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The Dorić Diaries

By: u06la14b



The Dorić Diaries

Going Home

My name is Andy Dorić and I grew up on a remote farm in Yugoslavia. This was before the ethnic genocides and senseless brutality of 1989 that eventually lead to the break-up of a great and beautiful country. This is my story and that of my family ...

It was my wife, Melinda, a Psychologist, who had suggested my returning to what is now Croatia, to the place where I had spent my childhood. She is my soul-mate or at the least, one of my soul-mates, a fact that was evident to us the very first time we met. It was at an 'Incest Survivors' meeting where she was sitting in for Dr. Nunn, the Psychiatrist who usually ran the program. The moment we saw each other our eyes locked and I knew I had found her, the woman that I would marry.

It's hard to explain the logic of this but I just knew that she was it for me.

Later that evening, over dinner, she began probing for details of my childhood and the rather unusual relationships I had shared with my siblings. After all, she had been privy to my oblique references to some of those experiences. Being the only man at the meeting I wasn't quite as forthright about my innermost secrets as the women were -- they seemed to have no compunctions airing their personal histories. I envied their lack of inhibition as they chronicled the details of their sordid pasts while laughing and/or commiserating with one another.

I had grown up in a loving home that was typical of most families with the possible exception that I had shared a sensual relationship with my sisters, one that bridged the multifaceted spectrum of filial affections. I say 'possible' because I am convinced that incest between siblings is far more prevalent than people let on - a fact that is substantiated by the large turnout at the numerous lectures and meetings I have attended (on the subject; this, in an attempt to come to terms with the experiences of my youth).

I am haunted by those memories, the incredible nights of lust and passion that have so influenced me that irrespective of whom I make love to, my sisters bridge the realm of sensual deception; thrusting, sucking, fucking ... their faces and bodies blending together in a collage of illusionary images buried deep within my psyche. It is the sounds of their moans and the soft, pliable feel of their plump nipples, burgeoning with the advent of womanhood, writhing uncontrollably as I pleasure them that reverberate within the recesses of my mind, my senses overpowered by their musty fragrance, exciting me like no other woman has ever been able to. It leaves me in state of constant sexual arousal, addicted to the memories of what once was.

It was Melinda who felt that going back to where it had begun would help me rationalize the perspective of those incidents and find closure and hopefully, freedom from these stifling bonds.

*******

The trip to Suza

It had been sunny all morning intermingled with a misty drizzle but true to the nature of the Balkans the weather had turned, and without warning, the light, vaporous showers had given way to a heavy, blustery rainfall. The skies were now ominously overcast, blanketed by dense, dark Cumulonimbus clouds that had blocked out the sun casting a long, Cimmerian shadow over the sea, an augur to the impending storm.

I felt Melinda shiver as she nuzzled into the folds of my jacket.

"It's cold," she said snuggling closer, leaning her head into the crook of my neck.

Ten years of marriage and I loved this woman more with each passing year. It still thrills me when I watch her playing with the kids in the garden or when she's cooking and doesn't know that I'm looking at her. The way she pushes her hair back or bites on her bottom lip when she's worried, her unrestrained, throaty laugh; those endearing mannerisms that make her special to me. I am blessed that she chose me to spend the rest of her life with.

She is not classically beautiful but possesses an ethereal quality which transcends mere physicality. Though she insists that she was a clumsy child, she moves with the effortless grace of an athlete and is blessed with a body that is long and limber, with legs that just won't quit and small perfectly shaped breasts. Her face is more 'cute' than beautiful with a shock of sunflower-blonde hair which she keeps cut in layers a little past her neckline; a dense, silky mane that has been the envy of many women who have stopped to compliment her. But for me, it is her pale, translucent skin and eyes that are her best features. Her complexion has a paedomorphic quality that has defied the ravages of time and her eyes are like those of a Hindu Goddess - large and almond-shaped; shimmering pools of aquamarine that holds the promise of mysteries untold. I am still fascinated by them and when she looks at me in a certain way, it melts my very being.

But despite all that I feel for her, strangely it is my sisters who flood my mind when we make love; like Cytherean dryads they guard their possessions with fierce persistence keeping me trapped within the warm embrace of their incestuous thighs. I am haunted by their memories ...

Feeling a pang of guilt, I pulled her closer, "We'll be there shortly. Do you want me to get you some coffee?"

"No, but I'm going to close my eyes ... watch the boys," Mel replied.

We had taken the ferry from the beautiful port of Bari on the eastern coast of Italy, a route that cuts diagonally northeast across the Adriatic to the coastal city of Dubrovnik. The large catamaran was being pelted by the rain and the waves crashing over the aluminum bow as it bobbed over the heavy swells, slicing towards the ferry terminal in Croatia.

For my sons, Michael and Steven, the eight-hour boat ride was the highlight of their trip. Michael was six and Steven was four and like most boys their age, they were irrepressible bundles of energy.

"Mike! Michael, come back here ... now!" I yelled after the boys as they ran up and down the aisles to the windows in the front and back, scrambling over other passengers to look out at the choppy sea.

Michael was the intrepid one but I was worried for Steven, he was still not very coordinated and as the catamaran pitched and rolled over the choppy waters, I could see them stumbling from side to side, laughing at the thrill of falling and grabbing wildly at anything to steady themselves. I looked down at Melinda, reluctant to get up and chase after them, hoping that she could exert some magical control over the rambunctious tykes. But I had no such luck.

She smiled up at me, murmuring, "Boys will be boys. Just keep an eye on them and make sure Steven doesn't get hurt."

Yeah, right ... every mischievous scheme that Michael cooked up ended with Steven getting hurt reminding me of my own childhood and I had to smile to myself.

It seemed like an eternity before we docked at the ferry terminal and as luck would have it, the family who had put up with the rowdy shenanigans of my boys was standing next to us at the taxi stand.

"I'm sorry, they can be a handful. I hope they weren't too much trouble," I said, offering them my best conciliatory smile.

"No, no ..." the stocky man replied, his wife and daughters nodding in agreement.

He then tousled Michael's hair playfully and reverted to the language he was comfortable with prattling on in Italian about what beautiful children they were and how he had enjoyed their curiosity about the sea and the ferry. It seems that Michael and Steven had brought back memories of his own childhood and the fascination he felt for the mystical waters of the Adriatic.

Since Melinda and I were fluent in Italian we made small talk until our taxi arrived. We exchanged addresses, inviting them to come to the US and promised to look them up on our way back home.

*******

After spending a few days in Dubrovnik indulging ourselves and doing all the touristy things we decided that it was time to confront the ghosts of my past. We rented a car and drove north through Bosnia to the northeastern region of Croatia, to Baranja County and past the city of Osijek to the little town of Suza where I had grown up.

It had been a tedious drive where the motorways often turned to single-lane carriageways rife with huge potholes that were camouflaged by the rainwater - a motorist's nightmare of having to maneuver around the dark, gaping maws to the entrance of highway-hell. The last thing we needed was a flat tire or worse, a busted axle. So it was a relief when we finally arrived at the hotel, a little worse for wear, but without suffering any real mishap.

Finding the place was a small miracle in itself. The inn, which was an unpretentious stone house, was nestled on the side of a grassy knoll concealed by the dense leaves of the deciduous Ash and Beech trees that lined the countryside. And it was only the flashing beacons of yellow-golden light flickering through the steady rain and reflecting off of the raindrops, dancing in clusters like rainbow-hued fairies, which helped us navigate the unlit, muddy road. It was a road that wound endlessly through the black countryside and brought us, without egress, into the dimly lit, cobblestoned yard.

The boys were in the backseat, wrapped in woolen blankets sleeping like little angels. Steven, his blond, pixie-mop falling across his forehead and covering one eye, was leaning against Michael with his head resting on his older brother's shoulder. He was more like his mother in personality and looks and it was one of life's peculiar casuistry that Michael, who resembled me, was his mother's favorite and Steven was mine though we both tried hard to conceal our partialities.

I was about to wake them when Melinda stopped me, "Don't! Don't wake them! Let them sleep, darling, check us in and then we'll get them up," she whispered, giving me a tired smile.

I didn't blame her. Every second that they were asleep translated into moments of tranquility for us. They were a handful and she could use a break from the constant fussing.

The architecture of the inn was typical of the region, rectangular with beige and grayish, stone walls capped with a red, tiled roof. The large windows, made of wood and painted a deep green, were shut to barricade against the lashing rain. The dim lights of the outdoor lanterns cast weird, twisting shadows that cavorted eerily like chimeral apparitions leaping from the bushes in exuviating, mottled patterns stretching across the yard only to disappear again into the blackness of the night.

There was a more recent addition to the left of the cottage that was lit by brighter wall lanterns trussed to the side of the building, their brilliance illuminating the small, box-like annex made of brickface and stucco and painted white. It was connected to the main structure by a covered walkway and shaded by a large oak tree overhanging the roof. There were several smaller trees and saplings lining the yard towards the rear of the compound that bordered a vegetable garden that melted into the darkness.

I could hear the soft, uneasy bleating of sheep accompanied by the muted snorts of pigs as I dashed across the front yard and up the short flight of Bluestone steps to the main entrance, my nostrils tickled by the organic smell of dust and manure reminiscent of my childhood.

I stood under the green canvas awning on the front façade thankful for the respite from the pummeling rain and noticed that the door that was made of glass and etched with an emblem of a wolf's head was being held open by a man standing silently in the shadows.

It was late, well past 11:00 PM, so he must have heard the engine of the old Skoda as we drove in. He was smoking a cigarette that he flicked away into the yard as I walked by him scattering the wispy trails of curling smoke that hung precipitously in the air.

"Hello, we thought you were lost," he said, his deep, gravelly voice carrying over the heavy drumming of the rainfall. His accent was laced with the Eastern-European intonation intrinsic to the Balkans.

I stopped short when I got a look at him. Stoja Bakić was in his late sixties and bore an uncanny resemblance to my father. He was tall and lean with a shock of spiky, gray hair that was cropped short and I could feel the strength in his grip and the roughness of his palm when we shook hands. It was the hands of a workingman.

"I'm Andy Dorić. We weren't lost but the rain ... it slowed us down," I replied studying him carefully.

"Ah yes, the rain, always the rain," he paused shaking his head, "it has been pouring, unh?" he asked rhetorically paused again and then continued, "Dorić? You know Stefan Dorić?" he asked looking straight into my eyes.

We were about the same height but I had him by about twenty pounds some of which, despite my best efforts, was beginning to migrate to my midsection.

"He was my grandfather," I confirmed then my curiosity piqued and I asked, "Did you know my father, Mislav Doric?"

He didn't reply but instead continued looking at me, the silence building awkwardly, and I could see him contemplating the situation but then after a moment's hesitation, he turned and walked back behind the counter leaving a trail of that sweetly peculiar combination of Old Spice cologne mixed with cigarettes and sweat ... just like Papa. 'He looks more like Papa than my Uncle Roko, my father's younger brother!' I thought as I watched him.

He poured over a thick ledger, painstakingly writing our names and address, scratching and rewriting 'Algonquin Street' several times before he finally spelled it correctly. It came as no surprise that he would eschew the convenience of a computer.

"I will give you the new, luxury suite; no extra charge. It is for your grandfather ... my respects," he said looking up from the counter and handing over a set of old fashioned, bronze keys. On the split key-ring was a heavy, metal tag with the room number, 1A, stamped on it.

"Thanks, much obliged," I replied suddenly feeling tired and craving a hot shower and the comfort of a warm bed.

"The rooms are on the right when you go out. You need help? With bags ... I can help," he offered.

"No, it's okay ... we can manage. Thanks again," I replied.

I saw him leaning down to retrieve what looked like a policeman's baton. It was a black umbrella.

"Here, take this," he muttered, holding the parasol out towards me.

"Thanks that will help." I said and paused, wanting to ask him about Papa but thought better of it and nodded, "Good night."

"Good night."

When I got to the glass door I turned and snuck a quick peek back and saw him hunched over the counter, resting on his elbows, staring at me, his eyes glinting strangely through the feathery spirals of smoke from the cigarette that he had just lit up.

"There is hot water in the shower, right?" I asked, stopping by the door. Not all places in Croatia had hot water.

"Yes. There is a hot water tank ... if it finish, you wait fifteen-twenty minutes and get hot water again," he replied and took a long drag on his cigarette, the reddish glow lighting up his face.

"Okay, that's good ... thanks," I said and risking superstition I unfurled the umbrella indoors before walking out into the rain.

How much did he know? Was he related to me? What made this oddly disturbing was his uncanny resemblance to my father, especially his eyes. He had the same obsidian eyes that were set deep under thick eyebrows with a long, narrow nose that flared at the tip. His mouth was wide and thin forming an unsmiling hard line above a strong, square chin that gave him the fierce appearance of an Illyrian warrior. I was sure that if we were to trace our family trees, our ancestry would lead to a common forefather.

(Note: The Illyrians were the first Europeans to inhabit that region)

That night I slept restlessly, dreaming not of my sisters but of Papa, Petar and Lucian Dragovic ... Lucian Dragovic and the events of 1986.

*******

The Scavenger, 1986

Lucian Dragovic gazed down from his balcony at the crushing throng mulling through the market square and smiled. 'Insects', he thought to himself, his lipless mouth curling derogatively over coffee-stained, crooked teeth, as his mind filled with disgust. He hawked up a clotted, glob of greenish-yellow sputum and spat it over the brass railing hurling the stringy wad towards the swarming crowd below. He did this without concern and with total disregard as though it was a right that he had earned and then smirking stared down at the unfortunate stranger he had splattered.

Lucian was tall, about six feet six or seven, but stood with a pronounced stoop that he had developed as a boy when he was teased mercilessly by his classmates. Beanpole, Scarecrow, Bones, Vulture and the one he hated the most, Insect, were all nicknames they had used for him. He was essentially a coward and though he had been put through some self-defense classes in the army, he had an inherent fear of physical confrontation. His mind and body would freeze rendering him useless. But the survival instinct, which ran deeply through his core, had honed in him a Machiavellian mind, sharp and quick, and able to defuse most situations and use them to his advantage.

A few years back, with a stroke of cunning genius, he had put his meticulous plan into motion. He had wormed his way into good graces of the local party leaders and ingratiated himself to the head of the provincial government, Pavo Marković. He had sworn his allegiance to this insecure, rather dull man and in return for his obsequious loyalty he was made the Regional Director for Farmland Affairs.

'Regional Director'! The words reverberated warmly in his mind reassuring him that he was indeed who he thought he was -- a VIP; a very important person. It was a position that wielded unrestricted and extreme authority and allowed him to exploit the naiveté of the simple peasants and exert what he believed to be his God-given right to prey on them. This, more than anything else, allowed him luxuries that were rare at that time and provided him with a very comfortable lifestyle far exceeding his meager salary. He was, after all, the Director, and without him the stupid bastards couldn't even wipe their sorry asses!

The office of the Regional Director for Farmland Affairs was responsible for the distribution of feed, seed, grain, livestock etc. to the local farms and in return, apportioned how much milk, cheese, yogurt, eggs, meat and other products were expected back from each of them. These items were then packaged and subsidized by the government and sold in the market squares to the people through Government outlets and pre-approved farmers. It was a good concept but one that was rife with corruption and exploited by the politicians to further their own wellbeing.

Not only had Lucian mastered the nuances of the political game but he had cleverly implicated most of his superiors in his illicit machinations by providing their families with the best cuts of meat, cheese, fresh cream, milk etc. while keeping punctilious records of every item that was delivered where, when and to whom. He didn't think he would need this but you could never tell. He was fully aware that at a table full of card-sharks, it was a good idea to have an ace up your sleeve. If nothing else, Lucian Dragovic was a cautious man who was given to mulling over every detail.

