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From: "Esu Migabe" <esu_migabe@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} {REVIEW} Write Club Duel
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Date: Mon, 03 Apr 2006 03:10:02 -0400
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.stories.d
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

May I first congratulate both of the authors on managing to write stories to
order. It is not an easy task especially with time limits involved.

I enjoyed reading both of the stories. Both authors used all the words or
their meanings and wrote entertaining stories. I did notice that one of the
key words was spelt wrong in Frank's story but I corrected it anyway.

The time limit was followed even though Frank was a bit late starting, with
both stories being completed in the 3 hours allowed.

When the stories were written, Kenny had already spent a full day at work so
I'm full of admiration for his decision to take part in the duel.

And so it comes to the winner. After careful consideration and a couple of
re-reads, I would like to declare Frank McCoy the winner.


Interspecies Relations
by
Kenny N Gamera

It had been a long day at work.  I had placed about a hundred extra miles on
my car, flirted with a dozen secretaries, and managed to talk with half that
many of their bosses; I sold not a single widget.  I failed to even get a
"maybe next month," which almost never happens.

It wasn't a disaster of a day, because I had done pretty well for myself at
the beginning of the week.  I hit my weekly sales goal on Wednesday, but I
was hoping to put together a great Friday to end the week and month on very
high note.  I just get greedy that way sometimes.

I pulled into the car park of my building about the time my mobile phone
began to ring.  After a quick check of the caller ID, I didn't even answer.
I did leave my phone on the front seat of the car.  I quietly walked into
the building and caught Deirdre sitting at the receptionist's desk mumbling
swear words into the mouthpiece of the phone.

Deirdre is the office manager and one-third owner of the company I am
salesman and one-third owner of: Longbottom, Gamera, and Smith.  We are in
the widget business.  We design and make all kinds of fantastic devises that
rarely do anything important, but always do things that interest people.
Those widgets especially impress people with a lot of money and not a lot of
sense.  One could say we make expensive toys for rich people.

Deirdre is also a very attractive woman with nicely large breasts and a
nicely large butt.  She has long brown hair that she sometimes colors a
lovely auburn and green eyes.  She is sexy woman in a pretty way.  I often
wish that her style of dress would lend itself more to apodyopsis.

"I'd like to speak with your manager about your complete lack of
professionalism," I said when I reached the desk.

Deirdre jumped clear out of her skin, but unfortunately not out of her
clothing.  After a second of calming down, she used a very loud, just barely
indoor voice and started swearing at me.

"Why the hell can't you fucking bother to answer the damn phone, you
asshole?"

"I don't when I'm right in the parking lot.  Besides you know I was due in
right about now, why'd be so important you have to call me instead of
waiting two minutes."

Deirdre rolled her eyes.

"Yes, you were due in, but as far as I knew you off in some corner or behind
a copy machine somewhere with some floozy playing tonsil hockey.  Jerome
needsto see you right now."

"Hey, sweet talking those floozies, gets me into the doors of the men and
women who buy our product..."

"And gets your ashes hauled."

"...and gets my ashes hauled.  My ashes are very important too, Deirdre and
their haulage is not an issue that I mess around with."

"Though secretaries are something that you will mess around with."

"Damn straight, woman.  I mean you have those popinjays you call boyfriends.
  Now, if you would like a nonexclusive contract for hauling my ashes, I
have already expressed interest in opening negations on the subject."  I
like watching her eyes roll, they look especially pretty.  "But at the
moment, we are discussing Jerome and his apparent need to see me."

"His need to see us.  He's waiting in the lab."

Jerome is the mad scientist that comes up with the widgets and the other
one-third owner of the company.  He finds the design for our products and
figures out the production process.  He might be the only important one of
the three of us.

He is also the Smith.  I am the Gamera, and Deirdre is the Longbottom.  I
took my name from a movie and Deirdre got hers from a book.  Jerome found
his in a phone book.

We took the steps down into the bowels of the building.  That was
significant because the normal business related lab was in an out building
to the business offices.  The downstairs lab was secret and hidden and had
nothing to do with Longbottom, Gamera, and Smith or honestly anything with
the human race.  I shivered but from whether from fear or excitement, I
don't know.

"Is that why everyone is gone from the building," I asked Deirdre.

