Clark Kent, Preteen.

(Bisexual pedophilia and heterosexual incest.)


       “I have to admit I’m on something of a spy mission,” the athletic twenty year old said to the boy he’d flagged from the side of a road leading into (and out of) Smallville.  The boy, an image of the zoom-zoom actor used in the television ads came to a stop and looked politely up at the handsome, road-side stranger.  “Just a university thing,” the boyish adult went on, “not from Russia or anything.”
       “Oh,” the boy responded.
       “A classmate watches birds near here,” the explanation continued, “and said if I was in the area, I should give you a shout, not that I can recruit a twelve year old, but you and a bicycle seem to be made for each other, and time can pass rather quickly, so I though I’d drop by, not that I’ve exactly done that, and give you my card, just as something to think of if you finish your algebra early.”
       “That’s nice of you,” the boy said, reaching from his canted machine and taking the stiff paper.  “If you’re just driving through, maybe you could follow me home, it’s just twenty miles, and join us, that is Ma and Pa and me for dinner.  We could even race, if you think I might have a chance on your team.  I finished high school four years ago and have to work awfully hard in order to buy new bicycles every week, so you’ll be a welcome guest.”
       
       The boy looked at the card, “Mr. Lusor,” he said.
       “Les,” the handsome man replied, “Les Lusor, but Coach, when we’re on campus.”
       They shook hands, the coach reclaimed his Hudson, fired up the three hundred horsepower flathead six, and they were off, the boy, wanting to please his kindly adopted parents, circling through Maine to purchase a dozen two pound lobsters from a fisherman off Stonington.  With a wink, the boatman threw in another six half-pound “shorts”.  “I guess nobody will catch me,” the boy mused, but to make up for the environmental of his illegal booty he spent considerable time laying a hundred derelict cars from various local dooryards in a secluded cove just south of Isle a’Haurt as a breeding ground for future generations of “bugs”.   He had to hurry to be in his own dooryard when Mr. Lusor arrived, but the little extra effort required by the trip resulted in a catch-of-the-day roasted to perfection, and the four were able to sit down to dinner the minute greetings and introductions were completed.
       Groaning happily from their midday repast, Ma and Pa yawned and headed to their room for a nap as the boy and his possible future coach busied themselves housekeeping in the modest kitchen of the Kent homestead.
       
       “Thought I’d beaten you for a minute there,” the young man sighed, “but I guess that’s off of not seeing you pass me.”
       “There’s an old shortcut,” the boy said, pulling the plug on the old soapstone sink, “it’s not the main road, but it gets a fellow where he’s going.”
       “Well, that it seems to have done, for a fact,” Les smiled as he began drying the first of the hand-me-down china plates, standing close behind young Clark as he boy watched the water and suds drain away.
       “You’re very attractive,” the man whispered to the boy now mopping the sink with a dishrag.
       “Thank you,” the child said, visibly tensing at the compliment.
       “If you want,” Mr. Lusor said, “I can hit the road.  Always another rumor to track down when a fellow puts on his scouting hat.”
       “If you want to stay,” Clark replied, the tension in his slim young body matched by a huskiness new to his voice, “I could make up a list of boys and girls you might want to keep an eye on, a hundred or two..”
       “Would you like me to stay?” Les wanted to be sure.
       “Very much,” the boy half whispered, half croaked, flushing in spite of himself, then advising the man standing just behind him not to pick up the next plate in the side sink in order that he might avoid burning his fingers.  Dishes done, the two adjourned to the small parlor, sitting side by side on the blue velveteen sofa.
       Living up to his commitment the twelve year old used a tablet and pencil resting on the coffee table, and, licking the point thoughtfully, scribbled a list in an attractive Times New Roman ten-point font, managing, with a frown of concentration, to select two hundred seventy seven names, the extra, he explained with a shy smile, because he’d decided to include greater Chicago in his survey.  Les didn’t take the time to peruse the list, but even a glance yielded several familiar family names.  He thanked Clark Kent, folded the sheaf of notepaper, and tucked it into the inside pocket of his sport jacket.
       “You can take that off,” the boy said.  “In fact, if the list will really save you some time, why don’t you make yourself comfortable and spend the night here with us.  There’s room in my bed and Ma and Pa adopted me when they were in their sixties, so they’re old enough to understand how a boy my age might want to spend time alone in the company of an experienced older brother.”
       “Offer accepted,” Les said, patting his jacket to reassure himself the list was secure in its pocket, then doffing the coat and draping it neatly over the back of the sofa.  The boy smiled shyly in response.
       
