22 comments/ 37952 views/ 10 favorites The Historian By: RetiredReprobate I. Expecting the power to go off at any time, now, I'd finished the last of the document scanning to DVD. All the 'special' packages had been sent to California. The doorbell took me by surprise: as the town's new-minted pariah, the last thing I expected was a visitor. I got up from the table I was using for a desk, down the hallway, crossed over the spot where the fire-bomb had burned and went over to answer it. Standing outside was a pretty brunette, her face obscured partly by shadow, and partly by a baseball cap pulled low over her eyes. Looking just past her, I saw a little sporty car, a 2-door. One I'd never seen before in town. Opening the door, and starting to say, "Yes?," I was staggered to hear the girl say, "Hi, Dad." "Sophie?," I kind of chocked out. "The one and only," she said, and grinned. I remembered that grin. 100 watts of power, and her mother had never been able to erase it, though Dolores had tried hard. "Is Mom home?" my daughter added. I answered truthfully, "Your Mom won't ever come back to this house again." The grin went up to 150 watts immediately. "Thank God for big favors," she said, "I really dreaded meeting up with her, but I just HAD to see you again, and here I am. You gonna let me in, or am I gonna sleep in the flowerbed tonight?" I know I'm supposed to guess accurately and describe my brunette daughter, gone for years from mid-teens, by exact weight, height, bra and cup size, etc. Give me a break! I had a quick chance to glance at a slim, tanned and toned brunette, wearing a short denim skirt and a crop-top, bare-midriff, and high-heel sandals. I saw the usual pretty bumps on her chest, nice hips and lovely long legs. Being a man, that took all of 2 seconds. I'm Noble Goode Freeman, Ph.D., a former university historian. Also former cuckold, accused-homosexual, impotent, wimp, ne'r-do-well, unemployable, child-raping, fraud-indicted failure of a human being, if you listened to the hysterical gossip spread around town, the last couple of months. I'm tall, about six-foot-two, but not athletic, with a middle-aged gut that I'd like to loose, if I ever get around to exercising, which I hate with a passion. For the last 24 years, I'd had the sexless, loveless, marriage-from Hell, barely existing in helpless hatred, wedded to Dolores Ramona Luisa Daemona Freeman, nee-Guzman. My daughter, Sophia Freeman Noble, aged about 20, had just swayed into my front room, after a self-imposed absence of 4 years. She left, with my tearful blessings, when she was 16. But I'm getting ahead of this narrative. I gestured her in to the old living room, with the battered couch and two chairs, all that was left after the vandalism. She looked around at the bare spaces, and at the plywood panels that graced most of the front window panes that overlooked the street, more sudden memories of the sudden township dislike I'd been living with these last couple of months. She stared at the charred and melted circle where the fire had been, too. I turned around, just in time to absorb a chaste, daughterly kiss on the cheek. I growled, but also grinned, saying, "OK for a 'hi, how are you, Dad' kiss. I just said your Mom wasn't here and won't be coming back. You haven't seen me for four years. How about I get a real kiss, like the one you gave me when you left on the bus?" The grin expanded to 200 watts, and included a devilish tint, and I found myself on the receiving end of a thorough, wet, sloppy kiss, delivered with full tongue, combined with roaming hands slipped under my t-shirt, with full body press and one leg brought up to crook around my waist. This went on for quite some time. "Wow," I said, when she broke the kiss, for more air." "Lots more, where that came from, you dirty old man." She added, "Hi, Dad. I'm glad I'm home, with you. Just you." "For as long as the electricity's on," I kind of whispered to myself. She quirked her eyebrows, but I didn't add anything right then. Sophie dashed out to her car, and dragged in two suitcases, which she then carried in to the back of the house, and re-parked her car around back. When I caught up with her, she'd dumped both in the master bedroom. Silently, we toured the house, which didn't take long, it being a typical 3-bedroom rancher, in a small town. Sophie's old bedroom was full of junk and wreckage that her mother had done, during her last rages, and I was using the 2nd room as an office. "I'll rig up some kind of a bed for me, and you can have my bed," I said. "Damn right, I will," she said, "and you can have it too, you old pervert. I'll take the right side, you take the left side, and we'll have meetings in the middle. And that settles that. End of discussion!" Sophie marched out of the master bedroom, hips swinging exaggeratedly, flashing me a look over her shoulder. I was left sort of stuttering, "um ... er ... well ...." I joined her in the living room, and we talked. About what? Just about everything. What I'd been doing. Old memories of my wife, her Mom. She was sort of evasive about her job as secretary and girl-Friday to an executive in MegaCorp, in Las Vegas. And I was just as evasive about her Mom's current whereabouts, and why there was plywood in some of the front windows, and a big charred-melted spot in the front room carpet. I figured I'd have to tell her about that, but, oh, not yet, not yet. The afternoon and early evening slipped away in chit-chat. After all, my only daughter had been gone for four years, with only brief letters and cards, sent to the town's Post Office General Delivery. Not to the house, because her Mom would have latched on to them, torn them up or tried to use them as leverage with me. Perhaps you've guessed that I had had a hate-filled, sexless marriage for years. For decades. You'd be right. We both ran down, and just sat. I fixed her a simple meal, soup and sandwiches. I pitched the kitchen waste onto the growing pile out the back door, since no one would do trash removal any more. I kept my fingers crossed that we'd still have electric service for a couple more days. We both ran down and stopped, as night came on, and we both settled down in companionable silence. The TV Cable service had been shut off for a couple of weeks, but we didn't miss it. I had my hands over the back of the couch, and Sophie relaxed into my side. She turned her head and smiled a little, reached up and back, clasped my hand and drew it down over her shoulder, and then settled back with a sigh. She snuggled around some, which I liked, and then she turned, reached her head and body up, and kissed me again. Lots of tongue again, which I also liked. The girl liked to kiss at 16, and she hadn't changed at all. But, as she settled back into my side, my hand was maneuvered, oh-so-carefully, to cup her breast. I stiffened, of course, and waited for the firm push and the exclamation of outrage. It didn't come. What I did hear was, "mmmm, I like that, Dad. Squeeze a little, would you?" I looked down at my daughter, and raised my eyebrow, and she responded with an other , "mmmm. Feels good, Dad. Don't be afraid, I'm not mad. Squeeze. Don't stop." So I squeezed a beautiful handful of lovely, young-woman, pretty brunette, daughter's breast flesh. And again. And again. Under my palm, I felt a hard point develop and start to rise, poking out. Again, I looked down, and watched my lovely, newly-returned daughter take several deep breaths, eyes