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Subject: {Losgud}JDR"The Island A"(MF inc con humor)[1/2]
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                             JOHN DARK REPOST
The following story is posted for the entertainment of adults.  If you are 
below the age of eighteen or are otherwise forbidden to read electronic 
erotic fiction in your locality, please delete this message now.  The story 
codes in the subject line are intended to inform readers of possible areas 
that some might find distasteful, but neither the poster nor the author 
make any guarantee.  You should be aware that the story might raise other 
matters that you find distasteful.  You read at your own risk.

The enjoyment of these reposts can be increased by reading the "Coming 
Attractions," which includes the titles to be reposted in the next week.

These stories have not been written by the person posting them.  Many of 
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The copyright of this story belongs to the author, and the fact of this 
posting should not be construed as limiting or releasing these rights in 
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below.  If you keep the story, *PLEASE* keep the copyright disclaimer as 
well.  



                           =====================
The following is total fiction.  Any resemblance etc. is a product of your 
imagination.  This work is meant as ADULT entertainment.  If the laws 
where you sit say you're too young to read this, go away and turn 
yourself in to the thought police.  Even thinking about sex is dirty and 
nasty and will warp your mind forever.  Go watch a movie or play a 
game that ends with a body count in the high four figures.  Death and 
destruction are good clean fun.

Copyright (c)1997 losgud.  Personal use just fine.  Archiving okay.  
Absolutely NO for-profit use permitted.  Reposting without notice is 
frowned upon.  Tampering with the text (rewriting) is illegal.  Copyright 
violations will fall under the jurisdiction of my principality, where the 
punishment is to discourage repeat offenders.  We cut your fucking hands 
off!
                         =========================

NOTE:  Again--losgud trademark--there is the long buildup and wait for 
the sky to darken before the fireworks commence.  If you don't want 
the context, skip about halfway down to after dinner.  Enjoy!


                                  ======
                                  ISLAND  
                                  losgud
                            losgud@hotmail.com
Section A:


Why in the world anyone would choose to build a tiny little cabin on a 
tiny little island in the middle of a tiny little lake is something I've 
never figured out.  But there it is and there I was going.  It'd come 
down from my wife's side, and when her parents died she and her siblings 
had turned it into a sort of family trust.  We all split the costs 
of the upkeep and share a vacation destination.  The unwritten by-laws 
still work fairly well.  The obvious hot dates are doled out 
democratically; we had the long Labor Day weekend last year and won't 
see it again for at least half a dozen more.  We're barely an hour's 
drive away and come up once or twice a month during the summer, but 
if we have plans then hear the California Gang has decided to fly in for 
the same dates, we of course do the gracious thing.  Things have gotten 
a bit more crowded, if cheaper, now that all our children are growing 
up and buying in.
        
It's a primitive place and there's no way out except by boat.  There is 
a great family story dating back to a particularly bitter winter back in 
the days of the Model A when a hardy group _drove_ out to the island.  
Oh, and they made it.  The proof is apparently still at the bottom of the 
lake about halfway back.  There's not much to be done when one wheel 
breaks through a patch of bad ice except curse Henry Ford for your 
own stupidity.  The gang scattered safely back to the mainland, talking 
already of safety lines and chains and a winch set up on shore.  Later 
in the day they returned with the necessary equipment, and luckily 
someone thought to bring a prehistoric camera.  And there is the actual 
proof.  A wall of the cabin is adorned with framed and matted copies of 
the series, shot as they approached the site but were still safely away, 
the images capturing the few minutes before the final _cra-a-ack_ that 
set the automobile deep diving.  
        
The island has a little cove with a little beach and a little pier.  The 
cabin itself is one fair sized room.  One wall sports a huge stone hearth 
that is the furnace.  Cooking is done on a cast iron wood stove that 
was rowed over piecemeal way back when.  If you need a bath, someone 
hands you a bar of soap and tells you to go jump in the lake.  The 
toilet is a half-step above dragging a shovel behind you on your way 
out into the woods.  The water source used to be a bucket but anymore 
you bring your own, fresh and safe from a tap.  The lake's not toxic 
but even boiled it's not good for the bowels.  We're curious creatures, 
us humans.  We soil our own nests, then bitch about it later.
        
