Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Story_codes: Mg, Mf, mg, Fb, mmg, bg, fg, inc, caution Pleasure by Silvio Stoker Story_intro: Renee's Aunt Veronica has certain unnatural needs - and Veronica gets needier when her husband lets her invite her sister's kids out to the country to keep her out of the way while he seduces his secretary, a pretty blonde fresh out of high school. Renee, her big brother the bully (14 y.o.), her younger brother the sissy (9 y.o.), and her little sister (7 y.o.) learn some unfamiliar things from Aunt Veronica and her two boys (7 and 4 y.o.). Meanwhile, Renee makes friends with a man old enough to be her grandfather, her little sister starts to get curious about sex, and their big brother Billy messes with the local slut... ======This story is a work of fiction.==== (This story from archive ' 6 my collections of this writer. Access to archives from page [0SilvioStoker.htm] in the same directory ...\favoritecollection\Silvio_Stroker) Pleasure Written by Silvio Stoker Renee Palmer and her three siblings spent part of the summer with Uncle Paul and Aunt Veronica in Wisconsin, not far from Tomahawk, when she was eleven years old. Her big brother - Bill was fourteen then - slept in a tent on the lawn behind the house, her little brother Mike stayed in her Cousin Jake's room on the ground floor - Mike had just turned nine, and Jake was almost seven - and Renee shared an upstairs room with her sister, Jan, who was seven and a half that June. Their baby cousin slept in his parents' room. Really Robbie wasn't a baby anymore - he'd turned four on May Day. The house wasn't that big and it was pretty cramped with the six kids staying there, even with Bill sleeping in the tent outside. Renee didn't get along with Bill because he was bossy, so she was really glad that he wasn't staying in the house. Uncle Paul had bought the place not long after marrying Veronica - everybody called her Nicky - and they had about five acres of land between two large farms. Paul loved living in the country. He was as a real estate agent and made a bundle selling summer properties in the area. He wasn't around much, working into the evenings and playing with his secretary afterwards. Nicky knew about Lauren - she'd seen the teenager at her husband's office in Tomahawk, and she understood immediately that Paul had gotten into her pants. Under her skirt, actually - Lauren never wore pants. She was seventeen and fresh out of high school. Nicky hadn't graduated yet when Paul seduced her and knocked her up. He'd never been faithful to her - but she fucked around, too, and Robbie wasn't his kid. She almost had a miscarriage when her husband figured out that someone else's baby was in her belly, but Paul had his limits - he hit her, but he was careful not to hurt her too badly, mostly because he was afraid of getting into trouble. He waited until she gave birth before he punished her like he'd wanted to, impaling her pussy on the bedpost and punching her until she passed out. The bedpost was his favorite - sometimes he'd just make her fuck it, watching her lower her lanky body onto the ornamental brass pine-cone, taking it into her cunt, or making her lubricate it and sodomize herself before he took over, sticking his cock in her pussy while the post was buried in her butt. But Paul Gallatin was bored with his wife. He liked a challenge, and his secretary was still challenging - he had to convince her that he was considering leaving Nicky before she slept with him, and every little thing took a lot of coaxing. He was trying to talk her into trying anal, fingering the pink opening when he ate her out, getting her used to the idea of being penetrated there. He was making her his, and Lauren was almost his already. The seventeen-year-old wasn't a virgin when he hired her (another secretary that couldn't type), but she'd never sucked cock. He loved the look in her limpid blue eyes when he pushed her limits, humiliating her, and he looked forward to seeing her do the things she couldn't imagine doing - he'd gotten her to lick his balls, and his bunghole was next. Lauren wasn't very bright, and he kept subtly reminding her of his experience, letting her know that his wife would do anything for him. If Lauren wanted him, she had to do better than Veronica Palmer-Gallatin. Nicky was worried about Lauren in a way she hadn't worried about the other women in her husband's life. She was worried that he'd leave her. She knew that knocking girls up turned him on - to Paul, getting a woman pregnant was the ultimate conquest, and Nicky could picture how pretty Lauren would look with a swollen belly. The girl was gorgeous, with wavy, white blond hair down to her shoulders and a dancer's body, azure eyes and succulent breasts - B-cups, Nicky guessed. Nicky had fooled around with a girl once - the fifteen-year-old daughter of a neighbor. Nicky didn't really have limits - and that's why hubby was bored with her. There were a lot of things she didn't like, but she was used to doing things she didn't like, and sometimes even those things turned her on. She was twenty-four - Paul was thirty-two - and looking at Lauren made her feel old. Nicky didn't look old - she didn't exercise, unless you count masturbation as an athletic activity, but she kept her weight down by dieting. Her light brown hair was long and straight - she usually wore it pinned up - and she had a beautiful bone structure, long, slender toes and fingers and a swanlike neck. She stood five-ten without the heels she favored, and most everyone found her stunning except tit men - Nicky was almost titless, and her butt was like a little boy's. Her bottom hole was obviously sexual - Paul was an ass man, and when he wasn't having an affair "get ready for bed" meant stripping and spreading her cheeks. If she wasn't holding it open when he came into the bedroom, he wouldn't use lube. Sometimes she'd be on her knees waiting for him for over half an hour, bent over the bed. He'd come quietly in case she was cheating. He'd undress slowly and hand her the KY. Almost everybody she'd ever slept with had fucked her in the ass, and Nicky needed cock back there. He made her beg for it, watching her masturbate her rectum and suck her fingers before he slid it in. She'd reach between her legs and rub her clit. Sometimes he'd come in her asshole, but usually he said "mouth!" and Nicky would whip around and open wide. "You like that, don't you? You like to lick your shit off my cock, don't you, whore?" The answer was always yes - and part of her did like it. She'd felt like a whore since she was fourteen and one of her mother's boyfriends forced her to suck him off. Nicky would lie awake waiting for him, miserable, but she couldn't tell her mom because he'd helped her get out of a shoplifting charge. Sometimes she could taste her mother's juices on his penis. She couldn't brush her teeth afterwards because she was afraid to leave her bedroom, afraid her mother would guess what was going on. She hated him, but sometimes she was physically aroused. He touched her between the legs and asked her if she liked it. Nicky said no, and he told her that meant she was a whore - only whores got wet when they didn't like a guy. On weekends she would baby-sit for the Butlers, and Nicky made friends with Mr. Butler. Nicky was as na?ve as Lauren then, and she thought he loved her - she fantasized about running off with him. He'd ask her lots of questions about what her mom's boyfriend did and comfort her, and Nicky would suck his cock - but she liked sucking his cock. It was clean and he was nice to her. Then he introduced her to a friend of his, and Nicky understood that she was nothing to him - nothing but a baby faced cocksucker. He watched her suck off his friend, and a week later they took turns fucking her. By the time she was fifteen she'd lost what little self-respect she had. The weird thing was that Paul gave part of it back to her two years later, when she was seventeen - he gave it back to her with strings attached. He controlled her - but he loved her, too. He wanted her to have his babies. He married her. Renee Palmer was a precocious child. She was only eleven, but she already read at the college level, and she loved to be around grownups, soaking up all the things they knew. She'd always liked her Aunt Veronica - Nicky was pretty, and there was something mysterious about her. Renee was pretty, too, with sorrel hair and icy gray eyes. She was tall for her age but very graceful, and her willowy body was powder white. She kept a diary, and she even noticed that the entries aged badly - what she'd written even a month before seemed immature, she was growing so fast. She liked to draw and paint and she was learning to play the piano. Her parents had gotten divorced a year after her sister was born, when Renee was eight. They never saw their daddy - he'd run off to Britain with a stewardess - and Renee thought Bill was trying to fill the role. She knew she shouldn't hate her big brother, but Renee really couldn't stand him anymore - for one thing, he was stupid, and Renee hated stupid people as much as ugly ones. She loved Mikey and Jan, even though Jan was only seven (_and a half_, like she'd said since a month after her birthday), but Bill was dumb and ugly and a big bully - sort of like Uncle Paul. Uncle Paul was a grownup, so she wasn't smarter than him, but she was definitely smarter than Bill even if he was fourteen. Renee liked her cousin Jake, too - she didn't dislike Robbie, but Robbie was only four and didn't have a personality yet, at least to Renee's way of thinking - "personality" was her favorite word that June, and it was on every page of her diary. She tried writing stories, too, and she looked forward to three weeks in the country even if there wasn't a piano. Jake already had a personality, even though he was only Jan's age. He was sort of sissyish like her little brother, but Renee didn't mind - Bill picked on Mike for being a sissy, and she figured he'd start picking on Jake, too. Bill had seen Mike and her playing with her dolls one time, and he told everybody on the block about it. They didn't play with dolls anymore - Mike was scared of Bill, and Renee thought she was too old for dolls. She wanted to be a writer. She gave all of her dolls to Jan. She missed them sometimes, but Renee was a strong-willed girl - being good at something meant practicing, and becoming a writer meant reading a lot and writing. Uncle Paul wasn't _ all_ bad - Renee realized that he'd invited them to stay because he was working a lot and Aunt Nicky was all alone with Jake and Robbie. Renee didn't know about Lauren, of course - she had a vague idea that her daddy had run off with another woman, from overhearing things back then, and she'd just learned the basics about the birds and the bees from her friend Denise. Nicky had started talking to Renee the way Renee liked to be talked to - like she wasn't a little kid anymore - and she told Renee that she'd asked Paul if they could have his sister-in-law's kids over. Paul didn't care as long as they kept out of the way, and he felt sorry for his sister-in-law - they'd stayed friends after his brother took off with the stewardess, and then they'd been more than friends for a while. Nicky knew about him and Jackie, but Jackie didn't threaten her marriage like Lauren did. Jackie was practically a mercy fuck, a little conquest on the side. Lauren was another story, and Nicky tortured herself with images of her husband mounting her - the torture had a sweet underside, because Nicky would have enjoyed being in bed with them both. Nicky never hinted at a threesome - she could still talk to Paul about some things, but she didn't like talking about sex. She let him tell her what to do, and he gave her orgasms - except that he was tired lately, thirty-two and screwing a seventeen-year-old. Learning about the birds and the bees revealed a lot of mysteries to Renee - she discovered why she had missed so much in the novels she'd read, and she was figuring out a lot of stuff in passages she'd skipped over before. She felt uncomfortable around one of her teachers - he didn't do anything, but it dawned on her that he was thinking about doing those kinds of things with her - kissing her, and maybe seeing her without her clothes on. The idea was scary, and Renee understood why she wasn't supposed to talk to strangers. She had a vivid imagination, and she tried to picture Uncle Paul in bed with her Aunt Nicky - it was a very ugly image to her, because no matter how nice Uncle Paul was, there was something unpleasant about him. She got to thinking about her big brother and the girls he looked at, and that disgusted her too, even though the girls he liked were girls she thought were dumb and ugly, just like him. Renee didn't really know very much about sex - she'd learned that she'd start bleeding and get hair and be able to make babies, but she didn't know what boys started doing or when - she could just tell that Bill was about to start doing something. The house was on a hill, and it was surrounded by a nice garden Aunt Nicky worked on, and Uncle Paul had planted evergreens along the perimeter of the property. The place was shielded from view, and the road it was on was as yet unpaved, a nice country road with dust rising when cars whipped by. At the foot of the hill was a dairy farm, and the other end of the road had a small farm, a couple of prefabs, and the bridge over the creek, just before the road curved towards the lake. Uncle Paul said the kids could walk to the lake and go swimming if Bill was with them, but Nicky told Renee that they could go without him as long as she didn't tell Paul - Renee liked secrets, and she liked it that Nicky trusted her. She was more responsible than Bill was, anyway, and she was a better swimmer. The only thing that scared her about Mallard Lake was the sun, but Aunt Nicky had bought her a tube of sun block. Bill disappeared a lot - he was hanging out with the Olson boy. Chuck Olson was fifteen, and they'd go over to the abandoned farmhouse on Old Church Road and smoke weed. It wasn't the marijuana that interested Bill as much as the company - especially Theresa Sawyer. The kids had been out in the country for only four days when Bill finally got his first blowjob, emptying his balls in her dirty little mouth. Theresa was a chickenhead, but she wasn't bad looking. She was barely thirteen, but her titties were the size of tennis balls. A guy named Tom had the pot - he was sixteen, and his dad grew it - and they'd get Theresa and her sister high and have fun. Her sister was sixteen - she was the girl Nicky had fooled around with the year before - and she'd already had two abortions. Her name was Linda. Tom and Chuck took turns fucking Linda on an old mattress in what had been the kitchen of the farmhouse, but she said she wouldn't fuck a fourteen-year-old. Bill didn't want to fuck her, anyway. He was smoking a cigarette in back of the decrepit house when Theresa came by. She could hear Linda moaning inside. Bill had always liked Theresa. He knew that she was getting to be as easy as her sister, but he'd never put the moves on her. He hadn't done anything with a girl yet, and maybe he was worried that she'd reject him like Linda did. Apparently even sluts could reject a boy, and it made him really angry. Theresa saw the anger and put her hand on his crotch. That was how she took care of angry guys. Bill kissed her, scared that he'd come in his pants and spoil it. Theresa took his tongue into her mouth, and he thought about all the boys who'd had their dicks in there. He didn't care - it was even kind of exciting. She was warm and her mouth was wet. He felt her boobs through her T-shirt, and she guided his hand under it, undoing his pants and whimpering. Her fingers were really soft, and then her mouth was on him. Bill stroked her hair - it was light brown and smelled like hay. For an instant he loved her, and then he shot off - and Tom had come of the house. "My turn," Tom said. Theresa giggled and went over to Tom. Bill wanted to kill her. He _liked_ her. Nobody else liked her - they just used her. Tom called her names all the time, and now she was sucking his cock just like she'd sucked his, like his feelings weren't important. Linda's moans died down in the farmhouse, and Bill got up and went in. He was pretty big for a fourteen-year-old, and he was going to teach her a lesson. Chuck had just gotten off her. The bare mattress was littered with rubbers. She was nothing but a filthy skank. She said something about not fucking little boys, laughing, and Bill slapped her. He hated her - and now he hated her sister, and both of them would pay. But Linda didn't struggle. She cried out at the slap, then lay down and spread her legs. Filthy skank, filthy skank. Bill undressed and slammed into her pussy - and Linda _liked_ it. Bill didn't like it. He slapped one of her tits, hard, and Linda screamed. All of a sudden Tom was pulling him off her. Tom was a lot bigger than bill. "What the fuck are you doing?" Tom's voice reminded Bill of his father's. "She's such a skanky slut," Bill said. "She likes it." "Shut up, asshole." Bill wanted to kill Tom. He wanted to kill everybody. Linda was lying on the mattress, crying. Her little sister was sucking Chuck's cock outside - they could hear his groans through Linda's sobs. Bill pulled on his clothes and stormed out of the farmhouse, burning with fury all the way back to Uncle Paul's. Renee and the other kids were at the lake - Nicky was in the garden. Bill didn't like his Aunt Nicky. She was a lot like his mother, only weirder. Bill knew more about the stewardess than Renee did - he was older when their dad left, and then the stream of boyfriends had started. His mom tried to be discreet, but that was pretty difficult for a promiscuous