Helen Fredericson's auburn hair, piled high in a French twist, accentuated her creamy complexion and the shimmer of her emerald-green eyes. The stark white of a high-necked hostess gown revealed a pair of firm, big tits that even a severe bra failed to confine and the curvature of well-rounded hips; the effect was to give her five-foot-six-inch figure a regal appearance that was reinforced by her grace and composure. She busied herself straightening up evidences of company, emptying ashtrays, wiping away rings left by glasses, and smoothing wrinkled cushions.
Art Fredericson hovered over his wife, hands thrust deep into his pockets, lips compressed, and weight shifting from one foot to the other. His gaze wandered over her body, drawn by each movement of a muscle, and he continually wetted his lips with his tongue tip. His sun-bleached hair was tousled, and it seemed natural above a face roughened by years of exposure to the weather and eyes whose blue had faded in the wand. His lean six-one frame saved him from looking short in contrast to his wife's height, and he had an aura of suppressed explosiveness about him.
Helen brushed past her husband and bent to wipe a spot from the corner of the coffee table. Art's hand came out of his pocket to caress her ass. She jerked away and whirled to face him, angry red spots flaming over her cheekbones.
"Art! For God's sake!"
"Sorry," Art mumbled and returned his hand to his pocket.
Helen doubted that. "After all, there's a time and place for everything! Honestly, I think you're getting as bad as Barry."
"Sure, sure. Dirty old man."
"Don't be sarcastic. He is. I don't know why Van lets him get away with it." Vanessa Rush was the closest friend Helen had – they'd been like sisters since high-school days – but Helen disapproved of Van's permissive attitude. Letting him look at other women the way he does! she thought. And giggling and simpering when he feels her up – right out in public! Ugh! Grandma would have had a word for it. She'd have called Van a strumpet!
"Shit! He's only thirty-one. How can he be a dirty old man? And she lets him because it's natural and she likes it!"
"That's right. When you can't think how to get out of it, use bad language." She moved out of Art's reach and continued her work.
"At least I live in the real world. Christ, Helen, sex isn't a disease!" Art sounded quietly desperate. "Nothing dirty about it, except what you make it in your mind."
"Art Fredericson! Blame it all on me! Grandma would have said…"
"Grandma, horseshit! Goddamned prude! I never will know how come your old man couldn't walk on water after that immaculate conception!"
"Art! How dare you!"
He grumbled and subsided. Helen finished the coffee table and turned to the last end table. Suddenly she felt Art's hand slide up the inner slope of her thigh. She clamped her knees together and struck at his arm.
"Damn it! You want Danny to see something like that?" she blazed at her husband.
"Do him good. His age, he ought to start learning."
"Oh! So I've neglected his education!"
"No! He gets the theory in those school courses! But you've sure warped it! Hell, a kid ought to know a pat on the fanny is a sign of affection!"
"Sign of affection! Just lewd, that's what! He saw enough of that between Barry and Van tonight!"
Art chuckled. "And wondered how it would be to try it on that hot-eyed kid sister of Van's! See the way he kept sizing her up?"
"Terrible! That's what I mean! And Olga actually flirted!"
"Like with a ten-year-old. That chick isn't going to break in a fifteen-year-old."
"She's a tramp!" Helen glanced about the room to see if she'd missed any spot of disorder. "He's more mature than any of the boys she's dated here."
"Carries himself like a man, all right. She may be overlooking an experience!"
"Oh, Art, don't always be dirty-minded!"
"Okay, okay. Come on, baby, let's go to bed. The house can wait."
"A lot you care! You don't have to face it in the morning. You just go off to work and let me worry about it."
"And you do. Twenty-four hours a day."
She stiffened. "I have to do something to take my mind off how grouchy you've gotten!"
"Who the hell wouldn't be a grouch! Takes a national holiday around here for a guy to get a piece of ass! And then it's like reading the Declaration of Independence through bulletproof glass!"
"Art Fredericson! You're mean and crude! Go on in. I'll be there in a minute."
She clenched her fists as she watched her husband go into the hallway. She hated these scenes and had a knot in her belly that kept getting larger as the scenes became more frequent. Her grandmother had warned her, long before she was old enough to understand.
