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DDM (02/13)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
WARNING!
The following story contains detailed descriptions of sex acts between
family members (incest), and between humans and animals (bestiality).
If you are offended by such material, please stop reading now!
<< Danny Does Mom / Part 2 >>
Chapter 2
Tony's nose was narrow and sharp and his eyes were close-set,
glittering black beads that appeared to radiate condescension along with
hunger as the leered at her. His cheeks were gaunt and pocked, his chin
jutted crookedly, and thin lips drew back to reveal gaps between jagged,
worn teeth.
Helen writhed. She knew she had reached the end of her virginity, and
the knowledge brought fierce joy over a thick fabric of regret. In her
fantasies, she'd pictured the even as involving some dashing, worldly type
with flashing eyes and an eager grin, abandoning his castles out of wild
desire for her. She'd dreamed of haunting music, softly glowing lights and
velvet cushions. Instead, she had an unkempt old indian taking a moment
from a day with nothing to do, visibly gratified at the diversion chance
had
thrown his way. The only music was a sighing somewhere high in the trees;
the light was what filtered through close-growing needles, and her cushion
was a springy mattress of leafmold.
But her moment had come, nonetheless, and it was surely more
exciting than being had on the back seat of a hot rod. She thrilled at her
nakedness, acutely conscious of the bizarre note her boots added and
secretly embarrassed at how small her peaked breasts were. And the dark-
skinned creature who unbuttoned his fly as he dropped to his knees between
her outflung thighs was Man without pretense or sophistication. There
would be no subtlety as his cock thrust aside the membrane of her
innocence and no apology as his semen spilled into her.
He bent over her, tugging his cock into the open and reaching out to
fondle her.
'Black!' she thought, shivering. 'Black and knobby and dull! Not smooth
and white and shiny like Daddy's!' She sucked her belly in while his
fingers
scraped across it. He closed his hand over her breast, squeezing and
rubbing,
and a sharp gasp caught in her throat. His Levi's felt rough against the
inner
slopes of her thighs and she twitched when he laid one hand over the brush
of her pubic hair.
His cock pulsed and he ran his tongue over his lips. She stared in
fascination at the stray hairs that clung to his shaft where it poked
through
his open fly, and at his cockhead, half out of his taut foreskin. There
was a
bead of clear fluid at the tip of the swollen bulb and from her angle the
slit
was clearly visible, gaping darkly.
He grinned knowingly, clearly aware of the focus of her attention, and
used both hands to tease her nipples, rolling them like cherries between
his
fingers while she pressed her fists to her shoulders and breath hiss
between her teeth. He felt her, his hands roving over her curves with
lingering, tantalizing slowness, as if he were renewing memories he'd put
too far behind. Helen twisted in pleasure at the tingles that raced over
her
in wave after wave. He caught a strand of her pubic hair in his fingers,
pulling it straight and letting it snap back, then ran his fingers into
the
quivering zone at the top of her thigh next to her pussy. She whimpered at
the electric urgency of the sensation and drew one knee up to press it to
her
side.
"Tony! Oh, Tony! Am I going to be your squaw?"
"Mmmph," he grinned at her. "We fuck."
"Yes," she whispered.
He lowered himself, the folds of his shirt settling on her breasts and
the hardness of his Levi's on her belly. She felt his cockhead against her
pussy, heat on heat, and gasped. But he turned, resting one hip in the
angle
of her widespread thigh, and fingered her cunt.
"Ah! . . . Oh! . . . " she gasped.
He dragged his fingertip along her slit and probed to feel the
indentation of her vagina. Slowly, deliberately, he forced the blunt digit
into her, twisting it and stretching the sensitive rim. Helen rolled the
back
of her head on the earth and dug her bootheels in.
"Oh, My!" she exclaimed in a low moan. "Oh, my gosh!" His finger was
bigger than hers and rougher, and there was a feeling of fullness she'd
not
experienced before in playing with herself. An instant of terror swept her
at the thought of his cock and how much greater it was than his finger. ut
her desire was deepening, jerking at her gut and making his looming bulk
waver before her eyes.
