Posts Tagged ‘satire’

‘O’ For Men



The hum of the kazoo signified that the vigorous working in and out of the strap on dildo up Conan’s arse had breached even his high pain threshold. Alexandra, still mindful of the occasion he had left her trussed her up for hours in darkness, gave one last sphincter stretching thrust before withdrawing the ersatz member. It was coated with rectal mucus and lubricant, a faint smattering of shit.



Alexandra couldn’t resist giving his arse a good slap with the studded paddle he had disciplined her with earlier. Before she released him from the bondage stocks she kissed him passionately on the lips. Alexandra felt closer to him than she had ever done; surely this proved there was some depth and sincerity of the emotions he professed to feel towards her. While he had never told her he loved her, or liked her for that matter, his eagerness to assuage her and genuine despair at the prospect of her breaking off their arrangement must surely hint at something beneath his chilly abstracted demeanour she had surmised.



“I love you,” said Alexandra, momentarily drowning in his blue eyes. She immediately regretted saying it, seeing a curious mixture of alarm and disgust wash over his face. Then his face relaxed into a broad grin and he croaked, “I love you…” On his release from the bondage stocks he scooped her into arms and kissed her passionately, holding her tight. They dressed and smoked cigarettes.



Alexandra felt exhilarated, feeling they now both wanted the same thing, to be a ‘proper’ couple in a secure and loving relationship. Driving home in the car there was an easy atmosphere, and she had never seen Conan so relaxed. Alexandra was not neurotically needy and was smart enough to know pushing him for a further declaration of love would be counter productive so she just enjoyed the inane chit chat. Yet when he dropped her off at her parents’ house he did not glance back or offer a wave. Disconcerted, Alexandra fumbled and dropped the front door key.



Metal Fingers in my Body



Alexandra’s parents were elderly and clinically depressed and were always comatose on Zopiclone come 10 o’clock at night. She could troop around the house with impunity. Asleep her parents carried on as if they were their waking selves, bickering and mumbling, her father loosing farts of frightening velocity at regular intervals. She had her hair combed back severely and collected in a bead crochet scrunchie and looked like she’d just got back from the gym (which was her intention) in tracksuit and trainers.



She threw the sports holdall, which contained her switch hitter costume, onto the kitchen floor. Alexandra poured herself a generous measure of her father’s vodka, dropped a couple of ice cubes into the glass and sat at the kitchen table. She lit a cigarette, using a saucer as an ashtray. She liked neat vodka and hated the fact that at social gatherings she was always offered white wine and hated the fact even more she never had the courage to tell them to fuck off and get her proper drink, one that would put ‘hair on her tits’ as her father charmingly put it.



She could hear her parents’ synchronous rattling snores downstairs and derived comfort from it. If she was honest Alexandra enjoyed being at home, while her parents were cranky and demanding she felt secure there, and there was little stigma attached to her about still being in the family domicile. Everyone knew how hard it was to rent never mind to buy in the fucked economic climate and in most people’s eyes her continuing residence made her a saintly figure.



There she was a beautiful intelligent young woman, who could go anywhere and be with anyone, yet she stayed at home to devotedly look after her aged and confused parents. She felt little real affection for them, as they had been cold and diffident parents, and she enjoyed the control she now exerted over them.



Alexandra bought dozens of strips of tranquilizers from a black market source and kept them topped up morning and night so their lives were largely somnambulant. Increasingly, she felt a compulsion to assert her power in relationships, to control, to pay back perceived slights. Alexandra wondered why she was still here. Her life with Conan was to her knowledge was still a secret and she was regarded as shy and virginal, a good girl.



She should be a model, people would say. Why are you still in this shit hole town. She’d mention her internship and hopes for the future and lowering her voice mention her parents. That was her cover story. Truth be told she was struggling to figure herself out. She was that rarest of things, a female outsider. She disliked the company of males, who she found on the whole to be boorish, arrogant or weak and yet she had no female friends either.



Alexandra reserved her most vehement loathing for ‘girly’ girls, like her erstwhile flatmate in the University Halls, who would squeal at the sight of anything pink and was endlessly pampering herself and preening. Alexandra poured another drink and lit another cigarette and got her smartphone from the holdall. No texts or missed calls. The prick was freezing her out she just knew it. In Conan she could sense a certain duality with herself; they were both in possession of compressed passions, paradoxical needs and confused emotional states.



They were both repressed, despite their uninhibited sex sessions, reserved and aloof yet insecure and needy. It was a case of who blinked first, she thought, and I, Alexandra Rasputin, self styled ice maiden, have been a silly bitch and blown the ruse. I love you Conan. Fuck me. She started to text him, to apologise for her emotional incontinence, but halfway through decided it would exacerbate matters so she deleted the draft and concentrated on the vodka instead. Normally a couple of belts loosened her but she felt increasingly agitated, like something bad was about to enter stage right.



The sex. She enjoys the sex. Alexandra had been called a frigid bitch and a lesbian at school and college because she repelled all sexual advances, but while she was curious about sex she felt nauseous at the thought of any emotional attachment intercourse may engender and the thought of giving her virginity away cheaply to some oaf on a one night stand offended her intellect deeply.



Plus all the men she had met were arseholes, not remotely worthy of her pussy. If she hadn’t met Conan, or any potential suitors had hit the £100,000 minimum imposed on the e-bay auction for her hymen, her cherry would no doubt be still there for the picking. When she first saw Conan she desired him instantly, what woman wouldn’t, cool, sardonic, handsome with a gym buffed body. It was the contract though that made the sex possible, the thought of the fucking being a commercial arrangement, though she did worry it made her look whorish, but her rationale was that the arrangement made her financially independent and sexually empowered. Also, the heavily stylised nature of their sexual liaisons, with the theatricality of their role play performances, the dressing up, the use of props, it seemed they did more acting now than actual fucking.



Alexandra couldn’t remember the last time she’d sucked his cock or had it in her. It was all studded paddles and whips and butt plugs and nipple clamps with mutual masturbation at the end of it. Conan liked to wank off on her face while she sucked his balls and she didn’t mind this as it saved the wearisome prospect of performing fellatio for Christ knows how long (he always took a seeming eternity to come) and the obligatory catching his ejaculate at the back of her throat.



She’d only swallowed his cum a few times; he seemed to enjoy having it passed back into his mouth or spat on his balls. And they had never had penetrative sex in the Rumpo Room. He’d tried to stick his cock up her arse once when she was trussed up in the strappado but her frantic thrashings (she’d nearly dislocated a fucking shoulder) dissuaded him from forced entry. So she had the best of all things; a financial contract obliging her to have sex, an obligation that actually entailed very little fucking. And she enjoyed the moderate pain.



The paddles and whips she found frankly ridiculous and just left her with a sore arse, but she enjoyed the ropes and the spreader bar, the hot wax, it made her feel cool and clear inside and helped dispel her neuroses and self loathing. It kept the horror at a distant, those crippling feelings of futility and insignificance that would creep up on her during the wolf hour. She rubs her temples and lights another cigarette, the kitchen now wreathed in smoke. Her phone vibrates. A text from Conan. He can never see her again. He will continue to finance her but she should never contact him or turn up at work again. The prick. Even though she had been half expecting it she feels a cold rage and hurls the glass of vodka at the wall. He’s got some balls, especially after the Al Jolson shit he’d pulled the week before.



Was this some power play shit? Was she meant to ring him (no doubt to greeted by his anodyne voice mail message) to confirm she was needy and possessive, a hysterical wandering womb? Or was it some repressed homophobic fear because she’d polished his prostate? Give him his due, he had acquiesced and let his asshole be roundly fucked while she had refused him the pleasure of taking her arse virginity. It wasn’t so much a sense of propriety that made Alexandra repel his anal advances but rather the prospect of pain and the hygiene implications. After he’d suggested to her they make the taking of her arse virginity the centrepiece of a Rumpo Room assignation she’d had a dry run, alone in her bedroom and her parents snorting incongruously in chemical slumber next door, with a vibrator.



Lubed up she only got it a few inches in before she felt a sharp stab of pain and more alarmingly thought she was going to shit herself. Dirty anal. She’d watched a programme the other week, a peek behind the scenes of the porn industry, mainly to gauge the extent of her whorishness. Her perception of herself was that she was on a par with or slightly superior to the wife or girlfriend of a successful professional footballer.



The porn actresses spoke about the adult industry’s obsession with anal and double penetrations. Contrary to Alexandra’s preconception of porn actresses being either lobotomised bimbos or fucked up drug cases they came across as hard nosed and business orientated, while their male counterparts were whiny and emasculated away from the cameras. The actresses spoke in a matter of fact way about their gym routines and diets, how they eschewed alcohol and the need to watch their food and drink intake around shoots.



No heavy meals before a deep throat scene else you were liable to leave your lunch on your co-stars balls. And coffee was a no no up to a day before an anal extravaganza, indeed you practically had to fast in case you shit everywhere on set. At this point Ron Jeremy was wheeled in to provide an evidential anecdote, explaining how a ‘chick’ had once excreted all over him after an energetic pounding in the reverse cowgirl position.



The actresses were technocrats of the body, more akin to athletes in their corporeal discipline than the whores of Babylon of popular conception. Where the fuck was her mind going? The vodka was affecting her now, muddying her thought processes. She kicked off a trainer and stubbed her cigarette out on the sole of her foot. Alexandra bit her hand to stifle a scream. The pain helped focus her mind and roused her from her stupor more effectively than half a dozen black coffees. Yes she could make excuses for Conan, consider the mitigating circumstances.



Fuck that, thinks Alexandra. That is what good girls do. Keep away from the phone for a start. What to do? She puts the kettle on. Alexandra considers making an espresso but remembering the shitting porn star settles for a cup of green tea. Conan you old slut, let me think about this.



To be discontinued…

If Glade expected her apprentice to be more shocked than she was by her account of the violence that had decimated her tribe she was disappointed. Ivory was more indignant at the rudeness of rebuffing a welcome than distressed by the account of the bloodshed. In any case, Glade was reluctant to give a full account of the horrors that followed. It was painful enough for her to remember the evil and worse still to describe it. Did she really want to elaborate on how so many of the people she’d known all her life were massacred in a growing orgy of violence; the sexual frenzy of the invaders; the rapes that followed in rapid succession; and the murder of her mother? Simply alluding to the subsequent horrors served only to refresh the shaman’s traumatic memories.



Compared to the younger Glade, Ivory was already fairly familiar with the sight of violent death. The spirits would curse the village for eternity when a crime was committed against the tribe unless swift and appropriate justice was dispensed on the perpetrators. Sometimes the spirits demanded nothing less than capital punishment. Such an execution was never a cause for celebration, although it needed to be staged in front of the entire village. This would openly declare that this extreme action was taken only to placate the spirits’ vengeful inclinations. Thankfully it was rarely necessary, but such punishment acted as a salutary lesson to anyone who might be tempted to anger the spirits. If a villager took another person’s life or property, if a villager showed disrespect to a sacred site, or if a villager plotted treason, then it was just and fitting that such a criminal be punished. The penalty was the expression of the will of the whole village. Every villager would actively participate in the debate as to how best to appease the spirits’ wrath.



The last time the village applied the ultimate penalty was during the Winter exodus. The offender was a hot-headed youth who had planned to kill the Chief and take on his mantle. He was sentenced to death by stoning. This was a horrible and ugly death that took far too long to execute.



As a result of such occasions, compared to the younger Glade, Ivory was relatively inured to the horror of violent death. Indeed, she was one of those most convinced that the most just retribution for the heinous crime of treason was one which was severe and unforgiving. Glade had a different opinion. She believed that there were alternatives to the barbarism of sanctioned murder. She also knew that had the young reprobate succeeded in his attempted coup d’état and become Chief, a very different legend would now be recounted by the village.



“How did your mother die?” Ivory asked. Her own recent loss made the question especially pertinent.



“As horribly as Flying Squirrel’s. As senselessly and brutally as Tarsier’s. As cruel as any other death that day. I had no idea what to do during the chaos of the slaughter. Nor did I know what the other villagers were doing. Some fled. Some tried to help Flying Squirrel as he lay in the blood-soaked undergrowth. Others, like me, stood petrified in fear. I simply couldn’t comprehend what had happened. I knew I was doomed when more strangers appeared from the shadows in all directions. These figures were quite unlike the black-skinned men, although they were similarly shaven and naked. Their faces were different. Their skin was not as black, though none had skin nearly as pale as that of your tribe. They didn’t carry weapons, but they swiftly overwhelmed us and bound our hands and legs together.”



“Who were these people?”



“I didn’t know at the time. In a sense, I didn’t need to know. But they were what we later came to know as ‘slaves’. It was a word that at the time had no meaning to me. Even in your tribe, the word is very rarely used. You only permit slavery as a punishment and it’s only ever for a limited term. We thought the slaves were just more strangers and they appeared equally as fearsome as the spear-carrying black warriors, even though only the black warriors carried out the slaughter. It was they who systematically raped everyone: whether male or female. And it was one of them who clubbed my mother to death with a flint encrusted cudgel when she tried to pull another black warrior off me while he was raping me.”



“He raped you?” gasped Ivory, who believed that such violation was worse than murder.



“Yes, raped,” said Glade softly, as she pulled a bear skin over her breasts. The word in itself didn’t really describe the actual horror. She’d tried to banish from her mind the vivid memory of the grinning black face above her. She tried to suppress her recollection of the pain of brutal anal penetration and how her fruitless struggles incited more passion than sympathy from the man ravaging her. Most of all she wanted never again to recall the sight of her mother being dragged away and speared by a black warrior who was in the same frenzied excitement that accompanied her sexual violation.


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Rightside Up – my ending to Bobby96600′s series A World Turned Upside Down. Thanks for his permission to continue his effort.



http://www.literotica.com/s/a-world-turned-upside-down-ch-01



Bobby96600 wrote a story. I won’t summarize it, it’s very short and only takes a few seconds to read. I don’t believe it was intended to be a satire, but in many ways it comes off as one, including one of the wimpiest protagonists ever, who at the end of the story said he was going to get revenge!



For some reason, I found that funny. I had to do SOMETHING with it…The author was most gracious in granting me permission.



This story could have been posted in Non-Consent, or Humor and Satire. I chose Loving Wives, since that was the original category for chapter one of this tale.



Maintaining the ‘style’ of the original story, there may be a few grammatical errors in this follow-up. There are numerous racial epithets as well, keeping in line with the original. Honestly, I find them rather useless as a literary tool, but the original story was so littered with them, it would be hard to maintain any kind of continuity without them.



There are too damn many intriguing stories that are never completed. If I find a story that’s been left hanging for too long, I’ll give you my idea of an ending. Fair warning though, I don’t write about total wimps. May not be BTB, all nuclear and shit, but no voluntary cucks, or whiny simpering wimps.



This is not my usual, there are elements of satire, and some mockery of original elements of the base story. Payback is deliberate and extensive. Very dark response, some would say extreme, in spite of elements of humor and satire. I never said I was a nice guy.



For information on how I choose which stories to continue, please read my profile.




~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~



I lay at the bottom of the stares, trying to decide what to do. The interracial mutant bastard fucking my wife of 10 years was a foot taller, and a good 100 lbs heavier than me. He was a monster, and lets face it. I’m not all that big.



A bookkeeper by calling, I’m 5’3″, maybe a buck thirty. Hell, my wife is bigger than me. It didn’t mean I was going to let the bastard get away with it. He had the brawn, but I new I had the brains. At least I hoped so.



Then again, I had something else going for me, she didn’t know. I wasn’t always the week specimen I was today. I had been a Green Beret, a front lines military analyst, Spec Ops interrogator. A bad experience with chemical warfare had nearly killed me. I’d spent almost a year in intensive care. I knew I’d never get my full strength back, but I had learned to live with it. As a matter of fact, I was getting weaker over the last few months, but not enough to weaken my resolve!



A muted ‘Fuck me!’ echoed down the stairs, indicating they were still going strong. I wasn’t sure how long he’d last, screwing the love of my life, my wife of 10 years, but I figured I’d be smart to hurry. If you’re going to do something, no cents procrastinating, right? That’s one of the things they taught me in the service. Just a few nights earlier I’d been viewing some prank videos on YouTube. That gave me the core idea. I’d just have to enhance it.



I dumped a quart of oil in a large pot, and turned on the burner. I used a second bottle to oil the space just beyond hour bedroom door, at the top of the stairs. I kept the last few inches next to the wall clear for my getaway.



I greased the middle of the stairs the same way, while listening to my wife’s solicitous mantra of need. “Fuck me, you fucker!”
I lifted the glass surface off of the coffee table, wrapped it in a towel, and beat it until I was happy. I opened the towel on the stairs, scattering the shards of glass there full length.



I could smell the oil starting to heat up, and got cracking. Timing was every thing.



At the bottom of the stairs I put together my final ingredients. Since I no longer owned a gun, and played no sports, I was somewhat limited. I settled for the fireplace poker, and the kitchen cleaver as a last resort. I grabbed a hank of rope, and cut it in half, putting a slip loop on each end, making sure it wasn’t too lose.



I paused a moment, listening. Things had gone quite for a moment. I feared I had run out of time. Then the tell-tale headboard banging started up again. “That’s it,” my wife’s dulcet tones echoed down the hall, “Fuck me! Fuck my tight white pussy with that big black cock!”




Reassured, I whipped out my perfectly average dick, nearly six inches long when erect, and pissed on the floor at the bottom of the stairs. That wasn’t difficult, since I’d been holding back the urge from the moment I saw that jungle bunny’s huge member making my wife’s belly bulge with each powerful thrust. I yanked the electric chord off the lamp, and exposed the last four inches or so of wire. I put one end in the urine, and the other I carefully laid on the step before the bottom, taping it to the edge. I plugged the cord back in and stepped carefully away. I once again thanked my lucky stars for the years of Spec Ops insurgency training.



With my oven mitts on, I turned off the burner, safety first, and grabbed the heavy pot of boiling oil, an old military standby. I trudged up the stairs, awkwardly, my feat on the outer edges. At the top I heard them still going at it. I smiled to myself, figuring that was about to change.



I opened the door quietly, pot in hand. Their they were. Derrick, her boyfriend as I had just learned, was big and black and had a cock the size of my forearm. At least as thick. He had my spouse on her belly, pounding his enormous dick into her, while she screamed at him to fuck her harder.
His legs were spread wide around hers, and I could see where they joined. It would have been hard to miss. They were both facing away from me. Allah must love me. It was perfect.



I walked up behind them and grabbed the pot at the top and bottom. It must have weighed a good 10 lbs, and it took almost all my strength to maneuver it. It was difficult, but I knew the result wood be worth it!



“FUCK ME, YOU BIG BLACK BASTARD!”
my slut-wife of over a decade screamed, for what must be the 100th time. Ninety-eight since I’d discovered her, too be precise. I’m a bean counter. Smartest in all the county. Each new passionate plea had me clicking the mechanical counter at my side.



“FUCK ME!”
Ninety-9.



“OK, YOU’RE FUCKED!” I shouted back, and heaved the boiling oil between there legs at point blank range. A perfect shot, the excess splashed up his back, and on the back of her thighs. I pressed the bottom of the pot against his ass, listening to the sizzle, yielding another great result.



I backed up to the doorway, waiting for the inevitable retaliation. The monster in our bed, squealing like a pig, saw me and leapt onto the flour. Ok, maybe not ‘leapt’, stumbled was more like it, but I like the word leapt. Leapt, leapt, leapt.



“Catch, Sweetie”! I told my wife, tossing her the scalding pot. I laughed as she caught it against her belly, screaming again.



I think the massive ebony beast lumbering my way was trying to say something, but I’ll be damned if I could make it out between his own crying and my slut-wife’s incoherent shrieks. He started to gain momentum, and I decided it was time for a strategic withdrawal. I could here him only a few feet behind me, as I frog-walked down the stairs, sticking to the sides.



I looked over my shoulder when I was about halfway down, and saw Blulk (that’s Black Hulk, if you didn’t get it) appear at the door. I took my time on the next few stairs, until I knew he’d scene me. He bounced off the wall, rushing my way, growling something about killing me or some such nonsense. Fat chance. He had no idea who he was facing. Green Beret genius bean counter. It doesn’t get any more dangerous than that. Forget the Seals and Marines. Special Forces baby. Uh-Rah!



Think about it. John Cena, the Marine, Steven Segal, the navy seal, or John Wayne, the Green Beret. Who would you want on you’re side?



Blulk hit the oil slick before he could build up a full head of steam, but it was enough. His feet started kicking out like a cartoon character, and then he was falling down the stairs face first at a hi velocity.



Too fast. I ran down the last couple of steps and jumped clear of the yellow puddle from about two steps up. A massive leap for me, butt my adrenaline was pumping!



I grabbed the fireplace poker justin time to see him sliding down the last few stairs. I noticed that his body had wiped the first few steps clear of the glass, and he’d left an ever growing blood streak down the remaining steps.



As he hit the bottom, his screaming abruptly stopped, as he lied in my piss, his body shaking until the circuit breaker popped. Luckily it was still bright enough for me to see, as I took my time liberally applying the poker to the exposed parts of his unconscious body. Which was all of it.



Breaking a leg is harder than it looks. I finally had to put his foot on the final riser and jump on his calf from a few steps up. On the forth one I heard the long awaited crack. I never fell once. I might be small but I’m nimble, my first excursion down the steps notwithstanding. My trusty poker assured the break was complete.



Hands and feet brake much easier as I knew.



My wife was still screaming upstairs, but no sound was cumming from the degenerate animal at my feet, except for semi-conscious grunts. The poker was heavy, but I managed. The little hook on the end was useful, especially when I stood on top of him, swinging it down between his legs repeatedly.



I’m a bean counter. The best, or so Mom says. I know everything I own, and its value to the nearest penny. This grunting beast had taken my most valued possession, and reduced her value to nothing. Nothing! You don’t steal from a bean counter. Especially knot won whose a genus!!!



I was exhausted, sweating heavily, and I knew he was to heavy to move by myself. Taking the ropes, I put one around his neck for later, and carried the other one with me. I went back up the stairs, where my zero-value slut-wife was lying on the bed, grasping between her legs and crying. The loop of the rope fit over her head nicely. I gave it a tug, and it pulled tight.



I don’t think she even knew I was their, until I yanked on the rope.



She gasped, grabbing at it, but I kept pulling. She whined and cried, following me on her hands and knees. At the top of the stairs, I started my wide stanced walk, and once I cleared a few step’s, gave a hard tug, and watched her start the slide down after me.



She did a good job of cleaning up a lot of the oil, and most of the remaining glass. She was trying to talk, begging, pleading, sobbing, but I wasn’t in the mood to here her explanations, or listen to her petty complaints. She chose this path, when she decided to insult one of America’s finest!



She was laying on her lover, a fitting ending to her little journey. I gave her a good hard jab with the poker. “Get up, Lynn. You’ve got things to due.”



She whined that she was hurt, and that she was sorry. I yanked on the rope with awl my might and she stood.



“Drag your boyfriend this weigh,” I told her. I pulled her rope, and jabbed her with the poker again. She whimpered as she tugged with all her might, his mammoth body slowly moving.



My darling spouse looked like shit. A big curved burn mark was on her belly. Her front was streaked with blood, chunks of glass embedded in her skin. From her ass to her knees, the back of her legs were lobster read.



I licked the look on her.



