She Lured Little Brother
by Carolyn Hunt


FOREWORD 

If there was any girl in America who was seemingly miscast in a family drama 
which centered on sex, it would have had to be Ellen Mack, in the opinion of 
any objective witness. And yet, in the light of what happened to this 
chaste, convent-bred young lady in Carolyn Hunt's new novel, we see the 
power of human weakness, the great paradox of our life on this earth. 

The Holy Bible says somberly: "It is better to marry than to burn," probably 
in one of those interminable letters which that incredibly prolix 
correspondent, Saint Paul, wrote to his scattered flocks in Corinth, in 
Thessaly, and elsewhere. But the good saint also wrote: "Everyone runs, but 
not everyone wins first prize." 

The clash of these two aphorisms on sexual conduct is a part of why human 
beings are at once so sad and so happy, in the duly considered opinion of 
Ms. Hunt. There is always the grim-lopped rule and there is always the 
warmly human urges which the rule is supposed to hold in check. 

But there are always, even among the most devout religionists, circumstances 
which make the rules not only impossible, but which seems to make breaching 
them the only sensible, human, and ethical thing to do. 

Young Ellen Mack did not think of herself as a woman. But her body knew that 
Ellen was not a child any more. Her body knew what passion was, what sexual 
drive and need did to it. But Ellen was unaware of the silent conspiracy 
going on in the tenderness and sensitivity of her softly mature young self. 

In the end-or perhaps it was really the beginning-it was the young girl's 
goodness, her concern for her brother, that made her body the master of her 
mind, the devastator of her strict set of dogmatic rules. 

And it was the injustices against her warm generosity, against her kindness 
and humanity, which caused her-forced her, really-to mature in attitude as 
well as in body. 

Although she never put it into words, Ellen Mack realized that what is good 
for you at one point is bad for you at others. And also, that seemingly bad 
things that happen can turn out to be good things, emphasizing the lessons 
of hope, the lessons of patience. 

And giving a warm natured girl a chance to live a little, too. Could 
anything better happen to a girl like Ellen? Or to her father, her brother, 
the man she mistook for a priest? 

We think not, but we leave it to your judgment. 

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-THE PUBLISHERS 

 CHAPTER ONE 

Ellen Mack, restless and worried as she turned and twisted in her big, soft 
bed, wondered if she dared go to the bathroom to look for some sort of pill 
that would help her sleep. She had the most dreadful feeling in that place, 
down there between her thighs. In her vagina, if you had to name it. And she 
was in such a fever of sexual heat that her tender spirit was in almost as 
terrible pain as her tender young female parts. But she would not touch 
herself down there. Ugh! She shuddered with distaste. And she shuddered 
again, a long one that wracked her lovely young body, and this time it was 
raw desire, burning sexual need, that made her body quiver. 

Her hands slid down to pull her chaste nightgown down. Maybe that would 
help. But it made things worse. Her hands, warm and soft, seemed almost to 
melt into the smooth, warm skin of her belly, so that she jumped from just 
that teeny little touch. It was awful! 

"Oh, God," she prayed in a soft whisper, "relieve me of this vile 
temptation! Help me not to soil my body and spirit with lust!" 

It was a mistake to pray, and Ellen realized it. Because, the very minute 
she asked to be relieved of the temptation, her mind asked: "What 
temptation?" And her mind always supplied its own answer. Because it was a 
temptation she had been fighting, without any real success, since before she 
was twelve. 

Before her mother had left her father, taking her oldest child away with her 
to that cold city in the Northwest, where she could put Ellen in a convent 
school. 

"You'll love it, here, darling," mama had promised. "It's so peaceful. And 
the Sisters will be so good to you, and help you to grow up without any 
impure or immoral thoughts. You wait and see!" 

But it hadn't helped. Just as her prayer, just now, hadn't helped. Her mind 
and her body seemed to be in cahoots against her conscience. Because, when 
her mind asked: "What temptation?" and supplied its own answer: "The 
temptation to love yourself, to play with your thing," it just made her vile 
body all the more horrible. All the more degrading and disgusting. 

And, when she accidentally touched her stomach, and it WAS accidental, 
REALLY it was, her filthy body had fairly leaped in excitement. Just like 
those little black dogs that had those red, wet looking little 
you-know-what's. Only, of course, dogs were animals, and they couldn't help 
it. And humans were children of God, and had God's words to guide them. The 
power of choice, that's what. 

Only, and Ellen had to recognize this, if she didn't take some kind of 
something to numb her, to get her some sleep, she'd fight this craving until 
she was too-weak to resist, and then-oh, God, the enormity of it!-she'd have 
to give in. Have to put her fingers into THAT place, that awful place, and 
have that terrible thing happen to her. In spite of mama and the nuns and 
The Mother Superior and Father Geoghan who came each Saturday to listen to 
confessions. 

Fighting back tears, the nubile child, for she was a child, in spite of her 
seventeen years and the generous maturity of her softly sculptured young 
body, got out of her rumpled bed and put on the small lamp by her bed. 

The rush of aching sensitivity she felt down there, in her own phrase, 
reminded her that it wasn't just in her vagina. She hated that word, it was 
so vulgar. And it referred to something hidden, and even more vulgar than 
its name. And it wasn't really the place where the agony was, for it was 
close to the surface. In her vulva. Vulva! That was worse than vagina! How 
could they call these homely, necessary, embarrassing parts by such horribly 
suggestive names? And why did women have to bear this cross, the cross of 
sin which Mother Eve had brought to all women? 

But when she thought this, her head nodded in penitence, for she was 
questioning the will of God, and that might very well be a venial sin. If 
she were back at the school, she could have asked Mother Superior. Or even 
Sister Adolphus or Sister Mary Magdalen or Sister Jeanne D'Arc. But best of 
all she would be to ask Father Geoghan. He was the best of all. He would pry 
at her until she told him exactly what her thoughts had been. And when she 
admitted she had rebelled against being a woman, and having these itchy, 
overly juicy parts, he would really come down on her. Make her tell him, in 
detail, exactly which parts, and by what name or names she thought of them 
when she rebelled? And how did they feel, that she was so blasphemous as to 
doubt God's lightness. He would repeat the names of her parts as she uttered 
them, rolling them under his tongue as if they just simply made him sick to 
think of them. And she, Ellen, pleased with the misery she was inflicting on 
herself, would feel a stir and flutter in those very parts as the priest 
excoriated her for such vile and impure thoughts. 

"There must be some other names you girls call those various and sundry 
parts of your sinful little bodies," the old priest would grumble. "How old 
are you? Nearly seventeen? No, already seventeen?" He made a sound as if he 
were drawing in a sharp breath over a lip full of spittle, the same sound 
Ellen would make if she were thinking of toast and eggs for breakfast, or a 
bite of chocolate candy. But Father Geoghan would grumble: "Well, you 
should, by rights, know more of sin than ye do, it'd make these confessions 
just a bit more lively." 

Actually, and Ellen burned all over just to recall it, she knew at least one 
more name to call those parts. She wouldn't repeat it, even to herself. It 
made her too warm and juicy, and she was already itching and burning out of 
control. 

She held her nightgown away from her belly and breasts. They, the darn big 
old things, were causing half the trouble. If she hadn't taken after mother 
quite so much in that respect! Nadine Hall, who was always on the carpet in 
Mother Superior's office, had the same trouble, but she just laughed about 
it. "Sure, guys notice them," she had said proudly, when Ellen had asked 
her. "What do you think God made men and women different for, if guys 
weren't going to notice boobs and stuff?" 

Boobs! That Nadine, she was a bold as brass! And she knew that other word 
that Ellen knew, the word that meant a girl's privates. She even used it, 
once, when she had gotten hold of a bottle of sacra mental wine one of the 
sisters had left in the kitchen. 

So, Ellen held her nightgown away from her breasts and belly. And, because 
she had had that piercing, agonizing flame of feeling in her vulva-ugh!-she 
walked with her knees bent, so that her thighs would be apart, and wouldn't 
make those thick, hairy lips rub together. That was almost too much to bear. 

She went down the familiar hall. So good to be home after five long years! 
So good to have little Ronnie-big, now-to love and take care of. He was so 
quiet, so sort of pitiful. And little Terry, although Terry, too, had sure 
grown a lot. Terry was going to have trouble, too, with guys noticing her 
bosom. And all of her. For a girl only eleven, she was certainly bouncy. 
Maybe, after she got used to being home, she could control this horrible, 
wicked thing that her body did to her. 

She paused as she got to the bathroom door. There was a band of dim light 
under little Ronnie's bedroom door. She couldn't have that! Her dad had left 
her in charge. 

"I hate to run out on you, your first night at home, Peaches, her dad had 
said, squeezing her shoulder. "But we guys have already paid for this 
charter boat-twenty-eight bucks each-and we've planned the trip for two 
months. I'll get Miz Sanderson, down the street, to sit you kids. Then I 
won't worry." 

And Ellen, feeling grown up and feeling grateful to her dad for giving her a 
home, hastily replied: "Oh, no, daddy! Have you forgotten? I'm seventeen. 
And we had three years of baby-sitting courses in school. To make good 
mothers and wives out of us. I can handle these sweet little kids." 

A lot those fuck-ass nuns know about being a good wife, Bob Mack said to 
himself, bitter, as always, when he even so much as thought of the church. 
Gretchen was the best piece of ass .in California when we married. Hot, hot, 
hot! Willing to try anything. Until, unaccountably, she'd gone back into the 
church of her family. And then-brother, how she had fucked things up! 

Of course, for a long time, they had followed the rhythm method, not 
screwing during a certain three days of each month, which Bob hated. But it 
was a hell of a lot more fun, shooting off your sperm in a woman's vagina, 
just letting it go in all its heat and slickness and force. Rather than 
using rubbers. And even better than a woman filling herself with that damn 
foam, and corking up her womb with a diaphragm, a "short-handled rubber," as 
an old girl friend of his had called it. 

So, for those years, acting as if he, too, were a good Catholic, Bob had 
been so content, so raised to high heat by Gretchen's tits and her lovely 
body, that he had fucked himself silly. 

And then there had been little Ellen, looking so much like him, that tiny 
little mite. So sweet, so much a gift from Heaven, that it was a long time 
before he had the effrontery to proposition Gretchen to get back to 
humanity, to sex, to trying those things she had grudgingly done for him in 
the last few months of pregnancy. 

Wow! To have your dickie licked by a professional whore was all right, a lot 
of fun, and no way to get clapped up. But to have your own wife suck you 
off, boy, that was the most! And it was out of a book that the priest had 
given them. When they went to talk about what-all Bob would have to do to 
become a mackerel-snapper. For right then, before Ellen had been born, he 
was willing to do anything to be on Gretchen's good side. Or her front or 
her back, as long as he could get it into her slick, tight, chewy little 
hole. Yes, Bob Mack would be willing to take instructions, to join the Holy 
Roman Catholic Church. And that old priest had been a bird! 

"Young couples mustn't be too formal with each other, you know," he had 
said. "Love is human. God gives us the ability to love. But He expects us to 
use our ingenuity to appreciate his great gift." 

So, he had given them the book, that marvelous book, opening it to point out 
a picture of a very lovely naked girl enthusiastically giving a blow job to 
an appreciative naked gentleman. "Of course," the old priest had chuckled, 
"I don't say the Monsignor would approve of this, but when a man's young and 
randy, he needs to have his carnal needs taken care of." 

He had patted them both on the back, and looked at Gretchen's bulging belly, 
so full of little Ellen. And that gross belly had given him one more thing 
to say: "Remember, my son, no matter how full the barn is, you can always 
shuck a few ears in the door." 

Getting organized on the charter boat with his pals, heading for Mexican 
waters in the hope of hitting a big school of albacore, Bob Mack thought of 
his daughter, row so grown up. And of her mother, when she was still trying 
to be a good wife. It made him shiver. What that woman had done to him! Like 
robbing him of all confidence. 

Couldn't even approach a woman, unless it was a whore. Poor little old Rose 
Nariz, that had to fuck and suck to eke out a bare living on that puny 
salary she got for waiting table at the beanery. Or a traveling hustler, 
known to one of his buddies. "I used to be a gutsy cocksman, too," he 
muttered to himself sadly, kicking his tackle box under his bunk, leaning 
his rods in the comer of the tiny, fishy-smelling cabin. "Only good thing 
she ever gave me was the kids," he whispered, tears in his eyes, peeling his 
boots off, ready to try and get a little shut-eye. Be down to Todos Santos 
Bay by dawn, and they might run into anything, down there. Weather'd been 
hot all the way from Panama to Frisco. Maybe even a few yellow-tail might be 
slashing through the green water, headed north. 

That thought of the gift of his kids stayed with him, and he thought 
wistfully of all of them. But especially of Ellen. So grown up. Pretty! And 
poor, quiet, scared little Ronnie-Gretchen had sown guilt in his young 
spirit before she left, taking Ellen along. If he could only afford a 
shrink, he'd sure as hell give Ronnie the chance to overcome his handicap. 
"Only thing is, I need it worse than he does," Bob muttered, grinning wryly 
in the dark. 

A sleepy voice in the next bunk cursed and asked: "Who in hell you talkin' 
to? Get some sleep, dummy!" 

Bob rolled up in his blanket. Terry wouldn't need a shrink. There was one 
kid tough enough to live in this strange, sad world. He hoped in his heart 
that Ellen was making out all right, that the two "home kids" wouldn't gang 
up on what was, in a way, a brand new member of the family. He hoped she was 
finding her way along. 

She was. 

As she saw the thin string of yellow light under Ronnie's door, the 
mother-boss in her came to the fore. She forgot the pill, thinking only of 
her duty. Can't let him get away with this kind of thing, or I'll never be 
able to handle him, she thought. 

She made no attempt to tread lightly. If she was going to come down on him, 
she had to come on strong. She marched to his door, took the knob in her 
warm little fist, and threw open the door. 

There was one dreadful moment when she thought she would faint, perhaps even 
die, from fear and embarrassment. Then she realized that Ronnie was asleep, 
and couldn't help the sinful thing he was doing. And besides, he was only a 
little kid. Barely twelve. How could he know what was happening? And, more 
to the point, how could he know that it would affect his sister so 
powerfully? 

The sleeping kid, only twelve, had a hard-on. It was as simple as that. And 
yet, to a totally inexperienced girl, loaded with stories of the varied 
dangers a female can face from men or boys, it was a most frightening 
phenomenon. Frightening, but strangely fascinating. This was it, the 
monstrous thing that mama talked about, this unnamed but easily imagined 
danger the nuns talked about. And, it was the first one that Ellen had ever 
seen. 

Well, to be honest she very clearly remembered having seen her dad's. She 
shouldn't have seen it, she knew. Their meeting, in the hall that ran from 
bath to bedroom, was truly accidental. She had been strangely excited. 
Scared, but fascinated. She knew she should have dropped her eyes. But she 
couldn't. And, remembering it, she knew that it had not been rigid and 
trembling and dark red, like poor little Ronnie's. 

Poor Ronnie! As she thought this, she laughed softly. She should have been 
thinking "poor dad!" He had been terribly embarrassed. Tried to cover that 
thing with his big hand, but of course she had seen it. Funny, he had not 
been going from the bathroom, but to the bathroom. He had just come from 
bed, from the bed he shared with her mother. And that penis of his had been 
shiny-bright, as if he'd dipped it into oil. And it wasn't too long after 
that that he and mama had had their terrible fight, and mama had left, 
taking her, Ellen, with her. 

"Here's one female you won't ever corrupt with your evil ways!" mama had 
shouted as she made the announcement that she was leaving and taking Ellen 
with her. 

And all these memories were flashing back in her young mind in the twinkling 
of an eye, as she stood rooted, her young female organs hot and trembling, 
looking at little Ronnie's hard, nodding pecker. 

From then on, Ellen acted as one in a dream. Or a nightmare. She knew very 
well that what she was doing was terribly wrong, wrong beyond words. But she 
was, after all, a natural human being, and nature had overtaken her. She had 
this dreadful feeling of intense, itchy heat in her hated vulva, her 
despised vagina, and yet there had been times, so many, many times, when she 
had no defense against this terrible habit. 

As Father Geoghan had so often said, "If ye'd only learn to come to me 
before the fact, my daughter, perhaps we could work out something that would 
be a bit less sinful for you, even if it meant my sharing of the sin." And 
then he would sometimes sigh, or sometimes he would laugh. And, at one time, 
when her blouse had rubbed on her quaking breasts, when she was so terribly, 
intensely full of that dreadful animal heat, making her have that hateful, 
wetly drooling spasm, deep up inside her, the old priest had been filled 
with tongue-clucking sympathy, ordering her to lift her blouse and hold it 
around her neck. "Just to take the wicked feeling and pressure off the 
tender, sweet little things." And he had sighed deeply, and then groaned, 
and she could hear a very fast, rhythmic rustle of his robes before he said, 
gustily: "Go and sin no more, my child. If ye can manage it." And he had not 
given her any penance at all, none really, only a few Hail Marys. "Because, 
my dear child, it's not your fault if the Good God has given ye such a warm 
nature," the old man whispered, feeling of the tender, sweet little things 
as she got up to leave the confessional. 

So, in a way, in that brilliant, shameful, rewarding moment, she had a lot 
flash through her mind-that Ronnie couldn't help it if, as Father Geoghan 
had said of her, the Good God had made him a warm natured boy, and, since 
she was his sister, his older sister, she owed it to him to help. At least, 
some fluttering rationalization along this line burned in her fevered young 
mind, just as a grasping, gripping, painfully lovely sensation gripped her 
young body. She had absolutely no idea of what she was doing. It was nature 
at work. She felt hot all over, so hot that she was afraid she would 
explode, screaming and writhing, as she sometimes did when she committed 
that dreadful offense of touching her vulva. So, quite simply, she took off 
her long-sleeved flannelette nightgown. 

Even in her shame, seeing her young, well formed body in the mirror in her 
brother's room, she knew a moment of love and admiration for herself, as her 
Creator had made her. The firm, rosy, bouncy young breasts, capped by 
blood-darkened, passion swollen nipples. Her sweetly rounded belly, with its 
softly out-lined triangle of light brown pubic hair. Awful? Well, the 
breasts, the hair and what it hid, the roundness of her buttocks and the 
strongly built young thighs, they represented something "awful" to mama. And 
to the nuns. But right now, her girlish mind turned in another direction by 
the heat in her cunt, Ellen thought her body beautiful. 

Her young brother, tall for his age, skinny, dark, looked so pathetic in his 
deep sleep, so vulnerable, that Ellen's heart went out to him. He had 
somehow gone to bed without his PJ bottoms. Perhaps he had meant to jerk 
off. He was a timid, confused boy, with no one to talk to about sex except 
other boys his own age. And they were as ignorant as he. But he had, 
possibly inherited from the genes of his father, a fiercely active 
procreative system. Balls almost as large as a man, capable of filling with 
semen and sperm, putting pressure on his penile nerves. A rather large penis 
for a twelve-year-old boy, which was for him, as his sister's pussy was for 
her, a source of more guilt than pleasure. 

What strange quirk of nature twisted the tender mind of the young girl, so 
steeped in the strangely sadistic sex-and-sin ethic of Mother Church? Was it 
the long, hard, red-tipped spear of throbbing flesh, with large balls 
attached, thrust up from the young brother's loins? Was it the denied but 
persistent need which pulsated in the lovely young virgin's softly squirming 
cunt? Or was it just a combination of everything that makes our sexual 
natures so lovely and so grim? 

Whatever it was, seeing it happen in the mirror like a dream too wicked to 
be beautiful, but too beautiful to be denied, in a slow-motion feeling that 
made each moment seem ten times as long, young Ellen did the things she 
could not help. 

She got on the bed, on hands and knees, her face just above the throbbing, 
trembling cock of her brother. Her full breasts touched his thighs, giving 
her a deep thrill of pleasure she had never known. Not even when Father 
Geoghan had touched her breasts. "Just to see if they're really all that 
sinfully excitable," the good man had said in a voice suddenly hoarse with 
his own feelings. 

The smell from Ronnie's crotch was gaggingly sweet, sickeningly exciting. 
And, in an odd flash of memory, a dark, closed corner of her mind snatched 
open for a split second, she knew that this was not the second male organ 
she had ever seen. It was the first. In years gone by, an experience she had 
loved, and that had been forced out of her mind by the deep sense of sinning 
that had overgrown every warm instinct and impulse in her mind, in her soft, 
warm body. 

When she was eight and Ronnie was three, she had looked at him. Close up. At 
his little "peenie" as he had called it. He had had a babyish erection then, 
and she had spent a long time looking at it, holding it, fighting down the 
urge to suck it. Had she sucked it? She did not know, or would not remember. 

But now, overcome with the sweetness of aroma emanating from the young boy's 
sweated crotch, and probably unable to deny such a sweet and natural 
yearning, she opened her mouth, finding it unaccountably flushed with 
saliva, and took the hard, blood-filled, nerve-taut young cock into her 
mouth. It was unintentional, surely. 

How else, in God's name, could a child of seventeen, a product of a harshly 
restrictive instruction in sin, and especially in the dreadful sinfulness of 
her own vile body, have done such a thing? It had to be unintentional. 
Because her mind, her conscious mind, simply shut it out. 

However, she had no unconscious senses, no unconscious nerves. The 
sweet-sour strength that comes from sweated balls and sweated ass crack 
provoked a wild fever of anticipation in her lascivious mind, in her crying, 
coaxing, wheedling, demanding fuck-system. 

Every heartbeat swelled the veins in her swollen inner labia, making each 
nerve end curl in heat, making each microscopic pore open and leak out its 
sweet, clear, warmly slick mucous. 

And the rankly inviting, acridly stirring taste of all the moisture, all the 
deposits of human secretions from under his thick soft foreskin as her lips 
instinctively pushed it back, so that her tongue could wrap around it! How 
beautiful! Even in sin, how sweet! 

She moved her body, keeping her writhing lips, her busy tongue, on Ronnie's 
stiff penis. Her breasts rubbed his body as her beautifully divided young 
rump, looking so wide and womanly in this pose, moved around toward her 
brother's face. She could now smell the thick, beastly aromas from her own 
despised genitalia, the seat of all man's sin as well as woman's. It smelled 
marvelous. She knew it was dreadful for her to exude it, to create such a 
rankly animal perfume. Even more horrible was the fact that she enjoyed it. 
But it was a part of this dream of unbridled licentiousness, of truly 
bestial lust. And yet, the taste and feel of her young brother's cock in her 
mouth, the deadly charm of his human smells, the soft shock as his redheaded 
peter struck against her tonsils, all of these were a part of this nightmare 
of love and bliss. 

And instinctively, as if she had spent years sucking cock, she leaned her 
breasts softly on his flanks, held his penis in one soft hand and his balls 
in the other, and, acting on some deeply hidden knowledge, used her lips and 
tongue and cheeks and throat, as well as the caresses of her hands and the 
sensuality of her own body, to draw from his boyish nuts all the rich seed 
he had stored away inside them. 

She had never heard of a wet dream. She had no way of knowing that her young 
brother, his humanity and healthy sexual system operating without his 
consent, was about to shoot his nocturnal emission of boyish sperm into a 
dream-cunt. She knew only vaguely that men's organs emitted some dreadful 
fluid which, if so much as a drop got on your skin, could cause your belly 
to swell with the presence of an unwanted child. She had no idea how this 
happened. She knew that boys stood up to pee, using these same odd, enviable 
tools that girls didn't have. No doubt the fluid that made babies came out 
of the same place. She fought fiercely with her instincts, trying to unmouth 
this hard, jerking rod of flesh that seemed to fill her mouth and pound at 
her throat with such devilishly sweet force and meaning. But all she did was 
to close her thighs on the maddening heat, the screamingly sensitized nerves 
in the lips of her sex, the thick, softly fleshed, well -haired lips that 
she was so ashamed of. 

And, as the hot gushes of her brother's cum shot into her throat, and she 
could not stop sucking for fear the drying fluids would show on his sheets, 
she swallowed every drop of the slick, rich seed. It clogged her nostrils, 
there was so much of it, and she could not swallow when the red head of it 
was deep in her throat. Her mouth filled with it, her cheeks filled with it, 
it was rolling under her tongue and across her taste buds. It was, a part of 
her mind said, disgusting, horrible, wicked, sinful, utterly depraved. But 
some core of rebellion accepted it gratefully, thinking how rich and slickly 
salty it was, what a lovely, loving treat between brother and sister. Or 
between man and woman. 

But the rebellious acceptance of the deliciousness of her brother's cum was 
not her only benefit. Or her only sinful action, whichever one wishes to 
call it. 

There was roaring fire deep up inside her, where all that female wickedness 
lay, all that temptation for both male and female, as the nuns and her 
mother had dinned into her head until she just tiredly accepted it as 
gospel. A person couldn't live without sinning. Anyhow, that's what Sister 
Adolphus said. Even nuns sinned, even her mother sinned. Only, Ellen never 
dared ask her mother if this were true. Mama was short tempered, most of the 
time. 

She let the warm, thick, richness of her brother's young balls flow into her 
mouth and down her throat. There were drops leaking out the corners of her 
lips, and she thought desperately that she would have to be sure and lick 
them up, their presence would be so incriminating. But all the time, this 
cannon of intensely pleasant pressure was firing inside her, again and 
again. She had had experiences similar to this, when she could not control 
her impure thoughts or the horrible, depraved, degrading lusts of her body, 
so she knew what it was. What Nadine called "cumming", a crude bit of 
obscenity, although Ellen didn't know why. "Coming" was a perfectly good 
word, a useful verb. But to "cum" with all the forces in your hot, sweet, 
drippy young vagina-that was a sin against God, her mother, the sisters, 
even the church. 

But her strong, sweetly formed young body continued to buck, her cunt walls 
chewing together, since they had nothing solid to rub against except each 
other. And the horrid depravity-which felt so marvelous, that was the worst 
part-of cumming just went on and on, her vulva and her vagina and even her 
dirty little old bunghole where the doo-doo came out, all were in on the 
sin. 

She could stop what she was doing. But her body could not. She could take 
her mouth off of Ronnie's penis, which still shook and trembled, and 
occasionally gave a dying throb. It was covered with his juice and, perhaps, 
her saliva, Ellen noted. In spite of the horrendous sin, the enormity of 
which she confessed inwardly, she could not stop the echoing and re-echoing 
of orgasmic shocks in her sweetly flowing little cunt. And she knew that 
very soon she would have to get off the bed, stagger to her own room and try 
once more to go to sleep. 

But she still had one duty. To clean her brother's young organ, so that 
neither he nor her father need ever know. 

Whatever shame she might have felt from this perverted act, she overcame by 
assuring herself that this was a service of love, that she was sacrificing 
herself for the good of both her brother and her father. The richness of 
taste, the thick, saline delights of eating her young sibling's cum was 
something she would not permit herself to think of. Enjoyment would have 
doubled the sin. 

When she went into the bathroom, she found she had to urinate, and let loose 
a yellow flood of urine, an action that gave her a very considerable shock 
of pleasure. Since it happened in the performance of a necessary function, 
the semi-distraught girl allowed herself to shiver with the clean lust of a 
small orgasmic quake. 

However, she realized that, with the intensity of feeling in her vulva, she 
did not dare wipe her young twat with toilet paper. Instead, she simply let 
the few unshed drops of her pee to cling to the membrane through which her 
urethra emptied, and to the softly curled, light brown hair that protected 
her cuntal flaps. 

She found a bottle of something called "Snoozy", and took twice the regular 
dosage, her teeth chattering with the chill of guilt and sin, although the 
night was pleasantly warm. The sensitivity of her breasts had not gone down. 
They were as swollen as ever, and the nipples stood out like deeply creased, 
hard grained little pricks. She simply carried her nightgown in her hand, 
secure in the knowledge that, whatever she had done, there would be no 
ripples of calamity that would affect others in her home. But she was not 
that lucky. 

Ronnie had been awake after the first ten seconds of her awkward but 
determined sucking on his cock. And eleven-year-old Terry, curious about 
everything, especially sex, had seen it all. 

 CHAPTER TWO 

The Mack home, built many years ago when labor, lumber, and land were all 
cheap, has lots of room. And three baths. 

One was, of course, the big hall bathroom. Everyone used that. It was where 
Ellen was heading when she saw the light under Ronnie's door, where she had 
gone later, to find the pills. 

There was "mom-and-dad's bathroom," only it was now dad's, a bright, 
comfortable room with a shower over a big tub. As it happened, Ellen's room 
adjoined this bath, and there was a door from her room that made it HER 
bath, too. But naturally, she never had used it. And wasn't about to. It 
smacked of sin. 

The third bath was, like dad's, between two rooms. Ronnie's. And Terry's. 
This was Terry's doing. There was still another room across the way, next to 
the hall bathroom. But Terry had cried, and yelled, somewhat to Ronnie's 
embarrassment, until dad had let her move her things into the room which had 
a common bath with her brother's. She liked it that way. Often, if Ronnie 
forgot to latch the door that opened on her room, she came into the bath to 
find a number of highly exciting things. 

Like Old Ron playing with his peter. Wow! That was exciting! And no matter 
how he hollered, she knew that he liked it, too. He'd even let her hold his 
cock sometimes when he peed, so she could wave it around and guide it and 
watch the yellow piss burn its hissing way into the calm waters of the 
toilet. Oh, damn him! If he'd only let her get in the tub with him, if he'd 
only piss on her! Or let her piss on him! 

Because her old dad was right. She was one kid that would not be hurt nor 
frightened by sex. Frustrated, yes, because she still was only eleven. She 
was bold as brass with her girl friends, just as they were with her. But she 
was only a kid, and very shy. Talk to a guy about sex? Never! It would have 
killed her, she declared. So, for now, she had to take out her sexual 
aggression on poor, passive, scaredy-cat Ronnie, loving him but scorning 
him. 

Until tonight. 

In this bathroom that was hers as much as his, she had stopped dead in her 
tracks as she heard a door open and shut. It wasn't Ronnie. He had been 
asleep. She knew. She had peeked in. 

As a matter-of-fact, she had been in the room only a few seconds before 
Ellen. Pulling the covers down. Looking at that fantastic hard-on. She 
didn't think of it as a penis, or what it was doing as an erection. She was 
a sexual pragmatist, a child of this age. She called it a cock, she called 
what gripped it a hard-on. 

She had been in that darkened bathroom, her cute, boldly rounded thighs 
spread wide, and she had two of her fingers stuck in her sopping little 
crack, clear up to the tiny, hard little cervix. Jacking her fingers in and 
out, cannily hitting the good places, the spots where the most ticklingly 
sensitive nerves writhed against the soft pressure of her girlish little 
paws. 

She, too, had dispensed with her nightie, but not for the same protective 
reason as her sister. Not little Terry! She wanted to squeeze her hot, 
trembly, sex-fired little titties. It was so damn good, when you 
finger-fucked yourself to a frothy, burning, leaky, cunt-busting cum to maul 
your own tits so savagely that the sex-fire ran from them to your pussy, and 
back again. Oh, wow! Was it ever! 

She had seen, stricken speechless and motionless, as Ellen had come in. She 
had seen the look of raw desire on the softly pretty face of her sister, and 
had interpreted it for what it was-animal lust. Her heart had almost stopped 
when Ellen had swiftly drawn the gown over her head. Damn her, anyhow, she 
always did have the tits! The thought goosed the younger child with a shiver 
of sibling anger. 

But she need not have envied Ellen. Nor, indeed, any woman on earth. She was 
only eleven, but nature was making her-and the male world-a promise, 
nestling under the knit shirts, the teeny bikini bras, the thin, 
semi-transparent blouses. Ellen's breasts were bigger, sure. Why not? She 
was seventeen. But the small, firm breasts on this eleven-year-old child 
were beautiful. 

