F Hemmingway - A family saga Volume One

He drew her cunt lips a little farther apart, laying the moist, fuzz-lined flesh wide open to his lustful eyes. Smiling up between her thighs lewdly, Don told his sister, "Damn, Sis… you've got the sweetest, tightest little pussy I've ever seen!"

Charity gazed back at him through passion-glazed eyes. She supposed that he expected her to say something in return to what he meant as a compliment, but she couldn't think of a single thing. Words failed her; instead, a deepthroated moan came from her, "Ooooooh! Don! Don! Donnie…!" At the same time, she felt herself lift her pelvis up to him, offering her cunt to him… to do with as he would, and it was involuntary… uncontrolled… instinctive. She was a woman on the brink of orgasm, a woman who needed to be filled and fulfilled… to be frictioned and stroked by a cock until she exploded into climax.

She felt the hot wisps of his breath graze her secret and sensitive flesh. She moaned aloud, still looking down the valley between her breasts and across the flat plain of her belly to the softly curling mound of her sparse young pubic hair where she saw her brother drop his head, his face almost disappearing into the split of her legs, nuzzling in against the sensate flesh, and she felt the full length of his long, agile tongue slide wetly up into her quivering, more-than-ready vagina. He grunted, the sound animalistic as it emitted from his throat. Her body responded, automatically, convulsively, at the wet, electric sensation, her body lurching up to him, then grinding back and down into the softness of the mattress to escape the intense, galvanic thrill that seemed, momentarily more than her overloaded nerves could bear; however, in the next instant, her hips flexed to raise her voraciously moist cunt to him, once again. Unbidden, her throat gave voice to her utter commitment, her complete and total physical and mental surrender to the lewd rapture that encompassed her and held her captive. There was no reprieve, no pardon… no solution except delicious delivery through orgasm. Her stomach churned with her agitation, and she wailed, now, in her entrapment, as her brother's tongue slithered in and out of her defenseless, naked pussy with wild, animal-like fury. She was deep in the throes of sex, her sensations heightened, intensified and amplified by the narcotic affecting her brain. The pot she had smoked had released all of her inhibitions. All the barriers were down. She was nothing but a feeling animal, an animal in rut that had to be fucked… and fucked good!

Blindly, her hands groped to find her brother's head. Finding it, she entangled her fingers in his long hair and pulled his face gently, yet firmly, in close, closer, to her wildly undulating vagina.

Groaning helplessly, her head began to flail from side to side. Oh, God! It was happening! All of it was happening to her. She knew it was true; she could feel everything down there, in her cunt, so clearly, as his tongue continued to race in and out with maddeningly sensual and rhythmic regularity. In ecstatic rapture, she moaned, "Ooooooh… My God! My Godddddd! Oooooooh, Don! Donnnnnnniiieee!"

Dottie Scott was in a blue funk! After the stranger had left the house, and she had found her connecting bathroom door slightly ajar, the fear overcoming her that her own young daughter had possibly seen and heard what had happened on the bed, she came apart at the seams, emotionally.

She still had her husband's German made pistol in her hand. Looking at it, dumbly, she wondered whether or not she would have had the courage to pull the trigger and shoot the stocky salesman who had imposed himself so lewdly upon her… perpetrating that obscene act, using her mouth as he did. Ugh! She was revulsed, again, by the mere thought of how basely she had been used. True. She had sucked a man's penis before… but this?! It was too much even for her own worldly attitude. Christ! There are limits!

Placing the gun on the dresser, perhaps thinking that she would need it, if that character showed up, again, she stumbled to her bed, threw herself face-down upon it and let her pent-up emotions go. She needed to have a good cry… after all she had been through, and woman-like, her scalding tears helped to cleanse the psychic wounds. Physically, she had not been hurt, in any way, except that her jaw seemed to be a little tired and sore.

For several minutes, her shame and humiliation was allowed to run its gamut in her. Afterward, she began to feel better and decided to take a bath. She needed to feel clean, all over.

After her long, soaking bath, she stood before the mirror toweling herself off. Catching her reflection, there, she experienced a nauseous feeling of revulsion for her own beautiful body. God! It was that very beauty that had been her downfall, her burden… almost, it seemed, her own destruction, but she could not crawl out of this skin, of course; it was the body she had to live in… and with, until the day she died.

She reflected on her past life. Her real problems had begun the year her folks had moved from Michigan to California, settling in Redfern. It had been her senior year of high school, and she had become, almost immediately, the most popular girl in her class. She had dated several boys, but she fell in love, hopelessly, with a handsome young man who was a sophomore at Redfern College.

It had been her beautiful face and figure that had attracted him. She was flattered by the attentions of an older man, a college man. Sex had followed, naturally, it seemed… and also, quite naturally, pregnancy.

But, when she knew for sure, nature having taken its inexorable course, a period missed, she received the news that he had been killed by Chinese Communist troops in the bitter fighting around Chosin Reservoir in North Korea. He had enlisted in the U.S. Marine Corps, but before he was airlifted off to the war he had left her a living memory.

Gabriel Scott, one of the boys in her senior class, she had dated, agreed to marry her… after she had seduced him, and then told him the child she was carrying was his.

If Scotty had ever suspected that Charity was not his own daughter, she did not know of it. He had said nothing, and she was sure that he accepted her explanation of premature birth when her beautiful auburn-haired daughter was born only seven and a half months after their hasty marriage. The secret of Charity's paternity was locked in her heart. She had vowed never to reveal to any one the name of the man who had fathered her love-child. She had kept that vow, made to herself, more than eighteen years ago.

She had to smile, ruefully, to herself, as she realized that her life's review sounded like an unlikely plot from a confession type magazine. But… damn it… that's the way it is! That's why I'm so concerned about Charity… she's a real young woman now… cursed with beauty, too… and she could go off the deep end over some boy… and repeat the same story! I shouldn't worry, I guess… or suspect her of doing something she shouldn't! If there was only some way… I–I could help her… tell her of the pitfalls without letting her know that I've already been down the road and got my lumps… fallen into all the traps! Oh, God! I want her to have a good life!

Donnie, her second child, had, of course, been fathered by Gabe, and she remembered how proud he was when their second born had been a boy. Just like most men!

She had never fully understood, though, how it was that her husband had lost their citrus acreage and the house. Certain aspects of business escaped her.

The one thing that had been very clear to her was that after they had moved into town, into the present ramshackle rented house, Scotty had not been able to keep a job for more than a few months. His drinking became chronic, and with his seeming deterioration, his inability to support them, she saw that it was up to her to be the provider.