My Fathers And I
by Carter Sprague


Chapter One 

It was twilight-dark in the big, cool storeroom back of the shop and Harry's 
big-bulbed prick felt thick and sweet and deliciously hot in the overripe 
juiciness of my cunt. 

Unlike brother Bill and the other teen-age boys I had fucked, Harry knew how 
to take his time. Until it was the moment to get his rocks off in my guts, 
he never hurried. The way he put it in his soft, low voice, "Honey, when I'm 
in there, I want to enjoy every precious moment of it... and I want just as 
many moments as I can get." 

He had a hundred little tricks to bring me on, again and again, until it was 
time for him to send his thick, white semen spurting up into my thrilling 
womb to blend with my own white pussyjuice in the most delicious of all 
recipes ... and even then he didn't call it quits. He liked to lie right in 
there, letting his big-bulbed cock soak up all it could, with both of us 
relaxed and feeling as if the world had nothing more to offer us ... 

Harry's darling dong would dwindle a little after a while and I'd be filled 
with a terrible sense of impending loss, so I'd stir my loins, sticky with 
sex-sap just like his, to bring him back to full size ... and he'd give his 
loins an answering stir that would move it ever so slightly and I'd feel it 
burgeoning again in my creaming coozy ... and then we'd be off to the races 
again. When time permitted, we'd made it as many as four fucks--without 
taking his prick out of my happy little hole. 

This time, we'd been fucking more than forty minutes by the dim dial of the 
big octagonal clock on the wall, and Harry had already had three orgasms. 
How many times I'd hit the peak I had no idea ... it was always much too 
often with Harry to keep count. I had my little pullover jersey pulled up 
above the twin lumps of my breasts and my hotpants dangling from my left 
ankle ... just as Harry was still wearing his slacks, pulled down as far as 
they could go, and had his shirt, wide open, over his lovely shoulders. Even 
though Joanie and Bill, my sister and brother, were minding the store up 
front, there was always the possibility that some customer emergency might 
arise and we'd have to get back in a hurry. 

Mostly, I'd rather fuck in a bed with my clothes off entirely ... but there 
was an element of risk in screwing Harry in the storeroom during an 
afternoon quiet time that somehow added to the excitement. But then, fucking 
Harry under any conditions was all the excitement a girl could stand. And 
having his big-bulbed prong moving around in my churning guts ... hell, it 
didn't matter where or when or how, just as long as my body could convulse 
around it in the sweetest convulsions I ever hoped to know. 

Sure Harry was eighteen years older ... almost thirty-six, since I'm going 
on eighteen. He had to be older because he was my father, the only father 
I'd ever known and certainly the best piece of arse in Riverville, where I'd 
lived with him and Joanie and Bill and Mom ever since I could remember. 

Sometimes, when I was fucking one of the kids my own age and not making it 
so big, I'd wonder if maybe something was wrong with me ... if maybe I went 
for his cock so much because of some psychological kink, because he was my 
old man. But then he'd slip that marvelous prick into my ever-ready cunt, 
and I'd know why. It was because he knew more ways to making a girl 
screaming happy than all the rest of them put together in one single 
large-size economy package. 

Daddy Harry had to be the most. 

In the half-dozen years I'd been fucking him, there was only one thing I 
hadn't told him. He thought he'd popped my maidenhead and it seemed to mean 
so much to him that I never told him I'd been fucking Bill and some of the 
boys around town since I was about ten years old ... not to mention sucking 
and candle-sticking sessions with Joanie. 

Actually, Harry's prick was so much thicker and longer--a real man's 
dong--that I guess I reacted like a virgin the first time it went into me. I 
was kind of uptight for the occasion, and my pussyjuice dried up and Harry 
had to spit on his hand and oil the big bulbous head of his pink-and-purple 
prick with it before he could get it inside the lips of my cunt. I juiced a 
little then and tried to improve our connection, but it was slow going at 
first and the size of the broomstick seemed to stretch the walls of my 
tunnel as if it would split me wide open. So I guess I yelped and tried to 
wriggle free. My efforts to escape turned out to be my salvation, for the 
next thing I knew, he was pistoning that big beautiful codpiece in and out 
of my flooding hole as if sex were about to go out of fashion; and I was 
riding clouds I'd never dreamed of before. 

That, as I said, was about six years ago, and I'd still rather have Harry's 
prick in my cunt than anything else in the whole world. 

Beyond his prick, Harry was a beautiful man. He was lean and muscular and 
his body was smooth and without a lot of disfiguring hair. Like other men, 
he had taken to wearing his brown hair long and grown a thick Guardsman's 
mustache that tickled my nose when he kissed my mouth and tickled me in 
places a lot more exciting when he went down on me to drink our dew, which 
he always did after we finished fucking unless an emergency interfered. 

This time, when his third load of jism bounced off the top of my womb, 
sending electric thrills of delight through my whole body, we both knew it 
had to be the last--for the time being. Mom was due back from her committee 
meeting, and she didn't like Harry fucking me back of the shop. She was 
always afraid somebody would walk in and catch us and the scandal would ruin 
her position in Riverville ... Mom ran the women's club, the PTA and just 
about everything else. 

Since she put so much of her energies into civic affairs, she had little 
left over for fucking her husband, so she didn't seem to mind his fucking 
me--but only as long as we didn't get caught. 

So, as the hands of the clock crept toward five p.m., it was time for Harry 
and me to wind up this delicious session in the storeroom, much as we both 
regretted the imperative. I rolled under Harry, I'd been riding him topside, 
on the pile of quilt-covered mattresses which served us on these occasions, 
and dug my heels into the soft springy surface with my thighs wide open and 
began bridging and driving my creaming cunt right up at his plunging loins, 
meeting his assaults with counterattacks of my own. 

I varied the sweet struggle by putting my crotch into rotary motion and, as 
always, Harry rolled his cock right with me, holding it embedded to the hilt 
in my spiraling cunt, so deep that I could feel the steel-wool pressure of 
his pubic hairs against the delicate tissues of my labia and nymphae. 
Although his prick was no longer sliding in and out of me, the depth of its 
impalement in my guts and the roiling action of the areas around both of our 
fucking pieces was sufficient to bring us both to a boil. 

As I felt his prick begin to jump convulsively in my creaming hole, I thrust 
my pelvis higher still and, gripping him with both hands by the cheeks of 
his arse, I drew my father's cock still deeper into my flooding insides, 
thrusting my boobs up against his smooth, firm chest until they lay flat and 
sweetly squashed upon my ribcage, moving my cunt sideways to give my old man 
an added bonus of thrills as he poured his life-giving fluid into the very 
core of my flushed young body. 

"Come, come ... come... !" I heard myself gasping as the semen flowed all 
around the big round bulb of his cock's crown and then added its sweet 
slippery-elm factor to the juices already close to swamping both of us. 

This time, when it was over, he did not let it lie in my tunnel to keep the 
unbearable sensations flowing through me. He pulled out with a soppy 
thocking sound as our sticky fucking areas separated for the first time in 
almost an hour and then, reversing himself on the quilt-covered mattress 
pile beneath us, lifted my left leg and buried his face in my flooded 
crotch. 

His thick bush of a mustache tickled the in-sides of my upper thighs as it 
slid in between them until I had to giggle and jerk my legs convulsively; 
but when he ran his tongue's cat-rough surface over my protruding clit, I 
had to stop giggling and gasp as unbearable post-coital sweetness raced 
through me. At the same time, his fingertips diddled my arsehole and then he 
transferred his oral attentions to the rest of my crotch, lapping up the 
mixture of our fluids that covered it and then, after popping his tongue in 
and out of my hole, causing me to cream all over again, gathering my labia 
into his mouth and sucking it, nibbling it deliciously with his teeth 
between the long pulls that seemed designed to lift it right out of my body. 

Nor was I idle in this sweet afterplay: how could I be with the dripping 
prick I so adored a mere inch from my lips. It was still three-quarters 
erect and white with our juices, while from its very tip a single pearl of 
sperm extruded. Taking his sopping balls in one hand and guiding the stalk 
of his big-bulbed prick with the other, I inserted the crown of his cock 
into my mouth and licked away the single pearl of semen with the tip of my 
tongue ... to discover, as I pulled back briefly and squeezed the shaft of 
Harry's prick, that it had been replaced by another pearl, which I quickly 
took into my mouth along with the first nacreous offering. 

I have always enjoyed the taste of semen, even though I'd rather receive it 
in my cunt than in my tonsils. It has a sweet-sharp flavor that is unlike 
anything else in the world. I have been told that it is an acquired taste, 
but this was not so with me ... I enjoyed its tang on my tongue ever since, 
when I was nine years old, I first sucked my brother Bill's cock one night 
when he and Joanie and I were playing childish erotic games in the bedroom 
we shared on the third floor of the old house. 

It is a taste very different from that of a girl's pussyjuice and seems to 
vary little from one man to another. But female sex-sap varies greatly from 
girl to girl. In my case, it is thick and has a musky quality, while in 
others it runs thin and has little of no flavor. In short, rightly or 
otherwise, I like my own sex-sap; and when it is mixed with a man's semen, 
especially with that of my old man, I like it best of all. 

So, for another ten minutes or so, Harry and I enjoyed one of our sweeter 
aftermaths. We sponged each other off in the half-bath the storeroom 
afforded (Harry was always talking about putting in a shower but he never 
got around to it, and who cared?) and got our clothes on and returned to the 
shop in front. Our family phrase for what we had just been doing was taking 
inventory; we all used it and all knew what it meant, even Mom. 

Mom never could stand to hear or, Allah forbid, say the word fuck. Whenever 
she heard it, she stuck her nose high in the air and acted as if somebody 
farted. When we dropped the words taking inventory, though, she just sort of 
half-smiled and didn't say anything at all. I never did dig the fine 
distinction; shit, it's all the same marvelous thing, no matter what you 
call it. But ladies of Mom's generation had a lot of old-fashioned bullshit 
drilled into them by their mothers, I guess; and they say a brainwashing you 
get as a child is the hardest kind to get rid of. 

So we just went along taking inventory whenever we tore one off in the 
storeroom behind the shop and nobody seemed to mind. If Mom didn't want us 
kids doing it, I don't know why she had us all using the same bedroom for so 
long when were growing up--even though it was supposed to be perfectly 
proper, with Joanie and me in the double-decker, with Joanie on top, and 
Bill sleeping across the room in his own bed. 

At seventeen, I'm the oldest of the three of us. Bill is sixteen and Joanie 
a year younger. I don't look much like either of them. In fact, I don't look 
much like Mom or Dad, either. They all run to brown hair and eyes and are 
bigger than I am and good-looking in a different way, with rounder faces and 
features. Even Mom fits into the general family type. She was Dad's second 
cousin. In the last year, Bill's prick has got almost as long and thick as 
Dad's, while Joanie's bubbies have blossomed until, if she tried to follow 
the ban-the-bra trend, there'd be a national letdown. 

When Dad looked at her, naked, last year and saw what was happening, he 
said, "Joanie, if you don't watch out, you'll live up to the old definition 
of a bag." When Joanie asked what that was, he said, "Oh, a woman who can 
throw her left tit over her right shoulder and squirt milk up her arse." 

Joanie burst into tears, but Dad just gave her big bubbies a couple of 
squeezes, one for each, and left her there with egg on her pretty face. Dad 
can bite with more than his teeth when he's in a nasty mood ... generally, 
after he's had a run-in with Mom over failing to live up to the image she 
wants the family to have in Riverville. She just gives him the silent 
treatment and this drives him out of his skull, especially when she doesn't 
tell him where he's goofed, and he takes it out on Joanie or Bill ... but 
never on me, maybe because he likes fucking me so well. 

Another thing: he practically never fucks Joanie, even though she loves him 
as much as I do. He says it's too much like fucking Mom, and that he's had 
enough of that for a dozen lifetimes ... and that makes her cry because 
Joanie's really a nice kid who wants only to please. 

Generally, after one of these times, Joanie has to get Bill to fuck her and 
then she gets added reassurance by getting me to suck her. Jesus, if I had 
her hang-ups, I'd be headed for a psychiatrist's couch ... if we had a 
psychiatrist in Riverville, which we don't. 

Believe it or not, it was Bill who got us off on the fucking-sucking bit in 
the first place. There was a kid in school named Hotpants O'Houlihan, and 
she was around eleven years old at the time and she didn't earn her nickname 
for nothing. Her old man runs the feed and grain mill and has a private 
projection room in his basement and likes to run off X-rated films on 
Saturday nights. The way the story goes, little Hotpants (they called her 
Agatha then, believe it or not) used to sneak downstairs and peep through a 
chink in the wall. What she saw on the screen and among the select audience 
got her primed for first-hand experience. 

One rainy afternoon, she got Bill alone in the otherwise empty school gym 
and took down her hotpants, and his, and tried to show him some grownup 
games. Bill got the idea right away but her approach scared him and he 
couldn't get a hard on and she hit him over the head with her books and he 
came home crying with a big lump on his noggin. 

He couldn't tell Dad and Mom what had happened, of course, but that night, 
after we were all in bed, Joanie and I wormed it out of him. He was standing 
in his peejays in the middle of the room, and, as he told us, his pecker 
popped right through the slit in the front of his pants, pretty as could be. 

He looked down at it and said, "Son of a gun! When it should have stood up, 
it lay down ... now, when it ought to lie down, it stands up. What a waste." 

"I don't know about that, hon," I heard myself saying. "Why must we waste 
it?" 

Joanie got the idea, too, and said, "Why let Hotpants O'Houlihan have all 
the fun when we've got what it takes right here in the family." 

I let Joanie have first crack. Damned if I really know why except that I 
must have still been a little shy about fucking. I'd seen Bill with a hard 
on before, of course ... but only when I was too young to really know what 
it was meant to be used for. I guess I just wanted to watch before I jumped 
in. 

Anyway, Joanie hugged him and kissed him and then began taking our brother's 
peejays off while he pulled her pink nightie up over her head. They looked 
like a pair of brown-haired angels as they went over to Bill's bed and lay 
down on it and tried to get the game going ... but both of them were so 
awkward about it that, by the time Joanie was lying underneath her brother 
with her legs wide apart, his erection was a thing of the past. 

That was when I said, "Oh, for God's sake!" and got into the game... 

I pulled Bill off Joanie and pushed her down to the foot of the bunk. Then I 
rolled Bill over on his back and knelt down alongside the bed and began 
kissing and sucking his diminished little prick. Don't ask how I knew what 
to do ... how does an animal know? ... but I did. I'd seen my brother's dong 
often enough as a child when Mother rightly thought we were too young for it 
to matter. I'd seen it a few times since, when we were taking a leak 
together outdoors or he forgot to lock the bathroom door ... and it hadn't 
meant much of anything to me. 

But it did now. I wanted his prick good and stiff... hard enough for me to 
poke into the hole in my bottom that was beginning to get all wet and warm 
and sending little messages of need all over me. Little Joanie, looking on 
in wide-eyed surprise, observed, "You're sucking Bill's weewee." I lifted my 
head long enough to tell her to shut up and then got on with it. 

It didn't take long. Soon excitement was bubbling inside of me as my 
brother's little dong began to grow and get big again. The taste of it 
excited me as well as its growth. In trying to work it into her hairless 
little cunt, Joanie had got wet enough to smear it with her pussyjuice, and 
somehow I knew what this was and it excited me even more, as did the 
thickness of my own saliva as I lathered it over Bill's growing prick. 

When it was good and stiff, I pulled my mouth loose of that sweet fraternal 
flesh and scrambled aboard him with my hole right over his cock. Then I 
poked a hand down between our jocks and pushed its round head up inside my 
cunt. Thanks to the spit with which I had lathered it and my own creaming 
pussyjuice, it went right up into me to the hilt and there was no way for it 
to subside before I got both our rocks off. 

Like everybody the first time, I was in a hurry and so was Bill ... and, 
since it was the first time for both of us and we were both way up with 
excitement, it didn't take long for him to come ... and, for the first time, 
I felt the sperm of the male spurting in my tunnel of love. I resolved right 
then and there it would not be the last time, either. I'd never felt so 
wonderful in my entire eleven years of life. 

But I didn't know you could go right on fucking after an orgasm, so we 
pulled our sopping fucking pieces apart and his began to wilt again, even 
though it was covered with spit and sperm and my sex-sap. I watched it 
dwindle and wondered how long it would take to get it into operative 
condition for a second go. 

Then Joanie was all over me, her boobless nipples sticking out like pink 
thorns, shaking my shoulders and asking me questions which added up to, "How 
did it feel?" 

When I could get a word in edgewise, I nodded toward our brother, who was 
still lying flat on his back with his head lifted so that he could look down 
at his still-limp prick as if he couldn't believe it, and said, 'Try it for 
yourself, Joanie ... I can't tell you." 

And I couldn't ... I still can't. Nobody yet has ever put into words just 
what a girl feels like when she has a man's stiff prick in her juicing hole, 
especially the very first time. But Joanie thought I was putting her on or 
something and began to blubber and said, "But it's all soft now." 

"So make it hard ... I did." 

Joanie shuddered against me and gasped, "Oh ... I couldn't do that!" 

"It's your red wagon," I told her and, of course, with that, she decided she 
could. And did: licked off all the juices from Bill's lucky codpiece until 
she could add some of her own. She didn't try to get underneath him this 
time and she got his cock into her coozy all right and just squatted there 
with it in her hole, shaking all over. 

Then she looked at me with surprise and her eyes went big and round and she 
said, "Ooooo ... it feels nice!" 

Then she began making a few experimental wiggles with her cunt, and then 
Bill got into the act and began lifting his little rump from the bed 
rhythmically, driving his cock up into her quiveringly creaming cunt. This 
got Joanie so excited, she put her crotch into wild motions that brought her 
brother to a second boil ... and... then she goofed, losing him just as his 
semen spurted uselessly into the air to land on his lower belly with a small 
splash. 



Joanie slept in the top of our double-decker bunk and I waited until I heard 
her deep slumber breathing before I went back to Billy's bed and we settled 
down for some real fucking. I was in no mood to share what I'd discovered 
that evening with anyone else. Not even my own sister. 

 Chapter Two 

This time, when Bill slid his prick into my cunt, I was on the bottom with 
my legs spread wide open, and it felt like a blunt knife sliding right 
through the middle of a bucket of soft, sweet butter. And when I felt the 
tiny tickle of the thin hair on his balls against the intimate incurves of 
my rump, coupled with the wonderful closeness of his flesh lying on top of 
my own and squashing my bubbies flat against my ribs, it was so incredibly 
wonderful that, for a long time I couldn't move my cunt at all. I guess Bill 
felt the same way, for we just lay there, lost in the wonder of having our 
bodies so beatifically coupled, of being one with each other. 

But that couldn't last forever, of course. I had to express my happiness and 
slid an arm around his neck and kissed him. Looking back on it, that was 
real funny ... for there we were, fucking and being fucked, and we didn't 
know how to kiss. Just birthday and Christmas smacks, delivered loudly like 
the kisses we gave and got from Harry and Mom, with about as much sex in 
them as there is in rubbing two lamb chops together. 

But with what we had going on downstairs for us, with Bill's dong lying 
stiff in the welling cream of my cunt, it didn't really matter that we 
kissed like a couple of maiden aunts. And the movements of our burgeoning 
young bodies involved in that very amateur kiss caused a certain shift of 
our fucking pieces that caused me to come like Niagara. And from then on, 
our stillness was shattered. 

Bill began pumping his prick in and out of me, and I got my feet set, wide 
apart, and gave him at least as good as he gave me. There was a rising tide 
of incredible sweetness that mounted within me until the whole world seemed 
to explode with voluptuous delight ... and because I was way ahead of my kid 
brother, he kept right on plumbing my hole with his stiff little cock so 
that, as soon as I came down out of orbit, it sent me right back into outer 
space again. 

Life had never seemed even fractionally as good as it began to feel right 
then ... and then, and then, and then ... so that, by the time my brother's 
prick began jumping around and spurting sperm well up in my sopping hole, I 
was really winging way beyond Cloud Nine. I just pushed my pussy up around 
his flooding cock and grabbed it tightly and held it there, with our sopping 
wet hairs ground together in a steel-wool mesh until I had his last drop in 
the place it was meant to go. 

Bill pulled out of me right away--or I guess his prick wilted on its 
own--and left me hanging right up the wall by the ceiling. It wasn't his 
fault, of course: neither one of us really knew what we were doing or how to 
handle the whole bit ... but that didn't do a thing for the frantic 
emptiness I felt when my kid brother pulled out. I grabbed my pussy with 
both hands, and rubbed my deserted clit as if I were scrubbing soiled 
underwear with one hand while, with the other, I dug my fingers into the 
slippery swamp of my hole and did my best to put out the fire he had left 
burning there. 

I must have made some noise, because when I opened my eyes, there was Joanie 
looking over the side of her upper berth with her boobs hanging down like a 
pair of ripe peaches, whispering urgently, "Don't wake up Mom and Dad, Robin 
... for heaven's sake, shut up!" 

I was surprised that I should have been making sounds without knowing it. 
But then, that was a night of surprises. Joanie's remonstrance snapped me 
out of the awful fit of emptiness I was having and I began to realize that 
there was one hell of a lot more to fucking than merely getting a cock in 
your coozy and working it till it went off inside you--which was about all 
any of us ever learned at school apart from the bit about babies coming. 

Pregnancy didn't bother us any more than it bothers any girls today, since 
Hotpants O'Houlihan had already briefed us on the Pill --and since we were 
none of us old enough to make a baby. But I knew right then I had a lot to 
learn, and so did Bill if he was going to keep on fucking me--which was 
something I could hardly have stopped if I'd wanted to, and that I 
definitely did not. 

Joanie was sore, and I didn't really blame her--not because I had wakened 
her up but because I'd been fucked twice and she hadn't taken a load of 
semen into her own darling little cunt. She climbed down, naked and smooth 
as silk, and came crowding into Bill's bed. She took the damp remnants of 
his cock in her hand and looked at me, close to tears again, and said, "You 
didn't leave any of it." 

"Aw, honey!" said Bill, giving her a hug and patting the budding cantaloupes 
that were beginning to bloom on her little-girl chest. "I'm sorry." 

The results of that sympathetic gesture were both immediate and interesting. 
First, as Joanie buried her head against her brother's shoulder, with her 
dark brown hair falling around it like a flood in the moonlight that came 
through the window, I could see the rosy-hued nipple on her one visible boob 
stand up straight like a tiny prick. A movement of Joanie's hand, the one 
encircling Bill's prick, caught my attention then and, looking down, I saw 
his tiny cock, still soaking wet with my pussyjuice and his own sperm, begin 
to assume more interesting dimensions. 

It rose rapidly, lengthening and thickening until it rose a full four inches 
of more and must have been a good inch and a half in diameter... and Joanie, 
feeling its surge against her palm and fingers, pulled her head from her 
brother's shoulder and looked down at it, uttering a gasp of surprise and 
delight. 

I'll say this for Bill, he caught on quick and he didn't waste any time. 
Probably as surprised by his sudden phallic resurrection as were Joanie and 
myself, he tipped his kid sister right over on her back and, scrambling into 
her saddle with her legs sticking straight up in the air on either side of 
his rump, plunged his whang right into her all but hairless little hole. It 
made a squishy sound as it was rammed home, indicating that Joanie was just 
as ready as he was. 

But her over-eagerness betrayed her again and she gyrated her crotch so 
violently that Bill's fucking piece slipped out of her and swung wildly 
about in the air. I could have pushed her away and taken over, but Joanie's 
ineptitude at fucking was both touching and funny ... so I sat on the 
sidelines again and watched. 

She made a crazy grab for it and tried so frantically and with such poor aim 
to cram it back into her creaming little cunt that she missed and shoved it 
against the tight rim of her tiny arsehole. Then she tried again and missed 
in the other direction, sliding it along the top of her pussy and along her 
belly. 

By that time, the moment of truth and beauty had passed ... and Bill's big 
beauty was becoming a sorrowful little pink mushroom, dwindling until it was 
almost out of sight in the folds of the scrotum flesh that surrounded it 
just above the sac of his balls. 

He looked down at the ashes of his so-recent desire and said, "Shit, Joanie, 
that's not the way." 

Joanie burst into tears again (she cried easily, like Mom) and Bill and I 
could only look at her helplessly. Finally I took pity on her. "Bill," I 
said, "maybe if I get you hard again and then hold her still on your cock, 
you can give her a dose of the same medicine you just gave me." 

He said, "What's the use, Robin? She'll just louse it up again." 

Joanie began to sob, reversing our positions: I grew afraid she would wake 
Mom and Dad, and I had no idea how they would take to finding us doing what 
we were doing ... or, in Joanie's case, trying to do. So I clapped one hand 
over her mouth and took hold of my brother's prick with the other and pulled 
that tiny mushroom right out of its hiding place on top of his balls. 

It was like pulling a rubber band at first. It stretched all right, but 
there was no sizing in it and the stem grew so thin as I elongated it that I 
was afraid it was going to snap right off. So I let go of it and it returned 
to its hole, pronto, but when I began to rub my fingertips over its soft 
round tip, I could feel the hardness begin to firm up just under the soft, 
sticky surface. Then my hand was pushed upward as it began to grow once 
more, and I aided and abetted its growth by massaging its thickening stalk. 

By this time, Joanie had stopped whimpering and was watching, roundeyed, 
with a hole full of hope. I was tempted to push her away and take my 
brother's full growth into my own more than ready cunt... but I had been 
brought up to take a full older sister's responsibilities toward the dear 
little girl with the premature boobs, and I didn't want to deprive her of 
something she wanted so badly. 

So I pushed Bill flat on his back on the bed once more and got Joanie 
planted securely with his proud little prick run right up into her guts. She 
gasped, "Oh, thank you, Robin ... thank you!" and began snapping her 
underside around in more of the wild gyrations that had already cost her two 
perfectly good pieces of arse. 

"She's going to lose me!" Bill yelped softly reaching for either side of her 
waist. But this was not enough to control her, so I added my own hands as 
promised, planting one flat on the gentle round of her belly, the other 
against her rump to hold her where she wanted to be but couldn't seem to 
manage. 

Even so, I had to bear down with all my strength to keep her flapping arse 
under some sort of control. Joanie really went crazy whenever she got a 
prick in her hole ... then and ever after. In her own words, "When I feel 
that thing in there, something bursts inside of me and I can't control it." 

