Chapter 10

It was dark when at last they arrived at the Simmons' place, and Jeanie - thinking how insane it all was, how much her moral outlook had changed in the month since the riot - steered the car into the drive and silenced the engine. She turned to Tony, who hadn't spoken a word since they left the arbor of branches and leaves she now considered their "special retreat," to be used when she wanted only him, wanted to remember this day. Now he was watching her with an / see through you stare, as if she were a germ under a microscope. She'd grown used to such looks. In the weeks since her return home, with Daddy, with all the secret childhood fantasies become a reality, she'd reconciled herself to being an object of male wonder. It was nice in a way; it gave her a sense of power over the men in her life.

"Who's comin' to the party?" asked Tony, a hint of apprehension in his dark eyes.

She smiled. "Just Daddy." She watched him glance toward the house. The front of his pants were a mess, his shirt smeared with lipstick. In the dim light from the dash he looked like a bedraggled hitchhiker she'd found on the road. She supposed she looked worse. Icky. Disheveled. Her hair was a mop, she knew. But that was okay; she'd waited a month for this night ... just her and Tony and Daddy in the same bed. "Mother is still at the nursing home," she added breathlessly. "It's better that way. She was always underfoot. Me 'n' Daddy would've ... well, you know. We would've done it long ago if not for Mother walking in whenever we got started."

Tony grunted. Mentally he was calling her a whore again, she could tell. It made her belly turn over; it made her mind recoil, but only mildly, with only a dim flicker of shame. She didn't care anymore what anyone thought. Perhaps she was a whore. Perhaps someday, years from now when her youth and beauty faded, she'd regret what the rioting rapists had done to her mind and body. But that was a long time away. And whatever the consequences, whatever her ultimate destiny, for now, for tonight, there was Tony and Daddy to sooth the flicker of shame. It was as if she had lived her whole life for this moment, and tomorrow be damned.

The front door to the house opened, and Daddy, her own wonderful daddy, wearing a silk bathrobe and slippers - her Christmas gifts to him - appeared as a tall silhouette against the light from the living room. "Hurry!" she whispered excitedly, and was out of the car and up the stone steps, in Daddy's strong arms, before Tony could open the passenger door.

Now there was no hesitation, no pretense. Daddy's hands were all over her bruised bottom the moment they stepped inside the house. She kissed him. She sighed, hugged his neck, and took his tongue into her mouth ... all the time watching Tony watch her. Two big lovely cocks! she thought. She felt the one growing hard low on her belly, saw the hoselike limpness in Tony's pantsleg stir. She could imagine the two slipping in ... one in front, parting the blonde hairs of her pussy ... the other making her whine and thrash, hurting as it grated up her behind. Which one where, she wondered, knowing the choice wasn't hers to make. Knowing that soon, after the initial loveplay, the men would become wild beasts and she would become the receptacle to be used as they saw fit.

Pete Simmons broke the kiss, looked from his daughter's face to Tony. "Don't think about it," he told the younger man. "I tried that. It don't work with Jeanie. For years I've been trying to keep my hands off her, telling myself it's not right. And then you, the riot. She's not the same girl anymore. She - " his hand lifted the mini in back, closed over one plump cheek. "She can't help herself. Neither can I."

"Neither can he," cooed Jeanie. She extended her small hand to Tony, coaxing him close. It was funny, she thought. Men always seemed to need excuses for what they did to her, as if they were the ones being denied, abused. Until they got their dicks in. Until her tight pussy, her asshole or mouth - whichever sweet entry they chose - was full of their need, and they forgot all but the pounding, the thrust, the steady, giddy fuck-motion directed at orgasm. Then the roles changes completely. Then she was the one who hesitated, inflamed but unsure, as it should be. Pliable flesh. A woman. A helpless creature at the mercy of her man. At the mercy of both her men, she corrected mentally. Like at the prison ... hard cocks everywhere.

"I had a suspicion you two were, ah ... !" Tony gestured. He tried to smile, to shrug the kinky scene off as commonplace. But in his face there was doubt; a residue of the thing Jeanie herself had had to conquer. Awkwardness. Shame. "That way," he finished at last. "Fucking ! That first day at the tag shop ... did she tell you about the tag shop?"

"She told me everything," replied Pete. "That's what started it. I brought her home after the riot, sat her on my lap ... did she tell you about that?"

Tony nodded. Both men grinned, then laughed, the uneasiness fading. Jeanie looked from one to the other. Her nipples ached. Her cunthole, her chute, although she and Tony had fucked for hours and hours, fucked every which-way, longed to hold a stiff cock. She seemed to shrink, becoming smaller as the two men gained confidence in themselves and each other and became conspirators in her degradation.

