Chapter 12
Leona might have walked over the edge of the world as far as the rest of the Martin family was concerned.
During the following forty-eight hours, while we all were kept busy putting the show on the road for the Springfield opening, she simply was not there. Nor did anyone say a word about her absence. Her name was never mentioned, her chores taken up by the others. It was as if she had fallen in battle and the rest of us had simply closed ranks and marched on without her.
When I asked Donna about it the next day, as we were loading one of the glittering stainless steel trailers that held some of our portable equipment, she simply seemed not to hear me. So I held my peace, although I felt horribly responsible for her leaving ... since I had been all too aware of my usurping a stellar role in our production that had evidently been promised her. But there seemed to be nothing that I could do about it.
Not until the eve of our departure from Indianapolis, when I found myself again in Uncle Jake's fantastically erotic bedroom, did I ask again about my lovely blonde sister.
We were alone for the moment, since Jill and Duke, who were teaming up with us that night, were tearing off a prolonged multiple-piece in the bath of mirrors just beyond. I could hear the gentle rhythm of their grunts and moans of pleasure each time their pubic hairs met and the faint splashing sounds of the ripples they were making against the sides of the sunken tub.
I was seated atop Uncle Jake's thick prick with my legs straight out and my feet in his armpits, using his big round dome of a belly as a fulcrum for fucking. After a particularly sweet third orgasm involving much intricate in-termeshing of our fucking pieces, we both relaxed to let the flood of our well-mixed sexual fluids subside and, folding my arms over his protuberant navel and resting my chin upon them I asked him why all the secrecy about Leona.
He looked briefly surprised, then said, "You've become so much a part of the family that I guess we forget you don't know all the ground rules yet."
"Fill me in, Uncle Jake," I begged.
He lifted his loins to send a sweet after-spasm through my softly satiated body and said, "Jesus, honey, what do you think I'm trying to do?"
"Please..." I said as my ecstasy eased again.
"Oh, all right, Robin. It isn't the first time Leona has goofed off, worst luck. We need her. She's the only real blonde in the family and, along with you and Donna, the best piece of tail. But she's prone to these fits of jealousy, and that's one thing your father won't allow."
"You can't blame her," I said. "After all, I'm just a Jeannie come lately, and..."
"Stuff that!" Uncle Jake said rudely. "Your special qualifications made the change necessary. She pulled the same sort of thing two years ago, when Donna got to ride old Preepy the first time out. And Leona is a mean bitch when she gets her back up. She put itching powder in Donna's cunt cream right before a ritual, and seven neophytes thought she had given them some sort of venereal disease. Shit ... the palms I had to grease to keep us in business after that little fiasco. That dizzy blonde nearly put us out of business."
"How did Daddy handle it then?" I asked.
"He wanted to read her right but of the family, but I talked him out of that. Leona was heartsick when she realized how much trouble she'd caused, and, like I said, we need her. So your father took her back, albeit with reluctance and on condition she never do it again. Now? I don't know what he'll do when she wants back."
"Oh, I hope he does take her back. I love Leona. Outside of Daddy, she's the first member of our family I got to know. She's a ball."
"You might not think so if you'd heard some of the things she's been saying about you lately," said Uncle Jake. "And watch yourself, honey ... she can be tricky. But enough talk ... "
Uncle Jake's cock, which had been lowered to half mast during our brief colloquy, began to renew itself in the non-stagnant swamp of my well-filled hole. I gave my cunt a couple of twists to help it along, as well as to get my own fucking machinery going for the fourth round in this bout of bed-wrestling.
"That," said Uncle Jake, lifting his loins and thus driving his short but oh-so-thick prick into the revolving door of my cunt, "is more like it."
We were still swinging together when Mal and Donna, dripping wet, came trotting back from the tub together, with Donna leading and holding our burly Eskimo brother by his still half-erect cock. They sat alongside until we came to a driving finish that had us both sweating and grunting like pigs and happy as the night is long.
Then, somewhat unkindly I thought, Donna said with a flash of white teeth in her beautiful black face, "Put an apple in his mouth, Robin."
