Chapter 4
The following morning, when we went to the chapel-or the "office," as we called it-I received my first real workout in cunt control. Daddy had done his very best to prepare me during the long, fuck-filled night, and I had worked as hard as I could to absorb his lessons as well as his divine prick.
We had to give up the doll-dressing idea after the third time it betrayed me into the wildly delicious orgasmic explosions that were to be strictly taboo during working hours. The final time I tried it, just when I thought I had it whipped and was containing Daddy's cock beautifully without climaxing, a whole succession of Ken dolls seemed to come out of nowhere and strip my imaginary Barbie and poke their plastic pink pricks into every hole but her ears.
This set me winging, naturally, and I convulsed all over the beautiful big bed, carrying Daddy with me and, to my great joy, causing him to lose control and send a soul-and hole-filling spurt of sweet sperm right into my sopping wet womb.
Obviously, the doll idea was not going to work. It was time to work out something else ...
Daddy suggested, "Maybe if you imagine you're menstruating it would do the trick."
I shook my head, said, "But, Daddy, that never stopped me from fucking. In some ways, I like it more when I'm having a period."
He looked up at me, shaking his wonderful gray-fringed head, massaging the inner surfaces of my well-spread thighs with his lovely curved scimitar of a prick still half-erect in my dripping coozy. "Really try, won't you, dearest of daughters?"
"What do you think I've been doing, darling Daddy?" I countered.
"I mean, really try to hold a non-fucking image while you're screwing," he said. "I need you, remember?"
That did it ... being needed by Daddy in the Martin family profession was almost as important as being desired by Daddy in bed. I finally came up with an idea while we were sharing the bathtub built for four. As usual, after enjoying such a lot of fucking, with all of that pelvic activity, I had had to go to the johnny in the worst way. One of the unsung fringe benefits of the kind of active, healthy life my family enjoyed living so much was that I had rarely been constipated since my half-brother Bill first fucked me when I was eleven years old and he was nine.
Before then, though, I had had a lot of difficulty with my bowels, and I remembered having to take suppositories to loosen them up. I decided to pretend every prick in my pussy was a suppository up my arsehole ... after all, they aren't far apart ... and thus stalemate erotic thought and feeling.
I didn't tell Daddy, though. As I slipped into the deliciously warm water of the big oval sunken tub, I said, "I have an idea, Daddy ... shall we try it out?"
"I hope it works, darling daughter," he replied, giving my boobs a delicious preliminary squeeze. Right then, I almost blew the whole ball game as delicious little thrills began coursing through my vibrant and vibrating young body.
But I thought of those ridiculous suppositories up my butt and it actually brought my already-launched fucking machinery to a halt. I felt another kind of thrill, a thrill of impending success, as I straddled his lap and lifted my rump to receive the sweetest of all suppositories in my well-lubricated hole.
I wanted to test it then and there in the tub, because I have always found fucking in water especially exciting and erotic. Don't ask me why, but this is true of a lot of girls. Leona got as much of a charge out of aquatic sports as I did, while roly-poly, chocolate brown Jill went crazy when a prick penetrated her plump little pussy below the waterline. In the immediate family, as then constituted, only inky-black Donna seemed to derive no added excitements from tub or pool-fucking. But then, charged the way she was, she didn't need any extras. None of us did really, for that matter.
Anyway, each time Daddy poked his prick up my passage until it passed the soft flanges of my womb-gate and pressed along its right side until it hit the top ... each time he withdrew it until only its imperial purple crown remained within the lips of my cunt ... I thought butt-hole ... arsehole ... suppository ... suppository ... arsehole ... suppository . . .and so on. Daddy went through a good many of his bottomless bag of fucking tricks to bring me on again, but to no avail.
Finally, he paused and said, "Congratulations, dearest daughter mine ... but controlling yourself is only half the battle. You've got to make your partners come and the quicker the better."
"Oh..." I felt my face burn with embarrassment. "I guess I forgot. I'm sorry, Daddy."