half closed. She crooned, "ah, that feels so good. I like your hand there. Don't move it. Don't stop. Yeah, squeeze harder. Massage me, Dad." Then she added, "Dad, my nipple is hard. Pinch it, pull on me a little. Look down and watch yourself doing it. Mmmmm... Please, Dad." So I started to seriously massage her breast (the right one, I should say), and got my fingers around her nipple. My penis was getting hard, I couldn't control it. I pulled lightly, pinched and twisted a little, hearing little soft cries and moans. Sliding my hand around her crop top, I started looking for the outlines of a bra, and didn't find one. Sophie must have read my mind, or maybe the motions of my hands. She said, between moans, "Ah, like that, just like that. I don't have a bra on. Mmmm, damn, you're good. I almost never wear one, don't need it. Mmmmm, come on, Dad, you like what you're looking at, work on the other one, too." Sophie slid down and half rolled over, relaxing across my lap, back arched, and breasts straining upwards. I dropped my other hand over her left breast, and started to make love to it, as well. Make love? I'm not dumb, I know I was making out—heavy petting, we used to call it—with my daughter. My erection was straining out of my trousers, and she must have been able to feel it. She did, as she crooned, "Mmmm, my tits like you, very much. I'm bare under my top. Mmmmm, yeah, my nips love your fingers. Pull off my top, I want you to feel me bare. Mmmmm, yeah, you're hard. I like that. Gasp, groan. I almost never wear panties, either. Mmmmm, yeah, that's it, pull, get it, umph, yeah, over my head. Mmmm. I'm shaved bare, too." Then my daughter, now bare to the waist, ordered me, "Dad, don't look away. Look down at me. See me, really see me. See me really liking the feel of your hands on my body. Mmmm, yeah, that's so good. Look at me enjoy what you're doing. Don't stop." Sophie reached down, and pulled up her denim mini-skirt. She had no panties. She was bare, and shaved smooth. "Damn you, look at me! I want you. I want to be your lover. Put your hard penis into your daughter, before she explodes. I want to go into the bedroom, right now, and then I want you to take me, have sex with me. Then I can sleep with you, and then I'll wake you up, and then you can have me again. Lots of times. Dad, don't say no. Please don't say no." She squirmed out of my lap, stood up, and in a couple of quick motions, dropped her skirt to the floor, and kicked it over to join her top, now residing at the edge of the couch. She walked away toward the hall and master bedroom, bare ass swaying and curving. I staggered in there about a minute later. It had been a long time since I'd last had any man-inside-woman sex, and my aroused lust was almost painful. I found my daughter, sandals kicked off, laying on my bed—our bed—completely stretched out and so beautifully nude and available that I nearly cried. She gestured, and my shirt and trousers, socks and underwear drifted off my body, somehow, because I didn't remember taking them off. My cock was standing out straight, jerking with each pulse of my heart, a drop of clear pre-cum forming on the tip. There was no possible way I was going to not take this beautiful girl, penetrate her, have sex with her, daughter or no. I slowly walked over to her, and stood over her. The drop of pre-cum fell off my cock, and oozed onto to her right breast, where she slowly, very deliberately massaged the slippery liquid into her skin. I started to ask, "Are you sure...," when she shushed me, demanding, "I want this. I want it right now. I want my father's huge erect incest-driven penis inside of me. I want you in deep. I want to feel you move inside me. I want you to use me for sex. I want to be on my back, looking up. I want to be looking at you, looking down at me, while you fuck your daughter. I want you to cum inside of me. Do it. Do me. Right now!" She reached up, and pulled on my shoulders, drawing me down into her suddenly open thighs. My cock came to rest on her pussy lips. I raised my hips a little, and her hot hand guided the tip of my cock into her opening. She was wet—no, that was like saying the ocean was wet. She was drenched, oozing with slippery lust. I thrust with my dry cock, and it slid halfway into her. Withdrew a little, and thrust again, feeling my cock seat itself to the limits of both our bodies. Two thrusts, and I was buried to the hilt inside my daughters pussy. She groaned, long and deep, in her throat, eyes squeezed shut, and then let her breath out in a long sigh. She whispered, half-voiced, "Oh, Dad, that was perfect. You belong inside me. I'm going to get so much sex from you. Ah, yeah, you're not moving. Just let me feel your cock in me. Let me look up at you. Oh, yeah, you're really focused. OK, start to fuck me. Just a little. Yeah, in and out, in and out, that's it. That's real fucking. I need you inside me so much. You need to be inside me, fucking me. Work your hips. Feel me working mine. Ahhh, yeahhh, we fuck so good together." She was a fucking expert. I already knew that , though I'd not seen her for years. She was my daughter. I didn't care how she got that way. I just needed to be inside her, driving my rigid cock into her body. We both accelerated our thrusting. She squealed and came, suddenly, telling me how good I was, and then started in on her second cum. We went faster yet. She kicked and thrashed, but never scratched. She came again, saying so. Then she settled in to grunting and gasping, and taking her Dad's increasingly maddened thrusts, as she came again and again, about every half minute. I was watching her, as my hips tried to pound her into the mattress, withdrawing almost all the way out of her, and jamming my entire length back in, over and over. I couldn't last. My orgasm came so fast, I was shouting and screaming her name, as the pulses of jism shot out of my cock and into her quivering body. I hadn't had a woman for so long, and it went on and on. My orgasm tapered off, and I collapsed down onto her shaking body, gasping for breath. When I moved, to try to pull my spent softening penis from her, she snarled in my ear, "Don't you dare pull that cock out of me. It stays there until it gets so soft it falls out." Then she grinned that 100-watt smile, as she said, "An' then I get to clean it off. You're gonna love that. You get to watch, while I do it. God, Dad, you're a wonderful lover." Fifteen minutes later, after the promised clean off, she was doing the full body press-and-kiss. Another five minutes, and she was out like a light, snoring lightly, splayed out on the bed like a sex goddess after an orgy. God, she looked beautiful. II I remember having a confused dream, where I was running from my knife-wielding wife, and then getting caught in a tangle of brush, roots and limbs. I finally came awake, to find myself caught in a tangle of limbs, my hands buried inside my daughter's pussy. I was half hard. My erection came up completely, as my lovely young brunette daughter took my pre-swollen cock in her mouth, and started to give me a wee-hours blowjob. I knew she was experienced. I had proof of that. But, looking down, I met her eyes, looking up. It's difficult to smile and talk when your mouth is full of throbbing cock, but somehow, she did it. Suck, slurp. "You were having a nightmare." Drool, slurp. "You were kicking and moving your hips." Squish, suck. "I wanted you to feel good, so I rubbed my tits all