Or, as Bill and I decided later on, she was just a lousy lay, too concerned 
with her own goofy reactions to give a damn about the tool that inspired 
them; while both he and I learned right away the key to receiving pleasure 
is to give it to one's partner ... and in the fullest possible measure. 

Somehow, though, between us, we managed to keep her churning cunt over the 
pillar of joy that was making it churn until, with an, "Okay, here it is!" 
our brother finally sent his sperm spurting into Joanie's desperately 
flailing hole, then pushed her clear of his drenched dong. 

Seeing that still-stiff pillar of pleasure free of any hole at all and with 
the juices that covered it from root to crown glistening in the moonlight 
was more than my own hot little cunt could stand. I guess I sprang at him 
like a redheaded tiger, because he gasped, "Oh, no, Robin!" as I shoved him 
over on his back once again and rammed my pulping little tunnel of love 
right down over my brother's prick. 

My cunt, all the way up, felt like a chocolate eclair just bursting with 
goodies ... all rich cream and sweetness. But little Bill didn't seem to 
like it as well... not at first anyway. 

He said, "Don't, Robin ... I'm only a little boy." 

I shifted my cunt around on his cock and just laughed down at him and said, 
"You're not so little any more, thank goodness and Hotpants O'Houlihan." 

He said, "Hotpants says three times in a row can kill a boy." 

"I think either Hotpants was misinformed or someone was putting her on," I 
replied. "You don't feel exactly dead to me." 

Bill said then, bless him, "Hey, maybe I'm breaking some kind of record." 

I said, "I don't know about that, darling ... but you've sure been breaking 
some new ground tonight." 

After that, we stopped talking for a while and put our minds where our 
fucking pieces were: locked in together in what seemed to me an unbeatable 
combination. Since we'd both got our rocks off a few times already, and it 
took my brother a long time to squirt jizzum into my guts again, we didn't 
exactly knock ourselves out and fooled around some, experimenting; trying 
our wings, I guess you could call it. 

I started it by sliding my sticky-wet cunt up and down on his jock, bending 
his prick upwards as I pushed my bottom forward toward his belly button, 
then sliding it down toward his thighs so that it bent the other way. This 
gave me a real bonus, since it pushed the top of my brother's prick up 
against my clit from underneath ... giving me a spasm that was almost too 
much. 

The second time I tried this, I pushed against my clit with my own hand, 
giving it double pressure and giving me a spurt of splendor that had me 
rocking and rolling on my brother's prick until I almost pulled a Joanie and 
fell off my perch. The third time, I grabbed Bill's right hand and pushed 
his fingers into the top of my cunt where my clit rose up from its walls of 
tender surrounding flesh. This time I actually blacked out from the 
sensational sweetness of the climax that followed ... though blacked is a 
lousy word for the terrific swimming sea of gold in which my surfeited 
senses swam. 

But I didn't lose my place like poor Joanie. When I came down, Bill's cock 
was still firmly embedded in my underflesh and I was riding it like Paul 
Revere. When I came down from that one, I was ready to coast for a little 
while, but now my little devil of a kid brother decided to try a few tricks 
on his own. 

The first thing I knew, he had grabbed my rump and was spreading my buttocks 
until it felt as if my arsehole would split in two. Then, with his fingers 
digging into my softest flesh, he began pumping me up and down on his still 
rigid prick. The way he had pulled my buttocks wide made my crotch just 
about flat, and this enabled him to get his sweet little cock maybe half an 
inch further up my hole. 

This brought it into play with a whole new area, and caused me to feel a 
whole battery of delicious new sensations because I could feel the tip of 
his prick push back and forth over the flanges just outside the gate of my 
womb ... and even though I begged him to stop, he was enjoying his 
cock-socking too thoroughly and kept right on pumping my cunt up and down 
... and after a few more times I wanted him to keep right on doing it 
forever. 

Let's face it: I've been fucked by better erotic artists and more stalwart 
males than Brother Bill--but not by very many. Right from the start, he 
understood the giving-of-pleasure-to-receive-it principle, and no man who 
knows that can be all bad. That we were learning the ABC's of fucking 
together gave that night (I always think of it as my opening night, since 
Bill really opened me up) an aura of high excitement and adventure that has 
made it unique in my memories. 

I don't know how long we fucked that final time, but the pattern of 
moonlight on the carpet moved a full foot and a half before at last we were 
through and my brother's prick had dwindled to nothing in my sopping cunt 
and really lain down for the night. We tried everything we could think of 
that wouldn't remove his darling dong even momentarily from my whirlpool of 
pleasure. If we were far from practiced amorists at that stage of the game, 
some of the things a couple of loving and ingenious kids can think up 
between them are remarkable. 

When Bill let go my rump, I tried to get even by thrusting my still 
quivering cunt all the way down over the sweet instrument of torture in my 
guts, so that, once more, my labia and nymphae were mashed flat between our 
pubes ... then I tightened every cunt muscle I could command and said, "Can 
you feel that?" 

"Gosh, yes!" he replied, and I did it again ... but it didn't seem to be 
hurting him any more than what he had just done to my bottom had really hurt 
me. So I kept it up for a while until, suddenly, his hands gripped the tops 
of my inner thighs, right where they make creases at the base of my belly, 
and pulled me down even further so that when his juice spurted up inside me, 
it seemed to flood my womb. That got me started, and my action saved his 
erection, so that we were able to keep on going for as long as we did. 

Joanie had long since returned to her upper bunk on the other side of the 
room, and Bill and I curled up together like a couple of kittens that can't 
stand not touching each other and fell asleep with our fingers still 
fondling our fucking pieces; Hansel and Gretel at the roots of the forest 
tree, only they were lost and we knew we had just found something almost as 
important as life itself and a hell of a lot more fun. 

At least, a hell of a lot more fun than living without it. 

When I woke up, it was morning and, until my sleep-drugged senses got 
themselves straightened out, I didn't know what in heck was happening to me. 
There was a fading dream about jumping from a plane in a parachute, 
otherwise naked as a jaybird, and floating slowly to earth in a pleasant way 
until a breeze carried me inexorably right down over a tall thin poplar tree 
that forced its way slowly right up into my cunt. The more I struggled to 
work my crotch clear of this impalement, the deeper it penetrated my hole 
until ... well, I woke up and found the impalement was real. 

I was lying flat on my back in Bill's bed with my legs sticking straight out 
to form a big V. My brother was in between them, as naked as I, supporting 
the upward slope of his torso with his hands flat on the tumbled sheets on 
either side of me. He was grinning like a happy chimpanzee as he slowly 
pushed his stiff pink prick in and out of my juicing hole. 

And I mean, it was juicing. Like every other girl I ever knew who would talk 
about such things, I spent a little dew when I slept; but this was no meagre 
dew I was shedding, this was a welling of sex-sap that made my insides feel 
like the Johnstown flood. It felt sticky-delicious, too, sending sleepy 
little voluptuous tingles running through my slumber-slowed senses, shocking 
me into wakefulness. 

For a couple of minutes or so, while I got myself together, all I could do 
was lie there like a piece of wood while my brother slowly poked his cock in 
and out of me; not all the way out, of course, but far enough to get a good 
start for the next thrust. I didn't feel like a log, though, as my cunt 
slowly smouldered and began to burn with the most delectable heat a woman 
can feel. 

Slowly, I pushed my pussy up after one of his pullouts and, holding my 
buttocks clear of the sheet with both hands under it for support, I let go 
with a sort of shimmy-sideways motion that put me right on the road to 
heaven. Holding my position was a bit too much for the tidal waves of orgasm 
that rolled through and over me, so I pulled my little brother down flat on 
my chest and, lifting my legs, locked them around his rump and began pumping 
my bottom in every direction ever invented. 

He began ramming his hot rod straight into me, while I convulsed every 
whichway around its drives into my sopping cunt, trying to work my crotch 
right up into his so that his prong would penetrate me even more deeply. He 
kept snapping his whole pelvis forward at mine like a dog fucking a bitch in 
an empty yard, and I gave him back just as good as he gave me while we 
rolled back and forth with me locked tight against his sweating, thrusting 
beautiful boy's body like a four-armed octopus. 

After a while, he bridged up onto his hands and knees, but I hung on and he 
lifted me right with him, so that, in a way, he was fucking me in mid-air. 
And all the while, the most delectable sensations were pulsing outward from 
my wildly active tunnel of love and giving an otherwise dark and gloomy 
morning the illusion of bright sunshine. 

I finally eased off and let myself down on the bed. But Bill was still 
fucking his cock (and my cunt) off. I opened my legs so that I could rest my 
heels in the hollows of the backs of his knees, making a sort of open 
parenthesis of them inside which he kept right on pumping away. This allowed 
me plenty of leeway for crotch-action, and I began a gentle rolling motion 
that, interspersed with a few variations, succeeded in bringing my brother 
to a boil. When I felt his darling cock begin the bucking I had already 
learned meant that ejaculation was upon him, the mere thought of absorbing 
another burst of that delectable life fluid in my womb sent me rocketing off 
into orbit fiercely, and we came together in a wild, thumping writhing 
tangle of sweat-slippery young bodies that was truly glorious. 

"Hey, sis," Bill whispered when we came splashing back to earth, "it sure 
beats the old alarm clock." 

I gave him a soppy hug and, at that moment, the alarm clock did go off, 
startling us so that he jumped right out of my skin ... 

 Chapter Three 

Saturday, and no school; but we kids had our chores to do around the house, 
especially Joanie and I. We had to get our own breakfast and then clean up 
our room while Bill mowed the front lawn. Before this, Bill had put his 
clothes on while Joanie and I were in the bathroom, but after what had 
happened last night and this morning already, there didn't seem much sense 
in privacy, so we dropped the segregation bit except in the tub, which was 
only big enough for one of us at a time. 

Looking at Bill's prick, almost invisible in its nest above his balls, I 
marveled that such a tiny instrument could grow so big and give so much 
pleasure. My cunt still felt nubbly-delicious from the fuckings my brother 
had given me, and I was tempted to tear off another piece with him when we 
were bathed and beginning to put our clothes on. But there wasn't time, 
simply too much else to do. So I let it go. 

Funny thing was we didn't want to talk about it. Not just then, anyway. I 
guess we all knew things had changed and had to think over what happened and 
how it had come about. Not until we had eaten breakfast and Joanie and I 
were making the beds and Bill was out using the lawn mower, did I notice 
that my little sister was crying silently, with tears running down her dear 
little cheeks. 

I went over and hugged her and kissed her and said, "Oh, honey, there's 
nothing to feel sorry for--not when we've all found anything as wonderful as 
we did last night." 

"It's not that, Robin," Joanie sobbed, holding me tight. "It's just that you 
and Bill do it so marvelously; while I'm such a lousy lay." 

I did my best to reassure her. I told her she was just a kid (talking from 
the seniority of eleven years old) and that she had lots of time to learn 
how to screw and a wonderful brother to teach her. I guess, at the time, I 
even believed it. After a while, she cheered up and wiped away her tears and 
told me she loved me. 

Mom and Dad were having breakfast when we finished our chores and Mom called 
us in to say good morning. Like I've already said, Mom is good-looking in a 
darkbrown way, even with her hair every whichway and no makeup on. She'd be 
beautiful if she didn't wear a sort of pinched expression most of the time. 

She said, "I hope you children weren't having a pillowfight last night ... 
it seemed to me I heard noises." 

Joanie said, "Oh, no, Mother. Robin had a dream or something and started 
talking in her sleep." 

Mom said, "Robin wasn't the only one I heard." 

I jumped in then with, "I guess they had a little trouble getting me to shut 
up. I'm sorry, Mother." 

Right then I caught Harry looking at me over the top of the morning paper, 
and from the expression in his brown eyes I could tell he hadn't been 
fooled. When he saw me looking at him, he pulled the paper up higher, but 
not before the crinkles around his eyes told me he was having one of his 
silent laughs. It scared me a little, his knowing, because I didn't know 
what to expect. But he didn't say another word. 

Mom said, "I suppose you're off to the playground," and, when we nodded, 
"Come home if it rains. And I expect you back for lunch anyway." 

"Will you be here, Edna?" Harry asked. 

"I have to go to a rummage sale in Running Water," said Mom, "but I don't 
want the children stuffing themselves with a lot of indigestible junk. They 
can go back afterward if they want to." 

"May we go now?" Joanie asked, fidgeting. 

"Run along, children." Mom sounded like every other mother I ever heard. 

When we got outside, the sky was cloudy and grey and Bill had finished the 
lawn and gone on ahead of us, so we walked the half-mile to the playground 
alone. In those days, Riverville had no modern playground, with pool and 
slides and all that jazz and stuff. What we kids used was the old 
fairgrounds on the edge of town alongside the creek. To me, it was a lot 
better than a regular playground and the other kids felt the same way. 

There were the remains of the old trotting track and wooden stand and a lot 
of sheds and booths and old stables falling more or less apart. The creek 
water was not polluted by the papermill then, so we could go swimming there 
if we wanted to. When we got there, there were only a handful of other kids 
and no sign of brother Bill. Threat of rain had kept the usual Saturday 
morning crowd from collecting and, about five minutes after we got there, 
big drops began to fall and the others dribbled along home. 

"We can't stay here, Robin," Joanie said as we took shelter under the leaky 
roof of the old animal exhibits pavilion. 

"We can't go home without Bill," I said. "I wonder where he went?" 

"Let's find him and get back before we get really soaked," said Joanie. 

So we started to look. We knew every nook and cranny of the old fairgrounds, 
of course, but neither of us thought of looking under the bandstand until we 
got caught in the open by a downpour and had to scurry under its open-sided 
roof for shelter. We might not have found him then if we hadn't heard voices 
coming up through the warped floorboards. 

We got down on our hands and knees and put our ears to a couple of the many 
places where the boards were separated and could hear them plain as day. 
After a minute or so, Joanie lifted her head and said, "I hear Bill ... he's 
down there." 

I said, "And so is Hotpants O'Houlihan!" 

We figured it was worth getting drenched to see what was going on down 
below. So we tiptoed down the rickety steps and around to where there's a 
door in the latticework that covers the foundations and slipped inside. It 
was dark, but our eyes adjusted after a bit and we could see what was 
happening: 

It was something--even if it was nothing to write home to Mother about. Not 
to a mother like Mom at any rate. 

Evidently, a lot of Riverville residents had been using the area under the 
bandstand for fucking for a long time, because there were a goodly number of 
old quilts and blankets and even a couple of mattresses scattered around in 
various stages of mould and decay. In the rain, it smelled like a wet dog's 
fur. 

Hotpants and Bill were using one of the mattresses and they were stark 
naked. Hotpants was on her hands and knees and brother Bill was ramming his 
stiff little cock into her from behind. At first, I thought he was plumbing 
her arsehole, but when my eyesight finally got fully adjusted to the 
dimness, I could see the little puckered crater of that bathroom orifice 
right above the hole his jock was pleasuring every time he pulled back for 
another thrust into her squirming, wriggling cunt. 

Then as now, I'll have to hand it to Hotpants in the looks department. She's 
darker than the rest of my family, but with lavender eyes instead of brown 
ones and kind of lush, crazy pretty all over. Even then she was the kind of 
a kid who could heat a man to the boiling point just by looking at him. And, 
from watching all those X-movies her old man ran off in the parlor on 
Saturday nights, she had a lot of ideas how to use her hot little body. 

Right now, she was exercising them on our brother Bill. She's the kind of 
girl who likes to talk while she's fucking, and every time she'd give her 
bottom a buck or a roll, she'd turn her head around and say something like, 
"Did you feel that?" or, "How does that feel ... ?" Bill would reply; which 
was why Joanie and I had heard both their voices. 

I suddenly found myself hating Hotpants. We'd never been real good buddies. 
I guess because we sensed a sex rivalry between us. But we'd always gotten 
along. Now, watching her making sport with my own brother's precious prick, 
I felt a sudden and overwhelming urge to pull her free of Bill's plunging 
prong and roll her over on that dirty old mattress and jump up and down on 
her belly and boobs. 

This wave of hatred was so intense that I could only sit there on the edge 
of the other mattress, gripping Joanie's hand tightly, unable to move or say 
a word. I guess Joanie must have felt something close to what I was feeling, 
because, when we finally let go, I could feel the curved indentations where 
her nails had dug into the palm of my hand. 

By that time, Hotpants was squealing like a stuck pig as Bill increased the 
speed of his plumbing and, before we could intervene, he buried his cock all 
the way inside her and obviously shot his wad into her soppy cunt. When she 
pulled her bottom clear of his drooling tool, little trickles of white 
liquid were running down the insides of her plump little thighs. 

She said, "Criminentlies, Bill, but you really mess up a girl. You should be 
on those movies my father likes to show my mother and their friends." 

Bill didn't say a thing. Just stayed there, upright on his knees, watching 
his cock shrink. Nor did he look up until Hotpants turned around and saw 
Joanie and me sitting on the other mattress. Then she let out a four-letter 
squawk and said, "How long have you two been watching us?" Her face was 
livid with rage. 

Bill looked at me and then at Hotpants, cool as you please, and said, "Don't 
get your drawers in an uproar, Hotpants. I fucked both of them last night. 
They aren't going to tell on us." 

Hotpants shrugged defiantly and tossed her head, causing her boobs to bob 
around on her chest like Halloween apples in a tub. She said, "I don't care 
if they do--with what I've got on both my parents. Last Saturday, after the 
movie, I saw my dad with his face in Mrs. Lamson's crotch while Mr. Lamson 
fucked my mother in the guestroom. It was real groovy." 

Bill, my little brother, said, "Maybe you ought to watch them more closely 
next time." 

It stopped Hotpants cold. She said, "And what do you mean by that?" 

Bill said. "I mean Robin can outfuck you any day of the year." 

Hotpants' rounded little chin flew up and she said, "You're a cocksucking 
liar, Billy Davis." Then, when he just kept on looking at her, "How do you 
mean Robin can outfuck me?" 

"She's better tail, that's all," said brother Bill, causing my cunt to cream 
with pride and excitement. 

"I don't believe it!" said Hotpants. "What does she know?" 

"Plenty..." 

"You say you fucked Joanie, too?" And, when he nodded, "I suppose you're 
going to try and tell me she can outfuck me, too!" 

"Not yet," said brother Bill. "She's still a bit young. But give her time 
and plenty of practice and she'll really fuck you under." 

"That'll be the day ... in fact, seeing is believing." Hotpants turned her 
flushed, angry little face my way. "You just saw what I can do in the 
fucking department. Show me how you're better than I am." 

I said to Bill, "How about it, hon?" 

He looked at me and gave his limp cock a squeeze. It didn't show anything 
but he must have felt the blood start stiffening it, because he said, "It's 
okay, Robin ... come on over here." 

"You sure?" I asked. I didn't wait for an answer. Instead, I stood up and 
shucked off my clothes. Even then, of course, I was no collection of soft 
bumps and hollows like Hotpants. I'm rangier, a lot leaner and with smaller 
boobs and buttocks. But, as I had already learned, though I didn't know it 
yet, my cunt is up high, so a man can fuck me all night without having to 
put a pillow under my arse or get his jock sore from the pounding of my 
pelvis. I'm red-headed, too, with hazel eyes and a dusting of freckles 
across the bridge of my nose. I've never had any complaints either in the 
looks or fucking departments, not then, not ever ... never! 

But, as I got down on my knees on the other mattress and took hold of 
brother Bill's burgeoning prick, I was wondering how you showed another 
woman you were better tail than she was. Even though both of us were a long 
way from being women yet. Bill must have been thinking the same sort of 
thing, because, when we embraced, he slid his lips close to my ear and 
whispered, "Robin ... what'll we do?" 

For a moment, I was stumped ... I couldn't think of any way we could fuck 
that would let Hotpants see any of the action while my brother was socking 
his whang into my cunt with our bodies all tangled together. If he and 
Hotpants hadn't been screwing each other dog-fashion, I wouldn't have been 
able to see much while they were fucking, and there was no point in copying 
her. 

Then I remembered a photograph of a Japanese print Hotpants herself had 
showed me one day at school: Japanese couples fucking in every conceivable 
position and all the sex organs were enlarged compared with the rest of 
their bodies, so you could see what was going on. There was one position in 
particular that fascinated us because it looked impossible. The man and 
woman were sitting on a mat, facing each other, lying back on their elbows 
away from each other but with his prong in her hole. 

Hotpants and I and some of the other girls had giggled over it and tried to 
figure out how any two people could get into such a position. We had not 
been able to come up with an answer. 

But suddenly, thanks to fucking my brother while riding on top, I thought I 
could see a way to make it like those two crazy Nipponese. I gave his fine 
little fucking piece a squeeze and found it good and hard, and he replied by 
hooking a forefinger into my cunt, which turned me to molten lava. He kissed 
my boobs, one after the other, and I began to thrill inside and went right 
on building his erection by pumping up and down on it with my good little 
right hand. It was chilly and damp there in the rain under the old 
bandstand, but not for my brother and me. We were hot as a couple of colts 
in springtime. 

Hotpants sniffed and said, "I think you're stalling," and that snapped us 
out of it. 

I pushed Bill over gently on his back and then, straddling his flat little 
loins, I stuck his delicious little prick as far up into my flooding cunt as 
it would go. This time, I didn't squat on it, I sat on it, with my knees up 
in front of me and my feet planted flat on either side of his waist. 

His brown eyes looked up at me, bewildered, and I said, "Bring yourself up 
on your elbows, Bill darling." 

He did so, and I leaned backward, extending my arms down stiffly behind me 
for support from the mattress. It was tricky and, for one horrible moment, I 
thought I was going to lose my balance and topple over sideways and spoil 
everything. But little Bill, bless him, managed to get his hands around my 
middle and steady me in time. 

Once that situation had been remedied, I slowly lowered myself to my own 
elbows, while my brother went back on his. And there we were, just like the 
couple in the Japanese print, leaning away from each other with Bill's cock 
still embedded in my hole and our fucking pieces entirely visible to 
Hotpants and little Joanie. 

Looking at Hotpants in triumph, I crowed, "Remember this one?" 

For once, Hotpants seemed to be at a loss for words; just stared at my 
brother and me, her violet eyes wide open, along with her mouth. Finally, 
she muttered, "I still don't believe it..." 

But there was more than acrobatics to the Japanese position Bill and I had 
assumed. Even more than the night before, when I rode my brother topside, 
the angle at which his darling dong was sticking into my squashy hole put a 
terrific underpressure on my clit and caused my rump to roll and my legs to 
snap in and out alongside Bill's body as the early spasms went steaming and 
streaming through my hot little body. 

Little Joanie could never have made it. Wild movements were out of the 
question. And sudden jerking of Bill's pulled-down prick or of my 
exquisitely anguished clit or its surrounding area would have disengaged us 
in a flash. That we had to put restraints on our natural brother-sister 
desire to fuck the daylights out of each other made us come all the quicker 
and harder. My juices began streaming out of the wee bit of room Bill's 
whang left around the rim of my cunt right in front of our eyes. It grew 
thicker and whiter, looking like the squeezings from a tiny tube of 
toothpaste: vanishing within the lips of my pulping hole each time my 
brother thrust his dong deeper into me--to reappear, thicker and whiter, 
each time my labia followed his beloved organ, gripping at it when he pulled 
it partway out for another assault. 

I figured it would take my brother a long while to shoot his semen into my 
womb, thanks to all the fuckings he'd had during the night and early 
morning, plus however many times he had got his rocks off in Hotpants' hole. 
But I hadn't counted on the erotic impact of the new position we were 
trying. I learned right then that it is downward pressure on a male dong 
that gave him the quickest and sharpest reaction (although I was later to 
learn that this was age-old procedure among harlots), so the pulling my cunt 
was giving him, plus the excitement of being able to see what we were doing, 
was enough to make his dear prick jump in my soppy fucking piece as if it 
were undergoing electric shocks--and enough to flood my internal workings 
with his life-giving fluid. 

I was caught short, but I didn't intend to leave things in that deplorable 
condition. I began rolling my cunt around and keeping on with the downward 
pressure, at the same time squeezing it with my cervical muscles just within 
the gates of my cunt. This caused an increase of the white flow around the 
edges of where the action was, with seminal and vaginal juices mingled 
sweetly. But not even this was sufficient to keep that darling dong where it 
was so sorely needed: halfway up my sopping tunnel of love. 

Desperately fishing for its waning dimensions, I put my threshing cunny 
through all kinds of antics until, to my horror, it slipped out and was 
there between us waving back and forth in the semi-darkness, only the 
faintest of highlights reflected from all the divine sex-sap that lacquered 
it from root to crown. And even as I looked, frozen by the disaster, I could 
see its sweet round asparagus tip begin to curl as the blood left the 
pillar-like veins that held it erect. 

This was more than I could bear. Uttering a guttural growl, I grabbed at it 
with a cupped right hand. But so slippery with sex-sap was it that my hand 
slid right over the crown to grip empty air. I got both hands on it and, 
crowding up closer atop his well-spread thighs, I somehow managed to stuff 
this increasingly limp little sausage into my suppurating coozy. 

Sitting right on his lap, my baby breasts flattened against my brother's 
sweat-covered chest, my belly against his, my buttocks right in on his 
loins, I began putting my backfield in the sort of motion it had longed to 
launch since this piece of arse got under way. I hugged his slippery body 
tight against my own and ran my cunt up and down his pillar of joy like a 
woodpecker drilling a hole in a tree, moving my bottom around until, at 
last, I felt the restiffening of my darling brother's beautiful big prick in 
my churning, gyrating crotch. 

With that, I finally got my rocks really off. We might be fucking there yet, 
all these years later, if they hadn't torn the old bandstand down some 
little while after our memorable fucking on the rainy Saturday morning. But 
it didn't happen quite like that, of course. What really happened was that 
Harry, my father, caught us an hour or so later... 

 Chapter Four 

I didn't know Dad was in there under the bandstand until he clapped his 
hands together with a noise like a pistol shot; so loud and sudden that 
Hotpants screamed and I was so startled I came completely unglued and my 
sopping crotch jumped right off Bill's still stiff prick. 

I was scared shitless, but Harry wasn't looking at Bill or me or even little 
Joanie: he was glaring at Hotpants, who was trying to gather her bubbling 
boobs in one hand while she covered her cunt with the other. Like a 
sitting-down September Morn. 