He rolled back, lodging his cockhead between her pussy lips and
pushing. She felt the blunt instrument fill her vagina and rest solidly
in the
surrounding tissues. An uncontrollable urge came over her to rotate her
pelvis up and forward, and she felt her hips tighten and thrust. The
pressure
at her pussy increased sharply as her sheath stretched and slid onto the
slopes of the enormous bulb.
"Mmh! . . . Oh . . . Oh . . . !" she cried out, clutching at Tony's arms.
Tony lunged against her. His cockhead rammed through the resistance
of her cunt against something tighter and incapable of stretching. Searing
pain washed over Helen. She felt as if she were tearing, and she pulled
her
knees up and spread them in a futile effort to open wide enough to stop
the
hurt.
Tony grunted and thrust, the impossible wedge spreading her and
creeping inward. There was a sudden sensation of yielding and a new
leaping
of fiery pain, then relief. Helen's throat closed in the moment of agony
and
opened afterward, letting her punt-up breath escape in a sighing rush. The
black cock was an incredible fullness in her pussy, and the sensation of
the
huge head's intrusion into the core of her belly was a delight she had
never
anticipated. She lashed out with her feet, pedaling them in the air.
"Aghhh! Ahhh, Tony!"
Tony's body tensed at her cry and his cock drove inward with a single,
smooth push that dilated her virgin channel for the first time. His groin
slapped against her crotch and his cockhead came to rest high in her
belly.
Helen forgot her earlier pain and was aware only of the intense pleasure
that surged in her. She clamped her knees to Tony's sides and levered her
hips, bumping her pussy against the hardness of his Levi's while he pumped
at her. His cock slid rapidly back and forth in her and her body rocked
under
the repeated blows. She clawed sensuously at him, her fingernails catching
in his shirt. The edges of his fly rasped like rough sticks along her
pussy
lips, catching single pubic hairs and jerking at them. Her body was a raw
lump of delight.
"Ugh!" Tony grunted explosively. "Tight cunt! Make Tony cum quick! . . .
Unnnh!"
His thrusts slowed and a ball of warmth grew in her belly. Her clitoris
throbbed as the hardness of his shaft rode over it, and pressure pounded
in
her head. She gulped, a convulsive spasms seizing her pussy and spreading
over her, stiffening her body and making her back arch. She dug her heels
into the backs of his thighs and levered her crotch tightly against the
base
of his cock.
A violent tremor shook her and she felt her vagina contract to squeeze
Tony's buried cock. "Mmmm!" she moaned, deep in her throat. "MMMM! . . .
MMMM!" Her orgasm washed back and forth over her, jerking her helpless
body and making her hear an inner roaring. The sensation seemed a totally
different one from the kind she'd brought on by playing with herself, and
she
was frightened at its intensity. But her fright was a pale thing beside
the
awesome feeling of pleasure that flooded her.
At last the tremors stopped and her inner convulsions subsided. She
collapsed, limp beneath the weight of Tony's body. She heard his light
panting and realized how hoarse and labored her own breathing was.
"Tony! . . . I can't . . . breath! . . . You're . . . squashing me!"
He grunted and propped himself on his forearms, his softening cock
settling in her. "You pretty good fuck, Helen. Lot better'n Ol' Kai."
"Old Kai!" she shrieked, visualizing the emaciated mangy bitch whose
devotion to the guide seemed her only redeeming feature. "Tony! You
don't!"
He giggled. "You better'n her. Maybe fuck again tomorrow?"
"Brrr! Get off!" Helen laughed and twisted. Knowing the cock that was
in her had rested in a scrawny, stiff-legged bitch brought its own kind of
thrill, and Helen savored the wicked awareness while she could still
squeeze Tony's shrunken meat with her twat. Then again, 'Get off, dirty
old
man!"
Tony chuckled and jabbed his useless cock forward, then heaved
himself off her. There was a sucking noise at her crotch when his cockhead
popped free of her cunt, and she groaned at the abrupt emptiness.
