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DDM (05/13)
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 4a >>
Chapter 4
Helen lay beneath Barry for a long time, her pussy contracting
involuntarily at intervals. As the effects of her vodka wore off, the
contractions began to embarrass her and the flashes of anguish made her
shudder each time she squeezed his cock.
'But what can I do?' she asked herself. 'How can I undo what's already a
fact? He's in and we both know it.' She restrained her growing restiveness
until Barry eased his cock out of her and lay beside her. To her chagrin,
her
first response to him gathering her in his arms and pushing his limp dick
into the nest of her pubic hair was to return the pressure. Realizing too
late
what she had implied, she buried her face in the hollow of his neck and
whimpered.
"Pretty much for one night, isn't it, baby?" Barry whispered.
"Yes."
"First time?"
"Yes. The first time tied up - or naked - or with the lights on - or most
of the other things. And the first time with anyone except Art. Not
counting
Danny's father, of course." She wasn't going into that episode.
"Baby, don't let it get you down."
"Huh?"
"I mean, you can't hide from yourself, and no one else is important
enough to hide from."
"Like now?"
"Like now." Barry gently lifted her face from his shoulder and Grinned.
'His teeth are as crooked as his nose,' she thought. 'I forgot that when
he was chewing me.' It struck her that he was heavier than Art . . .
stockier
and with more bulges. His features reminded her of the face of a granite
cliff, seamed and craggy, and his eyes were a gray-green that looked out
of
place with his olive complexion. It was a wonder he could sell anything,
and
she recalled wondering often how he could stay at the top of his field.
But
his very roughness was a source of comfort to her right now, as if
homeliness guaranteed sympathy and understanding. Her only problem was
the increasingly nagging awareness of her nakedness and the intimacy of
their embrace.
"But, Barry! What'll I do? Brrr! You realize what I've done tonight?"
Barry nodded and grinned again. "Christ, yes! It's something you ought
to be proud of! Something to remember! Look how Art ate it up?"
"He . . . he was terrible!"
"Because he liked what was going on?"
"Yes. Oh, Barry!" she wailed. "He should have stopped us!"
"Forget it, baby. I'll bet he's never been that turned on in his whole
life. No offense to you either."
"But imagine what he must think of me! To act like that after all this
time!"
"Look, pet. Don't answer me if you don't want to. But keep asking
yourself and giving honest answers when you do. Did you enjoy what
happened? At the time, I mean. Did the things I did to you feel good? Was
it
good to see how excited Art got and how much fun he had?
She shook her head slowly. "Those aren't the important questions,
Barry. The only important question is, 'Was it right or wrong?"
"That's not a good question until you decide what right and wrong
mean. What they mean to you! To me, what you did was right because it was
fun for everyone here - because no one else will ever know about it and
can't get hurt - because maybe it accomplished something worthwhile. Right
is something different from socially acceptable or conventional, baby!"
"You believe that, don't you?"
"Damn right! And I think you're too big a person not to agree, once you
really think about it."
She tried to think about it, but her awareness of his cock's stirrings
continued to distract her. At last she giggled and pulled back. "Barry,
darling . . . "
"Huh?"
"Whether it's right or wrong, I'm getting sober enough to feel
embarrassed. Would you mind if I went and got some clothes on?"
"I'd mind. But I suppose if I'm too greedy this time I'll screw myself
out of the chance to get another piece from you later on?"
She wanted to tell him his consideration wasn't about to earn him a
repeat performance, then though better of it; if she said something like
that, he might take it as a subtle hint she wouldn't resent greed.
She scrambled over him, furious at herself when she paused to let her
pussy rest on his warm flesh for a moment. His quick grin assured her he
hadn't missed the significance of her hesitation, and she fled with
burning
cheeks. When she got back to the living room, both men were dressed and
Vanessa was parading before them.
"Oh! There you are!" exclaimed Vanessa. "I guess I've got to get
respectable, too. Looks like the games are over." She vanished into the
hall.
The conversation seemed strained to Helen. No one mentioned the orgy,
although she was certain it was uppermost in every mind. With each trivial
comment, she became less patient and more self-conscious. The vision of
her nude, spread-eagled body grew so vivid in her imagination that she
felt
she would see herself if she looked at the grating. And her memory of the
individual caresses she'd experienced were sharper in the quiet of
reflection than they'd been in the haze of her passion - so strong she was
afraid Barry and Art would see them in her eyes if she glanced at them.
When Vanessa returned, Helen mumbled apologies and urged Art to take her
home.
"We do have to get up early," she said, cringing in the expectation that
someone might wisecrack she'd only wanted to stay long enough for the sex.
But there was no such jibe, and Art sighed happily at her suggestion.
"Thanks for everything," he said to Vanessa. "Helen's right, though. Five-
thirty comes early, and I've go tot be out at that six-way interchange
first
thing in the morning. "See you both soon!'