       “We could do something,” he said, “or just sit here and talk.”
       “What would you like to do?” Les asked.
       “Take a ride in your car,” Clark murmured, “it’s Saturday and Loddalagdolla Laddalenkowskiwitch always spends Saturday afternoons with her family.  They live on the next farm.  She’s only ten, but I still want to go out with her because she’s a little red-headed gremlin and I can’t help myself.  Today is her chore day, but if you were with me maybe her dad and her four brothers would let her take a ride with us.”
       
       “Okay,” Les agreed readily, “and since this part of the world seems most partial to rural roads and rustic byways perhaps you’d like to drive.”  This brought a happy light to the boys eyes.  In turns they used the small downstairs bathroom to clean up, and in five minutes were taking the long way around to the house next door, a scant mile from the Kent farm.  This route allowed them to carefully bounce the heavy city car over an old wagon road entering the Laddalenkowskiwitch property from the rear.  In the end, the trail was blocked my a mound of neatly tarped hay bales and Clark brought the vehicle to a stop.  It was just warm enough to make sitting in the parked vehicle uncomfortable, so they disembarked, finding a comfortable hay bale, somehow sensing it was not the best time to simply walk up and knock on the kitchen door.  Nor was there anything supernatural about this, for if the boy had stopped to consider the matter, he would have quickly analyzed it correctly.  Alpo, the Laddalenkowskiwitch’s huge, male Doberman was nowhere to be seen.  Was no one home?  Clark wondered aloud to his friend and then slapped his head with a sigh of silly frustration.  How easy it was to forget.  He removed his glasses and trained his eyes on the neat farmhouse a hundred and seventy feet away.
       
       “I’m going to lose this ability,” he murmured to the young man beside him.  “Until we’re fifteen or so, we can move our eyes anywhere and look at anything.  After that capability fades, we can only look ahead or slightly to the side, like others, though, of curse, we can see through anything we want as long as we don’t try getting fancy.”
       “I’d like to understand,” Les responded.
       “Oh,” the boy said, “I detected the kryptonite before we started the race.  You’ve apparently only previously dealt with adults from home.  Children my age are a bit more wily and agile, and, you really should know this, actually snack, if cautiously, as the Japanese do on puffer fish, on a pinch of green crystal now and then.  All to say I think you understand very well; possibly realize the hopelessness of your situation.”
       “Well, I’m a good coach,” the older male sighed, “I can always go back to that.”
       “You’re a good coach, a good person, segregated from profane influences over which you have no control and for which you bear no responsibility, and very attractive,” Clark advised Les.
       “Forgive me,” the disenfranchised villain wept happily, giving the boy on his left a quick hug, then wiping his tears with the backs of his hands.
       
       Still no dog.  The prosperous family had several vehicles, so it was impossible to tell whether or not anyone might be at home, though it seemed to Clark all where were where they should be.  On the other hand, the Laddalenkowskiwitches were do for a new car, Loddalagdolla said as much in class Friday.  I know,” he added, “as a teacher I’m not meant to intrude on the private lives of my students, but Loddalagdolla is special because she’s a neighbor and we’re just the right ages for each other, and if everyone in Smallville felt I had no interest in anyone that might be worse than a teacher fraternizing with a student. “
       