The gaunt Indian leered at her , teasing, his knees still holding her
thighs apart and his fingers resting on her slowly swaying boobs. He
pretended momentary revulsion. "Ugh! You too white . . . like dough!'
"Go away! You're nasty!" she giggled.
"But good fuck, anyhow."
"Go away!"
He grinned broadly, surged to his feet, and gazed down at her
languorous pose. 'You like, Helen. Tomorrow maybe?"
She knew she would. Nothing could keep her from wanting that cock as
long as the guide was with them. Desire knotted her belly and she nodded.
"Maybe tonight?" she whispered.
"Maybe." He strode from the clearing, leaving her alone in her
nakedness.
She trembled and sat up, ignoring the soreness of her pussy but
thrilling at the sight of her reddened flesh, the rolled tops of her
socks and
the gleam of her boots startling her. "God, how wicked!" she told herself
softly. "Grandma would just die!"
Helen shuddered and groaned now, hearing Art's tuneless humming
from beyond the bathroom's closed door and remembering the incessant
hunger she'd felt the rest of that summer. She'd slipped away from her
parents again and again to give herself to the Indian, and she'd known
within
a week of reaching home that she was pregnant.
Grandmother Farrell had died when she learned of Helen's pregnancy.
She'd raved at Helen, cursing her for being so much like her mother. "Her
that's made a lecher out of a fine boy!" she'd screamed. And the old woman
had succumbed to a stroke that very night. Ruth and Abe had been grim,
making no secret of the fact that the stroke had been the direct result of
Grandmother Farrell's anger and shock over Helen's actions.
To Helen, her grandmother's death had been a two-edged tragedy. For
the first time, she realized how much she had loved the cantankerous old
woman. Her sense of guilt was a tangible, oppressive burden that failed to
lighten with time. And her parents' attitude toward her, formerly trusting
and permissive, and changed to one of bitterness and suspicion. They had
abruptly curtailed her free time and her freedom of choice and movement.
What little time the baby left her, they had taken care to see she was
well
supervised.
'Not that it would have mattered,' she told herself, listening to Art's
tuneless humming through the closed bathroom door. 'They didn't have to
worry.' She had privately committed herself upon her grandmother's death.
Having taken the old woman's life (she had believed) she had determined to
give her own. And she had done it by becoming the old woman in her beliefs
and actions. She had sealed her former lustful, passionate self away and
turned into the woman she believed her grandmother had been. It had been
as
simple as that.
Danny had been born, a big, beautiful boy baby, and Helen had grimly
rejected her parent's urging to give him up. She had felt no lingering
affection for his half-civilized father - there was nothing for him but
revulsion - but it had seemed a fit punishment to look at the fruit of her
wickedness, reminding herself daily of the way she'd killed Grandmother
Farrell. To her own confused amazement, Danny had captured her love. Until
Art had married her, the boy had been the center of her universe, and when
Art had insisted on adopting Danny, the act had deepened her emotion
toward her new husband to an unbelievable pitch of devotion. His only flaw
in her eyes was his apparent insensitivity and animal appetite for sex.
But
she had persisted in the private vow she'd made to the memory of her
grandmother, and she sighed now with self-approval for the way she'd met
and conquered temptation.
She heard Art turn off the water and stop singing. A sharp tingle
assailed her and she tugged the blanket up to her chin, annoyed at this
evidence that she was still not free of her baser nature. 'Still a wicked,
wretched creature!' she told herself. 'Just like Grandma said! Lustful and
crude!' So crude and lustful, she remembered, that she tingled like this
when Barry looked, heavy-lidded, at her body - or even when Danny tilted
his
head to one side and pretended in his adolescent way to leer at her.
'Wicked!
Wicked! Wicked!' she thought.
Art came out of the bathroom without his pajamas. He stared at her
with an expression of hunger, his cock jutting boldly at a forty-five
degree
angle, rising steeply from the thick, blonde mat of his pubic hair.
Helen gasped, furious at her own involuntary surge of interest. "Art!"
"Yeah!" He crossed to the bed and threw back the covers.
