Chapter 7
Well, that's how it all began. A lot of things happened in the next six years, of course, but as far as the four of us were concerned they were just about all good. We fucked together and we sucked together, and even if Mom got to know what taking inventory meant, she never interfered but just went her own way. She turned more and more to church activities, which didn't do any harm to the image our darling daddy had in mind for us as a model family in Riverville.
We went to school and looked neat and got top marks. We had every reason to work, I mean who'd want to fool around with all that wonderful fucking right at home. We thrived on love, and Bill grew up to be a hell of a nice-mannered, good-looking kid. He grew up in the prick department, too, though he never quite matched Harry; and Bill lacked that marvelous mole on the tip of his dong.
As for us girls, little Joanie turned into a real living doll. She had the cutest baby fat all over, the kind that drives the boys wild, and her boobs lived up to their early promise. With her thick mane of dark brown hair and beautiful big brown eyes and lush little mouth and slender waist and legs, she crammed a bikini like a cornucopia just bursting with goodies. Yet she confined her cuntal activities pretty much to the family and had a spotless reputation with the mothers of Riverville.
It was a little different with me. I had the rep of being the wild one. Where male cocks are concerned, I'm incurably experimental, though I took damned good care never to get caught after that time when Harry caught Bill and me under the bandstand. After all, what are motels for?
But, inevitably, there was a certain amount of gossip, even if the town busybodies couldn't prove anything and the boys and men I fucked weren't going to admit anything and spoil the chance of an encore. I knew how to keep them in line, and with Daddy to advise me, there was never a hint of trouble.
One of the reasons I fucked around as much as I did was that I wanted to prove to myself that my father was the best piece of arse in the world: with that thick eight-inch whang and mole on its tip and all that loving instinct and knowledge of how to use it to make a girl deliriously happy. Also, in the back of my mind, there was a thought that, if any man could out-fuck Daddy, having his prick in my hole would be a truly memorable experience.
But, man or boy, I hadn't found one yet. Roger Lamson had a thick, short cock and came too quickly, while Hotpants O'Houlihan's old man had a prick, like a darning needle that didn't fill a girl's cunt half as well as Daddy's.
As I had felt from the first, Hotpants had to be let in on our act. But she was the only outsider who ever took part in our fucking sessions, and she kept her cute little mouth shut about it so there was no harm done. She couldn't romp with us every night, of course, but at least once a week she made it. It wasn't too bad, having another girl in the act now and then; not with guys like Daddy and brother Bill, who could fuck all night and be ready for more in the morning. Besides, it made things better for the males when one of us got the curse, something that began for me very shortly after our first glorious weekend and for little Joanie a couple of years later.
Mom was a sound sleeper, and we took to giving her a mild opiate in her ten o'clock milk every evening, so she would not be disturbed by what the rest of us were doing. Then we'd adjourn either to the guest room or the one we kids shared and pleasure ourselves till one in the morning. Fridays and Saturdays, Daddy let us fuck until we'd had enough, but he was very strict about our getting enough sleep during school nights.
Hotpants and I double-dated a lot when we ramcatted around outside the family. We had a sort of code that used to drive our dates crazy. Hotpants was as fond of father's beautiful cock as I was, which gave us an added bond, and when we were having a fourball with a couple of guys in some motel room, or occasionally in a car or even on the grass somewhere out in the country, we'd talk back and forth right in the middle of fucking.
Like this:
She'd call over to me and say, "How does yours stack up, Robin, dear?"
And I'd thrust at the anonymous cock in my creaming cunt and say, "Oh, about a five point nine. How about yours?"
She'd give her curvaceous rump a couple of rolls and say, "This one's about seven-three."
"You've got to be kidding ..."
"Try it for yourself," she'd say and pull her cunt right off the cock that was fucking her, and I'd do the same and we'd change places and confirm our findings as if we were trying on clothes at the Bon Ton. We'd worked out a system of measuring pricks with our cunts, using Daddy's as the standard, and his eight inches as the mark to beat. It used to drive the boys right out of their hot little minds, but we never told them what it was all about and nobody ever caught on to it.
