what I should do.
Mother said. "Oh, thank you. dear," and stepped out, I froze with shock at the motion. But she was still clothed as before, except that her legs and feet were bare. The naked feet were a new world for me. Why should my heart topple over just seeing her naked feet in the soft white rug? She smiled at me, took the stockings from my stunned hands, and went back behind the screen. I sat down heavily on the bed. Then suddenly discovered that the mirror showed clearly what was behind the screen.
I could not resist, although I realized that I should: looking I could see perfectly.
Above the screen I could just see Mother's head, and below it, her ankles, but the mirror of the dressing table, turned as it was, showed me everything! Everything in between! the trumpets started in me again.
Mother of course, was unaware of all this. In the mirror I saw her seated pulling on the stockings: pulling them and smoothing them carefully over her calves and knees. The motion sent little shivers through me. Then she pulled her skirt up a bit, and began to adjust the nylons on her thighs. I strained forward to see, but because of the angle at which she was sitting, I could see little but the folds of the skirt and the stroking. That and the almost caressing motion of her hands.
Then suddenly, she got up. She reached down under her skirt. It lifted. I was going to see! There was the full splended curve of her satiny thigh above the stocking as she fastened something to hold it up! I trembled! Needles of excitement ran over my skin, and a wildness began to rise in me. The light fell full on her leg, and the whiteness and the smoothness of it was clear. She kept working with the stocking and a little more of the flesh was visible. I leaned forward trying to see all, shaking as thought I had a fever.
Suddenly the dress dropped but then she was doing the other stocking. I looked away. I tried to catch my breath and somehow control myself from this shameful behavior. Mother had asked me to stay so I could feel warm and close to her and now, taking advantage of this because the mirror happened to allow it. I was spying on her body. But the skin was so soft and smooth, and I wanted so very much to just touch it! Or even just to see....
I looked again.
Above the screen, Mother's head was tiltled back, and she was slipping the cardigan from her shoulders. I glanced quickly to the mirror, and there, as the sweater came off, I saw her fine, well-rounded arms. The blouse was cut deep. Her torso all the way to the beginning of her breasts, was exposed bare! The light, as I said, was good, and her flesh seemed to glow in it with a pale light of its own. She turned her head and neck. Her breasts beneath the blouse, rose and fell. I was terribly excited, my eyes glued to the mirror now despite myself.
Now she was beginning to unbutton her blouse, which opened down the front. I strained to see, but the breasts were covered in another garment. A sheath of lace that held her secret beauty carefully. But even this excited me, the special intimacy of this unknown clothings. ... and there was still more.
She unbuttoned more. Flesh began again, below the lace! Her stomach! Her navel! and the curve of her waist. I drank if all in. I was helpless with excitement. There she stood now. letting the blouse slip off and down her arms behind her, to the floor, sitting naked to the waist except for her brassiere. I devoured the swell of her breasts. The skin on her stomach unnerved me. As I watched, she passed her hands over her breasts cupping them, smiling down loving at them as she cradled them delicately. I could not move!
Then she got up, turning her back towards the across it which held the brassiere. Now, now, I mirror, and reached back to the thin strap running thought. She's going to open them to the light. To me! But, either she meant only to adjust it, or thought better to it, for now she opened something at the side of her skirt, and unzipped a small zipper.
This done, she reached down to the hem of her skirt. Oh please, I prayed in me. Please this time. Please let me see. The skirt lifted showing more and more of her nylon covered leg. Higher, and I saw again that white flesh of her thigh till it ended in the thinnest, sheerest pair of lace pants. The skirt continued up, but I remained fixed to the panties. All that treasure. The wealth of flesh, the lush swelling thighs so terribly white and gleaming above the stockings suddenly hiding in the film of black lace of the panties. The amplitude of the hips straining the thin material. And then curving in so beautifully to the startlingly slender waist so white and clean above the panties again. The panties plump with a luxury of woman. I remembered Gunilla last night. I remembered the mysteries my hands had played with in the dark: The softness of flesh, the hair. The wetness, the unbelievably exotic discovery of how the body had opened to my hands and mouth. And it was there. All that which was forbidden. All the final forbidden beauty of my Mother blooming in that lace, just that fragile distance from my eyes. The shame now was drowned in the shouting happiness in me. Marvelous animals prowled my blood roaring. I wanted to see her bush-hair, I admitted it in myself. I wanted to look on my mother's most finally hidden secret hair. All! All! But I couldn't. I couldn't see through that black. I thought I could see a swell of flesh or hair where I knew it to be from Gunilla, but I couldn't really see! She turned. I saw the fullness of her buttocks, and could even make out the crack between the beautiful cheeks. I was panting open-mouthed. My heart hammered.
I sat shaking with excitement. I tried to look away, partially succeeded, but then had to look back. And now she actually was unhooking her brassiere! She was opening it! Now, at last. She was turning so I could see all in the mirror! I tried to look away. I couldn't. And the knowledge that I couldn't was an ecstasy. A triumph. Now! Now! Let me see them, Mother. Let me see your breasts. Mother. The whiteness. The nipples The hidden nipples. All, Mother! My breath must have been audible asl gasped, trying to see-but all I caught was a suggestion of the swell of her breast as she turned her back again completely to the mirror, and picked up another brassiere from the seat. As she slipped her arms through the straps, she did turn a little towards the mirror, and I peered hard, straining every muscle. For a second she seemed to meet my eye. I couldn't tell. Her eyes fell. But I had to see. She hesitated a minute with her arms crossed over her breasts. There was a strange pause for a second. There was a blur of motion. A sense of silk and curves and whiteness. But almost immediately her breasts were snuggled in black, and I hadn't seen! But the effect of this almost seeing was so great on me that I just sat there, my heart pounding so as to nearly break me open.
I remember vaguely that another white thing, a slip, I guess, went on over her head, and then the dress which she wiggled into with a motion that any other time would have excited me, but I was so close to saturation that I almost did not notice until she seemed to catch on something. The dress was very tight, and she was trying to pull it on over her head.
She struggled a moment, then called, almost with embarrassment!
"Lars! This thing is caught on me-on my strap A distinct note of appeal, but also of frustration "Everything! Oh-would you help me! This last with a time I'm in a hurry, something has to happen!" she was continuing....
I was terribly embarrassed. My penis, shamefully had grown hard again, and push as I would, I could not completely conceal it. And I was shaking so. As best I could, I pushed it down, and began to go to the screen, but I could hadly walk, and Mother called again!
"Please come, dear, I'm very late and I'm caught in this thing!"
I hurried as best I could, and walked around the screen, trying somehow not to look at her exposed body, but more out of fear of what would happen if I did than from any sense of decency.
The dress was over her head and came down as far as her ribs. Her arms were inside, and she had been struggling to get them through the arm holes. One arm had made it, but the other had passed the hole, and in her effort to adjust this she had hooked the dress on to one of her understraps.
Ah, Lars, here, dear, behind me-see if you can see where it is caught!"
I felt across her back under the dress, in the warmth, over the sweet flesh! I found where the dress had caught on a shoulder strap. Even so, my eyes could not resist a glance at the curving asscheeks there, right where I might touch them. I struggled with the hook a moment, trying not to tear the fine violet fabric, but as I did so, Mother turned her head slightly, dusting her slightly perfumed hair across my fame. I almost died!
And then, just as I got it undone, she leaned back towards me. I steadied her somehow, then stepped back, but even the touch of the dress on my hands had them shaking.
But she was still in trouble, for her arm could not find the hole. Her whole body seemed to twist, and even at this point, I found it almost uncontrollably exciting.
"Lars-please, dar-my-arm-I can't get it into the hole! Lift the dress on me a little, and then help me down with it when I tell you."
I reached up and, taking the dress carefully on each side about where her head was, I began to lift. Mother had to keep twisting even so to help me. The dress was incredibly tight!
But as she did this, she twice rubbed her buttocks against my leg. It was all I could do not to scream.
"There, darling" she was saying to me. That's fine now, but would you just help me pull it down so that I don't get stuck again?"
"Yes, Mother, I muttered. "But-uh-how do i....?
"Just pinch it at the sides and pull ... OOOH! but without pinching me, sweetheart!" She had given a little jump, and leaned on me for a second, and I just couldn't stand it!
I helped steady her with my palms, and then paused. ... Her voice came, softer now, and with a tone that made me think she might be near laughing, but I couldn't tell.
"Don't be afraid, dear! Just be careful you get just dress between your hands-uy-fingers, and not me!"
"I'm-I'M sorry, Mother ... I didn't mean to," I stammered, and carefully as I could with my infernal shaking, I took the dress in my fingers and thumbs and tried to pull down on it.
Mother squirmed and twisted, trying to help, and little by little we made progress. Despite my good sense, I looked several times at the flesh of her thighs and buttocks, trembling more and more and more.
Now both her arms were in the holes, and the dress was coming down below her waist when suddenly, it stuck again.
"It's caught a bit on the right side, dear," Mother was explaining. "Just pull a little more there!"
I did, and she twisted hard trying to get into it, and in the process, she fell against me. My stiff penis was tight against her leg, and my hands closed on her stomach trying to steady her! Only by fiercely biting my lip so that the blood came, did I manage to keep from coming, all over her. Then I realized that she too was trembling-quivering against me-and did I only imagine it pressing back hard against my penis and moving on it. The inside of my head was all liquid-and she was all liquid against me, and somewhere a gong began to toll with louder and louder urgency.
She stayed there a moment shaking till my own shaking threatened to drop her, then her own arms free now, she bent away and helped me quickly move the dress the rest of the way over her, then turned quickly and looked at me, a wildness in her eyes.
"Thank you, dear," she said. "This thing is so tight and is always a horror to get on. Uh-I'm sorry it was so-so hard on you. But, Lars ... you must get used to having a mother, you know!" And she looked at me with those beautiful, wide, blue eyes, and I didn't know what to say or do ... so I just nodded and blushed at her.
Mother moved to the dressing table, and began her make-up. I just stood there and stared at her. Finally she seemed satisfied, and turned to me again:
"Well Lars, I hope you really like the things I showed you tonight." My eyes must have popped, for she lowered hers slightly, flushed a little, and said:
"Uh ... I meant your clothes, you know. Do you really think you will enjoy them?"
I guess she saw then that I was beyond speech. I stammered assurances of my appreciation of the clothes, and she accepted them. Finally she said:
"You go to bed now, darling, and please rest well for me. These clothes will do you till we can go to the tailor's together. And like I told you before, you will get used to having a mother, in time. It is only natural that you-ah-find it embarrassing now. Remember, Lars!" And saying this she came to me, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me full on the mouth! Deed incredible softness!
I was hopelessly in love. I almost fainted. Her soft mouth went away-clinging just a little as it left. I shook, blushed, and stammered: "Thank you Mother ... good night!" And fled.
CHAPTER SIX
I was already in my room when I remembered Gunilla. I looked at the clock on the dresser. It was ten after ten. Almost an hour, I lay down to think. One of my greatest problems in this house was that one strange and unknown experience followed another so quickly that I had no time to reflect nor to digest it. I had the feeling that I was growing and changing rapidly, but I could not be sure how or to what extent because the rush of events rarely left me time to be in touch with myself.
What had it been, for example, that I had felt tonight for Mother? Surely this at least in me was right and pure! And yet the same emotions I had felt last night for Gunilla had been with me again tonight. The same reaction to Mother as to the other. It was true. I had to face it. But how could my pure love be confused with the other? It must be in me that the ugliness lay. That was revolting.
But perhaps it was good for me. Perhaps I had to go through these things to come to deserve Mother. Or perhaps I had to learn to resist and be untempted by them to deserve her. Then I remembered little Louise and her shrine. The sudden absolute realization of what I was! The inevitable reality.
Just as the hands approached eleven I recalled Gunilla last night, the feel of her in the dark, the gradual, incredible revelation. I remembered once more in my fingers the soft fullness of her breasts, the hardness of the nipples. How her flesh responded on her belly-the fine pubic hairs-the impossible ecstasy of tasting her. As I remembered a fine sweat broke out all over me, and once more that strange hunger in my cock came on me.