"Selfish, flesh-loving beasts, all of them," the old lady had said often. "Even your father, dear thing."
And while Helen's parents had fun and went places, her paternal grandmother had stuck to the dreadful task of reshaping a lustful, filthy-minded child into a civilized girl. Helen knew that was what old Mrs. Farrell had done. Hadn't she been told often enough? She'd rebelled, she remembered. She'd played with her pussy and spied on her father, filled with wonder at that enormous cock of his, and made up fantastic stories in her mind about screwing with all the boys she knew. Yes, she thought, Grandma had a real challenge. She'd been losing it, too, until that wilderness trip with the Indian guide.
"Not that he made the difference," she muttered bitterly to herself. "But what it did to Grandma."
Even Helen's mother had agreed Grandma Farrell's death – her massive stroke – had come as a direct result of Helen's pregnancy. And Helen had never lost the black worm of guilt over the fact she'd regretted those hours with Tony, the guide, only for her grandmother's death – not for the mortal sin she herself had committed by letting him fuck her. That personal lust – that terrible, conscience-deadening pleasure – had burned into her the truth of what her grandmother had steadfastly maintained.
"You're your mother all over again," her grandmother had said darkly, over and over. "No shame. No moral fiber. You'll never be a Farrell."
And upon the old lady's abrupt death, Helen had realized she really loved her grandmother. She'd resolved in that moment – fully aware of the insatiable sex hunger in her – that she would atone to her grandmother by becoming what the Victorian woman had wanted. She'd buried the hot-pussied self and built instead a poised, frigid shell. She'd done it well, she reminded herself now. Well enough that she'd kept Danny on the right track, well enough that she'd never let herself progress to an orgasm since that summer in the woods. Her grandmother must be proud, looking down from heaven on the granddaughter she'd given up for hopeless.
Helen hurried to the bedroom. She had time to get into her nightgown and into bed before Art finished in the bathroom. And there were moments to recall that summer. There had been a lake and a camp, and Tony – he'd had a name even her father couldn't pronounce, so they'd nicknamed him Tony – had gone to scout the trail for the next day's move. Helen had gone for a lone hike, then turned back because of a bear. And she'd heard her mother's squeal and her father's carefree, eager laugh.
"Abe! That tickles! Behave yourself!"
"Behave myself! When I can have my nooky in this setting?"
"Your language!"
"Fraud! Get my hand on that snatch, and your language'll make me blush!"
"Nooky… Pussy," Helen whispered from where she now hid in the brush. They were delightful, tingle-producing words. If she crept only a few feet nearer, she might – just might – get to watch them fuck! But there was no need for that.
"Wait'll I catch you!" she heard her father say happily.
There was a sound of snapping twigs and rustling underbrush. Helen's mother burst into view and stumbled. Convenient to be in the middle of a clearing, thought Helen with a shiver. And her father overtook his wife there. He pulled her to her feet and crushed her to him, his knee pressed to her pussy and his hand kneading her ass. Helen felt her own young pussy glow as she watched the willing redhead who was her mother writhe in the hot embrace. There was a low moan of pleasure.
"Honey! Honey! Oh, I want it sot"
They fell to the dark earth, rolling over each other and grabbing at each other. Without Helen seeing how, her mother's halter came off and lay crumpled under them. Abe pinned Ruth beneath him, his mouth gulping at her boob and his hand diving into her shorts. His wife groped at his trouser fly, fumbling at the zipper and finally pulling out his cock.
Helen writhed. She twisted her legs until her weight bore on one heel, against her cunt, and she clutched her tits in her hands, squeezing and massaging. Watching was better than all her dreams put together, she decided. Only having the experience itself could be better. She gasped and held her breath. Her father was pulling her mother's shorts – and her panties, if she had any on – over her hips. Ruth had her ass of the ground and squirmed to help him, but she refused to let go of the reddening cock. Abe lifted his wife's feet as he drew off her shorts, raising her legs vertically and dropping one hand to prod at her twat. Ruth squealed and twisted, pulling herself up until she could mouth the moist cockhead that peeked out of her hand.