Hotpants was a terrific lay once Harry taught her the ABC's of fucking, and she got almost as much fun out of it as I did. We used to call ourselves the Two-Ring Circus. Every so often we'd take a night off and really put a couple of the local or visiting studs through their paces. Everybody had a ball and nobody ever got hurt.
Once, when her parents went on a trip with the Lamsons, Hotpants had us over and we went down to the rumpus room after locking the house up tight, and Harry ran off some of the X-rated movies her parents liked to watch and emulate Saturday nights.
The room was really a small projection room with a quartet of wide leather couches instead of regular seats, and there was a well-equipped little bar in the corner. Daddy was usually strict about our not drinking, but on this occasion he untied the knot, especially since there was plenty of good inexpensive champagne; and he really digs the bubbly.
So we all got naked and sipped the sparkling wine and lay around on the couches and played with each other until little Joanie pushed brother Bill down on his back and climbed aboard for a fucking ... to have Daddy pull her struggling body away and dump her on a couch by herself.
"Wait till we run the film," he told her sternly. "You may be getting some ideas."
"I've already got some ideas," Joanie protested, her bubbies sticking straight out from her chest, "I want to fuck Bill."
"I ought to punish you for that," said Daddy with mock anger. "In fact, I think I will."
He grabbed her around the middle and hoisted her adorably provocative round little rump up high so that her head and knees were on the couch. He pulled her crotch tight against his jock as he stood behind her, so that his prick which was lying at rest, was rubbing her wet little slit.
It didn't remain at rest long. That was one of the great things about our daddy's cock, it seemed to leap right out of his loins whenever a cunt was available. Sometimes when there was none around and he just happened to think about fucking. It popped into its upright position when he held his younger daughter's squirming rump away from him--all eight magnificent inches of it, thick and pink-and-purple and bursting with the rich blood that made its erection possible.
Without further preliminary, Harry lifted his little girl's crotch a notch higher, so that the tip of his bulbous cock-head disappeared within the lips of Joanie's tight, wet little hole. Then, easing her down on it, he let it sink into her from the rear. My cunt had grown with me until, since I was about fourteen, so I could contain all of my father's meat inside it; Joanie's tunnel of love was still too short and more than an inch of that blue-veined pink stalk remained outside of her hole.
But the rest of it did okay, just as it had during earlier years in my hole. Her dark hair fallen over her face, Joanie began pumping and snapping at the pillar of joy in her whirlpool of pleasure as if her cunt were some sort of turtle, causing Daddy to grunt with the tightness of their fit, especially from that angle of incidence.
Just then, Bill jumped me from behind and bending me over the arm of the sofa, moved into me from behind with a cry of, "Like father, like son ..."
Hotpants giggled and said, "Like fun, you mean?"
Bill said, "You got the picture, honeycunt. And don't worry, you're next."
Hotpants said, "Who's worried? But my mother always taught me that, at a party, the guests should waltz with the hostess first."
Bill said, "Sorry, Robin ... but she's right."
His prick was halfway up my hole, but he pulled it out of me before I could protest and, pushing Hotpants down on her back on the sofa, proceeded to mount her and plunge his prick to the hilt into the juicy cunt his hostess upthrust to make his entrance easier and more complete.
"Man!" she gasped as she took it all the way in with a wriggle of her pelvis that must have given them both a quick dividend in delight. "That feels great in there."
You may remember, Hotpants always liked to keep up a running fire of conversation while she fucked. She started that measuring game we used on double-dates, it was she who got the whole thing started by talking while little Bill was fucking her under the bandstand that rainy Saturday morning six years ago, thus letting Joanie and me know where they were and leading to our all being caught by Harry with our pants not merely down but off entirely.
Now, while she and Bill enjoyed a real juicy fuck, she gabbled on about what they were doing and how it felt. Every so often, when a particularly wild orgasm gripped her, her voice would trail off and she'd merely utter rhythmic noises that were half-sigh, half-grunt. Then it would pass and she'd pick up the monologue right where she'd left off.
"... So come on, Bill-baby, put a little more back into the next one ... Oh-OH! That's more like it, honey ... Now take it slow and easy-- we want to make this one last ... Oh, yum-meeeeeee!"
Like that.
