Creative Camp

Blissy's Song (Romantic bisexual pedophilia and incest.) by Feather Touch

Chapt. 2

Hot.

Both of them.

Wayne, twenty-four, was topping a thousand degrees, and Cal Morgan, seventeen, not to be outdone, was scalding even hotter. In the brief hour since they'd met by the pool, they'd become acquainted, big time. It was more than how things were, the new dynamic in which everyone had a story to tell that was actually interesting, for once in their lives, it was a bonding that would have occurred under any circumstances. All natural.

Not much time stories for this couple. With quick verbal sketching, Wayne lived on a small ranch with two brothers, and Cal had just come off two full years of vagabond camping, now done in luxuriant style by many survivors as they adjusted to a reality of three tenths of one percent of the former population still healthy and mobile.

Bios over for the moment, the males had adjourned to Wayne's suite. Cal's kid sister, Brenda, ten, had skipped off to the bathroom, plumbing still a luxury after so much camping, and also wanting to give her strapping, red-headed brother time alone with Wayne. She'd picked him out at first sight and her brother had concurred. All natural. Not exactly a father figure, but hardly as a cowpoke full of James Dean strutting against himself, either. Old enough to be smart, young enough not to be too smart. In many ways a virgin, consenting adult stuff only.

Cal was too old to be molested, but Wayne was doing his best, especially for a first-timer. The seventeen year old was almost childish with his boyish face and sexy shoulders. Baby skin. Attractive. Attractive in the sense of attracting attention. All Wayne's attention. All involved in that hot, experienced mouth urgent practically inside his own.

"Somebody's overdressed," came the matter-of-fact voice of a ten-year-old girl who sounded like she knew what she was talking about. Wayne hiccupped with the shock of her nearby voice and Cal bit into him to hold him in place. Nor was the child just there to kibitz. She was an activist, her little hands finding Wayne's waist in fierce hug, then her brother, and that was just the introduction.

Brenda jockeyed herself up Wayne's flank. "I don't know whether to call you daddy or lover," she whispered. Kinky little thing, she so shocked the tall, handsome man she had chosen that Cal had all he could do to maintain the kiss. The teen was lucky to have a clear idea of what he wanted. It wasn't so easy for Wayne. Of and by itself, the hot, sexual mouth seemed more than should be experienced during a single lifetime, and now there was a girl crawling up him like a tree, and, judging how her young body felt against his, Wayne realized through a rapidly growing haze that he and Cal were indeed overdressed. Everywhere he touched the youngster she was naked. He wasn't a lawyer, and due diligence and long gone out of fashion as an ideal worth a damn, but it didn't matter, Wayne took nothing for granted and investigated thoroughly for himself. Yes, indeed, naked. Especially her bottom which was not only butt nude, but hotter than fire.

Problems.

Wayne had first encountered them, poolside. They'd arrived within a quarter hour of the very dynamic duo now sending his hormones into orbit. The first had been a ring. Ring. He felt it against his ribs. The little fox wasn't naked, after all. Not that she was overdressed, or anything, and the engagement diamond donated by the couple in the pool, well, it was smooth sided and not digging in. So the ring was only symbolic of trouble afoot. A second conundrum had presented itself as they entered the suit and Brenda had vacated to the bathroom. Was Cal, or wasn't he? He certainly wouldn't be kissing this way if he was not. Those were in the past and had been resolved quickly. Now he was lost in kissing this magnificent young male while the youth's pretty-damn-near naked sister clambered against him, and not just that, she was using her pretty little feet to force down his swimsuit, apparently dead-set on getting him as naked as she was, or even nakeder. So Wayne's third problem in his dramatic new life was how to stay firmly attached to Cal, preserve the status-quo, while getting a look at the little beauty apparently not only ready but eager to marry him, or come as close as she could to matrimonial bliss at her age of ten.

If Cal would stop sucking his tongue that way, it would help. If Brenda weren't whispering in his ear as she worked away with her pixie feet, it would help. But his sexy new young friends were no help at all. Either that, or he was beyond help. Well, everyone has their problems, and Wayne decided to solve his by getting decisive. Making a decision. But which one to make? That was the hard part. And the kids weren't playing any kind of game. Wayne could tell. They were both doing what came naturally, no more. No rivalry. All passion. In fact, if he'd had enough blood left flowing through his brain, Wayne would have realized the youngsters were actually working in concert. Cal's hand was helping the librarian's on the little girl's electric ass. She, in turn, had devoted to one of her little bare feet to her brother's swimsuit, and was not being bashful about changing his over-dressed status.