"That first fucking time at the tag shop," Tony continued, stepping close, his hand dropping to the halve of her ass opposite Pete's kneading fingers, "when she yelled Daddy with my prick up 'er ass. Christ, I damn near figured it then. But I was too anxious to get some ... all those years. So I didn't know for sure 'til today in the car." His long stinkfinger slid down the split of her bottom, probed.

Jeanie gulped. She was glad Tony had ruined the panties, that she'd thrown them away and there was nothing but her back there. She rested her head on her father's chest, arms tight at his neck, and bent slightly at the waist, presenting her plump buttocks. She opened her sphincters. Tony's finger disappeared up her ass. "Hummmm!"

"It's not easy being a father to someone like Jeanie," said Pete soberly. His hand abandoned her cheek, crept around to her bush. "Ever since she was twelve ... did she tell you about the lap-sitting games we used to play?"

"Ummm!" Tony breathed hot in her ear. His finger fucked slowly in and out. His free hand shot to her tit. "That was cute - the head cheese 'n' all. Like something I would've done. Remind me sometime to tell you about 'musical chairs' for two. Me 'n' mom."

"Jeanie didn't know it," said Pete, ignoring the comment as if he hadn't heard, as if lost in the vision of his daughter as a child, "but I used to sneak in her room late at night, stand at the side of the bed V think, 'Jesus, she's a beauty already. Only a baby, twelve years old, but with small pointed tits 'n' pretty blonde curls on 'er ... !" His fingers found her wet daughter-cunthole, slipped smoothly in. "A baby with soft fuzz on 'er pussy,' I used to think. I used to stand there 'n' ease the sheets back while she sighed in 'er sleep. She never wore much in those days ... little-girl cotton panties, no bra. A sleeping cock-teaser! My own kid! I used to stand there 'n' smell 'er, my nose right up to the crack of 'er ass. Jesus! She smelled so fuck-ing ood I wanted to bite 'er. But I used to think to myself, This is your daughter, Pete. Don't do it. There's laws. Don't touch the girl. Be satisfied with the lap-sitting games, because if you go any further 'n' she tells ..."

Jeanie rammed her cunt onto his fingers, looked lovingly into his face. "I ... oh, I wouldn't have told, Daddy. Never. I ... I wanted you too."

Pete stared into her eyes. He frowned, as if unable to believe she was the girl he had fathered. It was the same look she'd seen on the first day home after the riot - the look he got each time before they screwed. Now he stepped back enough to allow his stiff dick to pop from the front of the bathrobe. She gasped. The glans - almost as fiery red as Tony's, though not as round, more pear-shaped and lumpy where the roll of skin marked his circumcision - brushed her wedge. His hips bucked forward with the natural urge to fuck.

Jeanie sobbed, took hold of the veiny cylinder.

She sawed herself back and forth, taking Tony's finger deep in her asshole, her father's up her vagina. Instinct was wonderful, she mused. No matter what inhibition dictated, no matter what moral beliefs one held, nature overrode both with her lusty demands. A stiff dick had no knowledge of incest. A sopping wet pussy knew only the need to be filled. Why had it taken her so long to realize? And Daddy! How dumb! Why hadn't he - or someone, anyone - taught her the delights of being a woman when she was a girl ?

"Man! Goddam, already! Ain't there no bedrooms aroun' here?" blurted Tony. "My dick's harder 'n a railroad spike." He rubbed the bulge against her buttocks to demonstrate. "I thought this blowout was supposed to be a party."

Pete laughed. Jeanie tried to echo the sound. But there was no laughter in her, only heat. Only the emptiness at the pit of her belly; the ache at both hot hairy holes, and the tightness, the pain that was at once torture and bliss, making her nipples stand tall. Later there would be room for laughter, perhaps tears. Now there was room only for fucking.

Abruptly she unraveled herself from the tangle of arms and hands and probing fingers. She started across the room, stopped. Slowly she turned, lifted the hem of the mini and threw it off over her head. In nylons and garter belt, high heels, she stood with hands on hips at the bedroom door.

"Christ fucking sakes." Tony licked his lips, clutched the ferocious thing in his pantsleg. "Daddy?"