over you, and ... ." Slow, prolonged suck, and a deliberate deep-throat. "...and then I started sucking on your cock." Her hand encircled my shaft, and started a steady up-and-down motion, as she licked the head of my cock. She eyed my length, and shook her head a little. "Not quite ready to fuck me with. But soon, real soon." Her mouth returned to enclose my sex again. Suuuccckkk, powerfully. "Oh, Dad, you just don't know. You're so damn big. Mom never told you that. And you fuck soooo good." Suck, slurp. Quick spit to the head of my cock, a rapid roll over my legs, a weight settling onto my hips, and a barely-heard wet, slurping-sliding sound, as my entire cock length disappeared into my daughter's cunt. My lovely girl was poised over me, her on top, cowgirl-style, as she wiggled a bit to seat my hot shaft as deeply as possible inside her cunt. I've heard writers say that a character's eyes glowed. It's not possible, the eyes don't give off light. But, looking up, I was shocked to see her eyes fully dilated, and her eyelids opened wide, as she sat astride my hips, my straining, erect cock buried inside her body. She let her head fall back as she said, "God, Dad, you just can't know. You'd have to be a girl, and so hot you can hardly think, to even start to feel what I've got inside, here. Mom was a fucking slut, but she had THIS at home, and she ignored it. She was a total fool." She started to grind her hips in little circles around my penetrating cock. Trouble was, I agreed with my daughter, knowing even more than what Sophie knew. I'd have to tell her, and soon, but, oh God, please, not just yet. Let me feel that power-pussy surround my father's lust-pole again. "Dad, please, let me do most of the work. Please. Ahhh, yeah, let me fuck my father, my lover, the man who's cock is inside me. Yeah. Don't ever let anyone, any other girl, tell you different; you're huge inside. Long and thick. Just the way I like it." She looked down, eyes still fixed and wide, as she ground her hips into mine, saying, "come on, Dad, don't be a stranger. I've got tits, and they're damn sensitive. I can cum with just my tits felt up. I've got hips, and thighs, and a bare back, and a real sexy neck. You've got hands. Use 'em. Come on, I dare ya. Feel me up, while I fuck you. Make my tits cum. I double-dog dare ya." The challenge was issued, and—flat on my back, daughter's body impaled on my thrusting manhood—I picked up 'the glove,' and grasped both of her quivering breasts in my hands, twisting the nipples. Her body started to shake. I felt the uncontrolled spasms powerfully, around my cock, as she came hard. Holding one boob, and working on the nipple, I grasped her other thigh, kneading the flesh and inserting my hand between her groin and mine. I felt my own shaft, thrusting and withdrawing, into her slippery pussy lips, and I pinched the outer lips of her pussy. I swear, her back arched further than I thought possible, as she came again, HARD, squealing, demanding impossible sexual things. Like, "shove that man-cock right into me, make it come out my mouth," or "YEAH, pull my clit right out of the hood." I felt around with one hand, and truly found her clit, jammed between her downward thrusts and my upward ones. I stroked it, just a few times, and Sophie squealed, and came, again. I felt yet another of her orgasms build and release. They were coming faster. I sensed what was happening. I'd read a lot of porn books, and seen a lot of porn videos—especially those 'special' ones I kept right next to the bed—and I'd heard of multiply-orgasmic women. I knew they were rare. But my lovely young daughter was more than multiply orgasmic. It more like multi-mega-orgasmic. With orgasmic nipples. And then, she went into Status. Status? There's a medical term for people who have a fairly rare, and sometimes fatal, type of epilepsy, where the end of one seizure triggers the start of the next. The seizures never stop, and without pretty major medications, the sufferer eventually can't speak, or breathe, or control their heartbeat. Sometimes they die, having endless seizures. My lovely daughter, with a shudder and a scream, went into Status Orgasmicus. She stopped coming down between orgasms. She forgot to grind into me. She forgot to hold on. I grabbed her at the waist, as I started to thrust hard into her now fantastically sloppy cunt, as she squealed, and gasped, moaned and flailed her arms. Her eyes were wide, but not focused. She forgot to swallow, and she drooled spit down her chin, and onto her boobs. Just a screaming, thrashing woman-animal, having one, single, loooonnnngggg orgasm that didn't stop, never stopped. I thrust upwards like a mad person. I wasn't just her incest-driven Dad. I owned this woman. Right then, I owned her, body and soul, pulsing tits and squirting cunt, as her liquid squished between up. The Historian Then I CAME. So hard, so damn hard. I forgot to breathe, and my vision went red at the edges. Pulsing my spermal jism so deep within her. Trying to make my cock come out of her mouth. I failed, but not from lack of spurting and yelling and thrusting. She was a world-class lay. She was my daughter. I was her lover. I was her father. As the madness left me, I mentally gave my lover's soul back to her, and let go my ownership of her body ... until the next time. I swore to myself that there would be a next time. Lots of next times. I held her there, as my cock softened. It couldn't fall out, because she was still clasped tightly to me, legs locked in a death-grip to my hips. Eventually, her eyes re-focused, and she stopped gasping and moaning. It took quite a while. It'd only seen that performance once before, and that was on one of my special porn videos. Now I had it in person. And I was certain, absolutely sure, that I'd get it again, soon. Slowly, like a young willow tree bending over in the wind, Sophie fell forward, and lay flat on me, breasts pushed together, still on top. Her breath came in shudders. She said, after long minutes, "what did you DO to me? The last time that happened, it took five guys to get me there. You did it by yourself. You're a fucking magician." Whispering to myself, I remembered, and echoed, "five guys." She thought I'd asked a question, though I hadn't, and said, "yeah, Dad. Five men. One right after the other. After number two, I don't remember much, except that the orgasm went on, and on, and on. Just like now. My tits hurt for a week, after all that mauling. You're gentle. My tits feel fine, wanna see?" She reared back on her elbows, perky tits shoved out, and pointed right at me. So I reached out with my head, and sucked one onto my mouth, and pulled hard on the distended nipple, wetly roughing the nipple with the flat of my tongue. "Oh, Dad, you're good! They're so sensitive, go easy. Stop, I can't take any more." She rolled off my body, and sprawled artlessly on the other side of the bed, legs sprawled out and body fully displayed. I was down for the count, but that didn't stop my eyes, so I visually feasted on her, for several minutes. "How did you ever learn to do all that, and still work at MegaCorp? I'd heard they were a straight-laced set of corporate types. You told me a bit about them in a couple of your letters, the ones I kept from Mom." Sophie's eyed started a nervous shifting, just like she was trapped, although she wasn't. She fluttered her hands and shifted her hips, muttering, "Oh, uh, MegaCorp, yeah, well, I ..." After some