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From: <hoisingr@hushmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jack Pack 02/09 {Hoisington} (MF Mg M-solo rom ped inc)
Date: Mon, 24 Mar 2003 02:10:08 -0500
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                            JACK PACK
                      by Russell Hoisington

                           Two of Nine
                         In the Beginning

     <It's too early to get up, isn't it?  Yes>.  The glowing
numbers of the nightstand clock said it was barely two.  But
something had awakened him.

     "Jack," mumbled an insistent, muzzy voice as a hand pushed
at his bare shoulder.  "G'tup.  It's your night,  member?"

     Then he heard the thin, high-pitched wailing.  He threw back
the sheet and half-fell out of bed.  He staggered blindly to the
door in half-steps, where he was stopped by...

     "Jack!"  Marilyn's voice was able to sound both commanding
and sleepy at the same time.  He thought it was part of her
proper British upbringing, though she'd lived in "the Colonies"
since she was fourteen, when her father had been transferred to
San Francisco.

     "Whuh?" he asked without turning around.

     Her hand rose from the bed and pointed a finger in his
general direction.  "You are jolly well NOT going into your
daughter's room with your Prince Charles out.  Put something on."

     He forced himself to stay upright as he answered her,
despite the documented fact -- he was sure it was documented
somewhere -- that nighttime gravity had ten times the pull of
daytime's.  "F'chrissakes, Mar'n, sh's on'y a week ol'."  He
yawned.  "Sh' won' rem'ber see'n it."  Marilyn could get prudish
at the oddest times, like when -- well, he was too sleepy to
remember an example.  But she could.  Maybe that was her English
blood, too, though her older sister, Felicity, was nowhere that
prudish.  He took another half-step.

     "JACK!"

     "Aw, f'k," he sighed in defeat.  He snatched her robe from
the peg by the door -- the robe she wore over her own nakedness
when it was her night to care for Cyndi -- and wrapped it
lengthwise around his waist.  He paused in the hallway long
enough to somehow fasten it in place and then wondered why he was
there.  Another scream reminded him.  It also brought him two
notches closer to consciousness.  He staggered into the nursery.

     The moonlight pool was in the wrong place to show him the
hard, unyielding object that refused to move when he kicked it.

     "SHIT!"

     "JACK!"

     "GOLLY GEE WHILLIKERS, then," he said, holding his throbbing
toe in on hand and supporting himself by the corner of the
dresser with the other.  "Fuck!" he added softly, feeling better
immediately, though his toe still ached.

     He noticed that his own yelling had not made Cyndi's screams
any louder.  That was because she had only two volume settings:
"Maximum" and "Off."  He had paid a fortune for that stereo
component system in the den, and it merely whispered by
comparison.

     "You wet, honey?" he yawned.  He dropped his foot and gently
removed her from the crib.  He ran a finger into the top of the
diaper.  "Soaked is more like it."

     Holding his screaming daughter in one hand, he fished a
bottle of formula from a small refrigerator and dropped it into a
gleaming metal-and-plastic cylinder.  The bottle's hard plastic
outer tube held a polyethylene bag of formula stopped with a
nipple.  A half-inch of the tube stuck out of the cylinder that
was the Baby's Bottle Buddy.  The red light came on.

     The automatic formula warmer was one of the products his
start-up electronics company in Silicon Valley produced as a
sideline.  Although he held the patents, the basic idea was
Marilyn's back when they were dating.  He was well on his way to
a fortune with his electronic circuitry patents when the Baby's
Bottle Buddy went on the market one Wednesday morning.  His
fortune was securely in place by that Saturday.  Marilyn Kendall
married a man with a net worth of just over two million dollars
on their wedding day one week later.

     He pushed the changing table into the moonlight and gently
placed "Mouth Saint Helens," as Felicity's husband, Steve
Allison, had dubbed her, on the mat.  She stopped screaming while
he cleaned her with a wet wipe, but returned to full volume as he
put far too much baby powder on her little bottom and wrapped her
in a diaper.  As he fastened her pajamas, the Baby's Bottle Buddy
green light came on.  The formula was precisely at the right
temperature.

