Chapter 3
It really burned me up when I opened my eyes and realized that my delicious dream had been just that: a dream. I stared up at the ceiling and thought through it again. Jonas had been fucking me, I recalled, which was Jonas's usual bag-at my request, of course. He was really pounding me, too; maybe a little more than he usually did, although he was a strong fuck. I could feel his big cock stretching my pussy out, the tip of it juggling my internal organs around. And then I felt him go off inside me. I could imagine what was happening in my holes because I had many times seen him go off outside my crack. Thick jets of sperm were pounding the walls inside. I could actually feel their heat. Suddenly I came, too. Every nerve in my body tingled as my muscles knotted into bowlines. But then I woke up.
What a drag. I really had cum-I could tell by how nasty and sticky my panties were. God, I really missed Jonas. We'd been separated for nearly two weeks while I paid a visit to my grandparents' farm in Georgia. There were about 900 miles between us, and Jonas's cock would, only reach over a foot of that distance, so I had to live without him. I'd been getting myself gummy without fail every night of my visit. I had to wash my underpants every morning, too, before I put them in the clothes hamper in case my grandmother ever examined them. She's a real prude. She and the old man probably fucked just one time in the course of their marriage, and that was to produce my mother. Hell, it was too late for them to learn what they'd missed.
I'd first learned about sex when I was five years old. I was sort of a Tomboy as a kid, and I used to climb trees a lot. Tommy O'Boyle and I used to have a tree-house, and the only way to reach it was to shimmy up the trunk of the tree until we got close enough to grab the stub of a sawed-off branch and could pull ourselves the rest of the way up. One day, I was following Tommy up the tree. He grabbed the branch stub with both hands and started to pull himself up, but then he stopped. He had ahold of the stub with both hands, the fingers intertwined, and suddenly he just hung there. He spread his legs out real wide around the trunk, but they didn't touch, and he started jiggling his ass around in mid-air.
"What's goin' on?" I asked.
"I dunno, Denise," Tommy admitted. "This feels real good, though." He was silent for a moment. "It kinda tingles all over," he explained, "but my tinkle feels best." He held the position a few more moments then abruptly let his legs drop. "It doesn't feel as good now," he said. "It felt super-good right there at the end, and then it quit. Now I feel kinda weak." He climbed the rest of the way to the tree house.
"You try it, now," he called.
I did. I hung from the stub with my legs spread just like Tommy had. I even wiggled my butt around in the air like he had. At first I didn't feel anything. Then suddenly my wee-wee did start to tingle, just the way Tommy said. I moved in and rubbed it against the trunk of the tree, which really made it feel groovy. I didn't know what was happening, but I didn't want to stop. After a few minutes I had my first orgasm, though I didn't know it at the time. I felt very letdown when it was all over-the good feeling just quit, and I felt hot and tired. I, too, climbed the rest of the way to the tree-house.
"Didja do it?" Tommy asked.
"Yeah," I told him.
"Didjur dick get stiff?"
"Tommy," I said pettishly, "I don't have a dick." Tommy was an only child, and probably hadn't learned that there was anything different about boys and girls except that girls wore dresses sometimes and usually had long hair.
"You don't?! " Tommy asked incredulously.
"No," I replied. "Girls don't."
"No foolin'? "
"Honest Injun," I assured him.
"Lemme see." I sighed and obligingly pulled my pants down to show him. He was amazed.
"How about that?" he said thoughtfully.
"Now you've gotta lemme see yours," I ordered.
"Uh-uh."
"Uh huh," I said firmly. I'd seen my brother's pee-pee lots of times, but I wondered if Tommy's looked the same. My brother was two years younger than I was, and his dick was pretty small.
Tommy finally consented to pull down his pants, too, and I looked his pecker over pretty good. It was a lot bigger than my brother Greg's. I grabbed it and started to squeeze on it. It was soft and squishy and kind of gave me
the creeps, but I'd never touched one before and I had to start sometime.