Only today, in the hall at The Old School on the small hills above Lupus 
Beach, Terry's teacher, Miss Gentry, had smiled as the child passed, and 
mentioned her endowments. Mentioned them, in fact, to Ray Burleson, 
principal of the school. 

"That kid's going to have to be caged in a couple or three years," Gladys 
had said. "By that time, no man on earth could see her and not be out of his 
nut to give her a bang." 

And Mister Burleson-sometimes referred to as "girleson" by his friends-had 
groaned and said: "Gentry, I'm three years ahead of my time!" 

He was thinking of the firm, beautifully shaped little breasts, the small 
but elegantly rounded little butt, the gorgeous young legs shown almost to 
their limit by the girl's skimpy skirt. But he was also thinking of-seeing 
and digging, really-her perfect little face with its full, curving, 
sensuous-looking mouth, her green eyes, her golden yellow hair. J wish I 
could tell you, Gentry, he thought, but you'd shriek to high heaven. And 
probably the Superintendent. 

But the female teacher, looking sympathetically after the bold and bouncy 
young girl, had her own thoughts: That kid could give a guy a blow-job to 
cave his skull in from vacuum, and old Girleson, bless his horny heart, is 
thinking of it. 

Now, tonight, not knowing nor caring what the principal had said, the hot 
little kid jerked herself off with a desperate need, peering through the 
crack of the door, watching Ronnie's hard-on. Until Ellen had come in. And 
began eating her brother's prick. God! That was enough to make a girl cum, 
to cream her tights just from seeing how Old Ellen, that Miss Priss from 
convent school had copped that hard dick! 

The child was wracked by spasm after spasm of warmly undulating orgasm in 
her tight, sweet, clean little cunt, until she suddenly realized that Ronnie 
was awake, and had been most of the time. That stopped her. But it dragged 
her into his room. 

And for the best reason in the world. The poor dummy was bawling his eyes 
out. 

She went in silently, then threw herself on the bed on her brother. Her 
warm, smooth little body rubbed against his as he cried, wiping his 
streaming eyes clumsily with the back of his hand. He was so far gone in 
misery that he paid no attention to his young sister's gorgeously lascivious 
nakedness, not even when she rubbed her softly pulsing, warmly juicing 
little cunt on his skinny arm, getting a hot, deep thrill in the dark of her 
fuck hole. 

"She did it!" he kept repeating. "She did it! I didn't do it, it was Ellen!" 
And then, surprising little earthy-minded Terry, he said thickly: "She 
sucked my cock! Ellen sucked my cock! Oh, Lord! What can I do? My sister's a 
cocksucker! Yes, a cocksucker!" 

The words, and the vision they brought back to the younger girl, gave her an 
intense shiver of fuck pain. She was slobbering with desire, her clear 
spittle running from her full red lower lip on to Ronnie's shoulder. His 
passion had not departed. He had only been cumming a year, his balls were 
eager to manufacture and store enough cock juice to keep him going. And he, 
too, was susceptible to the implications in the rich, warm words he had 
used. Cocksucker! Sucking my cock! It made him burn with guilt, but it also 
made him burn with the fullness of his manly young nuts, made his cock leap 
like a startled snake. 

With her breasts smashed against her big brother's bony shoulder, and loving 
him more than any other person on earth, the randy girl slipped her warm 
little hand down into the boy's crotch. Her fingers brushed the stiff curly 
hair on his belly-so dark, so manly!-and she took a firm hold on his young 
cock. He jerked her hand off of his pecker, and angrily said: "Keep your 
clappy hands off me!" 

Then, contrite, he turned and hugged her, uncaring that she was naked, and 
said: "I'm sorry, Terry! I'm just desperate! Ellen sucked me off! My own 
sister! I just don't know what to do!" 

"If you had any guts, you'd go in her room right now, and give her a good 
fucking," Terry said firmly. "She's a hot bitch! Anyhow, you dummy, you know 
I'd suck you off. Any time. Haven't I told you, time and again?" Her sweet 
little face was set in lines of intense concentration, because she was 
quietly, tenderly frigging his cock in her warm, childish hand, as soft as 
warm velvet. He shut his eyes, trying to keep his mind on what he had been 
saying, but her busy, warm little hand, jacking his thick, soft, white 
cock-skin up and down, showing the dark red head, then covering it, giving 
all his fuck system's nerves the time of their young life, was getting 
between the boy and what he had been concerned about. 

"I saw her, buddy," the little blonde whispered, keeping her eyes on the 
marvels of her brother's cock. It felt so soft on the outside, the loose 
skin so thick and sweet, but so hard and rigid at its core. She had never 
had one of these in her, of course, yet she hoped one day to grow up, to be 
a woman or at least "a big girl," so that she could hold one of these 
wonderful things in her little hands, pull it up to the slick entry to her 
body, rub its head up and down in her sluice box to get it lubricated, and 
then, whoosh! Right into the old cunt hole! And fucky-fuck-fuck, in a hard, 
hot, driving rhythm. 

"I saw her," she repeated, as though mesmerized. "I saw her take it and suck 
it and make you cum. Why didn't you pull it out of her mouth and squirt it 
all over her tits? Her face? Oh, I know, I know," the little girl said in 
resignation, "A thing like that feels so damn good you're not going to pull 
it out, right? Hey, buddy, why don't you just lie down? Let me get you off, 
baby! You do let me, sometimes," she complained. "I love to see it shoot. 
It's so pretty and white and thick. Just like the starch that mama used to 
put in my white dresses." 

She was panting, now, deep breaths that were hard to suck into her straining 
lungs, and her hand was getting tired. Why didn't the darn fool go ahead and 
cum? Maybe that big old load that he'd shot into Ellen's chops had cooled 
him out. He could still get a hell of a hard-on, but he couldn't shoot the 
stuff. Damn! 

Her little breasts seemed almost twice their size, their pink nipples now 
swollen and blood-red. As she tried to jerk her brother off, her motions 
made the sweet little titties bounce up and down, as far as their size and 
firmness would permit, and the love-pain she got from her tit action was 
excruciatingly beautiful. 

She was watching the boy's thin, worried face intently, and suddenly she 
felt deeply angry at all the vicious forces which had made him an emotional 
cripple. Lots of guys, she expected, would be only too happy to have anyone 
suck them off, sisters, mothers, the girl next door. It must be wonderful to 
be a guy, and to have a cock full of jism, so that some slick mouthed, 
saliva drooling chick could lick it and suck it until it lashed its load 
into her craving throat. But poor old Ron! He was a mass of guilt. 

He had laid himself back, as she had suggested, and now his face seemed more 
peaceful, happier. As she jerked on his cock, and now she was doing it more 
tenderly, more carefully, keeping her grip loose as she pulled down, closing 
it over the red head as the skin went over it, she leaned down more and 
more. Now she was just above the swelling joint, her sweet young lips 
forming a slick red oval as her spit dripped over the throbbing cock. 

She had often leaned over Ronnie's crotch at night, when he was sound asleep 
and had left the bathroom door unlatched. She had inhaled that rankly lovely 
fragrance that rises from an unwashed dick, and had hungered for it. Now, 
unaware of her sister's innocence, she hated the older girl. First, for 
having had the guts and the initiative to suck that lovely, hard, 
red-pulsing tube of hot flesh. And second, for having licked off all that 
deeply stirring goo, that substance which smelled so exactly like her little 
pussy when it was heated, slickly drooling out its female seepage. Yes, 
Ronnie's sweet dick, warm and sweated and unwashed, had the smell of her own 
cunt. Just as, no doubt, it had also the rich ripeness which she licked off 
her cum slicked fingers when, in desperate sexual jollies, she had fucked 
into herself to gain the release of a hand-induced orgasm. 

But at least, now, she had the cock for herself. She leaned that one or two 
extra inches, feeling the cushioned softness, the velvety smoothness of the 
big, blood-pounding head, licking around it with loving care, going down on 
it with eager force, so that the resilient head mashed softly but firmly 
against her soft palate, past it to her tonsils, and, bending, slid a good 
two inches into her gullet. 

She groaned, and the vibrancy of the sound was like a tuning fork on 
Ronnie's newly aroused peter. He had been in a sort of unbelieving dream, 
the mad nightmare of his big sister sucking his prick, his resultant 
hysteria with little Terry's loving comfort to steady him, and now-now the 
new dream, the sweet dream of his tiny sister letting his dick slip and 
slide wetly into her sweet mouth. Her sweetly sucking mouth. That warm, 
drooling pink slash of flesh, armed with a smooth, prehensile tongue to 
caress it, with softly moving cheeks to delight it, with a closed throat to 
fold tightly over the risen meat, the throbbing roll that was ready to shoot 
its slick, thick, hot discharge again. 

In his dreamy ecstasy, he put his hands on little Terry's head, surprising 
her, for she had thought that only his being asleep could account for him 
permitting her to suck him off. 

How could she know that some mysterious love lesson, fed into him by sexual 
osmosis, held him enthralled with the marvelous but deadly sin of having 
your sex organs in contact with another person? A person of the opposite 
sex. A sister. 

She groaned again, and the hot, demanding itch of cum-need in the 
blood-swollen lips of her girlish cunt made her turn her body, exactly as 
Ellen had done, so that her smooth and beautiful rump was spread wide before 
the mirror. She had seen Ellen's fat red cunt lips, fringed with tawny hair. 
Beautiful! She wondered then and wondered now why Ronnie had not pried into 
it. It was so near his hand, so pinkly inviting, so gorgeously oozing with 
its clear cunt nectar. She knew her brother was timid. But, holy cow! With a 
girl's pussy spread wide and warm and slippery for his hand, while the girl 
gobbled his cock with such tender ferocity, how could any guy, even a dummy 
like Ronnie, ignore it? 

But she would not leave such a thing to chance. 

She could see herself in the mirror, by turning up her eyes and taking the 
cock into her cheek rather than down her throat. She felt her small but 
aroused breasts press on Ronnie's belly. She saw his face, turned toward the 
mirror, looking her in (he eye. And, with her mouth stuffed with his 
palpitant cunt-plunger, she pointed back of her, between the globes of her 
sweet and sweated ass. And he got it! Miracle of miracles, old dumb Ronnie 
caught wise! 

She felt his breath blow warmly and sweetly on her exposed and widely opened 
pussy. And then, more solid, but smooth and warm, she felt her brother's 
hand go into her warm, slick, sweet cunt lips, touching the throbbing flesh 
around her clit in aching sweetness. 

As he felt the tight, slippery-warm folds of her childish but maturing 
vagaina softly nibbling on his probing fingers, and realized that this was 
the cuntal delight which his pal, Chuck Gilman, had promised him, he began 
to fuck vigorously up into his little sister's face, landing the yielding 
head of his cock against the redly oozing back of her throat. And she loved 
it! 

It was wrong, but it was too wonderful to stop. But something happened to 
him. Something new, something even more marvelous. Much worse, as he 
understood the rights and wrongs of boys and girls. But he could no more 
help it than Ellen could, a while ago. HE HAD THE MAD IDEA OF FUCKING LITTLE 
TERRY! 

Of rolling her on her back, pushing her knees back against her chest to 
bring her fat little pussy up to make it open and accessible. And then, GOD 
FORGIVE ME! his mind thundered, to stick this hard prong into that 
streaming, warmly flowing little hole! He felt her juice, the warm, sweet 
juice from her young pussy, run down his fingers, down his wrist. God, she 
had a lot of it! And there was that wild, crazy, beautiful perfume, that 
cunty smell that had almost gagged him with pleasure when Ellen had stuck 
her fat, firm, white-fleshed butt up to him. Now, ready to fuck Terry, he 
felt that he was a fool for not having also fucked Ellen. 

It was a terrible thought, but he loved it. And he loved this warm, softly 
muscled little butt, inverted, just now, from the position it would soon 
take. 

He cleared his throat and spoke, although with difficulty. 

"Roll over, baby," he growled, his voice deeper, Terry thought, than it had 
ever been before. "Roll over, and lie on your back. I'm going to fuck you!" 

But this picture, this clear, bright picture of her on her back, her legs 
raised and spread wide to let her brother's hard cock bang into her, was too 
much. Blindly, feeling an explosion of orgasm begin to roll inside her, a 
bigger and better one than she had ever known before, she hunched her soft 
little body back on Ronnie's fingers like a jumping jack, nearly breaking 
his wrist, getting his two long fingers so deep up her cunt that she felt a 
dull, beautiful pain, the shock of a hard blow on her juvenile womb. 

It made her shoot her wad, made her swarm all over him, letting his nodding 
cock go from her spit-slicked mouth, crying: "Ohhhhhh! OHHHHHH! OH GOD, 
RONNIE, MY LOVER! OH, BABY, HOLD ME! SUCK ME! I'M CUM M M M MMIIINNNGGGGGG!" 
OHHHHHH! OH BLOODY LOVE AND FUCK AND SUCK AND COCK AND CUNT! OH HEAVENS! OH, 
RONNIE BABY!" 

He was frightened half to death as she bucked wildly over him, sucking his 
belly, sucking his navel, biting his skin, her wails of love and orgasm 
shattering the still night. But then, as his hand slid again into her 
flowing pussy, into the warmly wet lips which had swollen so as she had 
spent this vast cum of hers, he realized with deep relief that dad wasn't 
here. 

Ellen was. And Ellen had been left in charge. But piss on Ellen! She had 
sucked his cock, hadn't she? What the hell would a cocksucker like Ellen say 
if he had the same service performed on him by little Terry? 

"Come on up here, baby," he whispered in manly fashion, "come on up here and 
kiss me! I'm gonna fuck you, you hear? Give me your lips, doll," using a 
phrase he had heard on some sneak preview of an R-Rated movie at the Solana 
Theatre. 

And, when Terry turned her shining face to him, licking her full lips, 
redder than usual because of her flush of passion, he said: "Put it on me, 
baby. Lay your leg over mine so I can feel that hot gush of goo from your 
pussy!" 

The young girl shuddered with another smashing echo of her orgasm, and hid 
her bright young face against Ronnie's shoulder. She wanted his hands on her 
tits, she wanted his tongue in her twat. But she knew how innocent he was, 
how timid. He's even timid with me, she thought with a rush of protective 
affection. Worse than I am. And a year older. But she could not feel 
contemptuous of him. 

Instead, she asked in a muffled voice: "Do you know what French kissing is? 
How to do it?" 

He thought of all that his older friend, Chuck Gillman, had told him. 
Sticking your tongue in some sloppy old girl's dirty old mouth. Ugh! But it 
was what fellows did. When they wanted to get a girl worked up, that is. So 
he said, with false assurance: "Sure, I know how. Doesn't everybody?" 

But, when his little sister, plastering herself against his body with all 
her heat and strength, laid her warm, wet mouth over his, and boldly thrust 
her tongue into his surprised mouth, he was amazed at two phenomena. One, 
the ease with which a guy could learn to do such a grown up thing. And two, 
that it could be so instantly warming to parts far removed from his mouth. 
Like his cock, for instance. 

He began to make fucking motions, not giving a damn if he shot off in the 
air. Of course, it would be better to cum inside of old Terry, inside that 
warm, sloppy-lovely pudding of flesh and membrane which was pouring out girl 
juice. But if he did let his wad go on the sheets, old Ellen would see it, 
and wish she had it. 

Old Chuckie was always telling him about feeling girls' tits. "You got to 
get started," Chuck had said. "Kissing and feeling them up, that's the best 
way." But, in this position, it was awkward to get his hand between his 
chest and Terry's. So, instead, he slipped his hand down over the young 
girl's silky smooth back, into the moist, sweet crevice of her beautifully 
rounded little butt, and wiggled it in the cum juice which coated everything 
in reach with the thick, lovely slime from her twitching young cunt. 

She was beginning to moan, hunching her body against his leg, feeling for 
his dick, when the crash came. 

It brought them both upright, badly startled. 

There was no doubt about it. It was in the house. On the stairs? Maybe. It 
had to be dark out there, and daddy wasn't at home. Burglars? Who in hell? 

Ronnie, his young cock unaffected by the sudden interruption, stood by the 
door, looking back to the lovely, naked, stirring sight of his young sister. 
He motioned her to stay where she was, to be quiet. He turned out the light 
by the wall switch. Then he silently opened the door, only a crack, and 
looked out. There was some light near the head of the stairs. He turned back 
to Terry. 

"It's only Ellen," he said. Then his voice changed to a note of worry. 
"She's down. I wonder if she's hurt herself?" 

 CHAPTER THREE 

She had never been further from sleep, Ellen decided as she took the four 
tablets. Her body was on fire with the prurience of her disgraceful act, 
with the turbulence of her unruly mind. She was, in a way, the victim of her 
body, she decided, but that was no real excuse. Father Geoghan would wring 
her out for this violation. 

And then, with a sinking feeling, she realized she could not go to the good 
old priest. He was eleven hundred miles away, far up in the northwest. And 
the family had quit going to church, so she had no known base for 
repentance, confession, and absolution. There was a horrid and deadly fear 
of the unknown as she blindly stumbled back to her room. Her feet seemed to 
tangle. Could the pills have begun to take effect, already? 

She knew they had not. Her dirty, nasty old vagina, her vulva, if you 
preferred that hateful name, both of them were boldly, throbbingly alive. 
Every heartbeat reminded her, in the swollen and juice-leaking parts which 
made her woman, that she was more filled with nasty lust of the flesh than 
before. And yet still-her feet were acting very funny. 

All she had read on the label of the "Snoozies was to the effect that a 
normal dose was one to two tablets. She had not read the following fine 
print, which said: "CAUTION! Take only as directed. This is not a narcotic. 
All persons do not respond to 'Snoozie' in the same way." 

As the well built girl got into her room, fiercely desirous of getting into 
bed where she could rub that intense itch, she realized that she had not 
brought her nightgown back. It was maddening. She could not remember whether 
it was in Ronnie's room, or on the floor of the hall bathroom. But it was a 
warm night. Perhaps she could just crawl into bed. That way, with a sheet 
and a blanket over her, she would not have the gown pressing on her 
sex-fired nipples, still hard and swollen from the violence of her body's 
sinful pleasure. 

She reached for the light switch, and gasped. There, in the mirror of her 
old vanity, was a naked woman! A rosy, big-tittied, wide-hipped naked woman 
who was boldly thrusting her pelvis out in a lewd manner. Oh, it was 
terrible! The woman was so beautiful, so seductive. In a strange, hateful 
way, Ellen suddenly wanted to hold the naked woman's full fleshed body to 
her own, to rub breasts in a sickeningly lovely passion. 

Instinctively, she put her hands over her breasts, and then despairingly 
moved one hand down to cover that warmly lighted patch of golden brown hair. 

It was then that she realized that the naked woman in the mirror, the one 
she thought was beautiful, that she wanted to hug and kiss and rub bellies 
and breasts with, was herself! Ellen Mack, as ever was! And she felt a 
dazing, burning sweep of ambivalence, of mingled love and hate. That 
dreadful pill! Or pills. They had sapped her strength, they had clouded her 
mind. But they had done nothing to inhibit the growth of that hateful, 
agonizing ecstasy she felt between her legs. 

"OH, HELP ME, PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY! PLEASE! PLEASE!" 

From some place, she gained a bit of composure, of strength. She turned 
around and opened her door, starting for the bathroom. She would look for 
the gown there, then, if she had to, she'd go once more to Ronnie's room. 
The thought of her young brother, probably able to sleep, now that that 
horrible erection was taken care of, would be peacefully sleeping. She tried 
to whisper: Ronnie!" but her tongue was thick from the drug, filling her 
mouth. There was a lot of saliva there, too, so much that she had to gulp as 
fast as she could. Inevitably, her tongue picked up bits of her brother's 
discharge. Semen. That was the name of it. Horrid stuff, that got innocent 
girls with child. But oh, how sweet and wonderful it seemed to her, to her 
inflamed mind. She licked as well as she could with her swollen tongue, and 
got a few more drops. 

Well, that was probably sinful, too. She would have to find out, if there 
was a priest she could go to. Or anyone, to confess. Anyhow, she was in as 
deep as she could get. If she sucked up those drops, knowing that she hated 
them, licking them up only to get clean, wasn't that a sort of penance? 

Her mind wavered. This couldn't be true. This was definitely trying to throw 
God a curve. This was exactly the same as making a bad confession. 

And no sin is greater than that. 

She got out the door with her pulses hammering, her eyes glazed over with 
strain and with the overdose of the "Snoozies" which very definitely didn't 
work the same for everyone. She had taken them, hoping they would numb her 
sinfully human body and her rankly prurient mind. And what had happened? Her 
vagina seemed to be on fire, a wet sort of fire, surely, for the juices from 
her young vagina were slipping down her legs in a warm, sticky stream. And 
her mind could not get off the vision of her young brother's hard penis, so 
beautiful with its white column, its blue veins, its dark red head. 

As she struggled out the bedroom door, she saw her gown. Right in the hall. 
She had dropped it after leaving the bathroom. If those darned pills hadn't 
been so potent, she would have noticed. Despairingly, like a child needing 
to be comforted, she whimpered. It was so far down to the floor! She could 
never lean that far to pick up her nightie. And if she picked it up, how 
could she put it on? And oh, Father, how she ached with that terrible, 
unforgiveable hunger between her thighs, around her soft, hairy lips, inside 
the pink trough where that nasty little old bud lay hidden. It just never 
gave her any rest. And it spread clear up inside her, up to her womb. As she 
thought of this embarrassing word, remembering in how many Hail Marys she 
had uttered it, she closed her eyes against the fiery but silent scream of 
her woman-parts. And when she did so, her body wavered, she tried to 
recover, and fell to the floor. 

She was four inches over five feet, and her solidly built young body pushed 
the needle on the scales to one hundred and seventeen pounds. She fell 
limply, unable to make any effort to break her fall, although her body 
rolled after she hit, and that was the crash that brought Ron and Terry up 
out of their incestuous bed. 

One of her feet was against the door frame, her head and shoulders against 
the other. She was obscenely open, with one knee, the one with the foot 
against the door jamb, against her soft, smooth breast. In this position, 
from which she couldn't stir, her other knee and thigh fell helplessly on 
the floor of the hall. Her arms would not move. She lay there, her vagina 
and vulva pruriently open for the view of anyone who passed. The helpless 
girl tried to move, but she was as truly paralyzed as if her spinal cord had 
been severed. And her vocal cords were almost as bad, since the best she 
could muster from her helpless throat and mouth was a weak, mewling sound 
such as a deaf mute learns to make. 

She was almost immediately aware of the presence of others. She could hear 
perfectly, but she could not turn her head enough to see who it was. 
However, their voices were enough-it was, of course, Ron and Terry. Now, 
thank God, she would be rescued. 

She tried to speak, to beseech them for help, and tears of helplessness and 
despair ran down her cheeks. Tears of joy and gratitude, too, for having a 
little brother and sister who had come to save her. But her blood turned to 
ice water as she heard Terry's voice, jeering and spiteful: "Well, there she 
is, the prissy Miss Jesus from the nuns' school. Flat on her big ass, with 
her cunt opened and pushed out like a moocher begging for a dime! Wow! Has 
she ever got a twat on her! Get into her, buddy, right now while it's so 
wide open! Give her a good old fuck!" 

And then, miracle de Dieu! there was brave and wonderful little Ronnie, his 
thin face serious, down on one knee, right in front of her, right where she 
could look into his eyes. Surely, surely he would see the silent plea for 
help! Oh, God, please, Ronnie! 

He shifted and reached out his hand, and for one breathless moment she 
believed her prayer had worked, that the boy had had a Christian impulse. 
But his hand went to her left breast, so jammed and packed with nerves and 
feelings, sexual feelings that ran right down in the hottest, sickest way to 
that awful, shamefully opened thing of hers. 

He fondled the big breast in wonder, his serious young face breaking into a 
faint smile. "Look at the size of those nipples, baby," he said hoarsely to 
Terry. "And man, feel how heavy they are! So smooth and solid! Miss 
Kendrick-you know Old Lady Kendrick at school? She's got tits about like 
these." 

"Yeah, yeah!" Terry answered crossly. "So she's got these big tits. What's 
so great about big tits? A cow's got bigger ones, if size is what you're 
crazy for! Why don't you suck on them, like a big baby?" 

Ronnie looked at her with odd perception. "No need to get jealous," he said 
calmly, squeezing the big, softly firm breast as if it were a rubber ball. 
"I'm hot married to you, you know! Just because I let you suck me-shee-itt! 
If you don't like it, go on back to bed." 

As he said this, he bent, got on his elbows, and took the hard nipple of the 
luscious boob into his mouth. Miss Kendrick-who preferred, incidentally, to 
be called Ms. Kendrick-had a girl baby only six or seven months old. One 
day, doing the teacher a favor, he had stayed with the baby an hour or so. 
He had watched the infant greedily sucking on a bottle, then on a teething 
ring, then on all four fingers on one chubby hand. The baby's mouth had been 
so drooly, so pink, that he had, in curiosity, put a finger in its mouth. 
The baby girl had almost sucked the finger off his hand! Thereafter, it was 
just a matter of getting his dick out-it was already hard, just from the 
implications in that suck-and putting it to little tiny girl's rosy lips. 
She had given him such a ferocious sucking that he had shot his wad in the 
little girl's throat in about two minutes, and the child had lustily sucked 
up every drop of her pearly white jism. In fact, she had liked it so much 
that she had cried when he had, at last, gingerly removed the shrunken, 
nerve-raw prick from that rosebud mouth. The little girl was still trying to 
claw at his fly when Ms. Kendrick returned. And, needless to say, she was 
delighted that her child, Rosemary, was so taken with Ronnie. 

As for the boy, every time he looked at the teacher, a lovely redhead, he 
had to fight to keep his eyes from dropping to those lush curves in her 
blouse or dress, thinking of the powerful pressures a baby put on those 
nipples to bring his lunch squirting warmly and richly from those 
hard-grained nipples. It gave him a sick feeling in the bottom of his 
abdomen, a sense of life in his young balls. And now, taking his young 
sister's nipple in his mouth, giving little Terry one last, smirking sweep 
of defiance, he tried to suck Ellen's titty as hard as little Rosemary 
Kendrick had sucked him. 

If there were anything that could have freed poor Ellen from the shackles of 
those terrible pills, this would have been it. She had been horror-stricken 
to hear the crude way in which Terry had spoken of her breasts. Boobs, what 
Nadine called them, that was bad enough. But tits! And Ronnie, whom she had 
tried to help, he had been so dreadful! Oh, Father above us, if I could only 
make my mouth work, she thought desperately. If I could only appeal to them, 
to their sense of decency! And then, as Ronnie sucked, and Terry reached 
under Ronnie to touch her-no, not just to touch her, to finger her 
lewdly-she made that pitiful mewling sound, and tears of grief and fear and 
deadly guilt ran down her helpless face. They have no sense of decency, she 
thought in grim resignation. God help us all, them and me! 

The worst of this unbelievable treatment, this pagan, sinful, wanton use of 
organs that should have been kept undefiled, as clean as they could be, if 
not holy, was that she could not control a desperate feeling of dirty, 
culpable, rotten enjoyment. Like when she gave in to unbearable heat and 
temptation, and fingered her soft young twat to a shameful but necessary 
release. Despicable though she was, and in spite of the rottenness forced on 
her by her sinful nature, at such times she allowed herself to enjoy it. Why 
not? She had to confess, to be tongue lashed by Father Geoghan, to do The 
Stations of the Cross anyhow. Because her young and healthy body, her warm 
blood, had betrayed her. In shame, she still enjoyed it, knowing that that 
enjoyment only compounded the sin. 

Now, as she let herself enjoy the lancing flames which Ronnie's sucking drew 
from her breast, she also let tears of remorse flow from her eyes, down her 
cheeks, to drop off on the warm, smooth, blue-veined slops of her opulent 
breasts. And she prayed for the pagan souls of her brother and sister. Imps 
from the darkest and lowest pits of Hell, surely. 

She felt the beginning of one of those dreadful sex quakes, starting deep up 
inside her. She could not move, but something else could. The busy little 
girl, her sister, with two fingers buried in the very quick of Ellen's 
sexual center, cried: "God damn, Ronnie! She's cumming, I do believe! Yeah, 
yeah, yeah! Come on, baby! Cum on little Terry's finger! Jee-zuss, Ron, 
she's tighter'n I am!" 

And all that poor Ellen could do, unable to move her body, was to let these 
forbidden waves of fiery orgasm shake her inside, where her unbidden cunt 
muscles nibbled on Terry's fingers. 

"COME ON, COME ON!" the blonde child panted, tugging at Ron's shoulder. "USE 
THAT HARD-ON OF YOURS! FUCK HER. THAT'S WHAT SHE WANTS! Look at her cunt! 
It's wide open and wiggling inside! Look at the juice run out! Man, she 
needs a fuck!" 

Reluctantly, Ronnie took the big, throbbing nipple from his mouth. It was 
the very first time he had ever sucked on a real tit since he was a baby. 
Oh, once in a while he had sucked on little Terry's baby-like titties. But 
that was mainly to oblige her. Just as, once in a great while, especially 
when she had caught him beating his meat, he had let her hold his cock and 
jerk it to a finish, white around the lips as she saw the long ropes of 
opalescent jism shoot out and across the bedroom. 

Now, having set his inner fires roaring to their hottest by fondling and 
sucking those amazingly mature breasts, as big and pretty as Ms. Kendrick's, 
he was still more fired by the salacious cries of his little sister. He had 
been going to fuck HER! Now, it would be the older of the two. 

He backed away, turning his eyes downward after one glance into Ellen's tear 
filled eyes. "Huh," he grunted, "look at her! Trying to make a big thing out 
of me sticking my dick into her! Shee-it! Miss Innocence! Why'd you suck my 
cock?" He laughed a goatish, randy laugh, holding his hard cock and looking 
down into the grossly opened split, its inner lips red as blood with the 
unasked desire built in the poor girl on the floor. "She did, you know," he 
said unnecessarily to the avid and cunt-twisted slip of a blonde who sat 
with her naked ass on her heels. "Just a cocksucker, that's what she is!" 

Once again, the shrinking spirit inside the helpless girl tried to move her, 
made a mind-breaking effort to set her free. I didn't do anything so 
horrible! her mind screamed in the helpless silence and blackness inside her 
aching skull. J only meant to help you! Your little face was so sad! I 
wouldn't do anything so evil! 

And hopelessly, helplessly, she watched the red-tipped cock, the spear of 
flesh on which her brother would impale her, totally unable to hate the boy 
for what he was doing. Instead, hating herself for presenting such a lewd 
target. She could not take her eyes from it, nor could she still the fiery 
interest which her person was taking in, an interest expressed in the 
rebellious yearning her own weak flesh held for the threatening penis so 
near her young cunt. 

If any means could have shocked her into action, it would have been the 
sudden heat, the fierce stretching of her virgin hole as Ronnie, not looking 
her in the eye, lowered his skinny body. The hapless girl could close her 
eyes, but she could not shut out the shameful fact that her body, that 
unloved part of her body she called vagina and vulva, was going crazy with 
senseless, sinful pleasure. For a moment, she was grateful for the strange 
paralysis which had resulted from the pverdose of the second grade sleeping 
pills. 

Because, except for that paralysis, she knew that her traitor body would 
have been whipping up and down in the pagan joy of having sex, of having a 
man's hard penis plunging into her sensitive, soft, tender flesh, laced with 
obscenely pleasuring nerves, swollen blood vessels, pulsing muscles, and 
uncontrollably wild outpourings from every mucuous duct in her young pussy. 