Pete took one step toward her, hesitated when she held up her hand. Tony too stood momentarily transfixed. She watched their hungry gazes travel up her lush body ... pausing here to stare through the white-blonde curls to the pink mouth of her sex ... there to caress a taut nipple. She felt giddy. Electrified. It was the first time since her rescue from the prison that she was in complete command - the first time ever. She thought back to Slick Jack and Spider, the other horrible blacks whose names she couldn't remember. To Tony at the tag shop, and again out under the stars. So much had happened to her. Some of it she still couldn't understand or explain. But there was no need to wonder about what was going on inside her now; she was proud of her body, her sex. She was taunting them with it. She was using what they would soon use - her breasts and pussy, the sensuous grind of her hips - to make two big dicks as hard as ... as railroad spikes! Harder still. She was anticipating, making them anticipate too. Making it better. Unbearable. "Fuck this!" growled Tony at last.

Heart racing, blood thumping like the marching feet of an army at her temple, Jeanie watched him stride toward her. Daddy followed. Strong hands - she wasn't sure whose; she could no longer think or see straight - swooped her up, carried her into the bedroom. "I love you," she cried. "I love you both. I ... I want you. H-hurry!"

Outside the night was full of crickets and stars, like the last night at the prison. Vast. Quiet, yet alive with the subdued sounds of unseen creatures and the sudden neonlike flash of a firefly. A full yellow moon shone down on the west side of the house, cut through the blinds on the master bedroom window.

Inside, the bed seemed small. Not actually tiny, but far too restricted for the three eager bodies. Hands. Anxious fingers. One delicate blonde pussy, one female ass, but two long mighty cocks and two pair of explosive balls.

Jeanie moaned while the men made ready to plant the stakes. She thought of Michael, her ex-fiance. Was he still in Europe, she wondered. Had he gotten her letter breaking the engagement and telling him in no uncertain terms that he had never been much good as a lover? She didn't know why she'd done that. Malicious. Cruel. Almost as brutal as a dick that forced its way in. She didn*t know much about why she did anything anymore. Her life had once been an orderly design ... high school, nurses' training, a job, then marriage with Mike, a home and kids of her own. Not so now. Now she lived day to day, minute to minute, cum-load to cumload. Worse, she no longer cared about being wanton. It no longer bothered her to think of herself as what Tony had called her ... a pig ... a whore.

"I'm partial to that end," said Pete.

Tony scowled. The two traded positions, climbing over her as if she were a mindless bed doll. She felt Tony's hot breath in her face, and the familiar preliminary stab of Daddy's fat cock low between the tense halves of her ass. "Do it," she whispered. "Fuck meee. B-both ends. Daddy? Tony? F-fuck me good. Doit!"

"You put it in for me, baby," directed Tony.

She didn't have to be told twice. She took firm hold of the shaft of his prick, steered the glans through her soft bush. But her fingers shook so. It was as if she had palsy and would never get the thing in. She closed her eyes tight, concentrating. She felt the fiery tip at her mound - so close to her slit, the heat of it scorched her clit. She traced the thick cord along the bowed underside, wrapped two fingers around the bloated head. She worked her cunt-lips, yelped as the red torpedo filled the livery pink opening.

Grunting like a wild boar, Tony planted half the length in short jerks up her belly. "Better every goddam time," he hissed. "I... ummmm! Ah! I don't know how you do it, baby, but your cunt - Jesus! It never fucking quits!"

She heard the words as if from a distance, the roaring inside her head running the syllables together. But she understood what Tony meant, could sense it in the throbbing head of the monster fucking its way up her cunthole. She pressed back, wanting to feel the other dick - Daddy's incestuous hardon - up her plump rear. But Daddy, she knew, was looking at her back there ... savoring the roundness ... the softness ... the satiny whiter than whiteness. She could almost feel his eyes vying with his hands. His prick was there too, gently probing the crack. But now was his time for staring, as he did every night, and for remembering the nights he'd sneaked into her room when she was a girl.

"Lift your leg." Tony's hand cupped along the inner expanse of one thigh, coaxing her knee up. "So I can get the rest of it in, honey. You're ah! OHHHHHH! Motherfucker, you ... you're too goddam tight this way."

She knew what he meant. No matter how much bludgeoning her slit suffered, no matter how many big dicks it entertained, the delicious tightness remained. She started to comply, to raise her knee to make the lovely niche more accessible. She wanted him in there. All of him.

"Wait a minute," Pete said.

Suddenly the warmth was gone from between her smooth buttocks, and Daddy, his dick standing straight out - bigger than ever, it seemed - was kneeling behind and above her. There was a bright glint in his eye, the hint of a leer at the corners of his wide mouth. She glanced down at the rod protruding from her pink slit, back at the one suspended like a blimp emerging from a cloud of wiry cockhair. "Wha ... ?"

