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From: losgud <lushgod@hotnomail.com>
Subject: New Story--Vacation
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=========================
The following is total fiction.  Any resemblance etc. is 
a product of your imagination.  This work is meant as 
ADULT entertainment.  If the laws where you sit say 
you're too young to read this, go away and turn 
yourself in to the thought police.  Even thinking 
about sex is dirty and nasty and will warp your mind 
forever.  Go watch a movie or play a game that ends 
with a body count in the high four figures.  Death 
and destruction are good clean fun.

©1997 losgud.  Personal use just fine.  Archiving 
okay.  Absolutely NO for-profit use permitted.  
Reposting without notice is frowned upon.  Tampering 
with the text (rewriting) is illegal.  Copyright 
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my 
principality, where the punishment is to discourage 
repeat offenders.  We cut your fucking hands off!
=========================
M/F  Inc  Cons  Humor
Note:  This one's sort of Machiavellian.  It takes a lot 
of teasin' to get to the pleasin'.  But if you're 
worried the destination might not be worth the 
journey, well, feel free to detour any which way you 
want.  Enjoy!


VACATION

	A long weekend in a cabin at a state park with 
my parents and sister was my idea of hell, not a 
vacation.  I was a big boy, so when mom made the 
suggestion I said something about maybe perhaps 
when Lucifer's lair could make ice cubes.  Which I 
doubted would coincide with the dates she presented.  
I'm pretty far up in my 30s, I have a wife and kids 
and a job and house.  I have a life.  I have things to 
do, things I like to do, things I want to do.  Long 
weekends I hold sacred.  If it'd been a great big 
family affair my wife probably would have pushed me 
to relent.  Get the kids together with their 
grandparents and cousins.  A big snugly ugly 
gathering.  But the point was--as mom kept pointing 
out--was for just us full-bloods to convene.  Make it 
_just like_ way back when our family was four.  The 
good old days.  Listen, I told her, I have the best 
memory.  Those were always awful times.
	I love my parents and my sister, but in that 
wavering sort of familial way.  We all get along, 
stepping around each other's quirks, but there's no 
genuine feeling of closeness between any of us.  Aside 
from our kinship there is really to reason for any of 
us to want to be around each other.  I certainly feel 
no need to glorify any of that past.
	"You _have_ to do this," Liz informed me in a 
subsequent call.  "_We_ have to do this.  When Mom 
called me she was practically in tears."
	"No doubt," I replied.  "She's got that faucet 
handle on the back of her head.  Remember how she 
reaches up under her hair, and then suddenly her 
eyes are brimming."
	My sister threw down her trump.  "Okay, let me 
talk to Dena."  My wife would make me.  And Liz knew 
she would.  There was no real option but a grumbling 
surrender.  Liz didn't even know that Dena was 
already talking about maybe flying down to Florida 
with the kids to visit her parents.
	"That's it," I'd exclaimed to Dena.  "Yesss!  My 
ticket out.  Family visit to your sane and wonderful 
folks."  Dena had dismissed my fantasy with a smirk.
	And so, after an hour and a half crammed in a 
small car with my immediate family, I found myself 
stepping out onto a sorry gravel slot.  While the 
cabin was nestled among a grove of trees, a dozen 
others were similarly situated within spitting distance, 
all of them occupied.  The place was a rustic as light 
chocolate colored vinyl siding got.  I knew that that 
in and of itself was not enough to be the vacation 
wrecker, but what would be I couldn't even guess.  
	The inside of the cabin was much nicer than the 
outside. Central air and a fully equipped kitchenette.  
But a quick tour revealed that our 3-bedroom cottage 
had two rooms with a skimpy double bed apiece.  The 
living area held a couch that might sleep a small child 
willing to risk permanent orthopedic damage.  Turn up 
the gas, I thought, and watch the parents go to a 
roiling boil.  The whole park was booked solid.  There 
wasn't even a spare cot to be had.  The reservation 
clerk at the front desk in the lodge informed us of 
this with a shoulder shrugging giggle befitting her 
young age.  She obviously didn't know what sort of 
family she was messing with.  My parents raised a big 
public stink. 
	A supervisor then offered them a rate of 50% of 
the mistaken accommodations in exchange for the 
"error in processing" the reservation.  Mom--the 
lawyer--wound up talking to someone a bit higher in 
the evolutionary chain, explaining that she had a 
"contract in lodgings" with very little language for 
the excusing of their booking mistakes.  She got us a 
chit for meals and drinks up at the lodge.  I 
observed the proceedings from the furthest most 
shadowy corner, feeling exactly as if I was about nine 
years old.  The place wound up losing a lot of money 
on us when we would never be coming back anyway.  
