Plucking Their Little Buds
by Olga Laurie


FOREWORD 

If what you're looking for is a good piece of fiction, you're holding it in 
your hand. Plucking Their Little Buds is-first, last and throughout-an 
erotic novel of the most graphic, lively and satisfying sort. 

It's also a fun novel, and at times a very funny one. And it's an absorbing 
love story, too, with a villain or two, a harrowing series of crises to be 
surmounted by its characters, and a delightfully happy ending. Then too, 
it's the vehicle for a significant psycho-philosophical message. But these 
aspects are only incidental; they add to the book's value without obscuring 
or intruding on its primary function. Primarily, this is a story about 
people enjoying sex, written by a person who enjoys sex, for people who 
enjoy sex. 

Plucking Their Little Buds is about Mom Glen, a lovely young woman whose 
sexual inclinations have been curiously shaped by the events of her early 
life. Mom has no husband, but she has a son, and to her shameful secret 
concerning him are added secrets about several other barely mature boys who 
enter Mom's unusual flower shop and encounter her unusual appetites. Mom 
also has a younger brother who thinks sex is neat, and an older brother who 
thinks it's nasty. The latter, the Reverend Oakley Glen, is an adherent of 
the old puritan battle cry, "Death Before Dishonor!" (It's Mom's death that 
he has in mind, however-and better late than never.) 

This novel is also the story of Spike Mason, an ordinary,-likeable guy whose 
approach to sex is one of stifled desire, due to timidity, a traditionally 
"proper" set of inhibitions, and a feeling that he must be faithful to his 
departed wife's memory. When he and Mom meet, the attraction they feel poses 
an explosive challenge to both their sexual orientations. And when Spike 
meets Mom's little sister, the fuse is lit for some of the most dazzling 
erotic fireworks in modern fiction. 

We can offer little information about the author of . She appears to be 
rather a tease; her correspondence with us has been erratic, ambiguous and 
sometimes downright evasive. Two excerpts from that correspondence, however, 
may shed some light on the novel, if not on the novelist personally. We 
suspect she is or was an airline stewardess; or perhaps she's a pilot, or 
maybe just a friend of pilots. In any case, Olga Laurie seems to get around 
a good deal, for she said in one letter: "I've flown over much of the world, 
and I've picked up the habit of asking myself, What are the people down 
there doing right now? There are thousands of answers to the first question 
but only a few to the second, and out of those few, there's one best bet the 
world around. That's what I keep in mind when I write." 

Once, we were so bold as to ask Miss Laurie about her personal sexual 
philosophy. She wrote back: "Let's not get personal. Not by mail, anyway, 
sweeties. But I'll tell you about a friend of mine: She loves animals. She 
has a raccoon, a goat, a monkey, a skunk, a flying squirrel, four dogs and 
about a dozen cats. All her pets get along beautifully, enjoying one another 
and their mistress. 

Apparently, nobody's ever told her she's only supposed to have one-or at 
least just one at a time. 

"Now, if you're reading between the lines, fellas, remember: We're not 
talking about her life; we're talking about mine. And I own no animals." 

Fortunately for all concerned, Miss Laurie's novel is as clear and 
forthright as her letters are coy and roundabout. Nothing is left to the 
reader's imagination or powers of deduction in . From the first 
seduction-which happens so fast that the happy "victim" never even gets his 
tennis shoes off to the last wild, wonderful, gloriously overpopulated orgy, 
the novel covers just nine days, and its abundant action is confined to five 
locations. It's simple, it's straightforward, and above all it's sexy. 

Probably there's no need to emphasize that is fiction. It seems unlikely 
indeed that this exact series of events-crammed into so short a time and so 
compact a setting-has ever happened to real people. But Mom and all the 
others are realistic characters. What they are, what they want, what they do 
are completely believable, and any single sexual event in the story could be 
documented a thousand times over. That these things haven't happened to the 
same individuals in such rapid succession at any one place at any time in 
the past, then, makes not fantastic, but quite possibly a realistic novel of 
the future. For as the noted zoologist-anthropologist-biologist-philosopher 
Desmond Morris has written in his highly acclaimed study, The Human Zoo: 

"Man's strong pair-forming urge, stemming, in evolutionary terms, from his 
increased parental duties, will persist no matter what technical advances 
are achieved with perfected contraception in the years to come. This does 
not mean that such advances will have no impact on our sexual activities. On 
the contrary, they will profoundly alter our behavior. The triple pressure 
of improved contraception, dwindling venereal disease and ever swelling 
human population will together work towards a dramatic increase in 
non-reproductive forms of copulatory indulgence. There can be no doubt of 
this." 

So much, however, for highly acclaimed studies. You're looking-since you've 
read this far for a good piece of erotic fiction, and that's precisely what 
follows. As for that message we mentioned, Miss Laurie won't bore you or 
insult your intelligence by preaching at you. She won't club you groggy with 
a bunch of weighty theories. Her characters don't beat around the bush, 
either: They plunge right in, and she tells it like it happens from 
beginning to end. 

If, when you've reached its end, the message of Plucking Their Little Buds 
isn't clear, and you don't care to go back through the book in search of it 
... Forget it. You've got better things to do; right? 

Well, buddy, you got the message, then. Because the message is simply, 
Enjoy! 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Mom's Flower Tower was shaped like a gigantic prick. With its fifteen-story 
shaft and the two dome-shaped greenhouses flanking the entrance, with the 
balcony that encircled the top floor like a drawn-back foreskin, it was 
easily the biggest hard-on in the little city of Grand Junction, if not the 
whole state. 

Chrysanthemum Glen had noticed this when she first saw the building two 
years ago, even though she'd seen only one real prick in her whole life 
before or since. She'd imagined hundreds of them. Ever since that one time, 
when she was fourteen, when she'd not only seen, not only felt, but actually 
fucked a genuine, man-sized, hot, throbbing, thrusting, slime-slick, 
cunt-cramming, clitty-battering, cum-spouting, cervix-soaking (and, 
unfortunately, baby-making) cock, she had formed elaborate and loving mental 
pictures of the pricks of every man and boy-oh, yes; particularly every 
boy-she'd ever seen. 

She was forming and fondling such a mental picture on this Friday afternoon, 
as she watched the boy who stood across the street looking at the Flower 
Tower. How old was he? Ten? Maybe eleven? He probably didn't even know what 
his little weenie was for, yet. Probably thought it was just a convenience 
for peeing that God had given men to show they were more important to Him 
than women were. That was what Oak would say, anyway, even though it had 
been Oak's prick that had introduced Mom to the whole fascinating, 
frustrating subject. She was sure Oak hadn't used his prick for anything but 
peeing ever since, and he was ... what, now? Thirty-three years old! Because 
Mom was twenty-nine, and Oak had been eighteen when ... God! she thought. 
Twenty-nine! It's been more years since I've seen a real prick than I lived 
before I saw one! 

The boy's ragged cutoff jeans were tight, and Mom thought she could actually 
see the bulge at the apex of the pant legs where that beautiful little peter 
would be lying, curled up all soft and silky-pink, just waiting for somebody 
to wake it up, arouse it to quivering stiffness and a fattened, glowing, 
jutting sense of purpose. Ooooh! She felt her cuntlips respond to the image 
with a swelling, moistening surge of heat.- 

"Come to Mom, little prick," she whispered. "Come on over here, and I'll 
teach you to stand up nice and tall like my tower." 

Michael hadn't noticed that the Flower Tower looked like an erect penis. To 
him, it was just the place where his stupid sister said he had to get the 
stupid flowers for the stupid girl he'd got trapped into taking to the 
stupidiferous seventh grade dance. Erect penises were about as far from 
Michael's mind as they were dear to Mom's heart. What was on Michael's mind 
was the possibility of telling his dad he'd lost the three dollars for the 
flowers, getting out of the dance by getting sick or something, and spending 
the money later on a softball. 

He knew he couldn't do it, though. He was no good at faking sickness, for 
one thing. Anyway, his dad and sister kept saying that now he was twelve, he 
was going to start getting interested in girls and dancing and all that 
stuff, though Michael couldn't imagine why. He guessed it had something to 
do with the little book his dad kept leaving around and telling him just a 
bit too casually he could read if he felt like it-which he didn't. Melissa 
had read it, and said it was a real roar; but she'd said it in that 
sarcastic way that meant she thought it was dumb, so he hadn't even picked 
it up. But he guessed he was stuck with going to the stupid dance, and that 
meant he had to buy the stinking flowers and wait clear till next month's 
allowance for a new softball. 

Scowling, he started across the street. 

He's ... Yes! He's coming here! Mom's hand tightened on the envelopes the 
mailman had left. She'd only glanced at the return addresses, then fought 
off the mixed fear and annoyance they caused by concentrating on her daily 
vision of the mailman's cock. (She hoped he had one, though with that limp, 
and the way he talked about his Korean War injuries, she often wondered if 
this prick wasn't entirely in her imagination.) Then this new, wonderfully 
young dong had appeared, and she'd found her mental picture of it more vivid 
and more ... more urgent, somehow, than she could remember of any past 
imagining. It was almost as if this time she might ... She shook her head, 
but the picture of the cock didn't go away, and neither did the eerie 
feeling of ... well, of courage that had never accompanied her fuck 
fantasies before. 

Yes. He was still corning straight toward the door. Mom used the unopened 
letters to mark her place in the magazine she'd been leafing through, then 
hurriedly checked her reflection in the side glass of the rose cooler. Hair 
... fine. It was dark red-darker than the wine-hued nine-dollar roses. Face 
... everything in place. Tits ... oh, they were ready! They strained forward 
in her flimsy, useless bra like a pair of fat, blind puppies, eager for a 
romp. Through her thin blouse and the even thinner bra, you could actually 
see the shape and shadow of those pushy pink, puppy-noses, if you looked 
closely. Skirt ... good; her shortest. And legs ... damn! There was a run in 
her pantyhose! 

Moving behind the cash register, she hiked up her skirt and skimmed her 
sheer white panties and the clingy pantyhose down, slipped out of her shoes 
and bent to shuck the flimsy tangle off one foot, then the other. Was there 
time to get the panties back on? No. He was almost at the door. 
Straightening, she dropped both garments into the waste basket, smoothed her 
skirt. God! The way I'm juicing up, I may need those panties! 

He walked in, looking a little sullen, and slowly crossed the vast, circular 
salesroom toward her, not looking at her nor at the flowers that formed an 
almost solid border to the room, but down at the dark maroon carpeting his 
dirty tennis shoes were scuffing through. And yes; she could see the slight 
but so exciting bulge in the front of his jeans. Mentally, she stroked and 
nudged his tender, tight-slung little balls and the plump, pale shoot of 
gentle gristle that curled to a pretty, uncircumcised point from the 
hairless cushion of flesh just above them. She ... she just knew he wasn't 
circumcised. Was it all in her mind, or could she actually see the contour 
of that delicious little-He was looking at her! "Guh ... Hi!" she choked 
out, smiling for all she was worth. 

"I'm, uh ... supposed to get a thing for a girl. For a dance, I mean. A 
wrist corsage?" 

"Oh. Well, sure. I've got a few already made up, or you can tell me what you 
want and-" She caught herself. "But wait. Just a minute." Smiling still-and 
the smile was getting easier, more natural, softer-she came from behind the 
cash register and walked past him toward the door, to hang up the closed 
sign. "Lucky you got here when you did," she called back. "I'm just closing 
up, so ... so you'll have me all to yourself." 

She didn't look back as she said that. Didn't dare. Was he watching her? She 
hoped so. But it was crazy, closing more than two hours early like this! 
What Was happening to her? 

Still, she hung the sign, then turned back toward him, pushing her tits out 
just a little bit extra as she did. Shit! He was still staring at the cash 
register. But now he turned, and he was almost smiling. "Oh! Well, if you're 
closed...." 

He started for the door, but she grabbed his arm-and had a hard time keeping 
her hands there, instead of reaching down for that darling, sleeping little 
pee-shooter she'd decided to educate in the finer things of life. "Oh, no!" 
she protested, slipping an arm around his shoulders so that her tit almost 
graced his ear. "I mean, for you, I'm wide open!" And sopping wet, too, she 
added mentally. She was guiding him-pushing him, actually-around the cash 
register and counter toward the little alcove beside the workroom. Thank God 
Evangeline went home early.' she mused. Somehow I don't think I could stop 
myself from this even if she was hero. 

The boy was scowling, squirming a little. She had to keep talking. "Now, you 
tell me about your date. Do you know what color she's going to be wearing?" 

He shrugged, his shoulder brushing the underside of her breast ever so 
lightly. "Unh-uh." 

They were in the alcove now, and she sat him down at the little desk where 
she did the ordering and bookkeeping. "Well ... is she pretty?" 

Michael shrugged again, scowled again. Why did adults keep nagging at you 
with questions there weren't answers to? "I guess so," he muttered. What was 
with this woman, anyway? Did she think she was his mother or something? The 
thought made him look up at her. Huh! Dad might wish she was. His mother had 
been all fat and sort of grouchy-looking, even before she'd got sick and 
died. This woman was what his dad would call "really something," and then 
blush. 

"Well ... do you know what color her eyes are? Is she blonde, or dark: You 
see," she went on when he seemed unable to answer, "I can pick out flowers 
for her better if I know." 

"Well, she ... she's got hair sort of like yours, I guess. I think." 

Want to see all of it? Mom thought. Would it turn you on if I just ... sort 
of ... She sat on a corner of the glass-topped table by the alcove's 
entrance, letting her thighs slip apart till she thought he could get just a 
peek at her pussy hair. God! I must be oozing halfway to my knees, though! 
she realized. And he wasn't looking anyway. His eyes were rambling vaguely 
over the flowers that filled nearly every inch of space along the walls of 
this room too-though most of men here were in glass cooler cases. And his 
prick ... his seated position eliminated what little bulge she'd been able 
to discern before, but she was sure it hadn't hardened. He wasn't looking 
away, in embarrassment or nervousness; he was just bored, impatient ... 
probably wishing he was out with the other guys, playing whatever boys 
played before they learned where the real fun was. 

He started to stand up, and desperation took hold of Mom. She stepped into 
his path and blurted, "Wanna ball?" 

His mouth fell open. He stood still, staring at her in amazement. "How did 
you know?" he said, really smiling for the first time. "I lost mine last 
week, and if I didn't have to buy the dumb corsage, I could-" 

He caught himself too late. It wasn't polite to call it dumb to her, he 
realized. She probably thought flowers were the most important thing in the 
world. 

Mom wanted to laugh, wanted to cry, wanted someone to take her in hand and 
spank her soundly for the evil thing die was trying to do with this 
innocent, sweet child. But most of all she wanted his cock. Right then, that 
little pud-bud in his pants was the most important thing in the world to 
her, and if it was the last thing she did on earth.... 

And suddenly she knew how! 

She took his shoulders in her hands, gently. "A baseball, you mean. What you 
really want is a baseball, but your folks say you have to buy a corsage for 
this dance, and-" 

"My dad," he corrected. "Yeah. And I guess I've got to." 

"Well, now listen," Mom said softly, looking into his upturned face. "What 
if I gave you a free corsage? Then you could get the baseball, couldn't 
you?" 

He smiled, nodded. "Softball, though," he said. 

"Softball," Mom murmured. "Yes. Of course." 

"But, ma'am, why would you-" 

She put a trembling finger to his lips. "I'll tell you why. I want you to do 
me a very big favor, and I want you to promise never ever to tell anybody 
about it. It's ... it's something fun, and something that won't hurt 
anybody. You can-we can do it right now, right here, and it'll just take a 
little while, and then I'll give you the corsage and you can go buy that 
ball." 

He looked ... not suspicious; just puzzled. "Is it a deal?" Mom asked, 
fighting to keep her eyes on his face and her hands on his shoulders, 
instead of letting them all pounce on the little morsel of meat that was 
driving her out of her mind with desire. 

Michael gulped. "Well, gee, I ... I guess so. But if it's fun, why-" 

"It's going to be wonderful fun for me," the woman said, her voice a little 
less tense. "And I think for you. Anyway, I promise it won't hurt you ... or 
anybody. But you've got to promise not to tell. Will you do that?" 

"Well ... sure. Yeah." She just stood there, bending toward him, her hands 
shaking a little on his shoulders. As he took a deep breath, he could smell 
this funny perfume or something, that he hadn't noticed before. Was it from 
some kind of flower, maybe? "I promise," he said, since that seemed to be 
what she was waiting for. 

"Ohh, wonderful!" the woman said with a big gush of breath. And then all of 
a sudden she started kissing him and hugging him and patting him all over, 
but mostly the patting was right smack on his crotch. Somehow she managed to 
get him sort of turned around so she was pushing her big, soft jugs against 
his back and upper arm while she kept kissing his cheek and forehead, and 
one of her hands was squeezing his peter right through his jeans and 
underpants till it almost hurt, while the other hand pushed his zipper down 
and then popped the snap at the top. 

"Hey! Ma'am? What kind of-" 

"Shhhh," she said, ending it with her lips against his. His were open, and 
hers came open and her tongue went in his mouth for about three swipes back 
and forth before she backed off a little-just her mouth, though-and 
whispered, "You'll like it. I promise." 

She got around in front of him on her knees, then, and pulled his pants and 
skivvies clear down to his shoes, and he felt this big cloud of hot breath 
on his peter as she said, "Ohhhh! I was right! And it's ... it's beautifuir 

"What?" he said. He didn't mean what was beautiful; he just didn't think he 
could have heard right, although he knew he had. 

"Your cock," she answered in that same hot-breathed half-whisper. "Ohhh, 
your marvelous prick!" Her fingers were racing all over it, and under it, 
and under his balls, and even pushing back toward his butt hole a couple 
times; but mostly she kept stroking his peter and pulling it out toward her 
like ... like she wanted to eat the stupid thing! 

She looked up at him, then. She looked a little crazy, but she sure looked 
happy. "Can you make it stiff for me?" she asked. 

"Make ... make it stiff?" 

"Yes, darling. Doesn't it get stiff sometimes when...." She stopped, 
beginning to look a little worried. 

Michael shrugged. "Well, I guess like in the mornings sometimes, when I have 
to ... go to the bathroom. But I...." This was embarrassing. And stupid. 
Mainly stupid. 

"Don't you ever ... play with it? Jack off?" 

"Jack off?" 

She just stared at him for a minute, her fingers still busily caressing his 
peter. Finally she smiled again. "Never mind," she said. "Well try 
something. You sit down and ... and sort of play with it like I've been 
doing. Okay? While I get undressed." 

She stood up, letting go of him, and he sort of hobbled backward till he 
could sit on the chair again. 

"Kick those off," she said, nodding at his crumpled jeans and skivvies. "And 
would you take your T-shirt off too, please?" 

He started to comply, then hesitated. "Ma'am." 

"Miss," she corrected him. "But no. Mom. That's my name: Mom." 

"Hi. Glad to meet you," he said, his underpants hanging from the toe of one 
tennis shoe. "But ma-Miss Mom ... You aren't planning on giving me a bath, 
are you? Because I'll have to take one before the dance anyway-at home, I 
mean-and two in one week ... I mean ... Oh, never mind." Heck, it would be 
worth it to get the softball right away. 

Mom chuckled. Her arms were doing something up behind her back, and the 
chuckle made her jugs jiggle. "No," she said, smiling that sort of nutty, 
breathholding smile again. "That's not what I'm planning on." 

Then she seemed to have a thought. "The toilet's back in the workroom, on 
the left," she said, nodding toward it as she slipped her blouse off. "If 
you need to use it, I mean." 

Michael shook his head, then let his eyes settle on her jugs. He guessed she 
must not mind, unlike his sister, who was always making a big fuss if he 
walked into her room when she just had a bra and underpants on. These jugs 
were a good deal bigger than Melissa's, yet they stood out just as solidly. 
He could see the dark nipple circles through the filmy bra cups ... And then 
the bra too slid down her arms and fluttered to the floor, and he discovered 
something he hadn't known about: Those nipple circles had stiff-looking 
bumps in the middle, sort of like two little nozzles. Huh! "Nozzle" was what 
Melissa had called his peter when she'd been teasing him once about missing 
the toilet bowl, and here it turned out girls had two nozzles of their own! 
Well, women did, anyway. Maybe- 

He lost track of the thought as the woman's skirt slid down her legs. She 
wasn't wearing anything under it but a fuzzy triangle thing that was ... 
hair? Was that what made that dark patch in the front of Melissa's 
underpants the couple times he'd seen her half undressed lately? Huh! He'd 
learned more in the last minute than he had all year in seventh grade, it 
seemed like. 

"Do you like my titties, darling?" the woman was saying. "And my cunt?" She 
put her hands on the edge of the table behind her, leaned back a little and 
spread her legs apart. The hair extended back between them in a narrow line, 
lighter, and sort of wet-looking. She looked ... swelled-up there, too; and 
.all pinkish, between the soft white curves of her inner thighs. That was a 
cunt, huh? Some of the guys at school talked a lot about titties and cunts. 
Titties were the same as jugs, he knew; but he'd never been sure about the 
other word, nor particularly interested. It was interesting, though. Sure 
different than a boy! 

"Aren't you going to take your shirt off?" the woman prompted, standing 
straight again. 

"Oh! I forgot. Sorry." He slipped it over his head as she came toward him. 

"You haven't been playing with yourself, either. Your prick's still all 
limp." She sounded quite disappointed. 

She held her hands out, and when he stood up in response to the gesture, she 
knelt in front of him again. She pulled his hands onto her jugs-her 
titties-then started rubbing and pulling at his prick, as she called it. 
"Play with them," she said. "Squeeze them and play with the nipples. And 
while you do, I'm going to-" 

She stopped suddenly, and looked up at his face again. Her hands were hot on 
his little nozzle, and her own, even littler nozzles were hot against his 
hesitant palms. "Darling, what's your name?" 

"Michael," he said. "Mike." 

She smiled, then looked back at his peter. "Mike," she whispered, "while you 
play with my tits, I'm going to kiss your prick. I'm going to suck it, too; 
and I bet I can make it get stiff." 

Aaahggh! The idea of sucking on somebody's pee-spout made his nose rumple 
up. But if it was worth a free corsage to her, who was he to complain? Gee, 
maybe he should have used her toilet, though., What if-come to think of it, 
he was beginning to get a funny feeling down there. It wasn't like he had to 
pee, though; it was a sort of achy, stuffed-up feeling back in the root of 
it and down in his balls, which she kept rolling around with one hand while 
she fingered his prick with the other. It didn't hurt, exactly, but it- 

Ooooh! All of a sudden she'd sort of slurped his whole peter right in 
through her lips, and her hot, wet, slithering tongue was wallowing all over 
the underside of it, and she was sucking ... scraping her lips squeezily 
back along it, and that weird feeling was getting stronger ... spreading, 
pushing out to keep up with her mouth's retreating grip.... 

Yes! Mom thought. Yes, Mike! It's working! She brought her hands back and 
closed them over his, encouraging him to press and explore her tits, rub the 
taut nipples. Her cunt was a flaming, itching, writhing pulp of need, but 
she sensed that he wasn't ready to face that problem yet. She tightened her 
thighs, twitched her hips and held on with lip pressure and suction to his 
thickening dong, feeling the foreskin yield slightly as her caress reached 
the base of his prickhead. Now she pushed forward again, and the foreskin 
skidded back a little; her tongue's tip found the glans, circled it, probed 
the tiny opening. 

She had to look again. He was half hard now, and the foreskin had slackened, 
and she just had to see the head of his lovely little piston! She gripped 
his hips, pulled and pushed through two more suctioning, lip-dragging 
strokes, the final one baring his cockhead entirely of the crinkling 
foreskin. His hands, on their own on her breasts, continued to knead, each 
one trapping a nipple between two fingers. Good. He was progressing nicely. 

She let her lips slide free, watched intently as with one hand she pushed 
back the foreskin to reveal the rosy, plump knob. "Oh, Mike!" she breathed. 
"It's such a beautiful cock!" 

He didn't answer immediately, and she didn't wait. But when her mouth once 
more enclosed his hardening member, her tongue massaging the little tube 
that bulged along its lower length, he mumbled, "Your ... your nozzles are 
nice, too." 

Mom giggled, and the flutter of breath and palate brought a surge of 
response from the boy's prick; its length increased perceptibly. 

"Oh, yes!" she sighed, backing off momentarily. "You're getting there, 
Mike!" She pressed her lips onto the foreskin, moved it back and forth while 
teasing the turgid head with her tongue-tip, then looked up at him, his 
rigid tool's end resting on her chin. 

"See?" she said. "See how big?" 

He grinned. "Yeah. It feels ... funny, too." 

"Do you want to fuck me now, Mike?" 

His face went blank. "Ma'am? I mean...." 

She thought she felt his prick slip a little, and lowered her head to suck 
it in before it could start to shrink. And as she worked, lips, tongue and 
throat coaxing, he began squeezing and stroking her tits again, then cupping 
and hefting them while his thumbs circled the nipples, pressed the stiff 
tips this way and that, punched them back into the crinkled aureoles, 
compressing the firm yet yielding mounds of sleek heat ... , It was great, 
but they weren't progressing. Her cunt still wept and throbbed with need. 
Again, therefore, she took her mouth from his prick, but this time 
immediately closed one hand around it, stroking gently but firmly. She 
tickled the fully uncapped head with her tongue, and whispered, "Lie down, 
Mike. It's time you got acquainted with a quim." 

Guided by her free hand', and kept horn-hard and pulsing by her other, he 
lay on his back on the dark red carpet. Mom positioned him so that at his 
head, feet and to one side, glass flower coolers provided reflected views of 
their naked bodies. Then she slicked her lips snugly over his gjans again, 
while swinging one leg across him so that she knelt astride his chest, her 
ass-hole and seeping dot displayed to his gaze. 

That's a quim, Michael. A cunt. Or pussy. Twat. Vagina. Snatch. Slit. 
Pudendum. Poontang. Vulva. Goody gulch." She separated the terms with 
playful stroking licks along the undersurface of his plunger. "It's where 
you're going to put this big, beautiful, hard, hot, creamy, dreamy cock of 
yours in a little while, my darling. You're going to nun it in there, and 
it's going to feel even better than my mouth does...." She paused to fasten 
her lips tightly around his straining pud and scorch them right down to the 
base, her tongue going wild, left hand cupping his balls while her right 
forefinger probed the tight pucker of his ass-hole. 

"My cunt's going to hang on tight while you jam your lovely prick in and 
out, in and out...." Her hand came up to illustrate the description. " ... 
and ... and that's nicking. We're going to fuck, fuck, fuck till we both 
can't stand it any more, and ... aaaand...." 

This woman, Michael was thinking, ought to be a teacher. She sure knew how 
to make learning interesting! As he listened, he watched her cunt, or quim, 
or ... well, anyway, he watched the double rows of thick, pink-lined lips, 
the outer set fringed with dark, kinky hairs, twitch and palpitate beneath 
their coating of shiny moisture. Then, as the voice from the vicinity of his 
excitingly aching prick tightened, choked to silence, he watched the cunt 
lips twitch and writhe as a sudden flood of excess wetness oozed out to 
cover them and gather in the hair-packed creases at either side. In the 
lower end of the slot, partway into the triangle of thick hair, a paler pink 
nubbin had begun to peek out, like the tip of a tiny tongue. 

"Ohhh, God!" Mom said after a moment. "I ... I came, I guess. It's been so 
long, I...." She shook her head. He couldn't see that, but he could feel it, 
because she hadn't entirely removed her mouth from his cockhead, and the 
motion sent a new feeling of excitement racing through it. 

Now, though, she raised her head, and after wrapping a hand around his 
swollen, simmering peter, looked back past her shoulder-not at him, but 
beyond him, at their reflection in a big glass cabinet full of flowers. "Do 
you like my cunt, Mike?" she asked. 

"Yeah," he said. "It's very ... well, nice." He'd almost said interesting, 
but decided that wouldn't sound quite right. Besides, it was more than just 
interest he was feeling. It was a weird kind of excitement he hadn't even 
gotten in science class when they'd seen that terrific film about the 
astronauts. He wouldn't have believed, a half-hour ago, that looking at some 
lady's butt, shithole and the place between her legs-while she sucked on 
your peter and told you all kinds of new words, most of which you couldn't 
hope to remember-could be anything but a great big bore. 

"Would you ... would you like to kiss it, Mike?" 

"Well, uh...." Somewhere up there, he figured, must be the thing she peed 
with. Then too, if he wasn't careful, he could end up with his nose in her 
ass-hole. I mean, she's nice, and all that, he thought, but ... even for a 
softball...."I don't know," he said weakly. "I never liked kissing much." 

Besides, he knew now where that smell came from, and it wasn't any flower. 
It wasn't exactly a bad smell, but it was going to take some getting used to 
before he'd feel like getting much closer. 

She didn't seem awfully disappointed. In fact, she'd gone back to sucking 
his peter before he finished answering. He did reach up and touch the wet, 
warm folds of slippery, puffy flesh with the tips of two fingers, as a sort 
of compromise, and from the way she squirmed and moaned and pushed her butt 
down toward him, while trying to suck his nozzle right out of its stupid 
skin, it seemed like, he figured she liked that. So he explored a little 
more, sliding his middle finger along the hot groove between the inner lips. 

When he touched the little tongue-thing, she shuddered and clamped down even 
harder on his cock, and he pulled his hand back, thinking he'd hurt her. But 
then she raised her head and whispered, "Ohhh, yes, Mike! Right there on the 
clitty! And finger-fuck me, too. Push one way up inside a few times." 

He used one hand on the clitty thing now, and discovered it was sort of like 
another little nozzle, only squishier, slipperier. With the middle finger of 
the other hand, he probed straight inward, and after a couple dead ends, 
found the passageway mat let it slide in clear past the second knuckle, to 
where his other fingers got in the way. The hole wasn't real tight, but he 
could feel her inside skin or whatever you called it all around the finger, 
and she sort of wriggled in there, or fluttered, maybe. Also, she was 
grinding her butt around real jerkily, and he felt another flood of goo soak 
his hands as she gasped out, "Aaaah! Oohhhh! Oh, yeee-esss, Mike! I-Uuuunh! 
I came again!" 

Whatever that meant, he guessed it was good, so he kept on running the 
finger in and out, pushing it as far up the hole as it would-go, wiggling it 
around a little-there was no end to the passageway, as far as he could 
tell-and then dragging it back along the slick, clingy-hot inner lining ... 
and in again ... Meanwhile, his other hand tickled and twiddled her clitty, 
and the whole business was done to the rhythm she set with the switching of 
her hips and the sucking, sliding pressure of her mouth on his straining, 
shuddering prick. After she broke the rhythm with a third jittering, 
groaning "cum" spasm, he tried two fingers in the hole, and that brought on 
another seizure after just a couple jabs. But this time her knees sort of 
gave way and slid out to the sides, and the thing he hadn't wanted to kiss 
just about kissed him. 

She rolled off to the side right away, though, and gasped out, "Oh, I'm 
sorry, Michael! It was ... just so good, I couldn't ... help myself." She 
was hanging onto his cock with one hand, and he found that when the hand's 
motion stopped, his hips went to work to replace it, pushing his pecker up 
and down in her grip without any help from his brain. 

She smiled at that. "Yes! Good, Mike," she said. "And now...." She lay back 
on the carpet beside him, spreading her legs, taking her hand off his peter 
and opening her arms to him as he sat up. "Now fuck me!" she whispered 
urgently. 