"Hey, cut it out!" said Tommy. I didn't, though, and he didn't try to pull away. It seemed like it was getting bigger, too.
"It's gettin' stiff again," Tommy announced.
So it was. It finally got very hard and stiff with a slight bow in the middle. He was as amazed as I was. Tommy took it from my hand and pulled it back against his stomach. "If you want to, rub that bottom part," he said, indicating the thickened cord that ran along the underside of his dong. "I think that that's what makes it feel good."
I did, feeling very naughty. I used the knuckle of one hand in a sort of "Dutch rub" rapidly up and down the bottom of my playmate's prick. "That's what feels good," he confirmed.
I kept rubbing until I saw it throb a few times and Tommy said "Okay, quit now. It's starting to hurt." He pulled his pants back up, then thought better of it and took them off entirely. "That's real strange," he said. I still had my pants down, though. "Rub mine," I begged, whining. Tommy hesitated, then said "O.K."
He reached a hand out and touched my box, then started to rub it with his knuckles the way I had his. It hurt a little, and the hand kept slipping into the crack and scratching painfully against my pink insides.
"Wait a minute," I said. I pulled up my underpants and motioned for him to continue. The friction of his fingers caused a warm streak to form in the fabric of the double-crotch, then I started to "feel good" again.
"It's doing it," I said with an edge of excitement in my voice. Finally, I exploded inside and the feeling stopped. "Now it quit again," I pouted. "Stop rubbing on it."
Tommy took his hand away, and as he did I noticed that his pecker was hard again, so I rubbed it for him. Then he rubbed me. Then I rubbed him. We must have rubbed each other back and forth at least a dozen times when we heard my mother calling me for dinner, and we climbed down at last. Tommy hung on the stub a last time as we did. "Don't tell your mommy," I beseeched him. I don't think he ever did. They never said anything to me, if so.
I didn't want to get out of bed just then, so I lay back and stared at the ceiling, fervently wishing for Jonas to materialize and give me a good riding. I wondered if I could possibly die from sheer horniness. I could see my name in the Obituary column: CAYWOOD, Denise. Age: 18. Died unexpectedly of excessive puberty during a protracted visit to the "fresh air" of the country while visiting her grandparents. Survived by her mother, Nancy Caywood, and a younger brother, Gregory.
I idly wondered if the funeral would be held at D. L. Newcomber's Sons, where Jonas worked. I was really in a sick humor. Funerals should be kept as far from the average human train of thought as is conceivably possible. Though, come to think of it, I met Jonas at my Grandfather Caywood's funeral, which was held at Newcomber's. There was no special reason, then-just the reputation of the place.
Jonas was working what is known as "visitation," which means that he serves as a sort of executive doorman, opening the door for people, directing them to the Memorial books, then showing them to the particular chapel or sitting room where their friend or relative is stretched out.
I hadn't wanted to go to the wretched funeral in the first place, but my mother insisted. The first thing that I saw when I walked in the door was Jonas. I could hardly take my eyes off of him. He was smiling solicitously as he pulled the heavy oak door back. "Good evening," he said smoothly. "Can I be of service?"
"Yes," said my mother. "We're the family of Antonio Caywood." She was pretty distraught. My father had died a few years before, but she kept close to his family and was really grieved to see the old guy go out. I hardly knew him-there was no reason for my presence there.
"Mr. Caywood is in Chapel A, ma'am," Jonas explained. "This way, please." He turned quietly on his heel and strode off down the hallway that branched off to his right. His walk was very graceful, measured, and slow-just what one would expect of an undertaker.
He stopped at last by a heavily wood-carved doorway and motioned us in wordlessly. I was last in the line of my mother, Greg, and myself, and Jonas stopped me before I could enter. Much to my surprise, he winked at me. "I get off in ten minutes," he said, very softly as always, then exited in the direction from which we had come.
