It was twilight-dark in the big, cool storeroom back of the shop and Harry's big-bulbed prick felt thick and sweet and deliciously hot in the overripe juiciness of my cunt.
Unlike brother Bill and the other teen-age boys I had fucked, Harry knew how to take his time. Until it was the moment to get his rocks off in my guts, he never hurried. The way he put it in his soft, low voice, "Honey, when I'm in there, I want to enjoy every precious moment of it... and I want just as many moments as I can get."
He had a hundred little tricks to bring me on, again and again, until it was time for him to send his thick, white semen spurting up into my thrilling womb to blend with my own white pussyjuice in the most delicious of all recipes ... and even then he didn't call it quits. He liked to lie right in there, letting his big-bulbed cock soak up all it could, with both of us relaxed and feeling as if the world had nothing more to offer us ...
Harry's darling dong would dwindle a little after a while and I'd be filled with a terrible sense of impending loss, so I'd stir my loins, sticky with sex-sap just like his, to bring him back to full size ... and he'd give his loins an answering stir that would move it ever so slightly and I'd feel it burgeoning again in my creaming coozy ... and then we'd be off to the races again. When time permitted, we'd made it as many as four fucks--without taking his prick out of my happy little hole.
This time, we'd been fucking more than forty minutes by the dim dial of the big octagonal clock on the wall, and Harry had already had three orgasms. How many times I'd hit the peak I had no idea ... it was always much too often with Harry to keep count. I had my little pullover jersey pulled up above the twin lumps of my breasts and my hotpants dangling from my left ankle ... just as Harry was still wearing his slacks, pulled down as far as they could go, and had his shirt, wide open, over his lovely shoulders. Even though Joanie and Bill, my sister and brother, were minding the store up front, there was always the possibility that some customer emergency might arise and we'd have to get back in a hurry.
Mostly, I'd rather fuck in a bed with my clothes off entirely ... but there was an element of risk in screwing Harry in the storeroom during an afternoon quiet time that somehow added to the excitement. But then, fucking Harry under any conditions was all the excitement a girl could stand. And having his big-bulbed prong moving around in my churning guts ... hell, it didn't matter where or when or how, just as long as my body could convulse around it in the sweetest convulsions I ever hoped to know.
Sure Harry was eighteen years older ... almost thirty-six, since I'm going on eighteen. He had to be older because he was my father, the only father I'd ever known and certainly the best piece of arse in Riverville, where I'd lived with him and Joanie and Bill and Mom ever since I could remember.
Sometimes, when I was fucking one of the kids my own age and not making it so big, I'd wonder if maybe something was wrong with me ... if maybe I went for his cock so much because of some psychological kink, because he was my old man. But then he'd slip that marvelous prick into my ever-ready cunt, and I'd know why. It was because he knew more ways to making a girl screaming happy than all the rest of them put together in one single large-size economy package.
Daddy Harry had to be the most.
In the half-dozen years I'd been fucking him, there was only one thing I hadn't told him. He thought he'd popped my maidenhead and it seemed to mean so much to him that I never told him I'd been fucking Bill and some of the boys around town since I was about ten years old ... not to mention sucking and candle-sticking sessions with Joanie.
Actually, Harry's prick was so much thicker and longer--a real man's dong--that I guess I reacted like a virgin the first time it went into me. I was kind of uptight for the occasion, and my pussyjuice dried up and Harry had to spit on his hand and oil the big bulbous head of his pink-and-purple prick with it before he could get it inside the lips of my cunt. I juiced a little then and tried to improve our connection, but it was slow going at first and the size of the broomstick seemed to stretch the walls of my tunnel as if it would split me wide open. So I guess I yelped and tried to wriggle free. My efforts to escape turned out to be my salvation, for the next thing I knew, he was pistoning that big beautiful codpiece in and out of my flooding hole as if sex were about to go out of fashion; and I was riding clouds I'd never dreamed of before.
That, as I said, was about six years ago, and I'd still rather have Harry's prick in my cunt than anything else in the whole world.
Beyond his prick, Harry was a beautiful man. He was lean and muscular and his body was smooth and without a lot of disfiguring hair. Like other men, he had taken to wearing his brown hair long and grown a thick Guardsman's mustache that tickled my nose when he kissed my mouth and tickled me in places a lot more exciting when he went down on me to drink our dew, which he always did after we finished fucking unless an emergency interfered.
This time, when his third load of jism bounced off the top of my womb, sending electric thrills of delight through my whole body, we both knew it had to be the last--for the time being. Mom was due back from her committee meeting, and she didn't like Harry fucking me back of the shop. She was always afraid somebody would walk in and catch us and the scandal would ruin her position in Riverville ... Mom ran the women's club, the PTA and just about everything else.
Since she put so much of her energies into civic affairs, she had little left over for fucking her husband, so she didn't seem to mind his fucking me--but only as long as we didn't get caught.
So, as the hands of the clock crept toward five p.m., it was time for Harry and me to wind up this delicious session in the storeroom, much as we both regretted the imperative. I rolled under Harry, I'd been riding him topside, on the pile of quilt-covered mattresses which served us on these occasions, and dug my heels into the soft springy surface with my thighs wide open and began bridging and driving my creaming cunt right up at his plunging loins, meeting his assaults with counterattacks of my own.
I varied the sweet struggle by putting my crotch into rotary motion and, as always, Harry rolled his cock right with me, holding it embedded to the hilt in my spiraling cunt, so deep that I could feel the steel-wool pressure of his pubic hairs against the delicate tissues of my labia and nymphae. Although his prick was no longer sliding in and out of me, the depth of its impalement in my guts and the roiling action of the areas around both of our fucking pieces was sufficient to bring us both to a boil.
As I felt his prick begin to jump convulsively in my creaming hole, I thrust my pelvis higher still and, gripping him with both hands by the cheeks of his arse, I drew my father's cock still deeper into my flooding insides, thrusting my boobs up against his smooth, firm chest until they lay flat and sweetly squashed upon my ribcage, moving my cunt sideways to give my old man an added bonus of thrills as he poured his life-giving fluid into the very core of my flushed young body.
"Come, come ... come... !" I heard myself gasping as the semen flowed all around the big round bulb of his cock's crown and then added its sweet slippery-elm factor to the juices already close to swamping both of us.
This time, when it was over, he did not let it lie in my tunnel to keep the unbearable sensations flowing through me. He pulled out with a soppy thocking sound as our sticky fucking areas separated for the first time in almost an hour and then, reversing himself on the quilt-covered mattress pile beneath us, lifted my left leg and buried his face in my flooded crotch.
His thick bush of a mustache tickled the in-sides of my upper thighs as it slid in between them until I had to giggle and jerk my legs convulsively; but when he ran his tongue's cat-rough surface over my protruding clit, I had to stop giggling and gasp as unbearable post-coital sweetness raced through me. At the same time, his fingertips diddled my arsehole and then he transferred his oral attentions to the rest of my crotch, lapping up the mixture of our fluids that covered it and then, after popping his tongue in and out of my hole, causing me to cream all over again, gathering my labia into his mouth and sucking it, nibbling it deliciously with his teeth between the long pulls that seemed designed to lift it right out of my body.
Nor was I idle in this sweet afterplay: how could I be with the dripping prick I so adored a mere inch from my lips. It was still three-quarters erect and white with our juices, while from its very tip a single pearl of sperm extruded. Taking his sopping balls in one hand and guiding the stalk of his big-bulbed prick with the other, I inserted the crown of his cock into my mouth and licked away the single pearl of semen with the tip of my tongue ... to discover, as I pulled back briefly and squeezed the shaft of Harry's prick, that it had been replaced by another pearl, which I quickly took into my mouth along with the first nacreous offering.
I have always enjoyed the taste of semen, even though I'd rather receive it in my cunt than in my tonsils. It has a sweet-sharp flavor that is unlike anything else in the world. I have been told that it is an acquired taste, but this was not so with me ... I enjoyed its tang on my tongue ever since, when I was nine years old, I first sucked my brother Bill's cock one night when he and Joanie and I were playing childish erotic games in the bedroom we shared on the third floor of the old house.
It is a taste very different from that of a girl's pussyjuice and seems to vary little from one man to another. But female sex-sap varies greatly from girl to girl. In my case, it is thick and has a musky quality, while in others it runs thin and has little of no flavor. In short, rightly or otherwise, I like my own sex-sap; and when it is mixed with a man's semen, especially with that of my old man, I like it best of all.
So, for another ten minutes or so, Harry and I enjoyed one of our sweeter aftermaths. We sponged each other off in the half-bath the storeroom afforded (Harry was always talking about putting in a shower but he never got around to it, and who cared?) and got our clothes on and returned to the shop in front. Our family phrase for what we had just been doing was taking inventory; we all used it and all knew what it meant, even Mom.
Mom never could stand to hear or, Allah forbid, say the word fuck. Whenever she heard it, she stuck her nose high in the air and acted as if somebody farted. When we dropped the words taking inventory, though, she just sort of half-smiled and didn't say anything at all. I never did dig the fine distinction; shit, it's all the same marvelous thing, no matter what you call it. But ladies of Mom's generation had a lot of old-fashioned bullshit drilled into them by their mothers, I guess; and they say a brainwashing you get as a child is the hardest kind to get rid of.
So we just went along taking inventory whenever we tore one off in the storeroom behind the shop and nobody seemed to mind. If Mom didn't want us kids doing it, I don't know why she had us all using the same bedroom for so long when were growing up--even though it was supposed to be perfectly proper, with Joanie and me in the double-decker, with Joanie on top, and Bill sleeping across the room in his own bed.
At seventeen, I'm the oldest of the three of us. Bill is sixteen and Joanie a year younger. I don't look much like either of them. In fact, I don't look much like Mom or Dad, either. They all run to brown hair and eyes and are bigger than I am and good-looking in a different way, with rounder faces and features. Even Mom fits into the general family type. She was Dad's second cousin. In the last year, Bill's prick has got almost as long and thick as Dad's, while Joanie's bubbies have blossomed until, if she tried to follow the ban-the-bra trend, there'd be a national letdown.
When Dad looked at her, naked, last year and saw what was happening, he said, "Joanie, if you don't watch out, you'll live up to the old definition of a bag." When Joanie asked what that was, he said, "Oh, a woman who can throw her left tit over her right shoulder and squirt milk up her arse."
Joanie burst into tears, but Dad just gave her big bubbies a couple of squeezes, one for each, and left her there with egg on her pretty face. Dad can bite with more than his teeth when he's in a nasty mood ... generally, after he's had a run-in with Mom over failing to live up to the image she wants the family to have in Riverville. She just gives him the silent treatment and this drives him out of his skull, especially when she doesn't tell him where he's goofed, and he takes it out on Joanie or Bill ... but never on me, maybe because he likes fucking me so well.
Another thing: he practically never fucks Joanie, even though she loves him as much as I do. He says it's too much like fucking Mom, and that he's had enough of that for a dozen lifetimes ... and that makes her cry because Joanie's really a nice kid who wants only to please.
Generally, after one of these times, Joanie has to get Bill to fuck her and then she gets added reassurance by getting me to suck her. Jesus, if I had her hang-ups, I'd be headed for a psychiatrist's couch ... if we had a psychiatrist in Riverville, which we don't.
Believe it or not, it was Bill who got us off on the fucking-sucking bit in the first place. There was a kid in school named Hotpants O'Houlihan, and she was around eleven years old at the time and she didn't earn her nickname for nothing. Her old man runs the feed and grain mill and has a private projection room in his basement and likes to run off X-rated films on Saturday nights. The way the story goes, little Hotpants (they called her Agatha then, believe it or not) used to sneak downstairs and peep through a chink in the wall. What she saw on the screen and among the select audience got her primed for first-hand experience.
One rainy afternoon, she got Bill alone in the otherwise empty school gym and took down her hotpants, and his, and tried to show him some grownup games. Bill got the idea right away but her approach scared him and he couldn't get a hard on and she hit him over the head with her books and he came home crying with a big lump on his noggin.
He couldn't tell Dad and Mom what had happened, of course, but that night, after we were all in bed, Joanie and I wormed it out of him. He was standing in his peejays in the middle of the room, and, as he told us, his pecker popped right through the slit in the front of his pants, pretty as could be.
He looked down at it and said, "Son of a gun! When it should have stood up, it lay down ... now, when it ought to lie down, it stands up. What a waste."
"I don't know about that, hon," I heard myself saying. "Why must we waste it?"
Joanie got the idea, too, and said, "Why let Hotpants O'Houlihan have all the fun when we've got what it takes right here in the family."
I let Joanie have first crack. Damned if I really know why except that I must have still been a little shy about fucking. I'd seen Bill with a hard on before, of course ... but only when I was too young to really know what it was meant to be used for. I guess I just wanted to watch before I jumped in.
Anyway, Joanie hugged him and kissed him and then began taking our brother's peejays off while he pulled her pink nightie up over her head. They looked like a pair of brown-haired angels as they went over to Bill's bed and lay down on it and tried to get the game going ... but both of them were so awkward about it that, by the time Joanie was lying underneath her brother with her legs wide apart, his erection was a thing of the past.
That was when I said, "Oh, for God's sake!" and got into the game...
I pulled Bill off Joanie and pushed her down to the foot of the bunk. Then I rolled Bill over on his back and knelt down alongside the bed and began kissing and sucking his diminished little prick. Don't ask how I knew what to do ... how does an animal know? ... but I did. I'd seen my brother's dong often enough as a child when Mother rightly thought we were too young for it to matter. I'd seen it a few times since, when we were taking a leak together outdoors or he forgot to lock the bathroom door ... and it hadn't meant much of anything to me.
But it did now. I wanted his prick good and stiff... hard enough for me to poke into the hole in my bottom that was beginning to get all wet and warm and sending little messages of need all over me. Little Joanie, looking on in wide-eyed surprise, observed, "You're sucking Bill's weewee." I lifted my head long enough to tell her to shut up and then got on with it.
It didn't take long. Soon excitement was bubbling inside of me as my brother's little dong began to grow and get big again. The taste of it excited me as well as its growth. In trying to work it into her hairless little cunt, Joanie had got wet enough to smear it with her pussyjuice, and somehow I knew what this was and it excited me even more, as did the thickness of my own saliva as I lathered it over Bill's growing prick.
When it was good and stiff, I pulled my mouth loose of that sweet fraternal flesh and scrambled aboard him with my hole right over his cock. Then I poked a hand down between our jocks and pushed its round head up inside my cunt. Thanks to the spit with which I had lathered it and my own creaming pussyjuice, it went right up into me to the hilt and there was no way for it to subside before I got both our rocks off.
Like everybody the first time, I was in a hurry and so was Bill ... and, since it was the first time for both of us and we were both way up with excitement, it didn't take long for him to come ... and, for the first time, I felt the sperm of the male spurting in my tunnel of love. I resolved right then and there it would not be the last time, either. I'd never felt so wonderful in my entire eleven years of life.
But I didn't know you could go right on fucking after an orgasm, so we pulled our sopping fucking pieces apart and his began to wilt again, even though it was covered with spit and sperm and my sex-sap. I watched it dwindle and wondered how long it would take to get it into operative condition for a second go.
Then Joanie was all over me, her boobless nipples sticking out like pink thorns, shaking my shoulders and asking me questions which added up to, "How did it feel?"
When I could get a word in edgewise, I nodded toward our brother, who was still lying flat on his back with his head lifted so that he could look down at his still-limp prick as if he couldn't believe it, and said, 'Try it for yourself, Joanie ... I can't tell you."
And I couldn't ... I still can't. Nobody yet has ever put into words just what a girl feels like when she has a man's stiff prick in her juicing hole, especially the very first time. But Joanie thought I was putting her on or something and began to blubber and said, "But it's all soft now."
"So make it hard ... I did."
Joanie shuddered against me and gasped, "Oh ... I couldn't do that!"
"It's your red wagon," I told her and, of course, with that, she decided she could. And did: licked off all the juices from Bill's lucky codpiece until she could add some of her own. She didn't try to get underneath him this time and she got his cock into her coozy all right and just squatted there with it in her hole, shaking all over.
Then she looked at me with surprise and her eyes went big and round and she said, "Ooooo ... it feels nice!"
Then she began making a few experimental wiggles with her cunt, and then Bill got into the act and began lifting his little rump from the bed rhythmically, driving his cock up into her quiveringly creaming cunt. This got Joanie so excited, she put her crotch into wild motions that brought her brother to a second boil ... and... then she goofed, losing him just as his semen spurted uselessly into the air to land on his lower belly with a small splash.
Joanie slept in the top of our double-decker bunk and I waited until I heard her deep slumber breathing before I went back to Billy's bed and we settled down for some real fucking. I was in no mood to share what I'd discovered that evening with anyone else. Not even my own sister.
Chapter Two
This time, when Bill slid his prick into my cunt, I was on the bottom with my legs spread wide open, and it felt like a blunt knife sliding right through the middle of a bucket of soft, sweet butter. And when I felt the tiny tickle of the thin hair on his balls against the intimate incurves of my rump, coupled with the wonderful closeness of his flesh lying on top of my own and squashing my bubbies flat against my ribs, it was so incredibly wonderful that, for a long time I couldn't move my cunt at all. I guess Bill felt the same way, for we just lay there, lost in the wonder of having our bodies so beatifically coupled, of being one with each other.
But that couldn't last forever, of course. I had to express my happiness and slid an arm around his neck and kissed him. Looking back on it, that was real funny ... for there we were, fucking and being fucked, and we didn't know how to kiss. Just birthday and Christmas smacks, delivered loudly like the kisses we gave and got from Harry and Mom, with about as much sex in them as there is in rubbing two lamb chops together.
But with what we had going on downstairs for us, with Bill's dong lying stiff in the welling cream of my cunt, it didn't really matter that we kissed like a couple of maiden aunts. And the movements of our burgeoning young bodies involved in that very amateur kiss caused a certain shift of our fucking pieces that caused me to come like Niagara. And from then on, our stillness was shattered.
Bill began pumping his prick in and out of me, and I got my feet set, wide apart, and gave him at least as good as he gave me. There was a rising tide of incredible sweetness that mounted within me until the whole world seemed to explode with voluptuous delight ... and because I was way ahead of my kid brother, he kept right on plumbing my hole with his stiff little cock so that, as soon as I came down out of orbit, it sent me right back into outer space again.
Life had never seemed even fractionally as good as it began to feel right then ... and then, and then, and then ... so that, by the time my brother's prick began jumping around and spurting sperm well up in my sopping hole, I was really winging way beyond Cloud Nine. I just pushed my pussy up around his flooding cock and grabbed it tightly and held it there, with our sopping wet hairs ground together in a steel-wool mesh until I had his last drop in the place it was meant to go.
Bill pulled out of me right away--or I guess his prick wilted on its own--and left me hanging right up the wall by the ceiling. It wasn't his fault, of course: neither one of us really knew what we were doing or how to handle the whole bit ... but that didn't do a thing for the frantic emptiness I felt when my kid brother pulled out. I grabbed my pussy with both hands, and rubbed my deserted clit as if I were scrubbing soiled underwear with one hand while, with the other, I dug my fingers into the slippery swamp of my hole and did my best to put out the fire he had left burning there.
I must have made some noise, because when I opened my eyes, there was Joanie looking over the side of her upper berth with her boobs hanging down like a pair of ripe peaches, whispering urgently, "Don't wake up Mom and Dad, Robin ... for heaven's sake, shut up!"
I was surprised that I should have been making sounds without knowing it. But then, that was a night of surprises. Joanie's remonstrance snapped me out of the awful fit of emptiness I was having and I began to realize that there was one hell of a lot more to fucking than merely getting a cock in your coozy and working it till it went off inside you--which was about all any of us ever learned at school apart from the bit about babies coming.
Pregnancy didn't bother us any more than it bothers any girls today, since Hotpants O'Houlihan had already briefed us on the Pill --and since we were none of us old enough to make a baby. But I knew right then I had a lot to learn, and so did Bill if he was going to keep on fucking me--which was something I could hardly have stopped if I'd wanted to, and that I definitely did not.
Joanie was sore, and I didn't really blame her--not because I had wakened her up but because I'd been fucked twice and she hadn't taken a load of semen into her own darling little cunt. She climbed down, naked and smooth as silk, and came crowding into Bill's bed. She took the damp remnants of his cock in her hand and looked at me, close to tears again, and said, "You didn't leave any of it."
"Aw, honey!" said Bill, giving her a hug and patting the budding cantaloupes that were beginning to bloom on her little-girl chest. "I'm sorry."
The results of that sympathetic gesture were both immediate and interesting. First, as Joanie buried her head against her brother's shoulder, with her dark brown hair falling around it like a flood in the moonlight that came through the window, I could see the rosy-hued nipple on her one visible boob stand up straight like a tiny prick. A movement of Joanie's hand, the one encircling Bill's prick, caught my attention then and, looking down, I saw his tiny cock, still soaking wet with my pussyjuice and his own sperm, begin to assume more interesting dimensions.
It rose rapidly, lengthening and thickening until it rose a full four inches of more and must have been a good inch and a half in diameter... and Joanie, feeling its surge against her palm and fingers, pulled her head from her brother's shoulder and looked down at it, uttering a gasp of surprise and delight.
I'll say this for Bill, he caught on quick and he didn't waste any time. Probably as surprised by his sudden phallic resurrection as were Joanie and myself, he tipped his kid sister right over on her back and, scrambling into her saddle with her legs sticking straight up in the air on either side of his rump, plunged his whang right into her all but hairless little hole. It made a squishy sound as it was rammed home, indicating that Joanie was just as ready as he was.
But her over-eagerness betrayed her again and she gyrated her crotch so violently that Bill's fucking piece slipped out of her and swung wildly about in the air. I could have pushed her away and taken over, but Joanie's ineptitude at fucking was both touching and funny ... so I sat on the sidelines again and watched.
She made a crazy grab for it and tried so frantically and with such poor aim to cram it back into her creaming little cunt that she missed and shoved it against the tight rim of her tiny arsehole. Then she tried again and missed in the other direction, sliding it along the top of her pussy and along her belly.
By that time, the moment of truth and beauty had passed ... and Bill's big beauty was becoming a sorrowful little pink mushroom, dwindling until it was almost out of sight in the folds of the scrotum flesh that surrounded it just above the sac of his balls.
He looked down at the ashes of his so-recent desire and said, "Shit, Joanie, that's not the way."
Joanie burst into tears again (she cried easily, like Mom) and Bill and I could only look at her helplessly. Finally I took pity on her. "Bill," I said, "maybe if I get you hard again and then hold her still on your cock, you can give her a dose of the same medicine you just gave me."
He said, "What's the use, Robin? She'll just louse it up again."
Joanie began to sob, reversing our positions: I grew afraid she would wake Mom and Dad, and I had no idea how they would take to finding us doing what we were doing ... or, in Joanie's case, trying to do. So I clapped one hand over her mouth and took hold of my brother's prick with the other and pulled that tiny mushroom right out of its hiding place on top of his balls.
It was like pulling a rubber band at first. It stretched all right, but there was no sizing in it and the stem grew so thin as I elongated it that I was afraid it was going to snap right off. So I let go of it and it returned to its hole, pronto, but when I began to rub my fingertips over its soft round tip, I could feel the hardness begin to firm up just under the soft, sticky surface. Then my hand was pushed upward as it began to grow once more, and I aided and abetted its growth by massaging its thickening stalk.
By this time, Joanie had stopped whimpering and was watching, roundeyed, with a hole full of hope. I was tempted to push her away and take my brother's full growth into my own more than ready cunt... but I had been brought up to take a full older sister's responsibilities toward the dear little girl with the premature boobs, and I didn't want to deprive her of something she wanted so badly.
So I pushed Bill flat on his back on the bed once more and got Joanie planted securely with his proud little prick run right up into her guts. She gasped, "Oh, thank you, Robin ... thank you!" and began snapping her underside around in more of the wild gyrations that had already cost her two perfectly good pieces of arse.
"She's going to lose me!" Bill yelped softly reaching for either side of her waist. But this was not enough to control her, so I added my own hands as promised, planting one flat on the gentle round of her belly, the other against her rump to hold her where she wanted to be but couldn't seem to manage.
Even so, I had to bear down with all my strength to keep her flapping arse under some sort of control. Joanie really went crazy whenever she got a prick in her hole ... then and ever after. In her own words, "When I feel that thing in there, something bursts inside of me and I can't control it."