"I'm surprised that you sensed that," she replied.  "I sometimes worry about
you."

"I'm not going native, Deirdre."

I think I can be excused if I sounded defensive, because I was.  That's a
touchy subject with me.  I've been dogged by it my entire career.  I do
immerse myself into a culture; I'm a sensualist, but I have always been able
to retreat back to normal at the end of a mission.

Deirdre laughed and winked at me.  We have worked together since the day
after the big bang.  She may be the only one who really understands me.
After all, she had the pin and tee-shirt that tells the world that "I suffer
from Colposinquanonia."

"I only meant that you are probably the best human among us, and the price
is that you let your other abilities slide.  I mean, you haven't noticed
Lucy."

Lucy is our receptionist.

"It was easy to see that she was gone, she wasn't at the desk."

"You're right, Kenny, but she is in the lab with Jerome."

It was my turn to roll my eyes.

"I don't like the idea of having her in on our secrets, Deirdre."

"She's safe, Kenny."

"Yes, but are we."  I decided to be dramatic.  I let the disguise slip away
and slid out of it.  "I like these people.  I wouldn't want to see any of
this species hurt by us, Deirdre.  I know that you are safe being female and
I am safe being male, but Jerome practicing safe sex with the human."

"He is careful."

"He is young and inexperienced.  And a mature sporophore."

"He is not stupid."  Deirdre also oozed from her disguise.  "He takes
precautions."

We crawled into the lab.  Jerome was also in our native form.  His eye
stalks and two tentacles were occupied with a human microscope.  His other
tentacles were busy with our busty blonde receptionist, who had been chained
spread eagle between two sets of pipes running upstairs.

Her expression was one I've learned is associated with the approach of human
female orgasm.  Her muffled cries around the tentacle in her mouth were the
same.  Her cheeks were crimson.  Her vulva was a dusty rose as a second
tentacle filled her cunt.  A third pumped in and out her ass.  His other
tentacles wrapped her body, stroking it here and there.

"If he needs release, he should do it in as a human.  It is sufficient."

"For you and I, maybe.  I think that he gets off on the danger."  She rubbed
a pheromone-dripping tentacle along one of my receptors.  "Besides, wouldn't
you like to see Lucy carrying one of ours."

"And you should know what sometimes happens to a carrier.  Remember the
carrier that carried Jerome.  Would you want to see that happen to Lucy or
anything else intelligent?"

"No."

"And remember it would take only one of his spores to take hold and..."

"Enough with the rhetoric, Kenny."  One of Jerome's eyestalks turned to look
at me.  "I have heard it as often as Deirdre.  You have failed to convince
me."

"I still deserve some respect as Praetor."

"Which I offer you in abundance."  His recitation of the formal oath held
genuine respect.  "I am within personal rights."

"You are."  I crawled to the table with the microscope.  "Why did you call
us here?  I can guess it is not about your sex life."

"In part."  Both eyestalks left the microscope.  One stretched across the
room to Deirdre and the other to me.  Both hung a respectful six inches from
the center of our stalks.  "I am afraid that we will need to escape from
this gravity well before our mission is completed."

"Impossible.  The mission is of paramount importance."

"I agree with Kenny, Jerome.  We must complete the mission.  The temperature
increase over the last century of the planet's history is not consistent
with the release of industrial greenhouse gases.  Nor is the atmospheric
increase of these gases consistent with the geological processes that govern
the planet."

"If I could sigh in this form, I would.  You tell me nothing that I don't
already know.  The gases are increasing too fast and the temperature is
increasing too fast.  I have found the cause.

"It is the Enemy."

If either of us were in our human disguises, we would have blanched.  There
is no equivalent in our species.

"How?"

"I don't know.  Their science is too far beyond ours."  His remaining
tentacles sadly reached for Lucy.  "This planet is doomed.  Our mission is
hopeless.  We must flee."

"No."

I reached back up the steps and took hold of my disguise.  I needed another
dramatic gesture.  I slipped it on quickly.  I marched over to Lucy.  Our
eyes met.  She reached and took my in hers and squeezed.

"Can you leave our friends here to die?"  I pointed a finger at Jerome.
"Can you leave Lucy to die at the hands of the Enemy?"

I walked between the two as a human and in a human's voice, I said, "I stay
and fight the sons of a bitches.  You may go."