few minutes of this, I teased, a little, saying, "You mean you do this sort of stuff after hours. One of the old executives maybe paying the freight for my little girl?" Somehow, lying on the bed naked, her father's semen leaking out of her pussy lips, between her thighs, she managed to look offended. She grimaced up at, as her hand slipped around my limp and floppy penis, starting to stroke. "Dad, I've never had one of those old guys. I've never sold myself for money or favors!" Her lips crinkled, just a bit, as she answered herself, "well, not for money or 'favors,' but, yeah, there might have been a few 'dates' with older guys that wound up in the sack." Then she seemed to come to a decision. She slithered upright, to set in a semi cross-legged position, facing me on my well-used bed. Ah, didn't she look so beautiful there, tummy crinkling just a bit, with her smallish boobs quivering and dancing with each breast ... I mean breath. So I'm a boob man, so sue me. I stared at her, my glance flicking between her hair-framed face, her breasts and her spread-open pussy lips, still drooling thick heavy globules of my semen. Her eyes followed mine, and Sophie grinned that 100 watter, again. "Ah, Dad, look what you did to me. Twice in one night. And it's still dark. Dad, I really loved it." Then she added, suddenly serious, "Dad, just hold me. I ... I've ... Well, oh shit, damn, damn, damn, this isn't going the way I thought it would. I, uh ..." I took her chin in my hand, and looking right in her eyes, said, "start at the beginning. You were going to reveal something to me. Probably embarrassing. Probably sexy, too. OK, look down at yourself. What are you leaking between your legs? Yeah, that stuff. You just made love to your father, twice. Now you're undressed, sitting up in my bed, and bare-ass-naked, still. I really liked what I did to you, and I want to do it again, just as soon as my old bod lets me. In the meantime, I'm gonna look, and touch, and kiss." I finished, "so whatever you're embarrassed about probably isn't as serious as having my incest-driven cock inside you, or you cuming around it more times that we could count. Out with it, pretty girl. What you want to tell me?" Sophie took a deep breath, and said, looking right at me, a little smile playing around her lips, "I'm not a secretary. I don't work for MegaCorp. I've never worked there. I'm a porn star. I fuck on film. I fuck a lot on film. I've had hundreds of guys up inside me. I love it. I'd do it for free if I had the money. But I pay my bills, and my car's gas ... on my back ... or knees ... or swinging from a trapeze ... or out in the desert, bent over a hot rock, getting banged by three guys ... you get the picture." I feigned horror and shock, pretending to gasp, "Oh, the horror. The shame. My daughter, forced to prostitute herself on film. To have thousands of unknown men drooling and jerking off over her nude body, while she squirms in unintentional rape." I pantomimed an expression of open-mouthed amazement, and threw my hand up to my forehead, the very model of neo-Victorian prudery. Sophie giggled. "You look like an ass, lying there naked with your hand on your forehead, and your cock still slimy with my stuff all over it. And no one's 'forced' me, ever, 'cause I give it up real easy." I sat up, and smiled at her. Really smiled. Then, reaching over, I opened the drawer beside the bed, and uncovered the little portable color TV-VCR combination, with the DVD attachment. I gestured for her to look inside. She bent over, and then pulled back, exclaiming, "Dad, you have porn tapes and DVDs right next to the bed. What are these?" she asked, holding up a bunch of square rags with holes in the middle. I explained, "well, uh, ah shit, these are what I use when I jack off. That's the only relief I get lately. My cock fits the hole, and the cloth catches the jism. But Sophie, look at the titles." She peered more closely at my 'special collection.' Then she squealed, and turned around to me, growling, "you've got ALL my scenes." She dug through the containers. "You got all the compilations. You've got the girl-girl shots. The anal shots. Even my screen test. They said they'd never show that one in public. You fucking old pervert! You've been jacking off for years to your only daughter, as she fucked herself silly on tape." She continued to paw through my collection, exclaiming, "you dirty old man! Here's my gang-bang DVD. Damn, the cover's nearly worn off. How many time did you play this nasty bit?" I admitted to about a half-dozen times, just this month. She continued, "My own father watched his only daughter get reamed out by five sexy studs, three times each, in an all-day fuck session, with all of them giving me a cream-pie internal cum shot party. You saw me standing in the bedroom, five guy's jism leaking out of my red, swollen cunt. You watched me scream and cum, over and over, until you wore holes in the package. My old pervert fucker Dad, seeing his daughter fuck herself to fame and fortune, and getting a cum bath, three times in a day. How could you?" So I showed her how I could, taking my limp dick and trying to shove it through a hole in the rag, and then try to jerk it off, while watching her, sitting cross-ways on the bed. Oh, I wanted to get hard, but there just wasn't any length to be had. Sophie grinned, in spite of her outrage, saying, "so you KNEW I wasn't with MegaCorp, all this time. You knew I was fucking on tape for a living. I thought I had you and Mom fooled. Why, you old bastard?" "Well," I replied, quietly, "it was to keep you safe from your mother, after what she did to you, the day you ran away from home. And it worked. Dolores kept trying to get you fired from MegaCorp, by spreading her phoned-in and written lies, and the puzzled officials there kept writing back, saying they didn't have anyone by that name working there. Eventually, as I found out, they just referred her letters and calls to the Company psychiatrist. He got a couple of papers published out of her attempts to get you fired." Sophie looked at me seriously, saying, "Dad, you really did know what Mom did to me that day?" "Yeah, honey, I pieced it together, but it took a while. All I knew then was that I had to get you, body and soul, away from your mother, and it had to be done quick and fast." I went on, "It was something about Mom and Hobart, the bank manager, that day, I think." Sophie's face screwed up, as she remembered. "Dad, Mom took me up to the bank to deposit my babysitting money in my new account. She and Hobart started talking together, head to head, whispering. Then she told me to come after her, into the vault, and Hobart pulled the vault door almost closed. Then, no warning, he unzipped himself, and held it in his hand, grinning. Mom grabbed my arms behind my back, kicked my legs out form under me, and held me down on the floor. Hobart got down on the floor on his knees, and started to pull my legs apart. He was gonna rape me, right there in the bank, and Mom was helping him." "Mom was squealing, and giggling, and telling Hobart how much he was gonna like what he's going to get. They forgot I was on the gymnastic team, at school. So I kicked out, and got that bastard right in the balls. Then I threw myself over backwards, right out of Mom's grip, came back up, kicked Mom hard once, folded myself into a ball, and rolled to the vault's door. I was still a little skinny, and I wiggled out the opening. Then