Did I use grief as a shield? Since that day, I have asked myself this question, and many other related ones, a thousand times.
I could feel his legs on mine. His crotch nestled so erotically against mine that neither of us could deny our closeness. I knew that Ronnie couldn't help himself. He was just seventeen, a victim of his own puberty. My sunsuit was tight on my body and I wore thin panties underneath. I could feel the shorts being pushed open by a growing hardness in his crotch.
The mystery was there and I succumbed to it.
"Hold me tight," I said. "I need you, Ronnie. Need you close."
I pushed up against him, rubbing my nylon clad pussy against his own shorts. The knob I there was as hard as steel. His cock was doubled up in his shorts like a coiled spring. I couldn't help myself. The need in me was so great that I didn't think of the consequences. My tears blotted out all warning thoughts. My empty body ached to be filled. My pussy burned at his touch. This should have been Bill, my husband. But he was gone-forever-and only my son was with me now. My little big man growing up in a wink of time.
My right hand went down to his shorts, squeezed his cock, frantically unbuttoned the top flap and slipped inside. I felt his body stiffen against mine. He tried to free himself before it was too late, but I held him tightly against me with my other arm. I couldn't lose him now. I needed him. I needed to touch that hard cock of his, straighten it out, force it up inside my steaming cunt. Mindless, I groped for his aroused shaft.
I found it and straightened it out. I put my hand around it and squeezed. Ronnie's muscles tightened in a quick shudder. I rubbed his cock, rubbed it shamelessly, and wept against his face. He no longer struggled and I relaxed my hold on his back. His cock grew harder. I could feel it throbbing in my hand.
I caressed his organ tenderly, my senses alert to any rejection on his part. I couldn't have borne that after going this far. I was very insecure. At first, I thought it would be enough to touch his privates and then pretend later that it was just an accidental brushing. But I had gone beyond that. His young cock was too much for me. It pounded in my hand, begged me to rub it into full bloom. There was no way that I could stop myself.
It was odd, but a sense of power came over me suddenly. Ronnie was as helpless as I. He could not will himself to pull away, to stop this madness before it went any farther. The more I squeezed his prick, the more he was mine to do with as I wished. I rubbed it furiously a few times, clamping it tightly in my palm. The way his body surged against mine I knew I had to stop. I could feel his cock getting ready to ejaculate. I squeezed hard at the base of it to shut off the spurting in case it came. I didn't want to lose him too soon!
Ronnie sighed deeply and I knew that he had been close to orgasm. I stopped squeezing him so hard and started rubbing him more slowly, more gently. The smooth crown of his cock felt as soft as fur. It was so precious to me just then! I wanted to look at it, to bring it to my lips, but I was afraid of breaking the contact between us. Ronnie seemed to me like a frightened young animal, ready to bolt at the first suspicious move. I knew that I must maintain contact or he would begin to think about what we were doing.
Oh, I didn't know what was wrong with me, what made me persist in fondling my own son's genitals. I couldn't even think about it deeply. Yet, I did think about it. My own body was burning with a faint fire, which permeated every square inch of my flesh. My pussy was pulsing in the same rhythm as Ronnie's cock. I had never had such a sensation before, but I-could feel this very strongly. It was so quiet in the trailer. Even our breathing seemed to be as one person.
I couldn't let him go. Not after coming this far. Yet, I knew that once we passed a certain point, we'd never be able to go back to the way things were before. Well, I couldn't do that anyway: things would never be the same without Bill. Did I know that then? Not consciously, perhaps. Probably not that clearly. I was in shock. I know this sounds like rationalizing but it's true. I was numbed by the news I had gotten that day. Nothing seemed real at all. Nothing except what I had with me, what was in my hand, what was next to my body, what was being telegraphed to my mind from my flesh.
I had already ventured too far to stop. My son's cock was a treasure in my hand. I pressed its swollen bulk against my leg, rubbing the wet seeping head into my leg. It burned into my skin like a branding iron. It was so close to my pussy my heart was jumping in my chest. I moved it up my leg, slid it underneath my shorts. I slid it back out, afraid. My pussy begged me to let it slide up into its hole. I slid it back under my shorts. I moved his cock higher, straining against his body. I could feel his tenseness, his eagerness. I wanted to scream, to strike him, to push him away. Yet I didn't: I acted like a young hussy. My shorts were too tight with his cock stuffed up one leg. I moved his cock back out and frantically unbuttoned my shorts. My panties were soaked with my desire. They clung to my pussy like a piece of sodden tissue. I knew my son would know of my shamelessness before long.
I slipped my shorts down my legs.
I lifted Ronnie's cock above them and pushed it against my leg. Most of its length lay recessed and hot on the soft part of my inner thigh. I had never felt such exquisite pleasure before! My senses raced like darting swallows at the sunset rise of insects. I held his tender, hard prick there and moaned to myself like a keening woman. I could almost will it to lengthen along my leg and touch my seething hot pussy! Yet I caressed it for a long time, trying desperately to cool my senses. It beat against my leg like an artery grafted on my flesh. It burned into my skin like a molten shaft of steel fresh from the foundry's ovens.
Can any woman describe what it's like to have her son's swollen cock next to her like that? I doubt it! I felt such a tenderness toward him, such an overwhelming desire to kiss his young prick and breathe my love over it. I wanted so much to tell him how I felt, but there was only a catch in my throat, a helplessness that engulfed me, leaving me speechless. My fingers stroked the uneven skin of his cock and the sensations that were transmitted to my brain were beyond description. I imagined what his cock would taste like in my mouth. I pictured it going in and out of my squeezing lips. I pictured my tongue licking every drop of his seeping juices, flaying at his pubic hairs, curling over his testicles. I felt painful twinges in my abdomen, between my legs, deep inside my cunt. I pictured his youthful prick easing into my twat and I'm sure I came at that moment. I took my hand away from his cock as though it had been burned suddenly.
His prick lay there, beating against my inner thigh, leaking its hot juices. I squirmed against him, one hand over his eyes so that he couldn't see my face. I knew my mouth was open, my eyes teary and pleading, my skin flushed. I heard him moan.
"Oh, Mother," he sobbed. "Oh, Mother, I'm, I'm...."
But he couldn't say what was on his mind. I ached desperately for him at that moment.
I grasped his pounding meat once again. I pulled his cock upward to my panties. I wanted his cock to touch me more intimately. My leg had gone numb. I drew his cock up to my crotch wantonly. I felt his body move up next to mine. His organ seemed to grow into an enormous thing the closer it got to my pussy. It became like something out of a dream, a massive symbol all out of proportion to reality.
I wished then that Ronnie could read my thoughts, scrambled as they were. I wanted him to know that I meant him no harm. I wanted him to know that my mother's love had transcended the bounds of social acceptance but was no less sweet and pure. I wanted him to know so many things at that terrible moment. But there was no way to put them into words. There was no way to speak plainly and hold intact the feelings that I knew must now be mutual. I wondered if anyone else had ever held his cock this way. I felt a surge of jealousy. I knew that this was incongruous, but it was no less so than our very closeness.
None of this should have happened.
Yet, it was happening. Ronnie knew it, and I knew it. He let me pull him up like that. I even thought that I could stop what I was doing and that he would continue. I could imagine my son raping me, plunging his cock into my cunt if I tried to stop him. I could feel the young savage in him. And I knew that I was just as savage as he.
I felt the pull of long-buried desires, the urgency of dream-wishes, yet I couldn't fathom them, nor put them into intelligible symbols. I was caught like a piece of driftwood on the tide. I gripped my son's cock like a woman drowning. It was the only reality that mattered.
His cock was my salvation then. I held onto it tightly even while moving it close to my cunt. I had to feel it there, even if just for a moment. I had to hold it against my pussy lips even if that would be the end of this crazy episode! I pulled on it, and my son pushed upward, knowing, I think, what I wanted. I reached over with my left arm and drew him closer to me.
My panties were on, but I didn't dare remove them. I was not yet that brazen! Or so I thought. This was only play. This was just a moment of need. It would pass. I had to keep holding up that pretense like a tattered flag that was all that I had left, pretense, as I pulled my son's cock up to my panties, up to the pulsing defile of my pussy lips. Just a touch, I told myself, and then I would release him! Just a bare exquisite touch! Just a fleeting taste of forbidden fruit!
I thrust my pussy forward. I could feel the heat from Ronnie's cock. My hand tightened on his penis just as my breath caught in my throat. The tip of his cock touched my panties. I pulled his cock to me. The head of it touched my lips. I nearly fainted!
"Mother!" he breathed loudly. "Oh, I can't stand it!"
I released my hand from his cock, suddenly afraid.
He kept pushing inward. I felt the nylon of my panties going inside my slit. I felt his cock pushing into my hole.
The panties would keep him away!
No harm had been done! We were just emotionally overwrought, both of us. It could stop right there. It had to stop right there.
Even as I thought these things, my hands were tugging at my panties. His cock was pushing inward. My hole widened as his prickhead penetrated, pushing the nylon in, stretching it to the limit.
"Ronnie," I whispered. "No, we can't do this. We mustn't do this. I-I'm sorry."
He kept pushing. I kept tugging at my panties, drawing them downward, opening up my pubic area. I pushed against his cock, though, exulting in the throb of its flesh. I couldn't stop myself. My thoughts were even more tangled than before.
"Ronnie," I breathed, "stop. Stop now. Please. Stop us both."
I could feel him looking down at my body. I looked up into his eyes. They were burning with something that I understood.
It was too late to stop. Too late for both of us. Even as he pulled away, I jerked my panties down, and his eyes glittered as he looked at my exposed pussy. His cock hovered above it like a sword about to strike.
I closed my eyes, and spread my legs....
CHAPTER ONE
Some nightmares start with a tulip growing out of the dank earth of dream.
Others begin on the edge of a web where a spider waits in his wispy tunnel for the slightest sound or movement.
Still others begin with a drop of blood leaking from a heart that is too full.
Mary Rogers' nightmare began with the grinding scream of twisted metal and the crash of shattering glass, the agonizing burn of rubber on pavement.
Yet she heard none of it. Saw nothing.
It happened miles away from her in a city where fun is the keynote, where the clocks are never watched, where money is both king and fool.
She was just thirty-six years old when it happened. She was just coming over the horizon to her dream when the nightmare met her headlong, crumpling her legs, snatching the air from her chest, stinging her eyes with its invisible needles.
Ronnie was outside the big 10' x 60' mobile home, sunning himself in a deck chair on the new slab of cement that his father, Bill, had poured a month before. He was a lean, handsome young man, just turning seventeen;-sandy-haired like his father, brown-eyed like his mother, Mary. He wore a pair of boxer-type swimming trunks, nothing else. He had only fine, almost transparent hairs on his wide chest, but he knew that someday they would darken, like his father's, and thicken as they spread.
His sister, Anne, was twenty miles away, at the Lodge, swimming and playing shuffleboard by the side of the pool. She was only fifteen and her body was more developed than her mind. She was dark-haired and had her father's light blue eyes, his fine, thin nose, his dancing smile. During the summer, the Lodge, headquarters of the property owners at Modoc Pines in Northern California, was busy with tourists and prospective buyers. The Rogers's owned five acres in section 4A, at the top of a ridge. Behind them, National Forest precluded anyone moving in on that side. Their five acres was, in truth, vast, for few people came to that part of the country. Modoc Pines, 45,000 acres of recreational land, had only a half dozen permanent residents. The Rogers family had come there to join those few, to live a quiet life in the country away from the crush of civilization, the "rat race."
Bill Rogers, Mary's husband, was an architect who had made good. He didn't plan to retire, but he could well afford it. His imaginative housing projects were scattered all over the country and his real estate investments had proven out, mainly through his friendship with politicians, not only in Sacramento, but in San Francisco, Los Angeles and San Diego. He was shrewd, but he also knew that there were other things in life besides making money. As a consultant, he could leave the city behind, could live the outdoor life as he had wanted to do since he had been a boy, raised in the rugged, bleak hills of Montana.
The black-and-white Highway Patrol car rolled up to the Rogers property, slow and ominously quiet. Ronnie looked up and shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand. Two men got out of the car. One of them was Patrolman Harold Strunk. The other was Project Developer, Jess Garfield, who had directed the CHP man to the Rogers's place. They walked up the rock-lined path to the trailer home.
"Is your mother home?" asked the patrolman.
"Yes. She's inside. I'll get her," the youth replied.
Mary was busy arranging things in the trailer. She was on her second screwdriver of the day, trying to stay relaxed in all her excitement at their new life. She knew that Bill was due to arrive that night and she wanted everything perfect for him. She loved her husband.
She loved her family.
"Mom, there's a couple of guys outside want to see you. One of 'em's The Man."
"The man?"
"The fuzz. A highway cop."
"Oh. I wonder what they want? I'll be right out." She took a sip of her screwdriver and touched her brunette hair with her hand. She was wearing a pale yellow sunsuit that amplified her breasts, showed off her firm, trim legs.
She walked outside.
"Yes?" she said. "May I help you?"
"Are you Mrs. William A. Rogers?" asked the patrolman.
"Yes," she said. "I am."
"May we talk to you alone for a minute? Inside?"
She felt her mouth go dry. Something was wrong. She could sense it.
She led them inside the trailer.
"Coffee?" she asked as they sat down at the dining table.
"No, thanks, Mrs. Rogers," said Strunk. Garfield shook his head.
"What's this all about?" she asked, her lip quivering.
"Your husband was involved in a traffic accident in Reno," said Strunk. "He was fatally injured."
"Bill? Killed?"
"Yes, ma'am. I'm afraid so."
"How? When?"
She was stunned. Her face was white, drawn. She looked suddenly very frail and thin.
"This morning. It was very early. A truck. It was ... it happened ... that is ... uh ... instantly."
"Bill gone? I was waiting for him. We were going to build here. We had all these plans-"
"I understand, Mrs. Rogers. I'm sorry."
"Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Garfield. He was a rugged, handsome man in his early thirties, his face richly tanned from the outdoors. He had a blunt chin, an even blunter nose and deep-set eyes. His wide shoulders bore a strong head. His hair was brown and his eyes hazel, flecked with copper and gold. His big hands were rough and calloused. She looked at his even teeth, the dimples even the tan couldn't conceal.
"No. I don't know. This is such a shock. Where is he?"
"He's being brought to Altitas this evening, Mrs. Rogers," Strunk said. "The Alexander Funeral Home there."
Mary looked at the two men in disbelief. It was true. Bill was dead. It struck her so suddenly that she had no words.
"Please, please," she said "I-I want to be by myself. Thank you for coming."
The two men got up.
"You can go to Alexander's tomorrow," the patrolman said. "I'll stop off there and tell them."
"Yes, yes," she said, scarcely hearing him. "I'll stop by and see you in a day or so," said Garfield. "In the meantime, if you need anything, just leave a message at the Lodge."
She watched them go down the path. It was the same path that she had expected Bill to come bounding up this afternoon. Patrolman Strunk waved to her as he pulled away. She lifted a hand and then let it drop to her side. Ronnie, her son, was watching her, puzzled. "Mother," he said, "what did they want?"
"Ronnie! It's your dad. He's-he's been killed." She broke down then and her son rushed to her side. He took her in his arms and helped her inside the trailer. The shock of his father's death left him with a numbness that made his feet and hands seem leaden.
"How? Why?" he asked.
"An accident. In Reno. Oh, Ronnie, what are we going to do?"
"Take it easy, Mother," he said. "Dad? Dead? I can't believe it!"
She understood his confusion. Their world had been shattered. They had lost a husband and a father. Just like that. No more than a finger-snap of time. Her knees went weak and she buckled. Ronnie carried her to the bedroom, laid her on the bed.
"Stay with me," she said.
"Yes. I will. Oh, my god, Anne! She doesn't know!"
"No! She'll find out soon enough. Oh, Ronnie, I can't face up to it. Stay close to me. You and Anne are all I have left!"
"I know, Mother," he said. He lay beside her, shaking with the uncertainly of grief.
"Bill's gone."
"I know."
"He won't ever be back."
"Stop it, mother. It won't do any good."
The tears came then. He looked at her, crumpling, breaking apart on the bed. She reached out for him, blindly. He went to her, a son comforting his grief-stricken mother. They held each other tightly.
"Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie," she sobbed, "what are we going to do?"
"I'll take care of you, Mom," he said.
She felt his strong arms holding her. His chest crushed her breasts. She rolled him on top of her. Squeezed him tightly against her. He felt helpless against her tears. He had none of his own in the shock of the moment. He was conscious of their twin positions, their loins together, their sexes separated only by thin pieces of cloth.
It was a special time and he was needed.
Just his presence was enough, he felt, for he didn't know what else might be expected of him. He hadn't been prepared for anything like this at all. The suddenness of the news had parched his throat, blanked his brain. He couldn't picture his father dead, only alive. He could feel his absence only in his mother's tears, in the sobbing sounds of her grief.
"Hold me tight," she breathed. "I need you, Ronnie, need you close."
He nodded in understanding, held his mother's body close to his.
He sensed a change in his mother, something not connected with her sorrow. It hung between them like a sudden cloud, a hovering presence that neither of them could understand.
He felt her push up against him and it seemed that his own need cried out. His body tensed as his groin pressed to her tight sunsuit. A maddening embarrassment flooded over him. His penis tautened despite himself, hardening into a knob that pried at her shorts, that sought the soft flesh underneath. He tried to pull away from his mother, but she only held him tighter. He wondered if he was imagining the change in her. It seemed to him that he could feel her thrusting her loins upward. He could feel her shorts crawling up her leg, her fleshy mound eagerly pressing against the hard knot in his crotch. And something else!
Her hand moving down his side, reaching for him!
He could no longer deny what was happening. Her hand touched the stiff pretzel of his cock and an electric thrill surged though his veins. When she squeezed his cock, he felt the blood drain out of his brain. He felt her frantic hand unbuttoning the flap of his shorts. Her hand slipped inside. He stiffened as she touched the bare flesh of his organ. He struggled as she touched the bare flesh of his organ. He struggled to draw away, but she held him tight against her with her free arm. He shuddered as she worked his cock free of his shorts, pulled it straight up his quivering belly. She squeezed his penis and he knew that it was too late to resist. The touch of her hand on his cock was exquisite. He felt alive in every fiber of his being.
When she began rubbing his cock up and down, he relaxed. He felt her tears flowing onto his face. His cock throbbed and grew larger, pressing against her hand, pressing down into the furrowed flesh of her nylon-encased pussy. He felt himself humping her, scarcely believing that he could do such a thing. Yet, he was. He knew it and he didn't care. His mother's hand wiped away all of his good intentions. She slid his cock up her long leg and he knew he was close, very close, to where he wanted to be. He could almost feel himself entering his mother's pussy, succumbing to the warmth and wetness of it. He wanted so much to strip her bare and do this to her!
But Ronnie was afraid. The unreality of the situation made him distrust his senses. He was not bold enough to take the initiative, so he let his mother lead him, guide him through the fiery rooms of his mounting passion, let her open each door as he followed meekly, urgently. His cock threatened to tear loose from him even so. He imagined its great, wide root ripping free of his flesh and imploding the shaft into his mother's cunt. It was all he could do to let her handle the organ. His fear was such that he didn't dare exhort her to let him fuck her as he wanted so desperately. He was afraid she would let him, and he was afraid she wouldn't.
For several moments, he was sure that his mother wasn't in control of her own senses. He was sure that grief had clouded her mind, had made her reach out for him in this way. He hung in a limbo of dread that she would suddenly realize what she was doing and stop. His desire mounted to the straining point. He was like a savage in bonds, his muscles keen and supple, his limbs held in suspended animation.
His mother's finger rubbed the seeping precoital secretion over the crown of his cock. Her touch was tender, agonizing. He was sure that the skin of his prick was stretched so tight that it would burst, leaving the peeled flesh raw and bloody. The seconds ticked by interminably, dragging. His heart beat like a series of thunderclaps in his chest. His groin ached from the stored-up seed. When she touched his scrotum, he felt his nuts boil with heat.
There was no longer any mistaking the sensuality of his mother's touch. He knew that she was aware of what she was doing to him. He had been about to ejaculate when her fingers had squeezed around the base of his cock, shutting off the flow of blood. His heart, then, had leaped in his chest like a terrified bird. She knew! His own mother was fondling him and the agony of that knowledge was almost too much to bear. She knew!
He could feel his mother's fingers fumbling with the buttons on her-shorts. His heart seemed to stop beating for a long moment. He could hear the rustle of cloth as she opened her shorts and began sliding them down. She slipped her shorts down her legs and once again put his cock onto her bare flesh. There was no cloth in his way. The head of his cock touched her panties, but that was all. It lay nestled against her inner thigh, throbbing. Its wet hot juices flowed onto her flesh, and she moaned.
"Oh, Mother," he sobbed, "I'm, I'm-" His voice choked off as he realized that he didn't know what to say to her. His emotions strangled him.
His mother pulled his cock up to her panties. He moved upward with it, stretching to get closer to the hot furrow between her legs. The satiny feel of her panties nearly made him ejaculate. He concentrated to keep from humiliating himself. She pulled his cock up to the nylon-encased furrow. He could feel the soft flesh underneath-the delicate cleft that seemed so near and yet so far.
He wondered if this was as far as she was going to go. She made no effort to remove her panties, just held his pulsating cock against them for an agonizingly long time. Yet even as he thought this, she thrust upward with her hips, and her hand tightened on his organ. His cockhead burrowed into the yielding panties, ' into the sex-cleft.
"Mother!" he breathed loudly. "Oh, I can't stand it!"
He thrust farther inward. Her panties went inside her slit as he pushed into her hole. He felt her hand go down to her panties, hesitating there. He pushed harder, wanting her to feel his manhood. She just couldn't stop! Not now!
"Ronnie," she whispered to him. "No, we can't do this. We mustn't do this. I-I'm sorry."
Still he pushed. She tugged at her panties, drawing them slightly downward. She met his advance with a pressure of her own. He pushed harder, holding his cock against the depression in her panties. He couldn't let his mother back out now. His emotions were too keyed up. He felt as though he might explode if she didn't let him do it to her. He thought of her hot, eager body and the closeness of it. He knew that he would fuck her if it was the last thing he ever did.
She pulled at her panties. His cock slid over them and touched the wiry thatch of pubic hairs at the top of her mound. He shuddered.
"Ronnie," she breathed, her voice very far away, "stop. Stop now. Please. Stop us both."