Considering that Uncle Jake was fat as a county fair prize hog, I thought his feelings might be hurt ... but evidently Donna knew him better than I did. Literally plucking me off his cock and tossing me into Mal's lap with a roar, Uncle Jake scrambled to his hands and knees and launched himself in a head-first dive at Donna, who squealed and dodged, but not in time. Within seconds, our uncle had her spread-eagled across the foot of the bed and was putting his full weight or top of her elegant ebon body, plunging his prick in and out of her hairless hole ... and Donna, still laughing, was giving him as good as she was getting.
Mal looked at them, then at me, and shook his round head, then said, "You've got to hand it to Uncle Jake ... he's got even more stamina than Daddy. That fat little cock of his is always loaded and ready to fire."
Glancing down at the near-perfect cylinder of Mal's prong, which was rising from his loins like an anti-air-craft cannon, I reached for it and said, "You're not doing so badly yourself in the stamina department."
He glanced down, then up at me again and said, "Well, what do you know! But you can thank the source for that ... namely yourself."
I was pleased, but I was also! empty, so I said, "Talk, talk, talk ... all the time talk and no action. Shall we dance?"
We shalled and we did and our final night in Indianapolis was as memorable as those that had preceded it.
Late the following morning, which was pleasantly cool and overcast, we left the family headquarters behind us and headed for the highway that would carry us west to Springfield, Illinois. Our caravan consisted of three vehicles ... the first a glittering Cadillac Coupe De Ville, the second a stainless steel land-yacht, the third a truck with a long trailer of the same material.
I rode in the front seat of the Cadillac, between Uncle Jake, who was driving, and Daddy. This was no special honor but a matter of common sense, since there was still a lot of briefing I had to absorb. Mal drove the land yacht, which could sleep and feed eight people comfortably with no strain, with Jill for company ... while Duke handled the truck and trailer with our heavy equipment and Donna and Terry shared the big cab with him. We had breakfasted hugely before leaving, and drove straight on through Danville to a pleasant suburb of the state capital, where a small chapel had been prepared to receive us. There, to my pleased surprise, Cherie was waiting, a smudge of blue paint on her pert little French Canadian nose.
Daddy hugged and kissed her and said, "I thought you'd be on your way back to Los Angeles by now, darling."
"L.A.'s done," said Cherie, rubbing herself happily against her father's rapidly rising frontispiece. "I decided to hang around not only to see you, Daddy dearest, but because I had one of my hunches. Tell me, are you a girl short for this meeting?"
Daddy nodded, said, "Leona."
Cherie said, "Oh, no! Not again?" Then, without waiting for a reply. "Come on, Daddy ... it's been a hell of a long time between fucks for us."
"We've got too much to do," said Daddy, pulling away from his lovely daughter yet looking down at his bulging fly with evident distress.
"Oh, go ahead, Les," Uncle Jake growled. "Neither one of you is going to be worth a tinker's dam around here until you get your rocks off together. Beat it!"
Father and daughter skipped off to the land yacht, hand in hand, like a couple of happy kids ... and who could blame them? Certainly not I ...
Meanwhile, there was plenty of work for the rest of us. There was a great deal of scenery to set up in the chapel, not least the altar with its leering, grotesque statue of old Preepy, who seemed to look right at home behind his incredible prick no matter where he found himself. There had been no opportunity for me to renew my acquaintance with this resurrected god of the ancient world following Leona's flight in the night. I regarded him with mixed feelings, since my copulation with Pan-Priapus was to climax the evening's festivities. I wondered if I would once again relieve that startlingly real vision of the days of nymphs and satyrs and felt a chill ripple up my spine.
I decided I was going to find out soon enough ...
So swiftly did everyone turn to and so expertly organized were the assignments that, under Uncle Jake's direction, everything was in its proper place within three quarters of an hour ... just in time for Daddy's and Cherie's return to the group from their happy time in the land yacht.
This time, my French-Canadian sister with the huge, mischievous milk-chocolate eyes greeted me warmly in remembrance of our time together in the Chicago office, when Leona and I were temporarily ensconced in publishing tycoon Philip Parker's Dreamboat enterprises as models and members of his harem. Cherie, along with Mal and Duke, had offered us a welcome haven when the Parker menage became a bit overwhelming with its plastic fucking machines posing as real live girls and women...
After hugging me, she said, "Hey, Robin ... how's it feel to be the coming Miss Dreamboat of the month?"
