Chapter 5

With restraining my own orgasm during the ordeal-by-fucking, I had the objective of bringing on to a climax each of my partners as rapidly as possible. At first, I felt sorely hampered by the loops that held my ankles high and my wrists pinioned to the sides of the hospital-type cart to which my naked body was strapped. But, as I lifted my rump clear of the surface in counter action to Mal's blunt thrusts, I found that I could get a swinging rhythm going that made things interesting as long as I held my buttocks in the air.

But not too interesting for me ... I forgot briefly the arsehole-suppository routine as I began meeting my Eskimo brother's onslaughts more than halfway and almost blew the whole deal right at the start. But I remembered in the very nick of time, just as a series of rippling spasms brought me to the very brink of disaster, and managed to quiet the waves of voluptuous delight before things got entirely out of hand.

Early in my fucking career, I had discovered that the quickest way to bring a stud to early ejaculation-always granting he isn't a hair-trigger type who explodes on first contact or even before-is unexpected variations in screwing technique. But, to make a sudden switch effective, it is necessary to establish a regular rhythm that can then be broken.

With this in mind, I swung my rump up straight ahead, meeting him in mid-air as it were and causing his swinging balls to slap against the inner curves of my rump in a metronomic beat. I knew he was feeling it by the characteristic little grunt of pleasure he gave each time our sopping hairs met and meshed.

Now, with a steady motion established, I was faced with the problem of how to achieve something new and unexpected in my restricted field of operations. Had my arms and legs and therefore my body been free, I could have indulged in any of a score of sextrobatic stunts which, by themselves or employed in sequence, would certainly have sufficed to bring his sperm spurting into my juicing womb.

As yet, being unrehearsed, I had no idea what I could get away with under the conditions in which I was forced to operate ... and all the time, I was forced to deny myself the delicious thrills of climax that had become my life's object since my twelfth year.

I felt that it was time to do something ... but what? All I could do was make the effort and trust that it would be effective.

Midway between thrusts, when only the upper half of my Eskimo brother's flat-headed fucking piece remained in my well-oiled hole, I put the plan into action with a rapid lateral swinging of my bottom that, with my legs strapped high, became a sort of figure eight ... and each time my cunt crossed in its center, I gave it a flip toward the base of Mal's prick, nipping at it with my vaginal muscles as I did so.

I heard him mutter, "Jesus Christ!" as I hit him thus for the fourth time, so this time, instead of merely nipping at his cock, I held on, keeping him there, deep in my tunnel of lust ... and was rewarded by feeling his fine tool begin to buck and then to spurt its thick white juice into my own cream.

I felt like crying, "Gotcha!" but the semi-religious atmosphere of the occasion caused me to refrain from any such ribaldry. Besides, if I let go even for an instant, I could well be lost in the surge of my own pent-up pleasure.

Mal pulled out and left me hanging there with our blended juices tickling a little as they dribbled down my crotch past my arsehole ... but almost before I could feel hung up, Duke slammed his Hawaiian hook into the wet and waiting void of my cunt, filling it even more fully than his predecessor. I reacted, of course, but by dint of clinging to the arsehole-suppository technique, I got things in hand or rather in cunt, again and settled down, or rather up, to the not entirely unpleasant assignment in front of me, or rather inside of me.

This time, once he was solidly established with his poignant prick in my flooded hole, I bent to my incestuous task in a different order, beginning by rolling my rump in small circles. Having seen how I handled Mal, Duke had no intention of being trapped the same way. His solution was to follow me rather than attempt to lead, keep his scrotum flat against my steaming labia with our cream-covered hairs intertwined, thus keeping his cock buried in my hot little hole to the maximum.

This constant pressure soon proved more than I could endure and keep my senses. With each rump-roU my level of climax crept higher despite my desperate employment of the butt-hole-suppository diversion of interest. So I did the only thing I could think of ... I gradually slowed tc a stop. And then, with both of us outwardly absolutely still, I went to work on my light-brown brother's magnificent manhood with the muscles that lined my cunt from womb to labia major.

At first I simply contracted and relaxed them all the way, using all of them simultaneously.