Or, as Bill and I decided later on, she was just a lousy lay, too concerned with her own goofy reactions to give a damn about the tool that inspired them; while both he and I learned right away the key to receiving pleasure is to give it to one's partner ... and in the fullest possible measure.
Somehow, though, between us, we managed to keep her churning cunt over the pillar of joy that was making it churn until, with an, "Okay, here it is!" our brother finally sent his sperm spurting into Joanie's desperately flailing hole, then pushed her clear of his drenched dong.
Seeing that still-stiff pillar of pleasure free of any hole at all and with the juices that covered it from root to crown glistening in the moonlight was more than my own hot little cunt could stand. I guess I sprang at him like a redheaded tiger, because he gasped, "Oh, no, Robin!" as I shoved him over on his back once again and rammed my pulping little tunnel of love right down over my brother's prick.
My cunt, all the way up, felt like a chocolate eclair just bursting with goodies ... all rich cream and sweetness. But little Bill didn't seem to like it as well... not at first anyway.
He said, "Don't, Robin ... I'm only a little boy."
I shifted my cunt around on his cock and just laughed down at him and said, "You're not so little any more, thank goodness and Hotpants O'Houlihan."
He said, "Hotpants says three times in a row can kill a boy."
"I think either Hotpants was misinformed or someone was putting her on," I replied. "You don't feel exactly dead to me."
Bill said then, bless him, "Hey, maybe I'm breaking some kind of record."
I said, "I don't know about that, darling ... but you've sure been breaking some new ground tonight."
After that, we stopped talking for a while and put our minds where our fucking pieces were: locked in together in what seemed to me an unbeatable combination. Since we'd both got our rocks off a few times already, and it took my brother a long time to squirt jizzum into my guts again, we didn't exactly knock ourselves out and fooled around some, experimenting; trying our wings, I guess you could call it.
I started it by sliding my sticky-wet cunt up and down on his jock, bending his prick upwards as I pushed my bottom forward toward his belly button, then sliding it down toward his thighs so that it bent the other way. This gave me a real bonus, since it pushed the top of my brother's prick up against my clit from underneath ... giving me a spasm that was almost too much.
The second time I tried this, I pushed against my clit with my own hand, giving it double pressure and giving me a spurt of splendor that had me rocking and rolling on my brother's prick until I almost pulled a Joanie and fell off my perch. The third time, I grabbed Bill's right hand and pushed his fingers into the top of my cunt where my clit rose up from its walls of tender surrounding flesh. This time I actually blacked out from the sensational sweetness of the climax that followed ... though blacked is a lousy word for the terrific swimming sea of gold in which my surfeited senses swam.
But I didn't lose my place like poor Joanie. When I came down, Bill's cock was still firmly embedded in my underflesh and I was riding it like Paul Revere. When I came down from that one, I was ready to coast for a little while, but now my little devil of a kid brother decided to try a few tricks on his own.
The first thing I knew, he had grabbed my rump and was spreading my buttocks until it felt as if my arsehole would split in two. Then, with his fingers digging into my softest flesh, he began pumping me up and down on his still rigid prick. The way he had pulled my buttocks wide made my crotch just about flat, and this enabled him to get his sweet little cock maybe half an inch further up my hole.
This brought it into play with a whole new area, and caused me to feel a whole battery of delicious new sensations because I could feel the tip of his prick push back and forth over the flanges just outside the gate of my womb ... and even though I begged him to stop, he was enjoying his cock-socking too thoroughly and kept right on pumping my cunt up and down ... and after a few more times I wanted him to keep right on doing it forever.
Let's face it: I've been fucked by better erotic artists and more stalwart males than Brother Bill--but not by very many. Right from the start, he understood the giving-of-pleasure-to-receive-it principle, and no man who knows that can be all bad. That we were learning the ABC's of fucking together gave that night (I always think of it as my opening night, since Bill really opened me up) an aura of high excitement and adventure that has made it unique in my memories.
I don't know how long we fucked that final time, but the pattern of moonlight on the carpet moved a full foot and a half before at last we were through and my brother's prick had dwindled to nothing in my sopping cunt and really lain down for the night. We tried everything we could think of that wouldn't remove his darling dong even momentarily from my whirlpool of pleasure. If we were far from practiced amorists at that stage of the game, some of the things a couple of loving and ingenious kids can think up between them are remarkable.
When Bill let go my rump, I tried to get even by thrusting my still quivering cunt all the way down over the sweet instrument of torture in my guts, so that, once more, my labia and nymphae were mashed flat between our pubes ... then I tightened every cunt muscle I could command and said, "Can you feel that?"
"Gosh, yes!" he replied, and I did it again ... but it didn't seem to be hurting him any more than what he had just done to my bottom had really hurt me. So I kept it up for a while until, suddenly, his hands gripped the tops of my inner thighs, right where they make creases at the base of my belly, and pulled me down even further so that when his juice spurted up inside me, it seemed to flood my womb. That got me started, and my action saved his erection, so that we were able to keep on going for as long as we did.
Joanie had long since returned to her upper bunk on the other side of the room, and Bill and I curled up together like a couple of kittens that can't stand not touching each other and fell asleep with our fingers still fondling our fucking pieces; Hansel and Gretel at the roots of the forest tree, only they were lost and we knew we had just found something almost as important as life itself and a hell of a lot more fun.
At least, a hell of a lot more fun than living without it.
When I woke up, it was morning and, until my sleep-drugged senses got themselves straightened out, I didn't know what in heck was happening to me. There was a fading dream about jumping from a plane in a parachute, otherwise naked as a jaybird, and floating slowly to earth in a pleasant way until a breeze carried me inexorably right down over a tall thin poplar tree that forced its way slowly right up into my cunt. The more I struggled to work my crotch clear of this impalement, the deeper it penetrated my hole until ... well, I woke up and found the impalement was real.
I was lying flat on my back in Bill's bed with my legs sticking straight out to form a big V. My brother was in between them, as naked as I, supporting the upward slope of his torso with his hands flat on the tumbled sheets on either side of me. He was grinning like a happy chimpanzee as he slowly pushed his stiff pink prick in and out of my juicing hole.
And I mean, it was juicing. Like every other girl I ever knew who would talk about such things, I spent a little dew when I slept; but this was no meagre dew I was shedding, this was a welling of sex-sap that made my insides feel like the Johnstown flood. It felt sticky-delicious, too, sending sleepy little voluptuous tingles running through my slumber-slowed senses, shocking me into wakefulness.
For a couple of minutes or so, while I got myself together, all I could do was lie there like a piece of wood while my brother slowly poked his cock in and out of me; not all the way out, of course, but far enough to get a good start for the next thrust. I didn't feel like a log, though, as my cunt slowly smouldered and began to burn with the most delectable heat a woman can feel.
Slowly, I pushed my pussy up after one of his pullouts and, holding my buttocks clear of the sheet with both hands under it for support, I let go with a sort of shimmy-sideways motion that put me right on the road to heaven. Holding my position was a bit too much for the tidal waves of orgasm that rolled through and over me, so I pulled my little brother down flat on my chest and, lifting my legs, locked them around his rump and began pumping my bottom in every direction ever invented.
He began ramming his hot rod straight into me, while I convulsed every whichway around its drives into my sopping cunt, trying to work my crotch right up into his so that his prong would penetrate me even more deeply. He kept snapping his whole pelvis forward at mine like a dog fucking a bitch in an empty yard, and I gave him back just as good as he gave me while we rolled back and forth with me locked tight against his sweating, thrusting beautiful boy's body like a four-armed octopus.
After a while, he bridged up onto his hands and knees, but I hung on and he lifted me right with him, so that, in a way, he was fucking me in mid-air. And all the while, the most delectable sensations were pulsing outward from my wildly active tunnel of love and giving an otherwise dark and gloomy morning the illusion of bright sunshine.
I finally eased off and let myself down on the bed. But Bill was still fucking his cock (and my cunt) off. I opened my legs so that I could rest my heels in the hollows of the backs of his knees, making a sort of open parenthesis of them inside which he kept right on pumping away. This allowed me plenty of leeway for crotch-action, and I began a gentle rolling motion that, interspersed with a few variations, succeeded in bringing my brother to a boil. When I felt his darling cock begin the bucking I had already learned meant that ejaculation was upon him, the mere thought of absorbing another burst of that delectable life fluid in my womb sent me rocketing off into orbit fiercely, and we came together in a wild, thumping writhing tangle of sweat-slippery young bodies that was truly glorious.
"Hey, sis," Bill whispered when we came splashing back to earth, "it sure beats the old alarm clock."
I gave him a soppy hug and, at that moment, the alarm clock did go off, startling us so that he jumped right out of my skin ...
Chapter Three
Saturday, and no school; but we kids had our chores to do around the house, especially Joanie and I. We had to get our own breakfast and then clean up our room while Bill mowed the front lawn. Before this, Bill had put his clothes on while Joanie and I were in the bathroom, but after what had happened last night and this morning already, there didn't seem much sense in privacy, so we dropped the segregation bit except in the tub, which was only big enough for one of us at a time.
Looking at Bill's prick, almost invisible in its nest above his balls, I marveled that such a tiny instrument could grow so big and give so much pleasure. My cunt still felt nubbly-delicious from the fuckings my brother had given me, and I was tempted to tear off another piece with him when we were bathed and beginning to put our clothes on. But there wasn't time, simply too much else to do. So I let it go.
Funny thing was we didn't want to talk about it. Not just then, anyway. I guess we all knew things had changed and had to think over what happened and how it had come about. Not until we had eaten breakfast and Joanie and I were making the beds and Bill was out using the lawn mower, did I notice that my little sister was crying silently, with tears running down her dear little cheeks.
I went over and hugged her and kissed her and said, "Oh, honey, there's nothing to feel sorry for--not when we've all found anything as wonderful as we did last night."
"It's not that, Robin," Joanie sobbed, holding me tight. "It's just that you and Bill do it so marvelously; while I'm such a lousy lay."
I did my best to reassure her. I told her she was just a kid (talking from the seniority of eleven years old) and that she had lots of time to learn how to screw and a wonderful brother to teach her. I guess, at the time, I even believed it. After a while, she cheered up and wiped away her tears and told me she loved me.
Mom and Dad were having breakfast when we finished our chores and Mom called us in to say good morning. Like I've already said, Mom is good-looking in a darkbrown way, even with her hair every whichway and no makeup on. She'd be beautiful if she didn't wear a sort of pinched expression most of the time.
She said, "I hope you children weren't having a pillowfight last night ... it seemed to me I heard noises."
Joanie said, "Oh, no, Mother. Robin had a dream or something and started talking in her sleep."
Mom said, "Robin wasn't the only one I heard."
I jumped in then with, "I guess they had a little trouble getting me to shut up. I'm sorry, Mother."
Right then I caught Harry looking at me over the top of the morning paper, and from the expression in his brown eyes I could tell he hadn't been fooled. When he saw me looking at him, he pulled the paper up higher, but not before the crinkles around his eyes told me he was having one of his silent laughs. It scared me a little, his knowing, because I didn't know what to expect. But he didn't say another word.
Mom said, "I suppose you're off to the playground," and, when we nodded, "Come home if it rains. And I expect you back for lunch anyway."
"Will you be here, Edna?" Harry asked.
"I have to go to a rummage sale in Running Water," said Mom, "but I don't want the children stuffing themselves with a lot of indigestible junk. They can go back afterward if they want to."
"May we go now?" Joanie asked, fidgeting.
"Run along, children." Mom sounded like every other mother I ever heard.
When we got outside, the sky was cloudy and grey and Bill had finished the lawn and gone on ahead of us, so we walked the half-mile to the playground alone. In those days, Riverville had no modern playground, with pool and slides and all that jazz and stuff. What we kids used was the old fairgrounds on the edge of town alongside the creek. To me, it was a lot better than a regular playground and the other kids felt the same way.
There were the remains of the old trotting track and wooden stand and a lot of sheds and booths and old stables falling more or less apart. The creek water was not polluted by the papermill then, so we could go swimming there if we wanted to. When we got there, there were only a handful of other kids and no sign of brother Bill. Threat of rain had kept the usual Saturday morning crowd from collecting and, about five minutes after we got there, big drops began to fall and the others dribbled along home.
"We can't stay here, Robin," Joanie said as we took shelter under the leaky roof of the old animal exhibits pavilion.
"We can't go home without Bill," I said. "I wonder where he went?"
"Let's find him and get back before we get really soaked," said Joanie.
So we started to look. We knew every nook and cranny of the old fairgrounds, of course, but neither of us thought of looking under the bandstand until we got caught in the open by a downpour and had to scurry under its open-sided roof for shelter. We might not have found him then if we hadn't heard voices coming up through the warped floorboards.
We got down on our hands and knees and put our ears to a couple of the many places where the boards were separated and could hear them plain as day. After a minute or so, Joanie lifted her head and said, "I hear Bill ... he's down there."
I said, "And so is Hotpants O'Houlihan!"
We figured it was worth getting drenched to see what was going on down below. So we tiptoed down the rickety steps and around to where there's a door in the latticework that covers the foundations and slipped inside. It was dark, but our eyes adjusted after a bit and we could see what was happening:
It was something--even if it was nothing to write home to Mother about. Not to a mother like Mom at any rate.
Evidently, a lot of Riverville residents had been using the area under the bandstand for fucking for a long time, because there were a goodly number of old quilts and blankets and even a couple of mattresses scattered around in various stages of mould and decay. In the rain, it smelled like a wet dog's fur.
Hotpants and Bill were using one of the mattresses and they were stark naked. Hotpants was on her hands and knees and brother Bill was ramming his stiff little cock into her from behind. At first, I thought he was plumbing her arsehole, but when my eyesight finally got fully adjusted to the dimness, I could see the little puckered crater of that bathroom orifice right above the hole his jock was pleasuring every time he pulled back for another thrust into her squirming, wriggling cunt.
Then as now, I'll have to hand it to Hotpants in the looks department. She's darker than the rest of my family, but with lavender eyes instead of brown ones and kind of lush, crazy pretty all over. Even then she was the kind of a kid who could heat a man to the boiling point just by looking at him. And, from watching all those X-movies her old man ran off in the parlor on Saturday nights, she had a lot of ideas how to use her hot little body.
Right now, she was exercising them on our brother Bill. She's the kind of girl who likes to talk while she's fucking, and every time she'd give her bottom a buck or a roll, she'd turn her head around and say something like, "Did you feel that?" or, "How does that feel ... ?" Bill would reply; which was why Joanie and I had heard both their voices.
I suddenly found myself hating Hotpants. We'd never been real good buddies. I guess because we sensed a sex rivalry between us. But we'd always gotten along. Now, watching her making sport with my own brother's precious prick, I felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to pull her free of Bill's plunging prong and roll her over on that dirty old mattress and jump up and down on her belly and boobs.
This wave of hatred was so intense that I could only sit there on the edge of the other mattress, gripping Joanie's hand tightly, unable to move or say a word. I guess Joanie must have felt something close to what I was feeling, because, when we finally let go, I could feel the curved indentations where her nails had dug into the palm of my hand.
By that time, Hotpants was squealing like a stuck pig as Bill increased the speed of his plumbing and, before we could intervene, he buried his cock all the way inside her and obviously shot his wad into her soppy cunt. When she pulled her bottom clear of his drooling tool, little trickles of white liquid were running down the insides of her plump little thighs.
She said, "Criminentlies, Bill, but you really mess up a girl. You should be on those movies my father likes to show my mother and their friends."
Bill didn't say a thing. Just stayed there, upright on his knees, watching his cock shrink. Nor did he look up until Hotpants turned around and saw Joanie and me sitting on the other mattress. Then she let out a four-letter squawk and said, "How long have you two been watching us?" Her face was livid with rage.
Bill looked at me and then at Hotpants, cool as you please, and said, "Don't get your drawers in an uproar, Hotpants. I fucked both of them last night. They aren't going to tell on us."
Hotpants shrugged defiantly and tossed her head, causing her boobs to bob around on her chest like Halloween apples in a tub. She said, "I don't care if they do--with what I've got on both my parents. Last Saturday, after the movie, I saw my dad with his face in Mrs. Lamson's crotch while Mr. Lamson fucked my mother in the guestroom. It was real groovy."
Bill, my little brother, said, "Maybe you ought to watch them more closely next time."
It stopped Hotpants cold. She said, "And what do you mean by that?"
Bill said. "I mean Robin can outfuck you any day of the year."
Hotpants' rounded little chin flew up and she said, "You're a cocksucking liar, Billy Davis." Then, when he just kept on looking at her, "How do you mean Robin can outfuck me?"
"She's better tail, that's all," said brother Bill, causing my cunt to cream with pride and excitement.
"I don't believe it!" said Hotpants. "What does she know?"
"Plenty..."
"You say you fucked Joanie, too?" And, when he nodded, "I suppose you're going to try and tell me she can outfuck me, too!"
"Not yet," said brother Bill. "She's still a bit young. But give her time and plenty of practice and she'll really fuck you under."
"That'll be the day ... in fact, seeing is believing." Hotpants turned her flushed, angry little face my way. "You just saw what I can do in the fucking department. Show me how you're better than I am."
I said to Bill, "How about it, hon?"
He looked at me and gave his limp cock a squeeze. It didn't show anything but he must have felt the blood start stiffening it, because he said, "It's okay, Robin ... come on over here."
"You sure?" I asked. I didn't wait for an answer. Instead, I stood up and shucked off my clothes. Even then, of course, I was no collection of soft bumps and hollows like Hotpants. I'm rangier, a lot leaner and with smaller boobs and buttocks. But, as I had already learned, though I didn't know it yet, my cunt is up high, so a man can fuck me all night without having to put a pillow under my arse or get his jock sore from the pounding of my pelvis. I'm red-headed, too, with hazel eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of my nose. I've never had any complaints either in the looks or fucking departments, not then, not ever ... never!
But, as I got down on my knees on the other mattress and took hold of brother Bill's burgeoning prick, I was wondering how you showed another woman you were better tail than she was. Even though both of us were a long way from being women yet. Bill must have been thinking the same sort of thing, because, when we embraced, he slid his lips close to my ear and whispered, "Robin ... what'll we do?"
For a moment, I was stumped ... I couldn't think of any way we could fuck that would let Hotpants see any of the action while my brother was socking his whang into my cunt with our bodies all tangled together. If he and Hotpants hadn't been screwing each other dog-fashion, I wouldn't have been able to see much while they were fucking, and there was no point in copying her.
Then I remembered a photograph of a Japanese print Hotpants herself had showed me one day at school: Japanese couples fucking in every conceivable position and all the sex organs were enlarged compared with the rest of their bodies, so you could see what was going on. There was one position in particular that fascinated us because it looked impossible. The man and woman were sitting on a mat, facing each other, lying back on their elbows away from each other but with his prong in her hole.
Hotpants and I and some of the other girls had giggled over it and tried to figure out how any two people could get into such a position. We had not been able to come up with an answer.
But suddenly, thanks to fucking my brother while riding on top, I thought I could see a way to make it like those two crazy Nipponese. I gave his fine little fucking piece a squeeze and found it good and hard, and he replied by hooking a forefinger into my cunt, which turned me to molten lava. He kissed my boobs, one after the other, and I began to thrill inside and went right on building his erection by pumping up and down on it with my good little right hand. It was chilly and damp there in the rain under the old bandstand, but not for my brother and me. We were hot as a couple of colts in springtime.
Hotpants sniffed and said, "I think you're stalling," and that snapped us out of it.
I pushed Bill over gently on his back and then, straddling his flat little loins, I stuck his delicious little prick as far up into my flooding cunt as it would go. This time, I didn't squat on it, I sat on it, with my knees up in front of me and my feet planted flat on either side of his waist.
His brown eyes looked up at me, bewildered, and I said, "Bring yourself up on your elbows, Bill darling."
He did so, and I leaned backward, extending my arms down stiffly behind me for support from the mattress. It was tricky and, for one horrible moment, I thought I was going to lose my balance and topple over sideways and spoil everything. But little Bill, bless him, managed to get his hands around my middle and steady me in time.
Once that situation had been remedied, I slowly lowered myself to my own elbows, while my brother went back on his. And there we were, just like the couple in the Japanese print, leaning away from each other with Bill's cock still embedded in my hole and our fucking pieces entirely visible to Hotpants and little Joanie.
Looking at Hotpants in triumph, I crowed, "Remember this one?"
For once, Hotpants seemed to be at a loss for words; just stared at my brother and me, her violet eyes wide open, along with her mouth. Finally, she muttered, "I still don't believe it..."
But there was more than acrobatics to the Japanese position Bill and I had assumed. Even more than the night before, when I rode my brother topside, the angle at which his darling dong was sticking into my squashy hole put a terrific underpressure on my clit and caused my rump to roll and my legs to snap in and out alongside Bill's body as the early spasms went steaming and streaming through my hot little body.
Little Joanie could never have made it. Wild movements were out of the question. And sudden jerking of Bill's pulled-down prick or of my exquisitely anguished clit or its surrounding area would have disengaged us in a flash. That we had to put restraints on our natural brother-sister desire to fuck the daylights out of each other made us come all the quicker and harder. My juices began streaming out of the wee bit of room Bill's whang left around the rim of my cunt right in front of our eyes. It grew thicker and whiter, looking like the squeezings from a tiny tube of toothpaste: vanishing within the lips of my pulping hole each time my brother thrust his dong deeper into me--to reappear, thicker and whiter, each time my labia followed his beloved organ, gripping at it when he pulled it partway out for another assault.
I figured it would take my brother a long while to shoot his semen into my womb, thanks to all the fuckings he'd had during the night and early morning, plus however many times he had got his rocks off in Hotpants' hole. But I hadn't counted on the erotic impact of the new position we were trying. I learned right then that it is downward pressure on a male dong that gave him the quickest and sharpest reaction (although I was later to learn that this was age-old procedure among harlots), so the pulling my cunt was giving him, plus the excitement of being able to see what we were doing, was enough to make his dear prick jump in my soppy fucking piece as if it were undergoing electric shocks--and enough to flood my internal workings with his life-giving fluid.
I was caught short, but I didn't intend to leave things in that deplorable condition. I began rolling my cunt around and keeping on with the downward pressure, at the same time squeezing it with my cervical muscles just within the gates of my cunt. This caused an increase of the white flow around the edges of where the action was, with seminal and vaginal juices mingled sweetly. But not even this was sufficient to keep that darling dong where it was so sorely needed: halfway up my sopping tunnel of love.
Desperately fishing for its waning dimensions, I put my threshing cunny through all kinds of antics until, to my horror, it slipped out and was there between us waving back and forth in the semi-darkness, only the faintest of highlights reflected from all the divine sex-sap that lacquered it from root to crown. And even as I looked, frozen by the disaster, I could see its sweet round asparagus tip begin to curl as the blood left the pillar-like veins that held it erect.
This was more than I could bear. Uttering a guttural growl, I grabbed at it with a cupped right hand. But so slippery with sex-sap was it that my hand slid right over the crown to grip empty air. I got both hands on it and, crowding up closer atop his well-spread thighs, I somehow managed to stuff this increasingly limp little sausage into my suppurating coozy.
Sitting right on his lap, my baby breasts flattened against my brother's sweat-covered chest, my belly against his, my buttocks right in on his loins, I began putting my backfield in the sort of motion it had longed to launch since this piece of arse got under way. I hugged his slippery body tight against my own and ran my cunt up and down his pillar of joy like a woodpecker drilling a hole in a tree, moving my bottom around until, at last, I felt the restiffening of my darling brother's beautiful big prick in my churning, gyrating crotch.
With that, I finally got my rocks really off. We might be fucking there yet, all these years later, if they hadn't torn the old bandstand down some little while after our memorable fucking on the rainy Saturday morning. But it didn't happen quite like that, of course. What really happened was that Harry, my father, caught us an hour or so later...
Chapter Four
I didn't know Dad was in there under the bandstand until he clapped his hands together with a noise like a pistol shot; so loud and sudden that Hotpants screamed and I was so startled I came completely unglued and my sopping crotch jumped right off Bill's still stiff prick.
I was scared shitless, but Harry wasn't looking at Bill or me or even little Joanie: he was glaring at Hotpants, who was trying to gather her bubbling boobs in one hand while she covered her cunt with the other. Like a sitting-down September Morn.