At an instant, all three members of the ensemble seemed to realize they'd be more comfortable on a bed, that there was a bed close at hand, and that they should move in that direction. As the old travel advertisement went, Half the fun is getting there. Of course, that copywriter of yore was not talking about young males with their swimsuits around their knees, nor with their swollen penises thrusting into each other while a pubescent female toyed away with her dainty little pink toes.

Wayne twisted as he fell to the mattress, pulling Cal down on top of him, and hugging Brenda tight against himself, his right hand at the base of her long, slim back. They settled themselves as best they could, under the circumstances, and the young female whispered to Wayne.

"Did Cal tell you about Lenny?" she asked.

It wasn't anything like being at the dentist, but for one similarity. Wayne couldn't talk. Not with what Cal was still doing as passionately as when he'd first given away his secret long minutes before. Brenda seemed to understand the situation, she was a bright young thing, and so launched into her narrative, assuming Wayne's ears were innocent of the story.

"They didn't really sneak away," the red-headed elf began, "but somehow I could tell that something was going to happen. We'd met Lenny Proudfeather earlier in the afternoon and we both really liked him. He was twenty at the time, Cal was fourteen, and I was eight years and two months.

"He was hiking without a shirt, that was the first thing I noticed, and Cal, too, as I later found out. He looked a lot more like a boy than a man. But was big enough, definitely, to be a man. He was super nice, and especially excited at finding a young brother and sister just starting out on a long trip together. He knew something about alternative relationships from a girl he'd dated, and he could tell that Cal and I loved each other and would be happy if something happened.

"Of course, we were virtual strangers, and he didn't really know where we were coming from, so that's why he decided to take a walk -- you know, firewood and berries -- with Cal. I was supposed to curl up with a John Irving novel, and would have been delighted to do so, except I was eight, and eight is probably the most curious and hopeful age of all. I mean, seven's a bit young, generally speaking, and if something exciting happens when a girl's ten or eleven, she's going to have to go through life thinking back on the years she missed, however innocently."

Jeeze, his mate-in-waiting was a witty little princess. Wayne tried to remember what she looked like. Perky redhead, perhaps a touch of Orphan curls, and enough freckles to make her a cutie; even make up for her acting like a dentist, but the image was blurred by lots of things. He let the vision fade and held on for dear life, the while helping the child and her brother slide their damp trunks all the way off and onto the resilient carpeting of the suite. In the end, Wayne settled on the image of a pig-tailed tomboy dressed in a white and red checked calico blouse, blue-jeans shorts, still with a little baby fat around her tummy but with the long, coltish legs of the vanishing child. It was an image that would do little good in helping maintain his composure as the girls licked his ear and ran her hands wantonly over his chest and firm belly. He could tell Cal was excited at listening to his little naked sister. That was great, because he'd already heard the story.

"Anyway," the amazing voice with just a trace of lisp, "I think they were sending body English and kind of signally me that they were going to do stuff when they were alone together, and they wouldn't be too mad if someone spied on them. You know, not obvious. But sometimes a girl just knows about those things.

"I read a few pages of Setting Free the Bears, and it was great, I was right in the middle, but just the story about animals, and being free, was enough to get me thinking. Then there's more than one way to spell `bear' - and that got me thinking about, you know, if the boys were going to get naked together. I knew Cal had been molested when he was eleven, and he was cool about it, and Len was so cute. Well, John Irving is a great writer, nothing against him, but when you've got a beautiful big brother - who happens to be super nice, always, and he's gone off into the woods with a striking young Indian, well, the imagination can play tricks, but that's in the fog, and the fog had burned off by nine that morning.

"The thing I had in my backpack that Cal didn't know about was something I wanted to use to try to get him interested in me, you know, because he was fourteen and I was only eight, a little bit of lingerie I'd found on a looting junket. A training bra. I knew I was too young for it, but I decided to put it on before I want looking for my missing pair of stallions. I mean, Len wasn't really mine, but, at the time, that was just a technicality. He belonged to me whether he was mine, or not."

What did she look like? Wayne remembered a television ad from his childhood. For cardboard shipping containers. Black and white. Couldn't tell if the young actress was a redhead, but the gamin face of the pretty farm girl was clearer in his mind than Brenda's face. He could change this by opening his eyes and moving his head back a few inches so they'd focus. That was a great idea. Tempt fate. It had just brought him this to-die-twice-for couple, so he should play fast and loose by demanding more? It came as a double, then a triple shock to realize just how much more there was. In cold, hard fact, all he'd done with the child so far was share feeling her kiddo bottom with her brother. Hadn't kissed her. Hadn't touched either of the spiky young breasts burning quarter-size holes deep into his muscle tissue. Hell, he hadn't even seen her in fifteen minutes, maybe more. She didn't seem to care, apparently, to her story born.