Things had worked out better than even he had expected, especially when he realized how easily he could manipulate the system to barter for things he fancied, including the beautiful women who had for years been beyond his reach. And, in particular, those who had at one time or the other spurned him; their perfunctory rejections cutting him deeper than they could have ever known. Rejection was something the Director didn't take too well. His deep-rooted insecurity had engendered in him a long and unforgiving memory.


The Dorić Diaries Ch. 02



"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I, I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference."

Robert Frost

Though I had wanted my relationship with my older sister, Sasha, to blossom into something more (sexual), it didn't. Once we were back from the market she seemed preoccupied with Petar, my older brother, and apart from some harmless flirting, she didn't seem to have time for me. However, my relationship with Krissy continued uninterrupted with both of us unable to keep our hands off each other. Krissy was the youngest and was very much like Sasha -- a juicy, obstreperous lass filled with a passion for life.

At no point did I think that what we were doing was wrong. Both Krissy and I accepted the change in our relationship as something normal and healthy and in fact, it had brought us even closer together. We snuck away every chance we got and fucked each other silly.

Then one night, a few weeks later, while I was checking on the goats, Laura, my other sister, came up to me.

"Andy, can you come with me to the bathroom, I heard howling again and it makes me nervous," she said.

"Sure, give me a minute ... I just need to make sure that all the gates are locked."

In the last few days, we had seen signs of wolves in the yard. This meant that they were desperate and a pack of hungry wolves on the prowl is dangerous. We had two Anatolian Shepherd dogs which were capable of fighting off predators but we kept them in the pen with the sheep. We did not want them chasing after the wolves into the hills where they would be at a disadvantage.

Anatolians are large dogs that were bred in Turkey specifically to ward off wolves and mountain lions. These fierce watch dogs weigh over 170 pounds and are excellent herding dogs with a deep protective instinct towards the flocks that they guard. However, in the hills the wolves would gain the advantage and it was not uncommon to find the half-eaten carcasses of dogs that had foolishly chased after them.

After making sure that the pens were all secure and that the dogs were fed I turned to Laura and said, "Okay, let's go ... where's Krissy?"

"In the kitchen helping mother," she replied.

That was unusual -- Laura was always the one helping clean-up after dinner but I didn't give it any further thought.

Once we crossed the yard into the trees that fringed the outhouse, we were hidden from the kitchen and the porch. And just as we neared the bathroom, Laura took hold of my arm and pulled closer to me.

"I saw you and Krissy," she said, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.

"What?" I was really surprised and didn't quite know what she meant. I stopped walking and took a step back so I could get a better look at her.

"What did you say?" I asked again.

"Last night. I saw you both doing it ... like animals!" She asserted, "You were fucking her."

I was stunned and didn't say anything. I wasn't sure if there was anything I could have said. Laura and I had very little in common and were not too close and this was a conversation that was bizarre at best. She was Mother's favorite and spent all her time in the kitchen and at that moment my heart was stuck in my throat as the consequence of her discovery buzzed in my mind.

"Are you angry?" she asked.

I thought about it, trying to come to terms with the revelation -- it wasn't a secret anymore.

"No, not really. I was pretty sure we were going to get caught sooner or later," I replied nonchalantly and then added, "Krissy is just too reckless but I shouldn't blame her ..." my voice trailed off.

"In any case, we are not doing anything wrong," I added as an afterthought hoping my apparent air of indifference would get her off my back.

"You are fucking your younger sister!" she sounded incredulous.

"So?"

We were quiet for a while listening to the leaves rustling in the breeze over the hissing of the ubiquitous Cicada, a sibilant chirrrr, chirrrr, chirrrr. I could tell that she was struggling with her thoughts.

"She makes a lot of noise," Laura said looking away.

"What do you mean?"

"When you were fucking her, she was moaning so loudly I'm surprised Papa didn't come into the bedroom."

"You are kidding ... was it that loud?" it was my turn to be surprised.

"Yes. And, you were both oblivious of everything. At one point, I sat up and watched but neither one of you noticed."

"Are you going to tell?" I asked deciding that it was better to get it over with.

"I don't know. Tell me how it started?" Laura replied.

I shrugged, what the heck, she might as well know.

"Remember that day when I told you we were going to see something special and you went back home? Krissy came with me and that's when it started."

"You mean when you were following Sasha?"

"Sasha and Petar," I corrected.

"Why? What did you see?" she asked with a quizzical expression.

"Hmm ... I'm not sure I should tell you," I answered halfheartedly teasing her but also unsure of what she would do if I told her about Sasha and Petar.

"Okay, then I will have to tell Mama!"

I stared at her and she stared right back. Her cheeks were slightly flushed and I recognized the look; it was that stubborn look of hers. She could be such a fucking bitch!

After a while I looked away thinking how pretty she was getting to be. Physically, she was very different from Krissy and Sasha. Laura had inherited Mom's Nordic genes. She was lean and tall with a body like a model. She had small, perky breasts and long limbs and was on the slimmer side while Sasha and Krissy were more fleshy and curvaceous. I had always thought of Laura as being the cold one.

"Okay, here goes; we saw Petar and Sasha doing it behind the river ..." there I said it. The proverbial cat was now out of the bag.

It was Laura's turn to look surprised. Her blue eyes widened with disbelief while she just gaped at me.

"You are lying! I know you are, Andy ... you are always making things up!"

"I'm not lying, Laura. I swear on Grandpa's grave ... that is what we saw! Go ask Krissy." I rebutted angrily, a bit miffed that she would assume that I would lie about this.

We stood quietly not saying anything. Laura knew that I would never swear on Grandfather's grave -- ever -- unless I was telling the truth. She leaned back against an old Sycamore Maple with low hanging branches and plucked one of the wide-horned leaves. She kept twirling the leaf in her fingers staring at like it held the answers to the questions that were muddled in her head.

"So, I'm the only one who was left out," she whispered softly and when I didn't reply, she continued, "Why didn't you come to me, Andy? Do you find Krissy more beautiful?"

"No, it's nothing like that! It just happened, Laura, I swear. We got really excited watching them and then ..." I stopped. I wasn't sure how to explain it to her.

"I know exactly what you mean. Watching you both doing it was so, umm ... so sexy!"

"Really?" I was taken aback by her candor.

She nodded and was staring at me again, her blue eyes wide and sparkling with excitement. My instinct kicked in and I decided to strike while the iron was hot.

"Do you think ..." I paused not feeling quite as confident as a moment ago, "... do you want to try it?" I asked her, lifting her chin up so I was looking into her eyes.

"I ..." she started and then stopped.

"You don't have to if you don't feel like it ... I'll just go back to Krissy," I interjected.

She hesitated and then nodded, "Okay ... yes, I want to do it!"

It was barely a whisper and she looked away.

I didn't know if she was acquiescing because she didn't want to be left out or whether she was really excited at the prospect of making love but I wasn't about to give her a chance to reconsider.

I led her behind the outhouse and leaned her against the back wall and kissed her lips as gently as I could. Her mouth opened up and I felt her tongue snake into mine, swirling and twisting while we took turns exploring the newness of one another. Her lips felt soft and warm and cold and wonderful and I heard her moaning into my mouth while we sucked on each other.

My heart was racing; beating so hard that I was sure she could feel it against her chest. I reached down and pulled her against me by her ass, my hands cupping her cheeks, squeezing gently while grinding my cock into her crotch. I continued kissing her, my tongue probing between her lips, gliding along the roof of her mouth and the soft pink sides of her cheeks. It felt so smooth and moist reminding me of the treasures that were buried between her legs. I nibbled gently on her lower lip and felt her humping back, sucking fiercely on my tongue.

The first time with Krissy was pure instinct. I had no idea what I was doing but now, after we had been having sex for a while, I knew just how to please her and had learned that what she loved most was oral sex -- she couldn't resist the feel of a warm, wet tongue lapping at her slit and it turned her on more than anything else. In my naiveté I deduced that what had worked for Krissy should work for Laura and though I would learn a lot more in the years to come, in this case, I happened to be right.

I kissed Laura's ears gently licking behind the earlobes and felt her shiver and then traced a path slowly down her neck, leaving a trail of soft, wet kisses until I had made it to her breasts. I sucked on them gently biting down on the nipples, trapping them between my teeth and lashing the tip with my tongue. Her dress was made of thin, cheese-cotton and even though she had her bra on, I could feel the plumpness of her nipples through them. They were hard, pointed little nubs that I suckled for a while, squeezing and toying with them until she couldn't take it anymore.

Then dropping to my knees, I pushed her dress up and was surprised to find that she wasn't wearing any panties. God! She's so fucking sexy!

"Hold this," I whispered pushing the bunched up, front hem of her skirt into her hands.

Even in the dim, blurry light of the wall lamp I could see her vaginal lips swollen with desire and her pink slit glistening like a slash of molten silver.

And like Krissy she had almost no hair down there but the little she had was soft like golden down. Her outer lips were much larger and plumper than Krissy's and I wondered if this had some significance; whether it meant that she was really more sexual? I was taken by the inherent differences between my sisters my mind making the comparisons even while I was overcome by her sensuality and the subtle nuances within the anatomy of her venal flower.

"What are you going to do?" her voice was strained and distant.

I didn't reply but instead licked her slowly starting from the bottom and flattening my tongue as I reached the top of her cunt. The first taste of her was salty and piquant but it was quickly washed over by the sweetness of the nectar streaming from her as I sucked her little pleasure pea into my mouth and tickled it with the tip of my tongue.

Her legs jerked and then gave as she slid down the wall onto the blanket of grass.

"Oh God ..." she groaned, "What are you doing to me?"

Now that we were on the ground, I had better access to her and began lapping at her in earnest. I first licked around the outer lips letting my tongue roam the sensitive region between her inner thighs and the nerves that ran along the underside of her cunt then moved slowly towards the layered petals of her vagina, skirting her clit and making sure to avoid any direct contact. I worked the perineum licking the delicate tissue that bridged her slit to her anus, rimming her slowly, savoring the clean, arid taste of her and then worked back up to her cunt. I couldn't help but notice that her labial region was swollen and engorged with blood.

I could feel her fingers weaving through the layers of my hair, tugging gently while I continued to pleasure her. Her breathing was labored and harsh broken by the synthesis of soft moans and whimpers of pleasure. She was now dripping wet.

I inserted one finger into her and then added a second and felt her shudder as her cunt stretched wetly around the invading digits.

"Ohhh ... Andy ..." she gasped and spread her thighs even wider.

She felt incredibly tight as I worked my fingers gently in and out of her continuing to lick her inner thighs and around the lips of her pussy. I knew from the way her hips were thrusting up and twisting that she wanted me to pay attention to her clit and though it was engorged with blood and stood sticking out from under its hood, I made a point of avoiding any direct contact. I wanted to push her to the brink, to the point of no return, without actually stimulating the little bud that crowned her core.

"Please, Andy ... please ... oh, oh, oh God ... baby, I need to cum ..." she murmured.

And when I knew that she couldn't stand any more of the teasing, I covered her gash with my mouth and sucked on her pleasure pod drawing it in between my teeth. No sooner had I done this then her back arched and her body went stiff. I could feel her trembling as her orgasm spread from the epicenter between her thighs, racing along her body, the synapses triggering in rapid succession, each pulse building until finally they exploded in a million, bright lights in her brain.

She let out a strangled gasp and grabbed my head pulling me into the tepid dampness of her crotch while she thrashed and bucked smearing my mouth and chin with her vestiges of her juice. It was intense and short and as exciting as anything I had experienced with Krissy.

I continued to lick her savoring the taste of her and then spreading her lips with my fingers, thrust my tongue deep into her fucking her silky cunt with my tongue. And while I did this, I pushed my thumb into her anus, trying to get it into her and just then I felt her climax peak again, her body twitching uncontrollably.

"Don't stop ... no, please ...ohhhh ..." she protested as I moved away.

But I knew that the time had come to consummate the act and I crawled on top of her. I could feel the heat from her crotch searing the underside of my cock like a wet, licking flame guiding me to the pit of her smoldering furnace.

"Put me in," I whispered into her ear and eased her fingers down towards my shaft.

The feeling of entering her for the first time is something I'll never forget for as long as I live. Her fingers were still wrapped around me as I pressed into her and felt her cuntal lips parting as the head of my cock slipped in enveloped by the hot, velvet glove of her canal. I could feel the subtle tugging of her cunt, sucking wetly at the domed tip of my cock drawing me farther and deeper into her. I kept inching in expecting to run up against the rubbery barrier of her cherry and was surprised when there was no resistance.

Her hymen was broken -- could it be that she wasn't a virgin? Did Petar beat me to it? Or was it Papa? No, it couldn't be ... must be Petar, I thought to myself.

I pushed in further and she cried out like she was in pain.

"Is it okay, Laura?" I whispered into her ear.

"Mmmm ... don't stop, please don't stop, Andy ... deeper, go deeper ..."

"I don't want to hurt you, baby ... this your first time, isn't it?" I couldn't help myself, she felt so tight that I thought I would rip her open.

"Yes, yes but you won't hurt me. Please, Andy, do it ... fuck me ... fuck me hard ... harder ..." she whimpered.

And I did. I fucked her for a long time thrusting as fast and as hard as I could. With each stroke into her I would mash my pubic bone against her vaginal apex before pulling back, almost all the way out, feeling the cool air of the night chilling my cock before plunging back in again, driving the surging length of my dick into the moist, silky heat of her cunt. Unlike Krissy, Laura wanted me to ravage her. The harder I fucked her the more she liked it.

At some point, her hand snaked between us, her fingers manipulating her clit while I stroked back and forth and in and out of her. The only thought I was focused on was to pump my seed into my sister's deliciously tight cunt. I could feel her twisting her hips forcing my cockhead to probe that special sensitive region of her passion, reveling in several tiny climaxes that wracked her body before I finally shot my load. I could feel the semen spewing up the length of my shaft until it splashed, thick and hot, deep inside her belly. I lay on top of her trembling with pleasure, my body jerking spasmodically, as my cock swelled and pumped repeatedly filling her full of my sticky seed.

It was only after I had squeezed the last glob of ropey ejaculate into her that I realized that she too was climaxing, this time more intensely, the powerful muscles of her cunt convulsing gently around my cockhead, milking me into her as our juices mingled together in an incestuous cocktail of liquid lust and love.

I felt her thrusting up at me, her body bucking disjointedly, until finally she went limp and we were still, our extremities tingling from the spastic release of orgasm. Our breathing was heavy and ragged; our bodies, covered in a sheen of sweat as we lay fused together descending gradually from the euphoric zenith of a mutual creaming.

"Oh God, Andy ... that was so beautiful!" she whispered kissing my neck and lips.

I felt her cuntal muscles squeezing my softening cock trying to keep me in her for as long as she could.

"Mmmmm ... that feels good!" I whispered back, "You're so fucking hot, Laura!"

"Better than Krissy?" she asked, squeezing again, and gently pushed my hair back off my face.

"Different ... you're different. But, I loved it," I said honestly then added, "Krissy likes to suck me ... she loves doing oral!"

That's all she had to hear. She rolled me over and wiggled down the length of my body. I felt her lips closing around the tip of my cock while her fingers wrapped around the base as she began to suck me in and out of her mouth. I wasn't fully soft and my cock was still coated with the coagulated remnants of our juices but the feel of her lips caressing the ridge of my glans sent electric jolts of pleasure along my shaft that was almost too much for me to bear. I felt myself begin to harden and lay back twitching with pleasure, my body lost in the novel morass of her oral resuscitation, waiting for that moment of tortured nothingness so that I could baptize her mouth with my incestuous cum.

I later found out from her that she had broken her maidenhead when she masturbated with a small cucumber fantasizing about fucking Papa, Petar and me! Amazing! And here I was thinking that Laura was the cold one.