       As much as anything had during the last hour and a half, it made sense to Les and he decided the best path to take would be simply remaining still and stimulating his conversation with Clark Kent by means of a few questions.
       “If they’re out for a shakedown ride in the new bus,” he observed, “and have a ninety pound dog with them, they’ll probably return before very long.  Do you think we might go and wait on the porch swing?”
       “Why don’t I just check,” Clark suggested politely, feeling their unheralded approach might upset the animal and wake the napping family.
       “Certainly,” Les agreed, always liking to be the welcomed guest.
       “Why, they’re all there,” the boy said after a moment.  “Just finishing the dishes.  We can go right…”  He stopped and frowned, shelling his hands behind his ears, apparently straining to hear.  “It’s the with our hearing as with our vision,” he whispered, “at first, it’s multi-focal, then that fades at twelve or thirteen, and we only have the acute senses of something like a dog until we’re in our fifties or sixties, depending on whether we smoke or not, when it becomes merely highly sensitive, you know, the pin drop at a hundred yards in fresh powder snow during a blizzard kind of hearing.’
       “So you hear something?” the guest summarized.
       “Yes,” Clark said, “I’ll be able to pick up some words in a moment, but what made me stop is that their voices sound different.  Lolla is just finishing with the dishes.  She’s rinsing a decorated plate, the kind you serve a cake on.  And that shows something about not being perfect.  Today’s her birthday.  Superdumb, that’s this kid.  I’m meant to come by this evening at seven for a party.  If that doesn’t teach me a thing or two about snacking on crystals, nothing will.”
       “I’m sorry,” Les choked.
       “Are you kidding?” the boy retorted, using language far ahead of his time, “listen.  Chas, that’s short for a name you never want to hear, is standing just behind the brand new ten year old, Bo, Di, and Al, her three brothers, who, as a little bit of a family joke, shortened their names to B, D, and A, you know, sort of abbreviating them, are standing – more like huddled = near her, too.  B’s seventeen, D’s sixteen and little A’s fourteen.  
       “What are they saying?” Les whispered, able to tell from the tension in his young friend the conversation he was eavesdropping on had nothing to do with crops, chores, or the new car. 
       “I can tell you this,” Clark responded, “yes, they publish some of my stories and adventures in New York, and, yes, kids read them, so it’s all on the up-and-up, but, while, yes, the stories are true, they are also limited.  This train, that bridge, meteors, faults, it’s actually easy enough if you know how, but, again, limited.  Lacking something as a raw steak lacks mesquite grilling, salt, pepper, mushrooms, and the herbs and spices of a gently marinated sauce.”
       “I never took them seriously,” the coach said, vis-à-vis the comic books.
       “Because of what I just said,” the boy agreed.  “Spice, sauce, almost white hot mesquite coals.”
       
       “You may have a point,” Les nodded.
       “You better believe it,” Clark whispered, his ears now trained and his hands back at his side.  “I can either record it, or provide a simultaneous account.”
       “Would the latter be at the expense of the former?” the young man wondered.
       “No,” ‘tis volume which never affectiveth the Krypton mind,” Clark recited from ancient lore.
       “That’s great,” Les enthused, nodding from the boy to provide a play-by-play since they had nothing better to do for the moment than sit on the hay and watch the house.
       
       “Daddy, I am sure,” Lolla said softly as she carefully places the ornate chinaware in the dish rack at her right.  “That’s why I wanted you all to come in here.  I want to tell you all it IS what I want.  Dad’s been honest in telling me in plenty of time, giving me a week to sort out any reservations.  Dr. Jones has assured me that I’m fit as the proverbial fiddle and athletic enough to handle everything that arises, sorry, don’t mean to be crude.  I love you all, unspeakably, and I want my birthday story to stand up to Clark’s tales, which I have to shoe-horn out of him with a poking finger,  of rescuing cattle from whirlwinds and plantations from volcanoes.”
       
       It was a tall order, but the Ladd’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ menfolk murmured in agreement with their daughter and kid sister, her tall, handsome father bending to buss the redhead affectionately on top of her curly, Little-Orphan-Annie mop.
       
       A girl only turns ten once, so the men of her household (her mother was visiting her brother for the weekend in the next county) had decorated and trimmed, recreating the ambience of a juvenile wedding pageant.  “They’re all leaving the kitchen except Chas, who’s lighting candles,” Clark reported, and just as he did so curtains in various windows began closing.
       “Are you going to look in Lolla’s room?” Les whispered.
       “They’re in quite a hurry,” the boy replied, “I don’t think I’d have time to tell you much.  Maybe later.”
       “Okay,” the older male said, nodding reasonably.
       Yes, in less time it takes to tell the story the Ladd men had shucked into simple silk pullovers, both Greek and ceremonial, Chas had placed the candles, and were all awaiting their princess behind the drawn curtains.  “Daddy,” came her nervous from the stairs, and Chas moved to the doorway.  He was just in time, catching the sylph as she fainted at the sight of her three brothers in their simple, white silk.. Doctor Jones knew his craft, and no sooner had Lolla faded than she smiled nervously and stood against her father two proceed to guide her to her flower strewn circular stage in the middle of the spacious parlor.  Al, her fourteen year old brother was then brought up to stand beside the petite ten year old on the slightly raised platform.  They held hands as the small birthday audience found seats.  For ten minutes they gazed and stared at each other, drinking in deathbed visions, then Chas rose and stepped behind his daughter and youngest son.
       
