Chapter 4

I didn't know Dad was in there under the bandstand until he clapped his hands together with a noise like a pistol shot; so loud and sudden that Hotpants screamed and I was so startled I came completely unglued and my sopping crotch jumped right off Bill's still stiff prick.

I was scared shitless, but Harry wasn't looking at Bill or me or even little Joanie: he was glaring at Hotpants, who was trying to gather her bubbling boobs in one hand while she covered her cunt with the other. Like a sitting-down September Morn.

Then he said, in an unfamiliar voice of command that made me jump again, "Get dressed, kids--quick!"

Somehow, we got our clothes together and scrambled into them. Joanie was crying like a baby, of course, but she wasn't getting any sympathy from her father; Harry ignored her, and this got her so upset she pulled her blue denims on backward and had to do it all over again. The downpour had let up a little by then, but it was still raining hard, which didn't exactly lift our morale while he shepherded us into the beat-up old station wagon he uses to drive around town in when Mom has the four-door.

He drove Hotpants home first without a word. But when she tried to get out of the middle seat, he stuck an arm back and stopped her, catching her by one of the big boobs under her drenched shirt. He said, "Just a minute, Agatha ..." and, when she stopped, "I want you to keep your mouth zipped tight about this. Remember, I won't say anything about it if you don't. And that goes for your parents, too. But take some advice from an old-timer: if you want to fuck without getting caught, don't fuck under the bandstand. We all used it when we were kids, your daddy and mother, too. You might have shown a bit more originality."

Hotpants was staring at him as if she couldn't believe her ears. I knew she was busting to hear more about her parent's premarital fucking. But she held it in, figuring this was no time for that kind of chat, and said, "I guess I just wasn't thinking. I'm sorry."

"If you are, it's only because you weren't riding my boy's prick when I got there," he told her. "Remember, if you keep your mouth shut, you or your parents won't hear about it from me."

"I won't," she gasped. "Oh, I won't say a word and thank you very much, Mr. Davis. Thank you ...

With that, she was out of the wagon and running up the walk in the rain toward her own front door. Harry drove us home without a word. When we were inside, he said, "Get us some lunch, children. I'm sure you must be hungry after such an active morning. It's almost two o'clock."

It didn't seem possible. But it was by the kitchen wall-clock. Joanie and I rustled up some half-used ham and sliced it thick and heated it and warmed up some canned chili in a skillet with rat cheese and paprika on top of it --something we knew Dad especially liked. We piled it on platters and took it into the dining room, which Bill had set for us, and then sat down and ate it. I don't know about the others, but I felt like the proverbial condemned man eating his last hearty meal before being strapped in the electric chair. But I was so hungry I ate anyway.

When it was over, Harry pushed his chair back from the head of the table and said, "All right, Robin ... how did it start, and when, and where?"

I told him everything I knew and Bill and Joanie bore me out; Harry listened to everything, wearing his poker face, and then told us to clean up the meal, which we did. I was washing while Bill wiped; he said, "Sis, what do you suppose he's going to do to us?"

"Search me." I shrugged even though I was as scared as he was. "Maybe whale the tar out of us."

"Jesus!" my little brother said with a shudder. "My tail's still sore from the last time."

Joanie, who had just come in from dumping the garbage in the cans out back, heard us and began to cry again. Bill and I looked at each other in disgust and then Harry came into the kitchen and said, "Everybody upstairs; I want to see what shape you're in."

He had us undress in front of him, which was something that hadn't happened since I was five or six years old and looked at us, frowning, paying especial interest to our crotches. He called Bill over first to the chair he was sitting in and examined his prick and balls, then said in an unexpectedly gentle tone, "How many times since this began, son?"

"I dunno, Dad," said my kid brother. "Maybe nine or ten ... maybe a dozen."

Harry gave his son's balls a gentle squeeze and Bill flinched as if he'd been kicked in that sensitive area. Father's eyebrows went up; he said, "Son, you'd better give that thing of yours a rest for a while. That's one hell of a lot of fucking in less than twenty-four hours for a man, even in his prime."

There was a note of honest paternal admiration in Harry's voice as he added, "You'd better take a bath and lie down for a few hours. Then we'll see ..."