"Oh!" whispered Helen. "Oh, how delicious! I wonder how it really tastes?" The joints of her jaw tensed as if she'd just eaten a sour pickle and her hands fumbled at the waist of her sweater, then slipped inside, up to her bra and under it to cup the hot flesh of her girlish boobs.
Abe straightened, tugging at his clothes while his wife gnawed at his prick. Her hair flamed in a ray of sunlight, a gleaming halo against the background of her husband's white belly and thick, black body hair. She sat with her knees up and her feet widely parted, her pussy a shimmering, wet cleft of pink between parallel thickets of carrot-colored cunt hair. Helen groaned inwardly with envy as she compared the swollen, parted slopes with her vivid recollection of her own thin cuntlips. Someday! she thought. Someday I'll have a pussy like that! And a cock like that to kiss!
But she imagined she heard her grandmother's acid tone in the distance. "Dirty-minded little girl! Shameless as your mother! The Devil's own child!" Helen shook her head impatiently-the old woman was two thousand miles away, and a man named Abe Farrell was getting ready to fuck a woman named Ruth right in front of his daughter. And Ruth was sensitizing his cock with her mouth, savoring its maleness before engulfing it in her cunt.
Somehow, Helen's mother scrambled to her knees when Abe stood up to kick off his pants. And she kept his cockhead in her mouth and cradled his balls in her hand. He laughed and laid his fingers on her temples.
"God, woman! You're something else today! Have a heart!"
Ruth spit out her meaty mouthful and tilted her head back, eyes dancing as she gazed up at him. "It's you," she said. "I go wild, wanting you so much!"
He sank to his knees, his cock trapped between their bellies and her tits spreading and flattening against his chest. He seized her asscheeks, rolling them in his fingers, pressing them together to close her crack, parting them to expose the pucker of her asshole. Ruth slipped her arms over his shoulders and pulled at his flesh with her fingers.
"Darling," she said softly. "Oh, Abe darling! I do love you!" She squirmed, her hips thrust forward so her belly pressed hard against his. "Especially with your prick in my belly button!"
Abe fingered the crack of her ass. His eyes closed momentarily and he blew into his wife's hair. "If it were big enough, you'd train that belly button to suck me off, wouldn't you?"
"Oh, honey!" Ruth protested laughingly.
Her husband forced his knee between her thighs R and raised it, lifting her from her knees and planting his foot on the ground. Ruth twisted, raising herself until she positioned her twat above his dick. She began to lower herself, her hips undulating as her cunt settled around his cockhead. She clenched her teeth in concentration, her gaze fixed steadily on Abe's face.
"Unh… unh…" Her exclamations were low-voiced and tentative, spaced as if each were a false expectation of reaching the root of the cock she was sliding onto. And then, explosively – "UNH! Ahhh!" – she flung her arms around him and began nuzzling his neck, biting and releasing and biting again. Abe squirmed, laughing, and retaliated.
Helen's eyes widened. She withdrew one hand from her boob and pinched her neck and shoulders, pretending someone was giving her love bites. She shivered deliciously.
Her mother's boobs formed a bridge between her straining body and her husband's, the darkened nipples prodding his chest and burying themselves in the curls of his body hair. She sat on the back of one thigh and an asscheek, her other knee hanging towards the ground, and jacked her hips violently. Abe held one palm at the small of his wife's back and massaged her ass with the other. His fingers slid along her crack and her buttcheeks winked. Both bodies writhed, tense and eager, and Ruth's skin began to gleam with perspiration.
Helen trembled. "Ooh! Ooh, she likes that!" she whispered, gazing wide-eyed at her father's fingers as they caressed her mother's ass. She inched forward on her heel, bearing down with her bung on the rounded, bony little foot. She winked her ass the way her mother was doing, biting her lips at the sensation and groping at her pussy with her hand. She paused, clutching her twat tightly and bending forward to see better; her parents were starting to do something else.
Ruth fell back, clinging to Abe's shoulders. She stared into his face, her eyes looking strangely sleepy. Her mouth was wet and red, and her nostrils flared. She tossed her head and her hair broke free of its pins. The French twist disintegrated to create a cloud of tumbling red about her shoulders.
"Darling!" Her voice was husky. "Roll me! Roll me in the dirt! Oh, God, I feel great! I feel like we're a couple of animals rutting! Please, baby!"