"Respect I offer you in abundance, Praetor," they both answered.

"I will not leave you, life partner."  Deirdre laughed and added, "Even
after you have finally gone native."

"Deirdre and Kenny, whose talents blend into me."

I started to shiver in my human boots again as Jerome began the ceremonial
words.  I looked at Lucy and the position she hung and the careful placement
of his tentacles.  Lucy looked at me and she had the decency to blush.

"I ask for your blessing as I continue the line."

My shit for brains offspring knocked up an earth girl.

  ********

I stared up uselessly into the darkness at my apartment's ceiling.  At
least, the Consul couldn't do anything to me after the Enemy finished with
me.  Jerome was within his rights.  There was nothing that the consul or the
senate or even the Emperor could do to him formally.  I, however, had a team
member disrupt mission discipline.  That team member was also an offspring
of my gametes.  They could punish him and me together.

Deirdre let herself in and walked to where I lay on the couch.  She stroked
my cheek, a behavior she must have learned from one of her humans.

"Jerome found them."

"Where?"

"An environmental group.  Nothing major, but a good cover for the
misinformation they're spreading."

"Misinformation?"

"Yep, they're trying to stop the species development by prematurely halting
industrialization.  They think by linking temperature increases to industry
they'll prevent them from entering the Galactic Union."

"Let's go stop them."

"Okay, Jerome and Lucy are already at their headquarters waiting with earth
weapons.  We should clean them out and destroy their machinery in a few
minutes."

"What makes you say that, Deirdre?  The Enemy are unstoppable."

"No, earth weapons are unstoppable.  You should see what they did to the
Enemy agents we captured. And Kenny..."

"Yes?"

"Did you know he loves her?"

"Yeah."

"He's not a pervert."

"Yes, he is."  I grabbed my jacket and looked over at Deirdre.  "But he also
my son."

"Our son."  She hugged me.  "You know, seeing as how you're going native, we
could retire here.  Raise another family."

I snickered.

"Yeah, our own little colony of tentacle monsters, here in Hamilton,
Ontario.  Like no one would notice that."

We stepped out into the dusk.  I took her hand in mine and closed the door.