I stood, and I leaned against the vault door as hard as I could, and I heard it shut, and click. The time-lock set, and I knew I had a few hours before they'd be able to get out." "So I ran home, and found you there, just before you went off on one of your trips. Do you remember?" I looked at her somberly, remembering. Sophie'd told me her story, and outrageous as it seemed, I believed her. We threw some things into a couple of pillowcases, and then I drove her to Mansfield. I picked up a used suitcase at a consignment store (so it wouldn't appear like this was her first trip away). I stopped at a bank there, and tapped one of my secret accounts, that Dolores didn't know about, since it was under an assumed name. I pulled out some cash, in big and small bills. Then I took my only daughter to the bus station, and she got a ticket to somewhere. I didn't look when she bought it, and I didn't ask. This was so my daughter-raping slut wife couldn't weasel it out of me. I gave Sophie the money, which I insisted she split up around her person, stuffing it into her bra, in her shoes, and down her panties, leaving only a little for her battered purse. I gave her what advice I could in a few minutes, about not talking to strangers, and about guys who's sweet-talk her into giving up her money and pussy. Sophie interrupted, saying, "yeah, and I remember giving you the biggest, sloppiest, sexiest kiss I could, but they announced the bus loading, and then I couldn't. I remember you stand there, crying, as the bus pulled out." She went on, "I'd bought a ticket just to Columbus, but when I got there, I knew I'd have to get completely away from Mom, no possibility of her following. So I bought a new ticket to Las Vegas. I don't know why I chose that city, I just did." "So there I was, a 16-year old on the run, on a bus, bound for Sin City, USA. I dug through the little suitcase, and found that packet of more money, and your very best gift—the one that showed you'd been planning to get me safe and away—the beautiful, and probably very expensive fake ID, saying I was 18. New name, birth certificate, driver's license, social-security card and everything." "By the time I got to Las Vegas, I'd made friends to a bunch of other girls on the bus, and we bounced off, to find an apartment to move into. Three of us got the apartment, and the other two got the car we all used. Two weeks later, everybody but me had a boyfriend, screwing them at night and on the weekends. I was on the Pill, and so one night Janet's boyfriend came in, and mistook me for her. At least, that's what he said. "We all got jobs in the casinos, or in the strip clubs. Your ID was perfect, and no one figured out I was underage. When I got to be 18 legally, I ditched the fake ID, and got a real driver's license." She went on, "So, one night, a week or so later, I was at a party, and someone asked me about doing a fuck on video, for cash, and I said, 'sure, why not,' so I showed up the next day, masturbated and fucked on a screen test, signed a contract, and fucked in my first porn flick that afternoon. As soon as I saw the guy, big and hard and naked, I just melted, and I sucked his cock into my mouth, and a couple of minutes later, I was squealing and cumming, as he rammed his condom-covered cock deep in me, with the cameras going, and the lights in my eyes. I even loved it when, after four positions, he pulled out, ripped the rubber off, and shot his jism all over my face and tits." "That," she finished, "was 20 flicks ago, and hundreds of men. Hundreds of hard, jizz-squirting cock ... and flowing pussies ... everywhere inside and outside of me. I still love it. I love the smell and taste of cum, and the way it feels inside, shooting out of a grunting man's cock." Looking up, she grinned that 100-watt smile, and she said, "but what I love most is my Dad's cock, 'way up inside me, pushing and bursting with suppressed lust. And my Dad's voice, cuddling me here on the bed and on the couch." Sophie snuggled into my arms, and I folded them around her. I felt the beginnings of a tingle in my groin, but decided that cuddles and comforting would have to come first. Always. III I was awakened by the flashing light and the brief blast of a siren outside. "Ah, no, here we go again," I thought, as I rolled over on my Sophie, and we crashed to the floor, covered with blankets. I heard some inarticulate shouting from outside. There were two blasts from a shotgun, coinciding with crashing and smashing of two more panes of glass from the living room. Then there was some more shouting, and the sudden crash-and-muffled roar of a fire-bomb going off in the living room. Naked, I bounded down the hall, to find the room in flames. Grabbing up a big CO2 fire extinguisher I kept there, after the first time, I doused the flames, leaving only the stink of un-burned gasoline in the house. I looked up, to see the red, white and blue 'gumballs' of the local sheriff's car slowly moving off, the two occupants still shouting incoherently. I heard Sophie come up behind me, gasping, "Dad, what was that? Somebody shot out two of our windows. They threw a fire-bomb inside. I saw the sheriff's car. Why didn't the sheriff arrest them." Drawing a couple of calming breaths, I quietly said, "'cause it was the sheriff and one of his deputies who shot out the glass and threw the bomb. It isn't the first time." Sophie, still nude, was quiet for a while, and said, "Dad, I don't understand. I thought you were liked here in town. Mom was the dangerous, crazy slut. You were the pillar that everyone admired. What's happened?" I looked at her, smiling a bit, while I gathered my thoughts, and the said, "why don't you take a shower, while we still have hot water and electricity, and I'll get us something to eat. I've got to get dressed, at least a little, or we'll have fried balls in cock juice. For you, uh, clothing is, optional." She smiled, really smiled, and said, heading for the bathroom, "Oh, I've got a couple of little numbers that I've been really thinking about wearing for you." Then serious, she continued, "and then, you old pervert, while you drool over my nubile body, you can tell me what's going on. That's an order!" The water ran for some minutes, and that was followed by her voice, ordering me to come get clean, too. While I was in the shower, she must have searched through her two suitcases, because when I emerged, and toweled off, she was dressed. Well, sort of. Sort of like she was more naked than when she was naked. She wore a just slightly, almost-not-there skirt, with the promised no panties, in an almost see-thru black lace. Fish-net thigh-highs. Bare midriff. And a crop top that nestled tightly under her braless breasts ("I'm a big B-cup, Dad."). A crop-top that was cut down to 'there,' apparently held up by a single straining-to-pop-loose button that didn't quite close the top ("well, Dad, there's some reinforcement in that area, so it won't come undone unless I want it to, but then just pull this little plastic pin and, WOOPS, there it goes."). Plus a set of 'fuck-me' strappy heels that tightened up her calves, thighs and butt. My incestuous cock tried to jerk and fill, but I just couldn't. But as eye-candy, she was first-class European chocolate. I just dressed in t-shirt and jeans, socks and tennies. First I nailed another two plywood pieces to the holes in the window, and swept up the broken glass, finishing with a light vacuuming. She took in