What did she look like? And would I discover this tonight? The eagerness mounting in me, overcoming the resolution to abstain. I ran my hand over my face, but the imagined image of her remained, taunting and driving me in ways I did not understand. I got more and more excited, rather than calmer as I had intended. But why shouldn't I, came the thought. It had been so beautiful, why not partake of it? How could I know, or be sure that it was bad?
It was so hard when I didn't know anything. And when I had such powerful instincts in me that were against goodness. Even as I thought this I began to run my fingers along my thighs and thrill to the tingling. I shook myself violently, sat up in bed, and willed myself to be calm. I was just making new resolve to control myself against all temptation when the door opened and Gunilla came in. I had to admit my need!
Only the lamp on my dresser was on and in the shadow near the door I could hardly believe my eyes. Gunilla was dressed in a flowing crepep skirt that came to the floor, and above it was wearing another piece of crepe wound around her, covering her to the neck. All of it was black and her face, even tanned as it was, seemed to burst into light above it. She moved soundlessly and gracefully to the center of the room, then bowed to me in a deep curtsey. Then she smiled at me.
"Welcome to the Arabian Nights again, my fine prince. The night of love await you, and your own houri attends your slightest wish and desire. I am again your slave. You have only to command me. She was incredibly beautiful standing there and I could not speak. I was still a shy untutored boy, whatever I was inside. I just kept looking at her my heart full of wonder that stilled the conflict there.
"What, no commands for you houri?" she queried. "Then I must make some for you. Now what could my prince desire? Could he wish me to undress him?" I must have paled at this for she drew back. "Ah, no! He is embarrassed! I have it! I will give him the knowledge of all that he knows not!"
She looked intently at me for a moment then suddenly giggled, like before, and sat down beside me on the bed.
The lamp behind her was in her hair now on one side turning it into a corona, while the other side was like molten platinum flowing over the black creppe on her shoulders. The upper part of her body was covered by the windings of cloth except for a bit at the throat which glowed in the light. Through the transparent skirt I could see the full ness of her thighs where they were compressed by her sitting on them, the line of her leg and the form of her knee.
Above was her shinning face and the noice that had come from the darkness the night before. The total reality of her was before me and I drank it in. She did indeed look like one might imagine a girl from The Arabian Nights.
She giggled again, and her face came close to me, a little mocking, but also searching and friendly.
"Come, LaLrs, don't you want to see all the things we discovered together last night? It is one thing to feel a girl, you know, and another to see her!" She seemed to be waiting for an answer, but when none came she teased: "Think about my body Lars! Can you imagine what it looks like now you've felt it? What my thighs are like, or my tits-or how my stomach looks, or better, how it all looks together?"
I tried to open my mouth. I was very excited and very embarrassed, trying to take it all in "I-I'm sorry," I stuttered, "bbut-sure I want to know, I just...."
"You mustn't be afraid, dear! Remember that I'm your sister and everything is all right. It's just me from last night come back to ride our magic carpet again." She moved closer to me and asked, "But Lars, is it true what Mother said-that you never even saw pictures? That you never knee, say, that a girl had a face like mine instead of one like yours?
"Yes, it's true, all right. They cut all pictures out of my books and all I. ... well knew from the descripptions in books that girls were ... well ... different, and I always wanted to know. But there just was no way." I blushed furiously. "And I had no idea anything would ever ... well ... look like you."
"Do you like me, Lars? she asked raising her arms above her head and posing for me. "Do you find me ... ah ... attractive?"
"Gee, Nilla I-I sure do! You're beautiful! Sort of like a miracle I guess! Uh ... I just don't know what to say." I looked at her appealingly.
"Wow! Never seen a picture even!" She was saying. "I'm glad you like me, Lars, and I want to show you everything now." She was looking into my eyes. "But what did you really see in the living room last night? Did you see this? Or this? Or these?" She slid the crepe off her golden tan shoulders, then opened it at the sides exposing her waist, and then at the top so that I could see the cleavage of her breasts. "Here, reach in again and feel me, but then open me so you can see too ... Hey, but slow, Lars! It's more exciting that way."
I reached out my hand to the skin of her breasts feeling the firm smoothness of it. My arm shook, and I stopped abashed. It was different in the light with her watching me. I drew back my hand and blushed. I couldn't look at her.
"Boy, you sure are shy," Nilla exclaimed making me blush even more. "But you'll get used to me after you see a little and after you get more excited." She took both sides of the crepe still wound across her breasts and said:
"Now lover, look at me! Do you see this? And this? And this? She gradually pulled the black stuff down so that more and more of her beautiful breasts were exposed. The contrast of their color with the black added to and inflamed my excitement. I shivered. Here was my new sister just sitting there uncovering her breasts for me, her secret temples! As last I was really going to see!
"Don't you think they're big, lover? Look at them-your first breasts. Your sister's tits, and she is unveiling them, offering them to you-to your eyes-to your hands-to your mouth! Your sister. Lars, uncovering her breasts, baring herself before you! See how they reach out for you to love them!" The cloth was almost to the end now! I stared at the growing multitude of flesh. The breasts were incredible! They swelled out from her chest like two huge, ripe melons! I watched how the light blue veins ran along the lower side of them, how the skin glowed, and the flesh rose in a rising crescendo! I became more and more excited and filled with wonder.
"Here, touch them, lover! Your first tits and they ache for you to touch them! Your little sister is giving you her tits to handle, and knead, and stroke, and fondle. Take them!" But in the light I was all shyness and couldn't. Gunilla read it in my face as I first flushed and then grew pale.
"How shy you are. Brother! Your sure are cute, though! Here, give me your hand and close your eyes." I shivered again and complied. She took both my hands and I could feel her press them to her neck, her shoulders, and to the cleavage of her breasts.
"Here are my tits, Lover. Squeeze them like you did last night. Feel them. Press your sister's tits and feel hard with your fingers. Grab and pull them toward you!" My head was dizzy, but I did as she bid. The sensation in my palms was incredible. "Now, here, underneath the crepe, do you feel my nipples?"
Do you remember them?" She pushed my hands beneath the cloth and I felt again the hard buds of flesh. "Now open your eyes!"
My hands had brushed the thin stuff away revealing her nipples. They looked like rose buds opening in the morning. The deep pink tip surrounded by a darker pink circle. She took my hands and rotated the palms against her nipples. The sensation was fantastic! I thought my head would burst as I kept wanting to grab and fondle them, but all the time blushing and paling. Last night, straining to see down her dress to these. Later feeling them in the dark. Now my sister's nipples were in my hands!
"Now do you see this?" she was saying. "Watch." She took my hands and put them under the breasts, lifting them toward me as I myself had done in the dark. The nipples had grown hard as I rubbed them and were about three times their former sizze. I kept feeling the weight and watching how the little hole in the tip of the nipple opened as I lifeted them.
"Stroke them like this. Brother. Here, hold them at the back, and then draw your hand slowly forward ... like that!" She drew my hand along the sides of her breasts and them my finger tips acros the nipples. "See stroke my nipple with your finger tipps-now close them slightly on it-ye-a...."
She took both my hands and placed the center of the palms on her nipples. "Now, close your hands on my tits-that's it! Squeeze a little-then a bit more...." and as I complied: Now draw your hand out, always squeezing till your fingers reach my nipples-then back-then out again-milking me! You'll get the idea! I continued till I felt a tremor run over her body followed by a rising tumult in my blood and a rushing sense of power.
I met her eyes directly, always stroking. Did she sense my feeling? Her eyes glazed, her head fell back, and the power climbed and climbed in me. The realization of her vulnerability. The sudden devastating awareness of. "I."
A little moan came from her lips. Her eyes closed, my ears were two sea shells with the roar of the world! The tension mounting and mounting. The knowledge that from here I could do anything, everything!
But I didn't know what to do and my hands fumbled. The moment fled and she opened her eyes.
Several moments passed. Then with a strange look of wisdom she said slowly: "Yes," a pause. Then. "Yes little brother. I was right about you. It will take time, and you must, learn ... But I was right."
She lay down on the bed beside me, stretching out like a cat. "Now explore, Lars. Remember, I'm your magic girl, and everything is yours that you can find. You explored a lot of things last night. Don't you want to see them? She lay with her head on the pillow smiling up at me. her eyes both daring and inviting. I blushed, them met her eyes. The shyness was leaving me.
I looked down at her naked breasts, the firmess of them standing up so strong even though she was lying down. Then the slim waist, the bare, inviting stomach. I looked at the back clad torso and legs, filled with desire and curiosity.
Gunilla turned, drawing her knees up and presenting them to me. I hesitated. Looked at her. Then reached for her ankle protruding slightly beneath the skirt. I ran my hand up her flesh to the knee, cuppping it in my palm and stripping back the skirt with the other hand so I could see. I felt over her thigh, placed my hand on the fullness of her lions, and then withdrew it in confusion.
"Lars, think! You never saw one, and now you are privileged to just reach out and take it. Think of the darkness, the depth of it, Lars. Reach out and take me!"
I reached beneath her skirt, running my hand up till it met her belly, the heel of it on her hair I began rubbing her. Nilla sighed and fell back against the pillow, opening her legs to me as she did so. With my left hand I lifted up her skirt, exposing her full loins, the round firm belly, and the golden crown of her pubic hair. I stared at it shaking as she watched me.
The hair was not so light as that on her head. It was golden yellow, and as it narrowed to a slit in the middle, the hairs darkened almost to a brown. My mouth was gaping and I shook as with a fever. I ran my hand over it just brushing the hairs, and she shivered. I looked at the abundant growth of hair straggling away from the main form between her legs. I was terribly excited. Then I covered the legs again and sat staring at her body. I was shaking. Gradually, I slipped my hand back under her dress and slid it slowly up her thighs, moving it over that smooth, succulent flesh, getting closer and closer, finding myself relishing and reveling in the process, till I finally touched her cunt again.
Something beyond me was in control now, I had been all shyness and wildness. but now only the latter possessed me. The ritual of concealment and revelation drew me on. I had my hand on it, just at the end of her thighs where the warth grew and grew, and the tremor became almost too much for me when she slowly closed them on me, pressing my hand between them. I squeezed the hot flesh, and the aroma of her body rose to me making me dizzy. We looked at each other, but my eyes were so clouded somehow that I couldn't see.
Gradually I inched my hand higher, feeling with my fingers till I touched the first hair, my palms on the hot, moist flesh. I heard my breath coming in gasps but I could not stop. The moisture was growing, growing. Now I felt the resistance of her crotch, now the sticky hot fluid. It was on my fingers. Between my fingers. It was coming onto my hands, over my palms. I searched higher, higher I felt with my fingers for the lips of the fold I had discovered last night. I found it. all liquid and warm for me. I touched it, caressed it, probed into it. Gunilla gave a cry and began to twist and moan on the bed.
My fingers probed, searched finding the hole, seeking into her while she stimpered assent. I moved my hand back and forth faster and faster as she had taught me, rubbing sometimes on the fold and then probing deep into the hole. The clamor rose and rose in me. Everywhere was liquid, and everywhere the smell. That smell of her! Stronger. Stronger! The trembling seized me. I couldn't stand it couldn't ... just before I lost control I tossed back the skirt with my other hand revealing to me everything....
And it was all there. The secret dream I had lived for, that I had hidden even from myself. Although I had never known anything of woman. I knew, drinking in the miracle, that this is what I had longed for and dreamed of ... or part of it! The light on her legs was all flesh and all golden. The frame of black crepe, like lace. In the center the bushy hair and the wonder. ... it was the magic lamp, to rub it, and act of God.
I looked at my hand. The darkness of the hair at the slit where my hand lay. The smell intoxicated me, I withdrew my hand, rubbing the liquid slowly across my face, and I knew that if this was evil, I was for it! Dimly, somewhere, this was in my head; but my eyes were full only of the fantastic thing of the cunt before me, and the smell was an opite to my strained senses. I put my head between her legs.
I lay there for several moments half fainting. The smell was powerful now, and by moving my head just slightly I was able to nudge my nose against the source of it, and to lick a little gently with my tongue. There was only the ecstasy in my head and the dreamy seeking with my mouth. Gunilla lay, gently pressing my head with her thighs.
