Jack Victor - The professor_s rape games

Hillary Ames used to hate his name – when he was younger.

He was teased by his peers, until high school. By then, he was so accomplished a scholar that he was looked up to, and the admiration he excited made his name more than acceptable.

By the time he had graduated from college he was more than pleased about his name. He stood out for far more than mere scholarly excellence. His name was a refreshing change among the Dans, Dicks, Bobs, Johns, and Jacks by which he was surrounded.

However, when his wife presented him with twin daughters, and wanted to name one of the little girls Hillary, he put his foot down.

"I shall be the only Hillary in this family, darling, just as I'm the only one wearing the pants."

His wife, Helen, smiled adoringly at her husband and acquiesced, something which was very easy to do, given her husband's merits.

He was, in addition to being very brilliant, very handsome, very socially accomplished, also very tender, very attentive, and very loving. He was a superb provider for his wife and twin daughters.

And he was hung like a horse, with the sexual appetite to go with it!

The little girls were named Debrah and Donna.

They grew to be exquisite little blondes, and as they grew, Hill, as he was known among his friends acquired a strange, perverse attraction for them.

He wanted them as much as he desired his wife, and, adoring and trusting as they were, he being such a fabulous father, they frequently gave him a painful hard-on when they sat on his knees.

His wife always had a shit-eating grin on her face, since she was the beneficiary of his lust, and what woman wouldn't thrive in an environment where a man, especially when said man was one's husband, frequently fucked the woman with all the ardor of the first time?

Hill managed to keep his growing appetite for his daughters under control until they were thirteen years old. By this time, they were budding young women, with all the poignant, breath-taking beauty of a peach-colored tea rose, glinting with dew in the first light of morning.

At this time, Hill was offered a prestigious position at a young ladies' seminary in a small rural town which also contained a prestigious small university, renowned throughout the world for the quality of its scholars.

What could be more ideal? A small, healthy, convivial community, in which the head of the family could take his place as one of its superior and admired members, family-oriented, and yet academic and non-insular?

With these laudable sentiments, and a rather superior financial inducement, Hill moved his family to Sylvan Hills.

The family was happy. Hill was not. He found his lust for his daughters growing.

They were, of course, enrolled in the prestigious Sylvan Hills Seminary where their father taught, and their social life burgeoned.

The Ames family became popular rapidly. Why not? They were handsome, literate, and spirited.

Hill began to feel like a split personality.

The life style was low-keyed and quiet, and Hill's inflamed imagination had freer play without the distractions of city life.

All his happiness was marred, his growing popularity in the school, the superb impression he made on his peers, his own very beautiful and very loving family were as dust in the man's mind, when he considered his bizarre infatuation with his daughters.

He felt that he was going insane, that there was some defect in his emotional make-up to create this rabid longing for the flesh of his daughters.

In a larger town with a more indifferent or tolerant community he could have sought the services of a psychiatrist, and there were several eminent ones who lived in the community, although none of them practiced in it.

They practiced in a somewhat distant urban area.

The problem was, they were his social companions as well as his professional peers. There was no way in hell he could approach them with his problem.

And so his new life progressed from day to day, Hill's raging cock pleasing his wife immensely, his own personal sexual appetite unassuaged by the specific objects of it.

Until Halloween.

That raucous night, dressed in a mask, and white kid gloves, wearing a silk top hat and opera cloak, he took his children out to play trick or treat. There was no need to examine the apples for razor blades. No need to sort through the candy making sure there were no hallucinogens nor poisons in them.

Sylvan Hills was a true community in the Old-World sense of the word: if everyone tended to know everyone else's business, they also cared, and kept discreet tongues in their heads, except for close personal friends, and everyone had at least two!

His adoring daughters clung proudly to their tall, handsome father's gloved hands, as excited to be seen with him, as to be gathering treats. And the more he walked with them, the hornier he got. His cock raged against his dark trousers with a fury that would have done in a less disciplined or worthy man.

At nine-thirty, he brought his golden-haired princesses (for so they were dressed to be) home to be put to bed.

He listened, still attired in his costume, to their chattering, as they went upstairs with their mother to be tucked in for the night.

Wearing of his intransigent lust, appalled at his unrepentant attitude with regard to his secret perversion, he walked out into the very large, rolling lawn in back of their large, Federalist style house.

The night was quiet, and relatively warm. There was the slight hint of autumn chill in the air, and the ripe smells of autumn filled the night air.

Some of the more indefatigable of the children were still out playing trick or treat. He walked the length of the wide, rolling lawn to the fringe of woodland, beyond which was a peaceful lake, a popular retreat for lovers, and in the summer a delightful area for swimming.

Underneath Hill's feet, the leaves made crackling noises, and occasionally, he heard a branch snap. He had almost forgotten that he was still in costume.

He walked through the woodland to the grassy slope which breasted the large lake on all sides.

There was a quarter moon, tilted lazily on its side in a royal blue sky scintillating with stars.

Hill smiled obscenely and leaned against the tree.

The oval lake, gleaming in the night light, surrounded by the grassy slope, and fringed all around with the woodland reminded him of a huge cunt.

He inhaled deeply, enjoying the fresh wet smell of the earth, listening to the sounds of the night, the quiet lapping of the waters when the surface was stirred by the mild wind, the soughing of the trees, and then he shuddered.

"God!" he whispered to himself, "I'm so besotted that now I'm having auditory hallucinations!"

What he heard, which sent a shudder of erotic emotion coursing through him, was the panting of a woman in heat. He cocked his head and listened.

He couldn't believe he was hearing what he did. A low moan traveled through him like an electric shock.

He walked in the direction in which he thought he heard the sound, treading carefully. He was afraid that he would encounter some reality to what he heard, and then again, fearful for his mental state, he was afraid that he would encounter nothing.

What he encountered almost devastated him.

Leaning against a tree, her legs spread wide apart, dressed almost bizarrely in a glittering costume, was a young blonde girl. She looked so much like his own twins that Hill caught his breath with wonder.

His cock burned, a flaming focal point in his consciousness, and the girl appeared to be part of the whole experience.

To one side of the girl, Hill saw the gleaming white of her panties. He walked closer and closer.