                  The Spy-Ray by Frank McCoy
                   An Erotic Story

     "Not Invented Here," snarled Charles; as he examined
the reject-slip.  It wasn't the first such; but was likely
to be the last.  He'd show them! No more "Mr. Nice Guy" and
trying to help the world out by selling his invention to the
Government or even Industry.  There were so many ways to use
the world's first true spy-ray; and since there weren't yet
any laws against most of those ways, he no longer felt
guilty after nobody would even look at the device.
     It was almost not hard to blame them.  After all, "spy
rays" were on the same level in most people's minds as
Perpetual Motion Machines and Squaring the Circle.  Still,
after the big scandal years earlier when one of the big
camera companies had found out their "infra-red" camera
could give images of what's *underneath* clothing; as
polyester was almost transparent to the wavelengths
involved, had created a boon for such "X-Ray" cameras.
     But they were nothing compared with what Charles had
created:  The perfect way to actually see *through*
materials, almost like the original Superman's vision was
supposed to be able to do.  All possible because of modern
technology, large multi-gigabit imaging devices that could
actually detect *phases* of light, along with super-fast
computing to make sense of what otherwise would be garbage
to create holographic images that could be manipulated by
that same computer-software to not just see all around a
subject, but *through* it and even *behind* it as well.
Charles couldn't exactly see through a brick-wall with the
device; but the thin walls of an apartment or even exterior
wall of a house gave little problem.  What had been an
unexpected bonus was the sound:  Not only did his device
give full three-dimensional views of what was on the
opposite side of things if he set the software to ignore the
"noise signal" of what was between; but the same software
could cancel out all noise except from where *he* told it to
measure.
     Even the first crude device gave amazing pictures; but
took up half a room.  His latest though, using "heads-up"
display-technology, fit into glasses on his face with stereo
and 3-D sound piped directly into his ears; so he could look
through a wall as if it wasn't there; and experience what
was on the other side as if he was actually present at a
particular spot in the room in person.  You'd think the
people in the FBI or especially CIA or NSA would be
overjoyed to hear of such an invention.  Instead they'd
brushed him off with form-letters as if he was some kind of
crackpot!  Crackpot?  Charles Mason Janivar III?  He'd show
them all!
     First though, to check on the kids.  Since his wife had
left after trying to sell his last invention had flopped,
Charles had been raising their two children alone ... HIS
way.  Since his ex-wife wasn't there to object, Charles had
decided that his children wouldn't be raised in her old-
fashioned and prissy way, but in a healthful and sane and
*modern* approach to sex and sexuality that all those silly
idiots of Society didn't have sense to appreciate.
     Tuning his computer to pick a point ten feet in the
direction he was staring as his "virtual reality" point,
Charles looked through the wall into his children's bedroom.
Not to his surprise, the two kids were naked on the bed with
the older boy's prick buried to the hilt in his little
sister's body.  The kids did that a lot these days; ever
since he'd made it plain to both of them that he not only
didn't mind the two having sibling-sex together; but
actually *expected* them to as not just fun and games but
healthy exercise.
     "Uh ... Here it comes, Sis," groaned the older boy;
burying his prick to the hilt in his little sister's belly,
while his engorged member swelled, bulged, and then started
spitting thick white baby-goo deep in the younger girl's
unprotected fertility.
     Charles shifted his view to watch the tube on the
bottom of his son's prick distend slightly as the boy dumped
his wad in the girl's belly.  Damn, but it was annoying the
device couldn't see *inside* the girl and actually watch the
pearly-white baby-goo being pumped into his daughter's womb;
but the "spy-ray" depended on heterodyning of *light*; and
all he'd been able to see so-far inside a body was soft pink
light and blurriness.  With further development the man was
sure he would eventually be actually able to *see* thick
white spurts of baby-cream pumping into the tight little
tube of a woman when a man ejaculated in her ... but that
was for the future.  As it was, the device was already the
perfect voyeur's dream.  Watching his kids fuck was just a
test.
     "Mike!  You're not supposed to cum in me," objected the
girl; pushing back at her older brother instead of pulling
away like you might expect after a complaint like that.
"... At least not right *now*," she added.  "My period was a
little over a week ago.  Dad's going to have a *fit* if you
get me pregnant before he does," she finished.
     True enough ... But watching his son dump sticky wads
of baby-goo in his sexy young daughter's unprotected belly
was so erotically stimulating, Charles was almost tempted to
not just forgive the boy if he knobbed the girl, but
actually encourage the kid to do so.  Still ... It would be
a lot more fun to plant his own baby in the youngster.  So,
almost regretfully he'd have to see to it the kids were more
careful while Sandy was ovulating and fertile ... And he'd
have to see to it the girl got a lot extra sperm from him
tonight when she slept with him like she'd been doing since
two days after her mother left.  A hard job, but somebody
had to do it.  <Sigh.>
     Charles watched until the two siblings pulled apart;
checking to make sure they stoppered up Sandy's hole with
tissue so it didn't make a big mess of the bed, before
continuing on with his plans.  It was almost tempting to go
around the hall to the door and slip *his* meat in the
little girl before leaving.  Neither of the two kids would
have raised any objections or even been surprised if he had.
After all, it WAS their father who had taught the two kids
about sex and how babies were made when Sandy turned ten
years old, by personally demonstrating; sliding his swollen
prick up in the youngster's prepubescent young vagina and
dumping what felt like a pint of baby-goo in the little
girl's belly, in about as good a demonstration of family-
love and babymaking as a little girl could get.  Then he'd
had the girl's brother copy him and practice making a baby
in his little sister, so both kids knew exactly what sex was
all about and how babies were made.
     After that, Charles had seen to it that his little girl
didn't miss out on her "practice" of making babies, by
helping her personally several times a week and often even
several times a day.  Also he saw to it that the two
siblings got in even *more* practice with each other ...
sometimes as often as five, six, or even seven times a day
for the two horny kids; along with the "extra" practice he
gave the little girl himself by filling her womb with
incestuous seed as often as he felt the girl needed her
father's sperm in her belly.  It seemed a shame that so few
other families had sense enough to see to their children's
sexual education in such a manner; but that was their loss.
If, no *when* Sandy got pregnant with his or her brother's
babies, that would just give them all more little brothers
and sisters to love.  Besides, Charles figured there just
wasn't any better way for a girl to learn about sex and how
babies were made than by having her own father *show* the
girl personally and intimately what the process was, so she
could experience not just fucking her father, but feel him
dumping his sperm in her womb and filling her belly with his
baby ... or preferably babies.  Also, he loved the kid; and
what better way to show that love than make-love to the girl
like he did to her mother when he made the child in her
mother's womb?
     Still, one horny little girl could fuck any ten men
under the table; not just her father and big brother.  Time
enough to empty his prostate in the teenager when Sandy
joined him in bed that night.  Two or three bouts of sex
before going to sleep and then another thick squirt or two
in the girl before she went off to school in the morning,
and Charles would likely be done for the day.  Of course,
her big brother would likely just be getting started.
     Charles made a note to get the kids some condoms while
he was out.  Having her own father's baby ... at least at
first ... was a lot sexier than getting knobbed by her big
brother.  Time enough for that when Sandy turned 16 in a
couple more years or so and was old enough to marry Mike.