It was only a few feet to the basement door, and then a score or so steps down, (score, another cool word I hardly ever get to use. Four-score and seven…) but it took her almost that many minutes to drag her boyfriend that far, crying the hole time. I hated the mess he made of our hardwood floors, but some things can’t be helped.



Somehow, she got him all the way down stairs, bouncing along each step. At least she had gravity on her side. See, that’s how you can tell I’m a genius. I knew the attic would be too much trouble. Let nature assist you, whenever possible.



I noticed the loop around his neck was digging into his skin. “Buddha’s beard, Lynn! You weren’t supposed to kill him!” I laughed. It was difficult, but I managed to losen the rope, before tying it to the exposed steel post. My loving wife was curled up on the ground, sobbing. So much for loyalty to her boyfriend.



He wasn’t breathing so I applied old fashioned CPR. I kicked him in the gut and chest until he gasped. Good enough for me. The way his legs looked, he wasn’t going to get up and walk away. Not on those feat, anyway.



I tugged my wifes leash. “Up Lynn, up!”



“I cant,” she groaned. “I’m dying. I need to go to the hospital.”



A couple of wax of the poker, convinced her she wasn’t dying. At least not yet.



“No sitting down on the job, Honey. There’s so much you still has to do!”



“Please, baby! she sobbed pitifully, her naked body shaking. “I’m sorry!”



I pulled her along, but was very disappointed when she collapsed on the first step, unconscious. Dam it. She always was a lazy thing. In the field I would have gigged her, and had her up for an Article 15.



From the garage, I retrieved all the rope I could find. I made sure loverboy was going nowhere, and gagged him to keep him quiet. I wasn’t done with him. No, not bye a long shot.



For my wife, I had different plans. Lots of rope, lots of knots, pretty patterns. I was in no hurry, and took my time. I had her hogtied quite nicely before I was thorough.



I went upstairs, looked at our beautiful home, and sighed. Once again, I’d have to do her job for her. I’d clean the steps, fix the circuit breaker, take care of the floor. I’d even change the sheet’s, and flip the mattress. That was a hellacious job, but I’d done it once before. I knew I could manage.



I wasn’t going to do everything for her. She sure as shit was going to dig loverboy’s hole in the backyard himself. But there was no rush for that.



~ * ~ * ~



I sat at the cozy table for two, toasting my darling wife. “Too us,” I whispered.



“To us.” She sipped her whine.



She looked great. She was wearing my favorite outfit. I to had dressed for the occasion. Her adulterous affair had nearly destroyed us. It was time to move forward. She had betrayed me, but it was one time in 10 years. She deserved a chance to redeem herself.



It had been a week since that time. A long difficult weak, for both of us I imagine.



She leaned forward for more bread, but the chain around her collar pulled her up short. “May I have another peace of bread, honey?” she asked nicely.



I was feeling generous. It was her third piece. A feast. I pushed it across to here, and continued eating my filet mignon.



“I’m sorry,” she wined piteously.



“Sorry doesn’t cut it my love. I’m a bean counter. Everything gets counted. Credits and debits. Everything has to add up, balance. You have a massive debit, its going to be difficult to reestablish any kind of equity here.”



Her boyfriend moaned from his position a few yards away. It had taken an enormous amount of work in the last seven days, to get things to the point were I was considering allowing my wife an opportunity for restitution.



Lynn’s eyes followed my own, landing on the form of her former boyfriend—or so she swore—strapped to the device I’d maid for him.



It was a frame of black steel pipe. Nearly six feet in length, and four feet across, it had two cross poles at the two foot and four foot points. He was tied to it, face down, his arms and legs fastened securely. A rope secured him at the waste, so his body wouldn’t flop around when he was upright or inverted.



The hard part had been making the hinged middle that allowed it to be rotated and tilted. Ropes and pulleys made it possible, their was no other way I could move his massive bulk on my own.



“What…..what kind of debit,” my wife asked softly.



I finished the last of my steak, leaving a few bites left unconsumed, watching her stare at it lustfully. “I have no idea how long this has been going on, and no way to verify any claims you make. I do know that in my presents, you begged him to have intercourse with you 99 times.” I placed my manual clicker on the table.



“No, honey! Thats impossible. I…I wouldn’t do that,” she whined.



“Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck me you black bastard…Kneed I go on?”



She shook her heads. “I’m sorry, I’d undo it if I could.”



I smiled. “That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d agree two. We need you to unfuck him.”



The look of confusion on her face were priceless. Unlike her worthless self. “Unfuck? How?”



I opened the bag beside me. I pulled out a strap-on that was at least as big as are unwelcome guest’s tool had been. “With this. He fucked you, now you will fuck him, returning his fucks, since we no longer want them.”



She shuttered, handling the item carefully. “Ninety-nine times? What makes up a time?”



“I believe I have a solution fore that as well. I’ll show you once we’ve started. Shall we?”



I loosened her leash, giving her some room, while she tied her instrument of recompense around her waist. I past her a large bottle of oil. When I replaced what I’d use in my preliminary payback, I’d bought extra. She was getting the cheap stuff. The investment was too high already.



I adjusted the rotational settings, and lowered her black buck to the ground, belly first. He was aware, if not too cogent. I was keeping him fed and watered. I didn’t want to loose him before we were through. Hell, I’d even set his leg and braced it, all those years of field medical training paying off. “He’s all yours Lynn, honey. Time to start.”



It took her a while to get in place, apply the oil to her disproportionately large artificial member, and start penetrating him. He was whining quiet nicely, his threats to my health having been reduced to almost zero a few days earlier.



Once she had things worked out, she did a reasonable job. “Like this, honey?” she asked me nervously, pumping her toy in to our guest.



“Thats perfect. Keep going.”



I removed my own clothing, using a better lube to grease up my own, not unsubstantial condom covered member. She turned nervously when I took my place behind her. “You asked him 99 times, my dear. I believe it’s time you asked me.”



She nodded. “Fuck me, baby? Please?” Call me crazy, but I honestly belief she meant it.



“Hold still a moment, my love.” She stopped her movement, and I placed my protected tool at the entrance to her traitorous pussy, and entered her. She whimpered a bit as I filled her. I’m not sure why; I’m surprised she could even feel me after having bean used by her ‘boyfriend’.



It took some work, but we found a reasonable rhythm, whereby she thrust herself back onto my cock, and I pushed her, and her huge rubber dong, into our groaning guessed. I would pull out a few inches, and she’d back up and take me back in, only to repeat the exercise.



I normally didn’t have a short fuse, but it had been a while. Months, actually. After a minute or so, I pushed her into him, and made her stay still, as I completed my own effort, coming for her. I pulled out off her, removed my used condom, and tacked it to the wall. “That’s one,” I told her.



She was back to pumping his quivering ass, paying off her debt in that black asshole’s asshole. (See what I did their? Pretty cool, huh?)



“Can we go again?” she pleaded, repeatedly. (See, I remember my schooling. That’s a Tom Swifty, write?)



I was willing. And there were additional avenues of recompense I was considering investigating. I walked over and stood beside here, my limp member at eye level. “I’ll need help getting ready.”

“You…you want to me suck it, don’t you?” she asked nervously.



“Of course,” I said. “I watched you suck him like a bro. Don’t I deserve the same? You are my wife, after all.”



She started slowly, but I was surprise how good she could do it, her hips continuously thrusting away at her boyfriend’s vowels, all the while. She took all of me in her mouth, sucking and tugging, smiling for me as it grew. Even once I was fully hard, she didn’t stop. I liked it. I had a very good feeling she’d be doing that a lot more often. Then again, there were many things she’d be doing more often. She didn’t know it yet, but she’s a smart woman. Not a genius like me, but no dummy. She had to suspect what was in store for her.



I retrieved another rubber from my industrial sized box. One gross, 144, and I planned to use them all. Only ninety-nine before she had unfucked him, but their was more than that to pay for. Lots more.



I put the rubber on, held her still, and found my way back inside of her. After a few more minutes we’d found our special rhythm, and this time I lasted a lot longer. She noticed, encouraging me. “Fuck me, stud. Ware me out with that big cock,” she pleaded. A good three minutes after I’d started, I was groaning as I filled another condom. Ok, maybe not filled, but there was evidence that I’d had a good come. Really good.



I was shot. Two loads in one night! I helped her off of her ex-boyfriend, and let her use the laundry sink too clean up. It was selfish of me, I know, but I was going to be spending a lot of time down there, and didn’t need the whole place smelling of shit. That’s why I’d given her a nice little bucket, and made sure she kept the both of them clean. The fearsome dark beast who’d thrown me out of my own bedroom a week earlier, wasn’t so fearsome, and in his weakened and tied up state, had problems cleaning up after himself. Lynn didn’t like having to take care of him, but he was her boyfriend, not mine.



~ * ~ * ~



A month into balancing the scales, I noticed something. I was getting stronger, feeling better. I could make it all the way up the stairs without getting winded. My efforts at exercise were improving. I enjoyed working out in the basement, showing of my new strength. I’d moved from the five pound dumbbells up to 10, and was now completing multiple sit-ups at a time.



Lynn, on the other hand was looking much improved. Her new forced diet had her losing the most of the weight she’d put on over the last decade. I had given her a hairbrush, and a tooth brush, and once a week let her clean herself thoroughly at the laundry sink, while she was doing the laundry.



The at-home STD tests for HIV, chlamydia, gonorrhea, herpes, syphilis, hepatitis and trichomonas had all yielded negative results. Another $200 down the drain, but I felt better. I was still going to keep using condoms. Better safe then sorry, my old DI used to tell me. Or was that Mom? I can’t remember.



The wall of condoms now numbered over 70. That’s right, 70. I was doing it two, sometimes three times a day! Lynn was the beneficiary of my increased libido, and would urge me on, while we unfucked her boyfriend. He wasn’t looking as good as me or Lynn, but that didn’t bother me much. Casualty of war, you know. You fuck with the bull, sometimes you get the horns. (See what I did with ‘bull’ there? That’s a double entendre! Don’t tell me I can’t right!)



I had a surprise for Lynn. I didn’t think she was going to like it, but again, not my problem. Theres winners and losers in life. I was a winner. Lynn, not so much. Not after fucking with a Green Beret bean counter stud. Semper Fi!



Once I finished my workout, I let her use her mouth to get me ready for another unfucking session. She strapped on her ‘punisher’, as she’d taken to calling it. Somewhere along the line she’d developed a real disliking to the third member of our little threesome. It was to the point where after I finished in her the first time, she begged to keep going while I took a rest. Ten or fifteen minutes later, my energy returned, her mouth would get me going, Id slip on a condom, and go at it.



Today would be something new. She got me hard, and turned away, bending over so I could start the second part of our session. I pulled her up by the hare, and stuck my cock back in her mouth. “All the way, my love. No stopping.”



She slowed down, looking nervous. I don’t think she liked change. She sucked me, while slowly humping her ex. I was feeling grate. Strong. Even through the excitement of knowing I’d soon be coming in her mouth, I held on a good three minutes, maybe even four! I could tell she knew I was approaching my finish. She looked up at me, slowing down.



“Don’t stop. You did it for you’re boyfriend, you’ll do it for me.”



She picked up the pace, and was rewarded with a mouthful of my best throat yogurt. She grimaced but worked her way through it, swallowing, and gave me a tentative smile after ward. “That was wonderful, dear.” I knew she lied, but I loved her for trying. And she’d be trying that a lot more.



“Thank you, sweetie. That was very nice. You don’t get to count that as one of your unfucks, butt I promise you a nice little surprise later.”



She was angry with her big black buck. She unfucked him rally hard, even had him responding a little. “You bastard,” she growled. “This is all your fault!”



Several minutes later, I was feeling up for another try. I stuck my dick in her face, and she started sucking. Ass I firmed up, she paused. “All the way?”



“Not this time, my little Angel. Just hard enough for me to enjoy that naughty little cheating whole of yours.”



My rubber encased man meat pounded her, in perfect rhythm with her unfucking. We where getting good at it, working together. It was a banner night for me. After seven minutes I was still going strong!



“God, baby, you…your gonna make me come!” she gasped.



That’s right. I was the man. I pounded that pussy. She squealed, and I felt something new, a strange tightness around my cock, as she slammed her cock into her unfuck-friend, and I pumped her viscuously. She was gasping, and the new sensation put me over the top.



When I pulled out of her, walking to the wall and pinning up hour latest trophy, I saw her pull out of the dark meat, walking toward me. “That was incredible, baby. I love you so much.”



She tried to hug me, but we weren’t ready for that. We still had too balance the scales. Beside, the leash pulled her up about two feet short.



I shortened her chain, and went upstairs to get dinner. I saw the tears in her eyes, as I placed her plate in front of her. It held more than double what I’d been feeding her. A full chicken breast, and a scoop of mashed potatoes. I pushed the butter toward her, along with a spork and plastic knife, the first utensils she’d bean allowed.



“Butter?” she wispered.



“And salt,” I said, spicily. (Swifty!) I gave here a wink.



“You, you forgive me?” Her beautiful blew eyes were swimming in tears.



I laughed. “Hell no, my love. We still have a ways to go before their’s any balance, and it’ll be long after that before we even think about forgiveness. But I did like the blowjob.”



~ * ~ * ~



The next few days were back to normal. Every day I felt better, stronger. Cooking fore myself seemed to be the trick. That and the exercise. That’s all I could figure.



People were starting to get curious about her absence. They had all easily accepted my first explanation about her taking a vacation on her own. After more than a month, they were asking when she’d be getting back. I arranged to email her friends, bragging about her wonderful South Sea island vocation, and that she’d be extending it indefinitely. I found some nice pictures from Google and attached those.



Her meals were back to the usual, bred and water for breakfast, no lunch, and something simple for dinner, typically a bologna sandwich.



On the fourth day, with our number almost too 80, she tried to hang onto me, when she sucked me hard. “All the way?” she pleaded.



“Sure,” I said. “Why knot?”



She got me off, and ten minutes later, I was pumping her again. She was obviously excited, and for the second time in are marriage, I felt that special tightening around my cock, as she cried out her joy for me. This time I lasted almost a full minute afterward, and almost thought I’d get to hear her scream again. Almost.



She was trembling in her seat, when I uncovered the plate in front of her. A burger, with a role and all the fixings. A heaping of potato chips. Even half an ear of corn. I set the condiments in front of her. Catsup, butter, salt, pepper. Her voice broke as she opened the burger, preparing it. “Thank you, baby. I…I’m sorry.”



“I know, deer heart.”



~ * ~ * ~



Things slowed down. One condom a day was the knew standard. She worked hard to make sure she got a mouthful of my cum each evening. I teased her a few times, pulling away from her, and watched her scramble to get me back. The first time I pulled out and sprayed her face, she almost cried. “Please, baby! Does it count? Does it count?”



Not only did it count, but I gave here seconds.



We were almost at ninety, and I had a new surprise for her. She earned her dinner, unfucking the broken beast, who rarely moved anymore, while sucking me of. When I let her get me hard again, this time I moved behind her and oiled up my cock. No condom.



She pushed herself deep into black booty, waiting for me, eager. I’d been giving her an orgasm almost ever night. This time I spread her ass cheeks and pressed against her other hole. Her head spun around quickly. “Honey?” she said nervously.



“Did he have you here?” I asked, pushing, probing, trying to work myself in. It wasn’t ez.



“No! Never. Nobody ever have,” she whined.



“Reach back and spread you’re cheeks, Angelic one.”



She whimpered but did as she was told. With a beastly effort, I forced my way in. She grunted, but held onto her cheeks. It took some work, and a good bit more oil, but I managed to do a good job of filling her virgin hole, groaning as I let lose my first uncontained load into my wife in over 9 years.



She pouted as she looked over at the wall. “No condom?” Fore a moment I thought she was going to cry.



“Not tonight dear, but Ill make it up to you.”



Ribs. She loved ribs. Ribs with a loaded baked potato. She finished it all looking quiet happy. Her eyes lit up when I put the second small covered plate in front of her. She lifted the top off, exposing the small slice of chocolate cake. “For me?” she gasped, her finger scraping off some of the icing and bringing it to her lips.



“I told you I’d make it up too you, beautiful.”



~ * ~ * ~



Condoms eighty-eight to ninety-five, took more then a week. She wanted a load in her mouth, and another in her bottom every day. Begged for it, if it looked like I had other plans. Unless I was good for three, there was no condom on the wall.



Luckily for her, my renewed strength, better eating, and constant fucking had me coming three times a day, more often than note. Only once did she not come when it counted, and she really surprised me when she came from taking it up the Hershey highway.



I had to cut her portions back a little when it looked like she was gaining wait.



She was becoming a tease, shaking her bottom at me when I came down to workout, or licking her lips teasingly when I brought her breakfast. Once she found that she’d earn her meals with her mouth and ass, whether she was unfucking or not, she became absolutely brazen. She would suck me weather I came or not. The first time she pulled away on her own, saying “Let’s save the rest for later,” I was shocked. When I came down to find her laying on her table, legs open, rubbing her pussy, I was absolutely gob-smacked. (I learned that word from my SAS buddies. Bob’s your Uncle!)



“I want you, baby,” she moaned. “No unfucking. Just give me some off that wonderful cock.”



I didn’t even need the warm up sucking. I put on a rubber, and went at her. Pounded a good one in to that pussy, made her suck me hard, and did it again. She climaxed twice, telling me how much she loved me. I tacked the two rubbers, with surprisingly full contents below the others.



“Why their?” she asked.



“Forgiveness count. Its a start.”



She cried,



That night, over dinner, she cried again, when I put a glass of wine in front of her. She sipped it slowly. “Whats all the noise outside?” she asked tentatively.



“Were putting in a shed.”



“Four real?”



“Yes. Later, I’ll take you out side and show you.”



She was clearly excited



When I took her out their around 1:00 am, away from prying eyes, she was nervous. When I took her inside, moved the floorboards away, and handed her the shovel, she was not so happy.



I had her dig for a couple of ours. I made her tell me a story. A story of a cheating wife, and how she came to be that way.



By the third night of digging, she’d finished her story of seduction and submission. She cried threw most of it, apologizing profusely. She said she had never had an orgasm during sex, and the first one, delivered by her demanding lover, brought down all her defenses. It had gone on for six weeks. Every weekday after the second week. She had tried to keep it hidden, but when loverboy insisted he wanted to rub my nose in it she went along. She couldn’t tell him no, or he’d take away his magical love wand.



It sounded like a lot of stupid excuses for her to be a slut. That’s what I told her. “Sounds like a lot of stupid excuses to bee a slut.”



“I tried to stop hymn. I tried hard. I even fought him. He was too much, too big, too strong, too demanding. I didn’t want it baby. You have to believe me!” she whined, standing in the bottom of the five foot deep hole.



“I know what I herd. You weren’t fighting too hard when I walked in on you.”



“Once he was in me, I couldn’t resist him. I’m sorry. I tried to stop it, but once he got going, that big thing inside me, I lost all control. You half to believe I didn’t want it, baby, I swear I didn’t. I didn’t love him, it was only sex.”



“You want to climb out of the whole, my dear loving wife?” I asked.



“Please. Your frightening me, baby.”



“Then explain something to me. After I found you having sex with that interracial bastard, I went to the doctor to make sure you hadn’t given me anything. I had a full blood workup done. Can you imagine my surprise when I found out you’ve bean poisoning me?”



She shook her head briskly. “No! I would never do that. I love you. I only want the best for you darling. I would never poisson you. I couldn’t do that!”



“You haven’t been adding anything mysterious too my food? Nothing to weaken me, make me sick, so you could kill me off and leave with your big black lover?”



“Of course not! The only thing I ever added to you’re food was vitamins, my love. I swear it’s true. I only did that, because I know you hate to take them, and I want you to be healthy and strong. So we can live a long life together.”



I gave her my hand, and pulled her out of the hole. I lead her to the kitchen. “Show me,” I said.



She opened the cabinet, and write in front was a row of eight different vitamin bottles. She brought them down. “This is it. Two of each one ground up with breakfast and dinner. That’s all. It was for your health!”



I read the labels. I’m a bean counter, the best their is. It didn’t take me long to add up the numbers. “Darling wife, you’ve been giving me 20 times the recommended dosage of vitamin D, 16 times the dosage of vitamin B, 10 times the maximum dosage of Vitamin A, and 6 times the maximum intake of Iron. Any one of those good make me very sick. The iron alone could kill me!”



The stunned look on her dirty face convinced me she was stupid, not evil. “But that’s impossible! How could they cell it, if it’s not safe! I only gave you what the label suggested.”



“The dosage is per day, not per meal, and the same supplements are in several different bottles. They all add up. Trust me, my love, the numbers don’t lie. Numbers never lye.”



She nodded sadly. “If you say so, it must be true. Nobody knows numbers better than you, husband dearest. I’m so very sorry. I only meant to help you. I never would intentionally hurt you. I love you far to much for that.”



“You think it didn’t hurt me, the things you said, seeing you in bed with you’re damn lover, screaming for him?” I snapped at her, using my best Green Beret, leadership voice.



“I…I’m sorry, honey. I was under his spell. It was that big dick. The dick made me say it. I swear I didn’t mean it. I love you. It was only sex with him. It wasn’t even really sex with him. It was sex with that big dick. You half to know I love you. Please forgive me and let me make it up to you.”



“We’ll sea.” I chained her up in the basement, and went to bed. I had a difficult time getting to sleep, knowing that phase two of my brilliant plan was nearly complete.



The next morning I let her do the laundry, and clean herself up. All the digging had left her kind of messy. I probed her tonsils after breakfast, letting her earn her dinner. I told her I was happy with our progress, and that I’d let her make it up to me again that knight. Number 99. Number 99. Turn me on dead man. (Seriously, play it backwards. It really says that. Kind of spooky.)



I’d stopped feeding the vicious interracial interloper the first night of the digging, and stopped watering him the second. He wasn’t in very good shape that evening, when he received his last unfucking. He didn’t speak, didn’t moan, didn’t move. Luckily we were dun with him.



Lynn was pumping him, while I pumped her, in her tight little cinnamon ring, earning her desert. After I finished, I took a rest, and was surprised when she stopping slamming the ‘punisher’ into her boyfriend.



“I’m afraid, honey,” she whined. “I…I don’t think he’s alive. I fear we’ve unfucked him too death.”



I sighed, and presented my prodigious cock for sucking. “We still need one more, baby. Let’s make it a good won, Ok?”



She wasn’t in the mood, I guess. She kept her big dildo inside him, and I took my time filling the condom. I was becoming a true stud. I lasted more then 10 minutes, but she never came for me. I didn’t like it, but I understood. Even a Lothario like moi can’t guarantee an orgasm every time.



Dinner was a special one. A nice thick steak for the love of my life, asparagus, steak fries, and chocolate mouse for dessert. It was a quiet dinner. I was in a good mood, and thought she should be too. Instead she seemed nervous and frightened.



Let me tell you, getting that big black buck up the stairs was no easy feet! Even after strapping him to a board, setting up pulleys, and putting plastic on the stairs, it took us nearly an hour to get him out of the basement. Once we had him in the living room, I loaded him onto a dolly, and waited until 2:00 am to take him out to the shed. Lynn did most of the work. I was healthier, feeling stronger every day, but even after a few months of starvation, our extinguished guest still must have weighed more than a hundred pounds.



