Chapter 11

Late that afternoon, Daddy was fucking me in the big guestroom bed. Brother Bill had driven Uncle Joe to Running Water to visit Mommy, who was still confined in jail, since the judge there had failed to return from his fishing trip in time. We could have had her sprung on a writ of habeas corpus, but my marvelous uncle, who seemed to have taken charge of the family affairs in this crisis, had advised against it.

"If I know Edna, and I ought to, she'll make a lot less trouble behind bars at a time like this than she will if she's free," he announced. "Anyway, I want to talk to her first."

So that was how it stood. Joanie, as fascinated by Uncle Joe as I was, had gone with them, and Harry and I were alone in our Riverville home.

We had gone to the guestroom to fuck since the other beds in the house were too small. Daddy and Mommy had slept in twin beds ever since I could remember.

There was an urgency about my father's fucking that I had never felt before. He climbed right on top of me the moment we hit the bed, not giving me any options in the matter of positions, and jamming that lovely big prick of his into me as if he were afraid fucking would go out of style. He gave me so little time to get my sex-sap started that his first plunge actually hurt. It was almost as if he were trying to rape me. Which seemed pretty silly under the circumstances, since we had been enjoying sex together for more than six years.

In a way, it was pitiful. I couldn't help but think that Daddy knew perfectly well how his brother-in-law and I had spent the night in that Kernstown motel and was afraid Uncle Joe had supplanted Harry's long-maintained Number One place in my cunt and my affections.

The really pitiful thing about it was that his instincts were right. I did my best to respond as always to the plumbing of his fine big dong with the titillating mole at its tip, but every time I thrust with my crotch to counter his powerhouse thrusts, I discovered that I was really fucking Uncle Joe in my mind's eye and missing that detonative lateral curve in his slightly larger prick.

All too evidently, Harry could tell. I saw what looked like a pearl of sweat at one tip of his mustache, but when I looked upward more closely at his flushed, almost angry face, I saw that it was a tear and that he was weeping as he drove his dong in and out of my hard-working hole. I began to cry, too, as I realized that something was over between us, and redoubled my efforts, causing us to come together in what should have been a terrific climax ... but which missed the mark because desire had waned on my part while desperation reigned on his.

When it was over, we didn't go for a double but let things die down and then disengaged our fucking pieces. My father lay by my side and I began to cry silently, too, and then we looked at each other and I gave his now-limp prong a fond squeeze while he rubbed his fingertips against my clit, giving me a sweet post-coital spasm.

When I came down, I wiped his tears away and said, "What are we crying for? That was delicious, Daddy."

Harry sniffed and sat up and said, "You know damned well what we're crying for. It's always been like that... when Uncle Joe moves in, I'm out."

"Out?" I said, reaching for his prick again and beginning to massage it back to stiffness. "Not bloody likely, darling. You taught me everything I know about fucking."

"You always were a sweet little darling, Robin." He put his arms around me and hugged me close. "But let's not kid ourselves, sweetheart. When you've had Joe's cock in your hole, you've had the best. There's never been a man alive who could fuck like he does." "Then why tight it?" I suggested. "Why not enjoy what we have?"

I pushed him gently over on his back and, curling up in a ball between his wide-apart thighs, I put my mouth to his familiar prick and began to suck it back to health, fondling its lower stalk and the balls beneath to bring it back to life more quickly. Sure enough, it rose rapidly under my ministrations, and when it had attained full mace-hood, I removed my lips from its mole-tipped crown and with a little cry of girlish glee, mounted my father's loins and, wriggling like a happy eel, worked it all the way up into the liquid velvet of my hot little hole.

To show his appreciation, Daddy laid his hands on either side of my purring pussy and, using his thumbs, began diddling my already erect little clit for bonus satisfaction. I took time out from the matter immediately at hand to fling myself against his beloved belly and breast to let our tongues and lips meet in a long, gratitude-filled kiss, the while he slid a hand around my well-penetrated rump to play tag with my arsehole.

But when I was riding him upright again, with him tall in my saddle, I took things very easy and Harry, either resigned or reassured or both, seemed ready to enjoy our fucking together once more. At least, he was no longer out to prove something to himself by ramming in and out of me like a schoolboy.