Then he said, in an unfamiliar voice of command that made me jump again, 
"Get dressed, kids--quick!" 

Somehow, we got our clothes together and scrambled into them. Joanie was 
crying like a baby, of course, but she wasn't getting any sympathy from her 
father; Harry ignored her, and this got her so upset she pulled her blue 
denims on backward and had to do it all over again. The downpour had let up 
a little by then, but it was still raining hard, which didn't exactly lift 
our morale while he shepherded us into the beat-up old station wagon he uses 
to drive around town in when Mom has the four-door. 

He drove Hotpants home first without a word. But when she tried to get out 
of the middle seat, he stuck an arm back and stopped her, catching her by 
one of the big boobs under her drenched shirt. He said, "Just a minute, 
Agatha ..." and, when she stopped, "I want you to keep your mouth zipped 
tight about this. Remember, I won't say anything about it if you don't. And 
that goes for your parents, too. But take some advice from an old-timer: if 
you want to fuck without getting caught, don't fuck under the bandstand. We 
all used it when we were kids, your daddy and mother, too. You might have 
shown a bit more originality." 

Hotpants was staring at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. I knew she 
was busting to hear more about her parent's premarital fucking. But she held 
it in, figuring this was no time for that kind of chat, and said, "I guess I 
just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry." 

"If you are, it's only because you weren't riding my boy's prick when I got 
there," he told her. "Remember, if you keep your mouth shut, you or your 
parents won't hear about it from me." 

"I won't," she gasped. "Oh, I won't say a word and thank you very much, Mr. 
Davis. Thank you ... 

With that, she was out of the wagon and running up the walk in the rain 
toward her own front door. Harry drove us home without a word. When we were 
inside, he said, "Get us some lunch, children. I'm sure you must be hungry 
after such an active morning. It's almost two o'clock." 

It didn't seem possible. But it was by the kitchen wall-clock. Joanie and I 
rustled up some half-used ham and sliced it thick and heated it and warmed 
up some canned chili in a skillet with rat cheese and paprika on top of it 
--something we knew Dad especially liked. We piled it on platters and took 
it into the dining room, which Bill had set for us, and then sat down and 
ate it. I don't know about the others, but I felt like the proverbial 
condemned man eating his last hearty meal before being strapped in the 
electric chair. But I was so hungry I ate anyway. 

When it was over, Harry pushed his chair back from the head of the table and 
said, "All right, Robin ... how did it start, and when, and where?" 

I told him everything I knew and Bill and Joanie bore me out; Harry listened 
to everything, wearing his poker face, and then told us to clean up the 
meal, which we did. I was washing while Bill wiped; he said, "Sis, what do 
you suppose he's going to do to us?" 

"Search me." I shrugged even though I was as scared as he was. "Maybe whale 
the tar out of us." 

"Jesus!" my little brother said with a shudder. "My tail's still sore from 
the last time." 

Joanie, who had just come in from dumping the garbage in the cans out back, 
heard us and began to cry again. Bill and I looked at each other in disgust 
and then Harry came into the kitchen and said, "Everybody upstairs; I want 
to see what shape you're in." 

He had us undress in front of him, which was something that hadn't happened 
since I was five or six years old and looked at us, frowning, paying 
especial interest to our crotches. He called Bill over first to the chair he 
was sitting in and examined his prick and balls, then said in an 
unexpectedly gentle tone, "How many times since this began, son?" 

"I dunno, Dad," said my kid brother. "Maybe nine or ten ... maybe a dozen." 

Harry gave his son's balls a gentle squeeze and Bill flinched as if he'd 
been kicked in that sensitive area. Father's eyebrows went up; he said, 
"Son, you'd better give that thing of yours a rest for a while. That's one 
hell of a lot of fucking in less than twenty-four hours for a man, even in 
his prime." 

There was a note of honest paternal admiration in Harry's voice as he added, 
"You'd better take a bath and lie down for a few hours. Then we'll see ..." 

"What about Mom?" Bill asked. 

"Don't worry about your mother," said Harry. "She phoned from Running Water 
to say the bridge was under water and she wasn't coming home till tomorrow. 
She asked me to be sure you ate lunch, which is what started me hunting for 
you." 

"How'd you know where .. ?" Joanie asked and stopped in mid-question, her 
beautiful little body turning bright red all over. 

Harry smiled for the first time and reached out and gave her hairless, pink 
slit a tweak. Then he said, "I had a pretty good idea what you were up to 
last night from the sounds I heard; so I figured out where kids just 
starting to fuck might go--after I'd called around to see if you'd gone to 
somebody else's house for lunch and forgotten to call--and I found you." 

"You sure did, Daddy," I told him but I wasn't looking at his handsome face. 
Instead, I couldn't take my eyes from the bulge that looked ready to split 
the fly of his Saturday work-denims. I thought of Bill's little prick and 
all the joy it had given me and wondered what Harry's prick would feel like 
inside me when it was all fired up. 

But he was still talking. "... you undertake this kind of life, which you 
all seemed determined to do, the important thing is not to get caught at it. 
Once you are, you're dead. In the first place, there are all kinds of laws 
against the things you've been doing, along with a lot of customs working 
against you. If you want a sexual way of life, you've got to keep it locked 
in with your own kind." 

"What about Hotpants?" Bill asked. "She got us started. How do we handle 
her?" 

"Play it cool for a bit," said Harry, "until we find out whether she talks 
or not. If she does, you can bet your mother and I will hear from the 
O'Houlihans. If she does keep her lip zipped, she's probably okay, though 
I've got good reason to distrust her father." 

A strange look came over his face and he licked his lips and then said, "Let 
that go for now ... but she sure has the makings of a prime piece of arse." 

Bill piped up with, "She can't carry a candle to Robin." 

Harry looked at me appraisingly, and it was my turn to feel my naked body 
grow hot. Looking down, I saw that it was as red as Joanie's had been a few 
minutes earlier. It seemed to me that the front of his pants jumped and 
strained as if his prick were a wild animal trying to escape. 

Harry stood up and told Bill, "Son, take your bath now and lie down." And, 
to us, "Girls, I'd like to talk to you." 

Everybody says girls are smarter than boys when it comes to sex. But brother 
Bill was way ahead of Joanie and me. He said, "Gee, Dad, can't you let me 
come along and watch? I've still got such a lot to learn." 

Harry put his head back and laughed. I'd never heard him laugh like that 
before, joyously, as if he loved the world because the world loved him. He 
seemed to drop at least ten years and right then he didn't look much older 
than any of us. 

He put an arm around Joanie and me and drew us close to his sides and said, 
"Come along, children ... time to go to school." And, over his shoulder to 
Bill, who was sort of standing on one foot, worried lest he be left behind 
and out of things, "Come along, son ... the family that fucks together, 
sucks together." 

He led us to the guest room, which had the one big bed in the house. As he 
began peeling off his shirt, Harry looked at the bed and remarked, "Your 
mother and I used to share this before ... well, that's not your problem." 

When his hands dropped to his belt buckle, I could no longer resist the 
impulse that had been gnawing at me since I first noticed the bulge in back 
of his fly. I darted forward and pulled down the zipper just as he 
unfastened the waistband of his denims ... and the prick that jumped out was 
so big and beautiful it scared me. 

Little Bill's cock, fully stiff, was about four-and-a-half-inches long and 
maybe an inch-plus in thickness. It had given me plenty of unforgettable 
moments of delight I'd never known existed. But Harry's cock ... words fail 
me! 

It was pink and long and thick with bright blue veins along its rigid stalk, 
like the streaks in some kinds of marble or in blue cheese. It had a head 
like a gigantic mushroom cap that seemed to begin its swelling somewhere 
close to the middle of an eight-inch projection. This head resembled an 
orchid or some other exotic tropical flower, ranging in hues from shocking 
pink to imperial purple. A mole close to the tiny hole at its peak added to 
the excitement it offered. 

Beneath it dangled a pair of balls that made brother Bill's testicles look 
like a pod of two peas. They looked large enough and full enough to supply a 
whole army of Amazons without notable depletion, and their wrinkled surface 
was adorned with curling dark brown hair that matched the thick bush above 
the cock they supplied. 

Laughing softly as I grabbed this glorious paternal prick and gave it a 
loving squeeze, my father noted that my thumb and fingertips failed to meet 
around its huge circumference and said, "Better be careful, hon ... I 
wouldn't want to tear that lovely little cunt you're hiding between the 
pillars of your thighs." 

"I'm not afraid," I replied. "If I can't fuck it, I'll suck it. Remember, 
you said ..." 

"I know what I said ..." With that, Harry picked me up as easily as a baby 
and carried me to the big bed. There, he laid me down on my side and, facing 
me, put his mouth to mine. If my father was not the first man to fuck me, 
that honor was brother Bill's, of course, he was certainly the first who 
showed me what a kiss can be. 

We had kissed before, of course, as affectionate father and young daughter 
are supposed to do-- but with the same unamorous smacks that Bill and I had 
exchanged while fucking the night before. As far as setting my nerve ends to 
tingling and my pussyjuice to flowing, they had been nothing at all. 

This was before Harry grew his mustache, which was probably a good thing, 
since, not knowing what came with it, it might merely have tickled me and 
turned me off. When I tried to smack him, he pulled back and said, "Not like 
that, Robin--I'm not your Aunt Mary--just let your lips lie still and part 
them a little when you feel the tip of my tongue." 

I obeyed, and the strong masculine scent of him was almost as overpowering 
as the gentle pressure of his lips on mine. For long moments, we simply lay 
there on our sides, belly to belly, breast to breast, mound to mound ... and 
then I felt one of his big, strong hands slide slowly down my back to caress 
the soft curve of my rump, pushing my slightly fuzzed pussy forward against 
the immense pillar that lay like a living broomstick between our bellies. 
With his other hand, he began massaging my nipples, sending bonus tingles 
through my sub-teenage body, causing me to push my mound tighter against his 
with my thighs slightly parted, just as his tongue slowly worked its way 
past the barrier of my teeth to explore the inner softness of my own small 
mouth. 

My tongue responded, and they began to dance together, twining about one 
another like a pair of mating snakes, darting in and out of each other's 
mouths in coy games of tag whose object was solely to be caught and held 
briefly and sent off to a new angle of mutual approach. 

While all these delights were occurring elsewhere, the hand with which my 
father had cupped my buttocks slid with gentle inexorability between my 
nether cheeks, pausing briefly to pinch the taut rim of my arsehole, making 
me jump with surprise and delight, a gesture that really started my juices 
to pumping. I rolled over on my back then, unable to wait another instant 
for the tremendous prick that lay pressed into the flesh of my father's 
belly and mine. I planted my feet wide apart with my knees bent, offering 
him as open a saddle as I could achieve. 

Then, Harry was above me, pushing my thighs still further apart until my 
hipbones creaked, and I gave another convulsive leap as I felt the head of 
his dong brush the sopping swamp of my cuntal lips and I thrust my creaming 
crotch upward as if to engulf it--only to have it refuse my invitation and, 
instead of penetrating my eager hole, slide upward over my clit and along my 
questing belly. 

I cried out in furious frustration, uttering words I hardly knew I knew, and 
grabbed for that elusive paternal prick, grabbing it with both hands and 
returning its rounded, purple dome to my gateway to pleasure, doing my 
utmost to stuff its thick circumference inside the narrow if well-oiled 
portals there awaiting. 

But well-oiled was not quite enough. I uttered a moan of triumph as I 
managed, wriggling like a gaffed trout, to work perhaps an inch of the crown 
into my desperately hungry hole. But the roundness of Daddy's dong was 
against us and, when I writhed to engulf more of it, my movement caused it 
to slip out a second time. 

I began to cry like Joanie; the first time in years. But it was the first 
time in my entire young life that I had felt myself robbed of a stick of 
candy I wanted so much. Harry was sweet. He kissed me and cozened me and 
told me not to worry; but all the time, right there between us as we again 
lay side by side, was that eight-inch dong I wanted so badly--the first 
fullsized, grown-man's cock I had ever had a chance to entertain in my hot 
little hole. 

When my entire body was sticky with sex-sap, I could stand it no longer and 
sought to roll my father over on top of me again. But this time, he 
restrained me and said, "Not that way, princess. There's a better position 
for a situation like this. One that has gravity going for it..." 

With that, he rolled over on his back and, lifting my child's body lightly, 
settled me on my knees astraddle his loins, as I had straddled brother 
Bill's loins the night before during one of our delicious pieces of juvenile 
tail. But with what a difference! Where my crotch had encircled the 
circumference of my brother's cock, with my father I was stretched to the 
utmost and Harry was forced to steady me with a hand high on either of my 
taut-skinned thighs and my crotch feeling as if it would split in two. 

"Now, little darling," he said softly, "take your hand and push the head of 
my cock inside the lips of your darling little cunt." 

For a dreadful moment, I was ruled by doubt. "But I tried that," I cried, 
"and it didn't work." 

He said, like a schoolteacher talking to a backward pupil, "That was when 
you were lying on your back. Go ahead, daughter. I'm not going to hurt you. 
Quite the reverse." 

Hesitantly, I did as he told me. Again I marveled at the rigidity and length 
and thickness of the massive meat that sprouted from my father's loins, as 
eager to bury itself in my creaming coozy as my coozy was to engulf it. I 
got it midway up the shaft, where the long rise of the head began to thicken 
and, using my other hand to spread the lips of my cunt while Harry's grip on 
my thighs kept me from toppling over, I worked the crown once more an inch 
in my twitching twat. 

"Now wiggle down on it, Robin," he said. "I'm afraid to ... I don't want to 
lose it again ..." 

"Nonsense, darling. Push down hard when I count to three. One ... two ... 
three!" 

As I pushed my crotch downward over that heavenly horn, my father thrust 
upward with all the strength in his loins. Our impact was like that of two 
irresistible forces and, for a fearful instant, I was lifted upward on the 
tip of Daddy's cock until I was sure it was not going to work. 

But then, there was an indescribable feeling of having my cunt stretched 
beyond what flesh could take, followed by a damp thocking sound and cries of 
delight from the foot of the big guestroom bed, where my brother Bill and 
little sister Joanie were sitting. All at once the stretching that had 
seemed about to pop the gate of my cunt was continued ever further up inside 
my flooded tunnel of love. Further and further, until I felt the fleshy 
flanges that guard the way to the womb flattened against the surrounding 
tissue and the most wild sensation imaginable as the mole on top of my 
father's cock-crown, slid past them and pushed a furrow further up inside 
the walls of my womb itself. 

For a moment my senses as well as my hole were flooded and I feared I was 
going to pass out. But we lay absolutely still, giving me time to recover, 
and, looking down, I could actually see the miracle that had occurred. All 
but perhaps an inch of my father's huge adult-male prick was embedded in his 
daughter's sorely but sweetly distended cunt. 

Determined to get all of my father's cock embedded in the creaming churn of 
my cunt, I wriggled and writhed and pushed myself down on that great big 
pillar of joy with every ounce of strength my body possessed. But to no 
avail. It seemed not to matter how hard I strove to get that last inch of 
him inside my cunt, I was destined to fail. As it was, when I really bore 
down on it, the great round dome of its purple crown was pressed so tightly 
against the uppermost wall of my womb that it actually seemed about to tear 
me in two. But so deep was my desire for all of Harry, that I am still 
convinced I would have died happy had my womb actually been ripped apart. 

But all was definitely not lost. For my struggles to swallow all of that 
mass of meat in my creaming hole, filled as it was with a longer, thicker 
load than it had held thus far and lubricated as it was with the glory of my 
body's own fluids bore inevitable results. Within a very short time, my 
unreachable objective had been utterly forgotten, and I was pumping and 
rolling and gripping and gasping as my father began fucking me deliberately 
with a strong, slow steady beat. 

He cupped my buttocks in his left hand, diddling my arsehole with an artful 
middle finger, while, with his right hand, he pushed relentlessly against my 
mound and his little finger found my clit and began circling it until the 
action sent ripples of sparks shooting through me as the deeper delights of 
my gyrating cunt with that lovely load cramming its every nick and corner, 
sent me orbiting somewhere way out beyond the moon. 

Then, my father pressed even harder against my mound, grinding the thin coat 
of reddish hair just beginning to sprout right into the tender marshmallow 
flesh from which it grew. As he did so, he lifted me slowly on the thick 
spire of his solidly embedded prick. For a moment, I thought he was trying 
to disengage and cried out in near-hysterical alarm at the mere thought of 
losing him at such a time. 

But such was not my father's idea. Not at all; though I was not sufficiently 
acquainted with him sexually as yet to know the folly of my fear. As my 
creaming crotch was slowly hoisted high on his sopping prong, he manipulated 
me with both hands so that my cunt was pushed backward and that fascinating 
mole began making a slow downward furrow in the lower portion of the front 
of my vagina. The sensation was so utterly exquisite that I screamed and 
almost fainted. And when its pressure slid against the inner side of my 
clit, I actually did pass out. 

 Chapter Five 

When I came out of it, I was lying flat against my father's well-furred 
chest, my little boobs squashed against its furry hardness. And that 
tremendous cock was still embedded in my cunt to the very tip with something 
to spare at the root. Harry was rubbing my back gently with both hands flat 
on my steaming skin, stroking me like a kitten. I felt so happy that I 
hugged him and kissed him, and once again our tongues played hide and seek 
in each other's mouths and I knew that I had never been so happy in all of 
my not-quite-twelve years. 

As Daddy returned my kiss, his hands slid on down off my back and, gripping 
my rump with his fingers digging into the sensitive flesh on either side of 
my arsehole, he began moving my bottom in circles around the maypole that 
had already brought it such deep pleasure. And deep was the word for Harry's 
maypole. I felt as if I were holding a telephone pole in my little-girl 
hole. 

But it was in there; and as deep as my tunnel of love would permit. That was 
all that really mattered. In less than twenty-four hours from my first piece 
of tail and still under twelve years old, I had proved I could fuck a man: 
more, I had fucked Harry, my father, the man I adored above all other males. 

Fucking first with brother Bill had been beautiful. And I knew we were going 
to have lots of marvelous times with his stiff little prick in my creaming 
coozy before we grew up. But having my father in there was something else. 
He was obviously a natural-born fucker who had perfected what nature gave 
him over the years of his youth and maturity until he knew more little 
tricks to bring a girl on than most other men even hear about in their 
lifetimes. Even though I had no real standard of comparison, I could tell by 
my reactions that Harry was special. 

This, plus the fact that he was my beloved father, sent thrills of pride 
through me. Thrills of pride that quickly turned to thrills of an entirely 
different nature as he continued rolling my cunt around on his prick. As my 
whole body began to come around that marvelous spear in my rocking and 
rolling guts, I sobbed and sighed and gripped the mat of hair on his chest 
and splashed my cunt up and down on that dynamic dong until I seemed to be 
washed away by the flood of my own fluids, a flood composed of pussyjuice 
and sweat that poured from my pores until I became as slippery as an eel. 

Only then, through the golden veil of the ecstasy that engulfed me, did I 
feel the sudden leap of his cock in the suffusing swamp of my hole that, as 
I had already learned from my little brother, spelled out the imminence of 
his orgasm. But the convulsions of that cannon of a cock made the little 
skippings of Bill's prick seem like those of a pebble cast out on a 
mud-puddle compared to the tidal waves that preceded my father's discharge. 
When the sperm came shooting out, it came so hard that it seemed about to 
penetrate the top of my uterus. But the wall held and it flooded out around 
the head of Daddy's prick and down the stalk until it added to the already 
ample flooding of my crotch. 

When, at last, it was over, Harry lay there, letting his meat slowly dwindle 
until, at last, that noble crown was all that remained in the mire of my 
pussy. A minute or so later, even that departed, separating from the relaxed 
grasp of my labia with a soppy sound of suction. It had taken several 
minutes, enough to let me down gently from the Everest-peak to which his 
fucking had raised me. A delicious lassitude overwhelmed me. When Daddy 
pushed me gently toward the edge of the bed, I made no resistance, nor did I 
feel jealousy when he reached for my ebulliently built little sister, 
Joanie, and pulled her close and began kissing her boobs and fondling her 
crazy little cunt. 

I was glad to watch for a bit and let the sweet afterwaves of voluptuous 
delight swirl ever more slowly through my entire spent body. 

After a bit, Harry said, holding Joanie clear of him, "Before we try our 
fucking pieces on for size, let's lick each other clean ..." and, when 
Joanie looked unhappy, he caressed her clit and said, "Come on, put your 
adorable little bottom up where Daddy can get at it." 

I had never watched a sixty-nine before--or behind, either. It was 
fascinating to watch an expert at work, even if the other half of the team 
was a rank amateur. As he licked my little sister's crotch, my father 
occasionally had to lift his handsome head to direct his younger daughter in 
her work; and Joanie was as inept a sucker as she was a fucker. Yet, from 
his sage directions, I learned, for instance,, that the seam along the 
bottom of a man's prick is its most sensitive area, also that it is licking 
along it toward the head of the cock that gives him the greatest stimulus. 

As I watched the interplay of their beautiful bodies, I found myself moved 
toward participation rather than continuing to play the role of mere 
spectator. I looked over at Bill, who was curled up against one of the 
bedposts at its foot, and saw the tip of his relatively little dong 
protruding through the crack made by his held-together thighs. 

Sliding over toward him, I took him into my arms and kissed him and thrust 
my tongue into his mouth and explored its depths. How small and different it 
was from the mature mouth of our father. Yet how sweet to delve into! Bill 
responded to my embrace, not only joining happily in the interplay of our 
tongues, but sliding a hand into my still-creaming crotch and poking a 
forefinger into my cunt. I wriggled against it, enjoying the minor-league 
orgasm this gesture caused to erupt inside me, and cupped my hand over the 
head of his darling little pink cock. 

We broke our sweet kiss voluntarily and both looked over at Dad and Joanie. 
Our little sister lay flat on her back now, with her legs spread wide on the 
coverlet and the little red eye of her cunt fully exposed and well lathered 
with the white cream our father's tongue had caused to flow. Above it, her 
pink, unhaired mound seemed to palpitate in anticipation as Daddy prepared 
to seek entry into her cunt with his huge stiff dick. 

Bill whispered, "He'll never make it ... she's too small." 

"Smaller than I am?" I asked. 

He nodded and kissed my erect nipples slowly, then added, lifting his head, 
"Not much, but a little. She's even tight around my prick." 

He looked down at his cock as he said this, and I could feel its upward 
thrust within the cupped palm of my hand. I laughed from sheer delight and 
kissed him again and he responded by pulling me onto his lap and opening his 
little thighs so that his dong stuck straight up like an anti-aircraft 
cannon. Sure, it was small compared to our father's fantastic genital 
equipment, but it was there and it was sweet and it was ready. 

I spread my own thighs and lay back across the foot of the bed and pulled 
the little darling with me. His darling dong slid into my creaming coozy 
without manual direction, like a hungry pony that knows its own way back to 
the barn and its bag of oats. Maybe it failed to fill my flooding hole so 
tightly that it threatened to burst the seams, but it felt delicious inside 
of me for all that, and I began to wriggle my bottom slowly to send whole 
shoals of thrills through my delighted body, and he responded so happily 
that, almost before we were fully united, I came all over the place and was 
rewarded by feeling his sperm explode into my happily occupied cunt. 

With that out of the way, we remained, still joined and with my brother on 
top of my naked flesh, our heads turned sideways to watch the action on the 
other part of the big bed. 

Our father had sat up, with his legs hanging over the side. And, if brother 
Bill's prick resembled an anti-aircraft cannon in erection, Dad's looked 
like Big Bertha of World War One fame, ready to bombard Paris from ninety 
miles away --except that he held his younger daughter a lot closer than 
that. 

Evidently, as with me, he had been unable to push the huge head of his 
pink-and-purple prick into the smallness of Joanie's hole while she lay 
underneath him as I was lying underneath my darling little brother. As we 
turned our attention their way, he was in the act of lifting Joanie's 
burgeoning little body in the air in front of him and placing her athwart 
his thighs for the same purpose he had put me on top of him, to "let gravity 
help." 

Bill said, "He'll never make it," and I agreed, giving my cunt a slow roll 
for kicks. 

But we were both about to learn a lesson in regard to the elasticity of the 
female cunt; and, if that's redundant, make the most of it! 

My kid sister was always amazingly limber, sort of double-jointed all over. 
And, as my brother Bill and I watched, following Harry's instructions, and 
with her father's strong hands helping, she went into a regular dancer's 
split right over his thick and eager whang, which stood up, swaying a little 
as its owner shifted his rump, like a hooded king cobra about to strike. 

But this strike, when it came, was in the slowest of slow motion. Thanks to 
being able to spread her legs so completely apart, Joanie's tight 
little-girl cunt was thrust forward and downward with its creaming labia 
just caressing the top of the dome of Daddy's purple crown. And, little by 
little, her tiny cunt stretched and swallowed it. Slowly, slowly, slowly ... 
first its thick head, then its stalk, was devoured by the cunt of the little 
girl who had been spawned by its liquid seed. 

Knowing how tightly my own cunt had felt when our father worked that big 
thick prick into my flooding guts, I watched Joanie's pretty little face as 
well as what was happening downstairs. Her ordinarily sweet expression, 
aglow with anticipation of the family fucking she was about to receive, 
suddenly became one of alarm as that massive meat worked its way inexorably 
into her flooding guts. Her burgeoning boobs broke out in goosebumps with 
her darling little nipples sticking straight out in front of her chest as, 
wriggling a little from time to time, she slowly encompassed her sire's 
velvet-steel dong. 

For a moment or two, I thought she was going to get all of it into her 
hole--something I had been unable to accomplish despite being two years 
older and all-over bigger than she. But when her sopping cuntal lips got 
within an inch and a half of its roots in Harry's hairy scrotum, it halted 
its slow downward process. An expression of distress crossed her darling 
face then and she wriggled her crotch more actively in an effort to render 
their father-daughter union complete--but to no avail as far as getting more 
of her daddy into her overstuffed little hole. 

In other ways, however, this final preliminary wriggle paid off in spades: 
for Joanie's sweet little-girl body turned bright red and her eyes glazed as 
it was obvious that a great tidal wave of voluptuous delight was sweeping 
through her. She held her lush little lower lip with her pearly teeth and, 
planting both hands on Daddy's flat belly, with her legs still sticking 
straight out on either side, she began hoisting and lowering her cunt up and 
down, up and down, on Daddy's mammoth prick. 