After awhile I sat up and looked at all of her again very carefully. I felt dazed, and unreal, and full of wonder. Finally I lifted my eyes and saw her face. I was startled back to reality. This was a girl, Gunilla, a person before me. Until now it had been only the miracle, the discovery, the incredible object. It was as though Lancelot had found the Holy Grail, then suddenly discovered it was alive and real.
I opened my mouth to speak but the words wouldn't come. I just kept staring at hen Finally I reached out and touched her thigh. She smiled. The spell was broken. Gunilla put her arms around me and kissed me on the mouth. I was startled. It was my first kiss. But in a moment the taste of her lips, the pressure in the small of my back brought the dream, the excitement flowing back into me. My hands were on her feeling the supple softness of her. Unconsciously I began to stroke. Her mouth gradually opened against mine, and her tongue ran along my upper lip, gently licking and tantalizing it. My blood leaped at the incredible sensation. Her tongue slid over my lower lip, grew more full, and ran lightly into my mouth. I shuddered. My hands ranged over her body. Her tongue pushed my lips apart, kneading its way between my teeth, and swelling up against the roof of my mouth. The tingling sensation coursing everywhere was excruciating, like pain. I tried to kiss her back, the excitement rampant in me. I opened my mouth accepting....accepting the tongue, the mouth, everything!
French horns were blowing in my brain, the tumult grow. And growing with that large, succulent tongue in my virgin mouth. Her hands were on me, stroking me through my shirt, pulling it up, running over my flesh underneath. The wildness was loose in me, climbing and climbing. The desire for something which I knew I must have even though I did not know what it was. She pulled me down on the bed, kissing me with a mounting passion. Her fingers unbuttoned my shirt, undid my belt, and reached down to my fly. I was too far gone to be embarrassed now by the swelling thing she would find there. She quickly pulled down my zipper and, before I could register what was happening, was taking off my pants.
She left my mouth, bent down, and completely removed them. Then she turned me onto my stomach, pulled off my shirt, turned me over again and sprawled on top of me searching wantonly, desperately for my lips. I was out of my head and helpless. I felt her fumbling, squirming out of her skirt, and then pressing her body against me. I was against her naked flesh in my shorts. She writhed and squirmed, thrusting her tongue in my mouth, sending shivering pain through my body. I rubbed my loins blindly against her. Now her hands were seeking again, reaching down inside my shorts, and running over my belly. Down each leg. Across my loins. Her arm brushed my swollen thing and I jumped, writhing and moaning against her. Her fingers were at my testicles, stroking with a soft, gentle touch, caressing and feeling them till I cried out with the ecstasy!
My hands were at her, gaining in my confusion and wildness a will of their own, feeling her heavy breasts, rubbing the nipples till they were hard as berries. Gunilla moaned, shook herself, pulled away and jerked at my shorts, then eased them off over my swollen member. Then she fell to the bed, pulling me on top of her as her body squirmed upward to my lips. Her tongue drove into me, demanding. Her hands were on me, stroking my testicles and playing over the sides of my thing which was pressed against her. I couldn't stand it. I lost all control. I became completely brazen
"Please, please Nilla, stroke it harder, harder. My thing I mean ... give me, please, give me what I want! Give it to me!" The urgency. The incredible sensation of her against me, stroking me. The wildness prowling in my blood, and a low growling in my throat inexplicably.
"You want it! You want it! Yes, lover, oh, yes!" Her fingers gripped my thing and thrust it up, sliding in into her hole! I screamed. It was unbearable. The pain! The ecstasy! The howling fury of my blood! I screamed and screamed as hot flashes raged in my loins, on my thing. It was in the well of wetness, and from within a sticky moist hand was closing on it! Stroking it! Sucking and sucking and sucking it! My body writhed back and forth driving it in and out. And all the time her gripping it, milking it devouring it! Black and red spots danced before my eyes. I was going mad. My brain was bursting, bursting. My mouth babbled incomprehensible things, as the tension mounted and mounted, Gunilla thrust a mountain of breast into my gasping mouth whispering hoarsely, demandingly: "Suck it Lars! Here, suck the nipple! Hard, Lars, but suck it! Suck your sister's tit while you fuck her, fuck your baby sister, Lars!" The words had no meaning but they drove me mad. I sucked and bit at her breast. Our bodies beat out a crescendo of movement, pounding at the bed. I tore away my mouth. I was insane now and screaming. Gunilla was screaming with me as we burst together with the din of exploding cellos.
CHAPTER SEVEN
We must have lain there for some time lost in a daze of ecstasy. I lay holding her, feeling the softness and warmth of her body against me. My eyes were closed. My mind was nearly asleep. Somewhere inside I was a cat, that her body and the light grazing of her hair when she breathed, were gently stroking. As I began to come to, the shyness and wonder started to return. At the same time, there was a new consciousness of power in me. What was it? I couldn't tell, but I was sure that some time long ago I had felt it before. Power, it was almost-almost, well-as though something in me could....
But I didn't know. I just didn't know what it was. Perhaps it was the shamefulness in me that I had known was there. In my half dazed state I kept trying to put these thoughts together. But I couldn't. Still there persisted this feeling. What if I could come to control....
Gunilla stirred. Her body came alive and even more sensuous against me, softly moving. ... She lifted her head from my shoulder and brushed her lips across my cheek searching for my lips. I turned to her, feeling the hair on me. The white-golden hair. Immediately her lips closed over my mouth. Her right hand went behind my head and she pressed against me enveloping me in dizziness.
I returned the kiss and instinctively pulled her against me. As her tongue licked across my lips I trembled spasmodically. I pushed her tongue aside with mine and probed into her mouth. The sensation was incredible. Her mouth was all liquid and slippery like her hole had been, and the taste was the same-probably from my mouth being full of her fluid.
The smell of her was everywhere. The ripples on her palate were covered by a liqquid and I ran my tongue over it, delving deeper and deeper to her throat. Her body, which was tight against my leg and my chest, quivered and I felt the desire for her rising.
But I didn't know what to do exactly. All I could do was to follow my instructress. She moved more and more against my leg, pressing and squirming. I felt the softness of her thighs, the ridge of her loins, the fullness of her belly. Then her tongue crept against mine and twined around it. I could not stop shaking.
Gunilla drew back and looked at me. As I met her eyes I felt the power move in me like a great cat stretching and in her eyes I saw-just for a moment-a look of almost slavish devotion flicker.
"Lars, she began. Then stopped with her mouth open. Then began'again: Gee, Lars...." She shook her head slowly. "Wheew! Your first fuck, and yet you're ... well you are pretty ... well powerful! Wow!" Her eyes were on me wondering and shining, and in me that cat was stretching more and more with the look. But now I had to talk and I was suddenly the shy student as before, my fleeting awareness gone....
"Well. ... I-uh. ... I don't know just what you mean by fuck, Nilla ... I...."
She seemed to shake herself at the timid sound of my voice-the hesitation-the unsureness.
"Well of course you don't, little brother." The look was gone now. It was replaced by one of assurance and intimacy. "I guess I'll just have to teach you everything right now so that you'll know." She sat up and drew her legs under her again, and as she spoke her lips curved in a smile. She was naked to the waist and below the skirt was bunched about her hips so that the electric light made her skin golden and inviting. I stared helplessly at her immense breasts pointing out at me: pavilion of texture and graduations of light. Proud and high and lavish.
"Listen, seetheart, fucking is what we just did when you had your cock inside my cunt." She touched each in turn as she pronounced the word. As she said this, she laid back, pulled up her skirt higher, raised and spread her knees so that the mystery flowered before me. She lovingly stroked the rich bush of golden hair, continuing to talk in a dreamy, indolent voice. "This is cunt hair, Lars. This is what your instincts are driving you to see." I crawled to where I could look directly at it. Everything was spread there just in front of my eyes. Her fingertips leisurely and caressingly ruffled the fine, sleek hairs. Two fingers on each half of the prominent moved delicately stroking up against the line of thatch, then smoothing it down again. Her voice was even more husky and drowsy. "Look at it, Lars. That's it, watch my hands on it. It's the greatest sight in the world. Do you like looking at it? Do you like watching my hands playing with it? Here you are just a little boy staring right into a gorgeous pussy. That's the other word for it, Lars. Oh, there are lots of words for it. Some of them try to deny what's really there! Like privates or grotto. Others try to disparge it, such as crack or fig or monkey or cockpit or vox. Some are kind of fun, like nookie and nest and hole. Best of all though are cunt and pussy." I looked at her face. It was lovely. Her eyes opened and saw me looking at her. "No, Lars, keep looking at my cunt. Yes like that. The whole outer bulb is called the mount of Venus, and these are the outer lips. Priests and tourists call them the labia majora. She ran each index finger lingeringly along the edges where the flesh met along a dark slit. "This opening is scientifically called the vulva. It's really my crack. Now watch as I open myself." She stretched her thighs further and further apart. As she did so, the crack began to open. Lovely pink flesh with no hair on it began to appear. Gunilla took a tuft of hair carefully between each thumb and forefinger and slowly pulled her cunt wider. "Look. Lars, look into the open cunt of your little sister Gunilla. You see the smaller lips that pout out through my crack when I get excited? It was more than I could take. Even stronger than my curiosity was the appetite in me, and need to worship. My face was only inches from the wet, swollen, delicate pinkness. I leaned forward slightly and gently lapped at it. The daintiness of the flesh was unbelievable. Succulent and sweet, with a subtle faint taste that I assumed must be the nectar I'd always been mystified by in books. Gunilla moaned a tiny moan and her loins shuddered. But after I'd made eight or ten of these little licks, she tenderly ran her fingers into my hair and raised my head slightly. "Oh, yes, little brother. That's so perfect. But we must wait just a few minutes while I finish my lecture. Now you see down here?" Her fingers stretched the flesh at the lower part of the crack, revealing a dark rose opening. This is my hole, darling. This is where you put your cock when you fuck me. And this is where you put your tongue when you eat me." I must have lifted my head slightly to ask about that, but she turned my eyes back and then stretched herself open again.
"Eating me, little innocent angel, is the same as sucking me. It's also sucking me off, or cunt-sucking, or cunt-licking, or cunt-lapping. It's also going down on it. There are other words like muffing it or skindiving, but they lack respect and revel an absence of vocation. Now, when you are eating me, you run your mouth around this hole, and drive your tongue in as far as possible darting it in and out. Or, and it's very important, you use your tongue on another part of my cunt. Here, where the inner lips join." Her fingers moved up and gently spread the flesh. "You see this little pellet-like thing hiding under this arch of skin? This is your sister's clitoris. We don't know it's real name. Sometimes it's called the button or helmet. It's a tiny cock hidden back under there. When I get excited, it stands erect and you can just reach a bit of it with your tongue. This is the most sensitive part of a women. When you are sucking me, you must concentrate mostly here: of course, you suck and lick all of my cunt: inside the big lips, between the inner lips, my hole, everything. You stroke me with your tongue soft and wide and flat, or with it pointed and specific. Or you suck and lick everywhere inside me. But mostly lick at me here. Or you nibble at my clitoris while you work your nose into my hole. Or you take all this flesh here and stick it into your mouth either gently or even chewing it gently. But remember, Lars, you must almost always be gentle. Unless I have became completely wild, it is best to lick me very, very gently. ... Well, there's a lot more to that which I'll teach you later. Right now I want to just give you a basic vocabulary. O.K. Now, what's this?" She drew my hand over the hair.
"Uh-h-h...." I couldn't say it.
"Come on, Lars, you must say it. Whisper it. What are you touching?" I could hardly get the words out. "Your cunt," I whispered.
"That's right, angel. And what else?"
"It's your cunt and your pussy. It is my sister's cunt hair." A sudden incredible happiness flowed through me as I said the words. Somewhere deep in me great valves opened that had been sealed for a long time.
"Well," said Gunilla. "How you've changed, shy little brother. You're wonderful. Now what's this?" She led my fingers.
