My Darling Nephew
by Opal Andrews
(SC-046)


FOREWORD 

"In all your amours," Benjamin Franklin once wrote, "you should prefer old 
women to young ones ... because they have greater knowledge of the world." 

Of course she needn't be old, just older, like Barry's Aunt Connie. Franklin 
failed to mention that the older woman might be more experienced-and likely 
to be far more grateful for a young man's attentions than a snippy young 
chick! But ... there can be terrible problems, terrible consequences from a 
male-May and female-December relationship. 

A boy or young man who sexually digs an older woman is considered stupid, 
childish, somehow mesmerized by her charm-or insane. And the woman in 
question is called a monster, a pervert, a cradle-robber-or treated either 
as insane or a criminal or both. 

For example, a few years ago a French school board fired teacher Gabrielle 
Russier on a morals charge. The 32-year-old divorcee was subsequently 
sentenced to prison. Her crime was that she had been making it with one of 
her students. He was 17. Mrs. Russier was hassled, forced to undergo 
psychiatric examination, and sent to prison twice. The boy's father refused 
to give his permission for the couple to marry. Eventually Gabrielle Russier 
killed herself. 

In a preface to Russier's letters from prison, Raymond Jean wrote that the 
school teacher had "added to all her transgressions another transgression 
even more serious-that of not accepting the rules of the game that condemned 
her as guilty." He also pointed out that had she been a "dirty old man" she 
"would have been crucified." 

Veteran writer Opal Andrews is not about to write about old ladies. Barry's 
Aunt Connie was not only wealthy, she was very attractive and an 
"almost-virgin." But Barry's father had married Connie's sister, after 
relieving Connie of her teenaged maidenhead years ago-and now Barry's 
parents are dead and he goes to live with his embittered aunt. She is rough 
on the boy, because of his father ... but it's almost worth it to young 
Barry, especially at night when he lies on the roof of the shed out back. 
From there he can and does watch her undress her sensuous body ... and 
fondle it ... and masturbate, while he watches. 

Naturally there comes a time when she catches him ... and punishes him ... 
and a helpless physical attraction rises between them ... and deepens ... 
until Barry's deep interest in his aunt is matched by his deep tooling of 
her! 

They are breaking all the rules, and they know it. But so long as they 
aren't caught-! 

Then Constance brings in the sexy young girl from Pakistan, just Barry's 
age, and now there are three of them.... 

Opal Andrews is incapable of writing a bad book. Nor does she write simple 
little books about simple people and simple, ordinary everyday sexuality. 
Once again, in the novel you hold in your hand, there is very little that 
takes place among Barry and his Aunt Connie and the Pak girl Seeta that can 
be called ... ordinary! 

The burning question raised in this novel is complicated and yet simple at 
the same time. Is Barry to remain his aunt's (willing) sex-slave? Can he be 
hers, and at the same time have a (willing) sex-slave of his own? Or ... as 
he grows older ... can Barry assume full control of their strange situation 
and strange relationship? 

One of the findings of Dr. Alfred Kinsey was that women do not reach their 
sexual peak until about age 32, while males really hit their sexual stride 
at age seventeen! Obviously there is a built-in natural argument here for 
May-December love affairs. Like ... Barry and his darling Aunt Connie! 

-THE PUBLISHERS 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Ed was older, and making good money, and he had an apartment of his own. 
Connie knew what was going to happen when he suggested that they go there. 
But she was ready. She was seventeen, and this was their fifth time 
together, and he was so far ahead of the boys her age. She loved him. She 
was sure of that. She was in love with Ed Brookshier. 

It wasn't that she was tired of her virginity, or anything like that. She'd 
been mighty careful about that. She wasn't like the other girls. But 
now-well, she wanted to really give him something, give him herself. And she 
knew very well that he wanted her, too. 

When he'd run his hands into her brassiere and fondled and stroked and 
played with her breasts a few nights ago, he'd been panting. But he hadn't 
been alone in his arousal. Every touch of his hands and lips had filled her 
body with the anxious twitches she knew as erotic thrills. 

Tonight, after she had commented on his apartment and examined his books and 
magazines and they'd had a joke or two about bachelors' apartments, he took 
her in his arms. She put her lips up eagerly for his kiss. 

Very soon he had slid his tongue into her mouth and was poking it around, 
tasting her inner warm moistness. Her own tongue responded and swirled 
around his. Her hands tightened on him. She shivered. He was licking her 
tongue, drinking her saliva, and their bodies were tight-pressed. 

His hand slipped up between them to where thin cashmere was stretched so 
tightly across her chest. The thrust of her breasts forced a trembling 
little line of tenseness across the front of the fabric. His hand slid over 
the sweater where it was tightest, and she groaned and sighed into his 
mouth. 

His other hand slid down her back until it was below the belt of her skirt. 
Then it sneaked back up, under the soft sweater, to press youthfully taut 
skin , that was just as soft in its. way-its far more thrilling way. He 
stroked and caressed her naked waist and fondled her breast, and she urged 
herself to him, clinging to him with both hands locked behind his neck. That 
way he would know she was keeping her hands and arms well out of his way, 
yielding and giving herself to him. 

His hand slid down over the bulge in the back of her skirt. She tensed the 
strong muscles of that buttock so that he could feel its taut pressure 
against his fingers. 

She kissed him hungrily, nudging his chest and palm with her straining 
breasts while her tongue darted and probed. 

The room seemed to grow warmer with the heightening sexuality that each of 
them radiated. 

His hand slipped down, dived easily under the hem of her sweater, and came 
back up her naked flesh until it nudged up under the smooth cup of her bra. 
She sighed as his fingers tightened. His other hand remained on her rump, 
pressuring it through her skirt and mashing her lower belly and thighs 
against him. 

Connie was a tallish girl, taller than her mother and sister, and she could 
feel the growing bulge in his pants almost at the proper place. She couldn't 
help squirming against it. She was breathing harder and harder. 

He backed his mouth from hers and looked into her eyes. 

"Oh, Connie darling!" 

"I love you," she whispered. Wickedly, she rocked her hips, just a little, 
so that her crotch rubbed against his. She saw the tenseness in the 
tightening lines of his jaw and around his mouth. 

"Hold your arms straight up," he said, in a very quiet voice. 

Stretching her arms straight up, she stood there smiling while he peeled her 
sweater up, gave it a little flip to disengage it from the shelf of her 
brassiered breasts, and tugged it upward. She was blind for a while, with 
her own sweater over her face, and it hurt her nose when he pulled it on up. 

Then he was dragging it off, over her arms. Immediately his eyes fell to her 
bra and the barely-covered fullness of her breasts. They were not huge, not 
by any means. But they were full, bulgy balls that stood away from her chest 
to surge their crinkled little tips. 

Right now they were surging against the insides of her bra-cups, and they 
hurt. They were full-feeling and achy. Although the snug and shiny white bra 
squeezed her youthfully firm tits together like a loving pair of hands, it 
felt even tighter now. 

She wanted it off. 

He pulled her back against him to kiss her, and she pretended that her 
discomfort was greater than it was. 

"Oh, Ed, I'm so excited-my bra hurts!" 

Together, they took it off. Her white breasts sprang joyously out to 
freedom-and were immediately re-imprisoned by his hands. Again she sighed, 
smiling delightedly. 

He clasped both her full, hot breast-balls in his hands and thrust them 
high, forcing them way up toward her chin before jerking his hands back to 
watch them bounce and flow springily back into shape. 

"Uh-that hurts a little," she said. "They-feel so heavy." 

He cupped each tit in a warm palm and bent his head to kiss the pink tips. 

She sighed, went all weak in the knees and hot in the crotch, and tried to 
ram her breasts down his throat. Then she did what she had never done 
before. She reached down and fondled his bulging erection through his pants. 
He jerked as if her hands had carried an electric current into his most 
sensitive flesh. 

They stared at each other. 

Then, without a word, they started stripping. She hurried with him into his 
small bedroom, much smaller than hers in her big house. They stopped at his 
bedside. She had her hand lovingly on the stiffening length of his throbbing 
penis. It was a little scarey, thinking of that big thing coming up inside 
her unopened body. Scarey-and intensely exciting. 

He looked down at her as if having second thoughts. 

She tightened her hand on his prick. "Take me," she whispered. 

They sank together onto the bed. When they kissed this time, they both knew 
the exciting pressure of mutually naked bodies. Her breasts poked at his 
chest. Then they were slightly flattened by it, forced back and outward. He 
squeezed her close. His fingers traced out little patterns over the very 
tops of her buttocks. The trailing touches made her shiver and she stabbed 
his mouth deeply with her tongue. 

"You are beautiful," he told her. "God, you're beautiful." 

She smiled. "I like you better," she said, squeezing his upper arms. 
"Besides," she said, knowing what he was thinking, "not all tall girls have 
to be skinny and breastless." 

With a moan, he toppled her backward onto his bed and brought his mouth back 
to her breasts. His open lips captured one of the nylon-skinned projectiles 
thrusting from her chest. His tongue sought and worshiped the tight, tender 
little nipple. His teeth playfully teased it before he turned his attention 
to its less-erect mate. She stared at the ceiling and squirmed, sighing and 
smiling to herself. 

He did not cease tonguing and teasing her other titty-tip until it too had 
flowed out into a thrusting, deeply red point. Then he sucked it, very 
strongly, and she winced a little. But her fluttering fingers caressed the 
back of his head and she emitted still another moaning little sigh. 

She was undulating frantically, saturated with virginal lust. She caressed 
his thigh with a wild, sensuous undulation of her long hips. 

He was all tender hands and mouth and slithering tongue and arousal and 
turbulent desire and yearning hot prick. 

She felt tormenting yearnings, an itch in her lower lips. 

Soon, soon, oh, soon, she told herself. Then I'll be a woman and he'll be 
mine, mine, all mine forever! 

He was still devoting his oral attention to her breasts. She began 
tightening and relaxing her buttocks, tightening them again to surge her 
lower body up to him. 

She gasped when his hand slid down her waist, following its indentation and 
then riding out along the flare of her hip, down to her thigh-where it came 
back in and passed over her tufted pubic triangle. It was only slightly more 
light in hue than the glowing, deep red of her hair. 

His mouth stayed on her breasts while he slid his fingers caressingly up and 
down the delicately mossed bulge of her mound. Her thighs opened and closed 
in helpless agitation on the hand that fingered her delicate twat and 
exposed its thin center slash. 

He backed from her bosom, moving backward on the bed to see the warm and 
bulging little pussy his fingers explored. She felt his fingers pull, 
tugging gently, so that the swollen lips sighed lazily apart. A soft moan of 
delight and slight apprehension sighed from her lips. One finger tickled her 
open. 

He stared down at the beauty of that slashed pelvic mound set between the 
very tops of her sleek, almost rubbery-firm thighs. Now he could see the 
sexily beckoning hint of coral flanges just inside her finger-vandalized 
cunt. It beckoned silently. He could not help himself. She was astounded 
when he bent to kiss her there. She felt the firmness of his lips pressing 
down on her soft, vertically-set ones. Passion struck her with the force of 
a velvet-covered sledge hammer. 

He raised his head to smile at her. "Do you like that?" 

"Uh-oohhh ... uh-" She could not even answer coherently. So he kissed her 
cunt again. This time his tongue ran straight up the center slit and pressed 
down on the tender nubbin of flesh that was already starting to emerge from 
the apex of the delicate labia. 

She screamed and convulsed in inexpressible pleasure. It was the most 
overwhelmingly, unbelievably marvelous sensation she had ever experienced. 
She shuddered chaotically under a sharp ache of pleasure so poignant and 
intense it was difficult to distinguish from pain, while he licked and 
sucked and pretended to chew. 

She squirmed and writhed on his bed. Her thighs tensed and her calves 
flexed. Her flat belly-plane rippled from inner tremors. She could not close 
her mouth, and it hurled out little screaming sighs and groans and wordless 
cries of sheer delight. 

He stabbed her with his tongue, letting it flicker between the soft damp 
lips of her cleft, then flick up to tip the throbbing clitoral knob. Spasms 
of pleasure throbbed through her and she seemed afloat on an oceanic surge 
of utter bliss. 

He raised his face from her cunt again. Moving forward along the sinewy line 
of her supine body, he kept his hand at her crotch, tickling and strumming 
the slippery, tongue-like extrusion of her enormously aroused clitoris. 

He kissed her breast while he writhed his hips into position, sliding his 
legs over hers and stretching between them with the big angry-looking red 
head ,of his prick close to the delicate bulge of her virginal gash. She 
sighed and kissed his head and shoulder while she hunched her pelvis in 
mindless need. 

She spread-eagled herself, writhing and quivering before him in an 
enslavement to passion. Her hands tugged at his shoulders. Feeling the knob 
of his penis against her wet lower lips, she squealed and lurched in an 
attempt to nab it. 

The pink lips of her crack throbbed in desperate anticipation as he started 
his entry into her body. Using his fingers, he guided himself between the 
so-soft lips and straight into the opening of that deep channel of her 
passion. 

There was a barely-yielding pressure against the head of his cock, a giving, 
a sudden collapse of inner tissue that released the pressure, and she cried 
out at a swift surge of lancing pain. Then warmly wet interior muscles 
clasped lovingly about his sweltering cock. 

The thin membrane of her girlhood was a torn and ragged collar around his 
cock as it slid on into the untrammeled depths of her cunt. He squeezed his 
eyes shut and trembled when he felt the frantic inner heat of her. 

She stared up at him with huge eyes. Her face had gone white. 

"It-it hurt! It's ... in, isn't it? That's all-all the hurt-ooohhh, darling! 
I feel so full! You're so huge in me!" 

Her words sent tingles of natural egoistic pleasure running through him. 
Then she pulled him strongly to her as the erect and trembling length of 
flesh slid on into her easily. 

The mound of flesh at the base of her belly tingled and her cunt quaked 
under the sudden violent distention of soft, membranous flesh. She could 
feel his big prodding log of flesh throbbing, way up inside her. It felt 
wonderful. She was a woman, a woman lying beneath her lover, and she was 
fucking! 

She loved the thought. She loved the deed. 

He was very still for a long while, letting her torn cuntal channel accustom 
itself to his intrusion, letting his cock soak in the wet heat of her 
virginal hole. 

Then he began pulling it out. She tensed, gasped, and tried to open her legs 
wider. A grunt lurched from her when he pulled it all the way out. She 
frowned. 

"But-" 

"I'm sorry, darling. I wanted to feel you," he told her. "But now I've got 
to think about you and the future. See?" 

He had plucked a little elastic sheath from under a book on the table beside 
the bed. Now he rolled it over the big head of his cock and down the shaft. 
She watched with anticipatory interest. She knew what it was. He was so good 
to her! He had kissed her, there, and when he'd put it in it hadn't hurt 
much, and now he was putting on a rubber so she wouldn't get pregnaht. 

Oh, how she loved him! 

There was a bit of pain when he put his rubber cock back in her again, but 
she could feel the warmth of his cock even through the sheath, and she loved 
it. Then, slowly and lovingly, they began to fuck. 

They moved against each other with slow, caressing actions, rubbing their 
bodies together both exteriorly and inside her. She was still so youthfully 
tight, so newly-opened, that she could feel every tiniest micro-inch of the 
cock he slid in and out of her. And he felt her, a tight wet warm ardent 
grip all along the length of his slithering, swollen penis. 

He began pumping her pussy with increasing strength and rapidity. That was 
all right; She responded with delighted little cries and wiggles of her 
long, sinuous body. 

The muscles of his calves strained as he pushed the red head of his meat in 
and out of the sucking pink lips of her pussy. His hips ground hard into 
hers as he rammed, up and down, in and out. 

Her tentative quivering movements were replaced by far more enthusiastic and 
passionate ones as she realized that the pain was swallowed up by intense 
lustful pleasure. Bracing herself with her palms, she rammed herself up to 
meet his hard jarring thrusts. All she could think about was the wonder of 
it, that big thing going in and out of her body, so thick and big and hard 
and her little slit so tiny and never used for anything but elimination. It 
was beautiful. She loved him; that was all. That was enough. 

The hot, fleshy satin of her cunt grabbed at him as she wriggled, thrusting 
her pelvis harder up to him. His belly slapped against hers with wet sounds. 
They were both streaming perspiration. Her tight breasts felt terribly, 
preposterously swollen, and they seemed somehow looser, jumping and rolling 
all over her chest. 

He shuddered. He could feel soppy wet cunt walls sucking on his prick like a 
tight wet mouth, working hard, squeezing, sucking him off with her clever 
cunt, her virginal cunt that learned so fast. 

Below his arching, stroking body her breasts were shaking in rippling, 
jiggling, firm beauty. Her face was strained and set in lines of 
concentration as she fucked as enthusiastically and energetically as he. 

Lust rose in mounting beats of intensity and their bodies became shiny and 
slick. Great gasps of passion poured hoarsely from his throat. They sounded 
animalistic, but she loved him, and so she loved the carnal sounds, too. He 
was grunting with strain and increasingly violent efforts. 

She surged up to him, begging her for more in a voice thick and husky with 
unrestrained voluptuousness and need. 

Her cunt seemed to suck at the thick lance of flesh he shoved in and out of 
her. She clasped him tightly, wetly, warmly. 

His hard fucking inflamed her passions and delighted her with each hard 
lurch of his body into her tight, moist clutch and her hips squirmed in 
ecstatic spasms beneath his hammering body, goading him to jam his boiling 
cock in and out of her with an ever-rising pressure and momentum. 

Flames of passion devoured her rippling flesh. 

Flames of passion flickered in the tight bag of his balls. 

The feel of his hot cock, getting farther and farther into her with each 
strong push, worked her steadily up to the highest pitch of excitement. 

For a moment she thought something was the matter with him. Then she 
realized that his stiffening, his shuddering and groaning, his sudden 
tensing all along his body, proclaimed that he was about to reach his 
spurting climax, and she was momentarily sorry that he had put that sheath 
on his beautiful life-giving cock. She'd have liked to feel it coming and 
coming into her, all hot and wet, the juice of their love. 

He pumped it out with hard little jerks and blazing, staring eyes, and when 
he took the little bag off his pitifully wilted cock, she saw that it was 
full of his fluid. 

"You didn't cum," he murmured, and put his hand to her cunt. 

"I ... I ... I-YI-I-I-I-I-ieeeeee!" 

He grinned, easing up on his firm fingering of her clitoris. 

"NOW you did," he said and smiled, and slid back up her body to hold and 
kiss her. 

How marvelous, she thought, still dizzy from her orgasm, how marvelous to be 
in love and to make love and be like this and kiss and be held and I wonder 
if he can do it again right away ? 

 CHAPTER TWO 

Constance Deacon was seventeen that fall, and her sister Helen was nearly 
nineteen, and Ed Brookshier was twenty-one. He had come to Mount Bester from 
Cleveland, sent here by his company. Obviously he had nothing like the 
family background or the money of Constance Deacon's family, but her parents 
were not snobbish. They must have seen that she was in love, but they didn't 
seem to worry about her doing what their generation called Going Too Far, 
nor did they mention anything so old-fashioned as what Ed Brookshier's 
intentions might be. 

Ed was a salesman, and sometimes he was gone for one or two nights. Connie 
could hardly stand it. All she knew was that she loved him and wanted him 
with her all the time. 

He was out of town on one of his trips and she was brushing her wealth of 
red hair, sitting in front of the mirror on her dresser in a large room-a 
large room she did not share with her sister. There were only the two of 
them, and the house was big and roomy and there was plenty of money. Connie 
and Helen had their own rooms, and they were not at all small. 

Her inner arm jiggled her breast as she brushed and the girl shivered. She 
shuttered her eyes and thought of Ed. Then she got up and went over to look 
out at the stars and the moon, wondering if he were seeing them, too. It was 
nearly midnight and her parents had gone to bed early. She supposed they 
still had sex; she didn't really know. They had always been old, although it 
was true that they seemed less aged with each birthday she celebrated. 

Glancing down from the sky, she frowned. Then she put her head on one side 
and sighed. Oh, Daddy! Out back was a large two-car garage, with a door that 
opened into the added building, a tool shop where James Deacon also kept his 
fishing and hunting equipment. She knew very well that he also went out 
there just to get away and think, and he sometimes napped there, too. That 
was why he had kept the old mattress and stored it in the shed, rather than 
throwing it away. 

And now he had left a light on in the shed. 

It was hardly visible. The door was closed. But from her window Connie had a 
direct view of the door, and she could see the line of light at its bottom, 
like a golden thread. 

She thought about it, glanced at her watch, and shrugged. Oh well. She'd do 
him a favor. How many times had she been punished for forgetting things? How 
she'd crow about this! 

So she slipped on a cardigan and slipped out into the hall and down the 
steps and through the darkened house to the rear. She went out the kitchen 
door, hearing the thump-thump of Rusty's tail where the dog lay in her 
basket near the range. It took a lot more than someone wandering quietly 
through the kitchen at night to persuade Rusty to get excited! That 
tail-thumping was just to insure tomorrow's meal. 

Constance Deacon walked along the large, poured flagstones connecting the 
house with the shed. Her house-slippers were almost silent on the smooth 
octagonal blocks of concrete. The stars were up there, winking at her, but 
the moon was down to a nubbin, and even that was behind a cloud. It was 
chilly, though not cold. 

She reached the shed. 

Yes, the light was on inside, and she also saw that while the door was 
closed, the latch wasn't on. She reached for the handle. 

Then she heard it, and she froze. Nothing in her seventeen years had 
prepared her for anything like the terrible shock of the eight words she 
heard then, in a throaty, impassioned voice. 

"Oh, Ed, baby-let me suck you too!" 

The voice was her sister's. Helen's. 

Constance froze there for a long moment. Perhaps it stretched into a minute; 
she had no idea of how long, nor did she ever care. But at last she 
completed her interrupted action. Her hand went to the door. But rather than 
pulling it open to go inside and switch off the light, she eased it open, 
only a fraction. Then she looked inside. 

Her heart pounded. Ed Brookshier-her Ed-was lying on his side on the old 
mattress, half under the workbench. He wore his shirt and socks. Otherwise 
he was naked. And beside him lay Connie's older sister Helen. Shorter than 
Connie, a little more rounded, Helen was more voluptuous. There was only a 
pound difference in their weight. Helen couldn't help but be proud of the 
fact that she was more outgoing than her sister, that she was also more 
popular-and more outstanding. 

When Connie looked into the shed, the most outstanding portions of Helen's 
body were naked and enfolded in Ed's hands and he was sucking away at the 
tip of one of them. 

A wave of cold moved slowly up Connie's back. 

Yes. She remembered how Ed liked to fondle and suck titties. Her hand came 
up to press against one of her own. She still remembered the feel of his 
lips, his tongue and the suctioning pressure of his mouth there. 

And now he was almost naked, and playing with Helen's big white tits, and 
sucking one of her swollen pink nipples, and he was pantsless, and she was 
playing with his cock. It was thick and tall and erect. 

Connie remembered that cock, too. But when she thought about it now, she 
didn't go all wet and trembly in the legs and vagina. She stared through 
narrowed eyes at her sister's hand, sliding up and down the thick shank that 
had so recently pierced through her hymen. 

The wave of cold moved on up her stiff back, like a slowly increasing Nordic 
breeze. She stood there and stared. 

Helen wore her blouse, but it was opened all the way down the front and 
tucked back. She also wore a sexy black garter belt-one that Connie had 
never seen-and beautiful sheer hose held taut over her rounded calves and 
thighs by the tight straps from the garter belt. Helen wore nothing else, 
unless her lascivious grin counted. 

"Uh-ummm-I have to!" Helen gasped. 

She pulled herself from Ed's hands and mouth and scrambled down and around 
and Connie's eyes bulged as her sister shoved her ovaled mouth down over the 
big red knob of Ed's erect penis. 

Constance Deacon shivered. She stared. Her hand clutched her breast, and the 
knuckles went white. But she didn't notice the pain. The wave of coldness 
began to expand through her body. 

Too recently, the man she now watched with her sister had sent a torrid heat 
front rushing throughout her young body. Now, the sight of that same man and 
what he was doing, and what was being done to him, was having precisely the 
opposite effect. Within Connie Deacon, a cold front moved in. 

He was moving his hips, making little moaning sounds. Helen's spread lips 
clung hungrily to his prick as it slid in and out of the deep hollow of her 
face. Connie watched the other girl's cheeks sink deeply in as she took all 
the glans of Ed's prick and half the shaft into the hollow of her face. 

Backing her face off the shaft, she smiled, gazing at it, reveling in its 
sleek length sliding so wetly from her mouth. 

Then she plunged it back in to fill her face again. 

He groaned at the intensity of the sensation as she slid her lips again over 
the crown of his erect sexuality. She moved her head up and down, up and 
down the saliva-glistening pole, sucking and sucking and sucking. 

Connie could hear the sucking sounds. 

Then Helen groaned. Connie's eyes flared as her sister's did. Ed had moved, 
pulled one well-padded hip closer, and now he dived his head into the hollow 
of Helen's thighs. 

Constance remembered that, too. How wonderful it had been! She had never 
felt anything like it before. She had known that it was an act of love on 
Ed's part, putting his mouth on her there. It was the most marvelous thing 
she had ever known. 

Right now, watching it happen to her sister, Constance Deacon felt 
absolutely nothing. 

The coldness permeated her body. It began moving up to clutch her brain in 
fingers sheathed in ice, curling icicle claws. 

Helen sucked Ed's cock, noisily and fervently. 

Ed sucked Helen's cunt, making ardent mushy sounds. 

Connie shivered as though she'd been touched by ice. 

Then, without a tremor, she eased the shed door shut. Slowly, carefully so 
as not to make a sound, she latched the door. The couple was locked in. 
Straight-backed, Connie turned and went back into the house. 

.Something had happened to her. She had not screamed, or gone into a rage, 
or fainted. She did not weep. She was icy cool, perfectly calm, and she knew 
already that she'd never allow anything to get the better of her again. Nor 
would another man ever-ever. A sliver of ice had imbedded itself in her 
heart. 

She went straight upstairs, straight along the hall to her parents' room, 
and woke them up. Three or four minutes later she and her father were 
hurrying downstairs. He was belting his robe as he descended. Twice he told 
Connie to go back, and again he told her to remain in the kitchen. She 
ignored him. She didn't hear him. She was moving in the clutch of an inner 
hypnosis, and there was a chill in the air in her wake. 

The couple in the shed were so deep into their activity and the hot grip of 
sensuality that they didn't even hear the door when James Deacon jerked it 
open. 

Ed wasn't fucking Helen. He lay on his back, and Helen was fucking him. For 
a long, long moment her father was too. astonished and shocked to get the 
hot words up out of his throat. 

Helen's big white tits were jouncing and jiggling and flopping wildly before 
her as she squatted astride her naked lover and plunged herself up and down 
on the standing pole of his pussy-slick cock. He reached up to cup both her 
naked breasts with his hands, to keep them still. His fingers squeezed into 
the soft white mounds of elastic flesh until she groaned and shivered at 
sudden sharp little twinges of pain-which, her ecstatic face made obvious, 
were wholly welcome. She fucked herself strongly up and down on the sprawled 
man's big cock, and a portion of its glistening, slimy-looking shank was 
visible every time she jacked herself up with straining legs and the 
grasping pink lips of her pussy slid upward, half-off the sexpole. 

"My-God!" James Deacon gasped. 

Brief flashing picture: Helen's face coming up to stare with enormously wide 
eyes and her mouth dropping open and her face going dead, pasty white and 
Ed's hands reflexively clutching her big jugs and then jerking from them as 
though they were burning hot and he twisted around to stare and they were so 
deep in shock and so taken totally by surprise that the sagging Helen just 
sat there where she was, astride his body with every inch of his cock up her 
cunt. 

Connie turned and walked back into the house. Just as she entered her room, 
the wave of coldness completed taking command of her brain, and she 
collapsed in a faint. 

