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From: One Gallus <onegallus@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Kentucky Wonder 1 (MF, cheat, inc)
Date: Sat, 21 Jul 2001 11:10:02 -0400
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This one has the codes. Please ignore the one without

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<1st attachment, "KW 1.txt" begin>

Kentucky Wonder (Cheat, MF, Inc)  Part 1

Synopsis
Corrine Deere tells her own story.  It 
is the tale of a servile wife and mother 
whose effort to be a person in her own 
right is frustrated by her boorish 
husband.  A full-blown compulsive, Leon 
masks his abuse and bigotry with self-
righteousness.  His repressive control 
results in a stinging backlash that 
neither she nor he could have predicted.


Disclaimer
This story contains graphic sexual 
scenes of incest and adultery.  If you 
are under the legal age of adulthood in 
your state, find another story.  This 
story is not to be read where it is 
illegal. The possible resemblance to 
actual characters, living or dead is 
purely coincidental.  This story may not 
be posted or changed or otherwise used 
by anyone anywhere without the 
permission of OneGallus.

"Kentucky Wonder"
Part 1

Mama didn't like Leon from day one, and 
she didn't like me with him.  

"Corrine," she said, "Do you know what 
kind of person you are?"

"No, Mama, I guess I don't."

"Honey, you're the kind of person, that 
if somebody would dig a hole and then 
say, `Corrine, jump in that hole and 
make me happy,' well, you might just 
jump in head first."  Mama was five foot 
tall, and as slender as she was short.  
Her hair was beginning to turn from gold 
to gray.  Back then, I probably looked a 
lot like her.  The only one of the two 
of us kids who did.

"Mama, I just want to get along with 
Leon."

"Well, sweetheart, there are some people 
that like to dig holes for other people, 
and I'm afraid Leon is that kind of 
person." She stirred a dollop of 
buttermilk into a mixture of cornmeal, 
flour and egg.  Daddy had never dug a 
hole for Mama.  I knew she had sweet 
memories of him, as we all did.

"But I love him Mama, and he loves me!"  

Just then, my brother Ralph walked into 
the kitchen.  He was seventeen and as he 
passed by me he made a mock-pucker at 
me.  I glared at him and he hurried on 
out the door.   

My mother ignored him, "Sure he does!  
He's finally found someone who'll jump 
in his hole."  She clanked her big spoon 
on the side of the stainless steel 
mixing bowl, making her point with 
metal.  Mama was not making me feel any 
better. 

"No," I said,  "Leon's just being honest 
with me.  He says he feels good when he 
can say the first thing that pops into 
his mind.  He says that's why he likes 
to talk to me better than anybody else."

Mama snorted, "I reckon that's so, since 
you don't ever differ with him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, Corrine, like when he said he 
didn't like the dress you wore to church 
last Sunday." She sniffed.

"Well, yes, that's one thing.  It was a 
little too short."

"Or how about not liking the highlights 
you had done to your hair?"

"He just likes the natural look, Mama."

"Well, did you tell him what Corrine 
liked?" she asked.  "I'll bet you didn't 
tell him what you liked, did you?  No, 
you went back to the beautician and paid 
her to change the color back!"  

She struck the bowl again and put it 
down, wiping her hands with a dishtowel.  
She selected a teaspoon from a drawer 
and filled it level from a salt box, 
dumping it immediately into the mixing 
bowl. Then she filled the same spoon 
with Calumet Baking Powder and threw it 
in.  Deftly, she reversed the spoon and 
with the tip of the handle she dipped 
into a round tin of Arm and Hammer 
Baking Soda.  The tiny white pyramid 
that came out followed the salt and 
baking powder into the bowl. She resumed 
her stirring, jerking the spoon through 
the batter viciously.  Periodically, she 
splashed small indefinite amounts of 
buttermilk, thinning it out to her 
specifications.

"It was just hair Mama!" I whined.

"It was just an example of ninety 
percent of what goes on between you 
two!"  She pointed the sticky spoon at 
me and shook it.