Then he said, in an unfamiliar voice of command that made me jump again, "Get dressed, kids--quick!"
Somehow, we got our clothes together and scrambled into them. Joanie was crying like a baby, of course, but she wasn't getting any sympathy from her father; Harry ignored her, and this got her so upset she pulled her blue denims on backward and had to do it all over again. The downpour had let up a little by then, but it was still raining hard, which didn't exactly lift our morale while he shepherded us into the beat-up old station wagon he uses to drive around town in when Mom has the four-door.
He drove Hotpants home first without a word. But when she tried to get out of the middle seat, he stuck an arm back and stopped her, catching her by one of the big boobs under her drenched shirt. He said, "Just a minute, Agatha ..." and, when she stopped, "I want you to keep your mouth zipped tight about this. Remember, I won't say anything about it if you don't. And that goes for your parents, too. But take some advice from an old-timer: if you want to fuck without getting caught, don't fuck under the bandstand. We all used it when we were kids, your daddy and mother, too. You might have shown a bit more originality."
Hotpants was staring at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. I knew she was busting to hear more about her parent's premarital fucking. But she held it in, figuring this was no time for that kind of chat, and said, "I guess I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."
"If you are, it's only because you weren't riding my boy's prick when I got there," he told her. "Remember, if you keep your mouth shut, you or your parents won't hear about it from me."
"I won't," she gasped. "Oh, I won't say a word and thank you very much, Mr. Davis. Thank you ...
With that, she was out of the wagon and running up the walk in the rain toward her own front door. Harry drove us home without a word. When we were inside, he said, "Get us some lunch, children. I'm sure you must be hungry after such an active morning. It's almost two o'clock."
It didn't seem possible. But it was by the kitchen wall-clock. Joanie and I rustled up some half-used ham and sliced it thick and heated it and warmed up some canned chili in a skillet with rat cheese and paprika on top of it --something we knew Dad especially liked. We piled it on platters and took it into the dining room, which Bill had set for us, and then sat down and ate it. I don't know about the others, but I felt like the proverbial condemned man eating his last hearty meal before being strapped in the electric chair. But I was so hungry I ate anyway.
When it was over, Harry pushed his chair back from the head of the table and said, "All right, Robin ... how did it start, and when, and where?"
I told him everything I knew and Bill and Joanie bore me out; Harry listened to everything, wearing his poker face, and then told us to clean up the meal, which we did. I was washing while Bill wiped; he said, "Sis, what do you suppose he's going to do to us?"
"Search me." I shrugged even though I was as scared as he was. "Maybe whale the tar out of us."
"Jesus!" my little brother said with a shudder. "My tail's still sore from the last time."
Joanie, who had just come in from dumping the garbage in the cans out back, heard us and began to cry again. Bill and I looked at each other in disgust and then Harry came into the kitchen and said, "Everybody upstairs; I want to see what shape you're in."
He had us undress in front of him, which was something that hadn't happened since I was five or six years old and looked at us, frowning, paying especial interest to our crotches. He called Bill over first to the chair he was sitting in and examined his prick and balls, then said in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "How many times since this began, son?"
"I dunno, Dad," said my kid brother. "Maybe nine or ten ... maybe a dozen."
Harry gave his son's balls a gentle squeeze and Bill flinched as if he'd been kicked in that sensitive area. Father's eyebrows went up; he said, "Son, you'd better give that thing of yours a rest for a while. That's one hell of a lot of fucking in less than twenty-four hours for a man, even in his prime."
There was a note of honest paternal admiration in Harry's voice as he added, "You'd better take a bath and lie down for a few hours. Then we'll see ..."
"What about Mom?" Bill asked.
"Don't worry about your mother," said Harry. "She phoned from Running Water to say the bridge was under water and she wasn't coming home till tomorrow. She asked me to be sure you ate lunch, which is what started me hunting for you."
"How'd you know where .. ?" Joanie asked and stopped in mid-question, her beautiful little body turning bright red all over.
Harry smiled for the first time and reached out and gave her hairless, pink slit a tweak. Then he said, "I had a pretty good idea what you were up to last night from the sounds I heard; so I figured out where kids just starting to fuck might go--after I'd called around to see if you'd gone to somebody else's house for lunch and forgotten to call--and I found you."
"You sure did, Daddy," I told him but I wasn't looking at his handsome face. Instead, I couldn't take my eyes from the bulge that looked ready to split the fly of his Saturday work-denims. I thought of Bill's little prick and all the joy it had given me and wondered what Harry's prick would feel like inside me when it was all fired up.
But he was still talking. "... you undertake this kind of life, which you all seemed determined to do, the important thing is not to get caught at it. Once you are, you're dead. In the first place, there are all kinds of laws against the things you've been doing, along with a lot of customs working against you. If you want a sexual way of life, you've got to keep it locked in with your own kind."
"What about Hotpants?" Bill asked. "She got us started. How do we handle her?"
"Play it cool for a bit," said Harry, "until we find out whether she talks or not. If she does, you can bet your mother and I will hear from the O'Houlihans. If she does keep her lip zipped, she's probably okay, though I've got good reason to distrust her father."
A strange look came over his face and he licked his lips and then said, "Let that go for now ... but she sure has the makings of a prime piece of arse."
Bill piped up with, "She can't carry a candle to Robin."
Harry looked at me appraisingly, and it was my turn to feel my naked body grow hot. Looking down, I saw that it was as red as Joanie's had been a few minutes earlier. It seemed to me that the front of his pants jumped and strained as if his prick were a wild animal trying to escape.
Harry stood up and told Bill, "Son, take your bath now and lie down." And, to us, "Girls, I'd like to talk to you."
Everybody says girls are smarter than boys when it comes to sex. But brother Bill was way ahead of Joanie and me. He said, "Gee, Dad, can't you let me come along and watch? I've still got such a lot to learn."
Harry put his head back and laughed. I'd never heard him laugh like that before, joyously, as if he loved the world because the world loved him. He seemed to drop at least ten years and right then he didn't look much older than any of us.
He put an arm around Joanie and me and drew us close to his sides and said, "Come along, children ... time to go to school." And, over his shoulder to Bill, who was sort of standing on one foot, worried lest he be left behind and out of things, "Come along, son ... the family that fucks together, sucks together."
He led us to the guest room, which had the one big bed in the house. As he began peeling off his shirt, Harry looked at the bed and remarked, "Your mother and I used to share this before ... well, that's not your problem."
When his hands dropped to his belt buckle, I could no longer resist the impulse that had been gnawing at me since I first noticed the bulge in back of his fly. I darted forward and pulled down the zipper just as he unfastened the waistband of his denims ... and the prick that jumped out was so big and beautiful it scared me.
Little Bill's cock, fully stiff, was about four-and-a-half-inches long and maybe an inch-plus in thickness. It had given me plenty of unforgettable moments of delight I'd never known existed. But Harry's cock ... words fail me!
It was pink and long and thick with bright blue veins along its rigid stalk, like the streaks in some kinds of marble or in blue cheese. It had a head like a gigantic mushroom cap that seemed to begin its swelling somewhere close to the middle of an eight-inch projection. This head resembled an orchid or some other exotic tropical flower, ranging in hues from shocking pink to imperial purple. A mole close to the tiny hole at its peak added to the excitement it offered.
Beneath it dangled a pair of balls that made brother Bill's testicles look like a pod of two peas. They looked large enough and full enough to supply a whole army of Amazons without notable depletion, and their wrinkled surface was adorned with curling dark brown hair that matched the thick bush above the cock they supplied.
Laughing softly as I grabbed this glorious paternal prick and gave it a loving squeeze, my father noted that my thumb and fingertips failed to meet around its huge circumference and said, "Better be careful, hon ... I wouldn't want to tear that lovely little cunt you're hiding between the pillars of your thighs."
"I'm not afraid," I replied. "If I can't fuck it, I'll suck it. Remember, you said ..."
"I know what I said ..." With that, Harry picked me up as easily as a baby and carried me to the big bed. There, he laid me down on my side and, facing me, put his mouth to mine. If my father was not the first man to fuck me, that honor was brother Bill's, of course, he was certainly the first who showed me what a kiss can be.
We had kissed before, of course, as affectionate father and young daughter are supposed to do-- but with the same unamorous smacks that Bill and I had exchanged while fucking the night before. As far as setting my nerve ends to tingling and my pussyjuice to flowing, they had been nothing at all.
This was before Harry grew his mustache, which was probably a good thing, since, not knowing what came with it, it might merely have tickled me and turned me off. When I tried to smack him, he pulled back and said, "Not like that, Robin--I'm not your Aunt Mary--just let your lips lie still and part them a little when you feel the tip of my tongue."
I obeyed, and the strong masculine scent of him was almost as overpowering as the gentle pressure of his lips on mine. For long moments, we simply lay there on our sides, belly to belly, breast to breast, mound to mound ... and then I felt one of his big, strong hands slide slowly down my back to caress the soft curve of my rump, pushing my slightly fuzzed pussy forward against the immense pillar that lay like a living broomstick between our bellies. With his other hand, he began massaging my nipples, sending bonus tingles through my sub-teenage body, causing me to push my mound tighter against his with my thighs slightly parted, just as his tongue slowly worked its way past the barrier of my teeth to explore the inner softness of my own small mouth.
My tongue responded, and they began to dance together, twining about one another like a pair of mating snakes, darting in and out of each other's mouths in coy games of tag whose object was solely to be caught and held briefly and sent off to a new angle of mutual approach.
While all these delights were occurring elsewhere, the hand with which my father had cupped my buttocks slid with gentle inexorability between my nether cheeks, pausing briefly to pinch the taut rim of my arsehole, making me jump with surprise and delight, a gesture that really started my juices to pumping. I rolled over on my back then, unable to wait another instant for the tremendous prick that lay pressed into the flesh of my father's belly and mine. I planted my feet wide apart with my knees bent, offering him as open a saddle as I could achieve.
Then, Harry was above me, pushing my thighs still further apart until my hipbones creaked, and I gave another convulsive leap as I felt the head of his dong brush the sopping swamp of my cuntal lips and I thrust my creaming crotch upward as if to engulf it--only to have it refuse my invitation and, instead of penetrating my eager hole, slide upward over my clit and along my questing belly.
I cried out in furious frustration, uttering words I hardly knew I knew, and grabbed for that elusive paternal prick, grabbing it with both hands and returning its rounded, purple dome to my gateway to pleasure, doing my utmost to stuff its thick circumference inside the narrow if well-oiled portals there awaiting.
But well-oiled was not quite enough. I uttered a moan of triumph as I managed, wriggling like a gaffed trout, to work perhaps an inch of the crown into my desperately hungry hole. But the roundness of Daddy's dong was against us and, when I writhed to engulf more of it, my movement caused it to slip out a second time.
I began to cry like Joanie; the first time in years. But it was the first time in my entire young life that I had felt myself robbed of a stick of candy I wanted so much. Harry was sweet. He kissed me and cozened me and told me not to worry; but all the time, right there between us as we again lay side by side, was that eight-inch dong I wanted so badly--the first fullsized, grown-man's cock I had ever had a chance to entertain in my hot little hole.
When my entire body was sticky with sex-sap, I could stand it no longer and sought to roll my father over on top of me again. But this time, he restrained me and said, "Not that way, princess. There's a better position for a situation like this. One that has gravity going for it..."
With that, he rolled over on his back and, lifting my child's body lightly, settled me on my knees astraddle his loins, as I had straddled brother Bill's loins the night before during one of our delicious pieces of juvenile tail. But with what a difference! Where my crotch had encircled the circumference of my brother's cock, with my father I was stretched to the utmost and Harry was forced to steady me with a hand high on either of my taut-skinned thighs and my crotch feeling as if it would split in two.
"Now, little darling," he said softly, "take your hand and push the head of my cock inside the lips of your darling little cunt."
For a dreadful moment, I was ruled by doubt. "But I tried that," I cried, "and it didn't work."
He said, like a schoolteacher talking to a backward pupil, "That was when you were lying on your back. Go ahead, daughter. I'm not going to hurt you. Quite the reverse."
Hesitantly, I did as he told me. Again I marveled at the rigidity and length and thickness of the massive meat that sprouted from my father's loins, as eager to bury itself in my creaming coozy as my coozy was to engulf it. I got it midway up the shaft, where the long rise of the head began to thicken and, using my other hand to spread the lips of my cunt while Harry's grip on my thighs kept me from toppling over, I worked the crown once more an inch in my twitching twat.
"Now wiggle down on it, Robin," he said. "I'm afraid to ... I don't want to lose it again ..."
"Nonsense, darling. Push down hard when I count to three. One ... two ... three!"
As I pushed my crotch downward over that heavenly horn, my father thrust upward with all the strength in his loins. Our impact was like that of two irresistible forces and, for a fearful instant, I was lifted upward on the tip of Daddy's cock until I was sure it was not going to work.
But then, there was an indescribable feeling of having my cunt stretched beyond what flesh could take, followed by a damp thocking sound and cries of delight from the foot of the big guestroom bed, where my brother Bill and little sister Joanie were sitting. All at once the stretching that had seemed about to pop the gate of my cunt was continued ever further up inside my flooded tunnel of love. Further and further, until I felt the fleshy flanges that guard the way to the womb flattened against the surrounding tissue and the most wild sensation imaginable as the mole on top of my father's cock-crown, slid past them and pushed a furrow further up inside the walls of my womb itself.
For a moment my senses as well as my hole were flooded and I feared I was going to pass out. But we lay absolutely still, giving me time to recover, and, looking down, I could actually see the miracle that had occurred. All but perhaps an inch of my father's huge adult-male prick was embedded in his daughter's sorely but sweetly distended cunt.
Determined to get all of my father's cock embedded in the creaming churn of my cunt, I wriggled and writhed and pushed myself down on that great big pillar of joy with every ounce of strength my body possessed. But to no avail. It seemed not to matter how hard I strove to get that last inch of him inside my cunt, I was destined to fail. As it was, when I really bore down on it, the great round dome of its purple crown was pressed so tightly against the uppermost wall of my womb that it actually seemed about to tear me in two. But so deep was my desire for all of Harry, that I am still convinced I would have died happy had my womb actually been ripped apart.
But all was definitely not lost. For my struggles to swallow all of that mass of meat in my creaming hole, filled as it was with a longer, thicker load than it had held thus far and lubricated as it was with the glory of my body's own fluids bore inevitable results. Within a very short time, my unreachable objective had been utterly forgotten, and I was pumping and rolling and gripping and gasping as my father began fucking me deliberately with a strong, slow steady beat.
He cupped my buttocks in his left hand, diddling my arsehole with an artful middle finger, while, with his right hand, he pushed relentlessly against my mound and his little finger found my clit and began circling it until the action sent ripples of sparks shooting through me as the deeper delights of my gyrating cunt with that lovely load cramming its every nick and corner, sent me orbiting somewhere way out beyond the moon.
Then, my father pressed even harder against my mound, grinding the thin coat of reddish hair just beginning to sprout right into the tender marshmallow flesh from which it grew. As he did so, he lifted me slowly on the thick spire of his solidly embedded prick. For a moment, I thought he was trying to disengage and cried out in near-hysterical alarm at the mere thought of losing him at such a time.
But such was not my father's idea. Not at all; though I was not sufficiently acquainted with him sexually as yet to know the folly of my fear. As my creaming crotch was slowly hoisted high on his sopping prong, he manipulated me with both hands so that my cunt was pushed backward and that fascinating mole began making a slow downward furrow in the lower portion of the front of my vagina. The sensation was so utterly exquisite that I screamed and almost fainted. And when its pressure slid against the inner side of my clit, I actually did pass out.
Chapter Five
When I came out of it, I was lying flat against my father's well-furred chest, my little boobs squashed against its furry hardness. And that tremendous cock was still embedded in my cunt to the very tip with something to spare at the root. Harry was rubbing my back gently with both hands flat on my steaming skin, stroking me like a kitten. I felt so happy that I hugged him and kissed him, and once again our tongues played hide and seek in each other's mouths and I knew that I had never been so happy in all of my not-quite-twelve years.
As Daddy returned my kiss, his hands slid on down off my back and, gripping my rump with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh on either side of my arsehole, he began moving my bottom in circles around the maypole that had already brought it such deep pleasure. And deep was the word for Harry's maypole. I felt as if I were holding a telephone pole in my little-girl hole.
But it was in there; and as deep as my tunnel of love would permit. That was all that really mattered. In less than twenty-four hours from my first piece of tail and still under twelve years old, I had proved I could fuck a man: more, I had fucked Harry, my father, the man I adored above all other males.
Fucking first with brother Bill had been beautiful. And I knew we were going to have lots of marvelous times with his stiff little prick in my creaming coozy before we grew up. But having my father in there was something else. He was obviously a natural-born fucker who had perfected what nature gave him over the years of his youth and maturity until he knew more little tricks to bring a girl on than most other men even hear about in their lifetimes. Even though I had no real standard of comparison, I could tell by my reactions that Harry was special.
This, plus the fact that he was my beloved father, sent thrills of pride through me. Thrills of pride that quickly turned to thrills of an entirely different nature as he continued rolling my cunt around on his prick. As my whole body began to come around that marvelous spear in my rocking and rolling guts, I sobbed and sighed and gripped the mat of hair on his chest and splashed my cunt up and down on that dynamic dong until I seemed to be washed away by the flood of my own fluids, a flood composed of pussyjuice and sweat that poured from my pores until I became as slippery as an eel.
Only then, through the golden veil of the ecstasy that engulfed me, did I feel the sudden leap of his cock in the suffusing swamp of my hole that, as I had already learned from my little brother, spelled out the imminence of his orgasm. But the convulsions of that cannon of a cock made the little skippings of Bill's prick seem like those of a pebble cast out on a mud-puddle compared to the tidal waves that preceded my father's discharge. When the sperm came shooting out, it came so hard that it seemed about to penetrate the top of my uterus. But the wall held and it flooded out around the head of Daddy's prick and down the stalk until it added to the already ample flooding of my crotch.
When, at last, it was over, Harry lay there, letting his meat slowly dwindle until, at last, that noble crown was all that remained in the mire of my pussy. A minute or so later, even that departed, separating from the relaxed grasp of my labia with a soppy sound of suction. It had taken several minutes, enough to let me down gently from the Everest-peak to which his fucking had raised me. A delicious lassitude overwhelmed me. When Daddy pushed me gently toward the edge of the bed, I made no resistance, nor did I feel jealousy when he reached for my ebulliently built little sister, Joanie, and pulled her close and began kissing her boobs and fondling her crazy little cunt.
I was glad to watch for a bit and let the sweet afterwaves of voluptuous delight swirl ever more slowly through my entire spent body.
After a bit, Harry said, holding Joanie clear of him, "Before we try our fucking pieces on for size, let's lick each other clean ..." and, when Joanie looked unhappy, he caressed her clit and said, "Come on, put your adorable little bottom up where Daddy can get at it."
I had never watched a sixty-nine before--or behind, either. It was fascinating to watch an expert at work, even if the other half of the team was a rank amateur. As he licked my little sister's crotch, my father occasionally had to lift his handsome head to direct his younger daughter in her work; and Joanie was as inept a sucker as she was a fucker. Yet, from his sage directions, I learned, for instance,, that the seam along the bottom of a man's prick is its most sensitive area, also that it is licking along it toward the head of the cock that gives him the greatest stimulus.
As I watched the interplay of their beautiful bodies, I found myself moved toward participation rather than continuing to play the role of mere spectator. I looked over at Bill, who was curled up against one of the bedposts at its foot, and saw the tip of his relatively little dong protruding through the crack made by his held-together thighs.
Sliding over toward him, I took him into my arms and kissed him and thrust my tongue into his mouth and explored its depths. How small and different it was from the mature mouth of our father. Yet how sweet to delve into! Bill responded to my embrace, not only joining happily in the interplay of our tongues, but sliding a hand into my still-creaming crotch and poking a forefinger into my cunt. I wriggled against it, enjoying the minor-league orgasm this gesture caused to erupt inside me, and cupped my hand over the head of his darling little pink cock.
We broke our sweet kiss voluntarily and both looked over at Dad and Joanie. Our little sister lay flat on her back now, with her legs spread wide on the coverlet and the little red eye of her cunt fully exposed and well lathered with the white cream our father's tongue had caused to flow. Above it, her pink, unhaired mound seemed to palpitate in anticipation as Daddy prepared to seek entry into her cunt with his huge stiff dick.
Bill whispered, "He'll never make it ... she's too small."
"Smaller than I am?" I asked.
He nodded and kissed my erect nipples slowly, then added, lifting his head, "Not much, but a little. She's even tight around my prick."
He looked down at his cock as he said this, and I could feel its upward thrust within the cupped palm of my hand. I laughed from sheer delight and kissed him again and he responded by pulling me onto his lap and opening his little thighs so that his dong stuck straight up like an anti-aircraft cannon. Sure, it was small compared to our father's fantastic genital equipment, but it was there and it was sweet and it was ready.
I spread my own thighs and lay back across the foot of the bed and pulled the little darling with me. His darling dong slid into my creaming coozy without manual direction, like a hungry pony that knows its own way back to the barn and its bag of oats. Maybe it failed to fill my flooding hole so tightly that it threatened to burst the seams, but it felt delicious inside of me for all that, and I began to wriggle my bottom slowly to send whole shoals of thrills through my delighted body, and he responded so happily that, almost before we were fully united, I came all over the place and was rewarded by feeling his sperm explode into my happily occupied cunt.
With that out of the way, we remained, still joined and with my brother on top of my naked flesh, our heads turned sideways to watch the action on the other part of the big bed.
Our father had sat up, with his legs hanging over the side. And, if brother Bill's prick resembled an anti-aircraft cannon in erection, Dad's looked like Big Bertha of World War One fame, ready to bombard Paris from ninety miles away --except that he held his younger daughter a lot closer than that.
Evidently, as with me, he had been unable to push the huge head of his pink-and-purple prick into the smallness of Joanie's hole while she lay underneath him as I was lying underneath my darling little brother. As we turned our attention their way, he was in the act of lifting Joanie's burgeoning little body in the air in front of him and placing her athwart his thighs for the same purpose he had put me on top of him, to "let gravity help."
Bill said, "He'll never make it," and I agreed, giving my cunt a slow roll for kicks.
But we were both about to learn a lesson in regard to the elasticity of the female cunt; and, if that's redundant, make the most of it!
My kid sister was always amazingly limber, sort of double-jointed all over. And, as my brother Bill and I watched, following Harry's instructions, and with her father's strong hands helping, she went into a regular dancer's split right over his thick and eager whang, which stood up, swaying a little as its owner shifted his rump, like a hooded king cobra about to strike.
But this strike, when it came, was in the slowest of slow motion. Thanks to being able to spread her legs so completely apart, Joanie's tight little-girl cunt was thrust forward and downward with its creaming labia just caressing the top of the dome of Daddy's purple crown. And, little by little, her tiny cunt stretched and swallowed it. Slowly, slowly, slowly ... first its thick head, then its stalk, was devoured by the cunt of the little girl who had been spawned by its liquid seed.
Knowing how tightly my own cunt had felt when our father worked that big thick prick into my flooding guts, I watched Joanie's pretty little face as well as what was happening downstairs. Her ordinarily sweet expression, aglow with anticipation of the family fucking she was about to receive, suddenly became one of alarm as that massive meat worked its way inexorably into her flooding guts. Her burgeoning boobs broke out in goosebumps with her darling little nipples sticking straight out in front of her chest as, wriggling a little from time to time, she slowly encompassed her sire's velvet-steel dong.
For a moment or two, I thought she was going to get all of it into her hole--something I had been unable to accomplish despite being two years older and all-over bigger than she. But when her sopping cuntal lips got within an inch and a half of its roots in Harry's hairy scrotum, it halted its slow downward process. An expression of distress crossed her darling face then and she wriggled her crotch more actively in an effort to render their father-daughter union complete--but to no avail as far as getting more of her daddy into her overstuffed little hole.
In other ways, however, this final preliminary wriggle paid off in spades: for Joanie's sweet little-girl body turned bright red and her eyes glazed as it was obvious that a great tidal wave of voluptuous delight was sweeping through her. She held her lush little lower lip with her pearly teeth and, planting both hands on Daddy's flat belly, with her legs still sticking straight out on either side, she began hoisting and lowering her cunt up and down, up and down, on Daddy's mammoth prick.
