Can't Spell 'Country' Without...

by bluepervina - © 2001

( Mf, Ff, MF, inc, reluc, scat )

 

I'd go by a lot and talk to Susan about my problems, you know, with Press. I figured her being his aunt, and almost his age, too, and living with him and all, sort of like a mother to him since his own folks died--I just thought she could help me figure Press out. All he wanted was to fuck me all day long. He'd pick me up from high school in that big black truck of his, check to make sure my panties were long gone, and then he'd pat his thigh and up I'd scramble onto his lap and stick it right in. His dick was always out and waiting for me there in the truck. I'd either fuck him or suck him all the way back to his--Susan's--property and the back acres and the little shed he kept for a hunting lodge. If he didn't come by the time we got there I had to take it in my ass on his little cot inside the shed, and sometimes he didn't even lick me first. If he did come by the time we reached the shed, then we'd just drink some Jack or fish in the Little Oaks River for a while, real nice and quiet, snuggling almost, until he'd get the urge again, and then he'd always go down on me and stick his fingers in and take his slow, sweet time, like I like it best.

I went to Susan on the days when Press had to take the cattle off to port or up to the stockyards, when Susan was all relaxed and without much to do with the ranch, when Press was guaranteed gone for at least the whole day. Then there was no chance of him busting in and hearing me complain and then making me do God only knows what to his monster dick. When he went off with the cattle he had all his hands with him, all his old high school football buddies, none of them, not even Press, old enough to buy liquor yet, but they still drank like crazy all the way there and back, so Press was never much in the mood to even talk to me when he'd get back. He'd just slump by me and Susan talking over the kitchen table, not even looking at us, and we'd soon hear him snoring worse than a bear back in his room. Susan and me would talk all night, then. I would always stay there if Susan called and asked. I thought she was probably a good influence on me, since I was only fifteen and all. Hell, Susan was only twenty-five, but it was like she knew everything there was to know and could solve any problem I would ever have.

I just wanted Press to, you know, love me a little more than he did. More cuddling and whispering and smiling. More eating me out, more of licking my clit all soft and stiff at the same with that huge wet tonque of his. I mean, he was really unbelievable. He could stick his tonque halfway up my asshole and wiggle it and it felt just like a stiff little dick, and when he did that I didn't mind the ass-fucking at all. And when he sucked on my pussy, well, the little thing just burned. It would burn all night and into the next day and the next day when he licked me real good. I'd sit in school and wouldn't even have to remind myself to lose my panties. I'd get in that bathroom first chance I got, hook my feet around the handicap rails in that big old stall and just shove my fingers in and in and in. I'd rub my clit trying to get the feel of his licking, and I'd almost bounce myself off the toilet, I'd come so hard.

Susan said to just give him time, that he'd come around. She said he saved all that sweetness for her, mostly, because she was still real pretty and wasn't shy about clothes around her nephew. And that was the truth. She never wore a bra and loved tank tops and sunned herself out her deck stark naked all the time. And even I had to stare when we'd find her there, all oiled up and brown, her knees always a good foot apart, her bush trimmed real short. That was probably why Press made me shave the hair around my lips every night and to keep the hair up above my clit cut real close. He'd almost strangle trying to breathe whenever Susan came around half-naked or naked or whatever, and it was just clear as day what he wanted. But I didn't care. I mean, hell, Susan was fine. I wished I had her hips and tits and ass, and that way she just grinned at Press so sly and sure. And I also didn't care because Press always licked me all over and fucked me every which way and kept me around him an extra long time whenever Susan teased him like that, so who was I to complain. All I wanted was that all the time. Him. All the time. Fucking me. Fucking me no matter how, no matter where or when, just fucking me and making me come and come and come.

Press, you might have noticed, had kind of a mean streak, too, and especially where Susan was concerned. She'd never been married, but she loved to fuck, and a lot of times she'd leave for Tampa by herself for the whole weekend, leaving Press and me the whole house to fuck in, and she'd come home bleary-eyed and weak-kneed and smiling this stoned blissful smile, and Press would just lock up and grab me and drag me into his room or out to his truck and fuck my ass and just ream me out good, and he wouldn't even grunt. Susan every once in a while brought out Polaroids of her in all sorts of hotel rooms and theaters and bars, dicks in her mouth, in her cunt, her ass, everything sticky and slippery-looking. There were even a few of her with other women, most of them just these tiny little things, no bigger than me, and they all looked like Susan knew how to really do it. Like her tongue was magic. There was even one with Susan shoving her whole fist up this blond while another blond had her fist up Susan, and all three looked like they were about just explode. Susan showed me that one once and just shook her head real slow for a real long time.