mother of four. Nicky wasn't that discreet - Bill had heard stories about her reputation from Chuck. If he were Uncle Paul, he would've gotten rid of her. Who wants to be married to a skank? But Bill had heard another story, too - Chuck's sister knew Lauren. Bill didn't like that, either. A guy's fucking around wasn't as bad as a girl's fucking around, but Bill was still angry about his dad's disappearance. Lately he was angry about everything, and when Nicky went over to him with a come-hither look on her face, he almost spat. As far as he was concerned, he was the only normal person in the bunch. His mother had many men friends, Uncle Paul was cheating on his wife, Aunt Nicky was a tramp, Renee was a smartass, Mike was a sissy, Jake was just plain strange, and Jan and Robbie would grow up to be nut cases unless they were taken in hand. "Taken in hand," his father used to say. "Take the situation in hand." Now there was nobody to take anybody in hand except Bill Palmer, and he'd be old enough to do it soon. Renee had a dreamy day. She sat under a willow tree and read a mystery - she didn't really need to watch the others, since there were a few other people on the little beach, mostly adults (she'd stopped using "grownups" because it was childish, and she didn't really like "adult," either), and after a while she wrote in her diary and looked out over the water, thinking. Her thoughts turned to her Aunt Veronica - something was wrong with Nicky. She seemed troubled - unless it was only that Renee knew more about the world and she hadn't seen the troubles before, like with the birds and the bees. Renee wondered why Nicky had married Paul. It wasn't like having a brother you hated - you picked who you married. Nicky was beautiful. It was awful to picture her in bed with Paul, but trying to imagine Nicky by herself was nice. Renee liked to be by herself, and solitude was sensual to her. She wasn't alone that often - she shared a room with Jan at home, too, and her brothers were always in background, even if her mother sometimes seemed like a ghost - and Renee relished whatever time she could spend by herself. Sometimes she'd go to the bathroom just to get away from everybody. She loved to take baths, too, even if they didn't last very long - somebody would always bang on the door, whining about needing to go. Even just being by the willow tree and away from the beach was a pleasure. Renee looked down at her legs, wiggling her toes. She was wearing a one-piece swimsuit, midnight blue with white silhouettes of bamboo, but she had a shirt on over it, open, white cotton, and she hadn't taken off her cut-offs. She didn't feel like swimming. She'd kicked off her sandals, and her feet were as pale as Indian pipes against the grass. She'd used the sun block and she was sitting in the shade, but even so she was afraid of burning. Her skin was very sensitive and soft, almost translucent, and it was even softer near her secret places. It was impossible to imagine a boy putting his pee-pee between her legs. She didn't like the word "pee-pee" - that was definitely a kid's word - but "penis" seemed almost foreign, and she hated dirty words. Renee liked her feet - they were perfect, with high arches and long, straight toes. It wasn't even possible to look at oneself when other people were around, not really - not just not possible to look at her privates, but impossible to even look at her feet like she was doing, really look, look with pleasure. "Personality" was out, and "pleasure" was in. She'd written the word "pleasure" in her diary five times that day, composing pompous phrases like "the pleasures of the country move the soul." Renee took herself very seriously. Did Nicky take pleasure in her body like that? She had lovely feet, too, but she sometimes painted her toenails. Renee didn't like that. She liked things to be natural, even if she did fiddle with her hair when she was getting dressed up, like for Bill's graduation from junior high. She wanted to be pretty - but it was about herself, as if she were preening in an enclosed dream, self-centered and not for others. Her mother was only interested in what other people thought. Nicky wasn't like that, even if she did paint her toenails. Was it really evil, to take such pleasure in oneself? Mirror, mirror on the wall. Renee didn't really know what evil was - her family wasn't religious - but she supposed that evil people were mostly selfish. Maybe they liked their legs as much as she did. Suddenly, Renee realized that she _wasn't_ alone. How long had he been watching her? She hadn't heard him, and she should have - she'd been off in another world. He was standing maybe twenty feet away. He smiled at her. He was sixty-two years old - Renee just registered "old" - and dressed in gray wool trousers, brown loafers, a white shirt and a thin sweater, gray like the trousers but a little darker. His hair was silver and thinning, and his face was lined with fine wrinkles. His rimless glasses and the blue eyes behind them were intelligent, and the smile was kindly. He walked towards her, but some of the fear left her face. "I'm sorry - I must have startled you," he said in a refined, warm voice. "Forgive me." He was three feet away, looking down at her. "I don't mean to disturb you - my name's John. John Winthrop." "Hi," Renee answered uneasily. "Renee." "My granddaughter's over there," he said, getting down on his haunches and pointing to the beach, about a hundred feet from the willow tree. "Pleased to meet you, Renee." She just stared at him, wishing he would go away. "Are you a writer?" "No - why?" She said that like he'd asked her if she robbed banks. "I saw you writing," he said, smiling and fishing in the pocket of his sweater for his cigarettes. "And you seem... very studious." At least he wasn't talking to her like she was a kid. "Just my journal," she said, resigned to a chat. He was a stranger, but he wasn't scary. "I see. That's the first step to becoming a writer - keeping a journal. I've kept one since I was - well, a little younger than you. You'd be about thirteen?" "Eleven," Renee answered, wishing she didn't have to say it. She never lied, though. She wondered if he was lying - flattering her. Did she really look thirteen? "Ah. I've kept a journal since I was twelve. You could fill a Mack truck with my journals." "Are you a writer?" She was getting interested. "No." He lit a Pall Mall. "Well, I do write - stories, poetry - but I've only published a few things here and there. I've never made my living by writing, so I wouldn't call myself a writer. But you _do_ have ambitions of being a... a mistress of the word, then?" Renee was addicted to high-falutin' phrases, and she wrote "mistress of the word" down later that day, after they'd gone back to Uncle Paul's house. She talked with Mr. Winthrop for maybe twenty minutes before Jan came running over and said she was hungry, and by the time she gathered the others she liked the man very much. She hadn't talked to too many grownups - _adults_ - not seriously, anyway, except for her teachers - and teachers were teachers. They were _supposed_ to talk to you. In the back of her mind, Renee understood that maybe she wasn't _supposed_ to be having a deep conversation with John Winthrop. He didn't exactly leer at her, not like Mr. Merrill in math class, but he _did_ look at her - at her legs - in a way she wasn't sure she liked. Maybe it was just that she'd been looking at her legs that way. Anyway, Renee had enjoyed his company - "I take pleasure in his intellectual company," she wrote in her diary - and walking back to the house with Jan and Mike and Jake and Robbie, she took pleasure in having another secret. Nicky looked like she'd been crying. She had been - Bill had yelled at her for letting the kids go to the beach by themselves when Paul had said that he had to be with if they went. She had let a fourteen-year-old boy berate her - and the thing was that being talked to like that, even by a kid, excited her. Part of her was still his age, lying awake and waiting for her mom's boyfriend to come stick his dick in her mouth. She felt fourteen when she waited for her husband, too, bent over the bed, holding her buttocks apart to expose the hole he liked to use. Bill went to his tent. He didn't want her. Nicky staggered to her bedroom - her husband's bedroom. Everything was his, even her body. Especially her body. He didn't want it anymore. She couldn't give him anything else, except maybe more babies - but his secretary could give him babies, too. Nicky stripped in front of the full-length mirror and fingered her slit. He hadn't fucked her for five days. Nicky was going crazy. She needed a cock in her shitter. She could see him sticking it in Lauren's little tush - she didn't know that Lauren wouldn't let him do that yet. Nicky got the KY out of the dresser drawer and lubricated the bedpost, pretending that her husband was raping the seventeen-year-old in front of her. Nicky licked the pointy little ornament, tasting the jelly. She'd never done it by herself before. Would he look at her? God, it felt good, the fullness - she held the rail at the foot of the bed in her left hand and lowered herself onto the post, playing with her clit. With the pinecone deep in her colon, Nicky came. Bill told Paul about Nicky letting the kids go to the lake without him when Paul got back - late, from the motel he'd been in with Lauren. Bill didn't really respect his uncle, not after what he'd heard about Aunt Nicky, but Paul was a man, at least, and it would get him points. The younger kids had already gone to bed - only Renee was up, writing in her diary. Finally she put it away and went upstairs to the room she shared with her sister. Paul had said they could never go to the beach again without Bill, and Renee hated how he'd spoken to her. She was really glad that her dad had left when he did - she hated authority, especially when it emanated from stupid people. She turned on the night-light and wrote that down, lying in bed by the window. Jan was asleep. It was a warm night, and the seven-year-old had kicked off the covers. She looked like a miniature version of Renee in her T-shirt and panties. They shared the same sorrel hair and stunning gray eyes, but Jan had tanned a little. Nicky thought about the thoughts she'd had by the lake, before Mr. Winthrop startled her. Why was it so impossible to look at herself when others were around? Her sister was a lot like her, though she was almost four years younger - and she was sleeping, anyway. Renee turned off the night-light and took off her clothes, down to her panties, but instead of putting on the loose T-shirt she slept in, she looked at her chest in the mirror on the bedside table. The moon was almost full and the stars were out - huge, cold stars, very different from how they looked in the city. Renee had decided that she liked the country. When she got to be a famous writer she would have an apartment in New York and a stone house by a lazy river. She'd never been to New York, but it seemed mysterious. "Mysterious" had been last week's word. "Pleasure," Renee thought, running her fingers along her ribs in the moonlight. Bill jerked off in his tent, fantasizing about Theresa Sawyer. He couldn't hate her. He could hate her sister, but he couldn't hate Theresa. It was Linda's fault that Theresa had turned into a slut. He fantasized about saving her - making her his and his alone, her scrawny, fair-skinned body and tennis ball tits and honey-colored hair. She'd looked up at him with her cornflower blue eyes, taking his cock into her wet little mouth - and Bill had thought the look was meant for him alone. He almost wilted; remembering her giggle when Tom said it was his turn. What if Tom wouldn't let him hang out at the abandoned farmhouse anymore? Why did Tom care if he hurt Linda Sawyer? That's what she was for. He'd never seen Theresa naked. She only gave blowjobs most of the time. He knew she wasn't a virgin, though. Chuck had fucked her the summer before, and Kevin Riley said she rode him. Bill remembered slamming her sister - he'd never been in a pussy before, but he was so angry when he screwed her that he hardly knew where he was. Theresa's twat was probably different, even if she did sleep around. She was only thirteen, for chrissakes. Tighter... but Bill imagined her as almost virginal. Maybe she didn't like it. He imagined her not liking it with anybody except him. He imagined her telling him she loved him, only him, and then he shot off on his sleeping bag. Nicky made breakfast for everybody the next morning, but Paul downed a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter and took off for work. Bill was sullen. He was really getting to hate his Aunt Nicky. She was wearing a white silk robe, and Bill could tell that there wasn't anything under it. He wasn't really focused until she noticed him looking and crossed her bare legs. Her dark eyes were like a wounded little beggar girl's. Bill looked around the table at the others. His brainy little sister was thinking, as usual, picking at her food. He really didn't like Renee, and his baby sister would probably turn out just like her - Jan was a bookworm, too, and she was only in first grade. Then there was Mike - he was nine years old and couldn't fucking hit a baseball with a bat the size of telephone pole. His eyes were like the girls' too, gray with long lashes. Bill's were brown with heavy brows and usually bore what he thought was a manly, menacing glare. Jake, Nicky's six-year-old - he'd be seven in less than two months - was always trailing after his mommy, clinging to her skirts, and Robbie the four-year-old acted like a two-year-old most of the time. A fine family, Bill thought. He was the only normal one. Renee spent time on her hair that morning and put on her favorite skirt, a gauzy thing, brown with a lily-of-the-valley print. She wore it with a pair of satin panties, raw umber. It was a pretty long skirt but gossamer, and her mother hadn't wanted to buy it. The panties she'd bought herself, secretly, saving her allowance (which wasn't much, since Jackie Palmer had to raise four kids on her own - well, with the help of her men friends sometimes, some of whom were generous). They were perfect with the skirt and matched her top, a silk tank, also raw umber. She usually wore an undershirt under it - she didn't have breasts, only bumps, but her nipples could stiffen in the cold, and a cool breeze was often blowing off the lake. Bill had gone off again - she wondered where he went, and whether the boy from the dairy farm was as stupid as he was - but that didn't mean she wouldn't go to the beach alone. She couldn't go with the others - Uncle Paul had forbidden it ("they could drown, do you understand that?") - but she was allowed to go by herself, she figured. She was eleven years old, after all. Really Uncle Paul was wrong about the kids, too - she was an excellent swimmer, and she knew how to take care of her younger siblings. Their mother was often away, leaving Billy the Bully in charge, but it was Renee who made meals and made sure nothing bad happened. Anyway, there were adults at the beach. She thought about Mr. Winthrop and looked in the mirror on the bedside table. In a way she was going because she wanted to talk to him again. Maybe he was being modest - maybe he really was a famous writer, even if he didn't earn a living by writing. The shoulder straps of her white undershirt looked stupid with the silk top, and she'd have to keep adjusting them, tucking them under the umber silk. Maybe should she go without - her little nipples weren't that noticeable anyway. They were getting bigger, though, and there was a hint of fuzz between her legs, light brown like her hair. Renee didn't like hair anywhere except on her head - she'd seen her mother's bush once or twice. Renee took the undershirt off and put the top back on, pulling her shoulders back to see if her nipples were too obvious. They were stiff despite the warm morning air in the room. She relished her moment of privacy - Jan was bathing, Bill was gone, and Mike and Jake and Robbie had gone out into the garden with Aunt Nicky. Renee decided not to wear the undershirt, put on her Birkenstocks, found a straw hat, collected her novel and her diary and her sun block, packed them into an embroidered bag, and went outside. "Renee!" Nicky called out to her. Then, when Renee went over to her - "Don't you look lovely!" Renee smiled and said thanks. "Going somewhere?" "I'm going to walk down to the lake," Renee answered. "By myself, okay?" "Okay," Nicky said, smiling - she was relieved, really. She liked having all of the kids around, but Nicky... Nicky had needs, and her nieces and nephews were always buzzing around in a swarm. She hadn't even got a chance to have a real talk with Renee. "You look terrific," she said. "Did you meet a boy at the beach?" Renee turned crimson. "No," she said quietly. "Did you take something for lunch?" "Yes," Renee fibbed. She never lied - and she almost never fibbed. She looked away. She didn't want to go back and make a sandwich. She wanted to leave in case Bill came back and offered to take the gang swimming. "Well, have a great time! Will you be back for dinner?" "Yes," Renee said, turning to go. She looked back over her shoulder at Aunt Nicky when she'd reached the edge of the garden - Nicky was wearing a black one-piece bathing suit. Despite her height, her body looked adolescent. Renee decided that Nicky did like looking at her own legs. Maybe she was evil. Bill was the first one at the farmhouse on Old Church Road. Lots of day lilies were in bloom in the abandoned garden. It was a beautiful day, but Bill didn't notice it. His aunt had touched him. She'd touched him before, but not for a long time and never like that. The worst thing was that he'd