But he knew he couldn't stop. He looked down at her naked loins. His eyes filled with lust, the lust of youth. They burned into her flesh. His cock slid up to her fleshy furrow and then he pulled away for an instant, trying to fight off his feelings. His mother was right. He knew that this would be a terrible thing to do. Especially at this time. He knew that he was wrong-that they both were wrong. He bit his lip and prepared to move away from the temptation of his mother's partially exposed pussy.
And then she pulled her panties completely down, baring the rest of her pussy to him. His eyes glittered. He rose above her, his cock trembling with pulsating blood. His mother closed her eyes and spread her legs.
"Oh, Mom," said Ronnie, sliding over her naked legs. His cock went down to her sex-cleft. It pushed against the puffy flesh.
His mother reached for him and guided his cock to her hole. With a gasp, Ronnie slid inside his mother's eager pussy. It was warm and wet inside. It was awesome.
CHAPTER TWO
It was all Ronnie could do to keep from ejaculating. The minute he entered his mother's scalding pussy, his cock stretched so taut he was afraid it would pop open like a hot dog on a spit. He slid in easily, his mother's cunt thrusting upward to receive him, its lubricious tunnel as warm as a handclasp. He was almost in tears from the sheer joy of his penetration.
"Ronnie, oh, Ronnie," Mary whispered to her son. "It's so good. You're such a man."
"I love you, Mother," he said, sinking his shaft into the sensitive and pneumatic folds of her pussy.
She put her arms around her son and drew him close to her.
"Fuck me, Ronnie, fuck me," she said quietly.
Her words were gasoline thrown into a fire. His excitement soared even higher. He looked down at her. A moment later she slipped out of her blouse and he leaned down to kiss her breasts. His cock slipped in and out of her very slowly. He had to be careful because he didn't want to come right away. He wanted their illicit moments to last as long as possible. So did she.
His mouth sucked at her nipples, drew them up into hardened kernels.
He had wondered about his mother's body ever since he was twelve or thirteen. He had been curious about her breasts, specially. For years they had tantalized and taunted him, yet he had never thought that he would actually touch them, caress them, kiss them. They had seemed always beyond his reach. When he had first reached puberty, however, he used to stare at them whenever his mother wasn't looking, and imagine what they looked like outside of her tight-fitting bra and blouses. He had tried to catch his mother off-guard and see them in the raw, but he had managed to do this only once: it had happened one day when he came into her bedroom, not realizing she was in there, dressing. She had been clad only in a half-slip, just after stepping out of the shower and was getting ready to put on her bra. That image of her pert, uptilted breasts, creamy white and soft-looking, had stayed with him a long time. He had quickly gone to the bathroom with the vision of those breasts in his mind and jacked off, catching his seed in a wad of tissue paper.
He had seen his sister's breasts many times.
Anne was not as careful as his mother. They hadn't been much at first, but he was fascinated by them nevertheless. He had watched them grow from small swellings into luscious peaches. He had never sucked a breast, nor kissed one as he was now doing. At least not since he was a baby; and even now he couldn't get enough of his mother's soft teats. He loved the feel of them in his mouth. He switched from one breast to the other and he knew that she liked what he was doing. Her moans and the way she ran her hands over his body, up under his T-shirt, told him that. He soon learned that her nipples were very sensitive. They hardened into little nuggets each time he put his lips on one and he could feel his mother's naked body writhing underneath his.
"Oh, Ronnie, what you're doing to me," she breathed.
"I know," he said. "Me too. It's wonderful."
"Yes, it is. Oh, that cock of yours! It's deep inside me. Very deep."
He knew that it was. He could feel his mother's warm flesh closing around his organ as he held it, throbbing, against the mouth of her womb. The idea that he was giving his mother such pleasure was marvelous; he exulted in the sea of sensations. Every movement of his cock brought him exquisite delight. He was conscious, at seventeen, of being a man. He wanted to beat his chest, shout out loud, parade his body before the world and proclaim his masculinity to all who would hear. He managed, however, to contain himself-for some reason he was afraid to show too much boldness to his mother. She might think that he was taking advantage of her.
Mary was squirming with pleasure. Her son's cock inside her was something to be cherished. His youth seemed to flow through her. She felt young and beautiful. Every time he moved his prick through the lubricious passage, a series of electric shocks flowed through her flesh. His mouth on her breasts sent pinpoints of pleasurable pain through the nipples. Never had her breasts felt so full, so loved. His lips on her nipples were sheer delight. She rubbed her hands over his body as if trying to feel every inch of him to prove to herself that all of this was real.
She had needed her son desperately. Until this moment, she hadn't realized how desperately. He had saved her from an abyss of senseless grief. Something of her life was left to her. Her whole world wasn't completely shattered, although it had seemed to be while the men were there. Ronnie had entered a void and she had drawn him into her to fill up that void.
"H-how is it?" Ronnie asked, hesitantly.
"Just fine, lover. Beautiful. You're very much a man."
His mother's words pleased him. Ronnie had always wondered about his first real sexual performance. He wondered if you had to be taught sexual intercourse by an older, more experienced woman. That's what he had heard. The girls he had tried to ball had all been on the dumb side. Or at least they had seemed that way. He had been given a couple of exciting handjobs, and once he had tried to actually put his cock inside a girl's pussy, but he had been embarrassed with premature ejaculation. He had spilled cum all over the girl's belly. He hadn't even put it in. That's why he had asked his mother about himself. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to do it fast or slow. Some instinct told him that if he pumped her fast he would lose his potency quicker than he wanted to. At least he had learned that much from his few fumbling experiences. His mother didn't make him feel like a fool anyway. The girl he had failed with ridiculed him, calling him a "horny pup." The words had stung and had probably set his sex life back at least two years.
He tried to act the part of a man. He didn't know if sucking his mother's tits would be part of that image. Probably not. But he continued to do it anyway. He was actually hungry for them. Feeling their round softnesses in his mouth gave him a feeling of rapture. His whole body tingled at the oral contact. The fact that his mother obviously liked it, put aside any reservations he might have had. He liked the way her nipples responded to his labial manipulations. His tongue slid over the bumpy surfaces of the little buttons, sending shivers through his flesh. It was easier to fuck his mother slowly this way, too. He could concentrate on two areas and not become totally involved with either one separately. He slid his cock in and out of his mother's sheath as manfully as he could, marveling at the tightness of the fit. His mother's bubbly pudding of flesh seemed to flow around his organ as he pushed inward, yielding reluctantly on the backstroke. He had always wondered what it would feel like to be in a woman's pussy. Now he knew and it was better than he had imagined. It was much better than jacking off had been. There was just no comparison. There was such magic and mystery to the female cunt and being inside only added to the intrigue.
"I love you to suck my titties," his mother said. "Your mouth makes me warm all over."
She couldn't help comparing her son to her husband, even though she despised herself for it. The truth was that Ronnie had a much bigger cock. He filled her so much better. Or was this only her twisted imagination? Was it only the illicit aspect that made Ronnie seem a more satisfying lover? She didn't know. She just knew that her senses had never been so keen, her flesh never more aroused. Every stroke of his cock brought new waves of ecstasy rolling through her. She could feel its bulbous tip at the mouth of her womb, and this told her that his cock was longer than Bill's. She had always had to put a pillow underneath to get Bill this deep; Ronnie had no trouble reaching her depths.
She liked the slow way he was fucking her. She wondered if he had ever done it before with a girl or a woman. She was aware of a sudden flash of jealousy. Already? Yes, she wanted him to herself. She wanted to be the first. It was selfish of her, she knew, but she couldn't help her feelings. She was suddenly very possessive of her son. After all, this was the most intimate moment in her life, the closest she had ever been to him.
She decided to ask him, point-blank.
"Ronnie? Have you ever done this with anyone before?" Her voice was full of coyness. She sounded, he thought, like a young girl.
"No," he told her. "Never."
"I'm glad."
"So am I."
She hugged him very close to her then, a happiness filling her heart.
"Kiss me," she said. "On the mouth."
He kissed his mother on the lips, gingerly, at first. But she didn't let him get by with such a token show of affection. She pulled him tight against her breasts and pressed her lips hard against his. Her tongue slithered between his lips and into his mouth. His senses leaped as her tongue darted in and out. His lips tingled from the sensation of the tongue rubbing them. Kissing her in this way was even more exciting than kissing her on the breasts. Here, there was a mutual exchange, an intermingling of juices, of tactile sensations.
He began to use his own tongue. He ran it inside his mother's mouth like a penis entering a vaginal sheath. He felt his mother's body convulse with pleasure. Their tongues tangled in sexual combat, thrusting, jabbing, parrying. The intimacy of their kiss was fuel for Ronnie's lust. He bored into his mother's cunt with his cock in counterpoint to his tongue's action in her mouth. Her mouth and her pussy somehow became connected in his mind. He could imagine his cock going into his mother's mouth, his tongue going into her cunt. There could be no further taboos between them. Each barrier must be hurdled and conquered. He drove into her mouth with his tongue, and the fury of his assault took his mother by surprise. She felt her breath snatched away by his furious osculation.
"Ronnie, Ronnie," she gasped. "You make me so happy. I love you so much."
"I love you, too, Mother," he breathed, his chest heaving, his loins afire.
He rose up above her, looking down at his shaft. It was slickened with their mingled oils. It curved into her vagina, disappearing into her honeyed sheath. It was a magical and beautiful sight. His mother looked down, too, and thrilled to see his huge flat-round cock going up and down, moving piston-like into her cunt. She lifted her legs in the air slightly and he sank even deeper than before. She could sense her lips flowing around the massive organ, feel herself open to receive him. Ronnie could see the voluptuous folds of his mother's cunt, feel the velvety softness of the inner lining, the damp sweat of her flesh, the sucking flesh that drew him so deep.
Ronnie felt as though he had been initiated into one of life's great mysteries. His mother's cunt was so beautifully alive. The pubic hairs fascinated him. He thrilled as his cock slid into her, just below her comely mound of Venus. He watched his cock disappear into the warm folds of her flesh and reappear again, throbbing with renewed energy. Every thrust of his cock was exquisitely sensuous. The way she thrust upwards with her cunt made the excitement even more intense. It was difficult for him to believe that all of this was really happening. He literally ached with happiness.
Mary herself was equally amazed. To see her own son's cock going into her pussy was beyond anything she had ever experienced. His young, hard body rising above her was beautiful to be hold. His thick cock arching into her sheath sent shivers of pleasure through the fibers of her flesh. She had never known such joy, even with Bill. Even when she was younger, she had never known any man but her husband. They had been childhood sweethearts and she had been faithful to him. Until now. But Bill was gone. And now his son, their son, was taking his place. It was an incredible event, yet the feel of Ronnie's cock plunging into her cunt was real enough. This "shouldn't" have happened, but it had. She couldn't change that. Neither of them could go back.
Did she want to? Could she erase the previous moments and begin again? She knew that she could not. Nor did she want to change anything. Not now. Ronnie's cock was too precious to her now. She wanted it desperately, now and ... she wondered if she could think beyond now. What happened after this? She cleared her mind of the thought. This was no time to think of the future. Besides, the present was too intense, too exciting. She lowered her head back to the pillow, the image of her son's penis, shining with their juices, fresh in her mind. She sighed and drew him down to her, kissing him even more passionately than before. Her breasts stirred once again for his kisses and she pushed his head down to her bosom.
"Kiss me there again," she said.
"Oh, I want to, I want to."
"My precious, precious Ronnie. I love you so very much!"
Eagerly, he began to suckle her breasts, drawing the nipples, one by one, into his mouth. He could almost feel the pleasure shooting through his mother's body as he pulled on the tiny buds. She squirmed, and her pussy moved up and down over his shaft like some mouthing animal. His cock moved in and out of her steaming tunnel with ease, every stroke an exquisite surge of sensations. The suction of her pussy held his organ tightly inside at the bottom of each stroke. Muscles that she used squeezed his prick so that it took all of his willpower to keep from ejaculating. He was conscious of warmth and wetness, of delightful muscular tension. His mother's spasms told him that she was climaxing now with almost every plunge of his cock. Her body quivered and shook, and her moans filled the room. She mewed when he went especially deep. He thought that she was the loveliest creature on the face of the earth. He couldn't get enough of her.
"Oh, Ronnie," she told him, "I'm coming so much. I've never come this much before."
"I'm glad," he said. "Am I doing it right?"
"Oh, yes. Perfect. Just right, my darling."
"I-I just hope you're happy."
"I am. Believe me, I am. Just keep fucking me like this."
"I don't know how long I can last."
"Don't worry about it. I'm more than satisfied. I just don't want it to stop. You're so good. Your cock inside me is so damned beautiful."
He could see that she was close to tears. He didn't want her to cry. He just wanted her to be happy, as happy as he was himself.
Mary was amazed at how her son's prick slid across her clit with every stroke. He seemed to know how to exert the proper pressure. His cock pushed upward inside her vagina, pressing against the swollen tuber, exciting it so that her orgasms never seemed to stop. She felt as though there was an electric wire inside her clit. Every time he touched its sensitive tip, a jolt went through her cunt. He caught the organ on both the upstroke and the downstroke. Even screwing her as slowly as he did, she climaxed repeatedly. Her orgasms were deep and satisfying.
"Faster," she told him, finally. "Fuck me faster."
She sensed that he was coming to the limit of his staying power. He would stop and rest, his cock just inside her sheath. She knew he was trying to keep from ejaculating. It wasn't fair to make him forego his own pleasure for so long. She wanted to let him have his head so that he too could know what true pleasure was like. She wanted him to shoot his cum into her, wanted to squeeze every last drop out of his sweet cock.
Her words heightened his excitement. He knew that he wouldn't be able to last long if he increased his rhythm. But his mother wanted him to come inside her. His heart was in his throat as he thought of this. He felt as though some great mystery was about to be revealed to him. He felt like a witness at the birth of creation.
He kissed his mother on the lips. Their tongues met and pushed back and fourth in each other's mouth. He held her very tightly and she did the same, raising her slender legs higher as he increased the speed of his strokes. His cock plunged madly into her sucking, clasping cunt, and bored deep. Her legs moved in rhythm with his plunging. She thrust her cunt upwards, sheathing him tightly, her muscles squeezing his organ. Faster and faster he fucked her, his senses going berserk.
Mary was surprised at the power she had unleashed by her words. Ronnie was driving into her cunt with a force that left her breathless. Her body sang with a suffusion of pleasurable sensations. Her orgasmic spasms went out of control, hurling her upwards into a starless space, a blinding sea-galaxy of swirling colors and exploding mists. Her body was galvanized into a writhing, twisting mass of flesh. She clawed at her son's back with desperate fingers, her body melding to his in the final moments of his furious fucking.
"Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie, my son," she sobbed, "fuck me, my darling, fuck me, fuck me."
He couldn't stop. His juices boiled and surged, struggling for release. He pounded at his mother's body with a savagery that was raw and primitive. He heard the slap of flesh, felt the yielding pulsations of her cunt, the grasping suction of pneumatic membranes pulling at his cock. He couldn't get enough of her, couldn't go deep enough inside her. There was no time sense. Everything was suspended in this crashing world of burning flesh.
Then, his seed burst forth from his sac, shooting up the tube, ejecting in a cloudy spray deep in his mother's pussy. Her womb's mouth sucked for his juices and he shuddered like a man mortally stricken.
"Oh my god," he said. "Oh, Mother. I came! I came!"
"I know, darling. I know. It was so sweet."
She held onto him, enclosing him in her arms, tears streaming down her face, as he trembled, his sperm jetting deep inside her, lessening with each quick spurt.
After awhile he sighed and was still.
CHAPTER THREE
Anne Rogers emerged from the pool, dripping. She tugged at her bikini, wondering if it had come loose. That girl was still staring at her, the one that was staying at the Lodge. Anne looked down and saw that her trunks were still tied. They were very tight, though. She was outgrowing them at fifteen. Maybe she should ask her father to buy her a new one. This one was almost two years old and her pubic hairs had started to show the sides. She had forgotten to shave before her mother dropped her off at the Lodge for the day.
The girl, about sixteen, was still staring at Anne. Anne felt very self-conscious. It seemed to her that the girl was gazing right at her crotch. It was embarrassing. They were the only two guests left at the pool that afternoon. There had been some tourist kids there earlier, but they had departed after lunching at the nearby picnic tables. The lake was quiet too, and the Lodge was nearly empty. Anne wished her brother were there. Ronnie would make her feel less self-conscious. As it was, she felt naked and alone.
The other girl was blonde; she had just wandered over after the tourist kids had left. She too was wearing a bathing suit, carrying a towel, but she had made no move to go into the pool. She looked oddly withdrawn, Anne thought, although she was very pretty. Her body was not as filled out as Anne's, but it was voluptuous enough. Her bikini fit a little looser.
Anne knew that her own breasts were large, probably overdeveloped. They should be; she had exercised them enough, ever since they had grown from tiny swellings into obvious boobs, little creamy mountains topped by dark, sensitive buttons, surrounded by rosy areolas that were bumpy when not aroused.
Anne was dark-haired, like her mother and yet she had her father's light blue eyes. Her nose was lean and straight, her cheekbones high and comely. Her legs were long and slender, her pubic thatch lighter than her hair, almost on the blonde side. They had a tinge of auburn at their darkest spots. She was sure that the ones that stuck out must be shimmering in the sun like pieces of fine copper wire. Was that what the strange girl was staring at so intently?
Anne walked back to the diving board. The girl's eyes followed her. Anne could feel them on her as she stepped out on the board and dove off, just to be back in the water again. She emerged from her plunge and swam to the shallow end of the pool. She began to tread water, feeling oddly trapped and oddly safe in the pool. As she floated there, the blonde girl got up and walked to the board. Anne watched her. She tested it a few times, expertly, Anne thought, then paused for a moment. She took a few running steps to the end of the board, bounced, and soared into the air. She executed a perfect jackknife. Her body sliced into the water with scarcely a splash. Anne's eyes widened in surprise. The girl's head popped out of the water and she swam effortlessly to the shallow end of the pool.
"That was a beautiful dive," Anne said as the girl swam up to her. "Really beautiful."
"Thanks. I'm kind of rusty."
Anne looked at the girl with admiration. She swam like a professional and dove like one, too. Her enthusiasm was genuine.
"I'm Connie Brookins," she said.
"My name is Anne. Anne Rogers. Do you live here at Modoc Pines?"
"No. I'm the lifeguard here. But it's a drag. They're required to have one, so I got the job. Boring."
"Yeah, I guess it is. I'm the only one here. Do you live in town?"
"Outside of town. My folks have a farm."
"Where did you learn to swim like that? And your diving? It's great!"
"I'm on the swim team at school. This is my last year, though. Thank god!"
"You don't like it, Connie?"
"No. I'm going to Chino State after I graduate. It's not the big city, but at least it's away from here."
"I'm a sophomore," Anne said. "I guess I'll be going to school in town this fall."
"Too bad. You have property here?"
"My folks have some acreage. My dad's driving in this afternoon. We're in a trailer now, but we're going to build a house."
"It's nice out here-if you like privacy."
"Well, my dad does. My mom, too, I guess. I have a brother your age. He'll be a senior this year."
Connie's eyebrows went up. She looked interested.
"Look, Anne, are you going to swim any more?"
"No, I guess not. I'm just waiting for my dad. He-said he'd stop at the Lodge when he got in. Why?"
"Well, they give me a little room to change in. I've got a radio and TV there. If you're not swimming I can quit for the day, close the pool. The season hasn't really started yet and I usually close early."
"Okay. You want me to come over?"
"Sure. We can get some cokes."
"I better tell the desk where I am. So my dad can find me."
"I'll take care of it. Why don't you go over and wait for me while I lock up. I'll bring the cokes. It's that little cabin over there between the main building Number One." She pointed. Anne nodded and they both climbed out of the pool.
Anne knew what Connie meant about being bored. She had been lonely all day. The tourists hadn't talked to her and Connie had evidently been at lunch or something. At least she hadn't noticed her around until the last half hour or so. Well, she seemed nice enough and friendly enough. A cold coke would taste just fine. She retrieved her towel and her bundle of clothes. She would dry off in Connie's room and change there. Most likely she had a shower too, if that's where she changed.
Connie waved to her and cut across the lawn to the Lodge. Anne went around the drive to the cabin that the girl had pointed out to her. She wondered what time her dad would be coming in. It might be late. There was nothing to do at the Lodge except watch TV or play pool. She didn't know how to play pool and there were no other kids around, anyway.
The door to the cabin was open. It was very small, but it had a bathroom and shower. There was a twin bed, two chairs, a television set and a radio, night tables, and a hideous painting on the wall behind the headboard. She left the front door open and began to dry herself in the bathroom. It was warm outside. She wondered if she should shower and change or wait and ask permission from Connie. She decided that she had better wait.
The sun was streaming through the double glass doors where the curtain was slightly parted. Anne walked over to the light and stooped over to look at her inner thighs. The pubic hairs shone golden. They stuck out of her bikini trunks on both sides. She tried to stuff them back inside, but they were too long. She spread her legs wide and hunched over to get a better view. She tried to gain a perspective that would show her how she had looked to an observer out by the pool.
"Gross!" she said aloud to herself, sorry that she had not borrowed her mother's razor and shaved herself.
"Oh, not so gross," said Connie, tripping through the door with two cans of cola. "After all, it's natural."
Anne's face flushed a deep rose.
"I-I didn't hear you coming," she blurted out.
Connie laughed and kicked the door shut with her foot.
"Oh, don't be embarrassed about a silly thing like that. I've got a razor you can use. I'll even shave you myself it you want me to."
"Oh, that's all right," Anne said. "I-I just wished they didn't stick out like that."
Connie handed her the can of cola. Anne took it gratefully. Connie bounced on the bed.
"Sit down, Anne. Don't worry, you can't hurt the crummy furniture in here. The chair's vinyl. Waterproof."
Anne sat down. The chair stuck to her wet legs, but she tried to ignore it.
Connie languished on the bedcovers, her sleek legs stretching out, tanned golden by the summer sun. Anne saw that she had no pubic hairs sticking out from her bikini. Her inner thighs were perfectly smooth, sensual in their plumpness. The two girls sipped their colas and chatted lightly about school, the Modoc Pines project, their parents. Connie was an only child. She perked up when Anne told her that her brother Ronnie was a good swimmer and liked to play tennis. Connie enjoyed tennis too, she told Anne. When they finished their colas, Anne stood up, her skin making a tearing noise as it freed itself from the vinyl. Connie laughed.
"I wonder if I could shower here since you've closed the pool," she asked.