"On your back," Pete told Tony. "Let's apply a little science here - you on the bottom, her astraddle, and me up behind. A sandwich. That way there'll be room enough to get two tanks up 'er."

"Just the cannon," croaked Jeanie. "T-the tank guns, Daddy. Yours 'n' To-neee's."

Tony grunted and rolled, taking her with him. His lengthy prick ground farther in as Daddy arranged her legs wide at either side of their guest's muscular thighs. Both tiny holes gaped. Her tits flattened against Tony's chest. She reached eagerly back, took hold of the cheeks of her ass and spread herself farther still. She wanted to tell Daddy to put it in, to hurry before the top of her head spun free. But the words wouldn't come. From the waist up, nothing worked, and from the waist down, the new focal point of her existence, her body wasn't her own to command. Even her breathing seemed to be concentrated at the two nipping holes.

"That ass!" Pete bent close, ran his tongue up and down the tiny brown slit.

"D-D-D-D-Da-deeeee!"

Tony's hands cupped at the underside of her cheeks, his fingertips grazing the lips of her cunt. He fucked his hips up off the bedding. The remaining inches of stiffness grated up her forebelly. "Ahhhhhhh! Ah! Ah! Urn, baby, baby, baby. Oh! Jesus! Man!"

Jeanie whimpered, held her breath, and waited for Daddy's thrust. She felt his tongue preparing the entry, his fingers testing the port. Each wet flick sent a shiver up her arched spine. Each upward stab of the pole in her cunthole burst a multi-colored flare inside her head, sent the sparks, the first hint of orgasm, dancing round and round her thumping skull. She doubled her knees at Tony's waist, presenting what she knew to be an irresistible rear view.

"Jesus! All those years," panted Daddy. "She's only a kid,' I used to tell myself. Over 'n' over. But all the time wanting you, sweetheart. Looking at this!" His finger twisted roughly up her asshole, made her moan. "You growing up 'n' me holding back because you're my daughter. And all the time you wanting it too. Knowing.. Christ. That time on the sofa ... T was sure you knew, but... ! She's pressing back, I told myself. She can't be asleep and not know. Not as hard as I am. I wanted to rip those goddam pajamas to shreds, fuck it up you regardless of the consequences. But I kept thinking about incest. Your mother. What people would say if it ever got out. I kept pumping, dry humping your sweet little bottom, wanting you but telling myself, No! She's a good girl. Your daughter. Don't do it, Pete. Not her. Not Jeanie. It's not right, man. You just don't ream your own little girl, no matter how good she looks or how willing she seems. And now ... !"

Jeanie felt his weight on her back, felt the finger pop wet from her ass and the tip of his dick being centered at the tiny brown velvet target. She closed her eyes, envisioned the scene from her girlhood ... the sofa, with the gruff cowboy on TV barking, "Get up there, boy. Get up!" Twelve years old, with gold peach-fuzz on her pussy and button tits. Daddy's big dick rubbing, rubbing, rubbing against her back there. His hands at her little-girl hips, and her pressing back, back. Pretending. Eyes closed tight, heart thumping. Only now she was naked, no pretense. And Daddy, her own wonderful, tall handsome daddy, was doing her the way he did Mother in the room next to hers. No more lap-sitting games or head cheese. Suddenly the years between girlhood and womanhood were gone, and she was telling him with her hips, her quivering white buttocks, that incest meant nothing to her. That only good fucking mattered. That the thing he held in his hand, the long lovely meat that had planted the seed which had made her, was a stronger tie than bloodlines, and nothing, no one, no matter what happened tomorrow, no matter who knew, would ever destroy the bond the riot and rape had revealed. Inside she was new. Wanton. Alive. And she wanted him there, up her belly. Forever and ever, until he was too old to shoo t - and then they'd find something as good - she wanted only what he had longed to give her for too many years. His dick. His big hairy pink balls. His thick daddy-semen.

"Fuck it in, Daddy," she cried in a voice not her own. "Pre-pretend I'm little again, on the sofa. Like ... just like this is the first time for us. Only hard. Don't hold back. Hurt me. Shove it in as if you were mad, angry with me for making you wait so terribly long."

Tony's cock leaped excitedly at the depths of her cunthole. "Arrrrrr!" Six hands - his, Daddy's, her own - held the two delectable halves of her ass open for penetration. With one mighty lunge, Pete planted the glans of his sex high in her hot and tight, young and eager, adorable asshole.