Then Susan kissed me one day. I was brushing my hair in her hall bathroom, still talking about Press and how huge and dry his dick could be sometimes, and I was wearing my little biker shorts and my matching spandex top, braless and pantyless because those were Press's instructions for when he got back from the haul, and I was just brushing my hair and then got spun around and caught up in her smooth arms and kissed. Susan fed me her tongue, soft, long, pressing my whole body against her own, me up on my toes to suck back at her mouth, my arms around her neck, everything going warm and achey. Then Susan was on her knees looking up at me for a split second with this sweet-sister face, her hands rolling down my spandex pants, her mouth sucking on my shaved cunt, and it wasn't like there was eleven years between us or a man between us or even any air between us. We just melted right together, and her mouth on pussy shook me right down to the floor. Her finger was up my ass, another finger was in my cunt, her teeth scraped my clit. She swung herself around and pressed her crotch against my face and I sucked at the juicy cotton of her shorts and chewed at her mound until she came off me long enough to pull the shorts off. She didn't wear panties either! I got my first real cunt, then, licking and sucking and working it like it was instinct, and I swear nothing in this world ever tasted so good! Not even a sweaty, leaky dick. Then I had my own fingers wiggling up Susan's asshole, and we were both coming and coming and the next thing we knew Press bangs through the door with his whole gang of buddies behind him.

We were still on the floor in front of the bathroom. And Susan almost had her hand all the way in.

"You fucking cunts," Press said, and his friends all rushed in around him to get a better look. I didn't know what to do. I was so jacked up by Susan I couldn't just back off from her, and it felt so good anyway that I honestly didn't feel all that bad about getting caught. I mean, hell, it's not like I was fucking some other guy.

But then Press saw the Polaroids on the table. He picked them up one by one and studied each of them as slow as Christmas. Then the rest of the guys passed them around, and nobody said a word, and I slowly helped Susan slip out her hand, and then everybody was staring at us again.

Press shook his head and looked straight at Susan. "You can't fuck me for some reason? Huh? You think these shits in these pictures are any better? You think she is?" he pointed at me. "You fucking Julie so you can kind of fuck me, huh? Is that it? Is that what you've wanted all this time, my own dick up your pretty little ass?"

Susan just sat there, just like me. We were still panting for breath a little, and from the way Susan sat so still and quiet I could tell that Press was probably right. But only part right. Susan had always wanted to fuck me just as much as him. And I was easier. I wasn't her own kin.

Press pulled out his bowie knife, growled over his shoulder. "Get all that rope out of my truck, and do it right now, goddammit."

Then he was next to me, pulling me up with the knife against my temple, whispering. "I don't know if I can forgive you for this, sweet thing. You knew how I wanted her, and this is like a slap in face. Like cutting my own dick off and giving it to the fuckin' dogs.

"But I'll see how I feel after I make both you two pay a little, make you do what I fucking want for a change." And he was looking straight at Susan.

By now the rope was being passed around and cut into lengths and my wrists were cinched up behind my back, but not too tight and not as painful as the hand pulling at my bound wrists, wrenching my shoulders. I was put on my knees and my face was pushed against the kitchen floor. A rope was looped around both my thighs just above the knees and one knee was tied to the leg of the kitchen table while the other knee was tied off around the hinge on a cabinet door. I was spread wide open. I could feel the air from the open porch door blowing warm across my ass, tickling my asshole, making my cunt gush. I was still a little excited. And then I looked at Susan.

Susan stood held by the boys, her breasts free and swinging heavily beneath the grasping hands of the boys that held her. Then she was pushed down onto her back about five feet away from me on the floor, and her hands were tied up above her head and secured on the pipes running out from under the kitchen sink. Her legs were left free, and her knees lolled out prettily to the sides. She had her eyes closed, and it almost looked like she was trying not to smile. I came just looking at her like that, the juice running down my thighs. The boys who saw me clench up just laughed. One of them blew on my cunt.

Press picked up a Polaroid. "I bet these pictures have been 'round here the whole damn time. You and all these strangers and shit. Going to Tampa for a fuck." He threw the picture on the table and knelt down beside me, pressed the dull edge of the knife against my chin and looked dead at Susan. "You been mockin' me this whole time, miss Aunt Susan? Honeypot."

Susan just gasped a little. "No Press! We...I...ain't mockin' you!"

"Well I have had enough of whatever you call it, then."

The knife at my throat backs away maybe an inch, but hands

clutch at my wrists again, pull them back and twist them out, so

painfully, and tighten. The ropes pulling my thighs apart burn and tear, but it's really not too bad.