"Having resolved ownership issues to my satisfaction, I took the bull by the horns and traipsed off after them, realizing, as I left camp, they'd been pretty noisy in their pseudo sneaking. That made me feel wanted and confident. Besides, I had my brand new training bra on. Something to show them, you know, so I could pretend I followed them for a real reason, not just a pretend one, like some kids would. And not to get them mad. A lot of kids would do that."

Wayne figured there might be something mad about having a sweet little redheaded Tinkerbelle show up and take off her gingham summer blouse to show off a new bra, but it would have been a madness that had nothing to do with anger. He let Brenda tell the story her way.

"It didn't take long for me to catch up. Probably not much more than fifteen minutes. That was another really positive sign, because if they'd wanted to ditch me, they could have out paced me two to one, plus hidden.

"Well, they were sort of hidden. Just where they could be sure of privacy from the trail, plus, they'd picked a little lagoon in the woods, a damned up stream. It was a little corny, what with all the ferns and the babbling of the brook, the sun streaking through the trees and dappling the half-clearing. Nature making her try, but she couldn't half measure up to a six -three Indian holding and fondling a cute fourteen-year-old boy.

"Len was behind Cal, leaning back against a huge old log which must have dropped ten years earlier, with both hands on bro's stomach and chest, rubbing him like you guys are doing it now on my bottom. It was so beautiful, I just plopped on my butt, right where I was. Lenny was leaning down and kissing Cal over his shoulder, his long, black hair across his white chest, so their attention was diverted, speaking of which, why am I having deja vue issues? Never mind. Lenny was tall, powerful, really deep brown, half natural, half tan; Cal was baby white, like a kid, almost. It was enough to make a girl give up on tea sets, I'll tell you. Two lumps and cream, dear? No thank you, I've got two lumps of granite and enough cream to baste a turkey.

"I mean, that's kind of crude, but, compared to what boys think of at the same age, I wasn't anything but an amateur in the imagery department. Of course, I was an amateur in a lot of other departments, as well. My bra, for example, it was plain old white; lacy enough, I suppose, and feminine, well, I guess a bra's meant to be that; but it was nothing a professional would wear. Plus, I was all nervous, sweaty and excited. Not even an amateur, an outright novice, first game of the rookie season."

Wayne was by now so attuned to his ultra young bride he was almost able to furnish her next thought. As he expected, it was a comment on how, whatever her status on the field of play, she was at least in uniform. She would indeed be a sight to behold, and if it weren't for an infernal distraction he'd -- by god -- open his eyes and take a look. Less is more. The less he saw of the panting girl, the more vivid she became in his mind's eye.

It was probably stupid, there was a dumb story about a rural family living in a house where someone had driven a hatchet into an overhead beam, and the folk were in a constant dither over the possibility of the hatchet falling and knocking someone on the head. In other words, he was making much of a simple problem. His uncle, the sage, had lived many years in Mexico, but never seen Copper Canyon, because he always wanted it left to see. Something like that. But Brenda wasn't a natural wonder, she was a ten-year-old nymph. Pretty, yes, sparkling of wit and charm, you bet, but hardly the world's leading complex of canyons and precipi. Not on any map nor in any guidebook. So, didn't that make it the simpler? If the child wasn't a Wonder of the World, why not just sneak a little peek, for memory's sake? Who would know? Who would care?

From hatchets planted loosely in rafters Wayne's thoughts drifted to tales of old-world cabinetmakers who would finish the hidden recesses of their creations as carefully as those surfaces exposed to view. Virtue being its own reward. That was it. A strange thought to be having with one hand on an underage boy and the other fondling a mere child. Lucky it felt so good, otherwise he'd be coping with the stigma of moral turpitude for years to come. In the meantime, he was groping with reality. Both hands. Athletic young bodies and an urgent mouth blinding him to empirical pragmatisms. Outta sight, like the elephant to the blind East Indian, yet better than an elephant because it whispered in his ear.

"I watched them for a long time," the girl narrated. "It was so perfect. What else could be like it? Letting a big, strong boy take charge of you, and making him happy at the same time. I sat there thinking about everything that could go through an eight year old's mind, and then it suddenly occurred to me that Cal could do the same things to me that Len was doing to him, and even make me get a baby someday by doing it.