We dumped him in the hole we’d prepared, and I allowed my wife the honor of filling it with the dirt she’d removed. When she was done, I replaced the floor bored, and moved the bench and equipment back on top of them. I noticed that while I was finishing up hiding the evidence of the demise of her ex, she spent a lot of time staring at the second hole I’d had her dig. She was trembling when I took her in my arms. “We’ll cover that one up for now. Let’s hope we never have to use it, my love.”



~ * ~ * ~



The next morning she was waiting for me, on her knees at the bottom of the stairs. We played tonsil hockey, and I fed her twice. Once with a mouthful of my finest, then with a waffle and fresh blueberries. It was the weekend, and I had decided I’d be spending most of me day with my dear love.

IF GREAT AUTHORS WROTE PORN: #07 Mark Twain: Hoss Williams Talks



“Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. By Order of the Author”



Now, they has been some books writ by a man named Mark Twain, bout a couple of no good boys in this town name of Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. Them books was purty good, mostly true but with some stretchers. I don’t know much bout that Tom Sawyer, he thinks he is too good for the likes of me. But Huck Finn and me done slept in the same old barr’ls down at the tannery before he got all uppity and went to live with the Widder Douglas. He uset to say, “Hoss Williams, I reckon when I grow up I will be just like you, free and easy and not beholdin’ to anybody.” He allus was a good boy like that.



Well, there was a printer in this town by the name of Orion Clemens. Somehow he took to me, and din’t look down on me like the other folks in town did. “Hoss,” he would say, “deep down under that dirt there is a man someplace, I reckon.” Sometimes to make him happy I would go jump in the ol’ river and try to get some of the smell offen me, and try to stand up straight and behave myself for a while, till I got hold of some likker. That alluz did me in.



Huck Finn done innerduced me to a free nigger name of Jim, and I kinder took to him too. Those boys had some money somehow and now and then they give some of it to Jim. He was a right good headed nigger. Sometimes, when I was hungry, he would feed me. I don’t like to talk about it, but sometimes I would sit right down and eat with him. A man will do a lot when he is hungry. But Jim never throwed it up to me. He used to work around the print shop for Orion sometimes, too.



Well, we sometimes set around that print shop and talked, and of course sometimes we talked about wimmen. Jim had been married, but Orion never had, and wasn’t no gal wanted anything to do with the likes of me, I guess. Wasn’t nothing any of us could do now but lie in bed and put a hand around our cock, and start stroking. That sure felt good, but I was all in a sweat to stick my dick in a real woman’s cunt fer a change. Orion said he felt the same way.



“Now what we have to do, Hoss, is get ourselves to St. Louis. That is a real big town, and I know they surely have some courtesans there waiting for lonely men.” Orion always was one to use big fancy words. He must have read about courtesans in one of those books by Sir Walter Scott he were alluz readin. I figured it was the same gals that, ‘fore he died, my old Pap used to call “soiled doves” when he was sober and “fuckin’ ho’s” when he was likkered up. The way I heared it was that iffen you gaved them enough money they would do any dirty thing you wanted. Sometimes I heard some of the drunks at the saloon talking about getting some poon tang, and that sounded good to me, and they talked about gettin their cocks sucked by some saloon gals, and I figured that sounded pretty good to me too. So I agreed with Orion that St. Louis was the place we ought to go.



So we tole Jim that was what we was athinking on and said we aimed to take him with us. But he didn’t want to go. “Nassuh, Mars Hoss, nassuh. They ain’t anything for a free nigger to do in Sant Luse ‘cept get his black ass in a whole heap a trubble. I couldn’t go inter no sportin’ house with you and Mars Orion nohow, they wouldn’t let a nigger in.”



But Orion could always talk Jim into anything. He promised to carry Jim’s emancipation papers and read them to anybody who wanted to cause Jim any trouble. He promised that Jim could wait comfortable for us on the stoop if we went in a high class house. He promised to find some nigger wenches for Jim, too. He tole Jim that he heard those St. Louis nigger wenches could give a better blow job nor anybody. Now Jim’s wife had died afore this, and Jim he said he hain’t been getting’ none for some time, and he was one purty horny buck, so maybe he would come after all. Well Orion went on promising, and ‘fore long he agreed he would come.



I asked Orion why he wanted Jim to come along so much. “My Goodness, Hoss Williams, what questions you asks. Don’t you know that the Negro stud is reputed by science to have the largest male member of anybody in the human race? And don’t you figure if he was using that on some high yaller wench’s female flowers and making her scream it would be a pretty show for us to watch? I’m thinking Jim will probably do better than any of us in St. Louis parlors.” That was the way Orion Clemens talked all the time. He got it out of them books. Mostly I could figure it out, and this time I followed what he was saying well enough. So I ‘lowed that I would like to watch that too, and Jim should come along sure enough.



So Orion he says, “Hoss, if you plan to visit a house of pleasure in St. Louis, you have to clean up and look decent. You think you can do that for one day?”



I sure enuf wanted to dip my wick in the city, so I promised Orion I could do it. Dern him, I didn’t know he would make me take a bath! I thought the ol’ Mississippi River was good enuf for that, but no, he wanted hot water and soap and all. Then he give me one of his own white shirts, and some black trousers, and some shoes that warn’t all busted out at the toes, and even a hat with a brim on it. I looked in the mirror and damn if I didn’t look like a man that could stand up and be proud of hisself. I figgered it would stay that way if I stood away from likker til we come back.



Well, we could have tooken a horse and buggy and got to St. Louis easy. But nothing would do for Orion Clemens but to take a steamboat. We had two little packets call at the town every day, one upstream and one downstream, so Orion figgered to take the downstream one the next day.



So there we was, standing on the wharf, with Jim carrying a traveling bag for each of us, and a tow sack full of his clo’se too. When the boat came in, Orion marched aboard and right up to the Captain. “How much, Sir, to transport myself and my companion and our man to St. Louis.”



The Captain scratched his head and spit terbacker on the deck and looked at Orion like a bug he might squash. “Well, if that ain’t the dod-derndest thing I ever hearn!” he said. “You two fine gennelmen and your nigger wants to ride my boat a lil bitty trip down the river? Ain’t you strong enuf to walk it? Why you wanna waste my boat’s time like that? I ought to throw the both of you over the labbord side, and the nigger too.”



But Orion didn’t let anything bother him. “If we can afford to pay three dollars apiece for passage to St. Louis, and another dollar for the nigger, can’t you afford to take us? Or are you making so much money on this boat that you just sit in your cabin sipping fine brandy and eatin’ macaroni?”



Well, the Captain sorta turned pale at that. I reckon that he warn’t really makin that much money on his boat and Orion had hit home with him. He stuttered a bit and said, “Well, if you gol-blamed fools want to throw your money in the river, I don’t see why it shouldn’t land in my hands as good as anybody’s. I’ll take you to St. Louis. What business have you there, anyhow?”



At that, Orion moved close to the officer and spoke very softly to him. But the Captain was not a man to care why Orion was talkin so soft.. He gave a huge horselaugh, and I thunk everybody on that boat heared him! “Har, har! I shoulda knowed it! Yer thinking of getting down to the big city so you can dip yer wicks! Why, I bet you both got hard ons now, jest thinking about what you lookin for there!” Orion reddend at that remark, but paid close attention to the Captain anyhow. “Sure, the river men knows where to find what you wants. Purty gals, big boobs, soft white asses, ruby lips, and a nice hole for a man’s pole to fill in! Come with me, you polliwog, and I will give you d’rections and my pers’nal note of innerduckshun too!” He pulled Orion into the pilot house. Jim and I just looked at each other and knowed Orion Clemens had done it again.



Well, the boat went on downriver toward St. Louis, and I set on the deck watching the bluffs on the Missouri side, and the piney woods on the Illinois side. They ain’t nothing as peaceful and relaxing as watching the big ol muddy river just rollin by, and I should have been calm and sleepy. But I kept thinking about those Saint Louis gals, and my dick just stayed so stiff that I couldn’t never think of being calm. I was hopin that we could see that French dance they calls the can can, and maybe even some of those gals I heered about that sings songs with no top on their dresses at all. And then I was thinking about those sportin’ house gals and wondering just how you go about it and all, and figgering out how to grab their teats and what I could do if I got my hand in their bloomers and all that. So I can’t say that the trip downriver was nohow restful or calm for me.



Well, soon enough we landed at the quay in St. Louis. My, there was a powerful sight of steamboats there, putting stuff off and getting stuff on, and passengers hurrying this way and that, and niggers totin stuff around. But Orion leads us off the boat jus like he knows exactly what he is doin, looking smart and proud. In all that hustle, he finds a drayman with a beat up ol buggy, and we hops aboard and Jim puts the bags in and climbs up in back. Orion hands the driver a piece of paper and says, “Take us to the first place on that list, my good man.”



The driver looks at the list, and his eyes widened a little bit, and he said, “You sure you wants to go there, boss? That place is ‘spensive, sure ’nuff.”



But Orion just looks smart and says, “We are world travelers, my man, and are accustomed to enjoying expensive entertainment. Here, take this and drive on.” Well I seen Orion give that drayman a quarter, and we took right off.



Well, I am sitting there trying to smother a laugh, and I hears noises from the back and knows that Jim is doing the same. But Orion just sets up straight and tall and off we go. Purty soon we pulls up in front of a fancy theater sort of place, with red and gold paint all over, and signs hanging on the walls with pictures of girls in fancy clothes on them. By this time, Huck Finn had taught me enough of my letters that I could read a bit, so I spelled out things like “Miss Lilywhite Pearson sings and dances,” and “The Boston Sensation in the Dance of the Swan,” and especially, “Le Can Can Bijoux!” So I am all hot to go inside and see what kind of show they are putting on.



Orion goes up to the winder, and gabs with the gal behind it, and purty soon I see him putting some money through. The gal takes them, and then Orion is pinting to Jim and gabbing some more, and he puts some coins on the counter and the gal nods. Orion comes back to us and says, “Two of the best box seats, Hoss, and we are going to see a show renowned around the world. And Jim, I got a place in the nigger gallery for you too, so upstairs you go and enjoy the show.” Jim he looks excited, and off he goes, while we goes into the box seats and sets down comfortable.



Well, I don’t know iffen that show was world renowned, but it can have my custom any time. First thing, this old gal comes out dressed in a red velvet gown, cut so low on the top that I was athinking that her bazooms were going to fall out any minnit (but they never did). She announced the acts and told how famed they was and what crowned heads of Europe they had performed for and all. Well, Miss Lilywhite Pearson was first. She come out on stage and begun singing and she sure had a purty voice. But that warn’t the main part of her show. She sung a song about a gal doing the washing, and at the end of every verse she sung out, “And then she hung it up!” And every time she sung those words, she took off some of her clo’se and hung them on a hook on the stage there!



First, she slipped out of her white dress. Underneath she had on a black corset and a white petticoat. The corset pushed her boobs up so much that there was these two white mounds with a purty valley in between them. Then as she sang the next verse, she swished her petticoats around so her bloomers were showing under them, and when she come to the chorus she pulled that petticoat right off and stood there in nothing but her corset and bloomers, all lacy and white. I was feeling my cock getting hard jest watching this, and I sorta squirmed in my seat, but I saw Orion Clemens he was doin the same thing so I felt all right.



Well I was all in a sweat to see what happened at the end of the next verse. Sure enough she began working the ties of her corset and slipping it off. Just as things were about to pop out, she turned her back to the audience, and took the corset and held it over her head. You could hear the whole audience sort of sigh. She rocked back and forth a little bit, and then she turned around slowly. Well, it were the first time I ever seen a gal show a pair of boobs, naked like that, right on stage, and it were a sight to see right enough. They was round and white and sorta swayed back and forth, and the teats on em was not as long as a cow’s, but the same shape, and nice and pink, and standing up hard.



I looked over at Orion and saw that he was aholding his hat in his lap with his hand under it. It didn’t take me long to figger that one out, and so I grabbed my hat and put it in my lap too, and purty soon was enjoying the show even more. I hardly hearn the last verse of the song, I was just waiting for the chorus again.



Sure enough, she got to the chorus, and she turned her back again and started sliding her bloomers down off her ass. It was just like the boobs, nice and round and white with a big split in the middle. She dropped her bloomers and bent over. I was all hot and bothered for sure now, and I could see her cunt right between her legs. She shook her ass a bit, and then turned back toward us so her white pussy hair was showing over the pink lips. I couldn’t do nothing but hope that Orion ‘s paper had an address on it where I could do more than look at a cunt like that.



Now she begun dancing, hopping around the stage and spreading her legs out so her pink pussy gaped open ever time she moved. Then she went to the back of the stage and the first lady came out and announced the famous “Can Can Bijoux” direct from Paree. Well the music started up fast and furious, and these five gals came cavorting out there dancing up a storm. It seemed that they was going to throw their heads and arms around as much as possible, and dance as fast as possible, and expose as much of their underpinnin’s as possible. First they lifted up the front of their dress and showed their bloomers, and then they flipped the back it up and showed their butts with the lacy covers. Then five men whirled out on the stage and began dancing with them gals. Pretty soon, them men all got down on the floor, and they slid right between the legs of them gals! Every man came out from under the skirt, and he was awaving the gal’s bloomers in his hand!



Well now of course all the audience was hooting and clapping. The girls kept on dancin, and we were all waiting for them to flip their skirts up. Sure enough, first they flipped up the back, and five white moons were winking at us. Everybody cheered, and they turned and pulled the skirts up in front, and now we was looking at five purty nests of soft hair, diff’rent colors on the diff’rent girls. They begun kicking up their legs, so’s you could see between em. I was surprised to see that all five cunts were sort of diff’rent, some of them closed tight and some of them with bigger lips and such like. But it were sure a good show.



Well I could of stayed a long time, but Orion he punched me on the arm and motioned to the door. So we went on out, and Orion give a nigger boy a penny to go up and bring Jim down from the balcony. Jim came down, and we could see through the cotton trousers he was wearing that he had been enjoyin the show too. “Lawsy mercy, Mars Orion , I never thought they would let no nigger see a show like that. It were a sight fer oncet in a blue moon, sure ’nuff.”



Orion chuckled, and waved to a hackman nearby. We got in the buggy and Orion showed the hackman the next address on his list. The hackman chuckled, and I seen him tip Jim a wink as the bags was loaded in. As we clattered off, Orion said, “Now we get down to the real business. The Captain gave me a note to the lady of this house to see that we are specially well treated.”



Well, we got down at a big white house with pillars out front, almos like a Southern plantation. We went to the door, and a octoroon maidservant opened it, and Orion showed her his note. She giggled, and opened the door and let us in. She knocked on a door, and opened it, and said, “Friends of Captain Bigby, m’am. Two gennelmen and their servant.” We went in and saw a fat old lady sitting on a couch, eating chocolates.



“Well, come in, gentlemen. Any friend of Captain Bigby’s is a friend of Madam Louise. I am sure we can accommodate all you need. First, tell me, will your servant wait or would you like to allow him the servant’s facilities?”



Orion bowed to Madam Louise, and said, “He is a trusted servant, Madam, and we would be delighted for him to avail himself of your servant’s quarters.”



Madam beckoned Orion forward, and they consulted in low voices for a few minnits. Then I saw Orion take quite a lot of silver dollars out of his purse and hand them over. Madam rang a bell, and the door opened and a nigger gal came in, but dressed like no slave or servant I ever saw. She had on a filmy white top, sort of wrapped under her boobs to push them up. Dark teats showed through the light stuff. More was wrapped around her hips and pulled up through her crotch, leaving her black legs bare, and her dark black pussy hair showing through the filmy stuff. I turned and looked at Jim, and sure enuf his eyes were apoppin out of his head. The nigger gal came right over to Jim and put her arm in his, and led him out through the door, her black ass twitchin as she went. Jim looked back at Orion , and Orion nodded his head, so off they went.



Now Madam pointed at another door. I looked to see what kind of a gal would come out of it, but Orion went over and opened it. It was a dark stair leading down. I didn’t know what was up, but Orion motioned me on so we went down. At the bottom, we found a small room with several comfortable arm chairs in it. Orion pointed to a chair, and I set in it. Then he went to one wall that was covered with a curtain. He grabbed a gold cord, and opened the curtain. Behind the curtain was a winder, and I could see a room with a big bed in it. Orion put a finger to his lips. Then he sat beside me and whispered, “That glass is a mirror on the other side. Nobody can see into this room.”



Well, purty soon the door opens, and there comes Jim and that nigger wench into the room. She pushes Jim down on the bed, and we can see his cock is pressing hard against his trousers already. Then she starts to dance, rubbing up against Jim while she does. Jim has his hands all over her, grabbin her butt and her tits through that soft filmy cloth. Fore long she lets him get hold of the cloth over her top and he pulls it off, letting her boobs out. She has big round black boobs, and the teats stand up real nice. Jim he sure is tooken with them, and he grabs hold of them and starts rubbin and squeezin. The wench pulls his head down between those soft boobs and rubs them back and forth. Then he takes one of the teats in his mouth, and durn if that nigger ain’t suckin on that teat jus like he was milking a cow, in and out.

Neal paused at an open door on his way back from the bathroom. He had intended to hold it until the first movie of the doubleheader ended, but the beer he’d been drinking hadn’t agreed that he could hold it a minute longer. He had leaned over and asked the event’s host, Hector, a local employee finance officer at the U.S. embassy in the Central American country much like any other Central American country, where the head was. Hector, lost in the movie, had waved him toward a corridor leading off the communal living room. The bedroom hallway, Neal had discovered.



There were doorways off the hallway on each side, which, Neal assumed, if this was like other Marine Houses he’d been in, led to small, individual bedrooms for each Marine. But his near-panicked goal was a communal bathroom that was located half way down the hall. He didn’t remember having heard or seen anything on the way to the bathroom, but all he’d been thinking of then was how badly he needed to piss.



The room where Neal paused on the way back was small and Spartan, but Spic and Span clean and squared-away neat. Even the jeans, T-shirts, and briefs of the two men were folded neatly and placed on the seat of a straight chair next to the small desk by the bureau. Only the woman’s brightly colored dress and her red bra and panties were carelessly scattered on the floor—signaling how alien her presence there was. More than that, however, it somehow marked the room as her territory, where she reigned and was in control.



The woman, a voluptuous Hispanic beauty of forty-something in age, was standing on the floor in the center of the small room. All she was wearing were red spike heels and oversized gold hoop earrings. A short, black guy, obviously one of the Marines because of the buzz cut and how bulked up he was, was standing behind her as she bent over at the waist. He was stroking inside her with a hard, thick, condomed cock. He seemed quite pleased with being inside her, holding her flaring hips with his hands, but taking a hand off now and then to slap her on a butt cheek. The impression that Neal got was “cocky,” which almost made him laugh, because the cock certainly was prominent in what was going on.



The black Marine looked to be about half the woman’s age, maybe not even twenty yet. At the far end of her, she was servicing the cock of another Marine with her mouth. He was tall and blond, also with a buzz cut. Where the shorter Marine was compact and muscle bound, the taller one was hard-bodied, but on the thinner side. He also was a good ten years older than the Marine working the woman’s ass. His cock, sans condom, was long and had an acute upward curve. The blond Marine had long arms and legs and wasn’t having any trouble reaching the woman’s big, melon-sized breasts with his hands. He was squeezing them hard and thumbing her dime-sized nipples. She was moaning at the attention.



The woman, who was holding onto one of the blond Marine’s thighs with one hand for stability, was rubbing her clit and the root of the black man’s cock with the fingers of the other hand. From the moaning and humming she was doing, the woman obviously wasn’t distressed about what was happening to her.



Neal was transfixed in the doorway. Three gorgeous bodies giving their all, one as arousing as the next. If any of the three saw him standing there, they obviously didn’t care. He almost laughed, though. Earlier today when he’d asked at the station in the embassy whether there was any night action going on in the city, the Agency code clerk had just told him that it was movie night at the Marine House and that, as a visiting TDYer, he’d be welcome to go there. There would be two movies and all of the beer and chili dogs he could put away.



He’d thought the young guy had misinterpreted what he had asked, but he’d just laughed it off. Often on these TDYs, he’d be buttoned down like this. When an Agency adviser came into a country like this to consult with the local service, it could go one of two ways. The service would either provide him with a variety of “safe” hookers to hump at night without asking or they’d expect him to be an invisible monk, safely tucked away in a cell when he wasn’t liaising with them. All and all Neal preferred the variety of safe hookers approach.



And here, he could see, the code clerk had been straight with him. Obviously the action to be had was here at Marine House during movie night. At least there was a better show to be watched here than out in the communal living room, where the movies were being shown. The trio didn’t seem to mind that he was watching, so he’d watch for a while. There wasn’t a single one of these he wasn’t enjoying seeing in action.



“Together, Cap?” The speaker was the short, black, muscle-bound kid. His voice was high and squeaky, and it sounded more hopeful than sure. The other guy obviously was calling the shots. The black Marine would be a bantam rooster around most, puffing himself up to offset his lack of height and length, but probably not with that blond guy.



“Sure, why not?” the blond guy answered in a deeper voice. “If it’s OK with you, Maria. Do you together, Momma Maria?” He pulled her torso up from her bend, her mouth slurping off his cock, to where their faces were close together. She was smiling. He dipped his mouth to ingest one of her nipples.



“Oh, sweet jesu, si.” Her voice was rich, low, sensual.



Momma? screamed through Neal’s brain.



The blond guy reached up and brushed her long, black hair over her shoulder on the side away from Neal, cupped her chin in his hand, and came in for a lingering kiss. The black guy at her rear, barely taller than she was, was still fucking up into her cunt from the back in slow strokes and with “Ughs,” indicating he was trying to get as deep as he could, which, from that position, wasn’t very deep.



The blond came out of the kiss. “Which one do you want, Maria?”



“The long one, of course, Sam,” She purred back at him. “Always.”



“Ass for you then, Lamont,” the blond one said over her shoulder. “Cunt for me.”



The black guy dutifully pulled out of her, adjusted his short, thick cock upward, and started working his way with it into her ass. This was actually better for him, Neal could see. He could reach deeper. The woman moaned and groaned for him and wiggled her butt, helping him to sink inside her. The blond Marine was standing off, rolling a condom onto his long, upward-curved, fully erect cock.



“Turn her up to me.”



The black Marine embraced the woman around her waist with his beefy arms and, crouching, lilted her back into his chest. Her ass was fully skewered on his upward-thrust cock. Neal took the moment to enjoy the contrast of Lamont’s chocolate-brown skin on her golden brown. When the image of the alabaster-white buttocks of the blond guy, showing the tan lines of a Speedo in stark contrast with the tanned skin otherwise, was tossed into the mix, Neal was almost humming himself.



The blond Marine sank on his knees between the woman’s spread legs, which had been lifted off the floor with her knees bent, the toes of her spiked heels barely touching bare linoleum flooring, and his mouth went right to her snatch. He was sucking hard on her clit almost immediately and working fingers into her cunt, and the woman was babbling loudly in Spanish. Her hands couldn’t make up their minds whether they wanted to be tearing at the head hair the Marine didn’t have or squeezing her own breasts, while the blond Marine’s hands moved to palming, squeezing, and pulling apart her buttocks cheeks to help give the black Marine maximum depth in her ass.



The woman turned her head up and to the side and the black guy’s face turned toward hers. The long kiss quietened her down, although her pelvis continued to writhe under the attack of the blond Marine’s tongue and teeth, while the black Marine started to revolve his hips, giving her ass, Neal imagined, a screwing sensation.