     The only thing odd-looking about the man leaving the
house that day, other than his white lab-coat he habitually
wore after working in his laboratory all day long was the
backpack he wore and the strange heavy looking glasses.
With his tangled blond hair, lab-coat, jeans, and sneakers,
Charles was about as far from a clothes-horse or popinjay as
you could get; as clothing meant nothing to the man; and had
no idea of how stereotypical he looked in another frame; and
would have ignored any giggles if anybody had so informed
him.
     Still, one thing *did* look slightly out-of-place,
besides the glasses and backpack, was the two bulging
sensors on the top and to one side that were actually very
special cameras that fed to the computer on his back.
     Readjusting his view, so that instead of being at a
point ten-feet in front of him, which was making him a
little dizzy, Charles retracted the viewpoint to "face-front-
normal"; but instructed the software to what he called his
"ignore clothing" mode; which subtracted signals from any
materials less dense or thick than 1/8" plastic.  Thus cars,
posts, and such appeared normal; while fabrics that made up
people's clothing tended to vanish except here and there;
the software filling in the missing parts with what it
sensed reflected from beneath.  It was very complicated; and
the software was a bitch with a few bugs still in it that
Charles was working on ... But it worked to the extent that
almost everybody he saw walking down the street that day
looked like an escapee from a nudist colony.
     Many people ... No, *most* people looked far better
clothed than naked.  However there were enough women, sexy
young girls, and even kids that were beautiful enough to
make being a voyeur worth it.  Not that this was Charles'
main intent that day.  It was just too convenient to *not*
get a nice eyeful by watching what to him were essentially
naked women parade by as he made his way downtown.
     Charles already had his target in sight.  Watching his
neighbor through her wall the other day had given him the
thought and the leverage he was going to need just to see
the man.  To bad he didn't live in Washington so he could
get some *real* dope on those guys who had ignored him.
Well, eventually they'd *pay* for their insolence ... but
not just now.  Now he had a financial deal to make.
     Charles wasn't a blackmailer.  He not only had personal
objections to blackmail; he knew the dangers of the
profession as well.  However, he didn't call using a little
blackmailing tactics just to get to *see* the man he was
after the same thing.  After all, he was offering something
the man had made known publicly that he wanted.
     The doorman sniffed at his unkempt looks; but let him
in.  It was the personal secretary, once he'd gotten through
the security person at the front desk that was the real
obstacle.  "Mr. Shilo needs to see this," he told her;
handing the woman an envelope ... Unopened," he emphasized.
     "I'll be the judge of that," sniffed the woman ...
obviously well-trusted by her employer; as she reached for a
letter-opener.  Marcia Kemps knew more about Jack Shilo than
anybody except possibly his wife ... and perhaps more.  Even
shady deals with the local mob were no strange dealings to
her.
     "Ms. Kemps?"  Charles had done his homework.
     Her use of his name stopped the woman for a second.
     "I am a psychic," he said.
     The woman's sneer grew broader.
     "I hereby predict that if you open that envelope, you
won't have the faintest idea what's inside means; but that
when your boss finds you've opened it, you won't be working
here tomorrow."
     The sneer turned into a snarl.  "Then it isn't all that
important that he sees the envelope, is it?" she replied;
starting to hand back the unopened envelope.  "If he needs
to see it, then send it certified mail for his hands only."
     "See what?" came a question from the door behind the
woman.
     "This," she replied.  "He says it's for your eyes
only."  Marcia looked the lab-coated man in the eye as she
said, "And if Jack doesn't agree, I'm having Dan toss you
out on your ear ... perhaps without even opening the door
first.  Get it?"
     Surprisingly, this caused Charles to grin.  He *liked*
a woman with real spunk; not that fake stuff.  "Got it," he
agreed.
     The two stared each other eye-to-eye, then suddenly the
tension in the room collapsed.  Charles *knew* the woman
would keep her promise; but wasn't worried.
     "In."  The door opened; and Charles entered.
     Charles placed two slightly fuzzy pictures on the big
man's desk.  While they carefully weren't clear enough to
stand up in a court of law as evidence, it was obvious who
the two people having fun on the bed were; even though the
two bodies engaged in sexual intercourse were quite out-of-
focus.  However, one thing *in* the pictures was as clear as
Charles could make it:  The motto in a frame on the wall
behind the coupling duo.
     "I don't do blackmail.  I just called you in here to
make that clear."  The man's voice didn't rise; but the
threat behind them was clear.
     "I don't do blackmail either," agreed Charles,
grinning.  "That's not why I'm here."
     "You're here for somebody else."
     "No ... I'm here because of those pictures."
     "My wife is behind this?  I find that hard to believe."
     "Mr. Shilo ... What's important in that picture isn't
the two people in the picture.  Look closer.  You and she
were alone in that room.  Now look at the picture on the
wall.  Imagine being able to get that good a look at the new
specifications for Myron Industries' new converter."
     "You're talking Industrial Spying, aren't you?"
     Charles grinned.  "Why yes, I am.  It's not illegal as
long as you don't subvert employees; and if they can't
protect their secrets from mere passers-by, then that's
their problem, isn't it?"
     "Call me Jack."
     The two conspirators grinned at each other.