She could have opened her eyes and seen the savagely gloating face of her 
eleven-year-old sister as she used her small hands to hold Ellen's outer 
lips open, and to hold Ron's dick to guide it into her shrinking hole. She 
could have seen the tiny girl's breasts grown twice as large from sexual 
excitation, with the normally small pink nipples now as big as her own, and 
almost blood red. She could have seen the lasciviousness of the younger 
sister's opened twat, almost as hairless and pink as an infant except for an 
almost invisible horseshoe of short, fine, pale blonde hair on the fat 
little pubis. 

But all her senses were concentrated on the violent sensation where her 
cuntal entry was being forced open by this hard, invading prick, this 
torturing rod of hard, hot meat which nearly killed her as it stretched a 
hole which had never entertained anything larger than her own girlish 
finger. Nearly killed her with shameful pain, and nearly killed her with an 
even more shameful delight. Because Ellen Mack, on her first night at home 
after five years in a convent school, was being fucked by her young 
brother-and she had been blown apart by orgasmic joy ever since the hard 
thing had first touched her, first slipped into her tightness. 

"Man, she's really out of it," panted the half frantic girl. "Jee-zuss, 
Ronnie, TOUCH MY CUNT, HEY, BABY? I'M DYING, OUT OF MY NUT. 
OOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!" she shrieked as she grabbed up Ellen's nerveless hand and 
thrust it into her open and flowing split, where cum nerves quivered like 
guitar strings. OHHHHHHHHH! KEEP FUCKING HER, RONNIE! OOOOOOHHHHHH! 
UUUNNNHHH! UUUNNNHHHHHH!" And the young girl, so gripped by bestial heat, 
grunted like a sow pig in heat as she shot her wad, over and over on her 
sister's limp hand and wrist. 

Ellen felt the dick stop as it hit an obstruction of some kind. I know I've 
no real maidenhead left, she said in her mind. But SOMETHING, please, God, 
let there be SOMETHING to stop him! To keep him from raping me! To keep him 
from shooting me full of that sweet juice! 

Thus, even in the despair of utter helplessness against the pain and guilt 
of sexual forced entry, the humanities of the young girl made her 
acknowledge the basic, inherent sweetness of her brother's cum. And her 
body, which she felt she could not forgive, added to her misery by liking 
it, by violently responding to a touch, a penetration that should have made 
her sick just to think of. Oh, my poor, disgraceful body, she implored the 
Heaven in which she so devoutly believed, please stop it from enjoying this 
so much! Oh, let me die before this horrid, criminal attack is completed. 

But she could see, and she could hear, and she was completely in touch with 
her small world, made up just now of two vicious, lascivious, irresponsibly 
sex-mad children. Her own kin. 

There was a fierce suction going on inside her. Ronnie felt it, and he 
withdrew his penis, clear to its bulbous head, and then rammed in again. 
This time, she felt the jar clear to her teeth. The obstruction must be her 
womb, since it was giving her the same deep, satisfying ache she usually 
felt just before her menstrual period. 

"SONOFABITCH!" he moaned. "ARE ALL CUNTS LIKE HERS? MAN, SHE'S MILKING AWAY 
AT MY DICK BETTER'N SHE SUCKED ME! WOW! NO WONDER THE CATS FIGHT OVER THIS 
STUFF. PUSSY! CUNT! TAIL! ASS! FUCKING!" He ran through his dirty litany, 
his pornographic mind supplying him with all lewdness of the English 
speaking world. And with each word, his sister, too helpless even to sob, 
able only to let weak tears roll from her eyes, suffered the indignity of 
shameful joy as his hard cock jammed into her again. 

In some weird and naive way, she intuited that having a tight vagina, and a 
snapping one, was perhaps a social asset. Ronnie, for all his bestiality, 
seemed honestly impressed with the fact he could hardly get his boyish tool 
inside her. And that, when it was in there, in the frantically oozing, 
helplessly squirming inner muscle and membrane, that her unconsciously 
gripping vagina made him happy. If it was nice for him, it relieved, at 
least slightly, the hideous feeling of being forever lost from goodness and 
cleanliness and God, even if it didn't, couldn't cloud the fact that she 
loved it. 

I LOVE IT! she screamed silently in her mind. KILL ME, SHOOT ME, GOD! BURN 
ME IN HELL! I CAN'T HELP IT! I LOVE IT! And, since no sound came from her 
throat, and since she was lost, anyhow, as far as this episode was 
concerned, she let the hateful, dreadful words blaze in her mind: FUCK ME, 
RONNIE, BABY! GIVE IT TO ME, RON! FUCK ME, FUCK ME, STICK IT IN MY DIRTY, 
NASTY, SINFUL, SHAMEFUL CUNT. My poor cunt, she thought miserably. Holy 
Mary, Mother of God, pray for us now and at the hour of our death! Amen. 

And she was in the throes of physical rapture, her young cunt blasting away 
in a long, continuing orgasm, until her brother, brought to unbearable 
heights of passion because of his need, because of the lasciviousness of 
fucking a helpless girl-toward whom he felt no guilt, assuming her 
self-sought role as cocksucker-suddenly shuddered and screamed: "OH, BABY, 
I'M SHOOTING IT! TERRY, BABY, KISS ME WHILE I CUM! OHHHHHHHHH, ELLEN, SUCK 
IT OUT OF ME, BABY! FUCK MY DICK, FUCK MY DICK HARD! WRAP YOUR CUNT AROUND 
IT! MAKE ME SHOOT IT IN YOU! OHHHHHH! OHHHHHH!" 

With each syllable, he was driving his cock as deep into his sister as he 
could. She felt it frictionizing the tender inner walls of her vagina, 
burning her with his thick, hot juice which sprayed every screaming nerve as 
she responded. I never dared say it, the girl thought humbly, but I must be 
cumming! Yesss! Oh, yesss! she groaned inwardly. That's what I'm doing, I'm 
cumming! Oh, God, forgive me for what I have done to hurt you! 

And with that inward acknowledgement of her culpability, of her carnal, 
wicked joy, along with the dying flutter of her inner muscles, she somehow 
became dislodged from her jammed position. Her foot, which had kept her knee 
and thigh back against her body, slipped to the floor, and her head and 
shoulders moved and dropped inside her bedroom. She was a helpless lump of 
warm flesh, her cunt filled to sloppiness with a huge wad of her brother's 
jism, her poor body still throbbing from its unwanted and hateful delight. 

She was on her side, more or less, and knew that those despised outer lips, 
so thick and gross and hairy, were pushing between her big thighs, because 
she felt the air cooling them, cooling the combined fluids from her body and 
her brother's as it leaked out. 

"Listen," she heard Ronnie say, "I think she's sick or something. She's not 
drunk. I know what booze smells like. But she's out of it. Wonder if she got 
hold of poison of some kind!" His voice was concerned, and she loved him for 
it. But in her heart, she knew she loved him for a lot of other reasons. 
Because he was so BAD, so rotten, so-well, so sexed up. Poor little devil! 
Nobody to keep his straight! Inwardly, she vowed to help him. Had she 
forgiven him, she asked herself, and then, with a deep sigh, knew she had 
nothing to forgive him for. He was human. Just as old Father Geoghan had, 
perhaps without meaning to, had described her. 

She felt hands under her shoulders. They were lifting. The fingers were 
clear under her armpits, their ends touching the responsive peripheries of 
her fat, smooth, warm titties. 

"Grab her feet," she heard Ronnie grunt. "We can't leave her out here, bare 
assed, in the hall. Or on the floor." 

"Nuts!" Terry's voice sounded. "She got herself out here, she sucked your 
cock, she was able to fuck you, wasn't she? Let her get her own fat ass back 
in bed." 

"Damn it, Terry," Ronnie swore, "you help me do this or I'll never let you 
suck my dick again! Never! You hear that? Now, damn you, grab her feet!" 

Some sense of feel was coming back to Ellen. Her breasts loved the pull that 
Ronnie's strong young hands were giving them as he lifted her. Her young, 
lovely, soft skinned butt felt the sheets as the two kids struggled to get 
her in bed. And most of all, she felt something soft and warm pressing her 
in her most secret part. Right in the midst of it, under the thick, softly 
curled nest of light brown hair, deep in the pulsing wetness where her 
outrageous little clitoris crouched. Someone is sucking me! The thought 
shocked her. That's a dirty, bad place, she said in indictment of herself 
and her unknown benefactor. Forgive them, she prayed. It's all my fault! 
Lord, keep me from enjoying it! 

She felt her inner walls close, and knew that someone was sucking at her 
hole, very hard. It was, like all the rest of this terrible evening, a 
mixture of the most intense joy and the most virulent shame. She could not 
move her body, but knew that, if she could, it would be pumping up and down 
in the filthy simulation of the sex act. Here I go again, she said in her 
mind, in grim amusement, knowing she was too far gone ever to attain 
forgiveness. I'm cumming again! Oooooohhh! I'm SOOOOOORRRRRR YYYYYY! CAN'T 
HELP IT! IT'S GOOD, IT'S SO GOOOOOODDDDDD! 

She did not want to know who was doing it, but she was not to be spared. If 
it had been Ronnie, somehow it would have seemed more natural-a nasty man, 
naturally doing a nasty-natural thing. 

But she heard little Terry's sex-coarsened voice. "Jee-zuss, Ron, I must've 
gotten your whole load out of her! Wow, I never knew a cunt tasted so good. 
Except mine, of course," she laughed. "Hey, I think I'll turn Lezzie! Wow! 
What a taste! And what a feeling, with those thick, hairy old lips opening 
up and sort of kissing me as I sucked her out! You ought to try it, she's 
juicy enough for both of us!" 

But she felt a sheet being drawn over her nakedness, and heard Ronnie say: 
"Leave her alone, you little devil! Don't be mad at her just because she's 
older, and has bigger tits. Come on to my room, and if you can get my cock 
to stand up again, I'll fuck you, and then suck it all out of you. 

Come on, you fucky, sucky little cunt! Let poor old Elly sleep. Wow! I hope 
your pussy's as good as hers." 

Let poor old Elly sleep! The words played over and over in her mind. Her 
loins were stilled, their immediate fires out under the spray of Ronnie's 
long shots of jism. That's what they called it, wasn't it? Jism, jism, jism. 
Away up me. In my dirty old cunt! Dirty old juicy cunt. Far up. Hitting my 
womb, sticking it deep into me. Let poor old Elly sleep.... 

Her body was at peace, only a sweet, warm glow remaining-in the tenderly 
formed young girl's fuck system. 

She cupped her breasts, smiling in her half sleep at their tingly feeling, 
and fell asleep. 

 CHAPTER FOUR 

Rudy Salas was twenty-seven years old, hard muscled, slender, dark. He had 
been headed for the priesthood when his number came up in the draft and, 
since the seminary had bored him, he had waived any notion of escaping the 
draft-and Vietnam-by claiming to be a conscientious objector. Thereafter, he 
had served three years with fearlessness, a certain morbid gaiety, and 
medal-winning distinction. 

Now, with back pay saved up, with the GI Bill handling the tab, he was in 
Advanced Sales Psychology at Metro University, halfway between the small 
city of Lupus Beach and the metropolis called Pacific City. It was an 
extremely interesting course and today's project was a study of reactions to 
various types of dress. Field work, of course, with members of the class 
divided into three types of dress designated as "casual", semi-casual", and 
"business". Rudy was in the second category. 

He had chosen a dark, lightweight suit, but to make the garb at least 
semi-casual, he did not wear a dress shirt or tie. Instead, he had selected 
a dark blue knit shirt, very plain except for two small embroideries on the 
breast pocket. He was to try to sell any idea that the circumstances made 
seem potentially successful. Having had some rather strange things happen to 
him in Vietnam, as well as in the seminary, and being a prankish sort, 
besides, in spite of his sophistication, Rudy was going to try and sell some 
sort of con. 

He was, as his professor would have said, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as he 
stepped onto the small covered porch at Twelve-Seventeen Lois Lane and rang 
the bell. Although he did not know it, he was in for a surprise, a principal 
in a con for which he would never be able to take any credit and, as a 
matter-of-fact, one he would never fully understand. 

Ellen Mack did not waken until after nine. She was still in the grip of the 
heavy dose of sleeping pills she had taken, but it was not a depressant, so 
she felt singularly light hearted. There was some soreness in her body, as 
though she had been in a car accident, and there was a sort of deep soreness 
far up inside her, in her tight young vagina. And it was some time before 
she remembered anything at all about the night before. 

Naturally, Terry and Ron had not even tried to wrestle her into her 
nightgown. In fact, it was a tough job to get her up on to the bed. 
Therefore, she was comfortably naked under the sheet, and her soft, warm 
young breasts, so voluptuously heavy, felt very much alive, their nipples 
darker and fuller than usual. 

In her torpor, she ran her hands from her breasts, which she had been gently 
squeezing, down across her silky-smooth belly, along the hollow of her 
pelvic cradle, and even let her fingers delicately touch and stroke her 
pubic hair. There was still a lot of warmth inside her, and she stretched 
and yawned, feeling great. 

It was when she looked at the walls of her room, not seeing the familiar 
religious pictures, that she began the fast journey back from a deep, 
pleasant sleep to a shocked present. 

Her heart, which had felt so light only moments before, became as still and 
heavy as a lump of lead. Painfully ashamed of her nakedness-"before God's 
eyes" as she mentally phrased it-she tried to gather up the sweet fullness 
of her breasts with her elbows, lowering her face into her hands. In vain! 
Putting the pressure on her sensitive breasts only warmed her channels which 
led to that most shameful place of all, her sex organs, and it was almost a 
form of panic which jerked her off the bed. 

A glance at the clock told her that Terry and Ron were undoubtedly at 
school, and the quiet of the house confirmed it. 

She blushed a total, solid red all over her strong, softly sculptured young 
body as she thought of the two fearsome children. Had it all really 
happened? Had she done the horrible thing that Ronnie had accused her of? 
Had he taken such criminal, insane advantage of his own big sister as she 
lay, helpless but alive with sensuality, and actually penetrated her vagina 
with his penis? 

She was covered with a fine sweat, now, and gasping for breath, almost 
unable to move. But she realized that, no matter what, life had to go on. 
She would not die, she dared not kill herself, or even to think of it. Such 
addictive sins as she had endured, that feeling of itching in her vulva, had 
been temporarily assuaged at each confession. Never completely cured, just 
mitigated. 

Confession! She had to find a priest! 

Having made this pragmatic decision, with her body free to move and even to 
feel good and warm inside a very plain dress she had worn at school, Ellen 
felt so much better that she realized she was ravenously hungry. Fear and 
shame and guilt took a brief furlough while a healthy appetite took over. 

She found a note from the kids: DIDN'T WANT TO WAKE YOU. SWEET ROLLS IN 
OVEN, MILK IN FRIG. It was signed R & T, and she assumed that "frig" was 
someone's way of spelling "fridge." 

"They're not eating right around here," she said aloud, feeling grown up and 
responsible, deciding in her mind that she was going to enforce balanced 
diets, good protein, better eating habits. At least for those two kids. 
Daddy, too, if he'd let her. 

She blushed to the roots of her golden brown hair, remembering how those two 
kids had abused her last night, with words as well as with the very lewdest 
and most shameful actions. She'd just have to ignore that, start a new page, 
assert herself. 

She prepared and ate a good breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage, hoping 
her dad would have fun and be successful on his long excursion into Mexican 
waters. Fresh fish was so nice! And so necessary to a balanced diet. It was 
good to be home. She wanted to forget the past, she wanted to make a real 
contribution to her family's life. It would be different than with mother. 
More rough and ready, more give and take, more earthy. She was still wearing 
the blush that this last thought had brought her, when the chimes from the 
front door bell button made their bright music. 

She got up, smoothed the plain-and quite thin-dress over her body, and went 
to the door. And almost fainted from the pure shock of having an unspoken 
prayer granted. 

There in the door, smiling warmly, was a priest! He seemed very young, 
compared to Father Geoghan, but then, almost anyone who could walk around 
would have seemed younger than that old man. And this priest was smiling, 
his personality flowing out of him. Oh, he would be kind and understanding, 
Ellen was certain. Not hard and unkind, as Father Geoghan had been. "Stop 
thinking of your fine young female body, and stop sinning by fingering 
yourself in those warm and juicy parts," he would exclaim, after he had put 
her through all sorts of sly, insinuating questions. "Or else you may become 
a fallen woman. A prostitute!" And the old priest would roll the words on 
his tongue with a sickly enjoyment. 

But this tall, sweetly smiling young man was different. And the way he was 
placed, shaded by the porch roof, and with the bright light behind him, he 
seemed to have a halo around his fine, dark hair. 

"Hello," he said, in a soft, smooth voice. "Are you the lady of the house?" 

Even through the dusty screen, he could see that she was not a grown woman, 
but he knew that young girls adored being mistaken for grown-ups. But he had 
no idea how mature her young body was, of course, until she had opened the 
screen and invited him in. And the tone of her voice and the manner of her 
greeting gave him reason to note how bountifully she was formed, how 
enticing her richly molded young body showed through the short, flimsy 
dress. 

"Come in, Father, come in. Let me get you something to drink? Coffee? Wine?" 
She was crimson with blushes, and did not look him in the eye, but she 
offered him the best and biggest chair, and said: "Oh, Father, am I ever 
glad to see you! Sit down. Please sit down. Oh, I needed to see a priest so 
bad!" 

She knew that she was babbling, and she didn't care. She was very close to 
tears. No one, she thought, had ever needed the relief and release of 
confession more than she. And now, like a sign and a gift from Heaven, here 
was a priest, come right to her, in her home! 

Rudy took the oddity of her behavior as a challenge. He had picked up 
immediately on the fact she had taken him for a priest. What a report he 
would have for the class! Reactions to various types of dress! And this was 
a young girl's reaction to only the vaguest resemblance to clerical costume. 
But he sensed there was a great deal more to this exciting situation than a 
simple error. This was the real task of psychology-to interpret speech and 
action. And the more he saw of young Ellen, the more interesting the job 
became. 

He guessed that she was somewhere around sixteen, although her reaction 
toward him made her seem much younger, more easily impressed. But he could 
see sharp flashes of her lovely young body through the thin fabric, as she 
moved between him and the bright light from the sunny day outside. He could 
see her large, beautiful shaped breasts, with their hardened nipples. How 
come? Had she been playing with herself before he got there? Was that why 
she was mumbling about needing a priest? 

He could see her strong thighs, her exquisitely modeled young ass, the sweet 
curve of her belly. Even the mass of hair on her cunt. 

He was a sex-oriented man, alert to anything that smacked of tail. It was 
not imagination, he could actually smell the clogging, musky perfume of hot 
pussy. It was as strong and as definite as if the girl had come to him with 
her skirt up and straddled his knees, opening her soft young cunt lips and 
thrusting the juicy, warm twat up to his face. 

In this momentary flash, he saw more than the opportunity to study reaction 
to dress. And yet, when you came down to it, what he hoped would happen 
could, after all, be exactly that. He smiled and held out a protesting hand. 

"No, my child," he said, trying to remember what had been recommended as a 
priest's form of address in speaking to a young woman, "I don't need any 
refreshment. Not yet, at least. I'm glad that you are so happy to see me. 
But why? Is there a problem?" 

To his pleased surprise, the girl ran to him, knelt at his feet so that he 
could see right down into the warm cleavage between her fine breasts, all 
the way down, for just a flash, so he could also see the golden brown puff 
of pubic hair. 

He was a healthy young man, full of juice and heat, and he had stayed in his 
small apartment for the last two nights to study. He had not scored, then, 
for two nights and more than two days. He sensed that this girl's problems 
might work to their mutual advantage, but there were several hazards that 
needed to be overcome. 

At least, though, he could be doing little things to forward his plan, so he 
put his hands on her head and mumbled something which would sound like a 
benediction, at the same time pulling her face toward his crotch. He knew 
that, just as there is no perfume so aphrodisiac to a man as the smell of a 
woman's hottest parts, the aroma of a man's crotch was irresistible to most 
females. 

The trick worked. With a happy moan, the girl leaned until her face was 
pressing directly on his cock and balls. He was satisfied, knowing he was 
that much closer to what he wanted, which was a piece of this warm, soft, 
lovely young girl's tight and juicy little ass. So he went on to his next 
move. 

"You didn't tell me your name," he said. "I'm new in the parish. And your 
father's name. And are your parents and brother home? This latter inquiry 
being, of course, a shot in the dark. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, Father," the girl said contritely. "It's Mack. I'm Ellen 
Mack, and I've been up in Washington with my mother. My dad's name is Bob 
Mack, he's away for a long weekend, fishing." She sounded happy about it. 
"And my brother and sister-Ronnie and Terry-are away at school. I'm glad," 
she said, looking down. "I want to confess, and I'm not a member of the 
church. Not down here, anyhow. What did you say the name of your church 
was?" 

"How long were you away, Ellen?" the pseudo priest asked. "And your dear 
mother, is she still in Washington?" 

"Five years, Father. And mother's never coming back, I guess. She had me in 
a convent school. 

Now, she's decided she'll be a nun." Her sweet young face clouded. "We used 
to go to Saint Peter's, only a mile or so away, on the bluffs." 

Rudy heaved a sigh. He was not a fatalist, but there were times when fortune 
seemed to smile, and this was one of them. He felt the warmth and softness 
of the young girl's breasts against his knees, and he moved his legs so that 
she was more between them. He squeezed them in, and saw the tender swell of 
her young breasts rise in the scoop neck of her dress. He relaxed and 
squeezed, relaxed and squeezed, watching the soft titties come together, 
noting the flush which mounted in the girl's smooth, lovely complexion. 

"You don't look like a girl with anything to confess," he said, and was 
amazed at her response. Where her face had been sunny, it was now twisted in 
the pain of remorse and shame. 

"I've done unforgivable things," she said hoarsely. "But we must ask 
forgiveness, mustn't we? No matter how bad we've been?" 

Rudy looked at her solemnly and licked his lips. You never knew what you'd 
come across in this peculiar and imperfect world. He looked again at Ellen's 
breasts. They seemed to be fuller, and the nipples were swollen and hard. 
Whatever had happened, the memory of it affected her sexually. So, it had to 
be sex. "You may confess to me, here and now, Ellen Mack, if that is your 
wish. I think you may find that the church has become much more lenient, 
here in a larger center of population. More so than in a convent school." 
Those fucking nuns, he thought, and some vicious old sadist of a priest to 
scare the shit out of the lovely little cunts. Well, if 

I can cleanse her mind of some of that trash, it'll be a real blessing to 
her. 

The nubile woman-child's voice was humble. "Oh, I hope so, Father, but I've 
done the worst things! The very worst! We haven't a shrine or a screen or 
anything here. Is it all right just to, well, plain old confess? Shall I go 
out and come in and genuflect?" 

"Not at all," Rudy said firmly. "And, by the way, you asked about my church. 
I'm a member of the Brothers of Man, an order based in Spain. I've visited 
Saint Peter's, though. Two others of my order are with me. We're doing 
missionary work. And now, just tell me why you're sad. It's a new way we 
have of holding confession. I promise not to question you. Not while you're 
confessing." 

The girl made the sign of the Cross, and whispered: "Bless me, Father, for I 
have sinned." And then, to Rudy Salas' amazement, she told him why she had 
gotten up to get something to help her sleep-"my vagina was so hot, and my 
vulva, too. I knew I'd have to relieve myself by masturbation." 

She tried to rationalize why she had done what she had done with Ronnie's 
prick. "My poor brother was asleep and he looked so troubled. And his penis 
was so hard and trembly-looking. I wanted to help him, but the Devil put 
that other thing in my mind." 

And so on and so on, detail for detail. Until at last, when she came to the 
part where she had fallen in the doorway, w-edged there with her cunt 
hanging open, she covered her face with her hands and cried: "I'm so 
terrible! I'm all hot again, just like last night! Can I ever do enough 
penance to make up for it?" 

Rudy gave the girl a gentle push on her shoulders, so that she went back on 
her heels. He thought he heard a sloshy sound, as if her heel had slipped 
into her juicy, warm pussy. He found it hard to speak, but he felt that 
action would be better. 

In an easy movement, he pulled his zipper down and let his big, hard cock 
stand up. He had a big one, and it looked like a monster to the girl. But 
not a frightening monster. After all, it belonged to a priest. Father 
Geoghan, who was generally so mean to her, had once told her that priests 
had the same parts as other men, and were even more subject to the 
totalizations of the flesh, since they could never get relief in "the 
ordinary, sinful place," by which Ellen could figure out his needs. She knew 
that much. 

But it did startle her, seeing this prick so close to her face. And it 
shocked her, what the Father was saying: "See, my child, it's not just you 
that's warm from your confession. But me, too." 

"Have I sinned even more?" the girl asked humbly. "Making a priest so aware 
of my sinful body?" 

"Here, my child," Rudy said. "Give me your hands." 

He took them, feeling how soft they were. Young girls' hands were always 
like that, seemingly boneless, they were so sweet and smooth, and not a 
wrinkle in them except at the knuckles. 

With a bold movement, he put her hands on the big, hard shaft, squeezing 
them around it. 

"Hold it," he said. "Run your hands gently up and down it, on the soft, 
outside skin." And then, as she sucked in a hard breath, he added: "I want 
you to see that priests are as human as you are, and that there is no sin, 
either for you or me, in being human." 

The girl's face suddenly flushed and her breathing was very fast for a 
matter of twenty seconds or so, and he concluded that she had had an orgasm. 
God damn, she was a hot potato! Too hot for him to need all this fooling 
around. Very gently, he took her hands away from his cock, said softly: "Get 
up." 

When the girl arose, making the smell of hot pussy all the stronger and 
thicker, said: "We must go upstairs, I have to see exactly how and where 
this took place. Come on," he ordered, as Ellen stepped away from him, 
looking fearful, "this is for your good that I'm doing this." 

When they were upstairs, he insisted on looking at her room, seeing that it 
looked unused, then remembered that she had only just come back to this part 
of her family. He said: "We want to re-enact the entire thing. You must have 
on your nightie. Get into it. I'll turn my back if you insist. But, sooner 
or later, we must do everything now, that happened last night." 

The girl felt the heat run through her again, as it had when he had suddenly 
produced his penis. She had known a sweeping wave of relief when she had 
seen he was a priest. She had responded eagerly to his obvious kindness, and 
had been more than ready to do exactly as he told her. It was only that, 
when she had begun to make her confession, all of last night came back, and 
she could not help the vast engulfing of her body and its functions by the 
compelling, overpowering heat which surged through her. 

She had actually had that terrifically sinful seizure take her and shake 
her, that wicked, melting clutch of muscle and nerves inside her vagina. 
What Nadine called, in her crude way, "cumming". The nuns apparently didn't 
have a word for it, and she had never described it to Father Geoghan except 
as "that terrible feeling," so it may be that he, lecherous as he was, might 
not have understood she was speaking of orgasm. 

She felt warm all over, warm and weak, and she had the sudden and paralyzing 
fear that she, so steeped in sin, might actually have tempted this saintly 
young priest beyond his power to resist. What Hell could ever be deep enough 
and painful enough to punish THIS? 

But Father Salas smiled at her with his fine dark eyes, his full red lips, 
and said: "You must obey me, my child. This is what we call the new 
psychology of absolution. We just got the lessons a few weeks ago, from the 
very highest source." 

There was a new sort of warmth in the girl, the burning of a bright hope in 
her soul and body. Perhaps she was not as bad as she had thought, or as the 
nuns and mama and Father Geoghan had said. After all, this young priest was 
very near to the centers of learning, of the church's very own structure. 
After all, didn't the Archbishop, himself, live and have his headquarters in 
Pacific City? And if there was a new way to be absolved, who was she, a mere 
child and a sinner, to insist on more proof? 

She dropped her eyes, her lovely young face even more beautiful in its 
roseate blushes, and said: "Are you sure it's all right? For I've always 
been told that nakedness, since it may be temptation, is a sin of itself. 
And to be naked before you, a priest-oh, Father! Can it possibly be 
non-sinful?" 

He restrained himself from touching her, and had a new thought. 

"Since we have to act all of this out, and I must play the part of your 
brother, I'll have to be naked, too. In which case, you may be sure it's no 
sin, for I'll be doing it only to help you reach a state of Grace." He 
shuddered inwardly, wondering if a bolt of lightning might not strike him, 
and thought: These damned old ideas, how they cling and suck and hurt! But 
it made him think more of the girl, so he said gently: "You don't need to do 
this if you're afraid. You can go to another priest." 

But the girl really looked at him, looked him right in the face for the 
first time, and he saw the need in her, the hurt, the horrible fear, and he 
thought: My way will be better. 

So he said: "All right, then. What I started to say, I'll be playing your 
brother, and at least partly naked. So, if it'll help you, I'll take off my 
clothes, too. That way, you'll feel easier about it." 

The young girl felt all fear go out of her. Or most of it. This man had to 
know what was right. And, now that she was into it, a new power moved in 
her. She was about to have that dreadful feeling again, that clutch of heat 
and pain and pleasure inside her. Perhaps if they undressed together, her 
mind would not be on her shamefully eager vagina, and she would be spared 
the criminality of that act. That act of cumming, to borrow Nadine's 
phraseology. Ugh! Something really did seem to come, all right. That seizure 
of heat and tightness, and then the rush of that clear, gooey juice. Not 
like the thicker, opaquely white juice which had shot from Ronnie's penis 
with such hot force. 

Without another word, but showing how deeply she was moved by a new flush of 
hot blood over her soft features, she crossed her arms over her belly, from 
hip to hip, and used that inexpressibly feminine motion to lift her dress 
off in one graceful motion. 

She felt the warm air on her even warmer body, and realized she had been 
sweating. How gross, to sweat at a time like this! Old stinky-under-thearms, 
that's what she'd be. And with that, she cast one eye at the young priest, 
and gasped in respect and relief. 

He was not looking at her nakedness! He had dropped his slacks and was 
having trouble getting them and his shorts off over his shoes. So, in sudden 
maternal affection and concern, she dropped to her knees and, her entire 
body blushing, helped him get them off. It put her face very close to his 
body, to his crotch, in fact, the ripely human effluvium that rolled up in a 
thick but invisible cloud gave her a shock of insight. This is how a human 
smells, she intuited. It's a marvelous, rich, stinky kind of beauty. It 
makes my heart turn over. It makes me swell and feel warm inside. Too warm. 
But he's a priest, so it's okay. And then, by some miracle, the best thought 
of all came to her. Maybe my sweaty and sinful old body won't smell bad to 
him. If he smells so good to me, maybe my smell isn't so bad. Maybe not so 
beautiful to him as his smell is to me. But nice. Maybe I can ask him, 
later. 

When Father Salas took off his jacket and the dark shirt, which she now saw 
was dark blue instead of black-which was okay, it was probably one of the 
things they had changed in the church-he was, of course, completely naked. 
She started to tell him that she thought Ronnie may have had on some part of 
his PJs, but the way she felt, she couldn't really be sure. And she didn't 
want to cause Father Salas any extra work. And besides, she was so hurtingly 
anxious for absolution that she wanted no delay. 

She could look at the young priest's penis as they walked along the hall. It 
was so BIG! She hadn't gotten to the part where Ronnie had actually stuck it 
into her. That might be too much to expect a man of the cloth to go for. And 
anyhow, she couldn't do it. She would simply die inside if he asked her to. 
Because that, she knew, would be a mortal sin, equivalent to making a bad 
confession. And yet, thinking of the horrible fate in store for those who 
lie or equivocate or omit a sin in making a bad confession, she was burned 
by the thought that she must do whatever the young Father demanded. Only I 
never could get that enormous thing inside me, she thought. Well, perhaps 
we'll just pantomime it. 