"You know," she continued with her delectable whispering, "at the time, as it is even now, it was sort of considered to be important for girls to have more kids because there was so much stuff for everybody. Cal and I had even talked about it a couple of times. After all, I wasn't a six year old. So, when I saw him getting molested by a boy as much bigger than he was as he was bigger than I was, it got me in the mood, even though I knew the practical limitations. In fact, I was planning to get Cal to start teaching me that very night and it was an ice cream sundae with cherries on top to see him in that clearing with Len doing stuff to him and kissing him and making him have a huge boner that stuck his shorts way out."

Wayne groaned, inwardly, realizing this frank recital of a childhood experience could have only one result in the present set of circumstances. The United States had, by a series of commercial miracles, survived it's navy for centuries, until two a'boomin' cowpokes had finally clopped into each another with enough prairie moxie to set in motion the complex chain of events which had escalated to the introduction of scaled time-release toxins into various water supplies in cities from New York, Chicago and Los Angeles down to Branson. Yes, his country `tis of thee had survived the largest pack of institutionalized dunderheads in modern, and very likely ancient history, all the way to 2020. For a century and much more they'd been so fascinated by their mustachios and scrambled eggs, they'd caused huge, giant wars, then, as if to prove to all of history that two wrongs don't make a right, they'd gone techno extreme to the point they could be neutered by a poorly installed memory stick. Yes, the country had done well to survive its buffoons, political, military and academic for so long. But even though Flagler had been the only industrial lunatic, the group hadn't been able to sustain, forever. The navy had won, the subs had clunked, big-time, and Hyman Rickover's legacy had wedded that of the Rosenbergs at a cost of 997 out of every one-thousand lives. Misery and untimely death. And in it, a lesson. If a dynamic superpower couldn't survive a minuscule contingent of subversives, deliberate or simply moronic, how could he, an individual, survive the coordinated onslaught of a tiger teen and his kid sister? He'd have been in danger even if they had not been redheads.

Wayne realized his thoughts were out of kilter. Irrelevant. The political and military fools had lived in a time of seething populations. On every visit to city or town, they, as individuals, could see how many extra young men there were, and, even if one were to lose a war, there would still be hundreds of thousands lass to feed, ergo, why not trip the light fantastic with bomb and bullet?

In the present situation, things were different, and it was wrong to think in the old ways. If he drew parallels between his country surviving imbeciles, and surviving what Cal and Brenda wanted to do with him, he knew they were probably far-fetched.

Librarian, inveterate reader bordering on the rapacious, equestrian, Wayne definitively wished to be a writer. But he didn't like science fiction. The reduction in population provided an inescapable aura of Fantasy to any novel that could be written in the new era, leaving him stuck with the genre whether he like it or not. When life gives one lemons, make lemonade, so he reviewed the situation carefully, realizing, in it's best light, there was perhaps enough to the story to give the narrative a rudimentary athleticism sufficient to render it a page-turner, so long as he could find a theme. This knowledge included an inherent risk. If he wasn't up to the mark when it came to the actual delineation of a substrate, any book he completed would be dismissed as a joke. Frothy and insubstantial. Frivolous and lacking merit, even had it been funny.

Writing was a difficult career. The vast majority of fiction artists made little or no real money, even if they were published repeatedly. The audience had diminished by the numbers known to every schoolboy. Every remaining soul had access to enough word-processing power to run a metro daily, and a story to tell. Engaging characters and awesome situations wouldn't be enough. There had to be a beat, a driving theme. When he had a moment, he'd pursue the thought, meantime, he devoted his full attention to the lithe young female telling dirty stories about her big brother. She'd even described the teen as having a huge boner, so he assumed the rest was true because even kissing him, eyes wide shut, he could feel the immense nakedness of the now seventeen year old. One of these days he really was going to have to at least take a little peak.

"This is what I did," Brenda continued. She had reached down and put her childish little hands just above Wayne's hips, performing her charade with lingering down-strokes. He got the idea and even through the raw carnality of Cal's kissing, Wayne conjured an image of the boy at fourteen, a powerful young Native American male fondling and kissing him while his cute little sister knelt at her brother's shaking knees and...

If a picture was worth a thousand words, then an image had to be wroth a thousand pictures. Wayne squinted his eyes even wider shut and pictured the youngster's expression at her first look at her brother as a hot lover.

"And not just once, either," Brenda pointed out. "I didn't know what making love was like, I was just a kid, you know, curious, so after I pulled Cal's shorts and everything down and got them off him, I reached behind him and did the same thing to Len. Then, I opened my eyes. Len was up between my brother's legs, so, for a second there, I though I'd found heaven, itself, a boy with a big penis, and a huge one."