Abe panted. His mouth was open and working, and his fingers kneaded her flesh spasmodically. He twisted and fell backward, keeping his wife impaled on his cock and rolling with her as he hit the soft, moist earth. Ruth's legs parted widely and she gouged into the leaf-mold with her heels, kicking vigorously. Together they rolled across the clearing, sweet-smelling earth flying and bits of black debris clinging to their bodies. Their legs and arms tangled and they bit at each other. Their breath whistled, its cadence punctuated by low grunts of pleasure.
Helen writhed with desire. She twisted her fist among the inflamed tissues of her pussy and bit the back of her other hand to smother the continuous whimper that welled in her throat. Oh, yes! she thought. Oh, yes! This is the way it ought to be! Naked and rolling and free! It might be sinful, like Grandma says, but nothing could be more wonderful! I'm going to be like Mama… and I want to!
Abe's fingers, dug into the pink and white flesh of his wife's ass, parting her cheeks and stabbing at her bung, his teeth tugging at her nipples while she thrashed beneath him. She ground the back of her head against the earth, her eyes bulging and her teeth clenched. Then she opened her mouth widely.
"Abe! Ride me, darling! Ride me for real!"
"For real?" There was a note of sudden eagerness in Abe's question.
Ruth hesitated momentarily. "All right," she said then. "But quick, darling! Now!" She rolled abruptly onto her belly and pushed herself to her hands and knees.
As if impatient, Abe caught her at the waist and lifted until his wife stood stiff-legged, her feet widespread, her body bent at the hips and her palms flat on the ground. He edged his knees between her taut thighs and crouched, pushing the head of his cock down so it nestled in the depression of her cunt. He pushed forward with his hips, lodging the cockhead securely in her hole, and grasped his wife's hips.
"Mm! Mm!" Ruth grunted. "Put him in, darling! Quick!"
Helen felt a curious churning in her belly. She writhed silently while her father pressed forward and the brutal cockhead buried itself in her mother's gulping cunt. "Oooh!" she moaned softly.
"Oh! Oh!" Ruth gasped. "Hard, Abe! HARD!"
Abe jammed his hips forward and the thick shaft plunged into her twat to the balls. His hairy belly bumped her ass and his fingers dug into the roundness of her hips. He hitched himself over her, his cock bending at the root, and raised his feet from the ground, hooking his insteps behind his wife's knees. She sagged for a moment, then stiffened her knees.
"Oh, God, darling!" she exclaimed hoarsely. "God, he's deep!"
Abe levered his knees, stroking his great prick in the mouth of his wife's pussy. She bounced, her knees flexing under his surges. Her tits flopped and her hair tumbled over her arms.
Animals! thought Helen with a happy thrill. They're like animals that belong here! Wonderful-awful animals that look like people! Her blood pounded too hard for her to get her breath. Her own young pussy pulsed at every blow of her father's cock in her mother's upturned cunt, and her boobs ached. She ground her thighs together, glorying in the sticky wetness that spread over them.
Abe bent forward, his belly molding itself to his wife's ass and his hands Dipping her waist. His butt jerked powerfully while his balls thumped against Ruth's pussy hair. Helen shivered and gulped at the contrast between her mother's finely tapered legs and the humping bulk they supported. She tried desperately to imagine herself in the same position, sagging under the same burden.
"Abe! Abe!" Ruth cried out. "Only one thing wrong with this way… my boobies ache and you can't hang onto them! Oh, darling, hard!"
"Unnnh!" Abe's lips drew back to reveal his clenched teeth. His butt-cheeks snapped together and his back straightened, throwing all his weight on his buried cock. He stopped thrusting and bore down with silent convulsions of his belly.
The couple trembled fiercely, Ruth's hips swaying in slow, grinding circles as she appeared to rotate her cunt on the base of the deep-thrust cock.
"Mmmm!" she shrieked. "Fuck fuck fuck! Baby baby!"
With a final, violent shudder, her straining body seemed to melt. She collapsed, Abe riding her to the ground, and the two huddled together, still joined and twitching.