Evidently, the swiftness and vigor of her fucking assault caught Harry by surprise, for he chuckled and said, "Why, you little devil .. !" and then swung into counteraction himself, cupping a hand under her plunging rump and digging the other into her stand-up clit just above the soaking sweetness where his prong and his daughter's labia met and merged.
This caused Joanie to begin uttering little rhythmic sobs of ecstasy and to put her creaming crotch into the wild gyrations that had spoiled most of her efforts to fuck brother Bill by causing her hole to fly off his embedded cock. But Harry's mace was twice as long and nearly twice as thick--a big enough pole planted deeply enough in her gyrating guts to make it impossible for her to lose it.
Daddy rocked his baby girl in all directions, thanks to his double grip, and Joanie did more than her own share of the action, her hair and boobs flying in all directions as she kept ramming that hot little cunt of hers down on her father's fucking piece until I thought she had lost her mind. Her big brown eyes were half-lidded and the flush of her sweet little body grew brighter still until, without warning, she stopped all motion and went rigid all over.
Daddy uttered a resounding, "Oh, shit!" and slowed down his own activity. I never admired him more when I saw how gently he handled his little girl, remaining embedded in her while he held her in place and stroked her belly and bottom, holding in check his own passionate desire, until, again without warning, her eyes opened and she gasped and cried, "Oh, Daddy, I must have passed out... I'm sorry."
"It's all right, darling," he said and began thrusting his still-stiff prick in and out of her pumping hole.
Joanie shuddered all over for a moment and then riposted in kind but with somewhat slower and less frantic action than earlier. They moved in perfect unison in the sweetest of all dances until, with his lips tightening, Harry said, "I'm on my way."
His balls seemed to jump as they sent the sperm into his impaled prick and he gripped her loins tightly, holding her as deep as her tunnel of love permitted, while he sent that wonderful white liquid spurting into his little girl's womb. She gave a great start as it bounced off the top of her uterus and then seemed to turn to jelly all over, collapsing on her father's sweat-slippery body as if every bone in her own had melted under the heat of the fucking her sire had just given her.
Without thinking, Billy said, "I didn't think Joanie had it in her ..." A remark which caused me to say, "That's one of the dumbest things you ever said, darling," and he grinned and said, "You know, sis ... I guess it is."
"That show's over," I told him, putting my own crotch into overdrive. "Let's get this one on the bed ..."
He pulled back so that all my creaming cunt could get of his darling little cock was the very tip. And while I thrust and nipped at it desperately and called him all sorts of vile names, he teased me with it, pushing it just inside the gates of my tunnel of love, then pulling it out again to skirmish with me from another angle. I clutched at his cock, intending to put it inside me myself, but he brushed my clutching fingers away and, pinioning my arms, grinned down at me like an imp of Satan.
"You want it?" he mocked.
"You know I do, shitzy," I told him.
"Then no more wisecracks ..."
"I promise ... I promise .. why, you .. !"
This last as he pulled his pretty little prick completely out of me, leaving my hole empty in full flood. But I never finished the expletive, because he had only withdrawn to make his return to the sweet conflict the more memorable, driving his prick into my empty cunt with such force that our mounds came together so hard they hurt. But this was a delightful sort of pain, one that I was only too happy to endure time after time ... as my little brother would pull his darling dong out ever so slowly until, once again it barely remained within the outerworks of my portal of pleasure, then ramming it home so hard and fast the impact left me shuddering from head to toes.
Then, when we had had enough of this style of fucking, he ground rather than drove his prick into my suffusing cunt and held it there, pushed into me as far as it would go, while we circled our fucking pieces and began to enjoy the most pleasurable piece of arse the two of us had yet achieved together. Bill may have lacked Daddy's mastodonic dimensions and vast experience, but he was a born fucker as we all were except for Mom. Even little Joanie, now that she was learning how to maintain a cock in her cunt while she was getting her rocks off. I learned something important right then: size is definitely not the most important element in attaining a good fuck; inventiveness, innate rhythm and sheer enjoyment of doing it have to rank ahead of mere dimensions.
All of which is to say that the two of us were having a real ball--fucking there on the big guest bed while our father slowly brought his younger daughter back to normality.
I was proud of the newly discovered talent the three of us kids had so recently discovered; even though, as yet, I had no idea where it would take us, especially me. I was proud as punch of Daddy, too, now that I had known the delight of his big bucking prick in my hot little cunt. And proud of brother Bill and of myself, with a special sort of pride in little sister Joanie, now that she had proved so unexpectedly able to handle a prick in her hole so big that neither Bill nor I had ever expected she could manage to get inside her tiny orifice.
As Bill sent me into leaping climaxes with the adroitness of his fucking, I reveled in the entire process of fucking ... in the smells, the slap of balls against my crotch each time my brother rammed his stiff little cock into me as far as it would go. I loved the slick slippery feeling of his sweaty flesh on mine and the marvelous wetness that seemed to fill not only my cunt but my crotch and inner thighs and lower belly as well with its sticky sweetness. Of course, I loved most of all the marvelous sensations produced by the running of my brother's darling dong in and around and out of the most heavenly organ a girl possesses.
Talk about heaven can wait; I had it right there in my flooding cunt as soon as Dad or Bill poked one of their pricks past its opening muscle. So who had to wait for it? Most beautiful of all was the realization at eleven years old, that, barring accidents, I had a whole lifetime of fucking still ahead of me. I was even a little bit jealous of Joanie just then because she had got a start two years earlier than I had.
I began lifting my crotch straight up and down, and brother Bill timed his onslaughts so that he achieved maximum penetration of my thrusting cunt just as I attained the crest, sending showers of delicious sparks each time our sopping if scanty hairs met and my labia were mashed between our crotches and his all but hairless balls tickled the area around my arse-hole.
After maybe three dozen such movements, I peaked and began grabbing his dong with the muscles of my frantic cunt and circling my crotch and holding him tight on top of me ... with the result that my brother came so hard and so fast I barely had time to adjust my hole to receive his spurting sperm in the writhing, convulsed core of my young body.
With his load spent, in spite of my frantic efforts, my brother's dong dwindled in my swampy cunt until I could no longer hold even the tip of its crown within my labia. He was shot down, and who could blame him? For a mere kid, he had performed with more endurance than a majority of adult males over a period of less than twenty hours: first with Joanie, then with Joanie and me, then with Hotpants and Joanie and me, then with Joanie and me.
It was no disgrace for a boy of ten to be shot down after such a marathon, but I was too green to realize it... and I was in a veritable fury at having been abandoned while my own climaxes were still at high tide. Every nerve-end in my body screamed for further repletion in my cunt, and I leaped for Bill's sadly dwindled cock and sucked and pulled at it desperately, trying to get it back in fucking condition--but to no avail.
He was half-sitting up against the headboard, with his legs wide apart, while I was down on my hands and knees, digging at his prick with my fevered lips and tongue and, finally, my teeth.
When my frustration grew unbearable, I actually bit into poor Bill's dong, causing him to scream and begin beating at my red head with his fists. Vaguely, I heard Harry's voice somewhere behind me say, "That's not the answer, son, this is what she needs!"
With that, strong hands pulled my buttocks roughly apart, exposing my crotch completely to the rear. Once again, I felt the length and thickness of my father's gigantic prick entering the wet haven of my hole, this time from behind. Nor was there anything deliberate about this piece of tail. To give poor Bill relief, Daddy just jammed that adorable monster jock of his into me as hard and fast as he could, causing the mole atop its crown to plow a furrow up the underside of my tunnel of love that made me gasp with shock and delight, thus giving my brother opportunity to reclaim his little cock from my temporarily untender ministrations ...
Chapter Six
Finding myself so unexpectedly and happily assuaged, even while these repeated delicious paternal assaults on my half-crazed cunt from the rear were making my body a vortex of voluptuous rapture, I retained sufficient wit to put my rump into a posture guaranteed to give me the most of what my father was jamming into my creaming hole. Forgetting my brother and his temporarily useless little prick entirely, I made no effort to restrain his rolling clear of my face. Then I put my head down sideways on my folded arms and planted my knees well apart on the sex-stained coverlet, thus increasing Harry's ease of access to my upthrust twat and enabling me to return a countercharge for each charge he delivered into my swamping cunt in any degree and direction I pleased.
There were, for me at that time in my early life, added compensations for such an assault from behind: in this position I was able to contain all of Daddy's dong, the entire eight inches of its splendid erectile dimensions. Thus, I could actually grip its very root with my creaming labia, even while its great round bulb of a head with that delicious mole right on top, filled my uterus to the bursting point with each forceful delivery, causing ripples of irresistible delight to engulf me.
While I enjoyed the thrust and withdrawal of Harry's magnificent codpiece in my slithering guts, I wanted all of him in there steadily, wanted the feel of those well-furred testicles, so unlike my brother Bill's smaller, hairless balls, prodding the tender backs of my upper thighs continuously. So I began pushing backward with my juicing cunt as he pulled partway out of me for another assault, thus letting him know how sorely I wished him to hold his fullness where it would do me the most good, gripping that massive meat as tightly as the distended condition of my coozy permitted and thereby adding to both our enjoyments immeasurably.
After a half-dozen such efforts on my part, Daddy got the idea and, sliding his hands around my thighs and under my belly, pushed forward more slowly, the while he drew my convulsing crotch tight against his own loins.
Thus, for the first time, our pubic hairs met and meshed in sopping union and his balls were pressed against my thigh-backs while that beautiful prick seemed to fill me all the way up to my tonsils from within.
There we rested for long, delicious moments, completely intersticed, while the sweetness of the sensations that swept through and over me became delectably unbearable. Such a situation, for all that it was wholly delectable, could not continue indefinitely, of course. The self-control required to remain absolutely still with such a viable piece of male meat stuffed into my welling insides was far beyond any self-control I could muster, beyond that of any woman fond enough of fucking to let such a prong fill her where nature intended her to be filled.
Darling Daddy actually set off our ultimate explosion by using the naughty fingers of both the hands at the base of my shuddering belly to dig into the top of my near-hairless cleft, normally just above my juicing hole but, in this position, directly beneath it. The tips of his forefingers converged unerringly on my little pink clit, which had long since abandoned its normal covers of tissue and was sticking out as straight as my nipples ... which last, in their aching need of fondling, I discovered I could caress myself with the fingers of my folded hands, thus increasing the delights Daddy's cock in my cunt was giving me in no small measure.
But it was Harry's fingertips on my clit that really detonated the inevitable explosion of sheer animal lust that followed. Gently at first, then with slowly increasing pressure, they squeezed at the sides of my sex-button as if it were a pimple that needed bursting ... until I uttered a sound that was more scream than grunt and shook my middle madly back and forth in an effort to free my clit from his unendurable double pressure.
It was this involuntary maneuver that really sent the balloon up ... just as the torture my button was receiving became unexpected and unalloyed pleasure. I thrashed my rump about wildly and, if I caused my father's fingertips to slip clear of my spasming clit, right then I could not have cared less. The whole universe had exploded into action that centered in and around my pulsing cunt and all other considerations were swept by the board.
The wildness of my gyrations must have caused my cunny to lose its grip on any meat less long and massive than that which was reaming it wildly. I fucked my father, and my father fucked me until I could feel my own pussyjuice trickling down the backs of my thighs, to be mashed and spread by the smacking repeated swings of his balls against that same soft surface, and my twat seemed to have developed a lust-crazed will of its own.
There was no thought, no direction to such madness. My convulsing cunt did what it willed, what it had to do, with that perfect paternal prick leaping inward and outward and rotating right with it. I peaked and peaked and peaked again, until the ever-rising climaxes that gripped me in rapid succession seemed to flow together into one vast continuing orgasm that would never end.
It continued long after Daddy had sent his sperm shooting deep in my innermost recesses ... to be stirred by the repeated thrusts of his raging dong like fluid in a blender and to add its sweet slippery slickness to the juices already welling from my flying twat and making a marvelous mess of my thighs. We kept right on fucking until Daddy's dong bucked and spermed again in my churning womb. Even then it took us both a long time to slow down and, regretfully, to separate our sated fucking pieces.
Turning me over, Harry lifted my sweat-soaked young body across his thighs, and, cradling me there with the wilted splendor of his sticky prick pushing gently against my rump, kissed me tenderly: first my forehead, then my eyes, then my lips and throat; working slowly and fondly down over my still shuddering torso with its minescular little buds of breasts, until his tongue slid slowly over the flat curve of by belly and sucked at the top of my cleft. I parted my quivering thighs to give him access to my more intimate areas and, lifting my rump to make things easier still, he carefully licked my whole crotch clean of the white sticky sex-sap and semen that encrusted it.
Although I had thought myself entirely fucked out, such tender ministrations by Harry caused my cunt to begin juicing afresh. Nor was its spate lessened when he stuck a thick strong tongue past its outer barriers and began playing it around inside me as he had played it inside my mouth earlier. By this time, I was ripe as an early autumn peach for another fucking and begged Daddy to stick his darling dong into me where it would allay the fevers his tongue had caused to rage within me.
"Please, Harry," I begged, "fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me before I go crazy .. !"
But Daddy looked down at me with laughter in his beautiful brown eyes and said gently, "We mustn't be pigs, darling daughter ... not if we're going to make this relationship work. I've been getting you ready for Bill."
"But ..." I began, leaving my protest unfinished as, turning my head, I discovered what brother Bill and little Joanie were doing.
It was all too evident that my baby sister had decided to help restore our brother's lagging little prick by performing more gently what I had done so cruelly before Harry came to both our reliefs.
Her lovely little brown head looked affixed to his loins as she sucked and pulled at her brother's prick--and evidently with the desired effectiveness; for, when she pulled her head back, a good expanse of rigid pink stalk protruded from the crease where the tops of his thighs met. But Bill, being the generous and loving brother that he is, had not let his little sister go unrequited ... for he had so arranged them that his head was fully occupied in the tiny area of her cunt. And it was evident both to Daddy and to me that, in this instance, the pre-sexual play had developed into the game itself, for the two little darlings seemed wholly and happily preoccupied with what they were doing to one another's sucking pieces.
I looked up at Daddy again and said, "I don't think we ought to interrupt them, do you, Harry?"
He shook his handsome head and said, "Well I guess you and I will just have to make the best of it, honey."
I said, "We will... you know we will!"
Already, though he was holding my little-girl body well above his thighs, I could feel the great round head of my father's prick brushing my quivering buttocks, and all I desired was to hold it once more in my juicing tunnel of love. Harry laid me tenderly on my back and, looking down at me with love in his eyes, said, "I think you're ready to receive me underneath now, darling daughter."
"Goody!" I cried, thrusting my cunt upward with my legs wide apart to make access easier. "Sock it to me, Daddy dear ... all the way home!"
For one awful moment, I feared that my cunt would once again reject the very prick that had given me life while I was in a supine position. With that mind of its own, remembering the previous failure of Harry's huge cock to penetrate it effectively from above, my cunt closed up as if someone had sprayed alum or some other astringent all over it.
Fortunately, Daddy's prick had some memories, too, memories that included the terrific plumbings it had given that same hesitant hole already. And my father, knowing from sweet experience that my cunt could contain his mastodonic meat without harm, was not taking no for an answer, either. With a thrilling disregard for any and all obstacles, he simply laid his prong in there, with its head separating my trembling nymphae and labia, and then pushed right on inside. For an instant, the round muscle at the very entrance of my hole, played stubborn. Then it was forced into a wider and wider ring as Daddy's dong with its big-bulbed head, kept right on into me. There was still too much sex-sap for any real or prolonged resistance, and suddenly darling Daddy was through and the bump of a mole on the top of his cock-head was running a groove along the top of my tunnel, from its mouth, pushing upward against my clit from below, then on up the tunnel until it pressed exquisitely against the tender flanges of my womb-gate ... and then on through the final barrier to fill my sub-teenage tunnel to the very top, where it rested in triumph.
Sliding both my little hands downward between our clinging belly-flesh, I worked them into my crotch, where my cuntal lips gripped the inches or more of Daddy's long thick stem that my tunnel of love was still too short to contain in its once-again flooding depths. I teased this delicious stem with my thumbs and forefingers, enjoying the sensation of rubbing Daddy's wet curly pubic hairs back and forth against the vein-ribbed skin of his stalk ... and was able with my other fingers to explore the furred soft surface of his balls just below.
Harry seemed to enjoy this extra stimulation, for he uttered a grunt of pleasure and widened the area between his thighs to make access easier to his testicles ... an act that spread wider my already taut-stretched crotch as it opened me wide. Without disturbing my genital finger-play, "he began rolling his body in a slow grind, causing his embedded cock to put slow but inexorable pressure on every square millimeter of my vulva and send the matchless delights of climax surging outward from the distended hollow tube between my pulsing womb and the throbbings of my overstuffed cunt.
In a little while, things grew far too active for me to continue fingerfucking the man who was fucking me, and I could only grip the sides of his loins and start pumping my delirious cunny up and down and around on the mastodonic pillar of joy that was plumbing my guts with the inexorable steady beat of a metronome.
I began coming with each slow thrust of Daddy's dong into my creaming twat, and coming with a whole different set of sensations as he slowly withdrew a part of that gorgeous cock for another impalement. All the time, with that crazy mole on its top giving me added convulsions no matter which way it moved ... or even when it didn't move at all, which was seldom from then on during this royal bang we were giving each other.
Daddy didn't go for doubles this time, which was just as well, for I was on the very edge of hysteria when, at last, I felt the blunderbuss emission of his sperm in my suffusing womb and the subsequent diminution of both our activities and Harry's dick. When we came down off the mountain, we were just in time to see brother Bill and little Joanie, who had abandoned their sixty-nining to imitate Harry and me, complete a straight old-fashioned fucking with Bill on top, pumping his active little dong in and out of his little sister's wet hole so rapidly he reminded me of a riveting machine.
Little Joanie's body was a bright cherry red, which meant she was either embarrassed or coming, and from the uninhibited way her rump was bouncing around, I didn't for a moment really think she might be embarrassed. She managed to lose brother Bill's white-lathered prick again. But this time, he was ready for it and, grabbing the backs of her upthrust thighs so hard that she yelped, he held her steady enough to poke his prick back into Joanie's wet hole without manual assistance.
Right then, I knew neither Bill nor Joanie was going to be a lousy lay. Not that I'd been worried about Bill. He still had a lot of growing to do, and some of it would be in the prick department. And I'd never worried about myself. From the moment I found out what fucking was, from Hotpants and some of the older girls in school, I'd been dying to do it and without a tremor of fear or self-consciousness. I knew I was going to be great at it--and I was and remain so to this day, a half-dozen years later.
But Joanie's problems, I decided as she finished off her brother and herself nicely, with a series of convolutions of her cunt calculated to draw sperm from an old-time tobacco-store wooden Indian ... Joanie's problems had been entirely due to her extreme youth and her over-eagerness to play grown-up games.
I said as much to Harry, who was smoking a cigarette and he nodded. "She'll be fine," he said, "once she learns not to work quite so hard at it. Being frantic doesn't make it any better... quite the reverse."
"If she hadn't made it with you, Daddy," I said, "she'd still be fouling out and bawling over it."
"She's only a child," he told me. Then, "Believe it or not, so are you, Robin."
"I know ..." I reached for his limp, sticky prick, large even in the flaccidity with which it reposed on the double cushion of his balls, and fondled it, then added, "but right now I don't exactly feel like a kid."
He slid a palm over my all-but-hairless pubic mound and gave it a loving squeeze and said, "Fucking's not all you've got to learn, sweetheart ... there's a whole lot else to living."
"What else matters?" I demanded, tightening my grip on Daddy's big limp prick.
He blew smoke in my face and smiled and said, "You've got a point, Robin."
"And so have you ..." I began kneading my father's cock and cooed with delight as once again it began its slow growth to full erectile proportions. He moved to push my hand away with his free hand, but then evidently thought better of it and let me continue ... permitting his free hand to return to my mound, where he slid it deftly into my crotch in such a way that he could diddle my clit with his thumb and my twat with the rest of his fingers; after a bit, even digging with his little finger deep enough to give my tight little arsehole a workover.
I spasmed, and my wriggling reaction caused my father's cock once again to become truly outstanding, rising to the proportion of a high-velocity cannon: no mere anti-aircraft gun this, but a veritable Big Bertha. I cupped its imperial purple-and-pink crown in my hand, which could barely contain it. Daddy crotch-lifted me with one hand and placed me right over it, taking a final long puff on his cigarette as I settled my happy cunt down over it once again.
He stubbed the cigarette out on the table alongside the big bed, and just lay there while I pumped up and down on his rigid dong, smiling up at me fondly with his hands folded at the back of his neck. Brother Bill and little Joanie, looking somewhat tousled from the sucking and fucking just finished, curled up comfortable alongside us to watch, surfeited with sex for the time being, if Harry and I were not.
It was all very comfortable and cosy, especially when Daddy extended a hand and harpooned Joanie's tiny cunt from beneath with a hooked forefinger as she maintained a handgrip on our brother's limp dick, which had once again lost its sizing and was hanging limp.
"Kids," Daddy said when I calmed down to see why he was not doing any of the fucking, "one hell of a lot has happened since yesterday. Now, I don't know how you children feel, but this is the best thing that's happened to me since ... well, in many years."
We chorused our fond agreement and, after blessing us and giving his prick a slight twist which sent me right through the ceiling, he said, "I want to go right on fucking you girls as long as I can, and, as long as you want to fuck Bill and me, I don't see why we can't ... unless somebody stops us."
"Who'd want to do that?" Little Joanie asked.
Harry smiled at her fondly and shook his head and said, "A lot of people, darling ... most of the world, in fact. So the first thing we must do is make sure the rest of the world doesn't find out about our little secret. If they do ... we'll be lucky to stay out of institutions, much less to keep together."
"What about Mom?" brother Bill asked.
"You'd better keep her out of it ... at least until and unless I feel the time has come to let her in on it. Your mother has some very old-fashioned ideas about this sort of thing ... in fact, that's been our chief trouble since Joanie was born. No, we'll work it without Mom for now."
"And what about Hotpants O'Houlihan?" I asked.
"What about her?" Daddy asked.
"She's smart as a whippet," I said. "If we do all our fucking in the family as it were, she'll wonder why Bill and I aren't screwing around with the kids."
Daddy laughed and gave my clit another squeeze and said, "So screw around ... I'm not selfish and you should do some of your fucking with your peer group. You're young enough to have plenty to spare. But what the four of us do is our business. I'll work out the details so we can keep it from getting out ... even to your mother."
"When is Mom coming back?" Bill asked.
"She's going to call me when the road is open from Running Water," said Harry. "But there's something else. I want you kids to keep up your schoolwork; a little learning never hurt anyone, and it will help our cover if you get high marks. You're all bright enough so it shouldn't be too hard. I'll help if the going gets lumpy. We're a model family, and you're all model kids and want to make your mother very, very happy."
He winked at us and then added, "But not as happy as the four of us are going to be--am I right?"
The other two flung themselves on him in an excess of affection, kissing him and hugging him so heartily that I was almost flung from my perch. Lecture or not, this piece of involuntary movement got my sex-engines revving in high gear. They hadn't exactly been in neutral even while Daddy was talking to us ... and I began bucking and rolling all over that wonderful big paternal prick packed tight in my convulsing guts. Harry pushed the others off and got hold of my raging rump and enforced a rhythmic discipline that had us moving together in the sweetest of all dances until, in due course, we were pumping our juices at each other one more wonderful time.
Chapter Seven
Well, that's how it all began. A lot of things happened in the next six years, of course, but as far as the four of us were concerned they were just about all good. We fucked together and we sucked together, and even if Mom got to know what taking inventory meant, she never interfered but just went her own way. She turned more and more to church activities, which didn't do any harm to the image our darling daddy had in mind for us as a model family in Riverville.
We went to school and looked neat and got top marks. We had every reason to work, I mean who'd want to fool around with all that wonderful fucking right at home. We thrived on love, and Bill grew up to be a hell of a nice-mannered, good-looking kid. He grew up in the prick department, too, though he never quite matched Harry; and Bill lacked that marvelous mole on the tip of his dong.