gotten an erection - if Jan hadn't come into the kitchen, he had no idea what would have happened. He wanted to hurt her - but she was his elder. She was his aunt, for chrissakes. And she didn't look like Linda looked when Tom pulled him off her - Nicky looked like she _wanted_ him to hurt her. She disgusted him - but his dick was rock hard, and she put her hand there, stooping - she was so tall - and he didn't know what to do. Her robe had fallen open - she was flat as a pancake, but her nipples were hard, the color of weak coffee - and all of a sudden his baby sister was standing in the doorway with her mouth open. Bill pushed Nicky away, and her back hit the sink. The memory of her whimper had a weird effect on him. If Jan hadn't been there he would have hit her - he would have hit her really hard and kicked her and taken his cock out and... "Hi," Theresa said softly. She was wearing torn cut-offs that were really tight on her narrow hips and a purple halter-top. Her daddy - he wasn't really her father, just the guy her mom was sleeping with - had hurt her again last night. Theresa didn't really like to be hurt like Nicky did - but Billy didn't want to hurt her. Her cornflower blue eyes were pink from crying, and she had a bruise on her left thigh. He gave her a Marlboro and lit it for her. Her little hand was shaking. She needed love, and they were both lucky - Tom and Chuck and Kevin and her slut sister didn't show until noon. Theresa led him to the soiled mattress and took off her halter-top, and Billy peeled off her cut-offs and filthy little panties and kissed her all over. She hadn't been licked for a really long time, and it made her squeal. He even licked her asshole, making it feel all better - her butt was sore from what her daddy had done. Then Bill slid his penis into her pussy, slowly, and Theresa pulled him deeper, moaning, forgetting that he wasn't wearing a condom until he came. She didn't care - she'd never liked it as much, and she liked it when guys came in her; she hadn't done it without a rubber for six months, since she started menstruating. They held each other, and he stayed inside her. "You really like me, don't you," she whispered nervously. "I - I love you," Bill said. It was something he hadn't said since he was little and had to say it to his mom and dad. Theresa's eyes sparkled. "I love you, too," she said, and started to rock her slender hips again. Nicky suggested that everybody change into their bathing suits and play with water balloons. She accompanied Robbie to help him change. Nicky had needs. She hadn't played with her sons since her nephews and nieces arrived, and what happened with Bill made her need it more than ever - she felt sick, groping him in the kitchen, knowing he hated her, and the sick feeling upset her and made her want it more. It soaked the sick part of her, the part of her that had babysat for the Butlers and bathed their little boy, the part of her that Mr. Butler hurt when he shared her with his friend. Nicky liked kids. She liked to teach them what they could do to her. Bill didn't need teaching - she'd seen it in his eyes, the sudden understanding that auntie was a suckhole. She tried to keep her hands off her husband's relatives - Billy had told her husband about the lake, and Billy might tell him that Aunt Nicky had tried to seduce him. What would Paul do? He had no idea that his wife abused their sons. His sons - everything was his... everything except bath time and tucking them in and taking them potty. He only knew that Nicky acted strange sometimes, and if it went on for a while he'd rape her shitter and she'd calm down like a little monkey. A couple of times he'd taken her in front of the kids. He didn't know that she'd played with both boys since they were babies. It was mild at first - washing them, watching their little penises stiffen in her hand, masturbating in front of them. It was getting worse, though, and she couldn't control it - especially with Jake. He was almost seven, and she'd had him inside her - his pee-pee and his hand. She was sucking Robbie - only sucking so far, frigging and sucking him. The four-year-old knew that changing into his swim trunks probably meant putting his pee-pee in mommy's mouth. He liked it. Nicky slid her swimsuit to one side of her crotch and played with herself, licking her baby son. It didn't take her long to come when she was playing with them - the shame she felt was a terrible turn-on, and her clitoris was twitching even before she touched it. Gasping, she grasped her clit between her thumb and middle finger and pulled on it, gushing. Nicky let go of her tiny erection and shoved three fingers into her snatch, coming. There was at least a tablespoon of cloudy fluid on the floor. Renee had reached the lake and went towards the willow. She saw Mr. Winthrop at the other end of the beach, but she felt weird about going up to him and didn't. She didn't feel alone, though, knowing he'd seen her. Why was she so certain of that? She thought about being evil again. She really, really didn't know what evil was. She'd read Stephen King, but the parts that got magical seemed contrived to her - he didn't really believe in magic; he was just a moralist whose pulpy imagination was full of fears. Renee was only eleven, but she didn't get frightened too often. She kind of liked Tak, and once she'd learned about the birds and the bees she'd reread _Desperation_ and thought about playing with the _can tahs_ that made everybody want to fuck and kill. Renee didn't want to kill anyone - and she certainly didn't want to fuck - but the idea of holding something that made you want to do things like that was interesting to her, and she had the vague idea that most people didn't know what they wanted, anyway, _can tahs_ or no _can tahs_. She'd never wanted anything as strongly as the characters in books seemed to want things, unless it was ice cream or a good book to go on forever or being left alone. Ice cream was easy unless she'd spent her allowance or was saving it to buy satin panties, books always ended (and they ended faster if they were good), and being left alone was plain impossible in the real world. There was another world, though, and her diary was mostly about the other one - about her and her apartment in a skyscraper and her stone house by a lazy river and even the way she'd felt in the moonlight the night before. She wanted those things - but in a way she'd already gotten them. She was withdrawn, and even her big brother the bully couldn't invade what she'd built in her pretty little head. She was cool and composed for a kid, and she didn't think of herself as a kid at all. If loving herself the way she did was evil, she would be evil - she didn't really care about anybody else. By the time Mr. Winthrop walked over to the willow tree, Renee was almost gloomy - she'd realized that she probably didn't love anybody at all, except herself. The only reason she cared about Jan and her little brother was because they loved her. Her mommy was her mommy, and she _had_ to love her, but that kind of love was less real than the love in book, to her - and Renee already didn't especially like her mother "as a person." Renee liked her Aunt Nicky a lot - but that was because Nicky was beautiful. Maybe evil was just another word for beautiful. "Don't you look melancholy today," Mr. Winthrop said. Renee awarded him a cool smile and stretched her legs. She knew he'd seen her, and she knew he'd come. He thought she looked melancholy, and Aunt Nicky had said she looked lovely. Perhaps she was both. "Mind if I sit down?" "No," Renee answered in her most aristocratic little voice. He sat down at a slight distance from her feet and fished for his Pall Malls. He wore the same sweater he'd worn the day before, but his shirt was fresh, cream-colored, and his trousers were beige instead of gray. "I must tell you something... you won't be offended?" He was looking at her legs again. She didn't say anything. "You're an extraordinarily beautiful girl," he said. "Truly beautiful, especially your legs and feet. And your face, of course. And your hair. And, well, your eyes, but you know that." Renee turned crimson, but what he said thrilled her. Lots of people had told her she was pretty, but no one had ever said so much - or in that way. She wrote it down word for word in her diary later that day. They talked a lot longer than they had the first time, and he kept complimenting her. She didn't exactly feel comfortable with him - butterflies fluttered in her belly when he touched her foot, feeling how soft it was ("silken," he said, and she wrote that down, too) - but she wasn't afraid of him, either. She let his hand rest on her ankle, and after a while he caressed it a little, talking about what he'd written. He still said he wasn't a writer, but he obviously knew a lot about literature, and she told herself that that was why she liked talking to him. She knew better - she didn't have a crush on Mr. Winthrop or anything like that. She didn't dislike him, either - what she really, really liked was to be admired like that. Renee felt _different_ on the way back to her Uncle's house. She'd always been graceful, but there was a special lightness in her step that afternoon. "Extraordinarily beautiful," she thought to herself. Renee knew that she wasn't ordinary - and finally someone had seen it. Tom and Chuck found Bill and Theresa on the mattress. They were drinking beer, and Tom laughed when Bill tried to cover Theresa with his shirt. "What's with you," Tom said, swilling Bud. "Prince Charming all've a sudden?" "Leave her alone," Bill said as Tom sat down on the mattress. "Get out of here, Theresa." But Theresa didn't move. "Aw... but what if I want some, Billy?" There was no way Bill could fight Tom. He'd get the shit kicked out of him, and he knew it. He also knew that he should fight him anyway - fight to protect her, her honor, fight or be just another guy who'd had a piece of her ass. Chuck sat down on the mattress, too. "C'mon, Theresa," Bill said, looking for his underwear. "Is she your girlfriend now, Billy? Linda didn't like you, so you stick your dick in her little sister instead?" "Theresa - you comin'?" He felt like a fool. Chuck was lying down next to her, and she wasn't going anywhere. "No, she's not," Tom said, lighting a joint. "She's a skank, like her sister. Aren't you, Theresa?" Theresa had tears in her eyes, but she spread her skinny legs for Chuck's fingers. She new better than to try to resist guys who were drunk unless they were really, really drunk - and she liked Billy a lot and didn't want to see him hurt. "I'll see you later, okay, Billy?" "Why dontcha join in, Billy boy," Tom said. "She's got three holes." Bill almost rushed him - but he didn't. He was trembling with anger and humiliation - even the love he'd felt for Theresa was gone, watching Chuck play with her snatch. Bill got dressed, but before he could get out of there they were both inside her of, and he couldn't help looking. She curled her toes in pain when Tom slid into her, her whimpers muffled by Chuck's cock. She looked so little - she wasn't any bigger than Renee. She didn't just lie there - her head bobbed back and forth on Chuck's penis, sucking it, pulling it into her mouth while Tom banged her. They'd talked a little, and she told him she was nine when one of her mom's friends first raped her. Theresa didn't look like they were raping her - she was slobbering, and her small pink nipples looked like pencil erasers. Tom thrust deeper, hard, and Theresa clawed at the air with her fingers, letting go of Chuck's dick and writhing, whimpering in pain. Tom was hurting her, and Bill couldn't do anything. The muscles in her legs were incredibly taut, and she'd arched her back. Her every rib was visible. Tom grabbed her ankles and rammed his cock all the way into her. Theresa shuddered. He slammed into her again and again, his shaft almost as thick as her ankle. Bill turned away and left the farmhouse, feeling like he'd been beaten to a pulp. Nicky and the others were throwing water balloons at each other when he got back - except for Renee, who'd probably crawled off somewhere to read some dumb book. What happened that morning seemed long and far away to Bill - until he saw his aunt put her arm around Mike. "What the fuck are you doing?" Everybody stared at him. Nobody knew what had upset him except Nicky. She backed away. At least somebody listened to Bill. "You leave my brother alone... you bitch," he said, and went into his tent. Nicky was sick between the legs, and her nephew's rage aroused her where her husband had aroused her ever since he'd started hitting her. Part of her hated that feeling - it was almost as if he were bending her over from afar, and her sphincter contracted like it did whenever Paul put his hands on her. She relaxed it as if by instinct, like she was taking a shit - it went in easier that way, pushing into her, filling her colon like a burning stick, sliding out and then back in again, hurting her deep inside. Nicky couldn't come when he raped her. He had a huge penis, and no matter how much he did it, it hurt too much without the KY. She had to lubricate her anus for him, and she still found it humiliating. He probably would only rape her dry if he didn't want to make her feel dirty - he wanted her to know that she needed him there. Now he didn't even rape her anymore. He had Lauren. Jake threw a water balloon at her, and Nicky returned to earth with the shock of the cold splash against her stomach. Jake had seen daddy hurting mommy. The six-year-old was confused by it - but he'd heard her beg, too, and she'd asked him to play with her pussy several times. The six-year-old loved his mommy, but some of the things they did didn't seem like games anymore. She'd make weird noises, and her dark eyes would get darker, like scary tunnels. She'd shiver like she was cold, only she'd be sweating, and when he put his hand inside her she was hot and wet - almost soupy. He wasn't supposed to tell anybody about the special things mommy said she needed. She liked to put his pee-pee in her mouth - and he liked that a lot. Renee didn't return until mid-afternoon, walking back from the lake, lost in thought. A boy said hi to her - he was sitting on the steps of one of the prefabs where the road crossed the creek. He was maybe fourteen, and Renee stopped to talk. His name was Adam, and he looked at her like she was a vision. He was kind of cute - he wasn't wearing a shirt and worked in the orchard all summer - and Renee was almost flirtatious for the very first time in her little life. She didn't like him or anything - he didn't seem too bright, and she would never even consider being friends with a farmboy - but Renee was wrapped in an unfamiliar glamour. She wanted to be worshipped. Paul appeared at dinnertime, and Nicky could tell that he'd had some sort of argument with Lauren as soon as she laid eyes on him - her heart leapt, but she tried not to show it. Sometimes he mistook happiness for her acting strange, and maybe he was right - she knew she shouldn't be happy to see him. He'd been unfaithful to her and now he was home - let it be "been" and let him stay, she prayed, preparing dinner. Soon they were all sitting around the long, old, oaken table in the dining room, Bill seeming even more sullen than he'd seemed in the morning. Renee's melancholy, however, had lifted - she was radiant, and her effervescence unnerved her big brother. It was her turn to help Aunt Nicky with the dishes, and Bill watched them... bonding, or whatever it was, and he wondered whether to tell his uncle about what had happened that morning. He decided not to for the time being - Paul looked angry enough, and Bill was afraid that his fury might ricochet. Paul Palmer had finally suggested trying anal his teenage secretary. Lauren hadn't just said no - she'd transmogrified into a vicious bitch and announced that she was pregnant by him. He still hadn't digested the news - or her insistence that he leave Nicky. Maybe he should, he thought. He could make a fresh start with Lauren. The bitch wouldn't stay vicious for long, and Paul would relish teaching her her place. But the threat of paying gobs of child support and losing the house to his wife hung over him. Nicky needed to be raped, and when he didn't do anything by nightfall she went outside, trying to find the courage to visit her eldest nephew's tent. She was standing on the back porch when she saw the girl. Theresa didn't see her - she made straight for Bill's tent. At first Nicky thought it was Linda, but Theresa was smaller and skinnier. Nicky thought about interrupting them - maybe pretending to be angry. But she knew it wouldn't work. Bill didn't respect her anymore. Nobody did - there was nothing there to respect. She squeezed her cheeks together, closing her eyes, still hoping her husband would hurt her - but Paul was asleep when she went inside. Nicky went to the bathroom to masturbate. She did something she hadn't done since she was a teenager - she played with her poop, fishing it out of the toilet and putting it in her mouth and pussy, sobbing, smearing it on her face and chest and staring at her reflection in the vanity, frigging, rubbing her clit and sticking three fingers in her fuck tube, trying to come. It took her a long time, the feces drying on her tear-stained face. Crying, she climbed into the tub to clean herself. It was raining hard when Renee woke up the next morning, and her first thought was that she couldn't go to the lake. He wouldn't be there - or would he? Renee knew that Mr. Winthrop liked her a lot. "Silken." She lay in bed for a while, wiggling her toes. The sensation in her lower belly was strange to her - she had to pee, but there was something else, an unfamiliar warmth. Sighing, she got up to go to the bathroom. It