Still and all it's a nice cozy place.  There's no worry of being stuck out 
there with some big family bash because it really is too tiny.  The 
upcoming visit would be pushing all known limits, setting records and in 
fact the logistics hadn't really been worked out.  There are two double 
beds in the place, but they date back to when people were much 
smaller.  We'd be banging against the rafters, I just knew it, but in the 
face of so much enthusiasm I decided to play along.  My wife and I, our 
daughter Melissa and her husband Dale, and their two little ones.
        
Truth be told my favorite time out on the island is when I'm out there 
alone playing the handyman.  The peace and quiet and the chill of a 
six-pack sunk in the shadowy cool water under the pier.  Nothing to 
beat it.  There were some minor chinks in the mortar between the logs 
that needed attention and I knew of a prime piece of dead fall that 
should be perfectly seasoned for firewood.  And I've recently acquired 
the luxury of being bound by no work week, which is a blessed feeling 
for a man in his mid-40s who had been resigned to shoveling shit for 
the rest of his life.  Reason enough to motor out to the island a day 
early.  Get things ready for the rest of the crew.
        
So I was all set for a little solitude when Melissa suddenly announced 
that she wanted to join me.  My heart sank but I kept it from my face.  
Sure, she's my wonderful daughter and all, but mostly I was telling 
myself _don't be such a fucking ingrate_.  It was her doing that I was 
able to be doing this.
        
I was early in college when a faulty gene revealed my true destiny.  
_C'mon_, it shouted, _drop out and paint_.  A painter in the sense that 
the only walls I'd be covering would be those in museums.  I still don't 
know why Betsy chose me to be her husband.  She's terribly intelligent 
and driven and creative, but she has a pragmatic sense I totally lack.  
She supported me for a year, but with no real nibbles and the advent 
of Melissa I made the decision to become a lifer at the fucking 
warehouse.  It paid the small bills of the time.  I still painted like 
crazy, and never stopped.  Once it became practical Betsy reentered the 
workforce and went corporate in a big way.  Every glass ceiling she 
encountered, hell, she just threw some bricks and crashed her way 
through.  Within ten years she was earning enough I could have 
comfortably quit but I didn't.  It was never a big male ego provider 
thing, I just didn't want my selfworth to revert to that of dead weight.  
The kind of husband and dad who stays home drinking coffee all day, 
engaging in basically a hobby, taking the odd dance with the vacuum 
cleaner to make myself feel productive.  If I'd possessed any innate 
culinary skills perhaps things would have been different.  If I'd had a 
wonderful way with mops.  I still shopped around.  Some gallery owners 
had kind words but rarely any space for me.  I met a few enthusiastic 
people with very little money.  I'd sell a painting now and then and be 
content with the progress.  But, you know, to be ecstatic about a year 
in which my gross income managed to push beyond the three-digit 
range, that wasn't quite me.  It didn't even pay for the fucking 
supplies.  I was never sure what Melissa felt about all this growing up.  
Telling her class at the beginning of each school year, _oh, my daddy 
has a shitty job in a warehouse and paints on the side_.  Lissa always 
was in many respects very much of her mother.  Completely different, 
but tolerant.  She whipped through her four years as a Business Major 
in three, and then went on to grad school.  No one was more surprised 
than me that first Christmas break when she came home and announced 
that her MBA program had mutated into an MFA.  Feeling particularly 
fatherly I threatened to take off my belt and convince her otherwise.  
But when she showed us some of her work I used it instead as a sling 
to keep my chin from dragging on the floor.  Damn, but my girl was 
fucking _good_.  I was instantly intensely proud.  Not because my 
genetic material had finally shone through.  But because she had 
distilled it into greatness.  There was the brief period where she would 
visit and I'd chase her from the threshold shouting, "You can't fool me!  
You're not here because you love us; you just want to steal my 
supplies."  And sure enough she'd leave and my brand new tiny $20 
tube of cadmium red would have gone missing.  I'd call her up and 
bitch her out, "Those cadmiums and cobalts are not only expensive, 
they're _toxic_.  They're not meant to be in the hands of children."  
Then she'd show me her latest series and of course she'd have put the 
pigment to far better use than I ever could.  Was I ever jealous?  No, 
not really.  There was never any room for that.  I was too busy being 
enthralled.  And then very quickly she married Dale her old MBA beau.  
He ran up the ladder of success.  Melissa didn't bother wallowing in 
that bohemian thing.  Fuck all the galleries.  She started her own while 
starting their family.  Two small children later hers is the preeminent 
gallery in the entire region.  I never said a word until the day she 
showed up and marched straight to my storage.  "What do you want?" I 
shouted.  "This and this and this and this . . . " she replied.  I got 
barely half the stuff back.  Lissa rarely hangs her own stuff there 
anymore, and then almost as a lark.  She organized the daddy/daughter 
show several months ago even though most of her work was tagged NFS.  
One was officially the property of the Whitney in New York.  It was 
their second purchase, and the head curator called angling for a third.  
All twenty of my meager entrees wound up walking out the door opening 
night.  That was a Friday.  Monday I called in to the warehouse and 
spoke to my boss.  "Remember how on Friday you were my supervisor?"  
"Yea, whatcha gettin' at?"  "Well, today is Monday, and you aren't."
        
