A Collection of Short Stories Volume 2

                      by Tempest

STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The material herein is fictional and is intended as ADULT entertainment. It contains material of an adult, explicit, SEXUAL nature. It contains themes of incest and underage sexual activities. If you are offended by (or it is illegal for you to read) sexually explicit content or language, please DO NOT read any further. All characters in the story are fictitious; any similarity to any persons, places, individuals or situations is purely coincidental. The author does not necessarily condone nor endorse any of the activities described in this story.
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This is Volume 2 of my collection of short stories. Most of them are less than 4,000 or 5,000 words, but the occasional one may run over and a few are very short, less than 2,000 words. I will add new ones to the top of the index from time to time, and repost.

Here's a link to Volume 1

I hope you will enjoy them, and thanks for reading. Please fill out the comments section at the end, and let me know what you thought of them, as it gives me feedback as to what my readers like and don't like.

Thanks

Tempest


Story Index

Click on the title in the list below to jump that story.

The Mysterious Sisters

Love On The Orient-Express

Melrose O'Brien


Melrose O'Brien

Mf 14, ped, 1st.
Melrose O'Brien is offered something he has wanted his whole adult life–the chance to have sex with a young girl, but it comes at a price.
Word Count: 3,168
Date Published: May 00 2018


I'll pose a hypothetical question. What if you knew who was going to win the Baseball World Series; or which horse was going to win the Triple Crown; or the winning number on the Powerball Lottery? You would place bets or buy a lottery ticket, and you would be rich right?

Melrose O'Brien, Mel to his parents, his older brother, and his one and only friend in the whole wide world was one fortunate man this warm May afternoon. No, he was not going to know the name of a baseball team. Neither was he going to receive the name of a horse. And he was not going to be given winning lottery ticket numbers. He was going to receive what he had wanted all of his sad adult thirty-nine years.

An older distinguished looking gentleman approached the bench on which Melrose O'Brien sat watching the local high school girls' soccer team practice. The man's receding hairline was hidden by a dark-grey trilby. But the hat couldn't hide his grey–almost white hair that was neatly trimmed an inch above the collar of his white shirt.

The man was dressed in a dark-grey three-piece suit with cuffs at the trouser bottoms, and three buttons at the jacket cuffs. An inch and a half of French cuff were exposed beyond the jacket's sleeves and were fastened with gold cufflinks. There was a silver watch chain attached to the vest buttonhole with a T-bar; the chain disappeared into a fob pocket.

The gentleman carried a black ebony walking stick with a strange silver top in the shape of a gargoyle. As he neared where Melrose O'Brien sat, he tipped the brim of his hat with his index finger. The hand to which it belonged held a pair of cream colored gloves.

"Good day sir," the gentleman said. "May I join you?"

"It's a free country buddy," Melrose O'Brien replied, not taking his eyes off two young girls running not six feet away.

The stranger dusted the seat off with his gloves, leaned his walking stick against the cast iron armrest and sat down. The two of them sat in silence watching the girls practice. Melrose O'Brien thought the man to be a little eccentric. I mean who dresses up in a three-piece suit, a hat and a cane and stroll through a school soccer field on a warm May day. He also had a slight accent–British maybe. Melrose O'Brien glanced over at the man; he didn't appear to be sweating; Melrose was sweating a little even though he was dressed in a light tee-shirt and cargo pants.

Two girls came running down the sideline, one attempting to take the black and white soccer ball away from the other. The girl's foot caught the other girl's, and the other girl went crashing to the turf.

The coach blew his whistle. "Greta, this is only practice," he shouted. "That was unnecessary."

"Sorry coach," Greta said. She extended a hand which the other girl grasped and pulled herself up. The two girls hugged and ran off.

"Young girls are a wonderful sight are they not?" the gentleman said. "Such young slender bodies, blossoming into womanhood. Such tender buds coming into bloom."

The words that the gentleman used rung true with Melrose O'Brien since he was sitting there not as a father of one of the girls on the soccer team, but as a man who lusted after pubescent girls. He had had a predilection for girls in the eleven to fourteen-year-old age bracket for most of his adult life. Thirty-nine years of longing to have sex with a young girl. That act, although possible, was repressed since spending the rest of his life in prison was something Melrose O'Brien wanted to avoid like the plague.

Melrose O'Brien was not an attractive man–in fact, most of the girls he had approached had found him repulsive even. He was labeled a pervert and was shunned by most of society. Melrose O'Brien was intrigued by this stranger who, although more debonair than he could ever be, seemed to have the same love for young girls.

He proffered his hand. "My name's Melrose O'Brien, but most folks call me Mel," he said.

The older gentleman shook his hand. "Samael Prince," he replied. "Nice to make your acquaintance."

Melrose O'Brien decided to push the envelope. He figured that this guy to be rich and perhaps had access to girls he lusted after.

"You like to look at young girls?" Melrose O'Brien said.

"There is nothing more exciting than the sight of a young girl's naked body," he replied. "The feeling of their soft smooth flesh as you run your hands over their naked bodies is divine. Touching their breasts–some large and firm–some small and soft is an unimaginable pleasure, as is running a finger along the tight slits of their pussies."

Now Melrose O'Brien was really getting excited–he was almost drooling. "Me too Samael. I've sat and watched these girls for a while now, and have wondered what it would be like to watch them shower after soccer practice."

"Would you like to see?" Samael asked.

"I don't see how that would be possible," Melrose O'Brien replied.

"Oh, everything is possible Mel," Samael said, "you just have to trust me. You do trust me don't you Mel?"

Melrose O'Brien was almost salivating at the thought of seeing so many naked nubile bodies. His cock was as hard as a baseball bat, but he knew he could not get anywhere near the girl's locker room, let alone in their showers. He looked over the soccer pitch; the coach blew his whistle.

"Okay girls," he shouted, "that's enough for today. Go take a shower and get dressed." The girls all started walking toward the school's athletic wing.

"Well do you Mel?" Samael repeated.

"Yes, yes I do," Melrose O'Brien replied as he watched the girls' buttocks moving sensually inside their loose blue shorts.

"Take my hand and don't let go," Samael said as he stood up.

Samael picked up his walking cane in his right hand; Melrose O'Brien grasped his left–he could hardly believe what he was doing. In the back of his mind he knew it was not possible to go into the girls' locker room, and yet, here he was holding the hand of this strange gentleman who almost had him in a trance.

They walked with the girls as they entered the building and down a hallway. It seemed to Melrose as if no one could see them since no one was looking at them, yet the girls moved around them to avoid bumping into them. Melrose's head was throbbing, and his heart-rate was through the roof. His cock was straining inside his pants in anticipation of what he was about to see.

They were now standing inside the girls' locker room; they watched as the girls sat on the benches and removed their cleats and socks. They stood and quickly removed their soccer shirts and shorts. Melrose O'Brien didn't know where to look as girl after girl removed their underwear. It seemed to him that the school had a dress code since every girl wore a white sports bra and full-cut, cotton panties.

Melrose O'Brien's vision was filled with breasts of all shapes and sizes–some just small bumps–some the size of half-lemons, and a few large and firm. He saw vulvas–some with large bushes of pubic hair–some with sparse tufts–some completely bald depending on the individual girl's stage of development. He was in heaven as he watched the girls shower–rubbing their breasts with soapy hands or between their legs. They were all laughing and talking. He saw a few girls washing each other–their hands washing breasts and pussies, smiling at each other.

He couldn't stand it anymore; he unzipped his fly and fished his cock out and began masturbating as he watched the sea of naked flesh before him. One girl was within a foot of where he was standing, and the fact that no water had touched him was utterly lost on him as he furiously stroked his rod.

A few minutes later, he felt his cock swell and pulse, and a huge rope of pearly-white cum jetted out the end and splashed against the girl standing just a foot away from him. The load of semen hit her left breast and immediately was washed away. Another and another rope hit the girl's breasts and stomach, they ran down her legs and onto the tile floor of the shower. His cum was soon washed away down the central drain.

Melrose O'Brien's legs were weak, and he would have collapsed in a heap on the shower's floor if he wasn't holding Samael's hand. As one by one the girls left the showers and began to dry themselves, Samael and Melrose O'Brien went into the locker room. There they watched the girls get dressed in their school uniforms.