 CHAPTER THREE 

After Helen Deacon ran away and married the Brookshier man, no one knew 
Constance, not even those who had always thought they knew her. She settled 
down to live in embittered spinsterhood furnished with hatred and icy 
self-control. Yet she was far too handsome a girl, and then a woman, far too 
willowy and sinuous and attractive, to be called an iceberg. She became 
widely known as Miss Icicle. 

She was not a single girl or a single woman; she was a self-appointed 
spinster whose parents never knew she was not a virgin. She was an 
extraordinary good-looking and well-dressed woman nine years later when she 
inherited the big house, the property, and the totality of her parents' 
considerable estate. 

Her father had made the new will just after Helen's elopement, and added to 
it when his wife died. Upon his death, his attorney carried out James 
Deacon's instructions. He forwarded to Mrs. Helen Deacon Brookshier, in 
Detroit, the one dollar her father had bequeathed her. 

Helen and Ed took the check to their bank. They exchanged it for a silver 
dollar and gave it to their son Barry. 

He was a handsome boy who looked very much like his father, with the same 
wide blue eyes, although he seemed to have inherited his mother's cleft chin 
and sturdier build. An only child, Barry had weighed precisely eight pounds 
at birth, just under eight months after his parents' marriage. 

He was not a particularly happy child, even though he lived in a house that 
was obviously full of love. He had the feeling that his parents would have 
preferred that he'd never been born, that they somehow resented him and were 
in general too busy, too caught up with each other, to be bothered with him. 
He was a boy who needed attention and who got little. 

He kept that silver dollar as a symbol. It was something his parents had 
given him. It was something that had come from a grandfather he had never 
known, via an aunt he had never seen. The few things he heard said about her 
in his home were not complimentary. Even Helen called her sister ... Miss 
Icicle. 

He was thirteen, a quiet and indrawn boy, when he had one of those 
experiences so many others had had. He awoke sweating and trembling from a 
bad dream. 

Then he found himself with a pisserection, which he took to the bathroom. On 
his way, he noticed that the door to his parents' bedroom was ajar and that 
there was a light on inside. On his way back to his room, a sound from 
inside made him pause. He glanced through the crack into the bedroom of his 
parents. After that he stayed, helplessly incapable of tearing himself away. 
He watched, and he learned a great deal. 

The first mystery that revealed itself to him that night was that of his 
mother's body. He thought it was beautiful. He had not realized that her big 
bosom, when naked, would separate itself into two big white pillows, too big 
and round to stand straight out. They were sources of intense fascination 
for Barry, who had not nursed as a baby. Now he saw his father nursing at 
those breasts, and he felt hot twinges of jealousy. He did not then realize 
that his father was not sucking something from those big juicy-looking red 
nipples. 

Another mystery revealed was that of his father's pecker. This was the first 
time Barry had ever seen the large, hairy organ in erection. It was almost 
frightening-but that reaction was soon dispelled by his mother's attitude 
toward it. 

"Oh, darling," Helen said, breathing heavily, "it's so beautiful!" 

She slid down to her knees and at once both her hands were on Ed's genitals. 
Her tongue stabbed out to lick down the thick shaft and back up its pulsing 
veined underside. Roving wetly, glistening with her spit, it slid over the 
areas of his penis where the nerve-endings were the most sensitive. 

Her hand climbed up the rigid shaft and slid down, rubbing and clinging 
while she licked it sweetly, delicately-and extremely sexily. 

The watching boy saw how delightful that attention was to the standing, 
shivering man with such hairy legs. Barry heard his groans and saw him 
stroking the kneeling woman's soft hair. 

Then Barry's eyebrows climbed higher. She stuck her mouth onto the hot 
cock-crown and sucked. It slid into her face. Barry had never even thought 
about anyone's wanting to take a pecker into their mouth! 

It went into her face, long and thick and red. The oval of her lips expanded 
as she moved her head down, down over the smooth mushroom head, down and 
down on the shaft with an obvious love for cock and facial impalement. The 
watching boy felt stirrings he had never known before and could not now 
identify. He touched his own hairless little penis. And he watched while the 
big-titted, kneeling woman sucked away at the big organ of the standing man. 

He could see her cheeks sinking and hollowing as she sucked fiercely at the 
fat penis that pressed her mouth so wide. He heard her rather loud 
breathing-and the man's erratic breaths, coming and going. She wrapped her 
arms around his hips and buttocks to hold him well within her ravenous 
mouth. 

Barry got another new surprise: Helen's finger was delving between her man's 
asscheeks, and now she penetrated his asshole and slithered her finger in, 
and he liked it! 

Somehow the scene reminded Barry of a picture in a book. The people in the 
picture hadn't been naked, and they hadn't been doing this, either. The man 
wore a tunic with leather and metal armor, and sandals. The woman had 
red-gold hair and a sweet, rather sad face, and she wore a softly-draped 
white dress that left one lovely round shoulder bare. He was a Roman 
conqueror. She was a slave. She was on her knees before him, and her hands 
were uplifted, almost touching his hips. He was looking sternly down at her. 

Now Barry wondered if, just after that picture, the next one should have 
shown her with her master's penis in her mouth and maybe her finger in his 
bottom hole. 

Helen Brookshier, he thought, looked like a slave, kneeling so subjectly 
before the standing man, making slavish and submissive love to his organ 
with her mouth. The thought of it swirled around and around in Barry's mind 
and took up residence somewhere, way in the back: How nice that must be for 
a man! 

It was nice for Ed. Her tongue was a sharp wet pressure against his cock, 
rampantly racing all along the stalk. His prick was sliding back and forth 
in her mouth while she pumped her lips on it. The long glistening shaft of 
hot male flesh was surrounded on all sides by the warm, wet flesh that 
-lined her mouth. 

His eyes were alight with passionate excitement-and so were hers. 

Her deeppierced mouth pulled, seeking the hot juice pulsing way down at the 
base of his f sweetly-sucked cock. He trembled, gasping, knowing ; that this 
was the most talented fellatrix who had ever eaten him, and he had had 
plenty of experiences ; before marrying her. If there was one desire he had 
. never consummated-and now never would-it was to fuck her sister in that 
well-composed and beautiful face of hers. But he'd never get his prick 
anywhere near Constance, much less in her mouth! 

Deciding to reciprocate, he bent and slid his hands ' in under the kneeling 
woman's armpits. His hands ! passed over her loose breasts so that they 
bobbled. Pulling her half up, he lowered her broad rump to the bed and 
mounted it with her as he pushed her backward. Then he swiftly arranged them 
in the time-honored position of side-by-side soixante-neuf. The French word 
for sixty-nine; had the clever French really invented it? He doubted it! It 
was far too easy and natural for a couple to lie side by side with their 
mouths on each other's genitals for the ! position and the activity not to 
have been invented I thousands of years before there were any French words, 
or indeed any France! 

For a time they curled up that way, on their sides, : sucking and licking 
and chewing gently at each other's fiery genitals. They had no idea that 
they were putting on a show for a thirteen-year-old boy. 

What they were doing was performed with love and tenderness, and with 
knowledge. All of those made it beautiful. Yet, had they known or even 
suspected that the boy might have been watching, they'd never have done it. 

As it turned out, they gave him a far better how-to-do-it sex education than 
he could have gotten in the classroom, or from technical books, or from 
schoolmates with rolling eyes and snickers and rubbing hands as they talked. 
Barry's first sexual imprinting was of beauty and love. And he learned a lot 
more than the standard Missionary Position, the so-called beast with two 
backs that served so many people all their lives. 

He watched, while they made love to each other with their mouths. Their 
naked bodies writhed and twisted on the bed. Their hands roamed and fondled 
and squeezed, caressed and pressed and stroked. 

She licked and sucked his cock and moved her mouth on it in long 
masturbatory motions. He avidly tongued and sucked her excited pussy until 
it was turned into a hot slush, and he lapped forth the juice and sucked it 
out and stored it away in his body, sliding his tongue into her in quest of 
more. Shiver after long, voluptuary shiver ran through her gloriously 
rounded body. 

Then he found her clitoral nubbin and sucked it into his mouth. 

Her thighs tensed and quivered and her belly went all tight and she groaned 
loudly. Tingles of extreme pleasure tingled through her. 

He sucked, and her clitoris rose to a hard point between his insistent lips. 

Her mouth was like an inexorable vacuum around his violently swollen 
prickshaft. It was expanding still more in the tight hot channel of her face 
as her lip-loving exerted its inexorable effect on his lust. And all the 
while she was jerking, whimpering and moaning, in reaction to the plunging 
of his tongue into her, slithering along the slippery sides of her inner 
cunt-passage and then running up to lap and press at her twitching 
love-button. 

He concentrated all his attention on it, licking her clit, sucking the 
hardened tidbit, pressing hard with his tongue on the firm little bud, 
working away at the wildly-aroused sliver of flesh. 

The sounds of her coming frightened Barry at first. But then he realized 
that the screaming sighs and groans, the wild lurching heaves of her body, 
denoted some crisis of pleasure that he had never known, obviously better 
even than Christmas morning. 

She fell back. His big engorged cock popped from her open mouth and swung 
wildly in the air. She pulled at his hip. 

"Oh-oh, Ed dar-darling ... cum in me ... get in me ... oh, darling, I want 
your cock IN me!" 

No effort was necessary, with her cunt in its satiated, flowing state. The 
lips gaped and sagged open. The inner corolla was bright, flaming red, and 
very wet. 

She lay hot and sweating and spread-eagled on the bed while his thumpingly 
hard penis wedged her apart, ramming and thrusting deep into her hot wet 
slithering pussy. She heaved her loins wildly upward and clung to his sweaty 
body. The watching boy's eyes bulged and he gasped. The big thick 
hot-looking saliva-shiny pecker was ramming right into and up her pee-hole! 

Jets of savage excitement danced through her with each of his battering 
strokes into her squirming guts. 

She hummed out little moans, twisting and contorting beneath him, writhing 
her large white ass all over the bed. He humped hard and fast and his 
pounding pole of maleness slicked in and out of her with virile speed. 

Her long, sleekly naked legs were thrown over his bobbing buttocks, aiding 
his drives by arching the thirsty red mouth of her cunt up to him. His body 
slipped and slithered over the coating of sweat on her belly and abdomen and 
loins. She thrust back, with a rapid jogging motion that soon left her 
gasping for breath and ran her cunt wildly up and down his thick shaft. 

His cock penetrated deeper and deeper every time he drove it heatedly into 
the wet smooth opening. 

He began to grind his hips, moving and ramming, scrubbing her loins with his 
rough hair. She swayed and rocked with wild agitation of her slippery belly 
against his, with quick surging strokes of her buttocks. 

The unseen watcher saw the man's big hairy hand slip down over a flaring 
white intensely female hip and dive under her. He pulled her legs up even 
while he slowed his movements and eased back out of her. He drew back until 
only the lust-engorged and blood-swollen glans was still pocketed within her 
straining little sex-slot. 

Then he ran his cock back into her at the same time as his finger sank into 
the soft, tight pulpiness of her asshole. With a squeal, she gripped him to 
her with both hands. She hunched. Their efforts kept her firmly and deeply 
impaled with finger and prick. 

Finger and prick fucked her simultaneously, fore and aft. 

His pumping cock matched the movements of his hand. His finger slipped in 
and out of the moist, grasping, but heavily-widened cavity of her anus. 

Whimpering, moaning in a berserker intensity of lust, she squeezed him 
tightly between her plunging thighs and fucked herself fore and aft with 
constant violent movements. Groaning and humping and sweating, he fucked her 
hard and deep and deep and hard until he grunted harshly and tensed, 
jerking, gasping in the rapture of his spending. 

Hot sticky sperm shot up into the liquid-saturated folds of her vagina. The 
hot white liquid had had to be coaxed from him by the friction within her 
clasping body. Now it needed no further persuasion, and it seemed to leap 
from him, inoculating her every pore with seething semen. 

Watching his father sag wearily down onto his mother, who held him close 
with love and delighted satisfaction, Barry was very excited. Only then did 
he back from the cracked door and hurry to his own room. He was too excited 
to go to sleep, but eventually he did, playing with his stiff little pecker 
which was still too young to spurt. 

After that he did some very careful and selective reading, and he asked some 
questions of bigger boys at school. He also asked his mother a question, one 
night while he was helping her clean up after dinner. 

"How old do people have to be before they can have babies?" 

"Well uh-good heavens, Barry, I'm not sure-why?" 

"I was just wondering. Umm-Miss Johnson could have a baby, couldn't she?" 
Miss Johnson was his teacher. 

Helen Brookshier laughed. "Of course, son." 

"Well-could, oh ... Elly Watkins?" He named a very homely girl who lived a 
block down and who had been his baby-sitter one night. She was in high 
school, and she was sixteen. 

"Ah-well, yes," Helen said, frowning, and it was a cinch Elly Watkins was 
never called as a baby-sitter again! 

"What about Mary Lou?" 

"Mary Lou? Mary Lou Greengold?" She laughed. "She's only TWELVE!" 

He shrugged, trying very hard to keep it all very casual. "Thirteen, I 
think, but I'm just curious. I just wondered how young. I was looking in 
your Newsweek and saw that a girl in Mexico had a baby, and she was only 
ten." 

Helen remembered. She nodded, doubtfully. "Yes ... well, I guess it would be 
possible for a girl of ten to have a baby then, Barry, if the magazine said 
so." 

After a while, she asked guardedly, "Why are you so interested in babies, 
Barry?" 

"Oh, nothing," he lied. "Billy Drake just said that a woman had to be all 
grown up, and married, before she had a baby, and I remembered that Mexican 
girl. But I wanted to check with you. It'll be fun to tell Billy Drake he's 
wrong!" 

Helen sighed, relieved. "Well, be careful about that, son," she said. 
"Billy's pretty big." 

Billy was, but Barry wasn't interested in telling Billy anything, anyhow. He 
had just wanted to check out what the dangers were. It was Mary Lou 
Greengold he was interested in. She could actually have a baby! 

So when he persuaded her to play, he promised both her and himself that he'd 
never try to put his penis in her. 

They just played with each other, and sucked each other. It was just as much 
fun as it had looked the night he saw Helen and Ed do it, although he and 
Mary Lou were pretty nervous about being caught. That was a fun year. 

Barry was fourteen when Ed and Helen Brookshier were killed in the collision 
with the tractor-trailer rig. More people than he were very surprised when 
the tall, slimly beautiful and elegantly-dressed woman with the red hair 
turned up in Detroit. 

Her name was Constance Deacon, and she was his aunt, and the old man with 
her was her attorney. Barry thought she was the most elegant and beautiful 
creature he had ever seen, and he wondered just how much red hair she had, 
all coiled and rolled atop her head. 

In extraordinarily short order, he found himself under the guardianship of 
an aunt he had never met, a chill woman who was called Miss Icicle and who 
might well have played the title role in Anderson's The Snow Queen. 

She took him back with her to the big old family home in Mt. Bester. She 
treated him, Barry thought, more like a stepmother in a story than like an 
aunt. But ... he was wanted. With him he took, without telling her, his 
secret dollar, his legacy from the grandfather he had never known. 

On the first night in the huge house he was very tired and went straight to 
bed. He slept very well. But on the very next day he made a mistake that got 
him a hard, open-palmed blow across the face and resulted in his being in 
his new bed at seven-thirty, without supper. 

He realized that his life was a new one, and that it would be very 
different, with Aunt Constance. Miss Icicle. 

He lay there and thought about his parents, all caught up with each other 
and with little time for him, and that faint feeling of resentment of him 
he'd always felt. He sighed and tried to ignore his growling stomach. Well, 
at least Aunt Constance was going to pay him some attention! 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Barry had gotten used to the fact that, whatever other people did, any 
misconduct on his part was going to get him corporal punishment. 

At first it was horrible. The terrible embarrassment of having to take his 
pants and shorts down and put himself across the very firm, long thighs of 
his beautiful Aunt! But already he thought of her as beautiful. Then to have 
to lie there, flinching and groaning and moaning, writhing and tensing and 
trying to tighten his bottom up so much that it vanished, while she brought 
her palm down on his buttocks, again and again. She never stopped until he 
cried. 

But that once, when he had pretended to be sobbing and then had let himself 
go, after only a few hard slaps, she had become furious. 

"You're not fooling me, you nasty, lying boy!" she raged at him, and her 
bosom heaved and jumped within her blouse. She had pulled him up off her 
thighs, and now she shook him, hard. "To pretend is the same as lying, you 
just don't do it with your mouth, that's all!" She shook him again. 

Then she ordered him to stand there while she went over to the dresser. She 
came back with her beautiful silver-backed hairbrush. He didn't even know 
what she was going to do with it until she did. He had a totally incongruous 
and irrational thought that he was going to get to watch while she combed 
her beautiful red hair. She always wore it up, and he wished she didn't. It 
was too beautiful to wad up on her head that way. He had seen her once, late 
at night when he had to go pee, and she'd been coming out of the bathroom. 
Oh, she was all covered up-but her hair was down. It was the most beautiful 
sight he had ever seen. It streamed redly down beside her face, softening 
her every feature and making her look no more than twenty. 

But she wasn't going to brush her hair this time. She used the hairbrush on 
his bottom. He wriggled all over her thighs and squealed and begged and 
sobbed. It hurt. 

But Aunt Constance had promised him ten on the bare bottom with the back of 
her brush, and it was ten that he received. 

There had been many, many more scoldings, and spankings, until sometimes he 
thought she looked for excuses to punish him. She was always all red and 
flustered afterward, the only time he ever saw her that way. He felt sure no 
one else ever saw her that way, because surely she didn't spank anyone else. 

He would have to stand, trembling and with tears rolling down his face, and 
tell her he was sorry. Then he had to thank her for correcting him to make 
him a better boy. 

Afterward she always went straight to her bedroom and he to his, and that 
was that. He usually lay on his side and played with his pecker while he 
thought about Aunt Constance and her lovely slim warm firm thighs and her 
beautiful red hair and her beautiful, face and how all sinuous and willowy 
she was, like a very straight and tall sapling tree in the park. Sometimes 
he wondered what she did after she left him. 

Eventually it occurred to him to try to find out. Maybe she played with her 
pecker, too! 

Stupid, he reminded himself, she doesn't have a pecker any more than Mother 
and Mary Lou did! She's got a slitty-which was what Mary Lou had called 
hers, although Barry knew that the book-words were "vulva" and "vagina." 
Anyhow, he wondered if she played with it. Her? Aunt Constance? Miss Icicle? 
He grinned to himself. It seemed silly .... 

There were only the three of them in the too-large house: Aunt Constance, 
and Barry, and Miz Anna, whom Aunt Constance called merely Anna. Anna was 
about fifty or sixty maybe, and had been cook-maid here when Aunt Constance 
was a child. She was all right, but Barry found out very quickly that she 
didn't think much of his mother or his father either. Neither did Aunt 
Constance, but she kept it more to herself. 

Just messing around in the backyard, he climbed up onto the roof of the old 
toolshed-the toolshed with two doors, both padlocked, and one window: 
boarded over. After a while up there he realized that he was looking 
straight into his aunt's bedroom window. 

Wow, Barry thought. At night, with it all dark out here and the light on in 
there, I could see even better! 

At last he'd get to see her brush her beautiful hair! He could hardly wait 
until tonight. He was so excited that he moved too fast and tore his shirt, 
getting off the shed's roof. That insured him punishment that evening. He 
got twenty, bare-assed. She used her hand, although she protected it in a 
doeskin driving glove. It stung, soft leather or not. 

Barry didn't cry; the pain was merely a series of stinging smarts. All he 
could think about was-Later. Soon. In a few minutes. 

She finished doling out his punishment and, with her bare hand, applied that 
usual last, caressing stroke to his boyish asscheek. It sort of told him 
that she cared, even though she had to punish and hurt him. He stood, 
slowly. Her thighs attracted his attention while he pulled up his pants. 
They were beautiful, her thighs. She'd pulled up her skirt to keep his 
squirming body from rumpling it. 

She sat there in her straight chair, looking at him. 

"You're not crying, Barry." 

He shook his head. She gave him that Look with her head on one side, and he 
said, "No, ma'am." 

"Um." She flexed the glove. "Maybe I'm just not hitting you hard enough, 
hmmm? Maybe I should use the hairbrush again, Barry." Her eyes studied his. 
Hers were pale green, set in a slightly angular face with prominent 
cheekbones and a rather thin nose. It was a face of beauty. He said nothing. 

"Your eyes," she murmured. "Blue and sweet and souful. The kind of eyes 
anyone trusts. Your father's eyes." 

"I-guess, Aunt Constance." 

She nodded. "You look like him. With your ... your mother's dimple, like a 
hole in your chin." 

He noticed the hesitation, and he wondered what she'd been about to say 
before she said the word mother. "Yes, ma'am." 

"You may have a little trouble when you start to shave, Barry, with all that 
hole in your chin. I always wondered how Cary Grant managed. Beards seem to 
be coming in again-maybe we can grow a nice beard, h'mm?" 

Barry didn't say anything. Yes, he thought. Someday I'm going to grow a 
beard, and I'll be big, and I won't lie across your thighs when you tell-oh, 
your pretty warm thighs, Aunt Constance! 

"Your shirt will have to be repaired, Barry. I know you think we have a lot 
of money, more than your father made in all his life. But that doesn't mean 
we can waste it. I'm not going to throw away a perfectly good shirt just 
because you're a careless little boy and tear your clothes." 

He nodded. "I'm sorry, Aunt Constance. Thank you for giving me the 
correction I need, Aunt Constance. I'm sure it will make me a better 
person." 

That was ritual, of her devising. 

She gazed at him a few moments, chewing her lip; It was a shame he hadn't 
cried. It wasn't as good when he didn't cry. She should have given him 
twenty. She'd have to start using more than her hand. It wasn't enough, even 
with the glove. How like Ed he looks! 

She stood up swiftly. Her skirt dropped. "Well. That's that. Barry. Go to 
bed. And try to be a better boy." 

And shortly after that he was out on the roof of the shed, flat on his 
belly, staring straight into her room. She didn't pull the shades, she 
didn't pull the shades! 

He quivered with excitement, staring until his eyes burned. 

Obviously, she loved her hair. He gazed at it, entranced. She sat before her 
dresser mirror, brushing and brushing. It was a rippling sheet of glinting, 
almost scintillating ruddy flame that fell and fell down her back to hang 
nearly to her waist. It was beautiful, so beautiful. It made his throat 
tight, just watching her. 

She brushed and brushed, wearing a fluttering green robe-something with 
long, full, slicky-looking sleeves. Since he hadn't seen it before, he 
guessed it was something she wore only in the bedroom. Just when she brushed 
her hair, maybe. Her beautiful, beautiful hair. 

Then Aunt Constance stood up and turned. He caught his breath and went all 
hot and trembly. 

The negligee hung loose and open, all the way down the front. She wore 
underwear, and he had never dreamed of seeing his aunt in her underwear-or 
that it would be so beautiful. 

Brassiere and brief panties were pale beige, edged with a dark, chocolate 
brown. They were decidedly erotic and more than pretty. The bra was all 
swollen with her breasts. He could see parts of them, between the cups, and 
the tight deep crease between them. They were ripply, and smooth looking, 
and very, very white. The sun never saw them-and he supposed no one ever 
did, but Aunt Constance and her mirror. 

And now he himself. 

She also wore a shining, lace-edged band, like a buckleless belt, slung low 
on her hips. From it hung thinner straps, these with buckles. They were 
clipped to the dark tops of her stockings and held them tautly in place high 
on her long, slim thighs. The vertical straps actually edged into the firm 
flesh of those thighs, making tiny ridges, very white between the tops of 
her stockings and the high-cut legs of her panties. He could see the little 
hollows of her lower hips, just where her thighs joined them. 

He stared at her in a rapturous agony of excitement. 

She was not, somehow, Aunt Constance. Not this beautiful woman with the 
shimmering massy waves of red hair falling all down her back and foaming 
over her shoulders, this woman wearing the very sexy underwear and garter 
belt. She was ... she was like ... He frowned. She was a Woman, that was 
what she was, not an aunt! 

She walked directly toward the window, and Barry had two terrible moments in 
swift succession. First he thought that she had seen him, out here in the 
darkness, then that she was going to close the drapes and rob him of the 
ecstatic vision. 

But she did neither. She bent over the little table beneath the window and 
beside the bed, which was just to his left of the window. He stared into the 
dark valley of her cleavage with emotion-blurred eyes. Then she 
straightened. He tried to make himself tiny, invisible, as she looked out. 
But she was directing her green-eyed gaze upward, at the sky. Fine; he would 
look up at her! 

Barry watched her hands rise to her breasts. He saw how hard she squeezed. 
The bra dented deeply and the snowy tit-flesh between bulged even more 
whitely. One hand loosened to slide down, and down. Barry's mouth went dry 
and his body lurched and he went even hotter. Her hand slid down to the 
bulge in the precise front-center of her panties. She rubbed. And rubbed. 
Her thighs parted, then opened still more. 

She stopped to take off her brassiere. His eyes bulged when he saw her naked 
breasts jump out. Somehow he had not visualized Aunt Constance as having 
breasts, just a bosom. But she certainly had, and they were unconditionally 
lovely. He remembered that night he had watched his parents. He still felt 
shaky, and a little guilty about that. They had died without knowing what a 
sneaky boy he was. How Aunt Constance would punish him if she knew! 

She flipped back the negligee, her round firm breasts bobbling and jumping. 
The wrapper fell from her in a green cloud. She was the most beautiful thing 
he had ever seen, a long sinuous column of feminine loveliness. So tall and 
slim, yet without being angular. Now she hooked her thumbs into her panties 
and ran them down her thighs. Her breasts swung forward as she bent to slip 
the garment off her calves and feet. 

But he hardly paid attention to her free-hanging white tits. He had had a 
glimpse of the great mystery, the gleaming triangular patch of fiery fleece 
between the tops of her thighs, at the very base of her belly. 

He lay there and watched his now-naked aunt reach down with both hands and 
part that silky hair, and he noticed how lovely it was to have it framed by 
her garter belt and its straps and the dark tops of her hose. Now it was not 
her pubic hair she was parting, but herself, with both hands. He could just 
make it out: one of her slim fingers, very pale against the red patch of her 
pubic hair, disappeared into herself. Then another. 

He was watching his aunt, Miss Icicle, and she was not only naked, but she 
had two fingers up her cunt! 

Still facing the window, turning her eyes upward again at the stars, she 
stretched out her left arm to lean against the wall. Staring upward at the 
heavens, she gave him a heavenly view. She diddled herself with a twisting, 
writhing, erotic enthusiasm. 

Her fingers slithered in and out of the swollen cuntal lips of her love 
nook. Her fingers began to glisten with her own inner pussy fluid. Her 
thighs flexed and went even tauter. Her face tightened up and she arched her 
back, throwing her breasts forward. Her fingers slicked in and out, in and 
out, and every time they dived again into the deeply pink flower of her 
cunt, her knuckles rubbed her clitoris. The node of her sensuality rose, and 
twitched, and she began to gleam with perspiration. Her lips moved. The 
muscles of her face worked. Her breasts seemed larger. She quivered and 
rippling shudders rushed up and down her willowy body. Her fingers plunged 
in and out. 

Then, holding two fingers well up inside herself, she hunched a bit and 
applied the tip of the index finger of her other hand to the very top of her 
excited cuntal slit. He saw her wrist moving swiftly, in little circular 
rubbing motions. 

Then he actually heard her squealing a little sigh of satiated completion. 
Her body jerked as if struck or as if caught in a series of strong, 
multi-directional winds. Next moment she was gone. She had toppled sideward 
onto her bed. 

Barry lay there on the shed roof, on his stomach. He was moving helplessly, 
sliding himself around and around with his penis under him. He was very hot. 

He did not want to stop, but at last he did, and he went into the house. 
Very quietly, he returned to his room. He was a long time getting to sleep. 

A week later he had his first nocturnal emission. Both his aunt and Miz Anna 
seemed to take a great deal of interest in it. He expected to be punished, 
but he wasn't. By that time his desire and need to watch his aunt was a rage 
in his blood, and after that he watched her, from the roof of the locked 
shed, many, many times. 

