Chapter 7

The minute I bit Uncle Jake's tongue, I knew I had done something terribly wrong.

I let go right away, but it was too late. I could taste his blood in my mouth. He reacted as if I were a live wire or something and, with a galvanic leap, he cleared himself from my body, pulling both his tongue from my overstuffed mouth and his prick from my overstuffed cunt.

As he rolled off and came to his knees, he clapped both hands to his face, uttering a series of half-strangled grunts. In a way, it was slapstick comedy, or would have been comic but for the blood that dribbled down his chin ... nor was blood the only fluid his body was spending. His thick, medium-length cock had become a fountain and jetted a series of seminal spurts into the air to fall to the mattress in utter futility.

It was like a tableau. All other action-and there was plenty of it-stopped. Jake and I became the cynosure of all eyes. He wiped his bleeding mouth with a hairy forearm and stared at me, even more bug-eyed than usual, with an expression of sheer disbelief on his fat, ugly face.

Then his eyes became twin slits of fury and he said, "Why, you dirty little bitch!" . With that, he slapped me so swiftly and so hard that I had no opportunity to duck out of the way. The flat of a pudgy hand hit the side of my face so hard that it bowled me over sideways into a tangle of black and white bodies and limbs on the other mattress, where Donna and Daddy had been performing in a variation of position sixteen, with only their fucking pieces in contact.

It was the first time I had been struck with violence since Hotpants O'Houlihan and I had it out over who was going to date the football captain in junior high (he went to the prom with my kid sister Joanie instead and got royally fucked for his pains while Hotpants and I got nothing). So unexpected was it, albeit well-earned, that I could only lie there, half stunned, with the whole side of my head numb and my ear ringing.

Uncle Jake spat out a mouthful of blood on the mattress and made a dive for me. I let out a scream and, finally regaining the use of my limbs, made an effort to scramble clear of his onslaught. But, fat and pudgy as he looked, Uncle Jake was fast as a cat and I was out of luck. As I reached my hands and knees, a cruel fat hand dug into my crotch.

I screeched again as a thick thumb drove savagely into my arsehole and a fore and middle finger dug into my cunt, holding me as helpless as a bowling ball. He curved thumb and finger, claw-fashion, and I really screamed as it felt as if he were going to pierce the barriers of tender flesh that separated my two holes and make them one.

"Daddy!" I gasped, beating the mattress with my fists like a professional wrestler feigning mortal agony ... the only difference being that I was not faking mine. "Help!

My cry caused my ugly attacker to ease up on his excruciatingly painful grip but not enough to permit me to wriggle free. There was another stHl-life bit then, save for Daddy, who calmly reinserted his beautiful curved prick into the coal-black cunt from which I had dislodged it.

When he spoke, it was not me but Uncle Jake he addressed, saying calmly, "What happened, Jake?"

His voice thick from an undoubtedly sore and swollen tongue, my unattractive uncle said, "The little bitch bit my tongue."

Daddy looked at me and said, "Did you, Robin?"

There was no way out. I could only nod. Daddy gave me a long look and said, "That was wrong, Robin. The principle of this family is love." Then, after making the point further by running his dong in and out of Donna's beautifully responsive cunt three or four times, he said to his brother, "Jake, I can't blame you for slapping Robin ... but that's where it ends."

Reluctantly, Uncle Jake removed his fingers from my crotch and I remained where I was, on my hands and knees, feeling like a dog that deserved to be whipped. Daddy returned to his fucking of beautiful black Donna, as if to prove that this was the only form of violence in which the Martin family was permitted to engage with its own members.

Then he paused as Donna's orgasm came to a shuddering halt and said, "Why'd you do it, Robin?"

I felt myself blush all over. What could I say in reply? ... if I didn't, I feared I might be drummed out of the ranks I had just been through so much to enter. I could only hang my head and remain stupidly silent.

Daddy's magical light blue eyes bored into me and, when I lifted my head, I thought I saw a faint twitch at the corners of his mouth. He said, "You won't do it again, will you, Robin?"

"Oh, no, darling Daddy!" I gasped. "I'd rather bite out my own tongue."

Daddy said, "I'm quite sure you would, dear daughter, but I hope such drastic action will not be necessary." Then, to his fat brother, "Jake, you old pervert, how do you feel about this?"