A screwing screw, he thought, amusing himself greatly.



It must have been good for the black guy, as Neal could tell when he tightened and then released his cum into the bulb of the condom inside her ass channel. He held there, though, for the other two to catch up with him.



After a minute or two of clit play with his mouth, the blond Marine stood, lifted one of the woman’s ankles to his shoulder, and slowly curved his long cock up into her cunt, sliding deep. Her fingernails went to his pecs and she dug in there. Neal could hear her sucking air as the curved cock pulled out, almost exposing the bulb, and then slid back in again deep. Out and in. Out and in.



She clutched at his shoulders. “Jesuchristie, fuck me hard, Sam!”



Answering her plaintive request, he began pumping her hard and fast. The show from that point was over rather quickly. Neal could tell when the woman exploded and then, soon thereafter, the blond Marine.



Surely they’d seen him standing there. But obviously they didn’t care.



Neal turned and left in the direction of the house’s large living area, where he could hear that the first movie was closing down with loud explosions. He’d seen the movie before, so he knew it was coming to a close. When he left the doorway to the small bedroom, the blond Marine was pulling on his T and jeans, his cock already having been cleaned by the woman, and the black Marine was sitting on the bed, with the woman kneeling between his spread legs and taking care of his cock.



“Right on time,” Neal had heard the blond Marine say when he was half way down the hall.



When he was almost to the door into the living room, he was passed by another young Marine, as young as the black one back in the bedroom, Neal thought. He looked clean-cut but with his tongue almost hanging out. In anticipation, Neal thought, doubting the kid was on the way to the head. He was dark-haired, broad shouldered, thin waisted. Quite handsome and with big hands. Athletic looking, like pretty much all young Marines. Neal thought the woman would probably enjoy his attentions. She didn’t seem to be the least picky, as long as the guy had a hard, muscled body. If there had been a chandelier in the room, Neal thought she’d probably have had this hopeful Marine swinging on it with her plastered to his pelvis. She obviously was a pro.



Neal reentered the darkened living room and went up and sat down beside the movie-night event’s host, Hector. The closing credits for the first film of the doubleheader were running on the screen. The second movie, yet another action hero fantasy shoot-’em-up adventure, would start up almost immediately. The Marines and other young, fit guys from the embassy who liked to see the movies the Marines liked to watch and who the Marines would condescend to socialize with were talking among themselves in small groups. A young Hispanic woman and even younger Hispanic guy were walking from group to group, delivering drinks and food and getting orders for more drinks and food. Both of them were very handsome kids, with good bodies as far as Neal could tell.



The short, black Marine and tall, blond, older Marine come into the room from the bedroom wing, practically arm in arm, and smiling and whispering to each other. Neal had heard the discussions about how guys who would share a woman like that were as much into each other as the woman. His own view was that Marines were so narcissistic—loving their own bodies enough to want to show them off as Marines—that most of them probably were bi anyway. Which was OK with him.



The blond Marine went straight to the bar, and behind it, and poured himself a beer. The black Marine went over and inserted himself into a group of other young Marines. Neal could hear that they were whispering and sniggering to each other.



“Those are my children, Angelina and Jorge,” Hector said after a few moments.



“Excuse me? What?” Neal said, waving his hand toward the screen to indicate he hadn’t heard Hector well over the soundtrack behind the closing credits. What he’d been doing, though, other than watching the two Marines return from their fun time in one of the Marine’s bedrooms, was watching the young Hispanic woman move. He—naturally—was feeling quite horny himself.



She had good jugs and a slim waist, the bag dress she was wearing didn’t hide that. She was built to be fucked by someone like him. Neal was imagining himself standing close behind her, being the first man to take her, those rounded orbs sitting on the tops of his thighs, and stroking up into her sweet, ripe cunt, while his hands were squeezing those jugs and she was moaning for him. She would cry out for him, firing off orgasm after orgasm, telling him he was so very, very deep inside her. He was big. She would melt to him; he hadn’t met anyone yet who didn’t melt with him inside them.



Maybe he could maneuver her outside, onto the Marine House patio. She wouldn’t give him a bit of trouble. He knew that. He’d put an arm around her belly and pull her ass into his crotch and the feel of the size and hardness of him would be enough to . . .



“Those are my children,” Hector repeated. The young woman, Angelina, and man, Jorge, there, the ones serving the refreshments. This is a family’s duty, running this movie night for the Marines. They are good to us. Both of my children are in their later years in the university—on Marine House scholarships. We want to give back.



Ah, his daughter, Neal thought, and the image of fucking her that had been running in his mind evaporated. Hector was not a small man. He looked like he could be mean and was built like he didn’t lose often. Probably good with a knife. Neal didn’t like knife play.



“Your daughter is beautiful,” Neal said. “Aren’t you afraid that letting her come to where all of these fit, randy young Marines are—?”



“Nobody would touch my daughter I didn’t want too,” Hector quickly said. And from the tone of his voice, Neal could believe that was true. “The Marines give her the respect I want them to.”



Ah, well. Neal wondered if Hector fully realized what was going on at Marine House under his nose. “Have you been back to the bedroom area?”



“So, you’ve seen my wife, Maria. I thought so. You were taking a long time to take a piss back there. And you looked a little . . . flustered when you came back into this room.”



Neal crossed his legs without a thought of what he was doing. But he did have the thought of wondering if his hard-on could be seen in his trousers when he came back into the living area. Surely it had been too dark in the room for that.



“Your wife? Do you know—?”



“That she’s fucking men back there? Si, I do.”



Neal didn’t have the words to say to that, so he waited for Hector to say something.



“It’s a good arrangement. We do this mostly because Maria is highly sexed. She’s got to have it all of the time, and I can’t give it to her all the time. But I enjoy getting it from her when I’m in the mood. If I didn’t let her do this, she would leave me for a younger man. I don’t want her to leave me. I fuck other women. So, she can fuck other men. American Marines are cleaner than men of my own country looking for it on the streets of the capital. And as I said, the Marines have been good to us. Both of my children are at university with Marine House scholarships.”



“But surely the embassy, the Marine Corps . . .”



“You see that older Marine over at the bar?” Hector asked, indicating the blond Marine with the long, upcurved cock–not that it could be seen now, of course. When Neal answered “yes,” Hector continued. “That’s the Marine captain. He’s in charge here. He determines what’s good for his Marines. He says he thinks his Marines need to get their rocks off in a controlled environment so that they don’t get into trouble downtown in the city. He brings prostitutes in for his men. My wife letting them fuck her on movie nights is better than them having a prostitute he can’t be sure is clean, and it keeps her happy too. She likes young, well-muscled bodies. They consider her their house mother.”



Ah, that’s where the “Momma Maria” came from. Just a pleasant evening fucking momma, Neal thought. But he didn’t say it.



“He’s the one you saw fucking my wife back there, isn’t he? The captain there at the bar.”



“Yes,” Neal answered, not knowing if he should mention that the blond Marine captain had been sharing her with a young black Marine.



“Do you think he was doing her well, and that she was enjoying it?”



Neal couldn’t say anything to that, so he nodded his head, which most likely Hector didn’t see in the dark. But Hector didn’t require an answer. He continued speaking.



“Yes, I’m sure the fuck was good for her. There will be good food on the table and peace in the house in the morning. And I’ll get a good fuck later tonight myself. Having muscled young men fucking her turns her on to me. I’m more of an expert at it than any of those young men are. She wants me more after having them. I’m the cream on the top. I think you’ll enjoy this next movie,” Hector then said, directing Neal’s attention to second movie, with the same shoot-’em-up, action-overloaded plot of the first, just with a different cast.



It didn’t escape Neal that Hector was purposely changing the subject.



Neal hunkered down then and concentrated on the movie, which he’d already seen in another Marine House in another Central American country just like this one, where he had given the same intelligence advice on countering the spying of the country he now was giving advice to regarding the country he’d been in the previous week. Keep them at each other’s throats but not doing anything really harmful to anyone, particularly the United States, was his Agency brief. They loved hearing the stories of his years with the Agency commando teams. And he kept very fit to make those stories believable.



The film started to go bonkers after a half an hour or so, with something obviously going out of alignment in the projector. It stopped altogether, and a couple of the Marines got up from the audience to see to the projector. Neal realized for the first time that Hector was no longer seated next to him. Scanning the room, he was unable to see Hector’s son or daughter either—or the blond Marine captain. He wanted another beer, but there was no one around who seemed assigned to get him one. He stood and went to the kitchen at the other end of the room. That’s where the young woman and her brother had been bringing the drinks in from.



He stopped just inside the swinging kitchen door, surprised by what he saw. He wasn’t shocked. Nothing in life shocked him anymore. In fact, he almost laughed out loud.



Hector’s daughter, Angelina, was bent over the sink, her sack dress, bra and panties in a heap on the kitchen floor. Hector, his pants and briefs puddled around his ankles, was close behind her, covering her. His hands were squeezing her melon-plump breasts, and his hips were moving in a slow-motion stroking. This was pretty much the position Neal had imagined himself in with this young woman while he fucked her. She was just silently taking it, this obviously not being a new experience for her. Something to amuse him again. The image of being the first one inside her. What a fool he was. He rather appreciated life’s little ironic kicks in the nuts, though.



Standing nearby were two young Marines, not exactly dressed, stroking their cocks, and watching Hector fuck his daughter. Waiting their turn. A stack of money on the kitchen table beside them assured Neal that the Marine House university scholarships for Hector’s children would continue. It also answered the question of why Hector wasn’t worried about the randy Marines getting at his daughter. As long as they paid, he was fine with it. He even took a big slice for himself off the top–of Anglelina, not just the money.



So arresting was this tableau that Neal almost missed what was going on over in the corner of the kitchen, in the shadows. Hector’s son, Jorge, naked, was bent over a table top and the blond Marine captain was crouched over him from behind. Neal could see the long, up-curved cock holing the young Hispanic’s ass in long, slow strokes.

XV
Faith and Charity
Eric Esterhazy MP
2044

“Which do you think we should use as a tree topper, Merri?”



“Beats me. And who cares anyway? What’s this need for a tree? It’s Christmas Eve already. You’ll just want to take it down tomorrow anyway. And it’s a lame tree; you sure you got all of the branches it’s supposed to have out of that box?”



Paul had been buzzing around the silver aluminum artificial tree he’d taken out of the attic earlier in the day. He had propped it up as best he could in the corner of the living room. Then he had spent all of the time he had planned to have to take on the total job just getting the strings of lights untangled and had completely forgotten to make dinner in the process.



Merri was irritated, not so much because she had missed eating dinner—although it was his turn to fix it, there wasn’t anything he knew how to fix in the kitchen anyway—but because he had forgotten to make it. He was getting forgetful about a lot of stuff of late. If she hadn’t been so engrossed in the book she was reading, she could have made it herself. But it was the principle of the thing. It was his turn.



“There. I think leaning it into the corner will keep it from falling into the room.”



Merri took a long look of mixed emotions at her father. Anyone could have pegged him as the retired professor that he was—complete with slightly bent back, leather-elbowed cardigan, and glasses on top of his head where he would have forgotten he’d perched them. He was still a fine-looking man, though. He hadn’t gone to fat like most of his colleagues had done, and she was quite fond of the gray. But she didn’t know how much longer they could go on like this. She couldn’t even remember which side of sixty he was on.



But he took her breath away when he entered her deep.



“I think it would be nice for Stevie if we had a tree. Just like we used to.”



Merri snapped back into the present. “What? You’re going to send Stevie photos in Seattle?”



“Well, hardly. He can see it for himself. He said he’d be here before noon.”



“Before noon? What noon?”



“Tomorrow. He’s coming for Christmas.”



“Steve here? With us for Christmas? What the? . . . and how long have we known this?”



“Oh, I don’t know. You sure I didn’t tell you?”



“No, you friggin well didn’t tell me, Dad. Steve in this house . . . with us?”



She looked at her father. He had such an open, innocent look on his face that she couldn’t go on. He didn’t understand. He’d never been able to understand. It was like he had no idea what all of this had done to the family.



“You don’t remember what happened two Christmases ago? It wasn’t explosive enough that you didn’t—?”



The telephone rang. The two of them remained there, looking at each other. Paul was holding an angel ornament in his hand and giving her a sloppy, lovable grin.



“You gonna answer that?” Merri asked.



“Answer what?”



“Oh, for the loving . . .” Merri slapped the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey down on top of the table next to the La-Z-Boy recliner, flipped back her straight, black bangs, and lurched off toward the telephone in the kitchen.



Paul turned back to the tree, humming an off-tone rendition of “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” absentmindedly to himself as he walked around the tree looking for the best place to hang the angel. “Wahla!” he exclaimed when he’d hung it on the tree. “Perfect.”



“Yes, just perfect. Just frigging perfect.” Merri didn’t sound even as happy as she was when she had left the room.



Paul turned toward the door into the kitchen, looking a little confused, but giving his daughter a tentative smile. This despite Merri looking like a Valkyrie rising up from the depths to tear someone limb to limb, which wasn’t that easy to do in her twenty-four-year-old, slim, boyish five-foot-four frame. Tossing her straight, black tresses over her shoulder, placing her hands on her hips, and fixing Paul with her flashing, heavily black eye-shadowed eyes, she was almost hissing, with steam coming out of her ears.



“What is it, honey? Dinner not going the way you planned?”



“No, Dad, dinner is not going at all the way I planned. But that’s not the problem at hand. Do you have any idea . . . any idea at all . . . who that was on the phone?”



“The Republican Party? Didn’t know the elections were over? And that they lost?” Paul chortled softly and with satisfaction to himself on this brilliant joke.



Merri couldn’t control herself enough to answer for a moment, which was long enough for Paul to forget where they were in the conversation. He leaned down, running his hands through the ornaments in the box next to the tree, trying to decide which one to hang next.



“That was Muriel, Dad. And do you know what she asked?”



“Look, honey, it’s that felt Nutcracker soldier you made in fifth grade. I’m not sure whether the missing arm is here someplace, though. No, what did your mother ask?”



“She asked if she should bring white or red wine. She said it would be a waste to bring both. And she said to make sure we had plenty of beer. Although, I don’t know why. She never drank beer that I know of.”



“Tell her rosé would be a good compromise.” Paul looked up, beaming at Merri. He was quite proud of himself for having found the perfect solution to the problem at hand. He wished all of their problems were this simple to work out.



“She’s not still there. I hung up on her, of course. The issue is why she’s asking about bringing wine at all—why she would bring anything here?”



“Well, I thought she really should bring something. It would be a vast improvement over the twenty-four years we spent together. I don’t remember her bringing anything to the marriage in that time—except a lot of demands and fistful of bills.”



“Focus, Dad. You didn’t invite mother for Christmas too, did you?”



“But, of course. They’ll be here sometime after noon.”



“Mother in the house? And Steve too? Don’t you . . . wait, they? Who they? Oh, my god, you didn’t invite Clifford too, did you? Not Clifford!”



Paul just stood there, giving her a slight smile. “That’s probably why we need beer. Clifford drinks beer. Lots and lots of beer. It will be nice to have the whole family home for Christmas. Don’t you think so? And Clifford was married to you before he was married to Muriel.”



“Oh, Mary, Joseph, and the Angel Gabriel,” Merri cried out. “I don’t know what I’m going to . . . well, shit.” She collapsed into the La-Z-Boy, pursed her lips tight, tossed her head to get the bangs out of her face again, and picked up her book.



Paul started humming again and turned to the tree, taking an ornament out of the box, examining it, sometimes starting to say something to his daughter about the shared experience of its provenance but, seeing that she was lost in her book, placing it carefully on the tree in just the perfect spot, and then dipping his hand into the box again.



This went on for several moments, and he could have been lost in this activity for much longer, but he heard the low moan from across the room. He looked over at Merri. She was licking her lips, and the hand that wasn’t holding the book close to her face was roaming down her body, from the small mounds of her breasts to her lap.



Paul stood there and watched her a little more attentively. It was good to see her happy. That’s what Christmases were for—to bring the whole family back together. He leaned down and scrounged around in the box of ornaments until he found what he was looking for.



“Look, honey, mistletoe,” he called out to her in a low, hoarse voice.



Merri looked up. It indeed was that silly felt clump of fake mistletoe he had hung in the archway between the living room and dining room for years, causing everyone to avoid that route through the downstairs rooms.



How disgusting, she thought. But what she had been reading had her all hot and bothered.



“It’s late, sweetheart. It’s time for bed, I think,” Paul murmured. The tone of his voice told Merri precisely what he had in mind.



She snapped her book closed and rose from the chair.



The master bedroom was dark. Merri was spooned into her father’s torso on the queen-sized bed. His hands were covering her breasts and he was nuzzling the hollow of her throat with his lips. She could feel the need of him running up the small of her back. That was the one part of him that would never seem old to her—not thick, but so, so long. When it was inside her, she felt connected with life and her history as at almost no other time. It didn’t fill her as Clifford did, but it fulfilled her. She felt like she’d won the lottery.



And she had actually won a lottery recently. Not a big payoff one, of course, but big enough to know how good and at peace with the world one feels when they have won the lottery—big enough for a cruise somewhere certainly.



It was all fire and explosion with Clifford. It was peace and fulfillment with her father.



Her mind was racing over the pages she’d just been reading in her book. With a sigh, she took one of his hands and moved it down her naked body, pressing his fingers between her folds, helping him to find her clit. Although he didn’t really need help. He may be getting forgetful, but he’d always been able to find himself home there.



Merri arched her back into his body and moaned as he started a circular motion with two fingers. A third was moving deeper inside her. What was on that page she’d just read. Could they? Would he?



His other hand was off her breast now, moving between their spooned bodies along her back and down along the inner lines of her cheeks. She could feel him finding his cock and moving it down, between her legs. The fingers of the hand she had holding his fingers to her clit felt the spongy smoothness of his cock bulb, now also pressing at the pearl.



“So nice to be having you for Christmas,” he whispered in her ear. His voice was thick with want.



“No, Daddy,” she murmured. “You know not there. You know we shouldn’t. Here I’ll help. No, keep rubbing with that hand. I’ll help the other move to where it needs to be.”



“Don’t you think we could . . . just this time . . .? It’s Christmas. And I know you liked it at the beginning.”



“Just wouldn’t be right, Dad.”



“Don’t you think we’re well beyond what some would consider ‘right’ already? I don’t see the difference—”



“Well, there are some who think its . . . well, you know what . . . only if you stick it where I could have a baby. That it’s not, you know . . . incest otherwise.”



“They what?” He voice had lost its bedroom tone. He was the professor again. “That’s got to be the most boneheaded . . . by that logic as long as there was no baby it wasn’t incest, and Steve and I wouldn’t have to face that at all. I just don’t see that there’s much difference, honey, and we’re already—” He’d regained the cooing baby-talk level he used here, with Merri.



“I just wouldn’t feel right.”



Paul gave up with a deep sigh. She helped him reposition the head of his cock at her ass, which she had heavily lubricated before they’d gone to bed.



“Yes, Daddy. Oh, yes, Daddy,” she whimpered, gasping and panting, as he slowly entered her there and entered and entered, in deep. He held there, moving ever so silently in more as she relaxed. This was what she meant by being connected to him. She groaned her pleasure. Then he began a slow pump. “Oh, Jezuz yes, Daddy!”



Later, as they lay there, bringing their breath under control, Merri barely heard Paul whisper something.



“What’s that?”



“I think, while the others are here, you should sleep in your own bed, sweetheart.”



“Ya think?” Merri asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.



But then she mellowed. His mind wasn’t completely gone. That was the most sensible thing he’d said all day.



* * * *



Nearly lunchtime Christmas Day and no Steve. Merri was so worn out worrying that he was coming that she’d taken her nose out of her book every five minutes to look at the clock and grouse that he wasn’t here yet. It was her turn to fix the meal—they’d just both scrounged around separately for breakfast and the missing dinner the previous evening—but she wanted to reach the end of this chapter before she scavenged in the kitchen. Besides, now she didn’t know if she would be fixing for two or three. Muriel and Clifford weren’t expected until later in the afternoon.



There had been a brief moment of tension this morning, when Paul had begged to be able to take her again “properly” just to mark Christmas, but he had given the idea up quickly enough when she’d moved down his body and taken possession of him with her mouth. She didn’t often do this, because he had revealed that he’d had better in that department, but it took his mind off a “proper” fucking.



After breakfasting Paul was back at the tree. He was getting close to the end of the ornaments.



“Umm, Dad,” Merri said when she’d looked up at the clock and then let her gaze sweep the room. “What’s that pile of stuff over there on the other side of the tree?”



Paul looked down. “Those are the tree lights, honey. And I wonder who got in here last night and tangled them up again.”



“Umm, Dad. Don’t you think you should have put them on the tree before the decorations?”



“Oh, you think so? I’m not sure . . .”



“Dad, you were a professor of engineering. Surely you could have—”



They both stopped and froze, Paul in mid movement of taking an ornament off the tree to return it to the box.



“Do you hear that?” Merri asked.



“No, I didn’t hear anything,” Paul said. “It sounded like a motorcycle . . . in need of a muffler or something.”



“Clifford. They came on his bike.”



“I guess so.”



“How long did Muriel say she was coming for?”



“She didn’t say.”



“That used to mean a week or more when we went to other people’s houses. I guess it’s not them then. She couldn’t manage with fewer than three bags for more than the weekend.” Merri went back to her book, only to almost jump out of her skin as the front door banged open and a Hells Angel burst in. He was wearing a Santa cap on his head. It looked a bit out of place with his black leather pants and vest, with no shirt, however.



Merri did a little hiccup gasp. God, he still looked the totally sexy hunk. She wondered if he styled his chest hair to get it in such a sensual pattern. Her fingers brushed a nipple through the material of her shift and she enjoyed another little moan—perhaps a bit more intense than her book had been giving her. Somehow seeking it in the flesh rather than in a book or backlit on a Kindle . . .



“Ho, ho, ho. Gonna spike Merri for Christmas,” the Hells Angel burst out. The man was almost too overpowering for the room. Hulking and hunky at the same time. Muscles bulging on muscles and one whole arm in a swirl of color in a pattern that almost could be figured out but then went all wild again.



“Not likely,” Merri muttered under her breath. But then she took another look at him. It had always been that second look that had hooked her—the one taking him in below the waist this time. She didn’t have to use her imagination on what was down there—or what it was ready for. She’d been married to the man for seven months and he’d kept her pinned to the mattress with it most of that time. And she couldn’t remember when it wasn’t hard.



Her attention moved to the door behind him, however. There she was, the bitch. Impossibly blonde ringlets, off-tone jangly bracelets, snapping chewing gum, glumpy eye lashes out to “here,” and the slip of a gold sequined something or other with the bust line trying to reach for the hemline. There was no way Merri thought the woman would be able to take even one more step on platform heels that tall—even if she could get her thighs to move in that tube dress. Still for all that, she was in pretty good shape. She was nearly twenty years younger than her ex-husband and she’d always striven to look like his daughter—often exactly like his daughter.



Merri shuddered to think that she herself had looked much like that the day her mother had flounced out of the house with Clifford in tow.



Muriel snapped her fingers. “The luggage, dumbbell.”



Clifford just turned slightly and growled at her.



Paul gave her a lopsided grin and loped out of the door and down the front steps.



“Gawd, when did you go Goth?” Muriel asked as her eyes lit on Merri.