And of course one night she saw him. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

That night Aunt Constance had played with herself for a very long time. She 
seemed to be straining, as if unable to get her release. He strained too, 
forgetting himself and rising to a crouch to watch her the better. Her eyes 
seemed to fall on him. He shuddered, but her gaze moved on away and she 
continued for a moment or two longer. Then she stopped and moved to the 
side, and he knew she was getting into bed. As usual, he waited a while 
after she turned out the light. 

Then he descended from the shed roof and stole across the back yard. Because 
Miz Anna's room adjoined the kitchen, he had always been very nervous about 
passing through it on his way out. So he had dreamed up and adopted a simple 
expedient. He rescued a bunch of old clothing from the basket for The Poor, 
and he formed them into a long knotted sort of rope. It was troublesome, 
keeping it in the shoe box in the closet, but he did, and when he took it 
out he tied it around the leg of his bed. It was an old bed, big and heavy, 
the way things used to be made. 

Barry was sturdy, and strong, and it was little more work climbing back up 
than it was descending. Wearing sneakers, he climbed like a telephone 
lineman, his feet walking up the brick house. Then it was nip in the window, 
undo the cloth rope and pull it up, and tuck it away in the shoe box. Since 
Anna made his bed and put his folded clothes in his dresser drawers and 
cleaned his room and sometimes checked his closet before she did the 
laundry, it was the only safe place he could think of. 

Tonight he climbed back up, still wondering-and worrying a little-about Aunt 
Constance's seeming difficulty in bringing herself off. (He had done some 
more reading, and checking around, and he knew about that, now. Besides, he 
had had his first nocturnal emission, and he had managed to bring himself 
off consciously, out in the yard one night before climbing back up into his 
room.) 

Once inside his darkened room, he turned to pull up the cloth rope and close 
the window. Then he squatted to undo it from around the leg of his bed. And 
the light came on in his room and his heart jumped straight up into his 
throat. 

He looked up. 

Standing beside the lightswitch with her hand still on it, Aunt Constance 
gazed levelly at him. She wore the long, dark blue robe of fleecy stuff. It 
was designed for warmth and utility, and did nothing for her body, nor did 
it show any part of it but her ankles and hands and face. 

They stared at each other in silence. 

"Well, Barry," she said at last. "So you were watching me. And this wasn't 
the first time, was it?" 

"Wha-what?" 

"Barry! I know. I saw you. You were on the shed roof. You tied all those old 
clothes together, and you use the knots to climb up and down. Obviously this 
isn't the first time. You've been out there before, watching me. Now haven't 
you?" 

He felt extremely hot and knew his face was flaming. Looking down, he 
nodded. He was frozen in his squat beside his bed. 

"I can't think of anything more wicked for a boy to do. That's called 
window-peeping, and there are laws against it. It is not mentally healthy. 
You can be arrested, for peeping in people's windows!" 

He couldn't speak. Saying "I'm sorry" seemed totally ridiculous in these 
circumstances. 

"Well, young man, my wicked young man, get your nasty sneak-thief rope loose 
and bring it to me. Now!" 

His hands had become lumps of awkward flesh, each equipped with five thumbs. 
But at last he got the knots undone. He straightened slowly. Then he walked 
to her, avoiding her eyes. He held out the rope of knotted bits of cloth. In 
it were a sheet, a couple of blouses, one of his old shirts that had been 
too small when he moved here, and a pair of woman's slacks. All twisted and 
torn and knotted together. 

She slapped his cheek, very hard. He grunted and had to snap one foot out to 
the side to keep from being knocked off his feet. But he bit his lip and, 
not looking at her, opened his eyes very wide to hold back the tears. 

She took the makeshift rope from him. Examined it. Identified its 
components, one by one. Stood there in silence for a time. Then she ordered 
him to undress. 

He jerked his head up. "Uh-everything?" 

"Everything." The gaze of the Snow Queen was implacable. There was a sliver 
of ice in her heart, and another in her eyes. Only Barry knew about the heat 
of her, the sensuality, and the means she used to assuage its burning within 
her. 

Very slowly and with great reluctance, he undressed. He was furiously 
embarrassed. He was even more embarrassed when she said, coldly and 
scathingly' 

"Imagine! A child with a little pecker like that, going around looking in 
women's windows! What a silly little boy you are-what a silly, nasty little 
boy!" 

His hanging head came angrily up. His face was deeply flushed, not only with 
embarrassment and humiliation but with sudden anger. But he still had to 
look up to meet her gaze. It was cold, and she lifted one eyebrow. 

"Ye-es?" 

"I'm ... I'm terribly ashamed, Aunt Constance. And ... and I'm so SORRY!" 

"Of course you are, you nasty little boy! But you needn't think you can 
escape punishment with that babbling! Come along. You'll be punished now-in 
my room. You're so anxious to see it, Barry dear-you WILL! And then maybe 
you won't be so anxious hereafter!" 

Shivering, Barry went with her. Her room was lovely, very soft and female. 
It smelled like Woman and like her. He loved the big four-poster bed and the 
fancy bunting-stuff above the head of it. 

She ordered him to lie on it. He hesitated. She stormed at him-locking the 
door-and he did so. It felt so good! It smelled like her! He pressed his 
face into the pillow Until she jerked it from under his face and slipped it 
under his groin. Then she tied one end of his own cloth rope around his left 
ankle, and flung the rope under the bed. She went around, drew it out and 
up, and tied it around his right ankle. He was forced to spread his feet as 
far apart as they would go. 

She used an old pair of her own stockings to bind his wrists to the head of 
the bed, also out-flung, so that his prone body formed a great 
pink-and-white X on her yellow-sheeted bed. 

He had never known such pain. 

She didn't spank him, she didn't use the hairbrush. She used a long plastic 
cord, round and thinner than her little finger, that he knew was the 
tie-belt of her black faille dress. And she beat him. 

The nasty whip sang in the air, and lashed down onto his rounded boyish ass 
with a terrible cracking sound. Pain boiled in his bottom, and then lanced 
through both ankles and both wrists when he tried to convulse and escape. 

"There will be fourteen more like that, Barry, and it will hurt, and leave 
marks on your round bottom. You may have some difficulty sitting down for a 
while. But you will remember how I feel about your sneaking out at night and 
climbing up on the shed to look in my window!" 

Lash number two came, all fire and ice across his trembling bottom. And then 
three, and he sobbed aloud, and four, and he cried out, and five, and tears 
spurted from his eyes. 

"Turn your head this way!" she snapped. He obeyed, to see her standing there 
beside the bed, near his head. Her robe was open. She was panting. There was 
perspiration in the crease between her black-brassiered breasts, which 
heaved with her panting. She wore matching black panties, edged with lace, 
and the garter belt and stockings. 

"You make too much noise, you evil, nasty boy! Well, look! This is what you 
wanted to see, isn't it? Your poor old maid aunt's body! The body of Miss 
Icicle! Oh, yes, I know my name! Well, can you see it? Can you?" 

"Yes, Aunt Constance," he murmured. "It's-you're beautiful." 

"You dare tell me-!" And SWISH, and SWACK, he received a sixth lash across 
the very base of his back. It was worse than the ones across his butt. He 
bit hard into his lip so that his cry came out only as an ugly, throaty 
groan of pain and anguish. "Tell me you're sorry!" 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Aunt Constance!" 

"Tell me you're sorry you said that about my body. TELL me, damn you!" 

"I'm sorry, Aunt Constance. I shouldn't have-I'm sorry I told you that 
your-that you're beautiful." 

"Say it isn't so!" 

He squeezed his eyes shut. He opened them wide. His tears darkened her 
yellow sheet. He bit his lip. Pain still flickered through him. He didn't 
want any more. It hurt, terribly. She wanted it to hurt. But "I-I can't. I 
can't say that, Aunt Constance." 

"WHAT? Can't? You mean you WON'T?" 

"I-I can't say you aren't beautiful, Aunt Constance. I-I ... won't. You 
are." 

Three more lashes, as fast and hard as she could swing them, and with the 
third one he screamed. She paused, still panting. His helplessly bound young 
body writhed on her bed. What was worse, what was awful, he thought, was 
that he knew something she didn't know. He-he had a hard-on! 

"So! You'd scream and wake up everyone-well then, here, maybe you haven't 
seen enough. There-and-there. Now, that's what you were out there looking 
at, isn't it, you evil evil boy?" 

She had pulled off her panties. Her fiery red bush, almost a perfect 
triangle, as though laid out between her thigh-tops with two rulers, was ... 
beautiful. Exciting. He could even see the pursed lips, and the slit between 
them. The slit she had so often widened and plugged with her own fingers, 
while he watched. 

But it wasn't to show him herself that she had stripped off her flimsy black 
panties. She gagged him with them, stuffing them into his mouth and warning 
him that there'd be an additional ten lashes if he spat them out. 

He chewed into them. He could smell her pussy on them. He could taste her 
stale urine in her panties. He concentrated on that, thought hard about it, 
while he received the rest of his whipping. His beating. By the time she 
finished, calling out FIFTEEN! loudly, she was covered with sweat and 
panting wildly. And his hindquarters were a mass of flame. 

Only she could see the frightful red of his buttocks and the welts that 
barred them. Her fury evaporated slowly as she stared down at him. The 
wildness left her eyes. She stood at the foot of the bed, and he could not 
see her, testing the moistness of her cunt, then lifting a finger to touch 
her clitoris. 

She came in seconds and nearly fell to the floor with the intensity of her 
climax. 

Then she went to the dresser and returned with a towel and a bottle of cold 
cream. She sat on the bed beside him. His body jerked and shuddered with his 
spasmodic sobbing. She spent many minutes gently smoothing her 
cold-cream-smeared fingers over his tight little boyish buttocks. Then she 
untied him. 

"Does it hurt, Barry, my little Barry?" 

He nodded, trembling. He could not see his butt, but he could see the fierce 
red marks on his wrists, where he had automatically tried to yank himself 
loose as he was beaten. 

"Yes," he whispered weakly. "Yes, Aunt Constance. It hurts. Thank ... thank 
you for ... for putting something on it-uh!" He had begun to sit up, and one 
flaming buttock took a little pressure. It could not. It was terribly sore. 

"My poor boy." She slid an arm about his shoulders. "What you did was very 
bad, and I had to punish you severely for it. You do understand that, don't 
you?" 

"Yes, Aunt Constance," he said, lifting his face a little to see hers. He 
was trying to look anywhere but at the pristine white beauty of her 
brassiered breasts. She had caught the tail of her robe across her thighs, 
so that her naked crotch was covered. 

She gazed at him. "How like ... him," she said, and he wondered. Did she 
hate him? Did she hate his father for some reason? Was there a mingling of 
hatred and love as well? Was that possible? 

"My poor hurting boy," she said, pulling him against her. There was no place 
else for his head to go; it was soon pillowed against the swell of her 
breast. The brassiere was unboned, no more than an almost-opaque sling. Her 
breast felt very warm and very soft, despite its firmness. He knew it was 
firm. He had seen it naked. It stuck out. 

"So you've seen me naked," she said thoughtfully, quietly. "And you've been 
grievously punished for it. You must never tell anyone, Barry." 

That hurt him; as if she thought he might! He assured her that he would not 
dream of it. She squeezed him to her soft, sweaty breast and patted his 
upper arm, with her arm all the way around his back. She sighed. He felt her 
fingers tighten on his arm, just below the shoulder. The movement felt 
convulsive, unbidden. 

"Oh," she whispered, "God." And she shuddered. 

Then: "All right, Barry. You've been wicked, and you've been punished. 
That's all of that. Go to bed. Oh-and try to lie on your stomach. I don't 
want cold cream smeared all over the sheet." 

He had managed to cover his erection, to keep it from her. He went to his 
room, walking slowly and carefully, with pain. But then, with a robe around 
him, he went back down the hall to the bathroom and jacked himself off, into 
the sink, where he could see it. Flushing the toilet, he also ran the water 
in the sink and removed all traces of his semen before going back to his 
room. He heard a sound from behind her door, much .like a sob. 

Good, he thought. Maybe she feels bad about hurting me! I bet she didn't 
mean to hurt me so much! 

But if she had felt guilt, she regretted it afterward, and did her icy best 
to compensate for her weakness. He was thereafter treated like a slave. 
Although now and then she slipped and acted like she loved him, he got his 
attention through punishment. But it was never again as bad as the night he 
thought of as That Night. Not until Mrs. Seymour told Aunt Constance about 
the games he'd been playing with her daughter Lee-Ann. 

 CHAPTER SIX 

Barry was nearly fifteen. Lee-Ann Seymour was nearly eighteen. She was also 
short, slightly plump, very well-developed, and experienced. Also interested 
in-games. She was precisely his height, and the day she took him into their 
empty house and up to her bedroom they soon learned that they fitted 
precisely. 

She used words he didn't know girls used. 

She pulled off her blouse and then her brassiere. A pair of pink, warm, 
thrusting breasts sprang free and bobbed and shook before settling down to 
jut imperiously before her. Cupping them, she smiled at him. 

"Do you like my tiddies, Barry?" He nodded. "Oh, yes. Oh, yes," he said, and 
moved quickly to her as if she had chains attached to her tiddies, and they 
dragged him-to her, to them. He played and squeezed and sucked and licked 
and sucked some more. She loved it. Every sound and movement she made showed 
him, told him how much she loved having her tits manhandled and sucked. 

She told him how hot she was. She checked his pants, found his cock hard, 
and opened his fly. She took out his prick. 

"Why it's a nice cock! Not too little at all! You aren't a boy at all, are 
you, Barry darling? Oooh, what a MAN you're going to be! If you keep on 
growing, you'll have a cock like a-a baseball bat!" 

A little embarrassed by the openness of her talk, which was new to him, he 
devoted his attentions solely to her naked, flopping jugs. Now they shone 
with the marks of the many times his tongue had licked over their firm pink 
contours. 

"This is just-awfully nice," she gasped, "but-you do want to fuck me, don't 
you, Barry darling?" 

He nodded and squeezed her naked jugs in his enthusiasm. "Yes! Yes!" 

"Well let's get your pants off, then, baby. I know you love my tiddies-but 
wait till you see my cunt-and wait till you feel how all hot it is inside!" 

Off came his pants, shirt, and shoes. Then she stepped back, conscious of 
putting on a show. He watched while she slid her panties down. Her hair was 
longish, just short of her shoulders, and brown, center-parted. Now he saw 
lighter hair as she slid her panties down, hair with glints of red in it. 
When he squinted he could almost tell himself it was like Aunt Constance's 
.... 

"Well?" the girl prompted, straightening with her pants on the floor at her 
feet. "Is it pretty, Barry? Isn't it a nice little pussy? Do you want to get 
your thing in it, Barry?" 

He nodded, staring at it. He couldn't see any lips. Just the slit. It looked 
very tight. He wondered if she ever put two fingers in it. He wondered if it 
could open enough to get his cock into. It was swollen and hard, now. He 
wondered if his cock would be long enough to fill her up and make her feel 
good. He wondered .... 

"Barry? Barry?" Her voice rose querulously. 

He raised his eyes to her face. Then he moved swiftly to her. "I want to 
fuck you!" 

She shivered in delight. "Oh, good! Let's fuck! Oh, Barry baby, fuck me and 
make me feel so good!" She sat quickly on the bed and swung her legs up, 
pivoting on her large butt. Lying back, she gave him a lecherous little 
grin. 

As he sat on the side of her bed, naked, she clamped her thighs suddenly 
together and giggled. Her inner thighs made slapping sounds as they met, 
tightly. They were bigger, he thought, and rounder than Aunt Constance's 
thighs. 

"Do you want me to open my legs?" 

"Of course," he said, trembling with excitement. He put his hand on one of 
her chubby thighs. It was very hot. She trembled, and he moved the hand over 
onto her bush. She gasped and hunched it up a little, to his hand. 

"Tell me then, Barry. A woman likes to be told!" 

"Really?" His fingers slithered through the silken hair covering her mound. 
He squeezed. It felt like breast-flesh, except for the hair. At once soft 
and firm. 

She giggled again. "Of course, silly. I mean, I've been doing all the 
aggressing! The man's supposed to do that! A man's supposed to start things, 
and tell the woman what to do." She licked her lips. "The man is the 
aggressor," she said, and she sounded like she was reciting in class. 

He squeezed her pubic mound. "Open your legs, woman!" 

She trembled violently. "Oh, Barry! Do you really think I'm a woman?" 

He squeezed again, nodding. "Of course," he said. It was a lie. She was just 
a girl. Aunt Constance was a woman. But the only place he had ever put his 
prick was between his hands, and this girl, this silly giggly chubby 
Lee-Ann, wanted to fuck. She wanted his pecker-that is, his cock in her 
sli-in her pussy. He could afford to lie a little! 

So he told her yes, he thought she was a woman, and she shuddered with joy 
and reached up to drag him down for a kiss. Her legs snapped wide apart. He 
began scrambling between them, then remembered something he had seen. One 
night, long ago. Back when he was just a kid. His mother and his father. But 
"Umm ... Lee-Ann ... have ... have you had a bath today?" 

"Wha-att" She lurched halfway up to a sitting position, but fell back. Her 
eyes were large and hurt. 

He smiled. "I'm sorry. I was thinking...." 

"Ba-a-arry-y-y-ohhh, Barry-y-yyyy. , . ." 

He had wiggled a finger into the slit of her cunt. It was extremely warm, 
and very soft, damp, and snug. It was lovely. He wiggled his finger around, 
then pushed it in a little farther. And again he had a vision of what his 
father and mother had been doing, the night he watched. And the things he 
and Mary Lou had done-that was all they'd done! 

Very possibly he spoiled Lee-Ann, then, for life. For when he put his mouth 
down to her sweet young cunt, and let her feel his breath and his lips and 
his tongue, how would she ever be able to accept the uninspired horse-around 
"lovemaking" of most of the males she would meet? 

She jerked and gasped and clutched the sheet. She smiled, quivering, feeling 
herself go all wet inside, her pussy wetting itself as its inner surface 
hungered for the caress of his tongue. He was holding her slightly open, 
like a just-sliced peach, and running his tongue up and down the delicate 
inner surfaces of her cuntal lips. They were the softest surfaces his tongue 
had ever touched. Even softer and slicker than the inside of his own mouth. 
He loved it. He was not wild about the faint smell of urine, but he liked 
the faint aroma of sweat. He wondered-she probably hadn't bathed today! 

Well, he'd just be a little more fastidious in the future. Mean while-- 

Mean while he enjoyed licking her pussy. She grew wetter and wetter inside, 
like the salivation of a half-starved mouth. 

Her hands dug into his hair, pulling his face against her bulging mound so 
that his chin rubbed against the lower lines of her vulva as his tongue 
dived deep between the slippery pussy-flanges. She squealed and jerked 
herself up and down. Her rounded belly heaved up and down. But she worked to 
control herself, gasping with strain. 

Then she was moving only slightly, rotating her hips in gentle circles and 
grunting softly while he licked and slithered his lips over the softer, 
fuller, wetter lips of her vulva. Her cunt was suffused, glowing with wild 
excitement, and dribbling hot juices. 

He liked the taste of the juice of her cunt. 

The liquid sounds he made with his busy tongue told her that he was licking 
up that oozing sauce from her gap, and the thought made her shiver out a 
torrent of delighted gasps and moans. And she'd thought he was a boy! What a 
brilliant, wonderful, educated, clever, expert lover he was! How he knew 
what to do to make a woman's mind blow with pleasure! 

Her thirsty cunt seemed afire, so hot that it fumed and frothed and tried to 
impale itself on his lovely but woefully small tongue. 

She sighed and caressed his head and rotated her hips gently, afloat on the 
ocean of sensation flowing over her young body. 

Then he slid his tongue up to touch the twitchy little lump of flesh his 
nose had discovered. He wondered-had Mary Lou had one? He'd never found it, 
if she had. Now he realized: this lump was what his aunt rubbed so 
assiduously in the final moments of her solitary pleasure-taking! This must 
be it. 

He rubbed it with his tongue. 

Lee-Ann came squealing and heaving and panting, jerking as if she were being 
flayed alive. She grabbed him and her nails hurt as she dragged him up on 
top of her. 

"God oh god oh darling oh Barry oh lord mash my tiddies, squish my tummy, 
fuck me, fuck me!" 

He didn't have to worry about making an error in trajectory, seeking 
blindly. She shot a hand down between them and guided his prick in between 
the slippery wet lips he had just fondled and licked. 

"Ah!" she gasped. His livid prick had run straight up into her. Everything 
was so perfect that they might have been made for each other. 

"Ah!" she gasped again. She held him close. She was strong, and her 
fingernails hurt. "Just whang away, Barry, Barry darling. You'll cum in 
about a second and then you can do it again, longer!" 

"Your-your fingernails hurt," he told her, rooting in her and feeling the 
most exquisite sensations of his life. This sure beat hand-jobbing himself! 

"Oh, oh, I'm sorry," she said contritely, loosening her grip. 

"And I'm supposed to be the aggressor," he said, trying to pronounce the 
word as if he'd been saying it all his life. "Stop telling me what to do." 

"Guh-gah, ah, that's so-goo-ood....All right-ummm! I'm sorry, Barry 
darling-you're so aggressive! A woman does so love to be mastered!" 

Feeling about twenty feet tall, he fucked her. 

His hard, thickened penis streamed in and out of her gushy cunt as if it 
knew all there was to know about this, as if he had done it a thousand, a 
million times before. His butt bounced up and down and his thighs slapped 
hers and the bed between hers, and his prick whipped in and out of the most 
wonderful thing God had ever created. 

Humping strongly upward, she gave herself up to her insatiable appetite for 
cock. She was groaning with lust and begging him to fuck her harder, ever 
harder. He tried. Her soft masses of breasts squirted and rolled around 
beneath his ramming chest. He told her to quit telling him what to do, 
fucking her. She told him to make her, fucking him. He squeezed her hips 
hard, then slid his hands under her and tried to sink his fingers into the 
plump cheeks of her ass. 

"Ohgodoh god! I LOVE that! Oh Barry darling darling-" 

Oh god is right-I'm going to cum! he thought. It was a desperate thought. He 
didn't want to end it. How can I stop from cumming! 

The thought was there, and the will, and so on his very first fuck he began 
to learn control. He strained to hold back the semen until it was a painful 
flaming ache in his terribly tight balls. 

But he hung on, and held back. He kept fucking her, squeezing her ass hard 
and trying to hurt her tits with his chest. 

His strong young cock plunged again and again into the downy nook between 
her thighs, jamming into the moist flesh and building up the hot internal 
pressure of his scrotum to an almost unbearable degree. It hurt! 

His fingers slid about beneath her. They gripped, digging into the sleek 
sweaty crevice between her asscheeks. She grunted. She worked her crack up 
and down on those probing fingers with a delirious enjoyment. 

She was frantically fucking herself in an effort to quiet the lust surging 
inside both of them. She didn't know about his holding back, and she didn't 
agree with it anyhow. She wanted it in her; that was the great joy of it 
all, getting all that hot sticky stuff up in her pussy and then going to the 
bathroom to get it all out again, liking the slippery slickery sticky feel 
of it on her fingers. 

He reached the point when he couldn't hold it back any more. He shot off 
into her with a shuddering groan. Crying out joyously, she held him close 
while his virginal prick sent hot sticky streams of semen up into her 
squirming hole. 

They lay there so long, after that, that she was nervous both about his 
seed, crawling up in her in search of an egg, and about her mother. So they 
didn't get that second balling session. She hurried to the bathroom and 
Barry hurried home. 

But they did it again the next day, and the next, and many more days, and 
one of their neighbors noticed, and she mentioned it to Lee-Ann's mother, 
who got off and came home about an hour after school was out, and what she 
found in her daughter's bedroom was her naked daughter writhing while the 
naked boy that belonged to Miss Icicle was eating her busy little box like 
he'd been weaned on cunt-juice. 

Mrs. Seymour told Barry to get the hell home. She told her daughter to get 
the hell into the bathroom. Barry didn't know that the screeching woman also 
told Aunt Constance, not until she called to him that night as he started 
into his bedroom. She beckoned, holding open her bedroom door. 

"Come along, my wicked and evil young friend, and let's talk about the birds 
and the bees-and Lee-Ann Seymour!" 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

As usual, she did not beat around the bush. As soon as he had nervously 
entered her bedroom, she closed the door firmly behind her and told him to 
turn around. She was still wearing the jumpsuit she'd put on just before 
supper. Green with white trim, it zipped all the way from the crotch, up to 
form a turtle neck or a normal collar. 

"Mrs. Seymour called me this evening, Barry." 

That hit him as hard as a knee in the crotch. He knew he showed it. 

"Do you know what she told me?" she asked. 

"I probably do, Aunt Constance," he said. 

"Suppose you tell me, then," Constance said. 

"I-you know I can't, Aunt Constance. I can't tell you about-that." 

After gazing at him a moment, she said, "All right. 

She said that she'd gotten word you and Lee-Ann have been going into their 
house nearly every afternoon for the past month or so. And that she came 
home and found you both naked, and you-in bed with her. Is that true?" 

He nodded, his face starting to glow. He looked at her knees. "Yes, Aunt 
Constance. That's true." 

"You've been taking advantage of that girl! You stand there and admit it?" 

Barry whipped his head up. "No, Aunt Constance. It wasn't that way. It 
wasn't! The first time-the first time she started it. She pulled me into the 
house and took me upstairs. She started undressing. I SWEAR, Aunt 
Constance," he said urgently, seeing her disbelieving expression. 

"She even-she even used words I didn't know women-girls used. Honest. I'm 
not saying that I wasn't, that I didn't-well, I sure didn't try to get away 
or anything." 

"I'll just bet you didn't." 

He gave his head a single shake. "But it wasn't-well, like you said, like I 
was taking advantage of her. She-" 

"WHAT words?" 

"What? I mean, ma'am?" 

"What words did she use that you didn't know women and girls used, Barry, my 
dear darling young Casanova Barry?" 

"Aunt CON-I can't tell YOU!" 

She gazed at him. Eyes like green ice. Mouth firmly compressed. Her jaw 
clenched tight. Her nostrils flaring slightly with her breathing. "I said 
tell me, Barry Brookshier!" 

He looked down. "I just can't!" 

"Well-good lord! Was it PECKER she said? Penis? Prick, was it that word? 
What do you think I am, the damned reincarnation of Queen Victoria? Barry!" 

Barry looked up and met her gaze steadily. "She said tiddies for breasts, 
that way; she doesn't pronounce t's very well. And she said pussy-I'd only 
heard that once before. And she said cock, and fuck. And she kept taking her 
clothes off, and she kept asking me if I liked this, and that." 

"This?-and that? TELL me, Barry!" 

"AUNT CONSTANCE!" 

"DAMN YOU, YOU CAN AT LEAST TELL YOUR AUNT WHAT WAS SAID! I haven't even 
ASKED you what was DONE, and it certainly wasn't TALKING that Emily Seymour 
called me up about!" 

Barry took another deep breath. Again he firmed his resolve. All right. He'd 
told her the words, he could do the rest, then. It wasn't fair, that girl 
had got him started and all, and he was some sort of monster who had "taken 
advantage" of her. The only possible way to take advantage of her would be 
"Aunt Constance ... the only ... the only possible way to take advantage of 
that girl would be-would be to do it to her in her sleep." 

She stared. 

Then, incredibly, his Aunt Constance laughed. It was a lovely, 
spring-water-over-pebbles, silvery laugh. 

"So-I've-heard," she said, chuckling. "And so I thought! Well. Barry: I 
believe you." 

"Thank you, Aunt Constance." 

"Of course, with a girl like that, the possible problems and trouble 
are-inestimable." She said it again, as if liking the sound of the fancy 
word. "Inestimable. She-her mother ... Well. But you have not told me what 
she said." 

"Aunt Constance, she pulled off her sweater and then her blouse and she said 
'Do you like my tiddies?' and then when she pulled down her panties she said 
'isn't it a nice pussy' and she asked me if I wanted to-she said 'don't you 
want to fuck me.'; and-and that's what she said. And I'm sorry I told you." 