So goes the story of how I managed to be guiding a small outboard 
motor towards a dinky little island in the middle of a lake in the middle 
of the day in the middle of the week when by all rights I should be 
deep in the bowels of a warehouse bitching at a forklift driver, "Pallets 
of product, right.  _Wrong fucking row!_"
        
I'm the skipper of my own boat, with a lovely young passenger who 
happens to be my daughter my savior.  Does life get any better than 
this?  I think not.  Melissa is indeed a delightful creature, and the 
happiness she exudes is infectious.  My darling little daughter, my 
sweet Princess.  Daddy's little girl.  All those wonderful intonations from 
the days when I was King.  When I was Daddy the Hero Who Could Do 
No Wrong.  When I was the man who she wanted to marry when she 
grew up.  Betsy, well, she could have a bedroom all her own in our new 
house.  These were the memories that nearly made up for the 
subsequent eras when I became _Daddy, that bastard_, and later a 
seemingly bottomless pot of money.  _Honey, if you only knew_.  Which I 
suppose she actually did.  What is the measure of success in parenting 
other than that they grow into adults without despising you?  And 
really that is the best success.  Melissa sat in the bow of the boat as 
charming an adult as I cared to have as company.  As I dared to hope 
to have as company.
        
As we puttered across the tranquil surface of the lake I was thinking 
that I didn't like the looks of the horizon.  It wasn't anything a novice 
might notice, just a slightly darkish string laid along the tree tops.  In 
all likelihood it meant nothing.  I didn't care to mention it, not wanting 
to spoil the gay mood of Melissa chattering away.  She was going on 
and on about the success of the last show.  Then she paused to add in 
a cryptic voice, "Everything I've ever wanted I've learned from 
watching you."  
        
I shrugged off the tone.  "You snagged a few tubes of paint and did 
the rest on your own."  
        
She just sat there, silent, her head in a minor shake of dissent.  
"That's not the art I'm talking about," she finally whispered.  
        
I shrugged clueless and guided the boat towards the approaching pier.  
My first mate tied us off with the knot I'd taught her ages ago.  We 
lugged the provisions up to the cabin and opened the place up.  Then I 
went out and circled the perimeter, making mental notes of where I'd 
want to work.
        
Then it struck me.  "God_damn_it!"
        
Melissa was fast in the doorway with a worried look.  "What's wrong?"
        
"Oh, nothing.  _Nothing_.  Not a thing," I scoffed.  "Just you know that 
bag of mortar?"
        
She picked it up real quick.  "Oh, you mean the one you left in the 
trunk of the car."
        
"You got it," I grinned.
        
She paused.  "You going back to get it?"
        
"Naw.  Hell with that."
        
"Want me to go?"
        
"Nonononono.  Manana, baby, manana."
        