"Well, we're just trying to be open with 
one another, get it all out to view 
before we get married, make sure of 
everything."

"He's the only one being open, honey!  
What sorts of things have you been open 
about?  Were you open about your wedding 
dress?"

I didn't say anything.  She was right. 
She had reason to be angry.  A month 
before she and I planned to go together 
to Paducah and pick out my wedding 
dress.  On the Saturday morning, before 
we left for the city, Leon showed up.  

"Can I go with you?" he asked.

Mama shrugged and looked at me.

I said, "Sure" and Mama frowned.

We arrived in across the street from the 
bridal shop in downtown Paducah, and got 
out of the car.  Mama waited a moment 
for Leon to take care of the parking 
meter.  When he didn't take the hint, 
she fished in her purse for quarters, 
glaring at him all the while.  Out in 
the middle of the street there was a 
work crew with orange sawhorses around 
them.  A man in an undershirt was 
operating a jackhammer, breaking up a 
concrete square.  As we crossed the 
street to the other side, I noticed how 
the machine rippled his arm and chest 
muscles shaking his whole body 
violently.  The sweat was running freely 
down his brown arms.  The jackhammer was 
deafening and I covered my ear with my 
hand as we walked by.  We entered the 
store and the noise level receded, but I 
could still hear it distinctly.  After 
all these years, I still can.

After an hour, Mama and I found a 
particular dress we liked. It was bone 
white.  It fitted me closely and made me 
look refined and graceful and almost 
tall, which was hard to do for a little 
stubby girl like me.  I had tried on 
another nice gown before that.  It was 
dazzling white, flared out from the 
waist and it did look pretty, in a 
frilly sort of way.  But this bone-white 
gown was something special.  It cost 
$75.00 more than the other one and 
looked it.  Mama was smiling with her 
head cocked to the side, I knew she 
wanted it.  So did I.

Leon said, "That other one is the one I 
like." 

"Oh no," I said, "This one is so 
stylish.  I look so . . . elegant!  I 
guess that's the word, 'elegant!'" I 
turned my back to the mirror and looked 
over my shoulder, amazed at the narrow 
look of my hips.

"I want my bride dressed in that frilly 
one," he said.

"But, hon, Mama likes this one too," I 
pleaded.

"Do what you want to, Corrine, but I'm 
telling you, I like the frilly one." 

He stood on one foot, hip swiveled, his 
hands in his Levis' hip pockets, looking 
down at his pointed cowboy boots.  He 
was speaking low, but Mama heard him. I 
tried to picture myself the frilly 
wedding dress again.  It was less 
expensive and it was passable and I 
didn't look ugly in it. 

I went back to my mother and said, "I 
think I want the frilly one."

Mama said, "Shit, Corrine, I know who 
wants the frilly one!"  Mama never said, 
"shit."  The metallic staccato of the 
jackhammer kept farting away in the 
background.

As that memory floated between Mama and 
me, I looked at a shoebox that was 
sitting on the kitchen table and thought 
about my experience earlier that day.  

I had been shopping that morning and had 
picked out a pair of shoes for the 
wedding.  I'd wanted Leon to see them so 
I drove out to his father's farm where 
he was working.  He was digging a 
pothole for the fence that ran along the 
road in front of his farmhouse.  He 
approached my car.

It was a sultry day and Leon didn't have 
his shirt on.  He was hot and sweaty and 
wore a straw cowboy hat on the back of 
his head.  He stopped working and came 
over to the car and stood by the open 
window, to talk to me.  The hair on his 
chest grew in an odd way.  There was 
plenty of it everywhere except just 
above his nipples.  There, he was as 
smooth as I was.  The sweat had twisted 
the hair into swirls all around the bald 
spots and droplets were hanging on it 
like dew hangs on grass.  I wanted to 
open the car door and suck the sweat off 
his body.  

I wanted to, but Christian girls from 
that part of Kentucky didn't do those 
sorts of things.  Most of all, I didn't 
do it because of Leon. Not that he 
didn't like to play.  But Leon always 
wanted to be in control of the game.  If 
he'd pulled my mouth to his chest, then 
that would have been fine.  It would 
have been all right to lick away with 
enthusiasm, but I didn't dare make the 
first move.  Leon had to show me what he 
wanted.