     It would take weeks to actually get the information
Jack wanted, but Charles had no doubt he could get it; as he
already knew his neighbor on the other side from the Widow
Brown and her daughter brought home his work on converting
CO2 to Methane from Myron Industries.  That's why Charles
had approached their biggest competitor instead of any of
1000 other companies.  Nobody would suspect he was peeking
*through* the walls of their chief engineer's house ... and
if anybody was suspected, it would be said engineer himself.
A strange way to reduce the greenhouse-effect, if you
thought about it; and one Charles as a scientist admired:
Using Solar energy for turning CO2, a greenhouse gas into
methane ... an even *more* effective greenhouse gas ... but
to be used as a fuel instead of released back to the
atmosphere.  But the end-result was a *cycle*; adding no
more CO2 to the atmosphere like burning coal or oil did; and
a net result of a *drop* in Global Heating.
     Charles actually admired the idea, as has been said,
but thought it shouldn't be wrapped in secrecy.  It should
be made available to *everybody*; and since Myron Industries
preferred "trade secrets" to the patent process, Charles
almost felt it was his duty to skip the rhetoric of "normal
channels" of begging for the release of the process and make
the thing public himself ... to the company's competitors
who were champing at the bit to make similar devices.  The
political process hadn't worked; and instead of "stealing",
Charles felt almost justified.
     The million dollars or so he stood to gain if he
succeeded in "liberating" the secret from its present owners
helped as well.
     And that was just the beginning of what he could do
with his new invention.

     Calling home on his cell-phone, the breathless panting
of Mike told him what the two kids were up to ... again.
But at least they seemed to be OK, and engaged in healthy
exercise.  Exercise that Charles himself planned on having
with his little girl later that night.  At thirteen, the
girl was definitely "nubile" and needing her father's sexual
attention.  After all, every girl needed lots of sex from
her daddy ... IF she was going to carry his kid in her belly
like they both planned on her doing.  After telling the kids
he'd be bringing home Chinese-take-out for dinner, Charles
decided to have a little fun with voyeurism on the way home.