"Sure. We'll shower together. There isn't all that much hot water here."
Anne's pulse quickened. She had never taken a shower with anyone else before. She supposed it was all right. There was, in fact, something oddly wicked in the suggestion. Connie's low, husky voice helped add to that impression.
"Fine," said Anne, not wishing to be thought square. Her eyebrows had risen imperceptibly at the suggestion, but she had quickly recovered her composure.
Connie, however, had not missed the movement, the slight hesitation.
"Come on, then. I've got two towels."
The two girls went into the bathroom and undressed. Anne was self-conscious, especially when she saw her luxuriant thatch of pubic hair leap out once she had slipped out of her bikini. Connie looked down there, too. She was sure she did. Anne looked away, embarrassed. Connie turned on the shower.
"How do you like it? Hot? Lukewarm? Cold?"
Annie laughed. "Lukewarm, I guess."
"Me, too," said the older girl.
Connie stepped into the small shower. Anne wondered if it would be big enough for both of them. She hesitated.
"Come on, you'll just fit," Connie said, as if reading the younger girl's thoughts.
Anne stepped inside. Connie pulled the curtain closed. She handed Anne a small bar of soap.
"You scrub me and I'll scrub you," Connie said.
Anne grabbed a face cloth from the rack and began to lather it with the soap and water. Her heart was beating fast in her chest. She stepped under the water as Connie had done until she was soaked. Connie turned her back and Anne began to soap it with the cloth. She rubbed the girl's back vigorously, aware of the sensual aspects of what she was doing. Connie had wide shoulders and a slim waist. She rubbed the backs of her legs, careful not to rub between them. When she had lathered and scrubbed as much as she could, she stepped back.
"You can rinse off now," she told Connie.
Connie stepped back under the needling water. The spray rinsed her back clean. She turned and took the cloth from Anne.
"Now, I'll do your back," she said.
Annie stepped out of the water and turned her back on Connie.
Connie scrubbed Anne's back and then her legs, going in between them. Anne began to tremble as the damp, soapy cloth slithered sensuously between her thighs. She didn't know if Connie was doing it deliberately or not, but she couldn't deny the feeling that coursed through her flesh. It seemed to her that the older girl was purposefully washing her in that manner. There was an excitement to it that bothered Anne. Yet there was nothing she could put her finger on exactly. It was only a feeling.
"Rinse off," said Connie, standing up. Anne stepped back under the shower. Connie soaped up the cloth then and began rubbing Anne's shoulders, from the front. Anne stood there, wondering how far the girl meant to go. For no real reason, she was suddenly apprehensive.
"I can do the front," she said.
"Why I don't mind. You have a nice figure.
Nice busts."
Anne blushed. "Th-thank you," she stammered.
Connie rubbed downward, the cloth touching Anne's breasts. Anne flinched when the warm cloth swirled over her nipples. Connie rubbed in a circular motion, over her breasts, gliding over the nipples. Anne backed into the corner of the shower. Connie stood between her and the curtain.
"D-don't, Connie," Anne said, her apprehension turning to fear. She wondered herself what she was afraid of. Something nameless.
"Oh, come on. You like this, don't you? Isn't it nice to be bathed by someone for a change? It's a luxury. Besides, I enjoy it. You can do me when I'm through. There's another cloth there. You can do me at the same time."
"No. I-I couldn't," Anne choked out.
Connie continued to rub the young girl's breasts. This time there was no mistaking the sensual nature of her movements. Her nipples were hardening. Little rivulets of pleasure shot out from them, swelling her young breasts. Before she could protest any further, however, Connie's cloth was racing down her middle, lathering her tummy, sliding over hips, encircling her pubic area. Anne wondered if the girl was going to wash her there as well.
But the lifeguard moved on down Anne's legs, stooping as she went lower. She washed the girl's ankles then went back up inside her legs. She sloshed the cloth onto Anne's pussy and swirled it vigorously, soaking the hairs with soapsuds. Anne held her breath. She could feel Connie's hand under the cloth, pressing against the mound of her sex. She heard the splat of the cloth as it fell to the floor of the shower.
Connie didn't pick it up.
Instead, her hand continued to rub Anne's soapy pussy. She scooped a handful of water from the cascading shower and splashed it onto the girl's cunt, rinsing it. Then her hand cupped the young girl's pussy and she moved closer to her. She took Anne with one arm and drew her close. She kissed her on the mouth as her finger slid into her hole. Anne's knees buckled with weakness. The finger went up inside her pussy. She felt an overwhelming sense of pleasure suffuse her being. Connie's tongue shot inside her mouth. Her breasts pressed against Connie's. Their tummies met. Connie rubbed her own pussy against Anne's thigh. She felt a burning at that spot and there was no feeling in her legs.
"Ummm, nice," Connie murmured. "Do you like this?"
Anne was speechless. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for this. Her stomach was fluttering, her heart pounding. Her breasts swelled against Connie's, the nipples hard as acorns. She didn't know what to say. Her feelings were too strong to put into words. The finger inside her cunt was driving her mad.
"Do you like it?" Connie asked again.
"Oh, dear god, yes," Anne said in a rush.
And her body was jolted with a sudden orgasm that crumpled her knees. Connie held onto her so that she didn't slip in the shower, her relentless finger now thrumming her throbbing clit faster and still faster. Anne began to moan as a second orgasm set her wet body to quivering. Unconsciously, she spread her legs, widening her slit. Connie's finger skewered into her, deeper. Anne began to move her hips up and down on the girl's finger. Her eyes glazed as she surrendered herself to the masturbatory excitation of Connie's middle finger.
"That's it, Anne. Oh, I like to see you come. You're really getting your rocks off, aren't you?"
"Uh huh, oh, man, yes, I am."
"I can feel your little clit. I'm getting you off. It's like a firecracker."
"Yes. I'm popping like one."
"Hurry," Connie said. "Let's go to the bed. It'll be better there."
"Yes," said Anne. She moved like a somnambulist. They rinsed off quickly, then dried each other with towels. Anne still felt the heat in her loins. She was dazed as she allowed herself to be led to the bed. Once there, Connie was all over her, smothering her with kisses, her hands groping, touching, probing. Anne was lost in a tangle of legs. She was surprised at her own responses. Connie's touches released a flood of emotions in her and she eagerly joined in the erotic play.
"Are you ... are you this way all the time?" Anne asked, wanting to know what made a girl like Connie do such things.
"Do you mean am I a Lesbian?"
"Yes. I guess so."
"Are you?"
"I-I don't know. I've never done this before."
"Well, I don't know either-Whether I'm a Lesbian or not."
"You know what to do. I'm very excited." Tears filled Connie's eyes. She looked down at Anne. The younger girl didn't understand.
"I'm just lonely," Connie said, taking Anne in her arms.
Anne knew what she meant as she returned the older girl's kisses.
CHAPTER FOUR
"I'm not queer!" Connie said vehemently. "No matter what they say about me! I'm just lonely all the time."
"I don't think you're queer, Connie," Anne said soothingly. "Please don't cry."
"Thanks, Anne. I-I guess I get emotionally upset easily. You don't mind doing this with me?"
"I guess not. I can't help myself. It's just that it's all so strange to me."
"I know. It was that way with me, at first. I-I first did it with a teacher at Altitas. She was very kind and very sweet. I was scared stiff the first time it happened."
"I would be, too. With a teacher, I mean," Anne said.
"Oh, she was young and pretty. I just didn't know that people did such things. Some boys tried to, but they were crude and selfish. They didn't care about my feelings. Miss Langstrom did. She was the only one."
"Have you done it with anyone else?"
"A couple of times. With girls my own age.
That's where I got my reputation, I guess. That's why I want to get out of Altitas. Oh, Anne, you don't know. I'm scared my parents will find out. Miss Langstrom moved away. She's not there anymore. I don't have anyone to talk to."
"You can talk to me."
"Thanks," said Connie, wiping her eyes. "I don't want to stop now. Do you?"
"No. We've already started."
"Are you as hot as I am?"
"Yes, I guess so. I feel funny all over."
"That's the way I was the first time."
Connie spoke no more, but kissed Anne on the lips. She began rubbing the younger girl's breasts with her hand, toying with the nipples. She leaned over and kissed each one delicately. Anne's body stiffened with pleasure. Other memories flooded up into her mind, but this was not the same. Yet, the intimacy, the sense of the forbidden, was there as before. No one knew about the other time. It had only happened once and it was the biggest secret of her life. She would never tell anyone. No one must ever know. Connie's mouth on her breasts reminded her of that other time. Her shock was not as great because of the previous experience. Yet, it was great enough. Connie was still a puzzle to her, an enigma. Or at least, she had been a few moments before. Now, with desire searing her loins, she was not so sure. Maybe women, girls, females, were different. Maybe they could feel love with anyone, man or woman, boy or girl, young or old. Maybe they could pluck love out of the air whenever they needed it, through memory, through daydreaming or just through wishing. Except Connie had not been able to do that, had she? She was lonely, she said. Or was that just an excuse that she used to justify what she was doing? Anne was instantly sorry she had thought that; it wasn't fair to Connie. There was no reason not to believe her. Anne had been lonely too. She knew the feeling. Yet her own loneliness had never been defined. It was vague, a secret longing more than pure loneliness. A daydream, lacy and white, abstract, intangible.
But the present was all that mattered-Connie's mouth at her breasts, her hand at her pubic triangle. Anne gave herself up to the older girl's sexual attentions, floating on a sea of ecstasy. She didn't question her erotic sensations, merely exulted in them. The bed was soft and Connie's closeness kept her excitement at a peak. She couldn't forget the gushing orgasms she had experienced in the shower. She trusted Connie now to bring her up once again, to take her to the same heights and beyond. She was ready for anything!
Connie's mouth began moving down Anne's body, her tongue busily licking the skin as it passed on to the young girl's quivering belly. She let her tongue linger in Anne's belly button, laving it in a circular motion. Anne sighed and spread her legs wide, her pussy eager for Connie's finger to enter it. But Connie seemed in no hurry to finger-fuck the girl. Her hand warmed the soft, sensitive flesh, her fingers moved up and down the tender pussy lips, taunting them to an airy puffiness while Anne squirmed inside herself.
Connie's tongue moved down to Anne's mount of Venus. Anne's skin tautened all over her naked body. She looked at the girl's tongue. It was so sensual, both to look at and to feel. The tip of it lashed her skin delicately. She felt the hairs rise on her cunt, electrified. The tongue ventured downward to her sex-cleft. A twinge of pleasure shot through Anne's flesh. She raised her buttocks, thrusting her cunt upward to meet the tongue. Connie slid it into the furrow, licking the silken inner lining. Juices oozed out of the pores. Anne sighed again, her being trembling in anticipation.
Connie spread the girl's legs even wider and buried her head between Anne's thighs. Her tongue splayed Anne's pussy lips, lapping at the musky secretions. Little electric shots of pleasure coursed through the younger girl's pussy, to the very core of her sex. She moaned, her body threatening to thrash out of control. Forces that she couldn't understand seemed to have been unleashed inside of her. Sensation followed sensation, fleeting and sharp, too many of them to sort out and contemplate. Every time Connie's tongue tip touched a new spot, Anne felt seared in that spot as with a thin, hot needle. Her pussy moistened and flooded, the secretions drenching the inner passage, preparing the way for sexual intrusion.
Connie exulted in the luxuriant growth that thatched Anne's young cunt. The hairs were all black, tawny, russet and coppery, some of them slick now with her saliva. She tasted the heady dew on the girl's pussy lips, delighting in every savory droplet. Her tongue slid along the soft lining of her furrow, extracting the juices, exciting the flesh. A red tongue in a red slit, it moved voraciously up and down the sensitive folds, lingering over the puckered opening, teasing it into silent, small contractions. Connie's nipples grew hard from her own excitement. Her areolas throbbed and flamed as they stretched in widening circles. She rubbed her breasts on Anne's waist, crushing them against her as her ardor rose like shimmering heat from a flame.
"Do you like this, Anne?" Connie looked up from the girl's quivering pussy.
"It feels terrific. Yes, I do. Very much."
"Could you-would you-do it to me, too?"
"I-I don't know. I've never done it."
"Just kiss me there, on my pussy. Use your tongue."
Anne hesitated. She felt awkward and embarrassed.
"You'll like it once you start. I was the same way at first. I felt strange about it. But I got over it, in a hurry. It's nice doing it too. Really. Will you try it?"
"I-I'll try," Anne said reluctantly. "But I don't even know how to start."
"Just imitate me. We'll do it to each other. Let me slide over on top of you. You can hold my legs up and I'll drop down. You can hold me where it's easiest for you."
"Okay," Anne said, wondering if she could really do it.
The older girl swung her leg over Anne and lowered her pussy. Anne looked at the mass of hair and flesh descending on her and felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She placed her hands on Connie's legs as she was instructed and Connie's cunt came close to her face. She could smell the light scent of her sex. She wondered how she should begin.
Connie began licking Anne's cunt once again. This time, she pulled the girl's pussy lips apart and exposed more of the pink flesh to view. Anne felt her skin stretching and then the lips and tongue mouthing the exposed parts. A dozen tingles rattled her senses. She felt a spasm begin inside her pussy. The tongue continued to lap at her and she could picture in her mind exactly what Connie was doing. She began to do the same to the older girl's pussy. She spread the lips wide and placed her mouth against the slippery flesh. Connie's body shuddered at the oral contact and Anne knew that she was doing it right. She pulled the girl's jelly-shaking box down over her face and buried herself in its musk. She floated into a sensual world beyond her ken, a world of rapture and glowing excitement. The taste of Connie's pussy was good.
But it was more than that, Anne knew. She was doing something on her own. She had been the youngest in her family. Always the last to know anything. Until a month ago. And now this. This was a rare and exquisite pleasure. Something that her brother Ronnie had not done, could not do. At least not in this way. Something that was all her own. This was happening to her and she herself was making things happen. Connie's pussy was alive at the point of her tongue. She felt it move and pulse, tasted its leaking oils-juices that she was bringing forth on her own. It was pleasure and excitement and something else-something she couldn't put into words-feeling of immense satisfaction and power. Her own pussy was raging under the onslaught of Connie's tongue. At the same time, she was performing the same act on Connie. She felt connected. It was a feeling she had known only once before and yet this time it was even sweeter, if that were possible. There was more pleasure to the excitement and less guilt.
Connie's tongue began working at Anne's puckered, pink hole. Her own pussy was alive with desire, yet Anne had not yet touched her tongue to the portal. It was maddening, yet thrilling, nonetheless. Anne would learn and learn fast. Connie would teach her from her end of the sixty-nine arrangement. She thrust her tongue deep inside the hole and was rewarded with an answering shudder from the younger girl's body. She stabbed again and again, each time going deeper, each time swathing the surrounding walls of the girl's vagina more vigorously. Anne's young body began to buck with preliminary orgasms, her cunt pushing against Connie's face with each convulsion. Connie's nose implanted itself in the girl's furrow and nudged the flesh like a blinded penis.
Annie thrilled to the smothering blanket of flesh, the pulsing cunt that opened to her tongue as she delved inside, mimicking Connie's technique. The scent of her musk thickened in her nostrils, the juices flowed more freely, salty and gamy. She probed for Connie's clit, stretching her tongue. Her neck muscles were stretched taut as she strained to find the secret button. She arched her tongue and found the tiny bud. Connie's body shook all over and Anne gushed an orgasm of her own, her pleasure mingling with of the older girl's. Passionately, Anne laved the tip end of Connie's clit-bud, its tumescent tuber elongating with every touch. It grew long enough for her to push inward and take its tip between her lips. She sucked hard and tingled its bud-head with her tongue. Connie's body convulsed in rapturous torment, rewarding Anne with an increased burrowing activity of her tongue.
Both girls were coming so fast that they lost all sense of time and place. Hungrily they ate at each other's pussy, nibbling and tonguing deep into the moist, springy flesh. Ravenously, they gorged on each other's sex, slaking deep sexual thirsts, filling empty sexual bellies. They squirmed and writhed, grasped and pulled at each other in wild and wanton abandonment.
"Oh, Anne, Anne," Connie said, "I'm coming like mad!"
"Me, too, Connie. I've never felt anything like this."
"You're so sweet. Your pussy's so sweet."
"Yours too!"
The girls shifted positions so that Anne was on top. She became even more excited than before and the position was less tiring. She was able to get a firmer grip on Connie's legs and bury her tongue deeper in the girl's cunt. In the dominant position, it almost felt like regular fucking. She pumped her cunt up and down on Connie's tongue whenever her emotions flared out of control, which was often. It almost felt like the other time, but not quite. She was freer now. This was with someone like herself. Another girl. She had fewer inhibitions. She had less guilt. Yes, in many ways, this was better. She could move her body more easily. The licking tongue was another trip, but a wildly satisfying one. A super trip. Oh, it felt great when it sank inside her pussy, and twittered her clit! It was like a flattened cock, but much more agile. It twisted and twirled inside her, touching all the secret places that made her gush with pleasure.
And she could give, too. Her tongue inside Connie's pussy proved that. She wasn't just a passive participant. Not this time. It was exciting to dip her tongue into Connie's joy-pit, to cause such sexual reactions in her. Every time she licked at a certain spot she could feel the surge of pleasure in Connie's body. She could feel the trembling in her legs, in her wriggling cunt. It was like having a new toy. One that was alive.
The thews in Anne's legs rippled with shock waves generated by her now-powerful orgasms. She was mindless with ecstasy, her cunt a mass of flames and liquid lava. Her cunt floated in secretions. She could feel Connie's face buried between her legs, her tongue working at her flesh like a bear's at a honeycomb. She ground down harder, not caring if the older girl smothered. The physical contact was so poignant that she lost all control of her own body. She had never dreamed that a woman could come so much. She kept coming and knew there was more, that the chain of orgasms could be endless if both of them could conceivably retain their physical strength. An endless chain of orgasms! She wanted it never to stop. Never! She burrowed her face between Connie's legs, in gratitude.
Connie knew she had a tigress on her hands. Anne was as skittery as a young colt. Her orgasms exploded so often that Connie could feel them rush across her face like strong winds, could feel them penetrate her sinews, her bones, shattering throbs of pleasure that made her own ecstasy run deeper than ever before. It was funny, she thought, how you could tell the ones that would do it with you. Her teacher had known. She had known about the others and about Anne. What was it? She didn't know. Something in their faces, in the way they walked. A kindred loneliness, perhaps. An inner tension that sought out her own. A feeling. Whatever-she could tell. Anne proved that-the first time she had approached a complete stranger. Usually she had had time to study the girls, to know them. Yet, her first glance at Anne had told her that her advances would be accepted. Still, it had been dangerous. Was she getting bolder? Perhaps. Yes, she was.
And lonelier. More afraid of being found out. Her parents would never recover from the shock of knowing their daughter was a Lesbian. It would kill them. That's why she had to get away. The worst part of it was that the more sex she had, the more she wanted. Anne was a godsend. She had been going nuts out here at the Lodge. Never knowing if she might make a mistake and pick the wrong girl. Did Lesbians automatically recognize each other? Did it show? She had pondered those questions a thousand times and she had never gotten an answer. She pondered them now, her heart full, nonetheless. Anne had come along at the right time. Maybe the summer would not be a washout after all.
Anne. She whispered the name in her mind. Oh, Anne, she thought. I love your cunt, your wet pussy on my face. I want you this summer, all to myself. I want to explore your body with my tongue. I want to penetrate every hole in you. I want to rub my tits and my legs all over you. I want to shower with you and swim with you. I want to walk in the woods with you and sneak my hand into your panties and feel your soft cunt underneath.
Annie cried out as a thundering orgasm shuddered through her body. She groaned with the aftershocks of pleasure.
"Beautiful!" Connie said loudly. "Keep coming my darling!"
"I can't stop," Anne moaned. "I-it's beautiful, gorgeous. Oh, Connie, baby, you really did it to me then."
"I know, I know. I'm coming, too!"
The girls were so emotionally overcome, so engrossed in each other's orgasm that they failed to hear the door open or see the head that peered cautiously inside at them. They went back to their frantic licking and probing of each other's cunt, oblivious to the observer.
Ronnie was incredulous. He couldn't believe his eyes. At first he thought that it must be someone else, but no, that was his sister, Anne, naked and lying atop another young girl's equally naked body. It was her, all right. This was the room where the girl at the desk said he'd find her. The lifeguard's room.
He couldn't tear his eyes away from the two girls. They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn't see him. His heart was a triphammer in his chest. His throat and mouth were dry. A lump began to swell in his pants. Jesus! Anne was licking that beautiful young pussy as though she had been born to it. His own sister! His cock hardened as he stared. He couldn't see the other girl's face. It was between his sister's legs. Sixty-nine! They were eating each other!
His mother had sent him down in the car to pick up his sister, bring her back home. He wondered how he could face her now, how he could tell her what had happened. He moved back out of the doorway to collect his thoughts. Self-consciously, he looked down at his pants. Shit! He had to get rid of the hard-on first. He pulled the door shut carefully. He cleared his head. He waited several moments.
Then he knocked on the door. Loudly.
"Anne! Anne! Are you there? It's me, Ronnie!"
He heard excited voices from within. The rustle of bedclothes. He tried not to think of what he had just witnessed. The hard-on was going away. Slowly. He knocked again and called his sister's name loudly.
"Ju-just a minute," he heard Anne say. More rustlings.
The door opened.
"Ronnie! What are you doing here?" His sister was in a bikini, her dark hair tousled. She was trying to straighten it.
"Anne," he said gravely, "it's Dad. He-he got killed in a car accident."
"Oh, no!" she shrieked.
He rushed to catch her in his arms as she fainted dead away.
CHAPTER FIVE
The man lifted his head groggily.
His eyes adjusted to the light. His head ached. He lifted a hand and felt the bandages. The room was white. The light tore at his eyes. He closed them and tried to think. Images, none of them connected, floated inside his head. He snatched at them, but they went away.
"Where am I?" he asked no one. The room was empty, the door closed.
The blinds were drawn but he could see daylight filtering through. He smelled the odor in the room. It was antiseptic. Alcohol. Dry in his nostrils. Pungent. He was in a hospital room. Obviously. He looked at the night stand. There was a metal pitcher and a glass on it. Nothing more. He wore a white gown. Underneath he was naked. There was a cord hanging over the bed, resting on top of the blanket. He picked it up and pressed the button. A red light went on over his bed.
The door to the room opened.
"Oh, you're awake," said the nurse, coming briskly into the room.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Just a minute. I've got to call the doctor right away." And she was gone.