The little girl had the grace to giggle at this. A bit of blarney in the child. Talk about heaven. And in spades, at that, for Cal, listening in to his pixie's prattle, had launched a fresh assault with his mouth while at the same time maneuvering himself behind the twenty four year old - and was easing his big teen cock between Wayne's tightly clenched thighs, inch by inch, accompanied by soft, whimpering grunts that made his sister suspicious. Her fairy hands lingered from the young man's waist, to his front.

"I always wanted twins," she whispered as she found her lovers and began fondling them. "So, when I opened my eyes and saw Cal and Len, and it kind of sunk in, you know, about them being boys and being excited, I got even more excited, myself. I started doing this, and no one had to teach me. Of course, at that time, I did it to Cal, because he was in front of Len."

Brenda demonstrated what she had done by latching onto Wayne's left nipple with her childish mouth, and sucking gently. He couldn't see her, but then, he didn't have to. Cal's hands were now roaming all over the young man and the leggy girl, sharing the female by guiding Wayne's hands with his own while doing to Wayne's left ear what his sister, punky little redhead that she was, was doing to his nipple. In both cases there was a lingering softness and essential carnality to the liberties they were taking that was much more erotic than any frantic excesses of lust. "We have found you," both mouths seemed to say, "and we're never letting you go."

Having established this paradigm to everyone's satisfaction, Brenda left off her sensual nursing, returning her lips to Wayne's unoccupied ear.

"The curiosity thing won out," she whispered, continuing her story of what had happened in that forest clearing. "I wanted to see, everything, so I pulled the boys apart and set them side by side on the log, then I stepped back to look. They got excited, seeing me there in front of them, stripping, so they both stood up to show off by putting their hands behind their necks and standing on tiptoes with their legs spread wide apart, half supporting themselves against the log behind them.

"Wish I had a picture of that to show you," the girl continued with a sigh. "But you can probably imagine at least part of it. An eight year old in her pink silk panties looking at a cute fourteen year old and a big, macho twenty year old half-breed Indian, one the size of a great big frank, the other, a great big ear of corn. And me with my little training bra tossed onto a nearby branch, showing them I was a girl."

Here she giggled in her delightful innocent tinkle.

"I only thought I was big."

Wayne was so taken off guard by her comic by-play his eyes popped open in surprise. She looked big enough to him, but seeing as her face was six inches away, that was not unexpected. Damn, what a little beauty. She was going to be a fox at seventy. And the church morons had resisted cloning, right up until the end of their empire of quirky, cranky, queer think. Get the needles out. Call in consultants from industry. Reserve a dollar for marketing, that would be enough. Clone to the bone. Turn out little Brenda's like Ford had turned out Model Ts. Make the world a happy place. A president of yore had once promised a chicken in every pot. What if a new leader offered a chick on every lap?

There was more to the thought, vastly more, so much more that the entire outline of a vast novel blazed in Wayne's mind. Social engineering. Fascism. Bold new dynamics and stunning subplots. A kaleidoscope adventure, sure, sf-fantasy, but it could be a love story, too. The librarian was at the intellectual point of once again reviewing the necessity for a theme on which to build his symphony when Brenda attacked, again.

"I'm going to kiss you, daddy," she whispered, then moved slowly in, back out of focus, and Wayne was dizzied out by the touch of her sweet lips to his. The same lips that had whispered about things she'd done with her big brother were now like crashing butterflies against his own. Licentious renegades and brigands, that's what they were. Just the lips. Never even mind the hands, which had joined Cal's on his huge erection.

The passionate embrace lasted long minutes. Brenda's hot nibbling and licking softened him like jelly in a forge, and soon the ten year old was melting herself, too, directly into his mouth and beyond. Hot, thin syrup, that's what the angel had become, hot, thin syrup that flowed, unrestricted, not inch by inch, but foot by foot, maybe even yard by yard. It was hard to tell. Great thoughts and small absurdities, alike, were melted before the gushing onslaught with only Brenda's hard big-girl nipples spiking into his chest providing a focus of any last remnants of sanity.

"Next time I kiss you like that," Brenda whispered, having finally broken off the kiss for a message, "I want you to be able to taste Cal, my gorgeous brother, in my mouth. Would you like that?"

And she only thought she was big? If first kisses were anything to judge by, she was big enough for the world. Brenda Morgan. Age, ten. He tried to imagine what Len had seen on that poolside log. Brenda helped, once again whispering her story.