Then I began contracting them in sequence, beginning with the muscles at my cuntal entrance and slowly working upward to the door of my womb. I then relaxed them in reverse order, repeating the process three times before again calling the recourse of variation into play.

Still holding my body otherwise absolutely still, I again held the whole of his massive meat tightly ... and then turned it right around by gripping only its thick crown and then working down toward the base. By the time I got there, my Hawaiian half-brother uttered a soft oath and it was his turn to fill my hole with his joy-juice.

Then he withdrew and big black Terry's big black Hamitic dong slid into the sopping softness of my most intimate area and his big black balls pushed and flattened themselves against the cheeks of my rump. Where the first two of my brothers had come into me all tensed up, I could sense that Terry was employing a much more relaxed approach. With that long, thick Hamitic prick of his, he could afford to ... since, even when it was not aroused, that snake-like snickersnee of his was almost as large as where it was fully aroused.

At first, his technique stymied me entirely, but I decided two could play at that game ... so, for long minutes, I relaxed, too, and simply let myself lie there with his cock reposing-and I do mean reposing-in my inactive tunnel of lust. As a matter-of-fact, Duke had brought me so close to an overboil of delight that I needed a brief rest right then ... even with all that marvelous black meat embedded in my hot little hole and stretching it deliciously.

In a way, it was dirty chess ... since Terry had time going for him while I did not. As a priestess of Pan-Priapus, it was my job, as it was the job of any temple prostitute, to service my worshipers quickly, thus freeing myself to take on the next lucky adorer in line. I could not remain relaxed indefinitely and hope to qualify for the role Daddy intended me to fill in his plans.

What to do-what to do? It was going to have to be sudden, unexpected ... and quickly successful.

Getting a good firm grip on my black half-brother's massive meat, I went into action. This time, I did not lift my rump from the pad that supported it. Instead, holding it firmly in place, I began rolling and grinding it around the ebon pillar in my sluicing, juicing hole, as if I were grinding chopped meat in a butcher's shop. I bore down on it instead of rising to meet it, using the frontal bone under my mons veneris to put downward pressure on its base at the top, and then wriggled my bottom rapidly as my vagina simply devoured it.

I could not have kept it up long without wearing out the muscles of my lower spine but, mercifully, it worked and worked fast.

"Shit, darling-you've got me!" he cried as that big black codpiece leapt to life in my hole and sent its rich white fluid to its predestined terminus inside my well-flushed womb.

Then he was gone and there was darling Daddy's sweet curving scimitar impaling me. Bless him, Daddy made no effort to bring me on as his sons had done. Instead, he simply fucked me as a worshiper might have done, driving his delicious dong in and out of me without a vestige of trickery ... but so great was my love for my father that this act of parental consideration was all but enough to prove my undoing.

Dangerously, I skirted the rim of the abyss of delight and, for a long, precarious moment, I feared that even the arsehole-suppository routine was at last going to fail me. But just as I was about to detonate and to hell with the consequences, a message from Daddy flashed into my brain.

... with it, darling. Steady the Buffs...

Bless you, Daddy! It worked. I went into a swift series of convolutions calculated to extract semen from a stone image ... and a stone image Daddy never was. Moments later, I was receiving the most precious charge of all in my flooding uterus, and a thrill of triumph raced through me as I realized I had won the difficult game.

Daddy withdrew from the swamp of my underside and I went limp, awaiting to be released from my bondage ... but things didn't work out quite that way.

Instead of having my ankles and wrists freed and my blindfold removed, my cunt was invaded by a fifth prick ... one that had never been in there before. I uttered an involuntary cry of alarm as it slid remorsely on inside me, working its way toward the target of my uterine gate.

For one moment, my reaction was stayed by recollection of a ridiculous story I had learned back in Riverville as a child from my friend and classmate, Hotpants O'Houlihan. It concerned a trio of women playing golf at a country club, two of them married, the other a single swinger.

As they walked alongside an out-of-bounds fence, hunting a ball sliced into the rough, they came upon a urinating penis thrust through a hole in the solid palings of the fence ... and, not unnaturally, stopped to look at it.

One of the married women said, "That doesn't belong to my husband." The other married woman said, "Nor does it belong to my husband."

At this, the single swinger remarked, "Hell, it doesn't belong to anybody in the club."