was very early, and no one else was awake. The feeling didn't go away after peeing. Renee took off her sleep shirt and stood in front of the mirror on the door, naked except for her panties. "Extraordinarily beautiful." He'd seen the outline of her nipples, too - she'd even stretched, letting him see. Why did it feel so different from when her teacher stared at her in math class? Mr. Winthrop could be her grandfather - her grandparents were strangers to her; she'd only met them two or three times - but he didn't _seem_ like a granddad. Well, maybe he did - but he was _different_, just like _she_ was different - he knew how different she was, too. She knew that somehow - he knew, just like he knew that she knew her eyes were beautiful, _extraordinarily_ beautiful. She didn't feel uncomfortable about... about loving herself, around him - he made it seem natural, almost like she was alone, only she wasn't alone, he kept looking at her legs, he even caressed them - she let him, and she knew she'd let him do it again. She didn't usually like to be touched. Renee put the T-shirt she'd slept in back on - she could smell herself in the cotton, her night-smell - and went to look for something to wear. She didn't have anything as nice as what she'd worn the day before. Jan was still asleep, lying on her belly. Renee decided on a dark blue skirt with white dolphins. It wasn't gauzy like the one with lilies-of-the-valley, but it left her knees exposed. Were they too knobby? She chose a light blue Oxford shirt and picked out a pair of panties - just plain ones, white cotton - and went back to the bathroom to look at herself. She'd never really rubbed before. It felt very naughty to her, and it was even a little painful - she gasped when she found the nubbin, then winced. Clutching the panties in her left hand and staring into the mirror, wide-eyed, Renee ran the tip of her forefinger into the tiny opening - she was dewy for the very first time - then touched her clitoris again, lightly, rubbing it until she felt like she'd pee. She didn't need to pee. Biting her lower lip, she slid the finger into the hole, slowly, her icy gray eyes like a fog gathering above the sea. She gasped again, worming it in to the knuckle. She wasn't thinking about anything. Renee tasted it, mesmerized, still staring at her reflection. She put her left foot on the rim of the toilet and worked the finger in and out of her wetness, whimpering softly. She couldn't stop. Her right hand drifted across her ribs. The girl's nipples were fully erect; her stomach sucked in, tight, her buttocks taut. Her fingers fluttered at her slit like a bird's wing, frigging the opening and rubbing her aching clitty. The feeling in her belly spread through her entire body, and Renee rubbed the nubbin really hard, then stroked her crotch with her whole hand, holding her breath. Her eyes were still open, but only the whites were visible. The orgasm came like a seacoast glimpsed from a glider, descending, swiftly, and she almost lost her balance, cupping her cunny and pulling on her nipple as wild waves of pleasure shivered up her. She squealed, shuddering, and dropped to her knees, resting her forehead against the looking glass. She felt like she'd crashed - like a seagull with broken wings. Part of her was frightened, and part of her was desperately ashamed. She sat by the mirror for several minutes, then stood and staggered to the tub, turning on the water to wash. Bill woke up next to Theresa. Half awake, she guided his hand between her legs. She was needy, and he put his penis inside her again. Theresa moaned and rocked her hips, looking up at him. He'd made her promise not to have sex with anybody else. She wished he were old enough to take care of her. She knew she'd have to go home - she couldn't keep her promise. "Come in me... Billy... come in me..." She knew he shouldn't be coming in her - she'd seen her sister after the abortions - but her flat, fertile belly was strangely desperate for semen. She loved the feeling, and wrapped her skinny legs around him when he groaned, moaning, his fresh seed flooding her eager snatch. Mike missed Renee - they'd hardly spent any time together since they'd been in the country. He missed playing with her, even though she wouldn't play with dolls anymore. He couldn't think about it without thinking about Billy making fun of him. Sometimes Mike wished he was a girl. He didn't think about boys or anything, but he even felt like a girl around his Aunt Nicky - she told him he was pretty, and Mike knew that boys weren't supposed to be pretty. Bill said so. Mike wished everybody was like Renee and Jan and Aunt Nicky - they were never mean to him. Nicky touched him a lot, and Mike liked it. She'd even touched him where she wasn't supposed to a couple of times. Mike got a stiffy, thinking about it. His mommy had told him not to play with his pee-pee, but he did it sometimes when he couldn't fall asleep. He was about to put his hand in his underwear when he realized that his cousin was awake. Jake was looking at him. Mike pretended he wasn't doing anything and got up. He put on his jeans and went to the room Jan and Renee were staying in - but neither of his sisters were there. Renee's fancy raw umber panties were on the floor by her bed, and Mike picked them up. They were satin and felt really nice. Without thinking about what he was doing, he lifted them to his face and sniffed them. Renee had decided to go to the lake after all. "If he really loves me, he'll be there," she thought. The phrase sounded silly - but it was only make-believe. There was nothing wrong with make-believe, was there? Renee had read too many novels. Her Birkenstocks were soaked, but she carried an umbrella - it was baby blue and went with her outfit, even. Her feet were getting dirty from the mud. She didn't want to think about what she'd done that morning - she'd taken a quick shower, washing away those unfamiliar feelings. They weren't the sorts of feelings she wanted to have. Walking along in the rain, Renee tried to picture her solitary life in her isolated stone house in the country - maybe she wouldn't even keep an apartment in the city. More than ever, she wanted to be alone - not always; she'd have friends, too, friends who worshipped her but stayed as distant as the characters in a novel. The girl she imagined herself to be would never do what she'd done in the bathroom. What would Mr. Winthrop think if he knew about things like that? She pushed those thoughts away, passing the prefab where she'd met the farmboy. The boy wasn't there, and Renee hurried onward, headed towards the lake. Paul was gone when Nicky awoke from a nightmare, sweating. It was ten or so, she judged by the shadows on the wall. She went to the bathroom, but the door was locked and Jan called out when she rattled the knob - Jan was taking a bath. Nicky figured she'd finally found a chance to talk to Renee. She went outside in the rain and peed in the garden, under the elms, then went back in and looked for her eldest niece in the guest room. Renee wasn't there - her little brother was, and he was holding he was holding his sister's panties. Mike turned crimson. Nicky felt sick between the legs. Jan lay in the tub. She couldn't stop thinking about what she'd seen in the kitchen the day before - Aunt Nicky's nipples, and her hand was between Bill's legs. They'd seen her, and Bill had shoved Nicky against the sink. Jan was only seven - and a half - but she was very observant, like her sister, and she'd noticed other things that disturbed her - she'd heard noises from the tent through the open window, sounds similar to the ones her mommy made when men came over. Jake had gone outside with Robbie despite the rain. They both saw Theresa leave their cousin's tent. It didn't mean anything to the four-year-old, but Jake was almost seven and thought it was strange. Theresa blushed and said hi, hurrying towards the road in her red sandals and torn-cut-offs, her pert breasts barely concealed by her pink tank. She wasn't in love with Billy, but it was nice to be loved. She'd never really been in love, unless love was the fog she floated in when she got fucked for a really long time and it didn't hurt anymore. Sex with Billy wasn't painful, and part of her had gotten addicted to the way guys usually did it - after a while she felt like she wasn't there, like when Chuck and Tom took turns. She didn't like getting hurt, but she needed it deep and hard if she didn't want it - then she'd forget who was fucking her. She was barely thirteen, but she thought about getting pregnant a lot - she didn't think about having babies, but knowing that a guy jacking off in her cunt could knock her up turned her on. The man her mom was seeing always wore a rubber, even when he did it in her dirthole. Theresa was really tight back there, and she was ashamed of liking it - she'd learned to relax, but it still hurt when he slid it in. Then he'd slide it out to the head, slowly, making her feel like she was taking a shit. She knew he wore the condom because he was afraid of catching something. Billy didn't put it in her butt, but a lot of boys did - mostly they did it doggy, but sometimes they'd ask her to be on top. Theresa was really embarrassed by that - she was used to getting raped, and anal was more like going to the toilet than having sex, especially when she was the one moving, moaning, masturbating, milking the shaft with her shitter and shuddering when she felt it shoot. She'd put it in her mouth, too - the first guy to fuck her backside had made her suck it afterwards, and Theresa accepted whatever was done to her as what she had to do, whether she liked it or not. Guys liked it, and liking what she did meant liking her - she'd never met anybody like Billy before. Nobody had ever been in love with her. The rain came down in sheets, and a gust of wind turned Renee's umbrella inside out. She was getting soaked. There was no one on the beach - Mr. Winthrop wasn't waiting for her. Renee was disappointed. She was even a little angry, as if he should've known she'd come despite the weather. She stood under the willow, shivering. She felt little, and she hated to feel little - she missed her mommy and maybe even her daddy. Solitude didn't seem so nice in the storm. She tried to think about the stone house she'd get when she grew up - it would be warm and cozy inside, and maybe she'd have a maid to make her hot chocolate or clam chowder - the New England kind, with milk. Renee would order her around, and the maid would say, "yes, Miss Palmer" and hurry off to do what she'd been told. She'd have to be pretty - Renee hated ugly people more than anything. Maybe Yvonne Vaughan could be her maid. Yvonne was a self-absorbed blonde with blue eyes that were almost violet. Renee hated her guts. Yvonne was better at math, and even though Renee didn't like it when Mr. Merrill stared at her, she liked it even less when the math teacher stared at Yvonne - and Yvonne liked to be stared at. Renee would make her scrub the floors all day. Mike felt like he'd felt when Billy had caught him playing with his sister's dolls, except that Aunt Nicky was a grownup and he'd been doing something even worse, something he'd never done before. He was only nine years old and didn't really know about sex, but he'd dreamt about Renee - they didn't touch each other very often, but they'd cuddled a couple of times, and Mikey loved his sister's smell. The look on Nicky's face frightened him at first, but she didn't yell at him. "Are those Renee's?" Nicky knelt beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. Her whisper was really low and warm, and she let her robe fall open. "Are those Renee's panties?" Mike didn't say anything, shaking. "It's okay," Veronica whispered, softly caressing his back his chest. He wasn't wearing a shirt - only the jeans, his penis stiffening in the cotton briefs he'd worn to bed, Fruit-of-the-Loom. "It's okay to like... to love your sister. She's really... pretty, isn't she? Mikey?" Nicky held her breath, fondling his buttocks and unbuttoning his jeans. He was shaking like a leaf, but it felt good, really good, her fingers extracting his stiffy, stroking it, staring up at him with her big dark eyes. "Does that feel nice?" "Y-yes," he stammered, his hands on her shoulders. "You won't tell anyone, will you? You won't tell anyone... how much Nicky loves you, will you?" Mike whimpered when she put it in her mouth. It was the most incredible feeling he'd ever had, the warm wetness and the way she sucked it, cupping his cheeks. Nicky was shaking, too, and then she was coaxing his hips into fucking her mouth with his pee-pee, frigging, tugging at him and playing with her dripping pussy. Mike slid in and out of her slobbering mouth, and after maybe five minutes she came, quivering. He didn't know what was happening, and her desperate moans were scary to him. Nicky couldn't stop - the rest of the world disappeared. He was different from Jake and especially Robbie - her nephew was still a little boy, but he wasn't her son and he was almost three years older than her eldest - he was bigger, a little over two inches long, and the way he touched her drove her crazy. His touch was tentative, loving - and it turned her to jelly. Nicky needed him to be hard - she wanted to make him feel good, but she needed him to hurt her body. She wished he were a man. Nicky pulled him into Renee's bed and got him to get on top of her, trembling, grasping his boner and rubbing it against her gash, begging, guiding his hand to the hole and getting him to hurt it, his timidity driving her wild. Mike's hands were much larger than Jake's, and Nicky used his forearm like a dildo, making him fuck her cunt with his fist. Jan dried herself with a big blue towel and put on her robe - it was a kimono her mommy had given her for Christmas. She padded upstairs and stopped when she heard the sounds. Then she crept to the bedroom door and saw them - Nicky hadn't even closed it. Jan froze, then backed away, bewildered. All she knew was that it wasn't something she was supposed to see. It was scary and strange and... it was wrong, she knew that. It was very wrong. Renee waited under the willow for half an hour, then headed home. Part of her even wished that the farmboy - she'd forgotten his name - would be outside, but she knew he wouldn't be. She felt lonely, but she pushed that feeling away - she wanted to be a lady, and her loneliness was ladylike to her. She was better than other people, and she didn't need anyone. Jan was very quiet in the afternoon, and around three o'clock Aunt Nicky returned to the normal world, drained. The rain had stopped. Mike went outside without a word - he wished he were at home where he understood everything. Robbie and Jake ran around the house screaming and playing hide-and-seek. Billy lay in his tent, thinking. Renee returned around four and went straight to her diary. In the evening they had dinner, and when Paul got back, Nicky could tell that he was... he was far away again - he'd made up with Lauren. He didn't even look at her. He ate his black bean soup with sherry and the pork chops stuffed with mushrooms and left the table. He'd made up his mind - he would leave her for Lauren, come hell or high water. He'd had an idea - he could sell the house and spirit away the money. He'd ask Lou Katz about Swiss bank accounts or something. He wanted a new life, and he always got what he wanted. Paul took a shower, washing his dick and smiling. Lauren had finally let him fuck her butt, right after he promised to marry her, squealing like a little piglet. She'd asked him why he wanted to hurt her, tears streaming down her pretty face. He said he didn't want to - it's just that she had the sexiest ass he'd ever seen. She smiled. The next morning was Sunday. It was a gray day, and Renee knew it was raining again even before she opened her eyes. She'd taken her panties off in the middle of the night. She wondered if everybody did that - if Yvonne had to do it, too. _Had_ to - she _had_ to, her hand drifting between her legs as soon as she woke up, her slit and the sensitive skin surrounding it already a little sore. Her sister was still asleep. Renee spread her legs and studied it in the looking glass. Paul woke up with his prick in Nicky's mouth. She hardly ever did that without him telling her to - she'd learned long ago that he didn't like it if she took the initiative. He was still sleepy and let her suck on it, then lifted his legs to give her access to his asshole. He'd never done that before, and she didn't understand. "Lick my shithole," he hissed. Nicky hadn't done that for anybody. She liked it a lot, licking and sucking and tentatively touching it with her finger. She was scared of him, but she forgot her fear, concentrating on giving him pleasure until he pushed her away. He put her in doggy position and said to suck on the bedpost. "That's right, bitch. Need to get fucked, huh? Come on, fuck yourself. Come on, Nicky baby. Fuck time." He helped her onto the bedpost, the brass pinecone pushing into her cunt. "Like that, Nicky? Tell me you like it." "I... like... it." Nicky gasped in agony as he held her under her arms and moved her up and down. He did it harder than usual, his big hands holding her like a broken doll. "You need to be hurt, don't you?" "Y-yes..." "Say, 'hurt my cunt.'" She couldn't say it. She went limp, the ornament ripping into her. He lifted her off and hit her between the legs, then fucked her in the butt, on her back. She couldn't come - her cunt felt like he'd shoved a Molotov cocktail up it and lit it. Paul pulled out and put his penis in her mouth, pumping it like a pussy until he shot off. He left her there. He didn't hold her. He didn't want her anymore unless he was hurting her, if he ever had. He wondered whether that would happen