He poked his head through the open car 
window and kissed me and slipped a hand 
over my breast. I tasted the sweat on 
his upper lip.

"What have you been up to today?" he 
asked.

"I've been shopping for wedding shoes 
darlin'; want to see?

I reached for the shoebox and lifted out 
a pair of white high-heeled satin 
sandals.  I had shopped all over 
Mayfield for them and they really made 
my feet look pretty.  They gave me a 
little height, which I needed as tiny as 
I was.  Leon's hand came away from my 
breast.

"Couldn't you get white flats?" he said, 
as he frowned at the shoes.   

"Well yes, but these seemed so nice, and 
they make me look a little taller."

"You're tall enough for me," he said.  
"That's what I like about you, how tall 
you are."

"But I'm not tall!"

"I like the way you look up to me," he 
said.  "I want my bride to have her head 
turned up to me when I kiss her."

I had shopped for three hours for those 
shoes, but I sighed and said, "OK, I'll 
take them back." I re-wrapped them in 
tissue paper and placed them carefully 
toe over heel into the box.  I 
remembered how the boy that had fitted 
me had gazed at my feet when he buckled 
them on.  He watched me closely and 
grinned shyly as I walked up and down in 
front of the low mirrors.  When I said 
I'd take them, he took them off me 
slowly, touching my feet in a way he 
really didn't have to.  He put the 
loafers back on me and patted me on the 
toe, "You made the right choice," he 
said. 
  
Mama looked disgustedly at the open 
shoebox on the table between us.  The 
white satin flats that I had traded for 
stuck out at an angle, looking like two 
miniature rowboats.  Sweat trickled down 
Mama's nose from the vertical crease 
between her eyebrows. She spun around 
and grabbed a black iron skillet from 
the cabinet. She dabbed congealed bacon 
fat into the bottom, swirling it around 
with two fingertips.  Her lips were 
pinched together in a bunch. She picked 
up the skillet and almost threw it onto 
a flaming burner.  She straightened her 
back painfully, and wiped her hands with 
a dishtowel, looking at the shoebox.  
She looked at me, then, shook her head 
and stamped out of the kitchen and to 
her bedroom.  In a moment, I heard the 
sewing machine running at top speed.  

I sat there in a funk till I heard the 
bacon fat sizzling in the iron skillet. 
I stood up and turned the gas off.  I 
got a potholder out of the drawer, took 
the skillet by the handle waggled it 
till the bottom and sides were coated 
with grease.  I took up the stainless 
steel bowl and stirred a little more. I 
scraped the semi-loose mixture into the 
skillet with a steel spoon.  It sizzled 
when it hit the skillet. I lifted the 
skillet two inches and dropped it back 
on the stove three times.  I opened the 
oven and with the potholder, I put the 
skillet into the hot oven and closed the 
door, no use ruining Mama's cornbread.

 
That night, Leon stopped by to pick me 
up.  He sat in his pick-up out in the 
lane, waiting for me to come out.  We 
were going to hear Bill Monroe sing 
bluegrass in the high school auditorium.  
I had dressed in a white shirtwaist 
dress with little blue musical notes all 
over it.  I knew Leon would like that.  
The first thing he said when I got into 
the truck was, "Did you exchange those 
shoes?"

"Yep!" I said.

"Did you get flats?"

"Yes, I did. How do you like my dress?"

"Nice!" he said, smiling at me, looking 
cute."  Then he kissed me.

After the concert, Leon was in a jolly 
mood and sang the "Mule Skinner Blues" 
all the way back from the high school.  
He drove us down a dirt road a hundred 
yards behind my house. He darkened the 
headlights and turned off the rode onto 
a rutted grassy lane and rolled the 
truck slowly up toward the trees, the 
moon lighting the way.  Beyond the trees 
was Possum Branch, a little stream that 
ran off Possum Creek.  Leon and I, and 
some of the young people in the church 
had been baptized in that branch when we 
were preteens. 