With that, I tightened every muscle in my vagina on the beloved prick filling it so deliciously. Then, still thinking arsehole ... suppository ... ad infinitum, I put my pelvis through a series of bumps and grinds and rolls and kickrolls that caused Daddy's cock to leap against the muscles confining it in my cunt and, in less than twenty seconds, he was shooting sperm into my core once again.
"Is that what you mean?" I asked, feigning anxiety.
He laughed and gave my buttocks a slow double-squeeze and said, "You lovely little devil."
I could tell by his tone and the light in his eyes that he was proud of me, so I let myself go then and he stayed right with me and this time it didn't matter that most of the bubble bath had evaporated ... we made so many bubbles and kicked up so much foam with our fucking pieces that the water's surface was white as shaving cream. After holding in, I came so fast and so many times that, when Daddy once again fired a seminal charge into my throbbing uterus, I was actually fucked out for the time being.
We didn't even bother to towel each other off, but padded back to bed still wet and enjoyed the delicious feeling of lying in sheets damp with water scented not only by the bubble bath's perfume but by that of the semen and pussyjuice with which we had impregnated it.
For a man in his forties, Daddy is unbelievable ... it was be who woke me up, finger-fucking me and diddling my clit until the last vestiges of sleep had fled and I opened my eyes to see morning sunlight streaming through the casement windows.
He was half-lying over me, with his healthy sun-bronzed body resembling that of some ancient demigod and his prick with its wonderful curve to port already prodding the soft flesh on my mound. I enjoyed a lazy convulsion and was about to push for a bigger one when I remembered what I had learned during the fuck-filled night just past. Somehow, I knew Daddy was testing me, and I quickly killed all thought of my own pleasure and put my mind on my butt-hole.
I spread my legs wide as he mounted my saddle and thrust my crotch upward to receive the thrust of his lovely long lance. Whether it came from my E.S.P. rapport with Daddy I still don't know, but I understood perfectly what he had in mind.
Naturally, having spent a goodly portion of my young life fucking and being fucked, I was aware that everybody's senses are duller than usual on first awakening ... therefore that everybody is a lot slower in reaching orgasm while sleep still drugs normally detonative reactions.
Personally, I love being fucked the first thing in the morning. It's a lot more fun than corn flakes and, if you don't react as explosively at first, you can get there if you take your time and, in this instance, getting there is at least half the fun. It's sort of slow-roll time and my fucking piece is deliciously sticky with the sex-sap that forms while I sleep and everything is sort of nubbly and sweet and ... well, different, at least until the senses at last come fully awake.
But this, I knew, was no time for that sort of thing. Daddy had wakened me with his prick to see if I remembered what I had learned in the bathtub ... also, to see how long it would take me to milk his cock with my cunt, slowed up as his reactions were with slumber. There was only one thing to do to prove my ability to become a full-fledged member of the Martin family ... get busy!
So ... busy I got. Thinking arsehole ... suppository ... as hard as I could, I began fucking my father in the most provocative method I knew. Starting slowly and then speeding up the action imperceptibly until we were fucking and bucking like a pair of alley-cats in heat ... and everybody knows how fast they can move their feline fucking pieces.
It took a little longer than it had in the tub, but not a great deal. Within a couple of minutes, by which time I was really whipping my cunt about like a snake, I felt the stiffness of his scimitar prick give that unmistakable convulsive leap that spells come on the way, and I really let him have it, gripping his prick as if I were trying to squash it in my juicing hole.
When it was over, I said, "How can you be sure I didn't come, Daddy?"
He smiled and flicked one of my nipples lightly and said, "That's the tipoff ... or should I say titoff?"
"Should you, darling Daddy?" I reached down and gave his receding cock a caress that brought it back to attention.
He said, "Look at your nipples now, dearest of daughters."
I did, and so help me, the little teats were standing up as straight as Daddy's pussyjuice-soaked prick. I said, "You mean they didn't that time?"
He shook his head, said, "A man who knows the score can always tell."
"Well, fuck you, Father," I said. And, climbing aboard him, I proceeded to do exactly that, and this time I held nothing back and we were still at it when Donna came into the room with her high boobs bobbing at every step she took and said, "Come on, you two, it's almost nine-thirty."
