Virginia Ryder: Little Maureen_s Family Pleasures

“Daddy!”

But he wasn't to be deterred.

“I mean it, sweetie pants,” he went on. “If you'd learn to shoot hot dogs out of your little cunt, we could get some buns and have a combination cook-out and sex party at the end of summer! Talk about original! That'd even out-do those big Birmingham swinger clubs that think they're so hot.”

And he stared at me expectantly, waiting to see my reaction, my young brow knitting in concentration, picturing it all. Until he and my mother couldn't keep straight faces for another second and finally just burst out laughing.

My God, I was taking him seriously. And mortified at the idea.

“Daddy!” I finally laughed, too. “You and momma are insane!”

He picked up the paper again.

“It was just a thought,” he said, with a little shake of his head. “But I'm serious about the hot dog up your cunt. You used to fuck yourself with 'em all the time, as I remember. Do that a few days, trying to shoot it out of your pussy, and the next time I fuck you, it'll be a test.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Maybe I don't want to wait a few days,” I told him.

I said it while standing up and pushing in my chair.

And I was serious about not waiting-no one made me come as hard, fucking me, front or back, as my own father. I guess it was partly due to the absolute wrongness of it. The terriblesinof it all.

So, of course, we did itconstantly.

He fucked me more nights than not and just as often in the middle of the day. Like, if we found a place where we wouldn't get caught, he'd pull down my pants and we'd do it right there. Or, if it seemed like a place where wemightget caught (by the dumpsters behind the mall!), I'd pull aside the crotch of my little shorts and panties and he'd fuck me really fast like that.

But even that added to the excitement, thinking we might get caught. And my mother had no complaints-she usually joined us. Or acted as a look-out.

My father also carried these little plastic packets of flavored lubrication he got at the Adult Video store, to use in my butthole on a moment's notice. That was one of the first things we did, before I got on birth control-me taking my dad's dick up my ass.

Even when we started and he could only get the lubricated head of it in me, he'd ejaculate so much I'd always have his wet cum running down the backs of my skinny thighs as soon as he pulled out.

He'd usually say, “Maureen, you little sweetie pants, you made me come sohardwith your perfect asshole!”

“You didn't even go all the way in,” I remember saying, early on. I was bent over in the bathroom of a fast food place as he cleaned me up with a wad of napkins. “Before you came.”

He gave my bare ass a gentle slap.

“It's too exciting,” he told me. “Your tight little butt squeezed it right out of me.”

Of course, now Iwason birth control, because no slutty little schoolgirl like me could handle as much sexual activity as I did, fucking somuch, at home or at our sex parties, without getting pregnant.

And standing beside the kitchen table that morning, I added to my father with a little shrug, “Daddy, IknowI don't want to wait. I'm sort of all itchy and tingly, down there. In my pussy. So you need to fuck me tonight. Or else I want another ride on mom's new fucking machine-”

Oh, yeah. There was that. It'd been even more fun than I'd ever imagined.

“We'll see,” he nodded, going back to reading the comics page.

He'd told me he read that only the smartest people read the comics, so he made certain he always did. And to my mother, he said, “Melissa, take a couple of those hot dogs that plump up out of the freezer and let them warm up on the counter. We don't want our little girl getting frostbite in her pussy tonight.”

“Yes, dear.”

I just shook my head again and went on out the side door.

Down by the creek where most of us played, I met Tim; orTe-im, as his folks called him, in the Southern way, as if his name had two syllables instead of one.

They were regular people, his parents, who worked 9-to-5 and sent their kids to public school and watched TV every night and who had only the vaguest notion of any weirdness going on out at The Pink Flamingo Motel.

Our secret incest swinger club was exactly that: a big secret.

So even though the odd dark rumor occasionally surfaced, it never seemed plausible enough to the so-callednormalpeople to be considered more than that: an extremely dark rumor.

“Hey, Maureen!” the boy I had a giant crush on smiled at me when I walked up. “Are you ready?”

“Hello, Tim,” I smiled right back. “Let's go.”

He was a tall but slightly built 12-year-old, somewhat gawky even, I guess, but good-looking in that way where you knew he'd be real handsome as a grown-up. He was a year ahead of me, in the 6th grade, but he went to a different school, William Henry Harrison Elementary.

Thank God for that.

Since almost all of us kids who participated in my parents' sex club for some reason went to St. Katherine's Academy, there was little chance of Tim hearing anything weird about me from someone he went to school with.

Weirdlybadabout me, I mean.

Like that I was a dirty little slut who fucked every boy I met, as if I couldn't ever get enough sex. And that I loved sucking cocks. And swallowing cum. And licking other girls' cunts, old or young.

As I mentioned, I was doing everything I could to keep any idea of the real me from him. I didnotwant to give him up.

He held up two fairly new tennis rackets, which he'd brought from home. I took one from him and hefted it.

“I've never played,” I admitted. “We just knock the ball back and forth?”

“You'll see,” he told me as we started walking to the nearby park where the courts were. “It'll be easy.”

“Okay.”

He and I loped along, two skinny normal kids, me blonde, him dark-haired like my dad, carrying our rackets as if we knew what we were doing. In truth, I doubted that Tim played a lot of tennis himself, since he didn't seem particularly athletic.

I was thinking it was more or less an excuse on his part to spend time with me. This was an idea that made me deliriously happy.

“What'd you do last night?” he asked me. “Anything interesting?”

I glanced to him with a girlish look of pure innocence.

“Nothing much,” I said, giving him a little shrug. “Watched television and read some boring stuff.”

The truth, I knew, would've ended what little chance I had for a sweet romance with him. I was certain Tim was still a virgin and I knew he assumed I was, too. I also knew he couldn't even imagine the life of wanton and sinful debauchery I was enthusiastically living.

Like I said, it'd crush him to know the real me.

And the night before, I'd done some reading, all right, but it was actually the instruction manual to my mom's expensive new sex machine, a put-it-together chrome contraption for fucking she'd ordered on the Internet. It took my mother, my father and me all evening to build it.

After that, of course, we had to try it out.

“Are you comfortable?” my father asked my mother. “Do you want a pillow under your head?”

It was just after 10:00 p.m. the night before, the sex machine finally together. My mom and I were wildly excited about using it, but, of course, my mother wanted to go first. I couldn't blame her. Just studying it, a machine built for the express purpose of sexual pleasure, got me wet to the knees.

Seriously, my little bare pussy was dripping.

Temporarily positioned in the middle of our living room, it had a solid-looking chrome frame with an adjustable padded narrow bench to lie on. It also had adjustable padded foot-pegs to more or less chose the degree of penetration a girl wanted, and a pistoning arm to attach a variety of multi-sized dildos.