As for a family tradition, this outing was known at 
the start to be filed at the back under _Last Gasp_.  
	I knew how the forces were lining up so I 
blitzkrieged.  "There is one thing of which I am 
certain.  I will not be spending the nights on that 
cramped divan.  I get a bed or I'm going home.  A 
real bed.  I say whoever discovers the hidden cot is 
the one who has to sleep in it."
	Liz made a squirrely face at me, then mouthed 
the word _stupid_.
	Mom was instantly on me about being a 
gentleman.  I had to flop down and present the visual 
truth.  "Look Ma!  I'm two feet longer than the 
goddamned couch."  I saw her start to waver, 
quivering like a flame.  No doubt Liz saw the look too.  
The only nights she and Dad had slept apart had 
been the ones surrounding our births.  Liz had told 
me that before she got married Mom had given her 
the same advice as her mother had given her.  Make 
your husband a very warm bed every night.  "_Very 
warm_," I'd choked, "that's double 4-letter words."  
"Don't laugh," Liz had replied, "though it sounds 
simple and stupid it works _exceedingly_ well."  I'd 
been the one to blush.  And now I blushed again.  
For the sake of the gathering, Mom was about to 
sacrifice Dad to the couch.  Or herself.  Either way, 
one of us would wind up sleeping with one of our 
parents.  That was, for the both of us, a common 
primordial fear.  The pair of them, for all their 
combined perfections, had the flaw of sleeping like 
freight trains.  They were the Mixed-Doubles 
Champions of Snoring.  Snoring is like saying a 
shrieking lunatic is talking.  
	Liz broke first, addressing me.  "Okay.  Fine.  
But if you hog the covers, I'll pee in the bed."  That 
brought us all to a hearty but nervous round of 
laughter.  That was shared history, family memoirs.  I 
was renowned for my nocturnal battles with the 
covers.  The two of us had once shared a bed as 
children--I think I was about six--and I was found 
wrapped in a very wet cocoon of all the covers.  Liz 
had shed her soggy bottoms and found high dry 
ground by the foot of the bed.  The edge to the 
memory was that she had actually done it twice.  The 
second time was when we were about eleven and 
twelve.  Again the four of us were crammed into two 
beds in one hired room.  Though no mention of it was 
made by anyone in the morning, the most obviously 
startling observation was that she had done it 
deliberately.  I was--true to form--wrapped up as the 
prize in the middle of most of the bedding.  But it 
was thoroughly dry on the outside, while inside it was 
all sopping wet, particularly around my middle.  It 
would seem I had made a mess in the night, but Liz 
made no bones about how she'd peed the bed.  No one 
wanted to inquire why it was that her nightgown was 
so dry.  The very tone of her voice was a video 
replay of her rising up from the bed in the middle of 
the night and pulling back the covers.  My own sister 
straddling my sleeping body, squatting above her 
exact target, then hiking her gown and peeing all 
over my crotch.
	I was not particularly happy about having to 
share a room much less a bed with Liz.  But there I 
was, lying on a lumpy sofa that kept getting smaller 
by the minute.  Really, all I could say was a sigh.  