"What about Mom?" Bill asked.

"Don't worry about your mother," said Harry. "She phoned from Running Water to say the bridge was under water and she wasn't coming home till tomorrow. She asked me to be sure you ate lunch, which is what started me hunting for you."

"How'd you know where .. ?" Joanie asked and stopped in mid-question, her beautiful little body turning bright red all over.

Harry smiled for the first time and reached out and gave her hairless, pink slit a tweak. Then he said, "I had a pretty good idea what you were up to last night from the sounds I heard; so I figured out where kids just starting to fuck might go--after I'd called around to see if you'd gone to somebody else's house for lunch and forgotten to call--and I found you."

"You sure did, Daddy," I told him but I wasn't looking at his handsome face. Instead, I couldn't take my eyes from the bulge that looked ready to split the fly of his Saturday work-denims. I thought of Bill's little prick and all the joy it had given me and wondered what Harry's prick would feel like inside me when it was all fired up.

But he was still talking. "... you undertake this kind of life, which you all seemed determined to do, the important thing is not to get caught at it. Once you are, you're dead. In the first place, there are all kinds of laws against the things you've been doing, along with a lot of customs working against you. If you want a sexual way of life, you've got to keep it locked in with your own kind."

"What about Hotpants?" Bill asked. "She got us started. How do we handle her?"

"Play it cool for a bit," said Harry, "until we find out whether she talks or not. If she does, you can bet your mother and I will hear from the O'Houlihans. If she does keep her lip zipped, she's probably okay, though I've got good reason to distrust her father."

A strange look came over his face and he licked his lips and then said, "Let that go for now ... but she sure has the makings of a prime piece of arse."

Bill piped up with, "She can't carry a candle to Robin."

Harry looked at me appraisingly, and it was my turn to feel my naked body grow hot. Looking down, I saw that it was as red as Joanie's had been a few minutes earlier. It seemed to me that the front of his pants jumped and strained as if his prick were a wild animal trying to escape.

Harry stood up and told Bill, "Son, take your bath now and lie down." And, to us, "Girls, I'd like to talk to you."

Everybody says girls are smarter than boys when it comes to sex. But brother Bill was way ahead of Joanie and me. He said, "Gee, Dad, can't you let me come along and watch? I've still got such a lot to learn."

Harry put his head back and laughed. I'd never heard him laugh like that before, joyously, as if he loved the world because the world loved him. He seemed to drop at least ten years and right then he didn't look much older than any of us.

He put an arm around Joanie and me and drew us close to his sides and said, "Come along, children ... time to go to school." And, over his shoulder to Bill, who was sort of standing on one foot, worried lest he be left behind and out of things, "Come along, son ... the family that fucks together, sucks together."

He led us to the guest room, which had the one big bed in the house. As he began peeling off his shirt, Harry looked at the bed and remarked, "Your mother and I used to share this before ... well, that's not your problem."

When his hands dropped to his belt buckle, I could no longer resist the impulse that had been gnawing at me since I first noticed the bulge in back of his fly. I darted forward and pulled down the zipper just as he unfastened the waistband of his denims ... and the prick that jumped out was so big and beautiful it scared me.

Little Bill's cock, fully stiff, was about four-and-a-half-inches long and maybe an inch-plus in thickness. It had given me plenty of unforgettable moments of delight I'd never known existed. But Harry's cock ... words fail me!

It was pink and long and thick with bright blue veins along its rigid stalk, like the streaks in some kinds of marble or in blue cheese. It had a head like a gigantic mushroom cap that seemed to begin its swelling somewhere close to the middle of an eight-inch projection. This head resembled an orchid or some other exotic tropical flower, ranging in hues from shocking pink to imperial purple. A mole close to the tiny hole at its peak added to the excitement it offered.

Beneath it dangled a pair of balls that made brother Bill's testicles look like a pod of two peas. They looked large enough and full enough to supply a whole army of Amazons without notable depletion, and their wrinkled surface was adorned with curling dark brown hair that matched the thick bush above the cock they supplied.

