John Kellerman: The family secret

"Yuck," she whispered, seeing the sticky, slimy strings of her date's cum hanging between her fingers. She wiped them against his shirt and shuddered a little, her fascination quickly gone. How did all that snotty-looking stuff make a baby, she wondered? And yet even with the aversion she felt for its consistency, something about its slickness, its aroma, made an unexpected thrill tremble through her.

"I've really got to go, Perry. Goodbye."

"Abby, wait."

But she left him buttoning up, zipping up and muttering. She padded down the hall barefoot, reminding herself to retrieve her sandals before tomorrow's sun had a chance to get to them. At the turn of the hall she saw her father talking to Jim, the estate's handyman and chauffeur. Something about picking up Vicky. Abby tried to slip by but Carl saw her and smiled, pulling her over.

"Wouldn't you like to go with Jim to pick up Vicky? It would be a shame if someone of the family wasn't along, don't you think?"

"Oh Daddy, do I have to? Perry gave me a terrible headache and I was on my way upstairs." Carl shook his head.

"I hope that's all he gave you," he said, lifting his eyebrow twice. That usually meant he was about to laugh. Abby blushed in spite of her resolve never to be embarrassed about anything. Then she realized that her father had smelled the sharp aroma of Perry's semen on her hands. She hid them behind her and hurried upstairs on the run.

Vicky wasn't at all surprised that her mother didn't come down for breakfast. Even to welcome her home after a month at Aunt Pat's. Florence's headaches were famous. Sometimes she used them for weeks on end. Sister Abby had learned the ploy as well. She'd gotten out of going to meet the plane with Jim by pretending some complicated migraine. Vicky knew because Jim had told her himself. She and Jim were old friends, fellow miscreants of the McNarey Estate. Though the chauffeur was quite a bit older, he treated her as a peer. When things got strange at school, Vicky had always taken her problems to Jimmy, as she liked to call him. He was a large man, a native of Canada, whose soft-spoken kindness had always appealed to Vicky. She had to admit that she had more affection for him than her mother or sister or even her brother. Only Carl, her father, rivaled Jimmy in her personal popularity poll.

"I suppose Jim told you that your cousin is staying with us for awhile," Carl said, passing a plateful of melon pieces.

"He mentioned it. I don't even remember Kevin." Vicky forked a chunk of cantaloupe and held it up to her nose for inspection. "Is he the kind of…" she rolled her eyes, "wigged-out kid that they sent to special schools and all?"

"Yes," Carl said. "Really a shame. He's quite intelligent, I think. In his own way, of course. But that speech thing…"

"Now I remember," Vicky said, sitting up straighter in her chair. "He can't talk. My little chubby cousin who couldn't talk…"

Carl wiped his mustache. "He's not chubby anymore. Grown into a very nice-looking young man. But they've never solved that problem with his speech. Some connection in his brain I would think but I'm no expert!"

It'd been years since Vicky had even thought of Kevin. He'd only been a baby when she'd last seen him. A strange little kid who made grunting sounds and scooted around much like other children. But he had a special aura about him all right. Yes, she remembered the look he'd get in his eyes. Like he was seeing things other kids couldn't.

"He'll only be here for the summer," Carl went on, "and Gus and Rebecca thought he'd do better if we housed him away from the main house. He likes to spend a lot of time by himself so it seems. Too much social hubbub confuses him." Carl pushed his chair away from the table and rose. "My brother tells me he's gotten to be quite a woodcarver."

"Kevin? A woodcarver?" Vicky glanced at Abby, who hadn't seemed a bit interested in anything that'd been said. It was hard to imagine that roly poly little baby becoming anything special. But of course a few years had slipped by. Vicky realized she had been nothing much special herself back in those days. When she looked back at her father she caught him giving his sister Mona the strangest look. Vicky could almost swear it was a hot come-on. She glanced at Mona and saw the handsome woman lick her upper lip in an obviously sensual way.

As the breakfast table was abandoned, Vicky kept an eye on Carl. He and Mona were on their way to the tennis court, laughing and talking. Vicky couldn't suppress her curiosity. She went to the garage to take the canvas off her motorcycle and for awhile she tinkered around with it, starting up the engine, taking a few turns around the drive. But she finally parked it and sneaked around back. Just as she'd suspected, the tennis court was empty. Carl's racket leaned against the net and nearby was Mona's monogrammed towel.

Vicky was having a hard time believing this. She wouldn't've been surprised to find that her father was having an affair with someone. He'd been doing that for years. Almost every time Florence pled a headache and went to bed. But his very own sister! It made chills run up her back. Or were they thrills?

Abby was lolling on a couch in the living room with a fingernail file and polish. Vicky didn't even rate a look as she padded by and turned down the long hall. The library was empty and so was the small greenhouse that opened out into the huge back yard. But the door to the billiard room was closed and locked. Vicky tried the knob carefully so that no one inside would know she was there. Vicky smiled. There were other ways to find out what was going on. She went to the next door down the hall and entered quietly. It was a small kitchen and bar, there only for parties Carl sometimes threw for his men friends. And though the sliding service door was closed, Vicky knew exactly how to get it open. She'd used every room in the house for a playground at one time or another.

She found a paring knife and climbed onto the counter, working herself over to the door as quietly as possible. She was lying on her belly now and through the thin wood of the sliding panel she could hear her father's voice. A groan from Mona followed by a shuddering sigh. Vicky's hand trembled as she gingerly pried the bolt back with the short ebladed knife. Did she really want to see what was going on in the billiard room? When Mona moaned again, she decided that yes, she did want to see. The bolt inched back and Vicky held against the pressure of the spring as she eased the service panel open. Then she let the bolt slip back to its previous position, careful not to let it snap. She had an inch wide slit to peer through now and dragged herself forward on elbows. When she pushed her short nose up against the wood and squinted through, her heart lurched.

Her Aunt Mona was bent forward over one of the billiard tables. She had on the white top of her tennis outfit. The short skirt lay between her feet on the floor and so did a pair of fancy frilled panties. From the waist down Aunt Mona was stark naked. Vicky felt her own body flush with heat. A slick sensation between the lips of her cunt was spreading to the crotchband of her panties. And the reason she'd experienced this sudden rush of sexual fever was because her father was naked too. He stood behind his well-preserved sister with the biggest hard-on Vicky could imagine. The head of his cock looked like some strange blue mushroom. It was coated slickly with Mona's pussy juice. And as she watched, Carl eased it up between the lips of her aunt's cunt again and rubbed it teasingly against the protruding nubbin that swelled out from between two plump petals. Mona's clit! Vicky finally remembered to breathe.

"Nnnnn… Ohhh Carl, darling, if you don't ram me with that lovely cock of yours I think I'm going to faint!"