"That's my sister's cunthole," I whispered. I felt her twitch. I looked at her and noticed she had her eyes closed and her face was beginning to work. Her body was beginning to tense, move even. I slid my finger into her cunt and squeezed her breasts gently. "What's that?" she said in a smothered voice.
"That's the inside of my sister's cunthole." I was right! The words were controlling her. As I said them, I could see spasms run over her stomach. I put in a second finger and ran them over the tiny ridges on the roof of her hole. Then I felt into the crannies to the right and left. She was sopping wet now, it was running into my palm, and down her thighs. "Yes, Lars, that's my little hole. You're feeling me up. You've finger-fucking your little sister." She was beginning to gasp through her open mouth. She was rhythmically squeezing her breasts.
"And what's this fluid that's coming out of you, little sister?" As I asked the question. I could feel an immense power in me. Somehow I knew to keep mentioning that she was my sister, and this was like a depthbomb exploding in her each time.
"That's my cunt juice, little brother." Her hips were lifting and falling to the rhythm of my caresses. I slowly drew out my fingers, lingering at the threshold. When she felt them, finally leave her hips lurched into the air. "Oh, don't stop. Please, please don't stop." There was no longer any question of who was in control. She was begging me. After a moment of delay, watching her twisting body searching blindly for my fingers, I lightly touched her clitoris.
"Ahhh-h-h-h," she groaned. I stroked her very gently. She was moving softly with the motion.
"Does my sister like having her little brother play with her pussy?"
"Oh, yes, Lars, yes, yes."
"Which does she like more, being stroked here or (I slowly stroked my two fingers into her) in her hole?"
"Both, both, everything!"
"But which do you prefer? If you can't say, I may stop."
"No, she wailed, "Don't stop. Don't stop."
"Then which?"
"My clitoris is the best when you play with me, but my hole is best when you're fucking me. They're so different...."
"But if you can't choose, then I must stop." I felt nine feet tall the power was so manifiest in me.
"No!" she begged. Saliva was running from the side of her mouth. "Oh, Sweet Jesus. Please, Lars, I'm dying. Please." I didn't move. "My clitoris, she moaned. "Best of all is when you love my clitoris. Now please love me!"
"Do you want me to suck your clitoris? Would you let your own brother suck your cunt, Gunilla?" Her body was lifting and falling helplessly. She was whimpering:
"Oh yes, dear little brother, lick your naughty sister's little girl cunt. Yes. Yes. Yes." I lowered my head. As my head approached the wet, matted hair, she sensed it and she lifted herself completely off the bed, supporting herself on just her heels and shoulders. I stopped. Just short.
"Oh-h-h-h-h-h," came from deep inside her. She twisted her fingers in my hair and tried to force my face into her cunt. I refused to budge-but held myself just out of reach. "If you want it, Gunilla, you must get it by submitting, by begging. Not by force."
"Oh yes, yes" she said, letting her arms fall limply, I beg you, Lars, please suck me. Please be nice to your hot little sister."
"Does she need it?"
"She needs it so much."
"Does she have to have it?"
"She has to have it." I leaned forward and licked along her flesh where it pounted up like a fig between the hairy lips. At the first touch, a series of giant shudders shook her. She screamed one long wordless scream, shook again and again, and finally collapsed.
I looked down at her. She was limply spprawled, as though like a big rag doll I felt power in me like a deep, deep gong. But at the same time, I felt such an immensity of tenderness that it was beyond anything I'd ever known. I gathered her in my arms, pulled the sheet over her, wiping the sweat off her head and throat with a corner of it.
She lay without a motion for a good while. Then, as I was putting her hair in order, I discovered her eyes were open and she was looking at me. She was staring.
"What's wrong. Gunilla?" I said she just shook her head. "Are you unhappy?" She shook her head and began to smile a very sweet smile.
"I'm completely happy," she said. "And grateful. And a little frightened."
"Frightened of what? I asked.
"Let's not talk about it now," she said touching my face. I'll explain later. It's not a bad kind of fright. It's maybe the most happily exciting thing I've ever known I suspect-if you can call that being frightened."
"Well then, maybe you could finish my lesson.
You wandered from the point." She smiled, and her eyes twinkled. with a wonderful indolent motion. Her magnificent "So sorry," she said. "Well then?" She sat up breasts bobbed. The motion instantly hypnotized me. She noticed, and leaned forward. She affectionately cradled each breast in her two hands and brought them alternately to my lips. I kissed each with my mouth open. "These are my tits, darling! The people of the world call them mammary glands or mammae. The same dreary people call them boobs or boobies, or knockers, or cantaloupes, or headlights, or handles, or milk factories, or breatsworks, or bumpers. You can call them breasts, and it's all right, but they are really tits or titties." She pushed the breasts together so I could suck at the hard tips of both at the same time. "And those are my nipples, darling, what the people used to call tits."
The nipples were growing as I kissed them, growing longer and fatter and stiffer. She caught sigh of my penis lying half limp on my thigh. She laid her cheek on my leg beside it, and spoke to it with a curious mixture of deference, affection and respect.
"And you are my little brothers cock. You are also properly called my little brother's prick. You may, under some limited conditions, be called a penis or dick. You must never be referred to as a whang, yard, club, hammer, rod or lollypop. Nor by any other of the words that try to diminish your tremendous beauty." She reached forward with tenderness and freed the sacks that were imprisoned below. Still with her cheek on my thigh, she spoke to them. "And you poor beauties without a name. You we must refer to as balls, because otherwise we must say nuts or testicles or testies-which are unacceptable." Her fingers cradled my cockas she called it She stroked the red top of it with her thumb. "This is the head. It is here and just under the ridge of it here that you get so much pleasure. This is the most sensitive part that gives you the great pleasure when it gets rubbed as you move in and out of my hole. When we are fucking. Also known as screwing. And as getting laid, or, just barely permissible, getting a piece of ass, or a piece of tail. What in jazz circles is known as work. What in gentle moments can legitimately be called making love. But never as sexual intercourse, or having sex, or coitus, or cohabition, or fornication, or union. It was once making the two backed breast, but no more. It may be called tail or ass, but not banging, tupping, hinping, doing it, or having your ashes hauled. Nor does one service a woman, plow her, drill her, nail her, nor tup her. It is not a hop or jump or trick. It is not a roll in the hay. Nor is it a rumble. Nor to mate. One may perhaps, refer to a girl putting out, but never to being in the saddle."
As she stroked on and on during this speech, I began to grow. The limpness gave way to a rigidity. The last part of Gunilla's speech was said almost abstractedly. The tip of the cock had grown almost to her lips. She crooned to it:
"And would you give me your liquor, if I sucked you? If I was a cocksucker, would you fountain in my mouth? If I go down on you, would you come in my throat? The people who don't understand speak of blowing you, but I would rather worship you. To kiss and lick and suck you. Ah, I see the clear juice is oozing from your little mouth." She licked at the clear liquid that began to seep from my cock. She licked with the tip of her tongue delicately as a cat-"Ah, beauty, It is the greatest flavor in the world-except for that other, that thick white miracle that they feebly call sperm or seed or semen or come. Come, my darling. Let me worship you. Let me coax you to spurt into my mouth so the taste is thick in me, until the thick glory clogs my throat and I must swallow the living glory of you. Let me suck on you till you come deep in my mouth." Her lips closed on the tip, with a hot, wet, velvety suction. She released the tip. She held it adoringly in her hands and licked the length of it. She opened her mouth to it again. More and more she took into her mouth. And more. Her mouth glided wet and suckingly back and forth along it. Steadily. Three shallow motions, and then a deep sucking one.
Three shallow ones. A deep one. Three shallow. A deep, deep one. Always deeper. She had somehow taken almost all of me. The sucking seemed to be reaching into the farthest outposts of my body. Everything was being sucked down and down toward her mouth. The pleasure was almost unbearable. Incredible! The sucking. That sucking. That mouth of hers sucking! I gathered the hair back from her face so I could watch, I saw her mouth stretched around my flesh. I saw my cock emerging from her lips, and sliding amazingly into that place that was not supposed to accept such alienism. I saw the wetness on me. I saw her face accepting me into her mouth. And sucking and sucking. I was being sucked out of me. My soul was being sucked out. She had all of my cock somehow in her mouth.
And sucked! And sucked! I was coming. I was dying. Into her mouth? Was she really going to let me come in her mouth? I tried to draw away in the sudden fear of disgusting her. She dug her fingers fiercely into my legs refusing to let me pull back. A wave rose in me. Rode and rose. A tremendous bright wave that had come in a long way. That was gigantic now. Was towering up and up over me. That sucking. That face. Those stretched lips. That sucking. That sucking. Sucking. And then her eyes opened and looked full into mine She was my slave! The wave broke. Smashed down on me. Tumbling masses of ecstasy. I could see directly into her soul! The wave collapsed full on me. Everything was a joy and darkness. And I died. And the sucking continued.
I don't know how long I slept. I must have awakened. I was lying with Gunilla's breasts on my face. Such softness. She was telling me some stories about Mother. Wild thing. But I couldn't really focus. She was saying something about how we were going to watch her and Father tonight from Gunilla's room. And we were going to do whatever they did. I couldn't really follow it.
Then there was the sound of an automobile outside. Gunilla started saying: "They're back. Mother is sure to look in here to see if I've been poaching. I've got to go, little darling." She scrambled from the bed, gathering her clothes. She came to the bed, looked deep into my eyes and said. "I don't understand it, Lars, but I belong to you completely. I worship you." And she bent and sucked my limp wet cock into her mouth and then started, away. I grabbed her arm, hard. She looked into my eyes and stopped. "But they'll catch us!"
"Show me your pussy. I said.
"Yes Lars," she replied. She quietly laid down, raised her knees, and softly opened her cunt with her fingers. I slipped my fingers in and out until I was sure. I knew now she would do anything I said, even let Mother find her here like this. I owned my little sister completely. I slipped my fingers out. After a second, she opened her eyes. She obviously understood. She said very meekly. "Shall I go now, Lars?"
"Yes I said. She walked to the door in a trance. "Gunilla," I said. She stopped and turned. I looked at her beautiful heavy breasts, her cunt dark from the wet. "I love you, Gunilla." She begin to cry with happiness. She opened the door and left, her clothes in her hands.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I went to breakfast quietly, turned inward. Only Mother was there. Something was closed in my mind. The experience of yesterday-the knowledge ,-was something that churned deep in me, which I relished and processed secretly. Without consciousness. After breakfast when Mother instructed Annie to serve our coffee in the living room I barely noticed. I followed her wordlessly across the hall and sat opposite her on the couch. She sat in a Morris chair. Annie brought our coffee and left. I took a sip, then looked at her over the rim of the cup.
She was showing me a camera that she'd got me yesterday as a surprise. Any other time in my life I would have been excited by it. But this other excitement that seemed to live in me always nor left no room for anything else. As she was talking and showing me the shiny new gift and I was saying how pleased I was, I was busy with other things. I was looking at where the dress was strained over her breasts.
"Tits," I was thinking. "Mother's tits: that's what Gunilla said they were, really." And as I sat there in the proper, tasteful quiet of the living room, I knew that's what I was straining to see. Not breasts or bosoms as it said in books, but tits. Mother's tits.
That shook me. Mother's tits? Put that way, it was shocking. The phrase seemed impossible. One didn't speak of his mother's tits. I knew that. And yet ... there was a special thrill in it. It was exciting to shisper to myself, "Gunilla's tits," or "Annie's tits," but to say the words in my head, "Mother's tits," was like having the bottom drop out of my stomach, and my mind reeling. "Mother's tits. Mother's big, white soft, nippled tits." Wonderful.
And yet, somehow, it was terrible. I looked at her again. She sat there so fine. So decent. A lady. My mother. It seemed impossible to think of her any other way. She was a cultivated lady, the essence of propriety, tact, kindness, decency, motherliness. My mind filled with all the images of motherhood: gentle madonna-like women with tender faces bending over little babies. Mothers were sacred. More sacred than anything in the world. Purity itself. I could feel my eyes misting as the love for her rose in my throat The love, and the sense of her purity. How could I....