Uncle Jake said, "I feel this little quim made me waste a come ... and I want it back."

This time Daddy did smile. He shook his head and said, "Good old Jake-consistency has to be thy middle name."

"Oh, shove it!" said Uncle Jake. "I want my come back."

Daddy said, "That might prove difficult, Jake, but you're welcome to try. Why don't the two of you go back to the house and get better acquainted?"

Uncle Jake got to his feet and said, "Okay, Les." Then, to me, "Come on, kid, we've got some catch-up fucking to do."

Daddy called after us as I followed obediently, "Remember, Robin, the maxim is love ... oops!"

This last as Donna, tired of the interruptions in her screwing with Daddy, really put her magnificent black body into high gear and, catching Daddy unaware, succeeded in making him climax before he was ready, an act which caused him to lose all interest in us for the time being.

As we walked naked in the early afternoon sunlight across the lawn to the handsome old mansion that was Martin family headquarters, Jake said, "Sweetie, I know I'm no Adonis, but I'm a charter member of this family and I've got a good stiff prick that is worthy of respect. Remember that, and we'll let bygones be bygones."

Once again, what could I say? His forgive-and-forget attitude merely added to the shame I was feeling for what I had done to him ... even though, at the moment, I had been unable to help myself. Again I was forced to drop my eyes and, inevitably, they fell on the prick of my willy-nilly companion. It had already regained its rigidity, apparently at the prospect of an encore in my cunt. The tiny slit at the pink-and-purple apex of its crown was pointed directly toward the sun that was still high overhead. I felt a certain pride in this fact, thinking that it was not every girl who could cause a man to get a hard one while merely walking at his side...

About Uncle Jake, I still had a lot to learn!

When we reached his bedroom-it was kept locked during his absence from Indianapolis family H.Q. and therefore was one chamber I had not fucked in or even seen before-I discovered that, while Uncle Jake was ready, my usually creaming cavity was almost bone dry. Although the room was crammed with all sorts of erotica, Uncle Jake was in no mood to waste time sightseeing. He got onto the bed, which was oval and decorated to resemble a huge mahogany cunt, and lay on his back and said, "Okay, sugar, let's give Willy a workout ... "

I thought that, if I sucked his thick prick for a bit, it would inevitably start my reluctant sexsap to flowing once more ... but my aggressive, fat uncle was having none of that. He pulled me athwart his loins when I tried to bend my head to his cock, crying, "No smoke-um ... fuck-urn!"

When he brought the head of his ready cock upward against the lips of my cunt and discovered them to be dry, he wasted no time in, to him, unessential preliminaries. Instead, shifting his grip from my waist to my rump, he parted my buttocks rudely, thus opening my un-lubricated cunt and then yanking me down forcibly over his howitzer of a prick.

As that thick, rather short dong was shoved into my tender cuntal tissues, I felt as if I were being raped by a carrot. Internally, it seemed to be skinning me alive. I moaned and shuddered and tears came to my eyes, sought to lift my cunt clear of its tormentor but found the movement too painful to endure ... even if Uncle Jake had permitted me to get off his dong, which he evidently had no intention of doing.

Blessedly, however, this desperate mini-movement had another, more fortunate result for me. It finally stimulated my recalcitrant vaginal juices. They began suffusing from the myriad sap-glands that lined my tunnel of love and, within seconds, Uncle Jake's thick prick was comfortably ensconced in my velvet-lined hole.

With something that resembled a twinkle in his bulging eyes, he grunted, "I guess that makes us even, honey. Now, let's have some fun."

Uncle Jake was the first really fat man who ever fucked me. Granted, his cock was not as long as those of the other males in the family, but its thickness was phenomenal ... and he certainly knew how to put it to the best account. Where men with longer dongs tend to plunge and thrust with their mast-like codpieces, Uncle Jake had evolved a series of techniques calculated to exploit his own dimensions to the utmost.

Continuing to grip my pelvis with his strong, pudgy hands, he pushed me down on his loins so fully and so firmly that my labia felt as if they were going to be squashed between our frontal bones. But the sensation was anything but unpleasant and, as the minutes went by, it became a source of pleasure, giving me voluptuous sensations of a sort I had never before enjoyed-not major spasms, but a pleasant addition to those secondary sweetnesses that, merged with the big O, render an orgasm exquisite...