“Good to see you too, Mother,” Merri answered. “The day you left. I changed to this look the day you left. I was afraid I’d meet you on the street and be recognized—or worse, that we both would have been seen on the street together. I preferred people think I was the walking dead.”



“Still fucking your father?”



“Still fucking my ex-husband?” Merri countered.



Muriel smiled, pleased by something. She’d always encouraged Merri’s show of spunk. She stood there and studied her daughter for several moments. There was no way the two would be taken for mother and daughter, she was happy still to be able to say convincingly. And it went beyond them looking more like sisters age wise. Whereas Muriel cultivated the sluttish blonde look, she hadn’t been far off the mark in tagging Merri’s style as Goth—a black, straight shift dulled down a slim, nearly flat-chested body, very much in contrast to the bazooms Muriel let lead her around and that she was happy to purport were J cups (“for jagantic, sweetie,” she loved to say). And Merri’s straight hair was jet black—again, almost impossibly so—with purple tips and scarlet roots—and she was wearing elbow-high black-lace gloves. The lip ring itself was a dead giveaway.



Looking beyond her daughter, Muriel saw the Christmas tree for the first time. “What the hell? Who dragged that in? And why are all the ornaments on one branch?”



By this time Paul had brought in the second suitcase. “How nice of you to come for Christmas, Muriel. I’ll just take these upstairs. I’ll put them in . . . umm . . .”



“The master bedroom, of course,” Muriel commanded. “There should be two other cases. I hope to hell you haven’t lost those between the bike and the front door. What is it I don’t smell? Shouldn’t the turkey be almost done?”



“We haven’t started fixing lunch yet, Mother,” Merri answered. “You weren’t coming until later in the afternoon. I’m not sure there’s anything in the kitchen to fix at all. Dad was supposed to, but—”



“But the two of you couldn’t get out of bed long enough to go to the store?” Muriel asked, her voice dripping with something poisonous.



Merri was about to answer “something like that,” but her retort wasn’t fired off soon enough.



“Let’s go upstairs and fuck,” Clifford burst out. “Fuck the food. I haven’t fucked you for, what, two years?”



“Are you talking to me?” Merri asked icily. “Just who do you think you’re married to now? Every letter Muriel sent me before I had the post office cut them off reminded me that she had your dick now.”



“OK, then how about a beer?”



Merri thought he took that rejection well. Perhaps too well, She did want him to fuck her.



Paul had entered, huffing and puffing under the weight of two more suitcases. He raised up straight, with some difficulty, and smiled benignly again at his circle of loved ones.



“I didn’t find the wine on the bike,” he said to Muriel. “You said you’d bring the wine.”



“I think you missed what kind of whine she was bringing,” Merri muttered under her breath.



“I wasn’t told what kind to bring,” Muriel answered. “We got disconnected when Merri and I were discussing it.” She gave a level, challenging stare at her daughter. “However, since we were going to be gone a while, I did bring a bag of our trash. I think you brought that in in the first load. Yes, that’s it over there. And don’t be squeamish, Paul, dear. It isn’t all Tampons and used condoms.”



“If I’m not humping Merri or getting a beer in the next five minutes, I think I’m going to explode.”



“Shut up, Clifford,” Merri snapped. “When we get lunch sorted out, we can go upstairs and you can hump me.” She hadn’t thought before she said that. Getting humped by Clifford again had been in the front of her mind since he had burst into the room, but she’d had no intention of admitting it. Merri gave her mother a wary look, wondering why the woman hadn’t zeroed in on Merri being more concerned about the fuck than the beer.

“Sheeet,” Clifford said, as he slumped down into the La-Z-Boy Merri had vacated and picked up her copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.



“Like I said, I don’t think there’s anything even here for lunch,” Merri said to change the subject. “And the grocery stores won’t be open today. It’s Christmas.” She still could have kicked herself for perking up like she had when Clifford said he wanted to take her upstairs and fuck her. It wasn’t really his fault that Muriel had stolen him from her. He was dumb as a lamppost and Muriel had those purported J-cup jigantics, whereas she herself was as flat as Kansas. And he was such a hunk. She wondered if he still had that . . .



She went to the refrigerator in the kitchen and returned with a can of beer and gave it to Clifford, who smacked his lips in thanks, but kept his nose in the book.



“I have an order in at Boston Market—the full meal. It should be ready in fifteen minutes. If you leave now to pick it up, Merri, it should still be hot when you get back.”



Both Merri and Muriel swiveled their heads toward Paul, standing calmly near the door, surrounded by a mountain of suitcases—and one medium-sized black plastic bag with a distinctly sour odor to it. He certainly looked like he hadn’t zoomed off to lalaland. In fact, he was softly whistling “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” under his breath and casting his eyes toward the ceiling.



“Dad . . . ,” Merri started to say. She was worried and didn’t understand why. This, unfortunately, wasn’t strange behavior for her dad. She shifted her eyes to Muriel, who was smirking, and then Merri was more worried without understanding why.



“Go on, honey. We’ll be just fine until you get back,” Paul said. “It’s turkey and all the trimmings. Paid for already. Enough for all of us.”



Merri’s eyes narrowed. What was he up to? And what had he done with her real, increasingly forgetful father? And how did he know they’d be here now for lunch?



She looked down at Clifford, who was studying the words in the book very closely, forming each word silently with his mouth as he read. He was taking a swig of beer on every other line he read, it seemed, and Merri realized she’d have to go get him another beer before she left for Boston Market.



“What’s this here word mean, Merri?” he asked her, pulling on her arm.



She looked down at the book, and blushed. “Later, big guy. I’ve got to go pick up our lunch now—which is likely to be our dinner too.” She turned, and, after making another beer delivery from the kitchen, hurried out the front door.



Clifford smiled to the room in general. “She called me ‘big guy.’ She remembers. She wants a fuck.”



Paul and Muriel were too busy looking each other over to hear what he’d said.



When Merri returned, Clifford was still sitting in the La-Z-Boy, spellbound with the copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. This time, as the stack of cans on the floor beside the chair attested to, he’d managed to find the refrigerator himself.



“What’s that thumping sound I hear?” she asked when she came out of the kitchen, leaving the Boston Market bags simmering on the kitchen table.



“Why don’t you go up there and find out for yourself, babe. Then come back and we’ll fuck.”



“Not a chance, Cliff,” she muttered, more to convince herself than him, as she headed up the stairs. How many times had she told her father he needed to fix that loose shutter on the side of the house?



The bed was thumping against the wall in the master bedroom as Muriel rode Paul’s cock. He was just laying on his back on the bed, staring up into her purported J-cup bazooms in wonder. She had her hands squeezing the orbs and leaned over from time to time to let him nuzzle the erect nipples and quarter-size aureoles. Merri could clearly see that it was Muriel’s cunt that was being worked.



Merri turned, trembling and full of rage, and went back downstairs, making her own thumping noise with her heavy steps. Both of her parents had seen her and neither had looked the least bit embarrassed. True, her father looked a little confused and lost—but the sort of lost a little boy would be showing if he was walking around alone in a candy story with open jars.



And speaking of jars . . . She’d always been afraid that was what her father was missing in their relationship. Her mother’s jugs.



She couldn’t help remembering how it had first begun. Having been awakened to sex by Clifford after having been just blind to it all until she was twenty. Mere months later being pulled into bed by her parents—when she’d spied them there with her younger brother—and both of them working her over. Her mother seemed proud that they had held off with her until she was an adult and married, saying that it “just wouldn’t have been right otherwise.” Her Dad with that impossibly long cock and her mother with those bazooms—and with deft fingers and a tongue that had taught Merri what a woman could do to send herself to heaven even without a man.



The sight of Paul inside her mother on the bed—where he’d begged Merri to let him go both last night and this morning. And the obvious enjoyment he was getting out of the woman’s purported J-cup jigantics . . .



For the first time Merri had the hint of a suspicion that her father wasn’t as far gone as he had pretended—that he’d set this all up, the invitation and the Boston Market order and all—and sending her out to get the food. Was that what that was all about? To be alone with her mother? She’d been so surprised that he assumed she’d be the one to go she hadn’t questioned it. Why, she did practically nothing around here. Why would he assume she’d be the one to pick up the food?



When she got to the living room—and after giving a little look of concern at seeing the leaning Christmas tree shimmer a bit from the stereo effect of the thumping of the headboard against the wall upstairs and her own glump down the stairs—she walked directly to the side of the La-Z-Boy, lifted the hem of her smock up to her waist to show that she was naked underneath, and muttered, “OK, big boy, let’s fuck.”



If good ole mom was going to take her joy stick, she’d have her mother’s. She didn’t want to press that too far, though, in the realization that she had fucked her mother’s husband before her mother had suborned her dumbass spouse. And being with her father had been OK with her mother, especially if Muriel could be there too, until it became obvious that Paul preferred Merri over his wife.



Clifford looked up, eyes a little glazed. This wasn’t from what Merri had said—he knew he’d be fucking her before the day was out, she’d never been able to resist what he had for very long—the glazed look was from something else. From the beer, perhaps? Nope.



“What a fucking amazing book,” he said. (Ah, that something else.) “Can you really do some of this stuff?”



“Probably not without going to the hospital, and you can friggin well tell that the author hasn’t done some of that shit. Listen, it’s just a book, dummy. She put some of that stuff in there just to sell the book. She may be right. She may sell a couple of copies. People are that gullible in believing shit like that.”



“Yeah, but . . . look what I found up in your room.” Clifford was holding up a pair of velvet-lined handcuffs she kept for special occasions. “I think I read about these a few pages back, and guess who has some in her bedroom.”



There was a horizontal grab handle at the back of the faucets for the kitchen sink that Merri had never figured out the function of. Now she discovered that it was to run the chain of the handcuffs through so that she could be secured leaning over and into the kitchen sink.



One pull up before the handcuffs were secured and her dress went over her head, leaving her naked. One pull down after the handcuffs were secured and Clifford was free of his leather pants and jock strap.



“Can’t wait, babe. Been wantin’ inside you ever since we got off the Baltimore beltway. Good memories. We had some good fucking, babe.” He was leaning over and into her from behind, running his hands over her body, relearning every curve and crease of her. He already was hard, hard, and as he pressed his cock between her thighs—making her remember that her mother wasn’t the only one who had a J something for jigantic—she got her answer of whether or not he still had that thick cock ring in his penis head too.



Merri groaned and Clifford laughed. “Yeah you remember it inside you, don’t you? Good times.”



“Shut up and just fuck me,” she hissed through clenched teeth.



“Knew it; couldn’t wait to get it.” He laughed a happy little puppy dog laugh. This is what he lived for—fucking a broad over the kitchen sink. Well, that and beer.



He was cupping her mound with one hand, his cock also inside his palm, and rubbing that cock ring against her clit. She moaned and was already moving her rump back and forth gently into his groin. She liked the feel of the chest hair on her back and, looking sideways, seeing the tattoo sleeve move with the rippling of his biceps. Paul was longer than Clifford was but not as thick. And there was no tattoo or cock ring, or dirty words, or hard, hard muscles with Paul. And none of the danger and wildness of the man.



Of course Paul wasn’t as dumb as a tree stump, which put a whole lot in his favor.



“Oh, Cliff, Cliff. Yes, right there, you stud. Like that.”



He was paying her clit a lot of attention with that cock ring—a lot of attention. Could he have . . .? She ran her memory through the pages she’d read so far in Fifty Shades. Could he? Nah. “Oh, gawd, yes. I want it inside me, baby.”



“Gimme a Big O first, darlin’. You know how I like to hear you scream with that.”



His other hand was on her chest. She almost shrank from him. This is where she was most vulnerable in competition with her mother.



“Such nice titties,” he murmured, as he thrumbed, first one nipple and then the other.



“But Muriel has—”



But he didn’t let her finish that sentence. His hand went up to cup her chin and turn her head for a kiss. His cock was chaffing her inner thighs as he moved its head rhythmically across her clit. Her knees felt like rubber, and her panting told them both she was about to give him that orgasm he was demanding.



“I like your titties. As good as Muriel’s; just different. When I fuck you, it’s like fucking a boy, and I always been curious about—”



“God, you’re a fucking animal,” she whined. “Don’t say another word, or this story won’t be posted.” She was having difficulty forming the words. He was driving her crazy with that cock ring rubbing her clit. “I bet you think you’re good at this,” she hissed.



“Sweetheart, I knows I’m good at this. I knows you don’t think I’m good for much, but I knows you know I’m good at this. And I knows you’re about to come for me.”



His hand moved the cock head back, at her entrance.



“No, not there. The other . . .you know.”



“I ain’t any part of your gene pool, lady. You can pull that crap with your father and brother as you like, but I do a man’s fuck, a Hells Angels fuck. Fuck, we can go out and do it on the bike, if you want to argue with me on that. And I want to feel you explode and flow as I spike you. I want to feel it come down the sides of my cock and dribble on the floor.”



“Feel what? Oh dear god. You need a condom . . . we . . .”



“Too late for that, babe. You didn’t give me no brat while we were married. I’ll take my chances. And Muriel and me don’t use no condoms. If she had the clap, I’d be the first one to know.”



“But what will the readers think?”



“Fuck the readers. Some of them are humpin’ themselves right now just readin’ this. Too fuckin’ late. If somethin’ bad happens just don’t mention it until after the end of the story. Besides I like it raw, flesh on flesh, babe. That’s the Hells Angels way.”



Clifford thrust his cock deep inside her, and Merri did explode, and remembered all that she had missed after her mother had found a jealous streak about her father then had stolen Clifford from her in retribution. Her knees did buckle then, but Clifford had an arm under her waist, holding her up, as he pounded on and on up into her, as she writhed under him and begged him to be good to her.



She was turning blue from holding her breath from concentrating so hard on where he was stretching her and punishing her channel walls with that cock ring, and he was thumbing her slick clit, rubbing in the flow from her own orgasm, when he too exploded and flooded her deep with his cum.



They held there, panting. “Cliff,” she moaned.



“I know. I can feel it too, babe. Long as it’s been I’m not surprised there’s a reserve load.”



“Oh, Cliff. Oh, CLIFF!”



“Hang on, babe. Here we go again.”



When Paul and Muriel came back downstairs in the twilight to gather around the table, with a Merri and Clifford who were avoiding eye contact, to dig into the now-cold Boston Market meal, it was Merri who brought up the sleeping arrangements that night.



She’d wanted to do it a good half hour before she did, but when Muriel went to sit down at the table, she gave a little cry, reached under her, and brought out the pair of velvet-lined handcuffs. She gave Merri a hard look, replaced with a smirk, followed by leaning over and kissing a perplexed Paul full on the lips, and then asked for a piece of chicken. “Something with a big, hard bone in it, I think.” Then she gave a little cackle.



“I mean, I know I’ll be in my room,” Merri said. “But where are Muriel and Clifford going to be.”



“You know you don’t have to be in your room alone if you don’t want to be,” Muriel said. “Cliff is in a motel.” She was wearing a smug smile on her face. “I can’t trust him here at night. I assumed you noticed that no luggage was brought in for him. He’s in a motel. He’s taking the cycle and leaving me the truck. But I can’t really trust him roaming around here at night.”



Just a little late on not trusting Clifford to roam around free, Merri thought—right after it had registered with her that they’d brought both the cycle and the truck, which is why Paul could carry in all that luggage. And then she thought perhaps she’d said the “just a little late” bit that rather than thought it because Muriel gave her a sweet smile and said, “Clifford can go like the Energizer Bunny. Once is never enough. But I’ll bet you know that as well as I do.”



Merri didn’t have time to seethe, because Muriel followed up with the declaration, “I’ll be in the master bedroom with Paul, of course. I still own half of the master bedroom, you know.” And then, with a twist of the knife, “If Steve ever shows up you can have him to keep you warm.”



Indignant, Merri stood up from the table, swept up the handcuffs, and marched toward the stairs.



“Want I should come up and do you again?” Clifford called out to her back. “I can come up as soon as I finish this beer.”



Paul’s head swiveled toward Clifford and he gave him a quizzical look—like he didn’t completely understand what Clifford had said about “again” because he couldn’t have said that, but Muriel put a restraining hand on Clifford’s divinely muscled arm, squeezing it a bit to assure herself it was still divine and still hers, and said. “No, sugar, you need to get to the motel and get a good nights sleep. I have a feeling that tomorrow’s going to be a bumpy day around here.”



“You mean we’re going to talk to Merri about . . . you know what?”



“Yes, love, we will talk to Merri tomorrow about that. But for now, how about you helping me get this stuff into the kitchen, and while we’re in there we’ll talk about what you can stuff.”



Paul went back to hanging ornaments on the branch of the tree and trying not to listen to the loud sex going on over his kitchen sink. He kept running over in his mind that Muriel was Clifford’s wife now. He walked over to the La-Z-Boy once and looked down at the book Merri was reading. He sniffed and whispered, “Junk,” and went back to trimming his tree branch.



Late in the night, in the pitch dark, Merri felt her hands being handcuffed above her head to the headboard, heard heavy breathing, and arched her back and moaned as lips and a tongue moved down her naked body. He was below her, teasing her thighs apart by running his tongue up her inner recesses.



“Oh, God,” she cried out as the tongue parted her nether lips and found her clit. She began to writhe and groan and beg as he relentlessly sucked and tongued and lightly teethed the engorged pearl. He wouldn’t stop; he tormented and worked her until, as she exploded, she called out, “Steve. Stevie! Yes, Yes!”



Brother Steve was home from Seattle for Christmas.



When he moved up her body to cover her, there was the embarrassed moment when she reached down to grasp him—and came up with less than a handful.



“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered in almost a whimper. “I know that Clifford . . . and Dad . . .”



“Shush. It isn’t that. You’ve already more than taken care of me. And you do that gloriously. It’s just that . . . that.”



“That what?”



“You need to be sheathed. In my nightstand, top drawer.”



“Is that really necessary? I’m clean. Kenneth makes me test twice a month, and it’s only him . . . and well, Ted, and Nathan, and . . . well. But you’re the only woman. You know that. It’s always been special between us.”



“It’s the right thing to do. I mean we’re related and all. What if . . .?”



“In fiction? You let readers tie you up in knots over this in fiction? You’re so funny, Merri. I doubt the health and gene pool vigilantes have stuck with the story to this point. I’m sure you’ve been with Clifford already, and I know he won’t wear them—certainly not in a fictional story. I think the anal retentive health nuts who can’t visualize fantasy fiction are all gone by now, and we can . . .”



“Shush,” Merri answered in a whisper. “I would just feel so much better.”



“We could . . . instead . . . like Father does, He says it’s the best he can get from you.”



“There? Yes, that would be fine. If that’s good enough for you. You know to some as long as there’s no baby there’s no incest.”



Say what? Steve almost blurted out. But he managed to stifle it. Why give up the game when you are at least half way home?



“And with protection, of course.”



“But dad doesn’t—”



“Do you want to do it or not?” Merri didn’t want to say that skin on skin with her father was in an entirely different league than with Steve and well worth any risk.



Steve sighed. But in answer to her combined acquiescence and demand, he made a big production of her being able to see him crown himself with a condom from her nightstand—even though the thought did run through his mind why she had condoms in her nightstand—and then he rolled to the side and spooned Merri into his chest. He kissed the hollow of her neck and ran his hands over her flanks and up to cover her boyish breasts, while she had a hand between their bodies and stroked his cock, working on working it up.



“Sorry. That’s as much as it’s going to—”



To save him further embarrassment and to stifle what he was about to say, she moved her lips to his. After the kiss, she murmured, “Now. Fuck me now.”



Steve folded her upper leg up toward her chest and moved in close behind and a bit above her rump. He groaned his belabored attempt to enter her ass. In the end, he had to move her to her belly, and pull her up on her knees in a doggy position to give himself the greatest purchase. From there, it was fine for him—and as long as he had a hand wrapped around her waist and fingers rubbing her clit, it was fine with her too.



Poor, poor, Steve, Merri thought. Such a pair we are. I inherited flat breasts from Dad’s side and he inherited a miniature cock from Mother’s. At least he’s beautiful in every other respect and his partners don’t need the cock. Such a joke the gene pool pulled on us. I sometimes wonder if that’s why we . . . “Oh, merde. Yes, do it. Fuck me hard.” It may be a bit of playacting, but if it helps get him off . . . he seems to be close to sobs in the effort. Thank god the only woman he makes the effort with is me . . . unless he and Mother are still . . . Ahhh, at least he’s able to come.

* * * *



Merri woke smiling and humming as she stretched, pulling back only slightly on her expressions of “well done” as she realized she was alone in the bed. She felt thoroughly satisfied. She realized how tense she’d been of late. The variety had loosened her up—and, in Clifford’s case, stretched her out quite nicely. The other poor young man didn’t have much of a cock, but, boy, the pleasure he could give with his tongue, lips, and teeth. Her hands went to her nipples, which were sore from his sucking and teething—but gloriously so. Her fingers felt the same level of post-attention sensitivity between her thighs. But she left her fingers in both places, circling the sensitive nubs lightly with her fingers. After a short while, she moved the hand playing with her nipples to the bedside stand and took out her “John Holmes,” slathered it up, nudged it in, and touched the switch. “Ahh . . .hh . . .aahhh.” Somewhere in her pleasure hour she began to make comparisons and to wonder if a Clifford mold could be made. And what about a combination of a Clifford and a Paul. Yum. Except no, she already had that in her John Holmes. She also let her mind drift back to when her mother had given her the John Holmes.



She had thought it would be preliminary foreplay, with her father watching from across the room and stroking himself, preparing himself for them. She was on her back on the bed, within Muriel’s embrace. Her face was buried in her mother’s cleavage. Muriel liked the breast play. She liked it too, except that it inhibited her a bit, the embarrassment of the comparison between her endowments and those of her mother. One of Muriel’s arms was around her back, raising her a bit from the surface of the bed, and the fingers of the hand of that arm were stroking one of Merri’s nipples. Muriel’s other hand was busy teasing Merri’s clit in the folds of her V. Clifford was off on a cycling trip with his gang members and Merri hadn’t been fucked for days. She was ripe for it. Having only discovered sex when she hit twenty and then having gotten it from a prize A cock, she couldn’t get enough of it now.



Paul moved over to the bed, above Merri’s head. Merri expected him to pull her up, bend her over, and mount her then. This was before Merri had read those magazine articles on incest down at the clinic and was still letting her father pump her cunt. But it was Muriel who was working her way down Merri’s body with her lips and tongue. Merri was writhing with her mother’s face buried in her cunt, snacking on her clit. Paul came down with his knees on either side of Merri’s head and reached down and took her hands in his, interlacing the fingers, holding her hands captive. Muriel lifted her head and raised a hand so that Merri could see it—black rubber, long and thick. Muriel called it a John Holmes and told Merri it would be hers to keep after Mother had taught her how to use it to best advantage. Paul raised Merri’s torso with his hold on her hands, bringing her mouth to the tip of his cock. Merri felt her mother’s lips on a nipple and then the bulb of the John Holmes on her clit. When it began to vibrate, Merri writhed under her parents’ embrace and moaned and groaned and gagged on Paul’s cock. Muriel moved the dildo head down, to Merri’s cunt. Still vibrating, it began to move inside her . . .