The next thing Melrose O'Brien became aware of, he was sitting on the same bench as before, and Samael was sat beside him. He didn't know if he had imagined what had just taken place or not, but his post orgasmic euphoria and his flaccid penis told him that he had just climaxed.

"Did you enjoy watching the girls shower Mel?" Samael asked.

"Good God yes," Melrose O'Brien replied. He never noticed that Samael flinched at his reply.

"How would you like to spend the night with one of those girls? Explore every inch, every crevice of her young body? Suckle her petite breasts? Tweak those tiny nipples? Taste the juices of her pussy? Penetrate her vagina–take her virginity even?"

Melrose O'Brien now had another raging erection–something that had never happened before so soon after ejaculating. "Yes, yes, yes," he replied. Then he realized that it was an impossibility.

"But that's not possible," he said.

"So was watching the girls shower," Samael replied.

"But why would you help me? What do you want–money? I don't have much."

"I want something more valuable than money–I want your soul?"

Melrose O'Brien laughed. "That's the stuff of stories and movies."

"Very well then," Samael said, "if you think that it's not possible to give away your soul then you've got nothing to lose. If you want to spend a night with one of those girls then just say yes."

Melrose O'Brien laughed again. He thought that the old man was batty, but the idea of fucking a young nubile girl was too much to turn down, so he humored him. He didn't know how the old man was going to persuade a girl of his choosing to spend the night with him–let him fuck her, and he didn't care.

"Yes, I agree," Melrose O'Brien said.

"Very well then," Samael replied, "let's go and see which girl you want. Hold my hand again."

Melrose O'Brien held Samael's hand as they walked through the school hallways. There were so many beautiful girls, it was difficult for him to choose. There were redheads, blondes, brunettes and many shades in between. Tall girls, short girls, thin girls, fat girls, pretty girls, ugly girls. Again, as in the locker room, no one seemed to pay them any heed; it was if they weren't there.

Then he saw her.

She was tall at five foot four, with gentle swells of breasts under her white blouse. She was slender with nice hips that flared out from a slim waist. Her dusty-blonde hair fell in ringlets over her shoulders, and she had the most beautiful cornflower blue eyes he had ever seen. Her lips were crying out for a kiss or to be wrapped around the head of his cock.

"That one," Melrose O'Brien said pointing at the girl.

"Excellent choice," Samael said.

They walked over to where the girl was standing looking at the noticeboard. "Good day my dear," he said to her.

She turned and smiled at him and replied, "Hello."

"What's your name, my dear?" Samael asked.

"Ophelia," she replied.

Melrose O'Brien was trembling with excitement. She looked at him, and smiled warmly–something no girl had ever done. They usually sneered at him, or called him a creep or a perv and walked away.

"And how old are you Ophelia?"

"I just turned fourteen."

"This handsome man here wants you to spend tonight with him at his house. His name's Mel."

Ophelia looked at Melrose O'Brien again. "I'd love to," she said. "Let me talk to my call my Mom and tell here I'm spending the night at a girlfriend's house."

They watched as she hit a speed dial button on her phone. She told her mother that she wouldn't be home and not to worry.

"Okay, can we go now," she said. "I can't wait to get in bed with you Mel. But you have to be gentle with me since I'm a virgin."

Melrose O'Brien was almost salivating. He didn't know what sort of spell Samael had over the girl, and he didn't care. Ophelia held Melrose O'Brien's hand as they walked to his car and got in. He looked around for Samael, but he was nowhere to be found. He drove home; he had to keep his speed below the limit since he didn't want to be stopped by a cop, and explain what a fourteen-year-old girl was doing in his car.

"Where's your bedroom?" Ophelia asked as soon as they got inside his apartment.

"This way," Melrose O'Brien replied.

She followed him to his bedroom where she began undressing. Melrose O'Brien watched as she slowly unbuttoned her white blouse; she removed it; she unzipped her skirt and removed it as well. She was now stood there wearing a white cotton bra and matching full-cut panties. She put her hands behind her back, unhooked her bra, and let it fall off her arms onto the floor.

He gasped loudly as he saw her gorgeous breasts. They were the size of half lemons, and they stood high on her chest, spaced far apart. Her areolas had darkened and stippled with her arousal. Ophelia quickly hooked her thumbs inside the waist of her cotton panties and tugged them over her hips. Gravity took over, and they fell to the floor, where she stepped out of them.

She stood with one hand on her hip as he stared at her full pussy. Her plump labia filled the space at the top of her slender thighs, and her clitoral hood showed in her tight slit. Melrose O'Brien quickly shed his clothes and got onto the bed, where Ophelia immediately began fellating him.

He was moaning loudly as she bobbed her head up and down; her full red lips were around his dickhead, sucking it while rubbing the shaft with her right hand–her left hand was between her legs furiously rubbing her clit.

"C'mon Mel, get on top of me and take my cherry," Ophelia said.

Melrose O'Brien needed no more urging. He got between her slender thighs and swiped his cockhead up and down her very wet slit half a dozen times. The bulbous, purple-rimmed head of his cock pushed aside her red engorged labia revealing her small inner lips and the dark opening to her vagina.

"Let me," she said. He let go of his cock as she grasped its shaft and guided it to the entrance to her vagina. She pushed in. He felt the tight ring of her entrance resist. Undeterred, she pushed harder. She cried out as his cock penetrated her. There was no blood as her hymen had long since melted away from vigorous exercise. But she was very tight–her vagina gripped his cock in a tight velvet vise. Melrose O'Brien could hardly believe he had just done something he had dreamed of for most of his adult life–took the virginity of a young girl.

"C'mon Mel, fuck me," she said.

With her firm buttocks in his hands, he began to fuck Ophelia, his fourteen-year-old goddess. As he stroked in and out of her, she adjusted to having an adult cock inside her pussy for the first time in her young life. After a few minutes, Melrose O'Brien was easily stroking into her, bumping her end.

Ophelia was moaning; she was snorting as she quickly inhaled when he bumped her cervix. MelroseO'Brien was getting close to his orgasm, and he didn't care if Ophelia didn't climax since he put his pleasure ahead of hers. He felt his cock swell as he pumped her vagina full of his teeming fluid.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cried as he spurted his cum into her. He had never spurted as much cum before as he was doing at this moment. Then he felt a bizarre sensation. It was if he was being held; he couldn't move his arms. He was bent over a low cinderblock wall–the hard edge dug into his stomach, and he could hear water running. He looked to each side; a thin white guy held is right wrist and a short black man held his left wrist. Both men were naked. He turned his head, and saw a large black man looming over him sporting a huge erection. It must be all of eight inches, Melrose O'Brien thought.

"So this is Melrose O'Brien." The deep voice came from the mouth of a large black man standing behind him; his cock was as big around as a baseball bat. "This is the piece of shit who kidnapped and raped that girl–what was her name, Charlie?"

"It was Ophelia, Bubba. Ophelia Watson," the thin white guy who was holding him down said.

"Well Mr. Melrose O'Brien, let's see if you like being raped," Bubba said. "Gimme the soap, Leroy."

Melrose O'Brien felt large hands part his buttocks. "No please don't do it," he cried, begged, pleaded.

He looked up and saw Samael Prince. He was not dressed in a three-piece suit with a trilby on his head or a walking cane and cream-colored gloves in his hand. He was dressed in prison clothes. Melrose O'Brien wondered why Samael wasn't getting wet even though he was standing in the showers.

"Help me Samael," Melrose cried. "Where am I, what's happening?"

"You're in hell on earth Mel. Don't you remember? You sold your soul for a night with Ophelia?"

"But I didn't kidnap or rape her."

"Do you really think an ugly pervert like you could get a fourteen-year-old beauty like Ophelia to go home with you and agree to have sex with you?"

"You tricked me Samael," Melrose O'Brien said.

"Welcome to my world," Samael Prince replied with a laugh that sent shivers down Melrose O'Brien's spine.

Melrose O'Brien screamed as a huge cock rammed into his ass.