We were used to it and didn't mind. In fact, it wouldn't have been Hotpants without the soundtrack while she fucked. She was as close to being family as a non-relative could get. And how that girl loved to fuck! The better you knew her, the closer her Hotpants nickname fitted. She was as crazy for quiff as any of us, and that was saying a lot.
When Harry finished with little Joanie, he and I got together on one of the other couches, with me riding topside the way I liked it best with Daddy. We made it a long, lazy fuck and my juices flowed all over us between the middle thighs and our navels, and once again that terrific, so groovily placed mole right above my father's squirt-hole had its terrific effect. Damn few girls I ever heard of could say, like me, that their old man's prick was as hot as a French tickler. In fact, I only know of one other, and that's my kid sister, Joanie.
While Harry and I were working up to a real head of steam, about halfway there, I'd say, little Joanie, who could keep right on coming indefinitely, once somebody got her started, parked her darling little rump on the arm of the leather couch we were screwing on, right in back of me, and, picking up one of Daddy's feet, stuck the big toe into her creaming little twat.
Frankly, I don't dig the big toe bit, nor does Hotpants, but Joanie takes it large: maybe because she's got a tighter little hole than we have and a shorter tunnel behind it. Anyway, she and Daddy worked it out a couple of years earlier, on another occasion when Hotpants was with us and Joanie had to sit one out. It was kind of cute to see the way she could get worked up with Daddy's toe right up there in her cute little crotch, wiggling around on it and pumping up and down on it like a real cock. But it was kind of weird, too.
Still, none of us minded, really. Even Harry got a kick out of it. He told me once, "It's like sticking your toe into a toasted marshmallow that's alive."
When it came time to change partners, I went with my brother, while Daddy fucked Hotpants and they arranged it so that Hotpants could suck little Joanie's cunt while they were screwing more or less straight, except that, for Hotpants to give Joanie a real good sucking, she had to let Harry fuck her from behind, dog-fashion, reaming her round plump little rump with long, slow, driving strokes that rocked her from her cunt to the top of her head.
But I was trying to tell you what it's like to fuck my brother, now that he's sixteen years old and got just about all his adult growth. He's not quite as long as Harry and lacks the mole on the tip, as I've already told you, but his stalk is maybe a mite thicker and, since he's circumcised and Harry isn't, he has a crown with a rim instead of a big oval knob.
Some girls will tell you they like a guy who's had his foreskin cut off, others prefer the undoctored original. Getting my start with Dad and Bill as I did, I had it both ways, thousands of times, while I was growing up. All I can tell you is that they're different. As long as they're attached to pricks, and the pricks attached to males, who do the job, as far as I'm concerned its six of one and a half dozen of the other ... more, if the men involved are up to it.
To me, a prick's a prick, and that's more than enough. As long as a girl's cunt retains its muscle tone and elasticity and the prick in question isn't too short, she can assure herself of a tight fit that will give her all the satisfaction she's looking for.
Anyway, growing up with Bill as I have, I hold a special place for him in my gallery of loved memories. We know every cubic millimeter of each other's bodies, every slight reaction and how to bring it on, every big reaction and how to add to it and maintain it. His prick slid into me without manual aid and fitted in there as tightly as if we had been custom made for each other's fucking tools. We rolled over on our sides, with my legs around his waist and his prick well up in my juicing tunnel of love. There we sort of relaxed and smiled at each other and then reached for each other's lips and held them together in wonderfully soft, sweet sort of kisses, with out teeth parted and our tongues pressed indolently together.
It was wonderful, as always, being that close; especially delicious because we were brother and sister and knew we were enjoying something only a minority of other brothers and sisters find together. It made us feel very special and very proud.
After a bit, with our lips and tongues still joined as were our fucking pieces, brother Bill's hand slid slowly downward over the soft slow curves of my back to cup my rump, squeezing my buttocks together and squeezing my cunt even tighter around the root of the thick prick that filled its suffusing surfaces.
I went up, of course, and began wriggling my bottom in a wild, driving shimmy that added to my sudden rapture. Bill's hand squeezed my buttocks repeatedly, as if they were an old-fashioned automobile horn, and each time he squeezed, my rapturous frenzies mounted and I ground my mashed boobs around and around against the harder, flatter curves of brother Bill's chest.