He looked very solid, sturdy, much like his father except that he would be 
better built. And she was seeing his bravery, his almost incredible inner 
firmness. 

"And what did her mo-no, DID you like what she showed you?" 

"Yes." 

"Yes ma'am or yes Aunt Constance. Was what she showed you beautiful?" 

He hesitated. "Very ... pretty." 

"Not beautiful? You tumbled into bed with a nasty-talking girl whose tiddies 
and pussy weren't beautiful?" 

The words sounded different, coming from her, but they were still like 
little blows, shocks. Who-what-was his Aunt Constance? 

"Yes, ma'am, I did." 

"All of it." 

"All of it." He nodded. "And did you like it?" 

"Yes, ma'am. He looked up in anguish. "Of course!" 

"Of course, of course. And did she like it, Barry?" 

"Nearly every school day for nearly two months, Aunt Constance." 

"Two months! Answer by intimation, hmmm? A complicated concept-you're 
growing up. And what did she like best?" 

He regarded the floor, then his feet, then hers. He raised his eyes to her 
face. He was glad she was dressed the way she was, not-interestingly. 

"Aunt Constance, I can't tell you that." 

"You mean you won't-and I tell you that you will. Tell me what you did that 
she liked best, Barry." 

Growing up, she had said. Growing up? He grew up five years in that moment. 
She should have taken very careful note of what he said, and how he said it, 
and the fact that he had grown over an inch in the year he had lived here 
with her. Barry spoke clearly and he met her gaze. 

"Aunt Constance, I am not going to tell you." 

Silence, while she stared. Then, "You are not-I'll tell you what you are 
going to do. You are going to be punished." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

She gazed calculatingly at him for a few moments, then walked past him. She 
sat on the edge of her bed. "Come here, Barry, and take down your pants and 
stretch across my knees. Oh-and bring the hairbrush." 

He still loved that silver-backed hairbrush. It went through her hair, many 
times, every night. He wondered if she knew he thought that. He wondered if 
she could make him hate it by demeaning him, shaming and humiliating him, 
using it on his bare bottom like a child. 

He picked it up off the dresser, took it to her, turned sidewise to her 
legs, and dropped his pants. He hunched forward so that she could not see 
his genitals while he stripped down his shorts. Then he assumed the 
position. Her thighs still felt very good under him, even though he felt 
much bigger and much older and she was wearing the jumpsuit rather than just 
stockings between her legs and his bare body. 

A grown man can be made to cry; toughened boxers with bent noses and twisted 
ears have been made to cry, with sufficient pain of sufficient duration. 
Only a person with a dead mind and deadened flesh can resist crying, 
provided that person has been subjected to enough pain for a long enough 
time. 

Barry held back his outcries, for the silver back of the hairbrush was swung 
with vicious strength, and it hurt terribly. He bit his lip. Eventually he 
bit it enough to break the skin, and he felt the trickle of blood on his 
chin. He held his breath and curled his fingers back into his palms until 
the pain there subsided to numbness. But the pain in his buttocks never 
numbed, but only renewed and heightened again and again, and eventually he 
cried. 

She paused, with one hand on the small of his back. 

"And what did she like best, Barry?" 

"I-am not-going to-tell you." 

"I will beat you until you do!" 

"Kill me! YOU HATE ME-KILL ME THEN! GET IT OUT OF YOU, DAMN YOU, DAMN YOU, 
YOU MONSTER, YOU WITCH, YOU-YOU ICICLE, you ... SNOW QUEEN! BEAT me, then. 
BUT I will NOT tell you!" 

"Oh, my God." 

She dropped the hairbrush. She bade him stand. It took all his will and 
strength mental and physical. His buttocks were two angry, enraged masses of 
scarlet pain that throbbed and hurled needles all through him. But he stood. 

She rose and went swiftly to the dresser. She returned with a bottle of 
lotion. 

"Lie on the bed, Barry," she said quietly. "I'll-" 

"Don't bother," he said, staring at the wall. "I don't need your hand 
lotion." 

"Barry!" 

"I'm-s orry-Aunt-Constance-thank-you-forgiving-me-the-correction-Ineed-Aun 
t-Constance-I'm-sure-it-will-make-me-a-better-person." 

He spoke to the wall, and he sounded like a robot. "Barry." 

"Is that all, Aunt Constance?" 

"Barry-look at me." 

He did. She didn't look like an icicle. She looked extremely agitated, 
flushed and perspiring. Little tendrils of her hair had come down here and 
there and were plastered to her with the sweat from her temples. He looked 
into her eyes, keeping the stubborn set to his jaw. 

"I do not hate you, Barry." 

He said nothing. He knew she didn't hate him. "I-love you, Barry," she said, 
then added swiftly "I'm your Aunt!" He nodded. 

"Do you believe me, Barry?" she asked. 

He nodded. "Yes, Aunt Constance," he said, with just the hint of mockery in 
it. He realized now: he had shaken her up! The tip of the icicle was 
dripping. 

She sighed. "Do ... you love me ... Barry?" 

He blinked, several times, meeting her gaze. Then he answered truthfully. 
"No, Aunt Constance." 

He saw that he had hit her as with a whiplash. But she had some presence of 
mind, enough to think, and to ask, almost desperately, "Did you-did you love 
your parents, Barry?" 

"They were my parents," Barry said. Then he added, "They-they didn't like me 
much." He choked on that, and he fought hard, shaking, stopping himself from 
starting to cry again. 

She licked her lips and sighed. "Do-you hate me, Barry?" 

He shook his head. "No, ma'am." 

"Because I am your aunt, and love you, will you lie across my bed and let me 
put some of this on your-bottom?" 

"Yes, Aunt Constance," Barry said. He turned and stretched across her bed. 
She smoothed lotion onto his swollen, pain-filled buttocks, on and on, for 
many minutes. 

She also told him, just before he left her to walk painfully back to his 
room, that Mrs. Seymour had been explicit about one thing. He was to go to 
her tomorrow at precisely four o'clock. Barry nodded and went to bed. 

He had nightmares. In the morning he had a fever, and he was sick, and his 
butt was an agonizing mass of swollen flame. 

His aunt did not allow Anna into the room. She brought him soup, and 
aspirin, and she smeared more something over his butt-a great part of a tube 
of anesthetic ointment. It helped. 

When she came in at a quarter of four, he was on his feet. He was very red, 
sweating, and lurching. But he was putting his leg into his trousers. 

"Barry!" 

He didn't look up. 

"What are you DOING? You can't get out of bed-you've got to stay covered up. 
If-if this fever isn't gone in the morning, I'll have to call D-Doctor 
Herbert." 

"I have to be at Mrs. Seymour's at four o'clock." 

"Good-God! Are you really so-so strong? Can you really be their-their son? 
Oh, Barry! No no, get back into bed, I'll call her." 

He looked at her. "She'll never believe I'm really sick." 

"She will damned well believe it or not believe it as she sees fit, but she 
will accept it, and that is that Must I lock your door from the outside?" 

He was starting to answer when he lost his balance and fell. 

She was groaning and cooing, murmuring, the entire time she helped him back 
into the bed and drew the covers up over him. Then she bent to kiss him, 
telling him that she loved him. 

It didn't occur to him until the next day that she had called him Ed. 

The fever did break, though it gave him a hard time all night, and he 
realized in the morning that she had been there, covering him and 
re-covering him every time he hurled the covers feverishly off himself. He 
remembered; he had been horribly cold each time, then the warmth had 
returned, and had mounted and mounted until eventually he went through the 
process again. 

The next day was Thursday. He heard her call them up, at school. He heard 
the phone ring, and thought she was talking with Mrs. Seymour. Friday 
morning he got out of bed and twisted around to look at himself in the 
mirror. 

His entire butt was hideous. The pale patches that showed through the great 
black bruise here and there weren't even pink, but pale yellow. He fell back 
into bed and lay there wondering if he were crippled for life. 

Saturday he was up and dressed when she came in with his breakfast. She 
stopped, just inside the doorway. 

"I'm going to see Mrs. Seymour," he said. "I want to get it over with." 

"You-but can you-are you all right?" she asked. "I can walk." 

"I ... understand, Barry. But-Barry. Promise nothing." 

He nodded and left. 

Emily Seymour answered the door herself. 

"I've been sick. I had a temperature. I'm sorry I didn't come. I-I've come." 

"Yes," she said, acting tense and strange, rather than mean, as he'd 
expected. "Come in, Barry." 

He followed her into the living room, where she sat on the couch. He stood 
over beside a chair against the far wall. 

"You are not to see my daughter again," she said. "I understand. I'm sorry, 
Mrs. Seymour," he answered. 

"Sorry! What if she-what if she's pregnant!" 

"She was very careful, Mrs. Seymour. After." 

"You're a mannish boy!" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Sit down, Barry." 

"No, ma'am. I mean I don't want to. What are you going to do, Mrs. Seymour?" 

"What can I do? My daughter's a minor. She-" 

"So'm I, Mrs. Seymour." His voice was flat and dull. 

"You-well. Suppose they find out about you at school. They'd probably expel 
you, wouldn't they? There'd be a terrible scandal. It could hurt you for, 
for life, and it would just kill your aunt." 

"Please, Mrs. Seymour. Don't tell them at school. They'd call me in and ask 
me, and they'd wind up finding out about Tommy Thorpe and Ike Balfour and 
Teddy Wzniewski and C. C. Smith, too." 

"Who-what have all of those boys got to-got to-?" 

"They all did it with Lee-Ann too, Mrs. Seymour. I don't know who was first. 
I'm sorry, but they did, all of them. It would ... it would ... it would be 
terrible for both of us, Mrs. Seymour. Maybe her worse than me." 

"You-I-" She lapsed into silence. A fifteen-year-old boy! How could he be 
so-so-? But.... 

But she had decided in advance on a course of action, a special form of 
blackmail, and she was unable to forget about it now. 

"When ... when I caught you, Barry, you were ... you had your mouth on her 
... on her there." 

He looked down. He felt his flush rising. "Yes, ma'am. She liked it. I'm 
sorry." 

"She told me, the little bi-she told me. And you like it too." 

Staring at the floor, he nodded mutely. 

He heard her stir on the couch. "Well, I won't tell anyone, Barry. It will 
be just our secret, and so will this." 

He looked up. She was still sitting there on the couch, but now her legs 
were apart and her skirt was up and she didn't have any panties on. He was 
looking at her hairy, naked crotch. 

"Come on and do it for me. Barry darling, and we'll just forget all about 
all of it." 

Barry's eyes rose slowly to her face. She too was flushed. Her eyes were as 
bright and feverish as his had been a few days ago. Expectant. Anticipating. 
She had learned that a not-quite fifteen-year-old boy was a good lover, that 
he was a good cunnilinguist, and she wanted some for herself. He realized 
that's why she had wanted him here Thursday. She'd have met him in the same 
way-without her pants on. "Mrs. Seymour!" 

She smiled. "Oh, yes! Come on, Barry dear-my pussy's hungry for your 
talented little tongue!" 

Barry sighed. Then he walked over to the couch. She opened her legs a bit 
more and he saw a little tremor go all through her. 

"Oooh, yes, darling boy! On your knees now, and give me a nice licking out!" 

He went to his knees between her opened legs and gazed at her cunt. Oh God, 
he thought, the hair looked just dark from over there-it's RED! Red. J. like 
... Aunt Constance's.... 

He moved his face in closer. At least she had bathed. He even smelled 
perfume. She'd got herself and her hot snatch all ready for him. Barry 
sighed and closed his eyes, inhaling the perfume and the faint smell of 
cunt. I could be a male whore, maybe, he thought. 

I want to, he told himself. I want to I want to ... it's not Mrs. Seymour, 
that pretty red-haired cunt, it's ... it's.... 

He moved his head in. Her legs quivered. He explored the flesh of her soft 
inner thighs with his tongue before moving in to run it titillatingly over 
her fleshy, flat-lipped pussy. 

She groaned aloud and shivered. Her thighs closed on his head. 

Tickling his tongue between the ruffled little petals of her labia, he let 
it flip up to lash the prim little bud that peeped out at the top. 

She screamed and jerked her legs violently against his head. 

His mouth began to make wet slurping noises that heightened both their 
passions. She caught her breath sharply, noisily, as heat flooded through 
her. That damned on-and-off Fred never did this! He was too damned 
masculinely selfish! She felt it, felt it, quivering and pulsing, lapping 
over her pounding clit. Eat my pussy, oh eat me out, you darling darling 
boy, she thought excitedly. 

Now his tongue dipped into her cunt to search the inner circle of her labia, 
whipping around and around inside her snatch in a constant motion. She 
squirmed, straining to impale herself on it rather than swelter beneath his 
playfully teasing lingual activity. 

The sleek silkiness of her thighs gripped his head warmly. She hunched her 
crotch to his mouth, desperately seeking to quench her flaring desires. She 
groaned in undeniable rapture. Now her straining legs and hunching pelvis 
plastered the full, voluptuous lips of her cunt against his mouth so that he 
could hardly breathe. 

Her longing lust for fulfillment was a pain, deep in her quaking belly. 

He began to suck and slither his tongue over he clitoris, again and again 
and on and on, fanning her sighing, squealing inflammation up to the 
breaking point. 

It broke. 

Her vagina clamped and writhed with convulsive contractions. She was 
suddenly drenched in sweat as the final nectar of her erupting body drooled 
out onto his lips, over his tongue, into his mouth. She fell back on the 
couch, loose and limp and drained. 

Her hand slipped down to ruffle through his hair. "You darling darling boy. 
Oh, you clever, darling boy!" 

He was at the door when Mrs. Seymour called, rather shrilly: "I'll expect 
you at exactly the same time day after tomorrow, Barry." 

Barry let himself out and walked home without having said a word to her. His 
mind worked at top speed as he returned to the big house he shared with his 
aunt. 

She said nothing about it then, nor during supper, not later while they 
watched the Saturday Night Movie on TV, and then the News-Weather-Sports. 

Then Aunt Constance said, "Turn off the television, Barry, and come along 
upstairs. You must tell me about your conversation with Mrs. Seymour." 

He followed her in silence, out of the darkened living room and up the 
darkened steps and along the hall to her room, her lovely, perfume-redolent 
and very feminine bedroom. Seating herself on the edge of the big bed with 
its four tall posts, she looked expectantly at him. 

"Well, Barry, you haven't said a word about your meeting with Lee-Ann's 
mother." 

"Aunt Constance, what Lee-Ann liked best that I did was when I put my mouth 
on her ... her there." 

His aunt stared at him in amazement. He did not miss the little tremble that 
went through her, manifesting itself in the rippling of her loose, 
long-sleeved blouse. Her eyes shone cat-green in the glow from the bright 
overhead light. 

"Barry ... that ... that's what you refused to tell me, just a few days 
ago!" 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"But ... you were so adamant ... no matter what I did ... why do you tell me 
now?" 

"Some things ... some things you can't make me do, Aunt Constance. But now I 
have to tell you. She told her mother." 

Constance Deacon retained her puzzled expression. "Yes...." 

He sighed and licked his lips. Glanced nervously, embarrassedly around the 
room. Well, at least he'd told her that. He was afraid she'd be disgusted, 
shocked. But she didn't seem to be. He was beginning to realize that he 
didn't know his aunt, that perhaps no one did. She kept surprising him, with 
her reactions and-the things she knew. Like the words Lee-Ann had used. Aunt 
Constance hadn't seemed shocked at all, and has seemed angry that he had 
expected her to be. 

Now-now she seemed calm enough to learn that he was a cunt-lapper. It was 
something he had learned most of the guys at school-those who knew anything 
at all-sneered at and thought was purely disgusting, a demeaning posture and 
activity for a big strong he-man American male, which was of course what all 
American males were supposed to be. 

"Well ... Mrs. Seymour didn't want to talk, Aunt Constance. She wanted me 
to-to do the same thing. She made me do it to her." 

His aunt continued gazing at him. Her fingers twitched in little spasms. She 
blinked. 

"That woman called here and got you down there to get you to ... to lick her 
privates?" 

He nodded. 

She clenched her teeth and her jaw went all hard and firm. She blinked 
several more times. Then she heaved a great sigh. 

"Tell me everything that was said, Barry." 

Barry gave her a blow-by-blow narration of the conversation. 

"Is that true, Barry? About those other boys?" 

"Yes, ma'am. I know about those four. It's just that-well it isn't anything 
nasty, or wrong, or anything. You know. Lee-Ann just likes to-she likes to, 
umm, make out." 

"So then Mrs. Seymour seemed a little surprised, but she pulled up her skirt 
and showed me that she didn't have any panties on. And she told me to do 
it." 

"But you didn't have to! You'd proven that you didn't-she wouldn't dare tell 
anyone now! She doesn't want everyone to know that her chubby little 
daughter's screwing with half the boys in town!" 

"Well," Barry said quietly, looking down, "I did." 

"You like to, is that it?" 

He nodded in silence. 

"And-and now why are you telling me, Barry? You began with something you 
swore you'd die before you told me. Obviously you've been giving this a lot 
of thought. Why? What else, Barry?" 

"Aunt ... Aunt Constance ... just as I left, she told me she'd expect me 
back at the same time Monday. She wants me to do it to her all the time, 
Aunt Constance! That's-isn't that blackmail?" 

"Yes," she hissed. 

At last he raised his head and looked at her. "Aunt ... Constance ... I-I 
don't want to." 

"So you came and told me. You're still my little boy, aren't you, darling?" 

He nodded. 

"I'll take care of Mrs. Seymour," she said. 

He strained, tensing, wanting to run to the seated woman and hug her, yet 
unable to do so. She saw his hesitation, guessed at the cause, and she went 
tense and straining. At last she opened her arms, and Barry went to her. 
With his face against her neck, he hugged her as tightly as she squeezed 
him. 

His bottom was still sore, and nearly all purple with shots of yellow and 
black. Yet he wished there were something he could do to merit a 
whipping.... 

She didn't, and eventually he went to bed. After, for the first time, 
kissing her on the mouth and being kissed in return. It was very nice. Her 
lips were soft and warm. Maybe he did love her, at that. 

She also took care of Mrs. Seymour, and that was the end of that, and of him 
and Lee-Ann, too. 

As his buttocks slowly cast off their bruises and time passed, his 
relationship with his aunt returned to its former status. Once again he 
became little more than her slave. 

She began wearing her negligee outside her room, rather than the 
all-covering robes. Barry began to do things he knew would get him punished. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

"I won't have it, Barry! I will not have that sort of magazine in my house, 
do you understand?" 

He nodded shame-facedly. "Yes, ma'am." 

"I know why you want it. I know why you brought it home, it's full of 
nothing but pictures of young women with no more pride than to display their 
naked bodies for photographers, and then in those magazines. They know 
little boys are using their pictures just the way you've been using them!" 

His face blazed. She knew everything. 

"Get those pants off, Barry Brookshier!" 

Barry began taking off his pants. Already he was getting excited. He 
couldn't help it. It was that way. No matter what she called him, he was a 
sixteen-year-old boy with normal needs and a sixteen-year-old's 
constantly-working sperm banks. Too, he had been imprinted, in several ways. 
One was through having seen his parents, that night so long ago. Another was 
through his fascination with his aunt's hair. Another was the result of the 
corporal punishment she continued to inflict, although he outweighed her, 
now, by a few pounds and was only about three inches shorter than she. 

He was never punished that he didn't hurry back to his room, or to the 
bathroom, to masturbate. He knew that Anna had found some of the cloths he 
had used to jack off into, shorts and handkerchiefs, but she hadn't said 
anything-or at least she hadn't to him, and Aunt Constance had given no 
indication that she knew about his constant masturbation. 

It was not something she had ever proclaimed evil. After all, he knew that 
she did. At least she had previously; he had seen her do so, on many 
occasions. He didn't think she had stopped just because he had seen her. 
Hard as it had been, he had kept his promise. He had not again ascended to 
the top of the shed roof to watch her. 

Naturally enough he did avail himself of every opportunity for even the 
briefest glimpse of her flesh. 

Tonight, as he stretched over her thighs, she was unbelievably, 
breathtakingly beautiful. She wore a black brassiere that was all lace and 
nearly-transparent net, and her panties matched. Her hose were dark and 
figured and her garter belt was a black satin band that contrasted 
startingly with he white skin of her lower belly and hips. And tonight her 
negligee, with its long billowing sleeves and tight cuffs, was also black. 

The silver-backed hairbrush still hurt terribly. But she had told him in 
advance that he would receive ten handsmacks and ten with the brush. 

After five hand-smacks, the writhing boy began to plead. He couldn't tell 
her why, but she had to stop. She had to. 

She didn't. He squirmed. Liquid heat lunged and flowed through his body. Her 
hand came slapping down on his bare asscheek, and it hurt and yet it was 
good, too. He groaned and begged her again. The pain in his groin was a hot 
agonizing, lancing pressure. His penis was right on top of her stockinged 
leg, and it was all thick and hard already, and it hurt, and he was going to 
The ninth hard, well-spaced hand-smack fell onto his twitching, tensing 
buttock, and that was all his body could stand. 

He came, all over her thighs and stockings. 

She tumbled him to the long-haired shag rug beside her bed. 

"You-you filthy nasty b-is that ALL you can think of or do anymore? Look 
what you've DONE!" 

He was desperately ashamed and embarrassed. Tears streamed down his face as 
he told her how sorry he was, again and again. His semen gleamed on her dark 
stockings, and already one long trickle of it had run down and was oozing 
out over the tight-skinned curve of her left calf. The muscled flesh bulged 
beneath the charcoal-gray hose and swelled out into a shiny mound there. The 
semen-streak rode the mound. 

She was quivering violently with what he assumed was anger and horror. He 
was just as angry at himself. just as horrified, and terribly humiliated and 
filled with shame. 

"Well, you can just get it off!" she snapped at last. "Just stay right 
there, young man, and clean that sticky stuff off my stockings! Kneel up! Do 
it with your tongue. We'll see how you like the taste of your own nasty 
juice!" 

That he didn't much care for the taste of his cum was wholly beside the 
point. It was marvelous, his most marvelous experience to date. Kneeling 
there on the soft rug, in her bedroom and between her legs, and licking and 
sucking them! He quivered with he intensity of his pleasure, shuddered and 
quaked in helpless physical response to intense emotional joy. 

Beginning at the calf, he licked and sucked his way upward, coming up and up 
her stockinged leg, feeling the strange rough-soft texture of her stocking 
and the smoothness of her skin beneath, smelling the perfume and the 
woman-odor of her, the wonderful smells that were Aunt Constance alone and 
only, tasting not his semen but her, her, all mingled in a wild flaring 
libidinous joy of sight and smell and taste and touch. Yes, and sound, 
because she could not disguise her hard breathing and little gasps. 

He spent many minutes at it, and his knees did not tire. He licked up and 
up, and he came to the very top of her stocking. Then he realized that he 
had licked and sucked them both as clean as he possibly could. It was a 
crashing monstrous sadness that struck him then: he was through! He had 
finished; he had done it, and he did not want it to be over! 

Perhaps she didn't know, hadn't really noticed that his spurting penis-which 
was now up and thick again, charged with another boyish load from 
super-charged balls-perhaps she didn't know that he hadn't shot any of his 
steaming jism off over her bare thigh! 

So he continued licking and sucking. Higher and higher. His mouth cupping, 
his lips trying to scoop up little folds of snowy flesh as taut and firm as 
that of a girl of twelve. She had never had children and she had never .let 
herself go. She had never gone soft in the body. Oh, yes, her skin was soft, 
soft, the licking boy thought, as rose petals. But not her flesh, beneath 
the tight-stretched skin that sheathed it like fine nylon. 

He licked and sucked the softness, feeling the firmness underneath. 

The aroma of her heightened. Now his nose was touching the lacy edge of her 
panties. And she was gasping, fairly groaning in helpless pleasure. 

He took the ultimate chance. He couldn't think of the risk. There was no way 
he could stop to consider what he was doing, or what might happen to him. 
She was his aunt. If she were angered and shocked, she might well beat the 
ass off him. If she were not, if she responded in continual helplessness to 
his loving ministrations-she was his aunt. 

He licked his tongue in a long, long swipe over the shining black bulge in 
the center of her panties' triangle. 

"Ah-ahh! B-Ba-" 

He licked the delicate conch-chell bulge again. She trembled violently. Her 
throat continued to make sounds, but she was unable to put words together. 
The skin of her long sleek legs contracted and tensed with a sudden helpless 
eagerness. 

Through her panties, his tongue continued stroking her soft-fleeced vulva. 
Wild waves of tantalizing passion flowed through both of them with 
compelling force. Groaning, shivering, she sagged back on the bed and stared 
at the ceiling with glassy eyes. She moaned with inexpressible pleasure and 
ripple after libidinal ripple quaked the skin of her bared belly. 

He could not have stopped unless commanded and forced, and she could do 
neither. 

Slowly, centimeter by centimeter, he pulled her panties away from her 
red-furred cunt, and he licked the silky hairs and the softer flesh. She 
half-convulsed, grunting as a blaze of lust swept immediately into raging 
flames. 

Barry ... no ... stop ... don't do it ... I'm your.... 

But the words her mind formed would not emerge from her throat. Her larynx 
and tongue could not, would not form them. His tongue, his tenderness and 
ardent attentions were too good, too lust-arousing. 

He spent many troublesome minutes at it, but at last he had dragged and 
forced and teased and twitched her black briefs down to expose the bulging 
mound and the mass of flame-colored hair that formed a nest in her crotch. 
That soft pubic hair was already sleek and glistening with the moistness he 
had transferred to her from his mouth, through and around her thin nylon 
panties. 

He licked straight up the central slit and she made a throaty sound of 
ascending desire and delighted response. 

Beautifully, almost violently pink, the soft juicy cuntal folds of her labia 
dropped thirstily open. Within he could see lips that were far deeper in 
hue, lips that were ragged and fluttering, framing the quivering aperture to 
a turbulent chasm that only she knew had been probed by a man once, and once 
only. 

Drowning in sensuousness, she felt his face and mouth, his breath and 
glorious, wonderful, wet, warm, flickering tongue. 

It was like a scorching flame between her parted labia, in her, encouraging, 
urging her to push her pussy more vigorously against his nibbling lips. Her 
hand came alive, twitching. Without her bidding, it slid over his hair and 
pressed his head to her firmly. She moaned aloud, slivering, throbbing with 
moist desire and knowing that the inner glands were about to open up and let 
go their fluids all over his probing tongue, all over his face. 

His tongue slicked around inside her. 

His nose touched her pulsing clitoris, throbbing in response to his 
beautiful attentions. He pressed his nose down on it and twisted his head 
back and forth. His questing tongue immediately found and tasted and picked 
up more of her delicious cunt juice. She groaned in mindless arousal and 
complete response. 

He stroked his tongue up and up between the soft protective flaps of her 
cuntlips and ran it onto her surging love-button, then over it. And over it. 
Again. Again. 

The woman called Miss Icicle screamed. Her long svelte body lurched 
violently and sweat poured from it. 

The velvet-gloved hand of sexual satiation grabbed and shook her, and sexual 
tensions collapsed in a voluptuous sensation of liquid, flowing, orgasm. 

She lapsed into something approaching unconsciousness, and when she 
recovered he was on the bed-behind her, almost chastely-and smelling and 
playing with her hair. 

"Ba-Barry ... oh, God, Barry!" 

"I love you, Aunt Constance. Please let me brush your hair for you sometime. 
Please, Aunt Constance. It's so beautiful." 

"Barry, you've got to-I-we can't-" She sucked up a deep breath, expelled it 
slowly. She was staring at the ceiling. "Barry." 

"Yes, ma'am." 

"Go to bed, Barry. Good night." 

He was hurt, but he understood, or partially. He moved backward off her bed 
and went to the door. "Good night, Aunt Constance," he said, and he went to 
his room. 