with Lauren. What if it did - there were plenty of fish in the sea. Renee had put on a new pair of white cotton panties, a purple paisley skirt, a white cotton undershirt and a loose cotton blouse, also white. The skirt looked good on her - it wasn't very short, but it fit well. She was just leaving when Paul came downstairs in a pair of gym shorts - she'd decided to go to the lake again. He looked at his niece for the first time, really, noticing how long her legs were. "Where you headed?" "I thought... I thought I'd take a walk," she said, slipping on her Birkenstocks. "In this weather?" Renee was a little scared. She'd heard Aunt Nicky crying again. He stood close to her, too, and he was looking at her in a new way - a frightening way. "Yes," she whispered. She looked into his eyes. "I don't mind. I'm not going to melt." She spoke in a snotty tone, and she said "going to" very precisely; not "gonna" like he did. "Where you gonna walk to?" "Just... walk." He stared her down, and she looked away. Part of him wanted to hit her. "Be back for lunch," Paul said. Renee walked away, her movements stiff and self-conscious. He wondered why she got so dressed up every day - this was fucking farm country, damn it. If he was the snot-nosed kid's father, he'd spank her until she behaved in the way a girl her age ought to behave - and it would probably be pretty enjoyable, seeing that powder white skin turn crimson. Jan had tried to talk to her sister the night before, but Renee kept writing in her diary until her little sis fell asleep. The seven-year-old couldn't stop thinking about what she'd seen - it was mostly a blur, but Mike and Nicky were naked, and it sounded like he was hurting her. She could imagine Billy hurting somebody, but not Mikey - and Aunt Nicky was a grownup, and he was nine years old, only two years older than she was! Jan had slept badly, and in the middle of the night she'd heard noises from her sister's bed. At first she thought Renee might be having a nightmare, but she didn't wake her up - the sounds were strange somehow, not like the ones Mike and Aunt Nicky were making but bad sounds, like the sounds from the tent. Jan knew that Renee was doing things she wasn't supposed to do. Jan didn't touch her private parts except to clean them and when she was washing, and she even had a vague memory of being told not to touch those places when she was three or four. It wasn't that long ago to her, even though she was always trying to be older. After a while she fell asleep again, and when she woke up in the morning she could hear Uncle Paul hurting her Aunt Nicky. Everything around her was mysterious and frightening, and she wished she were back home. Nicky knew that she had to get herself together. She lay in bed all morning, moaning in pain. Paul came in around noon - he rarely worked on Sundays - and Nicky spread her legs to show him where it hurt. He used to baby her now and then. "Get up," he said. "Get up and make lunch." "Hurts," Nicky whispered. "Hurts... here." She started to cry, masturbating. "I said get up," he hissed, slapping her little tit. "Paul... you want..." She tried to restrain her tears. She'd thought of saying it before. "Want to pretend I'm her?" "Who?" He glared at her. "L-laurrr-ren," Nicky sobbed. "Sh-show me... show me wh-what you w-want t-to... d-do to h-her..." She looked crazy, but Paul didn't rape her. "Sh-show me... d-do to me... Paul... please..." "Make some lunch, bitch," he said, and left the room. Renee felt like a different person since she'd started diddling. She didn't like that word, and she wasn't sure where or when she'd learned it. "Loving myself," she'd written instead. It was hard to write about that. Just the thought got her juices flowing, passing the prefab where she'd met the farmboy. She wondered if people would be able to tell she did it - maybe that was why her uncle had looked at her that way. The beach was deserted again. She wouldn't be able to get back for lunch - she'd known that when she'd promised to. He couldn't punish her, anyway - he wasn't her dad, thank God. Sometimes she wished there weren't any grownups, at least not the kind that could tell her what to do. At other times she wished there was no one at all - it would be fun to be the only person in the world, wouldn't it? She'd liked Mr. Winthrop, and she felt betrayed - so, it was raining; shouldn't he check to see if she'd come? She'd check to see if she was there, she thought - if someone like her liked her. That would be fun, too - to be two people just like her, with nobody else around. Renee stood under the willow for a while, then walked down the dirt road that probably circled the lake. She'd never gone very far along it. There were some summer cabins, then a meadow, and after a while she came to a driveway with a cast-iron gate. The silver mailbox said "J WINTHROP" in elegant brown letters. Renee could see the roof of a very large house through the pine trees on the right side of the driveway, beyond the rise - a red tile roof with dormer windows. Bill lay in his tent until lunchtime, jacking off. He couldn't stop thinking about Theresa - the way she tasted, her warmth and her wetness, the look in her eyes when he entered her. Paul smelled something burning in the kitchen and found his wife on the floor, weeping. He shut off the flames under the saucepan and stew pot and looked around for something to hurt her with. Nicky couldn't stop crying, taking off her pretty taupe panties and lifting her dress, getting on her hands and knees, offering him her pussy and asshole. Paul slid the wooden handle of the kitchen broom into her butt. She was beautiful, but he didn't even get hard. He couldn't figure it out. Yeah, he could pretend she was Lauren - he'd love to do this to Lauren, maybe when she was visibly pregnant. Nicky was nothing to him. "Come on - get yourself off. That's all you're good for, isn't it?" Sobbing, Nicky reached between her legs and rubbed her cunt, trying to come with the broom in her colon. Bill heard her screams from the porch. She deserved it, whatever it was. Theresa didn't - but Nicky did. His dick got hard, listening to her. The other kids cowered upstairs and in the back room, and after maybe ten minutes the screaming stopped. Nicky lay on her side on the floor, crying and rubbing herself while Paul got his jacket. He'd decided to take the kids to Pizza Hut. Renee dawdled at the gate for maybe twenty minutes. She thought about ringing the bell, but she couldn't do it. He didn't like her, anyway - did he? She hated to think about not being liked. Billy didn't like her - but she hated her big brother. Finally Renee headed back to her uncle's house, as sad as she'd been elated the other day. She saw the farmboy - what was his name? - open the door and fish in his pocket for a cigarette, and then he saw her and waved. He came towards her, and after some hesitation she went towards him. He didn't have an umbrella, and she let him share hers. They went towards the creek - he suggested it - and soon they were out of sight of the prefabs. Adam - he was fourteen, and he'd be starting high school in the fall. They didn't have anything to talk about, really, but Renee really liked the way he looked at her. There was a ledge under the bridge, and they were out of the rain. He offered her a Marlboro. She tried not to embarrass herself by coughing, but she couldn't help it. It all happened so fast. She'd never even held hands. She took off her Birkenstocks and dangled her feet in the cold creek, and he put his arm around her. Renee was nervous, desperate not to let him know she'd never been kissed. It was very different from what she'd expected, the surge of desire she felt, and he didn't go too far - just kissing. Maybe even that was too fast? And he was a farmboy - she couldn't even tell him about writing or anything like that. She used her tongue, and they did it for over two hours. Were they boyfriend and girlfriend? He wanted to be - she knew that - but she couldn't think about it. Renee Palmer with a boy who'd probably be a dairy farmer when he grew up - worse, he'd only be a farmhand, probably... she couldn't think about anything except kissing, swirling her tongue around his, the heat in her body almost animal. She could feel him, but mostly she felt herself. She saw the bulge in his jeans, too. Finally he put her hand there. "Just let me feel it, okay," she whispered. "That's all, okay?" "Okay," Adam said. She wondered what he'd done before and with whom. It felt nice. She wasn't scared of it. She wanted it - but she wouldn't have it. She couldn't - she didn't even like him - did she? He slid his hand along her leg. "Don't," she said. "Please." She didn't want him to touch her... to touch her anywhere where she... she wanted it. It was better to touch him, and that was weird. It didn't feel as dirty, feeling him, jerking him off through his jeans. He was breathing hard, and then he was groaning. She'd made him come in his pants. She knew that, and part of her was proud. She kept her hand there, kissing him. It was weird, but she felt like she was older than Adam - more grown up and in control. "Thanks," he said at last, a little embarrassed. "I have to go," Renee said, and in a split second she had disentangled herself, slipped on her sandals and scrambled up the bank of the creek like a disappearing fairy. Uncle Paul was in the living room when she walked in. He put down his newspaper and glared at her. "Where the fuck have you been?" Renee stood near the kitchen door. It was dusk, dark with rain, all the lights on inside. Paul was wearing slacks and socks and an ugly shirt the color of a gimlet. "I went to the lake," Renee said. "I thought I told you to be home for lunch." "Sorry." "Don't you 'sorry' me." He stood up and went towards her. Renee was petrified. "What did you do by the lake?" "N-nothing." "Don't you ever disobey me, understand?" He put his hand on her shoulder. She wanted to duck and run, but she couldn't move. "Understand?" "Yes," she said softly, staring at the cuckoo clock above the couch. "Look at me and say, 'yes, sir'." She looked at him, her icy gray eyes as venomous as a snake's but scared. "Yes, sir," she said. "Say, 'Yes, sir - I'll do what I'm told.'" He smelled like beer. "Yes, sir, I'll do what I'm told." All of the feelings coursing through her skinny body under the bridge were gone, replaced by futile rage. "You need a father, you know that?" He took his hand from his shoulder, but he didn't back away. "I've been watching you. You and your fancy clothes and... and..." He groped for the word. "Your... insolence," he said. "You're insolent. You want me to teach you a lesson?" She just stared at him. "Go to your fucking room. And stay there. No dinner. Stay in your room, you got that?" He took a step back, and Renee ran for the stairs. Jan and Renee finally talked that night - Renee didn't want to write in her diary. She couldn't think of what to write - what she'd done was worse than diddling. She'd wanted to do it, but it threw her off - it wasn't what she'd thought of doing, and she couldn't write about Adam the way she wrote about her dreams or what Mr. Winthrop had said to her. She couldn't write romantic things about a farmboy. Jan told Renee that she'd heard Uncle Paul hurting Aunt Nicky all day. She wanted to tell her about Nicky and Mikey, but she couldn't do it - she didn't tattle, but she was really upset by what she'd seen, and then there were the sounds her sister had made at night. Renee didn't know what to say. She hated her uncle, but she wasn't sure whether Jan had heard hurting or... or sex. Renee had heard their mother having sex. It didn't sound like what she'd done under the bridge with Adam, not even if she'd let him touch her and... and... and if she'd had sex with him. After Jan went to bed, Renee opened her diary. She didn't write anything, though. She just stared out the window and looked in the mirror, trying to see if she looked different. What she'd learned about the birds and the bees didn't explain anything she'd felt. It was only kissing - and feeling him, his penis, the part made for... for loving her between the legs was how she would have put it. Nothing she knew explained the feeling down there. She didn't even want to be his girlfriend - she'd be ashamed to be seen with him - but she'd wanted him inside her, in her vagina. The small opening felt like a hole - she'd never thought of it quite that way, even though she knew what it was for. An empty hole, and kissing made it hungry. She'd felt how big he was, and she didn't want it in there, definitely not - she hadn't even let him touch her. But _it_ wanted him, like it wasn't part of her - only it was, because when she played with it she wanted... she wanted something, loving herself, playing with it until... she knew she'd had an orgasm, frigging, that feeling of floating and crashing and going crazy, as if her body was gone for a second, forever - almost like what she'd thought about being two people, except one of them would be invisible, wanting the other one, her, and when she got there - coming - even the second one would disappear? That didn't make any sense. Maybe she _should_ try to write about it, to make sense of herself - but she felt like she was slipping away, sliding down a really tall hill in warm snow. What would she do if she saw Adam again? She would, too - she knew she would, and part of her didn't want to. She'd have to do it again - she couldn't do less than she'd already done, could she? She could tell him she didn't want to talk to him... But she hadn't eaten anything all day, and she wasn't hungry - her cunny was. Renee undressed, switched off the lamp and slid under the covers, naked. It felt so nice to be naked. She almost came when she touched it, trembling, the hole already wet from thinking those things. She meant to masturbate and put on her sleep shirt, but after she got off she wanted to do it again - and again, and again, and again. She drifted in and out of sleep, playing with herself, slipping a second finger inside and coming, rubbing her slit until it was sore. She sniffed her fingers and sucked on them, moaning softly, sleeping, and waking up with her hand between her legs. She wished it would go on forever - she didn't need anyone, and nothing mattered except coming. Towards dawn she got up groggily and put on the T-shirt she slept in. Hugging the pillow and playing with the opening, she slowly sank back down and then deeper, descending into a deep sleep with her slender hand draped across her pubis. Nicky had never really considered leaving Paul, but he'd never pushed her away the way he did that night and again in the morning. She tried to suck him awake, but he got up and told her to use the bedpost. Nicky sucked on it, trying to turn him on, but he left the bedroom. She needed to get herself together and didn't know how. She felt like she did when she played with her shit - filthy and abandoned. She put on a pair of bright red bikini panties, a skimpy silk dress the color of blood, high-heeled sandals and a silver bracelet he'd given her for her birthday, brushed her hair and went downstairs make breakfast. He'd never hurt her as badly - there was blood on the broom handle. She saw it and shuddered, fighting back tears. Her gash hurt, too, from the bedpost - he'd pushed it into her cervix, hard, holding her and slamming her inner bung down on the pinecone after she'd licked his shitter. She had to get herself together. Part of her knew it would never stop - if he didn't hurt her, somebody else would. Even her nephew wanted to hurt her. That's what she was for. Nicky broke some eggs into a bowl and started bawling. She heard Paul in the living room, but then she heard him slam the door. He didn't even want to hurt her anymore. Renee avoided the kitchen when she heard Aunt Nicky weeping. She was hungry, but she didn't want to see her aunt like that. She felt sorry for her, whatever was wrong with her, and she was very hungry, but she didn't go in. She slipped out the door and walked towards the lake, dressed in a dark green cotton dress, a pair of plain cotton panties underneath. She would have preferred fancy ones, but they weren't clean - she'd taken a shower, carefully washing her cunny. She wondered if other people would like her odor as much as she did - after she'd washed she noticed how strong her smell was in the unmade bed. There were even stains on the sheets, and the panties she'd worn the previous day were soiled. Renee sniffed them, relishing her scent. It was different when dry, but it wasn't bad - was it? Was it normal? "Extraordinary," she thought, putting her diary in her bag. Adam hadn't said anything about the way she tasted or anything - he was just a dumb farmboy. He'd never be able to say the things Mr. Winthrop had said - but he kissed good, didn't he? Renee remembered rubbing his penis - the way her hand looked against the faded denim, so pretty, pleasuring him. Did Adam... did he _value_ her? She thought about those words on the way - "pleasure" as a verb (it was one, wasn't it), and "value"... "respect" - did Adam respect her? She didn't respect him. She respected Mr. Winthrop even though he hadn't showed up during the rain (the sky was still cloudy, but it wasn't raining) - but he was an adult. How could a boy who handled cows for a living _value_ her? Adam won't around - he was working in the fields, probably. Renee headed for the lake, hoping Mr. Winthrop would be there despite the clouds. Bill went to the abandoned farmhouse after breakfast. He heard the noises before he entered the dilapidated building. He recognized Theresa's voice, his stomach tightening. The girl he loved had slid Tom's penis into her rectum. Theresa took it deep - he wasn't wearing a rubber, and he wasn't being rough with her. Grunting, she held