He stopped the pickup at the very spot 
where all the church people had stood to 
watch the baptisms.  He put his arm 
around me and that was my signal to 
snuggle up to him.  

I remembered that the deacons had 
originally planned the baptisms at the 
baptismal pool inside the church, but 
when the minister announced it for the 
following Sunday afternoon, Leon stood 
up.  He was so small and scrawny, trying 
his best to look important. 

"I ain't gonna be baptized in no tub 
full of water!" he had said, right in 
front of the whole church.  "I want to 
be baptized like Jesus was, in a river!"  
He said it loudly for everybody to hear.

Everyone smiled at each other, surprised 
to hear such a little guy speak out 
publicly at church.  I heard a few 
giggles in the audience.  People were 
cocking their heads to the side, in an 
"ain't he cute" sort of posture.  It 
embarrassed me.

"Well," said the pastor, red-faced and 
grinning, "We might have to change our 
plans and go out to the branch like we 
use to do. We wouldn't want to 
discourage a young man from being 
baptized!"  

Then, of all things, the audience broke 
into applause.  That settled it.   All 
us kids would be baptized at Possum 
Branch where the church had conducted 
baptisms in the old days.  Leon always 
seemed to get what he wanted.   That 
Sunday, he stood on the bank 
triumphantly after his baptism, with a 
towel over his shoulders, dripping water 
onto his bare feet.   He surveyed the 
scene like he had engineered the whole 
thing and watched closely as the 
minister led me into the waist deep 
water to be baptized.  My white cotton 
dress billowed up and I had to push it 
into the water to keep it down.  After 
my baptism, I walked back up toward the 
bank and Leon was standing there, 
grinning at me.  I smiled back.  That 
was the first time I began to think of 
him as a possible boyfriend.  

When I got up on the bank, Mama threw a 
big towel around me and led me back into 
the trees to change into dry clothes. 
She said, "Honey, you put on quite a 
show back there."

I smiled and said, "What do you mean, 
Mama?"

"Look at yourself, honey."

I looked down at my wet dress and saw 
that the plump outline of my fledgling 
breasts was faintly visible through the 
white fabric.  I could see the dark 
shadows of my nipples, hardened by the 
chill of the water.

Now, there I was again, back at the 
branch, necking with Leon, thinking of a 
new kind of immersion. I sat there in 
his truck, looking at that moonlit 
stream, and thinking of that Sunday when 
Leon got a preview of my breasts.  This 
time they were considerably larger and 
he moved his hands over them and kissed 
me.  I turned toward him and put my arms 
around him.  He gently pushed me back to 
arm's length and began to unbutton my 
dress.  He was breathing loudly and I 
knew he was fighting himself.  

We were both in our early twenties, each 
of us a virgin and both of us were on 
fire.  We had held out for virginity 
ever since we'd been engaged, but these 
nocturnal encounters were becoming more 
and more frequent, and feverish.  We had 
explored a bit from time to time, but 
that was all we did.  Correction: that's 
all Leon did. My part was just to sit 
there and let him explore, accepting 
whatever he was willing to do, taking my 
cues from him, hoping I was getting it 
right.  Necking and touching my breasts 
had been as far as it had gone until 
this night.

Mama had always said,  "Don't let a boy 
touch your breasts, but be 'specially 
sure they don't get below your waist or 
above your knees.  Whatever you do, 
don't let `em touch your coon."  I had 
ignored the first part for some time, 
but I was to the point that I was now 
willing to ignore the second.  

Leon peeled back my dress top and 
unhooked my bra and dropped it on my 
lap.  He had never removed my top or my 
bra before, though sometimes he would 
slip a breast out of its mooring and 
fondle it.   That night, so close upon 
our wedding, I didn't really care what 
he did.  I was tired of all the fences 
and barriers that my family, my church 
and community had put up.  I felt 
reckless.  