Evidently, the swiftness and vigor of her fucking assault caught Harry by 
surprise, for he chuckled and said, "Why, you little devil .. !" and then 
swung into counteraction himself, cupping a hand under her plunging rump and 
digging the other into her stand-up clit just above the soaking sweetness 
where his prong and his daughter's labia met and merged. 

This caused Joanie to begin uttering little rhythmic sobs of ecstasy and to 
put her creaming crotch into the wild gyrations that had spoiled most of her 
efforts to fuck brother Bill by causing her hole to fly off his embedded 
cock. But Harry's mace was twice as long and nearly twice as thick--a big 
enough pole planted deeply enough in her gyrating guts to make it impossible 
for her to lose it. 

Daddy rocked his baby girl in all directions, thanks to his double grip, and 
Joanie did more than her own share of the action, her hair and boobs flying 
in all directions as she kept ramming that hot little cunt of hers down on 
her father's fucking piece until I thought she had lost her mind. Her big 
brown eyes were half-lidded and the flush of her sweet little body grew 
brighter still until, without warning, she stopped all motion and went rigid 
all over. 

Daddy uttered a resounding, "Oh, shit!" and slowed down his own activity. I 
never admired him more when I saw how gently he handled his little girl, 
remaining embedded in her while he held her in place and stroked her belly 
and bottom, holding in check his own passionate desire, until, again without 
warning, her eyes opened and she gasped and cried, "Oh, Daddy, I must have 
passed out... I'm sorry." 

"It's all right, darling," he said and began thrusting his still-stiff prick 
in and out of her pumping hole. 

Joanie shuddered all over for a moment and then riposted in kind but with 
somewhat slower and less frantic action than earlier. They moved in perfect 
unison in the sweetest of all dances until, with his lips tightening, Harry 
said, "I'm on my way." 

His balls seemed to jump as they sent the sperm into his impaled prick and 
he gripped her loins tightly, holding her as deep as her tunnel of love 
permitted, while he sent that wonderful white liquid spurting into his 
little girl's womb. She gave a great start as it bounced off the top of her 
uterus and then seemed to turn to jelly all over, collapsing on her father's 
sweat-slippery body as if every bone in her own had melted under the heat of 
the fucking her sire had just given her. 

Without thinking, Billy said, "I didn't think Joanie had it in her ..." A 
remark which caused me to say, "That's one of the dumbest things you ever 
said, darling," and he grinned and said, "You know, sis ... I guess it is." 

"That show's over," I told him, putting my own crotch into overdrive. "Let's 
get this one on the bed ..." 

He pulled back so that all my creaming cunt could get of his darling little 
cock was the very tip. And while I thrust and nipped at it desperately and 
called him all sorts of vile names, he teased me with it, pushing it just 
inside the gates of my tunnel of love, then pulling it out again to skirmish 
with me from another angle. I clutched at his cock, intending to put it 
inside me myself, but he brushed my clutching fingers away and, pinioning my 
arms, grinned down at me like an imp of Satan. 

"You want it?" he mocked. 

"You know I do, shitzy," I told him. 

"Then no more wisecracks ..." 

"I promise ... I promise .. why, you .. !" 

This last as he pulled his pretty little prick completely out of me, leaving 
my hole empty in full flood. But I never finished the expletive, because he 
had only withdrawn to make his return to the sweet conflict the more 
memorable, driving his prick into my empty cunt with such force that our 
mounds came together so hard they hurt. But this was a delightful sort of 
pain, one that I was only too happy to endure time after time ... as my 
little brother would pull his darling dong out ever so slowly until, once 
again it barely remained within the outerworks of my portal of pleasure, 
then ramming it home so hard and fast the impact left me shuddering from 
head to toes. 

Then, when we had had enough of this style of fucking, he ground rather than 
drove his prick into my suffusing cunt and held it there, pushed into me as 
far as it would go, while we circled our fucking pieces and began to enjoy 
the most pleasurable piece of arse the two of us had yet achieved together. 
Bill may have lacked Daddy's mastodonic dimensions and vast experience, but 
he was a born fucker as we all were except for Mom. Even little Joanie, now 
that she was learning how to maintain a cock in her cunt while she was 
getting her rocks off. I learned something important right then: size is 
definitely not the most important element in attaining a good fuck; 
inventiveness, innate rhythm and sheer enjoyment of doing it have to rank 
ahead of mere dimensions. 

All of which is to say that the two of us were having a real ball--fucking 
there on the big guest bed while our father slowly brought his younger 
daughter back to normality. 

I was proud of the newly discovered talent the three of us kids had so 
recently discovered; even though, as yet, I had no idea where it would take 
us, especially me. I was proud as punch of Daddy, too, now that I had known 
the delight of his big bucking prick in my hot little cunt. And proud of 
brother Bill and of myself, with a special sort of pride in little sister 
Joanie, now that she had proved so unexpectedly able to handle a prick in 
her hole so big that neither Bill nor I had ever expected she could manage 
to get inside her tiny orifice. 

As Bill sent me into leaping climaxes with the adroitness of his fucking, I 
reveled in the entire process of fucking ... in the smells, the slap of 
balls against my crotch each time my brother rammed his stiff little cock 
into me as far as it would go. I loved the slick slippery feeling of his 
sweaty flesh on mine and the marvelous wetness that seemed to fill not only 
my cunt but my crotch and inner thighs and lower belly as well with its 
sticky sweetness. Of course, I loved most of all the marvelous sensations 
produced by the running of my brother's darling dong in and around and out 
of the most heavenly organ a girl possesses. 

Talk about heaven can wait; I had it right there in my flooding cunt as soon 
as Dad or Bill poked one of their pricks past its opening muscle. So who had 
to wait for it? Most beautiful of all was the realization at eleven years 
old, that, barring accidents, I had a whole lifetime of fucking still ahead 
of me. I was even a little bit jealous of Joanie just then because she had 
got a start two years earlier than I had. 

I began lifting my crotch straight up and down, and brother Bill timed his 
onslaughts so that he achieved maximum penetration of my thrusting cunt just 
as I attained the crest, sending showers of delicious sparks each time our 
sopping if scanty hairs met and my labia were mashed between our crotches 
and his all but hairless balls tickled the area around my arse-hole. 

After maybe three dozen such movements, I peaked and began grabbing his dong 
with the muscles of my frantic cunt and circling my crotch and holding him 
tight on top of me ... with the result that my brother came so hard and so 
fast I barely had time to adjust my hole to receive his spurting sperm in 
the writhing, convulsed core of my young body. 

With his load spent, in spite of my frantic efforts, my brother's dong 
dwindled in my swampy cunt until I could no longer hold even the tip of its 
crown within my labia. He was shot down, and who could blame him? For a mere 
kid, he had performed with more endurance than a majority of adult males 
over a period of less than twenty hours: first with Joanie, then with Joanie 
and me, then with Hotpants and Joanie and me, then with Joanie and me. 

It was no disgrace for a boy of ten to be shot down after such a marathon, 
but I was too green to realize it... and I was in a veritable fury at having 
been abandoned while my own climaxes were still at high tide. Every 
nerve-end in my body screamed for further repletion in my cunt, and I leaped 
for Bill's sadly dwindled cock and sucked and pulled at it desperately, 
trying to get it back in fucking condition--but to no avail. 

He was half-sitting up against the headboard, with his legs wide apart, 
while I was down on my hands and knees, digging at his prick with my fevered 
lips and tongue and, finally, my teeth. 

When my frustration grew unbearable, I actually bit into poor Bill's dong, 
causing him to scream and begin beating at my red head with his fists. 
Vaguely, I heard Harry's voice somewhere behind me say, "That's not the 
answer, son, this is what she needs!" 

With that, strong hands pulled my buttocks roughly apart, exposing my crotch 
completely to the rear. Once again, I felt the length and thickness of my 
father's gigantic prick entering the wet haven of my hole, this time from 
behind. Nor was there anything deliberate about this piece of tail. To give 
poor Bill relief, Daddy just jammed that adorable monster jock of his into 
me as hard and fast as he could, causing the mole atop its crown to plow a 
furrow up the underside of my tunnel of love that made me gasp with shock 
and delight, thus giving my brother opportunity to reclaim his little cock 
from my temporarily untender ministrations ... 

 Chapter Six 

Finding myself so unexpectedly and happily assuaged, even while these 
repeated delicious paternal assaults on my half-crazed cunt from the rear 
were making my body a vortex of voluptuous rapture, I retained sufficient 
wit to put my rump into a posture guaranteed to give me the most of what my 
father was jamming into my creaming hole. Forgetting my brother and his 
temporarily useless little prick entirely, I made no effort to restrain his 
rolling clear of my face. Then I put my head down sideways on my folded arms 
and planted my knees well apart on the sex-stained coverlet, thus increasing 
Harry's ease of access to my upthrust twat and enabling me to return a 
countercharge for each charge he delivered into my swamping cunt in any 
degree and direction I pleased. 

There were, for me at that time in my early life, added compensations for 
such an assault from behind: in this position I was able to contain all of 
Daddy's dong, the entire eight inches of its splendid erectile dimensions. 
Thus, I could actually grip its very root with my creaming labia, even while 
its great round bulb of a head with that delicious mole right on top, filled 
my uterus to the bursting point with each forceful delivery, causing ripples 
of irresistible delight to engulf me. 

While I enjoyed the thrust and withdrawal of Harry's magnificent codpiece in 
my slithering guts, I wanted all of him in there steadily, wanted the feel 
of those well-furred testicles, so unlike my brother Bill's smaller, 
hairless balls, prodding the tender backs of my upper thighs continuously. 
So I began pushing backward with my juicing cunt as he pulled partway out of 
me for another assault, thus letting him know how sorely I wished him to 
hold his fullness where it would do me the most good, gripping that massive 
meat as tightly as the distended condition of my coozy permitted and thereby 
adding to both our enjoyments immeasurably. 

After a half-dozen such efforts on my part, Daddy got the idea and, sliding 
his hands around my thighs and under my belly, pushed forward more slowly, 
the while he drew my convulsing crotch tight against his own loins. 

Thus, for the first time, our pubic hairs met and meshed in sopping union 
and his balls were pressed against my thigh-backs while that beautiful prick 
seemed to fill me all the way up to my tonsils from within. 

There we rested for long, delicious moments, completely intersticed, while 
the sweetness of the sensations that swept through and over me became 
delectably unbearable. Such a situation, for all that it was wholly 
delectable, could not continue indefinitely, of course. The self-control 
required to remain absolutely still with such a viable piece of male meat 
stuffed into my welling insides was far beyond any self-control I could 
muster, beyond that of any woman fond enough of fucking to let such a prong 
fill her where nature intended her to be filled. 

Darling Daddy actually set off our ultimate explosion by using the naughty 
fingers of both the hands at the base of my shuddering belly to dig into the 
top of my near-hairless cleft, normally just above my juicing hole but, in 
this position, directly beneath it. The tips of his forefingers converged 
unerringly on my little pink clit, which had long since abandoned its normal 
covers of tissue and was sticking out as straight as my nipples ... which 
last, in their aching need of fondling, I discovered I could caress myself 
with the fingers of my folded hands, thus increasing the delights Daddy's 
cock in my cunt was giving me in no small measure. 

But it was Harry's fingertips on my clit that really detonated the 
inevitable explosion of sheer animal lust that followed. Gently at first, 
then with slowly increasing pressure, they squeezed at the sides of my 
sex-button as if it were a pimple that needed bursting ... until I uttered a 
sound that was more scream than grunt and shook my middle madly back and 
forth in an effort to free my clit from his unendurable double pressure. 

It was this involuntary maneuver that really sent the balloon up ... just as 
the torture my button was receiving became unexpected and unalloyed 
pleasure. I thrashed my rump about wildly and, if I caused my father's 
fingertips to slip clear of my spasming clit, right then I could not have 
cared less. The whole universe had exploded into action that centered in and 
around my pulsing cunt and all other considerations were swept by the board. 

The wildness of my gyrations must have caused my cunny to lose its grip on 
any meat less long and massive than that which was reaming it wildly. I 
fucked my father, and my father fucked me until I could feel my own 
pussyjuice trickling down the backs of my thighs, to be mashed and spread by 
the smacking repeated swings of his balls against that same soft surface, 
and my twat seemed to have developed a lust-crazed will of its own. 

There was no thought, no direction to such madness. My convulsing cunt did 
what it willed, what it had to do, with that perfect paternal prick leaping 
inward and outward and rotating right with it. I peaked and peaked and 
peaked again, until the ever-rising climaxes that gripped me in rapid 
succession seemed to flow together into one vast continuing orgasm that 
would never end. 

It continued long after Daddy had sent his sperm shooting deep in my 
innermost recesses ... to be stirred by the repeated thrusts of his raging 
dong like fluid in a blender and to add its sweet slippery slickness to the 
juices already welling from my flying twat and making a marvelous mess of my 
thighs. We kept right on fucking until Daddy's dong bucked and spermed again 
in my churning womb. Even then it took us both a long time to slow down and, 
regretfully, to separate our sated fucking pieces. 

Turning me over, Harry lifted my sweat-soaked young body across his thighs, 
and, cradling me there with the wilted splendor of his sticky prick pushing 
gently against my rump, kissed me tenderly: first my forehead, then my eyes, 
then my lips and throat; working slowly and fondly down over my still 
shuddering torso with its minescular little buds of breasts, until his 
tongue slid slowly over the flat curve of by belly and sucked at the top of 
my cleft. I parted my quivering thighs to give him access to my more 
intimate areas and, lifting my rump to make things easier still, he 
carefully licked my whole crotch clean of the white sticky sex-sap and semen 
that encrusted it. 

Although I had thought myself entirely fucked out, such tender ministrations 
by Harry caused my cunt to begin juicing afresh. Nor was its spate lessened 
when he stuck a thick strong tongue past its outer barriers and began 
playing it around inside me as he had played it inside my mouth earlier. By 
this time, I was ripe as an early autumn peach for another fucking and 
begged Daddy to stick his darling dong into me where it would allay the 
fevers his tongue had caused to rage within me. 

"Please, Harry," I begged, "fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me before I go 
crazy .. !" 

But Daddy looked down at me with laughter in his beautiful brown eyes and 
said gently, "We mustn't be pigs, darling daughter ... not if we're going to 
make this relationship work. I've been getting you ready for Bill." 

"But ..." I began, leaving my protest unfinished as, turning my head, I 
discovered what brother Bill and little Joanie were doing. 

It was all too evident that my baby sister had decided to help restore our 
brother's lagging little prick by performing more gently what I had done so 
cruelly before Harry came to both our reliefs. 

Her lovely little brown head looked affixed to his loins as she sucked and 
pulled at her brother's prick--and evidently with the desired effectiveness; 
for, when she pulled her head back, a good expanse of rigid pink stalk 
protruded from the crease where the tops of his thighs met. But Bill, being 
the generous and loving brother that he is, had not let his little sister go 
unrequited ... for he had so arranged them that his head was fully occupied 
in the tiny area of her cunt. And it was evident both to Daddy and to me 
that, in this instance, the pre-sexual play had developed into the game 
itself, for the two little darlings seemed wholly and happily preoccupied 
with what they were doing to one another's sucking pieces. 

I looked up at Daddy again and said, "I don't think we ought to interrupt 
them, do you, Harry?" 

He shook his handsome head and said, "Well I guess you and I will just have 
to make the best of it, honey." 

I said, "We will... you know we will!" 

Already, though he was holding my little-girl body well above his thighs, I 
could feel the great round head of my father's prick brushing my quivering 
buttocks, and all I desired was to hold it once more in my juicing tunnel of 
love. Harry laid me tenderly on my back and, looking down at me with love in 
his eyes, said, "I think you're ready to receive me underneath now, darling 
daughter." 

"Goody!" I cried, thrusting my cunt upward with my legs wide apart to make 
access easier. "Sock it to me, Daddy dear ... all the way home!" 

For one awful moment, I feared that my cunt would once again reject the very 
prick that had given me life while I was in a supine position. With that 
mind of its own, remembering the previous failure of Harry's huge cock to 
penetrate it effectively from above, my cunt closed up as if someone had 
sprayed alum or some other astringent all over it. 

Fortunately, Daddy's prick had some memories, too, memories that included 
the terrific plumbings it had given that same hesitant hole already. And my 
father, knowing from sweet experience that my cunt could contain his 
mastodonic meat without harm, was not taking no for an answer, either. With 
a thrilling disregard for any and all obstacles, he simply laid his prong in 
there, with its head separating my trembling nymphae and labia, and then 
pushed right on inside. For an instant, the round muscle at the very 
entrance of my hole, played stubborn. Then it was forced into a wider and 
wider ring as Daddy's dong with its big-bulbed head, kept right on into me. 
There was still too much sex-sap for any real or prolonged resistance, and 
suddenly darling Daddy was through and the bump of a mole on the top of his 
cock-head was running a groove along the top of my tunnel, from its mouth, 
pushing upward against my clit from below, then on up the tunnel until it 
pressed exquisitely against the tender flanges of my womb-gate ... and then 
on through the final barrier to fill my sub-teenage tunnel to the very top, 
where it rested in triumph. 

Sliding both my little hands downward between our clinging belly-flesh, I 
worked them into my crotch, where my cuntal lips gripped the inches or more 
of Daddy's long thick stem that my tunnel of love was still too short to 
contain in its once-again flooding depths. I teased this delicious stem with 
my thumbs and forefingers, enjoying the sensation of rubbing Daddy's wet 
curly pubic hairs back and forth against the vein-ribbed skin of his stalk 
... and was able with my other fingers to explore the furred soft surface of 
his balls just below. 

Harry seemed to enjoy this extra stimulation, for he uttered a grunt of 
pleasure and widened the area between his thighs to make access easier to 
his testicles ... an act that spread wider my already taut-stretched crotch 
as it opened me wide. Without disturbing my genital finger-play, "he began 
rolling his body in a slow grind, causing his embedded cock to put slow but 
inexorable pressure on every square millimeter of my vulva and send the 
matchless delights of climax surging outward from the distended hollow tube 
between my pulsing womb and the throbbings of my overstuffed cunt. 

In a little while, things grew far too active for me to continue 
fingerfucking the man who was fucking me, and I could only grip the sides of 
his loins and start pumping my delirious cunny up and down and around on the 
mastodonic pillar of joy that was plumbing my guts with the inexorable 
steady beat of a metronome. 

I began coming with each slow thrust of Daddy's dong into my creaming twat, 
and coming with a whole different set of sensations as he slowly withdrew a 
part of that gorgeous cock for another impalement. All the time, with that 
crazy mole on its top giving me added convulsions no matter which way it 
moved ... or even when it didn't move at all, which was seldom from then on 
during this royal bang we were giving each other. 

Daddy didn't go for doubles this time, which was just as well, for I was on 
the very edge of hysteria when, at last, I felt the blunderbuss emission of 
his sperm in my suffusing womb and the subsequent diminution of both our 
activities and Harry's dick. When we came down off the mountain, we were 
just in time to see brother Bill and little Joanie, who had abandoned their 
sixty-nining to imitate Harry and me, complete a straight old-fashioned 
fucking with Bill on top, pumping his active little dong in and out of his 
little sister's wet hole so rapidly he reminded me of a riveting machine. 

Little Joanie's body was a bright cherry red, which meant she was either 
embarrassed or coming, and from the uninhibited way her rump was bouncing 
around, I didn't for a moment really think she might be embarrassed. She 
managed to lose brother Bill's white-lathered prick again. But this time, he 
was ready for it and, grabbing the backs of her upthrust thighs so hard that 
she yelped, he held her steady enough to poke his prick back into Joanie's 
wet hole without manual assistance. 

Right then, I knew neither Bill nor Joanie was going to be a lousy lay. Not 
that I'd been worried about Bill. He still had a lot of growing to do, and 
some of it would be in the prick department. And I'd never worried about 
myself. From the moment I found out what fucking was, from Hotpants and some 
of the older girls in school, I'd been dying to do it and without a tremor 
of fear or self-consciousness. I knew I was going to be great at it--and I 
was and remain so to this day, a half-dozen years later. 

But Joanie's problems, I decided as she finished off her brother and herself 
nicely, with a series of convolutions of her cunt calculated to draw sperm 
from an old-time tobacco-store wooden Indian ... Joanie's problems had been 
entirely due to her extreme youth and her over-eagerness to play grown-up 
games. 

I said as much to Harry, who was smoking a cigarette and he nodded. "She'll 
be fine," he said, "once she learns not to work quite so hard at it. Being 
frantic doesn't make it any better... quite the reverse." 

"If she hadn't made it with you, Daddy," I said, "she'd still be fouling out 
and bawling over it." 

"She's only a child," he told me. Then, "Believe it or not, so are you, 
Robin." 

"I know ..." I reached for his limp, sticky prick, large even in the 
flaccidity with which it reposed on the double cushion of his balls, and 
fondled it, then added, "but right now I don't exactly feel like a kid." 

He slid a palm over my all-but-hairless pubic mound and gave it a loving 
squeeze and said, "Fucking's not all you've got to learn, sweetheart ... 
there's a whole lot else to living." 

"What else matters?" I demanded, tightening my grip on Daddy's big limp 
prick. 

He blew smoke in my face and smiled and said, "You've got a point, Robin." 

"And so have you ..." I began kneading my father's cock and cooed with 
delight as once again it began its slow growth to full erectile proportions. 
He moved to push my hand away with his free hand, but then evidently thought 
better of it and let me continue ... permitting his free hand to return to 
my mound, where he slid it deftly into my crotch in such a way that he could 
diddle my clit with his thumb and my twat with the rest of his fingers; 
after a bit, even digging with his little finger deep enough to give my 
tight little arsehole a workover. 

I spasmed, and my wriggling reaction caused my father's cock once again to 
become truly outstanding, rising to the proportion of a high-velocity 
cannon: no mere anti-aircraft gun this, but a veritable Big Bertha. I cupped 
its imperial purple-and-pink crown in my hand, which could barely contain 
it. Daddy crotch-lifted me with one hand and placed me right over it, taking 
a final long puff on his cigarette as I settled my happy cunt down over it 
once again. 

He stubbed the cigarette out on the table alongside the big bed, and just 
lay there while I pumped up and down on his rigid dong, smiling up at me 
fondly with his hands folded at the back of his neck. Brother Bill and 
little Joanie, looking somewhat tousled from the sucking and fucking just 
finished, curled up comfortable alongside us to watch, surfeited with sex 
for the time being, if Harry and I were not. 

It was all very comfortable and cosy, especially when Daddy extended a hand 
and harpooned Joanie's tiny cunt from beneath with a hooked forefinger as 
she maintained a handgrip on our brother's limp dick, which had once again 
lost its sizing and was hanging limp. 

"Kids," Daddy said when I calmed down to see why he was not doing any of the 
fucking, "one hell of a lot has happened since yesterday. Now, I don't know 
how you children feel, but this is the best thing that's happened to me 
since ... well, in many years." 

We chorused our fond agreement and, after blessing us and giving his prick a 
slight twist which sent me right through the ceiling, he said, "I want to go 
right on fucking you girls as long as I can, and, as long as you want to 
fuck Bill and me, I don't see why we can't ... unless somebody stops us." 

"Who'd want to do that?" Little Joanie asked. 

Harry smiled at her fondly and shook his head and said, "A lot of people, 
darling ... most of the world, in fact. So the first thing we must do is 
make sure the rest of the world doesn't find out about our little secret. If 
they do ... we'll be lucky to stay out of institutions, much less to keep 
together." 

"What about Mom?" brother Bill asked. 

"You'd better keep her out of it ... at least until and unless I feel the 
time has come to let her in on it. Your mother has some very old-fashioned 
ideas about this sort of thing ... in fact, that's been our chief trouble 
since Joanie was born. No, we'll work it without Mom for now." 

"And what about Hotpants O'Houlihan?" I asked. 

"What about her?" Daddy asked. 

"She's smart as a whippet," I said. "If we do all our fucking in the family 
as it were, she'll wonder why Bill and I aren't screwing around with the 
kids." 

Daddy laughed and gave my clit another squeeze and said, "So screw around 
... I'm not selfish and you should do some of your fucking with your peer 
group. You're young enough to have plenty to spare. But what the four of us 
do is our business. I'll work out the details so we can keep it from getting 
out ... even to your mother." 

"When is Mom coming back?" Bill asked. 

"She's going to call me when the road is open from Running Water," said 
Harry. "But there's something else. I want you kids to keep up your 
schoolwork; a little learning never hurt anyone, and it will help our cover 
if you get high marks. You're all bright enough so it shouldn't be too hard. 
I'll help if the going gets lumpy. We're a model family, and you're all 
model kids and want to make your mother very, very happy." 

He winked at us and then added, "But not as happy as the four of us are 
going to be--am I right?" 

The other two flung themselves on him in an excess of affection, kissing him 
and hugging him so heartily that I was almost flung from my perch. Lecture 
or not, this piece of involuntary movement got my sex-engines revving in 
high gear. They hadn't exactly been in neutral even while Daddy was talking 
to us ... and I began bucking and rolling all over that wonderful big 
paternal prick packed tight in my convulsing guts. Harry pushed the others 
off and got hold of my raging rump and enforced a rhythmic discipline that 
had us moving together in the sweetest of all dances until, in due course, 
we were pumping our juices at each other one more wonderful time. 

 Chapter Seven 

Well, that's how it all began. A lot of things happened in the next six 
years, of course, but as far as the four of us were concerned they were just 
about all good. We fucked together and we sucked together, and even if Mom 
got to know what taking inventory meant, she never interfered but just went 
her own way. She turned more and more to church activities, which didn't do 
any harm to the image our darling daddy had in mind for us as a model family 
in Riverville. 

We went to school and looked neat and got top marks. We had every reason to 
work, I mean who'd want to fool around with all that wonderful fucking right 
at home. We thrived on love, and Bill grew up to be a hell of a 
nice-mannered, good-looking kid. He grew up in the prick department, too, 
though he never quite matched Harry; and Bill lacked that marvelous mole on 
the tip of his dong. 