Which was precisely how I felt at that moment, lying blindfold and with an utterly strange prick pumping in and out of my pussy.

It was total ambush. My guard was down all the way. I had thought, after my final fuck with Daddy, that the ordeal by incest was ended ... and here I was, with entirely alien titillator in my twat.

Not that it was an inadequate prong ... far from it. If not as long as Daddy's or my brother Terry's, and not having darling Daddy's delicious curve to port, it was thicker than any prick I have ever before absorbed with my cunt. For one wild moment, I thought it was going to split the tender tissues of my tract and waited, quivering, for the splatting sound of rending flesh-my own.

But then I was containing it womanfully, and, rather than proving a detriment to my enjoyment, the large diameter of this strange codpiece greatly added to my pleasure as it plunged in and out of my quivering quim with a sort of nonchalant assurance not even Daddy could improve upon. All of these factors coalesced in a matter of seconds to become my undoing.

There was no time even to think ... arsehole ... suppository ... as, caught with every barrier down, a long-repressed tidal wave of passion swept over me, inundating my cunt and all the area around it with the flash-flood flow of my sex-sap. My whole body seemed literally to explode with the vehemence of the rapid succession of orgasms that gripped me. Each time the thick crown of the strange cock diddled the flanges at the gate of my womb, I convulsed. Each time my unseen attacker withdrew until only the tip of his tool remained within the thrusting grip of my purple labia ... I convulsed again.

I arched my back and began a series of wild counter-onslaughts that had my rump swinging wildly in a variety of directions, leaping and flopping like a beached salmon ... yet never losing the persistent alien prick that seemed to follow it everywhere with unerring intuition. There was no way I could even pretend to cling to the vanished vestiges of self-control ... simply no way!

I came all over that hospital-care of a cot and I kept right on coming, time after time, until I had milked my invisible man's prodigiously thick fucking piece three times without a break. Whoever and whatever he was, he wielded his prick like a master symphonic conductor wielding his baton, playing me for every sensation in the inexhaustible book of orgasmic delights. I was cooked and I knew it, so I did the only thing I could under the circumstances: somewhat like the girl being raped, I lay back and enjoyed it ... except that I didn't lie back but gave it everything I had, and the word enjoyed is hardly powerful enough to suggest the richness of the myriad delights that ran freely through my trussed and deliciously helpless body.

When at last it was over and he removed his dripping prick from my sopping cunt, I lay close to unconscious in a near-water bed of my own sweat. I was barely aware of it when helpful hands unfastened the loops that bound me to the narrow, wheeled cot and was utterly unable to lift the mask from my face.

Donna did this for me, holding me upright in a sitting position and handling me as gently as a baby. But I was in no mood for condolence as, with the return of my sex-addled senses had come deepening and bitter awareness that I had flunked my all-important test for matriculation into the active portion of the Martin family. Granted, ringing in a strange prick just when they did was an underhanded sort of trick ... but I felt unhappily that I should have been on my guard for just such a subterfuge and should have remained ready for anything until the loosening of my bonds signaled my release...

Although my self-reproach was such that I could hardly demand sympathy, yet I was unprepared for the happy, smiling faces my brothers and sisters were wearing ... even Daddy was laughing at me with his wonderful silent laugh, for once unappreciated by me. One would hope that at least one or two of them would be expressing concern over my failure. To my horror, such was my chagrin that I could feel tears beginning to course down my cheeks and was barely able to repress a sob.

I had not cried since I first began fucking with what I then believed to be my father and kid brother and sister at the age of eleven. In my former family, whenever anybody felt ready to cry, the rest of us had simply gathered around and fucked her (or him) out of it. The only crying any of us had done was in the throes of a prolonged enjoyment of great sexual fulfillment ... and that hardly counted as grief.

So here I was, weeping and about to blubber like a baby ... which did nothing to lessen mv feelings pf guilt and defeat.

It was darling Daddy, of course, who noticed my wretchedness first. He came swiftly to me, pushing Donna gently aside, and gathered my tearstained face to his beautiful chest and hugged me there and repeated soothing words over and over again.