The man sat up in bed, puzzled, his head throbbing with a dull, faraway pain. The effort was too great and he sank back against the pillow, still at a higher elevation. His eyes hurt.
In a moment the nurse was back. A young doctor, an intern, perhaps, followed her into the room. They stood beside the bed and look at him. The nurse took his wrist and felt expertly for his pulse.
"I'm Doctor Morrison," said the man in white, a stethoscope hanging from his neck like a badge, a caduceus in rubber and steel.
"Where am I?" the man repeated.
"County Hospital. San Bernardino."
"Where's that?"
"You don't know where San Bernardino is? East of Los Angeles, west of Palm Springs."
The man fought for his memory.
"I can't remember," said the man on the bed.
"Miss Stokes, go call Doctor Turner in here."
"His pulse is normal," said the nurse. The doctor ignored her. She left, once again, briskly.
"I want you to think carefully," said the doctor. "Do you remember anything at all? How you got here?"
"No. My head hurts."
"You had a concussion. There were severe lacerations. You had to be sutured."
"Did I fall?"
"I doubt it," said Morrison. He was in his early thirties, sandy-haired. His eyes were brown, intense. His face was clean-shaven. He looked squeaky clean, smelled of antiseptic. "The police brought you here. They thought you had been mugged. They found a bloody piece of pipe near you when they found you."
"Where was that?"
"Sixth and G streets. Just off the San Bernardino freeway. Do you live around there?"
"I don't know," the man said. His face was blank. His brows were knitted in worry.
"You don't know where you live?"
"I-I can't remember."
"You had no identification on you. Who are you?"
"I'm afraid I don't know. I can't remember anything."
The door opened again. An older doctor, a man in his fifties came into the room, followed by Nurse Stokes.
"Well, what have we here?" asked Doctor Jacob Turner. "The patient is up and ready to tell us what happened?"
"I'm afraid not, Doctor," said Morrison. "He appears to have amnesia."
"Don't remember anything, eh?" Turner asked the man on the bed. "Well, it'll come back to you. You got clunked on the head pretty hard. About thirty stitches, wasn't it, Morrison?"
"About." replied the younger doctor.
"I'm Doctor Turner," said the older man. "You were brought in here two nights ago. Your condition is stable. You may be sick to your stomach for a day or so. Nothing to worry about. If you can remember anything, let us know. The police have some questions for you, too. When you feel better."
The older doctor spoke heartily. His face was large and ruddy, his neck thick. His hands were slender. He radiated confidence.
"I'm in a fog," said the man on the bed. "Why can't I remember my name, where I live?"
Doctor Turner patted the man's hand reassuringly.
"A slight case of amnesia, probably. Not uncommon with severe head injuries. You just woke up. Your memory will probably start to filter back, in small pieces at first, then in larger chunks. The main thing is to take it easy, relax. Let the healing continue. You're in a good hospital. Do you think you may have been robbed?"
The man shook his head, then winced in pain.
"I don't know," he said. "I just don't know."
Mary Rogers stood there, listening to the two men. One of them was Patrolman Strunk. The other was a plainclothes detective named Barney Woods.
"I'm saying that the man in your car was not your husband, Mrs. Rogers," said Woods, a compact man in shirt-sleeves, a short-barreled revolver riding high on his hip. "Dental records were checked as a matter of routine. I'm sorry you had to be put through such anguish."
"Good lord," she said. "I've got two children here who are beside themselves with grief and now you tell me the man in his car wasn't my husband! Who was he?"
"Uh, an ex-con. Thomas William Boring. He had a record," said Strunk, the highway patrolman.
"Where's Bill? Where's my husband?"
"We don't know, Mrs. Rogers. That's what we're trying to find out. The dead man had his identification on him. Was he, your husband, in the habit of picking up hitchhikers?"
"I-no-yes, I don't know. I guess so. Did, did this man kill my husband?"
Woods could see that the woman was about to crack. He had to be careful of what he said to her.
"We don't know. Boring was a strong-arm man. Violent. He's never killed anyone that we know of."
"Well, what do you think?" Mary asked, trying to keep from shrieking at the two men.
"We're checking. You say he would have left from San Diego, driven up Highway 395, taken the San Bernardino freeway up to Nevada, come through Reno to here?"
"Yes. That's the way we always came. It was the shortest way. Oh, why can't you find him?"
"Easy, now, Mrs. Rogers," said Strunk soothingly. "Don't get upset."
"Don't get upset?" she shrieked at last. "First you tell me my husband's dead and now you tell me you don't know where he is. And I'm not supposed to get upset?"
"Easy now, Mrs. Rogers," said Woods, trying to gain control of the situation. "You can't help us by going to pieces. Patrolman Strunk was just trying to help. In a matter of this importance, it's better to keep a cool head. As I said, we're backtracking. Your husband may be contacting the police at this moment."
"Oh, god, I hope so," she said, realizing that she was on the verge of hysteria.
"There are a few more questions I have to ask," said Woods. "They may be important. Please don't be offended by them."
"All right," she said, looking into the detective's cold, grey eyes. She steeled herself for the questions, vowing not to let her fears bubble up again.
"Did you husband, that is, did he ever have any female friends?"
Mary looked at the detective coldly. Her mouth came open as though she'd just been slapped in the face.
"I'm sorry. I told you I have to ask these questions. Did he have any girlfriends that you know of?"
"No. He certainly did not."
"We have to ask that. Sometimes, well, at his age-" the detective ended lamely.
"At his age, what?"
"Well, straying husbands. Sometimes they take off and make it look as though they were victims of foul play. It happens all the time."
"Bill wasn't like that. This was his dream. He was looking forward to living here, to building us a home."
"I understand, Mrs. Rogers. Now, did he ever talk about getting away from it all?"
"Yes," she spat. "This was where he planned to 'get away from it all.' " She thought the detective must be stupid. She hated him.
"Okay. I just wondered if you ever saw any travel folders about. Did he carry a lot of money on him?"
"Not a lot. He may have had a couple of hundred dollars."
"Did he gamble?"
"No."
"All right. I think that's enough for now. As I said, I had to ask these questions."
"Two days ago, we thought my husband was dead. Now you say he wasn't in his car. What will you do now?" Mary was trying to control her temper.
"We'll be in touch. Don't worry. He'll probably turn up."
"Don't worry? How can you say such a thing, Mr. Woods? I'm so worried now I can't think straight. Bill could be lying in a ditch, somewhere. He could be hurt. He could be-" She couldn't finish the sentence. Hope, she thought. I've got to hold on to hope. Bill's alive. He has to be!
"I know how you feel, believe me, Mrs. Rogers. We're doing our best. If you think of anything, here's my card. Call me."
Woods handed her a card. She scarcely glanced at it. The two men walked away. Strunk tipped his hat to her. They climbed into the patrol car and were gone. It was very quiet after they left. A hummingbird zoomed near her and she flinched, thinking it was a bee. Their property swarmed with hummingbirds. She still wasn't used to them, though. She turned and walked back into the trailer. She went inside, wishing Anne and Ronnie were there. They were in town picking up some groceries. They had intended to go to Reno to make burial arrangements, but there was no need of that now.
She laughed aloud, hysterically.
"Bill!" she screamed. "Bill, come back to me!"
She began to sob then, and leaned against the kitchen counter.
"No, stop it!" she shouted at herself. "This is no good. Don't imagine anything bad!" She opened a cabinet and took out a bottle of vodka. It was almost full. The second one she'd opened this week. She would have to cut down. Later, not now. Now she needed it. Needed the lift it would give her.
She took the orange juice out of the refrigerator and set it on the counter. She didn't bother with ice cubes. She poured a glass a quarter full of vodka, then added orange juice, enough to fill it almost to the top. She wished her children were back home. Especially Ronnie. She needed him now more than ever. She drank and felt better almost immediately. A bad sign, she thought. Bill had always said that it was not good to drink when you were depressed. Only when you're happy. But what about now? She was in limbo. She didn't know if Bill was dead or alive. She didn't know where he was. That detective! Insinuating that Bill had run off somewhere with another woman. Crap! That's what Bill would have said, what she was saying now. Bill hadn't cheated on her. Had he?
She didn't think so. She didn't want to think so. And he wouldn't just run off. Not now. Not when his dream was coming true. No, she could rely on Bill. Yet, where was he? Why had that other man been driving his car? Did Bill pick up hitchhikers? He might have. It was a long trip. He might have picked up a stranger. She just didn't know. He must have. If the dead man had his identification, he must have taken it from Bill. Couldn't the stupid police see that?
She drank and tried to answer her own questions. When the children came home, she told them what had happened. They seemed relieved. She couldn't look Ronnie in the eyes. She wanted him, but she was afraid.
A week later, Bill's wallet was returned to her. It had forty dollars in it. All of his credit cards. She wept when she went through it.
"Bill?" she asked herself. "Where are you?"
Two weeks later, there was still no word. Mary checked their joint bank account. It was intact. She knew that her husband hadn't run out on her. Their savings account was untouched. It was just that her husband had ceased to be. Almost. The detective told her when she called that they were still checking. No, he hadn't turned up. No, they hadn't found any unidentified bodies that matched his description. Yes, they still had hopes of finding him. They would be in touch.
Jess Garfield came by twice, but she hadn't given him her full attention.
"If there's anything I can do-" he had said. "No, there's nothing. My husband's missing. I don't understand it."
"Don't worry," he had said. "They'll find him."
But she grew more unsure with each passing day. She had been avoiding her son, getting drunk and passing out at night so that she wouldn't be tempted to slip into his bed or ask him to slip into hers. Anne seemed in a daze all the time. A typical teenage daze. Preoccupied. Finally, she spoke to her mother, point-blank.
"Mother, you've got to get out of this mood. You're dragging us all down. We think Daddy's still alive and you don't."
"Oh, yes I do."
"You don't, or you wouldn't be drinking yourself stupid every night!"
"I don't!" Mary shouted, but at the same instant she knew that her daughter was right. Later, Ronnie spoke to her.
"Mom, you've got to snap out of this. You're drinking a lot. That won't help them find Dad."
"No, I know. You and Anne are right. I-I just feel so helpless."
"I know. But why don't we go ahead?"
"What?"
"Go ahead with Dad's plans. Let's get Garfield up here to advise us on getting the house built. You have the architect's drawings. Garfield knows the construction people around here."
"You've been talking to him?"
"Yes. He even offered to help us get started, to clear the house site for us."
"Oh, Ronnie, I've been such a fool! Thank you! Of course. We'll just go ahead. They'll locate Bill any day now and we can show him that we still kept our hopes up for him."
"Great, Mom. I'll tell Mr. Garfield to come out tomorrow. Okay?"
"Yes, Ronnie. Tomorrow. We'll start a new life tomorrow."
She took him into her arms then and all of her pent-up feelings came rushing to the surface. She squeezed her son tightly in her arms. He squeezed her back. They held on to each other for a long time, afraid to speak anymore.
Mary felt the hardening lump in her son's jeans, pressing against her leg. Unconsciously, her hand went down to it. She touched it, then placed her hand over it. It continued to grow, its warmth permeating her palm.
"Oh, Mother," he breathed.
"Ronnie "
"I-I want you," he said huskily.
"Oh, Ronnie, I can't help myself. I want you, too."
"Now," he said. "Anne's gone. We've got time." Anne, he knew, had hiked down to the pond by herself. It was a long walk.
"Yes, Ronnie. Now."
They went into the bedroom. She closed the door. They both undressed quickly. Mary went to the bed, sliding onto it, naked. She watched as her son came toward her, his prick enormous, swollen, swinging from his loins like a fleshy sword. She wanted it so much. Her mouth watered just looking at it. It had been so long and she had been such a fool. She didn't care about the consequences anymore. All she cared about was her son's cock. Eagerly, she waited for him to come to her.
CHAPTER SIX
Ronnie lay down beside his mother. She reached out for him and pulled him close. Her hand went to his cock, trembling with eagerness. She grasped it tenderly and held it as she gazed at it. It throbbed excitingly in her hand. Her stomach fluttered. Her eyes went over its thick, distended veins, its solemn crown, faintly striated, the tiny eye-hole of its slit, the folds of circumcised flesh that were stretched taut now like a pulled-back cowl. She squeezed the organ gently and watched the crown change color slightly, purpling as she let up the pressure.
"It's so beautiful," she whispered. "I want to kiss it."
"Aw, Mom," he said.
"No, please. You'll love it, Ronnie. It's so-so precious to me. I've missed it so much."
He felt awkward, embarrassed. He wanted to fuck his mother, but he didn't understand the way she was looking at him. He felt so naked, so exposed. Yet her hand on his cock was thrilling. It was better than the first time.
More exciting, even. He had thought about that day ever since. He thought about fucking his mother and about seeing his sister eating Connie's wet, red snatch. Anne had introduced them and all he could think about was her raw cunt being licked by his sister's tongue. But Connie was a foxy piece, all right. He wouldn't mind getting a little of that. He had not followed up on it, though. He had thought mostly about his mother, wondering if she would ever let him do it to her again. And now, oh, wow, he was going to fuck her again. He'd gone over it in his mind a million times. Each time it got better: how he had done it and how he would do it again if he ever got the chance. He had been too scared to bring it up, though. And, too, they kept waiting for the police to find his father. Now, they didn't know if he was dead or alive. He must be dead, but it didn't seem like he was. There was no funeral to go to, nothing final. It was a hell of a mess and his mother had been drinking herself to death. Well, not really, but she had been drinking a lot. Knocking herself cold every night while he ached in his bed, wanting to go to her room and climb in beside her, feel that soft pussy of hers again. He was afraid of Anne, too. Of her finding out. God, Anne made him nervous. She didn't know that he knew about her and Connie, either. That was his secret. If she ever tried to pull anything ... well, shit, he had something on her. Connie and Anne ... that was a fucking mindblower! Two cunts like that, gobbling away. Man, he'd never seen anything like that in his life. He wondered what his mother would think if she knew that Anne was a dyke. Ha! She'd probably flip her lid. It had taken a lot of cool on his part not to let on that he knew the whole score. The information might come in handy someday.
Now, his mother was asking if she could put her mouth on his cock! He wanted her to, it was just that he couldn't figure his mom wanting to do anything like that. He wondered if she had ever sucked off his dad. Probably. He just couldn't picture it. Anyway, he didn't like to think about things like that. His old man might be dead and well, he just didn't like to think about him and his mom being together. That spoiled things. It was hard, though, not to think about it. He forced himself to concentrate on what was happening now. It wasn't difficult. His mother was stretching out, crawling up to his crotch, her lips wet, her eyes glowing. He felt a surge of heat ripple through his cock. It jumped in his mother's hand.
"Oh, Ronnie," she cooed, "I've wanted to do this for so long. Your cock is so beautiful. So big. I have to put my mouth on it. I just have to."
"Sure, Mom. Go ahead. I want you to."
"Do you, my darling? I hope so. He's so precious to me. Look at him. Ummmm, he's big, big. He's waiting for me to kiss him."
She slithered closer and brought his throbbing cock up to her. Like a cat, she rubbed her cheek against the swollen organ. The head of his cock was like a silken hammer against her cheek. Looking down at his mother, he could almost hear her purring. She ran a finger underneath his bone, feeling the gathered flesh there, the seam. He felt a trickle of electricity shoot through his penis. She seemed to want to define the organ's length and circumference, its diameter, its texture. She came to it as a worshiper, awed, humbled. She acted as though she were in the presence of a great mystery. He could feel her reverence as she once again rubbed his cock against her cheek, her tenderness so touching that he put his hand on her head and stroked her hair.
"My breasts," she said to him, "touch my breasts."
He touched her there and his cock twitched in his mother's hand. He began pulling at her nipples, one at a time urging them to a kernel-like hardness. Now he didn't feel as self-conscious as before. He had actively joined his mother in their mutual sexual adventure. They were together in everything that was happening, that was to follow. His cock was now a raging monster in her hand, blood rushing through it, choking the blood vessels, thickening the stalk, pounding clear up to his temples.
She put her mouth on his prick, gently at first. He almost leaped out of his skin. Her tongue ventured from between her lips and pricked the tiny slit in his crown. He jumped again. It was like being stuck with a needle. Her mouth went around the head of his hammer, wet and hot. He felt the beginnings of suction. She was so gentle and caressing with her mouth that that same feeling of reverence pervaded his thoughts. His mother revered his cock! He knew that she did. She held it so tenderly in her hand, her fingers lightly clasping it, that he knew how she felt about his organ. It gave him a feeling of warmth all over.
"Oooooohhhh!!" he said, "that feels so good, Mom."
"You're so delicious," she said, breaking contact. "I love your sweet cock, Ronnie. I love it so much you can't even know!"
His cock's crown was so sensitive that he nearly cried out the next time she put her mouth on it, stroked it with her tongue. Yet, after a moment's laving, the warmth and wetness made the pain go away. He continued to play with his mother's breasts and stare at her cunt in fascination while she licked the head of his cock as if it were an ice cream cone. She would stop every once in a while to look at it, then lick it again. The head was by then slick with her saliva. It shone with a radiance that seemed to fascinate Mary every time she looked at it. She held it up to the afternoon sunlight streaming through the trailer windows. She held it as if it were a golden scepter, a magic, miraculous wand. Ronnie wondered if she was ever going to put it inside her mouth. So far, she had just licked it and stared at it. He knew that he didn't have the courage to ask her. Maybe that was as far as she would go. He didn't know how he would react if she did put it in her mouth, anyway. He just knew that his cock was straining to go deeper, past her lips and into her hot mouth.
He looked at her face as she licked him, at her tongue stretching out of her mouth. He shuddered at the sight. He didn't think he had ever seen anything so beautiful and loving and so obscene at the same time. She curled her tongue around the crown of his cock and let just the tip of it titillate him. Watching her, he very nearly ejaculated at that instant. She seemed to be testing him, his resources, his control, his willpower. Either that, or she was experimenting. Surely, he thought, she must have done this before. This couldn't be the first time. She was too sure of herself.
Mary had been coming for several moments. Small, undulating orgasms that were undetectable. Each time she licked his cock and felt it throb into her lips, she felt a small wave ripple through her pussy. No, this wasn't the first time she'd had a man's cock within licking distance. Bill had loved for her to suck him off. And Bill was the only man she had ever blown. But she had never sucked her son's cock before and she was savoring every moment of it. She was putting off the enjoyment of taking her son's cock into her mouth until the last second of her reserve. If he was anything like his father, he would probably get so excited that he'd go all the way, pumping his cock into her mouth and throat, exploding his gism on one of the deep strokes. She was, in fact, hoping that Ronnie would do just that.
She could sense Ronnie's restlessness, his own reserve breaking down. She knew that she could have toyed with his cock for hours more. It was not fair to him, she realized. His nuts must be aching something terrible. And too her own excitement was devastating to her. Her small orgasms were tearing at her, teasing her. She caressed his cock a final time with her hand, smoothing it as if it were a bolt of rumpled silk in her hand. Then, without warning, she drew the organ into her mouth, sucking it past her clamping lips and into the steaming cavern where her tongue slid along the gathered crease of flesh on its underside.
"Oh, mom," Ronnie cried out. "Oh, oh, man!"
She drew his prick down to her throat, her cheeks sunken with the suction, her lips wide with the thickness of it. The tip of his cock touched the back of her throat and she let air inside to keep from gagging. An intense thrill shot up through her cunt as she swallowed her son's cock. She spasmed in a series of orgasmic convulsions as she slid down so that her son would have easier access to her mouth.
She saw what his mother was doing, but the first shock of being sucked inside her mouth had not yet left him. He had seen his cock disappear inside his mother's mouth, then felt the surge of pleasure as the hot, moist cavern had received him. Her slithering tongue was a delightful pressure on his tender cock. When the tip of his organ touched the back of her throat he was amazed. He had never expected to go so deep, at least not the first time. Before he fully knew what was happening, Mary was sucking him in and out, past her tightly gripping lips and over her flicking, swirling tongue. Her body contorted with orgasmic convulsions and her neck muscles were stretched taut with the strain.
It seemed to Ronnie that she wanted him to fuck her in the mouth, not just lie there, a passive lump. Her eyes flashed at him and she pulled extra hard on his swollen cock. Slowly, he began to push and he saw her eyes change, blinking, brightening. They seemed to be saying to him, "faster, faster," and when he pumped faster, her eyes told him that he had understood the message. He had never been so hot before.
His mother slid further underneath him and he rolled over so that he straddled her. He could no longer see her face, but he didn't care. He felt her teeth lightly scraping his skin as he rammed inward, faster now, mindless of how deep he was going or how hard he was thrusting. The pleasure was so intense that he couldn't stop himself. His mother spoke to him now through pressure and with the lapping of her tongue. Her teeth reminded him that he was in her mouth, but they never hurt him.
"Oh, Mom," he cried out, "it's great. I love you!"
Her cheeks hollowed out deeper as she sucked at his cock, urging it to spume its milk into her mouth and throat. He felt the increased suction and poured his flaming meat to her. His cock was slick with her saliva. He looked down and saw it slide in and out of his mother's mouth, the skin almost translucent from being stretched so tautly. His mother looked unreal, but the feeling: he got from her mouth was real enough. He felt an imminent explosion in his loins, but hadn't the presence of mind to warn his mother. He didn't know if she would want him to stop, to pull out and ejaculate outside of her mouth or just let nature take its course. He thought that he might pull out at the last moment. He had no idea what his mother would think about having her mouth filled with his sperm. It was just a thing that he had never thought about.
It was too late, finally, for Ronnie to "pull out." His pumping, his mother's oral suction, proved too much for him. The warmth inside was too great, the magnetism too strong, for him to stem the tide that was loosed from the explosion of his seed. His sac boiled with fury as the sperm fled its chalice and sped up the tube of his cock.
"Look out!" he warned his mother. "I'm coming. Now!"
To his surprise, his mother sucked him even deeper. She put her hands on his hips and pulled him into her.
She wanted him to come in her mouth!
He screamed in his delicious agony as the milky secretion, thick and stringy, burst inside his mother's mouth and throat, a cloudy mucus that coated her tongue and filled her to the brim. He felt her swallow and his cockhead throbbed with a sweet pain. He spurted and spurted, his strength ebbing. his mother's fingers digging into the flesh of his hips, her arms pulling him to her, locking his pubic thatch to her face.
"Oh. Mom." he sighed.