She stood it as long as she could. She couldn't think of anything else. His 
mouth, his tongue, his tenderness. Ed. He looked like Ed. She loved Ed. She 
hated Ed. But Barry also looked like her sister. He had Helen's big dimple 
in his chin and he wasn't long and thin like Ed, but already he was a 
strong, muscular boy who would be a stronger, thicker, more muscular man. 

But I hate them both! 

It was so good-so like what Ed did, long ago You are a goddamned liar, 
Connie Deacon. You loved Ed then and you love him now. It's like 
reincarnation. He's back. But this time it's you who has the whip hand. 

Love and hate. Pain and pleasure. She was as if in a daze. 

We cannot be lovers. I can't relinquish my hold on him. He's got to be my 
slave, and every time I look at him I'll see Ed and Helen, both of them, and 
it will be like having them in my hands, under my thumb! 

But he loved her hair, and he very obviously loved licking and sucking her 
legs and her cunt. Things he wanted to do-She could enslave him and hold 
him, through her hair and her body and his desires, much more surely than 
through her authority as his aunt, and for far longer! 

Her world was changing in other ways. In Chicago, a man died. A men never 
dies in a vacuum. Others are affected. This time it was his wife, who was 
suddenly alone and who had a small house and a small amount of money. And a 
sister, nearly the same age as she, in Mt. Bester. They needed each other, 
now. The dead man was Anna's brother-in-law. The widow was Anna's sister. 
And, yes after all these years, Anna would leave the Deacon home. She would 
take a last trip, over to Chicago, and she and her sister would spend their 
last years together in a small house finally paid for by death, because a 
man and an insurance salesman had made a wise decision together. 

A short scrawny woman from across town, Mrs. Wharton, would come in three 
times a week. Constance and the boy would just have to get their own meals, 
until she found someone to come in as Anna, Miz Anna had, on a full-time 
live-in basis. 

Anna left tearfully, not wanting to take the chunk of money Constance 
impressed on her. Then she was gone, on a bus for Chicago, and Constance and 
Barry were alone in the house. 

Constance fretted and paced and twisted her hands and thought and fretted 
some more. 

At last she went down the hall and tapped on Barry's door. Then, to be 
certain he had no doubts about their relationship, she opened the door 
immediately. He looked up from where he sat hunched over school-work. 

"Does that have to be in tomorrow?" she asked. 

"No, ma'am." 

"Come along then. I want my hair brushed," she said. 

Moments later she sat in front of her mirror, gazing at the very excited boy 
who stood behind her, brushing and brushing, lovingly and with great care, 
the rich wealth of her red hair. 

"It's so beautiful, Aunt Constance," he said, practically whispering. "You 
should wear it down all the time!" 

"Don't tell me what I should do, Barry." 

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry." 

"Ouch. Be careful! Barry, I am aware of your constant masturbation, and I 
have resolved to do something about it." 

She curbed her exclamation of pain that time, understanding the shock and 
extreme fearful agitation that made him pull her hair. 

"Aunt Con-" 

"Hush. Stop a moment and take off your trousers." . "Aunt Con-" 

"Barry!" 

Still firmly under her thumb, Barry stopped, set down the brush, and 
stripped off his trousers. He wore white briefs, and the state of his 
arousal was immediately evident to her as she watched him, in the mirror, 
with narrowed eyes. There was a very creditable lump in his shorts-and it 
sent a very creditable jolt through her lower belly, like a juicing spurt of 
electricity. 

Still facing the mirror, she rose. She unbuttoned her blouse, paused a 
moment, and shucked it off. She tossed it at the straight-backed chair 
nearby and immediately opened and ran down her skirt. Her deep-plunge white 
brassiere snapped in front, between the fully-exposed flesh of her breasts' 
inner curves. Her pants and satin garter belt, too, were white. He was 
staring at her reflection in the mirror. Without seeming to pay the 
slightest attention, she sat down again. 

"Brush." 

Barry brushed. 

"I will not have you stupidly hung up as so many people are, Barry," she 
told the mirror. "Masturbation is normal and completely harmless and there 
isn't a psychologist in the country who doesn't agree. Yet it ... isn't 
normal in one sense. It is a solitary thing, a solitary activity, and human 
beings are not solitary creatures. Do you understand?" 

"I think so, Aunt Constance." He was thinking about Lee-Ann-and then about 
Gracie Corby who was mighty friendly lately and who excited him because she 
very obviously did not wear a brassiere. But-when he'd let off his sexual 
steam not as a solitary thing, with Lee-Ann, both he and she had been 
subjected to humiliation and punishment. What She told him in that same 
calm, cool voice; the well-known voice of Miss Icicle, whom everyone in Mt. 
Bester knew was in full and complete control of herself at all times. 
Everyone but Barry. 

"I don't lie, Barry. You know very well that women have needs, too. Back in 
your window-peeping days you learned that I, too, masturbate, didn't you?" 

"Yes, Aunt Constance." 

"Well. That's stupid. I mean for you to be in your room, doing that, and for 
me to be in my room, doing the same. Therefore we shall stop." 

A hand seemed to grab his guts and wrench. Stop! He could no more stop 
than-what was she saying? 

"I believe that's enough now, Barry. Stop now, and hand me the brush. I'm 
going to give you five little taps on your bare behind for not having that 
assignment finished before now"-which she knew was totally unfair-"and then 
you will use your mouth just as you did a few nights ago." 

He trembled. His eyes were bright. 

"And this time we'll see that you, too, get-relief." 

He got his five hairbrush smacks on the bare butt, and it hurt. When she had 
landed the fifth she made him stand and display his erection to her. She 
gazed at it with apparent impassivity-her face did not betray her inner 
seething turbulence. 

There was a light fur around his balls, now, and they were well-developed, 
eggs in a swollen sac that was only slightly wrinkled. His hard-on was not 
man-size, but it was getting there. He was probably five inches long, in 
erection, and the helmeted head was well-developed, silky looking and 
rounded and almost bright, red. The shaft was as smooth, except where it was 
ridged by the heavy veining that added to its beauty. 

She had to exert a conscious and forcible effort to keep from licking her 
lips. 

She stood up and took off her panties. Then she pointed to the rug between 
her legs as she sat, slowly, on the side of the bed. 

"All right, Barry. Kneel right there and let's have your mouth." 

He responded with alacrity and delight. He covered her legs, stockings and 
all, with his kisses. He squeezed and pressed and kissed the naked flesh of 
her thighs above the tops of her hose, well aware that the closeness of his 
face and kissing lips to her furry vulva, without touching it, was teasing 
her and arousing her passions. 

His prick was heavy and thick. It bounced before him as he knelt. When its 
sensitive tip touched the bed, it was almost more than he could bear. He 
kissed and licked. 

He used his hands to open her cunt, becoming more and more bold. She had 
said nothing, had not responded negatively when he had put his hands on her 
and pressed and caressed. Making a rigid little roll of his tongue, he 
thrust it into the hot red hole framed by the moist, thick lips of her 
pussy. He ran his tongue in and out ten, a dozen, two dozen times. She was 
sighing and stirring restlessly. He could see and feel the firm muscles of 
her thighs, tensing and flexing. 

Then he sucked her clit up into a full quivering glistening hard-on. She 
gasped and jerked in helpless pleasure. 

She began wiggling sidewise on the bed, twisting to move her supine upper 
body closer to the edge. 

He jerked violently when her hand swung down and closed around his erection. 
Her fingers felt very cool, but they warmed rapidly. While he continued to 
lick and suck her furry vulva, gasping into the hot red mouth, her hand 
moved up and down his prickshaft, stroking and wanking away at it. 

"Give me my panties," she said, in a strained voice. 

Without taking his mouth away from her, Barry found her discarded panties by 
feeling about below. He pressed them into the hand she removed from his 
cock, and then he gasped and nearly lost his tongue in her seething inner 
richness. 

She had wrapped hand and panties both around his achingly erect penis. 

Barry continued to lick her as she jacked him off, enclosing his sex in the 
soft silky warmth and femaleness of her own cunt-fragrant panties. He closed 
his eyes, inhaling her rich womanly aroma, and suddenly he saw a vision, an 
old one: his father and mother. His father had been doing just what he was 
doing now, sucking Helen's cunt. And she had been doing just what Aunt 
Constance was now doing-but with her mouth. 

With his eyes closed, Barry began to create a picture inside his head. His 
tongue slicked and slurped in and out of his aunt's luscious hole. Her 
panty-wrapped hand continued sliding up and down his prick. But in his 
mind's eye, it was her mouth. He could see her.... 

She lapped it and slicked it with her tongue. The soft lapping sounds 
excited her as much as they did him. Her tits heaved and bounced loosely. 
She covered his tingling meat with a lingual massage, drooling helplessly 
and uncaringly as her tongue lashed over his hot, slimy cock. 

She looked, Barry thought, like a slave, kneeling so abjectly before him, 
making slavish and submissive love to his cock with her mouth. The thought 
of it swirled around and around in Barry's mind: how nice it was, for a man! 

He rolled his tongue over her clitoris, like a hot slippery little 
ball-bearing that wiggled restlessly around beneath the pressing titillation 
of his tongue. 

His blood was a leaping excitement in his veins as her tongue worshipped the 
very tip of his cock, darting in and out and teasing the bulging prickhead, 
then sucking him back in again. She sucked him like a child with a banana it 
sucks, rather than eats, to make it last. 

Her soft ovaled lips sucked ardently and her tongue imitated a snake, 
curling and writhing wetly over him. 

She sucked well and beautifully, and the pressure was building in his balls 
until-- 

Until his scrotum burst its bounds and shot his hot load, not into the mouth 
he had seen in his mind, but into the soft white nylon panties she held 
around him. Fighting back his open-mouthed gasps, he sucked her clitoris 
into his mouth. He pulled strongly, rolling his tongue over it. With a cry, 
she came too. 

That set the pattern for many other such nights. Aunt Constance received his 
mouth; Barry received her hand, and the white panties. When the panties were 
almost completely covered with stiff yellow stains, she left them in the 
bathroom sink all day, in warm soapy water. Then it was Barry who took them 
down and ran them through the washer, a complete cycle, just her panties. 
His panties. 

They hung in the bathroom all night and all the next day. When she knocked 
on his door that night, they were white again and she held them in her hand. 
He hurried with her down the hall to her room. 

Meanwhile Mrs. Wharton performed what could only be called a half-assed job, 
and Constance could not find anyone suitable to move in and take up the 
duties as cook and maid. Everyone seemed to be too good to do that sort of 
work any more. Pride had somehow undergone a change, and people thought they 
lost more pride performing the duties of "servants" than they did cashing 
government welfare checks. 

Constance saw the ad in a magazine, and thought about it, and called her 
attorney to discuss it. Then she called the agency in New York City. She had 
to answer questions. She had to fill out a questionnaire they sent her, and 
she was investigated. No one gave her other than the most glowing of 
reports, and of course when Anna was contacted, by Retail Credit or someone, 
she had only praise for her former employer. Too, the Deacon house was large 
and Miss Deacon had a good deal of money. 

The agency eventually advised her that she had been approved, and that she 
was one of God's Good People, offering to take in and help a poor homeless 
creature from an undeveloped country. She decided on her preference. No, not 
the Phillipines. No, none of the South American countries. Yes. Of course. 
Beautiful: Pakistan. West Pakistan. Everyone knew how terrible things were, 
there. There'd be civil war one day soon. 

She'd be rescuing the girl from a lifetime of horror and drudgery and very 
possibly, very probably worse. And Seeta was such a pretty name! 

There were more forms to be filled out. Taking in an au pair girl, a live-in 
servant, was very common in Europe and England and in South America, but 
rather unusual in the United States. But at last Constance and Barry met the 
girl at the station, and they were shocked. 

Seeta was all enormous eyes and a flowing cape of hair so black it glinted 
blue in the sunlight. A thin face. High, too-prominent cheekbones, bony arms 
and hands and thin legs with the hint of curved musculature in her calves. 
She was one month older than Barry, and less than a month out of West 
Pakistan, where she had been not only scrawny and undernourished, but 
suffering from malnutrition. 

They took her home. She spoke heavily accented, liquid English. She was shy 
and spoke only when asked questions. Those enormous, liquid brown eyes 
looked around constantly, staring and staring at everything she saw. 

She was as good a cook as Anna, although naturally enough she needed 
supervision as to the preferences of her new ... employers. She kept the 
house as though it were hers. She was priceless, Constance Deacon told those 
who asked. 

Within weeks of regular, balanced nourishment and a decent bed and 
treatment, Seeta had gained nearly twenty pounds. And she was beautiful. 

Then, almost as if by some miraculous intervention, within two months she 
was extraordinarily shapely. 

And Barry came to a mind-blowing realization. 

In the first place, no matter what people would have you believe, they 
practically owned the girl. She was here because Constance Deacon had 
brought her here, and the circumstances of her existence were as different 
as bare-boned polar winter and jonquil-filled Ohio spring. For all practical 
purposes, they owned the girl. 

Then-she was a servant. His aunt's-and his. And by that time he was well 
aware that he was his aunt's slave-her sex-slave. He made the connection. 

The beautiful, dark and shapely girl from Pakistan was his slave. All he had 
to do was attach the chains. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Seeta. 

Sixteen years old. Skin the color of a penny that had been circulating about 
a month. Hair blacker than black, like a raven cape over her shoulders and 
down her back and curling in front over the thrust of her breasts. Eyes 
huge, so dark they looked all-black in the slightest shadow, slightly 
almond-shaped. A large mouth with slightly convoluted lips. Tiny ears, 
hidden with the mass of jet hair. Both were pierced with thin circles that 
looked like gold but were not until Constance Deacon bought her the gold 
ones. 

Seeta. About five-feet one-inch tall, eight inches shorter than Constance 
and some five and a half inches shorter than Barry. A very pronounced bottom 
and hips, a waist that stayed tiny even when the rest of her filled out, and 
shoulders rather wide, so that her pointed breasts appeared set wide apart. 
Tiny feet and equally small but long-fingered hands. 

Seeta. Father unknown Pakistani or possibly Indian; mother dead at sixteen, 
which was three years after she bore Seeta. Cause of death typhoid. Muslim 
heritage and partial upbringing, now confused with an instillation of 
Christianity the missionaries had tried to cram into her in the orphanage. A 
house-servant at ten, raped by the sixteen-year-old son of that house at 
eleven. Returned to the orphanage; house-servant again at twelve; discovered 
writhing beneath her husband by the woman of that house. Severely beaten and 
returned to the orphanage. There she had languished, disgraced and shamed 
and, as much as was possible, ignored until an unknown American had asked to 
have her sent over as a live-in servant. 

The unknown American woman was Constance Deacon, who to Seeta was more than 
fabulously wealthy; "rich" meant someone with a real house, and this was a 
big house. 

Seeta. A body that was all grace and sinuousness, like a magnificent young 
lioness on the prowl. Silent, responsive but seldom volunteering a word. 

Seeta... 

... hunched and bucked and thrust against Barry as he drove steadily on and 
into her black-furred cunt, hard and deep into her slim cleft and the narrow 
hot gorge beyond. 

Naked on his bed in mid-afternoon, he pushed and pulled, probing and probing 
at that hot drenched gap. Her big brown eyes gazed up at him and her tongue 
slipped out to run around the long oval of her mouth. Her rather broad 
nostrils flared with her excited breathing. Her hands seemed even darker 
against his flesh, pulling and pulling at his hips. 

Again and again he withdrew his cock from the grasping hole between her 
hungry thighs, and again and again he rammed it back to make her gasp and 
squirm and writhe frantically. 

Little tentacles of heat flickered through her vitals and intensified until 
her pussy came suddenly aflame. She ground her crotch up to him in a growing 
frenzy of passion. Her prominent buttocks swiveled slickly over the sheet of 
his bed. Her heaving belly and tits were shaken with violent shudders of 
passion. 

Every moment intensified his passion and his desire to blow his balls into 
the tender, cavernous envelope surrounding his cock. 

He pulled far back, hesitating a moment and watching her writhe in an 
uncontrollable desire to swallow that hard pole of lust back up her vaginal 
deeps. She loved it. She needed needing as much as he did. Her eyes pleaded. 
Her hands tugged, coppery against the pink skin of his hips. 

He lunged back in, shoving his broad fuck root between the soft parting 
cuntal lips and into the wet, pulsing hole of her belly. 

The soaked flesh of her clinging labia held and throbbed around his slippery 
shaft like a tight elastic mouth. They drooled hot oily moistness that 
overflowed wetly to soak the tight bag of flesh that slapped again and again 
into her ass-crease. 

Tensing her thighs, pushing with her feet, thrusting with the muscles of her 
tight-clenched butt and straining stomach, she rammed herself up to him. 

They fucked each other in a driving, sweating carnal delirium. 

His strong young cock slid wetly in and out of her belly's hot gush, 
plunging again and again into her steaming depths! The fleshy bag slapping 
her perineum grew tighter and tighter. His balls begged for release. The 
thick tubelike channel running up the ventral surface of his taut balls was 
swollen. He fought it back. He. preferred fucking to cumming. 

Her lithe body rippled like a python's as she dragged his dick stickily out 
of her and rammed it back. 

His hands rushed down to the smooth, hollowing cheeks of her ass. It was 
sweat-slick and tense and constantly grinding. He clutched the hot cheeks 
and pulled, crushing her upward to him. 

Like an overheated drill, his throbbing prick slipped and dipped and delved 
into the hidden recesses of her cuntal cavern. 

Their sweat oiled the silky flesh of her vulva, slid into the widesplit 
crevice of the asscheeks he held well apart and forced upward. Their pliant, 
deeply tan fullness dented deeply beneath his fingers. 

She was gobbling him up, now, in the hot moist interior of her vagina as 
thrills of passion pulsated through her. 

Her mouth came open and her tongue crept out to lick her lips. 

He felt her cuntlips tightening about his delving prick. 

Then she went board-stiff beneath his driving body. 

Screaming, the coppery-skinned girl climaxed in a frenzy of ecstasy. Her 
freshly-plowed cunt tightened about his dick in a contracting ring of firm 
flesh. 

Almost instantly warm liquid went jetting from his jerking cock into her 
body, spurting spasmodically into her, and he ground his cock hard and deep 
into her until he emptied himself completely into her seman-filled pussy. 

She smiled and clutched him tightly to her. "Ummm, wonderful, Barry! Umm! 
Good, good, good!" 

A few minutes later, when Aunt Constance returned from the Heart Fund 
meeting, the quietly, fluidly moving girl was busy in the kitchen, preparing 
their dinner. 

Seeta served both Constance and Barry as though she were someone who had 
walked into the house a few minutes before and hardly knew their names. 
Almost immediately after dinner, Constance had to leave again, this time to 
go to a Woman's Club meeting. She was into a lot of things lately, but Barry 
certainly didn't question why. Both he and Seeta were delighted. 

He slipped up behind her in the kitchen and slid his hands in between her 
arms and her body. 

"Ah! I nearly broke a dish-ummm!" she gasped, as his hands closed over her 
breasts. 

"My room in thirty minutes," he whispered, sticking his tongue into her ear. 
"Synchronize your watches and prepare your pussy." 

She shivered. He squeezed her extremely firm, knobby breasts hard, and then 
he was gone. Thirty minutes later she tapped at the door of his room and was 
told to come in, in a firm clear voice. She slipped swiftly in on her 
ever-noiseless feet, closed the door, and turned. He sat in his room's easy 
chair, with his robe open. He wore nothing else. 

"That," he said, pointing down to his genitals, "needs your attention." 

She moved silently forward with her eyes on the bundle of relaxed flesh 
between the tops of his thighs. 

"Naked." he said. 

She smiled, bent slightly to grip the hem of her dress with both hands, and 
pulled it straight up and off. She was naked underneath. He smiled and made 
long-distance kissing motions to her breasts. Then she sank to her knees 
between his thighs. 

With her hands on his thighs just past his knees, she began licking. She 
lapped her tongue all over his inner thighs, all over the furry egg-shapes 
of his balls, up and down and around the passive worm of his penis. It began 
stirring and growing immediately. Her fingers came stealing along his inner 
thighs as she kissed and licked his cock and balls. 

Then her fingers gripped his stiffening prick, drawing it close while she 
lowered her head until it was very close to the swollen pink head. 

She looked at him, gave him a tiny smile, and showed him her glistening wet 
tongue. Lowering her eyes demurely, she watched her own hands playing with 
his testicles and his hot, thick prick. 

Then she began to lap the swollen bulb that corwned the end of that 
throbbing cockstaff. She scrubbed the sensitive tip with her tongue, 
pretended to be trying very hard to stab it into the little hole in the end, 
licked over the rumpled skin behind the helmet-like crown, pressured the 
glans with her lips. 

Slipping the softness of her parted lips over the head, she moved, sliding 
up and down, rapidly and wetly. He tensed up as the fiercely libidinous 
sensation spread through his body. His long dick speared into the hollow of 
her tight little lips, and then she was housing his cock in her face. 

With her mouth expanded helplessly to accept his meat, she began to pump on 
it, sucking him with wet, slurping noises. Her fingers stroked gently over 
his tightening balls. Her soft lips closed as much as they could and her 
cheeks sank in to form a moist sheath for his prick. Her tongue began to 
swish around and around over the glowing, throbbing head. 

He sat restlessly, watching her. The beautiful, dark girl kneeling so 
sweetly before him, her eyes shuttered beneath long jet lashes, her face 
stuffed full of his penis. 

She sucked cock as though it were her single great joy, as though she were 
reduced to a mindless erotic subservience, to the big pole of flesh rooted 
in her face. Her cheeks hollowed deeply as she sucked. 

She began pumping it with her head, pushing her head up and down. 

His hips began to work in a slow rhythm against her face. 

Her breasts, tight brazen globes of warmth, pressed firmly against his 
tensing thighs. Her long cool fingers caressed and fondled the furry bag of 
his testicles. Long black sheaves of hair fell forward to caress his legs. 
And her wet mouth and worshipful tongue worked away, making his eyes widen 
with lust. 

"S-s-sstop!" he groaned, and grabbed her as he rose. He swung to the bed and 
tumbled onto it with her. In moments they were busily sucking and licking 
each other, sweet agile tongues lapping busily and ardent hands squeezing 
and caressing. 

They shivered with delight and arousal and love of what they were doing, 
their mouths pressed firmly and lovingly to each other's slippery genitals. 
Tremors of pleasure coursed through them both. Their fingers tightened on 
each other's tensing rumps. Then he began applying his tongue to the proper 
pleasure-button, and she began ascending the heights to orgasm. 

He broke off and pressured her sinewy body with both hands. 

"Hands and knees," he gasped, "quick!" 

She bounced up into that position, on her knees, presenting her trembling 
ass to his face. Beneath her, slung sexily and gleaming with its coat of 
rich black fur, her pussy's bulge jutted. The full cuntal lips, long sucked 
and probed by his mouth, were just slightly ajar, as if beckoning in open 
invitation. 

He knelt swiftly up behind her and grasped the cheeks of her proffered ass. 
Without any necessity of being guided, the head of his prick dived under the 
lower curves of those saucy ovals and entered her cunt in a wet slithering 
rush. He let it slide slowly and titillatingly in, fitting his body to hers 
from behind, saucering the jutting cups of her rump in his groin. He began 
probing into her pulsing slit, deeper and deeper. She shivered and sighed 
and rested her cheek on the bed. 

Each of them was well-aroused by their mutual sucking and licking. Her 
vagina was pounding, pulsing and quivering with lust and readiness, and soon 
he was driving hotly in and out of mushy slickness and intense heat. 

He was rocking back and forth on his knees as he pumped his meat between the 
backs of her legs in a deep, steady rhythm that engulfed him utterly in the 
soft heat of her yielding, silken tunnel. Tight, humid walls closed around 
his cock and pressed it lovingly. She sighed in delight. She began to move. 

He crammed forward and she pushed strongly back, skewering herself, 
swallowing all the cock her body could pull into itself. His hips slapped 
her jiggly ass steadily, rhythmically as he ground into her, far up into her 
soft slippery cuntal passage from behind. 

Sliding one hand slowly and sexily around her hip, almost teasingly in its 
unhurried slithering, he moved it to the top of the long well-parted slash 
in which he buried his cock. She grunted and let out a high, sighing gasp 
when his fingers pressed between the wet slippery apex of her labia and 
began to pluck and rub at the knobby head of her clitoris. 

She came only seconds before he did, flooding her cunt full of semen from 
behind. 

She was a creature for pleasure-taking, her ability to bear children lost in 
an operation following the miscarriage back in Pakistan. Pills, rubbers, 
douches, rings-all. were irrelevant. And she was as ever-ready as a 
sixteen-year-old boy. 

He walked up behind her in the kitchen, while she was washing dishes, and 
stood behind her playing with her breasts for several minutes. Placing his 
hands flat over her tits, he squeezed. His fingers twisted the sleek flesh, 
kneading it firmly, fingers slipping and slithering silently, gripping the 
succulent contoured bulges, nipping the fleshy protruberances of her 
deeply-brown nipples between his fingertips until she shuddered and writhed 
in helpless response and both nipples erected fiercely. 

He hoisted her skirt in back, slipped his hands over the oval tan cheeks of 
her butt, pulled them apart. His foot slid between hers to pressure one 
apart from the other. Trembling and moaning, she clamped her hands onto the 
sink. 

Then he shoved his cock up into her from behind, spreading her vaginal lips 
and forcing himself into a passage that was only minimally moist. She 
gasped, grunted with pain, and opened her legs wider. It went up, and in. 

His ramming body pounded her against the sink. His flailing hips crushed her 
buttocks and slapped them sharply. His hands squeezed and pressured, hard. 
Her cunt lubricated itself rapidly and he began to streak his cock in and 
out of her with greater and greater ease and speed. She hung over the sink 
with her face inches from warm, soapy water. 

He did not want to cum, and he stopped short of that point. 

Suddenly he was motionless, his body pressed hard against the back of hers, 
his hands gripping her with hurting strength. 

"Aunt Constance will want her cunt sucked when she gets home," he told her. 
"I'll want my cock sucked when I leave her. Midnight." 

"Uh-ummmmm ... your room?" 

"Right here. I'II stand against the sink. You'll kneel." 

"This cold floor-" 

He slapped her buttocks hard, with both hands. She jerked almost erect, then 
grunted and had to partially bend again as his still-imbedded cock stabbed 
against her belly. She sighed. He could feel the increased flow of 
lubricating juices around his engulfed prick. 

"Midnight," she said quietly. "Here." 

With both hands he pulled her head back and forced her face around to kiss 
her. She returned the kiss with a helpless passion, groaning. Then he slid 
his penis out of her and returned to his room. An hour later he heard her 
come in, pass his room, go into hers. Then he heard her come back and tap at 
his door. She opened it immediately. 

"Barry," Aunt Constance said. "I want my cunt sucked." 

He nodded and rose and followed her swiftly to her room. 

An hour later he descended to the kitchen, where Seeta waited. She knelt 
quickly and applied her mouth to his penis. Aunt Constance had masturbated 
him to orgasm, and it took Seeta a while to get it up and hard-throbbing. 
Then he tipped her backward with her naked ass writhing on the kitchen floor 
and he fucked her there, hard and fast, the floor hurting his knees and 
straining toes. 

"This shirt," Barry said, "looks like it's been worn a month. I found it 
this way, hanging in my closet. The idea of washing, Seeta, is to make 
clothes wearable!" 

She looked at her toes. "I'm sorry." 

He sat down. "Come over here, get your skirt up, and lie forward across my 
thighs." He patted them. "Right here." 

Licking her lips, she came. Her eyes were huge and full of distress. But she 
obeyed him implicitly. Soon he was gazing down at the upturned cheeks of her 
coppery rump, the skin stretched smooth and tight by her bowed position 
across his thighs. Her toes just touched the floor on one side, her hair 
brushed it on the other. 

Quickly, he brought his palm rushing down onto the upturned backside, making 
it shake like so much tan jelly. She hummed out a little moan and tensed her 
cheeks tightly together. He waited patiently until they relaxed a bit, then 
slapped again. And again. His cupped palm set the girl's quivering behind 
afire as it landed squarely across both cheeks and lurched her forward so 
that her forehead thumped the floor. She whimpered. 