       “The rules are numerous,” he said without preamble.  “Nothing happens between the males of this family, nor do we observe anything, Lolla bearing the principal responsibility of assuring no ‘accidents’ occur, but all of us sharing it.  The inclusion of outsiders is welcomed, but on a strictly limited basis.  These are not issues of race or ethnic background but details of manners and language that can be attractive or disagreeable, in any race or culture.  It is expected Lolla will marry Clark Kent, and that’s not just because our neighbor is able to call Loddalagdolla Loddalagdolla without sounding like he’d just dropped an Oxford on his feet.   Young Mr. Kent will be fully appraised of all aspects of our family on his date tonight with your sister.  No secrets, and all rules accounted for.  You boys may be with Clark and Lolla, just one at a time, if you’re invited.  On a farm, there is always the subject of chores.  Sometimes the answer to a question is so simple, generations can ignore it.  The solution to chores on the Ladd farm is to be found in your little sister’s belly.  No precautionary or artificial steps will be taken with Lolla.  She will produce, in the next year or two, a farm baby, and one of us who could be the biological father.  This baby will inherit the farm, and this baby will inspire you to whatever efforts you can think of to earn its – his or her – respect, while having the sense to eschew currying favor or any shortcuts to a rightful place in the child’s regard and affections.  It’s not as simple as he who milks the most cows or picks the most apples gets the most time with his sister.  It’s he who does these smoothly and consistently, around the calendar who will earn her nod and their belt on her doorknob.  And should it turn out, a year or two from now, that we are operating a beautiful and modestly profitable farm, my guess is there will be every real question of paternity when her belly begins growing. “
       
       “I golf with the dean,” Les whispered to Clark, “and he’s looking for a commencement speaker.”
       “Thanks,” Clark said, coloring slightly at the kind complement paid his future father-in-law.
       
       Though the boys were discouraged from interacting, the girl was common property, so Chas lifted her simple sheath over her head, leaving her standing naked next to Al.  He reached between them putting the boy’s left hand in his sister’s tiny right hand, and, to the tune of Happy Birthday Lolla led Al from the living room, up the stairs, and to her bedroom, each helping themselves to a candlestick on the stairs.  
       By now Les had Clark in his lap.  He opened the muscular boy’s shirt.  “Do you want to be naked, like she is?” he whispered.
       “Yes,” the twelve year old replied, standing and drawing the young athlte behind him to his feet.  As Clark continued his narration, Les quickly removed his shirt and shorts, leaving the youth in his white, cotton underpants.  The coach also disrobed, leaving the one garment between the two of them as he gently probed with his penis against Clark’s inner thighs, at the same time huddling against the boy and fondling his chest and belly gently with both hands.
       
       “You can call me Clark if you want to, sis,” Al whispered as he sat his little sister on the edge of her canopy bed and slipped out of his costume, standing naked between her knees.
       “Anything but Aldonacastorforusio,” his sister responded.
       “Do you want a pillow?” the fourteen year old asked, looking toward the head of the bed.
       “Just the small one Tedgarluianastropovichisky uses,” she answered, nodding at her bear.
       The muscular young athlete separated bear and bear pillow and handed the latter to his brand-new ten year old sister.  Lolla placed it under her bottom and spread her bare legs wide, holding her knees nearly against her slim and now heaving chest.
       
       “Dr. Jones did something really quick up under my skirt when I was in his office,” the girl said, “you know, using a medical thing, so it shouldn’t hurt if you want to rape me.”
       “Dad wants to,” the boy whispered, “to really throw you on the floor and mount you off, but I think it would be better if he was the first.  It would make me nervous.”
       “Is this your first time?” the girl asked tenderly, as the boy experimented with lowering his six inch circumcised boner between her legs, moving the swollen purple glans slowly up and down, wetting himself as well as discovering where she yielded to his cautions thrusting.
       