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Love On The Orient-Express

Mf 16, incest, 1st, father/daughter, con, oral, romantic.
A man takes his daughter on the Orient-Express as a sixteenth birthday present. Their suite only has one bed, and it changes their relationship irrevocably.
Word Count: 5,073
Date Published: August 03 2018


My daughter Sally and I were on a trip of a lifetime. I had booked our tickets on the London to Venice Simplon Orient-Express. It was my sixteenth birthday present to my daughter–sort of a coming-of-age present if you will. Ever since her mother, my wife, died when she was seven, we had grown close–close as a father and daughter could be. We went to the movies together; I was her date at her junior high school prom even though I begged her to ask a boy.

She had never dated anyone–said I was enough for her. I told her that it was a little unhealthy for her to think of her father as her date, but she brushed it off. I had to admit that I got some very jealous looks from guys as they saw my daughter with her arm hooked in mine walking into the movie theater, or in the mall, or into a restaurant.

Sally was a beautiful sixteen-year-old, tall at five-six, willowy with long slim legs. Her natural blonde hair reached to mid-back if she left it loose, otherwise it was held in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck with a Scrunchie. This last eighteen months had seen her develop into a young woman with hips that flared out from a slim waist–a classic hourglass figure albeit a still developing one.

The last twelve months had seen her breast grow from an A-cup to a full B-cup. Of course, she insisted that I accompany her on her forays into Victoria's Secret for underwear much to my discomfort. Sally had avoided the bane of all teenagers–acne; she had a perfect complexion, and her face was classic Northern European. She took after her mother who was Swedish, with high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips. She was all-in-all the complete package, and someday she was going to make some guy a very happy husband.

She could hardly contain her enthusiasm as we boarded the train in London just before ten o'clock in the morning. I had booked a suite with its own bathroom and sitting area. A porter took our luggage, and we followed him down the corridor. He slid open the door to our suite, and we stepped inside behind him inside. He opened the door to the bedroom and placed our suitcases on two folding frames. I looked inside and saw the queen-sized bed. Puzzled, I asked him where the other bedroom was.

"There is only one bedroom sir," he replied. Only our adjoining cabins have separate sleeping spaces."

"But there must be some mistake," I said.

"No sir," the porter replied, "we only have two suites on this train, and your tickets show that you have this one."

Sally tugged at my arm. "It's okay Dad," she said, "it'll be alright."

I sighed. "Okay honey." I tipped the porter, and he left.

Sally jumped on the bed and rolled to the window side and said, "This is my half Dad."

We quickly unpacked, and as the train started to pull out of Victoria station, we walked down to the lounge car and took a seat next to the window.

"This is going to be so much fun," Sally said. "How long will it take to get to Venice?"

I was deep in thought. I didn't know how I was going to react sleeping in the same bed as my daughter. At home, she seemed oblivious to the fact that I was a man as well as her father. She would often walk around the house in just her underwear, or if she'd just taken a bath or a shower she would have a towel wrapped around her, and she didn't seem to be aware that when she sat down, I could see all the way to the top of her slender thighs.

Since she entered puberty at the age of eleven, I was acutely aware that she was all feminine. She started to get more curvaceous and fill out in all the right places. As she began to grow breasts and her bum got more rounded, it was getting tough for me to separate Sally the daughter from Sally the young woman. I would never act on my desire for her in a million years, but I desired her nonetheless.

"Daaad," she said, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Sorry honey, what did you say?"

"I asked how long it would take to get to Venice?"

"Around thirty hours," I replied. "We arrive in Venice tomorrow evening around six o'clock."

"Okay," she replied and went back reading her teen magazine.

I looked at her dressed in her sky-blue camisole that came to her midriff, and her white cotton shorts. She had her long slender legs folded under her on the seat. One of the straps of her white bra had dropped off her shoulder. She subconsciously put it back in place only to have it slip off again a few minutes later.

The mid-morning sun caught her from behind making her blonde hair even lighter. She was stunningly beautiful, and I sometimes have to pinch myself to remind me she's my daughter. But if I was honest with myself, she had inherited most of her genes from her mother–it was only her cornflower blue eyes that told the world she was my daughter.

She caught me staring at her. "What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking what an incredibly lucky man I am to have such a stunningly beautiful daughter."

She blushed a tad. "Aw thanks, Dad," she replied. "I'm the lucky one to have such a wonderful and very sexy father."

Sexy! She thinks I'm sexy? My own daughter thinks I'm sexy. Wow, how about that, I thought. We ate lunch of smoked salmon in the dining car. Sally insisted on having an ice cream sundae for dessert.



All through lunch, she played footsie with me–something she loved to do at home. I remember the time when she was around twelve. She had just taken a shower, and she came downstairs wearing a bath towel around her torso and a hand towel wrapped around her head, turban style. She plopped down in the high-backed swivel stool at the kitchen island.

I was reading the Sunday paper when she decided she wanted to move my stool. She put one foot on the back and started to rotate it. What she didn't realize was that as she moved her foot, the bath towel gaped and I got a good view of my daughter's pussy. I was surprised that she had any pubic hair. But there it was–her mons had a smattering of blonde curly hairs that stopped short of her tight slit with its indentation at the top where her clitoris was located.

She had a devilish grin on her face, and her cornflower blue eyes twinkled at me. I played along with her little game of annoyance. I acted miffed as she kept rotating my stool and I rotated it back. I could see her pussy flashing its very sensual smile at me every time she moved her leg. I had a sneaking suspicion that she knew I could see her pussy, and that made my cock even harder.

"Sally, I'm trying to read the paper here," I said at length. "Stop with the stool thing will you."

Sally got off her stool, put her arms around my neck and kissed me. I had received countless kisses from her in the past, but this was the first time she ever kissed me on my lips. It was the most wonderful kiss I had ever received; her lips were soft, and rather than just grazing my lips she pressed–not hard by any means but enough to let me know she wanted to kiss like an adult.

She let go of my neck and walked out of the kitchen. As she did so, the towel around her midriff came loose; she grabbed it before it fell to the floor but didn't attempt to put it back on. As she walked in a somewhat exaggerated gait, the twin orbs of her exquisite bum moved in counterpoint. My cock was straining for not only physical relief from its constraints but sexual relief as well. A quick visit to the powder room satisfied both needs.



Dropped bath towels became a sort of habit–not every time though–maybe every other month or so. I guess it was whenever the feeling came over her and I didn't do anything to dissuade her–just let her believe I thought it an accident.

I remember the first time I saw her breasts. It was another Sunday morning, and I was sitting on one of the high-backed stools reading the funnies section of the newspaper. Sally was standing sipping a glass of grapefruit juice when she decided she didn't like the way her bath towel was knotted. She put her glass down on the granite counter such that the noise garnered my attention. She undid the knot, quickly unwrapped the towel and wrapped herself back up but not before I got a good look at her breasts.

I had to stifle back a gasp as I saw them; they were the size of golfballs, sitting high on her chest with slightly darker pink than her skin with small beaded nipples. As she moved her body to rewrap the towel, they moved slightly. Then they were gone–hidden under the thick terry cotton. She never looked at me the whole time. I guess she didn't want me to think it was a blatant act for me to see her breasts.



"Dad," she said, reaching across the dining room table jostling my arm, "You're deep in thought today."

I turned from looking out at the French countryside moving steadily past the carriage's window as we sped by to Sally's smiling face.

"Just looking out and enjoying the scenery. Can't wait to get to Venice, our first time there."

"I'm looking forward to it as well," she said.

We finished dinner, left the dining car and went to the Champagne bar where I enjoyed an after dinner drink. I let Sally have a small glass of Champagne, which she enjoyed so much she asked for another glass. I got the waitress to pour just half a glass. She wrinkled her nose at me–something she always did if she was mildly unhappy with me. I thought it so cute.



Back in our suite, I went to the bathroom, showered, and changed into a pair of pajama bottoms. When I returned to the salon, Sally had already got undressed. She was wearing pajamas and lying on her back on the window side of the bed; they were made out a silk-like material; I remembered buying them for her at Abercrombie and Fitch. They were a light blue with dark blue piping; the top buttoned down the front and the bottoms were a pair of shorts.

The fact that I could see the swells of her breasts standing up from her chest, and her hard bead-like nipples poking at the top didn't help my southern situation. Trying to hide an erection inside a pair of cotton pajama bottoms is like trying to conceal a three C-cell Mag-Lite in your pant pocket–an impossibility.