the fact that I had plywood panels, nails and hammers ready to go, and 3 more big CO2 fire-extinguishers at the ready. She also took in the 2 video cameras I'd positioned: one aimed out at the street, and the other aimed inside the front room, where the fire had been. I took out the video disk from each, slipped it into a sealable pouch, closed and sealed it, and doubled the seal with dripped wax from a candle, pressed with my thumb-print. "Evidence, dated and timed," I explained, which, of course, didn't explain anything ... yet. We ate in the kitchen again, a sandwich and milk. The last of the fresh milk. Then Sophie quirked her eyebrow at me, and I had to say, "Kitten, it's a long story, so we'd better go over to the sofa." As she settled in, I went over to a nondescript section of molding, running vertically up the built-in book shelves, and pulled on it. Reaching inside, I extracted a sheath of papers, tucked in an envelope. I wordlessly handed these to Sophie, as I settled back on the couch. My daughter and lover opened the envelope, and started to read: ----- "To my ex-husband-to-be pile of shit:" "This, my final letter to my long-suffering husband, is the last thing I'll write, until I see you and have the pleasure of cutting off your cock and balls myself. Honey, you've been just about the most perfect husband a normal wife would have wanted. I'm soooo sorry I just couldn't be normal." "I wasn't a virgin when we married. I started having sex at 11. Sex was just sooo good, I wanted all I could get. There were so many men (and girls, too), I forget who they were. So I had to fool you. It was easy. I faked the bloodstains on the sheets on our wedding night with a packet of out-dated blood I bought at the Columbus blood bank. What a stupid dickhead you were. But that's all in the past, so let's just forget about it." "Please forgive me. I have had lovers during our marriage. Some women, but mostly men. Many lovers. An army of lovers. Actually, I lost count again, years ago. Some just once. Others over and over and over. Doc Earnie said I had a cunt that reached right out and grabbed. Most were here in town, or around here. I can't remember all their names, except for a special few. I don't know why I never got pregnant then, or picked up a disease, but I just didn't." The Historian "But I wanted a loving, self-sacrificing husband, too, and so I selected you. You were the best husband any woman could have, innocent, trusting and no trouble to lie to, except for your pathetic little pecker, and me and my dyke-bitch are gonna solve that problem, real soon.." "Really, it was all your fault, starting on the honeymoon. I wanted you so much, and you came close to satisfying me. But you wouldn't let me buy that beautiful gold tea set. You said we couldn't afford it. You thwarted me, so I had to take my revenge, didn't I. I screwed every male with a cock on the hotel staff, while were out on the breach, or sleeping. Sometimes I pulled a train of up to 20 beautiful black guys." "You remember that wonderful, expensive steak dinner on our 3rd night there, right after I cut you off from sex. Well, I got it on with the cook and the wait staff, before I met you at the table. The sauce on the meat was at least half sperm and my cunt juice, with some spicing and sugar." "After you thwarted me, I told everybody that would listen about you being a closet faggot and queer, and how you forced me marry you, so you could look normal, back home. I probably had half the hotel guests, too, the male and the female ones. Oh, well, that was a long time in the past, so you can just forget about it." "Back home, Hobart, especially, was sooo good. He was with the bank by this time. He gave us our first loans, and at such a low interest rate. He was fucking me two days after we moved into town. He's probably seen more of our bedroom, and me, than you have. I've seen a lot of his bedroom, and the storage room at the bank, and the vault, and his office there." "Ask him about the picnic we had, when you were in the hospital with the gallstones, when he fucked my ass and pussy 6 times in one day. I screamed and orgasmed so many times I lost my voice. I'm sure you remember when I came to visit you with that real bad case of laryngitis. But that's all in the past, so you'd do best to forget it, like I did." "Honey, I'm so sorry you had so much trouble holding down steady jobs. But, you know, I had to keep searching for evidence of your cheating on me. I never found any, but I had to take precautions, didn't I, to keep you from thwarting me. I had to make sure you weren't doing anything I didn't want you to while you were away, and I had to keep you broke and powerless. So, after a few months on any of your jobs, I'd call around and started the most juicy, detailed rumors." "Pastor Pevish helped soooo much, too, when people called to confirm this or that. He and his wife fucked me so many times, too. You should see the sex-dungeon he has, down in the basement of the church, just under the alter. Half the State of Ohio must believe you'd raped your daughter anally when she was a kid, as a Satanic rite, and the other half of the state surely knows about the covered-up suspensions for fraud and embezzlement. I don't think you'll ever get another academic or business job again, ever. That's how you got your campus nickname of Noble. You took it as a complement, but I made sure it really meant, 'No Balls.' I'm sure I know you forgive me, because it's all in the past, and we can just forget about it." "Your pretty daughter isn't yours, of course. I'm kind of sorry now that we didn't have our own baby, but you were gone so much of the time, working to pay for the things I said I needed. When I was most fertile, I just HAD to have lots of sex, and so I made sure there were lots of volunteers lined up, ready to slip those little wigglers into me. We probably ought to forget about all that, since it's in the past. OK, honey?" "I did have the DNA checked last year; you paid for that, too. Hobart is Sophie's father; he surely pumped enough sperm into me to do the job. So Hobart fathered Sophie, and I even know just how and when." "Surely you remember that hurried trip you made, some years ago. You were working that second job, and you drove 90 miles to see me. When you got here, you were dead tired. But, honey, I had to cancel a 'date' with Hobart, and boy was I pissed, 'cause you'd thwarted me again. It was all your fault, coming back when I didn't expect it. So I fixed you a sandwich, we walked and talked a bit, and I gave your pathetic, soft penis a hand job. You remember the way I looked at you as you drove off, back that all those miles to get to the work. Well, as soon as you were out of sight, ol' Hobbie came out of the bushes. Well, my skirt was up around my waist in a few seconds, and Hobart was buried balls-deep in me from behind. It was either cry or scream from orgasm, and one of his little wigglers scored a hole-in-one. Sophie was born nine months later." "When she was born, I had to promise Hobbie that he'd get to fuck her cherry when she was a teen. Oh, well, that was a long time ago, let's just forget about it, too." "Oh, well, I should say, my ever-so-forgiving wimp, that Hobart and I have been at it just about every night that I haven't had a date with someone else. After you dropped off to sleep—Doc Charlie's little pills were sooooo effective—I snuck over to Hobie's place, and we screwed, there