Thinking of that possibility, which eased her fears somewhat, but still gave 
her a mild twinge of deprivation, she began to wonder if she could get that 
huge penis into her mouth. And, if she could, and its spurting of what 
Ronnie and Terry had called "jism" last night was in keeping with the size 
of the organ, could she possibly swallow all of it? She had had trouble 
enough, swallowing all of Ronnie's. It gave her a strange feeling in her 
guts, a kind of drawing-together. And then she realized-it wasn't really in 
her guts, not in her bowels, that is-but in that other part. In her vagina. 
But for some reason, with Father Salas by her side, it wasn't all that 
terrible. 

He was humming a little song, and his face was happy. So there, she told 
herself, he's a priest. He knows what's right and wrong. He won't do 
anything bad to me, and he won't let me do anything bad to him. Even when he 
put an arm around her bare shoulder, even when he let it slip down to the 
outward slope of her big old fat boo-boo, she knew it was all right. Scary, 
sort of. And she could sure smell herself, stronger than ever, and was about 
to let herself slip into a shamed confusion, until she remembered how 
marvelous his body had smelled to her. 

She opened the door to Ronnie's bedroom, so glad that she had made the bed 
before she went down to breakfast. And she still felt good, even when Father 
Salas said, in his warm, smooth voice that now, for some reason, seemed a 
little shaky, "Show me exactly how Ronnie was lying in his bed." 

And then she knew that she was going to have to go through with it, that her 
soul would have to bear the weight of that sin, and even Father Salas 
couldn't make that right. She just knew it! 

She covered her flushed young face with her hands, conscious that the 
crimson tide of her blush reached every soft curve, every sweet square inch 
of her warm body. She stumbled toward the bed automatically, and Rudy let 
her go. He was as alert as a tiger stalking a sheep, and he was content to 
let the sheep flee into a blind corner where chances of escape were nil. So 
far, it was the sheep which had made all the moves. Soon, now, a matter of 
seconds, it would be time to assure the kill. 

Now that he was sure, he was relaxed, and he knew that kindness almost 
always overcame the prey's final resistance. Therefore, as Ellen's knees 
struck the bed, and she lost her balance, he put his arm around her to 
support her, and in his low, kind voice said: "Right here, my child. There, 
that's all right. You don't need to open your eyes. Just roll over, there, 
that's right. Give me a bit of room. Ah, this must be the way." 

He was lying on his back, his head on a pillow, turned toward the girl's 
body. He could almost hear the hammering of her heart, and he knew she was 
in a paralyzing panic, but also, he knew she had no idea at all of how to 
escape. And of course, if she did make some blind and frightened move, he 
could always hold her by force, while his knowing hands worked their fuck 
magic on the responsive body. 

But he reached down to her, instead, where her upper body had fallen near 
his loins, and stroked her gently but warmly on her smooth, warm skin. "I 
know this isn't going to be easy for you, my child," he said. "But if we are 
to help you, if psychological confession is going to take away the pain of 
your acts-your acts as a simple, non-guilty, imperfect human being-you're 
going to have to help me. Because believe me, Ellen, it isn't easy for me, 
either. No, indeed. It's very hard, as a matter-of-fact. So please, help 
me." 

There was a deep meaning for the girl in what he said, but the real 
motivation was in how he said it. She yearned for the absolution which would 
free her, temporarily, at least, of guilt. And if this priest, knowing ever 
so much more than that old fraud, Father Geoghan, had received instructions 
from-what had he said? "The very highest source?"-then she felt better, 
freer, already. And, since the warmth in her loins had really never died 
down, at least not very much, from the enormous surges of heat she had felt 
downstairs when she was confessing, she knew that her courage was greater 
than her fear. And her curiosity about the good Father's penis was very 
high, very exciting. Sinfully so. 

She raised her ace from her hands and said: "Just exactly what is it you 
want me to do, Father Salas?" 

Rudy's heart leaped with satisfaction. This was unexpected and delightful as 
if he had been a hunting dog who finds a three-pound sirloin steak left 
unguarded on a kitchen table. But he kept his voice kind and steady. 

"First," he said, get into exactly the same position you were with your 
brother. Ah, that's very nice," he said, choking a little as the young 
girl's truly lovely body turned toward him, her broad, smooth butt so 
symmetrically divided, the pinky-brown asshole showing above that gorgeous 
split, its dripping inner lips showing the bright pink of healthy young cunt 
flesh. Why didn't that scaredy-cat brother suck her out? But then he 
remembered how he had been, at twelve, filled with a man's jism and a man's 
thoughts and desires where sex is concerned, but with a child's fears. 

"You don't have to hurry," he said quietly, stroking his smooth hand warmly 
on the girl's satiny rump. "Did Ronnie touch you here?" And he ran his thumb 
lightly down the outside of the girl's thick, well-haired cunt lip. It was 
slick and wet, and he blessed the girl for being so productive of this 
sweet, clear, fragrant cunt syrup. His cock was big, he knew the girl was 
very close to being virgin, and he would need all the lubricant he could get 
when he reamed her pussy with his hard, swollen dick. 

Ellen jumped and trembled, but his startling act had caused her to move 
toward that huge, frighteningly beautiful prick. For she saw it now as 
something beautiful, a thing to fear, perhaps, but also to admire. From this 
organ, from men's penises, came the populations of the world, black, white, 
brown, yellow. And she had unconsciously put her soft little hand around it, 
just as she had last night with Ronnie's smaller one. Like the Father had 
said. 

"Oh, no," she whispered, almost fainting from the heat which flamed in her 
at the intimacy of Rudy's touch. "He was supposed to be asleep. I told you, 
I thought he was asleep. This," and she gave his cock a slight shake, "this 
whatchacallem, was sticking up and sort of jerking. His face looked strained 
and terrible. Like I told you, I don't even know why I did-what I did. That 
terrible thing!" Her voice was getting too tight, so he gave her a friendly, 
reassuring rub on the broad, silken smoothness of her young ass. 

"Cut it out, Ellen," he said kindly. "Don't take it so big, or I can't help 
you. It wasn't anything bad that you did. It was instinctive, a natural 
thing. Didn't it seem so at the time?" And, as he asked the question, he 
gave her solid young rump a little shove, getting her sweet face that much 
nearer his cock; 

He heard her gasp, he wasn't sure why, and her young voice was pleading: "Is 
that true? It was instinctive? Do other women-girls, I mean-do they do those 
things? Do they confess them?" The grip of her soft little paw tightened on 
the stem of his cock, and he could feel her breath on the sensitive head. 

As Ellen gripped the peter which she now thought of as beautiful rather than 
ugly, all of that powerful, hypnotic delight of male crotch perfume swirled 
up about her, into her sniffing nostrils, into her open mouth, and with it, 
a throb arose in her own tender, sensitive cuntal passage and all the 
trembling, jangled nerve centers around it. At the same time, with her 
senses reeling, she felt an anticipatory gush of saliva, which she had to 
hold by drawing air quickly over her drooling lower Up. 

She remembered the brightly lovely feel of Ronnie's boyish organ as it slid 
into her mouth, and in a blaze of light, she saw the words "natural" and 
"instinctive" and the Father's voice, saying: "Cut it out, Ellen. It wasn't 
anything bad that you did." 

As these thoughts and feelings conspired to undo the child, Rudy's hand once 
more went into the sensitized flesh around her cunt, and she took the big 
cock into her mouth with an animal sound of hungering satisfaction. 

The rank, strong flavor seemed to touch her in parts far removed from her 
warmly kissing mouth. In the dark depths up inside her, where the anguish 
and the ecstasy seemed to do battle in her womb. It was not like little 
Ronnie's, which seemed to slide right down her throat as she went down. This 
penis was so big that it seemed to stretch her throat badly as she tried to 
get it all into her mouth, knowing that what she really wanted was to get 
her nose into that dark mass of damp, aromatic hair that made Father Salas 
seem so human, so manly. 

In this heated moment, with her mind far removed from thoughts of crime and 
punishment, the young girl found that, by craning her head forward, bowing 
her neck, she seemed to create a straight line, or at least almost straight, 
from her chin to deep in her gullet. The top of her head went down into the 
warm, smelly place between his thighs. Her nose rasped against the hair on 
his huge balls. And the big prick, so softly cushioned in its bulbous tip, 
so hard in the column of rigid meat under the thick skin, went down her 
throat-or so it felt-almost into her stomach. 

It was a delight to her, with that heat blazing inside her, and with her 
firm breasts resting on the pseudo priest's hip bones. She was so impressed 
with what she was doing, with her success at actually swallowing this big 
organ until her lips were brushed by his dark bush of pubic hair, that she 
raised her body off her knees, up on her toes, so that she could slide her 
mouth and throat right down the nice, fat, hard peter. 

She realized that this was not exactly the way she had done with Ronnie, and 
yet she could not stop to explain. It was preposterous, in a way, that what 
had seemed so deadly wicked last night-and even this morning, in 
retrospect-was now nothing but extra fun derived from a religious duty, a 
new kind of confession. 

Her full fleshed, firm, girlish body was giving Rudy Salas the greatest show 
he had ever had. This chick was built like the proverbial brick shithouse. 

No anemic fashion model, but a full bodied, full blooded chunk of stuff, 
with a ripely formed ass, a fat pussy covered with golden brown hair, 
woman-sized titties which jiggled and rubbed on his belly as the girl dived 
down on his cock. And best of all, protruding out from those smoothly 
perfect asscheeks, was one of the fattest, leakiest, pinkest, prettiest 
cunts he had ever encountered. 

He had felt heat and lecherous desire in his cock ever since he had entered 
this house and seen that this girl as a sex object. 

As the little affair had quickly burgeoned, he had known moments of doubt, 
then moments of surging assurance. Once she had accepted the fact that a 
priest could have a hard-on, he knew he was home free. Even when she had 
stumbled against the end of a blind emotional alley, as she had when he had 
asked her to undress, even when she had shut her eyes in the bedroom, he 
still had known deep down that he would have her. But what he wanted was to 
carry this so far that she could never again refuse him anything. Never 
again be able to balk at whatever he suggested, no matter how raunchy. But 
to have this happy situation, he had to take her from one excess to another 
in slow steps. Sucking a cock might be a big thing to some women. But it 
was, at least, something they could back away from, a habit easily broken, a 
brilliantly obscene dream which their minds could deny. 

HE HAD TO FUCK HER! 

He began the end of this part of his seduction by putting his hands between 
Ellen's straining thighs. At his rubbing pressure, up the smooth skin and 
pressing around her flooding pussy, she slowed her rhythm, obviously 
wondering what her confessor wanted. At this point, he took her left thigh 
firmly in both hands, and lifted. 

She seemed to understand, and raised her left foot, which he guided across 
his face, so that she had one foot by each of his shoulders. It gave him a 
more open view of her cunt, which was so hot, now, that its clear pussy 
juice was now flecked with bubbles of froth. The inner lips were fat and 
swollen, and blood flushed through the surface veins, so that these kissable 
morsels were much darker than before. And Rudy began to talk. 

"You must go into all of this in an easier frame of mind, my child," he 
said, patting her ass. "Relax a bit. Let your knees bend, and lower yourself 
so that I can see this tender, harmless, non-guilty opening into your sweet 
and blameless body." 

He knew that the girl was too far gone in naive lust to hear and absorb much 
of what he was saying, but he also knew that the general effect would be 
soothing. And, in spite of all his concentration on the main point, which 
was the complete conquering of this girl's mind as well as her body, he was 
getting overly hot. Soon, in spite of hell, the secret trigger in his fuck 
mechanism would trigger his cumming, and he would shoot his big load into 
the inexperienced mouth of this young girl. 

He put his hands around the thick part of her strong, firm thighs, pulling 
her ass toward his face. She was getting into such a rhythm with her mouth 
going down on his cock that her entire body was geared to the same rhythmic 
motion. Each time she pulled her face back from his crotch, her opened cunt 
almost brushed his lips. 

He did not want his flood of jism to come as a surprise to the girl, so he 
said, in a calm voice: "You told me that Ronnie shot a lot of slick stuff 
into your mouth. Were you afraid?" 

A negative movement of the girl's head put some extremely pleasant pressures 
on the love-burnt head of his cock. 

"Do you think you will be able to take my load?" he asked. "Remember, it may 
be bigger than Ronnie's." 

Instantly, in voluptuous detail, Ellen recalled exactly how delicious her 
brother's seed was, how rich in texture, how delightful in taste and savor. 
She bobbed her head up and down in assent, and the additional suction on 
Rudy's swollen prick caused him to buck and squirm, shoving his hard tool 
roughly into the girl's throat. 

The anticipation of the fake priest's orgasm, which, she sensed, would be 
greater than her brother's, started that boiling sensation between the thick 
lips of her vulva, and deep up her tube, in the nerve-ends that made her 
vagina crawl with feeling and sloppy with girl juice. 

As she instinctively prepared to take the hot stream of Rudy's sperm, 
drawing her face back and holding the jerking head between her tongue and 
the roof of her mouth, she pressed her quaking cunt right down on the man's 
pleased mouth. And this was what he had been waiting for. ALL he needed. 

With his strong hands, he held the lower part of her body in place. He did 
not need to use his thumbs to stretch her pussy open-it was already 
stretched as wide as he needed it to be. The little hole, usually closed by 
pressure and by membraned muscles in repose, was now a dark little cavern 
oozing cum fluids. And the swollen inner lips, so bright with arterial 
blood, so wet with girlish cum, formed a convoluted valley right up to the 
girl's leaping clitoris. 

As he felt the first explosion of his cream rip up his tubes to spray in 
Ellen's mouth, he made it lovelier for both of them by sucking as hard as he 
could on the girl's fuck hole, shouting ecstatically, "GAAA-i-i-i-F-E-E-E-E! 
OH, SUCK MY HOT JIZZZZZZ!!!" 

It shot a blast of white flame through her, from asshole to uterus, that 
seemed to rip her guts apart and burst her body with joy. As he sucked 
again, the vacuum making the nerve-raw linings of her cunt rub together in 
ecstatic agony, she sucked so hard on his jerking, shooting, 
pleasure-wracked prick that his second jet of creamy jism went right down 
her throat. Every taste bud was regaled by its richness of taste, its thick, 
semi-solid texture. And it was such a mouthful that part of it came back 
into her mouth, between her cheeks and her gums. Twice as much as my 
brother's, she thought in triumph and satisfaction. And then: Oh, I hope 
this is right for Father Salas! I just hope he loves it as much as I do! 

The ersatz priest was thinking, to give him credit, somewhat the same thing. 
With his mouth entirely full of cunt and cunt juice, with his tongue running 
up and down in the slick channels between the vertical lips which were so 
tightly pumped up with warm blood, his mind burned with hope that Ellen was 
appreciating the sucking she was getting. Like it baby, he said mentally. 
Learn to love your cunt, baby! Anything this sweet can't be sinful, and I 
want to help you believe it! 

He felt his creamy jism blow out in jets that almost blew his balls apart, 
and reached down past the girl's thighs, fondling and squeezing her breasts, 
which were bigger and firmer than they had been a few moments before. So she 
really had been shooting her wad. Good! Honest, open enjoyment of a big cum 
was a step toward shaking off a lot of old ideas. He squeezed her titties 
very hard, knowing the pain would be blindingly pleasurable as orgasm ripped 
her. And the taste of her, the sweetly puckered little asshole right at his 
nose, the gentle rasp of cunt hair on his lips and cheeks, the smooth warmth 
of her skin, made his cumming twice as delightful. 

Only when the girl collapsed, still holding onto his cock, still keeping it 
in her mouth, did Rudy stop driving his hammering tongue into the slickly 
juicing little fuck hole. 

They rolled on their sides, and the girl raised her leg so that the man 
could still have his mouth on her relaxed, barely fluttering arrangement of 
soft flesh, slickly pink membrane, tenderly parted hair, and all the rich 
good taste and scent of a happy pussy. At his groin, Rudy could hear the lip 
smacking enjoyment of a healthy, hot woman eating jism, licking the final 
dollops of cream from a cock. 

"Step One," he whispered, smiling faintly, patting the smooth white flesh of 
Ellen's inner thighs. 

 CHAPTER FIVE 

Without a word, the dark young man reached and got his hands around the 
girl's body, and brought her up and around so that she could face him. 

At first, she buried her face in his sweated shoulder and snuggled against 
him, but with her knees up so that her crotch and his did not meet. 

Until at last he began to stroke his soft hand along her back, and down, 
coming around the smooth fullness of her satiny buttock, letting his fingers 
just touch the wetly sweated edges of her ass-crack, each touch making her 
body move just a bit more toward him. And making her gradually ease off her 
tensions, so that her legs came down, straight, against his muscular thighs, 
and her hairy little pussy, sopping with her juice, pressed against the 
fullness of his dick. 

He said: "This is the time when people who have made love kiss each other. 
Do you know what French kissing is?" 

Surprisingly, the girl giggled, and said: "Why do people always ask that? 
Sure, I know. But-well-we've been, uh, sort of doing something strange. 
Haven't we?" 

He laughed in a natural, easy manner, and said: "Part of the curative power 
of Psychological Confession is to put a parishioner at ease. I told you, 
it's no sin to be human. What we did is human. And your little cu-un, I mean 
your, uh, vulva, and your vagina, too, well, they're as clean as your mouth. 
Truly! I would no more lie to you than I would expect you to lie to me." 

She immediately began to kiss him on his neck, sucking and licking at it, 
and said: Oh, your penis tasted just divine, Father! It was so strong, so 
manly! Better than Ronnie's. And there was such a lot of your, 
whatchacallem, your semen." 

He said, "Hold it." He held her face between his hands and kissed her on her 
full, red lips, moving his tongue until the girl, now aware of what he 
wanted, opened her teeth and took his tongue into her mouth. It was a 
forbidden tiling, of course, but-not with a priest, surely? And it was so 
thrilling, giving her a shiver, a puckery feeling, right down between her 
buttocks, yes, all the way there. And so, very suddenly, she was aware of 
her entire body pressed against Rudy's, her inner nerves and muscles warming 
up as she unconsciously pumped herself, her crotch, against him. Her breasts 
rolled on her hard chest, and the message of lust she got from them shot 
straight down across her belly like living fire, touching every crying nerve 
in her young twat. 

And she very boldly thrust her tongue into the man's mouth. She did not know 
that this fleshly penetration, in which some of the most erotic nerves in 
the body are engaged, was the symbol of a fuck, the same sort of penetration 
that is accomplished by a cock. All she knew was that it gave her a sense of 
love, of trust, of very high heat, and that it made her wish she had the 
young cleric's organ stuck into hers. That is, if he really wanted to go 
through with everything she had done, so that this would be a complete, 
meaningful confession. 

When their lips came apart, the girl looked at him, close up, and said in a 
rush of words: "I guess I have to keep on confessing, Father. Because all 
we're doing is just making me, well, it's making me a lot worse. I'm 
thinking the impurest kind of thoughts." 

The man shook her gently. "My child, what we're doing is not bad. Not sinful 
in any way. That's the entire point. To prove to you that you're simply a 
human being. Didn't I say we were all imperfect, just a while ago?" 

The girl almost smiled. "Well, you said I was," she answered. 

He hugged her fiercely. "Very funny, very funny," he said. "But you must see 
that I, with my eagerness for your beautiful young body, am very imperfect. 
But now, the church has opened its eyes to the needs of nuns and priests as 
well as, uh, laymen. Haven't you heard of priests and nuns getting married? 
Or arguing for the right to be human? And they aren't getting 
excommunicated." He hoped he was right. He hadn't paid too much attention to 
such things. Not since the days of military training, and the horrible days 
of Vietnam. 

The girl pumped her body against him, her eyes closed. She took one of his 
big hands and placed it on her breast. "Is it all right if I do that thing 
again?" she asked humbly. "I feel so HOT!" 

He got his tongue in her mouth, one hand on her breast, and, from behind, a 
finger on his other hand into the frantically squirming slickness and warmth 
of her cunt. 

"MMMGGGUUUuuhhh-OH! OH! OOOHHHhhh!!" She tried to scream out her orgasm, 
but, since her tongue was in his mouth, it came out as a wild, keening moan. 

He held her against him with tender strength until her spasm of cumming had 
passed, then he said: "Listen, my dear child. You're finding it difficult to 
communicate your thoughts to me. Because you think that some words are 
sinful. Part of the pleasure of love, of being human, is to forget old 
teachings. Wrong teachings, by the way. I have never heard of any church 
edict against any word. Fuck or cunt or cock-Hhey are simply old-fashioned 
words for intercourse, vagina, or penis. They are not bad at all. There are 
no dirty words, only dirty minds. What you just did was experience orgasm. 
On a simpler, more human basis, you could say you came, or you shot your 
wad, or blew your load. And many other colorful metaphors and synonyms. I 
have my finger touching your cunt. It actually isn't in your vagina, now is 
it?" 

The girl moved her body. "No," she said. "But I wish it was." 

"It's down near the entry to your vagina. It isn't touching your vulva. Your 
vulva, well, if I understand the term, it means here," and he stroked up, 
between her fat outer lips, into the swelling, spilling slickness of her 
slick inner labia. "But I was down here," and he pressed again around the 
rim of her vagina, pressed hard, and felt her feel around her ass, trying to 
get his finger in her cunt, or her cunt around his finger. 

"There, now" he said, "see what a useful word 

'cunt' is? Because no matter where I put it, my finger was touching your 
cunt." 

She drew in a deep sigh and nestled against him. "The church sure raises 
hell about impure thoughts," she said. "And don't those words represent 
impure thoughts? Like, uh, cunt." She shivered. 

He slowly, firmly jammed his longest finger up her, reveling in the 
slickness and warmth of the wet folds in her young vagina. The girl squirmed 
in delight, pressing herself against him, pressing her ass against his 
knuckles. 

Unaccountably, the girl laughed. "I'm thinking I've been a scared little 
ninny," she said. "I know all those words. I can see where they might be 
better than the sissy words. Listen, I want to confess some more." 

She told him of her deep sense of woe and guilt, of taking the overdose of 
pills, of being on her back, her cunt open, unable to move or cry out. And 
of all the rest. 

When they went to her room and she laid down in the same position, "Father" 
Rudy laughed. "I can see where a twelve year old kid could get into you in 
that position, but I doubt I could." 

The girl looked disappointed, then smiled bravely and said: "Oh, that's all 
right, then, Father Salas. As long as you can absolve me without us acting 
it out." She looked down at his big cock, which had grown very hard as he 
had played in her pussy, using all those wonderful, meaningful old words, 
feeling the human warmth and womanly generosity of her body. Timidly, she 
touched it. "Anyhow, I don't believe it-I mean, your cock-could go into me. 
Ronnie had a little trouble. But I thought maybe it was just because I was 
sort of, you know, kinked up." 

The man put his arm around her, getting his hand under her arm, onto her 
breast, to which he gave a lovingly painful caress. 

"Of course we're going to act it out," he said. "But I know a better place." 

Downstairs, in the living room, he placed her on the big couch. Its curved 
arm made a much more comfortable leaning place for her head and shoulders 
than the hard door frame. He lifted one of her lovely legs up on to the back 
of the couch. "There," he said, "that's the one that was jammed against the 
door." He pushed on her foot, which made her leg, her thigh move back 
against her breast, while she looked up at him soberly, only a twinkle in 
her eyes showing her pleasure. 

He pulled her other leg off the couch, so the foot touched the floor, and 
her smooth young thigh was almost at right angles to her body. This opened 
the thick and hairy outer lips of her pussy, exposing the slick, shiny 
pinkness of her inner core, the throat of her cunt. He could not resist its 
beauty.' He dropped to his knees and placed his open mouth over all of her 
pink slit that he could reach, tonguing and sucking. 

The girl squealed joyfully, and put her hands on his head to press him into 
it deeper. Her foot came up off the floor, and he felt the huge tendons on 
the inside of her thighs, the ones that ran right up to her pubic arch, as 
they tensed. 

When he withdrew his mouth, licking around it to get up the last drops of 
her pussy juice, the girl said: "Oh, Father, I'm gladdest of all that I 
found out that there's no sin in THAT!" She was smiling, and her trailing 
hands lay on her smooth belly. "Why?" he asked, smiling. 

"Because it's so SWEET," the girl answered. "It's such a nice thing to do 
for a girl." Tears filled her eyes. "Oh, thank you, Father, for being so 
nice tome!" 

He knelt between her extended thighs, laughing down at her. 

"Did Ronnie say anything?" he asked. "Or Terry?" He pulled a pillow from the 
other corner of the big couch, and thrust it under her solid rump, raising 
the slightly opened fuck hole. 

"They used a lot of those words," he said. "Terry kept hollering to Ronnie 
to fuck me, to stick his cock in my cunt. Why? You're going to stick it in 
me, aren't you? To make everything complete?" 

"You better believe it, little doll," the man answered in rather 
non-priestly style. "But part of your cure is, we do it a little bit 
differently. I want you to know that neither the words nor what they mean, 
none of it, can be called sinful. Or anything, really, except human. So-that 
means I want you to be the one who wants it, who asks for it. Do and say 
whatever you think will get all that conviction of personal sin out of your 
head. And out of your pretty little cunt, too," he added kindly. 

He shook his prick at her, and she smiled up at him as she took it. "Oh, 
what a lovely cock," she said softly. "What a big one! A COCK, a PRICK, a 
PETER!" She blushed, squeezing the hard rod. "I just love to call it a 
peter. Will you stick your peter in me? Will you stick it in my nasty little 
old cunt and FUCK me?" 

He pulled away from her. "Wrong stuff to say," he said firmly. 

The girl dropped her eyes. "It's hard for me to think my cunt is sweet or 
pretty," she whispered. "But it sure feels pretty." 

"I say it's pretty," Salas affirmed. He wanted to say: "I've seen a ton of 
'em, and they're all lovely, but yours is the most." But he thought it would 
sound out of character. 

The girl wiped the soft, distended head up and down in her sloppy, tender 
channel. "OOOOOOOHHH!" she moaned. "THAT FEELS SO ... SO DREAMY! Have I got 
a lot of juice down there, Father? I need a lot of juice to help it go in." 
She wiped it up and down again, and, at the bottom of her split, when his 
cockhead was right at her hole, she fucked up at him, causing it to go in an 
inch or better, until the empurpled head was out of sight in her streaming 
pink tightness. It made her whip her sweet, firm butt up and down, giving 
both of them the lovely thrill of a short, incomplete fuck. 

"Oh, I love this," she whispered, her eyes closed. "Your wonderful big cock 
fucking into my sweet, dripping, fucky little pussy!" Her smile was faint, 
as though she were concentrating mainly on the marvelously fucky feeling in 
her straining little pussy. She was pushing her loins up and out, trying to 
get him more deeply into her, although she was beginning to feel some hard 
pain, and knew it wouldn't be easy. "Can't you push, too?" she asked humbly. 

He put the palms of his hands down on either side of her body, letting more 
weight get behind his cock. She was extremely tight, but, considering that 
Ronnie had fucked her the night before, he knew she couldn't have a 
maidenhead. He gave it a hard, slogging push, driving into the girl's tiny, 
almost unused little cunt hole. Something, a muscle contraction perhaps, was 
keeping him out. But the girl was moaning happily, and fucking up at him 
rapidly, until she realized his body was still. 

She opened her eyes, looking startled. "What's the matter?" she demanded. 
"Why aren't you fucking your beautiful cock into my lovely little cunt?" She 
blushed. "If it's all right for me to say that," she whispered. Her strong 
young body wiggled all over, and both of them felt a squeaky, lovely pang as 
the hard part of his cock ran in a little deeper. "I wish I had some of your 
jism in there," the girl said in a choked voice. "Ooohhh, it's so slick and 
rich! I bet it'd go in then. But then, you'd be soft, wouldn't you?" 

He thrust at her again, pulling his cock back an inch, then ramming it hard 
into her, gaining just a little, perhaps half an inch. He let more of his 
weight down on the girl's warm, heavy tits, hearing her gasp as his chest 
mashed them. At once he felt a slight response inside her, a shift of 
muscle, possibly a release of more of her cuntal mucous, for his prick went 
in another inch. 

"OH, FATHER!" the girl gasped, locking her arms around his back. "Something 
happened. Some more of your cock went into me. Is it all in? I just feel 
stuffed so full of it, OHHHHHH!" And her body leaped at him, her cunt 
gripped him convulsively, and she shook her entire lower body as it was held 
up to him by her strong legs and back. "OHHH! COULD YOU FEEL ME? I came, 
real NICE AND HARD! Is it in any deeper?" 

He whispered, "Reach around your beautiful ass and feel. Get your hands 
down, get them full of your rich pussy juice! FEEL your cute, sweet little 
asshole! This is all a part of love. That you love your body as well as 
mine! OH, BABY! THAT'S DOING IT!" 

With her soft hands moving around her stretched cunt, it was certain that 
she would also brush his cock, his balls. And she must have found them 
sweet, for she gently held his big balls in the softness and warmth of her 
little hand. And this time, it was he whose body involuntarily surged 
forward. Her cum a moment before had slicked up her inner parts, her cunt 
sheath, and also, of course, relaxed some taut muscles. This time, his cock 
struck something hard, making the girl cry out in shock. Her womb, he had 
hit it. In this position, and particularly in a practically unfucked girl, 
her cervix would be shoved up near her vaginal entry. There was still more 
of her cunt to stretch, to get into. Its tightness would hold his penis 
against that hard, girlish womb-mouth, giving him a pleasure he had seldom 
known these past twelve years. Her sweetly clasping pussy was so slick yet 
so tight. And so hot! 

He looked down at her sweet young face. It was beaded with sweat. There was 
a look of deep contentment, but, as he looked, she bit her lip, and then 
thrust her cunt up at him. He was deeply moved. 

"I'm hurting you, isn't that right?" he said hoarsely. "Shall I take it out? 
After all, we've re-enacted what Ronnie did." 

"NO! NO! OH, PLEASE, FATHER, don't TAKE IT OUT!" Her body moved up at him 
again. "I'm about to CUM!" she moaned. "That ought to make me slicker. 
OHHHHHH! OH, IT FEELS SO GOOD! TO HAVE YOUR COCK STUCK INTO MY CUNT, AND TO 
BE ABLE TO FEEL IT WITH MY HANDS!" 

Once again, her soft little hands squeezed his balls, came up to feel the 
hard, hairy base of his prick where the final two inches of it remained 
outside. She moaned again: "OHHH! OHHHHHH! FUCK ME, FATHER! FUCK ME! FUCK 
ME! FUCK ME!" 

Her body moved back and forth, up and down, in cadence with her repeated 
cries of "FUCK ME!" and the dark young man, all his sympathies with this 
girl, fucked into her as hard as he could, timing his down-thrusts to her 
lifting of her body. It was working! The orgasm had relaxed her gripping 
vaginal muscles still more. The flow of her sweetly feminine' lubricating 
juice was pouring from a million tiny pores, their outpourings increased as 
her cunt writhed in an undulating orgasm. He felt his cock gripped in an 
amazing tightness as it poked down to the end of her channel, the hard 
cervix giving him a terrific rub of sexual delight as he bottomed out 
against the closed end of her fuck sheath. 

Now that he was in her, he made the hard motions of fucking without 
withdrawing more than an inch, simple grinding his pubic mound against the 
girl's, stirring inside her with his hard cock, making sure he hit every 
available spot inside her. And she had her mouth on his neck, his smooth 
cheek, seeking to find his tongue with hers, anxious to complete this 
physical union which was giving her such shuddering thrills of heat and 
happiness. 

"Oh, Father, KISS ME!" the girl panted, her face moving in a blind search. 
"OH, YOUR COCK FEELS SO GOOD IN ME! SHOOT YOUR HOT WAD IN MY CUNT! Pour your 
sweet jism into my fuck hole! JAM IT IN HARD, father! Fuck me to hell and 
back! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK! FU-U-U-UCK!" And she slammed her spirited and happy 
cunt up at him rhythmically, giving his cock the fucking of his life as her 
extreme tightness almost tore the skin from his dick. 