I was younger then than I am now-I'd had tits for a couple of years, though, and periods for a while longer, and I was used to being propositioned by every gawky walking skin-blemish from one end of town to the other. Un-like most of my other proposals, though, this one had been uttered with such staggering, egotistical self-assurance and honesty that I was fascinated. The guy wasn't beating around the bush or pretending that all he wanted was a nightcap when what he wanted was some "night head." I was no cherry, though, even at that time. After a few minutes of fascination, then, I decided to accept.
The ten minutes that I sat in the chapel conversing without intelligence to my long-lost relatives seemed like an eternity. At the end of that time, I nudged Mother.
"I... I'm going to get some fresh air," I told her. "Do you mind?"
"Of course not, dear," she said and forced a smile. "I understand."
Hah, I thought. If she had, she would have locked me Hp in the closet. She was land of a tight-ass, just like her parents, although we managed to coexist fairly well.
I walked up the hall to the front of the building where Jonas was leaning patiently against the doorjamb. When he saw me, he straightened up, opened the door, and "showed" me out. He followed.
"Hello," he said. "My name is Jonas McReady."
"Hello," I said.
"I know," he continued, "that your name is Caywood. I do not, however, know your first name."
"Denise," I told him.
"Pleased to meet you." He smiled and ducked his head by way of a bow. He led the way along the wide sidewalk that led from the front entrance to entrances on the north side and in the rear. It was dark and spooky outside-the air was chilly and the only light was that that showed through curtained windows. Jonas looked eerie in a pure-black suit with a black tie and shiny black brogans. But there were comforting dimples in his cheeks as he faced forward and smiled quietly to himself. His smile disarmed the effect of his clothes and hair-it, too, was black and long (over his ears, anyway) but neatly razor-cut. He took my arm as we reached the side entrance and mounted the three steps to the door.
He drew a key from his jacket pocket, fitted it in the lock, and swung the door open.
"This wing isn't being used for visitation tonight," he explained. "Business is down a little. No one will see us here."
He was so candid that I could hardly believe it. I decided to return the favor. "Where do you want to do it?" I asked.
"Up here," he replied, pointing to a broad, twisting flight of steps that led upward to the right of the entrance. "That's the mezzanine."
I nodded and followed him up. The light was very dim but I could make out three green-chintz sofas, an assortment of chairs and what looked like the frames of stages on two sides of the room with curtains drawn across them.
"What's behind the curtains?" I asked.
"Caskets," he said simply. "This is like an auto showroom to us. Once a person decides that he wants us to handle his final affairs, he picks out the casket that he wants and the services that go with it. This is where we put on the sales presentation for him."
"That's creepy," I said.
"Not really. It's a business like any other."
"And what you have on your mind is sick," I informed him, feeling not sick but adventurous and-yes, horny.
"Yes," he admitted, "it is." He smiled again, which seemed to be his way of filling the gaps in a conversation. He took a step toward me and I just collapsed against him. Jonas wasn't, and still isn't, very strong physically, but he held me steadily as we tasted each other hungrily, his hands pulling my dress up over my waist. I could hardly breathe as I waited for long, agonizing moments for him to pull my panties down and touch me. I knew that I was getting wet. When he touched my pussy at last, after making me wait for the feel of his hand, I came immediately. I popped off at the first nudge. Jonas placed the flat of his middle finger in the groove of 'my cunt and slipped it up and down so that I was hot again very soon. All the while Jonas was skillfully slipping me the tongue. I felt the palm of his other hand caressing my tits; he very slowly stroked them, squeezed them. He did everything slowly and methodically, probably getting a charge out of making me wait when he could tell that I needed sex so badly.
"Come into my parlor," he quoted, breaking the white-hot kiss at last, "said the spider to the fly." I was so wet from our contact that my juice was running down the side of my leg. I was near to a second climax, but I hoped that this time or next I would have a prick inside me.