I looked into her eyes. Gray beauty. Quiet Aristocratic refinement. But at the same time, a voice in me wouldn't be stilled. It said: "Mother's tits! Remember how she looked swelling her panties. Remember how that lovely ass looked. Mother's beautiful ass! Don't he to yourself."
Luckily, this again brought me to my senses. ,God, what ? monster I was. How could anyone look on such cleaness and think such dirty things. I looked into the clear coolness of her gray eyes. Everything that was peaceful and noble was there.
"I worship you," I said in my head. 'Thou art purity, Thou art my mother and sacred." She crossed her legs!
I had seen the motion with my peripheral vision. Instinctively, my eyes darted down. Crossing her legs had pulled her skirt in such a way that the underside of her left thigh was visible all the way, or, rather, it would be from a little lower. I was too high. I began to slide down in my chair, hoping it wouldn't be noticeable. I could see the underside of the thigh. I could see how it shone in the stretched stocking. I could see the dark bands at the top of the stocking that signaled the border of flesh. I could even see a tiny bit of white flesh! I had to see more! But how? I couldn't slide down any further. Already it was dangerious. But I had to see. The way her legs were, I would be able to see between them if I were sitting on the floor. But how could I-I couldn't just sit down at her feet and stare up her dress! But I had to do something. The wildness had gone too far in me to hold it in check now.
Drop something, I thought. That's it. Drop something, then look as you pick it up. My spoon! I picked up the coffee again, drank a little, then put it back. As I did so, I managed to dislodge the spoon. There it was on the floor. All I had to do was bend down for it. And look. Impossible. But I had to. I bent down suddenly, put my hand on the spoon, and looked.
Whiteness, flesh, silk, lace. It was all a confusion. My mind was so frantic that it couldn't take in anything. I sat up in" a kind of whirl. Bewildered by joy and frustration.
"What are you looking at Lars?" It was Mother's voice coming through my confussion with a terrible clarity.
"What were you looking at?" she asked again. I looked and her eyes were direct, almost calm. Her legs had not moved. I could not say anything. I just gaped at her.
"Come, Lars , tell me. What were you looking at?
All sense of power, joy, everything but terror fled me. I tried hard to be calm. But I couldn't. Somehow I managed: "Why, uh, nothing. Mother. I wasn't looking at anything...."
"If we are going to be close, Lars, you will have to learn to be honest with me. Come now, you were staring at something: tell me what it was, Lars."
I could not pull myself together. I fumbled wildly for words. I said. "But-uh-really I-uh-was-uh-well-just picking up my sp-spoon." I looked at her my eyes full of terror.
"Were you looking at my legs Lars?" Her voice was cool with a slight tone of authority. And she kept looking at me. I didn't know what to do.
"Lars, you must be truthful! You do look. You did the first time I saw your in the orphange. And again at breakfast yesterday. And last night, in the mirror, while I was dressing behind the screen. I've seen you. And you were trying to look up my dress just now when you dropped your spoon. Why do you look, Lars? Is it because I am a woman? Is that it? But I am your mother, Lars. Do you think its right that you should look at your Mother?"
I stared helplessly agape. What could I say?
Even if I wasn't fourteen, what could I say?
"Lars, more important than anything in the world is for you to be honest with me, and open. Only so, can we ever hope to be close. You can tell me anything, Lars. Anything! Even if it seems shameful or dirty! What is it you really want to see so badly? Is it my legs? They are only legs, Lars." She took her skirt and pulled it half way up, exposing her thighs only partially covered by her white slip. "Is this why you were trying to see up my dress. Lars? To peek at my thighs?" Despite myself I stared, not only from my eagerness to see, but also caught by the sudden indecency of her movement. Of the situation. As I gaped, she slowly pulled the slip away and the skirt still higher so that I could see more and more. The tops of the stockings appeared. Slowly the skirt moved higher. Suddenly there was the nude flesh, white and gleaming! So full and round and secret.
I was terrified. But below the level of terror the leopards aroused from the beginning, still prowled, hungry, and I feasted my eyes on the forbiden flesh of her. It was all I could do not to touch it!
I could hear her low, soft voice coming from a distance: "Is that what you wanted so, Lars? Or do you need more? Are you still unsatisfied? Are you greedy to see my privacy? Is it more that you want to see? Is it this? She squirmed her body slightly and pulled the skirt up almost to her waist. "There are my legs for you. What you wanted. Does that satisfy you, Lars, now that I've allowed you so much of me? But perhaps you want more. Did you see enough before, Lars, when you dropped your spoon? Imagine if you dropped it now with my skirt out of the way. Do you want to drop the spoon now, Lars?"
She was staring at me and speaking in the same tone, but something else came into her voice now, and the wildness was back in the edges of her eyes. I was helpless. I didn't understand anything. Terror and desire fought wars of carnage in my blood. I could not speak. I could only stare at her and shake.
"Do you want to drop the spoon now? Do you want to see everything?" Her legs began to open a little, and a little more. I looked up. Her mouth opened slightly. She slid down in her chair. Her legs opened more. My eyes were devouring her. But I still couldn't see all the way. "Still not satisfied, Lars? My legs are bare completely, and open. You still look hungry. What if you dropped your spoon now, Lars? Is there anything you wouldn't see? Do you want to, Lars? Remember what you are doing. You are looking up your mother. Do you think that's right? Do you think it. decent? Don't you think you should respect your mother, Lars? Should you be looking at her with her with her dress pulled up like this?" My mind was tearing itself apart. Here was Mother trying to give me a last chance to prove there was something decent in me. Despite all I'd done, she would still forgive me. If I would just look away. There she lay sprawled in the chair, her legs open, nude. Even more nude because of the long silken stockings. And the high heels. Her skirt was gathered in her lap, just concealing where her panties would be. If she was wearing any!
"It's wrong, Lars. Very wrong. Sinful. It is not fit for a little boy to sit looking at his mother like this. And yet you are still not satisfied. You want to see her most secret part. The part that no man but a woman's husband is allowed to see. And certainly a part of his mother that no son should want to look at. But you do want. Well, why don't you Lars?" A great water fall plunged through me. I turned the spoon round and round. It was impossible. Now that she knew, now that she was watching me. I couldn't.
"You want to, Lars, you want to look at your mothers most secret body. Well Lars, why not? If you want to, why don't you? Drop the spoon, Lars!"
The mechanism was jammed in my brain. But my fingers opened of themselves-and the spoon dropped on the rug ... Neither of us moved. We stared at each other with a strange intensity. Nobody spoke. Then I reached down for the spoon ...
Something was telling me to retrieve the spoon without looking, but just as my fingers touched it, it, my head of itself turned, and my eyes searched deep to the source of my mothers privacy. There were the legs, the soft flesh, white. Moon flesh. Goddess flesh. And the slip pulled away-pulled even more away as I looked! I saw the shadows on the upper part of her thigh. The sheen of flesh on the soft inner, sides of her thighs. How the skin darkened subtly just before her crotch ... before the mound of the white panties at the end, where her cunt was. Mother's cunt-under Mother's cunt hair. Her legs were a reversed telescope looking into paradise-the panties the silken gate which closed me out. Then my eyes raised to meet hers.
For an instant a veil was torn off from between our eyes and we met directly-looked directly into each other. She started to speak. In my blood was the death struggle mating minks. The scream. I dropped my eyes. I was on my hands and knees frankly looking under her dress. I felt an impulse to crawl forward. Did I dare? Could I? What would happen? Just before I decided there was a blur of flesh and silk and whites. Her legs closed and her skirt was pulled down.
"It's wrong, Lars, I am your mother. I must think! I must!" She got up and hurried out.
It is not easy to describe the insane excitement. Everything lent to it: the abnormality, the ambiguity, the permissiveness (with the restraint) the raw act of seeing, the terror (yes-that too-. I still didn't know whether it had been my last chance. Tomorrow I might be sent back to the gray orphanage. But over all there was still an incredible sense of corruption and real power. As I remained there a moment, on my hands and knees, I knew that I had found my vocation no matter what happened. I knew the feast that my life was to be. A steady joy filled me like French horns. And always I would have that sight of Mother in me.
CHAPTER NINE
I went out and walked around the house. And again. Several times.
But I couldn't calm down. How do you get calm after all that? I walked with the image of her looming in my stomach, aching in my groin. The things she had said were serpents squeezing my brain till the dizziness and the ringing were absolute. I had to have more! Had to! Even a little piece of her would do, but I had to have it. I went in and started up the stairs. I would go to her room and get something-a stocking, a brassiere, a pair of panties-then lie with it in my bed. Sure she was my mother and it was wrong, but I had to have it!
As I went up, I heard her talking to Gunilla in the living room. I was safe. I went to her door and paused a moment. Did I dare? Yes ... I opened and went in.
For the second time I had entered paradise. The silk everywhere. The whiteness. The sense of woman. Of luxury. I remembered the bureau where she kept her underwear and stockings. The top drawer was handkerchiefs and lace. The second had panties and stockings. Thousands. Pink panties, violet, black ones. And white. I plunged my arms in until my face was buried in the silk. It was the flesh of goddesses. And their smell. It was the stuff of angels. Mooncloth, and the smell of twilight in heaven.
I took a black pair and a white, started to close the drawer. Then I heard voices outside in the hall. Coming to the door. I was trapped. I whirled. Across the room was a closet. I dashed to it soundlessly on the thick rug, entered, and closed the door to a crack. I had barely conceled myself among the coats and dresses when the door to the room opened and Mother and Gunilla entered.
"Come in, dear," Mother was saying. "I have some things that may help. You can try them on and see."
"Mainly what I need is a bra that gives me better support." Gunilla said, and a black slip to go with my new dress." She stood in the middle of the room by the end of the bed while Mother passed out of my view towards the bureau.
"Funny, this drawer is open. Annie must learn to tidy the room, better." I could hear Mother close the drawer and open another. 'The trouble is that your breasts are getting larger than mine now and I fear none of these will fit you. Take off your blouse and we'll see, but I really think I must go to town and order some for you that fit." She came back into my range of vision carrying several brassieres and smiling lovingly at Gunilla. She put the brassiere on the bed and selected one, which she held to the light, turning to the window. Both their backs were towards me, so I carefully pushed the door open a little more. I wanted very much to be able to see. The scene which was developing promised to be interesting. Little did I know....
Mother turned to Gunilla, but. she had not taken off the blouse, was just standing there embarrassed.
"Why, Gunilla, what's the matter?"
"Well, uh, I'm not wearing a bra, Mother."
"That's pretty obvious, dear. With breasts as big as yours pushing out that blouse, and with your nipples sticking up like that, anybody could tell that you aren't even wearing a slip," (As she said this, she reached out and touched Gunilla's nipple to emphasize her point. Gunilla seemed to shudder slightly). "And look how they're growing now!" (She caressed delicately at the nipples with the tips of her fingers as they visibly grew and fattened. Gunilla shuddered again and closed her eyes. Mother began to stroke softly at the whole breast as she continued in a low voice!)
"You haven't had a brassiere on since Lars came, Nilla. Don't you realize that built like you are, your breasts bounce every time you move? Don't you think that might upset your brother? (Gunilla's voice was dreamy and far.) "He likes it."
"What."
(Gunilla's eyes opened in panic, realizing what she'd said. She began to blush and stammer).
"That is, I mean, that probably he doesn't mind. That is, since he doesn't know about girls, maybe it's all right. I mean, maybe he doesn't know about breasts...."
"It's all right, Nilla, just relax ... Just let me get this blouse unbuttoned." (Her voice was very soothing as though she wanted to lull Gunilla back to what she had been. She undid the blouse. Gunilla was obviously confused. She tried several times to say something but Mother just reached inside and began stroking her bare breasts).
"There, there. It's all right, Nilla. You don't have to hide things from your mother. You know that I don't criticize you. It's all right." (Stroking, stroking. Gunilla's eyes closed again). " I know you're just Mother's little animal. Her little sweet animal who probably has already been visting the new little brother. It's all right, darling." (She stroked and stroked. The blouse had worked open so that I could see the magnificent breasts with Mother's long fingers fondling the skin which glimmered in the late afternoon light. It was wild seeing Mother play with Gunilla).