Sally, to her credit, wasn't staring at the noticeable bulge in my pajamas but was still snatching glances at it as I got into bed. Thankful at last that the covers hid my erection I started to relax.

"I just thought of something Sally."

"What's that Dad?"

"You're the first female I've shared a bed with since Catherine died."

"I begged you to start dating Dad, but you wouldn't hear of it?"

"I had you to raise, didn't have time for the dating scene."

"I was old enough to look after myself when I turned eleven. You could have tried to meet someone then."

The fact of the matter was, Sally was the only female I wanted in my life. She was so precious to me, and I loved her so very, very much, that the thought of having sex with another female hardly crossed my mind.

"You were all I needed Sally. All I ever needed."

Sally rolled to her side and put her leg over mine, and snuggled into my shoulder. She played with the sparse hair around my nipple.

"You're so sweet, Dad. I couldn't have asked for a better father."

We lay there, with my arm around her and her head on my shoulder, enjoying each other's company.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?" Sally said after a few minutes had gone by.

"Sure you can honey," I replied. From the very start, Catherine and I had been completely honest with Sally, answering all of her questions, and a young girl can be one curious female.

"What's it like to get a blowjob. I know Mom used to give you ones because she told me."

For a brief moment, I was stunned that Sally would ask such a question. Then I remembered my promise, to be honest.

"It's an incredible feeling. Not as good as intercourse but the next best thing. Why do you want to know?"

She thought for a few moments; her brow knitted–a sure sign that her mind was working overtime and finally said, "Would you let me do it?"

I hesitated as the image of my daughter's lips around the shaft of my cock sprang to mind. I'm sure Sally noticed my slight hesitation.

"Heavens no Sally. Apart from it being highly illegal, it's just not the right thing for a father and daughter to do."

"It's legal cuz I'm sixteen now."

"Sex between a father and daughter is incest, and incest at any age is illegal."

"Well it's a silly law," she said.

"It's the law nonetheless."

"You and Mom were in love, and when two people are in love, they do things with each other to make them happy and give them pleasure. Mom told me that she loved doing it."

"But a father's and daughter's love is different to that of a married couple."

"It normally is Dad. The reason I don't date is that I don't just love you, I'm in love with you, and there's a difference."

I said nothing since I had nothing to say.

"I've seen the way you look at me. You think the dropped towels were accidents. I wanted you to see me naked. I would guess you have an erection right now. I saw the outline of your cock in your pajamas before you got into bed."

"I must admit Sally, that you are a very, very sexy and desirable young woman, and I'd be a liar if the thought of having sex with you never entered my mind. But I daren't cross that line–there's too much at stake. You might start to hate me."

"I could never hate you Dad, not in a million years. Please, will you let me? I know what to do, I've seen it on the Internet."

Sally didn't wait for my answer. She kicked the covers down and found the opening to my pajamas. Before I could stop her–and I didn't know if I even wanted to–she had found my cock, and started to squeeze it. I moaned with pleasure as I felt my daughter's hand stroke my cock.

"No, Sally you shouldn't," I said with hardly a smidgen of conviction.

She let go of it, and unbuttoned my pajamas and began to tug them down. I lifted my bum off the bed, and she pushed them all the way down. I finally kicked them off. I watched as my sixteen-year-old daughter grasped the shaft of my cock, and lowered her mouth over its bulbous head. With her lips clamped around the shaft, she began to suck as she stroked the shaft with one hand while cradling my balls in her other.

Sally must have spent hours on the internet watching women fellate men since she was pretty darn good for, what I assumed was, her first time. Not as good as her mother had been, but there again Catherine had been giving me blowjobs ever since we started dating. Sally took her mouth off my cock with an audible 'plop.'

"Am I doing it right Dad?" she asked with all sincerity.

"Almost as good as your mother," I told her.

"I want to be as good as Mom was," she said. "I want to make you feel like Mom made you feel."

She went back to sucking my cock and stroking its shaft. Every minute or so, she would pull her mouth off and use the broad pad of her tongue to lick all the way from the root of my cock to its head where she would swirl her tongue around the end. I was lost in the sensation of her mouth over my cockhead. Her cheeks indented as she sucked. For a brief moment, I saw my wife's golden locks covering my crotch until Sally pulled them back behind her ear. She looked at me and smiled with her cornflower blue eyes.

I needed to tell her that I was close to ejaculating. Catherine loved to taste and swallow my cum, but it would be unfair to Sally to just cum in her mouth without prior warning. I needed to give her the options.

"Dad's close to cumming baby," I said.

She looked at me, and pulled her mouth off my cock and said, "Mom told me that you used to cum in her mouth and she loved its taste as she swallowed it. I want to taste your cum as well."

"Make sure you breathe through your nose then," I told her.

I groaned as she went back to giving me an exquisite blow job. It wasn't even another minute until I climaxed. She reacted with a small jerk as the first rope of my cum hit the back of her throat, but she had remembered to breathe through her nose, so it didn't make her choke and cough. Instead, she swallowed as the next rope spurted in her mouth.

Finally, I was done. Sally took her head off my cock, licked her lips, and smiled. "Was it good?" she asked.

I waited until my breathing calmed. "More than good honey," I replied.

She gave a big sigh of relief. "You shot a lot of cum," she said. "I didn't expect that, but breathing through my nose was a good suggestion."

I lay there with my cock slowly softening. I had crossed that line, and there was no going back now.

"You okay Sally?"

"I'm fine Dad," she replied. "You worry too much. I'm sixteen years old; I'm old enough to know what I want."

"I know what I want," I said. "I want you naked."

Sally wasted no time. The top was unbuttoned in record time and was thrown on the floor. Her shorts quickly followed. She got back into bed and lay on her back. She was now nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, witnessed by her rapid breathing.

"My God Sally," I said, "you've got an amazing body."

And she did have an amazing body. Her breasts stood up, firm full, the size of half oranges; they were definitely a nice handful. Her areolas were the size of quarters and had darkened and stippled. Her nipples were hard and like small cupcakes–larger at the top. There was a reddish tinge across the top of her chest and her neck–a sure sign of her arousal. My gaze went lower, across her flat tummy to her mons, rising up like a small hillock in the valley between two bony hips.

The hair I had seen when she was playing footsie with my stool at the kitchen island, was a little denser but stopped short of her cleft. Her labia, plump, flushed, engorged with blood were bare and smooth. They filled the gap at the top of her long slender legs–the ridge of her clitoral hood and her thin inner labia were exposed.

I leaned in, cupped her left breast, and began sucking on her right nipple; it was as hard as a bead. She put her hand on my head and ran her fingers through my hair.

"I've wanted you to do this ever since I was eleven years old, Dad."

"And I've wanted to do this ever since you were eleven years old," I replied.

I lifted my head and kissed her lips. Her mouth opened and her tongue pushed between my lips, into my mouth. We kissed passionately for a good minute. I slipped my hand off her breasts, across her flat–almost concave tummy, and as my fingers touched her clitoral hood, she shuddered and kissed me harder.

She opened her legs, and I took her invitation and cupped her gorgeous plump pussy. My middle finger pressed into her cleft, oozing aside her labia and as it entered the wet opening to her vagina, she climaxed.

"Oh God Dad," she cried.

She put her arms around my neck and pulled my body tight against hers. I could feel her heart beating in her chest and her whole body shaking and jerking as her orgasm consumed her. My hand was clamped tight between slender thighs, with the tip of my finger being squeezed by her vaginal muscles.

After a good minute, she began to come down from her orgasmic high; her breathing slowed, and she slackened her grip on with her arms and her thighs. Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at me with tremendous love in her cornflower blue eyes. Then she started crying. I held her to my chest as she shed tears of joy–tears of love.

She lifted her head off my chest and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "Thank you, Dad," she said. "You don't know how many times I've laid in bed, masturbating imagining it was your finger inside my pussy."

I kissed her salty lips. "I love you so very, very much Sally."

"I love you too Dad. This is going to be the best holiday ever."