In the car, he made no pretense about the way he felt. "Come on over
here," he said with a gentle growl. "What's the sense in having all that
empty space between us?" He held out his arm and she slid into it, tensing
for the follow-up she anticipated.
To her surprise, he merely held her, seemingly content to feel her
warmth at his side. And they were nearly home before he spoke again.
"I don't know what brought that business on tonight, sugar. Maybe I'm
not supposed to. But I could see it was costing you, and I think you were
something else! you showed guts, doll!"
"You're not disgusted with me?"
"That's the last word I'd think of using. It's at the wrong end of the
scale." After another silence, he asked, "Hey, where was that snotty kid-
sister of van's?"
"Olga?" Helen tried to recall Van's mentioning the girl, but without
success"I don't know, honey. Maybe she went home.'
"Naw. They'd have made a big deal of it last night." "Probably had a
date or something."
"Yeah, i guess. They sure didn't seem worried about her showing up
early, though."
Helen shuddered. "I'm glad I didn't remember her! I'd have been a
wreck!"
Art chuckled. 'That'll be the day! You being a wreck, I mean."
When they got into their own bedroom, Art went into the bathroom as
usual and Helen took advantage of the time to get ready for bed. And as
usual, when he came out, she was tucked securely under the covers. As he
had done the night before, however, Art appeared nude. He paused in the
bathroom doorway and gazed reflectively at her.
"Honey," he said at last. "Do me a favor?"
"What?"
"Come here."
She hesitated. Something about the light in his eye warned her he had
no interest in sleep. 'As if he'd come out here naked if he meant to
sleep,'
she commented to herself. "It's late, honey," she murmured.
Art grinned. "Come here, baby."
Reluctantly, she turned the covers back and sat up. Still reluctant, she
rose and went to him. "Art, I wish you wouldn't come out here like this.
It's
. . . " She stopped abruptly.
'I know," he replied. He took her in his arms and kissed her on the
mouth.
She stood stiffly in the circle of his arms and held her lips quiet
against his. KNowing how cold she would seem if she remained entirely
passive; she put her arms around his shoulders, her fingers on the back of
his neck. The scent of the masculine soap he used and the tangy odor of
his
cologne washed across her nostrils while the bristles on his neck pricked
her hands. His lean body was hard and warm against hers, slipping on the
nylon of her nightgown. She felt a stirring at h er belly and knew that
his
cock was rising.
A wave of hunger surged through her, taking her by surprise and
making her tighten her grip. Her body reacted as if her mental control
were
still under the paralysis of vodka. She crushed her mouth on his and
rolled
her head. her breasts flattened against his chest and she thrust her pussy
against the ridge of his upper thigh. Slowly and deliberately, she wiggled
her belly on his cock. Her hunger turned hot and raced back and forth
through
her.
Art squeezed her buttocks gently and she felt the hem of her
nightgown rising. Breaking free of the kiss, she protested. "No, Art!
Don't!"
"Easy, baby, easy." His tone was soft and soothing, but he had the
gown up to her hips and was continuing to lift it.
"Art! No! Don't do that!"
He let go of her nightgown and twisted free of her arms. Without
moving, he seemed to draw away, and she gazed numbly into an expression
more remote than she'd ever seen on his features.
"Art . . . " she whispered. "Art, honey?"
In as low, flat tone, he asked, "Want me to tie you up first? That the
idea?"
"Art! Oh, no, Art! Please don't ever say a thing like that again!" She'd
been so drunk . . . she'd been trying to shock him out of his sex thing .
. .
Vanessa had stampeded her . . . But she'd done it, nonetheless, and now
she
wouldn't. The worst thing of all was the way she'd let Barry treat her.
She
hadn't screamed or fought or cursed him; she'd wallowed on his hand and
his
mouth and then his cock like the most primitive slut in heat. She'd loved
it!
And Art had seen and known. 'What could he possibly think if I couldn't
do as
much - respond as hard - with him?' she asked herself. 'Reasons don't
count
. . . not when he's got pictures like that in his mind.'
She backed slowly away from her husband. At arm's length from him,
she reached down mechanically, arms crossed, and grasped the material of
her nightgown. Intensely conscious of the need for grace, she peeled the
garment from her body and over her head, tossing it toward the vanity
chair.
She ran her fingers through her auburn hair and shook her head as Vanessa
had done to fluff the thick masses into a cloud about her shoulders.
Gazing
into Art's sober eyes, she backed to the bed and lay back on it.
"All right," she whispered. And after a momentary silence, she
extended her arms above her head. "My legs, too?" she asked.
Art came to the side of the bed and stared at her. "Sugar, that's the
most beautiful body I've ever sen! Anywhere! Jesus, how much I've been
missing!"