his hands and milked his dick with her shitter. She loved the feeling - the fullness, the way he groaned when she got it in to the root and reached between her legs to stroke his balls, getting it to grow deep in her rectum. She slid it out slowly - shitting cock - and swiveled her narrow hips, then lowered herself again. She was high as a kite and dripping in front, her mind blank except for the desperate need in her bowels and belly. Billy listened to her fuck for five or ten minutes before he left the farmhouse, burning with fury. He'd almost reached the road when she started bucking and Tom took hold of her hips, bouncing her up and down like a doll. Theresa came when he did, screaming, her colon rippling in uncontrollable spasms when he emptied his balls, a wad of warm, thick spunk shooting into her shitter. She couldn't believe how good it felt to have something that big in her butt. It didn't hurt at all, and he stayed inside her, softening. He didn't have to ask her to suck it. She wanted to, relishing the taste of her own dirt. It didn't taste like shit, really - and even if it had she wouldn't have cared. She wanted him to want her more. Maybe she loved him - she definitely loved his dick. Nicky thought about killing herself. She took a cold shower and cleaned the house, crying, and when Billy got back she was looking for Mikey. Mikey was hiding in the meadow. He was scared of his Aunt Nicky, and he jumped when he came across Jan. She was picking wildflowers, dressed in a dark blue and purple paisley dress. She was only seven, but she looked almost melancholy. They touched now and then, talking, and neither said anything about what had happened. The beach was almost deserted, and Mr. Winthrop wasn't there. Maybe he'd never been there - maybe Renee had imagined the whole thing? Even if she really had talked to him - made friends with him - he obviously didn't care about her. She felt stupid for thinking about a man old enough to be her grandfather. She felt dirty, too. Just thinking about a man - Mr. Winthrop - John - was somehow dirtier than doing things with a boy. The beach looked gloomy, black clouds blotting out the sun. Renee's arousal washed over her in steady waves. She didn't understand it at all - it didn't make sense. Her icy gray eyes were blurry with desire - but she didn't desire anybody, did she? Anyway there was no one around - just a middle-aged couple and their dog about a hundred yards away, near the water. Renee had to pee and went into the bushes behind the willow tree, pulling her panties down and squatting in some cold, wet undergrowth, her dark green dress up around her hips. She really had to pee - but she knew what she was going to do afterwards even before she went into the thicket. The fuzz between her legs was longer and thicker, growing almost like grass. Her nipples were hard, and squatting made her anus open slightly, twitching. She touched her slit for a second before she started peeing, moaning softly. The stream of urine splashed against a sassafras leaf and she stopped the flow, holding her breath and moving her feet further apart. Even peeing was suddenly sexy to her. Maybe it had always been sexy, but being outside made her notice it. Renee touched the tiny opening with the tip of her finger and tasted her pee, closing her eyes and licking her finger, moistening it. She didn't want anyone else to do these things to her. She felt lonely, but she didn't want anybody to know what she wanted. Renee didn't know what she wanted, either - she only knew that she needed to be by herself and she needed to play with herself. She peed against the palm of her hand and licked it, panting, playing with her pussy until nothing existed except the sopping wetness and her fluttering fingers, her little clitoris fully erect. She made herself come, frigging her puberty tube with her middle finger, gasping, slipping a second finger inside. Her clit was swollen to the size of the tip of a Q-tip. Renee pinched it, wincing, then rubbed it and ran her middle and index fingers back inside. For the first time ever she could imagine a penis pushing into her, entering her vagina. She didn't want that - but she was needy deep inside and actually dripping. The dark clouds drifted across the sky, and she only stood up after another orgasm, when it began to rain again. Dazed, Renee wiped her hands on some leaves and fixed her dress. She felt like she'd done something terrible - like she'd lost her virginity. Really she hadn't lost her innocence - her sexuality was completely self-contained. The couple with the dog was close to the willow tree. Renee felt lonelier than ever and vulnerable. The woman said "hi" to her - she was plain, Renee thought, too plain for the man - and Renee only nodded, passing them. Had they heard her? Did they know what she'd been doing? Was it obvious from the way she looked? Renee remembered sitting under the willow when she first met Mr. Winthrop. It seemed like ages ago. The time she spent touching herself was like a different dimension. It wasn't raining hard, only drizzling. The man held an umbrella for his plain wife or girlfriend, and Renee had a funny thought: he'd rather hold the umbrella for me. Wouldn't he? Was it normal to like men - older men? But she wasn't normal - she was extraordinary. "Extraordinarily beautiful." Her mouth still tasted like her vaginal juices with a hint of urine - but her fluids weren't at all unpleasant to her - they were _hers_, and anybody who loved her would love them - they'd love everything about her. They'd have to learn how to touch her. Every orgasm she'd had was better than the last one - would it always be that way? Would they make her crazy? Walking along the road, Renee thought about her stone house and the solitude she'd always wanted. Why was everything suddenly sexual? She tried to picture Yvonne Vaughan scrubbing the floors and ended up thinking about Mr. Merrill. Yvonne and Renee sat in the front row in math class - had anybody else noticed that Mr. Merrill had put them there on purpose? Yvonne would fiddle with her hair when the teacher stared at her, her blue-violet eyes inviting where Renee's were only nervous - and by the end of the year Mr. Merrill was staring at Yvonne a lot more than he was staring at Renee. Yvonne had nice legs, too - not as nice as Renee's, maybe, but Yvonne knew how to carry herself as well, and she had the complexion that went with her platinum hair, like honey. Renee only hated her because she was so pretty - Yvonne was the only girl in fifth grade that was as pretty as she was. Did Yvonne like men? If any other eleven-year-old did, Yvonne did. Renee tried to picture her touching Mr. Merrill the way she'd touched the boy under the bridge. It was the first time Renee had ever thought about a girl her age doing things like that with a man, and even though she was thinking about Yvonne and not herself, the idea was... it was really weird. It was forbidden and frightening - and it made her wet. She'd made Adam feel good, but doing that for an adult would be different. "Yes, sir, I'll do what I'm told." Renee remembered the look in Uncle Paul's eyes and the feel of his hand on her shoulder. She was too upset when he touched her to think about what it meant, but she'd noticed him looking at her legs the day before. He was always so angry, just like her older brother - angry and strong. Hardly anybody had ever told her what to do. Renee was glad that her father was gone. Mr. Winthrop wasn't at all like they were. He was strong - but he understood her. He was _interested_ in her... wasn't he? Why wasn't he looking for her? Didn't he take her seriously? Renee remembered the inviting look in Yvonne's blue-violet eyes - the way she returned Mr. Merrill's gaze. Was that it? Didn't Mr. Winthrop know that she... that she was interested in _him_? Billy was making a sandwich when Nicky walked into the kitchen. She was wearing the revealing red dress and heels, as if she were getting ready to go out - but she'd only been cleaning the house. She would have done anything to get him into bed with her, but she saw the look in his eyes - he hated her, and he was too young to know that Nicky liked that. She offered to help him make the sandwich, letting him look down her dress. At least he was looking - even though there was hardly anything there. Her nipples were hard and raw. He took the sandwich and left the kitchen, and Nicky went to the bathroom to masturbate. Paul didn't come home that night. Nicky made dinner and pretended that there was nothing wrong, torturing herself with visions of her husband with Lauren. The younger kids played Monopoly after the meal, but Bill went to his tent and Renee wrote in her diary. She hadn't seen Adam, passing the prefabs - and in a way she was glad. She thought she was beginning to get an idea of some of the changes she'd undergone since they'd gotten to the country. At first it was like trying to describe a stranger. She even wrote about herself in the third person. She ended up writing about how beautiful she was, letting go and scribbling compliment after compliment. She wrote about the stone house and everybody loving her - loving her face and her body and everything about her. Yvonne loved her, too, telling her how much prettier she was. Renee thought about Yvonne when she touched herself, too - about watching Yvonne do things with Mr. Merrill. The moon was past its full and the room was almost dark, but Jan could see her sister's legs and hear her moaning. It wasn't as scary as it had been the first time she'd heard it, but Renee wasn't as careful to be quiet, lost in her fantasies. The seven-year-old sucked her thumb, listening. ... Paul didn't leave Nicky until after the kids had gone back to their mother. Jackie Palmer picked them up in her aging Subaru, dreading the remainder of the summer - she'd enjoyed the time without them and felt almost single again. Renee sat in the back with Jan and Mikey, and Bill sat up front with his mom. The exchanged phrases about how their summer had gone, but Paul was never much for talking, Renee was in another world, Jan was sleepy and Mike looked miserable. It was a long drive, and mostly they listened to music - Bill picked the station, and Jackie acquiesced. He was getting beyond her control, she thought - a little man. Jackie didn't really like men - she needed to get fucked now and then, but she wasn't like her sister. Jackie was already married when their mom's boyfriend blackmailed Nicky into sucking him, and she never found out about it. She knew that her sister was twisted, though - and Jackie had slept with Paul. She didn't feel guilty about it, really - she wasn't exactly kinky, but she'd been sleeping around ever since her hubby left her. She won't nearly as attractive as Nicky and she was ten years older - thirty-four - and putting out kept up her self-image, probably. Besides, a lot of guys were generous, and she was always between jobs. After the children's father left they had to move, renting the second floor of a two-flat on the Northwest Side. Jan and Renee shared a small bedroom, Mike and Bill a slightly larger one, and Jackie a room that was almost entirely filled by a queen size bed. The landlord lived downstairs, and while the kids were out in the country Jackie had been giving Mr. Bellamy blowjobs. It was the worst thing she'd ever done - he was fifty-eight and married, and she'd never exactly prostituted herself before. She was late with the rent, and Mr. Bellamy had slid his hand up her leg. His uncut cock tasted like vinegar, and he came in her face. She tried to come up with the rent, but spent the money on other things. She didn't like it at all - but it wasn't as bad as she thought it would be, and it only took twenty minutes. Mr. Bellamy came by every day, and he didn't ask for the rent anymore. She'd told him that the kids were coming back and asked him to stay away for a few days - she'd call him when they were out of the house. He said okay, but Jackie worried about it. She wasn't really protective or anything, but she knew that Bill was aware of... of her habits, and she had a sort of terror of her eldest son ever saying anything. She knew she wasn't a good mother, and more and more she felt like garbage - just like Nicky - but Jackie kept up a front. She even went to PTA meetings now and then. She wanted her kids to respect her, but she knew it was a lost cause with Billy. She was even a little afraid of him. Being cooped up in the heat of the summer was bad for Jan and Mikey, but Billy was always out with his friends and Renee would kick her sister out of their room and write and read. The memory of Mr. Winthrop began to fade, and in mid-August Renee started to take long walks, the first time she'd ever done that in the city. Jackie wasn't working and she didn't really need to watch her younger siblings. Renee would walk halfway to the lake, and then she started to ride the bus almost aimlessly. It made her feel very adult to travel the city by herself. Sometimes it was kind of scary - she was afraid of black people and Mexicans and people who talked to themselves - but she found a lot of fun things to do, like visit the library downtown. She especially liked to take the El. She'd never been to New York, but riding the trains helped her with her make-believe, especially when the Blue Line dipped into the subway. School began again in September. Renee started sixth grade, and for the first time ever she wore a training bra under her blouse. Her breasts were no bigger than anthills, but she was self-conscious about her nipples and asked her mother to buy her one. Renee turned twelve in October, and she was the tallest girl in school. Yvonne Vaughan was tall, too, and they were in almost every class together. Yvonne was three months older and even prettier than she'd been the year before. She wore a bra, too, but she really needed one - her boobs weren't big but they stuck out, kind of like Dixie cups. None of the teachers paid attention to them like Mr. Merrill had the year before, but by November they were looking at each other a lot. Renee felt stupid for hating Yvonne - they probably had a lot in common. Yvonne seemed mature, too, and she had the same sort of beauty - the kind that made people uncomfortable. They started walking part of the way home together not long after Halloween, and towards the end of November they thought of each other as friends. Winter came late that year, and they needed only sweaters over their uniforms - plaid skirts and cream-colored blouses. Yvonne wore the same sweater every day, and it had holes in it. She lived in one of the shabbiest buildings in the neighborhood, and Renee was nervous the first time she went over to her house - it was a one-bedroom apartment she lived in with her mother. Yvonne was an only child, and her father had left when she was seven years old. The furniture was ratty and Yvonne was obviously embarrassed, but it was better at her house than it was at Renee's because Yvonne's mom worked evenings and there was nobody there. They watched TV together and talked, and sometimes they'd brush each other's hair. By the time the weather turned wintry, Renee was wondering whether Yvonne... whether she felt the same way she did. Renee didn't really think about Yvonne being her maid anymore, but she thought about them both being in the isolated house. She even told Yvonne about some of those dreams: about becoming a famous writer with a country estate and a penthouse high above Manhattan. Yvonne looked up to Renee - she even started to keep a diary, but Renee was the real writer. Maybe Yvonne could be a model - Renee said she was pretty enough. They both knew they were really pretty, and by the time Christmas break began they were complimenting each other constantly. Yvonne would pretend to come home tired from modeling and Renee would make her a drink - they poured grape juice into Yvonne's mom's wine glasses and pretended to be high above Central Park. They first talked about Mr. Merrill on the first day of vacation - it would be their last day together for a week, because Renee and her family were driving up to Aunt Nicky's. Nicky had been abandoned and was living in a trailer near Rhinelander with her kids, shattered. Renee wished she didn't have to go and told Yvonne about summer up in Wisconsin - Renee lied a little, though, telling Yvonne that Mr. Winthrop had kissed her when he hadn't, and leaving out everything that had happened with Adam. Yvonne had a weird look on her face, and finally Yvonne said that Mr. Merrill liked her. She said it as if testing the waters. They were sitting on the couch together, Renee in rust-colored wide-wale corduroys and a dark gray sweatshirt, Yvonne in narrow-wale black cords, a pink T-shirt and her threadbare light green sweater. They'd taken off their shoes, and Yvonne's thin synthetic socks had holes in them. They were dark blue, and her toes looked really soft and delicate. Renee had been thinking about Yvonne every night, and they'd started touching each other - nonchalantly or nervously, "accidentally" brushing against each other and awkwardly hugging goodbye. Sometimes Yvonne would hold Renee's gaze for several minutes before looking away. "Did you like him?" Renee's voice was almost a whisper. "I don't know," Yvonne answered, staring at the corner of the ceiling. "I guess." "I liked it when Mr. Winthrop - when John kissed me," Renee said quietly. Holding her breath, she put her hand on Renee's shoulder. "Did - did Mr. Merrill ever kiss you?" "Yeah," Yvonne whispered. Their eyes met, and Renee leaned forward. It was just a little peck, but on the lips - and they were both breathing hard. They touched each other's ears and hair and did it again, for longer. Renee flicked her tongue into her friend's mouth first. Yvonne responded, and they