We had been screwing together so long, and knew so well each other's myriad little tricks, that there was no need for words between us. I would vary the beat unexpectedly, or alter the direction of my drives by twisting my torso to bring my cunt down (or up) and a new angle. Now and again, I'd lift my crotch until only the upper portion of my father's prodigious prick remained embedded within my flooding tunnel of lust and move my bottom rapidly in circles before coming down on its flat out until it was again buried to the hilt in my pulsing inner tissue. Daddy did his bit as well to add to our mounting pleasure, lifting his entire midsection to meet my downrushes and cause the mole-tipped head of his prick to prod the soft top of my convulsing uterus, gripping my buttocks to add excruciating manual direction to my own thrusts, lifting with me so that our fucking pieces remained fully intersticed even when I raised my cunt high for a fresh attack.

I came time after time, and this time my father came twice to flood my sopping insides with sweet spurting sperm before at last our time was over. But though it was as good as we'd ever attained together, and even our lesser fuckings had always been memorable, something had gone out of it.

When it was over, he patted my swampy pussy gently and said, "Thanks, darling, I needed that!"

I rolled my sweaty body close to his and put my arms around him and hugged him close and said, "You think I didn't, Daddy dear?"

He shook his head slowly and said, "It's okay, sweetheart ... we'll both survive. In fact, you may be in for the times of your life."

"Oh, Daddy!" I began to weep again. Through my tears, I added, "I feel so ashamed, having this happen with a man who is not my own daddy. I feel as if I were betraying the whole family."

Harry fondled my boobs deftly, giving me a minor thrill, then sat up and hugged his ankles and said, not looking at me, "I'm going to tell you something I promised never to tell a soul ... but, under the circumstances, Robin, you have every right to know."

Suddenly, psychically, I knew what was coming and a great surge of excitement raced through me. It was a little like what had happened back on the mossy bank in the clearing that morning, when I had felt like a battleground or the rope in some sort of psychic tug-of-war. Don't ask me how I knew, but I did.

When Daddy hesitated, I said, "Go on ..." very gently but urgently, because I wanted to hear confirmation from him.

"I'm trying to think of the best way to tell you," he said.

"When in doubt, Harry, say it straight," I told him, repeating one of his own favorite aphorisms.

He took a deep breath and slid a hand into my crotch and hooked a finger inside the edge of my cunt as if he feared I was going to run away. Then he said, "Well, the main thing is, unlike Bill and Joannie, you're not really my daughter at all. You're Uncle Joe's ... or Uncle Leicester's as he prefers to be called these days."

"I thought so," I said. "I could feel it. Feel something that wasn't just sex from the moment I saw him and didn't even know who he was."

"You're not the only woman who's felt things when they see Uncle Leicester for the first time," he said. "Even Edna ..."

"How did it happen?" I asked Harry.

He told me. Briefly, it had gone like this: Edna Martin had, as a girl, been madly and incestuously in love with her brother, Joe. Joe, who was fond of his kid sister but whose temperament and ambitions were wildly at variance with hers, had encouraged Edna to marry Harry Davis when Harry, too, fell in love with her.

So they were married and settled down in Riverville. But Edna brought a problem with her--frigidity where her husband was concerned. She admitted her guilty love but was unable to give herself to anyone else, even her husband. In fact, she was a virgin at the time. So Harry appealed to Uncle Joe, who came for a visit and opened his sister for business with spectacular results ... among them, me--Robin--some nine months later.

Thereafter, for a couple of years, Edna was all the wife a husband could demand .. and brother Bill and little Joanie had ensued. But then, overwhelmed by the guilt of her having conceived an incestuous daughter, she had again withdrawn, leaving her hapless husband to sleep alone in his own house ... at least, until Hotpants got us all going--and coming.

In conclusion, Daddy--I mean Harry--said, "You should be able to fill in the picture from there. Believe it or not, the person I'm most sorry for is your mother. You must remember that, at bottom, she's a woman of very strong sexual appetites."

I said, "That figures," and, when Harry raised an eyebrow, "In this family, what else?"

He grinned his happy grin and said, "You're a caution ... all of you. I don't mind telling you there have been times when I feared I couldn't keep it up."