Instead of basing his fucking technique on thrust and withdrawal, Uncle Jake Martin mounted his system on constant horizontal movements. Of these, being a Martin male, he was an absolute master. There was some thrust and withdrawal, naturally, ... after all, you can't really fuck without it ... just as there is some horizontal activity in the fucking of even the most plunge-minded participants.

But, with Uncle Jake, the lateral was the keynote, and he was like a whirlpool bath in my cunt. His loins were never still, always rolling or circling, and that thick prick embedded in my juicing and wide-stretched hole carried me with him. His variations were those of a virtuoso. He would run his baton in wide circles, then stop without warning, causing my still-moving cunt to push one side or the other against that stalled dong ... with shockingly sweet results. Or he would go into reverse, or narrow the radius of his circles ... or, beginning a sequence with tiny circles, he would widen them suddenly or gradually according to his whim of the moment.

At other times, he would slide north and south under me, or laterally, east and west ... or in any other direction that suited his pleasure. Now and then, to bring me to an explosive peak, he would roll from side to side, rocketing me to ever higher plateaus of pleasure ... and his variations in speed of movement were almost as provocative as the movements themselves.

For more excitement, his short, pudgy hands were everywhere, prodding and stroking and pinching and pulling my boobs, my belly, my buttocks, my butt hole and, above all, my clit. With that ultra-thick cock buried solidly in my cunt and all these other wild and wonderful things happening all over me, I soon forgot the fact that Uncle Jake's cuntal penetration was far less deep than that of his brother and his nephews, even Mal, It was there ... and that was all that counted to my reeling and unreeling sensitivities. It was beautifully, seemingly permanently there!

With such terrific action everywhere, I no longer thought of Uncle Jake as fat or bald or too hirsute of body or too ugly of face to make an attractive bedmate. No longer was he the beast toward whom I had felt such instinctive distaste as a fucking partner. He was Uncle Jake and he was all Martin and all male and he was giving me one of the finest fuckings of my exceedingly sex-active young life.

Within minutes, I was coming so hard and so fast that I lost count of the breakers of delight flooding over me. My entire universe became the single ineffably sweet sensation of orgiastic rapture, and my body and mind mere instruments of its expression. I felt his sperm blast upward in my hole twice without causing him even to break the heavenly rhythm of our fucking ... and still that thick prick of his remained stalwart in my juicing hole.

Both our bodies became oiled with sweat as the long workout continued and I began to make little contributions of my own as, unrequested, they occurred to me, or rather to my fucking machinery. I set up counter-rhythms to his and the result was delightful chaos where our sopping organs were piping the music of the spheres between my legs. To gain better support for such activity, I even turned his obesity to advantage, resting my forearms atop the curve of his belly as if it were a hassock, to give my tail greater mobility ... and then I really put my backfield in motion, making it dance in a myriad of movements to a myriad of rhythms.

This time, while I was briefly between tremendous peaks, I felt the bucking of his precious prick and rammed my cunt down around in just as hard as I could, to receive my uncle's heavenly load as deeply as possible in my streaming guts.

For the time being, this did it for both of us. We ground slowly to a halt, with occasional little flurries of frenzied activity as after-spasms gripped me, until at last we were perfectly still, disheveled, dripping with sweat and sex-sap, my head collapsed on the great round rise of his hairy belly. But his prick, although slowly diminishing, was still firmly within the gates of my sopping cunt, and I was still reacting to it, however faintly, even on the edge of sexual exhaustion.

Again I read a twinkle in Uncle Jake's bulging eyes and he said, "Not so bad as you thought it would be ... what?"

I hugged his belly, rubbing my flattened breasts against it and thrilling to the coarseness of the hair against their firm but tender flesh. I said, "Oh, Uncle Jake ... you're marvelous. You really know how to ride a girl right up to heaven and beyond."

He chuckled with justifiable smugness and said, "Stay with Uncle Jake, sugar ... you ain't felt nothin' yet."

As I looked at him I did not see how I could ever have found him repulsive. What woman can ... with a man who has literally sent her to paradise and then brought her gently back? Even the features I had found disgusting ... the blobby nose, the bulgy eyes, the cunt-like mouth, the baldness, the overall pudgy grossness ... had been transformed into lovable symbols of the joys he had so lavishly given me.