As for us girls, little Joanie turned into a real living doll. She had the cutest baby fat all over, the kind that drives the boys wild, and her boobs lived up to their early promise. With her thick mane of dark brown hair and beautiful big brown eyes and lush little mouth and slender waist and legs, she crammed a bikini like a cornucopia just bursting with goodies. Yet she confined her cuntal activities pretty much to the family and had a spotless reputation with the mothers of Riverville.
It was a little different with me. I had the rep of being the wild one. Where male cocks are concerned, I'm incurably experimental, though I took damned good care never to get caught after that time when Harry caught Bill and me under the bandstand. After all, what are motels for?
But, inevitably, there was a certain amount of gossip, even if the town busybodies couldn't prove anything and the boys and men I fucked weren't going to admit anything and spoil the chance of an encore. I knew how to keep them in line, and with Daddy to advise me, there was never a hint of trouble.
One of the reasons I fucked around as much as I did was that I wanted to prove to myself that my father was the best piece of arse in the world: with that thick eight-inch whang and mole on its tip and all that loving instinct and knowledge of how to use it to make a girl deliriously happy. Also, in the back of my mind, there was a thought that, if any man could out-fuck Daddy, having his prick in my hole would be a truly memorable experience.
But, man or boy, I hadn't found one yet. Roger Lamson had a thick, short cock and came too quickly, while Hotpants O'Houlihan's old man had a prick, like a darning needle that didn't fill a girl's cunt half as well as Daddy's.
As I had felt from the first, Hotpants had to be let in on our act. But she was the only outsider who ever took part in our fucking sessions, and she kept her cute little mouth shut about it so there was no harm done. She couldn't romp with us every night, of course, but at least once a week she made it. It wasn't too bad, having another girl in the act now and then; not with guys like Daddy and brother Bill, who could fuck all night and be ready for more in the morning. Besides, it made things better for the males when one of us got the curse, something that began for me very shortly after our first glorious weekend and for little Joanie a couple of years later.
Mom was a sound sleeper, and we took to giving her a mild opiate in her ten o'clock milk every evening, so she would not be disturbed by what the rest of us were doing. Then we'd adjourn either to the guest room or the one we kids shared and pleasure ourselves till one in the morning. Fridays and Saturdays, Daddy let us fuck until we'd had enough, but he was very strict about our getting enough sleep during school nights.
Hotpants and I double-dated a lot when we ramcatted around outside the family. We had a sort of code that used to drive our dates crazy. Hotpants was as fond of father's beautiful cock as I was, which gave us an added bond, and when we were having a fourball with a couple of guys in some motel room, or occasionally in a car or even on the grass somewhere out in the country, we'd talk back and forth right in the middle of fucking.
Like this:
She'd call over to me and say, "How does yours stack up, Robin, dear?"
And I'd thrust at the anonymous cock in my creaming cunt and say, "Oh, about a five point nine. How about yours?"
She'd give her curvaceous rump a couple of rolls and say, "This one's about seven-three."
"You've got to be kidding ..."
"Try it for yourself," she'd say and pull her cunt right off the cock that was fucking her, and I'd do the same and we'd change places and confirm our findings as if we were trying on clothes at the Bon Ton. We'd worked out a system of measuring pricks with our cunts, using Daddy's as the standard, and his eight inches as the mark to beat. It used to drive the boys right out of their hot little minds, but we never told them what it was all about and nobody ever caught on to it.
Hotpants was a terrific lay once Harry taught her the ABC's of fucking, and she got almost as much fun out of it as I did. We used to call ourselves the Two-Ring Circus. Every so often we'd take a night off and really put a couple of the local or visiting studs through their paces. Everybody had a ball and nobody ever got hurt.
Once, when her parents went on a trip with the Lamsons, Hotpants had us over and we went down to the rumpus room after locking the house up tight, and Harry ran off some of the X-rated movies her parents liked to watch and emulate Saturday nights.
The room was really a small projection room with a quartet of wide leather couches instead of regular seats, and there was a well-equipped little bar in the corner. Daddy was usually strict about our not drinking, but on this occasion he untied the knot, especially since there was plenty of good inexpensive champagne; and he really digs the bubbly.
So we all got naked and sipped the sparkling wine and lay around on the couches and played with each other until little Joanie pushed brother Bill down on his back and climbed aboard for a fucking ... to have Daddy pull her struggling body away and dump her on a couch by herself.
"Wait till we run the film," he told her sternly. "You may be getting some ideas."
"I've already got some ideas," Joanie protested, her bubbies sticking straight out from her chest, "I want to fuck Bill."
"I ought to punish you for that," said Daddy with mock anger. "In fact, I think I will."
He grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her adorably provocative round little rump up high so that her head and knees were on the couch. He pulled her crotch tight against his jock as he stood behind her, so that his prick which was lying at rest, was rubbing her wet little slit.
It didn't remain at rest long. That was one of the great things about our daddy's cock, it seemed to leap right out of his loins whenever a cunt was available. Sometimes when there was none around and he just happened to think about fucking. It popped into its upright position when he held his younger daughter's squirming rump away from him--all eight magnificent inches of it, thick and pink-and-purple and bursting with the rich blood that made its erection possible.
Without further preliminary, Harry lifted his little girl's crotch a notch higher, so that the tip of his bulbous cock-head disappeared within the lips of Joanie's tight, wet little hole. Then, easing her down on it, he let it sink into her from the rear. My cunt had grown with me until, since I was about fourteen, so I could contain all of my father's meat inside it; Joanie's tunnel of love was still too short and more than an inch of that blue-veined pink stalk remained outside of her hole.
But the rest of it did okay, just as it had during earlier years in my hole. Her dark hair fallen over her face, Joanie began pumping and snapping at the pillar of joy in her whirlpool of pleasure as if her cunt were some sort of turtle, causing Daddy to grunt with the tightness of their fit, especially from that angle of incidence.
Just then, Bill jumped me from behind and bending me over the arm of the sofa, moved into me from behind with a cry of, "Like father, like son ..."
Hotpants giggled and said, "Like fun, you mean?"
Bill said, "You got the picture, honeycunt. And don't worry, you're next."
Hotpants said, "Who's worried? But my mother always taught me that, at a party, the guests should waltz with the hostess first."
Bill said, "Sorry, Robin ... but she's right."
His prick was halfway up my hole, but he pulled it out of me before I could protest and, pushing Hotpants down on her back on the sofa, proceeded to mount her and plunge his prick to the hilt into the juicy cunt his hostess upthrust to make his entrance easier and more complete.
"Man!" she gasped as she took it all the way in with a wriggle of her pelvis that must have given them both a quick dividend in delight. "That feels great in there."
You may remember, Hotpants always liked to keep up a running fire of conversation while she fucked. She started that measuring game we used on double-dates, it was she who got the whole thing started by talking while little Bill was fucking her under the bandstand that rainy Saturday morning six years ago, thus letting Joanie and me know where they were and leading to our all being caught by Harry with our pants not merely down but off entirely.
Now, while she and Bill enjoyed a real juicy fuck, she gabbled on about what they were doing and how it felt. Every so often, when a particularly wild orgasm gripped her, her voice would trail off and she'd merely utter rhythmic noises that were half-sigh, half-grunt. Then it would pass and she'd pick up the monologue right where she'd left off.
"... So come on, Bill-baby, put a little more back into the next one ... Oh-OH! That's more like it, honey ... Now take it slow and easy-- we want to make this one last ... Oh, yum-meeeeeee!"
Like that.
We were used to it and didn't mind. In fact, it wouldn't have been Hotpants without the soundtrack while she fucked. She was as close to being family as a non-relative could get. And how that girl loved to fuck! The better you knew her, the closer her Hotpants nickname fitted. She was as crazy for quiff as any of us, and that was saying a lot.
When Harry finished with little Joanie, he and I got together on one of the other couches, with me riding topside the way I liked it best with Daddy. We made it a long, lazy fuck and my juices flowed all over us between the middle thighs and our navels, and once again that terrific, so groovily placed mole right above my father's squirt-hole had its terrific effect. Damn few girls I ever heard of could say, like me, that their old man's prick was as hot as a French tickler. In fact, I only know of one other, and that's my kid sister, Joanie.
While Harry and I were working up to a real head of steam, about halfway there, I'd say, little Joanie, who could keep right on coming indefinitely, once somebody got her started, parked her darling little rump on the arm of the leather couch we were screwing on, right in back of me, and, picking up one of Daddy's feet, stuck the big toe into her creaming little twat.
Frankly, I don't dig the big toe bit, nor does Hotpants, but Joanie takes it large: maybe because she's got a tighter little hole than we have and a shorter tunnel behind it. Anyway, she and Daddy worked it out a couple of years earlier, on another occasion when Hotpants was with us and Joanie had to sit one out. It was kind of cute to see the way she could get worked up with Daddy's toe right up there in her cute little crotch, wiggling around on it and pumping up and down on it like a real cock. But it was kind of weird, too.
Still, none of us minded, really. Even Harry got a kick out of it. He told me once, "It's like sticking your toe into a toasted marshmallow that's alive."
When it came time to change partners, I went with my brother, while Daddy fucked Hotpants and they arranged it so that Hotpants could suck little Joanie's cunt while they were screwing more or less straight, except that, for Hotpants to give Joanie a real good sucking, she had to let Harry fuck her from behind, dog-fashion, reaming her round plump little rump with long, slow, driving strokes that rocked her from her cunt to the top of her head.
But I was trying to tell you what it's like to fuck my brother, now that he's sixteen years old and got just about all his adult growth. He's not quite as long as Harry and lacks the mole on the tip, as I've already told you, but his stalk is maybe a mite thicker and, since he's circumcised and Harry isn't, he has a crown with a rim instead of a big oval knob.
Some girls will tell you they like a guy who's had his foreskin cut off, others prefer the undoctored original. Getting my start with Dad and Bill as I did, I had it both ways, thousands of times, while I was growing up. All I can tell you is that they're different. As long as they're attached to pricks, and the pricks attached to males, who do the job, as far as I'm concerned its six of one and a half dozen of the other ... more, if the men involved are up to it.
To me, a prick's a prick, and that's more than enough. As long as a girl's cunt retains its muscle tone and elasticity and the prick in question isn't too short, she can assure herself of a tight fit that will give her all the satisfaction she's looking for.
Anyway, growing up with Bill as I have, I hold a special place for him in my gallery of loved memories. We know every cubic millimeter of each other's bodies, every slight reaction and how to bring it on, every big reaction and how to add to it and maintain it. His prick slid into me without manual aid and fitted in there as tightly as if we had been custom made for each other's fucking tools. We rolled over on our sides, with my legs around his waist and his prick well up in my juicing tunnel of love. There we sort of relaxed and smiled at each other and then reached for each other's lips and held them together in wonderfully soft, sweet sort of kisses, with out teeth parted and our tongues pressed indolently together.
It was wonderful, as always, being that close; especially delicious because we were brother and sister and knew we were enjoying something only a minority of other brothers and sisters find together. It made us feel very special and very proud.
After a bit, with our lips and tongues still joined as were our fucking pieces, brother Bill's hand slid slowly downward over the soft slow curves of my back to cup my rump, squeezing my buttocks together and squeezing my cunt even tighter around the root of the thick prick that filled its suffusing surfaces.
I went up, of course, and began wriggling my bottom in a wild, driving shimmy that added to my sudden rapture. Bill's hand squeezed my buttocks repeatedly, as if they were an old-fashioned automobile horn, and each time he squeezed, my rapturous frenzies mounted and I ground my mashed boobs around and around against the harder, flatter curves of brother Bill's chest.
Then his other arm slipped between my thighs and hoisted the upper one high in the air, while his grip on my thrilling rump slid up to the small of my back to keep me from rolling both of us right off the leather sofa. Holding my struggling bottom in firm control, he then pulled it toward his jock as he thrust that member into me so deeply that I thought for a moment it was going to come right up and out through my throat.
Not that I'd have minded, naturally.
Held thus, gaffed on my brother's spear, it mattered not a whit that Father's fucking piece was perhaps an inch longer; for I was filled as full as my flooding fucking piece would permit. The round dome of his circumcised cock lay entirely in my womb, with the rim titillating the edges of its entrance and the stalk beneath hand filling the juicing tunnel that led to my saturated cunt. So deep could brother Bill press into me while holding me in this fashion that the steel-woolish hairs surrounding the root of his prick were actually ground into the tender flesh of my labia, which were pushed flat against my own crotch by the closeness of our contact.
For another long, light-headed moment, we lay still, thus deeply joined, and then, to save my life, I could not keep my creaming cunt still for another instant. Looking down between the twin mounds of my breasts with their cherry tips, over the flat curve of my belly, I could actually see the sweet point of our juncture and the hairy areas around it, liberally adorned with the cream of my flooding pussyjuice ... and I had to watch things move.
I drew back my cunt, as far as Bill's encircling grip on my upper thigh permitted. This was not much, but it pulled my coozy clear of a good three inches of his lower stalk, and no sooner did I feast my eyes on this portion of the source of all my present joy, that nothing would do but to hide it again within my churning cunny.
Apparently, Bill was seized with the same impulse at the same moment; for our fucking pieces moved simultaneously, and our pubes squashed together with the sweetest of squishing sounds, which I took as a compliment on the lavish flow of my sex-sap, and which served to spin me off into a fresh world of orgasms in other orbits.
Yet, even as my other senses were overwhelmed by the immensity of the series of climaxes that inundated my body from then on, my eyes remained on our genitals, fascinated as much by the repeated disappearances of my brother's big thick prick into my swamping softness, as by its repeated reappearances as he pulled it partway out for a renewed assault. It was titillating, too, to see how, when he withdrew, my labia would move with his darling dong, gripping it hungrily as if fearful it would never return to bring heaven to my guts ... only to vanish as he plunged his prick once more into the whirlpool of my cunt, like a small boat sucked into a vortex.
At last, just as I felt I could endure no more, he plunged his prick even harder and deeper into my turned-to-jelly insides and, tightening my entire vagina around it, I felt the thrilling buck of his beloved prick that gave information that the greater thrill of ejaculation was close upon us. I bore down with my cunt with all my might, adding a fraction of an inch or more to his already maximum penetration of my flooding fucking piece and pulled his head deep into my bosom as his grip on my upper thigh tightened and, at long last, the sperm came spurting out of the tip of his deep-buried cock to flood the furthest point of our union with the life-giving semen I loved so well.
When we were engaged in a family gang-bang as at present, it was an unwritten law among us that we would never go for doubles. To do so meant one couple monopolizing itself for too long a time, since changes of partner were essential to such an occasion. But on this occasion, both Bill and I were sorely tempted to break the rule. As my senses came swimming back, I could read it in my brother's eyes, as he could read it in mine.
Looking down once more, I saw the greater seepage of sex-sap from the rim of my still-filled hole, thanks to the addition of his fluid to my own. I could see, as well as feel, the continuing rigidity of the choice meat in my vulva and knew that my own ecstatic body was ripe to keep right on with what we had been enjoying as so few brothers and sisters are ever fortunate to enjoy with one another.
But we had forgotten little Joanie. As we began putting prick and cunt into lazy slow-motion to renew our delights, our kid sister, still perched on the sofa-arm behind us, sprang forward, causing Bill's big toe to emerge rudely from her hot little hole with a sound like a popping champagne cork. She literally dove between us, crying, "No you don't, you piggish bastards ... it's my turn to fuck Bill..."
She did, too, which was the real point of the story, namely that, though we spent the whole night in the O'Houlihan rumpus room, nobody ever did get around to running any of the X-rated film we had come over there to see. I mean, who needed it?
Chapter Eight
Yes, it was a good six years for all of us. But it all went up in smoke that afternoon when Harry and I took inventory in the back room as usual: fucking as only we could while Bill and Joanie minded the store in front. When we went back front, Joanie and Bill left us there while they slipped into the storeroom Harry and I had been so happily using to tear off a couple of pre-prandial pieces of their own.
I remember looking after them as they walked to the rear door of the shop and thinking how lithe and limber and young and beautiful they were ... and how lucky I was to belong to such a loving and lovable family. Even though I saw only their backsides, I knew that, beneath their clothing, brother Bill's beautiful cock was straining at the zipper of his slacks while Joanie's hot little hole was already creaming in anticipation of the fucking she was about to enjoy with her brother.
Daddy, who had been looking the same way, caught my eye and smiled down at me and said, "Kind of gets you sometimes, doesn't it?"
I nodded, but before I could reply the customer bell sounded and we both turned to see what whoever it was wished to buy. It turned out to be Sergeant Clem Johnson of the Riverville Police Force (eight patrolmen, a chief and Clem as second in command). One look at him and I knew he was not there to make a purchase. The expression on his well-tanned familiar face spelled trouble with a capital T.
He approached Harry hesitantly, glanced at me and said, "Can I talk to you alone, Mr. Davis?"
Daddy put an arm around me and said, "Whatever it is, it's all right to talk in front of Robin."
"Where are the other two?" Clem said.
"In back," said Daddy easily, "taking inventory."
If Clem hadn't looked so serious, I'd have had a problem keeping my face straight. He hesitated and then said, "It's Mrs. Davis..."
Daddy looked alarmed and said, "Is she all right?"
"In a way," said Sergeant Clem. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Mr. Davis, but she's in jail... over in Running Water."
Daddy had to sit down and I nearly keeled over myself. The very idea of our virtuous mother doing anything to put her in prison was simply unthinkable. Even though she sedulously kept her back turned to what the rest of us were doing, she managed to do so in a way that expressed her silent disapproval.
"Good God!" said Daddy. "It's got to be a mistake. What are the charges?"
Sergeant Clem shook his head and said, "I'm afraid there's no mistake, Mr. Davis. I hate to say this in front of Robin ..."
"Oh, go ahead," said Harry. "Whatever it is, we've got to get her out."
"Well ... since you say it's okay, Mr. Davis." He paused and lifted his head and used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his streaming forehead. Then he blurted, "She's charged with fornication--with the Reverend Milton Rood."
"Oh, no!" cried Daddy. His cry was one of sheer disbelief but Sergeant Clem seemed to think it was an expression of distress.
He said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. You know, they say the husband is always the last to know."
"Stow that, Clem," said Harry. "Who brought the charges?"
"Mrs. Cross and six women of the Running Water God's Good Work Committee. I'm afraid there's no doubt about it."
"I'll be damned!" cried Daddy. "I'll be double God damned!" A pause while it sank in, then, "What's the bail?"
Sergeant Clem looked even more distressed. He said, "They won't set it till tomorrow morning when Judge Rentner gets back from his fishing trip. I'm afraid Mrs. Davis will have to stay in jail overnight."
"Ridiculous!" said Daddy, his face getting red. "They can't keep Edna in jail overnight on a misdemeanor."
"I'm afraid they can," said Sergeant Clem. "There's nobody in Running Water with authority to hear the charges today. I did my best, Mr. Davis."
"I'm sure you did, Clem." Daddy got up and put a friendly arm across his shoulders. "Well, what about her comfort... her food?"
"I've arranged to have a good dinner sent in from the Tasty Corner." A pause, then, "Their four-dollar dinner."
"Thanks, Clem." Daddy went to the cash register and took out a ten-dollar bill. Sergeant Clem didn't want to accept more than four dollars, but Daddy said, "She'll be wanting breakfast, too. Will you arrange that?"
"Sure thing." He took the money.
"What about the Reverend?" Harry asked.
"You want me to buy his dinner?" Sergeant Clem looked his disbelief.
"Shit, no!" said Daddy. "I just want to know if the bastard's in jail, too."
"They're in adjoining cells," said Sergeant Clem, offering no other comment.
When he had gone, Daddy said to me, "Lock up for the night, darling." And, when I had done so and drawn the front shades, "Of all the idiotic, unexpected ..." He paused; for once, words failed him.
I couldn't help it. I know it was wrong, but ever since I heard the news, a great big belly laugh had been growing within me. Here, for six years, all of us but Mom had been watching our step, well aware that we were active criminals in the eyes of the law, liable to Lord only knows what hideous penalties. Mother was the only one we thought of as respectable in the family, and we did our best to keep her that way. Of course, we probably should have become suspicious of her regular overnight stays in Running Water, but we thought she only went there to give us a free hand at home, more to get out of our way than because she actually wanted to go there.
And now ... fornication, and with a Reverend at that. It was too much. I began to laugh until I thought my stomach would burst open. I put my head down on a counter and howled as spasms of uncontrollable mirth rocked me ... and, after a little, Harry joined me. We laughed so hard that, when we regained some measure of control, we discovered that our guffaws had alarmed Joanie and brother Bill, whose heads were peering at us through the storeroom door.
"What's the joke?" Bill asked.
"Mommy's in jail," I replied, and it sounded so silly I went off again, only managing to gasp, "For fucking a minister in Running Water."
That got Daddy off once more, and we had another. But when he came down to earth at last, he was completely sobered. He said, "I've got to drive over there at once and see if I can do something. And I'll have to call Uncle Joe. He'll have to know about it. After all, he's Edna's brother."
I knew there was an Uncle Joe in the family, of course, but that was about all. For reasons I did not then understand, neither Daddy nor Mom ever talked about him, except at Christmas, when he'd send a card with a big check inside it. So I was exceedingly curious when I had to drive the Jeep twenty miles that evening to meet the incoming shuttle plane from Indianapolis at Kernstown Municipal Airport. The rest of the family were either holding down the fort at home or over in Running Water with Daddy.
Of all nights, that was the one when the Jeep blew a front tire. Nobody came along to help me change it, and by the time I got to the airport, I was twenty minutes late and my face was smudged and my temper was foul and the early evening Indianapolis plane had landed. I asked a desk man where the passengers were and he told me they had all gone.
I said, "What about a Mr. Lonsdale? I'm supposed to pick him up."
"See for yourself," said a clerk. "If there's anyone in the waiting room, he's hiding in a crack in the floor."
He was right; there was nobody there at all. As I was wondering what to do, he called after me, "There's another flight due at eleven-thirty. Maybe he'll be on that one."
Well, if I could be late getting to Kernstown, Uncle Joe could have missed his plane. Eleven-thirty was a bad two hours-plus away. So I called Bill, back home, and then wondered what in hell I was going to do with myself for the next couple of hours.
Kernstown was not exactly Gay Paree.
There hadn't been time to rustle up dinner at home, and I was hungry all of a sudden. The clerk suggested a roadhouse across the way from the airport, so I drove over there and went into a booth. It was a fairly nice place, with dark brown woodwork and red leather upholstery, but it was dark. Maybe that was why the waitress asked me if I'd like a cocktail without demanding to see my driver's license. In my state, you're not supposed to drink in public until you're eighteen, and I was still ten months shy of that particular birthday.
Right then I decided I could use a drink, so I ordered a vodka Collins and took a look around while the bartender on the other side of the room was making it. Since it was well past the regular dinner hour, and a week night, there weren't many customers in the place. Three guys and a broad playing poker dice for drinks at the bar and a few couples in the other booths.
Pretty dead, I thought--until I caught a glimpse of what was going on in a booth in the corner. I couldn't see it directly, of course, but I got a clear view in the angled mirror that topped the back bar. There was a man leaning back against the wall and a woman in an airline stewardess's uniform with him. Her light-blue cap was on the table with the drinks, and I wondered why, since usually those girls don't take off their caps until they get home and shed the rest of their uniforms.
Then I saw what she was doing and I understood: she had her head buried in the man's lap, and from the rise and fall of her red hair, she could only be sucking his cock.
I couldn't see much of the downstairs action, since the girl's back blocked any real view, but it was the man she was sucking who caught my attention. Not because he was handsome, and he was maybe the best-looking man I ever saw in my life, but because of the easy assurance with which he was taking a pleasuring that would have caused most men to squirm and contort their faces.
He simply leaned back against the wall, apparently totally relaxed and composed, taking an occasional sip from the highball he held in his left hand, smoking a cigarette. From time to time, he would put down the smoke and give the busy girl's auburn curls a caress, directing her action to give himself more jollies.
"The kitchen closes in ten minutes, if you want to eat anything," said the waitress.
I realized she had brought my drink and had probably been standing there for some time while I was watching the show in the back bar mirror. I snapped out of it and ordered a cheeseburger. Playing Peeping Thomasina was a new role for me, since I was usually right in the middle of the action at home, and I started out by enjoying it.
I took a couple of pulls on my drink and went right on watching. A faint smile played about the lucky stranger's handsome lips as the girl went into high gear and I decided things were coming to a head but fast. Still smiling, he put down his glass and, placing both hands on his partner's curly head, seemed to push her right into his groin.