*******

The Meeting

The next day when Papa returned from the Director's office we knew that the news wasn't good. His expression was frozen in a mask of anger and frustration. The back taxes and fines being levied were way beyond our capacity to pay and though he filed a complaint protesting the extent of the fine, Papa was convinced that it was futile and that there was nothing we could do.

That evening the normal banter around the dining table was subdued; suppressed by Papa's sullen mood and the uncertainty of these new developments.

"Well, maybe they will reconsider after the complaint has been registered," Mama said. She was the eternal optimist.

"No chance of that. The complaints are handled by the same office so I don't see them changing anything. However, there is a way out of this. Director Dragovic did make an offer to help us settle ..." Papa said softly.

"How, Papa? What did he say?" Sasha asked as she went around the table serving the meat and dumplings to the rest of us.

Petar was silent but had stopped eating and sat staring across at my father.




The Dorić Diaries Ch. 02



"The Director will waive the fine if you are willing to work for him in his office for six months," Papa said looking at Sasha.

"Work for him? What does he want me to do?" Sasha asked, genuinely surprised.

She had never been inside an office let alone having any experience working in one.

"Enough! This is going too far, Papa! Tell me you are not considering this madness," Petar hissed, "Don't you see where this is leading?"

"What do you suggest, Petar? Sell the farm and move? To whom do we sell and where do we move to? Did you ever stop to think that if you hadn't lost your head that this may never have happened?" Papa spat out, "What do you want to do now? What? Beat this man to death also? And what would that get us? You in jail and we lose the farm anyway -- how does that help?"

They glared at each other and then Papa was silent staring down at his plate of half-eaten dumplings. He pushed the food around, uninterested in his dinner, and then placing the fork down, he spoke again.

"I wish there was some other way but there isn't. She is not staying with him ... she works for him in the office -- nothing else! Andelko can take her there and bring her back."

I looked at Sasha and then at Petar. He was fuming.

"I can do that, Petar. If it will help us, I can work for that man. And it is only for six months!" Sasha interjected hoping to ease the tension which was escalating.

"This land and the farm have been in our family for as long as I can remember. It belonged to my father and his father before him and his father before him and his before that! We are not going to lose it ... not now, not ever!" Papa said softly.

"You don't really think it's going to end with her working for him, do you?" Petar responded.

"I don't know. I have no idea how that will end. However, what I do know is that certain things here have to end and it is time for Sasha to meet other men!" Papa's eyes bore into his eldest son.

Petar didn't say anything but got up pushing his chair back abruptly so that it fell over and rattled against the stone floor. He looked over at my mother before leaving the table.

"Petar! Petar, don't go ... please come back!" Mama called out to him but he disappeared into the darkness. Then she turned to Papa and said, "Why are you always so hard on him? What has he done that we all haven't?"

The ensuing silence was deafening. Mama stood behind me with her hands on my shoulders while Krissy and Laura sat still, staring at their plates. The ticking of the old Grandfather's clock in the living room, tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock, was like the incessant dripping of a leaky faucet until Sasha took off her apron and without a word, ran after him.

"It is time for her to find a man before things get out of hand. Sisters and brothers have to put an end to their childish games. You, more than anyone else should know that," Papa said to us but he was looking at Mother.

There must have been some history that we weren't privy to which made sense to my parents but was irrelevant to us. We hated seeing Sasha upset but it dawned on all of us that our parents were aware of our incestuous indiscretions all along. I wondered how Laura and Krissy would react to this latest development and whether this would put an end to our sexual explorations. I hoped it wouldn't but I wasn't sure anymore.

I waited until Papa had left the table before looking up at my mother. She tousled my hair and smiled.

"Go help your sisters," she said and kissed my cheek.

My sisters and I cleared the table in silence and we avoided looking at one another. There was nothing more to be said and once they began washing the dishes I ventured out into the dark towards the woods. The thought of Sasha working for that freak was unsettling. What would Grandpa Stefan have done? Surely there was something I could do?

"Are you okay, Andy?"

It was Krissy. She took my hand in hers and we walked towards the barn in silence. I suddenly felt all this love for her.

*******

"I have met the warriors from the North and have done battle with them. In the shedding of their blood I have gained their respect. They fear me and have let me be. I am as elusive as the Eastern Wind and as fierce as the Wolf and in my lair, I am Master. And my enemies know it." An excerpt from a Norse Poem

The Rendezvous

Petar Dorić wasn't a superstitious man. He stood alone in the darkness in front of his grandfather's grave. The light from the kerosene lantern cast strange, formless shadows that twirled and cavorted like demons dancing in the night but it had no effect on him. He could hear the howling of the wolves in the distance, their plaintive cries carrying over the soft rustling of the leaves, calling out to him. He knew that the time had come for him to settle this once and for all.

He crouched and sat back on his haunches and looked around at the building which was once his grandfather's house. It was gone and now all that was left were the dilapidated ruins lying disjointed and broken amongst the creepers and overgrown grass - a skeletal reminder of a thriving life that once was.

"I wish you were here, Grandpa, I could have used some help about now!" Petar said out loud.

He sat still for about twenty minutes before picking up a small pebble and placing it on the headstone.

"I'll be seeing you soon, old man, keep the fires burning!"

And picking up the lantern, he was gone.

*******

Atonement

Lucian Dragovic was nervous. The day before, he had spoken to Mislav Dorić about the fines and taxes owed to the State and the offer for his daughter, Sasha, to pay down the debt by working in his office. Lucian thought that he was being reasonable and generous and it seemed like a fair exchange, but the man had been non-committal. He had sat in the chair in front of his desk, answering in monosyllables until finally he got up and left with the grudging assurance that he would consider the offer; nothing more.

"I'll need an answer by tomorrow, Mr. Dorić, one way or the other." Lucian had said to the farmer as he was leaving, "This office ..."

"You'll get my answer when I have considered all my options. No sooner than that!" was the terse reply cutting the Director off.

Lucian didn't respond. He watched the big man leave. He hated these filthy peasants. Who did they think they were? Damn, ignorant bastards. I have half a mind to send the Serb to pay them a visit. Yes, El Tigre would teach them a thing or two about respect.

Now as he sat gazing out the window, he constructed the next step to his plan. He would have Sasha Dorić no matter what and he would fuck her but good. The thought of impaling that beauty excited him and he felt his cock stirring in anticipation. He picked up the phone and called in Andro Bogdanic.

Before the phone was back in the cradle, his assistant was in his office.

"Good morning, Director!" the fat man said beaming obsequiously.

"Close the door and sit. Sit down, Andro ... we need to talk," Lucian waved his assistant in.

He studied the rotund figure seated in front of him, amused by his comical demeanor, before continuing, "We need to convince Dorić. Send a message so he understands. I am getting tired of this game and maybe it's time to call the Serb and have him ..."

Just then the door to the office flew open and in stepped Petar Dorić. The very sight of him sent jolts of panic through the hearts of both men. When confronted by danger, fear of any kind, especially irrational fear, drives reason and rationale from the brain and reduces it to an instinctive state. Fight or flight!

Now as an extreme fear gripped them both they jumped out of their seats and moved back, cringing against the wall. Flight! But they were trapped within the confines of the office. The last person they had expected to see was Petar Dorić and they watched dumbstruck as the blond Hercules shut the door behind him and snapped the lock in place.

"I warned you to leave my family alone," Petar said softly, "but you wouldn't listen. Now, I'm here to impose the consequences of your indiscretion!"

"Listen, Dorić ... you-you have no right to be here! You have n-n-no right ... y-you had b-b-better leave!" Lucian managed to stutter.

"Shut up and sit down!" Petar snarled and pushed the Director back into his chair, "My sister is not a commodity to be bartered for, you sniveling bastard! I know all about Lidija Jurić and what you did to her!"

Then turning to the assistant he hissed, "You can leave, fat man ... now! Get the fuck out of here!"

Lucian felt his throat constricting and the tightness in his chest choking the very breath out from him. He couldn't speak and was having difficulty breathing. Lidija Jurić! That fucking whore! His mind raced back with alacrity.

She had been with him for two weeks and on the last day he had a few of his friends come over and they had pulled a train on her. They had tied her to the bedposts, spread-eagled and had taken turns while they others drank and played cards in the living room. Then later, their inhibitions mitigated by alcohol, they had gangbanged her. The bitch loved it! She was begging for more! There was some rough stuff but no one really got hurt ... it was all part of the fucking game. She knew it. His mind was racing trying to connect the dots -- how did Petar Dorić know the girl? How much did he really know?

He watched as his assistant moved gingerly towards the door. He wanted to scream: don't leave, please don't go but he couldn't speak. The muscles of his vocal chords were frozen. His voice had betrayed him. He felt his panic mounting, his heart thudding in his brain. Calm down, calm down, this man is only trying to scare you. You are the Director of Regional Affairs. The Director ... the Director ... reason with him. You can bribe him ... they can be bought ... you are the Director ... control ... you have control ...

Then as Bogdanic neared the edge of the large desk, Petar reached over and grabbed his shirt:

"Leave and never come back. There is nothing here for you anymore. If I see you again I will kill you! Do you understand?" he hissed at the assistant and shook him like a hound shakes a rabbit then repeated, "Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, yes sir ... I swear on my mother, you will never see me again! Never! Please don't hurt me! Just let me go ..."

Petar released him and closed the door behind the assistant then dropped the dead bolt home and turned to face the Director. There as a moment when the streaks of light lit up the back of the blond man's head creating an apparition, a visual blending of fantasy and madness - the brilliant Archangel of Retribution here to collect on the many karmic debts.

Lucian Dragovic began shivering uncontrollably. The reality of his situation tore through the fog that had enveloped his brain: he was now alone with this maniac. And then it happened, he felt the warm wetness spreading down his thigh -- he had lost control of his bladder.

*******

Adios, Motherfucker!

Later that day they found the Director in his office with his neck broken. He was leaning back in his chair his eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. His mouth was partially open and stuffed full with balled up paper and there was an expression of sheer terror on his bloodless face. On his forehead was scribbled in the faded ink of a blue ballpoint pen: "For Lidija Jurić".

Closer examination at the coroner's revealed that three of his fingers on his right hand had been bent backwards and snapped from their knuckle joints.

Not many in the regional offices mourned his passing nor did anyone recall seeing a blond stranger who may have paid the Director a visit. His superiors were relieved that their conniving subordinate was a thing of the past. There would be no investigation. That would be too risky, after all, who knows what they would dig up? No, the best and most convenient course of action was to forget the whole incident and find a replacement soon; someone who was more suitable for public service and who could cover up this mess. And despite the rumors, accusing a Dorić would be counterproductive to the efforts of the party.

*******

One more to go, old man, and we will wipe the slate clean. Once I'm done with Dragoslav Blažanović your death will have been avenged. I swore to you that I would take care of El Tigre and I will.

Petar Dorić made his way back to the farm. He avoided the main roads and highways using instead the back pathways that cut through the forests. It was where he was most at home. He knew that the Serb would be coming to settle the score for Andrej and he wanted to be there to greet the man.

The big dog that ran alongside his master looked up at him and growled with anticipation.

******

El Tigre

Earlier that day in one of the offices of the Paramilitary, Dragoslav Blažanović had received a call.

"Leave it to me ... I have been waiting for this. You don't have to worry, that fucker Dorić will be history. I'll take care of him like I did his grandfather!" Blažanović said then paused before adding, "I will bring the girl to you; she is of no interest to me."

There was a short silence before the Serb spoke in a softer tone, "You sound ill ... are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just do what I have asked," the voice over the phone replied.

"Okay. Consider this done! When ..."

He heard the click on the other end and the line went dead. He waited for a moment before hanging up the phone then looking up at the two men who were with him, he smiled, "Let's do it."

*******

Confrontation

I was cleaning out the stalls in the barn when I heard the crunch of tires in the yard and saw a Jeep pulling in. I dropped the broom and eased towards the window; we normally didn't have visitors this late in the day and just as Petar had predicted, they were here.

The vehicle was painted army olive and brown with the insignia of the militia on the hood and before it had come to a stop, two large men who had been riding on either side on the foot rails, stepped off. They were dressed in the black fatigues of the Special Forces with semi-automatics slung loosely around their bodies and were engulfed by the clouds of dust that had kicked up in the trail of the jeep. They split to either side scanning the buildings in front of them. You could tell that these were professional killers!

When the vehicle came to a stop, I saw the passenger in the front ease out and stretch. I knew at once that this was the Serb, the notorious 'El Tigre', Dragoslav Blažanović, even though I had never seen him before. Then another soldier, also from the paramilitary and dressed in their traditional black fatigues, got out from the rear of the jeep. He wasn't quite as big as the other two but was tall and lean. The driver, as far as I could tell, was not from the Special Forces -- he was wearing the traditional olive outfit of the army.

I turned my attention back to the Serb. I had heard stories about this him since I was a boy; rumors of his cruelty and toughness. I could see why people feared him. Though he was in his late fifties, he was in excellent shape and stood well over six feet in height. He was broad and thick and walked with the rolling gait of a much younger man. He had an innate air of authority which commanded attention.

He motioned with his fingers towards the barn and one of the three commandos broke away coming towards me, his semi-automatic pointing in the general direction of the large sliding door of the barn. The second commando crossed the yard and went to the far side of the house to block off any escape from the rear.

I saw the driver step behind the jeep with a rifle and leaning against the hood, he faced the back entrance. I could tell from the manner in which he handled his weapon that this man was an expert, possibly a sharp shooter. I noticed the first man was getting pretty close so I grabbed the hunting rifle and scooted up the ladder to Petar's room and waited.

"If you see him, put a bullet through his fucking head!" I heard Blažanović's command.

I inched up to the window and saw the Serb with the third commando by his side, head for the house. Blažanović released the snap on his holster and had drawn his pistol, a rare Korth Combat 357 Magnum. He knocked heavily on the thick, wooden door and as soon as my father answered he was unceremoniously shoved back and then I lost sight of them.

I waited until the first soldier had climbed up the ladder to Petar's room before jumping down onto the bundles of hay. Petar had put the hatch in the floor to make it easy to stack the hay in winter. It made for a perfect escape route. I could hear the floorboards creaking with the weight of the soldier as he searched the room above me and carefully slipped out of the barn to the right where there were no windows on the upper level. It was almost impossible for them to see me from the house and the only one with any chance was the driver and he was facing away from me.

I lay down, aimed the rifle at the window of the dining room and waited. So far, it was playing out pretty much as Petar had said it would.

Where the heck was Petar anyway?

My heart was pounding like a jackhammer on steroids.

*******

"I go ahead to prepare a place at the table of our ancestors. I will wait in the halls of Courage and Honor and light a fire so you can find your way to my side. We shall stand together, shoulder to shoulder, with swords drawn so others might know of our strength. We shall dine at the table of warriors and remain brothers through eternity."

An excerpt from a Norse Poem

Petar watched the jeep from the sanctuary of the trees. He sensed the impatience of the giant Anatolian Shepherd with him -- Tabari, the one hundred and eighty pound male. He waited until the Serb and the third man had entered the house before letting the dog go. He had to make sure that there weren't any others hidden somewhere amongst the trees -- a sniper waiting for him to show. The dog would sniff them out. So he waited without moving, camouflaged by the leaves and the mottled shadows of the tree trunks.

About twenty minutes later the dog returned and licked him on his face wagging his tail, reassuring him that there were only the five men to deal with. He had to move quickly -- he didn't want any of his family getting hurt.

"Come on, boy!" he whispered to the giant canine.