I wanted to completely consume Leon, to 
eat him up; but I knew I had to let him 
set the pace and follow his lead.  Once 
before, when we'd been necking, I had 
flicked his lips with my tongue.  He 
pulled away and just sat there and 
stared at me.  He shook his head, then 
started the car and took me home.  I 
didn't want that to happen tonight.  I 
had to control myself and let him lead 
the way.

Leon's fingers were creeping up my thigh 
now.  His hands were hard and callused.  
He stopped half way up and looked at me.  
I looked back through half-closed eyes.  
He kissed me and crept up farther.  My 
coon was yearning for him and I heard my 
voice issue a low groan.  He took my 
hand and placed it on his bulging pant 
front, then returned to feeling my thigh 
where he slowly moved higher.  I rubbed 
his erection lightly through his Levis.  
I wanted it in me.  I wanted him to un-
virgin me right then.  I squeezed his 
penis and felt him touch my damp 
panties.  I felt myself on the verge of 
writhing but battled the inclination to 
move my hips.  

Leon brought his hand out from under my 
dress and pulled the other one from 
around my shoulders.  He straightened 
his body on the edge of the truck seat, 
and there, under the steering wheel, I 
watched him unzip his Levis.  He groped 
for his penis and brought it out.  It 
was pale and stiff in the moonlight.

I wondered how we'd handle sex in the 
restricted cab of an old Ford pickup, 
but neither one of us was very large, so 
perhaps we could do it.  Would I bleed?  
I didn't care.  Right then, I would have 
gladly gone home and walked into my 
mother's house with a red splotch on my 
white dress with blue notes. I wouldn't 
have cared.  All that mattered was the 
feel of Leon's hard flesh inside me.

He scooted across the bench seat, close 
to me.  I made a move to pull my dress 
up, thinking to remove my panties

But Lonnie caught my right hand and 
brought it over and put it on his naked 
penis.  It was wonderfully strange, hot 
and hard to my touch.  He moved my hand 
up and down and I knew to continue the 
movement.  I had heard of girls sucking 
their man's penis, and I wondered what 
it might be like but I didn't dare do 
it, not unless he prompted me. 

He began moving his hips, increasing the 
pace.  He put his hands down on the seat 
on either side of his body to support 
himself and raised his pelvis up toward 
the dashboard.  With my hand forming a 
hole in the air, he rammed himself into 
it with a frenzied mixture of grunts and 
groans.

All that I could think of then was that 
jackhammer in Paducah.  I could hear it 
in my head.  Periodically he would stop 
and adjust my hand, always indicating 
that I should squeeze harder.  It seemed 
he was in some kind of frantic search 
for orgasm, flailing away for what 
seemed to be a half-hour.  My arm and 
shoulder were aching from the 
punishment.  He was panting and jerking 
his hips wildly.   Finally, he let out a 
guttural, almost painful sound.   I 
quickly covered the head of his penis 
with my other hand and he reared and 
bucked, growling like a dog.  He 
produced such a load of semen that it 
seeped through my fingers, ran down the 
shaft of his penis and onto front of his 
Levis. I sat silent, moving his penis 
very gently until it softened.  I felt 
as though I had just rendered first aid.  

After awhile, Leon inhaled a loud 
breath, pulled in his penis and zipped 
up his jeans.   I sat there looking at 
my sticky fingers, opening and closing 
them.

"Leon, can I use your handkerchief?" I 
asked.

"Oh, just a minute," he said, finally 
noticing me, and hopped out of the 
truck.  The dome light came on for a 
moment and there I sat with Leon's semen 
on my fingers with all of my half-naked 
glory hanging out.  Leon reached deep 
underneath the driver's seat and came 
out with a greasy rag he used to check 
the oil.  "Here," he said, "Use this.  
No use in dirtying up a hankie."

I wiped my hands on it trying to avoid 
the black smudges.  Then I pulled the 
top of my dress back up over my braless 
breasts and buttoned it.  I stuffed my 
bra down into my drawstring purse as 
Leon started the pickup.  