He still looked a little lost, so Mom pulled him onto her. With his hips in 
place between, her thighs, and that wonderful, fat, surprisingly long dong 
twitching an inch from her broiling pussy, his head just came up between her 
tits. She cupped one, thrust the nipple toward his mouth. "Suck me while you 
fuck me, baby," she whispered, smiling. 

He seemed agreeable to that, and as soon as his lips were fastened on the 
pulsing bud, she wedged a hand down between their bodies and grasped the now 
familiar, always beloved tube of hot gristle that sprouted from his pelvis. 
She steepled her knees, then turned to watch the moment of contact reflected 
in the cooler to her right. 

Breathlessly, she both felt and saw the head of his rammer touch her cunt 
lips. But then the picture blurred, as her whole body convulsed in an 
involuntary grab for more. The surge of her hips almost bucked him off, but 
she grabbed his buttocks, pulling him down and forward, and when her hips 
spasmed again, his cock plunged halfway in. 

"Aaaaahh! Ohhhh! God, Michael! Yesss!" She was feeling it with every atom of 
her being and consciousness, swollen and surging there in the hugging, 
heated embrace of her twat. At last, after fifteen empty, longing years, she 
had a cock inside her again! 

Michael felt it too. His head was dizzy, but his butt didn't need any 
instructions; it kept jerking forward, trying to drive his tingling prick 
deeper, and if he could just get his knees and tennis shoe toes planted 
right on the damn rag ... or maybe get ahold of her shoulders and pull.... 

Mom felt the hot breath from his nostrils vibrate her titty flesh, felt his 
suction and tongue-pressure on the nipple, felt his thighs buffet hers as he 
scrambled for leverage ... most of all, she felt the twitching, turgid throb 
of his cock, and the kneading response of her inner tissues as they clutched 
and clung and caressed, palpitating wildly, thrilled yet unsatisfied, 
overflowing with sensation, yet wanting- 

"Oooooh! M-mmore! Ahhhggh! Yes! Now-Uunheee-aaah!! " 

With three battering thrusts, he'd driven it all the way in, slamming his 
pelvis onto her yammering clit and sending a new firestorm of orgasm through 
her devastated body. It was long seconds before she could focus her 
consciousness again on the actual location-the depth-of his penetrating 
prong. By then he'd begun to fuck in earnest, jerking out half its length, 
then jolting it in again, deep, massive ... she knew there was room there 
for more of both length and girth, but this was enough; it was cock, and it 
was in her to its hilt, probing and bullying her weeping, wallowing fun 
tunnel, building Another towering overabundance of joy in her jittering 
nerve ends, so that any second now, any ditty-crushing stroke.... 

"Yes; Mike! Ball me! Hard! It's ... it's wonderful! Ohhh, yes! Fuck! Harder 
... faster ... ohhh, I'm going to ... I'm clo-oa-ose...." 

The words weren't words any more, for Michael. They were just another 
surging, urging, hot-and-heaving, pulling-and-squeezing part of the swarm of 
soft strong muscle skin mother hug crazy everything that made him mad and 
sad and happy and silly and scared and brave, needing-fighting-fucking to 
make something happen that he didn't even know what it was but he had to ram 
and jam and slam and cram, harder, faster, fuller, deeper, arm-aching, 
knee-scraping, jaw-clamping, peter-burning.... 

He was biting on her nipple now, and the good pain pushed Mom even closer to 
the top of a trajectory that had already soared far beyond the ecstatic 
intensity of her earlier orgasms. And when suddenly he snapped his head up 
and stared at her with eye-glazed, chin-quivering, neck-straining, 
white-faced panic-pleasure, the pain stayed, and the pulverizing hammer of 
his cock strokes doubled speed and force, and she felt a molten jet of.... 

"AAAA-AAAAAA-aagggh!" 

"Uunh-uunh-uunh-uunh-uh! Ulinggg-gg." 

Dear Mom: her father's letter began. The convent at Sand Creek has closed, 
quite suddenly, and since I cannot see to your sister's proper upbringing 
without curtailing my work in the mission, I have decided, after prayerful 
contemplation, to send her to Grand Junction, where she will have not only 
your care but her brothers' companionship and Christian example. I know you 
will welcome her, and will raise her just as your beloved mother would have, 
taking all due precautions to protect her innocence and preserve the purity 
of her mind and soul through the crucial teenage years. 

Your own youthful slip into the pit of sin has, I am certain, forewarned and 
strengthened you in the ways of righteousness; I would never have sent the 
boys to live with you, otherwise. And your letters assure me the problem 
that occasioned your leaving missionary work is a problem no more, so lam 
confident Iris could not be placed in more responsible hands. 

She will arrive on a flight from Chicago at 5:50 p.m. Sunday, God willing. I 
wish it had been possible to give you more notice, but.... 

The rest was the usual chatter about the clinic, the chapel, the converts 
her father was making among the reservation Indians. Sighing, she dropped 
the letter on the counter. So now Iris was hers to raise, along with Birch 
and Elm, who had come to Grand Junction soon after her mother's death a year 
before. And her pious, Bible-blinded father trusted that Mom would preserve 
the twelve-year-old girl's innocence and purity, did he? 

She laughed wryly, thinking of the twelve-year-old boy who had left the 
Flower Tower not five minutes before, his knees a little wobbly, his prick 
small and limp again, its head covered once more by the pointy foreskin, his 
hands clutching the boxed wrist corsage his first date would wear at his 
first dance. She thought too of her sixteen-year-old brother Elm, whose 
"Christian example" had recently included putting his underpants in the 
laundry hamper with lipstick smears on the fly. She almost giggled as she 
envisioned Elm's cock plugged into the mouth of some eager little high 
school girl-probably that pretty, blonde Melissa Mason. Why, they hadn't 
even kissed the lipstick off before they got down to business! 

But now Mom gritted her teeth, fought back a shudder and got down to 
business herself-the grim business of Oak's letter. It would be another 
threat, she knew. She didn't understand why she forced herself to read each 
one. They had arrived monthly, as regular as her periods, ever since she'd 
tome to Grand Junction. They were another kind of "curse," she mused: 
another way of paying for the sin of being female. 

But this letter was different. It was a single paragraph instead, of the 
usual two-page tirade. And the difference frightened her even before she 
began to read: 

Chrysanthemum: God has told me that what I have known must be done, must be 
done NOW. Therefore, I am bringing my Crusade to Grand Junction next week. 
Due to the blindness or outright Godlessness of the city officials, the 
revival can run but a single night; however, I WILL NOT LEAVE until I have 
sent you on your depraved way to your home in Hell, and have rescued my son 
from the Satanic power that gave him birth into bastardy, and sullied my 
soul with the stain of foulest carnal iniquity. PREPARE TO DIE, 
Chrysanthemum, and to join the evil master of your vile body in the eternal 
fires! 

Mom shut her eyes, fighting panic. He means it, she thought. She had always 
managed to tell herself the letters were empty threats; but now ... and what 
did he mean about Birch? There'd been no mention in the other letters of 
"rescuing" their son. Was it Oak's way of saying he planned to kill Birch 
too? 

Trembling, she sat on the stool behind the cash register, gripped the 
counter's edge. God! All this in one day! First her mad, compulsive decision 
to seduce little Michael, and her fantastic success-a real, live, 
blood-engorged, cum-spouting cock in her cunt, after fifteen years of 
fantasy, finger-solitaire and frustration! And then the news about Iris. 
Little Iris, utterly innocent, fresh from a year in the very convent where 
Mom had been locked away for eight years because of lost innocence ... Iris, 
who like Mom had been born amid the poverty and earthiness of an Indian 
reservation, yet had never seen the reservation's people except through 
window glass; never played with Indian children, or outside a fenced yard in 
a walled missionary compound; never saw a movie or read a book until her 
parents had inspected and approved it....Iris, who must know even less about 
the body's more pleasurable uses than Michael had when he entered the Flower 
Tower, was to be Mom's responsibility from now until ... when? Till she got 
knocked up by one of Elm's friends, probably. Or worse-following the pattern 
Mom and Oak had set-by Elm himself! And now, topping it off, the terrifying 
revelation that Oak was coming. The Reverend Oakley Glen-a demented 
evangelist who stormed about the country branding women the willing consorts 
of the devil, haranguing his audiences into taking vows of lifelong 
chastity-apparently meant to climax two years of wrathful letters by 
murdering his sister, and quite possibly the child he'd fathered by her too. 

It had been Oak's letters more than anything else, Mom-realized, that had 
finally driven her to act out the seduction he had for so long accused her 
of-to actualize with Michael the obsessive fantasy Oak had planted in her 
mind on that day fifteen years ago, just as surely as he'd planted Birch in 
her womb. In truth, Oak had seduced Mom, if virtual rape could be called 
seduction merely because she'd experienced physical pleasure before he 
finished. But he had lied and lied until he convinced even himself that it 
had been her fault-all her doing, in league with the devil. And by his 
endless accusations and vilification, he had somehow made Mom herself 
half-believe it too; at least he'd made her wish it had been her doing-her 
triumph over her big, burly brother with his big, brutal, beautiful cock. 

Mom had been sent to the tiny, isolated convent as soon as their parents 
discovered her pregnancy. Violet and Sycamore Glen came and got her child 
when it was born, and raised it as one of their own. Now, at fourteen, Birch 
still didn't know the truth, nor did Elm and Iris. Mom had been kept at the 
convent until Oak, grown too fanatical for even his father to tolerate, had 
left Oklahoma and launched his bizarre "Crusade for Purity." Then, at ll, 
she had returned to the mission, expected to join her parents in their work. 
But by then Oak's vicious lies, fermenting in her mind, had brought on what 
her father so delicately called "the problem that occasioned your leaving 
missionary work...." Whenever she was around men, Mom wanted to take her 
clothes off. 

She felt this desire in the presence of any man, but it was strongest with 
strangers, and became almost overpowering in a crowd. She had fought the 
insane impulse successfully for several years, but with every victory she 
weakened, or else in defeat the urge grew stronger. Finally, in a department 
store in Muskogee during a shopping trip, she'd lost control, and was down 
to bra and half-slip before a saleswoman, wrapping her in a handy 
tablecloth, pinned her arms to her sides and literally wrestled her into the 
ladies' room. Mom hadn't dared to leave till after the store closed. 

It had happened next with a much smaller group-a prayer meeting in the 
mission chapel. There were several new male converts that night, and since 
all heads were bowed in prayer when her sense of decency collapsed, she was 
completely naked before her father-raising his eyes to Heaven as he droned 
on-saw what she'd done. Mom would never forget his enraged expression. Nor 
would she forget the growing bulge in his trousers as he rushed toward her, 
slipping off his black robes to enclose the glowing nudity that by then had 
pulled all eyes and minds away from God. 

Soon after that, with her bewildered parents' blessing, she had ridden to 
Grand Junction with a group of ladies driving east on vacation. She took up 
residence in her late uncle's mansion, recently inherited and never seen by 
her father, and established the flower shop. It was a low-customer-volume 
business, so she could live a somewhat normal life, having found that 
tranquilizers helped her resist the desire to strip when she absolutely had 
to go out and face groups of strangers. Most such necessities, however, 
could be handled by Evangeline,-the Negro girl who worked with Mom in the 
shop every day but Sunday, or by Chief Flaming Arrow, the Cherokee gardener, 
handyman and general caretaker who had worked for the tower's original owner 
arid stayed on after his death, saying that the age he'd claimed when Mom 
arrived-was "too old for make change." 

This thought made her look around. Flaming Arrow had a habit of standing in 
doorways or dark corners just watching her or Evangeline, silent and 
motionless. Once, Mom had let him do so for more than an hour before 
indicating that she knew he was there; then he'd come forward to report on a 
leaky sprinkler pipe he'd repaired. How long he may have watched before she 
spotted him that time, how much longer he would have if she hadn't finally 
turned and smiled at him, and how long he had watched on how many other 
occasions, she could only guess. He did his work well, and she was sure he 
wasn't dangerous, but she suspected the watching had a sexual element to it; 
she sensed that he was imagining her naked mentally ogling her tits and 
cunt, just as she couldn't look at any man or boy-not even old Flaming Arrow 
himself-without envisioning his cock. 

She wondered sometimes if he ever went to her bedroom during the day and 
watched the panel of monitor screens linked to the closed-circuit TV cameras 
and microphones that covered every in-use area of the tower. Flaming Arrow 
had helped to install this system for her late uncle, and since there was 
even a camera in the little bathroom she and Evangeline used while the shop 
was open ... Oh, God! He could have been watching today, and seen her with 
Michael in the alcove! 

Well, if so, good for Flaming Arrow! If an interest in sex was what had kept 
him alive for 109 years, Mom should live to a ripe age herself, she guessed. 

She wondered, now, why she'd never used the closed-circuit system herself-to 
peep at Birch, or Elm, or Flaming Arrow. She'd thought of it now and then, 
but somehow-until Michael, today-she'd always assumed that reality would be 
disappointing alongside her mental images. At least that applied to her son, 
her young brother and the ancient Indian. It hadn't applied, she realized, 
to magazine models. She picked up the magazine she'd been browsing through 
before the mail came. It was published for male homosexuals, and Mom found 
the stories and articles interesting only for the vocabulary they 
provided-the extensive repertoire of terms and slang synonyms for all things 
sexual. But the really appealing things were the photographs: an average of 
two hefty, limp-but-lengthy, thick-veined, thrilling pricks per picture. 

On an impulse, she dropped the magazine into the waste-basket, atop her 
white panties and sheer pantyhose. "Goodbye, paper dolls," she murmured. 
"Mom's a big girl now. She latched onto a real cock today, and there just 
may be a lot more to come!" 

There will be, she amended silently, unless Oak has his way. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

"Aww, man. Buck! You sho can fuck!" Evangeline muttered, gently massaging 
her sore pussy while she checked the wedding order waiting for delivery. 

She glanced at the clock, then at the light over the elevator door. It was 
nearly ten, and Mom usually came down by nine-thirty on Saturdays. But the 
car was still on fifteen, so Evangeline hiked up the front of her short, 
pleated skirt, slipped one hand into her blue net panties and continued to 
rub her plump, black-furred pelvic mound, so tender after last night's 
battering by her gigantic boyfriend. Up inside, where his long, ebony 
prickshaft with its plum-purple head had been, there was no soreness-only a 
good, lingering afterglow; but up front, where her passion button was, she 
did indeed feel bruised. How can a man that big have so little padding on 
his bulge-bumper? she asked herself. Why, even with my ass and a mattress to 
absorb the shock, I'm so tender right ... there....She slipped a finger 
between the puffy swells, barely touching her funnybud, and felt the buzz 
vibrate through her innards and up her spine. "Wow! It may be tenduh, but it 
do still work!" she murmured. Looking down, she twitched her clit again, and 
watched the responsive shiver run down her sleek thighs. "What you needs 
ain' rest, cunt; it's mo exersahze," she said. "Fix you up in no tahm." 

She leaned against the doorframe of the east greenhouse, where she could 
watch the front entrance, the side door into the workroom, and the elevator 
light, then pushed her panties down a little and put both hands to work 
reviving her groggy man-grabber. 

In the west greenhouse, from behind a screen of ferns, Flaming Arrow had a 
clear view of the black girl, and as she pushed her panties lower, he 
reached through the bottomless right-hand pocket of his gardener's smock and 
began slowly whanking his already distended cock. The long, slim shaft with 
its triangular head was still a little rubbery, whiplashing a bit as his 
gnarled fist shuttled along it, but that was to be expected, since he'd just 
come from watching Mom take her morning shower-and had cum while watching 
that. 

The old chief tore his eyes from Evangeline's gleaming thighs and kneading 
hands for a moment to grin up at the lookie-box concealed in the hanging 
planter to his left. He wondered if Mom was watching him now in one of her 
little windows, and whether she could tell, if so, what was going on under 
his baggy smock. He didn't much care. In fact, he wasn't sure he really 
believed in the lookie-boxes, even though he'd put them up and fastened all 
the wires for the bid boss man; he'd never thought much about the little 
windows, for he was content with the peephole he'd drilled into Mom's 
bathroom from the adjoining broom closet in the fifteenth-floor hallway, and 
with the ventilator grill he could peer through from the furnace shed into 
the workroom's bathroom. 

He watched and whanked now as Evangeline's hips began to work. He wished 
she'd use her hairbrush handle instead of her hands, as she had once, so he 
could get a better look at her squaw-hole. Even so, he was getting harder 
now, and.... 

Oh, buffalo shit! She'd stopped, and covered up. Mom must be coming down. 

Turning away, he let his disappointed dong droop and shrivel as he padded 
silently to the rear of the greenhouse and continued separating bedding 
plants. 

Mom stepped from the elevator, called good morning to Evangeline, who was 
wrapping the bridal bouquet for the wedding order. "Have you called Buck 
about that delivery?" she asked. 

"Ah seed 'im las' naht an' tol' 'im. He be heah." Evangeline grimaced. Why 
did she always talk nigger-talk when she was feeling sexy? "Hell be in about 
nine-thirty," she added, disciplining her speech. 'They want the flowers at 
the church at ten, and there's just one stop on the way." 

"Fine," Mom said. She picked up the hospital book to add up yesterday's 
orders, but looked up as the front door opened and a tall, burly, fortyish 
man in khaki work pants, heavy shoes and a white T-shirt came in. The pants, 
despite his size, were rather loose, and gave her no help in imagining his 
prick as he moved slowly across the salesroom. 

Mom smiled, meeting his gaze but seeing a thick, vein-swollen length of 
delicious gristle superimposed on the tanned, blue-eyed face. "Good morning! 
Can we help you?" 

"I ... uh...." He seemed embarrassed. "My son was in here yesterday, 
and...." 

Mom felt herself go pale. But apparently he didn't notice, for he stammered 
on, "Well, it reminded me that I completely forgot my wife's ... that is ... 
she died three years ago last Monday, and every year I ... I put flowers on 
her grave." 

"Well ... well, yes," Mom said. She looked toward Evangeline for help, 
feeling a little faint. But the girl had turned away, leaving the customer 
to Mom. 

He just stood looking at her, shuffling his feet, and she managed to add, 
"You must feel terrible; but we all ... make a little slip now and then, I 
guess." 

"Yeah." He returned her smile, timidly. "I thought I'd buy 'em here so I 
could sort of thank you, too. For being so nice to Mike, I mean." 

Mom almost lost what composure she'd mustered. But lie was so obviously 
sincere and ... well, bashful! He couldn't know the truth! "Oh, it was 
nothing," she got out, renewing her smile. 

"No. It meant a lot to the boy. The ball, I mean. He told me how you got it 
out of him about wanting one, and wouldn't let him pay for the corsage. It 
... it really made his day; you know? He almost seemed eager to go to the 
dance, and that morning he'd been real put out about it." 

Spike stopped. He felt like he was blushing. Why was he babbling on like 
this to a woman he didn't even know? Partly, of course, it was that 
good-looking women always made him nervous ... itchy. And that always made 
him feel guilty, even with his wife in the grave three years. And this woman 
was ... damn! She was really something! Beautiful, and not just that, 
either. She seemed a little shy, a little edgy and uncomfortable, just like 
he was. 

"Well, I'm glad about Michael," she was saying now. "It was my pleasure; 
really." Then she blushed, and he liked that. 

"I guess maybe you've met my daughter, too," he said, beginning to feel more 
comfortable. "She goes to school with your ... what? Nephew? Brother? He 
couldn't be your son." 

"Whoa, Elm? Are ... are you Melissa Mason's father?" 

"Yeah. Spike Mason, Miss...." 

He held out a big hand, and as she took it and murmured, "Glen. But please 
just call me Mom," he bumbled on: 

"Melissa was the reason Mike came-Oh, excuse me!" That was for talking when 
she was, and also for hanging onto her hand so long. He felt like a big, 
dumb oaf. 

But she got to the business of the flowers, then, and gradually put him at 
ease with her understanding, sympathetic tone about his feeling for his 
departed wife. As he paid for the bouquet, he said, "You know, I supervised 
the grading for this building. Always wondered what it looked like. Inside, 
I mean." He knew darn well what it looked like from the outside, he thought, 
nearly blushing again. 

"Would you like to see the rest of it?" Mom offered. She too was more at 
ease now. After all, he wasn't really a stranger, or just another customer. 
His daughter and her brother knew each other far better than he was aware 
of, apparently. And Mom knew his son ... well ... intimately! She almost 
giggled, and added a pointy foreskin to her mental picture of Spike's cock, 
with the thought: like Son, like father, probably. 

"Yeah, I'd like that," Spike said. 

"I only use about a fifth of it," she said, leading him into the west 
greenhouse first. "The third through the fourteenth floors are empty." Yeah, 
she mused. It's such a ' big prick, I can only use three fifteenths of it. 
But I could sure use all of yours, you beautiful man! 

She could think things like that, and fight down the desire to take her 
clothes off, and still talk to him without stammering and blushing, she 
found as the tour continued. She did most of the talking, but he listened 
and responded politely, and during one lull he mentioned that Melissa had 
gone to a slumber party the night before. What that was pertinent to, Mom 
couldn't imagine, though it had come up while she was showing him her room, 
the master bedroom on fifteen, with the big canopied bed. She did not, of 
course, draw back the curtains on its far side to reveal the wall-mounted 
panel of TV monitors with which her invalid uncle, she supposed, had kept 
track of his numerous servants. 

They looked into Elm's room, which was empty, the bed neatly made. Where was 
he all last night? Mom wondered, recalling that she hadn't heard him come 
in, nor seen him this morning. And he never made his own bed. 

Birch was in his room, bent over a chessboard with a book of problems beside 
him, as usual on weekends. If it wasn't that, he was reading zoology books. 
When he wasn't in school, he hardly ever left his room except for meals and 
to go to the bathroom. Chess and zoology were all-consuming interests with 
Birch, and he seemed to feel no need to share them with anyone. A real 
egghead, my son's becoming, she thought as Birch-introduced to Spike as 
Elm's brother, of course-explained to the visitor that no, he wouldn't know 
Michael, because he, Birch, went to KCA-Kress Christian Academy, a private, 
church-sponsored school in the village just south of Grand Junction. 

Spike expressed a polite interest in the chessboard, but it was clear that 
he didn't know the game, so Mom eased him out before Birch could get started 
explaining-some Russian strategy he was studying. 

"That's it except for two and the empty floors," she said as they walked 
back to the elevator. 'Two's just storage and the gardener's little 
apartment. I've thought some about putting in offices for rent on the vacant 
floors, but-Say! Didn't you say you were in the construction business?" 

"Well, not that kind. Just grading and earth-moving. I'm a super for the 
state road department now." She looked disappointed, and he added, "But I'd 
be glad to take a look if you'd like me to." 

"Good," she said, giving him that warm smile that made him sort of breathe 
deeper than normal. 

They were already passing fourteen, so she pressed the button for thirteen. 
The car eased to a stop, and the doors did back noiselessly. 

Mom's jaw dropped. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Spike's hit bottom 
too. His eyes-corners and all-were glued to the interlocked legs and humping 
asses on the rumpled blanket not twenty feet from them, and the squishing, 
pistoning interlock of grasping cunt and balls-a-floppin' cock that was the 
center of the action. 

Mom hit the down button immediately, but it seemed to take an hour for the 
doors to slide shut. And when they had, Spike's mouth was still open-a 
gaping rent in his beet-red face. 

"My God!" Mom said. "I ... I'm so sorry! I don't know who they can be," she 
added feebly, "but I'll have" my gardener come up here and throw them out as 
soon as ... well ... right away! I don't know how...." 

She let her voice fade out. If he'd heard one word of it, he was showing no 
inclination to respond. He'd managed to close his mouth, but still stared 
straight ahead, and the redness had spread out to cover his neck, and his 
earlobes looked like ... well, like cherries. 

Then the doors opened on the ground floor, he mumbled something that could 
have been, "Thanks again, I've gotta...." and by then he was halfway across 
the salesroom. 

Evangeline was behind the counter, holding his wrapped flowers, and was 
about to call out; but Mom shook her head, and the girl kept silent as Spike 
Mason went through the front door like a bashful bulldozer, and disappeared 
from sight. 

With only a brief "Don't worry. It's okay," to Evangeline, Mom pressed the 
button for thirteen again. She had to know, she told herself, if what she 
suspected was true. There was no doubt whatever in her mind that the male 
participant in the little camp-out love-in was Elm; but as to the girl's 
identity.... 

Sure, she mused as the car crept upward. IV just send Flaming Arrow up, and 
hell ... Ha! He'd either have a heart attack, or do exactly what I'm going 
to: Stand and watch! And if they see me, so what! This is my building, damn 
it! 

They hadn't heard the elevator before or now, apparently; the view and the 
action were the same as before. And assuming that they'd been fucking off 
and on all night, Mom mused, the wonder wasn't that they hadn't finished 
this round yet, but that they still had strength to try for another cum! 

That was Elm on top, all right. The mop of carroty hair, flopping about his 
shoulders as he braced up stiff-armed and continued to pump, confirmed that. 
And the girl was blonde-at both ends-but Mom couldn't get a clear look at 
her face. Besides, her gaze kept fixing intently on the rear view of her 
brother's plunging prick, and all else blurred out of focus. 

But then the mystery was solved, as Elm grunted, "Oh, yeah, Melissa! Squeeze 
it, baby! I'm gonna ... gonna make it!" The tempo of his belting thrusts 
increased; he straightened his legs and went up on his toes in pushup 
position, the girl's ass cushioning his hips, her legs scissoring his waist 
as he thudded down on her. 

"Num-uh-ber ... thir-uh-teen ... comin'. . uh ... uh ... uh ... UUUUHHP!" 

Mom pressed the up button and let the car take her to the rooftop sundeck. 
She needed fresh air. The next "slumber party," she supposed, would be held 
one floor up, and they'd try for fourteen. And after that...? 

Spike couldn't have recognized his daughter, she told herself. If he had, he 
wouldn't just have left ... would he? And if he had recognized her ... well, 
how? Mom hadn't noticed any birthmark, and any man who was that familiar 
with that view of his own daughter.... 

It was silly, of course. He hadn't recognized Melissa, and he probably 
didn't even blame Mom for the incident. He was just so nervous and bashful, 
and , ... and probably pretty uncomfortable about sex, after three years 
without any. 

He was cute, she mused. And big! She found herself hoping he'd come back for 
the flowers. Or should she send them in the truck with Buck, and attach a 
note of apology? She did want to see him again, though, so maybe ... But 
why? What hope was there? Sooner or later, he'd catch Elm screwing Melissa, 
or little Michael would tell all; and if not that, the time would come when 
Spike-any man she might get serious about-would have to be told the truth 
about Birch.... 

She caught herself, and gasped. Here I am, thinking weeks or months ahead, 
and next week Oak's going to come here and ... and probably fall me! 

Through tears of fear and confusion, she groped her way to the lounge chair 
at the far corner of the sundeck. Draped on it was the four-foot stuffed toy 
snake her father had sent Birch for his thirteenth birthday. It was a 
typically naive present to choose for a teenager, but ironically, Birch had 
liked it, and had dragged it around the building for several months before 
abandoning it here. 

Mom picked up the limp serpentine tube and hugged its twice-folded length as 
she sat down, stretched out and tried to relax, compose herself. 

She just couldn't go to the police about Oak; her own brother! No. She'd 
simply have to close the shop, pretend to be away. Her parents wouldn't have 
told Oak of her need to avoid crowds, so perhaps he'd give up, if indeed he 
stayed firm in his resolve long enough to actually seek her out. Luckily, it 
would be spring vacation week, so she could keep Birch and Elm in-and Iris, 
too-for at least that long without ... But Elm would hate her for it, and 
probably sneak out, unless she explained. God! Could she do that? 

Unwilling to face it, she thought again of the police. But no. They'd 
probably send half the detective squad down here to question me, and I'd 
lose control and start stripping, and.... 

She envisioned a half-circle of plainclothesmen staring at her-a half-circle 
of cop-cocks pointing at her, straining forward ... her pussy began to 
moisten, and when she looked down, there was the toy snake's tail, so round, 
so firm ... fuzzy and striped, but still.... 

She took a quick inventory: There were no airplanes in sight. There was the 
closed-circuit camera on the antenna pole, but if Flaming Arrow was in her 
room watching, what the hell! As for the elevator, it was waiting; she'd see 
it go down before anyone could come up. And the almost forgotten back 
stairway-which Elm and Melissa must have used for their tryst, she 
realized-was blocked by a locked door on fifteen. Birch could come up by the 
stairs, but he wouldn't. 

There was something a little extra naughty about the idea of diddling 
herself with her son's castoff toy, and it made her hesitate But it also 
made the prospect just that much more appealing. 

Raising her hips, Mom fucked her skirt up around her waist, pushed her 
panties down, then bent and pulled them off her feet. She spread her thighs, 
grasped the snake's tail, leaving its body to zigzag along her torso, its 
head resting between her breasts. She rubbed the fuzzy tip up and down 
against her swelling cunt lips, and as they parted, pushed the cock-thick 
end between them ... in an inch ... another....drew it back a little ... 
pushed.... 

"Oh, Birch," she sighed aloud as his erstwhile plaything penetrated deeper. 
"If you only knew!" 

 CHAPTER THREE 

By 2:45 on Sunday, Mom was a ... she giggled. A tranquil wreck. 

She didn't know how many of the whee-pills she'd taken. But of course she 
wasn't worried-only curious. 

Birch had just gone up-he'd been awfully sweet, helping her all day-and she 
was alone for the first time since the shop had opened at nine. By then, 
she'd already taken four tranquilizers, the first two because Flaming Arrow 
was being such a prick about installing a closed-circuit camera on thirteen. 

"Why want lookie-box here?" he'd said, standing stiff, straight and stubborn 
beside the stepladder, the camera in his hands. 

"Just ... never mind," she'd said, wondering if his cock still had posture 
that good. "The wires are all there, and all you have to do is hang it up 
and fasten them to it. Now, I've got to-" 

"You no got little window," he persisted. "Only sixteen window, already got 
thirty-fifty lookie-box. Not make sense." 

"Now, Flaming Arrow, that's silly! Every monitor has a selector, and-" His 
corrugated face became even more expressionless. Was he putting her on? He 
couldn't be that ignorant of the setup! "Number wheels," she said in 
exasperation, imitating his granite-jawed face. "Me pickee number, little 
window see with that lookie-box. Me pickee different number ... Listen: I've 
got to get Elm up. Just hook up the camera, please." 

She stepped back into the elevator, and as the doors slid shut she heard him 
protest, "What you see here? Mice? Me no let mice in building. Me no let 
roaches, rats...." 

"Minks!" Mom muttered as the car rose to fifteen. 'Two little minks, you 
wrinkled old fart. One of whom I've got to drag out of hibernation because 
he blew all his energy out the end of his dong Friday night!" 

After two tranquilizers and three tries, however, she'd given up on Elm; he 
was too groggy to be any help to her anyway. Birch, the monitors showed, had 
already gone down, and was unlocking the front entrance promptly at nine 
ajn., bless his little ... heart. God, Mom, she scolded herself. Now you Ye 
even thinking dirty about Birch! 

She'd turned from the monitor panel and taken two more tranquilizers, then 
gone down herself. 

Both boys regularly helped out in the shop on Sundays, since Evangeline 
insisted on that day off, and from late morning to mid-afternoon was often 
the busiest time of the week. This Sunday had been no exception, and its 
effect on Mom's nerves had been heightened by the knowledge that it was the 
beginning of the week in which Oak was to come to town, and the day on which 
Iris was arriving. 