in his old barn, in the dark, for another hour." "You were there for baby duties. You were a wonderful father to your little girl. You changed more diapers than I did. You took on all those late night feedings, too. Then you cooked and cleaned the house, too. You talked with the little cunt, too, and helped her with her homework, when she was growing up. When you collapsed, exhausted—maybe with a little more help from Doc's pills—I went out and got screwed royally. God, what a limp-dicked wimp you were. But all that's in the past, let's just forget about it." "Actually, Hobart made me pregnant two more times, because he could fuck me to overflowing every 30 minutes, all day long. That's where a lot of your second job money went, for the abortions. Then I had to get my tubes tied, so there was a lot more money that you had to earn." "Too bad Sophie ran way from home when she was 16, 'cause that meant she thwarted me. If she ever comes back while I'm here, she is going to get so much fucking from my Hobbie and my dyke-bitch, there's going to be a whole lot of sperm coming out of her lovely cunt, and more dyke cunt-juice dripping out of her pretty lips, down onto her pretty tits. Too bad you won't be around to watch Helen and me turn her into the town bi-slut." "I know this is a shock, honey. But, everyone knows you're a closet queen. Especially the town police and sheriff, the mayor and the judges. You can't complain to anyone, 'cause of all the mutual friends I have in 'high places.' I made sure the drunks at the tavern knew, and even the bikers—the ones that gang-banged me soooo good—that came by now and then. You don't have any family, and all my family knew about it. I told them that you had approved, and wouldn't want to talk about it, because you were impotent and a homosexual. Luckily, all this is in the past, too, so we can forget about it, hmmmm, shell we?" "I had to fuck Dr. Charlie silly, to get him to give you the cholesterol drugs you didn't need and the estrogen injections, to keep you soft and limp. Of course, I loved fucking him. And I especially loved fucking his wife, Helen, who works in the bank, now. She's such a nasty lez bitch-dyke, just out of the 'closet.' But that just confirmed you were a pathetic loser, didn't it. Such things are best kept in the past and forgotten about, aren't they, sweetie." "So no one ever ruined our marriage and my sexual bliss by telling you. Nobody ever questioned what I said. Everybody in town went along, too, so long as they all got to fuck me. That made me feel sooooo good. I'd made you into the perfect man: hard-working, obedient, self-sacrificing, loyal ... and totally disrespected, friendless, poor, thought-to-be homosexual, impotent, cuckolded daily, over and over again ... the acme of born losers. And all because you blinded yourself by being in love with me. You made it soooo easy for me. But you're in the past now, too, so let's both forget it." "And now that I've found out about lesbian sex, I can get even more satisfaction." "I do want to be really sure you know one last thing. My dyke-bitch and I are gonna come back. Maybe soon, maybe later. When you least expect it, we'll be waiting behind the door when you come in, or show up in your bedroom while you sleep, or maybe we'll hijack your car on the road. Whatever." "But we've both got these darling little hooked knives, and are they ever-so-sharp. Perfect for cutting a pathetic wimp's dick and balls off ... just for a start. And then your big leg and arm tendons, so you can't crawl away or stop us doing whatever we like. We can have our own little sex-and-pain party, shoving white-hot coat-hanger wires up your ass, real sloooow, while you watch us get each other off on your own bed. We're gonna get so sexy, turning a male person into a mindless, screaming, thrashing pile of shit-soaked guts. We've studied radical feminist materials, and we think we can make the pain last for a week, maybe longer. Wait for it, honey, and don't you dare forget about it." "I've accomplished almost everything that I ever wanted. I've used and destroyed you: personally, professionally, sexually. I bet you wish you'd let me have that gold tea set on the honeymoon, now. But I got my revenge, didn't I. I'm gonna be really rich, soon, and that means I'll have all the respect and power I can buy. When we finish with what's gonna be left of you, I'll have the rest." "Your sexy, soooo well-fucked, loving SUPERIOR wife, Dolores." ----- Sophie read through the papers once, and then two more times, shaking her head. She started crying, too, and we just sat on the couch, amid the lingering smell of gasoline, with the morning sun filtering in the remaining windows of the front room. "I thought I knew Mom," she said, in a low voice. Then, in a greater venom-filled volume, she continued, "But I didn't even suspect anything like this. Mom wasn't just an unfaithful SLUT. She was vicious and dangerous. Dad, how could you have stayed with this BITCH for all the time you did, almost 20 years?" I answered, seriously, telling her, "It's complicated. Part of it was that I made a promise when I married her. I'm old-fashioned and I like to think I'm an honorable man (except when I'm fucking my only daughter). Part of it was you, of course." I continued, "A big part was fear, since your mother wasn't kidding when she said she had 'mutual friends in high places.' The town's judges—both of them—and the sheriff plus all the deputies had been having her pretty ass on a regular basis. She told them if I divorced her or separated and left, she have to move away, and they wouldn't get any more of her cunt ever again." "So, I got arrested on a trumped-up charge, and taken down to the jail's basement, and worked over a couple of times, just so I could know that they were serious. Besides fists and the whip, they had a cattle prod, fixed up as a night-stick, and I still remember having it shoved up my ass and turned on. I screamed until I passed out, then they threw water over me and did it again. It went on all day. It probably was a lot like the tortures we used in Iraq, in the prisons. I couldn't shit, or piss, or even stand upright for nearly a week. Dolores laughed for two weeks. So, I was pretty much stuck with your Mom, and she had the upper hand ... the whip hand, almost literally ... as long as she put out to them on a regular basis." I added, a little dismally, "Since putting out came second nature to her, giving the police force sex just added spice to her regular day. A dozen fucks a day was pretty much average for her, I worked out later." "As a sex-machine, she was world class," I went on, "but she wasn't nearly as smart as she made out in that letter. Your Mom was a vicious animal, and dangerous, and she held grudges for decades, but she was completely amoral, driven by free-wheeling emotions, and a lust for power and control, as well as endless orgasms. She spent too much time screaming, fucking and planning revenge, and not near enough time analyzing or thinking." "Let me go back a bit, Sophie, and see if I can straighten out some of this story. It's not as bad as it sounded in the letter, although some bits are pretty gross." IV I looked at my daughter, relaxing back on me on the couch. She felt my gaze, as I looked down her almost naked cleavage, and over her tummy to her barely-there skirt. "Hey, Dad, don't just glance at me. I want you to STARE. I know what you want. You want to fuck me again. Well, I