And, each time he plowed into her, feeling the sensational rub on the 
tenderest parts of his violently throbbing cock, he was grateful for the 
load he had dropped upstairs when she had sucked him so beautifully. Baby, 
you were made for fucking, he thought. With your heat, your lovely, soft, 
strong body, your tight, hot little cunt, your natural sweetness. What a 
fuck! What a girl! 

He opened his mouth and plastered it on that of the moaning girl. At once, 
her sweet, strong, slippery tongue came out to join his, and each of them 
sucked with the delight of hot people on the ragged edge of a cum. 

As his cock made its preliminary throb, promising the powerful jets of cream 
from his balls, the girl broke away, her eyes wildly looking at him with a 
deeply feminine foreknowledge of the blast she would receive in her cunt. 
That throb was just like the one when she was sucking the priest, just 
before his thick, creamy jism shot into her mouth. She was sad, for a split 
second, that she would not taste the richness of his thick and lovely sperm. 
But then she said, in a clear voice, "It's going to flood into my cunt, 
isn't it, Father? Your dear peter's juice is going to fill me! Oh, thank you 
for this goodness! AND-I-I-I'M CUMMING, TOO! AAARFRRGGGHHH! OH, GOD, THANK 
YOU! FUCK ME, FATHER!" 

Her strong young body should have been whipping up and down in wild frenzy, 
but something great seemed to have happened in her. Her inner impulses were 
wild, and Rudy could feel them in the pulsations in her vagina. But her body 
seemed to understand and to echo the exact rhythms of his spurting jets of 
cock-cream. 

An explosion of his seed started, and he thrust in deep, hitting her womb 
and her cunt's closed end. The jism poured out, flooding her channel of 
love, and he pulled back. Far back, now, until the rim of the corona of his 
penis showed at the pinkly wet mouth of her cunt, since he was getting into 
her with less trouble. As he pulled out, her body pulled back; as he thrust 
down, she sent her soul into a cunt's upward fling. 

Each of his thrusts was a dream of delight for her, straining her tenderest 
muscles, giving joy and fire to every nerve in her pussy. She could feel the 
strength of his body as he thrust at her, until he seemed to be a spear, his 
cock its sharp head, and her body its joyful target. Sweat ran down from her 
face, tickling her neck, and more sweat seemed to form between her breasts, 
making its keenly delightful way down her ribs. The marvelous stretch of her 
tender vagina made a wild hymn of painful ecstasy throughout her belly, 
echoing in her bowels. She had long ago, given up her seeking touch around 
her pussy's wet, warm opening, and was holding her lover, the self-styled 
priest, in her smooth, strong arms. 

Her cunt was thrilling her with its deep, pulsating grip on the big cock, 
which seemed to grow bigger each time it released a hot spurt of cock juice. 
She felt the teasing sense of something hot and slick running down under her 
vaginal opening, tickling its way into the sensitive crease of her buttocks, 
mashed together by her weight. The sweetly sticky goo was, she knew, a 
mixture of her cum and her partner's. For the first time in her frightened 
young life, she truly knew what love was, and how it could affect your body 
as well as your mind and soul. 

The great orgasm must have taken her temporarily out of her world, for she 
awoke to find Rudy kissing her and squeezing her breasts. His cock was still 
buried in her, and she felt a flutter of her love muscles as her cunt kissed 
the slick red head good-bye. 

Her first thought was one of sadness, a deep loss, as she felt her own 
tightness begin to squeeze the lovely peter out of her. But she remembered 
that it had come up very quickly, soon after she had sucked all that 
beautiful juice out of it. And besides, to tell the truth, she felt relaxed, 
even surfeited. She must have cum a dozen times, big ones and small ones, 
counting from her first one as she knelt with her head in Father Salas' 
crotch, her juicy cunt lips open over her bare heel. 

"I must have cum a dozen times," she sighed, and then giggled. "That's the 
nicest, sweetest confession I ever made," she said. 

The pretended cleric was amused all through. And quite proud. 

"I've helped you to understand yourself and your body," he said. "To 
understand not only the nature of yourself, and the nature of your brother 
and sister, but the nature of all humans." 

He slipped off her, down on his knees by the couch, and her leg came off, 
her foot touching the floor again. She turned her lovely eyes on him, her 
smile beatific. He could see that her cunt was so swollen that it was wide 
open, sloppily lovely, with large drops of opaque sperm oozing out, crawling 
down toward her cute little pink asshole, which seemed to move with a tiny 
jerk, once in a while. 

She seemed to follow his eyes and his thoughts, for she said in a whisper: 
"Oh, I wish I were an acrobat, so I could suck all that lovely peter juke 
out of me!" She put a hand on his arm and squeezed, while her strong, warm 
body undulated in a hazy pantomime of fuck motions. 

He had been thirsting for the feel and taste of her delicious little split, 
and he laughed joyously as he picked her leg up, holding her divided and 
beautiful butt so that it pointed toward the ceiling, each cheek wide apart 
so that he could see the slickness of joined fluids which had slopped her 
crack all the way. 

"I'll get this, first," he said, and leaned down and swept his broad tongue 
from the tiniest fuzz beyond her trembling anus, right to the gaping pink 
aperture of her cunt. Here, he pursed his lips as though for a kiss, and 
sucked as hard as he could, filling his mouth with the richness of his own 
cum and the girl's lighter but equally tasty juices. 

Then, with his eyes twinkling, he moved to where the girl held out her 
softly rounded arms, and put his mouth on hers. 

With a little cry of joyful appreciation, she put her full lips against the 
man's, and shivered with little echoes of inner joy as he slowly let drop 
after rich drop of the tasty flow go into her waiting mouth. 

As she trembled in pleasure, the man put his hand firmly against her opened 
twat, rubbing slightly along its sensitized little valley, and her mouth 
worked furiously as she began to cum again, her strong body flailing its way 
up and down on the cushions. 

When she had sucked out his mouth as hard as he had sucked out her 
nerve-taut, appreciative pussy, he moved down again and placed his mouth 
lower down. 

There was still an overflow from her softly pulsing vagina, but he was 
interested in her reaction as his tongue caressed her asshole, her 
instantaneous leap of pure excitement as he tongued into it, feeling it 
pucker, at first, then relax and open to let his tongue into the sharply 
flavored inner secrets of her rectum. 

His tongue probed into the soft and juicy interior, which he knew was as 
pinkly shaded, as finely grained, as the inner lips of her spasming pussy. 
The girl's moans were excited and wildly provocative, "OOOOOOH FATHER! 
THAT'S GOOD! SOOOGOOOOOODDD! OH, SUCK ME THERE, FATHER! LET ME CUM AGAIN! 
OOOOOOHHHHHH!OOOOOOHHHHHH!" 

He held her flipping body, had to, in fact, in order to keep his smoothly, 
probing tongue in the joyfully responsive rectum. You've got some crazy 
feelings in there, cutie, his mind flashed. Some day, and I hope it's soon, 
I'll cop that cherry in there, and give you a new place to feel good, 
without feeling sinful. 

He waited for her orgasm to expand and glow and fade, and held her solid 
young ass tenderly in his arms before moving his mouth up to suck out the 
last of his juice. 

As he knew she would be, the young girl was so tender in her clitoris, in 
her sensitive labia, and in the first few inches of her fuck hole that she 
immediately exploded in another rolling, throbbing orgasm, screaming weakly: 
"Oh, Father, it's cumming AGAIN! FUCK ME! PUT IT IN ME! FUCK ME!" And her 
body heaved again and again. 

There was no way he could get his cock into her, but he did the best he 
could-he shoved his finger up into the drooling dark of her slippery-tight 
little cunt. Tiny and sensitive as she was, his finger felt like a 
sash-weight, a big salami, his cock. There was a wonderful, expanding 
feeling of heat and power growing inside her. She still had the warm taste 
of his jism in her mouth. He had given her so much in her cunt, had sucked 
it out and given it to her again, in her mouth, that she could feel it, 
apart from her saliva, as a richer, thicker, tastier substance. And somehow, 
his finger in her, the intimacy of mouth to-cunt-to-mouth caresses glowing 
in her mind as well as her inflamed body, she transformed the finger into a 
cock, his tongue in her mouth as another cock. It was wild and crazy and 
possible. Now that nothing that was natural and human was a sin. And 
certainly, having three cocks stuck in you-if you craved them-ought to be as 
natural and human and sinless as one. 

She clung to him, feeling his big finger tenderly ining and outing in the 
flowing closeness of her vagina. Her face felt warm, her skin was burning. 

She gave one final, hard thrust of her body up against the fork of his hand, 
feeling the orgasm burst and flow out of her sensation-filled pussy, and 
went limp. She was, at long last, satisfied, cleansed of desire and lust, 
cleansed of the pain and misery of guilt and sin. 

Ellen could no longer feel shy with this stranger. When she was able to sit 
up, she grinned at him as she ran her hand down between her cunt lips, then 
pulled it out, sniffed at it, and licked it clean. 

"You sucked me pretty clean, Father," she said. "But I'm still sort of 
drippy. Here, d'you want to see?" And she rolled back, lifting her legs, 
holding them with her hands under her knees, and looking down to see 
whatever she could. 

He laughed and kissed her on the softly pulsing, slowly oozing rosette of 
flesh, smacking loudly as she squealed and jumped. 

"I never felt so cleansed of sin," she said, leaning to put her arms around 
his neck, her big, soft breasts quaking. 

For a split second, Rudy's face looked very old, with the sadness of all 
life in it. Then he kissed her on each nipple and stood up. "That was the 
idea," he said. "That's why Psychological Confession was developed. To make 
us imperfect humans better able to accept our imperfections as a part of 
God's creativeness. If He had made us perfect, what would we have to strive 
for? We might as well die and become angels all at once." 

He was smiling, but this was a tenet of his own self-made faith, and he 
believed in it as fully and sincerely as any priest ever believed in the 
dogma of Mother Church. 

The girl hugged him, her face against his sticky jock. 

"Oh, my dear Father," she whispered. "Here, let me clean you up! Mmmmmmmmmm 
MMMMMMMMM!" she exclaimed as her sweet mouth gently licked the fruits of 
their cum from his dick. "Oh, how sweet!" 

She held the still swollen cock in one soft little fist, and with the 
fingers of her other hand she held the foreskin away from the red head and 
thrust her pink tongue down into this improvised little cup of flesh. She 
looked up at him with a gamin smile. "Father, you'll have to absolve me of 
this, too. I just love it!" And with that, she took his entire cock into her 
warm, slick mouth, going back and forth as her lips and tongue caressed his 
tool. 

He rested his hands on her head, and she felt as if she were being blessed. 
In her ardor, she put a hand between his thighs to find and fondle his big, 
hairy balls. Full of sweet jism, she thought. Flushing the dirtiness out of 
her cunt, out of her throat, out of her imperfect and erring mind. 
Beautiful! But the delicate taste of the cock caused a new idea to swirl in 
her mind, and she leaned back to look up at her "confessor", her hands still 
lightly holding him. 

"I don't know about you," she said in a maternal, responsible tone, "but all 
that confession and absolution made me hungry enough to eat anything that 
doesn't bite me first! And look at that clock," she said, clucking her 
tongue. "It's almost twelve o'clock!" 

She held his fat dick and kissed it loudly, then got up and put her arm 
around the man, hugging him closely as she steered him toward the kitchen. 
The sweetly throat-closing scents of lust, of heated cunt hanging open, of 
pulsing cock skinned and warming, was all around them. The girl licked her 
lips, ran her tongue down between her lips and her gums. 

"Whatever goodies we find to eat, nothing will ever taste as good as your 
jism, Father," she whispered softly. And the healthy young man, all of his 
senses very much alive, still far from drained, let his hand go down between 
her buttocks, into her cum-slopped asscrack, touching the tender little 
asshole. And smiling. 

This was better than the best he had ever expected. And it was his for as 
long as he wanted it. Sweet, dumb, juicy, hot little kid! 

 CHAPTER SIX 

When "Father" Rudy finally left, a little before three, the warm and happy 
girl watched from the door. She had not wanted to dress, for several 
reasons, first of which was that she was no longer ashamed of her body. If 
Father Rudy-he had told her she could use his first name-said her body was 
free from sin, and love of it was also okay, then she would let her natural 
pleasure in herself take over. 

Another reason: Her breasts, which had always bothered her because of their 
sensitivity-vaguely sinful, of course-seemed larger. And certainly, they 
were "touchier" as she phrased it. Putting her dress on was just going to 
make them feel even more so. And, while she knew that no sin was connected 
to these thoughts, she simply liked the idea of letting the big, soft, 
good-feeling and friendly titties just sort of bounce around. They were 
where the good Father could reach them, to rub or squeeze or kiss. 

They had eaten well, and Rudy had touched her, stroked her, felt up and down 
the inside of her thighs, all over her belly, as she made good things to eat 
and, later, performed the humble but necessary duties of cleaning up. She 
was dizzy with the joy of having had her young, responsive, hungry little 
pussy treated so well. 

They had fucked twice more. Once, starting with her lying on her back on the 
kitchen table, with her strong legs resting on his chest, feeling so wide 
open as he banged it into her. And finishing with him lying flat and her on 
top. He had reasons for showing her this position, he said. 

"If a dick's too big for you, you can work around and get it in easier if 
you control the action," he said. "And if one's a bit undersized, you can 
work your ass around so as to be sure it hits the good-feeling, cummy 
spots." 

She felt delicious. There was a sort of burning feel in the tight-muscled 
entry to her vagina-"to my cunt," she amended aloud-but no wonder. Except 
for last night with Ronnie, today was the first time anything bigger than 
her finger had ever been in her. 

The athletic looking young man did not look back, because looking back, in 
his mind, connotated some mild form of commitment. He thought he might very 
well pay a return visit. You just don't find girls like Ellen every day. He 
had been around the block, as they say, and he had stuck his joint into a 
great many cunts. And the worst of them, the very worst, had been wonderful. 
But this little dumb chickie, she was something else. So-yes. He might be 
back. But he wasn't promising, so he never turned his head to see if Ellen 
was watching or waving or whatever. And it was all right with her. She had 
had more from him, she believed, than she would ever have from any man. 
Freedom, for one thing. Freedom to love, to hope, to fuck. 

She went upstairs, carrying her dress, and went into the adjoining bath that 
also had a door into her dad's bedroom. There was a drying film of cum juice 
on the insides of her thighs, and she smiled as she stood in front of the 
full-length mirror on the bathroom door. 

How lovely it was to be a warm blooded, well built woman, as Father Rudy had 
told her she was. How lovely not to be ashamed of her sex, her sex organs, 
her sexuality! 

She sat down on the edge of the tub, opening her thighs wide to show the 
pink inner parts of her pussy. The hair around it was dark with floods of 
cum juice not yet dried. She could still feel the tantalizing itch of her 
juice leaking out of her hole, and she watched in the mirror as she inserted 
her longest finger into that thermal softness, that soft clutch of warm 
folds of cunt flesh and membrane. 

It felt so good that she put in another finger, and then she knew that this 
wasn't getting her anywhere, so she pulled the fingers out and licked them. 
The kids would be home in a few minutes. She would have to face them, 
perhaps have to deal with whatever emotional residues were left from their 
weird actions of last night. She knew, now, that she would be able to cope 
with them. 

As a matter-of-fact, they were only a block or two away. They lived within 
eight blocks of their school, hence the school's buses did not serve their 
neighborhood. They were known, among their peers, as "walkers", and the way 
home was usually a pleasant one, coming along at their own pace, exchanging 
views and information with friends. 

Exchanging other things, too, when circumstances permitted. Feeling each 
other up in the shaded nooks where driveways were bordered with thick 
hedges, six or seven boys and girls, feeling of each other, kissing, rubbing 
bellies, dry-fucking, laughing at life. And now, after last night, little 
Terry could swap spit with her beloved brother as well as with other guys. 
And all the kids in the little group of "walkers" that went toward Lois Lane 
thought it was funny and cute that Ron and Terry were loving each other up, 
that little Terry actually got her hand in Ronnie's fly as they stopped in 
one alley, and said to Marliss Jeffers: "Angel, you ought to get a feel of 
this dick." Everyone envied them. Brother and sister, loving each other so 
freely. 

"You guys got it made", Willie Stevenson laughed. "This is Friday, no school 
for three days, because we got a Monday holiday. And your dad's on a fishing 
trip, so you've got the whole house to yourselves. Wow! Just clean up the 
fuck spots before your pop gets home." 

Marliss Jeffers, a small, pretty girl with breasts unusually large for an 
undersized Sixth Grader, said: "Hey! Why'nt you guys have a little party? 
Lots of bedrooms, lots of beds. Gosh, I never did it in a bed! Wow! I could 
sure fuck up a storm in a nice bed!" 

She still had her little warm hand on Ronnie's pecker, and she gave it an 
extra squeeze. "How about it Ron?" she asked. "I've always wanted some of 
your peter." 

Terry laughed. "Ron's kind of timid, Angel," she said. "Don't rush him. 
Anyhow, a heavy party like that, no way! We got a sister looking after us. 
Ellen. She just came back from living with mama." 

A tall boy who had been fooling with a dark, slender girl who kept licking 
her lips, said: "Hey, I remember her! And I guess I saw her yesterday. When 
she came home. Shee-it! Let's have her on the party. Wow-wee! Has she ever 
got a lot of stuff!" 

Ronnie looked at him fondly. He was a real pal. Fifteen years old, and lots 
of people-lots of older girls, anyhow-took him for twenty. Had a tool on him 
like a pony. And guts! Man, he had 'em! But he had just a bit of jealousy 
toward good old Chuck. Chuckie Gilman. Always telling Ronnie to get all he 
could. Trying to kid him out of the shackles of his religion. All that sin 
stuff, Chuck said, was stupid. "I bet I know fifteen, twenty girls that 
fuck," he said. "They're cute little kids. Some of 'em got hair under their 
arms and on their pussies, same as a grown woman. Now, dummy, if they WANT 
your dick, it's more of a sin for you to hold out on them than it is for 
them to fuck you, see?" 

But Ron hadn't done much about it. Although he often went to Chuck for 
counsel and guidance. The older boy was level headed, good humored, knew his 
way around. He just wished he could get old Chuck off to one side and ask 
him about what he had done to Ellen. He wasn't sure it was right. He sort of 
had the idea she might have been sick last night. In spite of what Terry had 
said. That Terry! She was mean as a snake, sometimes. 

"Yeah, Ellen," he said, answering Chuck's question. "I guess you and she 
were in the same class." 

"No, she's older," Chuck smiled. "But a damn good kid. Like you, too 
religious. But nice, all right. How is she, now?" 

"Phoney as hell!" It was Terry, and Ronnie said: "Wait a minute. She's no 
phony. She's never been away from mom, had to go to that convent school. 
Give her a break." 

The small blonde girl took her hand out of her brother's fly, looking sulky. 
"Play with your own cock, baby!" she said, and turned to lean against big 
Chuck. "Hey, Chuckie, you haven't been fooling around! What's the matter? 
Don't like girls?" 

They heard the sound of steps and looked up. A tall, dark young man with a 
nice hair styling job, wearing a dark blue knit shirt with a couple of bare 
feet embroidered on the pocket, came by, glanced at the little knot of hes 
and shes in the alley. He grinned and said "Hi!" and Chuck Gilman answered: 
"Hi, Rudy! How's it going?" 

The tall guy waved a hand and kept going, and Marliss, the one called 
"Angel," asked: "Who's the good looking chicano dude? I'd like to get it on 
with him." 

And Chuck laughed and said: "You and a couple hundred other chickies, Angel. 
He's Rudy Salas. S'funny, him being sort of dressed like a priest-he was 
going to be one, but then he got in some kind of jam, and went in the army." 
And then, turning to Ron: "Ron, is that true about your dad? Away for how 
long? Until Monday night? Does Ellen come down on you pretty hard? I know 
it's very heavy to have a big screwing party, but maybe we could get like 
Marless and little Terry and Alberta, here, and get something going. You 
know Alberta, don't you?" He pushed the slender, dark girl toward Ron, and 
she put her arm around him, feeling down toward his crotch, as Marless and 
Terry had. 

She had on a lightweight knit shirt, and Ronnie could see the sweet shape of 
her girlish titties, the hard nipples rising, and her hand, which had easily 
slid between his under pants and his belly, felt very warm and soft. And 
busy, as she skinned it up and down. 

He hugged her quickly, getting his hand between her buttocks, goosing into 
her real good, feeling that she had on no panties. 

"We'll fix up something," he said hoarsely. "I don't know just when dad's 
going to be home. It depends on what fish they run into. If they hit the 
albacore run, he won't be back until Monday night. I can phone the fishing 
docks and ask. He's on the Freedom Two. I'll call this afternoon." 

He actually shouldn't have worried. His dad and the group had hit it very 
good. Over seventy albies, those chicken of the sea, with their thick 
bodies, slender tails, big flukes, and poker chip eyes. And they were 
confident of more, next day. So they had put into Ensenada. For food and 
drink and rest. And a little piece of that chili-flavored pussy. 

"Come on, Bob," said tall, lanky, humorous Ace Shulman. "Get off your ass 
and let's go get somebody else's. What do you want to wash up for?" He 
sniffed his fingers, where he had been tossing the big albacore into the 
freezing unit. "That chicana pussy smells just about like we do. Come on, 
sport, let's go." 

Bob Mack, big and solid, slower than Ace, grinned his slow grin, scratching 
himself across his belly. 

"Go ahead, Ace," he said. "Where'll you be? 

Lah-oor's place? I'll be with you in a few minutes." minutes." 

It was strange, he thought, how he had little Ellen on his mind. If it had 
just been Terry and Ron, he'd have gotten Miz Sanderson to baby-sit them, 
and never would've worried for a minute. But somehow, he felt guilty about 
leaving little Ellen alone. After all, it was her first night home, last 
night, and he knew that Gretchen had given him a bad name with the kid. But 
hell, she was the one who'd insisted she could handle those wild-ass kids. 
Still, Ronnie was pretty good. A little too scared of being a regular kid. 
God damn it, that's what church did for kids. 

He got off the boat and got in one of the numerous taxis that hung around 
the fish docks. The driver, a lean, Indian-looking guy, said jovially: "How 
about some poosey, capitan! Nice young keed, very young, maybe only 
fourteen? Clean and tight and hot." 

This was an old gambit, and Bob played along. "How do you know she's tight?" 
he asked. 

The fellow looked back, holding his face straight, and finished the 
dialogue. "She's my seester!" he whooped, and collapsed on the steering 
wheel in laughter. 

"Not this time, Pancho," Bob said, grinning. "If your sister's as old as 
that gag, she probably screwed Cortez, right? Hey, where's a public 
telephone? I got to call home. My kids. You know?" 

"Seguramente, senor," the hackie said. "Up on Second Street. Straight across 
from El Rey Sol. You know the joint?" 

"Sure. Leave me off and wait for me, Okay?" 

He was in luck. It only took fifteen minutes to get hitched up to all the 
various switchboards between Ensenada and Lupus Beach. Ellen answered, and 
his heart almost melted at the sweetness in her happy young voice. Good! She 
was doing okay. 

"Doing okay, baby?" he asked. "This is dad. Just wanted to make sure 
everything was all right at home. I could get on a plane and be home in a 
couple hours if you need me." 

The connection was a good one. "We're just fine, daddy," the girl said. "You 
stay down there and have fun, hear?" 

They went through a few more cliches, then Bob rang off. His daughter's 
admonition to have fun rang in his head. The whore they all liked, 
Laure-whose name, in Spanish, translated into Lahoora-lived around here, 
some place. But he'd eat first. Have a few shots of tequila, with a little 
wedge of lime and some salt in the fork of his thumb, allee samee chicano. 
He felt great. Especially since Ellen had been so cheery, so positive, when 
he'd told her not to let those two little hellions bulldoze her. 

"Don't you worry for a minute, daddy," the courageous little critter had 
replied. "I can handle them." And so she could. Up in her room, she was 
proving it. At least, she was about to. With Ronnie. 

"All right, Mister Wise Ass," she said firmly, a confident smile on her 
face, "that was daddy. He wanted to know if you and Terry were giving me any 
trouble. You heard what I told him. So you'd better just behave, hear me? 
Else I'll put you on report." She looked at the hard prick which her brother 
had sticking out of his fly. 

"But last night, sis!" the young boy whined. "You did it last night! And you 
didn't squawk when I came and stuck this thing into your, uh, you know." He 
seemed definitely pained and unsure. 

"Into my pussy, silly boy," she answered calmly. "Or into my cunt. That's 
what you and dear little Terry called it, right? I've told you, I was 
paralyzed from that darned old drug. Don't you think I'd have thrown you off 
me if I hadn't been paralyzed? Or yelled my head off? That was a rotten 
trick. Both of you." 

"I don't care," little Terry answered sullenly. "You weren't paralyzed when 
you gobbled his dick. I saw that, you know. So, if you go telling tales, 
maybe I could tell a few tales of my own. I say you ought to fuck her, Ron. 
Throw her down on the bed and give it to her. Don't shit me, sister dear. I 
felt you; pussy nibbling at my tongue when I sucked you, so don't give me 
the paralyzed bullshit. Oh, balls!" the little blonde shouted. "What's so 
big about her, Ronnie? I told you fifty times, I'll suck you off! Or you can 
fuck me. Anywhere, baby! God damn! I'm so hot!" 

She sank on to the bed in Ellen's room, her young face looking very old. 
"Come on, Ronnie," she whispered. "If she won't help you, I will. Damn you!" 
she yelled at Ellen, "you cold assed church mouse bitch! Don't you see he 
needs help? He's just like you, scared to death of Hell and Heaven, scared 
to be human! Come on, baby. Maybe I haven't got as much hair on it as she 
has, but you can have it, and that's more than she can say!" 

Her words turned Ellen half sick with anger at herself. Here she was, so 
lucky, still sore from Father Rudy's big cock, still warm inside from his 
jism, his soft fingers, his sucking, and too much concerned with her own 
self-image, too much concerned with her deputized authority to handle these 
kids, to see what they really needed. Because what they wanted, that was 
what they needed. And all they were doing-well, wasn't it just being human? 

She turned to Terry with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Terry," she said 
brokenly. "I know you're right. But I've got so many bad old ideas left 
over. From mama and the nuns. You know. Or maybe you don't." She reached out 
and put her hand over Ronnie's throbbing cock, stroking it gently, trying to 
remember some of the healing wisdom given her so freely by Father Rudy. 

"Come and kiss me, Terry, please," she said. "While I handle Ronnie's pretty 
little peter. Or maybe," she said, her voice just a bit chokey, "I should 
say his big, beautiful peter." Of course, it was nowhere nearly as big as 
the priest's, but after all, she not only couldn't say that, for fear of 
giving away a secret that affected a man of the cloth; she wouldn't, for 
fear of hurting Ron's feelings. 

She held on the stiff, red tipped cock with one hand, jacking the 
deliriously soft, thick skin up and down. And, with her other hand, she took 
little Terry's hand, ever so gently, and drew the reluctant child to her. 
When the smaller girl's warm, slender body was close enough, Ellen 
encompassed it with her arm, feeling for the firm but soft little breast, 
which she squeezed hard, in the way she had learned to like it from the 
phony priest's sweetly brutal hands. And she pulled the astonished girl to 
her, mouth open, and kissed her deeply, running her softly muscular tongue 
into the astonished child's mouth, their lips joining in writhing pleasure. 

It gave her an unexpected rise of pleasure, deep in her guts, or rather, of 
course, in her cunt. But it went deep, far up her, in the warm, ambiotic 
dark of her girlish womb, which had been so banged today so hard by Father 
Rudy's cock and by his deep searching finger. Even the way he sucked, it 
felt like he was going to suck all my things out of me, the girl thought. 
How nice he was to me! And I have to pass on my blessings. 

She became aware that little Terry was squeezing both of her own boobs as if 
she would wring them from Ellen's chest. There was a hard, bright pain, but 
it had overtones of delightful sexuality. Ellen was panting, now, and so was 
Terry. The younger child had gotten up on her knees, which were spread wide 
apart. There was a pink haze blinding Ellen, and she knew that it was 
nothing but normal, human passion, sexual need brought to its highest and 
most wholesome pitch by the cooperation of other humans. 

She looked up at Ronnie's intent little face, wondering if he wanted to 
stick it in her cunt, or if he wanted to fuck her in the head. Forgotten was 
the idea that she was doing this to him. They were doing it to each other, 
and, in the sense that she wanted him to decide the manner of their joining, 
she was deferring to him. 

Unconsciously, she had reached between little Terry's thighs as soon as the 
child had spread her knees apart, and her finger was in the slick, tight 
little hole which seemed to have no hair around it. 

She turned her face again to Ron, and he was eyeing her open mouth, his lips 
open as spit drooled down his chin. As she made an oval of her lips, 
sticking her pink tongue out and licking back in, the boy clambered on the 
bed at once. 

He took a moment to open his fly entirely, and to undo his belt, so that his 
slacks came down around his knees. She changed her grip on his cock, holding 
the underside of it in her palm, and whispered hoarsely: "Give it to me, 
baby! LET ME HAVE YOUR JISM! SHOOT YOUR LOAD INTO ME, BABY! MMM, YESSS!" 

And then, as the boy's hard cock rammed deep into her throat, and her inner 
nerve systems became incandescent with fuck heat, she felt some gloriously 
warm, wet, loving suction on her cunt, where her dress had been pulled up, 
and knew that little Terry, raised to an intuitive heat that transcended 
sibling frictions, was sucking her out. She also felt the inner workings, 
the muscle kiss, inside the flowing cunt of her young sister, and she jammed 
two fingers as deep up the child's girlish pussy as she could reach, probing 
the wet hole with gentle strength. It was a ring of priceless love and human 
pleasure, her mind told her as her orgasm thundered through her fuck system 
and Ronnie's rich flow of male seed spurted angrily into her spasmodically 
swallowing throat. There was so much warm pussy juice from her little sister 
that it ran down her palm, even down her wrist, and the talented small 
child's hungry little vagina cracked the knuckles of Ellen's probing fingers 
with a sure, instinctive knowledge of how and where and why to press the 
spots of deepest, wildest feeling. 

When the last drop of Ronnie's pearly flood of cum goo had been licked away, 
and she had also kissed Terry, to share the richness of their young 
brother's balls, the older girl lay back on her bed with a deep, contented 
sigh. The younger children sat and looked at her with mingled feelings. 

"I don't get you, at all," Terry said in an odd voice. "You claimed, just a 
minute or two ago, that you did-uh, well, what you did last night-to help 
Ronnie. And that you never had done such a thing before, ever, in all your 
life. And you claim you wouldn't have held still for the fuck if you hadn't 
been paralyzed." 

The little kid got up, shaking her brief skirt down over her reddened and 
still softly trembling pussy. She shook her head. "You did say all that," 
Terry said, obviously puzzled. "But now, you do it all and say it all, and 
nobody's holding you down, and you're not paralyzed. I think you're just a 
phony." 

She paused, looking carefully at Ellen, whose breasts were now thrust out as 
she sat on the bed, her two arms braced behind her. And Ellen's face was 
sweet, calm, patient as she answered. 

"I don't blame you, either one of you," she said. "I told you, I've been 
hung up on old ideas. Bad ones. But I found out something just today-that 
the church has changed. The church wants people to be human. And what we 
did, what you kids did last night, well, that's just human. And it's no sin 
to be human. That's what the church says." 

Terry eyed her distrustingly. "Yeah? Who says? I haven't been inside a 
church since you and mama took off, but if they had that kind of changes, 
I'd have heard of it. Some of my best friends are Catholic, you know. So 
where do you get that shit?" She rubbed her soft little hand on her belly, 
and then down, rubbing the good-feeling place where her cunt hid between her 
thighs. 