He circled the yard towards the barn staying low and in the brush moving with the stealth of a leopard. The first thing Petar wanted to make sure of was that his brother was okay. He knew that Andy had the rifle and if there was any hint of trouble he was to take no chances and shoot. Since there had been no gunshots the soldier had either disarmed Andy or he hadn't found him as yet. He hoped that it was the latter. His brother was the one at greatest risk -- the men of the house would be killed; that was a certainty and the women would suffer fates worse than death but that would occur later; for now he needed to make sure that Andy was alright. Petar arrived just as the man was climbing down the ladder from the converted room, his room, in the upper level of the barn.

There was a sliding panel near the headboard which concealed a secret compartment just big enough for a person to sit scrunched down. Not comfortably but very effectively since it was almost impossible to detect. Andy knew of this space and Petar was hoping that his brother had managed to hide in there.

The commando jumped off the ladder and stood still listening for movement before he began the search of the stables. There were several horses and as he went from stall to stall he crouched low looking carefully between the animal's legs. Petar felt a sense of relief knowing that the continued search meant that his brother was most probably okay.




The Dorić Diaries Ch. 02



A few minutes later the man stepped out into the yard and looked quickly to the left and then to the right, scanning the periphery before walking towards the house when he stopped, distracted by the soft, padded patter that sounded like the drumming of little feet and just as he was about to turn he was knocked forward, jolted by the heavy and sudden impact. The next thing he was aware of was the razor-sharp fangs of a monstrous, Cimmerian animal, a Cerberus with glowing, red eyes and spewing bloody, scarlet flames from his huge, gaping mouth. The beast was dragging him through the fiery gates of hell.

*******

From my position on the side of the barn, I had a clear view of the dining room. My father, mother and Sasha were all seated and though I couldn't make out how they were restrained, it was obvious that they were unable to move. The Serb was leaning against the edge of the table and my two younger sisters were standing in front of him. I could tell from their expressions that they were terrified. Both their dresses looked disheveled and Kristina's blouse had a tear in it but other than that they appeared unharmed.

I moved the cross hairs from one man to the other wanting to squeeze the trigger. Where are you Petar? Damn it, come on brother ...

The two commandos standing behind my sisters began pushing them back and forth; grabbing at them, tugging at their clothes and laughing. I saw the Serb turn and say something to my father when one of the men, the lean one, pulled Laura to him. I was about to squeeze the trigger and put a bullet in his head when I heard the scream. It was a blood curdling sound, shrill and ungodly, which came from the left of me and what I saw was a horrific sight.

Tabari was on top of a commando literally tearing him apart, his mouth frothy and red like some medieval beast. The man's eyes were wide with fright and his left arm dangled uselessly as the dog shook him like a rag doll. The man's neck and face were ripped open in places and he tried, unsuccessfully, to protect himself with his right arm while the blood poured out of him. He was screaming in agony and bleeding like a stuck pig.

I caught a movement just in time to see the soldier by the jeep readjust his sights to line up the dog. I fired without thinking then rolled over, crouched and fired again. The first bullet caught the man in the throat knocking him backwards but the second, the kill shot, missed his head by an inch.

There was a moment when he stood still, his eyes frozen with surprise before he dropped his weapon and clutched at his neck. He was making soft gurgling noises, staggering drunkenly before collapsing to his knees. I could see the blood spurting out from in between his fingers and seeping down onto his chest. He struggled to get up but all he managed to do was to stumble awkwardly. He was clawing at his larynx as if he was trying to dislodge something that imbedded deep inside him, then looking up almost in disbelief, he fell face first on the ground. I watched his legs twitch in ischemic reflex as the life drained out from him.

He was the first man that I had killed and I felt a sudden sickness in the center of my stomach as I looked at his lifeless form. It struck me that I had taken everything from that man -- every future event that would have made up the collage of his life. He would never see his loved ones again or get up in the morning to look up at blue skies and thank the Maker for the wonder of life. He would never feel the thrill of a woman's body against his or the warmth of a friend's embrace ... I thought I was going to be sick when I felt the bullets whiz by my ear and instinctively dropped down. I looked up in time to see the Serb and the two commandos rushing into the yard, guns drawn, and firing.

I glanced quickly into the dining room and saw my sisters running to the side to my parent's bedroom. There was an exit through the window there that would get them into the forest. Good girls. Keep running ...

I didn't have time to check on Sasha or my parents - the second man was on me.

As I fell backwards trying to fend off the commando, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head down at the same time he tugged at the rifle and jerked it out of my hands. I felt the blow hit the side of my head and saw stars. The second blow put me out.

*******

Petar saw his dog take down the first commando and without dallying he made his way up to his room but there was no sign of Andy. He heard the screams and was about to move the paneling when the gunshots rang out in the yard. Leaping over the bed he scrambled down the ladder and into the yard in time to see the second commando about to finish his brother. The man was in the act of drawing his pistol.

"Hey, motherfucker, I'm the one you want!" Petar hissed and bull rushed in, zigzagging as the man tugged at his revolver.

The man managed to free the pistol from his holster a moment before Petar was on him. He raised his weapon and fired and then they tumbled to the ground. The commando desperately tried to free his right hand, to get a clean shot off but he was unable to get away from the vice like grip of his assailant.

Petar had grabbed his wrist and pinned his arm above his head and had him mounted. And no matter how hard the commando tried to buck him off by jerking and rolling his hips, it was futile. Petar was too experienced a fighter; he adjusted his body centering his weight above the man's abdomen and kept him pinned under him. They fenced and parried with their free arms trying to gain an advantage when Petar struck with a short, quick elbow to the man's temple. Though it was a glancing blow, the force stunned the soldier but before he could clear his head, another elbow followed, this time it caught him flush and his body succumbed as his mind slipped into unconsciousness.

Petar took the gun and rolled off the man then standing up he shot him twice; once to the body and then through the head.

*******

I opened my eyes with shots ringing in my ears. I blinked trying to clear the cobwebs that seemed to trap my cognizance. My mind was still a bit foggy from the blows but I struggled to my knees fumbled for the rifle and just as I was getting up I heard more shots and saw Petar go down. He had been hit.

"Petar! No, no ... oh, God ...," I wasn't sure whether I was screaming or imagining that I was screaming.

The rest of it happened in a slowed down series of clips. I was acutely aware of every detail -- the sights, sounds and smells made even more intense by the finality of the struggle. Life and death.

Tabari was running towards the third commando, ears flattened, fangs exposed and his mouth in a snarl. He was closing the distance at an alarming speed, his long body exploding forward. But the lean man was unafraid. He stood his ground and as the huge animal leaped up at him he pulled the trigger. The 9 mm cartridge tore through the dog and I heard a loud, surprised whelp then he stumbled and fell, rolling several times over before coming to a standstill. He lay motionless and I was sure Tabari was gone.

When I looked up, I saw Petar roll to his side and squeeze off three quick rounds. The first hit the commando in the shoulder twisting him around, the second missed and the third blew away half his head. There was a smile on Petar's face as he laid back, his eyes closing slowly and the grip on the Sig loosening. I'm sorry I didn't get it done, old man, really sorry ... but I can see you ... your fire burning; I'm coming home, Grandfather ... as his mind drifted into blackness.

The Serb was walking over to where Petar lay, pistol poised and aimed at the supine form lying in a twisted, unmoving heap. He took his time, deliberately aiming at Petar's head. Just then from his right the huge canine stood up and snarled, limping towards the Serb like some underworld beast invincible and frightening.

Two shots rang out, the reverberations echoing together like one but neither was from the Serb's weapon. My shot must have missed but the other slammed through his torso spinning him like a top. Tabari leaped up, hobbling, and grabbed the Serb by his arm when another shot tore through the man.

I saw my father walking towards where Petar lay motionless, his trusted Ruger 77 bolt action in hand. He loaded and shot again and again and again as he closed the distance between them. I saw the Serb crumple to his knees and then keel over just as the large canine tore at his arm. The terrible El Tigre was finally dead.

The huge Anatolian limped over to where his master lay and licked Petar's face, whimpering like a puppy before lying down next to him laying his head on my brother's arm.

*******

Goodbye

When the family gathered around Petar he was almost gone. It was a tribute to his incredible strength that he wasn't dead already.

"It's over, son, Blažanović is dead," Papa whispered holding Petar's hand in his. "I was wrong ... I was so wrong!" he added.

Petar smiled at Papa, a soft and tender smile. My father was crying silently, the tears streaming down his face. Though they rarely saw eye to eye, Petar was his oldest and there is something about the first born that makes them different from the rest. My mother was weeping silently, the sobs wracking her body as she stroked Petar's hair, his head in her lap.

Sasha was kneeling next to him holding his hand to her breast. It was amazing that she wasn't crying. She was smiling at her brother, celebrating whatever it was they had for however short a time it was.

"I will never love another man as much as I have loved you," she whispered to him.

They looked at each other, their eyes locked in some timeless place.

"It's done ..." he mumbled so softly we could hardly make out the words. Then he squeezed her hand as the light flickered and died from his eyes.

Tabari did something we had never seen him do; he raised his massive head and howled at the skies, a heart-wrenching, soulful howl that tore at your very being. Then almost as though he understood the finality of the moment, he slid away to the back where the sheep were.

It was many days later that the large Anatolian allowed us to tend to his wounds.

*******

That night after everyone had gone to bed, I lay awake listening to the soft sobs from across the room. Both Laura and Krissy were beside themselves with grief. But after a while they had cried themselves to sleep.

I listened to the night sounds and felt the ache in my heart grow until I thought I couldn't bear it any more. Petar, Petar, what are we going to do? How are we going to move on? I had to be strong. I know I had to be like him -- no, I had to become him. And, just as I was dozing off to sleep, I felt someone take a hold of my hand and the enticing whisper of soft lips brushing against my cheek.

"Andelko, come ... come with me. I don't want to be alone," Sasha whispered.

We walked hand in hand to her bedroom.

*******

Back to the Present

It was the sunlight streaking through the louvers that woke me up the next morning; that and the high-pitched chirping of the ubiquitous sparrows. It is not often that the boys will let us sleep in but they too must have been bushed because they were curled up under the comforter, huddled close to their mother. When I finally tumbled out of bed and opened the windows. The room was flooded by the warmth of the morning sun, the stabbing beams of light creeping in between the creases of the blankets eliciting sleepy groans from Mel and the boys.

It was a beautiful morning; blue skies kissed by feathery, white cirrus clouds scattered high like the wispy threads of cotton candy with spiraling dots of red hawks and falcons circling in listless anticipation then spotting a prey, plummeting like deadly missiles into the hilly brush.

I stood there watching, transfixed by their incredible aerial acrobatics, my mind filled with thoughts of Lucian Dragovic, Dragoslav Blažanović and others like them ... predators ... always, predators and prey.

Then I heard Melinda, her soporiferous tone breaching my reverie.

"Is there any coffee?" she murmured and sat up smiling sleepily.

"I'll make some, baby, you can snooze if you want to!"

After brewing up some coffee in the percolator and horsing around with the boys, we finally made it to the dining room. It was well after 10 AM.

The dining room was typical of the old homes in the region. Stone walls, sparsely decorated with old black and white photographs, crusty slate floors, chipped and cracked in places with diaphanous lace curtains that billowed through an open window. The large, wooden table, which was covered by an embroidered tablecloth, dominated the setting and the welcoming aroma of coffee and freshly baked pastry filled the room.

Sandra Bakić, Stoja's wife, was a short plump lady with ruddy, red cheeks and a wide, infectious smile. Her round face and small, slanting eyes betrayed her Slavic bloodline and her creamy white skin was flawless making her look years younger than her husband. She was wearing a traditional full length, blue and white dress covered in intricate lace patterns and had a red-speckled scarf wrapped around her hair like a bandana.

She was a peripatetic blur of activity scooting from the dining room to the kitchen as she laid the table and watched over the breakfast she was cooking, constantly wiping her hands on the frayed apron that hung tenuously over her dress. And while she was doing this, she chattered incessantly to the younger woman who was seated at the table.

The second woman had dark eyes and black hair, almost as black as mine and wasn't really pretty but possessed that dark, haunting, Bohemian look that was mysterious -- like a gypsy. She was blowing small circles of smoke into the air when she spotted us. She quickly got up and put out the cigarette.

"Good morning! Sleep good ... Yes?" She said picking up the ashtray and placing it on the windowsill while waving her arms to clear the residual trails of smoke, "Sorry ... I know Americans do not like the smoke, no?"

"Thank you," Melinda said smiling, "that's very considerate. We don't smoke. I hope we are not too late for breakfast? The boys are starved and I could eat a cow!"

"Eat a cow?" she asked and laughed loudly, "I am Vera and this is my mother Sandra. Come, sit down ... you want coffee?"

The women fussed over us while we ate a delicious breakfast of flaky pastry stuffed with meat or fruit and palacinke, the local crepes which were filled with fresh cream cheese and fruit jam. Mrs. Bakić kept making them and we kept eating until I thought I would burst. And it was when we were sipping our coffee that Stoja came in.

"You ready? I will take you to your home ... that is why you come, unh?"

I smiled at him. Yes, I was ready to visit the old house and to pay my respects to Grandpa and Petar. It was because of them that we were now in America.

And what became of my sisters? Sasha is married to a nice, older man in Florida and is happier than I ever thought she would be. We get together and laugh and cry about the old days but we have never made love since we left Suza.

Krissy was always a "children" person. She is teaching inner-city children in the Bronx and we still get together; the sparks are as intensely electric as they were years ago. She is dating a professor from India and I am hoping things work out for them.

Laura is in Chicago, married to a doctor, with four beautiful children. The oldest of the four is mine though no one except Laura and I know this.

We named him Petar and he is blond haired and blue-eyed and fiercely independent like my brother.

That is my story.

The End.



The Dorić Diaries



He dallied a bit longer on the balcony, basking in the warmth of the morning sunlight before ducking back into the apartment. He crossed the small living room into the darkened bedroom and stood looking down at the young woman sleeping curled up under the heavy duvet.

Lidija Jurić looked so innocent with her silky hair forming a disheveled halo around her face. She was about eighteen and what had surprised him on the first night was the fact that she wasn't a virgin. The farm she lived on was isolated on a remote hill so it was either the father or her brothers who had deflowered the girl but she had a tight little cunt and was eager to please him.

Her father had dropped her off two weeks ago in return for the extra feed and the four sheep that Lucian had given him. The arrangement they had negotiated was for her to clean and take care of Lucian's apartment but they both knew exactly what was being bargained for. It was the plump, young gash in between his daughter's thighs that the Director lusted after and was paying for.

But, what was a poor farmer to do? The father appeased his conscience by rationalizing his motives for making the deal -- there was nothing at all to be gained by making an enemy of the Director. The girl was ripe and needed to meet other men and maybe Lucian Dragovic would fancy her and make her his wife. Once her brothers started fucking her she would never want to leave. He would speak with her and if she agreed, he would consummate the deal -- he wasn't about to force her to do anything she didn't want to. She would have to agree or the deal was off. At least that is how he appeased his conscience.

He had spoken to her quite candidly taking time to address the real issue and the trouble the farm was in without candy-coating what was being asked of her.

The girl, who had listened attentively, then asked, "What do you want me to do, Papa?"

"He is a very powerful man and we can use his help. It is only for a few weeks, baby, and then you will be back here. What do you think? You think you can do this for the family?"

She was quiet mulling over what her father was asking her to do. 'Who knows,' she thought to herself, 'I may even like him and things may work out for all of us'.

"Okay, Papa, I'll do it for you!" she said and hugged her father.

Karlo Jurić accepted the bribe and delivered his daughter. This was Lucian's modus operandi; bribes and when necessary, coercion to gain what he wanted and it rarely failed.

He smiled recalling the events of the previous night. He had fucked her for a long time, her succulent moans and whimpers thrilling his fragile ego until finally he had pushed her face down onto his pulsing rod and shot his ejaculate down her throat.