"Things should be easier for you from now on," I said. He nodded. Somehow, we both knew that I was about to leave the nest. Suddenly, I told him about the weird thing that had happened when Uncle Joe was fucking me on the moss-bank off the Kernstown Road and said, "It was as if Mommy and Les were battling over me."

He nodded, then said, "There's a powerful psychic streak on her side of the family ... both of yours, of course. Your mother gave the whole thing up when she embraced religion...."

"And

the Reverend Milton Rood," I added. We laughed a little at that, then I said, "What are we going to do about Mommie? We can't let her come to trial. The scandal will kill her."

"We'd better wait till your Unc--I mean, till your father gets back," he said, and suddenly we were both crying again in each other's arms. Inevitably, this led to a resurrection of certain important elements in certain parts of our bodies. We were lying on our sides, so I opened up my saddle and Harry slid his legs and hips inside and his big beautiful prick simply slid into the wet swamp of my cunt like a hungry horse finding its way back to the stable.

This one we made slow and easy, because we were both feeling sad about the changes that portended and, for all we knew then, this might be our last piece of arse together for a long time, perhaps forever. Now that everything was out in the open between us, except, of course, for Harry's dong, which was buried, hilt-deep, in my sweetly flooding guts, the tension had flown and we could really enjoy doing what we were doing together for its own sake.

If some of the excitement had gone out of our fucking--not only because of Cousin Joe's entry but through the discovery that I was not fucking my real father (a factor that had always added spice to our wooing for me)--we still made up a terrific team in that all-important department.

It seemed criminal that my mother, merely for the sake of her own weird hang-ups, should have let such marvelous meat go to waste all those years.

Right then, I almost wished they would leave her in jail ... but I knew they couldn't very well do that. I also knew, with my burgeoning ESP instincts, that Uncle Joe-- meant, my new, real daddy--was going to get Edna out. The only thing I didn't know was how.

We were still fucking, lying there naked on the bed, when Les and brother Bill and little Joanie came trooping back from their trip to Running Water to see Mommy. Harry looked at his handsome brother-in-law and said, "How's Edna doing?"

Les laughed, light blue eyes sparkling with mischief, and said, "Not one tenth as well as you are, you lucky stiff ... and lucky to be stiff."

Les stretched out an arm and pulled little Joanie into its circle against his side. Looking down at her, he said, "Seeing you two like that, puts me in mind of the fact that I haven't been fucked in more than six hours ... and that I've got a delicious bit of untried tender pigeon right here to take care of me. Is that all right with you, darling?"

Joanie didn't say a word; she didn't have to. Like every other female who ever came within fucking range of J. Leicester Martin, she wanted him to fuck her. As he began deftly stripping her out of her tight little sweater and even tighter red hotpants, Joanie's body looked turned to mush ... as if he could have poked his prick right into her anywhere and obtained ample satisfaction.

While he undressed Joanie with one hand, he got out of his own clothing with the other so that, in less than a minute, they were facing each other, naked. Harry slid us around on the big bed so that we would both watch them without either of us getting a crick in the neck. I was dying to see how Joanie took that big curved prick in her hole, and I guess Harry was, too.

There was something truly godlike about my real father when he stood, naked, in front of a girl with that magnificent saber of his fully risen in all its pink-and-purple majesty. Joanie reacted just as I had. Since she was shorter than I, she didn't have to go down on her knees to go down on her uncle, but she dipped gracefully with both knees and sucked its great imperial purple head right into her lush little mouth.

Then, so help me, Les looked over at Harry and me and lowered his right eyelid in a slow wink. I giggled, and this girlish act caused a certain convulsive activity in my crotch that, coupled with the eroticisms we were watching, plus the union of our own fucking pieces, got us on the road to renewed orgasms. My start as I giggled had caused that insidious mole atop Harry's cock to trace an explosive figure eight in the soft top of my womb. Next thing I knew, I was pumping my sluicing cunt up and down on that darling dick and hugging him close to my sweat-slippery breasts until, within a very short time, his mace bucked in my guts and then once again added its liquid reinforcements to the slush already lubricating my entire fucking area.