He felt her sucking hungrily at his spent organ, tugging at its crown with her lips, lapping up the last drops of cum that dripped from its eyelet. The tenderness in the head of his cock was incredible. Yet he didn't mind. His mother's eyes were glazed with satisfaction. She sucked him dry, not stopping until his cock was limp. Reluctantly, she spewed the flabby remnant of his penis out of her mouth.
"Ronnie, that was so beautiful. You just came and came. I sucked every last drop of juice out of you. Did it feel good to you? Really good?"
"Yes, Mom," he told her. "It felt better than anything in the world."
"For me, too." She squirmed herself up so that she could look at his limp cock. She reached her hand out and began caressing it. "I want him hard again. I want you to fuck me with it."
Her words thrilled him, set the hackles on the back of his neck to rising.
"It'll probably be a long time," he said.
"No," she said. "You're young and strong. It won't be long."
He barely felt her hand on his cock. It seemed to him that everything had been drained out of him, that he had no more juice. Yet, miraculously, his cock began to respond to her touches. He watched in amazement as it began to stir in his naked lap. His mother leaned over and put her mouth on its head once again.
A tingle shot through him. No, he thought, it wouldn't be long.
She sucked his cock until it grew hard again. Then she lay on her back and he climbed atop her, his juices flowing once more, his cock hard and throbbing. She took his cock in her hand and guided it to her voluptuous furrow, staring down her belly at the renewed organ. She rubbed the head of his cock up and down her slit, then helped him slide it into her vagina. He sighed as he entered her and she spread her legs wider so that he could sink his shaft deep.
"Kiss my breasts while you fuck me," she whispered, a note of tenderness and yearning in her voice.
He lay atop her and nibbled her breasts as he fucked her. Her nipples hardened once again. He exulted in the nutty, dry taste of them. Their bodies slapped against each other in their urgency. His cock sank deep inside her, spreading the folds of flesh that were her pussy lips, boring into the pericarpial sweetness of her cunt's core. She began to climax almost immediately, deep, satisfying quakes that left her breathless and whole.
"I love you so much, Ronnie. I don't want anything to come between us-ever."
They both knew what she meant, but neither of them could put it into words. The shadow of Bill, her husband, his father, fell across their naked bodies. Was he alive or dead? If he came back, what then? They both thought about that possibility, but they both buried the thought, or tried to, and gave themselves up to loving each other as if there would be no tomorrow, no piper to pay.
Ronnie felt the awesome surge of his own sexuality come to the fore. The first time he had been with his mother had been a fluke, he thought, but now he knew his power over her. Every time he plunged his cock into her, he saw what it was doing to her. Her eyes glazed over with a glassy film; her body convulsed; her wetness flooded his organ. She mewed and moaned in his ear while he sucked her tits. She writhed like a woman impaled on a molten glowing sword. She was his now, and he could have her anytime he wanted. He didn't realize that his maturity hadn't caught up with his emotions, that in many ways he was still a child. The sexual stirrings he had felt for so long had burst forth into full bloom. He was almost gloating as he took his mother, as he sank into her cunt, again and again.
Mary didn't realize what she had unleashed. Not then, anyway. Yet her own sexuality was at the core of her mixed feeling toward her son. When he was fucking her, he was a man, that was all. His cock wiped her mind free of any doubts. She didn't think of the future nor of the past, but only of the present. Every time he sheathed his cock to the hilt, she swooned with pleasure. His mouth on her breasts was hot and wet, terribly exciting to her.
In their remote island, the two lovers, mother and son, were oblivious to the rest of the world. There was no other world but their own. They had no phone, no television, no neighbors. They had only the surrounding forest, the sky and the earth around them. Their trailer was a lost ship far out at sea with only themselves aboard. They had no monitors, no judges. They alone were all that mattered in their micro-universe. Their emotions clouded their minds and swept their bodies up to the heights of ecstasy.
She could feel that he was about to come again. She tried to push him away, to cool him off. It was too soon. She wasn't satisfied fully.
"Wait, Ronnie," she begged. "Not so fast."
"I-I can't," he said, floundering in his dilemma.
"I don't want it to end. Please."
Perversely, perhaps, he ignored her. He let himself go. He came, at the end of a machine gun burst of speed, his cock drumming into her cunt like a sewing machine needle.
"I'm sorry," he said, but when she looked at his eyes, she knew he was lying. She held back her tears.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Jess Garfield came up to the Rogers's property to talk to Mary, he had no idea what to expect. He knew that she had been put through unnecessary grief and that she still had no idea of what had happened to her husband. But Ronnie had told him yesterday to come up and give them an estimate on building their home, he had said that his mother had the plans. And the few times Jess had seen Mary Rogers, there had been much strain. So he was surprised to see a different woman waiting for him at the top of the path.
He could feel her sensuality even from the road. She was wearing a brief sunsuit, shorts and middy blouse, sandals. She had a light tan, the darker skin coloring very becoming to her blondeness. When he had last seen her, she had been pale and distraught. Now she seemed flushed with health-happy, as though she had been loved recently by a strong man. He knew that that couldn't be, however, so he just put it down to a change in attitude (which was partially correct, as far as it went).
Garfield lumbered up the path that the Rogers family had marked off with rocks. He was a big man, his face ruddy from the outdoors; he was in this mid-thirties but looked younger; he had never married, but was considered by many Modoc County residents to be a "good catch." He owned his own construction company and had been hired by the Modoc Pines Corporation as a builder/consultant. His bank account, subsequently, had fattened considerably. Despite his eligibility as a marriageable bachelor, Garfield remained a loner, a tough man who made his own decisions and stuck by them. He was more at home in the woods than he was in the lounge at the Modoc Pines Lodge. He had grown up an outdoorsman and had managed to stay one all his life. He lived in a house near the Lodge, but spent little time there, preferring, instead, to sleep in the construction trailer he had parked in the woods. That served as his office and retreat and gave him the privacy he required.
"I hope you'll stay for lunch, Mr. Garfield," Mary said to him as he topped the rise at the end of the walkway. "The kids picked today to hike way up to Lost Lake. Ronnie took fishing gear with them and Anne made a picnic lunch."
"He'll catch trout there," said Garfield, "and I hope you'll call me Jess, Mrs. Rogers."
"Only if you call me Mary," she said, laughing, and invited him into the trailer.
She and Jess looked at the architect's plans first and then walked over the property.
"Your husband had good thoughts about your house," he told her. "And you both picked out the perfect spot to build. We can preserve several of the pines to give you shade on both sides of the house. You'll have a clear, unobstructed view of the Warner Range."
"That's what we wanted."
The house plans called for a two-story Gambrel with the front practically all windows. The Gambrel would shed the snows of winter and be light and airy in the summer.
"We'll have to dig leech lines, take a soil percolation test for your septic tank bulldoze this area. I can lay the foundation this week, dig your lines and be ready to start building by next week.
"Oh, could you? That would be wonderful."
He quoted his prices to her and she seemed satisfied. They were well below what she had expected. The big expense would be the well and pump. Jess told her that there was no guarantee about how deep they'd have to go. It could cost as little as $2000 or as much as $5000. She did some rapid figuring and told him to contract for a well-digger. They selected a suitable site and he made sketches and wrote down figures on his work sheet that he carried with him on a clipboard.
"Now," she said, "how about some lunch. Are you pressed for time?"
"No," he told her. "I have the afternoon free. I have one inspection to make on my way home. I'll have my crew here in the morning." She made them both frozen daiquiris to sip on before lunch. They had two apiece and then sat down to eat. They talked about her husband and the prospects of his being found alive. He found himself attracted to Mary. He noticed that she wore no bra and that her blouse was unbuttoned far enough down so that he could glimpse her breasts when she moved. He decided that Mary Rogers was a very sensual woman and that she would not be inattentive to any sexual advances he might make. He liked her slim legs and wondered how it would be to climb into bed with her. He reasoned that she must be lonely without her husband and probably starved for affection.
She did nothing to discourage such thoughts for she found the rugged builder to be an attractive man, especially after she discovered that he was a bachelor. She wondered, in fact, how long it would take him to make a pass at her. With Ronnie gone, she had found that her sexual appetite was quite keen. She knew that she didn't want to face a dreary afternoon alone when there was such a hunk of manhood sitting close to her at the table. She made sure that Jess Garfield got several enticing views of her naked breasts and she brushed them against his arm several times just to make the point especially clear.
They sipped a chilled, dry sauterne with lunch and afterwards she served Drambuie which they drank sitting on the couch, moving closer to each other with each tangy sip.
"You must miss your husband very much," Jess said.
"Yes, I do. We were very close." She wondered why she talked about him in the past tense. Were they no longer close? Would things be the same between them? What had happened to Bill? Was he hurt. Alive? Why was she acting this way? Had Ronnie been the catalyst for her heightened desire for sexual intercourse? She had never cheated on Bill before, but just then he seemed very remote, useless to her in her present mood.
Jess knew that he could have this woman if he wanted her. She was doing everything possible to signal him that she was receptive to any sexual overtures. He did have the afternoon free and he would be working with this woman for a long time. Usually he didn't like to get involved with the wives on the project, but Mary Rogers didn't even act like a married woman. There was no husband in view and chances were that he was dead through mysterious circumstances. Either that, or he had run out on her. He couldn't picture what her husband would look like, and didn't want to. For all practical purposes William Rogers was not in the picture. At least Jess didn't want him to be-not now.
Mary was laughing at something Jess had said and her arm went out and touched his. He put his hand on her arm, drew her close, kissed her, and she melted into his arms. They put their drinks aside and engaged in hungry kissing for several impassioned moments.
"I was wondering if you were going to kiss me," she breathed. "I wanted you to. You're a very handsome man."
"You're a very beautiful woman," he said. "It was hard not to kiss you. I didn't want to push myself. I don't want to now."
"You're not," she said. "We're both over twenty-one."
"Yes," he said, and drew her to him again, his hand reaching for, and finding, one of her breasts. She wriggled still closer and dropped a hand into his lap. She squeezed the hard lump that was growing there, excited and thrilled at the apparent size of it. Her cunt ached for him to fill her when their tongues met.
"Yes, Jess," she whispered. "I want you. I want your cock inside me."
He didn't answer, just squeezed her other breast and massaged it. As she began unzip ping his trousers, he unbuttoned her blouse, giving his hand more freedom to move over her luscious breasts. She slid her hand inside his shorts and pulled his cock free. Outside of his trousers, it popped up like an unfolding jackknife and she grasped it eagerly, rubbing her hand up and down its rigid length while she continued to grow hot between her legs.
"Ummm, you're all man," she told him. "Feel good?"
"Very good, Mary."
She zeroed in on his cock then, putting her wet mouth on the mushroomed crown, her tongue an arrow into its tiny slit-mouth. She felt him jump as she took his cock into her mouth, sensuously tightening her lips around the sensitive head. He continued to fondle her pert breasts, teasing the nipples until they stood up like castles on a chessboard. The two of them managed to wriggle out of their clothes and wallow comfortably on the couch. Mary sucked his cock until it was lathered with her saliva.
"Let's go into the bedroom," she said.
"Yes, let's do."
She was glad that she had changed the sheets on the bed that morning. The others would have reeked of the sex she had had with her son the day before. She turned the covers down and climbed onto the sheets, waiting for her newfound lover. Jess looked at her body for a long moment, his eyes savoring every curve and valley. She beamed at the salacious compliment and held out her arms to him. Smiling, he slid alongside her, his hand going to her pussy. Gratefully, she spread her legs wide and grasped his slick, still-hard cock. She began jacking up and down slowly. His finger moved inside her slit, rubbing the sensitive lining before it ventured inside the opening to the hot, moist cavern of flesh.
"You get hot fast," he told her.
"So do you, Jess."
"You help nature along pretty well."
"My pleasure," she said, smiling and giving his cock a squeeze.
"Mine too."
He fingerfucked her more vigorously, as she continued to squeeze and rub his stiffened cock. When he found her clitoris, it was her turn to jump. The jolting orgasm snatched her breath away. The drinks had helped to dispel her inhibitions and she was glad that she had played up to Jess. His large frame next to her made her feel all woman. He was a good salve for her ego, which had been damaged since the disappearance of her husband. Seducing her own son had not helped, either; here was a man, attracted to her, and taking the initiative. She could not help but swell with pride, although she couldn't help thinking as well of the old adage that said such a condition "goeth before a fall."
But it was more than pride which made Mary excited with her new lover. She felt a sense of worth, of accomplishment. Bill had given her love, but it had come from only one direction. Now, she realized, she may have needed other lovers to build up her confidence in herself. She hadn't realized before that she was not completely fulfilled. Having one lover, one way, for so long had made something inside of her stagnate. Ronnie had brought out a lust in her that she hadn't known existed. Now, Jess Garfield was augmenting that lust so that she could bring it up into full view and examine it. This lust was a powerful entity, no less formidable because of its intangibility. She wanted Jess's cock inside her and she made no bones about it. That she was betraying her husband made the new lover no less desirable. If anything the betrayal added extra spice to her lust. She was not ashamed of herself. She merely recognized something inside her that had been dormant all her adult sexual life.
"I want this cock inside me," she told Jess. "I want it in all the way, touching every part of my cunt."
Although he was surprised at her boldness, Jess was grateful. She had, with that request, taken away any foundation for guilt he might have had later. This was not just a simple seduction of another man's wife. It was a mutual eagerness to couple sexually and he didn't mind taking full advantage of it.
"Is there any particular way you want it?" he asked her.
"Any way," she said quietly. "I'm yours to do with what you want."
"I'd like you on your stomach," he said. "You have a nice ass."
"Umm, a cave man, huh?"
"People do it the same way all the time. Don't you like variety?"
"That's why I'm glad you're with me. Variety."
"Have you had many men?"
She couldn't tell him about Ronnie.
"No," she said. "Bill was-well, not very inventive. But satisfying." She wanted him to know that. If Bill ever came back to her it was important that Jess know that that she was happy with him. She didn't want to carry on an extended, secret affair.
"Good," Jess said. "Now, turn over." He pulled his dripping finger from her pussy and she rolled over on her stomach.
He spread her legs wide and pulled them up, raising her buttocks high off the bed. She had a very appealing ass, smooth and creamy, with symmetrical hemispheres. He moved in on her then, his rigid cock touching her leg first and smearing it with pre-coital fluid. He adjusted her buttocks so that he could penetrate her easily. With one hand he spread her full pussy lips and, with the other, he steered his cock to the portal. He slid inside her vagina easily, clear to the balls. Mary cried out with pleasure as his cock sank satisfyingly deep.
"Oh, that feels good," she said.
"Have you ever done it this way?"
"A few times. Never so good, though."
"I'm glad you like it."
He marveled at her tight pussy, the way it squeezed his cock as he eased it in and out of her lubricated passage. He thought that she had the cunt of a young girl. Yet it loosened as he fucked her, and he slid in and out easily in the oily mass of yielding flesh.
She skewered herself on his cock, pushing backwards, delighting in the feel of his skin smacking into her buttocks. She had been fucked this way before, but never so satisfyingly. Jess's long, deep strokes seemed to penetrate her deeper than ever. She could almost feel the head of his cock pushing into her womb. She shook with orgasm after orgasm as he plunged surely home, exerting more and more forward pressure while maintaining his slow pace.
"Damn, you fuck good," she exclaimed.
"I have something good to fuck."
"Ummm, I hope so. I can't see your face, but I hope you're happy."
"I am, Mary."
She wished that she could have a mirror behind her so that she could see his huge cock sliding into her from the rear. The only bad part about being fucked from behind was that she couldn't participate more actively. In a way, though, the primitive style of intercourse brought to mind the freedom of animals. There was something animalistic in being screwed that way and her lust was enhanced by this particular position.
"I want to put my cock in another place," Jess said, to Mary's surprise.
"What?"
"Have you ever had it in your butt?"
"Lord, no!" she exclaimed.
"It's good, very good."
"Painful, too, I imagine."
"Not if you relax. You ought to try it, at least once."
"I'm a little afraid, Jess."
"I'll be careful. If it hurts too much, I'll take it out."
"I-I don't know," she said.
"Please. There's enough lubrication. It's just another form of sex. I think you're perfect for it."
He had been regarding her puckered anus and had become excited just thinking about penetrating that virgin hole. Now, he ran his thumb between her crack and teased her ass hole. She winced every time he touched her there.
"We'll work up to it gradually," he told her. "Just relax. Don't tense up on me."
"I-I'll try," she said reluctantly.
He smeared the end of his thumb with their mingled juices, dipping it into her soaked pussy like Jack Horner with his pie. He kept fucking her while he thumbed her tightly puckered asshole, gently nudging the opening until she began to relax. Gradually, he eased his thumb inside. There was no pain. Mary began to enjoy the added titillation, soon coming to accept the alien presence and not fear it.
When Jess thought that she might be sufficiently lubricated and relaxed to receive his penis, he extricated it from her sheath and slid it up between her buttocks. Unconsciously, Mary began to stiffen as apprehension gripped her.
"Take it easy," Jess said, thumbing her in the butt a little deeper.
"I'm trying," she said. "I just don't think you'll fit. You're much too big."
"Let me worry about that, will you? This part of you is elastic, too, you know."
She didn't know, but she forced herself to think of something else as she felt his cock slither up the crack of her ass. He pushed her down a little bit and soon removed his thumb from her anus. He battered the tightly drawn orifice with gentle buffets, the head of his cock pushing at the opening. Mary began to relax again as she became accustomed to the new sensation. When Jess thought that she was calm enough, he eased his cock past the rubbery depression.
Before she could tighten up, he shoved hard and was inside. He gripped her legs and drew her to him, completely sheathing his throbbing cock. Mary gasped, but a moment later he forced a finger into her vagina, found the clit and began to thrum it quickly, setting off a series of orgasms that gave her no time to think. Then, slowly, he began to fuck her in the ass, the aperture and the channel widening as he stroked her.
"Oh, my," she breathed. "I've never felt anything like this. Jess, it's fantastic!"
There had been pain of course. It was a brutal, searing pain and for a moment she had felt that a hot poker had been rammed up her ass and would tear it to pieces. Yet the pain had been brief, fleeting, no more than the swift burning pain of a hymen rupturing. And, it had been like that, she realized; like being fucked as a virgin. The first time-like no other. The hot, burning pain, then the delicious after wash, like a warm tide flooding the senses and the flesh. This was like that. Oh, yes, very much like that. And yet, it was like nothing else in the world.
She had the extraordinary feeling of being fucked by two people, or at least in two different places at the same time. She could feel his cock inside her anal cavern and it seemed to be pressing inward on her cunt. His finger added to the illusion, tripping her clit until it was twanging like a broken spring, making her cunt flutter like a bird whose leg was tied with a piece of anchored string.
If Jess had been slow and easy before, he was a raging rapist now, ramming his bone hard cock deep into her butt, his rhythm fast as a rivet-gun. He bored into the virgin channel like a man gone berserk, spurting into her with his drill banging at a heated tempo. She cried out, but not in pain. She cried out for more, more, more. And he gave it to her, jamming her full, clicking her clit with his finger like a man working a stuck bead on an abacus.
"It's tight, tight," Jess roared over her shoulder. "Beautiful, babe, beautiful."
"Oh god yes, Jess, fuck me there you raping bastard. Shove that cock of yours clear up my ass!"
Their yells subsided into animal grunts and unintelligible cries of savagery as he ripped into her ass with his cock, delving to the depths of her with hard, burying, battering thrusts. She felt him tighten up and explode inside her, felt the hot, sticky sperm blow through her like a drenching monsoon. She backed into him, tightening up her muscles until he cried out and fell away from her.
The soreness came then, but Mary didn't mind. She looked at the sated Jess in awe. She knew that she had found herself a new lover. He smiled back at weakly. She put her hand on his diminishing cock, reverently. She could still feel him inside her. She smiled back at him, gloating.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lost Lake was nestled high in the pines, a good four-mile trek from the Rogers property, its elevation close to 7,000 feet. There were no roads to it and the few hiking trails were dim and overgrown. Not many people went up that far when trout were so plentiful in the many lakes and streams at lower altitudes. Ronnie and Anne had seen it on the forestry map and inquired about it at the Lodge. An old-timer there remembered it and told Ronnie to take a compass with him. It was called Lost Lake, not because it was "lost" but because so many people had become lost trying to find it, or having found it, trying to find their way back. The four miles, Ronnie and Anne had discovered, were not easy ones. They had to struggle every inch of the way.
But it was worth it. The lake was breathtaking, still. They were completely enclosed by trees, and the privacy of their view lent a solemn hush to the surroundings. The surface of the lake was like a mirror.
"It's beautiful!" Anne exclaimed.
"Man, I'll say. Now, the hike doesn't seem so bad. I'm just glad we found it."
"Yeah, me too. I was wondering if we were ever going to get anywhere for a while there."
"It'll be easier getting back. All downhill."
"For sure," she said, laughing.
Ronnie wiggled out of his backpack, and began screwing his fishing rod together. It was a spinning rod. He ran the line through the eyelets, four-pound test. He expertly tied a sliding egg sinker and swivel on the line, then extracted a double-rig of Number 16 treble hooks out of his small tackle box. He opened a jar of red salmon eggs, stuck them on the six points. He found a forked stick and stuck it in the mud next to the bank. Then he cast his line out and pulled up the slack. He adjusted the drag, placed the pole on the ground, the slender end in the forked stick. He took up the rest of the slack and stepped back.
"Boy, I'd like to swim in there," Anne said. "Later, okay? Let's make a little camp for our stuff. It'd be nice to have a couple of rainbows for lunch. I brought along a lemon squeezer just in case."
"Well, if you don't catch any, I'm going swimming." Anne said petulantly.
Ronnie looked at her.
"Okay, and I'll go with you. Did you wear your suit underneath?" She had on jeans and a chambray shirt.
"No, silly. Who needs a suit up here? It's not exactly the Municipal pool, you know."
"I didn't wear mine, either," he laughed. "I guess I was just thinking about catching trout."
"Let's set things up. I want to go exploring."
"Just don't get lost."
She gave him a look that said she thought he was suffering from a strange mental disorder. He stuck out his tongue at her.
They cleared a space among some small pines and set the picnic stuff out. Ronnie liked to camp out and he always tried to keep his spots neat. As soon as they were unpacked, Anne walked around the edge of the lake. Ronnie watched her go, then went back to his pole to wait.
It was so quiet he could hear his own heart beat. He watched Anne, who was absorbed with something on the far bank. He couldn't get the remembrance of her pussy being eaten out of his mind. Now, in the stillness of the forest, he began to get horny. They were all alone out here. He thought of his mother and that got him even hornier.