He had watched her while she slurped up every drop of his rancid seed, sucking fervently, milking his shaft like a straw, drawing out the very the last drop into her hungry mouth. He was thrilled by the sight of her swallowing his cum, the act disguised as an opiate, leaving him wanting more.

But he was tiring of her and was considering sending her back home. 'The lazy whore sleeps too much and her fucking is getting too predictable. She also seems to enjoy it more than she should,' he thought to himself.

"Get up, you lazy bitch," he hissed, leaning over and shaking the supine form.

The girl sat up sleepily, fumbling under the covers feeling for her nightdress, then rolling off the bed she slipped on the diaphanous camisole tugging at the hem to free the clasp that had snagged in her thick hair. She worked quickly, her fingers untangling the hook and then smoothed the nightie over her body, very conscious of his lecherous stare.

She was short and full bodied; a bit plump but in a pleasant way. She had a pretty face with big, brown eyes and long, dark hair which fell past her shoulders. You could see the outline of her large breasts and the pointed, dark nipples pressing against the flimsy material.

"Can I go home today?" she asked in a soft, clear voice, twirling strands of her hair self-consciously around her fingers.

He didn't answer her but stood studying her every detail. She reminded him of a ripe peach, bursting with juices, ready to be plucked. His eyes wandered from her full, red lips to her cleavage and back again at her mouth and he felt himself begin to harden. He had an unusually high sex-drive and it didn't take much to excite him.

"Come here," he ordered, his voice turning soft and thick with desire.

And when she inched closer he grabbed her hair and pulled her to him, pushing her down onto her knees. Then fumbling with the fly of his pajamas, he pulled out his cock and fed it into her mouth.

"Suck this," he hissed.

His penis was thick and long, curving upwards like a Scimitar, with a huge, plum-shaped head that distorted the girl's mouth grotesquely as she began sucking on him.

It took a moment for her to adjust to the girth of the pulsing flesh invading her mouth but she knew exactly what was expected of her. Her dainty fingers wrapped around his shaft and she began stroking him into her mouth, letting her lips ride the ridge of his glans and despite her feelings for him, feelings that bridged the spectrum of excitement to revulsion, she couldn't stop the tingling wetness seeping slowly between her thighs. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander back to the memory of her first time with her father; his cock stretching her young, virgin cunt while lying on the damp grass behind the haystack, feeling the trickle of their juices comingling down the crack of her ass, exulting in the waves of pleasure as she came over and over again.

"Yes, yes ... ahhhh, yes ... you fucking whore, suck me ... harder, yes, yes ... suck me dry ..." Lucian whispered feeling the increased pressure of her suction and her tongue swirling around his cockhead.

'I'll keep her around for a few more days,' he thought, relinquishing his body to the ecstasy ripping through his boney frame as the sultry images of his next victim floated through his mind. It was that whoring temptress, that arrogant bitch, Sasha Dorić. She would be next and he had a thing or two to teach her.

*******

The Awakening

Farmers everywhere will tell you that on a farm you had to be a little of everything. A vet, mechanic, baker, butcher, electrician, agronomist and whatever else it takes to keep the place running. It was a hard life and all the kids were expected to pitch in with no exceptions and each of us had our assigned chores after school but we loved it and none of us would have exchanged it for anything in the world.

There were five of us kids. My brother Petar was the eldest and helped Papa with the farm. The next was my sister Sasha, her Christian name was Aleksandra but we called her Sasha and she spent most of her time helping our mother in the kitchen. Then it was me, Andelko, followed by my sisters Laura and Kristina, who was the youngest.

Petar and Laura were both blond and blue-eyed like my mother with the distinct features of her Nordic lineage. Kristina and I resembled each other and took after our paternal grandmother; dark hair, large, brown eyes, full mouth and dark, olive-hued skin. My grandmother was from Siberia and often boasted of her Ukrainian bloodlines but in reality she looked more like the Buryats from the Eastern shores or Lake Baikal. They were an exotic, nomadic tribe with ties to China and the Mongols.

But it was Sasha who was really different and stood out from the rest of us. She was strikingly beautiful having inherited the best features from both sides of the family. She had large, sea-green eyes set wide on her oval face and which contrasted with her thick, dark hair. The high cheekbones and thin nose accentuated her full, pouting lips and her ready smile revealed small, even, white teeth. She was tall and full-bodied with the healthy constitution of a farm girl and a demeanor that was intrinsically happy. She was always singing and her smile could light up a room and brighten up even the gloomiest of days. And when she was sad, it made your heart ache. She was gentle, affectionate and loving and surprisingly, a shameless flirt.

I'll never forget the day Papa brought the big bull home from my uncle's farm that was located about seventy miles away in another county. It was the day that set in motion so many irrevocable incidents that have deeply influenced my life.

Papa and Petar had driven there the previous evening in the beat-up, old Volvo so they could return early in the morning, which gave them ample time in case the engine acted up. Of late the L39-Titan had been overheating and Papa hadn't been able to figure out the root cause for the problem.

Petar had cleaned out the lubrication system, flushed new coolant through the radiator and even replaced the mechanical sensors; little poppet valves that regulated the temperature of the engine by controlling the flow of the coolant, but that did not solve the problem. The only solution was to wait until the 6-cylinders that powered the 190-horsepower, direct-injection engine cooled down; then you topped off the oil, added water to the radiator and hoped for the best. So far they had managed and that was more than you could ask for.

There was a sense of anticipation that had started with my mother at the breakfast table. Actually, it had begun even before breakfast. I noticed my mother humming to herself and smiling at us while she prepared the pastry crust for the börek, a treat normally reserved for special days like Easter or Christmas.

"Today, Papa brings the bull," my mom explained as she served us the slightly sweet, flaky confection filled with meat.

"Why, Mama, why is Papa bringing Roko Uncle's bull?" Kristina asked her. She knew exactly why but teasing our mother was a game we all played.

"So we can make the cows happy and make baby cows and get more milk and cheese and yogurt," she replied and seeing the playful expression on Kristina's face, gave her a gentle whack on her shoulder. "Go on with you ... you know exactly why!"

Growing up on the farm we learned about sex quite early on, mostly from watching the animals. It wasn't unusual for us to see the pigs or goats or sheep, all of which are polyestrous, in the act of rutting and sometimes we even got to assist my father when the ewes gave birth to their lambs or kids. The cycle of life was an intrinsic part of farm life and my parents felt that the sooner we learned about it the better. They spared us the silly nonsense about the stork and encouraged us to learn about nature, procreation and the mating habits of the animals on the farm. The rams can get territorial and aggressive when the females go into heat so it was essential that we were able to recognize the signs to avoid unnecessary injury. There was more than one occasion when we've had to dodge a charging ram or an overly aggressive Billy-goat.

"Can we watch, Mama?" Laura, my other sister, asked.

"Yes but you have to stay out of the way ... watch from the back," she answered.

The rest of breakfast was spent talking about the bull and how upset Bruno Lukač, our neighbor's son, would be. Bruno's father has been talking about getting a bull for years but nothing had ever come of it.

Later that morning, while cleaning out the stables I heard the familiar choppy growl of the Volvo's old engine, spitting and hissing in protest, accompanied by the intermittent squeal of its suspension as it rattled along the bumpy, washboard surface of the dirt road which led into the backyard.

"They're here!" I shouted and dropping the broom, rushed out to greet them.

I waved at Petar just as he was lowering the rear door of the trailer. Petar wasn't very tall, about five feet ten but he was built like a wrestler, stocky and powerful. He was the strongest man I knew, even stronger than Papa. He had a thick neck, thick shoulders and the biggest forearms I had ever seen. I have seen him throw a 100 pound sack of feed onto his shoulders and effortlessly leap onto the back of a truck, an amazing feat considering it normally took two men to carry a single bag.

There was a loud, impatient stomping of hooves before Papa led the magnificent animal down the ramp. The bull was like nothing I had ever seen before. He was velvety black with thickly muscled shoulders and a gigantic head. His wide, pointed horns that curved ominously forward were thicker than my arms. The dewlap hung loosely from his neck and the brass ring through his nostrils glittered brightly against the blackness of his broad, glistening nose. The tip of his tail was covered in a tuft of coarse, long hair and his testicles swayed with pompous audacity as he walked. He was awe inspiring in his beauty.

As the bull got closer to the pen where the two cows were being quarantined, he snorted loudly and shook his monstrous head high in the air, baring his lips and hanging his tongue out, tasting the scent wafting through his flared nostrils. His eyes had a wild gleam to them and I wondered how in the world Petar and Papa were going to control him.

"He can smell them ... get the rope! Now, Petar!" my father yelled as he was being dragged towards the fenced enclosure.

Petar reacted quickly running around to the other side and grabbing the second rope. I could see the muscles in his forearms straining with the effort as he yanked back, jerking the animal's neck, and slowing him down. He was by the animal's front haunches with the rope wrapped around his left arm.

The bull's cock was long and thin and was beginning to poke out of its sheath and was covered in a translucent, jelly-like substance that was dripping onto the ground as it walked by us. He swung his head from side to side, his horns raking the air precariously close to Petar.

I felt the palpable tension that seemed to envelope the yard and decided to help.

"What should I do, Papa?" I asked jumping down from the porch and landing almost on top of the animal.

"What are you doing? Get back, Andy, get away! We have him ... it's okay," Petar shouted looking over at me.

But that moment's distraction was all it took. The bull swung his massive head menacingly in Petar's direction, the sweeping arc of its horn slicing through the material of my brother's trousers.

There was a soft ripping sound and Petar's thigh turned bloody immediately but it was almost as if he was immune to the pain. Instead, he stepped back in and kneed the bull in the side of the head and jerked back against the rope then reaching forward he slapped the animal several times just under its ears; "thwack, thwack, thwack", and then it was over - the bull settled down, subdued.

"Petar, are you okay? Petar ...?" my mother called out, the concern etched on her face.

"It's nothing, Ma, nothing ... just a scratch!" Michael replied without breaking stride.

As I watched my brother I realized how much like my grandfather he was, fearless and tough. They were both hard men but with an inherent sense of decency and you never wanted to cross them. Petar had taught me to fish, hunt and fight -- in essence, he taught me how to be a man and for some reason I as I watched him now, I felt a chill run through me. "The demons are dancing on my grave!" is how Grandpa would have explained the sensation. I shook the feeling and climbed back onto the porch.   Once the bull had serviced both the cows, Papa led him away to the large meadow that bordered the back of the barn. As he was leaving, he looked back at Petar, motioning to his thigh: "Take care of that, boy!"

Petar waved nonchalantly, "Yeah ... okay, Papa."

Just then Sasha came over.

"Let me look at that!" she said.

I don't remember exactly when it happened but my older sister had taken over the role as the family caregiver. Sasha had a bottle of Mama's homemade remedy with her -- a salve made of Swedish Bitters, Honey and Vinegar. This was our "fix" for almost anything from fevers to cuts!

"It's nothing ... just a scratch," Petar muttered embarrassed by her fussing but I could sense he was enjoying her attention.

"Let me look at it, Petar, stop being so stubborn!" She retorted crouching over to get a better look at the gash.

"It's not a scratch, stupid, he's ripped your thigh open!" she exclaimed.

"Wash it first, girl ... down at the stream," Mama called out to them and went back into the kitchen.

Petar and Sasha looked at each other and then Sasha admonished, "You heard her ... come on, tough guy!"

She took his hand and they walked towards the woods arm in arm.

My first reaction was to go to the meadow to watch the bull but an inherent sense of prescience triggered by the way they had looked at each other piqued my interest.

My sisters, especially Sasha, had begun playing a major role in my sexual fantasies. I didn't think of this in terms of right of wrong or question whether this was good or bad. It felt perfectly normal since they were the only females we had access to. I suspected that there might be something more going on between Sasha and Petar and I wasn't about to miss this.

I snuck out through the side door, running quickly to the back, traversing the yard by the barn, and headed towards the trees. The stream was located about a hundred yards into the woods at the bottom of a shallow ravine that curved around a large rock formation. And here, nestled away from the erosion of the current and shaded by several large trees, was a deep pond where we would come to swim and bathe.

I waited for Sasha and Petar and then trailed a little distance behind them, keeping low so they wouldn't notice me following them. But just as I was about to reach the sanctuary of the outlying trees, my younger sisters spotted me. They had been sitting on the fence on the other side of the barn watching the bull.

"Andy, what are you doing?" Kristina called out, "Where are you going?"

"Shhhh ... quiet! If you girls keep quiet I'll take you to see something special. Do you want to come?" I asked them.

"Why? What's going on?" Laura asked suspiciously, not convinced that there was anything worth seeing.

"I can't tell you ... you'll just have to wait and see," I replied impatiently since Sasha and Petar had disappeared from sight.

Though Laura was only a year younger than me, she liked being with Mama and helping her in the kitchen and rarely, if ever, came fishing or hunting with us. She was tall, almost as tall as Sasha and getting to be a pretty young thing. Not as beautiful as Sasha though -- no one was quite as beautiful as Sasha.

"No, I'm going back to help Mama," Laura said, pushing her silky blond hair off her face and turning towards Kristina, asked, "Are you coming?"

"No, you go on. I'm going with Andelko!" Kristina was four years younger but she was the adventurous one and we often hung out together.

Laura hesitated, debating whether she should come with us, but her dislike for the woods won out and she turned and headed for home.

Kristina stood by my side watching Laura retreat until her silhouette evanesced into the shadows of the barn then holding my hand she looked up and pleaded, "What we are going to see, Andy ... tell me, please?"

I smiled at her and shook my head, "I'm not sure myself, Krissy, but trust me, it will be really special, you'll see."

She smiled and we chased after our siblings as quietly as we could, excited by the dawning of a new adventure.

******

The Creaming in the Woods

We followed the narrow, winding pathway which cut through the trees and brush, alternating between walking and running in spurts, but saw no sign of Sasha or Petar. It was as though they had vanished, swallowed up by the old Sycamores and Firs. We looked around for a while and I was beginning to think that we had lost them and was about to turn back when we heard a muffled noise. It sounded like a soft, strangled cry.




The Dorić Diaries



"What was that?" Kristina whispered grabbing my arm with both her hands.

"Shhhh ..." I hissed and motioned for her to be quiet.

We moved closer to where the sound had come from crouching behind the dense shrubbery of wild Lilacs, Gerbera Daisies and Elderberry. And from our vantage point we saw them, Petar and Sasha, but what we witnessed was something way beyond our wildest imagination.

There in the center of a small clearing leaning back against the trunk of a gnarly, old Oak tree was Petar. His legs were spread wide and his trousers pulled down around his ankles. You could clearly see the gash on his upper thigh gleaming with the balm that Sasha had applied. She was standing a bit to one side and behind him with her left arm around his waist and her body pressed against him, looking down as she stroked his penis. Her thick hair cascaded around her like a dark, shimmering veil giving us only glimpses of her face but we could hear her whimpering softly while she pleasured him.

"Ohhhh, Petar ... Ohhhh, God ... unh, unh ... yes, baby ... oh, oh ..." she sighed leaning her head against his chest.

She kept stroking him, maintaining a steady, measured rhythm, back and forth, back and forth her slender fingers tirelessly pumping the length of his turgid shaft. On the down-stroke, she would peal the foreskin back past the flared coronal ridge revealing the glistening, red dome which seemed to pulse and grow with each passing second, then traversing back up she milked him, squeezing the seeping, silvery treacle from the Cyclops-like eye, her fingers slick with the slimy dregs of his sap.

Kristina and I were transfixed, suddenly oblivious to everything, unaware of any existence other than the sticky, wet sounds of their frenetic foreplay and the sight of her hand piston-like, stroking up and down along the length of his distended, thickly-veined root.