As for us girls, little Joanie turned into a real living doll. She had the 
cutest baby fat all over, the kind that drives the boys wild, and her boobs 
lived up to their early promise. With her thick mane of dark brown hair and 
beautiful big brown eyes and lush little mouth and slender waist and legs, 
she crammed a bikini like a cornucopia just bursting with goodies. Yet she 
confined her cuntal activities pretty much to the family and had a spotless 
reputation with the mothers of Riverville. 

It was a little different with me. I had the rep of being the wild one. 
Where male cocks are concerned, I'm incurably experimental, though I took 
damned good care never to get caught after that time when Harry caught Bill 
and me under the bandstand. After all, what are motels for? 

But, inevitably, there was a certain amount of gossip, even if the town 
busybodies couldn't prove anything and the boys and men I fucked weren't 
going to admit anything and spoil the chance of an encore. I knew how to 
keep them in line, and with Daddy to advise me, there was never a hint of 
trouble. 

One of the reasons I fucked around as much as I did was that I wanted to 
prove to myself that my father was the best piece of arse in the world: with 
that thick eight-inch whang and mole on its tip and all that loving instinct 
and knowledge of how to use it to make a girl deliriously happy. Also, in 
the back of my mind, there was a thought that, if any man could out-fuck 
Daddy, having his prick in my hole would be a truly memorable experience. 

But, man or boy, I hadn't found one yet. Roger Lamson had a thick, short 
cock and came too quickly, while Hotpants O'Houlihan's old man had a prick, 
like a darning needle that didn't fill a girl's cunt half as well as 
Daddy's. 

As I had felt from the first, Hotpants had to be let in on our act. But she 
was the only outsider who ever took part in our fucking sessions, and she 
kept her cute little mouth shut about it so there was no harm done. She 
couldn't romp with us every night, of course, but at least once a week she 
made it. It wasn't too bad, having another girl in the act now and then; not 
with guys like Daddy and brother Bill, who could fuck all night and be ready 
for more in the morning. Besides, it made things better for the males when 
one of us got the curse, something that began for me very shortly after our 
first glorious weekend and for little Joanie a couple of years later. 

Mom was a sound sleeper, and we took to giving her a mild opiate in her ten 
o'clock milk every evening, so she would not be disturbed by what the rest 
of us were doing. Then we'd adjourn either to the guest room or the one we 
kids shared and pleasure ourselves till one in the morning. Fridays and 
Saturdays, Daddy let us fuck until we'd had enough, but he was very strict 
about our getting enough sleep during school nights. 

Hotpants and I double-dated a lot when we ramcatted around outside the 
family. We had a sort of code that used to drive our dates crazy. Hotpants 
was as fond of father's beautiful cock as I was, which gave us an added 
bond, and when we were having a fourball with a couple of guys in some motel 
room, or occasionally in a car or even on the grass somewhere out in the 
country, we'd talk back and forth right in the middle of fucking. 

Like this: 

She'd call over to me and say, "How does yours stack up, Robin, dear?" 

And I'd thrust at the anonymous cock in my creaming cunt and say, "Oh, about 
a five point nine. How about yours?" 

She'd give her curvaceous rump a couple of rolls and say, "This one's about 
seven-three." 

"You've got to be kidding ..." 

"Try it for yourself," she'd say and pull her cunt right off the cock that 
was fucking her, and I'd do the same and we'd change places and confirm our 
findings as if we were trying on clothes at the Bon Ton. We'd worked out a 
system of measuring pricks with our cunts, using Daddy's as the standard, 
and his eight inches as the mark to beat. It used to drive the boys right 
out of their hot little minds, but we never told them what it was all about 
and nobody ever caught on to it. 

Hotpants was a terrific lay once Harry taught her the ABC's of fucking, and 
she got almost as much fun out of it as I did. We used to call ourselves the 
Two-Ring Circus. Every so often we'd take a night off and really put a 
couple of the local or visiting studs through their paces. Everybody had a 
ball and nobody ever got hurt. 

Once, when her parents went on a trip with the Lamsons, Hotpants had us over 
and we went down to the rumpus room after locking the house up tight, and 
Harry ran off some of the X-rated movies her parents liked to watch and 
emulate Saturday nights. 

The room was really a small projection room with a quartet of wide leather 
couches instead of regular seats, and there was a well-equipped little bar 
in the corner. Daddy was usually strict about our not drinking, but on this 
occasion he untied the knot, especially since there was plenty of good 
inexpensive champagne; and he really digs the bubbly. 

So we all got naked and sipped the sparkling wine and lay around on the 
couches and played with each other until little Joanie pushed brother Bill 
down on his back and climbed aboard for a fucking ... to have Daddy pull her 
struggling body away and dump her on a couch by herself. 

"Wait till we run the film," he told her sternly. "You may be getting some 
ideas." 

"I've already got some ideas," Joanie protested, her bubbies sticking 
straight out from her chest, "I want to fuck Bill." 

"I ought to punish you for that," said Daddy with mock anger. "In fact, I 
think I will." 

He grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her adorably provocative round 
little rump up high so that her head and knees were on the couch. He pulled 
her crotch tight against his jock as he stood behind her, so that his prick 
which was lying at rest, was rubbing her wet little slit. 

It didn't remain at rest long. That was one of the great things about our 
daddy's cock, it seemed to leap right out of his loins whenever a cunt was 
available. Sometimes when there was none around and he just happened to 
think about fucking. It popped into its upright position when he held his 
younger daughter's squirming rump away from him--all eight magnificent 
inches of it, thick and pink-and-purple and bursting with the rich blood 
that made its erection possible. 

Without further preliminary, Harry lifted his little girl's crotch a notch 
higher, so that the tip of his bulbous cock-head disappeared within the lips 
of Joanie's tight, wet little hole. Then, easing her down on it, he let it 
sink into her from the rear. My cunt had grown with me until, since I was 
about fourteen, so I could contain all of my father's meat inside it; 
Joanie's tunnel of love was still too short and more than an inch of that 
blue-veined pink stalk remained outside of her hole. 

But the rest of it did okay, just as it had during earlier years in my hole. 
Her dark hair fallen over her face, Joanie began pumping and snapping at the 
pillar of joy in her whirlpool of pleasure as if her cunt were some sort of 
turtle, causing Daddy to grunt with the tightness of their fit, especially 
from that angle of incidence. 

Just then, Bill jumped me from behind and bending me over the arm of the 
sofa, moved into me from behind with a cry of, "Like father, like son ..." 

Hotpants giggled and said, "Like fun, you mean?" 

Bill said, "You got the picture, honeycunt. And don't worry, you're next." 

Hotpants said, "Who's worried? But my mother always taught me that, at a 
party, the guests should waltz with the hostess first." 

Bill said, "Sorry, Robin ... but she's right." 

His prick was halfway up my hole, but he pulled it out of me before I could 
protest and, pushing Hotpants down on her back on the sofa, proceeded to 
mount her and plunge his prick to the hilt into the juicy cunt his hostess 
upthrust to make his entrance easier and more complete. 

"Man!" she gasped as she took it all the way in with a wriggle of her pelvis 
that must have given them both a quick dividend in delight. "That feels 
great in there." 

You may remember, Hotpants always liked to keep up a running fire of 
conversation while she fucked. She started that measuring game we used on 
double-dates, it was she who got the whole thing started by talking while 
little Bill was fucking her under the bandstand that rainy Saturday morning 
six years ago, thus letting Joanie and me know where they were and leading 
to our all being caught by Harry with our pants not merely down but off 
entirely. 

Now, while she and Bill enjoyed a real juicy fuck, she gabbled on about what 
they were doing and how it felt. Every so often, when a particularly wild 
orgasm gripped her, her voice would trail off and she'd merely utter 
rhythmic noises that were half-sigh, half-grunt. Then it would pass and 
she'd pick up the monologue right where she'd left off. 

"... So come on, Bill-baby, put a little more back into the next one ... 
Oh-OH! That's more like it, honey ... Now take it slow and easy-- we want to 
make this one last ... Oh, yum-meeeeeee!" 

Like that. 

We were used to it and didn't mind. In fact, it wouldn't have been Hotpants 
without the soundtrack while she fucked. She was as close to being family as 
a non-relative could get. And how that girl loved to fuck! The better you 
knew her, the closer her Hotpants nickname fitted. She was as crazy for 
quiff as any of us, and that was saying a lot. 

When Harry finished with little Joanie, he and I got together on one of the 
other couches, with me riding topside the way I liked it best with Daddy. We 
made it a long, lazy fuck and my juices flowed all over us between the 
middle thighs and our navels, and once again that terrific, so groovily 
placed mole right above my father's squirt-hole had its terrific effect. 
Damn few girls I ever heard of could say, like me, that their old man's 
prick was as hot as a French tickler. In fact, I only know of one other, and 
that's my kid sister, Joanie. 

While Harry and I were working up to a real head of steam, about halfway 
there, I'd say, little Joanie, who could keep right on coming indefinitely, 
once somebody got her started, parked her darling little rump on the arm of 
the leather couch we were screwing on, right in back of me, and, picking up 
one of Daddy's feet, stuck the big toe into her creaming little twat. 

Frankly, I don't dig the big toe bit, nor does Hotpants, but Joanie takes it 
large: maybe because she's got a tighter little hole than we have and a 
shorter tunnel behind it. Anyway, she and Daddy worked it out a couple of 
years earlier, on another occasion when Hotpants was with us and Joanie had 
to sit one out. It was kind of cute to see the way she could get worked up 
with Daddy's toe right up there in her cute little crotch, wiggling around 
on it and pumping up and down on it like a real cock. But it was kind of 
weird, too. 

Still, none of us minded, really. Even Harry got a kick out of it. He told 
me once, "It's like sticking your toe into a toasted marshmallow that's 
alive." 

When it came time to change partners, I went with my brother, while Daddy 
fucked Hotpants and they arranged it so that Hotpants could suck little 
Joanie's cunt while they were screwing more or less straight, except that, 
for Hotpants to give Joanie a real good sucking, she had to let Harry fuck 
her from behind, dog-fashion, reaming her round plump little rump with long, 
slow, driving strokes that rocked her from her cunt to the top of her head. 

But I was trying to tell you what it's like to fuck my brother, now that 
he's sixteen years old and got just about all his adult growth. He's not 
quite as long as Harry and lacks the mole on the tip, as I've already told 
you, but his stalk is maybe a mite thicker and, since he's circumcised and 
Harry isn't, he has a crown with a rim instead of a big oval knob. 

Some girls will tell you they like a guy who's had his foreskin cut off, 
others prefer the undoctored original. Getting my start with Dad and Bill as 
I did, I had it both ways, thousands of times, while I was growing up. All I 
can tell you is that they're different. As long as they're attached to 
pricks, and the pricks attached to males, who do the job, as far as I'm 
concerned its six of one and a half dozen of the other ... more, if the men 
involved are up to it. 

To me, a prick's a prick, and that's more than enough. As long as a girl's 
cunt retains its muscle tone and elasticity and the prick in question isn't 
too short, she can assure herself of a tight fit that will give her all the 
satisfaction she's looking for. 

Anyway, growing up with Bill as I have, I hold a special place for him in my 
gallery of loved memories. We know every cubic millimeter of each other's 
bodies, every slight reaction and how to bring it on, every big reaction and 
how to add to it and maintain it. His prick slid into me without manual aid 
and fitted in there as tightly as if we had been custom made for each 
other's fucking tools. We rolled over on our sides, with my legs around his 
waist and his prick well up in my juicing tunnel of love. There we sort of 
relaxed and smiled at each other and then reached for each other's lips and 
held them together in wonderfully soft, sweet sort of kisses, with out teeth 
parted and our tongues pressed indolently together. 

It was wonderful, as always, being that close; especially delicious because 
we were brother and sister and knew we were enjoying something only a 
minority of other brothers and sisters find together. It made us feel very 
special and very proud. 

After a bit, with our lips and tongues still joined as were our fucking 
pieces, brother Bill's hand slid slowly downward over the soft slow curves 
of my back to cup my rump, squeezing my buttocks together and squeezing my 
cunt even tighter around the root of the thick prick that filled its 
suffusing surfaces. 

I went up, of course, and began wriggling my bottom in a wild, driving 
shimmy that added to my sudden rapture. Bill's hand squeezed my buttocks 
repeatedly, as if they were an old-fashioned automobile horn, and each time 
he squeezed, my rapturous frenzies mounted and I ground my mashed boobs 
around and around against the harder, flatter curves of brother Bill's 
chest. 

Then his other arm slipped between my thighs and hoisted the upper one high 
in the air, while his grip on my thrilling rump slid up to the small of my 
back to keep me from rolling both of us right off the leather sofa. Holding 
my struggling bottom in firm control, he then pulled it toward his jock as 
he thrust that member into me so deeply that I thought for a moment it was 
going to come right up and out through my throat. 

Not that I'd have minded, naturally. 

Held thus, gaffed on my brother's spear, it mattered not a whit that 
Father's fucking piece was perhaps an inch longer; for I was filled as full 
as my flooding fucking piece would permit. The round dome of his circumcised 
cock lay entirely in my womb, with the rim titillating the edges of its 
entrance and the stalk beneath hand filling the juicing tunnel that led to 
my saturated cunt. So deep could brother Bill press into me while holding me 
in this fashion that the steel-woolish hairs surrounding the root of his 
prick were actually ground into the tender flesh of my labia, which were 
pushed flat against my own crotch by the closeness of our contact. 

For another long, light-headed moment, we lay still, thus deeply joined, and 
then, to save my life, I could not keep my creaming cunt still for another 
instant. Looking down between the twin mounds of my breasts with their 
cherry tips, over the flat curve of my belly, I could actually see the sweet 
point of our juncture and the hairy areas around it, liberally adorned with 
the cream of my flooding pussyjuice ... and I had to watch things move. 

I drew back my cunt, as far as Bill's encircling grip on my upper thigh 
permitted. This was not much, but it pulled my coozy clear of a good three 
inches of his lower stalk, and no sooner did I feast my eyes on this portion 
of the source of all my present joy, that nothing would do but to hide it 
again within my churning cunny. 

Apparently, Bill was seized with the same impulse at the same moment; for 
our fucking pieces moved simultaneously, and our pubes squashed together 
with the sweetest of squishing sounds, which I took as a compliment on the 
lavish flow of my sex-sap, and which served to spin me off into a fresh 
world of orgasms in other orbits. 

Yet, even as my other senses were overwhelmed by the immensity of the series 
of climaxes that inundated my body from then on, my eyes remained on our 
genitals, fascinated as much by the repeated disappearances of my brother's 
big thick prick into my swamping softness, as by its repeated reappearances 
as he pulled it partway out for a renewed assault. It was titillating, too, 
to see how, when he withdrew, my labia would move with his darling dong, 
gripping it hungrily as if fearful it would never return to bring heaven to 
my guts ... only to vanish as he plunged his prick once more into the 
whirlpool of my cunt, like a small boat sucked into a vortex. 

At last, just as I felt I could endure no more, he plunged his prick even 
harder and deeper into my turned-to-jelly insides and, tightening my entire 
vagina around it, I felt the thrilling buck of his beloved prick that gave 
information that the greater thrill of ejaculation was close upon us. I bore 
down with my cunt with all my might, adding a fraction of an inch or more to 
his already maximum penetration of my flooding fucking piece and pulled his 
head deep into my bosom as his grip on my upper thigh tightened and, at long 
last, the sperm came spurting out of the tip of his deep-buried cock to 
flood the furthest point of our union with the life-giving semen I loved so 
well. 

When we were engaged in a family gang-bang as at present, it was an 
unwritten law among us that we would never go for doubles. To do so meant 
one couple monopolizing itself for too long a time, since changes of partner 
were essential to such an occasion. But on this occasion, both Bill and I 
were sorely tempted to break the rule. As my senses came swimming back, I 
could read it in my brother's eyes, as he could read it in mine. 

Looking down once more, I saw the greater seepage of sex-sap from the rim of 
my still-filled hole, thanks to the addition of his fluid to my own. I could 
see, as well as feel, the continuing rigidity of the choice meat in my vulva 
and knew that my own ecstatic body was ripe to keep right on with what we 
had been enjoying as so few brothers and sisters are ever fortunate to enjoy 
with one another. 

But we had forgotten little Joanie. As we began putting prick and cunt into 
lazy slow-motion to renew our delights, our kid sister, still perched on the 
sofa-arm behind us, sprang forward, causing Bill's big toe to emerge rudely 
from her hot little hole with a sound like a popping champagne cork. She 
literally dove between us, crying, "No you don't, you piggish bastards ... 
it's my turn to fuck Bill..." 

She did, too, which was the real point of the story, namely that, though we 
spent the whole night in the O'Houlihan rumpus room, nobody ever did get 
around to running any of the X-rated film we had come over there to see. I 
mean, who needed it? 

 Chapter Eight 

Yes, it was a good six years for all of us. But it all went up in smoke that 
afternoon when Harry and I took inventory in the back room as usual: fucking 
as only we could while Bill and Joanie minded the store in front. When we 
went back front, Joanie and Bill left us there while they slipped into the 
storeroom Harry and I had been so happily using to tear off a couple of 
pre-prandial pieces of their own. 

I remember looking after them as they walked to the rear door of the shop 
and thinking how lithe and limber and young and beautiful they were ... and 
how lucky I was to belong to such a loving and lovable family. Even though I 
saw only their backsides, I knew that, beneath their clothing, brother 
Bill's beautiful cock was straining at the zipper of his slacks while 
Joanie's hot little hole was already creaming in anticipation of the fucking 
she was about to enjoy with her brother. 

Daddy, who had been looking the same way, caught my eye and smiled down at 
me and said, "Kind of gets you sometimes, doesn't it?" 

I nodded, but before I could reply the customer bell sounded and we both 
turned to see what whoever it was wished to buy. It turned out to be 
Sergeant Clem Johnson of the Riverville Police Force (eight patrolmen, a 
chief and Clem as second in command). One look at him and I knew he was not 
there to make a purchase. The expression on his well-tanned familiar face 
spelled trouble with a capital T. 

He approached Harry hesitantly, glanced at me and said, "Can I talk to you 
alone, Mr. Davis?" 

Daddy put an arm around me and said, "Whatever it is, it's all right to talk 
in front of Robin." 

"Where are the other two?" Clem said. 

"In back," said Daddy easily, "taking inventory." 

If Clem hadn't looked so serious, I'd have had a problem keeping my face 
straight. He hesitated and then said, "It's Mrs. Davis..." 

Daddy looked alarmed and said, "Is she all right?" 

"In a way," said Sergeant Clem. "I wish I didn't have to tell you this, Mr. 
Davis, but she's in jail... over in Running Water." 

Daddy had to sit down and I nearly keeled over myself. The very idea of our 
virtuous mother doing anything to put her in prison was simply unthinkable. 
Even though she sedulously kept her back turned to what the rest of us were 
doing, she managed to do so in a way that expressed her silent disapproval. 

"Good God!" said Daddy. "It's got to be a mistake. What are the charges?" 

Sergeant Clem shook his head and said, "I'm afraid there's no mistake, Mr. 
Davis. I hate to say this in front of Robin ..." 

"Oh, go ahead," said Harry. "Whatever it is, we've got to get her out." 

"Well ... since you say it's okay, Mr. Davis." He paused and lifted his head 
and used his handkerchief to wipe sweat from his streaming forehead. Then he 
blurted, "She's charged with fornication--with the Reverend Milton Rood." 

"Oh, no!" cried Daddy. His cry was one of sheer disbelief but Sergeant Clem 
seemed to think it was an expression of distress. 

He said, "I'm sorry, Mr. Davis. You know, they say the husband is always the 
last to know." 

"Stow that, Clem," said Harry. "Who brought the charges?" 

"Mrs. Cross and six women of the Running Water God's Good Work Committee. 
I'm afraid there's no doubt about it." 

"I'll be damned!" cried Daddy. "I'll be double God damned!" A pause while it 
sank in, then, "What's the bail?" 

Sergeant Clem looked even more distressed. He said, "They won't set it till 
tomorrow morning when Judge Rentner gets back from his fishing trip. I'm 
afraid Mrs. Davis will have to stay in jail overnight." 

"Ridiculous!" said Daddy, his face getting red. "They can't keep Edna in 
jail overnight on a misdemeanor." 

"I'm afraid they can," said Sergeant Clem. "There's nobody in Running Water 
with authority to hear the charges today. I did my best, Mr. Davis." 

"I'm sure you did, Clem." Daddy got up and put a friendly arm across his 
shoulders. "Well, what about her comfort... her food?" 

"I've arranged to have a good dinner sent in from the Tasty Corner." A 
pause, then, "Their four-dollar dinner." 

"Thanks, Clem." Daddy went to the cash register and took out a ten-dollar 
bill. Sergeant Clem didn't want to accept more than four dollars, but Daddy 
said, "She'll be wanting breakfast, too. Will you arrange that?" 

"Sure thing." He took the money. 

"What about the Reverend?" Harry asked. 

"You want me to buy his dinner?" Sergeant Clem looked his disbelief. 

"Shit, no!" said Daddy. "I just want to know if the bastard's in jail, too." 

"They're in adjoining cells," said Sergeant Clem, offering no other comment. 

When he had gone, Daddy said to me, "Lock up for the night, darling." And, 
when I had done so and drawn the front shades, "Of all the idiotic, 
unexpected ..." He paused; for once, words failed him. 

I couldn't help it. I know it was wrong, but ever since I heard the news, a 
great big belly laugh had been growing within me. Here, for six years, all 
of us but Mom had been watching our step, well aware that we were active 
criminals in the eyes of the law, liable to Lord only knows what hideous 
penalties. Mother was the only one we thought of as respectable in the 
family, and we did our best to keep her that way. Of course, we probably 
should have become suspicious of her regular overnight stays in Running 
Water, but we thought she only went there to give us a free hand at home, 
more to get out of our way than because she actually wanted to go there. 

And now ... fornication, and with a Reverend at that. It was too much. I 
began to laugh until I thought my stomach would burst open. I put my head 
down on a counter and howled as spasms of uncontrollable mirth rocked me ... 
and, after a little, Harry joined me. We laughed so hard that, when we 
regained some measure of control, we discovered that our guffaws had alarmed 
Joanie and brother Bill, whose heads were peering at us through the 
storeroom door. 

"What's the joke?" Bill asked. 

"Mommy's in jail," I replied, and it sounded so silly I went off again, only 
managing to gasp, "For fucking a minister in Running Water." 

That got Daddy off once more, and we had another. But when he came down to 
earth at last, he was completely sobered. He said, "I've got to drive over 
there at once and see if I can do something. And I'll have to call Uncle 
Joe. He'll have to know about it. After all, he's Edna's brother." 

I knew there was an Uncle Joe in the family, of course, but that was about 
all. For reasons I did not then understand, neither Daddy nor Mom ever 
talked about him, except at Christmas, when he'd send a card with a big 
check inside it. So I was exceedingly curious when I had to drive the Jeep 
twenty miles that evening to meet the incoming shuttle plane from 
Indianapolis at Kernstown Municipal Airport. The rest of the family were 
either holding down the fort at home or over in Running Water with Daddy. 

Of all nights, that was the one when the Jeep blew a front tire. Nobody came 
along to help me change it, and by the time I got to the airport, I was 
twenty minutes late and my face was smudged and my temper was foul and the 
early evening Indianapolis plane had landed. I asked a desk man where the 
passengers were and he told me they had all gone. 

I said, "What about a Mr. Lonsdale? I'm supposed to pick him up." 

"See for yourself," said a clerk. "If there's anyone in the waiting room, 
he's hiding in a crack in the floor." 

He was right; there was nobody there at all. As I was wondering what to do, 
he called after me, "There's another flight due at eleven-thirty. Maybe 
he'll be on that one." 

Well, if I could be late getting to Kernstown, Uncle Joe could have missed 
his plane. Eleven-thirty was a bad two hours-plus away. So I called Bill, 
back home, and then wondered what in hell I was going to do with myself for 
the next couple of hours. 

Kernstown was not exactly Gay Paree. 

There hadn't been time to rustle up dinner at home, and I was hungry all of 
a sudden. The clerk suggested a roadhouse across the way from the airport, 
so I drove over there and went into a booth. It was a fairly nice place, 
with dark brown woodwork and red leather upholstery, but it was dark. Maybe 
that was why the waitress asked me if I'd like a cocktail without demanding 
to see my driver's license. In my state, you're not supposed to drink in 
public until you're eighteen, and I was still ten months shy of that 
particular birthday. 

Right then I decided I could use a drink, so I ordered a vodka Collins and 
took a look around while the bartender on the other side of the room was 
making it. Since it was well past the regular dinner hour, and a week night, 
there weren't many customers in the place. Three guys and a broad playing 
poker dice for drinks at the bar and a few couples in the other booths. 

Pretty dead, I thought--until I caught a glimpse of what was going on in a 
booth in the corner. I couldn't see it directly, of course, but I got a 
clear view in the angled mirror that topped the back bar. There was a man 
leaning back against the wall and a woman in an airline stewardess's uniform 
with him. Her light-blue cap was on the table with the drinks, and I 
wondered why, since usually those girls don't take off their caps until they 
get home and shed the rest of their uniforms. 

Then I saw what she was doing and I understood: she had her head buried in 
the man's lap, and from the rise and fall of her red hair, she could only be 
sucking his cock. 

I couldn't see much of the downstairs action, since the girl's back blocked 
any real view, but it was the man she was sucking who caught my attention. 
Not because he was handsome, and he was maybe the best-looking man I ever 
saw in my life, but because of the easy assurance with which he was taking a 
pleasuring that would have caused most men to squirm and contort their 
faces. 

He simply leaned back against the wall, apparently totally relaxed and 
composed, taking an occasional sip from the highball he held in his left 
hand, smoking a cigarette. From time to time, he would put down the smoke 
and give the busy girl's auburn curls a caress, directing her action to give 
himself more jollies. 

"The kitchen closes in ten minutes, if you want to eat anything," said the 
waitress. 

I realized she had brought my drink and had probably been standing there for 
some time while I was watching the show in the back bar mirror. I snapped 
out of it and ordered a cheeseburger. Playing Peeping Thomasina was a new 
role for me, since I was usually right in the middle of the action at home, 
and I started out by enjoying it. 