Jonas pulled away, letting my dress drop back down, and walked over to the side of one of the stages. He looked back at me once, smiled, then pulled the curtain back.
In the center of the "stage" was a sleek, solid-looking copper casket. The lid was raised on it, showing a lining of rich white satin. Jonas bowed low. "Top of the line," he said. "Nothing but the best for my girl."
"This is disgusting," I said, and at the same time contradicted myself by coming in my drawers. Jesus, I thought... fucking in a coffin! The idea was so revolting it was great!
Jonas beckoned and started in on the buttons of his jacket. He draped it neatly over the arm of the sofa, then carefully removed his socks and shoes, his tie, his shirt, his pants and his skivvies. I hardly moved while he undressed, but froze solid for sure when he unveiled his cock. Jonas straightened, stretched and watched my face. His cock... was a foot long!
"like it?" he asked.
I was speechless. When I recovered my voice, I squeaked "Love it." That was all I was capable of. I didn't know how I was going to contain such a thick, long prick.
"Take your clothes off," he urged. Jonas was a man of few words.
I nodded dumbly and slipped the dress off over my head. I lacked my shoes off and wiggled out of my bra and panties.
"Very nice," Jonas whispered.
I was glad that he was pleased. I'd been told before that I've got a nice body, and I think that I do. My tits are really big, yet they hardly sag at all. In contrast, the nipples are only medium-sized, but they're covered with goose bumps when I get hot, which I was at the tune, as well as jutting out half of an inch from each center. They're a light salmon pink-just a little lighter than my pussy-lips. Which brings to mind another thing: I've got a nice crack. Its small and compact and tight. When I'm standing erect, only my curly bush shows. Someone looking at me couldn't see a bit of my actual organs, like they could on some, maybe even most, girls. The flesh around it is very white, as it is fair all over my body. My hair is reddishbrown on top and perfectly matched by the kinky, fuzzy, covering of my crotch. like I said-it's compact. But when I roll my hips forward and part my legs just a little, which I did for Jonas's benefit, the whole thing opens up, I like a glistening pink flower. It's very shiny and rosy and clean-looking, by which I mean that no one has ever had the slightest qualms about eating it-naturally, I think that's okay. I watched Jonas's face. I could tell that he was really pleased.
I mimicked him. "like it?" I asked.
He smiled his mischievous smile and mimicked me in turn. "Love it," he replied. "Come here."
I did. It was a very strange feeling to look into a casket and see nothing but smooth, soft lining. I had gone to a lot of funerals in my young life, and a casket just didn't look natural without a body in it. Jonas apparently had the same idea. "Get in," he ordered. "It won't hurt you."
I balked, though. "Will the stand hold?" I had my doubts. The casket sat at the normal display height on a frail-looking brass framework.
"Sure it will," Jonas assured me, "and furthermore, it will hold me, too." He leaned over and kissed me. "Have a good trip," he said.
I was nervous about getting into it. I hefted my ass up onto the rim of the box, then sort of rolled in. It was an easy fit. I felt very irreverent, really, but I could feel between my legs that irreverence had nothing to do with dampening sexual appetite. Jonas then clambered in from the end where my feet lay.
"Raise your legs up and out," he instructed. "This is a tight squeeze." I did as I was told, and then Jonas was on top of me.
He plunged a hand into my hole to see if I was ready to receive him. I knew well enough from the liquid feeling that I was ready to receive a cock, but I had my doubts about his. I felt the tip of his big prong nudging my tight opening and I had a moment's panic. Suppose he broke something? He could tell that I was tense.
"Relax," he said soothingly. "You can handle it." I let the tension ease out, and Jonas let his pecker ease in. I felt a slight pain, but after that it was all ecstasy. I noted triumphantly, looking down between my tits, that I had taken him in all the way. He lowered his torso from his hands to his elbows and kissed me gently again. I responded eagerly, but he drew his lips away abruptly. Several more times he teased me until I caught the rhythm and knew where to meet him for fleeting feather-kisses.