He had learned his lessons well, across his aunt's thighs and bound across 
her bed. He watched her ass flinch and tighten, quivering, then loosen, 
before tensing still again as the next hard slap fell. 

He walloped her upturned butt until she was jerking and sobbing, her 
buttocks swelling and turning dark red as blood rushed to the painfully 
stimulated surface of the cheeks. He continued to pound her with his palm, 
though, until she was sobbing bitterly. 

Then he twisted her around, pulling her closer to him and letting himself 
fall back onto the bed as he kissed her. She returned his kiss with fervor, 
rubbing her wet face against his and running her soft wet tongue in and out 
of his mouth smoothly in an uninhibited and highly aroused fuck-imitation. 

He sagged back loosely, lightening the grip of his hands on her until he was 
only touching her with fingers and palms. 

"Fuck me." 

Her Muslim upbringing had taught her that a woman is never above a man, or 
between him and his Allah. But Barry had soon taught her that that business 
about a woman's never making herself over heaven by rising above a man was 
nonsense, and she loved to straddle him and to be in full control of the 
cock slipping in and out of her body. 

She obeyed joyfully. She bestrode him, kneeling, then pushing herself up so 
that she knelt with her vulva well above his erection. She reached down to 
clip its pulse in her fingers, holding it so that it was a towering pole 
directly beneath her. Then she sat down. 

His thick cock slipped up and in, onward and upward into her body as the 
humid tunnel flowered to receive and envelop him. 

Her eyes blazed. He groaned when her spanked buttocks, very warm now, 
desended softly onto his thighs. She had engulfed the flagless pole of his 
crotch in herself, all the way to its base. 

His cock had been swallowed up into a live thing that clutched and clamped 
and juiced all along the shaft as she began bouncing up and down on his 
pelvis. 

Her naked thighs tightened and flexed convulsively and her belly rippled 
with her movements. The warm firm cheeks of her ass splatted again and again 
onto his thighs and the big tan bubbles of her bosom swung and bounced and 
slapped her chest. 

She smiled down at him. She was moving steadily and rhythmically, sucking 
his prick in and out to send heat seething through her straining, tremulous 
belly. His cock slid easily in and out, without effort. He merely lay still 
and watched her fuck him. Her cunt was increasingly awash with an abundance 
of dew as his bulging rod probed and broadened it. 

The pressure and momentum of her strong thrusts sank her deeply on him with 
each hard, slapping downward lunge. 

Grinning, she rose slowly, holding his cock in her. And she rode him hard. 

His long cockshaft throbbed in involuntary spasms inside her as she rammed 
herself down, again and again. Her hungry cunt squeezed his dick within her. 
She ground and writhed and rode him as if unequivocally bent on fucking 
herself senseless. Her naked tits bounced and surged and plunged up and 
down. 

Hot thrills tingled through her belly when he tightened his buttocks beneath 
him to surge upward, meeting her descent, ramming his cock in to aid the 
tight elastic ring that was bent on swallowing and milking his hard prick. 

She jounced, impaling herself again and again and groaning with the effort 
of it. 

His hands slid up over her ribs and around the tremulous bulges of her 
breasts. He squeezed. The bouncing globes swelled under the squeezing and 
fondling of his fingers and she sighed and smiled and rammed herself up and 
down even harder. 

Moans slid from her open mouth as his fingers pinched stiff red-brown 
nipples. 

Her hand swooped down to her clitoris. She grunted and shivered when her 
fingers made contact with the slippery nubbin. She rolled it swiftly. And 
she came in moments. 

The hot flow of her spending cunt enveloped his cock. He felt it clamp 
around him like a hot wet vise. He began pumping himself strongly up and 
down in a sudden orgy of effort. 

Then he groaned as sperm came bursting from his prick. A bursting dam of 
thick cream gushed up into her vaginal hole from his exploding groin, 
pumping into her until it trickled in whitish little rivulets over the 
ravaged lips of her drenched gash. 

He pulled her down onto him and they kissed hungrily, rubbing their 
sweat-wet bodies against each other. 

Constance writhed and sighed and moaned. Her fingers grasped at the sheet 
and furrowed it spastically. Her thighs jerked and tensed on either side of 
his head. Barry's tongue streaked in and out of her, fucking her flowing 
slippery cunt like a miniature cock. 

Twisting herself around on the bed to get nearer the side, she swung a hand 
off and groped the body of her kneeling slave. She found his cock, grabbed 
it. She squeezed hard, and kept on squeezing until he expelled a gush of air 
into her slippery wet pussy in a pained groan. Then she began pumping it 
rapidly while his tongue pumped her cunt. 

Eventually she grasped the panties and folded them around his throbbing 
penis, and she jerked it off, catching the spurting gobbets of thick cream 
in the soft fabric as his tongue convulsed her in her own raging orgasm. 

But she did not let him go; she held him there, kept him there, held him 
there while she jacked him off again. It was painful to him. It hurt. It 
took a while, but once again he spurted his cum into the slick, slimy 
panties, and he sagged against the bed. 

She vouchsafed him a low-lidded, triumphant smile as he left her bedroom. 

Seeta worked very hard with hands and mouth, but he had nothing left for 
her. 

Aunt Constance was with some friend or another, at a movie. Barry watched 
one on television. Before him knelt Seeta, facing from him. She was draped 
across the ottoman, and she was groaning and twitching steadily. 

The long snout of the wine bottle was coated and shiny with Vaseline. He 
slid it steadily in and out of her desperately parting asshole, pulling it 
all the way out now and again to stick it up her cunt before running it 
again into her anus. 

At last, after over an hour of steadily pummeling her anus with the bottle, 
he pulled it out and set it aside. Then he slipped forward in the chair, 
sliding down to his knees behind her. 

She was wide open, after the long, long probing with the smeary slick neck 
of the wine bottle. 

He pushed his cock up her anus with one swift burst of virile energy. He 
kept shoving it in, feeding it up her ass, until she completely surrounded 
and encompassed the shaft that was so red-looking, buried between the 
flinching copper-colored cheeks. 

"Oh-oh, Barry!" Her gasp was as much in surprise at the ease of his entry as 
at the suddenness of his taking the virginity of her ass. And-something 
else: 

"How good it feels!" 

He fucked it hard, pulling his cock out slowly and pushing it in far. His 
cock quivered and drove and flailed up her back, jerking her asshole open 
with his relentless bone and ramming it in priapic passion. His hands held 
her steady and firm, bent over the ottoman with her butt high in the air. 
The constant slippery pressure inside, his in-slithering penis, the 
persistent gouging and hammering in her widening asshole made her so hot and 
wildly excited that her cunt drooled hungrily. 

Between the gleaming balls of her rump and into her tight rectal reaches he 
bored, entrenching every thick inch of his cock in her asshole. It felt as 
if it were gripped in the interior of a blast furnace. 

And she was moving, tensing and shoving and wagging her hips slightly, 
screwing her anal mouth on his plunging sex. She thrust almost savagely back 
against him as her intensifying need flared. 

Smiling, he reamed up and down the clutching excretory passage, watching 
that beautiful, bent body jerk and squirm. He had never felt anything so 
tight in his life. 

God, he thought, the tall nasty thirsty-pussied bitch-how I'd love to fuck 
Aunt Constance's asshole like this! 

At that precise moment, the outer door opened and she walked in. The 
kneeling couple stared in totally surprised horror up at the steady, 
green-eyed gaze of Constance Deacon. 

"Oh, don't let me interrupt this animal scene," she said icily. She almost 
smiled. Not quite, but almost. She was fully, elegantly clothed, wearing a 
green tweedy suit, skirt and jacket, with a puff of white silk at her 
throat. 

Barry pulled back and started to rise. 

"I said GO ON!" his aunt snapped. "DONT stop!" 

"Oh-" In her consternation, Seeta emitted a stream of Arabic. 

Aunt Constance walked over, squatted, and slapped her face. 

"Speak English in this house, little doggy!" Her chill green eyes rose to 
Barry's, looking into his face across the bowed body of the girl. "Well, 
Barry? Are you helpless? Has it wilted in fear and horror? Are you incapable 
of plugging her thirsty little hole now, with me here?" 

"I-I-" 

"I see I made an error-I should have pumped your eager cock dry before I 
left, shouldn't I?" Seeta gasped. 

Aunt Constance looked down at her. Her long slim hand cupped beneath the 
girl's chin and bent her neck as she forced Seeta's head uncomfortably up. 

"That shocks you, Seeta? You know he is my ... slave. Didn't you know he 
sucks my pussy several times a week? Didn't you know I also pump his anxious 
pecker for him? Hmmm?" She gave the girl's face a jerk, then released it. 
Seeta's head dropped. Again Constance Deacon's cold eyes rose to stare 
steadily into her nephew's. 

"Barry. You will go on. Now, Fuck her. Now." 

"Good ... lord! Aunt Constance ... I-" 

She rose to her feet with sinuous, almost liquid grace. After gazing at him 
for a moment, she checked the living room drapes. All pulled, naturally 
enough. They hadn't expected her, but neither had they been stupid enough to 
provide a show for 'any passing pedestrian or motorist. She did not take her 
eyes off him as she moved to the long low table beneath the front windows. 

She picked up a silver holder and twisted the gleaming white candle out of 
it. With her eyes on her nephew, she stood there slapping the candle 
thoughtfully into her palm. Then she returned to them. 

"Finish screwing her, Barry. MOVE, Seeta! Fuck your anxious little hole on 
him like a dog, you bitch! Now-one more instant's hesitation and you'll feel 
this candle across your bottom, Barry!" 

He couldn't. 

She stepped over beside him and brought the candle down with sharp force. It 
slapped across both his buttocks. It hurt, and he lurched. His cock was 
half-limp now, with shock, and the lunge hurt both him and the girl who 
knelt before him. Both jerked out throaty, ugly groans. 

"Good ... God! Impotent, are you? You never went down this way with me, 
Barry dear!" She slapped his naked butt with the candle. Then again. He 
twisted and writhed. It was thick, and long, and it felt as cold and 
unyielding across his buttocks as if it were made of iron. 

"Do it, do it, do it!" she cried, pounding and pounding, and he groaned and 
writhed and groaned in agony, and the candle broke and she kept swinging it, 
the end swinging loosely and hurting him even more, held to the portion she 
gripped only by the slender wick running all the way through the center of 
the candle. 

His cock hardened up. He couldn't help it; it was a conditioned response of 
long duration. It lurched forward as he lunged in helpless reaction to the 
pounding of his butt. Seeta screeched as the big head gouged at her flesh, 
slithered, then forced its way back into her anus. 

The candle came down hard onto swelling, reddening buttocks, and Barry's 
thick hard shaft plunged into the kneeling girl until it was out of sight. 

Aunt Constance was panting and gasping. 

"There, that's better! See how he responds to having his little boy's tail 
pounded, Seeta? It gives him a hard-on! Now use it, Barry!" 

He hesitated, but Seeta worked to save him. She did not have to face their 
mistress. She could not see her, and she closed her eyes to blot out even 
the rug beneath her face. She began grinding herself backward, slipping 
forward, pushing strongly back again. 

She jerked her hips and bumped her cock-penetrated butt up and down. His 
cock drove and drove into her, slipped and slid, deep up her rectum, stoking 
the tight warmth of that furnace. 

Barry closed his eyes in mental agony as his aunt squatted beside him. She 
had unbuttoned her jacket. The white scarf fluttered over her 
white-brassiered breasts; she wore no blouse. Grinning at him, she reached 
under him and teased his anus with the candle. One slim hand lay on his 
thigh. It was cool only because he was terribly hot, both with embarrassment 
and with sensual arousal. 

"Ah-ahhh-agggghhhh!" he groaned, when she forced the tip of the candle up 
into his asshole. His reaction impaled Seeta's far more open and receptive 
backhole with his plunging prick. , "I have the candle in him now, Seeta 
dear," Aunt Constance said. "You're both being screwed in the back! Isn't 
that lovely-there." 

"Uh-ga-a-annnnghhh!" Barry cried, trying to clamp his mouth against the 
unmanly cry. He squirmed helplessly. A couple of inches of terribly cold 
candle were ensconced up his tight rectal channel. His aunt jiggled it a 
little, slipping it back and forth in him, no more than a half-inch in each 
direction. 

"I once read something about Italian prostitutes filling the anus of a 
client with knotted string," Aunt Constance said. "Then, at the moment of 
his highest arousal, they jerk it out!" 

Barry went board-stiff and arched his body sharply, snapping his tight 
scrotum hard against Seeta's pubic mound and flattening her buttocks with 
his body, which snapped forward when his aunt jerked the candle out of his 
ass. 

His cock responded instantly, throbbing out a spurting, jerking, glutinous 
ocean up the impaled rectum of the kneeling girl, bathing her bowels with 
fever-hot sperm. 

Aunt Constance rose, smiling. "There, wasn't that lovely? How lucky you both 
are that I came along in time to help!" She tossed the broken, shit-streaked 
candle onto Seeta's back. It rolled slowly off and thumped to the carpet. 

"Now get up, both of you. Turn off the lights and TV and come up to my room, 
and I mean now." 

She turned and went, straight-backed and seeming calm, up the steps. 

Naked and trembling, Seeta and Barry said nothing as they switched off 
television and lights and followed her silently upstairs. Semen trickled and 
glistened down the backs of Seeta's thighs. Barry kept his eyes off that, 
and off the tight young beauty of her writhing buttocks. 

Aunt Constance had moved with incredible speed. Seeta sucked in a gasping 
breath and stopped in her tracks, staring at the naked woman. 

"One point I think we should all consider, briefly," Aunt Constance said. 
"You are both orphans. A word from me and Barry will go into a home 
somewhere, and you're far beyond the adoption age, darling. I'm afraid you'd 
have to spend some years there before you're old enough to go out on your 
own. As to you, Seeta-a word from me and you go all the way back to 
Pakistan!" 

Seeta dropped to her knees. Tears rushed down her cheeks. 

"Please-I will never-I am so sorry! Don't send me back! Don't send me from 
you." 

"Charming. Barry?" 

"Uh-" 

"Kneel!" 

Seething, the boy knelt, almost beside Seeta. They did not touch. Suddenly 
he noticed that his aunt's nipples were puckered into stubby, ruddy 
erections. 

How she loves this! , Refusing, arguing, attacking ... none of these so much 
as occurred to him. He knelt, like Seeta, at the naked woman's feet. 

"Now." Aunt Constance stood over them. "Things will be a bit different 
hereafter. Seeta: explain your relation to Barry." 

"I ... he ... Mistress, I don't under-we ... do it." 

"Good lord! I know that, you stupid girl! I mean your relation. Are you 
lovers? Brother and sister? Slave and master?" 

"Ummm...." Seeta looked down. "Sort of ... sort of lovers ... and ... the 
other too." 

"The other? Brother and sister?" 

Seeta shook her head. Tears splashed onto the floor between her knees. She 
did not look up. "No," she said in a tiny voice. "He-" 

"Does he take you when he wants you?" 

The girl nodded. 

Aunt Constance reached down and grasped her hair to force the girl's head 
back and her face up. "Yes, Mistress." 

"Stop calling me that. Call me Aunt Constance, like Barry, do you 
understand? Good. He takes you when he wants you then. Has he-beaten you?" 

"He has-with his hand, Mis-Aunt C-Constance." 

"Um-hm! Then you are his sexual slave, isn't that so?" 

The reply was rather more exuberant than either Constance or Barry had 
expected: "Oh, yes!" 

"And you like it that way." Constance released the girl's hair. Instantly 
Seeta looked at the floor again. Her shoulders were bowed, slightly hunched 
so that her naked, wide-set breasts were just touching in the center of her 
chest. She trembled. 

"Yes, ma'am I-like it that way, Aunt Constance." 

"Hmp! How nice. And he of course is my slave. You know that." 

"So-so am I, Mis-Aunt Constance," the Pakistani girl said quietly. 

"Umm!" Constance turned her excited green gaze to Barry. "Barry?" 

He could anticipate, now. He needn't pretend, or stretch it out. He nodded. 
"Yes, Aunt Constance. We are your servants." 

She lifted one delicately arched eyebrow. "Servants? She is a servant." 

He trembled and the muscles of his jaw tensed. His jawline bulged as his 
teeth ground together. Then, "Slaves, then. We are your ... slaves, Aunt 
Constance." 

She gazed at him. Then she moved fluidly, undulating her long lithe body as 
she came down to her knees before them. She lifted Seeta's face, kissed her. 
She turned and kissed Barry. She had a hand, now, on the shoulder of each. 

"Beautiful. Tomorrow evening I shall expect to watch while you, Seeta, suck 
Barry's penis. When you have finished, and swallowed his emission, you will 
turn your attention to me. While Barry sucks you." She flexed her legs and 
stood tall and straight again. 

"Now then. Tonight though, as a beginning of our new life together, Barry 
will kneel with his legs under the dresser, facing from it. I will sit in 
the chair, with his face between my legs, and you will use your so-clever 
mouth, Barry darling, you dear darling slaveboy! And you, Seeta, will be 
standing behind my chair, brushing my hair. Aha! Look at Barry! See how 
disappointed he is? He loves that job! Well, slaves must adopt the roles 
their mas-their mistress specifies! H'm-I have just had a very wicked 
thought. I have never had a female head between my thighs! 

Ah, yes, well then!" 

She walked over to the dresser. "On-well, we shall take a break Monday 
night. On Tuesday night, then, it is Seeta who will provide me with her 
mouth and tongue. I shall be able to look down on her there between my 
legs-and on you too, Barry, for you will be behind her, with yourself well 
plugged into her. All right, now come here, both of you." 

They assumed the postures demanded of them. Barry knelt with his back to the 
dresser, his legs under it. Directly before him sat his naked aunt, with her 
thighs on either side of his body. And behind her was Seeta, brush in hand. 

"Oh, yes," Aunt Constance said. "One thing I failed to mention. Tomorrow 
afternoon you will both be whipped for that shocking scene in the living 
room. And henceforward, Seeta, when you displease me, it will be Barry who 
carries out the sentence on you, on your little brown ass!" 

She sighed and moved a little forward on the chair, hunching her 
fiery-haired genital area to her nephew's face. 

"O-o-ohh, yes! And hereafter, Barry, when you must be punished, Seeta will 
of course be present, to ... watch.'" 

 CHAPTER TEN 

No one, absolutely no one in Mt. Bester would have believed the scene in the 
bedroom of the woman they called Miss Icicle. 

To begin with, she was naked, and she was categorically beautiful, naked. 
Smoothly-tapered long legs so slim and taut they showed the ripple of smooth 
muscles beneath the creamy skin. Long, perfect hips were at once slim and 
womanly and clearly marked with the hollows where they flowed out into the 
tightly compact rondures of her buttocks, which were set almost strangely 
apart, displaying their long deep cleavage, shadowed and beckoning. 

Her waist was one inch more in circumference than it had been when she was 
eighteen, which was the age of each of the two other people living in the 
big old house of her father. Her breasts were not slung from her chest but 
bulged roundly forth from it, swelling to a tight fullness that ran out into 
pink areolas and nipples like crushed red fruit. 

At the moment these delectable extrusions pointed, straight as scarlet 
arrows, to the ceiling. 

She lay on her back on her bedroom's long-haired shag carpet. Beneath the 
very tops of her thighs and the lower contours of her buttocks rested a firm 
pillow. Thus the sexy intersection formed by her shapely torso and the white 
columns of her thighs was thrust licentiously upward. It was a gorgeous 
hillock of super-resilient flesh, protectively covered with a thicket of 
curling red hairs soft as nylon threads, and slashed by strong lips, deep 
and moistly pink. 

They were wet and well-open, now, as Seeta sucked and tongued them and the 
long slender tunnel they framed. 

Seeta knelt on the rug beneath her mistress' legs, her copper-colored flesh 
and flowing raven's wing hair presenting a contrast that was sharp and 
clearly-delineated, not subtle. Constance's thighs looked like snowbanks, 
where that intensely black hair lay on them. 

In further contrast, Seeta's body had rounded out into a firm-fleshed 
youthful voluptuousness. Her hips were broad flaring pads that swept back 
into a rump each half of which was perfect. Hemispherical and 
well-separated, long and voluptuously full and fleshy ovals swept down into 
her rounded thighs. Her calves rounded up in back as she knelt, so that she 
resembled a kneeling dancer. 

Beneath her swung her breasts, large and never still, constantly in motion, 
whether it was jouncing up and down or swaying slowly and sensuously or 
merely jiggling, palpitating with her breathing. 

At the moment, as she pushed her face into the hot wet haven of Constance's 
crimson-furred pussy, Seeta's dangling tits swung and bounced wildly, 
slapping the other woman's thighs. Their agitation and the jogging motion of 
the kneeling girl's entire body did not emanate entirely from her own 
activities, although she was nuzzling into the bush of red hair with an 
unbridled enthusiasm and wet, smacking sounds. 

Both women were naked; so was Barry. 

He was behind Seeta with his hands on her flanks. He knelt quite close, 
erect from the knees up. And he was constantly amove. His body snapped back 
and forth to smack Seeta's out-thrust butt with little slapping sounds that 
were clearly, erotically audible to all of them. 

He was ramming his prick in and out of the girl's asshole while she sucked 
the appetizing pussy spread before her in naked feast. 

Constance's hand reached out to close on Seeta's arm. 

"Just ... be still, dear," the older woman gasped from a throat tight with 
sexuality. "Let yourself rock with his movements. Keep your tongue way out. 
That way you'll fuck me with it every time Barry sinks himself up your 
back." 

The girl said nothing, but worked her cheeks a few times to take off some of 
the strain and to fill her mouth with saliva. Then she thrust her tongue far 
out of her open mouth, long and pink and glistening. She set it just between 
the damp, ridged edges of Constance's vulva. 

Constance was right. Every time Barry pulled back and lunged forward again, 
shoving his cock back up the hot, gripping tightness of the girl's anal 
vent, she was rocked automatically forward. Her dangling tits swung and 
slapped each other and Constance. And her tongue drove well into the wet 
hole of the other woman's pussy. 

Barry merely smiled. He loved all of it, the sight of his aunt's long naked 
body and the more voluptuous, doubled one of the girl kneeling with her back 
to him. And he loved the caressing tightness of her anus, the overwhelmingly 
snug grasp of her asshole. 

He arched his throbbing cock in and out, pistoning it steadily and 
rhythmically into the depths of that hot damp orifice. His pelvis slammed 
into her big cheeks, harder and harder, rocking and smacking her and 
plumbing her with his driving penis. 

And each of his ramming lunges drove Seeta's tongue into the other woman, as 
far into her belly's moistened mouth as it would go. 

"Unggaaa-a-aaahh!" Constance's entire body jerked and her hands clenched 
reflexively. 

Her pelted groin moved up and down against the girl's face, squirming. Her 
eyes were half-glazed with lust. She could not bring together her parted 
lips, either those of her face or of her vagina. 

It was hard for Seeta not to hum and croon and take her mouth away from the 
hot furry one she kissed so sensuously. The big pole reaming in and out of 
her back, as it had so many, many times, filled her with erotic thrills 
until her whole body seemed to be enveloped in exquisite ecstasy. The best 
part about taking it up the ass this way was that she was so tight and 
muscular there, even after all this time and the many times his cock had 
delved into her puckered little bottom-hole. That way she could feel every 
stroke, every inch of the warm, beloved surface of his beautiful, thick, 
warming cock. 

She also knew that Barry loved it, that he was in love with her ass. 

He shoved and hunched. His cock speared her there over and over, again and 
again, between the firm hard globes pummeled by his lurching, lunging 
pelvis. Twisting his hips and pushing strongly, he made certain that he had 
sunk his penis to its ultimate length between the contracting, shivering 
masses of her rump-cheeks. 

He could not remember how many times he had plugged her this way, soothing 
the fiery libidinal ache of his prick in her vibrant asshole. Hundreds. He 
liked it this way, and Seeta liked it this way, and-more importantly-Aunt 
Constance liked them this way, the three of them united in sexuality. 

Yet Seeta remained tight, as now: he could feel the contracting pulsations 
of her anus. Its muscle was so tightly grasping around his inflamed prick 
that it was an aching and fiery brand of yearning, probing flesh. 

She was easily accessible, her anal orifice as open to him and nearly as 
easily pushed into as her soft slippery cunt. Yet she was ever tight, 
enclosing him warmly and firmly, no matter how often or how long he entered 
her here. What a shame that vaginal lips softened up and lost more and more 
of their musculature with passing time, while this tiny hole, this round 
hole seemingly designed for the round peg of a cock, remained as strong as 
ever! The only difference seemed to be that her intimate rear orifice had 
learned to open up readily for his entry. But then, once he was firmly 
implanted well up inside, it snatched his prick and clung voraciously to it 
until he drowned her bowels in sperm. 

He leaned on her, holding himself up inside her asshole, while he reached 
around to stroke her pendent tits. He tugged gently at them, squeezing as 
though pretending to milk her. Then he slapped them, still gently, so that 
they swung and smacked each other with their resilient inner surfaces. 

Suddenly his glance met the gaze of his aunt. She grinned at him. 

You damned sex-happy old bitch, he thought, though with little anger and no 
hatred, someday ... someday.... 

"Ah," she gasped, "aghh-oh, my darlings...?" 

Then the floodtide of her passion burst in her in a torrent of hot juices 
and wild, uninhibited motion. 

She moaned, whimpered, and wriggled as Seeta's mouth went at her with 
increased fervor. Every muscle twitched and contracted and her nerves seemed 
afire. She shook with sudden breathless sobs, hunching up to the tongue that 
was hot and squirming in her flowing hole. 

Her vagina had always flowed with a heavy exudation when she came, but of 
late it had begun to "spend" more and more, and this was one of those times. 
Thick, slippery-mucousy juice fairly spurted from her vaginal walls. It 
inundated her cuntal cavity and trickled out between the lips to pearl, 
glistening, on her pubic hair. 

When the girl raised her head from that satiated hole, her cheeks were all 
shiny and wet and slippery with its juices. 

Seeta wondered about her employer, his mistress. The woman masturbated them 
both, and watched them fuck, and had herself fingered and licked and sucked, 
even tongue-fucked. But she never took a cock into herself-though Seeta knew 
with the certain knowledge of oral-genital intimacy that Constance Deacon 
was not virgin. And the tall slim woman came like a man. 

But now the kneeling girl concentrated on her asshole and the cock implanted 
well up in it, working wetly in and out. She thought about the inner 
muscles. She began to use them. She had long since learned how. She and 
Barry loved it, her sort of sucking him off in vagina or anus, but it 
provided little show for Aunt Constance and so they did it seldom. 

For his part, he felt the sudden clamping and internal pumping. Groaning and 
shivering, he slowed his own panting movements to let her aid him. Sweat 
sluiced down his kneeling body. His hands were sweaty on the prominently 
bulging cheeks of the Pak girl's butt. His belly and chest heaved with his 
labored breathing. 

Now he slowed down to a slow, steady cock-easing in and out of her, leaving 
it planted while her inner rectal muscles sucked at the head of his penis, 
then pulling it slowly back again to feel the intensified friction all along 
its length. 

"Uh!" Seeta gasped, lurching suddenly. 

Constance had reached down and shoved a couple of fingers up into the girl's 
gaping, longing cunt. 

She groaned and jerked, running her asshole around on Barry's deep-set 
prick, while the cruel hand thrust up into her rubbery vaginal depths and 
brought a cry from the wide-stretched girl. She remained kneeling but shook 
and rocked, wallowing naked and demeaned on the soft carpet, impaled by cock 
and fingers, both pushing and rummaging in her body. 

Constance lost her fingers deep, deep in the pulsing rhythms of the girl's 
helplessly-contracting vaginal canal. She worked them back and forth, like 
scissors, and pumped them in and out. Both she and Barry knew from long 
experience that Seeta hardly needed clitoral stimulation provided she got 
herself impaled; her orgasms were as much psychological as physical. She 
responded to the pleasure of the man whose prick filled her. 

