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Subject: Title story: "Little Home Wrecker" Author: Incest Man 56273783
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Date: Sat, 08 Oct 2005 12:16:26 +0000
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Little Home Wrecker
The bed rocked gently but steadily as I lay curled on my side next to my husband
of fourteen years. He lay likewise, but in the opposite direction. We were back
to back, not touching. The situation had become familiar, painfully so.
We were not alone in our bed. Curled up spoon fashion with Dan was our twelve-year-
old daughter, Sarah. Dan sleeps in the nude, as does Sarah. The rocking gra-
dually built in tempo and intensity until it could not be ignored. In weeks past
they would not permit them- selves to lose control and waited mercifully until
they thought I was fast asleep. Each time, they began earlier and became more
obvious until I found myself being gently rocked shortly after retiring and
rudely jostled after only ten or fifteen minutes.
I lay with tightly clenched jaws having to feel the rhythm of sexual passion
slowly building; having to hear the obscene wet noises and the bed's cry of,
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" I had to smell the heavy sensual musk wafting up from under
the covers.
It was the heady smell of incest that prevented sleep. The product of our love
which gestated in my womb now stealing that love ounce by ounce, and doing so
within arm's reach, doing so with a voracious appetite that left nothing for me,
not a seminal scrap did she leave.
As I lay thinking, I remembered the days of bounty, when that special fluid ran
like ambrosia from an endless spring. I could feast at my whim and often choose
to abstain. I had semen to waste. I had head- aches on demand, and the bed
rocked to the rhythm of his hand. He cleaned the waste or slept in the stain.
There was semen aplenty for me when I pleased. Those were the good old days of
months ago, before Sarah returned to her childhood practice of sharing our bed.
And now I kept track on a private calendar, marking the days between.
It was sweet revenge, plain greed, or just selfish need, but the endless sperm
fountain was drying up for me. In our early years, I never went more than three
days without sex. At first, the days between came in batches of three and four,
then five and six, then full weeks. The latest was the first full month, an
anniversary of sorts. They'd grown careless or just plain insensitive over time.
I wanted to roll over, reach between Dan's legs, squeeze his balls, dig my nails
in deep, and say, "Happy anniversary, dear!"
I rolled onto my back to let them know I was not asleep. My bare hip touched
Dan's naked ass. This slowed him only momentarily. Soon, I could feel his ass
muscles tighten and move, I could feel his thrusts, feel them ...
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