     He sat in Marilyn's specially-ordered cane rocking chair,
cradled Cyndi in his left arm, and turned off the volume with the
bottle.  There was no danger that he would doze off because of
the rocking motion.  The instant the formula ceased flowing, the
tiny jet engine would come to life with the gentle whisper of a
747 at full throttle.

     He fed her, burped her, and then rocked her for ten minutes
while she screamed.  He looked down at her and said, "I guess
Daddy had better learn to like opera so he can see you when you
open at the Met, huh?"

     The soft green glow of the nursery clock read half-past two.
Marilyn had said that Cyndi had screamed for two solid hours the
night before.  He had a nine o'clock meeting with that Karl
Vogelbreit from DK International.  Unless you were very, VERY
sharp, you could have everything going your way in negotiations
with that German backstabber and then suddenly discover that
you'd given him your car, your house, and your wife.

     He was awake and able to think now -- as well as one can
think with a blast furnace roaring a foot away from one's ear.
She had stopped screaming when he used the wet nappy.  A small
light flickered in the right rear corner of his brain, the corner
that housed the engineer that never sleeps.  Something he had
read in college about nineteenth century German nursemaids....

     Jack's eyes bounced from Cyndi to the door and back for
almost a minute.  Finally he decided.  He twisted his chair
slightly so that Marilyn couldn't see, if the lights were on,
until she was well into the room.  He unfastened the snaps
holding the side of Cyndi's pink pajama top to the bottoms and
pulled one side down to expose her leg emerging from the diaper.
Then he glanced toward the door one last time.

     Jack slid his finger under the elastic of the diaper leg.
Keeping the fingertip against Cyndi's lower body, he slid it down
until it rested atop the two puffy pillows of his daughter's
outer labia.  With all the powder on them, they felt like small
marshmallows.  He began a soft, gentle massage centered on the
tiny little button of her clit.

     The crying stopped.

     Then Jack discovered she had an intermediate volume setting
as he heard for the first time that soft little gasp that would
still thrill him almost twelve years later.  He heard it once
more during the next five minutes as he alternated between gently
massaging and vibrating his fingertip against her tiny cunt.
Jack was concentrating on getting his daughter to sleep.  It
wasn't until the second gasp that he thought about what he was
doing in a way that made his dick twitch and begin to stiffen.
The more calm she became, the more excited he grew, with "grew"
being the appropriate word.

     After he put his sleeping daughter in her crib and pulled
the light blanket over her, he slipped into the bathroom to
relieve the pressure in his balls.  <No sense trying to wake
Marilyn,> he thought.  The best he could hope for was that she
would roll onto her stomach and lift her ass before returning to
sleep.  He could nail her in that position -- he'd done it many
times -- but it was like fucking a corpse.

     He began masturbating into the sink and lifted his finger to
his nose, inhaling deeply.  All he could smell was the heavy
coating of baby powder that made him sneeze.

     Ten minutes later, Jack had his relieved cock mashed against
Marilyn's shapely bare ass and one hand wrapped around a formerly
small but firm breast now swollen from pregnancy.  All three
members of the Martin family were sound asleep

                              ÄÄÄÄÄ

     It happened on December first, Cyndi's half-birthday, and
doubtless was due to the considerable amount of gin in his
system.  Over thirty people were enjoying his party celebrating
the sale of a new electronic chip design.  Marilyn was busy being
the hostess, so Jack took her turn preparing Cyndi for bed.
Steve and Felicity, who were visiting from Anaheim for the week,
began a mild argument over who would put Megan down for the
night.  Jack volunteered, saying that they were too far gone to
attempt the stairs, and that he was the closest to being sober of
anyone else.  The argument defused, the couple returned to the
bar.

     Jack tossed down an almost full gin and tonic and eased his
way up the stairs, not an easy task as they tended to shift back
and forth under his feet.  He made a mental note to nail them
down in the morning, but lost it before he got to the nursery
door.