"It was so perfect," she said. "A dream come true, because, even at eight, I knew I wanted my first time to be really special. Girlish fairy story stuff, sure, but that's the best part of being a girl. Romantic and silly, but fun, for all of that.

"Anyway," she continued, to the story born, "with two of them, boys, that is, I could learn everything. Since I was in love with my brother, I could learn about that from him, and since Len was a tall handsome stranger, I could learn about the physical things from him. I guess it sounds sort of clinical, you know, just talking about it, after the fact, but it was exciting."

Wayne nodded against the child, and even though she couldn't see him, she knew he understood. He could tell by what Cal was doing to him that he was listening in on his kid sister.

"Show me what boys to together," the perky eight year old said to her brother as he stood, fingers laced behind his neck, his fourteen-year-old chest arched proudly over the circumcised penis jutting all but seven inches from his waist.

"Make me cum," Len whispered to Brenda. "Then you'll know what's happening inside you, later."

"Yes," Brenda whispered excitedly, looking into the eyes of her wickedly cool brother. "Show me how," she said to him.

Together the children came away from the young Indian, and sat him on the mossy log. Cal straddled Len's left leg and guided his sister in beside him on the stranger's right knee. The young man's head drooped in lust and his long, black pony tail fell over his right nipple, swinging gently against it as the young teen taught his sister how to masturbate an adult male.

"Do you want to touch him first," he whispered, demonstrating both manners and a restrained coaching style that Len was sure would stand the stripling in good stead on life's journey.

"Is it okay?" she whispered, demonstrating both manners and a nicely restrained boldness that would stand her in good stead on life's journey.

"Start at the top, where he's all wet, and squeeze firmly and go down, slowly," Cal instructed.

"Is that how you would do it?" Brenda asked.

"I think so," he said. "It probably doesn't matter too much as long as it gets done. "

"Your way sounds exciting," the girl said with an affectionate nudge. "If I was a boy, that's how I would want it to happen. Just hold my hand, so I'll get the pressure right."

Cal gently cradled his sister's right hand in his own. It was so small against Len, who swoll dramatically at the approach. "Get your fingers wet, in between the second and third knuckle, if you have such things in that cute paw, and, also, get yourself wet in the web of your thumb. Yeah. Just like that. Don't worry, he's not scared or anything, boy's can't help being a little jumpy when girls touch them. Yeah, get wet a lot. More will come out, see; it's `cause he's extra excited. I would be, too. You're doing it just right, Bren, get really wet, okay, now, start out by curling around him. Do you want to look at the tip of my penis so you'll know what his looks like when you pull his foreskin down?"

"Can I be surprised?" Brenda whispered.

"Sure. You've already seen me, just not up real close."

"When I have you close," the little sister whispered back, "I don't want it to be my hand."

"We better keep going," her brother prompted, after squeezing her hand to acknowledge his love, "this part is pretty crucial for a guy."

"Teach me," the girl whispered, her voice all but lost in lust.

He taught her the grip. Good and firm, but not too hot. "This part can hurt so watch and be really careful, especially if you're with a virgin" he coached as she eased Len's foreskin slowly over his vastly engorged purple glans.

"Is it okay?" she whispered to the dark handsome young man.

"Yes," Len whispered back.

"You don't have to worry now," Cal prompted as he coaxed her hand to fully free Len, getting him very wet in the process by using the flutter strokes her brother initiated.

"He looks like a tiger." the little redhead whispered, allowing her brother to guide her in the first strokes of jerking off their strapping new friend.

"He's going to spray like a tiger, too, Bren," Cal whispered back, excitedly. "You've got to be ready for it so you won't freak out or anything, okay?"

"That's what I want," the girl responded, eagerly, now stroking Len fully up and down with the strong rhythmic strokes Cal had set.

"Cool," whispered the boy. "Just let it get all over you, or if you don't want to get messy, hold him against me. I like getting it on me from a man."

"I'll like it too," Brenda said, "but I'd rather get it inside me from a cute boy I know."

"I'm cumming," Len grunted, his dangling pony tail now wet, his voice all but strangled.

"Watch," Cal whispered, claiming Brenda's hand again, wetting it a final time with Len's seminal fluid, and guiding her in a long, tight, powerful final stroke, then freezing as the Indian bucked into the tight double fist of the children and began ejaculating heavily.

"Oh, Len," the girl cried out, "you're beautiful. Keep doing it to me!"