"Now just let me get your blouse off, dear." (It slid off Gunilla's shoulders and down her arms and flopped to the rug. Her torso was magnificent. The fresh, perfect flesh gleamed in the subdued light. The memory of what was inside that thin cloth opened in me. The memory of what I had done to that flesh, the ultimate intimacy I had been allowed to with those breasts seemed even more exciting now that I saw it locked away from me in that cloth which decency required.
Somehow, I was more aware of the privilege I'd known now seeing her from a distance. It seemed almost impossible. It was the same when I looked at Mother and thought of her sprawled in the living room, I said carefully to myself: inside there are Gunilla's fat nipples which I have sucked, and which she will give me any time I want. It seemed unbelievable.)
"Now you're getting all quiet and passive like I remember you, aren't you, Nilla? I love it when you get like this and put yourself completely into your Mother's hands. Let's just get this skirt out of the way. And this pretty half slip." (Gunilla soon was standing there in only her pants. The full softness of her filled the room! Her beautiful hair on the smooth, soft shoulders. The round, rich arms hanging limply. The great breasts rising and falling as her breath quickened with her ever growing excitement. Her narrow waist and full hips. The long, beautiful, bare legs. There was only the black pants left.) "And the pants, too, so Mother can see what a big girl her Nilla has grown into. Why, Nilla, you're all wet?" (Mother slid her fingers under the elastic, and being careful, lowered them half way down Gunilla's thighs. There was the beautiful golden cunt. How beautiful she was standing there all fine and curving with her eyes closed. But, alas, how fantastically exciting with her pants pulled only half off, and with Mother stroking Gunilla's cunt). "You've become such a big girl, Nilla. Such a glorious fur you have! So much of it now. And I suppose you aren't a little virgin like you were, are you, my little animal? Let me just see." (Gunilla, without opening her eyes, spread her thighs enough to let Mother's fingers find what they were looking for). "No, you've changed a little since we used to play together, Nilla. Do you remember those times, sweet? But probably you were too young. Her fingers worked more fully into Gunilla.
"I remember so well. Mother. It was so beautiful The most beautiful thing of my whole life." The voice seemed to come out of a dream-drowsy and far away.
"Would you like us to play a little now, Nilla?
Just a little to show how much I still love you?"
"I would like that more than anything in the whole world. Mother. If we only could. Could we please Mother? Just a little?"
"Just let me close the door, darling, so that we won't be interrupted." Mother turned to go to the door. I noticed she was sucking at the fingers that had been in Gunilla. I heard a key turn in the door and then she was back. Gunilla still stood there, her legs spread a little, her pants stretched between her thighs, her cunt offered forward, her erect breasts looking like golden melons standing out from her chest, and her eyes closed. "Now just take your pants off and crawl on the bed, Nilla." Blindly Gunilla pulled off her pants, her breasts swaying forth even more huge as she bent. Then, without opening her eyes, she backed to the bed and wiggled up on it. Mother knelt beside her, her dress climbing up to the top of her stockings. She looked down for a second, her face very lovely and strange. Then she lowered her head, opened her full velvety mouth and sucked at the right breast tenderly. Gunilla's mouth opened and she moaned a deep, faint "Ah-h-h-h-h." Mother sucked at the other breast. I could see the wetness shining on the first one where her mouth had been. She went back and forth with her mouth, sucking at the lush breast: pulling them gently with her lips, sucking them softly, working them. She began rolling the free nipple with her fingers. "Tell me what you meant about Lars liking it, Nilla."
Gunilla just moaned and arched herself up to the wet lips. 'Tell me, Nilla, how far has it gone? Is it more than his just peeking into your blouse when you pour coffee? Has he been playing with you, Nilla?"
"Oh-h-h-h Mother. It's so lovely what you're doing. I like it so much."
"But about Lars, Nilla t" (Mother was working both nipples with her fingers. I suddenly realized that she had done this whole thing in order to find out from Gunilla). "Have you been going to his room, Nilla?"
"Just love me, Mother. There's nothing about Lars. Please, Mother, please lick my nipples some more."
Mother looked down at the helpless girl. A smile crossed her face. A nice, wise smile. She slid her left hand from Gunilla's breast down her ribs, over her stomach, over her belly to the hair. Gunilla moaned and lifted her knees, opening them. I was facing directly into that secret flesh. I could see perfectly as Mother's hand teased and stroked and then slipped two fingers into Gunilla's cunt. Gunilla shuddered. Mothers fingers slid in and out. They glistened with the wetness. She leaned down with her mouth a little open crooning voice: "Tell me, Nilla, about Lars."
"There's nothing, Mother, really." Mother's hand stopped its caress. Gunilla's hips arched frantically trying to find it. After a minute, the hand began again. Gunilla sighed with pleasure. Almost groaned. After a few minutes, Mothers voice whispered again: "What has he done with you, Nilla?"
"Oh, God, Mother, nothing, nothing."
The hand stopped, Gunilla writhed. "Please, Mother, please! Please! Please!"
Mother slipped off the bed and went on her knees. She slowly lowered her head to Gunilla's cunt.
When her tongue touched Gunilla her whole body began to shake. After a few minutes more, Mother lifted her head and said very gently: "About Lars, Nilla."
"Yes, Yes, I'll tell. Oh, good God, I'll tell, only don't stop. Please!"
Mother's head lowered between the full thighs. Gunilla's stomach began to convulse out and in. "Oh, yes, Mother. Suck me. Please suck your little girl, Mother. I'll tell you everything. He does play with me, Mother. He's wonderful. And he loves it so."
"Does he fuck you, Nilla?"
"Yes, Yes".
Each time Mother buried her head in the hair, raising it just for a second to ask the question. "Do you let him fuck your mouth, Nilla? "Oh, yes, Mother. And I love it so much."
"Does he come in your mouth?"
"Yes, yes. And he watches you through the keyhole when you are undressing and he makes me suck him while he's watching. And as soon as he sees a little of your thigh naked, or a little of your breast, he immediately comes. It spurts and spurts in my mouth while his eye is devouring you."
This made Mother shudder. She began kneading her breasts. Gunilla was caressing her own breasts. Mother lifted her face. It was wild.
"And while be is spying on me, do you swallow it, Nilla? Do you swallow it?"
"Yes Mother. And I love it. I suck out every drop, I lick every trace of it up. And tonight....
"What, Nilla?"
"God I can't sop, I want it so ... Keep sucking me and I'll tell you something. Tonight I've promised to let him come in my room to watch you. I told him how you sometimes forget to close the shutters, and how Daddy would probably be fucking you tonight. And I told him he could see his darling Mother really getting it. And I told him everything that Daddy did to you, he could do to me at the same time so he could pretend it was you he was fucking ... Oh, oh, Mother. I'm starting to come. I can feel it starting in my fingers and toes and the back of my neck. Suck me, Mother. Oh suck me. I'm coming. Oh, yes, oh, God, oh sweet Jesus God. It's coming. Suck me. I'm coming I'm coming, Mother, Mother, I'm coming!"
Her body strained. She buried her fingers in her mother's hair and lifted her cunt to that mouth. Then her whole body bent upward in a great bow, hung for a moment as the muscles spasmed all over her, and then fell back. She was suddenly all limp. Mother wiped her wet face on the spread and then stretched out on the bed with Gunilla. She wiped her face with a corner of the spread, and then cuddled her and stroked her hair.
During this scene I had been stroking my cock almost with out realizing it. And at Gunilla's last cry, I had come all over everything in the closet. Then I passed out, evidently. When I came to, only a few minutes seemed to have passed. Gunilla was awake and they were talking.
"Could I nurse at you a little, Mother, like you used to let me as a treat?"
"Of course, little baby." Mother unbuttoned her blouse Gunilla reached behind her and unfastened the brassiere. I strained to see, but mother was lying on her side away from me so I couldn't see anything. I could see Gunilla nuzzling into her. Mother cradled her head and stroked her hair. I could hear sucking sounds that started to drive me crazy again.
All of a sudden, somebody knocked lightly and tried to open the door. Both Mother and Gunilla sat up startled, their eyes wide, I caught a glimpse of Mother's breast all wet, but she covered it even as I saw.
"Who is it?" Mother called in a slightly strangled voice.
"Bill." It was Father.
"Just a minute, dear." Mother motioned wildly for Gunilla to hide in the closet. The one where I was! She gathered the clothes in a bundle and stumbled in. She stumbled against me and would have cried out except that I put my hand over her mouth. Then she realized who it was and began to giggle. She took my hand away and whispered.
"Lars! Here too! Little brother, you are too much! I love you!"
Meanwhile Mother had opened the door and Father was telling her something about coming downstairs. She said fine, that she was just dressing. That she'd locked the door for fear I might not know about knocking before coming in. She asked him to fasten her brassiere.
Meanwhile, Gunilla's hand had been exploring and she whispered. "Why, Lars, you're all wet You've been playing with yourself. Now I'll have to clean you." She began licking me attentively as a cat does its kitten. As I grew under this washing, she took me in her mouth and began slowly and powerfully to suck me.
Mother was softly laughting on the other side of the door and saying. "Stop that. Stop now. I asked you to fasten my brassiere, not take it off."
Father was evidently fondling her.
"Why, Karin, you're hot. Your nipples are as big as my thumbs. What have you been up to behind this locked door?" It was Father's voice teasing her.
"Stop, stop. If you want me to go downstairs, you must. I'm losing control. Tonight you can have me."
"But Karin, tonight we are going to the party for Ingmar Bergman."
"Well then tomorrow you can . ... No wait....it must be tonight."
Gunilla put her mouth to my ear and shipered excitedly.
"Did you hear, Lars? She remembered what I said about your watching tonight from my room. She's going to stay home so you can watch! She wants you to see her get fucked, Lars!"
Father said something about her being a wild woman, and started to laugh. They went out and closed the door.
As soon as they were gone, Gunilla took two of the luxurious fur coats from the closet and went over to the bed. She spread them out with the fur side up.
"Come on out, little brother. I'm going to let you fuck me in your own mother's bed. Here, let's get those clothes off.... That's better. Now lie down in that fur."
It was a fantastic feeling on my skin. Gunilla knelt over me, her knees on either side of my waist, and her mountains of breast dangling above my mouth.
"Now Lars, you just lie back, close your eyes and pretend I'm Mother. I'm going to make love to you as the Roman courtesans used to. You just fix a pixture of Mother in mind, keep your eyes closed, and I'll do the rest."
She lowered herself down on my penis slowly, impaling herself on it. Slowly, marvelously. She was sopping wet. The love-juice ran down her legs. With an incredibly exciting motion, she began to raise and lower herself. At the same time whispering, "How do you like your mother, little son? Is your Mamma a good fuck? Do you like Mamma's wet cunt?"
At that second, the phone rang. We let it ring. But it wouldn't stop, so Gunilla picked it up.
"Yes? Oh, Mother, yes. Yes. Sure." And as she talked she softly fucked me. Slowly and gently, while talking to Mother. Then she lifted herself off and turned so her mouth could reach my penis. As she listened, she licked me. I raised myself and pushed her down into the fur. I knelt beside her, filling her mouth while she listened, making her suck-and rubbing it around her mouth as she talked. And all the time I could hear Mother's little voice coming out of the phone. Gunilla's eyes were bright with delight. Finally I moved over her, let her cradle my body in her thighs as I entered deeply in her.
She gasped.
"No, that wasn't anything, Mother. Yes. Yes. I'm fine." (I moved very slowly out and in, willing myself to fill her completely). Her body began to tremble. She was so soaked in sex by now that she was constantly on the verge of coming, "No Mother, I haven't seen Lars. Yes, I'll tell him."
I could feel it beginning in her. I teased her by fucking just barely into the lips of her cunt. She implored me with her eyes and mouth. Her cunt was sucking at me. "Yes Mother. Oh yes! What Mother? Yes. I'm coming right away."
I could hear Mother's voice as I felt her cunt fluttering and saw Gunilla twisting and twisting. She was so close. Then I drove into her.
"I'm coing, Mother, I'm coming!"
She came in a marvelous golden explosion. She lay with the phone cradled between her large, sumptuous, wet breasts.