Saturday's newspaper had carried an ad for the Crusade for Purity revival. 
It was to be Wednesday night. She still hadn't made up her mind whether to 
keep the shop closed Monday and Tuesday too, on the chance that he'd come to 
Grand Junction early. And there was still the problem of Elm.... 

All this, plus a steady stream of customers-most of them men, walking in 
with their long, tantalizing tally whackers dangling in their Sunday pants, 
filling her mind's eye with meat and making her hands itch and tremble as 
she fought the urge to undress-had sent the tranquilizer count soaring. 
About two, though, the rush had slacked off, and by two-forty, when she'd 
returned from a ten-minute lunch upstairs, the salesroom was empty except 
for Birch, and he'd been eager to get back to a book on anteaters he was 
reading. 

So now she was alone-yes, really; because Flaming Arrow had gone fishing 
with Buck after the day's last delivery run-and feeling ... Wheee! Now, if 
Spike Mason would just show up, she'd bet she could charm him right out of 
his pants! 

Again, her mind formed and fondled an image of Michael's prick, enlarged in 
keeping with Spike's maturity and size. She saw it first in pointy 
flaccidity, but as she pursed her lips and lavished tender, titillating 
attentions on it, it blushed and bestirred itself, reaching forward and 
upward, lengthening, thickening, its ruddy head pushing out as the foreskin 
slackened and retreated under her coaxing caresses ... emerging, like a 
one-eyed widower coming out of mourning ... like Michael coming out of 
childhood...."like son, like father," Mom breathed, feeling the hot, wet 
winds of desire begin to whirl in the tropics of her twat. "And oh, Spike, 
if I could get my hands on that spike of yours, I think I'd like the father 
even better!" 

She stood at the end of the counter, and was pressing her percolating pussy 
against the sharp corner, feeling it push her thick tweed skirt and black 
bikini panties in against her clit, moving her hips ever so slightly as she 
brought the image of Spike's rampant stallion closer and closer to the 
hug-snug padded stall that was her snatch. 

The fantasy shattered as the front door opened and a tall, sallow, 
thin-faced youngster in a green Sunday suit, white shirt and orange bow tie 
walked in. Mom hastily stepped back, her mind changing channels 
automatically. Inside those razor-creased pants was a long, pencil-thin, 
pale-skinned penis-an undernourished twelve-year-old snakeling that needed 
some sunlight and then a nice, warm burrow. 

Its keeper crossed the salesroom as if his parents owned the place: head up, 
eyes bored as they treated the abundant flowers and the waiting woman to the 
same scornful going-over. 

Oh, it sure is Sunday! Mom told herself. This kid's a prick from his shiny 
shoes to his by-appointment haircut! "Today is my mother's birthday," the 
boy announced, his haughty gaze falling just above Mom's knees, as if he 
wondered why she wasn't bowing low in awe. 

Roguishly, Mom cocked a hip, thrust one knee out, making her already short 
slide higher. His eyes followed, and they didn't look quite so bored any 
more. 

"I see," she said, "and...? " 

It took him a few seconds to realize she wasn't going to help. But he wasn't 
long in regaining his pomposity. "I think, roses," he said, raising his eyes 
as far as her breasts, as if he expected them to sprout bouquets of American 
Beauties. "Your nicest, of course. And you do deliver, don't you?" 

Well, fuck you, too, Fauntleroy! she snapped mentally. In fact, I really 
ought to. Show you what the working classes do while you 're playing with 
your platinum duck in your mink-lined bathtub! Aloud, she said, "Of course. 
Come this way, please." 

She did her turn in two stages, with a hitch in the middle to give him a 
full profile of her tits. And as she lead him toward the alcove, she let it 
all swing out, making a pulsing passion-pendulum of the tight tweed skirt. 
When they reached the secluded nook, she said, "Look around for a moment, 
and I'll be right back. I'm closing early today, and I'll put the sign up 
now so we won't be interrupted." With a sultry smile as she slithered past 
him, she went to do just that. 

Sonny was confused. The only roses he could see in here were little pink 
ones that were just buds; and there'd been a whole case full of different 
kinds out by the cash register. And this woman ... she just wasn't acting 
right. He wished he'd gone, to the flower place where his family usually 
took its business, instead of deciding to show off his new credit card 
somewhere else. 

Oh, well. Here he was. Shrugging, he took out the slick plastic card and 
looked again at the raised letters: PETER PHIPPS CLAMATH, III. When the 
woman came back, he just held it out to her. "You decide," he said. 'Two or 
three dozen, I suppose." 

She didn't have to bend over to take the card, but she did. And she stayed 
that way while she read it. He wanted to watch her face, but his eyes kept 
sliding into the gap of her lacy V neckline, to the shadowy valley between 
the French-vanilla swells of her bosom. He'd been noticing bosoms lately, 
and he didn't know why. He knew his parents wouldn't approve, though, 
because when he'd mentioned that his tutor almost didn't have one, Mother 
had turned all red and told him such things weren't discussed. 

He'd been noticing legs and behinds, too-on girls and women, that is. He had 
noticed this woman's legs and behind particularly, because they were part of 
what was making him feel uncomfortable. It was like when he went riding and 
the saddle didn't quite fit him right, and- 

"Peter," the woman said. "I love that name." She looked up-still without 
straightening up-and smiled at him, and when his eyes took refuge in her 
blouse-opening again, she said, "Do you like my tits, Peter?" 

"Your...." He looked around at the coolers, wondering if it was some sort of 
flower he hadn't heard of. But he had heard of tits, and it was pretty 
obvious she meant the same thing the older boys at the riding academy did 
when they used the word. "Uh ... I suppose so." He looked again, since she 
seemed to be inviting it. 

"Would you like to see all of them?" 

Gosh, did she have more than two? He grinned a little as he straightened 
that out in his mind, and she took the grin for a yes, and started 
unbuttoning her blouse. 

She began at the bottom, pulling it out of her skirt, then baring a rising 
triangle of creamy skin till the point was blunted by her bra. One more 
button, then she shucked the blouse off, and he could see the shape of all 
of them-both of them-and the bare, glowing skin almost down to the points. 
And now her wrists compressed those points, bulging the mounds up as she 
undid two little hooks in the front, between the cup things. 

She moved the halves of the bra apart about an inch, then stopped. "Ready?" 
she said. 

Her eyes left his face for a second, flashing down to his pants, and her 
smile seemed to droop just a little. But then she was looking him straight 
in the eyes again, and her hands and forearms started to swing apart like 
the big double front doors at home ... and there were these two big nipples 
staring at him! They were huge, compared to his own, and sitting on these 
big, soft-looking-yet-forward-jutting cones of flesh.... 

"You can feel of them, Peter," she invited. 

His hands came up before he even had time to think. "It's ... everybody 
calls me Sonny," he said as his fingers slid along the undercurves, testing 
the weight of the fascinating tit-things. 

She pouted. "Oh, but Peter's so much nicer! Would.. would you like to suck 
on one, baby?" the went on huskily. "The nipple ll feel real good in your 
mouth." 

"Well ... yes." This was insane! But ... but he wanted to! 

As he did-using both hands to hold her left tit while his lips surrounded 
the puffy, puckery nipple base and his tongue met its firm little tip-her 
hands were undoing his bow tie, unbuttoning his shirt...."Not fair!" she 
murmured, her lips brushing his forehead. "I'm half naked and you're still 
all covered up. Stop a minute and take this stuff off, baby, and then you 
can suck on the other one." 

He obeyed, and while he pulled off his suit coat, tie and shirt and hung 
them on the chair by the little desk, the woman slipped her shoes off, undid 
a button and zipper at the side of her short skirt and slid the band of 
bulky cloth down her legs....Now she was wearing only these little black 
underpants that were practically just ribbons on each side, low on her wide, 
pale hips. Her tummy was flat and tight but still cushiony-looking, between 
jutting hipbones, and as she stepped clear of the crumpled skirt, his eyes 
were drawn by the gleaming inner curves of her thighs, the black strip where 
the panties went between them. 

"Oh, no!" Mom said teasingly. "You don't get to see any more unless I do, 
Peter. Take your shoes off...." She recalled Michael's dirty tennis shoes, 
and the trouble he'd had getting his jeans on over them after their fuck. " 
... and your trousers and shorts, if you want to see the rest of me." 

like a robot, he sat on the chair and began untying his shoes, his eyes 
never leaving her muff bulge. The shoes came off; the black socks followed. 
His feet were clean, toes straight, like matched sets of miniature pricks in 
five sizes. He stood up, undid his belt, unclasped, unzipped, slipped his 
pants down and turned to hang them neatly on the chair back. He wore shorts, 
not briefs, as she'd known he would. They weren't silk, though: expensive 
broadcloth. And there was no hesitation as he unsnapped these and lowered 
them, his little pecker-not pencil-thin, but like an anemic snake 
indeed-swinging from thigh to skinny thigh as he stepped out with one foot, 
then the other. It was long, and it curved left a little, ending bluntly 
with a foreskin that didn't quite cover the slotted tip of his cockhead, but 
framed it like the raised rim of a button. 

"Button, button, we've both got buttons!" Mom whispered, feeling her clitty 
twitch. 

"What?" His eyes returned to her face for the first time since she'd taken 
her skirt off. This lad's got to be a natural-born cunt hound! she told 
herself. 

"Never mind, Peter," she said, smiling at his peter. Her hands, her 
lips-both sets-were itching to get a grip on it. "Lie down," she instructed 
him. "I've got something even better than a titty for you." 

As he stretched out on the carpet, eyes eager for the unveiling of her 
snatch, his cock's motion showed her that it wasn't really limp-just not yet 
stiff enough to stand erect. But it bounced and skittered up across his 
thigh and onto his belly when he lay back, a semi-turgid supernoodle that 
she found as hypnotic as he seemed to find her crotch. 

Her hands trembled a little as she began pushing her panties down. This was 
a sobering experience, and its gravity had begun to pierce the 
tranquilizers' rosy haze. Oak's right, an inner voice whispered. Maybe not 
about the past, but about the present. You're evil, Mom. Wicked Nasty. 

Half of her bush was uncovered now, and the boy's eyes were widening, his 
prick twitching, seeming to straighten and thicken slightly.... 

Abruptly, hungrily, she shoved the black fabric past her knees and raised 
one leg, swinging the knee out to give him a good view while her foot 
cleared the filmy panties. She let the wisp of nylon fall off the other foot 
as she stepped toward him, to stand almost astraddle his head, facing his 
cock. 

"See my cunt, Peter? It's all hot and squinny and gooey, like molasses candy 
that hasn't cooled. Do you want some?" 

In answer, his serpent of a penis surged to full erection, arching up off 
his belly, and a tiny pearl of moisture oozed-from its tip. 

The way Mom's slot felt, she was going to start raining on him if she didn't 
close the distance pretty soon, yet she forced herself to glide sloooowly 
into a squat, gradually, smoothly lowering her fire pit till it hovered an 
inch from his nose. Then she sank forward onto hands and knees, caught his 
still-shielded pricktip in her lips for three quick squeezes while her 
tongue spread his salty lubricant around the opening, and let it go. 

"Eat me, Peter Phipps Clamath the Third!" she whispered urgently, fitting 
her sizzling slit neatly over his nose and lips. And ... by God ... the kid 
was a natural! 

His lips, tongue, throat, breathing all responded immediately, as if they'd 
always known how, and had just been waiting for the chance. And meanwhile, a 
funny thing was happening to his mind. It had jumped back to when he was 
about seven, and found that old gas mask in his grandfather's trunk, under 
all the uniforms and the layers of mothballs. He'd put it on, and breathed 
in the warm, dry, rubbery-moth bally odor, felt it clinging to his cheeks 
and around his nose ... and at the same time, he was imagining something 
that had never happened: It was like ... like he had his face stuck right 
into a great big bowl of hot clam chowder! What was happening now wasn't 
like either of those, and not even quite like both of them put together; it 
was just the closest his mind could come to fitting in with his experiences 
this unimaginable, outrageous (that was one of Mother's words), ridiculously 
wonderful and right thing that was happening with his face and this crazy 
woman's crotch. 

Part of it, too, he sensed, was what was happening down there where her face 
and his crotch were getting together, but that was just on the fringe, like 
mood music. The real excitement was in the hot, syrupy, slurp-squirming, 
pickled-herring, hair-fringed, dizzy-delicious, getting lost feverdom where 
his forehead and her buttocks had grown together, and his tongue was 
becoming a part of her insides, and all the rest of the skin and lips and 
pulpy-gooey shuddering meat was both of them together all at once, going 
faster and tighter and swampier and- 

All of a sudden he got this picture like he was looking down through her 
from above, to where her thick, reddish-black hairy patch was pressed to his 
chin, and he looked like Abraham Lincoln. It made him burst out laughing. If 
it had happened with a mouthful of food, he would have sprayed it all over; 
but what he was eating didn't spray. Instead, it kind of grabbed him and 
shook him by the nose, sponging out an extra flood of hot sauce at the same 
time, and the woman's whole body started shaking till his arms had to come 
up and hang on around her sweat-slippery back. Her mouth sort of shoo shed 
up off his tassel (that was Mother's word, too) and she wheezed out, "Aaah! 
Ohhh, yess, Peter! God, I thought I'd never come! But it was ... Whooo-eee! 
You've got talent!" 

Sometimes during the flesh quake, things had shifted slightly and his tongue 
had discovered a soft little fatty flap of flesh up toward the front of her 
gushing gash, while his. nose slid into the hole his tongue had been trying 
vainly to fill before. He was probing this new plaything when the woman 
spoke again. 

"Yes! Keep mat up. Don't be so gentle, though. And a little faster, and then 
just ... ooooh! ... keep ... doing it. Ohh, baby, right!" 

It was pretty much like you went bibble-bibble-bibble on your lower lip with 
your fingers when you were a kid, except this was with his tongue on that 
little inside out bellybutton she had in there. It was nice, but as he 
settled into a steady rhythm his mind sort of wandered down to the base of 
his belly for a better feel of what was happening there. 

And wow! Her head was making little jerks in the same rhythm his tongue was 
twiddling with, while in a slower rhythm her squeezing lip circle was moving 
up and down on his thing (that was his word; the guys at the riding academy 
called it a peter, which he didn't think was very polite), and her tongue 
was wriggling wetly along the underside of it as the hot embrace of her 
mouth took it deeper and deeper, then backed up slowly to the tip. There, 
her tongue and lips went to work on the layer of extra skin around the knob, 
tickling and slishing it back and forth while she sucked powerfully-still 
keeping up those little jerks, too. Then she'd push down a little and close 
her teeth just enough to hold the extra skin back, and slither her tongue 
all over the knob and around the groove behind it, before finally tightening 
her lips and starting down again. 

Each time, it felt better, and something tight and explosive-feeling that 
was budding up in his belly and down in his testicle bag-which she was 
holding onto and rubbing up against him-got a little bit stronger. His hands 
had found their way down and around to her tits now, and that poured more 
heat and tightness into him, as if he was some kind of skin-covered battery 
and was being filled up with electricity from her nipples and her mouth and 
her big, face-swallowing crotch-cavern all at the same time. (What had she 
called it? Her cunt. He'd have to remember that). 

Well, if he was a battery, he must be getting overloaded, because his 
muscles had started jerking and snapping now, jabbing his thing up into her 
mouth, bringing his knees up so he could get his feet in close and push up 
harder, faster, his hands clamping on her tits and milking more current out, 
his neck straining, shoving his face tighter against her cunt till it oozed 
all over his eyes....Something that was sharp in all directions suddenly 
grew out of the bottom of his backbone and started expanding up his back and 
through his belly and down into the sack where her hands were, and from 
there up the pipe along the bottom of his thing-slowing down but getting 
thicker and sharper and harder to think about because it was in his head now 
too, burning his brains up and.... 

"Uuuhhnnn- Uuh! UUNNHHH!" 

His whole thing was a big lightning bolt striking the back of her mouth and 
zzzapping right through to her cunt and into his head and down his backbone 
to his thing where it plugged itself into itself and turned both of them 
into one endless, scorching ZZZAAAAAP! 

When his cum exploded into her throat, Mom came so hard that her stomach 
muscles all locked together in a molten buzzsaw of ecstasy--. It cut her in 
pieces and reassembled her as one continuous cunt, being fucked from end to 
end by a white-hot freight train full of plutonium bombs going off. The 
world ended. 

No. It was still there. Or it was back. She didn't care which. Peter was 
still lapping at her clit like a starved puppy, while she licked up the last 
of the copious volcanic outpouring his peter had produced so expectedly. He 
was still hard, too, she realized with delight. 

Her clitty was tender now, though; it needed a rest. "Down, puppy," she 
whispered, looking aside to where the cooler reflected his head, face hidden 
beneath the ledge of her buttock and thigh. "That's enough licking for now, 
baby." 

Gradually, grudgingly, he let his head fall back, his juice-masked, gleaming 
face becoming visible in the makeshift mirror at their side. Her hands 
fondling his prick, Mom continued, "But since my little lap-doggie's bone is 
still hard, maybe we should bury it. Does that sound interesting?" 

He took his hands from her breasts and wiped his eyes free of goo, then 
found her reflected gaze in the cooler glass. He was frowning. "What?" 

"Your bone," Mom teased, shaking it from side to side. "Your little spitting 
cobra down here." She kissed the exposed tip lightly. "We ought to put your 
monkey where your mouth was." 

The boy frowned more deeply. "You mean ... have a baby? But-" 

She giggled. "No, puppy-lips; no babies! I'm going to make a fucker of you, 
not a father." 

"But I thought when people ... I mean...." 

"I understand," she said, moving off him to lie at right angles, her head on 
his skinny thigh, one hand still stroking his length of lean meat. "And it's 
considerate of you, Peter; you keep it in mind when you start balling little 
girls. But you don't need to worry this time, I've taken care of it." 

Looking past his cock, she saw that he was still frowning; and he did look 
like a befuddled puppy! Really, she ought to try him out on what was called 
"dog style." 

"Tell you what," she said. "We won't even do it the baby-making way. Then 
you won't have to worry. Okay?" She hoped he was as naive as he seemed. 

Peter nodded, swabbing at his sticky face again, and only redistributing its 
shiny coating. 

"Fine," she said. Increasing the speed and pressure of her hand's action on 
his pecker, she sat up, then got on hands and knees. "You get around behind 
me this time, standing up on your knees, and I'll help you put it in." 

She faced the end cooler, so those on either side of the alcove could act as 
mirrors. She crouched forward, her head on one forearm, her ass high. When 
Peter was in position, she reached back between her thighs with her free 
hand, grasped his rigid prong and positioned its head at the rim of her 
cuntal tunnel. 

He held back. "Oh, there? But ... isn't that the baby hole?" 

Mom had to giggle again. There'd been quite a change in the little 
know-it-all since he entered the shop, she reflected, but he did seem to 
know more than Michael had. "It is from the front, but this way it's just a 
fun funnel." 

Still, she mused, I understand the alternate route's a kick too, and if 
that's the way he wants to fly.... 

But Peter's reservations were only mental. His newly awakened cock wasn't 
hesitant at all; it was making its eagerness felt in urgent little 
hip-twitches. And when Mom answered these with a wiggle of her hips and a 
muscular nip on his neatly lodged knob, juices won out over judgment. His 
hips shot forward, plunging his petrified python into her constricting quim. 
When it was ball-deep, she could feel its tip tickling her cervix. 

He's longer than Michael, she reminded herself, though not quite as thick. A 
full-grown man would be still longer, and much, much thicker ... But did she 
really want a man? Romantically she did, of course. And maybe her cunt did, 
too-wanted to be filled to capacity, mauled masterfully by a cock with size, 
savvy and self-confidence. Yet there was something thrilling about innocent 
little boys ... something to do with her memory of the time with Oak, 
perhaps ... that she was afraid no adult could provide. 

Oak, at 18, had been tall-taller than the boy who crouched over her now, his 
hands fastened once more on her tits, his sharp little hip bones stabbing 
her stretched-taut buttocks as he butted his prick tip against the mouth of 
her womb in short, rapid jabs. Oak had been sturdy and broad-shouldered, 
too-as little Michael was, in the mold of his father. And Oak's cock ... she 
didn't know, really; she couldn't sort out the memory from among all the 
imaginary organs that had followed. It had seemed gigantic, as it fractured 
her maidenhead and drove deep, shouldering her inner tissues aside, filling 
her whole body with a pain already alloyed by a horrid, insane kind of 
pleasure....Yet Oak, at 18, had seemed so young in most ways, so child-like. 
Boys in the city were almost men at 18 now, but the sheltered life at the 
remote mission had kept Oak young in every way but physically, so that Mom 
could see much more resemblance to him in Birch, for instance, or Michael 
and Peter.... 

Ah, Peter! she reminded herself. The boy in the bush, who's worth ten in the 
mind. His strokes were longer now, and their angle was such that her 
recuperated clit was getting an indirect yet vigorous workout as his prick's 
undersurface frictioned along the forward wall of her quivering sheath. She 
focused her mind on the hot interlock of their parts, and turned her head to 
watch their reflection in the cooler. 

Peter had straightened up, and appeared to be staring down at her ass-hole. 
Yes! For now his thumb slid into the valley of her buttocks, timidly 
touching the puckered rim. Would he ... She hoped so, and decided to 
encourage him. 

"Feel free, Peter," she murmured, a mounting excitement tightening her 
voice. "Explore all you like." 

He responded by increasing the force of his fuck strokes, then hooking the 
thumb downward to probe the dented center of her rectal rosebud. She made 
the muscles there relax, and the thick digit sank in to the first knuckle. 

"Ooooh!" It hurt a little, but heightened her excitement a lot. "It's ... 
It's okay. Keep on." 

He pushed it deeper, and suddenly she could feel the intervening membranes, 
compressed between the knuckle and the sliding girth of his cock. A 
shimmering skewer of tactile ecstasy seemed to materialize inside her, 
angling through her anus and cuntal wall, corkscrewing through her clit and 
into her belly, where a spasm of delight made her clamp down fiercely, 
quim-gripping Peter's poker. Then a surf of sensation broke in her brain. 
Her head snapped forward, chin up, eyes glazing as the throbbing orgasm 
swept over her. 

"Whooeef!" she gasped out. "Again, yet! That one took me by-" 

Her mouth remained open; her body went stone-cold. As her vision had 
cleared, in the cooler straight ahead she saw her own flushed face, and 
Peter's above and behind it ... and above and behind that, the red-topped, 
smirking countenance of Elm. 

It must have taken her a full minute to control the instinctive panic the 
discovery triggered, yet neither boy seemed aware of her distraction. Peter 
went on pumping. Elm's shoulder was pumping too, in a way that told Mom he 
must have his cock in hand, down where Peter's reflection blocked her view. 

Finally, having rejected the impulse to flee, and the more plausible 
temptation to simply curl up and cry, leaving all decisions to others, she 
faced the inevitable.-Tightening down on the steadily driving piston in her 
slot, she put her free arm back and grasped the twelve-year-old's scrawny 
thigh. "Keep on, Peter," she said firmly. "Everything's all right." 

Then she raised her eves to her brother's reflected face. 

"Hello, Elm," she said distinctly, and as calmly as possible in the bizarre 
circumstances. 

The moving shoulder froze, and Elm's eyes shot up to meet hers in the 
cooler's glass door. His smirk stiffened, but then became a mocking grin. 
"Hi, sis. I, uh ... thought maybe you could still use some help. But I see 
you're closed for the day." 

Peter had gone rigid-the parts that weren't already-but Mom's hand, 
cunt-grip and calm tone kept him in place. He seemed to be awaiting 
instructions. "Peter, this is my brother," Mom said. The boy glanced back, 
but was silent. 

"Elm, this is ... Well, never mind names. He's a friend of mine, as you've 
no doubt guessed. And since you're here, I suppose you may as well join the 
fun." 

Elm snickered, looking down to where Peter's pud lay buried in her groove 
while his thumb plugged her ass-hole. "It, uh ... doesn't look like there's 
room for one more." 

"Oh, really, Elm!" she chided brazenly. "I've got a mouth, you know! It may 
not have as much experience as Melissa's...." She watched his startled 
reaction. Hadn't he even known there was lipstick on those skivvies? " ... 
but I bet I can treat you better than your hand can." 

Shrugging, Elm sauntered past Peter and around in front of her. His thick, 
ruddy organ indeed jutted boldly from his fly, bobbing as he walked. "Yeah," 
he said. "I got downstairs in time to catch the last of that part, too. I 
... Well, I was never sure before if you even knew about sex, Sis." 

God, he's cool! she thought. And I'm doing pretty well myself, I guess-for a 
beginner sinner. But ... incest? With Oak I had no choice, but now ... Well, 
I still haven't. really. Not if I want to keep any control at all over Elm. 

She looked up at him-at the swollen under belly of his soaring dong, and on 
up to his smug, thin-smiling face. "I know one thing," she said. "I can't 
very well suck you off while you're standing up. My snatch-angle wouldn't be 
right for Peter. And furthermore," she said, feeling Peter begin to fuck 
again, as if a reminder had been all he needed, "it's pretty rude of you to 
have clothes on when both of us are naked." 

Elm's smile faded, and Mom pressed on. "If you were going out," she said 
sharply, "then go. Otherwise, get stripped, and get down here where I can 
give that thing a blow-job." 

"Well ... well, sure, Sis!" Quickly, her brother whipped his T-shirt over 
his head, undid his jeans and skinned them down, letting the pant-legs take 
his sandals with them. He grappled his cock back into the pouch of his 
skivvies, then shucked these off, revealing a fuzz of carroty pubic hair 
that Mom hadn't noticed during the scene on thirteen, and the big, 
loose-slung ball sack which she had. 

As he stretched out close beneath her head, she hit him with another 
shocker: "I can't guarantee you'll cum of course. We don't have all evening, 
and after your Friday night workout...." 

Elm started to sit up, but she pushed him back, dropped her head and began 
to nibble at his loose, bright-pink foreskin. "Jee-zuz!" the redhead 
whispered. "What don't you know about?" 

In answer, Mom slid her hand beneath his balls and worked her forefinger in 
till it touched his anus, penetrating slightly as she began to suck. Well, 
I'm progressing, she told herself. Two at once, now, and one's my own 
brother! And Elm's only two years younger than Oak was, and his prick ... 
Her lips gauged the thickness of the squat fireplug of flesh that seethed in 
her mouth. Well, I doubt if Oak's was any fatter, anyway. 

Her fourth cock, she reflected, sucking and tonguing it in time to Peter's 
accelerating thrusts in her cunt. Yes, it was progress, all right; but 
toward what? If I'm going to die this week ... what was it that she really 
wanted before she died? 

Jesus W. Motherfuck! Elm exclaimed mentally as his sister's lips enveloped 
and enflamed his tingling organ, What do I want with Melissa when I've got 
this right at home! Mom's twice as good with her mouth, and I'll bet she's 
deadly with the other end! I don't know why she's giving it to the kid down 
there, but I hope I can hold off till he's finished. Great as this is....His 
hips began to spasm, socking his stocky pud against Mom's ministering 
tongue....It's not fucking. I want to be balls-and-all in her shiver-chute 
when I blow! 

He doubted that he'd make it, though. Far from slowing him down, Friday 
night's thirteen rounds with Melissa seemed only to have oiled the 
mechanism. "Hey, go easy, Sis!" he gasped. "You don't need all evening! You 
keep that up about one minute more, and I'm gonna paint your tonsils 
cream-colored!" 

Oh, zowie! Sonny thought to himself as Mom's milking tunnel tightened on his 
throbbing thing. It's going to happen again! lean feel it getting ready, 
like I'm...."Uh!" ... winding up...."Uh!" ... this great big spring...."Uh!" 
... and any minute it's ... "Uh!" ... going to.... 

"Uuu-oooh!" ... break loose and.... 

Cum! Mom's mind cried urgently. Fill me with it! Both of you, you wonderful 
little fuckers! Her ringed lips pressing Elm's genital fuzz, she 
tongue-kneaded the tube that under-lined his fat bat, her throat-entry 
squeezing the bulbous head. Her lower lips were equally tight against the 
bald bulge of Peter's pelvis, for her clenching quim had caught him at full 
depth, holding his vibrating viper with its snout at her cervix. 

Then the spring snapped, the cream spouted, the hurricane hurled their 
bodies into hectic, flapping madness. Mom was battered fore and aft, an 
accordion crescendo of writhing, cum-drenched delirium, the spastic ecstasy 
tying her teeming twat in a knot around her mind and drowning it all in the 
sperm-sea of her swallow-spasming mouth. Elm came till his very brains 
seemed to be floating in her digestive juices; she was sucking the starch 
right out of his toe nails; he was all prick, and all liquefied inside her, 
a dizzy, crazy current of passion engulfing her cunt from the inside 
outward. Peter Phipps Clamath, III lost his identity in a spine-splintering 
staccato of geysering, gut-melting lunges that plunged him head over 
testicles into the wonderful land of Cunt, where nothing mattered but the 
wondrous wallowing oneness, flesh fire fuck-lovely forever, and there wasn't 
room or reason for credit cards, roses or Mother. 

On the way to the airport, Mom sat beside Spike in his pickup truck and 
tried to keep her eyes on the road instead of his fly, and her mind on 
something-anything-other than the poor, bereaved, wasting-away whang locked 
up in loneliness behind the bars that formed his zipper. 

There were a hundred other things she ought to be thinking of. All the 
problems that Iris;' arrival presented, for instance; or the problem she'd 
half-solved, maybe, through her talk with Elm after Peter had gone; or the 
problems Peter could cause if-along with the two dozen roses she'd persuaded 
him to carry home himself-he gave his mother a grunt-by-gasp description of 
his afternoon at the Flower Tower. Wouldn't that brighten up Mrs. Clamath's 
birthday! "Why, Mother, It's just marvelous the way the trades-people 
respond to my credit card!" She could almost hear him saying it, and she 
almost laughed out loud. 

She was thoroughly tranquilized again, since she'd been all ready to call a 
taxi when Spike had dropped in. He had come, he said, for the flowers he'd 
left on Saturday, and to apologize for his abrupt exit. He knew she'd been 
as shocked as he was by the ... "Well, uh ... by finding those trespassers." 
After all, though, a big building like the tower must have all kinds of 
places, where kids could break in and ... he'd stammered to a halt, then, 
and seemed glad when Mom changed the subject by mentioning Iris' arrival. 
He'd insisted on offering his services, and Mom hadn't even made a formal 
protest before accepting. 

Maybe all the problems were going to work out, she mused now. After all, 
somebody, somewhere must be looking out for her: Spike could easily have 
arrived two hours earlier, and not knowing about the side door the family 
used; could have walked in the front way-which she'd forgotten to lock, in 
her haste to have at Peter. And if what he'd seen on thirteen had sent him 
scuttling, what would this afternoon's tableau have done! 

Well, she wouldn't blame him, she scolded herself. No decent man would want 
anything to do with a woman who seduced barely adolescent boys, and 
committed incest simultaneously! God! Even through her drug-induced glow, 
Mom felt a cruel twinge of remorse as she recalled the episode. 

Yet for Spike-for his love, as well as his long, luscious plunger-she could 
be the kind of woman he wanted and needed ... couldn't she? And he was 
interested in her; she was sure of that. And he didn't need to know the 
truth about Birch, about Oak and herself; that was all in the past. So if 
somehow she survived the coming week, and Oak went away and left her alone, 
and if Elm kept his promise and was extra careful not to get caught screwing 
Melissa.... 