Instead I wound up in the woods.  I had cut the dead fall into 
draggable lengths the last time I was on the island.  Nothing to it but 
the little bitch of pulling the stuff down and out.  Lissa came and 
helped for a while.  I could tell she was having second thoughts almost 
immediately but didn't know how to back out of the team.  Finally I said 
gently, "Princess, I know it's sick, but I actually sort of _like_ doing 
this.  So why don't you go run off and do something you want, okay?  
This _is_ supposed to be _Fun Island_, you know."
        
She beamed.  "Okay.  Thanks Daddy.  I think I will go and have an 
explore."
        
"Just mind the Heffalumps!" I called out after her.
        
I set to work cutting the stuff down to size.  The ax went _clunk clunk 
clunk_ . . . and after ten minutes I'd raised a tiny scattering of wood 
chips.  I realized I wasn't going to cut through anything with this 
method, or if I did it'd only be my foot.  The old saw worked 
moderately better but after going at it for ages I'd only gone through 
one section.  I used the ax to split all that, and then I sat down on a 
stump.  At some point when I wasn't paying attention, my motivation had 
seized its chance and run away.  
        
It was the saddest sight in the world, that tiny pile of mine.  All that 
effort, and I had maybe a few hours worth of firewood.  It was an 
illustration of my life.  _Oh my intentions are always the best, but all 
my plans just turn to_ shit!  Gloomy thoughts, what wonderful 
companions they make.  I shook it off, because the situation was so 
archetypical and amusing.  It was laughable, and then there _was_ 
laughter.  I turned to find Melissa, all snuck up on me, her hand over 
her mouth.
        
"I'm sorry, it's just that you look so . . . _you_."
        
"That's okay.  I know.  It's no news to me.  I've been living with it for 
46 years now.  And actually that's basically exactly what I was just 
thinking about."
        
"Why didn't you use the chainsaw?  I kept waiting for that manly 
explosion of sound."
        
"Well, aside from the fact that I didn't feel up to walking all twenty-five 
of those feet to the cabin to fetch it, I plain didn't want to deal with 
the noise.  I mean, sure, you get all the work done, but only because 
there's someone yelling in your ear the whole time."
        
"That's my father," she smiled and tousled my hair, "very funny, a little 
strange, and decidedly unique."
        
"Carve that on my tombstone okay?"
        
"Remind me when you're not a hundred years away from it.  Anyway, I 
came out here to see if you'd be interested in a little dinner."
        
"Dinner?  What's that?"
        
"Just one of the sundry uses for that yap of yours."  She gave it a 
quick peck, then helped hoist me to my feet.
        

                                  ======
                                  ISLAND  
                                  losgud
                            losgud@hotmail.com

Section B:


Dinner it was, and what a feast!  What smells and so many bowls.  
Nicely spiced chicken chunks and beans refried from scratch.  Several 
kinds of grated cheese which didn't come from bags.  All sorts of 
vegetable stuffing, and warmed tortillas to wrap it all up in.  "_For 
god's sake_," I complained, "is this fresh cilantro minced up here?"  It 
made my heart just swell to see how warmly Lissa took the compliments.  
"How do you do it?" I continued.  "I can barely get that fossilized stove 
to boil water for coffee."
        
Melissa was shrugging and blushing, "Well what would you be doing for 
dinner if I wasn't here to take care of you?"
        
"You'll notice," I nodded towards the counter, "that I did not leave the 
bag of _chips_ in the trunk.  I have my priorities straight.  And chilled 
in that cooler is a six-pack of liquid nourishment known as sandwich-in-
a-can."
        
"Gawd, my incorrigible father," she rolled her eyes.  "Though now that 
you mention it a couple of beers would be perfect with all this."
        
And so they were.  The clean-up was easy as always if a bit primitive.  
Melissa got a fire roaring in the hearth, then fed it the gunky paper 
plates and bowls.  I swiped out the pans, then filled them with clean 
water and a little bleach and let them boil for a bit.
        