"Hand me my pants, little brother. Mamma is calling me."
CHAPTER TEN
I hung the coats in the closet, smoothed the bed and slipped out. Back in my own room, I took an icy shower and laid down to put my mind in order. Maybe I was going crazy or was already. These things from my childhood that would float up now and then from the secret place, sending waves of excitement ahead, only to vanish at the point of seeing. Like in the movies, when the diver is underwater and a marvelous something looms closer and closer-and is suddenly gone. And you can never decide whether it was a whale, a lost city or Neptune striding his farm.
My mind couldn't deal with what had happened. It automatically put such unlikely things aside. The mind must. The senses give approximate data and the mind constructs the truth. The eye sees the moon just above the roofs: the mind moves it up an endless distance. The ear tracks a giant prowling the cellar: the mind discovers the waterpump is in trouble.
It must be some kind of test to see if I was the kind of boy they wanted in their family. And I wasn't doing very well I put on my fine new clothes and carefully brushed my hair. I knew it must be that. I looked into the wide blue innocent eyes, leaned forward and whispered: "Mother wants you to to watch her get fucked! Tonight!"
At dinner, I found that everyone had dressed. Father wore a dinner jacket, Louise's white dress draped in graceful folds on her thin body something like the togas in my Latin text. She was the cleanest, purest thing I'd even seen. Gunilla filled an expensive, long-sleeved, high necked bronze dress that should have been modest, since it covered everything except her hands and face: but it was made to show her ripeness. The material was tailored precisely to her bust, fitted even to the inside slopes-so that each large, jutting bowl was proclaimed individually. And each nipple pushed clearly against the cloth saying there was nothing underneath but flesh.
Mother was very elegant in a severe black dress that left her shoulders and most of her breasts bare. I was shocked. There seemed such a huge amount of nude flesh. Her superb shoulders and long throat and round arms glimmered in the candle light like a moonblaze. The breasts were exposed to just above the nipples. (I even glimped the brown circle around it when she reached for more wine.) They seemed lifted from below, offering themselves. They strained at the bodice which was supported by only two thin straps. I tried not to stare. From the compliments the others paid the dress, I knew it was proper: but it drove me wild. More even than Gunilla's. Mother's body was some how both lush and slender at the same time. And there was something else. Partly it was the elaborate coiffure that pulled her hair in great golden masses on her head. Also the makeup and the eyeshadow spoke of a world of sophistication far beyond Gunilla's youth. But it was more than that. There was a mysterious quality of preciousness, and aura of maturity, grace, complexity, and aristocracy. A life-time's accomplishment. Yet it was wholly sexual. Those luminous naked breasts so clamorous in the formal setting had the intense sensuality of nights beside Gunilla's sunny lust. Her queenly head on its sleek throat dreamed above her obscene breasts like a perfect velvety dark rose amid its heavy, sensuous perfume. Through the whole dinner she was turned inward, periodically flushing for no reason-so her eyes sparkled. Louise, like Mother, ate almost nothing. Her fawnhead with its limpid complexion bent over her plate in deep reverie. Gunilla and Father were obviously exhilarated and chatted animatedly through the meal about horses. I fed on the loveliness of the women's heads blooming like lotus in the candelight against the late twilight that filled the great windows.
We went into the salon and Louise played Mozart, Gunilla sat so she was behind Father and Mother, oposite me. Almost as soon as everyone was settled and the piano began, she caught my eye and smiled. She raised her knees until her feet were on the edge of the chair. Then she deliberately pulled her skirt up into her lap, uncovering her legs all the way to the hips. I gulped. It was beginning again. She slid forward and let her legs fall apart, lifting her blond cunt toward me. Her eyes flashed.
Noiselessly she lifted the lamp from the table beside her and put it on the floor, adjusting it so that the light was directed into the hair. It was unbelievable. There she was lying back in the chair with the light shouting on her in the dim room, flashing on the full thighs, burning in the cunt hair. Her hands started stroking and opening the flesh. I couldn't stand it. All they had to do was turn their heads, slightly, and they'd see her! There would be no possibility of covering or equivocating. I tore my eyes from the fantastic indecency of it, stammered something about being tired, and fled.
In my room, I had just gotten my pants open when Gunilla came in.
"Well, little brother, you're so sex starved you have to sneak up here to masturbate. Come to my room and well see what can be done for you." She took my hand and led me along the hall. 'Besides, Lars, we have to get our seats because the show is going to begin soon." Her room was a confusion of books, clothes, nude pictures,' African masks, slavers of fruit, records, and the like. Everywhere was a soft, rosy light.
Gunilla did something to the dress and it fell off. Her tawny body stretched out on the bed. She was lovely! She grinned up at me. "I don't know what you do to me, Lars, but it sure is powerful. Down there in the salon, I had to do that. Because I knew how it would excite you. You make me feel like a complete whore. But marvelously so, without any ugliness or disgust." She got up on her knees and began caressing her breasts, shaking them and holding them out to me. She took the left one and, lifting it, leaned her head down until she was able to suck the nipple, watching me all the time. She was obviously bubbling with happiness. "Oh, little brother, what a joy you have rought into this house! I'd do anything for you! But Mother did almost catch me. When you left like that, she knew something was up. I'd just gotten covered up when she turned to look. And there was that lamp on the floor. She asked me what it was doing there, and I didn't know what to say. She really looked at me. But I don't care, Lars, about anything now except delighting you. Come to your little whore sister and let her pleasure you." When I got undressed and in bed, she turned out the lights, explaining that we mustn't scare Mother, and leaning above me on her hands and knees began caressing me with her dangling breasts: teasing my lips, slapping them gently against my face. (They were immense in the dark). Drawing them along my stomach. Then she laid down and got me straddling her chest. She put my cock in the gorgeous valley between her smooth tits, then (pressing them together) told me to fuck. It was lovely. She cooed obscenities meanwhile until suddenly I came. Over everything: her tits, her neck, her face. This drove her mad. She smeared it on her breasts on her face, and then began licking it from her fingers. Afterwards, she washed and came to cuddle with me.
"Nilla, I asked. "Do you really think she'll do it? Knowing we're over here watching?"
She giggled. "So little Lars is worried he won't see his Mother getting fucked! Poor thing. Well, little boy, you just lie there licking my nipples like that while Nilla tells you about your Mamma."
"The thing you must understand," she continued, "is that Mother is completely wanton. Now, I know, this is hard to believe, but it's true. At the same time, she's terribly shy about this wantonness, so she keeps it locked up in herelf. Believe me, though, it's there. I know! In fact, some of my earliest memories are of Mother sucking my cunt to comfort me when I was unhappy about something. I must have been three or four. And she trained me to lick her. I don't know how early that started, but I remember she'd put chocolate or jam in her cunt so I would suck it out. Afterwards, when I developed a taste for these things, she'd let me suck her, or would suck me as a special reward-like on my birhday. And I remember when I was tiny, she taught me to stick my hand inside her cunt. I was so little that I could get my hand and a lot of my arm in, and I'd handle her insides. You can imagine what it was like with those five fingers working around, all the way to her womb. And I'd stroke that. She'd come and come. When I got older, she grew self-conscious and pretended it had never happened. But up until then! Wow I remember once when she put me into bed with her dog...."
There was a knock on the door. We froze. There was another knock, and Father's voice whispered: "Are you there Gunilla?" I got under the bed just as the door opened and he came in. "Gunilla?" He repeated.
"Yes, Daddy, but please don't turn on the lights. I don't have any clothes on."
Father chuckled, and the lights clicked on. "Excellent," he said, locking the door. "But why are covering yourself like that? There's nothing wrong with a Father seeing his little girls body, is there?"
"Please go away, Daddy. I'm tired!"
"Oh no," he laughed. "I've been trying to catch up with you since the other night when you prickteased me and then ran away. It's true that you supplied me with Annie, but it's you that I want to get into." There was a lot of scuffling as he evidently tried to pull the banket off Gunilla, "So, he said, We're back to this. You're going to hold out for your money again. You were so hot that night that you were throwing it at me for nothing, and I thought you had learned. Well, all right. As it happens. I brought your thousand dollars. In fact I brought the thousand dollars you said you wanted to lay me. Or to gobble it." As confused and inexperienced as I was, I could sense how brutal Father's manner was. How wrong the tone was. "So there's the money, now get on your back and earn it."
"Daddy are you serious? Do you really want to have intercourse! with your own daughter?" I smiled hearing the mocking tone in her voice. He evidently didn't hear it.
"Hell yes, I'm serious. I don't pay, thousand dollars to dip my wick just for laughs. Now let me see the merchandise."
"Stop, Daddy, or I'll scream. I'm serious. I think maybe I've changed my mind."
"What! No you're just leading me on again like you've been doing for years. Now let go of that blanket."
"Stop!" It was clear Gunilla meant it this time. The struggling ended. "Now if you promise not to touch me until I say you can. I'll take the covers off while we talk it over. O.K.?"
"Then stand over there." The bed creaked as Father got up. "And you promise to stay over there?"
"I promise."
"Daddy do you really want me to pull down this blanket? I told you I don't have any clothes on. Do you think it's decent for a girl as big as me to be showing herself to her own Father?"
"Gunilla, I swear to Christ that if you don't hurry up, I'll rape you-screams or no screams." She must have begun. The bed rustled a little, and I heard Father gasp. "Sweet Jesus, Gunilla, you've got the biggest lits I've ever seen! You're a goddamm cow!
"Why, Daddy, why are you staring at my bosom like that?
I think you like looking at your daughters naked breasts. It was clear that she was putting on a show for me.
"You're fucking right. You wait till I get my my hands on you and I'll demonstrate how I feel about my little girl."
"But Daddy that's a sin. You've supposed to protect your daughter's purity."
"Quit stalling and get the blanket off."
"I'm embarrassed, Daddy. If I pull it any farther down, you'll be able to see my private parts." She let her right arm drop over the edge of the bed until she found my hand. Then she groped down my body till she found my penis and began stroking it. "You must remember how young I am. Daddy I'm shy. Please don't ask me to put it right under your nose, and with all the lights on. Please."
"Gunilla."
"But you're my father!"
"Gunilla, show me that twat before I kill you." His voice sounded half strangled.
"Well I guess a good girl always does what her father tells her to. She squeezed my penis. "There!"
There was a low. "Ah-h-h-h-" from Father. Then Gunilla's firm voice, "Stay there!" This evidently stopped him.
"I'm going to fuck that if it costs me every stock I own," he muttered to himself.
"You mean you really want to fornicate with your own baby?"
"I mean that I'm going to screw you if it's the last thing I do!"
"But even if it wasn't a horrible sin and incest, Father, how could you dream of putting that thing of yours in my little hole?" She squeezed me again, and I suspected she touched her cunt teasingly.
"Think of it? I want to drive it into you so far it will make your eyes pop! And as for its being so little, I'll bet its been glued to every male teacher, servant, visitor, workman, dog, priest, banana, candle, or doorknob that has come into this house!"
"Daddy, you must think I'm a little whore!"
"I don't think anything about it. I know.
"And you also want to stick that huge thing into your own daughter's little mouth."
"I want to drive it into your throat and come till you choke on it."
"But Father, you have such perverted, unnatural desires!"
"You've made me this way, bitch, cock-teasing me until I don't know whether I'm coming or going. You and your depraved mind. But enough chatter. You've got your thousand dollars, now let see if you're worth it!
"No Father. I've changed my mind. No amount of money is worth committing such a nasty sin. With my own father! I'm going to learn to be a nice girl."
"What!"
"Yes, and unless you go away quietly. I'm going to tell Mother."
"So tell her. Is that supposed to scare me? You damm well that she's ruled by whomever is throwing it in into her. And since she's too shy to have an affair, that means me."
"That's true, Papa, but you and I know that all the money is hers. And that all your fine cars and fancy clothes and big office and flashy mistresses and your yacht all depend on her sufferance. You aren't likely to risk that, even through you are the one bedding her down."
"Damm you, Gunilla. You're a witch." His feet started for the door.
"Wait a minute, Daddy."
"What for?"