I asked Leon to let me out at the road 
in front of my house.  When he left, I 
stood there by our large black mailbox 
and looked down the dirt lane that led 
to the house.  I thought the walk might 
help me deal with my frustration. I 
slipped off my sandals and my feet felt 
good on the cool powdery road as I 
walked.  The evening breeze circulated 
up into my dress and made the futile 
dampness in my panties cold.

Fifty yards from the house Ralph's voice 
called softly from behind me, "Sis?"

It startled me and I caught my breath 
and froze where I was, "Ralph?" I said 
in a hoarse whisper, not wanting to wake 
Mama. "You scared the pee out of me!"  I 
said, half annoyed-half amused.  "What 
are you doing out here?" 

"I've been out for a walk," he said, and 
I could see him approaching in the 
moonlight. I wondered if he'd been 
walking down by Possum Branch. 

Ralph's silhouette was tall, six feet.  
He resembled our late father's side of 
the family.  I on the other hand was 
like Mama, as I said.  The only sizable 
things about me were my breasts, but 
they didn't make me any taller.  "I want 
to talk to you," said Ralph.

"What about?" I said, and we stood there 
in the lane under a large oak tree.   It 
was so old and so big that its roots had 
bulked up and protruded out of the 
ground.  

"Let's sit down," Ralph said, and we sat 
by each other on the large tree root.  I 
carelessly threw my shoes between my 
feet and dug my toes into the loose 
ground. Ralph sat up closer to the tree 
and higher.  "Corrine, I'm sorry about 
sticking my mug in your face this 
afternoon. I heard what went on with 
Mama. I was just outside the kitchen 
window.  I didn't know it was such a 
serious time."

I reached over and hooked my arm around 
Ralph's neck in an affectionate headlock 
and pulled him down to me.  "Sweetheart, 
it's OK," I said, things are gonna be 
all right.

Ralph pulled away from my headlock but 
held my hand and said, "Sis, I'm sorry, 
but Mama is right.  Leon doesn't treat 
you right."  Then he put his head 
against my shoulder and slipped his arm 
around me.

"Well, Leon is different from us, 
sweetheart, you just have to know how to 
take him, how to handle him."

"That's my point," Ralph said, "You 
shouldn't have to 'handle him,' walk 
around on eggshells with him.  You need 
to be yourself!  You're a great person, 
Corrine."

I was filled with a rush of tenderness. 
"You are so sweet, little brother." I 
pulled him down further to me, to kiss 
him on top of his head. 

Ralph's cheek came up against my 
dangling breast just under my dress.  I 
held him there, pulling him into my 
softness, my lips in his wavy hair.  I 
kissed his head and would not let it go, 
comforted by the closeness and love. The 
chilly dampness between my legs was 
replaced with a fresh wet flush of 
warmth. It may have been a reaction to 
my earlier frustration; it may have been 
the way Ralph cherished me.  Whatever 
the reason, I was aroused.

Ralph moved his head slightly and 
nestled it against my breast as I held 
him.  I knew he must have been feeling 
my nipple with his face.  "Sis?" he 
said.

I inhaled deeply and answered, "What?"

"I love you so much," he said.

I had chosen Ralph to give me away at 
the wedding.  I had never been so 
emotionally close to any male, including 
Leon, since my daddy died, and I loved 
Ralph dearly.  An excited blend of love 
and desire swept through me. My thighs 
were trembling. I pulled him farther, 
bringing his nose right down between my 
breasts and it threw him off balance.  
He slung out his left hand to compensate 
but it went directly to my crotch.  At 
the same time a wave of euphoria rippled 
out from around his hand and traveled up 
to my breast where he had begun to 
caress me with his face. 

I stroked his face with the palm of my 
hand and I felt the late night stubble 
on his chin.  I could smell his clean 
sweat. I opened my legs and Ralph 
pressed with his hand.  Then he removed 
it, then replaced it under my dress 
between my bare legs. "Sis," he said, 
his voice hoarse and trembling, "Sis."

I lay back on the ground, on a little 
patch of grass around the tree. Another 
root bored into my shoulder blade.  I 
ignored it and focused on the dominant 
impression of Ralph's now busy hand.  He 
had moved my panties aside and his 
fingers were in my softness.  His mouth 
came up to my lips and I opened them, 
and felt his tongue enter. 