	She's just not one of my top choices for people 
I'd choose to spend much time with.  I'm the older of 
us, by barely a year and a half.  We were pretty 
good buddies as kids, but then when we hit the 
weirdity of the pre-teen years she turned real mean 
on me.  Well, _fuck that_, so I went all nasty and 
awful on her.  With the maturation differences, our 
genders got hit with the full flush of hormones about 
the same time.  As always, Liz led the way with the 
changes.  For a month or two things were very sweet 
between us.  I remember the very first day, in the 
evening.  I was in the den watching the start of one 
of those wacko movies on t.v.  So bad that it's 
absolutely brilliant.  In came my evil sister bearing a 
tray with a platter of freshly baked brownies and 
_two_ glasses of soda.  She set it on the coffee table 
and without a word sat down beside me on the couch 
and started watching the movie.  At the commercial 
break she gave me an alarming smile, making a vague 
gesture with her hand.  "I'm here with snacks.  Feel 
free to help your self."  And then we were weeks of 
being so gentle and tender with each other.  It was 
like having a girlfriend.  Almost.  But eventually a 
really good time would start only to end with her 
getting mad at me for things that left me baffled.  I 
remember as well the last day of the interlude.  Again 
it was evening, but much later.  We were watching a 
movie that, even for network standards, had some 
pretty steamy scenes.  The cream filling between the 
car chases and explosions.  The sort of thing parents 
aren't supposed to let their children watch, which is 
why it didn't start until midnight.  It was a Friday 
night, and like most kids our age it was a date to 
stay up late that night.  That was our ritual on 
Friday--a couple of comedy shows and then the late 
night movie.  Friday nights for our folks was a 
celebration of the end of the work week.  They'd skip 
real dinner and go on to cheese trays and cocktails, 
the both of them dead in bed by eleven.  Liz had 
taken to getting into her pyjamas pretty early in the 
evenings.  But her sleepwear had turned to t-shirts 
that weren't really long enough to disguise the fact 
that she had panties on as well.  There she lay on 
the floor, tucked around some throw pillows, on her 
belly facing the screen.  I was scrunched up on the 
couch, eventually cradling a pillow in my lap.  Liz 
kept throwing glances over her shoulder my way, 
whereas I barely had to shift my eyes to go from the 
screen to the display of her wares.  That tight 
stretching of fabric I will never forget.  Her panties 
were of a thin white cotton printed with tiny lavender 
and magenta flowers.  She kept squirming around like 
she couldn't even get quite comfortable enough.  
Though it felt nice, I mostly wanted that pillow 
hugged to my lap to hide my situation.  As the movie 
began its final descent into a maelstrom of gunfire 
and great gusts of fire Liz went on a rampage, 
storming to her room because I always hogged the 
couch.  Following was a week brimming with vitriol, 
after which I mostly ceased to exist as an element in 
her universe.  Which, by then, was a fine if frosty 
turn of events for me.  Liz soon acquired a boyfriend 
and took to flaunting him around.  More than once I 
was made, it seemed, to stumble across an intimate 
moment.  She walked through the den where I was 
before going right into the kitchen to present her 
unhushed request to get on birth control.  All I could 
really feel was embarrassment for Todd.  He was a 
nice kid.  He went on to become a nice guy.  We get 
along great.  He's been my brother-in-law for over 
fifteen years now and I consider him among my 
closest friends.  I wasn't as quick on the draw as Liz.  
After several years I went through some profound 
changes and wound up hanging out with a trio of 
girls who were renowned in school as being punk 
lesbians.  That, my sister let me know, made her want 
to barf.  They were lesbians in that they loved to do 
girl things to each other, but they weren't such 
lesbians that they weren't all on the pill.  Strictly to 
relieve cramps they would tease me.  I lost my 
virginity in a bed with two lesbians.  Neither of them 
seemed to mind.  It wasn't until after we all went our 
various ways off to our respective college careers 
that I wound up in a bed with just one woman.  All 
these subsequent encounters were invariably a sort of 
letdown to me.  Two years out of college I met Dena.  
I met her and married her promptly.  Aside from all 
her wonderful points, we clicked like flint and steel 
striking in a bed of gasoline.  It was after our second 
time, laying back for some cuddly pillow talk, that I 
revealed the specifics of my sexual awakening.  The 
third time we had sex, she brought along a girlfriend.  
After two kids and fifteen years of marriage I still 
wind up with surprise nights.
	After all the matters of our arrival were 
resolved, we did some family stuff.  A hike on a trail 
through the woods that led back to the lodge, where 
we had a bad buffet dinner.  There was talk of 
utilizing the swimming pool, but that entailed going 
back to the cabin for our suits.  Once we were there 
we instead settled in for an evening of card playing 
followed by television.  The night crashed early by 
unanimous consent.  Taking turns in the bathroom 
killed another hour.  I dashed in first, then lay in 
bed reading, wearing a long t-shirt and an old pair of 
gym trunks.  When Liz finally arrived she just pulled 
down her pants and hopped in bed.  She'd exchanged 
her halter top for a nearly cropped t-shirt, squirming 
forever to get herself situated, flashing her panties 
all over the place.  
	Marking my page I set my book down on the 
bedside table.  "Geez," I grumbled, "you girls and 
your panties."
	"Wrong," she replied, reaching for the light, 
"it's you boys and girls panties."
	"Just don't pee on me, okay?"
	"Here," she said, shoving the bedspread my 
way, "just wrap yourself up in this and leave the 
rest alone."
	I did just that and fell promptly asleep.