want you to. Right now, you can't, 'cause you're an older man, and your big cock needs time to come back up. But when it does, I'm gonna give you EVERYTHING, and you're gonna get so much sex outta me that you're head's gonna swim." "Now, let me know what you know." "OK," I said. "Let me tell it the way I remember:" ----- I was a horny college graduate student, as a History major, when I met your Mom. I thought she was hot shit, and we made out a lot of times. She tried to make me believe that she was a virgin, but she knew too much about suckin' cock and hand jobs. So, one night, we went too far, and we accidently fucked ... I thought, at the time. It seems that she'd planned the fucking to take place and went to the trouble of buying some out-dated blood from the Columbus Blood Bank. Well, I wasn't fooled. When you give blood, they add an anti-coagulant, so the blood stays liquid. And your Mom splashed a lot of it around the bed. Dolores spattered what seemed like half the pint over the bed, so when I woke up, it was a bloody mess—and the blood was still liquid. Give me a break, I know that if she'd lost that much blood, we'd have run for the hospital ASAP. So I knew from the start that she was scamming me. But, I thought she really did love me, so I proposed and she accepted, and we had a quickie marriage in front of the JP at the courthouse. I really didn't know—then—about her having all those men and women, from age 11. But I was in lust, and she had me by the balls. "I'd saved up, and there was enough to have a Caribbean honeymoon. We screwed like minks there, and I thought I could give her enough sex to calm her down. As she said, I came close. Then she saw a heavy, gold-planted tea set, and she said she had to have it. Well, it was 'way over priced, and it would have cost us about all I'd saved up for a down payment on a house, so I said no. Do you remember how Mom was when she couldn't have something she's set her mind on getting? Dolores was ... she was ... I can't describe it. She focused every fiber of her being on getting revenge for being ... what she called being 'thwarted.' You couldn't tell her anything, she went straight for the throat. I remember the time when you were in middle school, and she wanted something—I forget what, maybe a piece of jewelry—from the mother of one of your girlfriends, and the woman wouldn't sell it to Dolores. My demented wife sent dozens of letters to the school and her parents, 'proving' the girl's mother was a slut and had screwed her daughter's teachers and the principal. The couple had to leave town, and put their daughter in an expensive boarding school, out of state. Suddenly—and I don't blame them one little bit—you didn't have any girl friends ... or any guy friends, either. Well, when I wouldn't buy her the tea set, my new wife Dolores, threw a cat-fit, about at noon. She locked me out of our room at the hotel. I started to spend the night on one of the pool lounge chairs. Pissed, let me tell you!" About 8:00 PM, things got really strange, when a tall, older/middle-aged woman sat down next to me, at the pool, and struck up a conversation. She had on a blue party dress, fairly conservative, except that is was slit up to 'there,' and she was showing a lot of leg. As we chatted, my eyes kept drifting to that leg. Here I was, on my honeymoon, with a super-hot wife, and kicked out of our marriage bed over a tea set, fer God's sake. After some time, I figured out that I was getting 'the business,' in that she was deliberately flirting with me, and the slit in her skirt had gone a lot higher, about to her lower hip. I was erect, but trying to hide it, when she said, right to my face, "you're not really a flaming faggot, are you?" After sputtering a bit, I said, "No, whatever gave you that idea?" She said calmly, "Your wife's been telling everyone that you're a closet queen, and you forced her to marry you to make like you were normal, so you wouldn't get thrown out of town. I thought this was total bullshit, so I came over to test it out." She hiked her skirt up over her hip, and the material fell apart, to display both her legs. She opened them, to let me see her pussy, which was shaved clean. Sophie, I've been a boob man all my life, but this was total erotic heaven. I reached out and slipped my middle finger into that womanly slit, and found it was overflowing with liquid. She grinned, and said, 'no, you're not gay at all. Let's go and give that bitch wife of yours a talking to. By the way, I'm Sylvie. Sylvie Symuleski." She said she was the managing director and owner of a medium-sized New York hotel (not a Hilton). On the way back to the hotel, I described the damn tea set, and Sylvie—I can still remember, after all these years—gave Dolores a chewing-out, in absentia, in three languages: Polish, Yiddish and English. We ran into trouble, as we passed the pool, because there were a lot of men, in a rough line, that went into one of the changing shelters there. A lot of the guys were fingering themselves and pulling on their dicks, and even I knew that meant there was a girl somewhere near that was putting out, probably pulling a train. The line of men—island guys, wait staff & male guests, all together—disappeared inside the room. Sylvie and I came up behind the little building. We heard the grunting, the sex-talk and the fucking sounds, and I came erect immediately. Guys do that. Then I heard the death-knell of my marriage with Dolores, when I heard her voice yelling, "come on, you big stud, do it. Faster. Yeah, that's it, squirt it all in me. Yeah, who's next? You, you big white stud, come on, put that meat right here, right in my cunt. Yeah, screw me like my wimp, queer hubby can't. Give it too me. Ungh, hgh, yeah, lemme suck on that big black dick, while he humps me. Yeah, come on, guys, two at a time. Yeah." There was a nasal voice of one of the men with her, and we heard him heaping slutty abuse on her, as he grunted, and then shouted, and yelled that he was cumming. I turned to Sylvie, and saw total rage on her face. I remember hearing this elegant woman snarl, "Nathan, you son of a bitch, you're gonna pay for this. You're gonna pay deep." I turned to her, my face showing mixed emotions, as she explained, "Nathan. My husband. That's his voice. Oh, he's gonna pay." Then she turned to me, and added, "You've got no marriage left. Get rid of her. Annul if you can. I'll witness to adultery." I described to her the situation that I knew, even then, with her home town 'influence'. Sylvie nodded, saying, "If you can't get rid of the slut, then you've got to be real smart. You want to learn to be real smart?" I nodded, not able to speak. "Then, let's walk back to the cabana, and I'll start teaching you how to be real smart. You said you were a historian. Let's figure out how you can make bucks from that, and how to protect yourself from that castrating slut-bitch." We found the cabana, and we went inside. It was just a three-sided hut, with a couch. Sylvie flopped down, pulled up her skirt to expose her legs and hips, and said, "You're not gay. Oh, no, not with that boner. You can follow your finger—the one you had up me—with that cock that you've been trying to hide from me. Come on, let's get some loving going." We sucked, and fucked, and licked and fucked some more, for a couple of hours. Between the times my lips were on her puss and my cock was in her body, we both set the course for my alternative future life.