Evenings on the island tended to end early.  Aside from the fireplace 
the only light is from a pair of antique oil lamps.  You can read only if 
you want to ruin your eyes.  We chatted frivolously for a while, then 
ran through our patience for double solitaire and gin rummy and poker.  
There was a short serious discussion of art while we both kept picking 
up our respective cans of the last beer on the island, pretending or 
forgetting that they weren't really already empty.  Eventually we went 
taking turns darting outside to empty our bladders of beer.  Then we 
shared a basin of precious water to brush our teeth.  The lowering of 
the lamp wicks away to nothing.  I discreetly changed into my pyjamas 
and slid into my bed.  Melissa slithered out of her pants and bounded 
into her bed in just her t-shirt.  Which wasn't so long that I didn't 
catch the golden dying fire glow of her bare butt.  There was the 
slight delay before I thought, _hey, she shucked off her panties along 
with her jeans_.  And another before I considered, _or else she wasn't 
wearing any to start with_.  I certainly started feeling positively old-
fashioned in my pyjamas.  It was a positive sensation though, because 
even in summer the nights on the island got pretty chilly, especially 
once the fire went down to embers.  But what did I care?  My era as 
Father Knows Best was like that of the television show, residing solely 
in the history of memory.  I curled up and prayed that sleep would 
somehow find me in this relatively early hour.
        
Sure enough I was right.  I lay there in bed thinking _man, it's gotten_ 
too _quiet out there_.  Then the wind picked up.  The trees out back of 
the cabin began their supernatural keening, a sound I've always found 
extremely disconcerting.  It would be too dark to see but I knew exactly 
how it would look, the wall of solid water sweeping across the lake.  
There was a brief flash like someone was lurking outside with an 
instamatic camera.  I counted the miles until I heard the brief _pop_.  
That laggard the old speed-of-sound would be closing the gap real fast.  
There was never any real danger.  All the trees within falling range 
had been cleared off to build the damn cabin.  Around the cabin stood a 
grove of lightning rods that looked like the place was actually 
transmitting clandestine signals to the evil aliens in the next galaxy.  
And given what a tinder shack the place was it probably had been a 
good idea to reroof it in tin.  That hat was _bolted_ down, and 
grounded like crazy.  A good idea, mind you, if you didn't have to be 
on the island during a storm.  I was getting a headache just thinking 
about what a headache I was going to get.  There were the first few 
pretty little drops, and then the steel drum marching band arrived.  I 
could hear Melissa start to stir.  Within minutes we were beneath a 
forest of lightning sprouting down from the clouds.  The air was thick 
with the smell of electricity, the cracking like every bone in your body 
splitting at once.
        
The only sound louder was the shriek Melissa gave as she launched 
herself upon me.  I was not caught unawares.  That little girl of her 
will go with her to the grave.  She has always been pathologically 
terrified of thunderstorms.  The familiar pounce was of course a bit 
more quaint when she was younger by twenty years and about a 
hundred pounds.  The amazing thing was how she was on the bed and 
within seconds burrowed beneath the covers and wrapped tightly 
around me.  I soothed her in the old way, murmuring a string of 
nonsense noises, kissing the top of her head, my free hand performing 
hypnotic loops upon her back.
        
Gradually the storm crossed, and the small swirls of my hand sent me 
down into a light doze as well.  I started thinking about the dog I had 
when I was a kid.  He was a German Shepherd we named Rocky, until 
when still a pup someone bothered to lift his tail to discover that he 
was in fact a she.  The name Rockette never really stuck.  She was a 
ferocious dog.  She was loyally great with the family, but woe unto the 
milkman and mailman and garbageman and any man, woman or child who 
dared set foot on our stoop and knock on the door.  But thunder made 
her melt.  She'd be quivering in your lap at just the mention of it.  I 
was well remembering one night when she was half up in my lap and 
then as the storm passed she was hunching my leg.  Rocky was much in 
heat at the time.  This was back in the days before people altered their 
pets, and while much has been made of male dogs doing that old leg 
humping shit, it was nothing like Rocky letting you know when she was 
wanting some of that good attention.  Rocky sort of melted into Belinda, 
a girlfriend of mine during my year in college.  Thunderstorms for 
Belinda were the gods' manna that maybe the lights would be shot for a 
few hours.  But otherwise she was like Rocky.  Her crotch rubbing 
along my thigh expressed her desires better than any words.  The two 
of us were not a very well matched couple.  The major miracle wasn't 
that we stayed together but that we'd gotten together in the first place.  
Once we were set in place, the sex was a huge squirt of glue.  So 
though my shoulder was rather wet--from Melissa's fearful tears I 
remembered--it was a desert compared to the soppy circle on my thigh.  
Given the call, and the pressure of a warm leg against it, my cock was 
throbbing in full regalia.  "Oh Daddy," Belinda whimpered.
        