He'd agreed to that after Peter left. His dong down for the long count 
thanks to Mom's oral overkill, her brother had lain exhausted and listened 
while she explained about meeting Melissa's father, and how they'd stumbled 
on the young lovers on thirteen, and her fear that Spike would never return 
if he found out Mom Glen's brother and his daughter were 
fornicating-friends. 

Indeed, Elm had seemed so agreeable that she'd told him about Iris, too, and 
elicited his promise to have no part in waking her up to the facts of life. 
She'd even considered telling him the whole story about Birch and Oak, so 
he'd Cooperate in her plan to pretend to be away while Oak was in Grand 
Junction. But by that time Elm had begun to eye her still-naked body with 
renewed interest, and while she might have enjoyed the challenge of reviving 
his overworked organ, there simply hadn't been time; she'd slipped her 
blouse and skirt on, gathered her undies and hurried upstairs to bathe and 
dress for the trip to the airport. 

Mom snapped herself back to the present as Spike swung the pickup into the 
parking lot. As he held the truck's door and took her elbow in his big hand 
to help her down, he asked, "What time was that flight?" 

"Five-fifty," she said, pressing her arm to her side to keep his hand there 
as they walked toward the terminal. 

Spike glanced at his watch. "You would have been late if you'd had to wait 
for a cab," he said. "In fact, if the plane got in early-"" 

"Oh, it did!" Mom burst out. For there, just inside the glass doors, stood a 
pretty, petite strawberry blonde who was unmistakably Iris, but...."Honey!" 
Mom exclaimed as they hugged each other. "You've grown so! I mean you've ... 
you've filled out in two years!" 

Filled out, Spike was thinking, was putting it mildly. The girl whose 
single, shabby suitcase he picked up while she and Mom embraced and 
exchanged greetings was clearly a child-facially she looked the twelve years 
Mom had said she was-but that figure ... like a brick shithouse with 
balconies, was how the guys on the grading crew would put it. 

He'd had thoughts like this about Melissa once or twice, too, Spike reminded 
himself; and that had scared him, but not any less than this experience was 
doing. Was there something wrong with him? Did other men get these itchy, 
animal feelings about little girls ... even their own daughters ... when 
confronted by the blouse-buoying tits and firm, blossoming asses that 
teenage fashions seemed so devilishly effective in calling to a guy's 
attention? 

He was sure he was blushing like a stop sign when Mom took his arm, her 
other arm still about the shoulders of her nubile sister, and introduced him 
as, "Mister Mason, a very kind, good friend of mine. He has a son about your 
age, Iris; and a girl who goes to school with Elm. Their mother's dead too." 

Then, while Mom explained to him that her own and Iris' mother had passed 
away a year ago,, Spike put the suitcase in the back and held the passenger 
door open. To his dismay, Mom motioned Iris in first, then climbed up beside 
her. He was going to have to sit there practically touching this 
precociously seductive morsel all the way back, and he already had a hard-on 
that was liable to put a dent in the steering wheel! 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Well, he'd done it again, Mom mused the next morning. 

She stood in the salesroom an hour after opening, her eyes glazed as she 
puzzled over Spike's hasty departure the evening before. 

To Evangeline, lounging behind the cash register in the absence of 
customers, she appeared to be staring at the potted palm that stood just 
inside the entrance. And indeed Mom was; but she was seeing not the thick, 
slightly curved trunk of the palm, but the thick, slightly curved ridge of 
swelling in Spike's trousers as he'd driven them home. 

Iris, tired from her trip, had had little to say. And Spike, Mom reflected, 
hadn't been much more silent and self-contained than on the drive to the 
airport-he wasn't much of a talker; not one to start conversations or carry 
them on for long without help-yet his silence coming back had been somehow 
grim, severely ill at ease. 

She'd noticed his hard-on, of course, before they even got back to the 
truck, and she'd been delighted. The sight of her embracing Iris must have 
put ideas in his head, she'd surmised: He'd put himself in Iris' place, 
being hugged and kissed by Mom, and it had started his engine. And oh, what 
a beautiful hunk of machinery that engine appeared to be, pushing his 
trouser front out in a long, broad mound that reached almost to his belt 
buckle! 

But why had it frightened him so? Could a man who had fathered two children 
be such a prude that even after three years without a wife, thinking sexy 
thoughts about Mom made him run home to hide without even carrying her 
sister's suitcase to the door? 

Progress! she thought ironically. For a while last night, she'd been almost 
giddy with her sense of impending romance. He'd come back, been very 
friendly, taken her to the airport, and finally-in what she had taken for 
both a tribute and a promise of joys to come-she'd actually seen his big, 
beautiful boffer looming full-blown. It had been so vivid that she'd had to 
remind herself there were still two layers of cloth between its naked 
reality and her eyes. But then had come the tight-jawed silence, the mumbled 
"Won't bother you," as he swung Iris' suitcase from the truck's bed, 
awkwardly keeping his back to her even while he spoke-and he was gone. 

Something infringed, now, on her melancholy image of that lovely, lost cock. 
It was ... they were ... she forced her eyes to focus, and saw two cocks, 
young ones-and clothed, of course coming toward her across the street. 

She raised her eyes, and felt her stomach tighten. Oh, God! It was Peter, 
and he'd brought a friend! Immediately, she wanted exactly what she knew 
they wanted; but there was no chance, with Evangeline there, and Iris, who 
might at any moment tire of sunbathing on the roof and come down.... 

Hastily, she went toward the elevator. "I'm, uh ... not home, as far as 
customers are concerned, Evangeline," she called, stepping into the waiting 
car. And then in afterthought, hoping against hope: "Unless it's that Mister 
Mason, who was here Saturday. If he comes in, just send him up." 

Upstairs, she found herself at loose ends. Birch was in his room, reading. 
Elm had left about nine, destination unspecified. And of course Spike 
wouldn't come back-at least not till evening; it was a working day, after 
all. Elm, she mused, was probably at Spike's home with Melissa, taking 
advantage of spring vacation and her father's absence to have the run of the 
house. Her mind produced a picture of the young couple, scampering naked 
from room to room while linked in a dog-style fuck; but she shook her head 
to dispel the vision. Stop that, Mom, or you ll do something foolish. Go 
panting back down after Peter and his pal, or.... 

She could go up and join Iris in the sun, of course. In fact, she'd had that 
in mind since entering her room, and had gotten her bikini from the dresser 
and begun to undress while her thoughts drifted restlessly. Now she 
completed the change, being careful not to touch her pussy or nipples 
unnecessarily as she donned the tiny bra and still skimpier panties of the 
suit. 

She should check on Evangeline before going up, though. Mondays were usually 
slow, but if the two boys had come prepared to buy something, and if other 
customers had come in ... she went around the big bed, drew the curtains 
back from the monitor board and flicked it on, setting the dial of the 
nearest screen for the camera that showed the whole sales room. 

The boys were still there. They stood side by side at the counter, opposite 
the slim, pretty black girl, who was leaning forward in a way that offered 
the youths and the concealed camera a tantalizing view down the front of her 
scoop-necked top. She was smiling as the three conversed. 

Mom activated another camera on a second screen, for a close view from 
behind and to one side, where she could see the boys' faces. She turned up 
the sound on this one. 

"... was, huh?" Evangeline was saying. "You keep saying that, but you 
haven't told me what you mean. Miss Glen's nice to everybody, far as I 
know." 

"Oh, but I mean ... well ... extra nice," Peter responded, his eyes 
wallowing in the clerk's dusky cleavage. "She, uh ... kind of let her hair 
down, and ... other things." 

"Oh, I see!" Evangeline said, her eyebrows soaring. "And you think that 
since Ah'm-I'm working for her and she's not heah, Ah-I ought to treat you 
the same way; raht?" 

Mom's mind was a whirl of colliding emotions. There was dismay that Peter 
had told about her-told a friend, and now was telling her own salesgirl. 
There was relief that Evangeline didn't seem shocked, but only surprised, 
amused ... fascinated. There was dismay too that there wasn't a camera 
located where she could see the boys' lower bodies. She was sure they both 
had hard-ons pushing out against the counter-the older boy looked older, 
more experienced than Peter-and she wanted to confirm this. And there was 
guilt-the terrible, aching self-hate for what she'd done with Peter ... and 
for wanting, now, to see Evangeline do the same with Peter and his friend. 

It was clear that the black girl was considering just that, for she had 
leaned forward even more revealingly, and was drawling, "Well nahw, y'all 
maht be rant. Miss Glen would want me ta treat such gooood customuhs wif ... 
speshul cun-siderashun. Whah don' y'all jus' git comf able wahle Ah closes 
up, an'...." 

Mom forced herself to look away as Evangeline went toward the door, hips 
swaying full-tilt in the close-fitting top. But looking away only brought 
her attention to the screen she'd used yesterday to look for Birch in his 
room. He was there now, wearing only skivvies, stretched out on his back on 
his bed, reading; and beyond where he held the book.... 

Stop it, Mum! Her eyes had fastened on his crotch, and she was imagining ... 
with a surge of conscientious resolve, she reached out to turn off the 
monitor panel. 

The motion was never completed. The screen now showed Evangeline returning 
across the sales room, and a step behind her was Spike. 

When their voices came in range of the live microphone, the clerk was 
saying, " ... said you should come rah-right up. I 'spect she's on fifteen, 
or else the sundeck up top." 

"Well ... well, thank you," Spike stammered. "I'm surprised she expected me, 
though; I'm supposed to be at work. But I went over to the cemetery first, 
and thought I'd just...." He let the nervous outburst trail off, simply 
smiling back at Evangeline till the elevator doors closed between them. 

"Damn! No camera in the elevator!" Mom murmured. Then she laughed at 
herself. Couldn't she wait even half a minute to see him? She went to the 
door of her room, looked down the hall and watched the lighted indicator as 
the car came up. He was passing ten before she remembered the monitors. Oh, 
well. He wouldn't be comfortable in a bedroom anyway; they'd talk in the 
living room, and if it looked like she had a chance of making real progress, 
she could excuse herself for a minute and-Oops! 

The moving light had slid right past fifteen before stopping: He'd gone 
straight to the sun deck. Oh, God! I hope Iris didn't decide to.... 

She hurried back to the monitors. The sales room was empty, and she switched 
one screen from it to the camera on the antenna pole. 

Ohhh, no! Her fears were realized. There was Iris, on her knees and clearly 
startled, clutching a skimpy towel to her naked breasts, its lower edge just 
concealing her creampuff. And there was Spike, also in profile from the 
camera's angle, blushing, shifting from one foot to the other while he held 
folded hands, stiff-armed, in front of his bulging fly. 

Iris was smiling, though, and ... yes. They were talking. Spike even managed 
a tight "smile and some sort of mumbled reply before Mom had the presence of 
mind to turn up the monitor's sound. 

Even then, the mike's distance and the open air enabled her to hear only 
bits of their words, but from what she could make out, Iris was expounding 
on the wonderful view the sundeck offered. She accompanied this with 
gestures toward the distance which caused some very alluring shifts and 
slippings of the towel, and Mom watched in mixed horror and amusement as 
Spike-his agony apparent to her, if not to the utterly ingenuous Iris sidled 
over to sit in a handy deck chair, the better to conceal the throbbing lump 
in his pants. 

Damn! Now he's trapped there, and Iris is- likely to talk all day! She 
doesn't know what she's doing to him! Why, it's a wonder she had the 
sophistication to cover up at all! I'd better go rescue him, she thought. 
But shouldn't I change first? There's as much of me showing as there is of 
her, and it might be too much for him. 

While she hesitated, a faint noise from the monitor covering the sales room 
counter caught her attention. It had sounded like Evangeline's laugh. Mom 
had been trying not to think about what must be going on downstairs, but now 
curiosity got the better of her. She switched the screen to an alcove 
camera, and finding that area unoccupied, selected one in the work room. 

"Whoooo-eee agin!" she heard Evangeline squall before her eyes could 
unscramble what she was seeing. "Ah nevah did go fuh skinna pricks, but den 
Ah navah did trah two of em! 

As Mom sorted out the black-and-white tangle, her hand slipped into the tiny 
sling of her bikini bottom, one finger finding the moistening slit, pressing 
along her twitching fun-button. That was Peter on the bottom, his hands 
clutching Evangeline's big, dark tits. And atop the pair, his torso angling 
upward, was the other boy. He ... he could have been fucking her in the ass, 
but the angle didn't seem right for that. Was he ... were they both?.... 

She activated the second work room camera, for a better side-angle, and her 
eyes widened. The boy's pricks, squashed tube-to-tube, both disappeared into 
the black girl's distended snatch, and they were humping in unison, grunting 
in joyous chorus while Evangeline cheered them on. 

"Yeah, you mothuhs! Jam dat whaht meat up theah! 

Awww, Lawdy, Ah's gon ... Yeeee-aaaah!" The gleaming, dark body writhed and 
shuddered ecstatically, and the young fuckers held on for all they were 
worth, somehow managing to keep both prick-snouts embedded while her racking 
climax wore itself out. 

As they began to pump again, Mom looked back at the sundeck screen. There, 
Iris prattled on, not knowing or not caring that the towel she held had slid 
aside enough to bare the entire side of one breast and a quarter-inch of 
nipple, and had settled about her crotch, as she sat casually on one hip, in 
such a way that the full inner sweep of one thigh was exposed. Another inch 
of slippage down there, and Spike would be staring right into the 
twelve-year-old's tender little cunny. 

He sat as if hypnotized, a glassy smile on his face, and now even his 
crossed legs couldn't wholly conceal the straining growth at his groin. 

Oh, God! And now I've got to change before I rescue the poor guy! I've 
swamped these damn pants, and it's running down my legs! 

Again, she reached out resolutely to turn off the panel-but not until a 
quick look showed that Peter and his pal were cumming, their heads thrown 
back, hips spasming ... and before the screens went dark, Mom's eyes had 
flown once more to where her son lay reading, his innocent little pecker 
curled inconspicuously in his pure white under pants. 

Any second, I'm going to cum, Spike told himself balefully. He wanted to 
look down to see if the clammy-hot leakage he felt had soaked through his 
under pants and begun to stain his clean khakis; but somehow he just 
couldn't jerk his gaze from the moist, gleaming lips of the girl before him. 

He'd fastened his eyes on her face as she talked, so that what they really 
wanted to feast on was kept in the periphery. And he'd succeeded, somewhat; 
at least he hadn't cum yet. Sure, he could have stared off into space until 
she tired of talking, but ... well, that would be rude. She didn't know how 
she was affecting him. There wasn't even a hint of conscious calculation in 
the way that damn towel kept creeping.... 

Christ! 

It wouldn't have been so bad, he thought, if he hadn't seen it all for a 
second before she realized he was there. But he had-the pale-pink nipples on 
their firm cones of creamy flesh ... the faint puff of hair that veiled but 
didn't conceal the plump mound and dark, dizzying crease of her little 
nookie-notch ... the full, sleek swells of her ass as she'd turned away to 
grab the towel and cover herself, chirping, "Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Mason! I 
didn't know anybody ... But the view's so beautiful up here, I guess...." 
She'd chattered on, seeming to think her apology for being naked when he 
arrived was all that decorum required-that, and the towel. But now that he 
had seen everything, the towel just made it worse; made him want to see it 
again, and kept almost revealing it.... 

"What-er...." Christ! What had she said? It had been a question, and he'd 
missed everything but the expectant tone as she finished. "Well ... Well, 
yeah," he gambled. 

"Then I'll go get her," Iris said, giving him a flash view of the 
convergence of her thighs as she got to her feet. "She must be in her room, 
if she wasn't down in the shop." 

He started to answer, but the words dropped dead in his chest as the girl 
went past him, the towel held in front, and walked obliviously toward the 
elevator, the round, shining melons of her buttocks in full view. The 
dimple-topped cleft between them burned into his brain and belly like a hot 
wire. 

In the elevator, she faced him again, the towel concealing as much as it 
could, and as the doors slid shut, she sent him a smile that made Spike feel 
like he'd just ravished the Virgin Mary. 

Well, his pants weren't stained, and the big, beautiful ridge was still 
there, Mom observed as Spike switched legs and leaned toward her, his smile 
still showing strain. She congratulated herself on choosing the clingy, 
high-necked hostess gown. It was perfectly tasteful, showing no skin at all 
in strategic areas, yet it hugged her every contour excitingly. She'd been 
sitting opposite him for five minutes now, and it didn't seem- likely that 
it was still the encounter with Iris keeping him hard. 

He had apologized again, pushing the words out a bit tonelessly, as if it 
was a prepared speech, about how he'd remembered leaving the lathe running 
in his workshop yesterday, and had rushed home in fear that it would burn up 
the motor, or short out and start a fire. It was a clumsy lie, but she liked 
him all the better for it, the poor, bashful darling. And he had come back; 
he did want to get to know her better, and ... But oh, God, how can lever 
break down his inhibitions? 

They were making conversation now-empty, smiling chitchat about the weather, 
and how much Grand Junction was growing-and Mom was thinking. I want him, 
Now! In my bed In my cunt! He's thicker than Peter and his buddy put 
together, and long ... so wonderfully long.... 

"I'm surprised nobody's built on that lot across the street from here," 
Spike was saying. "It's about the closest-in vacant property left." 

"Yes," she said, smiling, encouraging him to go on. He probably doesn't 
drink, she was thinking. And since I don't, there's none in the house 
anyway. Damn! It could be six months before he's even ready to kiss me! On 
the mouth, even! 

"Oh, say!" he continued. "I see there's going to be one of these revival 
meetings over there. And the preacher's name is-" 

"Over where?" Mom interrupted, a chill shooting through her. 

"What? Oh! The lot across the street. And the name of this evangelist is 
Glen! Oakley Glen. How's that for coincidence? Right across the street!" 

"Uh ... Why, yes," she managed, her insides suddenly icy. If the newspaper 
ad had said where the revival would be, she hadn't even noticed. 

"That's going to be Wednesday," Spike added. "Which reminds me: There's a 
movie starting Wednesday at the Grand that I've been wanting to see, and I 
thought maybe you'd like to go. It's-" 

"Oh, I ... I wish I could, Spike," she said, fighting for composure. She had 
to make the most of this opportunity, wretched as she felt, suddenly. "I'd 
really love to, but I have this ... this problem with crowds. I almost never 
go out, and when I do, it has to be somewhere ... well, like just a ride, or 
a picnic...." 

"Well, let's do that, then," he responded. "I can miss work again without 
much trouble, and-" 

"Wednesday?" Mom prompted hopefully, seeing a double ray of hope in the 
proposal. 

"Sure, if it's convenient. We can get an early start and drive out a ways 
... find some nice place to stop where there aren't people around...." 

"Oh, Spike, I'd love it! I haven't been on a picnic for years!" 

Warmly, then, they made the arrangements: what food she'd bring, and what he 
insisted on bringing; a seven-thirty start, and no need to be back till ... 
Well, they'd just see what developed-maybe drive back by moonlight, even. 

She was disappointed when he rose to go, his trousers now flat and perfectly 
presentable in front; but she wasn't as hot as before he'd mentioned Oak, 
and they were progressing. Who could tell what might develop on Wednesday? 
He'd surprised her already with his easy acceptance of her aversion to 
crowds, and his eager, open desire to be with her. 

Spike had surprised himself by suggesting the picnic. Hell, he'd lost half a 
day's work already, and by the time he got home and changed out of his 
rapidly stiffening undershorts ... but damn it, he wouldn't miss Wednesday 
for anything. He needed a woman; that was clear from the way his sex urge 
had been busting loose lately, pushing him in all kinds of unthinkable 
directions. And this woman was prettier than he'd ever dared hope for, and 
she seemed to be a fine person, too-someone his kids could look up to. If he 
could just control himself long enough to conduct a decent courtship.... 

"Just the two of us," she'd said. "I'll close the shop, and Iris, Birch and 
Elm can look after themselves." And the way she'd smiled then ... He blushed 
just remembering it. Yes, he'd be there Wednesday, all right! 

He left the pickup out front, hopped out and half-ran to the house, let 
himself in and headed for his bedroom. The voices slowed him down before he 
got there. 

"Oooohh! I don't know if I can ... Push, Michael!" 

"I am! If you'd just-" 

"Jesus! You two're gettin' heavy! Keep on, though. I can ... Uuungh!" 

Spike stood in the doorway, his mind an empty, pitch dark cavern as his eyes 
absorbed the scene on his bed. His daughter was crouched atop a redheaded 
youth, their naked bodies linked by the boy's thick, half-buried penis; and 
bent over Melissa was her brother, the head of his stiff little organ 
pressed to her anus. 

Now Melissa's lush lips twitched, and she sank down fully on the older boy's 
cock; her stomach tightened visibly, men relaxed, and with an elated moan, 
she enveloped Michael's plunging tool as well. "Eeehh! We made it! Your ... 
your fuck sandwich, gentlemen!" 

"Cripes, it's tight!" Michael gritted. "Gooood, though. And I can-" His 
taut, child-trim buttocks were drawn back slightly, then shot forward. 
"Aaah!" 

"Her cunt's tight, too, Mike, and if I come as quick as I feel like I'm 
gonna ... Hey, kid, leave one of those tits for me!" 

"Oh! Sorry, Elm. I-uuunh! God, I think ... Uhh!" 

"Jee-uuh-zuz! Me too! I'm co-uuh! UUUNHH! 

"Aaaahh! Ohhh, yes! Me-eeeEEE too! Oh, fuck! Both of you! Fill me up! 
Aaaaaggghhh!! " 

Spike reeled away and lurched down the hall, his hands to his head. As he 
went through the front door he heard Melissa say, "Ohh, Mike, you're still 
... Quick, put it in my cunt, and tell me if I'm as tight as-" 

He didn't hear the rest, and didn't care. He'd heard and seen more than 
enough. He was ... stunned. Groggy. He wasn't angry, he'd discovered; just 
bewildered. Those were his kids, the ... the top two, anyway. His A-student, 
obedient, polite, always helpful children! Michael, just twelve ... Melissa, 
fifteen ... No man could ask for a finer pair of youngsters! And the older 
boy ... the redhead ... what had Michael called him? Elm? But then he must 
be.... 

Without conscious thought, he had started the truck and was driving toward 
work. He became conscious of it now, as he slowed for a left turn-and 
conscious too that he had a hard-on again: rock-solid, and aching like hell 
since the minute he'd stopped in the bedroom doorway. And he didn't even 
feel guilty about it! 

Of course that was Mom's brother! he told himself. Melissa hasn't mentioned 
any other fad at school for weeks. And if three nice, well-raised, decent 
kids like those are playing sex games.... 

Spike winced, shook his head, and said aloud, "Then what the fuck's wrong 
with me? 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Tuesday, fearing that Oak would come to town early, Mom kept the shop 
closed. But since she insisted on paying Evangeline for her time during the 
indefinite period of closing, the girl insisted on working. There were 
paperwork and greenhouse chores to be caught up on, it was true; but her 
presence and her questions about how Mom wanted things done were just that 
many more jittery-making factors in a day already filled with them. 

They weren't answering the business phone, and its frequent, lengthy 
jangling contributed to Mom's unnerved condition. And the unlisted family 
phone kept pace, with two calls for Evangeline from Buck, one for Birch from 
a school friend, and three calls for Elm-Mom answered only one of these, and 
it sounded like Melissa-all before eleven tin. 

She'd been worrying all morning about her absence Wednesday, too. Finally, 
about eleven, she took Evangeline aside-they'd been helping Flaming Arrow 
rearrange the perennials-and told her of the problem. She didn't explain 
why, of course, but said that her older brother, who was for all practical 
purposes insane, was to hold his revival tomorrow night across the street, 
and had threatened her life. It was going to be up to Evangeline, Mom said, 
to make sure no one answered the door-any door-or either phone, and to do 
all she could to prevent Iris, Birch and Elm from seeing the tent, once it 
was up. If one of them did, they must be kept from making contact with Oak, 
no matter how. 

Evangeline looked puzzled, but didn't raise serious objections. Birch would 
be no problem, she said: He'd be reading or doing chess problems all day, 
and would neither know nor care about anything outside his room. And she was 
confident she could keep Iris occupied, and find tasks for Flaming Arrow 
that wouldn't entail his going in and out. She wasn't so sure about Elm, 
however. 

"Hell probably be over at his girlfriend's the whole time I'm gone," Mom 
said. "But if he does stay here, or comes back during the day ... Well, you 
just do your best. I'll bet you can think of something to keep him busy." 

She wanted to kick herself when she realized what she'd fear made her want 
to lash out, and her younger brother she didn't betray it. 

They returned to the east greenhouse and continued their work with Flaming 
Arrow, and after a few minutes, Elm sauntered in from upstairs. He stood 
watching them for some time-watching Evangeline, mainly, it appeared. 

Finally Mom excused herself and went over to ask what he wanted. 

"I, uh ... guess I ought to tell you something," he began uneasily. 

"AD right. I'm listening." 

"Well...." He glanced at the clerk and the old chief. "Here?" 

Shrugging, Mom led the way toward the elevator, commenting irritably, 
"Anywhere you like. I just thought you might not be able to tear your lewd 
little eyes away from Evangeline." 

Elm grinned. "I was sort of thinking about that. Do you think she'd ... 
uh...." 

"I'm sure I don't know," Mom snapped. Recalling yesterday's scene in the 
workroom, though, she suspected Evangeline might be quite agreeable. But 
she'd be damned if...."And if you're thinking of expanding your horizons in 
that direction, you'll have to do it on your own. I don't plan to run a 
dating service for you." 

Why am I being so nasty? she asked herself as the elevator rose. But the 
answer was clear: Oak. Her mounting fear made her want to lash out, and her 
younger brother was the handiest whipping boy. Then too, she suspected Elm 
might be angling for another sex session with her and she'd resolved not to 
endanger her chances with Spike by any further surrenders to her little 
weakness. 

Still she tried to soften her tone as they entered Elm's room. "Okay, what's 
the big secret?" 

"WeU, Melissa and I got caught yesterday. And her brother." 

Mom went white. Oh, God, no! But...."You ... you mean by her brother." 

"No," he said, snatching the last straw of hope from her grasp. "By her dad. 
All three of us were-" 

He stopped, seeing how hard the news had hit her. "Now, wait! He's not going 
to make any trouble! He isn't even mad, Melissa says. He just-" 

"Oh, sure!" Mom burst in. "I suppose he-" 

"Really, Sis! In fact, he told her it ... sort of woke him up!" 

"I'll bet it did!" she half-whispered, feeling empty, ready to die. "And 
there goes the picnic, and-" 

"No!" Elm persisted. "Melissa told me about the picnic. It's tomorrow; 
right?" Numbly, Mom nodded. "Well, first he talked about making her and Mike 
go along. You see, he didn't mind at all about me balling Melissa! It's just 
that he doesn't like her playing around with her own brother, and ... well, 
she says he's got this incest hang-up. And when he walked in yesterday, the 
three of us were trying out a...." 

While he groped for a word, Mom's mind cleared enough that she was able to 
ask, "Didn't he find out-Spike, I mean ... didn't Michael tell him ... 
anything about me?" 

Elm grinned. "I don't think so. He told us, but I don't think their dad was 
around right then; and Melissa didn't say Mike had told him. See, he their 
dad-didh't ask any questions, I guess. I mean, he didn't even stop us or let 
on that he'd come home at noon and seen us! It was last night before he said 
anything, and Melissa says he was ... well, pretty shook and all, but he 
didn't bawl them out or anything just said he couldn't accept them having 
sex together, and he thought they'd better come with him tomorrow on this 
picnic. But then he changed his mind. He said he'd just trust them not to do 
any more of that. With each other, I mean. But he said Melissa can keep on 
... well, screwing me, just so we don't make it too obvious to the 
neighbors; you know? He's even going to get pills for her! Melissa's 
surprised as hell! He seems to be a real cool guy, Sis-except for that one 
blind spot." 

The long dissertation had given Mom time to get a grip on things. 
Unbelievable as it seemed, there appeared to be hope, if she could just keep 
Spike from learning of her own incestuous experiences. There would be a 
picnic, at least, and if she understood the implications of Elm's report 
correctly, she might find Spike a lot less shy than before about things 
sexual. 

There remained the problem of Elm, and she might as well face it now, she 
decided. She looked down at him, for during her silence he'd stretched out 
on his bed, fingers laced behind his head. "So you'll be spending tomorrow 
with Melissa, I suppose." 

"Well, part of the time, maybe. But...." He paused, his expression 
thoughtful. "Look: Is Evangeline going to be here? I mean, unless you're 
afraid shell quit if I ... well ... make a little pass...." 

"My God, Elm! You're serious, aren't you?" She'd known before that he was 
serious. She was stalling, trying to decide how to handle this. If he stayed 
home, and spotted the tent, and Oak's name on it ... or if Oak came to the 
door ... "Don't you ever get enough?" she added. 

Boldly, he reached up and tweaked her nipple through the rib-knit top she 
was wearing without a bra. "Never, Sis. Want me to prove it?" 

Automatically, her eyes went to his crotch. And sure enough, his tight 
trousers clearly out-lined the swollen, reaching girth of his cock. She felt 
her clitoris and inner tissues begin to respond, her nipples perk up and 
push forward as her practiced X-ray imagination pierced the cloth and 
wrapped itself around that horny hunk of sausage.... 

But she caught herself, forcing her eyes up, backing away. "No. I ... I 
mean, maybe later. I've got to get back to work now, or Evangeline and 
Flaming Arrow will worder." It was a lame excuse, and she knew it. Why 
didn't she just tell him she'd sworn off such games? 

Why? Because I need his cooperation. It may be a matter of life or death, in 
fact. But to give in, and possibly have Spike find out.... 

"You can try with Evangeline if you want to," she conceded, eager to escape 
before her will weakened. "But I warn you, Elm: If you pull anything with 
Iris...." 

"Okay, okay!" he said, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I 
promised, didn't I? Anyway, I hear cherry's not that great. The kid that got 
Melissa-" 

Mom cut him off by turning toward the door. If she heard any more, she was 
liable to break down and make a grab for his zipper. But with the doorknob 
in her hand, she stopped. There was still the problem of Oak; she hadn't 
really solved anything. And the only way to solve it.... 

She turned back, sat in the chair by his desk. "Elm," she said, taking a 
deep breath, "I'm going to tell you something. It's ... It's about incest, 
so you'll find it interesting. I'm sure. It's about ... about murder, too-a 
possible murder. So it's important. When I was fourteen years old...." 

She told him. Everything. And he listened, never interrupting, his face 
sober. It was apparent that he understood; but did he believe her? 

When she'd finished, he was silent for a long time. Then he sat up. "Jesus!" 
he said. "I knew Oak was kind of a nut, but ... Murder?" He looked doubtful. 

Telling the story-reliving it not just in her mind but out loud-had made Mom 
hot, somehow. She noted that Elm still had his hard-on, too, as he sat 
staring at her. II he doesn't believe me, she told herself, maybe I ought to 
... well ... persuade him a little. After all, she rationalized, there's no 
point in steering clear of Spike's prejudices if it means I may not live 
long enough for them to matter. 

She thinks I don't believe her. Elm was thinking. Hell, I remember how weird 
Oak got before he left home! But if I play it sort of cool, maybe she'll try 
a little bribe. I mean, shit! Oak's had her, and little Mike's had her, and 
even that skinny rich kid, and the closest I've come is the top of her 
esophagus! 

She'd told him about her compulsions-the wanting to undress, the fixation on 
pricks. He wondered what she'd do if he just whipped off his pants and 
waggled it in her face. She did keep looking at him down there, and sort of 
squirming in the chair.... 