The athletic twenty year old was putty in the child's hands, her voice was singing to every nerve in his being, and they were contracting every muscle with a twang, then repeating and amplifying, so that each spasm that shook him was yet the greater tsunami.

"He's getting it all over my nipples," she whispered, enthralled, to Cal.

"Keep doing it to me," she said, managing a hot look at Len before returning her undivided attention to his big penis spraying sperm on her naked chest. To be having this happen while sitting almost naked against her big brother, and having him hold her hand was the best start a girl could have, she knew it. And to be doing just after having turned eight years old was tubular, to boot.

He was doing so much on her. Like he wasn't trying just to get her pregnant, but trying to make the whole baby, all at once. It began to shock her. What she'd imagined, not that she could, really, as a puff of fairy dust, or a few drops of nectar, was one big, thick spurt after another. Cal manipulated her fingers into a sphincter, still at the base of Len, and she could feel the long, hard throb before each jet of hot sperm gushed out onto her.

"Keep doing it to me," the girl whispered urgently. Visions of Cal spilling wildly inside her flooded her imagination as she gasped to Len to give the last of his seed to both of them, jerking him off with a feverish passion.

For her brother she could no longer wait. Both males sensed this. Len fought off the fog of delirium enough to lie back on the giant fallen tree, pulling the girl back on top of him. Cal followed, half dragged, half managing for himself, and in moments was bare-chested against his sister, who was as wet and slippery as an eel a few seconds from the sea. Len used what strength he had left to hug the boy to the girl on his chest, and once he had them stabilized, to roam with his hands to find the frantic boy and guide him to his sister. Brenda had instinctively spread her legs wide.

"Darling," she whispered when Cal found her.

"I love you," the young teen responded, entering the eight year old until he was blocked by Len's hand fisting his swollen cock

"It might hurt," Len warned the girl wriggling on his chest, then he removed his hand from between the young couple, grasping instead Cal's bubble but as the boy fulfilled himself and his kid sister with a long smooth entry that took him to his base and left him fully in her pliant and soft young belly, panting wildly. Len held them long moments, sealed tightly in his powerful grip. He could feel Brenda tremble at the sting of her brother, and let her shake it off for a minute before relaxing his grip on Cal and letting him rise experimentally off his young darling.

The boy whispered "Oh, babe," as he began to very gently fuck the child. Len moved his hands to their flanks as a caution against the boy slipping off the semen-covered girl and became aroused at the carnality of the two lithe young bodies making gentle love on his powerful chest.

They used a tender, slow, brother/sister rhythm. Beloveds. Brenda lay widely spread, panting gently, obviously simply wanting Cal more than any exhibition or frenzy. The boy also seemed wholly involved in simply inseminating the young female, and not riding her wild and hot.

Long minutes. Hours in each. The boy loving the girl child steady and deep, making her whimper and moan in ecstasy with each grunting thrust deeply through her tender young cervix and into her virgin womb. He felt massive in her, she was wet, hot and tight on him. It was agony to leave her by an inch, heaven to thrust until his immature growth of male hair crunched hard into the tender skin of his kid sister's lowermost tummy.

"You can look at her, if you want," Len whispered to Cal. The boy responded to the suggestion by raising on his arms, and the young athlete, now perhaps half-recovered, helped hold his wet chest far enough off the girl so he could look first into her eyes, then down at their twined bodies. Bunching his chest muscles, Len boosted Brenda so she could also look down and watch her brother has he pumped his big penis into her, slowly and firmly, again and again.

After some moments, Len and Brenda collapsed back on the log and Cal fell to his sister's breasts, finding her lips with his and kissing her tenderly again and again as he thrust his slow steady fuck to her over and over.

"Tell us when you're going to cum," Len prompted the young teen.

"Do you want me to, Bren?" Cal whispered.

"Yes and no," the girl whispered back, her voice childish with lust and awe at the loving way her brother was teaching her about sex.

"Yes, I want you to spray," she suddenly was inspired to coax him, "because want your baby, and no, I don't want you to sperm, because I don't ever want you to stop."

The b-word from his beloved sprite triggered the young teen. Len felt him tense and Brenda felt him swell impossibly inside her. "Oh, sis," he whispered as a powerful convulsion spasmed though his depths and flooded its way from him and into her.

"Can you feel what he's doing inside you?" Len whispered to the child.

"Just like you did," she affirmed. "He's cumming inside me."

"Do you want to see?" the athletic stranger asked.

"His eyes," Brenda whispered back.