Oh Daddy?  _Oh my fucking god!_
        
I feigned sleep.  My penis was having none of that.  A hand touched it, 
and it _lurched_.  The fucking tube-shaped slut!  Old Mr. Friendly was 
wanting to pop out of my pyjama bottoms and shake hands with 
everyone.  The problem with cocks are that they don't have hands of 
their own.  If they did they could detach and go off to an island all 
their own and live happily ever after.
        
In a girlish whisper Melissa intoned in my ear, "Is this the magic wand 
that made me your Princess?  What happens when I _rub_ it, hmm?"
        
She started to find out.  And she'd be finding out real quick if she 
kept up that pace.  It'd been nearly a month since anyone but me had 
taken that old dog out for a walk.
        
"Melissa," I hissed.
        
"Yes _Daddy_?"
        
"What are you _doing_?"
        
"I'm still scared, Daddy.  I need you to comfort me more.  And more and 
_more_."
        
I couldn't figure out _what_ to do.  I could be forceful and honorable, 
but hell, the dynamics between us were already irrevocably altered.  
And then there was that throbbing part of me that was shouting, _Just 
shut up and enjoy the show!_  Before I could conclude any damn thing, 
Melissa turned into a bulldozer, driving between my legs and pushing 
the covers and my bottoms out of her way.  I knew I was a goner the 
moment her tongue touched my cock.
        
"_Gee-e-ez_," I mumbled amid a groan.
        
"Did I just hear a request for _jizz_?" she replied brightly.  "Okay, one 
serving, _coming_ right up."  
        
With that her lips plunged all the way down, then up, then down.  _My 
god_, I thought, _No wonder Dale always has a smile on his face!_  Boy, 
you think you know your kids.  I'd had no inkling that my little girl 
had grown up to be a cocksucker _extraordinaire_.  Though then again 
perhaps this isn't the sort of development that gets related over 
Thanksgiving Dinner.  Melissa was certainly having a big old dinner 
right now and no doubt I was giving many thanks.  She took a breather 
just long enough to complain, "I have an _owee_ Daddy, could you kiss 
it and make it feel better?"  Then she swung a leg over and presented 
me with as fine a feast as I've ever seen.  I couldn't really see it very 
well in the dark, but lord could I smell it.  At that my final reserves 
came crumbling down.  It's a strange kind of affliction, and I'm _sure_ 
I'm unique in this respect.  But a cunt lush and open in invitation is an 
offer I've never been able to resist.  I reached up to grab her hips and 
pull her to me, but I was acting prematurely.  Melissa got settled in her 
position and then plummeted herself directly down upon my face.  I 
grabbed her hips anyway, locking her to my lips.  Her lips were plump 
and swollen; my tongue parting them breached the dam and set the 
sweet juices just flowing.  Just the texture alone of her labia was 
enough to make me loose control.  Not that her tongue was helping 
matters at all.  Old Faithful blew right on schedule and in my frenzy I 
attacked her counterpart in kind, sucking and licking her clit like it 
was my penis and my mouth was hers.  I couldn't hear a sound of her 
satisfaction and I doubted she could hear any of mine.  Lissa's thighs 
went squeezing my ears while she ground herself down.  We were each 
facefuls of fluids; we hardly needed the soundtrack.  I could hear her 
thunder in my bones and feel the waves of rippling flesh under my 
hands.
        
Eventually Melissa relaxed her hips and let me gasp for air.  I expected 
the rest of her would relax, but I was expecting wrong.  She just kept 
sucking away like the hungriest baby ever born.  I thought to play 
Daddy the Teacher, and explain _after a man's blown like that he has to 
recover for awhile_.  I was about to mumble some words to that effect 
when suddenly I started feeling the effect having an effect.  A coaxing 
hand was caressing my balls when a slick finger slipped up my ass 
without so much as an introduction.
        
_Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!_  I think I cried.  It was a fitting homage.  He 
was the guy who raised the dead, right?  Well, never in my life had I 
sprung back to life so quickly.
        
Lissa swiveled on top of me and we were face to face, mouth on mouth, 
tongues twining.  Then she rolled us both over.  "Daddy, can you help 
me?  Your little girl's pussy is so alone and empty."
        
I still had no idea where any of this was coming from, but I sure knew 
where it was going.  The nasty angle was becoming fast terribly 
exciting.  "Does my little Princess want to _feel_ the royal scepter."  I 
felt like I was reading a really cheap and sleazy sex story, but to judge 
from the whimper of her response I had spoken the perfect set of 
words.  Just a nudge of my hips sent the tip of me inside her private 
world.  After that I was in for the pound.  I've always been partial to 
women who combust with the first strike of my match.  I waited for the 
rest of her senses to return, the slid slowly all the long way deep 
inside her. 
        
"Oh god, Daddy, _yes!_  Do _it_.  Do it to _me_.  _Do_ me.  Do me 
_now!_"
        
I've always had a hard time denying a request from Melissa.  It was oh 
so very nice to be having a hard time not denying her request.  And 
there I was, doing my best as the sensible side of my brain screamed, 
_you're fucking your own daughter!_  So perhaps it was my worst, but 
another part of me was soothing, _so what? you're even, because your 
daughter is certainly fucking you!_  Sure enough, she was meeting and 
matching my every thrust.  With gusto.  With fury and frenzy.  I 
thought at this rate I'd soon be a goner again.  But then I felt her 
start to shudder.  I gritted my teeth and willed myself control.  _Ride 
this out_, I kept chanting, _and then you'll get a rest_.  Melissa went 
_wailing_, turned rigid, then softened into a pillow.  I relaxed down 
against her, panting but saved, ready to participate some more.
        
At last she drew a deep breath.  "God how I used to dream of this 
every night a dozen years ago.  I mostly gave it up because I didn't 
think I've ever get you to let my dreams come true.  Bet you didn't 
know I used to spy on you guys sometimes.  And _how_ I wanted those 
to be _my_ legs locked around your waist.  _Just once_, I used to moan, 
_god_ just once let that be _me_."
        
"So how do you like finally getting to have your one bite of forbidden 
fruit?"
        
"Mmmm," she arched her back in a big purr, "best thing I've _ever_ 
tasted.  And I never said it _had_ to be just _once_.  Hmmm?"  She 
asked the question even more bluntly, sending her pelvis rocking and 
her legs wagging in and out.  Oh my!  If I wanted to last, I had to do 
something fast to stop her from doing all that.  I held my breath and 
plunged all the way in, full force, pinning her to the mattress.  Melissa 
didn't seem to mind that in the least.  "_Yes!_" she called out to the 
world, "you can do this to me all night long."
        
"Oh no I can't.  Or else it's going to shortest night on record."
        
"Oh don't you worry.  We can take it nice and slow."  She just gazed 
up at me so sweetly, then giggled, "God, besides, one more like that last 
one and I'll be more than set for the night."
        
This sounded like a plan to me.  We kissed and stroked each other and 
with me buried deep inside her just sort of let our crotches lightly 
bump and nuzzle each other.  But then in a flash Lissa's eyes went 
wide and she screamed, "_Oh my god!_  Where is this coming from?"  
        
Okay, change of plans.  Not slow but _super fast_.  She was bucking up 
against me like crazy, her cunt was _sucking_ my cock, so I went 
slamming in and out of her like a man possessed.  Which is exactly what 
I was.
        
As with all men and women we were riding on separate trains.  But we 
sure pulled into the station together.  The weather that had passed was 
nothing compared to the storm that exploded inside.  There was ball 
lightning bouncing around the walls of that cabin.  Thunder booming 
and torrents washing down.  When we finally collapsed it was like we 
were melting together.  We were soaked from head to toe.  We kissed 
like moths fluttering against bulbs and rolled slowly onto our sides, 
staying engaged.  We'd fried every wire in the parts of our brain 
governing consciousness.  The very last sensations I had before sliding 
into sleep were that of my shrunken member slipping from her grasp.  
And then the most contented dreamy little sigh I'd ever heard.  I 
moaned my own agreement before going under.  
        