"Owww! Owah, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy-oww-wwwwww! Ummm! I ... I love you!"

"All those years," Pete groaned at the back of her neck. His hands locked at her waist, the fingers sunk in her flesh, the nails bruising. The gentleness was gone. The roles had changed. Now he was the master, she the slave, as it should be. Inch by hard grating inch, sighing after each thrust, he buried the shaft in her shitter.

On hands and knees, tits swaying above Tony's face, fucking herself onto one stake and off the other, then reversing the motion, moving wildly, without direction, trying to make herself go every whichway at once, Jeanie muttered incoherent love pledges. Briefly she wondered what Mike, her mother, those who had known her before the riot, would say if they could see her now. She recalled how she'd fought when Slick Jack dragged her into the lounge at the infirmary, and again when Tony snuggled close on the cot at the tag shop. Yet even then, while she flailed and cursed her rapists, prayed for deliverance and chastised herself for participating, her body had known. Her cunthole had tried to tell her. Her nipples and ass had understood long before her mind - morals and conscience and the rest of the nonsense v she'd learned as a girl - accepted its rightful lot. In truth, she was no better than what Tony had called her in the car. A pig! A brazen, cum-hungry whore! There was no avoiding it now, nor was there any need, any desire to deny truth any longer. There was nothing so good as fucking, no matter where the stiffness went in, no matter who it belonged to. It was a realization that had taken her twenty-one years, rape and confusion and self-castigation to come by.

The branch of a tree outside the bedroom window brushed lightly against the glass. The faint rustle was like the sound of naked bodies on clean sheets ... knees seeking a leverage ... a male ass touching down. Other sounds filled her ears; the steady slosh-slosh of Daddy's cock dipping, the suction drawing gook from high in her rectum, slopping the channel. The louder slurp-slurp of Tony's rod slamming greedily in and out, in and out, fucking up at an angle and pulling back at the opposite side of her sheath, stoking her sopping wet pussy as a fireman in a boiler room shovels coal into a furnace. Breathing. Hers quick and high-pitched, broken by moans, the labored sounds beneath and behind her like the panting of a lion on a hot humid day.

How long could it last, she wondered. How many minutes could she sustain their stiff cocks before the blast came? Before both Daddy and Tony went limp, and she, never sated, never full, had to wait for the next hardon to rise and seek succor in the warmth of her gyrating loins.

It seemed she had spent her whole life waiting for something. First for the hair to grow on her pussy, the soft creamy mounds to bud on her chest. Then for Daddy and the next lap-sitting game. Then Mike - for the year it took him to build courage enough to take her blonde treasure. And at the prison, waiting for what she thought was escape, but was, in fact, the first inkling of the emergence of Jeanie. Not the stupid good girl she was taught to be as a child, but Jeanie Simmons, the nurse. The healer of the sickness in stiff cocks.

She felt the two cumloads building in the fat balls slapping her crotch. She felt the callused hands on her ass, the teeth and tongue taunting her nipples. Degradation? Shame? Neither one! This was what she'd been born for; what nature, what some called God, had designed when casting the mold that left a delightful pink slit where a man had a rod. The two went together. It was her destiny to be placed at the mercy of the plug from the mold, the thing that made her complete.

"Ahhh. Um. S-squeeze tight, honey," Daddy breathed hot in her ear. "Close your pretty cheeks. I ohhhhhhhh! Daddy's coming. Sweetheart? Be a. umph! UMMMMMMumph! Be a good girl 'n' wiggle. Grind for Daddy. Screw!" He reached around and under her belly, crushed her close.

"Yeah. But don't forget me," wheezed Tony. He too planted his joint to the hilt, held. "You do the work, baby. Like your ole man said ... wiggle 'n' grind your ass, be a f uckin' good girl."

A good girl! she thought wondrously. At last she knew the meaning of the ambiguous term. A good girl was one who could satisfy a man's lusty yearning; a girl who could take a man's cock out of his pants, steer it to the hot hairy hole he preferred, and then do what both Daddy and Tony were demanding of her now.

"I will," she sobbed ... fucking ... fucking. Wiggling and bumping and grinding, screwing as best she knew how.

She closed her eyes tight, locked both little holes and thrashed. The prison, the rioting rapists, charged through her mind, stomping her flesh underfoot. The two cocks exploded in unison deep in her belly. She yelled. She kicked and clawed at the sheets. She was ninety-eight pounds of raw pussy - all cunt. Sucking cum up her asshole, in her womb. A good girl again. Content to spend the rest of her life doing what she'd been waiting for since she was a girl.