Laughing softly as I grabbed this glorious paternal prick and gave it a loving squeeze, my father noted that my thumb and fingertips failed to meet around its huge circumference and said, "Better be careful, hon ... I wouldn't want to tear that lovely little cunt you're hiding between the pillars of your thighs."

"I'm not afraid," I replied. "If I can't fuck it, I'll suck it. Remember, you said ..."

"I know what I said ..." With that, Harry picked me up as easily as a baby and carried me to the big bed. There, he laid me down on my side and, facing me, put his mouth to mine. If my father was not the first man to fuck me, that honor was brother Bill's, of course, he was certainly the first who showed me what a kiss can be.

We had kissed before, of course, as affectionate father and young daughter are supposed to do-- but with the same unamorous smacks that Bill and I had exchanged while fucking the night before. As far as setting my nerve ends to tingling and my pussyjuice to flowing, they had been nothing at all.

This was before Harry grew his mustache, which was probably a good thing, since, not knowing what came with it, it might merely have tickled me and turned me off. When I tried to smack him, he pulled back and said, "Not like that, Robin--I'm not your Aunt Mary--just let your lips lie still and part them a little when you feel the tip of my tongue."

I obeyed, and the strong masculine scent of him was almost as overpowering as the gentle pressure of his lips on mine. For long moments, we simply lay there on our sides, belly to belly, breast to breast, mound to mound ... and then I felt one of his big, strong hands slide slowly down my back to caress the soft curve of my rump, pushing my slightly fuzzed pussy forward against the immense pillar that lay like a living broomstick between our bellies. With his other hand, he began massaging my nipples, sending bonus tingles through my sub-teenage body, causing me to push my mound tighter against his with my thighs slightly parted, just as his tongue slowly worked its way past the barrier of my teeth to explore the inner softness of my own small mouth.

My tongue responded, and they began to dance together, twining about one another like a pair of mating snakes, darting in and out of each other's mouths in coy games of tag whose object was solely to be caught and held briefly and sent off to a new angle of mutual approach.

While all these delights were occurring elsewhere, the hand with which my father had cupped my buttocks slid with gentle inexorability between my nether cheeks, pausing briefly to pinch the taut rim of my arsehole, making me jump with surprise and delight, a gesture that really started my juices to pumping. I rolled over on my back then, unable to wait another instant for the tremendous prick that lay pressed into the flesh of my father's belly and mine. I planted my feet wide apart with my knees bent, offering him as open a saddle as I could achieve.

Then, Harry was above me, pushing my thighs still further apart until my hipbones creaked, and I gave another convulsive leap as I felt the head of his dong brush the sopping swamp of my cuntal lips and I thrust my creaming crotch upward as if to engulf it--only to have it refuse my invitation and, instead of penetrating my eager hole, slide upward over my clit and along my questing belly.

I cried out in furious frustration, uttering words I hardly knew I knew, and grabbed for that elusive paternal prick, grabbing it with both hands and returning its rounded, purple dome to my gateway to pleasure, doing my utmost to stuff its thick circumference inside the narrow if well-oiled portals there awaiting.

But well-oiled was not quite enough. I uttered a moan of triumph as I managed, wriggling like a gaffed trout, to work perhaps an inch of the crown into my desperately hungry hole. But the roundness of Daddy's dong was against us and, when I writhed to engulf more of it, my movement caused it to slip out a second time.

I began to cry like Joanie; the first time in years. But it was the first time in my entire young life that I had felt myself robbed of a stick of candy I wanted so much. Harry was sweet. He kissed me and cozened me and told me not to worry; but all the time, right there between us as we again lay side by side, was that eight-inch dong I wanted so badly--the first fullsized, grown-man's cock I had ever had a chance to entertain in my hot little hole.

When my entire body was sticky with sex-sap, I could stand it no longer and sought to roll my father over on top of me again. But this time, he restrained me and said, "Not that way, princess. There's a better position for a situation like this. One that has gravity going for it..."

With that, he rolled over on his back and, lifting my child's body lightly, settled me on my knees astraddle his loins, as I had straddled brother Bill's loins the night before during one of our delicious pieces of juvenile tail. But with what a difference! Where my crotch had encircled the circumference of my brother's cock, with my father I was stretched to the utmost and Harry was forced to steady me with a hand high on either of my taut-skinned thighs and my crotch feeling as if it would split in two.