He moved his hands to the top of his zipper. 

"Wh-what ... are you doing? I told you I have to go back downstairs. I-" 

He grinned. "That was a half-hour ago. What's ten more minutes going to 
matter?" As he spoke, he unzipped, unclasped the waist tab, folded the 
halves back to reveal the white mound of his skivvy-covered rod. "But, uh 
... you just go ahead, if you have to, Sis." He gazed blandly at the ceiling 
as his thumbs hooked pants and skivvies down halfway to his knees. "I'll 
just lie here and beat my meat, I guess." 

Suddenly she was on her feet, and in two strides she reached the bed. 
"You're a rotten bastard, Elm Glen!" she spat, skinning her bellbottoms and 
panties to the floor in a bending sweep that washed her hot breath over his 
cock. "And in one second you're going to be a rotten fucking bastard!" 

The motion in which she stepped from the crumpled garments brought her 
astride him. He had a glimpse of her dark-furred cunt, parted to reveal the 
wet-pink inner lips and deeper crevice, as her hands possessed his prick, 
smoothed back the sensitive foreskin and angled the stout shaft upward. Then 
her broiling heat and sinuous grip enclosed the knob, suctioning down the 
shank. His hips heaved up in response, and he was in her to the balls. 

He was still clothed except from navel to mid-thigh, but who gave a shit! 
Mom was now peeling her knit top upward, her crossed arms lifting then 
freeing her big, delicious tits. He gazed up at them, watched them shimmer 
and sway and vibrate as the pullover released her tumbled mass of hair and 
was thrown aside. 

She kept her arms raised-elbows pointed at the ceiling, hands locked at the 
back of her neck, and swiveled her torso from side to side while her 
silk-on-steel thighs pumped slowly, dragging her steaming quim clutch up and 
down his cock with maddening friction. 

"Oh, Jesus, Sis!" Elm moaned, slamming his pelvis up to meet her on the 
downstroke. "You're ... You're great! Where'd you ever learn ... UUnh!" 

"It ... seems to ... come ... naturally," she gasped out, adding a rapid 
corkscrew action to her pussy's plunge and pull. 

"Aahh! I'm ... uuhggonna ... come naturally ... too-oohg ... in about...." 

"Oh, Elm, not yet!" she protested, leaning forward so her breasts swung 
toward his face, her cuntal sheath relinquishing all but the head of his 
stout club. "Here. Play with my boobies and...." Her hips squirmed. "I'll 
try to hold still while you do the moving. Slow, now. Make it last, baby." 

His hands and mouth savoring her heavy, honey-smooth jugs with their turgid 
rubbery tips, he set a steady, slow, jolt-punctuated pace, buffeting her 
clit with that little extra oomph at the fullest depth of each stroke, as 
Melissa had taught him. The angle was one at which he could stabilize the 
tension in his balls, keep a high level of sensation going without soaring 
over the top. 

It soon sent Mom soaring, though. She couldn't keep her ass still, and as it 
snapped and ground down against him, she threw her head back and shook it 
sharply, whipping her long hair from side to side like the dark red flag of 
her stormy passion. 

"Oh, PM ... cc-coooh ... c-COMING!" 

"Naturally," Elm gloated, speeding his strokes, thudding harder against her 
flooding flue to prolong the gasping spasm. 

When she relaxed at last, she bent and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now for 
you," she whispered. She rose suddenly, spun about and squatted facing his 
feet, her dusky-rose ass-hole winking at him as she positioned his dong near 
the top of her slot. Playfully, she rubbed its snout and her clitty several 
times before slipping it back to sound the depths. 

This angle was new to Elm, and provided an unaccustomed pattern of tugging 
friction and tube-tickling tingles that he knew would finish him soon. With 
hands and eyes he caressed his sister's bobbing, weaving ass, its milky 
globes like giant twin melons on the ruddy, stubby stalk of his tool. 

She raised her arms again, hands sweeping her hair to a pile atop her head, 
drawing his eyes along the undulant sweep of her spine from her buttocks to 
the back of her neck, and somehow it was the most beautiful, breath-taking 
thing he'd ever seen. The creamy tower of her torso seemed to blossom from 
his bucking, scalding cock, as if she were a genie conjured out of the magic 
lamp of his balls. She writhed and wriggled, swizzling his stick in tight, 
hot, whirlpool circles. 

With the cum-pressure building in his balls, he slid one hand beneath her, 
felt his slick organ plunging in the grip of her squishing tissues. His 
thumb, feeling left out, explored the tender dimple of her anus, and he felt 
its puckered heat expand, engulf the digit's tip.... 

Damn! he thought suddenly. Little Mike's still one up on me! He's screwed 
Melissa in the ass, and I've never- 

It was as if Mom read his mind. Her hips rose till only his pricktip was 
lodged in her kneading slit, and she murmured, "Move it back, Elm. Let's try 
the rear entrance. I've never ... Would you mind?" 

In answer, he scooted his stabber back along her groove, positioned it 
firmly against the tremulous, crinkled ring, pushed.... 

"Relax," he whispered. "But hurry, too. Just thinking about it, I'm almost 
... aahh! God! The head's in! Now ... Uuhhgg-uhn! Jee-zus! Tight!" 

"Ohh, full! And it feels so ... so deep, too! Is it ... all the way?" 

"Not ... Uuh! Not yet. Lemme...." He squirmed his ass a bit higher on the 
bed, for a better angle. "Now ... Now, ju-uhh-AAH! Oooh!" 

"G-G-Gaawd! Ohh, Elm, it's c-clear up ... Oh, FUCK! Spray me, baby! I'm 
right ... on the ... Ohh, yess!" 

Her own fingers swarming in her snatch, Mom felt the thunderous rush of her 
brother's cum where no cum had been before, blazing a fiery tral that led 
straight to her brain. Her quaking, shuddering innards seemed to embrace a 
tree-sized conglomerate of gristle and shooting goo, and as the straining 
form she straddled heaved in one last, surging lurch, it seemed the whole 
earth shook. 

To Elm, it was as if mind, muscles, nerves, guts, bone marrow merged and 
mounted skyward in one towering cloud of cum, tunneled from his body through 
the constricted, crush-wondrous core of his colon-clad cock, a genie of jazz 
come alive in Mom's columnar form and pulling him after it, every cell of 
him sucked up out of his skin, spout-soaring into her, blood-boiled, 
prick-petrified, brain-flaming, scrotum-and-skull-draining, hour-glassing up 
through his cum-numb stump and out of consciousness. 

She was bending over the picnic jug, its lid in her hand, checking the level 
of the lemonade, when she felt Spike's hands on her waist ... and 
then-lightly, not pressing, just barely touching-in the shallow vale between 
her buttocks, through the thin fabric of her shorts, the heat and swollen 
bulk of what must be his.... 

Slowly, she straightened up, carefully increasing her body's pressure 
against the great, long loaf of libidinous brawn. His hands slid forward, 
staying at waist level; his upper arms framed her shoulders and her own 
arms, so that her breasts were pushed out ... His hands joined in a sweaty, 
twitching knot. His breath riffled her hair, brushed her cheek. The urgent 
length of pressure now lay along her lower spine, and its trembling radiated 
through every fiber of her breathless form. 

"Mom...." 

"Yes, Spike," she whispered in response to the strangled gasp. 

"Mom, I ... You...." His trembling increased. Suddenly his hands parted; the 
pressure at her back diminished. 

Desperately, she spun in his arms, grabbed him around the neck. "I said yes! 
" 

His brows nose-dived. "B-but ... What...." 

"No, not what. I know what. And I said yes!" 

She let her belly go slack, felt it make contact with his hungering 
hugeness, pressed forward. He didn't respond; he almost cringed, in fact. 
His moment of courage had passed, and his look now reminded her of Michael's 
when she'd first gotten hold of his prick. 

"Spike," she said, hanging on as he tried to back away a step, "it's all 
right. I'm twenty-nine years old, and I'm.... 

I'm not a virgin, and I want ... I want it as much as you do, And ... and 
not in trade for anything. You can tell me right now that you never want to 
see me again, and I'll still want...." 

Damn! Did she dare use the words? She might have spoiled everything already 
by admitting she wasn't cherry. If she started saying what came naturally, 
he might break away and run! 

And Spike made it no easier for her. His hands now limp at his sides, his 
expression one of agonized bewilderment, he said, "You mean...." And 
stopped. 

She wanted to kick him in the balls. She wanted to kiss him, tousle his hair 
and tell him the facts of life. She wanted ... Ohhh, more than ever! 

"Listen," she said, still clutching the back of his neck with both hands, 
staring up into his blue eyes almost angrily. "Why do you think I came here 
with you? For the scenery? For my own potato salad and your undercooked 
hamburgers? For your scintillating conversation at the rate of six words an 
hour, plus a twenty-five-minute lecture on how to make a roadbed? We drove 
for three hours, Spike, and we've been here five hours now, and I've taken 
two tranquilizers per hour because I kept wanting to ... Why do you think I 
wore this outfit-for ventilation? My God, Spike, can't you smell me? I ... I 
reek like a fishmarket! And you've had a ... damn it, a hard-on for eight 
hours now, and it's a wonder you can still walk!" 

Spike's face had reddened and stiffened, his jaw jutting out, quivering. 

"I'm sorry," she said, her tone still more urgent than apologetic. "Your 
wife probably didn't talk like that. 

Probably didn't even think like that! And I guess I've spoiled the whole 
day, and ... and everything, and ... and you'd better take me home!" 

There were tears in her eyes, and when she ducked her head to hide them, and 
saw his beautiful bulge slowly dwindling, fading away, they flooded down her 
face as she spun away from him. 

Then his hands were there again, gripping her shoulders this time, and he 
croaked out, "Mom ... it's all right. I ... Well, I just came. But if you'll 
help me get these damn sticky pants off...." 

She spun again, her eyes taking in the spreading stain on his trousers, then 
his flushed but happy face. "Spike!" she cried. "You ... you didn't wear 
underpants either?" 

His blush deepened, but his grin broadened, as he undid his belt, ran his 
zipper. "I, uh ... really had big ideas, long about six-thirty this morning. 
But after I picked you up, it took me those eight hours to get my courage 
back ... and it lasted about eight seconds." 

Now he peeled his T-shirt off, his fly parting to give her a glimpse of the 
shadowed, intriguing treasure within as the white cotton went over his head. 
And then he hesitated, hands at the pants' waist clasp, his look that of a 
bashful child. "Mom ... are you sure? I mean ... it doesn't seem right like 
this. I ... haven't even kissed you!" 

"I know," she said, matching his sober face, standing almost within arms' 
length of him, and longing to reach out...."But if you do-kiss me-I'll come. 
And I want to save that. It's ... I don't know why, but it is right this 
way, Spike." 

And because it was, she reached back and unfastened her strapless halter, 
let the stiff, wire-braced cups fall away, freeing breasts that proved they 
needed no support by surging up and forward, the dark nipples fully erected, 
Her hands dropped to the zipper at the back of her skin-tight short shorts, 
and in seconds she had kicked these away. She toed off her sneakers, then 
raised her eyes ... and a gasp that was also a giddy giggle burst from her 
lips. 

Curving out and Upward from the open front of his pants was the marvelously 
thick, gloriously long, foreskin-hooded, vein-gnarled, ruddily twitching 
marvel of man-meat she had so fervently envisioned for so many agonizing 
hours. 

The explosion of heat in her loins literally melted her from navel to knees. 
The latter gave way, and she sat down abruptly and ungracefully on the 
grass, thighs splayed, her pussy a soft-walled caldron of boiling juice. 
Feebly, she held out open arms as she lay back, whimpering, "Oh, God! 
Hurry!" 

Only then did Spike become aware of the looming phallus that had made a 
mockery of his lingering modesty. It made him laugh-that, and ... well ... 
everything! He was still laughing when he half-fell atop Mom's writhing 
form, kicking one stubborn pantleg free of his heavy shoe even as he slid 
his hands beneath her shuddering ass-cheeks and let his cock plunge home 
unerringly, the swollen head lodged, then driven inward to the full extent 
of his burgeoning, blazing log in one mindless, slashing hip surge. 

He came again immediately, and with an impossibly sustained frenzy of 
battering white-heat spasms, while his mind, torn loose from time, performed 
an awestruck inventory of the bliss in which he wallowed. 

Her legs--those long, lush-fleshed yet sleek and supple limbs his eyes had 
been savoring all day-were locked around him, the strong-soft, cushioned 
spring-steel thighs gripping his hips and waist, guiding his lunges while 
her calves propelled her heels against his buttocks, prodding him with a 
pelting passion-rhythm. 

Her tits-gorgeous, hot-nippled, heaving mounds-pummeled his chest as she 
jittered her shoulders, each rubbery nubbin branding him repeatedly as the 
yielding, spreading swell beneath it surged against him and drew back to 
surge again. 

Her arms clung about his biceps, nails raking his back. Her lips, crushed 
and encompassed by his own, were a yielding, gladly submissive gateway 
through which he tongue-fucked fiercely, a microcosmic match for the action 
of their loins. Her tongue, a fluttering, swarming madness of welcome, 
wrestled with his in joyous mock combat. Her breath was in his mouth, and 
overflowed from her flared nostrils to bathe his face. Her hair was a 
blinding red-black blizzard, a silken explosion of splendor about their 
elated faces. Her eyes, deep green, long-lashed, were open, locked brightly 
on his when they paused between orgies of ravenous kissing. 

Her ass ... Her ass was the world, its heavy-soft, squirm-heaving 
hemispheres filling his hands to overflowing-the world split open to engulf, 
engorge, embrace his cum-screaming cock in belly rutting, clutch-undulant 
lava flows of crushhugging shudderous fuckfire ... her cunt a hot tornado 
fastened forever to his scalding spermspout, consuming what it endlessly 
created anew and in overabundance, milking him, mauling him, earthquaking up 
to absorb and redouble his every gut-blasting concussion of thrust.... 

Mom, from the first ferocious inrush of his penetration, had been swept up 
in an orgasm more powerful than any she'd known before, and was held there, 
soaring in unimaginable ecstasy for what seemed twenty years, but was 
probably little more than twenty minutes. The world didn't end, this time. 
Instead, it seemed to wrap itself around the end of Spike's impossibly huge, 
unutterably deep-plunging prick, thrust far beyond her cervix into some 
hitherto unsuspected fjord of her inside passage. She floated in space, 
dangerously close to the sun, while the earth bucked and burned in back of 
her belly, the moon ran aground against her clit, and comets blazed through 
every sinew, eternally in elliptic orbit about her brain. 

Mom didn't think of it that way, of course. Mom wasn't thinking at all, but 
in looking back on it later, she would tell herself it had been one of the 
best fucks she'd ever had-and the first of the best. While many more were to 
follow, she would always recall that afternoon in the wilderness valley with 
special affection, for it was there, then, that she first attained the 
utmost pinnacle of physical-psychic delight-never the same, yet never 
surpassed, no matter how often revisited. 

She would recall the confirmation of her fondest hopes as Spike's massive 
meatloaf filled, stretched and heat-treated the astonished tissues of her 
tunnel, and how those inward walls had responded with what seemed an 
impossible elasticity, not only making room but mustering sufficient muscle 
and malleability to move in contracting-expanding undulations, clinging yet 
massaging as the vast intrusion was heaved forward, withdrawn but never 
removed so much as an inch, hurled forward again.... 

He had held her ass as if trying to crush it to a bloodless nothing around 
his cock, and yet somehow tenderly, gently, in the way that violent lust can 
be gentle. His weight was overwhelming, yet wonderfully right, and she'd 
found she could move beneath it with all the freedom that passion required. 

His kiss had been devouring, devastating, demanding, dizzying, delicious-a 
suctioning, tongue-swirling whirlpool that sang through her being like 
cymbals above the thunderous drumbeat of the cuntcock kiss below. 

From that moment on, through the timeless, tender-savage fuck, through the 
resting and touching that followed, through the second fuck-in which she 
toprode him and came five times before he ignited her sixth with his own 
volcanic cataclysm-through the calm, soft talk that followed that ... 
through all of her life that would follow, Mom knew that this man was what 
her existence was about. 

Near sunset, she lay with her head oh Spike's belly, whispering sweet 
sexthings to his sleepy cock, kissing its tip, riffling the heavy foreskin 
along the half-hard shaft's upper girth. As it lengthened and extended, 
leaping toward her lips, his legs twitched, and one still-shod foot jarred 
the U-shaped support at one end of the folding metal table he'd brought 
along. Something fell, with a small click and then a mild splatting sound, 
but neither he nor she was about to be bothered. 

She took his hot, crab-applish knob in her mouth, pushed her straining lips 
along the faintly triangular girth of his rod till she could contain no 
more, then retreated, feeling the foreskin bulk up then smooth out beneath 
her Up-shielded teeth. Her fingers furled it back again, and she set to 
sucking the burly head, while one hand grasped and stroked the rest, and the 
other sent a teasing, urging finger deep into his rectum, curling up along 
the buried prostate gland. Surprisingly soon, Spike began to growl and jerk, 
feet flat, knees steepled, hips bridging up to buffet his organ deeper. 
Then, with a groaning, grinding shudder that shook them both, he came, 
flooding her mouth and desperately swallowing throat with salty soup from 
his inexhaustible scrotal reservoir. 

Mom sputtered, coughed, gasped, but managed a sparkle-eyed, sperm-oozing 
smile as she got to her hands and knees. "God!" she wheezed wetly. "I didn't 
think you'd have much left!" 

She crawled past his feet toward the jug, standing still uncapped in the 
grass at the far end of the table. "Hope that stuff goes good with warm 
lemonade," she called. 

Exhausted and feeling silly, she rolled onto her back, hoisted the jug above 
her gaping mouth and opened the spigot, letting the pale liquid stream down 
to fill her throat. It splattered her face when her arms swayed, but she 
restored the aim quickly, and drank till the stream dwindled to rhythmic 
drips. 

As she lowered the jug, it rattled, and she tipped it, peered inside, "My 
gosh! How did...." Reaching in, she extracted the empty vial and peered at 
the peeling soggy label. "Oh, Christ!" she said hollowly. "Spike...." 

He sat up, groggy. "What's the matter, hon?" 

She giggled. "Spike, I must have left my pill vial open, and ... Well, 
anyway, I just drank about ten tranquilizers dissolved in lemonade." 

He jumped to his feet, frowning. "Maybe we should head for a hospital. That 
could be dangerous, couldn't it?" 

"Oh, no. There's nothing in them that could hurt me. But I bet for a while 
I'm going to be tranquil as all hell!" Lying naked in the grass, she flung 
the empty vial aside, threw her head back and began to laugh, breasts 
shaking, belly fluttering. "Oh, God!" she choked out through the uproarious 
seizure. "Oh ... Oh, God!" 

 CHAPTER SIX 

"Oh, God, we beseech Thee! Spare the men who here repent of their vile, 
lust-sodden lives and vow perpetual chastity! Oh, God, they turn to Thee 
from the poisonous pit of corruption that is woman! Have mercy on them! 
Spare too those females who confess and denounce their foul alliance with 
Satan, oh, God, swearing nevermore to entice any man to the way of flesh, 
which leads to the fires of Hell! Grant these women, if they truly forsake 
Satan, the boon of immediate death, that they may return to eternal 
perdition without causing further sins to fuel the flames! 

"Mercy, Lord, on Thy creature, Mankind, hired from the righteous path by the 
devil's silken-skinned, sultry soldiers of depravity! Mercy, oh, God, even 
on Thine enemy, which is woman!! " 

The tall, handsome black-robed man lowered his glittering eyes from the top 
of the tent. He scanned the tight-packed ranks of his listeners in the rows 
of rickety chairs. His shouting grew louder, his gestures wilder: 

"You are soiled, sullied by the scum and slime of carnal sin! You ... and 
you ... and YOU! Oh, don't whine about the sanctity of marriage! Satan has 
destroyed that! It is no more! I say again: Unless a virgin marry a virgin 
and they cohabit only to beget offspring unto God, shunning all thought of 
pleasures of the flesh, they are damned! One single lustful thought; one 
touch, under the demon guise of affection; one look, my friends, unless it 
be cast in purest holy zeal, at these unclean creatures contrived by the 
devil in Hell, sprung like a tumor from Adam's rib and made malignant by the 
powers of darkness ... YOU ARE DAMNED!! ! " 

Spike scowled, regretting the impulse that had brought him there. While the 
evangelist raved on, he shut out the maniac tirade and turned to see if Mom 
was coming around. 

No. She still sat slumped against his shoulder, eyes open but totally 
glazed, a faint, vacant smile on her lovely face. 

She'd slipped into a woozy doze while he helped her get dressed, then into 
this happy-zombie state as they drove back toward the city. He'd checked the 
label on the vial first, and decided she was right in dismissing his 
hospital idea. He found she could walk, with his help, and they'd stopped 
once for coffee. It hadn't seemed to help, and he'd driven back to the tower 
almost without thinking, then realized he couldn't just drop her at home 
while she was still in this walking stupor. 

At that point he'd seen the tent, and the huge, bold-lettered banner 
proclaiming the Crusade for Purity. The Reverend Oakley Glen, Evangelist. 
"Hey, there's that revival I saw the poster about!" He knew she was beyond 
answering or even comprehending, but talking soothed his nerves. "I've never 
been to one of those things. Might be interesting, huh?" At least it would 
pass the time till she started ... what? Sobering up? Untranquilizing? 

He could hear the preacher's shouts as they approached, and he figured 
they'd just sneak in and sit in the back somewhere; but it hadn't worked out 
that way. A pair of usher types had grabbed them the minute they came 
through the tent flap, and just about pulled them past twenty or more rows 
of empty folding chairs to the front, where five or six rows were jam-packed 
except for two seats right in the middle. 

So here they were. With all the stares directed at Mom's skimpy costume, 
he'd been too timid to resist the ushers' pushiness; and now he was too 
timid to get up and lead her out. Shrugging, he turned back to listen to the 
nut on the platform. 

Somebody was ... yelling. But that was miles away. But somebody was ... 
right in front of her. A head. The back of it. A man's head. There was a man 
... propping her up, too. But that was all right; that was Spike. That head 
up ahead was a stranger's, though. And ... her eyes slid left, then right. 
God! A whole line of strange heads ... and shoulders ... big, burly 
shoulders of strange men.... 

There was ... even one on the, other side of her, and.... 

"Ay-men, brother!" That voice-a strange man's voice-came from behind her, 
and two or three others shouted the same thing! There were ... there were 
strange men all around her! 

What ... what was she supposed to do for these men? She knew there was 
something, but she couldn't ... couldn't remember. She wanted to, if she 
just knew.... 

The yelling from far away got louder, and she tried to understand it. 

"... salvation, if you'll shed your guilty ways! Confess! Strip yourself of 
deceit before your maker! Bare your soul! Confess and repent! 

"YOU! Will you do that now? YOU! Do you want to be saved? Then stand up for 
purity! Stand up, confess, and ask the Lord's forgiveness! Stand up and 
swear to be chaste for as long as you live! Strip yourself naked before your 
God! YOU! Stand up! Stand up for purity!" 

It seemed like they were all shouting now. "Yes, Lord." 

"Ay-men." 

"Mercy, God." 

"Save me!" 

And over the frenzied roar, the screaming voice from the front went on: 
"Standup! Stand up! STAND UP!! " 

Suddenly she reeled to her feet. But there were others standing too, so she 
climbed on her chair. Because now she knew what she had to do for them! 

Spike sat gaping as Mom lurched onto the wobbling chair, her hands fumbling 
at the clasp of her halter. Bewilderment froze him for the second it took 
her to whip it off and throw it high in the air, her vibrant breasts leaping 
with the motion. 

He reached for her then, but was knocked aside as two or three men in the 
row behind surged forward suddenly, also reaching for her. She was knocked 
down in the confusion, but rose again on a chair in the front row, and now 
her red shorts were in her hand, and she flung them straight at the gaping 
face of the suddenly silent evangelist. 

As he fought his way toward her, Spike noticed that several other women in 
the audience were ripping their clothes off too-with the help of several 
men. Other men were tearing at their own clothes even as they battled their 
way toward the nearest woman. There were half a dozen guys around Mom, their 
hands all over her. Spike grabbed two by the shoulders and was about to hurl 
them apart when the lights went out, and he was simultaneously knocked off 
his feet by something large, soft and naked. 

"Ooh, you're my size!" a gushy female voice crowed while hands clawed at his 
crotch. He tried to roll her off, and succeeded, but ... what was the point, 
now? He had no idea where to find Mom any longer, in the pitch-blackness and 
the jostling welter of bodies. 

When the fat hands found him again, and a mammoth, squashy tit was slammed 
against his face, he decided he might as well make the best of it. 

Mom had been pinched, prodded, squeezed, jostled and even briefly 
fingerfucked before her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and she was loving 
every bit of it. She had somebody's cock in her hand and was trying to pull 
it toward her swollen, creaming slot, meanwhile searching for another for 
her mouth. Then a tall, immense-shouldered figure loomed up in front of her. 
Viciously shoving the other men aside, he picked her up by the waist and 
strode several steps along the side of what appeared to be a low platform 
before he tripped on something. 

As they crashed down, her arm got tangled in the flowing, ankle-length robe 
he wore, and her hand encountered a hot, hefty length of sleek-skinned meat. 
It was much bigger than the one he'd pulled her away from, so she wriggled 
toward it. It met her more than halfway, and as it bulldozed into her, the 
man attached began a hissing, vicious chant in time with his furious lunges: 
"Harlot! Whore! Slut! Die ... bitch! Die! Jezebel! Enchantress! Succubus! 
Die!" 

When he got to the longer words, he added a shuddering, battering 
follow-through to each slashing prickstroke, and all the while, his hands 
were crushing and mauling her breasts, sending a delicious ache down her 
spine to meet the explosive jolts that reverberated up from her cunt. 

Mom was puzzled by the whole business. It was nice of him to fuck her, of 
course-and he was quite good at it, in an overzealous, rather panicky 
way-but she didn't really care for the dirty names. But she shrugged it off, 
thrusting her tits more abundantly up to his claw-like grasp. If this was 
how he got his kicks, then so be it. 

On the third time through the litany of abuse, he came. The word enchantress 
broke off to a gagging groan, and she felt his thrusts grow ragged, felt a 
steamy jet of cum drench the depths of her well-filled well. When it was 
over, though, he resumed the wrathful chant and went right on pumping, even 
harder than before. 

"Oh, thank God, you're still hard!" Mom exclaimed. " 'Cause I haven't cum 
yet, and we ... seem to have gotten separated from the others." 

Spike's eyes had eventually adjusted to the darkness too, and as soon as 
possible after that, he'd pulled his pecker from the triple-chinned mouth of 
his first partner and rolled toward a slim one from whom a naked, very 
skinny young man was just extracting his limp organ. 

As he replaced the exhausted youngster, Spike saw that the adjustment wasn't 
all in his eyes. Apparently some of the crowd had fled in horror when 
religious fervor had been transformed into orgiastic frenzy, and one of the 
tent flaps was open now; through this, a streetlight cast a corridor of 
illumination. He noticed too that the roiling mass of bodies seemed to be 
drifting gradually into that lighted area. Makes sense, he mused, fucking 
steadily into the tight quim of his anonymous and steadfastly silent 
partner. A guy-likes to see what he's getting into. 

He wondered, then, who was getting into Mom at the moment, and the thought 
tweaked his conscience. Fitting his hands over the small, pincushion-firm 
breasts of the woman beneath him, he braced up to look around. No Mom, that 
he could make out. There were a few bodies that might be her, at least in 
the obscuring gloom, but most of their faces were hidden by one or another 
heaving part of some man. There had been, he recalled, few women in the 
audience-not more than one to every four or five men. And Oakley Glen's 
preaching had made clear the reason for this. But it was convenient for orgy 
purposes, too, he mused, since men required time to recuperate, while women 
were virtually inexhaustible. 

Giving up the search momentarily, Spike returned his attention to the slim 
form whose wiry thighs were locked around his hips. She certainty seemed 
inexhaustible. From the spasms of internal clenching he'd felt, he guessed 
she'd come at least four times since he put the blocks to her, yet she still 
met his every thrust with an upward snap of her ass that sent tingling shock 
waves along his cock's tube-swollen underside. He began to think he was 
going to come pretty soon, despite the afternoon's effluent excess with Mom. 

He liked this gal. She didn't babble or scratch as so many around them were 
doing. She kept her mouth shut except to sluice a hot, pointy tongue around 
in his ear when she could get at it. He decided to stay with her as long as 
possible, and to prolong his prick-life, therefore, he raised his head again 
to scan the surroundings-hoping, of course, to spot Mom, but mainly just to 
get his mind off the buildup in his balls. 

On his left, in the streak of light, several steadily humping couples formed 
a ring about a piece of moving sculpture more bizarre than what he'd seen in 
his bedroom two days before. A middle-aged woman wearing only a white bra 
stood bent over, being fucked from behind by one man while she sucked the 
prick of another. Her suckee was totally naked, while her fucker was still 
fully clothed-but unzipped, of course-just as Spike was, These two were 
supporting a second woman somewhat horizontally; the suckee's head was out 
of sight between her thighs, and the fucker held her shoulders over his head 
while he sucked her breasts, first one and then the other, in rapid 
alternation. 

While Spike watched, a couple on the periphery rose and joined the acrobatic 
centerpiece. The man crouched beneath the fuckee, scooped her heavy breasts 
from the bra and began to fondle them, while his former partner knelt behind 
the naked suckee, reached between his legs to grasp his balls, then burned 
her face in his asscrack. 

The newcomers seemed to spoil the artistic appeal of the grouping, though 
and Spike's attention drifted to a trio nearer the platform. On the bottom 
was a very fat man, and while a small, leathery-looking older woman clung to 
his belly and rode his penis, a tall, voluptuous blonde squatted facing her, 
riding the fat man's face. The first woman kept, losing her grip on the 
man's dome-like paunch, and teetering backward, until the blonde reached out 
and took a sisterly grip on her shoulders, helping her stay upright. 

Everywhere were writhing, rutting, flapping, fucking bodies, naked, 
half-naked and only purposefully disarrayed. But the quantity of visible 
skin far outweighed the clothing, ignoring what was scattered about, 
discarded. In the dim light, the total effect was that of a coruscating bed 
of coals in which occasional upright forms were leaping names. The eternal 
fires," Spike murmured. "Christ, what a weenie-roast!" 

Slim was coming again, it felt like. And Spike himself wasn't far from it. 
He held on at maximum depth while the current cuntquake ran its course, then 
backed his oar all only the head remained in her churning channel, 
and...."Whaaa...? " 

Two hot hands had grabbed his hips from behind, and a very cold object that 
felt like a nose had sliced icily into the deft between his buttocks. Now 
this slid upward a bit, and he felt the heated face behind it ... and a 
wet-warm, eel-eager tongue attacking his ass-hole. 

When he didn't descend-fearing he'd crush somebody's something back 
there-Slim slung herself up to engulf him again. And that one, 
tight-sliding, cock-squeezing cunt-surge was all it took, on top of the 
shock of the anal incursion: His balls unleashed a thin but nonetheless 
nerve-wringing stream of cum that needled through his peter in an 
acid-anguish orgasm of giddy, good-grief glory-the kind that hurt but made 
you happy, like when you'd lifted more weight than you should, to show off. 

When he roiled to one side, the hot hands and torrid tongue pounced promptly 
on his pulverized prong. They belonged-along with the cold nose-to the 
blonde he'd been watching earlier. And since she didn't succeed in reviving 
his rammer, after a minute she swung atop him in sixty-nine position, 
presenting what had been the fat man's feast. It looked good, so he tried 
it. It was. 