I took a couple of pulls on my drink and went right on watching. A faint 
smile played about the lucky stranger's handsome lips as the girl went into 
high gear and I decided things were coming to a head but fast. Still 
smiling, he put down his glass and, placing both hands on his partner's 
curly head, seemed to push her right into his groin. 

Then the action stopped and, after a moment the girl lifted her head and sat 
upright and reached for a napkin to wipe the spit and sperm off her face. 
She was pretty, even for an airline stewardess, but I didn't pay much 
attention to her because, when she sat up, I got a clear view of the big 
stiff pink prick that protruded from the man's unzipped fly. It was a real 
beauty: long and thick and capped with a purple turban any girl would run a 
mile to swallow with her cunt. 

He seemed to be in no hurry to put it away and I wondered why and looked at 
his face ... to discover that his eyes were staring directly into mine in 
the back bar mirror and that the smile on his lips had widened. He reached 
for his drink and lifted it in a toast. And, so help me, I lifted my glass 
in response. We drank simultaneously, and only after putting down his empty 
glass did he wipe off that marvelous prong with a napkin and stuff it back 
into his pants. 

Minutes later, they had paid their check and risen and were walking toward 
the door of the restaurant ... coming right past my table, the girl in 
front. Half over her shoulder, with her face turned away from me, the 
stewardess said something like, "... like hell I didn't have to ship out 
back to Indie, darling." There was more about "this cockamamie airline," but 
I wasn't listening. 

As he came by my booth, the man looked down at me and, for a moment, our 
eyes locked again. He was still smiling faintly, but his eyes were an 
extraordinary bright light blue and their effect on me was hypnotic. He was 
tall and lean and moved with the easy grace of an athlete or a dancer and 
wore the most beautiful clothes I ever saw on any man. 

As he passed, his eyes full on me, he laid a hand briefly on my table and 
then made a wait-right-there gesture with it. In that brief pause the girl 
ahead of him never noticed, his lips formed a silent but distinct, "I'll be 
right back..." 

I couldn't have got up and left if I'd wanted to. Little shivers of 
excitement went curling up me from the backs of my knees to the nape of my 
neck. All I could think of was that this was the most beautiful man I had 
ever seen and that he was coming back to see me. The most beautiful man with 
what looked like the most beautiful prick in the world! 

Poor Mom was forgotten, poor Daddy was forgotten; as were brother Bill and 
Uncle Joe and the next plane. If that man I had just seen for the first time 
asked me to go anywhere I'd have gone without an instant hesitation. That 
was how badly I was smitten. I sat there, with my cheeseburger getting cold 
in front of me, riveted to the red leather bench with invisible but 
unbreakable bonds. 

I had just begun to think, wildly, that he was never coming back when he 
slid into the other side of the booth. He said, "I seem to have an evening 
to kill ... what say we kill it together?" 

His voice was rich and deep and mellow and enfolded me like a soft fur wrap. 
The shivers racing upward inside me intensified so that I couldn't speak but 
could only nod my assent. The light, bright blue eyes regarded me keenly but 
with a kindness and understanding that suggested he was entirely aware of my 
condition and knew exactly how to handle it. I felt entirely safe with him, 
yet not dull, stupid safe ... for, with this man, I knew to my marrow that 
safety would embrace every rewarding sensation and experience a girl could 
ever hope for in her wildest daydreams of sexual desires. 

Neither one of us mentioned the stewardess who had just sucked him off in 
the corner booth. It was as if we had tacitly agreed that the incident was a 
closed chapter and that we were about to begin a new episode that would 
belong only to this magnificent stranger and myself. He asked me my name, 
and I told him Robin, and I asked his. 

He smiled and his eyes crinkled fascinatingly, and said, "My friends call me 
Les." 

I noted that there was grey at his temples but the fact that he was older 
turned me on rather than off. After all, the only mature male I had ever 
fucked was my father. All at once I was dying to have another mature fucking 
piece in my throbbing little cunt. 

Especially a prick as lavishly endowed as the one I had so recently seen the 
redheaded stewardess suck off. 

"Les," I said, forcing myself to meet those eyes, whose candlepower was so 
great that I felt like a bird being hypnotized by a snake. 

"Yes ... Robin?" 

"Les ... well, I hope you won't think I'm forward, but..." 

"I hope I do ... I want you to be forward. I want it very much." 

I felt a twinge of alarm as, once again, I noted the grey hairs along his 
temples. I found myself saying, "Maybe I'm coming on too strong after what I 
just saw ... I mean, I wouldn't want you to overdo things." 

His eyes crinkled again, and his whole face lit up with amusement. Laying a 
hand over mine on the table, he said, "My dear, there's only one way to find 
out, isn't there? I always say, if you want to overdo a thing properly, you 
must overdo it yourself. Come along ... there are rooms attached to this 
dreadful swine-pen and I took the liberty of registering us in after seeing 
my redheaded friend back to the airport." 

Coming from anyone else, such assurance would have repelled me. But coming 
from this marvelous man, somehow it seemed to hint at forethought and 
consideration rather than crude conceit. And, if his eyes and his voice had 
mesmerized me, the touch of his hand reduced me to quivering jelly. I'd have 
followed him anywhere--he didn't even have to blow in my ear. 

When we got to our bedroom, we didn't say anything; there was no need to. We 
simply undressed and tossed our clothing onto the two chairs and then stood 
there a long moment, jaybird naked, sizing each other up. To say that I 
liked what I saw would have to rate among the understatements of the 
century. 

Les was a good head taller than I, towering well over six feet. His body was 
smoothly tanned and lean and muscular and obviously in magnificent shape for 
a man of his years. Such chest hair as he carried was darkly blond in hue, 
interspersed with white, unlike the even-toned bush of curls above his 
scrotum. His shoulders were sloping and strong, his abdomen ribbed like a 
washboard with muscles, his legs and arms long and gracefully turned. 

But, not unnaturally, my ultimate attention was on the purple-capped pink 
prick that, at first, hung from the prow of his torso, all but concealing 
the ample testicles just below. Even as I looked at it, I could see it begin 
to grow. Slowly but steadily. As it lengthened, it thickened and the blue 
veins became prominent along the sides of the pillar it was becoming under 
my fascinated eyes. Like a hooded cobra rising from the charmer's basket, it 
rose until it was pointed upward toward the air-conditioned vent just 
beneath the ceiling. 

With a little cry, I dropped to my knees in front of it and popped the head 
of it into my mouth. Now, I had sucked my father and brother off often 
enough to know that no two men taste exactly the same, just as, from sucking 
off Joanie and Hotpants, I had discovered the same thing about girls. And 
Les's big throbbing cock proved no exception to this rule. 

It had a healthy ripe flavor, like a good cheese that was both sharp and 
slightly nutty and altogether fascinating. The faint aroma of spent semen 
left over from the rim job the stewardess had done on it made sucking it 
even more exciting. As I worked my lips and tongue over its head, I ran the 
ball of my left thumb slowly up and down the thick, sensitive seam the 
length of its underside and felt this super spear give a convulsive little 
leap that caused me to take more of it inside my mouth--although it was far 
too long and thick for me to contain more than a fraction of its entirety. 

Then his hands had knotted themselves in my red hair and he was pulling my 
mouth free of his cock. That marvelous voice above me said, "Robin, Robin, 
that's very sweet, but you have another place I'd infinitely prefer to put 
this thing into." 

As I came upright, still holding on the his prong with my hand, I blurted, 
"But, from what I saw downstairs, I thought you liked it." 

"I do, I do," he assured me, pulling me close against his strong, lean, 
beautiful body so that the underside of his cock was pressed against my 
belly, while his balls pushed most amiably against my pubic mound. 

"Then why...?" 

"Because ..." He lifted me gently and deposited me flat on my back on the 
bedspread. "... I vastly prefer being fucked to being sucked. And, in that 
booth, there was no way." 

With that, bridging his torso above me, he slowly brought that erect 
Priapus-prick of his within the heart of the dewy flower of my cunt; and, 
once there, drove it swiftly home until its tip touched bottom in my womb. 

 Chapter Nine 

Before, even when Daddy fucked me, it took a few minutes for my entire body 
to respond. I mean, my cunt would begin sending out its sweet telegraph 
messages of good times coming, but it took time for them to get there. When 
I come, it feels as if I'm coming all over. Sure, the center of the action 
lies in the little tunnel that runs from my labia and nymphae up to the 
mouth of my womb and, through that, to the roof of that wonderful organ not 
many men can reach with their cocks. That feels indescribably wonderful when 
there's a good stiff prick in it, banging away toward an orgasm of its own. 

But all around it, every nerve and muscle I own seems to take off as well. 
There's an incredible harmony that makes everything sing in tune. The 
contact with any part of my partner's flesh makes the touched part react 
powerfully and erogenously. Even the rub of the bedding on my backside can 
add to my joy in having a male perforate me. When I first reached that peak 
with Daddy and, later on, with brother Bill when he grew up, I thought I had 
attained the absolute acme of fucking perfection. 

But, with Les's big, thick, long dong in my saturating twat, it was as if we 
were starting out where fucking Daddy and Bill stopped. I caught fire all 
over almost instantly, and if I missed the slow spread of voluptuous 
sensation that I had experienced when my father or brother fucked me, the 
instant ecstasy I felt in every pore of my convulsing body more than made up 
for this minor lack. From the moment Les planted his pole in my hole, I was 
conquered and occupied territory ... 

... and loving it. 

If the tip of his cock lacked Harry's mole on top, that mole that caused 
Joanie and me to feel at if a French tickler were fucking us, it had 
something else: a bend to the left I had not noticed while looking at, 
handling or sucking it during our brief period of foreplay. As he slid it in 
and then out of my sopping coozy, the right side of my tunnel seemed to cry 
out with unendurable delight. 

Supporting his upper torso on his elbows, Les pushed his prick back inside 
me to the hilt, and I could feel the involuntary grip my labia took on its 
base, capturing some of the damp hairs around it. I tightened my cunt around 
it as hard as I could, letting him know how much I liked it right where it 
was, even as wave after wave of delight inundated me in a rising voluptuous 
flood. 

He placed a gentle hand on either of my breasts and began kneading them 
deftly, causing my already erect pink nipples to strain at their moorings in 
my soft upper flesh. Running my hands up and down his muscular flanks, I 
could barely gasp, "Kiss them ... kiss them for me," as their aching became 
insupportable. He quickly got his lips and tongue into action, licking and 
lapping and sucking my titties to give me added secondary delights, while I 
dug my hands into the natural wave of his hair and guided his progress from 
boob to boob. 

All the while, he was slowly undulating his pelvis, causing that wonderfully 
warped fucking piece of his to turn half circles in my lavishly creaming 
hole, half circles that caused me to dig my fingernails into his scalp and 
try to nip at his left ear and then his right as he turned from tit to tit. 

Then he pulled his prick far back despite the desperate lunges of my cunt 
and tormented its suffusing emptiness with darting little feathery touches 
of its crown against my cuntal lips, slipping it just inside the muscle ring 
at my hole's entrance as if intending to drive it home, then pulling back 
and making me shudder with waves of frustration very close to agony. 

"Oh, Jesus ..." I gasped. "Don't... Fuck me, Les ... fuck me all the way ... 
Fuck me till I die!" 

His light blue eyes smiled down at me as he replied, "You're much to young 
to die, pretty Robin ... much too young!" 

A strong arm encircled my left thigh and lifted it high and wide, putting a 
rein on my wildly rolling and bobbing cunt and checking me until, for a long 
moment, we were once more absolutely, screamingly still, with just the very 
top of his crown brushing my fevered labia. After taking a deep breath that 
made his body ripple, he rammed that big bent cock of his all the way home 
with such length and strength and impetus that I could actually feel the top 
of my womb give under the assault. 

I could only cry, "Oh, my God ... I can't stand it!" 

And then, as my bottom got into big motion once more, I discovered that I 
could stand it, in fact, I never wanted it to stop. I planted my feet with 
my knees wide apart and gave his cock a royal jazzing, meeting his 
onslaughts with my own and making our sopping pubes sock together like 
butting rams in heat. Then I locked my legs around his middle and dug my 
heels into his muscular rump and rode with him, moving my fucking piece in 
perfect unison with his, rolling with the punches as it were and simply 
letting my detonating body dig everything this delicious new lover had to 
give, then coming back for more. 

When I felt the big throb of his impending climax, I parted my locked legs 
and bridged on the bedspread once more and met his final onslaught with a 
tremendous upthrust of my cunt ... swallowing whole, not only the entire 
mass of his meat but swallowing the beautiful hot burst of his sperm into my 
churning womb as well ... and feeling the world mist out in a delectable 
golden fog shot with radiant streaks like shooting stars. 

When I recovered some measure of consciousness, he was still within me and 
we were lying on our sides with the bend in his still rigid prick upward, 
making me feel as if I had been hung out to dry on a line. Not that there 
was much chance of my ever drying out, not while that beautiful cock was 
nuzzling the soft sweetnesses of my innermost insides. It was like a puppy's 
wet nose in there, nuzzling me and causing me to respond with delicious 
wavelets of climax that were like echoes of the big, big one we had just 
torn off. 

In an access of affection, I hugged his sweaty body with my own, rubbing my 
belly and boobs against his beautiful ridges of muscle, and our lips met for 
the first time. Somehow, this was right, for us. We had to know how our 
fucking pieces were going to get along before either of us could afford even 
to think of affection. But our union had been simply marvelous and there 
remained no reason for holding anything back. 

One big difference I have discovered between being fucked by a boy and a 
man: when a boy shoots his wad into your hole, he's usually through for a 
while if not for the night. (I'm not counting brother Bill, naturally, 
because he had Daddy right there to show him how to keep a girl really 
riding the clouds). 

And when a boy pulls his prick out the instant he's finished ejaculating, 
granted he's been in there long enough to get a girl really going, he leaves 
her right up the wall without a ladder to get down. I mean she's got to 
masturbate or lose her mind. And I don't think that's right. When a man sets 
out to make himself happy, he'd better see to it that his partner is happy, 
too. Otherwise, he might as well be poking his prick into a piece of dead 
meat or jerking off himself. 

But a man--at least the two men who had fucked me thus far in my seventeen 
years: my father and this terrific airport stranger--handled things a lot 
differently. And a hell of a lot better. Even when Daddy was shot down, and 
this took a lot of doing, he didn't leave Joanie or me hung out to dry off 
alone. He knew how to diddle us and fondle us and kiss our coozies and keep 
the sweet sensations flowing, either until the letdown was gently complete 
or his revival indicated that it was time to fuck again. 

If Daddy was great at this sort of after- or between-fucks play, Les was 
just the greatest. His prong, once he had eased its dripping length out of 
me, remained half erect and I refused to let it get any smaller, working on 
it with my fingers and then my mouth, sucking it clean of the sex-sap that 
covered it and replacing it with my own spit, enjoying its savor and 
reveling in the continued contact of flesh on and in flesh. 

Les was not letting my convulsing cunt remain idle to dry up and die. Not 
for a moment. Handling me gently but with such strength that I knew I was 
like a baby to him, he placed my body on its side, giving my boobs and 
buttocks and crotch a delicious rubdown as he moved me so that I could suck 
his cock, he got us lying sideways and buried his handsome face in my cleft. 

The instant his tongue touched my protruding pink clit, I convulsed as if 
I'd been goosed by a live wire. The organ he slid over its erectile round 
surface was as rough as a cat's tongue. It sent delicious thrills racing 
through me and got the whole semi-dormant cycle of orgasm rolling again. 

He pulled out and said, "Not so soon, darling ... try to relax for a bit. We 
want to fool around a while before we go for another big one." 

I nodded, with his cock in my mouth right down past my tonsils, and made my 
taut-singing body go limp. It wasn't easy, especially when he slid that 
rough tongue over my button again and held it there, moving it ever so 
slightly to keep the tingles flowing, but somehow I managed. Les was the 
sort of man a girl obeys without question. Somehow, she knows instantly that 
here is a pastmaster of the great game of sex, a man who has done it all and 
knows everything and has every technique for bringing a girl on at the tip 
of his prick. 

It didn't get any easier to take it easy as he began moving his tongue 
around more actively ... if still at a slow-motion pace. But it was well 
worth the effort. Letting voluptuous delight have its way while you lie 
still until all control is gone is a lot like sucking a chocolate cream 
instead of biting into it at once: after a while, the goodies in the center 
come flooding through, and meanwhile, you've had the bonus of the 
chocolate's slow dissolve. 

Even Harry, I quickly realized, was a novice compared to Les when it came to 
tonguing a girl where it counts. He diddled my clit in a score of ways, 
finally giving it a flick with the tip of his tongue that all but put me in 
orbit. Nor, even when he moved to my cunt itself, did he leave my button 
forlorn, but replaced his tongue with fingertips that were equally 
knowledgeable if lacking the roughness of surface that was sending me so 
terrifically. 

He pushed my upper thighs wide open with his other hand as he moved further 
into my convulsing crotch, which had spread its flooding almost down to my 
knees along the insides of my upper legs. Then that cat-rough surface was 
sliding across the inner areas of my labia and nymphae. Once again, I 
stiffened uncontrollably, and once again, Les withdrew his tongue and 
murmured, "Steady, darling ... easy does it." 

I nodded, causing the prick in my mouth to stiffen still further as it 
inched toward full erection and began rubbing the lower part of his thick 
shaft gently with my own fingers ... only to stiffen again as he slid that 
incredible tongue right past my nymphae into my suppurating hole. The 
resulting sensation was so galvanic that I actually bit my new lover's cock, 
but caught myself quickly and eased up before any damage was done ... 
rather, the reverse, as my involuntary aggression caused that gorgeous mass 
of well-starched meat to buck wildly within the compass of my cheeks and 
spurt its thick, sweet-sour sperm right into my gullet. 

I had to pull clear since it made me cough and, when I could, I said, "I'm 
sorry, Les. I didn't mean ..." 

Lifting his own handsome head briefly, he laughed silently and said, "Honey, 
what's done is done ... and that was lovely. But don't give up the ship." 

He pushed his rough-covered tongue back into my cunt, deeper than before, 
and I came so convulsively, as that cat-like surface rolled around in there, 
tickling all sides of my flooding lower vagina, that I could not hold still 
enough to regain his cock until the climax had somewhat abated, leaving me 
calmed. 

He pulled out then and lifted and rolled me onto my back again, and then he 
crossed the T under my quivering buttocks and, lifting my unresisting legs, 
put them over his middle, wide apart, while, lying on his side toward me, he 
pushed his still-stiff prick right up into my hot little hole. Thanks to 
that left turn halfway up his long thick dong, the effect was indescribably 
delicious ... for, instead of pressuring the right side of my upper tunnel, 
it ran right up against the top, and each time he pulled back before driving 
it home again, it placed underpressure on my quivering clit even more 
heavily, if over a wider area, than my father's mole on the tip of his 
prong. It didn't plow a narrow furrow but stretched the whole tunnel of lust 
in a single direction, almost as if it were trying to drive a hole through 
the roof. 

Nor did Les neglect external pressure on my excruciating button. Laying the 
palm of his hand flat on my pussy, each time he brought that curved scimitar 
of a sex-organ back and then forward inside the mouth of my convulsing cunt, 
he pressed down hard on my clit with the heel of his hand, making that part 
of me feel like the ham in a pressed ham sandwich. 

My legs shot straight up in the air, making a perfect V, and again he 
circled my left thigh with his right hand to control my hyper-active cunt. I 
grabbed the backs of my own stiff knees and held on, letting him do what he 
wanted to me as he slid that sweetly curved saber in and out of my creaming 
guts. There were times during that particular piece of arse when I thought I 
was literally dying of delight ... the whole world swam around me and a 
strange languor swept over me, but a languor with a core of intense feeling 
that informed me I was living, not dying. 

Finally, however, I came out of it and knew I had to feel the flood of this 
wonderful stranger's semen in my core. So I put down my legs around his 
marvelously supple waist and lean Trips and, using my feet for leverage, put 
my suffusing sex-piece into high gear, driving it right down on that 
plunging prick each time he tried to pull back for another assault and 
pushing against it all the way while wriggling my cunt around like a marble 
caught in a spiral chute. 

He came again, and I came right with him, and when it was over we were both 
temporarily shot down--even though our sopping wet fucking pieces were as 
tightly intersticed as those of the self-fucking oyster in a non-R month. I 
felt as if I, at any rate, were drowning in our combined juices and, once 
again, welcomed the prospect of such a death. Someone, Daddy I guess, had 
explained to me that fucking is very much like the whole life process. It 
has small beginnings, swells to active maturity, ultimately dwindles and 
dies. 

But even after the three spendings with me, plus at least one more when the 
stewardess who had blow-jobbed him in the restaurant booth downstairs, Les's 
prick remained stiff and incredibly full in the morass of my cunt. We might 
be lying there yet if I hadn't happened to look at his wrist-watch as he 
lifted his hand to wipe some of the sweat from my dripping face. 

Its hands said eleven-sixteen. We had been fucking a full ninety minutes and 
it seemed like less than fifteen. Never let anyone try to tell you that time 
isn't elastic, at least where sex is concerned. When you're fucking, it 
seems to go on forever, but when you've finished, you usually feel as if it 
had happened all too quickly ... until, if things have been really great, 
you look at the time and discover a whole day or night had elapsed. 

It's the same with size ... or at least Daddy and Bill have told me it's 
that way for them, as it is for Joanie and me. But when you start coming, 
the whole universe seems filled with your cunt and the prick that's filling 
it ... vice versa for a man, naturally. 

But time, not space, was concerning me then. I had about thirteen minutes to 
get cleaned up and into my clothes and back to the airport to meet Uncle 
Joe. All at once, I felt sick with guilt at having let the family down 
during the emergency of poor Mom's ordeal in Running Water--even with such a 
marvelous stranger as Les. 

I pulled my cunt clear of his sopping cock and sat upright and grabbed his 
arm and looked at his watch again and said something like, "Jesus Christ... 
I've got to run." 

Les wouldn't let me off the bed. He rolled over on his back and, plucking me 
up easily, lifted me in the air and lowered me right down on top of his big, 
beautiful prong. I tried to struggle, but, as that damnable curve ploughed 
up the right side of my cunny, I knew I was cooked. I couldn't have 
disengaged my newly flooding cunt from that fabulous whang if my life 
depended on it. 

So I began fucking him again, in spite of myself, but I felt horrible about 
it, even though what I was doing made me feel more wonderful, in another 
way, than I had ever before felt in my life. Just looking down at that 
marvelously beautiful man, with that hooked codpiece impaling me, riding his 
loins like a rodeo bronco forker, set my blood to racing and my juices to 
flow ever more copiously. 

But I also felt a lot like Benedict Arnold having a ball in London after 
selling out our Revolution. I mean, there was Mom, in jail in Running Water 
on that real nasty fucking charge, with Daddy and Joanie and brother Bill 
beating their brains out trying to get her clear of the mess; while here was 
I, after missing the first plane from Indianapolis, about to miss the 
second, thanks to balling in a Kernstown motel bedroom with a stranger I'd 
allowed to pick me up and screw me right away like any little tramp. 

Even while my whole body was pulsing with tremendous spasms of sheer rapture 
thanks to the prodding Les's prodigious prick was providing in my pulsing 
guts, I couldn't stand it. I checked back the sobs by biting my lower lip, 
but my whole body was shaking with misery--a condition that also added to 
its delight--and I could feel tears running down my cheeks and cutting 
little liquid lanes in the sweat that already covered my face. 

I felt the cannon-shot impact of Les's semen in my womb as he came again 
and, sacrificing my own feelings for once, tried again to lift my saturated 
vulva clear of the codpiece that had made a sweet shambles of it. Once 
again, this marvelous monster impaled me prevented me from disengaging. 

Clamping strong hands on my thighs on either side of my sex-flooded crotch, 
he said, "What's all this about your having to go?" 

I could only nod as sobs choked me and a small shift of that insatiable 
prick impaling me sent a sort of after-glow orgasm rocking through me. 

His fingers touched my cheeks gently then, and he said, "My dear, I believe 
you're crying." 

I nodded again, and he shifted his loins again and I spasmed again. As soon 
as I could, I said, "Please, Les darling ... let me go. I'm late already." 

"Late?" he echoed. "Since the Pill, no girl has any business being late." 

"It's not that," I gasped through clenched teeth, battling desperately for 
self-control as he continued to drive me half-crazy with little rolls and 
movements of the dong embedded in my guts. 

"Then what?" he said, rolling his hips the other way and costing me the 
game. I spasmed all over him, and when I came down, I planted my cunt firmly 
against his loins and gripped his cock tightly with my inner-tube muscles to 
hold it still as long as I could. 

Then, talking fast to get it all out before I lost control again, I said, 
"I'm here to meet my uncle, who's flying in from Indianapolis to help my 
mother and I was late but he missed the eight-thirty plane and I've got to 
pick him up and drive home to Riverville so he and Daddy can see about 
getting my mother out of jail in Running Water." 

He lay there, listening and looking up at me, with an odd sort of expression 
on his handsome face. Then he said, "Robin, thanks to the wonders of modern 
science, there's more than one way of skinning a cat." 

He picked up the phone and said to me, "What's your number, honey?" 

I gave it to him; hell, I'd have given him anything, I still would, but I 
asked, "I don't see what good you ..." 

He flapped a hand at me to be still and gave the motel operator the answer. 
Then, moments later, "Harry, this is Joe ... how's Edna?" 

There was a long pause, after which Joe-Les said, "Yes, she's right here," 
and handed me the phone. It was the first time I ever conducted a telephone 
conversation with anyone while a prick was poked right up inside my cunt, 
but I told Daddy we were okay and would get back as soon as we could. 

At that, Uncle Joe-Les grabbed the phone away from me and said, "Since 
there's nothing we can do till morning, Robin and I can stay here. She wants 
to have the Jeep looked at first." 

He put the phone back in its cradle and looked up at me with his eyes 
crinkling and his cock still in me up to the hilt. Then he said, "I 
apologize for lying to Harry." 

"You mean about the Jeep?" I asked. "That's not entirely a lie since I did 
blow a tire driving over here.". 

"No, silly," he said, beginning to thrust his big hooked cock up into me as 
if he hoped it would pop out of my mouth. "I mean about there being nothing 
we can do till morning ..." 