Petar's head was thrown back, his eyes scrunched shut and he was moaning, the sounds resonating from somewhere deep within his chest, echoing in time to the dull slapping of his sister's fist against the pit of his groin. He had reached behind him and was holding onto her ample behind, alternating between squeezing her butt-cheeks and caressing the outside of her thigh.

But Sasha was oblivious to everything but his cock; she was determined to elicit her sticky reward and sensing his mounting excitement, quickened her pace with renewed vigor. I could see her rocking her hips and rubbing her crotch against his thigh triggering images of the soft fabric of her panties, pressing into her crack, soaked and soggy with the slippery, wetness of her juices.

My own cock was rock-hard when I realized that it was pressing against Kristina, the underside lodged in the crack of her ass. At some point, instinctively, I had pulled her to me, one arm wrapped around her abdomen, the other under her blouse, toying with her nipples and fondling the firm mounds of her budding breasts. I could feel her behind wiggling against me, our hearts pounding together as we watched our siblings fanning the flames of their lust.

We were both hypnotized by the sheer eroticism of the scene that was unfolding.

Then I heard him, "Oh God ... please, baby, faster, ohhhh, I'm going to cum ... I'm cumming ... sister, oh, sissss-ter, Ahhhhrrrrggghh!"

And with that he doubled over and blew, his fingers digging frantically into her thigh, spewing his spunk in thick, ropey globules which arced high in the air, splattering in glutinous, coagulated clumps that disappeared slowly within the lambent blades of grass.

At that precise moment, just as Petar climaxed, we heard Sasha emit a startled gasp; astonished by the sight of the first milky gob spurting out from the tip of his cock. It was too much for her.

"Ohhhh ... oh, God ... oh, ohhhh, Petar ..."

She stopped, surprised by the intensity of his orgasm; her eyes widening, squeezing his throbbing flesh in reflex before reestablishing the rhythmic cadence of her strokes, pumping him through his climax until she had coaxed every drop from his twitching body, her fingers and palm lovingly caressing the angry, pulsing head until there was nothing more he could give her. That is, nothing except for a single, translucent drop of cum which oozed out of the tip and dribbled thickly onto her long, delicate fingers.

What she did next has been indelibly imprinted on my brain. She stood back and looked at Petar, staring into his eyes, while licking the residual fluids off of her hand, her long, serpentine tongue whisking the frothy, viscid ejaculate into her mouth, smiling as she savored her first taste of semen. Then dropping quickly to her knees she sucked his softening penis into her waiting mouth.

I heard him groan again, a gurgling, hoarse sound, his fingers weaving into her hair, murmuring incoherently while she bobbed over his crotch. And while she was sucking him, you could hear her moaning, the soft sounds blending in erotic harmony with the slurping of her mouth suckling on his cock.

"Mmmm ... mmmm ... mm, mm, mm ... mmmm ..."

I strained to get a better view but Petar had pulled her off of his root and gently pushed her back down on the grass.

"Enough, baby, enough! It's too much," he said, his voiced unnaturally strained, "now it's your turn."

Sasha just looked at him, her eyes wide and her face flushed with excitement and reached again for his cock but he pushed her gently downwards.

"No ... lie back. There is something I want to do ... I've wanted to do for so long ..." he mumbled.

With an expression of anticipation and without protest, she lay back down, raising her knees and spreading her thighs expectantly and waited with eyes closed.

He pushed her skirt up and away from her crotch, rolling the hem towards her waist and buried his face into her groin, cupping her ass while he feasted on her cunt. Her hips rose up involuntarily, her back arching while her thighs squeezed the sides of his head. We could see her fingers curling through his hair, her body undulating sensually, thrusting her groin up against his mouth. And while he continued to lick and nibble on her through the thin cotton fabric of her panties, I could see her squirming, her torso rotating in small, erratic circles against his mouth. They were both moaning and sighing and writhing caught up in the storm that was building around them until finally Petar sat back on his haunches and just looked at her. His expression was one of wonder and awe.

"Oh, God ... ohhhh, baby, you taste so good ... I've wanted this..." he sighed then pulled her panties down, tugging at it impatiently when it got tangled around her feet and tossed it to the side.

It landed a few yards from us but even from that distance we could see that it was mottled and soaked with her juices and his saliva.

When I looked back, Petar had moved to the side and was taking off his clothes giving us a clear view of Sasha lying back with her knees drawn up in the air. She was playing with herself, her fingers fervently furrowing through the folds of her velvet patch.

"Hurry, baby, hurry ... please ... oh, oh ... ahhhh ... stick it in me, Petar, please baby, fuck me ..." she was moaning.

It was the first time that I had seen my older sister's cunt. And, at that moment of heightened sexuality, I can't begin to describe the thrill that went through me. It made my knees weak. She was absolutely gorgeous; a sensual angel lost in her moment of lust saying things I never thought she would.

My brother got back in between her knees, his cock throbbing lewdly, bouncing up and down like it had a life of its own. Then adjusting himself on his haunches, he leaned forward and rubbed the tip of his cock along her slit making her jerk and twitch. He kept doing this until she couldn't bear it any further. She was squirming, trying to get it into her, pushing her hips up at him.

"Please, baby, do it. I want to feel it deep inside ... oh, Petar ... do it!" she whispered.

That was when he began pushing it into her. The view of the actual penetration was hindered by his body and her legs but we could see enough to imagine the rest. And, we could still hear Sasha's hoarse whimpers of pleasure.

You could tell from his movements that Petar was being careful, inching his thick, fleshy rod into her virgin cunt, spreading her open for the very first time. He would push a little and wait until she adjusted to his girth before giving her more of his length. He kept repeating this until he was about halfway inside her and that was when Sasha let out a sharp cry.

"I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry ... did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?" Petar asked her.

She was quiet for a moment, her body conforming to the newness of the invading spear; feeling him prying her open, moving inside her, the initial pain assuaged by the pulsing sensations of pleasure mitigating the stretching, penetrating and ripping of her vaginal pathway. Then inevitably, the paroxysmal ache of her threatened virginity changed dissolving gradually into a liquid bliss, a new incredibly intense sensation which boiled over from deep within the V of her thighs, radiating outwards and spreading through her body, making her feel like she would burst from the pure pressure of her ecstasy.

"No, no ... don't stop, just do it, it's okay, push it in all the way" she whispered, her hands wrapping around his butt and pulling him into her.

I saw him back out a little and then with one quick thrust of his hips, he was in her; buried all the way up to the hilt. His butt-cheeks flexed involuntarily as he ground his pubis into her crotch.

Sasha let out a groan that sounded like a guttural hiss, biting down on her lip with her eyes shut, holding him tightly to her. And then they both remained still, lying frozen, cock and cunt fused together, their bodies fanned by the molten flames of their incestuous fire. It was almost as though I could feel the gulping lips of her cunt pulsing around him, drawing him into her, their sensibilities cauterized by the intense intimacy of his cockhead throbbing deep inside her belly. It was almost like I was him.

After a while she began to move, to buck under him, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist keeping him locked to her. It was the sign he was waiting for. He rose up onto his elbows and began pumping into her, slowly at first then picking up speed until he was ramming in and out of her, each stroke causing them to slide together along the grassy bed. She was moaning again, her head, tossing slowly from side to side with her long hair lashing about her face. Her hips were rising up to meet his every thrust; they were like two dancers in an unrehearsed concert, each reacting instinctively to the rhythm of the other. It was truly an amazing ballet.

The visual stimulus coupled with the feel of Kristina's body was enough to shut down any higher thought or rationale. All I wanted was to fuck my younger sister. What I really wanted was to fuck Sasha but Kristina would have to do. I pushed my hand into my younger sister's panties and rubbed along her slit. She was wet, seeping her mildly viscous nectar onto my fingers as I explored the folds of her vaginal lips and when I found the little pleasure pea perched on top of her gash, she moaned then shuddered and turning, kissed my neck. I tried to get my finger into her hole and I'm not sure if I hurt her or whether she just got scared but she let out a soft cry then brusquely pulled my hand out from her pants and without saying a word or even as much as a look, she turned and ran towards home.

I wasn't sure if they heard Kristina leaving. There was a distinct rustle as she cut through the bushes, her footsteps resonating softly, fading into the distance but if they did hear her, they didn't care. They were lost in their own world of carnal bliss.

Petar was now fucking Sasha in earnest. I could hear them moaning and groaning, their bodies thrashing wildly accompanied by the sounds of squishing flesh slapping together while he plowed in and out of her.

My brother would grunt each time he rammed his cock into her and just as he pulled back, Sasha would moan, loud, titillating whimpers of delight. The sounds they made were very different -- male and female; Ying and Yang, both erotic in its own way building slowly towards their crescendo.

I was torn -- I wanted to stay and watch this to the finish but I was worried that Kristina would tell my mother and that would mean Papa would find out and there would be all hell to pay. So I ran back, chasing after my little sister, hoping to catch her before she got home.

*******



My Sister - A Discovery

I looked for Kristina everywhere but couldn't find her. I had checked her usual hideouts but she wasn't in the barn or by the pen where the dogs were; and not behind the large Sycamore where she often read her books. Damn her! This was getting scary! Reluctantly, I went to the kitchen to see if she was with mom, expecting the worst but the place was empty -- now, I was really worried; my trepidation quickly turning to fear. They must be with Papa and that means we were all going to get it.

With my mother, you could get away with some stuff but with Papa, it was a different matter altogether. If he was in a good mood you got additional chores to do and if he was in a bad mood, God help you - you got beaten like a mule up a hill.

I figured the safest thing to do was to lie low for a while and the best place to do this was in the barn. But just as I was slipping out of the back door, I noticed Papa in the living room, reclining on Grandpa's old rocking chair drinking a bottle of Ožujsko beer. He looked quite content, eyes closed, listening to some melancholic song on the transistor radio. He was humming along and seemed to be in a good mood.

I walked over, "Papa, have you seen Kristina?"

"No. I think she went with your mother to the river -- they are bathing," he said and thinking nothing further of it, he asked, "What did you think of that bull, boy? He is a big one, eh?"

"Very big, Papa, and beautiful. How long are we going to keep him?" I inquired trying not to think of Kristina.

"He is ours now ... I bought him from your Uncle."

I was a bit surprised. It is not every day that Papa buys a bull and in fact, I can't remember if we ever had a bull on our farm.

"What are we going to do with him?" I asked.

"Well, he will take care of the cows and in a few years, after we have had many calves, we will butcher him. He will provide us with good meat for the winter then."

"And very happy cows ... eh, Papa?" I replied and we both laughed.

*******

There were only two bedrooms in the small farmhouse; the master bedroom that my parents used and the other, slightly larger room that the rest of us had shared at one time or the other. Laura and Kristina slept against the wall, next to the door that opened into my parent's bedroom. The bed that they shared was the one that we had all slept on together until Petar moved out into the loft in the barn. It was bigger than a traditional king-sized bed and could easily fit five kids and it wasn't unusual, when we were younger, to find us entangled in each other's arms, our bodies pressed together against the morning chill.

Then two years back, my father brought two beds from my grandfather's house -- one for Sasha and the other for me. My bed was placed across the room against the far wall, facing away from theirs to give us all some space to ourselves.

About the same time, Sasha moved into an enclave just outside the washroom that Papa had converted into an independent room. It was small and cramped but she had turned it into a private antechamber concealed by a heavy, embroidered curtain that hung down from ceiling to floor. This acted as the entrance to her little haven and allowed her some semblance of privacy.

Earlier, after making sure the animals were all penned in for the night, I had stopped by Sasha's room and called softly out to her but got no response. I had waited for a moment, my mind racing and not quite sure what I wanted only that I needed to see her again. Then realizing she wasn't there I slipped into her room pushing past the satin drapes.

I quickly scanned the room and saw her clothes lying on the bed, strewn carelessly in a desultory heap as though she was in a hurry, and on impulse I picked up her panties which lay to one side, twisted into a tiny figure-eight. As I untangled them, what became immediately apparent was the small, wet stain covering the crotch. I ran my fingers gingerly along the crease, titillated by the silky moistness, and then pressed it up against my face savoring the incredibly heady fragrance of her musk. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, again and again, my senses permeated by her irriguous scent. I was certain that she was with Petar and resisted the urge to return to the barn to spy on them and instead, tossing the satin undergarment on the floor, I left, my mind riddled with the lewd images of all the wonderful things I had seen that day.

I lay awake thinking about Sasha and Petar and what I had witnessed but most of all, I recalled the slippery, wet feeling of Kristina's slit, the soft firmness of her boobs and the manner in which her ass had rubbed against my cock and soon I was stroking myself under the covers, keeping as still as I could, and hoping that the old, wooden cot wouldn't creak in betrayal.

I was so caught up in my fantasies that I didn't notice her until I felt the warmth of her body pressing against my back, searing me like a branding iron and her breath, bristling humid against the nape of my neck. It was Kristina.

"I can't sleep ... I can't stop thinking about them," she whispered into my ear, "and us."

Her arms were wrapped tightly around me and her body spooned against mine.

"I can't either," I replied softly then taking a hold of her hand I pushed it downwards towards my cock.

The precise moment when her fingers curled tightly around my shaft was electric and I almost came. It was the first time anyone had ever touched me and it was so much more thrilling than the feel of my own fingers. My cock was throbbing and leaking precum when she began stroking me, her motions unpracticed and awkward, but it was still the most pleasurable sensation I had ever felt. I groaned and helped her by guiding her hand, showing her exactly how to jerk me off.

Surprisingly, like she was being guided by some innate feminine instinct, she overcame her awkwardness and worked up a slow though steady rhythm. My cock was making clicking, wet sounds as she pumped the skin up and down over the swollen head, her fingers, slippery and lubricated with my juices, sliding over the tip and down the shaft to the root.

The bed was creaking in time to her strokes and I knew that we were making far more noise than was customary and amidst the strange cacophony of sounds, I could hear my father's snoring resonating from the adjacent room, droning softly in the background.

"Laura? Is Laura awake?" I whispered worried that we would wake her.

"No. She's asleep ... I waited and made sure," Krissy replied; her voice tight and breathless, "Am I doing it right, Andy?"

"Yes, yes ... don't stop, baby, keep going ..." I croaked and heard her giggle squeezing my cock tighter.

"I won't stop but I want to see it shooting out ... like Petar," she said continuing to pleasure me.

I was getting close and could feel the initial tingling at the tip and my sperm starting to bubble at the base buried above my scrotum when I had the sudden urge to fuck her; to sink myself inside her. I pulled Krissy's hand off me and turned so that we were now facing each other, and using my knees to spread her thighs, I pushed her back and lay on top of her. I could feel her heart pounding as her body adjusted to my weight. She spread her thighs farther to accommodate me and when I looked down she was staring into my eyes.




The Dorić Diaries



"Do you want to do it?" I asked, stroking her face.

"Yes ... but I'm scared," she replied, her voice like that of a frightened girl.

"I won't hurt you, Krissy; I promise ... if it hurts, I'll stop, okay?"

She didn't reply but nodded her head, her large eyes gleaming in the dark like shimmering saucers.

I reached down in between us and tugged at her underwear. Her lingerie had bunched up above her waist so it wasn't in the way and while I struggled with her panties, she wiggled her bottom helping me to ease them off of her. Then sitting up, she pulled her nightie over her head and threw it to the side before lying back again. She was now totally naked.

I had seen her threadbare and stripped, au natural, while bathing in the river but that was a while back. Gone were the boyish, flat lines of the little girl and in its place, the sensual curves of a pubescence. I could see the dark silhouette of her breasts rising up from her body, small firm mounds with nipples that were puckered and hard augmenting the taper at the narrow waist then flaring out again to rounded hips and the gentle slope of her abdomen disappearing into the dark recess within the V of her thighs. It was here that the treasures of her delicious, pink slit lay.