Then the action stopped and, after a moment the girl lifted her head and sat upright and reached for a napkin to wipe the spit and sperm off her face. She was pretty, even for an airline stewardess, but I didn't pay much attention to her because, when she sat up, I got a clear view of the big stiff pink prick that protruded from the man's unzipped fly. It was a real beauty: long and thick and capped with a purple turban any girl would run a mile to swallow with her cunt.
He seemed to be in no hurry to put it away and I wondered why and looked at his face ... to discover that his eyes were staring directly into mine in the back bar mirror and that the smile on his lips had widened. He reached for his drink and lifted it in a toast. And, so help me, I lifted my glass in response. We drank simultaneously, and only after putting down his empty glass did he wipe off that marvelous prong with a napkin and stuff it back into his pants.
Minutes later, they had paid their check and risen and were walking toward the door of the restaurant ... coming right past my table, the girl in front. Half over her shoulder, with her face turned away from me, the stewardess said something like, "... like hell I didn't have to ship out back to Indie, darling." There was more about "this cockamamie airline," but I wasn't listening.
As he came by my booth, the man looked down at me and, for a moment, our eyes locked again. He was still smiling faintly, but his eyes were an extraordinary bright light blue and their effect on me was hypnotic. He was tall and lean and moved with the easy grace of an athlete or a dancer and wore the most beautiful clothes I ever saw on any man.
As he passed, his eyes full on me, he laid a hand briefly on my table and then made a wait-right-there gesture with it. In that brief pause the girl ahead of him never noticed, his lips formed a silent but distinct, "I'll be right back..."
I couldn't have got up and left if I'd wanted to. Little shivers of excitement went curling up me from the backs of my knees to the nape of my neck. All I could think of was that this was the most beautiful man I had ever seen and that he was coming back to see me. The most beautiful man with what looked like the most beautiful prick in the world!
Poor Mom was forgotten, poor Daddy was forgotten; as were brother Bill and Uncle Joe and the next plane. If that man I had just seen for the first time asked me to go anywhere I'd have gone without an instant hesitation. That was how badly I was smitten. I sat there, with my cheeseburger getting cold in front of me, riveted to the red leather bench with invisible but unbreakable bonds.
I had just begun to think, wildly, that he was never coming back when he slid into the other side of the booth. He said, "I seem to have an evening to kill ... what say we kill it together?"
His voice was rich and deep and mellow and enfolded me like a soft fur wrap. The shivers racing upward inside me intensified so that I couldn't speak but could only nod my assent. The light, bright blue eyes regarded me keenly but with a kindness and understanding that suggested he was entirely aware of my condition and knew exactly how to handle it. I felt entirely safe with him, yet not dull, stupid safe ... for, with this man, I knew to my marrow that safety would embrace every rewarding sensation and experience a girl could ever hope for in her wildest daydreams of sexual desires.
Neither one of us mentioned the stewardess who had just sucked him off in the corner booth. It was as if we had tacitly agreed that the incident was a closed chapter and that we were about to begin a new episode that would belong only to this magnificent stranger and myself. He asked me my name, and I told him Robin, and I asked his.
He smiled and his eyes crinkled fascinatingly, and said, "My friends call me Les."
I noted that there was grey at his temples but the fact that he was older turned me on rather than off. After all, the only mature male I had ever fucked was my father. All at once I was dying to have another mature fucking piece in my throbbing little cunt.
Especially a prick as lavishly endowed as the one I had so recently seen the redheaded stewardess suck off.
"Les," I said, forcing myself to meet those eyes, whose candlepower was so great that I felt like a bird being hypnotized by a snake.
"Yes ... Robin?"
"Les ... well, I hope you won't think I'm forward, but..."
"I hope I do ... I want you to be forward. I want it very much."
I felt a twinge of alarm as, once again, I noted the grey hairs along his temples. I found myself saying, "Maybe I'm coming on too strong after what I just saw ... I mean, I wouldn't want you to overdo things."
His eyes crinkled again, and his whole face lit up with amusement. Laying a hand over mine on the table, he said, "My dear, there's only one way to find out, isn't there? I always say, if you want to overdo a thing properly, you must overdo it yourself. Come along ... there are rooms attached to this dreadful swine-pen and I took the liberty of registering us in after seeing my redheaded friend back to the airport."
Coming from anyone else, such assurance would have repelled me. But coming from this marvelous man, somehow it seemed to hint at forethought and consideration rather than crude conceit. And, if his eyes and his voice had mesmerized me, the touch of his hand reduced me to quivering jelly. I'd have followed him anywhere--he didn't even have to blow in my ear.
When we got to our bedroom, we didn't say anything; there was no need to. We simply undressed and tossed our clothing onto the two chairs and then stood there a long moment, jaybird naked, sizing each other up. To say that I liked what I saw would have to rate among the understatements of the century.
Les was a good head taller than I, towering well over six feet. His body was smoothly tanned and lean and muscular and obviously in magnificent shape for a man of his years. Such chest hair as he carried was darkly blond in hue, interspersed with white, unlike the even-toned bush of curls above his scrotum. His shoulders were sloping and strong, his abdomen ribbed like a washboard with muscles, his legs and arms long and gracefully turned.
But, not unnaturally, my ultimate attention was on the purple-capped pink prick that, at first, hung from the prow of his torso, all but concealing the ample testicles just below. Even as I looked at it, I could see it begin to grow. Slowly but steadily. As it lengthened, it thickened and the blue veins became prominent along the sides of the pillar it was becoming under my fascinated eyes. Like a hooded cobra rising from the charmer's basket, it rose until it was pointed upward toward the air-conditioned vent just beneath the ceiling.
With a little cry, I dropped to my knees in front of it and popped the head of it into my mouth. Now, I had sucked my father and brother off often enough to know that no two men taste exactly the same, just as, from sucking off Joanie and Hotpants, I had discovered the same thing about girls. And Les's big throbbing cock proved no exception to this rule.
It had a healthy ripe flavor, like a good cheese that was both sharp and slightly nutty and altogether fascinating. The faint aroma of spent semen left over from the rim job the stewardess had done on it made sucking it even more exciting. As I worked my lips and tongue over its head, I ran the ball of my left thumb slowly up and down the thick, sensitive seam the length of its underside and felt this super spear give a convulsive little leap that caused me to take more of it inside my mouth--although it was far too long and thick for me to contain more than a fraction of its entirety.
Then his hands had knotted themselves in my red hair and he was pulling my mouth free of his cock. That marvelous voice above me said, "Robin, Robin, that's very sweet, but you have another place I'd infinitely prefer to put this thing into."
As I came upright, still holding on the his prong with my hand, I blurted, "But, from what I saw downstairs, I thought you liked it."
"I do, I do," he assured me, pulling me close against his strong, lean, beautiful body so that the underside of his cock was pressed against my belly, while his balls pushed most amiably against my pubic mound.
"Then why...?"
"Because ..." He lifted me gently and deposited me flat on my back on the bedspread. "... I vastly prefer being fucked to being sucked. And, in that booth, there was no way."
With that, bridging his torso above me, he slowly brought that erect Priapus-prick of his within the heart of the dewy flower of my cunt; and, once there, drove it swiftly home until its tip touched bottom in my womb.
Chapter Nine
Before, even when Daddy fucked me, it took a few minutes for my entire body to respond. I mean, my cunt would begin sending out its sweet telegraph messages of good times coming, but it took time for them to get there. When I come, it feels as if I'm coming all over. Sure, the center of the action lies in the little tunnel that runs from my labia and nymphae up to the mouth of my womb and, through that, to the roof of that wonderful organ not many men can reach with their cocks. That feels indescribably wonderful when there's a good stiff prick in it, banging away toward an orgasm of its own.
But all around it, every nerve and muscle I own seems to take off as well. There's an incredible harmony that makes everything sing in tune. The contact with any part of my partner's flesh makes the touched part react powerfully and erogenously. Even the rub of the bedding on my backside can add to my joy in having a male perforate me. When I first reached that peak with Daddy and, later on, with brother Bill when he grew up, I thought I had attained the absolute acme of fucking perfection.
But, with Les's big, thick, long dong in my saturating twat, it was as if we were starting out where fucking Daddy and Bill stopped. I caught fire all over almost instantly, and if I missed the slow spread of voluptuous sensation that I had experienced when my father or brother fucked me, the instant ecstasy I felt in every pore of my convulsing body more than made up for this minor lack. From the moment Les planted his pole in my hole, I was conquered and occupied territory ...
... and loving it.
If the tip of his cock lacked Harry's mole on top, that mole that caused Joanie and me to feel at if a French tickler were fucking us, it had something else: a bend to the left I had not noticed while looking at, handling or sucking it during our brief period of foreplay. As he slid it in and then out of my sopping coozy, the right side of my tunnel seemed to cry out with unendurable delight.
Supporting his upper torso on his elbows, Les pushed his prick back inside me to the hilt, and I could feel the involuntary grip my labia took on its base, capturing some of the damp hairs around it. I tightened my cunt around it as hard as I could, letting him know how much I liked it right where it was, even as wave after wave of delight inundated me in a rising voluptuous flood.
He placed a gentle hand on either of my breasts and began kneading them deftly, causing my already erect pink nipples to strain at their moorings in my soft upper flesh. Running my hands up and down his muscular flanks, I could barely gasp, "Kiss them ... kiss them for me," as their aching became insupportable. He quickly got his lips and tongue into action, licking and lapping and sucking my titties to give me added secondary delights, while I dug my hands into the natural wave of his hair and guided his progress from boob to boob.
All the while, he was slowly undulating his pelvis, causing that wonderfully warped fucking piece of his to turn half circles in my lavishly creaming hole, half circles that caused me to dig my fingernails into his scalp and try to nip at his left ear and then his right as he turned from tit to tit.
Then he pulled his prick far back despite the desperate lunges of my cunt and tormented its suffusing emptiness with darting little feathery touches of its crown against my cuntal lips, slipping it just inside the muscle ring at my hole's entrance as if intending to drive it home, then pulling back and making me shudder with waves of frustration very close to agony.
"Oh, Jesus ..." I gasped. "Don't... Fuck me, Les ... fuck me all the way ... Fuck me till I die!"
His light blue eyes smiled down at me as he replied, "You're much to young to die, pretty Robin ... much too young!"
A strong arm encircled my left thigh and lifted it high and wide, putting a rein on my wildly rolling and bobbing cunt and checking me until, for a long moment, we were once more absolutely, screamingly still, with just the very top of his crown brushing my fevered labia. After taking a deep breath that made his body ripple, he rammed that big bent cock of his all the way home with such length and strength and impetus that I could actually feel the top of my womb give under the assault.
I could only cry, "Oh, my God ... I can't stand it!"
And then, as my bottom got into big motion once more, I discovered that I could stand it, in fact, I never wanted it to stop. I planted my feet with my knees wide apart and gave his cock a royal jazzing, meeting his onslaughts with my own and making our sopping pubes sock together like butting rams in heat. Then I locked my legs around his middle and dug my heels into his muscular rump and rode with him, moving my fucking piece in perfect unison with his, rolling with the punches as it were and simply letting my detonating body dig everything this delicious new lover had to give, then coming back for more.
When I felt the big throb of his impending climax, I parted my locked legs and bridged on the bedspread once more and met his final onslaught with a tremendous upthrust of my cunt ... swallowing whole, not only the entire mass of his meat but swallowing the beautiful hot burst of his sperm into my churning womb as well ... and feeling the world mist out in a delectable golden fog shot with radiant streaks like shooting stars.
When I recovered some measure of consciousness, he was still within me and we were lying on our sides with the bend in his still rigid prick upward, making me feel as if I had been hung out to dry on a line. Not that there was much chance of my ever drying out, not while that beautiful cock was nuzzling the soft sweetnesses of my innermost insides. It was like a puppy's wet nose in there, nuzzling me and causing me to respond with delicious wavelets of climax that were like echoes of the big, big one we had just torn off.
In an access of affection, I hugged his sweaty body with my own, rubbing my belly and boobs against his beautiful ridges of muscle, and our lips met for the first time. Somehow, this was right, for us. We had to know how our fucking pieces were going to get along before either of us could afford even to think of affection. But our union had been simply marvelous and there remained no reason for holding anything back.
One big difference I have discovered between being fucked by a boy and a man: when a boy shoots his wad into your hole, he's usually through for a while if not for the night. (I'm not counting brother Bill, naturally, because he had Daddy right there to show him how to keep a girl really riding the clouds).
And when a boy pulls his prick out the instant he's finished ejaculating, granted he's been in there long enough to get a girl really going, he leaves her right up the wall without a ladder to get down. I mean she's got to masturbate or lose her mind. And I don't think that's right. When a man sets out to make himself happy, he'd better see to it that his partner is happy, too. Otherwise, he might as well be poking his prick into a piece of dead meat or jerking off himself.
But a man--at least the two men who had fucked me thus far in my seventeen years: my father and this terrific airport stranger--handled things a lot differently. And a hell of a lot better. Even when Daddy was shot down, and this took a lot of doing, he didn't leave Joanie or me hung out to dry off alone. He knew how to diddle us and fondle us and kiss our coozies and keep the sweet sensations flowing, either until the letdown was gently complete or his revival indicated that it was time to fuck again.
If Daddy was great at this sort of after- or between-fucks play, Les was just the greatest. His prong, once he had eased its dripping length out of me, remained half erect and I refused to let it get any smaller, working on it with my fingers and then my mouth, sucking it clean of the sex-sap that covered it and replacing it with my own spit, enjoying its savor and reveling in the continued contact of flesh on and in flesh.
Les was not letting my convulsing cunt remain idle to dry up and die. Not for a moment. Handling me gently but with such strength that I knew I was like a baby to him, he placed my body on its side, giving my boobs and buttocks and crotch a delicious rubdown as he moved me so that I could suck his cock, he got us lying sideways and buried his handsome face in my cleft.
The instant his tongue touched my protruding pink clit, I convulsed as if I'd been goosed by a live wire. The organ he slid over its erectile round surface was as rough as a cat's tongue. It sent delicious thrills racing through me and got the whole semi-dormant cycle of orgasm rolling again.
He pulled out and said, "Not so soon, darling ... try to relax for a bit. We want to fool around a while before we go for another big one."
I nodded, with his cock in my mouth right down past my tonsils, and made my taut-singing body go limp. It wasn't easy, especially when he slid that rough tongue over my button again and held it there, moving it ever so slightly to keep the tingles flowing, but somehow I managed. Les was the sort of man a girl obeys without question. Somehow, she knows instantly that here is a pastmaster of the great game of sex, a man who has done it all and knows everything and has every technique for bringing a girl on at the tip of his prick.
It didn't get any easier to take it easy as he began moving his tongue around more actively ... if still at a slow-motion pace. But it was well worth the effort. Letting voluptuous delight have its way while you lie still until all control is gone is a lot like sucking a chocolate cream instead of biting into it at once: after a while, the goodies in the center come flooding through, and meanwhile, you've had the bonus of the chocolate's slow dissolve.
Even Harry, I quickly realized, was a novice compared to Les when it came to tonguing a girl where it counts. He diddled my clit in a score of ways, finally giving it a flick with the tip of his tongue that all but put me in orbit. Nor, even when he moved to my cunt itself, did he leave my button forlorn, but replaced his tongue with fingertips that were equally knowledgeable if lacking the roughness of surface that was sending me so terrifically.
He pushed my upper thighs wide open with his other hand as he moved further into my convulsing crotch, which had spread its flooding almost down to my knees along the insides of my upper legs. Then that cat-rough surface was sliding across the inner areas of my labia and nymphae. Once again, I stiffened uncontrollably, and once again, Les withdrew his tongue and murmured, "Steady, darling ... easy does it."
I nodded, causing the prick in my mouth to stiffen still further as it inched toward full erection and began rubbing the lower part of his thick shaft gently with my own fingers ... only to stiffen again as he slid that incredible tongue right past my nymphae into my suppurating hole. The resulting sensation was so galvanic that I actually bit my new lover's cock, but caught myself quickly and eased up before any damage was done ... rather, the reverse, as my involuntary aggression caused that gorgeous mass of well-starched meat to buck wildly within the compass of my cheeks and spurt its thick, sweet-sour sperm right into my gullet.
I had to pull clear since it made me cough and, when I could, I said, "I'm sorry, Les. I didn't mean ..."
Lifting his own handsome head briefly, he laughed silently and said, "Honey, what's done is done ... and that was lovely. But don't give up the ship."
He pushed his rough-covered tongue back into my cunt, deeper than before, and I came so convulsively, as that cat-like surface rolled around in there, tickling all sides of my flooding lower vagina, that I could not hold still enough to regain his cock until the climax had somewhat abated, leaving me calmed.
He pulled out then and lifted and rolled me onto my back again, and then he crossed the T under my quivering buttocks and, lifting my unresisting legs, put them over his middle, wide apart, while, lying on his side toward me, he pushed his still-stiff prick right up into my hot little hole. Thanks to that left turn halfway up his long thick dong, the effect was indescribably delicious ... for, instead of pressuring the right side of my upper tunnel, it ran right up against the top, and each time he pulled back before driving it home again, it placed underpressure on my quivering clit even more heavily, if over a wider area, than my father's mole on the tip of his prong. It didn't plow a narrow furrow but stretched the whole tunnel of lust in a single direction, almost as if it were trying to drive a hole through the roof.
Nor did Les neglect external pressure on my excruciating button. Laying the palm of his hand flat on my pussy, each time he brought that curved scimitar of a sex-organ back and then forward inside the mouth of my convulsing cunt, he pressed down hard on my clit with the heel of his hand, making that part of me feel like the ham in a pressed ham sandwich.
My legs shot straight up in the air, making a perfect V, and again he circled my left thigh with his right hand to control my hyper-active cunt. I grabbed the backs of my own stiff knees and held on, letting him do what he wanted to me as he slid that sweetly curved saber in and out of my creaming guts. There were times during that particular piece of arse when I thought I was literally dying of delight ... the whole world swam around me and a strange languor swept over me, but a languor with a core of intense feeling that informed me I was living, not dying.
Finally, however, I came out of it and knew I had to feel the flood of this wonderful stranger's semen in my core. So I put down my legs around his marvelously supple waist and lean Trips and, using my feet for leverage, put my suffusing sex-piece into high gear, driving it right down on that plunging prick each time he tried to pull back for another assault and pushing against it all the way while wriggling my cunt around like a marble caught in a spiral chute.
He came again, and I came right with him, and when it was over we were both temporarily shot down--even though our sopping wet fucking pieces were as tightly intersticed as those of the self-fucking oyster in a non-R month. I felt as if I, at any rate, were drowning in our combined juices and, once again, welcomed the prospect of such a death. Someone, Daddy I guess, had explained to me that fucking is very much like the whole life process. It has small beginnings, swells to active maturity, ultimately dwindles and dies.
But even after the three spendings with me, plus at least one more when the stewardess who had blow-jobbed him in the restaurant booth downstairs, Les's prick remained stiff and incredibly full in the morass of my cunt. We might be lying there yet if I hadn't happened to look at his wrist-watch as he lifted his hand to wipe some of the sweat from my dripping face.
Its hands said eleven-sixteen. We had been fucking a full ninety minutes and it seemed like less than fifteen. Never let anyone try to tell you that time isn't elastic, at least where sex is concerned. When you're fucking, it seems to go on forever, but when you've finished, you usually feel as if it had happened all too quickly ... until, if things have been really great, you look at the time and discover a whole day or night had elapsed.
It's the same with size ... or at least Daddy and Bill have told me it's that way for them, as it is for Joanie and me. But when you start coming, the whole universe seems filled with your cunt and the prick that's filling it ... vice versa for a man, naturally.
But time, not space, was concerning me then. I had about thirteen minutes to get cleaned up and into my clothes and back to the airport to meet Uncle Joe. All at once, I felt sick with guilt at having let the family down during the emergency of poor Mom's ordeal in Running Water--even with such a marvelous stranger as Les.
I pulled my cunt clear of his sopping cock and sat upright and grabbed his arm and looked at his watch again and said something like, "Jesus Christ... I've got to run."
Les wouldn't let me off the bed. He rolled over on his back and, plucking me up easily, lifted me in the air and lowered me right down on top of his big, beautiful prong. I tried to struggle, but, as that damnable curve ploughed up the right side of my cunny, I knew I was cooked. I couldn't have disengaged my newly flooding cunt from that fabulous whang if my life depended on it.
So I began fucking him again, in spite of myself, but I felt horrible about it, even though what I was doing made me feel more wonderful, in another way, than I had ever before felt in my life. Just looking down at that marvelously beautiful man, with that hooked codpiece impaling me, riding his loins like a rodeo bronco forker, set my blood to racing and my juices to flow ever more copiously.
But I also felt a lot like Benedict Arnold having a ball in London after selling out our Revolution. I mean, there was Mom, in jail in Running Water on that real nasty fucking charge, with Daddy and Joanie and brother Bill beating their brains out trying to get her clear of the mess; while here was I, after missing the first plane from Indianapolis, about to miss the second, thanks to balling in a Kernstown motel bedroom with a stranger I'd allowed to pick me up and screw me right away like any little tramp.
Even while my whole body was pulsing with tremendous spasms of sheer rapture thanks to the prodding Les's prodigious prick was providing in my pulsing guts, I couldn't stand it. I checked back the sobs by biting my lower lip, but my whole body was shaking with misery--a condition that also added to its delight--and I could feel tears running down my cheeks and cutting little liquid lanes in the sweat that already covered my face.
I felt the cannon-shot impact of Les's semen in my womb as he came again and, sacrificing my own feelings for once, tried again to lift my saturated vulva clear of the codpiece that had made a sweet shambles of it. Once again, this marvelous monster impaled me prevented me from disengaging.
Clamping strong hands on my thighs on either side of my sex-flooded crotch, he said, "What's all this about your having to go?"
I could only nod as sobs choked me and a small shift of that insatiable prick impaling me sent a sort of after-glow orgasm rocking through me.
His fingers touched my cheeks gently then, and he said, "My dear, I believe you're crying."
I nodded again, and he shifted his loins again and I spasmed again. As soon as I could, I said, "Please, Les darling ... let me go. I'm late already."
"Late?" he echoed. "Since the Pill, no girl has any business being late."
"It's not that," I gasped through clenched teeth, battling desperately for self-control as he continued to drive me half-crazy with little rolls and movements of the dong embedded in my guts.
"Then what?" he said, rolling his hips the other way and costing me the game. I spasmed all over him, and when I came down, I planted my cunt firmly against his loins and gripped his cock tightly with my inner-tube muscles to hold it still as long as I could.
Then, talking fast to get it all out before I lost control again, I said, "I'm here to meet my uncle, who's flying in from Indianapolis to help my mother and I was late but he missed the eight-thirty plane and I've got to pick him up and drive home to Riverville so he and Daddy can see about getting my mother out of jail in Running Water."
He lay there, listening and looking up at me, with an odd sort of expression on his handsome face. Then he said, "Robin, thanks to the wonders of modern science, there's more than one way of skinning a cat."
He picked up the phone and said to me, "What's your number, honey?"
I gave it to him; hell, I'd have given him anything, I still would, but I asked, "I don't see what good you ..."
He flapped a hand at me to be still and gave the motel operator the answer. Then, moments later, "Harry, this is Joe ... how's Edna?"
There was a long pause, after which Joe-Les said, "Yes, she's right here," and handed me the phone. It was the first time I ever conducted a telephone conversation with anyone while a prick was poked right up inside my cunt, but I told Daddy we were okay and would get back as soon as we could.
At that, Uncle Joe-Les grabbed the phone away from me and said, "Since there's nothing we can do till morning, Robin and I can stay here. She wants to have the Jeep looked at first."
He put the phone back in its cradle and looked up at me with his eyes crinkling and his cock still in me up to the hilt. Then he said, "I apologize for lying to Harry."
"You mean about the Jeep?" I asked. "That's not entirely a lie since I did blow a tire driving over here.".
"No, silly," he said, beginning to thrust his big hooked cock up into me as if he hoped it would pop out of my mouth. "I mean about there being nothing we can do till morning ..."