He slid his massive pecker part way out, then slid it back in. He was testing me. There was no doubt that I was going to love it, and perhaps he picked up those waves as I felt them, because he broke off our kissing contacts and went down on one of my titties. He hefted it up and took the nipple in his mouth, sucking on it. He started a slow rhythm with his pelvis, stretching me gloriously with every movement. I touched the stars every time he entered me to his full length. I wanted more. I wrapped my legs around him and shoved his hips with my heels on every down-stroke, trying to take an extra eighth or sixteenth of an inch.
"Fuck me harder, Jonas," I urged Mm, nay, begged him, but he wouldn't do it. He was teasing me, making me wait, which seemed to be his stock-in-trade. I felt at once angry and respectful of his prowess... I would certainly never have considered forcing him to either speed up or give up-he might have chosen the latter.
He was caressing the bumpy outer ring of my swollen nipple with the tip of his tongue while he banged me. I could feel wave after hot wave going through my body, and the place that we were fucking had at least a little to do with it-it was off-beat, to say the least. As he tongued me, he was sucking, too-really hard. It almost hurt me, just as his gigantic prick almost did. I was on the thin borderline between the highest heights of sexual delight and true pain, and I was climbing higher and higher-higher than I had ever gone before. Usually, I and my lover had both been spent long before such peaks.
Jonas kept banging me at the same slow pace. I shoved him down hard with my feet, and couldn't restrain my orgasm a second longer. I really lost myself. Jonas put both hands on my shoulders and held me down-he said later that I was bucking around so much he was afraid that we might topple off the stand. When it was over, Jonas was still inside me.
"You're still hard," I said.
"Yes," he affirmed.
"You didn't make it, did you?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I will. We're not finished yet." I nodded and closed my eyes for a few minutes to enjoy the afterglow. When I opened them again, Jonas was still perched over me and his cock was still in my box. He then sighed and drew it out.
"I'm going to corn-hole you," he announced. I was sort of stunned.
"Run that over my face again?"
"I am going to engage in an anal coupling."
"Oh," I said. He was certainly full of surprises! "That's sick." It seemed like I had said that before.
He nodded agreeably. "That's the price you have to pay," he said. He retreated to the far end of our coupling-ground so that I could roll over even as I protested. My cunt would barely hold him-there was no doubt that my ass-hole would tear.
"Hmmmmmmmmm," I heard Jonas mutter thoughtfully. Apparently the problem was occurring to him. I raised my ass up in the air and wiggled it at him, feeling once again slightly excited. I had faith in Jonas. He'd figure a way to make it groovy, even as kinky as his sexual tastes were. He reached under me and massaged the bun of my cunt. It really did feel groovy-even so soon after going off. I started warming up again.
"Relax," he soothed me. "I'm going to go in." Ever so slowly he eased the foot-long dong into my butt hole. It really did hurt at first. While he slid in, though, he kept working my cunt around, and it wasn't long before the stretching of my ass was able to abet the waves of pleasure that he was making with his hand.
After he drove his prick in about halfway, though, he quit moving. I looked over my shoulder and saw that he was working my cunt with his left hand while with his right he was whacking the bottom six inches of his pecker. I felt a little guilty about not being able to let him fuck my ass-hole, but then it wasn't my fault that his cock was twelve inches long! And what he was doing felt good. I wasn't as high as I had been when he was plugging me, but I was moving quickly toward cuming again.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Okay," I murmured. I wiggled my ass some more, which took me close to the brink. "I'm going to cum, Jonas," I informed him. "Are you close?"
"Yes," he said softly. Suddenly he shot his wad deep in my ass. I could feel his cock jerk again and again. He seemed to be filling me up with cum. I felt wonderfully hot in the strangest, darkest places. And when he stuck his finger in my cunt-hole, it was all over for me.