I shuffled down the bed, between her legs, and began to lap at her pussy. She was very wet, and the taste of her juices was like nectar–sweet yet a little tangy with a hint of floral soap and her sweat. She gasped as I inserted two fingers into her vagina, gauging her size. I wanted so much to take her virginity, but I didn't want it at the expense of hurting her. I could feel her vaginal muscles squeezing down on my two fingers. A third finger told me what I needed to know–she would stretch enough to accept my cock inside her.

Leaving my three fingers inside her, I turned my attention to her clitoris. Her orgasm had caused her nubbin to come out to play, so play with it I did. I sucked and licked it, and it almost doubled in size. Sally took after her mother, who also had a large clitoris once she was aroused, and Sally was aroused alright.

Sally was chasing her second orgasm. Her brow was knitted as she concentrated; her eyes were shut tight, and I could feel her bum jerk occasionally. Her vaginal muscles were pulsing, and small jerks of her legs telegraphed her impending orgasm. I wasn't disappointed as she let out a long guttural moan.

"Oh my God Dad," she cried as her orgasm crashed into her. She snapped her legs closed around my head, and her vagina squeezed my three fingers. Her whole body shook and jerked in the bed, and her head rolled from side to side on the pillow. This went on for a good ninety seconds, then her orgasm ebbed, and her whole body relaxed. She released my head, and I withdrew my fingers and lay beside her.

Sally put one leg over mine, pressing her wet pussy into my thigh, and turned and snuggled up to me. Her hand drifted down and grasped my now erect cock.

"You're hard again Dad," she said–surprised.

"That's the result of making love to one very beautiful and desirable young woman," I said.

"Are we going . . . you know . . . to do it tonight?" she asked.

"Try and stop me," I replied.

That elicited a fit of giggles. She was still giggling, her breasts jiggling in unison, as I sat on my heels between her legs. The giggling stopped as I swiped the head of my cock up and down her cleft, pushing aside her labia, red and engorged. She was looking into my eyes and biting the knuckle of her left forefinger as I rested my cockhead against the opening of her vagina.

"Relax Sally," I said.

I saw the tension and apprehension fall away as I pushed a little; I felt the tight ring of skin start to dilate. All of a sudden, and with a slight whimper, my cockhead slipped inside. I didn't move, letting her body adjust to having something so large inside her vagina for the first time.

"Wow Dad!" she said. "You feel so big. It feels like I'm stuffed but in a nice way. I thought it would hurt more than it did."

I slowly began pushing inside her; inch by inch my cock moved inside her very wet, very tight vagina. It was something I'd never experienced before–penetrating a virgin–a sixteen-year-old virgin at that. My wife was in her mid-twenties when we met, and she'd had several boyfriends before I came along.

After a minute I bumped her cervix, she had taken all of my six and a half inches inside her.

"I felt that," she said. "Are you all the way inside me Dad?"

"Yes honey, all the way. You're officially a woman now; you're no longer a virgin."

She beamed, her cornflower blue eyes twinkled as she said, "I've dreamed of this for a long time, and now it's come true. My Dad took my virginity."

I pulled back almost out of her the slowly plunged back in. After a few strokes like that, she had adjusted to my girth and was actively humping me–curling her pussy up to meet my thrusts. She had her long slender legs around my waist with her ankles locked at the small of my back.

We made love to each other for the next twenty minutes, during which she had two more small orgasms. I had been close to my climax on several occasions and had stopped to allow my ardor to die down.

"What's the matter Dad?" she asked. "Why have you stopped?"

"Because I don't want to cum too soon," I replied. "I want this to last forever, but I know I can't hold it back too much longer."

"I do too Dad. This feels so good. The silly law that says it's illegal didn't account for how right it feels."

I began thrusting again, and within a minute I climaxed.

"Oh baby, oh Sally," I cried as I spurted hard inside her. I had ejaculated a lot of cum in her mouth a short while ago, and now I was ejaculating almost as much inside her pussy. My head was bursting, and I saw stars on the back of my eyelids as I spurted my teeming fluid inside my sixteen-year-old daughter's womb. I was thankful her OBG-YN had put Sally on the pill when she started her periods. It helped make them less uncomfortable and more regular.

I was soon finished, and my cock quickly softened and went flaccid. It slipped out as I rolled to her side; I was glad I thought of putting a towel underneath her as we didn't want to sleep in a messy bed–not that I thought we would get much sleep tonight.

"So that's what Mom felt when you came inside her," Sally said at length. "I felt every spurt; it was a really weird feeling but nice to know that I could satisfy you and make you cum."

"You satisfy me in many, many ways, Sally. You are a loving daughter, a very intelligent young woman, and now my beautiful lover."

She smiled and said, "You're right. I'm your lover. I hadn't thought of that. Wow! I'm my Dad's lover."

She got out of bed cupping her pussy and sort of waddled to the bathroom. I had to chuckle.

"Stop laughing," she shouted from the bathroom. "You have all the fun and leave me to clean up your mess."

"It's our mess," I corrected.

"I guess you're right," she replied as she pulled on her underpants and got back into bed.

I put my arm around her, and she snuggled up to my chest. A few moments later she was snoring lightly. She woke me a few more times in the night to have sex. Fortunately, I didn't spurt a whole lot, and by morning she declared that no sex for a few days as she was sore. I breathed a sigh of relief.



We arrived in Venice a few minutes early the next day at the Santa Lucia station. I hailed a cab and within twenty minutes were deposited at the Baglioni Hotel Luna, a five-star luxury hotel. The next few days were interesting as all Sally wanted to do, was see the sights as long as it didn't involve too much walking. The third day saw her wanting sex again, and for the next week, we made love every night.



Back home in St, John's Wood, it was evident to both Sally and I that we couldn't continue being lovers as my friends knew she was my daughter. We decided to sell up, and leave England and move to the South of France. We purchased a villa near the town of Toulouse where we lived as man and wife. When Sally turned twenty, she had our baby, a healthy six pound-three ounce girl who we named Victoria Lucia.

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The Mysterious Sisters

Mf 14, Mg 12, 1st, ped, con, oral, ws (mild).
Jonathan Gates achieves his lifelong dream to live on the lake. Two sisters provide an aging man with his last sexual experience.
Word Count: 5,638
Date Published: August 26 2018


Jonathan Gates, Jon to his younger sister Allison and his rapidly depleting circle of elderly friends, moved into a house on Lake Norman. Although it was over twenty-five hundred square feet, it was considered small by the McMansions that surrounded the small cove on the northern end of the lake. He had sold his large home in Charlotte after Mary, his wife of fifty years, had died six months ago. It had been his lifelong dream to live on the lake—something his late wife hated which is why they had never purchased a second home on the lake despite Jonathan's pleas.

Despising packing moving and unpacking, he had hired a company to do everything. All he had to do was stand back and tell the team of six men where everything went. It was five o'clock on a warm, sunny July afternoon when the last of the stemware was removed from its protective bubble wrap and placed on the glass shelf in the glass-fronted wall cabinet.

"That's the last glass, Mr. Gates," the foreman said.

"Thanks, Bernie. You did a great job with nary a chipped plate."

"We like to think we do good work, Mr. Gates."

Jonathan handed the foreman an envelope with six crisp brand-new one hundred dollar bills inside.

The foreman looked inside and said, "Thank you, that's very generous of you, Mr. Gates."

With that, the foreman and his crew of five left. Jonathan looked 'round his kitchen with its granite work surfaces, the Wolf six burner gas cooktop, the double wall ovens, and the large Sub-Zero combination fridge-freezer. He took a highball glass out of the same glass-fronted cabinet where the foreman had placed the last of the stemware, stuck it under the recessed ice/water dispenser in the refrigerator's door, and briefly stabbed the membrane button labeled ICE. A couple of chunks of ice, the shape of a thick half-slices of lemon, dropped from the chute into the glass with a tinkle.

A few minutes later, having poured three fingers of Jim Beam Black label into the glass now being chilled by the ice, he carried it outside onto the large, covered wrap-around porch that overlooked the lake and sat down on an Adirondack chair. He took a sip of the fifteen-year-old bourbon and sighed.

"It took fifty years to finally get my house on the lake," he said to himself. Talking to himself had been something he'd been doing lately.