Now she shuddered uncontrollably, sagging. She melted into an orgasm that 
flooded her cunt with its own slippery essence and made her rectal passage 
go even tighter around Barry's penis. 

Almost instantly, he exploded the heat of his liquid lust deep up inside her 
ass. 

Constance accepted the satiated girl's weak sagging onto her, and she ran 
her long-fingered hands through the mass of Seeta's jet-black hair. Once 
again every member of the strange trio had reached the peak of fulfilling 
completion, and once again they relaxed limply. 

Then Seeta and Barry left the older woman's bedroom and she slipped into 
bed. 

Constance did not at once go to sleep. She frowned angrily up into the 
darkness. Good God, she thought, I came like a volcano-why the hell do I 
still feel so tense? 

Barry and Seeta, meanwhile, paused in the hallway to kiss, then went to 
their separate beds and were soon asleep in the soft aftermath of marvelous 
climaxes. 

All their sessions together were not so joyous. Even if neither Seeta nor 
Barry actually did anything "naughty" over a period of time, they could be 
sure that something would be invented. Aunt Constance did like to whip, and 
she did like to watch Barry punishing the tan-skinned girl from Pakistan. 

But this time both of them were in trouble. 

Barry's curiosity had at last get the best of him. He had forced the lock on 
the door of the old shed out back. Inside he had found a million miles of 
spiderwebbing and thousands of spiders and their eggs, along with the dust 
and the moldy smell of many years' neglect. There was a workbench with 
tools, and fishing equipment, and, most curious of all, a mattress. 

The mattress was partially under the workbench and partially out on the 
shed's open floor space. It looked as if some maniac had vented ferocious 
anger on it. Staring at it, Barry shuddered. Someone had used a hunting 
knife, still lying there on the ruined mattress. That someone must have 
stabbed and ripped the mattress a hundred times, in a fury of releasing 
anger and frustration. 

Barry was still standing there staring at it when his aunt's voice spoke 
from the doorway. 

"You've been told not to come in here." 

He turned slowly, feeling his heartbeat speed up. "I'm sorry, Aunt 
Constance. I couldn't stand it, just wondering about it. I'm sorry." 

"You allowed your curiosity to overwhelm you obedience, Barry. That is 
weakness. I've told you I will tolerate neither disobedience nor weakness of 
character. The emotions must not gain control of the reasoning powers of the 
mind. You'll be punished." 

He nodded without answering. Yes. He'd known that the moment he heard her 
voice and knew he was discovered. Frowning, he glanced back into the shed. 

"Aunt Constance-what happened to that mattress?" 

He watched emotion overwhelm her reason. Her face flushed and she seemed to 
be seething. Her bosom heaved up and down and she trembled. Her fingers 
flexed as if clawing. 

"That's none of your business!" she snapped, and she was in a sour mood the 
rest of the afternoon. 

Seeta didn't help that mood any. She slid a lovely leg of lamb into the oven 
and took out a scorched, smoking, foul-smelling mass of nearly-black meat. 
Constance just looked at her. She didn't even have to tell the girl she'd be 
punished. They ate in silence. 

"As soon as you wash up, Seeta," Aunt Constance said when they'd finished, 
and she went upstairs. A few moments later she called down: "BARRY! Get 
Seeta's jeans and bring them along when you two impossible creatures come up 
here!" 

A little later, when Barry and Seeta walked apprehensively into the room of 
their icy-eyed mistress, they carried Seeta's blue jeans. 

Constance wore something she had very secretively ordered by mail. The 
outfit had cost more than a fine winter coat, and it was imposing. 

The smooth leather vest was of a dark brown, almost black. It fit her like a 
second skin, supple and well-tanned, which explained part of its high cost. 
It left bare her arms and half her breasts, for it laced up the front with 
hide thongs but was not meant to be closed completely. Nevertheless she had 
drawn it so tight that the slender leather laces actually sank into the 
swell of her breasts, very white where they showed against the dark and 
bright-shining leather. 

The snap-crotch leather hip-huggers, too, were shiny and fit her so tightly 
as to define the slit of her vulva, bulging against the snap-crotch. On her 
feet she wore something far more stylish; boots that rose to her knees. 

She looked like a model for the illustration of a book by Sacher-Masoch. 

"Strip," she said. "Only to your shorts, Barry. 

Seeta: retain your stockings." 

Both of them stripped, leaving on only the articles of clothing she had 
specified. They waited. Seeta's breasts trembled and swayed slightly with 
her nervous breathing. 

There was a faint sound of leather as Constance seated herself on the edge 
of the bed. She stretched out a hand. 

"Come here, Seeta. You ruined an utterly marvelous and quite expensive piece 
of meat-not to mention my supper and my humor! You'll be punished by both 
Barry and me, after which Barry has some well-deserved chastisement coming. 
First, Seeta, a little warming-up." She patted her thigh, then waited while 
Seeta approached. 

Barry watched the erotic sight of the near-naked girl approaching the side 
of her mistress' thigh, then bending submissive and humbly over to drape 
herself across both those leather-gleaming thighs. Barry stared at the 
solid, oval sumptuousness of the girl's upturned buttocks, deeply cleft 
halves of her plushly padded, amazingly firm fanny. 

Constance separated the cheeks, and Seeta allowed one nyloned leg to swing 
well aside. Now Barry could see the mounded bulge of the dark girl's cunt, a 
beautifully-ridged downward swell that was well covered with the thicket of 
her unconditionally black hair. 

"Twenty," Aunt Constance said crisply. "Count them off." 

She gave Seeta no time to prepare; she swung a hard, open-palmed slap 
immediately onto the left cheek. Seeta gasped and jerked. "One!" she gasped. 

The next slap caught the basses of her upturned ass, where the flesh 
tightened up and ran into her thighs. Again the girl lurched, but she called 
out "Two" in a clear voice. 

Barry felt the rising bulge in his shorts as he watched the 
smartly-administered hand spanking. Seeta jerked in smarting response to 
each blow. As usual, Constance varied the direction and destination of her 
strokes so that the girl did not know on which cheek the next smack would 
flame down, or whether it would come straight down onto the summit or 
ranging upward to cup the base. 

"Eleven," she groaned, and Barry saw that a red flush was imprinted over the 
firm curve of each cheek. He was sure his aunt's hand tingled-but not as 
much as the contracting rump-mounds that writhed convulsively upward in 
automatic reaction to their punishment. 

He could see the sweet furrow between the rounded cheeks just after 
Constance's slaps, when the tensing ovals relaxed a bit and eased apart. 
Then they would snap together again, in fearful anticipation of the next 
hard swat. 

Seeta was moaning, making whimpering sounds, and wriggling. But Barry was 
sure she wasn't crying. She hadn't had that stern a punishment. Both he and 
she were accustomed to tail-torment, and he knew when the pain had mounted 
enough to bring tears. Twenty with the hand to warm up, he thought, and 
wondered what he'd be asked to do. And why the jeans? 

Constance paused, took aim, gathered herself, and brought her hand slapping 
down for the twentieth time. 

Seeta let out the word "Twenty," with a deep sigh. Her buttocks relaxed. 
Constance passed her hand over each of them, briefly, then ordered the girl 
to stand up. 

"Here, Seeta. Put on your jeans." 

Ouch, Barry thought. Those jeans fit her like skin, with the inside seam 
riding right up between her pussy-lips. They'll feel like sandpaper on her 
slapped tail! 

But Seeta pulled them resolutely up, taking a deep breath and wincing as she 
drew them over the voluptuous curves of her crimsoned ass. She had to hold 
her breath while she snapped them together in front. They were fly-front, 
and she zipped them up. 

Constance leaned forward slightly to run her hand up one denim inner thigh 
and pushed it strongly up against the downward bulge of the girl's vulva. 

"My, don't they fit!" she said, smiling. Then she rose. "Seeta, I am mad, 
and you're going to be hurt. Barry is going to give you twenty more, with 
the jeans to protect you." 

And to make each swat feel even harder, Barry thought. He knew that both 
Constance and Seeta were as well aware of that as he. Games, he mused. 
Someday .... 

"You are to bend over with your palms in the seat of that chair," Constance 
said, pointing to the little gold-curlicued chair before her dresser. "And 
to stay there, and take your bitter medicine. If you straighten up, you get 
an extra smack. Do you understand?" 

Seeta nodded. "Yes, ma'am." 

"Good. Bend over the chair then. Barry!" 

Oh, no, Barry thought, feeling a little clutching sensation in his guts. His 
aunt was holding out to him one of her heelless sandals. It sole was a 
smooth, half-inch sheet of leather. She had given him two with it once, 
bare-bottomed. It had hurt like hell. The sandal covered a huge area, and 
was absolutely unyielding. A leather paddle. 

He accepted it. He tried to melt her a little by putting incredulity into 
his tone and on his face: "Twenty, Aunt Constance?" 

"Twenty." Her face and tone were implacable. 

He enjoyed playing little bondage and sado-masochistic games with Seeta, and 
he knew she did, too. But-he knew that this time he would really hurt her. 
They had both learned that the penalty for failing to hit hard when 
administering punishment for Constance was very severe, and that it applied 
to both of them. They had learned to accept it, and to do what she said, 
just the way she ordered. 

Seeta jerked and whimpered at the very first slap of the hard leather onto 
her denim-molded bottom. Had she had a pimple on her buttocks, the denim was 
tight enough to have shown it. That way the pain would be more severe than 
if she were naked-but the marks would be far less. Yet Barry knew she would 
bear bruises, from this one. 

He swung the hard-soled sandal again. It smacked loudly onto one denimed 
buttock. Seeta groaned and lunged forward, jamming herself into the dresser. 
Constance Deacon watched with bright eyes. Her hand was at the tight crotch 
of her leather pants. 

Barry struck, and struck, and struck. 

He tried to ignore the screams that now ripped from Seeta's throat. The 
leather paddle brought heat, and despite her shivers and the nakedness of 
her upper body, sweat streamed from Seeta's bowed form. Her breath was 
panting, hurried. Beneath her, her bouncing tits dripped sweat onto the seat 
of the chair. Her hair flowed loosely down. Somehow, she kept from jerking 
up as each hard thwacking blow fell to sear into her butt, flattening it 
slightly, but only slightly. That was one part of the jeans' effectiveness. 
They held her asscheeks tightly molded and in place; they could not flatten 
out much or spread beneath the harsh cracking blows. 

Barry did not want to do it, did not really like doing it, not this hard and 
with this-weapon. 

Nevertheless both he and his aunt were aware of the increasing penile bulge 
inside his shorts. She reached over, once, and smoothed her hand up the 
white-molded shaft. He gasped and swung a badly-aimed swat that struck 
Seeta's hip and made her rip out a strident scream. 

The leather paddle smacked onto her up-turned ass like a blazing fire, 
jerking another piteous cry from her. Her butt was afire. Wave after hot 
wave flooded her cunt and her armpits, turning her belly into an inferno. It 
hurt, it hurt, it hurt-and yet she knew very well that her cunt was a lake 
inside. She emitted muffled sobs and wondered at what strange creatures 
human beings were. Did any other animals get pleasurable responses from the 
infliction of pain? 

Her hips were swaying tremorously from side to side. Calves flexing and 
straining, she shuddered. Another blow, and she shrieked in deep anguish. 
Her big breasts heaved and swung beneath her, wet with sweat and feeling 
like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece. Tremors rushed visible through 
her half-naked, scarified body and the others could see her fingers clutch 
and clench at the chair, making spastic and futile little fists. 

"Twenty!" Aunt Constance announced. 

Seeta cried out a last time. Emitting a long, long sigh, she sagged forward 
over the chair. Slowly she sank to her knees, still clinging to it. Her body 
was deeply bowed and her head hung low, sweeping the carpet with her hair. 

"Get up and take off your jeans, dear," Aunt Constance told her. "I'll rub 
some soothing salve on your poor little bottom myself." 

Barry's entire body quivered when his aunt bent over the girl and her 
rounded butt poked up at him, deliciously molded by the shining leather 
pants. His hand twitched and the sandal straps swung. 

But he didn't do it. It required a conscious mental and physical effort to 
keep from whipping hell out of that up-turned ass, but he didn't do it. 

The girl moaned and tried to huddle her beaten butt, tried to make herself 
small as she took off the jeans. Her rump was swollen, seeming to glow with 
the redness of it, and Barry knew, biting his lips, that there would be 
bruises. But his aunt seated herself on the same little chair that had 
served as Seeta's pillory, and she smeared cold cream all over the 
well-whipped ovals of Seeta's ass with a gentle, avid hand. 

Then her eyes rose to Barry. 

"I've decided not to whip you. Suck her off." 

"Uh-oh, please," Seeta whimpered. "Let me suck him." 

Constance's slap on the girl's inflamed hind cheek was not hard, but it 
brought a cry from her nonetheless, because the flesh was super-sensitized. 

"All right! I will! Both of you, on my bed. Side by side. Barry-get out of 
those shorts!" 

Barry and the trembling girl went to the bed and mounted it. Their hands 
trailed over each other as they arranged themselves, he facing the head of 
the bed and she the foot. 

He began kissing the supple lips pouting out between her thighs. He felt her 
breath and her tongue, delicately lapping over the very tip of his cock. He 
closed his eyes. He'd blot out his aunt. She wasn't there. This was another 
loving session, mouth to cock, mouth to pussy, until each of them sucked up 
and swallowed the other's warm flowing juices. 

He licked up and down, up and down the soft pulpy flanges of her cuntlips. 
Her tongue whispered fleetingly over his cock. 

"Stick you finger up her ass, Barry." 

Goddamn her! Why did she always have to interrupt and interfere, calling the 
shots like a movie director? 

Seeta winced, just at the touch of his hand on her swollen and reddened 
backside. But she sighed and slid her lips over the knobby head of his penis 
when his finger wormed its way into her. It was easy. He realized that his 
aunt had dolloped a little cold cream into the crease. 

But she hadn't dolloped any into his, and he jerked and cried out aloud when 
she lifted one of his butt-cheeks and slipped a finger up into his asshole. 
She wiggled. It hurt, it felt huge, and as if it had sharp edges. 

He tried to be gentle with Seeta, but it was hard to be smooth and careful 
when his aunt was deliberately working her finger in and out of his 
helplessly-grasping anus, as if she were fucking him with her finger. 

He grunted when she wedged a second one in. The nail scraped. It was agony. 
His tongue plunged deep between Seeta's labia and he let his groan tremble 
out into her cunt. It was all he could do to keep from chewing the lips. 

He'd rather have been whipped. Damn Constance! 

He gave her clitoris a thorough tongue-lashing, then licked up the warm 
slippery pussy juice that oozed out to mingle with his saliva. She sucked 
his prick into her mouth in delighted response, surrounding the swollen head 
with humid flesh. Her tongue flickered. 

"A-a-a-a ... aannngghhh!" 

The throaty groaning cry was ripped from him by the suddenness with which 
his aunt jerked her fingers out of his ass. His tormented anal hole closed 
tightly and squeezed for all it was worth. Groaning, he sucked and kissed 
the dark-curled cunt pressed so firmly against his face, and wished his aunt 
would go fall down the steps. 

But no ... no ... not yet.... 

He kept his own finger up Seeta's ass, which had been prepared long ago by 
that greased bottle he had plied it with, then by his always-greased cock, 
and even tonight by cold cream. 

Seeta gasped around his penis as she felt him delightfully, assiduously 
tonguing her clit. She had nearly forgotten her pain; it had made her sexy. 
Now that arousal was being marvelously abetted and assuaged. She pumped his 
prick with her wide open mouth and slickered her tongue all over the big 
shaft that filled her face. 

It seemed to have grown a great deal in the two years she had been here than 
her mouth's capacity to contain it! 

She had grown only in voluptuousness, Aunt Constance not at all, and ... 
Seeta wondered. 

Did Barry know that he was as tall as his aunt? Did she? 

Then she grunted, feeling pain in he cuntlips he sucked and the buttock his 
hand crushed. She wondered-what was his aunt doing to him ? 

What Constance was doing to him was forcing several inches of thickish 
candle up his asshole. He squirmed and writhed and groaned, but she only 
pushed harder, her lips relentlessly compressed. 

Then she walked around the bed and jerked Seeta from him. 

"Go around the bed and keep that candle in his ass!" 

Barry rolled his eyes up in pain and apprehension as Seeta got off the bed. 
His aunt had peeled off the leather pants. Now she turned, with her back to 
him, and bent over. He was gazing into the shining pink crease between her 
lovely buttocks, and the red-furred ridge of her pussy slung beneath. 

"Lick," she said. 

He blinked. Then he grunted. Seeta had reluctantly taken up the end of the 
candle that protruded from his ass. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. 
His aunt pressed the backs of her thighs against the bed and wagged her 
hips, slightly. 

He reached out, ran his hand between her thighs and stroked her down-bulging 
cunt. She sighed and wiggled. 

For the very first time, he slipped something other than his tongue into 
her. He wiped his finger all along the inner lips of her slit, making her 
moan and sigh and tremble in the grip of complete lubricity. 

Lubricity ... yes, his finger was well-coated with her vagina's slick 
lubrication. He did it again, reaching out with his other hand to pull her 
back a little further. 

"I ... said ... lick," she gasped, shaking like a sapling in a fierce gale. 

"No," Barry Brookshier said, and he rammed his finger straight into the 
delicate little pink rosette of her tight-clenched asshole. 

Constance Deacon made a gagging sound, then shrieked and hurled herself 
forward as her nephew's stiff middle finger skewered her ass and sank in 
deeply. 

She plunged to the carpet, on hands and knees. Barry's eyes bulged. Her 
posture thrust her naked, gloriously swelling butt out and up, alluringly, 
as if in invitation. 

He hardly felt the candle pop abruptly out of his anus as he pounced. Both 
hands swept up as he left the bed, and both came down as he landed barefoot 
behind his aunt, who was as if temporarily paralyzed with shock. He had-he 
had actuallyThen his palms slapped loudly down onto her up-turned asscheeks. 
"Ye-e-eoxxWW!" 

"Barry!" Seeta cried. She was astonished and horrified as his aunt. It had 
never once occurred to the girl to refuse or resist, much less attack their 
stern mistress. But now Barry had rammed a finger up the slim woman's 
never-entered rectum, and he had slapped her cheeks, both of them, very 
hard. 

So hard that she lurched forward again, and this time she fell full length 
on the floor. She quivered all over in shock, and horror, and humiliation 
and anger. She started to crawl, like a creeping soldier behind enemy lines, 
flat on her belly. 

Barry landed another slap on each of her bobbing bum-cheeks. Again she cried 
out loudly. She was not crying, but tears spurted from her eyes 
nevertheless, as though there was a direct connection between her buttocks 
and her lachrymal glands. Which was silly; both she and her slaves knew that 
the connection was between the nerves of the rump, close to the surface, and 
those within her genitals. 

She didn't think about that, though. The sudden jabbing entry of his finger 
up her virgin anus and the sharp splats of his hands onto the up-standing 
and resiliently round balls of her butt had come too suddenly and too 
mercilessly to be erotic. 

She started to pounce to her feet And was firmly grasped from behind. In an 
instant she realized that he wasn't a boy, physically. His arms were bigger 
than hers, and they were strong. His hands were big and hair shaded their 
backs. His chest against her cringing back was full and muscular and strong. 
The thighs she felt against the silky backs of hers were firm, masculine, 
and covered with hair. And their bodies fitted-that was pubic hair she felt 
against her buttocks. His erection pulsed between their lower curves. 

He was as tall as she, and she hadn't even noticed. 

He was stronger than she, and she'd had no occasion to notice. 

She jerked and writhed, trying to tear herself loose. But his hands 
tightened about her. His fingers slid through the lacings of her skin-tight 
vest and clamped onto her breasts. She grunted in sudden pain as he squeezed 
her firm tits, hard. 

Lowering her wide-eyed head, she stared down at large hands that gripped her 
breasts like hairy cables of steel. 

"My God! Barry!" 

Then: "Barry! NO!" 

He was hunching and swiveling his hips, moving against her, pushing, lining 
up their bodies. His thick young prick pushed between her thighs and its own 
fierce erection made it bob upward. The swollen crown of it pressed into the 
thick red hair that nestled around her moist and shiny labia. 

She jerked desperately-and groaned in pain as his hands only tightened the 
more on her aching tits. 

"BARRY!" 

The head of his cock slid warmly over the supple cuntal lips pouting around 
her slitted vulva. They slipped apart before its pressure, and it slithered 
instantly between them. 

"Barry!" she screamed. "Stop! No! You ca-AH!" 

Holding her strongly from behind, both of them kneeling, he thrust his cock 
into her twat and began to grind his hips. For the first time since his 
father had taken her maidenhead so many years ago, her vagina felt the 
presence of strong thick male flesh. She felt herself flaring open, 
spreading around her nephew's cock. 

His belly heaved and his head went light. Her throaty little cries certainly 
didn't detract from his consuming delight in losing his cock in his aunt's 
pussy. It was wet and receptive, prepared by the preceding erotic activity 
she had witnessed and participated in. 

Thick, spongy cuntlips gripped his prick strongly, lovingly. He hunched and 
sawed and skewered between them, ramming in quest of the end of that warm, 
tight passage. 

"Well, Aunt Connie," he grunted into her hair, "so-you're not-a virgin 
after-till, hmm? Oh-but-uh!--darling, how tight you-are!" 

"Oh," she gasped, "ah-oh dear God-unnh-stop it!" 

He clamped his buttocks together with all his might and pulled her back 
against him hard enough to crush the breath from her as he rammed into her 
with every bit of force and every inch of cock he possessed. 

"Not," he said, gasping, grunting the words out harshly, "until 
I-have-creamed in you!" 

A violent shudder ran through her and she began to weep aloud, pleading and 
warning alternately-and almost incoherently. 

He circled his hips, poking and probing about in her with sensual gyrations. 
She writhed helplessly in his embrace with her tits dimpling and pulsing 
painfully in his hands. The flesh of those very firm, very warm bowl-shaped 
squelched like putty beneath and between his fingers. His cock zoomed in and 
out of her cunt from behind. It grew wetter with each stroke. 

He was stoking her sexual furnace with the poker of his groin, trapped 
within the delicate layers of spongy flesh. Heat rose in her and coiled in 
curling tendrils in her heaving belly. Her hands clawed at his and he made 
her scream and stop by sinking his nails into her breasts. She tried to jerk 
her lower body away and only got herself fucked more deeply on the 
backswing. 

"Seeta!" he called. "Come over here fast and open her vest!" 

"But-but-" 

"Do it, damn it!" he snapped. 

Seeta came quickly, naked but for garter belt and stockings. Her 
almond-shaped eyes were wide and fearful. She couldn't meet the other 
woman's gaze. 

"Touch me and I'll tear your-aaghh!" 

"Keep your hands down, Aunt Connie!" Barry snapped. "Seeta!" 

Seeta squatted and, after a moment's fearful hesitation to lay hands on her 
mistress, almost her owner, she reached up and began untying the rawhide 
laces. Constance twitched, made a nasty throaty sound, and sent her hands 
leaping like claws toward the girl's breasts. That quickly, Barry forced his 
own hands further into the leather vest that covered something like half of 
each of her tits-and clamped her nipples. 

"Leave-her-alone." 

With a sob of frustration, Constance dropped her hands. Moments later her 
breasts were bare and were being firmly, but not cruelly molded by Barry's 
hands. 

"Suck her nipples, Seeta, and lick them," Barry instructed. "And let your 
hand play around over her cunt. Start twiddling her clit." 

His aunt shivered-and suffered herself, in humiliation submissiveness, to be 
sucked and fondled and fucked and stimulated, all at once, by both her ... 
slaves. 

Barry's cock slid in and out of her cunt. 

Barry's hands fondled her breasts-warm, big hands. 

Seeta's lips slipped over one firming nipple. Her tongue twitched over its 
very tip, and her cheeks sank in as she sucked. 

Her hand began rolling the squirmy sliver of clitoral flesh that thrust out 
between the very top of Constance's pussy-lips, well opened and held that 
way by the cock stroking up between them from behind. 

Hot streams of sensuousness seared through her A tingle of sexual excitation 
rose and spread and became a steady pulsation, an almost painful throb of 
carnal lust. She couldn't help herself. It had been so long, God so long, 
and she had loved it so much that time with Ed, a big hot slippery tube of 
male strength throbbing and sliding about in her, in and out of her, filling 
her longing cunt and treating it and her like a woman. She came alive with 
sensuality. 

She felt a surging little lance of heat high in her chest, beneath the fat 
pink button Seeta sucked. Perhaps it was love. Perhaps it was merely 
excitement, the surge of her heart. Or perhaps it was the sliver of ice 
melting from it. Her head pounded and she felt feverish. Ice had clutched 
and ensheathed her brain one night many years ago as she stood staring into 
the toolshed where her lover fucked her sister. Now it began to melt. 

Thrills of rapture shot through her belly and ran screaming in delight 
through the halls of her mind. 

She began to move. The hot firm cheeks of her ass moved over his crotch and 
caressed his hips as she swayed her hips. The bowl-like buttocks thumped him 
and pressed hard into him as she thrust herself backward. Her hands rose to 
Seeta's shoulders, then to her head, and she held the sweet face against her 
breast. 

Throwing back her head and flailing his face with her disarrayed hair, she 
began to fuck herself on the big cock belting in and out of her from behind. 

Barry grinned and buried his face in her hair while he arched his buttocks 
in and out, back and forth, slithering his prick up her mobile body. 

She loved it. She loved the hard thick thrusting of that flailing cock 
pummeling her cunt from behind. She loved it sluicing in her while her pussy 
went all wet and mushy and the girl's fingers rubbed her clitoris into a 
frenzy of twitching lust. She loved the way he fucked her from behind, and 
the way she fucked herself on him, until her body rocked and her bouncing, 
rippling tits swung and shook before her like gelatin balls. 

She remembered a marvelous orgasm, one long ago that had been more powerful 
than any she had experienced since. She had thought it was because it was 
her first. Now she learned differently. Now it happened again. 

"Ed," she whispered, her eyelids coming down to blot out the light and the 
room and the world and the past. "Barry...." 

Then she dissolved in a pure rapture of completion. 

Her convulsive orgasm sent shudders jerking throughout her twitching body. 
She felt it in every pore and nerve. Her belly knotted up and sweat popped 
out all over her. Then it blew loose and every ounce of tension drained out 
of her. 

It made her shriek with ecstatic delight as she came explosively. 

He felt the rush of fluids that bathed his delving prick, felt it slip out 
of her distended cuntlips and drain along the ridge of his cock until it was 
losing itself in his pubic hair. Then he felt the stern inner contractions 
of her vagina and he groaned aloud and gave himself up to a shudder that 
sent gooseflesh racing over his skin. 

He pushed his cock hard into her, his hands sliding down to press her hips 
back against him, crushing her asscheeks and getting him into her another 
half-inch, which was all the way. Then the hot peristaltic convulsions of 
her vagina quickly milked him dry. 

Semen shot and spurted and poured and spattered into her until it, too, was 
drooling out of her inundated pussy and running down her thighs and his. 

She had already had to remove Seeta's hand from her clitoris, which at the 
moment of satiation became so violently sensitive she could not bear to have 
it touched. She felt him cum, and she let herself be pulled sidewise by his 
strong arms and hands until all three of them lay on the rug, enwrapped in 
one another's arms. 

They passed into sleep. 

When she awoke she was still on the bedroom rug and the light was still on. 
Barry's cock was no longer in her and she lay on her back. The hand on her 
thigh was Seeta's. The skin against her own hand was Barry's. She turned her 
head to look at him. 

He was staring at her. For a long while they gazed into each other's eyes. 

"Barry." Her voice was soft, caressing the word. 

He said nothing. 

"You-you remarked that I wasn't, that I'm not-a virgin. No. There was one 
man, one time. I was younger than you are now." 

He blinked, continuing to look into the green of her eyes. Strange; they 
didn't look like emeralds any more. They looked like sea water, soft and 
liquid and full of unknown depths. 