 Chapter Ten 

To my continuing delight, Uncle Joe proved to be even more of a liar than he 
had suggested. It turned out to be the busiest night of my seventeen 
summers, as we fucked each other right around the clock. Thanks to the 
revelation that this marvelous man was my uncle, all my feelings of guilt 
vanished and I was filled with delight that I had let him pick me up. Still, 
between our delicious bouts, there were a couple of things I asked him to 
explain. 

The first was the matter of the mix-up in his name. I said, "Darling Uncle, 
why didn't you tell me your name was Joe ... then I'd have guessed who you 
were." 

He smiled that marvelous smile and poked his big curved saber inside me 
until I spasmed wildly, thrashing all over the bed with him. Then he said, 
as if nothing had intervened, "Well, Robin, apart from Harry and poor Edna, 
nobody's called me Joe in years. I find my middle name more useful in my 
work." 

"Les ... Lester?" I asked. "What's so impressive about that?" 

"Well ..." he let his jizzum spurt once more and then we lay still though 
still wondrously united where it matters the most "... it looks far better 
in print. J. Lester--it's spelled L-e-i-c-e-s-t-e-r, by the way--wins me a 
far more distinguished entree than Joseph L. Martin." 

"I see," I said. I was about to ask him just what his work was ... the 
family had always been a bit vague on that score ... but his prick began 
thickening and lengthening again in my hole and there was another busy 
period, at the end of which I found myself riding him backwards, gripping 
his legs stretched out beneath me for dear life. And it was never dearer 
than it was just then. 

Before I could regather my scattered thoughts, he said, "Speaking of 
mixed-up names, how about yours? I thought your first name was Roberta, not 
Robin." 

"I always hated that name," I told him. "When Aunt Roberta died and didn't 
leave us anything, I changed it." 

"I like Robin far better, darling." He slid his hands down over my lower 
back, shaping and then gripping my buttocks and then, lifting my cunt clear 
of his sopping cock, pulling it up over his magnificent lean muscular torso 
so that he could put his lips and tongue and teeth to work in my frantic 
fucking piece. 

Never a girl to accept pleasure without returning it, I found myself in 
perfect position to lick his prick clean of our body fluids, and I bent to 
this sweet task with a will that matched my uncle's oral attack on my own 
organ of delight. Thanks to the almost continuous fucking and sucking in 
which we had been engaged for so long, it took us a long time to bring each 
other on; but, as they say in the travel ads, getting there is half the fun. 
We finally made it together and, after receiving another delicious draught 
of his sperm in my throat, we lay side by side, our hands on each other's 
genitalia, fondling them fondly and letting drowsiness slowly claim us. 

I must have dozed off, but I awoke in short order with another question in 
mind. Uncle Joe's eyes were closed, but when I squeezed his prick gently, 
those marvelous light blue eyes opened, less than two inches from mine, and 
he smiled at me and wiggled a naughty finger in my cunt and said, "What is 
it, darling Robin?" 

"Why weren't you seen deplaning with the rest of the Kernstown passengers?" 
I asked. 

White teeth flashed in front of me as his smile became a laugh. He said, 
"Well, it was a little embarrassing. You see, I was fucking the redheaded 
stewardess you saw me with." 

"On the plane?" I couldn't believe it. 

But he nodded and said, "That's one of the compensations for traveling on a 
small airline: you haven't a chance with one of the big companies, 
everything is much too businesslike." 

"But where?" I asked, curiosity overcoming my mounting desire to be fucked 
again. 

"In the John," he said. "Where else." A pause, then, "Have you ever been 
screwed in a broom closet?" 

"No ... but I made it once with a boy in the luggage compartment of his 
father's Cadillac ... with the top down." 

"Enjoy it much? His eyes twinkled at me delightfully. 

"No," I confessed. "It was a little too crowded ... and the spare tire kept 
getting in our way." 

"Then you'll understand our problem with that damn toilet seat taking up 
most of the available space. On top of that, the door stuck and we couldn't 
get out until the co-pilot heard my little friend banging on the door and 
yelling after we landed. Under the circumstances, they sort of snuck us 
out." 

I thought that over and, before I could stop myself, I said, "She's an 
awfully pretty redhead." 

"But nowhere near as pretty as you, my darling little niece." He stifled my 
uprush of jealousy before it could rise to trouble our perfect union, then 
buried it by adding, "At least, darling, you're a real redhead." He ran his 
long strong fingers through my curls. "She was very dark at the roots ... 
and the hair on her cunt was black." 

"Oh, Les ..." I flung my arms around him in an excess of love and desire. "I 
want to be the best you ever had. I know it's a large order, but I'm going 
to make it." 

"You're delicious, darling ..." Once again, he set me athwart his loins. 
Under my manual proddings, his prong had regained sufficient length and 
strength to poke its big pink crown past my nymphae and labia and about 
halfway up my reflooding hole. I began a cuntal roll by tightening the 
muscles, first of one buttock, then of the other, and was rewarded by 
feeling that curving spire thrust its way rapidly inward and upward until, 
once more, it filled me to the very top of my womb. 

I was frantic to be Number One with my just-discovered uncle, and I used 
every ounce of expertise my years of fucking Harry and brother Bill had 
enabled me to acquire. I did not pump my rump up and down on it like a girl 
concerned only with getting a load of jizzum in her guts. I planted my 
cuntal lips flat against his scrotum and kept them there, using slower, more 
subtle methods to bring us both to the inevitable boil. 

His marvelous mouth curved in that insidious half-smile that had proved so 
irresistible as he realized what I was trying to do. He lay there beneath 
me, his hands once more locked behind his head, letting me have my way with 
his thrillingly warped dong. I must have held it in there all the way for a 
full fifteen minutes, moving my crotch gently in every conceivable 
direction, all the while with those ceaseless waves of pure delight his 
avuncular cock inspired making my whole body sing once more. 

With anyone else, I'd have been fucked out long since. But with Uncle Joe I 
didn't feel that was possible. I had long since lost count of how many times 
we had come together, as I am sure had he. But so great was my continuing 
desire for this marvelous man, so overwhelming my relief in discovering 
that, fucking him, I was not fucking out of the family, so overwhelming my 
ambition to fuck him better than any other woman in his life, that all trace 
of fatigue vanished. 

Like a well-conditioned athlete, I seemed to have gained a second wind, and 
I poured everything I had into this most important fucking of that memorable 
night of same. With his marvelous intuitive understanding of what a woman is 
feeling, he seemed to sense from the start that this was something really 
special and that it was important to let me have my head. 

Once or twice, he brought his hands from the nape of his neck and, gripping 
my waist tightly, halted my slow cuntal grind on his dong, saying, "Easy, 
honey, just relax a minute. We don't want to end this one too soon, do we?" 

I could only shake my head and obey, though holding my cunt still at such a 
moment took every bit of willpower I possessed. But I made it until his 
hands left my waist and returned to their places behind his head and only 
then resumed the infinitely subtle fucking I was giving him, moving it 
deftly a half inch to either side and all but passing out from the added 
pressure such movement gave, via his curving cock inside me, to the right 
flank of my tunnel of love. 

But nothing is forever, and the next time he put his hands on my steaming, 
creaming flesh, it was not to hold me still ... instead, he gripped my 
buttocks and, ever so slowly, hoisted me upward until, once again, only the 
round head of his big thick prong remained in my cunt. I gasped out a 
protest, but he shook his head and said, "Old Will needs a breath of fresh 
air." 

Then, just as I was ready to scream, he pulled me down on his dong so 
vehemently that our pubes actually squished as they thocked together ... 
and, once again, the beautiful balloon went up! 

I don't have any memory of the minutes of wild wonder that followed. All I 
do recall is both of us ramming our fucking pieces at each other as hard and 
fast as we could--and then finding myself spiked atop his pulsing prick as 
it flooded my uterus with a final delicious libation, my whole pelvis 
straining for release from the iron grip with which he held me affixed to 
his spouting whang. In between, things must have been real crazy. At least, 
when I emerged from the whirlpool my whole body felt rosy and happy and 
aglow with a sweet and sweaty satisfaction it had never known before. 

My uncle let me down slowly, managing as always to keep it interesting even 
then. And once I was down, so was he. That proud jock with the twist in the 
middle simply lay down on its scrotum-pad like a hound dog's ear. And even 
though my body still tingled delectably, I knew that, in about thirty 
seconds, I was going to be sound asleep. 

With his left arm snugging me, I curled up against my uncle's beautiful body 
like a kitten, with my rump nestled into what would have been the angle of 
his lap had we been sitting upright instead of lying down. I don't think it 
was thirty seconds before, with a contented little purr, I lost track of the 
world and slumber rolled over me like a swift silent fog. 

How long I slept I had no idea, since I had no idea of what time it was when 
I dropped off to dreamland. But it could not have been long, because we had 
been fucking until long past midnight, and the early summer sun was shining 
brightly through the east window of the motel bedroom when I awoke to the 
feeling that I had better get to the John in a hurry. But then I discovered, 
upon moving to clear myself, that the hole which felt full was not my 
arsehole at all. And the results of my move told me ever so clearly the 
nature of the object that had poked its way deep into my cunt. 

Uncle Joe was back with a vengeance. Within no more than three seconds of 
opening my eyes, I was spasming around that perforating pillar of joy as if 
my hole had been empty for a month of Sundays. It had risen from its resting 
place in his crotch and, like a homing pigeon, gone directly to its proper 
housing. 

My stirring aroused my uncle from his sleep and, hardly a man to let such an 
opportunity go by, he gripped me around the middle from behind, drawing my 
cunt down and backward into his crotch, at the same time thrusting his 
pelvis upward and forward until that beautiful bent meat of his was embedded 
to the roots in my churning hole. It's probably a good thing the reactions 
of both of us were half-numbed by slumber, or we'd never have made 
Riverville that day. Maybe not at all. We might still be lying on that 
Kernstown motel bed, fucking our tails off. 

Even so, waking up like that beat any other sort of alarm clock I ever heard 
of. I remember the first night we three kids started fucking, Joanie and 
brother Bill and I, six years ago, almost to the week, when Bill had waked 
me up by rolling me over on my back in his bed and thrusting his little-boy 
prick right into my cunt. But this was far, far better, if only because of 
the relative improvement in the size of the dong that was impaling me. 

Also, where Bill had deliberately set me up for a fucking and used his hands 
to get his little ramrod within my cuntal gates, what had happened to my 
uncle and myself was far more natural ... since our fucking pieces had 
sought and found one another while the rest of our bodies were asleep. Then, 
too, there was the absolute love and trust and faith and confidence I had in 
this beautiful stranger who had, so happily, turned out to be none other 
than my long-unseen Uncle Joe. 

Numb of nerves or otherwise, that matinal fucking was delicious and I'm sure 
we would both have been perfectly happy to keep right on fucking all day, 
right where we were. But there remained the big problem of Edna and how to 
get her out of her mess in Running Water. 

So we got up and showered together and tore off one quick one, standing up, 
with the water pouring over us. Then we got dressed and got out of that 
blessed motel and I drove my uncle back in the Jeep. He asked me to tell him 
exactly what was going on with Mom, and I gave him all I knew, which wasn't 
a great deal since things had happened so suddenly and I'd been away from 
the family overnight. 

But, apart from a few shrewd questions, my new lover seemed content to hear 
me out. When I had finished, he was silent a long time. Then he sighed and 
shook his magnificent grey-tipped head and said, "Poor Edna ... she never 
could get away with anything in her life and not be caught with her pants 
down." 

"You mean there've been other times?" I found this hard to believe of my 
moral, careful, self-righteous mother, always so concerned over her status 
in the community. I said as much to my uncle, who sighed again. 

"Honey," he said, giving my thigh a squeeze that all but caused me to run 
the Jeep up a large oak tree alongside the winding road between Kernstown 
and Riverville, "why do you think she's been so worried about the 
proprieties?" 

"I wouldn't know..." 

"Just remember, Robin, that your mother and I came from the same seed. And 
you know how my appetites run by now." 

"No ... let me guess!" 

"Stop the car." 

"I shouldn't... we shouldn't." That's what I said, but even as I spoke my 
foot was on the brake and my free hand moved toward the ignition key to turn 
it off. But not before I had run the Jeep well off the road into an 
overgrown lane that led to one of the private winter camps a lot of 
Kernstown people maintain. A wall of foliage seemed to seal off the passage 
behind us after we entered, concealing us completely from the eyes of any 
passersby on the road behind it. I found a mossy little clearing at the foot 
of another big tree and brought the Jeep to a halt. 

"Will this do?" I asked. 

He got out, moving like a youthful athlete, and tested the moss underfoot, 
then said, "Probably better than that damned motel bed." 

I slid out from behind the wheel of the Jeep and joined him, I'd never been 
in this spot before, though I had noted the almost invisible entry trail 
scores of times while riding the Riverville-Kernstown road and had filed it 
away in my memory for a possible trysting place. If we hadn't been right on 
top of it when my uncle told me to stop the car, I might not have done it. 
There isn't another place half as good between the two towns anywhere, 
unless you want to try a crummy motel near Riverville even the local whores 
won't use. 

But, as always, his timing was almost frighteningly perfect. It was as if 
I'd been thinking of this place as we approached it in the Jeep and my uncle 
had read my mind and made the very suggestion I had not yet put into words. 
For a moment, I could only look up at him and feel something close to 
terror. But then his hands were on my lithe young body, and the sudden 
fierce seizure of feelings that overwhelmed me had nothing to do with 
terror. 

Since the Jeep was hardly an ideal trysting place, we decided to fuck on the 
moss. My uncle undressed us both from the waist down ... no difficult task, 
since neither of us had troubled to wear underclothing and all he had to do 
was unzip a zipper apiece and then let gravity do the rest. As I felt my 
bare bottom sink into that patch of nature's own softness, the excitement of 
screwing out in the open on a sunny summer morning made this union seem like 
our first. 

The air felt fresh and different, there was no ceiling above us, and the 
texture and fresh earthy aroma of the moss on which we lay sent thrills of 
new experience dancing through me even before my uncle's beautiful 
pink-and-purple crown parted my upthrust labia and nymphae and once again 
pushed its way into my flooding innermost recesses. Somehow, it had seemed 
wholly natural for me to lie underneath this magnificent man, and bridged 
upward with my crotch to make his penetration both easier and deeper. 

I convulsed joyously, almost at once, and we began to drive at one another 
like a pair of rutting animals in heat. Somehow, the subtleties of infucking 
we had so enjoyed during the love-drenched night just finished seemed out of 
place in the bosky sylvan setting. I wished only to give him the most rapid 
and complete satisfaction possible, while receiving the same myself. My 
peaks rose higher and higher with each thrust and counterthrust of our 
fucking pieces until, within a mere few minutes of our alfresco mating, I 
knew full climax was about to claim me. 

And then, suddenly, everything stopped. Although my uncle kept right on 
plowing into my cunt with his cock, I was unable to feel, unable to respond. 
There I lay, wide open for his priapic onslaughts, but getting and giving as 
much out of it as if, like a pair of baby's shoes, I had been cast in 
bronze. 

My uncle quickly realized that something was wrong, for he slowed to a walk 
and then halted entirely, with his cock embedded deep in my no longer hot 
little hole. With his strangely bright, light-blue eyes boring down into 
mine, he said, his voice low, "What's happened, Robin?" 

"I don't know." It was all I could do to get those few syllables out through 
my rigidly clenched teeth. 

My uncle's eyes continued to spear mine, even as his magnificent whang 
speared my cunt. His face became set and angry and I felt the sudden 
fierceness that I had sensed, perhaps subconsciously, beneath the erotic 
playfulness he had revealed back at the Kernstown motel. But I sensed also 
that my uncle's sudden, furious, silent anger was not directed at me but at 
someone or something else. Someone or something had cast a spell over me and 
paralyzed me in mid-fuck. 

I know it sounds crazy and I thought for a little while that I was losing my 
mind. It had become a battleground, a dueling field, and neither of the 
contestants was myself. One was my uncle, and the other ... Did I, in fact, 
recognize the other? It seemed to me that I did, though in distorted 
condition, like, a personality drawn all out of reasonable proportion by 
some distortion mirror of a spiritual funhouse. 

How long it lasted, I do not know. But I seemed to feel the stasis gripping 
me begin to slip away, to hear a faint despairing voice that was not a voice 
yet perfectly audible to my mind's ear, cry, "You mustn't have her, too. 
Your cruelty is unbelievable ..." 

Then it was gone, and suddenly, as if released from a straitjacket, my body 
snapped back into fucking rhythm and, once again, I rejoiced at holding that 
curved scimitar of an avuncular dong in my thrusting, gyrating hole. He 
moved with me, bringing us both on with a delicious and utterly unexpected 
lateral waggle of his prick that set it to pumping its thick, white nectar 
into the euphoric suffusion of my womb. 

We had not fucked long enough to work up a sweat so getting back into our 
clothes was no trouble and, moments later, we were out of the leafy-arbored 
lane and winging back toward Riverville once more. But there was little 
conversation the rest of the way. Whatever it was that had occurred to 
interrupt our screwing on the moss there in the woods had shaken us both. 

Glancing at the rigid set of his beautifully cut profile, at the flare of 
his one visible nostril, I could see that he was still furiously angry. 
Also, I was quite sure he knew what it was that had halted my fucking action 
like a paralytic stroke. Three times I opened my lips to ask; each time my 
nerve failed me, for whatever it was had been frighteningly out of my depth. 

The fourth time, when I probably would have spoken, he forestalled me by 
turning his handsome face toward me and placing a firm but gentle hand on my 
thigh. 

"Not yet," he told me, his eyes full of love. Now, more than ever, I knew 
that he could read my thoughts at will. 

I didn't know whether to be angry or happy about it. 

 Chapter Eleven 

Late that afternoon, Daddy was fucking me in the big guestroom bed. Brother 
Bill had driven Uncle Joe to Running Water to visit Mommy, who was still 
confined in jail, since the judge there had failed to return from his 
fishing trip in time. We could have had her sprung on a writ of habeas 
corpus, but my marvelous uncle, who seemed to have taken charge of the 
family affairs in this crisis, had advised against it. 

"If I know Edna, and I ought to, she'll make a lot less trouble behind bars 
at a time like this than she will if she's free," he announced. "Anyway, I 
want to talk to her first." 

So that was how it stood. Joanie, as fascinated by Uncle Joe as I was, had 
gone with them, and Harry and I were alone in our Riverville home. 

We had gone to the guestroom to fuck since the other beds in the house were 
too small. Daddy and Mommy had slept in twin beds ever since I could 
remember. 

There was an urgency about my father's fucking that I had never felt before. 
He climbed right on top of me the moment we hit the bed, not giving me any 
options in the matter of positions, and jamming that lovely big prick of his 
into me as if he were afraid fucking would go out of style. He gave me so 
little time to get my sex-sap started that his first plunge actually hurt. 
It was almost as if he were trying to rape me. Which seemed pretty silly 
under the circumstances, since we had been enjoying sex together for more 
than six years. 

In a way, it was pitiful. I couldn't help but think that Daddy knew 
perfectly well how his brother-in-law and I had spent the night in that 
Kernstown motel and was afraid Uncle Joe had supplanted Harry's 
long-maintained Number One place in my cunt and my affections. 

The really pitiful thing about it was that his instincts were right. I did 
my best to respond as always to the plumbing of his fine big dong with the 
titillating mole at its tip, but every time I thrust with my crotch to 
counter his powerhouse thrusts, I discovered that I was really fucking Uncle 
Joe in my mind's eye and missing that detonative lateral curve in his 
slightly larger prick. 

All too evidently, Harry could tell. I saw what looked like a pearl of sweat 
at one tip of his mustache, but when I looked upward more closely at his 
flushed, almost angry face, I saw that it was a tear and that he was weeping 
as he drove his dong in and out of my hard-working hole. I began to cry, 
too, as I realized that something was over between us, and redoubled my 
efforts, causing us to come together in what should have been a terrific 
climax ... but which missed the mark because desire had waned on my part 
while desperation reigned on his. 

When it was over, we didn't go for a double but let things die down and then 
disengaged our fucking pieces. My father lay by my side and I began to cry 
silently, too, and then we looked at each other and I gave his now-limp 
prong a fond squeeze while he rubbed his fingertips against my clit, giving 
me a sweet post-coital spasm. 

When I came down, I wiped his tears away and said, "What are we crying for? 
That was delicious, Daddy." 

Harry sniffed and sat up and said, "You know damned well what we're crying 
for. It's always been like that... when Uncle Joe moves in, I'm out." 

"Out?" I said, reaching for his prick again and beginning to massage it back 
to stiffness. "Not bloody likely, darling. You taught me everything I know 
about fucking." 

"You always were a sweet little darling, Robin." He put his arms around me 
and hugged me close. "But let's not kid ourselves, sweetheart. When you've 
had Joe's cock in your hole, you've had the best. There's never been a man 
alive who could fuck like he does." "Then why tight it?" I suggested. "Why 
not enjoy what we have?" 

I pushed him gently over on his back and, curling up in a ball between his 
wide-apart thighs, I put my mouth to his familiar prick and began to suck it 
back to health, fondling its lower stalk and the balls beneath to bring it 
back to life more quickly. Sure enough, it rose rapidly under my 
ministrations, and when it had attained full mace-hood, I removed my lips 
from its mole-tipped crown and with a little cry of girlish glee, mounted my 
father's loins and, wriggling like a happy eel, worked it all the way up 
into the liquid velvet of my hot little hole. 

To show his appreciation, Daddy laid his hands on either side of my purring 
pussy and, using his thumbs, began diddling my already erect little clit for 
bonus satisfaction. I took time out from the matter immediately at hand to 
fling myself against his beloved belly and breast to let our tongues and 
lips meet in a long, gratitude-filled kiss, the while he slid a hand around 
my well-penetrated rump to play tag with my arsehole. 

But when I was riding him upright again, with him tall in my saddle, I took 
things very easy and Harry, either resigned or reassured or both, seemed 
ready to enjoy our fucking together once more. At least, he was no longer 
out to prove something to himself by ramming in and out of me like a 
schoolboy. 

We had been screwing together so long, and knew so well each other's myriad 
little tricks, that there was no need for words between us. I would vary the 
beat unexpectedly, or alter the direction of my drives by twisting my torso 
to bring my cunt down (or up) and a new angle. Now and again, I'd lift my 
crotch until only the upper portion of my father's prodigious prick remained 
embedded within my flooding tunnel of lust and move my bottom rapidly in 
circles before coming down on its flat out until it was again buried to the 
hilt in my pulsing inner tissue. Daddy did his bit as well to add to our 
mounting pleasure, lifting his entire midsection to meet my downrushes and 
cause the mole-tipped head of his prick to prod the soft top of my 
convulsing uterus, gripping my buttocks to add excruciating manual direction 
to my own thrusts, lifting with me so that our fucking pieces remained fully 
intersticed even when I raised my cunt high for a fresh attack. 

I came time after time, and this time my father came twice to flood my 
sopping insides with sweet spurting sperm before at last our time was over. 
But though it was as good as we'd ever attained together, and even our 
lesser fuckings had always been memorable, something had gone out of it. 

When it was over, he patted my swampy pussy gently and said, "Thanks, 
darling, I needed that!" 

I rolled my sweaty body close to his and put my arms around him and hugged 
him close and said, "You think I didn't, Daddy dear?" 

He shook his head slowly and said, "It's okay, sweetheart ... we'll both 
survive. In fact, you may be in for the times of your life." 

"Oh, Daddy!" I began to weep again. Through my tears, I added, "I feel so 
ashamed, having this happen with a man who is not my own daddy. I feel as if 
I were betraying the whole family." 

Harry fondled my boobs deftly, giving me a minor thrill, then sat up and 
hugged his ankles and said, not looking at me, "I'm going to tell you 
something I promised never to tell a soul ... but, under the circumstances, 
Robin, you have every right to know." 

Suddenly, psychically, I knew what was coming and a great surge of 
excitement raced through me. It was a little like what had happened back on 
the mossy bank in the clearing that morning, when I had felt like a 
battleground or the rope in some sort of psychic tug-of-war. Don't ask me 
how I knew, but I did. 

When Daddy hesitated, I said, "Go on ..." very gently but urgently, because 
I wanted to hear confirmation from him. 

"I'm trying to think of the best way to tell you," he said. 

"When in doubt, Harry, say it straight," I told him, repeating one of his 
own favorite aphorisms. 

He took a deep breath and slid a hand into my crotch and hooked a finger 
inside the edge of my cunt as if he feared I was going to run away. Then he 
said, "Well, the main thing is, unlike Bill and Joannie, you're not really 
my daughter at all. You're Uncle Joe's ... or Uncle Leicester's as he 
prefers to be called these days." 

"I thought so," I said. "I could feel it. Feel something that wasn't just 
sex from the moment I saw him and didn't even know who he was." 

"You're not the only woman who's felt things when they see Uncle Leicester 
for the first time," he said. "Even Edna ..." 

"How did it happen?" I asked Harry. 

He told me. Briefly, it had gone like this: Edna Martin had, as a girl, been 
madly and incestuously in love with her brother, Joe. Joe, who was fond of 
his kid sister but whose temperament and ambitions were wildly at variance 
with hers, had encouraged Edna to marry Harry Davis when Harry, too, fell in 
love with her. 

So they were married and settled down in Riverville. But Edna brought a 
problem with her--frigidity where her husband was concerned. She admitted 
her guilty love but was unable to give herself to anyone else, even her 
husband. In fact, she was a virgin at the time. So Harry appealed to Uncle 
Joe, who came for a visit and opened his sister for business with 
spectacular results ... among them, me--Robin--some nine months later. 

Thereafter, for a couple of years, Edna was all the wife a husband could 
demand .. and brother Bill and little Joanie had ensued. But then, 
overwhelmed by the guilt of her having conceived an incestuous daughter, she 
had again withdrawn, leaving her hapless husband to sleep alone in his own 
house ... at least, until Hotpants got us all going--and coming. 

In conclusion, Daddy--I mean Harry--said, "You should be able to fill in the 
picture from there. Believe it or not, the person I'm most sorry for is your 
mother. You must remember that, at bottom, she's a woman of very strong 
sexual appetites." 

I said, "That figures," and, when Harry raised an eyebrow, "In this family, 
what else?" 

He grinned his happy grin and said, "You're a caution ... all of you. I 
don't mind telling you there have been times when I feared I couldn't keep 
it up." 