kissed like crazy. They explored each other's mouths for maybe an hour, even moaning a little. It was already Renee's dinnertime and she had to go home. They didn't talk about what they'd done, kissing again at the door and holding hands like lovers. Renee hated the idea of leaving, especially since she'd be gone until after Christmas, but she felt like she was flying on her way home. They didn't need to say anything - Renee was certain that Yvonne Vaughan was in love with her. Everyone in the Palmer family had changed a lot since June. Jackie was still blowing Mr. Bellamy. Billy would be out with his friends (he stayed out late and came home smelling like pot, but she didn't try to discipline him) and Renee would be over at Yvonne's (Yvonne seemed nice), and Jackie would send Mikey and Jan to their rooms and take care of the landlord. Viagra hadn't been invented yet, and the fifty-eight-year-old would often go limp now that the novelty of having a whore upstairs had worn off. Jackie would lick and suck and play with his balls until he ejaculated, and sometimes it took an hour or two. Mike and Jan knew that their mommy was doing something with a man. She left them alone a lot, going out with her "boyfriends" - married men who gave her money. Jackie used to date men who were generous, but "dating" had become hooking. She'd always thought of her sister as trash, but Nicky didn't ever fuck for money - Nicky needed cock. Jackie was just selling her pussy. Four or five guys fucked her every week. The weird thing was that Jackie was getting prettier. She didn't want to be a housewife anymore. She wished she'd never had kids. She started snorting coke and was soon almost as skinny as her sister, bright-eyed and desperate. The big difference between them was that Jackie wouldn't take it up the ass. Now and then guys would get rough with her and rape her back there - but unlike Nicky, Jackie hated to be hurt. Jackie didn't get used to it, but by the time they drove up to Wisconsin for Christmas she'd become a common prostitute. Jan had turned eight and Mikey would be turning ten in January. Jan had caught Mikey playing with his pee-pee a couple of times, and Renee was masturbating every night. Jan had a little secret of her own - she talked to strangers. It started in September, on the way home from school. Jan saw a sign that said there was a sale on ice cream sandwiches at a corner store, and when she went into the shop a man named Ben started asking her questions. Perhaps she was even more precocious than her sister - she'd seen things, and she knew that her sister did stuff she wasn't supposed to do (she'd even heard Renee talking to somebody on the phone - it was Yvonne, but Jan thought it was probably a boy from the way her sister whispered) - but Jan didn't really know anything about dirty old men. Ben wasn't _that_ old, anyway - he was twenty-eight. He had shoulder-length hair the color of the sandwich part of the ice cream and eyes the hue of washed denim. His father owned the store, and he gave her the ice cream sandwich for free. Ben was really nice to her. He said he was just old enough to be her daddy and would teach her things, and one day when there was nobody else in the store he asked her what she called the place where her pee came out - "cunny," she whispered, blushing - and whether she'd ever seen a man's thing. She'd seen Mikey's, but Mikey wasn't a man so she said "no." Ben asked her if her mommy ever brought men home. She'd brought men home before, and Jan told Ben about hearing them do things and seeing her Aunt Nicky do things with her little brother. Ben asked her if she played with her cunny, and Jan said "no - but my sister does." He showed her a glossy little magazine full of pictures of guys doing things to teenage girls. The guys' things were big and hard, and the girls put them in their mouths until white stuff squirted out. You could see the girls' private parts, and the men put their things in there, too. Ben said they were making babies. Jan wasn't a typical eight-year-old, maybe because of all the things that had been going on around her. She stayed away from the store after that - he'd scared her - but she wasn't that upset by what he'd shown her. She wasn't as self-centered as her sister - yet - but the things the people in the pictures were doing didn't really apply to her. The girls' bodies were nothing like hers, and Mikey's thing was much smaller than the ones in the magazine. Jan didn't ask to see it, but she felt it when they cuddled and she'd even unbuttoned his pajamas, taking his stiffy in her soft little hand and stroking it. She didn't get wet yet and she didn't really masturbate, but she was acting more and more like her sister. Renee knew that Jan was awake sometimes when she played with herself, but Renee would just pretend to be alone - she was in her own world all the time, and her little sister wasn't a part of it even when they were in the same room. Jan liked Mr. Bellamy a lot. He wasn't exactly a stranger, but she knew she shouldn't talk to him the way she did. Renee was always teasing him, sitting so he could see up her skirt and giving him grownup looks. Renee was always teasing everybody, and Jan picked up on it. Mr. Bellamy would come by sometimes when Jackie wasn't home, and one time he tickled her and touched her legs and stuff. Renee assumed that he wasn't interested in her because he was having sex with her mom, but Jan didn't think about that and got all mushy when he held her. A week before they went to Wisconsin she felt his thing, sitting in his lap with her feet on either side of him. Mikey was in his room, Renee was with Yvonne, and their mommy was away. Mr. Bellamy fondled her butt, holding her so that the bulge in his trousers was between her legs. He got her to rub against it without saying anything - she liked how it felt, and a couple of days later she tried it with Mikey, straddling him and rubbing his stiffy against her crotch. She didn't take his pee-pee out - she was wearing panties and he was in his pajamas - but the feeling in her cunny spread to her stomach and Mikey put his hands on her hips, helping her rub. Jan didn't think of it as sex even though she'd seen those pictures - it was just something they did that felt really good. A day later she unbuttoned her brother's pajamas again. When she first saw the magazine she thought that the things the girls were doing were kind of gross - but Jan had wanted to look at it. She wanted her little brother to love her. She pulled the blanket away, playing with his boner. They'd never even kissed, but it felt completely natural - stroking his belly and thighs, Jan crawled between his legs and touched her lips to his tiny penis, then put it in her mouth and sucked. Mikey moaned, and after maybe five minutes he started shaking. She thought she was hurting him, but when she tried to pull away he lifted his hips. "D-don't - please - please don't stop..." She kept sucking. He started to thrust up into her mouth, but he was really small and it wasn't at all rough or unpleasant. A couple of minutes later he was quivering again. "S-suck me... sis..." She sucked it, slobbering, instinctively slipping it in and out of her warm, wet mouth as fast as she could, her head bobbing up and down. His hips jerked, and then he pushed her away. Nothing came out, but Mikey had come. He said he was sorry for pushing her and pulled her to him. They held each other for a really long time. The trip to Aunt Veronica's was a really long drive. Bill sat in front as usual. The fourteen-year-old pulled out a pack of Marlboros when they got onto the expressway. Jackie swallowed. She knew that Billy smoked, but he'd never done it in front of her. "Billy... put that away," she said weakly. He glared at her, but he stuffed the pack back into his pocket. Maybe he wasn't out of control yet, she thought. How long before he would be? Jackie was tired and hung over, and the area around her nostrils raw from snorting coke. Her head felt like it was full of steel wool. Renee was wearing her favorite skirt - the one she'd worn when she had the long conversation Mr. Winthrop, with the lily-of-the-valley print. It was wrong for the weather, but Renee didn't care. She'd tied her hair back and put on a pair of earrings she'd saved up for, simple silver teardrops. The raw umber panties were too small for her - she was actually skinnier than she had been during the summer, but her hips were wider. Renee wore them anyway because she didn't have any other nice ones - her allowance was still the same, and all she could do was skip lunch and save the money for things she really wanted, like the pea coat she'd bought second-hand. It wasn't as warm as her parka, but it looked stylish. Jackie kept thinking about her sister. Nicky had been calling once a week or so since Paul left her, crying - Paul had sold the house out from under her, and she was living off welfare. Jackie figured she was probably seeing men, though. It was snowing hard, and powder was blowing across the two-lane like the fine sand in an hourglass. Jackie was thinking about Nicky when the car in front of her braked. For some reason Jackie swerved to the left without thinking, honking. The last thing she saw were the lights of the truck, bearing down upon them at breakneck speed. Jackie was the only passenger to be killed. ... Veronica Palmer-Gallatin was named the children's guardian despite the judge's suspicion that she was unfit - unemployed, obviously immoral, and living in a trailer with two kids of her own. Nicky borrowed money to rent a ramshackle house near where they'd lived when she was married - it was a three-room prefab by the creek, two houses away from the one where Adam lived. Really Nicky was okay during the day - if the judge had seen her during the summer, he'd never have approved the application. She'd turned twenty-five and had the looks of a fashion model. She slept with her sons after Paul left, but she'd stopped hurting herself and hardly ever did what she thought of as "bathroom things" - she hadn't played with her shit since the beginning of November. Nicky had three boyfriends in Rhinelander. Two of them were married, including the one she really liked - Larry, a fifty-one-year-old insurance salesman who really cared about her. Larry talked her into taking an aerobics class and running, and exercise helped Nicky keep it together. Her body still belonged to Paul, though. Just before her sister was killed in the accident, he started paying some child support and came to see the kids. He told her about the house by the creek - he didn't want Robbie and Jake to grow up in the trailer park - and when she decided to take Jackie's kids, she rented the prefab, partly because it was only a mile away from Paul's house. He'd married Lauren and didn't let her visit, but Nicky felt like she was living close by anyway - she still hoped she'd get another chance with him. He'd even said he missed her once. All of Jackie's kids were heartbroken by their mother's death, of course, even Billy - he was the only passenger to be seriously injured and had to spend two weeks in the hospital. His face was badly scarred, and Nicky couldn't afford the expensive plastic surgery to fix it. Renee was upset for another reason, too - Yvonne. The kids never even went back to Chicago - Nicky went down to collect their mom's belongings (and blew Mr. Bellamy, who invited her to move in), and Renee was separated from the person she'd been closest too. She talked to her friend on the phone, and Yvonne's mother, feeling sorry for her daughter and saddened by the tragedy, said they might be able to spend spring vacation in Wisconsin. Yvonne and Renee wrote letters to each other, too, and Yvonne sent Renee pictures from a photo booth. They didn't really talk about being in love, though - they were both uncomfortable with it, and there was so much distance between them right away. Really Renee wasn't sure she was in love with Yvonne. She knew that Yvonne loved her, and Yvonne was sexy. She thought about kissing every night, and she thought about what they could have done - about getting naked and letting Yvonne look at her body. Renee masturbated three or four times a day. She liked to do it in front of the full-length mirror on the bathroom door, stripping and sometimes pressing her lips to the glass, loving herself. She played with her nipples a lot - she barely had breasts, but the bumps had begun to ache and her nips were big for a twelve-year-old's, the color of smoked trout with a darker ring around the aureoles and redder tips. Her pubic hair was still sparse but her labia were getting longer, pouting, and her clitoris would stick out whenever she got excited. Renee was often excited, daydreaming, her nipples hardening and her virgin opening desperate for her delicate fingers. She did it at school, too, and doing it when there were other girls in the washroom turned her on. Renee worried about her breasts not growing. She worried about different parts of her body - about her long, lean legs not being curvy enough, about her butt being too small and her ankles too bony. She worried about liking girls, too - Renee had lots of fantasies, but a lot of them involved other girls. The girls at school hated her. She didn't fit in - she was a city girl, and she seemed incredibly stuck up compared to the other three girls who weren't from around there. A few of the boys liked her, and Renee would flirt with them sometimes. Adam had a girlfriend, and the idea that he'd forgotten about her and wanted someone else drove her crazy. His new girl was pretty, too - a fourteen-year-old with honey-colored hair - and that made it even worse. Renee could picture them having sex, and sometimes she fantasized about hurting the girl. She didn't want Adam, but him wanting someone else after she'd let him kiss her made her insane. She daydreamed about her kisses being strangely poisonous. She'd be in the stone house with Yvonne. They'd make Adam's girlfriend take off her clothes and compare bodies - it'd even be okay if Yvonne's was prettier than Renee's because Yvonne loved her. Renee and Yvonne would make love - and instead of looking at his girlfriend, Adam would look at them. Renee liked to imagine Yvonne with other people - girls and boys and men. She'd be in their penthouse above Manhattan, and Yvonne would be coming home from modeling. Everyone was constantly touching Yvonne, taking off her clothes and fingering her. Renee would whisper to her, telling her how men needed to put their penises inside her. Yvonne would be sad sometimes, but she was always beautiful and wet. Masturbating, Renee would drift away, parts of her becoming parts of Yvonne, the penises entering her instead of her friend, Adam and Mr. Merrill and Mr. Bellamy sliding in and out of her slick vagina, slowly, gently, holding her and squirting their semen into her pretty hole. Yvonne and Renee would embrace and turn into each other, entangled, eager, surrounded by penises. Renee even wrote about things like that in her diary. She'd hardly done anything in reality - she'd kissed Yvonne and Adam and rubbed him through his pants. But Renee's secret life was already depraved, her profound perversity sometimes appearing like a rainy dawn in her lovely gray eyes. Billy found Theresa Sawyer in February. Her mother had married the man who abused Theresa. His name was Rich, and he looked at Billy in a way that scared the shit out of him. He was a big man, and Theresa felt helpless when he fucked her. Her older sister had run away. Rich let Billy in, sneering. Theresa was sobbing, cowering in the corner of her room. She didn't even recognize him at first. The thirteen-year-old was almost eight months pregnant. She didn't know who the father was - but it was probably Billy. The house was full of junk and stank, and Theresa was sucking her thumb like a little girl. Her mother pretended not to know about her and Rich, even though he'd raped her in front of her once when they were drunk. Her little tennis balls were already swollen with milk. Billy didn't know what to do. He was only fourteen - but he had to save her. Jan and Mikey still did things together, but Nicky kept her distance. She'd found a job - running the register at a convenience store by Mallard Lake - and she wasn't molesting her sons anymore. She had a few men friends, but she went to their houses instead of bringing them to the three-room prefab. The place was a zoo - Robbie still stayed in his mother's room, Jan and Renee had the room on the end, and Billy, Mikey, and Jake shared the room in the middle. Jake had turned seven and started first grade. Everybody picked on him. Robbie was in day care while his mother worked, but it fell to Renee to take care of the kids most of the time, since Billy was mostly wandering off. She had little time to herself except in the bathroom, and it wasn't until early March that she walked down to the lake again. Renee still thought about Mr. Winthrop sometimes, but she didn't think she was obsessed with him anymore. She was obsessed with herself. Most of the people she fantasized about were becoming unreal, even the ones she knew - even Yvonne wasn't real any longer. They still talked on the phone once or twice a week, but in Renee's fantasies Yvonne had become mixed with parts of other pretty girls she was attracted to. It was as if Renee were always surrounded by ghosts. Nothing was real. Paul Gallatin wasn't bored with Lauren yet, but being married to her wasn't as exciting as seducing her had been. She'd lost the baby because he beat her up in November, and she'd left him for a little while after the miscarriage. She came back in a couple of weeks - but she didn't belong to him, and Paul was getting the feeling she never would, at least not like Nicky belonged to