Ralph and I had practiced French kissing 
when he was twelve and I was fifteen.  
We had watched an HBO movie together and 
saw them do it on the screen.  "Do you 
do that?" he'd asked.

"Sure," I said, lying.

"What's it feel like?" he asked. I 
showed him and we both found out.  
That's all that we'd ever done; it was 
nothing like this.  

Ralph fingers played at my vulva while I 
bucked my clitoris against the heel of 
his hand. His hand was like a blunt, 
benevolent ram, never quite entering me, 
but pressing me by intervals into a 
shuddering orgasm.  When it rushed me, I 
lay back flat, gripping his wrist with 
my thighs, convulsing with the pleasure.  
Then I gradually relaxed and made my way 
back to a kind of drifting calm. I was 
flushed with love and I wanted him to 
feel what I felt. I rolled against him, 
pushing him off me and to the side, onto 
his back.  I brought my face up to his, 
very close.   

I felt his breath blow gently against my 
face. "Sis, we can't . . ." I kissed 
him, blocking his words and reached down 
to unzip his pants.  I dug my hand into 
the fly and felt his thickness and 
length.  He was much bigger in every way 
than the other penis I had held that 
night.  I gripped it firmly and with a 
struggle, pulled it out of his shorts 
and jeans and exposed it to the cool 
night. 

"Just do it with your hand, Sis," he 
said, "I'm afraid . . ." 

I sat up, masturbating Ralph slowly and 
studying his thickness with fascination, 
visualizing what it must be like to have 
such a thing inside me.  Drawn toward 
his center almost unconsciously, I bent 
over him, and immediately brought my 
mouth down over his penis.  He lay his 
head back on the ground, covered his 
eyes with his forearm and signed, 
"Ohhhhh, Corrine."

His taste was salty and slightly bitter 
at first.  I was self conscious and 
awkward at first, but soon I noticed 
only the shape and feel of his enormous 
member inside my mouth. I developed a 
rhythm in the movement of my lips along 
the shaft, my handgrip serving as my 
stop.  I intended to take him all the 
way to orgasm inside of me, even if it 
was only my mouth and it wasn't long 
until I felt him lurch slightly away and 
say, "Move, Corrine, I'm coming."  He 
panted twice, lurched a bit, but I 
stayed with him.  "Move away, Corrine! O 
God, here I come!"  

I stilled my movement but kept sucking 
and he exploded in my mouth.  I 
swallowed what I could, intrigued by the 
strange flavor of Ralph's semen.  I 
lifted my mouth once and felt a jet of 
semen touch my dress over my breast. I 
returned my mouth over his glans and 
tongued the velvety head. 

I found Ralph to be super-sensitive at 
the tip of his penis after his orgasm, 
and wondered if all men were. Even the 
gentle prodding of my tongue caused him 
to jerk his knees up. "Ooo! Oh!" he 
flinched and then giggled after doing 
this twice. I relented and came up to 
lay by his side and partially on top of 
him, my arm across his chest. 

There, between a dark road and a dark 
house, on a farmhouse lane, in central 
Kentucky, my baby brother and I slept, 
satiated, in each other's arms for an 
hour, or was it two?  We rose, finally, 
aching from the tree roots pressed into 
our backs and sides, giggling at each 
other, loving each other.  We kissed 
goodnight and walked quietly home 
together and then to our separate rooms.  
I went back to the bathroom after 
undressing, and carried my soiled dress.  
I dropped it on the floor in front of 
the washer.   

The next day Mama came to wake me.  "Get 
up Corrine," she said, a tone of 
resignation and reproach in her voice.  
"I saw your new dress, all dirty with 
Leon's stuff all over it.  I hope you 
didn't let him touch your coon. If you 
did . . . Well . . . I hope you enjoyed 
yourself."

The sarcasm made me smile as I turned 
over in the bed for five minutes more.


End of Part 1   
Go to Part 2

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