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Subject: Title story: "Little Home Wrecker" Author: Incest Man 65860520
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Date: Fri, 27 Jan 2006 10:55:45 +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
fucking, committing incest in my marital bed. He knew I was awake and still, he
continued unabated. I rolled all the way over and pressed my front to his back.
He ignored my presence, the bastard. I rested my hand on his hip and dug my
nails where I gripped. He removed my hand with a stronger grip, never breaking
his rhythm. He thrust it away, overt rejection. This hurt me deeply. I returned
my hand, gently, sub- missively, and rested it lightly where it had been. My
hand followed his motion as I snuggled closely bringing my lips to his ear. In a
gentle, soft whisper, I pleaded, "Dan, don't do this to me." He continued. I
said, "This is wrong. She's just a child. She's our daughter." As if in reply,
his thrusts became stronger, going deeper, a moan escaped her lips, a moan that
should have been mine. My hand moved ever so carefully over his hip and dipped
low, searching. I steadily converged on the point where the crime was being
committed. His lunges pushed my hand against Sarah's tight little ass, my
wedding ring lightly scratched her flawless skin. The warm wetness told me I was
close, wet curls, then a shaft of pulsing meat. I curled my fingers around the
base and he shoved them against my daughter's stretched vulva. Again and again
he insulted my grasp, fucking major fingers to a minor cunt. I squeezed gently,
massaging the shaft, feeling the loose skin slide along the stiff rod beneath.
Sarah, the slut, hiked her leg to let me know that she was aware of my
complicity. How could she not with her father's hands full of budding tits. I
unfurled my traitorous fingers and traced delicate patterns over her labia lips,
clit, and tiny puckered anus. My index finger ran circles around the place where
father entered daughter. Dan rolled them toward me until she was lying on his
belly on her back. I had to make room. Sarah yawned wide her sweet thighs, and I
replaced my hand coming in from above. Dan used his to slide her by the tits,
making her body rock onto his turgid manhood. My fingers felt it all, and teased
the unholy union. Dan pulled the covers over my head. The aroma of sex made me
woozy. I pushed up on my right arm, making a tent of our bedding over the site
of infidelity. On and on, they rocked, pouring out their wetness on my hand,
assaulting my nostrils with lusty scent. A manly hand clenched a handful of hair
at the back of my head and squeezed ...
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