I crawled back in between her legs and laid on top her, unsure of what I was doing or how I was going to initiate our mating. Confused by instinct and memory and driven by lust, I tried pushing my cock into her but it slid up her slit and lay nestled between us pressing against her lower abdomen. Embarrassed and frustrated, I tried again, moving back up and thrusting down, aiming blindly, hoping that I would find her hole. But I missed and my cock slithered over her sparse, downy patch and lay trapped against her belly, throbbing in time to my heartbeat like a pulsing, rubber hose.

We lay still for a while, our hearts drumming together and then I grabbed her hand, guiding it in between us, and felt her fingers take a hold of me.

"Put me inside, baby ..." I groaned and felt her guide the tip into her slit, "Oh, God ... you feel so hot ... slippery ..."

I pushed slowly like I had seen Petar do and felt her petals open up a little then her cunt pulsed, stretching tightly around the head of my cock and the next thing I knew, I was in her, swallowed up by the gulping lips of her vagina. She let out a sigh, much softer than Sasha's initial cry, and buried her face into my shoulder. I began pushing slowly into her again and felt her opening up further; her virgin pathway, convulsing hotly around my shaft, drawing me deeper and deeper into her. I waited, thrilling in these incredible new sensations and felt my cock flex and throb deep inside her belly.

I kept sliding in, a little at a time until I felt the tip pressing against a barrier, something that was rubbery and pliable. And, provoked by some obtuse primordial need that precluded any consideration for my little sister, I thrust my hips, pushing hard, almost violently into her. I felt the membrane tear and then I was in her, all the way in her, buried down to the base of my penis.

My sister let out a muffled cry of surprise and then was still, her thighs squeezing tightly against my hips. I lay unmoving on top of her waiting for our bodies to adjust before rocking back and forth, sliding my body up and down while trying to build up a rhythm. I felt her hips bucking back up at me and increased the length of my strokes pumping my cock in and out of her tight, little box. I could feel her body responding, wracked by subtle, little tremors and heard her making soft, mewling sounds.

My ears were filled with the music of her moans, the rustle of sheets and the slapping of our bodies; a virtual concerto of sensuality that accompanied the muffled squeaking of the bed. And as my mind began to blackout with the onslaught of orgasm, all I could think of was that this act could never be undone and that it would be my cum that would anoint my sister's burgeoning sexuality and that she and I were fused forever as one: Kristina ... oh, baby, Krissy, Krissy ...

The Obsession

A very important part of our weekly schedule was selling our produce at the Market Square -- a Farmer's Market of sorts. The market was located in the center of town, set on a raised, rectangular platform bordered by access roads on all four sides. The roads were flanked by apartment buildings, stores and restaurants, many of which used the market for supplies. It was a symbiotic association that worked well for all concerned -- the farmers had local customers and the restaurants had access to the freshest of produce.

The red tiled roof was supported by four massive pillars, one in each corner and further buttressed by wooden columns on the longer leg of the rectangle. It was open on all sides to allow for a cross breeze and sufficient ventilation. The layout of the market was planned so that the meats and vegetables vendors were on opposite sides with the center allocated for grains and patisserie goods. Since we sold both, vegetables and meats, our stall was on the border of the Meat and Grain section. The stall was my grandfather's and his father before that so to us it was more than just a location from which to sell our goods, there was a sense of pride associated with our ancestry.

Sasha's presence at our stall was not without an underlying strategy. Not only was she a good sales person but she was there to attract the customers to our stand, many of whom were men, and with whom she flirted quite openly. She did this within the boundaries of acceptable, social norms. Her adept teasing often engaged the women, drawing them into the risqué repartee to make sure that they never felt left out or threatened. The strategy always worked and though our prices for the homemade pies, yogurt, cheese, bread, preserves and pastry were a premium, it was a rare day when we did not sell out.

The men, rather than disappoint her, would invariably buy something and the women, who spent more time asking her for beauty tips, would end up buying things in exchange for the advice she gave them. Petar and I were there to haul the heavy stuff and act as a deterrent to the occasional overzealous drunk.

There was only one incident some months back that I can recall where we had to intervene. It had to do with a slightly inebriated admirer which ended painfully for the unfortunate man. Petar, who was quiet by nature, had repeatedly and politely requested the man to leave our sister alone but the big oaf wouldn't let it go. In an act of bravado to impress his friends and his mind dulled by alcohol, he grabbed Sasha and tried to kiss her.

"Come on, one kiss ... just one kiss ... my pretty, little Ruskie ..." he babbled.

"Let me go ... what are you doing? Let me go, you big idiot!" She hissed angrily, struggling against the big man, trying to push him back while tuning her face away from him.

I stood rooted unable to react but noticed a blur to the side and in a millisecond, Petar was on him. He had leapt over the table and grabbed the bigger man by his hair. He jerked the man's head backwards while twisting his arm behind his back, all in one quick motion.

"Let her go!" Petar snarled menacingly, wrenching the man's arm upwards.

The torque of the diametrically opposing forces on the shoulder made the big man wince in pain. His back arched awkwardly and he let go of Sasha almost immediately. At that point, as far as Petar was concerned, it was over -- he pushed the stranger away from him and turned to get back behind the table.

"Are you okay?" he asked Sasha who nodded and smiled.

But alcohol often repeals reason and instead of leaving well enough alone, the stranger made the mistake of grabbing Petar. That aggressive gesture sealed his fate. It was over so quickly that if you blinked you would have missed it. A single punch ended the incident. Petar hit him squarely on the chin and put him to sleep and I mean literally.

I later found out that the blow had fractured the man's jaw in three places, a painful price to pay for a moment's indiscretion. And that was the last time anyone thought of touching Sasha while Petar was around. They flirted with her and bought stuff from her and some of the braver souls even asked her out, but no dared lay a finger on her again, that is, until Lucian Dragovic.

*******

Lucian Dragovic

It was a Tuesday and as was his weekly ritual, Lucian strolled through the market square with his assistant, Andro Bogdanic. They made a conspicuously odd couple by virtue of their physical disparity. Andro Bogdanic was a short man, almost a foot shorter than Lucian, and he was grossly overweight with a belly that tested the resilience of his shirt buttons and hung ponderously over his belt. He had a nervous personality, fidgeting compulsively, often twirling the end of his tie while tugging on his oversized mustache. He walked with a peculiar rolling gait characterized by short, choppy steps and he suffered from Hyperhidrosis, a glandular disorder which caused him to sweat profusely. His physician had advised him to take some time off to get his weight and blood pressure under control but like most people, he had given up on diets and exercise choosing rather to let nature run its course while indulging his unhealthy lifestyle.

To compound matters, his anxiety level increased exponentially whenever he was with his boss, a fact that could be attributed solely to his fear of Lucian. He was not just frightened but terrified of the Director. The man reminded him of a vulture constantly probing and stalking, looking for a weakness; circling for a carcass to hone in on. He felt a chill run through him at the very thought of falling into Lucian's disfavor. He knew that the slightest hint of disrespect or suspicion could result in a fate worse than death and with that in mind, he made sure to do whatever the Director had asked of him without questioning the motive. Over the past year, he had become quite expert at anticipating his boss' needs but found himself in a conundrum. Lucian was beginning to depend on him to a much larger extent and that meant spending more time together which in turn raised the fat man's anxiety level to the point where he was losing sleep. Something had to give and Bogdanic was worried sick over it.

However, the Tuesday walkabouts were becoming less stressful because he knew exactly what the Director was looking for. What he couldn't know was that their entire world was about to get turned on its head and all because of a woman, albeit a strikingly beautiful woman!

This day began as usual - they stopped randomly at the stalls and talked to the vendors to make sure that the products being sold at their stands were officially sanctioned by his office. The vendors, many of whom were poor farmers, would have to produce the certificate with the official seal, authorizing them to sell government subsidized goods and if a vendor did not have the authorization, he was hit with a fine or several fines depending on the circumstance. Most of the fines were meted out at the Director's whim. It was a game in which the farmer and his family ran the risk of losing everything that made the decision to compromise and accept the offer to settle quiet appealing. This was the real reason for the Tuesday ritual; taking names and adding it to a growing list of people whom Lucian could manipulate.

The first time Sasha saw Lucian her reaction was much like Bogdanic's; a shiver ran down her spine, like someone had walked over her grave. His very appearance was eerie, exuding an aura so cold that she felt the premonition of death. His narrow shoulders made him seem even taller than he was; a sticklike caricature with a skull for a head. His long, thin neck, the prominent Adam's apple, his beady eyes, lipless mouth and bloodless pallor gave him an expression that reminded her of a walking cadaver. 'God, what a strange, frightening man,' she thought to herself. She quickly looked away and bent down behind the stand to plate more of the homemade pie hoping that he hadn't noticed her but he had. His reptilian eyes had latched on to her the moment he walked into the square.

Lucian, on the other hand, was struck by Sasha's allure; enamored by the vivacious nymph whose beauty and smile filled up the room. He had seen her a few times before today but she always ignored him and she was rarely there on Tuesdays. Saturday was the day we were normally at the market. This Tuesday was an exception. We were here only because Papa had shot and butchered a wild boar over the weekend and there was plenty of meat to sell off.

There was a small crowd at our stall tasting and buying flavored yogurt, meat pies, smoked ribs and pastries when Lucian and his assistant, Andro Bogdanic, arrived at the counter. Almost everyone knew of Lucian and either out of fear or respect they stepped aside letting them through to the front. As soon as Sasha spotted them, she smiled warmly and came over to the fat man, ignoring Lucian.

"Hello, sir, would you care to taste the best meat pies and pastry in all of Suza?" she asked offering the shorter man a plate of the sampler.

"We would like that very much and by the way, Miss, this is your lucky day," the assistant replied, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead and tugging nervously at his mustache, "here with me is the Director of Farmland Affairs, my boss, Mr. Lucian Dragovic!"

The last bit was delivered with an exaggerated flourish and a shallow bow towards the tall, thin, strange-looking man and with that Bogdanic took a deferential position, stepping back and allowing his boss the pride of place.

Sasha looked up at Lucian and gave him a quick, nervous smile but before she could turn away he reached for a piece of the sampler.

"I will try a piece. And, if I may have your name, Miss?" Lucian asked before popping the little hor D'oeuvre into his mouth. Beautiful women always made him nervous.

She watched him chewing, captivated by the striations of his jaw muscles as they danced prominently on the sides of his face. She noticed every microscopic detail; his Adam's Apple, bobbing up and down when he swallowed, the hooked nose, thin slash of a mouth, the receding chin. She took it all in with the same fascination one would have for a dangerous snake but she found that the accompanying fear had rendered her mute with fright.

"What is your name, Miss?" Bogdanic repeated his jowls quivering as he fumbled with his tie.

"Sasha. Sasha Dorić," She stuttered turning quickly to where Petar was standing.

"And where are you from, Miss. Dorić?" the Director persisted, his face expressionless while his eyes took in the perfect form of this angel reincarnate.

But it was Petar who stepped in sensing Sasha's plight and got in between her and the Director.

"I'm Petar Dorić and our farm is in Suza but north, closer to Zmajevac," he said stepping up to the counter.

"Your wife makes a very tasty pastry, Mr. Dorić." Lucian said studying Petar, the tip of his tongue flicking out nervously to wet his mouth.

"She is my sister," Petar corrected tersely.

"My mistake, I apologize," he offered, ignoring the tone and obviously thrilled by the news, "I like the pies and will send someone to pick up a few."

He turned and was about to leave when he stopped and then deliberately turned back towards Petar, his neck craning forward like that of a stork.

"Mr. Dorić, do you have a Vendor Certificate to sell these produce here?" He quizzed.

There was a short pause while the two men took stock of each other.

"I don't need a certificate, Director, you see, we do not take subsidies from the Regional or Central Offices. We do not take anything from anyone. We are free men not beholden to any man or state," Petar replied, his voice brimming with the fierce pride of his ancestors.

"Ah, that puts you in a very small minority, Mr. Dorić, and a very privileged one indeed!"

Petar didn't reply but stood staring at the taller man, his eyes unwavering and I saw the Director look away, slowly inching back, unable to control his abhorrence for confrontation then he turned and smiled at Sasha as a show of defiance before making his way towards the exit.

Lucian hated this; being shown up in public and that too by a peasant. He despised men like Petar Dorić; men who were proud, unafraid and ready to take a stand for a cause -- even if it was a losing one. But he appeased himself with the fact that by virtue of their often impetuous nature, men like Petar were easy to deal with and his mind began formulating a plan as he made his way through the pressing throngs.

"I will check the file, Mr. Dragovic. I will make sure that their papers are in order and if not, I will take the appropriate action. You can count on that!" Bogdanic said loudly calling after his boss, hoping to diffuse the situation.

"Check all you want, fat man. You will not find anything ... and if you do, come and see me," Petar said. There was no mistaking the threat in his voice.

"There will be no need for that, Mr. Dorić. May I call you Petar?" he said, his voice dripping with honey and then prattled on quickly, "If there is anything, any oversight that requires attention, Petar, I will take care of it personally. I will come back for the pies, Miss Dorić. Please have them packed," Andro Bogdanic smiled, fidgeted, and bowed and then chased after his boss, waddling like a duck on his thick, stubby legs.

We watched the strange couple pushing through the teeming crowd until they were engulfed and lost in its immense anonymity.

"Screw them. I'm not giving that bastard anything. Let's go. We are almost done here and I'll be damned if we're going to wait around for them." Petar said and pulled Sasha to him, "Are you okay, little sister? Don't let him scare you."

"Why would I be scared of anyone when you are here, dear brother?" she smiled broadly and hugged him back.

They stood for a while, wrapped around each other like lovers, oblivious of the others watching them and unashamed of their love.

*******

Tempting Fate

After that night when we first made love Kristina and I would steal away, every chance we got, to some secluded spot and fuck like bunnies. We were both getting better at pleasing the other and both of us were really into it, especially oral sex. We would spend hours locked in a sixty-nine, lying inverted sucking, stroking, fingering and licking until we were near exhaustion. I just loved to make her cum. My baby sister was born hyper-erotic, blessed with the ability to have multiple orgasms and it thrilled me to no extent to watch her writhe and buck as I sucked on her little clit. However there was a problem and it was that Krissy couldn't get enough. She was beginning to act impulsively, throwing caution to the wind and ignoring the obvious risks. She made no secret of wanting sex at any time and anywhere and her unpredictable spontaneity almost got us caught several times.

Our mother seemed oblivious to the subtle change in our relationship. She didn't seem to notice the exchanging of glances, secretive smiles, the surreptitious touching and groping whenever we passed each other in the kitchen or dining room. And she didn't seem to think it strange that we were leaving to go 'fishing' almost every day but rarely if ever caught any fish.

But I sensed that Laura and Sasha were beginning to get suspicious and of a substantially greater concern was Papa; he had questioned Kristina several times about her whereabouts; something that he had never done in the past. I was a bit worried but like everything else in her life, Kristina treated this as though it was a game.

One day, a week later while I was in the barn cleaning out the stalls, she came up behind me and hugged me from the back her hand snaking down my abdomen to my crotch and rubbing my cock through my trousers. I knew that Papa and Petar were up in the loft redoing the wiring to his room but before I could fend her off or warn her, my father leaned over the barrister and called down.




The Dorić Diaries



"Andelko, come up here and help us." This was followed by a short pause and then, "What are you doing, Krissy?"

"Nothing Papa, just teasing ... I can help you ... let Andy clean the stalls! He likes cleaning shit!" she said and laughed running up to the loft. She was impossible.

Being the youngest, Kristina was Papa's favorite and she could pretty much get away with anything but I couldn't help but wonder whether he saw her groping me or whether his vision was blocked by my body. I was never quite sure.