So intense was my preoccupation with my own unhappy feelings, that it must have been a full minute at least before I actually heard what he was saying..."It's all right dearest of daughters. You came through with flying colors. We're all proud as punch of you and happy for you."

Even after I finally heard what he was trying to tell me, it took another full minute for its sense to sink into my sex-addled brain. Even then, I couldn't believe it ... I thought Daddy was merely applying the soft soap to pull me out of my misery.

When I could talk, I half-blubbered, "But, Daddy ... the last time, I ... well, you saw."

He hugged me closer and smiled his wonderful smile down at me and said, "Oh, you had already passed when that happened. We thought you had a little fun coming to you, so we rang in Uncle Jake for a surprise."

"Uncle Who?"

Daddy called, "Jake ... come here. Robin wants to meet you."

A short, plump, bald-headed little man with a blob of a nose between a pair of close-set, twinkling little black eyes and with a mouth that looked more like a female sex orifice than an eating mechanism, pushed his way through between the wall my brothers and sisters were making in front of me ... following the round dome of his hairy belly by almost three feet.

He beamed at me, revealing a solid wall of gold teeth and extended a pudgy hand adorned with three big lodge rings sparkling on stubby fingers. With his other paw, he patted my still-dripping pussy and said, "Proud to have you in the family, Robin. That's one hell of a hotbox you're carrying between those pretty young legs of yours. Take good care of it, honey."

He gave my boobs a couple of pats and a squeeze before moving off, leaving behind him the definite impression that here was a man who really loved his nooky ... as if I hadn't already received ample proofs of this while strapped to the table.

"Uncle Jake...? " I whispered to Daddy when he was out of earshot.

Daddy laughed softly, said, "Jack flew in from Tulsa this morning. He's our advance man."

"Is he really your brother?"

"You'd better believe it, dear girl ... the fruit of my own mother's womb and all that."

"Sound like men's underwear," I said. "But he doesn't look at all like you. You mean he's my mother's brother, too?"

"Naturally." And, while I was trying to digest this unexpected addition to the family circle, "Of course, there has always been some question as to his paternity. Jake-likes to think of himself as the son of a famous theatrical producer of days long gone-who scattered his seed freely among the good-looking young ladies of the chorus."

"You mean, my grandmother was a chorus girl? I never heard about that."

"Dear girl, there is a lot you have to learn about this family, I fear. Yes, your grandmother was featured in a road company of No, No, Nanette ... but she was booted from the show in Des Moines. There was a little matter of her being five months pregnant with Jake."

"Didn't she sue?"

"Darling, trying to sue Jake's probable namesake and father was like trying to sue the government. There was a bit of a fuss, to be sure. A reporter asked her if she was going to claim the baby was an 'act of God," like Helen Hayes, but she said, 'No, it was an act of Jake.' Anyway, it's a good thing she had him. When the going gets rough, as it does from time to time, it's a good thing to have Uncle Jake in your corner."

"He's not bad in your cunt," I replied.

"I wouldn't know about that," said Daddy, trying to suppress a smile, "but I've never heard any complaints on the subject." He gave me a big hug then and said, "In any case, darling, welcome to the Martin family. You really did your daddy proud just now."

"I'm glad it's over," I said, beginning to feel a little bit proud myself. "I'd hate to have to do it over again. I mean, not that I don't love having all of you fuck me, but that's the point. Having you fuck me and not being able to enjoy it is plain hell."

"That's why we break all my girls in with the family, after they've learned to love us, my dear. If you can keep it cool under those conditions, they're not apt to have any trouble controlling themselves with the rank and file of the members of our little cult."

I watched Uncle Jake over in a corner, where he sat on a low bench with his legs wide apart so that Jill could do a blow job on his cock. He was seated right under a mural by Cherie of old Silenus, the demigod Bacchus' old horned and horny satyr buddy. Save for the horns and the hoofs and the small pointed beard of the man in the corner, it was hard to tell them apart.

As I watched the performance, I considered ways of getting even with Uncle Jake for the way he had bushwhacked me while I was trussed and helpless as a Thanksgiving turkey. It was going to take time and thought, but I felt certain that I'd come up with something satisfactory when the time was ripe.

I was going to give him the kind of a fucking he had just given me ... and I meant to enjoy it even more than he had...