       Clark Kent felt Les Lusor move firmly behind his preteen body and molestation of the coltish stripling continued unabated as the naked swimmer urged the twelve year old higher on a shelf of the haystack, finally able to probe him as Al was his little sister.  Clark reached down with his right hand, whispered “stand back for a second,’ and removed his cotton underpants with a loud snap of the elastic and rent of fabric.  Les immediately moved against the now naked child, again finding him with a series of experimental thrusts and then, sure of position, huddled over the panting boy (faked, obviously) as Clark revealed explicit details of what was happening in the upstairs bedroom of the bright=eyed ten year old.
       
       “He’s being quite matter-of-fact with her,” the spy whispered over his shoulder, “they aren’t kissing or whispering sweet nothings, he’s finding her just like you found me, with his right hand on his erection.  Yes, there, yes, it’s perfect now.  Okay, he’s fully against her and he’s moving his forearms against the knees so he can push her legs toward her shoulders.  She’s gripping his arms in turn, and urging him to her.  This view isn’t the best but I can still see the head of him really pushing against her.  Yes, probably even harder though; uh, that’s more it.  Their staring into each other’s eyes.  Now he’s reaching with his right hand to get another pillow… humans do things incredibly slowly… okay, behind her head so she can look down comfortably over her tummy and watch her brother as well as feel him.  Now everything’s adjusted and her hands are back on his arms, his arms against the back of her knees, her slim legs spread widely as possible.  
       
       “It’s beginning, Les.  Really beginning.  It looks like he’s learned enough from his experiments with her that he doesn’t need to waste any more time on it.  I thought so.  Yes, like you’re doing; good, that’s it, just a little more, oh, he’ll be inside her in just a little…just a… just.  Oh, yes, oh, her eyes are on fire and her knuckles are white where she’s gripping his elbows, I mean because she’s gripping his elbows.”
       
       Les huddled over his naked little friend, listening avidly to the tense whispering, and as best he could emulated Al’s first rape of his young sister, thrusting at a certain gasp from Clark and easing when the champion voyeur mewed for temporary relief.
       “I guess it’s pretty crude to suggest he’s half inside her,” Clark whispered at one point, “but that’s the truth of it.”  Les adjusted his pressure against the child accordingly, and both panted as the activities in the house continued.  Arms linked, thighs conjoining, the brother and sister gazed deliriously at each other, eyes to eyes, then eyes to their lower bellies where neither could really believe what was happening between their beautiful young bodies.  Al spread his legs, making fine adjustments in his relationship with Lolla, Clark emulating his future brother-in-law to allow a more perfect union of man and superboy.  
       
       “It’s really happening now,” the boy on the hay bale whispered.  He could see Al beginning to fully yield to the hissed and whispered entreatments of the tomboy mopped   He became bold and mannish with her, his delicate experimenting with the feelings of his long, hard penis very deep inside  her raging hot and wildly tight body, moving ever higher between her widely spread, slim, childish legs, giving way to a solid, mature thrusting that dimpled the boy’s hard, been buttocks at one second, then half-second intervals.  
       “Just like that,” Clark whispered over his shoulder, “just like that.  She’s telling him ‘just like that’ again and again.”
       “It’s amazing they can talk,” Les panted, not almost fully inside the twelve year old in front of him, and, like Al, taking the boy firmly and fully.  
       
       In the house it became wild.  Al was fully with his cute little sister, and, arms gripped, he was now in full rape, surging against her, almost hammering her with his athletic hips and belly, making her squeal and whimper and claw at his arms.  Since the sight of their plunging waists amounted, beautiful as it was, to more of the same, their eyes locked each other, hers glowing with welcome, his glazed as if he were trying to both accept and decline a challenge beyond his years.  She could read him because she felt much the same.  Close to heaven until they started to cum, instinct told them, but then an initiation ritual that would land them, albeit momentarily, back on the street.  So, like every couple, they both did and didn’t want to end their panting time staring into each other’s eyes and in each other’s arms.
       Five minutes, fast and hard, and the gamin female could wait no longer, nor the boy.  Clark willed her and she responded, going rigid, indulging in a sharp welcoming female orgasm, she then slacked and with eyes and hands bid her stallion extend himself fully, and then remain motionless, pressing hard against her thighs.  It took Al the best part of a minute to respond to his sister’s urging, but his character was heroic for his age, and, yes, panting and sweating he came slowly to a stop.  Lolla’s cherry size nipples swelled noticeably, her eyes grew huge, and she smiled shyly up at her first lover.  “Think of the baby,” she whispered.
       