Breakfast was a hearty meal in the Martin family for obvious reasons ... it is doubtful that any other family in the country enjoyed as thorough-going and consistent night exercise. It was served English country house style, with a lot of chafing dishes lined up on a fine old mahogany sideboard. Everybody helped him or herself and we ate at a long refectory table that was always laid for twelve no matter how many of us were on hand at any given mealtime.
We cooked in shifts ... cooking, like fucking, was a sine qua non in the Martin family and that included the boys as well as the girls. This morning, Luana and Duke had done the honors, and we enjoyed the usual scrambled eggs and thick Irish bacon and English muffins and jam and hashed-brown potatoes ... with a big casserole of medallions of pork sirloin.
Most of the others had finished by the time we showered and got downstairs. And we ate with Leona and Duke, since the pair on K.P. duty always ate last. As always when we ate en famille, we were naked save for our fine damask napkins ... but there was no talk of sex. Not that there was ever much talk of sex at the Martins' ... we were usually too busy doing it one way or another. But Daddy had declared the dining room and kitchen out of bounds for fucking, and if those of us on K.P. occasionally sneaked a quickie in the pantry or laundry, we made damned sure Daddy was not around.
Meal times were devoted to eating and to general conversation. Daddy considered it important for every member of the family to be well informed and to be able to express an opinion lucidly. Thanks to this policy of his, we were forever surprising outsiders who knew something of our way of life and considered us mere fucking and sucking machines.
As Daddy discussed with Duke the probable future of rock music while Leona and I listened and shoveled the food into our pretty faces, I sensed an unusual excitement in the air, a sort of electric anticipation. Not that anybody said anything, but my E.S.P. antennae were peculiarly alert and it was there ... I could feel it. Since nobody told me what was in the wind, I figured it had something to do with me, but I knew better than to ask. I had a hunch I was not going to be kept in ignorance long.
After breakfast, Daddy summoned Duke and assigned me to help Leona clean up. It was not my turn, but after having two extra straight nights with my father (and after having caused Leona to be bumped only the night before), I made no protest. Into each life a little dishwater must fall and all that jazz...
It took us about a half hour to clean up and not until we were finished did my beautiful golden half-sister give me a clue. Then, when we were finally finished in the kitchen, she gave me a hug, pulling me close, and said, "Oh golly, honey, you've got to make it!"
"Make what?" I asked, looking into her lovely lavender eyes and rubbing my boobs against her somewhat larger mammaries.
"I can't tell you." She blushed as if embarrassed at having said so much even though it was little enough.
"Then don't ... " I played it cool and pulled my flesh gently clear of hers.
"I love you, Robin," She drew my belly against her delicious flat dome again. "I only wish I could help you ... you're so-so reactive. But I'll be praying to Priapus every step of the way."
That gave the whole show away, of course. I was going to be put through my ritualistic paces that very morning. Instead of being anxious, I felt proud ... for I was certain that Daddy would have called off my test if he had the slightest doubt about my being ready for it. I felt proud for having mastered the necessary trick or orgasmic control so thoroughly in a single night. I was dying to ask Leona how long it had taken her, but I decided against letting her know she had tipped me off so thoroughly. When Leona blew, she blew ... as when she threw the bric-a-brac at Daddy and me the night before.
"Oh, come on," she said, grabbing my hand. "Let's get at it."
We slipped out a side door and walked the hundred feet of lawn to the chapel. It was a sort of American Gothic structure that went with the rest of the old house and its walled-in grounds. When we reached the entrance, his immense black frame was cloaked by a white robe and, from a silver chain around his neck, two-inch silver lingam hung. Its base at the top carried twin silver loops to represent balls, through which the end-links of the chain were fastened.
I thought he looked like a chocolate-marsh-mallow sundae, but I didn't say so. like Leona, his expression was entirely serious. In rumbling tones, deeper than his normal voice, he said, "Priestess Leona, take the acolyte to the tiring room and prepare her for the ritual."
I was whisked into a chamber just inside the front door to the left, where Donna and Jill were awaiting us. They wore white robes like Terry's, save that, from the silver chains around their necks hung silver yonis ... only slightly stylized ornamental female genitals. They handed Leona a robe and chain and she struggled into them, and then the three of them busied themselves with me.