His eyes drifted away from the motionless fishing pole. Over to the other side of the lake. Anne was squatting by the shore, looking at a frog or something. Her jeans were very tight. He could see, or thought he could see, the crease of her pussy between her legs. She had a very shapely ass, he decided. He had never really noticed her buttocks before. They were plump enough to make her look feminine. The rest of her was slender. Not bad. He wondered how it would be to screw his sister. When he thought about that other girl, Connie, licking her pussy, he almost burst his buttons off. His sister must be horny herself to let a girl do that to her. And to do that to the other girl. That took guts! He had never eaten pussy, but he'd heard a lot about it from the other guys. He was sure that they hadn't either, but they sure as hell talked about it a lot. Well, maybe he'd try it sometime. With Anne, or maybe with his mother. The thought excited him. He knew that a lot of girls were supposed to like it. Hell, maybe they all did.
His pole began jerking frantically, and he rushed to it, grabbed it up and set the hook.
"Hey, Anne," he yelled, "I got one! Shit, I forgot the stringer. Get me the stringer, will you? I left it over by the trees."
Anne was running around the lake as he played the trout. It flashed silver in the sun as it leaped from the water. He knew he had caught it in the lip. The hook was set just fine. Lip-caught trout always danced that way. Anne found the stringer, brought it to him, breathless, her breasts heaving from her exertion. She looked at the trout, snaking into shore. Ronnie didn't use a net.
"Hey, about a pound and a half," he said, removing the hook.
"He's a beauty," Anne said, excited.
The trout had a splash of pink on each side of his body. He was speckled silver and green. Ronnie ran the stringer through his gill and shoved the pointed end into the bank. He tossed the trout back in the water to keep him fresh. He thrashed a few times and was still, regaining his strength.
"Another like him and we can have trout for lunch. Why don't you make a hole for a fire? Get some firewood. I brought some foil. We can drop them in the ashes."
"Mmm, sounds good," Anne said, excited now. "It's kinda fun, isn't it? I could just stay in a place like this forever."
"Me too."
He rebaited his hooks and tossed the line out. He was glad the trout were biting on eggs. He had cheese, but it was messy and didn't always stay on the hook. Eggs were simpler. He walked back to their "camp" and helped Anne make a small fire pit. He started a fire so that there would be coals. The sun was climbing and it would be noon before they knew it. It had taken them almost two hours to find the lake, but they had not hurried.
"Keep the fire going. Lots of coals. We can swim after I catch another one, okay?"
"Great," said Anne.
She gathered more wood while Ronnie went back to his pole and line. He had another one dancing on the end of his line before another fifteen minutes had gone by. He played it into shore, snaked it up on the bank, strung it up on the stringer. Might as well try for another one or two. The last one would go a little over a pound. Pan-sized, but he had other ideas. He had a bell-pepper and some onions. Stuff the trout with those, put 'em in foil and bake 'em a little while on the coals. They would be delicious.
He took off his shirt. It was getting warm. He set his hooks out again and looked around for Anne. She was building up the fire. It burned briskly, with little smoke. Good thing, too. He didn't have a fire permit. Didn't know if he needed one. The small amount of smoke rose up through the pines and was dissipated before it could be seen from one of the fire towers anyway.
"You can swim now if you want," he told Anne.
"You going to?"
"Sure." He slipped off his tennis shoes and socks, slid out of his jeans. He kept his shorts on for modesty's sake. No need to scare Anne out of her wits. She'd probably never seen a cock before; not up close. He watched her undress out of the corner of his eye. She didn't have a bra on, but like him, kept her panties on. He felt his pecker begin to rise. Anne, he realized, had a voluptuous body for a teen-ager. Her breasts were bigger than his mother's, her tummy flatter, but delightfully curved. He could see the dark patch between her legs. It showed through her panties. She wore the very briefest of bikini underwear. He imagined her crease, the flesh puffy. He could see the bulge in her panties. The panties were very tight. There were no pubic hairs sticking out the sides. He supposed that she must shave herself. He didn't know of her embarrassment at the Lodge pool that day.
"Well, are you going to go in or just stare at me all day?"
"You first," he grinned. He turned slightly away from her so that she wouldn't see that he was aroused.
"Chicken."
"You're the one who wanted to swim."
She tossed her dark hair and walked gracefully down to the water's edge. She gingerly put a toe into the water, withdrew it.
"Cold," she said.
"It won't be once you get in."
"Brave boy. All talk."
He walked out into the water. He shivered but forced himself to go in all the way. His breath was snatched away as be plunged in. He liked to swim in cold water. He knew it would be all right once he had put in a few laps. He poked his head out of the water and shook the water from his hair. He felt better already.
"It's perfect," he said, trying to keep his teeth from chattering.
"Freezing, you mean."
He laughed and taunted her until she dove in, straight and clean. She swam over to him.
"You're right," she said. "It's great. Race you to the other side."
"You're on."
They struck out together, he giving her a slight lead. He closed the gap easily. Now, he really was warm. The water was invigorating. His embarrassment had gone away.
They swam and treaded water in the bright sunlight. Finally, Anne swam back to the shore nearest their camp, climbed out and sat on the sloping bank. Ronnie came and sat beside her.
They both dripped water in the sun.
"I wish I'd brought a blanket," she said.
"There's one in the bottom of the pack. A small one."
She hopped up and found the blanket. She brought it back and spread it out. There was room for both of them on it. The sun began drying the droplets of water off their skins. Ronnie's line angled into the water like a gleaming spider web. The pole was motionless.
"They're not biting," he said.
"Two are enough. One apiece."
"Plenty. We've got deviled eggs, sandwiches, Coke, and cupcakes."
"I'm slightly starved," she said.
He looked over at his sister. Her panties were still wet. They clung to her loins like soaked cheesecloth. He could see the dark patch of hair underneath, the fluffy vertical crease. The insides of her thighs were nice-fleshy, but not fatty. They looked extremely inviting. Anne saw the direction of his gaze and didn't move her legs.
"What're you staring at?" she asked, knowing full well what he was staring at.
"That. Your pussy."
"Gross!"
"I'll bet Connie didn't think it was gross."
She flushed, her face turning a light pink. "What kind of a crack is that?"
"I saw you that day. Before I knocked. The door was open."
"Shit! You fucking Peeping Tom! That wasn't right!"
"Hell, the door was open. How was I to know you and Connie were eating each other?"
"You fucking pervert!"
"Hey, now, whose calling who names? You were gobbling away at her snatch. I walked in by mistake. No harm done. Did you like it?"
"None of your business!" Anne was flustered. Her whole day was ruined. She thought of their positions, what he might have seen. He might have seen everything! How embarrassing! She couldn't look him in the eye.
"You looked like you were enjoying yourself. I was wondering how it would be to do the same thing to you. Like Connie did."
"Don't even mention it! It wouldn't be right. Geez, man, you are really a sickie."
"You never heard of a brother and sister making it? Hell, it happens all the time."
"Are you serious, Ronnie?"
"Try me."
"Man, I just don't know."
"Mind if I try, at least?"
She looked at him for a long, lingering moment. Her eyes seemed to fill with smoke.
"Now? Here?" she asked.
"Why not?"
He could see that she was considering it. She looked down at his shorts and saw the bulging, white fabric. She knew then that he was serious. He reached over and put his hand on her bikini panties. He gave her flesh a gentle squeeze, his middle finger dropping on the same plane as her crease. He rubbed the pneumatic slit, his eyes locked to hers.
Anne was bewildered-by herself and by the suddenness of her brother's approach. A door opened in her mind and she realized that she should have expected this. She had just failed to see it coming and a feeling of helplessness came over her. More than that, she felt the inevitability of what was happening. This was another link in a chain that had started sometime ago. The links were blurred, but they were there.
Heat and desire flooded her loins. Dazed, she stared back at her brother, his rubbing her pussy a distant happening that she couldn't flash on at first; it seemed to be happening to someone else. Yet, her own senses were beginning to unscramble. Deep inside her vagina, the latent juices stirred, the oils heated up and began to seep and flow.
Ronnie was slightly puzzled by his sister's odd behavior. She seemed to be in a trance. She looked like a girl freaked out on drugs, but he knew better than that. Was it the sex? Maybe that was it. Maybe his little sister was a sex freak. Maybe it turned her on like a narcotic, mesmerized her. It could be. He had heard about a girl in the neighborhood who was being gang-banged once. He had gone over to the vacant shack where a bunch of boys supposedly were pouring the meat to this chick. When he had scrambled inside for a view, he was shocked to see that the girl was no more than seven or eight years old. She had a glazed look in her eyes and idiotic grin on her face. She was taking on cocks that should have been bigger than she could handle. The look on her face came back to haunt him now. Anne looked the same way, as though she were in shock. Or was it only that this was all so unexpected? Was she disappointed in him for wanting to commit incest?
"Are you okay?" he asked her.
"Yeah, sure. Fine." Her voice was muffled, faint.
Ronnie shrugged and slid his hand inside her panties. His cock rose another inch, throbbed another beat, hardened, fought against the confinement of his shorts.
His finger now touched the flesh itself, ran over the pubic hairs. If she was just short of being unconscious, he was going to take advantage of it. He had come too far to stop now. Besides, there were signs that his sister was responding to him. He had the feeling that he had better keep the genital contact, though, or she would have a change of heart. He slid his finger around trying to find the opening. She had not moved her legs and it took him some moments to find the depression that marked the entrance to her pussy. It was difficult to get his finger inside. With his other hand he reached over and spread one of her legs. Then the other one. His finger slid in easily and he began to fingerfuck her vigorously.
The lights came back on in Anne's eyes. Her body began to move. She pushed downward and his finger sank in deeper. Wet. Hot. He was so excited that his cock was bent double like an iron horseshoe and just as hard.
"Why don't you take my panties off?" she said to him.
"Yeah. Good idea." He was flushed with excitement. He removed his finger from her cunt and pulled her panties down. She leaned over and tugged at his shorts, trying to look inside.
"Those too," she said.
He slipped out of his shorts. They were damp from precoital seepings.
"Do you want to do it to me?" she asked him.
"Yes."
"I mean what Connie and I did?"
He could hardly trust his ears.
"Well, yes, sure."
He looked at his sister as she spread her legs and lay back on the blanket. The raw slash through her pubic jungle was clearly visible: pink enticing, a split peach. He summoned his courage. He wondered how it would feel and taste. His own sister. His flesh crawled with anticipation. He crawled between her legs. Her musk rose up to his nostrils. He snuggled between her soft legs with his head. He looked squarely at her waiting pussy and thought of Connie's cunt with Anne's tongue inside it. His cock jerked up and down as fresh blood rushed through its veins, engorging it.
Ronnie stretched out his tongue and buried his head between his sister's thighs.
He worried it into her crack, then into her juicy hole.
Inside Anne's head a whole string of Christmas tree lights lit up and then began popping in bright explosions, one by one.
CHAPTER NINE
All of Ronnie's fears were swept away the instant his tongue shot into his sister's cunt. Her scent excited and exhilarated him. She tasted of honey and salt, her young pussy a jellied mass of flesh that squirmed eagerly at his tongue-touch. He had thought such an act would be ignominious, that he would feel like a fool, but his emotions and her responses quickly obliterated that idea. He squeezed in between her legs even tighter, delving with his tongue deeper into her squishy pussy.
He wondered if Connie had felt anything like he was feeling. Could be. But this was another world, another trip-the farthest out he had ever been. Everything was black, yet in the blackness, pinks and reds flashed like trains signaling in distant tunnels. He was getting spaced out in his sister's cunt, exploring a far out galaxy of dim and flashing worlds, tripping on her scent and the undulations of her flesh, blind to all the sunlight splashing on his back, his balls. He could feel his sister's back arch, her cunt rise up to grip his nose on the bony mound above her cleavage. He tried to burrow deeper and deeper still. She arched her back again and crooned while he felt her body quiver somewhere above him, outside the cave. It was as if he could feel the earth moving underneath him, as though he had been initiated into the dark mysteries of the universe. He shoved and shoved his tongue, slaking his newly discovered thirst on his little sister's pulsing pussy. He could hear her moans and they drove him to assault her juice-laden cunt with even greater force. His tongue was frenzied, a whip unleashed, a spearing, jabbing muscle that substituted for his cock.
"Oh, Ronnie, Ronnie," his sister pleaded. "I'm coming, coming, all the time. Don't stop, don't stop."
Her hands grasped his hair and pulled on the roots. She pulled his head between her legs as her climaxes wracked her body furiously. She sobbed and screamed and clutched, throwing her legs high up in the air and dropping them again as a new spasm threw her muscles out of control. This was nothing like what Connie had done. This was wilder, more exciting. Her brother's tongue seemed to go into every crevice of her cunt. He was more forceful, more energetic. Every time his tongue scratched the sensitive nubbin of her clitoris she jumped a mile. His tongue tormented her, drove her up higher each time she felt a new attack. She wanted to force his head inside the lips of her vagina, keep it there forever, keep that frantic tongue working deep and wide.
"Lick it, lick it!" she sobbed. "Oh, Ronnie, it's driving me crazy! I can't get enough of it I I can feel your mouth on my cunt."
There was nothing he could say. He was too engrossed to turn loose of what he had. He felt her thighs pressing against his ears, his head, her legs rubbing as they flew up and down, her cunt seeping fresh juices, her flesh animated and yielding. He would never have expected his own sister to display such unrelenting passion. She had turned into a storm front that he had created with his cunt kisses-a thrashing tornado gathering force, whipping clotheslines and trees into a frenzy in its early stages. He wondered how many others, besides Connie, had been here before him. Maybe someone, or several someones, had been eating her pussy for a long time. Maybe this was her big thing. Maybe she never put out and just opened her legs so that someone could put a mouth on her cunt, a tongue up her tunnel. He tried to think back to the boys in school and to Anne's schedule. When would she have had the time? Oh, what secrets she carried in this hot, wet cunt of hers!
Anne didn't care about her loss of control. The orgasms were so intense that she thought they must be tearing her body apart. Ronnie's tongue must be longer than Connie's, she thought. Or was it the illicitness of the act that was driving her to heights she had never attained before? There was something mystical and foxy about making it with her own brother, she had to admit. Look at the time we've wasted, she told herself. We could have been balling for a long time, ever since. ... But, she did not want to complete that thought. It would bring too much on her right now, more than she could handle. This was enough for now. More than enough. She could feel his tongue everywhere at once. Her pussy had turned into a cauldron, steaming with boiling juices, bubbling and frothing, raging like a miniature storm.
Ronnie's face was tiring. His jaws ached. His tongue had been stretched so far that it seemed to be just hanging onto its hinge by a thread. More than that, he wanted to fuck his sister. He wanted now to drive his cock into the world he had opened up with his mouth. He wanted to dip into her hot wax and make a candle out of his penis, light it on the tip of her clitoris so that it burned clear to the core. He gave her clit a last searing tweak with his tongue and came up for air. His cock was throbbing like a bee-stung appendage, the skin stretched so taut it was almost translucent.
"I want to put it inside you now," he said.
"Yes, Ronnie. I want you to. Fuck me, fuck me all you want."
"Have you ever done it before?" he asked.
She was about to lie, to tell him that she never had. But he would know. She was not a virgin anymore. Only two people in the whole world knew that she wasn't. Up till now. Now, Ronnie would know. There was no "cherry" there anymore. Boys could always tell that, couldn't they? She was sure that they could.
"Once," she said, which was the truth. She had to fight back the tears, though. Ronnie had gone into something private, something very secret that was hers. She didn't want him to go any further.
"You have? Who was it?"
"Ronnie, does it make any difference? It was a long time ago anyway."
"Did I know the guy?"
"No," she said, knowing that she had to lie. The tears were closer now. "I don't want to talk about it. Please."
"Okay, okay. I just wondered. I never knew."
"Does it bother you?"
He thought about that for a minute.
"No, I guess not. We all have to go sometime."
He laughed and climbed over her. Anne looked down at his huge cock and felt apprehension. His eyes gourmandized her ripe, young breasts, her rich, healthy body laid out beneath him as a feast on a tablecloth. His sister, he realized for the first time, was a beautiful girl-no, a beautiful young woman. She had all the right things in the right places. She made Connie look like a dishrag, and that chick wasn't bad. Anne, though, looked loved and more than that, she looked like she wanted more. He could sense that she was slightly apprehensive, but he didn't know why, didn't care. Inexperience, probably. The incest thing. He wished he could tell her about him and their mother. But he couldn't. Not now and not yet. That might reassure her, or it might blow her mind, send her off the deep end. Something like that could be pretty hard to handle. Still, she'd probably find out. Someday.
He slid onto her, not trying to enter her right at first. He wanted to show her he had some control. But, actually, he was aching to get inside her. He didn't think his cock could last much longer-it seemed about to burst. He lay atop her, instead, and bent down to her breasts. She winced when his mouth touched one, winced again when his tongue licked the nipple. He could feel the breast swelling up like a balloon. It was small enough, pear-shaped, so that he could enclose almost the whole thing in his mouth. She squirmed. His cock rubbed up and down her sex-furrow. It was soothing, and some relief.
"Put it in me," she said. "Fuck me while you suck my breasts."
His cock leaped a foot.
Through his own inexperience, he had trouble getting his cock inside her. He kept missing the hole. His cock would seemingly find it then slither away or poke in the wrong place causing his sister to jump or cry out. Finally, she reached down and poked his cock into the right spot. He slid in, his sister sighing how good it was.
Ronnie nearly ejaculated when he first oozed inside his sister's hot pussy. He had to fight it off. It was like drowning. It was easier to go down than up. It was easy to surrender to the heat and the wetness, the soothing clasp of her pussy-meat enclosing his cock in a steamy muff. He shot through the hot peach pit, burying his shaft in his sister's flamb' of a pudding while she pushed upward with her body, impelled by the sudden streak of electricity that sprang from the connection of their organs.
"Oh, man," Ronnie breathed. "Super, Anne."
"Uh, god, yes," she gasped. "I didn't know it would be this good."
He swallowed her other breast, then, and poured his meat into her clutching, tight pussy. He didn't know one could he so tight, so devastating. Tighter than his mother's, by far. Her tit in his mouth was a pear, sweet and juicy from his saliva. Her little nipple perked up from his tongue's lashing and turned into a nutty brown kernel. One and then the other, in fascination. To feel, actually feel, something grow, something grow from one's own power. He could not get enough of his sister's firm-soft breasts. They swelled in his mouth as he sucked at them. And Anne's body swelled against his, his cock sucking at her warm wet pussy, plummeting in and soaring out, squeaking, the fit was so tight, the lubrication so complete.
"Ronnie, Ronnie, I love it," she moaned. "I love your fuck, your big cock up in me."
"Oh, Anne, you're so nice, so damned sweet and nice."
To show her how he felt, he deepened his strokes. He could feel her body tremble when she climaxed, could feel the quakes move through his own skin with invisible, glorious waves. It seemed to him that her pussy was sucking him too, pulling him deeper and deeper inside it, the flesh melding to his flesh, sewing him in there so that he could never pull free. She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled. He felt wanted, needed, loved. He would never have believed his sister could be so physically extravagant. She was magnificent, a tigress lover, a sweet wood nymph, dazzling in her infinite capacity to receive him. Plunge and plunge. His cock threaded through her pussy like a gigantic needle, sewing them together, brother and sister, completing the union and making them inseparable in their heat, in their impassioned lovemaking.
Anne reveled in her brother's unbridled lust. She thrashed wildly as his cock drummed into her willing pussy, parting the folds of flesh with its swollen bulk. Her knees trembled from the exertion of wrapping her legs around his trunk. She exulted in their nakedness, the exhilarating contact of flesh. She couldn't get enough of him. Never had her pussy known so much pleasure as now. Not even the other time had been as good, but she believed that she had been too scared to enjoy herself as much then. Now, alone in the forest, she felt no fear, only the sense of eternity, the awesome crush of his body on hers, the inexorable pounding of his cock into her resilient meat. Ronnie was deep within her, his cock seemingly endless in length. She found herself caught up in his rhythm, able to rise up and skewer herself satisfyingly on his downward plunge. She cupped this brute of her brother in her pelvis, made him part of her flesh for brief, soaring moments when their bodies were as one. Even when he rose above her, she was with him, and when he sank down into her, she clutched him like a woman drowning. Even her buttocks were stimulated by his weight against the crush of the earth underneath the blanket. His mouth on her breasts was a tactile sensation that thrilled her in delightful augmentation to their screwing. Her brother, she realized, was as much a stranger to her as she was to him. She was shocked and pleased at his ardor, which was more forceful than she would have imagined. She wondered where he had learned to fuck like this and how much he had done it with other girls. She realized that she knew very little about Ronnie's private life. He was an older brother and she respected him. At times she worshipped him. At others, she hated him. And there were not a few times when she was jealous of him. It seemed to her that he always got the most consideration from their parents, that he got to do more things, that he was more special in their eyes. She knew that this was silly, but she had had those feelings nonetheless. Now, however, Ronnie was someone else entirely. She ran her hands over his strong, young body, feeling the ribs and muscles, marveling at his manliness. She knew that she would no longer think of him as "just a boy." Ronnie was no boy. Not anymore. He was a man, every inch of him.
At one point, Ronnie began kissing Anne on the mouth. It was no longer possible to kiss her breasts; their bodies were thrashing too wildly. Hungrily, he snaked his tongue inside her mouth and she responded with her own tongue inside his, back and forth, in and out, fucking with their mouths. It was almost as good as the real thing.
Ronnie could feel his seed gathering for the ultimate explosion. His sister's body was too much for him. He couldn't last much longer. He wanted to come inside her and yet he wanted to enjoy her for as long as he was able. There was just no way he knew to stop. Besides, Anne had his body in a wrestler's lock. He might waste everything if he tried to withdraw and get a fresh start. He didn't want that. He wanted to blow his sperm inside her so that she would know how it felt, so that she would know he had been there. The ego thing. His mark.
"I-I'm going to come, Anne."
"Now? No, Ronnie, not yet. I want you to keep fucking me."
"I can't help it. Jeez, I'm excited."
"I know. Me, too."
"Is it all right?"
She knew what he meant. The Pill. No, she didn't take it. She tried to figure in her head. She knew, or had once known, about the female cycles, but they eluded her. In that instant, fear gripped her. What if she became pregnant? Oh, that would blow it for sure! Didn't something happen to babies born to close relatives? They were hideous, deformed, insane. Well, could she become pregnant now? She tried to remember when she had last had her period. A few days ago. Wasn't that the safe time, a few days afterwards? She couldn't remember.