He sat admiring the view. His house was at the end of the small cove, and he had a view out to the main body of water. Even though the cove had a multi-million dollar house on each side of his, his had the million-dollar view. Why someone hadn't snapped up his two-acre lot with its two-hundred-foot waterfront, razed the house and built two McMansions, he would never know. But as luck would have it, the house belonged to Joseph Cartwright, an old client and trusted friend, and he'd visited it many times.

When Jonathan heard that his old friend was moving to an assisted living facility, he immediately contacted him and asked if he was selling the house, to which he replied he had already put it in the hands of a local real estate brokerage. Jonathan contacted the agent and immediately put in a full-priced offer. The agent begged Joseph Cartwright not to accept the offer but to wait for more substantial above-asking offers that she knew would be coming. He refused since he knew how much is old friend wanted to live on the lake.

"You're going to really enjoy living there," Joseph Cartwright had told him with a strange twinkle in his eye.



As Jonathan sat enjoying the late afternoon sun, he saw a young girl come out of the house to his left and walk down to the dock. She was some fifty feet away, but with his still 20/20 eyesight, he could see that she was quite beautiful. She saw him and waved. He waved back. She ran around the shoreline and approached his porch.

She wasn't just beautiful—she was stunning with raven-black hair and the most gorgeous pale-blue eyes he had ever seen. He figured she was eleven—maybe twelve years old, around five-one—perhaps five-two, slim with long slender legs. She wore a simple flowery summer dress with a tightish bodice that buttoned down the front; the bodice emphasized her small breasts. She wore pink Keds sneakers, no socks.

The girl stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the deck, and said, "Hi, I'm Mara. What's your name?"

"I'm Jonathan, but most folks call me Jon. Why don't you come up on my porch where I can properly introduce myself."

Mara walked up the three wide steps and stood next to where Jonathan was sat. She proffered her hand. He took it, and while looking directly into her pale-blue eyes kissed each knuckle in turn.

"Very nice to meet you, Mara. What a pretty name for a more than a pretty young lady. Why don't you sit down on the porch swing."

She gave him a shy smile. "Thank you, Jon," she said as she climbed onto the swing that was opposite where he sat. Jonathan caught a glimpse of Mara's white panties that caused his cock to twitch.

"Did you just move in?" Mara asked.

"Yes, I did, honey."

"We liked the gentleman who lived here before," Mara said.

"We?" Jonathan replied.

"Yes, I have an older sister. Mallory, who's fourteen."

"And how old are you Mara?"

"I'm twelve—I'll soon be a teenager."

Mara was moving back and forth a little. As she did so, the loose skirt of her dress got hitched up, and Jonathan was treated to the most sensual sight of Mara's plump vulva coddled in the crotch of her cotton panties squeezed between her slim thighs.

And she made no attempt at pulling the hem of her dress back down—in fact, Jonathan thought she was deliberately letting him see her panties since she parted her legs a little exposing a one-inch wide strip of white fabric. Jonathan now had a raging erection, the bulge of which was thankfully hidden from view by the relaxed nature of his shorts.

For some reason, the twinkling in Joseph Cartwright's eye as he told him, "You're going to really enjoy living there," sprang into his memory.

"So tell me about the gentleman who lived here before," Jonathan said, eager to find out what his old friend meant.

"He was a very nice man, and he treated me and my sister like princesses," Mara replied.

"Can I ask you why you visited with him?"

"I liked to talk to him. He led an exciting life, and he used to tell me stories of the things he'd done. I think some of the stories were just that—stories, but it was fun to listen to them."

Then she said something that caused his cock to twitch and his heart rate to increase. "He had a long penis."

Jonathan could swear that she had opened her legs a little wider since he could now see a distinctive white triangle.

"That's the last thing I expected you to say about him. I thought you would say that he gave you candy, or let you play in his swimming pool. Did he expose himself to you?"

"Uh-huh. I had been coming over to sit and talk with him for a whole week. He always sat in that chair you're sitting in and always wore the same kind of clothes—a cotton vee-neck sweater and a pair of pajama bottoms. He had just been telling me about a married woman in Paris that he had an affair with when he suddenly stood up and dropped his pajama bottoms.

"He was funny really, I think he really thought I'd be shocked and scream and run back home. But I just sat there looking at his long penis sticking out from a bush of gray hair. I looked at him and smiled and told him he had a nice cock. It was really long but not very fat. It reminded me of the metal tubes the cigars come in that my father smokes."

Jonathan was getting excited at the blatantly sexual conversation he was having with Mara. He also noticed from their discussion that she seemed older than her stated twelve—soon to be a teenager.

"What did he do next?"

"He just stood there holding his penis in his hand."

"And what did you do?"

Jonathan almost fell out of his chair when she told him what she did.

"I gave him a blowjob of course."

"You . . . you . . . you did what?" Jonathan said incredulously.

"Don't tell me you've never had a girl give you a blowjob before."

"I have, but not from a twelve-year-old girl."

"You want me to suck your cock, Jon?"

Jonathan looked around to see if anyone was in earshot. "I don't think so since I don't want to go to prison."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"Mara, you're a very sweet girl, but you shouldn't offer to perform oral sex on a man you've only just met—in fact, you shouldn't be offering to do that period. You're way too young for sex."

"You're no fun Jon, but I'll leave you something to remind you of me and maybe next time I come over you'll have changed your mind. I've been told I give very good blowjobs you know and I swallow as well."

With that, Mara smiled, stood up and hoisted the hem of her dress up and held it under her chin. She put her thumbs inside the elasticated waistband of her white, cotton, bikini-cut panties and tugged them over her hips. She let them drop to her ankles and stepped out of them. Mara stood there for a few moments while Jonathan looked at her hairless pussy. Her plump labia was squashed between her slim thighs; the tight slit with an indentation at the top merged with the crack of her ass.

Then Mara raised her chin, releasing the hem. It fell and covered her pussy. She bent over, picked up her panties and handed them to him and said, "See you tomorrow."

She bounded down the steps and ran back to her house. She turned and waved before going inside. Jonathan sniffed the gusset of her panties. He inhaled the distinctive aroma of Mara's sex. He sat there for a good half hour going over what had just transpired. It seemed too good to be true. He wondered if she made the story up, or was it what his old friend referred to when he said, 'You're going to really enjoy living there.'


 

The next afternoon at four forty-five, Jonathan was sat in the same chair when he saw Mara come out of her house, wave at him and came running over. This time she said "Hi," gave him a quick kiss on his lips, and sat on the swing. Today Mara was wearing lime-green panties. Jonathan hoped he could add them to the pair of white ones and start a collection.

"Well?" Mara asked.

"Well, what?" Jonathan replied.

"Have you thought about my offer to give you a blowjob?"

"To be honest, Mara, I've thought of nothing else. It's not every day that a sixty-nine-year-old man receives an offer of oral sex from a twelve-year-old girl. If you promise not to tell anyone, then yes—I'll love for you to give me a blowjob."

Mara wasted no time. She jumped off the swing, threw one of its cushions on the wooden floor in front of Jonathan, and knelt. He quickly looked around, and seeing no one unzipped his shorts, lifted his butt and tugged both the shorts and his underwear down to his ankles.

"You've got a nice-looking cock Jon," she said. "It's much nicer than Joe's. It's fatter too."

With those few words, Mara grasped the shaft of his cock and lowered her mouth over the end. The twelve-year-old, raven-haired beauty proceeded to give Jonathan a blowjob the likes of which he had never experienced before, and he'd had quite a few in his sixty-nine years. Her full lips clamped around the shaft of his penis while she sucked and swirled her tongue around its bulbous, helmet-shaped head. Never once did her teeth rake his sensitive frenulum. Her grip on his shaft with a finger and thumb provided the perfect amount of pressure as she moved them up and down.

Mara continued with her ministrations to Jonathan's penis, while fixing his gaze with her gorgeous pale-blue eyes that reminded him of the two-carat Aquamarine stone in his late wife's engagement ring. He could feel the rising of his impending orgasm; it started in his bowels and slowly permitted his whole groin area.

The knowledge that Mara was going to allow him to ejaculate into her mouth and swallow his teeming fluid excited him even more. In his view, cumming in a woman's mouth and watching her swallow his cum was only bettered by intercourse itself. He felt his ballsack tighten—the sure sign his climax was imminent—and Mara felt it too since her other hand was fondling it. She also felt his cock swell followed by the first spurt of his creamy liquid that hit the back of her throat.