Len boosted Cal by his shoulders and in a second or two could see him staring down at the pretty girl as his body was racked with one rock hard spasm after another. Brenda held her panting brother by his flanks, staring back into his handsome face and beautiful eyes, her long legs still spread wide to receive him.

Len took advantage of Cal being off his sister to run his hands over the child's breasts and belly. She was still wildly slick from him and both her hot sweat and her brother's. Running his right hand below Brenda's tender girlish tummy, he found her brother and inserted his fingers along side the teen's erection so he could feel the hard pulses at the base of his penis as the boy ejaculated inside the eight year old beauty. The boy's spill lasted well over half a minute, then slowly subsided to gentle, tender pulses that the girl arched to and gasped over. Even with Len and his sister supporting him, the boy sagged at what he'd just done. Maybe male black widows didn't get eaten when it was over, maybe they just died and were consumed as fresh carrion. But he wasn't thinking of himself, the time for that was vastly over. He was thinking of the cutie, wet and slippery underneath him.

"Make her cum off," he pleaded with Len as he withdrew from the girl and rolled to her right side, immediately assaulting her long neck with lips and gentle teeth.

As Len mounted, Cal guided him and fisted his huge penis to prevent him from lunging right through the slim girl. The males pheromones hit the little girl a wallop and in instinctive response her long legs flew around Len, her heels his on him as she frantically brought him to her. Cal, observing this and understanding what she wanted, removed his hand from between the lovers and placed it under his sister's bottom, boosting the child to her male.

Len bellowed as he entered fully, and froze to the child as her tiny hands raked his back and her legs drew him tight as a vice.

"Spray it in me!" she gasped, her head wallowing from side to side, her red hair as wet as if she'd been swimming.

"I have to fuck you first," Len responded, his body tense as a steel spring.

Cal was awe-struck that Len could have mounted the girl so soon after sperming all over her and understood how urgent, almost frenetic, his need must be. He used his strong right had to message her bottom, encouraging her as he had with his hand on hers some half an hour before. Brenda caught on instantly and thrust herself to the tall Indian. Len roared with raw lust and began to take the gasping child as if she were a cheatin' whore.

Cal dropped his legs to the ground and stood, shakily bracing the young couple as the powerful male surged hard in and out of his kid sister. Brenda captured his right hand and pinned it between hers and the solid, muscular back of her mount, skipped hard through a series of anticipatory releases and then she yelled Oh, Cal! and began cumming, all of her, to her bones, shaking her big stud so hard it was only that he was buried to his hilt in her Cal suspected that kept him from falling off; that, and that her arms and legs were wrapped, grasping and frantic, around his powerful brown body. The teen could tell by the shudders wracking Len that he was mixing his hot sperm in Bren and he fell on top of the big athlete, jockeying forward so he could lean down over his right shoulder and kiss his sister as she lay panting, lolling and spent while her lover spilled the last of his seed impossibly deep inside her eight-year-old belly.

For a quarter of an hour they lay together, the afterglow as delicious as the behavior which had caused it. Wriggling themselves comfortable, they whispered and the little girl sometimes giggled in happiness and with the total satisfaction of an extremely well-loved female.

Now Cal was taking over both Wayne and Brenda. The story was over, an almost virgin boy and a virgin girl lost forever to a life that for all its dignity and fervor, an odd but accurate combination, was at least amoral and miles and miles out of bounds. Crooked and wide. "Do you want to watch us like Len did?" the boy whispered lasciviously while tonguing Wayne's left ear.

"No time," Wayne whispered back.

"Sis," the boy said.

He didn't have to say more. Brenda wriggled underneath Wayne whispering Oh, daddy, and Cal guided him to her. He found her and began ejaculating as he entered. Brenda lay in her incest position, legs widely spread, arms at her side, taking his seed as an act of love rather than rite of passion. He gave it in like manner, lying fully and flat on her, finally fully rooted, and cumming again and again to her responsive loving whimpers of Yes, daddy. Cal lost control at seeing how his sister was taking her future husband and wriggled forward on the bed so Wayne could watch him cum on his sister's face. The little girl had promised it, and, indeed, her next kiss was salty as it could be.

Like in a bad detective novel, Wayne didn't know how long he'd been out. Consciousness came back in slow waves. A salty wave washing over his lips wasn't part of a dream, well, it was, but it wasn't, however perfectly it fit. It was Cal's tongue, salty with the teen semen he'd licked from his little sister face. If that wasn't a dream, what was? yet it was happening again and again at half-minute intervals. Maybe he was simply dead, where dreams became real. But no. For one thing, heaven couldn't be this...

Hot

Posted by Thomas@btl.net

xxx.