       Clark Kent had left Krypton too early in his life to have become sophisticated in ways of the flesh.  Everything he was seeing was new and incredible, everything he was feeling, the strong athlete’s hands all over his prepubescent body, the hot breath against his neck, what was happening deep inside his young body as the adult froze, emulating Al, against him, and, finally everything she was feeling as she purred and smiled shyly in response to the torrent of hot see spurting between her brother’s body and her own.  It was more than educational, there really was something to this.  Feelings he’d never imagined, physical sensations beyond description, and not just for a second or two, it went on and on, the deep pulsing inside his body, so meaningful to the female, was, even to the male, hot and intensely exciting.  There was more to it than a heartbeat, almost as if there could be no beating heart, without it.  Elemental.  As the tree must take the sap, only bold and human.  A hundred images flashed in the boy’s mind, most related to the magic Lolla must be experience as her shaking brother went on and on with her, assuring her a heavy belly if it was humanly possible to do so.
       
       Clark not only kind of like Les, he was grateful for the older male’s guidance and explanations.  The boy concentrated for a few moments, his handsome zoom-zoom face clouded with intensity.  Then he moved, not outwardly, he was a statue taking his seed, that way, but inwardly, where, as they say, the sun doesn’t shine.  It was tricky but the prodigy not only got it right, but timed it perfectly.  As he sensed an end to the athlete’s heavy flow inside him, the twelve year old tensed his muscles – just so – and sent the adult’s sperm gushing back into him.  A whoof and yowl burst from Les’s mouth and he began shaking as if he’d been shot.  So dramatic was the first reaction, the boy repeated his action, sending another jet of hot sperm back inside the clawing male’s mature body.  Again, and it became begging and whimpering.  Once more, and there was a yelp of pain.  “That’s for the Kryptonite gag,” the twelve year old whispered over his shoulder, then let his frenzied partner cum inside him once again.
       
       Having established a routine that gave them both pleasure, the boy and man moved to get themselves comfortable, and continued with their status of uninvited guests.  In five minutes after collapsing on his screeching sister, Al was shakily on his feet, back into his kimono, and amongst his brothers.  Di let a half an hour pass, then, at his father’s nod, mounted the stairs and knocked very softly at Lola’s door.
       The girl made short work of tying the naked boy’s hands above his head, wrapping them gently to the bed post, then fetched Tedgarluianastropovichisky’s play stood, and, urging the sixteen year old’s muscular legs wide apart, spent a long time looking at and experimenting with the male’s jutting seven inch penis.  She fondled and wet him, kissed and licked him, and experimented with stroking him in her right fist while holding him low on his straining, panting body.  Ten minutes as she became ever less childlike and more deliberate in her actions with her handsome brother.  Clark and his athletic friend had shifted on their haystack and the many was molesting the boy in response to his whispered account of Lolla and Di’s foreplay.  Then the little redhead’s mouth was fully on the boy, her head moving fast and deliberately, her throat humming avidly, goading or coaxing, it was hard to tell which, only that it worked.  
       
       Les had found Clark at a comely five inches, but that had been awhile ago.  Now the twelve year old was so huge the young man released him from time to time to see as well as feel the beautiful, slim, seven inch penis jutting high and pink and straight from the apparently childish loins.  In his slimness, he was a youth, a boy, a hobbledehoy, but the ability to increase the length of his penis to please his partner was unique.
       
       The girl hard and fast with the boy, the athlete hard and fast with the preteen, minute after pearly-gates minute, then the pearly flood, simultaneously, Di out of control inside Lolla’s hot, sucking mouth, giving to his kid sister wildly and fully.  Clark, thoughts of felony in his alert mind, was supremely more modest in letting his boy sperm flow into the hot mouth of his adult partner.  No killing.  He might not have been a sophisticate when he was sent blasting out into the universe, but that lesson he did now.
       
       It hadn’t settled into exactly a routine, and Clark could sense that in time each of Lolla’s brothers, and her father, would spend long nights with the pretty child, instilling an affectionate and human facet in each relationship, but for her birthday party it was more cut-and-dried, one and then the next, for all the tender kisses, clasping hands, and shy smiles.
       