"Oh good God almighty Mara," Jonathan cried as he climaxed.

Mara kept stroking his shaft and sucking his cockhead as Jonathan emptied the contents of his gonads into her mouth. He was done too quickly, and he found as he got older he produced less semen, but for some reason unbeknown to him, he had filled Mara's mouth with an unusually large amount. Her cheeks bulged and it too three hard swallows before her mouth was empty.

"That was a lot Jon," she remarked as she wiped the small amount of semen off her lips with the back of her hand.

"I don't know what you did, Mara, but I've not shot that much since I was a teenager."

Mara just smiled. She got up, picked the cushion up and put it back on the swing. She then pulled the hem of her flowery skirt up, tucked it under her chin and tugged her lime-green panties down and off. She picked them up and handed them to Jonathan.

"A souvenir," she said.

With that, she ran down the steps and around the lake's edge and disappeared into her house—no wave this time. Jonathan stood up unsteadily, pulled his underwear and shorts up and collapsed back into the Adirondack chair, where he sat for half an hour regaining his strength, and enjoying the post-orgasmic bliss.


 

There was no sign of Mara for three days, and in a way, Jonathan was somewhat thankful since he wasn't sure he could survive another of her blowjobs so soon. It was Friday afternoon around four-fifteen when he saw Mara and an older girl come out of their house and walk over to where he was sitting in his usual chair watching the loons diving into the lake. As the two girls approached, Jonathan could see that the older girl had the very same raven-black hair and Aquamarine eyes as Mara. She was a good three inches taller than Mara at five foot five. She was dressed in a pale-blue camisole top trimmed with white lace, and a short flared skirt. It was obvious she wore no bra since there were no visible straps and the bumps of her nipples pushed against the cotton of her top. They walked up the steps onto the porch. Jonathan stood to greet them.

Mara ignored his outstretched hand and hugged him instead. At first, Jonathan didn't quite know what to do with the unexpected display of affection, but then hugged her back.

"This is my sister Mallory," Mara said.

Jonathan proffered his hand and said, "It's good to meet you, Mallory, I'm Jon."

Mallory shook his hand. "The pleasure's all mine," she replied.

"Please, both of you sit down. Can I get you a soft drink?"

"Sprites please," they both chorused. Jonathan disappeared into the house, and when he reappeared with two bottles of Sprites and a fresh cold beer, the two sisters were whispering to each other.

"There you go," he said as he handed them their soft drinks. Jonathan took a swig of his beer and set it down on the side table. Then he sat back down.

"Has my sister been taking care of you, Jon?" Mallory asked.

Jonathan, not knowing how much Mara had told her sister replied, "She's a sweet young lady."

"Come now, Jon. I know she's been performing oral sex on you. I assume you liked it."

"I err . . . she . . . was very good," Jonathan replied.

"Only very good! I know for a fact my little sister gives the best head you'll ever experience."

"I'm sorry, Mallory. It's just that I wasn't aware that you knew what she did over here."

"There's one thing you'll find out about our family, Jon, and that is we have no secrets."

That last remark terrified him, and Mallory picked up on it. "It's okay, Jon, we can all keep a secret from others."

They sat on the swing, both girls had their skirts pulled up to mid-thigh with legs parted, and Jonathan could see the red triangle of material between Mara's legs, and a pink triangle between Mallory's legs. More souvenirs for his collection he hoped.

"Can I use your bathroom?" Mallory said a few minutes later.

"Sure you can," Jonathan replied. "Follow me."

Mallory followed him into the house and into his master suite. Mara stayed on the swing.

"You can use my bathroom, Mallory, it's through that door there." Jonathan nodded toward his bathroom door and started to turn to leave.

"You don't want to watch?" Mallory said.

"Watch? You mean to watch you use the bathroom?"

"Of course, Jon. Some men find it very erotic to watch a girl pee."

"I . . . I . . . don't know."

"C'mon, Jon. Don't be shy. I know you want to see my pussy and watch me pee."

Jonathan followed Mallory into his bathroom and stood there as she hoisted her skirt around her waist and pulled down her pink, boyshort-style satin panties that were trimmed with white lace at the waist and leg openings. She lifted the lid and sat on the toilet. Jonathan admired her pussy with its small patch of jet black hairs on her plump vee-shaped mons. He knew Mallory could see the unmistakable bulge of his erection inside his shorts.

He stood rooted to the spot as he watched Mallory urinate. A week stream of yellow urine started that quickly turned to a torrent that splashed on the inside front of the toilet bowl. When she was finished, she pulled half a dozen sheets of paper off the toilet roll on its bronze colored holder affixed to the wall.

"I'll let you do the honors," she said, as she handed the toilet tissue to him.

He nervously took the wad of paper and proceeded to wipe Mallory's pussy. She had her eyes closed as he rubbed the paper back and forth. Then he dropped the wad into the bowel and began to remove his hand. Mallory grabbed his wrist and kept his hand between her legs. Jonathan ran his forefinger between her plump labia and found the opening to her vagina. Curling his finger, he entered her as a quiet "Mmmm," escaped her lips.

Gathering her creamy moisture, he removed his finger and found her clitoris. As he explored it, it became apparent that it was the largest clit he had ever experienced—fully the size of a pencil-top eraser. Mallory began to moan as he rubbed and pressed it, and to his surprise, it got larger.

Mallory was moaning loudly, and her legs were jerking uncontrollably as she neared her climax. Jonathan kept up his relentless attack on her clit, furiously rubbing and pressing as Mallory held on the toilet seat with both hands. Then she climaxed. He felt her whole body tremble and shake as her orgasm consumed her. Her legs snapped shut, trapping his hand. Then he felt the wetness in his palm. At the time he thought she had lost control of her bladder as she climaxed. However, on later examination of the clear liquid in his palm, he realized she had squirted—something he had never experienced before.

Mallory calmed and opened her eyes and legs, releasing his trapped hand. "That was a good one, Jon," she said. "Thanks, we must do it again."

With that, she stood up, picked up her panties off the bathroom floor and handed them to him. Jonathan walked outside onto the porch where Mara removed her panties.

"You're getting quite a collection, Jon," she said as she handed her red, satin panties trimmed with white lace at the waist and leg openings to him.



Two days later Mallory parked herself on Jonathan's porch swing. She had her legs together.

"Where's Mara?" Jonathan asked.

"She went shopping with our Mom."

"What color panties today?" he asked.

"You'll have to wait and find out," she replied.

Jonathan wondered what that meant, he decided to wait and see since at his age he didn't get many surprises.

"You're a very unusual family if you don't mind me saying so."

"Oh, Jon, we're more than unusual. You could say we're unique. Can I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course you can."

"You're sixty-nine correct?"

"That's right," he replied but didn't remember telling either Mara or Mallory his age.

"Well, in your sixty-nine years how many women have you made love to?"

"I couldn't say since I didn't keep count."

"Make a guess."

Jonathan thought for a minute as he recalled the women he'd made love to or had sex with. Finally, he replied, "I'd guess maybe twenty-five—give or take a few."

"Out of those twenty-five—give or take a few—how many fourteen-year-old virgins have you taken to bed?"

"None, since that would be breaking the law, and certainly no fourteen-year-old virgins."

"Well, Jon, this your lucky day since I'm fourteen years old and I'm also a virgin," Mallory said as she stood up. She held out her hand. "C-mon, Jon, I already know the way to your bedroom."

Jonathan was hesitant at first. Then he remembered he'd already broken the law by letting Mara perform oral sex on him. Might as well go to prison for two illegal acts since he would never get released anyway. Also the idea of penetrating a fourteen-year-old's pussy was too good to pass up. He stood, took Mallory's hand and let her lead him to Elysian.

Inside his bedroom, Mallory kicked off her flip-flops and Jonathan watched as Mallory unzipped the back of her sundress and let it fall to the floor where she stepped out of it. She stood there wearing just a pair of mint-green, bikini-cut satin panties. Her breasts were perfect B-cup size, semi-orbs of firm flesh, they stood proud of her chest spaced close together with quarter-size dark-pink areolas and small red nipples. She hooked her thumbs inside the waistband of her panties and drew them down.