     Actually, it was watching the neighbors AND the
neighbor kids that had first convinced Charles that mating
his son and daughter might be a good idea ... and that
showing the girl *personally* how babies were made by
dumping his own wad in his daughter's developing young
fertility close to three years earlier, wasn't as obscene
and/or even unusual as he thought originally.
     Finding that close to 1/3 of the fathers with young
girls in the neighborhood were actually having sex of
various kinds with their daughters, even more mothers were
taking young sons to bed and "teaching them about sex", had
made Charles realize that most people were hypocrites!  In
fact, the people who yelled the loudest seemed to be those
doing the strangest things behind closed doors.  But with
his little invention, he could watch daughter sitting on
fatherly prick for hours, mothers sending husbands down to
their daughter's bedroom when she was too tired for sex, and
in one case, a man encouraging his daughter to mate with her
pet dog, "because it's safer".  That particular jerk seemed
to think he was the personal Praetor and Religious enforcer
for the community ... at the same time he was not just
porking his own teenaged daughter when she was "safe"; but
encouraging the girl in bestiality.  If the jerk even
*tried* his hypocritical shit on Charles though ... Well,
Charles had some truly interesting videos to show the creep.
Videos where (unlike the out-of-focus pictures he'd taken of
Jack and his mistress) were not in the least bit fuzzy; and
you could see every detail of who was doing what to whom and
how many times.
     Unlike most of those men though, Charles *wasn't* a
hypocrite; and not only loved his little girl, but was
willing to have sex with her "bareback" and chance the
actuality of his daughter carrying his baby in her tummy.
Spying on the girl herself and finding the youngster reading
sex-stories on the net by "Deirdre", "Frank McCoy" and some
pervert styling himself as a Japanese City-Destroying
Turtle, had helped.  Actually, the spying on his daughter
years earlier had been more of an accident of trying out an
early model of the machine ... until he'd invisibly looked
over the little (then nine-years-old) girl's shoulder and
seen first the pictures and then the stories the youngster
was reading.  Before that, the idea of seeing his little
girl naked and admiring her body sexually hadn't even
occurred to him.  When he did though, and found that *she*
had been having erotic fantasies about her own father ...
Well, when her tenth birthday had come around, and after his
wife had left, Charles decided it was up to him to see to it
that his kids knew exactly how babies were made by personal
experience ... and that he was the person his little girl
needed to show them both exactly how by doing exactly that
with the girl and her big brother watching so he could
"practice" with his sister once he was done.  Once (of
course) he'd taken the child's virginity with her eager
cooperation, Charles was hooked.

     That night found Charles taking off the special glasses
that even his kids didn't know about.  Finding his little
girl already sleeping in his bed was just the thing the man
needed to help handle the enormous hard-on he'd developed
after roaming the neighborhood for the previous two hours;
watching husband and wife, lover and mistress, woman and pet
dog, mother and son, father and daughter, and even (in two
cases) man and his granddaughters coupling, mating, and
having joyous loving sex.  With all that love going on, it
was hard to believe that *publicly* everybody in the area
was so uptight about sex, sexuality, and even sex-education
in schools.
     For a moment Charles giggled as he snuggled up to his
little girl; slipped his swollen and cum-leaking prick deep
in her tight little slit, and started fucking the teenager
in her sleep.  Perhaps, like him, the men didn't think their
little girls *needed* any sex-education, because they all
were getting it from their parents at home.
     The girl unconsciously pushed back at her father as the
man's prick expanded, bulged, and then sent thick gooey wads
of incestuous baby-cream deep into his little girl's
developing fertility; where likely Sandy would be carrying
her own baby sister in the next few weeks or months.
     "Daddy?" she asked.  "Are you fucking me?"
     "Uhuh," agreed Charles.  Actually FEELING his little
girl's tight little baby-tube clamping and squeezing around
his belching prick made the mere sight of other naked women
seem pale and wan.  Even the gravity of the situation of
getting his own daughter pregnant with his baby couldn't get
the man down.  "Yes, I am," he agreed; sending yet another
thick squirt of baby-goo spurting wildly and wetly into the
nubile young teenager's eager fertility.
     "Oh.  Thanks, Daddy," she replied; snuggling back to
take her father's belching prick as deep inside her body as
she could.  "I thought so."  Then Sandy went back to sleep
like the good little girl she was.



The words:

Deidre
Mad scientist
Gravity

Popinjay
Praetor
Rhetoric

Greenhouse Gas
Apodyopsis
Mobile Phone

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