     Unable to focus clearly, he paid Consuela's teenage niece --
what was her name again? -- with tens instead of ones and told
her he would put the girls to bed.  He was astonished when she
threw her arms around his neck and briefly, but forcefully,
kissed him after she watched him count the money into her hands.
<Maybe she don' like changin' di'pers,> he decided.  He managed
to stammer out a slurred farewell and told her to help herself to
the food table on her way out, not that Consuela, the
cook/housekeeper, wouldn't feed her in the kitchen on her way out
anyway.  She grabbed her homework and portable tape player and
flew out the door.

     He changed Cyndi's diaper first.  While she was lying on her
stomach, he observed how cute her round little butt looked,
wiggling as her legs kicked.  His brow furrowed as he wondered
why she was on her stomach.  He started to turn her over.  On
impulse, deciding he didn't want any other man to be the first to
kiss that wiggling little hiney, he first planted a firm kiss on
each cheek.  He straightened, pleased with himself and his little
secret, and turned her over.

     She cooed and kicked her chubby little legs, anticipating
what was about to happen, while he lubricated his fingertip with
baby lotion.  The wrinkled little oblongs of her labia parted,
and he could see the darker pink interior of her slit and her
tiny cunt entrance.  <Eighteen years from now, some boy'll think
he's gone to heaven when he puts his cock in there,> he thought.
<Or his face.>

     Or not even eighteen.  Marilyn had been sixteen the first
time he parted her brown thicket with his nose and kissed the
Gates of Heaven.  So had Felicity, the previous year.  That got
him to wondering how, and more importantly to him, when it would
happen to Cyndi.  He stood there, frozen in alcohol-fogged
thought, until she grew impatient and began to fuss.  His eyes
focused on her, and he knew the answer.  An index and middle
finger held her tiny slit open as his face lowered.

     He was surprised to learn she was wet, not with pee or baby
lotion, but with her own baby pussy juices.  When he masturbated
her, he never inserted his finger into her slit, choosing instead
to stroke her pudgy outer lips.  He feared that even a lubricated
fingertip might damage the fragile little clitoris, or her hymen,
or somehow leave signs that would tip off Marilyn as to what he
did when he changed their sweet little daughter alone.

     He wiggled his tongue and was rewarded with that soft little
gasp.  She didn't always make that sound, but when she did, his
dick twitched and his heart skipped a beat.  His tongue moved in
short strokes as he tried to memorize every detail of her slick
little slot with its thin inner lips, the seed pearl of her clit
that peeked from its pink little hood, and the red interior of
her vaginal entrance.  The unmistakable sweet pungency of her
juices began to override the smell and taste of the wet wipe, and
he began to reach another alcohol-assisted conclusion.

     Cyndi smiled up at him while he fumbled his zipper with one
hand and massaged her little love mound with the other.  He
finally freed his dick from its uncomfortable confinement and
sighed as it sprang upward.  He leaned forward and kissed her
forehead, both cheeks, her round little tummy, and her tiny twat.

     "Congrashalashins, shweetheart," he said.  "You're  bout
t'get your firs' cock betw'n y'r legsh.  I wish it c'd mean as
mush t'you ash it doesh t'me."

     He held her by her ankles and lifted her chubby butt off the
table, pressed the underside of his dick against her slit, and
closed her legs together around his shaft.  Jack had always been
embarrassed by the side of his cock -- just five and one-half
inches long and not very thick, though Marilyn seemed happy with
it.  Felicity, too, since she kept offering herself to him.  It
didn't resemble the monster dongs he read about in porn stories
and saw in fuck films, nor was it the size of Steve Allison's
horsecock, but when he saw it encased by his daughter's thighs,
he knew the frustration King Kong felt the first time he picked
up Faye Wray.

     With a slow motion, surprisingly gentle for someone so
inebriated, he humped the underside of his dick against her damp
little slit, feeling his balls bumping her warm baby butt.  On
the fourth stroke it gushed like a fire hose.  Caught by
surprise, he threw his hand in front of his dick, hoping to catch
the white flood before it hit and soaked into her pajamas.
Between the alcohol and the intensity of his orgasm, his legs
were strained to keep him upright while the red stars exploded
like fireworks and overwhelmed his vision.  The thought that
Cyndi might be hurt was all that kept him from collapsing.