Too late, Helen snatched at the edge of the blanket. She shrieked.
"ART! For God's sake, what's gotten into you!"
"It's getting into you that's got me worked up right now, puss."
"Oh, damn it, Art! That's disgusting!" She turned her back to him.
The mattress sagged beneath his weight and she felt his hand on her
shoulder. He bent over her and tried to kiss her, but she buried her face
in
the pillow.
"Aw, come on, sugar! What the hell!" His voice sounded pained.
"Not when you're acting like an animal," she replied, the pillow
muffling her words.
"Come on, baby," he said softly, his hand passing lightly over her body.
She stiffened, habit quelling the instinctive thrill that touched her
spine.
"Come on! It's not that bad!" Art coaxed.
With a resigned sigh, she let him roll her onto her back. He fingered
her belly through her nightgown and touched her forehead with his lips.
"Pull the covers up," she said, her eyes tightly closed.
In a moment she felt the weight of the blanket on her body.
"And turn out the light."
She heard the socket snap and the glow on her eyelids turned to
darkness. She held herself motionless, enduring the awkward caresses and
blocking the tendrils of pleasure that threatened her reserve. Ar thrust
his
hand inside the front of her nightgown to paw at her breast. She bit her
lips
and clenched her fists, proud of her ability to resist temptation and
miserable because there was a part of her that was like her mother -
hungry
for her man's touch. That, she'd not succeeded in stifling, although
maturing
had enabled her to control her reactions outwardly.
She gasped. Art was turning back her nightgown - pushing one side of
the front away - and she felt his breath on her suddenly puckered nipple.
"Art! Art, stop that!"
His hand, cupped around the bulge of her breast and squeezing it
upward, went slack and she felt the welcome pressure of nylon covering the
sensitive mound again.
"Good God, Art! After all!" She fumbled at the material on her hips,
inching it up and gathering it in her hands until the hem lay across her
belly.
Teasing, she let her bare thigh touch Art's, then spread her knees and
waited for him. He made a muffled sound and rolled onto her, his cock
resting at her cunt.
Despite herself, she shivered at the wave of desire that swept through
her. "Mmmm!" she moaned under her breath. She felt her hips twitch.
Art pressed his cockhead into her slit so it nudged her labia. She
pushed her fists against her hips and struggled against the urge to meet
his
thrust with one of her own. His body hardened and his hips drove downward,
his cock plunging into her twat. She startled herself by jabbing upward
buttocks clamping together to raise her ass from the mattress. The bony
hardness of his root crushed her clitoris and sent an unexpected jolt of
pleasure inward.
"Mm! . . . Unh!" She jerked her head into the pillow. 'It's because he's
bare! she thought wildly. 'It's because the hair on his legs feels the
way it
does! It's because his skin's so hot on mine! "Mh! . . . Mh! . . . "
Art's hips stroked, his flesh rubbing silkily over her thighs and his
cock pumping in the grip of her pussy. Excitement surged in her belly and
she realized she was moving her body to his rhythm. She gritted her teeth
and stilled her motion, but Art's hand slid past hers and his fingers
curled
under her ass. She held her breath while he squeezed, closing her fingers
around his wrist. He worked his palm around her asscheek and his
fingertips
probed into her crack. She wrenched her hips convulsively, enraged at the
explosion of excitement the act had produced in her.
"No! NO! Stop that, Art! Goddamn it, you're nothing but an animal
tonight!"
"Oh, horseshit!" Art heaved himself off her, his cock jerking at her
pussy rim with a force that made her wince. "You don't know what you're
talking about! What do you mean, an animal?" He flung himself away from
her, his breathing harsh and rapid.
"I mean, not like a civilized human being!"
"Shit, shit, shit! That's what makes man different! He's got a little
imagination! Let me tell you how it is with animals, baby! Know what
that'd
be like?"
"What do you mean?"
"Getting screwed by an animal."
"Art! That's not what I was talking about!"
"The hell it wasn't! Every time I go for a handful of tit or rub your
ass,
you make out like I'm being an animal! And I say that's horseshit! I'll
tell
you what it would be like if you had an animal screwing you!"