"Things should be easier for you from now on," I said. He nodded. Somehow, 
we both knew that I was about to leave the nest. Suddenly, I told him about 
the weird thing that had happened when Uncle Joe was fucking me on the 
moss-bank off the Kernstown Road and said, "It was as if Mommy and Les were 
battling over me." 

He nodded, then said, "There's a powerful psychic streak on her side of the 
family ... both of yours, of course. Your mother gave the whole thing up 
when she embraced religion...." 

"And the Reverend Milton Rood," I added. We laughed a little at that, then I 
said, "What are we going to do about Mommie? We can't let her come to trial. 
The scandal will kill her." 

"We'd better wait till your Unc--I mean, till your father gets back," he 
said, and suddenly we were both crying again in each other's arms. 
Inevitably, this led to a resurrection of certain important elements in 
certain parts of our bodies. We were lying on our sides, so I opened up my 
saddle and Harry slid his legs and hips inside and his big beautiful prick 
simply slid into the wet swamp of my cunt like a hungry horse finding its 
way back to the stable. 

This one we made slow and easy, because we were both feeling sad about the 
changes that portended and, for all we knew then, this might be our last 
piece of arse together for a long time, perhaps forever. Now that everything 
was out in the open between us, except, of course, for Harry's dong, which 
was buried, hilt-deep, in my sweetly flooding guts, the tension had flown 
and we could really enjoy doing what we were doing together for its own 
sake. 

If some of the excitement had gone out of our fucking--not only because of 
Cousin Joe's entry but through the discovery that I was not fucking my real 
father (a factor that had always added spice to our wooing for me)--we still 
made up a terrific team in that all-important department. 

It seemed criminal that my mother, merely for the sake of her own weird 
hang-ups, should have let such marvelous meat go to waste all those years. 

Right then, I almost wished they would leave her in jail ... but I knew they 
couldn't very well do that. I also knew, with my burgeoning ESP instincts, 
that Uncle Joe-- meant, my new, real daddy--was going to get Edna out. The 
only thing I didn't know was how. 

We were still fucking, lying there naked on the bed, when Les and brother 
Bill and little Joanie came trooping back from their trip to Running Water 
to see Mommy. Harry looked at his handsome brother-in-law and said, "How's 
Edna doing?" 

Les laughed, light blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and said, "Not one 
tenth as well as you are, you lucky stiff ... and lucky to be stiff." 

Les stretched out an arm and pulled little Joanie into its circle against 
his side. Looking down at her, he said, "Seeing you two like that, puts me 
in mind of the fact that I haven't been fucked in more than six hours ... 
and that I've got a delicious bit of untried tender pigeon right here to 
take care of me. Is that all right with you, darling?" 

Joanie didn't say a word; she didn't have to. Like every other female who 
ever came within fucking range of J. Leicester Martin, she wanted him to 
fuck her. As he began deftly stripping her out of her tight little sweater 
and even tighter red hotpants, Joanie's body looked turned to mush ... as if 
he could have poked his prick right into her anywhere and obtained ample 
satisfaction. 

While he undressed Joanie with one hand, he got out of his own clothing with 
the other so that, in less than a minute, they were facing each other, 
naked. Harry slid us around on the big bed so that we would both watch them 
without either of us getting a crick in the neck. I was dying to see how 
Joanie took that big curved prick in her hole, and I guess Harry was, too. 

There was something truly godlike about my real father when he stood, naked, 
in front of a girl with that magnificent saber of his fully risen in all its 
pink-and-purple majesty. Joanie reacted just as I had. Since she was shorter 
than I, she didn't have to go down on her knees to go down on her uncle, but 
she dipped gracefully with both knees and sucked its great imperial purple 
head right into her lush little mouth. 

Then, so help me, Les looked over at Harry and me and lowered his right 
eyelid in a slow wink. I giggled, and this girlish act caused a certain 
convulsive activity in my crotch that, coupled with the eroticisms we were 
watching, plus the union of our own fucking pieces, got us on the road to 
renewed orgasms. My start as I giggled had caused that insidious mole atop 
Harry's cock to trace an explosive figure eight in the soft top of my womb. 
Next thing I knew, I was pumping my sluicing cunt up and down on that 
darling dick and hugging him close to my sweat-slippery breasts until, 
within a very short time, his mace bucked in my guts and then once again 
added its liquid reinforcements to the slush already lubricating my entire 
fucking area. 

When we came back to earth, I noticed that brother Bill had vanished, but 
only registered this fact briefly. What was going on between little Joanie 
and Les Martin, my real father, was worth any girl's full attention unless 
she is actually in seething cacoethes herself. 

Joanie, her thick dark-brown hair cascading around her face and upper body, 
with only a single nipple peeping coyly through its strands, had rolled 
herself into a ball atop Les Martin's muscular middle, hugging her knees 
close to her stomach. My father's dong was invisible, entirely embedded in 
my little half-sister's cunt. While his midsection heaved slowly with the 
lazy beat of an ocean swell, Joanie's uncle, with both hands flat against 
the snail-coil of her delicious little body, was slowly turning her around 
on his prick as if she were a cannibal roast trussed on a vertical spit. 

He was rapidly heating her to the broiling point, too. I could tell by the 
way her beautifully lush young body was turning bright red beneath its 
suntan. After having her cunt make the circuit of his cock twice--and I 
could only imagine the devastation the curve in that massive spear must be 
wreaking within the tightness of Joanie's little hole, which was even 
tighter than mine--once clockwise, the second time counter-clockwise, my 
father began moving her in shorter arcs, backward and forward on his loins, 
the while his hands held her captive with a firm grip fore and aft of her 
compactly clutched buttocks. 

Suddenly, with a slow scream as if she were being tortured on the rack or 
something, Joanie exploded from her uncle's constricting grip on her bottom. 
Her legs flew straight out in a sort of instant split and, as she was riding 
his prick sidesaddle at the moment, her left heel barely missed kicking the 
point of Les Martin's jaw. She would have fallen right off her perch, 
backward, had my real father not shifted his grip to steady her convulsing 
little body. Since, at that angle, the leftward bend in his prong had to be 
pushing against her clit from inside each time he slid it out and then into 
the bottom of her hole on the way from and to her womb, her frenzy was 
understandable. 

She began heaving her entire body upward as though to break his hand-grip of 
her bottom, only to drop back with a series of mushy thuds, time after time. 
Then, as Les worked a finger into her clit and began tweaking it, she 
uttered a strangled squawk like a chicken laying an egg and, after flinging 
her arms straight out as she had flung her legs earlier, she pulled them in 
and rested them, one on each tit, and began squeezing her own flying nipples 
and boobs. 

Getting her legs in front of her, both on her uncle's left flank with her 
knees sharply bent, she began bobbing up and down on Les Martin's monumental 
cock until, with a long, low moan, she came, settling down and shuddering 
all over her now cherry-red little body as his semen flooded into her core. 

Harry and I had an unexpected eruption of our own to tend to then and, when 
we emerged from the sweet fogs of climax, we discovered that Les had brought 
little Joanie back to earth and that she lay curled up in his open crotch, 
blissfully sucking his prick, which was now at half-mast. 

It was then that brother Bill returned, in the wake of Hotpants O'Houlihan. 
Hotlips took one look at what was going on and shed her own clothes so fast 
they blurred as they flew through the air. 

"Hey!" cried Bill, but he was too late. Springing like a well-tanned pink 
cat, Hotlips had pushed little Joanie to one side and mounted my real 
father's prick. At first, she had to stuff it in, but it stiffened so 
quickly she was fully impaled before she had a chance to get well settled. 

I took pity on poor Bill, who looked as if someone had sandbagged him, and 
gave him a thorough fucking he would long remember ... 

while Harry and little Joanie took out their fondest aggressions on each 
other's genitals as our Creator intended in the first place. 

Not until night had fallen and hunger had driven us to the kitchen, where we 
sat around the big table and stuffed ourselves with cheeseburgers and french 
fries, did we find time to do much talking about the problems all but 
Hot-pants among us were facing. 

"What's the approach?" Harry asked his brother-in-law. "Do we cop a plea for 
Edna or fight it?" 

"Neither," said Les with a quiet confidence that barely skirted contempt. 
"Since we don't want my poor sister stained with scandal, we get Wilma Rood 
to withdraw her charges and than forget the whole thing as an aberration of 
a sex-starved minister's wife." 

"And just how do you plan to get her to do that?" said Harry. 

"Well," said my real father, "I'll need Robin to help me. I understand she's 
handy with a movie camera." 

"That's right," said Harry, "but what for?" 

"Stick around through tomorrow," replied Les Martin, "and find out. I've 
already done the spadework." He wiped his hands on a napkin, stood up, naked 
and magnificent as before, reached for my hand and said, "Time's awasting, 
darling daughter, let's get the hell back upstairs." 

 Chapter Twelve 

My father stopped fucking at midnight. When he pulled his beautiful, 
gleaming-wet cock out of my hole for the last time that night, he sighed as 
he poked his lovely long fingers into my straining cunt and said, "Darling 
daughter, I have an ordeal ahead of me this day. I must rest and prepare 
myself for it." 

"Can't we have just one more fuck?" I pleaded, but he shook his head as he 
diddled my twat and then, after bidding all of us good-night, departed for 
one of the other bedrooms. 

I moved to follow him, but Harry stopped me by sliding an arm across my tits 
and said, "It's for your mother's good, Robin. Let him go." 

"But we were just getting warmed up!" I protested. "Who needs rest?" 

"He does," Harry insisted. "He has to be at his best when he sees Wilma Rood 
tomorrow." 

"But he never runs out of gas," I insisted. "I should know." 

Harry looked at me, the sadness back in his eyes, a sadness I had seen only 
since my real father arrived. He said, "Not with you, Robin ... after all, 
you're young and beautiful ... and his daughter." 

"What's that got to do with it?" 

"You haven't seen Wilma Rood," said Harry. And, to Hotpants, who was 
slurpingly sucking his cock. "Excuse me, darling, but I think Robin's need 
is greater than thine as of this writ-tag. 

Hotpants lifted her lovely, sexy face from the big prick she loved so well 
and tossed back her hair and said to me with a smile, "Be my guest, Robin." 

Harry rolled over on top of my willing body and slid that marvelous 
mole-tipped tool of his into my cock-hungry cunt ... but once again, I was 
reminded of the importance of the psychological element in fucking. While 
Harry was a magnificent amorist, fucking and being fucked by him had lost 
its quintessence of excitement for me ever since I learned that Leicester 
Martin rather than he was my real father. 

I didn't even try to figure out what it meant. After all, Harry was ramming 
his wonderful prick in and out of my thrusting hole so this was hardly a 
moment for a self-question and answer period. Having him in my quiff may not 
have been as wildly exciting as in the past. But it still sent me winging 
into orbit in a hurry, and, if only to make up for my loss of love for him, 
I gave the fucking all I had. Nor did I emerge the loser as voluptuous 
thrill pursued voluptuous thrill through my churning, gyrating body. 

When we finished, in a wild wet tangle of limbs and torsos, and I had rested 
for a little while, brother Bill drew me on top of him and, for the first 
time that night, I could feel the head of his cock pushing against the 
nubbly surfaces of my labia and nymphae. I spread my legs so that my knees 
straddled my half-brother and wriggled my cunt downward until his meat 
filled it. Once again I gave it everything I had and was repaid with 
interest by the wonderful sweetness of the succession of orgasms that roiled 
my flooding guts before; at last, he drove his cock in all the way and held 
its throbbing head against my womb-top while his semen flooded that already 
full-to-bursting organ of delight. 

Thereafter, I was out of the contest, feeling no need for any prick other 
than that of my so-newly discovered real father. I sat on a corner of the 
big bed and watched Harry and Bill and Joanie and Hotpants gambol as they 
had so many delightful other nights. Then, when all four of them were 
engaged in a marathon double fucking, I felt sleepy and very much alone and 
slipped off to find my real father and snuggle my own naked body against the 
muscular magnificence of his. 

When I wakened the following morning, it was to find him sitting on the edge 
of the narrow bed, smoking a cigarette and regarding me thoughtfully. When 
he saw I no longer slumbered, he said, "Robin, are you sure you want to come 
with me ... after we finish with Mrs. Rood today?" 

I nodded, said, "You know it, darling Daddy." 

"You'd better get used to calling me Les," he said, his incredibly light 
blue eyes laughing down at me. "Some of the inevitable situations we'll be 
in would make our true relationship ... well, indiscreet." 

"Les ..." Shyly, I slid a hand between his lean, muscular thighs and gripped 
his limp prick tenderly. "I did hear you say something about our coming 
together ... didn't I?" 

He smiled and my heart lit up, and then he turned briefly away to tamp out 
the cigarette in a nightstand ashtray. He made no effort to remove my hand 
from his dong, and even as he did this, I could feel the wonderful beginning 
of it swell within the circumference of my palm and fingers. 

Turning back as it rapidly attained full fucking size and far outgrew the 
grip of my hand both in length and thickness, he looked down at its 
burgeoning, then at me and said, "I really shouldn't..." 

"... But you can't help yourself." I slid a hand around his rump to pull him 
closer. "And what you've got now would be a pity to waste." 

"That's a thought," he conceded. "It would hardly be production for use now, 
would it?" 

"And I helped produce it, didn't I, darling?" 

"You beautiful little devil." He laid his flesh against mine, and my cunt 
flooded and I began to come before either prick or finger touched it. There 
was no further question in my mind--if, indeed, there had ever been 
one--this was the man I had to be with if life was to have any meaning at 
all. And, as his wonderful whang slid into my more than ready roundhouse, I 
climaxed so mightily that the sun seemed to burst into a brilliant nova, 
even though, when I came out of it, I discovered that the skies were 
clouded. 

Les made this fairly quick. Instead of repeating, put his head in my crotch 
and tongued and sucked my sopping sex piece until my passions subsided ... 
although the wonderful roughness of his tongue against my clit and in my 
cunt rendered the process slower than it might otherwise have been. 

We showered and he shaved and then we dressed and had breakfast with the 
family. Then we were off to Running Water and the great ploy to make the 
minister's wife drop her charges against poor Mommy and her reverend 
husband. 

My father had set it up the day before while Harry and I were discovering 
the thrill was gone. And as he put the plan into operation, I discovered 
that there was a great deal to learn about this man who had so swiftly 
possessed himself of my paternity and my cunt. Like anyone else confronted 
with a miracle, I had simply taken him for granted and asked few questions. 
Nor had I asked any of myself. Questions like where he lived or what he did 
for a living ... stuff like that. Thus far, I was just along for the ride. 

We drove to a motel on the outskirts of Running Water ... the very same 
place in which Wilma Rood had caught Mommy and her husband in what is known 
in legal circles as flagrante delicto ... where Les had already engaged the 
large end suite usually reserved for traveling salesmen who wish to lay out 
their wares for the local buyers. 

Les and the kids had rigged it up with black draperies and set up a sort of 
altar at the side ... directly across the room from the door to the suite's 
bedroom. My father led me in there and showed me the peephole and then drew 
a fine little movie camera from the suitcase that lay open on the rack 
against the wall. 

"I want you to be sure that my face never shows," he told me, "but get every 
bit of Wilma in action. It won't be so difficult to keep me out of it since 
I'll be masked most if not all of the way." 

He began undressing, and I automatically reached for my own zipper, but he 
checked me, saying, "Not now, Robin. I've got to change." 

There before my eyes, my father transformed himself into a priest with black 
cassock, white surplice and all ... surely the most handsome priest who had 
ever worn such drab attire, all the more handsome in contrast to it. 

"But, Les," I protested, "you're not wearing anything underneath..." 

"I'm well aware of that," he said, his wonderful eyes laughing at me. "As a 
matter of fact, that's most important!" Then, as the doorbell sounded from 
outside the display room, "Oh-oh, Robin ... she's here!" 

He glided from me, closing the door, and I quickly stationed myself, camera 
in hand, at the peephole to watch. 

Wilma Rood was the homeliest old woman I ever saw--even for a Running Water 
minister's wife. Beady eyes, a big birdlike beak, a tight, mean little 
mouth, a sprinkling of large moles, lank, greying hair ... these were a few 
of the stellar attractions Wilma boasted from the neck up. From the neck 
down, it was anybody's estimate, for she wore a shapeless ankle-length dress 
of black sateen turned rusty brown by too many launderings. A pair of 
rimless pince nez perched on the crown of her corvina beak. 

As I watched Les receive her, I realized that my real father was not only a 
superstud but a super-performer as well. No star of stage, screen and 
television could have radiated the delight with which he greeted this 
walking horror. I've heard of extreme unction, and my new daddy had it 
sticking out all over him and he took her hand in both of his and led her 
gently but firmly to a straight chair, sat down opposite her and began 
conversing with her, keeping his hypnotic light blue eyes firmly fixed on 
the pair of black beads that passed for Wilma Rood's orbs. 

Since the acoustics were lousy, I could only catch snatches of what Les was 
saying to her in his low, persuasive voice. But what I did hear was enough 
to make my neck hair stand straight up. I heard mention of "sin" and of 
"redemption" ... of seeing that "Each one of us who treads the path of evil 
must receive his just and fitting reward here on earth"... of "carrying out 
unflinchingly the vengeance of the Lord" ... et cetera. 

Wondering why Les was trying to set Mommy and the Reverend Milton Rood up 
for a lynching, I nevertheless got the camera focused properly and took some 
footage of Wilma Rood through the peephole, busying myself so that I could 
not for a time pay attention to the frightening things my new Daddy was 
telling the woman who had put her husband and my Mommy in jail. 

I could see that Wilma was taking it all in. And from the expression on her 
face, Les had her hypnotized. Her little black eyes stared fixedly at him 
and her little mouth was open with the tip of a pink tongue showing in one 
corner. The front of the shapeless black dress was heaving up and down, 
indicating the intensity of whatever emotion my new daddy had inspired. 

Listening once more, I realized that the tenor of Les's monologue had 
changed. Now he was talking less of sin and vengeance and more of "the 
unfulfilled needs of every human soul." He had recaptured her hand and was 
leaning forward, pressing with low-keyed insistence the case he was trying 
to make for her benefit. Whatever it might be. 

Then, gracefully, he rose and smiled beatifically down at her, holding both 
her hands. In sonorous tones, he said, "I want you to pray for guidance, my 
dear, lest you soften in your resolve to pursue the vengeance that is 
rightly yours ... nay, pray not merely for guidance upon you, however hard 
the path may seem." 

He led her in front of the altar and, with the gentlest of shoulder 
pressures, caused her to sink to her knees and pray. All of this I caught 
with the camera, carefully leaving my new Daddy's face out of the frames as 
he stepped out of the camera range. I was still shooting and Wilma was still 
praying, in profile across the room, when suddenly the door was opened and 
Les slipped into the room beside me. 

After mopping a beaded brow, he said in tones barely above a whisper, "Put 
that camera down, darling ... you've got to help me get a hard on so I can 
fuck that old bitch." 

For a moment, as the true purport of his plan got through to me, I was 
unable to move. The sheer audacity of his scheme, to say nothing of its 
devilish effectiveness, actually paralyzed me. Understanding the sacrifice 
he intended to make in his sister's behalf, my love for my new-found father 
soared to even loftier heights. 

But Daddy was not in a waiting mood. Pulling me close, and forcing me to my 
knees, he said as he pulled up his cassock in front to expose his limp 
genitalia, "Honey, give it everything you've got. That old bag's bad enough 
to look at, but she's got breath like a dead rhinoceros that's been lying in 
the African sun too long." 

"Better fuck her from the rear then, Daddy," I told him just before I lifted 
his flaccid fucking piece and put it into my mouth. The stroke of his hand 
on my head expressed his approval of my suggestion. In general, I have 
always been known as the practical one among the three of us kids, which was 
why my just discovered psychic powers came as such a surprise. 

But this was hardly the moment for such esoteric considerations. My duty 
clear before me lay: to give my new-found daddy a hard on and give it to him 
in a hurry, so he could fuck old balsam-face there in the next room and get 
it under with. 

At first, I didn't think I was going to make it. No matter how cunningly I 
applied my lips, my tongue and even my teeth, I seemed unable to rouse any 
response in Daddy's dick. Invariably, if a man's prong is going to respond 
to any treatment, it shows at least some signs of life early in the game. 
Daddy's remained as soft and dangling after two full minutes of sucking and 
licking and nibbling as it had when I first put it in my mouth. 

I let it go and stood up and said, "It isn't going to work, Les darling." 

"I know it." He looked down at his useless fucking piece and shook his 
handsome head. "Just thinking of that hideous old crumpet out there is 
enough to put it in non-rigid shock. And of all the times to ..." 

"Don't give up the ship, Daddy," I said, pushing my naked body close against 
his. "Maybe if..." 

Keeping his cassock high on his chest, I climbed his beautiful body and 
tucked his hanging cock into my well-creamed crotch and began squeezing it 
between the tops of my thighs. It worked, and within a mere matter of 
seconds, that magnificent curved scimitar pushed hard at the gates of my 
cunt, seeking its true scabbard. 

But there was no time for us to complete together what we had so well if so 
belatedly begun. Wilma Rood waited in the next room, and it was time for the 
coup de grace. Daddy hugged me and then pulled his prick clear of my cleft. 
Still naked, I resumed my post at the peephole, camera in hand, as soon as 
the door closed behind him. 

He approached his victim quietly, his cassock protruding in front, thanks to 
the big erection beneath its modest black broadcloth surface, like that of a 
pregnant woman after her waters have fallen just before the childbirth. But 
even as I watched and took pictures, to my horror the bulge began to recede. 

Les moved swiftly, deftly, taking the only course remaining to him, which 
was to plant his prick in that old horror's hole before it grew too small 
for insertion. Even so, I didn't think he was going to make it. But, when he 
lifted Wilma's dress from behind, intoning, "And now let us know the 
pleasure of our Lord!" the miracle occurred. 

If Wilma had the face of an old witch, from the neck down, concealed by the 
shapeless rust-brown sateen dress, lay a bundle of goodies which, though 
slightly overripe perhaps, were definitely female and definitely designed 
for fucking. As Les lifted his cassock once more, his waning prick was 
rising once more, and he lost no time in dropping to his knees behind his 
victim, pushed her torso over forward and thrusting his curved cock to the 
hilt in the juicy cunt of the minister's wife. 

And I kept right on shooting for posterity as he fucked her. 

As he pumped his Big Bertha in and out of her fully exposed hole, it quickly 
became lathered with pussyjuice. Since he could neither see her face not get 
a whiff of her monstrously bad breath, it quickly became evident to me that 
my sire was enjoying himself. He was too much the erotic artist not to do 
his utmost to give delight when embedded in such a juicy hole. He began 
fucking her with flourishes, moving his buttocks to the left or to the right 
to bring his big curved cavalry saber plunging into Wilma's juicing tunnel 
of love from a variety of angles. 

As for Wilma ... she behaved like a highly sexed female who had never been 
so thoroughly fucked in her life. She bucked and bobbed her bottom, she 
wriggled and writhed, she uttered little whinnies and snorts of delight as 
she savored her much relished attacker with her cunt and finally, lifting 
her homely profile upward toward the improvised altar, she uttered a shrill, 
"Praise to our Lord for giving us such pleasure. Thy will be 
do-o-o-o-o-o-o-one!" 

The done was drawn out until it became a long groan of ecstasy as she came, 
snapping her rump around wildly and planting herself on all fours the better 
to wag her tail as feelings invaded her whose existence she could hardly 
ever have suspected. 

Finally, my father had to grab her churning buttocks and grip them tightly, 
his fingers disappearing in the tender flesh, to plant his sperm in the top 
of her tunnel. Finished, he pulled his prick out of her richly creamed hole, 
leaving her in pitiful shape--a condition he relieved by sucking her 
shuddering pussy, a ministration to which she surrendered with evident 
relief and delight. 

With this done, he let her suck his prick, giving her a lesson in the art of 
fellatio and pulling his long thick dong out only barely in time for me to 
get an excellent series of shots of his sperm spurting from the tip of his 
prick across an inch or two of space into her avidly open mouth. And, since 
she failed to catch all of it, giving me a fine close-up of Daddy's semen 
running down her face. 

Les said, "Okay, hon, that should do it. Come on out." 

When Wilma saw me with the camera and realized what had been done to her, 
she fainted dead away; but we rode back to Riverville with Mother riding on 
the front seat between us. She was almost pitifully grateful, yet even now, 
she uttered a few snide comments about Les's way of life and how he must 
have accomplished her release. 

"You can thank this big prick of mine for getting you out of jail, Edna," he 
told her. "And at least I'm honest about it. When I fuck, I fuck and I enjoy 
it as much as possible." A pause, then, "Incidentally, dear sister, you were 
one of the lousiest lays I ever had ... even worse than Wilma Rood." 

Mother turned cherry red, just like Joanie when she's embarrassed. She said, 
"Joe, you mustn't ... the child!" This last, with a furtive side glance at 
me. 

"Your daughter," he said. "Our daughter ... is one of the very best pieces 
of arse I've had in my life. What's more, she's coming with me when I take 
off tonight." 

"You wouldn't!" she cried. "I won't let her go!" 

"Edna, I hate to say this, but you're in no position to stop us ... not 
since you made an ass of yourself with the Reverend Rood. So shut up and 
don't let it happen again. With Robin leaving, you can get all the fucking 
you'll ever want from Harry and Bill." 

"But ... it's so wrong!" she gasped. "I couldn't." 

"You will ... now," he said calmly. "You've been dying to get in on it for 
years, or you'd never have let Rood fuck you. I suppose his being a reverend 
made it okay." 

Mom didn't say anything, but her blush grew brighter still. 

* * * 

Harry and Joanie drove to Kernstown to catch the Indianapolis plane. Mommy 
and brother Bill were doing, guess what? back at the house in Riverville. 
After much kissing and a few tears from Joanie, they left us there. Then Les 
and I went inside--and saw that our plane was ninety minutes late. 

I said, sliding my hand into his, "Les, do we have to go to Indianapolis 
tonight?" 

Those hypnotic bright blue eyes looked down at me and blazed with humor and 
sensuality. He said, "Now that you mention it, I don't really have to get 
there for another day or two. We wound this business up more quickly than I 
had estimated." 

"Oh, shut up, darling ..." I said lovingly, and we began the short walk back 
to the motel of blessed memory. 


End