"I-loved him." 

He still did not speak. He just listened, and watched her. He lay on his 
side, facing her. She was still on her back. The leather vest covered only 
her back and shoulders. Her breasts stirred restlessly, beautifully with her 
breathing, and the pink-tipped mounds jiggled more lively when she spoke. 

She wet her lips. It was hard to tell him. She told him. 

"It was your father." 

He closed his eyes in a long blink while he registered that piece of 
information. Explanations began streaming into his mind. 

He opened his eyes again. "And then-mother?" 

She nodded. "I found them together." 

Enlightenment burst through him. "In the tool shed!" 

"Yes." 

Again that slow blink of understanding and sadness. 

"That's why ... the dollar. That's why-we never saw you or grandfather 
or-anyone. That's why they didn't talk about you, and when they did they 
sounded ... bitter." 

"Yes," she said very quietly. "All of it." 

"You must have ... you must have hated mother." 

"She was my sister. I loved him. I was very young, and I was not seduced. I 
gave myself to him very willingly. Then-I found them." She closed her eyes, 
but she opened them before she said, without passion, "Yes. I hated her. I 
hate her still, alive or dead." 

"You became ... Miss Icicle." 

It was her turn to answer in silence, with only a faint nod. On the other 
side of her, Seeta slept, curled almost double, like a child. 

"And you hated him, too." 

"I ... thought I did. That is, I told myself I did. No. I loved him. And-" 

"And you love him still, the same way you still hate her?" 

"Yes," she said, very softly, and even more softly: "You ... you look just 
like him." 

 CHAPTER ELEVEN 

She tried. She couldn't give it up, and she tried. 

They were at dinner, nearly finished, the three of them. Two days had 
passed, two days and a night since Barry's revolt and the revelation about 
his parents, and his aunt, and ... himself. 

"Tonight," Aunt Constance said, "after we eat and you've cleared this up, 
Seeta, we will-go upstairs. I'll want you to ... oh, warm me up, darling, 
with your mouth. And then Barry, too. And then Barry will ... will ... Barry 
will cum in me again. But this time-face to face." 

Seeta said nothing, seeming to study her plate. 

"No." 

Both women jerked their heads to stare at him. Barry was finishing off his 
iced tea. He set the glass down and looked up. His eyes touched Seeta's, 
swept over her face, and met his aunt's. He said it again. "No." 

"I-" Her hand grasped her fork convulsively. "What?" 

Barry leaned back in his chair. "Aunt Connie, I said no. We won't do that. I 
don't want to, and I certainly won't. Whether Seeta does or not is-I'm 
sorry, but it's beside the point. Seeta is mine. When I say no, that goes 
for Seeta too." 

His aunt jerked her tense face and staring eyes from him to the girl. 
"Seeta-" 

Seeta lowered her eyes. Barry snapped her name. She looked up at him. 
Slowly, her brown eyes took on the glisten of tears. 

"Yes," she said softly. "He is right." 

Constance jerked her head back to face her nephew. "Just who do you think 
you're talking to?" 

"Const-Connie Deacon," he said easily. 

"Never mind that! Just who the hell do you think you ARE?" 

"Aunt Connie, my name is Barry Brookshier, and I'm tired of it. I don't care 
to be Barry Brookshier any more. I think I'm Barry Deacon, and that's who I 
want to be. How long will it take us to get my name changed? How long will 
it take to have me-adopted? It should be easy, after all the time I've been 
liv-are you all right?" 

She had sagged visibly in her chair and all the blood drained from her face. 
Her hand trembled, seeming unable to close around the glass of water she 
plucked at. 

"Oh, Barry," she murmured. "Oh, my darling Barry!" 

Seeta sat there looking from one of them to the other. 

Barry rose, took a step, and closed his fingers on his aunt's shoulders. It 
was so strange, Seeta thought. They resembled each other. They were aunt and 
nephew-and yet she looked, if anything, no more than two or three years 
older than he. His mother's sister! The woman had kept herself so young. And 
suddenly-suddenly Barry looked older, just as Seeta had felt, for over a 
year, that he was much older than she. 

Illusions. Bodies and minds. 

"When it's done, Aunt Connie. When it's done, we'll ... celebrate. All three 
of us," he said, glancing at Seeta. "In your bedroom, Aunt Connie. But 
tonight-" He squeezed her shoulder, then removed his hand just as she 
reached up for it. "But tonight," he went on, "I have to go out." 

"Out!" Connie snapped. Again her hand whipped around, this time so that she 
could fix astonished, angry eyes on his face. "Out!" 

He returned her gaze levelly. And he nodded. "Bill Satterfield and I have to 
have a-conference. We've got an idea." 

"An idea?" 

He nodded again. "A ... business idea, Aunt Connie. We've got to talk about 
it." 

They remained as if frozen for a long while, their eyes locked, and Seeta 
looking from one of them to the other. 

At last Connie said, "Aren't-well you're going to give us a kiss before you 
go, aren't you?" 

Barry was right. It didn't take long. It wasn't merely that Constance Deacon 
knew and was known by every judge and attorney in town. Barry, after all was 
an orphan, and he was her sister's son. Besides, he had been living in her 
home, with her as his guardian as well as aunt, for four years. People were 
surprised, and there was a little talk from both her lawyer and Judge Henry. 
But there was no trouble getting the papers drawn up and signed and filed 
away. Barry Brookshier was legally adopted, and he became Constance Deacon's 
only heir, and at the same instant, he became Barry Deacon. 

The papers were lying on his pillow when he entered his room after supper. 
He stopped short, just standing there and looking down at them. Then he sat 
on the side of the bed and started going through them, reading every word. 
There was even a new will. 

When he turned over the last page and glanced at his watch, he saw that over 
an hour had passed. He had to call Bill Satterfield and apologize. But he 
was also able to tell Bill that they could indeed buy up the failing paper 
factory on the edge of town and turn it into a storage warehouse. With that 
and a couple of trucks and a few hands, they'd do damned well, because their 
first hauling-storage account would be Bill's uncle. His little 
jelly-and-jam cannery had far outgrown itself. 

"Hot damn!" Bill snapped. "Man, that's it!" He chuckled. "There goes 
college!" 

"We've got backing and obviously we're business geniuses," Barry told him, 
grinning as if Bill could see him through the telephone. "Well pay back both 
your father and my aunt within five years, unless they want to hang in there 
in a damned good investment." 

"Lord," Bill said, "I just thought. I had shitty grades in high school math, 
and I don't remember that you were nearly as crazy about it as you were 
about shop and civics-oh, and French, for godsake." 

"Mais out," Barry chuckled. They had graduated together, and taken classes 
together, but Bill sure hadn't dug French. 

"Don't give me any of that weewee stuff, partner! The point is, with neither 
of us a college graduate or even business school training, what do was do 
about our bookkeeping? Man that's gonna take an accountant, and that's four 
years of college!" 

"Bill," Barry said confidently, "well buy one." 

After a long silence, his best friend-and now partner-Tsaid, "Uh-which? 
College or accountant?" 

Barry laughed. "How about one of each, but one at a time-and in reverse 
order! Bill, I gotta go. Let's make arrangements to talk with Jack Sebry's 
brother. He's been accounting with P&G down in Cincinnati for a couple of 
years now, and he's up to here with regimentation." 

"Check, partner! See you." 

"Adios," Barry said, "podnah!" 

After hanging up, he went straight out into the hall. He yelled, from he top 
of the steps. "SEETA! NEED you!" 

Without waiting, he went along the hall to his aunt's door. It wasn't 
closed. She sat in the frilly chair she liked, facing the door. She was 
looking at a magazine, but she looked up. Slowly, as he stood there staring 
at her, she let her face relax into a smile. 

Barry went straight to her, took the hands she lifted, and pulled her out of 
the chair. The magazine dropped with a ruffling of its pages. He hugged her, 
then kissed her, first as an aunt, then as a lover. Her mouth seemed to melt 
under his, then firmed again and she met his lashing, probing tongue with 
her own. Her hands moved over his back. 

"My God," she whispered, when they pulled their mouths apart, with 
reluctance. "When-when did you get so damned big?" 

"Maybe I got stretched, hanging over your knees," he said, squeezing her 
waist. 

"You-that tickles, Barry. You found the papers." 

"I read every last word." He squeezed her to him again, then moved a step 
back with his hands back at her slim waist. "I will not call you Mother. I 
will not call you Aunt Constance, either." 

She smiled. "Barry, that tickles! 'Aunt Connie' will do nicely, dear." 

He shook his head, pressing her waist with rippling little movements of his 
fingers. "No it won't, Connie." 

"Barry, I think that might be too-Barry! Your hands tickle, and your touch 
is-entirely too ... intimate!" 

"it's going to get a damn sight more intimate, Connie," he told her, and he 
reached up and hooked his hand in the throat of her blouse and ripped it all 
the way down the front. 

Her gasp was echoed by Seeta's, who had come into the room behind Barry. He 
glanced around. "Strip," he said, and immediately faced his adoptive mother 
again. 

"What's a blouse between friends?" he said. 

"Barry, you-" She sighed and smiled. "Well, all right. But I'll take off the 
rest. Now let's have that celebration. First, I want Seeta to-" 

Barry spun her as he stepped sideways. Her little squeal was cut off with a 
whoof as he dropped into her chair and pulled iier down across his thighs. 
One hand pressed firmly at the center of her back. The other whipped up her 
skirt. 

He had an instant erection, sitting there looking down at the black-pantied 
rump he had turned up so enticingly-and so vulnerably. She wiggled and made 
another squealing sound, then seized control of herself and called his name 
in a stern Aunt-Constance voice. 

Barry slapped his hand down onto her right buttock as hard as he could. She 
cried out frantically. But to little avail; to no avail, in fact, at all. He 
held her firmly across his thighs and slapped her again, this time on the 
other up-bulging cheek. Blood rushed to her head and her temples started to 
throb. "Barry! No! Stop this! Let-me-GOV "I," Barry said firmly, "will be 
goddamned if I do." 

He slapped her panty-molded rump five times in swift succession, three on 
the right cheek and the fourth on the left and then the fifth back onto the 
right again. 

Fire blazed in her tensing, trembling, up-turned ass. Muffled sobs trickled 
from her open-gasping mouth. She writhed and kicked, going all hot and 
sweaty. But by far the hottest portion of her long willowy body was her 
furiously smarting rump. 

Again his big hand came slamming down on the quivering masses of flesh, 
catching the very summit of each. Her bottom flattened slightly then jerked 
upward, tightening in pain. 

Seeta stood very still, with her legs together and her lips apart. She 
stared. 

Barry looked up and grinned at her. He beckoned. She came. Connie started to 
twist around, sensing a lessening in the pressure of the left hand that 
pinned her in place, like a helpless child across his legs. Instantly he 
pushed her back down. With his other hand he touched one of her bulging, 
trembling buttocks. 

"Right here," he said. 

Seeta gasped and bit her lower lip. She shook her head. One hand went behind 
her, slipping over her own perfectly halved ass-sphere. She stared at the 
smaller, up-turned butt of the other woman as if hypnotized. She couldn't 
take her eyes off it. How many times her own had been helplessly up-turned 
like that, and how many times Constance had smacked and pounded it, or 
ordered Barry to.... 

Barry's spanking hand shot out and grasped her wrist. "I said right there!" 

Standing behind the sprawled woman, Seeta raised her hand and brought it 
swinging down, a long way down, and it was the hardest slap Connie had 
received. She screamed and tried to lunge, moaning; she could almost feel 
the blisters rising on her burning butt. 

She cried out again when Barry jerked her pants down off the up-turned 
half-globes of her bottom. He smiled. The cheeks he uncovered were tensed 
tightly together. They were a definite deep pink that was far from the same 
nearly white hue of her thighs and back. 

He started spanking her naked ass. 

She screamed and threshed about, her buttocks tightening, flinching, then 
quivering like jelly as each new blow came rushing down. She could hear her 
own pitiful sobs. 

"Here, Seeta, give her a hard one-well make this redhead's ass as red as her 
hair!" 

"No-o-o!" Connie wailed. 

With her teeth fastened in her lower lip, Seeta raised her open palm in the 
air, anticipating the delightful target of firm female rump-the rump of the 
female who had dominated and beaten her for two years. Then she brought that 
splayed hand racing down for a direct hit on the victim's reddened left 
buttock. 

"Aaa-yowww! Oh-please-no more-please!" 

"Are you crying, Connie?" Barry asked. His hard-on felt like it was going to 
shove a new hole through his shorts and pants, and to hell with the flies. 
"I always spank my bad girl until she cries!" 

Her swollen, shuddering buttocks bounced and deepened in color under an 
avalanche of raining palm-swats. She moaned and wept and twisted her flaming 
bottom, totally abandoned to fear and pain and submission. 

Barry stroked the well-reddened cheeks with sudden gentleness. 

"Seeta-kneel now. We have to put lotion on her poor bum. Open your legs, 
Connie. Seeta's going to soothe your ass-with her tongue. Saliva beats 
Jergen's any day, and it's a lot more fun to receive, too." 

"But-" Seeta was frowning at him. She'd thought "You Pakistanis just don't 
understand Americans," Barry told her. "We don't overthrow our government. 
We just let 'em hear the voice of the people every now and again-and feel 
the hand of the people! We usually lick their wounds, then-people are 
licking Johnson's right now, buying his damned book. Now you lick Connie's!" 

Seeta sighed, and he smiled at the lovely bounce and sway of her naked 
breasts. He nudged at the inner thigh of his aunt's right leg. It swung 
down. Her other one remained across his own thighs. Seeta knelt between the 
long, white legs of her employer. 

Then, with a growing tenderness and fervor as Barry fondled her naked 
breasts, she licked Connie's ass. 

Connie sighed and twitched. She didn't want it to, but for some reason her 
hand moved back to press and caress Barry's calf. He lessened the pressure 
of his hand on her back, then began running it up and down her ruined 
blouse-which looked perfectly all right from behind. 

And Seeta's warm wet tongue trailed soft sweet caresses and glistening 
saliva all over Connie's swollen, smarting cheeks. Connie could feel the 
girl's breath, could feel her lips, could feel that sweet slithering tongue 
taking the cruel throbbing out of her bare, up-turned cheeks. 

"Now between them," Barry suggested, thumbing the kneeling girl's nipple. He 
watched his aunt flinch and tremble in violent arousal as Seeta's tongue 
traced all the way down the crack between her whipped buttocks, all the way 
down and onto the bulging, furry mound beneath. She tickled it easily 
between the lips. 

Then she looked up at Barry. She smiled. She didn't have to tell him; he saw 
the moisture on her face. "She's all wet." 

Barry leaned far down to kiss her. He ran his tongue into her mouth. Then he 
drew his trembling aunt up, turned her slightly, and closed her mouth with a 
kiss. After a moment, she returned it with a flickering stabbing of her 
tongue into his mouth. 

"There," he said, patting her ass, "you've tasted your own ass and your own 
cunt, Aunt-Connie." 

"B-Barry," she murmured, trembling again. "Don't-don't talk like that. 
Not-about me." 

Barry gave her a surprised stare, then whipped her head down again. 

"Oh no!" 

"Oh yes!" And he bounced five hard slaps off her naked butt. 

Then he folded his arms. "Stand up, Connie." 

She stood slowly, reaching back to touch her red and smarting rear end. Her 
skirt was caught on her own wrist. Barry stood up, and she realized that she 
had to tilt her head, just a trifle, to meet his eyes. He began unbuttoning 
his shirt, reminding her that her blouse hung open and tattered down the 
front, with her black-bra'd breasts thrusting forth. 

"Get naked, Connie." 

She nodded. They watched each other undress. Dropping the ruined blouse to 
the floor, she peeled her bra-straps down her arms, then pulled the harness 
around to get the hook in front. She flipped it open and her naked breasts 
cascaded forth, jiggling. 

"Your tits have hard-ons," Barry said, unbuckling and unzipping. "Or maybe 
it's hards-on." 

"So do you," she said, nodding at his shorts, which looked stuffed. His 
pants and her skirt dropped. He skinned quickly out of his shorts while she 
leaned one hand on Seeta's shoulder, peeling off her panties. 

Barry moved straight to her and cupped his hand in her crotch, then 
squeezed. Her eyes hooded and she gasped, staring at him. 

"I'm going to fuck you," he said, very quietly. 

She shivered violently, then gasped and shivered again when he slipped a 
finger up into the wet slot of her passionate, juicing cunt. He wiggled it, 
swiped it back and forth, making her rise on tiptoe. Then, sliding it out of 
her, he held the coated, shiny-wet finger up between them. She watched him 
slip it into his mouth, and she shivered still again. 

He slipped the same finger up into her wet pussy again, and again pulled it 
out, and this time he held it before her lips. With her eyes on his, she 
licked it. Slowly, he pushed it into her mouth. Her sucking it made his cock 
throb and his testicles tighten almost painfully. 

He began fondling her breasts. "Seeta will lie on the rug, on her back," he 
said. "You will kneel between her legs and give her a sucking and tonguing." 

Her eyes flared and her lips trembled. "B-Barry ... she ... I've never ... 
she's-" 

She subsided. His fingers dimpled her breasts deeply and his thumbs moved 
over the tips of her straining nipples as if he were testing the edge of a 
knife. She sighed, deeply. And remained silent. 

"I'll be behind you," he told her, and pulled her against him so that she 
could feel the pressure of his hardened penis. It made her tremble. She 
rocked her hips slightly, moving herself against it. 

"But, darling-" 

"You've got to stop starting so many sentences with 'but', Connie." 

She licked her lips. "You promised, darling. Face to face." 

"I don't remember promising, but you can be damned sure we'll get to that." 

Seeta slipped up beside her. "Suck hard and lick my clitty," she said, "and 
perhaps I will cum fast and you can turn around." 

Barry watched his aunt's face stiffen. He felt the new tension in her body. 
Well, she'd learn. He had already established who was who, between the two 
of them. Soon it would be the three of them. Both she and Seeta would do 
what he said. He was young, and he could sure as hell take care of both of 
them. But he could hardly wait to see his aunt kneeling behind the other 
girl, sliding her tongue up and down her ass-crack and into her asshole ... 
to see the two of them locked in 69, while he lay behind one or perhaps one 
and then the other, running his cock in to feel wet tongue and wet pussy 
both ... to watch his cock vanish, slowly, up his aunt's ass ... and to 
stretch them both out to be spanked, and make Connie submit to Seeta's. 
whipping just as the girl had been forced to submit to hers and his-then, 
make certain they both understood the new nature of things, he'd see that 
Seeta's naked ass got it from Connie, too ... and maybe-he wondered. Yes, 
he'd probably want a bit of butt-whopping now and then. He'd probably miss 
it. 

But right now they were getting into the positions he had stated, and 
Seeta's lips stretched wide in a smile as Connie knelt between her coppery 
legs, widely, obscenely parted, and began to lower her head to the glowingly 
back thatch of the younger girl's vulva. 

Connie's naked butt lifted higher and provocatively higher. 

Seeta groaned aloud when she felt the pressure of soft, warm mouth against 
her cuntal mouth, when those fur-framed lips were opened by other, pinker 
lips, and a tentative tongue tested the taste and moistness of her vagina's 
vestibule. 

Barry slid down to his knees behind his aunt and watched her shiver and open 
her legs still more as she felt his presence. He reached under her 
still-reddened rump to fondle the thick, well-oiled lips of her belly's warm 
wet hollow. The lips were sagging, gaping, anxious to be stretched still 
farther and pumped. 

He moved up, shoved his cock in to stretch her labia still farther and 
started pumping. 

She jerked her head up, arching her back and ramming herself back against 
him. His eyes met Seeta's over the older woman's head. 

Seeta smiled, lazily. "Turn her over and fuck her properly," she said. "I'd 
love to watch." 

"O-o-ohh, yes!" Connie gasped ecstatically. 

Barry pulled his slippery prick halfway out of her-but she wouldn't allow 
that. She sucked it up into her dripping cunt again with a swift crawfish 
movement. 

"Is that really what you want, Seeta?" 

She nodded. Her deeply brown eyes were bright. "Yes! I want to watch the two 
of you fucking!" 

"You talk naughty," he said, reaching around to fondle his aunt's dangling 
tits. Connie groaned. 

"We are all naughty," Seeta said and grinned delightedly. Her hands had 
already slipped down to her own vulva. 

"But once we've finished," Barry said, struck by a sudden extremely arousing 
thought, "it's my turn to watch. You two will circle around and put your 
tongues into each other." 

Connie shuddered in wild libidinous response to the words and the thought. 

"I shall suck your cum from her pussy!" the girl hissed raptly. "Yessss!" 

"Oh-oh,God," Connie whimpered. "AH-all of that? You-you're so marvelous, so 
good to me, darling, darling Barry!" 

"Yes," he said exultantly, and pulled his big hard cunt-stick cock out of 
her. Her gasp was still riding the air when he turned her over and stretched 
between her legs. She grabbed him ecstatically. He placed one hand on each 
of her mounded, upsurging tits. 

Fondling and squeezing them, he moved up and into her, very, very slowly, so 
that both of them could feel and remember and relish every moment of his 
cock's slithering into her wet hole the way she wanted it, face to face. Her 
eyes stared brightly into his and shudders rocked her constantly. 

This, he thought, feeling his throbbing cock slip slowly up between the wet 
lips of her cunt and into its wetter channel, is beautiful! It'll be even 
more beautiful to look down at her face when she sucks me off for the first 
time-I wonder if she'll have to be spanked a little before she agrees to 
that? Another first.... 

Then he put his cock all the way in, and her green eyes were huge and her 
hands grasped him with all her strength. He began writhing and threshing 
atop her, letting her feel all his weight while he felt her vaginal muscles 
nip his dick in lecherous little squeezes. 

Every long hard thick inch of his cock swept in and out of his aunt's tight, 
twice-fucked pussy in an ecstasy of hard drilling for her womb. 

She squirmed and writhed in ecstatic response to his weight and his hard 
prick strokes. Her belly pulsated against his and her nipples were long and 
hard, like hard lumps of rubber under his grinding chest. Her hips were 
swerving, twisting from side to side and her nearly-flat stomach rippled in 
straining tension. 

He glanced aside. 

Seeta knelt there with her legs well apart, watching them with an avid face. 
She had one hand clamped around one of her naked breasts and the other 
between her thighs. It was pressed close to the glossy blackness of her rich 
pubic forest, and she seemed to be missing two fingers. She gave him another 
of those wholly wicked grins. 

He paused in his movements to feel the throbbing heat and excited 
contractions of his aunt's wet smooth burrow squeezing and nipping him 
exquisitely at every thrust. 

He drove his slick dick up her belly with hard lunges of his pelvis, 
enjoying the voluptuous wriggling of her rounded, very firm haunches. The 
shag carpet was flattened beneath her; the floor beneath that would not 
allow her body to sag away from his deep dick strokes as a bed's mattress 
would have done. 

She had forgotten the spanked pain of those tight asscheeks. They pressed 
and rolled against the rug, aiding her to arch her body and wiggle her hips 
to clamp around his cock with her tight passage. 

Suddenly her arms shot up around his neck and she mashed her open mouth up 
onto his. He kissed her, jabbing his tongue in and out in tune with his 
cock, which was ramming her pussy hard with a primitive, phallic violence. 
It stroked her cunt deep, piercing and probing and thrusting aside the juicy 
folds of her cunt. 

"My-good ... God," she gasped, looking very excited and startled, "I-I'm 
cummmmming!" 

He smiled and hunched up, elevating the angle of his cock's easy sliding in 
and out of her, to add some pressure to the apex of the lips his drilling 
shaft held so wide open. 

His heavy-laden scrotum was rapping the tightened skin just beneath her 
well-filled vulva so hard that he could hear the repeated slaps, beating in 
rhythm with his penile thrusts into her warm wet deeps. 

Her body arched and heaved and her stomach was animated by rolling 
contortions. Suddenly, she was going wild in an extravagant, seething 
orgasm. 

She convulsed and screamed under the intense impact of a delirious climax 
that filled her with the final rapturous satiation of voluptuary joy. Her 
vagina began contracting with vehement spasms. 

He felt every loving, squeezing pressure of her wanton crack around his 
stiff and distended dick. She was shivering, ramming with her feet against 
the floor to jam her body up against his and fill herself with strong young 
cock to the mouth of her womb. 

Tremors of ecstasy surged through her as she joined him in a completely 
wild, rhythmless tempo of uncontrolled, debauched fucking. 

The vehemently soft and pliant hollow of her loins clung lovingly to the 
pumping shaft and caressed it with delightful contractions. She hunched and 
bucked and rolled her buttocks beneath her, pumping him up to the spurting 
point. 

Then, for the third time in her life, she took the spurting injections of 
warm sticky male sperm. Jerking in violent spasms of intense sexual release, 
he felt his fiery semen bursting from his jumping prick. Liquid seed spewed 
up her sucking, contracting pussy. 

He lay weakly on her, panting and exhausted from his final frantic movements 
and from the total draining of sexual release. She smiled happily and 
clutched him close with loving hands. 

Seeta knelt there beside them, smiling. 

Watching, hearing the sounds and smelling the strong sex smells of passion, 
she thought, was nearly as exciting as doing it herself. 

At last he felt his tired cock slip wetly out of Connie's drooling, slippery 
gash. He slid himself off her and lay on his back beside her, staring at the 
ceiling. Then he grunted; Seeta was bending over his crotch, cleaning away 
every trace of semen on his deflated cock and emptied balls. Then, rising 
above him, she grinned down at his flushed face while she let her dangling 
breasts trace over his chest. 

A few moments later he was watching the two women, half-curled side by side 
on the bed. Soft sucking mouths slid over soft damp lips of love. Flickering 
tongues caressed long sexual slits and whipped up over twitching clitoral 
buds. Connie held onto the girl's asscheeks and sucked and licked as though 
she'd been doing it for years. 

Seeta, meanwhile, clamped her mouth to that open, recently fucked cunt. Lips 
like soft wet silk parted to admit her sliding tongue. She poked it in, 
swung it around, tasting Barry's cloying sperm. She lapped it forth and soon 
her tongue was working like a piston, busily emptying her mistress' cunt of 
every drop of fluid his virile penis had poured into it. 

Barry sat beside them, fondling this asscheek and then that, comparing them, 
noting that Seeta's was both larger and softer, despite her youth. Connie's 
smaller bottom was considerably more firm, tight and compact. So were her 
breasts, and he squeezed their strong contours before pushing his hand 
between the big pillows of Seeta's tan breasts and making them jiggle and 
flop. His fingers slid over Connie's tongue and into Seeta's flowing vagina. 
Then, with a finger well wetted with her inner fluids, he again impaled 
Connie's anus. This time he took more time and was far more gentle than he 
had been that night of his initial rebellion. The willowy woman wiggled and 
sighed. 

He sat there fondling and watching them until each of them had made the 
other cum. by that time his youthfully virile prick had rejuvenated itself 
and grown to imposing length arid thickness again. He wiggled down with 
them, and abruptly Connie found the cunt she had been licking and sucking 
was gone. In its place were hairy thighs, fascinatingly hairy balls, and the 
long delicious spear of her nephew's throbbing manhood. 

She surprised all three of them, then. Without hesitation, she slid her lips 
over the tingling tip. 

Barry lay there gasping, with a finger in Seeta's anus and another of the 
same hand in her belly's humid cavern, while with his mouth he explored and 
loved her breasts. She held them up and together for him, sighing in delight 
at the attention she had wanted since the erotic evening began. 

Meanwhile he was reveling in what his father before him had dreamed of, what 
he himself had thought and dreamed of and seen in his mind's eye as 
something he would receive sometimes in the future. His throbbing prick was 
firmly and lovingly ensheathed in Connie's mouth. 

His beautiful aunt was, willingly and enthusiastically, sucking him off. 

Oh, good God, Barry thought, as the pressure of orgasm began to build up 
again in his scrotum. There are so many things yet to do-and plenty of time! 
What a good life it's gotten to be; what a great life it's going to be! 


THE END