Ellen sat still, calmly smiling. I can't tell them, she thought. I can't get 
Father Rudy into trouble. But she put her hand out to her younger sister and 
said: "Please, Terry. It's new. I got it from someone who says it came from 
'a very high source.' To me, that means it probably came from far away. 
Maybe from Rome. But it's true. And this person told me that words like fuck 
and cock and cunt aren't really bad. He says, no place in the Bible does it 
say such words are bad. Not blasphemy, not cursing, not taking God's name in 
vain. He says they're better, really, than the sissy words like intercourse 
and vagina and penis. Got more sock, he says." 

They were caught in their positions for a few seconds, the older girl with 
her big, beautiful breasts bare, her young cunt filled with warmth and itchy 
repletion, the two younger kids dressed. Then the youngest of them spoke 
again. 

"I still think it's some kind of trick," she said sullenly. "It's not 
natural for a Catholic to have fun without feeling full of sin and guilt. I 
think she's lying," and, by using the third person, she indicated that she 
and Ronnie were a team, and that Ellen was the third person that makes a 
crowd. 

But Ronnie, letting his pants stay down, knead his way to his big sister's 
side and rubbed his sticky organ against the warmth and smoothness of 
Ellen's breasts. "That's not fair," he said. "If Ellen wants to be friends, 
I say, let's all be friends. Hey!" he cried. "The three of us can have all 
sorts of fun, can't we, Ellen? Like Terry can suck me, and I can suck you, 
and you can suck Terry. Or I can fuck both of you. Terry first, I guess," he 
said, looking at his little sister. "I fucked you last night," he said 
placatingly to Ellen. "Fair's fair." 

The older girl seized the small blonde and hugged her. "Come on, Terry," she 
said. "Let's all get naked and play! Then we'll all have a sandwich and some 
milk and play some more. Oh, how marvelous! It's so nice to be home again!" 

 CHAPTER SEVEN 

In the morning, on Saturday, when she got up to heed the call of nature, 
Ellen looked down at her younger brother and sister with deep affection and 
warm understanding. They had chosen to sleep together in their dad's king 
size bed-"room for all, and we won't have to fight about who gets to hold on 
to Ronnie's dick," Ellen had said when they decided to hit the sack. Even 
Terry laughed. 

It was a warm night, and the two young ones were partly uncovered. Ronnie's 
sweet little old peter, Ellen noted with a private smile and warm wave of 
affection, had had it. The tender little morsel, so sweet between her lips, 
so hard and manly driving into her sensitive pussy, lay fat but limp on his 
hairless thigh. 

Terry's innocent looking young crotch was open as the child lay on her back. 
She was so blonde that the small amount of cunt hair on her pubi visible 
only at close view, or when a bright light caught it exactly right. Ellen 
licked her lips, once again savoring the randy sweetness of the little 
girl's clear cunt slime, he softness and warmth of her coral pink inner 
lips, her clutching little cunt hole. 

Sitting on the toilet, hearing the strong, steady noise of her peepee 
slashing into the water, she murmured: "I think-I just sort of believe, 
really-that we're closer to being a family than we've ever been before." 

Then, as her bladder emptied, and she cut off the flow by contracting her 
cuntal muscles, she felt the inner warmth of a girl who has been filled with 
cock, flooded with jism, and licked into a dozen frenzied cums. It reminded 
her that she could never have initiated this family closeness, this warm 
togetherness, by herself. So she whispered softly and reverently: "Thank 
you, Father Rudy!" 

The long piss, which felt so good and so relieving, almost as much as a 
small cum, and with some of its overtones, made her glow inside and out. She 
touched her open pussy only very lightly with the folded toilet paper, and a 
shiver of raunchy delight went through her lower body, almost like a warm 
light had been set aglow in the slickly moving dark of her vagina and womb. 

When she went back into the bedroom, she saw with a warm sense of family 
love that little Terry, apparently in her sleep, was rubbing Ron's hand up 
and down in her pink little flower of sex, and its bubbly juice was coating 
her brother's hand. 

She got on the bed easily, knelt over Terry, and took a quick kiss at the 
softly petaled cluster of inner lips, and a suck at the softly formed little 
hole. Ronnie had had his hard cock in it, and she, Ellen, had crouched with 
her face almost against the young girl's tender ass to guide the hard peter 
into where it belonged. 

Thinking about that and especially about the hoarse scream of the little 
blonde sister as Ronnie drove his cock into her, made her shiver with 
recalled lust, made the saliva gather under her tongue. There had been a 
little blood, and Terry admitted that she had most, if not all of her 
virginity. "Because," she had said defensively, "I never screwed anyone with 
a big enough dick to break it. Just dumb little kids in my own grade. Or 
even younger. Only one of them could shoot off, . and he shot it all over my 
belly. 

So they laughed and played almost the whole night through, first one way, 
then another, and no one got cheated, and Ronnie at last had to cry "uncle"! 
although, as he said, it should have been "sister!" And he had kissed them 
both, over and over, all over their warm bodies, licking pussy until his 
cheeks and chin shone with the delicious juices. 

Now, sucking at little Terry's tiny, tender, pink little cunt hole, knowing 
how sweet she must have tasted to that young priest, she again thanked her 
stars that she had come home, that fate had brought her the healing 
knowledge that whatever's human can't possibly be sinful. 

It was a nice day. They all slept late, and they hugged and kissed and 
touched a lot. But the girls instinctively left it to Ronnie to get it on, 
if anything was going to be gotten on. Even in their naivete, they knew that 
any guy can cum only so much, only so often. But love was there, and a deep 
interest. 

It was almost noon before they finished an enormous breakfast, and around 
one o'clock when the kids left. Alberta Munson and Marless Jeffers came by 
to coax Terry out, and they were overjoyed when Ron said: "Maybe I'll noodle 
along with you chicks. Anybody seen old Chuckie?" 

It was comfortable in the silent house, and Ellen once more took off her 
dress. Just getting naked reminded her again of the wonderful afternoon and 
evening, the freedom from guilt that was a gift from Father Rudy, as well as 
the marvels of his lovely cock. As she sat down on the couch, she felt the 
fat lips of her pussy pop open, where they had been temporarily glued 
together by the sticky, warm girl juice that kept building up inside her 
warm vagina. She reached between her round, strong thighs, smiling, and felt 
in the slickness and sensitivity of her cunt. She thought of the possible 
damp splotch on the upholstery, then laughed. 

"Who's to notice?" she asked aloud. "And who's going to care?" She thought 
of the kids as she began to get sleepy. She had an idea it might be wise to 
lock the door, or at least to latch the screen. But then she thought: 
NOBODY'S GOING TO COME BY. FATHER RUDY'S BUSY AT THE CHURCH, SINCE IT'S 
SATURDAY, AND THE KIDS HAVE JUST LEFT. IF I KNOW WHAT A GIRL WANTS, THAT 
ALBERTA MUNSON'S OUT TO GET HER HAND IN RONNIE'S DRAWERS. It made her laugh. 
Father Rudy had said yesterday, as he left: "I don't know about you, my 
child, but I'm fucked out!" So she thought about Ron in the same terms. 
Fucked out. And it made her giggle. How wonderful to be a girl, and not have 
to get that sweet old peter ready. Even after you'd just had three or four 
hard, hot cums, a guy could bring you again, just by sticking his finger in 
your cunt. Or better, by sucking it a little. But she thought of both the 
kids, following them in their mind as she dozed off. 

They were doing just fine, the kids. Having a bit of an argument, but not 
really a heavy one. Because Terry really had all the logic on her side. 

And that slender, tall girl, that Alberta Munson, was so happy to get her 
body against Ronnie, and did it in so many ways, that he was almost ready to 
give in, anyhow. 

"You're crazy, though, Terry," he declared. "Sure, there's a big change in 
Ellen, but I think that's just where you and me are concerned. I don't think 
she'd be so willing to share with anyone outside the family." 

They were right in the mouth of a secluded driveway, and huck Gilman, 
apparently waiting for them there, overheard the last line and asked 
brightly: "Who ain't willing to share what?" 

They all stopped, giggling, and in spite of Ron trying to shut her up, Terry 
said: "It's Ellen! We were talking about going home and getting something 
started, you know, playing a little father-and-mother, maybe a little 
sister-and-sister." She grinned up at the dark, pretty Munson girl, holding 
her hand on Alberta's firm, round rump. "We've got a new thing, or rather, 
Ellen has. Completely changed and I mean completely. Shut up, now Ron," she 
said. "Ellen says it's no sin to do whatever's natural. And-this'll kill 
you, Chuckie-sucking and fucking are natural. So Alberta and Angel and I 
want to go home and get to making it like it oughta be made, and old 
Ronnie's chicken. Says maybe Ellen just meant it was okay where him and I 
and her-she, I mean-are concerned." 

Chuck's eyes brightened. "Man, I haven't seen a bare belly since day before 
yesterday afternoon." He boldly felt of Terry's out-thrust young titty, 
deliberately hurting her with his pinch. "Cut out the crap. Mack," he said, 
turning to Ron. "You want a bunch of school girls calling you chicken? He 
laughed, and held Terry to him, kissing her cheek. "Four girls, two guys. 
That ought to make it about even." 

"Yay, big shot," Alberta said. "Bam, bam, thank you, ma'am, that's old 
Jackrabbit Charlie." 

Chuck made a jerk-off motion toward her, laughing. "You'll find out, 
chickie," he said. "With four sweet little cunts around, I can get it up and 
keep it up. Okay, Mack? We gonna go to your house or not? C'mon, let's get 
the party going!" 

"I keep telling you, all of you," Ronnie insisted as he draggingly went 
long, "I don't think Ellen's ready for this! A change is fine, but you can't 
turn the world around." 

Little Terry, half saint, half devil, prattled like a child of all they'd 
done. "Held Ronnie's cock and slipped it into me when I got up on top of 
him," she said, rolling her eyes up to look at big Chuck Gilman. "And suck? 
Wow! Everybody sucking everybody! Don't he, Ronnie! You know it's true!" 

"Come on, girl! You're killing me!" the dark Alberta said happily. "I dig 
that girl-eats-girl biz! OOOOHHHH!" and she hugged Terry ecstatically. "I 
could just down on you right here on this street!" She gave a sideways look 
toward Chuck, then at Ronnie, walking alone, behind them. "Fellas are nice, 
too," she said, her face dimpling. "But us Libbers got to do it to each 
other! Hah!" 

For a moment, when they got in the house, Ron breathed a sigh of relief. 
Maybe everything would be all right. There, on the couch, in plain sight, 
was his big sister. Bare-ass naked, too, and looking like all the cunts in 
Citrus County. She had to be awake. He and Terry'd only been gone a matter 
of minutes. And she was right in there, her pussy showing as her beautiful 
thighs sagged open, its pink inside goodies shining with her wonderful 
juice. 

He was almost right. She was awake two seconds later. She came awake to see 
a stranger, a tall young man with big ears and a warm smile bending over 
her, taking liberties. Taking liberties? If you call pulling at one of her 
breasts with one hand, and stroking into her shocked and surprised pussy 
with the other "taking liberties," that's what he was doing. And it shocked 
her right into somthing she hadn't done since she was a baby-screaming like 
a fire siren. 

She sat up, trying to cover her gorgeous boobs-inadequately, of course-with 
her forearms. 

"Get out of here, you God damn burglar!" she yelled, not having the least 
effect on the tall boy. Or his broad, confident grin. 

She was so swollen with anger that she turned pink all over, and even Terry 
had to admit to herself that Ellen looked beautiful. And also, that she 
wasn't kidding. 

But Chuck leaned down, got on his knees, and buried his head in the softness 
of the furious girl's breasts. As she beat at the back of his head, he 
slowly mouthed one big nipple, sucking so hard that his cheeks went all 
hollow. At the same time, he gave her body a heave and got his right hand 
under her thighs. In between the lips of her cunt, by sheer accident, and 
one of his long fingers went deep into Ellen's quickening flesh as she 
rocked and struggled. 

She looked desparingly at Ronnie, but he was in shock of some sort, and 
didn't move. She cried: "Terry! Help me!" in a weak voice, but the blonde 
child, her eyes bright with lust, licked her lips and scratched at her 
crotch. There was a deep and roaring anger in Ellen at this invasion of her 
privacy, of her most private parts, but something, possibly the shock of it 
all, was weakening her. 

The big boy, laughing, dropped the titty from his mouth. 

"Come on, you jerks," he cried merrily. "Help me! You, Alberta, pull my 
pants down and get my cock out. I've just GOT to fuck this wild-ass woman!" 

Despairingly, Ellen watched the slender brunette with the cat's smile walk 
toward them, then drop on her knees with her arms around this strange guy, 
working at his belt buckle, and she shut her eyes as another searing flame 
of fuck fire ran through her. The boy was sucking her tit again, almost 
pulling it off her breast. His finger was deep up in the spasming secrecies 
of her cunt, and she had to shut her eyes against the humiliation, the pain, 
of being taken. 

The two small blondes, looking almost like twins except that Marless had the 
biggest boobs, clung together, their breath coming fast and hot. With her 
free hand, the one called "Angel" felt to one side, fumbling for Ronnie's 
prick, which was getting very hard. 

But he moved away, like someone in hypnosis, and knelt behind the tall girl 
who knelt behind Chuck. He got between her spread calves and felt up between 
her thighs. He was right! She had no panties on, and her young cunt had a 
hell of a lot of hair on it. He was aware that his sister was trying to 
scream, but all she could do was whisper: "RONNIE! PLEASE, RONNIE! OH, HELP 
ME, BABY! PLEASE! PLEASE HELP MEEEEEEEEEE!!!" 

She was flaming inside, ready, however unwillingly, to blow her powerful 
young load. The finger up her twat seemed as big as Father Rudy's cock, and 
the boy was sucking her poor titty so hard, so hard! There was a warm, sweet 
pain in her guts, almost like when she was about to get the cramps. Or like 
when Father Rudy had gotten his cock part way in for the first time. OH, 
FATHER, HELP ME, she prayed silently, giddy with a combination of anger and 
heat and fear. From a corner of her eye, she had had a flash of this boy's 
cock-had she heard someone call him Chuck, or did she remember him from long 
ago?-and it had seemed appallingly large. As big as Father Rudy's. It made 
her throat close, and she hated herself for letting that strange peter 
affect her, especially in her throat. How horrible! But she could do 
nothing. 

Ronnie seemed to be busy. She could hear him pant. The girl who had gotten 
Chuck's pants down and his shorts off was trying to jerk his cock as Father 
Rudy had taught her, Ellen, to do his. The big boy was sucking her breast, 
and bumping back against the girl to make her stop. Ellen could smell the 
thick, sweetly appetizing aromas of lust, of unbridled fuck heat. They were 
swirling up from between her thighs, from the unwashed head of the big boy's 
cock, from the girl, who was panting and moaning as little Ronnie was 
fucking into her. 

She whispered again, trying to scream but not having the power, "Ronnie! 
Ronnie, baby! Help me! Help me!" But she knew that he had no intention of 
doing anything but fucking the tall girl with the sweet young face. When her 
voice stopped and the strength ran out of her, she let the big boy bear her 
backward, on the same couch where she and Father Rudy had had their 
marvelous first fuck. 

She made one last hopeless, desperate attempt to defend herself, to protect 
that cunt which she loved and treasured. She threw herself over with all her 
strength, but she fell partly off the couch, managing only to get her knees 
on the floor while her big, hotly throbbing breasts lay on the couch. 

"Oh, WOW!" she heard the big boy groan. "Look at that spread of cunt and 
asshole! Look, Ronnie! Boy, is this a hot one! Look at those cunt lips work 
in and out! And that pink little old asshole! Man, I don't know which one to 
try first!" 

From somewhere, in an urgency which shook her almost off the couch, Ellen 
cried: "Oh, please! I forgive you all! I know you're only being human! And 
it's no sin to be human! You're just doing what you have to do! But please, 
please, don't hold me down and do it! I know you're sweet, good, fine 
humans! And fucking's the humanest thing there is! But please let me go!" 

She felt as if her cunt were swollen as big as two fat and hairy Polish 
sausages, with rare, pink beef jucily showing between. That's what Father 
Rudy had said; it made him hunger for it. Sweet! But not sweet now, to be so 
open, to have her ass parted by her position, and feel the pressure of some 
hard object making her asshole feel as it would pop open and let the boy in. 

She heard him say: "Where does she get that good shit about it being human 
to fuck?" 

And she heard the treacherous little Terry, in whom she had confided, late 
last night, say gaily: "Some weird priest that came by here yesterday. She 
calls him Father Rudy. OHHHH! OH, ANGEL, IT FEELS SO GOOD! SUCK ME, BABY! 
LET ME GET UNDER YOU! I WANT YOUR SWEET LITTLE OLD CUNT." 

The big boy gave a great laugh. "I'll bet four dollars to a kick in the ass 
it was Rudy Salas," he said in gusty tones. "We saw him coming from this 
direction yesterday, remember? Shit, he's no priest, he's just a goddamn GI, 
going to school to be a teacher! Hold still, babe!" he cried as Ellen tried 
to wrestle him off. "Hold still, or I'll pinch your tit off!" 

She was flooded with pain. Not the bruising, sickening pain of having the 
boy's big hands ripping at her soft breasts. Worse. 

When she heard "Rudy Salas," and knew deep in her heart that she had been 
taken in by a fairy tale, but knew, also, that she was the one who had made 
up the fairy tale, not Rudy, a pain like an ice-cold knife slashed deep up 
her vagina, its Arctic chill harder to take than if it had been a blade of 
steel, cutting her cunt into one long, bleeding slice. 

She felt the boy's cock go into her, slickly, forcing against the tightness 
in her, which had slacked under the terrible force of knowing she had been 
bed to and fucked. Only, she knew she had made it happen, forced the lie on 
the dark sweet, long cocked man. It was sickening, it was cold, deep 
despair, utter helplessness. 

She felt the hard pang of emptiness and the pain in her rectum seemed less, 
but only for a moment. 

Then the hard cock rammed into her again, and this time it hurt even more, 
because more of it went inside her. 

The sensitive nerves inside her lower bowel felt exactly as she had 
occasionally felt after a very large, very hard bowel movement, as if she 
were going to rip open. Dark waves of pain swept through the lower part of 
her lovely young body, and she would have screamed except that she had no 
breath left. 

But when she heard Ronnie cry out: "Hey, what the hell goes on? Damn you, 
Gilman, don't you fuck my sister in the ass!" it gave her one final burst of 
strength. Pained as she was, sweating from her efforts and from the 
dreadful, sick pressures in her guts, she flung herself and her tormentor 
backwards, falling on him as he hit the floor. 

She thought she would be free, but the awful pressure still flooded her 
fundament, and the big boy, his strong arms gripping her, his big hands 
closed hard on her soft, hurting titties, held her tight. She heard Ronnie 
angrily yelling: "Leave her alone, God damn you! Let her up! "and felt a 
brief moment of gratitude. Then, unaccountably, she heard his voice: 
"Jee-zuss! Look at how her cunt hangs open! God Almighty! I never saw 
anything like this!" 

She had a momentary blackout, the pressure and pain were so intense, and 
then she came awake, too weak to fight, but with every sense sharpened. 

In her ear, Chuck's voice said: "I've got it clear up her ass, Ron! She 
ought to love this!" 

In her mind she thought: "I'll hate it! And I'll hate you, and Ron, and 
everyone else who's in on this cowardly rape!" 

But her traitor body loved it. Somehow, coming up from under the thick, 
harsh blanket of anal pain, there was a sharpness of sensation that was new 
to her. It was keener and, somehow, harder and heavier than the delight she 
had been feeling, this past two days, in her sexual channel, in her labia 
and clitoris. And, where she had come to feel love for herself and her body 
in the pangs and leaping fires of honest sex, she now felt shamed and 
degraded at this invasion of her rectum. 

She heard one of the young girls, she wasn't sure which, say: "Her cunt sure 
looks wild and beautiful, hanging open like that," and the boy under her, 
with his punishing organ raising havoc with nerves in her cunt as well as in 
her asshole, gasped: "Fuck her, Ron! Get on top and fuck her!" 

She was so shocked and horrified at the thought of such baseness, such 
despicably bestial uses of human desire that she almost threw up, and then, 
Mother of Mercy! She felt the weight and warmth of someone on her, felt 
something hard and hot slide into a cunt almost burning from need. 

She dared not open her eyes to look. To have seen the animal joy on Ronnie's 
face as he thrust into her defenseless body would have killed her, she felt. 
And worse, he would have seen, in her eyes, the answering burn of animal 
response. 

For she was going crazy with shameful, hateful sex joy. Much as she hated 
the action, much as she hated her torturers, the feeling of two hard pricks 
in her two available holes was so firely beautiful, so incredibly, wildly 
pleasurable, that her entire body sang with the brilliance of her cumming. 

She heard Ron gasp: "Man, I'm rubbing something hard inside her cunt!" and 
the voice beneath her panted: "We're rubbing cocks, man! That's what happens 
when you make a girl sandwich. When you make a. double cunt!" 

She was cumming very hard, a lancing, throbbing burst of fire that spread 
over all of her lower body, from her thighs up to her navel. It was truly 
buried in her guts, this fire, this horribly lovely itch that sucked all 
strength from her. She simply came and came and came, unable to control it, 
and not really wanting to, which she knew and which she hated. And in her 
mindless, wicked ecstasy she screamed cumming harder with each stroke of hot 
cock, deeply buried and throbbing in both cunt and grasping rectum. Her head 
flew back and forth as she screamed, "E-E-E-e-e-i-i-iiee! OH, OH, OH, CUM, 
SHIT, OHHH, FUCK ME, FUCK ME HARD, HARDER, OH FUCK FUCK FUCKKKKKK!!!" 

There was another violation, a throb of hard cock that nearly sent her out 
of her mind, and then she felt the guilty, warm, wet shots of jism pouring 
into her rectum and pumping out to cling in the crack of her ass. While this 
burst of hot, slick seed held her high on a pinnacle of blinding sensation, 
she seemed to catch fire as her brother's semen lashed into her cunt. It had 
been hanging open, she had heard them say. But it felt so tight! So 
fiendishly, diabolically tight! How could her body enjoy it while her mind 
and soul and heart were so devastated? 

She vaguely heard whoops and cries of laughter, and then, miraculously and 
happily, she must have passed out, for she knew no more. 

 CHAPTER EIGHT 

When she came out of her faint, or trance, or whatever sort of physical or 
emotion convulsion had saved her from further degradation, she was grateful 
for the quiet. Had everyone gone? She rolled over from lying on her back, 
getting to her hands and knees, and shook her head. She felt numb, most 
places. 

She stayed on her hands and knees, her long, tawny brown hair hanging down, 
her lovely breasts, which felt heavy and sore, hanging from her rib cage. 

Somehow, she was able to pull her determination into focus and drag herself 
upstairs, although every step hurt, since she was a mass of deep, hurting 
aches in her fundament. There was a lasting glow deep in her bowels, but she 
would not let herself believe that she had ever felt any pleasure from what 
she considered her rape. And of course, there were deeper pains. 

Rudy, for one. She had needed him so, needed what he had brought her. Now, 
to find it was counterfeit, that was almost unbearable. 

And there was Ronnie, too. All that she had done for him, "sucking him off," 
as he put it, on Thursday night. What he had done to her as she was w-edged 
in the door would have to be forgotten. If it could, in fact, ever be 
forgotten. And what she had freely done for him and Terry, last night. That 
was a gift of love, and came as much from her encounter with Rudy as from 
anything within her heart. She knew that. It didn't make her feel any the 
less made a fool of, or any the less rejected. 

She felt as if she had been split open, entered not just with a boy's dong, 
even if it had been a big one, but forced open by some fatally large object. 
Her conscience would not permit her to recall any delight she may have felt. 
That would only have deepened her sense of guilt and shame. 

She reached behind her, but could not really reach the aching areas. So she 
lay on her back in her own bed, easily getting her fingers to her tenderized 
anus. Unbelievably, it felt the same as it always did, when, for one reason 
or another, she had to touch it with her naked fingers. 

She was so much amazed by this that she got a mirror off the wall and placed 
it on the floor, crouching over it with her feet wide apart, a position 
which made her bottom and thighs look twice as large, but which gave her a 
perfect view of her pelvic floor, all the way from the very top of her ass 
crack to and beyond the bush of dry, curly hair which puffed out so 
tantalizingly above her slit. And nothing seemed to be changed. 

She stood up and moved her floor lamp so that the light reflected right into 
her deeply carved valley of privacy and sex and sensuality. She could see 
every hair. Those around the edges of her thick and hairy outer lips were 
matted together, no doubt by the drying out of both Chuck's and her 
brother's cock juice. There was also a dull coating of this same juice, 
almost completely dried out. Trying to hold herself open with her hands, she 
got into a couple of partly congealed drops which opened and plastered onto 
her fingers like thin, warm library paste, and before she thought of what 
she was doing, she absently licked the thick goo off. 

It was warm from having been on her skin, very near to her warmest areas. 
And it was delicious, a fact which shook her to the foundations of her 
childishly fearsome soul. 

Ughl" she muttered. "How rotten!" But she could not help herself, she got 
all of it she could, shuddering as she licked it up. But she would not delve 
into her warm, slick vagina, where she was certain, more of that rich semen 
lurked. 

She continued to look at her puckered little butt hole, touching it, 
pressing on it, absolutely amazed that there were no sighs of her having 
been brutalized with such concomitant pain. But in spite of what she saw, it 
still felt as if she had been badly hurt, as if all her rectum had been 
pulled out of her. Her cunt, which had received so much attention since 
Thursday night, continued to throb. In pulling herself open, she had seen 
that all her inner lips and their surfaces were shining with slick juice. 
"Probably my own," she admitted with a deep shiver of disgust. "I'm like an 
animal, a bitch in heat, completely wanton." She remembered the love and 
pride with which she had sucked that load from young Ronnie's balls last 
night, how she had loved its power, its warmth, its taste. "No wonder I'm 
still leaking juice, thinking such impure thoughts," she said sadly. 

She looked at her clock and saw that it was nearly six o'clock. Up in 
Washington, where mama was, it would be almost dark by now. The thought of 
her mother, of the security of the convent school, brought a wave of 
homesickness, and she crouched over the mirror in which she had been 
checking her cuntal area, wracked by sobs. Her hands covered her woeful 
young face, her arms pressed her warm, full breasts against her. She was 
almost angry that she could not be free from a warm flood of sensuality from 
the pressures on her swollen breasts and hard nipples. How on earth had they 
gotten that way? 

And then she remembered looking at her rectum, at her cunt, had brought back 
the memory of how they had been so brutally pleasured only a couple of hours 
before. 

She got to her feet as well as she could, still feeling stiff and sore in 
various places. There was an ugly, purple bruise on the tender slope of her 
right boob, where that boy, Chuck, had exerted his hateful strength, his 
sadism, in pinching it. 

There was a sound from below, and she trembled in fear at what might happen 
to her now. But it was only Ron and Terry. Only Ron and Terry?" They had 
been the instigators of the situation which had so completely wrecked her, 
mentally, emotionally, physically. It was obvious that they had deliberately 
brought Chuck, brought the other two kids, too, for an orgy of which she was 
the victim. She felt she was as much in danger from those two younger 
siblings as she would have been from any invading stranger. 

There was no bolt or latch on her bedroom door, but she braced a chair under 
the doorknob. And was glad of it, when the rush of feet came to her door, 
and someone turned the knob, Ron's voice calling: "Ellen? Ellen, are you in 
there?" 

When she did not answer, Terry's voice said: "I'm sort of scared, Ron. She's 
not tough like I am. Maybe that was too much for her." 

Her brother's voice, sounding more grown up than she remembered it, said: 
"It was too much for me. That's a lesson to remember. What should I do? 
Break down the door?" 

"No," came the tense voice of her little sister, "let me try to get in 
through dad's room." 

The older girl fled into the connecting bath and latched the door to her 
dad's room. She was trembling, and felt as if the blood were draining away 
from her heart and brain. That meant she would faint, which would gain her 
nothing, only cause a broken door, which would expose all this tragic mess 
to her father. So she spoke up. 

"I'm in here. Leave me alone. Just get away-and let me be." Her voice was 
inexpressibly sad. 

She heard whispers, a shuffle of feet, and Ronnie said: "We're sorry for 
what happened, sis. Really sorry." He rattled the knob lightly. "Can't we 
talk to you? I know we were terrible. Especially me. But Terry feels bad, 
too." 

Ellen forced herself to answer, but her voice was flat and dull. Matching 
her spirits, really. She had never felt worse. "All right," she said. 
"You're sorry. It's just so terribly, terribly nice for you to say you were 
terrible. I deeply appreciate your sincerity, and regret that what I did-or 
what I had done to me-should cause you two happy, innocent children to be 
sorry on such a lovely day. Now, will you get the hell away from my door, 
and leave me alone?" 

She heard Ronnie try to speak, and heard him apparently choke on a sob, and 
then Terry addressed her. "All right, Ellen, maybe we have this coming to 
us. I guess I got a little sex crazy. I'm not as old as you, and I'll admit 
that part of this was my fault. You don't know this, and you don't care, but 
Ronnie's been scared to death about becoming a sexual person. And maybe I've 
been trying to help him too hard. Just remember, though, you said you were 
trying to help him, night before last. So you can believe I tried to help 
him, too. It just didn't seem all that bad, when it was happening. Like I 
said, I was over heated. I don't blame you for hating us." 

Dully, Ellen said: "I don't hate you. I guess I asked for it. All that silly 
shit about love being enough of an excuse, and how nothing done for love is 
a sin, and all that crappy, childish stuff." 

She heard the younger girl wail: "No! No! That was beautiful! That's why 
we're so wrong! Please, Ellen! Ronnie attacked Chuck, out in the street, and 
like to've gotten beat-to death! But he whipped Chuck! Honest!" 

She started to remove the chair, but heard Ron's voice say: "What's the use? 
Come on, kiddo. We've got to find something to eat." 

There was a rustle of feet and possibly clothes, perhaps the sound of a 
kiss, and her brother sighed: "I feel like homemade shit. But I'll swear, I 
think sex is all right if you don't hurt anybody!" 

Ellen had gotten the chair loose and the door open. In the strong afternoon 
light that came in from the window at the end of the hall, she saw the two 
kids as they went downstairs. Terry hadn't lied. Ronnie had two black eyes, 
there were broad streaks of blood on his shirt, and some, which he had 
missed, had dried under his ear. 

She would have charged out to hug them, but her knees trembled so from her 
reactions that she knew she would have fallen. With a sick heart, she turned 
back to her bed, feeling the soreness of her cunt with her fingers, hating 
herself for the response of her fuck nerves. In bed, she remembered that the 
door from the bath into her dad's room was latched on her side. But, after 
all, he wouldn't be home until tomorrow night at the earliest. And, maybe, 
not until Monday. But she was glad to think of him, having fun. She hoped he 
was having fun. In this world, she now realized, you couldn't be sure. 

But her dad was really trying. 

"You oughta lay off that tequila until you've had something to eat," 
cautioned Bert Oliver his blue eyes squinting down a sharp nose. "You don't 
want to fall on your face just when we get to Lah-oora's place, do you? Miss 
all that hot Meskin tail? Come on, Bob, gimme the bottle!" 

The tall, solid man grinned and took another swig from his bottle. "Show you 
how I fuck ol' Lah-oora," he said thickly. "This's her place, ain't it?" He 
stopped before a small adobe house on the poorly lighted street and beat on 
the door. "Open up, baby!" he cried. "Open up! "S'yer ol' friend, Big Dick 
Bob! Want some o' your pussy!" 