My spasms forced his cock out of me without any of the pain that I had worried about-hi fact, it heightened my climax immensely. I'd been fucked a lot by that year, but never so well, if so strangely. I could see Jonas smile, and I dug him as a person as much as a cock. He rose from his position and hopped back onto the floor, then helped me out and led me to one of the sofas. We sat there, very close, for a long time, letting it all come back to us.
"You'd better get back to the chapel," Jonas suggested at last, after a long silence.
He had a point. "I'd probably better," I admitted. I paused then said "But I don't want to."
"You aren't going to die tomorrow," he reminded me, "We'll do it again. Or something else of the same nature, anyway." His hands were playing over my body, stroking my thighs and my tits. I was getting just the tiniest bit sexed up, so I sighed and stood up. I didn't want to leave horny.
We dressed without speaking, then Jonas walked up and took my arm in the formal way that he had before and escorted me down the stairs to the door.
"I'm going to stay here for a while," he said. "I have some paperwork."
I nodded.
"Thanks a lot," he said. He started to turn away, then pivoted quickly back. "Oh," he said, as he remembered something, "tomorrow night, I get off at 8:00."
He smiled his mysterious smile and turned away down the hall.
I rolled out of the bed at last and pulled the curtains back. It was about 9:30, and I knew that my grandparents had been up for several hours by then, doing the "chores." Yecch, I thought, what a way to live.
I turned away and started toward the bathroom with thoughts that I might finger-fuck myself-Jesus, did I ever need a prick! I opened the door into the hall very quietly, because my brother Greg sometimes slept later than I did, and I didn't want to wake him. His door was just to my right as I stepped out of mine into the hall, and I saw that it was cracked open the tiniest bit. I wondered if he was still sleeping-Hmmmmmmm... I opened it a little more, peering through the crack, then stopped.
Greg was seated on the edge of his bed, facing me. He had his eyes pointed downward, studying his cock intently as he jacked off. I was amazed-it had been many years since I'd seen his meat, and his cock was nearly as big as Jonas's! I licked my dry lips-I sure did want a big pecker right then. I thought of going in, catching him in the act and letting him fuck me, but I decided that I'd better cool it. I'd tried a lot of kicks, but incest was one that I had long avoided. I thought then that I ought to abandon the scene and go to the John, but I was drawn to the voyeuristic treat of watching my flesh and blood slam the ham.
Greg was breathing heavily-he was probably near aiming. He stropped faster, then suddenly reached a hand underneath himself and put a finger up his ass as he came. I saw a big glob of cum shoot four inches into the air, then drop back onto his fingers. He kept pumping and the gooey cum rolled down the bottom of his peter, over his fingers, and onto the floor. It was a great show, and I was going out of my mind with horniness. It was then that I boldly decided to take advantage of the situation at hand.
I shoved the door open quickly. Greg looked at me with shocked eyes, then rolled them back and muttered "Jesus" under his breath.
"Horny, Greg?" I asked. I tried to keep it matter-of-fact instead of getting sarcastic. Greg knew that I did a lot of fucking and knew the score. He wasn't very bright, but he was a good listener. He covered his deflating cock with the end of the bedsheet.
"You scared the piss out of me," he said. He didn't seem in the least embarrassed. "I thought you were Cramps. He'd'a shit."
"You're right there," I agreed, pushing the door shut and approaching him, "The both of them are pretty straight."
"You said it..." He had more to say, but he broke it off when I pulled my nightgown over my head and dropped it and my sticky panties on the floor.
"What the hell is this?" he demanded in a croak.
"It's a seduction, Greg," I explained to him evenly. "I'm even hornier than you are, and I'm very much in need of servicing."
"You mean... you want me to fuck you?" he asked.
"Yes."
"But... I mean, you're my sister!"
"Astute of you."
"Jesus, sis," he said, gulping, tearing his eyes off my bush at last, glancing at my titties and then meeting my own eyes. "I dunno. It's illegal, unmoral, and dangerous."