     Finally, gasping for breath, he managed to focus as the red
faded from his vision.  He was slowly rubbing his softening
erection along his daughter's pink slit.  The act was almost
frictionless thanks to the lubrication of his jism, which was
smeared between her thighs and over her puffy little mound, and
was puddling on her tummy where it dripped from his hand.  He
looked at her happy little face smiling up at him.  "Oh, honey,"
he whispered, "Daddy really doesh love you."

     He used a wet wipe to remove the mess.  Cyndi giggled and
cooed as he reached to re-trouser his dick.  And paused.  "Ah,
wha' th' fuck?"  He trashed the wipe and once again held open her
vaginal entrance.

     He placed the opening of his dick against the tiny, wet hole
and milked a couple of drops of semen into her body.  She cooed
happily.  He was happy, too.  He was now the first man to cum in
her twat.  And he had one more first planned for her.

     He scooped a drop onto the tip of his finger and held it
just above her mouth.  Her lips parted, and he gently fed her the
cum.  Her hard little gums gnawed at his fingertip, stripping
away her treasure.  She made an odd face and swallowed.  Then she
kicked her chubby legs, waved her tiny fists around, and babbled
happily.

     A smiling Jack stood silently and watched her fat little
cunt lips change shape as her legs moved about.  Twice her slit
opened and he could see the pearly liquid in her treasure box.
Then, with a deep sigh, he realized that play time was over, and
he'd better get Cyndi in bed before Marilyn came to check on him.

     He had snapped her pajamas together, flipped his cock back
into his pants, and was trying to unsnag his shirt tail from the
zipper's claws when he saw a shadow in the hallway.  A soft
tuneless refrain of "The Old Gray Mare" announced Felicity's
presence just before she turned into the doorway.  For unknown
reasons, she always sang that silly song when she was drunk.

     Fortunately, Cyndi was still positioned to block the view of
his fly.

     His fly!  Felicity, especially when she was drunk, would
make passes at him, grabbing at Mister Johnson if nobody else was
around.  She had originally dated Jack, and she was still
maximally pissed that her younger sister had stolen him away.
Felicity still made it abundantly clear to Jack that he could
fuck her anytime, anywhere.

     "Hey, handshome!  Whash th' bloody holdup?" she asked,
holding onto the door frame with both hands to keep the wall from
accidentally falling over.

     Jack quickly bent forward, just in case his fly might be
visible to his sister-in-law, and tickled Cyndi's nose with a
fingertip.

     <Oh, my god!>  A dollop of cum glistened on the table top.
Between nonsense noises and faces at Cyndi, he explained.  "Well,
firsht I had to go.  Then Shyndi went again jusht aft'r I got her
di'per on.  Well!  No shensh puttin' her t'bed wet.  Sho, I
chang'd her agin.  Now we're havin' a little fam'ly qual'ty time.
T'gether."  He scrabbled his fingers across Cyndi's fat little
tummy, causing her to laugh and kick.  "Jusht fath'r  n' dau'r
qual'ty time," he added for the alcoholically impaired.  He was
pleased with his response and thought it would have made sense to
Felicity even if she were sober.

     Felicity idly hooked a finger into her low-cut neckline and
let the weight of her arm reveal more of the creamy white
cleavage and the edge of a nipple.  Except for the last months of
her pregnancy, and for a short while afterward, Felicity rarely
wore a bra.  She didn't need one, and Jack knew it.  During his
visit to Felicity and Steve's house during a business trip to Los
Angeles two weeks earlier, she had "accidentally" left the
bedroom door ajar while she changed.

     "Oh," she said with a leer.  "Then I'd bet'r att'nd t' May."

     As she took one wobbly step forward, Jack raised a hand and,
without straightening his posture, stopped her with a sharp, "Nah
AH!"  He added in a conversational tone, "Uncle  n' nieshe
qual'ty time ish nexsht."

     She finally left when he offered to call Steve to come help
her, as she was barely capable of walking and might fall, hurting
herself or even Megan.  He smiled as her heard a soft, "Arsh
hole!" drift back into the room before "The Old Gray Mare" faded
down the hallway.