"ART! I won't listen!"
"Then don't listen; I'm telling you anyhow! Take that damn donkey of
Dan's."
"Smokey? That's impossible, Art! Ugh!'
"Like hell! You bend over that feed table of his naked and you'll find
out! Know how it would be? He'd look at you for a bit - look at those
smooth
white cheeks on your ass and that pink twat with the red fur lining - and
his
dong would start to grow. Pretty soon he'd heave himself up and put his
front hooves on your back, or maybe on either side of you, and jab that
big
Goddamn prick at your pussy!'
"Don't" Please don't say any more!" She whispered, alarmed at the
raging hunger in her pussy. Art's intense, rapid description had awakened
the worst of her deep-buried dreams, thrusting them to the surface and
making her writhe. "No, no, no!"
"Ever notice what a sharp point that dong's got when he's got a hard-
on? He'd wiggle his ass until that point found your cunt, baby, and then
he'd
slam it to you! Think it wouldn't go? Bullshit! Like a greased rolling
pin!
Stretch you some - maybe make you do the splits - might make your eyes
bug, but that prick would go all the way! And he'd play 'The Stars and
Stripes Forever' on your belly with his balls while he was fucking you!
Every
time he poked his dick home, you'd bounce into the air! That sonofabitch
wouldn't mess around trying to feel you up or show you he loved you. He'd
just ram his cock in and fuck until he came! If you got a cum out of it,
fine;
if you didn't, so what? Think he'd care? He'd get his rocks off and be
done . .
. what the hell!"
"Ooh! . . . Brrr! . . . Art, you're terrible! You've got a filthy mind!
You're
sick!" She shuddered, her pussy throbbing and her thighs working against
each other. 'And I'm sick to let that make me excited,' she thought
miserably. "That's all you can think about anymore. Sex! The way you
looked
at Vanessa tonight you might as well have been in bed with her! You even
ogled her sister, and Olga's only twenty!" She subsided, fighting to catch
her breath and quiet the turmoil in her crotch.
After a long pause, Art replied, his tone hardly more than a whisper.
"Maybe if you thought as much of me as you do your Goddamn housework I
wouldn't get turned on just because some broad acted human. Christ, Helen,
you're about as warm these days as a snow bank. Just about as responsive,
too."
"Maybe I'd be warmer if you weren't such a grouch. Art, don't you
realize how sullen and nervous you've gotten? I almost hate to hear the
car
came into the driveway!"
"What the hell do you expect of a guy when he gets a piece of ass once
a month whether he needs it or not - and figures he's gotten his cock into
the freezer by mistake even then?"
She stiffened. "And besides, you've gotten crude! You sound like some
thug out of the gutter!" A sob caught in her throat. "You aren't the same
at
all! Housework's the only way for me to get rid of the tension from the
way
you're acting!"
"Goddamn it! I keep telling you I want a little affection! Shit, I'd like
to have a woman turn on when she's gettin' screwed. I'd like a woman to
figure out it's good if she gets excited when a guy sucks her tit or plays
with her ass or something - that sex is fun instead of being a Goddamn
duty!"
"I can't help that, Art! I can't help it!'
"Yeah, I know." His voice was heavy with defeat. "Some guy gets in
your pants when you're fifteen and sixteen years later you're still
afraid to
let go. Hell, sixteen years!" He sighed. "Oh, shit, what's the use? He
turned
his back to her.
"Art?"
There was no reply.
"Art? Please?"
"Go to sleep."
Very slowly she worked her nightgown into place. She held herself
rigid, hands pressed to her thighs and knees clamped together, trying to
quiet the lingering desire. As she let their argument replay itself in her
mind, fear and anger replaced her frustration. Art hadn't been searching
for
cutting responses to her accusations. He'd said things that had been
bottled
inside, festering in his subconscious. The understanding patience she'd
loved him for had been an act, she realized, masking irritation and
resentment. And that was the way marriages fell apart.
There was a streak of gray in the sky before she finally managed to
sleep.
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