"I-I don't know," she said, finally. "Just tell me when you're doing it. I want to know when it comes."
"God, Anne, it's coming now. I can't stop it."
He gripped her tightly then, and increased the speed of his strokes. He fucked her very fast and then there was no more time to warn her.
"Now!" he sobbed.
"Oh, yes," she screamed. "Give it to me Ronnie baby. Give me all your cum. Oh, I can feel it man. I-oh-uh-ahhhhhhhhhhhh!"
They flailed together like berserk puppets on the ends of tormented strings. Her final orgasm came in a devastating rush, towering over the others she had had, rending her mindless and helpless. Her pussy sucked at his cock, drawing every last drop of his juices. Soon, his cock was spitting out the last of his seed in spasmodic spurts. He fell against her, drained.
"Oh, Ronnie, that was so sweet, so beautiful. Thank you. You made me so hot. You fuck so great. I never got fucked like that. Never!"
"Me neither," he said, and both of them realized that they were admitting something to each other. They both ignored the information, verbally, but they both wondered who the previous lover or lovers might have been.
He pulled himself up off his sister's body. Her pussy hairs were wet with perspiration and tangled with the foam of his leaking sperm. Her breasts were still swollen, standing upright, the nipples little round towers jutting above them, encircled by dark areolas. Her face had a peaceful look. He bent down and kissed her on the lips.
"Thanks, sis," he said to her.
She watched him as he pulled on his shorts. Her eyes were cloudy with love for him. Her body tingled as though she had been stung by a thousand bees. It took a long time before her engines ran down. She looked at her brother, the wonderment of him another mystery to be filed away in her brain. Before, he had been just an ordinary brother. Now he was an extraordinary lover. He looked no different, but the secret was in his sinews, in the enormous power of his cock, in the pressure of his thighs, the flicker of his tongue, the sensuous crush of his lips on hers.
Yes, she decided, this was better than the other time. Ronnie was a better lover, more exciting. Unlike the other time, she had harbored no secret sexual wishes for her brother. At least they had not been on the conscious level. That's why he had been such a surprise to her. She was no longer dismayed that he had seen her on the bed with Connie. In fact, she was glad that he had seen them together. Other wise, she thought, he might never have approached her today. She sighed as she thought of how nice it had been, how deeply satisfying to fuck her brother and to be fucked by him. She would never forget this day as long as she lived. In her little girl's heart, romance had bloomed.
She watched him pull the trout up on the stringer. Suddenly, she was very hungry. More than that, as she saw him stride toward her, nearly naked, she realized that she wanted him again. She felt a sobbing wrench in her heart just then. When? she wondered. When?
CHAPTER TEN
Dr. Morrison regarded the man in his office. He was a different man from the one he had first seen in Emergency. The scars were healing nicely, the frame filled out, the eyes more clear. Yet, the man was not whole. Not completely back to normal. He still couldn't remember who he was.
"Don't you have any inkling?" Morrison asked him.
"Sometimes, Doc, I think I'm just about to remember things, important things, but they get away from me. I know my name isn't Jim." Morrison laughed. They had been calling him Jim just because they needed a name for him.
"Actually, you're listed in the hospital and police records as John. John Doe."
The man laughed, but only briefly.
"How do you like the new ward?"
"Oh, it's all right. Doc, what's going to happen to me?"
Morrison leaned back in his chair. He put his hands together in a steeple, thinking.
"I don't know. Stay on the Convalescent Ward for another week or so. You'll see some people from Welfare. They'll help you get started on the outside. I'll take those sutures out of your head tomorrow. I'm puzzled that the amnesia has lasted so long, frankly. Do you still get dizzy spells, feel faint?"
"Sometimes. Sometimes I remember a green lawn, a house. I can't make out the number. I see figures. My dreams are worse. I can hear people calling to me, calling my name, but I can't understand them. I wake up hollering. I wonder who my parents were, if I was married, if I had any kids. Things like that."
"Do you think you were married? Do you see children in your daydreams or at night?"
"Yes. Sort of. I can't tell who or what they are. They have no size, no faces. They're just shapes, I guess."
"Hmmm. I wonder if hypnosis might not help. Would you like to try that?"
"Yes. Anything. I want an identity. Every man does."
"I'll check with a friend of mine, a Dr. Steiner. See what he says. I don't know if it's advisable to use hypnosis on an amnesiac. I'll get back to you on that." Morrison scratched something on the pad next to his telephone. "I'll see you tomorrow-Jim."
He smiled and the man got up. He wrapped his hospital robe around himself and went through the office, out the door. His right hand was clenched in a fist and their were tears of bitter frustration in his eyes.
"Who am I?" he muttered to himself. "Who the fuck am I?"
* * *
Work on the Rogers house went swiftly. The well was dug, to 490 feet, bringing in 4 to 5 gallons a minute. A pump and pressure tank were installed, the housing built. A backhoe dug a storm cellar basement where the kitchen would be and was cemented in, complete with electrical outlets for a deep-freeze, refrigerator and other appliances. The foundation was laid, the frame went up. Mary wondered if she had ever been happier, despite the fact that there had been no word on her husband all these weeks.
Connie began coming up, ostensibly to watch the building and visit Anne, but she, to Anne's consternation, kept casting her eyes in Ronnie's direction. Ronnie seemed impervious to it, however, and always seemed to be with his mother or with Jess.
Ronnie was unsettled and moody. A few times his mother had gone out to dinner with Jess Garfield and he had always waited up for her. She always got back very early in the morning. When he asked her why she had stayed out so late, she just shrugged and said, "We went over into Oregon for dinner," or somewhere else that was far away. He didn't believe her. He noticed the way she looked at Jess Garfield. He noticed the way he looked at j her sometimes. Secret glances. Nothing he could put his finger on, exactly. But the suspicion was there. Ronnie was jealous of his mother but was afraid to let it out in the open. He was very insecure as well. On those nights when his mother went out, he and Anne made good use of the time, experimenting with sex, fucking, sixty-nine. He was jealous of her, too, and didn't like Connie coming around in the late afternoons. He also kept silent about that.
His disposition began to show and he made everyone around him uneasy. Mary was the first to notice it and she attributed it to the fact that they hadn't made love in some time. She knew that her son must be getting impatient. But they were both afraid that Anne would find out, at least that was the excuse she gave him. Still, she knew that she had to do something or he might explode. Jess was giving her all the cock she wanted, but she still yearned for her son's attentions. The nights when she was home with the children were the hardest. She wanted her son in her bed but she couldn't safely entice him there. There was too much risk that her daughter might find out, and Mary didn't need any more problems at the moment. Still, she had to find some way to make love with Ronnie before he got ugly with Jess. She could see it coming and she didn't want any confrontation there. Such an occurrence could only harm them all.
Mary knew she had to talk with Ronnie, at least, but they were almost never alone together. Anne was sticking around the house site, too, and when Jess was there, working, there just wasn't an opportunity for her to be alone with her son. Storm clouds were gathering and it was up to her to see that they all stayed calm.
Jess provided the key to solving Mary's dilemma, but in a way she would never have condoned. For a long time, Jess had sensed that something was out of kilter at the Rogers place. He thought, at first, that it was because of the mysterious disappearance of Bill Rogers. After awhile, though, he knew that the turbulence revolved around Ronnie. He couldn't put his finger on the problem because Ronnie kept his feelings pretty much to himself; but Jess knew that the boy was about to erupt at any second. He determined to find out what was eating him and his opportunity came when he least expected it: his discovery of one of Ronnie's secrets was to have a stunning effect on all their lives.
Ronnie was so horny he didn't know what to do. His mother had locked him out completely. He couldn't ball Anne except when his mother was gone, and that wasn't often enough to suit him. They usually went out on Saturday nights and six days between fucks was just too long for him. One day, he told Anne that he was horny.
"Let's just sneak off into the woods," he said, "and knock off a piece."
"Really? Now?" It was around eleven in the morning and the construction was particularly noisy that day. Deafening, really. Mary was hanging around Jess, listening to him explain something about the stairway, and Ronnie was bored to death.
"Sure. Mom won't even miss us. Don't you want to?"
"Well, of course I do, Ronnie, but you didn't give me much notice."
"Come on, Anne. Yes or no? Do you feel like waiting till Saturday night?"
She didn't even have to think about it.
"Yes, okay. Let's do it!"
The two of them sneaked off into the woods, sure that no one would even notice that they were gone. Yet, they had been seen.
By Jess Garfield.
He had been talking to Mary and watching Ronnie and Anne out of the corner of his eye. By their manner he knew that they were whispering to each other. He thought it was very strange. He was careful not to betray his thoughts to Mary, however, and kept on talking to her. When, a few minutes later, he saw the boy and girl steal off behind the trailer his ( interest was further aroused. He made mental note to check on them when he was through explaining to Mary how the stairs would go up to the second level, how she might finish them, make them safe. He looked at his watch. It would be lunchtime soon. He'd have to make some excuse to go into the woods. His mind started searching around for the right story.
Meanwhile, Ronnie and Anne made their way up to the old logging road behind their property. There was a small glade on one of the side cutoffs that had soft ground. Ronnie thought it would be a perfect place to ball his little sister. He led her to the spot and they spent several moments catching their breath.
"Do you think Mom would follow us?" Anne asked.
"No. Why should she? She'll probably think we just wandered off." He grinned at her. "Sneaky, isn't it?"
"Um, yeah. I'm a little shaky. Nervous, I guess."
"Yeah, me too. C'mon, let's get undressed."
"We'll get dirty."
"So, we'll say we got a little dirty-fell off some old logs. Hurry up."
"Minute-man, huh? Or a rabbit."
"Don't make jokes, Anne. I'm serious. I've been so hot all morning I would have fucked a clean old man."
"Horny Ronnie."
"Yeah."
They began undressing, unaware that Jess Garfield was standing less than fifty yards away, concealed in a clump of brush. He had told Mary that he wanted to check a stand of timber to see if there might be something he could use in the design of her house. When she wanted to come along he told her about the prevalence of timber rattlers during the summer. She had quickly declined to come into the woods with him. Now, silently, he watched Ronnie and Anne as they took off their clothing.
Anne stood facing him as she slipped out of her jeans and shed her loose shirt. Her pert, pear-shaped breasts popped into view. She slid her panties down her legs, exposing her dark, pubic thatch. Jess felt his cock rising in his jeans.
"Jesus," he said to himself.
He had a clear, unobstructed view of the two youngsters. When Ronnie was naked, too, he took his sister in his arms. He began kissing her, rubbing her breasts. Her hand went to the boy's cock and began pulling on it to make it hard. She rubbed the head of his penis on her leg, up and down. It soon stiffened and she put it between her legs where it nuzzled up against her sex-cleft. Ronnie pushed against her, playfully.
"Come on, Ronnie. You've got me hot now. Are we going to stand here all day?"
"Well, lie down," he replied.
As Garfield watched, Anne lay down on the soft forest loam and spread her inviting legs wide. Ronnie lay down beside her and began feeling her up. She continued to play with his rigid cock as they both got comfortable. Ronnie slid his finger inside his sister's pussy and moved it with rapid strokes. The older man was amazed at the sexual precociousness of the two youngsters. He was reminded that he himself had an older sister to whom he had been sexually attracted when he was younger. He had never satisfied that secret yen, however. Now, he was almost sorry that he hadn't.
In a few moments, Ronnie mounted his sister. Garfield could not hear what they were saying clearly, but they both were obviously very much aroused. The girl, especially. He could see them both because they were on a three-quarters angle to his position. He saw Ronnie's cock slide into his sister's cunt, saw it emerge slick as a polished cow's horn only to plunge back in again. He wished he had a camera with a long lens on it. Or, better still, a movie camera with a zoom.
Garfield had seen enough and he knew that the boy and girl would not be long at their sylvan sex-play. He took a long, last look at Anne, however, and knew that his own lust might have a place in her future. He keenly appreciated her sleek figure, her pert and perky young breasts, the way she took her brother's cock inside her cunt and threw her long legs high up in the air. A girl like that was a racehorse, a fucking thoroughbred. He couldn't let good pussy like that go to waste. If she would fuck her brother, a mere youth, why, she ought to be glad to spread her legs for a real man. Jess's bone was getting uncomfortable in his trousers and he knew that it would spoil everything if the kids knew he had been there. He backed out of the clump of heavy brush very carefully and took a circuitous route back to the building site. He had to stop, once, and think about something mundane to make his erection go down. Yes, he thought, Anne should be put down in his private project book. He would sure like to get a little of that!
Ronnie and Anne, of course, had no inkling that they had been observed. They continued to fuck away, believing that the stately pines were their only witnesses. Ronnie tried to make himself last a long time, but his own nervousness and his state of mind didn't help him in this. He made sure that Anne had several orgasms before letting himself go.
"Happy?" he asked her.
"Yeah, yeah."
"I'm going to pop my wad."
"Go ahead, big brother. God, I wish it could last for hours."
"Me, too."
"Um, oh, that feels good. Yeah, Ronnie, oh, I'm coooommmminnnnnnng! Ah, yeah, oh shoot it in to me, brother. Plunge your cock all the way in!"
He never ceased to be amazed at his sister's vocal enthusiasm during sexual intercourse. Usually a pretty closemouthed person, he thought that she might be making up for a lot of previous sexual inhibitions. Probably her first piece of ass was a silent affair, both of them too nervous to say much except "is it in yet?" or some kid-stuff like that. Her words, however, never failed to excite him. He felt his gism spool up his tube. He shuddered like a wet dog when the spurt finally came. He cried out. Anne held him tightly to her as he sputtered his last.
Quickly, they uncoupled and dressed. Anne's face was still flushed from the orgasmic floods that had coursed through her young body. She looked, Ronnie thought, radiant and happy. He himself felt like a new man. They walked leisurely back to their property, already anticipating lunch with their mother.
After lunch, Garfield told Mary that he had to go into town for the afternoon.
"I have to bid some jobs, set up some more deliveries for tomorrow. I'll be back before the men knock off for the day."
"Oh, can I go with you?" Anne asked. "I want to go swimming this afternoon."
"Sure," Jess said, looking at Mary.
"Can you bring her back, Jess?"
"Sure, no problem. Get your stuff, Annie."
"You want to come, Ronnie? I've told Connie what good swimmer you are."
Ronnie had no desire to get entangled with Connie.
"No, you go ahead. I don't feel like swimming today."
Mary was glad that Anne and Jess were leaving. It would give her a chance to talk to Ronnie alone. She gave Ronnie a look that told him she was pleased with his decision to stay home. Anne and Jess left in Jess' pick-up. It took them a half an hour to drive down to the Lodge. Jess kept the talk light and made no passes or sexual overtures. Yet, after their arrival at the Lodge he was once again able to take advantage of his continuing good luck.
The pool was closed.
"Connie's sick," said Anne. "Now, I've got a whole afternoon of nothing."
"No, you don't," Jess said. "My house is not far from here. There's television, a record player, radio, plenty of Cokes in the fridge and well, everything except a pool. I'll wrap things up early and take you back."
He was already making plans. He could call in the delivery order and he could do the bids some other time.
"Well," Anne said, "if it's not too much trouble. I hate to impose on you."
"You're not. The Lodge is a deadly dull place to spend an afternoon."
"Yeah, I know," Anne laughed.
He drove her to the house he seldom used. It was spacious and well-furnished. Almost everything in it was new, she noticed. He had a cleaning woman come in once a week. She had been there yesterday. He showed her the kitchen, the television, how to turn things on.
"Help yourself to anything you need," he said. "I'll pick you up in a little while."
"Thanks, Mr. Garfield," she said.
"Jess, please."
"Thanks, Jess."
He drove quickly into Altitas and made his phone calls. He bought some liquor and beer at the package store, some snacks, a few groceries. In less than an hour he was heading back to his home at Modoc Pines.
Jess Garfield had already planned the seduction of Anne Rogers in his mind. Now he was ready for the actual engagement.
"Hi," he said to Anne when he got back. She was watching television in his living room. A dreary soap opera. "Got finished early, but I have to hang around for some phone calls. You don't mind waiting a while before we go back, do you?"
"No. I'm fine."
"Good. Let me take care of these bags and I'll be with you shortly."
He went into the kitchen and began making up crackers and cheese snacks. He opened a jar of olives stuffed with pimentos. He cut up several slices of cheddar, muenster and jack cheeses and set them around the edge of the plate; opened a jar of onion dip and put it in the center, filling the rest of the plate with flavored crackers. He put two bottles of wine in the refrigerator to chill, one white, one red. In the blender he whipped up a batch of silver vodka fizzes. And he took the loaded tray and set it on the coffee table in front of the couch where Anne was sitting.
"We might as well be comfortable," he said heartily. "Have a snack and here's a summer drink you might like."
"What is it?" Anne asked.
"Garfield Fizzes," he laughed. "See if you like it." He was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to taste the vodka. She would feel it though.
"Mmm, good," she told him. "Very tangy." She got up and turned off the television. Jess went to a cabinet and slipped an 8-track cartridge in the stereo. Mantovani. He kept the level low. Background music. He hoped that he was deceptively casual. He was glad to see that Anne hadn't pulled the curtains open on the large picture window. The room was in subdued light. Just the way he wanted it.
He sat down next to Anne and got right to the point.
"I saw you and your brother in the woods this morning," he said. Anne's face went white. "Oh, don't worry. I'm the only one who did. I just wondered if there was any left over."
"You've got your nerve!" she stammered. "Don't panic, hon. I just wonder what your mother would say if she knew."
"Blackmail!" Anne blurted.
"Nasty word. Why don't we just be friends, Anne? I think you're a lovely young woman. I'd like to keep your secret and give you another secret that you can keep. How about it? Isn't that fair?"
His arm was already reaching across for her. Anne knew that it would be useless to resist.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Anne's mouth went dry as Jess reached for her and pulled her close. Her heart was pounding furiously. His strong arms drew her to him in a crushing embrace. His lips were heavy on hers as he kissed her. His tongue eased into her mouth, flicked over her teeth, her gums, and deep into her throat. She tried, half-heartedly, to push him away, but he merely interpreted this as a sign of her rising passion. One of his hands cupped a breast and she felt desire rise in her body, setting her flesh atingle. It was happening again-as it had with Ronnie, with Connie, and the first time.
What's the matter with me? she wondered. I must wear a sign around my neck that says: FUCK ME.
"I don't want this," she pleaded to Jess. "It's not right."
"Would you rather have your brother here?" he asked sarcastically.
She knew she was sunk.
"N-no. It wasn't nice of you to spy on us. That's just something that happened."
"It was an accident that I saw you two," he lied. "Anne, I got excited. Seeing your naked body, the way you took your brother. Can you blame me for wanting you, too?"
"No, I guess not. It's just not right, though. I'm only fifteen."
"But already somewhat experienced."
Sunk again.
"I-I'll cry," she said.
"No you won't. Have another sip of the fizz. It'll help relax you."
"What's in it?"
"A little vodka."
"You've got everything figured out, haven't you?"
"Everything except you. Anne, please don't fight me. I don't want this to be ugly. I can't help myself."
Somewhere she had heard those words before. She fought to push them out of her consciousness. It was almost like a playback, an instant replay. She took a large swig of her fizz and felt the burning in her throat and stomach. She drank the rest of it, recklessly. Jess wasn't going to be put off, she was sure of that. If she fought him, if she resisted him, he might even hurt her. He was a big man and rough-looking.. She might as well give in to him and get it over with. She couldn't very well run out of the house, screaming. Besides, he had already threatened to tell her mother about Ronnie and her. That would cut it, all right! What a mess, she thought.
"Come here," Jess said. "Let me love you, you pretty little thing."
She opened her mouth one more time to protest, realized that it was hopeless, and quickly shut it. This time, she let him kiss her. The drink was already warming her insides and she felt like she was melting in his big arms. Soon there would be nothing left of her but a big puddle of wax.
Jess began to peel Anne's clothes from her body. He unbuttoned here and there, gradually stripping her. He kissed her lips and neck, her chest and breasts, pulling off garments as he went. He laid her out on the couch, tugging at her jeans, then slipping them down her long, slim legs. She struggled out of her chambray shirt by herself as Jess was more interested, by then, in what was between her legs. He pulled her panties down and kissed her navel, running his tongue inside the concavity, reaming it sensually. Anne squirmed as his tongue hastened down her tummy to her mons. Jess slipped her panties down her legs and tossed them on the floor.
"Hey, what a beautiful pussy!" he exclaimed. "Soft and pretty. You're some girl, Anne, some girl!"
He began licking her cunt, lapping up and down the furrow, flattening the pubic hairs with saliva. He sniffed deeply of her musk, tasted the lubrication that had started to flow. Anne felt her passion increase in intensity as his tongue laved her hole, bored inside, tantalizing the delicate flesh. Her defiance crumbled like so much sand in a child's castle struck by a surging tide.
"Oh, Jess, my cunt! What you're doing to it. Man!"
He knew he had her then. He licked her pussy some more and then stood up. Quickly, he stripped out of his clothes and stood before her, naked, his cock a monstrous cudgel sprung from his thighs, curved upward, stiff and formidable. He stepped over to the sex-inflicted girl and thrust his prick at her mouth.
"Suck it," he ordered. "You've sucked your brother off, haven't you?"
"Y-yes," she said, trembling at the nearness of his enormous organ.
"Then suck mine. Please." He was forceful, but not unkind. He wanted those ripe, full lips of hers around his swollen member, wanted its bulk inside her hot wet mouth, down her young quivering throat.
She grasped his prick in one hand and put her lips around the head of it. Her tongue curled over its crown. She felt the cock leap as though struck by a bolt of lightning. She sucked it inside her mouth, drenching it with her rapidly flowing saliva.
"Hey, baby, that's nice," Jess said huskily, j "Very nice. You give beautiful head." He put his hands on her head and bobbed it back and forth on his cock. His fingers gripped her hair, kneaded her scalp.
A distant memory intruded on Anne's thoughts. Another time, another place. Her breathing became heavier. Her pussy twitched with desire. She sucked the older man's cock harder, pulling it deeper into her mouth, down to her throat. She tried to swallow it, but it was too big for her. Like that other cock she remembered. Big, big, so big and fat and pulsing. Her pussy creamed and bubbled with her fresh-flowing juices. Jess began fucking her in the mouth, his hips moving back and forth, driving the organ still deeper. Anne couldn't breathe. She tried to pull in oxygen to her lungs but the cock went deeper, down into her opening throat. When she thought she would strangle to death, Jess pulled it out mercifully, patting her on the head.