Later that evening, after dinner, when Kristina went to the outhouse I followed her and waited in the shadows outside the door. My grandfather had built the original structure out of wood but Papa had rebuilt it a few years back. He had made it much larger and used brick instead of wood. He also installed western style commodes (toilets) in both, the men's and women's sides and also installed a pump with running water and a place to wash which was a blessing.

I was determined to have a talk with her -- she just had to be more careful. There was a swirling breeze that night which caused the leaves to swish and rustle, accompanying the susurrant whirring of the Cicada. It was threatening to rain again and the churning buzz of the insect's tymbals was shattered by the intermittent crackle of thunder and lightning. But despite the roar of the wind and the hiss of the imagoes, I could hear her peeing and the water running while she washed herself. Just the thought of her with her skirt drawn up was getting me excited and I was tempted to go in and fuck her but I controlled myself - "Later; I'll fuck her later tonight' I thought as I stared at the heavy wooden door. The traffic to the outhouse was at its peak after dinner so I knew we didn't have much time.

A few minutes later she stepped out and when she saw me she ran into my arms, her lips searching for mine, but I dragged her behind the building.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing, Krissy? Papa almost saw us!" I hissed, knowing that my father would kill me for seducing his 'baby girl'.

Her face looked flushed and radiant in the yellow haze of the wall-lantern. Big sparkling eyes, the full, pouting mouth I couldn't resist, thick velvety hair and her breasts which had grown a lot bigger over the last year, straining against her nightie ... I felt a pang of regret as soon as I saw her expression change. I could see that she was hurt by my reaction as the tears brimmed in her eyes.

She was quiet, struggling to keep her emotions in check. She was beginning to look more and more like Sasha and I felt myself wanting her even more.

"You have to more careful, baby ... you just have to ..." I said in a gentler tone.

"Oh, stop worrying, Andy ... you are such a worrywart! Papa knows nothing and who cares anyway? Petar and Sasha are doing it, so why can't we?" she answered in her typical defiant manner, her mood suddenly upbeat and happy.

Then without another word she pushed me against the wall and dropped to her knees and began fumbling with my belt.

"Hurry, baby, I need you ... to taste you ... shoot it into my mouth," she mumbled and tugged impatiently at the buckle, unable to get my belt undone.

All thoughts of Papa and getting caught were gone, shunted out, and just as I was about to indulge her, we heard the soft echo of padded footsteps over the sibilating buzz of the insects.

"Who's there?" It was Laura, "Andy, is that you? Krissy?"

Galvanized by the nearness of Laura's voice, Kristina got up quickly and brushed off her dress before stepping out from behind the wall.

"Hi Laura, we were watching the lightening ... it's beautiful, don't you think?" Kristina said matter-of-factly, without the slightest hint of what she had been about to do.

I came out of the shadows and couldn't help but feel guilty. My eyes were drawn to the dirt stains around the knees on Krissy's dress. Did Laura suspect something? Her expression was one of suspicion, like she wasn't buying Kristina's story at all.

"What's going on, you two?" Laura quizzed, this time addressing me, "You have been acting very strangely the last few days ... and don't lie to me; just tell me what is going on!"

"I don't know what you mean," Krissy answered without missing a beat, "and don't think I don't notice you staring at me like some weirdo... what's wrong with you?"

There was a short silence and I was about to intervene when a loud crash of thunder ripped through the air making us all jump in fright. The two sisters looked at each other and began laughing hysterically.

"God! I think I just peed in my panties ..." Laura said.

"Let's go in before we get hit by lightning ... I don't think Mom will want that!" I said, relieved that the moment was over.

"Wait for me. I have to pee," she said and ran into the bathroom.

I gave Kristina quick kiss on her mouth, "You wait for her. I'll see you later ... Krissy, you have to be more careful, baby."

She laughed and squeezed my behind playfully just as I turned and headed back to the house. I felt a sense of relief knowing that we had dodged the proverbial bullet once again.

That night, though I wanted her, I was sure that Krissy would play it safe and stay in her bed but I was wrong. She slipped under the covers and we made love until the wee hours of dawn.

*******

Beware of Greeks bearing Gifts

The next morning, just after breakfast, a large truck pulled into the backyard, the roar of its engine reverberating in the early morning mist and causing the windows to rattle. It was a shiny, like-new Freightliner, an American truck, with an open bed that had been converted to resemble a tractor-trailer. These were quite rare and very expensive and were also much larger than the European trucks. The gleaming black paint and State's emblem on the small flag revealed its ownership.

Andro Bogdanic stepped out from the passenger's side and almost fell as he jumped to the yard. He caught himself and then called out.

"Hello! Hello there ... I hope I'm in time for coffee and cake!" He said jovially.

It was extremely rare for us to have guests and anyone visiting us was welcomed and treated with undue hospitality. For my mother and sisters it was an opportunity to catch up with all the local gossip and for my father, a chance to share some beer and talk politics. The local and national party affiliations were a fervent hobby for all Yugoslavians -- politics was a drug that was almost as addictive as soccer!

Hearing the commotion my mother and Sasha emerged from the kitchen onto the porch and I came out from the pen that housed the sheep. It was located a bit to the rear but gave me clear view of the yard.

"Miss. Dorić, it's so good to see you again!" Bogdanic exclaimed when he spotted Sasha.

"Oh, hello Mr. ... er ... umm ... I'm sorry, I don't remember your name," she said, laughing and throwing up her hands in a gesture of helplessness.

The fat man bowed and then added, "Oh, that's okay, Miss, my name is not important but it is Andro Bogdanic and I am your humble servant!"

Then he turned to my mother and smiled and just then, Laura and Krissy walked into the yard.

"This is my mother and those two pretty young things are my sisters," Sasha said, introducing them but not using their names.

"It is my great pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Dorić. It is easy to see where your daughters get their unusual beauty from!"

My mother studied the peculiar man and smiled; she wasn't averse to flattery. She pushed back a strand of rebellious hair that had fallen across her face before addressing the stranger.

"Would you like some coffee?" Mama asked the heavyset man.

"Yes, please, it was a long drive and coffee sounds wonderful. What do you say, Andrej?" Bogdanic said turning to the driver who nodded.

There was no mistaking the body language of the second man -- he was either ex-militia or Para-military. I was so busy studying him that I didn't see Petar. He had been in the vegetable garden hidden from our view by the huge truck and appeared without warning catching us all by surprise.

"What do you want, fat man?" Petar asked without preamble as he walked to where the truck was parked, the tone of his voice cutting through the conviviality.

Bogdanic's initial reaction was one of surprise but he was able to cover up his uneasiness. Petar, he had realized when he first met him, was different from the others that his boss had intimidated. There was something about this man that frightened him; something palpable between them that seemed to be preordained by fate. And, that something did not engender a good feeling in the Assistant.

"Oh, hello Petar ... it's good to see you!" he quipped ignoring the derogatory moniker and controlling his apprehension.

Petar was now standing in front of Bogdanic.

"What do you want?" Petar repeated wiping his hands on his overalls and giving the driver a quick once over.

Andro Bogdanic stuttered and mumbled avoiding the cold, blue stare of my brother. Petar was normally a quiet person but if he disliked you, it was best you stayed away from him. He reached out and grabbed the fat man by his collar.

"Come on, spit it out! What are you really here for?" Petar's voice took on a harder edge.

The driver made a move towards them but Bogdanic waved him off.

"My boss, the Director, Lucian Dragovic, regretted the way matters ended the other day and wanted to make amends. He was sorry for the misunderstanding," the assistant said speaking very quickly then motioned to the driver, waving his hand in the direction of the truck, "and as a show of good faith he wants you to have these ... these gifts. They are yours, Petar, with no strings attached."

Petar turned when the driver, who had walked to the rear of the truck, came back with four piglets, holding them up by their hind legs. They were small, clean and healthy and when he let them down, they snorted and hobbled a few feet then stopped to burrow their noses into the grass. Their hind legs had been tethered so they couldn't get away.

The driver's face was expressionless but even I could tell that he was not really the driver but the muscle and was sent to make sure that Bogdanic was safe and did as he was told.

"These specimens are the magnificent Mangalitsa piglets... from Austria! The very best! You know, the Director wants only the best for your family, Petar!" Bogdanic said morphing like a chameleon, his voice taking on an air of subtle authority.

The Mangalitsa are a breed of pigs distinguishable from others by their long, coarse hair and their uncanny resemblance to the wild Boars. This breed produces the highest quality and most expensive cuts of meat and was highly sought after in Europe. We would be the envy of the region -- none of the farmers we knew, not even the largest pig breeder, Bojan Broz, had Mangalitsa pigs. However, Petar was not impressed.

"Take them back and tell your boss that we do not need or take gifts!" Petar snapped and spat; the glob of spittle landing by Bogdanic's feet.

Just then Papa appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

"Wait a minute, Petar, what is going on?" Papa asked, stepping into the yard. He had been watching the entire charade and had decided that it was time to intervene.

Petar and Papa moved to the side and spoke in hushed tones. Petar was gesturing animatedly nodding several times in the direction of Sasha after which Papa turned away and looked at the piglets, then addressed Bogdanic.

"No strings attached? No favors, no subtle requests or visits in the dark?" Papa asked.

"No, sir, none at all! I give you my word. My boss is a good man and can be a friend to you," Bogdanic's voice now taking on an oily, obsequious tone, "Director Dragovic has the most respect for your family ... your father ... he was a great man and it is good to have friends in high places, no?"

"There is always a price, my friend, and not necessarily in currency but as long as it is fair and equitable and the expectations are clearly understood, I have no problem with it," Papa said, "I actually prefer it that way."

Petar was about to say something when Papa waved him off. I could sense Petar's anger but he bit his tongue and remained silent.

"And about my father; so that we have no misunderstandings, he had no use for the Government or those who hid behind the corrupt veil of bureaucracy to exploit others. But, he was a gracious man and treated all visitors with hospitality. Come, let's have a cup of coffee and forget our differences. Let's talk some more."

Papa turned towards the house giving Petar a cold look, "My son does not trust strangers and occasionally forgets his manners."

Petar glared at the fat man then turned on his heels and stormed back towards the garden. His expression was dark and hard and one that I had never seen before. I was suddenly overcome by an uneasy feeling that this innocuous beginning was going to lead to something horrific. I shook the thought from my mind and followed my father into the house.

"Oh, I understand ... these days, you can never be too careful," Bogdanic agreed, tugging at his handlebar mustache, and walking alongside me.

After approximately an hour we came out again. But this time, Bogdanic was in his element talking to Sasha who was holding a bottle of perfume he had given her. It was a bottle of Chanel No. 5, a ridiculously expensive brand made from the extract of jasmine and rose and which cost more than all the pigs we had including the Mangalitsa piglets. She opened the cap and sniffed it then dabbed a bit on her neck and turning to her sisters, she did the same to them. This was quite a special treat, something farm girls could never even dream of. The air was clogged and heavy with titillating fragrance of flowers, especially the sweet smell of Jasmine.

"Please thank the Director, it was very thoughtful of him," Sasha said and extended her hand to Bogdanic.

The Assistant bowed ceremoniously, kissing the back of her hand, "No thanks needed, dear lady. A smile from you is thanks enough!"

Just as Bogdanic was about to leave, Sasha said, "Wait! The last time the Director had wanted the pies ... we have some left and I will get it for you!"

And with that she ran back into the kitchen. She was happy as a child -- thrilled by the extravagant gift and reveling in the attention being showered on her.

I have often wondered how life would have turned out had they just gotten into the truck and driven off - if Sasha hadn't remembered the pies. Life may have been very different. But they didn't just drive off and our lives were indelibly affected by the events that transpired next.

While we waited for her to return, Petar rejoined us. He had finished raking and seeding the small plot where we grew all our vegetables. His overalls and hands were covered in mud and I could tell that the strenuous exertion had done little to change his dark mood.

The driver, who was in his way, quickly stepped aside avoiding eye contact -- not that he was intimidated but he too could sense the rage exuding from within Petar. Bogdanic, on the other hand, was oblivious of my brother's state of mind.

"Petar, once those pigs have grown you can breed them -- you will have the only Mangalitsa in the region. And we will buy it back from you or you can butcher them and the meat will bring in a fair amount of money." Bogdanic said to him trying to make conversation.

"Fuck you! Fuck the pigs and fuck your Director! You tell him that ... you hear? And you tell him to stay the fuck away from my sister!" Petar snarled his face dark with anger.

He shoved the assistant hard sending him stumbling backwards waving his short, chubby arms in the air, desperately trying to regain his balance until he succumbed to the laws of gravity and fell heavily on his ass. It was like a scene from a slapstick movie and would have been hilarious except for what followed.

No sooner had the assistant hit the ground than the driver made his move. He was quick, reacting with the agility of a cat; closing the distance between them in a flash. He grabbed Petar in a choke hold from the rear in an attempt to restrain him. The man was bigger than Petar, about six feet two, knew how to fight and was in excellent shape but he had grossly underestimated my brother.

Petar reacted instantly securing the forearm that was around his neck with his left hand while reaching behind and grabbing a hold of the driver's jacket with the right. Then jerking forward, rolling his shoulders he pivoted his hips sending the man flying over his back. It was a basic Judo throw but executed so efficiently that the man was unable to react to counter it.

The driver was obviously trained in hand to hand combat. Despite being thrown, he did not let go of Petar's neck and the two men fell to the ground. But it was here that Petar's immense strength provided him with a distinct advantage. They wrestled fiercely, rolling on the soggy grass but Petar broke free and got on top of the driver, then holding the man by his throat he punched him in the face, ending the struggle quite abruptly.

The driver went limp but Petar didn't stop, he continued pummeling the defenseless man with a barrage of blows that rained down in a blur, so quickly that none of us had moved. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Petar landed ten to fifteen punches before Papa dragged him off of the unconscious man. And it was just as well because had Papa not intervened, I know Petar would have surely killed him. It was obvious from the man's face that his nose and orbital socket were crushed. His mouth hung open at on odd angle indicating that his jaw might also be fractured -- he was a bloody mess.

When I looked over at Petar, he was standing off to the side, nonchalantly studying the knuckles of his right hand before shaking it out like he might have hurt his fist then he turned and walked away indifferent to the mayhem he had just unleashed.

Mother and Sasha tended to the injured man but we soon realized that he was in need of real medical attention. I helped Papa carry him into the back of the truck and since Bogdanic couldn't handle the huge vehicle, Papa and I took them to the local hospital.

The Assistant was beside himself with worry.

*******

El Tigre

There were three men in Andro Bogdanic's office. One of them sat on a wooden chair in front of the Assistant's desk and was obviously the leader. His name was Dragoslav Blažanović. He was known as the 'El Tigre' and was a Krajina Serb from Montenegro with a reputation for violence. The other two who stood behind him with their arms folded could have passed for twins. The room was small and cramped made more so by their presence. They were all cut from the same stone; about the same size, tall and powerfully built and dressed in the black fatigues of the militia. The door was shut and the conversation was spoken in hushed tones.

"There are two issues," Bogdanic said to them, "One: you need to know that we are sympathetic to your feelings and realize the importance of sending a clear message for what happened to Andrej. However, we need do this tactfully, without creating problems with the family. There is a reason for this so we must be circumspect."

The men did not respond but remained silent, staring steadfastly at Bogdanic.

"And two: our Party needs the farmers. The old man is reasonable and can be an asset so it would serve us well to deal with him and leave Petar Dorić alone. Let the father handle his son! These people have influence with the locals -- remember Stefan Dorić, the grandfather? Okay? We do not need any more of that shit!"

There was no response. Bogdanic felt the eyes of the men boring into him like he was being interrogated. He squirmed in his chair, tugged at his mustache and tried to regain his position of authority. 'These fucking troglodytes made him nervous and how he wished he could have been unafraid; like Petar Dorić. Now there was a man!'