There was a stir in the house, and a light went on. A voice spoke clearly, 
in barely accented English. "Get outta here, you goddamn borracho! I've got 
a thirty-eight in my hand. Want me to blast you?" 

It was all they could do to get Bob away. He went, struggling and cursing. 
"God damn whore don't wanna fuck me!" he slobbered. "Kill the bitch, 'f I 
get m'hands on her dirty neck." 

They hurried along toward the waterfront, passing two Mexican cops, who 
looked at them without amusement. 

"We can't fuck around here, he'll get us in the can," Virgil Bishop said. 
"Ace, you're his best friend. Can you shut him up? I want to eat. And to 
have a little fun." He grinned. "I like Lah-oora's little sister. Will you 
handle him?" 

The lanky man grinned. "No sweat. We've got sandwiches and beer on the boat, 
and I get all the pussy I need at home." 

When the others came back, around nine, they found Bob Mack in his bunk and 
Ace Shulman dozing in a chair. They shook him awake, giving him a drink from 
a bottle of Scotch, and Bert said: "We've got plenty of fish. And I've had 
all the fishing and drinking I want. And screwing," he laughed. "We ran into 
the captain in town. He says he can get another charter for Sunday and 
Monday, and hell give us back forty bucks each. And poor old Bob's not 
having any fun," he said, touching the recumbent drunk with crude affection. 
"What do you think of that, Ace?" 

The tall man yawned. "Fine," he said. "We got like what, seventy nice big 
albies and a few other fish. And t'tell you the truth, I think Bob oughta 
get home. His oldest kid just came down from Washington to live with him. 
Her ma sort of left her on her own. I know he had the kid on his mind." 

"Got that damn wife of his on his mind, too. Can't understand it, why he 
can't get over her. 

You'd think he'd get himself another woman, guy that likes poon-tang like he 
does." 

There was the sound of movement outside the cabin, and Ace said: "Reckon 
that's the captain. Far's I'm concerned, we can go!" He yawned again. "What 
time'll we tie up? Twelve-thirty? Think I'll sleep some more. I got tired 
hauling in those albies." He thought about Bob, and about his messed up life 
and his seventeen year old daughter. Tough shit! Well, maybe the kid would 
help Bob make it. 

"The kid," as Ace thought of her, needed help as much as her dad, maybe 
more. Her young, tender, raw-nerved cunt, healthily hungry for meat in spite 
of the enervating, sickening body punches that she was getting from her 
mind, kept the girl from going to sleep. 

She had heard Terry and Ron come in and go to their rooms. But she had an 
idea that, as soon as their doors were shut, they had gotten together. She 
had gathered that Ronnie had been, technically at least, a virgin when she 
had tried to help him by taking his hard, warm, sweetly flavored dickie in 
her mouth. He had been, like herself, frightened to death of sex, and I, she 
thought sadly, am just like him in one thing-that it fills my mind all the 
time. We both got off that torture-hook, but me, I went back on. 

After quiet had settled, and hunger made her less afraid, Ellen went down 
into the kitchen. There, to her surprise, she found a bucket of fried 
chicken, still warm, and a note: "DAD LEFT US MONEY FOR A TREAT, AND HERE'S 
YOUR SHARE." 

The thoughtfulness made her weep slow, silent tears, but she was too hungry 
and too healthy not to eat. In fact, she stuffed herself, and went up to bed 
feeling somewhat better. Except that the insistent itch in her cunt brought 
back the memories of all that had happened to her since she had come home. 

Vainly, she tried to control the urge to relieve herself, but at last, 
rationalizing that her inner membranes were inflamed and needed medication, 
she got some vaseline from the bathroom. This would allay the itch, she told 
herself seriously, and that was all, absolutely all, that she wanted to do. 

Nevertheless, she pulled her nightie up over her breasts, turned on all the 
lights, and lay back on three pillows with her open cunt toward the mirror 
on her dresser. So I can see where I'm putting the vaseline, she said to 
herself. But she was breathing hard when she began to apply the unguent 
around her clit, holding the thick overhang of soft, -haired flesh apart 
with the other hand. 

When she had it well greased, she would stop, she decreed mentally. The itch 
would be gone. She could fall asleep. This had been a long exhausting 
forty-eight hours. But OOOOHHHH! How good it felt to rub the vaseline in, so 
tenderly, so carefully. 

"Baby, baby!" she moaned softly. "Stop it, now, baby! Don't cum! That's what 
they call it, sweet little pussy! Cumming! OOOOOHHHH! It feels sooooo 
goooooddd!" 

She felt the rising tide of an orgasm beginning in her, and remembered her 
promise to herself to stop. But it was impossible, and she knew it. Once she 
had gotten the vaseline bottle down from the medicine cabinet, she was lost. 
Even if she called it names, even if she willed herself not to like it, but 
to hate it, and to hate her terrible, naughty, dirty, nastily dripping old 
cunt, she couldn't stop frigging herself in the tender, red-veined swell of 
inner lips, and around the coral pink slickness around her clit. 

What she did, actually, was to delay her final throes too long, so that, 
when the itch gathered into a ball of hard desire, when it seemed to glow 
inside her twat like a white-hot ball of uncontrollable sensation, she shot 
her wad and it was like an atomic explosion. 

Rolling inside of her, then seeming to flow out around her busy, greasy 
fingers. Throbbing in her overly excited little love bud, sweeping and 
swirling like red fire in the dark of her vagina, warming her girlish but 
mature womb with liquid fire. In her wildness, she jabbed her longest finger 
deep into her asshole, and proved it was premeditated by twisting the 
finger, trying to explore all those spots where Chuck's dick had seemed to 
glow like fireworks inside her. 

She was panting and covered with sweat when her nerveless fingers were 
slowly squeezed out of her churning cunt by the swelling and pressing of 
muscles. Her cunt immediately went slack, as soon as the solid fingers were 
pushed out. 

The glow in her belly continued, but it was now a comforting warmth instead 
of an insistent itch. She raised her back and pulled her nightie down. She 
sleepily licked her fingers, grinning, wondering if she could ever confess 
such a weird little triviality to old Father Geoghan. And then she went to 
sleep. 

 CHAPTER NINE 

Ellen's sleep was restless. Somewhere, in the dark of her tired young mind, 
she knew she had forgotten something. 

It was the return of those wild young kids that awakened her. Their feet on 
the stairs, in the hall, brought her wide awake, in a convulsion of fear. 
The fear of being held down and fucked, of being raped, violated, abused. 

She knew that, if Ronnie-egged on, of course, by Terry-really decided to 
plug her cunt, the braced chair under her bedroom doorknob would not give 
any real protection. But she remembered something from a long time ago. The 
master bedroom, where daddy slept, could be latched. There was a way it 
could be opened, because she had seen mama open it once when Terry, very 
young, had latched herself in. So, the girl did the only thing she knew that 
would make her safe. 

Taking her own pillow, she went into dad's room-which once had been mama's, 
as well-and latched the door into the hall. She also latched the bedroom 
door that led into her bedroom. Now, short of breaking down the doors, which 
she did not believe they would do, her two tormentors could not get to her. 

It gave her an odd feeling, a dip in her emotions, as if, perish the 
thought, she hadn't really wanted to be all that safe. But she crawled under 
the covers, relishing the size and comfort of the big bed, and was soon 
asleep. 

She was awakened much later by the ringing chime of their front door bell. 
In the stillness of midnight, it sounded like the last trumpet, and Ellen 
scrambled out of bed, every nerve tingling. She was out of bed and down the 
stairs in such a rush that she felt as if her body were still asleep, and 
her heart was beating like a bongo drum inside her chest as she approached 
the door. The fierce glow in her crotch had returned, and she was panting as 
if any sort of fear immediately centered in her vagina. 

But she relaxed when she recognized the two men. Her dad and his best 
friend, Ace Shulman. Hanging together. At least, her dad was hanging onto 
Ace. 

"I'm sorry, Ellen," the tall man said. "You are Ellen aren't you? Been so 
long since I saw you last, but Bob told me-well, you know. We've got to get 
him to bed." He grinned a wry .grin and said: "Too much Mexican booze, I'm 
afraid. But he'll have all day tomorrow, and Monday, to get in shape." 

Under her modest nightgown, Ellen's young body glowed in spite of her 
efforts not to think about it. Helping Mister Shulman get dad upstairs, she 
knew that her boobs showed in the gown's scoop neck, and she knew that 
Mister Shulman was looking. And straining to help hold her almost inert 
father seemed to strain her thighs most of all, and that meant that her 
pussy seemed to sort of stick out, all fat and gross and drippy. 

She was so aware of her body that, after they had gotten dad on his bed, she 
refused Ace's offer to undress him. 

"You've been to enough trouble," she told the man, smiling, holding one arm 
protectively in front of her swelling breasts. "We can take it from here." 

After Ace left, Ellen sat down on the bed and looked at her dad. He seemed 
so helpless. Like a baby, really. And her heart went out to him in his 
drunken helplessness. 

It was very difficult getting him undressed. She had pulled down the covers, 
and now, coaxing him out of his stupor, she got him to raise his body here, 
to roll there, until she had all his clothes off except his boxer shorts. 
She was very much excited, but preferred to think that her hard breathing 
came from exertion rather than a sick rebuilding of the fires of curious 
lust in her body. 

What provoked her senses most was the rankness, the hard male smell that 
came up from his warm, sweated body. It was like what had aroused her with 
Ronnie and then with the fake priest. Only this was far stronger, the result 
of two days on a cramped boat and three days without a bath. And, in her 
innocence, she could not believe that such a disgusting factor as the smell 
of a man's balls could possibly have any effect on a woman. Unless it were 
disgust. 

But she had to lick her lips as she fought with herself about removing his 
underpants. 

What finally decided her was simple. The feel of a warm, comfortable bed, of 
smooth sheets, of the scent of a girl's cologne and of her body aroused Bob 
Mack's sexuality without awakening his mind. Under the girl's fascinated, 
frightened eyes, the man's big cock began to swell, straining at his shorts. 
And he began to moan, wordlessly at first, until Ellen became afraid he was 
ill. 

She knew she would have to stay with him, in case he really was sick, but 
she took some precautions. 

First, she went down the hall and checked the two younger kids. They were 
sound asleep, apparently. Together, in Ronnie's bed. 

The boy was on his back, legs spread wide. Terry lay on her side, her blonde 
head on her brother's shoulder, her sweetly rounded young butt uncovered. 
Her soft-lipped little pussy stuck out behind and between her thighs, and 
her soft hand was gently holding her brother's cock. In the light of the bed 
lamp, Ellen could see drying drops of opaque cock juice along the closed 
lips of her baby sister's pussy. If she had looked more closely, she would 
have seen some at the corners of the little girl's mouth, and a few streaks 
on her throat. Ronnie's balls had recovered and filled up. 

When she went back to her dad's room, it never occurred to her that she 
might be safer in her own bed. That wasn't the way a responsible young adult 
acted, Ellen assured herself. Daddy had been moaning. Maybe he was sick from 
some of that Mexican stuff. She remembered that mama had always disapproved 
of everything Mexican. 

So, with her heart beating like a trip hammer, the girl went into the big 
bedroom, put on the latch, and looked at her dad. His cock was out of his 
shorts, fully erect, and the sight of it shook Ellen with a sick horror. For 
daddy was up on one elbow, his eyes glassy but aware, and he was shaking 
that horrid big thing at her. 

"Well, Lah-oora, you goddamn whore," he said in great good humor, "issa bout 
time! Keepin' me outta your bed. Refusin' to fuck me! Get on over here, 
baby, and give ol' Bob a little suck-off!" 

The child came over to the side of her father's bed, her voice soothing. 
"Now, come on, daddy, lie down. I'll get you something to make you sleep. 
You're home now, and you're okay." Her breath was coming faster, and her 
hands ached to handle that huge, hard peter. So like Father Sal's. FATHER 
Salas! That made her sick, too. She was on the point of collapse, when her 
dad's hard, strong hand came out and caught her arm. He pulled her on to the 
bed so hard that she fell across him, her chaste flannelette nightie flying 
up. Showing her bottom, she was afraid. 

"Please, dad!" she gasped. "I'm Ellen. Not that other lady! Honest, dad! Let 
me up!" She struggled, only to feel her nightie raised by her dad's hand. 

"Been gettin' whiter," the voice above her said. "Well, you always were 
pretty light, Lah-oora. Stop fightin' me, baby! I'll bat your damn ears 
off!" 

Above her, the pinned down girl felt movement, then a hard, sharp pain as 
her dad's hand struck her bare bottom. Involuntarily, she yelped: "Please! 
Don't hit me, daddy!" And then the hand came down again, very hard, stinging 
and hurting, so that she tensed with anger and fear trying to escape. Tears 
rolled down her face, and the humiliation of having her bare bottom showing, 
even if it was only to her dad, plus the pain of his blows, made her feel 
helpless and lost. 

"Don't need t'call me daddy, you Mes'kin whore," the drunken man brayed. 
"Whoo-wee, baby, you're lay in' across my prick. Lessee if we can find a 
place for it!" 

The girl felt the brutal exploration of her dad's big hand, prying into the 
greased but still sensitive lips of her cunt, and suddenly kicked and 
squalled, fighting to get those terrible probing fingers out of her 
hurtingly awakened vulva ... To her horror, her dad's fingers went in 
deeper, their force paralyzing her, or seeming to. For she stopped 
struggling and began crying. 

But when she did that, the beating began again, until her ass hurt so that 
she thought she would faint. He was hitting her so hard that each blow made 
a blaze of red in her mind. Worse, his hands were so big that his fingers 
were hitting into her crack, punishing the already tortured flesh of her 
young cunt. And his words were dreadful. 

"Gonna fuck you, goddamn you! Gonna fuck the shit outta you! God damn wife 
left me, made me like a cut dog. No Meskin whore's gonna turn me down. You 
gonna fuck me, suck me, do anything I say. Hear me?" And in his cadenced 
harangue, he kept beating Ellen until it felt that her tender butt would 
swell and explode from pain. 

It was the saddest and most painful moment of her life, but the saddest 
thing was that her dad was crying. She could hear him sob, hear his gulps of 
sorrow as he beat her ass. And talked. 

"Women hate me!" he moaned. "Just 'cause my wife left me! Made a eunuch 
outta me! Now I can't even get a Mis'kin whore to fuck me!" 

Even in her own misery and despair and shame, Ellen suddenly saw that her 
father's hurt was deeper. But, and she had some distorted pride in him for 
this, his big cock, pressed against her side, was still large and hard. In 
its raunchy odor which made her crawl inside, there was the same invincible 
maleness which had made Ronnie seem so sweet and vulnerable, and which had 
made Rudy Salas seem so irresistible. But she could stand no more. If he 
thought she was Lah-oora, whoever she might be, Ellen's only hope, she felt, 
was to act as Lah-oora would act. It was a matter of self-preservation. 

Instinct made her grab for her father's prick as she pushed herself up, and 
she held it firmly, jacking it up and down, as she raised and threw herself 
on him. 

He was sitting up, holding her across his knees, and her solid young body 
had helped him stay erect. Now, as she arose and her weight leaned on him, 
he fell back. But now, instead of crying, he was in the throes of drunken 
laughter, and her hold on his cock made him happy and playful. 

Blindly, but with great strength, he grabbed at her crotch, pulling her up 
and off him, over on her belly. The action broke her hold on his dick, and 
she landed on elbows and knees, her spread asscheeks open to the air, her 
swollen pussy popped open. 

"Beautiful little pie," he chortled, rubbing his face into her wet cunt, 
giving her a deep premonitory shiver of heat. "Such a sweet little pie! 
Ummmmm, ummmmmmm! Smackie, smackie!" And he suddenly buried his mouth in her 
vulva, sucking as hard as he could. 

She tried to fight away, but his big arm was around her thighs, snugged up 
against her belly, and her moans went into the covers. 

"'M gonna eat your pie," he mumbled, rooting into her tender flesh, and his 
tongue, slurping around her aroused clit, gave her a leap of forbidden 
pleasure. But he was her dad, and he was in some horrible, deep pain of his 
own. She would not fight him. It was evident, even to her partial innocence, 
that he wanted to suck her out. "Eat your pie," meant, obviously, "suck your 
cunt." Her cunt was her pie, and he wanted it. Very well, she thought. For 
you, Daddy, all right. And, as she gave way in this inner emotional 
struggle, something slipped in the conflict between nature and dogma. From 
hating it, she suddenly loved it. 

Not as a big sexual adventure. But as something gentler, more loving because 
she was giving. "SUCK ME, FATHER," she whispered, waggling her softly 
muscled tail in his face, feeling the power of his tongue in her cunt and 
its writhing nerves. "COME ON, DADDY, SUCK MY DIRTY, SMELLY, SLOPPY OLD 
CUNT!" 

He laughed like a delighted infant. "Don't call me daddy," he mumbled, his 
mouth too full of cunt lips and hair to make sense. "UMMMM! Baby! You sure 
keep your little pie warm and juicy! MMMMMMMMMM! 'S better'n it ever was! 
WOW!" And he plunged into her, his-lips and tongue working in the nerve-glow 
of a twat kept hot for two full days. 

He had his entire face pressed into her broad cuntal area, his nose touching 
her asshole, his chin against the tenderest part of her cunt, the clinging 
flesh where her clit lay trembling. It was more than she could stand. She 
had fallen so that her hands were crossed and her breasts, hanging down in 
their warm weight, were practically in her palms. 

As her secret inner places expanded and exploded in wild orgasm, her hands 
curved around her straining boobs, and she added to the fire in her guts by 
squeezing her breasts harder than Chuck Gilman had, even his wildest and 
most cruel fun. 

"Jee-zuss!" she heard her father exclaim. "Where'd you go? Oh, down there! 
Goddamn, baby, you came for old-what'd I say my name was? Old daddy? No-told 
you not t'call me daddy! Lah-oora, Lah-oora! You're best goddamn whore in 
Mey-hee-co!" He grabbed his daughter, now weak from her orgasm, and turned 
her over. "Gonna eat more pie," he said, his eyes glazed with lust, his face 
shining with her slick, sticky cunt ooze. "Gonna suck you out, clear to your 
next period, 'an' then'm gonna fuck you blind!" 

Docilely, because she knew there was no escape, and because some hard inner 
core of love for her distressed father had begun to burn inside her, she 
rolled on her back and lifted her knees back to her breasts, making a wide 
expanse of butt, thighs, cunt lips, anus, everything. And she was looking 
with tear-filled eyes between her blood-swelled breasts, down her belly to 
the puff of golden brown hair on her pussy. And her father was leaning in to 
it, his big, muscular tongue extended as he lapped into her flowing lips, 
her convulsing hole, sending a shock of pleasure and excitement through her, 
lighting up all her body with its heat. 

"Eat my little pie, daddy," she said softly, tears in her voice, love in her 
heart. "Suck me good, daddy!" 

And then, as he shook his head, his face flying wetly back and forth across 
her maddened, pleasured cunt, she remembered two things. First, that she was 
Lah-oora, a "Mes'kin whore," and second, that he didn't want her calling him 
daddy. 

So instead, pressing his head into her, she said: "Eat my pie, Bob. Dear 
Bob! Suck me out, baby! Suck old Lah-oora out real good!" 

This assumption of a new life, different personality, made her as wild as a 
Mexican prostitute might have been, and she let the thundering orgasm fly 
through her, now in joy rather than hate. And the very raunchiness of being 
gone down on by father, a type of sex she had enjoyed so deeply yesterday 
morning and last night, made the experience more beautiful than ever before. 

But something was lacking. She held his ears and said: "Hey, Bob! I love the 
way you're eating my little pie. But what about that great big cock of 
yours? Don't you want old Lah-oora to suck it? Don't you want to squirt your 
juice in my mouth?" She had a flash of inspiration. "Remember how good I 
suck? You said your wife quit sucking you, remember?" Tears were streaming 
down her face, but not in shame. Rather, in sympathy and love. 

She thought for a second she had gone too far. Her dad, his face contorted, 
rose on his knees. "Me'n my wife's affairs're our own business," he said. 
"Only when she got mean about me fuckin' her with a rubber, that's when she 
wouldn't suck me." His face cleared instantly, though, and he smiled. 

"Betcha life you can suck me, baby," he said, and turned his big, solid body 
so that his enormous cock was over his daughter's open mouth. She could see 
several smudges of fluid, and a large, clear drop hanging from the slitted 
eye of his glans. Instinctively, she put her hand on it to skin it back, and 
once more she smelled that gagging, cloying richness of unwashed male sex 
organ, that harshly beautiful, wildly aphrodisiac aroma of skinned cock. 

He was swaying on his elbows and knees like a tethered elephant, his face so 
close to her cuntal spread that she felt his breath blowing hot on her 
exposed labia, where heat had peeled her outer lips back, leaving her 
softest, slickest flesh open to his mouth. 

It seemed beautiful and filial to hold his huge balls in one hand, to open 
her mouth to a scarlet "O" wet by her saliva, and, with her other tender 
hand, to guide the big, plum-shaped heat into her mouth. It was beautiful to 
feel its velvet touch on lips and tongue, to marvel at its size, and to 
taste its acrid, saline richness. Her tongue carefully sought the one clear 
drop of pre-seminal fluid, and she licked it up as though it were isolated 
in her mouth, the only drop of liquid anywhere. 

She said, as loud as she could: "MMMMMMMMMMIMMMMMMMMMM!" And knew that the 
vibrations made her daddy happy. His lunge certainly made her happy, for it 
sent his big cock deep into her throat, deeper than any of the others had 
gone. 

She felt the wet heat, the muscular power of his lips as he sucked her hole, 
and it was so beautiful that she almost fainted. Whatever wrong she might 
now be doing, she could not care. It was a service of love, for a father who 
had been terribly hurt by sex. Just as she had. If she could put any healing 
salve on those wounds, no matter that she had to use her cunt fluids as a 
medication, she felt she was justified. If she were wrong? God, you can burn 
me in hell, she said, sucking hard on her dad's prick, but my father needs 
me worse than I need a hope of heaven! 

She let her self cum without stint, sensing that it would please the man who 
was "eating her little pie," as he delighted in calling it. She yelled 
wildly around his heavy cock, the vibrations making his cock swell and throb 
as she bobbed her head up and down. 

Her body was undulating, her ass thrown up at her dad's face with all the 
excitement and force of her healthy young loins. She was driving her cunt up 
at him, and it made her think how sweet it would be if only his cock was 
down there, stuck in her happily writhing cunt, instead of her mouth. And 
yet her mouth loved it, too. The thought made her squeeze his balls and made 
her tongue tug at the skin over his cockhead, and something triggered him. 

Something in the satisfactory response of her body, proof of his virility 
and excellence in the art of cunt-sucking and tongue-fucking. Something in 
the way her tongue delved between his foreskin and the twitching head of his 
pecker. And perhaps something more, some unseen, undefinable exchange of 
spiritual love. 

Whatever it was, just as her orgasmic fire was dying in her cunt, his big 
cock swelled to frightening size in her mouth. But in just two days she had 
learned what that meant, and she put her arms over his rump, making sure she 
would keep his cock in her mouth no matter how hard it exploded its load of 
jism. She felt the first throb, the first powerful jet stinging her tonsils, 
and then she pulled herself up, her lips against his pubic hair, all of that 
big, warm, living organ down her throat, expanding and shooting, expanding 
and shooting. 

There was so much of it that it came back from her throat, down into her 
mouth, and she was grateful for its richness, its thick delight. This same 
jism had shot from this same prick into her mama's vagina, many a time. It 
had made her, and Ronnie, and little Terry. What did mom have to kick about 
if, on occasion, he bottled some of this flow in a contraceptive wrapper? 
What nonsense! She knew from a stupid class study that the spermatazoa in 
one ejaculation contained enough effective life to impregnate every woman in 
China. Why hurt someone as dear and sweet as her daddy for tossing some of 
his uncountable potential sons and daughters down the toilet? 

And all the while she was thinking this healing thought, another part of her 
mind was glorying in the wholesome richness of his load, her taste buds 
counting their blessings as this thick, slimy protein treat swirled in her 
mouth, over and under her tongue. And the vast throbs of his cock, the 
physical contact, matched the throbs in her cunt as the last echoes of her 
violently beautiful cum ran out. 

She felt drained but happy. It was done and nothing could undo it. She had 
had no choice, in a way. He was beating her so hard. But she knew that, even 
without the pain of being beaten, she would have sensed the deep need for 
love and acceptance in her father, and she would have felt compelled to aid 
him, to soothe the deadly pain of his rejection by her mother. 

She still had his big peter in her mouth, mouthing it gently, allowing 
herself to enjoy to the full this feast of the life-giving seed and the 
warm, silken smoothness of his morsel of living flesh. She was never sure 
how the next episode began, but it was probably because he began to cry 
again, so that big, warm tears fell on the sensitive skin on the inside of 
her thighs, and his hard blown breath stirred the raw nerves in her opened 
cunt. 

It was so touching that she began to kiss along the inner part of his 
thighs, aroused by the harsh, male acridity of sweat and not having bathed. 
When she came to his balls, hanging so loosely because of his vast cum, she 
opened her mouth and sucked one in. It was her daddy's, almost a part of 
herself, in a way, since he seemed so near and dear to her. That thought 
made it seem right and good for her to be giving the big male egg a tongue 
bath in its wrinkled and hairy sac. So, when she finished washing the one, 
it was only natural that she do a similar office for the other. She was so 
close to her daddy, some way, that she believed she could feel the pulsing 
of his heart in the veins of his scrotum. 

But he continued with his sobs, and she stroked his back, as much of it as 
she could reach, and said: "What is it, daddy? I mean, what is it, Bob? What 
do you want your very own Lah-oora to do? Want me to suck you some more?" 
She held his big cock and gave it a playful little shake. "He's so big and 
pretty, I'd love to." 

"OHHHHH!" the man wailed, his head between her lovely thighs. "I WANNA FUCK 
YOU! I WANNA FUCK YOU REAL HARD! But maybe-I'm afraid-I don't think I can 
get it up again. OHHH, DAMN THAT GRETCHEN! To rob a man of his life! To make 
him ashamed of his cock!" 

The child's heart pained her. She knew, though, what had to be done. At 
least, she could be grateful to Rudy for that. "Kiss a guy with your tongue, 
get him to put his fingers in your cunt, so he can tell you want him. Jerk 
his cock soft and easy, and moan all the while. A guy's ego is connected You 
can cool off anyone but a maniac by showing disgust, but you can help a man 
be a man by showing him you like sex. His sex. His cock. And every man can 
do it oftener, and better, and longer than he thinks." That was Rudy. She 
had a brief warmth of gratitude for knowing him. Then she pulled at her 
father's arm. 

"Lie down," she whispered. "Bob, Lah-oora can help you. Lah-oora loves you. 
Yes I do! I do, Bob! I love the way you fuck! Come on, Bob, get up here and 
kiss me! Oh, Bob, I want you so bad!" 

She had thrown herself into the part so wholeheartedly that she had become 
Lah-oora, a ravening, cock hungry prostitute, and she humped her body 
eagerly as her father clumsily moved his big body around, lying partly on 
her. His eyes were still hazy with the booze, but at least he wasn't crying 
any more. 

"'At's my friendly whore," he said thickly. "You sure suck a lot better'n 
you used to, baby! Hey, d'you really mean it, that you love my prick? That 
you really wanna fuck me? Wow!" And he made a few fucking motions of his 
body. "Maybe I can get it up again." 

She took one of his hands and rubbed it up and down in the wetness of her 
snatch, where her body fluids had poured out of her throbbing vagina to mix 
with his plentiful saliva. At the same time, with her other hand, she jacked 
the loose skin tenderly back and forth on his cock. "Such a lovely peter," 
she whispered, her mouth aching for its sweetness. "Oh, Bob, it was so 
lovely to have it in my mouth again! To feel it shooting your jism into my 
throat!" The wantonness of her talk, the feel of his hand touching her 
hottest parts, the warmth of his prick, all combined to make her as much 
like the imagined Lah-oora as she could ever get. "I do love your big old 
fat peter, Bob," she whispered in his ear. "Does it feel nice when I stroke 
it like this? Oh, it feels to me like it's getting bigger! Pretty soon you 
can stick it into me! Oh, Bob! Darling daddy! I mean darling Bob! It's 
THROBBING! IT'S GETTING HARD! OH, KISS ME, DARLING! KISS ME!" 

Dimly, far back in her id, in the animal part of her psyche that recognized 
no right or wrong, she felt a wild, hot burst of self approval. This is how 
you would have been if you hadn't gotten fucked up by your Mother and your 
church, he said to her. This is how you were meant to be! All animal, loving 
and fucking. 

Her dad's big mouth came down on hers, and for a moment, the rank, sour 
stink of a belly full of tequila almost made her gag. But this was the man 
she loved too much for her to care about such trivia, and she sucked his big 
tongue eagerly, feeling her own heat rise to the bursting point as she 
worked her active, squirming pussy against his fingers. His weight was 
smashing one of her breasts, and it was an excruciatingly sensual feeling, 
registering its white fire in the dark sloppiness around her girlish womb. 

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! She let this thought race through her mind. 
Joined by the sweated pressure of body on body, by the warm slickness of 
tongue on tongue, the feel of his finger deep in her vagina, the warmth and 
willingness of her hand on his cock-he had to rise to new heights of desire. 
She was groaning and twisting, grateful that she had not had to wait, she 
was cumming on his finger. Cumming and cumming, her wild screams of passion 
muffled by her mouthful of his hotly probing tongue. His finger, too, knew 
its job, and it seemed very large, and was going very deep. And even 
better-his cock stirred, throbbed, leaped in her hand, and her dad pulled 
his mouth from hers, his face set as if he were concentrating on something 
far away. Then his smile broke like a rising sun. 

"We did it, baby! You did it! God! I can still cum twice in a night! Oh, 
damn it all, it's so wonderful!" 

He fucked into her again with his finger, laughing, his big body rising and 
falling. "Oh, baby, are you ever gonna get fucked!" 

The girl was so aroused, so deep into her characterization of the imagined 
whore, that she clung to the man fiercely, pumping her ass up and down. 
"Yeah, Bob! Yessss! Oh, how you're gonna fuck me, baby! Roll over, let me 
suck him a little! Get some spit on him so he'll go in me! Oh, Bob, please 
fuck me good!" 

She had one frantic moment of terrible fear as he crouched between her firm 
thighs, his big cock, now purple and hard, right at the tender entrance to 
her cunt. She knew that this was the moment of truth for both of them. If he 
hurt her, if she screamed, he might be hurt again, might feel rejected. But 
she put her mouth up for him to ram his tongue into it, and took hold of his 
cock, rubbing it up and down in the delightful slime from her twat, getting 
it smeared with her cunt's own lubricant. It did not occur to her that she 
had not been taught this practical maneuver, that her feminine instincts had 
taken over. 

But she was glad for it, for the terrible slam of his big tool into the 
red-veined, rasped membrane, the tired, bruised muscles under them, gave her 
a shock of pain as bad as the brutal assault on her virgin rectum earlier 
today. He was so big, so hard! 

She felt his body stop, as though he would withdraw in shame, and she cried: 
"No! No! Fuck me, baby! It feels so big! So good! I love it!" She lurched up 
at him, feeling her squeaky tight hole let him in, just an inch, and then 
she had her strong legs around his body, her heels digging into his rump and 
her cunt pointed up at his mighty dick, and she was fucking him so hard he 
had to keep on, fucking into her with all his power. And with all the power 
of her body coming to meet him, and of her strong young legs, pulling him 
into her. 