Chapter Ten
To my continuing delight, Uncle Joe proved to be even more of a liar than he had suggested. It turned out to be the busiest night of my seventeen summers, as we fucked each other right around the clock. Thanks to the revelation that this marvelous man was my uncle, all my feelings of guilt vanished and I was filled with delight that I had let him pick me up. Still, between our delicious bouts, there were a couple of things I asked him to explain.
The first was the matter of the mix-up in his name. I said, "Darling Uncle, why didn't you tell me your name was Joe ... then I'd have guessed who you were."
He smiled that marvelous smile and poked his big curved saber inside me until I spasmed wildly, thrashing all over the bed with him. Then he said, as if nothing had intervened, "Well, Robin, apart from Harry and poor Edna, nobody's called me Joe in years. I find my middle name more useful in my work."
"Les ... Lester?" I asked. "What's so impressive about that?"
"Well ..." he let his jizzum spurt once more and then we lay still though still wondrously united where it matters the most "... it looks far better in print. J. Lester--it's spelled L-e-i-c-e-s-t-e-r, by the way--wins me a far more distinguished entree than Joseph L. Martin."
"I see," I said. I was about to ask him just what his work was ... the family had always been a bit vague on that score ... but his prick began thickening and lengthening again in my hole and there was another busy period, at the end of which I found myself riding him backwards, gripping his legs stretched out beneath me for dear life. And it was never dearer than it was just then.
Before I could regather my scattered thoughts, he said, "Speaking of mixed-up names, how about yours? I thought your first name was Roberta, not Robin."
"I always hated that name," I told him. "When Aunt Roberta died and didn't leave us anything, I changed it."
"I like Robin far better, darling." He slid his hands down over my lower back, shaping and then gripping my buttocks and then, lifting my cunt clear of his sopping cock, pulling it up over his magnificent lean muscular torso so that he could put his lips and tongue and teeth to work in my frantic fucking piece.
Never a girl to accept pleasure without returning it, I found myself in perfect position to lick his prick clean of our body fluids, and I bent to this sweet task with a will that matched my uncle's oral attack on my own organ of delight. Thanks to the almost continuous fucking and sucking in which we had been engaged for so long, it took us a long time to bring each other on; but, as they say in the travel ads, getting there is half the fun. We finally made it together and, after receiving another delicious draught of his sperm in my throat, we lay side by side, our hands on each other's genitalia, fondling them fondly and letting drowsiness slowly claim us.
I must have dozed off, but I awoke in short order with another question in mind. Uncle Joe's eyes were closed, but when I squeezed his prick gently, those marvelous light blue eyes opened, less than two inches from mine, and he smiled at me and wiggled a naughty finger in my cunt and said, "What is it, darling Robin?"
"Why weren't you seen deplaning with the rest of the Kernstown passengers?" I asked.
White teeth flashed in front of me as his smile became a laugh. He said, "Well, it was a little embarrassing. You see, I was fucking the redheaded stewardess you saw me with."
"On the plane?" I couldn't believe it.
But he nodded and said, "That's one of the compensations for traveling on a small airline: you haven't a chance with one of the big companies, everything is much too businesslike."
"But where?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my mounting desire to be fucked again.
"In the John," he said. "Where else." A pause, then, "Have you ever been screwed in a broom closet?"
"No ... but I made it once with a boy in the luggage compartment of his father's Cadillac ... with the top down."
"Enjoy it much? His eyes twinkled at me delightfully.
"No," I confessed. "It was a little too crowded ... and the spare tire kept getting in our way."
"Then you'll understand our problem with that damn toilet seat taking up most of the available space. On top of that, the door stuck and we couldn't get out until the co-pilot heard my little friend banging on the door and yelling after we landed. Under the circumstances, they sort of snuck us out."
I thought that over and, before I could stop myself, I said, "She's an awfully pretty redhead."
"But nowhere near as pretty as you, my darling little niece." He stifled my uprush of jealousy before it could rise to trouble our perfect union, then buried it by adding, "At least, darling, you're a real redhead." He ran his long strong fingers through my curls. "She was very dark at the roots ... and the hair on her cunt was black."
"Oh, Les ..." I flung my arms around him in an excess of love and desire. "I want to be the best you ever had. I know it's a large order, but I'm going to make it."
"You're delicious, darling ..." Once again, he set me athwart his loins. Under my manual proddings, his prong had regained sufficient length and strength to poke its big pink crown past my nymphae and labia and about halfway up my reflooding hole. I began a cuntal roll by tightening the muscles, first of one buttock, then of the other, and was rewarded by feeling that curving spire thrust its way rapidly inward and upward until, once more, it filled me to the very top of my womb.
I was frantic to be Number One with my just-discovered uncle, and I used every ounce of expertise my years of fucking Harry and brother Bill had enabled me to acquire. I did not pump my rump up and down on it like a girl concerned only with getting a load of jizzum in her guts. I planted my cuntal lips flat against his scrotum and kept them there, using slower, more subtle methods to bring us both to the inevitable boil.
His marvelous mouth curved in that insidious half-smile that had proved so irresistible as he realized what I was trying to do. He lay there beneath me, his hands once more locked behind his head, letting me have my way with his thrillingly warped dong. I must have held it in there all the way for a full fifteen minutes, moving my crotch gently in every conceivable direction, all the while with those ceaseless waves of pure delight his avuncular cock inspired making my whole body sing once more.
With anyone else, I'd have been fucked out long since. But with Uncle Joe I didn't feel that was possible. I had long since lost count of how many times we had come together, as I am sure had he. But so great was my continuing desire for this marvelous man, so overwhelming my relief in discovering that, fucking him, I was not fucking out of the family, so overwhelming my ambition to fuck him better than any other woman in his life, that all trace of fatigue vanished.
Like a well-conditioned athlete, I seemed to have gained a second wind, and I poured everything I had into this most important fucking of that memorable night of same. With his marvelous intuitive understanding of what a woman is feeling, he seemed to sense from the start that this was something really special and that it was important to let me have my head.
Once or twice, he brought his hands from the nape of his neck and, gripping my waist tightly, halted my slow cuntal grind on his dong, saying, "Easy, honey, just relax a minute. We don't want to end this one too soon, do we?"
I could only shake my head and obey, though holding my cunt still at such a moment took every bit of willpower I possessed. But I made it until his hands left my waist and returned to their places behind his head and only then resumed the infinitely subtle fucking I was giving him, moving it deftly a half inch to either side and all but passing out from the added pressure such movement gave, via his curving cock inside me, to the right flank of my tunnel of love.
But nothing is forever, and the next time he put his hands on my steaming, creaming flesh, it was not to hold me still ... instead, he gripped my buttocks and, ever so slowly, hoisted me upward until, once again, only the round head of his big thick prong remained in my cunt. I gasped out a protest, but he shook his head and said, "Old Will needs a breath of fresh air."
Then, just as I was ready to scream, he pulled me down on his dong so vehemently that our pubes actually squished as they thocked together ... and, once again, the beautiful balloon went up!
I don't have any memory of the minutes of wild wonder that followed. All I do recall is both of us ramming our fucking pieces at each other as hard and fast as we could--and then finding myself spiked atop his pulsing prick as it flooded my uterus with a final delicious libation, my whole pelvis straining for release from the iron grip with which he held me affixed to his spouting whang. In between, things must have been real crazy. At least, when I emerged from the whirlpool my whole body felt rosy and happy and aglow with a sweet and sweaty satisfaction it had never known before.
My uncle let me down slowly, managing as always to keep it interesting even then. And once I was down, so was he. That proud jock with the twist in the middle simply lay down on its scrotum-pad like a hound dog's ear. And even though my body still tingled delectably, I knew that, in about thirty seconds, I was going to be sound asleep.
With his left arm snugging me, I curled up against my uncle's beautiful body like a kitten, with my rump nestled into what would have been the angle of his lap had we been sitting upright instead of lying down. I don't think it was thirty seconds before, with a contented little purr, I lost track of the world and slumber rolled over me like a swift silent fog.
How long I slept I had no idea, since I had no idea of what time it was when I dropped off to dreamland. But it could not have been long, because we had been fucking until long past midnight, and the early summer sun was shining brightly through the east window of the motel bedroom when I awoke to the feeling that I had better get to the John in a hurry. But then I discovered, upon moving to clear myself, that the hole which felt full was not my arsehole at all. And the results of my move told me ever so clearly the nature of the object that had poked its way deep into my cunt.
Uncle Joe was back with a vengeance. Within no more than three seconds of opening my eyes, I was spasming around that perforating pillar of joy as if my hole had been empty for a month of Sundays. It had risen from its resting place in his crotch and, like a homing pigeon, gone directly to its proper housing.
My stirring aroused my uncle from his sleep and, hardly a man to let such an opportunity go by, he gripped me around the middle from behind, drawing my cunt down and backward into his crotch, at the same time thrusting his pelvis upward and forward until that beautiful bent meat of his was embedded to the roots in my churning hole. It's probably a good thing the reactions of both of us were half-numbed by slumber, or we'd never have made Riverville that day. Maybe not at all. We might still be lying on that Kernstown motel bed, fucking our tails off.
Even so, waking up like that beat any other sort of alarm clock I ever heard of. I remember the first night we three kids started fucking, Joanie and brother Bill and I, six years ago, almost to the week, when Bill had waked me up by rolling me over on my back in his bed and thrusting his little-boy prick right into my cunt. But this was far, far better, if only because of the relative improvement in the size of the dong that was impaling me.
Also, where Bill had deliberately set me up for a fucking and used his hands to get his little ramrod within my cuntal gates, what had happened to my uncle and myself was far more natural ... since our fucking pieces had sought and found one another while the rest of our bodies were asleep. Then, too, there was the absolute love and trust and faith and confidence I had in this beautiful stranger who had, so happily, turned out to be none other than my long-unseen Uncle Joe.
Numb of nerves or otherwise, that matinal fucking was delicious and I'm sure we would both have been perfectly happy to keep right on fucking all day, right where we were. But there remained the big problem of Edna and how to get her out of her mess in Running Water.
So we got up and showered together and tore off one quick one, standing up, with the water pouring over us. Then we got dressed and got out of that blessed motel and I drove my uncle back in the Jeep. He asked me to tell him exactly what was going on with Mom, and I gave him all I knew, which wasn't a great deal since things had happened so suddenly and I'd been away from the family overnight.
But, apart from a few shrewd questions, my new lover seemed content to hear me out. When I had finished, he was silent a long time. Then he sighed and shook his magnificent grey-tipped head and said, "Poor Edna ... she never could get away with anything in her life and not be caught with her pants down."
"You mean there've been other times?" I found this hard to believe of my moral, careful, self-righteous mother, always so concerned over her status in the community. I said as much to my uncle, who sighed again.
"Honey," he said, giving my thigh a squeeze that all but caused me to run the Jeep up a large oak tree alongside the winding road between Kernstown and Riverville, "why do you think she's been so worried about the proprieties?"
"I wouldn't know..."
"Just remember, Robin, that your mother and I came from the same seed. And you know how my appetites run by now."
"No ... let me guess!"
"Stop the car."
"I shouldn't... we shouldn't." That's what I said, but even as I spoke my foot was on the brake and my free hand moved toward the ignition key to turn it off. But not before I had run the Jeep well off the road into an overgrown lane that led to one of the private winter camps a lot of Kernstown people maintain. A wall of foliage seemed to seal off the passage behind us after we entered, concealing us completely from the eyes of any passersby on the road behind it. I found a mossy little clearing at the foot of another big tree and brought the Jeep to a halt.
"Will this do?" I asked.
He got out, moving like a youthful athlete, and tested the moss underfoot, then said, "Probably better than that damned motel bed."
I slid out from behind the wheel of the Jeep and joined him, I'd never been in this spot before, though I had noted the almost invisible entry trail scores of times while riding the Riverville-Kernstown road and had filed it away in my memory for a possible trysting place. If we hadn't been right on top of it when my uncle told me to stop the car, I might not have done it. There isn't another place half as good between the two towns anywhere, unless you want to try a crummy motel near Riverville even the local whores won't use.
But, as always, his timing was almost frighteningly perfect. It was as if I'd been thinking of this place as we approached it in the Jeep and my uncle had read my mind and made the very suggestion I had not yet put into words. For a moment, I could only look up at him and feel something close to terror. But then his hands were on my lithe young body, and the sudden fierce seizure of feelings that overwhelmed me had nothing to do with terror.
Since the Jeep was hardly an ideal trysting place, we decided to fuck on the moss. My uncle undressed us both from the waist down ... no difficult task, since neither of us had troubled to wear underclothing and all he had to do was unzip a zipper apiece and then let gravity do the rest. As I felt my bare bottom sink into that patch of nature's own softness, the excitement of screwing out in the open on a sunny summer morning made this union seem like our first.
The air felt fresh and different, there was no ceiling above us, and the texture and fresh earthy aroma of the moss on which we lay sent thrills of new experience dancing through me even before my uncle's beautiful pink-and-purple crown parted my upthrust labia and nymphae and once again pushed its way into my flooding innermost recesses. Somehow, it had seemed wholly natural for me to lie underneath this magnificent man, and bridged upward with my crotch to make his penetration both easier and deeper.
I convulsed joyously, almost at once, and we began to drive at one another like a pair of rutting animals in heat. Somehow, the subtleties of infucking we had so enjoyed during the love-drenched night just finished seemed out of place in the bosky sylvan setting. I wished only to give him the most rapid and complete satisfaction possible, while receiving the same myself. My peaks rose higher and higher with each thrust and counterthrust of our fucking pieces until, within a mere few minutes of our alfresco mating, I knew full climax was about to claim me.
And then, suddenly, everything stopped. Although my uncle kept right on plowing into my cunt with his cock, I was unable to feel, unable to respond. There I lay, wide open for his priapic onslaughts, but getting and giving as much out of it as if, like a pair of baby's shoes, I had been cast in bronze.
My uncle quickly realized that something was wrong, for he slowed to a walk and then halted entirely, with his cock embedded deep in my no longer hot little hole. With his strangely bright, light-blue eyes boring down into mine, he said, his voice low, "What's happened, Robin?"
"I don't know." It was all I could do to get those few syllables out through my rigidly clenched teeth.
My uncle's eyes continued to spear mine, even as his magnificent whang speared my cunt. His face became set and angry and I felt the sudden fierceness that I had sensed, perhaps subconsciously, beneath the erotic playfulness he had revealed back at the Kernstown motel. But I sensed also that my uncle's sudden, furious, silent anger was not directed at me but at someone or something else. Someone or something had cast a spell over me and paralyzed me in mid-fuck.
I know it sounds crazy and I thought for a little while that I was losing my mind. It had become a battleground, a dueling field, and neither of the contestants was myself. One was my uncle, and the other ... Did I, in fact, recognize the other? It seemed to me that I did, though in distorted condition, like, a personality drawn all out of reasonable proportion by some distortion mirror of a spiritual funhouse.
How long it lasted, I do not know. But I seemed to feel the stasis gripping me begin to slip away, to hear a faint despairing voice that was not a voice yet perfectly audible to my mind's ear, cry, "You mustn't have her, too. Your cruelty is unbelievable ..."
Then it was gone, and suddenly, as if released from a straitjacket, my body snapped back into fucking rhythm and, once again, I rejoiced at holding that curved scimitar of an avuncular dong in my thrusting, gyrating hole. He moved with me, bringing us both on with a delicious and utterly unexpected lateral waggle of his prick that set it to pumping its thick, white nectar into the euphoric suffusion of my womb.
We had not fucked long enough to work up a sweat so getting back into our clothes was no trouble and, moments later, we were out of the leafy-arbored lane and winging back toward Riverville once more. But there was little conversation the rest of the way. Whatever it was that had occurred to interrupt our screwing on the moss there in the woods had shaken us both.
Glancing at the rigid set of his beautifully cut profile, at the flare of his one visible nostril, I could see that he was still furiously angry. Also, I was quite sure he knew what it was that had halted my fucking action like a paralytic stroke. Three times I opened my lips to ask; each time my nerve failed me, for whatever it was had been frighteningly out of my depth.
The fourth time, when I probably would have spoken, he forestalled me by turning his handsome face toward me and placing a firm but gentle hand on my thigh.
"Not yet," he told me, his eyes full of love. Now, more than ever, I knew that he could read my thoughts at will.
I didn't know whether to be angry or happy about it.
Chapter Eleven
Late that afternoon, Daddy was fucking me in the big guestroom bed. Brother Bill had driven Uncle Joe to Running Water to visit Mommy, who was still confined in jail, since the judge there had failed to return from his fishing trip in time. We could have had her sprung on a writ of habeas corpus, but my marvelous uncle, who seemed to have taken charge of the family affairs in this crisis, had advised against it.
"If I know Edna, and I ought to, she'll make a lot less trouble behind bars at a time like this than she will if she's free," he announced. "Anyway, I want to talk to her first."
So that was how it stood. Joanie, as fascinated by Uncle Joe as I was, had gone with them, and Harry and I were alone in our Riverville home.
We had gone to the guestroom to fuck since the other beds in the house were too small. Daddy and Mommy had slept in twin beds ever since I could remember.
There was an urgency about my father's fucking that I had never felt before. He climbed right on top of me the moment we hit the bed, not giving me any options in the matter of positions, and jamming that lovely big prick of his into me as if he were afraid fucking would go out of style. He gave me so little time to get my sex-sap started that his first plunge actually hurt. It was almost as if he were trying to rape me. Which seemed pretty silly under the circumstances, since we had been enjoying sex together for more than six years.
In a way, it was pitiful. I couldn't help but think that Daddy knew perfectly well how his brother-in-law and I had spent the night in that Kernstown motel and was afraid Uncle Joe had supplanted Harry's long-maintained Number One place in my cunt and my affections.
The really pitiful thing about it was that his instincts were right. I did my best to respond as always to the plumbing of his fine big dong with the titillating mole at its tip, but every time I thrust with my crotch to counter his powerhouse thrusts, I discovered that I was really fucking Uncle Joe in my mind's eye and missing that detonative lateral curve in his slightly larger prick.
All too evidently, Harry could tell. I saw what looked like a pearl of sweat at one tip of his mustache, but when I looked upward more closely at his flushed, almost angry face, I saw that it was a tear and that he was weeping as he drove his dong in and out of my hard-working hole. I began to cry, too, as I realized that something was over between us, and redoubled my efforts, causing us to come together in what should have been a terrific climax ... but which missed the mark because desire had waned on my part while desperation reigned on his.
When it was over, we didn't go for a double but let things die down and then disengaged our fucking pieces. My father lay by my side and I began to cry silently, too, and then we looked at each other and I gave his now-limp prong a fond squeeze while he rubbed his fingertips against my clit, giving me a sweet post-coital spasm.
When I came down, I wiped his tears away and said, "What are we crying for? That was delicious, Daddy."
Harry sniffed and sat up and said, "You know damned well what we're crying for. It's always been like that... when Uncle Joe moves in, I'm out."
"Out?" I said, reaching for his prick again and beginning to massage it back to stiffness. "Not bloody likely, darling. You taught me everything I know about fucking."
"You always were a sweet little darling, Robin." He put his arms around me and hugged me close. "But let's not kid ourselves, sweetheart. When you've had Joe's cock in your hole, you've had the best. There's never been a man alive who could fuck like he does." "Then why tight it?" I suggested. "Why not enjoy what we have?"
I pushed him gently over on his back and, curling up in a ball between his wide-apart thighs, I put my mouth to his familiar prick and began to suck it back to health, fondling its lower stalk and the balls beneath to bring it back to life more quickly. Sure enough, it rose rapidly under my ministrations, and when it had attained full mace-hood, I removed my lips from its mole-tipped crown and with a little cry of girlish glee, mounted my father's loins and, wriggling like a happy eel, worked it all the way up into the liquid velvet of my hot little hole.
To show his appreciation, Daddy laid his hands on either side of my purring pussy and, using his thumbs, began diddling my already erect little clit for bonus satisfaction. I took time out from the matter immediately at hand to fling myself against his beloved belly and breast to let our tongues and lips meet in a long, gratitude-filled kiss, the while he slid a hand around my well-penetrated rump to play tag with my arsehole.
But when I was riding him upright again, with him tall in my saddle, I took things very easy and Harry, either resigned or reassured or both, seemed ready to enjoy our fucking together once more. At least, he was no longer out to prove something to himself by ramming in and out of me like a schoolboy.
We had been screwing together so long, and knew so well each other's myriad little tricks, that there was no need for words between us. I would vary the beat unexpectedly, or alter the direction of my drives by twisting my torso to bring my cunt down (or up) and a new angle. Now and again, I'd lift my crotch until only the upper portion of my father's prodigious prick remained embedded within my flooding tunnel of lust and move my bottom rapidly in circles before coming down on its flat out until it was again buried to the hilt in my pulsing inner tissue. Daddy did his bit as well to add to our mounting pleasure, lifting his entire midsection to meet my downrushes and cause the mole-tipped head of his prick to prod the soft top of my convulsing uterus, gripping my buttocks to add excruciating manual direction to my own thrusts, lifting with me so that our fucking pieces remained fully intersticed even when I raised my cunt high for a fresh attack.
I came time after time, and this time my father came twice to flood my sopping insides with sweet spurting sperm before at last our time was over. But though it was as good as we'd ever attained together, and even our lesser fuckings had always been memorable, something had gone out of it.
When it was over, he patted my swampy pussy gently and said, "Thanks, darling, I needed that!"
I rolled my sweaty body close to his and put my arms around him and hugged him close and said, "You think I didn't, Daddy dear?"
He shook his head slowly and said, "It's okay, sweetheart ... we'll both survive. In fact, you may be in for the times of your life."
"Oh, Daddy!" I began to weep again. Through my tears, I added, "I feel so ashamed, having this happen with a man who is not my own daddy. I feel as if I were betraying the whole family."
Harry fondled my boobs deftly, giving me a minor thrill, then sat up and hugged his ankles and said, not looking at me, "I'm going to tell you something I promised never to tell a soul ... but, under the circumstances, Robin, you have every right to know."
Suddenly, psychically, I knew what was coming and a great surge of excitement raced through me. It was a little like what had happened back on the mossy bank in the clearing that morning, when I had felt like a battleground or the rope in some sort of psychic tug-of-war. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did.
When Daddy hesitated, I said, "Go on ..." very gently but urgently, because I wanted to hear confirmation from him.
"I'm trying to think of the best way to tell you," he said.
"When in doubt, Harry, say it straight," I told him, repeating one of his own favorite aphorisms.
He took a deep breath and slid a hand into my crotch and hooked a finger inside the edge of my cunt as if he feared I was going to run away. Then he said, "Well, the main thing is, unlike Bill and Joannie, you're not really my daughter at all. You're Uncle Joe's ... or Uncle Leicester's as he prefers to be called these days."
"I thought so," I said. "I could feel it. Feel something that wasn't just sex from the moment I saw him and didn't even know who he was."
"You're not the only woman who's felt things when they see Uncle Leicester for the first time," he said. "Even Edna ..."
"How did it happen?" I asked Harry.
He told me. Briefly, it had gone like this: Edna Martin had, as a girl, been madly and incestuously in love with her brother, Joe. Joe, who was fond of his kid sister but whose temperament and ambitions were wildly at variance with hers, had encouraged Edna to marry Harry Davis when Harry, too, fell in love with her.
So they were married and settled down in Riverville. But Edna brought a problem with her--frigidity where her husband was concerned. She admitted her guilty love but was unable to give herself to anyone else, even her husband. In fact, she was a virgin at the time. So Harry appealed to Uncle Joe, who came for a visit and opened his sister for business with spectacular results ... among them, me--Robin--some nine months later.
Thereafter, for a couple of years, Edna was all the wife a husband could demand .. and brother Bill and little Joanie had ensued. But then, overwhelmed by the guilt of her having conceived an incestuous daughter, she had again withdrawn, leaving her hapless husband to sleep alone in his own house ... at least, until Hotpants got us all going--and coming.
In conclusion, Daddy--I mean Harry--said, "You should be able to fill in the picture from there. Believe it or not, the person I'm most sorry for is your mother. You must remember that, at bottom, she's a woman of very strong sexual appetites."
I said, "That figures," and, when Harry raised an eyebrow, "In this family, what else?"
He grinned his happy grin and said, "You're a caution ... all of you. I don't mind telling you there have been times when I feared I couldn't keep it up."