Then his other arm slipped between my thighs and hoisted the upper one high in the air, while his grip on my thrilling rump slid up to the small of my back to keep me from rolling both of us right off the leather sofa. Holding my struggling bottom in firm control, he then pulled it toward his jock as he thrust that member into me so deeply that I thought for a moment it was going to come right up and out through my throat.
Not that I'd have minded, naturally.
Held thus, gaffed on my brother's spear, it mattered not a whit that Father's fucking piece was perhaps an inch longer; for I was filled as full as my flooding fucking piece would permit. The round dome of his circumcised cock lay entirely in my womb, with the rim titillating the edges of its entrance and the stalk beneath hand filling the juicing tunnel that led to my saturated cunt. So deep could brother Bill press into me while holding me in this fashion that the steel-woolish hairs surrounding the root of his prick were actually ground into the tender flesh of my labia, which were pushed flat against my own crotch by the closeness of our contact.
For another long, light-headed moment, we lay still, thus deeply joined, and then, to save my life, I could not keep my creaming cunt still for another instant. Looking down between the twin mounds of my breasts with their cherry tips, over the flat curve of my belly, I could actually see the sweet point of our juncture and the hairy areas around it, liberally adorned with the cream of my flooding pussyjuice ... and I had to watch things move.
I drew back my cunt, as far as Bill's encircling grip on my upper thigh permitted. This was not much, but it pulled my coozy clear of a good three inches of his lower stalk, and no sooner did I feast my eyes on this portion of the source of all my present joy, that nothing would do but to hide it again within my churning cunny.
Apparently, Bill was seized with the same impulse at the same moment; for our fucking pieces moved simultaneously, and our pubes squashed together with the sweetest of squishing sounds, which I took as a compliment on the lavish flow of my sex-sap, and which served to spin me off into a fresh world of orgasms in other orbits.
Yet, even as my other senses were overwhelmed by the immensity of the series of climaxes that inundated my body from then on, my eyes remained on our genitals, fascinated as much by the repeated disappearances of my brother's big thick prick into my swamping softness, as by its repeated reappearances as he pulled it partway out for a renewed assault. It was titillating, too, to see how, when he withdrew, my labia would move with his darling dong, gripping it hungrily as if fearful it would never return to bring heaven to my guts ... only to vanish as he plunged his prick once more into the whirlpool of my cunt, like a small boat sucked into a vortex.
At last, just as I felt I could endure no more, he plunged his prick even harder and deeper into my turned-to-jelly insides and, tightening my entire vagina around it, I felt the thrilling buck of his beloved prick that gave information that the greater thrill of ejaculation was close upon us. I bore down with my cunt with all my might, adding a fraction of an inch or more to his already maximum penetration of my flooding fucking piece and pulled his head deep into my bosom as his grip on my upper thigh tightened and, at long last, the sperm came spurting out of the tip of his deep-buried cock to flood the furthest point of our union with the life-giving semen I loved so well.
When we were engaged in a family gang-bang as at present, it was an unwritten law among us that we would never go for doubles. To do so meant one couple monopolizing itself for too long a time, since changes of partner were essential to such an occasion. But on this occasion, both Bill and I were sorely tempted to break the rule. As my senses came swimming back, I could read it in my brother's eyes, as he could read it in mine.
Looking down once more, I saw the greater seepage of sex-sap from the rim of my still-filled hole, thanks to the addition of his fluid to my own. I could see, as well as feel, the continuing rigidity of the choice meat in my vulva and knew that my own ecstatic body was ripe to keep right on with what we had been enjoying as so few brothers and sisters are ever fortunate to enjoy with one another.
But we had forgotten little Joanie. As we began putting prick and cunt into lazy slow-motion to renew our delights, our kid sister, still perched on the sofa-arm behind us, sprang forward, causing Bill's big toe to emerge rudely from her hot little hole with a sound like a popping champagne cork. She literally dove between us, crying, "No you don't, you piggish bastards ... it's my turn to fuck Bill..."
She did, too, which was the real point of the story, namely that, though we spent the whole night in the O'Houlihan rumpus room, nobody ever did get around to running any of the X-rated film we had come over there to see. I mean, who needed it?