"Now, little darling," he said softly, "take your hand and push the head of my cock inside the lips of your darling little cunt."

For a dreadful moment, I was ruled by doubt. "But I tried that," I cried, "and it didn't work."

He said, like a schoolteacher talking to a backward pupil, "That was when you were lying on your back. Go ahead, daughter. I'm not going to hurt you. Quite the reverse."

Hesitantly, I did as he told me. Again I marveled at the rigidity and length and thickness of the massive meat that sprouted from my father's loins, as eager to bury itself in my creaming coozy as my coozy was to engulf it. I got it midway up the shaft, where the long rise of the head began to thicken and, using my other hand to spread the lips of my cunt while Harry's grip on my thighs kept me from toppling over, I worked the crown once more an inch in my twitching twat.

"Now wiggle down on it, Robin," he said. "I'm afraid to ... I don't want to lose it again ..."

"Nonsense, darling. Push down hard when I count to three. One ... two ... three!"

As I pushed my crotch downward over that heavenly horn, my father thrust upward with all the strength in his loins. Our impact was like that of two irresistible forces and, for a fearful instant, I was lifted upward on the tip of Daddy's cock until I was sure it was not going to work.

But then, there was an indescribable feeling of having my cunt stretched beyond what flesh could take, followed by a damp thocking sound and cries of delight from the foot of the big guestroom bed, where my brother Bill and little sister Joanie were sitting. All at once the stretching that had seemed about to pop the gate of my cunt was continued ever further up inside my flooded tunnel of love. Further and further, until I felt the fleshy flanges that guard the way to the womb flattened against the surrounding tissue and the most wild sensation imaginable as the mole on top of my father's cock-crown, slid past them and pushed a furrow further up inside the walls of my womb itself.

For a moment my senses as well as my hole were flooded and I feared I was going to pass out. But we lay absolutely still, giving me time to recover, and, looking down, I could actually see the miracle that had occurred. All but perhaps an inch of my father's huge adult-male prick was embedded in his daughter's sorely but sweetly distended cunt.

Determined to get all of my father's cock embedded in the creaming churn of my cunt, I wriggled and writhed and pushed myself down on that great big pillar of joy with every ounce of strength my body possessed. But to no avail. It seemed not to matter how hard I strove to get that last inch of him inside my cunt, I was destined to fail. As it was, when I really bore down on it, the great round dome of its purple crown was pressed so tightly against the uppermost wall of my womb that it actually seemed about to tear me in two. But so deep was my desire for all of Harry, that I am still convinced I would have died happy had my womb actually been ripped apart.

But all was definitely not lost. For my struggles to swallow all of that mass of meat in my creaming hole, filled as it was with a longer, thicker load than it had held thus far and lubricated as it was with the glory of my body's own fluids bore inevitable results. Within a very short time, my unreachable objective had been utterly forgotten, and I was pumping and rolling and gripping and gasping as my father began fucking me deliberately with a strong, slow steady beat.

He cupped my buttocks in his left hand, diddling my arsehole with an artful middle finger, while, with his right hand, he pushed relentlessly against my mound and his little finger found my clit and began circling it until the action sent ripples of sparks shooting through me as the deeper delights of my gyrating cunt with that lovely load cramming its every nick and corner, sent me orbiting somewhere way out beyond the moon.

Then, my father pressed even harder against my mound, grinding the thin coat of reddish hair just beginning to sprout right into the tender marshmallow flesh from which it grew. As he did so, he lifted me slowly on the thick spire of his solidly embedded prick. For a moment, I thought he was trying to disengage and cried out in near-hysterical alarm at the mere thought of losing him at such a time.

But such was not my father's idea. Not at all; though I was not sufficiently acquainted with him sexually as yet to know the folly of my fear. As my creaming crotch was slowly hoisted high on his sopping prong, he manipulated me with both hands so that my cunt was pushed backward and that fascinating mole began making a slow downward furrow in the lower portion of the front of my vagina. The sensation was so utterly exquisite that I screamed and almost fainted. And when its pressure slid against the inner side of my clit, I actually did pass out.