Save for a few necessary remarks like, "Suture, Nurse," or, "Sponge," or "Scalpel," or their equivalent as they seemingly embalmed my body, they were silent as the priestesses of Pan-Priapus into which they had metamorphosed. They stretched me out on a hospital-type rolling bed and rubbed me all over with some sort of unguent and then bathed me in a strange but not unpleasant scent and then put some sort of special cream in and around my pussy. Then, and only then, when I had been massaged from scalp to soles, they helped me sit up and, before I realized what was happening, a velvet mask had been slipped over my head.
It fitted my entire head with perfect comfort. It was silk lined and felt soft and smooth against my skin. It had holes for breathing and for my mouth as well. There was only one drawback ... wearing it, I could see nothing. There were no holes for my eyes. For a moment, I was frightened ... but then I reflected that my sisters must have been through the mill and I was perfectly certain that, whatever they could survive, so could I.
Donna said, "Come, Robin," and took my hand. I felt Leona, bless her, give my bottom a pat of reassurance ... the lovely little dickens even managed to slip a finger into my cleft from behind and give my cunt a quick feel. I smiled beneath my mask as I was led by both sisters, where I could not tell, and brought to a halt perhaps fifty paces from where we had started. Save for the mask-helmet that covered my russet curls and face, I was stark naked.
I heard Daddy utter a ritual in what sounded like Greek (it was Greek to me, anyway), punctuated by chorused chants by the others. I simply stood there, wondering what in hell was going on, until finally Daddy, in his wonderful deep voice, said, "Daughter of Pan-Priapus called Robin, are you prepared to enter into your father's service?"
"I am," I said.
There were other questions, all of which I answered in the affirmative. It sounded a little like a wedding service, then a lot like a wedding service ... then I realized that it was & wedding service between me and my father, whether his name was Leicester Martin or Pan-Priapus, it mattered not a white.
When it ended, there was a pause ... and then Daddy's voice intoned, "Sons of Pan-Priapus, take my bride and discover if she be truly fit to be the consort of a god."
There was another chorus of alien assents, and then I was seized in strong arms and lifted bodily and placed on my back on what I took to be some sort of altar with attachments that seemed more proper on an abortionist's table. It had stirrups in which my ankles were caught, high and wide apart, and clasps on either side of my shoulders in which my wrists were imprisoned.
By this time, I was pretty certain as to what lay in store for me. Far from dreading it, I looked forward to it eagerly. Furthermore, I put my thoughts where they belonged ... on my arsehole, resolved not to let dear Daddy down. I had hoped at the beginning of the ceremony that Daddy alone would perform the ritual fucking, but realized quickly that was too much to expect of a family devoted to such a pagan cult.
Come to think of it, I had nothing to complain about in any case, all my brothers being the terrific studs they were. My only problem, I sensed, was going to be keeping my hot little hole under wraps while I brought each of them to a boil in a hurry.
Sure enough, in a matter of mere seconds, I could sense that someone was standing at the foot of the altar, where my cunt lay open and fully exposed to his assault. Then I could feel the head of a prick pushing against my well salved labia and sliding easily into my cunt. It was a prick I knew well, a stiff round cylinder of a prick, almost flat at the tip. Mal, my Eskimo half-brother, was being given first crack at my crack.
I lifted my crotch and thrust it forward as much as my restricted condition permitted to aid his insertion and to render it complete as quickly as possible. I heard him utter a familiar little grunt of content and excitement as my labia and his soft scrotum made intimate contact and his dong's flat tip nuzzled my womb-gate flanges.
There are some people, I know, who get a great boot out of being fucked by someone they cannot see ... but not me, thank you. I like to be able to look at whoever is doing me and, even more important, to see what we are doing with and to each other. So, to a considerable extent, my being blind-folded helped me a lot in retaining the necessary measure of self-control to win my acceptance into the inner circle of the Martin family which was otherwise doubly mine by my incestuous birthright.
So I thought arsehole ... suppository ... arsehole ... suppository ... and really put my cunt into swinging motion. I was going to make the grade or bust....