Boxing Day, she thought as she rummaged around in her closet for a shift that would match her disposition this morning. Not black today; this wasn’t a black day, although she would be the last to admit it to the others. The others. When she thought of her father, in the master bedroom with her mother all night, her mood darkened. Boxing Day, the day after Christmas. The day to box everything away again. What use had her father made of Muriel’s box last night?



Little did she know that the day would have a different meaning for “boxing.”



She found a red dress—”Take that, Muriel,” she thought—but look as she might, she couldn’t find her lip ring.



She could smell the bacon and coffee as she descended to the first floor. Another sign that Steve was home—not that she needed a sign. He was so organized and competent. Quite domesticated, the lad was. The household had gone downhill in the year since he’d gotten the lead male dancer’s job in the Seattle Dance Ensemble and left home. She didn’t know who had been more forlorn about that, her or her dad. And it wasn’t just because Steve had been just a good housekeeper. She’d never forget the night her father told her, as gently as he could and with a heavy sigh, that she needn’t try pleasuring his cock with her mouth too much anymore—that she just didn’t do it well enough.



She had left well enough alone in pursuing that matter, but she wasn’t born tomorrow. She knew what he meant. Her father and Steve weren’t the only ones living in the house at the time. She’d watched Steve suck her father off—and had stayed there looking through the crack in the door through the whole performance and on into the ass fucking. Several times. Not that she was into voyeurism, or anything, of course.



When she put her foot down on the living room floor, she looked around and saw that Clifford was back, sprawled in the La-Z-Boy, his head in Fifty Shades of Grey, a beer in his hand, and mouthing the words silently as he read. Steve was standing near the Christmas tree and looking perplexed. He was a handsome young man, probably the best-looking family member—prettiest even—no matter how much Muriel would try to push into that position. Tall and willowy, despite being nearly twenty-three now, and moving with the grace and “walking-on-air” bounce of a young, flexible boy that reflected his career as a premier male dancer. His auburn hair—the probable color of Muriel and Merri’s real hair—was wavy and had a sheen to it that their over-dyed and teased hair never would. His smile was genuine and easily triggered. He had told her in the night that he had a lover—an older man. When he described him, he made him sound a lot like Paul—except rich. But probably in the need for a housekeeper, she couldn’t help but adding to her thoughts. Merri had felt too mellow to point this out to him—that he had moved from having his father to having a lover pretty much just like his father. That’s what Paul always praised Steve for—his ability to prepare a meal and have all of the pots and pans washed before they sat down at the meal. He was a woman gay male story writer’s vision of perfection, he was.



As Merri hit the ground floor, Steve pivoted gracefully, his hand gesturing toward the tree. “Is this some sort of fashion statement? All of the ornaments on one branch?”



“Dad got a bit distracted,” Merri answered. “We can adjust later—the ornaments have to come off anyway before we put the lights on. But, what the hell. Christmas is over. We might as well just put it back in the box.”



“But I just got here.”



“You came last night,” Merri said.



“I sure did,” Steve answered with that big smile of his. Merri blushed and almost said something, but he was looking so charmingly “oh gosh” decked out in his perfectly tailored and creased khaki trousers, Brooks Brother’s shirt, and tasseled penny loafers that she didn’t feel like sparring with—or embarrassing—him today. She knew what an effort it was for him to cover her. She also knew how difficult it was for him produce that small dab of cum when he was with a woman. She would have told him that the tongue work was fully enough, but he was so self-conscious about giving her more than that without much to give that she would play to his sensitivities. She knew that it was just a relationship issue between the two of them—that he was desirable enough to men who wanted his ass rather than his cock that he was able to have an active and fulfilling sex life.



It was all wrong, oh so wrong, though, that they were all back together under one roof again. She had been able to manage—to keep everything looking normal even if it wasn’t—when she had one of them at a time. For more than a year now, it was just her father. And that now seemed to be what normal was. What was happening now, over this Christmas, was a scrambled family. She didn’t know how many more days of this she could take—how many more memories would pop up that she had managed to crush down.



“Read this one, Merri,” Clifford spoke up cheerily. “I’d like to see if this can even be done. Let’s go upstairs and fuck. Let’s hear how good you are at barking like a dog.”



“Not now, Clifford. Is that coffee—and bacon—I smell?”



“Yes,” Steve spoke up. “I’m featuring Eggs Louie today too. One or two? Louie is Benedict with crab meat, you know. A specialty in Seattle. Kenneth always likes that the morning after—”



“Muriel sometimes gets the crabs and then she’s hell on wheels,” Clifford said.



“Shut up, Clifford,” Merri snarled.



“Then I’ve got to go out to the bars to find someone else to spike.”



“Shut up, Clifford,” Merri and Steve snarled in harmony.



“Where’d we get the food, Steve?” Merri asked. “The only egg I saw in the frig last night was cracked and flecked with green.”



“I’ve been out shopping already this morning. Alles ist im Ordnung.”



“Whatever.” She regretted the sarcasm almost immediately. He was a gem, really, for having done that. His German just reminded her that she had failed Spanish twice. His use of it also reminded her that she always knew when he’d just had sex in the house. He’d always break out in German after that. “Where are Mother and Dad?”



“Muriel’s still upstairs. Dad left after breakfast. He said something about the office and escape.”



“The escape I believe. His office is right over there through that door, though. He retired last year.”



“We could hump on the desk in there. I think I left some beer cans on it that would need to come off first, though.”



“Shut up, Clifford. And you’re drooling on my book. Stop that. OK, Eggs Louie it is. Lead on, MacDerf.”



Their progress to the kitchen was arrested, though, by the sound of Muriel on the stairs. As she came into view, Merri dropped her jaw, stunned. Steve just looked slightly bemused.



“Va, va vooom! Let’s go back up and fuck.” That was Clifford (as if everyone didn’t know by now).



Merri was staring into a mirror. It wasn’t the Muriel of yesterday. Today’s Muriel was very much a photocopy of Merri of yesterday. The hair was black and straight. The red was at the tips, though, not the roots. She’d gotten that wrong. But the same straight, black hair. The same heavy black eye shadow and fingernails. The same black boots. The same black shift and lip ring. In fact the exact same black shift and lip ring Merri had been wearing yesterday. The only thing out of line, really, were those purported J-cup jigantics, but she’d even taken a swipe at getting them smashed down, which she had to do, really, to get into the shift. That part was rather unfortunate, however, as they now nippled down close to her waist.



“You are a fucking bitch, Mother,” Merri growled. “You tried to pull that ‘being Merri’ crap before you left too.”



“And it worked a charm then. Paul thought it would be a good idea,” Muriel answered sweetly.



“I’ll just bet he did.”



“I’ll go with Clifford on this,” Steve said, with a laugh. “Va, va, voom.”



“You can’t be serious,” Merri muttered, turning to him.



He answered with his boyish smile, a theatrical pose, and a wink.



Assured he was just throwing gasoline on the fire, Merri chose to ignore him and turned back toward Muriel.



“Take that stuff off right now.”



“Let’s wait and see what Paul has to say. On my way down I heard he’s gone to the office. I’m surprised he could walk straight. I think you haven’t been giving him enough attention.”



“You’re going to rip the top right out of that. And that’s my favorite shift.”



“I’ll admit that was the hard part. Let’s get out the sewing machine and fix it so that Pride and Glory can breathe.” Upon saying “Pride,” she had gestured to the right side of her chest, and “Glory” was highlighted on the left.



“You wouldn’t know a sewing machine from a blender, Mother.”



“Maybe if it was a martini blender,” Steve helpfully interjected.



Merri overrode him. “And I can’t believe that Dad—”



“As a matter of fact, your father liked them yesterday and last night just as much as you used to, toots, so let’s just not go there. It’s not my fault you got your tits from his side of the family. You used to not be able to get enough of these beauties.”



Merri snapped her jaw shut and made a full turn toward the kitchen door. “I think we were making crab eggs, Steve.”



“Just a minute, please,” Muriel said, “I don’t think we’ve discussed how long we are going to make this visit—or this stay.”



Merri stopped dead in her tracks and turned, looking warily at Muriel. The woman was full of schemes, and Merri felt one starting to come on. She knew the difference between a visit and a stay. When she and Clifford had gotten married they come back here for a stay. She was still here.



“Are we going to ask her now?” Clifford asked.



“Yes, baby, we’re going to ask her now.” She turned back to Merri. “We need some venture capital. We need just a little more to get by, and we have extra bedrooms in our house and Clifford knows where to get some presentable women.”



“You’re going to run a whore house?” Merri asked. Her mother never ceased to surprise her.



“Well, a club of sorts. But we don’t have enough bedrooms to make a full go of it without some investment capital—unless we put them all to use. This house is still half mine, so unless—”



“This is a shakedown for some money? That’s why you’ve come for Christmas. OK, I’m game. How much money do you need to go away again?”



“$5,000 should do it. For now.”



“$5,000? Exactly $5,000? You heard that I won that much in the lottery a couple of months ago, didn’t you?”



Muriel shrugged. “You have it, we need it, and I’m not sure you want me in your father’s bed into the New Years. Of course, Paul could sell this house and give me my half.”



Merri gave her mother a hard look. Then she sighed. She wasn’t up to fighting this battle just now. “Let me think about this. Maybe Dad will have something to say.”



“Yes, he might. He seemed to enjoy having me in bed last night. What’s this about you only taking it in the ass from Paul? And that it’s not incest unless you get pregers. Did you think you were fooling anyone with the incest no-no rules? You saw the keywords on this story. You knew the comment section would be full of crabby people who were dumb enough to think they were reading real life here and who’ve had bad personal experiences no matter how you had sex with your father on these pages, didn’t you?”



Without another word, Merri turned, her nose pointing at the ceiling, and marched into the kitchen with Steve gliding behind her, an expression of slight concern on his lips, Muriel walked over to behind the La-Z-Boy recliner and ran her fingers down Clifford’s hairy chest.



Clifford gave a beer belch, his eyes still trained on the pages of Fifty Shades. “Look at the description of this one, Muriel. Let’s go upstairs and see if it can be done.”



“Pabulum, sweetie,” Muriel said. “I can do better than that. I could do that hanging from a chandelier. Hell, I can write better than that. Shit, I think you could write better than that.”



“OK, so, let’s—”



“Not now, Cliff. Momma’s busy now. I’ve been waiting a long time for this opportunity. And, I’m sorry, you’re way down my list at the moment. I already have you. Have another beer. Go fuck Merri. Hell, go fuck Stevie.”



“Muriel.” It was sort of a warning growl.



“Don’t think I don’t know where your porn mag stash is, Cliff, and the great variety you like to look at. I use it sometimes myself. I think you should go ahead and give Stevie a ride. I’ve done it, and I think he’d like it better from you. Just stay away from Paul. That’s my business. And, no, we’re not going upstairs right now. You give me too good a workout. I’ve got to have some left over to serve my plans.”



This admission was enough for Clifford, He happily went back to lip reading the novel. “I fuck you good, don’t I, Muriel?” he muttered.



“Yes, baby, you fuck me very, very good. But I hate to admit that Merri is right about the look. It isn’t me.”



Merri caught this admission, having come back to the kitchen door while Steve was working the eggs. She walked over to the recliner and replenished Clifford’s beer. “It wasn’t even you twenty-five years ago,” she said with a hiss.



“Honey, I was such a beauty that your daddy fucked me and then was all antsy to marry me when I was an eighteen-year-old coed in one of his classes. You didn’t have anyone poke you until after you were twenty—and then it was Clifford, who would happily fuck a fireplug if the valve was open.”



Muriel gave Merri a dirty look for a icing on the cupcake effect and haughtily turned and headed for the stairs. It was the last thing she wanted to admit, but, in fact, she had realized that she wasn’t pulling the look off well. She suddenly had the fear that Paul would see it as a more garish—and inferior—comparison with Merri. And the plan was to take Paul back, if only long enough to stick it to Merri, not to come up second place in his eyes. Besides, her tits hurt.



She was half way up the stairs when the egg timer dinged and Merri turned to go back into the kitchen.



“Come look at this position she’s talking about,” Clifford said, gesturing at the pages of the book. “Let’s go upstairs and try it out.”



“Go back to the motel and take a nap or take care of your own self, Clifford. There’s just too much going on here now,” Merri answered in a tired tone.



“But you want me to fuck you, don’t you? I could feel it yesterday. You want me again.”



“Yes, Clifford, I want you again.” Merri’s confessional sigh was audible throughout the room. “Just not this minute. I have some crabby eggs calling me.”



Steve still had the concerned look on his face when they sat down to eat the eggs—and Merri could hardly avoid noticing it.



“What is it, Steve? What’s wrong?”



“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”



“Of course I’ll worry about it until you tell me what it is. What’s wrong? And don’t make me pull it out of you like you did when we were kids.”



“Well, it’s just about the money Mother asked about.”



“Yes, what about it?”



“Well. I’m in a bit of a spot . . . with gambling debts . . . and . . .”



“How much of a spot?”



“A $5,000 spot.”



“Fuck. That’s not a spot; that’s a puddle. You heard about the lottery win too, didn’t you? That’s what has brought you home from Seattle, isn’t it?”



“I was thinking of coming anyway,” Steve answered defensively. “One of these Christmases.”



“Let’s eat the eggs before they’re cold,” she said with a hard tone. “We’ll discuss this later.”



Clifford was gone—and so was her book—when she came out of the kitchen. She went into the hall and saw that the powder room door was shut. That explained Clifford’s absence, she thought—and probably the absence of the book as well—and maybe where the edge of his beer tolerance was.



Steve was glued to the kitchen. He said he had work to do to prepare the evening meal, and Merri suddenly felt all alone. One moment there were too many of these mixed-up-relationship people pressing at her and the next she was all alone. She didn’t know what was worse.



As long as she was in the front hall, she decided to leave the house for a bit. She went to the closet, took her coat out, and quietly exited through the front door. Maybe a drive around—looking at the Christmas decorations—was what would help her calm down. She’d done that, though, two years previously on this day and come home to find her husband fucking her mother—and her mother throwing in her face that she damn well could do that because she’d caught Merri fucking her father on Christmas morning—without Muriel having been invited.

Yes, Clifford, she thought, as she opened the car door. The desk in Daddy’s office is a good place to fuck. And you damn well know it is.



She was driving down the street, past the park, when she saw him. Paul was sitting on a bench in the park. He had a bag of peanuts and was feeding the pigeons, which were increasing in numbers by the second. It looked almost Alfred Hitchcockian, with Paul coming close to being covered in pigeons—and not even noticing it.



She couldn’t not stop. She parked illegally at the side of the street and moved quickly to the bench, where she took the bag of peanuts from his hands and tossed it over into the grass some distance away. The pigeons followed the bag, and the day was saved. She would have turned and left then, but Paul clutched at her arm and pulled her down on the bench beside him.



“Overwhelming, isn’t it?”



“The pigeons are now safely over there, Dad,” Merri answered. Both of them, though, knew he hadn’t been talking about the pigeons.



“I just wanted a little variety. I missed . . . you know . . . the front door.”



“Is that it, Dad? You just got tired of the way we’ve had to do it. It isn’t because she has humongous knockers.”



“Well, they are nice for variety too,” he answered with a sad little frown. “But, you know, it’s the whole ‘what’s proper’ crap. I mean we’re in our own home. And we’re both adults. There don’t have to be any children involved. If they aren’t written into the story and we stay all ‘no babies or STDs ensued and a good time was had by all’ in how this gets written up, no one need get their knickers in a knot just because of what might happen in real life. We are just in a short story here, aren’t we? I mean there will still be readers who can’t see the fiction from what could have happened in a worst-case scenario, but really, when push comes to shove, they are licking their chops and cheering for the worst-case scenario, aren’t they? I say fuck ‘em. Being sour and anal is what gets them off.”



“Sometimes I wonder where we are, Dad. Some of this sounds like stuff I’d have fun really doing. But, on the ‘proper’ business, something Steve told me last night is true, I think.”



“What’s that, sugar?”



“Maybe the health and gene pool Puritans stopped reading our story pages ago. Maybe we’re free just to do what we want in this story from this point. And, what the hell, if they’re still reading this story, maybe, as you say, they secretly get off on this stuff. And as far as any gene problems or anything, we could just not write a sequel to this story. We could just not get into any hereafter and just live and take our pleasures right here and now and have it all closed out with a ‘they lived and fucked happily ever after’ and stuff. Readers really go for that ‘happily ever after’ crap. Nobody gets after that for being unrealistic or a health danger to anyone.”



“We could just do what we wanted? On this very page?”



Merri nodded her head. “Maybe even into the next page.”



Paul groaned and gave her a grateful look, laced with arousal. One arm went around her shoulder, pulling her close to him, and the other hand worked its way up her thigh under her red shift.



“Ummm, Dad. Maybe not right here on the bench. The pigeons have stopped feeding and are watching us.”



They made it as far as the backseat of the car. Paul sat in the middle of the backseat, and Merri sat in his lap, facing him, riding his cock and leveraging up and down off her calves, until, with a cry of ecstasy from her, he pulled her down all the way into his groin.



They paused there, panting and breathing heavily while Paul’s cock throbbed inside her and her channel wall muscles shimmered over the hard shaft.



“Never, ever have I felt it so deep,” she murmured. “I knew you were long, but, Christ, Dad. We could write it up in this story as you tickling the back of my throat with it—from the cunt entrance.”



“Wouldn’t that damage your cervix? I’m pretty sure that—”



“Shut up and fuck me, Daddy.”



“I never could get all of the way in the other channel,” he whispered. “You are so beautiful to me.” He had previously pulled the shift over her head and now was leaning forward and taking her nipples in his mouth.



I’m not shitting him or just trying to make the text arousing. So, so, very long, she thought. I never knew how far into me he could reach. Such irony. All of the length Steve didn’t get was added onto Father.



But then there was no further thinking, as Paul was gripping her waist in his hands and pulling her up and down on the cock. Faster and faster and even deeper. Her fingers were pistoning her clit. She was bouncing and writhing around on top of him to beat the band.



They came together. And when she felt his flow deep inside her, she moaned her pleasure, thinking also, however, that any rewrites or add-ons to this story definitely would have to note that no eggs were fertilized and no STDs acquired. Knowing now that she just could do that made her feel very, very free to go with the pleasure.



* * * *



Paul didn’t want to come home yet. Merri drove him to a local multiplex movie theater and left before he’d chosen what movie to see. He’d seen an old colleague from the university at the box office, though, and they’d arranged for the colleague to drive Paul home after the movie.



When Merri arrived home, Clifford was back in the La-Z-Boy and was surrounded by empty beer cans. He’d made it through most of Fifty Shades of Grey, although he hadn’t fooled Merri. He skipped to the good parts, and there being few of those, even he managed to get through the book quickly. He was still transfixed with what he was reading and a bit of spittle was dripping unnoticed out of the side of his mouth. His fly was open, and his cock was roaming free. Although he was flaccid, he’d neglected to put it back in its cage.



He’s an ugly son of a gun, Merri thought, but boy does he have a Class A bod, and boy can he fuck. She felt in a teasing mood, though, feeling for the first time in two days that she could handle this family. So, she couldn’t help herself.



“I understand there are a couple of sequels of this book out that you can use as a manual for trying on Muriel.”



“No shit? Gotta get me copies of those. Where can I get them?”



“Just about anywhere, unfortunately,” Merri answered.



“Muriel’s gonna have one sore ass,” he continued.



I certainly hope so, Merri thought. And sore knees too. She turned from him so he couldn’t see her smile—just in time to see Muriel and Steve coming down from upstairs. Muriel was wearing Steve’s shirt and nothing else and, Good god, she almost exclaimed, Steve was wearing the little black shift her mother had stolen from her to wear this morning. Merri couldn’t help but observe that the shift looked better on Steve than it had on top-heavy Muriel. More darkly she realized that it looked better on him than on her as well.



The two were purring to each other in a very disgusting way.



Merri just stood there and watched her mother walk to the kitchen.



“I’ll just put this in the dishwasher, shall I?” Muriel cooed. She was holding the John Holmes, all slathered up, at arm’s length.



Steve was standing on the bottom step and could almost be heard cooing himself.



“What in the hell were you doing, Steve?” Merri asked while Muriel was in the kitchen.



Ich liebe John Holmes,” Steve answered with a shy smile.



“Of, for the love of . . .”



When Muriel returned to the living room from the kitchen, Merri leaned down and put her tongue in Clifford’s ear and whispered, “Would you like to fuck me now?”



“Sure thing,” Clifford said, in the same enthusiastic tone he’d use if she’d asked him if he wanted to turn a pro football game on the TV now or go out and adjust something vital on his motorcycle. He stood up immediately and took a couple of steps through the clattering sound of the empty beer cans.



Giving as close to a “stuck-out-tongue” expression to her mother without actually doing it, Merri took Clifford’s arm and they started toward the stairs.



At the foot of the stairs, Merri, close to Steve, who was still standing on the end of the tread, turned, and said, sweetly, “Would you like to come too, Steve? Both of you do me at once?”



Steve looked bewildered, but his feet knew what he wanted, and they moved him up the stairs behind Merri and Clifford. Muriel followed them to the bottom of the stairs and stared daggers at her daughter all of the way up.



For starters, Merri laid on her back at the bottom edge of the master bed, legs splayed, while Clifford crouched between her thighs and fucked her hard and deep. Steve was gracefully posed with his knees by her shoulders, while she elevated her torso on her elbows and sucked his cock, at one point being able to swallow his balls at the same time. Both Steve and Clifford were working her nipples, and from time to time their hands brushed together.



The story at this point is way beyond condoms being a redeeming feature, so they won’t be mentioned again, whether or not they actually were used.



Muriel came to the door at least two times that Merri could see, but no one invited her in, so she left in disgust—and a bit of despair—each time. Merri made sure that Clifford’s thrusts were strong enough to bounce the headboard off the wall in a fast-paced rhythm that surely reached Muriel’s ears no matter where she went in the house.



Merri had slower going and much more gagging when the two men exchanged places and she was working Clifford’s cock with her mouth and throat while Steve was expertly—to her orgasm—working her clit with his lips, tongue, and teeth. The two men were still playing with her nipples, and she was interested to see that now Clifford’s palms were covering Steve’s while they rubbed around her chest.



As her last contribution to the threesome, Merri maneuvered herself between the two men, Clifford laying on the bed under her, his cock up her ass channel, and Steve hunched over on top of her doing what he could with his cock inside her other channel.



Steve was ecstatic when Merri said that he could use her cunt, saying, “What the hell. It’s just a story.”



What was really getting Merri’s attention, though—in the moments when she could take her mind off a cock as thick as Clifford’s inside her ass—was that the two men were relating in an aroused way to each other now. Their hands were occasionally going into a single, shared clenched fist, and they were eyeing each other lustily over her shoulder. She intentionally moved her torso to the left and the two kissed. Steve ran a hand through Clifford’s chest hair, making little swirly patterns around his nipples, and Clifford had gotten a hand around to where he could squeeze one of Steve’s butt cheeks. When Merri heard Steve moan and felt him flinch, she knew that Clifford and moved a finger or two into her brother’s back entrance.



When she maneuvered herself from between them and went over and sat in a chair, the scene really got interesting. They were wrestling on the bed, seeming almost to be fighting each other—even boxing, as they were landing fist blows on hard bodies, growling and yelling dirty words at each other, and striking each other’s butts hard. (This is the “boxing” part foreshadowed up the pages.)