When we came back to earth, I noticed that brother Bill had vanished, but only registered this fact briefly. What was going on between little Joanie and Les Martin, my real father, was worth any girl's full attention unless she is actually in seething cacoethes herself.

Joanie, her thick dark-brown hair cascading around her face and upper body, with only a single nipple peeping coyly through its strands, had rolled herself into a ball atop Les Martin's muscular middle, hugging her knees close to her stomach. My father's dong was invisible, entirely embedded in my little half-sister's cunt. While his midsection heaved slowly with the lazy beat of an ocean swell, Joanie's uncle, with both hands flat against the snail-coil of her delicious little body, was slowly turning her around on his prick as if she were a cannibal roast trussed on a vertical spit.

He was rapidly heating her to the broiling point, too. I could tell by the way her beautifully lush young body was turning bright red beneath its suntan. After having her cunt make the circuit of his cock twice--and I could only imagine the devastation the curve in that massive spear must be wreaking within the tightness of Joanie's little hole, which was even tighter than mine--once clockwise, the second time counter-clockwise, my father began moving her in shorter arcs, backward and forward on his loins, the while his hands held her captive with a firm grip fore and aft of her compactly clutched buttocks.

Suddenly, with a slow scream as if she were being tortured on the rack or something, Joanie exploded from her uncle's constricting grip on her bottom. Her legs flew straight out in a sort of instant split and, as she was riding his prick sidesaddle at the moment, her left heel barely missed kicking the point of Les Martin's jaw. She would have fallen right off her perch, backward, had my real father not shifted his grip to steady her convulsing little body. Since, at that angle, the leftward bend in his prong had to be pushing against her clit from inside each time he slid it out and then into the bottom of her hole on the way from and to her womb, her frenzy was understandable.

She began heaving her entire body upward as though to break his hand-grip of her bottom, only to drop back with a series of mushy thuds, time after time. Then, as Les worked a finger into her clit and began tweaking it, she uttered a strangled squawk like a chicken laying an egg and, after flinging her arms straight out as she had flung her legs earlier, she pulled them in and rested them, one on each tit, and began squeezing her own flying nipples and boobs.

Getting her legs in front of her, both on her uncle's left flank with her knees sharply bent, she began bobbing up and down on Les Martin's monumental cock until, with a long, low moan, she came, settling down and shuddering all over her now cherry-red little body as his semen flooded into her core.

Harry and I had an unexpected eruption of our own to tend to then and, when we emerged from the sweet fogs of climax, we discovered that Les had brought little Joanie back to earth and that she lay curled up in his open crotch, blissfully sucking his prick, which was now at half-mast.

It was then that brother Bill returned, in the wake of Hotpants O'Houlihan. Hotlips took one look at what was going on and shed her own clothes so fast they blurred as they flew through the air.

"Hey!" cried Bill, but he was too late. Springing like a well-tanned pink cat, Hotlips had pushed little Joanie to one side and mounted my real father's prick. At first, she had to stuff it in, but it stiffened so quickly she was fully impaled before she had a chance to get well settled.

I took pity on poor Bill, who looked as if someone had sandbagged him, and gave him a thorough fucking he would long remember ...

while Harry and little Joanie took out their fondest aggressions on each other's genitals as our Creator intended in the first place.

Not until night had fallen and hunger had driven us to the kitchen, where we sat around the big table and stuffed ourselves with cheeseburgers and french fries, did we find time to do much talking about the problems all but Hot-pants among us were facing.

"What's the approach?" Harry asked his brother-in-law. "Do we cop a plea for Edna or fight it?"

"Neither," said Les with a quiet confidence that barely skirted contempt. "Since we don't want my poor sister stained with scandal, we get Wilma Rood to withdraw her charges and than forget the whole thing as an aberration of a sex-starved minister's wife."

"And just how do you plan to get her to do that?" said Harry.

"Well," said my real father, "I'll need Robin to help me. I understand she's handy with a movie camera."

"That's right," said Harry, "but what for?"

"Stick around through tomorrow," replied Les Martin, "and find out. I've already done the spadework." He wiped his hands on a napkin, stood up, naked and magnificent as before, reached for my hand and said, "Time's awasting, darling daughter, let's get the hell back upstairs."