'Beauty!' She struggled to adjust to the idea. She'd thought of
nakedness as dirty. Displaying the body was a wanton invitation to sex,
and
in a marriage - where sex belonged - invitations weren't needed or
desirable. But Art was talking about beauty, and at the moment the idea
seemed to have displaced sex in his thoughts. She was still acutely
conscious of his stare, though, and it still produced sharp tingles just
under
her skin. 'I want him!' she realized. 'I want him to make love to me! He
thinks my body's beautiful, and I want him to feel the beauty if it's
there.'
She raised her knees and thrust them apart. "Come here," she said
softly. She saw his eyelids flicker in disbelief, and she let the corners
of
her mouth quirk into a smile. "Come here, man." she repeated.
He grinned and knelt, one knee between her thighs, then bent over her
and sucked a nipple into his mouth. She held her breath, her hands holding
his face and her thighs clamped on his knee.
"Darling!" she whispered. Her desire had ballooned in the brief
moments of his touching her until it overwhelmed everything else. She
loved
Art and all the physical excitement and imaginative stimulation she'd
enjoyed earlier in the night coalesced around that love in a pounding
heady
ecstasy. She couldn't hold still. Her hands left his face and caressed the
sides of his body. She rubbed her legs on his. her hips twisted and her
shoulders flexed. And she moaned low and continuously.
Art lowered himself, guiding the nose of his cock into the embrace of
her labia, then thrust urgently, plunging it through her rim and into the
heart of her vagina. Clutching her to him, he rolled with her so he lay
on his
back and she lay astraddle his hips. He seized her buttocks and stroked
her
on his cock, jerking her entire body back and forth. Her breasts surged
on his
chest while his body hair harshly scrubbed her nipples. He pried her
asscheeks apart and fingered her rectum, dipping his finger into the
fluid at
her cunt and lubricating her with the juice.
"Art! Art, baby!" Helen crooned, abandoning herself to her most
sensuous longings. Her clitoris rode on the rocky base of her husband's
cock
and drove her into spasms of delight. She tightened her buttocks
convulsively when she felt his finger plunge into her rectum, and then a
new
wave of thrills forced her thighs to their widest angle and brought a deep
groan of pleasure from her throat.
"This where it's at, baby," Art muttered between grunts. "You being
all woman and me all man."
"Art, baby," she said with a hiss. "Fuck me!" She said it reverently,
using the words to seal a bond between them she hadn't been able to accept
before. With it, she promised him her hidden Helen.
He pounded her on his cock, his hips driving in opposition to her motion
until the convulsions of orgasm swept her and the heat of his cum seethed
in her belly.
"Ahhh!" She clenched her teeth, then opened her jaws wide. "Aghhh! . . .
Nnnh! . . . Yes, yes, yes!"
Her tension exploded and she writhed with the force of her
contractions. And even while she sobbed her pleasure at Art, the awesome
sensations faded and she began to go limp. She collapsed, muscle by
muscle,
lying quietly on her husband with the fullness of her cunt and her ass
still
the only firm realities in her universe.
"I love you, darling," she whispered.
"Yeah, sugar. I love you, too."
They clung to each other. Art reeking of satisfaction and she trying to
keep the memory of her great pleasure uppermost in her mind. His breathing
quieted and grew increasingly regular, until a faint snore told Helen he
slept. She squirmed cautiously off his cock and pulled the covers over
them.
After a long time, Art stirred and when he turned, she slipped off him and
settled onto the mattress. She stared at the ceiling, not caring that the
light was still burning, and let the night's events filter through her
mind.
In trying to change her husband, she'd changed herself. 'Not changed,
though,' she insisted silently. 'I can't pretend I don't know myself. I'm
what
I was before Grandma died.' She faced the fact bleakly. 'That's the me
I've
been trying to hide - no, to kill - all this time.' That was the lustful,
physical self, she decided; and she stripped away her old defenses to
weigh
her discovery. 'I can't be both. There can only be one, either the modest,
spiritual one or the lustful, wicked one. And Art wants me lustful.'
She watched a speck on the ceiling - an insect to small to identify -
make its way across the featureless surface, neither digressing nor
wandering from its straight line. 'It only goes one direction at a time,'
she
reflected. 'It knows where it's going - instinct maybe - and it goes. All
right! I know I want Art! I know what he wants me to be. So that's the me
I'm going to be.'
She slept, dreaming of her new role and waking often in a panic at the
nature of her dreams. When light came and she gave up further effort to
sleep, she wasted little time on introspection. She reiterated her
decision
and conceded the change would be difficult. She knew it herself; every
influence in her background had contributed to make her abhor halfway
measures or attitudes. Her entire mental foundation consisted of blocks
that were platitude and truisms. "There's no such thing as half right."
"If
you start to do something, do it all the way." "You can't live on both
sides of
the fence."
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