When Clifford had maneuvered behind Steve and had him bent over the bed and pinned to the mattress and was working his cock inside Steve’s ass, with Steve groaning and begging for it, Merri stood up and moved to the door. She turned around and watched Clifford pumping Steve’s ass for a few minutes.



Clifford lifted Steve off the bed—just to show he could—and stood, crouched a bit, in the center of the room, with Steve draped over the front of him, arms around his neck with fists clenched, and legs extended out and back in what was probably a perfect dance position with some French name, and showed Steve as looking very elegant—just to show he could—while Clifford continued fucking him.



Merri continued she was leaving the room for a while while she watched her brother get royally fucked—and enjoying it.



But after twenty minutes of her leaving the room, it was evident that they were comfortable enough with each other to be left alone, so Merri snatched up her red shift from the floor and really did leave the room. At the top of the stairs, she shrugged into her shift and slowly descended. Muriel was standing at the front door, facing the staircase. For the first time since she’d arrived, she looked her real age.



Merri walked over to the Christmas tree and slowly started taking ornaments off and putting them back into the box. She wasn’t sure which way she was supposed to be going with this tree—putting it up or taking it down, but an idea was forming in her mind that favored taking it down.



“They sound like they’re killing each other up there,” Muriel said in a tight voice.



“Hardly. They are having fun.”



“I called the police.”



“Bitch. Just because you weren’t having fun too.”



“Slut. You put them up to this.”



The doorbell rang. Muriel opened the door. Three burly policemen stood outside. All dreamboats, all hunky. A redhead, a blond, and a brunette.



“Well, hello,” Muriel said. In an instant, she had managed to erase twenty years off her face. She put her hands on her hips and stuck out her chest—just in case they hadn’t noticed.



“Someone reported a disturbance here, Ma’am,” the blond said to Muriel’s tits.



“Upstairs,” Muriel said. “I’ll take you all up there.”



As she walked up the stairs with the blond cop behind her, his eyes on her ass, Muriel mouthed a “slut” to Merri and Merri answered with a mouthed “bitch.”



“Sorry about that, Ma’am,” the redheaded cop said to Merri at the door, while the brunette cop was putting Clifford and Steve in the back of the patrol car. “We’ve got to take them in. Court’s out today, so they won’t be arraigned until tomorrow. Again, sorry about that.”



And then they were gone.



It wasn’t until Merri reached the top of the stairs and heard the bumping of the headboard in the master bedroom that she realized what had been wrong at the door. There had only been two policemen.



A naked Muriel, feet on the floor and bent over the foot of the bed, was being fucked by the hunky blond policeman. His trousers were off and his shirt was open. He was pistoning her fast and furious with a cock that, if anything, was 20 percent thicker and longer than Clifford’s. He was pistoning so hard and fast that it was like he had another call to go to in the next ten minutes—although Merri bet that Muriel could keep him at it for at least twenty-five minutes. He had his arms around Muriel in an embrace as she steadied herself, torso off the bed, with her own arms, and he was squeezing and prodding and otherwise luxuriating in her purported J-cup jigantic bazooms like he’d died and gone to heaven.



Muriel turned her head and gave Merri a triumphant “I still got it” look. She followed up by mouthing something that seemed to be “Plan C,” even though that made no sense to Merri. The young woman shrugged, closed the door, and went back to stripping the Christmas tree.



* * * *



“Bail is set at $5,000. Apiece.” The judge pounded his gavel hard on his desk. It was not a good day to be a defendant in his court. They were shorthanded and he’d been called in from the golf links. Clifford and Steve were told to rise and move toward the door at the back of the courtroom. Both turned, scanning the room for a familiar face. Muriel’s was the only one they saw.



“Five grand each, Mom. Can you . . .?”



Muriel shrugged from across the room and gave him a sad little look.



“Babe?” Clifford spoke up.



“Merri’s got it,” Steve called out. “Talk to her for me, will you, Mother?”



“We was married,” Clifford called out. “I think it should go to my bail.”



Muriel just shrugged again and gave them both an “I’ll see what I can do” look.



The two, penned in separate but adjoining wire cages, spent the next couple of hours each telling the other why Merri’s bail money was going to go to him. Neither pulled punches on claims of being able to satisfy her sexually better than the other.



“You got a visitor, ladies,” their jailer called out from the other room late on the evening of December 28th.



“Good. Merri and my bail,” Clifford said, standing up and moving to the front of the cage.



“I rather think it’s mine. Blood is thicker and all that.”



“I wouldn’t think you’d want to mention thicker,” Clifford muttered.



“Hello, boys,” Muriel said, as she strutted into the holding area, once more poured into her gold-sequined shift—and once more a blonde with ringlets. “How you hanging?” She came in on the arm of a blond cop.



“Which one, Mother?” Steve asked. “Which one of us is Merri springing?”



“I got her picture on the cell phone here.” Muriel held up the cell phone for both of them to see. “She wanted to say hi and wish you both the best of luck. See, there she is with Paul at the rail of the cruise ship. She’s used the $5,000 to take them both on a New Year’s cruise to the Bahamas.”



“But that means—” Steve said.



“You gotta get me outta here, babe,” Clifford whined. “You know what I think about being caged up like this.”



“Relax, boys. It’s all a misunderstanding. I’m sure when the case comes up you’ll be able to convince the judge you weren’t fighting. Now, what you tell him you were doing might be a little dicey. I don’t think he’ll understand our family quite like we do.”



“Babe.”



“Oh, and let me introduce you to Chuck. He was good enough to arrange for me to be able to come back and visit you. But we gotta go now. He wants to show me his house. I think it’s got enough bedrooms for what I was thinkin’ of doing—and it’s nice to have a policeman around in that sort of house too. And, he says he wants to show me his gun again too. Cliff, you really should see his gun. I mean, you have a nice gun, sweetie, but Chuckie here, now he’s got a GUN—if you know what I mean.”



Clifford was still “babing” Muriel while she and her big, blond gunslinger were heading out of the holding cell door.



For a moment the two men looked, one to the next, in horror and despair. And then they moved toward each other and raised their hands to the wire cage wall, wrapping their fingers around each other’s.



“I guess it’s just you and me now, babe,” Clifford murmured.



“It could be worse,” Steve answered. “And when we get out of here . . .”



“Yes, babe. When we get out of here, I’ll give you a real good time. I’ll fuck you five ways from Tuesday. And I’ll do you on Wednesday too. One sweet ass. And, damn, I could use a beer about now too.”



“I can’t wait. Merry Christmas, lover.”



“Same to you, babe. You read any of that there Fifty Shades of Grey book yet?”



“But of course. Hasn’t everyone? Well, everyone in Seattle, at least. Everyone says it trash. And they’ve read the second and third one too.”



“Yeah, I heard it’s got them sequels things too. Looks to me like it’s as good for the cocks as for the hens. Bet we could . . . wait till you see the room I got fixed up in my basement.”



“Scintillating. I do so love being dominated by a big-cocked man.”



“If that means you like a good Hells Angels fuck and a little manhandling, I’m all for that too. Just you and me now, though. As far as I can see, this family of yours is just too uptight about what others think.”



Steve blinked his eyes in disbelief. This magnificent brute really was dim as a tulip bulb. “The whole family? Paul? Me? Muriel, for god’s sake?”



“Well, Merri at least. She’s got some hang-ups.”



“I can certainly agree with you there,” Steve said, “Or at least until the last day or so.” He was thinking back to her letting him fuck her properly at last—with no mention in the story of having used a condom.


Hello, my name is John Logan, and I have super powers. Recently I found out I have a twin brother and sister, who also have super powers. Together we joined a secret government organization that seeks to protect the world from villains who possess similar abilities. Our greatest enemy is a man named Sarco, the Snake man, he leads an army of people like us with abilities, but they’re evil, seeking to take over the world. My Twins and I are going to war with them.



A few months ago, I was a geek, and a sexually frustrated one at that. Until one day, I discovered I had the ability to turn invisible whenever I got a boner. I used my ability to spy on all the hot girls who ignored me. I did that until I met a girl named Melody, and I fell in love with her. After I met her, I didn’t need to peep on the innocent anymore, I just needed her. Her smile was enough for me, her soft touch was enough for me. She was taken from me, kidnapped, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. She was taken by an old friend named Jenkins, who joined Sarco and also gained super powers.



It turned out that my powers wasn’t really invisibility; but really the ability to change people’s perceptions of reality. Even down to what they feel, and I don’t just do it when I get boners anymore, I can do it whenever I want, although it seems to be stronger when I do get a boner. All that and I still wasn’t a match for Jenkins (whose power seems to be a giant penis). He can grow his penis to any size and use it like a giant whip, strong enough to knock down a building.



After she was taken, I was heartbroken and thus the war began, it was my Boner against the world



________________________________________



John looked out the window of the helicopter, thirty choppers buzzed near his, each carrying about twenty armed soldiers ready for battle. John looked away from the window and stared down the long line of soldiers. He was put in command of these men and women; and he was half expecting to see Sam and Theo with him, but they each had their own helicopter full of soldiers.



Suddenly John’s radio switched on and a loud voice buzzed into his head “Attention! This is Captain Gordon Chase, our ETA is 5 minutes to the LZ, prepare to kick some ass!”



“You heard that guy… who I know. Lock and load or whatever…” John yelled, his voice trailing off as he noticed his unit staring at him. “You know… Let’s kick some ass and get some pussy!!!”



I’m never going to say that again, thought John.



“Yeah,” all the soldiers yelled back at him.



The helicopters zoomed low over the jungle trees, Sarco’s mountain which housed his evil base, and it’s large cave entrance, came into view. The mountain was a tall spire of beige desert rock that stuck out like a sore thumb against the rich greens of the jungle. John’s helicopter touched down in a small clearing near the mountain. The other helicopters were spread out around it; they were all to meet at the giant cave entrance on the north side of the mountain before starting the assault.



John followed the twenty scary looking soldiers as they carefully made their way to the clearing around the mountain. The cave was insight.



“What are we waiting for?” asked John, looking at his soldiers anxiously.



“We have to wait for the others before moving in sir.”



“Oh, ok… I’m just gonna go on ahead.” John announced as he suddenly walked out into the open.



The enormousness of the mountain suddenly hit him as he walked towards the cave and away from his soldiers who were freaking out. The mountain reminded him of a penis; in fact this mountain was called the ‘World Dick’ by the local natives. John spun around quickly, hearing screams of terror coming from where his men were. He watched horrified as his men ran out into the open, each on fire.



“Oh my god! Oh my God! Oh my God!” John said over and over, running around in circles, panicking as he watched all of his men die. “What do I do!? What Do I do?!”



“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha,” a haunting and echoing voice of a young woman cried. “My name is Veronica.” A young fiery red headed woman, wearing a women’s suit that had a tight skirt appeared.



She had voluptuous big breasts, long curly red hair and an evil, bitchy smile. “I’m just your ordinary sexy office red head… with super powers of course, but I like to think I have more to offer.”



“Yeah? Well I’m just pissed off and looking for revenge… and my girlfriend back, please!”



“Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, well you’ll have to get through me first.” Veronica tossed her curls to the side.



John stared her down, she had a wicked smile that John wanted to fuck off of her, plus he hadn’t had sex in a while, with his girlfriend gone and all. Suddenly her beet red hair started to ignite, like a light had been switched on underneath it. Suddenly it burst into flames.



“Haaaaaaa!!!” She screamed as she grabbed her hair and through a large wave of fire towards him.



John dove to the side, dodging the blast of fire. John disappeared, clothing and all. John had only recently been granted full control over his ability to change people’s perceptions of reality about him, but he realized that his powers were much stronger when he had an erection, which he did.



“Where the fuck did you go?!” She screamed before throwing more fire, scorching the ground around her.



“I’m behind you!”



“Ahh!!” She squealed, feeling his hands press against her breasts. She elbowed him hard and jumped away. She spun around and shot another blast of fire.



John cried out in pain. His shoulder had been grazed by the blast. He rolled on the ground wildly, trying to put out the fire and quell his pain. She chuckled spitefully as she lurked towards him, savouring his inevitable demise. John suddenly jumped up and turned invisible again.



“No!!!” She cried before throwing another wave of fire, hitting nothing but air.



“Now I’m over here and it’s my turn.” John stated.



John suddenly appeared next to her. She turned to face him. John extended his arm to the side and made a fist. Suddenly his fist became the size of a small mountain.



“What?! I thought your power was invisibility!!?” Fear contorted her voice into a small croak as she prepared herself for the punch.



“I can do far more than that. Hey wait?! You look familiar, you know I met someone like you once before, what was her name?”



“Her name was Martha, aka the Disco Ball Ice Princess and I’m her sister… Bwahhhhhhhh!!!” She screamed as the mountain sized fist crashed against her body.



She fell over unconscious thinking her whole body had exploded from the impact. When in reality, John had just ran over and punched her in the face. Her inflamed hair faded back to the beet red it was before.



“And now I’m gonna fuck you like I did your sister.” John exclaimed as he turned her over onto her back, and started to grope her tightly contained breasts through the thick material of her suit.



Her red hair was a mess. John’s other hand reached up her skirt and began rubbing her warm and wet pussy through the soft material of her panties. John suddenly tore open her jacket and started feeling up her breasts again. She had a pink silk blouse covering her bare tits. John pulled her panties down her legs and through them away, his hand quickly darted back and he began sliding his middle finger in and out of her. John could feel her orgasm growing from the slight twitches her body made. He could hear a light moan escape her lips as he pulled his finger from her pussy. John stood up and dropped his pants and underwear. His cock was rock hard. He reached down and violently pulled her skirt off of her.



Her eyes opened as she came back to her senses, “What the fuck are you doing to me, you pervert?!”



John suddenly Jumped on top of her and rammed his dick deep into her pussy, it was the hottest pussy he had ever felt. She cried out in pain and lust as her tight pussy was expanded to its limits from his invading cock. He held her down with his arms as he continued to ram in and out of her. He caused her to scream again when he started sucking on her nipples, giving each one a good 30 seconds before switching.



John pulled his head away from her as he felt his orgasm approaching. He looked down at her squirming body; she became still as she looked back into his eyes. Suddenly, John pulled his dick from her, grabbed her by the hips and violently spun her around onto her front.



Her tits pressed against the hot sand, but she didn’t notice. John suddenly plunged his dick into her tight ass hole. She screamed out of pain until she felt him cumming, filling her ass hole with his hot jizz. She passed out on the ground and started to shake violently. Her hair ignited into flames, John pulled out of her and stepped back watching shocked as she suddenly exploded into a puff of black smoke. John threw his pants back on and started off into the cave to save Melody.



________________________________________



“Where the hell is John?!” asked Theodore as he looked into the black cave ahead of them.



“I checked those dead soldiers over there; the dog tags matched the ones from his unit.” A soldier explained.



“Theodore! You don’t think he actually went ahead do you?!” Samantha asked worriedly.



“His name is John fucking Logan! What do you think?!” Theodore barked sharply as he led his men towards the cave; his trench coat swayed in the wind. Samantha and her unit followed close behind.



“Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else?” Samantha asked while twirling a strand of her raven black hair.



“Not if you want to find John alive.” Theodore answered, not even turning around to look at his twin.



“Lead the way sir. We understand that you need to save your brother, we’re all willing to die today.” said their unit’s commanding officer.



The darkness consumed them as they continued inside Sarco’s lair.



To Be Continued…



Please review, I like reviews. Any critiques would be much appreciated as my style is only just beginning to be crafted.

I used to be an astronaut and there was a time when I could get all the tail I wanted. These days I have to pretend to be a cop and wave around an unloaded gun to get any attention. That, and wear this bushy mustache the broads go crazy for. It’s sexy.



No, I’m not a security guard or a rent-a-cop. I am not a private detective and I am not in the business of protecting others for money. What I do I do for free. I do it because I believe in the American Way and I believe that everyone should have the right to do whatever the hell they want in this country. Except, of course, if they are trying to hurt other people or deny others their rights. In those cases, I put on my fake ‘stache, grab my three unloaded guns, and hit the road to do my civic duty.



The pussy I get now is not the point but it comes in handy. Like I said, when I was an astronaut I got all I could handle and then some. Most people want to know about looking down on the Earth from space and all that, asking me what it was like to be up there where so few have been. First, it looks exactly like the pictures you’ve seen taken by astronauts in space. Exactly. Second, there are like hundreds of people who have been up in space and it’s really just not that special anymore. It’s like over 500 people. Go ahead and look it up. There have even been over 30 monkeys in space. Am I supposed to feel special after 500 people and 30 monkeys have been up there? Please.



Maybe the pussy tide turned when I got out of the program. If you were President of the USA that title goes with you forever. My rank did follow me but I had to start conceptualizing myself as an astronaut in the past tense. For a few years I still got the abundant tail but after a while, it dried up. I still looked good and my dick still did what always did, but it was a new world. One in which the flow of pussy had all but dried up.



Then I got married and the wife popped out a few youngins. That’s what I call them – youngins. She think it’s cute.



Oh, and then the cop thing. Something was changing inside me and I knew I needed to start doing something to help my community. But I can’t do my thing in my community because people know me here. Instead I have to go to other places and pretend to be a cop and help people.



I used to think I might as well just go ahead and be a cop, a real one. Seems like a trouble after you find out what you have to go through to get there and they have all these like age requirements and physical fitness requirements and I didn’t have it in me to spend a lot of time jumping through hoops just so I could help people. I’d done that in the astronaut program and that was enough for one life. So I took matters into my own hands like any good American would.



This country is full of guns and it’s not hard to get your hands on a few. So I picked up three and they are my constant companions in addition to my can-do attitude and get-’er-done can-do-it-ness.



I used to be nervous about going out on patrol. Now I’m just nervous that the mustache will fall off at the wrong moment. It did fall off when I was fucking this lady’s daughter once, after I chased off the evil boyfriend of that lady in [redacted], the boyfriend being one of those lady beaters who just doesn’t know when to stop. I guess I was sweating a lot and I think I was nervous because I did not believe her hand-over-heart vows that she was over 18. I first felt it moving a little on the left, just shifting a little bit now and then when I was fucking the girl from behind. You’d probably say “doggy style” but it isn’t attractive to compare your fucking activities with those of animals. There is a long history in the English language of comparing ourselves through word choice to animals and believe you me, I am a man fucking a woman and it has nothing to do with dogs. Dogs can’t do what I do to a woman – no animal could. I care and I take care of my women. Dogs don’t take care of their bitches. Dogs fuck their bitches like they are pieces of meat and I happen to find that disrespectful and that is all I have to say on the matter.



This girl I couldn’t believe was 18 – she had these big eyes and they got even bigger when I started ramming her like there was no tomorrow. That’s how I take care of my women: I fuck them like there’s no tomorrow. Really, anyone could die at any moment. Are you really going to waste your time fucking a woman like there is a tomorrow? You have to get whatever’s in your mind and body and heart and dick and balls out right now. You have to live like there is no tomorrow.



Her big eyes got even bigger when I entered her. She was also a bit of a drooler, which I don’t mind. It made it convenient when I took myself out of her and entered her mouth in the middle of fucking her like there was no tomorrow. I could tell she had not been fucked like there would be no tomorrow and I could also tell that she liked it. No girl allows herself to drool all over her face and her tits if she is not into how you are fucking her – trust me.



The mom – where was the mom? I don’t know, actually. She must have left so we wouldn’t be disturbed. Down at the track or something. Local watering hole.



The slobbering thing was not nice to look at but it felt great. I would go from fucking her pussy like there was no tomorrow to fucking her mouth like there was no tomorrow but when I was fucking her mouth, I could feel her breath escape around my cock now and then. And I could feel her moaning on my cock and the warm slickness of her tongue trying to wrap itself around me as I pounded her. I held her head and neck with both hands and made the most of it.



She wasn’t too skinny, either. Sometimes with these teens you get the like concentration-camp-survivor look because they get all freaked out about eating because they don’t want to be fat or can’t accept love from other people or whatever causes that stuff. Whatever. The point is that she was lean but not scary skinny and my avocation definitely paid off that day.



What had happened is that the mom’s boyfriend was supposed to be off the premises temporarily due to a conflict with the mom that had been brewing for some weeks. She asked him to leave and he voluntarily went to stay somewhere else for a while but then he came back because he wanted to talk to the woman and she wouldn’t answer her phone, so of course he felt like he had to come over because between you and me he didn’t seem to get that patience just might be a virtue in that situation. I was at the corner bodega doing what I do best for the citizens of [redacted] and I heard shouting a few doors down. I neutralized and wrapped up the situation there in no time and went outside to see where the argument was coming from. It was pretty obvious, as the woman was trying to push the boyfriend off the front step. She was not making any progress and so I came over and flashed my badge. He responded to that pretty quick-like and I was able to get things under control. He made it clear that he was not going to leave until he had had ample opportunity to talk things over with the woman, and I made it clear that that was not going to happen as long as she was not into the idea and wanted him to leave. That was when I chased him off the block.



When I came back to the house, catching my breath and surreptitiously making sure the mustache was firmly in place, this juicy daughter of hers had come to the open door. She was standing in the doorway behind her mother with the crossed arms, trying to gain control of her emotions and, I guess, heart rate. I relayed to them what I had shouted at the man as I chased him down the street and assured them that I did not believe that he would be coming back any time soon to harass them. The lady expressed relief and asked me if I wanted to come in and have something to drink while I took down the information I would need to take to complete my report. I remembered that I am not a real cop but I did not let on and showed no sign of nerves about the prospect of making a report later.



I followed them into the house and couldn’t help but notice the legs on the girl and how her ass filled out her shorts. Or maybe I should say how her shorts advertised a great deal of the girl’s fuckability. When we got to sitting down and the woman went to the kitchen to get us drinks, the girl looked me over and smiled at what she saw. I smiled back. At this point in these situations I have not yet assumed that I will fuck the female before I leave the premises. But she had already decided that she would try to fuck me but the look on her face was more like she had decided that one way or another, she would have my cock in her mouth before I left the premises. This all played out with nonverbal cues as I talked with the mother who was in the kitchen getting us drinks. After a few minutes she returned with a tray, carrying iced tea and lemonade in little pitchers and with three glasses. The tray was much nicer than their apartment, which wasn’t bad at all, but I did have the thought that the tray might have been stolen. Since I am not a real cop I have the luxury of ignoring such complications – one of the perks of it not being my job. I’ve sworn no oath, I’ve signed no contract. I’m just a good American doing what all Americans should do.



We chatted for a while and then I took down all of their information. When I asked the girl her age she told me 18 but then kind of laughed. The mom laughed too and I figured they had some kind of inside joke that I shouldn’t bother asking about. If they had an inside joke it wouldn’t have made sense to me and I would have felt silly as they laughed about something in which I was unable to find humor because I had not been party to the original joke, its first iteration however long ago that was or might have been.



When I had all of the information down on my steno pad I made ready to leave. The woman asked me to wait just one minute before leaving and she went out the other side of the kitchen. The girl then came over to me and got on her knees in front of me, telling me as she stroked my thighs and looked at my package that her mom was gone so that we could have some space to fuck. At this point in the situation, I definitely know that I am going to fuck the girl before I leave the premises.



She unzipped my pants. Nosing my swelling cock, she started making these moaning noises that I don’t often hear teens I fuck make. Kind of barnyardy, desperate moans that first make you think she’s putting on a show for you or trying to get herself into the idea of sucking you off or fucking you but at present is not into it. But it wasn’t about that. It was just what she did to let me know she was getting herself going. She turned out to be very vocal during the foreplay, including between thrusts when blowing my dick. Yes, she had a lot to say.



