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From: losgud <lushgod@hotnomail.com>
Subject: RP--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
=========================
I am archived at DejaNews under "Author" name:
LUSHGOD@HOTNOMAIL.COM

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