"With practice," he said, "you'd be great at this. I don't want you to choke to death on me."
"Give it to me," she said. "Let me suck it. I want it, Jess. I really want it now." She was panting with lust for his cock. He slipped it inside her mouth again.
Anne sucked him with a vengeance, her mouth a living animal of lust. She pulled and licked, her cheeks collapsing into sunken hollows with the force of her inspired suction. Sweat poured from her forehead and trickled down her animated face. She squeezed his prick hard with her full lips, her tongue a whirling dervish of pleasure inside her mouth. Jess climbed over her and forced her back down on the couch, straddling her as he fucked her in the mouth. She mewed and moaned, salacious with her suckling, her breasts rising and falling with the pleasurable exertions.
"Let's go to the bedroom," Jess rasped, his voice laden with emotion. "You're some woman, Anne."
He led, she followed-in a sexual daze. They fell on the bed together and he was all over her, kissing her breasts, ravishing her cunt with his hand and fingers. He found the tiny button of her clit at the top of her slit. He twirled it until she began to scream.
"Oh, Jess, Jess! Do it, man, do it! I'm coming, I'm coming J"
Inspired, Jess rolled the clit bud in his fingers, pinching and squeezing it until Anne was thrashing wildly, begging him to fuck her.
"Now, Jess, now, fuck me, man! Put your cock inside my pussy! I want it so much. Now! Now!"
Savagely, he rolled onto her, his cock fighting for position. She spread her legs wide and grabbed the organ in her hand and jerked it to her hole. She squirmed forward at the same time and his cock plunged into her rosy, wet quim with all the force of a rocket. She screamed and clawed as his huge muscle throbbed inside her. Her body bucked with orgasm as her fingernails dug into his back. She felt as though she was splitting open and, as he drove all the way in, that she would never be able to take all of it. Yet, she did, the elasticity helping to accommodate all Jess could give.
The pain was exquisite. The pleasure that followed that first burst was equally so. She had never felt such fulfillment before. She loved the rapacious assault more than she could express. Jess seemed to be a wild man, pounding into her with such force that his flesh stung her loins.
"That tight pussy!" he exclaimed. "Oh, what a tight pussy, Anne!"
She clamped her legs around him and his cock sank to its limit. A quivering muscle in her vagina squeezed his cock tightly, pressuring the swollen blue veins that threaded along the alabaster smoothness of his organ.
"Fuck me like that! Oh, Jess, it's so great, man! Fuck meeeeee!"
And her screams brought back that other memory, then. When had it happened? Six months ago? Just after her fifteenth birthday. She couldn't forget it. She had screamed then, too, in joy, in delight, in ecstasy. Screamed until her head had felt like it would burst. The first cock, burrowing into her flesh, ripping through the maidenhead, bloodying her bed in San Diego. The memory of it was so sweet and so far away. Until now. Now it bloomed again in her mind and convulsed her body with double orgasms, triples, and on and on.
Her mother and Ronnie were at a parent-school meeting that night. She was home alone with her father who had had to work late. He'd had a few drinks. He had forgotten about the school meeting. He came into her bedroom looking for Mary and Ronnie. There was lipstick smeared on his chin.
She told him where her mother and brother were. He sat down on the bed and began talking to her. He told her about the girl he had met in the bar. How she had teased him and then run out, leaving him hot and bothered.
"You don't know how hard it is on a man to be treated that way," he told her. "It makes him ache. It's cruel."
He had taken her in his arms. She hadn't understood. He held her, sobbing, for a long time and then she felt his hand on her leg. She was wearing a dress and his hand went up inside, rubbing her thighs. He had kept talking, lulling her with his words, telling her how beautiful and sweet and warm and understanding she was. His hand had gone to her panties. They were damp from something she didn't comprehend, a vague stirring, an itching.
As if in a trance, she had succumbed to his talk, his roaming hands. Her breasts tautened with the onrush of blood that sprang to them under the careful pleading and kneading of his hands. When his finger had pried her panties off and penetrated her pussy, she had fallen back on the bed, a mesmerized zombie, fascinated by what her father was doing to her. His finger rubbed the sensitive lips of her pussy. They swelled like her breasts. Her cunt hole became juicy and the itching inside continued, distracting, insistent.
Then her panties were being slid down her legs, and she felt the rush of air against her cunt. Her dress was thrown up to her waist. The rustle of cloth, the zing of his zipper. Her sweater removed, the bra unsnapped and lifted from her shoulders. The darkness, the wave of confusion that engulfed her. The cock sliding into her hand. His hand squeezing hers around it. She responded, felt its massive bulk, its incredible size. His voice urging her to rub it, pull on it. Again, she responded, doing what he asked, struck dumb by the awesomeness of what was happening.
Her mouth opening. Her father's cock sliding up her jaw, over her cheek and coming to her lips. Open, open, suck me, suck me. The words coming to her as if out of a dream. The cock sliding into her dry mouth, seeping a lemony, salty fluid. Her saliva rushing out of her pores, the cock going in deeper, deeper. Suck it, suck it. She sucked it, her father straddling her, pumping the huge thing past her squeezing lips, into her mouth. She sucked him until her jaws ached and then he was out of her mouth, his cock sliding down to her breasts, poking them, sliming them with juices and spittle, teasing the nipples. Her skirt coming off, her nakedness a new thing, natural, warm. Her father naked coming to her, prying her legs apart, his face burying itself between her legs. His tongue licking her, probing her. Crying out to him. Crying out yes and yes while he lapped her cunt, while he nibbled on a button of flesh that sent electric stabs into her numbed brain.
When she thought she would go mad with this, another change. Something else. Her legs being thrust farther apart. His huge, strange body looming over her and the feeling of something huge pushing against her cunt. She accepted the intrusion, begged for it with some voice ripped out of her fogged brain. The cock sliding inside her pussy, hitting the barrier of her virginity. Thrusting, thrusting, battering. Again and again. Then the quick sharp pain, the sudden release, the tremendous orgasm that shredded her senses into confetti.
Her panting, heaving father, drumming his cock into her, ravishing her young willing body until she was clawing him, scratching his back, screaming her newborn lust into his ear. The grunts and groans as he finally released his seed into her, crumpling on top of her helpless body at the end. She, soothing him, calming him, as he wept uncontrollably in her arms. And the shame afterwards, the self-condemnation from his lips. The mumbled I'm sorrys coming to her ears as she lay there, silent, bursting with love for her father, wanting to tell him, but speechless before this awkward display of emotion.
He had left her, afterwards, alone, to weep alone. After that, never a word. His glance always sliding off her eyes guiltily. His smile twisted, false, when he faced her. The gradual burying of the memory, stirred occasionally by dark erotic dreams. Ashes left to smolder until Connie had revived them, until Ronnie had nurtured them into faint coals, until Jess had fanned them into blazing flame, into sparking life.
"Oh, Jess, give me your cock, keep giving it to me!" she shrieked, slamming her body upwards into his as it crushed downwards.
"You fucking little sweetheart," Jess told her. "You're one crazy piece of ass!"
"Keep it coming, Jess, keep fucking me."
"You're damned right I will. God, I didn't know anyone could be so hot. Your mother can't hold a candle to you!"
Anne stiffened, but only for a moment. So Jess had been fucking her mother! Well, why not? And now he was fucking her! A strange thrill shot through her at the knowledge. Just like her father. Jess and her mother. And now her! She became even more excited, somehow, at this new revelation. Her love-muscle twitched frantically, squeezing Jess's cock as he banged it in and out of her ravished pussy.
Oh, if only her father had not felt so badly after that. If only he had said something to her, come to her again. She could have told him that it was all right, that he didn't need to feel guilty. But he never had. And she had lain awake for many nights, aching for him, turning to masturbation for relief. She had tried so futilely to entice him back to her bedroom, to show him that she wasn't angry, that she wanted him, wanted to suck his cock, to let him play with her pussy, to let him fuck her.
And now her father was gone, maybe dead. Without knowing how much she loved him, how wonderful that night had been for her. It all seemed so tragic, like something out of a twisted Romeo and Juliet. Her father's words still rang in her ears: "Oh, my sweet baby, what have I done, what have I done? Forgive me, baby, forgive me if you can. I'm sorry, Anne, you've got to know that. I'm a bastard, a beast. I could kill myself!"
Was that what had happened? Had her father's guilt been so deep that he had taken the ultimate solution to his torment? Had he killed himself? The poor, poor man! She should have done more. She should have been bolder. She should have forced him to talk to her. Yet, she had never been able to find the right words. Every time she had wanted to say something, she had felt the words choke in her throat, turn to dust in her mouth. Now, it was too late. Her father was gone. He would never know how she felt that night, how she felt now. There was only a reminder of him in Jess, bigger than her father, but a lustful man, as he had been. She could understand them both very well. Her lust could match theirs.
Jess felt his coming ejaculation. He gripped the girl tighter and thrust deeper, faster.
"I'm coming, Anne!" he said.
"Yes, come, Jess. All of it. Juice me! Let me have your wad, man!"
Her words brought the tide to full swell. He shuddered as his seed burst forth and splashed into her.
"Oh, I'm coming too!" she screeched. "Nooow Her spasms kept coming, tumbling through her muscles like an avalanche of ball bearings. She writhed and twisted in the throes of her pleasure, her mouth slack, open, her eyes glazed with the film of her fierce lust. Her cunt sucked at his cock to keep it inside her. Her fingernails dug deep into his back. Blood poured from the scratches and ran down his skin in branching rivers.
"Oh, Daddy!" she screamed at the top of her voice. "Daddy, don't stop fucking me now!"
Jess Garfield felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck. He stared at the girl for a long time.
Only later did it hit him full force. He hadn't been the first, of course. Neither had Ronnie. It was a chilling thought.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dr. Julius Steiner was young, intense, dynamic, with piercing dark eyes and a slow smile that inspired confidence. He had already made a name for himself in the field of psychosomatic medicine and used hypnosis as a diagnostic and therapeutic tool. He was widely respected. His dark, curly hair was the only thing unruly about him. His mind was keen, his genius unmistakable. He told R. Morrison what he thought.
"I think there's another reason for Jim's amnesia. I don't think the blows on his head were anything more than a catalyst. The amnesia was waiting there, in the wings, for just such an event."
"Accident prone?"
"Something like that. Subconsciously, he wanted to be wiped out. Or have some trauma wiped out."
"What do you think, Julius? Can you dig it out?"
"I think we're at that stage now. He's been under enough that I feel sure we can circum vent the block. We've got to get it out in the open or you'll end up with a catatonic on your hands. Jim Vegetable you can call him."
"Want me here?"
"Yeah. Bring him in. We'll tape it, but I'm going to have him recall this session. He ready?"
Morrison pressed a button on his desk.
"Bring in Jim, will you, Larabee?"
A few moments later an attendant and Nurse Larabee brought in the amnesiac. He said hello to the doctors. Steiner waved him to a chair.
"How're you feeling, Jim?"
"Fine. Puzzled. I don't seem to be getting anywhere."
Steiner looked at the man kindly. "Jim" was at least ten years older than the psychiatrist.
"No, I think we're making progress. I think you'll have your answers soon. I'm just wondering if you want to know the truth, that's all."
"Of course I do!"
"Well, keep that in mind, Jim, as I lead you under again. You must want to find out the truth. Even if it hurts. A deal?"
"A deal," said the man.
Steiner got up and turned off the light. The room was only dimly lit by the sunlight filtering in through the Venetian blinds. He nodded to Morrison, who switched on the tape recorder. Steiner walked over to his patient and stood over him, his eyes boring down on the man's face.
"Now, relax. I want you to go to sleep. Very deeply asleep. You'll recall the command I gave you before. When I snap my fingers, you will fall deep, deep asleep. Relax. Close your eyes. Your eyelids are getting very, very heavy. Sleep. Fast asleep."
The psychiatrist continued his monotone commands and snapped his fingers. The man's head sagged and he breathed deeply.
"I want you to tell me your name," said Steiner. "Don't think about it. Just tell me your name."
"William Rogers."
"Good. Where do you live, Bill?"
"San Diego. No, I sold my home there. Modoc Pines. I'm going there."
"Why do you want to hide your identity, Bill?"
"I don't."
"Bill, did something bother you before you sold your house? Did you do something that wasn't right, perhaps? You can tell me. You will feel better once you have told me."
"I-I can't. It's hard. My daughter, Anne. I did it to her. I shouldn't have."
Steiner gave Morrison a look. He retained his composure, his inflection.
"Tell us about it, Bill."
Bill Rogers proceeded to tell the whole story of his seduction/rape of his daughter, Anne. He told the story as though he were living it again. He told of his guilt, of his sorrow. He told about picking up the hitchhiker, of the trouble with him. He told of the fight and of being struck repeatedly over the head with "a piece of pipe." He let it all out and the tape spun on and on taking it all down in his own words.
"You will remember everything when you wake up," Steiner told him. "Everything. At the count of five you will wake up. You will feel wonderful and very relaxed. You will know your name and everything that has happened."
"Yes," Bill Rogers said.
"One, two, three, four-five. Wide awake!"
Bill's eyes popped open. He looked around him.
"You can go home now, Bill," said Steiner quietly. "You can face your daughter again."
"Yes, I can."
"Do you want to talk about it? Dr. Morrison was here. Do you mind?"
"No. I'm just ashamed. I haven't been able to face my daughter. It was a terrible thing to do."
"It happens. Incest is a taboo, an ancient one. I'm not sure it's completely justified. It'll kill you if you let it."
"Are you saying that it's not as wrong as I think it was, Doctor?"
Steiner smiled.
"Society says it's wrong, criminal even. Physical attraction is difficult to legislate against. Most daughters form some sort of romantic crush on their fathers. Brothers lust after sisters. Mothers after sons. Sons after mothers. I don't think any modern society has faced the incest taboo squarely, come to grips with it. In some tribes, the taboo is not so strong. At some periods in human history it has been necessary for close relatives to mate, to propagate the human race. In your case, it's past. You can't undo it. You can face your daughter and explain to her how you felt then, how you feel now. She's probably got a few feelings of her own that need straightening out as much as yours."
"I guess I never thought of her, only of myself."
"Probably. Are you ready to face her?"
"Yes."
"We can arrange a loan for you. You can rent a car and drive to your new place. Medically, you're sound. Okay with you, Dr. Morrison?"
"I can release him whenever he's ready. He'll have to check with the police. Give them the story. That'll clear the books. No need to mention the other part, Ji-Bill."
Bill grinned.
"You know," he said, "I feel like a new man."
* * *
Jess drove slowly up the mountain road. Anne sat next to him, subdued, exhilarated.
"It's late," he said. "The crew will have gone home. There may be questions from your mother."
"I can handle it," Anne said. "Don't worry."
"Shit, Anne. I shouldn't have. Dammit. I'm sorry."
"Don't say that!" she snapped. "Don't say you're sorry. It happened. I wanted it as much as you did. That's what my father did! That's probably why he's disappeared!"
"Okay, okay. I just wanted you to know how I felt."
He turned down the dirt lane to the Rogers place. There was another car parked in front.
"Uh oh, now the shit's hit the fan," said Jess.
"That's Connie's car," Anne said. "And there's Connie out front. What's she doing here? I thought she was sick."
Jess stopped the truck and got out. Anne got out the other side. Connie came up to them, her finger up to her lips in a gesture of silence.
"Jess, I've got to talk to Anne. Privately."
"All right. Why are we whispering?"
"If Anne wants to tell you, fine. Anne, come here."
Puzzled, Anne went over to Connie. The girl whispered into her ear.
"They're in there, balling," she said. "Your mother and Ronnie. Man, I almost died. I heard them and then I went up to the window. The curtains weren't even pulled. Oh, Anne, I know you could just die !"
Anne just laughed.
"Connie says that my mother and brother are making it in the trailer," she told Jess. "What do you think of that?"
The egg on Jess's face just dripped down, slowly.
"I think we've all been fucked!" he said and Anne joined him in laughter.
Connie looked at both of them as if they had lost their senses.
"Hey, what's going on here?" she asked.
"Come along and find out, why don't you?" Jess offered.
The three of them tiptoed up the path to the trailer. At the bedroom window, they confirmed Connie's observations. Mary and Ronnie were hard at it, fucking like a couple of minks, oblivious to their audience.
"Shall we join the party?" Jess asked Anne. "Might as well get everything up front while the getting's good."
"Sure," said Anne, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"Would somebody mind telling me what the hell's going on?" Connie asked again.
Jess and Anne ignored her. They reached the bedroom together, Connie bringing up the rear. They crowded in to the room, startling the two on the bed.
"Surprise!" yelled Jess.
Ronnie leaped from his mother's naked body and glared at the trio in the doorway, bewildered. Mary gasped and put her hands over her pussy.
"Jess! Anne! Oh my god!"
"Hey, steady now," said Jess. "Everything's fine. We just want to join the party."
Mary's mouth fell open. She started to say something and Jess waved his hand for silence.
"Look, Mary, we've got a situation here. You're balling your son. Your son has been balling you and his sister. I don't know about Connie here, but she'd probably like to get in on the action, too. And Anne apparently has-well I think she ought to tell you that herself."
"Are you serious?" Mary asked. She gave her son a look. His face told her the truth.
"Anne? Oh, wow, have I been stupid!" Mary put a hand to her forehead in a gesture of dismay.
"I thought you'd see it that way," said Jess. "Well, are you going to invite us in?"
"Not me," said Connie, starting to leave. But Anne grabbed her arm.
"Oh, no you don't," said Anne. "You'll stay right here. You've been wanting to ball Ronnie and Ronnie knows about us, so don't act so high and mighty."
Connie reacted as though she had been slapped in the face. She looked around helplessly. They all stared at her until she began to laugh.
"Oh, what the hell, why not? I've always wanted to go to an orgy, anyway." She began taking off her clothes. Anne and Jess followed her example. In a minute, the three of them had plopped into bed. The only one still scowling was Ronnie. He knew he had been swindled, but he couldn't figure out how. As soon as Connie and Anne started playing with his cock however, he forgot about his, anger, which was mostly imagined anyway. Jess began kissing Mary's breasts and fondling her pussy. She was still in a mild state of shock, but the presence of the others helped calm her down.
Mary began to realize what she had started. Earlier, she had told Ronnie that they must not depend on each other for sex anymore. She hadn't the courage to tell him about Jess, but she knew she would have to, soon. And, too, there was the question of her husband being found at some time.
"We must face this," she had said. "And face it now. Our love for each other can't continue this way. It's a one-way street leading nowhere. I have to release you, you have to release me. You have to find your own partner." Strangely enough, Ronnie understood.
"I know you're right," he told her. He wanted to tell her about Anne, but couldn't. They each had their secrets.
Now, thought Mary, it's all out in the open, where it should be.
"Jess," she said quietly, "I almost made a mess of things, didn't I?"
"I can understand it, Mary. The shock of your husband's disappearance, his probable death, the remoteness of this place. One thing leads to another." He told her, then, about seeing Ronnie and Anne in the woods and about taking advantage of her daughter that day.
"A time for confession, huh?" said Mary, slightly peeved.
"Openness. If you'll accept it that way."
"Oh, Jess," she said, tousling his hair. "Come on, let's make love."
She began to suck his prick, then, bringing it to a steely hardness. When she was satisfied, she begged him to put it inside her pussy. She looked over as Jess came down on her. She saw her son and daughter and Connie.
Ronnie was licking Connie's pussy. Anne was sucking his cock. Mary felt a surge of emotion at the sight of them. She reached out her hand and touched one of Anne's breasts. She smiled at her daughter.
"Everything's all right," Mary said.
Anne bobbed her head up and down. Ronnie squealed with delight, his face buried in Connie's muff.
None of them heard the sound of still another car driving up the deserted dirt lane. It was dark outside.
Bill saw the pick-up, Connie's car and Mary's car. He breathed a sigh of relief. His family was all right. He had wanted to surprise them so he told the police not to mention that he was coming. He was tired, but exhilarated.
He walked up the path, saw the trailer, and beyond, the signs of construction. He stood there for a long time, pleased. He was glad that Mary had decided to go ahead with their home. It was coming up just the way he had planned it. The way they both had planned it. He saw the well and the pump-house, the skeleton of the Gambrel in the moonlight. He was very proud of Mary, very proud.
He breathed deeply of the night air and went into the trailer. He had expected to see a bunch of people, including his family, in the living room. Instead, he heard odd noises coming from what appeared to be Mary's bedroom. His bedroom. Cautiously, he advanced through the living room, through the narrow hall.
He looked into his room. No one saw him.
It took a moment for everything to register. There was Mary in the throes of ecstasy with some strange guy on top of her, his balls swinging against her rump, his cock sliding in and out of her cunt. There was Anne sucking off her brother, Ronnie. Ronnie was going down on some unidentified girl, eating her pussy for all he was worth.
Was this his family?
Suddenly, his own guilt came rushing back in on him. He thought of that night with Anne, of how he had made love to her, passionately, rapaciously. He thought about how terrible it would have been if Mary had found out. It would have, he had felt, destroyed their family. He might have been jailed, disgraced. Could he have had such thoughts? Yes, he could have, and he had. But, this? What was this? His wife, and she was fondling her daughter's breast, his daughter, his son, two strangers? An orgy!
Bill rubbed his eyes. This was really happening! So, what the hell did he have to explain to his daughter or his wife? Incest? Hardly. If this wasn't incest, then nothing was.
He stepped back out of the room. He went into the living room and began taking off his clothes. A smile played on his lips. When he was naked, he strode back through the hall. He entered his bedroom. Now, Ronnie was fucking Anne and the other girl was sucking Anne's tit. Mary was on top of the stranger, humping him like a saddle bronc rider.
Bill Rogers coughed loudly.
All motion in the room came to a standstill.
"Bill? Is that you?" shrieked his wife. "Where're your clothes?"
"Daddy!" screamed Anne.
"Dad!" breathed Ronnie.
"Well? Isn't anybody going to welcome me home?" he asked.
In another minute, Bill had joined the tumbling sexual free-for-all on the bed. He knew that his worries were over. Later on, his wife could introduce him to everyone. Right now, he had a lot of lost time to make up. He started with Mary. After all, it was the courteous thing to do, under the circumstances. He didn't mind it, though, when his daughter gave him a juicy French kiss and stroked his cock just before he put it in his wife's pussy.
"Welcome home, Bill," Mary said. "How do you like living in the country?"
"I think I'm going to like it fine," he said, with a wide grin.