Mom was beginning to lose the glow. It was still good to have the tall man's 
tall cock pile-driving in and out, again and again sending crashing waves of 
rapture through her cunt, clit and ass; and her tits had almost begun to 
feel at home in the strangling grasp of his hands. But ... well, now that 
they were out in the midst of other people-other pricks-she thought she 
might at least like a change of riders. 

This one had come eight times now, and only gone soft once. That had been 
after his fourth orgasm in the traditional "missionary position" they'd 
started with. They'd peaked together, and so violently that they tolled 
several turns to the side in a shiver-heaving, gasp-gargling spastic tangle 
of passion. Mom ended up on top, and found that her frantic fucker had 
fainted. 

As there was no water handy, she applied the only liquid that was, spinning 
around to press her sloshing snatch to his face. With her own face and 
hands, meanwhile, she strove to revive at least his flagging mast. Several 
deep, avid sucks produced results, and the last few were emulated amid her 
emulsified funnel flesh, as his other end came to life as well. 

He didn't know pussy from porridge when it came to mouth work, though, so as 
soon as his mushroom spouted fresh mush, she spun again and seized it in her 
still resilient quim, for a sweet but all too short session of ass-wrenching 
ascendance. Her strapping steed stayed hard, but he was groggy; while his 
hips responded with vigor, his head lolled. A goo-turgling mutter was the 
only sound he made for several sizzling strokes of Mom's taut tunnel along 
the good girth of his gristle. 

Then, though, he seemed to recognize his recumbent position for the first 
time, and with a hissing oath from his glistening mouth that sounded like 
"Get thee beneath me, Satan!" he hip-hurled her clear of his cock and almost 
over his head. Almost, of course, meant that her meaty morass was once more 
flush on his face; but without so much as a friendly twitch of his nose 
against her clit, he'd squirmed free and wrestled her into a canine 
copulatory posture. 

When he tried to penetrate, Mom had to giggle. Oops! she thought. That's the 
shithouse, not the doghouse. Rex! But its fine with me, if you can. Ooggh!" 

He could, and he had. Her rectum was stretched like a glove about his 
foreskin-wristed fist, and even as he came again, he forged forward 
fiercely, gaining a pleasure-painful quarter-inch with each thrust. 

He would have done much better if he'd been able to hold Mom still, but his 
grip on her sweat-slippery hips was no help, and she kept lurching forward, 
then regaining her knees as he scuttled after her. In this mode they made it 
halfway back to the crowded, light-washed area before the platform; and the 
rest of the journey was accomplished by his battering, cursing onslaught 
once he was seated to the root in her rump, his shaggy pelvic mat tickling 
the incurves of her pried-wide ass-halves as he bullied her burrow 
unmercifully. Ohh-ooo! It hurts ... but it's heavenly!" Mom crooned as the 
rectal reaming increased in fury. "Now if you'd just ... aah! ... slide a 
finger down in front and ... ahhohh! God! ... ring my doorbell...." 

He didn't, but an exhausted man they'd run aground against did, and in 
gratitude Mom extended a helping hand to his spineless, spongy plunger and 
began to pump it up. While the good Samaritan tickled her clit with two 
long, talented fingers, his thumb plumbed Mom's cum sump. 

Her doggie delight, meanwhile, had sent a second slurry of sperm to her 
intestinal depths, and decided to return to the more expansive passage. 
Wrenching his whang from her anal canal, he bludgeoned it blindly into the 
lower hole, apparently unaware of its other occupant until he tried to pull 
back. Then the prone man's thumbnail must have slashed him severely, for he 
screamed in anguish and jerked back, barking out a second scream before he 
completely unsheathed his damaged dong. 

Furiously, he flung Mom onto her back. The landing was cushioned, however, 
by a second prone man, and she lay in a location where that gentleman 
could-and did conveniently lever his slender prick into her distended 
ass-hole, even before her angry assailant mounted the pile and plunged his 
prod once more to the hilt in her cunt. 

As this occurred, she got a quick glimpse of the tall one's face in the 
light, and felt a twinge of disappointment. He wasn't a stranger after all! 
She couldn't recall where, but she knew she'd seen him before. She felt sure 
another look would tell her, but for the moment that was impossible, since a 
third man's lower torso had intervened as soon as her two crotch cubbyholes 
were filled; this one was squatting above her face, and had placed his 
half-hard, head-hooded, honey-dripping dingus against her lips. 

And now, there she lay, with a cock in her mouth, another up her ass, a 
third in her hand and ... oh, goodie! Somebody'd just grabbed her other hand 
and wrapped it around a new length of lunchmeat! This one was really big, 
too: Salami-sized and excitingly gnarled; it could almost have been Spike's, 
but of course she couldn't turn her head to find out. All this as well as 
the towering rate of raw fuckmuscle in her mainstream should have made Mom 
deliriously joyful, yet something was bothering her. It Was fatigue, she 
supposed, and the hopeful yet distracting possibility that she'd found Spike 
again ... but it was more than that. Something about the unstrange face of 
her ferocious fucker ... who was-"Aahh! Eeee!-coming again, incidentally, 
wrenching her titties and walloping her clitty as he sluiced more juice into 
her cum-numbed bed concourse ... Something about that face made her uneasy, 
all of a sudden. It had started her wondering where she was, and how this 
mayhem of mass fucking had happened. 

Let's see. I was with Spike, out by the forest, in that little valley. We'd 
... umm! We sure had! And then I ... oh! The tranquilizers in the lemonade! 
And then.... 

But that didn't explain any of this. And it was getting harder to think 
about an explanation, because the cocks in her mouth and ass had started 
simultaneously to shoot streams of hot syrup into her, and she thought she 
was actually going to ... Oh, God! The one in her cunt, too! Again! And she 
very definitely was going to ... was going ... was ... was COMING!! ! 
"Uuhrrrrrggggaaagh!" 

Her hands were streaming goo too, and slipped from the slouching spigots 
they'd held. The ass man collapsed, his prick squidging free as her whole 
torso constricted in a final orgasmic clench. The squatter fell forward, 
somersaulting his meat from her mouth. Only her robed ravisher was still 
sunk to the utmost and spurting, and when she opened her eyes and focused 
her reeling vision.... 

Oak. 

An icy axe of abject terror chopped off her orgasm and sank into her heart. 
She went totally numb, frozen by fear beyond any she'd ever known-a fear so 
complete that in seconds it was utter resignation, and she breathed 
tonelessly, "This way, Oak? But ... yes. I guess it's appropriate. So go on. 
You've fucked me half to death already. Finish it." 

His eyes were glittering crystals unconnected to a mind. His cock was a 
blunt perpetual-motion dagger, slashing her vitals with jack-hammer speed 
and impact. His mouth was a drooling rent in a rigid face, and his hands 
like a gargoyle's granite claws, talon-locked on her breast flesh. 

But then she whispered, "Oak ... If only I'd known this was what you 
wanted!" 

He went limp, rolled to one side, huddled up and began to weep. 

Spike, his slack penis dangling just inches from Mom's fallen hand, had 
listened and watched, utterly bewildered. Well, not utterly. Whoever this 
Oakley Glen was, Mom knew him. Her father? No; he didn't look that old. 
Husband, then? Had she.... 

His puzzlement and worry were interrupted, then, as every light in the tent 
blazed to life, and he stared at the ring of riot-armed cops surrounding the 
devastated tangle of prostrate, panting, powerless bodies that had lately 
been an orgy. 

Now a squat, fat police captain stepped forward and snarled, "Don't anybody 
move! This is an illegal assembly and you're all under-" He stopped; his 
eyes bugged, and he croaked out, "Eloise?" His gaze was fixed on the 
voluptuous blonde, and in the full light, Spike recognized her from 
newspaper pictures as the recently acquired fourth wife of Grand Junction's 
elderly chief of police. by this time the skinny young man he'd replaced in 
Slim's quim was on his feet; he had fished a wallet from a crumpled coat 
lying nearby, and he walked forward and flapped it open in front of the 
captain's livid face. Spike couldn't hear what was said, but he thought the 
young man's lips formed FBI. 

In rapid succession, then, about fifteen other men-all wearing or carrying 
drab suits and highly polished shoes-approached the officer and flopped 
their wallets open, then passed unmolested through the cordon of police. 

Now Spike's hideously fat first partner-managing to conceal certain 
superfluous points of her bulk behind an inside-out pair of 
trousers-approached the top cop and whispered to him. After a moment the 
captain backed away from her and stammered, "Sorry, folks. The mayor's wi--I 
mean ... It seems there's been a terrible mistake. We, uh ... didn't know 
this was a religious service." With that, he did a stiff about-face, and led 
his troops in a hasty retreat from the tent. 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

Damn! Mom thought as she helped Evangeline complete another wedding order. 
Always the bride's florist, but never ... Oh, hell! You don't deserve him 
and you know it, she scolded herself. The way you've screwed around with 
little boys ... even his little boy ... And now Spike knows it too-at least 
about the incest with Oak. 

She'd had to explain that, of course, once they'd reached her bedroom last 
night. He'd rushed out of the tent right on the heels of the police, leaving 
her clothes and her crumpled brother behind, literally carrying her across 
the street ... She'd still been too befuddled to protest coherently, and 
only when he lay beside her on the big bed, gently caressing her sore, 
strength-less but still responsive body, had she told him the whole story of 
Birch's conception and its aftermath of anguish. She'd explained the 
compulsion to undress in crowds, too-but not, of course, her corollary 
fixation on little boys, and all that it had recently led to. Finally, she'd 
expressed concern about Oak, and Spike had said he'd go back and check-make 
sure he was all right. 

He hadn't left immediately, however. In fact, he'd undressed and made 
soothing, sweet, slow love to her. It had ended in a miraculous mutual 
orgasm-not intense for either of them, but intensely peaceful, somehow. And 
after that, she'd had the distinct feeling that he was about to propose to 
her needed only a minute or two to get the words in order ... Then she'd 
fallen asleep, to be awakened at tern a.m. by Birch's knock, and the message 
that Evangeline needed her help in the shop. 

Had he found Oak, talked with him? She had no way of knowing. The tent was 
gone, and there'd been no word from Spike. Had he decided-with or without 
contacting Oak-that her incestuous past was something he simply couldn't 
accept? 

Last night, with the tranquilizers' effect at last worn off entirely, she'd 
still felt that all her troubles were over and a wondrous world lay ahead. 
Surely Oak was no longer a threat; and there'd be no sordid publicity, for 
among the other bedraggled women sprawled about the tent as she left, Mom 
had recognized the wife of the man who owned Grand Junction's single 
newspaperradio-TV monopoly. And with marriage to Spike, she was certain she 
could overcome her terrible craving for young boys, too. Well ... almost 
certain. 

He could just have slept late, of course; it wasn't quite eleven yet. Or he 
could be at work he did work, after all, and wouldn't have called, figuring 
she'd sleep late. Everything could be fine. It was just that-- 

Then his truck pulled up in front, and Mom saw his face as he swung out of 
the cab ... and she knew that everything was fine! 

She met him at the door, coming into his arms with a rush, hugging, kissing, 
squirming against him till he was half afraid he'd cream in his pants again. 
It was embarrassing, anyway, with her clerk staring at them and grinning the 
whole time. But it was still damn nice, and the only thing that enabled him 
to hold her away at last was the knowledge that she'd probably take him 
upstairs pretty quick, and they could start all over-unencumbered, then, by 
curious clerk, constraining pants or anything else. 

Apparently, Mom had exactly that in mind, and as they went toward the 
elevator, he told her Oak had been gone, and the men dismantling the tent 
were ignorant of his whereabouts, saying only that he'd driven off alone. 

She shrugged, smiled up at him "Well, maybe he'll write, sooner or later. 
Anyway, I know it's over. I sensed it last night. He finally got what he'd 
been wanting all along, and suddenly he realized it. We both did, at the 
same time! So now I'm...." She took a deep, gloriously chest-expanding 
breath. "I'm free, Spike! I'm-" 

"MISS CHRYSANTHEMUM GLEN!" 

The harsh voice froze them a step from the elevator, and they both spun to 
stare at the tall, richly overdressed, attractive-but-bitchy-looking woman 
who had stalked in through the front door. 

Alertly, Evangeline tried to intervene. "She's, uh ... very busy right now, 
Ma'am. Can't I help you with something?" 

"Yes, you may," the woman spat. "By stepping out of my way when I'm speaking 
to your employer! Miss Glen, I'd like some confidential words with you." She 
looked again at Evangeline, frowned, then added, "And your Negress, here." 

Mom turned, rose on tiptoe and gave Spike a pecking kiss, "Go up," she 
murmured, smiling. "We get these socialites every so often, grousing about 
the order for their daughter's wedding or some such. I'll be as quick as I 
can." 

This didn't look like that kind of thing to Spike, but he grinned back, 
stepped into the car and pressed the button-the right one, this time; he was 
careful about that. As the doors slid shut, he watched Mom move easily 
toward the interloper. Christ, what a beautiful ass! And it could be all 
mine, forever, if I could just convince myself.... 

Yeah! There's the hitch, he thought as the car hushed upward. But could even 
Mom cure me of this damned itch for ... for babies?! After that session on 
the roof with her sister ... and this morning when my own daughter showed up 
at breakfast in that little see-through wrapper ... oh, did she ever show 
up! And my damnable hungry horn , stood up, as if it hadn't had any action 
for a year, instead of a year's worth in just a few hours! 

But I can control it with Melissa, I know. With that Iris, though ... Hell! 
Some brother-in-law and substitute father I'd make for her! Every time I saw 
her, I'd.... 

He was in Mom's room now, and looking around for something to get his mind 
off lechery. His eyes stopped at the curtain on the far side of the bed. 
Hmmm. He'd assumed last night that it covered a window, but he saw now that 
it couldn't: That was an inside wall, and beyond was Mom's bathroom. 

A mirror, then? He'd always wondered what it would be like to boff in front 
of a mirror. He found the pull cord, swept the curtains apart, and gaped. 
"Well, I'll be damned!" he mumbled, "Closed-circuit!" 

On the single live monitor, he saw Mom, Evangeline and the snotty woman in 
the salesroom. And when he turned the knob labeled audio, he heard the 
bitchy one saying, " ... no concern of yours what he did or did not tell me! 
I'm here to hear your side of it. And if it's what I suspect ... ' 

"Why?" Mom said, her tone nervous yet determined. "Why should there be any 
side of it, Mrs. Clamath, beyond the fact that he came here, bought the 
roses and left?" 

The woman was losing her composure. Her face flushed and contorted, she spat 
out: "Because ever since, he's been trying to ... to corrupt every little 
girl in the neighborhood, and several of their mothers! And he won't-" One 
hand flew to her mouth, but then she let it fall, and snarled, "Oh, all 
right! He won't tell me a thing! But when I learned that it was this 
building ... And now that I've seen you, Miss Glen, and your b-b-black 
c-c-c-clerk here ... Well, that just may explain why Sonny's even been 
talking about integrating the neighborhood!" 

Mom appeared to be fighting to master her anger. "Mrs. Clamath," she said 
finally, "you're ... you're imagining all this! You'd have gone straight to 
the police, otherwise. And it's ... well, it's preposterous! I can't-" it's 
... Well, it's preposterous! I can't-" 

The woman interrupted her, waving her arms and ranting on about Sonny's 
sins, and the evils of sex education, and how she meant to learn the 
truth.... 

Disgusted and bored, Spike glanced at the other screens, then idly punched 
the on button for one. It lit up to show a vacant bedroom-Elm's, if he 
remembered right. Then he noticed the selector, and clicked it over a notch. 
Yep. For there was Birch in his room, hunched over his chessboard. 

Bemused, he clicked past two more bedrooms, both empty and without signs of 
occupancy, and a third ... oh, oh! He should have known better. This was 
Iris' room. There were clothes tossed on the bed, a big stuffed toy ... but 
no Iris, thank goodness! He'd feel guilty as hell if-Klik. 

"Ohh, good Christ!" 

The screen now showed a bathroom. And Iris, naked and glowing, had just 
stepped from the tub and was reaching for a towel. Her taut, pert-nippled 
breasts shed droplets of water, and beads of it gleamed in the light fuzz of 
her muff, and.... 

Why hadn't he turned the selector again? Why couldn't he turn it? The 
instant rigidity of his prick seemed to have spread just as instantly to his 
hand; it stayed clamped on the dial, and his mind couldn't make it move-or 
wasn't really trying. 

Oh, no! She was toweling one deliciously curved thigh now, her foot up on 
the edge of the tub, and he could see obliquely the slim, tight crease and 
puffy lips of her tender, untried little nookie! 

He was literally panting as he watched the hypnotically nonchalant display 
of that luscious young body in casual motion. It was ten times more 
seductive than any intentional exposure could have been. And while his left 
hand on the selector seemed paralyzed, he discovered that his right had 
already run his zipper and plunged in to pry out his aching, reddened, 
rock-rigid whang. 

She was dry now. She turned and opened the door, and ... strangely, he heard 
the door open. But he hadn't touched the audio knob for that screen! 

Then he heard a little gasp, and he turned, and she'd been in Mom's 
bathroom! 

Now she stood before him, still ball-mangling naked, staring at his rampant 
prick and looking ... not shocked; not embarrassed or frightened. 
Bewildered. 

"Mister Mason!" she piped. "Gee, I always seem to be undressed when you ... 
Mister Mason, are you all right? Have you hurt yourself? Can I-" 

Then she saw the screens, and after a thoughtful pause, her look of 
puzzlement gave way to a faint, faltering smile. "You were ... watching me 
... before?" 

Automatically, he nodded. His face was prick-red; he could feel it. And now, 
except for that nod and the constant skittering of his eyes over her 
blinding beauty, nothing would move. He couldn't put his cock back, couldn't 
turn away, couldn't- 

"I ... I guess that's sort of a compliment, huh? So, thank you. But I guess 
the nuns at the convent wouldn't-" 

"No!" Spike croaked, amazed to hear himself speak. "It's ... wrong! I 
shouldn't ... it's sinful!" 

"Yes! That's exactly what the nuns would say! They were always telling me 
all these mysterious, angry things about 'sins of the flesh,' and 'impure 
thoughts' and stuff." 

"But ... But then ... don't you see how wrong it is? Didn't-" 

"Oh, no, Mister Mason! I figure anything the nuns hated so much ought to be 
pretty fun!" 

When Spike was silent, his mouth gaping, jaw trembling, she went on, "Were 
you ... having fun?" 

Again, like a robot, he nodded. 

"Well ... could we have fun together? I mean, there must be more to it than 
just-" 

No!! Spike's mind was screaming. You can't! Not ... not here, anyway! At 
that, his eyes leapt back to the monitor. Mom was still down there, thank 
God, but the rich bitch was at the door now, and- 

"Oh!" Iris said, following his gaze. "You're afraid Mom wouldn't like it, 
huh? I mean if you showed me some of the stuff the nuns were ... gosh, 
though; Mom's a fine person! I really don't think she'd-" 

"Iris, I ... I can't," he groaned. "I ... I'd love to, really, but ... 
look." He managed, suddenly, to make his hand move, covering his pecker, 
stuffing it into his pants. "You ... better go get dressed. Mom might be ... 
well ... upset, if she found you here with ... without ... okay, Iris? 
Please?" 

"Well, all right," the girl said, her disappointment evident. "I see she's 
coming up now, so I'll go. I'm sorry if I ... said anything wrong, Mister 
Mason. 'Bye." With a parting wave and a twitch of that chubby, snug little 
butt, she walked naked into the hallway and out of sight. 

Taking what seemed like his first breath in five minutes, Spike turned back 
to the monitor in time to see the elevator doors close on Mom. He zipped up, 
then collapsed on her bed to wait, mopping his sweat-drenched brow with his 
sleeve. 

A minute passed, and another: no sigh of elevator doors in the hallway, and 
no Mom. He was about to go to the door and look at the indicator light when 
Iris reappeared, in a skimpy little wrapper even more transparent than 
Melissa's. 

"That's funny," she said as Spike strove to lift his eyes to her face. "She 
stopped on thirteen. Do you think the elevator's stuck? Oh, hey! Maybe we 
can use those TV things to find out!" 

Mom hadn't stopped on thirteen; she'd been stopped there. Someone had pushed 
the call button while she rode up. And that someone, to her puzzlement and 
discomfort, turned out to be Chief Flaming Arrow. 

He stood stiffly before her, and she stepped from the car, then reached back 
to touch the button that would keep it waiting. One hand was plunged deep in 
the pocket of his gardening smock-so deep that she wondered if ... Oh, stop 
it, Mom! 

"Why, Flaming Arrow!" she said. "What are you-" 

"Me watch you other day pow wow Skinny Boy and Redhead Brother," he 
interrupted, using the words as if they were Indian names. "Me get idea. Me 
got-" 

"You were using the monitors, then!" Mom burst in. 

"Monitors? What them? Me use junipers. Stand behind in east greenhouse, look 
through. Can see alcove-place heap good. Anyhow, me think you, me pow wow. 
Me got heap long pipe-thing-longer them baby braves." 

"You...." Did she understand him? Yes; she understood him, all right. "You, 
Flaming Arrow? At your age?! " 

He snorted. "How age matter? Me got long, strong pipe-thing. Hot, too. How 
you think me get name?" 

"Name! You mean ... Oh!" 

"You take look," he said, hiking the smock up along bare, brown, knobby 
legs. "You like, we pow wow plenty." Then the garment was bunched at his 
waist, and Mom was staring at a cock that was longer and leaner than any 
she'd ever imagined. It was an eerie yellowish tan, and the head-from which 
the chiefs bony fingers now peeled back the foreskin-was a flat, sharp 
triangle, reddish and flinty-textured. 

Gosh! Had cocks evolved in the past 109 years? she wondered giddily. This 
one was certainly like nothing she'd ever seen in pictures or recent real 
life. But a cock it most decidedly was; if her mind wasn't certain of that, 
at least her manhole was, for it was parting and palpitating, juicing and 
jittering.... 

"They find blanket here," Flaming Arrow was explaining. 'Think maybe you use 
other time for pow wow. Anyhow, floor more good than bed; all bounce come 
from squaw. Thirteen heap good number, too. Great Spirit.... 

He rambled on, waiting for her decision, but Mom wasn't listening or 
deciding. Her brain was shouting things about Spike, how long he'd been 
waiting already, how she had to be true to him even if he hadn't exactly 
proposed yet ... shouting, No! Stop! at her hands as they reached for that 
fantastic tube of jerky.... 

"See?" Iris crowed, leaning toward the screen. "I told you she was a fun 
person! Now she's taking off her clothes! Are you sure we couldn't go down 
and play too?" 

Spike had wrestled his eyes from the profile of the girl's tantalizing tits 
long enough to confirm her report. "No!" he blurted to the question. "It's 
... it's more fun with just two. Sort of." 

"Oh. Well, could we play it up here, then? I could watch Mom and do what she 
does, and...." A giggle cut off the words. "Gee, Mister Mason, you're redder 
than he is, and he's an Indian!" 

Startled, Spike looked down. Had his hands been playing dirty tricks again? 
But no; he was still zipped up tight. Oh! She meant his face! 

And when he looked up again, it must have gotten even redder ... and he knew 
the zipper got tighter. For there was Mom, smack-dab in the center of the 
screen, kneeling like a naked captive before the chief, with half the length 
of his savage spear in her mouth. 

"Could we, Mister Mason?" 

Spike stood up. Then he sat down. He looked again at the screen. Then he 
looked again at Iris. Then he nodded, stood again, and unzipped. 

"Oohhh, goodie gumdrop!" Iris slipped off her wrapper, glanced at the 
monitor, then went to her knees and popped his goodie gumdrop into her 
mouth. She was so tiny she had to bend his business down to get at it, but 
that only added to the ecstatic agony. Groaning, hands shaking, Spike set 
about getting his clothes off while the eager child sucked, tongued and 
lip-laved his jaw-straining jock with an instinctive finesse that failed to 
surprise him at all. 

He was barely naked, though-and already dangerously close to coming-when she 
stopped. "Oh, heck!" she gasped. "I just got started, and they're starting 
something else! Should I...? " 

. Spike looked at the screen. Mom was lying back on the blanket, white 
thighs thrown wide, her dew-clad cunt in full bloom. "We better get caught 
up," he choked out. 

Iris sprang gleefully onto the bed and matched Mom's posture. Her slit, 
however, was still just that; no moisture coated the barely parted, 
puffy-pale lips with their fluff of pinkish fuzz. Spike hesitated. Forget 
iff his mind said. You Ye twice as thick as that Indian, and you Ye looking 
at a cunt that couldn't take a pencil without pain! Sure, you're telling 
yourself she wants it; but she doesn't know what she's asking for! 

Iris seemed to read this in his face. She looked at the action on the 
monitor, then at his burly bludgeon, then reached down to part the tender 
folds of her cunny, revealing the moist, deep pink petals within. "We can do 
it, Mister Mason! I just know we can!" 

"Uh ... Spike," he stammered. "Call me Spike, huh?" Then he winced, seeing 
the irony of it. 

"Okay," the girl chirped, smiling up at him, then glancing back at the 
screen. "We're getting behind again, Spike." 

The rest was a blur. His body would remember it better than his mind. There 
was heat, and the squirm-squishing, urgent kiss of delicate tissues about 
the tip of his knob. There was the eager lift of her lithe-yet-lush ass in 
the cradle of his hands. There was something alive in his own ass that 
wouldn't listen to reason, wouldn't relent, wouldn't let up until.... 

"Aaaaaahh! Ooooh, you...." 

One jolting, rending inch; the whole head buried, broiling, crammed and 
crushed ... and her pain must be twenty times his own! 

"... bb-broke something, I think! It's ... ggooood, though! Can you...." 

There was not a slackening but a spreading of the impossible ring of 
pressure, then a slow throb coursing through his conduit ... not orgasm but 
a strange, shuddery leakage of lubricant fluid, a flinching quarter-inch 
retreat, and then the muscular recoil.... 

"Yeee-esss! Ohhh, Spike! It's getting...." 

"Urrrgh!" 

"Ooooh! B-bbetter." 

"Uh-uurrrh!" 

"Aah-waaaah ... ohh! It's ... all the way...." 

"Uugngh!" 

"... t-t-teeeeth ... it feels like!" 

There was tightness that teetered on the pleasure-pain borderline, then fell 
like a trap's jaw on the side of pain, and he had to jerk her hips up, slam 
her distended muff-mount into him drum-tight belly to relieve the agony. And 
there ... there was the angle! He went in, then-not sliding, but in one 
steady, boring stroke to the utmost, feeling her pussy fat flatten and 
spread against his pelvis, feeling the whole-length hug, and the dazzling 
wave-like spasm as she absorbed the shock.... 

"Nnnn-aaah! Eeeee! Ohhhhh, f-f-f-FUN!" 

He let it roast there, giving her time, looking up at the screen. Mom's 
heels were going in a tom-tom tattoo on the backs of the Indian's withered 
thighs. She flung her head from side to side, flapped her hands wildly in 
the air. He reached up and turned on the sound. "Oh, God!" she was wailing 
in worshipful wonder. "Ohhh, Great Spirit! It's clear up between my lungs!! 
" Her hips were hopping off the blanket in a rapid rain dance, and it was 
clear that Flaming Arrow's firebrand was due for a drenching. 

"Oh, hey!" Iris whisper-wheezed. "He's kissing her boobies, too!" 

Spike looked down. Well, that was out-at least while his prick was in. Iris 
was just too short; her nipples were farther from his mouth than his own 
were. 

"Later, baby," he husked. "Right now we'd better get fucking." 

"G-get what?" 

"Uh ... do what they're doing." 

"Oh. Fucking," she said, sampling it on her lips. Then she giggled. "That's 
a fun word." 

The giggle did things to Spike's cock-like it was immersed in a babbling 
brook of molten steel. And he started fucking indeed, then, with such 
uncontrollable, unbelievable, prick-over-principles ferocity th he had to 
hold Iris' shoulders and bear down brutally to keep her from being smashed 
against the headboard on every stroke. 

She gasped, gurgled, crooned, moaned, wriggled, giggled and gave every bit 
of it back, getting her legs up and pummeling his ass, pounding his ribs 
with her tiny fists, hissing hot-breath yeses against his chest ... 
tightening ... tightening ... clinging and wringing his prick out with that 
game little grabber of a quim ... bouncing his balls with her upsurging 
ass-cheeks and tightening ... tightening.... 

 ... TIGHTening.... 

He came. There was no room, so it backwashed straight to his brain, drowning 
it, shattering every cell with a speed-of-light sperm, smoking out of his 
ears and nostrils, cooking his eyeballs, gluing his teeth together in a 
white wall of anguished exultation, picking him up by the scruff of his ass 
and shaking him till his limbs fell off and the rest shriveled up and hid in 
his prick and caught fire ... was fire ... consumed itself utterly in one 
muzzleflash instant and was ... gone. 

"WhWhat hhappened, Spike?" 

"You fainted, I guess, honey. I sort of did too." 

"No. It wasn't like that. My ... my insides just all of a sudden rolled 
themselves up and ... well ... pulled me inside them! It was ... ohh, wow! 
It was fucking!" 

He backed down, and his spent, flaccid organ slid with still feelable 
friction from her after shuddering chute. He smiled past her smiling-back 
face, ducked and sucked in a nipple, cupping and gently caressing the other 
breast in one coarse, callused hand. The other still cradled her ass, his 
palm overflowing with the profuse drainage from her furrow. 

"Ohhh, that's nice, Spike! But we're way behind, now. Mom's been on top, and 
then he got around behind her, and ... does that mean we've lost the game?" 

He raised his head. He'd completely forgotten! Whew! Mom was still ... 
occupied, so to speak. Still Indian Territory. It looked like she'd been 
ambushed-a savage attack from the rear. 

"Nobody loses in this game, baby," he told Iris. "You just ... play it a 
little different and a little longer sometimes When you've had more 
practice." 

Iris was silent, smiling blissfully as she watched the screen. Her older 
sister was on all fours in profile, her lovely breasts hanging, her gorgeous 
bull's-eye twanging to each sweeping stroke of the old chiefs armament. 
Spike watched a moment too. More sauce for the goose coming up, he mused. 
But what's sauce for the gander is no old squaw, and.... 

"Listen, Iris, I...." Christ! Even now, just looking at her nubile nakedness 
sent strength, tension and turbid desire surging through him! "I want you to 
promise to keep this a secret. All of it: What we saw ... what we did ... 
even that you know about these screens." 

She looked at him, eyes big. "Well ... okay. But why?" 

Why, indeed? he asked himself. Just what the hell is it you want? If it's 
Mom, then face it: Someday she's got to find out about your yearning for 
young stuff. And when she does ... Well, it'll serve you right if she cuts 
your balls off before she sends you packing! Is it just more pieces of Iris 
you "re after? Screw around till you "re caught, and then take your big 
baby-buster home to Melissa ... or out to find some new twelve-year-old 
cherry to chop up? 

He didn't know. He just knew he wasn't ready to face the situation. He 
needed time. 

"It's a secret," he told Iris, sliding down to lick, along the snug, 
recovered crease of her bunny-fuzzed twat. "A fun secret. Just ... just for 
a while." 

"Okay," she said, squirming toward his teasing tongue. "But could ... could 
we practice more now, Spike? I want to learn-" 

He shook his head, backing up and away from that mind-boggling muff-tuft. 
"No, honey. They'll be through soon. You'd better go to your room while I 
... straighten things up." 