This was the first I'd heard of it and I said so. Cherie told me she had seen the proofs in Chicago and that I had come through photogenically, like money from home. Before I could digest this pleasant fact and ask a few pertinent questions, however, Terry and Duke grabbed me and hustled me into the land yacht, insisting that it had been a long, hard day and promised to be a long hard night and that, if they didn't get their nooky right now, they were going to be very, very bitter about it.
Skinning out of my clothes as fast as I could, I said, "Look, boys, what's stopping you ... apart from your big loud mouths?"
For that fresh-sister bit, they jumped me and I pretended to shrink from the long Hamitic prick that was promptly inserted to the full in my quivering cunt, and to the equally sizable Hawaiian cock that Duke pushed past my willing lips. We were just getting a swinging threesome going, when Donna came in and looked at the tangle of bodies and buttocks and legs and arms on our bunk and said, "Pardon me, kids, but is this a private fuck?"
My Kanaka brother left me and began helping Donna to strip ... not that she needed help then or ever. But I didn't really mind, since Terry's titanic tickler was titillating me to a T ... and, besides, while the bunks, large for a land yacht, were constructed to give ample room in which two can fuck to their hearts' delight, three was definitely a crowd in such confined quarters.
So Terry and I spread ourselves and had us a ball. Each of the males in the Martin family is eminently satisfactory as a stud, but there are little differences between them all, as I have already mentioned, which adds the unfailing aphrodisiac of unending variety to fucking inside the family. For instance, in contrast to Uncle Jake's thick, somewhat stubby cock, Terry's meat is built like a rapier ... And is, I believe, a smidgen longer even than Daddy's dildo of a dong. Put a pin on its tip, and it would puncture a normal-sized girl's heart from below . ...
Along with this length, it has that wonderful garden-hose limberness that enables it to follow the internal convulsions of a girl even in the wildest of fucking bees. It seems to be poured into her and, since it can penetrate even when unaroused due to its African heritage, once it is in a girl's happy twat, it is there to stay.
After a while, we changed partners, and I spasmed all over the bed in heavenly reaction to his indolent island easy sensuality ... and when at last we were done and it was time to think of dinner and the long evening ahead, we discovered that two other couples had joined us during our recreation period. Up front just behind the driver's area, Cherie's pretty pussy was jamming up and down on Uncle Jake's ever ready fucking piece, while Jill and Mal were hammering away at each other on the opposite side of the aisle.
There was a compact, fully equipped stainless steel kitchen in the rear of the land yacht and Donna and I got busy preparing a nourishing dinner for the family ... there was not time to cook a roast, so we hauled a huge top sirloin steak out of the freezer ... three inches thick, and backed it up with French fried potatoes, French fried onions, a mess of fresh asparagus we had picked up that afternoon at a roadside stand, mushrooms and corn on the cob.
After dining, we got into our working clothes ... the men in brief Grecian tunics that looked like the miniskirts of yesteryear, the girls in even more revealing clothes-except for me, who was in ... starring role that evening as consort of the god. They adorned me with so many leaves that I felt like a weirdo of the woods, but then Uncle Jake looked me over and stripped most of them off.
"You can't see the she for the forest," he grumbled. "Just a couple of leaves here and there to suggest the woodland nymph. Not a blanket of them."
So little, in fact, was left of my costume that, on Jill's counsel, I wore a polo coat on the short walk to the converted chapel, where I was to wait backstage for my cue. It can get cold in central Illinois of an evening, even at the end of a warm day...
I was dying to see the show, but there was no way ... so I sat alone most of the time in a crummy improvised dressing room just inside the back door, awaiting my cue, which was set for the very end of the first of the three nightly meetings that constituted one of our stays ... in the big cities, we ran for a week or even two if the returns warranted...
I had plenty of magazines to read, but it was dull business and I guess I must have dozed off. After a while, I had a dream ... not of fauns and satyrs but of Leona. I dreamt she was there in the room with me, calling my name ... and then I opened my eyes and there she was ... you guessed it ... calling my name.
She looked very unhappy and very upset, and when she saw I was awake. She pounded on me, crying, "Darling Robin, don't ride old Preepy tonight. Whatever you do, promise me you won't ride old Preepy..."
But I had just about had it with my beautiful blonde half-sister at that point. She had been treating me bitchily ever since we reached the Indianapolis H.Q. from Chicago, and the bit in the chapel the other night, plus her erratic behavior since, had fed me right up to the plimsol line.