"We got enough rope. We got enough time. Nothin' but." Press

stepped behind me, the point of his own knife slicing neatly through one

of the pictures. I heard his pants drop. A grunt. He slapped my ass,

walloped me, over and over until I could hear myself screaming over Susan's cries, the boys laughing. Press put his cock to my anus, pushed, enormous, blunt, wet. I gave with all my strength, opened for him, but he backed away. We both watched Susan for a minute there on her back, just barely kicking her legs around the hips of the first boy pounding into her.

"I'll be the last dick you ever get, honeypot," Press said to her, "for the rest of your whole fuckin' life. And believe me, you won't complain one bit."

Then his breath is on my ear. "The same goes for you."

I'm still thrusting out for him, my face pressed to the floor by a boot. I can only see Susan's side, her flexing hip, the bucking. She wimpers a little.

"All right." Press sneers, and he pushes against me again, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. It felt so good. Better than ever. Wet, sopping, sloppy, easy. The air turned blue and white and thick. I gasped for it. I felt him just slip right in, huge, deep, and from far away I could hear myself screaming his name. Something seemed to come loose inside me. Something good.

Susan by then was just begging the boys crouching over her, pinching at her, pulling. "Please," she muttered. "Please." Over the grunting and laughing and happy swearing I could hear her begging, and I knew she wanted more, but you almost couldn't tell. She was sly. I begged a little too, then, and I moved and pushed and clamped on that dick. But then it was out. And then I was really begging. I could even feel warm shit sliding down my thigh. I could smell it, but I didn't care. I wanted it back in!

I loosened it up even more. Press stuck one finger, then another into my anus, wiggling, then pulling in opposite directions. No pain. And my cunt almost blew up right there, juicing me good, and then he was back in, so huge, my belly pushed out by the thrusts and pulsing, warm. I heard grunting and huffing and there were claws on my hips pulling, pushing. All the other boys stopped to watch. They stared and their faces were bright with joy at this thing that Press had brought them, this freedom to fuck his two women. Press saw it too, and his crotch just melted against my ass, so hot, his heavy cock piledriving easily back and forth into me, filling me, splitting me. And then he came, bursting, laughing, shooting deep inside me. His cock throbbed and throbbed, thrust deep and still inside me; deep and still inside me. His cock pumped me so full of semen I could feel it squeezing back out around his root.

Slapping my ass, still laughing, he pumped me again for another minute or two, then easily withdrew. Immediately another, smaller penis stabbed at my asshole, pushed snugly in, no pain, and fucked me. Press was still behind me, talking.

"Damn, will you look at the shit on my dick? All slick and milky-black!" Then his face down beside me, almost touching the floor.

"You got some ass, girl," laughed Press. He sat up on his knees in front of me, his cock slapping my face, smearing it. I smell myself, my own greasy shit and his come on my face, and without a word I'm sucking, cleaning, licking this enormous thing thrust into my mouth. "Get it good and clean and shiny, Julie," Press whispered, moaned. "The only shit Aunt Susan'll get in her cunt is her own." And I sucked and sucked, my jaw going numb, fluids rolling down my chin and neck and breasts, dripping onto the floor, my ass rocking against the third dick pounding into me, and Press gave way to the second shit-smeared cock, and I sucked and watched Press as best I could break his own promise to wait until last.

He shoved his cock straight up Susan's soaking wet asshole, no resistance at all. He kissed her, sucked her tongue, took it slow, and she came hard and fast, glued her mouth to his. Then he pulled out of her ass, wiped the shit off his cock with one hand, smeared most of it all over the lips of her red dripping pussy, and then let her lick the

rest off his fingers while he fuckeed her cunt. She arched back lifted her pelvis, her legs swimming, her hips like a wave rolling back and forth against his cock. Press had her good. She came with him for the second time while I sucked my third dick. She was almost crying, sobbing, coming, smiling up at Press, over at me. Press had her real good. I rocked back against the next cock pushing its way in. I sucked them all dry.

Press had me good, too. But only till I moved to North Carolina. He wanted her more than me, and without competition. He told me to move away, and I did. The two of them ended up married and having kids, and don't even ask me how they got away with it! Susan still sends me letters and pictures sometimes, and sometimes those pictures are little Polaroids 3;. Last I heard, Press had undergone a change of heart, and now they have a little live-in girl doing them both whenever they wanted and keeping the kids for them while they go off and cruise in Tampa. It kills me to hear it, I swear. And if he ever wants me back, I'll go, no matter what, no matter how.

But, for now, I'm doing all right. Matter of fact, I moved in with my own aunt....

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Copyright 2001 by bluepervina.

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