him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, and Paul missed his ex. Not that he didn't like Lauren. She was gorgeous and good in bed - but she didn't like to be hurt. He wished she'd get wet when he hit her like Nicky did. Paul didn't miss the kids, but one night he he'd had a weird dream about Renee. He hadn't seen her naked for several years, and in the dream she was even taller than she was in life - as tall as Nicky. She was sliding up and down on the bedpost - only it wasn't hurting her. She was beautiful, but her juices were leaking down her legs and soaking the floor, flowing like floodwaters. Renee cupped her buttocks and slid up and down like a dancer, effortlessly, caressing herself and sucking on something. She looked like a woman, but she was only twelve years old like she really was, and when he went towards her she returned to her normal size. All of a sudden she was dressed, too. She looked at him the way she did when he reprimanded her, and Paul told her to take off her clothes. Renee hissed at him, and then she was laughing - she was laughing at him like a witch, cackling, and Paul woke up in a sweat, his cock hard but his head bursting with fury. Amazingly, Theresa's baby was born healthy. It was a girl - Gail - and Rich would rape Theresa's mouth while she was nursing it. He called it her "whore baby," and Gail was less than a month old when he started getting her used to the taste of semen. He'd fuck Theresa's face and come on her titties, and Theresa had to suckle her baby girl with "daddy's" juice still on her nipples. Theresa did as she was told. Rich was raping Theresa in front of her mother, too - little Gail's "granny" - even though nobody really knew whom the father was. Theresa's mother preferred to see Theresa mistreated to being mistreated herself, and by May the thirteen-year-old had been reduced to a dazed fuck toy. Bill was afraid of Rich, but he'd lurk nearby until he saw the man leave, then visit what he thought was his daughter and end up in bed with Theresa. He didn't realize that baby Gail was being abused, but he fucked Theresa in front of her. He tried to talk to Theresa, but she would reach for his crotch as if it were a cache of drugs that brought oblivion. Bill had to save her. Renee was glad to get time to herself again, walking down to the lake in a warm coat because it was only melted a week before. She wore a skirt, though, not because she expected to meet anyone - Mr. Winthrop - but because she needed to masturbate. Renee was ashamed of needing to do that all the time, especially because she could guess which girls were like her. Helen Schneeman, who sat in front of her in homeroom, for instance - Renee could tell by looking at her that the petite Jewess played with herself a lot. They weren't friends, but Renee would talk to her in the hall now and then. Helen was almost as self-absorbed as she was. Once they were both in the washroom at the same time - Renee recognized Helen's shoes and the cuffs of her wide-wale cords, the color of Scotch pine - and it sounded like Helen was constipated. Renee wished she had X-ray vision, listening to her - the noises were almost like sex noises, and for a minute Renee thought Helen was masturbating. Then she heard Helen's turd plop into the water. Renee wondered if other girls ever got excited when they peed and went poop - she'd thought about Yvonne that way, daydreaming about going to the bathroom together and maybe watching each other go, helping Yvonne wipe and dropping the wad of toilet paper, touching her with her bare fingers, her forefinger, teasing the tiny opening almost like it was her pee place. Renee rarely touched hers, but she knew that guys liked looking at girls' butts. She'd seen a group of older kids - kids from Lyndon B. Johnson Junior High School, she guessed - flirting at the mall. Three of the girls were wearing really tight jeans, and one of them was kissing a boy. He had his hand on her butt, and Renee saw him petting her - not just her crotch, from behind, but her tush, too, very obviously rubbing her anal area through the faded blue denim. Renee had felt a rush of arousal. She still thought about that girl. She was maybe thirteen or fourteen, only a year or so older - and Renee wished she could dress like that even though she wasn't sure if she had a nice ass. The girl and her friends dressed to draw attention to their derrieres, and it made Renee feel better about wanting guys to look at her butt. Not just guys, either - Renee had noticed a girl staring at her in the supermarket once. Sometimes Renee would wander away from her Aunt Nicky, walking around the Red Owl until she... She attracted attention, usually from men. Renee loved to be looked at. It wasn't that hard to find a man who wanted to look at her. Most of the time they were nervous, so she wasn't afraid. She'd just pretend to study the different Campbell's soups or types of pasta and relish their stares. Now and then she'd even make eye contact, but the one time a man tried to talk to her she got flustered and fled. A week before she went to Mallard Lake for the first time since the accident, Renee was studying the ice cream freezer, aware that a middle-aged man in a gray pullover was admiring her. His went to the checkout, and only then did Renee notice the girl on her right - the girl had been staring at her, too. She was fourteen or fifteen, with oily brown hair, eyes the color of bitter chocolate, milky skin and a small mole below the left corner of her mouth. Renee remembered thinking she was too old to be friendly - teenagers hardly ever talked to her. She said her name was Chloe and she lived in the new subdivision on the other side of the lake. She was more than friendly - she was definitely trying to make friends - and Renee wondered if she realized that she was only in sixth grade. Chloe was a freshman in high school, and she dressed like the girls Renee had been fascinated by at Crossroads Mall. She wore lip gloss and lots of silver rings and her fingernails were painted in a pretty shade of plum. Her jacket was open, and even though it was cold that day she had on a cream-colored crop top that hugged her titties like a second skin. They were small - about the size of the play teacups Renee had given to Jan - but that made the way she was flaunting them even more obscene somehow. Not only the outline but even the hue of her nipples was obvious, sepia, and her flat belly was as pale as a fish's. Renee realized that Chloe had seen her getting the man's attention. She wasn't sure how she knew, but she could tell that Chloe was a kindred spirit (that's what Renee wrote in her diary that night: "kindred spirit") - and she could sense that Chloe was... she was attracted to her, even though she was a girl. Renee hadn't come to terms with her feelings. Kissing Yvonne was the most exciting thing she'd ever done, much more exciting than being with Adam. Even just talking to Chloe at the Red Owl excited her more than making out with a boy - and Chloe was excited, too. They talked about the area - about Mallard Lake and where the convenience store was, about two miles down Anniston Road from the subdivision where Chloe lived - and then Aunt Nicky was looking for Renee, telling her to hurry. Renee had time to tell Chloe about the beach - Chloe was from Milwaukee, and didn't know where anything was. It was March, though, and hardly anybody would be at the beach until late May. Renee reached the lake in around one in the afternoon and headed for the thicket where she'd peed the previous summer. She froze when she heard a voice. There were people in the bushes - a boy; she could see the back of his head. Renee ducked and went sideways to where she could see them. There was another boy. She didn't recognize him at first. She only saw what he was doing - sucking the other boy's penis. Renee swallowed, staring. She recognized the shirt first. She couldn't believe it. Her little brother was kneeling in front of the other kid - the other kid looked older, thirteen or fourteen. Mikey was ten years old. Renee almost came without touching herself, watching him blow the boy. He wasn't being forced to do it - he wanted the boy's dick in his mouth as much as... as much as Renee needed to masturbate, rubbing, her mind's eye half in the scene before her and half in a world of ghosts and girls and feverish need, fingering her cunny through her pantyhose. She knew she should leave before they saw her - but she couldn't. The boy came in her brother's mouth. Mikey made a coughing noise and spit. Mikey had met Matt Ellis at school that week - Matt went to junior high, but he sometimes walked over to Hawthorne Elementary to meet his little sister. Lori Ellis was in fourth grade, and she was one of the only kids at school that didn't pick on Mike. Lori had asked Mikey if he wanted to come over that day. He was nervous when he first met Matt - he was used to everybody picking on him. Matt was really friendly, though. They went to the Ellises' house - it was a ramshackle A-frame near the abandoned farmhouse hardly anybody went to now that Theresa was a mother and her sister had run away. Matt said he would walk part of the way home with Mikey and offered to show him the derelict farm. Mike thought Matt was making fun of him at first - Matt said he was really pretty, like Mikey was a girl. It wasn't mean, though, and Matt made him feel warm and secure, like the older brother Mikey had never had because Billy was a bully. Matt unbuttoned Mikey's shirt and kissed him. He didn't feel like a fag - boys like Billy had called him a fag and a sissy for years - he felt like a girl, lying down on the mattress and letting Matt lick him and suck on his nipples. Matt said that when he first saw him, he thought he _was_ a girl - a very beautiful girl like Lori. Matt talked a lot, whispering things like that while he took off Mikey's clothes - girly things, making Mike feel really weird, like he felt when Billy caught him playing with dolls - only different, because Matt _wanted_ him to be a girl. He said he wanted him to be Lori's best friend. Lori liked Mikey a lot, he said - she liked girls, too, especially very pretty girls like Mikey. Lori was a very special girl. Matt undid Mikey's pants and took out his penis like Matt's uncle did when he did things to Lori. Sometimes Uncle Tom made Matt watch, and sometimes he wanted Matt to join in. Matt didn't want to hurt his sister - but he didn't want Uncle Tom to hurt him, either. Matt wasn't a girl, no matter what Uncle Tom said. Mikey really looked like a girl, lying on his back with his legs open. Matt put his penis in Mikey's mouth and touched the ten-year-old's anus. He called it a pussy - that's what Uncle Tom called Matt's asshole, only Mikey's ass really was like a girl's - like Lori's. Lori had already been raped in front, but her sexual focus was the musky little hole her Uncle Tom had been using for almost two years. Perhaps certain places have a mysterious magnetism - a mystical chemistry, like flaky people claim; once Mikey met Matt, every abused child within ten miles was finally connected. Perhaps it was the Palmers - something in their blood that drew such people to them. Renee slipped away after her little brother spat the boy's semen onto the ground. She was shaking, and her mouth was watering - she'd never really thought about sucking before, but seeing someone do it excited her in a very dirty way. Renee remembered tasting her pee in the thicket. Since then, she'd done that several times - she didn't like the taste as much as she liked the feeling, and she often fantasized about going to the bathroom with another girl. She remembered rubbing Adam through his jeans. Renee knew that boys wanted girls to suck their penises - she'd overheard things and seen graffiti and imagined Adam's pretty new girlfriend on her knees in front of him, pleasuring him. The idea of doing it was humiliating to her - but Renee knew that she would have swallowed Adam's semen if she'd done it. She wouldn't have spat it like Mikey did. After Renee left, Matt fucked Mikey for the first time. It hurt, but Mikey didn't cry. Matt tried to be gentle, and Mikey wanted to be his girlfriend - he wanted Matt to love his body, and it felt good when Matt came in his butt. Billy talked to Aunt Veronica at the beginning of April. He asked Nicky if Theresa and baby Gail could come live with them - it was more of a demand than a question. Nicky said she'd think about it - he was fourteen years old, the place was too small, they could get in trouble... Billy hit her, hard. Billy could do whatever he wanted. It was a madhouse when Paul came by - Bill, Theresa and baby Gail had taken what had been Nicky's room. Jan, Renee and Aunt Nicky shared the room on the end, and Mikey, Jake and Robbie had the room in the middle. "Are you fucking crazy?" Paul yelled at Veronica, not Billy. Veronica crumpled - being bossed around by her fourteen-year-old nephew was different from obeying an abusive husband. Now Paul loomed over her again - he loomed over her like everyone always had. After he left, Nicky took Jake to the bathroom - something she hadn't done in months. Masturbating, she got the seven-year-old to pee in mommy's mouth. At least Billy had his hands full with Theresa and the baby - he was trying to get Theresa to act respectable. She acted like a toy, but she had to wear clothes and cook and clean, and Renee had more time to herself. Renee didn't talk to Mikey about what she'd seen. She went to the lake a lot, vaguely looking for Mr. Winthrop and the girl she'd met at the Red Owl, but it wasn't until May that she saw the man again - she was walking along the beach in a suede jacket and knee-length cotton skirt the color of a stormy sky, white ankle socks and sandals when she spotted him near the thicket. She pretended not to see him but continued walking in his direction, worrying about her appearance. He waved to her, and she waved back and went towards him. "Renee! How are you?" He remembered her name! What she'd felt the summer before came flooding back - she remembered everything he'd said just as she'd written it down in her diary. "Fine, thank you, Mr. Winthrop." "Ah, you do remember me," he said, smiling. "I'm surprised to see you in these parts at this time of year. Here for the weekend?" "No, sir. I - we live here now. My - my mother passed away." "I'm very sorry to hear that, Renee. With whom are you living now?" "My Aunt Veronica." "I see... well, welcome, welcome back! It will be so nice to have a budding poetess like you about!" Renee blushed. "Veronica... would that be Paul Gallatin's wife?" How did he know? "Yes, sir," Renee said slowly. "But they're divorced." "Yes... yes, I know. I thought I detected a family resemblance. You look even lovelier than you did last year, Renee." Renee held her breath and looked straight at him. "Beautiful - extraordinary beautiful." Did he say that to everyone? "Thank you, Mr. Winthrop." "You're quite welcome, Miss. It's such a pleasure to see you!" He hesitated. "Perhaps you'd join me for tea? I wouldn't ask if I thought it inappropriate, but as your aunt is a friend of mine..." Renee agreed without hesitation and walked with him to the gate she'd stood by the summer before, keeping her distance and trying to silence the butterflies fluttering within her white belly, under the forest green suede and blue silk blouson and cream-colored camisole she wore. She knew what she was doing - part of her felt older, almost like a teenager, but even if she'd been a teenager it was wrong. He was so much older! Part of her felt silly - what if they were only having tea? She'd have to talk about her writing - and she felt like she couldn't. She couldn't relax. "I'll have to ask you to take your shoes off," he said in the vestibule. "Unfortunately your beautiful feet aren't bare," he added, touching her shoulder. Renee tried not to blush. She wished they were bare. She wished he would embrace her - and then he did, from behind, after taking off her jacket, pulling her to him and kissing her neck. She was trembling, but her willingness was obvious to him. Girls like her were few and far between - he wasn't sure if she'd been molested before, but she responded like she had been. "You play with yourself a lot, don't you, Renee?" She felt dizzy, letting him undress her and lead her to the leather sofa in the sumptuous living room, naked except for her socks. "Will you show me? I'd like to see how you play... okay?" She looked drugged, self-consciously rubbing her cunny while he removed her socks and took out his cock. "Have you seen one before?" It was half-hard but bigger than the one she'd seen Mikey sucking. "Have you seen a cock before, honey?" Renee kept rubbing, tears welling up in her big gray eyes. Then he was kissing her there - not just her slit, her fingers, too - and a few minutes later his penis was pushing into her, opening her, popping her cherry and sliding up her while she whimpered like an even younger girl and arched her back. She didn't feel older anymore, and she didn't want it - she felt like she did when her Uncle Paul had trapped her in the kitchen, only a man's cock was sawing in and out of her, hurting her. She twisted underneath him like a little white fish on a hook, curling her toes and crying, but her movements only gave him pleasure. Then he was coming, his cock buried in her cunny to the hilt, and she knew it was over. Copyright (c) 2003, Silvio Stoker. ALL Rights Reserved ================================== This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. ********************************** Wish to read more texts of this writer? To load archives, pass to a file [0SilvioStoker.htm] in the same catalogue. Or on my homepage Sergdriver There more many fascinating stories of other writers and mine too! *********************************