I pulled the shoulder straps of her tank top down over her shoulders so I could have unimpeded access to her upper back as she blew me. Even before taking me in her mouth the feel of her upper back muscles working as she rubbed her face against my cock finished getting me hard. She pulled my pants down to my knees so she could reach under me and grab my ass while she blew me – she knew exactly what she was doing. I reached down to touch her breasts and tease her nipples. Because of the angle she was pressed against my arms. Feeling her pressed up against me while she had me in her mouth all the way made it hard not to grab her up to face me and shove her down on my cock. Her tits in my hands were pressing against my inner thighs and that has always been something that gets me going, that makes me unable to sit still for long.



This whole time there was a reasonable amount of saliva coming out her mouth. She didn’t start the drooling until I entered her pussy for the first time. Kind of an automatic response like there was now no longer room in her for all that slobber now that her pussy was filled up and getting pumped. Like lube out of the wrong end but like I said, I don’t mind because it makes switching between her holes easier on my cock and faster – no waiting for her to summon spit a dozen times to match the lubrication of her slit. After I had to have more of her than her mouth I stood up and took off the rest of my clothes. I picked her up and set her down on the couch on her back. I removed the tank top and short shorts and just gazed at this body that was about to be mine. These girls – they bring everything there is to bring. The lines of their bellies, the tenuous rising and falling of their bellies as they breathe expectantly. Now she had had a taste of my cock and was beginning to feel an ache to have me inside of her. I wasn’t ready yet because I was going to explore that body with hands, mouth, and tongue before entering her. Smooth skin, amazing muscle tone. I couldn’t get enough of her rocking her hips because she wanted me inside her so bad. She didn’t even know she was doing it is how into me she was.



I rubbed my hands all over her front, from her tits to the tips of her fingertips, from her soft belly to the ends of her toes. A finger in her mouth but just for a second. On the way around her hips a brush of two fingers against her lips. She was rocking back and forth now, hoping I’d stick some part of myself inside her pussy and stay there. But I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t done sampling every inch of this incredibly fuckable body. I kissed her a hundred times everywhere but her mouth and pussy. As I stroked her thighs and ass I breathed in deep her scent, letting the anticipation build to where even I almost couldn’t handle it any longer. I’ve rarely got myself worked up quite that much but it isn’t every day when you have an 18-year old goddess lying spread eagle in front of you, whimpering while every inch of her writhes because she needs you to fill her hole so she can finally feel complete.



When I finally did start licking her lips I teased her by edging my tongue between them, making her feel just the beginning me of entering her, just some slight knocking at the door. She kept pressing against my tongue and lips as I worked, the vocal scene really getting going. I asked her what she’d been wasting her time on before she met me and she laughed between gasps, because that was the moment when I decided to slowly enter her pussy with my tongue. She grabbed my head, gripping my hair and pulling me to her. I shoved my tongue into her beautiful cunt again and again, giving her just a bit of me filling her hole. I have always had an amazing tongue, if I may say so. Well, I say so only because I have received praise for it and what I do with it since I got my mouth on my first pussy years ago. What it is is that I have the ability not just to stick my tongue out but also to expand it once it is stuck out. This means that I have total control over how thick my tongue is and after I start fucking a pussy with it I can make it wider. Women love this and if I had not asked these many women to keep the lid on it because of my status as an astronaut, I would by now be one of the most famous men on the planet because of this tongue fucking I can do. The real deal with women is not that they want a long dick but that they want a thick dick.



But this isn’t when she started drooling – not with the tongue fucking.



My favorite part of tongue fucking this girl was and will always be holding her waist tight as I thrust inside her while she held on to my head like she was holding on for life itself. She could not get me deep enough in her and I could tell she wasn’t going to be able to withhold much more of this incredibly tense anticipation. Her whole body was about to explode, I could tell. I took my tongue out of her pussy and gave her one last lip lick before turning her over on her front. I stroked her back and ass cheeks as I told her what I was going to do her. She told me to do it already. I moved myself slowly up and down her crack, throbbing as I went. She moved against me but I could tell she didn’t want to – she wanted me to do all the work now. She told me to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before. I smiled and asked her quietly if she wanted to get fucked like there would be no tomorrow and she screamed/moaned a loud yes. It was then that I slipped the head of my cock into her cunt for the first time.



With just the tip inside her, I refused to move. She was trying not to move into me but couldn’t help herself. I told her to wait even though she thought she couldn’t. She seemed to emit word-like sounds to the effect “okay.” I put a hand on her shoulder and the other on her waist to hold her in place. She literally couldn’t help moving her hips to shove back and up into me so I moved my other hand to her other hip and pressed my weight down on her.



She tried to get control of her breathing and started to have some success. I pulled and pushed on her ass cheeks to feel her lips sliding against the rim of my cock. She was an incredible fuck and I wanted to savor every moment, try out every bell and whistle her tight little body had to offer. Her arms were bent with her hands under her shoulders. She tried not to move them, pressing into the couch cushion in an attempt to stabilize herself. I told her to be in the space of tension of wanting to move against me and not do it, that I’d be filling her up in no time and that this tension was good for her. She couldn’t speak but nodded slightly, and that’s when I slid the rest of the way inside her. She screamed and her back arched from the surprise, her head almost coming back to my chest. I kept my grip on her waist, pressing her pelvis into the couch. She uncurled and as I slowly rammed her she moved her upper body and arms, turning her head now and then, consumed with the feeling of having me completely inside her.



I ground her pussy slowly for a while and then started alternating with a few quick thrusts to gauge her reaction. As I watched the side of her face at this point, I noticed the first of the waves of voluminous slobber coming out of her mouth and pooling on the cushion of the couch. At first I thought my eyes were playing a trick on me but I focused as I fucked her multirhythmically and sure enough, huge gobs of slobber were indeed coming out of her mouth. That’s when I started thinking about me finally filling her pussy up must be making the globs come out the other end. If I had not been enjoying fucking and filling her up so much I might have laughed, but fucking this girl was entirely serious and called for all of my attention.



I drew myself out to the point of just having a millimeter of my cock inside her, playing soft at her entrance and feeling the velvety pillows on either side of my hard dick. I could tell I was pumping out precome like crazy, anticipating the intense high I’d get from coming while fucking this amazing girl.



Her pony tail bobbed as she seemed to nod her face down into the cushion muffling her cries of passionate joy. I took a hand from pressing her waist down and grabbed it, pulling her head back. I wanted to hear her scream from pleasure as I fucked her. She told me to go faster and I did because I wanted her to have the most amazing fuck of her entire life. I told her to pull her ass cheeks apart and she did, and I rammed her faster and faster. I lost no intensity, though, so what she was experiencing lead directly to globs of her slobber flying out or her mouth and being launched on the arm of the couch in front of her. The cushion where her head had been was now improbably drenched and, I figured, it could use a break. Slimy ropes of it had slipped off the couch and fallen and pooled on the floor. I resolved to watch my step if I went that direction when I was done with her.



I removed myself from her and turned her over, going back to eat her out for a while. I didn’t tongue fuck her this time and I could tell she felt empty without my cock or tongue inside her to fill her up. I licked her pussy and sucked on her clit, which I could tell she’d never experienced before. She was probably used to boys who kissed her a couple of times and then ramrodded her for twelve seconds until they had uncontrollably come. Today I was treating her to something special that women rarely experience and if you think about it, this is really half of the public service I offer communities in which I do not live. Taking down criminals is just part of the story.

The Innocents Abroad



For months the Great Pleasure Excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was chatted about in the newspapers. Its like had not been thought of before. It was to be a picnic on a gigantic scale. The participants were to sail away in a great steamship with flags flying and take a royal holiday in many a strange clime and land renowned in history!



What was there about lacking in that program? Nothing, that any finite mind could discover, except one question. I was a young man, and of course the thought occurred to my mind, “Will I lack for female companionship on this expedition?” I therefore made inquiries, and was gratified to learn that the passenger list composed three ministers of the gospel, several military and naval chieftains, eight doctors, sixteen ladies of various ages, and also the daughters of four of the above ranging in age from eighteen to twenty-one. Thinking that among such a selection of fair ones I should surely find the adventure a young man desires, I promptly booked passage.



The vessel was appointed to sail on a Saturday early in June. I reached the ship and found all bustle and confusion. I waited my time, and soon seeing a family with a young daughter approaching, managed to be standing at the bottom of the gangway just in time to offer to take her valise and give her my arm as we went on board. This of course, led to introductions and an invitation from her papa to dine with them soon. Slipping away, I made my way back ashore and performed the same gallant maneuver with the other three young ladies as they boarded the ship also. They were a well assorted lot, and of them all a certain Miss Mary T. caught my attention by her coquettish ways, and also by the elegant fashion in which I found her firm young boob pressing my arm as we climbed aboard. I made a mental note to pay more attention to Miss Mary.



We weighed anchor, and went to sea. I thought that never was such gladness in the air before, such brightness in the sun, such beauty in the sea. As we left the harbor, I decided to promenade around the deck. It was breezy and pleasant, but the sea was very rough. One could not promenade without risking his neck. One’s safest course, that day, was to clasp a railing and hang on; walking was too precarious a pastime. As I was engaging in this prudent conduct, comfortably ensconced against a pillar and holding hard to the rail, I was gratified to behold Miss Mary T. also attempting to make a promenade. Just as she approached me, the ship was taking deadly aim at the sun with its bowsprit, and the next moment it was trying to harpoon a shark in the bottom of the ocean.



By means of a happy accident I was able to place myself in such a manner as to be able to render aid to Miss Mary just as the ship pitched. In honest fact, the tossing precipitated her bodily into my arms. With a little gasp, she threw her arms around my neck to steady herself. This was well enough in itself, but after the immediate danger was over, she pressed her body even closer to mine, holding tight around my neck and rubbing her tits and groin against me in a most personal way.



Without preliminary, she breathlessly whispered in my ear, “Mama and papa have a date to play whist after dinner. Come to my cabin when the card players begin their evening.” Nothing could have been more warming to my heart, not to say raising to my cock. I replied, “I shall be delighted.” and then, in a louder voice, “Permit me now to escort you below?”



She nodded so I took the liberty of placing my arm around her waist, lest there should be another sudden movement of the ship, and together we proceeded to her family’s cabin. She made sure that I knew the cabin number and the deck, and then showed me an intricate little knock that I could use to identify myself. Allowing me to caress her tits gently in farewell, she slipped inside, looking back with a smile that was full of the promise of further delights.



This was shaping up to be a delightful voyage in every way. It was with a glad heart that I listened to the dinner bell ring at six that evening. By seven o’clock dinner was about over; an hours promenade on the upper deck followed, and each time around as I encountered the lovely Miss Mary and her patriarchal father and antediluvian mother I bowed gently. My loins quivered each time she smiled and dimpled as she curtsied in return, her low cut gown providing a gentle glimpse at the rounded tops of her boobs. I dared show no further interest, however, under Mama’s stern gaze. Soon the gong sounded and most of the passengers returned to the large saloon for cards. I loitered around the door until I saw that Mama and Papa T. were well into their game, and then silently slipped out of the room.



The motion of the ship had again increased, and I stumbled down the passage like a drunken man. I attribute that solely to the deck rising and falling under my feet, and would not admit to a giddiness at the thought of Miss Mary awaiting me in her cabin. Learned men may disagree but I am sticking to that story. I sounded the intricate triple rap she had taught me, my cock twitching in my trousers as I did. The door opened just a slit and I saw her merry eyes, one of them closed in a teasing wink. The door opened a bit more and a slim bare arm reached out and quickly drew me inside. Behind me the door clicked shut. Before me, to my amazement, I beheld the lovely Miss Mary, not in the voluminous gown which was her common dress aboard, not even in her shift or petticoats. Her body was wrapped only in a linen sheet from the bunk, pulled tight over her tits and leaving her white shoulders bare.



Just then the ship decided to sink away from under us, and the motion impelled this soft body directly into my arms. She clutched me tightly, pressing against me under the thin sheet, and as the ship righted herself, she giggled and began to unbutton my waistcoat. My shirt swiftly followed and as it fell to the floor, so did the sheet covering that delicious body. I felt her naked tits press into my bare chest, the nipples hard with excitement, and softly rub back and forth. No true gentleman could fail to salute such a grand display, and of course my hands were soon busy entertaining those soft mounds.



By this time my cock was threatening to pop the buttons of my trousers. Gently those soft hands rubbed over it and then began to work on the buttons. She showed a delightful talent in this direction and rapidly lowered my trousers over my knees. I was happy to remember that I had felicitously chosen clean cotton drawers this morning as she quickly dispatched them also. Now my manly shaft stood out like the flagpole on a steamboat, and she dropped to her knees before me and proceeded to her work with a will.



I threw back my head and moaned gently as those soft lips worked their way around the head of my dick, and then slowly sucked it into her mouth. I had often seen from the pilot house on the Mississippi the great cylinder heads working up and down as the engines were fired, and it was with equal satisfaction that I watched the head of this girl work up and down on my cock. I felt the same feeling of proprietorship in that cock as I had felt in the steamboat plowing down the middle of the river. Faster and faster she went, and it was not long before I had a full head of steam and was moving mightily toward the quay.



But now the ship took to rocking again, and the whole operation took on a new aspect. Just as I would thrust my cock toward her throat, that blasted ship would decide to roll the other way and I would find myself dangling in space. She would try to get her lips back around it, and the ship would toss its head another direction and she might miss entirely. This was disconcerting, to say the least, and I cursed old Neptune in my head again and again. Just as I would begin to drive deeply with the greatest pleasure, he would toss the ship again and leave my bowsprit pointing as high in the heavens as the ship’s was.



Finally we concluded to give this operation up as a dry well, and I pushed Miss Mary back onto the bunk. This proved to be a more stable platform, merely rocking back and forth with the ship. Carefully spreading her white thighs, I took a careful sighting on the wet pink pussy there and plunged my shaft toward it. Alas, just then old Neptune shook his trident again and I wound up driving a furrow along her thigh and into the long grass.



She was no less disconcerted than I, and endeavored to correct the situation. Her hips heaved up to capture my shaft, and with great good luck so did the ship. I plunged into the warm wetness, and gave a sigh of satisfaction. Now we began to learn in earnest to take advantage of the motion of the ship, and let it control the speed and depth of motion we shared. The ship pressed up and drove her pussy against my shaft and I heaved. Then the ship decided to drop down over a wave, and my dick slid almost out of its goal. Again the ship rose up and again I plunged my cock deep into her cunt, and again pulled out as the ship tossed.



We kept up this uneven contest with the elements for some time, and by letting the ship win the battle soon were racing toward our climaxes. Together we pressed together and let the ship rock us, producing the most delightful feelings of pleasure. Finally the ship gave one great upward pitch and then dived down to the bottom of the sea, and my cock penetrated far into her wet depths and both of us cried out as we came together. Then locked in a deep embrace we let the ship rock us back and forth as we relaxed.



Eventually the time came to leave. I searched for my clothes about the room, scattered here and there by our hurry to come together and the assistance of the ship tossing about as we had thrown them around the stateroom. I managed to make something of a toilet, although I fear my waistcoat was seriously awry and the buttons far from their proper places. With one final warm embrace, I slid open the stateroom door and emerged into the corridor.



To my amazement, I had not taken two steps before I beheld coming down the passage none other than the patriarch and the whale. Shuffling toward them with downcast eyes, with quaking heart I heard him say, “Why, what the devil are you doing here, youngster? Ain’t your cabin on the other deck?”



Of course I had no lie ready, and in those circumstances a man is at a disadvantage. It is always best to prepare your lies ahead of time, and then they rip right out easily. But when you haven’t had time to think it over, they seem to stick in your throat and not want to slide out. I stammered and muttered something about being confused with the weather, and the ship rocking sending me astray. Just then, to my gratification, she gave a good heavy lurch and all of us were forced to grab a rail. Thinking furiously I allowed this lurch to propel me a good way down the passage, and thus escaped from the glaring parents. I breathed a silent prayer that my pretty companion had managed to put the sheets back on the bed and hide her delicious body under them before being surprised.



Thus the time passed merrily while at sea. I learned that two of the girls aboard the ship were of strict religious denominations and spent their after dinner hours in the chapel in prayer. But Miss Mary and one other girl were decidedly of different persuasions and were glad to welcome myself, and several other of the young men aboard, to participate in their after dinner services. The comradeship thus constituted among the young folk was very close and the older passengers were heard often to comment what fine flowers of American youth we all were as we sported on deck during the day. No doubt some of them wondered where certain of our number were after dinner, but they were too much engaged in either church services or whist to inquire too deeply.



It seemed that but little time passed in this desirable fashion before excitement spread through the ship as we neared the continent of Europe. Very soon we steamed into the great city of Marseilles, near to nightfall. My friend Dan and I contracted with a waterman for the privilege of using his boat as a bridge, and set foot in France! Of course, the first thing we wanted to do was to see the notorious Can-Can dancers. We approached a young man standing under a lamppost, smoking a French cigarette which by its smell seemed to be made of horse dung scraped off the streets. Dan confidentially approached him and said, “Pardon, Monsewer, noos vooloons vwar le danse du can can?”



The young man looked perplexed. As all Americans do when speaking to foreigners, Dan raised his voice and shouted at the young man, “Monsewer, noos avons lee deesire oo lee dansoos du lee can can!” Again, there was no response but a perplexed look.



Dan was becoming annoyed. “Blast it, man, don’t you understand perfectly good French?” he cried.



The young man dropped his vile cigarette and said, “Blimey, mate, why didn’t you speak English at first? I don’t understand any of your buggered French!”



It developing that our new acquaintance was a member of Her Majesty’s Navy on shore leave, we promptly hailed each other as warm friends, based on our shared language in this strange land. Finding that the sailor had the same intentions that we did, we proceed to search for some low dive where the notorious can can might be displayed. Sudden a domed and filigreed white temple appeared to our view. Seeing no other place more likely to gratify our desires, we took a chance on this one. Within it was a drinking saloon and all around it a broad platform for the dancers. Twenty sets formed, the music struck up, and then — I placed my hands before my face for very shame. But I looked through my fingers. This is the can can. The idea of it is to dance as wildly as you can, and if you are a woman, expose yourself as much as possible.



The girls grasped their dresses with both hands, raised them pretty high, danced an extraordinary jig that had more exposure about than any jig I ever saw, and then launched a vicious kick. Their silk bloomers were on display for the edification of all in the audience. Then they turned their backs and flipped their dresses up so that their underpinnings in that area were on full display, tantalizingly pulled tight across their pretty little butts. Well, this show was good enough for my custom anytime. But then alarming things began to happen.



First, the girls partners seemed to be wanting to fondle the soft material over their chests, but then as the drums came to a great roll, they pulled their hands away and there seemed to be some sort of a wardrobe malfunction. Every one of those unfortunate girls lost the top of her dress, bringing out a display of feminine boobs such as I had never had the joy to observe before. Now they were dancing and kicking in a way that had never been seen on earth since Tam O’Shanter saw the witches and goblins at their orgies outside the wee kirk. Their boobs bounced and their butts wiggled.



I whispered to Dan, “Should we leave?” That is, I thought about whispering that to Dan. I had every intention of whispering that to Dan. But somehow what came out was, “We have to see what comes next.”



I know Dan intended to respond, “Of course we should leave,” but what he actually whispered was, “We sure do!”



Well, after kicking and wiggling her tits some more, each of the girls turned to face her partner and spread her legs wide. The men then slid right under the girls skirts. As if that was not enough to bring a blush to any right minded observer, as the men emerged from under the skirts it could be seen that each waved a silky pair of bloomers in the air! The girls shrieked, but then they began to lift their skirts again, showing bare legs and a glimpse of more above them. They turned their backs and flipped up their skirts, and we were presented with an array of glorious moons as big and round as any I ever saw over the Mississippi on a dark night. Then they turned around again, raised their skirts high, and started to kick.



Now we truly saw a spectacle, as each girl presented a somewhat different aspect. Some were dark, with heavy pubic hair over pink pussy lips. Others were blonde with light sparse hair and cunts that were almost white. There was one flaming redhead who duplicated that feature over her pussy and presented an amazing spectacle. As they kicked their pussies opened and closed in unison and they continued to shriek in delight.



This, then, was the notorious Can-Can. Dan and I looked at each other, and our minds had but a single thought. If the can-can was such a success, how much more so must be the famous French filles de joie? But where were to find these flowers of delight? Dan nudge me, and pointed to our Naval associate. With the unerring instinct that men of his profession seem to possess, he had clearly taken aim on his objective near the far wall, and was in the process even now of boarding her. A number of her sister ships sailed the same course, so Dan and I turned our compasses in that direction.



Neither Dan nor I seemed to be of a mind to essay another voyage into the French language, so we simply approached the girls jingling a few pieces of American gold specie in our hands. The filles seemed well acquainted with this method of communication, and we speedily concluded our agreements, I with a delightful little girl of pale skin and blonde hair, with white tits spilling out the front of her chemise, whose name was Marie, and Dan with a somewhat larger girl of dark hair and face, whose bountiful boobs seemed ready to burst their container. She was called Celeste.



Led by the filles de joie, we ascended a stairway into the upper hallway. Naturally we had expected to be led to separate chambers, but the girls giggled and opened the door to one large room equipped with two bedsteads. Pushing me down on one, and Dan on the other, they astonished us by beginning a show that we had not expected to be part of our contract.



First delicately holding each other by the waist, they gently kissed, and then pulling closer together in passionate embrace, impaled their tongues into each others mouths and were soon deep kissing and rubbing their tits against each other in a most exciting way. Soon Marie turned her back to her colleague, and was speedily disencumbered of her dress and petticoat, leaving her in bloomers and a black corset. Celeste’s hands roamed over her soft shoulders, down to the silky fabric over her ass and legs, and up into the space where the silk covered her pussy. Then the positions were reversed and Celeste was as swiftly divested of her dress. Her corset was brilliant red and pushed her delicious boobs up to the point of almost spilling out. She turned and Marie kissed her all over from the shoulders and neck down into that deep cleavage. Then skillfully Marie opened the clasps of the corset and let it fall to the floor, thus presenting Celeste’s large boobs and hard nipples to our view. As Marie caressed those soft globes, I could feel my cock straining against my trousers, and looking at the other bed observed manifestations in Dan’s lower regions which indicated he shared the experience.



Now Marie’s corset was removed, and her small pink nipples were sought by Celeste’s mouth. Sucking gently, she clearly brought pleasure to Marie, who cast back her head and moaned softly. Celeste’s hand again sought the soft place between Marie’s legs and we could see the dampness spreading over the fabric. Putting her hand inside the bloomers, Celeste skillfully pulled them down so that she could caress Marie’s pussy. At first she probed softly into the pink lips under the blond hair, but then with more and more force and swiftness. Marie’s hips moved toward her hand and rotated slowly.



Now Celeste turned around again, and Marie was able to drop her corset and reach around her to grasp her large boobs and squeeze the dark nipples. Then Marie slid her hands down the others ass and pulled her bloomers off. As this happened my hand seemed to develop a mind of its own and crept toward my crotch, following old habits. I was forced to speak sternly to it, and demand that it retire from its objective and leave that to the ladies now before us. It is well when traveling to learn new ways from the inhabitants of the land.

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