She giggled, looking at his cock. "That thing's already straightened up," 
she said. "But I guess that's for Mom, huh?" 

Then, child-quick, she flipped herself, off the bed, scooped up her wrapper, 
stooped to smack a warm, wet kiss on the tip of his tool, and flitted from 
the room. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

You're a hopeless, helpless, horrid, degenerate slut, Mom Glen! You corrupt 
innocent little boys, you jack off with your son's snake and pretend it's 
his prick, you fuck your brothers young and old, and then while the 
wonderful man you love waits patiently, you go three fast rounds with a 
hundred-nine-year-old Indian just because he shows you a foot-long totem 
pole! And ... and when you finally get around to putting your voracious 
vagina where it ought to be, you're so fucked out that it's no good for 
either of you! 

It was Friday. Spike had to work today, he'd told her-almost apologetically. 
(He's too good for you, Mom. You're not worth the salt on his beautiful 
balls!) Elm was off visiting Melissa, of course, Birch in his room as usual, 
and Iris, after sleeping unusually late, had asked to have Flaming Arrow 
take her to the library. (God, I hope she's not going to be another Birch, 
constantly studying something!) She and Evangeline were alone in the shop, 
idly watching a carnival go up on the lot across the street. 

Oh, sweet Spike, I'm so sorry! Mom was thinking. But I guess I'll never be 
able to control myself. She paled with shame, recalling the scene when she'd 
finally reached fifteen the day before. He'd had the bed all open, the 
spread off, and when she stalled him further to go in the bathroom and 
shower, she'd found the spread in the hamper, with this huge stain where the 
poor guy must have jacked off while waiting ... or fallen asleep and had a 
wet dream of her ... she hadn't mentioned it, of course; he was so 
bashful.... 

She'd come up with all kinds of things to chatter about, giving herself time 
to recuperate ... and he'd been so patient even then ... But when at last 
she lay naked in his arms, he'd had a terrible time getting hard-she was 
almost certain he sensed something wrong in the way she was acting-and the 
fuck had been.... 

The word's 'mediocre,' she told herself. Half-assed. You spoiled it for 
yourself and for him! And now you're horny again, and if Spike's got any 
sense, he'll take his horn elsewhere the next time! 

She had wandered into the alcove while she chastized herself-returning to 
the scene of the original crime, Mom?-and now was startled to hear voices in 
the salesroom. It was Evangeline's that she could hear most distinctly, as 
the black girl said angrily, "Oh, you might, might you? Well, then you jus' 
might's well git awn outa heah an' plan you li'l speech, 'cause me an' Miss 
Glen don' take dat kind o' shit off no twelve-year-ol' kid or his mothah! 
You know what dey does to blackmailers in dis state?" 

"Black whaters?" Peter Clamath's companion asked as Mom reached the counter. 
"Wow! Hi!" he added when he saw her, staring boldly at her tits in the 
clingy silk sheath. 

"You must be the one Sonny-" 

"Jus' you nevah mahnd! "Evangeline cut in. "You boys done got all you's 
gittin' roun' heah. Y'all jus' go integrate yo' neighborhood or somethin', 
'fore Ah 'cides ta disintegrate you!" 

Sonny ... Peter ... whatever his name was ... looked quite uneasy, but when 
his friend stood fast, he smiled hopefully at Mom and said, "Hi. This is 
Buddy," glancing toward the larger boy. "We thought you might like to, uh 
... teach us some more things." 

Mom's knees were shaking, and her eyes wouldn't focus right. Somehow, out of 
her self-hate and despair about Spike had come the worse attack of 
prick-fever she'd ever experienced. 

"Y-you ... take the rest of the day off, why don't you?" she told 
Evangeline, hardly moving her eyes from Buddy's tight-swaddled crotchbulge. 
"I'll, uh ... handle this." 

The clerk shook her head. "No, Miss Glen. I'd a sight soonah kick 'em out 
dan handle 'em, but if dat's what you wants, I bettuh be heah. As a witness 
dat dey fawced you, f rinstince," she added, scowling at the boys again. 

Mom shrugged, managed a smile of gratitude. "All right," she murmured. "Lock 
up and hang the sign, then. We'll be in the alcove." 

As she led the way,Mom unbuttoned her dress down the front, opened her 
front-fastening bra, began to push half-slip, panties and pantyhose down in 
one sweep of hooked thumbs. Three steps into the alcove she was naked, and 
turned toward Buddy with her hands already at zipper-level. From there on, 
that was the pace of the action. 

She held the boy's hard little hunk of manhood in her mouth even while he 
undressed, her tongue softening the foreskin and swish-sizzling over the 
bullet-shaped head. And she had it full-bore in her cunt, held fast by the 
pincering pressure of her thighs on his waist, before Evangeline returned to 
distract a naked Sonny from a toe-aided contemplation of Mom's ass-hole. 

"Git yo' foot out fum undah yo' buddah's balls!" the clerk scolded, 
stripping her sweater over her head. " 'Less she roll ovah, you ain' gittin' 
inta that nohow. Meantahm, you kin dabble yo' toes in me!" 

Sonny barely had time to appreciate the sheen of gauzy bra cups over her 
great, dark breasts with their obsidian tips. Then the bra was gone, the 
skirt was going, and his eyes were bobbing between those black-cherry 
nipples and the black buckthorn thicket atop her chocolate thighs for the 
filmy bikini panties hid no more than the bra had. 

"You's seed it before, but you still looks inter'stid," Evangeline teased 
huskily, edging the panties lower. "You ready fo' de whole shee-bang?" 

Buddy, meanwhile, was she-banging away as if the world would end when he 
slowed down; and Mom was beginning to feel that hers would soon end unless 
he did. His frenzied fuckstrokes reminded her of Oak, except that the 
sensation then had been centered in her chasm, while the boy's rapid-fire 
attack had its greatest impact on her clit. That was the button to summon 
instant passion, though, and as he puslipuU pummeled it, she felt herself 
soar to the verge and.... 

Damn! Suddenly he'd shifted the angle and rhythm, bracing up on stiff arms 
to grin-grimace down at her face and tits while he scythed his stabber 
forward and back in swooping uppercut strokes. The pace was still brisk, but 
the posture presented a whole new frictional situation, and she had to begin 
her buildup all over. Starting from snatch, she mused. 

As an additional annoyance, the new position made a wildly swinging nuisance 
of the shiny ID tag Buddy wore around his neck. Repeatedly, Mom felt its 
chill metallic slap on the inslopes of her heaving, striving jugs. 

Three times more, just when she was getting there, the youth changed his 
whole pattern of attack-apparently spurred to it by yipping, yammering 
outbursts from Evangeline in praise of Sonny's technique. "Awww, baby, yo' 
pole sho got soul!" the clerk would gurgle joyously. "Yeeeahh, an' you shove 
so lovely! Maaan, de way you move man groove!" 

So, just when Buddy's lowslung jolt-and jerk method had Mom's juices at the 
boiling point, he'd grabbed her thighs and doubled her knees-over-nipples. 
His chest against her calves, her insteps framing his waist, he commenced a 
downward hammer-stabbing through the now tight-pressed aperture of her outer 
pussy parts. 

"like that, lady?" he leered. "Pretty hot, huh?" 

And when that angle had heated her honeycomb almost sufficiently, he'd 
shifted gears again, pushing her legs flat and inward, getting his own 
outside them. This made for shallow but clit-scrubbing thrusts, and her 
fourth approach to the summit was swift. But about two pokes from the peak, 
Evangeline sang Sonny's praises again, and Buddy responded with another fast 
shuffle. He pried Mom's thighs apart once more, slid into the saddle and 
tried to make like a he-man, scooping her up by the ass. 

For all the fidgeting around, he came surprisingly soon. No more than a 
dozen whizzing cockstrokes had separated the changes, and after a half-dozen 
with his hands beneath her bucking butt, Buddy's pud thudded deep, throbbed 
there, then sent a sputtering stream of cum to coat the cone of her cervix. 

Despite his late start, Sonny was spurting too. "Eeee-yeah!" Evangeline 
yelped. "Go, baby! Drum whahl you come! Yeahhh! Ream me whahl you cream me, 
you dreamy dong-dipper! Ohhh, mercy me, Ah b'lieve Ah'm gonna ... Whooooo! 
Boy, you jus' Rapped man Brown an' Cleavered mah Eldridge all at once! 
Laawwwd, you done Wilted mah whole Chamberlain, too!" 

The boys rolled off almost simultaneously, and the black girl went on, 
"Well, it do look lahk changin' tahm! Ah nevah knowed whin new nookie 
wouldn' pump a man up in jig-tahm." So saying, she pounced like a panther on 
Buddy, whose panting turned to grunting as her gash grasped his goodies like 
a black clam snapping up a shrimp. Mom had been just as quick to pull Sonny 
into her-scissorgrip. His shaft solidified and sank deep, and as he began to 
shove in sharp counterpoint to her urgent cuntal surges, he whispered 
grittily, "I'll beat him, this time! He had a head-start and I caught him, 
before. And with you ... I mean, I'm not prejudiced; really! But this time 
I'm going to shoot even sooner!" 

"Don't ... uhh! ... rush it," Mom protested. "I want to cum too-ooh! Just 
... steady and hard ... and maybe well both ... ohhh! Slow down a little, 
huh?" 

Sonny didn't stop sucking her tit to answer, but he was thinking, Fuck you, 
lady! My way! Buddy's been better at everything as long as I've known him. 
But I can show him up at this, and I mean to! This one's for me! 

He slammed into her erratically, fighting the clamping contractions that 
made every nerve in his sensitive foreskin flame and jangle, jolting against 
her juice-squishing maw, mouth-mauling her swollen nipple, sucking ... 
fucking.... 

He seemed to be sucking clear through her-pulling the cream from his balls 
by the force of his tongue and lips on her tit. For the heavy, steaming 
sludge was gathering now in the base of his thing, pushing a good ache ahead 
of itself as it climbed like mercury through his pistoning tube.... 

"Aaaa-ahgh!" he croggled. "I ... uhn! I ... waaaah-WON-unh-unh-unh!" 

"Ohhh, shit!" Mom keened. "D-don't stop! Screw me! Slam! Guh-guh-guh-God 
damn you! Fuck!" 

But his bat was but a frazzle now, floating feebly in her simmering soup, 
and she could only bang her buffer up against his flaccid, flapping form and 
feel her anguish blend with envy as Evangeline squalled, "Balls! Awww, you 
is turnin' mah insalides whaht! Spray, baby, spray! Ah's headin' fuh dat big 
watuhmelon in de skaaaaah! Waa-hoo! Dats what Ah calls integrated!" 

Breasts heaving, the lithe Negress sprawled on the floor, thighs wide, her 
splayed snatch drooling profusely. 

Yes! That's what I need! Mom told herself. Rolling toward Buddy, she grabbed 
his goo-slick, flagging staff, pointed her lower parts meaningfully at Sonny 
and called out, "It's daisy chain time in the flower shop, folks!" 

Evangeline was quick to agree. "Well, fertilize mah fuchsia if it ain't!" 
she crowed, swiveling her slot toward Buddy's face while she grappled 
Sonny's hips into gobbling-range. "Ree-freshments is sulived, gennulmuns! 
Hot goop fuh lunch!" 

Mom's mouth accomplished Buddy's resurrection quickly, and Sonny's nose for 
nookie led him straight to her clit, while Evangeline's lush lips pumped up 
his skinny pecker. Buddy was the chain's weak link. Mom had to prod him into 
position, and once his head lay high in the angle of the black girl's 
gleaming thighs, he complained of a stiff neck. "I can't ... do it in this 
position!" he whined. 

They tried several readjustments, but always one of them was uncomfortable. 
When Buddy was rutting cheek-deep in Evangeline's crimson tissues, Mom 
couldn't gel the angle on his bangle without breaking Sonny's neck, or 
Evangeline couldn't get any closer to his cock than his colon. 

Finally the frustration was too much. "Fuck flowers!" Mom sputtered. "Just 
hunker down and eat me, Peterer, Sonify. Your prick's limp again anyway. You 
two play your own game," she told the others. 

Sonny, glad for the chance to make amends, dived deep, then lapped his way 
up to begin the nubbin-strumming tongue trick she'd taught him. "Aahhhh, 
yesssss!" Mom moaned. "Now we're getting places!" 

While the thrilling tension coiled slowly but steadily up her shuddering 
spine to where it would burst in her brain and blast her over the brink, she 
looked to her left and found Buddy and her clerk in a slurping sixty-nine. 
The boy was on the bottom, the black bottom on the boy, and Mom had a 
close-range view as his sturdy cock slid in and out of the woman's clinging, 
dark lipgrip. 

Then Evangeline glanced up, sat up. Reaching down between her thighs, she 
lifted Buddy's ID tag off his chest. "Keep lappin, lovuh chile," she said. 
"Ah's jus' takin' a lfl readin' break." She glanced up again-toward the 
alcove's entrance-then back at the tag. "Wah, you ain' no Buddy atall! You 
is Hoover Hamling Frampton Junior, of ... Ee-leven Fo'teen Kingsley Circle! 
Yeah, you got de suction, all raht, Hoover!" 

Now she grinned at Mom. "Who's yo' li'l friend, Miss Glen?" 

Puzzled, Mom turned her head to follow another flash of Evangeline's eyes 
toward the alcove entry. There, filling it with his six-foot-five bulk, was 
Buck, her delivery driver. Ah ha! 

"Why, this is Peter Phipps Clamath the Third," Mom said. "I don't know where 
he lives, but I'm sure he's listed in the Social Register." , Evangeline 
stood up, reaching out to rap Peter on the head as she rose. "Boys, meet 
Killer Miller," she said, her diction perfect. "You may have read about him. 
How he got kicked out of pro football for being too mean." 

Sonny and Buddy, their slime-dripping faces chalk-white, were gaping up at 
the black giant in abject terror already, and Mom half expected one or both 
to pee all over the rug when Evangeline went on, "Killer was only mean to 
guys who didn't play by the rules, though. And the rules, boys, say you 
don't tell nobody not nothin'--and you don't come back here till you're 
invited!" 

For some time, then, Mom simply lay still and fought to suppress the 
laughter that was threatening to burst her lungs. The boys were dressed and 
hastily departing before she dared to sit up. Then, turning, she could see 
for the first time the monstrous, meaty mountain in the front of Buck's 
pants a dark ridge she'd imagined every time she'd seen him, but which 
appeared to surpass in its proportions her wildest fantasies. 

Only then did she realize she still hadn't cum, and this increased tenfold 
the longing with which she regarded the trucker's vast, fabric-straining 
whang. 

Buck, she noted with hopeful delight, was having trouble keeping his eyes 
off her, too, and she made no attempt to conceal the salient points of 
interest. He did manage, though, to scowl at Evangeline, once the boys had 
fled, and say, "Next time you call this knight, maiden in distress, leave a 
door unlocked, huh?" 

"Oh, damn! Didn't I...." 

"You ... you called Buck?" Mom interrupted. 

"Yes. I hope you don't mind. I was afraid they'd have us closed every 
afternoon after school, and pretty soon one of them would tell somebody...." 

"Mind? Evangeline, you're beautiful! But ... but, Buck, how did you get in 
if...." 

"Your brother let me in. I stood there a couple minutes, trying to decide 
what to do, and he came and unlocked it." 

"Elm? But I thought-" 

Buck shook his head. "No. The younger one." 

"Birch? But why should he ... how ... OHHH!" 

Two minutes later, having dressed in the elevator, she stood in the doorway 
of her bedroom, facing her son. 

He lay casually across her bed, the monitor panel in full blaze before him. 
"Hi. I figured you'd know as soon as Buck told you how he got in." He smiled 
blandly. "I wasn't really sneaking, anyway, Mom. I just hadn't got around to 
mentioning that I'd discovered these. If I'd wanted to keep it a secret, I 
wouldn't have gone down and let Buck in." 

Mom stood stunned, staring at the lighted screens. One showed the side entry 
Buck had come to, another the empty salesroom where Evangeline must have 
phoned him. There were all three possible views of the alcove, and it didn't 
even dent her numbness when she saw that Buck was undressing, eagerly 
assisted by Evangeline. 

"B-Birch . , . how long...? " 

"Today I started watching right after you went downstairs. There'd been so 
much action lately, I didn't want to miss anything. I discovered the system 
a couple weeks ago, and just stopped in on my way to the bathroom once in a 
while to fool with it. Then last Friday when I got home from school, I saw 
you with that kid in the tennis shoes...." 

He wasn't even grinning! Mom had known he was cool every inch the little 
intellectual, but about this? "How can you sit there and talk about it like 
it's ... some chess problem?" she burst out. 

"Heck, it's just sex! I've been reading about it for years in the zoology 
books, but I'd never seen any. It was pretty fascinating. And by the way: Do 
you happen to know if the higher apes have clitties or whatever you call it? 
I couldn't find any reference-" 

"Birch...." She shook her head, moving toward him. "I ... I don't know. What 
else did you see?" 

"Oh, I saw you Sunday with that one kid that came back today, and then with 
Elm too; and then Tuesday in Elm's room ... Just about any time you weren't 
in here, I kept a pretty close check, after that first time. Oh! Saturday 
after Mister Mason was here, when you went up on the roof, too. You can have 
that snake if you want it, Mom." 

Oh, no! she thought. Even that! 

Her mind was no longer numb. It was a chaotic whirl of emotions, perceptions 
and questions. Her eyes flew back and forth between Birch and the alcove 
monitors between the gargantuan black cock now poised above Evangeline's 
humping cunt ... and the swollen mound that pushed her son's fly forward as 
he watched. The agony of guilt was giving way before the anguish of need, 
and she asked, "Birch ... have you ... only watched?" 

He looked back at her, eyebrows raised. "Huh? Oh, you're worrying about Iris 
again! Well, don't. As far as I know, she's as innocent as you told Elm she 
is. I checked her body out; sure. But I could have saved myself the trouble, 
the way it turned out. Yesterday she barged into the bathroom while I was in 
there. Stood there stark naked while I sat on the pot, and explained that 
she was going to take a bath, but since I was in there, she'd use your 
bathroom. Yeah. She's innocent." 

"B-but ... Birch ... didn't you want to ... haven't you even ... jacked 
off?" 

"Masturbated? Oh, yeah; a few times. But that was before I found the TV 
setup, if that's what you mean." He glanced down at the bulge in his pants. 
"Sure, I get hard watching stuff like this...." He gestured toward the 
interlocked, lunging black bodies shown from three angles on the monitor 
panel. " ... but it would be distracting to masturbate then. I might miss 
something!" 

Mom took a deep breath. "Birch ... Do you remember when you tried to talk me 
into buying you a snake? A real snake? You said books weren't good enough. 
You said you wanted to feel one-experience one." 

Birch frowned his intellectual frown. Then he smiled his little-boy smile. 
"I get your point, Mom, and I guess you're right. But ... well, aren't you a 
little tired out right now?" 

Mom began unbuttoning her dress. "No, Birch. Besides, I feel like I should 
make it up to you for never getting that snake." 

Then he fucked her. 

He undressed, and let her make oral and manual love to his small but 
substantial, rigid and responsive, soft-hooded, glowing-headed, deliriously 
delicious penis while he manually and orally explored every detail of her 
ardently throbbing anatomy. She had her first orgasm the moment she touched 
him, and five more before he got between her thighs for the final phase of 
his first sexual field trip. They weren't great orgasms, but they were good 
ones. And she was glad to get them out of her system, too, because it 
enabled her to hold off and feel-really feel, in meticulous, marvelous 
detail and clarity-the meeting of his cock and her cunt. She went for some 
time without an orgasm at that stage of the proceedings, able to 
concentrate, to focus every bit of her sensory system of the wondrous 
interplay of phallus and vagina, rather than reeling dazed through the 
devastation of a whole-body, identity-blurring passion spasm. 

When the moment of contact was near, Mom reached out and .activated another 
monitor screen, selecting a camera she'd never understood her late uncle's 
purpose in installing: It was mounted at bed-level across the room, so that 
it produced on the monitor panel an endless chain of diminishing images of 
the monitor panel. But it was not this phenomenon that interested Mom, of 
course; it was the perfect angle the camera provided for seeing her son's 
genitals merge with her own. 

The head of his organ touched, and her avid tissues flared to welcome it. 
Mom saw this. She felt it. She smelled it. She heard as well as felt her own 
sharp intake of breath. She heard Birch exhale a long-held gust, and felt it 
as warm breeze in the cold-sweating valley of her breasts. She tasted the 
lingering salty savor of his organ, which had been in her mouth only moments 
before. She even drew his hand to her lips and tasted from his fingers the 
kelpy tang of her own orgasmic secretions. 

The head pressed, slipped slightly, fitted itself to the inlet of the 
constricted canal. The pressure, the slipping, the fitting all caused tiny 
perturbations of Mom's inner flesh-that .which was touched, and that 
surrounding it, including her nerve-packed clitoris. She felt the pressure, 
the slipping, the firm fit, and the tingling echoes of it all that sparked 
and spat along the nerves. She felt his heartbeat and her own in the 
blood-pulse where their engorged and sensitized organs met. She heard Birch 
draw a breath, and watched him hold it; watched the tension tighten his 
face; watched a muscle in his buttock twitch once, and felt this echoed to 
her through his flesh. 

"Now ... Push." 

Pressure ... slow, sporadic yielding ... the head enclosed ... wave-like 
embracing pressure all about it ... sense of displacement, extension, heat 
... the half-retracted foreskin grasped ... crumpling as the shaft's top 
slid within it ... head forging ... pausing ... flowing, smoothing 
compromise of foreskin and surrounding clasp ... surge and snug 
counter-crush ... half the length seen, half felt. 

She shuddered briefly-felt it in her breasts, which Birch's hands were 
shaping; through her rib cage, diaphragm and abdomen, bearing his weight; in 
the parted upslope of her thighs, their fullness a double fulcrum for his 
narrow hips; felt it re-echoed, magnified, brought full-circle in the moist, 
firm lock of channel and staff. (Full circle. My son becoming a man; 
returning in flesh and symbol to the source of himself.) 

"M-more." 

It was harder to concentrate now. Ghosts of Oak, and of Spike, and of her 
stern, stiff, upright father moved in her mind, blurring things, making her 
need for the now and the next grow urgent. The pressure was in motion and 
growing, the yield-and-knead expansion spreading, accelerating. The 
thickening girth of the stalk made its contour felt, coursed forward slow as 
tideflow ... unceasing, irresistible as tide-flow ... head ... ridge ... 
faint foreskin thickening ... then smooth solidity to where her ringing 
tissue crept and wept and waited, hardly a light leak from his pale-haired 
pelvis now ... his tight-tucked ballbag still unfelt, yet merged in image 
with her buttocks' undercurve.... 

"Birch ... Fuck me." 

He struck like a storm. Ripped back. Slammed in. Rocked and wallowed, full 
weight on her clit. Dragged out. Slashed in. Again. Again. Again. 

The brightest, hottest, sharpest, shrillest, most pungent, awefull 
anguish-ecstasy Mom's body had ever absorbed surged up to fill her skull and 
drown her brain. It wasn't an orgasm. Death isn't sleep. The orgasms 
followed. 

Birch experienced them. 

Her whole body squeezed him-squeezed both of them-contained him and made him 
move, jerk, jolt, jam and jitter ... she was vibrating all around and 
through him, clenching and whiplashing down there ... pulled something out 
of every cell in his body and stirred it all up in his balls till he had to 
belly blast it out, screaming and scorching through tube and knob, 
longerfarther than his mind could hang onto.... 

"Uuhnn! 

-"Uhnnuhnnuhnnuhnnuhnnunnnuhnnuuhhh! "NUUUUUHHHHN! Uhnn...."Aaaaaaahhh!! " 
Golly! 

So mat was sex. It was like beating Bobby Fischer and Albert Einstein and 
five thousand computers at chess all at once, with gorillas and elephants 
and cobras and whales and eagles and Bengal tigers and kangaroos and giant 
pandas for pieces. Only maybe a little better. 

He could understand, now, why Mom spent so much time at it. 

He felt like the biggest, strongest, bravest man in the world-bigger than 
Buck, even. He also felt like a stupid little goo-goo baby. 

All in all, it was pretty neat. 

"Birch," she called. 

"Yeah?" 

"On second thought, bring two towels." 

"Okay." 

Wheee-oooo! That kid sure inherited sexual talent! With his pedigree and a 
full-grown prick, hell be ... She sat up. Frowned. x 

"Birch...." 

"Yeah; I'm bringing 'em. Just had to pee. Here." 

"Uh ... Thanks. Birch ... Did you ... When I was with Elm in his room, did 
you have the sound turned on." 

"Sure." 

"Then...." 

"Oh! You mean about you being my mother and that Oak's my father? Yeah. I 
never suspected that. Why? Did I just call you Sis?" 

"No. But ... in fact, I guess you haven't for the last couple days! But ... 
is that all it means to you? I mean ... doesn't it ... disturb you?" 

He thought a moment, then raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "You know ... 
there's one thing that does bother me, though...." 

"Yes, Birch?" 

"Do you know if the great apes have orgasms?" 

 CHAPTER NINE 

How do I feel? Mom kept asking herself as Saturday crept by. 

Silly as the question seemed, she really couldn't answer it. She kept 
trying, but her mind kept drifting away into this strange euphoric fog.... 

She ought to be miserable. And she was, when she thought about it. Spike 
hadn't called. She'd waited all evening yesterday, and had hardly slept 
through the night, still clinging to the ridiculous hope that the phone 
might ring, even at three and four a.m. She'd waited all morning and ... 
what? She looked up at the clock. Half the afternoon. And he still hadn't 
called, and it was pretty obvious he wasn't going to. After his long wait 
for her, and then the lukewarm lovemaking, he had turned elsewhere, or 
decided to, at least. That should be obvious by now. She'd even foreseen it. 
Why, then, couldn't she make herself believe and accept it? Why did she keep 
on hoping ... waiting ... even forgetting...? 

She ought to be nervous and itchy as a cat in heat, too, what with the 
swarming crowd at the carnival across the street. And when she stood at the 
window and watched, as she'd done several times through the day, she did get 
those feelings, watching the throng of strange men and boys-strange 
cocks-that milled about the midway ... But even this never really got a hold 
on her; her mind kept drifting.... 

Looking over there made her think of Oak, too, and realize that she ought to 
be worried about him. He could have gone off and ... well ... killed himself 
or something, after the utter demolition of his Crusade for Purity and his 
whole woman-hating, sex-hating, Mom-hating self-image. She knew only that 
the revival had never showed up in Kress, where it had been scheduled to run 
for several days. That had been in the paper; from Oak himself, there'd been 
no word at all. Her son's father had disappeared, and in a state of mind 
that could conceivably drive him to self-destruction or worse, yet she 
couldn't even keep her mind on that! 

Mentally, she inventoried her other concerns. Elm and Birch were over at the 
carnival. So were Evangeline and Buck. Iris had freed the black girl by 
volunteering to help in the shop through the afternoon--and since there were 
no customers, had spent the whole time sitting behind the cash register with 
her Bible open before her. Once, about an hour ago, she'd gone back to the 
bathroom in the' workroom, leaving the Bible spread face-down on the 
counter, and Mom had gone over to see what it was in the Good Book that Iris 
found so absorbing. When she picked it up, a smaller book lay beneath it, 
entitled simply. The Sex Rites of the Cherokee Indians. 

Mom didn't know whether to be shocked and worried or simply amused. She 
still hadn't decided, because that too kept slipping from her mind. 

And Flaming Arrow ... well, she supposed he was puttering around somewhere 
in the building or on the grounds, as usual; she never could keep track of 
him, he made himself so inconspicuous. She thought momentarily about his 
very conspicuous cock, but then her mind drifted.... 

Above all, she should be feeling guilty. If not about how she'd treated 
Spike, and if not about her flagrantly sinful conduct with his son, with 
Sonny and Buddy, Elm, Oak and several strange men in the tent that night, 
Flaming Arrow ... If not about all this, then at least about having seduced 
her own son! All the rest had led to that. He'd been as good as corrupted 
before she even walked into the bedroom yesterday, and yet it had been all 
her own doing. The miracle of television had only hastened what the greater 
miracle of Mom's insatiable lust would eventually have brought about anyway. 

And yet ... it was that that seemed to hover in the haze to which her mind 
kept drifting so calmly, peacefully ... contentedly! It was as if her 
seduction of Birch had been some magnificent accomplishment-some glorious 
turning point in her life! 

Which was an outrageous idea ... Wasn't it? 

Hmmmm. There were four boys coming toward the tower from across the street. 
Four cocks, she reminded herself after a second's delay. And, gee, they were 
all.... 

No; just three of them were dressed alike and looked alike. The fourth was 
Birch. 

"Hi, Mo-uh, Mom. These are the Searle kids, from school. They ran out of 
money about the same time I got bored, so I thought I'd teach 'em chess." 

He gestured down the line of tow-headed thirteen-year-olds. 'This is...." 

"Merle," said the first. "Hi." 

"Hi," Mom said, smiling. 

"And...." 

"Burl. Hi." 

"Hi." 

"And-" 

"Earl. Peace." He grinned and waggled a V sign at her. "Hi, Earl. Peace." 
She returned the digital greeting. "Come on, you guys." 

It was only as they trooped into the elevator that Mom's mind produced an 
image of three pert, pink, pointy identical pins of prickflesh, strung out 
like ducklings behind Birch's older, experienced organ. The mental picture 
persisted, though, and after an itchy five minutes, she turned toward Iris. 

"I've ... got a tummy ache, honey. Think I'll go up and lie down for a 
while. If anyone comes in and you need me, just use the phone; I won't be 
sleeping. Okay?" 

Iris raised her eyes a bit reluctantly from the book behind her Bible, but 
then smiled and nodded. "Sure, Mom. Hope you get to feeling better." 

"Oh, I'm sure I will in a little while, dear. 'Bye." 

Well, maybe there's safety in numbers, like they say, Spike mused. 

He'd been watching Melissa throw baseballs at dummies, and fighting to get 
his eyes and mind off the things her awkward motions did to her tits and 
ass. He was half hard, and if the blood ever drained from his face, he'd be 
at full bulge-another big attraction on the midway. See the monstrous 
baby-fucker! Just two bits! 

Elm, Birch and Michael had been with them earlier, and it had been a little 
easier, then, to keep his lecherous longings in check. But the boys had 
wandered off, and now it was just himself and his full-bodied daughter in 
that damn clinging T-shirt with no bra, and the too-tight denim cutoffs that 
out-lined every curve and crevice.... 

And the only thing he could think of to relieve the situation was to go 
across the street and invite Iris to join them. Christ! He hadn't even dared 
call Mom since Thursday night, for fear the girl had told her, yet the only 
thing he could think about-other than what Melissa would be like with those 
knockers naked and up against him, that lively little ass ramming her snatch 
up around his ... Damn! Quit it, Spike! The only other thing he could think 
of was Iris. 

But he did think maybe if both of the girls were with him ... gossiping and 
giggling, ignoring him the way girls did an adult when they got together-he 
could do a better job of ignoring them, or at least quit thinking in terms 
of himself and either one as a tangled twosome, skin-to-skin and squirming, 
straining.... 

Yeah. You better do something, Spike, or there goes another pair of pants! 
And even better, really, if Mom hasn't found out, she might come along ... 
oh, shit! That crowd thing. No safety in numbers for her, anyway. 