Helen fought an impulse to groan. She groveled in the loose earth, flattening herself on her belly, her fist in her pussy, and ground her hips on the hard knuckles. She fought desperately with herself, her body trembling on the verge of orgasm while her will demanded self-restraint until she could get away by herself and act out the scene she'd witnessed. Fiber by fiber, her body yielded to her determination, her tension easing and the iron knot in her belly loosening. She squirmed backward through the low-hanging brush, terror rising when Ruth and Abe stirred, and relief making her weak when she was at last safely beyond their sight. She sprang to her feet and bounded between the trees, hot desire tearing at her.
With a sob of gratitude, she stumbled into a pocket in the woods Tony had shown her, where one could lie quietly and watch a family of squirrels argue over pine cones or a heedless rabbit forage. The spruce stood apart and a thicket of low firs trailed their boughs to the ground, shutting out the world. Going to the center of the tiny clearing, she set her feet far apart and drew herself erect. After a moment, she arched her back and stared at the narrow patch of sky, her hands clutching at her boobs, then passing over her belly with hard pressure and stopping at the tops of her thighs.
"Now!" she said softly. "Now, Helen Farrell!"
She unbuttoned her blouse, laying it open with her back still arched and her tits pointed defiantly towards the treetops. Extending her hands behind her, she let the blouse slide off her fingertips to the ground. She trembled in her effort to maintain her pose while unfastening her bra, then drew it off and dropped it, fingering her conical boobs and plucking at the quivering, hard little nipples. A great tingle surged over her, doubling her with its intensity, and she fumbled at her slacks, her hands clumsy on the button and too eager with the zipper. She thrust them off her hips and dropped panting to the earth while she struggled to draw them over her boots. The boots had to stay on, they would add a measure of sensuous contrast to what she meant to do. In a frenzy of haste, she tore away her panties, leaving until another time the problem of explaining their loss.
Again, she assumed her sky-worshipping stance, her small, red triangle of pussy hair darker than her mother's and not yet covering as much of her cunt, but thick and springy, nonetheless. Arched as she was, she drew her belly into a taut, convex surface. Her navel stretched into a groove and her pussy shook with the strain of her posture.
"Oooh!" She flung her arms up and back and let her head hang back, with her hair falling free. "Mmmm!" Without changing her body's alignment, she placed her hands on her pussy and pulled the wet lips apart. Her fingertips explored her slit, lingering at her cuntlips before slipping forward to the raw little lump that generated such incredible sensations of delight. Writhing and gasping, she played with her clitoris, whipping her excitement back to the peak she'd felt while watching her parents fuck.
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "Yes, it's now! Now!"
She dropped to all fours, knees stiff and palms resting on the cool earth, spreading her feet as widely as she could and imagining her father was mounting her. She sagged, pretending his weight pressed her down, then thrust one hand into her crotch to massage the gaping folds of her young snatch. For a time, she teased herself, sliding her fingertips in the wetness on her pussy and tracing rings around the rim of her cunt, but at last she yielded to her feverish hunger and started to rub her clitoris.
"Nnng! Aghhh!" Her hips jerked and her boobs bounced under her as her excitement rocketed. "Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!"
Something touched her hips. She stiffened and fought against the scream that welled in her throat. Her glance darted past her legs to the moccasined feet of the guide, and waves of horror engulfed her.
"No! Oh, no!" she sobbed, too terrified to move. "Don't tell! Please don't tell!"
She tried to push herself to her feet, but Tony's hand rested on the small of her back, holding her where she was.
"Please!" she whimpered. "Please, Tony!"
He circled her waist with his fingers, then slid his hands to her hips, fingering her ass and stroking her thighs. The roughness of his palms was like needles of pure delight on her skin, and she surged under his caresses. He brushed one fingertip over her asshole. Her butt-cheeks clamped together, then spread at Tony's insistent massage. His thumbs settled on her pussy-lips, forcing them apart and making her cunt yawn. He poked one square-tipped finger at the eager little mouth and grunted with amusement when the rim puckered.
"Maybe you good fuck," he observed.
"Omigod, Tony! No! Yes! Oh, Tony!"
He uttered the grunt she'd come to know as his substitute for a sympathetic chuckle. Gently, he raised her, then took her in his arms and laid her on the earth.