	Next thing I knew, I was awake all of a sudden, 
consciousness upon me as a swarm of flies upon my 
face.  There was an echoing of the sound that had 
likely torn me from slumber.  I did not want to be 
awake.  But I was wallowing in that empty trough 
sensation, knowing the state of grace was gone for 
good for another day.  The thing, I realized, was not 
a clap of sound.  Everything was very quiet.  The 
quiet was of the new, not the interrupted.  What had 
startled me was an established pattern of noise 
ceasing, abruptly.  I was certain of that.  I was 
awake in the after-roar of the faucet's turn.
	Daytime was all around me.  There were all the 
little nature sounds outside while inside the cabin was 
absolute silence.  I slid out of bed, stopping at the 
kitchenette to get some coffee going before I made my 
way to the bathroom.  Passing the front window I saw 
the car was gone.  The rest of the gang was no doubt 
gone out for breakfast.  I was hot on the trail.  The 
bathroom was still fairly steamy from the last shower.  
	As usual in the morning I had a baseball bat in 
my pants and a bladder like a blowfish.  I sat down 
to pee, knowing that was the only way to keep from 
spraying the entire room.  I had to scoot back to 
accommodate myself under the edge of the seat.  
Gallons poured out of me soundlessly, faintly hissing 
against the porcelain above the water.
	Right when I was in midstream the shower 
curtain scattered open and a figure backed out over 
the edge of the tub grabbing at a towel from the 
rack.  My little wake-up metaphor had been the literal 
truth.  The water pipes in the cabin were noisy and 
what had woken me was the silence of the shower 
turned off.  It was Liz, and as she bent to dry her 
legs I was presented with a full view of her vulva.  
It was swollen much more than a simple warm friendly 
shower would imply.  To dry down there would take a 
whole other towel.  I was still finishing up, and as 
soon as I was I stood up quickly to cover up and 
flee, but exactly then she turned around.  It was an 
awkward moment.  Her cunt was sort of hidden in the 
hair between her legs but the rest of her was well on 
display.  My cock was no longer angled up but it was 
still fairly full.  There was no way for us not to gaze 
upon each others privates.
	"Sorry," I admitted.  "I thought you were out 
for breakfast."
	"I thought you were still asleep," she shot back 
in a willowy way.
	I didn't know what else to say or do.
	Liz did.  "Well, looks like Dena's a luckier gal 
than me."
	Talking about my anatomy.  I thought _fuck 
that_.  "Well, that's the trade-off, seeing as how you 
got the ode-inspiring breasts."
	I didn't wait for her to swaddle them under a 
towel with a smirk.  I pulled my pants up first and 
scampered out into the safety of the livingroom.  I 
had what is best termed a _full body blush_, not that 
my cock seemed to be suffering from any lack of 
blood.  It must have all come from my brain.  I 
certainly couldn't seem to form any sort of coherent 
thought beyond _this is getting kind of weird_.
	When Liz came out of the bathroom, the big 
towel had somehow migrated up.  Her hair was 
wrapped in terrycloth while the rest of her appeared 
stark naked.  I gave a little gasp and I knew my 
shocked look was more than brotherly.
	"Oh, yea, what's the big deal?  You've seen it 
all anyway.  And my hair's the only thing that's still 
wet."
	"I doubt _that!_" my mouth said before my 
brain could stop it.
	Liz's eyes went big and round at my 
insinuation.  Right as she took a step towards me we 
heard the crunch of tires on gravel.  I glanced out 
the window and saw their car pull in.  Immediately I 
turned back to Liz, only to see her scurrying into 
our room, the towel magically wrapped around her 
torso again.
	Mom burst through the door fairly singing.  
"The breakfast buffet looked just _wretched_.  Burnt 
dry cold toast and fluorescent scrambled eggs poured 
out of a carton.  So we stopped at that little grocery, 
and behold!"  She was so buoyant wielding her 
container of real eggs.  I groaned to myself.  I can 
barely boil water, but compared to mom I'm a gourmet 
chef.  "I've forgotten, how do you like yours?"
	She had indeed forgotten.  Other than a few 
forced forkfuls as I child I've never eaten eggs.  I 
can't stand them.  Just the smell of eggs makes me 
gag.  "Toasted," I replied.  I continued for the 
benefit of her baffled look, "You know, dry, burnt 
and cold and made out of bread."  It sounded like 
heaven to me.  I was out the door and hiking it to 
the lodge before anyone could respond.
	The day continued as another of similar nonstop 
evasive actions.  I mean, I was as good as I could be 
without suffering mortal injury.  By the time the 
evening again started winding down I was exhausted 
by all my efforts.  Canasta, I pretended, was either 
some sort of tropical soft drink or a Brazilian festival.  