I woke up with a start, the way you do when you feel something 
studying you.  It's an animal instinct, sensing some other animal poised 
to pounce and devour you.  It really is about the most disconcerting 
way to wake up.  I opened my eyes, and the first they saw were 
Melissa's, wide open and staring at mine.  Her head cocked up on a 
pillow.  The glow of full morning was washing over us.  I gained a few 
minutes of thought while my eyelids did that slow brushing up and 
down, the gesture of a butterfly drying its wings when fresh from the 
chrysalis.
        
"Morning, Princess, how you feeling?" I slurred.
        
"Oh," her voice went tiny into a fragile register, "I've certainly felt 
better."
        
Oh boy.  Did I suddenly feel like the original bucket of slime.  I hadn't 
been the one to lead the dance of the night before, but, really, I should 
have been the one to decline the sway.  _You stupid bastard!_ I was 
roaring to myself, _you've gone and ruined one of the best things in 
your life._  Stuff like this before coffee, no wonder mornings are world 
renowned as evil.
        
"But," she continued with a little smirk, "I expect I'll feel better than 
ever before very long."  At that a hand of hers dropped down between 
my legs.  My morning erection had shriveled to a slug just moments 
before, but at her first touch it bloomed like a banana growing in a 
time-lapse film.  Lissa rose up and swung herself over me and then 
sank right on down.  We were without words.  There wasn't any of that 
Daddy/Daughter naughty nonsense of the night before.  In the fresh of 
the morning we were man and woman simply doing what man and woman 
do best.  She smiled down at me wordlessly, lustfully, as she rose up, 
holding me just by the head of myself in her sweet slippery grip before 
plunging back down.  Good god but I was a man by the name of Mr. 
Groan.  Ms. Moan leaned forward, offering my mouth its choice of 
breasts.  And what a heavenly choice!  What primitive creatures we 
humans are.  _Evolve_, damn it, _evolve!_   I needed _two_ mouths.  
That's how hungry I was.  Melissa made sure we were both well-fed, 
several times, and that was long before breakfast.
        
She left me lingering over coffee with a long tongue twisting kiss, her 
eyes sparkling as she went out to inspect the damage to the island from 
the storm.  Eventually I took my mug and a chair to sit out in the sun.  
Get a good look at my beautiful world.  A gorgeous day in the making.  
I could see the evidence of a tree down, and was sorry to see it go, 
but marked the spot in my consciousness as next year's supply of 
firewood.
        
As well of course I was contemplating the changes wrought by our own 
peculiar storm.  Definitely no damage done there!  As for the 
permanence in any of it, well, that remained to be seen.  I had no 
intention of trying to force anything.  If Melissa's good morning was a 
playfully thanking goodbye for the goodnight, so be it.  I could feast 
off the memories forever, and really there would be no need to alter 
any emotions because it was all so new that none had developed.  It was 
akin to finding an envelope of money on the ground.  You thumb 
through it in a big thirsty rush, but if you discover some tag of 
identification then you give it back.  The reward may be intangible, but 
you smile nonetheless.  If this was to continue, then there were the 
obvious logistics to consider, the circumventions to orchestrate.  That as 
well was out of my hands.  My co-conspirator had always been terribly 
good with details.
 
Melissa came sprinting over the rise from the beach, flapping her wings 
and squawking the news, "Daddy, Daddy, the boat is _gone!_"  She lept 
and slung herself into my lap facing me.  
 
"Oh yea?" I replied as steadily as I could under her squirming 
enthusiasm.  "I guess the storm washed it away?"
 
Melissa straightened up with a broad smile.  "Yea.  _Maybe_."

                         =========================
            Like? Yes? No? Comments welcome. losgud@hotmail.com
                         =========================
            I am archived at DejaNews under the "Author" name:
                           lushgod@hotnomail.com

                                  ======
                                  ISLAND  
                                  losgud
                                   -30-


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