     With Cyndi cooing in her crib and Megan cleaned and naked
from the waist down, Jack paused to see if Felicity had, indeed,
left the hallway.  Satisfied, he bent over his niece and examined
her.  Where Cyn had thin, narrow inner lips that weren't visible
when her slit was closed, May had thin but longer and wider lips
that protruded slightly from her little mound.  Her clit was half
again the size of Cyndi's.  When he played with it the tiny
button swelled to twice the size of Cyndi's erect nub, and the
tip pushed through her pudgy outer lips.

     <Well, af'er all, she IS older'n Cyndi.>  It was the
family's running joke, started by Marilyn's father.  Although the
two were born barely seven minutes apart, May was born in May and
Cyndi was born in June.  That timing had settled the question of
"Megan" or "Charlotte" for the older girl's name.

     Megan was obviously unaccustomed to being fingered.  She
took half a minute to decide she liked it, whereas Cyndi turned
happy the moment she realized the big person with the shorter
hair and deeper voice was going to change or bathe her.

     Then Jack's face lowered, and he discovered the subtle
difference in flavors between the two tiny twats.  As his tongue
danced in her valley, Megan alternated between happy sounds and
moments of quiet concentration that puckered her forehead in a
puzzled frown.

     Jack straightened and fished out his flaccid cock.  Whether
it was the alcohol or the fact that he'd just had one of the most
massive orgasms of his life, the damned thing refused to stiffen,
or even to fatten slightly.  <Well, you c'n still be th' firs'
dick between her legs, hard or not.>

     He placed the underside of his limp linguini along her warm
little slit, closed her little white thighs around it, and began
humping.  He felt the warmth of her tiny ass pressed against his
balls and sighed.  The thought that he was committing such an
illicit, incestuous, illegal act with his baby niece electrified
him as much as doing it with his daughter.  The familiar empty
hollow appeared behind his balls, but his dick failed to inflate.

     Megan's forehead creased again as she concentrated on the
soft, warm thing that felt sooo good rubbing across that newly
discovered spot of her body.  Then she felt a brief pulsing
sensation that made her cough out a happy little cry.

     "Uncle Jack lovesh you, May," he said.  Reluctantly he
separated her legs, allowing one to dangle while he held the
other upright.  The protruding tip of her clit was shiny and
pink.  He tapped the base of his cock head against it a few times
and was rewarded with more happy sounds and wiggles.

     The puddle of cum remained on the table.  He scooped part of
it up with his index finger and apologized to her because it
would be colder than normal.  He used his middle finger to pull
her swollen outer lips apart and gently pushed the semen into her
red little cunt hole.  "There!" he said with an exaggerated
smile.  He massaged the little remaining on his fingertip into
her hard little nubbin.

     Megan laughed and kicked and wiggled much the way her
younger cousin did.  But she never uttered that soft little gasp
that Cyndi made.

     "An' here'sh y'r oth'r treat," he said as he scooped up the
rest and fed it to her.  Unlike her younger cousin, May didn't
have to decide whether she liked the taste.  She greedily sucked
it off his fingertip, her tongue stroking with a gentle
roughness.  He wondered how that tongue would feel against his
dick.

     With the babies safely in the cribs, the changing table
cleaned, the lid firmly on the used diaper container, and his fly
properly closed, Jack kissed each of the girls one last time.  He
turned on the audio monitor and turned out the light, pulling the
door almost closed as he stepped into the hall.

     He paused for a moment, thinking about what he had just done
with his daughter and his niece.  He was vaguely aware that he
wasn't the least bit guilty and wondered if it was because of the
alcohol.  He also wondered what it would be like if, some day, he
could actually shove his dick into those warm, wet, tight little
caverns that had tasted so damned GOOD!

     "Aw, fuck," he groaned as his pants suddenly became too
small.  "NOW y' deshide t'wake up!"  He turned and lurched into
the hall bathroom.  This orgasm, while a decided relief, wasn't
nearly as powerful as the one he'd had with his baby daughter.
- --
Continued in Chapter Three

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