Well, at least I'll get the suspense over with. If she's kept the secret 
this long, maybe Iris won't tell, and then ... Then what? He still didn't 
know, and didn't want to think about it any more. 

"Melissa, what do you say we go over and see if Elm's little sister might 
like to come back here with us? Ought to be more fun than just goin' around 
with your old dad, huh?" 

Buffalo shit! How brave shoot stickum when little paleass punks keep get in 
way of squaw! No can see hole, no can see rump, no can see tepee-things, 
even! Little windows show three ways, still no can see! 

At first, while Mom had undressed herself and then the four boys, Flaming 
Arrow had been deeply impressed by the advantages the little windows offered 
over a peep-hole or distant-concealment view. He'd sat cross-legged on her 
bed, his smock fucked up, his piece pipe smoking in his double-handed grip. 
But now the little savages were all her take a cavalry charge, and his 
delight had diminished considerably. Only in the brief periods of 
position-shifting could he so much as glimpse Mom's really interesting parts 
in any of the screens. 

And the prospect of another such shifting session looked remote, now, since 
she had Birch's pipe-thing in her squaw-hole for the second, and he'd pow 
wowed once in her mouth while she was initiating the other little braves. 
They were now whomping up what it took for a second-turn and covering her 
almost totally in the process. One was sucking and playing with her 
tepee-things, another nuzzling and tonguing her sittumhole and the 
surrounding hills, and the third-waving V-fingered arms like Sitting Bull 
after Custer's defeat had his little big horn in her mouth. 

The old chief began to wish he wasn't such a stickler for tradition. The way 
that little vixen, Iris, had gone after his pipe-thing yesterday ... But the 
tribal law said she had to be initiated by a member of her family before any 
other brave put the pipe to her. You could overlook it with a grown-up squaw 
like Mom, that you knew had been around plenty, but.... 

Iris had kept telling him she had been piped before, but she admitted it 
wasn't a blood brother, so ... "No! Stop lick like that!" he'd said. "Me put 
back, we go library, like you say first!" And now she was down there by the 
wampum box, all alone.... 

He looked back at that little window, and scowled. "Buffalo shit! Too late 
anyhow!" 

"Gee, I'd like to, but Mom's not feeling well, and Evangeline's not here, 
so-" She stopped, seeing the worried look on his face, and guessing its 
cause. 

"Don't worry," she said. "She just has a stomach ache. I've kept our 
secret." 

The worried look changed-to a different kind of worried look. Gee, maybe I 
shouldn't have said that in front of his daughter. 

"Couldn't you close up?" Melissa asked. 'There aren't any customers." 

"Well, I guess so. I've never been to a carnival. But...." 

Then she noticed the big lump in the front of Spike's trousers, and the 
words just burst out before she could think: "Oh, Spike, what I'd really 
like to do is fuck some more!" 

Spike stood like a wooden Indian with a broken jaw. 

Melissa had one hand pressed to her mouth, and from behind it came a loud, 
strangling, buzzing sound that finally broke loose as a shrill giggle. When 
that stopped, she stepped forward and stood beside Iris, facing her father. 
"So would I, Daddy," she said with quiet determination. 

Then she reached out and placed one finger atop the huge, cigar-shaped 
protuberance in his pants. "And so would you. So...." 

For a while, after that, a line from some high school civics class kept 
running through Spike's befuddled, overheated mind: "The consent of the 
governed." Yeah. That's me. 

When Melissa had put the question, he must have responded with one of those 
automatic nods he seemed to be getting the habit of using when sexy little 
girls asked him embarrassing questions. And the next thing he knew, his 
daughter had unzipped him, untangled his axe-handle dong from his shorts, 
and was leading him by it as she said to Iris, "Where can we...? " 

Iris hadn't seemed to know or even care very much. They'd ended up down 
behind the counter, between the elevator and the doorway to the workroom. 
He'd realized while they undressed him that Mom might come down in that 
elevator at any moment, but he couldn't seem to stop the girls-withdraw his 
consent-even so. It hadn't occurred to him till quite a bit later-when 
Melissa bent over to take her panties off, and he found her tight, round, 
rosy little ass-hole staring at him-that there was also the damn TV setup.
 by that time, it was too late--. Iris was already oil top of him, riding 
his old pogo stick, her luscious emit shimmering up and down with 
ball-cramping friction, her tight little tits bouncing ever so slightly.... 

And beyond her, positioned where he could watch them both at once, Melissa 
had finished undressing and now turned to face him, flaunting her jutting, 
full-bellied boobs with their puffy-ringed, bud-centered pinkbrown nipples, 
her thrust-forward mound with its pale veil of curls that ran back along the 
parting, moistening crease of her fat, flaring cunt lips.... 

"I'm next, Daddy," she said in a low, sultry voice to match the slow, 
swaying walk with which she came close. "And since I can hardly wait to get 
that Moby Cock of yours in my slot, I think I'll just while away the time 
with your tongue. Okay? 

Still speechless, Spike just lay there, feeling Iris began to wind up the 
spring in his balls, watching Melissa's lush thigh swing across his face, 
her oozing, crimson-velvet tissues part and palpitate an inch from his 
nose.... 

Then he nodded, sort of. 

Flaming Arrow wished he was a totem pole. He needed several heads to keep 
track of the action the little windows offered now. 

There were two heap good views of the pow wow downstairs, so that by 
swiveling his head back and forth he could watch all four bobbing 
tepee-things and both squishing squaw-holes, with a ball-view and a 
belly-view of the tree-sized pipe they were taking turns on. 

Three windows-Oops! Four, now, if you counted the view of Birch's butt 
sticking into the hallway-showed the crazy ring-around-the-rosebud dance the 
little braves were' doing with Mom. Each one would get on his knees and slam 
his pipe into her sittum-hole several times, then move around to her face to 
get sucked, and then go back to the beginning, with stops to play with her 
hanging tepee-things in between, till the circle moved again. 

The battering from in back and the reaching for them in front had moved Mom 
jerkily across the room. Now her head was out in the hall, and one of the 
little windows showing the room was useless. Still heap much to see, though, 
with the boys shifting around so often, and one dropping out to pant now and 
then. The old chief had made soup signals twice already, and even if the 
strange dance ended in the elevator, there was enough happening downstairs 
to keep the kettle boiling. 

He was getting a sore neck, though. The old bones weren't used to this kind 
of exercise. And since it looked like Mom and the four little braves were 
going to disappear into the open elevator car, he decided to go down the 
stairs and out to the west greenhouse. From there, he should be able to 
watch the big warrior make his last stand or two against the little squaws. 

On the way down, he had an even better idea. He stopped on two, went to the 
master panel for the elevator, and pushed a button. 

Mom heard a sighing sound, got a sudden sinking feeling in her stomach, 
heard a hollow banging. None of it surprised her much. One of the triplets, 
gasping and grunting, had just cum in her mouth, his fat, ballpoint pecker 
splatting gobs of white ink into her throat. Why shouldn't he sigh? The 
sinking sensation was a new experience, but only one of several she'd 
encountered in the last hour. As for the loud banging ... well, it was 
probably her imagination again. For the first few minutes in Birch's room, 
she'd been worried about Iris, and kept thinking she heard the telephone 
ringing in her room; but the boys had all assured her they heard no such 
thing. 

Birch was banging brutally, beautifully into her ass-hole now, but that 
couldn't possibly produce a sound like- 

"Hey!" one of the triplets said. "Where'd Earl go? And ... how'd the doors 
get closed?! Burl, did you push a button?" 

"Hell no, Merle! It does feel like we're going down, though." 

The boys' hands stopped moving on her tits and in her cunt, and Birch now 
held still as his quaking cock, wholly embedded in her constricting colon, 
began spurting cum. When the other boys' words began to penetrate Mom's 
ecstasy, she lifted her head from against the car's rear wall, craned her 
neck to look back. Then the sinking feeling stopped, and.... 

Spike lay on his side, hands gripping Melissa's meaty hips, prick plunging 
in and out of her spasming, slush-squidging box from the rear. The friction 
was terrific, and amazingly, she could absorb his total length in this 
position. In a way, he wished he could watch it happening, but he wasn't 
about to stop eating Iris. His head lay on her thigh, held tender-tightly in 
place by the other one; he was nose-diving in fluttering quim tissue while 
he tongued her little clit, and all he could see were her blinking 
butt-button, a creamy V of ass valley and her undulating lower back. 

Both girls faced toward his feet, but Melissa had roll-twisted back enough 
so they could exchange gasps, gurgles and giggles the way girls doonly they 
were by no means ignoring Spike while .they did so. 

He was close to another cum, and his hips and pelvis were slamming Melissa's 
ass harder and faster, his tongue-tempo increasing against Iris' fun-bud ... 
He wasn't particularly surprised, therefore, when Melissa rolled forward a 
little, and both girls gasped at once. 

Iris blinked, but it was all still there. Two naked boys, exactly alike, 
stood in the elevator with their little spikes sticking straight out, and 
between them was this ... Well, it had four feet, the soles pointed at her, 
and four legs that were just thighs the skinny pair in front and inside, 
then die fatter ones. It had a skinny butt with a big, rounded butt glued on 
beyond it, a skinny back that rose to a head covered with sandy-brown hair 
... and another head sticking out beyond the rib cage, with long, wild, 
dark-red hair through which peered a face that could only be.... 

"Wow! Two more! This is a great place!" 

"Yeah! That guy needs help, too, Merle!" 

"Sure looks like it, Burl. C'mon!" by the time Mom shook the hair out of her 
eyes, the doors had closed, and she felt a rising sensation in her stomach. 
All she knew for sure was that she and Birch were alone, and he'd stopped 
dimming. The rest was confused, unbelievable, and she didn't want to think 
about it. Whatever she'd heard, she couldn't have seen what- 

The doors sighed open. "Peace. Why'd you-Hey, where'd Merle and Burl go?" 

Birch, dazed by his fourth orgasm of the session, didn't even look around, 
so Mom began to crawl around, pulling him like a trailer. 

Earl, meanwhile, had stepped in and pushed the down ' button. "If those guys 
think they're leaving without me ... Huh! No way! Not with all our clothes 
still upstairs!" 

Spike was still blasting jazz into Melissa's turbulent channel when Iris 
rolled aside, sprawling out flat and letting his head slip from her thigh. 
"Hi," she said pertly. "Who're you two?" 

"I'm Merle." 

"And I'm Burl." 

"I'm Iris, and this is Spike, and that's his daughter, Melissa." 

"Hi," said Melissa, rolling-twisting back to smile at them. "Who-oooh, 
Daddy! Wh-who was that that went back up in the elevator?" 

The boys turned and spoke simultaneously: "They did?" 

Spike was beginning to believe it. He hadn't when he first heard the voices, 
and even when he saw the two naked boys, he'd thought, it was all some 
fantastic mirage produced by too many orgasms too fast, after a three-year 
layoff. But' he damn well knew Melissa and Iris were real, and if they could 
see and hear these guys.... 

He'd stopped cumming, and he supposed he ought to pull his pecker out, sit 
up and say hello. It would be about as sensible as anything you could do in 
a situation like this. But ... what was this elevator bit? If they'd come 
from upstairs.... 

He didn't pull out and sit up. He backed it up a couple inches, but then 
just lay there, still hard, stepping in his daughter's simmering tunnel, 
staring up at one boy with two bodies-uniformly naked and presenting 
prongs-who stood staring alternately at him, at Melissa, at Iris, at the 
elevator doors beyond his feet.... 

Shhhhoooshh.... 

Mom saw Spike with his cock in Melissa, his face not a foot from Iris' 
widespread, slime-streaming cunt. 

Spike saw Mom with Birch draped over her back, his prick quite obviously 
buried in her ass-hole, her bush dripping, her mouth smeared, her 
rubbed-ruddy breasts swaying.... 

Neither of them saw much else that really mattered, for the moment. That was 
enough to think about. 

"Peace, party-lovers! I'm Earl. Who wants to fuck?" 

"Oh, I do!" Iris piped up. "But ... But gee, there are thee of you!" 

Earl ambled toward her. "Oh, did they already ask you? Well, lemme see." He 
turned slowly, counting. "Five cocks, three cunts. Hmmm. Better ask the 
genius. Hey, Birch...." 

Birch's eyes had cleared, and he was wearing his thoughtful frown. "I'm 
working on it," he told Earl. "It sort of depends on what the females feel 
like, though. Mom, what do you think? Hey, Mom...? " 

 CHAPTER TEN 

While the kids balled, Mom and Spike lay face to face and talked. She told 
him everything. She paused a dozen times, expecting him to get up, gather 
his clothes and walk out of her life. He didn't, though. 

Once she said, "Spike, you're not even listening!" 

"Yes, I am. You just said Michael never even got his tennis shoes off." 

"But ... But how can I tell you're listening when you just lie there staring 
at my tits?" 

"Well, they're damn nice tits! Anyway, you're playing with my cock." 

"I ... I am?" She hadn't realized. "Oh! Sorry. But ... it's a damn nice 
cock." 

"So keep on. But keep talking, too. I'm listening." When she got to the part 
about Flaming Arrow, Spike actually looked a little bored, and began playing 
delicate finger games with her nipples. It made her itchy, so she hurried 
through the rest of it, finishing: "And then we came down again in the 
elevator, and ... and there you were." 

"Yeah," he said, frowning for the first time. "So I guess now it's my turn 
to confess, huh?" 

"No, Spike. Not unless you want to. I'm ... The way I've acted, I'm not 
entitled to any explanation or-" 

"Shhhhh! You're entitled. Anyway, I ... I love you, Mom." 

That caused a slight delay while she told him she loved him too, and burst 
into tears, and he ... well, soothed her, so to speak. They both came, but 
it was a gentle, quiet kind of orgasm. It was, at least, by contrast with 
what the kids were going through at the time. 

Then Spike told her his part of the story. It wasn't much, he realized, 
compared to what she'd been doing, but it was the best-the worst?-he could 
offer for the time being. "And Mom, I ... I don't know if I can change," he 
concluded. "I don't know if I want to change, even. If some other little 
girl came along who was as sexy as Iris and Melissa...." 

Suddenly she grabbed him by the head and kissed it almost violently. "Ohhh, 
Spike, I'm so glad to hear you say that!" she cried, looking up at his face. 
"Because I don't think I'm going to change much either. In fact ... just now 
I've been watching little Earl, over there with his brothers and Iris. My 
son, by the way, seems to be monopolizing your daughter. Anyway, Earl keeps 
getting butted out of the action by Burl and Merle, and I keep wanting to 
... Well ... I am the hostess at this affair, you know." 

"I know," Spike said, wrinkling his nose at her. "So go see to your guest's 
... uh, comfort. I'll just drag myself over and see if Birch needs any 
help." 

Mom's mission of hospitality was detoured, however. As she crossed the 
salesroom toward Iris and the triplets, she noticed that the closed sign 
wasn't up. Oh, God! she thought, hurrying toward the entry. I'll bet they 
didn't even lock the door! Someone could have walked right in! 

She was ten feet from her goal when someone did. It was Oak. 

Mom froze. Oak froze. His piercing eyes swept her nudity, took note of the 
naked, swarming scene of carnality beyond her. 

"Damnation!" he roared. "We're late! I came to start an orgy, and you've 
already got one going!" 

He strode forward, then, and before he swept her up in his arms, Mom saw 
twelve of the most beautiful, most seductive young teenage girls imaginable 
troop through the doorway behind him. When he'd kissed her, bumped his 
bulging frontal mound against her own for a minute, squeezed her ass-cheeks 
and stepped back to tweak her nipples, Oak announced loudly, "Ladies and 
surplus gentlemen, meet and greet the student bodies of the newly 
established Grand Junction Academy for Tomorrow's Women-yours truly Oakley 
Glen, Headmaster!" 

The others had all looked up, But Earl was the first to grasp the event's 
potential. He hurried forward, his prick and two fingers stiff. "Peace, 
students! I'm Earl. Who wants to fuck?" 

"Young man," said Oak, pulling a tiny brunette tidbit to his side, "meet 
Cherry. Actually, her name's Toni, but she just enrolled this afternoon, so 
I haven't had time to-" He stopped, seeing that Earl wasn't listening. The 
lad was busy trying to remove Toni's well-filled blouse without taking his 
right hand out of her panties. 

"Strip and disperse, sweeties,"-Oak instructed his other lovely charges. 
"It's time to put your ... lessons to work!" 

While twenty-two more taut little tits, eleven more lush little asses and 
pouty, pert little pussies were unwrapped and offered around, Mom broke away 
from Oak. "Undress," she said. "I'll be right back, but I've got to lock 
this door!" 

It was dark outside, she discovered. Thanks to the abundant plants in the 
windows, and the slight rise of ground the tower stood on, no one could see 
in unless they came quite close and tried, so she didn't worry much about 
that. And Elm and Evangeline had keys to the side door, so.... 

She hung the closed sign, and was about to turn the lock when a chilling war 
whoop distracted her. Spuming, she saw Chief Flaming Arrow fling his smock 
aside as he leapt onto the counter, his unbelievably lengthy weapon angling 
up and out from his lean, withered torso. He stood like a statue, skeletal 
arms folded across his sunken chest, hawk-beaked head held high. "Me want 
pow wow paleass squaws," he declared. "Me got heap big-" 

Four of Oak's nubile protegees pulled him down before he could finish 
stating the obvious, and as they fought for first crack at him, Mom surveyed 
the action elsewhere. 

She couldn't see Spike, but deduced that he was the focus of a second swarm 
of Oak's girls near the east greenhouse. Each of the triplets had his own 
personal plaything now, and Iris lay alone amid this triangle of madly 
banging pairs, intently eyeing Oak as he undressed. Birch had switched 
around behind Melissa, so both could watch the fun while completing their 
own. 

Mom went quickly to Oak, who was peeling off a pair of bright orange 
skivvies, his big whang twanging against his belly as he bent down. "The 
little blonde over there is your kid sister Iris," she said. "I think you'll 
find she's grown surprisingly since you saw her last." 

"That's my father over there," Birch was telling Melissa as he pumped toward 
another cum, her cunt milking maddeningly around his throbbing organ. "I 
think he recognized me, but he may just have been grinning at your tits. I 
was only seven the last time he saw me." 

"F-f-fuck your father!" Melissa hissed. "I mean, fuck me, and forget your 
father! I'm right on the edge, Birch, and I want a load of ... Aaaahhh! 
Ohh-ooooo! Yessss! Ohhhh, that's so gooood! So-" 

Good God! I still haven't locked the-Oh, NOW In the entry stood a livid, 
quivering Mrs. Clamath, holding her terrified son by one ear, and his 
blubbering buddy by the other. Behind them were uniformed policemen. 

Mom felt faint. She wanted to faint. Yet she could only stand staring and 
swaying dizzily while the shrewish woman screamed, "I knew it! This 
abomination is a subversive den of iniquity intent on corrupting our 
children! And that woman.... 

Peering out between a pair of vibrating thighs, Spike watched and recognized 
the woman. He saw lightning flash through the night sky behind her as the 
accusing finger was pointed at Mom and the outraged intruder screamed, 
"Arrest her, officers! Arrest all of them!! " 

One of those cops looked familiar, Spike mused. It was a face he'd seen ... 
where? When? 

The lawmen were whispering to each other. Then one turned to lock the door, 
and the familiar one bent over and shucked his pants off, straightened up 
and grabbed Mrs. Clamath by her big tits. 

Oh, yeah! Wednesday night in the tent! The one Mom was sucking just before 
the raid! 

Then a sparse-haired slot squirmed down to block Spike's line of sight-but 
not before he saw both cops begin to frisk the screaming, struggling mother 
of Peter Phipps Clamath, III, while Sonny and Buddy raced for the nearest 
nookie. 

"Jee-zus, what a storm!" Elm huffed, unlocking the side door and letting 
Evangeline, Buck and Michael file in ahead of him. "If that wind gets much 
stronger, the whole damn carnival's- likely to-" 

Evangeline's shrill outburst cut him off. "Well, Russell mah Bill, Ah 
b'lieve we's havin' a bar-bee-kew! Ain' nevah seed so many chicks roast in' 
on de spit!" 

"Gosh!" Michael burst out. "That's ... that's my father under there!" 

Buck was silently, swiftly undressing. " 'Scuse me," Elm said, slipping past 
him and unzipping at the same time. "Uh, would you mind if I borrowed 
Evangeline?" 

"Oooooh, Buck! Fuck, Buck! Ohh, the way you drive that truck through my 
muck, Buck! Now ... all the way!" He hesitated. "You sho'? " 

"Show? Oh, sure! Yes. Sure, I'm sure! I've got to learn to take the big 
along with the little, Buck, and...." She wriggled on the massive black 
piston. " ... they don't ccome any bigger." 

The ox-like ebony shoulders shrugged; "Okay, pretty ofay. You's de boss 
lady." 

"Aaaaaa-ohhhhh-oooo-OOOOO-OOOOOHH, G-G-G-GAAWWD!! ! "- 

"Ooof! Wheew! You don't need any more schooling, girl. You know everything!" 

"It's Melissa," she said, grinding down on it again to keep him hard. "But 
... isn't it sort of a finishing school, too?" 

"Whooo! No, it's strictly-Uhnn!-a starting school. I started Mom, you know, 
so I figure I'm qualified." 

"Ohhhhh, you're qualified!" Her heels hammered the backs of his thighs as he 
humped up and nibbled on her nipple. "B-but ... where ... Uhn! Oh, more!" 

"The school? Here, maybe. Iris said Mom's got lots of , vacant space." v He 
chuckled, his prod jiggling her in sides, as he glanced across the room. 
Mom's vagina was anything but vacant at that moment. "But there's a building 
south of here-- 

I've-Aaaggh!-got my eye on, too. The First Unitarian Church of Kress. 
It's-Uh-ohhhnnn! You little demon, you're making me-Uhhn! 
Uhh-uh-uh-uh-uh-UUUUU-GGNN! Again!" 

"Finally, Flaming Arrow! Ummm, goodie! Now, push a little ... Eeeeee! Hey, 
don't look so stone-faced! My blood brother just in-Ahh!-initiated me, so 
it's all okay by the Great Spirit. Oak's thick, but he's only got ... 
Oooohhh, wowie! You're halfway into the quiver! Now if I can figure out 
how...." 

Damn! Won't that Clam-ass bitch ever quit screaming? Spike thought when 
somebody's thighs fell away from his ears. But then he really listened, 
looked ... and grinned. 

"More! More!" the woman was howling around a mouthful of her son's slim 
stabber. She sat in a hunched huddle on one of the cops' cocks, while her 
hands tried to help Birch get plugged into her anus. But just when that was 
accomplished, Sonny wandered away in search of something tighter, and his 
mother's bellows intensified. 

Spike turned back to watch the jittering titties and shimmying quim of the 
plumpish girl who was riding his prick through a storm of orgasmic 
turbulence. When he looked across the room again, the screaming had stopped: 
Mrs. Clamath's mouth was solidly integrated with the knob of Buck's 
blockbuster. 

While she rested and recuperated, Mom listened to the howling wind outside. 
She'd heard Elm and Evangeline telling adjacent fuckers the storm had been 
literally tearing the midway apart when they left. 

She rose and walked unsteadily to the window, and gasped. Most of the lights 
across the street were out. The abandoned Ferris wheel was canted sideways 
precariously; trailers lay overturned and broken; the false fronts of the 
amusements were a shambles. The single big tent, on which banners had 
advertised a girlie show and other attractions, was just a pool of collapsed 
canvas at which the wind slashed viciously. And slogging toward the tower 
was a crowd of bedraggled men and women who could only be carnival people. 

Forgetting her nakedness and the ongoing orgy behind her, Mom rushed to 
unlock the door and flung it open. 

"Tell you what," the stout, gray-haired man said, withdrawing his stout, 
maroon-headed rod and getting to his knees. "Roll over and ... let me get it 
in ... this way ... yeah! Now, then." His chin rested between her shoulder 
blades, and while he rocked on her buttocks, hips humping gently, his arm 
stretched past her cheek, finger pointing. 

"See the brunette with the bear's snout in her snatch? That's Bunny, my 
wife. The bear's Brutus, by the way Brutus Mudd, World's Champion Wrestling 
Bruin. He takes on all female comers with his tongue. And if he really-likes 
a girl ... Well, anyway, Bunny's our snake charmer, and the guy that owns 
the snakes is her brother. He's ... Oh! Over there sucking the black chick's 
ass. And that's the fire-eater down in front of her, naturally. Then over 
there ... the blonde eating the kid with the tennis shoes is queen of the 
girlie show, and the other six are...." 

Mom didn't follow the rest, because her plugged and palpitating back channel 
was receiving and transmitting some very distracting signals. But she'd 
heard enough. As soon as the carny boss finished force feeding her from the 
bottom up, she meant to go over and get acquainted with the snake man. 

And after that, she might just try getting cozy with the biggest, hairiest 
hunk of he-male at this or any other orgy! 

"Waaa-hoo, dat were a dinger! Nahw, wheah's mah nex'lley! Hey, you wif de 
unocc'pied peckuh! Ain' you dat eee-vangelist?" 

"Well ... well, yes. That is, I-" 

"Well, eee-vangelist, Ah is Eee-vangeline! Put it ... theah!" 

Buck lay panting in the center of the room while an eager team of Oak's 
students were striving to revive his mammoth whang. Birch was lying nearby, 
his stiff little dick enfolded and fondled by the overblown boobs of an 
aging but agile midway showgirlie who was being rammed from the rear by a 
roustabout. 

"Enjoying the bacchanal?" the black giant asked, his speech flawless. "It's 
quite a spectacle, isn't it?" 

When Birch nodded, Buck seemed to note his puzzled look. "Oh, you're 
wondering about my diction," he guessed. "It's a habit I picked up from 
Evangeline. You watch: As soon as I'm hard again, III go back to talking 
nigger-style. But say! I hear you play chess. I was on the team at Rutgers. 
Maybe we could...." 

"What tribe are you in charge of?" Mrs. Clamath asked, sliding and swiveling 
her cultured crevice up to meet the sweeping strokes of the Indian's ardent 
arrow. 

"Me not tribe chief. Me party chief on survey team for lay out reservation. 
Me go AWOL, trade tribe's plans for. good job. Me boss heap many paleface." 

The socialite apparently hadn't even heard. Her face paled, and her hands 
and heels clamped down on the red man's rawhide ass. "Oohhh, it's been so 
long! And it ... it is so long! Wheeeeee!! "' 

"Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!" 

"Jake, hand me the jar. Or better yet, you smear it on. Ooooh! Nice. 
Thanks." 

Jake stepped back, and Brutus raised his snuffing muzzle once more to 
Bunny's honeyed cunt, his ham-slice of a tongue slurping and burrowing. He 
rocked on his broad, hairy bearback, all four legs flailing gleefully, his 
turnip-shaped, carrot-colored cock extended fullv. 

"Yep, he's ready," Jake said, helping Mom mount. He left one fingertip in 
her ass-hole to guide her. "Eee-asy, now. Just get the end of it in; hell do 
the rest. Have you-" 

"Aaaa-ooooooohh! Have I ever!! God! Hot! And he-eee! Ohhh, it gets thick, 
too! Uhh! Unnh-uh! A-a-and he's-Aaaaaaaggh-ug! Already he's ... unhhhn! 
Ohhhh, I just can't bear it!! ! " 

"Don' ass me, baby! Whin Ah lef dismawnin' it were a puffickly respec'ble 
flowah shop. Well, anaways, it were a flowah shop. Awww, yeah, man! Keep on! 
You's gonna Bunche mah Ralph in a minnit! Were de bes' job Ah had sence Ah 
got disbarred, too. OOOOHH!" 

Evangeline's sweat-streaming hips whipped upward, her prehensile pussylips 
nibbling at her fuck fellow's balls as they emptied themselves in her 
meat-mauling depths. 

"Don' know 'bout tamorra, tho. Ah heah dey's gon' staht a fuckin' school. 
An' whin Ah says fuckin' school, dat's whut Ah means! Ifn dey don' need no 
Hey! Did'n . you say you runs a whorehouse?" 

"No," the old barker puffed. "A house of horrors." 

"Aw, sheee-it! Thot maybe Ah had me a backup job!" 

"By cracky, this looks like where I came in!" Spike quipped, gazing into the 
rosy convolutions of Iris' pretty pudendum. 

"Well, cum in it again," she urged, slithering down to seize his tool. She 
fitted the head to her profusely lubricated opening and boasted, "I've 
learned a couple little tricks since you-ooooh! Uunh! Uhn!" 

"Aaaa-waah!" Spike expostulated. "You sure have!" It felt like someone was 
running a red-hot ring bearing up and down his shaft. 

As he began to fuck, Melissa staggered over and sagged to the floor with 
thighs splayed, her crimson-lined cunny an inch from his nose. "Ohhh, Daddy, 
that big, black Buck! Could you kiss it where it hurts?" she teased. "Make 
li'l Melly's muff all better?" 

"Sure thing, baby," he wheezed. "B-but just a sec. Hey. Mike! Over here!" 

When his son stood beside them, Spike said, "I guess you kids both know 
I've-Ugghh! Christ, Iris! That's no trick; that's a treatment! Aaaaah! 
Anyway, kids, I've changed my ideas a bit lately. So Melissa, why don't you 
suck your brother off while I lick your wound?" 

Melissa giggled. Michael grinned. He kept grinning while he got down and 
slid his giggy into his sister's giggle, and the grin widened as he watched 
his dad attach himself to her gurgling gash. 

"Lie here by Spike, and I'll ... Aaahhh! There! Oops! Keep that thing away 
from my face, please. I don't mind it nosing around down below, though. It 
is silky-feeling, like you said. But Oooooohh! Who's Oh, Elm! Can you ... 
Let me lean forward a little, and ... Aahhhhh!! " 

Mom was crouched atop her son, his man-staff once more securely clutched in 
her cunt, while his brand-new, real live six-foot anaconda gift from the 
carny people-entwined itself about both of them, wedged its narrow snout 
beneath her bush and tickled her clitty with a flickering tongue. Elm knelt 
astride his nephew's thighs, his own pud snug in Mom's rump. She closed her 
eyes and felt the good surge of her flesh about theirs, and their rutting, 
ramming response. 

When she opened her mouth to exclaim at the goodness, a gooey hunk of healed 
meat popped into the perfect circle of her lips, and as her hands came up to 
caress its thrusting, thick column, she opened her eyes and confirmed that 
it was Oak. 

He held and hefted her tits as she sucked him, thumb-titillating the nipples 
while she tongued the heavy-ridged head, rippled his foreskin with glib 
lips, cuddled and juggled his balls with her sisterly hands. "More suction, 
Mom," he advised. "You'll never bring on the flood if that's all the pull 
you've got!" 

Spike raised his head from his daughter's full-blooming flume. He spoke 
through a curtain of burbling juice: "Excuse me, Reverend, but I think I 
resent that slur on the abilities of the woman I'm going to marry!" 

Oak's eyebrow climbed his ecclesiastic brow. He looked down inquiringly at 
Spike, then at Mom. "He is?" 

She took one hand from her big brother's balls and slipped it into Spike's 
broad, work-hardened paw, which he held up while his face submerged itself 
again in Melissa's slippery sluice. With Oak's cock in her mouth, Mom 
couldn't very well answer, but she nodded eagerly. 

"Well, then...." 

Oak raised and spread his mighty arms. The gesture encompassed the whole 
fornicating congregation of joyously fornicating revelers, and he seemed to 
speak to the world at large as he intoned, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered 
here...." 


THE END