I lifted my boobs from his belly and planted a loving kiss on his navel, which was the kind that sticks out like a new lipstick protruding from its tube. As I tongued it lovingly, I felt his body stiffen ... and then the part of it that mattered most to me was regaining its sizing, its stiffness, above all that delicious thickness that stretched the middle and lower portion of my tunnel of love to the snapping point.

"Why, Uncle Jake!" I cried in girlish glee. "I didn't dream you had a belly-button fetish."

"Like I told you, sweetie, there's a lot you don't know about your Uncle Jake."

"And there's a lot you don't know about Robin," I gaily replied. I've always found it hard to treat any man with his prick in my hole as a senior whose years demand respect. The only thing which gains respect from me is the way he wields the precious instrument with which a kindly Mother Nature endowed him.

Lifting my left leg straight upward, I turned slowly to the right, bypassing the Capitol dome of his belly until, when I lowered it once more, I was riding his loins side-saddle. He was quick to pick up the idea, of course, and his hands slid fore and aft to my centerpiece, steadying me, which was important since that big pot of his made things a bit crowded on my port side.

By way of a couple of added bonuses, the little finger of his right hand diddled my arsehole delightfully, while his left little finger dug deliciously into the top of my frontal cleft to play grace notes on my stiffly protruding pink clit. Otherwise, he let me take charge this time, more or less just lying back to enjoy it.

Not that he remained completely inert. He had the sweet little trick of unexpected motion, usually time these small bursts of activity so that they would do both of us the most good ... usually just as I was on the downslope from a big orgasm, thus triggering me right back up there again. When, at length, his fourth time came, he tightened his fore-and-aft grip on my pelvis and anchored me to his loins while his life-fluid spurted past the flanged gates of my womb and floated inside that gloriously aroused organ.

After this, we were both shot down, so we rested for long, lazy moments, bathed in our own and each other's sweat and sex-sap. Only then, lying on my back for the first time, did I discover that the ceiling of Uncle Jake's room was a solid mirror. I recalled that, more than once while we were fucking, I had noticed my uncle's bulging eyes apparently staring aimlessly upward at nothing. Now I knew that his regard had not been aimless at all, but had been giving him added pleasure by viewing our activities even while engaging in them.

I sat up and pouted and said, "It's not fair for you to lie on your back all the time, Uncle , Jake. That way, you're the only one who gets to watch the fun."

He glowered at me in pretended anger and snapped, "It's my room, ain't it?" Then, chuckling and patting his huge corporation, "Besides, you'd have one hell of a time fucking me in any other position."

He had a point there, I decided, maybe in more senses than one. I sat up and, with consciousness returning, began to take more notice of the room. During our rush to the bed, I had been vaguely aware that everything it was furnished with had erotic intention or meaning, including that yoni-shaped bed itself.

Below the mirror, the room was girdled by a frieze of Sagittorian centaurs and nymphs and satyrs performing every imaginable sort of sex, portrayed in what I had already come to recognize was my gifted French-Canadian half-sister Cherie's brushwork. The room's two armchairs were cleverly designed to resemble naked females with their legs wide apart. The long table between them was supported by carved wooden-likenesses of couples engaged in anal fucking, while lamps, ashtrays and everything else it contained had a strictly sexual motif.

Feeling a need to cleanse my sex-soaked body, I slid from the bed and entered the bathroom adjoining, just beyond the sliding doors of the big wardrobe closet. I found the light switch just inside the door and flicked it on ... and gasped. The entire room, floor, ceiling and walls, was of mirror glass. In fact, walls and ceiling were one, since the chamber was shaped like the inside of half a gigantic egg. The large end was the entrance, while the third of the room that became the smaller end, was a sunken tub, also of mirror. The other needed implements that compose a bathroom were placed strategically along the walls at either side.

This, I thought, was something ... really something ... and my new-born admiration for Uncle Jake grew apace. This was the sexiest John I had ever seen, or even thought of ...

As I admired it, Uncle Jake's short hairy arms closed around my waist from behind, and his homely head appeared on the opposite wall over my right shoulder. He said, "Hey, honey, ready for water sports?"

The stiffness of the up-thrust prick that nestled in the top of my rear cleft informed that whether or not I was ready, my uncle certainly was.