       She tied Bo as she had Di, spreading the nineteen year old’s legs a little more widely and placing her teddy bear’s pillow on top of the little stool.  “She wants to be higher against him,” Clark explained to Les and the man immediately complied with the assumed suggestion, using a bale to adjust things so his chest was high against the youth spreading his legs as he lay back against the pile of straw.  “She kissed him,” Clark reported, “you know, not on the lips, but now she’s using just her two hands.  I think she wants to see what happens at the end.”
       “Yes,” Les, his voice unreliable because of the slick coating still lingering on his vocal cords, “nineteen year old’s have the most to offer a partner, so she chose her order well, because watching it happen is the most exciting of all to some people.”
       Indeed, the pixie seemed hot as a firecracker for her powerful brother’s spill.  She used him until the boy was a quaking wreck, half hanging from the bedpost, has legs shaking so it looked as if they couldn’t support half the weight of her body.  Her hand didn’t blur on him, she didn’t suddenly begin beating him twice or three times a second, she just kept steadily, affectionately at it, mewing with curiosity and then encouragement.  Since it had worked so well with Al, she cooed for her baby and in half a minute her delicate chest and throat were being coated with showering semen.  Clark, enjoying the safety the few inches separation from Les offered, was fuller in what he did this time, cumming over the gasping adult to an extent that might have slightly overflowed a wine goblet. 
       “God, it tastes like lobster,” Les murmured, hugging the naked boy to his chest, slicking him, then repeating the process until finally the heaviness was gone and Clark looked down on his older friend fondly, drying him with a warm glow of his bright, hazel eyes.
       
       Bo had rushed from Lolla’s room naked and was urgently summoning his father.  Chas was at hand and entered, closing the door and taking a long look and the wet girl as he slipped from his tunic.  He manhandled her onto the rug, jammed his knees between her long, slim legs, found her using his right hand, then, bracing himself started his full rape.  He ripped into her so hard with his eight inch phallus he shoved her bodily across the floor until her head thudded against a post of her bed.  He grabbed the post for leverage and savaged her as she wriggled as screamed wildly, her tiny hands clawing at her rapist’s heaving flanks, her voice urging then demanding him.  They both shouted bad names at each other, then came massively together, the act of insemination lasting nearly two full minutes.  Exhausted, they lay in a panting heap on the floor.  Slowly they revived and the man eased the little girl onto the bed, her tiny breasts against the soft cotton spread, and her knees resting on the toy stool.  
       
       “Oh, Daddy,” the girl sighed as her father sat beside her gently rubbing her back, then touching her and fondling her more intimately, “to think it can happen more than once. How amazing.”
       “I want it to be gentle and sweet, next time,” the father whispered tenderly.
       “Mmm, and all night,” the girl sighed happily.
       “Any time your mom lets us,” the man said.
       “You’re her older brother, aren’t you Daddy, that’s our big, delicious family secret, isn’t it?”
       “Yes,” the man affirmed.  “It started on her tenth birthday, and we got pregnant with Bo when she was eleven. Laddalenkowskiwitch isn’t our real name because we had to change identities to live as husband and wife when the babies started coming.  Originally, we were the Ty family, and we have plenty of pictures and letters and all the stuff other families have, only a generation removed, so to speak, so you don’t have to grow up feeling half-way and confused about things.”
       
       They remained naked and in near silence for some minutes, the man exploring the little girl in an unfamiliar way.  “Oh, Daddy,” Lolla sighed, I know the best of the best of the best in all the whole wide world happened for my birthday, but that feels really nice, too.  Where you’re pushing against me.  It feels really good.”
       “That’s wonderful, angel,” Chas whispered.  “You just lie still for a minute and I’ll be right back, okay?”
       “Yes, Daddy,” the girl replied, adding: “I love you.”
       “I love you, too, pumpkin,” the fond father said as he opened the bedroom door.  “Very much.”  He whistled.  “Here fella, yeah, come on big guy, yeah, yeah, time for all that later, come on in, boy.”
       “Oh Daddy,” Lolla sighed, “it’s Alpo.”
       
       
Thee-a, a-thee-a, a-that’s not all folks, there’s a ton more on Nifty.  Support the Archive.

xxx