She could feel him squeeze in, a half inch with each plunge, and the 
tremendous stretch of her tight little cunt was so marvelous that she didn't 
care a bit about the pain. The pain is the best part, she said to herself, 
sweat streaming down her, some of it dripping from her dad's body, some from 
hers. The pounding of his hard organ into her young pussy, still aroused and 
still aching from the might two days of sex, was like a happy dream of 
achieved freedom, of love regained, of sensuality pardoned and utterly 
absolved. All this fucking, all this love, and Heaven, too! 

She came again as he slammed into her as deep as he could go, and he stopped 
kissing her to pant: "You must've gotten your pussy overhauled Lah-oora! 
You're tighter'n your baby sister! Wow! You're wearing the skin off my dick! 
Whoo-eeee!" And then, burying his face in the warmth of her neck, he 
whispered: "Love me, Gretchen, baby! Love me and fuck me!" and the girl's 
tender heart almost broke with love and sympathy. 

She had wondered, when their kissing and playing had brought his cock back 
so soon, how long would it take him to get off again. He was driving into 
her womb, glancing off it, and going on to the ultimate closure of her 
vagina. She knew, just from simple self-exploration of her pussy, that it 
went into her at a forty-five degree angle. She was a well built, sturdy 
girl, but her dad's cock was long as well as thick. Her cunt had a closed 
end, it had to be close to that limit, with him getting most of it into her. 
She was wondering where his cockhead would ultimately touch, and suddenly, 
like a hard, deep bowel pain, she knew! 

He was into her all the way, she could feel his pubic mound grind against 
hers. And his long, hard organ was jamming against her lower bowel, still 
tenderized almost unbearably by the base and the shameful rape of her 
asshole by that boy, Chuck. 

It released the trigger inside her with the hardest and fiercest orgasm of 
all. But it made her warm, soft, clinging cunt flesh bind and suck at the 
big peter in a serial convulsion of lust as she fucked up at him like a 
monkey on a stick. The soft, sweet friction on her tenderest flesh, on her 
most excited nerves, gave her joy beyond belief. And the rapid-fire 
up-and-down action on Bob Mack's cock, swollen with blood and twitching with 
savagely hungry cum nerves as her tight cunt pushed the skin back and 
brought it down as she hit the mattress was the final warmth that brought 
him surging into a long, jetting, throbbing cum. 

"Goddamn you, Gretchen!" he screamed. "THIS WHORE'S BETTER'N YOU! AND SHE 
LOVES IT! LOVES IT! FUCK HARD, BABY! OHHHHH! OH, SHIT! I'M C 
CCUUUUMMMMMMMMIIIINNNNGGGGGGG!" 

The girl, as wild with cum-madness as her parent, her tender insides awash 
with liquid fire as her orgasm blasted away in her clitoris, up her vagina, 
all through her, even in her rectum as Bob Mack's cock juice slathered her, 
pumped her body like an untiring machine, grunting like a pig in heat as she 
fucked and was fucked. 

"UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH!!! UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH! FUCK FUCK FUCK! STICK IT IN ME 
DADDY! KILL ME! OH, DADDY! IT'S SOOOO GOOOODDDD! OHHHH! I'M CUMMING, TOO! 
SHOOT IT IN ME, DADDY! OH, GIVE ME YOUR JUICE! OOOOHHHHHHHH! HOLD ME, HOLD 
ME! LET ME HAVE IT. UUUUUUNNNNNNHHHHHH!" UUUUNNNNHHHHHH!" 

She was gasping to draw breath into her tortured lungs when the red mist 
cleared from her brain and the gorgeous feeling in her fuck system gradually 
lessened to heat and throbs and flutters in the sweet places inside and out. 
Her body was weak and tired, her shrinking cunt surfaces and abused nerves 
were inflamed with too much use, but she was flushed with a gentle triumph 
of brain and body. 

I was a Mexican whore, she told herself. For my Daddy who needed love so 
badly. And then, in a rush of feeling: Oh, mama, why could you be so cruel 
to Daddy? All he wanted was love! 

She could barely breathe, since all of her father's weight had collapsed on 
her. She realized that this final gift of love which she had given him, and 
into which she had poured all her strength, had drained him of pain and 
frustration as it had drained him of his heavy load of sperm and semen. But 
she held him there, his body pressing on her big, love-tight breasts, 
flooding her with pleasure. And his heavy cock, by far the largest and 
hardest she had known in her brief career of sex, still felt delightful 
inside her. A feeling of fullness, if not of stretch. A sweet feast to top 
off her satisfied hungers, which she now acknowledged. 

When her breathing, her tightness, and the involuntary little cum-echoes in 
her fuck sheath caused his diminishing cock to start slipping out of her 
semen-slicked tube, she gasped with the delicate agony of loss, and 
shuddered again at the brilliance of feeling in her happy, well fucked 
pussy. She felt a gush of warm fluids follow her parent's prick as it got a 
final kiss from her entry muscles, and then he fell away from her, lying on 
his back. 

She looked at him with a combination of filial and maternal concern. He was 
dirty from the many hours on the boat, from fishing, from his troubles in 
Mexico. But she loved him more than she ever had. He seemed so helpless. His 
cock was still very big, and it was covered with a rich, slick mixture of 
vital fluids that had spurted from his cock and gushed in welcome from her 
vagina. 

"Oh, daddy! Dear daddy!" the woman-child moaned, sinking to where the fat, 
warm morsel of slicked-up meat lay on his thigh, opening her sweet young 
mouth to enfold it warmly. It tasted so good! Such a wonderful thing that 
two utilitarian objects like a man's and a woman's genitalia could be so 
esthetically lovely in taste and wholesome nourishment as well as in feel. 
And even the smells, the thick, rank aromas were gorgeous. There was a lot 
of it squeezing out from the reddened, still tingling slash between her 
thighs, and she openly pursued it, laughing at herself. 

"I'm being a piggy, daddy," she whispered to the unconscious man lying 
beside her. "But I never had any of this wonderful juice until night before 
last. I've got to catch up, you know!" And she patted his dick, his hairy 
balls and between his powerful thighs as she sipped the mixture of cum 
juices from her cupped hand. 

She tried to open herself wider, running two fingers deep up her twat to 
coax out more of the nutritious mixture, licking her fingers, but she was 
tired, too, so she gave up at last. She lay beside her father, her body 
tingling, her mind feeling loving and free. 

Her firm, smooth buttocks were still warm from his beating, but she 
remembered it with a deep thrill of pleasure. And she let a wave of modest 
pride run through her as she remembered that she had not only been 
successful in playing the part of an experienced Mexican whore-lady, she had 
also been better. Hadn't her dad said: "Lah-oora, you sure suck better than 
you used to?" And hadn't he also complimented on the way she did that other 
thing? That other thing? 

"Oh, phooey!" she whispered to herself good naturedly. "I mean he liked the 
way I FUCKED. I've got to learn not to be so sissy." 

And on that note, she drifted off into a warm, peaceful sleep. 

 CHAPTER TEN 

Ellen Mack awakened with more joy in her heart than she had known in all her 
life. Taking care of daddy had been sort of weird. But she had proved to 
herself that she possessed real usefulness, that she could rise to occasions 
of stress, and that she had people to love, to care for. 

Her hand was against her father's hard, hairy thigh. She knew it without 
looking; she remembered everything perfectly. 

She rolled and looked at him, and felt a glow of love. His cock was almost 
totally hard, its great head looking slick and shiny and a sort of purplish 
red, peeping out from its cloak of soft, smooth skin. It looked like a pink 
and contented infant asking for food. 

It was only natural, perhaps, that Ellen with her mind and heart so filled 
with a sense of belonging, should take the big, fat old thing in her hand, 
and then to close her sweet, warm slick mouth over it, sucking it gently, 
laving it with her tongue. Heaven! 

Bob Mack, not yet awake, was struggling through layers of frustration, pain, 
nausea, and inertia. He was not really used to all that much drinking. Too 
much outdoors, not enough rest, drinking on an empty stomach, all were bad 
for him. And the final touch had been his humiliating experience-as he 
thought-with that damned whore, Laure, pronounced Lah-oora. There was also 
some buried concern and guilt about his kids. Especially the oldest, the one 
who'd just come home after five years with her God damned mother. All of 
these-his bursting headache, his sick stomach, his assorted angers and 
confusions-swirled in his mind as he stirred slowly back to consciousness 
and to his world. He was bristling with defensiveness over his own foibles 
and failures, feeling that they weren't entirely his fault, that he was, on 
the whole, no worse than average, and that he wouldn't take any shit from 
anybody. 

When he saw, through pained and reddened eyes, a stranger sucking his prick, 
he felt that he had been taken advantage of. And, when a second look 
revealed that it was his daughter, the one toward whom he'd felt defensive 
and apologetic, all his insane furies burst out. 

"Get outta here, you damned little whore!" he screamed, slapping her across 
her lovely, startled face. 

In shock, she fell off the bed, gathering her nightie over her naked front, 
looking at her father dumbly, wondering what "Lah-oora" would have done in 
this situation. 

The sick man, suddenly nauseated from his abrupt movements, threw the covers 
off and dashed for the bathroom. Unfortunately, he collided with his 
dumbstruck daughter, who fell against the sharp edge of the door, cutting a 
small gash in her forehead. The blow and the subsequent flow of blood so 
unnerved her that she ran past her puking dad into her own room, where she 
slammed and latched the door. 

Inside, she wiped the blood from her face, checked the wound and saw that a 
bandaid would suffice, and tried to gather her thoughts. 

She had been so happy, so secure last night. And this morning. Now, she felt 
that all of what she had believed to be her world had forsaken her. She 
tried to think, tried to defend herself against her own harsh judgments, but 
could not. 

"I'm just a bad person," she whispered tragically to herself, picking up the 
few things she had unpacked since Thursday. In her drawer there was a return 
ticket that her mother had given her, "for you to use, dear, if things 
become unbearable. If everything's all right, cash it in and keep the money 
as a little present." That's what mama had said. 

Dressed, her wound covered with a bandaid, the young girl clutched the 
return bus ticket to her heart like the Holy Grail. It was her ticket to 
salvation. 

She slipped down the stairs and out of the house, hearing the sickening bark 
of a man who has emptied his curdled stomach of its sour contents and now 
has only the dry heaves to wrack his body. The bus station was not close by, 
but she would take her time. Nothing, not even the convent school, the nuns, 
and Father Geoghan could be as cruel as this kind of world she had found. 
Being used and betrayed by brother and sister, raped and abused and laughed 
at by their friends. Being so stupid as to believe a student was a priest, 
forcing him to fuck her, which of course he would be glad to do. And 
finally, thinking she was doing as her beloved father wanted, only to find 
out that he spurned her gifts of love with the bitterest and most sadistic 
of tongue-lashings. She would have wept for herself, but she was too bleak 
and bitter inside to seek the solace of tears. Or to feel that she deserved 
any solace. 

She was so deep in misery that she did not notice the car that had slowed at 
the curb, and the man had to speak again before she heard him. "Let me drive 
you to town, my dear," he said. "It looks as if you're headed for the bus 
depot." 

Dumbly, bereft of hope or motivation, she got into the car with the man. To 
his repeated question, she answered: "Yes. I'm going back to Seattle. To be 
with my mother!" 

To another question, she answered yes, she had enough money, that is, she 
had a ticket back. "You'll need food," the man said. "And a little cash. 
It's a long trip. Here, I'll put some money in your purse." 

She muttered: "It may be a long time before I can pay you," and the man 
assured her that that didn't matter. "I'll put my card in your purse, and 
you can write me when you get home safely," he said, smiling and kind. "Pay 
me any time or never, it's all right." 

The stranger's kindness gave her some warming sense of values, and when she 
found that it was a four hour wait for the next through bus, and she had 
found that the man had put a twenty dollar bill in with his card, she perked 
up enough to eat a big breakfast-hot cakes and sausage and eggs, a glass of 
milk, a cup of coffee. It made a world of difference. 

She had to kill time, so she bought a Sunday paper. There were stories of 
violence, of crime, of hatred. But there were promises of hope, too. Here 
was a story of brother and sister, separated as children, reunited in their 
forties. They would live together on a farm in San Diego County. She looked 
at the pictures. They were nice looking, healthy looking people. I wonder if 
they'll fuck, out there on their farm, the girl speculated. Well, why not? 
They loved each other. 'And they had no one else. And they were hopeful. 

"We'll have differences," the woman was quoted as saying, with a hearty 
laugh. "People hurt each other, usually without thinking. We can forgive and 
forget. Loving is what matters." 

Ellen got herself another cup of coffee and a twist donut, and went over 
near the big window. She looked at the ads. The clothes were pretty casual, 
easy to wear. The pictures of the ladies were very nice, so sexy, and still 
so wholesome. There was a blonde girl with windblown hair in a mid-thigh 
coat and pants of some light material that hugged her mature, full thighs. 
Her legs were spread, and Ellen's thoughts went to the girl's cunt, and of 
how secure she must feel, standing with her legs apart, her cunt lips popped 
open, warm and alive inside her pants, under her coat. But she could give 
some of it to a guy, if she wanted to, the girl thought. It might be nice to 
do that. If she wanted to. 

If SHE wanted to. If she WANTED to. 

She looked at the picture and saw that it was very apparent that the girl 
liked herself. Liked being a woman, a girl. And, since the principal factors 
in being a woman would be the possession of breasts and a vagina, secreted 
prettily under densely curled hair, it meant that the girl was happy to have 
nice boobs and a warm, juicy little cunt. And she looked like the sort who 
would give a lot of it away. And enjoy it. She would give a fuck to some 
man, or men, IF SHE WANTED TO. 

Ellen's thoughts were on her own body, the sweetly formed parts that made 
her a woman. Apart from being trapped by her inexperience, as with Rudy, or 
being raped by force, as with Chuck, it was hers to give. For her pleasure, 
first, if she wanted to. She looked at the girl in the ad, who seemed to be 
smiling encouragement back to her, and said, in a whisper: "Yeah. I know 
where you're coming from, and where you're at. That's where I want to be. 
Whether up in Washington, or wherever. Your way is going to be my way." 

She looked at the big depot clock. Still three hours before bus time. What 
had that story said? Only love matters. She had not been treated any too 
well, but the lady had said that people hurt each other without thinking. 
Her dad would be worried. Maybe Terry and Ronnie would be worried. Just 
barely possible. 

As a matter-of-fact, the past hour had been a strange one. 

When Bob Mack, his face gray, his body shaking, called for help, Ron and 
Terry came a-running. They had not been far away. 

"Help me get in bed," he gasped. "I'm sick." 

"You're smashed," the solemn-faced little blonde said. "But we'll help you. 
Why'd you run Ellen off? She's the only good thing that ever happened around 
here." 

Her father, now sitting on the bed, said: "Ellen? She's no damn good! I 
caught her this morning, well, I won't even tell you, I can't even bring 
myself to say, what she was doing." 

Terry's blonde hair was slicked down into two tight braids at her ears. She 
looked about seven. She sniffed disdainfully. 

"She gave you a blow-job," the child said. "She sucked your dick." 

Mack raised his arm as if to strike the pert child, and fell back, groaning. 
"Where is she?" he rasped. "What's the matter with you two? She's even made 
you talk rotten," Ronnie cleared his throat. "Bullshit," he said clearly. 
"Anything she did for you, she did it out of love. Because you begged her 
to. She only wanted to help you. She's that kind of person." 

Mack eyed the two as if he had lost his mind. "I begged her to?" he cried. 
Are you nuts?" But some dim portions of last night came back. 

"Yeah, because you begged her to," little Terry said, "and because you like 
to've beat the shit out of her. We heard it. Saw it, too." 

She leaped back as her father grabbed at her. "You lie," he said, but his 
face was showing an inner conflict. "How could I beg Ellen, my own daughter, 
to do such a thing?" 

"You kept calling her 'Loorah' or something like that," Ronnie offered. 
"Calling her a Mexican whore. We heard you beating her. Man! Did you ever 
smack her ass! Don't you remember? It woke us up." 

Some of the dreadful happenings of last night tried to get past the cracking 
wall of conscience that Bob Mack's subconscious mind was building. He 
remembered a full, smooth, firm white ass across his lap. A white ass? Laura 
was very dark, very Indian-looking. And he heard himself as he had been last 
night, so drunk, saying: "Don't call me daddy. Call me Bob." Jesus, he hoped 
he never remembered any more. 

"Get her," he implored. Bring her to me! Let me get down on my knees to her. 
I know, now. She tried to get me to go to sleep. I-I beat her." Tears of 
grief and shame ran down his face. "Oh, please, you two, go get her! Tell 
her how ashamed lam!" 

Little Terry, her arms folded, looked at her father without either pity or 
anger. "No good," she said. "We weren't, well, any too nice to her. And she 
was so good to us!" She dropped her face into hands, crying like a hurt 
child. "We were so mean!" 

"Anyhow," Ron said, "She's split. Packed up her bag and blew. I saw her. She 
was crying," he sniffed. "Probably gone back to mom." 

He saw the deep misery in his dad's face as the big kindly man remembered 
more and more. The two kids had seen much of what happened. God, when that 
enormous cock went into that poor little old pussy! Wonder to God it hadn't 
split her wide open! And in his pants, he felt his cock hardening as he 
thought of it. It had given him a whole new burst of lust which he had shot 
into his little sister's sweet, dripping, almost hairless, little-girl 
pussy. God, that stuff was good!'Ellen's, Terry's, Marless's, what'shername, 
oh, yeah, Munson. Tall girl. Damn! It was wonderful when they liked it. 

He came back to reality with a nervous start as the telephone rang. There 
was an extension here in the big bedroom. Ronnie answered. "Oh, sure, sis," 
he said in subdued tones. "I'll call him." He handed the instrument to his 
father. "Ellen," he said succinctly. 

"Hi, dad," the girl's voice said shyly. "I couldn't go without saying 
good-bye. I know you wanted me out of the house. I'm a disruptive influence, 
I guess." The girl laughed nervously. "Dad? Are you there? Did you hear me?" 

"Oh, God, baby," the man choked. "I was so terrible! I don't even remember, 
yet, just how much I did that was rotten and shameful and despicable! You're 
not the bad influence. Ronnie says he is. Terry says she is. And I KNOW that 
I am. 

In the depot, using the public phone, Ellen saw a girl very much like the 
one in the ad, standing on the dock just outside the window. The girl's 
thighs filled her stretch pants, she was standing with her lovely legs 
apart, thrusting her pelvis forward. Offering her pussy, but because she 
wanted to. It was so lovely! 

"Are you going back to your mother?" the man asked. "Maybe it's best, being 
back among a church atmosphere, with the nuns. You'll never have to, uh, 
what I mean is, well, you won't have things like this happen to you again. 
Never again, my poor baby!" 

The strong, healthy, warm natured girl made a face. Never have a man's or a 
boy's hand on her pussy. Never have a stiff prick stuck into her. In her 
mouth, in her cunt. Safe. Yeah, man. Never to suck or to be sucked. The 
thoughts shook her like a reed in a cyclone. 

She had to swallow, then had to clear her throat. She could just see her 
dad. After throwing up, the poor, dear man must be feeling horrible. But 
still-he'd had that erection before he woke up. 

She turned to the phone. "Dad? Maybe it's better for me not to leave," she 
said. "Not yet, anyhow. Oh, dad, don't worry about me not being safe! That's 
not the important thing! Love is all that really matters. We hurt people 
almost accidentally. Are you in bed now? Have you eaten? Oh, hush, daddy, of 
course you can eat! Look, I'm on my way home, hear? And I'll see that you 
have something to eat. Yes, I will! I'll make you eat!" 

A humorous yet tender look crossed her face. "Remember what you were eating 
last night? Oh, fudge, daddy! You say you don't, but I know you do! And I 
was eating yours, too. No, daddy, it wasn't bad. It was lovely! And it'll be 
even better when you know it's my pie you're eating, and not Lah-oora's. You 
wait for me. No, don't bathe. That's foolish. You weren't bathed last night, 
and I loved it." 

She put her mouth close to the phone. "I said I loved it, daddy. I loved 
having your peter in me. In my mouth, in my other little place. My cunt, if 
you want to know. Just as long as you're not mad at me, daddy. As long as 
you don't think I'm some, uh, whore." 

It only took a few minutes to exchange her return ticket for cash. A lot of 
it, to her. There was a driver sitting in a cab outside, and she told him: 
"Twelve-seventeen Lois Lane, please. And listen, can you hurry?" 

He smiled at her. He was young and powerful looking, had a big nose, big 
brown eyes, curly brown hair. "I'd do anything you asked me to, lady," he 
laughed. 

Her heart swelled. A beautiful young man like this-I'd give him all the 
fucking he wanted, she thought, and smiled. How surprised he would be if he 
could read her mind! She thought of the lovely man who'd given her the ride. 
And the twenty dollars. He looked so kind, but he had looked up her dress as 
she had gotten into the par, and down the front of it as she had reached for 
her bag. He was just one of those wonderfully nice for whom, if she wanted, 
she could give her cunt. 

She was grateful for everything, now that she had gotten her head on 
straight. How could she have felt guilty? Doing that simple little business 
for Ronnie. A blowjob! What a cute name! And so silly, really, because you 
sucked rather than blew. Sex, she had found out, could be funny and silly 
and just a good old hearty laugh. It didn't have to be heavy and gloomy, 
weighted with sin. And then she saw a wonderful truth. 

Rudy had been right! And he had only done what any right thinking guy would 
do-he had screwed a girl who was dumb. But who was also ripe and ready for 
it. "I must've had 'Fuck me!' written across my face," she said aloud. 

The driver, startled, jammed on his brakes. "What'd you say, lady?" he 
demanded. And Ellen, laughing said: "Surprised you, didn't I? Well, never 
mind, we'll see each other again." 

But when he said: "I won't forget that address," she said very firmly: 
"It'll be, all right. But it'll be when I say so!" And the young man, his 
face glowing, said: "Yes, ma'am, whatever you say, ma'am. And whenever you 
say, ma'am. But I sure hope you don't wait too long. You don't want me to 
languish away." 

Their way home took them by a church, and her heart nearly stopped when she 
saw a familiar figure, showing some kids how to throw hook shots at a 
basketball hoop. Rudy. Rudy Salas. She said: "Pull up a minute. By those 
kids playing basketball." 

When the guy who had played priest two days before came over to the cab, he 
smiled as he saw who the passenger was. "Hi, Ellen," he said, putting his 
hand inside the cab, on her thigh. "What's shaking? You going somewhere?" 

"I was," she said, showing her dimples. "What's this with the kids? Don't 
you like girls any more? Or are you doing a penance?" 

He flushed, then squeezed her leg. "I guess I ought to say I'm sorry," he 
said. "But if I did, I think you'd be entitled to hop out of that hack and 
knock me kicking. Maybe it was a wee bit shitty. But if the same chance came 
along, I'd do it again. Baby," and he looked serious, "if I had the chance 
and didn't, I think I'd cut my throat." 

She squeezed his hand. "So long, Father Salas," she said. "But remember, you 
did say you'd do it again. If you had the chance. So long, you wonderful 
fraud." 

The hack driver said, as they moved along: "Is that guy a priest? He hasn't 
got that smooth faced look they all seem to have. You know, sad without 
feeling anything, really. Not knocking it," he said. 

"I know," Ellen said. "How married are you?" 

The dark young guy was turning into Lois Lane, looking for the number. He 
laughed. "Not hardly at all," he said. "My wife's mad at me about half the 
time, and the other half, she's busy with our kid. This looks like the 
place, lady. Why did you ask?" 

"I don't know," Ellen said. She put her arm out, handing him a fiver. "I 
like you. I'll bet you don't need any help from me." 

"No," he agreed. "Not help. I'd hate that. But if you just wanted to. You 
know what I mean. It would be so beautiful. Because, Ellen-he called you 
Ellen, didn't he?-because I'd sure like to." 

When they were on the porch, she kissed him. "Tomorrow's a holiday," she 
said, feeling her breasts pressing on him, feeling his warm, hard chest 
through the two layers of fabric. "Tuesday at nine. The kids leave at 
eight-thirty. They don't get home until after three. Because I want to." 

The house seemed quiet and dark, and her heart was pounding. Partly because 
she had pressed herself against that hackie-what was his name? He hadn't 
mentioned it. She hadn't asked. What difference could it possibly make? She 
had felt a hard-on as she kissed him. 

Two very quiet, very shy kids came out of the kitchen. Ronnie hugged her, 
and little Terry held her hand, tears streaming down her face. "We won't 
ever do those things again?" the little blonde girl said, and Ellen pushed 
her, right on her cute, swelling little titty. 

"You'd better not talk that way, girl," Ellen said. "There's some new rules 
around here. Everybody loves everybody. Get it? Everybody loves everybody 
whenever they can, or rather, whenever they want to." She kissed the little 
girl, pushing her tongue into the hot little kid's mouth. "And I'll always 
want to, I promise you both," the older girl whispered softly. And then: 
"How's dad?" 

"Better," Ron said. "But kind of green around the gills. Man, he was sick! 
Especially when Terry stood up to him and told him what kind of a shitheel 
he'd been. Gee, she was great!" 

"Hush that kind of rough talk, Ronnie," Ellen said. But she smiled. "Thank 
you, little sister," she said. "Thank you both." 

She shooed the kids out, giving them a few dollars. "Go to the park," she 
said. "Or to a show. Have fun." 

She tried to remember something she'd heard of long ago as she made a drink 
for her dad. A glass of half-and-half. Two eggs. Two scoops of ice cream. 
She rummaged on a shelf and said "hah!" as she found a bottle of Creme De 
Cacao and another of brandy. 

She started the blender going on the cream, the eggs, the ice cream, and put 
in a running-over teaspoon of vanilla, then a big jigger of the liqueur and 
two big ones of the brandy. When it was all done, she took the blender 
pitcher and a big glass up the stairs and went into her dad's room without 
knocking. 

He looked sick, all right, but he smiled. "My gracious," he said, you're a 
very pretty nurse. And that stuff looks like it wouldn't hurt a guy. A sick 
guy." 

She felt a million years old. Well, not really. She felt great. It was just 
that she felt old and wise. And capable. As wise as her dad. Or Lah-oora. 
And ever so much wiser than her mama ever was. 

She set the pitcher and glass down, turned her back, and took her dress off, 
over her head, in one easy, graceful tug. No bra, no panties. She turned 
around, toward her dad, putting her hands on her hips and thrusting out her 
pelvis. Her feet were apart, so she could feel the room temperature on her 
popped open cunt lips. 

"My God!" her dad said. "Did I have some of that last night? I know I did, 
but I barely remember it. Oh, baby, I've been out of my nut. Your mom-well, 
least said, soonest mended, I expect. She had her rights to be the way she 
was." 

"She was a fool," Ellen said firmly. "A poor, pitiful fool. I feel sorry for 
her. So should you." The girl shivered. "I'm just lucky I got out of it, 
lucky for the things that happened to me." 

She was leaning against the bed, and his hand was under her crotch, a long 
finger feeling up inside her wet pussy. She fucked against the finger, 
getting it into her, and laughed. She put her warm hand under the covers and 
found his prick. It was soft, but it was nice and fat. And, as she touched 
it, it throbbed. 

"She dropped to her knees and pushed the covers away. "Oh, ho!" she 
exclaimed. "What do you mean, sir, having no hard-on?" She bent and kissed 
the swelling head, holding the growing organ gently. 

Her dad stroked the back of her head, pressing her toward it, and she opened 
her warm, slick mouth and sucked in all of it she could mouth, running her 
tongue around it as she held it in place. 

She sucked him tenderly, her head on its side on his thigh, her other hand 
cupping his balls. She felt his cock grow, felt his body make an involuntary 
motion of fucking. The warmth and smoothness and delicious taste of his cock 
gave her a sweeping warmth all through her strong, beautiful young body. She 
could feel her cunt lips begin to swell, feel the trickle of juice finding 
its way out through lips and hair, warm with her body's heat. 

She took the big cock out of her mouth gently, and poured her daddy a glass 
of the rich eggnog. "Make you feel like last night," she said thickly. "I 
want to suck some of it out of your mouth. Maybe I'll let you have a little 
of your cum in the second glass. If I don't swallow it all!" 

When she knead her way onto the bed, she held his big face against the 
smooth warmth of her breasts. "I feel like I could give milk, myself," she 
said in a whisper. "COME ON, DADDY, SUCK ME!" 

When he took almost half of one of her tender boobs into his mouth, sucking 
as if he wanted to get her blood, she clung to him, her eyes squeezed tight 
in painful ecstasy. She almost lost her balance, but her dad got a strong 
hand between her young thighs, right in her wet slit, making her neck hair 
stand on end, the feeling was so intense and beautiful. 

When he stopped sucking on her titty and looked up at her, she wriggled out 
of his arms and threw herself on the bed, on her back, her beautiful, 
maturely rounded legs in the air, her face in an expectant smile. She held 
out her arms to him, and he came down on top of her, his belly rubbing on 
the wide expanse made by her thighs, her butt, her cuntal area with its 
spread of thick, pink, juicy lips, its crown of golden brown hair, its 
red-veined inner lips. He held most of his weight on his knees and elbows, 
and looked at her, his face just above hers. 

She felt the heat of his body on hers, the pressure of his flesh on the 
sensitivity of her cuntal spread. His big cock was, somehow, under her 
lifted ass. She felt choked with emotion. I've been just a little kid, she 
thought swiftly. Now, if I'm going to help my family, if I'm going to get 
what I want out of my life, I'm going to have to be a woman. 

She had her hand under her buttock, around her thigh, and felt for his 
prick. As she had on the night before, she wiped the bulbous head up and 
down in the slick trough of her swelling, bursting, hotly juicing young 
cunt. It felt so good that she almost came, and she smiled at her dad and 
said: "Don't be mad if I cum before you do. I sure am hot! And I love you so 
much!" 

There were tears in his eyes, and he said in a strange voice: "I don't know 
whether this is right or wrong, but I want it so bad that I don't care." He 
hunched his powerful body and the head of his big organ went splittingly 
into the tight, slick hole. He lunged at his daughter, but the thickness of 
his prick was too much. He moaned. 

The girl, whose face was a study in concentration, said: "Take it easy. Real 
easy. It went in last night, you know. All the way in. "OH, DAD!" she 
screamed, and clasped her firm young arms around his big body. "It's going 
IN! IT'S GOING IN! SHOVE HARD, DADDY! OHHHHHHH! OHHHHHHH! HELP ME, FUCK ME! 
I'M CUUUUMMMMMIIIINNNNGGGGG!" And her beautiful young body fucked at him in 
a desperate, uncontrollable pattern of up-and-down, side-to-side, milking 
his cock until his taut fuck nerves could no longer stand it. 

He reached under her just to get his fingers into the lovingly slick crack 
of her ass, touching the muscular, hairy rim of her cunt, reveling in the 
pouring out of her vaginal juices which proved her hotness, proved her love 
for him and for his fucking. His mind and heart only knew that this was what 
he had always needed, and all that he had ever wanted from life. From his 
wife. 

She felt his prick expand until it seemed it would burst her tight fuck 
channel, but it was a marvelous pain, part of the vast pleasure that was 
sweeping her. 

Her body was filled with heat and love, just as her cunt was filled with 
prick and hard, hot shooting jets of her dad's seed, and just as her mind 
was filled with lust and hope for the future. 

She could see little Terry in her place. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. She 
could see them, all four, fucking together in love and trust and gentle 
happiness of shared lust. 

Her mouth was full of her father's tongue which she was sucking furiously, 
so she could not scream out the joy of her body-splitting orgasm. She felt 
the flood of his jism, its slick warmth pumping out of her vagina, felt her 
dad's balls sopping it up, felt his cock ramming clear to the very end of 
her fuck sheath. Cock, cock, cock-how beautiful! Rudy, the nice man whose 
card she had in her purse, the gentle, sweet, cab driver. Life was going to 
be so good! 

So FUCKING good! 

She loved it. 


THE END