Now, she was trying to make me louse up my all-important role in my first performance as a member of the Martin family. There's as much ham in me as there is in anybody else, and right then I wasn't going to give up my moment as old Preepy's consort in front of an audience for anybody-especially not for a sneaking, underhanded sister like Leona.
I heard Uncle Jake calling me from outside and got up to move past my golden-haired sister and go onstage to give my all, but Leona tried to stop me and that was it. Something popped inside me and I hauled off and clouted her with a backhand slap that tumbled her right over the back of a chair. She landed with her lovely head in a wastebasket and her cunt in the air, and I marched out of there and shut the door behind me.
There, Uncle Jake was waiting, and he hustled me into the wings and held me there, waiting for my cue to go on. I felt no stage fright ... not then. Something, perhaps my rout of Leona, had set my adrenals racing, and I wanted to charge right out there and give them the business. But it was not yet time ... Donna and Daddy were performing a beautiful dance of love in a blue spotlight that gave them both the appearance of supernatural beings as they undulated to the rhythm of a strange erotic recorded song of long ago, with Daddy's prick firmly embedded in Donna's foiling black cunt.
There was never any simulation in a Martin family performance ... when we fucked we fucked, when we sucked, we sucked, and so on ... The sole exception, the only bit of chicanery involved, was my pseudo-fucking by the divine Pan-Priapus ... and, believe me when I say that felt very much like the real thing with that dildo pulping in and out of my hole...
Daddy and Donna finished their dance, climaxing right on the musical cue in one of their almost incredible bits of fucking in time ... but I had little opportunity to admire their magnificent technique as they came off and as the lights and music changed and Jill and Cherie slipped onstage, nude, to worship before the statue of old Preepy that Duke, looking like a young god himself, unveiled, while Terry, his eyes shining with excitement, came to lead me onstage and give me a lift to my perch atop old Peepy's prodigious prick.
I could not see the small but select audience beyond the blinding glare of the amber spotlight that engulfed me as I settled my rump carefully atop its rounded perch ... but I could feel them and hear their gasp as they realized with incredulity that I was about to be penetrated by that incredible pecker. The music picked up a faster beat as I leaned forward to embrace the resurrected god of fun and sex and carefully pushed the buttons ... the front one once, the rear one once and then again.
The instant that dildo rose up into my carefully oiled hole as I wriggled around to make its entrance easier, I realized that something new had been added ... but before I could do a thing about it, I was in convulsions with my tunnel of love being rubbed and pushed and tickled by a variety of contusions and other devices that had not adorned old Peepy's prick when I rode it before.
Even though I had never before been fucked by a French tickler, I had heard enough about them to know perfectly well what was being done to me. Also, in the final flash of sanity before madness took over completely, I knew who had pulled this beauty. It was Leona, natch ... she must have fitted old Preepy with his new equipment just before I saw her sneaking out of the chapel in the darkness ... and, smitten with remorse, had tried to warn me in the dressing room, when I had been in no mood to listen to her ...
But that was my last sane thought for some time as the unbearable stimulation my cunt was getting caused me to go crazy. I have little memory of the rest of my performance, not really recovering consciousness until the curtain had fallen and old Preepy's prick halted and myself lifted down from my very hot seat.
When I finally regained my senses, I was lying on a cot in the little dressing room with everybody hovering over me and Leona sobbing and crying over and over again, "I tried to stop her ... honest, I did."
Daddy said, "Oh, shut up, Leona. How come you didn't mention why you wanted to stop her? I'll tend to you later."
I said, "She did try to stop me, but I didn't listen."
Daddy, who was right there with me, bless him, said, "She did it then ... as I suspected." Then, to me, "Are you all right, dearest daughter mine?"
"I'll live," I told him, wincing as I prodded my bottom gently. "But I've got an awfully sore hole."
Daddy said, "I can believe that." He looked up as Uncle Jake appeared in the doorway, looking like a contented cat, said, "How'd it go?"
"Just great ... A-okay," said Uncle Jake. "That finale really got them winging." Then, looking down at me and shaking his homely head. "Sweety, that was some performance. Maybe we ought to write it into the act."
Even Daddy couldn't hold me then, as I leapt from the cot and, sore hole and all, delivered my second backhand smash to the face that evening. Uncle Jake went down for the count ... or should it be for the cunt? He always went for the latter....