Jonathan gasped as he saw her plump vulva in the two-finger gap at the top of her slender thighs. The delta-shaped mons with its sparse patch of jet-black hair stood prominently above. She walked over to where he stood and slowly unbuttoned his blue, cotton short-sleeved shirt. It joined her dress on the floor. Next came his shorts and boxers.

She looked at his cock standing straight up. It had been twenty years since it had been this hard. "Mara said you had a beautiful penis and I can see why she loved sucking it."

He joined her on the bed between her slim thighs, his face mere inches away for the most gorgeous pussy he had ever seen. Her mons was like a small mound that rose up between two bony hips. It had a small, sparse patch of jet-black hairs in the middle that stopped at the top of her slot. Her slit was so tight with its plump labia squashed between slender thighs, only the ridge of her clitoral sheath was visible.

Then she opened her legs, giving Jonathan a view of the bright pink folds of flesh and the dark opening to her unsullied vagina. He immediately went to work on her clitoris; he soon coaxed it to come out to play. It lay there like a pink pearl on the shell of its cowl. As he sucked and kissed it, it grew into what looked like a small penis. It was the size of a pencil-top eraser, and every time he sucked it or flicked it with his tongue, loud moans escaped Mallory's lips.

With one hand he reached up and began to squeeze and rub her right breast—a perfect handful. With the other her inserted his forefinger inside her wet honeypot, feeling her clench and unclench her vaginal muscles. A second finger followed causing a sharp intake of breath. A third finger brought her to a quick orgasm. Her legs closed on his head and hand as she trembled with ecstasy.

After she calmed, she excited him as she said, "Go ahead, Jon, put your cock inside my pussy."

Jonathan wasted no time. He got to his knees and, grasping her ankles, pulled her toward him and draped her legs over his thighs. His adult cock looked huge as it filled the width of her entire vulva.

"I'm too big," he said. "I'll hurt you."

"No you're not," Mallory replied. "Go ahead, I can stretch enough."

Grasping the shaft of his cock, he guided it to her waiting vagina. The head pushed aside her plump, engorged labia and stopped at the red opening of her vagina. He pushed. Feeling resistance, he stopped.

"No, it's too big, and you're too small."

Mallory grasped him by his elbows and pulled herself forward. She winced as his cock entered her, but continued pulling herself forward impaling herself on his hard rod. Finally, when their pubes met, she stopped. She looked at him; her Aquamarine eyes sparkled.

"Told you I could stretch enough."

She put her hands around his neck and pulled herself up until she was sitting on his lap with his cock buried deep inside her. Then she began curling her pussy up at him. He moved his crotch back and forth, mirroring her movements. Soon they were in a steady rhythm, fucking each other. Her head was next to his; he could feel her hot breaths on his neck. Jonathan could feel his orgasm gathering strength. He stopped moving.

"It's okay, Jon, you can cum inside me. You won't get me pregnant."

Jonathan started moving again. He could feel his orgasm; it was close. Then his cock swelled, and the first load of his cum jetted out the end and splashed against her cervix. He pumped and pumped his teeming fluid, filling her vagina to overflowing. He had never spurted as much cum in his life—never!

Then, all too soon he was done. Mallory lay back on the bed and smiled at him. "I'm not a virgin any longer thanks to you, Jon. When Mara's a little older, will you take her virginity—pop her cherry?"

Jonathan sighed. "If I'm still alive. I want to make love to you again and again and again."

"You can, Jon. Anytime you like."

Jonathan pulled out of her vagina; a gush of his cum followed as if his cock had been like a finger in the dyke. He couldn't believe he'd spurted that much cum. The raven-haired, fourteen-year-old beauty with Aquamarine eyes who lay before him had turned back the pages of time. He felt like a young stud again.


 

Jonathan was getting worried since it had been three weeks since either Mara or Mallory had come to visit. He picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.

"This is Jonathan Gates," he said to the woman who answered the phone call. She was the real estate agent who had listed the house of his old friend that he was now living in.

"How can I help you, Mr. Gates?"

"I'm interested in the house that sits to the left of mine."

"Do you mean number 1235, the one to your left when facing the lake?"

"Yes, that's correct."

"I'm sorry Mr. Gates, but it's not for sale if that's your interest."

"No, I'm not interested in buying it. I wanted to know the name of the family living there."

"There's no one living there Mr. Gates. The house has never been lived in. You see, when it was built the surveyor made a mistake. The setback on the side nearest your lot was five feet short of building code. It's sale has been tied up in lawsuits for the last six months."

"But how can that be so? I've seen the daughters of the owner, and the place seems well maintained. I see a man cutting the grass."

"The builder retains a landscaping company to maintain the grounds. You must be mistaken about the daughters—maybe because they knew no one lives there, they came from next door or across the street to play by the lake."

"Okay, thanks," Jonathan said and started to end the call when the real estate agent stopped him.

"Mr. Gates, could I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"The builder of that house approached the previous owner of your house to see if he could purchase five feet of his property to fix the surveyor's mistake, but he wouldn't sell. I was wondering if you would be interested. He offered a lot more money than the land was worth."

"I'm sure we could come to some arrangement."

"Thanks, Mr. Gates, I'll tell him to contact you."

With that, Jonathan ended the call. Confused as to where the two sisters came from curiosity got the better of him. He walked around the shoreline and up to the rear of Mara and Mallory's home. He peered in through the window. The large dining room was devoid of any furniture, and there were no drapes at the windows. He walked around to the front and found the other rooms in the same state. Jonathan then walked to the house across the street and rang the doorbell.

An older lady answered the door. "Can I help you?" she asked."

"Hi, my name's Jonathan Gates, and I live in the house at the end of the cove. I was wondering if you have two girls living here. One goes by the name of Mara and the other Mallory?"

"Sorry, Mr. Gates, it's just my husband and me."

"Maybe one of the other neighbors on this street has two daughters with those names."

"No, Mr. Gates, I know most of our neighbors, and none of them have teenage daughters."

"Okay thanks, sorry to bother you."



A month later, with the sale of the five feet of his property finalized, a family moved into the empty house. Jonathan walked over to introduce himself. He rang the doorbell, and it was answered by a man dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a cotton pullover.

"Hi, my name's Jonathan Gates, and I live next door, so I thought I'd come by and introduce myself."

The man extended his hand and replied, "Ted Jackson, glad to meet you, Jonathan. Come on in."

Jonathan shook Ted's hand and said, "It's Jon, everyone calls me Jon."

Jonathan followed Ted into the spacious kitchen where a woman was unpacking wine glasses.

"This is my wife, Mona. Mona, this is Jon, our next door neighbor."

The woman turned around. She was beautiful with raven-black hair and Aquamarine eyes. She shook his proffered hand.

"Nice to meet you," she said.

At that moment two girls came running into the kitchen. Jonathan was stunned when he saw their raven-black hair and Aquamarine eyes. He was even more stunned when their mother introduced them.

"These are our daughters. Mara's twelve and Mallory's fourteen."

Jonathon was speechless. Had he imagined or maybe dreamed about sex with two girls with the names Mara and Mallory? It was possible since he was starting to have bouts of forgetfulness that his GP had told him was the onset of a very mild dementia. But the names . . .

The two girls looked at each other and whispered in each other's ears.

"Now, girls," Mona said admonishingly, "we don't whisper when company's here."

"Sorry Mom," the two girls chorused. They both shook his hand.



The next day, as Jonathan sat enjoying the late afternoon sun, he saw a young girl come out of the house to his left and walk down to the dock. She was some fifty feet away, but with his still 20/20 eyesight, he could see that she was quite beautiful. She saw him and waved. He waved back. She ran around the shoreline and approached his porch. She wasn't just beautiful—she was stunning with raven-black hair and the most gorgeous pale-blue eyes he had ever seen.

It was Mara.

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This story is a work of pure fiction. The author does not condone any sexual activity among persons under the legal age of consent. This story is copyright protected.
(C) Copyright 2018 by Tempest. ALL Rights Reserved! This material may NOT be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the author. You may download them for your own personal use, but if you wish to post them on other websites, please get my permission beforehand.

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