"You forgot to pick up your money."
He cursed and slammed out.
Gunilla fell on me laughing and kissing whatever she could reach. She took my head between her hands and stared into my eyes.
"Oh little Lars, how much I do love you. Not only am I going to give you Mother to screw, but we're going to free her from that vulgar man."
The room lightened at that moment. Gunilla raised her head, then bant down." That's Mamma's light, little brother. Come on, the main feature is starting!"
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gunilla quickly turned off the lights and we scrambled on to the bed like two giggling kids spying on Christmas. From our darkness, Mother's window was like a television screen. Everything in the room was unnaturally bright and clear. And curiously important. Perhaps it was because I was so excited, but the window focused everything to an intensity like the viewfinder of my camera. There was the tense expectation that comes when the theatre curtain rises on a brightly lit empty stage.
Then, suddenly, Mother crossed the room. She was visible for only a moment, but my heart began to hammer. Again she crossed and disappeared. And again. I must have moved impatiently, because Gunilla (who was pressed against my back) whispered that it was all right, that I would get to see Mother strip and see her fucked by Father. That she was a little nervous about showing her cunt to her teenage son, but that she could.
Mother came into view again. It was true, she was nervous. She was wearing the same severe black dress. Her bare shoulders blazed white. She paused, this time, uncertainly, then she turned toward the window. Slowly she raised her arms straight above her head,, stretching. Her large breasts were lifted by this to such size that they almost burst out. She stretched lazily like a cat, her body rippling in the gown. She turned her head to the side and licked her shoulder! Immediately she blushed, and disappeared.
After a time, she returned. She kept her eyes down so she wouldn't see the window. She went to the dressing table, looking casually behind her several times. Then I realized she was making sure it was visible from the window! She sat at the vanity. She sat still for several minutes, looking down-obviously deep in thought. She was incredibly beautiful with her blondness and whiteness and satin luxury of flesh. Her aristocratic aura. Finally she looked covertly at the window and a tiny smile of great happiness showed for a second. She crossed her legs and took off a shoe.
Slowly she ran a hand up her leg, around the knee, and up to the hem of her dress. A pause. Then she continued, the hand pushing back the hem till the dark hand at the top of the stocking showed. Then the white flesh! She sat looking down at the skin she'd revealed, stroking it softly. The smile showed again for a second. She moved the dress higher! Both thighs were exposed. I could see almost as much as that first day at the orphange. Was she thinking of that too? She put her heel on the bench and swung her knee out to the side the same way. Again I had a glimpse of lace and like, but black this time. She stroked the insides of her thighs. Then she was seized with shyness, and put on her shoe, and went out of sight.
Gunilla whispered that it was all right. That she would do it. And in fact, when she returned, she did seem to have made up her mind. With her back to the window, she unzipped the dress and let it slide to the floor. She was magnificent, even through far from nude. A thight black garment covered her from below her shoulders to half way over her buttocks. (Gunilla said it was foundation garment.) I could see her sheer black pants stretched tight over her lower ass. Then the splendid legs with the stockings making her look far more naked than if she were bare. The nude thighs and shoulders and arms shouted to me.
Her hands came up behind her and she began undoing the catches of the foundation garment. With maddening slowness. My eyes were fixed on her slender fingers. As each catch opened, the lovely black rose more and more in my sight. Finally, it came apart, and the whole back was bare! A splendor. I could see the roundness of her breasts under her arms! I knew that they were naked facing away from me. I had only to wait for her to turn!
Leisurely she began to. She was going to turn full to the window! I was dying. At the last second, she brought her hands up over them. She was facing the window now. The breasts were too large for her hands. The swelling flesh spilled around them. She was hiding little but the nipples. Her fingers began to spread, and suddenly I saw the nipples peeping between them. Brown! Stiff! Great! Gunilla was half-yelling for me to see, saying how Mother was so worked up that she was going through with it. Gunilla was wild, playing with her self and me at the same time. Mother's hands were moving. They exposed the breasts! They were under them, cupping them, lifting them toward me. The tits were being offered to me! Large, soft firm, white erect, full grown-nippled. The finger shyly returned and began teasing the nipples. Suddenly Mother blushed and ran, her breasts bouncing.
Immediately she was back, a little defiant. Then, gradually proud. Pleasure was coming into it for her. She lifted her arms over her head, tossing her breasts slowly by swinging slightly. She was looking down, watching them. Suddenly impatient, she reached down for her pants. She slid her thumbs into the elastic and started to push them down. She paused, embarrassed. Turned her back, Paused again, obviously more embarrassed to bare her ass to me. She turned facing the window and slowly pushed the pants down. The navel. The belly. The first cunt hair. Thicker cunt hair. All the cunt hair, she stepped out of the pants!
She started to unfasten her garter belt, but then obviously decided it was more obscene to keep it and the stockings. She actually began to parade. Showing herself! From all angles. Then she sat down on the floor. She lay on her back, her bent knees before us. Then began to open her thighs slowly. It was all there: the big breasts, the curving body, the furry cunt open between her full thighs. Her smiling face in the midst of the spread blond hair. I was struck by how large she seemed. Monumental. She was like a goddess. Milk-white. Moonflesh. A radiance. An essence. Her long, full thighed legs seemed immense Her belly seemed supernaturally beautiful and gigantic. There was a quality of giganticism about her. She was a goddess!
She began to stroke her cunt delicately. Father came in.
He stood with his back to the window, looking down. She said something and he came to the window. We held our breath for fear he would pull the drapes. He opened the window.
"Yes, Karin, you're right, the room is a little stuffy. And we need not draw the drapes because Nilla has gone out with Lars. Nilla has gone out with Lars somewhere:"
It was a lie. He knew Gunilla was here. He wanted her to see. But he didn't know I was going to see too! But Mother knew, and she had asked him to open the window so we could hear!
"Well, Father continued, "you must really be hot today. First this afternoon and now tonight. You're really laid out and ready to be fucked. And look at your tits, the nipples are as big as marbles." He laughed and teased the nipple with the toe of his shoe. He was obviously showing off for Gunilla. He knelt down beside Mother, "Do you need it. Karin? Really need it? Enough to do anything the way I've always wanted and never had you? Well, I'm going to really enjoy this. Show me how much you need it. Show me how you play with yourself when you think of that kid son of yours."
Mother stared at the window, wildly excited. She played with herself. He got up and came even closer to the window. "Now crawl to me if you need it." His voice was becoming ugly and cruel. She crawled toward him-and us-her full breasts swaying. "Take it out. Come on, fish it out if you want to suck on it. Yes, like that." She was kneeling before him opening his clothes. He turned sideways so Gunilla could see everything. "Now suck me, Bitch." And Mother did. I saw her fine mouth close on his great thick penis. I was revolted and jealous, but somehow it excited me even more for that She was blushing, ashamed, knowing I was seeing it She got him turned so I couldn't see her face and so on her hands and knees she could open her legs, showing me her full hairy cunt from the rear. She was obviously also excited by the degraded position she was in before me.
And she knew that everything he did to her, I was doing to Gunilla. Everything she did for him, Gunilla was doing to me. She knew that Gunilla's mouth was crammed with my cock as hers was with Father's. She had pulled back and was talking up to him-being wanton so I would hear.
"Come, Bill, shoot into my mouth. You always wanted to come in my mouth, Bill to make me swallow it. Here's your chance." She began sucking again.
"So you finally want to get fucked in the mouth, huh? Well, I've got a different idea. I want to come in your face." He pulled out at the last second and came directly in her face, I could see the spurts splashing all over her eyes, her mouth, her hair. Gunilla had seen, too, and deliberately pulled back at the last second so I came all over her face the same way. Something in me knew I liked that, just as I blanked out.
In a few minutes, I heard Gunilla urging me to wake up, saying I would miss the next act. I looked through the window. Mother was staring at me. I knew she couldn't see, but her eyes were wide, trying. She was lying sprawled on her back wearing her stockings and garter belt, wiping her face on her hands and them on the rug. She looked directly at the window, opened her thighs wide to show her cunt and said: "Wouldn't you like to fuck me?"
A gong exploded in my head. She was saying that to me! "She talking to you Lars!" Gunilla whispered. "She's asking you to fuck her, I told you." It was true, I was going to fuck Mother. Father thought she meant him and told her to get on the bed.
"No, no, Bill. Give it to me here. You always wanted to do it on the floor. Now I'm going to let you. Come on fuck me here." She wanted to stay where I could watch her being fucked!
He took off his clothes and knelt over her face. She licked his balls. She licked below them. She took each ball in her mouth and sucked gently. She took the cock deeply in her mouth in a long sucking motion. She rolled it around her mouth, working her head from side to side, moaning with pleasure through her nose. Or was it Gunilla? It was both. Her eyes were turned always to the window. Everything was for me!
Father pulled loose and knelt between her legs. She lifted her legs and put him in. He drove with all his strength!
"You fucking whore," he shouted as he fucked. "Filthy, fucking whore. Bit fucking whore," Mother stared at the window as he fucked her. She spoke directly to me:
"I am a whore, your whore, little angel! I'll always be your whore, your plaything. If you can get me like this, I will do anything for you, I want to suck you, I want you to fuck me.
"Oh, how much I want it!" Her eyes were staring at the window, I knew she was talking only to me! I couldn't believe it, "I love you," she said to the window, I almost blacked out. "Stop it, Stop it, Karin." Father was bellowing. "Turn over so I can fuck your ass."
Mother's eyes widened with shock," Oh, no Bill, Please."
"What? Don't tell me no. You know that you like it in the ass."
Mother was trapped. Not only was she ashamed in front of me, but she knew what it meant for Gunilla, "Oh God," gasped Gunilla, I've never had it that way!"
"Shut up," said Father, "and turn over before I beat hell out of you."
"Please Bill," she begged. "It can hurt so much if it's not done right or the woman isn't used to it."
"What the hell are you talking about. So it can hurt. You know that I won't hurt you the stupid way. And the other pain you like. Who are you kidding?"
"Well, use some cream or vaseline or something," Mother wailed to us.
"You don't need that any more. Karin! But all right if you want to pretend you're a little ass-virgin, I'll go along." He went to the dressing table and got something. Gunilla scrambled around and found some cream.
Mother was face down with her ass lifted by two pillows, he'd put under her. Her head was turned so she could speak to the window. She obviously was giving instructions to Gunilla. She was embarrassed but helpless.
"Work it into the ass hole. Arid smear it on the cock. Remember to push down inside, not up. Pushing up is terribly painful."
"That's enough, Karin." He slapped her hard across the buttocks. "Stop your playing and open your ass so I can get at you."
Gunilla had prepared herself and me. According to Mother's instructions she was lying the same way with the pillows under her. Father had penetrated Mother and was fucking back and forth. I managed to get the head into Gunilla. She groaned. I hesitated. She whispered for me to go on, that she wanted it. Seeing Mother getting it up her ass excited me so much I couldn't resist. I slowly pushed in. Gunilla let out a cry and buried her face in the bed. I looked into Mothers eyes and pushed. Gradually she began to come. I was inside. I stroked gently out and in.
"Oh that's good," gasped Gunilla. "It's so strange but it's good. Oh I like it. I like it very much! My cunt moans to be fucked at the same time and that makes it even more!
Gunilla's hand slid down under her and she began masturbating as I fucked her ass. "Oh God" she said. The little surprised cries of delight were getting luder. 'Oh God, I think I'm going to come. Fuck me harder!" This last was a yell. Mother's eyes gasped. She had heard. Father was too intent on his pleasure, but Mother, being punded down into the carpet, she heard, and it excited her even in her consternation and shame. Lust came into her face.
"I'm coming, she shouted at the window.
"I'm coming," Gunilla shouted.
"I'm coming in your ass, whore." Father bellowed. I was watching Mother's face. The lust was blended with love and yearning as she stared at the window, hearing Gunilla. "We're getting, it together. I'm getting it through you. He's fucking both of us." Her face was all terror and wonder and wantonness fixed on the window. Wave after wave thunder through her. Everybody came at once, shouting and fountaining. I heard, as I fell, Mother yelling: "Lars, Lars, my son.