"Things should be easier for you from now on," I said. He nodded. Somehow, we both knew that I was about to leave the nest. Suddenly, I told him about the weird thing that had happened when Uncle Joe was fucking me on the moss-bank off the Kernstown Road and said, "It was as if Mommy and Les were battling over me."
He nodded, then said, "There's a powerful psychic streak on her side of the family ... both of yours, of course. Your mother gave the whole thing up when she embraced religion...."
"And the Reverend Milton Rood," I added. We laughed a little at that, then I said, "What are we going to do about Mommie? We can't let her come to trial. The scandal will kill her."
"We'd better wait till your Unc--I mean, till your father gets back," he said, and suddenly we were both crying again in each other's arms. Inevitably, this led to a resurrection of certain important elements in certain parts of our bodies. We were lying on our sides, so I opened up my saddle and Harry slid his legs and hips inside and his big beautiful prick simply slid into the wet swamp of my cunt like a hungry horse finding its way back to the stable.
This one we made slow and easy, because we were both feeling sad about the changes that portended and, for all we knew then, this might be our last piece of arse together for a long time, perhaps forever. Now that everything was out in the open between us, except, of course, for Harry's dong, which was buried, hilt-deep, in my sweetly flooding guts, the tension had flown and we could really enjoy doing what we were doing together for its own sake.
If some of the excitement had gone out of our fucking--not only because of Cousin Joe's entry but through the discovery that I was not fucking my real father (a factor that had always added spice to our wooing for me)--we still made up a terrific team in that all-important department.
It seemed criminal that my mother, merely for the sake of her own weird hang-ups, should have let such marvelous meat go to waste all those years.
Right then, I almost wished they would leave her in jail ... but I knew they couldn't very well do that. I also knew, with my burgeoning ESP instincts, that Uncle Joe-- meant, my new, real daddy--was going to get Edna out. The only thing I didn't know was how.
We were still fucking, lying there naked on the bed, when Les and brother Bill and little Joanie came trooping back from their trip to Running Water to see Mommy. Harry looked at his handsome brother-in-law and said, "How's Edna doing?"
Les laughed, light blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and said, "Not one tenth as well as you are, you lucky stiff ... and lucky to be stiff."
Les stretched out an arm and pulled little Joanie into its circle against his side. Looking down at her, he said, "Seeing you two like that, puts me in mind of the fact that I haven't been fucked in more than six hours ... and that I've got a delicious bit of untried tender pigeon right here to take care of me. Is that all right with you, darling?"
Joanie didn't say a word; she didn't have to. Like every other female who ever came within fucking range of J. Leicester Martin, she wanted him to fuck her. As he began deftly stripping her out of her tight little sweater and even tighter red hotpants, Joanie's body looked turned to mush ... as if he could have poked his prick right into her anywhere and obtained ample satisfaction.
While he undressed Joanie with one hand, he got out of his own clothing with the other so that, in less than a minute, they were facing each other, naked. Harry slid us around on the big bed so that we would both watch them without either of us getting a crick in the neck. I was dying to see how Joanie took that big curved prick in her hole, and I guess Harry was, too.
There was something truly godlike about my real father when he stood, naked, in front of a girl with that magnificent saber of his fully risen in all its pink-and-purple majesty. Joanie reacted just as I had. Since she was shorter than I, she didn't have to go down on her knees to go down on her uncle, but she dipped gracefully with both knees and sucked its great imperial purple head right into her lush little mouth.
Then, so help me, Les looked over at Harry and me and lowered his right eyelid in a slow wink. I giggled, and this girlish act caused a certain convulsive activity in my crotch that, coupled with the eroticisms we were watching, plus the union of our own fucking pieces, got us on the road to renewed orgasms. My start as I giggled had caused that insidious mole atop Harry's cock to trace an explosive figure eight in the soft top of my womb. Next thing I knew, I was pumping my sluicing cunt up and down on that darling dick and hugging him close to my sweat-slippery breasts until, within a very short time, his mace bucked in my guts and then once again added its liquid reinforcements to the slush already lubricating my entire fucking area.
When we came back to earth, I noticed that brother Bill had vanished, but only registered this fact briefly. What was going on between little Joanie and Les Martin, my real father, was worth any girl's full attention unless she is actually in seething cacoethes herself.
Joanie, her thick dark-brown hair cascading around her face and upper body, with only a single nipple peeping coyly through its strands, had rolled herself into a ball atop Les Martin's muscular middle, hugging her knees close to her stomach. My father's dong was invisible, entirely embedded in my little half-sister's cunt. While his midsection heaved slowly with the lazy beat of an ocean swell, Joanie's uncle, with both hands flat against the snail-coil of her delicious little body, was slowly turning her around on his prick as if she were a cannibal roast trussed on a vertical spit.
He was rapidly heating her to the broiling point, too. I could tell by the way her beautifully lush young body was turning bright red beneath its suntan. After having her cunt make the circuit of his cock twice--and I could only imagine the devastation the curve in that massive spear must be wreaking within the tightness of Joanie's little hole, which was even tighter than mine--once clockwise, the second time counter-clockwise, my father began moving her in shorter arcs, backward and forward on his loins, the while his hands held her captive with a firm grip fore and aft of her compactly clutched buttocks.
Suddenly, with a slow scream as if she were being tortured on the rack or something, Joanie exploded from her uncle's constricting grip on her bottom. Her legs flew straight out in a sort of instant split and, as she was riding his prick sidesaddle at the moment, her left heel barely missed kicking the point of Les Martin's jaw. She would have fallen right off her perch, backward, had my real father not shifted his grip to steady her convulsing little body. Since, at that angle, the leftward bend in his prong had to be pushing against her clit from inside each time he slid it out and then into the bottom of her hole on the way from and to her womb, her frenzy was understandable.
She began heaving her entire body upward as though to break his hand-grip of her bottom, only to drop back with a series of mushy thuds, time after time. Then, as Les worked a finger into her clit and began tweaking it, she uttered a strangled squawk like a chicken laying an egg and, after flinging her arms straight out as she had flung her legs earlier, she pulled them in and rested them, one on each tit, and began squeezing her own flying nipples and boobs.
Getting her legs in front of her, both on her uncle's left flank with her knees sharply bent, she began bobbing up and down on Les Martin's monumental cock until, with a long, low moan, she came, settling down and shuddering all over her now cherry-red little body as his semen flooded into her core.
Harry and I had an unexpected eruption of our own to tend to then and, when we emerged from the sweet fogs of climax, we discovered that Les had brought little Joanie back to earth and that she lay curled up in his open crotch, blissfully sucking his prick, which was now at half-mast.
It was then that brother Bill returned, in the wake of Hotpants O'Houlihan. Hotlips took one look at what was going on and shed her own clothes so fast they blurred as they flew through the air.
"Hey!" cried Bill, but he was too late. Springing like a well-tanned pink cat, Hotlips had pushed little Joanie to one side and mounted my real father's prick. At first, she had to stuff it in, but it stiffened so quickly she was fully impaled before she had a chance to get well settled.
I took pity on poor Bill, who looked as if someone had sandbagged him, and gave him a thorough fucking he would long remember ...
while Harry and little Joanie took out their fondest aggressions on each other's genitals as our Creator intended in the first place.
Not until night had fallen and hunger had driven us to the kitchen, where we sat around the big table and stuffed ourselves with cheeseburgers and french fries, did we find time to do much talking about the problems all but Hot-pants among us were facing.
"What's the approach?" Harry asked his brother-in-law. "Do we cop a plea for Edna or fight it?"
"Neither," said Les with a quiet confidence that barely skirted contempt. "Since we don't want my poor sister stained with scandal, we get Wilma Rood to withdraw her charges and than forget the whole thing as an aberration of a sex-starved minister's wife."
"And just how do you plan to get her to do that?" said Harry.
"Well," said my real father, "I'll need Robin to help me. I understand she's handy with a movie camera."
"That's right," said Harry, "but what for?"
"Stick around through tomorrow," replied Les Martin, "and find out. I've already done the spadework." He wiped his hands on a napkin, stood up, naked and magnificent as before, reached for my hand and said, "Time's awasting, darling daughter, let's get the hell back upstairs."
Chapter Twelve
My father stopped fucking at midnight. When he pulled his beautiful, gleaming-wet cock out of my hole for the last time that night, he sighed as he poked his lovely long fingers into my straining cunt and said, "Darling daughter, I have an ordeal ahead of me this day. I must rest and prepare myself for it."
"Can't we have just one more fuck?" I pleaded, but he shook his head as he diddled my twat and then, after bidding all of us good-night, departed for one of the other bedrooms.
I moved to follow him, but Harry stopped me by sliding an arm across my tits and said, "It's for your mother's good, Robin. Let him go."
"But we were just getting warmed up!" I protested. "Who needs rest?"
"He does," Harry insisted. "He has to be at his best when he sees Wilma Rood tomorrow."
"But he never runs out of gas," I insisted. "I should know."
Harry looked at me, the sadness back in his eyes, a sadness I had seen only since my real father arrived. He said, "Not with you, Robin ... after all, you're young and beautiful ... and his daughter."
"What's that got to do with it?"
"You haven't seen Wilma Rood," said Harry. And, to Hotpants, who was slurpingly sucking his cock. "Excuse me, darling, but I think Robin's need is greater than thine as of this writ-tag.
Hotpants lifted her lovely, sexy face from the big prick she loved so well and tossed back her hair and said to me with a smile, "Be my guest, Robin."
Harry rolled over on top of my willing body and slid that marvelous mole-tipped tool of his into my cock-hungry cunt ... but once again, I was reminded of the importance of the psychological element in fucking. While Harry was a magnificent amorist, fucking and being fucked by him had lost its quintessence of excitement for me ever since I learned that Leicester Martin rather than he was my real father.
I didn't even try to figure out what it meant. After all, Harry was ramming his wonderful prick in and out of my thrusting hole so this was hardly a moment for a self-question and answer period. Having him in my quiff may not have been as wildly exciting as in the past. But it still sent me winging into orbit in a hurry, and, if only to make up for my loss of love for him, I gave the fucking all I had. Nor did I emerge the loser as voluptuous thrill pursued voluptuous thrill through my churning, gyrating body.
When we finished, in a wild wet tangle of limbs and torsos, and I had rested for a little while, brother Bill drew me on top of him and, for the first time that night, I could feel the head of his cock pushing against the nubbly surfaces of my labia and nymphae. I spread my legs so that my knees straddled my half-brother and wriggled my cunt downward until his meat filled it. Once again I gave it everything I had and was repaid with interest by the wonderful sweetness of the succession of orgasms that roiled my flooding guts before; at last, he drove his cock in all the way and held its throbbing head against my womb-top while his semen flooded that already full-to-bursting organ of delight.
Thereafter, I was out of the contest, feeling no need for any prick other than that of my so-newly discovered real father. I sat on a corner of the big bed and watched Harry and Bill and Joanie and Hotpants gambol as they had so many delightful other nights. Then, when all four of them were engaged in a marathon double fucking, I felt sleepy and very much alone and slipped off to find my real father and snuggle my own naked body against the muscular magnificence of his.
When I wakened the following morning, it was to find him sitting on the edge of the narrow bed, smoking a cigarette and regarding me thoughtfully. When he saw I no longer slumbered, he said, "Robin, are you sure you want to come with me ... after we finish with Mrs. Rood today?"
I nodded, said, "You know it, darling Daddy."
"You'd better get used to calling me Les," he said, his incredibly light blue eyes laughing down at me. "Some of the inevitable situations we'll be in would make our true relationship ... well, indiscreet."
"Les ..." Shyly, I slid a hand between his lean, muscular thighs and gripped his limp prick tenderly. "I did hear you say something about our coming together ... didn't I?"
He smiled and my heart lit up, and then he turned briefly away to tamp out the cigarette in a nightstand ashtray. He made no effort to remove my hand from his dong, and even as he did this, I could feel the wonderful beginning of it swell within the circumference of my palm and fingers.
Turning back as it rapidly attained full fucking size and far outgrew the grip of my hand both in length and thickness, he looked down at its burgeoning, then at me and said, "I really shouldn't..."
"... But you can't help yourself." I slid a hand around his rump to pull him closer. "And what you've got now would be a pity to waste."
"That's a thought," he conceded. "It would hardly be production for use now, would it?"
"And I helped produce it, didn't I, darling?"
"You beautiful little devil." He laid his flesh against mine, and my cunt flooded and I began to come before either prick or finger touched it. There was no further question in my mind--if, indeed, there had ever been one--this was the man I had to be with if life was to have any meaning at all. And, as his wonderful whang slid into my more than ready roundhouse, I climaxed so mightily that the sun seemed to burst into a brilliant nova, even though, when I came out of it, I discovered that the skies were clouded.
Les made this fairly quick. Instead of repeating, put his head in my crotch and tongued and sucked my sopping sex piece until my passions subsided ... although the wonderful roughness of his tongue against my clit and in my cunt rendered the process slower than it might otherwise have been.
We showered and he shaved and then we dressed and had breakfast with the family. Then we were off to Running Water and the great ploy to make the minister's wife drop her charges against poor Mommy and her reverend husband.
My father had set it up the day before while Harry and I were discovering the thrill was gone. And as he put the plan into operation, I discovered that there was a great deal to learn about this man who had so swiftly possessed himself of my paternity and my cunt. Like anyone else confronted with a miracle, I had simply taken him for granted and asked few questions. Nor had I asked any of myself. Questions like where he lived or what he did for a living ... stuff like that. Thus far, I was just along for the ride.
We drove to a motel on the outskirts of Running Water ... the very same place in which Wilma Rood had caught Mommy and her husband in what is known in legal circles as flagrante delicto ... where Les had already engaged the large end suite usually reserved for traveling salesmen who wish to lay out their wares for the local buyers.
Les and the kids had rigged it up with black draperies and set up a sort of altar at the side ... directly across the room from the door to the suite's bedroom. My father led me in there and showed me the peephole and then drew a fine little movie camera from the suitcase that lay open on the rack against the wall.
"I want you to be sure that my face never shows," he told me, "but get every bit of Wilma in action. It won't be so difficult to keep me out of it since I'll be masked most if not all of the way."
He began undressing, and I automatically reached for my own zipper, but he checked me, saying, "Not now, Robin. I've got to change."
There before my eyes, my father transformed himself into a priest with black cassock, white surplice and all ... surely the most handsome priest who had ever worn such drab attire, all the more handsome in contrast to it.
"But, Les," I protested, "you're not wearing anything underneath..."
"I'm well aware of that," he said, his wonderful eyes laughing at me. "As a matter of fact, that's most important!" Then, as the doorbell sounded from outside the display room, "Oh-oh, Robin ... she's here!"
He glided from me, closing the door, and I quickly stationed myself, camera in hand, at the peephole to watch.
Wilma Rood was the homeliest old woman I ever saw--even for a Running Water minister's wife. Beady eyes, a big birdlike beak, a tight, mean little mouth, a sprinkling of large moles, lank, greying hair ... these were a few of the stellar attractions Wilma boasted from the neck up. From the neck down, it was anybody's estimate, for she wore a shapeless ankle-length dress of black sateen turned rusty brown by too many launderings. A pair of rimless pince nez perched on the crown of her corvina beak.
As I watched Les receive her, I realized that my real father was not only a superstud but a super-performer as well. No star of stage, screen and television could have radiated the delight with which he greeted this walking horror. I've heard of extreme unction, and my new daddy had it sticking out all over him and he took her hand in both of his and led her gently but firmly to a straight chair, sat down opposite her and began conversing with her, keeping his hypnotic light blue eyes firmly fixed on the pair of black beads that passed for Wilma Rood's orbs.
Since the acoustics were lousy, I could only catch snatches of what Les was saying to her in his low, persuasive voice. But what I did hear was enough to make my neck hair stand straight up. I heard mention of "sin" and of "redemption" ... of seeing that "Each one of us who treads the path of evil must receive his just and fitting reward here on earth"... of "carrying out unflinchingly the vengeance of the Lord" ... et cetera.
Wondering why Les was trying to set Mommy and the Reverend Milton Rood up for a lynching, I nevertheless got the camera focused properly and took some footage of Wilma Rood through the peephole, busying myself so that I could not for a time pay attention to the frightening things my new Daddy was telling the woman who had put her husband and my Mommy in jail.
I could see that Wilma was taking it all in. And from the expression on her face, Les had her hypnotized. Her little black eyes stared fixedly at him and her little mouth was open with the tip of a pink tongue showing in one corner. The front of the shapeless black dress was heaving up and down, indicating the intensity of whatever emotion my new daddy had inspired.
Listening once more, I realized that the tenor of Les's monologue had changed. Now he was talking less of sin and vengeance and more of "the unfulfilled needs of every human soul." He had recaptured her hand and was leaning forward, pressing with low-keyed insistence the case he was trying to make for her benefit. Whatever it might be.
Then, gracefully, he rose and smiled beatifically down at her, holding both her hands. In sonorous tones, he said, "I want you to pray for guidance, my dear, lest you soften in your resolve to pursue the vengeance that is rightly yours ... nay, pray not merely for guidance upon you, however hard the path may seem."
He led her in front of the altar and, with the gentlest of shoulder pressures, caused her to sink to her knees and pray. All of this I caught with the camera, carefully leaving my new Daddy's face out of the frames as he stepped out of the camera range. I was still shooting and Wilma was still praying, in profile across the room, when suddenly the door was opened and Les slipped into the room beside me.
After mopping a beaded brow, he said in tones barely above a whisper, "Put that camera down, darling ... you've got to help me get a hard on so I can fuck that old bitch."
For a moment, as the true purport of his plan got through to me, I was unable to move. The sheer audacity of his scheme, to say nothing of its devilish effectiveness, actually paralyzed me. Understanding the sacrifice he intended to make in his sister's behalf, my love for my new-found father soared to even loftier heights.
But Daddy was not in a waiting mood. Pulling me close, and forcing me to my knees, he said as he pulled up his cassock in front to expose his limp genitalia, "Honey, give it everything you've got. That old bag's bad enough to look at, but she's got breath like a dead rhinoceros that's been lying in the African sun too long."
"Better fuck her from the rear then, Daddy," I told him just before I lifted his flaccid fucking piece and put it into my mouth. The stroke of his hand on my head expressed his approval of my suggestion. In general, I have always been known as the practical one among the three of us kids, which was why my just discovered psychic powers came as such a surprise.
But this was hardly the moment for such esoteric considerations. My duty clear before me lay: to give my new-found daddy a hard on and give it to him in a hurry, so he could fuck old balsam-face there in the next room and get it under with.
At first, I didn't think I was going to make it. No matter how cunningly I applied my lips, my tongue and even my teeth, I seemed unable to rouse any response in Daddy's dick. Invariably, if a man's prong is going to respond to any treatment, it shows at least some signs of life early in the game. Daddy's remained as soft and dangling after two full minutes of sucking and licking and nibbling as it had when I first put it in my mouth.
I let it go and stood up and said, "It isn't going to work, Les darling."
"I know it." He looked down at his useless fucking piece and shook his handsome head. "Just thinking of that hideous old crumpet out there is enough to put it in non-rigid shock. And of all the times to ..."
"Don't give up the ship, Daddy," I said, pushing my naked body close against his. "Maybe if..."
Keeping his cassock high on his chest, I climbed his beautiful body and tucked his hanging cock into my well-creamed crotch and began squeezing it between the tops of my thighs. It worked, and within a mere matter of seconds, that magnificent curved scimitar pushed hard at the gates of my cunt, seeking its true scabbard.
But there was no time for us to complete together what we had so well if so belatedly begun. Wilma Rood waited in the next room, and it was time for the coup de grace. Daddy hugged me and then pulled his prick clear of my cleft. Still naked, I resumed my post at the peephole, camera in hand, as soon as the door closed behind him.
He approached his victim quietly, his cassock protruding in front, thanks to the big erection beneath its modest black broadcloth surface, like that of a pregnant woman after her waters have fallen just before the childbirth. But even as I watched and took pictures, to my horror the bulge began to recede.
Les moved swiftly, deftly, taking the only course remaining to him, which was to plant his prick in that old horror's hole before it grew too small for insertion. Even so, I didn't think he was going to make it. But, when he lifted Wilma's dress from behind, intoning, "And now let us know the pleasure of our Lord!" the miracle occurred.
If Wilma had the face of an old witch, from the neck down, concealed by the shapeless rust-brown sateen dress, lay a bundle of goodies which, though slightly overripe perhaps, were definitely female and definitely designed for fucking. As Les lifted his cassock once more, his waning prick was rising once more, and he lost no time in dropping to his knees behind his victim, pushed her torso over forward and thrusting his curved cock to the hilt in the juicy cunt of the minister's wife.
And I kept right on shooting for posterity as he fucked her.
As he pumped his Big Bertha in and out of her fully exposed hole, it quickly became lathered with pussyjuice. Since he could neither see her face not get a whiff of her monstrously bad breath, it quickly became evident to me that my sire was enjoying himself. He was too much the erotic artist not to do his utmost to give delight when embedded in such a juicy hole. He began fucking her with flourishes, moving his buttocks to the left or to the right to bring his big curved cavalry saber plunging into Wilma's juicing tunnel of love from a variety of angles.
As for Wilma ... she behaved like a highly sexed female who had never been so thoroughly fucked in her life. She bucked and bobbed her bottom, she wriggled and writhed, she uttered little whinnies and snorts of delight as she savored her much relished attacker with her cunt and finally, lifting her homely profile upward toward the improvised altar, she uttered a shrill, "Praise to our Lord for giving us such pleasure. Thy will be do-o-o-o-o-o-o-one!"
The done was drawn out until it became a long groan of ecstasy as she came, snapping her rump around wildly and planting herself on all fours the better to wag her tail as feelings invaded her whose existence she could hardly ever have suspected.
Finally, my father had to grab her churning buttocks and grip them tightly, his fingers disappearing in the tender flesh, to plant his sperm in the top of her tunnel. Finished, he pulled his prick out of her richly creamed hole, leaving her in pitiful shape--a condition he relieved by sucking her shuddering pussy, a ministration to which she surrendered with evident relief and delight.
With this done, he let her suck his prick, giving her a lesson in the art of fellatio and pulling his long thick dong out only barely in time for me to get an excellent series of shots of his sperm spurting from the tip of his prick across an inch or two of space into her avidly open mouth. And, since she failed to catch all of it, giving me a fine close-up of Daddy's semen running down her face.
Les said, "Okay, hon, that should do it. Come on out."
When Wilma saw me with the camera and realized what had been done to her, she fainted dead away; but we rode back to Riverville with Mother riding on the front seat between us. She was almost pitifully grateful, yet even now, she uttered a few snide comments about Les's way of life and how he must have accomplished her release.
"You can thank this big prick of mine for getting you out of jail, Edna," he told her. "And at least I'm honest about it. When I fuck, I fuck and I enjoy it as much as possible." A pause, then, "Incidentally, dear sister, you were one of the lousiest lays I ever had ... even worse than Wilma Rood."
Mother turned cherry red, just like Joanie when she's embarrassed. She said, "Joe, you mustn't ... the child!" This last, with a furtive side glance at me.
"Your daughter," he said. "Our daughter ... is one of the very best pieces of arse I've had in my life. What's more, she's coming with me when I take off tonight."
"You wouldn't!" she cried. "I won't let her go!"
"Edna, I hate to say this, but you're in no position to stop us ... not since you made an ass of yourself with the Reverend Rood. So shut up and don't let it happen again. With Robin leaving, you can get all the fucking you'll ever want from Harry and Bill."
"But ... it's so wrong!" she gasped. "I couldn't."
"You will ... now," he said calmly. "You've been dying to get in on it for years, or you'd never have let Rood fuck you. I suppose his being a reverend made it okay."
Mom didn't say anything, but her blush grew brighter still.
* * *
Harry and Joanie drove to Kernstown to catch the Indianapolis plane. Mommy and brother Bill were doing, guess what? back at the house in Riverville. After much kissing and a few tears from Joanie, they left us there. Then Les and I went inside--and saw that our plane was ninety minutes late.
I said, sliding my hand into his, "Les, do we have to go to Indianapolis tonight?"
Those hypnotic bright blue eyes looked down at me and blazed with humor and sensuality. He said, "Now that you mention it, I don't really have to get there for another day or two. We wound this business up more quickly than I had estimated."
"Oh, shut up, darling ..." I said lovingly, and we began the short walk back to the motel of blessed memory.