Television honestly did make my eyelids keep slipping 
down.  Finally I begged off further activities and 
went to bed.
	My eyes went kind of funky when the big bar 
of light coming through the cracked door went out.  
But from the relative darkness, I quickly adjusted to 
the cool brightness a fairly fat moon threw through 
the windows.  Liz entered as a silhouette.  As she 
rounded the foot of the bed to her side, I could 
easily guess how she was shaking off her shorts.  But 
then her hands lingered at her waist and she wound 
up doing a sort of shimmy, then lifting up a leg like 
a stork and giving a little shake.  Her panties lay in 
a silky pile.  She turned back the covers on her side, 
then crossed her arms and waved them up into the 
air.  It took me a moment to understand that she had 
taken off her shirt.  In that time, she had crawled 
into bed.  I was frozen in my position curled up to 
the bed's interior.  Liz got in bed with her back 
facing me, snuggling up enough into a spooning 
position that had my cock just sort of hollering, 
"Great!!!"  I tried every trick I knew, but parts of me 
were too involved with the touch of soft warm flesh to 
care.  After about ten minutes I couldn't stand it 
anymore.  Seized by mortification, I managed to scoot 
myself a bit back.  Liz seemed to have fallen asleep, 
but my minor movement was disturbance enough.  She 
started to shift, then rolled over completely.  The free 
arm came rolling over, the hand landing firmly upon 
the bulge in my shorts.  The hand seemed to like 
what it'd found, subjecting it to a series of slow 
sleepy squeezes.
	I didn't know what would happen next.  
Suddenly all her limbs were eager and strong.  A few 
fingers pulled my shorts down, pushing them to my 
knees.  Then her toes reached up, dragging them off 
past my feet.  She rolled us so that I was atop her, 
then her hands went between our legs, guiding me 
into the warm and wet cleft of her heaven.  
	"I promise I won't pee the bed," she whispered, 
"but I'm so wet it's going to feel like I did."
	I just gave up.
	She had me positioned right at the gates of her 
sweet sloppy valley, thinking maybe to tease me.  
Instead I gave a quick thrust, a teaser myself, 
granting her all the rapture of my cockhead, but 
nowhere near the fullness she was panting for.
	"Give it to me," she hissed.  "I've been thinking 
of you all day.  I've been dreaming of this for 
decades."
	With such an invitation, I plunged in full force, 
tipping her over the balance as I went.  Her arms and 
legs clenched me to her as she went moaning on her 
way.  I wasn't far behind but I managed to calm down 
for more.  Liz groaned her compliments, but really, as 
I told her, her pussy was so warm and wet and tight 
I wanted to tread the edge for a long while and enjoy 
the pleasure.  This was a tricky act of balance.  Liz 
was, I was nearly delirious to discover, not the type 
of woman who just lies back and lets the good times 
roll.  No wonder Todd was always in a good mood.  
She had gravity-defying hips that kept lifting me up 
into the air.  We were _banging_ that bed.  "Careful," 
I whispered, "if we break the bed we'll _both_ have 
to sleep with mom and dad."  That was a bad move.  
If you think a nice tight warm wet pussy is the 
quickest way to end an erection, just try one that's 
convulsing with suppressed laughter.  There should 
be a chapter on that in the manual.  How To Make 
Your Man Blast Fast.  Skip fondling the balls or 
tickling the prostate.  Lock him in tight and just 
start giggling.   Liz was gasping through her tears, 
"That was _fabulous!_" 
	All I know is that I woke up when the light in 
the room was barely making any headway against the 
night.  I woke up because I had an enormous erection 
which, as I discovered sleepily, delightfully, was well 
heightened by Liz and her lips bent between my legs.  
Then she rose up and sank herself down.  She bent 
over, supporting herself with one hand while the 
other held a breast to my lips.  "Here, suck on this 
the way you've always wanted to, the way you were 
always meant to."  I wasn't complaining.  It was 
definitely the best thing I'd had to eat in days.
	"This is _so fine_," she purred, "this will have 
to go on and on, on and on again.  On and on 
_forever_."
	I certainly felt no inclination to contradict her 
point.  Not then, when she clenched and went stiff, 
shuddering and clamping down, her cunt sucking the 
come out of my cock.  And certainly never since.
	Ask Dena, who's more than thrilled with our 
little family get-togethers.  Just don't tell Todd!

=========================
Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com

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