"Dangerous?" I demanded.
"Yeah. What if Gramps found out? Or you got pregnant? I mean, fuck my own sister? Jesus..." he said again and shook his head.
"Greg," I pleaded, my pussy getting oiler and hornier by the minute. "In the first place, Granny and Gramps are out in the south forty somewhere, and in the second, I take the pill." I paused. "I know this is strange, but here..." I gestured helplessly. "I'd never think of it at home, of course. But don't you wish that your girlfriend... what's her name?"
"Sandy."
"Don't you wish Sandy were here to give you some pussy so you didn't have to whack off?"
"I dunno," he said stubbornly. "Sandy doesn't give me any pussy."
"Greg," I asked earnestly, "have you ever fucked a girl?"
"No," he admitted.
"Then it's high tune you learned. Let's fuck, then. You can't believe how much I need a prick."
He thought about it for a while. "Okay," he said at length. He pulled the sheet back to reveal his cock dangling off the edge of the bed. "I just came, though, Denise," he pointed out, "I can't get it hard again for a while."
I smiled naughtily. "Just leave that to me," I said. I went to my knees in front of him and took his flaccid prong in my mouth. It felt good on my tongue-hot dogs come, and hot dogs go, but there is nothing like a cock! I sucked on it, blew on it, hummed on it and bounced it from cheek to cheek, which took rather less time than Greg had expected to raise it from nothing to something.
"That's great, sis," he said. I could tell that he was a little embarrassed about being sucked off by his sister, but then what's kin for? "You want me to eat yours?" he asked.
"You bet!" I enthused. I clambered onto the bed and sprawled out so that he could crawl between my thighs.
He went at it with a gusto, slurping ,and licking in all the right places. Admittedly, in a few of the wrong places as well, but he still did well for a fifteen-year-old virgin. I was getting delirious-the big moment had arrived. I motioned him away.
"I'm about to cum," I said. "Give me that big dicks Greg!" I was surprised to hear a reply from outside the door.
"I HEARD THAT!" screamed a voice that could belong to none other than Gramps.
Oh, fuck me, I thought, it's really hit the fan now! The door burst open and he stalked in, followed by my grandmother. There was not an iota of compassion on either one of their Puritan mugs.
I didn't 'move, and neither did Greg, although I saw his cock drop to nothing in a matter of seconds. "Get out of my sight," Gramps snarled at Greg, and he obediently complied. I could see that as the oldest of the two of us, and, indeed, the instigator of the incestuous scene, the two tight-asses were going to hold me personally responsible.
I still didn't move. I lay naked on top of the bed, my legs still spread and my pussy still open, right in Gramps's face. I wondered if he was getting a hard-on.
"You whore!" he screamed. "You tramp!" He paused, then snarled "Cover yourself, hooker." I grabbed the sheet.
"I can't imagine. Doing THAT with your brother! la all my life, I have never actually seen with my own two eyes such grievous sin and such perversion! You are leaving!" he yelled. I could give a shit. "I mean, in 30 minutes, I want you and your brother and your bags down at the bus stop." He turned and stalked out of the room, screaming "I don't want to see your face again... EVER!"
I was left alone with my scowling Grandmother, for line-of-bull #2.
"How could you?" she demanded.
"I was horny," I replied.
"Only a prison is low enough for you, young lady."
"Thank you."
"Yet I know of a half-way measure, that maybe will straighten you out without giving you a criminal record. I'm sure your mother will agree with me when I suggest it."
What a crock of shit. "What place is that?" I asked disinterestedly.
"The Jason Maxwell School for Girls," she seethed. "It's right down your alley." She pivoted and left the room.
Grammy would never know how right she was, nor would I for another month or so. I shrugged and rolled out of bed to finish my trip to the John. But I would find out about Maxwell. It was right down my alley, too. Ask Ruthie or Diane or Pam about it while you're at it. They feel the same way I do.